#we could do pickup but it's fuckin late so not tonight

[neganium]

asfjksah I always feel kind of... guilty?? getting tips. it rarely happens, mind; but sometimes it feels like getting something for nothing if I'm not left any kind of instructions. plus I'm horrible with followthrough if I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing.

[drabbles-mc]

One of Them Girls

Angel Reyes x Reader

Request by @lakamaa12: I have a request.. if you don't want to do it, no worries (or it's been done by another blog and I missed it).I was wondering if you would consider writing something with Angel based around the song One of Them Girls by Lee Brice?

(Part 2 can be found Here)

Warnings: language, alcohol, Angel being the cutie we know he is

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: To the best of my knowledge, no one else has written an Angel fic for this song yet! If you have and I didn’t see it, my bad! But real talk I’ve been obsessed with this song lately and I wanted to write a fic for it so I’m super glad you sent this my way. Hope you enjoy! xo

Angel Taglist: @mayans-sauce @helli4nthus @angelreyesgirl @starrynite7114 @queenbeered @sincerelyasomebody @sadeyesgf @thesandbeneathmytoes @appropriate-writers-name @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @multiyfandomgirl40 @sillygoose6969 @beardburnsupersoldiers @louisianalady @gemini0410 @paintballkid711 @chibsytelford @yourwonkywriter @sesamepancakes @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @plentyoffandoms @georgiaaintnopeach @twistnet @amandinesblogofstuff @garbinge @bucky-iss-bae @enjoy-the-destruction @encounterthepast @lilacyennefer @everyhowlmarksthedead @rosieposie0624 @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo @mijop​ @xladymacbethx​ (If you want to be tagged let me know! xo)

Your roommate had been trying for months to get you to go to one of the MC parties with her. She knew them from working at Vicki’s and she swore that you would have a good time if you just came to the clubhouse with her.

“Just for a couple hours,” she pleaded as she stood in the doorway to your room, “and if you’re really not having a good time, we can leave and I’ll never bother you about it again. Promise.”

You sighed, leaning your head back against your headboard, “Fine. Just so you won’t bother me about it anymore.”

She beamed, “Yes! Oh this is gonna be so fun,” you could practically see the thoughts racing through her head, “Wear those skinny jeans that make your butt look good.”

You groaned, “You’re gonna dress me, too?”

She laughed, “It’s just a friendly suggestion.”

It was a suggestion that you begrudgingly took her up on. She really wasn’t that pushy about what to wear, but she knew that she was able to nudge you out of your comfort zone a little bit sometimes. You’d ended up with a simple, low-cut black tank top, the jeans she had suggested, and a pair of black boots. You weren’t going to risk snapping your ankle in a pair of heels when you didn’t know what you’d be walking into.

Elena may have been persistent, but she was a woman of her word. She stayed by you when you first arrived, knowing the scene was a little overwhelming when you first walk into it. You weren’t quite sure what you had been expecting, but this wasn’t quite what you had pictured in your mind. It was a little tamer, a little less chaotic than your brain had been telling you it would be.

“C’mon,” she tugged you towards the bar, “I’ll get you a beer.”

“Elena, who are all these people?” you asked quietly as you scanned the room.

She started pointing out the members of the MC one by one, telling you their names and a few fun facts about each. Some of the facts were a little more information than you cared to know, but she got you to laugh. Some of the girls you recognized because they’d come over and hang out at your apartment sometimes, and it was nice to know that you knew more than just one person at the party. They said there was power in numbers, right?

“Hey, querida,” a voice piped up from behind the two of you.

Elena turned, a smile instantly spreading across her face as she walked up to the man who had been speaking to her and letting him scoop her up in a hug, “Angel, hey!”

He set her down and his eyes found their way over to you. You felt small under the weight of his gaze but you tried not to let it show. He glanced back to Elena, “You brought a friend?”

She laughed, nodding, “Angel, this is my roommate, and best friend, Y/N. Y/N, this is Angel, the biggest pain in the ass in the MC.”

He placed a hand over his chest, an exaggeratedly pained expression on his face, “Right to my heart.”

The three of you laughed and you shook your head slightly, the nerves beginning to dissipate a little bit. You weren’t expecting him to plop down on the stool next to yours, but he did. You looked over to Elena, as if to ask if you should be worried about anything. She flashed you a smile as she sat down on the other side of you, giving your arm a light, reassuring squeeze as she reached for her drink.

“So what questionable decisions led you here tonight?” he asked with a laugh as he took a swig of his beer.

You laughed, shaking your head, “Just throwing Elena a bone. She’s been wanting me to come here with her for a while.”

“Didn’t want to be hanging out with a bunch of degenerates?” there was a playful smirk on his face.

You smiled, “More like I didn’t want to be hanging out with a bunch of people in general,” you laughed, “I’m a bit of a homebody.”

“I’m working on that,” Elena piped in with a smile.

The three of you sat at the bar and talked for a little while. You could tell that Angel was trying to get a read on you, the new girl. You couldn’t be mad because you were doing the same thing to him. He was smooth, flirtatious, but not overbearingly so. That was a game you’d be willing to play for the night while you pacified your friend. If you were going to be forced to socialize, there were worse people to look at while doing it.

Elena must’ve gotten the vibe from you, because she politely excused herself from the conversation, letting you know that she wouldn’t be far if you decided that you wanted to bail and go home. You saw the smirk tugging at her lips as she walked away though, knowing that you were having a much better time there than you’d ever admit.

“So I gotta know,” Angel asked as he idly toyed with the beer bottle in his hands, “how does a homebody like you end up rooming with Miss “Life of the Party” Elena?”

You laughed, trying not to stare at the way his ringed fingers traced and curled around the neck of his beer bottle, “We actually had a few classes together our first year in college,” you shook your head, “Nothing bonds two people together like suffering through statistics classes together.”

He chuckled, “Fuck that.”

“That was exactly how we felt.”

The longer the two of you talked, the more he tested his boundaries. He wasn’t pushy, or inappropriate, but he was definitely trying to figure out what made you tick. You weren’t going to give him that kind of satisfaction so quickly, though. You bantered back and forth with him, and you couldn’t remember the last time a guy had you laughing so hard.

Angel was in the middle of an incredibly cheesy pickup line that he swore has worked for him before when the song coming through the speakers changed. You couldn’t help but to perk up a little bit at the familiar beat and Angel noticed the shift immediately. He watched you for a moment as he tried to feel out the situation.

“Wanna dance?”

You shook your head no with zero hesitation, “No thank you.”

He laughed, “C’mon, why not? Live a little.”

You smiled but didn’t move to get up from your stool, “I’m sure there are plenty of women here tonight that would love to dance with you, Angel.”

He didn’t push the topic any further. You were smiling but he could see the flash of emotion in your eyes and he knew that there was something there that you weren’t ready to tap into yet with him. So, instead, he got you another beer and delved back into his cheesy pickup line story. When you realized that he was going to move past what you just said and not make it awkward, the tension immediately melted out of your body. You gladly took the beer bottle from him as you listened him ramble into another story.

“Yo, Angel,” Coco called from the pool table, “get over here. Bring your friend, we need two more.”

“You play pool?” Angel asked you, curious to your answer.

You shrugged as you hopped off the stool, “I mean I know how to.”

He laughed as he followed you across the clubhouse, “That’s not a super reassuring answer, querida.”

“Man, fuck him. You can be on my team,” Coco said with a laugh, “He and Gilly can fend for themselves.”

There was something reassuring and welcoming about the way that Coco spoke to you—like he had known you for years. He handed you your pool stick, smile still plastered onto his face. This wasn’t how you had originally pictured your night going, but you weren’t upset about it.

About halfway through the game, Angel was pissed that he didn’t try to team up with you. You and Coco were on a hot-streak and he really didn’t expect that from you. He shook his head as you sank another shot, and you had to laugh at the way that Coco was able to effectively gloat with just a simple look thrown Angel’s way.

“I mean I know how to,” Angel mocked you with a laugh as he shook his head, watching you line up to take another shot, “Can’t believe you fuckin’ hustled me.”

You laughed, “I don’t think you can call it hustling if there’s no money involved. You’re just mad because we’re about to whoop your ass.”

He chuckled and glanced over at Coco, “Don’t look so smug, Coco. She’s fuckin’ carrying you right now.”

The game wrapped up quickly with you and Coco both doing so well. Gilly had been more than content to sit back and watch it all happen, reveling in the fact that someone, and someone new at that, was kicking Angel’s ass at pool. Angel was shaking his head as he set his stick aside, still trying to figure out how all of that just happened. For someone who claimed that they didn’t like going out and doing things, you seemed to be full of surprises.

“Since I am a gracious winner,” you said with a laugh as you let Coco put your stick away, “I’ll buy you all a drink.”

Angel went to protest, not wanting you to be buying anything for any of them, but Gilly slapped his chest to stop him. The look on Gilly’s face made it very evident that no matter how cute the girl was, none of them were about to be turning down free drinks. Angel laughed, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

As the night wore on, slowly but surely people began to trickle out of the clubhouse. You hadn’t really talked to Elena since you got wrapped up playing pool with the guys, but the two of you kept an eye on one another. Every now and then she’d shoot you a look, one that asked if you needed to get out, and you would just shake your head. She’d smile, sometimes throw you a wink, before getting wrapped back up into whatever she was doing. You knew that she was just glad to get you out of the house and socializing with people.

You and Angel were sitting next to each other on the couch talking, keeping your conversation low in the midst of music and noise still filling the clubhouse. You were shaking your head at him as he told you about some of the scrapes he’d gotten into with his brother, someone that you knew you’d also love to sit and have a conversation with eventually.

Elena walked up and gave you a nudge, smiling when you turned to her, “Not trying to rush you, but I think a couple of the girls and I are gonna head out. You want me to bring you home before I go with them?”

Truthfully, you didn’t want to leave. But she was your ride, so it wasn’t like you were going to have much of a choice. Just as you were about to speak up and say you’d get ready to leave, Angel interrupted, “I can take you home if you want.”

You glanced back at him, arching one eyebrow, “Oh?”

“Yea,” he shrugged, smiling, “I don’t mind.”

Elena bit at her bottom lip, trying to fight back a smile, “You good with that, Y/N?”

You nodded, “Yea, I think so,” you laughed, “Worst case scenario I have pepper spray in my bag.”

“Jesus,” Angel laughed.

Elena shook her head with a grin as she leaned down to kiss your cheek, “Text me when you’re home. Love you.”

“Love you too. Text when you get to wherever the hell you guys are all going,” you chuckled.

“Will do,” she turned and hugged Angel, “Get her home safe, or I’ll beat your ass.”

He nodded, trying hard not to laugh because he knew that she was serious, “Yes ma’am.”

When she was gone and it was just the two of you again, things felt a little different. You suddenly became very aware of the way that his arm was draped over the back of the couch, his fingers almost brushing against your shoulder. Despite the number of people that were still in the clubhouse, it felt like it was just you two left. Everything else felt farther away.

“Can I ask where you’re from?” he leaned in a little closer to you and took a sip of his beer, “Because I feel like you’re not from around here.”

You smiled, shaking your head, “I’m not. I’m from the East Coast—came out this way for college,” you laughed, “Very cliché, I know.”

“Ah, you’re one of them girls, huh?”

“Who are them girls?” you chuckled.

“Had to get the hell outta dodge?”

You smiled and nodded, not really wanting to get into the details of your decisions, “Something like that.”

“You musta broke a lot of hearts when you left,” there was a smirk tugging at his lips.

You laughed, “Wouldn’t know—haven’t been back to find out.”

Somewhere along the line of your conversation, the two of you had gotten very comfortable. You had your legs pulled up underneath you as you leaned into him, his hand resting lightly on the nape of your neck. Every now and then when you laughed your hand would come to rest on his thigh for a moment or two before you pulled it back to your own body. He wasn’t bold enough to say it but he wished that you’d leave it there.

There was a brief lull in the conversation and you looked around the clubhouse, seeing that the two of you were some of the last people there. You checked your phone, seeing that you had gotten the safety update from your roommate almost an hour before and hadn’t noticed from being so enthralled with Angel.

“You got that look on your face like you gotta get going,” Angel said knowingly.

You sighed, “Yea, unfortunately I still have to go and do life stuff tomorrow,” there was a hint of laughter to your voice.

His thumb traced idly along the exposed skin at the base of your neck, “We can take the bike, if you want.”

You pressed your lips together for a moment, “I’ve never ridden on one before.”

He chuckled as he rose to his feet, helping you to do the same, “Something tells me you’ll be fine.”

The two of you walked out of the clubhouse, Angel’s hand settling on the small of your back. The chilly night air hit your skin and sent a chill through you. Without a second thought, Angel peeled off his sweatshirt that he’d put on and handed it over to you. You started to shake your head no but he wordlessly pushed the hoodie into your hands. You gave in with a smile, pulling it down over your head. It was warm, and you were practically swimming in the fabric, but you didn’t mind.

He let you use his helmet, and you settled behind him after climbing onto the bike. Your hands were lightly resting on his waist and he pulled your arms tighter around him, causing you to press flush up against his back.

“Don’t be shy, querida,” he chuckled, “For your own safety as much as anything else.”

You laughed, thankful that he couldn’t see the sheepish smile on your face as you let your body rest against his. The bike came to life underneath you and you nervously wrapped your arms a little tighter around him, and you could feel him laughing despite the fact that you couldn’t hear him over the noise of the bike.

Slowly you eased into the ride, your nerves subsiding a little bit. Angel must’ve felt the tension dissipating because he picked up the speed a little bit, causing you to laugh and tighten your hold on him. You knew that Angel knew the way to yours and Elena’s apartment, so you knew that he was taking the long way there. As much as you wanted to call him out on it, you didn’t want him to think that you minded. It was a peaceful, freeing feeling to be riding with him.

He rolled to a stop in front of your apartment building. You hopped off the bike, handing him back his helmet. The two of you stood there and you knew that he could feel the same type of tension in the air that you felt. For a night that you really hadn’t been looking forward to, it was the best time that you’d had in a while.

You went to take his sweatshirt off to give back to him but he shook his head at you, “Nah, keep it.”

“You sure?”

He nodded with a smirk on his face, “Yea. Just give it back next time I see you.”

You smiled, “Next time? Who said I’m coming back to the clubhouse?”

He laughed and shook his head, “Damn, you and Elena are both out to keep my ego in check, huh?”

“It’s good for you,” you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, trying to ignore the fact that you felt nervous, trying to figure out how to say goodnight.

“But really,” he stepped in a little closer to you, forcing you to tilt your head up slightly to look him in the eye, “I’d really like to be able to see you again.”

You managed to keep a straight face for a few seconds, just long enough to make him nervous. You could see him racing to try and come up with a follow-up statement to get himself out of being rejected, and you let yourself smile as you nodded, “I’d like that.”

He let out an audible sigh of relief, “Had me worried for a second,” he chuckled.

You laughed, shaking your head, “Can’t make it too easy for you.”

He smiled, “Can I have your number? Or do I gotta level up for that?”

You rolled your eyes as you held your hand out, “Give me your phone before I change my mind.”

He chuckled as he dug it out of his pocket and pressed it into the palm of your hand. He watched you intently as you plugged your number in, smiling as you handed it back to him, “This your real number? Or one of those rejection hotlines?”

You smirked, “Guess you’ll have to call me and find out. One time I gave some dude the number that would just play the John Cena theme song over and over again. That was…peak rejection.”

“That’s not exactly reassuring for me, you get that, right?” he laughed.

You smiled and shook your head, “It’s my real number, promise,” you stood up on your tip-toes and kissed him on the cheek, “Thanks for bringing me home.”

He couldn’t hide that he was surprised by the gesture. A huge smile spread across his face as he nodded, “Yea, any time.”

“Get home safe.”

He nodded, “I will,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you crossed your arms over your chest, trapping the heat against your body as you watched him get back on his bike and strap his helmet on. He flashed you another smile and you waved him off.

You let out a small sigh of contentment as you turned around and made your way into your building. The walk up to your apartment seemed much shorter as you replayed the night over in your head. You turned the key in the lock and stepped in, glad to be home but simultaneously wishing that the night wasn’t over yet. You showered and threw your pajamas on, falling into your bed with a happy sigh. After shutting the light off and settling in underneath your blanket, your phone buzzed on your nightstand. You reached over to see who it was, and smiled when you saw a message waiting for you from a new number.

“Home safe. Sweet dreams” after a few seconds a second text came in, “It’s Angel by the way”

You chuckled as you typed out your reply, ‘Thanks for the clarification. Got worried for a second”

“Just tryna be sweet and you can’t let me have it, can you?”

“Nope” you were laughing in the quiet darkness of your room.

“Alright. Sweet nightmares then. Goodnight”

You could picture his face and you couldn’t stop smiling, “Goodnight xo”

You set your phone off to the side again, settling back down underneath your covers. Your body wanted to sleep but your brain was too busy replaying the entire night over again and you couldn’t stop smiling.

[aliwritesfic]

The Night Shift part 11 (F!Reader x Frankie Morales)

WC: 3.3k

AN: Yall I'm so sorry this took ages to be updated, my laptop screen broke and the repair place had to wait over a week for a new one, I hope the end of this part makes up for it <3 Parts will also be slower to come out as I'm starting my next semester of uni on Monday and that's going to take up a large chunk of my time, but I'm still going to try and put out a new part at least once a week

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Part 1 Part 12 (coming soon) Masterlist

Friday arrived far too quickly for Frankie’s liking. So quickly he had gotten himself into a routine of being with you, and it felt like it was being ripped away from him. Of course, he knew that it would happen, he hadn’t deluded himself into thinking it wouldn’t, but still . . . still he had grown so used to your presence that when it was finally time to “get your shit from that ugly ass motherfucker” (Will’s words, not his), he felt almost depressed.

You were perched on his couch when he woke up late Friday morning, a cup of steaming coffee clutched in your hand, your gaze fixed absently on a point on the wall. He called your name gently, not wanting to scare you. You blinked a couple times, as if coming out of a trance. He knew the look well.

“Didn’t sleep?” he poured himself a cup and sat down next to you. You shook your head.

“Not great. I think an hour, maybe. But like, really shitty sleep.”

“Not fully asleep but not fully awake?” Frankie suggested, having become very accustomed to the feeling during his military time. You nodded, giving him a tired smile. He understood your exhaustion. You had spent every waking moment stressed about the move, online shopping to replace the things that you were leaving at Kurt’s, and then stressing some more. You had picked up the keys on Wednesday and Frankie had gone with you to check the place out.

It was a bright, airy place, seven floors up with huge windows and a tiny balcony off the living area. Frankie had noticed your eyes shining as you took it all in, almost like you couldn’t believe it was yours. You had wiped away a tear, taking in the view of the lake by the apartment complex.

Frankie had come with his measuring tape and notebook from his mechanic days. He measured each room, each alcove where a piece of furniture would sit, and wrote them down diligently with a messy scrawl on a page labelled with your name.

When you had gotten back to his place, you set to work writing down a list of what was yours and what you needed to replace. At the top of that list was a bed, heavily underlined and circled.

“The bed’s mine, technically,” you explained as you clicked on a display photo of a wrought iron bed frame, “but he can keep it. I want a fresh start, and I think I need a new bed to do that.”

“Makes sense,” Frankie said sitting down beside you, “is that the one you’re going with?”

You had nodded, clicking add to cart. The store had next day delivery, and for a small fee would even build the bed for you. You opted for this, despite Frankie’s protests.

“Please, you’re doing so much already, and putting my whole bed together for me . . . it feels like a very unfair trade,” you told him firmly. Once again, your stubbornness had won over. Frankie, rather grudgingly, had to admit to himself that the delivery people were much quicker than he would’ve been at assembling the bed frame, especially after he had taken a quick look at the instructions.

He wasn’t about to tell you that though.

It was almost midday when a knock sounded on his door, followed by the three men he called brothers piling into his kitchen. You emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed and a shy smile on your face. It struck Frankie that this was the first time you were meeting these guys, truly meeting them without the inclusion of alcohol.

“You’re all really excellent for helping me with this,” you said fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt. You had opted for long sleeves throughout the whole week. “Sorry you have to give up your Friday for this.”

Benny was the first one to make a move. He strode forward and enveloped you in a tight hug. Frankie could see the initial shock on your face before it was replaced by a hesitant kind of happiness.

“You like Taylor Swift?” he asked, and you nodded. Benny craned his neck to look at Frankie. “She’s riding with me, if that’s okay?” he turned back to you and you nodded again. Benny grinned and whispered something in your ear, causing you to snort out a laugh.

Santi stood beside Frankie and pressed an envelope into his hands.

“The photo,” he explained. “Again, remember I have several copies, so if you plan on destroying this one, imagine it like a hydra.” Frankie rolled his eyes and put the envelope in his back pocket. You were too busy chatting with Benny and Will to notice, and he was glad. He wanted to surprise you with the photo when you needed it.

Benny and Will had taken a particular soft spot for you since Frankie gave them the bare-bones rundown of how Kurt had treated you. Frankie noticed it now, in how Will stood like your own personal bodyguard, in how Benny had slung his arm around your shoulders, like you were old friends. Frankie felt the briefest flash of jealousy before he stamped it down. Just because he couldn’t – wouldn’t – touch you, didn’t mean no one else could.

“Quit staring Fish, you look like one of those cartoon characters whose eyes turn to hearts,” Santi muttered, elbowing Frankie in the ribs. Frankie elbowed him back, annoyed.

“Alright, gang! Let’s get this show on the road!” Will clapped his hands together. Benny raised an incredulous brow at his brother.

“What are you, fifty?” He turned to you, linking his arm through yours. “Don’t worry, Fish, I’ll drive extra carefully.”

Frankie felt envious of Benny then, even though he had basically had a week straight with you. But knowing it was coming to an end, that tonight you’d be sleeping at your own place, instead of just down the hall. Well, it made him almost sad. He pushed that aside though and forced himself to be happy for you.

As he drove to your old apartment, everyone else following behind, he focused a little too hard on the radio, just to give his mind something to do. A newsreader was talking about how a quick-thinking pilot had landed a plane in a field after something went horrifically wrong with the engines. Zero casualties, minor injuries. People were already calling for the pilot to be given a medal.

Maybe I should renew my licence, Frankie thought. He didn’t want to be a commercial pilot, or a hero of any kind, although the uniforms were nice. But it couldn’t hurt to have it.

He pulled up outside the building, gripping the steering wheel tightly. This was it.

Will and Santi parked behind him, but Benny’s ridiculously lifted pickup was nowhere to be seen. Frankie squinted towards the end of the street, knowing he couldn’t have gotten lost. He had you with him.

Ten minutes passed with no sign of you. “Where the fuck are they?” Frankie grumbled, now worried that you and Benny had gotten into a car accident. He trusted him, but Benny was the worst driver of all of them. He pulled out his phone to text you but was interrupted.

“That’s his truck,” Will said, pointing to the end of the street, where Benny’s truck had just pulled in. The sound of heavy bass reached them before the truck did. As Benny pulled up outside the apartment, Frankie recognised the song as Gimme More by Britney Spears.

“Sorry we’re late,” you called, clambering out of the truck, a tall plastic cup in your hand. “We stopped for frappes.” Benny sipped innocently at his, giving Frankie a look that said he needed to speak with him.

“Where’s my fuckin’ frappe,” Santi grumbled, looking envious. Benny grinned and handed his over to Santi for a sip.

You stood, looking up at the building, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Guess we better go up. I sent him a text telling him I was doing this today, but he didn’t reply, so I don’t know if he’ll be here.”

“Want us to jump him if he is?” Benny offered, but you shook your head.

“Not right away,” you said, “but if he starts up maybe slap him around a little.” Frankie knew you were joking, but the look in your eyes was one of fear. He took your hand gently and lowered his head to talk to you.

“You can wait out here if you want,” he murmured, “we’ve got the list of what we need to get.” You squeezed his hand and shook your head. Yours was cold and slightly clammy in his own, but he didn’t mind.

“No, I need to do this.” You said. Frankie nodded, understanding. You didn’t need to explain the nitty gritty of your reasoning, all he needed was for you to know that you had him, in whatever way you needed.

You kept a firm grip on his hand as you lead the way upstairs to your old apartment, only letting go when you stood outside the front door, fumbling in your bag for your keys.

At first, the apartment seemed empty of life. All the lights were off, the curtains closed, and the place was eerily silent. You stepped over the threshold, followed by the rest of the boys, who immediately got to work.

As it turned out, Kurt wasn’t there. He remained gone for a good half hour while the boys carried your heavier shit down to their trucks. You set to work stuffing the rest of your clothes into plastic trash bags you had picked up from the grocery store.

Benny joined Frankie in carrying a loveseat downstairs.

“Fish, I need to tell ya,” Benny started, grunting as they made a turn. “She’s as into you as you are her.” Frankie shook his head.

“Don’t do this, man.”

“I’m being serious. I talked to her in the truck. She didn’t say it outright, but you should’a seen the look on her face when I talked about you.” Benny waggled his eyebrows. “And her friend Sara agrees, she’s ‘smitten’ with you. Whatever the fuck smitten means. If you want my advice-”

“I’m not sure I do.”

“-Go for it. Tonight, once we’re all gone. Shoot your shot my guy. Don’t waste anymore fucking time. Sara said she wasn’t even sad about the breakup, like she’s been checked out mentally for months now.”

“Wait, did Sara tell you about me punching Kurt?”

“All I’m saying is, she likes you a lot, you like her a lot, don’t waste this.” Frankie mulled over what Benny was saying. There had been more than a few moments that week when he had spied you looking at him and wondered . . . but each time he had pushed the thought out his head. Old insecurities, respect for you, held him back.

Historically, Frankie had never been very good at telling when someone was into him. He could be literally balls deep and he’d still be questioning it. Even sometimes with Portia, he’d wonder if she really felt the same way he did. Santi, who knew Frankie as a kid, chalked it up to Frankie having a rough go of puberty, not growing into his features until almost the end of high school. By then, whenever someone had showed even a slight bit of interest, Frankie had dismissed it as a cruel joke. Unfortunately, those insecurities had followed him deep into adulthood.

The mood in the apartment had become relaxed, all the heavier stuff, like your couch, TV, furniture, and fridge had been taken care of, and now all that was left was to gather all the small shit. Frankie found you in the bathroom, unscrewing the shower head. You tossed it into a box filled with other bathroom items, the loud clang making him grimace. He opened his mouth to speak to you when yelling from the front room interrupted him.

Your face fell instantly, going from focused to almost afraid. Your eyes met Frankie’s own, and he reached out to touch your arm. It’s okay the touch said, he can’t do anything to you. Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and walked out with Frankie to the commotion.

Kurt was being held back with a single hand on his chest by a bored looking Will, screaming a string of expletives and struggling to land any kind of hit on Will, Santi stood behind Kurt, ready to jump in if needed. Benny was hunched over, clutching his sides in laughter. Kurt finally caught sight of you, standing a little in front of Frankie.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?” His tone made you wince slightly, but Frankie was proud of the way you didn’t shrink away.

“I told you this was happening today, Kurtis, it was your choice to come back while we were here,” you said calmly.

“You’re taking all my shit!”

“I paid for every single thing I’m taking,” you said. “It’s not my fault you never put anything of monetary value into this place.” You stepped forward, so you were facing Kurt head on, but still behind Will. “You need to calm down, you’re acting like a fucking child.”

“I’M ACTING LIKE A CHILD?”

“Yes. You are. You’ve acted like one almost our entire relationship. So you can either calm down, leave and come back later, or my friends will force you to calm down.”

“Are you threatening me?” Kurt spat.

“Yes. You’ve already been smacked down before, any one of these guys would love to be the one to do it again.”

“I’d like to see them fucking try!” Kurt pivoted and lunged at Benny. Big mistake. With a simple, yet effective, punch to the head, Kurt was out cold on the floor. Benny looked up, almost apologetic. You grinned at him, silent laughter shaking your shoulders.

“I didn’t mean to hit that hard,” Benny said, flexing his fist. “But I also did.”

Santi dragged Kurt’s unconscious body to the now empty living room, carefully posing him so he was curled in the foetal position, sucking on his thumb.

“He actually arrived at the perfect time,” you said to Frankie, standing back beside him. “Cause we’re done here.”

“We’ve got everything?” Santi called, overhearing you. You nodded.

“We’re finally done here.”

~*~

Frankie was glad you had decided to ride with him back to your new place. You were buzzing with a new energy, unable to keep a nervous grin off your face. You didn’t speak on the drive to your new place, but Frankie hoped he wasn’t reading into how much closer you sat, your thighs almost brushing his. Benny had gotten into his head, he knew, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation.

You were the most beautiful person he had met, both inside and out, and the very idea that you could like him the way he liked you . . . well fuck, it didn’t seem feasible. But then he thought back to the previous week spent with you, and maybe it wasn’t such a ludicrous idea after all.

He pulled up at your new building, parking in the spot designated for you. You turned to him, unlatching your seatbelt as you did.

“Frankie . . .” you started, then leant over and pulled him into a tight hug. Frankie felt like everything you wanted to say was in that hug. You pulled back slightly, so your faces were almost touching. He could’ve done it then, he fucking should have done it. Crossed that miniscule amount of space between you. But then the moment passed, and you pulled away entirely.

You climbed out of the truck, moving to the back to grab some of the garbage bags that held the smaller stuff. Frankie’s phone buzzed in the cupholder, a message from Will in the group chat.

Ironhead: Pussy

Frankie turned and saw Will staring at him. Fuck offhe mouthed. Will flipped him off with a grin. The effort of getting all your stuff up to your new place was considerably easier than it had been the first time around. For one, your new place had an elevator. So even though they had to take turns using it, it was worlds above struggling up seven flights of stairs. The mood was also improved by the fact Will had knocked Kurt out cold. Frankie had begun to wonder if that had become the main highlight of your day.

It was well into the night by the time everything was in its new place. Benny and Will flopped down onto your loveseat, drinking beers that you had kept in an ice chest you had brought in yesterday just for this. You sat on the floor, drinking a fruity vodka thing that Frankie thought looked and smelt like a melted popsicle. The balcony door was open, a breeze that held the promise of summer drifted through.

“Where’s Santi?” You asked looking around.

“He had to get something from the truck,” Will said. As if on cue, which if Frankie knew these boys as well as he did, it was, Santi burst through the door, one arm stretched wide, the other behind his back.

“My dearest,” Santi began, and Frankie groaned inwardly, “over this past day, the gentlemen and I have grown quite fond of you.” What is this, regency England? Frankie rolled his eyes and took a sip of his beer. “And as such, we wanted to present you with a housewarming gift.” With that, he whipped his arm around and held out a vase of sunflowers. Your face softened, then broke into a grin.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you pushed yourself up and pulled Santi into a hug, motioning for Will and Benny to join. You hugged the three men as tight as you could, smiling at Frankie over the tops of their shoulders. Frankie smiled back, raising his beer in a silent toast.

You placed the flowers on the kitchen counter, facing them toward the window. It was just past ten when the three boys left, Benny carrying the ice chest along with the promise to bring it back as soon as he could. It seemed like it was only moments before only you and Frankie remained.

Frankie’s phone buzzed.

Benny: Don’t fuck this up.

Frankie saw you move outside onto the balcony, leaning against the railing, silhouetted by silver moonlight, your face turned towards the breeze that coasted off the lake. Everyone else was gone, and he wondered if he didn’t take this chance, would he ever?

He moved to stand next to you, standing so close your arms were touching. His heart felt like it was caught in his throat. He murmured your name.

“Frankie,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of his beating heart. Before he could stop himself, chicken out like he had before, he closed the distance between you. One hand cupping your warm cheek, the other encircling your waist, he tilted his head down until his lips met yours.

It was everything.

Your lips were soft against his, hesitant at first, but then you were wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his. You tasted like candy and those sugary drinks you insisted on bringing. Your touch was like tiny jolts of electricity shooting down his spine.

Fuck.

His tongue darted against your bottom lip, and you let him in almost hungrily. Frankie deepened the kiss, wondering just why the everloving fuck he waited this long.

He whispered your name, the word like poetry on his lips. You were poetry, you were art, you were every beautiful thing wrapped up into one person. He was in love with you.

Taglist: @hnt-escape @sharkbait77 @1800-fight-me @annathewitch @darnitdraco @frankiecatfish @punkerthanpascal @nakhudanyx @gracie7209 @quica-quica-quica @pintsizemama @phoenix-of-loki @procrastinationstationnation

[lemonysharkbait]

Code of the Hills

Tianshan fanfic, au set in the Ozark region of the U.S. 

“Where’s your partner Red?”Guan Shan reigned in his panic a second too late and Click ate it up with a shit eating grin. The pain when it came was delayed, one blessing of being too fucked to walk straight enough if he wanted to. Guan Shan spit a mouth full of blood straight into Click’s leering face. Guan Shan knew his eye would be swollen for a week. If he made it past tonight.

- Warnings: Drug use, violence, dirty cops, lots of cursing, angst -

Read on OA3 for more notes

Guan Shan lapped at the blood pouring from his nose. He couldn’t taste shit, not with his gums numb and Click telling him to take another bump.

“This is Grade A shit Red. Where’d you say you get it from ‘gain?”

Guan Shan took the offered bump – his third in the about fifteen minutes he had been with Click in this fucking dingy-ass laughable excuse for a backroom at the local watering hole. He hadn’t had this much coke in years and it was already fucking with him, just like Click wanted it to.

“Told you being a cop came with perks.” Guan Shan turned and hocked a wad of blood and snot onto the floor.

Click laughed and hit Guan Shan between the shoulder blades with an open-palmed slap that was just north of friendly. “Get this man a whiskey.”

“Did’n think you’d come back te this place Red.” 

Guan Shan nodded to the women who proffered him a whiskey and took a gulp.

“Ever the polite man. Sam’s got tits from here to tomorrow and you’re on better behavior than the priest during Sunday service.” Click dropped his voice “Ne’ver believed ‘em but you don’t do yourself no favors Red.”

Guan Shan sucked at his teeth. “Saving myself for Jesus.”

Click burst out into a laughing fit. “Got’ damn Red. You haven’t changed a bit.” He played with the bag of coke idly. “So you got more of this shit?”

“More and then some.” Guan Shan nodded and pulled out a cigarette. He could feel his fingers going unsteady and his words slurring, tongue refusing to cooperate. 

Click smiled and it was deadly. “Sure thing Red. Sounds like we have some stuff to talk about. Why don’t you come back with us? We’ll drive you.”

Guan Shan didn’t respond. Just lit his cigarette and let the group of good ‘ol boys half push, half pull him out of the backroom, bantering like old friends, smiling like sharks. He was manhandled out of the bar and into the dark parking lot, shoved into a truck and closed behind the thunk of American steel. 

-

He Tian sat nursing his beer. A tittering group out on a girl’s night tried to grab his attention for a little while but his best sad and broken act had them off and dancing. He was alone with those words playing through his head.

They’re gonna take me to the back. They won’t do anything at the bar so just go in a little while after me. Keep your damn head down. I mean it. No flirting, no stories, no chatting up the locals. No one can remember you were there. You need to be forgettable. Just wait and blend in. They’ll take me to Click’s place. 

Follow without them knowing. Shouldn’t be too hard, they’ll be fucked up and won’t be expecting you. Then it’s your call. I don’t know how many there will be. If you can get the situation under control, do it. But if not just leave me. Finding out where this guy is based is more important. 

They did come out, just like Guan Shan said. He Tian shrunk as best he could into the corner. Guan Shan’s copper eyes were bloodshot and he was stumbling. The group was rowdy, shoving him with a little too much joy. A cajoling on the sharp edge of vicious. A smear of blood decorated Guan Shan’s upper lip and his pupils were pinpoints.

He Tian waited until they were through the door before slipping out. He caught sight of Guan Shan being shoved into a beater pickup with truck nuts. Gritting his teeth, he willed himself to wait. It wouldn’t do Guan Shan any good to tip them off. 

The drive was easy, following the road as it dipped and rose, hemmed in by the thick woods broken only by sudden bursts of sheer white limestone breaking through at odd angles, ragged and proud. 

The moon was out and bright enough that He Tian could keep his headlights off and follow at a distance. They drove fast so it was easy to see they were turning when they slowed in a sudden tire-squealing crawl. The sides of their cars brushed the undergrowth creeping over everything.

So this was it. Asscrack of nowhere. Cicadas called out in an unending whine.

-

Guan Shan didn’t even try to catalogue where they were. He was too fucked up and anyways, Click was twitchy in a way that didn’t bode well for Guan Shan’s health.

They turned onto some hidden road and crawled through a winding path before the trucks stopped outside a meth den. The house was probably nice enough at one point. Dogs barked from somewhere and someone was yanking Guan Shan out of his seat. He was manhandled inside past a living room with a flickering TV into the kitchen. 

“Feel like home Red?”

Guan Shan grimaced. “Don’t see why you dragged me here for.”

Click laughed. “You can stop playing dumb boy. This is some goodass shit you brought me, so I’ll thank you for that little gift. But there’s no fucking way that’s what you came out here all the way into the goddamn boones for.”

Guan Shan let one of Click’s men pull his arms behind him and zip tie them together by the wrist. He was too tired and sideways feeling. If he was going to get the shit kicked out of him anyways he might as well cooperate enough to prolong the inevitable. 

“See’in as you aren’t saying nothing I’m gonna go out on a big-ass limb and say you agree?” Click said.

Guan Shan didn’t respond.

Click grunted out a laugh and kicked a metal chair over to Guan Shan. “Take a seat Red.”

With a hard stare fixed on Click, Guan Shan set his jaw and sat slowly.

“That’s a good boy. I didn’t think you’d go so easy. You’re either a complete dumbass or you have a death wish.” Click turned to the one guy who had followed them in, a big motherfucker bulked up from beers and red meat. “Tape ‘im down.” 

The brute grabbed a roll of duct tape off the gritty counter and dutifully taped each leg to a leg of the chair and ran a few around Guan Shan’s chest and the chair back for good measure. The rip of duct tape and a whining light filled a tense silence. 

It had been too long since he’d said something, but it was so hard to form words. The world swam and Guan Shan’s heart beat uncomfortably hard in his chest, urged to flutter faster than hummingbird wings by uppers that felt worse than one too many cups of coffee. 

Click walked forward and leaned in close, the smell of stale cigarettes hitting Guan Shan’s nostrils like a mule kick to the chest.

“Where’s your partner Red?” 

Guan Shan reigned in his panic a second too late and Click ate it up with a shit eating grin.

The pain when it came was delayed, one blessing of being too fucked to walk straight enough if he wanted to. Guan Shan spit a mouth full of blood straight into Click’s learing face. Guan Shan knew his eye would be swollen for a week. If he made it past tonight.

“Oh there it is. There’s our red-headed devil.” Click hacked out a deep laugh that turned into a coughing fit as he wiped the blood off his face with a black paisley handkerchief. Guan Shan glared as best he could and Click just leaned against the counter and lit a cigarette. Silence settled in.

“Bum me a square.” The words came gravely out of Guan Shan’s mouth but he was satisfied that his voice didn’t waver.

Click just laughed again, “I ain’t sitt’en here holding a smoke for you.”

“Gimme another bump then.”

Click’s expression turned sour. “You wanna be high for this Red? You’re a little shit, you know that? ‘Course you know that.” Click leaned forward. “You didn’ think we’d figure out you was with the DEA because you’re,” Click punctuated his words with a well-placed kick, “a dumbass,” another heel kick, the leather of his boots catching the ridges of Guan Shan’s ribs, “‘lil shit.” There was a special type of venom in the last word and the final kick that punctuated it was straight to Guan Shan’s gut.

Whatever was left in Guan Shan’s stomach came up onto the yellowing linoleum floor. The metal chair squealed halfway across the kitchen with the kicks.

Click looked pissed. “You can sing now or later, I don’t give a fuck Red. But we’re gonna get every little bit of information out of your dumb ass about why the fuckin’ DEA is out in the fuckin’ boones bothern’ us good folk.” Click placed his lit cigarette between his lips, nubby yellow crack teeth showing for a moment before he folded his arms and grimaced. “But first we have some other business.” 

Click’s gaze flicked up to the mountain of a man that had been idly standing by like he was at a particularly boring church service. Guan Shan’s heart sank.

“Go out there and find ‘im.” 

Guan Shan was knee deep into his next lie before he could think about it too hard, stemming panic from working its way in. 

“Fuck off Click. I knew you’d be cautious but this is fuck’in overkill. That coke’s real, how’d you think I get it? Ask the DEA all polite-like? Fuck-off man. It’s just you ‘in me and you’re sending Brick House here out there to crash around in the dark chasing after shadows. You’ve been hitt’in the pipe too hard. Melt’n you’re brain and shit.”

Click seemed to consider Guan Shan for a moment and his tall lackey hung between leaving and staying, waiting for the verdict.   

“So you admittin’ you’re with the DEA Red?” He took a deep inhale of his cigarette, the cherry lighting up with an audible crackling sound.

“Yeah. How’d you think I get this stuff? We busted couple hundred pounds of the shit I brought you tonight. And no one checks on it after it’s been logged. Everyone in that department is dipp’in into the shit we grab. Usually just for recreational purposes. But I can get you set up with a ‘lil bit here and there. Weed. Crack. Coke. Party pills. We get the big hauls ‘cause we go after the distributors. And there’s extra in it for you if you can give me some tips every once ‘n awhile.” 

Guan Shan wasn’t surprised by the fist that connected with his face. He was really gonna look like shit once all this was through. 

“You got’ damn motherfucker!” Click fisted his shirt, dragging him and the metal chair forward with a horrendous squeal against the floor.

“Did you just ask me to become an informant for the fucking cops? After everything I’ve done for you Red? Gave you a fuck’in home? Took you in? Then you go dissapear’n and we think you’re dead.” Click was really yelling now, his spit spraying over Guan Shan’s face. “We spilled blood over you Red. And then you show up fifteen-fucking years later looking like the day you disappeared and you have the fuckin’ balls to just think you gonna be welcome back here? You’re dead to us, Red.” 

Click turned to mountain man. “Find his fucking partner. He’s lurk’in out there somewhere in the woods.”

“Wait, no, Click I’ll tell you whatever the fuck you want but if he’s out there he’s just look’in for me. He don’ know nothin and it’s not gonna help you much to have to deal with two of us. You’re gon’ have a harder time covern’ up two miss’in people. He ain’t even from around here and you know who they’ll start com’in after first.” 

“Oh I know alright,” Click growled and brought his knee up hard into Guan Shan “I know ‘cause you’re here and we seen you come into town.”

Guan Shan was spluttering for breath, gasping, winded as he remembered the fucking truck stop. He Tian kissing him in the beat up Toyota and Guan Shan unwilling to push him off. Static of a station on the radio going in and out and crumpled chip bags crunching as He Tian leaned over the armrest. 

Click stilled and Guan Shan lost the thread. Click had flicked open a knife large enough to skin a deer but before Guan Shan could tense the knife was cutting him free from the chair and Click was hauling Guan Shan to his feet.

The knife was back into Click’s pocket before Guan Shan could process what the hell was happening and he shoved roughly out onto the front porch. Moths and June bugs flew through the muggy air outside, circling the porch light. Guan Shan heard the cold click of Click’s gun as he cocked it and pressed the cool metal to the side of Guan Shan’s head. 

“Come on out ‘for I splatter your partner’s brains all over my porch.” Click yelled the words into the darkness beyond the porch.

Guan Shan squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth. Keep to the plan. Keep to the plan. Start your mother fucking car and get out of here. Get out of here. 

His prayers were in vain though. He Tian emerged into the porch light silently, hands up.

–

It had been quiet, which was good. Most of the group had broken off to go party somewhere or pick up more beer and drugs, obviously bored by having their night of partying cut short. That left Click with another giant of a man inside. Easy. He just had to wait for the right moment to get Guan Shan the fuck out of there. 

He Tian made a loop of the house, quietly checking if the back door was unlocked or if any windows were open. The house was locked up but again, it wouldn’t be a problem. He just had to wait for one of them to come out for a smoke or grab something from their car. 

It was too risky to just break in. He Tian settled in and listened. His fingers itched for a cigarette. He could hear the muffled voice of Click talking. That was good too. Hopefully that’s all they were doing, talking. 

He Tian’s first indication that things had gone south was the sound of metal squealing and Click yelling. Someone grunted and retched, a wet splattering sound punctuated by coughs and gasps. He Tian saw red. Breath. Breath. Stay calm and wait. You’ll put him in more danger if you break in now. 

He Tian wanted to move, adrenaline beating a tattoo against his veins. He was shaking with it. He Tian dug his nails against his palm, trying to distract his body from the need to move. It was a beat too late when he noticed things had gone quiet. 

The front door burst open and He Tian almost bolted for the assholes right then and there. Guan Shan was a bloody mess, barely able to stand up. His eyes were already swelling, purple bruises forming shapes Rorschach would be proud of. His dark shirt was wet with blood and the thin skin above his eyes was split and still flowing. 

But despite how much he wanted to raise his own gun and fill these fuckers with enough lead to down an elephant, he couldn’t take the chance. Not with Click pressing the muzzle of agun into Guan Shan’s bloody temple.

“Come on out ‘for I splatter your partner’s brains all over my porch.” 

He Tian walked out with his hands up. Guan Shan made a noise somewhere between anger and despair. 

He had one chance at this. One chance before the mountain of a man next to Click got to He Tian, patted him down, took his gun and then hauled He Tian inside to share in a few miserable hours as a punching bag before becoming catfish food.

“There you are pretty boy.”

He Tian showed concern, fear, anxiety. Let them mask his face. Let them make Click think he was safe.

“Din’ think I would have such a fun night! Your partner here is a fuck’in dumbass. That’s it,  nice and slow.”

He Tian kept eye contact and suddenly, with enough slipping to seem real, tripped. And there it was. With the sudden movement Click reacted before thinking, swinging his gun from Guan Shan to He Tian. 

The rest was a blur of instinct and a prayer. He Tian rolled and pulled his gun, aimed and fired. 

–

It was over fast. Guan Shan stood stock still, trying not to pull Click one way or the other. It was only after Click slumped down and the mountain man crumpled did Guan Shan realize he was splattered in blood that wasn’t his. 

It didn’t matter though because He Tian was there, his hands all over Guan Shan. A quick flick of a knife and Guan Shans hands were free. 

“You shouldn’t have done that.” 

He Tian didn’t respond, simply went about checking Guan Shan over, pulling his shirt up and grimacing at the damage splayed across Guan Shan’s body, head bowed. Guan Shan could feel He Tian’s hands shaking where they balled up in his shirt. 

“Hey, hey, come on. Let’s get out of here.” 

He Tian’s jaw clenched. “You said they wouldn’t do anything.” 

“Well I might have under calculated a few things.” 

“A few–” He Tian shuddered, cutting himself off and Guan Shan’s world swooped for a second as He Tian swung him into a bridal carry headed for the car.

“I can carry myself, hey!” He Tian had Guan Shan in the car and was around and in the driver’s seat in one swift motion. It started up on the first try and He Tian was peeling out of the gravel lot and hurtling down the dirt road. 

“Whoah, whoah, He Tian, where’s the fire? Slow the fuck down, we still gotta stay low.” 

He Tian slammed the car to the stop. His knuckles were white around the steering wheel. 

“Is it your first time? You know, doing that.” The words came out as a raspy wheeze and Guan Shan winced. He definitely had a cracked rib. 

“Yes, sweetheart, it’s my first time dragging you as a bloody pulp out from a meth house where two motherfucking shit stains were ready to carve you up for entertainment.” 

Guan Shan didn’t know why he suddenly felt like fighting but he dug his heels in. “It was our only way in, and now we know Click’s not the one who’s been mixing up the fake pain pills that have been killin’ people.”

A muscle jumped in He Tian’s jaw. The truck lurched forward. “We’re going to the hospital.”

“No we fuckin’ ain’t! Get your head on straight, He Tian, we’ve got a good half hour before the rest of Click’s ‘lil possy comes back from wherever they’ve been gettin fucked up, finds two cold bodies in the dirt and finds me not there and puts two an’ two together.” Guan Shan reached for the cigarettes He Tian kept in the cup holder. “What we’re doin’ is going back to our hotel, packin’ up our shit fast as we can, gettin’ back in this truck and driving as far away from this god forsaken place as we can.”

He Tian didn’t respond. Muggy summer air whipped around them through the open windows.

They rolled into town and Guan Shan relaxed when He Tian turned towards the motel.

“Stay here.” He Tian was out of the truck and headed into the motel before Guan Shan could say anything. He slumped into the seat and lit another cigarette. 

Back on the road, orange street lights blurred by as He Tian pushed 100 down the highway. Guan Shan was crashing hard, his whole body ached and he knew tomorrow would be worse. He lit another cigarette, too tired to do anything else, too wired to sleep. 

“You’re quitting this case.” He Tian’s voice barely rose above the hum of the car hurtling down the highway. 

“I’m not talkin’ ‘bout this right now.” 

“They could of killed you.” 

“Yeah, and they coulda killed you too. I told you this isn’t like the city. The hills have their own code and these people live by it. Ain’t anyone coming to help hill folk.”

He Tian snagged the pack of cigarettes, depositing them out of reach in his car door. “So you’ve got to, is that it?”

Guan Shan grunted. “I don’t know He Tian. I just know people are dying and I have connections here and I’m gonna use them so we can stop the son of a bitch who’s been poisoning people.”

The cover of night slipped from around them, the first hints of dawn lightening the sky. 

Guan Shan was somewhere between waking and fever dreams when He Tian spoke again.

“So what’s our next move.” 

Guan Shan cracked his left eye open, the right one was too swollen to see out of. 

“You’re sticking along with this thing? You ‘don seem like you like it much.” 

He Tian snorted as though it was obvious. “I just killed two men, Guan Shan, I should think it’s obvious that I’m in this thing.” 

Guan Shan closed his eye and hummed. “We’re headed in deep then, to a place where the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Where we’ll be alone. You ready for that?” 

“Lead the way Red.”

-

I’d love to hear your thoughts, comments, questions- tell me what you think!

[shhh-no-ones-home]

rodeo clown jack daniels x reader

++++++++++

happy late valentines day! sorry ive been absent for a while ive been writing headcanons on my wattpad rather than new oneshots. if anyone would like to check them out they can be found here :)

Prompt:

"Right now i dont know if i want to kiss you or shove you off a bridge." "can i pick?"

song: shes too tough by def leppard

tag list: @cynic-spirit

+++++++++

I sat at the one end of the bar and watched whiskey on the other as he looked out the window from his spot in the booth. we had been assigned a new mission together, something small since i was still training. we just had to tag some guy and get out, nothing too serious. i was supposed to be doing all the work but if worst came to worst whiskey was here to pickup the slack. but its really just because he didnt think i could do it and expressed those feelings to champ. He said I was too young, and that he didn't wanna have to babysit me when they started assigning us more missions together. more strenuous missions.

i frowned at the thought and sipped from my glass, haphazardly pulling at the hem of my short black dress. it was already past ten and the target still hadnt arrived. our informant said he would be here. i was starting to lose hope, looking from the bartender as she topped me off  and back to jack again. he nodded at me once, his eyes shifting behind me. i drew my brows before turning, the man stepping up to the bar beside me and ordering.

"ill have what she's having."

he said slyly, looking to me with a smirk. i faked a blushy moment, looking down with a small smile.

"to what do i owe the pleasure?"

i asked, looking back to him as the bartender set his drink down. he offered his hand for me to shake.

"im matt, and im celebrating."

"oh?"

i asked as he downed the whole glass. he nodded quickly, standing closer to my side and placing his hand at my back. i just watched him with a knowing smile as he motioned for another.

"can you keep a secret?"

i nodded slowly, leaning in as he got closer.

"i just closed a very big deal. one that will push my company higher than we've ever been before."

i raised a brow, looking to jack for a split second. he was staring at us intently, his hand on his hip like he was ready to attack at any moment.

"and what does that mean exactly?"

i asked and the man just stared at me until i let out a nervous laugh, one he quickly copied with an enthusiastic boast. he draped his arm over my shoulder and downed another glass.

"it means that if tonight goes well, and im hoping that it does, you could be one very lucky girl."

he said and i drew my brows, sipping my own drink as me moved to sit on the stool beside me, scooting it closer to me.

"is that so?"

i said and he nodded.

"you ever consider being a sugar baby? cause i could take care of you for just a little bit of company."

he said with a wink and my eyes went wide.

"go with me to big branding parties, let me love on you a little bit here and there,"

his voice dropped at the last bit, his hand making its way to my thigh as i crossed one leg over the other.

"keep conversations with me over text, and you could be living very comfortably."

i laughed a little to myself as he began to sway back and forth. fuckin lightweight. i nodded.

"how about we start with a trial run?"

i asked and he wiggled his brows at me, downing a fourth glass.

"is that an invitation to get out of here?"

he asked and i stood.

"you tip that nice woman behind the bar very well and it sure as hell is."

i said and he stood too, stumbling a little into me as he reached for his wallet. i steadied him as he dug into it and slapped two hundred dollar bills on the lacquered wood separating us from her.

"you have a great night."

he told her boldly, wrapping his arm around my waist and turning us around. i nodded to jack quickly before he pulled us closer to the door. i could hear jacks boots against the floor a few feet behind us as we made it outside.

"is it hot out here or is it just you?"

matt asked and i half snorted.

"oh its definitely her."

jack said from behind us, making the guy turn around confused.

"hey man, can i help you?"

he asked and i sent jack a testing look.

"just worried for her safety is all."

jack said and the man laughed.

"shes the one taking me home, you have nothing to worry about cowboy, so just head on back inside."

he instructed, turning back around and trying to walk away with me. then jack grabbed his shoulder harshly, spinning him around and colliding his fist with matts face. i gasped as he hit the ground, seemingly out cold.

"what the hell?!"

i said, kneeling down beside him and turning his face towards me. he just groaned, his eyes still closed as his nose started bleeding.

"i dont like the way he was touching you."

whiskey said and i sent him a stern look.

"this was my mission whiskey, it wasnt up to you."

i said angrily, reaching into my pocket and pulling out the tracker.

"youre bleeding matt, im gonna touch your face."

he groaned again, rocking his head back and forth as he tried to blink his eyes open. it only sort of worked. i touched his nose gently and he hissed, closing them again. i just shook my head, placing the tracker at the tip of the napkin jack handed me, shoving it into the side of his nose that was gushing red. when my phone beeped i knew it was now in the wound and working. i stood up and pressed my finger into jacks chest.

"i cant believe you. in had this."

he sent me a look.

"but now the hard parts over."

he said and i seethed.

"yes i get that on one hand i dont have to go home with him but im mad at you."

i said half annoyed and jack smirked.

"Right now i dont know if i want to kiss you or shove you off a bridge."

"can i pick?"

he asked and i rolled my eyes, looking back down to matt on the ground, eyes closed and hand holding the napkin to his face.

"no."

i said sternly looking back to him and pushing him to the side of the building.

"seriously jack why did you do that? i had this under control."

i whispered and he just stared at matt on the ground.

"i told you, he was creeping me out. and the way he was groping you was just downright disrespectful."

i laughed, taking his attention.

"and what about it?! i would've gotten back to his hotel without you if we'd gone any further anyways, so what does it matter?"

i asked harshly and he looked a little mad.

"unless you're jealous? is that why you told champ you didn't want me here alone?"

i accused and he gripped my arms, turning me and pushing me into the wall.

"i don't get jealous."

he said lowly and i raised a brow.

"then why is the target on the ground and youre all hot and bothered?"

i challenged. his grip on me tightened. we just stared at each other for a moment. he was still fuming but with the silence hung in the air like a noose i could tell he didnt have a valid answer to my question.

"so how long have you had a crush agent?"

i taunted and he let out a long, deep breath.

"im a grown man, i dont have a crush."

he said and i snorted, pressing my knee in-between his legs.

"then whats this jack?"

i said lowly and his gaze darkened.

"that darlin, is desire."

i raised a brow.

"so should i be going home with you instead?"

i asked innocently and he smirked at me.

"think you could tame this horse?"

he said smoothly and i leaned forward, close to his ear as he still had me pinned to the wall.

"why dont you take me to the rodeo and find out."

i bit his earlobe lightly and he pulled away.

"this job is done right?"

he asked and i laughed, looking over his shoulder at matt still on the ground, rolling to his side and pulling the napkin out of his nose.

"i think so."

i said, looking back to jack and he let me go, taking my hand in his.

"sorry about that!"

i yelled, matt looking to me as jack dragged me down the sidewalk.

"so is that a no on the offer?"

he yelled back and i giggled, looking to jack who had a wide smile on his face.

"guess so."

[renaerys]

PPG One-Shot: Under the Stars (Brick/Blossom)

Written for the inaugural challenge prompt on PPG Challenge Hub on AO3 for the prompt “things you said under the stars,” hosted by @kiebs, @carriedreamerx, and me. Also functions as a Part 3 to the Shooketh, Not Stirred series. You can read Part 1 and Part 2 here on Tumblr or on my AO3. 

Summary: In which Blossom decides she is definitely girlfriend material, and so does everybody else.

***We are welcoming more submissions for this prompt for the month of July! If you want to participate, please check out the PPG Challenge Hub collection on AO3.***

xxx

Nothing short of witchcraft could have held Buttercup’s 1997 Ford F-Series pickup truck together as it ambled over rocky switchbacks and through dense, Redwood forest to the Vista Lakes campgrounds for the Townsville High Junior and Senior classes’ biannual end-of-semester party. Blossom kept a stranglehold on the passenger door and hissed her displeasure over every dip that lurched the old truck too close to the edge of the road. The drop to the bottom of the mountain was a good thousand feet, a death knell for the Normies riding along with them.

Mitch and Harry, however, did not seem to mind as much.

“Oh shit!” Mitch whooped when Buttercup went over a particularly deep crag in the road and rocked the whole truck.

“Buttercup, please slow down,” Blossom pleaded.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” Mitch said through the sliding window that opened up onto the truck bed, where he and Harry rode with the sleeping bags, food, and extra blankets.

Harry laughed. “We’re cool Blossom, don’t worry.”

“Yeah Blossom, don’t worry,” Buttercup drawled. “Besides, it’s not like a fall from this height would kill us.”

“I’m sure Mitch and Harry feel super reassured to hear you say that,” Blossom said snidely.

“Super duper!” Mitch said. He flashed the rearview mirror a sign of the horns and winked.

Blossom forced herself to ignore his goading and kept her eyes firmly on the road ahead just in case. “I should never have agreed to this.”

“Well, tough shit, Leader Girl. You could’ve gotten a ride with Bubbles earlier if you’d left your Winter Break homework until the last day like everybody else, but noooooooo.”

“Not everybody waits until the last minute to get the homework done, for your information.”

“They totally do.”

“They totally don’t.”

“Do.”

“Don’t—ugh, no, I’m not arguing like this with you.”

Buttercup smirked like she’d won the argument (she definitely did not). “Whatever. We’re basically here and no one’s fallen to their death yet, so you can chill.”

The road emptied out onto a clearing overlooking the side of the mountain. Three deep, blue lakes sat still and tranquil, each surrounded by clusters of gnarled Redwoods and camp sites. A lot of people were already here considering the late hour, and a few campfires blazed bright along the shorelines. The gloaming crept over the horizon, casting the valley below in shadow and the skies in dusky, bleeding streaks of red like spilled wine. High above, blues deepened to blacks, but it was still early for stars.

Buttercup parked off the main campsite and the boys began unloading the truck bed. When they struggled with a cooler crammed full of ice, Blossom lifted it effortlessly and floated it over to join others that had already been packed with cheap beer and grill meat.

“Eyyyy there she is!” Boomer opened his arms and pulled Blossom into his letter jacket for a big hug. “I’m glad you decided to come.”

Blossom returned his hug with a smile. “Me too.”

“I told you she would,” said Bubbles, and she nudged Butch who was busy putting away a plate piled high with four hamburgers. He took one look at Blossom and grinned.

“Hey, Highness,” Butch drawled.

Blossom shot him a withering look. “Hi, Butch.” Ever since she’d beaten him in a not-so-friendly spar while Buttercup was out of commission, he’d mellowed out and taken to nicknaming and weirdly friendly ribbing.

“Comin’ down from that pretty throne to hang with the cool kids, huh?”

He stuffed an entire burger in his mouth, while Blossom threw up a little in hers.

“Shut up, Butch. You sound like a creepy old man.” Buttercup arrived carrying two twenty-four packs of beer that she dropped in Butch’s lap. He caught them with a grunt, and Bubbles caught his plate of uneaten burgers.

“Bitch, you love every glistening inch of this.” Butch stood up shouldering the enormous beer crates like they weighed nothing, because they did.

“I love cold beer, so move your glistening ass.” Buttercup snatched one of his uneaten burgers and stuffed it in her mouth.

Somehow, Buttercup got Butch up and helping, and when Mitch and Harry joined them, it was short work to unload everything from Buttercup’s truck. Blossom rolled out her sleeping bag on the grass amidst all the others, but no one would be sleeping tonight. It was merely a courtesy for the too high or the too passed out.

Around the campsite, Juniors and Seniors lounged with beers and blunts, enjoying their last night together before Winter Break. Among them, Wes had his arm around Kim as he flipped hot dogs on a standing grill and chatted up Mike and Robin. Blossom watched them a moment, debating whether to interrupt the conversation to say hi.

Bubbles slipped her arm around Blossom’s waist and squeezed affectionately. “You look a little lost.”

“No, just hanging out, you know.” She returned the half embrace, and they stood there a moment enjoying the cool night air.

“Hey, Blossom! You wanna sit with us?” Harry called. He and a few others had set up some lawn chairs by the shore and were passing beers.

Bubbles giggled. “You know he likes you,” she said.

“What—He does?!” Blossom sputtered.

“For sure. And, you know, since you’re totally not with anybody else, you could have some fun talking to him.”

“You mean, flirt with him.”

Bubbles was as innocent as a lamb. “I mean, be nice to him. That could be fun, right?”

Blossom had nothing to say to that. She was not, in fact, “with” anybody else. And she had every right to talk to whomever of her friends she wanted, so technically Bubbles had a point, but…

Blossom searched the faces gathered. In the encroaching darkness, it was getting harder to pick out profiles and bright colors to see who was here and who hadn’t yet arrived. “I don’t know.”

But Bubbles was already dragging her over to Harry’s circle and waving back to him. Seated in between Harry on one side and Kim on the other, Blossom was handed a burger and a beer and encouraged to participate in the conversation.

“My folks’re taking me to our cabin in Tahoe to go skiing over the break,” Harry was saying.

“That sounds fun,” Blossom said.

He shrugged. “Yeah, sure, if you count me eating snow every five feet when I can’t stop falling.”

“Come on, I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”

“Oh, yeah? I bet it’d be a cake walk for you, Miss Snow Queen.” Harry grinned, and the corners of his dark eyes crinkled cutely.

“Just because I have ice powers doesn’t make me a Winter sports maven. I’ve never skied in my life.”

“Psh, can’t be that hard, right? You start at the top of the mountain, and you end up at the bottom.”

Blossom bit back a smile. “I mean, I think it’s a little more involved than that.”

Harry laughed and leaned over the armrest closer to her. “Well, consider us both noobs. Anyway, most of the time’s spent hanging out at the cabin drinking hot chocolate anyway, right? Best part.”

Blossom tugged on her long, red ponytail as Harry continued to smile at her. She imagined the scene: a cozy ski lodge surrounded by snow, and a smiling boy content to ignore the blunt their friends were passing just to talk to her some more. She would like that. It would be easy, simple, and soft. Normal.

“Um, you know, I was thinking of inviting a few friends for a weekend. Just, like, a small group, and uh, well, I was wondering…” Harry stumbled in the dark looking for the question he meant to ask.

She could say yes, and she could have fun. With him, with any nice boy, it could be fun. How silly that just a few months ago, she had let herself believe she wasn’t the desirable type just because some mean girls said so. It all seemed so absurd now, and yet Blossom could not bring herself to give Harry the easy, simple, soft “yes” he wanted.

“Oh hey! You can have my seat, I’m grabbing more food,” said Kim on Blossom’s other side.

“Thanks.”

Like a hand to the stove, that voice hit her with a searing demand to be acknowledged. Old habits perhaps, or new ones. He wasn’t one to be ignored, not by her at least. Not these days.

“Brick,” Blossom said, half a question, half a sigh. She pulled back from Harry to look at him properly.

He’d taken Kim’s vacated seat directly next to her and nursed a solo cup of beer. Like her, he was dressed for the December chill in long sleeves, and his trademark red cap sat backwards over his short hair, as always. Red eyes held hers in a look that lingered.

“Blossom.” He spoke her name like a secret.

He was late. Why was he late? It wasn’t like him. She hadn’t seen him since third period yesterday. Was it only yesterday, or years ago?

“Hey, Brick,” Harry said, leaning over so he could see around Blossom. “Butch said you might not make it tonight.”

Blossom worried her lip between her teeth, and Brick took a long sip of beer as he slowly averted his gaze to Harry on her other side. “Here I am.”

“Uh, yeah, so Blossom,” Harry said. “About Tahoe…”

xxx

Blossom tugged on her ponytail as she turned back to Harry. Brick watched her twist her anxious fingers through her hair and narrowed his eyes.

“Hm? Oh, right,” she said.

“Yeah, so like I was saying, my parents’ cabin has a few extra bedrooms, so we could make a whole weekend out of it. Skiing, hot chocolate, the works. It’d be cool if you came. What do you say?”

“You throwing a rager?” Brick interrupted.

Harry leaned forward to see Brick again like he’d forgotten he was sitting there at all. “Nah man, just a couple friends for a weekend trip.”

“Cool. Who’s going?”

“Uh, I mean, I don’t have a list or anything. Sorta just came up with it now, so…”

“So you still have space. Count me in,” Brick said.

Blossom and Harry both looked at him like he’d suggested they all go jump in the lake.

“You want to go skiing in Tahoe?” Blossom asked.

Brick shrugged. “Sure, if it means a weekend away from my idiot brothers. Thanks for the invite, Harry.”

Harry gaped, and Blossom ceased pulling at her ponytail to stare at Brick.

“I mean,” Harry said, and nodded super obviously towards Blossom while she wasn’t looking.

“How many others could we invite?” Blossom asked. “If it’s okay with your parents, I mean.”

Harry looked at Blossom, and then he looked at Brick, who sipped his beer like the oblivious, teenaged simpleton he one hundred percent was not. Giving up, Harry sighed and rubbed a hand over his buzz cut. “There’s room for two more if you’re both going to be there.”

Blossom lit up. “How about Wes and Kim? Or Pablo and Hanout?”

Harry sat back in his chair and nursed his beer. “Yeah, fine, whatever you want.”

She was smiling now.

“Wes and Kim,” Brick said. “Pablo snores like a motherfucker.”

“That’s true,” Harry said forlornly.

“Well, either way,” Blossom said, clearly torn between telling them both off and the desire to finalize plans.

Brick got up. “Let us know what weekend. I’m free whenever.”

Pleasantly yet unsurprisingly, Blossom got up too. “Me too. Thanks Harry, this’ll be fun.” She smiled genuinely at him, and he returned it.

“Yeah, the best,” Harry said dejectedly.

Blossom followed Brick as he led her away from the main campsite along the shoreline in the direction of the drop-off.

“Okay, what was that?” she asked when they were away from the roar of the music and the campfires.

“What was what?” Brick asked. It was dark now, and the farther they wandered from the center of the party, the harder it was to see the shoreline as his eyes adjusted.

“You invited yourself to Harry’s. Are you even that close?”

He paused and looked at her. “Are you?”

Blossom clutched the ends of her jacket as she blinked up at him. “We’re friends,” she hedged. “He’s a nice guy.”

Brick smirked. “Uh-huh. Real nice.”

“What does that mean?”

“You tell me. Am I intruding?”

Blossom studied him through the gloom. She was close enough that he could smell her perfume, silken and subtle. “No,” she said at length. “There’s nothing to intrude on.”

He watched her walk along ahead of him, her long ponytail a bloody lash under the cover of night. He chucked his beer and went after her.

“This way,” he said, breaking from the shore and heading into the trees.

“Where are we going?” Blossom drew close. “It’s so dark tonight.”

“I think it’s a new moon. Here.” Brick found her hand so they wouldn’t get separated in the pitch black of the canopy.

Blossom’s hand was cool in his, and she slipped the other one around his arm as he walked deeper into the forest. The walk wasn’t far, and soon the trees thinned as they emerged onto the shore of the lake nearest to the precipice overlooking the valley below. Brick had set up his sleeping bag in the grass far away from the rabble where he could have the best view undisturbed.

“Wow.” Blossom approached the black waters, so still they reflected the night sky back flawlessly. Flurries of stars as far as the eye could see scattered above and below like snowflakes frozen in flight. The Milky Way ripped through the firmament, bleeding more stars clustered so closely together they glimmered ice-bright. “I feel like I just stepped into another world.”

Brick jammed his hands in his jeans pockets and drew up next to her. “Consequence of being away from all the city lights for a change.”

“Mm.”

They lapsed into silence for a bit as they watched the nightscape unfold above and upon the water. Brick’s eyes fully adjusted to the lambent starlight, but it was a cold light, and he wore only a thin, red hoodie to stave off the chill. Blossom noticed him shuffle beside her.

“Do you want my jacket?” she teased.

“Ha ha,” Brick groused. But it was fucking cold out here, now that she mentioned it. He had always been particularly sensitive to it in a way she wasn’t. “My sleeping bag should do the trick.”

They retreated to his makeshift camp, where Brick shimmied into his sleeping bag and Blossom sat on the mat next to him, perfectly at ease in the cold. She leaned back on her hands to admire the stars, content like she could watch them all night. Their gossamer light draped her like a veil, softening her edges and igniting her colors. Brick had the sudden urge to touch her, to prove she was no pearlescent dream, that the cold cornering him now was hers and not just the darkness.

“Why were you late tonight?” she asked out of the blue.

Brick lay back on the mat and looked up at the jeweled sky. “Finished the homework.”

Her laugh was as soft as the starlight, and she grinned at him over her shoulder. “Me too.”

Obviously. He wouldn’t put it past her. It didn’t matter, only, he didn’t want to have one more thing to worry about over the break while also spending way more time than usual around his brothers with nothing to keep their focus for eight hours of the day. But the knowledge seemed to please her, which was just as well.

“I told you I was coming tonight,” he said.

And yet, Boomer had blown up his phone texting him all evening wondering where the hell he was, why wasn’t he here yet, and didn’t he realize people were waiting for him? The last text was one he received when he’d touched down at the edge of the campsite and it was already dark: a candid picture of Blossom talking with Harry by a campfire, and she looked happy. Brick had not responded to it or to any of the other annoying texts. Kim had been more than happy to give him her chair the minute she saw him approaching.

“Here you are,” Blossom said, hushed and half-lidded.

Here we are.

Brick curled an arm under his head. “View’s better from down here.”

She worried her lip—did she even realize she did that? That he noticed?—but ultimately lay down next to him on the mat. “Oh, wow…”

The starscape shimmered far and above, and Brick began to pick out patterns in the cosmos. “There, Cassiopeia.” He pointed to a cluster of stars.

“You know your constellations?” she asked.

“A few.”

He could practically feel the aura of challenge she exuded like a pheromone.

“All right. Perseus,” she said.

Brick pointed to a long line of stars near Cassiopeia. “Right next to Andromeda.”

“That was a freebie to test the waters.”

Brick chuckled. “Sure.”

“Okay Star Lord, show me Gemini.”

Brick swept his hand south and west of Perseus to a pair of star lines facing each other. “A couple of gossipy bitches.”

She shoved him playfully, and he caught her with his free arm, pulling her close. “You’re terrible.”

“I’m right. Next?”

“Let’s see… How about Leo?”

With one arm anchoring her to his side, Brick traced the patterns she called out with the other. Dead heroes and their monsters rose from glittering graves with every sweep of his fingers and kept them company in the dark.

She tugged at his sleeve as he searched for the elusive Pyxis constellation. “Hey, we should probably get back to the party.”

Brick let his hand drop. “Why?”

“Because we’ll be missed, obviously.”

He chuckled. “I bet someone’s missing you.”

Blossom rolled onto her side to face him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

He’d taken her to breakfast. It wasn’t a date; he hadn’t technically asked, and she only came because she was hungry and didn’t want to go home yet. It was the first time he’d ever seen her cry—no, sob because of what some dumb girls said to her at a party. Just the normal high school bullshit, and she’d fallen apart. Breakfast was the fucking least he could do after the ignominy of seeing her like that. It just turned out that it wasn’t the last.

Too many breakfasts and long hours spent prepping for finals turned into expectation, expectation turned into anticipation, and anticipation became the new normal. They weren’t together no matter what rumors Bubbles and Robin started and stopped. They weren’t not together either, considering they usually were, in fact, together. It had only been a few months since she’d handed Butch his balls wrapped up in a pretty pink bow and left Brick speechless to behold her, a few months since he’d found her insecure and vulnerable on that rooftop and called her beautiful because she was, holy fuck she was, and so much more.

Blossom was old wounds that should have healed long ago, that he should never have opened again, but she was still so new and he didn’t know, he didn’t know.

She slipped her hand over the cover of his sleeping bag and curled her fingers in his shirt. “Brick,” she said in a voice full of galaxies and longing.

He’d always liked the sound of his own name, after all.

When he kissed her, she tasted like starlight, cold fire. He pulled her closer, kissed her deeper, a step into the unknown, but the unknown was where she was and she was everything. Her breath hitched and she opened for him, just like that day on the rooftop, but he didn’t look away this time and she kissed him back like it had been her idea all along. Chemical X crackled on their flushed skin as he rolled onto his back and brought her with him, her weight on his chest a warmth and a fantasy.

Blossom’s long bangs fanned his cheeks as she hovered above him and he held on to her. He dreamed she might fall back into the sea of stars and he would dive in after her should he let her go. He didn’t let her go.

“I don’t actually want to go to Tahoe,” Brick said.

She laughed, light as a moonbeam. “Neither do I.”

He threaded his fingers through her hair, pulled her down again. “Good.”

She smiled into the kiss and wrapped her arms around him.

xxx

No one took much notice when Blossom and Brick popped up at the campsite after a protracted absence. No one except Bubbles, who passed Butch her perfectly roasted marshmallow, which he wolfed down right off the stick without waiting for it to cool. She discreetly got out her phone and snapped a few pictures of Blossom leading Brick by the hand to a couple empty chairs near Wes and Kim. When Brick leaned back in his chair and put his arm around the back of Blossom’s so she could lean into him, Bubbles had to work very hard not to squeal.

Clearly, Boomer sending Brick that picture of Harry chatting up Blossom had had the intended outcome.

She fired off twenty pictures to Robin.

[Bubbles: Yearbook?? 👀]

Robin, who was on the other side of the large campfire with Buttercup, Julie, Mitch, and the Floyjoydson twins, spat out her beer when she saw the pictures.

Bubbles snickered to herself.

“What’re you so happy about?” Butch said halfway through a game of Chubby Bunny.

Bubbles poked his mallow-stuffed cheek and winked. “It’s a secret.”

He rolled his eyes and stuffed another marshmallow in his mouth. “Laaaaame.”

Bubbles stole another glance at Blossom and Brick. She was laughing at something Kim had said, and he turned to whisper something to her. Bubbles bit her lip to hide her smile.

“But not for long,” she sang to herself.

Boomer came up behind Blossom and Brick and threw his arms around them both, laughing and pulling them close. Brick didn’t even try to push him off.

Not for long at all.

xxx

Thanks for reading! If you enjoy my writing and are looking for more PPG/RRB content from me, please check out my ongoing multi-chapter over on AO3 called Beyond This Morning. 😊

[heartofsnark]

This Is Love (Chapter Ten): The Snakes We Don’t See

Notes: Kinda been sitting on the two most recent chapters, since I like started to write some cyberpunk 2077 stuff. So, thats why its been a while, but given how short the prologue for that fic is, I decided to go ahead and update this this month as well. 

Word Count:  13277

Chapter Warnings: Child Abuse (excerpts from the book of joseph), Suicide (non-graphic but still), A body horror dream (my favorite) with some symbolism/implications of sexual assault, discussion of religion, and really really way too blunt on the nose foreshadowing

For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here!

The church and compound look beautiful in the moonlight, Dahlia can’t help but note as she drives Cassie towards it. The modest white buildings and the silver gate work looking beautiful beneath a blanket of stars. It’s not a steady bustle of activity like it was last time, thanks in large part to the late hour, she’s sure. But there’s a few church members meandering around the outside of the church, beyond the gate. Which, to her dismay is being watched by Theodore. It had to be one of the two members who hate her, didn’t it? Because life can’t just kick her in the teeth once and call it done, no, it has to throw in a few extra hits for good measure. The towering man is glaring at her as she comes to a slowed down stop before the gate. 

“Though I doubt it’s why you’re here, service is over, so save me a headache and scram.” 

“No can do, I gotta talk to Joseph.” 

“Pfff,” he scoffs at her, “you arrest me, ruin service, and then come around demanding an audience with The Father. Gotta hand it to you, nothing else, you got balls.” 

“Technically, Hudson arrested you, I wasn’t hired yet.” 

“You think that helps?” 

“Come on man, this ain’t about me.” 

He looks past her to Cassie, still holding onto Dahlia’s back, face ducked down to hide away from his amber gaze. Dahlia can see gears turning in his head and he sighs, rolling his eyes. 

“Fine, you can come through, but only ‘cause The Father likes you.” 

“Thanks,” Dahlia parks her bike, Cassie handing her back her helmet before the pair walk into the compound. 

“That guy at the gate is kind of…a lot.” 

“Eh, he doesn’t like me much, but he’s not that bad. Lonny’s probably the biggest d-bag I’ve met here, Jacob and his…friends, if you can call ‘em that, are a bit rough. But, even then, I’m seen more friendly faces than I’ve seen cruel ones.” 

A few people recognize Dahlia from the barbecue, giving her a kind smile and a friendly wave as she passes by in search of Joseph. She returns the kind gestures but stays focused on her goal. Dahlia isn’t quite sure she’s ready to fulfill her promise of stepping foot into the church just yet, but if they’re freshly done with service, that’d be where she’d find him. 

“Deputy,” a soft angelic voice speaks out, Faith walking through the compound  yard towards them, her hair is done up in plaits with flowers twisted in them, “is everything okay?” 

“Uh, not really? I was hoping to talk to Joseph? If he’s around.” Of course he’s around, she’s not sure why she’s acting like there’s a chance he’s not here. 

“Sure, I’ll go get him right away.” 

She breathes a sigh of relief when she sees him, walking out of the church with Faith beside him, she’s never been happier to see a preacher in her entire life. Dahlia looks over at Cassie and sees the raised eyebrow, which is understandable. Joseph is Joseph, strange and weird, shirtless with a myriad of sins and tattoos etched into his skin, and yellow aviators on despite the silver moonlight that covers them all. But at the moment, that moonlight gives him a halo, a saving grace for a shitty night. 

“Deputy, I’m surprised to see you so soon,” Josephs greets her,

“Yeah, I’m sorry to bug you, but I…we,” Dahlia looks back at the still timid Cassie, duffle bag held out in front of her lap,  “need some help. I didn’t know who else to turn to.” 

“Of course, if there’s anything I can do to help, I will.” 

“Well, Joseph, Faith, this is my friend Cassie, Cassie this is Joseph and Faith,” Dahlia first introduces them

“Hi…” Cassie gives an awkward nod of her head. 

“A pleasure to meet you,” Joseph responds with a warm smile, “though I feel there’s more to this than friendly introductions.”

His gaze lingers on Dahlia’s knuckles, still stained with Liam’s blood. 

“Okay, so, Cassie’s home life is,” Dahlia pauses and looks to Cassie, searching for words that she might be comfortable with the deputy using, “bad, she’s not safe there. That’s all I’ll say. So, I was letting her stay with me but….recent events mean it ain’t too safe there either.” 

“I’m so sorry, I’m sure this has been difficult on the two of you.” 

“Difficult is a word for it; but more importantly, I hear Eden’s Gate takes folks in.” 

“Deputy…”

“I know it’s a lot to ask, I know it’s short notice, and I-“ 

A large warm hand grasps her shoulder and she doesn’t flinch, not this time.

“I’m honored you’d come to me for help.” 

And she feels his sincerity in his touch, hears it in every word, and sees it in his eyes. It’s hard to believe how much she distrusted him at first, she curses her past for coloring her view. He’s strange certainly, but he’s good.

“So, I take it you can help?” 

“Of course, my child.” 

“We have plenty of space at the convent,” Faith chimes in with a soft smile, looking from Joseph to Cassie. 

“Thank you, thank you, seriously, thank you so much,” Cassie gushes, relief swimming in her dark eyes. 

“We can get you settled in tonight.” 

“That’s so sweet, I can’t thank you enough.” 

“We’re happy to help,” then Joseph’s eyes turn to Dahlia, “will you be alright though, deputy?”

Joseph suddenly catches her hand in his own, brushing his fingers over her bloodied knuckles, no sign of hesitation at the rough sight. Brows furrowed in concern. 

“Oh yeah, it’s not mine, don’t worry, uh,” she catches herself, “that sounds bad, but like dude was gonna torch my trailer so, it was like okay to punch him, I think.” 

“Wait, what?”  Cassie’s eyes go wide as she looks to Dahlia, she must not have seen Liam with the lighter, only Dahlia striking him. 

“Yeah, dude was gonna fuckin’ torch the place, so I blacked his eye. More than fair, if you ask me.” 

“Okay, first,” Cassie starts and Dahlia smiles as a bit of the girl’s personality peeks through her fear, “I didn’t know it was that bad. Secondly, I don’t think you’re suppose to talk like that in front of a church and it’s preacher.” 

“I also shouldn’t have worn a shirt that said ‘hail satan’ to their sermon.” 

“You what?” 

“Look, in my defense,” Cassie is covering her mouth and laughing, a welcomed sight, “I don’t think, okay, you think I think and I just don’t alright.” 

Dahlia is laughing through her own words, face flushed red at being the butt of the joke, but if it can bring a smile to Cassie’s face right now she’d make a thousand more mistakes like it.  Faith’s little melodic giggles ring out behind her own hand. Joseph doesn’t laugh but he does smile. With the tension of Cassie’s housing eased, everyone seems in a brighter mood. 

“And despite all that, you still like her?” Cassie asks, looking up at Joseph and Faith.

“I’d get mad but like, fair fuckin’ question.” 

“I’ve forgiven sins and transgressions far greater than yours,  deputy,” Joseph says and his eyes are intense, kind, but the word sins makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up. It’s not a fun word, but most religions have a ‘everyone’s born a sinner’ mentality. So, surely she can’t be too upset. 

“Your patience is both staggering and appreciated, I assure you,” Dahlia tells him, her smile a bit more forced than it was a moment ago. If he can tell he doesn’t say anything. 

“Come on Cassie, I’ll introduce you to everyone and we’ll get you settled, okay?” 

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” 

Faith grabs Cassie’s hand and leads her away with a giggle, the sigh of the flower adorned woman leading her away in the night reminds Dahlia of her odd dream before. The draw of Faith, the siren pulling someone away in the moonlight. But that’s silly, Dahlia tells herself, they’re climbing into a pickup truck drove by another church member, yelling goodbyes to Joseph and Dahlia with smiles on their face. Yet the image of a siren dragging a victim into the sea pricks at her mind, despite how asinine it may be.  

Dahlia shakes her head, wondering why her nerves have suddenly ticked up. She’s over this, isn’t she? Eden’s Gate is good, she reminds herself, one of the few good things in this county that’s actually helping people instead of letting them drift into the cracks. Despite everything she’s heard, they’re good.  Her personal issues is just fucking with her, that has to be it. 

“Are you certain you’ll be okay, Deputy?” Joseph asks as the truck rolls down the curves of the road, disappearing over the horizon, Cassie gone with it. 

“Uh, yeah, gave the guy a hell of a shiner so he should cut the shit for a while. Should be fine.” 

“Is it?” 

“Fuck if I know, but what am I gonna do, sit around and cry about it?” 

“I certainly wouldn’t expect you to, but if something does happen, you know you can come to me.” 

“Yeah, uh, it means a lot,” Dahlia scratches at the back of her neck, his gaze too intense again, “and thanks again for helping out Cassie. It means a lot, I really don’t know if I can thank you enough.” 

“You could always attend church, if you wanted to show thanks.” 

“Patient but persistent, I see, but, uh, not quite ready to cash in that promise yet.”

“I understand but, I’d be remiss if I didn’t caution you. My patience may be staggering, but the world is not so kind. Time is finite and you window for finding salvation may be closing quicker than you know.” His voice is fevered and impassioned,  hints of a southern accent peeking through as his intensity rises, awash in moonlight the glow of it around turns from a halo to an eerie glow.

“Okay, not holding back, are you?” Dahlia tries to laugh it off, religious folks are just like this sometimes, aren’t they?

“I would be doing you a disservice if I did.”

“So…you think the worlds ending?” She asks, trying to keep her tone light, the only other interpretation of her window closing is Joseph’s convinced she’ll die soon.

“You don’t?” He questions, brows furrowed, as if the idea of the world not ending is ridiculous. And…she kind of gets that.

“I didn’t say that,” she moves to lean her back against the church building, standing next to Joseph instead of before him, looking at the stars, “I mean eventually humans are gonna destroy the planet, climate change, corporate pollution, not to mention us just trying to kill each other half the time. And even if we don’t fuck it up, eventually time will, sun’s going to go to the next stage and destroy the earth. So…”

“You sense it coming, too..”  He presses his back against the wood next to her, no longer focusing his stare on her but the moon, maybe he sense her unease with his gaze…

“Yeah…I guess, don’t know when or how, but eventually…”

The itch of nerves under her skin is too strong, she digs a cigarette from it’s pack and lights it, smoking against the church building. John warned her it’s forbidden by Eden’s Gate, that Joseph wouldn’t like such an act, but he doesn’t stop her in the moment. Whether it’s another moment of him showing her kindness or just consideration for her not being apart of the church, she doesn’t know.  

“Yet, you still put off salvation.”

“Okay,” she exhales a plume of smoke, “I’ll bite, what’d that fix?”

“When the world collapses those who’ve followed the path to Eden, confessed their sins, atoned, and made their sacrifice will be the ones who walk into the garden, into New Eden. A world cleansed of sin and turmoil. The world will be pure again, free of pain.”

New Eden sounds like their heaven, essentially, to Dahlia. So, nothing truly new by any religious standards. Almost every Christian religion has a doomsday, revelation, apocalypse, end of the world and those who do what god wants get to be super happy in some magic paradise, while everyone else burns. Same stuff, new label.

“Well, as much as your concern for my immortal soul is appreciated, I’m gonna have to pass.”

“You’ll come to understand eventually… I just hope it’s not too late.”  

She scratches at the back of her neck again, his words leaving a bad taste in her mouth that mingles with the nicotine, it feels dismissive of her… Like he claims to know her feelings and where they’ll end up better than she does. There’s a habit among those older than her to assume they know how the world works more than she does, she chalks it up to an old man thing, and lets it roll off her back. He still helped her, despite his faults. 

“We’ll have to agree to disagree, but I do appreciate everything, I’ll have to when I get a chance call Cassie and see how she’s settles in.” 

“I’m afraid that won’t be so simple.” 

“What?” She turns to look at Joseph now, raising an eyebrow, why wouldn’t she be able to call Cassie?

“While Cassie is staying with us, we do expect her to abide by our rules. There are no cellphones permitted in the convent, I’m sure you understand.” 

“Oh,” Dahlia blinks, “guess that explains why not a single person was on their phone at the barbecue.” 

“Smartphones and social media have eroded people’s values, they’re more concerned with it than they are their own family.” 

“Okay, okay, I get it; the convent have a landline or Satan manage to get through that too?” His expression hardens, unimpressed by her quip, though she can’t help but smile. After a moment, he sighs. 

“There is a landline available there, but it’s typically reserved for church matters. If you wish to check on her, visiting and writing letters would be ideal.” 

“Got it, I’ll keep that in mind,” she moves from her spot against the church exterior, “thanks again, Joseph. I’ll talk to you, later.” 

“Have a nice night, Deputy.” 

“You too.” 

Dahlia stubs out her cigarette once she’s outside the compound’s gates, climbing onto her motorcycle. She didn’t realize how isolated Cassie might be there, if she’s not even allowed to call her friend. It just doesn’t sit right. But, Joseph’s far from the only old religious man to claim technology is bad. And if Cassie is living with them, it’s natural to expect her to follow the same guidelines as everyone else. It was already asking a lot for them to house her, it’d be unthinkable to expect special treatment as well. 

The trailer park is far calmer when she rides through, damage already done, Dahlia sighs at the sight of all the havoc they caused. It’s already well past midnight, but her night is far from done. There’s glass to be cleaned up and windows to be covered until she can get supplies to fix them properly. She could care less about the spray paint and if needed she can sleep through the chill, but she’d at least like to not sleep on broken glass. 

She’s parked and locked up her bike, walking up her porch when she hears the crush of steps, someone clearing their throat. Liam stands, hands in his pockets and a mottle of bruises across his eye. His blues eyes look anywhere but her. 

“Dude, seriously, just go. I-”

“I’m sorry…,” he mumbles, clearing his throat again, searching for words, “I didn’t know she was in there, I really didn’t. Clyde said she left out and he hadn’t seen her come back, we thought the place was empty and-”

“And? You could have killed her, ignorance don’t cure third degree burns!”  She’s taken steps towards him, nearly yelling in his face now, she can see hurt in his face. He may not have meant to take a life, but in one dumb moment he nearly did and he damn well needs to know that. 

“I know, I know, I just…no one got hurt, she, she ain’t hurt, right?” 

“No, thank fuck, but that doesn’t make it okay? Even if you didn’t hurt you, you scared the fuck out of her, this was suppose to be a safe place for her and you destroyed that!” 

“I’m sorry, okay, I… I can’t fuckin’ say sorry enough and I mean it. I just we were drinking and thought we’d see if we could run ya out of here, it got out of hand.” 

“You hate cops, I get that, I do and quite frankly you wanna give me hell, have at it. There ain’t anything you can do to me that hasn’t already been done. But shit like that doesn’t just affect me, hell, you could of set the whole damn place on fire.” 

“Yeah, I, fuck I nearly pulled a Sharky.” 

“I’m…not sure what you mean by that, ‘cause last thing I saw that man do was…very different. But, uh, if you’re doing that too you should stop.” Her stomach churns at the reminder of Boshaw in his jeep, she really was hoping she repressed that. 

“I don’t even wanna know,” Liam shakes his head, “but I am sorry about Cassie…I’d like to apologize to her, if she’s around.” 

“Fat chance of that man, I found her another place to stay, she’s somewhere safe and far away from your ass.” The convent isn’t particularly far away, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

“I deserve that.” 

“Fuck yeah, you do.” 

“Well, I said my piece, I assume I’ll be seeing the inside of a cell tomorrow?” 

She chews her lip for a moment, he strikes her as genuine, in both his remorse and ignorance. He wasn’t trying to become a murderer, he only mean to run her out of the trailer park. And at the end of it all, Cassie is safe. 

“Nah man, it’ll  be fine, so long as you don’t pull this shit again. You do and I’ll be in jail for killing your ass.” 

“Gotcha…thanks…I think.” 

“Now, fuck off, I got a mess to clean. Unless you care enough to help?” 

“Hell no,  have fun, narc,” Liam scoffs at the idea and leaves, clear his remorse was only ever for Cassie’s sake. Asshole.  She watches him vanish into his own trailer before finally walking into her own to start on her night of work. 

That night and next day are monotonous, mess cleaned up and windows covered just as the sun starts to rise over the horizon. Muscles aching and a damp sweat clinging to her skin, she showers and catches a few hours of sleep. When she wakes up she’s off to the local hardware store and buying what she needs to fix the windows, as well as some damage done inside the trailer. 

The sun is setting on the next day by the time all the damage is attended to, well everything but the graffiti of PIG across the outside of the trailer. But, she doesn’t have the energy to wash it away. Lounging around her living room after another shower, Dahlia finds her mind drawn back to Cassie and The Seeds. 

No phone calls, only letter writing. It seems so unnecessarily archaic in the modern age, though she may mostly be whining because her handwriting is completely illegible. It’s too late to drop in on the convent, plus she doesn’t particularly want to move. After last night, she likes the idea of a lazy night. And with her long at time hard to predict workdays, it may not be possible to swing by for more than a moment until the weekend. 

She doesn’t have to write her letter, at least not by hand, she decides as she opens her laptop. She’ll type it up and print it out at the station, then she can send it like a proper letter, to appease Joseph’s hatred of tech. 

“Hey, Cassie, Deputy whatever (did I tell you my last name, legit can’t remember?) here. Joseph said you guys can’t like call? I guess? But you can get letters, so given my handwriting, typing it instead. I just wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re settling in. Maybe this weekend I can visit? I’ll treat you to lunch.”

That sounds alright, she decides, saving the typed letter. She drums her fingers against the table, searching for something else to maintain her attention. The Book of Joseph with her drawing tucked inside of it is still nearby, Joseph’s lecture of last night coming to mind. Maybe, she could write him a thank you letter? He seems like the kind of guy who’d appreciate that, she opens another document. 

“Dear Joseph,

That’s how you format a letter, right? Sorry, social media has “eroded” my soul and the art of letter writing is lost on my generation. That’s a joke, I hope it’s somewhat funny, if not sorry. My handwriting is atrocious, so I hope a typed letter still fits into your beliefs, since I’m trying here. I just wanted to thank you in some small way, despite some of our different beliefs, you’ve been incredibly kind to me and my friend. I read somewhere that drawings can be like gifts? So, I drew something for you. I hope it’s a nice gesture and not creepy, but it can’t be as creepy as the portrait in your book and creepy is kind of your thing, so. Also a joke, I promise I’m trying to be funny not mean… I’ll end this now, thanks again, Me, Cassie, and my eroded damned soul appreciate it. “

Dahlia saves the letter to Joseph, it’s messy and awkward, but so is she. She’ll print and mail them both out tomorrow. Hopefully, she won’t have to put her proper name on an envelope to send it. The idea of no one knowing her name is fun, she wants to play into it. The mysterious deputy who no one knows, sounds way cooler than she is. 

She stretches her arms out and puts her laptop aside, grabbing the Book of Joseph, the conversation with Joseph has renewed her interest in learning more about his beliefs. Even if they don’t align, even if she’ll never believe in god, the least she can do is try to understand. She made harsh initial judgments and still struggles with her past effecting her thoughts, making what could be nothing into red flags, this is a way to make amends. Even if Joseph isn’t able to see her efforts, it means something to her, growing as a person. 

“Not ice cream trucks, not social services cars, not even police patrols.

In any case. In these parts, people kept their noses out of other people's business, even when that business took place on a porch out in the open.

The father thrashed his arms furiously while the boy, young Joseph Seed stood with his head bowed, contrite and seemingly fixated on the floorboards. If he had looked up, he would have seen the kaleidoscopic colors of an old issue of Spiderman flashing by, alternating with the smooth black leather of his father's Bible and the ruddy face of the father himself. He would have seen the grey teeth-few and far between-of Old Man Seed, as the locals called him, or Old Man Seed behind his back, as Josephs big brother Jacob had snickered to him. Dental care was not a priority in the Seed household. The money was needed for other things. So, his father's teeth always reminded Joseph of the rocky crags that pirate ships washed up on in picture books at the library.”

She tries to see them, a young Joseph and Jacob on their porch. It’s both easy and difficult all at once. A part of her can easily see in her mind, the two young boys with freckled faces and bright blue eyes, one ginger and the other brunette. But, connecting that to who she knows to be Joseph and Jacob Seed is more difficult. It’s always weird to imagine old people when they were young, old to her she should specify.  To imagine the mountain that is Jacob Seed as a young boy, laughing behind his abusive father’s back. To see Joseph as a little boy reading comic books and pirate stories. The images seem so far removed from the tall intense older men she knows now. 

The life they’ve lived is one she knows well, no media beyond the bible, and beatings for breaking rules. But, her own abuser was more hidden, pretending to be a pillar of the community with his wonderful little church while beating her black and blue behind closed doors. Behind a church following service was the most brazen he ever became; it’s hard to imagine a man bold enough to beat his children in broad daylight on his porch. Though, she has no doubt what she reads is true. She’s seen Joseph’s back, his distaste for shirts making every scar a public display, she knows the lash marks well. Her own back marred with them as well. 

It makes her wonder, how they could be so different in their takeaways… Joseph if anything has turned to religion, leading his own church and group, taking issue with the sinfulness of modern media. Though, by no means an abuser, it’s hard to debate that he now shares qualities with his father, if only regarding religiosity. 

Dahlia once heard that people grow up to be their parents, particularly their same sex parents. Which is an all at once terrifying prospect for most people, but especially for people like her and the Seeds. The prospect she could be anything like her mother, watching passively as her own child is abused, bending to the will of a man and losing herself completely; is downright terrifying. Dahlia is determined to not let that happen, but it’s still a fear. She can see ways they match; both physically and in certain traits. Dahlia wonders if Joseph sees the way he matches his father and if those qualities scare him too. If he worries his faith has turned him into that same monster. She wonders too about Jacob, if his surliness is a part of that, if he sees any of his father in himself. 

“The priority in the Seed household, as everyone in the neighborhood knew, was cheap whiskey, which the father drank from dawn 'til dusk. The more whiskey that went in, the more Bible verses that came out -and the more often his children felt the switch. 

The cause of the paternal fury was simple: comics were forbidden in the home - comics and books, records, magazines, radio, and television. Only the Bible was allowed. 

Once, when the entire elementary school went to see Gone with the Wind at an old theatre in town, Joseph's father had leapt up in rage like a drunken jack-in-the-box, and before stunned teachers and students, launched into a rambling sermon condemning the sins of Hollywood, insisting this Babylon had long perverted the most fragile of minds and was responsible for the downfall of all of America, with Joseph under one arm and Jacob under the other, he stormed out of the room still hurling curses.”

Dahlia doesn’t have many blessings to count, but Monroe never dragged her from school with a sermon. Only making her withdraw and begin homeschooling the moment he learned the public school had the nerve to provide even shoddy sex education. But she’d take a quiet withdrawal from the system over being physically dragged out before everyone. 

“This time, when they arrived home, he beat Jacob only, because he was the eldest and thus responsible for his younger brother. At least the brothers had had time to see Atlanta burn. Thus, when Old Man Seed stood on the porch and began sliding off his belt, the child simply removed his T-shirt, folded it carefully, and bent over to offer his pale, delicate back to the worn-out strap of leather. 

Joseph's head was turned toward the well maintained- at least by local standards - house of a quiet, gentle widow. He considered it a blessing, if a small one. Facing the other way, he would have had to look at the other neighbor's house, which even by local standards was so run-down as to be hideous to the eye. When they were younger, the widow used to bake them cakes, probably out of pity for them. The children's mother wasn't exactly an impressive chef. She wasn't exactly a loving mother either. But the widow didn't bake much of anything anymore now that she was dying of cancer. Instead, she spent her days in her porch rocking chair, rain or shine, tottering gently. Jacob and Joseph argued over whether the groaning came from the wooden rocking chair or the old women.”

Dahlia closes the book, marking the page at that point, she can’t deny the intensity of the content and the impact it has on her. She can only stomach so much at a time, trauma too close to her own. Talks of a lackluster mother and the kindness of strangers only adding to it all. Maybe one day she’ll talk to Joseph about this, how he can bless those who hurt him in such a way,  how he has managed to be so open about it. It all seems to be a level of maturity she can’t imagine reaching, how much work and growth does it take to accomplish that?

She falls asleep that night thinking of just how much work she has left to do, just how far she has to go as a person. How long will it take her to be okay with her past? Thoughts fade to black as she succumbs to her heavy eyelids. 

The sun is bright and high in the bright blue sky, deceptively cherry for what her and Pratt are being called out to. Despite shifting opinions on Joseph, she can’t deny that the statue still creeps her the fuck out. As they drive further upward, the sheer scale of the cement monument takes her breath away. How much time and work went into that? Joseph doesn’t seem to have an ego, but to an outsider this downright makes him look like a narcissist. They don’t go fully up the mountain, where the trail forms stone circular steps and rings around the base of the statue. From where they park, she can see gazebos with flowers woven into them that line the open space around it. 

There’s a small crowd waiting for them at the base of the mountainside the statue is built on, a section of it just beneath the stone Joseph’s hand is carved slightly down. Ledges with spots to grapple along comes down to the ground. The statue blocks out the sun when they stand beneath it, the visage of Joseph towering over them like a kaiju is both terrifying and hilarious to the young deputy. 

The ambulance is already there, body bag being brought inside of it, sparing the deputies from seeing what remained of the person after they jumped. Rocky ground where the man would have hit is painted with a white Eden’s Gate symbol, blood now staining the dark rock and white paint. 

Faith and a few Eden’s Gate members are nearby. The youngest Seed sits on a stone, adorned in one of her delicate white dresses, her blonde hair pulls back in a soft ponytail today. Her feet are still bare, as if someone’s blood isn’t mere inches from her, as if a body bag isn’t being rolled into an ambulance. Faith leans back on her hands, humming softly, kicking her feet gently in tune to her little song. Does this even faze her?

“Not much to do here,” the EMT tells Pratt and Dahlia, “another suicide, guy hit his head off the cliff before he even reached the ground, dead on arrival.” 

“This happen a lot?” Dahlia asks, looking between Pratt and the EMT. They talked as if this happens every day. 

“Kinda, “ Pratt admits, “I mean, it’s easy to access and tall as fuck, people have been jumping off to die since the peggies finished building it.” 

“Hope County’s version of The Golden Gate Bridge.” 

“That’s…fucked.” 

“We gotta get to the morgue, call the next of kin, don’t know if there’s much else for you all to handle.” 

“Alright, thanks for the help.” 

Pratt and Dahlia wave off the EMT as the ambulance drives away; leaving the deputies with Faith and the Eden’s Gate members. It’s only natural to ask the owners of the statue a few questions, if they saw or heard anything. Faith seems to know this, given her soft smile as she waits for them, this really must be a normal occurrence. 

“Hello, deputies,” she greets them as they wander off, “it’s a shame really, that a symbol of hope is used by the hopeless to end their own suffering.” 

“I’m sure your heart is breaking, but, don’t suppose there’s any chance you saw anything?’ 

“No, I’m afraid no one was here this morning or late last night.” 

“Of course,” Pratt says, more annoyed than anything and if this is the typical, Dahlia can understand why. There’s not much they can really do, it’s a tragedy, but unless there was another party involved it’s not really a police matter. 

But, Dahlia wonders why the statue is so enticing a spot for suicide? It’s tall of course, the fall is a certain death. But, there are so many bridges around as well, not that she’s in that mental state at the moment but she imagines falling into water to die would be more enticing than hitting rock. And it’s odd as well, that the impact spot is marked with their symbol.

“Why is the ground painted?” 

“Hmm?” Faith hums out an inquisitive noise, blinking at the deputy’s sudden question. 

“The ground here, your church symbol is on it, I was just wondering why? Doesn’t seem like you can or would do much in this exact spot?” 

Dahlia’s reminded of a bible passage, one of many she recalls from her childhood. The story of Satan trying to tempt Jesus to jump from a high cliff in Jerusalem, that if he’s truly the child of god he’d be safe, to give a leap of faith. It sticks in the back of her mind, nagging at her, surely that wouldn’t be a thing? 

“Oh, I know it’s silly, but we like to put our symbol of hope and faith wherever we can, even in the smallest of places.” 

“Uh, this isn’t like a thing, is it?” Dahlia asks before she can stop herself. 

“Rook,” Pratt scolds her for the accusatory question. But Faith giggles. 

“You really have a vivid imagination, don’t you, Rook? I don’t imagine we’d keep many members if we were pushing them off a statue.” 

“Yeah, sorry,” that was dumb, Dahlia realizes the second she hears it out loud, “I think I’ve been watching too many horror movies.” 

“Next, you’ll be accusing us of drugging our members,” Faith says, giggling with a soft smile on her face and Dahlia laughs along, yeah, she’s being ridiculous. 

“Okay, well with that out of the way, we’ll get out of your hair,” Pratt speaks up, ready to go back to the station, not that there was much for them to do. 

“Uh, actually, I did wanna ask you something, real quick, about Cassie,” Dahlia pipes up, before they leave. Pratt raises an eyebrow, looking at Dahlia. 

“She’s settling in really well, she already feels like a part of the family, I assure you.” Faith squeezes Dahlia’s shoulder, warm in it’s reassurance. 

“Thanks, I’m hoping I can visit before too long.” 

“Oh, that’d be wonderful!” Faith captures both of Dahlia’s hands this time, grinning and stepping into the deputy’s personal space. Her and Joseph are both so touchy, it catches her off guard. 

“Well, it’s been nice talking to you Faith, but we really need to be headed back now, c’mon, Rook.” 

“Coming,” Dahlia calls out following behind a fast walking Pratt, one final wave goodbye to Faith. 

Dahlia is fastening her seat belt in the cruiser, Pratt starting up the engine and taking them back down that winding road. There’s a palpable tension that eases with every step away from that statue. Whoever at Eden’s Gate approved it is ridiculous. 

“Didn’t know you and Faith were so close.” 

“We get along alright, her and Joseph helped me out this weekend.” 

“What, you ditch the barbecue to hang out with peggies?” 

“No,” she rolls her eyes, “my friend Cassie was staying with me, some shit happened at the Moonflower, they offered to help her out.” 

“Since when do you have friends?” 

“Hahaha, hilarious. Look, it’s not like I planned for shit to go sideways, why do you even care?” 

“I don’t.” 

“Sure seems like you do.” 

“I don’t, you wanna run around with peggies, that’s your business, but it’s not gonna do you any favors around here.” 

“Oh no, are the popular girls not gonna like me if I sit with the peggies?” Dahlia says with mock worry, pressing her hand to her chest. What kind of high school bullshit is this?

“Shut up, I’m fuckin’ serious, the only people who like peggies are peggies. Since when do you like that shit anyway?”

“I don’t like it, I’m not into religion, you know that. Just, I don’t know, doesn’t mean they aren’t chill.” 

“Eden’s Gate is not fuckin’ chill, they’re weird and a pain in the ass.” 

“They’re definitely weird, you know social media has eroded my soul?”  

“What they find out you shared John’s shitty commercial on Twitter?” 

“Huh, no? How’d you know that?” Dahlia’s careful to keep herself hard to identify online, her Twitter has no name, job, or location. Though, unless Eden’s Gate is broadcasting their cheesy crap all over the nation, that’d be easy for a Hope County Native too figure out. 

“Petunia’s your icon on there.” 

“I didn’t realize you could tell the difference in opossums.” In Dahlia’s defense, Petunia looked adorable eating her lunch that day and again, she assumed anyone would just think it was a random opossum picture. 

“I know Petunia when I see her, give me some credit,” he rolls his eyes, “you know John’s gonna kill you if he does find out.” 

“Well, it’s a damn good thing Eden’s Gate doesn’t use social media then.” 

“Ah, yes, because as we all know no one ever disobeys their religion. I for one am still a picture perfect altar boy.” 

“Loo-you’re Catholic?” The realization hits her and she looks bewildered at her partner’s profile. Granted, she rarely thinks about anyone’s religion, but for Pratt it seems all the more confusing. He hardly seems religious by any standard. 

“I was raised Catholic,” he specifies and she nods her head, “Joey was too.” 

“Neither of you are anymore?” 

“I really can’t be bothered to give a fuck about it anymore, it is what it is, pretty sure Joey completely gave up on any of it.” 

“There’s not a lot of practicing Catholics in this area, is there?” She’s pretty sure Montana is mostly protestants. 

“No, the church in Falls End is Hope’s Catholic church, and it’s always been small. Me and Joey were damn near the only kids even.” 

Dahlia can’t help but smile, thinking of Hudson and Pratt as kids. She always had the feeling they’d known each other for a long while, both talking about Hope County like they’ve been here all their lives. Hudson is a little older, but not much, so it just makes sense that in this small a place they’d known each other as children. 

“How long have you guys known each other?”  

“We playing fifty questions or something?” 

“I’m curious!” 

“No, your turn asshole. You wanna grill me on religion and shit, you get it back.” 

“You already know how I feel about religion.” 

“I know you didn’t wanna go to church and were a weirdo about it, that’s it.” 

“Uhh,” she breathes, he’s right that it’s only fair to answer the same questions he answered for her, “my actual dad was Catholic, my mom  was Jewish, then she remarried a fundie Preacher, Pentecostal, so that’s how I was raised, unfortunately.” 

“So, you were zigzagged all over as far as that goes.” 

“Eh, I mean, before she remarried, neither my mother or dad were like devout or felt they had to raise me a certain way. Like, I think I vaguely remember getting both Christmas and Hannukah when I was three?”  She tries to pull up the fuzzy memory of when her mother, back when she was a true mother, helped her light a menorah and her dad hoisted her up to put a star on a modest Christmas tree. 

“You believe in anything nowadays.” 

“I consider myself an atheist at best.” 

“At worst?” 

“Well, if god does exist, he’s an asshole and I’d like to break his nose.” 

That gets a laugh out of Pratt and Dahlia grins, she knows it sounds silly, but it’s true. How she genuinely feels, she doesn’t think anyone is watching over them, no singular or multiple gods, but if any creator can watch idly by as everyone suffers… Not someone she’d want to be worshipping, quite frankly.  

The day winds down with little else for the deputies to do. Beyond the station windows the sky starts to turn pink, sun setting on another workday. Dahlia is fiddling with her phone, walking out of the station. 

“You coming to The Spread Eagle tonight,” Hudson asks her, “I know you haven’t really been since that asshole gave you a hard time.” 

“Oh uh, yeah, I could tag along.” Dahlia scratches at the back of her neck, feeling the heat climb up her face. She can see concern in Hudson’s olive-green eyes, which isn’t helping the blush across the young deputy’s face. 

“C’mon then, probie,” Pratt calls out, giving Dahlia a playful smack on the shoulder as he passes by. 

It’s the usual sight as Stray walks into The Spread Eagle; rock-folk music on the Jukebox tonight, couples dancing or sharing drinks, workers in flannels and dirty boots grabbing a drink after a long day. They slide into their usual seats, the youngest deputy between her two superiors, there’s a warmth to the  low lights and wood interior. Mary May’s soft smile greeting them as she serves the rest of the patrons. 

“I don't care if it rains!

Let's all go to the bar!

I don't care if there's a hurricane!

Let's all go to the bar!”

“I’ve been stuck on desk duty all day,” Hudson speaks over the music, starting the evening conversation with a groan, “so please tell me you two had something interesting happen.” 

“Suicide out at Joseph’s statue, that’s about it.” Dahlia shrugs, nothing else really of note. 

“Ugh, if I was near that statue I’d kill myself too.” 

“It gives my heebie jeebies the heebie jeebies, not gonna lie.” 

“Really, Rook, but Joseph’s your new best friend, remember?” Pratt cuts in to taunt the Junior Deputy.

“I have a finger for you.”

“You aren’t buddying up with the Seeds, are you deputy?” Mary May’s voice rings out as she sets drinks and food in front of the three officers, they hadn’t even ordered yet. Dahlia’s seen her do it with Hudson and Pratt, knowing the two deputy’s order inherently after years of routine. But it’s the first time she’s done it for Dahlia, knowing the youngest deputy’s favorite burger and soda. It’s nice and she’d love to spend a moment appreciating the coziness of it, but the weight of the bartender’s question hangs in the air. 

“No,” Dahlia assures her, though a part of her feels guilty, as if she’s compromising loyalties, “they helped me and a friend out, that’s all.” 

“Eden’s Gate doesn’t help anyone without expecting something in return, I know you’re new around here, deputy, but you need to be careful around them. They’ll do anything to have another cop wrapped around their finger.” 

“Woah woah,” Dahlia holds her hands up in mock surrender, “it was just a little favor, nothing big I promise.” 

“You don’t get it, that fami-“ 

“I think Merle is trying to flag you down for another beer,” Pratt interjects, saving Dahlia from the rest of the lecture. 

“Yeah, uh, just be careful, deputy.”  With that Mary May leaves them to serve Merle, some man with a mullet, another beer. 

“Sorry about that,” Pratt says, “forgot how weird she gets about the Seeds.” 

“Can’t blame her for it though, John Seed’s had it out for her family since they came here.” 

“I would like to change the subject.” 

“Pfft,” Pratt stifles a laugh at her blunt declaration, “alright, we can do that.” 

“Well, okay, how’d your break go?” 

“Mostly boring, other than when Pratt took me flying.” 

“You took her up in the helicopter?” Hudson asks, raising an eyebrow at the male deputy over Dahlia’s shoulder. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” 

“You seriously pulled that move on her?” 

“Shut up.” 

“Move?” 

“Pratt has a habit of bringing girls up in the helicopter, don’t you?” 

“I plead the fifth.” 

“Oh, uh, I don’t know it was fun, though.” Dahlia shrugs, she doesn’t really care if he brings other people up in the helicopter. She’s not really sure how it’s relevant or what Hudson means by it being a move; she had fun with her friend and he cheered her up. 

“Hear that, Joey, it was fun. Don’t put weird ideas in Rookie’s head. “

“Oh yeah, blame me.” 

“So, anything interesting happen at the station while I was gone?” 

“Well,” Hudson smirks, mischief in her eyes as she glances at Pratt again. 

“She doesn’t need to know about that.” 

“I think she does, the day after you went on leave-”

“I’d like to change the subject,” Pratt cuts Hudson off, mimicking Dahlia from earlier. 

“I don’t even know what the subject is yet!” The youngest deputy objects, laughing. 

“Well, a certain someone’s mom felt the need to come down to the station and let Whitehorse know just how wrong he is to put her precious son in harm’s way.” 

“Oh my god,” Dahlia says, unable to resist smiling, while Pratt’s buried his head in his hands, “your mom came to the station?” 

“Yes, yes, laugh it up.” 

“You call me a child and you have your mommy checking in on you at work?” 

“I didn’t invite her!” 

Pratt’s face is flushed bright red while Hudson and Dahlia laugh at his expense, but despite the embarrassing aspect, Dahlia can’t help but think it’s a little endearing. His mom must really love him. 

“She worry about you a lot?” Dahlia asks, core aching from laughing.

“Ugh, that’s a fuckin’ understatement.” 

 “Mama Pratt’s always been a little too worried about her baby boy,” Hudson taunts, reaching over the table to pinch at Pratt’s cheek, only for him to smack her hands away. 

“I’m sure that went over great when you went into law enforcement.” 

“She still gets furious at Whitehorse for putting us in danger.” 

“Us?” 

“She wasn’t very happy about me becoming a cop either,” Hudson admits and that makes sense, given what Pratt’s told Dahlia about them being close as kids, surely she’d be close to his mother. 

“And if she meets you, she’ll be in Whitehorse’s ear again.” 

“Huh?” 

“I can hear it now, ‘how could you put that little girl in danger, what’s wrong with you?’” Hudson tries her best to mimic Pratt’s mother, grinning at the ridiculousness of it, and despite herself…the idea of his mom doting on her the way she would Hudson. As if Dahlia could be as close to either of them, even if the idea of being seen as a vulnerable little girl is a bit patronizing. 

“Not gonna lie, I really want to meet your mom now.” 

“No.” 

“C’mon!” 

“No, not in a million years, I get enough hell from Joey and Beau, I don’t need it from you too.” 

Their conversation continues late into the evening as it so often does, just a few hours shy of staying until closing, early mornings the only thing that keeps them from staying later. Around the same time as they have every other night, they leave and say their goodbyes. Pratt and Hudson heading back to the small set of apartment housing that resides in the little town, while the youngest deputy rides back to the trailer park. 

She stops at the mailboxes, in the registration building, rows of them with their lot numbers associated with them. The printed letters for Cassie and Joseph heavy in her pocket. A part of her does feel guilty, mostly to Mary May, but it’s not as if they’re close friends and the bartender can’t expect Dahlia to avoid an entire family because of hearsay. And it’s not as if she’s joining up or spending every moment with them.  She shakes her head, stupid feelings, it’s not as if she has to choose sides. She can be thankful for the Seed’s help and still get along with Mary May. She tucks the letters inside her mailbox to be sent out then heads into her trailer, throwing herself down on her couch to sleep for the night. 

Hands on her, groping and prodding on Dahlia’s bare body. She screams and fights against them, unable to see whom they belong to, a mystery hidden by the logic of a dream. They feel different, but she sees no difference, each pair ink black as if monsters reaching from the void to defile her. They claw and grab; scratching over her ribs, locking fingers around her throat, squeezing at her thighs, and pressing over her mouth. The hands are everywhere and they smear black across her skin, smears and filth, reminders of their violation. They stain her skin, mark her flesh, and leave the aftermath of their violence on her body. 

And she fights. She kicks and she pulls, but it only spurs them to grab her more. Dahlia lashes out at the void that touches her, but it does not retreat. She bites at the ink fingers that push into her tongue, but the digits only press deeper in, sliding into her throat. 

She can’t be sure if she breaks away or they let her go, but their touch is gone, Dahlia dropping to her knees as if they were the only thing supporting her. Inky black slick across her skin where they touched her, heavy even on her tongue, finger prints within them. 

And she wretches as flowers bloom from the stains they’d left on her. Small blue flowers blossom forth bursting through the flesh of her tongue, sprouting from her throat and gagging her, soft petals falling from her lips. Those same vibrant blue flowers burst forth from her throat where she was choked. 

Red flowers bloom out from the flesh of her ribs, stacked blossoms along a single stem cutting through the tender skin, like blades. They follow the curve of the bones within her, just long beneath her breast where rough hands had torn at her skin. 

White petals, the most familiar as they recur so often and are a constant sight within the county. They grow through the plush of her thighs, not even blood or black tarnishing them as they push through her skin. They wind and weave as they come through like petal ropes around her . 

And her heart staggers a beat as a sunflower grows within it, then through her chest, a vivid yellow. Her eye burns, a pressure behind it as another great yellow bloom grows behind it, piercing the fragile membrane, blood falling from her socket, vision in the eye obscured from the flower that’s taken it’s place. 

She’s awash of yellows, blues, whites, and reds. Turned into a cruel art piece, body aching as her skin is open, her lungs choked, her heart stuttering to beat, and body protesting in agony. 

And she snaps awake, not jolting from her couch but twisting with a heavy cough, phantom tickles within her throat. She gags on something that doesn’t exist, heartbeat thundering and lungs burning. Dahlia takes a moment to gather herself, a cold sweat still clinging to her skin. Her clock informs her it’s four in the morning. 

She pushes back the hair that’s fallen into her face and lights up a cigarette, inhaling nicotine to ease her shaky body and frayed nerves. These dreams have only been getting more frequent and they’re starting to fuck with her. She can’t live with having a heart attack every other night and barely getting sleep. 

Once she’s filled her lungs with smoke, let the burning cigarette nearly singe her fingers before she tosses it out. Dahlia throws on the lights, blinking through the way it blinds her after so long of darkness, but she ignores the sleep heavy in her eyes as she grabs her drawing pad, sitting at her coffee table on the floor letting her mind lead her hand. 

Sunflowers she knows, the flower iconic enough in identity for her to know it and with the white flowers being so around the county, she could easily be able to figure out what they are. She thinks they’re called moonflowers, given the name of the trailer park and that a field of them surround them. But she sketches them out, along with the other flowers she saw. Four types of flowers on the page. She needs to get them on paper while they’re fresh in her mind. And then in the crux of them all, she draws out the layered ones from her previous dreams. 

She plans on looking them up, flowers have significance and meaning, she’s heard that before that people can plan bouquets to communicate messages. She’s never cared about flowers in her entire life, so she has no idea why on earth they’d such a recurring theme in her dreams be. 

Dahlia feels more relaxed now that she’s smoked and gotten the images of the flowers on paper. She’ll search for her answers later, after she’s gotten more sleep. Nerves and body relaxed, she curls back up on her couch, letting herself fall into a dreamless sleep. 

It’s a few hours past noon the next day, a slow day of just tickets, the young deputy’s head is against her own seatbelt. Her eyes are starting to close despite the amount of energy drinks she’s consumed. She managed to salvage a few hours of restful sleep, but not nearly enough to keep her awake through an already boring day.  Her eyelids are impossibly heavy, each blink growing longer and longer. 

“Rook!” 

“I’m awake!” Dahlia says with a jolt, Pratt’s voice and a shake of her shoulder waking her back up. 

“Are you?” Pratt asks while laughing and she pinches at the bridge of her nose, a headache coming on. 

“I didn’t sleep well last night.” 

“What were doing?” 

“Wasn’t doing nothing; just bad dream,” she tells him, shrugging. 

“Units near the Orchard please respond,” Nancy from dispatch’s voice crackles over their radio, they’re still in the Valley and maybe five minutes from the giant orchard.

“Deputy Pratt responding.”

“Debbie and Doug called in a robbery, suspect has fled the scene, but they’re still requesting an officer to file a report.” 

“We’ll be there shortly,” he hangs up the receiver, “wake up, Rookie, we have to actually work today.” 

“Maybe.” 

“Maybe,” he admits, acknowledging that it’ll likely just be an hour of talking, writing down a report, and then leaving. 

They drive past the pumpkin farm, Dahlia unable to resist smiling when she sees Boomer playing with his owners, weaving through the gourds. She’s reminded of her first day, stopping to pet the dog to dispel her own nerves. Then the apple trees filter in, bright red and shining in the light. Each tree is overflowing, a few crates out fill with the fruit, apples that have fallen on the ground. 

Pratt pulls up to the orchard’s packing facility past the market stall that advertises cider tasting. There’s a man and woman standing in front of the large open packing facility; the building painted red with green roofing, the open doors showing the crates and machines. The smell of crisp apples hits Dahlia as she gets out of the cruiser, mixing with the fresh air, she feels more awake than she was before. Rarely, but sometimes, the beauty of the county manages to lift her spirits. 

“What’s going on?” Pratt asks the couple. 

“Someone,” Debbie gives a pointed look at her husband Doug, arms crossed, “left the office key in the stall again, next thing we know, someone cleared out our safe.” 

“Hey, don’t blame me.” 

“Well who the fuck am I suppose to blame?” 

“That fuckin’ church would be a goddamn start.” 

The tension is palpable as the couple argues, body language tight and wrought with frustration. Stray can’t tell if Debbie is about to cry or scream, maybe both. Doug looks as if he’d like to rip the earth up and bury himself beneath it. 

“Everybody calm down, did anyone see anything suspicious?” 

“John fuckin’ Seed and his band of goons were here earlier, no one saw him grab the key, but no one else would have. Son of a bitch has it out for us.” 

“Alright, you wanna take me back to the office, I’ll have a look around,” Pratt asks Doug. 

“Yeah, no problem.” 

“You mind staying out here and talking to me, Debbie?” Dahlia offers, she’s not the most comforting person in the world, but the older woman clearly needs to get some stuff off her chest. 

“Yeah, I can do that.” 

Doug and Pratt go back to the office within the packing facility, leaving Dahlia alone with Debbie. 

“Lets find a place to sit down and just breathe for a minute, alright?” 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Debbie agree and Dahlia places what she hopes to be a comforting hand on the woman’s back, guiding her into the market stall where she saw benches. 

She settles in across from Debbie, who wrings her hands together. 

“No pressure and you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but if you need an ear, I’m willing to listen.” 

“Don’t even know where to start, ever since John Seed set his sights on the orchard, it’s been a nightmare.” 

“He been making life hard for you?” 

“That’s the understatement of the god damn century, that church has been buying up properties since they got here. The railyard, the old summer camp, the veterans center, the conservatory; list goes on…I use to wonder why everyone sold out to them, but I fuckin’ get it now.” 

“They’re persistent?” 

“They’re fucking heartless. Me and Doug built this place from the ground up; John Seed made an offer and we said no. Next thing we know; roads are blocked so our shipments can’t go out, they buy up the fertilizer plant and we can’t use it to help the new crops, cargo trucks are toting away product in the dead of night, and now this shit. We’ve been hemorrhaging cash ever since he set his sights on us. Got an attorney involved and all they did was charge us.”

“I’m so fucking sorry, I can’t even imagine how hard this is for you.” 

“We had a good year for crops, thought we’d break even if nothing else, then what little we got was taken. I can’t even pay my god damn workers, we’ve had to let go of folks who’ve been here for years because they couldn’t keep working for free cider.” 

The woman lets out a breath, body deflating as she finally gets everything off her chest, but her blue eyes are brimming with tears. Dahlia offers her a tissue from her pocket, not sure what else she can do, watching the woman dab at her eyes. Despite the help Joseph and his church has given to Dahlia and Cassie, this sort of behavior can’t be enabled. Theodore was stealing booze from The Spread Eagle, on the order of John Seed, when she first came here. Lonny hasn’t exactly been shy about insinuating he should just be allowed to take her motorcycle. So, it’s not far fetched to imagine them getting greedy. As ironic as it is to attach a sin to church goers. 

“They can’t do that shit.” 

“But they do, no evidence though, nothing can be done. If the cops even bother to show up, no offense, but a lot of your station ain’t doing their fucking jobs.” 

“No offense taken, I’m not gonna sit here and tell you every cops here for the right reasons. But, uh, if there’s something I can do to help, I want to.” 

“Short of a miracle, I don’t think there’s much we can do. Take John’s next offer, try to fuckin’ survive.” 

“There has to be a way for you guys to keep the orchard,” Dahlia murmurs more to herself than Debbie, at the end of it all the young deputy doesn’t have a dog in the fight. But, her heart does break for the couple and she wants to find some way to help. 

“I’m willing to try anything at this point.” 

“Ever think of doing any kind of apple festival or something? I mean people do that, sounds nicer than one for testicles.” 

“Pssh,” she laughs a little at the way Dahlia wrinkles her nose, “it’d take a lot of work to get something like that set up.” 

“I mean, do you really think the rest of the county won’t come together to help, you can do stands, have food, games, charge some money. I mean, it’s an idea.”

“We got stands for the market, don’t know if I can cook for a whole county though, if they even show.” 

“Do you think Casey or Chad would help out?” Dahlia brings up the cooks from the Spread Eagle and Grill Steak. Small communities are suppose to come together in times of crisis, that’s the hope at least. Lloyd always told her that’s what he loved about Hope County and Reinette, everyone’s willing to pitch in. 

“Maybe… Casey knows the runners of the Testy Festy too, he could help up get vendors and games set up, I…ya think we can actually do this?” 

“Way I see it, best case scenario, it gets you through the rough spot, sticks it to John Seed, and you could do it every year for an income boost. Worst case scenario, you go down swinging, having some fun,  and with friends by your side,” Dahlia tells her honestly with a shrug, she doesn’t want to give false hope, but even in worst case scenario, it’s worth it to go down swinging. 

“That’s,” she smiles, tears clearing, she looks hopeful finally, “that’s hard to argue with, you gonna help?”

“Of course, I can see about talking to Casey tonight even.” 

“Deb?” Doug’s voice calls out and the women leave the market stall, Doug and Pratt have come back from the office Pratt raises an eyebrow, eye drifting from the now happy Debbie, to Dahlia. Silently asking her what the hell happened. 

“There wasn’t anything that can pin it on anyone, no security footage or prints, sorry,” Pratt tells her. 

“I figured… Doug, me and Deputy….” she searches for Dahlia’s name only to realize she doesn’t know it, “…her have been talking, what do you think about throwing together a festival?” 

“A festival?” 

“Yeah, we could get the county together, might just be what saves this place. I…just…I don’t wanna give up yet. She said she’d help, I think, I think we can do this.” 

“We’d need to move fast and a festival take a lot of time to set up.” 

“I mean, we get enough people on board, I can’t see why we can have it ready to go by, next Friday, the 10th?” Dahlia cuts in to help, that’d give them a little over a week, short notice but not impossible. 

“You planning on helping?” 

“Of course,”Dahlia beams, but no reason she can’t volunteer some more help, she throws an arm over Pratt’s shoulder, “we’d both be happy to help anyway we can.” 

“What?” Pratt asks blankly and she just gives him a friendly smack on the chest, if he can force her into a church barbecue, she can damn well rope him into helping a local business. 

“Well then, I think next Friday could work,” Doug admits. 

“We could hold it Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. An entire weekend for everyone to come together, have some fun and maybe save this place,” Debbie tells him, smiling wide.

“Okay, lets do it.” 

“Hell yeah.” Dahlia grins, the formerly frustrated and desperate couple are now smiling bright as can be. Warmth is burning in the rookie deputy’s chest, proud that she can help them get those smiles back. 

“Yeah…well, guess I can help,” Pratt admits, still glaring at Dahlia in his peripheral, she’s just amazed he hasn’t pushed her off of him yet. 

“I’ll try to talk to Casey tonight, if the bars too busy, I’ll try tomorrow. Then I’ll get in touch with Chad, ask around about music, games, anything we could need.”

“Gotta find a way to advertise it.” 

“I’ll figure it out,” Dahlia tells them, confident she can put it together, “you guys worry about getting the orchard set up, getting food, cider, prices, and all that figured out. And if you need anything just call down to the station and ask for Rook.” 

“Thank you, seriously, both of you.” 

“No problem,” Pratt says, though there’s a sigh in his voice, “our probie here just loves to help people.” 

“Well, it is my job, speaking of which, you said the church is blocking the roads?” 

“Yeah, our trucks can’t even get a shipment out.” 

“Do you know where they’re set up?” 

“Yeah, the road that leads from Holland valley out to Missoula, if you follow it far enough, why?” 

“Public roads legally can’t be blocked,” Pratt explains for her. 

“So, we’re gonna pay them a quick visit.” 

“Thanks again, we’ll be in touch, Deputy.” 

They wave off the couple, saying their goodbyes as they climb back into the cruiser. A beat of silence passes without Pratt starting the engine. 

“What the fuck, Rook?” 

“What?” 

“You know your getting yourself into deep shit, right? Pissing off the church right after they helped you out?” 

“Them helping me out ain’t a free pass to do whatever they want. I can get along with someone and still hold them accountable for their bullshit. They have no right trying to railroad Debbie and Doug like that.” 

“And you have no right dragging me into it.” 

“You volunteered me for the fuckin’ church barbecue.” 

“That’s different.” 

“How?” 

“We were off the clock, not work hours.” 

“What about trying to pressure me into going to the Rye barbecue, while at Redlers, technically on the clock.” 

“That was also different.” 

“How?” 

“’Cause you’re the rookie and I’m allowed to be mean to you.” 

“No, that is not how that works!” 

“Is too, the entire point of hiring rookie cops is to hassle them, you don’t get to hassle back.” 

“Well, too bad, fucker we’re throwing an apple festival.” 

“Jesus christ.” 

“It’ll be fun.” 

“It’ll be a pain in my ass,” he says, grumbling as he starts the engine, taking off out of the orchard. 

Dahlia sticks her tongue out at him as they wind through the roads. Apple trees become the usual firs and pines, road signs starting to indicate they’re in route to Missoula. The young deputy watches the woods pass by, where the trees meet the blue sky, farmland occasionally breaking the landscape with cows meandering around. 

It’s not long before they come to a stop and sure enough, large slabs of concrete are across the roadway. White trucks bearing the Eden’s Gate symbol are slotted behind them, black flags with the symbol in white stream from the back, and sturdier white vans are nearby as well. Members of the church are gathered there, woman with overgrown hair and men with hairy faces, a few she recognizes. All looking at the stopped cruiser with some measure of anger or worry. 

“Hey, deputy,” it’s Waylon who greets Dahlia, smiling at her, “what seems to be the issue?” 

“Your blocking public roads,” Pratt is the one to answer. 

“Oh, see the thing if, the church is having some property worked on nearby. So, we really can’t have anyone driving through here, it’s temporary of course.” 

“You can’t do that, though,” Dahlia explains, “if you need to fence off private property, you need to do it along the property line. Unless you have permission from the state, you cannot block public road access.” 

“Deputy please, surely you understand.” 

“Waylon,” she puts a hand on his shoulder, “you know we get along and I don’t have anything against the church, but blocking the road affects everyone else. If you really need roads blocked off, you need to contact the right people and get permits first, okay?” 

“Understood.” 

“Okay, then, just clear out and everything will be fine.” 

He doesn’t seem happy, none of the church members do, but that’s the rules. She can’t even understand why’d they ever need to block the roads, if she didn’t know any better she’d think they were trying to keep people from leaving. 

They drive the trucks and vans away; Dahlia and Pratt even helping move the concrete blockades off the road. Why do they even have those? 

There’s still a sour note in the air once the block is cleared and the deputies have pulled away. She hates this weird back and forth; the church helping her but then doing something that gives her reason to doubt them. Wanting to be their friend but needing to put her foot down; wanting them and both the people who hate them to like her. Torn between the two as well as her child; like an unfortunate child in the midst of their parent’s divorce and she’s being forced to choose one. 

It’s getting close to evening, when they pull up to the station to put in the report. The usual folks are in the bullpen, Hudson working at her computer with a mug of coffee and Brennan at his desk as well. The faces she’s come to know the best outside of Pratt. He plops himself down into his chair at his desk and Dahlia decides to grab another energy drink from the kitchen first.

She’s managed to rummage through the collection of tana cola bottle to find it, cracking it open with a yawn as she leaves the kitchen. 

“…it wouldn’t have been so bad if Rook didn’t volunteer me for some bullshit.” 

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic.” 

“Jesus fuck,” Pratt jolts in his chair, nearly toppling it over, “that’s it, we’re getting you a god damn bell!” 

“Didn’t know you were into that, Staci,” Brennan says with a snicker. 

“Shut up.” 

“Oh, please, no one’s buying it,” Hudson says, rolling her eyes. 

“There’s nothing to buy, Rook is an annoying shit, who just grabbed me and volunteered me for bullshit.” 

“You’re such a baby.” 

Dahlia reaches out and flicks his ear, laughing when Pratt grabs her hand, fingers intertwining as he tries to push her back. She brings her other hand up, trying to reach out and flick him with her other hand.  But he grabs it in the same way, the two pushing against each other, both grinning like children. She’s not even sure what the goal is and Pratt probably doesn’t either. But then his office chair wheels slide back from the force and she’s found a goal, pushing Pratt across the room. No particular reason for it other than the idea of watching him sail across the bullpen makes her giggle.  But he won’t let go of her hands enough that she can push him without him dragging her too. 

“The hell are you two doing?” Whitehorse’s voice booms out when he walks in to see the two deputies horsing around. 

“Being idiots.” 

“I don’t know, looks like flirting to me.” 

Hudson’s insult and Brennan’s teasing makes red flush up the two bickering deputy’s cheeks. They’re technically holding hands and leaning into each other’s personal space, Dahlia realizes. Pratt suddenly drops her hands, jolting away as if her skin has burnt his, and pushing his chair away from her. Nearly toppling over a trashcan in his haste. 

“Yeah why the hell you holding my hand, Rookie?”

“You grabbed my hand first, asshole!” 

“No, I didn’t.” 

“Yes, you did.” 

“You did.” 

“You absolutely did.” 

Hudson and Brennan agree with Dahlia, Pratt’s face going from pink to scarlet. Whitehorse rolls his eyes, no doubt questioning his hiring decisions. How any of them still have jobs is a mystery, except Hudson. 

“How’d things go at the orchard?” The sheriff asks, adjusting his cowboy hat. He really does look like such a stereotype. 

“We couldn’t find any evidence of who broke into the office, they grabbed the key, so I told Doug he should look into changing the locks and investing in some security cameras. They’re dead set on it being John or someone with the church though,” Pratt explains, rolling his chair back up to his desk. 

“You know it was,” Brennan scoff, “damn church is destroying the whole county.” 

“Now, now, you can’t go making accusations without evidence, I just hope Debbie and Doug can bounce back.” 

Dahlia doesn’t miss the roll of Brennan’s eyes and the sneer on his lips, he doesn’t like Eden’s Gate or Whitehorse’s attitude towards them it seems. She’s rarely seen the officer without a smile, but lips curled and leg bouncing, he seems a moment away from flipping the desk in front of him. 

“Well, if Rook’s plan works, they’ll do fine.” 

“Your plan?” Whitehorse looks at her with a raised eyebrow; her fellow deputies and Brennan all look at her expectantly as well. She scratches at the back of her neck, skin prickling at the attention. 

“Oh, uh…well, I figured they could do like an apple festival, be fun for the county and help raise some money for ‘em.” 

“That the plan you were bitching about, Pratt?” Brennan raises an eyebrow at him. 

“It’s a pain in the ass and the Seed family is gonna be pissed.” 

“So, apple pie and pissing off the Seeds, I’m fuckin’ sold,” Brennan sticks his fist out to Dahlia and she bumps her knuckles to his, grinning, “anything I can help with, just say the word.” 

“Seriously, see why can’t you be my partner?” 

“Hey, rude.” 

“’Cause we’d never get Pratt to stop whining about it.” 

“What the hell, you’re suppose to be on my side, Beau.” 

“I don’t remember agreeing to that.” 

“I’m willing to help out too if I can,” Hudson cuts in between the banter, eyes soft, “I still remember going apple picking there with my family, I don’t wanna see Doug and Debbie lose that place.” 

“Yeah…that place has a lot of memories for everyone,” Pratt admits, hazel eyes deepening with nostalgia. 

“Still remember the first year you came with us,” Hudson grins, “Mark tried to lift you up to grab an apple and you just started sobbing.” 

“Your brother was trying to kill me and I stand by that,” Pratt smiles as he pretends to defend himself. 

“When are Deb and Doug planning on having the festival?” Whitehorse asks Dahlia. 

“Aiming for the next Friday, the 10th, they wanna see if they can do it the whole weekend too.” 

“Lot of work to get done if that’s gonna happen.” 

“I know, I’m planning on talking to Casey as soon as I can. See if he’ll help cook and if there’s any testy festy supplies or vendors he can help with.” 

“Mary May has a live band that plays once a week, they might be willing to play,” Hudson offers. 

“Think they’d work cheap or free? I’d hate to stiff anyone and I’ll pay whatever I have too out of my own pocket, but the last thing we want is the festival costing more than it makes,” Dahlia explains, leaning against the wall as she talks it out. 

“If they’re not willing to work any or all of it, we could always talk to Wheaty too.” 

“Wheaty?” 

“Kid who lives up North,” Brennan points in the general North direction, “he’s been obsessed with starting a radio station for years, he’ll basically DJ anything for free just to show off his vinyl collection.” 

“That could work too.” 

“Addie would probably help with money for it, honestly, just throw some advertisements up for the Marina.” 

“Hell, if me and Staci ask her, she’d probably do it anyway,” Brennan gives a wide toothy smile. 

“Gross, but true.” 

“Didn’t Grace use to do those shooting competitions at fairs and shit, letting people pay to try and outshoot her?” 

“Yeah,” Hudson nods to Pratt’s suggestion, “she hates the attention, but if it’s for a good cause I’m sure she’d do it.” 

“I don’t think the Fowler brothers would bring Cheeseburger, since they gotta watch what he eats, but they might be willing to bring down some animals for people to see.” 

“Hell, if we could convince Rae Rae to bring Boomer; people will show up just get a picture of him.” 

“Pie eating contest would draw people in too.” 

“Lorna would probably make pasties for it if we asked.” 

Dahlia can’t help but grin at all the ideas and suggestions; a fire seemingly ignited in everyone. There’s a warmth in her chest and a swelling sense of pride that she could get everyone on board. The orchard means a lot to the county, not just Debbie and Doug. And she may actually be able to save it. 

“Woah woah, hold on now,” Whitehorse calls out and Dahlia stiffens, this technically isn’t police work, “is anyone writing all this down? Not gonna do anyone a lick of good if we forget something.” 

He smiles, blue eyes soft as Hudson grabs a piece of paper, writing down the ideas that’ve been said so far. Whitehorse is giving his stamp of approval and that pride in her chest only swells bigger, thumping against her ribs and making her smile widen. 

“Rook.” 

“Yes, sheriff?” 

“As long as you keep an ear to your radio, don’t see any reason you can’t work on some of this during work, alright?” 

“Yeah, absolutely.” 

“Good, Debbie and Doug deserve the best and we’re damn well gonna give it to ‘em, that’s an order.” 

The sheriff ruffles her hair before he leaves and her face hurts from smiling so much. She pulls up a chair to the desk, sitting with Hudson, Pratt, and Brennan as they keep working on ideas. All four stay past their shift hours; scribbling down all possible ideas, who they should reach out to and who should be the one to talk to them. Dahlia smiling the entire time as they talk late into the evening. 

[ludi-ling]

Crazy Eights

Well, here it is, a little treat for my followers - the first chapter of Crazy 8′s, the sequel to 52 Pickup. I’m sharing since it’s Day 7 (AU) of Rogue/Gambit Week 2020. I don’t know if I’ll ever finish this story, even though I got a fair way through it, since I wrote myself into a corner, and I’m not sure I like it very much. But I hope you like it anyway. Enjoy!

Crazy Eights

Chapter 1

               Thieving 101.

               Simplest rule in the book.

               Don’t get caught.

               I can hear pere’s voice in my head, clear as day, literally beatin’ the words into all of us, his snotty-nosed, grass-stain-scuffed li’l Fagin’s gang.

               Don’t. Get. Caught.

               And then his face, leaning in towards mine, grinning, saying:

               Unless, o’ course, you have a reason t’get caught.

               Yeah, that was mon pere, full of good, subtle ideas. He’d usually direct them at me cos he knew I was like the worst kind of sponge. I’d be soakin’ all that shit up, swimmin’ in it like a gator swims in swamp water.  As a kid, I’d always figured he was just picking on me. As an adult, I realise all he was doing was laying down challenges, cos he knew this punk-ass kid would rise to the bait every time, pushing every damn boundary he could along the way.

               You got potential, boy. But you got no discipline. Always halfway t’ bein’ in a rage, t’ ventin’ it out on some poor trash. You play de con, kid, you live de con. No heart-on-your-sleeve shit.  Dat stays inside. Cos y’know what? Folks can read dat crap a mile away.

               “C’mon, pretty boy,” the man to my right grunts, as the alarms I’ve set off still scream all around us. “Getcha arse in gear. The boss don’t take kindly to waitin’.”

               He prods me in the back with the barrel of his gun, a little too sharply than is strictly necessary; but I get it, he has a job to do, and actin’ mean is part of it.

               “Yeah, well, that’s what bosses are like, mon ami,” I answer with a smirk. “Never got time for nothin’. Mebbe you should think about goin’ freelance, neh?  It has its advantages.  No calls at unsociable hours… Don’t gotta do all the dirty work y’self… Get t’ have a couple of pretty femmes hangin’ on your every word… Still. I reckon mebbe you two ain’t smart ’nuff yet t’ graduate from the ol’ ‘Crime Boss 101’ course, am I right?”

               “Hey!” The guy to my left gives me a crack on the back of the head with what I assume is also the barrel of a gun. “Shut the fuck up!”

               See? Boring, predictable, run-of-the-mill flunkies. These couyons ain’t never gon’ make it past mid-tier bodyguard material.

               And those alarms are still screaming.  Ain’t some asshole gon’ shut it off already?  It’s givin’ me a headache.

               Whatever. I do as I’m told and shut the fuck up. Mostly because I’m busy scanning the décor of this corridor we appear to be walking down.  The walls are lined with paintings, a mess of eras and styles that could tell anyone with an ounce of taste that whoever’s collecting this shit has none.  Taste, that is.  All it tells me is that this guy has cash, and he don’t mind throwin’ it ’round.  We walk past a Cezanne, and I grimace.

               Hang on in there, li’l guy, I say to myself as we sweep right by it. One o’these days I’m gonna free you.  Soon.

               Cos let’s face it.

               You think I’m gonna leave a Cezanne to rot in Cain Marko’s fuckin’ playboy mansion when it could be on my wall?

               I think not.

               We get to the end of the corridor and, thankfully, as soon as we do, someone finally finds the off switch to the alarms. My lovely escorts throw open the burnished oak doors that I can only assume lead to Marko’s private hidey-hole; and before I have a chance to admire the woodwork, I’m being pushed inside in yet another unnecessary show of who’s boss.  I stumble a little over the threshold, and there he is.  Cain Marko, kingpin of London town.  A big, ugly, concrete slab of a man with a mat of red hair and a jaw like a foot.  He’s sitting on a burgundy-red velvet sofa that looks to be late Victorian.  Possibly a Chippendale? Something to research later.  True to form, he has a girl on each knee.

               Crimes bosses.  I toldja so.  Predictably borin’.  Boringly predictable.

               “Well, well,” Marko greets me with a menacing grimace and a Cockney rasp. “Robert Lord.  Your reputation precedes you.  Finally, we get to meet face ta face.”

               It’s at that point that Jake decides to kick in, a harassed voice in my earpiece, hissing: “Remy? Remy, where the fuck are you? Is everything okay?”

               I jerk my head to one side and Jake’s panicked questioning cuts out.

               “Yeah,” I address the man on the sofa. “Coulda been under better circumstances, though. Don’t much care for bein’ kicked around and chained up.” I clink the restraints at my wrists and ankles meaningfully. “Unless, o’ course, it’s consensual and there’s a woman involved.”

               An ugly grin crosses Marko’s face.  He shifts a little and pats each girl on the ass; they get the message and get to their feet, tottering out on stilettos that take a certain art to walk in – neither of them have it.

               “Well,” Marko says with mock disappointment as he, too, gets to his feet. “If ya wanted to meet under better circumstances, you coulda made a less shitty attempt to rob me, Mr. Lord.  I’d heard you were supposed to be some thief extraordinaire, but you ask me? You, breakin’ into my safe? That was pretty fuckin’ amateurish.”

               “Hey,” I banter back good-naturedly as I watch him walk over to the bar and pour himself a drink. “I got through most of your li’l traps jes’ fine, mon ami.  You wanna talk amateurish, let’s talk ‘bout your alarms. They’re more fuckin’ painful than Tante Mattie boxin’ me onna ears.  And it takes too long to shut ‘em off.  Either that, or your flunkies are too stupid to figure out how.”

               Marko, who’d looked half-amused up to this point, lets his mouth drop into a disdainful sneer.

               “Y’know somethin’, yank?” he growls at me, turning back from the bar. “You talk too fuckin’ much.”

               I raise a wounded eyebrow at him.

               “Yank? Hey, now you’re just insultin’ me.”

               “Oh really?” He laughs; and I take back the comment about his alarm system. This is worse. “Mr. Lord, insults are gonna be the least of your problems tonight. No one steals from Cain Marko and gets to just walk out again. You picked the wrong house to rob, mate.  This is one job you ain’t walkin’ out of.”

               He lifts his chin slightly and calls out:

               “Klein?!”

               There’s no answer, and he gives an irate little pause, looks over his shoulder and says again:

               “Klein?! Where the fuck are you?”

               “I’m here,” a woman’s voice replies from a darkened corner, her presence so unexpected it even causes me to jump.

               “Fuck me, woman,” Marko rasps at her. “How long you been standin’ there?”

               The woman says nothing, simply stepping out from her corner.  I realise there’s a door there.  It’s impossible to say whether she’d just walked through, or whether she’d been there all along.  Marko ain’t big on lighting.  Which is a shame, ‘cos Klein is a woman to be looked at.  Mile long legs and a figure to get all wrapped up in.  Brunette hair scraped back into a bun that begs to be loosened. A glance like wildfire.

               “Sorry,” she says with a small twist of humour, all delivered in a perfectly delicious and proper English accent.  I feel some sorta expression begin to form on my face; an appreciative little smile begins to shift round my lips.

               Forget pretty girls tottering around in sexy stilettos they can’t walk in.  This is a woman.

               She glances over at me, then back at her boss with an expectant expression.

               “This shit thief stole me old lady’s engagement ring.” He takes a cellphone out his back pocket and stares at it. “Lesse how fast you can find it for me.”

               Klein don’t waste time mincing words.  Unlike the two couyons behind me, she’s calm, quiet, efficient.  She marches on up with a roll of the hips that’s entirely unconscious.  When she’s finally in front of me, I catch a whiff of her perfume – a barely-there scent that’s not quite fruity and not quite flowery.

               I cock my head to one side and hitch her a smile.

               She doesn’t take the bait.  Her expression is composed as she sizes me up, wondering where to start.  It’s as if she hasn’t even noticed my smile at all.

           “Be gentle, chere,” I quip.

              That’s when she raises her eyes and gives me a look – part disinterested, part unimpressed. Her facade is almost frosty, but it don’t fool me. Beneath the cargo pants and the bomber jacket and the unadorned face, there’s a something to this woman. It’s in the sway of her hips and the sensuousness of her scent. It’s in a whole lot more besides.

              She frisks me in all the usual places, and, Goddamn, her hands alone are enough to set me on fire. Her movements are precise, clinical... yet as insinuating as the touch of a lover.

              Did I mention yet I haven't had sex in 8 fucking weeks?

              She gets on her knees and runs her palms down my legs, and it’s almost more than I can take.

              “While you’re down there, chere...” I can’t help but say; and she pauses, looks up at me with steely eyes and says... Nothing.

              Her gaze fixes on my fly like it’s the only option left, and now we’re talkin’.

              She holds eye contact as she raises both hands, and thumbs open the button of my pants. Her look is impassive; but there’s an undercurrent there, a something that’s signalling to me loud and clear. She unzips my fly slow as a strip tease, and that’s when the shadow of a smile flickers across her face – a brief split second of something more, something to work with.

              Jesus Christ, I’m holding my breath.

              She knows what I’m thinking. She rises to full height and this time she doesn’t bother to hide the smile. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

              “Thought you were s’pposed t’be lookin’ for contraband, p’tite,” I can't help but drawl. The comment wipes the smile from her lips and her gaze drops. She yanks open my fly and within a few short seconds she’s found the fob pocket hidden inside the waistband of my pants. Another split second later and she’s found the ring.

              She turns and flashes it triumphantly at Marko.

              “You made record time, Klein,” he observes approvingly, glancing up from his phone. “Twelve seconds. I’m impressed.”

              Twelve seconds? I swear it coulda been a lifetime...

              She throws the ring to her boss and I watch on, with a wistful sense of loss, as it arcs across the room and into his hand. Oh well. Next time, maybe.

              “If you’re done, chere,” I pipe up behind her, “mebbe you could zip me up again? O’ course, if you ain’t, we can always take dis somewhere a li’l more private... ...”

              I hadn’t exactly been expecting an answer, so I’m doubly taken off guard when she whips round and socks me hard with a fist to the face.

              I totter a bit, tasting blood and seeing stars.

              Damn, this woman packs a punch!

              In the background, Marko’s laughing raucously.

              “Looks like you chose the wrong woman t’ try and charm, yank.”

              Seriously? Enough with the ‘yank’ thing already!

              I grit my teeth and scowl as he continues:

              “Zip ’im up, Klein. I can afford to be charitable to trespassers. I think we can let him leave here with his dignity, if not his life. He has taste after all. Me old ma’s engagement ring,” and he grins sardonically over at me, “is my favourite piece outta my entire collection.”

              Klein obediently turns around and zips me up with more force than necessary. No more smiles and subtle flirtation. She doesn’t even look at me.

              “Sentimental value,” Marko is saying, turning the ring between thumb and forefinger as he approaches me. “That’s what this ring has, Mr. Lord. Me old ma woulda been turnin’ in her grave if I lost it. Specially to some shitty low-feeder like you.”

              I lick the blood from my lip slowly. Low-feeder, huh? This guy is really throwing out them punches tonight.

              “Yeah, I getcha,” I retort with a sarcastic grin. “Momma woulda slapped ya t’ kingdom come if you ever messed wit’ her jewellery. Beat you wit’ a belt, prob’ly, told ya you were a good f’nothin’ piece o’ shit, I’m willin’ t’bet. Sure, I can read a mommy complex a mile away, homme, and you got it bad.”

              I dunno what’s gotten inta me tonight. Or maybe I do. Frustration is a thing and a half. I'm fuckin’ wired, and I can’t stop running my damn mouth off. I ain’t usually this lippy. Honestly.

              Anyways, I’m steeling myself for a beating from my End-of-Level-Boss, but surprisingly he don’t take the bait. Judging from his get-up, he’s ready for a night out, and he don’t want my blood soiling his purple Savile Row suit. Which is good for me, ‘cos the rings on his fingers look like they could double up for some pretty nasty knuckle dusters.

              “I take it back,” he sneers down his nose at me. “This bloody yank don’t deserve jack.”

              He sweeps away and grabs his jacket.

              “You’ve been lookin’ t’prove yerself, ain’t’cha, Klein,” he throws over his shoulder at the woman still standing beside me. “Take care of Mr. Lord for me, and consider yerself one of the gang.” He walks over to a side table, pulls open a draw and takes out a gun. When he throws it to her, she catches it like she doesn’t even have to think about it. “Just make sure you keep some suitably gory keepsake for me to remember ’im by. I’m thinkin’ his teeth. He’s got them pearly whites you can only get in ’Murica. It'll remind me of ’is charmin’ smile.”

              He laughs to himself, throws the ring up in the air, catches it, and deposits it into his pocket.

              “Sorry, Mr. Lord,” he addresses me, “but I have places to go and people to kill.  Don’t worry. Klein’ll entertain you in the playpen.” He waves absently at a door to the right. “I’m sure she’s just itchin’ to get her hands on you.”

              He chuckles and heads for the door, followed by one of his henchmen, leaving with a final, gleeful, “So long!”

              The door bangs shut and now it’s just me, Klein, and Henchman #1.

              Wise strategy on Marko’s part, if Ms. Klein is basically untried and untested.  I might break her little heart, and Henchman #1 might have to put me down instead.

              I suppress a laugh at the thought.

              Klein says nothing. She turns abruptly and sticks the barrel of the gun into the small of my back.

              “Move,” she says.  Her voice is deadpan – nothing to work with.

              “Y’know, chere,” I venture conversationally, as I start shuffling over to the door, “I could speed up some if you’d jes’ untie these chains… Then we could get t’ playtime in the playpen a whole lot faster…”

              “Hey, shut up will ya!” Henchmen #1 barks at me, punctuated by a sharp poke in the back by Klein’s gun. All right, all right, already. I get the message.  They hustle me up to the door and next thing I know, I’m being shoved inside.  Henchman #1 shuts the door behind me and I hear the locks thunk shut.  Now it’s just me, and Klein.

              It turns out the playpen could give H. H. Holmes’ hotel of horrors a run for its money. It’s a pokey little room, and someone’s done gone and painted the walls in a nice shade of red and crusty brown. Blood, gore and brain matter.  The whole place stinks of death.  Merde. The light-hearted mood I’ve managed to maintain so far immediately takes a dive.

              “I take it housekeepin’ don't come round often,” I quip in an undertone – hardly as insolent as it could've been, but it earns me a kick up the ass anyway.  I stagger forward under the momentum, turning to face my would-be executioner as I do so.

              She has the gun pointed at me.

              “Chere, I’d put my hands up if they weren’t tied behind my—”

              The gun fires.

              And the bullet hits the wall over my shoulder.

              The crazy femme don’t give me a moment to recover.

              In a flash she’s lowered the gun and is marching right over to me, grabbing the front of my shirt and jerking me down into a hungry kiss.

              “It’s okay,” she whispers when she sees I’m too shocked to respond. “There aren’t any cameras in here.”

              The words are barely out of her mouth and she’s kissing me again. This time I slip easily out of the chains that I’ve been working on ever since they were clapped on me, and as soon as they hit the ground, I let my palms slide up over her cheeks, pulling her closer, deeper into our kiss. Her fingers wind into my hair, tugging lightly; her body presses against mine, reminding me exactly what I’ve been without the past couple of months. I grab handfuls of her perfect ass and pull her in closer.

              God, I’d fuck her right here, right now, if we weren’t in this shithole and this wasn’t a very important job.

              We kiss until we have no air left to breathe.

              “Lord, I’ve missed ya, Remy,” she murmurs against my lips.

              “Mmm, not as much as I’ve missed you,” I answer sincerely, stealing another kiss before adding heatedly, “Eight whole weeks without you, chere... It’s enough t’ drive a man certifiably insane.”

              She laughs, soft and sexy, her fingers combing lightly through my hair as she backs up a bit and regards me.

              “Darlin’,” she murmurs with a smile, “you were the one who said no contact...”

              “Didn’t wanna risk breakin’ your cover, Anna,” I reply, bridging the slight gap between us and feathering light kisses along her jawline. “Cain Marko’s gang don’t got a real nice reputation, sweet.”

              “Pfft,” she scoffs. “I can handle myself.”

              “For sure,” I agree. “But I’d prefer it if we didn’t tank this mission ‘cos we couldn’t keep our hands offa each other.”

              She hums with vague agreement and runs her thumb across my bottom lip.

              “Sorry about the fist to the face, babe,” she apologises. “Hope I didn’t hurt you too much."

              “Peh.” I wave it off absently – I'd pretty much forgotten it already. “You do what you gotta. Speaking of...”

              But she’s already way ahead of me, rooting around in her utility belt and taking out the small mem-chip case.

              “Nice distraction, by the way,” she congratulates me wryly as she hands me the goods.

              “Didja like it?” I ask her, pocketing the small case.

              “In theory. Thought you had more style, though, Cajun. You managed to set off every alarm in the fucking building.”

              “Heh. Just wanted to make sure you had enough time to pull the heist, cherie.”

              She rolls her eyes expressively.

              “You thought it was funny pissing everyone off, admit it. And what was all that business with the fob pocket?”

              “Chere,” I answer with mock sincerity. “Eight weeks of celibacy and you think I’m gonna pass up the chance to have you feel me up? C’mon.”

              The punch she lands on my bicep is enough to hurt.

              “You are such a troll!” she shoots at me with more affection than ire, I’m happy to say.

              “You love it,” I mutter, grabbing her helplessly and kissing her mouth soundly. We end up wasting a few more precious seconds making out again.

              “So what we gonna do, huh?” I ask her once we break apart. “Henchman #1 is waitin’ outside, and I figure we could both take him out pretty easy...”

              “Nuh-uh,” she cuts me off with a mischievous grin. “That’ll break our cover for sure. You, sweetheart, are taking the back door out.”

              Her gaze slides over my shoulder, and when I look back, I see that the back door is actually a chute in the wall. From the amount of gore it’s covered in, it’s pretty obvious it's a disposal chute – for corpses.

              “You have got to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me, p’tite,” I groan under my breath.

              “Think of it as payback for kicking me down that garbage chute back at the Plaza hotel,” she banters back lightly, clearly enjoying this.

              “Anna, after this, we’re even and then some,” I say dolefully.

              “Yup,” she replies cheerfully. She swoops in for another quick kiss before saying: “I’ll be waiting for you by the East gate in about 30. Got some stuff to finish up here, otherwise they’ll get suspicious.”

              “All right.” My response is half-hearted. I ain’t relishing goin’ down that chute, that’s for sure. Anna, however, is completely indifferent to my plight. She’s almost at the door already when I stop her.

              “Uhh… Anna?”

              She stops, turns.

              “What?”

              I point down at my chained-up ankles.

              “Li’l help, please?”

               She gives a theatrical sigh; but she comes back anyway, dropping to her knees and undoing the chains round my ankles.

              “I’m pretty sure you could do this yourself faster than I ever could, Cajun,” she says pointedly, to which I shrug and reply:

              “Sure. But havin’ you down on your knees in front of me brings back all sorts of happy mem’ries I’ve been denied the past couple of months.”

              The chains clatter to the floor and she quirks an unimpressed look at me.

              “Jesus. You’re puttin’ out more pheromones than a skunk puts out spray.”

              “Chere, I been insulted ’nuff today, bein’ called a ‘yank’ an’ all. You reckon you could find an analogy a little more flatterin’ than a skunk?”

              She gets to her feet and plants her hands on her hips.

              “Swamp boy, there ain’t enough analogies in the world for the dirty things I wanna call you right now,” she declares in her gorgeously titillating and rarely-bestowed native Mississippi accent.

              “Oooh,” I banter back. “Dirty, huh? Beb, when I get you home tonight, you can call me all the dirty things under the sun. I can’t wait.”

              She chooses to ignore the statement, walking over to the chute instead and pulling it open. When she looks back at me, she’s smiling sweetly.

              “Sugar, when we get home tonight, the first thing you’re gonna do is take a shower. Cos once you’ve gone down this here chute, you’re gonna be dirty as hell, and not in a good way.”

              Trust her to kill the mood. I peer down the hole gingerly. The miasma wafting up from down below is worse than any skunk’s.

              “Chere, you wanna rethink this? Only I get the feelin’ one shower ain’t gon’ be enough t’ get the stench out...”

              “Quit being such a baby!” She’s smiling way too hard for my liking at this point. “The sooner you get this over with, the sooner we can wrap up this job.”

              I step reluctantly up to the edge of the hole, and she leans in over my shoulder, murmurs in my ear: “And the sooner I can get my hands on you again.” She lets that suggestion linger. And, Dieu, does it linger.

              “Now buckle up and hold onto the railings,” she warns me.

              “What railings?” I manage to get out, before her boot heel connects with my ass, and I’m suddenly tumbling through the filth and mire down, down into the depths of the Marko mansion.

-oOo-

[Chapter 2 now here!]

[phobiadeficient]

SpeedingBullet but make scout completely oblivious for way too long

“so we both have buckets of fried chicken, you wanna do it?” ass bitch over here can’t even spell subtlety let alone understand it so good fuckin luck with that crush sniper

-

Scout’s pickup lines generally consisted of walking up to someone attractive, looking around to make sure they were alone enough to not be overheard, and asking them if they either wanted to go out or wanted to have sex depending on his mood.

So Sniper was pretty sure that wooing Scout wasn’t exactly necessary, but Sniper also generally tried to hold himself to a standard regardless of “necessity”. So he decided to go about it the right way anyways.

One day when he was hanging out in the base for once, Scout ducked into the common room and asked if anyone wanted to go with him to get something “real” to eat. Sniper volunteered. That started a weekly routine of them going off-base every Saturday to get tacos together at the nearest place that sold them, half an hour away.

For Scout’s birthday, Sniper got him a present—a record player, so he wouldn’t constantly need to argue with Heavy and Demo about whose turn it was to play music in the common room. One week, Scout got the flu, and Medic basically quarantined him off so he wouldn’t spread it to the rest of the team. Sniper spent an afternoon digging up the recipe for soup that he had from back home, making enough that Scout wouldn’t need to cook anything for himself for the next week or so until he was allowed at team dinners again, bringing the first serving of it to him and hanging out with the kid even though he knew he might get sick, and on Saturday he specifically called in a favor with Pyro and had them cook tacos so he could bring them by. The team went out drinking one weekend, and he and Scout sat together practically the whole night. When most of the team decided to finally head out, Sniper waved them off and offered to drive himself and Scout back later, promising not to drink too much. Scout expressed an interest in getting up and dancing when one of his favorite songs came up on the radio, and somehow Sniper roped himself into dancing with Scout for long enough that the next morning his legs were sore.

Scout didn’t seem to think anything of it. He stepped up his game.

He asked Scout if he wanted to go out and get coffee at some point. Scout told him he didn’t like coffee, it messed with his stomach, and that energy drinks were totally where it’s at. He asked if Scout wanted to get dinner. Scout agreed that wow it really had gotten late, it was dinner time already, they better hurry up before the rest of the team inhaled the meal.

He asked if Scout wanted to go on a date.

Scout said, man, like you wouldn’t believe! But lately whenever he hit on people they didn’t seem to ever catch on. He asked Sniper if he knew what that was like.

Sniper said, yes. He knew that feeling intimately.

He got tired of it. It had been nearly five months of subtle hints, gentle pushes, pointed questions. A whole five months of light flirting, compliments, Sniper paying for their food and Sniper carving out all of his free time and Sniper constantly, constantly setting himself up and never finding any payoff for it. It was the worst kind of edging.

And yes, he very much wanted to just hop into bed with Scout. But he also very much wanted to date Scout, it would seem. Yes he wanted to situate his body between Scout‘s heavily muscled thighs and drive him absolutely insane. But also he wanted to kiss Scout hello in the morning.

He’d gotten sappy. God damn it. Now it would hurt a lot worse if Scout rejected him. But he couldn’t find it in himself to even be scared of that, because he’d been on an almost seven month dry spell by then, not wanting to be so much of an asshole to go for several people at once without their knowledge, so he was mostly just concerned with getting a yes or no answer so he could move forward in one direction or another.

It was Valentine’s Day. It was after work. He showered, unpacked his nice suit that he sometimes used when he had to go out on contract, bought a bouquet, and marched himself directly through the base to Scout’s room and hammered his fist on the door.

Scout opened the door.

“Do you, Scout,” Sniper asked, “want to go out on a date, romantically, with me, Sniper, tonight on this Valentine’s Day? Please?”

Silence for two seconds. “Oh, fuck. That was flirting, wasn’t it?” Scout asked, apparently coming to a series of realizations.

“Yes. It was. For about five months for what it’s worth.”

“Since we started Taco Days?” Scout asked, eyes widening.

“Since a bit before, yes.”

“Oh god. Oh fuck. Shit, I’m so sorry.”

Sniper felt his heart sink, some of the determination seeping out of his shoulders. “Is that a no?” he asked, a bit less firmly now.

“No, yes, I—no it’s not a no, yes I wanna date you,” Scout clarified quickly. “Uh. Fuck. Shit. Where?”

“Anywhere,” Sniper shrugged. “But the taco place is open. They have a special for couples tonight.”

“You wanna be couples?” Scout asked, a little surprised.

“Ideally.”

Scout thought about it for a second. “I mean, yeah, sure! Okay! Or, I dunno, first date and then if it goes well—shit, Taco Day has been a date hasn’t it? Uh. First romantic date—not that it’s not romantic—“

“Look, it’s already almost six and they’re closing at ten,” Sniper cut in.

“Yeah, I’ll get changed,” Scout agreed quickly, moving to shut the door before catching himself and taking the flowers first, clearly shocked by the entirety of the proceedings. “Fuck. I’m real fuckin’ stupid, huh Snipes?”

“You’re lucky it’s cute,” Sniper deadpanned. “Meet me outside in twenty?”

“Thirty, I gotta shower,” Scout replied, dragging a hand up through his hair self-consciously. “But yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you there.”

“Yeah,” Sniper nodded.

-

The date went fine. The drive over was weirdly quiet, and Scout fidgeted with the radio a lot more, drummed his fingers against his own leg, the same way he sometimes did before confessing that something was bothering him—nerves about the new niece he had on the way, or annoyance about some bullshit that one of the team had said to him, or guilt about some prank gone awry that he hadn’t confessed to. But he didn’t speak, just fiddling, drumming.

Then tacos were basically business as usual. Scout made a joke about what dummies they were, eating tacos in suits, how they were for sure gonna end up with sauce on their nice white shirts, and Sniper laughed, and they didn’t.

Halfway through, Scout started asking questions.

“So dudes, huh? That why you’d never say anything when I started goin’ off about some girl?”

“And jealously, but yeah, that too,” Sniper admitted. He was glad he’d elected to keep his shades on. They helped hide the fact that he was bad at eye contact at the best of times.

“I kinda thought it was because you had a girlfriend or a wife off somewhere that you never wanted to talk about, like how Spy’s a prick about that stuff. I mean, you don’t, right? Have a girl somewhere?”

“No. And not a bloke either, for what it’s worth,” Sniper replied.

“Okay. Cool. Good.” Scout fidgeted with a napkin, took a drink of water. “I mean, didn’t think you’re the type for that anyways, but… yeah.”

Sniper took a drink of his own water. Silence for a moment.

“And you kinda wanna just—you wanna do boyfriend stuff? With me?” Scout asked, confused, as if some part of the proceedings didn’t make sense to him.

“Feels a bit like I already do,” Sniper pointed out.

“I mean, not all the boyfriend stuff,” Scout mumbled, eyes back on his napkin. “I dunno. Maybe it’ll be nice though.”

“What sorts of “boyfriend stuff” have I missed so far that you’d like to see more of?” Sniper asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Like, talkin’ about yourself more. You’re like, practically my therapist.”

“The complaining to me, you mean?”

“Yeah. And you barely ever complain back. Unless you’re agreeing with me that Spy’s a prick.” Scout looked up, baby blues trying to meet his eyes through his glasses. “I wanna hear more about you.”

Sniper couldn’t help but smile a little at that. “Alright. I can try. Besides that?”

Scout looked away, face going a bit red as the silence progressed. He glanced around their vicinity for a second, barely managing to meet Sniper’s gaze before he had to break it again. “C’mon man, you’re gonna make me say it?” he said quietly.

“Five months.”

“Fine, sheesh, I…” He ducked his head a little. “Maybe… kissing and all that crap.”

Sniper raised an eyebrow at him. Scout scowled when he glanced up and saw it.

“Look, I ain’t ever done this with a guy before, alright?” he said defensively, and he’d sunk pretty far by then down into his seat. “I dunno what the hell I’m doin’.”

“We can take it slow if you want,” Sniper suggested, feeling a little bad.

“I didn’t say that, I’m just tellin’ you I’m gonna be a total idiot,” Scout muttered.

“Oh? What all would you like to jump right into then?”

“I’m not sayin’ it in public, that’s all I’m gonna tell you,” Scout said stubbornly, and Sniper laughed, and allowed him to change the subject to something else.

Scout paid the tab, saying it was his turn anyways, As usual, Sniper drove them to the taco place and Scout was the one to drive them back. Conversation was limited, both of them relaxed and satisfied.

Scout surprised him by pulling off the route they took back to instead park them at one of those roadside tourist-y areas where people could stop and stretch their legs on road trips and take photos and read a plaque. It was empty, of course it was, and the second Scout had the car in park and the keys out of it, dropped onto the dashboard, he promptly jumped the gearshift and landed himself in Sniper’s lap.

“Okay,” Scout opened with. “So here’s the thing.”

“Right?” Sniper replied hesitantly, hands on Scout’s waist, glancing him up and down.

“So like, me about guys, that’s usually secondary to the girls thing. Because girls are great. Usually it’s only really hot guys who I’d go for. And I guess I kinda more thought about you as a coworker mostly for a long time, right? Because you were. But then, I dunno, at some point I guess it clicked a little, right? That you’re hot.”

Sniper grinned. “Yeah? What is it, which part?” he asked.

“Stubble’s a big one,” Scout admitted. “And you know how to handle your gun crazy well, and can totally fuck a guy up with your knife. It’s real hot. And you’ve got these shoulders, and like… a lot of things basically,” Scout concluded, hands finding the shoulders in question. “And just, man. You look fuckin’ good in a suit. And I just wanna… I don’t even know what. I wanna do somethin’ to you.”

“Kissing’ as good start,” Sniper suggested, and Scout needed no further prompting, leaning in and spending exactly five seconds kissing Sniper like a good Christian boy before he promptly got filthy with it, pulling tricks with his tongue that made Sniper groan.

He broke away again, breathless. “Hate to take this off since you like it so much,” he admitted, tugging at his own tie pointedly.

“Well I fuckin’ know I wanna do that to you,” Scout said, and started working Sniper’s suit jacket off of him.

Scout mostly moved to toss the components of Sniper’s suit into the back seat carelessly, stripping him to his undershirt before he helped Sniper get off his own dress shirt. He managed to get his own pants undone before he apparently got impatient, nipping at Sniper’s freshly exposed collarbones with those rabbitish teeth of his, making Sniper’s hands fumble where he was at work on his own belt.

“Have an idea enough about how this works to know how you’d like to do this?” Sniper asked, a rumble into his ear that made Scout shiver.

“I dunno, just touch my dick, fuck,” Scout said impatiently, and got back to work marking up Sniper’s neck like he was getting paid, starting to grind down into him. Sniper was distantly aware of the fact that the windows were starting to fog.

The fact that he suddenly realized he didn’t actually have any lube or condoms on him, having assumed they’d get back at least to base before they started making out like horny teenagers, meant that their options were limited, but Sniper wasn’t that worried about it. He just got to work trying to worm Scout’s pants down his thighs, working with the rhythm of rolls that he’d established. He got a bit impatient, grabbing around the back of Scout’s thighs with both hands to lift him up enough to work his own pants down past his knees before letting him back down again, a moan startled out of him as Scout promptly grinded against him, making a similar noise.

“Hold on,” Sniper grunted, stopping Scout with a hand on his hip, raising the other to his own face to spit in it once, twice, before lowering it to slick both Scout and himself, and then he was wrapping a hand around them both as best he could and starting to jerk.

Scout’s reaction was immediate, starting to roll his hips into the wet, slick grip, eyelashes fluttering and mouth falling open around gasps, the first silent and every one after that satisfied.

“C’mon,” Sniper prompted, nosing in just below his chin and kissing his throat briefly. “Help me out with this. Get your hand wet—yeah, there you go—now c’mon, right here. Good. God, yeah, like that. There’s a beauty.”

Scout used his free hand to wrap around Sniper’s shoulder to pull him close, mashing their lips together gracelessly but enthusiastically. Sniper’s free hand moved at first to grip at Scout’s ass, satisfied at the fact that he could now do so, then eventually to toy with Scout’s chest, pinching at one nipple and then the other, wringing all sorts of noises from Scout’s mouth and into his own and enjoying every second of it.

He felt Scout getting close quicker than he did, and tried to make up for the distance by starting to also roll his hips up into his fist, a steady roll that made him groan and pinch harder, grip just slightly tighter. He was distantly aware of the fog that clung to the windows, of the sweat on his own forehead and Scout’s chest beneath his hand, of the squeak of the car’s suspension as they rocked it, but mostly he just focused on the mounting pleasure.

Scout keened against his mouth, gasping damply against him as he stalled out, hips jerking and struggling. He opened his eyes, and the flush on his face, the redness of his lips wound wide around further noises of pleasure, the final gasp of “Fuck, Snipes,” that Scout managed to whimper, the feeling of Scout’s hand shifting to simply hold on to him instead of both of them, it had him finishing within a few strokes, his own noise much quieter.

In a few minutes, they’d start laughing at the cliche of fucking in a car, start struggling to clean up and get to their own clothes, start talking about how next time Sniper would show him how real fucking worked, about how they’d flip a coin to pick who’d be on top the first time.

Until then, they kissed, and at least in the afterglow, Sniper figured the five months were worth it. Just barely.

[mirohed]

han jisung | better off dead (i’ll be juliet)

{ HAN JISUNG + GENDER NEUTRAL!READER }

zombie apocalypse au, college au, best friends to lovers

fluff, angst

10.5k

playlist / title insp (yes it’s a thg fansong from 8 years ago)

content warning: this work contains the following: copious amounts of swearing, the mention and underage consumption of alcohol, the mention and use of weapons (guns, knives, blunt weaponry), descriptions of violent acts, and character death. read at your own risk.

a/n: happy 100 (technically 107) days to me and jisung 💓💓 special thanks to @tyongu for screening this fic and giving me the motivation i needed to pick this fic back up from its 5 month long hiatus && to @offonoffs for being a fellow member of jisung nation & expressing interest in this fic ,, it means a lot. 

reviews are greatly appreciated !

You used to think that zombies weren't a realistic sort of monster—not as real as climate change or capitalism, anyway. They were better suited to being enjoyed from the comfort of your couch as you curled up with a bag of chips on a Friday night.

This, of course, all changes the night you get that fateful emergency alert.

You're at Chan's house when it happens. He's invited you and the rest of campus to his frat house for one of his famed end-of-semester ragers. He spots you not long after you enter, catching you in a one-armed embrace, full cup of beer in hand.

"Hey, glad you could make it! The night's still young, but Felix said he'd set his Switch up for some Smash up later. You should join them if you get the chance." A girl from your communications class (Ryujin?) calls out to him, waving him to join her and a few unfamiliar faces for a game of beer pong. "Sorry, duty calls. If you ever get tired of the beer, you know where to find the good stuff," he says, shooting you some quasi-finger guns and leaving you to fend for yourself.

You slip past a few couples pushing themselves up against the walls on your way to the kegs, and fill a cup of your own. Minho's there, leaned against the refrigerator and taking small sips of his drink. "Surprised you haven't switched to Woojin's vodka yet," you joke.

"Usually, I have no qualms about...sampling, but taking from him's a death wish." Taking another sip, he grimaces. "If that means putting up with the cheap shit all night, I'll take it." You mumbled an "amen," knocking your matching red cups together in a toast. You both regretted the swig you took.

"Yeah, I can't do this." You dump the shitty alcohol in the drain. "You know where Jisung is?"

"No clue."

"Damn. Well, if you manage to find something to sample, give me a call. I'm gonna go find him."

You scour the entire first level of the house, weaving through clouds of marijuana and vaguely cotton-candy scented vape juice. Unfortunately, your best friend is nowhere to be found. You don’t bother trying his phone; if he was drunk (which he probably was), all you’d get in response would be unintelligible cheers as he “gets his party on.” You ask around for a bit, but each new set of directions sounds more ridiculous than the last. (You're still not sure if Yukhei was drunk and fucking with you or being completely serious when he said Jisung wasn't at the party at all. You wouldn’t be surprised either way.)

You call it quits after about a half hour, trudging upstairs and feeling both hungry and a little sorry for yourself. Sure, you had other friends, but the one person you wanted to get wasted with was nowhere to be found.

As you head upstairs, you notice the bathroom door is wide open. A glance to your left is all it takes to see Hyunjin kneeling on the bathroom tile, puking his guts out as Jisung rubs his back in a feeble attempt to provide comfort. You make eye contact with Jisung, and he nods his head in the direction of Chan's room at the end of the hall. "'Lix set the Switch up, but Hyunjin's busy being a lightweight." He shoots Hyunjin a withering look, but Hyunjin's too preoccupied to notice. "Take over for me? He picked Isabelle, and we both know how bad I get my ass kicked when he does," he grumbles, helping Hyunjin stand on both legs. "We'll join you guys in a few."

You're planning your victory against Felix (Jisung probably picked Lucario for the "cool factor," which didn’t mean much when all he did in rounds was button mash and hope for the best) when your phone goes off, loud and insistent. Jisung's goes off less than a second later, with Hyunjin's buzzing on the bathroom counter. Based on the way Felix pokes his head out of the door, phone in hand, you can only assume he got it too.

The official alert glares up at you, a few simple sentences in all capital letters.

EMERGENCY ALERT

ZOMBIE OUTBREAK. THE DISEASE IS CONTAGIOUS. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

You exchange a look with Jisung and Felix, all seeming to share one thought: This is bad. You had heard news of this disease before; highly contagious, with nonspecific symptoms that were often misdiagnosed until it was too late and necrosis set in. Scientists had found out that it was a mutation of a disease that was supposed to have been eradicated a century ago. 

Even people that were updated with their vaccinations could catch it; it was transferable via bodily fluids. If someone infected so much as got a drop of saliva or sweat on you, you were at risk.  ("Just goes to show you what happens when people don't vaccinate their fuckin' kids," Minho had said, changing the channel to a rerun of Friends.)

Chan shuts the party down, kicking everyone sober enough to walk out and housing the wasted. He urges them all to find shelter and head for safety as he waves them out. "Listen, if you ever need anything, I'm just a call away," he tells you as you return to your dorm.

Seungmin, the frat's designated driver for the night (that’s a lie—it was supposed to be Changbin, but he conveniently “forgot” and left the job to Seungmin), gives you a ride back at Jisung's request. ("I'm not letting you walk back and get infected," he had insisted, arms crossed.)

The first thing you do after getting home is call him. You spend most of the video call packing your bags, just in case, tossing cans and clothes into the biggest bags you can find.

"I'm starting to think those apocalypse planners had the right idea," you say, trying to cram another bottle of water into your bag. "I could use an apocalypse bunker right about now."

Jisung dries his freshly washed hair, draping the towel around his neck. "Maybe we should beg them for shelter."

"Maybe."

“Remember when we had that plan to build our own bunker back in high school? I wish we never threw those plans away.”

“Wasn’t it you that was like ‘we’re never gonna use these, what’s the point?’” you tease, voice dropping an octave to mock Jisung. “I, for one, always thought they were a good idea.”

“But you let me throw them away!” You put down the shirt you’re folding and plug your ears, shouting that you can’t hear him. He calls you a child, but the conversation makes you feel better about what might happen after tonight.

You’ll be fine, you tell yourself as you lie awake that night. This is just in case things go to shit.

Surprise, surprise, it doesn’t even take a full week before things go to shit.

"Get in!" Jisung shouts, driving down the road at a reasonable enough speed for you to keep up with. You don't bother asking why he has a horde of zombies chasing (hobbling, really) after him. Instead, you sprint behind him, tossing your bags into the truck bed before leaping on yourself.

"Where'd you come from?" you ask, panting as he hits the gas and barrels down the road. There are a few bags, full to bursting, in the trunk with you. "The city?"

"Yeah. We're going back." Your head cranes to look at him from the glass window at the back of his hand-me-down pickup truck in surprise. "Felix is out there somewhere, and we're not leaving him behind. Chan took the others, and we're meeting up with them after we pick 'Lix up. I called Chan earlier, so the cell towers should still be up by the time we get there."

"Can't we meet him halfway? No offense, but if we go back, we're gonna fucking die."

There's no compromise. The ride's silent, save the wind whistling in your ears as Jisung drives as fast as he can (it takes him awhile to realize he can go way over the speed limit; what are the cops gonna do, stop him?) Going back might not be a bad idea anyway; he needs more fuel to keep his truck up and running, and you don’t know about him, but you’re not exactly prepared to hunker down for the long term.

It's absolute chaos in the city. Buildings burn in the distance, smoke billowing out into otherwise clear blue skies. Corpses of the undead (who are now, with any luck, actually dead) litter the streets. People have already gone feral, welcomed the lawlessness of the new world with open arms. You turn down familiar streets and see families in a hurry to leave their homes and get out of the city as fast as possible.

"You stay here," Jisung says, parking across the street from the nearest megamart. You can barely make out the action going on outside the store, but you don't think there'll be much left for Jisung to take by the time he gets there. "Call Felix. I'm gonna see what I can take."

You sit on the roof of the truck, Jisung's worn old baseball bat (now outfitted with barbed wire) in hand. Trying not to cut yourself on the sharp edges, you call Felix.

"Hello?"

"Oh, thank god. I was scared the cell towers were already down. Where are you?"

"I made it to the outskirts of the city. There's a house up here. Jisung'll know where it is, we come up here all the time.”

“Alright. You doing okay?”

“Yeah, just a little shaken up, of course,” he laughs. “Didn’t think this was how I’d be spending my time after finals.” You murmur an agreement, and he continues talking. “Don't waste your battery, alright? See you guys soon." He hangs up, and your fingers itch with the urge to text someone, make another call, but Felix was right. It's not like Instagram's up right now; everyone's got bigger things to worry about.

After what feels like an eternity, Jisung comes running with a full backpack and...a suitcase?

"Where's Felix?" he pants, handing you the heavy suitcase and tossing the backpack in the back of the truck.

"He's in a house on the outskirts of the city? He told me you'd know where it was."

"Should've known. We gotta haul ass, though—I might've pissed off, like, a ton of people." Your eyes widen; there is, in fact, a group of angry people headed your way as you take a seat in the truck bed. Jisung floors it before any of them come close, letting them eat his dust.

“Where is this house anyway?” You’re yelling over the wind, but Jisung catches it nonetheless.

“The frat’s been going there for years, I heard. It’s some tradition to get shitfaced there for initiation, so we all had to go and drink whatever Minho gave us. I must’ve blacked out, because I barely remember it. We go up there sometimes, when we need to get away.”

You leave the city and go off-road, running over new grass. There's a house you've never seen before at the top of a small hill, and it's there that you see Felix. He's managed to attract one of the damn things, but he's definitely holding his own against it, landing a few impressive roundhouse kicks on it. He's whacking at it with a metal rod when you drive up the hill, but the zombie catches on and turns it into a game of tug-of-war.

Wrenching the rod away, he returns to kicking at it, staggering the zombie with one good hit to the ribs.

But the zombie seems to have caught on to that too, and it's as you pull up to the house that it grabs onto his leg and sinks his teeth into him. Felix cries out, his skin punctured and blood dripping onto the grass underfoot. He tries to yank his leg back, but can’t seem to summon the strength, his other leg hopping about to maintain balance.

Now that he's injured, the zombie drags Felix closer, clawing at his head before—

You can't watch, and neither can Jisung. There’s a sickening crunch, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

The next thing you see is Jisung running the fucker over. A distant part of you wonders if that's bad for the car, but it doesn't feel like you're there in the moment at all.

It's like you're watching the whole thing from a third-person view. You see yourself leap from the truck bed as soon as Jisung shifts the truck into park. You can almost see the seed of unease, of we're-so-screwed begin to sprout in the pit of your stomach. 

You can’t tear your eyes from Felix’s body. He’s lying face down (thankfully), but he’s stained the grass red, his leg twisted at an odd angle. You can make out the scratches along the side of his cheek from here, skin broken and bleeding. 

It’s red. It’s all red. Everywhere you look, it’s—

And then you're back in your own body, throwing the car door open to yell at him. "You fuckin' idiot!" you hiss. "Why'd you do that?" Definitely not the right thing to say, but you can't take anything back now.

"What do you think? I killed it before it could kill us." He ventures into the house, purposefully shoving past you with a harsh bump of his shoulder. You follow despite his clipped tone and tense shoulders. Together, you loot the house. Jisung seems to know where everything is, handing you everything from bags of chips stored away to bottles of whiskey. (You're about to ask about the alcohol when he mutters "Molotov." You figure it's not the only use they've got.)

You come upon Felix's pack. It's the backpack he used during the school year, most of the space taken up by his clothes. Jisung shoulders the bag wordlessly before turning to leave. All you can do is follow behind.

You watch the sun set as the busted speakers play some playlist he must have put together. (You admit it'd be a good road trip playlist if not for the fact that you were in the middle of the zombie apocalypse.) His knuckles are white against the wheel, and part of you wants to talk about what happened, but you take one look at his clenched jaw and hold your tongue.

Night falls. The two of you camp out in some crop-bearing fields. He starts a fire and speaks for the first time in hours.

"Do you want to take the first shift or should I?" He's looking right at you, but there's none of the usual light in his eyes. 

You think that when Felix died, part of Jisung died with him. 

You end up taking the first shift, judging time based on the occasional glance at your phone. You keep an eye and an ear out, watching the fire frame Jisung's sleeping face in subtle orange.

He doesn't want to talk about it, you tell yourself. And who would? You're not exactly eager to bring the topic up yourself. You lean back on your hands as you try to think of anything except what happened to Felix.

Before long, you nudge him awake. He's a little disgruntled, but you bug him until he sits up. "Yeah, yeah. I'm up. Get some rest." You curl up in the sleeping bag (Felix's sleeping bag, but you're still trying not to think about it) and shut your eyes.

The fire crackles lowly. You hear Jisung's bones crack as he stretches. You don't sleep.

When you crack your eyes open after god knows how long, the sky is still dark. "Can't sleep?"

"What do you think?" The corner of his mouth quirks up, just a bit. You swear you hear a faint chuckle. "You know we have to keep going, right? Without..."

"You can just say it, you know. Without Felix. Without our best friend."

"Yeah. Without our best friend." You cast the sleeping bag aside, staring at the flames. He pats the grass next to him, and you crawl over to his side. When he wraps an arm over your shoulder, traces meaningless patterns and letters into your arm, you don't complain. Maybe you even lean into his touch, knowing that it might be you and Jisung versus the world for awhile.

You think you're fine with that.

When the sun rises, you and Jisung make plans to meet up with Chan and the others; there's some safety to be found in numbers, after all. Neither of you mention having to tell them what happened to Felix.

Jisung calls Chan. Then Minho. Then Woojin. Then Seungmin. Then Changbin. Then Jeongin, who's still in his last year of high school, but is an unofficial member of the fraternity regardless. Then, as a last resort, he calls Hyunjin. Nobody picks up. Changbin and Minho's phones don't even ring, instead kicking him straight to voicemail. "Maybe their phones died," you offer.

"Disappointed, but not surprised." He pockets his phone with a huff. "The cell towers are probably down. How's the radio?" You've been playing with the radio while Jisung tried calling his friends, trying to find a signal.

"I'm about to rip out the stupid dial and crush the damn thing under my foot, but other than that I'm good," you snipe, throwing him a look and a fake smile. You turn the dial all the way in one direction, more than a little annoyed at all the static you seem to be catching. To your surprise, you hear broken, unintelligible chatter. You move the radio between you two, chasing after the signal.

"-vivors...proceed to... -ary base...infec... -on entry...supplies will be rationed...gates will close once maximum capacity has been reached." The message cuts out less and less as you fiddle with the radio, and once you wait for the announcement to repeat, the full message plays.

"Attention, all survivors. If possible, we ask that you proceed to the nearest military base or encampment. The military will be on patrol to execute zombies and the infected as well as rescue clean civilians and bring them to the nearest base. All civilians will be checked for infection upon entry and routinely throughout their stay. Supplies will be rationed for as long as possible. Gates will close once maximum capacity has been reached."

You and Jisung exchange a look as the message plays once more. When he breaks into a wide grin, you mirror it with a smile of your own. "We're saved!" he cheers, wrapping you in a big hug and knocking the radio on its side. You relax in his embrace, sighing into it. You don't make any moves to break the hug, and neither does he, even after it stretches on longer than a hug between friends should.

"One problem…” you start, voice muffled as you speak into his shirt, “where's the nearest military base?"

There’s a small hospital up ahead, the white building stark against all the browns and greens you two have been seeing the past few days. “Should we check it out?” Jisung asks, eyes flitting to you. “You never know when we’d need medicine or bandages.” 

“No. Before you ask why, I know we’re gonna run into zombies. I can feel it in my bones.” Jisung flattens his lips into a straight line, clearly unhappy with your verdict.

“Your bones don’t know shit.”

“Picture this: first semester of our freshman year of college, right before midterms. You’re barely passing your world history class because you don’t go to lecture. I help you cram for two days straight and tell you I can feel you getting an A in my bones,” you say, clenching your fist to emphasize your point. “When you get your midterm results back, you got an A, not only on the test…”

“...but in the class,” Jisung finishes with a roll of his eyes. “Okay, fair point. But what if you got hurt and I couldn’t save you because I didn’t have the medicine for it?” He’s pulling into the parking lot, but doesn’t shift the truck into park. You can still talk him out of it.

“Then you just let me die? It’s not that deep. Like yeah, it’d suck, but at that point there’d be nothing you could do.” 

His voice is so earnest that it forces your eyes to snap to him. “We both know I can’t do that.” There’s something behind his words, an undercurrent carrying a feeling you can’t name. Carding dirty nails through his hair, he gnaws on his bottom lip. “I think I’m gonna risk it. Besides, it’s out in the middle of nowhere. I doubt there’ll be too many zombies. You sure you don’t wanna come with?”

He stares at you, and you groan, giving in. “God, park the truck somewhere more discreet. We both know I’m gonna have to bail your ass out anyway,” you sigh, opening the glove compartment and withdrawing the knife Jisung had nabbed from the frat house’s kitchen. “Might as well come with and save myself the trouble of going in there to find you.”

“That’s the spirit,” he grins, and you feel like you’ve been played.

The inside of the hospital’s dark and completely devoid of that sterile scent you don’t want to admit you liked. Instead, there’s a musty smell that pervades the building, and your nose wrinkles as you take deep breaths in an attempt to get yourself acclimated to it. “Stay close to me,” you tell him. “I don’t want you wandering off.”

“You think I’m gonna get lost? What kind of idiot do you take me for?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

He doesn’t respond, instead muttering something under his breath. “Whatever. Let’s see if we can find something.”

You creep along the corridors, breathing as light as possible. The whole hospital seems to be moth-eaten and abandoned, but you’re not sure if you and Jisung are alone or not. The rooms you enter are a mixed bag; you manage to get to the small cafeteria and bag some soon-to-be stale chips as well as several bottles of water, but you don’t get much in the way of medicine.

“Where do they keep all the medicine anyway?” you ask, turning away from the spoiled ice cream in the mini freezer, nose wrinkled. The light bulb goes off in Jisung’s head, and he smacks his face with his hand.

“The pharmacy. They keep the medicine at the pharmacy.” You take a water bottle and make as if you’re going to whack him with it when you hear a noise. Both you and Jisung tense at the clattering of equipment from outside the cafeteria. You two stick your heads out the door, Jisung scanning the left side and you scanning the right. The coast looks clear, so Jisung leads the way out the way you came.

You’re almost home free when you spot a zombie ambling about at the end of the hall, back turned to you. Jisung holds up his palm, signalling for you to stop moving. “Okay, what now?” you ask.

“It’s just one zombie,” he starts. “Give me the knife, I got this.” He hands you the backpack with everything you’ve looted, and you hesitate before giving him the only weapon you two have. He sneaks up on the zombie, getting closer and closer…

And then it rears its ugly head, letting out an ugly gurgling noise that scares the shit out of you. One arm’s in a sling and the other hangs limp; you don’t think broken arm would bother the undead too much. It charges, quicker than either of you were expecting (did zombies that were athletic as humans keep that athleticism?) and almost smothers Jisung, who loses his balance and falls hard on his hands. He manages to roll to the side in time for it to knock its head against the smooth tile floor.

“Change of plans,” he says, zombies dressed in scrubs and hospital gowns alike beginning to come out from the corner of the hall, “we’re leaving!” You help him up, slamming your heel on the neck of the zombie that almost attacked Jisung. There’s a satisfying crunch, and then you two are off, turning corner after corner trying to escape. 

You don’t stop running until your feet hit cement instead of tile. You don’t stop moving until you’re both in the truck, trying to catch your breath. “You were right,” his voice is shaky, and you take his hand in yours, squeeze it in an attempt to calm him down. “We shouldn’t have gone.”

Even after his breathing returns to normal, he doesn’t let go of your hand.

You're not sure when things start to change between you and Jisung. Maybe it's when you catch yourself staring at him as he drives, right hand on the wheel and the left resting on the lowered window. (He insisted on keeping the windows down as much as possible; the air conditioning in his truck was busted, “just like the rest of the damn thing.”)

Maybe it's when you stop bothering with arguments over who takes the couch and who takes the bed. You've slept in the same bed before, sure, but that was when you were children. You remember the night it started, not long after the trip to the hospital:

You wake up with fingers already tangled in the sheets, a cold sheen of sweat on your forehead. Every blink of your eyes treats you to the sight that haunted your nightmares: Felix, one of your best friends, with eyes gouged out and flesh hanging from his cheek as he opens his mouth so wide his jaw unhinges. His tongue sits lamely in his bloody mouth as he lets loose an unending wail—

You can’t stay here. You force yourself out of bed and find Jisung still awake, staring down at his hands in the darkness. He seems to hear you coming, because he says, “You too?” before you’re even in the living room proper.

“Yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it?” He feels around for the lantern that was left behind when the former residents evacuated and flicks it on, the warm yellow light a welcome sight. You both take a seat on the couch Jisung had been sleeping on as you try to find the words to describe your nightmare.

“It was Felix. We were at school and I...I saw him from behind, and it’s like we were all alright again. I was calling out to him from across campus, but he couldn’t hear me. Then I turned him around and then…” You shudder, and Jisung’s quick to wrap the blanket he took for himself around you. “He looked like he did after that day we found him. His mouth wouldn’t stop opening. I-” You don’t even notice your hands are shaking until he takes them in his own.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “Take your time.”

“I miss him, Jisung. I miss when the three of us would fuck around and spend all our money on food and video games and have to cram just to pass our classes. I miss having to kick his ass in Smash because you never could. I miss our group calls where we make fun of him for playing Fortnite because it’s not relevant anymore.” 

“I know,” he shushes, pulling you into his arms. “I miss him too. He was in my dream, at the very beginning.” He tucks your head under his chin. “It was the night of the party and he told me not to do something stupid because I could lose you. Next thing I knew, we were at the hospital and it was you facing those zombies and not me. They,” he swallows heavily, “they got you. All I did was stand there. And then I was all alone.” You stay silent, twisting the ends of his hair between your fingers.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I miss college.”

“You and me both.” Before long, you switch the lantern off, breathing becoming steady. Your eyes get heavier and heavier until you let yourself fall into a deep sleep.

Sleeping by his side wills away most of the nightmares. You get the best rest you've gotten since the night it all started, so good that after that night, you rarely sleep apart.

(You ignore the twinge of...something in your heart when you wake up first. There's something about his sleeping face that makes him look at peace, something about the way his arms snake around you as soon as you lie down next to him, that makes you feel something you think you shouldn't be feeling.)

"Do you think we'll make it?" he asks one night. You're both sitting cross-legged in the back of his truck, taking inventory. He picked up a map from one of the houses you've been squatting in on the way; you're halfway to the base. "Survive, I mean. Not just long enough to get to the fort, but...you know. In general." You glance up from the knife in your hands, humming.

"I hope so. Besides," you start, dragging the knife along the sharpening stone, "we've made it through everything so far, haven't we?"

"Yeah," he says, the corner of his mouth quirking up a bit, "we have." The stars wink down at you as you work under the light of the moon and a small lantern. With any luck, things will get better once you've reached the safety of the base.

You open and close the drawers of the house you and Jisung have stopped at to gather supplies, trying to find something to take with you. The house hasn't been ransacked yet (or at least, you don't think so; the locks were in place and everything looked tidy before you broke in), but the owners sure did a good job of clearing the place out. No canned goods, no bottles of water, nothing except for some office supplies and a worrying amount of rubber duckies in the bathroom.

The lights are all off, and you're pretty sure that the house's supply of running water ran out a long time ago. The midsummer heat makes your clothes stick to your skin just as uncomfortably as the duct tape you and Jisung have taken to wearing along your arms and legs. After what happened at the hospital, Jisung didn’t want to take any risks, no matter how much you both sweat under the adhesive.

You're poring over the drawers in the bathroom when your eyes get drawn to a small box in the corner of your vision. It's a little beat up, but the saccharine pink and white box grins up at you all the same. You're not quite sure what use Hello Kitty bandaids would serve—they're not even that big, really, the most they could do is patch up a paper cut—but you do know they'd make Jisung smile.

And if you're being honest, you've come to miss that smile. It's been hard to come by recently.

Nobody breathes a word about the change in dynamic. There's no angsty "what are we" talk that threatens both your friendship and your budding relationship. It's just you and Jisung, the same as it's always been. 

You get used to resting your head on his lap, to having his hand interlaced with yours as he drives. You throw away the excuse of sleeping together “to get rid of the nightmares” (though that’s still a very compelling reason). The word boyfriend is always on the tip of your tongue, but at this point, labels like that don’t mean much.

You learn to enjoy the little things, the way the blues and blacks of night fade into pinks and purples with streaks of pale orange to greet the world each morning. You learn to enjoy the little things, like the weight of Jisung’s head on your shoulder as you run your thumb down the side of his hand. It’s humbling, you think, how the sun rises and sets, how the world keeps spinning despite it all. No matter how much has changed, some things stay the same.

”You ever realize how insignificant we are?” you ask one morning, eyes focused on the sky above. “Life goes on, with or without us.”

”Yeah,” he shifts to look up at you from his place in the crook of your neck, “but you know what?” You hum as the birds begin chirping, signifying the start of the day, eyes closed as you bask in the morning glow. “I don’t think I could ever feel too insignificant when I’m with you.”

You scoot away, causing Jisung to start whining. “We’re in the middle of the zombie apocalypse and you’re flirting with me?” you scoff, incredulous.

“And you’re surprised?” He’s got this cheeky smile on his stupid face that you swear makes the world, your world, a better place. You lean in, pressing your lips to his for just a second. With your eyes closed, it feels like you’re a normal couple watching the sun rise on a normal world. It feels like nothing is wrong, and you’re right where you’re meant to be.

You’re digging through your backpack to find the beat up paperback you were planning to finish reading and use as fuel for the occasional fires you and Jisung would light when camping out when a set of Polaroids fall out of your bag. You’d crammed them in there long before the thought of a zombie apocalypse ever crossed your mind. There’s one that catches your eye from the night you celebrated your joint graduation with Jisung. (Seungmin and Hyunjin went to different high schools, and Felix was still in Australia at this point; you’d meet all of them on the day of orientation.)

It was the largest party you’ve ever been to, with your families and your friends taking up all the parking in the neighborhood. Avoiding awkward conversation with aunties and uncles was your specialty, and you spent much of the night dodging questions like “So what are you planning to major in?” and “Are you dating that Jisung kid?” 

There were drinks in the cooler that you were expressly told not to touch (not like that stopped you both from sneaking out two beers and chugging them in your room, away from prying eyes), music playing from the Bluetooth speaker you’d never used, and laughter everywhere you looked. 

“Can’t believe we’re adults now,” you said, one arm dangling off the side of your bed. “Feels like I only met you yesterday.” You set the bottle down on your carpet, eyes focused on your ceiling fan as it did its rotations.

“I’m glad we’re going to the same college,” he confessed, setting his bottle on your nightstand before you barked at him to put it on the carpet lest the condensation damage the wood. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Jisung’s parents had brought out a cake, the icing congratulating you two on graduating from high school. All eyes were on you as you held the knife just above the cake, and you felt weightless as the blade divvied up the dessert.

“Wait, I wanna do it too,” Jisung whispered, bumping shoulders with you.

“What? No, this is my house.”

“Well, my parents were the ones who bought the cake!”

You try to think of a retort, but when none comes, you hand him the knife. “Here. Don’t mess it up.”

“I never mess up,” he said as you took the biggest chunk of cake for yourself. You watched him cut the cake into what were initially equal portions, but grew less and less balanced as the cake went on.

“See,” you told him once the cake was all gone, “what’d I tell you?” You take a dollop of the cake’s whipped cream and planted it on his nose.  “You never listen, Han Jisung.” 

It’s then that a flash went off, stunning you both. Yeji grinned as she handed you the developing Polaroid. “Save it for the wedding,” she joked. (It makes you sad to know that although you stayed relatively close in high school, you lost touch in college. You smile when you see each other on campus, but it’s not the same.)

“What are you looking at?” Jisung asks, pulling you back to the present. You stare down at the image, the almost child-like smiles on your faces. It feels like a lifetime ago, when things were easier and the unknown was something you thought you were ready for.

“Remember our grad party?” He takes one look at the picture and you swear you see the lines of stress on his forehead fade away as he laughs at the face he’s making in the photograph.

“God, I miss those days.”

"There it is." The base stands tall, barbed wire promising shelter from the uncertainty of whether you'd spend the day forced to fight for your life or not. You drum your fingers on your thighs as you approach the entrance, chest full to bursting with anticipation. You're half listening to Jisung's stupid hour-long playlist, half relieved that you managed to find a base so close.

He stops at the gate, waiting for a guard to emerge and check you two for signs of infection. He takes your hand in his, squeezing it tight. This is it, the gesture says, we're gonna be okay.

You wait.

You wait some more.

Your hands get sweaty.

"Is anyone there? You'd think for a military base, they'd have someone come out by now." Jisung turns the volume of the car speakers all the way down. He's met with the noises of his truck's engine...and an incessant scratching at the gate.

Exchanging a look, you hop out of the car and try to peek through the slits of the covered chain-link fence. Your first mistake is getting too close; they all seem to catch your scent and greet you with a chorus of grunts and groans as the horde focuses their attention on you.

Your second mistake is looking too closely at who's behind the fence. You make eye contact with the husk of a man, a glazed look in his eyes and skin broken along one side of his face from where he’s been clawing at it. He's dressed in all black, and when you take a second glance (you really shouldn't have), you realize he looks like someone you know. You're almost certain that if he smiled, you'd see dimples. You're almost certain that if you could see his hair—torn out in clumps, his scalp bloody—it would be curly since he wouldn't have access to a straightener in the middle of nowhere.

"Chan?" you whisper. There's no response, but a taller figure pushes into him, forcing his way to the front. When his mouth opens, all you can see are swollen, bloody gums and blackening teeth from weeks of neglect. Despite that, you know exactly who this is. You've tag-teamed toilet duty with Jisung at enough parties to know what Hyunjin's neck and back look like as he lurches forward, trying to ram the gate. "Oh shit." Felix and Jisung did say that Chan took the rest of the boys somewhere, didn't they?

That conversation feels like a lifetime ago, when the term "zombie apocalypse" was just the name of an overdone genre. It was better suited to being viewed from the comfort of your couch on a Friday night and Han Jisung by your side to complain about the shitty effects and act like he wouldn't need to sleep over because he'd get too scared to drive home.

You creep back to the truck, taking slow steps backward to avoid alerting the horde more than you already have. Releasing a heavy breath when you slip into the passenger seat, you try not to think about what you saw. Jisung looks at you expectantly, and you can't bring yourself to break his heart even more. He's already lost his best friend; you don't have the heart to tell him that the rest of his friends, his found family, are most likely locked behind that gate as well.

"You okay? What'd you find?"

"Just some zombies, nothing important. Let's go."

The first time you kill a zombie with a gun, it doesn't end well.

Sure, the deed is done and the zombie's dead (like really, fully dead), but it's what comes after that sucks.

You’re on a supply run, a hunting rifle you jacked from an abandoned house in your hands. You guess the house must not have been as abandoned as you thought, since there are two zombies in front of you and Jisung. You've come to notice that zombies get slobbery. The sight of decomposing flesh slick with saliva isn't very appealing, and that's not including the stench of it all. 

No matter which way you slice it, eau de zombie just isn't for you.

You don't have much experience when it comes to firing a gun. (Or any experience, really.) But you figure it's an aim-and-shoot sort of situation, right? You've seen Felix play video games before, and he's always made it seem simple. So you line the barrel of the gun up with their heads and pull the trigger. One. Two. Three.

The shots echo, and for a moment, you feel on top of the world as the first zombie falls backwards, blood oozing from the bullet's exit hole.

But in that moment, you also realize that recoil is a bitch when you're not prepared, and the second shot misses the other one entirely, the gun skewed too far to the left. You stumble back into the kitchen island, but Jisung's quick enough on his feet to decapitate the remaining zombie without much trouble.

"Hey, you know what I remembered?" he asks, wiping zombie blood from his brow.

"What?"

"Guns make noise."

"Yeah, no—shit." With those gunshots, you gave away your location to any unfriendly forces, human or not.

"You don't think zombies have working ears, do you?" You hit the kitchen with renewed vigor, gathering some essentials—a few knives, some canned goods left behind—and set the rifle down.

"I don't wanna find out. And even if they don't, other humans sure as hell do." He turns the house upside down looking for more bullets. If there is a higher power out there, you guess they must be looking out for you, because the former owners of the house left their safe unlocked. You decide to relieve them of their two pistols and every bit of ammunition you can get your hands on.

Of course, if there is a higher power out there, you guess they must be fucking with you, because minutes after getting back on the road, you hear the roaring of motorcycle engines. They surround Jisung's truck, and their leader stares you both down before yanking his black mask down and rapping two knuckles on the window Jisung forgot to roll down.

"You two should've known better than to wander 'round here," he tuts, running a finger through his hair. "So young, too. Almost makes me feel bad for what I'm about to do." To one of his cronies, he barks, "Mingi! Take what's in the trunk." You don't see this Mingi person, but you feel the truck get weighed down as he leaps on and loots everything worth taking. "Don't take it personally. At the end of the day, it's all about survival. I've got eight mouths to feed, and you've only got two. Only makes sense that we should, ah...relieve you of some of that weight you’re carrying."

Jisung's fuming, fists clenched in his lap, but you know he sees the guns slung along their backs and holstered at their hips and stays silent. The pistols you two picked up are in the glove compartment, and the ammo's strategically buried underneath a pile of clothes at your feet. It's okay, you try to tell him, meeting his eyes. We prepared for this.

One of the leader's other cohorts pulls his own black mask down and whispers into the leader's ear. When he's given permission to speak, the young man looks straight at Jisung and asks, "Are you Han Jisung?"

"Who's asking?" Jisung shoots you a look, but you can only shrug in response.

"There was a group of guys looking for their friend. Their description matched your face, but I guess it doesn't matter now. They went to the base a couple miles south." The young man nods in the direction of the base you were at only a couple days before. "Probably more undead than alive at this point."

"What...do you mean by that?"

"He means," their leader snaps, "that the military base down south got infected. Don't know when. But it was a group of seven, led by some guy named Chad or Chan or something. We tried to get 'em to join, but they were deadset on finding shelter.” He snorts. “Their funeral."

Mingi's finished taking your things, so the leader and the younger man (you catch his name when the leader calls out to him—Wooyoung?) pull on their masks and take off, leaving you and Jisung in the middle of the road. He's silent again, driving down the vast expanse of nothingness with only his playlist to serve as background noise.

"Where to now?" you try, eyes searching his face to gauge his reaction.

"Did you know?" It's a whisper you almost don't hear over the wind in your ears.

"Did I know what?"

"Did you know that they were..." He doesn't finish his sentence. The way your mouth clamps shut, gaze falling to your lap, tells him everything he needs to know.

His grip tightens on the wheel, and you jolt forward when he comes to an abrupt halt, throwing open the door and walking off, slamming it behind him. "Jisung?" You follow him out, but he whirls around to face you, face scrunched as he crooks a finger in your direction.

"You lied to me!"

"Look-"

"I fucking trusted you! You were the only person I had left! I saw my best friend get murdered with my own two fucking eyes!” He’s blinking back tears as he shouts at you. “I've spent god knows how long hoping that the rest of my friends were alive, and the fact that you saw them on that base...the fact that you fucking lied to me..." He takes a deep breath, eyes screwed shut. It’s silent for a long time. His shoulders loosen, hands falling flat, but when he opens his eyes, you feel a chill run down your spine. He's built a concrete wall between you two, locking you out with four simple words: "You're on your own."

"Jisung, what-"

"You heard me." The sentence is curt. He's wiped away years of friendship and whatever romance you might've had all in one fell swoop. (But maybe you did that yourself when you lied to him.) "You're on your own." He enunciates each syllable as clearly as possible, lacing them with as much venom as possible. You wither under his gaze.

He tosses one of the pistols at your feet. No extra ammo; you only get what's already loaded. He drives off without you, and you're left with nothing but the bag you packed that first night, a pistol, and the clothes on your back.

So yeah, the first time you kill a zombie with a gun, it doesn't end well.

You learn how to get by alone, rationing what's left in your bag and clinging to the shadows to avoid a fight. You learn to ignore the rumble in your stomach in favor of focusing on other things, like the distant noise of motorcycles. (You hold your breath when you hear them, pray they don't come close. They’ve taken enough from you already.)

It's lonely. You and Jisung might not have always agreed on everything, but the weight of solitude, real solitude, drags you down like a ball and chain fastened to your ankles, making each step forward unbearable. Some nights, you see his truck parked in the distance, in the garage of old houses or partially masked by foliage. You want to approach him, beg for forgiveness, beg for what you had back.

Instead you tiptoe past, giving the vehicle a wide berth.

You spend some mornings thumbing through the rest of the Polaroids you have. Most of them (unsurprisingly) are of you and Jisung. There’s one of him posing in front of the most expensive cheesecake shop in town (he’d been drooling at the window displays for weeks), one of you facing the ocean, back turned to the camera (you begged him to go for spring break), and one Hyunjin took of you two playing beer pong at one of the frat’s many parties (you were never quite sure why drunk Jisung had better aim than sober Jisung; you ended up losing these matches).

You don’t know why you do it. You know that taking a trip down memory lane is the single worst thing to be doing, but you do it anyway. Maybe you’re lonely. Maybe you miss Jisung. 

Maybe you miss yourself.

The next time you see Jisung, you're in a convenience store infested with zombies. You weren't planning to enter, having heard the tell-tale noises of confrontation, but you caught a glimpse of who was doing the fighting and couldn't walk away.

Jisung's backed up against a corner, trying to beat away the zombies surrounding him with a hatchet. (Keyword being trying: he's just one guy against five disgusting bags of meat trying to kill him.) You see blood all over him, dripping onto the floor, and decide to intervene. He should be grateful when you bash their heads in with his barbed baseball bat, left discarded across the store, but—

"I had that under control."

"Jisung, I-"

"Save it." He wipes the blade of the hatchet on the ragged pants of one of the creatures that attacked him. "Thanks. And keep the bat. You look like you need it."

"Jisung, just listen to me."

"What could you possibly have to say to me? The damage has been done."

"I was trying to protect you!" He rolls his eyes, and you're worried he'll walk away, but his feet stay planted. "How was I supposed to tell you that all your friends got infected, huh? How do you tell someone that? Hell, I wasn't even sure if it was them!" He refuses to meet your gaze, refuses to respond. "Dammit, Jisung..." You screw your eyes shut, but there’s not even a hint of reaction from him.

“You know what, if you’re not gonna listen to me, then fine. I’ll go.” Swivelling on the balls of your feet, you make to walk away, to return to solitude. You don’t look back.

“Wait!” There’s a desperate tone to it that almost makes you want to cave, almost makes you want to return to what life was before you reached the base. You barely manage to keep your head forward, even as you stop in your tracks.

“What?”

"I'm sorry.” His voice comes out soft, something above a whisper but far below his normal speaking voice. “I thought about it after I kicked you out, and you were right. I wouldn't have told me either. Guess I was too stubborn to admit I was wrong," he chuckles. "If you don't forgive me, I get that. You can take some of my food, and we can part ways again, but for what it's worth...I missed you."

You sigh, looking out the cracked store window. "Look, I'm sorry too. It was a tough choice, but I should've been honest with you." It's kinda gross to be trying to make amends here, what with one foot stepping in zombie excrement and all, but your head hangs low in apology anyway.

Your head snaps up when you hear him sniffle, and his eyes are struggling to hold back tears. When you open your arms, he's quick to wrap his arms around you and crumple into your embrace, voice muttering broken apologies. "I'm so sorry," he mumbles. "I missed you so much." You two stand there and let the moment drag out, let Jisung dampen your shirt for what feels like hours.

There might not be much hope left in the tumultuous reality you've found yourselves in, but as long as you're together, you think you stand a chance at weathering the storm.

"Shit," Jisung hisses that night, wiping blood off his arms with a damp cloth. He should've taped himself up before going on a supply run, but he'd been running out of tape; that was the reason he risked entering the infested store at all. The bite marks on either side of his forearm run red and raw, and Jisung fixes his gaze to the popcorn ceiling to avoid throwing up then and there.

A glance is all it takes for him to gag, and he washes the cloth off, red water spiraling into the sink. He caps the water bottle he used and takes a good look at himself in the mirror.

There's blood across the right side of his face. (He's not sure if it's his or not.) There are deep lines in his forehead from months of stress, dark circles underneath his eyes. He figures he should've gotten more sleep while he still could, remembers all the times you bugged him about going to bed early.

He never listened.

He never listens.

If you were with him, he wouldn't have gone in alone, wouldn't have gotten surrounded, wouldn't have gotten bit. Maybe he wouldn't have even gone in at all. Lord knows you've always been his impulse control.

That's it, then. I've got a day or so left then... He wraps the clean(ish) cloth around the bite and resists the urge to squeeze until he bleeds out on the bathroom floor. There's only one thing left to do.

You're in the middle of shaking the dust off the former tenants’ couch cushions when you notice Jisung emerge from the bathroom. "I did some digging around, and I think these'll fit you." He catches the clothes you toss him wordlessly. "You good?"

"I need you to do me a favor."

"Yeah, what is it?"

"Kill me."

Okay. Well. You were expecting something more along the lines of "check if the truck is locked" or "kiss me."

"Wh-" The word gets lodged in your throat when he lifts his hand to show you the bite. His whole forearm's red at this point, blood trickling from it despite the sopping red cloth in his hand. He tries for a lighthearted grin.

(It doesn't work. Jisung's never been a good liar.)

"Please. I want to die on my own terms." To himself, he mutters, "You always deserved better, anyway. All I ever did was get angry and leave you behind." He's focused on the way the blood runs down his arm and fingers before falling down, down, down. The hardwood floor takes it like a champ, he thinks. 

It's really kinda funny how he can think things like that when he knows he has to die, and he has the audacity to laugh. Maybe he’s only laughing because he’s losing a lot of blood.

You cup his face with both hands, the couch cushion tossed to the side, and he hesitates before leaning in. "How- how do you get to decide what I deserve? Decide what I want?" your voice breaks, vision blurred from tears. "You're all I want." Your foreheads touch as you sob, tears mingling with Jisung's blood as they hit the floor. "This isn't fair! I just got you back and- and-" The cry that rips itself from your throat is guttural, a bubbling noise produced from the back of your throat. This time it's Jisung who lets you cry into him, your face buried in the crook of his neck.

"You're so fucking stupid! I hate you!" you scream, nails digging into his shoulders. You may as well be telling the world where you are, but your mind doesn't bother registering it. Before you know it, you're slipping, legs unable to keep you up. You're so tired. It's been a long, arduous few months. "I hate you so much!"

But you don't mean it. You never could.

You weep at his feet, clutching at his jeans in an effort to pull yourself up. "I hate you..."

Maybe it's the look on his face when you pull away to gulp down air like your life depends on it; broken, beaten. Maybe it's the crushing hopelessness that hits you; when Jisung's gone, so are you. Hellish as this world may be, Jisung's the only thing that makes you feel like your last moments might not be so bad. He's your home, your tiny shred of sunshine and hope.

When he tugs you back to eye level, you smash your lips onto his, hand on the back of his head. He responds immediately, mouth moving against yours, hand tugging at your waist (closer, closer, closer).

But then his brain catches up to his body. "Wait," he turns so you're leaving wet kisses along his jaw, down his neck, "wait, this- this isn't right."  He steps back, eyes wide as he puts distance between you. "Now you're-"

"Infected." You think back to the news coverage of the disease. All it took was a drop of saliva for someone to be at risk. You wring your hands, tear your eyes from his forearm (his veins bulge as if they're fit to burst). "I guess I just realized, you know?" A nervous chuckle escapes your lips. "Who else...who else is gonna..." Your voice breaks again, eyes brimming with tears. "Who else is gonna put up with you in the afterlife?"

He's in front of you again in a heartbeat, wiping your tears. With a scoff, he says, "God, what would I do without you?"

You bandage him up properly after that, spend the night talking until you're asleep, head rested on his chest. It's comforting, he thinks. He wishes he could have held you like this back when your only concerns were your uptight Calculus professor and the stress of finals.

"Better late than never, I guess," he whispers, breaking the silence. Your chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, your cheek smashed against his chest as you sleep. "Though I guess we might've been a little too late, huh?"

The sun rises, golden light in your face forcing you to blink your eyes awake. Jisung stirs at your movement, his good hand tightening around you as he tries to stay asleep.

"Wake up." You press a kiss to his knuckles. "We don't have much time."

His voice comes out deep and gravelly, speaking for the first time in a few hours. "I know. Just five more minutes like this, I promise. Five more minutes..." And he's asleep again, mouth open in a little "o." You curl into him, listening for his heartbeat; weak, but still there. He’s still alive and so are you.

You think five more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

"Ready?" you ask. The pistol shakes in your hands; you might not be the best shot, but you can't afford to miss now. You try to will your nerves into complacency. (It doesn't work.)

"Wait!" he says, eyes wide. His veins are clearly visible along the infected arm, snaking up his shoulder and kissing his collarbone. You raise an eyebrow, and he gives you a stupid, million-watt grin. "I love you. Even, uh, even if I am pointing a gun at you." He waves the other pistol a bit to prove his point. "I just wanted you to know before we, you know. Blow each other's brains out."

"Hey." You catch his attention, match his smile for the last time. "I love you too. Just thought you should know before I blow your brains out." He laughs, and it's a real, genuine laugh blooming from his stomach; it’s a loud, hearty sound and makes your heart feel so full that you can't help but laugh with him, laugh at the fact that you're about to shoot the boy you love, laugh at everything that landed you here.

Then the laughter calms down. The wind itself holds its breath, refusing to let even a slight breeze slip through. "On three. Ready?" Jisung nods, starting the count.

"One."

(It's sad you two will never get to see the end of it all, or if there's an end to begin with. Who knows, maybe there are enough true leaders left in the world to make something out of nothing. You hope that this world learns to heal from its wounds, no matter what. But in the end, you guess it doesn't matter. The sun will rise and set regardless. 

“No matter how things change…”

“...some things stay the same.” With those words, you and Jisung taped up the cardboard box labeled “TIME CAPSULE” in black Sharpie. “Man, I hope future us doesn’t hate past us too much for this,” Jisung said, managing to find a space for the large box in his closet. “It’s gonna be a long four years.” Right below the time capsule label read “OPEN AFTER GRADUATING FROM COLLEGE.” 

You’d nodded, hiding the box from view by moving Jisung’s clothes in front of it. “There we go. Now we won’t be tempted to open it.” The rest of the day was spent getting ice cream way too close to dinner to be healthy and trying to find out what the other wrote in their letter to their future self.

You don’t know why you’re remembering the makeshift time capsule you two spent half a day filling, but knowing that you’ll never get to open it makes your toes curl with an unpleasant sadness.)

"Two."

(In a way, you think you're almost grateful for what happened. Despite how twisted and fucked up it all was, you doubt you and Jisung would have ever found each other, truly found each other, without it. In your final moments, you think back to a conversation you had with him the week of the announcement.

"You know what I realized?" he had asked, making himself comfortable on your bed.

"What?"

"Parallel lines stay so close to each other, but they never meet. That's so sad."

"Jisung, are you crying over lines?"

"You know what else I realized?" he asked again, wiping tears from his eyes. "All the other pairs of lines meet once and then drift apart forever."

You ended up comforting him, leaving your homework behind. "Promise me we'll be like parallel lines. Promise me we won't start drifting." His eyes were shiny with tears as he held his pinky out to you, your pinkies interlaced in eternal promise.

Staring down the barrel of the pistol in Jisung's hands, you start to think that this is the part where you start drifting.)

"Three!"

[analogscum]

DON’S PLUM (2001, d. R.D. Robb)

Why is it, my dear Scumbags, that forbidden fruit is the sweetest fruit of all? Why is it that, when we know that we can’t have something, it only makes us want it that much more? This applies to any number of life’s pleasures, but especially to movies. Just think of the number of films that are out there, just waiting to be viewed, but because they’ve either been lost to time, or the powers that be have locked them away somewhere, we may never get to experience. London After Midnight. The Day the Clown Cried. Until recently, anyway, The Other Side of the Wind. Well, tonight, thanks to the magic of illegal YouTube uploads, I’m here to tell you about some of that forbidden fruit. We’re going to talk about a film that its stars do not want you to see (if you live in America or Canada, that is), a film that to this day they continue to try and bury via any legal shenanigans they can. So get ready, because it’s time to take a big juicy bite out of Don’s Plum.

To start, we must talk about the nineties. In the nineties, two big things happened that allowed Don’s Plum to come into existence: the advent of low-budget Indies with cool kids talking in verbose, provocative lingo (see: Pulp Fiction, Clerks, Reality Bites, Kids, etc.), and the teen heartthrob coronation of Leonardo DiCaprio. As an infamous New York magazine profile from 1998 established, young Leo ran with a gang of fellow young thespians who would be immortalized as “the Pussy Posse.” The modus operandi of the Pussy Posse was…well, you can probably guess what it was. These guys were all about scoring chicks and getting loaded and not tipping waitresses, and they lived like goddamn boy kings. Leo was the leader, with his two best friends Tobey Maguire and Kevin Connolly on either side of the pussy throne. Other members of the Pussy Posse included David Blaine, Lucas Haas, and R.D. Robb, who you undoubtedly remember as the kid who played Schwartz in A Christmas Story. Anyway, around 1995, Robb had a boffo idea: if I could get my hands on a camera and some black and white film, I could shoot my friends doing what we do every night, just hanging out acting like douchebags, and somehow this will magically congeal into a smash indie hit. So Leo and Tobey, who were allegedly under the impression that this was just going to be a short film, gave Robb a bunch of money to make this thing, which he did, casting Leo, Tobey, Kevin Connolly, and a bunch of their other friends, shooting on and off for a two year period, with the young actors improvising almost all of their dialogue. And with that, let’s get into the finished film itself, shall we?

Los Angeles. The mid to late nineties. Everything is in black and white and super fuckin’ suave, because, again, it’s Los Angeles in the mid to late nineties. Jeremy Sisto is driving a pickup truck with leopard print seats. He kicks a hippie chick out of the passenger seat, mumbling something about “I need…pleasure. And…I need…to know that with…BRUTE FORCE, I got you out of my life, mmkay?” So, uh, right off the bat, um, that dialogue. Yikes, right? The hippie chick, for her part, gets very angry and yells, “You were supposed to take me to Vegas!” Don’t worry, we never find out why she was going to Vegas in the first place, or who Jeremy Sisto’s character is, because he then promptly drives out of the movie. Bye, Jeremy Sisto! Beep beep!

Cut to Tobey Maguire, who looks like he just finished going through puberty roughly five minutes before Robb called “action!” He’s got a dopey look on his face, and an unfortunate bowl cut/chin scruff combo that makes him look like Shaggy from Scooby Doo. He’s sitting in a moody mid to late nineties café, drinking a comically large cappuccino, and half paying attention to the absolute worst goddamn music I have ever heard in my life. The end credits describe this band as “acid jazz,” but I think a more accurate description would be “music to try and swallow your own tongue to.” It’s like a fiendishly unlistenable combination of free jazz, ska, Tom Waits hobo wailing, and beat poetry, and it should’ve been left back in the nineties where it belongs, alongside Olestra and the Kosovo war. Tobey is trying to pick up some ladies to bring to hang out with his friends later, but oddly enough none of these women want to hang out with an arrogant sad sack who has all the charisma and sex appeal of Uncle Joey from Full House. Meanwhile, there’s like a full-on burlesque dance number happening to accompany this zoot suit cacophony, and the director only occasionally cuts to it for a few seconds at a time. I guess, who needs to see a big splashy musical number when you can watch a comic relief wet blanket who just got his first pubes strike out with every woman he talks to, right? Luckily, the café waitress takes pity on him and agrees to accompany him to meet up with his friends, and then does basically nothing else for the rest of the movie. Occasionally the scene will cut to her to remind us that she’s there, but, like, is she really there, though?

Jenny Lewis from Rilo Kiley is sitting facing a dude who is showing his bare ass to the camera, because that’s how real fuckin’ life just is, maaaaan, not everyone always wears pants, dude! They apparently just had sex, even though she’s fully clothed, and they get into a philosophical argument about nothing and everything, as if they’re in the worst deleted scene from Slacker. Even though they clearly hate each other, the dude, Brad, invites Jenny Lewis to come meet up with his friends, and she makes some overly hostile joke about how he didn’t make her cum earlier, because low-budget indie movie. Next we see Kevin Connolly driving down the street in his Jeep, when he encounters the hippie girl from the beginning of the movie, like a couple of star-crossed blabbedy blahs. Finally, FINALLY, we’re introduced to Leo, when he borrows a comically large mid to late nineties cell phone from this little hood rat kid who insists on telling him some boring story about a brawl at the Viper Room even though Leo is CLEARLY trying to use said comically large mid to late nineties cell phone to call up every fine young female he knows to meet up with him and his friends. This makes the little hood rat kid very very angry, and its supposed to be funny, I guess? Anyway, like they were all fated since time immemorial to do, all of our leads finally converge down at the titular greasy spoon eatery, Don’s Plum.

Now, have you ever been at a restaurant, and you find yourself sitting near a table of people who are so obnoxious, so vapid, so relentlessly annoying and unpleasant, that you can no longer enjoy your food, and just find yourself eavesdropping on every improbably stupid thing that these goddamn condom leaks are rattling on about, slowly being pulled further and further into their vortex of suck? You have? Well, then, congratulations, because that experience is the rest of this fuckin’ movie. Jenny Lewis and Brad are the first to arrive, and what do they do? They start playing a goddamn harmonica. Um, no. Hell no. I’m trying to enjoy my meal in relative peace and quiet, you know what I don’t need? Your shitty ass John Popper impressions, ok? Get that shit all the way outta here. Then, just to really up the insufferability factor, Jenny Lewis starts opining about Bob Dylan, but she only calls him Bob, which, you can take that one away from here right away, and then launches into the following diatribe...

“You know what I’m so sick of though? All that fucking commercial grunge crap. It all sounds alike. It’s like the record companies that are promoting sterile music. I mean, I love Nirvana, don’t get me wrong, but they weren’t the Beatles.”

WOOF. Mercifully, Brad interrupts her to tell her that he loves her, even though it’s their like, first or second date. She’s reasonably creeped out by this, and just by how earnest and dark and brooding Brad is in general, until thankfully Tobey and the waitress show up, soon followed by Kevin and the hippie hitchhiker. Leo gets his own grand entrance, checking himself out in the reflection of an aquarium while some mid to late nineties boom bap hip hop blares on the soundtrack, natch. For the next hour or so, the group basically just chain smoke countless cigarettes (remember when restaurants had smoking sections?), harasses their waitress, Flo (hey, it’s a mid to late nineties indie movie, were they supposed to NOT name the waitress Flo?) and talk shit endlessly. They also say the word “bro” a lot. Like, a lot a lot. Like, way too much. The world’s most date rapey frat dude would tell them to relax with how much they say the word “bro.”

Suddenly, in between all of the cigarettes and “bros,” a morbidly obese lady walks past the table, and Leo mocks her for daring to be morbidly obese. The hippie hitchhiker takes umbrage with this, and Leo, charming guy that he is, calls her a “squatty piece of hippie shit cunt.” This escalates to the point where the hippie hitchhiker storms off, throwing her Birkenstocks at Leo, and then smashes Kevin’s windshield with a bat that she found…somewhere? Anyway, she’s out of the movie now, and replacing her is Jenny Lewis’s friend Constance, who they just happen to run into. So more bullshitting and chain smoking unfolds. Female masturbation is discussed, because mid to late nineties indie movie. They play Never Have I Ever, and Kevin doesn’t understand the rules, which is kinda endearing. They almost get into a fight with some creep in a mechanics outfit and Buddy Holly glasses. A horrible ska cover of the “Menomena” song from The Muppet Show pops up for a minute of your life that you’ll never get back. Leo sends the group into more turmoil when he outs Brad as bisexual and gives Tobey shit for being vegan. He also gropes Jenny Lewis’s breasts countless times, but no one seems to mind. They all fight about this for awhile, but eventually apologies are offered and they’re bros once again. However, upon learning that Brad is into both girls and guys, Jenny Lewis begins freaking out about AIDS, because ugggh. Then she and Constance start making out for absolutely no reason other than mid to late nineties indie movie. At one point, the film fades out for no reason, and then fades up again on the exact same scene just in time to hear one of the ladies ask the table, “do you guys bathe every day and, like, wash yourself with soap?” Meanwhile, the film will occasionally cut to short vignettes of the characters each saying non-sequiturs into the restroom mirror. Why? Again, because mid to late nineties indie movie. DUH.

The absolute weirdest scene occurs when Kevin Connolly notices a lady producer whom he auditioned for the previous week. He calls her “Spielberg with a pussy,” because of course he does, what else would he call her? The rest of the table convinces him to go talk to her. To both our surprise and his, when he tentatively approaches her at the bar, she’s like, Oh my god, Kevin Connolly! It’s so good to see you! I’m sorry you didn’t get that part you auditioned for, but get this, I was just watching your tape again the other day, and I want to cast you in the lead in this other movie that I’m doing! Not only that, I have to admit, I find you and your Cub Scout haircut and thrift store bowling shirt to be super fucking sexy, and later on tonight I wanna fuck your brains out so hard, so take my number and call me, hot stuff.

WHAT?!?! Like, is this supposed to be a fantasy sequence? Is it? If it is, you have to tell me, movie! Shellshocked and erect, Kevin returns to the table and recounts the whole thing, including the line “bro, it was crazy, bro! She was on my dick so hard!” Leo, meanwhile, is wearing some fake redneck dentures, talking in an exaggerated Southern accent, and eating his own boogers. This is all real, you guys, I promise.

Anyway, some more shit happens, and everyone is yapping about some stupid, possibly offensive nonsense when suddenly a lady at the next table over slaps the guy that she’s with. Hard. Slaps him really hard. Our heroes get quiet for less than a second, before remarking on the slap that just took place. Holy shit bro, that bitch slapped that guy so hard bro, bro bro bro bro, etc. When things get back to normal, Leo is suddenly quiet and sullen. Kevin notices, and tries to coax it out of him the best way he knows how, which is by asking, “you fuckin’ thinkin’ about something, bro?” Leo starts giving all of these cagey, mysterious non-answers, and before long everyone at the table wants to know if he’s fuckin’ thinkin’ about something, bro. Leo takes a deep drag off of his cigarette, and tells everyone, “my dad committed suicide bro.”

WHAAAT?!?! I’ve gotta say, I honestly did not see this coming. In a mood, Leo storms off for the back bar. Jenny Lewis follows him, and tries to make him feel better by relating her OWN familial sob story: “My dad is gone. And my mom is a junkie. She sells her ass on the corner.”

WHAAAAAAT?!?! All of these sudden dollops of soap opera drama, man! Good gravy. For whatever reason, this turns Leo on, and he tries to bang her. She rebuffs his advances, and they get into an overwrought screaming match that plays out like a Level One improv exercise at the world’s shittiest acting school. Meanwhile, back at the table, Tobey gets mad at Kevin for pushing Leo to reveal the truth about his dead dad, and this escalates into a full on fist fight! BRO!

Now, holy shit, you guys, the last five minutes of this movie. Jenny Lewis runs into the bathroom, and begins lamenting into the mirror about how she let a “perfectly good fuck” get away. As she’s saying all this, she pulls some tinfoil, a straw and a lighter out of her purse and just straight up starts FREEBASING CRACK COCAINE.

WHAAAAAAAAAT?!?! Kinda makes all that AIDS talk seem kinda hollow, huh? Then, oh my god, she starts crying and launches into this fucking after school special monologue, screaming into the mirror about how “I was the one that came on to Uncle Jerry! I was the one that was curious!”

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!?! Excuse me, waitress, but it seems you got drug abuse and child molestation in my mid to late nineties indie movie! What is ANY OF THAT doing in here?! And in the last five goddamn minutes of the movie, no less! So now Tobey and Kevin’s bro fight has spilled out onto the street, so Leo goes and breaks it up, he and Kevin do a very intricate secret bro handshake, everyone has a good laugh, Brad lights Kevin’s bowling shirt on fire, everyone goes prancing down the street, and the movie ends.

Now, imagine that you’re Leonardo DiCaprio and Tobey Maguire. It’s late 1997, or possibly early 1998. One of you is now the biggest movie star on the planet, thanks to a movie about a big-ass boat. You’ve just seen this Don’s Plum movie that your little buddy R.D. Robb made. First of all, it’s a full-length fucking movie, not a short like you both thought it would be. Second of all, both of you are in there saying terrible things about women, doing terrible things to women, and oh shit, the majority of your fans…wait for it…are women! Bro! But worst of all, our little buddy R.D. Robb, who we thought was our friend, our fellow Pussy Posse member, our BRO, is shopping this fucking movie around to distributors? This fucking movie that could possibly end our careers if anyone ever sees it? Tell me, if you were Leonardo DiCaprio and Tobey Maguire in late 1997 or early 1998, would you do everything in your power to make sure that Don’s Plum never saw the light of day?

Well, according to a lawsuit filed in 1998 by one of the film’s producers, David Stutman, that’s exactly what Leo and Tobey did. Interestingly enough, according to court documents, apparently it was Tobey who was more concerned with how his performance in the film would negatively affect his nascent stardom, and therefore enlisted his much more famous best friend to help him carry out “a fraudulent and coercive campaign to prevent the release of the film.” I mean, Leo comes off as WAY more of an asshole than Tobey, who mainly just mopes around and eventually bro fights with Kevin Connolly, but in any case, both parties eventually reached a settlement in which Stutman agreed that Don’s Plum would not be released in the U.S. or Canada. It premiered at the Berlin Film Festival on February 10, 2001, and quickly faded into Hollywood lore.

Every few years, talk of this wild, black and white, mostly improvised movie with some big celebrities before they got famous will pop up again. Most recently, back in early 2016, another of the film’s producers, Dale Wheatley, uploaded the film to Vimeo and posted it to his website, freedonsplum.com, where anyone could watch it for free. Within days, Leo and Tobey’s respective legal teams had the video removed. You would think that after more than twenty years, with Leo now a respected Oscar winner, and Tobey having brought Spider-Man to life on the big screen, they’d be willing to let bygones be bygones. But it seems that they’re still legitimately concerned that they would stand to lose their vaunted place amongst the Hollywood elite if North American audiences ever got to see Don’s Plum. They still fear it. They still think it’s dangerous. In reality, it’s just embarrassing, which isn’t the same thing.

Truth is, there are a million movies out there just like Don’s Plum. There are a million other overly earnest, needlessly vulgar, navel-gazing indie movies made by overly earnest, needlessly vulgar, navel-gazing young people about the lives of overly earnest, needlessly vulgar, navel-gazing young people out there. I mean, I went to film school, fer chrissakes, I can say with some level of authority that Don’s Plum is the sort of project that my classmates and I poured our hearts and souls Into, only to be embarrassed by its messy, guileless sincerity later. The only thing that distinguishes Don’s Plum from the horde of other cringeworthy embryonic efforts like it is, as I said before, its status as cinematic forbidden fruit. Will its two stars ever allow the audience that it was made for to have a taste? Somehow I doubt it, bro.

[queenevaine]

Chapter 9: Bits and Pieces

I wanna say too with the upcoming release of a new character, they will be the last survivor added into this story.  The other ones will be coming out too late for me to really want to keep fitting them in.  

Dwight took a deep breath, laying on the hospital bed.  It didn’t take the staff long to get him a gown he could wear while they cleaned up his normal clothes.  He had plenty of time to think about what he was going to do next.  The police officer that had stopped by assured him he wouldn’t have to worry about the legal consequences his job was going to face, and that he would be compensated sufficiently.  That eased the worry of money when everything was sorted out, but there was still time between then and now that Dwight had to worry about.  

He knew he couldn’t stay at the hospital longer than he needed, and he was fine enough to leave.  Maybe not mentally, but would anyone be after the Entity’s realm?  When a nurse walked in with his clothes folded in a neat pile, he nodded to her in thanks.  She didn’t stay a moment longer, more than likely to allow him to change in private.  It felt good to be in clothes that were actually clean, not caked in dirt and blood.  He sat on the bed again, trying to think about where he could go.  

The slip of paper Jack handed to him was on the bedside table.  I could always call him, right?  No, I can’t just impose like that.  I hardly know him.  He was interrupted from his thoughts by the sound of the door opening.  

“Mr. Fairfield, how are you feeling?”  

The doctor’s voice was gentle, obviously not trying to startle him.  Dwight simply shrugged.  

“I’m alright.  Just a lot to work out.  Am I.. clear to go?”  

The doctor nodded after a moment of hesitation.  

“Yes, you’re perfectly healthy physically.  If you feel ill at any point that isn’t your normal cold or flu, see us immediately.”  

Dwight nodded, trying to give as reassuring of a smile as he could.  

“I will.  Thank you.”  

The doctor turned to walk out, leaving Dwight to leave whenever he was ready.  He stared at the now closed door, taking a deep breath and getting up to head out.  He knew he’d have to go at some point, but he still had no idea where he’d even go.  How much has even changed in two years?  He figured he’d have to do some exploring, and that was at least something he could spend a lot of time on.  

It felt strange to wander around what Dwight always knew as home.  Most of the buildings were the same ones, but others were vastly different.  This was going to be an experience.  

The receptionist idled her time, checking over appointments and making sure that each was scheduled and properly notified when the phone rang.  She looked at the area code, blinking at the number.  Where even is that from?  She picked up the phone and barely even opened her mouth when the voice shouted from the other end.  

“I don’t need any appointment, ‘M askin’ if a ‘Dwight Fairfield’ is there.”  

She blinked in surprise, tilting her head.  

“And who am I speaking to?”  

“A friend of ‘is.  He there or not?”  

“Sir, I can’t-”  

“Fuckin’ christ, I just need to know if he’s there, and I know you can tell me that kinda shit.”  

The receptionist sighed quietly.  

“Give me a moment to check, please.”  

“I got all day.”  

Pretentious asshole.  She held the phone between her head and shoulder, typing in the name to sift through the records of patients.  

“...No, we don’t anymore, he-”  

“Anymore?”  

Be patient, don’t get irritated.  

“That’s correct.  He was released earlier today.”  

“Where the hell did he go?”  

“Sir, I don’t know that information.  You’d have to talk to him.”  

“God fucking-, fine, thanks anyway.”  

Click.  

David groaned, rubbing his face with his hands.  The hotel room he was staying in was comfortable enough, but he would definitely rather be heading out to find Dwight.  He really had no idea where to go, and even then only had a vague idea of the area where Dwight lived.  He never really got specifics, but the news thankfully had given enough details for him to find out.  

Where would Dwight even go?  The question tugged at his mind constantly.  David knew he was lucky enough to always have a consistent place to stay; considering how wealthy his family was already.  That, and the money he had earned himself was more than substantial.  He couldn’t stand being idle in the hotel room anymore, instead deciding to head out and just see what he could find.  

The town was small, at least compared to where he grew up.  The buildings were nowhere near as clustered together, and he could very easily walk without having to shoulder his way past anybody.  Nice little place.  He kept his hands in his pockets, aimlessly wandering around the town’s streets.  He knew he could easily walk around the entirety of the town’s main street and never get tired.  Surely someone would know of him, at least?  

Never hurt to check.  

Dwight was exhausted.  He thankfully still had some money on him, but nowhere near enough to last him long if he wasn’t careful.  The sun was setting now, and Dwight knew better than to stay out past a certain time.  His hometown wasn’t particularly dangerous, but he’d rather not take any chances he didn’t have to.  He tracked down the nearest phone he could use, glad that the town hadn’t gotten rid of the age old payphones yet.  Some things never change.  

He pulled out the scrap of paper, putting quarters into the phone and dialing the number.  Please pick up.  

“Hello?”  

Thank god.  

“Hi, uh, is this a bad time?”  

“Dwight?  No, it’s not, how are you holding up?”  

“I-I’m doing well.  Uhm…”  

Damn it, not now!  

“I was hoping, if it’s alright of course, if…  you knew of a place I could stay for the night?  I don’t really have that set up yet.”  

Fear quickly surged, this was stupid, I shouldn’t have asked, I should’ve just stayed in the hospital-

“Sure!  Where are you?  I’ll come pick you up as soon as I can.  I do live a bit out of town, so it’ll take me a bit.”  

“Uh, corner of Main and 3rd.  The payphone outside of the hardware store.”  

“Is that- wait, I know where you are.  Sit tight, alright?”  

“Yeah, and thanks.”  

“No problem at all!  I’m not the kinda guy to leave someone hanging like this.  Should take me about twenty minutes.  See ya then.”

The phone clicked, and Dwight put it back and headed outside of the box.  Now it was just a matter of waiting.  That won’t be so bad.  Just twenty more minutes.  Even still, the encroaching fog made him feel the familiar senses of fear and panic.  Everything’s fine, it’s just chilly tonight.  The fog doesn’t mean anything anymore.  

Despite that, he was incredibly anxious.  It was all too familiar, to feel the cold, eerie chill before being sent to a game of death by cruel meathook, or rarely by the hands of the Killer themselves.  The silence was so eerie, but he preferred it over the sounds he typically heard of the Entity.  He didn’t know how much time had passed by now; his watch was horribly off.  His heart started to race in his chest as more time passed, and he swore he had the unmistakable feeling of someone watching him.  Michael?  

He darted his attention around, suddenly paranoid that he was actively being stalked by the masked Killer.  He wouldn’t be able to clearly tell in the fog, especially with it being so dark.  He pressed his back against the phone box, at least alleviating one direction he had to be wary about.  He was still concerned about the other surroundings, heart leaping to his throat when he saw a silhouette in the fog.  

He immediately moved to another side of the phone box, hiding behind it.  No, no no no, it can’t be him, right?  He had no idea what he was going to do.  I could actually die!  Fear seized him again, eyes widened in panic.  

The honk of a car made him scream.  When the window of the driver’s side rolled down, he was relieved to see Jack with Coach in the bed of the pickup truck.  

“Hey, sorry for taking a while.  You okay?”  

Dwight nodded.  

“Yeah!  Yeah, I’m okay.  Just, thought I saw someone in the fog.”  

Jack looked into the fog, then back to Dwight.  

“I’m not sure if I see anybody.  It might be a trick of the fog, like when you feel something crawling on your arm and there’s nothing actually there.”  

He shrugged, then gestured to the passenger door.  

“You can hop in shotgun, or in the back with Coach, if you want.”  

Dwight nodded, quickly jogging around the truck to get in the passenger seat.  

“Thanks again, really.  I should’ve sorted out a place to stay earlier, but…  I didn’t really think about it.”  

Didn’t have the courage to face the issue, I mean.  He sighed in relief at the warmth of the car.  

“Hey man, it’s no problem, really.  Like I said, I’m not gonna leave someone hanging.  I did get to reading the news, too.  Apparently, you’re a big deal around here now.”  

Oh no.  

“R-Really?  Why me?”  

Jack looked over with a raised eyebrow, driving the route he knew almost by heart.  

“You went missing for two years, and then show up again covered in blood.  I’ve seen reporters all over town trying to figure out what they can about what happened.”  

“It’s nothing, really.  I just…  got lost.  Really lost.  It’s, hard to explain.”

Dwight shifted awkwardly in the seat.  Jack reached over to pat Dwight’s shoulder.  

“It’ll turn out fine, I think.  I’m pretty sure the excitement will die down after a few weeks.”  

A few weeks too long.  He nodded, leaning back in the seat.  

“I’m not exactly a guy that wants to be in the spotlight of anything.  I just…  wanna get back to my life.”  

“Can’t blame ya.  I’m not a flashy guy either, I just like doing what I do without too much problem.  Puts me at ease to work with the animals I raise.  Not sure if I ever mentioned it, but I work on my sister’s ranch.  She started getting more and more work, and I said I’d help her out wherever I can.  It’s nice and quiet most of the time.”  

Dwight couldn’t help a small smile.  

“Yeah, sounds nice.”   

They fell into silence as the road veered off into a dirt road.  The ranch was bigger than Dwight expected, and much more quiet.  

“Alright, here we are.”  

He quickly parked the truck and got out, Coach obediently hopping out and following close at Jack’s heels.  Dwight followed behind them, still anxious about the fog.  Reminds me of Coldwind.  

The door to the house swung open, and Dwight was instantly met with a chorus of barking dogs.  

“Down, boys!”  

A young woman, Jack’s sister, walked in from the kitchen in pajamas.  

“Come on, you mutts.  Bed time.”  

She paid little attention to Dwight, instead dragging several of the dogs away by their collars.  Jack turned to grin at Dwight.  

“She’s a little blunt, but nice.  I promise.  Come on, lemme show you a spare room you can use.”  

Dwight silently followed Jack, looking around at all the details of the house.  It was a nice place, but was definitely far too large for just two people.  

“There we go.  Bathroom is at the end of the hall.”  

Dwight turned his attention back to Jack when the door opened, noting how simple the room was.  Guess a spare room isn’t gonna be decorated too much.  He walked in and started undoing the tie he still had on, nodding to Jack.  

“Thanks, honestly.  I know I keep saying it, but, I really appreciate it.”  

“Not a problem, Dwight.  Lemme know if you need anything, my room’s the first door on the left there.”  

He pointed at the door that had countless scratches at the bottom.  

“Coach gets real antsy to get in my room sometimes, especially when he was a puppy.  Pretty easy to tell which room is mine because of it.”  

Dwight nodded, his question pre-emptively answered.  Jack turned to head to his room, Coach sitting beside it as if on cue.  He suddenly stopped as Dwight turned to put the tie on the nearest nightstand.  

“I just realized, you don’t have any spare clothes, do you?”  

Dwight blinked, shaking his head.   

“No, actually.  I’m… not sure what happened to most of my stuff.”  

“Here, let me get you some pajamas to wear.  That should be more comfortable than that stuff you’re wearing now.”  

“It’s okay, really!  I-I don’t wanna impose more than I am.”  

“Don’t worry about it!  I think they’ll fit you fine.”  

Before Dwight could say anything more, Jack was gone and getting spare clothes from his room.  Dwight sat on the bed and waited patiently, taking the time to reset his watch to the correct time.  It was already 11:45, and he knew he’d have an interesting day ahead of him tomorrow.  Jack came back quickly with oversized, flannel pajamas.  

“Here’s an old set I don’t wear anymore.  It’s a little big, but it should still fit.”  

Dwight nodded, carefully taking the pajamas.  

“Thanks again.”  

Jack nodded, closing the door and leaving Dwight to his privacy.  It’s better than a formal shirt and stiff pants.  He quickly changed and got into the bed, putting his glasses on the nightstand and leaving his clothes in a pile beside it.  Wait, that’d be rude, wouldn’t it?  He quickly got up to fold his shirt and pants, then place them neatly on top of the nightstand.  

He took a deep breath, covering his eyes with his arm as he lay on his back.  I have no idea what I’m even doing.  I’ll just, worry about it tomorrow.  He closed his eyes, trying to settle to sleep.  

David swore as he got back to his hotel room.  How the fuck does no one know where this guy is?  He nearly threw himself onto his bed, irritated at jet lag messing up his entire sleep schedule.  Instead of sleeping, he sat against the pillows scouring through anything he could find on his phone.  Nothing was particularly helpful,  and that only served to irritate him more.  He groaned loudly in annoyance, looking over to the clock.  Only 4:30, really?  He sighed, getting up and heading to the bathroom.  Might as well take a shower.  

When he got out, it was just barely 5 am.  He groaned again, rubbing his eyes and grabbing a towel to dry off his hair.  He wasn’t even quite sure what he was going to do, but anything was better than staying in the hotel room.  He quickly got dressed and headed out, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket.  The streets were entirely empty, only a few signs of life from places that were open all hours of a day.  

He was quickly starting to get used to the town, easily finding his way around.  There wasn’t much that was particularly interesting, but he never failed to find something to do, even if it was something mundane.  There’s gotta be at least something, it’s all over the news, isn’t it?  He sighed as he wandered into the nearest store, mindlessly looking around to distract himself.  

At 6, David opted to head back to the hotel and get something to eat.  It was better than wandering around with absolutely nothing to do.  What even did Dwight do around here for fun?  He shook his head, taking his time eating breakfast.  He wasn't surprised that hardly anyone else was awake in the lobby, and those that were might as well have still been asleep.  

He headed to the fitness center to kill time and burn some stress.  The hotel was surprisingly nice for a place so small.  He couldn't help the small pit of worry in his stomach.  What if this is the wrong place?  Or if he's already long gone?  But where would he go?  

He groaned, wiping off sweat with the nearest towel.  He headed back to his room to clean himself up, reading the time on the clock.  Only 7:15, but at least it’s more reasonable to be out.  He put on a change of clothes, heading out again.  There were far more people out now, David noticed, including a multitude of vans that very nearly sped over him.

“Oi, watch where yer fuckin’ drivin’!”  

The side of the van stuck out to him, being the branding of one of the local news channels he idly scrolled through on TV.  Now where are they going?  He turned to follow the road the vans had driven down, cursing to himself as the van turned a corner too fast for him to keep track of it.  He ran a hand through his hair, sighing in frustration.  His attention suddenly darted when he heard a yelp that was all too familiar.  

Dwight!?  He quickly sprinted in the direction of the yelp, now positive that he was hearing Dwight when he yelled again.  

“Hey, stop!”  

Dwight sounded genuinely distressed, and every instinct of panic screamed at him to run and find him.  He ran through the densely packed crowd of people he ran into, pushing people aside to get to the center.  When he finally broke through the crowd, he saw Dwight being roughly pulled by another man.  Panic quickly settled into rage.  

“Oi, back th’fuck off!”  

“D-David?”  

Dwight stared in disbelief.  David was here?  I’m not hallucinating, am I?  The protective grip David held his arm in told him otherwise.  He had expected people to be curious, but he hadn’t expected to be swarmed by news reporters.  

“You deaf or what?  Fuckin’ move it!”  

David’s voice startled him out of his thoughts.  He felt like he was in a daze as the crowd parted and David very quickly guided him out.  They didn’t stop until they were a fair distance away, and when Dwight’s mind finally caught  up to process everything.  

“David, how are you here?”  

David turned around to face Dwight.  

“Took a plane.  You think I wouldn’t try to find you and the others when I realized we weren’t in hell anymore?”  

Dwight held his arms.  

“I… didn’t really think about it.”  

The gentle touch on his shoulder made him look up.  

“Come on, Dwight.  I don’t leave people behind, you know that.  Where the hell did ya go overnight?  I tried finding you yesterday.”  

“Really?”  

Was he who I saw in the fog last night?  No, he would’ve said something long before.  ...Right?  

“I-I stayed with someone I met.”

He quickly noticed the sharp inhale from David, as well as the way his muscles tensed.  Figures that he’d be uneasy by that.  I don’t really know Jack well.  

“I’ve got a hotel room that’s got plenty o’space.  You can stay there with me, if ya want.  Besides, you can help me find th’others, too.”  

Dwight blinked in surprise.  

“You’re searching for everyone else?”  

“‘Course I am!  You lot mean more t’me than any fucker back home.  ‘M not gonna let any fuckers harass you, either.  Come on, lemme show you where it is.”  

Dwight nodded, following beside Dwight as David walked back to the hotel.  He walked almost in a surreal daze, as if what was happening was a dream.  Yet, he knew it wasn’t any dream or hallucination, no tricks or deceptions from eldritch beings.  This was real, and Dwight couldn’t be happier.  

[amidalogicdive]

How about prompt 29 with mmmm a lady of your choosing being sassy? c:

Ok, I have no clue what you were expecting but have some sassy Crowe who’s sick of Nyx’s crappy flirting… I am so sorry about this. Please know she does care about Nyx, and says all of this from the bottom of her heart. XD

—

Everyone knew that Crowe Altius was a badass, sassy as shit and had no filter. They also knew she really didn’t give a fuck what you thought, but what they didn’t know what she noted down everything. Every-fucking-thing, and it would most likely be used for blackmail later… or to get free drinks when they went out together.

Lately, her efforts have been put towards noting the consistent failings of one so-called ‘Hero’, who had decided that he was going to win over the fucking Prince of Lucis. Honestly, she wasn’t surprised, he’d done stupider shit since she’d known him.

Day 1:  "Can you touch my hand? I want to tell my friends I’ve been touched by an angel.“

I fuck you not, he said that. I guess the prince had come down for a tour of the Kingsglaive compound, something about responsibility as heir. The Captain introduces him and goes to show him around when Nyx jumped over the bench and, I swear to Shiva, he almost tripped. Ends up over by the door, leans against the wall and that shit comes out of his mouth. Drautos looked fucking livid, and I think the prince just felt sorry for the bastard… maybe I should treat him to a drink tonight? Nah, fucker needs to suck it up.

Day 6: “Do you believe in love at first sight? Or should I walk past again?”

And the pick-up of the day - is that shit. So I was wrong, the prince was here to become familiar with the area for training. Not only that but somehow Nyx is the one training him? Drautos must have been drunk when he made that decision. If this was the prince’s idea, I swear he’s a fucking masochist. I tried to talk some sense into Nyx, told him to try and behave… he just smirked as said he’d behave “the only way he knew how”. The prince is screwed, and now all of us gotta watch this dumbass hit on him at least 3 days a week. On the bright side… who the fuck am I kidding, there is no bright side to this.

Day 8: “Excuse me. I think you have something in your eye. Nope; it’s just a sparkle.”

He laughed. He. Fucking. Laughed. I shit you not, the prince (who told us just to call him Noctis) actually laughed. How do you laugh at that, I’m officially notating it as a pity laugh because I know he can’t be that fucking stupid. On the flip side, seriously Nyx? If he wanted a quick track to get kicked out of the glaives this boy hit the mark. Wonder if I can have dibs on his apartment, it is a fuck ton closer than mine. Note to self: Try and get Nyx’s apartment.

Day 12: “Are you a campfire? Cause you’re hot and I want s'more.”

Nyx is wasted - we are all fucking wasted. Noctis is sitting in Nyx’s lap, which the asshole looks far too happy about. Tredd is singing karaoke, badly. Luche and Pelna are arguing over how not to warp into a wall. Dumbasses. I think Libs is the only sober one and has to keep telling Nyx to watch where he’s putting his hands. Swear to Shiva I’m going to wake up and find out his head has been cut off for insa…insubord… shit, for fucking the crown prince. If I have to keep sitting through this shit I’m gonna need something harder to drink than vodka. I just… I just can’t right now. Even if it takes alcohol poisoning, I need to wipe this from my memory.

Day 13: —

Surprise, surprise. The prince is a lightweight when it comes to drinking, and didn’t come to practice because he’s hung over. Nyx has been whining all day, and I think Drautos is catching on. He threatened to send him back into the field if he doesn’t “get his shit together”. Fucker decided to ask me for some advice, so I gave him some. I told him point blank: “It must be hard with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line.” I must have hurt his feelings cuz he’s whining to Pelna saying I’m mean, suck it up. See if I help his fucking ass again, damn two-year-old.

Day 20: “Do you drink milk? It sure did your body good.”

I’m helping his fucking ass again. Why do I keep doing this to myself, maybe I’m the masochist? No, not fucking possible. So during training, the prince took his shirt off, and this gem comes out of Nyx mouth. Swear to Shiva… At this point I don’t know who’s more desperate: Nyx for wanting the prince, or me hoping the prince will finally give in so I don’t have to keep listening to this shit. Maybe I should start a pool, get Nyx laid fund, then we can pay the prince off to put Nyx out of his misery.

Day 23: “Hey baby, wanna sit on my lap and we’ll talk about the first thing that pops up?”

Once again we are here… he promised me if I’d come be his wing (wo)man he’d buy the first round… I’m gonna need a hell of a lot more than one drink to put up with this shit. As much as it hurts to say this, I think it’s working. The fucking prince gave him a kiss. Then again, I’d kiss him if it shut his damn mouth and I didn’t have to hear shit like that come out. Maybe it’s a strategic move on his behalf? At this point I’m just confused, why the hell am I even here?! Fuck him, I’m ordering a bottle and he’s paying cuz I have stolen his fucking wallet!

Day 28: “If it’s true that we are what we eat, then I could be you by morning.”

So the dumb ass finally asked the dip shit out on a date. Dip shit said yes, please help him, Shiva. I’m not even gonna bother to use their names anymore because this is so fucking stupid. After dip shit said yes, dumb ass pulled him close and said after the date they could do something really special. When dip shit asked him what that would be, he said THAT. At this point, either this is gonna work, or there will be an opening in our ranks by the end of the week.

Day 30: —

I’ve just fuckin’ given up, it’s not even worth it for the blackmail anymore. I don’t know what’s worse. They fact I have been putting up with most of this shit SOBER or the fact that it seems dip shit actually fell for it. Dumb ass has been way too happy for something to have not happened, Pelna keeps praying to Shiva that dumb ass doesn’t get his head cut off and Libs actually took him aside for a talk. The talk mostly consisting of “are you fucking stupid” and “you gotta be shittin me”. I think Drautos finally figured out what’s going on, cuz Tredd and Luche keep on trying to dodge his ass to avoid answering questions. He took one look at me and didn’t even bother to come over. I have come to the conclusion that dip shit and dumb ass deserve one another, and that I am never helping anyone again. Period. I’m done!

[imagineyourstars]

For a break from matchups, could you do a short scenario for the UNDEAD boys meeting their shy, smol s/o for the first time at a train station or airport, that they met on the internet a year or two ago? If you could, I'd be very grateful!! Keep up the great work!!! // also 10/10 job for tiering in LLSIF, I am so proud of you tbh, just saying in case no one did. Damn. I am proud of you. Bless your soul.

i loved this request, it was so cute ! also, message transmitted to mod maiko~ ! - mod mademoiselle

read more’d for length !

Rei :

You were happy to finally get out ofthis damn airplane. The flight to Japan had been long, and you werestuck between a snoring old man and a huge bodybuilder. Needless tosay, finally being able to walk and breathe some fresh air waswelcome.

And you were nervous, too. Today (well,tonight, since the sun was setting already) was your first timemeeting your long-distance boyfriend, Rei. You were a bit worriedabout being able to recognize him, to be honest. There were so manypeople here that you couldn’t see three feet ahead of you.

You were considering sitting in asecluded corner to call Rei when your eyes spotted a very obnoxiousand brightly colored sign, which read “Welcome to Japan, (y/n)!”. Oh no.

“Ah, you’re finally here. Do you know how rude it is of a fresh young lady like you to make an old man wait for hours ?”

Yep. That was your boyfriend alright. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Sorry, the plane was unexpectedly delayed… I hope you didn’t wait too lo– what are those, Rei ?”

You’d only noticed he was holding some horrendous balloons in his left hand. They were probably supposed to evoke small and cute animals, but they were half-deflated already and looked like they were begging to be put out of their misery.

“Balloons, obviously. It’s for you.”

“Did you… make them yourself ?”

Now that you looked at them closely, they even had eyes and mouths drawn on them with markers. Badly drawn, that is.

“Yes, I thought it would please you. Aren’t you happy ?”

He was smiling wide. You couldn’t tell whether he was making fun of you or if it was a genuine attempt, so you opted for an awkward laugh.

“Yeah, they’re… original ?”

Rei chuckled and took the handle of your suitcase, motioning for you to start walking with him.

“I am glad you like my attempt at being a “hip and cool boyfriend”, as you youngins say. Now, if you’re not too tired, I’d very much like us to hurry. We have some place to be.”

Rei was definitely attracting some weird looks from the other passerbys. Maybe it was because of his outfit. He certainly had a strange definition of “casual clothes”, even though he told you he’d try to tone his usual style down. But right now, you didn’t really care about that. Because your boyfriend gently took your hand in his and entertwined your fingers together, giving you a mysterious smile.

“Don’t tell me… I told you not to do anything over the top, Rei”, you laughed.

“I promise it’s not over the top. I wanted our first real date to be a proper one, that’s all.”

You sighed, a wide smile forcing its way on your lips.

“You’re impossible, Rei.”

“And I sure hope you’re hungry, young lady. Once you’ve eaten to your heart’s content, I’ll have all night to show you all the things I longed to do with you.”

He gently pecked your forehead, adjusting a piece of your hair in the process.

“I’ll show you how us vampires have fun.”

Koga

You spot him as soon as you get out of the train. He’s that pissed-looking guy wearing way too much black leather and chains. That certainly fits the selfie he sent you months earlier and you can’t help but smile. You run towards him, dragging your heavy suitcase behind you the best you can.

“Kogaaa !”

His face barely even lightens up when he meets your eyes.

“Hey, you’re late. ’ve been waiting for fucking hours !”

“Sorry, Koga, I got into the wrong train at some point…”

You laugh awkwardly. He eventually sighs and shakes his head.

“Ya really can’t do anything by yourself, huh ? Next time i’ll come with you. You need a man showing you the way.”

“Oops, you’re right, Koga-sama. I apologize for wasting so much of your precious time.”

He glares at you before yanking your suitcase out of your hand to carry it himself, only to groan at the sudden weight.

“What did ya put in it, a dead body… ?”

“Girls have their secrets, you know.”

You give him your prettiest smile and he grumbles as you both start walking to his place. You suspect even he’s having trouble carrying your (really heavy, you have to admit it) suitcase, judging by his angry groans about “girls and their fuckin’ clothes”. He catches you looking at him and almost barks :

“I hope ya not makin’ fun of me. I’ll drop that suitcase on your feet.”

“I’m not, promise. Thanks for doing it for me.”

You softly smile and he groans, looking away with a slight blush. You jump on the opportunity to shyly take his arm, and lean your head against his shoulder. He tenses up for a moment.

“What… What are you doin’ ?”

“Sorry, i was just a little tired.”

You hastily move away from him, worried he might be uncomfortable about the sudden physical contact, but he wraps his free arm around your waist and pulls you close again.

“Nah, it’s fine. I mean, since it’s you.”

You glance up at your boyfriend’s face, amused. He’s looking away, and his ears are tinted pink. You can’t help but giggle. Koga really does have a cute side. You’re distracted from your reverie by his grumbling.

“… yakiniku.”

“Sorry ?”

“I just said i’m taking you to eat yakiniku ! It’s not that i can’t cook, it’s that a real man needs meat, y'know !”

He catches you stifling your laughter and his eyes narrow.

“It’s good enough for ya, right ?”

“Yes, yes. I don’t mind, you know. As long as it’s with you.”

His expression softens, even breaking into a slight smile. The pressure of his arm against your waist gets stronger.

“… Same”, he mutters, looking you in the eye this time.

You find his smile is contagious, and hide your face in his jacket. He might be a rude, loud and grumpy guy, but he’s your rude loud and grumpy guy.

Kaoru

As heavy as your suitcase is, you practically find yourself running down the airport’s hallways. Excitement tends to do that. Especially since tonight, you’re meeting your long-distance boyfriend. You’re a bit nervous too, since he almost seems to be too good for you… Judging from his social media activity, he’s a really popular guy. And he’s an idol too. Even though you’re incredibly happy he chose you, you can’t help but wonder what a guy like him would find in someone like you.

You were too caught up in your thoughts to notice someone was following you, until they catch you by the wrist and you gasp. A soft, warm laugh melts all of the sudden tension away.

“K-Kaoru… ?”

“The one and only. Did you miss me ?”

He winks, and you shyly look away. His face is hovering just inches above yours now. Hard to make eye contact like this. He just laughs and presses a small kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He gently takes your suitcase, wincing a bit at the weight but keeps smiling to you nonetheless. You don’t really notice, too busy thinking of a comeback.

“Don’t get too full of yourself, I can still take the plane back home.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure you won’t.”

He winks and you fumble with your words. Selfies were one thing, but he’s even more handsome in real life. Besides, he dressed really sharply. Noticing you eyeing him over, Kaoru laughs.

“See ? I bought new clothes, just for you.”

You can’t help but giggle.

“Are you sure it’s just for me ?”

“Yeah, for our first date.”

He slyly smirks when you turn your face away. You’re blushing all the way to your ears. He’s even worse in real life than on the messenger.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Kaoru, i can’t go on a date like that… I mean, I’m not wearing makeup and–”

“So what ? You’re pretty all the same.”

He stops to take your hand and gently kisses it, and you can’t help but remove it from his grasp. He doesn’t take offense and instead just laughs, seemingly amused by your shyness. You’re still thinking of a comeback (you wouldn’t want the poor boy to get bored of you) when he suddenly stops walking, fumbling in his pocket.

“Speaking of pretty–”

“If it’s one more cheesy pickup line, Kaoru, i’m out.”

“Nah, it’s even better, i promise.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is thumping in anticipation. That boy, seriously…

“I wanted to buy flowers as pretty as you are, but none of them would do you justice.”

You audibly sigh, shaking your head. Your cheeks are slightly pinker though.

“That starts off really bad, Kaoru.”

“Wait, let me finish”, he laughs.

He’s still fumbling in his pocket, and eventually takes a small package out of it.

“So i settled for something else, something that could prove others you’re mine, you know ?”

“Oh, Kaoru…”

Inside the package is a necklace with a small rose on it. He lets your suitcase down to help you put it on, and gives you a bright smile once it’s on.

“Perfect. I knew it’d look good on you.”

“You’re impossible”, you groan, hiding your face in your hands.

He only laughs in response and takes your suitcase back in his right hand, and your hand in his left.

“Let’s go. I made a reservation in my favorite restaurant, just for you~”

Before you can even answer, he intertwines his fingers with yours and slightly leans over to whisper in your ear.

“It’s been so long I’ve dreamed of this moment. Let me show you my serious side…”

Adonis

It was raining when your train arrivedin the city where Adonis lived. As much as the weather was gloomy,you felt so excited you swore everyone near you could hear how loudyour heartbeat was. You were scrolling through all the screenshotsyou saved of the cutest moments in your and Adonis’ messenger chat,stopping to smile at awkward selfies of him. That boy is awful withhis phone.

You thought your heart was going toleap out of your chest when the train finally stopped. You were amongstthe first people to get out and ran out of it, searching for Adonisin the crowd. As you couldn’t find him, you got out of the stationand considered calling him. Maybe he got busy ?

You were dialing his number whensomething warm draped your shoulders, and you looked up. There hewas, dripping with rain. His hair was soaked too.

“Here. You’re going to catch a cold.”

He was busy adjusting his jacket on your shoulders. It was miraculously dry, and also very warm. You smiled shyly at him, a bit embarrassed by the offer.

“But then you’re going to be cold…”

“I’m fine. Besides, I have an umbrella.”

His face was straight as ever as he made a show of pulling a very cute umbrella with cat paws print out of his bag. Which made it incredibly difficult not to laugh.

“I guess this is your sister’s���. ?”

“Yes. She told me it was going to rain.”

He opened the umbrella and invited you to join him. You shivered when your arm touched his ; it was still wet and cold. You were about to ask him if he really didn’t want his jacket back when you noticed he was looking away, his face slightly pink. That’s right. Adonis has a shy and cute side too. You smiled fondly at the thought, which made it even harder for him to find the courage to look you in the eye again.

“I can carry your suitcase. It’s probably heavy.”

“Thank you, Adonis.”

He was carrying the umbrella with one hand and your suitcase in the other, fumbling nervously. You hesitated a moment, and then gently took his arm, which startled him. He looked even more tensed up than usual.

“I’m sorry if you’re nervous, I didn’t mean…”

“No… that’s fine. I… like it.”

The embarrassed look he gave you prompted you to blush in turn, and you laughed, squeezing his arm harder.

“I’m going to have to make sure to warm you up when we come home.”

His ears turned red, but he tried to look composed as he answered.

“I can make some soup. You have to eat a lot, so that your body will be strong and fight the cold away.”

“Are you sure this is how it works ?”

He looked perplexed and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Of course. I can’t protect you from the cold, but i can make sure you grow stronger to fight it off on your own.”

You leaned into him, feeling all the fatigue from your travel washing away already. Adonis’ presence was so refreshing… He was leading the way and you just followed him, lost in your thoughts. You were almost dozing off when he suddenly stopped.

“Do you like that ?”

He was looking insistently at a bakery’s window and brought you closer. All the pastries looked delicious, but the one he was pointing at was what looked like a cat-shaped bun.

“It’s very cute. What is it ?”

“It’s anpan. It’s a sweet roll with red bean paste in it. It’s very delicious.”

“It does look good…”, you admitted, feeling your stomach starting to protest in hunger. The cute cat-bun was smiling at you two, from behind the window. Adonis’ eyes were so intense and focused on the bun, you thought he could break the window just by looking.

“Do you want to buy it, Adonis ?”

He seemed a bit startled and shyly shook his head.

“I don’t… I mean, you should choose what you like.”

There were also some very cute strawberry pies, but as much as you wanted to try them, Adonis was still staring at the anpan. When his stomach growled loudly, you were decided.

“Alright, let’s go for the anpan. I want to taste it.”

You took his hand and led him into the bakery, while he still looked surprised.

“Are you really sure-”

“Yes ! It looks really good. I want to try what you like, Adonis.”

You couldn’t help but marvel at how vulnerable he looked when he was blushing. He gently squeezed your fingers in his, a small smile forming on his lips.

“I’ll show you all my favorite things, then.”

You nodded, his hand big and warm around yours. You felt so warm around him. Safe and protected.

“Just the two of us.”