#to just see the grass grow to their full height in a park

[norsesuggestions]

Even more meadow!

My muncipitality keeps up with their "turning lawn into meadows" project

(and also a related, but less work intense project of just letting the lawn grow longer before cutting it)

Pictured above, the lawn in the previously short cut park. It is fun to see how all the flowers one can see the short versions of in the cut lawn, looks when they have grown up

[wonderfulworldofmaeth]

My Name? Oh, it's Van...

Van Cruz

Full name: Vance (Van) Manuel Cruz

Age: 28 years old

Birthday: November 13th

Sexual orientation: Demisexual (Male Leaning)

Pronouns: He/They

Familiar: Jali, the tabby cat

Personality:

Likes: Learning new things by reading, cloudy days, waking up in time to see everyone's morning commute, his eggs over easy and still runny, going to work early so he can come home earlier, freshly ironed clothes, going on coffee runs for his family or workplace, bagels and sweets, lazy afternoons with a good book, slow folkloric music to relax to, buffet restaurants, when the circus comes to town, playing baseball in the park, the dentist, provaleta, rollerskating, organizing documents, doing his friends' taxes, dressing up for Halloween, children, birdwatching, taking walks on the forest trails, painting his nails, playing billiards with his friends, jewelry, playing guitar, shopping in Maeth's retail district, the color purple, helping Marcos in the garage even if he doesn't know anything about automobiles, going to the cinema theater, picnics by Lover's Lake, bow ties, being a guest to parties and gatherings, waiting in line if he's with his friends, visiting the bakery to talk to the owners, long journeys, buying cute and useless bobbles at the antique store.

Dislikes: Hot days, working outdoors in the heat, arrogant or brash men, working long days with no breaks, when people get him expensive gifts he feels like he doesn't deserve, not having fresh produce in the house, having laundry to do on a rainy day, letting his home repairs pile up, neckties that are too long or too short, having too strict of a schedule, wearing suspenders, hosting things at his house, talking about his father or family in general, killing bugs, mowing his grass because it makes his nose runny, the color black, spending a long time in the bath because he gets wrinkly.

Abilities: Van has picked up a few trades here and there and has picked up the reputation of a "do it yourself" type of man. Back in Villa Noche, he's done his fair share of handiwork for pipes, roofs, fences, wagons, and all sorts of other things. He's had to work hard for all his book smarts, but he's incredibly intelligent and dedicated to learning. He becomes a library assistant in Maeth to further his knowledge. He's good at baseball, the most popular sport in Villa Noche. He can cook and bake okay, nothing exceptional. He really likes studying animals, specifically birds.

Favourite food: Ham & cheese empanadas. Provoleta

Favourite drink: Black coffee and Modelos

Favourite flower: The blooms of the Jacaranda tree

Appearance:

Height: 6'0 or 183 cm.

Weight: 140 lbs or 63 kg

Hair: Van has dusty brown hair, thick and silky. It's pretty easy to comb through and almost never tangles. He used to keep it short growing up, but since his decision to leave Villa Noche, he has been growing it long. It's to his shoulders now. He often keeps it back in a ribbon or a satin scrunchy. He likes to experiment with different hairstyles, but most of the time he likes a simple ponytail or his hair down by his shoulders. He has quite a few grey hairs that he's gathered over the years from stress, but now he's just convinced he's greying early. He hopes he doesn't bald too soon.

Eyes: Van has big, deep-set eyes, much like a squirrel. They're chocolate, just light enough to differentiate the iris from the pupil. They glow like maple syrup in the sun. He's got a distinct pair of long, dark lashes, and the skin around his eyes wrinkles when he smiles.

General description: Van is a soft-spoken and empathetic young man. He has a passion for learning both skills and learning about others. He has a host of bad habits he's been trying to unlearn, often struggling with interpersonal relationships between friends who aren't like-minded to him. He's polite and gentle, and he loves to keep in the company of others. Van is very generous and it shows in his everyday life. He is an excellent employee and a caring friend as he will go to great lengths to do more than what is asked of him for people he feels like deserve it.

Van is tall and lanky, sometimes incredibly awkward. He's grown to be more comfortable with himself but still has an awkward walk and a small stammer that stems from his low self-confidence. Van has long skinny legs and thin arms. For a man of many trades, he has quite delicate hands and he likes to keep his nails short. Van has a host of freckles all over his body, lightly washed over his face, but a more intense brown all over his back and arms. Van has thick brows and easily grows a beard, however, he likes to keep it shaved completely or, at the most, keeps a small mustache and stubble.

Van has a large aquiline nose with a distinct bump which is naturally the most distinguishing part of his face. Van's face is defined by high cheekbones and a naturally contoured jaw. His chin is pointed, and he does have a small cleft in the middle. Van has dimples when he smiles, making for a soft, more friendly appearance. Overall, Van is very handsome and his combination of features is quite unique.

Fashion sense: Van isn't overly particular about clothes. He's used to living in a very cold, mountainous region so he's used to dressing warmly. However, once he moves to the more central part of Maeth, he experiments with different styles since the weather is more temperate and isn't as limiting. For the most part, Van enjoys a denim pair of jeans, loose or tight fighting, with a long-sleeved shirt or a sweater of some type. He likes to layer, but always ends up rolling his sleeves to his elbows. He really loves an oversized cardigan. Van usually sports leather or vinyl boots on a daily basis. Sometimes for a more casual look, Van likes cork sandals. Van comes to find that he likes sneakers and is impressed with Central Maeth's wide variety of shoe stores and shoe styles.

A brief look into his life:

Occupation: During his years in Villa Noche, a small village in mountainous Souther Maeth, Van was a sheep and livestock herder like his father. He'd go around doing odd jobs for extra cash since he barely saw any take home from his and his father's work. Upon moving to Central Maeth, Van saw an opportunity for learning and decided to apply as one of the library assistants. He wasn't particularly well-versed in books, but he brought to the table an eagerness and willingness to learn and help others. He often goes to Maeth's primary school library to read to the children there or bring them books they might not otherwise have access to. He likes to pop in at the petting zoo from time to time.

Love interest:

Marcos

Family and friends:

Valerio Cruz, father

Rosalie Rivera, mother

Ignacio Rivera, stepfather

Penelope Rivera, sister

Oliver Rivera, half brother

Petra Moretti, former love interest and best friend in Villa Noche

Nina Yanez and Marnie Ursil, close friends in Villa Noche

Lalo Hernandez, estranged friend in Villa Noche

Fausto Guerra, rival in Villa Noche

Linda Firraldi, former teacher

Marcos, love interest and partner

Thomas, Cole, Matías, and Emilio, his best friends.

Victor Esperanza, mentor at the Maethisse College of Literary Arts

Miscellaneous facts:

Despite an unathletic appearance, Van is really good at baseball and swimming. He is also very good at riding horses and has learned to do so from a very young age

Van is very good with children and animals and both tend to like and trust him easily

Van has many great ideas but often doesn't share them

Van doesn't anger easily, so when you've made him angry you know you've gone too far

Van isn't typically one to forgive and can easily hold a grudge, despite his soft nature

In Villa Noche, Van started participating in bull running and bull riding to fit in since the dangerous sport was considered 'cool' amongst all the young men there. He got to be quite good at it, much to the annoyance of his peers

Most of Van's friends have been girls, which is the main contributor to his empathetic and kind nature

When younger, Van found other boys intimidating and difficult to get along with. He can count on one hand how many close male friends he's had in his life.

Van kept his sexuality private for a very long time, and upon arriving in Central Maeth, he feels relief in not having to hide anymore

Van isn't afraid to explore cosmetic enhancements and body modifications and has often expressed a desire for a nose job or fillers

Van likes piercings on himself and others, but he's yet to get anything beyond a nose ring and double ear piercings.

Although Van appreciates having feminine qualities, he often still opts for a mostly masculine appearance and prefers that in his partners

Story:

Vance Manuel Cruz was born to his mother and father in the small mountain village known as Villa Noche. Quite secluded from the rest of the country, the village of less than one hundred had to be quite sustainable on its own. Because of that, most of the townspeople had practical professions and lived humble lives. Van's father was a sheep herder and a keeper of livestock, while his mother was a seamstress. From a young age, Van had been trained in his father's line of work. He took to it easily enough, not to say it was something he preferred. He did, however, enjoy working with the animals. He was never any good at slaughtering them.

Van had a good relationship with his mother, who often tried to hide the abusive nature of her marriage from her only son. Her husband, and Van's father, Valerio, was a very traditional man. In this sense, he worked long hours and prioritized his duties outside of the home. His wife's responsibilities amounted to taking care of the home, their child and also working long hours. Valerio didn't allow Rosalie many freedoms and she was often unhappy. Their fights would sometimes come to blows when Van wasn't around. The most prominent disagreement between them was that Valerio wanted more children, and Rosalie did not. Life was hard enough already. They didn't have much money, time or means. Having another child would be impossible.

When Van was four or five years old, Rosalie discovered she was pregnant again, this time with a daughter. She kept it a secret from her husband. Not being able to stomach the uncertain future they would both have in Villa Noche, Rosalie gathered what little possessions belonging to her and planned quietly to move away. Although she desperately wanted to take Van with her, Rosalie knew her limitations. There was nobody to help her travel north, and it would be harder with Van with her. It would also give Valerio more cause to run after her. Ultimately she had to convince herself that Van would be okay here in Villa Noche, and she disappeared in the middle of the night, never to return.

After Rosalie's disappearance, Valerio became incorrigible. He was always angry, speaking about how ungrateful Rosalie was. For Van this was difficult. He didn't know who to believe. His father and the preconceived notions of the townspeople, or whatever information he'd gathered about his parents' relationship managed to slip between the cracks.

The more his father spoke ill of her, the more Van began hating his mother.

Van soon took the role of his own mother, taking care of their home as well as himself and his father. He began learning how to cook meals and keep everything clean, doing laundry and maintenance. He took up his mother's place in more ways than one. Van had a very busy schedule between helping his father with the livestock and all of the house chores. He hardly had any time to play, as a child should do.

Valerio seemed to have nobody left to push around, so he set his sights on Van. He was very critical of him, complaining when things weren't done up to his standard. He would lament about not having Rosalie around and that Van was a lousy replacement. Van was often the butt of jokes his father would make at his expense, discussing how he'd make a much better daughter than a son. This bothered Van a lot, but it bothered him more once he began discovering things about himself.

Due to Villa Noche's small population and the value placed on practical work, there wasn't much in the way of formal education. Because of this, Van didn't attend school for very long. There was one schoolhouse in the village that the children could attend. Not very many did because they were helping their families with the labor-intensive work required at home. Between his duties at home, Van attended school as much as he could, much to the disapproval of his father. Here, he learned to read at a basic level and was taught basic mathematics.

The schoolhouse was shut down as the school teacher, who had become a safe and trusted adult to Van, was moving away. Her name was Linda Firraldi. She was a widow and had no means to provide for herself here. The teaching she was doing went unpaid. Many of the children were saddened by this news and donated money to her so that she could afford to leave. Some of the parents were upset by this news, while others were in support of Linda. Since Villa Noche did not have a formal government, not much could be done to accommodate her. Linda didn't want to be a pity case either. So it was decided. Van was so upset that his teacher was leaving, realizing he'd be without a friend and without a safe place to hide from his responsibilities.

All through Van's late adolescence, he struggled to make friends. All of his time was spent at his house or at work. One day, when Van was about eleven years old, he got a knock on his door. He looked through the window to discover it was a girl about his age. Hurrying to open it so his father wouldn't, Van was face to face with one of his former peers from the schoolhouse.

Petra Moretti.

They hadn't been well acquainted then, but Van distinctly remembered her long dark hair and her delicate features. He thought she was so beautiful and well-spoken. Her mother had been friends with Rosalie.

"Hey... hey Petra."

"Hi, Vance. Is your dad home?"

Van quickly nodded. Petra held a small piece of paper in her hands.

"Yeah... he is. Why, did you need him for something?"

Petra shook her head. Handing the piece of paper to Van.

"No... I actually came to see you. I'll make it quick, but my mom and I are holding school lessons at our house. I was hoping maybe you'd come."

Van looked down at the paper, then back at Petra. This was the first time he felt like one of his peers actually cared for him.

"Yeah... yeah I'll try to make it if I can..."

Van was already hesitant as he didn't have any school supplies or anything left from his time at the schoolhouse. He was also afraid that his father would find out. He'd been so relieved when Van stopped attending school, so he definitely intended on keeping this a secret. Petra knew the look on his face.

"Don't worry about the books or anything. We have everything you need."

Van wanted to count all the freckles on her face. He couldn't do it because he didn't know enough numbers.

"Thank you, Petra..."

Before she turned to leave, a cold gust of wind blew her hair back. Her cheeks were red. It made Van's stomach warm.

"Anytime. And Van?"

"Yeah?"

"He doesn't have to find out."

Van looked at that piece of paper all night. It had a list of times that they would meet, written in Petra's neat handwriting. The subjects were on a rotating schedule, so everyone would learn a little bit of everything at some point. There was even a class on Saturday. Van had never been more excited.

So in secret, Van started to attend school at Petra's house. Her father, Gino was one of the village's farmers. He was well respected in Villa Noche and spent long hours at their patch of land some miles out of the village. Petra's young mother, Julietta, made jams and preserves that she sold at the market. She was also a midwife and had helped deliver many of the children that attended her house for school, including Van.

He learned a great many things there and began friendships with some other kids. He got a hunger for knowledge and a taste for learning. In his early teens, Van spent a lot of time at Petra's house. He learned how to make jam with Julietta and he and Petra would spend all afternoon reading and learning together. They would make lists of things they wanted to learn about. Petra would ask her father to see some of the traveling merchants and request books on the subjects. Gino would come with books from all over Maeth for Petra and Van to share. It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship. Van was even able to confide in her about his suffering relationship with his father. He felt like she was able to understand.

In his time learning there, Van met a few other boys his age. He'd refrained from befriending boys in the past, because of conflicting feelings he's had toward them. Despite this, one boy named Lalo Hernandez managed to win him over. Lalo was the son of a metal worker and a seamstress. He was kind, but rowdy with a crooked smile and a lazy eye. He adopted Van into his group of friends. Van thought it felt good to be accepted. His father spoke less ill of him when he discovered he had some friends that would be a masculine influence. The group would often play baseball in the field, travel the forest together, and share stories over their father's alcohol. They would provoke and fearlessly hop atop the bulls of the village to feel danger and impress the girls. Van loved the security that group provided him, but he couldn't help but feel he was an imposter.

Friendship with Lalo and his buddies felt like a double-edged sword. Van was often teased because he wasn't like them. Lanky and awkward, he often felt out of place next to his muscular, confident counterparts. They teased him when he refused the advances of girls and didn't participate in their locker room talk. They joked that Van was only their friend so that he could see them bathe naked. Lalo assured Van it was all just childish jokes. Van wasn't sure that they were, but for years he stayed. Finally accepted by his father, the feeling of belonging coerced him to stay close to the same people he couldn't fully relate to. They liked Van well enough, but Van had again found himself a house with no home.

Van grew older, into a young man. He kept with his studies at Petra's house and with his work herding his family's sheep. He kept with Lalo his group of village misfits through all their ups and downs. Van found his friendship with Petra to be the type of friendship he preferred. It was gentle, nurturing, and intimate. As Petra began to discover herself, their friendship crossed over into something more. She was a beautiful young woman, but Van discovered that wasn't why he was infatuated with her. He loved how he could let his walls come down around her. He loved how they could touch each other and feel safe. Petra was never threatened by Van, nor Van by her. Their physical relationship came long after their strong emotional connection and it was one of discovery.

Van couldn't help but feel drawn to his friends. He explained what he felt to Petra after long contemplation. He explained how Lalo, with his swagger and his ruggedness, made him feel things. Things he was ashamed of but told her anyway. Petra listened.

"Would you be happier with someone like that? With Lalo?"

Van shook his head, quickly putting himself in that situation. He didn't like what he imagined.

"Oh no... I can't have a conversation with any of them about anything important, Petra... I feel like it's so hard to connect to them like I connect with you. I don't want to be with someone like that... I just think he's..."

"Beautiful. Your body thinks he's beautiful, doesn't it? And it feels things when you see him."

Van nods. He was so surprised by her insight.

"How'd you know?"

She shrugs.

"Because that's the feeling I'm missing. Mama said I was supposed to feel things in my body when I look at a boy... Nina too. But I don't. Not what they speak about."

Van rubs his chin.

"What do you feel when you look at me?"

Petra smiles. The kind of smile that reminds Van what real love is.

"The same thing you feel."

It was safety, understanding, companionship, love, and all these other words they already knew.

By the time he was seventeen, Van could consider himself Petra's boyfriend. They spent most of their time together beyond their work, and Van often stayed over at her family's house.

Petra was so happy with Van. The pair had decided to keep their love private for a long time, and Van was okay with that. He actually preferred it. As much as he wanted to prove himself to his father and his friends, he realized that wasn't what he wanted. That was what his surroundings conditioned him to want. His desire to protect Petra and her virtue was far greater.

As they approached the common age of marriage, tensions reached an unbearable point within his group of friends over his relationship with Petra. She was well sought after by the boys of the village because of her beauty and poise. She received endless advances and pursuits from the young men in town, but to all of them, she refused. They despised how close Van was to her, calling it a waste.

"You don't even like girls, Vance. You could at least let one of us put her to good use."

This was the statement that angered him the most. As if Petra's womanhood had anything to do with why he loved her.

Van had always known he didn't see women as toys or things or objects. What he had only recently discovered is that not everyone felt the same. He was beginning to realize why his mother had left his father. He feared finding out the things she'd endured that made her think her only option was disappearing into the night without him.

The friends were beginning to fall apart and they would often bicker over Petra's affections. They would relentlessly harass Van about her most intimate details, but he would never provide so much as a clue. Just the thought that Van had to shield her from their prying eyes was enough to justify his relationship with her. He would be with her. They would never be.

One of their group, Fausto Guerra, was particularly vile. He was the son of the tavern master. Van had never liked Fausto. Fausto was his foil, his antichrist. He was the most braggadocious person he'd ever met. He was haughty, arrogant, and self-important. He expected others to serve him, and his mouth demanded respect before his hands warranted it. His crass opinions of women and his love for alcohol rubbed Van's skin raw with contempt. His greed was insatiable and he had boasted of deflowering many girls in the village. Van doubted the consensuality of his claims. In many ways, Fausto reminded Van of his father. He hated that.

Fausto loved to proclaim that one day he would 'conquer' Petra and make her his wife. Van would die before that would ever happen.

Fausto would buy Petra all the most elaborate gifts in an effort to get her to agree to marry him. Petra would always politely refuse them, as her mind was made up.

"Why doesn't he ever listen Vance?"

Van spared her from the disgusting things that entered his mind from Fausto's lips.

"Because men don't know how to listen."

Her laugh lifted like a feather in the wind.

"You do."

"Yeah, well sure Petra... but I'm different."

"Sure you are... and that's why I love you."

Petra looked out the four-pane window, a book in her lap. Her hair was to her waist now. Vance would brush it often and put it in a ribbon for her.

"It's laughable to think Fausto expects me to consider him at all. I would never marry a man like him."

Van lays on her bed with his arm above his head. His eyes couldn't choose between Petra's elegant form and the orrery hanging from her ceiling. He had a small, teasing smile.

"Why ever not, Petra?"

Her playful scoff made Van warm inside.

"Because I have bigger plans for my life than to be the wench of an insufferable tyrant."

Van chuckled.

"That we do, Petra. That we do."

This wasn't the end of Fausto's advances. When Petra was at the tavern with their friends Nina and Marnie, Fausto tried again. Her answer would always be no. She just feared what this exchange would bring. She knew men often became dangerous when humiliated.

Van had heard the whole commotion from outside the tavern. He'd finished up his work for the day. The sheep were sheared and in the northern pasture. He'd made plans to join Petra and their friends at the tavern for a drink, then walk Petra home. He hadn't known what Fausto had planned on doing. The way things went, he assumed nobody had. When Van arrived a crowd had gathered around the door.

He heard yelling. He heard a glass break. He heard Petra's angry yell.

"I said no, Fausto! No! Doesn't a woman's word mean anything to you? You ask, ask, ask, but it does not mean you will receive. I say no and you do not listen. What kind of marriage would that make for me? Answer me that!"

Van could hear the tears in her voice. He shoved through the crowd and had seen Petra wrapped around herself. Nina and Marnie were in a wall between her and her aggressor. Fausto was red in the face. He grabbed her drink and threw it on the stone floor, glass scattering across the floor like shrill mice.

"Why won't you just give in, huh? I've done everything a man could possibly do. You're so ungrateful. You'll see, Petra! You'll die a spinster. You wouldn't know a good man if one fell into your bed."

Van saw Petra, his poetic and poised Petra, falling apart at the seams. He saw her cowering behind her friends. He saw her dainty hands shake as she held them close to her chest. He saw that the silver button on the cuff of her blouse was gone, the threads slithering out like snakes. Van pictured Fausto reaching out to hurt her. This sent Van into a rage.

"Get out of here, Fausto."

Van parted the crowd like a sea, taking a few steps in front of Marnie and Nina. Even though Van towered over the brute, he couldn't tip the scale at half his weight. Fausto glowered at him, broken glass crunching under his boots.

"And what are you going to do?"

Van clenched his fist. For the first time, he did not know fear. All he felt was anger.

"What do you think?"

"I think you're a bitch, Vance Cruz. You always have been. A bitch like Petra knows how to pick 'em."

Van didn't remember anything after that.

There were flying fists and blood and teeth.

Fausto's father had to pull Van away from Fausto. By then there was blood on the floor, his face, and splattered all over his shirt. Some had gathered to watch, and some had fled. Van didn't feel pain. He felt satisfaction. He didn't hear Mr. Guerra yelling at him to leave. He just heard the ringing in his ears. He didn't see the surprise on the faces around him. He just saw him with his eyes swollen shut, barely recognizable on the ground. Anyone else wouldn't have been able to tell if that was Fausto Guerra or not. This made Van happy.

He reached out for Petra. She went into his arms like it was the only safe place in the world. Van didn't regain his sentience until all four of them had made headway to Petra's house in Marnie's mage light.

After they'd made it out of earshot of the tavern, Petra burst into tears. It broke Van's heart. He'd never seen her so upset, violated, and vulnerable. They supported her along the beaten path to her house on the hill. She'd cried so much she'd exhausted herself, and Van had to carry her. When they got back, Nina and Marnie helped her wash up. Van did the same, helping himself to one of Gino's shirts. He was out of town trading with another village to the east. He wouldn't miss it. When Van had finished, they all went to Petra's room, surrounding her with love and support as she fell asleep in Van's grasp.

"So what happened?" Van asked quietly.

Marnie could feel the anger melting off him in waves. In all the years she'd known Van, she didn't think he was capable of such raw, unchanneled fury. He'd always been so gentle to them.

They sat on the bed together, Marnie's calming magic seeping into Petra's skin.

"Fausto walked into the tavern with a grand gesture. He had flowers and gifts for Petra. We all looked at each other not knowing what to do. He came over to us and sat down next to Petra... He tried to hug and kiss her. Petra had pushed him away."

"We didn't know where he got that idea from," Nina said. "Petra has never wanted to share space with him, let alone touch him. Everyone knows Petra doesn't like being touched by just anyone. Everyone knows she doesn't like Fausto."

Van shakes his head and seethes. The look of worry on his friends' faces told him everything they didn't say with their words.

"And nobody tried to help you..." he mumbled. He wasn't surprised. There weren't many people brave enough to stand up to that tyrant Fausto. Not even the grown men of the village. Van hated that.

"No... we tried to ask him to leave before Petra get any more upset. I'm afraid he didn't take that well," Marnie continued in her soft voice. "He tried to calm her down with sweet talk and fake apologies. He was too dense to see it wasn't working. He ordered her another drink to get on her good side."

Van looked down at Petra, fast asleep in his arms. She only had good sides, but they were for people who were good to her.

"He grabbed her hand and tried to put the ring on her finger saying his much he fancied her... He'd torn the sleeve of her blouse when she tried to rip her hand away from him."

Nina scowled.

"After that, Fausto went berserk. He shoved all the empty glasses onto the floor and banged on the counter, raising his voice at Petra. She told him bravely to leave her alone, but he wasn't listening. We were scared, but we stood up to that pig. We told him to scram or we'd use our magic to blast him out of that shit hole..."

Nina wiped her face, trying not to let the tears escape. Marnie held her hand.

"And that's when you arrived."

Van placed a soft kiss on Petra's head, covering her shoulders with her quilt.

"I'm glad I arrived in enough time... and I'm sorry you three were alone."

Marnie smiled softly. "It's not your fault, Van."

Nina was chewing her finger. Van knew something was eating at her.

"What is it, Nina?"

"He's just... so horrible Van." She looked at Marnie and back to Van.

"She... told us not to tell you. But Fausto has been sending Petra letters."

"What kind of letters?" Van saw his vision get hazy.

Manie was the one to answer. "Very detailed letters of what he would do to her once they were married... Or even before. She hasn't felt safe and we've been staying with her every night until her parents return. She hadn't told anybody."

They told him while Petra slept in his arms. They sat there and told Van everything while the planets spun above them. Van's world seemed to stop. He was so sad for Petra. So sad that she didn't tell him. But he understood. He understood that sometimes people kept secrets because the minute you said them out loud they seemed too real for your comfort. Maybe she feared Van would do something stupid to stand up for her... and maybe she thought Van didn't stand a chance against Fausto.

Maybe.

Walking away from that fight with a bloody nose and a broken rib was the least of Van's worries. It showed how much of a man he'd grown into, despite the examples he'd been given. Van was proud of that.

Van didn't go against Penelope's wishes. He waited to see how Petra wanted things handled. Nina and Marnie had told him what happened when Gino came back. Petra told her father everything, sparing him a few details that would make her ashamed. Mr. Moretti settled things personally with Fausto. Petra had wanted to go and receive her apology. She brought her friends with her for support, and so they could get an apology as well.

Mr. Moretti brought the letters to Fausto's house, making Mrs. Guerra read them. Nina said that she'd never seen a woman so disgusted and offended. The letters made her cry. It was a hard pill for her to swallow, but she needed to see the son she raised. Marnie said she felt terrible for Mrs. Guerra. But she felt worse for Petra. She needed to see the son she and her husband raised.

Mr. Moretti told Mr. Guerra he would no longer provide his produce for his tavern and told Fausto he would kill him if he ever saw him near Petra again.

Fausto apologized to those girls, but it didn't mean as much to Petra as she had thought. Mr. Moretti asked her if she had anything to say.

"Until you raise a daughter of your own, Fausto, you won't know the violation you're capable of projecting onto a woman. And I hope you never have the chance to. I feel sorry for your future wife, and I feel sorry for your mother. I feel sorry that I ruined her perception of you, but you deserve to have your reputation ruined. Since your precious reputation is the only thing I could ruin to make you see the value of a woman's life."

And Petra had spit on him.

Van had just wished he could be there for that. Because when they told him it was all over, it didn't feel like enough.

It was a few months after that, Petra told Van she had decided to leave Villa Noche.

"We're moving to the north so I can study, Van. You should come with us."

It was a casual conversation over provoleta at the Moretti household. Van nearly spits out his drink.

Van didn't know what to make of that. He'd worked so hard to make himself belong in a place he didn't. Now the opportunity to travel abroad with the family who took him in was right here... He didn't know what he'd do.

They'd all talked about it. Gino had a few prospects for their farm lined up. The money from that should be enough to get them anywhere they needed to go. Anything else they sold would be extra cash in their pockets. Julietta was so excited, looking forward to moving to a new place and supporting her daughter's ambitions. They invited Van with open arms. He was a part of their family for more than a decade. They knew he came from a situation that he really wanted to leave. There was never a doubt in their mind that Van was going to be a part of that family for the rest of their lives.

Van felt honored. He had wanted to go. He really, really did. He wanted to go with them, with Petra, but something was telling him not to.

He'd gone home and thought it over. He talked to his friends about it casually, the ones he really trusted anyhow.

Lalo had told him it was self-sabotage, he should just move with them.

"It's a big wide world out there Vance. There are opportunities taller than the mountains."

Van wanted to believe him, but things weren't so simple. He wished to all the planets that it was.

Until this point, Van and Petra had discussed their relationship so regularly. They were best friends. They were two people who shared intimacy and felt safe when making love with one another. Petra and Van loved each other more than the world itself. They discovered many things by being together.

Petra didn't love men. Petra loved Van. Van loved women, but in the way that he wanted to be one and was envious that he wasn't. He still wasn't sure what that meant. Petra was okay with that.

Van desired men in the way Petra did not. Although he'd found this out about himself, Van knew there wasn't a single man he could fall in love with like he had fallen in love with Petra. He asked himself why. Why, why why.

Because Petra was Petra. A soft, sensitive, caring woman that opened the doors to space and time. She was the woman that changed his life.

There wasn't a man Petra could see herself in love with... because there was no man like Van.

Van understood Petra and Petra understood Van. She was the only one who had known his secrets and he was the only one who understood hers. Their lusts and confusion and their skeletons in the closet that, when in each other's company, never seemed so bad.

Their bond was so strong and although they thought they were soulmates, they realized you could be soulmates in a way that belies tradition. Their relationship had become... celestial.

But on the tangible side of things, Petra wanted so much more than Van was sure he could give her. She wanted to try out a big city. She wanted to study the stars. She wanted to love women. She wanted a different life than the one she had. Van was okay with her having all of those things. He wanted her to have those things. Petra had a feeling when she asked him...

She knew Van was unsure if he was okay with uprooting with her. She saw the stars from his eyes disappear and be replaced with uncertainty.

"So you're not coming with us... are you, Vance?"

Van couldn't help the tears in his eyes.

"I don't know... What if I.. what if it's not the right thing for me?"

Petra smiled through her disappointment.

She couldn't help but think it was Van's sweet way of saying

'What if you're not the right thing for me'?

Van tried to think of something, anything to say. He had some things lined up, but he knew those words were already written in Petra's mind. She'd already read and memorized them.

And she'd forgiven him too.

"That's okay. You'll find the right thing for you, Van. I'll write to you."

"You will?"

Petra sniffled and wiped his face with her bare fingers. He was honored. She'd normally reserve her pocket kerchief for something like that. He'd miss these things about her.

"Of course, I will. I'll tell you all about my studies, and mama and papa too. Just don't move away before I do, okay? You have to promise."

Van cupped Petra's face and gave her the kiss he hoped she'd never forget.

"I promise, Petra."

"Are you going to be okay... with your father?"

Van didn't know. He didn't want to worry her. He'd grown into a man now. Whatever issues he had, he would face them head-on. He wouldn't have Petra to cry to anymore. He couldn't hide under the covers with her while his father drank himself into a stupor. He would really miss that.

"I'll be fine. Don't worry."

She nods and grabs the keys to the house from her pocket, looking over her shoulder at her father packing up their wagon.

"We sold the farm to Nina's family, but the house is yours. I told Papa that I wanted you to have it."

Van took those keys into his hands like they were sacred ambrosia.

"Petra... I don't know what- Petra... thank you."

"You're welcome, Van. I'm really going to miss you, you know."

Van took her into his arms and hugged her tight. He was going to miss her more than anything. The sobs in his throat were telling.

"We'll see each other again. When you're an astronomer discovering new stars in a capital city."

"Yeah... we will, won't we?"

"Sure, we will."

Gino's voice yelling for Petra was the calling card. Van found it so hard to let her go. They'd all said their goodbyes about thirty minutes ago when he was helping them pack up the wagon. But now it seemed real. It seemed too terrible to bear.

"I love you, Petra."

Then sunrise peeking behind the mountains cast a gorgeous ray of angelic light upon the face Van had loved. The face Van will always love. He'll remember that forever, the way his Petra looked.

"I know, Van. Don't worry."

___

It was four years after that day. Four years of living alone in Petra's old house. Four years of working in distant silence with his father. Four months of a dry spell that ruined the pastures. Four years of pining that he didn't understand over men he didn't want to love. Four years full of nights dragging your father out of one of the four bars in town. Four minutes of something with Lalo he never wanted to happen. Four long years of writing to Petra, reading how happy she was. Four long years of regret.

Van realized he did make the wrong choice. That was a realization he made hours after Petra had made her departure, but spent years trying to convince himself otherwise.

He wrote to her.

Dear Petra, I don't know how you'll take this. If it's with anger, I understand. If it's with pity, I agree. If it's with compassion, I'll be so ashamed. But I wish I came with you. The four years I've spent here were four years I'd rather have spent in a grave. I miss you. I miss being happy. I miss having meaning. I miss the strength that I had before that would've let me admit that. Petra, my muse, read the stars and tell me what to do. From, Van

When she read the letter she cried. She cried that Van hadn't found himself like she had. She was sad that he couldn't find what he wanted with her. She was sad that she was right. She was right all along that he wouldn't find himself in Villa Noche. She wrote back, tears still fresh in her eyes.

To Van, I take it with sadness. I'm sad you've lived with regret. I'm sad that you haven't been happy. I'm sad that you didn't tell me sooner. I don't need to read the stars to tell you what to do. I don't need to read them to tell you that it's not too late. You know you can come to me. You know you can always come to me and I will be here for you. But Van. You won't find yourself with me. If you didn't before, you won't now. I know that. You need to find yourself with you. Do as I did. Start today. Pick up everything you can bear to bring with you. Pack it in a bag. You're simple, I know you. All it will take is one bag. Take that bag and move away to somewhere you'd never think you'd go. It doesn't have to be grand. Make it suit you, Van. Move there and find a job you like. Maybe a job with sheep, maybe a job without them. I know how much you do like them. Find a place to learn. I know you'll be happier learning new things, just like we were. Once you've done that, write me a letter with everything you've felt over these years. Write me the truth. Let me listen. Or better yet, come visit me when those four years are just an unhappy memory that you'll tell me about in passing. I love you, Van. Go be happy. If not, you can always run back to my arms. Love, Your Petra

It took about three weeks for her letter to reach him. He cried his eyes out, reading it. But she had spoken. Petra was right. He had to go find him.

Van rose from the desk in his bedroom, the bedroom he once nearly shared with Petra. He grabbed his leather bag and began laying out clothes to put inside it. He searched the attic for a second suitcase. He'd prove Petra wrong at least once. He took a few things that belonged to her. Her small collection of hair scarves that he liked to wear sometimes and her rings that were much too small for him, but he liked to wear as necklaces. He pocketed the nail polish she'd left behind, deciding he'd be able to use it wherever he went. He applied a coat before he left.

He walked the thirty minutes to Nina's house. Knocking on the door, he felt the weight of the house keys in his hand.

Mrs. Yanez opened the door. She eyed the bag on his shoulder and the suitcase sitting behind him on the porch.

"Van? Hi honey, how are you? Going somewhere?"

Van smiled softly and tossed the keys in his hand, swinging them on his finger.

"I'm well, Mrs. Yanez. I actually am... I'm moving away. I talked it over with the Moretti's... they said to give you the keys to the house."

Needless to say, Mrs. Yanez was shocked. But she understood. She understood Villa Noche wasn't for everyone. If she was being honest, she wasn't entirely sure it was for her.

"Well, I'm sad you're leaving. I'll tell Nina you stopped by."

"That would be great, Mrs. Yanez. Thank you. Tell her I'll write."

"Of course, Van... Where are you going?"

He shrugs.

"When I figure that out, I'll let you know."

Van gives her a hug and leaves the keys with her. It was feeling real.

He went to tell his father. When Van walked into the front door, the young man found Valerio splayed out drunk in the living room. His snoring was so loud, it seemed to shake the paneled walls. Between the drunken slurs on the long walks home and the agitated mumbles when Van came to start the morning's work, Van and his father didn't speak very much. When they did it was about work. It had been a long while since Van had a decent conversation with his dad that didn't involve how many bags of wool were waiting to be washed, or where the grass was best for grazing. It had been a long while since they had a conversation at all. Van frowned, looking around his childhood home for a pen and some paper.

Going through the desk, he stumbled upon a faded picture of him and his mother. Van remembered those big, clunky cameras that would take his picture every year. He remembered going to the church with his mother where a few other people were taking photos too. They always had to wait a long time. It would be him and his mother, holding hands, waiting for their turn. His father never came. Van realized she must have the one who liked the family photos because when she left, his family had never taken another one. Van stared at it, the picture. He stared at his young face and the beautiful face of his mother whom he'd nearly forgotten. He shook his head and put it in his bag, paperclipped between the photos of him and Petra. He wished he could cry some tears about that photo. About how he was taking one of the only tangible things his father still had of his former wife. About how much he missed his mother. About how betrayed and lonely and angry he felt. He couldn't cry anymore. His feelings about this were so absent, it bothered him. Van wished he could cry, just to feel something. Feel something for this broken family.

Van remembered the paper. When he finally found some, he wrote a note.

I'm moving away. I won't be around to help you anymore. If you need anything, I hope there is someone you can call. Please don't forget about my sheep. -Van

He put the piece of paper on the messy kitchen counter, by the coffee press. He'd be sure to find it there. He took a long look around. He didn't recognize this home. He'd lived here for years, yes, but he couldn't recall happiness here. Petra was right. How could he ever have found himself in this mess?

A rustling in the half-open pantry caught Van's attention. There was a young cat making a mess out of the bag of grain on the floor. Van had seen it a few times when coming to tuck his father into bed after a long night who knows where. He'd made some trust with this cat, feeding it leftover fish from the pub and giving it milk from time to time. He assumed it was a stray that his father took in because his loneliness was killing him. Van's replacement. Van clicked his tongue. The cat was emaciated, ribs showing and all. This was no way to live. If Van was rescuing himself, he could make room for one more on the ship to salvation. He just hoped this cat was up for the adventure.

Van scooped up the cat and put him in his backpack. He curled up quite nicely in there. He must have known Van was trying to save him.

That was that. With all the moving and shuffling Van had done in the house, his father still hadn't sat up to see what the commotion was.

Van left without saying goodbye.

As Van was walking along the road out of town, he thought about Lalo. Their friendship had fallen apart ever since that day.

That fateful day.

It was Sunday.

Lalo and his friends were day drinking at the tavern and he'd come all the way to Van's pasture to find him and tell him to quit working for the day. Van had listened, for once. He wasn't one to spare any expense when caring for his animals. Lalo had helped him round up his sheep and put them back in their pen for the day. They'd not even washed up before they headed to resume their merriment.

The two of them were the last ones to leave.

Maybe Lalo had suspected him all along. Maybe he'd know what Van had been thinking of him. Maybe he'd been too afraid to say anything about it sober, risking his reputation and his street cred with his friends... but he thought he could explore all of it under the influence of drink. So they did.

Not for very long. It was a short time. But the hungry way Lalo kissed him was borne into his soul like a brand. It was nothing like the sweet love he'd bad to Petra. It was hard. It had hurt. It was rough. It was dirty. Van hated that he'd done it. All those years of fantasizing about his friend, a friend he didn't want to think of in such a carnal way... summed up to the heaviest guilt he'd felt in his life. And he walked away. For good.

He avoided Lalo after that day. Even when Lalo was begging him to stay. He put on his pants and disappeared, kept to himself as much as he could. He say Lalo less and less, and it hurt him, to watch a friendship die like that. He felt responsible for ruining it. What was worst of all, was that he told no one.

Lalo had chased him, asked him why. Why couldn't they try things out. Asked him if he hadn't been good enough in bed, if he didn't like boys like he thought he did. That wasn't it. It wasn't a question Van knew the answer to. Not right then. In short, Van told him he wanted to try it, and he did. He wished he never did. Not with him.

Van later realized it was that he placed such a price on Lalo and his affection that when he finally paid it... the cost was too much for too little. He thought sleeping with him would provide clarity to all his confusion... make him feel better. He thought it would give him closure and maybe even a relationship. He thought he could make something with Lalo like he'd made with Petra. Something beautiful and safe and sacred. At least he wanted to think that. But Van found out... the things he loved, truly loved, about Lalo, he had made up.

He never told him that. It would've hurt him too much.

Before he knew it, he was on the edge of town. He was really leaving. He'd made his plan before leaving his front door: travel the day to Lola, the nearest town near the base of the mountains, get a room, and in the morning find a wagon to take him north. While in thought, a deep, baritone voice roused him. A passerby on the road.

"You leaving?"

Van turned.

Speak of the devil.

"Oh... yeah. I am."

His lazy eye was squinting against the mid-afternoon sun, shining right in his face. By his bags, Lalo assumed Van was leaving for good.

"Well... I'll make sure your old man takes care of your flock."

The statement sat in Van's stomach like a stone.

"Thank you... I'm sure he'll need reminding."

Van wanted to hug Lalo goodbye. He missed Lalo's hugs. The hugs that he cherished and savored in secret where he'd smell his clothes and wonder what it was like to kiss him. Before Lalo ever knew what his insides felt like.

Hugging him now, he couldn't stomach the thought. The only hug he thought of now was the one locked in close with sweaty grunts in some foreign animal language. He felt bad, knowing Lalo probably wanted the same thing.

Van was quiet for a minute as they stood there, shoulder to shoulder facing opposite sides of their destiny.

"I'll miss you, Van. Maybe one day we can talk... about everything."

Van felt strange tears prick at the back of his eyes.

"Yeah... maybe one day we can... I'd like to."

"Me too."

"Take care of yourself, Lalo."

"You too."

And as Lalo's footsteps were the last to sound behind him, Van was off to start his new life.

[humdelhi]

“Do you know that the forest cover in India is increasing every year?” It seems that Kush Sethi is asking me a trick question. It turns out that he is! “Well, India has a very flawed definition of forest cover. The park we’re sitting in, the golf courses and even certain forms of farmlands are covered in the definition,” he explains. “But, an actual forest is very different from a park. A forest is self sustaining. It provides clean air and water to the city. A park, on the other hand, consumes water.”

I’m meeting Kush after a long time. I used to attend the events that his team “Delhi, I Love You” organised during the 30-month fest in 2015-2017. He’s now moved on to be a full time ‘Urban Gardener’ called "Hara Me" who designs home gardens and his journey starts from the time when he used to spend hours at Sanjay Van every day. No, he’s neither a sinner (harame) nor a forest bound loner. It was a part of his job with a nonprofit in which he mapped and documented the current state of the forests to prepare reports for environmental advocacy. “I still visit the forest once in a while and it’s disheartening to see a new form of encroachment popping up every time. Sometimes it’s a religious structure, sometimes a concrete house, or it could even be a new dumping ground. It seems that the DDA has different priorities. Instead of stopping the encroachments and non-forest activities, they’re turning patches of forest into lawns and putting public furniture & gyms on them. They recently decorated the surroundings of a hill with a ‘kyari’ of flowers and labelled it rock climbing zone.

All this raised a lot of questions in my mind. Why can’t city forests stay ‘junglee’? How okay are we with the wilderness of the parks? Why are they so manicured? Who decides the species that should grow or the height of grass? I can point out so many things, but I need to be an expert myself before I can do that. That’s why I started growing my own plants at home and made my own khaad.”

Soon after one of Kush’s cousins gave him his first project and he has been working on the Delhiwallas’ home lawns, terrace gardens and indoor spaces since then. But that’s just a part of his journey to eventually work on ground, and he draws a lot of inspiration from Pradip Krishen’s work. “Pradip built a wild garden in the desert next to Mehrangarh Fort in Jodhpur. While others may prefer exploring the fort or the city, I spent 4 days studying the marvel that he has created.” We’re suddenly interrupted by the park’s gardener who’s suggesting that we should move. The grass needs to be watered!

[heich0e]

a problem shared is a problem halved yamaguchi tadashi/reader (haikyuu!) word count: 1.2k tags: fluff, coworkers to lovers, yamaguchi being a blushy blushy boy, sharing food is a love language and i stand by that

Most people are deficient in vitamin D.

You've heard it many times in your life, though you can't quite put your finger on the precise place the information first came to you from. You know your doctor brings up supplements when you go for checkups in the cold, dark winter months, and you take them until the days grow longer, the temperature begins to climb, and you can spend more time in the sunlight again.

Scientifically, when the UVB rays from the sun reach the cholesterol cells in your skin, they synthesize vitamin D. Of course there are downsides to too much sun, but so long as you're mindful of just how much time you spend outside, and remember to wear your SPF there's really no-

"What are you doing?"

You peel your eyes open to peer up at the shadowy silhouette standing above you, the shape blocking out the very rays of the sun you'd been ruminating on only seconds prior.

Tadashi, your coworker, blinks down at you curiously--his freckled face slowly coming into focus--his tie dangling into your face as he leans over towards where you're sprawled on the ground.

"I'm having lunch by the lake," you say, smiling a little, gesturing vaguely to the large murky puddle that pools in the centre of the parking lot of your office complex. The rainwater has the tendency to accumulate there after any amount of precipitation: the uneven pavement drawing all of the rainwater into a shallow pond that ripples in the noontime breeze.

It was raining yesterday, hence the lake.

"I looked for you in the lunchroom, but Saikawa-san said she'd seen you heading outside," Yamaguchi says, mentioning another coworker as he stretches back up to his full height. You remain on the single patch of grass in the entire concrete expanse of your company's commercial headquarters. He quirks a brow. "Where's your lunch?"

"I'm having vitamin D for lunch," you reply with a little sigh, letting your eyes flutter closed again.

"Don't tell me you're on a diet." The shuffling you hear and the way Tadashi's voice pitches closer tells you he's taking a seat beside you on the sad, narrow little lawn you lay upon.

"Not on a diet," you reply, laughing a little. You crack one eye to peer over at him, crosslegged beside you with the bento he'd been carrying in his hands resting in the grass in front of his gangly legs. "I just forgot my lunch."

He looks at you with wide eyes.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he sounds almost offended as he asks it--as though wounded by the idea that you didn't immediately run and tell him you'd left your own bento on the table just beside your genkan in your race to catch the train that morning.

"It's not a big deal; I ate breakfast, and I'll stop and get a snack before I take the train home." You wave off his concern, settling back a little further into the lumpy grass, enjoying the way the afternoon sunshine warms your skin. You'd peeled off your cardigan when you got outside, and it's presently balled up like a little pillow beneath the crown of your head, leaving the skin of your arms and your décolletage available to absorb the heat and those precious UVB rays.

"Here," you feel a weight land on your sternum, and tilt your head down to see Tadashi's bento perched atop your tummy. "Eat that."

"No." you sit up, careful to move the lunchbox as to not send it toppling into your lap. "I'm not eating your lunch, Yamaguchi-san."

"Well you can't eat nothing," he says, flabbergasted by the thought.

"But you can?" you counter, taking the bento and plunking it down in front of him again.

His cheeks puff out a little in disgruntlement, as though mulling over your (inarguably valid) thought.

"What if we share it?"

You pause at his suggestion.

"You want to share your lunch with me?" you ask him, processing his offered solution slowly.

He nods, firm in his decision. "Both of us having half a lunch is better than one of us having none."

You blink.

"Alright," you say with a laugh and an incredulous shake of your head, moving to stand.

"Where are you going?" Yamaguchi asks you (his tone borderline panicked) as you move to step away.

"Well, if you're supplying lunch the least I can do is get us some drinks." You tip your head towards the vending machines along the side of the office building behind you.

Tadashi relaxes slightly, nodding, his cheeks flaring red in the midday sunshine--his freckles getting lost in the sweet sweep of rose as it crawls across his face.

You return a few moments later with two bottles of cold drinks, letting your lunch date make his choice first from the selection you've provided. He chooses the juice, which surprises you, leaving the bottle of tea to you.

"I thought you loved this tea," you say, cracking the top off and taking a sip.

Yamaguchi busies himself unpacking the bento compartments, not meeting your eye.

"I know you like it too, so I wanted you to have it."

You groan.

"Yamaguchi-san, I'm trying to do something nice for you!"

He looks up with a sheepish smile, rubbing at the back of his neck.

You huff.

"Fine, we can share this too," you say after a moment, pushing the cool bottle into his hands. He nearly fumbles it in surprise, a few drops of tea sloshing into the grass beside his knee, narrowly missing the dark material of his slacks.

He stares at the drink in his hand for a moment, then to you, then back to the tea.

"What?" you ask, confused by his hesitation.

"Well, uh..." he starts, and then abandons the thought halfway through. "Never mind."

You snort, reaching for a piece of lettuce sticking up in corner of the bento box.

"Were you worried about it being an indirect kiss or something?"

Tadashi nearly chokes on the mouthful of tea he'd been in the process of swallowing.

You gape at him, lettuce hanging limply from the two fingers you have it pinched between. "You were!"

He shakes his head, fighting for breath, but the blush intensifying on his face is all too telling.

"Sorry, sorry," he says, bowing his head a little, though you suspect it's just to hide the incriminating hue of his cheeks. "You just... can't say things like that to me so suddenly."

"Why?" you ask, popping the piece of lettuce into your mouth and chewing it slowly.

He peeks up at you.

"Because it might get my hopes up."

You pause mid-chew.

You can't help but notice the way Tadashi's brown eyes burn impossibly warmer in the sunshine.

You laugh, dropping your head a little, swallowing the food in your mouth.

"If we don't eat soon our lunch break will be over," you say quietly, nudging the meal a little bit closer to him. You see him deflate from the corner of your eye, reaching dejectedly for a piece of tempura.

"And Tadashi?"

His eyes snap to you.

"When I kiss you, you won't have to worry about it being indirect."

The grin that stretches across his face tells you that you won't ever have to worry about getting enough vitamin D again, because it's so bright it puts even the strongest rays of the sun to shame.

[writingsbychlo]

smoke and fire (07a)

word count; 8511

summary; a chemical fire brings chaos, and the card system is initiated as multiple firehouse come together to try an save the staff trapped within the building.

notes; I split this one up again, just because the sum total of the part was over 15,000 words, and it had a convenient divide point, so it just made sense to do so.

warnings; chemical fires, reference to injury, reference to death, gore, burns, vomiting, reference to panic attacks.

As soon as you were stepping out of the ambulance, the stench of chemicals on the air was making your eyes water, the heat from the plant that was over a hundred metres away could be felt all the way from here, and there was a barricade being set up around you to hold the crowds back. As you stood before the building, you lifted your arm, staring up at the blazing inferno and resting your face into the crook of your elbow, breathing through the material as your throat already began to sting. 

There was the unsettling sound of emergency alarms ringing out from within the bullying loudly, glass shattering and the sound of splintering wood and foundations from inside, and the trucks of fire engines who had arrived before you were already unrolling their hoses. Looking around for your own team, you found them, Gally immediately unhooking the hoses and handing them out, and you watched as both Chuck and Winston hauled the reel up and over their shoulders, darting away towards the closest hydrants they could find. 

The blond head of your Chief came into sight, hopping down from the SUV he drove as the lights on top went out, sloppily parked as he rushed to the scene, and as he moves, he was pulling back strands of longer hair into a bun, and pacing away towards the crews. Your feet were moving underneath you before you could control them, falling into step beside Newt as he let out a rough sigh, scratching at the stubble growing along his jaw that he hadn't been able to shave before the alarm went off, a look on his face that was a mixture between irritation and worry. 

It wasn’t often that Vince came out to calls too, your Chief often spent his times at the station, making calls from within, keeping everything under control and making sure that every piece of executive work that needed to be done was completed. He only ever came to calls that required every member of personnel available, when there would be multiple different firehouses to answer a call, much like this one, where decisions would be made by the Chiefs rather than the Lieutenants, and as he paced away to meet the other high-ranking men, you arrived with your group. 

Flicking your gaze over both Gally and Thomas, you tried to assess how they were feeling. Something within you told you that neither of them was all that fond of giving up the control in a situation, and while Gally would often listen to what Thomas had to say when it came to a call, it still made it tough. Thomas wasn’t looking at the crew; he was staring out at the chief, watching Vince walk away to meet with the other’s and his eyes narrowed a little, unable to decipher what any of them were saying. 

The shaking of your arm caught your attention, a larger hand with spindly fingers hooked onto your bicep, and you followed it up, finding Newt’s gaze, and raising a brow at him. 

“I think we’re going to be put on a card system, I’ve only done one of them before, but I hate doing it.”

“I’ve never used the cards before. I don’t even know where we keep them.” You mumbled, and Newt shrugged, his eyes flicking back over to the white van that the two of you had arrived in. 

“They’re in the second-cabinet over the bed, top shelf, in a storage box.” He frowned a little as he sighed, shoulders slumping a little, and your own mood was dwindling. “I like to keep them hidden away, I don’t like to see them.”

You could only nod, remembering yourself years ago as you’d been doing your emergency field training, reaching your crisis events stage, and this definitely qualified for that. An explosion within a chemical plant, fumes going up into the air as the fires continued to burn, and the population inside were unable to get out at the current moment. The card system was something that always brought a sour taste to your mouth when you thought about those lessons, the pictures and examples you’d been given, the other paramedics who had come in on those days to discuss their own experiences, it was all extremely saddening.

Four colours of cards; red, yellow, green or black. Too many patients to possibly get into ambulances and get to the hospital, and so you were tasked with the excruciatingly difficult task of making the calls yourself, of taking every life into your own hands and risking making a decision on their health, how strong you thought their chances of survival were, and when you would be forced to give up on them. 

Green for patients you came across that would be fine, the ones who could wait for treatment, may not even have to go to the hospital at all, or could be taken by the surrounding public. Yellow cards meant more in need of care, not to be ignored, but certainly capable of waiting if it came to it, and red, those who were in a critical condition and needed urgent care. 

Then, there were the black cards. The sombre shade on a string for those who were injured beyond relief, who wouldn't make it to the hospital, or the extent of their injuries would mean surgery was deemed impossible anyway. Those who simply had to be made comfortable, because there was nothing else that could be done for them. 

You hated the card system. 

Vince was making his way back over, and the team behind you was already beginning to suit up, the rows of chemical hazmat-style suits that lay in neatly stacked rows within the chambers of the fire trucks, stacked up for use that barely ever came, kicking off their boots to try and tug the protective plastic covering up and over their suits, making sure they were sealed at their ankles, before redressing themselves once again. You perked up a little as the Chief arrived, looking a little frazzled already, but it was evident that was the mood of the day, and the other trucks began to fire up the water to spray at the flames that could be reached. 

“Alright, ‘21, listen up.” His hands rubbed together, silence falling over the group as mumbled whispers hushed, ready for commands. “Firehouse ‘17 and ‘22 have already started on the outer works, they have hoses set up and are working on the rubble and gaining us entrance. We will be going inside, along with ‘24 who are already beginning to sweep the lower floors.” Thomas only nodded, turning to confirm with his team, and Gally began to instruct the truck crew on their positions, the sounds of zippers and helmets, slamming of doors and the hiss of the engines as the fire trucks were powered down. 

“And us?”

Vince turned to look at you, glancing over his shoulder at the scene, looking around, before his eyes were fixing onto a patch of grass, shaded by a few trees, the general public lurking on it as news broadcasters began to arrive and begin to set up. “I’m going to clear you some space, pull up your ambulance, the other three are going to join you. The two of you will stay here, you’re making the most calls, the paramedics from ‘17, ‘22 and ‘25 are going to be doing hospital runs. I want cards, quick and fast, there are over three hundred people trapped in that building right now.”

The confirmation was all you needed, before Newt was jingling the van keys in his hand, a promise that he would get the truck and take it over to park, if you accompanied Vince to begin clearing civilians and broadcasters from the space. You would need to start blocking it off from the public eye and the cameras as best you could with the vehicles, knocking that it would be distracting to your work and distressing to the victims if they were constantly being watched, and you nibbled a little on your lower lips as you looked over the scene. 

Vince was already pacing away from you, Newt too, leaving you standing in the middle as your eyes flickered over it, and the only van that would be permanent there would be your’s, every other ambulance being used to make hospital journeys, as you hoped that someone had managed to call up the local hospitals, because they were all going to be preparing for an influx of new patients soon. 

The sudden slamming of a door to your side made you flinch, turning to look at the brought red vehicle as you were shocked from your thoughts, and your eyes flicked over to the scene once again. 

Thomas was only a few feet in front of you, his foot lifted onto the edge of the van as he redid his laces, the plastic material of the chemical-proof covering sitting undone around his waist, and you made your way over to his side, clearing your throat a little, and he finished doing his laces, turning to look at you silently with a questioning gaze as he stood to his full height. Pushing an arm through one sleeve, he waited for you to speak. 

“Is there any chance you could move your trucks over to the edge of the grass for me?”

He turned to look, his gaze sweeping across it, along the sides of the road, before he was looking back to the burning building, seemingly doing the equations silently in his head as he thought it all over, of what equipment they might need, of access that might be impeded, all while adjusting the suit he wore and lifting his helmet onto his head. “I guess so, why?”

“I don’t want the crowds and the media to start gathering around when the wounded start coming out, it’ll give us a little more privacy, make it easier to work, and make the people coming outta’ there feel a little less like tonight's headline news, and more just a person who needs help.” You shrugged a little, hand pushing into the pockets of your jacket as you stared up at him, his lips flicking up at the corners as he stared right back, licking over them to wet them as he nodded. 

“I can do that, for you. Give me five minutes, and I’ll get both trucks to move, just tell Minho and Fry where you want ‘em positioned.”

“Thank you, Thomas.” A breath of relief left you, Newt sounding the sirens once as he passed you by in the ambulance, as you gave him a brief nod, stepping away from Thomas as you made to follow the slowly moving vehicle and begin to prepare for the survivors who’d be delivered to you. Spinning on your heel as you went, you found Thomas already watching you go, and your lips pursed, considering your words for only a second, before releasing them; “Be careful in there, okay?”

He seemed surprised for only a moment, swallowing thickly and ducking his head, before he was giving you the same nod you’d given him, and trying to give you the best reassuring look he could in this stressful situation. “I will be.”

He offered you a cheeky smile to follow up, one eye dropping in a wink, before he was twisting on his heel to face away, and picking up a job as he set off to do his job, saving the lives of those who were trapped inside. He paused only for a moment to instruct both of the drovers on their current diversion from tasks, the three glancing over to you for just a second, and Minho offered you a thumbs-up as he did. The truck beside you hissed as it came into action, the tyres slowly inching along the concrete as they were beginning to be repositioned. 

Taking up a quick walk as you arrived at the pavement, a space left on either side of the ambulance as Newt already began unloading the belongings from inside that would be needed. There were other paramedics beginning to arrive, the pair from house ‘24 was beginning to lay out neat rows of plastic linings along the grass, pinned down as best they could be to makeshift spots for patients to be placed within, a system that would keep it as organised as it possibly could be, channels moving vertically and horizontally that were wide enough for stretchers to be wheeled through. 

Parking one truck on each side of the ambulance, the other vans sat along the opposite curb, not nearly parked as tightly as your house’s vehicles were, all ready for their departing as they were loaded up with victims to be taken to the hospital. The radio inside of your ambulance was crackling as you clambered inside to help, the firetrucks engines powering down before the men were dropping down from the cabins and bolting away after the rest of the team, towards the inferno of flames that had once been a building and business.

There was chatter on the other end of the device, the nurses desk at one of the hospitals, left running as an open line was held in preparations for the emergency barrage that would be arriving soon enough, and you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. A hand knocked on the metal casing the inside of the door, and you glanced over at Newt, before you were opening up the locker with your med bag in, and lifting it onto your shoulder as he raised his brows at you. 

“You ready to go?”

“Is anyone ever really ready to start carding people?” You sighed, hopping down from the vehicle and letting Newt hand you a stack of the cards, a collection of strings to hang over their necks that were at least a hundred thick, an equal divide of every coloured card, and you could only hope that the only issue you’d have today was running out of green cards for the people you’d be helping.

There was a twisting feeling in your gut, something making you feel like there was a bad cloud hanging over an already terrible event, a crawling and scratching kind of nausea that made you want to itch at every inch of your skin and squirm where you studio because something felt wrong, and it wasn’t just the smell of chemicals on the air that you’d already grown used to, or the sting of your eyes from the copious amounts of greasy smoke curling up into the air and clouding out the sun in patches of the sky. 

Newt’s gaze was still fixed on you, and he offered his hand, tugging you forwards a little and holding onto you as you hopped down from the van, before an arm was wrapping around your shoulders, and you were behind tugged a little closer to his side as he tucked you close to him.

“Fry added a few little extras to the food delivery this week, we can have hot chocolate when we get back.” You huffed a laugh at his words, the two of you turning to face the building as the few minutes of silence that formed the quiet before the storm dragged on into what felt like hours of anxious waiting. “C’mon, everyone loves hot chocolate. It’s a feel-good drink.”

“I never said it wasn’t!”

“The tone of your scoff said it all. There was attitude in your exhale.” He teased, squeezing you a little closer, before letting you go, and moving to talk to the other pairs that were lingered about. As you and Newt were the team assigned to stay at the scene, presumably because your team was the only squad team, and would therefore be here the longest, you were left in charge. Your mind was already spinning, and you were grateful to have Newt, the man already on his toes and beginning os et out a system for how each other house team would begin to take patients to the hospital, to make sure that everyone got there in their due course, and that nobody in need of emergency attention was left behind. 

Just as you were waiting, pausing the nibbling of a lower lip that was growing sore for just a second, a pulse of energy washed over you, a second later, glass shattering and stonework cracking as chunks splintered away, and the flames went up louder as your ears rung at the explosion that had taken place. Something unstable seemed to have ruptured within, because sirens grew a little louder, the chatter of the crowds that were being held back, crying mother's and screaming children to accompany the wails of the building, and it was overwhelming every one of your senses.

The silence that followed it lasted only for a minute, everybody in the area going silent for a split second, before more chaos than before was bursting up. Crying relatives and concerned civilians became hysterical as news teams began to gather, the vans pulling up and cameras begging assembled as teams prepared to start covering the disaster. 

The logo on the front of the building was almost hidden, charred and disguised by roaring flames, but it had been a well-known company, something in cleaning and industrial usage, and you were sure that it was going to be a big lawsuit that would make lots of lawyers happy within the next few days. 

You didn’t recognise the first firefighters to emerge, belonging to another team, but as soon as they began to come out, the first wave of people who had been trapped inside was following. They didn’t seem too the worse for wear, a lot of surface skin wounds and first degree burns, smoke inhalation and dizziness as you sat them down, but the worst it ever got was a few yellow bands for wounds that may want to be checked at the hospital, and a gash across a woman’s head from where she’d fallen in shock, a concussion threatening her, and so you’d dismissed them all. 

The first ambulance had left soon after, while you had been kneeling in the grass beside a man who was shaking violently, unable to string words together in his shock as the bottom half of his tie was burned off, still smoking a little, with a burn across the side of his face that you tried to attend to. You forced yourself to let out a sigh of relief, the temperature in the air cool just a little as the jets of water blasted from the colony of firetrucks managed to tame the flames leaving the windows, but there was an ominous orange glow from inside, the huge building nowhere near being under control yet. 

Settling onto your knees beside him, you cupped a hand on the other side of his face, nervous eyes finding yours as his jittering died down just a little, before they were welling up with tears instead. 

“I’m just going to clean up your injury a little, alright?” He took a minute, nodding his head, and trying to swallow down thickly, before he was tearing himself away, a wrack of painful sounding coughs leaving him, and he gasped for breath between bursts, the smoke inhalation making his throat raw and swollen, struggling to breathe. 

You rubbed at his back gently, easing him through it, wishing that there was more that you could do for him, and thinking about everything you needed that you didn’t have on hand. You knew the burn of smoke in your throat, the painful stinging it caused, scratchy, like standing too close to the steam coming from a pan, and burning the inside of your mouth all the way to your lungs. When he finally managed to compose himself, it was with a whispered apology under his breath, and you brushed it off, a sweet smile offered to him as you did, before you were flicking the catch on your med kit once again, and letting it fall open as you prepared to tend to him. 

“It’s a surface burn, not too bad. I know it stings right now, but it’ll only take a few weeks to heal, and there shouldn't be any scarring, as long as you don’t mess with it, alright?”

“Is it going to get a scab?”

“I shouldn't think so. It’s going to swell up a little and get itchy, just like a bee sting, but don’t scratch it, alright?” You dabbed carefully along the spot with a cooling wipe, the skin under your fingertips searching hot as it was deep shades of red, even towards the edges, before meeting his natural tan skin tone, and you could feel the trapped heat just from the touch, even through your gloves. “It may develop a blister, but if you take care of it, that shouldn't happen either.”

Swapping out the wipe and tucking it into the main compartment of your bag, empty but beginning to grow with a collection of used materials to be disposed of, you undid the cap, an ample amount of white paste onto two of your fingers, and you used your thumb to smear it across the tips and make it a little more malleable. 

“If it gets too itchy, you can take off some of the inflammation by holding something chilled, not iced, up against it. Try running a cloth under the cold tap, wringing it out and putting it in the fridge for a while. Don’t sleep on this side until the skin has healed over, though, that’ll irritate it and make it worse. Any drugstore burn cream should work pretty well for it, okay?” He ran the words back to you, slowly and surely as he tried to commit the advice to memory, and you nodded your head as he got it. “You got someone you can call to come and get you, I don’t want you driving anywhere yourself, but I don’t think this is a hospital case.”

“I can call my neighbour. She works from home.”

“That’s great, there’s phones being passed around for use if you don’t have yours.” Grabbing your bag and sealing up the med box, you didn’t bother closing your bag, just swinging it over your shoulder as it accumulated rubbish, and standing up to your full height, stretching your knees a little as they began to ache, and yet, you knew that by the end of it all, you wouldn't even be able to feel them. You probably wouldn't get out of bed at all tomorrow, though, you’d be so sore after it all. 

“Excuse me, sir, do you have time for a few questions?”

You jumped a little at the sudden voice behind you, turning to find a smartly dressed woman, pencil skirt and a blazer, with freshly highlighted hair and manicured nails wrapped around a microphone, and her cameraman only a few feet behind her, fiddling with the switched on the device as he waited for confirmation, half of his face hidden from you as he peered into the lens. 

The man on the floor fumbled a little, the plastic sheet underneath him crinkling as he moved, and you watched him gape slightly, the woman balancing on her heels on the grass raising her brows a little, a ridiculously fake smile plastered on her lips to be polite, and she didn’t acknowledge your presence at all, even when you cleared your throat in a points manner. 

“We aren’t taking any interviews.”

“I just need a segment for my channel, that’s all.” She hummed, glancing at you over her shoulder, her eyes dragging up and down your body in a way that would’ve made you insecure had it not been for the fact that the bulky uniform and professional hair you wore wasn’t for screen views and attention, but for practicality and saving lives, and that was enough for you.

“Yeah? Well, you’re going to have to find them somewhere else. This is for victims of the fore, not your next interview. Get off my grass.” 

She turned to stare at you, straightening up to her full height and standing a few inches taller than you, her eyes narrowed as she tried to seem intimidating enough o get her way, and had it not been for the adrenaline of the situation surging through every cell in your body, you probably would’ve caved under their harsh stare. 

“In fact-” Your voice raised a little, enough that Newt and the other patients, paramedics, and news broadcasters that were walking the faintly marked pathways to find their next interrogation victim could hear. “All the news channels can step the fuck off the grass and get behind the vans with the other civilians. We’re treating trauma victims here, you can wait and get your interviews if any steps forward to speak, on the other side of that barrier.”

You raised an arm, pointing at the trucks that Thomas had arranged his men to purposefully park for you, but never taking your eyes off of her, raising a single and challenging brow, and she held your gaze for only a second longer, before she was huffing out, stomping away and back to where you’d commanded her to go. The other pairs of cameramen and hosts followed suit, all of whom were glaring, peering around like vultures and offering interviews out to everyone they passed, trying to tempt the wounded to cross the threshold and set themselves up on-camera. 

The next person up was someone who was hunched over a little, a hand clutched around their stomach as they supported themselves on the sheet, another victim retrieved from within the flames was sitting beside them, the two huddled together, one older and one younger, and as you knelt down beside them, their attention flickered to you. 

From your initial assessment, you hooked a green card over each of their necks, leaving the handful of coloured plastic necklace slips to the side in order to ensure that they were there, in case more serious problems began to arise. Newt was working along the aisle beside you, his eyes catching yours for only a second, a swift nod, before he was taking place beside a man who’s family seemed to have already found him, a young girl kneeling beside him as another crawled into his lap, and your heart warmed at the sight. 

The waves of patients came and went, your focus on the women in front of you being your primary concern, but it didn’t stop the white noise around you from making itself known every so often. There wasn’t a second of break, the second you cleared one plastic sheet, whether it be sending the patient to the hospital or straight home with medical advice, it seemed to be being refilled. Glimpses of your team hidden amongst the similarly clad strangers of other houses kept a soft smile flickering on your face occasionally as you scanned them over, diagnosing one with smoke inhalation resulting in dizziness and nausea, and the other with minor burns and a possible concussion, both being sent to the hospital with a family member who was called to come and collect them, and to give their coloured tag back to a member of staff before leaving. 

There were still news reporters buzzing around the edges flashes of cameras and heavy video set-ups lance don shoulders as smartly dressed presenters wandered with perfect hair and microphones to stick into the faces of anyone who would stop to give information for even a second, your blood boiling at the idea of it all. It made you nervous, to know that these people had already been through so much, that you and your team were under so much pressure, and you were being projected live with your actions under scrutiny as it was all making tonight's headlines, ready to be printed on tomorrow’s papers and on the evening’s Twitter trends.

Just as you were searching for your next location, eyes flickering over the patients at who you’d already seen, who Newt had visited, searching over chests and necks for strings that led to coloured cards, before a hand landed on your shoulder, making your jump. Heavy and large, and you sighed a little with irritation as a voice came to follow; “S’cuse me, ma’am, do you have a second to answer a few questions?”

You scowled, shaking your head and squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to contain yourself. The anger was already too much, the stress within your body left you bubbling over on an overly emotional high that could topple in, either way, these kinds of big events always made panic rise up within you, and you’d be emotionally destroyed by the end of it all, frazzled and drained, with nothing to help but some peace and quiet, and comforting yourself with the company of your favourite movie or your bed. “I already told you all, no fucking interviews unless the patients come to you themselves, so unless you’re one of the injured workers from inside, get off my damn grass.”

Spinning on your heel to face the man, your eyes widened, someone much taller than you were was all but towering over you, an expression on his face that was somewhere between amused, confused, and concerned, and he looked around the scene, the uniform shirt on his chest shifting with a rustle of material as he tucked his thumbs into his belt, brows raising a little. 

“Officer. Right, sorry, my bad. I’m just a little..” You waved an arm out around yourself, the low groans and cries of pain, a chaotic clamouring of voices, the wails of sirens on trucks and ambulances, the sounds of fire and shouts of teams as their radios crackled, it was enough to give anyone a headache, and there was already a throbbing behind your eyes that was only going to get worse.

“Overwhelmed?”

“Understatement.” You mumbled, and he chuckled a little, your head rolling from side to side, a collection of pops and clicks sounding as you eased yourself out a little. “What can I do for you?”

“More like what can I do for you, actually.” He shrugged a little, looking around over the crowds, and you twitched a little at a particularly sharp cry, knowing that people were needing your help. “Looks like you and the other paramedics have things under control, as far as the chief’s over there say, you and that chap over there-” His head nodded towards where Newt was standing, a sullen look on his face as he hooked a red card over the neck of a young woman who couldn’t be any older than mid-twenties. “-are organising everything here. So, just tell me what you need.”

“What we need?”

“What we can do to help, we just want to offer what we can. It’s a freak accident, and that building is still on fire, so we can’t exactly start investigating anything yet,” You nodded, nibbling on your lower lip as you began to catch on. “So, just tell me what I can do to make things a little easier for you.”

“Okay, well, where to start.” You had no idea, trying to clear your thoughts as to what they would be able to do that would benefit everyone here. “Let’s start with a real barrier, there’s a lot of people beginning to gather, and it’s loud. It makes it hard to work, there are news channel vultures everywhere, and it’s distressing to the injured being brought out, makes them feel like zoo animals or something in a circus. Push ‘em back.”

“You got it, we’ll set up some boundaries. What else?”

“On the topic of the crowds, though, you could start sifting through for family. A lot of them are calling for family members and friends to take them home or to hospital, to take the pressure off of the ambos’.” He nodded as you spoke, and you twisted to look away from him, hands on your hips as you tried to think clearly, a list of necessities beginning to form. “If you can, start going around and getting anyone capable to fill out forms so we can get the right families over, we don’t need more people wandering around and making it too busy to see what’s happening, we need to get exact families there accurately.”

He only nodded, letting you speak on, before you were letting out a sigh of relief as you finally got some support in place.

“Collecting up the cards when people leave, so we don’t run out. We’re on a coloured band system, so if you bring them back to us, we can redistribute them.” His eyes flickered down to the pile of plastic cards in your hands, observing them for a second, and nodding his head. “Lastly, I need some water bottles. A lot of them, these people have smoke inhalation, and they need to be taking slow and steady sips of water, and we don’t have any to give out.”

“I can definitely take care of all that.” He beamed, chest puffing up a little, and he lifted the radio on his shoulder to begin speaking to the rest of the officers that you could see wandering around. “If you think of anything else, come and find one of us.”

“I will. Thanks, Officer, uh..”

“Officer Paris.” You dipped your head, giving him your name in return, and he repeated it to memorise it, before the radio was crackling with a response, and he set off to complete the tasks you’d given to him. 

What you would term as the second wave of patients was worse. Despite the constant trickle of what were mostly skin wounds and minor injuries, with the occasional severity coming through, the more serious issues were beginning to arise now. Deeper from within the bowels of the building, those with serious injuries, dripping blood and flesh so raw it looked agonising, and wounds that would make anyone with a faint stomach pass out. The ones who’d been closer to the danger, trapped longer, wounded more severely, and the pressure was beginning to grow overwhelming with a whole new wave of crowds, not enough space for them all as your rush became even worse.

Minho was leading a group out with Brenda and Winston at the rear, and these seemed to be a crowd from deeper within the blaze. Suddenly the once empty and quiet grasses were filled, writhing bodies, spills of blood and raw flesh, dazed patients who could barely remember their own names and tear-stained cheeks. The green cards were a distant memory, yellow running out as you were moving through your stacks of red, and every time you turned, there was another person calling out for your help, another paramedic ready to make a run to the hospital, another family member searching for an employee with concern and stress written into their features. 

 “Ma’am, I just need you to hold still for me, alright?” It was as though she didn’t processed your words at all, going in one ear and out of the other as she twitched relentlessly, jerking away from you a little more each time as you tried to tend to the injury on her forehead, watching as she whipped around, frantic eyes searching the scene as the trauma she’d witnessed and been a part of. 

“Sorry, it just stings, is all.” She let out a sigh, attempting to hold herself still as you worked carefully at the grazes and burns along her skin. It was a simple gash, easy to fix and not much of a concern, the blood no longer beading along her hairline where the cut lay. Her skin was flushed with a pink tinge around the edges as you wiped it clean, pushing back her hair as you tried to judge whether or not to put paper stitches on it and pull the skin back together. She jerked again, hissing under her breath, and you mumbled an apology under your breath, but she only frowned. “I don’t have any right to be in pain, it’s just a stupid cut, there are people hurt worse than I am.”

As if on cue, you watched as a stretcher moved past only a few aisles over, the rustle of plastic and the pained groans of someone who had a red card dangling from their fingertips was rushed past, jostling over the dips and bumps in the grass as they tried to hold it as steadily as possible. “You have every right to be in pain! Just because you aren’t as hurt as them, doesn’t make your pain any less valid.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You mumbled, settling on leaving it as it was but rubbing a dollop of healing gel into the wound carefully as the second tube of the day was already moving towards its end, and you were utterly exhausted. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, or how many people you’d seen. It could have been minutes or hours, tens or hundreds, but your head was spinning, no time to focus on anything except for the wounded before you. “These cuts can sting like a bitch, I hate them myself, they’re in a sensitive place.”

“Thanks for helping me.” Her voice cracked, tears beginning to build in her eyes, and you let her hair fall back down into place. She couldn't be much older than you were, a charred and torn blouse on her shoulders with a pencil skirt that was tattered, and you hated that she wouldn't be able to look at a smart skirt or a pair of heels here without having traumatic memories of this day again. “I don’t know what happened. One moment I was trying to find a new packet of staples in the storage cupboard, and the next moment, the floor was crumbling in on top of me.”

“I know, these things just come on very suddenly. It can be terrifying.”

She sniffled a little, a breathless and empty laugh on her lips before she was wiping at the edges of her eyes gently. “I couldn't breathe. There was so much dust, and I was trapped, it was dark, and then it wasn’t. Suddenly there were flames overhead, and my ears were ringing, silencing becoming loud silence and screams and-” She hiccuped, and you pressed a water bottle into her hands, encouraging her to take several deep gulps of the cool liquid as the tears now flowing from her face cut tracks in the grey littering of dust on her cheeks. “Oh, God, the screams. It was awful, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget them.”

“It gets easier, don’t worry.” Her eyes found yours, searching you for honesty, and there was no lie to be held. You’d been in many of those situations yourself, and eventually, it got easier to live with, to know you may have survived when someone else didn’t, or simply to know that you did the best you could but it wasn’t enough. “You can’t control everything, and it isn’t your fault. Once you accept that, the guilt leaves you, and it’s easier to live with, because you know you were just someone in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Is that how you cope?”

“Well, yes. That and having people around me who make it easier. You need people like that.” As you swung your bag up onto your shoulder, you stood from where you were crouching, her eyes darting across the crowds as she presumably waited for her next of kin. “You got someone coming to get you?”

“My girlfriend is on her way.”

“Good. Clean that cut once a day, no hairspray of makeup in it until it’s totally healed over, and keep an eye on it for infections. You’ll be all good.” She repeated the words, memorising them, before offering her thanks once again, and just with that, you snapped out of your bubble with her, the noise that had been tuned out to become faded and muffle background noise was suddenly overwhelming again, and you couldn't focus on any one thing. 

As you’d tended to her, it was like everything else fell away, each case being given your sole attention, and yet as you slipped between victims to find the next person in need of help, you were dizzy with the commotion once again. 

It all became a flurry of movement, time slipping away around you as you tended to one person after another, the green cards you’d been growing familiar with and running out of were now in abundance, each one returned to you was like a kick in the gut, a sea of yellows and reds to represent injuries as victims from deeper within the catastrophe came through. You weren’t sure how long it had been, or how many people had passed you by. 

There was mud stained onto your knees and legs from where you leant by the side of patients in the dirt, and there was blood staining your gloves and sleeves, no longer clean as loose hairs fell free from your up-do as you tried to keep it out of your face. There was grime and blood crusted into your hair, smears on your skin and you were feeling the extent of the forming headache beginning to take its toll on you. Your head felt like it was being squeezed tightly, the stress of it all making your hands shake each time you tried to steady them to give stitches, or to hold yourself still to be able to run an exam. 

Every person you came to had a different story, and the day was tickling by in a blur, the firemen finally beginning to make a move on the fire itself and the containment over just finding survivors within the walls, your heart thumping with relief and concern each time you saw a member of your team flash by, far too quickly to even exchange polite nods, but at least it just confirmed to you that they were all okay. 

As you locked up the backdoors of one ambulance, the pained groan of an older woman who had just handed you back her red card could still be heard from within, and you banged your hand on the vehicle to signal them to leave, the rumbling engine carrying them away from you, sirens flicking not long after they left the curb. You were only given a moment’s reprieve, before footsteps were coming toward you, thudding against the ground behind you, and your eyes slipped close for a second in your exhaustion. With a hand on your arm and a force that pulled you around a little to face them, you tried to focus your eyes on the person before you, doing an initial sweep over them. 

You recognised the uniform, matching to your own, identical in everything except for the house number stitched onto the fabric, and you let out a little sigh, at least a little relieved that it was just another paramedic, which would give you a second to gather yourself.

“Who's next?” Their brows raised, a little blood smeared on her shoulder in the vague shape of fingerprints and the strands from her hair was beginning to fall out from her braid, messy and undone, clearly pulled back up in a rush and you could only imagine how the sights at the hospitals must be. There were plenty of people who’d be injured externally from the fire and explosion too, civilians and those who had been passing by at the time, as well as anyone who had removed themselves from the building before a firefighter found them. “I need you to tell me who to take next.”

You blinked a little, unsure of when you’d gotten stuck in your thoughts, and cleared your throat, trying to offer a nod as you processed a catalogue of everybody you’d seen so far. “Uh, yeah. Right.” You looked around, your eyes locking on the person you were looking for, and nodding your head towards them. “There’s a man over there, red card, head split open from the rubble, losing blood fast. I put him in a neck brace and managed to close his wound but it’s going to need stitches and surgery. Definite haemorrhaging.”

She offered you a nod, the House ‘17 paramedic dashing away from you quickly, calling out the name of her partner and you wished you could remember it but it felt as though it had gone within one ear and out of the other, never once stopping to process it or memorise it. 

Running a hand over your face, you took a split second, the racing of your heart in your chest was beginning to ache, and your throat was raw, and you forced yourself to take at least one slow breath, holding it before letting go, and feeling your heart calm from it’s rapid thudding, even if just for a moment. 

You were caught up taking a moment to yourself that you missed the distressed call the first time, the sound of it rattling around in your brain for a second, and your brows furrowed, eyes cracking open to look over the scene before you as you tried to discover if it had been real. Nobody was looking at you, nobody was calling again, and so you are certain that the familiar and panicked calling had been imagined. 

However, when it came again, your entire body stiffened. It was clearer, far more easily recognisable and a lot closer. His voice trembled, deep and rasping and distorted only by the mask that would be on his face, and your head whipped over the scene, before spinning on your heel to search further. “(Y/N)?”

Then you saw him, emerging around the side of an ambulance, head twisting frantically as he searched, a body slung across his arms, burned and bloody and flopping almost lifelessly within his hold, and the water bottle in your hands shook a little as it fell away, half-empty and rolling away from you across the grass with your shock. “Thomas!”

He turned, shoulders relaxing a little as his gaze set on you, and he took rapid steps towards you. Searching for the closest empty plastic-lined bay to him, finding one with the sheet flapping a little in the wind, and pointing it out to him. He paused, your feet already moving underneath of you as you went to meet him, and he twisted to a new angle, meeting you at the bay as he sunk down to lay the body delicately into the grass.

Whoever it was writhed as soon as they were placed down, curling in on themselves and groaning, arms wrapping up, and something between a pained yell and a sob left them, your heart cracking at the youthful sound of their voice. Dropping to your knees, a painful shock ran over numbed nerves, sparking you up in pain from where you thought you’d lost all feeling whatsoever, but that wasn’t where your mind was at. 

Setting down your bag, Thomas dropped to his knees on the opposite side of you, and you stripped off your gloves, swapping them out for a fresh pair as you looked at the extensive injuries this boy held, looking to be even younger than Chuck was, barely even eighteen, possibly even younger, perhaps just an intern, as you rolled him over onto his back slowly. Stripping off his helmet, it clattered and rolled in the grass, the mask following, and then you were catching sight of panic-stricken and worried eyes, flecked with golden speckles that seemed dulled in his fear, and his brows were pulled tightly together. 

“I-I dug him out of burning rubble. You can help him, right?”

He swallowed thickly, and you ran your gaze over him, pursing your lips, and taking a deep and steadying breath as you prepared to speak. “I’m gonna’ do everything I possibly can.”

“I should have done more. I should have found him sooner, I should have checked sooner.” His voice rose a little higher with each criticism he gave himself, and his eyes were fixed on the boy, you weren’t sure if he even knew if he was speaking aloud or whether those were thoughts he’d been intending to keep secreted to himself, attacking himself within his own mind, accidentally exposed. 

The boy wretched, a heaving cough that was dry but splattered blood across the ground, beside him as he twisted to turn over, and you brushed back the hair out of his head, picking up a simple and cleansing wipe of aloe vera to begin wiping at blood and soot-stained skin, to be able to see what you were doing. The boy was in and out of consciousness, and Thomas lifted an unstable hand, gaze flicking to you for permission for only a second, before he was placing a hand on the boys shoulder softly. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner, kid.”

“Thomas..” He shook his head, unwilling to meet your eye, as though he knew the pitying look that would rest there. He needed help, he needed comfort, the same way that you had done not so long ago after your own traumatic incident. His hands were covered by thick gloves, the ones that he could scarcely feel anything through anyway, and he was covered almost head to toe by protective equipment, save for the helmet and mask he’d removed, the only skin that was visible to you. 

Resting a hand on his jaw, your thumb swept over his cheek softly, feeling the tick of the muscles underneath as you slowly guided his face back up, sad eyes meeting yours, and his head tipped into your hand as his chin trembled. “I should have found him sooner.”

“It’s not your fault. I can take care of him from here, I promise. You found him, you saved him from that building.” He sniffed, nodding his head a little, and he brought up a gloved hand to sit over yours on his jaw, rubbing his thumb over the back of your palm as your fingers ran gently over his skin, scratching lightly enough to be soothing. “Go save more lives, and let me save his.”

He paused, before he was picking up his equipment again, and nodding his head. “Thank you.” His lips flicked up at the sides, no real joy in them but it was a token of his gratitude, and you returned the empty gesture, everything inside of you feeling empty, and you choked back the emotions within you as he left, and you didn’t dare to move until you’d seen him fade into the cross to returned to duty. 

[z-1-wolfe]

Parhelion Headcanons (sir this is all for you) @greenbeany

Putting 'em under the cut because they got very long O.O

I- the gnome is Neon I take no criticism. They are often good-natured souls with a more mischievous side, and if that doesn’t describe Neon I’m not sure what does. Playful, funny, good intentions, that my good Bean is our lovable cat personified. Okay Parhelion dnd au with gnome Neon please /j.

I AM SMACKING THE GUN OUT OF YOUR HANDS [runs into a glass wall] dammit,, guess I gotta talk now

I- oh no,, time to fail the exam I guess (turns all your head canons upside down)

Okay they do sleep yes they do. Actually that’s a lie only Ciel sleeps, the other two are insomniacs. Ciel has all of her day to day life planned out to the minute, so she heads to bed at a certain time and wakes up at a certain time, the other two are more of a “we’ll sleep when we’re tired” kinda duo. Unfortunately due to Ilia’s night terrors and Neon’s ADHD they almost never rest. No they do not sleep in a SANE bed, ha why would they have a bed? They sleep in a hammock all tangled up with each other. It’s hard to tell what order they sleep in when they kinda curl into each other. They do not use a duvet, why have a duvet when Neon is a space heater? There are no pillows on the hammock X). OKAY THEIR ROOM, THIS I GOT, it’s a funky mess that is somehow organized thanks to Ciel. Ilia doesn’t own a lot in general but it was her life’s dream to paint her bedroom rainbow so guess what they have now. The other two are too soft and they supported her efforts and they love her despite her poor design sense XD.

I- why closet ASDFG I mean— No they do not share a closet they all have completely different fashion sense and if that was all in one place people would be genuinely terrified. But since they’re broke they had to make do with one walk in closet that they partitioned off into sections. YES THEY DO HAVE MATCHING OUTFITS THEY ARE SO CUTE LIKE THAT. They tend to be like those cute couple outfits with a few variations to match their own personal style. But their favorite matching outfit are these duck hoodies they own courtesy of once again Ilia living out her childhood dreams. No they don’t own many outfits because like I mentioned earlier they are broke x). Hmm thinking about each other’s styles… Ilia think both of her girlfriends have great taste, she loves the well, neon of Neon, and the prim and properness of Ciel. Neon just doesn’t care XD. And Ciel is just, she’s just standing there wishing she could help their fashion sense, but she holds back because “It does suit them in an odd way.” Ciel gets the most compliments on her style hands down, she looks organized and you can bet she saves money to buy outfits that actually accentuate her cuteness. They don’t wear makeup no time for that (in which you learn Z has little to no knowledge in how to apply makeup and doesn’t know how to answer that question)

OH OKAY I LOVE VIDDY GAMES. Ciel likes real-time strategy games because she’s insane and that’s literally all she knows in life thanks to being raised in an upper class family in Atlas. Neon likes open world games, something something she likes the chance for adventure and determining one’s fate for themself. Ilia has never once played a video game until after she defected from the White Fang but I can see her playing something light like Stardew Valley, low stakes kinda games. Hmm, they might play Animal Crossing together? Since it has aspects they all enjoy. They each have an individual switch (Ilia has a coral switch lite) and one shared PC. Okay game with most hours, maybe Minecraft? They still haven’t beat the enderdragon because Neon keeps getting distracted XD. Neon is the bomb at party games though, you can bet she has a perfect score on all the songs in Just Dance. Ciel is a sharpshooter, god knows who taught her how to shoot like that. The biggest splatoon fan is unfortunately not Neon it is Ilia, she loves all the colors in the game ^^. But she and Neon have wracked up quite a few hours in co-op.

Uhhh books!! Ilia likes fanfics :) it’s unfortunately one of the only ways for her to see positive representation of herself. Neon for some reason reads Epics?? Like her favorite is the Epic of Gilgamesh what is up with that?? Ciel reads webtoons :), she reads enough serious stuff for school work and such, she likes to just kick back and relax after all that. Yes they have schedules reading time courtesy of Ciel :). Uhh, they relax by baking together. None of them had many chances to indulge in sweets while growing up so they make full use of their time now. ?? SPOON?? Cuddle hours happen on a whim, the one thing that Ciel can never schedule because she never knows when it’ll occur. They relax the most in the kitchen x) because that’s where they bake, it’s not unusual to find Neon asleep on the counter while she waits for their sweets to rise. They read in the light, Neon is afraid that by reading in the dark that they’ll all ruin their eyesight. Ciel likes the sunrise because she’s up the earliest and is the only one to see it, the other two prefer sunset because that’s usually when their day is about to begin XD.

Favorite spot for dates! The park ^^, they like to go on picnic dates with all their baked goods. There is no plan, usually one of them will randomly pull the other two out of the house because they haven’t touched grass in a while XD. There are no ideas, they share one braincell and they spend too much time doting on each other to use it. Uhm favorite movie genre,,, they like comedy movies :). Their favorite place to eat is this tiny store on the corner of their street that makes mean gyros, they heccin’ love them. Coping with horror, Ilia is desensitized to horror because of the things she’s seen in life, Neon treats it like a game because she knows it’s not real, Ciel, is okay with it, but she gets shook more easily than the other two and they often have to reassure her. No they do not like theme parks, there are too many people around for Ilia and Ciel and Neon respects their boundaries so they tend to go to more quiet places. Uhm heights, Ciel is used to heights because she’s friends with Penny and woah can that girl toss her in the air like she’s a couple of grapes. Ilia doesn’t mind heights but she would prefer to have her feet on the ground. Neon loves the ground so damn much if it leaves her she will cry because man she can’t roller-skate in the air can she, what will she do if the ground is suddenly gone? They like evening dates because it’s normally the only time all three of them are awake enough for it XD. They end a night by sleeping I am not quite sure if there are other ways to end it lmao. They absolutely despise Neon’s roller skating dates but they love how excited she gets about them so they end up becoming as good as professional roller skaters because the smile on Neon’s face when they join her is dazzling.

I am slowly going insane. Yes each girl has a hobby I sure hope they do. Ilia knits, Ciel paints, and Neon writes. I would like to imagine that Ciel would try to schedule time for their hobbies she ends up giving up because all their sleep schedules are wack. Designated chef is Neon (probably made food for FNKI back in atlas), designated driver is Ilia (I mean I like to imagine she stole cars and stuff in the White Fang XD), designated decorator for stuff is normally Ciel though Neon does try to hijack a few of her plans occasionally, designated shopper is Ciel because the other two have no concept of Saving money, and they all work together to clean :). They don’t work together, they believe in keeping their work life and home life separate to prevent their feelings from getting in the way. They do not have pets, none of them have the energy or responsibility to do that, but Ilia did once bring a moose home one day for some reason.

I am nomming on your arm sir. Ilia and Neon get along with Penny surprisingly well, though I do think Ilia would get along with Weiss better? Ruby and Weiss look at Ciel and see a beacon arc Weiss and more or less adopt her despite Ciel being older than the two of them. They might like.. play board games together? Like some of those more team based board games I can’t think of anything off the top of my head, may the best polycule win. I cannot see them in a cuddle puddle to be honest ajcnjsanjs I am so sorry— hmm Ruby and Neon do not know the meaning of formal, as far as they are concerned these are their girlfriend’s friends and that means that by extension these are their friends. Weiss would like nothing to do with Neon after Neon insults Yang during the Vytal festival but she begrudgingly goes on outings with her and hey, now they’re make up buddies for some reason. The parhelion gals take the fs gals to the gyro place they like :). Parhelion gang Is a lot more vocal on their dates because their love language happens to be words of affirmation while the fs gang’s happen to be physical touch. Both polycules are very very affectionate though I will die on this hill.

DARN IT TUMBLR ONLY LETS ME HAVE 10 IMAGES PER POST THIS IS FINE IT WAS JUST ONE MORE PROMPT DARN IT

(Parhelion angst! How do Neon and Ciel react to the news about the dust mine? How do they find out about Ilia getting expelled? Do they find out about the white fang? Is there any faunus stigma afterwards? How does Ciel react to people bullying her Faunus GFS? Does Neon talk to Ciel much after? Do they ever reunite? Does Neon attempt to help Ciel while she grieves Penny? Where the fuck is Ciel now? Is Neon still alive? Does Ilia ever think about them? Does Blake know about them from Ilia?)

BUDDY I CAME TO THE LAST ASK AND NOW ONLY DID I REALIZE YOU MEANT PARHELION BACK WHEN THEY WHERE IN BEACON THIS WHOLE TIME I’M CRYING. (This ask is answered under the assumption that they are already dating back in Atlas Academy) Ciel is fiercely protective of her girlfriends, though people only know that Neon is a Faunus because Ilia masks her traits during her time at the academy. Neon and Ciel are horrified about the news about the dust mines. They know that Ilia is a Faunus and that her parents were working there so they rush to see her as soon as possible. But they’re too late,,, Ilia’s already been expelled for attacking her fellow students. They don’t hear from Ilia for a few years after that and the two slowly drift apart, each blaming the other for not getting to Ilia soon enough. They don’t find out about the White Fang until they reunite with Ilia unfortunately, but they feel sad that Ilia had felt that they only way for her to get revenge for her parents was by joining a militant group (I’m working under the assumption that Sienna only took control of the White Fang shortly before Ilia joined). When Neon learns that Penny didn’t make it after the Fall of Beacon she hesitantly reaches out to Ciel for the first time in a year, and she does try to help. But for Ciel it’s blow after heccin’ blow and she pushes Neon away in a rage. Ciel leaves the Academy after that and goes rogue, working as a huntsman without a license for the poorer parts of remnant. Ilia is unaware of all this drama during the Beacon arc. The next time she hears of any news is during the Fall of Atlas, and she’s scared, scared because she’s still recovering and she just heard Ruby announce to the world that Remnant is under attack, and oh my gosh her ex girlfriends live in Atlas. Neon makes it out alive, though not entirely in one piece, she now has a prosthetic leg. Ilia is the first person to see her, it’s a tearful reunion and they haven’t fully made up yet, but hey it’s a work in progress, now they just have to find out where Ciel is, but when they do they’ll BOTH be there to greet her. Blake has no idea who the fuck Ciel and Neon are lmao, Ilia never told her anything about her past romances when she was in the White Fang.

Oh gosh I think that's it-- And that is it thank you for listening to me ramble about Parhelion you get a juice box for making it this far. Sir I am sincerely sorry for turning your ship upside down please forgive me.

[sheerfreesia007]

Roadside Assistance

Title: Roadside Assistance

Fandom: Kingsman

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x OFC

Author: @sheerfreesia007​

Words: 2,028

Warnings: None

Permanent Tag List: @paintballkid711, @fioccodineveautunnale, @phoenixhalliwell, @linkpk88, @weirdowithnobeardo

Author Notes: I blame this little fic on Sparkles, after she got a flat while driving. I told her to imagine Whiskey coming to her aide with the tire trying to cheer her up. Low and behold we now have a fic. Ugh now I’m thinking of other scenarios for Whiskey, expect more cute scenarios between these two.

The loud thumping of rubber on asphalt made you curse as you tried to correct your line of driving with the steering wheel. Easing on the brake you slowed your car down and steered it over to the shoulder of the semi busy highway you had been traveling on. Managing to pull your car over far enough on the shoulder you finally stopped and put it in park. Sighing loudly you let your head fall forward as you still gripped the steering wheel in your hands.

Shaking your head softly you blew out a harsh breath and then opened your door to step out of the car. Cars, trucks, and semi-trucks sped past you on the highway making debri fly up around you causing you to lift your arm to shield your face. Looking down to the tires on your car you thanked your lucky stars that the blown tire was on the passenger side away from the fast paced traffic.

Walking around to the back of the car you popped the trunk open and leaned inside to grab the spare tire and pull it out. Letting it bounce slightly on the ground once it touched you rolled it to the side and let it fall in the tall grass at the side of the road. Leaning back into your car you pulled out the car jack and other tools you would need to fix your wheel.

Placing the jack and tools next to the front passenger wheel that was now flat, with what looked like a large puncture hole in the top of it, you stood back to your full height and began walking towards the spare tire that you had left in the grass. You slowed your step as you noticed a sleek black heavily tinted Aston Martin slow and pulled over to the shoulder not far from your parked disabled car. Feeling the hairs on the back of your neck rise, you subtly reached into the trunk of your car and pulled out a spare hand ratchet holding it to your side as you watched the driver’s door open on the probably more expensive than your mortgage vehicle.

You watched slightly stunned as a real life bonafide cowboy climbed out of the low vehicle. He was a tall man with dark brown hair with a gray cowboy hat sitting atop, a red and white plaid button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a large gold belt buckle with some ‘s’ emblem that you didn’t recognize, a pair of well worn blue jeans, and soft looking cowboy boots on his feet. To say he was the exact opposite of what you expected to climb out of that vehicle was an understatement and you stood there for a moment stunned.

“Everything alright there, miss?” he called out concernedly over the loud traffic not far from the two of you. You gripped onto the hand ratchet tighter as he stepped closer to you and nodded towards your car. “Do ya need help?” he asked as he stopped a few feet from you. You watched as his eyes darted down to the hand ratchet in your hand and he smiled softly before holding his hands up in faux surrender. “I come in peace, honest. Just saw you blow yer tire and wanted to make sure you were alright.” he tried to ease you.

“I’m alright, I can change it myself.” you reassured him loud enough to be heard over the flow of traffic.

“Ya sure? I don’t mind!” he called out as he gestured to the tire. “Ya can even keep your ratchet while I change it for ya.” he offered and you grimaced softly. You knew it’d probably be quicker for him to change it for you since you’d only done it once before on your own. And not to mention you were running late for your first day at your new job as it was. Nodding your head you moved to the side so that he could change the tire for you.

“I need to make a phone call and let my new boss know that I’m going to be late.” you said as you held up one finger to the cowboy. He nodded as he picked up the spare tire and began rolling it towards the passenger side.

“No worries sweetheart. I’ll start changing the tire while you make the call.” he said easily and you turned to face him while raising your cellphone to your ear. You still didn’t fully trust him so you kept yourself facing him so that you could watch as you pressed the contact number for Mrs. Brew, your new manager.

“Good Morning Statesman distillery this is Mrs. Brew!” came the cheery greeting over the phone.

“Good Morning Mrs. Brew I just wanted to call and let you know that I would be running late. My car got a flat tire while I was on the highway.” you explained regretfully feeling stressed and anxious that this would be a mark against you at your new job.

“Oh no! Are you alright? Do you need us to call a tow truck for ya?” came the worried response from your manager. You were surprised by how kind she was as your eyes focused on the cowboy fixing your tire, it was a far cry from the harsh cold treatment you had grown used to in the city.

“No, there’s a nice cowboy changing my tire for me. He stopped when he saw it blow out on me. Do you mind staying on the line with me until he’s done. I don’t trust him and don’t want to-” you began to explain unsure if she’d stay on the line with you.

“Of course! Smart thinking by the way. You never know with people these days, anyone could mean to do harm.” she said easily and you smiled at knowing she understood you. “By the way what does he look like? And what does he drive?” she asked curiously. You shifted on your feet as you watched the cowboy pull the last lug nut off your bad tire and take the wheel off the car.

“He’s driving a heavy tinted black Aston Martin. He’s tall, brown hair, mustache, unsure about the eye color, red and white plaid button up, blue jeans, a large gold belt buckle with an ‘s’ on it.” you relayed to her easily as your eyes danced over the man knelt down next to your car. You watched silently as he easily changed your tire as if it was no effort for him at all.

“Oh good description. Is he almost done with the tire dear?” asked Mrs. Brew on the line. Just as she finished asking her question the cowboy cheered loudly after tightening the last lug nut on the spare tire.

“Yes he just finished.” you replied amused at his actions. Mrs. Brew laughed softly in your ear as she heard him in the background.

“Sounds like it.” Mrs. Brew said softly and fondly. “I’ll stay on the phone with you until you get back in your car ok?” she reassured you and you hummed softly in response as the cowboy walked up to you holding the blown out tire. You quickly moved to your trunk once more and let the cowboy set the tire in there for you.

“Thank you very much for helping me. I really appreciate it. It’d probably take me much longer to change it.” you said in thanks to him as you walked behind him and went to grab the tools and the jack to put back in the trunk.

“No worries sweetheart! I can now tell work that I already got my workout this morning.” he said with a wink sent your way which made your breath catch in your throat. “Are you alright to get to work now?” he asked concerned and you nodded your head at him after placing the jack in the trunk and he moved forward to grab the tools from you to help set them in the trunk for you.

“Yeah I think I should be good. Thank you again.” you said to him with a pleasant but still distant tone. You smiled softly at him trying to be kind but still not trusting him. You couldn’t help it, after growing up in the city you knew that you had to take care of yourself and there were some out there that wanted to hurt anyone they deemed lower than themselves. There was always going to be a slight sense of paranoia in you because of where you had grown up. You liked to think that it made you smart and cautious. “Anyway, thank you again. I really appreciate it.” you said and waved at him as you began walking to the driver’s side door.

“Don’t forget to get a new tire. If you work in this area you can go to Dixon’s Repair Shop and tell them Jack Daniels sent you, they’ll give you a good discount.” the cowboy said and you turned to him with a furrowed brow.

“Your name is Jack Daniels? As in the whiskey?” you asked confused as you set a hand on the side of your car. The cowboy looked down at the ground as he scuffed his boot against the asphalt and nodded his head before looking up to you. “Huh, well it was a pleasure Jack Daniels. I hope you have a good day.” you said with a soft tilt to your lips and turned back to open your driver’s side door. Slipping into your car you breathed out softly and shook your head at the notion that the man shared a namesake with the whiskey company.

“You alright sweetheart?” came Mrs. Brew’s voice in your ear and you jolted, having forgotten that she was still on the line.

“Yes! I’m so sorry. I’m back in my car now. I'll be in to work shortly.” you said quickly as you buckled yourself in the seat and started the car.

“Get here safely I’ll see you when you get here.” Mrs. Brew answered and you easily hung up the phone as a loud car horn beeps at you and you waved at the Aston Martin as it pulled back into the flow of traffic. You turned your phone onto the map app that you used and plugged in the address to the distillery that you would be working at from now on. Seeing that you were only ten minutes away you sighed gratefully and pulled back into traffic following the route as your mind turned back to the kind cowboy who had fixed your tire for you this morning. Maybe you’d take his word and find Dixon’s Repair Shop and get a new tire. Smiling softly you shook your head setting the cowboy out of your head as you traveled to your new job.

*-*-*-*

“Brew to Whiskey, ya copy?” came the sweet sounding voice of someone Jack knew very well. Smiling at the radio in the car he tapped the console and brought up the secured line she had started.

“Whiskey here.” he responded easily and waited for her to relay her message.

“Did you just fix a young woman’s tire on the highway?” came her question and Jack furrowed his eyebrows at the console wondering how that woman knew what he had just done. His mind easily flashes back to the pretty cautious woman standing on the side of the highway gripping a ratchet tightly in her hand for protection. He grinned softly at her memory in amusement.

“How’d ya know that?” he asked in a gravelly drawl.

“I have my ways. You’ll be seeing more of her soon enough so be nice.” Mrs. Brew warned him and Jack scoffed softly.

“I’m always nice.” he snipped out and she laughed amused over the line before the line went dead. Jack shook his head as he focused on his route to work before smiling brightly at the thought that he’d get to see the wary woman again. She’d certainly brighten up his day and make things interesting now.

[slipping-through-my-fingertips]

Klaine it up! 2, 7, 12, 21, 50

Okay...I got this. PROMPTS FOUND HERE

2 - you accidentally sprayed them with yogurt when you open the lid the wrong way. 

This was not Kurt Hummel’s first time opening yogurt but it might’ve well have been. He was sitting at a picnic table in Central Park on his lunch break from Vogue.com having just picked up a BLT, sweeten iced tea, and strawberry yogurt from his newfound favorite sandwich shop. It just happened to be two blocks down from the Vogue offices too. 

After eating half a sandwich, he found himself watching three young girls practicing their hula-hooping skills. Of course, while entranced by the colorful swirls of plastic, Kurt grabbed his low-fat yogurt and pulled at the lid, and the minute he did another man was being dragged by his golden retriever over to Kurt’s table. 

Before he could stop it, a splash of light pink yogurt was splattered across the front of a bright blue polo. 

“Shit, I am so sorry,” they both said. 

Kurt had a lap full of puppy and the man covered in yogurt. 

“She’s really friendly and has a fondness for bacon,” the man said, gesturing to the sandwich. “And who can blame her.” 

With that comment, Kurt pushed his meal away slightly. Out of reach of the dog’s mouth. 

“I usually am way more careful with my food,” Kurt said. 

The handsome man only laughed, “it’s no big deal, do you happen to have a napkin?” 

“Oh yes!” Kurt reached into his bag to grab one. 

“Thanks,” he said, “come here, Lacey.” 

The puppy sat right at his side and waited. Kurt stood up to wipe the yogurt away while the man kept Lacey still. 

“I can...” he started to say but Kurt was already pulling away having cleaned it up the best he could. 

“Lacey and I also share a fondness for cute boys but I don’t suppose...” he trailed off, blushing. 

Kurt still wasn’t used to being flirted with but this wasn’t small town, Ohio. 

“And who can blame you,” Kurt replied, already grabbing a pen and paper from his bag to write on. 

THE REST OF THE PROMPTS CAN BE FOUND BELOW THE CUT

7 - you both do the side-to-side dance when you try to pass them in the grocery store aisle

Kurt told his dad to pick up an extra heavy whipping cream three days ago when Burt asked if Kurt needed any other ingredients for Thanksgiving dessert. He told him. 

“I only need 3 things: dark chocolate, heavy whipping cream, and almond extract.” 

Burt had gotten everything but Kurt needed whipping cream for both the chocolate mousse itself and the whipped topping he planned to make. Now he was at the crowded grocery store one day prior to Thanksgiving. Exactly where he didn’t want to be. 

 Of course, every grocery store made you walk all the way to the back of the store for dairy products. I’ll just grab milk and eggs real quick, you think, then suddenly you have a cart full of snacks you didn’t need. 

Kurt found the red and white carton fairly quick. He backed up and started to make his way to the self-checkout. Before he could think about the temptation of potato chips, he was stopped by another body. 

They both stopped and shifted their feet to make way for the other. From right to left and back again for several seconds before both falling into pits of laughter. Kurt looked into deep hazel eyes that twinkled at him. He wondered how long he could do this dance just to stare at them some more. 

“That’s my fault, I came around the corner too quick,” he said. 

Not quick enough, Kurt thought, we could’ve fallen to the floor. You on top of me would be quite nice. 

“No, it’s all me,” Kurt replied, “I should’ve been watching where I was going.” 

He fumbles into his pocket for a business card. Isabel’s one-month anniversary gift. 

“If you’re in town longer than tomorrow, I’d love to buy you some coffee as an apology,” Kurt said, handing the card over. 

“Oh.” Kurt watched him scan the card, flipping it over in his hands. “I’d love to, Kurt.” 

A shiver ran down his spine. Maybe he should thank his dad for forgetting the cream. 

12 - you kick a ball and your shoe flies off, hitting them in the back of your head

Blaine used to hate having an older brother. Growing up, he felt constantly in competition with Cooper’s larger-than-life personality. Now that Cooper had settled down in LA with Lisa, his wife, and had two wonderful kids, having an older sibling didn’t seem too bad.

It was summer break, Blaine was free to leave the confines of his NYU dorm room. He was trying to get lost in the sunshine of California to forget he was about to start his final year of college. Time with his niece and nephew was sure to put any nervousness out of his head. 

They were playing soccer in the park when it happened. It was bound to. Everyone in LA was hot. It was like the law. 

Cute boys and Blaine’s non-existence coordination weren’t a good mix. 

Blaine went to kick the ball and caught sight of a bicep. An unusually pale bicep. A rare sight in sunny Los Angles. Arms, Blaine fantasized, he’d love to see wrapped around him or possibly pushing his legs apart. 

He was sure he tighten his laces. This is why Blaine Anderson didn’t wear sneakers. Missed the ball by an inch but the force of his kick sent something flying through the air directly towards the cute guy: a sneaker. 

It happened so fast, Blaine heard the yell of surprise before realizing his sock was exposed. Once he realized what happened, he rushed over to the man. 

“Fuck, I am so sorry,” Blaine said. “Can I do anything?” 

“Well, an aspirin would be great,” the man teased. 

Blaine sat in the grass and chuckled. Still extremely embarrassed. 

“Not exactly the fairytale I always dreamed of.” 

“Fairytale?” Blaine asked, scrunching up his nose in confusion. 

“Cinderella,” he said, like it was obvious, “a lost shoe as it were.” 

“I’m not Cinderella,” Blaine told him, “sorry to say. I’m more of a Blaine.” 

“Kurt.” 

“It’s nice to meet you.” 

“I do believe this is yours,” Kurt said, handing over the shoe. 

21 - Almost spilling a drink because you met their eyes and got distracted thinking how cute they are. 

His dad always said pour your drinks yourself. Blaine became that friend who grabbed drinks for everyone for this reason exactly. He wasn’t sure what the occasion was exactly but his study buddy from his songwriting workshop invited him. It was at some loft in Bushwick but Blaine didn’t mind the adventure. 

Until tonight he had no reason to venture to this part of the city. 

“Blaine!” Elliott exclaimed, pushing a solo cup into his hand, “Drink up, karaoke at eleven!” 

Then he disappeared into the crowd. Blaine headed straight for the kitchen and poured the toxic mixture down the sink. He found a new cup and started reading the labels of the bottles spread out across the counter. Mixers and any alcohol of your choice seemed to be available. 

Rum and coke sounded good. He went into the fridge for a cold soda first. Blaine was happy the kitchen was empty he wasn’t quite ready to start making friends. As far as he knew, Elliott was the only friendly face here tonight. 

He poured the rum in for some semblance of tracking his alcohol intake. The last time he got drunk, he dialed the professor he TA-ed for, who thankfully overlooked that incident. Blaine cracked open the coke and while he poured surveying the living room. 

People were dancing to an upbeat pop song that Blaine strangely didn’t recognize and others were mingling in doorways or sat on scattered sofas and chairs chatting. He caught a pair of blue eyes in the crowd. 

The man they were attached to was stunning. If he hadn’t blinked, Blaine could’ve mistaken him for a marble statue carved by the gods. They didn’t lose eye contact as he walked towards the kitchen. It wasn’t until the man stood on the other side of the counter that Blaine noticed his hand was covered in soda. 

“Papers towels are behind you,” the man offers. 

Blaine set the now empty can down and spun around for paper towels to clean up his mess. 

Just great, he thought, make a fool out of yourself. That’ll score you some points. 

He cleans up his hand before wiping down the puddle of bubbling coke on the counter. 

“I don’t think we’ve met,” he continues, “and this is my party so I like to know all my guests.” 

“Your party?” Blaine stutters. 

“It’s my birthday.” 

“I’m Blaine,” he introduces. “Elliott invited me. We have a class together.” 

“Oh, you’re Blaine. From songwriting workshop.” 

“That’s me.” 

Elliott’s obviously talked about him before to this man. This gorgeous, completely out of Blaine’s league man. 

“God, he’s relentless,” he says. “I’m going to kill him.” 

“Um, might I ask why? I can leave if there’s an issue.” Blaine knows when he isn’t welcome. 

“No, no,” he replies, “don’t go. It’s just he’s been trying to set us up for months now.” 

It all clicks.

“Oh god, you’re Kurt.” 

“That’s me, the birthday boy. and you are Elliott’s idea of the best gift ever.”

Blaine blushes. “I don’t know if I can I've up to that but if I can have the next dance I can try.” 

Kurt nods. “I’d like that, Blaine. A lot.” 

50 - getting paired up on an amusement park ride that requires even-numbered riders

All of Kurt’s friends hated rollercoasters. Rachel didn’t like heights, Elliott refused to do anything with loops, and Santana, well, she was too caught up in her new girlfriend to be bothered. 

“I only wanna hear screaming tonight,” she told him. 

So, Kurt waited in line himself. Some fun day at Coney Island this was turning out to be. He was so glad he was spending the day with friends. Kurt rolled his eyes. 

The woman directing the ride gave Kurt his row number and moved down the line. Behind him someone tapped on his shoulder, Kurt turned around and found himself looking at a curly-haired man around his age. 

“Guess we’re both odd men out then, I’m the single rider in my group today.” 

“Oh, um, no, my friends were too chicken to even ride,” Kurt said. 

“I’m really surprised Wes and David are good to go. They both hate being upside-down.” 

Kurt smiled.

“I'm Blaine, by the way.”

“Kurt.” 

The ride emptied out and Kurt crawled over to the far seat. They buckled themselves in and listened to the instructions to keep all body parts inside at all times. Then, the bar came down and the ride launched. 

After the ride ended, Blaine and Kurt were chatting all the way down. Wes and David trailing behind them.

“That second loop really threw me,” Blaine was saying. 

“I saw,” Kurt exclaimed, “I thought you were going to fall out of your seat.” 

“Downfalls of being short and compact.”

When three more people joined their day at the park, no one questioned it. 

[adventures-on-foster-island]

How to care for your Kantonian Cubone or Marowak

A popular ground type, Cubone and Marowak have a lot of mythconceptions surrounding their nature and care, so today I'm going to set the record straight.

The Pokedex entries on this evolutionary line are extremely outdated and contain a lot of information that the scientific community has known to be false for quite some time. Cubone and Marowak are a highly social species with tribal cultures that date back centuries. These reptilian Pokemon wear the skulls of their respected ancestors, and communicate using rhythms and other sounds to share stories of their history. The myth about Cubone wearing the skull of their dead mother came about because one scientist just happened to find one whose skull helmet did belong to the Pokemon’s mother who had passed, but this isn’t common. The skulls most Cubone wear belong to their ancestors, as a way to remember those who came before them. Cubone and Marowak have a strong sense of community and often become depressed when taken from their families, which is why Cubone are so often depicted as crying. In the wild, Marowak don’t typically leave their homes to start a new tribe until at least a year after they’ve evolved, and may get homesick if taken too early. Strong trainer - Pokemon bonds can happen with young Cubone if the Cubone was actually an orphan, and if the trainer can actually provide the proper care.

As reptiles, who mostly inhabit desert like climates, your Cubone will need a heat lamp and a heat pad in different places to regulate its body temperature. If you live outside of Cubone’s natural habitat, make sure you have a room dedicated to them with plenty of rough rocks to rub off shed skin and sharpen claws as well as warm spots. Because they are accustomed to an arid climate, you may need to invest in a dehumidifier if there is lots of rain in your area. Some ground types are prone to growing a slimy algae if they can’t dry out all the way. Despite needing dry living conditions, your Cubone or Marowak will still need access to fresh drinking water. You may not see them drink very often, but when they do, they might sit there for half an hour sipping until they are full. They only need bathing if they get really dirty or injured, but if you do have to bathe them, make sure to use warm, distilled water, a soft cloth, and only ground-type safe soap if necessary. Cubone are omnivores, preferring to hunt bug-types and eat desert grasses in the wild, however will generally be okay to just eat ground-type food until they evolve. They also enjoy berries; offer them a few kinds to find out what their favorite is.

When you first meet your Cubone or Marowak buddy, you will need to show compassionate dominance. Their tribes have ranks, and your new partner needs to learn to respect you, but it never will if it feels you don’t care for it. Take lots of time to spend with just your new buddy, even if you have other Pokemon. Show your Cubone or Marowak that you are in charge because you take care of them. Communicate with them with the help of a Porygon, Rotom, or psychic Pokemon to show them you really care to bond with them. Once you feel comfortable, start introducing your other Pokemon. This will curb any dominance fighting amongst your team members, as they respect you more than their need to be on top.

Upon evolving into Marowak, your buddy may not be as cuddly as you are used to for a little while. Try to respect their space, as culturally evolution is a big deal to their species. Marowak need time to hunt and be independent, so take them somewhere every few days where they are free to hunt wild bug types and smaller Pokemon for a few hours. It could be a good time to let your other team members out to exercise as well. On top of the hunt, provide your Marowak with high protein ground type food, and supplement every other day with fruits, vegetables, boiled eggs (shells on for calcium), and cooked meats.

For enrichment, both members of this line enjoy target practice. Set them up some targets at various heights and distances around your yard or a park or gym and let them throw their bone club until they tire themselves out. Cubone and Marowak also both enjoy team activities like battles and sports, although they may try to boss your other team members around. Give everyone a role, and things should be alright.

[delldarling]

offering | warren

This was April’s story of the month over on Patreon! April was.. a very hard month for me, which makes me extra fond of Warren and his gentle nature. Enjoy!

male vampire x gender/body neutral reader 6.8k words lemon |  biting, orgasm due to biting, pot usage (on Warren's part!), inebriated feeling due to bite (on readers part)

You’ve been walking long enough, up hill no less, that your limbs have become languid and too-warm. You’re not quite out of breath, though you are breathing deep, enjoying the scent of fresh greenery spilling down the hills and over the edges of the cracked road. The grass and fast cooling air still carries that sweet tinge of early Spring - but it’s starting to get dark. The sun has just set, and the sky is cast green-grey ahead of you, all the way down to the horizon behind the treeline. If you turn around, you know it’ll fade into dark blue somewhere above your head, scattered over with salty looking stars. You pause, taking a moment to follow the arch of them over your shoulder, half feeling like you should brush the crumbs of them away, or remind the deity that spilled them to take a pinch of them back, for luck.

You wrinkle your nose, sparing the sky a smile, and then continue on your way. If you want to reach the edge of the little canyon before full dark, you’re going to have to hurry.

So far, the road ahead of you has been empty, as it’s only the middle of Spring. Most people don’t come to visit the canyon - the Chasm, it’s called affectionately, though everyone can see all the way down to the bottom - not until the height of summer. They haul trailers or tents along with them, ice chests filled to the brim with beer and bottled liquor. You’ve heard nothing but cricket song and the fast fading conversation of birds nesting for the evening, so you’d assumed that the rest of the road, and the Chasm itself, would house no one but you for a few hours.

There’s a beat up truck just over the crest of the hill you’re on though, half parked over the edge of the embankment. It’s a pale blue, or it used to be. It’s faded and patched in places, scuffed gray and silver on the doors and the back fender. The cream camper shell on the back is old too, the windows in it all spray painted black from the inside and taped heavily with duct tape - probably to try and keep them airtight.

Music sounds like it’s drifting towards you from the cab - or maybe someone is playing it on a boombox inside the camper, nevertheless, the closer you get, the more you think you recognize the song.  

You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised by their presence. It is the perfect spot to drop the tailgate or roll down the window and peek out at the stars. Especially if you’re avoiding a crowd. Maybe they’d expected one, had somehow mistaken the day and parked early in their usual spot, just to be safe. It’s close enough to the Chasm that it makes sense, and it’s far enough away from the main parking area that they wouldn’t be caught in the rush of traffic when everyone tries to leave at once.

They’re listening to Dolly Parton’s Jolene, you realize. Not a cover version though, it’s the original, a bit fast paced, full of the frantic energy of a woman pacing back and forth, pleading hurriedly with Jolene to stay away from her lover. As you approach, you cross to the other side of the road. No need to intrude on them if they’re not alone, and you don’t want to risk being hit by a suddenly opening door. It’s then that you see their window is rolled down though, feet hanging out the metal frame, wearing a pair of black, worn down men’s ankle boots. Smoke billows out the window as you get closer, heavy and mildly skunky, and you expect you’ll be able to pass by them without a word. They’ve probably been smoking for a while, way out in the middle of nowhere.

You kick at a small pebble, smiling and shaking your head as you start to pass, and then jump when the man bolts into a sitting position. The guitar in the song seems to speed, like the tape is running a bit too fast, and that’s when you see his face. His pupils are blown wide in pale brown eyes, his face is a milky white, save for twin splotches of the faintest pink on his cheeks. His lips are dry and bitten. He has stubble, too-thick on his chin and upper lip, like he typically lets it grow, and what looks like small sideburns under his ragged mop of wavy brown hair. The cherry of the blunt in his hand is still bright, still in the process of paling- and then he’s choking, coughing up a storm as small puffs of smoke drift out of the window, immediately caught and carried away by the soft breeze.

You wait for him to stop coughing, because it only seems polite, though you don’t move from your spot on the other side of the road. He flaps his hand at you, as if he’s asking for you to wait, and that’s when you notice that he’s missing the tip of his right ring finger, rounded smooth just above the first knuckle.

“Hi?” You offer, when he turns to scrounge in his cab, bent awkwardly at the waist as he hurriedly sucks at the remnants of a drink in a fast food paper cup. “You all right over there?”

He scrambles to pull his legs back in through the window, looking harried as he sets his blunt and drink down. He brushes awkwardly at his shirt and coat, like there might be lingering crumbs hiding on the lapels. “Yes,” he says quietly, roughly, still adjusting his jacket, “yes, m’alright!” He says a bit louder, and then crosses his arms, leaning his elbows on the window frame and then his chin on his forearms. His grin is lopsided and strange-looking and- he is most definitely high. “And you?” He asks, blinking repeatedly to focus better upon your face. He rubs his chin against his forearm, a bit of hair sticking to his lower lip, but doesn’t seem to care that you’ve watched him make a fool of himself.

“I’m well, thanks,” you tell him, trying not to smile too widely. He seems to be trying to match it, slight dimples appearing in the middle of each cheek, gaze still slightly unfocused. “Visiting the Chasm?” You ask, continuing on in the vein of manners. You don’t mention the smoke. Some people are terribly quick to offer a puff, which is kind, but you don’t know the guy and.. You blink. There seems to be something off about his teeth - or maybe it’s just the way he’s leaning on his arms?

“It’s tradition,” he confesses, and then tilts his head, pursing his lips as if he’s realized he just forgot something. There’s a mild bit of guilt written in the curl of his mouth. “Coming out here, I mean. I do it every Spring, if I can manage it. It’s what- what I’ve always done.”

“It is lovely this time of year,” you agree, licking your lower lip before you turn your eyes to the cracked road still stretching out ahead of you. There’s still another 15 minutes or so until you reach the Chasm proper, but you can chat for just a bit longer before you should leave.

“Isn’t it just? The stars,” he says with a soft sigh, his teeth catching your eye again. Something about the tone, the longing in his words makes you shiver. “You a local?” The man asks, blowing awkwardly at the hair stuck to his lip. He gives up after two tries, brushing it away with the edge of his thumb and then shrugging when he notices you watching. He doesn’t even attempt to act contrite - apparently, he doesn’t mind looking a bit silly.  

“It’s a favorite haunt,” you say in answer, tipping your head towards the road. “I used to spend a lot of time here during the summer, though I doubt I’ll get the chance this year. Was trying to catch a glimpse now, to make up for it.”

He leans forward a little farther, glancing up and down the empty road. “Bit of a walk for just a glimpse,” he teases and then his eyebrows raise. Dolly Parton’s Jolene comes to a close as he opens up his passenger door with a creak. The hinges sound like they desperately need oil and both of you cringe in tandem when the noise finally ceases. He clears his throat as he gets out of the truck cab, bowing awkwardly, like he's trying to be charming while he nearly tangles himself up in his jacket. He smiles brightly once more. “Perhaps you’d like a ride?” He asks smoothly, and then his smile falters when he sees the way you’re staring at his mouth.

“Are- are you wearing Halloween fangs?” You can’t help but ask, taking a few steps closer to examine them. They're pearly white and even, and they look way more natural than the caps you've seen sold on Halloween. Then he closes his mouth, lips pressed tight together to hide them from view and hums.

For a moment, he rocks back and forth on the heels of his boots, wrapping his hands around the edges of his jacket, torn with indecision.

“That wasn’t long at all, was it?” He sighs, following it with a drafty sounding laugh, not quite meeting your eyes. You’re fairly sure he’s talking to himself, rather than you. After another huff of a breath he straightens up, grinning widely again, displaying his sharp edged canines. “Didn’t even get the chance to introduce myself before you found out I was a vampire! I’ve always been rotten at it though. ‘M Warren." He crosses the road until there's only a few feet between you, offering his hand like he fully believes you'll shake it.

All you can do is stare.

"You're a vampire," you say, testing the words out, wondering if you've brought this strangeness on yourself. You were only trying to be polite, and now-

"Mhmm," Warren agrees, wiggling his fingers, like he thinks the reminder will tantalize you into shaking his hand. "You're at little risk from me," he adds, hand dipping, but not dropping completely. "We're not exactly like the stories," he shares in a low voice, like it’s a secret. Like there might even be a chance of someone lurking about to hear him say it.

Your heart jumps into an unsteady gallop of rhythm, and you can't deny that you're nervous now. Vampire! This guy is either fucking with you, or he's.. Maybe he's been doing harder drugs than just the pot.

"I see," you say, not seeing at all. You bite your lower lip and try not to worry at the tender flesh. Warren wrinkles his nose, like he can scent the lie, and then he jumps when you shake his hand. You're doing it to be obstinate, really. To gauge his temperature and then maybe you'll be on your way. But his hand is terribly cold. Much colder than it should be, unless he's been sitting in front of his air conditioner, running it at full blast, or he has some kind of blood circulation problem. Though- though you’re not entirely sure an air conditioner could make someone feel so strange.

Your eyes dart to the truck, half expecting to hear the thrum of the air conditioning under the still-playing tape, but- no. It isn't on. The key is in the ignition, keeping the music going, but otherwise the truck is off. His skin is cold, he’s wearing- He has fangs? And he’s out in the middle of nowhere smoking who knows what.

You drop his hand, trying not to let the strain show in your smile. “So if vampires aren’t exactly like the stories, what are you like? No.. drinking blood or turning into bats?”

Warren laughs. “No bats for me! Screechy little suckers-” Warren clamps his mouth shut, nose wrinkling, lips trembling and then forcibly clears his throat. “Pardon the pun,” he chokes out, trying to hold back another round of laughter. “Blood drinking is true-” he starts, but the laughter fades as soon as he notices the wariness in your eyes, in the way you hold yourself. Shoulders back, hands starting to fidget. “We don’t need it,” he says, tone gentle, raising his hands to either side. It’s a clear gesture of harmlessness, and truth be told, you don’t have any reason to.. disbelieve him.

“Let me guess,” you say, forcing yourself to laugh, “you drink animal blood?” This is fine. Really. He’s being conscious of personal space and sure, maybe he’s.. He’s weird, but Warren is keeping back and isn’t pressing you to believe him or insisting on giving you that ride.

Warren grimaces. “Noo,” he murmurs, drawing out the word, staring down at the ground like he’s- like he’s disappointed, or maybe ashamed would be a better descriptor. The negative feeling seems to be directed at himself. “Humans are all we can drink. Like I said though, we don’t need it. We’ll live just fine without it.” He’s rubbing awkwardly at his arm, still staring at the ground, like he’s afraid to meet your eyes now.

“Vampires.. Can live without blood?” You ask, eyebrows raising. You should probably just walk away. It’s not like he’s trying to keep you here any longer, and you’re fairly sure he wouldn’t lift a hand to stop you if you did. And then, then there are the things he’s claiming. “Alright. Listen, the cell service might not be the best out here, but should I, uh, call someone, or-?” You take your eyes off of him, just for a second, to fish about in your pocket for your phone. When you glance back up he seems momentarily frozen, expression vacant.

Warren’s shoulders slump, but he finally lifts his gaze away from the road, flashing you a smile that’s awkward at best as he shakes his head. “No need,” he tells you. “Anyway, the Chasm! Can still offer you a lift, if you’d like, but if not, be careful on the edge, yeah?” He turns away, footsteps slow.

You don’t believe him and.. And that fact alone seems to have hurt his feelings. You can see that he regrets that he said it, even though he’s still not attempting to dispute it. It’s just- he’s high as a kite, thinking he’s a vampire of all things. Or maybe he made a stupid decision and got some kind of mod done to his teeth and he’s embarrassed about it. Your brain seizes onto that thought with all the metaphorical strength it can. People are weird, and things like that are totally within the realm of possibility, aren’t they?  

“You know what?” You call out before he can reach his truck. “Yeah, I will take that ride.” You smile brightly when he glances at you over his shoulder, confusion written clearly in the arch of his eyebrow. If he’s manipulating you in any way? You can just push him over the chasm edge and call the cops. There’s a shelf that won’t let him fall too far and... your smile turns a little wry. And if he is a vampire of any kind - and you can barely believe you spare that a second of thought - he’ll be absolutely fine.

“Of.. Of course,” Warren says, still sporting wide eyes and a concerned arch to his brow. He bobs his head, decision made, before waving you closer, leaving the rickety passenger door to you as he circles the truck cab. The driver’s side door is just as creaky as the other, though this time he tries to dampen his wincing with a very put upon smile. As soon as you’re both inside, buckling up the ancient seatbelts, Warren is fiddling about with the radio dials. He’s still sporting a tape player, but the surrounding machinery has been upgraded and all it takes is a quick twist before the tape is rewinding. Your attention turns to the floorboards, which are… Mostly clean. There’s a small, rickety looking cup holder coming out from underneath the front seat, housing the paper cup he’d been drinking out of. Part of you is highly tempted to tease him, to ask if the cup is full of blood, as it does house something dark - but… You’ve no desire to be cruel.  

His blunt, just barely leaking any smoke now, is laying carefully in the ashtray, filling the cab with the heavy scent of pot. He doesn’t seem to notice though. Or it might just be that he’s trying to stay focused, to keep from making you uncomfortable. He still hasn’t denied that he’s a vampire though, hasn’t interrupted the quiet to tell you that he was joking.

“You said that visiting the Chasm is tradition?” You ask as he starts up the truck. Unlike the doors, there’s only a very small splutter before it shifts smoothly into gear, rumbling under your feet. The tape clicks and starts playing, Susie Q filling the small space, a fine layer of static mulling some of the words. It’s a mixtape then and- Your eyes trace his profile, the way he nervously licks at his lips, eyes focused on the rearview mirror as he backs up off of the embankment. His teeth catch your eye again when he opens his mouth to speak, but now that you know they’re there, you doubt you’ll be able to look away. Give him a pair of bell bottoms and he’d look like he was from the 70s. Maybe a little more trimmed up though, his sideburns aren’t quite that prominent.

“Yeah,” Warren agrees, a bit of brightness filling his eyes back up. “Every spring, me, Maria Hargrove, and at least two of her brothers - usually Daniel and-” His gaze darts to you and then his mouth snaps shut for a few seconds. He looks startled, like he hadn’t really considered sharing the information in the first place. “We- we used to come out here and smoke. Listen to some music for a bit.”

“Maria and Daniel are.. busy?” You ask, though you have the feeling that you probably shouldn’t. That’s pretty much prying, and you’ve done your best to sidestep any truly personal questions he’s asked you. “Sorry, that’s none of my-”

“S’ok,” he tells you, shrugging one shoulder. “Uh, no, not busy. They’ve.. They’ve been gone for a while. Accident,” he confesses, hand flexing on the steering wheel, drawing your attention to the tip of his missing finger. You open your mouth to apologize, but he makes a strange little hum of a noise and it takes you a moment to realize he’s trying to harmonize with Susie Q before he starts quietly singing along. For as lovely as his speaking voice is, his singing voice is rough from disuse. It’s not bad - not at all, but his tone sounds a little off. You willingly let him change the subject with his little sing-along, knowing it’s all to avoid an uncomfortable conversation about loss. Maybe Maria and Daniel have something to do with his claims of vampirism. He clears his throat after a moment, the truck still trundling down the road. The Chasm is almost within sight though, road turning from cracked asphalt to gravel and dirt, widening out as the trees start to thin. He grins, dimples appearing. “A singer I am not,” he tells you. “Luckily, the Chasm is in view and you won’t have to suffer much longer.”

“I wasn’t suffering,” you insist, clutching at the door handle when the truck comes to a noisy stop. “Your breaks sound like they are though. Do you usually work on it, or-”

“I should,” he mumbles. “I have the time, don’t I?” Warren puts it in park and then reaches out for the blunt still sitting in the ashtray. “Ah, did you want some?” He offers it to you with his right hand, patting at the pockets on his left for a lighter.

As harmless as he still seems, you’re not sure what all he’s been smoking still. You decline, though he doesn’t take offense, staying buckled up in the cab to smoke as you get out of it.

“You can sit on the hood if you want,” Warren chokes out before you can step away, eyes blinking rapidly to keep from breathing out before he’s ready. Part of you thinks you should decline, that you should go park yourself on the Chasm edge and lay back to watch the stars, but- he’s not bad company. Warren just has issues, and the soft music still coming from his truck is a nice accompaniment to the wheeling stars overhead.

“If you don’t mind the company?” You ask, pausing with your feet just outside the door. He bobs his head and gives you a thumbs up, so you close the passenger door before you clamber up onto the hood. It’s warm under your hands, but warmer under your thighs and as soon as you’re comfortable, leaning gently back against the cool windshield, Warren is getting out of his truck to join you. He stays on the opposite side, not wanting to encroach on your personal space still, and finally breathes out, watching the wisps of smoke vanish on the breeze. You can’t quite keep your mouth shut, it seems. “So humans are all you can drink. But you don’t need it?”

Warren’s fingers spasm where they’re resting on his middle and his eyes dart to your face. With the fast fading sunset, his eyes are dark now, the pale brown of them only a memory. He looks terribly surprised by your question and stares for a few more moments until he seems sure you meant to ask. “It.. it erases the pain,” he finally says, hand stealing up to brush over his chest. If it wouldn’t cross a line, you’d be tempted to reach over and feel for a heart beat, just because he seems so damnably sure about all of this.

“...human pain?” You ask, confused by the statement.

“Ah, n- sort of? Taking blood from a human shouldn’t hurt. If you do it right, it should feel good,” he says, and his eyes drift to your wrist and then dart away. “Or at least, uh, numbing? I- I’ve only been on the receiving end of teeth the once, so.. Pain! We were, uh, talking about it erasing pain.” His fingers dig into his shirt, though his eyes stay on the stars overhead.

“We- vampires,” he corrects, absently, “are frozen. We’re cold, our bodies- it’s all dry, aching muscles and a vast emptiness in our chest. With fresh blood? We can feel again. More than pain,” he adds on. “It’s thawing, like a hot drink after your bones are aching from the cold.”

“And if you can’t get any?” What he says is fairly mesmerizing. You’ve never heard a take on vampires that sounds quite like this, at least, not that you can recall. Whatever Warren’s issues are, he can sure spin a story.

“If I can’t get any, if it isn’t being given willingly, then I smoke. I can eat food, but that’s like- like eating oyster crackers to stave off the hunger pangs while you wait. It doesn’t really fill me up.” He sighs, breathing out the tension that’s been sitting heavy on his shoulders since you rejected his claims earlier. “Drugs are the easiest choice, really. Killing is- is much harder than many imagine it to be, even if you have the strength to do so. It’s such a ripoff, isn’t it?” He asks, though not like he actually thinks you’ll have a solid answer. ”Stay pretty, supposedly, give what humans you trust pleasure with the bite, but-” He grunts, shoulders slumping. “It’s all worse than dry mouth,” he tells you with a sigh.

You just barely keep from scoffing. Dry mouth? That’s what he’s comparing vampirism to? “And the stories of vampires that most people grow up on?”

Warren glances at you, frowning, like he wishes you hadn’t asked. “If you’re emotionally strung out about it, you won’t get far. Not everyone has the same kind of physical pain tolerance either, and depending on how they try and manage it?” He grimaces.

You hope you’ll live to regret this. You suck in a breath, trying to keep your expression serious, but open and then you sit up to offer him your wrist. “If you’re hungry,” you start, getting ready to offer in words as well. Warren bolts upright though, hair a mess around his startled face.

“You don’t have to believe me,” he says sharply, looking a little frightened at your potential suggestion. “And I’m not- I’ve been smoking. I’m not a danger to you, or- or anyone else.”

“Did I say that?” You ask, because he seems to be gearing up for a long explanation about how he doesn’t need it all over again. “I won’t press if you really don’t want it, but you said it eases pain, and if you’re in pain and you’re actually a vampire then- well, it’s supposed to feel good on both sides, or numbing, if you do it correctly, right?” Your offer isn’t completely altruistic. If he’s just high, you’re fairly certain he’s going to back off, or maybe bite you for a handful of seconds without breaking the skin. If he’s a vampire? Well, then he was telling the truth this entire time and you’ve.. Kind of been pushy about this. Truth be told, you’re not entirely certain what you’re going to do if he is telling the truth, but you do want to know.

Cautiously, like you’re made of fragile glass, Warren takes your hand in both of his. Even now, his hands are still that strange, overwhelming cold. His hand starts to shake when his thumb traces over the fine veins at your wrist. “If you don’t like it,” he starts, licking at his dry lips, “tell me. I’ll stop. I don’t want- I’ve never been in the business of scaring people.” That, at least, feels absolutely certain.

“Go ahead,” you tell him, unwilling to look away, even though he’s obviously nervous. He opens his mouth, lifting your wrist and then takes a deep breath, like he can taste you before his lips have even brushed your skin. And then his teeth graze over your pulse.

You’d thought his hands were cold, but that is as nothing compared to the crackle of ice that seems to zip down your wrist. You can see that his lips are pressed over whatever small wound he might have made, slightly rough from dryness, but then you blink, and you feel almost as inebriated as you���ve imagined he must be. The cold fades, and then your ears and extremities all grow warm, a soft, fuzzy feeling traveling from your wrist, out to your fingers and up to your elbow. It isn’t sexual - not now, though you’ve no doubt it could be, but a giddy pleasure leaves you light headed and smiling. You feel like you could lounge out here the rest of the night and never grow cold. Warren sucks then, lighting every synapse in your brain on fire, tracing whatever wound he made with his tongue and then he pulls away. You have to bite your lower lip to keep from asking him to keep going.

Even in the dim light of the stars, you can see that he’s changed. He still has messy hair and a goofy smile, but his cheeks are flushed healthily and his lips are no longer dry. Even the tip of his nose is a fair bit darker and when his thumb rubs against your wrist, he now feels… Almost warm. Not normal, not really, but that biting cold is gone from his fingertips.

“That- that couldn’t have been much?” You mutter, shaking your head to try and throw off the fog in the back of your brain. You feel good, but you’re not sure you can stand up, not just yet, and you know that realization should be a little worrying.

“No,” Warren says and he looks offended. He lets go of your wrist, placing both hands in his lap, dragging his hands up and down his thighs. “You’ve never been bitten before! I’d already sprung the knowledge that vampires exist on you a bit early, I wouldn’t-”

You can’t help it, you start laughing. Partly because of the buoyant feeling floating through your system, but mostly because Warren had been telling the truth, in all things. He definitely wasn’t in the business of scaring people, and he’s a vampire. “Vampires are real,” you breathe out, flopping back against the windshield a little hard. It doesn’t crack, but the sudden motion is startling enough to make you wheeze. Warren immediately reaches out, but then freezes, hands hovering over your shoulders before he decides to keep his touch to himself. “Is Keanu Reeves a vampire?” You demand, laughing again when Warren stares at you blankly and then sighs.

“Why would I know?” He asks, mirroring the way you’re laying back. “I’m from the middle of nowhere - I don’t exactly have any claim to fame.”

“So vampires don’t all know each other?”

Warren looks terribly disappointed in this line of questioning, so you leave off with a shake of your head, still smiling. The light headed feeling is fading away though, relief settling into your bones. You just happened to meet a vampire with chronic pain on a backwoods road at sunset and he’s ridiculous and.. Kind of sweet.

“I’ve missed coming out here,” you say, willing to change the subject. You nod your head towards the chasm, towards the space on either side that’s usually filled with cars. “It’s always such a nice spot.”

Warren hums again, tapping his fingers against his knees. “It is. Coming back here, even after- The Chasm has always held good memories for me.”

It takes everything you have not to blurt out Maria and Daniel? when he says that, still teetering on the edge of bite inebriation. You must make some kind of motion though, because Warren turns to you, smiling, teeth catching what faint light there is and drawing your eye.

“Time always kind of.. Presses in on me. This is one of the few spaces that the pressure of it, the layers of memories, are all good ones. With Maria, Daniel and Christopher. With Kara a few years after this happened. With- with you, now,” he teases, very, very gently elbowing you in the side.

“Have you been flirting?” You ask suddenly, thinking back over the goofy looking smile he’d first given you, the awkward little bow when he’d gotten out of his truck. You close your mouth as soon as you say it, heat crawling up your throat - though this time it isn’t accompanied by the floaty feeling he’d given you with the bite. This time it’s all embarrassment.

Warren clears his throat, and that silly-looking, dimpled smile he’d first given you returns. “Not very well, apparently,” he says. “I blurted out my deepest, darkest secret moments after we met, didn’t I?”

“It’s a wonder you’ve escaped the media,” you tease, settling back to watch the stars. Slowly, the hours start to slip by. You half expect this all to be some kind of fever dream, to have walked through an area with leaking gas and to wake up in the morning having hallucinated the whole thing. You lift your wrist more than once to glance at the spot where puncture marks should be - but there are only the faintest pin pricks, hardly visible in the low light, barely tender to the touch and all throughout the evening, quiet music plays from the truck cab. Popular tunes from the 70’s, Warren tells you when you ask and then pops up, concern in his eyes.

“Everything alright?” You ask, sitting up and groaning. Your legs and lower back are sore - laying on the hood of a truck isn’t exactly the nicest place to sit, and now that you don’t have the leftover buzz from his bite, you’ve grown cold.

“Leave the radio playing too long and the battery will go dead,” he murmurs, jumping off the hood and darting into the cab to turn the key in the ignition. The trucks rumbles back to life and you just barely catch sight of Warren’s guilty smile through the windshield before he’s backing out of his truck and stretching. “I, uh, don’t mind the company, of course, but I can stay out here all night without any issues. Do you need a ride back to town, or were you planning on, uh-” Warren glances over you and your obviously empty hands.

“It was kind of a spur of the moment thing,” you confide, shrugging when he raises an eyebrow.  "I'm not in any hurry to leave though, unless you're looking to be alone for a while. I have intruded a fair bit already."

Warren shakes his head, leaning his elbows on the hood. “If you want to stay, I- well, I’d welcome it,” he tells you honestly, earnestly, and if you were just a bit closer you would have reached over to tug on one of the long locks of his wavy hair.

“Still hungry?” You tease, hesitant to push, but wanting the subject to remain open. You won’t press for details about his lost loved ones if he doesn’t want to share in the first place, and you’re kind of ashamed you had, but- it’s kind of hard to ignore the knowledge he’s shared with you, and you'd rather it remain on the lighter hearted side.

If he had the blood volume to blush again, you're fairly sure he would have. Warren laughs awkwardly, not quite looking you in the eye and scrubs his hand through his hair.

"I- we're always hungry," he says, a little too fast. "Or, mostly, we are, and if- I'm not saying I need anything- But if you’re truly offering-"

"If you are, I'm not opposed," you explain, a little flustered yourself. You have to force yourself not to fidget or let another awkward smile take over, to keep looking at his eyes, rather than his mouth.

Warren is back on the truck hood in barely a blink, hardly making a whisper of a noise, kneeling in his previous spot. For the first time, your heart truly speeds up in surprise. You hadn’t even seen him move. Reflexively, unwillingly, you flinch and then he’s pulling his hand away.

“No, wait, I wasn’t-” You snag his hand, but only because he lets you. After that little display, you know that he can move faster than the eye can see and your words trail away like smoke. The tension in Warren’s shoulders slowly eases, another one of those silly little smiles playing at the corners of his mouth.

“I very much doubt I could turn down such a lovely offer and not regret it,” he confesses, sitting carefully next to you, kneecaps brushing against your thighs. He’s moving slow now, still a little embarrassed by his eagerness. His hand isn’t quite warm any longer, but it’s still not as chilled as it was a few hours ago, the rounded knuckle of his pointer finger trailing over your left hand. Like earlier, Warren wraps his fingers around your wrist, delicate with his touch, but pauses just before he touches his lips to your skin. You lift your eyes from his mouth, startled again to find him so close even though he hasn’t moved from where he’d settled next to you. His eyes look black now, with such little light in the sky. If he tilted his head back, you’re fairly sure they could clearly reflect the stars overhead, and his mouth- “Are you.. Only offering your wrist?” He asks quietly, voice such a soft whisper that his words are nearly carried away by the breeze. You’re fairly sure they only make sense because you’d been staring.

You haven’t known him for more than an evening, but you get it now. All the widespread stories of vampires, soothed only fractionally by blood, strung out on their emotions and aching with pain. It’s no wonder that those are the ones most people remember, that people laugh them off when reading horror novels or watching movies in the theatre. You hear hints of the softer side of things, of seduction, but half of those stories still end in bloodshed. Vampires like Warren though? Soft eyed and awkward, trying to flirt for their dinner and then move on through life, quietly hiding their aches and pains? You think of the people you’ve known for years, the ones that always have the best stories, that yammer because they’ve been smoking too much… You wonder how many of them have been turned. You kiss him, then. It almost starts because of that thread of guilt wrapped twice over around your thoughts. Because you’d doubted him, even though he hadn’t given you a reason to. Warren’s fingers curl gently around the back of your neck, his thumb stroking over the pulse in your throat, lips opening so his tongue can trace your mouth. He hums again, that lilting noise he’d made earlier, like he’s attempting to tune himself to the soft sigh you breathe out against him. He doesn’t speed up, doesn’t tear his mouth from yours to rush things along, he just keeps kissing you, his long hair brushing against your cheeks as he tilts back your head, inching closer. His fangs brush against your lower lip and that zip of chill rockets through your mouth, across the tip of your tongue and down until you feel like you’ve broken out in goosebumps. Warren tilts his head and what little blood there might have been on your lip is gone. Warmth spreads, leaving you light headed and tingling and leaning in- and only then does Warren take his mouth from yours. He trails soft kisses along your jaw and up to your earlobe, barely brushing it with his normal teeth and then moves back down. By the time Warren bites you, sharp fangs pressing right over the pulsing artery in your neck, you’ve all but draped yourself over him.

His right hand, still curled around the back of your neck, adjusts so he won’t strain you and then his left hand is trailing over your chest. He doesn’t dip under clothing or fondle roughly, he’s slow, as steady as the intoxicating pull of his mouth over your pulse. Every touch though, every stroke of fingers or caress through your shirt, brings that feeling of euphoria higher. You’re not sure you’re ever going to laugh over the thought of seductive vampires again, not after knowing what it feels like to have them bite you. Not after knowing what it sounds like when he moans against your skin. For just a moment, that sharp edged feeling returns, and the smallest thread of pleasure-pain has you tensing, thighs starting to shake. Warren’s left hand strokes over your thigh and then all he does is squeeze your knee.

The orgasm is near blinding, spiraling through you for far longer than you’ve ever held one on the edge and even after Warren pulls his teeth away, after his mouth is nothing more than lips, soft and warm against your skin, you’re not quite sure that you’re coming down from it. You realize, after a moment, that you’re starting to wheeze, because everything feels ridiculously, wonderfully good but-

“How do people walk after that?” You gasp, blinking rapidly as Warren laughs against your shoulder.

“Practice,” he murmurs, and his cheeks have heat now too. You press one of your palms to his chest, smiling when you feel an achingly slow beat against your skin.

“I would think practice might kill people first. Are you- are you sure it isn’t hard for-”

Warren presses a soft kiss to your jaw, leaning back so he can look you in the face. “If a vampire ever claimed that they’d lost their humanity, it’s very likely that they didn’t have it in the first place.” It’s the only time he’s ever sounded serious, sure of his words. Not nervous or-

“Well,” you tell him, clearing your throat and trying to straighten your shoulders. “I would like to put in another round of practice sometime then.”

Warren looks- soft eyed and kind of dopey, smiling at you, but the nerves are back as well. “Not just biting, I hope?”

Your eyes dart down to his lap and you can’t help but grin. “If you’re truly offering, I might be convinced.”

[obxparadise]

Someone Like Me

JJ Maybank x Reader 

Word count: 2,073

~A fic in which you and JJ have to hide your friendship until he can’t hold back his feelings any longer~

Warnings: Overprotective, controlling, aggressive boyfriend, cursing, fighting. 

A/N: If you like this, leave a comment! Comments keep me motivated to bring you amazing fics 💋

*Not my GIF. Credit goes to the owner*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How many times do we need to talk about this, Y/N? You’re not one of them, so stop trying to be.”

The sound of Kelsey’s shrill voice alone was enough to ruin your day, but there was something about having her share her unwanted opinions as you flipped through the pages of Wuthering Heights that sent you over the edge.

“Y/N? Are you even listening?”

Snapping the book closed, you leaned forward in your chair, keeping your voice low, but sharp enough to get the message across. “Am I listening to you bash my friends as if we’re so much better than them because we grew up in wealthy families and attend fancy parties and prestigious schools? Why in the world would I want to listen to that?”

You watched as Kelsey blew a strand of blonde hair from her face. Even if she was your best friend since the fifth grade, there were times when you wished she would get her head out of her ass, wake up and realize that being a Kook? It wasn’t all that.

“I just don’t understand,” Kelsey said finally, in her normal exaggerated manner. “You have everything you could ever want. A rich family, a big group of friends…” As Kelsey glanced behind you, a smirk lifted the corners of her lips. “And the hottest boyfriend in all of the OBX.”  

A pair of arms slithered around your neck, the strong scent of Spice and Wood burning your nostrils. Biting your lip, you plastered on a fake smile just as Rafe Cameron lowered his mouth to yours. Okay sure, Rafe was…good looking. But he lacked what was most important to you: Depth. Sensitivity. Adventure.

If it were up to you, Rafe wouldn’t have been your first choice. As next in line to take over for Ward Cameron’s company, he made the perfect arm candy, as your mother would say. Growing up, the phrase “image is everything” had been engraved in your head, and when you were old enough to be courted, your parents didn’t hesitate in setting you up with Rafe Cameron.

“Do I even want to know what you’re talking about?” Rafe asked, fingers grazing over your bare shoulders. Subconsciously, you shuddered at his touch.

“Maybe you can convince your girlfriend that no matter how many times she’s caught hanging out with Pogues, she’ll always be a Kook.” Kelsey snickered, knowing full well she’d betrayed you by airing your business to your overprotective boyfriend.

Rubbing your temples, you avoided Rafe’s gaze. “Okay, Kelsey, really? This little feud between Pogues and Kooks is overrated and quite frankly, really fucking stupid. And second of all, I wasn’t hanging out with JJ. At least not today, anyway.” Just saying his name was enough to make the butterflies in your stomach go wild.

“JJ?” Rafe spat. “What the fuck? What were you doing with that little bastard?”

“He works on my father’s boat,” you groaned, knowing how quickly this conversation could take a turn for the worst. “I was tanning on the deck and he had to fix something. We talked. We’re friends. That’s all.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Rafe stared down at you as Kelsey hid her chuckles behind her palm. Damn troublemaker. “Now, why don’t I believe you? Because I know damn well I told you to stay away from him and the rest of his trashy friends, only to find out you’re still trying to fit in with them. So, tell me, Y/N, why don’t I believe you?”

Pushing away from the table on your patio, you stood and brushed out your sundress before standing tall. Grabbing your book, you thrust it into Rafe’s chest. “I don’t know, Rafe. But there is nothing going on between me and JJ. Stop worrying.” Big. Fat. Liar.

Rafe stared at you quizzically. “Mhm...well, don’t forget, we have my sister’s birthday tonight. I’ll pick you up at six.”

“Can’t wait,” you muttered, already dreading the night ahead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By seven-fifteen, you were bored out of your goddamn mind. You loved Sarah Cameron, but you were not a fan of extravagant parties at country clubs. Being forced to talk to wealthy adults and snobby teenagers was not your cup of tea.

As you wandered along the beach, hair blowing with the ocean breeze and sandals dangling from your hand, a voice spoke up behind you. “Penny for your thoughts?” Goosebumps rose on your skin as you smiled. You knew that voice anywhere. Turning around, you inhaled sharply. For some reason, you expected to see him wearing his usual outfit: boots, cargo pants, cutoff tank, and a backward hat. But no. The sight in front of you, while a complete surprise, was breathtaking.

“JJ?” His name sounded so perfect falling from your lips. Grinning, you pointed at the polished suit he was adorned in. “Am I missing something? Did hell freeze over?”

Snickering, JJ ran a hand though his hair, tugging gently on the ends. “Kie invited me as her plus one,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “Plus, I wanted to impress a certain girl tonight. Is it working?”

As you pulled him in for an embrace, you savored the feeling of his arms around your waist. It ended all too quickly, but it had to. You couldn’t risk being seen by wandering eyes. “You clean up nice, J,” Pulling back, you adjusted the bowtie at his neck. “But you don’t need to worry about impressing me, you know. I like you just the way you are.”

He scoffed. “If you liked guys like me, you wouldn’t be with a guy like Rafe.”

Frowning, you noticed how JJ’s brows drew together. “You know I don’t really have a choice, right? My life isn’t that simple.”

“Right,” JJ drawled out, rolling his eyes playfully. “Because the Kook life is so difficult.”

“You know what I mean,” you said, swatting his shoulder. “It’s just…my whole life has practically been plan--.”

“Y/N?”

The sound of Rafe’s voice startled you. Swallowing, you peered over JJ’s shoulder, watching as Rafe approached the both of you, a flute of champagne in his hand. “What the hell’s going on here?”

“Nothing,” you answered quickly, lip drawn between your teeth as you put a space between you and JJ. The hurt on his face vanished as fast as it came. “Nothing, man. Don’t cause a scene.”

“Last I checked, I was talking to my girlfriend,” Rafe shot, pulling you roughly to his side. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you carefully massaged your arm.

JJ stepped forward, nose to nose with your tipsy boyfriend. “Put your hands on her like that again and see what happens.”

“JJ, it’s fine,” you muttered. “Can you both stop?”

“And what’re you going to do about it, huh, Pogue?” Rafe taunted. “Pull a gun on me?”

“Rafe, just go. I’m coming, alright?” You begged, cursing silently as a tear slipped down your cheek.

“Don’t give me any ideas,” JJ answered with a sly grin, poking Rafe’s shoulder. You yelped as Rafe shoved JJ to the sand, attempting to pounce. “Rafe, stop it!” It took all your strength to pull him off JJ, and you watched helplessly as they exchanged heated glances.

“Let’s fucking go, Y/N.” Your eyes followed Rafe as he stomped through the sand back to the club. Once his figure disappeared, you turned back to JJ, whose face was red with rage.

“I don’t know what you see in him,” he said, gravely, brushing the sand from his arms. “I really don’t.”

“Look, just…just stay away from him, okay?” Pleading with JJ was the only way you’d get him to listen. Somewhere deep down, you knew JJ had a soft spot for you. And you’d be lying if you didn’t feel the same way about him. “I care about you and I just…don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Nodding, JJ motioned toward the party. “You should uh, get back there.”

Sighing, you offered him a small smile and headed in the direction of the club. You hadn’t made it far when you heard JJ call out to you.

“Oh, and by the way,” he said, grinning sheepishly as you looked back to him. “You look beautiful.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eleven P.M. Finally. As the party came to an end, the only thing on your mind was peeling off your dress and hopping into bed for the night. After saying your farewells, you wandered around the halls in search of your boyfriend, who was drunk and nowhere to be found.

“Rafe?” You checked the ballroom, kitchen, and even the men’s bathroom, but still no sign of him anywhere. Rafe’s disappearing act was starting to worry you, especially since JJ was nowhere in sight, either.

You decided to head around the back of the club to where Rafe’s car was parked, hoping he was waiting for you. As you approached the car, the muffled sound of a pained groan made the hairs on your neck stand up. Looking around, you squinted toward the trees, eyes widening in horror as you found Kelce and Topper holding JJ as Rafe delivered blow after blow to his ribs.

“Rafe, stop!” Running for the trees, the adrenaline pumped through your veins as JJ managed to escape Topper and Kelce’s embrace, tackling Rafe to the grass. “JJ, no!”

Topper caught you in his arms, pulling you away from the scene. Struggling to break free, you crushed his toes with the heel of your foot until you were able to loosen his grip.

JJ and Rafe parted, and on instinct, you threw yourself between them. “Enough!”

Angrily, Rafe pulled you out of the way, fingers squeezing your arm. “Get in the car, Y/N.” Prying his hand from your arm triggered another level of anger. “I said get in the fucking car!”

And before your brain could register what was happening, the sound of your palm cracking against Rafe’s cheek seemed to echo through the forest. “You make me fucking sick. For the last two years, I have put up with your overprotective, controlling bullshit. I have tried numerous times to give you the benefit of the doubt, and just when I think you can be redeemed, you somehow manage to fuck up more than the previous time. I can’t do this, anymore, Rafe. I am drained. I am exhausted. I-..”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Cutting you off, Rafe grabbed his suit jacket from the grass. “Let’s go.”

As Rafe pulled you toward his car, you managed to cry out, “JJ, I am so sorry--.”

“Is this what you want your life to be like?” He asked, voice breaking. The question caught you off guard, making you and Rafe stop dead in your tracks. You glanced at Rafe before turning back. “You don’t deserve this shit. How can you not see that?”

“JJ what are you talking about?”

“My God, Y/N, don’t make me spell it out. Fuck, I mean,” JJ ran a hand through his tousled hair, and your heart skipped a beat. “I just—you’re settling. For him. And you wanna know why that’s so fucked up? Because there is a man out there that is dying for the chance to love you like you deserve to be loved. Someone who wants to spoil you and take you on adventures. Someone who would never pass up the opportunity to tell you how beautiful you look every. single. day. Someone like--.”

“Someone like you?” Rafe snickered, squeezing your hand. “Hm?”

Covering your mouth, you sobbed into your free hand as JJ nodded. “Yeah, someone like me.”

Dropping your hand, Rafe stepped forward and lowered his voice. “You’ll never get the chance.”

As Rafe headed back in the direction of his car, you covered your face and cried. God, what were you doing? Of course this isn’t the life you wanted. JJ was right. You wanted adventure. You wanted love. And Rafe? He couldn’t give that to you.

But, JJ?

“You coming or what?” Rafe asked, spinning his keys. “This is your last chance. You either come with me now, or you find your own way home.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught JJ staring, waiting. And in that moment, you knew. You knew JJ could give you everything you wanted. So without another thought, you ran forward and launched yourself into his arms, ready to feel truly and completely loved. 

[solitvdcs]

* lana condor, cis female + she/her | you know parker hassan, right? they’re twenty-one, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, their whole life? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to work bitch by britney spears like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole grass-stained jeans, overfilled ice cream cones, off-key karaoke thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is march 28, so they’re an aries, which is unsurprising, all things considered.

basic info

full name: parker theresa hassan

birth date: march 28, 1999

pronouns: she/her

hometown: irving, north carolina

sexuality: pansexual (very very VERY heavily female leaning, with an unfortunate mild attraction to men)

height: 5′1″ on a good day

eye color: dark brown

hair color: black

build: athletic

tattoos: the ny yankees emblem on the back of her neck

piercings: earlobes, won’t go any further because she would have to plug them during baseball season and it’s a pain in the ass

style: comfort over style, function over fashion. unless she’s going out then as few clothes as possible while still being considered “decent”

favorite color: orange

favorite food: cupcakes

zodiac: aries sun, leo moon, sagittarius rising

mbti: estp

hogwarts house: gryffindor

enneagram: type 7 wing 8

temperament: sanguine-melancholic

alignment: chaotic neutral

growing up, parker was always really close to her dad. tom hassan was a minor league baseball player that had almost made it to the pros before he suffered a career ending injury, and parker had inherited his athletic ability. she was able to throw a baseball at the ripe young age of three, and by the time all of her friends were starting tee-ball, she had already joined little league. practicing brought parker and her dad closer together, and she knew if she looked out from the pitcher's mound, her dad would be in the stands watching.

and then one day, he wasn't.

when parker was a sophomore in high school, and the only girl on the boy's baseball team, she was a pitch away from throwing the first no-hitter in her school's history. she was on fire, and nothing could break her focus. she looked up to meet her dad's eyes — like she always did before she was about to throw the last pitch - and tom hassan wasn't there. parker lost her focus and the batter hit a home run; her team still won the game ultimately, but parker still felt like she lost.

DEATH/DRUGS/ALCOHOL TW. after that day, parker gave up on everything. she wasn't ready to take on so much responsibility; she was fifteen, for crying out loud! she did everything she could to stray away from responsibility: she quit the baseball team, her grades slipped, she started hanging out with an undesirable crowd, and she discovered the wonders of alcohol. it was nice to forget her problems for a night, even if they came to confront her in the sober light of day. but one night, she got in the car with a guy she'd been seeing - she knew he'd been drinking, but he swore he was good to drive. parker was too far gone to argue, so she climbed in the back while he and his friend claimed the front two seats. what happened next was a blur, but the next thing she knew, the car was wrapped around a tree. the two guys were unconscious or dead — she couldn't be sure which — but she luckily had come out relatively unharmed. she climbed out and ran, the adrenaline sobering her up enough to get her to a safe place. the two were pronounced dead on arrival, and nobody ever found out she was in the car with them, and she swore nobody ever would.

parker realized her coping mechanisms weren’t working, and she tried to slip back into her old life as smoothly as possible. she trained for hours every day over the summer to get herself back into shape for the next baseball season, and though the coach was skeptical, he could see the effort she was making. this time it was her decision to continue, not her father’s; everything about her life was in spite of him instead. but once baseball season was over, she found herself slipping back into old habits, only to have to train as hard to get ready for the next season. it was a vicious cycle, but without baseball to distract her, she couldn’t sit with her own thoughts. and then the college offers started pouring in, everyone wanting a piece of the pr gold mine she was. she decided on ucla, because it was as far away as she could get from the demons that haunted her mind whenever it was at rest. but what the fuck was she supposed to do with her life, besides baseball?

parker’s radio show came about towards the end of her freshman year at the campus radio station. it took a lot of work to convince her professor to actually let her start one, since she wasn't exactly known for being "responsible", but with months of research and planning to back her up, her professor finally gave in. with parker's popularity around campus, "parks and sex" quickly became the most listened to radio show in the area, and once it became available for download on itunes and spotify, the most downloaded podcast. for the first time, it was something that truly felt like her accomplishment.

and then, her little sister got sick.

the middle child of five, the hassan siblings were thick as thieves their whole lives, and parker had been the first to make a break for it. as soon as the semester ended, she was on a plane home and in the process of transferring back. as much as she wanted to keep her hopes high that her sister would be okay, she also didn’t want to miss what could be her last moments with them. her last semester of college is underway, and she’s terrified for what comes next, but hey — at least the baseball team has been doing better since she got back!

[captaindaddykru]

☆for emily☆

today it’s @keiraknighted‘s birthday. i wanted to finish this before today, but everything is flaming garbage, so a preview will have to do. no, i will no be giving out more details. happy birthday to my musical soulmate, the kinkiest queen of them all, em. my ol’ cobber. my favorite drongo. quite the spunk you are. you’re a classic. and you live in the worst possible timezone imaginable. here’s some best friends, pining, sexy, below <10k hopefully. also, sorry for the ugly temporary moodboard???? i was getting desperate at this point and am no grapic designer. i just needed something to distract from what you’re about to read. cheers!

So, by the time their holiday break rolls around, Clarke isn’t only sexually frustrated, she’s also kind of desperate. Which only intensifies when a few days before they’re all flying back to their hometown, Wells casually lets it drop he’s now in a relationship with a girl from his old chess club and things are ‘heating up fast’, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. She’s just more aware than ever she’s running out of time. 

Clarke doesn’t even know why it’s such a big deal to her. Maybe it’s her competitive streak coming into play, or the fact she really just wants to get the whole awkward virginity thing over with, maybe it’s the dark inexplicable pang in the middle of her chest whenever she sees the constant rotation of girls on Bellamy’s Instagram and Snapchat. She figures it’s a healthy amount of jealousy, courtesy of their very codependent ways, sharing everything with each other since childhood. They’re all apart for the first time in a decade, going their own ways, perhaps even growing apart. 

She doesn’t think about why Wells’ honest to God girlfriend doesn’t bother her as much when in reality that should make her feel even worse. A girlfriend could screw with their dynamic, a bunch of one night stands rationally speaking won’t. It could be that she knows Wells too well to know there’s still a very big chance he won’t go through with it, that he’ll let the girl down easy before Christmas even rolls around. 

But. Then she finds herself thinking of his jacket covering her shivering body, drenched from the rain, her left arm throbbing with pain, his hand wrapped around hers as he told her it was all going to be okay. She thinks of that time he left Gina’s birthday party early to come pick her up at a friend’s house after almost having a panic attack, the nights he spent sleeping in her bed after her father died, how he never once complained about getting her coffee from the drive through that was more than his hard limit of three dollars, and that one throw-away moment at the end of summer. That goodbye hug that lasted just a little too long, his arms tight around her waist, the intense look mirrored in both of their eyes as they pulled apart, the way she was afraid to say anything in case her voice gave out, before she got into her mom’s car and watched him and Wells disappear in the rearview mirror. 

It’s hard to explain, even to herself. It’s why she never thinks about it for too long. 

Which all brings her to tonight. A new year’s party at the house of someone who went to the same high school as them, that has all the charms of a bad hang-over in the making — terrible beer, music that’s mostly EDM and completely shit-faced people plastered across every surface.

She hasn’t seen Wells since his father’s Christmas party. Clarke finally met Luna there in person. She’s beautiful, easily talked to her about the non-profit she’s interning at for half an hour and had nothing but love in her eyes whenever she looked at Wells. He’s with her at her parents’ ski cabin right now, and from the way Bellamy was clapping his shoulder before he left early in the morning, Clarke figures he’s probably losing his v-card to her there which means that she’ll be the only one out of the three of them not to complete the pact. There’s no way she’s finding someone before midnight that she’d both feel comfortable with taking hers, and is even willing to do so in the first place. 

To make matters worse, Bellamy has totally ditched her to play beer pong with Bree, which she isn’t even sure isn’t code for hooking up in the coat closet. He knows she hates parties, especially when she doesn’t know anyone else there, and that she’s horrific at first impressions. She’s forced to make small-talk with Murphy, the loser who still hangs around their high school parking lot and she used to share one Culinary Arts class with before he got suspended. 

All of it combined has put her in a sour mood. And a drinking mood, but since all there is fucking shitty beer that might as well be toilet water she can’t even get drunk, so that just makes her even more unreasonably upset at nothing in particular. Maybe at the fact she’s so high strung and obsessed with controlling every little detail, that she didn’t just get it over with back on campus with some frat boy she never had to see again after, or that Wells and Bellamy managed to make it happen without even trying. It’s probably because she’s trying way too hard, people can probably tell.

It’s not fair that both of them beat her to it. Clarke wants to just be done with already, too. She wants to get it over with so she can get to the good, non first time stuff like them. She wants to be flirting with boys and girls at parties, or ask for someone’s number at a coffee shop without having to worry about having to explain it’s her first time doing any of it when they eventually invite her over to their room. She wants to be free and nonchalant and spontaneous, not constantly weighed down by the fact that she’s a virgin. It’s not like she’s asking for much. 

Half an hour to midnight, she pushes her way outside to the porch for some fresh air. It’s there where Bellamy finally bothers to leave Bree and her attention-seeking ways behind and come find her. 

“What’s up with you?” He asks, half a chuckle in his voice as he leans his forearms on the railing, mirroring her. 

Clarke grits her teeth together, then slowly exhales through her nose. She keeps her eyes on the tree swing in the distance, swaying softly because of the wind. “Nothing.”

He elbows her playfully, although his tone is serious. Of course he sees right through her. “Come on. Don’t give me that.”

She just grumbles something indecipherable, pushing back her hair from her face with one hand. She still doesn’t look at him, scared she might give anything more away. From inside, there’s the muffled beat of a hiphop song playing joined by the distanced tumult of college kids getting drunk and having fun. Except for the couple making out on the other end of the porch and one stoner sprawled over the grass smoking and staring at the sky, they’re alone. 

“I’m sorry about leaving you for Bree—” Bellamy starts, straightening back to his full height, and before she knows it, a flare of anger rises within her, burning white hot. She doesn’t recognize the feeling, but gets too lost in it to analyze it for very long.

Her head snaps to the side to glare at him, fingers tightening around the railing until her knuckles turn a pale white. “It’s not about Bree and her pathetic fuck-me eyes.”

“Okay,” he replies, sounding a bit too amused for her liking. He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. It makes his biceps bulge in a way that’s completely unfair when she’s been perpetually turned on since Halloween, and it sends a surge of want pulsing from her core. “Then what’s it about, princess?”

Has his voice always been so deep? She hesitates, not sure she even wants to share this with him. He might be her best friend, but it’s embarrassing on a level she can’t even try and start to describe. “I’m annoyed, okay?” She bites, heated, which immediately makes her feel guilty. It’s not his fault nobody wants her. “I expected that I’d at least beat Wells to it. And since it’s all I can think about all the time now, I’m constantly horny.” A blush forms on her cheeks, down her neck and all over her collarbone, but she refuses to let that or the way his eyes widen slightly stop her. It’s only awkward if she lets it be. “I just feel so stupid. I mean, I had five months to get it over with like both of you, and here we are. What the hell is wrong with me?”

A tense silence wraps around them for a moment, Clarke’s heart pounding loudly in her chest as panic claws up her throat. She’s such a fucking idiot. She shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place. She’s sure neither of them would’ve actually held it against her if she didn’t lose her virginity before new year’s, they’re better than that. She knows they are. Clarke is just so — frustrated.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and she finds herself entranced with the movement. “I didn’t know you were so upset about it,” he starts, tentatively. Her blue eyes snap up to meet his, a smirk breaking across his face. He’s teasing her, the asshole, when he says, “I mean, if you’re that desperate, I’ll do it.”

Her eyes narrow, finally pushing off the railing. A gust of wind greets her body, bristling her hair and making tiny goosebumps appear over her arms. She’s seconds away from angry tears, she can tell. “Don’t make it sound like it’s such a fucking chore.”

Bellamy just kind of stares at her dumbly, his whole body grown tense, making her even more furious. Did he lose his tongue all of a sudden? He’s never had a problem sharing his opinions on her, no matter how negative, before. “What?” She snaps, roughly brushing  a strand of hair behind her ear before tucking her hands back underneath her opposite armpits.  

“It wouldn’t be a chore, Clarke,” he corrects her, his eyes still slightly widened as if alarmed by the sound of himself speaking. He swallows visibly, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down in the low glow of the Christmas lights draped across the ceiling of the porch. Bellamy lifts one of his shoulders, casual, even if the movement is stiffer than it usually would be. “I just — I didn’t realize I was an option.”

Her heart trips over itself as silence stretches between them for a moment. She wants to ask him a million questions, but the best thing she can come up with is, “So you were serious?” Clarke raises her eyebrows, trying to figure out if he was just being nice, taking pity on her or if it was something much more dangerous than that. “You’ll do it?”

His jaw clenches briefly, his nostrils flaring. Another second, and he asks, rough, “Do you want me to do it?”

She considers it. This is Bellamy, her best friend. He can always make her laugh, and there’s no one else she feels as much at ease with, and he’s definitely attractive, even she has noticed as much. She likes his stubborn curls, his smile when someone catches him off guard, the sharp line of his jaw. And at the very least he would know what he’s doing. She trusts him. “Yes.”

Now that she’s aware it’s a possibility, she refuses to want anything else. It’d be kind of perfect, actually.

He clears his throat, blinking hard as he tears his eyes off her for a second, scrubbing his face with one of his hands. It’s very big, and Clarke finds herself wondering for the first time if it means the rest of him is big as well. Bellamy sniffs when his dark eyes land back on her. “Have you been drinking?”

“Just half a beer,” she answers, maybe a bit too eager, her hands dropping at her sides after smoothing down the bottom of her glittery top. She doesn’t want to give him enough time to talk himself out of it. “And I think someone diluted it with water so it barely counts.”

He nods, once, then nudges his head to the side. “Want to get out of here?”

Taking one more look around the porch, Clarke worries her bottom lip pensively, shooting him an apologetic look. “My parents are having friends over, so my house is definitely not an option.” 

Besides, she doesn’t want to risk them finding out and making it weird. Especially not if the consequence is going to be an open door policy whenever he or Wells are over. Nothing has to change after tonight.

“Thelonious is out,” he offers, then flinches when he seems to remember something else. “But Octavia might show up with her friends.”

Clarke nods, giving him another long searching look before she makes up her mind. It’ll be fine. This is Bellamy. She’s a pro at compartmentalizing and he’s sleeping with a different girl like every other night. It can just be sex. “Upstairs then?”

[sixsclassic]

Where The Shadow Ends

Anne is in an unfamiliar park, seeing someone she hasn’t seen in years.

Inspired by the current season of Grey’s Anatomy, don’t worry no spoilers. I would recommend listening to the song that this story comes from. 

TW: mentions of suicide.

WC: 3, 057

It was a quiet morning, something so peaceful about the empty space of the world. The dawn had just barely broken and the dew was free on the grass, it was so peaceful, she loved it. The world was just waking up, the birds were now chirping, and life was beginning to start. People beginning their morning runs as she sat on the faded picnic blanket, she was waiting for someone. The park was still relatively empty as she glanced around her horizons, attempting to see if she spotted those pink locks. 

“Did you miss me?” a voice cracked behind her and she whipped her head around to see a small figure washed out by the rising sun. It was her little cousin, the one she hadn’t seen in a few years, and a smile instantly grew on her face. “Kat! You’re here!” she exclaimed, standing from the blanket and throwing her arms around her little cousin, who was barely fifteen. “Of course, I’m here. I’ve been waiting to see you, Annie.” the young teen smiled as Anne Boleyn grinned at her little cousin. 

They’d grown up together, her mother and Kat’s brother being siblings, so every holiday and family vacation was spent together. Kat was only two years younger than Anne was and they were joint at the hip through childhood, Anne famously coloring Kat’s hair pink for the first time and giving her the nickname of Kat since two year old Anne couldn’t pronounce Katherine quite right so she insisted on calling then baby Katherine, Kat. Though Kat was no longer a baby, the girl was almost Anne’s height, but she always said that she stunted her growth from all the Starbucks coffee that she drank. The young girl’s hair was a mix of her natural caramel brown as well as highlights of neon pink. Pink had always been Kat’s favorite color, ever since Anne could remember, whenever they’d have to wear pretty dresses, Kat would be in pink and Anne in green.

“I missed you so much.” Anne spoke, gesturing for her cousin to sit down on the blanket and the fifteen year old took a seat across from Anne. During their early teenage years, they’d started to grow distant as Anne had begun high school and started on the cheer team while Kat was still in middle school and was becoming a shy, guarded character. It was the opposite of what Anne had grown up with, since Kat was the most outgoing toddler that always spoke her mind, even one time telling their grandmother that she hated her pumpkin pie with all her heart. That was one thing that she always loved about Kat too, that she was so honest. 

“I missed you more, more than you could ever know.” Kat smiled, her hand swiping across the blades of grass, chuckling to herself as her hand got soaked from the dew. Her little cousin’s reaction caused a laugh to bubble in Anne’s chest, but only a cough was able to escape her body, causing Anne to hack into her arm for a moment as she cleared the cough from her system. Kat watched her as she did so, noting the cough and how Anne caught her breath from it a few moments after. “Asthma.” Anne informed Kat, on the question that Kat was silently asking her in her head. Something that Anne was also good at with her little cousin, was figuring out what she was thinking.

“Does that happen often?” Kat asks, her curiosity getting the best of her as Anne half shrugged, then copying Kat and moving her hand across the dew covered grass, noting how cold the dew was under her fingers even with the Sun rising and causing the air around them to warm up, the dew was still cold from the dusk before. “It comes and goes, especially with the pollen in the air.” Anne explains, pressing a hand to her chest, feeling herself breathe in unevenly. Her asthma was something that she had her entire life but it only became bad after getting walking pneumonia in ninth grade that left always on the verge of hacking up half a lung anytime she got remotely sick. It was her fault for not taking care of her body like she should’ve during high school.

“I grew out of mine, but I still have my inhaler.” Kat says, “Just incase I would ever need it.” Anne nodded in response, as she watched the expression that stayed on her cousin’s face, it was like she never aged, she guessed it was something that Kat’s mother’s genetics provided as she watched her own mother age rather quickly after having her and her two siblings, while Katherine’s mother passed on rather young and Anne wasn’t able to know her aunt as well as she wanted. “How’s Mary and George?” Kat questions, making Anne chuckle, she was taking her special talent of reading minds and speaking what’s on the other’s mind.

“They’re really good, George had a little baby.” Anne smiles, thinking of her older brother than recently became a father in the past few months and how much she loved being an aunt to little Georgie. “George George has a baby?” Kat asks, making eye contact with her cousin as her own smile creeps onto her face and it was the first in a while that Anne had seen Katherine smile and she nodded in response. “George Junior was born in January.” Anne responds.

At the announcement of the name of George’s child, it made Kat chuckle slightly, “Of course George would name his son after himself, he always said he would, but I never believed him.” Kat replies, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen him.”  

“What’s it been four years?” Anne asks, “Well I haven’t changed all that much.”

“Four… it’ll be five in December.” Kat replies, “Have you started university?”

“I did, I went at eighteen for psychology and then switched over biology my sophomore year. I’m graduating in December…” Anne spoke softly, “I just turned twenty-one.” Kat’s head dropped down as the fifteen year old looked down at her lap as she fiddled with her long sleeves of her sweatshirt, that sweatshirt she’d always worn. Anne hadn’t seen it in years, she had one more similar in her closet back at her parents’ house, it caused her too much pain to wear it, even with it almost being five years. Almost five years since Kat had taken her own life.

Anne remembered the day like it was a bad memory, it haunted her to this day. Every single moment of that day and the night before haunted her, she blamed herself for not being there for Kat when she needed her the most. Kat had started high school the year before and hated every single minute of it, she was bullied for being different, for being quiet. Then she started sophomore year as Anne had began her senior year and they were both very different people. Anne was the cheer captain and was getting ready for prom and to graduate while Kat was getting death threats, all things that she was hiding from Anne as well as the rest of their family. It killed Anne everyday following her death to know that what was happening was right under her nose, that maybe she could’ve done something to help Kat.

But in reality, there was nothing that Anne nor their family could’ve done to help Kat out of that place, she was so far gone in her own mind that she felt she was no longer needed there. And on December 1st, Katherine had taken her own life around two in the morning, no one was really sure until Kat’s father found her in her room the following room as he was trying to get all his children out the door and to school. He did everything he could to save his daughter, but she was already far too gone. Anne remembered getting pulled from first period and being taken the guidance office where her parents were waiting for her, her mother was trying to mask her own tears as they told Anne what had happened.

Anne couldn’t take news and ran from the school, sobbing. She kept running until she collapsed at the park, this park. All the memories came rushing back to her at once as tears welled in her eyes and she glanced at her little cousin who outstretched her hand for Anne to take. “Why did you have to leave?” Anne asks as she choked on a sob, causing herself break into a fit of coughs, now Kat was in tears as well as people continued to pass by them in the park, but no one was paying attention to emotional messes of the cousins.

“The world was too cruel for me; I wouldn’t made it through high school. Someone would’ve probably killed me if I hadn’t.” Katherine replies as she wiped her tears away with her thumb as she gently squeezed Anne’s hand. “I got to see my mom though and I got to hug her and talk with her. I never realized how much I needed her.”

“She’s here?” Anne asks.

“She’s on the other side… you’re not ready for that yet Annie. You can go back…” Kat replies as Anne’s vision of her started to blur. “You can go back Annie.”

 The vision of Kat faded out as Anne started to cough heavily again, feeling the covering of a mask over her lips preventing her from coughing out into the air of the room. “Kat?” she spurred out. Once her vision started to come back, she glanced around the room, noticing the hospital room that she’d spent the last eight days in. She hated hospitals with all her heart, especially after the pneumonia she had as a teenager almost killed her and kept her in the hospital for a week. She hated the smell; the food and the feeling of death surrounded these types of buildings.

Though this felt different from when she had been in the hospital last, she never saw someone like that before, then again, she still had Kat when she was in the hospital last. Her little cousin had come to visit her whenever she could after school and made sure that Anne had all her schoolwork during that week even though Anne did none of the world. “Ah good, she’s awake.” A voice spoke and Anne’s eyes darted across the room to someone entering her room in full protective gear, holding a tablet to her chest. She recognized the person as her doctor, Doctor Cleves. Her doctor had been with her since she was first admitted into the hospital with her serve covid symptoms that they believed would’ve gone away in a couple of days but with Anne’s pre-existing conditions, things only began to get worse once she was in the hospital.

“Look who’s here.” Doctor Cleves spoke as she turned the tablet around, to show Anne’s girlfriend, Cathy on the screen. Anne’s eyes studied the screen, she hadn’t seen Cathy in so long since Cathy wasn’t allowed to visit her in the ICU. They’d been together since freshmen year in college, it was the first serious relationship that Anne ever had, and she loved Cathy more than she could ever explain. She was hopelessly in love with her and was planning on proposing to her this year, in October so that they could both be done with school by the time they had a wedding to plan. But it was now June and those plans were halted to just being in Anne’s head as she laid paralyzed in her state of sickness.

She hated every minute of it, since she couldn’t see or touch her girlfriend, she wanted to be with her so badly, but her mind kept going back to Kat. It kept going back to the words Kat said before she woke up, ‘You can go back Anne,’ it left her confused, what did Kat mean by go back? Part of Anne wasn’t sure if that was just a dream, something that her mind had created to make her feel at peace a little bit with what had happened to Kat. “Bebe, it’s me it’s Cathy.” Cathy spoke through the screen, her eyes full of her concern.

“K-Kat. K-Kat. Kat.” Anne attempted to spurt out, making Cathy’s eyebrows scrunch, Anne would never call her Kat or anything remotely similar to her cousin’s name, even though the two shared the name, Anne had always had a cute pet name to call her. “Kat? As in little Kat?” Cathy asks as Anne blinked rapidly trying to give her girlfriend an answer.

“Did you see Kat, bebe?” Cathy asks, swallowing a deep breath as Anne once again repeated her rapid blinking. She wished she could’ve talked with Cathy in that moment as the room fell silent as Doctor Cleves checked Anne’s vitals and Anne felt that there was something she was missing as her heard the words echoing through her head. “She’s on the other side… you’re not ready for that yet Annie. You can go back…” Anne couldn’t understand why she kept hearing those words, as if, Kat was sitting right next to her, talking to her.

“A-Annie. It’s okay, if you’re ready to go. I don’t want you to hurt anymore. It’s okay, I’ll always love you, I’ll always be here for you and I’ll always remember you. You can’t ever forget that. I love you so much Anne Boleyn, go if you need to my love. I will see you where the shadow ends…”

 “You’re back…” Anne’s eyes snapped up, she was no longer in the hospital, hell far form it since she was back home in the park again with Kat beside her. Where she’d started, her heart sank as she realized that she wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t a dream; Kat was here to help Annie in her final moments. “I get to stay with you?” Anne chokes out as Kat nodded a bit.

“Forever, we’ll be okay together. I promise.” Kat replies as Anne hugged her cousin once again.

“I’ll have someone for you to meet in a few decades. I think you’ll really like her.” Anne says.

“Don’t worry Annie, I already think Cathy is amazing and I would’ve loved to meet in that lifetime. I think her and I would’ve been good friends. We’ll come get her, when she’s ready. I didn’t think you were ready yet, you wanted to stay with her.” Kat explains, “You could’ve stayed with her, why didn’t you?” The fifteen year old’s eyebrows scrunched in her confusion as she looked at her cousin for an answer.

“I was losing, I could tell. I saw you for the fist time in almost five years. I knew I wanted to keep seeing you, I didn’t want to lose you again. I wouldn’t have seen you if I wasn’t ready to go. You were my sign, I was already a lost cause when I went into that hospital room, I knew it, but Cathy wanted them to everything they could, but my body wasn’t strong enough.” Kat listened to the words of her cousin closely, “You didn’t come visit me ever in those four years, I could tell that something was different.”

“I liked to visit from time to time. I saw you graduate. I was so proud of you.” Kat smiles as a smile cracked on Anne’s face as well.

“I wish I could’ve seen you graduate as well. You were always smarter than I was.”

“That life wasn’t for me, I’m better here than I was there.” Kat replies, “My soul is happier without my body. Yours won’t be for a while though, you had a lot more life left in you if you hadn’t gotten sick.”

“You had so much to give the world Kat, I wish you could’ve seen you through my eyes.” Anne states.

“I don’t think it would’ve changed anything, there was so much going on in my mind, that I could never explain.”

“Well now you’ve got entirety to tell me everything. We’ve got all the time in the world.” Anne says, patting Kat on the leg as her little cousin stood and outstretched her hand to Anne. The twenty one year old stood and took her cousin’s hand. Soon Kat was leading Anne away from the park as the older of the pair kept glancing back at the picnic blanket, her heart racing as she thought about how she was leaving Cathy in this lifetime. How she wasn’t sure how long before she was going to see her once again? Was it going be ten years or sixty years, the idea of spending so much time away from the love of her life scared her, but it was too late for her. “Kat?” Anne asked, halting in her tracks as her cousin stopped as well as looked back at Anne.

“Yeah Annie?” Kat questioned as she looked back at the blanket where Anne’s gaze was locked onto. Kat could tell how hesitant Anne was about leaving the life that she had behind, leaving behind family members, Kat had struggled with the same thing as she was introduced to this afterlife by her mother, someone she hadn’t seen since she was a toddler. But it gave her peace seeing her mom once again and she’d welcomed a grandparent into the afterlife as well, her and Anne’s grandfather. Kat knew there’d come a day when Anne would join her, but she never thought it would’ve been so soon.

“How will Cathy know where to find me?” Anne croaks as tears began to flow freely from her eyes again as Kat gently tugged her to look in the direction in front of them. It was like the time of day had completely changed, Anne wasn’t sure how long they’d been there, but she’d met Kat at the part in the early morning. Now there was a darkness up ahead. She looked at it confused, but something comfortable washed over her.

“Either you’ll come find her or she’ll find you where the shadow ends.” Kat says as she led Anne through the eternal darkness.

[theolddarkmachine]

Imaginary - Chapter Eighteen

Midoriya Izuku’s life was turned upside by fate.

Eri’s life was turned upside down by circumstance.

And Bakugou Katsuki is about to learn that even imaginary friends need to grow up.

Chapter 18 of 19

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A/N: I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. Since posting the last chapter of this, I interviewed for a new job. Got that new job. Had to deal with all the fun stuff that comes with leaving your old job. And have been dealing with the huge change that came with starting a new job lol 

So, it's been a bit of a trainwreck tryna figure out a schedule.Good news though, I went ahead and just knocked out the last chapter and epilogue since 1) I'm scared of making y'all wait hella long for the epilogue and 2) the epilogue was not long at all. which would honestly have made waiting suck lol 

Anyway, WELCOME TO THE ENDING OF THIS FIC! THANK YOU ALL FOR COMING ON THIS RIDE WITH ME! <333333

**************

The park is beautiful, Izuku thinks, as he watches Eri skipping happily ahead of him holding a fuzzy stuffed fish haphazardly in one hand. 

After making his grand declaration that they were going to go out, he had found himself a bit at odds with what exactly they were going to do out. Which was how they had found themselves parked in front of the aquarium before deciding to cap things off at the botanical garden.

Which is how he finds himself thinking about how beautiful the park is. 

It truly is, and yet, he can’t help but feel like something is missing.

Like someone is missing.

And there it is. The aching void at the center of his chest, rearing its ugly head yet again to taunt him. 

To remind him that while their little family was more than enough, he also could have had just a little something more. Had, in fact, had something more before it had slipped cruelly through his fingers right after the realization. 

It made him feel selfish in his desire, which only made his chest ache worse.

“Daddy Izuku?” Eri’s voice is colored bright with her curiosity, pulling him back from his thoughts as he finds himself stopped several feet from his daughter. The same brightness colors her gaze as she looks up at him, her head cocked just to the side as if to further punctuate her questioning tone. Izuku gives his head a small shake to dislodge the feeling.

It doesn’t go anywhere, but it was worth a shot, he supposes.

“Yeah?” He asks, trying to bite back the defeat that threatens to turn his voice bitter as he looks down at her.

“You’re happy, right?” She asks. It’s an innocent enough question, filled with a childish naïveté that Izuku misses, and it hurts. It hurts because, well, that was the question, wasn’t it.

“Of course I am, Eri,” he answers immediately, because he is. In the beginning of it all, he hadn’t been sure he really could be. Had wondered if the decision he had made to become a single father to a young girl who had lost everything had been the right one, for either of them.

It had been though, that he was certain. Izuku wouldn’t change that decision for anything in the world.

And yet that acrid, burnt taste of his bitter selfish want was still tainting the edges of that happiness.

“Of course I am,” he repeats, voice softening as he knelt down to her height. Gently reaching out, he brushes his palms over her shoulders before softly squeezing her arms in what he hopes is reassurance.

“Why do you ask?”

Eri shifts her gaze down to the ground where she twists the toe of her bright pink Chucks into the grass.

“I just thought you might be missing Kacchan,” she says earnestly, her voice wobbling slightly at the admission. Izuku huffs a small sound of surprise, if only to mask the way he winces at the sudden flare of pain that dances along his sternum. 

He releases his hold on her right arm to lightly tap her chin upward, lifting her gaze back up to him.

“I’m happy, Eri,” Izuku says before shifting his gaze back and forth around them as if to make sure no one was within earshot. 

“But can I tell you a secret?” He continues, voice lowered conspiratorially. Eri’s eyes go wide at the question, her gaze shifting around them before she looks back at him and nods quickly. It takes everything in him to swallow down his laughter as he leans in closer.

“I do miss Kacchan,” he whispers. The confession leaves him easily, taking with it the most infinitesimal weight, and yet he already feels as if he can breathe easier. 

“I guess I can do both,” Izuku continues as he ruffles her hair and pulls way. “But I’m more happy than anything. How could I not be when I have you?”

A comfortable quiet fills the space between them for the briefest of moments before Eri’s mouth twists upward into a wide smile.

“I’m happy too, because I have Daddy Izuku!” She exclaims as she launches herself at him and wraps her arms tight around his neck. Heat burns at his eyes as he wraps his own around her middle, holding her close. Another chunk of weight, larger this time, falls from his chest and is replaced by the full warmth of his love for Eri. 

This is enough, he thinks as he squeezes her just a little tighter. It always will be.

“You’re squishing me, Daddy Izuku!” She laughs as she tries to tug backward out of his hold. It pushes another laugh from deep within his chest as he turns his head to blow a raspberry on her cheek.

“Alright, alright, I’ll let you go. I just have to give you as many hugs as I can before you don’t want them anymore,” Izuku says before ruffling her hair again. 

Eri scoffs as she shakes her head, fixing him with a look of indignation. 

“I won’t ever stop wanting hugs,” she huffed as if the very thought was preposterous. 

“Okay, I’ll remember that when you’re in middle school,” Izuku says, more to himself than to Eri, as the young girl turns her attention back toward the direction they had originally been heading in.

“Can we go see the butterflies now?” She asks excitedly, any remaining ire falling away in the face of the fluttering insects. 

Laughing quietly, Izuku just nods as he pushes himself upward to stand.

“Of course we can. Lead the way,” he gestures forward before pressing his hands deep into his pockets. 

A high pitched sound of happiness tears from Eri as she turns around and starts skipping toward the glittering dome of glass situated on the other side of the park. 

Standing there, he watches the way she bounds across the grass with the sun tangling itself in her hair. It radiates off her in the very same way as her happiness and he can’t help but smile.

At least, not until he notices that she’s headed straight on a crash course with a power unsuspecting bystander.

Stepping forward, Izuku opens his mouth to call to her, only to feel her name catch in his throat as he hears her cry out a name.

“Kacchan!”

Time seems to slow, almost stopping entirely as Izuku sees the man Eri was about to crash into turn around. 

It’s him, he thinks as his mind clumsily trips over itself at the realization. It’s him, it’s him, it’s him.

Katsuki.

And he looks the same and yet wholly different as Izuku watches the way his face eases into something like pure joy as he looks down at Eri. From this distance, he can’t hear what Bakugou says, but he can see his mouth move as he speaks quickly to Eri. It’s as unassuming as anything, and yet something about the ease in which Bakugou has as he talks with her, as if he hadn’t disappeared on them for a month, breaks the spell that held Izuku frozen in his tracks.

Time falls back around him with the suddenness of a car crash as he pushes himself across the distant between himself and the pair, catching up just in time to hear Eri squeal as she jumps up to hug Bakugou.

An aching, burning anger lights his veins as he watches Bakugou return the hug, his face turned into Eri’s hair before pulling away and standing to look at him.

The seconds pass all too quickly and yet all too slow until Bakugou finally speaks.

“Hey, nerd,” he says slowly, unsure, and that’s all it takes to break down the only resistance between Izuku and his roiling, burning rage.

Stepping forward, he reaches out and grabs a fistful of Bakugou’s shirt.

He’s so fucking angry, but also so fucking happy. Painfully so, in fact, as he pulls Bakugou in close. Izuku’s teeth pull back from his teeth in a sharp snarl as he hisses, “what the fuck are you doing here?”

This close, he doesn’t miss the way Bakugou’s eye widen, leaving his own vision filled with their startling scarlet as he fixes Izuku with his silent, open wonder. 

“No, you know what,” Izuku says harshly, cutting off any chance Bakugou may have had to answer. “I don’t care. Fuck you.”

The words push through his lips with a hissing contempt, each one biting into his own skin in the very way that he hopes they’re biting into Bakugou’s. Pausing to search the blonde’s stare for any hurt or shame, he bristles as he’s met with the same brazen awe.

As if he’s seeing something beautiful. As if he’s finally found what he’s been looking for.

That damned look sparks something bright and wanting within him, and it only pushes him further toward anger as he jerks Bakugou just that much closer.

“Actually, no. I do care. Because what the fuck, Katsuki? I said I-” Izuku stops, his next words falling away like ash and coating the back of his tongue with their dry taste. 

Swallowing around the lump they’ve created, he pushes on, ignoring the way his voice wobbles around its edges.

“You just left. And then I have to find out that somehow, impossibly, you were Eri’s imaginary friend? And what? You thought we should just have to deal with that?”

“It was the job,” Bakugou finally says, and god, had Izuku’s memory not done his voice justice at all. It rolls over him, like thunder, cascading through him and cracking the hardened weight clinging to the center of his chest with the bright flare of hope at the past tense that he uses. 

Pushing the optimistic feeling down, Izuku holds onto the vestiges of his anger as his knuckles ache with the tension in them.

“I don’t care what ever the fuck it was. A job, a game, whatever it was that wasn’t what it was to us.”

He pauses, breathing in, then breathing out before he continues, his voice lowered as he flicks his gaze down just long enough for his confession to drop between them.

“That wasn’t what it was to me.”

Glaring a hole into the center of Bakugou’s chest, he breathes again, counting each inhale and exhale before he slowly shifts his attention back up to the blonde’s face. Astonishment still colors Bakugou’s stare, his expression still schooled in a look of softened disbelief. It stays there, frozen, as if he isn’t sure what to say.

As if he can’t say anything at all.

“Tell Daddy Izuku what you told me!” Eri says, her voice shattering whatever spell had come over Izuku as all the sounds of the park around them come rushing back into his ears. His grip on Bakugou’s shirt loosens just slightly, but he doesn’t shift away from him.

He can’t.

“About how the brat after you was nowhere near as cool?” Bakugou asks, words nothing but hard, rough edges as he replies to Eri without shifting his attention from Izuku.

Giggling loudly, Eri softly kicks at Bakugou’s shoe.

“No, silly. The other part!”

Deflating slightly, Bakugou continues to hold Izuku’s stare.

“Oh, that part,” he says lowly. So low that Izuku suspects he would have missed it if he wasn’t so close. Gritting his teeth, he swears he hears his jaw creak.

“Spit it out, Bakugou,” Izuku pushes out.

The order earns him a quick, sharp tsk as Bakugou cuts his gaze down toward the ground between them.

“I was wondering if maybe I could stick around for awhile,” he mutters, his bangs falling across his eyes, shading most of his face as he keeps his stare turned downward. It does nothing to stop Izuku from catching the flush of pink that runs itself across his skin and over his ears.

His gasp punctuates the short quiet as Izuku pushes back every so slightly from him, but still not letting go of his shirt. 

“Ya see, I’m a bit unemployed at the moment,” Bakugou continunes, “and a lot more visible.”

Shifting his attention again, Bakugou drags his stare behind Izuku’s shoulder, as if to stress that latter fact. Quickly, he raises his hand in a placating gesture toward what Izuku can only assume are some bystanders they’ve undoubtedly attracted.

That alone makes Izuku’s stomach roil.

Disbelief, and happiness, and anger, and exhausted content mix themselves at his core until they fizzle and crack like popping candy. He feels the way all the emotions creep up his chest and tickle the back of his throat as he tries to push back the burn at the edges of his eyes.

He’s so, so angry.

But god, is he so fucking happy too.

“Well, nerd?” Bakugou speaks up, the question colored with a hopefulness that seems foreign for him. 

Rearing back slightly, Izuku watches the way Bakugou’s eyes widen as he snaps his head forward. It isn’t until the very last moment that he slows his momentum, softening the blow so that their foreheads tap together gently.

“You aren’t allowed to disappear anymore,” Izuku mumbles as he presses gently against him. The soft brush of Bakugou’s relived sigh tickles across the bridge of his nose.

“As long as you both want me, I won’t be going anywhere,” he assures with a low chuckle that Izuku feels vibrate through both of their chests. Dragging a slow breath through his nose, he can’t stop the high curl of his lips as he pushes up onto his toes to capture Bakugou’s own.

The kiss burns through him, colored by the sun that continues to dip down into the horizon. It fills him, and chases away the lingering ache just over his heart as he feels the way Bakugou presses closer into him. 

It’s a good kiss, one filled with a honey colored promise.

“Daddy Izuku!” Eri cries, her sudden exclamation cutting quickly through their haze and finally pushing them apart. 

“Stop hogging Kacchan!” She continues, mouth turned into a pout as she reaches a hand out to Bakugou. His laugh as barking as he steps back from Izuku’s hold.

“We’re going to see the butterflies! C’mon!” She says, stretching her hand out closer to Bakugou, impatience thrumming vibrantly through her small form as she waits for him to take it. Izuku doesn’t miss the way his gaze slides between him and Eri, or the way his lips twisted slightly upward at their edges in a small, secretive smile before he takes her hand.

“Alright, shortstack. Lead the way!” Bakugou says loudly, barely finishing his sentence before Eri takes off with him in tow. Her voice lingers behind them as she begins to fill him in on what he’s missed. 

Watching as they move toward the butterfly enclosure, Izuku lets his mouth part around his own bright laughter before he follows behind them.

**********

[bubble-tea-bunny]

nosce te ipsum 

[akira fudo x reader]

author’s note: i just watched this anime and was so inspired i wrote this in a day. anyway i would like to write something bigger for akira sometime, like more expansive, but we’ll seeeee

word count: 5,207

Nighttime drives are your favorite.

There are hardly any other cars on the roads, and your eyes are spared the ugly glare of headlights flashing in your mirrors or from cars in the opposite lanes, headed the opposite direction. Lamp posts leave spots of light to illuminate the asphalt roads in addition to your own car lights, and you’re driving into the blackness, the glittering city skyscrapers getting farther and farther away.

You bask in the silence afforded by moments like these, the radio having been switched off as soon as you got in. In the daytime, you typically have it on to mask the sound of passing cars, the whoosh which begins as a low thrum during the approach, then a quick burst of noise as they drive by, before the sound fades again. You’ve been hunched over your work all day, so to be here now, mindlessly zooming down the street, is welcome stress relief.

Your stomach growls and you wince slightly. It’s the first noise to permeate the cabin besides your occasional deep breaths, steady inhales and exhales to relax after a long day. You hadn’t bothered to eat prior to hopping in the car. The thought of food had slipped from your mind since you hadn’t been hungry, and you were too eager for quiet time to yourself to have a snack. You’ll have to grab something to eat on your way back.

Eventually the smooth asphalt roads are traded for bumpy, uneven terrain, and while this is considerably less relaxing, you’re not bothered because it means you’ll soon arrive at your destination. Instead of lamp posts to light the way, you rely solely on your car headlights and the moon above. The latter isn’t helping much at all, unable to touch the ground and only strong enough to shine on the leaves of the trees to your left and right. For any other person, coming through here might prove to be difficult at this time of night, but you have no such problems. You’ve memorized the route.

Once the car is parked and the headlights switched off, you exit and push the door shut behind you. The chirps of crickets echo in every direction. They sound nearby, the volume growing still as you pop open the trunk, as if they have come to see what you are up to. No one comes out here, much less past midnight. It wouldn’t be safe, considering the animals who might roam in the tall grass and behind thick tree trunks. But even as the chirps and the hoots of owls and the scurrying of small creatures in the bushes grow louder, like they are closing in, you’re not afraid. Would you come as often as you do if you were?

There’s only one bag in the trunk tonight. Sometimes you have as many as five. One is a nice break for your back, and it only takes a single trip to carry it out to the middle of the small clearing. It lands with a heavy thud and kicks up a small cloud of dust. The movement has disturbed the contents inside, and you recoil in disgust as the smell reaches your nose. You nudge at the garbage bag with the toe of your boot, like you’re expecting it to twitch, and with a shudder and shake of your head, you take a few steps back and reach into your jacket pocket.

The matchbox is feeling light. Okay, add that to the checklist. Buy food and a new box of matches. You strike a fresh match and briefly revel in the quiet hiss of the fire which bursts forth, eating away at the head and down the wood. Before it reaches your fingers, you toss the match onto the garbage bag and watch as it burns, tendrils of smoke trailing higher and dissipating to nothing. The stench worsens as the bag is engulfed in flames and your repulsion increases. You have to cover your nose with your hand and this might seem like good reason to leave, but you need to stay to make sure the fire is strong enough that it doesn’t accidentally go out due to any gusts of wind.

Come on, you berate yourself. You’ve done this before. Seconds of waiting are like hours and it’s ironic, you can’t help but think as you stand there, willing yourself not to be sick. You have seen and smelled and felt much worse.

When the fire is sufficiently strong enough that you’re confident it won’t go out before its job is done, you turn away and speed walk back to the car, yearning for fresh air. You slam the trunk closed. Coming out here was fun and all, but you’re now ready to leave. As if on cue, your phone dings with a text message. After sliding into the driver’s seat and getting situated, you open it to find two street names. They’re familiar to you. You’ve driven past this intersection in the past, though that had been in the day. You continue to stare down at the succinct message while mentally mapping your way there from here, and blink curiously at the three dots at the bottom of the conversation.

A new chat bubble pops up: Don’t be late.

You roll your eyes and toss your phone onto the passenger seat, not bothering to reply. Since when are you ever late? The engine roars to life and you leave the nocturnal animals to their own devices, until next time, whenever that should be. Perhaps soon. The spot of orange flames in your rearview mirror shrinks the farther you drive and there comes a point where you aren’t sure if you have driven far enough for it to be too small to see any longer, or if it has finally fizzled out.

Though you’re back in the city, you’re back in a part of it that lacks functioning lamp posts. It’s pitch black in the alleyway, and if not for your night vision, you’d be left clawing at the walls to guide yourself along. Walking with a sense of ease that doesn’t entirely fit the context, given the time and the nonexistent lighting and your generally unassuming and nonthreatening figure, you traipse down the long path between the two buildings. You hear the scuffle before you see it.

Heavy fists swinging through the air; loud roars; claws sinking into flesh with a squelch; spurts of blood. It sounds ugly. You peek around the corner. The monsters fighting have no trouble sensing each other in the darkness, yellow liquid painting the ground and walls. If you didn’t know any better, and if you didn’t pick up on the scent, it might look like paint. You appear to have arrived in the middle of the fight, but it’s soon over, and the only demon left is heaving with labored breaths, long wings outstretched and his back to you. He straightens to his full height, having been bent into a fighting stance previously, and twists around.

Glowing white eyes find you effortlessly, and a sinister smile curls at his mouth, sharp teeth menacing. You’re not frightened by the predatory leer as you reveal yourself fully from behind your hiding spot. He watches you walk closer, but your gaze isn’t on him—rather, it’s on the corpses littering the ground.

You hum in thought as you survey the scene, stepping over limbs and guts, the only bits of demon gore you can avoid because the blood is everywhere, and it covers the soles of your boots. “Well, you didn’t tear all of them to shreds at least.”

“It’s easy to get carried away.” The devilman’s voice is deep, and there’s a flanging to it, as though he’s speaking with two voices instead of just one. You shrug as though to say I guess and you’re not looking but can tell he’s shifting back, tendrils of black smoke shrouding the beast. It fades gradually and Akira now stands before you, back in human form and flanging distinctly absent from his voice.

“Do you have enough?” he asks.

You flip over a demon that looks to be in reasonable shape onto its back, and you’re satisfied to see its stomach hasn’t been cut open. One of the legs is missing and the arms are bent at strange angles, but you’ll make do. This is better than nothing.

“I do,” you confirm.

With hands tucked into your pockets, you turn to look at Akira. Blood stains his clothes and his hair and he tries to wipe off what sticks to his skin, but he isn’t entirely successful as some of it has dried.

“Hey, uh, I parked my motorcycle farther down the block,” he begins. “I don’t suppose you could give me a lift there?”

You did park closer than that, having left your car at the end of the alleyway for a short and easy walk. But you shake your head, brow raised as you motion to his bloodied form. “With you like that? You’ll stain the leather.”

Akira isn’t bothered by your refusal and merely chuckles, nodding his acquiescence. “Yeah… I figured.” He sighs heavily, the fatigue of the fight seeming to finally catch up to him. “I’ll see  you later then.”

After he has made his leave, you stay to pack up the most intact demon body you had found. It really is simple for Akira to get carried away. You’re lucky there’s even one body to take back with you, for there have been times in the past he has torn them all limb from limb, ripped apart their torsos until entrails splattered on the ground, the squelch as he trampled them underfoot music to his ears. This sense of euphoria from slaying demons he had detailed to you a while ago, and though you understood the blood thirst and the satisfaction to sate it even slightly, you did have to keep reminding him to try leaving some in suitable condition.

I don’t get it, he’d said once before. If you want them in one piece, why don’t you do it?

The answer had been a simple one to you. The fighting’s dirty. I don’t like to be a bloody mess at the end of it. If that meant you had to wait until Akira left decently unmarked corpses, you would deal with it. Though to his credit, he’d been better about it lately. There’s at least one viable body each time he goes out on the hunt for bands of demons, and once there had even been three.

This demon is much heavier than the last. Granted, you don’t have any trouble pulling this one along in a bag and tossing it into the car, but you can still detect the vast differences in weight. The car sinks slightly under the added burden, and the trunk nearly doesn’t close due to the protrusions on this particular demon, with its large curled horns and spiked scales down the length of its back. Luckily you’re able to force it closed. You didn’t want to spend extra time tying a rope around the trunk to keep it shut. You’re tired, it’s been a long night, and you’d like to go home now.

———

Akira’s always been bad about keeping quiet.

He lets himself into your house with the spare key beneath the rug, and he closes the front door a little harder than necessary with the strength he sometimes forgets stays with him in human form. You hear it slam even from downstairs and flinch at the sudden interruption, but luckily you aren’t occupied with anything that requires a steady hand. He calls out your name but you don’t reply. He already knows where you are.

His footsteps coming down the staircase are loud, and you sigh. How he can get the drop on the demons he hunts is beyond you, when he makes so much noise as it is. Once he reaches the bottom and spots you, he flashes you a boyish grin.

“That the body from last night?”

You nod, your gaze dropping back down to the table where you set the demon corpse. You’ve cut open the torso, a neat slice across the chest and down the sternum. The thick, rough skin is pinned down with needles, several more than what a human cadaver would require. A bowl of viscous membrane you have peeled away to reveal the organs sits in a silver bowl, but that’s the most you have done so far. You stopped to wash your hands and take notes.

Akira stands on the other side of the table and glances down into the depths of the demon he killed. He likes to watch you work. At first, you’d asked him to stop, becoming unnerved to be scrutinized so closely. But he didn’t really listen. He’d leave for five minutes to scavenge your kitchen for food, and then he’d be back. You have since given up telling him to entertain himself elsewhere.

Eventually he goes from standing by the table to sitting in one of the sofa chairs you have placed down here. He lounges on it sideways, back against one arm and legs bent over the other. You’re completely absorbed in your task, sawing at bones to open up room to reach in. Blood covers your hands and the sleeves of the lab coat you wear. He doesn’t know exactly what part you’re searching for, but it apparently takes some time, as you make little cuts here and incisions there. You dip your hand in, and the torso is so large almost your entire forearm disappears as you lower it.

Aha! you exclaim quietly in victory. Akira’s brows furrow as you pull out… whatever organ that is. He’s not sure. But whatever it is, you’re happy to have found it, and you set it on a silver tray for further study with some of the finer tools.

“Why are you so interested in dissecting demons?” It’s a question he has had for a while, and he had never bothered to ask it until now. Perhaps it was the fascination inherent on your face as you scanned over your tools for the appropriate one, the excitement to dive further into the innards of the demon laying across the cold table, which pushed him to speak.

You don’t respond right away, picking up a scalpel and evaluating it before you seem to decide it’s a good choice. Nosce te ipsum, you then recite.

Akira tilts his head. He’s uncertain if that was a reply to his inquiry or if you’re just muttering to yourself. “Huh?”

“Know thyself,” you explain. “In Europe in the sixteenth century, the phrase was used to defend the necessity of human dissection, which was illegal at the time. It’s important to learn the mechanisms of one’s own body, and that’s best done by delving into a body like your own.” You punctuate your anecdote with a careful slice of the organ on the tray, and a thick black liquid oozes from the cut. Your eyes brighten in delight.

Akira nods slowly, putting together the pieces. “So you dissect demons to learn more about your demon side.”

You hum in affirmation. “Correct. I’ve long wondered what arrangement of organs lies beneath the surface when I take on that form.”

The way you handle each body part as you work is elegant. You separate each one slowly, making sure you don’t accidentally rupture or put undue pressure on other organs you have yet to take out. It’s a stark contrast to the brutal ravaging Akira gives the demons he kills. He can’t help it. He lives for the blood on his claws and the rip and tear of flesh. It makes perfect sense why you’re opposed to the idea of getting your hands dirty. It’s not in your nature to be messy—it hadn’t been before you merged with a demon, and it still remains as such. If there were cleaner methods to exterminating demons, you might be more open to the idea of killing them yourself. But who knows, maybe you’re already working on that as a small side project.

Some time passes. Akira doesn’t keep track, but he does fall asleep briefly at one point. He wakes back up and his stomach growls, but you’re not paying attention. A glance at the clock tells him it’s early evening, so he suggests the two of you get food.

You don’t always accept, wanting instead to remain in your lab, poring over demon guts. On those days, you settle for eating whenever you decide to call it quits, or you might not even eat at all. Every time he asks if you’d like to tag along, he hopes you’ll say okay. He likes your company.

It may be reasonable to assume that as of the current moment, you have no appetite. You’ve been working with a corpse for the last couple of hours, and the smell isn’t pleasant. But the assumption is wrong, for the thought of getting some food in your stomach sounds like a wonderful idea.

“What’d you have in mind?”

Akira smiles widely. “How about ramen?”

———

You return home alone. Akira had left after dinner, intent to hunt for the remainder of the evening. Once you arrive and set your keys in the bowl by the door, you contemplate returning to your work, but you don’t think you’ll be able to concentrate. The warm food made you sleepy, and you’ve been running low all day after the late night you had.

Instead, you settle for changing into comfortable clothes and relaxing. Your phone is left face-down on the coffee table as you walk into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. You're not expecting any calls or messages. At this time of night, it would usually only be cross streets from Akira, to let you know where you could find more demons to take back to the lab. But you had already told him before you parted earlier that he didn’t need to do that tonight. You’re still working away at the most recent corpse.

Since your mind still drifts to thoughts of said body downstairs, you decide to at least review the notes you’ve taken today. You sit on the couch, mug in one hand and notebook in the other. The pages are incredibly immaculate despite its proximity to all the demon offal, but you do consider yourself quite the neat freak. You wouldn’t stand for a drop of blood anywhere on your journal. Besides, you sometimes bring this with you when you go out, in case you should have any new thoughts on what you have researched, and dark red splotches would seem suspicious.

Once you catch up on everything you’ve written, you glance at the clock. It’s sufficiently late enough that you can shower and head to bed and it wouldn’t be too early. But it’s still earlier than usual, and you welcome the idea of a full night’s rest. You’ll resume your work first thing in the morning.

You always clean your hands thoroughly in the lab, but you never feel as though you have truly washed away the blood and sinew until you step into the shower, the hot water, entirely too hot for most but the perfect temperature for you, stinging your skin and turning it pink. Steam rises and fogs up the mirror and the bathroom smells like peaches. With the weather steadily growing colder, hot showers are all the more a comfort.

The towel you wrap around yourself is white and fluffy. Your wet hair clings to bare skin, tendrils gently curling as they stick to your shoulders and collarbones. You’re rifling through the closet for pajamas when the door opens and closes loudly.

Your brows furrow and you look towards your open bedroom door. You know who’s here, but unless he’d texted you while you were in the shower, you weren’t expecting to see him for the rest of the night. Unless…

Once more the heavy thud of his shoes pounding on the stairs echo throughout the house, and as he stomps down the hallway. He comes to a stop in the middle of the doorframe, and you see Akira standing before you, but you know it isn’t him entirely. The demon side of him is peeking through despite his human form, too strong and too desperate for indulgence to be contained. He’s snarling, eyes wild, fists clenched tightly and heaving hard as if he’s attempting to hold back. His gaze is predatory as he stares at you, the prey in his sights. But you are not at all helpless, you both understand that.  

However, you also understand what it is Akira needs, why he’s here, and so you play your part, waiting there for him to sink his teeth in. You hear him inhale deeply, taking in your smell, not only the smell of your peach shampoo but the smell of you, the nuances of the scent which unmistakably make up who you are. And though you find yourselves cut from the same cloth, find yourselves to be kindred beasts of hell, even he moves too fast for you to track.

He doesn’t give you room to breath. His lips are on yours and his tongue shoves its way into your mouth and his hands are everywhere. Your muffled whimpers and weak squeezes at his biceps to slow down are only half an act. He doesn’t listen, and maybe it’s the lack of oxygen to your head or the fact you get it, you get what it feels like to lose control, that doesn’t leave you genuinely angered that he fails to let up.

You pant loudly when he finally gives your mouth a break, now focusing on the tender skin of your neck. He bites down, sharp teeth sinking in, and you scream because fuck, it genuinely hurts. His chuckle is dark as his hand trails up to untuck the towel around your body.

Come on, you can take it… he murmurs, licking up the blood pooling from the wounds.

And it’s true, you can take it. That was the whole point, how any of this began in the first place. It had been merely transactional, the relationship you had. Akira would provide demon corpses for you to study, and you’d provide him the space to release his baser urges when they became too much to ignore or handle himself. You were spared the trouble of messy fights, and he the possibility of harming a human. There was no worry about harming you. You’re half human but also half demon, and like him, you have far greater strength than your fully human counterparts.

Akira tosses you onto the bed and you bounce slightly on the mattress. He crawls over you and toys with your breasts, squeezing and pinching and nipping. Your fingers curl in his mane of black hair, relaxed for the most part but occasionally digging in if he bites too hard. Through hazy vision you notice he’s still fully clothed, and you tug weakly at the collar of his shirt.

“You’re overdressed,” you force out hoarsely. Sometimes you’re uncertain if Akira can even hear you in his lust-fueled hazes.

But it seems, at least tonight, he can, as he momentarily sits up to pull off his shirt. He takes the opportunity to also rid himself of his pants. Then he returns his attention to you, and the spot between your legs. His fingers firmly slide along the length of your slit and apply pressure on your swollen clit and you squeal, attempting in vain to close your legs to get away from the pleasure which is quickly sliding from just right to too much.

Akira laughs and pulls his hand away, holding it up so you can see how it glistens in the soft light of your bedroom. “Such a good girl, getting so wet for me…”

Without warning, he flips you onto your stomach and gropes harshly at your hips to position you the way he wants. You feel the head of his cock nudging at your folds and you bite your lip, but even for the anticipation as you rest your cheek on the blankets, staring at the far wall, you aren’t prepared when he pushes all the way in, giving you no time to adjust. Your teeth sink deeper and you taste blood on your tongue and you can’t keep the noise down, you never can (not that Akira would let you), and you scream at the deep intrusion. Akira is big, and though you have taken him before, you don’t think you’ll ever adjust completely.

His fingers dig into the supple flesh of your ass so tightly that his nails leave crescent moon marks, and he watches, enraptured, at the spot where you’re joined, watches as his cock slides in and out, smoothly, easily, due to your arousal. The squelch as he pushes in and the slap of skin against skin is vulgar and filthy and he thinks he could eat you whole. Would you let him, he wonders?

A particularly hard thrust prompts you to let out a shocked yelp, and your hips lower, like you’re trying to get away, in search of a reprieve from the overstimulation. He doesn’t let you (Where do you think you’re going?), one arm wrapping around your torso to pull you up against his chest. His free hand he trails up your stomach, past your breasts (your breath hitches as he passes over a nipple, sensitive and swollen) and he slides his fingers into your mouth.

You’re tired from being fucked so hard and you think you might pass out and you nearly gag when he presses down on your tongue. Akira! you mumble around his fingers. Drool dribbles out of the corner of your mouth and you wrap your hands around each of his wrists as a way to ground yourself since at this angle, you can’t reach the blankets. His grunts are loud and low in your ear as his thrusts grow sloppier.

You mewl and call his name again, goading him closer and closer to the edge. You’re almost there too, and evidently he can tell, as the arm around your waist moves down and his hand finds your clit. He rubs at it quickly and you snap, screaming as you cum. With your mouth open, he retracts his fingers and crosses that arm over your chest to keep you against him, for your body is trying to curl in on itself from the force of your orgasm.

“Fuck.”

The feeling of you squeezing around his cock nearly makes him cum, but this angle isn’t quite good enough, not deep enough. He pushes you forward and you fall limply on the bed, and he bends over you, chest pressed to your back and arms on either side of your head. You only have labored pants to give in response to the last few hard thrusts, exhausted as you are, and he orgasms with a growl.

You moan lowly at the feel of hot cum gushing deep into your belly. As a devilman, the amount Akira releases is a lot more than usual, and you never have room for it all. This is proven by the white liquid seeping out around his cock, and he smirks when he notices it. My cum too much for you, baby? he teases.

But you don’t have the energy to talk, and it seems he doesn’t mind your lack of an answer. He pulls out and you wince, oversensitive and sleepy. So sleepy…

So much for that shower.

———

You sigh deeply.

Dark purple splotches litter your body, in places that would be hidden from view when you wear clothes but also in places where they would be fully on display. You press a finger gingerly into one by your collarbone, and it throbs slightly in response to the added pressure. Man… And just when the last set of bites marks Akira had given you had faded.

You hear the rustle of bedsheets and step away from the bathroom mirror to peek your head out. Akira’s brows are furrowed and he turns away from the sunlight pouring in from the window. His breathing isn’t as deep so you know he’s at least slightly awake, but his eyes remain closed like he’s trying to fall asleep again, not quite ready to face the day.

The blankets are a mess and you’ll have to wash them today, but that can wait until after Akira wakes up. However, you don’t end up waiting as long as you think you’ll have to, for he’s given up his efforts to fall back to sleep, and his eyes slide open while you’re bent over to dig out panties from the bottom drawer.

“Not a bad sight to wake up to.”

With a roll of your eyes he can’t see, you stand back up straight and look at him over you shoulder. “Good morning to you too.”

Akira smiles, but it fades as his attention trails lower once you turn around. He doesn’t ask if he really did all that. He’d had full consciousness, full control, last night, and he was aware of every mark he left. To voice the question would be a waste of breath, so he skips over it. “Sorry. I hope it didn’t hurt too much.”

The boy in your bed is drastically different from the one who’d been there last night. His gaze is apologetic even for his lighthearted teasing and it makes you smile softly.

“It did a little bit,” you state truthfully as you drop an oversized shirt over your head. “But it’s okay. I can take it after all.”

Akira chuckles to hear his words repeated from the night before. He throws back the blankets, standing up and finding his own clothes. “Well let me buy you breakfast. To treat you for taking it so well.”

Breakfast does sound nice, and you’re not about to argue over who pays, not if Akira’s offering. Still, you can’t help playing around, as you hum in mock thought. “Hm… I guess, if you insist.”

It’s Akira’s turn to roll his eyes and you laugh. “Hey, don’t push it.” But he’s just playing around too, judging by his grin.

The relationship you share had at the beginning been transactional, nothing more than business, but it can’t be confidently said whether either of you was sure it would remain that way. Spend enough time in each other’s presence and you were bound to grow closer. Neither of you had shied away from this development. In fact, both of you like it this way better. Maybe you’re made for each other. Maybe the devils inside you are.

Each morning brings with it the falling away of dark, carnal desires and thoughts of the demons in need of eradication or of close studying. It ushers in a chance to forget, even for just a few hours. And if you don’t read between the lines, life almost seems normal. That’s more than good enough.