#this has been clipped from two entirely different IM conversations

[lordlyhour]

Mr Teeth Auxilery Information

But yeah, Anyway to the setting of that poem, Basically, It's a fuggin yuge city built over a ravine.  The Beneath is the name of the Chasm they're built over,  Like a bridge and it;'s filled with all sorts of Nasty things, Basically demons et al 

Fairly precarious at the outer edges but solid as a rock near the center actually paved and stuff Couple of feet thick whereas right out at the edge you can put your foot through the boards. So basically, Mr Teeth was a Magic dude who wanted UNFATHOMABLE POWER etcetera and so turned to communing with demons to get that The Beneathers really don't like humanity, especially those dicks what built a big ol' bridge over their nice view (in truth, the beneathers are actually thriving because they really dislike the light, so they're able to stay out for longer, but it'ss till the principle of the thing) So they aim to bring the bridge a tumblin' down and to that end, they do their best to corrupt people.   It's EASIER if the person is willing, Like Mr Teeth, But if they have someone who can act as a channel (Like Mr Teeth before he became a specter) they can be beamed right into the heads of whoever Also, some psychics are susceptible without but that's basically only those who are both powerful and untrained and most psychics are only one or the other and most are neither.   Ghosts are fairly common, but seldom last for more than a few days,  Unless they're being powered by demonses in which case they're called specters. Specters are visibly corrupted too,  Like, weird spectral glitches. Hence Mr Teeth being called Mr Teeth as his mouth is far too wide for his face and his teeth are fairly dang grody.   Like, when I say far too wide for his face I mean, there's his face and then theres his grin floating about 3 inches out either side.  It's also always facing whoever's looking at him even if they're behind him There're quite a few other spectres flying about the Bridgetown too, Including Ms Smiles who's a pleasant young lady who befriends people when they're at their lowest and escorts them further down, which is only partly a poetic way of saying she encourages people to commit suicide.  She has actually been known to show people ways to climb down to the beneath, Which is harder than it sounds since, while the bridge does have supports,  none of them are in the beneath if for no other reason than the Beneathers'd probably eat them.  the bridge is basically a miracle of engineering with a fair bit of magic backing it up and some of it is being reinforced with the ghosts of people who died during their prison sentences 27 Life sentences MEANS something in Bridgetown.   some poeple also donate their ghosts for the purpose Generally "in case of ghost shortage" Ms Smiles was one of the Powerful But Untrained psychics and had the Beneathers whispering into her head all her life. She thinks she’s being Helpful. 'cause, like, Hey, she died and look at her now! Cool Spooky powers and she can hear her friends talking to her even more clearly! Like Mr Teeth She also has weird Reality Glitch Shit up with her mouth.  It's, like, a Compulsion to hyperfixate on her mouth, and, like Be able to see it, even with your eyes shut.  Quite Possibly even if you're Blind (so like, You're trying to Ignore the fact she's there, and talking to you, eyes screwed shut, hoping she goes away, and nope. She's there. Talking to you.  You can see it through, like, Physical Objects that are between you and her, even if they aren't your eyelids, as well.  You also know when Ms. Smiles has her attention on you. You can feel it, like a physical sensation, The Compulsion to turn and follow the path of her smile as it travels to you. Ms. Smiles is probably the more dangerous of the two, because she can pass as a regular ghost until she decides you're interesting. She's legitimately friendly, she just has a very skewed perspective on The Beneathers and their goals. Mr Teeth is, like, Along with being kind of obviously Not Good What With How He Looks, his demeanour is, like, untrustworthy. The sorta person you think like "wow, he was a bit of a creep" He is legitimately somewhat Charismatic, but at the same time, just kinda. Off. and that was before he was a toothy Phantom The Poem This Ramble Is About Some Excellent Visual Representation Courtesy of @coonillo

[withlovewriting]

Mixed Drinks and Smoke Rings 17: The Second Coming

Chapter Seventeen: The Second Coming

Xanny, packed in my Off-White fanny, I been going off, I’m manic, Shit wearing off, I’m landing, More on the way, don’t panic, Drank too much, God damn it, Shut that door, don’t slam it, Shit too loud, can’t stand it, I can’t stand it

Summary: New to town, you didn’t need a friend, you needed a dealer. Thankfully, a girl from your Narcotics Anonymous meetings knew just the guy.

Characters: Fezco (euphoria) x Non-descriptive Reader

Words: 4,405

Chapter Warnings: Drug use, abusive relationships, i already wrote out this damn thing once and then pressed the back button on my mouse by accident so if there are any mistakes its because im dumb and didnt save it as a draft as per 

Series Warnings: Addiction, sexual themes, cursing, abuse (various), smut, drug use, teenagers being fucking idiots. 18+ only, minors DNI

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Masterlist

taglist: @iamasimpingh0e​ @chelseagirl77​ @zeida​ @thepawn1999​ @alanis-altair​ @purplebtsmagic​ @fuckrigthoff​

'A complete stranger has the capacity to alter the life of another irrevocably. This domino effect has the capacity to change the course of an entire world. That is what life is; a chain reaction of individuals colliding with others and influencing their lives without realizing it. A decision that seems minuscule to you, may be monumental to the fate of the world.'

At least, that's what J.D Stroube once wrote.

Your life so far felt like one big game of dominoes, but you'd be stupid to blame all of your bad situations and decisions on other people. After all, even if you had to pick between the lesser of two evils, it was still you who had made the decision.

You might've been led to the water, but you're the horse who chose to drink.

As you walked through the school corridor you're friend, Chloe was going on and on about something -- you'd lost interest around 30 seconds into the one-sided conversation -- when your eyes wandered to the large mahogany stairs, where only the most elite of students hung out.

The popular kids -- like a million different teenage films -- seemed untouchable. Whilst loitering on the stairwells was forbidden, even the strictest of teachers would often walk right past them, and no punishments were ever given when they'd boldly stroll into class after the bell.

Everyone wanted an in with them, regardless of how, or why. And you most definitely were not immune to the charm.

As you passed the group, your eyes met those of Liam Ryder, easily the most popular boy in school, and a whole grade above you.

Not only completely ignoring Chloe, but you were also totally oblivious to Keon Jackson, only aware of him when he accidentally shoulder clipped you -- his own nose deep in a book -- sending you both flying.

Your face felt hot when you heard laughter, the high-pitched cackles from Jen Atkins seemingly much louder than anyone else's as she peered down at you from where she was sat, like some kind of puffed-up pigeon.

God, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

Brushing off Keon's bumbled apology, you pushed yourself to your knees, quickly grabbing your dropped belongings. As you moved to grab your textbook, a hand shot out, grazing yours as you both reached for the book.

Taking a deep breath, you finally looked up, eyes connecting with the same brown eyes that had distracted you in the first place.

He gripped your textbook as he quickly stood, offering a hand out to help you up.

"Really, I'm so sorry, I-" Keon began once more, cutting himself off when Liam sent him a sharp look.

"Scram."

And just like that, he did.

Turning his attention back toward you, his eyes softened as he visibly checked you over, "Are you alright? You went down pretty hard."

Trying your best to swallow down your embarrassment, you sent him a tight-lipped smile, followed by a curt nod. The problem with the elites, was that they were nice to look at, but terrifying to actually speak to.

Raising a quizzical brow at you, he smirked, "What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?"

Your eyes widened as you realized how rude you'd appeared, stuttering out a reply, "Shit. I mean... Uh sorry."

Shaking your head, you felt like an absolute idiot, "Thank you. I meant to say thank you."

His smirk only deepened as he watched you squirm, "I've seen you around. You're in my AP class, right?"

Unsure of why he was talking to you at all, you forced the lump in your throat down as you nodded, "Yeah. I uh... I sit near the front..."

If there was a God, you could only hope he'd strike you down where you stood for being such a damn loser. Instead, the bastard let you stand there, wringing your hands and babbling. Clearly, you didn't attend church nearly enough for the big man upstairs to help out.

"That test last week man... I barely scraped by. You did well though, right?"

You did more than do well, you wanted to say. But it didn't seem the appropriate time to brag, "Yeah, I did OK."

His dark eyes bore into yours for a moment, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck, "So, uh... Do you by any chance tutor people? I would totally pay, I just-"

Your eyebrows shot toward your hairline as you barely registered him now fumbling around his words. The elites of the school were smart enough, sure. But they usually relied on the brains of the less socially inept to do their school work.

"I don't usually tutor anyone," you watched as his face fell, shoulders deflating a little, "but I'm happy to go over my notes with you for next week's test."

His smile stretched across his face, meeting his eyes, "Yeah, that would be great, actually. Thank you."

You both stood in silence for a moment, his smile almost forcing a small grin onto yours. Feeling as though you'd only half-embarrassed yourself during this tete-a-tete, you finally spoke again, "Uh, I need to get to class..."

"Oh sure, yeah. Me too."

When neither of you moved, you let out a quiet chortle, "You uh... You still have my book."

It was Liam's turn to look mortified as his hand that had kept a firm grip on your book shot out toward you, only to tighten once you had grabbed the other end,

"Tomorrow, after school? I can drive you home after."

Waiting for your confirmation, he finally sent you a charming smile before releasing the book and making his way down the hallway, his head turning around only once, catching you still standing motionless, watching him leave.

Quickly spinning around on the spot, you couldn't help the large, beaming smile that tugged at your lips as you marched toward class.

What you didn't see, however, was Liam handing over a crisp bill to Keon as he passed.

Sitting on Liam's desk chair, you felt much more at ease than you probably should've, being alone in a boy's room.

He sat a respectable distance from you, choosing instead to perch on his king-sized bed.

He was tapping his pen along to whatever song was playing through his phone, silently mouthing along to the lyrics as he read and re-read over his notes.

Watching him for a moment, he seemed so relaxed in the comfort of his own home, even when in the presence of an almost total stranger.

Maybe, Liam was a lot more normal than you had originally been led to believe. Maybe the bravado and monkeying around in school was simply a front, a mask he was only content to take off in the safety of his own four walls.

Maybe, he was just as normal as the rest of you.

"Have you finished already?" He questioned, eyes never moving from his book.

Feeling your face warm-up, you quickly diverted your eyes back to your own work, "I finished like, ten minutes ago."

His brows pulled together as he looked toward you, the side of his mouth pulling up into a sideways grin, "So you've just been sat there twiddling your thumbs when you could've been helping me?"

You don't know whether it was his question or the look he was sending you, that made you nervous. Your leg bounced as you shrugged.

"Do you ever relax?" His tone was light, but his eyes were far too curious to mean it in jest.

"Of course I do... I'm just, I dunno..."

Thankfully, he only let you suffer for a moment or two as he silently watched you struggle for any word that wasn't 'nervous'. His eyes darted toward your still-moving leg before returning to you with a lifted brow. 

"High strung? Anxious? Scared? All of the above..."

"I'm not scared of you..."

Standing from his bed, he made his way over to you, his palm flattening against your thigh in order to stop its bouncing, "I'm not making fun of you, I swear. Just... You shouldn't be so worried all of the time. It's not good for your health."

A small chuckle escaped you, lessening the frown that creased your forehead. You watched as he leaned over you -- his body so close you could smell the faded scent of whatever soap he'd used this morning -- rifling through one of his desk drawers, 

"I have just the thing," he smiled, straightening up as he held the joint between his fingers.

Placing the unlit joint onto your rolling tray, you released a long sigh.

It had started innocently enough. A couple of puffs on a joint every now and then, hiding out in his room under the guise of studying. If his parents cared that he had a girl over, or that he was smoking pot, they never spoke up.

You'd never speak much in school, instead, your days were filled with gentle grazes as you passed in the hallways, and longing looks across the lunchroom.

His attention seemed solely focused on you whenever you were in his vicinity, and you'd even heard his friends mock him on occasion for being so distracted, even if they didn't know why. Yet, he continued to drown them out whenever his dark eyes met yours across a room.

Maybe that was what initially drew you to him. The way that, even in a room full of students, he could make you feel like the only person there with him, without saying a single word to you.

The stolen glances felt like a romantic secret, something only the two of you shared because nobody else --his friends, or yours -- mattered enough to know.

In hindsight -- which they say is 20/20 -- you knew this was because you were a secret. At least in the beginning. And maybe that was the first red flag you'd ignored.

"Please explain why you invited some girl that you've barely spoken five words to."

Tucker wasn't wrong. Liam technically hadn't spoken to you in school much since that fated day in the hallway. 

"She's cool, man. Trust me."

Your nerves were at an all-time high as you sat in the passenger seat of Chloe's car, tugging at your skirt. It had taken some convincing, but she'd finally agreed to check out what was being dubbed the biggest party of the year.

Tucker was rich, rich. His parents worked in real estate and -- thankfully for him -- seemed to spend most of their free time out on their yacht. 

You assumed that was why Tucker acted the way he did; he craved attention. Good or bad, it didn't matter. You didn't want to admit it, but you both had more in common than you'd assumed. Hell, most of the kids here did.

Your mother had flown out to DC before you'd even woken up that morning and wouldn't be back until late Sunday evening, and your father had gone to a sports bar with some work colleagues.

Although you'd had to practically drag Chloe there, a few other people in your group had willingly come along, excited to attend their first real high school party.

Sure, you all claimed that you didn't care about popularity, but you were human. All you really wanted was to be accepted, to be liked. Isn't that how every teenager felt?

"Look what the cat dragged in," a supercilious voice caught your attention as soon as you walked through the door as if she was awaiting your arrival.

"Oh, hey Jen." 

No matter how tempted you were to divert your eyes and look around the room for the familiar brown ones, you kept your eyes on the girl in front of you, her own piercing glare refusing to back down. You weren't sure where her sudden animosity had come from, but you knew she was playing some kind of game. You only wished you knew the rules.

"Are you two going to stare at each other all night or what?" Chloe grumbled, catching Jen's attention. Seemingly bored of playing with her food, Jen merely rolled her eyes before strutting off into the sea of people.

"What the hell was that about?"

Shrugging, you weren't entirely sure yourself, "C'mon, let's go see how big the pool is." 

Looking back, you couldn't feel anger toward your younger self. You just felt... sad.

You'd remember that party for the rest of your life, a bittersweet memory that you didn't know how or even if you wanted to rid yourself of.

That night was the first time you'd tried anything harder than pot. Liam had produced a line of Xanax, joking that if weed wouldn't help you relax, then this definitely would.

"Don't you think you've had enough?"

Chloe's question caused your eyes to roll, annoyance radiating off you as you took a bigger gulp from your cup, trying to prove a point. Wiping your chin, your eyes met Liam's across the room, watching as he obliviously nodded along to whatever his friend was saying, his burning stare not deviating from you since you'd first spotted each other.

"I'm just trying to enjoy myself. Maybe you should have a couple, might make you a bit more fun."

You knew your words were harsh, but you were 4 cups of jungle juice deep and fed up with her party-pooper attitude. She'd been counting down the minutes since your arrival, mumbling under her breath about how she'd have more fun watching paint dry, and being a little too loud with her deprecating comments. Chloe could be brusque at the best of times, downright rude at the worst.

You just wanted to have a little fun at the first party you'd actually been invited to. And here she was, acting like a total bitch.

"Well, I'm sorry that I don't think getting wasted on over-priced alcohol with a bunch of people who won't remember me in 5 years is 'fun'. I just didn't think you'd entertain them either,"

Pushing herself from the wall, she eyed the crowd dubiously for a moment before turning back to you, eyebrows pulled together, "Don't think it's odd that they even invited us? I mean, I'm not even sure they know our names. If they pull a 'Carrie' and pour pig blood on us, I wouldn't even be surprised."

Squeezing your eyes shut, you could feel your last nerve fray, "Fucking hell, Chloe. Get a grip, OK? First of all, I was invited, not you. Maybe, they'd know our names if you weren't being a colossal bitch all night. The fact that you think nobody here would bother with me unless they had an ulterior motive is fucked up."

Downing more of your drink -- ignoring the glances from classmates that had overheard your argument -- your chest heaved as guilt settled over you, weighing you down heavily. Sure, Chloe could be a little too much sometimes, but she was your friend.

Before you could open your mouth to apologize, Chloe shook her head, a  tremulous laugh falling from her tight-lipped, mournful smile, "Fuck you. Find your own way home."

You heard the hushed chatter and laughs as she pushed through the crowd, making her exit.

Releasing a sigh, you gently knocked your head against the wall behind you as you felt tears fill your closed eyes. Trying to garner the strength to follow her out and apologize profusely, your eyes fluttered open when you heard a familiar voice,

"Well, that was... dramatic.”

Your brow creased as you bit your bottom lip. Your face felt hot and you knew as soon as you opened your eyes, you'd start crying. Maybe you were a little too drunk.

"I'm uh... I'm sorry," You sniffed, feeling a tear roll down your cheek as you opened your eyes, "I didn't mean for that to happen. I'm gonna... I'm gonna head out-"

Leaning forward, Liam brushed his thumb against your cheek, wiping away the stray tear, "No, I... shit. I didn't mean you, I meant her. You're just having a good time and she's clearly got a problem with that."

Sending him a meek smile, you found yourself feeling a little more relaxed as his warm brown eyes watched you, "You heard that, then..."

"I think everyone heard that..." he shoved his hands into his jean pockets, "but she's jealous, you know? I would never invite you here under false pretenses... I just, you know... Enjoy spending time with you."

You forced down a deep breath, feeling like the exploding butterflies in your stomach would escape if given the chance. 

He could tell you were still embarrassed, and a little uncomfortable as he placed his arm around your shoulders, "C'mon, I've got something that will really take the edge off."  

The glass crunched under your sneakers as you made your way into the lounge, looking around at the destruction your father had caused. 

You'd visited the station a few times, once to give your statement, and the rest to try and speak to someone about bailing your dad out. You'd gone in guns blazing, telling them you had no intentions of pressing charges and that it was all a misunderstanding, but you were simply told that an attorney intended to. 

Kicking off, you were quickly escorted out with the threat of being arrested yourself.

You were told he was put on a 48-hour hold, his past DUI really coming back to bite him in the ass and the cost of the bail was enough to make you lose all hope. A bail bond agent would be your only option.

Grabbing the broom from the closet, you ignored your pounding head and began to sweep up some of the glass. You had a party to prepare for, after all.

"How are you feeling?"

Everything sounded slow as if you were swimming underwater. The drowsiness was bad enough, but every time you managed to open your eyes, the blurred vision was enough to make you slam them back shut.

It sounded awful but... You felt relaxed, just as Liam had promised. Sure, weed was great at calming you, too, but when Liam escorted you into a spare bedroom, his friends all sat around snorting a powder from the bedside cabinet, you felt like you couldn't say no.

"I, uh... You know. Good. I feel good."

You were aware enough to know your speech was slurred, but couldn't find it in yourself to give a shit. You did feel good. Just tired. Very tired.

Your head rested against Liam's shoulder as you were snuggled into his side. You don't remember how or when you came outside, sitting around the fire pit with his friends, but the party had seemingly calmed down, and you could only make out a few different voices.

"Maybe the drinks before were a little too much," he chuckled, watching your head fall forwards a few times, the motion pulling you from sleep, "C'mon, you can't go home like this."

Tripping over your feet, Liam gently guided you back into the house, ignoring the wolf whistles from his friends. 

Kicking the door shut behind him, Liam led you toward the bed, laying you down gently after he'd pulled back the duvet, "You should sleep it off. Fair warning, you'll most likely feel like shit tomorrow."

Totally unaware of his warning, you were already passed out.

Pushing your way past the large crowd that had congregated in your living room, you needed to find some peace and quiet.

You used to love parties, after you began to hang around with Liam and his friends, you attended one every weekend and hung out at an abandoned warehouse that the group would often refer to as the 'Factory' on school nights, getting high without the worry of someone's parents walking in.

You didn't have that problem right now.

Shouldering a drunken teen out of the way, your body ached with the contact. Whilst your nose had been bloody, and your lip split, the majority of injuries you'd received were from the fall down the stairs. Bruises and cuts from the glass littered your body, and sometimes you'd have a sharp pain in your ribs whenever you'd inhale too deeply, but with the looming price of your father's bond, you couldn't afford to go to ER. 

So you settled for a much less expensive way of soothing the pain. It was as if reminding yourself about your body aches caused them to hurt more, and you rubbed your wrist as you made your way outside to the small garden.

"Move." Your tone was stern, leaving no room for arguments as your classmate jumped up from the plastic chair, allowing you to settle into it instead.

You had binged your way through your pill supply, both with Rue and alone. You couldn't deny that you had pushed the girl away recently. You didn't mean to, but you liked to be alone when you wallowed in self-pity.

After what felt like only a few moments of peace, a loud sigh came from someone who practically threw themselves next to you, "Everything OK?"

Maybe you were stupid to invite him and his friends. Hell, you didn't know who half the people at this party were. It was an odd feeling, wanting to be alone but around people. You couldn't explain it, let alone begin to understand it.

Rue's Mom had offered you a place to stay after her daughter had filled her in on what happened, but after a few days, you returned home, worried about being able to hide your habits from her, and not wanting to pull Rue down with you.

"Just in pain," you told him truthfully, trying to ignore the way his dark eyes lingered on your bruised wrist.

"You uh... You haven't got anything for it?"

Shaking your head, you looked up toward the stars, barely able to see them because of the city lights, "My, uh... dealer... He's in between stock right now."

"And Devon?"

"Said he had to head out of town for something."

Liam watched you as you deflated a little. He could tell you were in the throws of a withdrawal from something, "Well, lucky I saw him before he left then."

Your eyes flung open, watching him quietly for a moment before sitting forward in your seat, "What have you got?"

"Does it matter?" His brow raised as he tried to hide a smirk. And in all honesty... No. It didn't matter. At this rate, you'd take anything he had to offer.

It would be funny, if it wasn't so sad, how quickly you could fall back into old patterns.

"I don't care, Rue. I ain't goin'."

"C'mon Fez, if not for her, then for me. I don't wanna be surrounded by her old, rich asshole friends."

A humorless laugh escaped him as he leaned into the sofa, "Neither do I. Which is exactly why I ain't goin'. You don't need to either if you don't wanna."

Rue couldn't fault Fez's logic. She didn't want to go, so why should she? The only answer she had, was guilt.

She was the reason your father was currently sitting behind bars awaiting a court date, and she was the reason why you'd clearly spiraled into an addiction Rue didn't quite expect from you.

Yes, you took drugs recreationally, and you often drank with them, too. It might've been excessive but... She knew you were currently binging on them, already telling you that you'd run out of your supply. You were popping pills like candy, so she couldn't find it surprising. Remembering her own outburst at Fez when he refused to fuel her own addiction, Rue was glad you hadn't bothered him, knowing he didn't have anything to sell.

Watching Rue as she appeared lost in her own world, Fez sighed, "Look, I know you been feelin' guilty about all that shit with her Dad, but don't, alright? It's on him, no one else. He's just lucky the cops turned up fo' me."

Rue turned her attention to Fez, watching as he lounged on the couch inconspicuously, yet she saw his fingers sink between the cushions, content once he found the cold handle of a gun.

"What were you gonna do?"

Making her way toward the other couch, Rue sat herself down, watching him attentively. 

"Kill him." Fez didn't even hesitate, causing Rue to release a long sigh.

"Shit man. You got it fuckin' bad."

Fez's face scrunched up as he rubbed a hand over his head, deep in thought. Rue didn't know everything, he was sure of that. But it seemed she did know something.

"We friends, Rue. You know that."

Shaking her head, Rue pushed herself up, "Bullshit. You're both so fucking annoying. You coming to the party, or not?"

He wanted to, even if just to check you were OK. Rue wasn't exactly forthcoming with her answers when he'd ask, and that somehow made him feel **worse**. He was certain she was hiding something, but he knew she was just trying to protect you, and calling her out on her bullshit wouldn't get him anywhere. He knew Rue, and he knew that she needed to ask for help before she'd accept any.

But Fez knew damn well he wouldn't be welcome, and coming to your house was asking for drama that he wouldn't partake in. You already felt betrayed by him, he didn't intend to twist the knife by showing up.

Taking his silence for an answer, Rue released an annoyed groan before making her way out.

He watched as she left, following her to the door to lock it, confused when she turned around and sighed, “Grow some balls, Fez.”

 He could've called her out on the comment, telling her that he was only neck deep in shit because he covered for her, knowing damn well you would probably never speak to him again.

But friends didn't do that shit to each other. So instead, he let her stomp down the road, praying that you had the sense to keep yourself safe tonight. But he couldn't let himself dwell on it, he was meeting up with a new dealer in a couple of days, hoping that he could partner with her considering Mouse's... absence.

Then, he had a date with Nate Jacobs.

[duskholland]

Meet Your Match || Mob!Tom Smut

Summary ↠ It’s always awkward when your current boyfriend meets your ex, but it’s a whole new level when it transpires that your ex-boyfriend is the leader of Tom’s rival mob...

Warnings ↠ 18+, contains mature nsfw material. There are extended warnings beneath the cut, but this is quite heavy. 

Word count ↠ 5.9k

A/N ↠ Genuinely am shocked that this came out of my head tbh. It is very intense so please consult the warnings before you dive in ! The entire concept of the first half is very random and almost crack, but then the second half...phew. Sheesh. Thanks to V, mischiefandi, for suggesting I write in a hot Irish mobster as Y/N’s ex...love that for her, and I love you V. I hope you all enjoy this :)

This is a part of my mob!Tom series – a collection of oneshots set within the same universe. You don’t need to read the other parts for this to make sense! You can find the other parts in my masterlist.

18+ do not touch this if you are a minor. 

extended warnings: lol. mob themes including gun mention and punching, a broken nose ft minor mentions of blood, a bit of a dodgy ex who makes some uncomfortable comments, alcohol, possessive!jealous!Tom, d/s dynamics, soft!dom!Tom, mean!dom!Tom, thigh riding, oral (f receiving), spitting, orgasm denial and edging, guided masturbation, rough sex, doggy-style, like two minor instances of spanking, he calls her slut once. im not here to fuck around this goes hard so if you aren’t into rough stuff this isn’t for you. also includes unprotected sex -- please practise safe sex (condoms provide barriers against STIs as well as unwanted pregnancy. pls be safe irl). i would like mob!tom to rail me thank u. enjoy.

--------- Meet Your Match ---------

You’d never given much thought to the possibility of Tom meeting one of your exes. Why would you, when being with him is infinitely more satisfying, loving, and enjoyable than it had ever been with one of them? 

But if you’d had to imagine it, you would’ve pictured it casually. Maybe you’d be out somewhere together - at a café, or a market, with Tom’s arm wrapped safely around you. You’d see your ex - whoever it may be - and there’d be an awkward encounter. The exchange of painful hellos and goodbyes, maybe some piercing stares, and pinched words. Then, you’d move on, and that would be that. 

Never, in your wildest dreams, would you have imagined you’d run into your ex-boyfriend whilst in attendance at a meeting of the London mobs. 

It’s a special event - a large, networking occasion, organised by Tom, as an opportunity for him to meet with his partners and rivals, as they come together to cordially bond over beer and discuss business plans. It’s hosted right in the centre of Piccadilly, in the elegant conference room of a luxurious hotel. You’re just starting to relax and settle in when you glance across the room and see him:

Aidan. Your ex-boyfriend. At… A meeting of the mobs of London? 

“What the fuck,” you mutter. You almost drop your glass of champagne as you narrow your eyes and stare. The conference room is vast, adorned with glittering chandeliers and large banquet tables, but it’s undeniable: Aidan is here. 

“Everything alright, love?” Tom’s by your side, one of his arms wrapped loosely around your shoulders. He’s in remarkably high spirits this evening. The event is fully underway, and judging by the snippets of conversation you’ve been hearing, Tom’s latest plans are coming into fruition - something about warehouses, and a shipment of class A drugs. But none of it matters now, because your mind is entirely elsewhere.

“No,” you state immediately. 

Tom cranes his neck, his eyes seeking you out. You manage to drag your gaze away from Aidan for a brief second.

“What is it?” He’s looking at you with those deep, warm brown eyes, and his gaze is so tender it makes your breath hitch. One of Tom’s fingers moves up to caress your cheek, and you find yourself shifting guiltily on your feet.

“Who, exactly, did you invite to this meeting?” You ask your boyfriend, speaking in hushed tones. Your eyes slip back to Aidan, and you feel yourself relax as you note he’s still deep in conversation with a few men. 

“Suppliers, rivals, allies… Anyone of importance, really.” Tom narrows his eyes, his thumb brushing over your chin as he looks at you closely. “Why?”

“Did you know that you’ve also invited my ex-boyfriend?”

Judging by the look of utter shock on Tom’s face, he had not, in fact, realised his fundamental truth.

“Who?” He asks immediately. His face shifts through several shades before settling on jealous, with his eyebrows bunched together. 

You turn around, resting one hand on the broad shoulder of Tom’s suit before using your other to point out across the crowd.

“Aidan.” 

Tom squints his eyes, a small rumbling noise travelling up his throat. “Aidan?” He repeats, his voice flooded with confusion. You hum affirmatively. “Bloke with the blond hair? Irish?” Again, a hum. Tom releases a short, curt chuckle. “Angel, he’s not called Aidan.”

“What?” You exclaim. 

Tom releases a deep sigh. “That’s Gordy. He runs the Eastside.” 

You feel your jaw loosen. A fake name. “Gordy Byrne?”

“The one and only.”

“Shit.”

You’ve been with Tom for a year. Over those long, fulfilling twelve months, you’ve picked up on several important key pieces of information about the London mob: it’s split into three factions, each sector run by a different figurehead. Tom and his family control the South-West, and they’re in constant disagreement with Gordy, of the East, and Monique, of the North. Each third is continuously testing the waters, trying to take over land, and supplies, and emerge as the solo Kingpin of London. The fragile alliance between the three families is constantly on the verge of disintegration. 

And Gordy is your ex, who you’d met three years ago at the same exclusive club you’d worked in when you’d met Tom. Your relationship had lasted eight months and ended on equal terms as you’d mutually agreed the spark had fizzled away. Despite the considerable span of your relationship, you’d had no suspicions that he’d been involved with the mob. The thought is incredibly jarring.

“Seems like you have a type,” Tom comments, his voice entirely too flippant. 

Before you can call him out on his apparent feelings of resentment, your evening takes a further turn as you realise Gordy has spotted you and is now working his way through the sea of people towards you. 

He looks just as you remember: 6’2, blond, green-eyed. His shoulders are stocky and broad, and his suit bulges with disguised muscles. He maintains that signature swagger you’d come to associate with him, his eyes glinting as he throws out a wild smile. Your eyes catch on the presence of a few new golden teeth fixed in his mouth, and then to the tattooed knuckles that hang by his side.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” Gordy greets, green eyes skimming across you appreciatively, “Who’d ‘a thought we’d meet again?”

All you can really do is let out a squeak of agreement, and pull away from Tom’s side to greet the man with a kiss on the cheek. The familiar scent of Gordy’s musky cologne drifts up your nose, and it makes your head spin.

“What are you doing here?” You ask as you pull away, looking at him incredulously. His pale cheeks wear a scruff of fuzz, highlighting the high arches of his cheekbones. 

“What are you doing here?” He returns, his Irish accent twanging. His eyes shift over to Tom, then back to you, and then they watch as Tom reaches out and carefully tangles his fingers with yours. “Wait…”

“Evening, mate,” Tom greets, voice a little clipped. You feel the grip on your hand tighten, and you let him reel you back into his side. You find home beneath Tom’s heavy arm as he repositions it across your shoulder, keeping you near. “I see you’ve already met my girlfriend.”

The air seems to flicker with tension.

“Interesting,” Gordy comments. He shifts his attention back to you, drawing the lines of your face with his curious eyes. “Didn’t take you for the type, Y/N. Would’ve stuck around if I’d thought you could handle this life.”

His words dig into you, and you find yourself clenching your teeth.

“You told me you worked in banking.”

“Oh, I do.” He runs his fingers down the front of his designer suit, winking. “The mob is quite a lucrative business.” He pauses, and something a little like guilt flashes over his face. “You know my real name, yeah? Gordy, not Aidan. Sorry about that. I hate the lies, but they’re for protection, y’know.”

You feel almost dizzy as you bring your glass of champagne to your lips and throw it back. The bubbles do little to soothe down your discomfort.

“Wow,” you manage. Your eyes shift up to Tom, who’s looking at Gordy with apprehension in his gaze. You understand why: for the past two months, Tom’s been engaged in a brutal turf-war with Gordy’s family over in the South-East. Men have died, shipments stolen. You know one of Tom’s primary motivations for the meeting tonight was to see if he could reach some kind of agreement with them, but the circumstances were tense enough as it was, before this. 

“Isn’t this fun,” Gordy comments. He’s eyeing up Tom now, a cocky smirk hanging from his plush lower lips. “Well, Thomas, it’d seem you and I have a lot more in common than we’d thought, eh? Maybe we’ll be able to come to an agreement.” 

Your stomach turns, and you feel Tom tighten his grip on your arm. He clears his throat, and when he speaks, his tone is so severe that it knocks the air from your lungs.

“Don’t talk about Y/N like that,” he warns darkly. “We will not be making any deals tonight, Gordy.”

You raise your eyebrows, trying to meet his eyes but finding that Tom ignores your attempts and instead keeps staring straight ahead at your ex-boyfriend, a determined frown hanging from his thin lips.

“Why’s that, Thomas?” He quips.

“I don’t like your attitude, I don’t like your policies, and I don’t like the way you’re looking at my girlfriend.” 

Gordy arches an eyebrow. His hand slips down slowly to rest on his hip, but not before his suit jacket has ridden up just enough to expose the sleek outline of his gun, hanging low in the holster on his belt.

“Is this how it’s going to be, Tom?” He asks, shifting his eyes back to you. “Eh? I bed your bird and suddenly business is off the table?”

You can feel the mood sour, and as much as you’d like to reach out and give Gordy a piece of your mind, you are painfully aware of the circumstances: you are standing in the lion’s den. Despite the meeting of Tom’s creation, you know that there’s no chance in hell that Gordy has walked into the evening alone. To initiate any sort of heated discussion whilst surrounded by London’s most notorious gangsters would be a disastrous move.

“Tom,” you murmur, recognising all too well the signs of anger that curl out across Tom’s face: his clenched jaw, the deep frown marks on his forehead, the tight line of his lips. “Let’s go.”

For a moment you think he’s going to follow you. Tom lets you shrug off his arm and take his hand, and his posture loosens as if he’s about to turn and walk across the room with you. But then, of course, Gordy just has to get in the last word.

“Oh, well, if you’re going, you won’t mind giving me a goodbye kiss, eh, Y/N?” He peers at you with mischievous eyes, his voice lilting lightly. “Just like old times?”

Tom’s moving before you can even attempt to stop him, and you hear a loud crack as his fist sweeps up and collides with Gordy’s nose. The man doubles over, groaning profusely, and your eyes widen as you take in the stream of blood that immediately begins to pour from his face.

“Tom!” You exclaim, your eyes wide and your hands shaking. Your boyfriend grabs at your fingers, squeezing your digits in his.

“He’s not allowed to disrespect you like that,” he mutters darkly. 

“I don’t need you to defend me, I can do it myself,” you hiss back. Your heart pounds in your chest, but you feel the hot lump of anger melt away as Tom looks at you through those brown, golden eyes, his mouth positioned into a guilty smile. 

Two men emerge from the crowd and flank Gordy’s side. You feel a deep swell of fear pool in the pit of your stomach, and instinctively your fingers move down towards your bag for the switch-blade you’d buried alongside your lipstick. But you find your actions stilling as Gordy clears his throat, rights himself and holds up a bloody hand.

“It’s fine,” Gordy tells his guards. He tilts his head in your direction. “I deserved it. No disrespect to the lady.” His beady green eyes move to Tom. “We can finish this discussion some other time, Thomas. Good evening to you both.” 

Before waiting to see if Gordy turns around and walks away, you tighten your grip on Tom’s hand and lead him out of the large conference room. It’s completely silent, and the groups of people seem to part like the sea as you escort your boyfriend from the scene, his lips brushing over the back of his bruised hand as he winces. You don’t say anything, not until you’re safely stowed away in the backseat of a large car, the doors locked, windows tinted, and driver separated by partition.

“Love, look, I’m sorry, but I-”

You cut Tom off by climbing from your seat and meeting his mouth with a deep, needy kiss. Your boyfriend releases a noise of surprise, and his hands shift up to grab at your waist as he pulls you onto his lap eagerly, pressing back against your lips with fervour. It’s messy, and you enjoy running your hands through strands of his unruly hair as he keeps you close, his fingers grasping at every area of your front and sides, mapping you out.

“What did I do to deserve that?” Tom murmurs, his curious eyes meeting yours. “Thought I was in trouble.” His hands cup your cheeks, and you give him a coy smile.

“You shouldn’t have punched him,” you tell him, biting your lip as his thumb brushes over the soft skin of your face. “I’m glad that you did, though. He was a dick.” 

Tom hums. “And also the enemy, love.”

Your eyebrows knit together, and you sit back on Tom’s wide thighs as you sigh. “I can’t believe he runs one of the other mobs,” you mutter. “I can’t believe I’ve dated two mobsters, and I didn’t even know.”

Tom’s smile doesn’t quite stretch to his eyes, but he still manages a short chuckle. “I hate the thought of you being with him,” he admits. His eyes stir with something darker, and his fingers dig into your waist. “I hate the thought of you being with anyone other than me.”

You bite your lower lip as you twirl the short strands at the nape of his neck around your fingers. “It was a long time ago,” you tell him. “Our relationship wasn’t anything of consequence.”

Your boyfriend chuckles, but he’s still got that hungry glint in his eyes. You feel a shiver roll down your spine as his gaze sweeps across your face, his hands shifting up to rest on the curves of your breasts. Your dress is thin, and the neckline meant you had to go without a bra. A soft gasp falls past your lips as Tom’s thumbs brush over the lines of your nipples, which prick in response to his touch.

“Is our relationship of consequence?” Tom asks, his voice dancing. He’s staring at your chest now, his smirk widening as you instinctively push further into his hands, enjoying the feeling of his large, warm palms groping at your breasts.

“Of course.” You swallow and bring your fingers away from his neck. With careful movements, you reach up and pull the straps of your dress from your shoulders, meeting Tom’s gaze as you roll down the front of the garment, exposing your bare chest to him. “I love you.”

Tom seeks out your neck with his lips, and you release a small gasp as he sucks firmly on the base of your throat, his fingers moving over your bare chest. You can feel his mouth pulling the blood to the surface of your skin, but the pain makes you cry out in pleasure as your fingers wrap around his suit jacket and fist at the expensive material hugging his back. He takes his time as he works his way up your neck, sucking and biting, and then soothing the throbbing marks with gentle laps of his tongue and soft, open-mouthed kisses. By the time he reaches your ear, you’re squirming in his lap.

“You are mine.”

His tongue teases the lobe of your ear as his hands move all across your bare back, caressing your skin gently with his palms. The cold metal of his silver rings bites to touch, but you shiver in enjoyment.

“Yours,” you agree. Tom shifts from your neck to look at you straight on, his eyes full of dark, heady lust.

“Mine,” he repeats. His mouth is on yours, and you let him prise apart your lips with his tongue. His hands fist at your hair and he pulls you closer roughly, and your teeth collide as he kisses you sloppily, groaning into your mouth. It’s messy - with noses bashing and his digits tugging at your strands and your lips moving everywhere, slick with spit - but you feel him gather you up in his arms as he holds you. He owns you.

You make-out until the car arrives home, at which point your lips are tender and puffy and your entire body throbs with persistent arousal. Tom’s eager with his affection, but you can feel the underlying pulse of fear coasting through his veins; you want so desperately to placate it: to let him know that he has nothing to worry about - that you are his now, and probably always will be. Tom’s not alone in his discomfort - you, too, feel jilted and unbalanced after running into a ghost from your past. You need Tom desperately, in more ways that one. You need him to look after you - to hold you, be firm with you, and show you your place within your relationship. You need him to be your dom, and you crave the release of submitting to him entirely - with your mind, body and heart.  

“You can do anything you want to me tonight,” you tell him. You’re standing at the foot of the bed, Tom sitting up against the headboard. His suit jacket lays off to the side, tie hanging loose around his neck and his top two buttons undone. You’ve made a mess of his hair, but he looks so fucking pretty with his chestnut curls all tousled and his lips bright pink and inflamed. 

“That’s funny,” Tom comments, eyes glinting as he tilts his head to the side, “I thought I could already do that.” 

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself biting your lower lip as your face fills up with heat.

“Do you want me to take off my dress?” Your fingers toy with the straps, which are all rolled up and uneven thanks to the hastiness in which you’d scrambled from the car.

“No.” Tom sits up, and he pats his thigh invitingly. “Take off your panties and come up here.”

You tease him a little bit, enjoying the way his gaze weighs down your figure. You’re slow to push your dress up to your waist, and you make a show of hooking your index fingers beneath the band to reveal lacy panties. You tug at the material until it falls to pool at your feet, and then you delicately step away from them and approach your boyfriend. You have a sudden thought that it’s as if you are the prey, walking straight into danger, but you welcome it: Tom’s looking at you, his expression hard but excited and his eyes swimming with darkness, and it makes your throat dry up. 

“Such a gorgeous girl, aren’t you?”

The material of Tom’s slacks feels coarse against your centre as you straddle his left thigh. His hands press at your waist, pushing your cunt straight against his leg, and the contact makes you moan softly.

“You look so pretty with your neck all marked up.” Tom presses a light kiss to one of your hickeys, and you gasp as a line of pain ripples out across your skin. “You look like you’re mine.”

“I am.”

“I know.” Tom strokes his hand through your hair, eyes watching you carefully. “I’m just going to remind you.”

“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” You ask, your voice wavering.

He hums, the noise suspended with confidence. “You’ll see.” His hands dig into your waist a little firmer, and he starts to guide your movements. “Work yourself against my thigh, darling. Make a nice wet spot for me.”

His words make you moan, and you’re quick to comply. You recognise the dark glint in his eyes and the layers to his voice - he’s slipping away into his harder, more dominative side, just as you find yourself eager to oblige him. You grind yourself down over his thigh, and his trousers are rough against your flushed centre. The friction burns beautifully. A few moans slip past your lips, and your eyes squeeze shut as his hands press over you, digging into your waist, guiding you. Tom is very much in control, and as the seconds slip past, you give into it.

“Tell me how it feels,” he murmurs, rich voice drifting into your ears. You bite your lip, your hole clenching around nothing as you swivel your hips and feel the pressure to your hot bud.

“Feels really good,” you admit, voice a whimper. “Love it when you let me touch you.” 

Tom takes your chin between two fingers, looking at you with a hard stare. He pulls your face to him, his tongue licking a wide stripe over your lips. As you try to push forward for a kiss, he just moves away, a teasing smirk on his lips. “No,” he says softly, “You’ll take what I give you, and you won’t be greedy about it. I don’t want to have to punish you, babygirl.”

You nod quickly, the movement hurried and messy. It’s getting hard to think of anything other than the fact you’ve made his trousers slick with your arousal. The burn between your legs is gradually swelling to a crescendo.

“Sorry,” you whisper. Your fingers find purchase on his shoulder, and you find your forehead dropping down to rest there too as your breathing hitches.

“Are you close, darling?” He’s very soft and gentle, and it makes you whimper out a small noise of agreement. Tom chuckles, pulling at your hair as he brings your face back up, his hands bearing down on your hips to halt your movements. “Lie down for me, please.”

You scramble from his lap, your centre pulsing as it leaves his thigh. Your eyes catch on the way you’ve left a large, wet mark on his trousers, and you watch with wide eyes as Tom stands from the bed. He walks around to the foot of the mattress, his figure commanding your complete attention. 

“I’ve been thinking about what I’d like to do to you,” he says, speaking quietly. His nimble fingers work down the buttons of his shirt, popping them quickly. Once his shirt is discarded, Tom works on his slacks. As the metallic sounds of his belt clicking fill the air, he smirks at you. “Are you going to be good for me?”

“Yes,” you say immediately. You squeal as Tom grabs at your ankles and pulls you to the edge of the bed. He kneels on the floor, hauling you closer until your thighs are over his shoulders and his face is near your heat. Your dress scrunches up at your waist, and you whimper as his hands press your legs apart. “I’ll always be good for you.”

“Is that right?” Tom asks, index finger running lightly over the inside of one of your thighs. He looks up at you, eyes hooded and blown wide with lust.

“Yes.”

“Prove it to me,” he instructs. “If you think you’re about to cum, you need to tell me.” Tom’s gaze darkens. “If you disobey me, you won’t enjoy what happens.” With tender lips, he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, looking at you with a gentle smile. When he speaks again, his voice is lighter, “Is this okay, darling?”

You nod.

“Words.”

As two of Tom’s fingers spread your puffy outer lips, you stammer out a broken, “Yes, I understand.”

“Good girl.”

He dives in quickly, and the press of his warm tongue against your pulsing pussy makes you cry out. You’re already feeling hot and bothered from the time you spent rutting against the coarse material of his trousers, and the pressure soothes you. He’s too far away to touch, so you curl your hands into fists and pull at the silky bed linen, eyelids fluttering shut as his tongue caresses you, over and over.

Tom makes out sloppily with your cunt, two of his slender fingers pulling up to push into your heat. He fills you easily, taking the edge off your desire as his tongue flicks over your clit, unrelenting, hard. He’s eager for it, holding nothing back as he coaxes you quickly towards a high, moaning and grunting into your centre. The vibrations drive you mad, and your mind spins off as he holds you in place.

“S-Shit,” you stammer, back arching. As much as you don’t want to say it, Tom’s already pushing you towards climax. As he curls his slender digits up against you, his tips brush against your g-spot, and it has you seeing stars. “I’m gonna cum, Tom.”

All movements stop. Tom’s mouth pulls back from your cunt, and his fingers still inside you. Your walls clench around him, but he relaxes them, halting all stimulation of your sensitive pussy as you whimper.

“Good,” he coos. Your eyes seek him out, and you moan as you see his chin slick with your juices. “You taste divine, sweetheart.” His free hand strokes over your inner thigh, calming you with gentle circles and caresses. “We’ll do this a few more times, I think. I want you dripping onto the sheets. I want you to forget about everything apart from me, and how desperate you are for me.” His teeth nip at your thigh, and you squirm.

True to his word, Tom works you up, over and over again. Each time he brings you to the edge of a high, he pulls back at the last moment, leaving you teetering on the edge for a painful second before your climax goes ebbing away from your reach. The time it takes to build up to each edge narrows considerably with each completion, and you find yourself growing desperate for more. Your skin is hot and prickles, your forehead breaking into a sweat. The muscles in your legs ache from the exertion of almost spasming into climax, time and time again, and your throat hurts from your eager, desperate moans. He’s a demon, his deep brown eyes watching you closely, sharp ears picking up each noise and sound, and he seems intent on drawing this out for as long as possible.

“I think that’s enough,” Tom finally says. Your sigh of relief is so loud and pronounced that it makes him chuckle. “What, you didn’t like that?” His hand comes down over your inner thigh, slapping softly. As the pain ripples across your skin, you whimper. “Don’t lie to me, angel. I know you love it when I’ve got my head between your legs.” His large hands slip under your thighs, and he pushes you up the bed, slipping up over you. With his body suspended above you and a hand either side of your head, Tom raises his eyebrows. “Open,” he instructs.

What he does next makes your eyes roll back. You open your mouth immediately, and he chuckles darkly. One hand holds your jaw, and you watch as Tom purses his lips, eyes you intently, and then spits directly into your mouth. The taste of your cunt spreads out across your tongue, and your hole clenches around nothing as you moan loudly.

“Swallow,” he says. You close your mouth and do just that, and then you stick out your tongue for him to see. “Good,” he coos. Tom kisses you suddenly, the action hard as he sucks on your tongue. When he pulls back, he kisses your nose. “Pretty girl, aren’t you? My pretty girl.”

His lips skate all across your face, dusting you in warm kisses of reward. 

“I love you,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. The gratitude you feel towards him for knowing exactly what you need is boundless, consuming. 

“And I love you.” You share a tender moment of understanding as Tom brushes his hand over your face, and in the look you exchange, you know that he feels as you do: appreciation towards your partner, for reading you and obliging you. He hums softly, slipping away from you after a final kiss to pull off his boxers. “Take off your dress for me, love. Give me a show.”

You’re shaky on your feet, but you manage to stand in front of the bed. Tom sits up against the headboard, working his hand over his erect length as he watches you. You tease him, just like you know he enjoys, taking your time as you roll the sleeves down and unzip the back. The material goes tumbling to the floor, pooling at your feet, and then you’re entirely naked - wearing only his hickeys, and his spit between your legs. 

“Beautiful,” he says, eyes glinting. “You’re an angel, aren’t you?” When you shrug bashfully, he nods. “My angel. C’mere.” You move to him, but he stops you before you can reach for his cock. “I want you to lie down here and show me how you get off.”

“But I want--” 

He shuts you up with a hard stare. “Do you really want to finish that sentence?” When you’re quiet, he hums. You can’t stop staring at the way his hands slide over his length. Your mouth waters at the thought of letting your tongue wander over his leaking tip, collecting the beads of salty precum. “Do this for me, and then I’ll let you have what you want.”

You part your legs, your thighs aching. As you dip your hand between your legs, you whimper to feel your slick mixed with Tom’s spit. Your skin is soaked, and as you nimbly press two fingers into your hole, you find it looser, already stretched from Tom’s exploration earlier. You can feel his eyes on you, watching your hand move as you slowly fuck yourself with your fingers, getting pleasure from the knuckle of your thumb as it brushes up against your clit.

As you begin to whimper, Tom swoops in with his final lesson of the evening. He reaches down, wrapping his hand around yours, guiding your movements. He sets the pace and the angle, speeding up your thrusts. The sound of your wetness sloshing around makes you cry out loudly as he edges you perfectly, like he knows your body better than you. 

“You see this,” he mutters, voice husky. “I give you pleasure. It doesn’t matter if it’s my tongue in your cunt, or my fingers, or my cock. This cunt?” He curls your fingers, and they brush up against your g-spot, making you cry out. “This cunt is mine. You are mine.”

You almost lose it right there, the deep husky tones of his dominant voice sending you spinning, but then Tom pulls away. As your walls flutter weakly around nothing, he pats at your hip.

“Hands and knees, darling.”

Your arms shake as you roll over, adopting the position. Again, Tom stands at the foot of the bed, pulling you back until you’re spread open for him. You feel his cock, dragging through your slick folds, teasing your tender clit until your hips jerk forwards. Your bud aches almost painfully, your body pulled tight with an overwhelming need to climax.

“Please,” you beg desperately, dropping your head between your arms. “Please, please.”

Tom’s hand smooths over the curve of your ass, silver ring biting coolly against you, “Does my darling want to feel my cock?” 

“Yes, please.”

“Hmm.” Easily, he slips the tip of his cock past your entrance. “I suppose you deserve it,” he teases. “Been such a good little slut for me, haven’t you?”

When Tom finally fucks into you, the moan you release is almost pornographic. He’s been teasing you, over and over, drawing you close to orgasm only to jerk it away from you each time, but now that he’s got his length buried up to the hilt inside you, you know it’s been worth it. Nothing compares to the relief you feel as you realise you’ll be allowed to finish soon, your walls squeezing his cock. 

The pace is punishing, and everything blurs together. His hands on your hips, holding you in place, pulling you back rhythmically to meet with his thrusts. As his slick cock pounds into you over and over, his flushed tip nudges against your g-spot. The stimulation makes your eyes tear up, and a few hot tears skate across your cheeks as you whimper and cling to the sheets.

“Fuck, princess, you’re fucking perfect for me, aren’t you?” A hand falls over your bum, and you moan. “So tight and warm. Feels so snug around me, lovie. So perfect.” Tom’s voice comes out firm, but it wavers, and you can imagine the grimace of pleasure on his face. “Always take me so well.” His hand moves to the top of your back, and he pushes you into the bed. Your face buries into the sheets as the angle adjusts, and you gasp loudly as the adjustment means he can rail you harder. 

“S-Shit,” you moan. “Love your cock, Tommy. Pl-Please.”

“What do you need?”

You whimper, the power of his thrusts fucking you further into the mattress. “W’nna cum.”

“You can play with your clit then.”

Tears fly down your cheeks, and it feels overwhelming as you nudge a hand between your legs to fondle your bud. Tom’s hands hold your hips, keeping you nice and open for him, and you’re glad for the heavy pressure on your skin. It keeps you anchored down.

“Are you close?” He asks, grunting heavily as he feels your walls squeeze him.

“Yes.”

“I think you deserve to cum, don’t you?” He pauses briefly, cursing lowly, pace faltering. “Let go, darling. Let me feel you squeezing me. I want to feel what I do to you.”

The action of his deep, fast thrusts mixes with your fingers on your clit, and you cum with a  loud, quivering scream. Tom holds you down, fucking into you as you spasm and writhe in the sheets, and after a few, mind-numbing moments of pleasure, you feel him follow you with a grunt. His hot speed paints your walls, his noises of heady enjoyment mixing with yours, and it just prolongs your climax.

When you calm down, Tom carefully pulls out from you. You whimper at the loss, feeling a little out of it as he turns you over, pushes you up into the centre of the bed and pulls you on top of him. Your head settles in the crook of his neck, his hands palming over your back as he kisses the top of your head, over and over again.

“So good for me,” he mumbles. Your legs tangle together. You can feel his cum spilling from your hole, dripping down onto him, but he doesn’t seem to care. “My best girl. I love you so much.” 

You hum quietly, rubbing your hand over the top of his arm as you whimper. “Love you too,” you manage, voice hoarse. 

Tom’s hands cup your face, and he gently coaxes you up until he can meet with your eyes. His fingers brush away the teary residue from your cheeks, and he kisses you softly.

“Mine,” he mumbles against you, smiling into your lips as you hum in agreement. One of your hands folds into his curls, and you feel your heart stirring contentedly in your chest.

“Yours.”

---------

lol. hope you enjoyyyyed :) 

I’m intending to do some mob!Tom blurbs next week for mob!Monday, so if you have any concepts you’d like to see, please send them to my ask box!

ask box is open for your thoughts!! I’m dying to know what you think of this... 👀

masterlist linked in bio!

[isolemnlyswearpevensie]

A Moment Apart | Caspian x Reader

Warnings: Nothing

Time/Era: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: After Y/N gets swept to Narnia with her cousins, she meets a certain someone who piques her interest. Goodbyes are hard, but this one seems more like a “see you later.”

Request: Hi ! I just got back home and read your first Caspian one shot, and let me tell you : i LOVE your writing so much!! So im just going to request another caspian os because i love him so much ahah. Can you write something where the reader first meets him during VOTD and she has to go back on Earth then some times after he ends up in our world and meet the reader again? Take care 💕💕

A/N: Thank you so much for such a sweet compliment! If you love Caspian, saddle up because I have 4 more requests for him coming after this one. Thanks for requesting and enjoy! Please give me feedback. I was thinking of doing a part 2 for this, so tell me whatcha think about that idea! :) Also, I was listening to A Moment Apart by ODESZA when writing, so that’s sort of the vibe of this imagine~

Part 2 | masterlist | read on ao3

Being Y/N Scrubb was about as fun as it sounded. Her parents very obviously favored her little brother, Eustace, and didn’t have a care about what she did. Y/N was much older than Eustace anyway, so they weren’t exactly friends either. The only thing that was getting her through the long, boring days was the fact that two of her cousins had come to stay with them. 

Y/N’s cousins, Lucy and Edmund, were closer to Y/N’s age and much more tolerable. Instead of acting as if they were superior due to having an “immense vocabulary,” they were kind and funny. They would actually listen to Y/N and treat her like an equal. Y/N hated being treated as an inferior by an eleven-year-old. 

“How are you even related to that?” Edmund asked one afternoon. He had been the victim of Eustace’s “intellectual insults” a mere five minutes before. 

“I could ask you the same thing.”

~

“Is the water...moving?” Y/N asked, gazing at the painting next to her cousins. Eustace comes in and sits on the bed. 

“What rubbish! That’s what happens when you read-”

“Can you shut your mouth for just five seconds, please?” Y/N turns around and glares at her brother before turning back to the painting. She continues to stare, taking in every detail of the painting. The magnificent blues and greens swirled together to depict a wonderful ocean scene. The boat was just as breathtaking; it had a huge mast adorning a brightly colored sail and what looked like a dragon carved into the bow. It didn’t take long before Edmund and Eustace started fighting. 

There was something about the painting that screams adventure. Whether that be the vivid imagery or the bright colors, Y/N didn’t know, but she wished that she could be on the boat. Maybe then she could get away from Eustace and his constant chatter. 

As if by magic, water started to drip from the corner of the painting. 

“Lu? Do you see that?” Y/N asked as the trickle turned into a constant stream. The water was getting all over the carpet; Y/N couldn’t help but imagine what her mother would say. 

“Edmund! Look!” Lucy screeched, grabbing the attention of her older brother. The painting now had water streaming from every edge of its frame and the water was starting to pool. The bedroom flooded in record time and the four were pushed under. Furniture began to float around them and they had to dodge chairs in order to not get impaled. Y/N had never been the quickest swimmer, resulting in the leg of a chair clipping her arm. 

The need for air overpowered the pain of my arm so she fought to reach the top of the water. When all four of their heads surfaced, they were no longer in the small room, but in the middle of the ocean. 

“What’s happening?!” Y/N screamed at her companions. 

“Swim!!” Was Lucy’s only response. That was when Y/N noticed the huge boat coming straight for them. “Hurry!” Y/N kicked her legs as hard as she could, but the current was strong. 

“Stop!” A hand wrapped around her ankle and pulled her back. “You’re safe now! Stop swimming!’

“Edmund, it’s Caspian!” She recognized that voice to be Lucy’s. “We’re in Narnia!”

Another voice answered her. “You’re in Narnia!”

The voice was deep and strong, laced with a thick accent. It was also slightly scratchy but in the best way. Y/N had the fleeting thought that she wanted to hear it again, and again, and again. 

~

Y/N was covered in a plush towel as soon as she was brought on board. The boat deck was riddled with things and creatures, most of which couldn’t care less about her presence. She scanned the deck for any sign of her cousins; Edmund and Lucy were talking animatedly with a tall gentleman. He was wet, probably one of their rescuers, and his white shirt was clinging to his torso. The stranger’s hair was also sopping wet, pushed to the side and dripping into his eyes. 

“Edmund!” She called out desperately. He looked over and the three walk over. 

“And who might this be?” The handsome stranger asks, looking down at Y/N. He was quite a bit taller than her. Y/N couldn’t bring herself to speak; his hair had fallen to either side of his face and it created a perfect frame around his eyes. His warm, chocolate brown eyes were wrinkled at the corners due to his grin. 

“This is our other cousin, Y/N,” Edmund spoke for Y/N, an amused look on his face. 

The man takes a hold of Y/N’s hand and brings it to his lips. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, my beautiful Y/N. My name is Caspian.” He kissed her knuckles and released his grip. His eyes followed the line of her arm and landed on her injury. 

“Oh, you’re bleeding,” His eyes burned into Y/N’s skin. 

She squirmed under his gaze. “Oh, uh, yeah. A chair hit me.”

“A chair? Hit you?” He crossed his arms and put his weight on one leg. This made his hip jut out slightly and his coat flair. 

The conversation Y/N and Caspian were having seemed to really amuse Lucy and Edmund. They kept sharing knowing glances at each other. Y/N wished she knew what they were thinking. 

“No matter, come with me. I’ll patch you up. We can’t have you bleeding all over my deck, now can we?” He turns on his heel and begins to walk towards the flight of stairs behind him. Y/N looks to Lucy for help. 

“Follow him,” She mouths, a grin taking up her entire face. Y/N bites the inside of her cheek and follows. 

Caspian led the Y/N into a large bedroom that was lit by a wall of windows. There were various different paintings on the walls, a full-sized wardrobe, a desk, and a door leading to a balcony. Y/N came to the conclusion that this was Caspian’s living quarters. Caspian pulled the wooden chair from the desk out and twisted it around. 

“Here, sit,” He motioned his hand towards it. Y/N laid her towel down on the seat and sat down. Her wound had left a large trail of blood down her arm and she fought the urge to wipe it with her hand. Caspian opened one of the desk drawers and pulled out disinfectant and a bandage. 

“Give me your arm,” He said, the words tumbling out of his mouth as he kneeled in front of the chair. He delicately cradled her arm in her hands and examined her cut. The skin of his hand was soft and gentle as it handled Y/N’s forearm. Taking a handkerchief out of his pocket, he tenderly cleaned the blood from her wound. 

“You are very pretty,” He almost purred. Y/N’s stomach burst into butterflies. 

“O-oh, thank you.” She stuttered in response, making him chuckle under his breath. 

He sprayed the disinfectant and Y/N’s body reacted naturally. 

“Ow! That hurt,” Y/N shrieked, pulling her arm back and almost out of his grip. 

“I know, I apologize. But it is necessary, you don’t want an infection.” Caspian pulled Y/N’s arm closer towards him and covered it in a bandage. 

“There you go, as good as new.” His hands trailed down her arm and grasped hers, bringing it to his mouth again. He kissed her knuckles twice then stood up. 

~

In the following months, Y/N and Caspian got very close. He taught her everything about Narnia and all about her cousin’s accomplishments. It was hard to believe at first, but once she saw Caspian and Edmund spar, she believed it. She loved watching Caspian spar; his face always scrunched as he focused and some of the sounds he makes. Mercy, the sounds he makes. 

“I guess this is it, then.” Y/N says, looking up into the eyes of the man she had become to love. 

“I will find you again, my love.” He said, taking a step closer to Y/N. 

“How? Cas, I probably won’t be able to come to Narnia again,” She sniffled. 

“I’ll find a way, I promise.”

Caspian leaned down and pressed a lasting kiss on Y/N’s lips. 

“Goodbye, Y/N. Until I see you again.”

~

Life was boring outside of Narnia. About a month passed since the crew had arrived back home, and none of them have really left the house. Y/N spent most of her time people watching from the window. 

“I wonder what Caspian is doing right now,” Y/N thinks out loud, talking to no one in particular. 

“Probably fighting someone or eating or something. That’s pretty much all he does,” Edmund responds. 

“That is not all he does!” 

“Oh right, he kisses you too. But you’re not there so that isn’t really an option for him.” Edmund grins wickedly and turns back to his book. 

“Ed! That’s not funny!” Y/N frowned. She hated thinking about her favorite boy being sad. Especially because of her.

“I thought it was funny,” He responded. Asshole. 

“Luce, can I go to the store with you? I can’t stand being in this house a moment longer.” Y/N stood up and looked down at the street. It was full of people going about their business. An old man sat upon a bench eating a banana. 

“I’m not sure you would really want to. You might see that boy.” That was another thing Y/N hated about being at home. The last time she went to the market with Lucy, this boy wouldn’t stop hitting on her. He was tall, blonde, and had bright blue glasses. He was conventionally attractive, but there was only one boy on Y/N’s mind. 

“Ack, you’re right. Never mind.” Looking back down at the city below, she saw a strange figure walking down the road. He was wearing a long poofy shirt and black trousers. He looked sort of like a pirate. The fact that he had long hair only added to the pirate look, as did his long boots. He reminded her of Caspian. She sighed and turned her head towards Edmund. 

“Eddie, come look at this guy. He looks exactly like Caspian.”

Edmund groaned and stood up, his only intention was to entertain his cousin. He knew that she was just trying to get over the guy, no matter how annoying it was. He looked down at the stranger and had to do a double-take. 

“Um, Y/N, don’t freak out, but I think that is Caspian.”

[shoezuki]

This is a post on the cheating accusations around dream mostly surrounding his response video.

If you don’t want to see this or any of these posts then blacklist the tag #discourse

SO I’ve been doing a lot of digging into what dream has said in his response to Geosquare’s original video and report, which was compiled and conducted by the Minecraft Java mods on speedrun.com. 

I won’t talk about that original report in detail, but basically: the mods came to the conclusion that Dream had a 1 in 7.5 trillion chance of getting the pearl bartering rates and the blaze drop odds that he did within the 6 streams he did. As in, someone would need that luck to replicate what dream got. Therefore, he cheated. 

I’m going to put this into a sort of ‘point form’ in according to topic, attempting to put it in chronological order.

Dream’s Initial Tweets

Ok so first like. these are bad. these tweets are what he said (on twitter, excluding in the speedrunning discord) directly after the video was Uploaded to Geo’s channel. 

worth noting he did apologize later, although i wanted to talk about these two instances so i felt the need to include it. 

there’s a lot of interesting wording in the apology tweet itself too. I personally find that when he apologizes he tends to still be very subtextually angry in them with the tone, but more specifically. where he says ‘although i have reason to be upset’, that’s kinda weak and really unneeded. Alongside the ‘intense criticism’, it reads as him trying to say he’s still in the right. kind of like “im sorry i was rude even though I had reason to be rude’. Its an apology sure but he’s not saying sorry for how he really reacted; its justified to him.

Dream’s Response Video

Dream posted a response on his side channel DreamXD on the 22nd, along with the report he had a supposed astrophysicist conduct. I’m going to talk about the report separately from the video for reasons I’ll explain. 

Frankly, the video doesn’t really summarize or explain the report in a meaningful way. At most, it takes some points from it but tends to twist the numbers around, misunderstand the probability and math, and also what the report itself concludes. 

Essentially, dream’s video insists that the numbers found by the mods are wrong and therefore he didn’t cheat at all, yet the report concludes that the numbers found by the mods weren’t entirely accurate, however they’re still extremely unlikely. This is also all under the assumption that the report is entirely correct (ill say how its not next)

His first point is that only his 1.16 run (that was at 5th place two months ago, would have now been 16th) was deemed cheated. This is true; the mods have said that he isnt banned outright and theres no reason to question the legitimacy of his 1.15 runs. 

He also concludes that Geo’s statement that Dream didn’t cooperate with them, and that he deleted 1.16 mod folders, was false. This one is a little more complicated. It could more be chalked up to a miscommunication, although it’s relevant. Geosquare posted screenshots of the specific conversation they had:

Essentially it wasn’t entirely clear, i can understand how geo and the mods interpreted it in such a way. Altho April added in a quote retweet thread that dream didn’t supply the folder she asked for, so he didn’t supply everything they asked for like he states in the video

Essentially: yeah, misleading and weird on both ends. I dont think this is really anything quantifiable, although dream talked about this in the video heavily. 

Out of this though, Geo DID correct himself in the description of the mods’ video. Dream shows this in his own response, but it crops out some of what geo says. here’s from dream’s video

that Update 2 is where he corrects himself. literally why the fuck would you crop it like this and put it in the video i mean this looks so weird and genuinely doesnt provide anything. Here’s what geo actually said

Dream specifically cut it before the line where geo mentions how he said he deleted his specific 1.16 speedrun profile. This one is just so dumb to me. I’d say ‘why not include that’ but either i feel its a) so there’s no potential for people to say what he had actually said could be interpreted otherwise easily or b) doesnt want people to know he got so upset he deleted files (ego wise yknow). Again, I dont think this is definitive of anything but god. it feels scummy lmao

The Video: Incorrect Representation of His Own Report

Dream straight up doesnt present the report’s numbers properly. In fact it makes the entirety of his visuals forfeit, i.e. the gold block analogy that goes on for like 20 minutes. 

The mods said his luck was 1/7.5 trillion. Dream’s report says its 1/10 million (with the addition of 5 other streams) or 1/100 million (only the 6 streams).

I’ll only consider the 1/10 mil odds, since its all dream really brings up. but Basically; there’s not much difference between 1/10 million and 1/7.5 trillion. 

Dream says that the difference is 7.5 trillion minus 10 million, aka 7.4999 trillion. This is what his entire visual with the gold blocks is based on. This is absolutely incorrect, i cant stress that enough. 

You can’t find the difference of fractions by subtracting only the denominators. Like. this is elementary school math. it just doesnt work. 

It’d actually be calculated as: (1/10 000 000) - (1/7 500 000 000 000) = (74999/7 500 000 000 000)

If the mods are wrong, they’re only wrong by 749999/7.5 trillion. that’s literally only  0.000000099999866666667. 

Dream no doubt saw the numbers, considered 10 million vs. 7.5 trillion, and used these big numbers to hold his own point. PROBABILITY DOESNT WORK LIKE THAT. I really think he was just taking advantage of the seemingly big numbers here and wrote it out in a way that favoured him. The gold block analogy in the video played throughout the entire video practically, jokes were made on it, and he made a point of it being ‘so big the game crashed’. 

It’s just plain wrong. even so a difference in the odds doesnt prove shit. He’s downplaying his own odds that he found too. 1/10 million isnt a small number. Even though the legitimacy of that calculation is in question, it is still significant enough to proclaim he cheated. 

Some quick points before I move onto the report; these aren’t as significant in my eyes but it adds to the picture

there’s been criticism of his joking manor throughout the entire video, very specifically the Bill Nye joke. Considering he doesnt actually have a name to provide for his astrophysicist, this joke doesnt feel right

the mod he had a voice clip from (willz) even believes that he cheated and has agreed with the mod team the whole time. 

Dream never has a name for the mod who is apparently on his side (more understandable), the minecraft developer he quoted, or the astrophysicist (most damning)

Dream states that fabric is used by most speedrunners which is true, but fabric and fabric API are different; dream also had the latter installed. my knowledge of how theyre different is limited, all i really know is the API is what can enable editing of the code while fabric is more a modloader. im not entirely sure on this

Dream has said at the end of the video that all funds will go to the mod team so they can make a client that will regulate cheaters. this has been noted as feeling manipulative or like a ‘bribe’, but it definitely puts the mods in a bad position. 

either they accept it and look like they ‘gave in’ to dream and therefore acknowledge him in the right

they deny it and look selfish/taking dream’s kindness for granted

geo said they would insist it goes to a charity instead

Dream constantly disregards the mods as young, inexperienced, ‘just volunteers’ etcetcetc, despite the fact that theyre analysis has been discussed by people with confirmed PhDs without much criticism

Dream’s Report

The report itself is extremely interesting, in that it’s very questionable, but even so it doesn’t come to the conclusion that dream didn’t cheat. The tone between the video and the report is drastically different. 

This is from the “3. What are the goals of this document?” section:

It essentially says this isnt intended, from the very beginning, to completely exonerate dream of cheating. Also note that the author says the mods’ report was mostly correct. 

This is at the end of “9 Conclussions”:

It does notably say cheating isnt the only explanation, but it doesnt actually go as far to say that it’s not possible that he cheated. 

But this can be argued to not matter if we consider the validity of the report as a whole

Dream’s Report: Criticisms

Possibly the first and most known debunking of the report is by u/mfb on reddit, although there’s been much more such as this programmer criticizing the code provided at the end of the report (partially due to how the author of it stated that piglins barter 4-7 pearls, which is incorrect: it’s 4-8), Andrew Gelman, an actual statistician professor from harvard, commented on the original mods’ report as ‘impressive’ while Dream’s report is being regarded as something funny in the comments, and even analysis of dream’s behaviours and his argument by a law student

But what u/mfb posted is what i’ll focus on. Some background into the user; he’s a particle physicist, is moderator in subreddits like r/cosmology and r/astrophysics, he’s regarded as a reliable source on r/askscience and r/askreddit. Basically, multiple other people have vouched for him and before all this he had many posts in these fields. 

that’s already better than the unnamed astrophysicist. 

The post is better speaking for itself but here is a few exerpts from it;

Essentially, the report’s methods are debunked by u/mfb-, alongside that a moderator of r/statistics regarded the report as ‘nonsensical in its application of statistics’ and linked to u/mfb-’s comment. 

i’m going to end this here. Partially because severe backpain or whatever,.

but I want to say at this point its practically definitive that dream cheated, that he lied to us, and that he continues to do so. Much more could be said on his video such as his tone, intentions, the overt emphasis on the ‘biases’ of the mods. 

I havent even mentioned that the ‘astrophysicist’ themself may be a scam; they are sourced from a website that is extremely sketchy, has no names attached to it, and was created less than a year ago (with practically no traffic on it until maybe a month ago). 

But i hope this is coherent. I have interest in this so if theres questions im always open. 

[nat-20s]

ooh can i have some reluctantly soft hcs about jon pre s1-s2? (maybe even some about pride??)

okay so we gettin REAL soft tonight babes!

-so for pride Sasha and Tim have officially formed the Taking Martin To His First Pride Team and all three of them spend like a week going back and forth on whether or not to invite Jon bc a: he’s a bit surly and b: he might?? be the Token Cishet? (he’s neither, but they don’t know that.) and while a token cishet can be supportive of his friends at pride they also don’t know if they?? qualify as his friends??

-There’s a conversation that basically goes like

Tim: im sure even as a straight guy he’d like to at least be invited. Wait. Is Jon straight? Do we know?

Sasha: I dunno. I get a Vibe from him that says otherwise

Tim: really??? but he’s not receptive to my charms???

Sasha: believe it or not Tim not being attracted to you specifically is not a conclusive indication of heterosexuality.

Tim: sources???

Martin: guys he’s..probably straight. even ignoring just, god, statistical probability, i kind of?? want to?? hold his hand???

Sasha: and that means???

Martin: i pretty much only ever get crushes on deeply unavailable men. Hence why Tim does not make me swoon.

Tim: now that just sounds like a challenge. ALSO I’m pretty sure Jon counts as deeply unavailable regardless of whether or not he’s straight. Not exactly the most open person around. 

Sasha: i say we invite him anyway! if he’s shitty about it I’ll make sure his email doesn’t work right for a month! 

Tim: Sasha you terrify me. I love you.

Sasha: 😘

So Tim casually knocks on Jon’s door and is like “hey boss we’re going to pride this weekend would you like to come with?” and Jon goes through a whole Face Journey because while, at this point, he Knows he’s trans, is pretty?? sure?? he’s bi, and is aware of being ace but not of like the word or that other people are Like That, pride is still..a lot. Especially when he’s not out to any of them. Reluctantly he ends up agreeing to come along and actually DOES and it’s good? it’s weird for him but it’s nice. It’s really nice and it feels safe and joyful in a way that he’s not used to. He’s doesn’t pick up any merch but the fact that it exists, that there’s people like him out here and living life? it’s lovely to watch. Doubly so to see his coworkers all having a blast. It’s not like any of the other three are particularly dour at work, but here? the three of them THRIVE.

non pride related

-Before he is just so stressed all the time constantly Jon used to sing to himself quite a lot! You can pry “Jon is a good singer” from my cold dead hands. before he becomes Boss Man he’s willing to keep singing even when a coworker walks in and sasha in particular is like woah! that sounds really nice! After shit goes down he kind of stop singing, which sucks because it’s something he really enjoys but it just. Doesn’t come out anymore. Until Scotland at least. Martin is extremely taken with it. 

-There’s a point where Jon walks in on Tim desperately trying not to fuck up the Other Eye when it comes to putting on eyeliner and after about 7 minutes of struggling because it’s just one of those days Jon is like “jesus christ”, grabs Tim’s face, and applies a FLAWLESS, symmetrical cat eye in like .2 seconds. Tim is DELIGHTEDLY like “Jon what the fuck??? :DDD” and Jon is like “i went to college” even though it explains NOTHING and Martin, who’s been watching this exchange the entire time, is a Touch Starved Gay Icon with the World’s Dumbest Crush who thinks nothing but “jon. Hands. Face.” before saying “I Would Also Like Eyeliner” and Jon is like GROANS you would wouldnt you and then does it anyway. Jon doesn’t realize he cataloged the feeling of martin’s face under his hands until like. two years and one soppy dream later

-Jon establishes himself as a clothing thief in season 1 while martin is staying in the archive. one day he accidentally takes Martin’s hoodie and DOESN’T even notice even though it’s a: blatantly not the cardigan of the same color he thought he was grabbing and b: oversized on him. Martin sees him and is like “is that?? my hoodie??” and that’s when jon finally looks at what he’s wearing and just replies, “Yes.” Martin asks, “Can I..have it back” and since Jon is Pissy and Sleep Deprived and generally not in his right senses and also his animal hindbrain is like hhhg hoodie smell good he flatly responds, “No.” And Martin finds it a very confusing mix of deeply annoying and deeply endearing. 

-other items jon has stolen:

one of roises big ol hair clips

a scarf of sasha’s

a pair of Tim’s pajama pants?? how did he even get those???

Like half of Georgies wardrobe at some point or another

-Before he became archivist, he had a favorite little reading nook in the institute. It was private and sunny and quiet and HIS and he spent many a lunch there without anyone knowing, back when he got to read for fun 

-for all the shit that he tries to give Martin about letting a dog into the institute, over the course of his career there he has temporarily snuck in three different stray cats and also a very sad looking hedgehog because he’s a bleeding heart with the rest of em

-he’s not the best baker but when he DOES manage to make something really well, he would almost always bring it into work to share, with a note listing ingredients and a “feel free to eat” note, but absolutely making sure no one knows it was him that dropped it off. Sasha recognizes his hand writing every time but they have a silent agreement that he always sneaks her the best of the batch and she doesn’t say anything

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

July 27, 2021

Heather Cox Richardson

This morning, the House Select Committee to Investigate the January 6th Attack on the United States Capitol began its hearings with testimony from two Capitol Police officers and two Metropolitan Police officers.

After Representatives Bennie Thompson (D-MS) and Liz Cheney (R-WY) opened the hearing, Sergeant Aquilino Gonell and and Officer Harry Dunn of the Capitol Police, and Officer Michael Fanone and Officer Daniel Hodges of the Metropolitan Police, recounted hand-to-hand combat against rioters who were looking to stop the election of Democrat Joe Biden and kill elected officials whom they thought were standing in the way of Trump’s reelection. They gouged eyes, sprayed chemicals, shouted the n-word, and told the officers they were going to die. They said: “Trump sent us.”

Lawmakers questioning the officers had them walk the members through horrific video footage taken from the officers’ body cameras. The officers said that one of the hardest parts of the insurrection for them was hearing the very people whose lives they had defended deny the horror of that day. They called the rioters terrorists who were engaged in a coup attempt, and called the indifference of lawmakers to those who had protected them “disgraceful.” “I feel like I went to hell and back to protect them and the people in this room,” Fanone said. “But too many are now telling me that hell doesn’t exist, or that hell wasn’t actually that bad.”

The officers indicated they thought that Trump was responsible for the riot. When asked if Trump was correct that it was “a loving crowd,” Gonell responded: “To me, it’s insulting, just demoralizing because of everything that we did to prevent everyone in the Capitol from getting hurt…. And what he was doing, instead of sending the military, instead of sending the support or telling his people, his supporters, to stop this nonsense, he begged them to continue fighting.” The officers asked the committee to make sure it did a thorough investigation. “There was an attack carried out on January 6, and a hit man sent them,” Dunn testified. “I want you to get to the bottom of that.”  

The Republicans on the committee, Representatives Adam Kinzinger (IL) and Liz Cheney (WY) pushed back on Republican claims that the committee is partisan.

“Like most Americans, I’m frustrated that six months after a deadly insurrection breached the United States Capitol for several hours on live television, we still don’t know exactly what happened,” Kinzinger said. “Why? Because many in my party have treated this as just another partisan fight. It’s toxic and it’s a disservice to the officers and their families, to the staff and the employees in the Capitol complex, to the American people who deserve the truth, and to those generations before us who went to war to defend self-governance.”

Kinzinger rejected the Republican argument that the committee should investigate the Black Lives Matter protests of summer 2020, saying that he had been concerned about those protests but they were entirely different from the events of January 6: they did not threaten democracy. “There is a difference between breaking the law and rejecting the rule of law,” Kinzinger observed. (Research shows that more than 96% of the BLM protests had no violence or property damage.)

The officers and lawmakers both spoke eloquently of their determination to defend democracy. Sergeant Gonell, a U.S. Army veteran of the Iraq War who emigrated from the Dominican Republic, said: "As an immigrant to the United States, I am especially proud to have defended the U.S. Constitution and our democracy on January 6.” Adam Schiff (D-CA) added: “If we’re no longer committed to a peaceful transfer of power after elections if our side doesn’t win, then God help us. If we deem elections illegitimate merely because they didn’t go our way rather than trying to do better the next time, then God help us.”

Cheney said: “Until January 6th, we were proof positive for the world that a nation conceived in liberty could long endure. But now, January 6th threatens our most sacred legacy. The question for every one of us who serves in Congress, for every elected official across this great nation, indeed, for every American is this: Will we adhere to the rule of law? Will we respect the rulings of our courts? Will we preserve the peaceful transition of power? Or will we be so blinded by partisanship that we throw away the miracle of America? Do we hate our political adversaries more than we love our country and revere our Constitution?”

House Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy (R-CA) and Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell (R-KY) both said they had been too busy to watch the hearing. But the second-ranking Republican in the Senate, John Thune of South Dakota, called the officers heroes and said: “We should listen to what they have to say.”

Republicans are somewhat desperately trying to change the subject in such a way that it will hurt Democrats. Shortly before the hearing started, McCarthy House Republican conference chair Elise Stefanik (R-NY), who was elected to that position after the conference tossed Liz Cheney for her refusal to support Trump after the insurrection; and Jim Banks (R-IN), whom McCarthy tried to put on the committee and who promised to undermine it, held a press conference. They tried to blame House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-CA) for the attack on the Capitol, a right-wing talking point, although she, in fact, has no control over the Capitol Police.

Shortly after the hearing ended, some of the House’s key Trump supporters—Andy Biggs (R-AZ), Matt Gaetz (R-FL), Louie Gohmert (R-TX), Bob Good (R-VA), Paul Gosar (R-AZ), and Marjorie Taylor Greene (R-GA)—tried to hold a press conference in front of the Department of Justice, where they promised to complain about those arrested for their role in the January 6 insurrection, calling them “political prisoners.” The conference fell apart when protesters called Gaetz a pedophile (he is under investigation for sex trafficking a girl), and blew a whistle to drown the Republican lawmakers out.  

This story is not going away, not only because the events of January 6 were a deadly attack on our democracy that almost succeeded and we want to know how and why that came to pass, but also because those testifying before the committee are under oath.

Since the 1950s, when Senator Joe McCarthy (R-WI) pioneered constructing a false narrative to attract voters, the Movement Conservative faction of the Republican Party focused not on fact-based arguments but on emotionally powerful fiction. There are no punishments for lying in front of television cameras in America, and from Ronald Reagan’s Welfare Queen to Rush Limbaugh’s “Feminazis” to the Fox News Channel personalities’ warnings about dangerous Democrats to Rudy Giuliani’s “witnesses” to “voter fraud” in the 2020 election, Republicans advanced fictions and howled about the “liberal media” when they were fact-checked. By the time of the impeachment hearings for former president Trump, Republican lawmakers like Jim Jordan (R-OH) didn’t even pretend to care about facts but instead yelled and badgered to get clips that could be arranged into a fictional narrative on right-wing media.

Now, though, the Movement Conservative narrative that “socialist” Democrats stole the 2020 election, a narrative embraced by leading Republican lawmakers, a story that sits at the heart of dozens of voter suppression laws and that led to one attempted coup and feeds another, a narrative that would, if it succeeds, create a one-party government, is coming up against public testimony under oath.

“The American people deserve the full and open testimony of every person with knowledge of the planning and preparation for January 6th,” Cheney said today. “We must also know what happened every minute of that day in the White House—every phone call, every conversation, every meeting leading up to, during, and after the attack.” She added: “We must issue and enforce subpoenas promptly.”

—-

Notes:

Manu Raju @mkrajuRep. Liz Cheney told me the Jan. 6 investigators should move rapidly to enforce subpoenas. She didn't specify who should be subpoenaed. "I think it is very important that we issue and enforce subpoenas, as the chairman has said, and we do that quickly," Cheney said1,091 Retweets5,401 Likes

July 27th 2021

https://www.esquire.com/news-politics/a37144429/capitol-police-officer-slam-table-michael-fanone/

https://talkingpointsmemo.com/fivepoints/five-takeaways-from-the-first-jan-6-committee-hearing

https://www.reuters.com/article/us-usa-capitol-security/police-recount-calamity-of-u-s-capitol-attack-at-panel-hearing-idUSKBN2EX12Z

https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2020/10/16/this-summers-black-lives-matter-protesters-were-overwhelming-peaceful-our-research-finds/

https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2021/07/27/one-republicans-jan-6-committee-went-out-his-way-rebut-his-partys-whataboutism/

https://www.npr.org/2021/07/27/1021161550/this-is-how-im-going-to-die-police-sergeant-recalls-the-terror-of-jan-6

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/07/27/us/jan-6-inquiry.html

https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2021/07/27/jan-6-commission-hearing-live-updates/

https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/politics/2021/07/27/liz-cheney-statement-jan-6-committee-probing-capitol-insurrection/5375885001/

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[heart-forge]

mmm, more so that the Storm Out option is the odd one out. like they say during a test, if you have 3 options and 2 are hella similar, then the odd one out is the "correct" answer (this 3 min sitcom clip explains it better than me: youtu. (space) be/bJYx (space) fCsx2m4). two of the options are about MC interacting with the gang and connecting or not connecting with them, so having one option not follow that pattern at all feels significant, even if theres no right answer in your game (1/?)

(2/?) so its less about the options themselves and more so about the scenes that come after, because there isnt a way to discern that only one option here will have you confront Valerni himself until youre already in the thick of it. i had no idea that Valerni was going to be in the bedroom when i chose that. but having chosen that option last out of the three to explore, i did expect someone from the gang to talk to me either on the way or stationed at the door or something. not Valerni

(3/?) i think how upset MC should feel deoends on the player. i think Questioning led for either feeling satisified after being answered or still upset at the gang's behavior. i think Storming Out led to either being distracted and giggly at the story or feeling upset and patronized. i think Valerni's lack of clearing up the air AS SIGNIFICANTLY (not that he didnt) after both leads to the potential of a lot more tension still being there since Valerni is clearing up on a timer so to speak

(4? ive already lost track shit/?) since youre walking and talking together already and he immediately asks to put his arm around you. its not bad, but the walk after those two options feels significantly different after the walk in the Go To Your Room route, where instead of interacting/connecting with the gang, you rightfully go off to your room and then have an emotionally charged conversation with Valerni who, ontop of being the LI meta-wise is the one person in this manor you DO have a

(5?/?) established relationship with, with inherently charges the scene differently. the dissecting of your guys issues, the promise to be better, the explanation of his situation all carry more weight than the other two BECAUSE of this difference in people, their history/relationship, breaking the pattern, the syntax of the topic, and meta-wise: being a side-character vs being a LI. as a result, the walk after feels different in tension because the tension between you teo has been dispelled

(6?/?) and it feels like you have a plan on how to move foreard versus the other two where the future is more amorphous because the tension HASNT been dispelled (btw im not advocating for the tension; i personally love the convo Valerni and MC have and think its a necessary convo for them to have as a couple). even (invisible) stats wise, i felt like this was really a choice in "Do I wanna impact my relationship with the gang or with Valerni??" rather than what you describe because im not a

(7?/?) mindreader, i do not know what you are thinking as the creator, all i have is the text in front of me to interact with and question while playing the game. i dont know what you know, i know what is presented before me and it is in a vacuum; and in that presentation, regardless of intention, the Gang-Gang-Valerni choice felt significant and Valerni's scene felt heavier and left aftermath different

(8?/?) so emotionally, i felt different after Valerni. and i feel like it was an important conversation for them to have, so please dont think i am advocating to delete his scene entirely (just? maybe?? have a Gang-filled/Valerni-absent scene follow the Go To Your Room instead? that way the options end with the tension and weight feeling the same? or, if you like the dissipated tension and hopeful plan forward to be ruined afterwards (like me) then have the Valerni-present scene in all three?)

(9?/9) id never advocate for the whole deletion of the Valerni scene, i actually really loved it and i liked the lack of tension afterwards and i liked the hopeful plan being dashed. and i also really liked laughing at the disco story and bonding with the gang (my MC would never have stayed and questioned, that was just my curiosity being sated lmao). but i cant deny they felt different in weight and tension. i hope that makes sense and answers your question???

Thanks for answering !! I think my question is answered but I gotta think for a second. So what I’m thinking might solve the issue is making the “storm off” option (obviously maybe a little adjusted to indicate that you’re going to return to your room which might feel a little different after one has kind of calmed down a bit in a different interaction) something you can double up on. So, you’re presented with the initial three options:

a) Leave (locks you into the conversation with Valerian ONLY) b) talk to LTs (gives you the option to talk to valeri AFTER the LT scene, optionally) c) talk to the gang (gives you the option to talk to valeri AFTER the gang scene, optionally)

The issue is that gives you three times the amount of chances to add to the possibility of getting one particular ending versus the other two, or...you know, I could also just assume that returning to see Valeri second wouldn’t give out Ending Points (so you would receive the Ending Points of the choice you picked FIRST and then could see the second scene next). I do like this idea because I agree with you that probably...hearing things from Valeri and getting that opportunity to talk is important. It’ll probably be rewritten lightly just to reflect an MC who’s already kind of steadied themselves by talking to others, but overall communication is absolutely a good thing.

Any urgently conflicting opinions out there? To clarify, the choice would not really affect ending in a significant way (if you were DEDICATED to your MC prioritizing going “over Valeri’s head” by consulting the lieutenants and are interested in what sort of ending that would lead to, choosing to have a conversation with Valerian would not whack out your points balance) and it would be totally skippable if that was something you were interested in (or not interested in, as it were).

[citrinekay]

a prompt: holden's thinking of running a marathon or something, and it gets bill thinking about just how young holden is and some insecurities appear. what's their future like? wouldn't holden be better off with someone who could actually match his rhythm? sorry im just a sucker for some age gap h/c!

Hey don’t apologize! I live to serve and create the content this fandom wants and deserves - it also helps that this turned out really cute and sweet and I like it very very much. Thanks for the prompt! 💕

Golden pink sunset stretches across the sky, making the red rubber of the track glow a burnt orange, the grass a glistening, knife-edged green. The summer heat has slacked off into a comfortable warmth that’s accompanied by the slight breeze that cools that faint sweat on Bill’s brow. 

He glances down at the stopwatch as Holden emerges from the glowing haze of sunlight, running at a steady clip around the final curve of the track before he reaches the starting point again. Dressed in track shorts and a gray Academy sweatshirt, he’s sweating harder in the July heat than Bill’s stationary position could ever hope to achieve. 

Bill squints against the sunlight, once again baffled by how much Holden enjoys this activity. Wendy had first suggested some type of exercise to him to help deal with his anxiety, and Holden had taken to the task like a fish to water. For the first few months, he would come out where to the Academy track to run for his own enjoyment, but now that he considers himself an accomplished runner, he’s taken to training for a marathon at the end of the month. The preparation is taking up a lot of time, much more than Bill had expected; and his only recourse to steal as much private time with Holden as possible is to park his ass here beside the track with the stopwatch. 

As Holden drops down out of his run into a jog, and finally to a staggered halt, Bill jabs the timer on the stopwatch. 

“How long as was that?” Holden asks, his voice hoarse and fractured. 

“Seven minutes, twenty-five seconds.”

“Shit.” Holden whispers, leaning forward to clutch his knees. 

“You’re unsatisfied with running a mile in seven minutes?” Bill asks, incredulously. 

“And twenty-five seconds.” 

“I thought a marathon was about endurance not speed.” 

“It is. It’s a personal goal.”

Bill leans over to grab the water bottle from the grass, and tosses it to Holden. 

Catching it against his chest, Holden straightens and takes a stumbled step backwards as he lifts the bottle to his mouth. 

Bill watches him quietly, half-appreciating the sweat drenched ringlets plastered to his forehead and the way his throat glistens in the fading sunlight. 

“Well, I know one thing for sure. You’d leave me in the dust.” Bill says.

Holden drags the bottle away from his mouth, leaving his lips slickly pink. He swipes a hand across his dribbling chin, and saunters closer to where Bill is seated on the folding chair in the grass. 

“You could join me, you know.” He says. 

“Running?”

“Yeah. Anyone can do it.”

“What? So I can get out there and humiliate myself? It wouldn’t be pretty.”

“Well, no one starts out an expert.” 

“Holden, we practically live together.” Bill says, gesturing to himself. “You are fully aware of what I can and cannot do.”

Holden rolls his eyes. “Oh, Christ. Is this about the other night when I wanted round two and you weren’t up for it?”

Bill scowls, “Okay, you didn’t have to drag that into it.”

“You were about to.” 

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Fine.” Holden says, capping the water bottle, and tossing it in the grass. “I’m going to do one more lap around the track to cool off and then we can go.”

“You want me to time that, too?”

Holden casts him a snide glance before spinning around and taking off toward the track again at a steady jog. 

Bill frowns watching him sprint into the melted glow of the sunset, his body shimmering like some moving work of art beneath the colors of the sky. It’s easy to forget that he’s going to be thirty-two in a few months, technically middle-aged, when he’s so virile and energetic. It’s like he has a bottomless well of initiative and drive, and his body … Well, Bill has been witness to all of the things his beautiful, toned, young body can do and endure. Running a seven minute mile is just the tip of the iceberg. 

Bill tries to set aside his insecurities as Holden circles the far end of the track and starts back towards the finishing line. He isn’t self-absorbed. He cares about his appearance insofar as it pertains to personal hygiene and professionalism. His current job doesn’t require extreme physical feats like running a seven minute mile or even running at all so why should it matter? Holden has his own personal goals and hobbies that he doesn’t necessarily have to share. It shouldn’t matter, but he knows why it does. 

When Holden comes off the track again, Bill hands him the towel to wipe the sweat from his brow. 

“Ready to go home?”

“Yeah.” 

Bill gathers their things, and leads them across the yard, through the student parking, and all the way back to their lot in front of the BSU building. The walk is long and silent, some disagreement rippling underneath that he doesn’t feel like addressing. Once they reach the car, Bill rolls down the windows, turns on the stereo, and lights a cigarette. Holden leans toward the breeze, the sweet tang of perspiration blustering in the air alongside the summer breeze. Bill figures they’ll both just let it go, but ten minutes into the drive, Holden turns back to Bill. 

“Is something the matter with you?” 

“What? No.”

Holden’s hands fidget in his lap. “I can tell when you’re pissed. Why don’t you just say it?”

“Holden, I’m beat. It’s almost eight and we’re just now going home after working for ten hours and-”

“Oh, is that why? Because I’m forcing you to stay out late?”

“You’re not forcing me.”

“I told you that you didn’t have to come. I can work a stopwatch on my own.”

“Yeah? Then what do you need me for?”

The hasty retort slashes coldly through the humid air, leaving them both simmering in choked silence for a long moment. Bill flicks cigarette ashes out the window, annoyed with himself. There’s no basis for this argument, but they’re having it anyway. 

“I don’t know what your fucking problem is.” Holden mutters, “Are you just mad that I have an interest that doesn’t involve you?”

“No, of course not. You’re allowed to have your own hobbies-”

“Oh, you’re allowing me to have this hobby. How generous of you.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

They fall into silence again, but Bill can sense the electric hum of anger and the threat of hurt feelings arising. 

Just fucking apologize. He tells himself, trying to tamp down the bubbling insecurities that seem to multiply with every exchange. But his jaw stays stubbornly clamped shut. 

The next ten minutes pass in stifled silence until they reach Bill’s house. Holden’s car is parked in the driveway where he had left it over the weekend when a sleepover turned into a five-night affair. Bill figures that little foray is about to end right here. 

He throws the car into park, but lets the engine idle as they sit quietly, stewing. 

“Okay.” Holden says, finally. “I’m sorry I brought up the other night - the round two thing. That was uncalled for.”

“It isn’t that.”

“Really?” Holden asks, his gaze swinging across the car to strike Bill with withering severity. 

Bill takes a slow drag of his cigarette and focuses on the yard darkening in the impending dusk. 

“Bill, I have never had an issue with your age and my age, and-”

“Please, just stop.” Bill says, holding up a hand. The humiliation is already curling up his chest in fiery fingers, clutching at the back of his throat with debilitating force. The fact that he can’t suppress it is just as bad as the initial flinch of insecurity. 

“Fine. You don’t want to talk to me?” Holden says, impatiently. He unlatches the door and shoves it open with his shoulder. “I think I’m just gonna go home, and you can call me when you get your head out of your ass.”

Bill flinches as the door slams shut behind him, jarring the entire vehicle. He watches with a sickening feeling dropping to the pit of his stomach as Holden storms around the hood of the car towards his own vehicle. 

Get out and stop him, you stupid fucking idiot. 

Growling a sound of frustration, Bill rips off his seatbelt, and climbs out of the car just as Holden reaches the hood of his Nova. 

“Wait.” 

Holden’s determined pace cuts to a halt. They stare at one another in the falling dusk, a quiet standoff that Bill knows Holden won’t be breaking; he’s waiting for Bill to speak and be honest. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Bill puts his head down, and closes the space between them in a few strides. Holden turns slowly to face him, not resisting as Bill catches him by the hand. 

“I’m sorry.” Bill says, quietly. 

Holden nods. Still waiting. 

“Come on.” Bill says, scoffing against the clutch of emotion in the back of his throat. “Don’t tell me you never think about it.”

“I mean, yes. Objectively, I’ve thought about it because it’s a basic, indisputable fact.” Holden says, “I said I don’t have an issue with it.”

“Look, these past few months have been great.” Bill says, “But I think it would be a little selfish of me to not encourage you to think about your future. What do the next ten years look like? Don’t you want someone who can keep up with you? And are you going to be happy with this decision when our age difference really does start catching up with us?”

Holden’s brow furrows. “That’s a little pessimistic, don’t you think?”

“I’m just trying to be honest.”

Holden glances away for a moment, his eyes squinting against the fading light. Bill can tell that he’s seriously considering the conversation, and that acknowledgement alone eases some of the tightness in his chest. 

“You want honesty?” Holden says, his voice softening as he shifts his gaze gently back to Bill’s. 

“Yeah. Always.”

“Fine. Then this is the truth - I don’t care about our age difference, or round two. Some days I don’t even care about round one. That’s not what this is about, and it’s a little reductive to say that it is.”

Bill lets out a sigh and glances away, but Holden presses closer, cradling Bill’s chin in his hand to guide his eyes back up. 

“I know what the next ten years look like.” Holden murmurs, “Maybe not exactly, but I do know one thing - you’re here, with me. Whether you are running down a track with me or I’m pushing you a fucking wheelchair.”

Bill chokes on an unbidden laugh as Holden’s mouth stretches into a fond smile. He wraps both arms around Holden’s waist, suddenly not caring whether someone driving down the street could see the intimate embrace. He just wants to make this moment last - the moment when Holden melted the last of his fears and insecurities.

“Okay?” Holden whispers, clutching his cheek tighter. “I don’t want someone else. I want you.”

Bill nods, trying to find a reply in the tangled knot of relief and joy in the back of his throat. 

Holden kisses him quickly on the mouth, a swift, reassuring gesture that the whole street might have seen, before he wraps his arms around Bill’s neck. 

Bill buries his face in Holden’s neck, impressing the warmth of his body and his embrace down into his quivering soul. When he draws in a deep breath, he can smell summertime and sweat on his skin. 

Clearing his throat, Bill draws back. “Do you, uh … do you want to get a shower first, before you leave?”

Holden chuckles softly. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

“Okay, let’s go in. It’s really warm out here.” Bill says, wiping sweat from his own temple. 

Holden clutches his hand as they climb the steps to the front porch. As they reach the door, he whispers, “Bill?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t really want to leave.” 

Bill purses back a smile. “No?”

“No. Can I spend the night again… and possibly use your washer and dryer for my work clothes?”

“Of course.” 

They share a quiet smile before Bill unlocks the door and lets them inside. Holden’s fingers curl tighter around his hand, drawing Bill down the hallway towards the bathroom without another word. They move quietly, deftly through the house, muted anticipation rising. The sun has already set, golden light touching the door for the last time tonight. 

[livingdatabase]

dear audience, 

the following letters will be read aloud during our performance. nico will read  first, then zoe. 

these letters will be accessible on this Tumblr during our piece. if you want/need to intake information visually, please feel free to read along in your own browser as we read aloud. 

- nico + zoe 

___________________________________________________________

dear zoe,

thank you for being in this with me. for sharing yourself with me.

to embark on this journey of friendship with me. 

for holding me and allowing+encouraging me to open and trust. 

I hope it is reciprocal.

letting go has been a constant practice of mine throughout this. (and always is)

sometimes that feels good sometimes it doesn’t. I have no idea what we are making, but I am getting to know you better through each addition to the database. I stare at your drawings and imagine the moments that they were created. I try to listen to each stroke. I like being in conversation with you. I like the lack of polish here. 

I dont exactly know how to share this database with people, I worry that its too slow paced to hold, that we’re unfolding something magical but the constructs of time and performance haven’t made space for us yet. I hope im wrong, but im letting go (again) of any thoughts around this landing, being interesting, being anything.

it is because it is. right?

it is not a product It is not a product It is not a product It is not a product 

to be bought and sold

this has become a mantra as we actively stray from the capitalist commodification of art that I have known and worked within my entire life. this is easier said than done, hence my urge to onto the phrase: it is not a product. 

I am fascinated by the timeline of our process, but I also feel that it is circular, and sometimes all of the data floats around and talks to each other, and sometimes it lies out flat, corresponding to dates in an order. 

I think about how we got here. in my body, it’s a wizard of oz moment, like various happenings swirl around, high above the ground, the gentle tornado makes its way around California, and eventually it spits us both out.

It's not scary, its playful. we are sitting and it’s almost funny the way everything was spinning and now we settle in in stillness/ left to our own devices. left to actually get to know each other for the first time. thats how I see it anyways. we are gifted time and space along the way. 

i have decided to share two videos after this.

the first video was also the very first piece of data on the base. haha

I just wanted to share my early morning with you, the title (good morning zoe) was a default that came about when I forgot to give it a title. It feels accurate.

i’ve shared some other clips of my life with you, some that feel so mundane, so regular. none are finished products. It takes a bit of courage to let those be, to not come back to them. 

The other video im sharing today was made in my mother’s shower in my childhood home in the San Fernando Valley. It was made with the intention to heal. Out of necessity. It is reminiscent of our first video together, but SO different. The denotative, complex implications of a shower stand, but the experience of this video is one of self-nourishment. a process of lighting myself on fire and putting myself out. of working through. and allowing water to work through me, and I emerge, not squeaky clean, but in a new layer of flesh. still warm/raw, but definitely new. 

september totally feels like a beginning to me.

_____________________________________________________

dear nico, 

how do we make something without trying to have it be something, other than what it becomes? such a question engages the inherent presence of unknowability in making. how something emerges as it is listened to - heard. 

we began this database project recently, and it feels important to acknowledge the history of how we got here. Having separated from a third collaborator and our initial plan of action, and having met each other through this third person, we were left with the question of what connects us? of who are we, as nico and zoe.  

where to begin other than in saying hello. 

the archive situates our making in conversation with our daily lives. we wanted to practice depressurizing product, or rather, getting rid of it all together, if such an act is even possible. we wanted to untangle ourselves from capitalist values that we have digested as artists. 

in other words, we wanted to practice listening to our own bodily senses of time. to make at our own collaborative pace. to acknowledge that everything now is different with the turbulence of multiple pandemics going on. such ruptures in the world, in oppressive systems, have potential to open up spaces for imagination. within such spaces of imagination, can we offer ourselves the pleasure of knowing we are exactly where we need to be? can we ourselves the pleasure of stillness? 

because i so often find making to be a relationship with stillness. of course, making is frustrating, hard ,uncertain, and causes me to have some sort of existential question about my purpose in life every day, but even with all of those negotiations, it returns me to a conversation with myself. and such a conversation needs quiet and stillness [ and by quiet i don’t mean a lack of music or sound ]. they need space to be unexpected and unknown. 

the world is big and overwhelming, but this project of archiving and sharing small moments of thought, movement, curiosity, of trying to not worry so much about them being polished or perfect, offers our daily lives stillness and forgiveness. we share the unfinished with one another. share our unfinished selves with one another. yet, the idea of finished implies an end, which implies a segment, which implies a breakage in time, a separation of time from itself. in emphasizing the unfinished, are we not opening ourselves up to fluidity? 

right now, i am in my one bedroom converted garage, in the back of my family’s house. with quarantine and raging fires, i live all my time in this room. i am writing to you from my bed, the puppy snoozing beside me, tomato plants growing outside, their final bursts of red a reminder of what once was. soon to become an echo of itself, soon to die and return. 

i am writing to you from a space of domesticity, which feels like two lives of mine merging. 

against the backdrop of my living space, actions such as waking, sleeping, eating, making, and working catch me unawares with a repetition i know has always existed. it is a different kind of meaning making. these small but luxurious tasks of dailiness ground me to the smallness and gratitude of my life, which returns me to the expansiveness of my body. 

there is an intimacy that comes with being seen unraveled. it has been hard to not overthink, not worry about producing something good enough. but with you, it also feels like growth. making together is our form of friendship building. 

i appreciate all that you share and give. and how you receive my messiness with care. 

i trust that we are finding our language together, and i hope to keep sharing our half thoughts, full thoughts, unedited versions, questions, complications, desires, and labors, for as long as feels good. 

The video that follows is a little study - - of light and color, pacing and time. Editing footage allows for the expansion of something that can at first, be so small. It makes me think of how you wrote to me in a letter: “ … items that are mostly still, until they come alive.” 

i am honored to work with you and learn from you. 

love, 

zoe

[pigstepmp3-moved]

the writers really did buck dirty in s01e02

its the post you’ve all been waiting for—my Aggravated Analysis Of Everything That Makes Me Mad about the Therapy Scene tm, now featuring some things that show just how emotionally and mentally fucked buck is. now, i know we All hate that scene with all of our hearts (buck deserves to have a Good experience w therapy for once, but thats just my opinion), but i wanna go into detail about what exactly makes me SEETHE about that scene, complete w gifs and screenshots so i can better explain myself. im putting it all under the cut bc its kind of A Lot, so click that “read more” if you wanna read my angry complaining

alright, lets set the scene (i know we’re all aware of the situation behind this scene, but i think its important to remind you all of it). season one episode two. bucks still very much a Huge horn dog. buck has also very recently suffered his First loss on the job and its taking a huge toll on him. i think what’s most important to talk about before we get to the therapy scene itself is the scene where abby’s watching him on the news with carla.

(not the greatest quality, but that doesnt matter). he very clearly looks uncomfortable just talking about what happened in such a Casual, No Pressure setting. he says, “i was just doing my job. i’m happy we were able to help the people we helped and i’m really sorry about those we couldn’t save.” he stutters a few times as he says it, looks and sounds very uneasy, which seems very out of character for him. he’s usually super confident and chill, but as he’s asked to talk about this (most likely) traumatic thing, he kinda clams up, yknow? theres also something in his voice that reminds me very heavily of the way My voice sounds when Im trying to force back tears, but that might just be The Way He Talks

another thing that he says that really stands out to me (i dont know if this is necessarily important to the topic at hand, but i wanna talk about it so whatever) is, “. . . um, i’m sure they’re just turned on by the uniform. you know, i don’t know if they would feel that way if they saw me out of it.” ignoring the more sexual connotations to what he’s saying there, let’s talk about what he most likely meant by that particular statement. he still sounds a little nervous as he says it and kind of avoids the reporters eyes. it sounds to me like this is a rare moment of buck’s insecurities being let loose. “i don’t know if they would feel that way if they saw me out of it.” this implies, i think, some insecurities about like.. every part of himself. it almost seems like, in this moment, he thinks his only redeeming quality is the uniform. which might actually be what he’s thinking right then, ‘cause he’s still trying to figure out how to cope with his first loss. i think theres some part of him, somewhere behind that overly confident persona, that has a lot more insecurities than he shows, but thats a conversation for another day.

now, let’s move on a little from that. what i think is very important and notable about that scene is some of the things abby says after watching buck on the news. first thing she says that stands out to me is, “i’ve been thinking i might want to call him to see how he is.” she’s worried about him. i think she’s probably been worried about him since the first time he was on the news, earlier that episode. and for good reasons, i think, because later on, she says, “. . . he needs help, you know? i mean, he’s got so much pain in his face. everybody’s treating him like a hero. he doesn’t feel like a hero. as far as he’s concerned, the guy that he was trying to save fell.” like, wow, just tear my heart out and stomp on it a bunch, why dont you? its such a wonderful and apt summary of what buck’s going through. to put it rather simply, he’s fucking distraught, and for good reasons. plus, that quote is one of the Big things that influenced my headcanon of buck having depression, and i could probably analyze every single scene bucks in in this episode that have added onto that head canon of mind bc there are at least a couple different things i could blather on about, but that’s some analysis for another post (if you’re interested in me talking about that tho, definitely feel free to let me know)

now, let’s move on a little further to the Dreaded Scene (i’d totally go into the scene that immediately follows the last one i talked about, where buck and abby are speaking on the phone, but i think i’ve emphasized my point of buck going through some shit in this episode to the point where that isn’t strictly necessary). for the rest of this post, i’m gonna kind of analyze every single little thing that buck does and says in the therapy scene bc pretty much all of it contributes to my burning hatred of that therapist.

like, yeah, no SHIT, honey!! as far as we, the audience, are concerned, this is the First time he’s EVER been to therapy. in my own personal experiences, my first time going to therapy was SO uncomfortable. and just looking at buck right here makes me feel uncomfortable, too—he’s fidgeting with his hands, looks to the side, looks down, looks up at her for a moment before looking away again. this boy looks nervous as hell, and for good reasons. he confirms that he is in fact uncomfortable, and then the therapist says, “well, that’s not unusual. you’ve been through a trauma. that’s why you’re here—to deal with those feelings.” remember that, because i’m not gonna go into the importance of that quote just yet.

the next thing buck says is, “uh, yeah, i’m, uh, i’m not really into feelings.” he kind of avoids looking at the therapist as he says this, though not as much as he did in that last gif. but his voice is like... uncharacteristically quiet as he says it.

more!! avoidance!! he keeps averting his eyes, looking anywhere that ISNT his therapist. and at the end of what he says here, he clenches his jaw a little. a nervous tick, maybe? i don’t know. as he talks here, though, his voice is, yet again, very quiet. he sounds just about broken right here, and it makes my heart ache so bad for him

after a brief break to check out what athena and michael are talking about, his therapist says, "i treat a lot of first responders—people who run toward danger—but maybe there's something you're running from as well? what is it about discussing your feelings that scares you?" the answer buck gives her? a very defensive, “i’m not scared.” if youre not scared, then why are you avoiding talking about your damn feelings like the fucking black plague? and when i say that he says it defensively, i mean, like, way too defensive to Not be suspicious

we don’t get to hear anymore about that particular question because next, we’re checking up on athena and michael again, and then we’re talking about something else. the therapist says, "you lost somebody. that's hard."

as he says this, he sounds fucking SAD. he sounds completely and utterly BROKEN. throughout this whole clip, he sounds entirely broken. the therapist asks if this was his first time. he responds with, "i mean, i've had calls where it was... too late, but, uh, but i've only been doing this not even six months. now, i... i just can't shake the feeling that this one didn't need to go down the way that it did." again, he sounds like he’s hurting really badly. this loss is really taking a huge toll on him and that is Very clear. she then asks him if he thinks there was something he could have differently. he doesnt respond, just looks up at her like this:

his eyes are a little red, and it looks like there are some tears in his eyes. like wow, you could murder me and it would hurt less than seeing buck like this

now, the next snippet is about where everything Starts Going To Shit (this is also the part where i start sobbing like a dumb baby, but thats neither here nor there). 

you see that shit right there?? if you listen hard enough, you can hear my heart breaking into a million pieces. from this point on, buck is CRYING. honest to god fucking CRYING. he looks like he’s hurting so badly, especially at the end of that gif, when he furrows his eyebrows. it looks kind of like he’s trying to keep himself from straight up Sobbing. i’m sure it seems almost like i’m dwelling on this for a little longer than necessary, but i think emphasizing how emotional he is in this part is very important to understand just how much the end of this scene makes me fucking SEETHE. this next little bit is where i start to transition from Sadness to absolute Rage

you see that? this is the start of my slow deterioration into madness. up until this point, everything about this therapy session was completely and entirely professional. but home girl decides, hey, yknow whats a good idea? waltzing my happy ass across the room, sitting down directly in front of my PATIENT, and resting my hand on said PATIENT’s arm. i dunno about you guys, but this seems terrible on so many levels that it isnt funny.

now, yknow what happens next? some classic avoidance from our boy. she calls him mr buckley, so he says, "it's, um... it's actually just buck." (after VERY AUDIBLY SNIFFLING by the way, but i digress). he then deflects even FURTHER by asking her if she friended him on facebook. 

“i thought you looked familiar,” he says. he’s no longer actively crying at this point, but there are most certainly still some tears in his eyes.

now, do you know what happens next, after a brief break to check up on athena and michael? the worst thing that could happen happens! i know it, you know it, little miss unprofessional sleeps with buck! and yknow what she says Immediately afterwards? “i can’t believe i just did that. i am so sorry.” like.... no! saying “sorry” doesnt change the fact that you TOOK ADVANTAGE of someone who is CLEARLY not in the right frame of mind to consent to something like that. yknow what he was doing the last time we saw him? crying. bc hes in a very vulnerable place in this episode. and yeah, sure, i guess you could make the argument that he was seducing her a little, but that doesnt change the fact that this is fucked up. now, side note about me, i’m only in high school and i’ve never had any job before, so i dont quite know the ins and outs of the professional world. but i do know a thing or two about common sense, so its pretty easy for me to assume that shit like this is awful on like a million different levels. i think the power imbalance is super clear to anyone who has any number of brain cells.

now, buck being as emotionally stunted as he is, says that she made him feel better (probably just for a few minutes, but thats neither here nor there). and yknow what she says? “you should go.” remember that quote from earlier? the one that i said was important and that i was going to go into later? “well, that’s not unusual. you’ve been through a trauma. that’s why you’re here—to deal with those feelings.” yknow what buck Didnt do? deal with those feelings. he talked about his feelings for maybe ten minutes, and that’s assuming that, during the cuts to athena and michael, the session was continuing and that it wasnt a matter of like, oh, this stuff is happening At The Same Time.

and all that is just During the session. we dont ever see the aftermath of it, we dont ever see buck talking about that session or anything along those lines. and we most certainly dont see him trying to go talk to a different therapist. the rest of what im going to be talking about this post is purely speculation, but i think its highly probable that this could all be canon. like i just mentioned, as far as we know, buck hasnt gone to another therapist after that shit show. additionally, we can also assume that buck really hasnt talked to like....... anyone about the shit he’s gone through, both past shit and shit that was brought up from this first loss of his. so as far as we’re concerned, he’s never properly worked through it all. he’s also probably never gotten any proper coping mechanisms to deal with any further losses. it seems a little too morbid to think that bucks just gotten used to the feeling that comes with losing someone, so i think its pretty safe to assume that, after every single loss he suffers, he gets like..... super fucked up, purely because he never talked about (a), the reason why hes scared to talk about feelings, or (b), how to deal with said feelings, especially when they’re bad. and thats not fair to him!! that loss clearly took a huge toll on buck, Most of the description of that episode is talking about the roller coaster and bucks feelings, but he never got to heal from it. if buck doesnt get something akin to a redemption arc, where he gets to see a therapist to properly work through all of his issues, i’m going to riot

anyway. thats all i have to say on the matter. i’ve been working on this for most of the day because i have so many thoughts and feelings about the way buck was treated during this episode. i will die mad about it. but i think i’ve said pretty much all i have to say on the topic now, so i hope my frustrated rambling was interesting or whatever to read. so, thanks for reading! ♥

[randomafwritings]

Trust.

Gavin has never shared this secret with anyone. Nines is one of the people he trusts the most and feels as though he owes him an explanation.

-

This was inspired by this artwork on tumblr.

-

Gavin had a reputation for being a dick to everyone. He had two ways of dealing with his emotions, lashing out at others or age regressing. He discovered this through tumblr when he was a teenager and has done it ever since.

No one in his life has ever found out, mainly because he’s not trusted his previous partners enough to tell them. When he entered into a relationship with Nines, he expected the same. For his partner to be horrible and argue with him a lot until they broke up. Their relationship had been going well for a year and a half, which is one of the longest relationships Gavin had been in. They were discussing on whether Nines should move into Gavins apartment.

He didn’t want Nines to stumble upon his smol stuff and jump to strange conclusions, at the same time he didn’t want to tell him at all in fear of being rejected. Yet, Nines had to know.

He sat on his couch staring intently at his front door, waiting for a sign that Nines was close. He was anxious as hell but prepared to explain and probably get rejected. He got so wound up in his thoughts that he almost fell of the couch when a soft knock sounded through the living room. He composed himself and walked towards the door. Nines was about to knock again when he saw that the door had opened and Gavin was almost cowering behind it. He stepped aside and let the Android in.

Nines stepped inside and they both stood as an awkward atmosphere filled the space around them. Gavin attempted to speak but his words escaped him.

“You said you wanted to show me something. You said it was urgent and to come with an open mind. What is it that you wanted to show me?” Nines spoke, kickstarting the conversation. Gavin inhaled and went to fetch his phone. He brought up the definition and began to explain what kept him sane for so long.

“You see, it’s a coping mechanism of sorts. Your brain reverts back to the mentality of a child to protect from trauma and stress.” He was unable to finish his explanation as Nines silenced him.

“This is all too interesting, why are you showing this to me?” Nines asked, still not mentally connecting the dots.

“Because this is what I do. It’s why I’ve barely invited you to my house and when I do you only see my living room.” One of Gavins cats, Noodles, came over after picking up on his stress levels.

Nines seemed to have a far of look in his eye for a moment while his led whizzed a yellow/orange colour.

“Ok, that seems fine.” Nines said as he finished thinking.

“That’s it? There’s no questions, no misconceptions?” Gavin was shocked.

“No. I did a quick search and identify the type of coping mechanism that you use. It is common in people that feel as though they didn’t have a childhood and have mental health issues.” Nines explained his train of thought.

“Not really what I was aiming for, but sure. I’m just glad that you accept it.” Gavin murmured as he started rubbing his eyes, a tell tale sign that he was slipping.

Nines felt surprised by that answer and didn’t want to address it today, he simply wanted to make his boyfriend happy and content. He swept Gavin up into his arms and whispered in his ear, “Where’s your stuff?” Gavin lazily pointes to his bedroom while incoherently saying “closet”.

Nines carried his boyfriend to his bedroom and set him on his bed, at this point, Gavin was almost asleep due to how secure he felt around Nines. Nines has appeared back in the bedroom after momentarily disappearing, with all three of Gavins cats in his arms. He also placed them on the bed next to Gavin.

He went into the closet to assess what his boyfriend had been hiding from him. He found 4 different baby blue boxes. One contained onesies and footed pyjamas. The next box contained various types of diapers and related supplies. The third box contained small things such as pacifiers and pacifier clips, etc. The last box contained a large number of stuffed animals ranging from years old to recently bought.

“What age do you regress to and is there anything specific you wish for me to get out for you?” Nines asked politely. Gavin nodded while holding up two fingers. At this point he had stuffed a finger in his mouth that he was happily chewing on. Nines shook his head as he reached for what looked like the most chewed paci, it’s matching clip and an equally chewed soother. Nines has scanned the onesies and chose one that matched well the paci and it’s clip.

Gavin was almost entirely asleep at this point. Nines removed his fingers from his mouth and swapt it out for his paci. He proceeded to change Gavins clothes and attach the paci to the adorable onesie.

Nines manoeuvred them both to be lying under the quilt with cats surrounding them. It was perhaps the best sleep Gavin had gotten in years.

[veroniquelashley-blog]

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[just-another-winchester]

Televise your Life

I dont know if televise is a word... yes im a terrible writer for not knowing that. Anyway so I thought of this last night while exhausted and hungry. It seemed like a really fun writing excersize so I wanna try and challenge a couple of my friends to go it. Under the cut are my answers to the questions, you don’t have to answer or write them all, just have fun with it. I hope you do this! I had SO much fun with it actually.

Tagged by: No one. My idea.

Tagging: @waywardbaby @katymacsupernatural @amanda-teaches @impala-dreamer @babypieandwhiskey

No real minimum or maximum to how many you tag, just tag whose show you think you’d watch!

IF YOUR LIFE WERE A TV SHOW

What would the show be titled?

What would be the main plotline?

What genre would it be?

Who are the main characters?

Who are some side/reacurring characters?

Does the show have a lesson? If yes how is that brought out?

How would each episode typically end?

- Write out a couple clips from the show!

Mine is below the cut

If my life were a tv show.

It would be named A Little Perfect On The Side.

It would be about myself and my crush, how he actually does like me the way I think and it shows us having basically the exact same emotions and stresses about talking to one another.

It would be sort of a romantic comedy type show.

The main characters myself and my crush would circulate being friends and good friends, from talking non stop for weeks to saying nothing for just as long.

The close friend Jenny is comedy relief. She is the perky and joyful sister like friend of main character who constantly insists that crush likes her and goes undercover to discover so, but is caught between keeping a promise to both friends not to tell the other they like them.

On the side are Kayla’s two best friends who are never physically shown, but are just as much characters as Kayla or crush.

Katy and Amanda are like her mentors and best friends. Although a silent presence is impossible with them being so far away it is no secret that She always knows that they can be counted on. The conversations between the main character and these two characters is often what leads to the moral of the show, helping me get through daily life and my feelings for crush.

At the end of each episode Kayla reflects her feelings and actions as she reads over her technological conversation with crush, finding it nearly impossible to not smile. She finally shuts off her phone after promising herself that she will tell him soon, that she likes him.

A few clips from the show -

When crush and Kayla first meet.

It was close to halfway through the six hours of her part time job. The store was dead, lanes quiet. The cute young man stood at the end of her lane. Normally boys scared her, but this one didn't. He must've been younger.

Too nervous to actually get to questions she grabbed the fifty from her drawer, knowing she'd need change very soon she simply grabbed it and walked to the end of the isle.

“Hi, could you go grab me some fives and tens?” she asked politely, smiling softly at him.

Her first impression was that he was a kid, 16 at the oldest. He was sweet, and when asked the boy smiled and took the money, saying “yeah” and heading away so she could get back to a customer that just walked through her lane.

The boy brought back the money, she smiled widely and thanked him before going back to her job as she went back to his.

Kayla finally conversates with crush

“So how old are you?” she finally risked, the young man standing at the end of her lane, his hands placed on the edge of the counter as they began to chat.

“18.” he answered

“really? Are you sure?” Kayla said, immediately feeling stupid. That was rude, what the hell?

“yeah, i think I'd know.” he said, his response simple, not even remotely unkind.

“I'm sorry, i thought you were like, 16 or something.” Kayla responded, feeling slightly embarrassed.

“Most people do.” he shrugged at her as a customer walked into her lane.

The last of their shift, both having a 2 - 8 shift, was spent with a sprinkle of customers and Kayla asking stupid small talk questions. What was his favorite food, what was his favorite show, either or situations.

One time he had to go to a different lane to help bag a customers groceries, Kayla hadn't noticed he'd gone and got a customer. She'd checked and bagged the customers groceries, wishing the man a good evening before seeing her crush walk back towards her.

“You abandoned me!” she claimed, raising her arms in faux annoyance

“No I didn't, i just went over there.” he said, pointing to the lane he'd been previously.

“Really, I thought you'd gone to pluto or something.” Kayla smirked softly, viciously rubbing alcohol on her hands out of boredom.

“Pluto is nice this time of year.” the young man acknowledged, a small smile on his face.

His answer didn't allow Kayla to keep a straight face, a grin spread across her face, her laugh soft and quiet, almost under her breath as she chuckled.

Kayla's crush decided to play along with their conversation, sharing attention with her as he awkwardly said with a slight shrug “What's up?”

Kayla smirked, this was her favorite.

“At the moment I imagine probably stars, the sky, the moon… the ceiling/roof for one thing.” she commented, smiling at the young man. “What's down?”

Pulling his clear intelligence he smiled

“Lots of things.” he answered her “The core, dirt-”

“Alright you show off.” Kayla laughed slightly, “Brag about your big brain why don't ya.”

Kayla and crush become facebook friends.

It had been a good day, her crush practically stayed by her side… well, her lane, the entire day. Sure he was doing his job, but he could have stationed himself at another lane.

After her aunt came by and Kayla checked out her groceries Kayla then looked down at the young man with a wide smile “Now you gotta throw those at her!” she said excitedly

“What!?” her crush asked in a shocked voice, utterly confused, however his reaction cause a bubble of emotions to explode as Kayla couldn't contain her laughter, throwing her head back and laughing loudly at his response to her.

Once her aunt left Kayla explained to crush that the customer was her aunt and they poked fun at each other all the time, work or not. Later on in the evening Kayla has to explain the situation to Jenny, as Kayla had been red faced from laughing and blushing, but the store had been so busy they hadn’t had much time to chat.

“So why were you so red earlier?” Jenny asked, Kayla smiled, crush standing just at the end of the lane as she proceeded to recall the conversation to Jenny. Looking down to crush at the end of the lane she reached out her hand to get his attention as she smiled,

“And by the way, that literally made my day, your reaction was so awesome I’m gonna be laughing about that forever.” She informed him, her eyes full of amusement as she grinned.

Finally towards the end of the evening, just an hour before she was to get off and a half hour before he was to be released from work the two were chatting happily, Kayla and her crush once again small talking to get to know one another. The conversation came to her going to overnights and crush looked at her curiously.

“You’re going to overnights?” He asked, Kayla nodded.

“Mhm, it’s more hours, I need as many as I can get right now.”

A customer came through, pausing their conversation. Once the customer had been taken care of and was out the door Kayla’s crush walked closer towards her, up along the lane as he looked at her.

“So… have you got a facebook account?” He asked, making Kayla grin widely.

“I do,” She said, leaning down and resting against the belt on the lane. “Why?”

Her crush shrugged, offering her a smile, “Cause you’re fun to talk to.” He answered.

And that was the moment Kayla allowed herself to REALLY crush on this guy.

[zoemurph]

before sunrise

on ao3 (full note on ao3) 

its been a really tough week, but as always, i really love the murphy siblings. i also really love my friends. thank you for putting up with me and im sorry for the silence. ill try to make it up somehow if youll let me.

warning: minor mentions of throwing up from "it's around 1:30" to "'zoe?' connor asks softly", because zoe is sick. its not described much at all, but figured id throw it out there. let me know if theres anything else i should warn about.

enjoy

It’s 4:17 in the morning when Zoe tip toes down the stairs and then makes eye contact with Connor, who’s sitting on the couch, eating cereal and staring at a blank TV screen.

Connor takes another bite of cereal and then puts the bowl down in his lap. “Hey.”

Zoe nods and walks into the kitchen, putting her instrument case on the floor by the table when she passes it.

Connor stares ahead at nothing for another few seconds before he takes his cereal and moves to join her.

“What are you doing up?” he asks, leaning against the island in the center of the room.

Zoe keeps her back toward him as she rummages through the fridge. “Competition,” she says shortly.

“At four in the morning?” Connor asks in surprise.

Zoe glances at him over her shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. “Yeah? Transportation time?”

Oh right. “Still, that’s really fucking early.”

She keeps staring at him. “Well you’re up.”

“That’s different,” Connor points out before stirring his cereal mindlessly.

“Why, ’cause you’re not leaving?” Zoe pulls out an orange and closes the fridge door with her elbow.  

Connor rolls his eyes. “No. Cause I never went to bed. There was no ‘waking up’ involved here.”

She frowns as she peels her orange. “Why didn’t you sleep?”

He shrugs and takes another bite of cereal.

“Hm.” Zoe slowly pulls apart the orange. “So did you just sit on the couch all night and stare at the TV?”

“Yes.” She looks surprised. “And then I grabbed a bowl of cereal and then I kept staring at the TV.” Connor keeps his gaze steady as Zoe decides what to do with that information.

Eventually, Zoe settles for “Oh.” And all other aspects of their relationship considered, Connor will settle for it.

“I have to go,” Zoe says suddenly. She slips past Connor and back into the dining room. She scoops up her case and grabs her keys off the hook without another word.

“Good luck,” Connor says from the kitchen doorway.

Zoe pauses at the front door. “Thanks.”

It’s 5:23 in the morning and Connor is sitting on the kitchen counter eating cold pizza.

Zoe hesitates in the doorway before she steps into the kitchen and leaves her backpack on the island.

“Early,” Connor says.

Zoe hums in agreement. She pulls a loaf of bread out of the cabinet and pops two pieces in the toaster. “Why are you up?” she asks as she opens the door to the fridge and pulls out the jelly. Someone, probably Connor, used the rest of the strawberry. She’ll settle for grape.

Connor shrugs.

They sit in silence as they wait for the toast to pop.

“Coffee?” Connor asks suddenly.

Zoe shakes her head. “I’ll stop at Starbucks on my way into school.”

Connor squints at the time on the stove. “It’s early.”

“I’m helping Alana with setup for the assembly today.” The toast pops. Zoe grabs a knife and a plate.

“You’re part of Student Council?” Connor asks. He doesn’t seem surprised. She’s not sure how to take that.

“No.” She focuses on spreading jelly evenly across the pieces of bread. Easier said than done. “I’m just helping Alana, you know how Student Council is.”

There’s a pause before Connor says, “No. Not really.”

Zoe looks up from her toast. “No one does shit,” she says flatly.

He lifts his pizza in acknowledgement. “Mood.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fuck off, Alana does everything. People don’t care, it just looks nice on college apps.”

“Sorry she has to deal with that,” Connor says after a moment. “It’s cool that you care.”

Zoe looks over to him. He’s staring off into the distance as he eats his pizza, like he didn’t say the words at all.

It’s 1:02 in the morning. Connor is hanging off the side of the couch upside down as Evan snores softly on the other end, curled up in a ball and hugging a pillow.

The stairs creak and he sits up, groaning as he uses abs that he definitely doesn’t have. The sudden change makes the blood rush from his head, and he grabs onto the arm of the couch as black spots burn his vision and his head spins. When it passes, he squints up at Zoe in the darkness.

She’s frozen in the middle of the stairs, eyes wide.

Connor hauls himself off the couch, moving for the first time in at least eight hours, which his body hates. He motions for Zoe to follow him into the kitchen and hears her following him quietly after a moment. He flicks on the light as he enters the kitchen and immediately heads to the fridge. Cynthia bought whipped cream and he’s not above squirting it directly into his mouth.

Zoe leans against the counter and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Did you want something?” Connor asks softly, pulling the can of whipped cream from the shelf.

She starts to shake her head then stops. “Couldn’t sleep,” she admits after a minute.

Connor puts the cover on the island before shaking the can. “Relatable.”

“When did Evan fall asleep?” she asks.

Good move. Evan is always a safe conversation topic. Just like Evan is a safe person to be around. Evan is just safe, that’s the best description Connor has come up with for him so far. “Maybe like half an hour ago. Long day.”

Zoe nods slowly and stares out of the kitchen into the darkness of the living room. “I can’t believe he fell asleep on the couch.”

Connor smiles. “Evan can fall asleep anywhere if he’s tired enough. He fell asleep leaning against Jared the other day.”

He watches Zoe fight a smile before he tips his head back and squirts whipped cream into his mouth. She’s probably judging him, but he remembers doing this with her when they were young. Younger. Their mom would put out strawberries and put a little bit of whipped cream on their plates. When she left the room, they’d sneak into the kitchen and squirt whipped cream into their mouths.

“That couch is the worst,” Zoe mutters. “Dad needs to move on so we can get a new one.”

Connor lowers the whipped cream and nods. They’ve had that old couch for as long as either of them can remember. It’s one of the only parts of the house that isn’t constantly updated. At one point it was comfortable, but now the cushions are flattened and the springs are dead. A night’s sleep on it is a guaranteed back ache for at least two days afterward.

“As long as Evan is asleep,” Connor says. He holds out the whipped cream to Zoe.

She stares at the can for a long moment before she takes it from him. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

Connor raises his eyebrows at her. “Sleep is for the weak.”

Zoe gives him a flat look.

“I took a nap after school in the library while waiting for Evan,” Connor says. “I can’t sleep.”

Zoe keeps her eyes on the floor for a moment before she lifts the whipped cream to her mouth and squirts it in.

Avoidance. Nice.

“You should go to sleep soon,” Connor says eventually. “You have that rehearsal today, right?”

She nods slowly. “It’s fine. I can sleep on the bus.”

Connor makes a face.

“I’ve done longer rehearsals on less sleep.” Zoe grabs the cap off the island and covers the whipped cream. “Besides, this is good practice for college.”

Connor watches her as she opens the fridge door to put away the can. They don’t talk about college. Or the future. For a while there they didn’t talk at all. And then talking about the future was too tentative, because it wasn’t something they thought they’d actually look at together. “Performance or education?” he asks as the fridge door swings closed.

“Performance,” Zoe murmurs. “But I’m also thinking about music therapy. There aren’t many schools with great programs but…” She trails off and looks at her feet. The socks she’s wearing are mismatched, one is covered with stars and the other with Marvel superheroes.

“You should go to bed,” Connor says.

Zoe nods. “You too.”

At 2:49, Zoe gives up and closes her history textbook. Her brain hurts and her eyes hurt and her neck hurts. She pushes away from her desk and stands up, stretching out her back and wincing when something pops. Then she goes down the stairs as quietly as possible because she desperately needs chocolate before she starts crying.

She almost has a heart attack when she flicks on the kitchen light, because Connor is sitting on the floor in the dark eating cup ramen.

“Oh my god,” she gasps, stumbling backward.

Connor looks up at her and then raises a hand. “Hey.”

“Don’t do that!” Zoe hisses. “I almost screamed.”

“Cool.” Connor takes a sip from his cup ramen.

She puffs up her cheeks and blows air out from between her lips as she pulls open the cupboards. “What are you doing up?”

“Studying. Emphasis on the dying part.” She glares at him and he shrugs. “I got sick of writing about literary fiction versus commercial fiction, fucking sue me.”

“Maybe I will.” Zoe finds a half used bag of chocolate chips from the last time they made pancakes. She pulls it out of the cabinet and tosses the bag clip on the island before joining Connor on the floor. “Want some?”

“Nah I’m eating healthy.”

She rolls her eyes and dumps a handful of chocolate chips into her palm. “Okay then. Are you just writing that paper or…?”

“Yeah at the moment.” Connor picks at the styrofoam cup. “Ev and I are meeting up after school tomorrow so he can study for Environmental Science and Alana promised she’d help me with math.”

“Alana is a gift,” Zoe muses before stuffing the entire handful of chocolate chips in her mouth.

“Mhm. What about you?”

Zoe holds up a hand as she chews the chocolate chips. She has so much to do and she’s trying not to think about it too much. Mostly she’s just stress eating, which is admittedly better than Evan’s stress not eating, but not by much. “Right now it’s history,” she says after she swallows. “I’m trying not to think about music theory. Or precalc. Or graphic design.”

“Ask Jared,” Connor says. “He’s good at that shit. He might be able to hack onto the computers and fix something real quick after class if you need him to.”

“That’s cheating, Connor.” Zoe takes another handful of chocolate chips.

“Do I look like I give a shit?” Connor asks before tipping his head back and draining the rest of the broth in his cup ramen.

Zoe shakes her head. “You look like you want to have too much salt in your body.”

“I’m already mostly salt,” Connor deadpans. “A little more can’t hurt.” He holds out his hand for a chocolate chip. Zoe generously gives him two. “You’ve got White for precalc, right? Because we need to talk about how terrible she is.”

Connor glances up from his laptop screen at 3:19 in the morning to see Zoe hovering at the edge of the stairs, hugging herself. He pauses the YouTube video he was mindlessly watching and pulls his earbuds out. “Why are you up, Zo?”

She shakes her head. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He wonders if she’s really that tired and out of it that she didn’t notice the nickname slip. “Why’d you come down here?” he asks. “Do you need like…food or something?”

She shakes her head again. “You’re always up.”

Connor can’t argue with that one. He still hasn’t figured out how to force himself to adopt a normal sleep schedule yet. He’s working on it, but every few weeks it gets really out of whack and he has to start all over. It’s a process. An annoying one.

“Do you…want to talk about it?” he asks slowly.

Zoe hesitates. “I kind of just want to sit,” she says.

Connor sits up and swings his legs off of the couch. “Then sit.” He scooches over as far as he can so she can have all the space she needs.

Zoe curls up on the other end of the couch, leaning against the armrest and wrapped up in a ball.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

He frowns.

“Go back to what you were doing,” Zoe murmurs. “I don’t want to bother you.

Connor looks to his YouTube video. He hadn’t been all that invested before but he’s even less invested now. After a few minutes, he clicks the search bar and looks for a composer, one he overheard Zoe talking about the other day that she supposedly really likes.

He’s not sure if he should know her favorite composer or not. He’s not really sure how any of this works. He just hopes he gets the name right.

Connor listens to songs while checking in on Zoe every few minutes out of the corner of his eye. Eventually, he finds a song that seems calming enough and unplugs his headphones, turning his laptop volume on low.

Zoe looks over to him in surprise.

Connor just shrugs and stuffs his headphones in his pocket. He clicks over to a new tab and does his own thing as the music plays.

Zoe moves closer as the song ends. “Can I…?” she trails off, gesturing to his laptop.

Connor blinks. “Oh yeah, sure.” He pulls the YouTube page back up before handing it over. He rubs his eyes as Zoe looks through the recommended videos.

He’s startled by the first note of the next song.

“Sorry about that,” Zoe apologizes.

“It’s cool.” Connor runs a hand through his hair. “Just tired.”

“You should sleep,” she mumbles.

You too. “On this couch?” Connor asks. “Fuck that.”

Zoe moves to hand Connor his laptop back.

Connor pushes it back towards her. “Keep it. You’ve got better taste in music.”

“You finally admit it,” she murmurs.

He pulls his legs up onto the couch and crosses them, letting his thoughts sink into the music. Zoe does have a nice taste in music, at least when it comes to instrumental band music. He glances over to her at one point and she’s nodding along to the beat, swaying back and forth with some of the dynamic changes.

Connor gets a weird feeling in his chest. Zoe’s hair is longer than he thought it was and she has circles under her eyes. She looks tired and he doesn’t think he can blame that on just tonight.

He has the overwhelming need to protect her. It’s weird.

“What’s this?” she asks, tilting the screen and pointing to a video that shows up in the recommended videos column.

Connor squints at it. “Some comedy sketch. I just kind of let YouTube run on autoplay when I’m out of it and weird shit starts showing up in my recommended videos.”

Zoe purses her lips before scooting closer. “I wonder if it’s funny,” she says as she clicks the video.

Zoe falls asleep on him about six videos later, when they’ve somehow gotten to a video on the top ten animated villain songs. Connor shuts his laptop and sets it on the table in front of them, careful not to move too much so he won’t disturb her.

It’s around 1:30 when Zoe stumbles out of bed and down the hallway, barely throwing the bathroom door open in time to bend over the toilet. She wipes her mouth with a tissue and flushes the toilet, grimacing.

Gross.

She groans as she sinks to the cold tile floor. It’s nice against her hot skin, but doesn’t change the fact that everything hurts and is awful right now.

And she thought she was maybe getting better.

“Zoe?” Connor asks softly.

She doesn’t turn away from the toilet, just lifts a hand in acknowledgement.

“You okay?”

Zoe takes a few slow breaths before she says, “I’m okay.”

“Here.” He flicks the light on and sits on the side of the tub. “Not going to school, huh?”

Zoe groans. “Please…”

Connor gives her a weak smile and yanks a hair tie out of his hair, his hair falling out of its ponytail as he does so. “Here.”

Zoe takes it and pulls her hair up into a messy bun. At least it’s out of her face now. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’re sick.” Connor leans closer and presses the back of his hand to her forehead. “And burning up. Shit, Zo, when did you take medicine?”

“Um…” She scrunches up her face. “Before bed?”

Connor looks up as he does some math in his head. “Yeah okay, you can take more now.”

“How long has it been?” she asks.

“Like nine hours.”

Zoe blinks. “Are you sure?”

“Sleep is weird and so is time.” Connor stands. “Do you think you can come downstairs with me or is staying hunched over a toilet a better idea?”

Zoe slowly gets to her feet. Connor grabs her arm when she wobbles a little. “I think I’m okay. I’ll be down in a second.”

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” Connor pauses in the doorway. “If you fall, just start yelling or something.”

“Sorry for waking you up,” she calls after him.

“You didn’t,” Connor promises.

Zoe brushes her teeth and stares at herself in the mirror for a minute. She looks like a corpse. She hates being sick and all of her homework is just piling up into a terrifying mountain of death.

She also feels like she’s going to pass out.

Water is good.

She leans heavily on the railing as she climbs downstairs, following the trail of lights Connor left on into the kitchen. He’s drinking orange juice and sitting on the island. He’s left out a medicine cup filled with purple grape flavored lies. Zoe scowls as she picks it up.

“Bottoms up,” Connor says, lifting his glass in a toast. “Actually wait.” He hops down from the island and opens the fridge, pulling out chocolate syrup. “Go.”

Zoe huffs and downs the medicine, trying not to gag.

“Open wide,” Connor says, uncapping the chocolate syrup.

Zoe opens her mouth again as Connor squeezes chocolate syrup in. Then he does the same to himself.

“You didn’t take medicine,” Zoe says.

“I’m taking care of you,” Connor says. “This is my payment.”

Zoe rolls her eyes. “‘m fine.”

Connor gives her a look. “Sure.”

“I’m almost an adult, I can take care of myself.”

He shudders. “Don’t remind me.”

“Why? Is me being an adult that scary?”

“No, it reminds me that I’m an adult.”

Zoe laughs. It turns into a cough and Connor pats her back until she can breathe right again.

“My laptop is still hooked up to the TV if you want to illegally watch Disney movies,” Connor says.

Zoe nods. “Yeah, that’d be good.”

She curls up on the couch with a blanket because now she’s too cold even though Connor insists her fever is up, and takes a water bottle from Connor when he hands it to her over the back of the couch. He pulls up Princess and the Frog without Zoe even having to argue that it’s way better than Lilo and Stitch.

“Thanks,” she mumbles. “Was I supposed to take that medicine with food?”

“Not sure,” Connor admits. “But here.” He holds out a box of Saltines. “Found these in the back of the cabinet. Bland, salty, and white. Just like me.”

Zoe snorts as she takes them from him. “You aren’t that bland.” She opens the box. “Don’t you have school in a few hours?” Connor shrugs. “Whatever.”

 At 12:36, Zoe pulls open the front door. Connor ducks his head as he squeezes past her and into the house.

“Thanks,” he whispers as he pulls down his hood. It started raining as he had walked home and now all of him is a little damp.

Zoe crosses her arms. “Where were you?”

“Out.” Connor moves to go into the kitchen. He needs something warm to eat or drink right now. He can’t feel his hands.

She grabs onto his jacket, yanking him backwards. “Seriously?!”

Connor sighs and gives in. “Can you let me, like, get a snack? It’s not a big deal.”

“It is if it involves you sneaking in and out.” She shoves him. “I thought you were getting better than this.”

“I am,” Connor snaps. He jerks free and stalks off to the kitchen. He pulls open the fridge and stares at its contents, which doesn’t help the fact that he’s freezing.

“Here.” Zoe grabs a container of leftovers out of the fridge and shoves it at Connor. “Those are going to go bad. If you’re going to be midnight snacking, at least eat something we need to get rid of.”

“Closer to one am,” Connor corrects. “Round up.”

Zoe glares at him.

She continues to watch him with an unimpressed gaze as he heats up pasta from last week in the microwave.

“When did you sneak out?” she asks when there are fourteen seconds left.

Connor pulls the microwave door open before it can beep. “About nine.”

“Why.”

He ignores her and bumps her over to get to the silverware.

“Connor,” she says warningly. “I won’t help you sneak in and out if you won’t tell me what’s going on. There’s nothing stopping me from getting mom or dad right now.”

“You wouldn’t,” he says flatly.

Zoe takes a deep breath.

“It’s none of your business,” he hisses.

She scowls. “You making me let you back in makes it my business. Why didn’t you bring your key? Come on. That’s basic.”

Connor shrugs. “I left it at Evan’s my mistake.” He focuses on his pasta and tries not to look at her.

“Evan’s?” Zoe asks. “You haven’t been over his house for like…two days. Besides, you had your key earlier…today…”

Connor stuffs his mouth full of pasta. She can’t question him if he can’t talk and he can’t talk if he’s eating.

There’s a long pause that gives him far too much time to chew the way too big bite of pasta he took.  

“You were at Evan’s?” Zoe asks softly.

Connor nods and continues to not look at her.

“Why?”

“He needed someone,” Connor mumbles. “His mom was at work and Jared was working on a project and Ev didn’t want to bother them.”

Zoe sighs. “You could’ve just told me that.”

“It really wasn’t any of your business. And besides,” he meets her eyes, “you assumed the worst.” Which stung more than he was willing to admit it did.

Zoe shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. “Yeah, I did. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he mutters. He stabs a piece of pasta with his fork. “It’s whatever. Thanks for letting me in.”

“Always.” Zoe clears her throat. “You can always like…tell me stuff. If you need to. I know I’m not like… I know it’s different but— yeah.”

Connor glances at her. “Yeah.”

It’s 3:44 in the morning when Zoe wakes up with a cramp in her calf and an incredibly dry throat. She practically stumbles down the stairs as she tries to walk off the cramp and bumps into the doorframe when she tries to enter the kitchen.

She grumbles to herself and rubs her shoulder before flicking on the kitchen lights. She blinks in surprise. “Connor?”

Connor looks up from where he’s sitting on the floor, hair messy and face streaked with tears.

“Are…are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he mutters. His voice sounds hoarse.

Zoe hesitates. “Do you— Can I do anything? To help?”

Connor presses a hand to his forehead and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Connor?” she asks softly. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

He takes a shaky breath. “No.”

“What can I do?” She steps a little closer. “How can I help?”

“Just…stay. For a minute.”

Zoe sits down on the kitchen floor an arms length away from Connor. She’s supposed to be good at this comforting thing, but now that she’s here she has no idea if she’s supposed to do or say anything. She settles for just sitting in silence, because that’s all Connor wanted. For her to be here.

There’s probably something deep in that, but she’s tired.

“I’m sorry,” Connor chokes out after a few minutes.

Zoe furrows her eyebrows. “For what?”

“Everything.” He buries his face in his knees. “Everything,” he repeats, voice muffled.

Zoe takes a breath. “I’m not leaving,” she promises as she stands up. She pulls two plastic cups from a cabinet. The colors are faded and old but for some reason, their mom hasn’t thrown them out yet. She fills both up with water before joining Connor on the floor again. “Here,” she says, holding out one of the cups to him. “Hydration is important or something.”

Connor looks up to her with watery eyes before taking the cup. He wipes his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “Sorry.”

“I just got you some water,” Zoe says. “It’s not a big deal. And it’s what I came down here for anyway.”

Connor stares down into his cup. “Still.”

Zoe sighs. No time like the present. “I accept your apology,” she says. “I don’t forgive you for everything, and I don’t think I can, but I accept your apology and I want to move past it. Look to the future and all that stuff. I… I want to help, Con. If you’re okay with that.”

Connor sniffs. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah but I want to.” There were years where she had just given up and she’d stopped thinking he could get better. And in the end he proved her wrong. “I offered to.”

Connor takes a deep breath. “Don’t. Not if— it’s not worth it if you’re going to be like mom and think this is fixed quickly because I��m sick of pretending I’m better than I am.”

“I know,” Zoe murmurs. “I want to know if you’re actually okay or not. I want to know if I should be worried or… You’re my big brother. I just want you to be that.”

Connor’s face crumples and Zoe puts her cup down on the floor before taking his cup from his hands and putting it down next to hers. She touches his shoulder. “Connor?”

He pulls her into a tight hug, burying his face in her shoulder.

For a moment, she’s frozen. She can’t remember the last time they hugged. Or the last time that it felt real.

Zoe hugs him tight as they sit on the kitchen floor, the sun not even above the horizon yet. She still doesn’t really know what to say. Because she doesn’t actually know if things will get better. She wants to hope, but years have made her cynical and that’s really sad for her to say as a seventeen year old. So she just hugs Connor until he’s ready to let go.

Then they sit on the couch and watch Lilo and Stitch together, illegally on the first site that doesn’t threaten to give Connor’s laptop a virus. And she doesn’t even argue against it.