#well that is a lamp shade that i found next to the trash

[balkanradfem]

I had to move my zuchinni to the basmenet, since the apartment is too warm for storage, so now my found aquarium is repurposed as a little greenhouse!

It looks so cool, and I can’t actually tell if it’s warmer inside, since it’s such a small greenhouse, it probably can’t hold much warmth. But, whenever sun shines and gets thru that glass, I’m sure the plants are getting a lot more warmth than they otherwise would! It’s also a lot more humid, but I feel like the plants might like that.

These flowers are frost-sensitive, so I will have to move them inside in a few days, I’m not sure such a tiny greenhouse would protect them from the freezing temperatures. I’m tempted to try growing microgreens, lettuce, kale, swiss chard, and other frost-hardy things, to see if anything would work out. We’re having very little light, and my balcony is shaded, but someone has to experiment even in these circumstances!

[cobaincreates]

the fuck is a touron? pt. 2

warnings: language, mention of drugs & alcohol, smut (wrap it you're smart), very brief oral (male receiving), 18+

count: 9k+

part one is here! i hope you enjoy this as much as i did writing it! also remember when i said this has been sitting for a couple months?? welp, it’s been longer than that...oops. but it's all yours now!!! :)

taglist is always open. have a lovely weekend! photo cred

— — —

3 weeks earlier

a loud blare jolted you awake.

“what the fuck?”

you scrambled to stop the noise, your heart nearly jumping out of your chest. your head knocked into something hard as you twisted and tried to assemble your brain.

a clatter of what sounded like several bottles came from your right. the sound still rang out into the room—which was where exactly?

as you got to your hands and knees and shuffled against what felt like carpet, you remembered vaguely that you’d gone out last night. the carpet and dark room didn’t tell you much else. but the trilling alarm was enough to set you into a search to find that out.

“shut that off!” a voice yelled from behind you.

your hand knocked into more bottles and you grappled for one, feeling the familiar shape of a glass beer bottle. someone groaned in front of you then a blinding light pierced across your eyes. you sucked in a breath, dropping the bottle and covering your eyes.

what, were you a vampire? you peeked past your fingers to a parted curtain letting in a sliver of sunlight. you saw a little more of where you’d been, the light trail full of bottles and some sprawled legs and arms.

the alarm cut off suddenly. soft snores and labored breaths filled the silence now, along with a pounding in your ears so intense, you would’ve thought you were still hearing the alarm. a slow, gradual ache formed in the center of your forehead.

you blinked as your eyes adjusted to the light. a sparkling stiletto caught your attention, but it wasn’t on a foot. you looked around the room and spotted its twin near the back of a couch. crawling over, you found liza laying on her back with her hair messily splayed around her.

she was yawning while her phone lit up her face in a soft glow. when your eyes met, she whispered, “hey.”

you faintly remembered her setting an alarm on her phone somewhere in between jell-o shots and body shots. or was it after the jäger bombs?

you let out an oomf as you collapsed beside her on your stomach. your head didn’t let up the pounding. you made a noise, your words muffled against the stale-smelling carpet.

“what?” liza said, not having heard any coherent words.

you turned your head, the carpet scratching your cheek. “i said, nurse me back to health, please.”

“i told you not to do those lines,” she said, shaking her head.

“what?” you said a little too loudly, earning a few shh!s in return.

“i’m kidding,” liza laughed.

you grimaced, mostly at her but also at the hair in your mouth. you reached up to remove it and sat up while liza looked at her phone.

“what time is it?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder around the room.

no one else had moved from liza’s wake-up alarm. your vision was clearer now and you took in the trashed room. bottles lay everywhere, a few staining the carpet in dark puddles. a lamp was on the floor, its shade across the room over someone’s head. it was warm considering the blackout curtains keeping the morning sun out and you couldn’t imagine sleeping in here any longer.

your head pounded again as liza said, “noon.”

“can we go? i might throw up from how hot it is in here.” you pulled at your dress, wanting nothing more than to get under some cold water.

liza sat up and looked around, dropping her phone into her lap. “i need my other shoe.”

“it’s over here,” you said and crawled to retrieve it for her.

she put it on, her dress riding up her thighs before she stood and pulled it back down. you took her offered hand so she could help you up. your heels sank into the carpet and you looked down, finding a soggy spot where beer had seeped in. you frowned and grabbed ahold of liza’s arm to find your way out.

your small crossbody clutch was resting on the couch cushion and you reached for it over a girl’s sleeping form, careful not to wake her. she made a small noise and you snatched it quickly, feeling the weight of your phone inside.

liza ordered an uber to bring you back to campus. it was fifteen minutes away and you panicked for a brief moment from not knowing where the hell you were. last night was a whole blur apart from arriving and getting into the swing of things. you remember dancing and drinking and having fun with liza and a few other friends. it wasn’t usual for you to sleep at random people’s houses after parties, but last night must have been a little more eventful than others.

you let out a long breath you didn’t know you were holding as you sank into the back of the uber driver’s car. luckily, you didn’t get someone hopped up on coffee or blasting music. it was quiet and calm, enough so that you closed your eyes.

speaking of coffee, you could really use one. and food. and a shower. had you really slept on that nasty carpet last night? you shuddered and opened your eyes.

fishing out your phone from your clutch, you saw a few notifications from last night and the past few hours. you ignored them for now and unlocked your phone with the goal of texting one of your friends who worked at the diner in town and begging him to have your usual ready when you got there. it was all you could think about as your stomach rumbled.

but when you unlocked your phone, your eyebrows drew together. your screen opened to an internet tab, a little plane logo at the top corner.

“why the fuck did i buy a ticket to the outer banks?” you blurted to no one in particular. well, maybe to your friend beside you, who lived in the outer banks.

liza lolled her head toward you on the back of the seat, not at all looking as concerned as you felt. “you’re visiting, remember? i talked you into buying it last night.”

“why?” your head seemed to throb even worse.

you couldn’t go to the outer banks. you didn’t have the money for it and the ticket on your internet browser said you’d even bought a round trip one. god, why had you done that? you were saving up for the summer. you were saving up to see so much more than the outer banks. as much as you loved liza, and you knew she’d love to have you there, you would be wasting a weekend. how were you going to tell your boss that you needed off at such short notice?

liza shrugged beside you. “because my dad will be gone for a whole weekend and i’m throwing the biggest party ever and you love me and you promised to dance to ‘back that ass up’ with me there.”

“oh my god,” you groaned and dropped your phone into your lap. you rubbed your pulsing temples. “i can’t go, liza. i really need the money.”

“hence why you have a job—said job will pay that back in a week. you’re fine,” she waved her hand and turned back to the window.

“i need to work that weekend,” you argued. just thinking about asking for it off had your skin crawling.

“you can take time off. you never do.” liza shrugged, looking at you again. her face softened when she noticed how distraught you were over it. “look, if you really don’t want to, then just cancel it. it’s okay if you don’t come.”

your fingers came away from your head as you saw that she was being genuine. she may have joked around with you a lot, but she meant it when she said that.

friday

getting time off wasn’t easy. your boss acted like the ultimate villain in a boss level from a video game, having you go through all of these obstacles just to get three days off. you understood it, you were short-staffed anyways and it was hard, but you couldn’t help feeling as though they were a little harsh on you. it was always a fight to get time off, even when you showed up every day, on time, and did your work without complaint.

right after you talked to your boss, feeling the ultimate amount of shame over requesting three days, you searched high and low for someone to cover your shift. turns out, it wasn’t all that difficult to begin with since one of your co-workers—who just had a baby and was still a full-time student—told you they’d appreciate the extra hours. you felt instantly better afterward until your boss asked you to fill out three separate sheets for the time off. no, you couldn’t just write the three days on one sheet. it had to be three. separate. sheets.

it was completely ridiculous and uncalled for. you fumed for a while, pressing way too hard on your pen as you filled them out. once you set them on their desk, all filled out properly, you reminded yourself you could quit soon. just a few more months of the semester and you’d be gone.

the next day when you came in, your boss had allegedly lost those request papers. and funnily enough, they allowed you to put the weekend dates on one paper this time. you’d stared at them for a whole three minutes, paper in your hand and tongue between your teeth with angry words just dying to get out. you can quit soon. you can quit soon.

the weeks dragged by before the day finally arrived and you left for your flight. it was only when you got off the plane that the hours started to fly by. it was colder this time around, which you didn’t mind, even on the breezy ferry ride. you were looking forward to campfires and cozy sweaters.

you hopped off the ferry around noon and right into liza’s waiting arms at the dock. she was overjoyed about you visiting and you knew all the trouble with work was worth it just to get away for a little. you were young, there was no shame in a little time off, and liza was right—you’d already earned the money back for the ticket.

liza’s dad was bustling around their house when you arrived, packing like a crazy person on a time crunch. he threw a hello at you as he shuffled past with an armful of socks and possibly underwear, which had you lifting an eyebrow at liza. she shoved your arm and took your bag into the guest bedroom.

“where’s your dad running off to? can i go?” you teased, dropping your backpack onto the light green comforter. the white walls seemed brighter this time, but you accounted it for the new sheer curtains over the windows facing the back of the house.

“he’s going on a business trip. and no, you can’t. his girlfriend is going with him.” liza left your bag near the dresser and hopped on the bed, the comforter sighing under her weight.

“girlfriend? aw, man.” you frowned dramatically and lay on your stomach beside her. “do we like this girlfriend?”

“she’s very...” her left eye squinted as she thought. “eccentric. like, i don’t know how to take it. he seems happy though.”

“like, weird eccentric or crazy eccentric?”

“i don’t know. i haven’t breached the abortion topic with her yet. that could be very telling, don’t you think?” a playful smile hinted at her lips.

“totally telling,” you agreed.

minutes later, you were waving liza’s dad off as he pulled out of the driveway, liza standing a few steps in front of you. once he was gone and out of sight down the drive, liza turned back to you with a flourish and a cheshire grin spread on her face. you laughed as she pushed you into the house and began jumping excitedly. music started playing somewhere in between the jumping, which promptly turned to dancing in the kitchen. having a whole house to yourselves was always a thrilling thing.

it wasn’t long after that that liza told you to get ready for a party at the boneyard, as she called it. you had no idea whether to take that literally or just go along with it and be surprised. you went with the latter as you changed out of your airport clothes.

as you were heading that way, you thought about that one fling you had the last time you were here. what was his name? something rich, with a t. tom? trenton? no, no, something obscure. topper. god, you nearly forgot about him, but now that you were visiting again, you wondered if he was around. in the middle of the semester seemed like your luck would be out.

liza was slowing the car as you thought to text topper, just to see if he was here. you hadn’t talked since that summer—what was it? seven months ago? you hadn’t felt the need to keep in touch. didn’t he say to shoot him a text when you were in town again? you supposed there was no harm in doing so. what could be the worst thing to happen? maybe he wouldn’t be in town, but you wouldn’t be all that bummed about not having a hookup. you weren’t as ravenous as you were in the summer.

“are you getting out?”

your head turned and you found liza standing with the door open, her keys dangling from her hand. you hadn’t noticed that the car had parked or that you’d arrived at wherever the boneyard was. the beach was right in front of you, just over a small crest in the sand. you could smell it slipping into the car from where liza held the door propped open.

you opened your own door and hopped out, the gravel crunching under your shoes. you were glad you opted for a sweater with the early spring wind from the water as it blew over your shoulders and tangled into your hair.

a handful of people were already on the beach, stripped driftwood scattered around. most used them as seats while there was a fire already going and drinks in their hands. you couldn’t help but smile at the sight, a giddiness filling your chest. this was exactly what you needed and the perfect setting for it.

liza pulled you into a group with some familiar faces that you had met the last time around. small talk was immediately flowing and you couldn’t care less for it, but you welcomed it anyways. liza was quick to guide you to the next group and the next before you finally got comfortable with a drink in hand. you sipped it steadily and ditched your shoes with liza’s, sticking them under a piece of driftwood behind where you stood. one of liza’s friends was asking you about your degree, something along the lines of why you had chosen it. you couldn’t comprehend it fully as your eyes drifted around the sand where people stood in small groups and larger ones.

standing near an overturned lifeguard post that was sure to be rotting away was none other than topper. he was facing away from you, but you had no doubt in your mind that it was him. his hair was blonder than it was when you met, funnily enough in the colder months. he wore a sweatshirt (blue or dark green, you couldn’t tell) paired with shorts and (surprisingly) sneakers.

you turned back to liza’s friend, giving them a somewhat vague but good answer. you then excused yourself and split from the group to head in topper’s direction. you stopped just outside of his larger group and crossed your arms, holding on to your beer by the neck loosely. it took a minute or two for topper to notice you, obviously feeling a presence behind him and doing a double-take. you already had a smirk on your face.

“holy shit, hi.” he blinked rapidly, turning away from his friends.

“hi,” you laughed. both of you went in for a hug at the same time. topper pressed your waist firmly to his while you hugged him around his shoulders.

“it’s good to see you,” you said.

“yeah, you too.” there was surprise in his voice and features as if he never thought he would see you again. your hand slipped down his arm as you pulled away before you took a step back, your hands resting at your sides.

“how have—“

“hey! the touron’s back!” a voice over his shoulder shouted.

you looked in its direction, finding a menacing smirk on an all too familiar face. you couldn’t remember his name as he sipped arrogantly on a beer, perched on the rotting lifeguard’s post.

you found your own sweet smile and raised your free hand to flip him off, which only egged him on more as his laughter filtered out. you were instantly annoyed, although you didn’t show it as he had brought unwanted attention to you and topper. you were sure most of the people in this larger group had been on topper’s deck that day in the summer.

topper looked at a loss for words when you turned back to him, his eyes still on you. you were glad he wasn’t laughing at his friend’s comment.

“can i get you another drink?” he gestured to the bottle between your fingers and you glanced down, seeing that it was a sip away from empty.

you gave him a nod as you said, “sure.”

the sun was setting by the time you got a refill, the glass cold against your palm, and wandered off with topper toward the water. conversation flowed as you caught up, shrugging as you told him all you had been doing was working and studying. you were lucky if you got to go out and have fun once in a while. topper expressed the same, talking animatedly about college and visiting home for the weekend to see his friends.

you wondered what he was like at college, if he spent most of his quieter hours in the library reading articles or if he was the type of friend to take up guard in the kitchen at parties. it was easy to imagine him in those situations since you hardly knew him. his smirking friend certainly didn’t seem the type.

you flicked some wet sand into the water, imagining the waves bringing it back to settle at your feet. topper stood beside you, the wind tousling his locks. you had just mentioned how your mother had bought a new coffee machine and how your dad canceled it because there was no point in having two. your mother just figured it would be easier having two so no one had to wait on the single-cup brewing system. it made you laugh and roll your eyes when you heard about it over the phone. topper had been smiling the whole time as he listened, his head inclined like you were whispering.

a rush of heat had slithered down between your thighs when you caught his eyes a couple times. he was just watching you as you spoke and you couldn’t help but smile flirtatiously, wondering if he was thinking what you were thinking.

how you were imagining last summer and the feel of his hands on your skin. you wished you’d gotten to know more of him; if he had any scars or little beauty marks that you didn’t notice the first time. it was easy to imagine it, but you had the burning curiosity to see for yourself.

you needed to take a break, to get a gulp of air before you drowned in the thought and jumped his bones right here and now.

“i should go find liza,” you said abruptly even though no one had been speaking. “i’ll see you around?”

topper nodded without a word and you caught a glimpse of confusion on his face, but you walked away. you let out a deep breath as you felt the wet sand turn dry under your feet. the sky was an inky pink behind you, windshields on cars reflecting it back.

you wrapped an arm around liza when you found her and she smiled knowingly. you didn’t have to ask if she’d seen you with topper, it was quite obvious in such an open area.

topper took up his place with the group you took him away from, but this time he was facing your way. you closed your lips around your bottle, staring back at him as he did the same thing. a shiver went up your legs, goosebumps exposing to the crisp air around you. you had to look away before you walked over there and kissed the hell out of him. your heart was behaving rather poorly now.

but could you help it? every time he looked at you as the sky grew darker and the bonfire grew larger, every obscene image possible took shelter behind your eyes. your mouth dried out so many times that you eventually had to get another drink and another. topper wasn’t making it easy and you started digging holes with your feet just to stay put.

you wouldn’t go to him, you made that very clear to yourself. if topper wanted you, then he’d have to make the first move. stubborn as it was maybe, but you’d torture him if you had to like he was torturing you now with all of these looks under his lashes. christ.

“my god,” liza said into your ear as she stood on the driftwood behind you, arms around your neck. “you’d think topper was a starving man.”

“shut up,” you laughed and looked at a fallen log in the fire pit.

“i’m serious. you guys have been undressing each other for an hour and a half now. just go over there and make out with him.”

you smiled into your drink, keeping your eyes far away from topper, or else you might actually do just that.

“there’s hardly any pda going on as it is, we need entertainment,” liza sighed.

“there’s your entertainment,” you nodded your head toward a rowdy group of young high schoolers shouting at each other. three of them looked angry as all hell and there was a bit of shoving before one of the older college boys broke it apart.

“that was short-lived,” liza frowned as she hopped down from the driftwood.

“you want another drink?” you asked her as she finished off her last one.

“yes, please!” she beamed as you took her bottle and tossed them into a nearby trash bin. you headed for the stocked cooler and grabbed two beers. as you stood, topper was making his way over.

“you have any plans after this?” he asked without much preamble.

you smiled, pulling the tops off and taking a sip from your own, eyeing him as you did. that flicker of heat made its way back between your thighs, warming you all over. you couldn’t deny the suggestion in his question excited you and you were giving yourself a mental pat on the back for being patient.

“nope, i’m all yours.”

topper smiled slowly, his eyes flicking to your lips as you licked them. okay, maybe jumping his bones here and now wasn’t a terrible idea. but you needed to string this out, you wanted it to last—whatever it was.

“i don’t want to leave yet though. i’ll come find you?” it implied that you’d make him wait longer than you really would, but it was satisfying to see him practically drool at the thought of what was to come.

liza was giddy when you went back over, either for the beer or when you told her that you’d be going off with topper for a little. she smirked, knowing exactly what for, but she didn’t mind. she wasn’t leaving anytime soon, and not without you.

you didn’t make topper wait long. when you were ready, another beer in and a relieved bladder, you touched topper’s elbow as he talked with his friends closer to the cooler. the ice was partly melted, but there were still plenty of drinks left. the fire was feeding off sweltering heat, and with the cold wind, it was perfect.

“hey, you ready?” you asked when topper turned to you.

you weren’t sure exactly what topper had in mind when he had asked you if you were busy for the rest of the night, but not having a clue thrilled you a little.

“yeah,” he nodded and took the last sip from his beer. his slid his hand up, capturing yours before tugging you along toward the parked cars. hardly anyone was over there. you could faintly hear voices and sounds from inside a few cars, some windows cracked. your fingertips warmed as your heart beat, pushing blood to every corner.

topper’s jeep came in sight and you tried to remember the inside. was there enough room for both of you in the back seat? or maybe you’d share one of the front ones. it didn’t matter to you, as long as he put his lips to use.

your back met the side of the jeep as topper leaned his hands on the window, caging you in. you were quick to close the space between you, either the beer taking the reins or your lack of patience from the past few hours of being here and having a staring contest with him. your breaths mingled and your hands grabbed fistfuls of his sweatshirt to pull him closer. the familiar tingles spread between your thighs and you wasted no time in showing him how impatient you were.

“i don’t think either of us is fit enough to drive, topper,” you breathed when you had the chance.

there was no way you could drive with everything you drank. topper tasted like the beer too, but you weren’t sure if he was fit enough to drive either. you didn’t want to chance it, nor could you wait that long.

“what do you want to do?” he asked against the skin of your neck, his nose skimming up the side. he pressed a few kisses, getting closer to your jaw.

you tilted your head back against the door and sighed, closing your eyes momentarily then opening them to find a few stars winking at you. there were so many once you focused on them. topper interrupted your gaze, pulling you by the back of your head to his lips. he kissed you as if you were his last meal, his tongue licking into your mouth. you moaned, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his hair. you remembered him being this much of a good kisser.

“let’s find a spot on the beach,” you suggested, only getting a kiss on the corner of his mouth before he pulled away.

his eyes were blown wide, his hair ruffled. if you looked hard enough, his cheeks were sure to be flushed, both from alcohol and excitement.

“seriously?” he asked, his hand stilling on the back of your head.

you laughed and nodded, brushing a lock of his hair. “yeah, why not?”

a cold wind blew, tossing your hair into your eyes. topper caught it and pushed it back to its spot behind your ear.

“i think you’re the girl of my dreams,” he joked.

you grinned and slid your hands down his chest. “do you have a towel?”

topper had to pick his jaw up off the gravel before he finally moved away from you and opened his jeep. he ruffled around in the back then finally pulled out a blanket.

“very resourceful,” you commented as he closed the door.

“never know when you might need it,” he said as he threw it around you, shielding your bare legs from the wind. he turned again to the jeep and bent over the driver’s seat to get something. you saw it was a condom when he turned back and closed the door.

“also resourceful.”

he laughed then took your hand back in his. you headed back toward the beach but in the opposite direction of where the bonfire was. it was quieter the further you got, nothing but the waves coming into the shore. it was darker too; all the more private.

topper took the blanket from you and settled it down. you took a seat as he fixed a corner, swiping sand that had gotten on to it. once he sat beside you, he pulled you back against his lips.

you knelt up and scooted closer, placing your hands on his shoulders for leverage as you swung a leg over his waist. you sat in his lap and hummed as you felt him against your thigh. he squeezed you closer in response.

“i’ve never fucked someone on a beach before,” you admitted as you slipped your hands under his sweatshirt and the t-shirt beneath, pushing them up.

“i’ve never fucked anyone outside before.”

“what?” you pulled away to look down at him, your hands freezing on his chest. he was breathing deeply and you swore you felt the patter of his heart against your fingertips. “really?”

“yeah,” he shrugged and glanced over your shoulder toward the water. “just never had the chance to try.”

“what do you mean? you live on an island.” you let his clothes fall back down, stopping above his belly button. “i’ve been here twice and i’ve seen at least twenty ideal places that would be perfect for it.”

“i don’t know, i never asked anyone and no one asked me.” he shrugged again and you knew you were looking way too into this, but it seemed impossible that he hadn’t done this at least once before. you knew that if you lived here, you would’ve done it countless times.

your hands slid back up. “well, tonight’s your lucky night.”

you pulled topper back to your lips, tongues meeting. his hands rubbed along your back and you couldn’t help but arch into him as he slipped them beneath your sweater. his hands were so warm that it felt as if he set fire to your skin. you moaned and sunk your teeth into his lip briefly. a shiver wrecked your body just as topper’s hands came around to your front, sliding up to your breasts. you felt your nipples peek at the contact and topper made it even worse when his thumbs brushed over them.

“christ, it’s cold,” you mumbled as another shiver came and went.

“mhmm,” he hummed. “i’m sure that’s what it is.”

you laughed and wanted to swat at him. instead, you swallowed that little bit of nerves edging close to the surface and reached a hand to his lap. you watched as topper’s lips parted as your hand squeezed him over his shorts. the fabric was soft as topper grew harder. you relished in his expression, the way his eyebrows were drawn together, and how his jaw flinched when he closed his mouth.

topper’s hands fell away as you stood. he looked ready to pull you back down until he realized what you were doing and watched closely as you pulled your shorts and underwear down together. you kicked them aside and shivered as another wind blew.

sitting over topper again, you knelt up onto your knees to pull his shorts down. you couldn’t help swallowing at the sight of him. as dark as it was, you could still see him pretty well. your hand wrapped around him, solid and warm in your palm. topper groaned and leaned back on his hands.

“where’s the condom?” you asked as you stroked him, not at all in a rush with your hand around him.

topper registered your question and patted around the blanket for a moment before holding a square packet between his fingers. you took it from him and bit down on an edge, ripping it open with your free hand. you took the rubber between your fingers and spat the packaging somewhere. topper’s breathing became swallow all the while you stroked him. you stopped and rolled the condom onto him then leaned forward for a kiss.

topper reciprocated, his hands grabbing ahold of your hips until he pulled away to look up at you.

“what if you get sand in your vagina?” he asked, an innocent tone wrapping around his voice.

you couldn’t help the smile or the way your eyebrows furrowed all the while wanting to laugh. that’s what he’s thinking about?

“nothing that hasn’t happened before. it usually takes a couple of days to get rid of but i’ll be fine.”

the topic didn’t stop there. “does it hurt?”

“no, i’ll be fine,” a small laugh slipped out. “that’s why we have a blanket. and i’m on top. can we stop talking about sand getting in my vagina now? it’s kind of killing the mood.”

“sorry,” he shook his head, an embarrassed expression taking form.

you snorted, laughter bubbling up your throat. how did that question even come about in his head? you supposed it was nice of him to care about such a thing. you hoped your laughter didn’t make him feel more embarrassed.

his expression morphed into an amused one and he joined in, laughing at his odd question. you both shook with laughter for a few moments until you calmed down. topper squeezed his fingers on your hips, dragging his palms down your thighs. you brought your lips back to his and your hands to his chest. pushing him gently, you went with him as he lay down. you stayed against him for a couple more seconds before sitting up over him and finding him in your hand again.

topper groaned and gripped your thighs as you brought him into your heat. you couldn’t find your breath as you took him all the way in and sat over him, feeling completely and utterly filled. he was in your stomach, under your skin, everywhere.

“fuck, yes,” you panted, branding your palms on his stomach, pushing his sweatshirt and shirt up again. he was flushed from head to toe, something you were slowly building up to be.

you started off rocking back and forth slowly, feeling him pull and glide inside of you. when you dragged your clit against his skin, which was getting hotter and hotter with the friction, you couldn’t help the way your body tightened around him.

“y/n. oh, fuck—you gotta bounce for me,” topper choked out underneath you, moving his hands to your waist to grip tightly.

you nodded without words, not really finding any with your tongue tied. your hands pushed against his stomach as you lifted yourself up, letting almost all of him leave you empty. then you slammed down, moaning as loud as you could. you didn’t care. not one bit. you were still aware of the bonfire happening yards away, but you didn’t care if someone from the party was walking this way and heard you. let them hear how good topper felt inside you.

a quicker pace was set, sweat building in the creases of your knees and under your hands planted against topper. you loved this. all you could think about was how good it felt, how you fucked topper hard and fast—and how you were getting to fuck him again. it was so much better than the first time, even though you loved having him behind you then. this was just as good.

topper was sitting up again, your sweater rubbing against his and your body feeling way too hot. his hands gripped your ass tightly, helping you rock your hips over him. you were close, closer every time your clit brushed against him at this angle.

it became too much very quickly. you held on to him by his hair at the back of his head, gripping so tightly your knuckles were probably white, and reached your other hand down to touch yourself. your moans were growing higher and more frequent and topper was full-blown panting in your face. when you reached your end, a strangled sound came out of you. you stilled over topper, pulling more of his hair as you came over him.

not long after when you were moving again over him, your mouth on his neck and arms around his shoulders, his grip tightened on your ass as he came. you hummed and gave a few pecks just before he let go and fell onto his back. you followed, moving off of him and laying on your side.

“how long are you here?” topper asked minutes later, his breathing leveling out.

“i leave sunday morning,” you said, blinking tired eyes open as a wind blew over you.

“can i see you again?”

you smiled, your eyes shifting to topper beside you. “don’t you mean can you fuck me again?”

his lips spread wide and if his eyes were open, you had a feeling he’d be rolling them. laughing, you pushed yourself onto your elbow and touched his cheek.

“liza is having a party tomorrow. you should come,” you said quietly, leaning down to brush your lips over his.

“okay.”

“that was easy.”

“it doesn’t take much to convince me,” his voice was tired, piquing your interest.

“am i that good?”

all you got in return was a low laugh.

“i’m taking that as a ‘hell yes’ so thank you very much.”

topper let out a noise just before he moved, pushing you onto your back. his lips landed over yours, gentle and thorough.

saturday

it was a blur of drinks and games and dancing at liza’s house. every room was filled and it was hot for a few hours until you stationed yourself out on the deck with topper. you could lie and say that you didn’t sit out there just to make out with him, but that’s exactly what you did. it was perfect—even more perfect when his shitty friends didn’t show up with him. if you hadn’t been so distracted by his mouth, you would’ve thanked him then and there.

hours later, you had met topper at the front door. you informed liza of your new plans and she was more than happy to get you out of her hair, especially when her eyes latched on to someone and she started to drool into her drink. you grinned fiendishly at her and quickly went on your way.

topper was unlocking his front door and your legs were still a little tingly from the drinks you had over the past few hours. your hand absentmindedly ran along his forearm, needing to feel him so you could stay grounded and alert.

“if you don’t open this door, i’m going to fall asleep right on this porch.”

topper laughed, his keys jingling in his hand. it was a few more seconds of him trying without a light until he eventually found the keyhole and the door swung open. there was a rug that the bottom of the door brushed over and topper walked ahead of you, leading you in by the arm you refused to let go of. he was warm and solid. if you let go, you might evaporate.

your eyes adjusted with the lack of light in the entryway as topper closed the door behind you, sliding the lock into place. your skin felt like it was humming, the hairs on your arm standing up as you stayed close to topper. his shoes scuffed as he kicked them off, his keys dropping onto a table near the door while his other hand wrapped around your wrist. he lured you in by heat alone and you leaned in. your lips landed on his shirt, but you moved them until you found warm skin past the neckline.

reaching down, you found the strap of your sandals and worked to get them undone. why you wore sandals was completely lost on you as you struggled. topper grabbed ahold of you so you wouldn’t fall while your lips pressed a few more kisses into his neck. his hands were searing against your shirt and your skin pricked with the need to have them everywhere.

you kicked off your shoes, feeling your bare foot brush other pairs as topper grabbed ahold of your neck. you didn’t know where he was leading you until his lips landed against your cheek. he adjusted to where he meant to land and opened your lips with his own, coaxing your tongue with his. you moaned as if you were melting, your hands moving along his back as your body relaxed into his. another noise slipped from you, your hands moving down to his hips. one of them you let venture further until you felt him straining against his jeans.

topper gasped, his breath fanning over your mouth and down your neck. you grinned as you squeezed him just so you could see how he’d react.

it was cut short by light flooding the room and burning behind your eyelids. you flinched, parting from topper and squinting.

you were doing so well with no interruptions.

“topper? oh—i’m sorry,” a voice came from your left and you held your eyes open long enough to see a woman standing there, her hand falling from the light switch.

you suddenly remembered where you were holding topper and you dropped your hand, a hot blush crawling up onto your cheeks. you shuffled away from topper faster than he did at composing himself. was it wishful thinking to hope this woman didn’t see where your hand was placed a second ago?

“mom,” topper breathed, hiding his lack of breath well. your own heart was beating so loudly in your ears you figured the woman could hear it too in the entryway.

you averted your eyes, embarrassment dousing you from head to toe at the fact that you’d been caught by topper’s mother.

“we’ll be in my room,” topper said. his hand engulfed yours and you couldn’t remember how to use your feet or legs. “night.”

you kept your head down as topper tugged you past his mother, her robe flowing with the movement. he guided you through the unlit house until you came to his room.

“christ,” he sighed and dropped your hand to close the door. “i’m sorry about that.”

“it’s inevitable when you live with parents,” you shrugged and laughed, looking over your shoulder as topper rubbed his hands down his face. when he dropped them, he shook his head with an amused smile.

you turned back to his room and glanced around, the light a little brighter from the open windows. the decorations were the same, but for the most part it didn’t look all that lived in. you moved to his bed and sat at the end of it, running your hands along the comforter and remembering the last time you were here.

your eyes found topper’s like a magnet. your skin pricked with that awareness of him. reaching, you pulled your shirt off and let it fall beside you. topper watched, his eyes following every movement you made, his gaze moving over you like liquid.

you held your hand out towards him, coaxing him over where you sat. he approached until he was in front of you and even then, you pulled him closer with your hands on his hips again. your eyes fluttered shut as he came between your legs and touched your face, bending down to plant kisses on your forehead, cheeks, and nose. your thighs tightened around him, your hand dropping back to its original spot before you were interrupted. topper kissed you on the mouth then, his tongue hot and invading.

you pushed your palm into him a few times and rubbed until his breath was heavy in your mouth. even though you were kissing him and delighting in the ways he could use his tongue, your mouth felt dry for him. a moment later, your fingers glided up to the button of his jeans, working determinedly to unfasten them.

when his shirt was off and his jeans were unbuttoned, you nudged him backward, slipping from the bed and onto your knees. you pressed your lips along his stomach, feeling it tighten under your mouth as his hands brushed your hair back.

“tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” you said quietly, looking up at him as your fingers fisted the waistband of his jeans, slipping into his boxers too.

topper heaved a breath and nodded. you pressed another kiss just beside his belly button as you tugged on his bottoms, pulling them past his hips and leaving them to rest just above his knees.

you didn’t waste any more time. you took him into your mouth within the first few seconds of him smacking his stomach. he moaned with your lips around him and held your face as you licked him thoroughly. you couldn’t stop once you started and it took everything in you not to give him that release as his hand tightened on your face and his hips began to move.

he didn’t protest or get upset when you pulled away, licking your lips and standing. he just kissed you deeply and you wondered if he liked the taste of himself in your mouth. you certainly did.

all of your blood was gathered at your center. your skin was bubbling to a boil and topper helped you cool down, shedding the rest of the clothes between you. your hands wandered all over him as you sat back on the bed, pulling him with you.

you separated for only a second to kiss just under his ear, panting, “i want you inside me. now. i have an IUD.”

topper’s hands paused, his fingertips brushing the underside of your breast. “no condom?” he asked, pulling away further to meet your eyes.

you nodded, biting your lip to keep from putting him inside you now. “as long as you’re okay with it?”

“are you sure?” his eyebrows furrowed and you couldn’t tell if he was worried about you or if he really didn’t want to.

you nodded again as you were having trouble finding words without your breath. “have you been tested lately?”

“before i came home. i’m clean,” he said, his hands moving again and squeezing your thighs.

you grinned as your stomach rolled. you pulled him back to you, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and smiling against his lips. “me too,” you managed to say and laughed as the excitement poured over.

topper’s skin suddenly felt too hot, but you couldn’t pull your hands away from him if you tried. more blood rushed in between your legs. topper kissed you a few times before pulling away and leaning forward, his hand moving to your lower back to hold you upright while his other landed on the comforter to hold himself up. you drew your legs up around him and tugged him closer, breathing heavily as you anticipated his next move.

he swallowed thickly and averted his eyes down, his hand leaving your skin to grab ahold of himself. you bit your lip as you watched, seeing him swollen and ready and practically dripping. your stomach rolled into a tight ball as his hips grew closer and you bit your lips shut as a noise of surprise left you, floating around the room, when topper dragged his head along your folds painstakingly slow.

as much as you wanted to close your eyes to completely let your senses take over, you lifted them to topper’s face. he closed his eyes as he poked his head at your entrance. when he started to slip inside slowly, his mouth opened and his hand went back to hold you. you held your breath as you felt him inch after inch, filling you and stretching you.

his head fell to your shoulder once he was completely inside, a muffled curse leaving his lips.

“oh my god,” you said at the same time as he said, “god, you feel amazing.”

his hips retracted slowly, just as slow as how he entered, and his lips guided back to yours.

“c-can you move back a little?” he asked. the angle was probably straining him unlike you.

you nodded and didn’t have to do all that much as his hand kept you close to him, keeping himself inside of you, as you moved further onto the bed. you laid on your back and moaned as topper started to move, pinning your hips below his.

“you need to be quiet,” he said.

“why?”

“because my mom is right down the hall.”

“so? she obviously knows what we’re doing.”

“still.”

“oh, topper,” you moaned a little louder, a smile curling the corners of your lips.

topper’s hand landed over your mouth. you laughed into his palm and opened up to bite on his finger.

“you should move that hand a little lower,” you suggested, rolling your hips into his.

topper laughed breathily and a moment later, moved his hand to your neck. his hips drew back then and he thrusted, harder than before.

“oh, fuck,” you panted, tightening your hold on him.

“you like that?” he asked, his fingers flexing on your throat.

“mhm,” you managed, your face screwing up. “just like that.”

you sucked in a gasp, your breath staying in your lungs as topper did it again. you couldn’t look at him, couldn’t do anything but feel everything he was doing to you from your throat to him between your thighs. your back arched, pushing your breasts into his chest. you cried out the next time he thrust, hitting you so deeply, your nipples peeked to hardened points. fuck.

“don’t stop,” you couldn’t stop gasping. “please, don’t stop. it feels so good.”

tears pricked your eyes as he did it again, picking up a rhythm and sticking to it. his hand let go of your throat and gathered your hands into his, pinning them above your head as he fucked into you. the harder he went, the more your nails dug into the backs of his hands. his fingers tightened over yours and you cried out with your hips smacking. he didn’t cover your mouth this time, suddenly not caring if his mom heard you. you didn’t care either, you wanted this to go on all night. hopefully it would.

tears spilled when he didn’t let up his grip or his pace. they fell more as he drove into you quicker. it hurt so good, you couldn’t breathe. you didn’t dare open your eyes to see if he was enjoying it too. you hoped he was, you hoped he was loving pinning your hands down, driving into you like an animal. you didn’t know topper had this in him.

his hand let go of one of yours but you left it where it was as his thumb flicked your clit. your breaths grew higher within seconds and you tightened around him, your free hand flying to his arm where your nails dug in deep. you couldn’t stop the cry bubbling in your chest even if you wanted to. it was going to come out whether you liked it or not and topper wasn’t doing anything to muffle it.

“fuck—i’m going to come,” he sighed, his voice strained. was he losing it too? “come for me, please, baby. come with me.”

“top—” your muscles spasmed and everything exploded. you cried out his name however many times as you came over him, feeling him do the same as he thrusted and emptied inside you. his spurts were heavy and warm as his face buried into your neck, his mouth slick one moment then his teeth latching on to you. you grabbed the back of his head and pulled at his hair as he bit you, not hard enough to break the skin, but it still hurt so good.

“oh my god,” you panted as topper lay limp on you. you could feel both of your orgasms dissipating as your juices mixed and dripped out of you.

having let go of your neck, topper licked over the pulsing spot and lifted his head up to look down at you.

“are you okay?” he asked, sweat collected along his hairline. his thumb brushed your drying tears away.

“that was—i—topper,” you shook your head, wishing you could find the words. “i feel very good right now.”

he laughed, shaking your body with his and making you moan as you felt him rub inside of you. “i’m glad,” he said, kissing the underside of your jaw. “i think we need water and snacks so i’m going to go get some.”

“mmm. that’s a good idea.” you couldn’t bring yourself to wipe his sweat away just to feel it on your fingertips. you were spent.

he smiled and pecked your numb lips before sliding out of you and getting up.

cleaned up and under the covers, topper laid out an array of snacks and water bottles. you sat propped up against his pillows while he lay on his side, his head propped against his hand.

“will you come back next summer?” he asked, popping a piece of fruit into his mouth.

you reached for the cereal bowl of chocolate and stopped the smile from stretching across your face. “maybe.”

“i was looking for an answer more along the lines of yes.”

“you’ll have to be more persuasive then,” you hummed and chewed.

“i can be persuasive.” he was grinning and you couldn’t help thinking that he never looked better. tired, hair messy, dressed in just boxers, completely sated.

“oh yeah?” you raised a brow at him.

“mhmm,” he nodded, putting the fruit down and moving onto his hands and knees to crawl towards you. he grabbed ahold of the comforter and pulled it back a little, revealing your chest to the cool air. his head lowered to press a single kiss to the swell of your breast. then he moved to the other. he pressed a final kiss to your shoulder.

“how’s that?”

you shrugged the shoulder he just kissed and kept the smile off your face. mostly.

topper grinned again and it reached his eyes. he looked over you, down your chest, then slid his hand under the blanket to your thigh. “am i getting closer?”

you gasped and grabbed onto the back of his neck as his fingers ran up the inside of your thigh. heat swirled between your legs. “definitely.”

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[all1e23]

Between the Stars [Pt.11]

Pairings:  Bucky x  Reader

Series warnings: CHARACTER DEATH. Grief. Overall sadness. Depression. It’s pretty angsty if I’m being honest. Things mellow out as the series goes on. TW: Military/Spouse death. **Smut.** 18+ please and thanks.

A/N:  It’s  here! Just a reminder this is a Bucky chapter. I really struggled with this one so who knows what this is. As always  my beautiful beta @moonbeambucky​​​​​​​ made sure this wasn’t trash. If you like it write me a book report, sing me a song or come scream at me.

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!****

Morning came too fast. The sun rose against Bucky’s wishes for it to stay hidden and keep reality from tearing away the small bit of heaven they created last night. Once it did, Bucky wasn’t sure how he would fare. He hoped well. There’s history, though. He’s watched her love another, and Bucky had loved him too. It made all of this more complicated. There were rules and lines that if crossed, relationships and hearts would never be the same. It wasn’t as simple as a confession of love whispered in the dark, regardless of past promises exchanged and the ones broke with only the stars to bear witness.

One stumble. One misstep and everything would crumble around them. 

Was it even safe to say what was on his heart? Was ‘I love you’ too risky, too sudden? It wasn't something Bucky was willing to gamble yet. Maybe once they’ve talked and he’s held her through the fears he knows are there. No admissions this morning, just the quiet they fell into. 

Thankfully, that silence was there to say what the heart couldn’t. 

The room was already growing warm from the rays spilling in and heating the heap of tangled sheets and limbs. Something was off. Bucky turned to find the source and he couldn’t help the quiet laugh rumbled from his chest. The break in the thick soft coral fabric that usually kept the sun out smiled back at him. It was still parted from the lamp that fell the night before. He had forgotten. The brushed silver stand caught the curtain in the midst of shedding clothes and desperate kissing and falling. The cream colored shade still sat on the floor where it fell and Bucky couldn’t find it himself to be bothered. Bucky ran a hand down his face, but the grin pinching his cheek stayed put regardless. It’s been fifteen years -- Fifteen years! It was hard to believe they were here after everything that happened. 

After all the mistakes he made, Bucky never thought he would end up here. He thought for a long time, it was one-sided. A silly crush he convinced himself he would get over if he found enough distractions. Nothing was ever enough because nothing could ever mean more than her. There was a fleeting moment when his chance came into view, and it was snatched away from him before he realized he wouldn’t get another. Last night everything changed. It was… there were no words that could do it justice in Bucky's eyes. It was incredible. Amazing. Perfect. A glimpse of Heaven he never deserved to have and long overdue. It was everything Bucky thought it would be and so much more.

Bucky’s spent most of his life dreaming about a morning just like this. A morning where he woke to a dream, an angel sleeping soundly next to him and wrapped around his heart, invading every inch of his soul. He’s pictured their first time more than he could ever hope to count and no matter how the fantasy started, it never played out like that. It was never that soft and bright and wistful. Dreamlike but unlike any dream Bucky could invent. In the versions that played out in his head, there was always a dramatic confession of love that led to this frantic, consuming moment where they landed tangled around each other and ready to run away together as soon as the sun rose.

This was far better. 

Mornings after have never been something Bucky was particularly fond of. He usually woke with a twinge in his soul and a burning in his heart. Burning so badly he couldn’t wait to get away from the faceless woman next to him and he did. As fast as he could, he ran straight for her every time. Looking for absolution or temporary amnesia perhaps. A few hours to forget that it would never be her laying next to him, she would never be his because they weren’t made for each other like he once believed. The feeling he wakes with on those days is reminiscent of an ache he knows he can never mend. It doesn’t feel anything like this. Nothing in his life has ever felt like this, not a single moment in his life has he ever felt this solid. No one but Y/n could make him feel so utterly lost and devastatingly found all in one breath. 

There was a nudge to his ankle. A soft foot gently grazing against the tiny hairs resting there and pulling him out of his head and back to her. Bucky rolled onto his side and grinned when he found her hiding behind the blanket, only her eyes peeking out over the fluff that was covering her nose. Her mouth was hidden but he knew by the twinkle in her eye she was smiling. Over the last year, Bucky has become accustomed to seeing her wake with a tearful gleam and ghosts pinning her down. There’s only a smile this morning and somewhere in that stubborn head of his, he knows it’s his doing. He hoped it was his doing. 

All he’s ever wanted in this life is to make her happy and, while Bucky knows he will never truly deserve her, it won’t stop him trying to be worthy of her.

Y/n slowly slid the blanket down uncovering that pretty smile, the one Bucky lives and dies by. Seeing it first thing in the morning, when she’s still glowing and he’s still searching for the breath she stole does something to him. Something he couldn’t explain if he was forced to. It’s a good thing, Bucky knows that. He knows that because his hands were still trembling and his heart was pounding like it’s found a new reason to keep beating. It started last night when she asked him to fall and he went tumbling down, Bucky found something more to live for. His second chance at life came from loving her and he wasn’t going to screw it up again.

The quiver in his fingers settled when they brushed her skin and she smiled because of his touch. He placed a soft kiss to her shoulder when his fingers left a shiver in their place. Another kiss to her chest followed the path his hands created as they explored, and another one to her neck. Okay, several to her neck and that spot under her ear that makes her whimper. He really liked that one. Her fingers played with the chain around his neck, slowly wrapping the cold metal around her hand and tugging him forward until his lips to meet her mouth. Bucky slowly crawled over her using his knee to push her legs apart and slipped down between her legs, never once breaking their kiss-- he wasn’t ready to lose their softness. 

Bucky draped himself over her, neither bothered getting dressed last night and he was grateful for their laziness this morning. His forearms rested on the bed next to her head and fingers playing with the fallen strands of her hair. She smiled up at him and mumbled a quiet good morning which Bucky returned with a languid kiss, one that only added to the heat filling the room. He didn’t have a real plan for how this would go. The only thing he wanted to do this morning (and for every morning for the rest of forever) is show her how much he loves her. She sighed helplessly when he broke their kiss, staring up at him waiting for him to tell her which path they should follow-- their head or their heart. Yeah. Okay. That was the plan for today. She needed to know that it all means something more. Every touch, every kiss, and every last whisper means more; it did back then and does now. He’s waited so long to have her like this, how could it not mean everything? 

It was everything. He would show her. It didn’t matter how they got here or how it happened. None of this happened the way Bucky wanted it to, and he knows exactly what this second chance cost them both, but he just wants to love her the way she deserves to be loved—how he should have been loving her all these years. 

Pausing he asked, “Fall with me?” 

He bumped their noses together and she smiled up at him. 

“Yeah, Buck.”

He returned her grin and checked one more time to be sure, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

She leaned up and caught his lips, tumbling into unknown depths once more with only Bucky there to catch her. It felt the same and different. A familiar nuance. Last night was slow and Bucky couldn’t see anything past her. It’s the same this morning; she’s the only thing his heart recognizes but his thoughts are clearer, more focused. It feels less like a dream and more like it could be his future; like it was real, tangible enough he could reach out to take a hold of her, and never let go. 

Or so Bucky hoped. 

Bucky took his time loving her, the sun was barely up and he wanted to see how far they could fall. However far she was willing to take him, Bucky will follow her wherever. He may be the one making her come undone this time around, but she’s always the one leading the way. So he let her lead, followed every move of her hips and every shiver. God, he loved the way she sounded under him. Those sweet sighs and desperate gasps. His name on her lips. 

“Bucky. Bu- Bucky.” 

He doesn’t think he will ever tire of hearing his name fall from her lips with such need. It was beyond the heat and want of the moment and while she’s needed him in the past she’s never needed him in this way. 

Letting go of her felt like a sin. Something he shouldn’t attempt again and he won’t if he can’t help it. Bucky made the quick trip to the bathroom after her, peeking out the door to watch her curl around his pillow, wearing nothing but the smile Bucky gave her. The sight made him move a little bit faster. He climbed back into bed rubbing his beard against her stomach and chest until she giggled. Bucky whispered against her bare skin, “Ain’t that a pretty sound.” 

She smiled and told him his laugh was prettier. Bucky playfully nipped at the sensitive skin under her breast making her yelp and shook his head in disagreement. If she wasn’t still floating in the glimmer of what they had just shared she would argue some more. Bucky urged his head into her hands and she obliged, running her fingers through his hair once he settled down on top of her with his head on her chest and arms wrapped tightly around her waist. He really was like a cat sometimes. Bucky’s eyes felt heavy and her hand slowed, sleep was calling them both and they’ve spent enough time denying their wants.

They could talk later. There was time. 

--------

By the time Bucky woke again, the sun was no longer glaring at the window and the room had cooled, despite the fever Bucky created before falling asleep. It took him only a second to realize he was alone this time, the sheets crumbled at the end of the bed leaving his naked skin exposed to the cold air the fan was blowing. There was a note resting on the pillow next to him, smiling less kindly than the curtains had the first time he opened his eyes. He called out for Y/n but there was no answer and without reading he knew what that paper laying next to him said. He rolled into his back and held the note up over his head, reading the words several times over. 

There’s coffee ready for you and I threw your cigarettes in the trash. They better stay there. I have something I need to do, but I’ll be back soon. 

I’m not running. 

Xoxo, 

Your trouble. 

Bucky held the note to his chest and took a deep breath. It was nice to hear but it didn’t settle the fear in his chest. He could have walked away from all this before but now that he’s held her he can’t go back to the way things were before. It’s all or nothing this time around. He set the letter on the nightstand next to the half empty glass of water and her well-worn copy of Anna Karenina. Bucky had to remind himself, she was marking their path and all he had to do was follow her. Bucky knows her better than she knows herself some days and he knows what she needs right now, and he needs to respect that.

So he did. 

The shower seems smaller today. The water burnt his skin regardless of the temperature and the steam felt like it was choking him. He knows it’s because Y/n wasn’t there with him. Which was ridiculous. There hasn’t been a day in his life that he’s shared a shower with her, but not having her downstairs or in their-- her bed weighs heavy on his chest. God did he need a cigarette.

The air was still dense, suffocatingly so, when Bucky made his descent down the stairs that led into the kitchen. His coffee was waiting for him like she said it would be and there was a bright pink sticky note on the lid to the trash-can that caught his eye right away. Bucky snatched it on his way to the mug sitting in front of the glass carafe, reading as he poured. 

And you say I’m trouble. Don’t even think about it, Barnes.

Bucky chuckled and pressed the sticky side of the paper to the cabinet door above the pot, grumbling quietly to himself, “Trouble. Just trouble.” 

Guess the cigarette was out.

By mid-afternoon, Bucky was unable to sit still for longer than a few seconds. He tried to watch a little TV, stared at Steve’s letters for a solid hour before hastily tossing them back into the drawer, and heading outside to tinker with his bike. No matter what he did, he couldn’t keep his nerves from rattling with each hour that passed. The sun was low before he realized it was setting and the pit in his stomach grew. He forced himself to get cleaned up for the second time today, though, he was washing away a different kind of filth. He had one more thing he needed to grab before she came home and he found himself wandering out onto the front porch at what seemed to be the perfect time -- his heart must have known.

The sound of her car rolling over the gravel somehow unraveled him while keeping him together. He took a few steps to the top of the stairs and watched as she walked up the walkway, stopping in front of him. She looked more at ease than she felt he imagined. He had a pretty good idea what happened this morning and where she went, but he also knew she would tell him the whole story when she was ready to and not a moment before. 

“How’s Wanda?” 

She grinned. 

“She’s fine. Annoyingly perceptive.” 

Bucky hummed and pulled out a pale pink peony from his back and held it out for her. She rolled her eyes despite the grin she was unable to stop and took the flower. It was cheesy. Bucky knew it was the cheesiest thing he’s ever done but he didn’t care. He’s spent more than a decade desperate to love her and now that he can, he’s not holding anything back. 

“Dinner?” She asked, holding the flower to her nose to hide the size of her grin. Bucky pushed the flower out of the way with his index finger and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. 

“Yeah, dinner.”

---------

Bucky wanted to press. Ask her what they were and what she was feeling but that wouldn’t be fair of him to do; demand she tell him exactly what this means and where they are going, after everything she’s been through. She probably didn’t know. He couldn’t fault her for that. This entire year was new for her. She’s had to become a different person, with a brand-new dream towards a future she never planned to live. He’s wanted this for years, but for her, this is just something else that’s changed, something else she needed to adjust to and sort out her feelings for. 

He owed her that time. She deserved the time to figure out her feelings without pressure. 

She needed the stability of something familiar and if Bucky kept himself from being selfish, he could give that to her. It wouldn’t be that hard. Most things between them hadn’t changed all that much. They’ve always teased each other, had this connection that’s been entirely for them, and no one else. Only a few things have changed and he could hold back if she needed that. Since she’s been home the front porch kiss has been the only one, despite how much Bucky wished they could forget dinner and spend the rest of the night kissing. Then again Bucky always wants to kiss her. So that wasn’t really all that new either. There were plenty of times when he had wanted to tonight. It was usually found in the little things. When she was standing at the stove swinging her hips to the low hum of the radio Bucky had to force himself to keep his hands and lips to himself when all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her and let his lips wander her skin with no real destination in mind. Let them land wherever she would allow and beg permission for the rest. He made no move to do so, just stood beside her and listened to every direction she gave him, letting himself fall for the fifth or sixth time in the last twenty-four hours.  

“So you are going to show me the marshmallow thing now?” 

Bucky laughed but his cheeks were pink and getting brighter by the second. 

“I can, but I like how sweet you taste without it.” 

Bucky watched the shift in her seat, tilting her chin up and dropping her gaze to where her fingers were dancing on the clear steam of her wine glass. She was flustered. Bucky couldn't help the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips, he tossed his napkin on the table and watched her. She briefly glanced at him, challenging him with a quick raise of her brow and gave one right back. There were a lot of ways this could go. He could drop it and they would push it aside like they always do, or he could act on the tension between them. The little bit of sauce on her bottom lip really made Bucky want to do the second thing. 

Slowly, Bucky closed the few inches between them, scooting her chair closer to him with a gentle pull from his foot and pressing a delicate kiss to the corner of her mouth and running his tongue along the cream on her lips. He barely pulled away before she turned to capture his lips, and it quickly shifted from sweet to desperate and heated. Bucky’s hands find their way onto her backside and slide her off the chair onto his lap with an easy lift.  

It was heady. The kiss. Intoxicating and overwrought. More like the times Bucky dreamed of. Hard and a little rough, with a gentle want. Her hips were moving at a frantic pace, pushing the harsh denim against him and he was quickly losing himself in the feeling. It felt good. To let go and give into her and high that came from wanting her. Bucky’s grip tightened on her waist pushing her down harder with each drag of her hips. 

If they were young and foolish he would lay her out on the table, shoving the plates and bottles to the floor because the mess wouldn’t matter. Not when he needed to be inside her this badly. They weren’t kids any longer. There were scars and wounds and broken pieces that needed to be mended with softness. She was more than some quick fuck he found himself buried in to ease the void and as good as this felt, he didn’t want to love her like that. Her movements faltered and Bucky helped steady her, giving her the chance to pull back and catch her breath. 

There wasn’t much on his mind beyond her, but he followed her glance to the table and met eyes when they landed back on him. 

“We have to clean up?” She asked, panting and clearly a little foggy. 

Bucky chuckled. She was asking him?

He glanced back at the plates on the table where several drained beer bottles sat next to an empty wine glass with a line of red floating on the bottom, the bowl of pasta they had yet to finish, and empty plates. It was a mess. The plates would be a nightmare to clean after that cream sauce had dried and that little bit of wine in the glass would leave a ring. He didn’t care. With his arm secured tightly around her, Bucky carefully stood with her in his arms and headed straight for the stairs. 

With darkened eyes anchored in hers, he assured her, “It will still be there tomorrow, Trouble.” 

They could deal with it together in the morning because he’s not going anywhere any time soon. He will be there as long as she’ll have him and with any luck Bucky has this tomorrow and the next because, without her, Bucky doesn’t have one. 

Previous // Next 

[luulapants]

Stories We Tell

When I was eight years old, my parents split up, and my dad, as divorced dads are wont to do, got a shitty apartment in a weird neighborhood.

The building was two stories with sixteen units. There was an in-ground pool out back, unheated in the shade, so the temperature hovered just above arctic. Half the time, instead of swimming, you ended up fishing a dead squirrel out and changing your mind. The laundry room in the basement flooded every time it rained. The appliances were junk, constantly breaking. The doors and locks, too. The landlord never fixed anything.

I didn’t give much thought to the neighbors until I was fourteen, when my dad got full custody. Someone broke into our ground floor apartment around the same time (and by “broke in,” I mean waltzed through a door with a broken lock) so we moved to the second floor, where it was a little safer. Our new balcony looked out over the rodent graveyard pool.

Over the next few years, I developed a colorful picture of our neighbors:

--

Across the hall was Doris, a madam and a raging alcoholic. She was in her fifties or sixties, but there were always astoundingly attractive young women coming and going from her apartment. She threw parties where she was the oldest woman by about three decades.

On quieter nights, Doris would sit on her balcony and get wine-drunk. If my friends and I were walking past, she would lean over the railing and shout super appropriate things at us like, “Izzat yer boyfriend, honey? R’you two using protection?!”

One time, my dad did some legal work for Doris. She paid him with two cases of wine.

(My dad doesn’t drink wine, but somehow, it was still gone by the end of the summer. I dunno, Dad, it’s a mystery to me. Couldn’t tell ya.)

--

Next to Doris was a big old dude that used to stand on his balcony in whitey tighties and watch me and the other kids while we waited for the bus. I never learned much about him, except he was creepy with a capital “Eeeugh.”

--

Across the hall from Captain Underpants were the Five to Eight Guys. So called because there were at least five of them living in that two-bedroom apartment, but no more than eight. They all looked vaguely the same: twenty-something stoners with a lot of tattoos and piercings and a fashion sense that hovered somewhere between Hot Topic and PacSun, while somehow managing to be worse than either.

I don’t think all of them were drug dealers. But at least some of them were. Absolutely. People would go into the apartment and re-emerge thirty minutes later in a veritable cloud of smoke. Our coat closet shared a wall with them, and my coats always reeked of pot. I mostly started smoking because people assumed anyway.

The summer after my Freshman year, they hung blankets up around their balcony to create an extra room. I told my dad, “That’s smart – there’s so many of them living in there, so they made an extra bedroom.”

My dad looked up at the tell-tale red glow of a grow lamp peeking out through the cracks of the blankets and told me, “Kiddo, I don’t think it’s a bedroom.”

--

Below the Five to Eight Guys were two elderly nuns.

Yes, really.

They never had a mean word for anyone: not the madam, not the drug dealers, not the creepy old man standing outside in his briefs. That wasn’t to say they had a kind word for them. Their go-to was smiling and minding their own fucking business.

I liked to think of them as our building security. Because, sure, we had no real security to speak of. The doors were always propped open, and I don’t think there was a functional smoke alarm in the entire building.

But surely God wasn’t going to let anything too bad happen to a building with nuns living in it, right?

--

Next door to the nuns was the strangest of the whole lot: Crazy Cat Man. He was Russian, in his seventies, and had lived in the building since before the landlord added the ‘no pets’ rule to the lease. And I’m pretty sure Crazy Cat Man was reasons A through Z for that rule.

I never got a real count on the cats, but it was somewhere in the ballpark of ten. But ten cats wasn’t enough to sate Crazy Cat Man’s love for animals. Oh, no.

One winter, he decided to feed the geese, and hangry geese laid siege to the building for weeks.

Another time, I heard the landlord’s voice downstairs. He was screaming, “What the fuck is the matter with you!”

And Crazy Cat Man was yelling back, “I no let squirrel in the apartment! I never!”

He had. He had spent weeks feeding the squirrels, getting friendly with them. Then he started cracking the patio door to lure them inside.

Crazy Cat Man was married. His wife had albinism and was photo-sensitive, so I only ever saw her outside once.

See, once a year, Crazy Cat man delivered phone books. It was his only job. He spent the rest of the year trying to fix his van up so it would run well enough to deliver the phone books. He was constantly working on it. Every part he put in, the van attacked and destroyed like a body rejecting a donor organ.

One day, he hadn’t pulled the van quite far enough into his garage, so when he lowered the garage door, it hit the back bumper and got stuck. That day, I learned that his wife’s absolute favorite thing in the world was watching her husband be incompetent, because she came out of the apartment for once. He couldn’t get the door back up, so he had to try to crawl under it to get inside the garage, and she was standing there shouting, “My husband is an idiot! My husband is an idiot!”

My dad and I stopped to watch this seventy year old man crawl under a mechanically compromised garage door. My dad said to her, “If he’s not careful, he’s going to be a dead idiot.”

The albino wife turned to him and hissed, “I should be so lucky.”

--

My senior year of high school, the recession hit, and my dad’s law practice went under, and my older brother died of a brain aneurysm. A week after I graduated, my dad told me we were going to be evicted, and I’d have to find somewhere else to stay until I went to college.

We moved everything out of the apartment, so nothing would be trashed when they evicted us. My dad ran off to the mountains to contemplate suicide (as one does), and, for about a month, I had this big, empty apartment to myself. My friends and I threw parties, got drunk. Hot boxed the bathroom.

And I slept in a sleeping bag on the floor in the living room, because it felt too weird to sleep in my old room with none of my things in it.

Late one of those nights, alone in my empty apartment, I heard screaming outside. I went on the balcony. All the neighbors were coming outside to see what the noise was.

On the property behind ours, across from the squirrel-killing pool, there was a huge cottonwood tree, maybe fifty feet tall. On the end of this long branch near the top, there was a raccoon. Closer to the trunk were two more. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard a raccoon scream, but it’s almost human sounding.

One of the two at the trunk rushed at the third, and forced it farther to the end of the branch. Then the two raccoons started bouncing the branch. The one at the end screamed.

I think we all realized what was happening at the same time, because I heard someone downstairs say, “What the fuck,” at the same time I thought it.

It took a long time. Pushing the raccoon back, then bouncing the branch, then pushing it back again. By the end, the one raccoon was hanging from the end of the branch, which was pointing straight down. It was screaming continuously.

When it finally fell, you could hear the thud.

I heard the same person say, “What the fuck,” and I had no idea who it was.

--

If found out years later that the rumor in the complex about my dad was that he’d been a lawyer for the mob, and he got on someone’s shit list, and that’s how he ended up so broke. And it’s why he had to disappear so suddenly.

The truth was, my dad was a good lawyer, but a terrible businessman. His clients were mostly small businesses and everyday people. When they didn’t pay him, he assumed it was because they didn’t have the money, and he didn’t want to rub it in by asking.

When I heard that theory, it occurred to me that I had created characters out of our neighbors with no real regard for what was true or logical, only what was interesting. I think that night with the raccoons was the closest I ever got to any of them, as real people. Standing in the dark, faceless, watching something horrible that we had no control over.

I’m not sure what the rumors about me were, but here’s the truth: by all logic, I should have been a pretty miserable kid. My dad had untreated depression, and sometimes he stayed in bed for days. When there was no food in the fridge, I assumed it was because we didn’t have the money, and I didn’t want to rub it in by asking. I went to friends’ houses to eat. That guy that broke into our apartment when I was fourteen? He had a brain tumor, and he thought I was his girlfriend. And I should have been scared shitless that a forty-something year old man had tried to get in bed with me before my dad woke up and beat the bajezus out of him in front of me.

But instead, I started making these stories about the weirdos we lived with. I loved them. I was obsessed with them. I talked about them all the time.

“Say, Julia, how are things at home?”

“Well, you’ll never guess what the Five to Eight Guys were up to yesterday, let me tell you!”

--

I saw Crazy Cat Man two years ago. He’s still delivering phone books, and he looks nothing like I remember him.

[spiderling-space]

Could I please request MC as that conspiracy guy with the hidden mickey’s? I saw it on your prompts list and I am still laughing at the possibilities!

Thank you Rell for asking this when the inbox was open and finally igniting green light for me <33<33

I decided that this idea is too crack to only apply to numbered characters so this is going to be a mini-series and crossposted on AO3. This mini-series is based on this prompt I have.

There will be 9 chapters in total including prologue and epilogue. I can’t promise any update schedule, I go with the flow. A meme to summarize the fic.

Special thanks to @serenitystarrie for allowing me to utilize their perfectly organized Hidden Mickey Mouse locations.

The Prologue's Locations #1 and #2. Spoiler yourselves on your own risk.

Italics indicate thoughts

Everywhere I Go, I See His Sign

Prologue

No one could blame (Y/N) for occupying themselves with something else to stay awake during Trein’s class. It wasn’t their fault at all, there was just something in Trein’s voice that made people want to sleep. So they just tried to focus on everything but Trein and to be the only one who managed to stay awake in their friend group. At first, (Y/N) just stared outside through the window get got bored and started to count the bricks on the wall but there weren’t much to begin with and their endeavor ended quickly. Their eyes flicked to the bookshelf, it was impossible to read the titles from where they were sitting, hence that didn’t hold their attention for long.

Maybe I should start listening to what Trein is saying, I might learn something.

Not a minute later, (Y/N) was yawning. So much for trying… They decided listening to the professor wasn’t going to work out, in order to stay awake, they continued where they left off. On the top of the bookshelf, there was a purple globe and golden signs on the surface, curved lines and a couple of dots. I bet there are more than 10 dots on it. 1…2…3…4… (Y/N) stopped counting when they noticed an abnormality on the globe. There was a shape that didn’t follow the pattern, two small circles were connected to a bigger one. That’s strange… Everything is in perfect condition in the NRC… Maybe they didn’t notice something as small as that. Either way, there was no point of thinking about something as trivial as that. Though, it was way more entertaining than the history class.

(Y/N) poked Ace, “Shhhht, how many minutes left until the class is over?”

Ace opened his one eye and glared at them for waking him up. He took a peek at his phone told them that 13 minutes left then he went back to sleep.

13 more minutes… It seemed like they started the class hours ago and it still had 13 more minutes. As (Y/N) waited the time to pass, they kept glancing at the globe above the shelf as if the abnormal mark on it was calling for them.

------------------------

Finally, the class was over and it was lunchtime. The gang went to the cafeteria and was waiting in the line, chatting about the assignments Trein gave after he saw people sleeping. (Y/N) was having fun at their expense because they didn’t get an assignment for being awake during the class. Ace, Deuce and Grimm were complaining about the amount of pages they were going to write, which was making (Y/N) crack. They turned their head to the side to conceal their chuckle. While they were turning back, a shape on the wall caught their eyes. There on the wall between the torch and the column stood the 2 small circles being connected to the bigger circle, just like the one they saw during the class. This one was bigger since it could have been seen from distance.

Before (Y/N) could dwell on the shape anymore, the line moved and it was their turn to grab the food. They dismissed the thoughts about the shape, thinking that they saw wrong. It was food time and there was no need to think about anything else.

After getting their lunch, the gang went over to sit at their usual table. “I think you should have gotten an assignment too, (Y/N).” Ace talked before taking a bite out of his meal. “You weren’t sleeping but you weren’t paying attention either. Right, Deuce?”

Deuce was in the middle of chewing his meal when Ace tried to include him in the discussion. He answered after gulping, “They managed to stay awake. I think that deserves an award.”

Ace’s face cringed, “Traitor.” He then turned to Grimm tp get his support. “C’mon~ You must agree with me.” Unfortunately for him, Grimm was too busy chunking the food down his throat, completely ignoring Ace who finally shut up after getting no support.

“I’ll help you pick up the books since I’m a supportive friend.” (Y/N) said cheekily, chuckling afterward. They really needed to go the library too. Grimm needed the books to finish the assignment and he wasn’t capable of carrying them with his tiny paw-paws.

Their stomach grumbled, reminding them to eat sustenance. After (Y/N) finished eating, they pushed their tray further onto the table so they could have space to put their hands on while they waited others to be done with their food as well. There, on the table, was another symbol, the 3 circles one looking almost identical to the others they saw. They openly stared at the symbol, tracing the outline with their fingers. Am I imaging things? The one on the globe could be a stain and the one on the wall could be the deformation of the brick. And this one… Maybe a mistake of the carpenter. Though, it is strange to see mistakes such as this in the NRC.

They must have zoned out too much because Deuce was tapping them on the shoulder. “Our next class is about the start.”

“If you want, we can leave you alone with the table. Seems like you are falling in love with it.” Ace quipped as he took his tray from the table and started walking to the trash.

“Jerk…” (Y/N) mumbled under their breath.

“Hey, henchperson!” Grimm was pulling their sleeve. “Carry me!” It was annoying that Grimm was giving them comment but he was small and cute so they didn’t mind carrying him occasionally. They allowed Grimm to climb on their shoulder and took both his and their trays to throw away the trash and put them to where the dirty trays are collected.

After putting the trays, they exited the cafeteria, then changed into the sports uniform in the locker room. The moment the bell rang, Vargas told everyone to start doing warm-ups, followed by 10 laps around the field and 30 pushups. (Y/N) held themselves back from groaning, not wanting to increase the number of laps or pushups.

(Y/N) was only human and not the most athletic person in the world and they doubted even the most athletic person could run 10 laps without stopping for a moment to take a breath. They sat on the grass, trying to adjust their breathing as they were looking around. They had to admit the sports field had a perfectly splendid sight with all the shades of green.

They were about to get up and continue on the track when they spotted a sign on one of the bushes. 3 circles again? It was dark green colored, standing out on the bushes. Was it always there or is my brain playing tricks on me and making me see things? They decided to check the sign from a closer distance to make sure it is real.

“(Y/N)! 2 more laps for trying to sneak away!” (Y/N) startled as Vargas’ voice boomed on the field. Damn it! They just got punished because the sign distracted them. “You will have two more if you keep standing there!”

(Y/N) knew there was no point in arguing against Vargas unless they wanted to add more laps as punishment so they ignored the sign and went back on the track. I will take a closer look after the class.

--------------------

Unfortunately for (Y/N), they were too exhausted to move a finger, let alone have the energy to examine the weird symbol after the class ended. They just wanted to get back to Ramshackle, take shower, eat junk food and never get up from the bed but they still had one more stop to make, the library. Because of Grimm’s actions, they needed to walk more. God damn it… I can’t feel my legs.

Finally, they reached the library and began browsing for the book. Grimm started looking at the book on the computer and find which aisle it was located, meanwhile (Y/N) sat on one of the seats as they waited for him. Yeet, I hope we don’t need to get one of those floating books. What is even their purpose? Students would spend extra effort to see the title of the book and waste time. Or are they here for aesthetics? They sighed, lowering their head. What an unnecessary way of using magic… They had to admit the library was impressive, having all those books while looking at the endless corridor of the library. As Grimm was still looking for the book, they turned their attention to the other objects of the library. None of the lamps were in the same shape and the columns had different designs. One of them had frequent dots while the other more scattered dots. Their attention turned to the other column between Aisle I and II which had larger dots than the others.

Wait for a second… Is that? (Y/N) got up from their seat and stepped towards that column, crouching to see the sign better. Are you kidding me? Here too? Nope! This is just some random symbol, there is no way, it is the same one I saw in other places. Besides, all other columns have dots. Coincidentally, this one had two circles connected to a bigger one. (Y/N) was determined to just forget about it since they knew it would be a ridiculous idea for these signs to have a pattern.

“Hey Henchperson, I found the name of the book now bring me it.” Grimm ordered them as usual. Normally, (Y/N) would teach him some manner but they were too tired to care so they asked which aisle the book was in so they can grab it and go back to Ramshackle.

As soon as Grimm told them the number of the aisle and the book and the color of the book as well, (Y/N) didn’t wait for Grimm and just went to grab it. They were looking at the shelf numbers in that disorganized aisle. Libraries are supposed to be tidy and organized. Why is everything in this school so chaotic? And who even color codes the books?! This should be a crime!

“Alright green color and number 4…” They whispered faintly, looking at all the shades of green and number 4 then checking the title. After checking a couple of books, their attention turned to 3rd shelf. “Ah there you are, The Developments in the Last 100 years. Finally, I can go to my bed.” Whilst they were reaching for the book, the red book with golden marks caught their attention. The book wasn’t titled, having only shapes on it, that 3 circles shape was one of them. Maybe the book is about the meaning of this symbol. I’ll check it out after resting. They grabbed both Grimm’s book and the red colored one and walked towards Grimm. Together, they checked out the books from the librarian and head over to Ramshackle.

---------------------------

(Y/N) couldn’t wait to get read the strange book so that they would know they aren’t seeing unordinary things. As soon as they entered their dorm, Grimm dashed to the kitchen saying that sports class and the library made him hungry. They were also hungry and would never say no to some snacks. They put the books on the coffee table in the lounge before joining Grimm.

Grimm and (Y/N) brought their snacks to the lounge and sat on the couch, chatting while eating their respective food though Grimm tried to take what’s on their plate 5 times at least. After finishing their food, (Y/N) leaned back on the couch and stretched themselves out. Then they just looked around the lounge. It looked way more different than the first night they stayed there. Now everything was tidy and organized. Dare they said, it was cozy and the fireplace just increased the coziness of Ramshackle.

Hold up… The clock on the fireplace caught their eye and they got up to see it better. This age-old clock has that symbol too. I can understand the others since they are fairly new but this dorm hasn’t been occupied for decades. They wondered if there are more signs in the lounge so they turned around, their eyes scanning the room quickly. There was another mark in the lounge, on the painting hanging above the door. Hmmm, that could be the painter’s signature or something.

“Why are you acting weird?” Grimm asked after burping. Ew!

“Nothing nothing… I’ll just go take shower then nap. You do Trein’s assignment. I’m not going to lower my score because of you.” (Y/N) wasn’t going to tell Grimm about the symbols before they were certain that there was a pattern with it. Now they were going to search upstairs if there were more signs while Grimm was busy downstairs then took shower because the smell of sweat was killing their nostrils. “And don’t even think about slacking off or you won’t sleep on the bed tonight.”

With that, (Y/N) took the red book and headed towards their bedroom, putting the book on the small table near the armchair. Then they took off their shoes to not make noise as they searched the rooms for that damned sign.

Here I go…

[artificialqueens]

Forget Me Too (Taywhora) - Cashmere

A/N - A smutty yet angsty one shot dedicated to junosjukebox for encouraging me to play in the world of the DRUK. Love you, love your work. Can also be found on Ao3 under the pen-name crygiankie-trash

You want me to forget you Okay, forget me too You tell me you hate me Baby, yeah, I bet you do

“I fucking hate you” the words are mumbled against Tayce’s shoulder as she’s pressed against the wall, skirt hiked up around her waist as Tayce’s hand slips into her underwear not looking at all surprised when her fingers slide easily through the arousal that graces her fingertips before giving a low chuckle, one that has no business going straight to Aurora’s pussy, clenching pathetically around the single digit that Tayce has slipped inside her. “Is this all for little old me?” her tone is low, husky, lips pressed to the shell of her ear. “Don’t fucking flatter yourself Tayce” the words however don’t have the desired effect when they leave Aurora’s lips, her usually venomous tone, breathy and weak as her hips give an involuntary jerk as Tayce easily adds another finger, her thumb brushing against the sensitive bundle of nerves already heightened from her  earlier ministrations. “I fucking hate you” the statement leaves her lips again, shaky and uncertain but it’s not at all surprising when Tayce’s nose brushes hers, dark eyes that are positively feral boring into her own; “I bet you do baby, but you’re still going to come all over my hand like a good girl, aren’t you A’whora?”

I saw you walk in the room and I tried my best Not to panic while I’m lookin’ for the back door I smell the perfume and it’s obvious I’m gonna stay and put my key in the back more

Kryptonite. She might have been a self confessed ‘bad bitch’ but the minute Aurora flashed those sultry eyes at her, Tayce knew she was a goner. The small miniskirt that rides up toned thighs that have been draped over her shoulders and bracketed her head countless times, the breasts that she knows will harden to dusky peaks under the smallest touch, lips that press against hers and throw every sense of self preservation she has out the window. It’s all wrapped into a delectable package that she knows Aurora deliberately chose to taunt and tease, in the game of give and take that they fall into over and over again.

Her outfit covers everything that it needs to, unlike Bimini who honestly runs a very real risk of being arrested for public indecency, but Tayce can’t keep her eyes off her. A cup of Ginny’s latest vaguely lemon scented concoction is raised to her lips, and from her vantage point across the room, she can see the smear of red gloss it leaves behind on the white plastic of the cup in her hand, the same one that’s smeared too many of her good shirts, that she’s scrubbed off her skin and washed out of her pillowcases. She’s got give or take 45 seconds to get out of the door before Aurora pounces, though the brief moment of hesitation has cost her time, and before she can make it across the room. The statuesque blonde is in front of her, makeup immaculate and Tayce wants nothing more than to force her to her knees, and not only wipe that look off her face but destroy that lipstick and perfect facade, and have her begging to be touched. Ruined. “Going somewhere?” Aurora’s voice sing-songs out, a teasing lilt to her tone as a groomed brow is raised, one hand tipped with talon like nails brushes against the buttons of her shirt, flicking one open with practiced ease, dragging the tip of her nail against the skin she uncovers. Her perfume; strong and heady permeates the air around them and overtakes Tayce’s senses, her hands coming to grip at the blonde’s hips, relishing in the soft gasp as they’re pulled together, bodies pressing against each other; fitting seamlessly, lips chasing the daring neckline of the scrap of material that Aurora’s trying to pass off as a top, before rasping out “Your room or mine?”

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t pretend to forget you The reason I punch a hole in the wall back home For the amount they fucked? They could double that amount with fighting. A screaming match here, an argument at the local pub, Aurora being carried out of the club by a bouncer as she screamed obscenities at the girl who dared put her hands on Tayce, or the time Tayce punched a hole clean through the plasterboard because Aurora dragged someone through the door after yet another disagreement and gave Tayce the bird from the top of the stairs, her moans deliberately carrying through the halls. Fucking, fighting. Not talking for days on end before crashing back together in a flurry of clothing, snapped comments of ‘I hate you’, and harsh bruising kisses that left their lips swollen and red and their chest and thighs with marks that took days to fade.

And then a couple hours later we’re in Room 29 at The Chateau

A glass of champagne sits next to her on the bedside table, as Aurora perches on the end of the bed painting her toenails a soft shade of baby pink, her face devoid of makeup bar a swipe of hydrating lip balm,  her hair bundled into a messy top-knot, the tip of her tongue poking out from between her lips as she concentrates, pushing the sleeves of the fluffy white robe past her elbows before huffing a sigh and wiggling her toes in Tayce’s direction. “Taaaayce! Help me?” the whiny tone would be annoying if it was anyone other than Aurora, but since it is? Tayce finds it almost endearing and allows the blonde to rest a slender foot in her lap and takes over painting her toenails. “So needy A’whora” her tone is gentle, teasing before pressing a soft kiss to the blonde’s ankle. It’s just  them, unguarded and a little champagne drunk, from Veronica’s rehearsal dinner, and once again? She’s lured in by the platinum haired siren.

A series of soft kisses start at Aurora’s ankles, peppering up well defined calves, and along tanned thighs until she reaches the apex of her thighs, and she can see how much Aurora wants her, she can smell her, can see the way her pussy glistens wet, and warm and when she unties the robe and lets it fall to the bed? Aurora looks nothing short of ethereal in the glow from the lamp. “Tayce, Tayce, Tayce” the words flow from her lips like a wanton mantra when Tayce delves into her as if she’s a starved man gorging himself at a banquet bringing the girl above her to incoherency over and over again, the familiar taste of her against the flat of her tongue, arousal slick around her mouth and sticking to her chin as she diligently works to bring the blonde undone over and over again leaving her shaking like a leaf and reaching out, their hands entwining as they catch their breath, Aurora’s movements languid and lazy as she sits up and moves Tayce’s robe off her shoulder before murmuring quietly “…my turn’.

I left before you woke up I don’t feel right, seeing you sober

She looks angelic, all pale skin and cosmetically enhanced pouty lips, her hair spread across the pillow in tangled blonde waves, her lashes flutter against high cheekbones with a smear of highlighter still stubbornly stuck on the skin there, and Tayce feels guilty, and does what she does best. She runs before she has to feel what waking up to Aurora’s eyes feels like, before she can be convinced to curl around her and feel the press of lips against her neck. The quiet laughter and the sleepy demands to stop thinking and spoon her that little bit longer. The way she’d hold the sheet to her chest, the swell of her breasts visible underneath the thin cotton and ask her to stay. Because Tayce would, but then she’d have to acknowledge her feelings, and she’s not at the point of doing that, because Aurora deserves so much more than what she can offer her. So she does what she does best and runs pointendly ignoring the pitying look Tia gives her as she puts on her sneakers and shoves her airpods in her ears before heading out the door.

You want me to forget you Okay, forget me too You tell me you hate me Baby, yeah, I bet you do

Sometimes the tables turn and Aurora plays Tayce at her own game. They’re both needy, possessive in their own way. Though Aurora is always more vocal about it, her naturally nasal tone gives her a whiny edge. Whereas Tayce in her anger is for the most part silent, with icy eyes and a harsh set of her jaw, one particular look that Lawrence notices directed at a girl that comes around to take A’Whora on a date. Cherry, a dark eyed nurse with waist length black hair that swings around her shoulders and a distinctive laugh that rings through the thin walls of their sharehouse. She’s pretty, funny and caring to boot and doesn’t seem to mind Aurora’s filthy humor or occasionally acerbic commentary. She stays around for longer than the others and Aurora seems almost content for a time, avoiding Tayce’s eyes, being alone with her. Though in company? She seems almost coy, her tanned manicured fingers weaving between Cherry’s pale ones, her gaze flicking over to Tayce from time to time and full of either feeble excuses of why she can’t come into Tayce’s room to watch Derry Girls for the 8th time, knocking on the bathroom door before she comes in.

She overhears a conversation between them, a laugh coming from Aurora, and a “shhh babe, you don’t have to worry about that. Tayce and I are just friends, barely’ before giving a scornful laugh. “No seriously babes, forget it. Tayce and I weren’t ever anything. Lawrence just wants everyone to have some sort of sexual tension because she wouldn’t be able to get it for herself if it smacked her in the mouth’, before their voices trail off and the soft smacking sound of lips connecting takes it’s place, and Tayce silently fumes, carrying her sandwich back to her room, teeth gnashing at the soggy bread angrily. “I hate you, I hate you” an ongoing loop in her head, despite knowing she really doesn’t and that if the moment arose? She’d end up back in A’Whora’s bed before the night was through.

I’m keepin’ you waitin’ But I won’t wait on you You want me to forget you Okay, forget me too

Drunken words are sober thoughts; at least according to a very inebriated Lawrence Chaney, which is why Tayce is currently sitting in a gutter, shoes next to her with a half eaten kebab in her handbag before Lawrence rambles in eloquently about how great her ‘fun bags’ looked in her new bra, how cute Ellie looked in her pink dress; though what pink dress confused Tayce since 98% of Ellie’s wardrobe consisted of pink dresses giving Tayce not only a view of the mouthful of masticated kebab that Lawrence was yet to swallow but also an earful of Lawrence’s thoughts.

“She’s nee gonna wait for you hen. Not if you keep up this shite” Lawrence’s voice is slurred, but the conviction is strong. “She loves ya you know? But yee keep running. Now I’m a runner too see? I run from me problems, and I run me mouth” before she leans forward, silvery coloured hair covering her face as she violently retches into the gutter under them. “When are youse going to sort your shite huh? Literally making me sick” and Tayce refuses to reply, instead focusing on gathering up Lawrence’s hair and holding it back refusing to let the words sink in until she’s lying in bed with Aurora snoring gently next to her, an arm draped across her torso.

I’ve wasted so much time Waitin’ around for your phone calls every night Aurora knows she’s an idiot, from insisting that her blonde is natural and that she just happened to be born with dark roots and eyebrows, that she can’t do maths, and that it took her a grand total of five times to get her drivers licence. But she’s also an idiot emotionally. She sits at home, the rapid click of her overlocker becoming a soothing beat as she feeds garment, after garment through the machine, the little metallic tap of her needle hitting the silver thimbles that protects the pads of her index fingers and thumbs as she painstakingly threads through another tiny bead, the ancient grandfather clock against the opposite wall showing the time as 3.55am.

“I’ll be home by 11, Asttina and I are gonna have dinner and I’ll call you after!’ Tayce’s empty promises run through her head before she sets the nearly constructed dress aside sighing, another night gone to waste, another broken promise before heading into the cake scented kitchen where Ginny is zipping around like she’s just downed a handful of uppers before offering a still steaming slice of tea cake to her. “Fancy a slice Babs?” her gaze still full of concern, but wisely choosing to say nothing already too familiar with the situation unfolding.

‘Cause I taste blood when you bleed It’s eatin’ me alive We’d both be better off alone Still think I’d get you on the phone With one last breath in me I’d die before I’d let you leave

They come crashing together again, a tangle of limbs and heavy breathing, their hands making quick work of Tayce’s trousers and Aurora’s skirt, their underwear carelessly discarded and their shirts following in quick unison. It’s rough, needy and everything they ever were, and will continue to be. Tayce raises her hand and brings it down hard on Aurora’s ass, the handprint blooming scarlet on the the pale flesh, with the hissed order to prepare herself as Tayce pulls the harness over her hips and adjusts it, lubing up the silicone as she moves back towards the bed, and where Aurora waits for her, three fingers deep in her own cunt, arousal webbing between her fingers and her opening when Tayce guides them out before pressing in with the strap.

The resounding moan from this both can only be described as primal. Her hips snap, thrusting into the blonde as Aurora bucks back into her, giving as good as she gets, her words mashing together in a cacophony of swears, please and Tayce’s name, before coming with a scream as Tayce’s teeth sink into her shoulder in a bid to muffle her own orgasm, the coppery taste of blood heavy on her tongue and flipping their positions. She looks like a queen, her usual platinum hair glowing golden in the lamplight, swept back like a lion mane as her hips move confidently, her posture perfect, like the very strap she’s sitting on is a throne, long lashes fluttering as she rides to another orgasm before flopping on the bed next to Tayce, an acrylic nail tracing the ebony areola of Tayce’s nipple asking plaintively  “….Don’t leave tonight?’

You left before I woke up Why don’t I ever see you sober? You want me to forget you Okay, forget me too

She wakes up in her own bed, swathed in pale blue mulberry silk sheets with a stomach of churning liquor and a head as heavy as an elephant. A manicured hand reaches out blindly next to her feeling for the warmth of the body next to her only come back empty, the sheets retaining a hint of warmth and the faint scent of perfume. No note, no nothing. Her other hand reaches out, locating a glass of lukewarm water that tastes faintly of dust but that clears the cotton balls from her throat and gives her the strength to open her eyes. No note, no nothing. Just a faint indentation on the pillow and a strap on the floor still streaked with the remnants of her orgasm. Her eyes roll, a breath huffed out between filler filled lips before she settles back to sleep, waking up hours later when Tia sneaks into her room and sits on the end of the bed, all gangly limbs and kind eyes before asking concerned ‘You okay bitchtits?’ and Aurora gives a tight nod in return before shrugging ‘fuck ‘em right?’ though she can see in Tia’s eyes that she doesn’t believe her but Tia ever the faithful friend; squeezes at her knee over the covers echoing “Yeah. Forget her’

You tell me you hate me Baby, yeah, I bet you do I’m keepin’ you waitin’ But I won’t wait on you You want me to forget you? Okay, forget me too The sound of a hard slap rings across the lounge room and Tayce winces, holding her jaw knowing a bruise will bloom to fruition by tomorrow, and she can’t even fault Aurora knowing that she deserves that and probably so much more. That turning up to Bimini’s party with Pippa on her arm was a dumb idea, especially since the girl was wearing a dress that could only be described as low rent version of Aurora’s, her veneers gleaming harshly under the ambiance lighting connected to the google home assistant that perches on the bench pulsing out a spotify playlist that Lawrence had dubbed ‘every good LGBTQIA, LMNOP party anthem of the past decade’ and Aurora had kept her composure until they’d come face to face, the old magnetic pull still there as strong as ever, their gazes locked in a staring contest before Aurora had commented plainly ‘You left, again. And then ghosted me. Again. God I don’t know why I keep waiting for you to change” before Tayce had shrugged plainly in return, a smirk touching at the corner of her lips unsure how to react to the situation before panicking as Pippa approached. “Sounds like a you problem Girl” immediately regretting the words as they leave her mouth, as a pained expression flits across Aurora’s immaculately painted face and her hand rises making contact before she swivels on her heels and storms away, the click of the front door somehow rising above the music, a sudden iciness that has nothing to do with the blast of January air that permeated the room and chilling Tayce to her bones as the party rolls on around her.

Hey you Tell me why you do the things that make me hate you? It’s an emotional kaleidoscope when I face you Permanent calligraphy, I just tattooed your name on me forever Her hand stings, though so does the biting wind that cuts into the bare skin of her arms and she’s not sure what pain she’d rather feel. The cold, or the emotional turmoil of seeing Tayce again, or the fact she knows deep down that she’d go back over and over again and that the hazel eyed beauty has gotten so far under her skin that she’s essentially tattooed her name over Aurora’s heart, and that each time she leaves? She stomps on it before closing the door.

A weight sits down beside her, a robust purple clad arm wrapping around her and warming her up as she leans into the familiar figure, giving a smile at the thick Scottish accent asking something that sounds distinctively like ‘U ok hun?’ before shrugging and not at all surprised when Lawrence sheds her jacket and draps it over her before passing a flask of whisky over, content to sit there for a little longer before Lawrence stands up. “Now c’mon. I can’t go freezin’ me clit off. Ell’s will kill me. Lets get you inside aye. Ignore her. We’ll go get Bim’s vodka and get you buzzing off ya tits.You know you’re not gonna get an answer off her Hen’ and so Aurora goes back into the house, trying to avoid the eyes that keep meeting hers, not at all surprised when Tayce slips outside without saying goodbye.

She hates her, but god she wants her, and when she’s tucked back into bed. The silken sheets now a stone grey flannel for the winter caress her skin as her hand moves between her legs, lips moving soundlessly as she brings herself undone, mouthing the same word over and over again. “Tayce”

You want me to forget you? Okay, forget me too

They meet in a coffee shop, somewhere neutral that isn’t enveloped in memories of them, and when things were easier. Aurora’s lips are still glossy and red streaking the white mug in front of her. Tayce’s hair hangs to her waist, bleached a vibrant shade of blonde that makes her look more striking than ever, especially when paired with the scarlet trench-coat that streamlines her figure. Their conversation ebbs and flows between them. Work, weather, their friends, a cocktail bar that just opened up, holiday plans, Aurora’s grandparents before it turns to a more serious discussion. Them.

“Do you think you’ll ever be ready?” Aurora; ever the brave one finally asks, sending Tayce lapsing into silence giving a shake of her head once, twice. Her lips pressing together as she works to find an answer, an apology, an excuse even but draws a blank each time, and Aurora can’t hide the look of disappointment that marrs her features, a deep crease appearing between her eyebrows in a display that she hasn’t gotten her botox recently. “Then forget me Tayce, whatever we had, or whatever we were? Forget me”

[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday, popsicle181!

Apologies once again for the delay on your birthday gift, @popsicle181​! We hope you had a wonderful birthday back on the 5th, and that you got all you wished for! To bring your party back around, the lovely @mega-aulover​ has written a story just for you!

For: popsicle181

Prompt: I would love anything with a college theme (maybe a first meeting) if possible.

Authors Note: I would like to apologize for the late submission of your birthday drabble. But I wanted to make sure that you received the best story possible and I hope you don’t mind the little journey we’re taking.  There are many bonds, the bonds of friendship, the bond of family, and the bond of love. Some bonds can never be broken. Special thanks to Norbertsmom for her encouragement and beta skills

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Kindergarten: 

Katniss held her father’s hand tightly.  “Papa, do I have to go?”

“Yes half-pint, you have to go.”

Tears filled her eyes. “But I don’t want to leave you and mama.”

Her father kneeled down in front of her. “Tell you what. It’s not going to be easy for your maw and me to let you go to school for so long, but I can’t be selfish. I can’t keep you home and not let you learn anything. Especially since you want to be a big sister. And one day when you do become a big sister you’re going to want to read to them, and help them with their homework.”

Katniss looked down. She did want to be a big sister.  Livi Bard had a baby brother she got to help take care of. Katniss wanted someone to sing to, to play with, and wanted to teach all the things her mama and papa taught her. “I do want to read the baby stories.”

“Plus, if you learn how to write, we can write a song together.”

Her little head popped up, “Really!”

“Yeah.” 

Katniss looked at the massive building. “Okay papa, I’ll go to school. I need to learn to write a song.”

With that resolved Katniss marched purposefully into the building and went about her day. She learned how to hold a pencil and was tracing her name when she heard a soft cry in the room. Turning her head she saw a small boy hiding amongst a fortification of blocks. A group of boys were snickering at him. They ran away after the teacher appeared. 

Katniss stood up in her chair to peer at him. His round little face was angelic and his blond curls were a riot. His eyes were wide and filled with tears.  His pale cheeks were splotchy and he bit his lips to keep from crying in earnest. Katniss felt a deep stirring in her heart for the little boy. Getting down, she walked over to him and sat down. She didn’t like hearing other kids cry.  She began to build up the fort around both of them all the while humming. She noted the sweet smell of cinnamon. He reminded her of the snickerdoodle cookies her mama liked to bake.

“Twinkle, twinkle…” Katniss sang, “little star-”.  Her father sang to her whenever she was having a bad day. She hoped it would help the little boy. Katniss leaned over him and took a brick as she sang softly.  He stopped making noises as she finished her song. 

“You have a pretty voice,” the shy boy said. His tear filled eyes glanced at her with awe.

“No I don’t,” Katniss wrinkled her nose, “My papa has a better voice. Why were you crying?”

“The other kids were making fun of me, because of my name,” he whispered.

“What’s your name?”

“Promise not to laugh?”

Katniss nodded. 

“My name is Peeta.”

"I like your name."

 His blue eyes widened, awe in his voice, "You do?"

Katniss smiled.

"What's your name?"

Katniss shrugged. “My name is Katniss. It’s a plant that grows in the mud. Do you want to be my friend?”

“Sure.”

From that moment on Katniss was attached to Peeta. They were best friends all throughout Kindergarten. They were a team, coloring, defending the smaller kids in class from the bullies. 

Peeta learned Katniss became cranky when hungry, he always brought an extra cheese bun to share for snack. Katniss learned Peeta's favorite color was orange. She gave him all of the shades of orange from her crayon box. 

They shared their lunches together, and when Katniss got sick in class Peeta sat with her inside of the nurses office. He held her hand until her father came, and one day in class when Peeta tripped Katniss caught him before he fell into a chair.

“Peeta and Katniss sitting under a tree K - I - S - S- I - N - G…” one of the kids snickered one day. 

Katniss narrowed her eyes, becoming mad by the taunting.

 “Maybe one day we will be in love and get married and have the baby in the baby carriage. We’ll always be together,” Peeta replied.

Katniss snapped out of her anger. She turned to him and the thought of having Peeta, just like her mama had her papa made her happy.  “Always?”  

His gaze was unflinching, yet filled with tenderness. "Always."                                                 

The words formed a bond deep within her little heart. They were a team before but after this, they became inseparable. Nonetheless as all stories have a beginning, they also have an ending. Theirs had to come to a stop as Kindergarten came to an end. 

During play time on the last day of Kindergarten, they sat with their little arms wrapped around each other, as if trying to absorb as much as they could of the other.  When dismissal time came, they were not excitedly speaking about summer plans. Katniss sadly sat with Peeta in the class holding his hand.

“Peeta,” the Kindergarten teacher called. “Your father is here to pick you up.” 

Katniss squeezed his hand tighter.

“I’m sorry Mr. Mellark, Peeta’s normally picked up by his brothers.  Your son and Katniss have quite the bond. They are a pair of star crossed lovers,” the teacher explained. “They are so sweet.”

Peeta and Katniss stood, tears gathered in her eyes. 

“Promise you’ll remember me.” Peeta hugged her.

Katniss who at first didn’t want to go to school had discovered a reason to go to class everyday. 

“Always.”

“Here.” Peeta gave her a heart with a picture of them together,  he’d spent hours in class drawing. 

Katniss gave him an orange ribbon he liked.

They tearfully separated on the last day. Each one staring at the other over the shoulder of their respective fathers.

Sixth Grade:

“Dear Katniss,

I couldn’t believe it when I read you are in Mr. Raj’s class.  I am also going to be in Mr. Raj’s class. It’s going to be so much fun this year we are going to be in the same school and I heard Mr. Raj is a great math teacher.”

Katniss couldn’t believe her eyes.  She put down the letter. After they separated in Kindergarten, Peeta found out her address and he sent her a picture. It was a surprise to see the carefully drawn picture from her friend. It lifted Katniss' sadness. Her father encouraged her to draw him a picture in return. In six years the bond that began in Kindergarten grew. She learned Peeta lived in a very affluent part of town. Her home was humble in comparison, a two bedroom home that her father was restoring.  She and her baby sister Prim shared a bedroom. 

She was sitting at the study desk in the living room reading her letter.  Prim was already asleep in their room upstairs. Her mother walked by humming as she carried a laundry basket upstairs.  Katniss was trying to figure out what to write to Peeta. 

“So what did young Master Peeta write?” Her father joked sitting next to Katniss.

“Daddy.”  Katniss could feel the sting of the blush hitting her cheeks.  Her father learning her pen pal was well off he joked that Peeta was richer than Mayor Undersee. Katniss didn’t like it but her mother often told her that her father was only having fun. 

“We’re going to the same school in the fall and we’ll have the same math class.”

Her father whistled. “That’s pretty important stuff.”

“Yeah,” Katniss breathed. 

“What are you going to tell him?”

“I was going to say how happy I am and about how this summer you taught me to use the bow and arrow.”

“Well don’t stay up too late.”  Her father stood, and ruffled her hair. “I’ve got to change that cable, it’s frayed,” he said pointing to the floor lamp by the garbage bin.  

Katniss nodded.  She began to write, but what she wrote didn’t sound good. She tore the paper from her note book and threw it in the trash. Time began to  tick away, as the trash bin filled up. Katniss sleepily glanced at her letter, she yawned and she placed her head on the table. 

Coughing, she woke up to see her room was filled with smoke. Getting up she saw the trash bin was on fire. The curtain caught fire and Katniss screamed. Moments later her father ran down the stairs. Katniss ran from the desk into his arms. 

Her father tore open the front door,  and put her on the sidewalk, “Go to the neighbors house and call the fire department.”

Katniss nodded, and took off as her father ran back into the house.

“Mr. Wyler, Mr. Wyler,” Katniss pounded on the door.  Tears streamed down her face. 

“Katniss.” Mr. Wyler opened the door.

“My house is on fire please call the fire department!” 

“Alex what is it?” Mr. Wyler’s wife asked.

“Call 911,” Mr. Wyler said, stepping outside to look at her home.

Katniss ran back home. but her house was burning. Her father ran outside with Primrose. “Stay with your sister, I’m going to get mommy, okay.”

“Daddy,” Katniss yelled. Mr. Wyler pulled her back. Katniss turned to her sister and put her arms around her. That was the last time she’d seen her father alive. The fire was started by the floor lamp. The frayed wires lit the papers from the waste bin on fire. It was her fault for not being able to write, to communicate well. She blamed herself for her parents deaths and she closed herself off. 

Katniss vowed she would never allow others into her heart, for fear of losing them. Katniss and Primrose moved to another town with their uncle Haymitch Abernathy. She pushed the memory of Peeta away. She eventually met another boy named Gale, but she never let him get close and pushed him away at every opportunity.   

 College:

Katniss hated college. She wanted nothing more than to quit and go home. But to be honest she didn’t really have a home anymore. After her parents died and Katniss and her baby sister moved in with Haymitch nothing was the same. Haymitch wasn’t really her uncle, but he was the person her parents entrusted the care of their girls to in their will.  Haymitch and his wife were not a typical married couple, they always bickered. Aunt Effie detested uncle Haymitch's geese. UncIe Haymitch reminded Effie on a daily basis that they lived on a farm.

Kathiss was going to stay on at the farm helping Haymitch run the place, but Haymitch changed all of those ideas when he showed her her parents’ last will.  Going to college was the one thing her parents wanted for Katniss and Prim. Unbeknownst to Katniss, their parents had a college fund for each of the girls. 

The fund and her scholarship she won for archery had secured her place in Panem University. Katniss was a shy person by nature and the bustling nature of the university overwhelmed her. While other freshmen met and became friends with the kids around campus, Katniss avoided people, people like her roommate. 

 The first few days, her roommate Clove was your average girl next door. Then precisely at midnight on the Saturday of that first weekend she shaved her head. The next day Clove painted her half of the room black, and she bought a set of paring knives that she used for target practice.  Katniss was eternally grateful when on the following Monday Clove found a guy and moved in with him. Clove took all of her clothes and most importantly, her knives. 

For the past 2 weeks the room was quiet and peaceful. Katniss didn’t have to put up with Clove’s screeching music. And although she enjoyed  having a room to herself, Katniss admitted to herself she was lonely. She missed her sister.  She missed the familiar sounds of Haymitch's geese. The click- clack noise of Effies heels,  as she walked on the hardwood floors. She even missed Haymitch and his cantankerous ways.

Katniss' internal strife must have shown on her face because her sister was trying to make her feel better. 

“Cheer up Katniss,” her baby sister said through the computer screen.

Katniss grimaced. Only a handful of people could tell what she was really thinking. She effectively hid her real feelings often. Life had taught her that putting her real self out there only caused hurt and pain. Her sister, her uncle Haymitch, and Peeta knew the real Katniss. Thinking about the boy with the warm blue eyes always caused flutters in her stomach. 

Katniss shrugged.

“Look, I know you didn’t want to go to college, but trust me. Little things always lead to something bigger.”

Her sister was always spouting encouraging statements, like the one found on those posters.  Katniss rolled her eyes. 

“You are in a real mood tonight.” Prim grimaced, then said, “I hate to do this to you but do you remember when I did you that favor…”

Katniss at first frowned. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“You know when you and Gale wanted to go hunting for deer in the middle of the night? Remember I told you you’d owed me.”

Katniss blinked, she remembered that night. She stupidly wanted to go, thinking it was purely to hunt. It turned out all Gale wanted was to drink beer and try to make out with her. She’d given Gale a shiner when he tried to make a move on her. Gale was embarrassed to admit she’d given him a black eye; he said he ran into a branch. That was the beginning of the end of her so-called friendship with Gale Hawthorne.  Prim had covered for her that night.

“What do you want you little shyster?”

Prim gave Katniss that grin that caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand up. Her sister was typically the nicest person unless she was on one of her missions then Primrose was ruthless. 

“You must promise me the next time you go out you will speak to the first person you see.”

Katniss opened her mouth to protest.

“Katniss!”

Prim’s stern voice caused Katniss to shut her mouth. She mumbled, “Fine.”

“Good.” Her sister looked so proud of herself. 

“Prim!” Katniss could hear their aunt call, “Time for dinner!”

Prim rolled her eyes. “I’ve got to go.” 

The screen went dark and Katniss flopped herself on the bed. Her eyes narrowed. There was no way she was going to complete the task Prim set up for her. Katniss became grinchlike in her thoughts. There were ways of avoiding people. She’d done it in high school. Gale was an anomaly. He wouldn’t leave her alone after he found out how good she was at hunting. He was annoying as the gum that got stuck to your sneakers. 

Sitting up, Katniss grabbed her pen and paper and jotted down a few notes:

eat breakfast at five in the morning 

get to class just as it began 

sit in the back of the class

buy lunch & dinner when the crowds are gone 

Study in the library at odd hours 

Wear a hoodie so that no one can talk to you. 

Wear your headphones so it looks like you’re listening to music 

With her plan set, she began to systematically avoid people. Katniss even purchased things like crackers, jelly, and peanut butter, chips and salsa to munch on so that she didn't have to leave her dorm room. During the week, she used shadows and stillness to get across campus to avoid the  crowds. Everything was going to plan, except for the week of Thanksgiving break. Katniss didn’t have enough money to go home, plus there was a massive snow storm forecasted. Katniss decided to stockpile some snacks from the student commissary that Wednesday evening. 

The campus was empty as nearly everyone left by the morning as to not get caught up in the blizzard. Katniss had one last class that ended at four-forty-five. Professor Coin didn’t let anyone out until the end of the class; the woman was merciless. 

Going to the commissary was a risk. However Katniss was low on supplies, and she needed something to drink and eat. If the snow storm was as bad as predicted, the school cafeteria would not be opening. She also hated the cold and she wasn’t going to leave her dorm room until Monday morning.

Katniss hoped there wouldn't be a lot of people cramming the small building. Those left on campus were probably like her, doing last minute shopping.  Katniss rushed out of class. The snow fell quickly and was accumulating. 

She got to the commissary and thankfully it was still opened. She rushed in and rebounded back against a solid form. 

“Woah,” a deep voice said. 

Katniss blinked as the world swayed as she fell backwards. Suddenly she came to a violent stop, and her vision came into focus;  she noted blond curls, warm blue eyes, and a gentle smile. She picked up on the strong scent of cookies. She looked at him then saw they were near a display of cookies and baked goods. A wave of nostalgia wafted over her as cookies and baked goods always reminded Katniss of her childhood friend Peeta. 

“I got you.” 

Katniss didn’t like to be touched. She’d clocked Gale for stepping into her personal space when they went on that phony hunting trip. However, being held right now caused her entire body to tingle. She felt the way her cheeks burned. Katniss was sure they glowed redder than an apple. 

“Are you okay?”

She wasn’t much of a talker and all she could manage was a little nod. 

A wave of familiarity hit Katniss. She shook her head, trying to understand what odd dimension she’d stepped into.  Much the way certain scents brought forth certain memories, there was something about the guy holding her that didn’t cause her to feel that instant rejection.  She didn’t mind his touch. 

Unlike Gale who had a current of negativity about him, this boy had a current of good. Katniss thought maybe she’d fallen and hit her head. She must have been in a dream like state, as everything around her blurred and the music that was always blaring in the student run commissary was silenced. Only they existed in this small bubble. He was handsome and debonair. And Katniss couldn’t help but give a  virtual stranger a slightly goofy smile. 

“Here, let me help you.” 

Katniss questioned why his voice caused her heart to palpitate like the beating drums from Jumanji. “Ahhh…’ the guttural sound that came out of her was sure to make an impression on the guy holding her. The more she stared at him the more attractive he seemed. 

“It’s okay,” he said holding her shoulders, as she slipped on the wet floor. 

He helped  her become upright and Katniss noticed how broad his shoulders were, how masculine his hands were. She also noticed his eyes were that elusive blue that changed color with his mood. Right now his eyes were a cheerful robin's egg blue, as he grinned at her. 

“Sorry.” Katniss blurted out embarrassed by her lack of coordination. 

"It's okay the floor is wet from the snow." 

"My friends call me Peet, not, P- E- T- E but P- E- E- T."

The spelling was unusual but at least his nickname wasn't painful. Gale called her catnip out of spite, because she decked him. "Katniss."

Peet's blue eyes widened at her name.

"I know it's not a usual name, it's a plant."

"It's a tuber that grows in the marshes with a creamy colored flower." He blushed and he rubbed the back of his neck as if embarrassed by what he was going to say next. "I know alot about flowers. I decorate cakes for a living."

"I hunt with bow and arrow," Katniss blurted. She opened her mouth and closed it, she felt giddy suddenly like when she was a child and the world included her parents.

"I sound like a geek." His cheeks became ruddy. Peet looked over her shoulder, “Man it’s coming down out there.”

Katniss blinked and forced herself from awkwardly gawking at Peet to the door she just came through. “Crap,” Katniss bemoaned. A few inches had fallen. 

“We should hurry up.  I’m in Crumpet Hall just across the way. Where do you live?”

“Greenly,” Katniss muttered. 

Peet gave her a low whistle. “That’s way across campus. If you don’t hurry you won’t get to your dorm room on time.” 

Peet was right, if she didn’t leave soon she wouldn’t make it to her building across campus. Her mind turned to the shelves, she needed to do a power shop, and get out. Thankfully there weren't a lot of people in the commissary.  “Thank you,” Katniss said. 

She hurried down the aisles quickly picking up what she needed. When she got to the cash register Peet was paying for his food.  She kept on staring outside at the snow. The visibility was getting worse.  Once done, Katniss bundled up to go outside. 

“Will you be okay walking all the way to Greenley?”

Katniss turned to him. “I hope so.”

Both set out in the snow. The path that led from the commissary to the dorms was blanketed with half-a-foot of snow. The cold wind bit at her cheeks and it was getting harder to see. 

"KATNISS!" Peet yelled out to her when they got to the fork in the path.

Kathiss stopped walking, he was only an arms length away. He got closer to her, as the snowfall dampened the sound of his voice.

"You should come with me,” Peet shouted. “I have a suite, my roommates are gone for the break. I promise I’ll be a gentleman.”

She trusted Gale because he was her hunting partner, but didn’t trust him outside of the woods. Her instincts about Gale were spot on. After they fell out he started going out with Madge, the mayor's daughter. Then he began the name calling.  Looking into Peet’s eyes she wasn’t sure she should trust him.  Just then she heard thunder and she jumped out of fright. 

“It’s getting worse out here, we need to get to safety,” Peet said. “I lost my brother in a snowstorm!” He held out his hand to her.

Katniss heard the desperation  in his voice. Learning he’d lost someone caused her to acquiesce.  She took his hand. 

Together they walked toward his dorm room. A walk that normally took five minutes took nearly fifteen. Peet waved his ID card in front of the scanner to get into the building. Once inside, the warmth stung their cheeks, but it felt good. 

“Come on, my room this way. I can throw your coat and stuff in the dryers downstairs.

Katniss followed him through the winding corridors to his room. Using his ID card he opened the door to his suite. There were two doors and off to the side a small living area and a kitchen with another door. 

As he walked toward the kitchen Katniss saw Peet had a limp. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He put the bags down. He sat down. “I have a fake leg,” He knocked on his leg.

Katniss would have never guessed that he had a prosthetic. The more she got to know about him, the more intrigued she became. “I’m so sorry.”   

“It was a long time ago.” Peet shrugged. 

The walls in the kitchen were painted a soft orange. The color struck something within her and once more she was hit with a sense of familiarity. She continued looking around at the kitchen. He had things that no average college guy would have. 

There was a set of professional knives inside of a case.  Stainless steel pots and a cast-iron pan hung neatly from a wall. There was a marble block and a wooden rolling pin neatly tucked away in a corner. And his spices were lined up on the counter.  Saffron, thyme, Rosemary, allspice, clove, ginger, caraway, cardamom, nutmeg, dill, cinnamon we're just a few names she read. As a hunter knowing your prey’s environment helped you figure them out. Seeing Peet's environment led her to believe that what he said about being a baker was true. He was honest.

"I'm going to go get some towels and if you give me your coat, like I said, I can toss it in the dryer."

He walked out of the room as she removed her coat.

 She was only removing  her jacket, but for some reason it felt so intimate, as if she was peeling back a layer, exposing her soul. 

She should have been terrified; she was in the dorm room of a stranger. Yet there was something compelling about Peet, an underlying sweetness and goodness that she found in only one other person, her sister. Like an old pair of shoes, comfortable and familiar. 

“Here,” Peet said, handing her a fluffy robe. “It’s a bit chilly in here, my roommate always complains that if I could I’d have the thermostat set to zero.”

Katniss wasn’t expecting  robe, but she took it, handing him her coat.  When he walked out she sniffed his robe, it smelled of cinnamon and it made her smile. Her father always smelled of fresh pine. Katniss slipped on the robe and instantly felt a warmth that spread from her inside out. The door opened and Peet walked back in, he smiled at her, and his eyes turned a dark blue. 

“Good, are you hungry, I’m going to make us some bread, maybe some cupcakes.”

“You don’t have to,” Katniss protested.

“It’s nothing. I made dough earlier. I've been letting it rest. I just have to sprinkle some herbs on top.”

It sounded wonderful, but Katniss didn’t want to give him any more trouble. “It sounds like a lot-” Katniss was going to say more but her stomach growled.

“Yup that settles it, grilled cheese sandwiches, tomato soup, and cupcakes.”

Katniss nodded. 

“Have a seat, the remote is somewhere by the T.V.,” Peet said, washing his hands. 

Taking her book bag, Katniss sat down in the living room. There was nothing on the television; all of the local channels were covering the snow storm.  Her phone pinged with a message.  

It was a message from Prim asking her if she was fine. 

Katniss looked up at Peet. She asked herself if she was fine, and for the first time since coming to college Katniss could honestly say she was fine. She replied to her sister.  With a soft smile on her face, she began watching him cook. 

Peet’s movements in the kitchen were efficient, like the chefs she’d seen on TV.  He took out several cookie sheets and put them down on the counters.  From the fridge he took out  tomatoes, peppers, and a bowl covered with a dishcloth. He set the oven to preheat.  

Katniss moved from her position to the kitchen table so she could watch him. His hands were steady and quick as he put tomatoes and peppers on a cookie sheet. He sprinkled the tomatoes and peppers with olive oil, seasonings, salt and pepper, before putting them in the oven.  He next set to work on the bread.

Fascinated, Katniss watched on as Peet took off his sweater and the white t-shirt he was wearing showed off just how fit he was. His back muscles moved under the t-shirt as he worked on the cupcakes. Peet was making them from scratch and not from a box.  Her mouth watered. If it wasn’t for the pinging sound of her phone, Katniss would have continued to gawk at Peet. 

It was Haymitch telling her to be safe. Katniss and her uncle had a strange relationship. They understood each other, but they never talked. Haymitch instincts were as good as her own. He never liked Gale.  She sent back a thumbs up emoji. Glancing up, she knew instantly Haymitch would like Peet. He had that inherent goodness Prim had, and Haymitch had taken to her baby sister immediately. 

“You don’t remember, do you?” He asked as he put water in the  kettle to boil. 

 Katniss found this question odd. “Remember you? We’ve just met.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure we met before.” 

He chuckled, then turned to face her. “You gave me this,” Peet took out something from his pocket and looked at it fondly. “You disappeared on me.  I could have used a friend.” 

He put the scrap of faded ribbon on the table and Katniss' eyes widened. “Peeta.”

“When I saw your eyes I thought it was you, but then you said your name and I just knew. There aren’t many Katniss’ in the world.”

Katniss eyes filled with tears. The boy she’d been writing a letter to, that caused the fire was standing before her. Though he wasn’t unscathed, he lost a brother and leg. “My parents died. We had to move.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” 

“You wouldn’t have known; you were a kid. We were both children.” Katniss couldn’t move, however the ribbon mocked her. He carried it all of his life. The drawing he gave her had burned in the house. She didn’t know how to feel. 

“That winter break I lost my leg and my brother.” He looked down, his eyes turning dark, a midnight color as he recalled the painful memory. “We snuck out of the house to play in the snow in the middle of the night thinking the storm was over. The snow was so heavy we got lost getting back to our house. My brother covered me with his body, it’s why I lived, but I lost my leg.”

Katniss looked at his legs before her eyes moved up to his face. He looked just like she felt, in need of a new beginning.

The whistle of the kettle forced him to turn around. 

“Why are you stuck here for the weekend?” Peeta turned to hand her a cup of tea. 

Katniss took the cup, and debated telling him the truth. He’d been honest with her. There was no reason to lie, besides she wasn’t a great liar. “I didn’t have enough money to go home,” Katniss automatically followed her answer with a question. “ What about you, why are you stuck here?”

“Nobody wants me home,” Peeta said. 

Katniss frowned. It wasn’t the statement itself, but the way he said it, as if he was unloved. “Why?”

He turned around and shrugged, “I’m not needed.” 

The smell of the apartment filled with the lovely scent of oregano and broiling tomatoes.  Peeta shaped up the bread in his hands as if he had been doing it all of his life.  “Anyone who can cook like you is worth their weight in gold. Right now my aunt is preheating the oven to cook the frozen dinners she purchased.” Katniss looked down at her idle hands. “I haven’t had a cooked meal in years.”

“My mom, she blames me for the death of my brother. She was relieved when I decided to come to Panem. She wasn’t at the train station when I left.”

Hearing how cold his mother was caused Katniss to pursed her lips. She stood and on impulse she hugged him from behind. All of those childhood sentiments filled up in her heart and all that he’d told her made her understand something. Prim was right, she needed someone in her life. And the universe had brought her friend back to her, despite all of her careful planning. 

Peeta turned around and hugged her back. She stood on tiptoe and sniffed the collar of his shirt and the familiar scent of cinnamon and vanilla caused her to feel at home. She closed her eyes. 

“I’ve missed you,” Peeta murmured into the crook of her neck. His hot breath fanning the sensitive skin, making her feel alive. 

“I’ve missed you, too,” Katniss replied.

“I’ve never forgotten you, Katniss.” 

Katniss could feel the rush of heat to her cheeks as she blushed and butterflies filled her stomach. 

Peeta pulled away and then he grinned. “I better get you fed. If I recall you got really testy when hungry.”

Katniss laughed, then sat down. She picked up the ribbon. Primrose was right; from something small something great had happened. One day, she decided, she would tell their children of how a little ribbon led to a love of a lifetime.

FIN 

[tragicallytron]

So, this Cutler guy... (CHP 1)

I have made Tron fic.............  Enjoy!

There’s a small city on the grid. If you were to hop on a Light Rail system in Argon, it’d take you a couple of hours to reach it. You might be surrounded by several programs who are returning to said city--their home--who wear these scowls, these tattered clothes which they deemed their ‘best’, and cold eyes that turn to frigid glares the moment you glance at them. They give anyone more than enough information to know what sort of city they’re about to enter. If you tried to get there with a speedboat, going in a straight line to the right, you’d know when you’d be getting close. You’ll navigate through towering scraps of metal and waste that seem to get more and more hazardous the more you progress, and there’s this odor… This foul, foul odor that hangs over the sea and only gets stronger. The smell always hits you when you think you’ve finally gotten used to it. Of course, you could always drive there, but why would you do that? Does sitting through the hours of traffic, because some reckless programs leaving that terrible city couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to the road and crashed head first into a truck, sound more appealing to you than the sickening sea and the terrible train?

Don’t go to that city.

It’s not worth it.

There’s no appeal.

If the smell of smoke and burnt rubber doesn’t ward you away, the programs there certainly will. They’ll corner you, scam you, threaten you, do what they can to shake you up because they know you don’t belong, and that’s the only reason they need to treat you terribly. They can’t even take care of each other. It’s not uncommon to see programs become good friends one cycle, then try to derezz each other the next. Store owners know how desperate others are to get their hands on any sort of weapon or advancement on their discs, so they charge high. If you need medical attention, expect a ridiculous fee and mediocre treatment. You’re better off making your own weapons, caring for yourself, and trudging on. Friends here aren’t worth the hassle.

The only thing keeping this town together are, strangely enough, Clu’s guards. They roam the streets in clusters, immediately putting a stop to any fights they see, or tearing apart any program who’s stupid enough to try and take them head on. Some people have learned where they patrolled at which hours to avoid them, others like to test their luck and throw chunks of metal at them from the rooftops.

However, even the guards know better than to march through the heart of the city, where the buildings cluster together, alleyways get tighter, and the programs get tougher. The inner city felt less like a ‘city’, and more like a horrible maze; a claustrophobe’s nightmare. You’d have to squeeze your way through the jagged paths between the structures, some need to suck their gut to get through, and it’s so incredibly easy to get lost, even if you’ve lived your entire life there. One thick street can branch out into tens of other thin, tangling paths that all seem to never end.

Scraps of metal hang over the ledges of these buildings, on the verge of tipping over and crushing the next unfortunate program who happens to be passing under them. The metal blocks off most of the sky, making the sparks from torn wires and the orange lights from windows the only proper source of illumination.

It’s a miracle this city’s still in one piece, it’s a miracle people still visit this city, it’s a miracle people still live in this city.

Nothing good has ever happened here. And nothing probably ever will.

~ ~ ~ ~

“Nice...” A program said as he observed a small, black, thin cylinder in his hand, which had blue light rings that stopped just before both ends. He pressed the blue button in the center and the ends shot out, creating a staff just a foot shorter than him. Two, sharp pointed tips appeared at the ends and glowed a bright blue as well; white sparks were coming from them. “Real nice.”

“Yeah, try not to trash this place with your new toy.” The other program at the desk said. He turned his chair around to face his client and brushed the thick, black hair out of his face.

“Relax, I won’t.” The customer retracted the rod and held it firmly with his long, skinny fingers. His whole figure was like that; lanky. The staff suits him.

“You really outdid yourself this time. I bet this bad boy’ll work as good as it looks! Heck, it even goes with these suckers!” The customer showed off his silver wrist gauntlets, the other program rolled his eyes. They were these thick, metal bands with blue streaks that covered up half of his forearms, leaving his hands visible.

‘They’re worth a lot, you know!’ He would always brag out loud whenever given the chance, as if it wouldn’t make him a target for mugging. He must’ve been ripped off. They looked clunky, quite frankly. It did match the silver streaks in his dark gray hair, but that’s not necessarily a compliment.

“Right, your pricey jewelry. Cool.” The other program leaned forward, “Speaking of price…”

“I gotcha, I gotcha! You know I’d never leave you hanging like that, especially when you make me some fine weapons like--”

“I’d like a portion of the payment now, Reggie.” The program shot up from his seat, glaring down at Reggie with his cold, blue eyes.

Reggie shrunk down, “Right! Gimme just a minute ‘ere--”

He dug around in his other pocket and pulled out a thin wad of cash. He handed it over to the inventor, who snatched it away, his glare remaining.

“Li--” Reggie cleared his throat, “Like I said! A quarter this cycle, then another after a few more, I’ll pay you off in no time! When’s the last time I’ve ever left you empty handed?” He gave a crooked smile. “You’ve been real close before.” The program said. Reggie couldn’t see their mouth, it was hidden by the black and orange turtleneck, but he just knew there was a scowl under there.

“Right, I know, but--I need to go!” Reggie started heading to the door of the store.

“Thanks again Harm, and don’t you worry…” He said as he opened the door, “You’ll get your money in time! Like always!”

Reggie slammed the door, leaving Harm all alone.

Harm stood there and watched Reggie through his orange tinted window until he was out of sight. He then made his way back to his desk. His workplace--just like his attire--was mostly made up of shades of grays with bits of bright orange to pop out. His clothes, however, were cooler grays, while his place was mostly warmer.

He approached his desk, one of the few pieces of furniture that was oil-black instead of that dark, warm gray; the other furnitures being tall, wide shelves placed on both sides of his desk, creating his own personal cubicle. He pulled open the thin drawer and shoved all the tools, nails, and shards of glass into there without care. Now that he finished his commission, he could finally focus on upgrading his friend’s wings, and he needed a ‘clean’ workplace.

His desk was the only thing he ever cleaned anymore. The rest of his place isn’t a ‘dump’, but it isn’t absolutely spotless either. If a program happened to be looking through the big window right beside his front door, they could easily see the wires hanging from the ceiling, missing tiles, pipes of various lengths and widths he has leaning against the corners, the piles of scraps and junk he has laying on top of counters and boxes that he uses for his creations. It’s real easy to trip over something and crack your head open, especially with all the sharp edges out in the open.

Two thin strips of orange lights outlined the bottoms of the walls, while one thin one outlined the ceiling. There were a few other strips that crawled their ways across the walls, but most of them were cut off due to chunks of his creations flying all over the place during the process. You can even see the faint orange cracks from where they hit.

The other part of his place that was lit orange was his desk. He has a few small lamps placed on and above his workspace. Sure, he could just move the shelf on his left side that’s covering his largest window, but he wasn’t too fond of the wonderfully bright, headache-inducing orange light that the city produced.

He turned on and grabbed the top of his small, black desk lamp, and adjusted it so it’d shine on the floor, where plenty of blueprints and crumbled up papers laid. He knelt down and pushed a few sheets aside until he spotted the messy sketches of a wingsuit. He picked it up, making sure not to smudge any of the graphite, and placed it on the desk’s top.

“Tape measure, utility knife, and the suit…” Harm mumbled to himself as he walked around the right shelf. On the other side were a couple of dark gray lockers he once found in an abandoned building, they were nice for extra storage. He kept repeating the three materials as he scanned the inside. He eventually spotted his utility knife with the blade uncovered and buried underneath his other tools, and the tape measure a few shelves down, still unraveled. He made sure not to prick his fingers--not that it would hurt, he was wearing long, thick, black gloves--while grabbing the knife, and cussed to himself when several spare screws fell and scattered all over the ground when he pulled out the tape measure.

Harm then turned around, facing the small storage behind him. The room was a lighter sort of warm gray compared to his main room, and it had a small window--big enough for him to crawl through--that wasn’t as obnoxiously bright since another building was placed in front of it. There were plenty of messy shelves full of tools, smaller inventions, and items Harm managed to snag, along with containers on the ground stacked on top of each other, filled with who knows what. Some of his older, bigger inventions were in here, covered haphazardly with raggedy cloaks, wires sprawled out, definitely not the safest storage in the city.

Below the small window was his friend’s wingsuit, carefully folded and placed on top of a container. Ant, his friend, asked if he could improve it, to make it faster.

“I wanna keep up with Tesler’s ship. It might be huge but it’s real fast.” Ant stated in the past.

“I just think it’d be funny to see his reaction when he sees me keeping up with him.”

Tesler is Ant’s boss, and it’s honestly a miracle she hasn’t been derezzed. She’s openly bragged about being late or skipping meetings to hang around with the enemies, she’s supposed to gather information and distribute it promptly, but she spends hours flying around the grid.

Harm once asked how she still has her job, to which Ant responded with: “I just give him a snippet of what he wants to hear seconds before he derezzes me, then it gets him all frustrated and he HAS to keep me alive to hear the rest. It’s real funny, I need to show you his angry face one day.”

Harm approached the table and unfolded the black and bright blue-lined suit before placing it on the top, letting the long flaps dangle off the edge. It looked like a regular outfit, it had long sleeves with holes at the end to stick your thumbs through, and a rather large hood to fit over Ant’s thick hair, but where the thumb-holes were, there were tiny buttons you could press that’d change the black flaps into blue wings. That’s the part he’s currently working on.

Just before he could begin his work, there was a loud banging on his door. Whoever that program was was shaking the door--and the rest of his place--with each booming, desperate knock.

That’s probably Ant.

They were supposed to meet tomorrow, but she tends to arrive unannounced to share the latest updates about her job, or to ramble about whatever. She usually likes to kick the door open and announce her presence, so this door banging was an improvement. Maybe she just really wanted her upgraded wings. Harm rolled his eyes and trudged to the door, the knocking wasn’t stopping, and it was getting hard to hear his own thoughts.

“I told you,” Harm started as he got closer to the door, “your wings won’t be ready for another six cycles at least--”

The door swung open and slammed right into Harm’s face, causing him to stumble back.

The program immediately shut the door behind themselves. Harm shook his head and scanned them quickly. This wasn’t Ant. They were tall--taller than him, definitely--and burly. The helmet covering their face was just plain black, Ant had drawn a toothy grin on her’s. They were breathing quickly.

“Hey,” Harm grit his teeth, “how about you--”

“Hide me.” The program said quickly. Their voice was deep and muffled.

That caught Harm off guard. That sounded like an order.

“So you think you can just hit me in the face with my own door and--” The program grabbed Harm by his arms, his grip was strong. This wasn’t a program he could shove out of here with ease.

“Hide me.” They said again.

“Guards are following me, if you help me lose track of them, I’ll get out of your sight.”

“Guards?!” Harm jumped. He didn’t have the cleanest record here, the only reason he hasn’t faced any consequences was because the guards hardly ever went here, and now they could arrive at his front door?!

“You can’t--I’m not gonna--!” Harm was too shocked to think straight. He grabbed the program’s hands and dragged them to the lockers.

He frantically opened all three of them--he knew one of them had enough space to fit someone in there. The middle one!

Harm didn’t know if he was getting jumpy, or if guards were getting closer to his building, but he heard more voices. He wasn’t taking any chances. He shoved the program into the locker--which was nearly impossible for this program’s size--and slammed it shut.

‘They aren’t stupid.’ Harm told himself.

Does he really expect the guards to not search this place--that the program they’re chasing after just magically disappeared? What if they took HIM instead?

Harm looked back into his storage room and at the small window. He hurried inside and picked up a heavy wrench, reached his arm back, then chucked it at the window. A loud crash came, and glass flew everywhere.

He heard his door being swung open. He only has a few more seconds.

Harm then grabbed the nearest shelf and ripped it down, leading to it--and the other shelves above it--collapsing and crashing down on him. He yelped loudly, trying to sound as pathetic as possible, and got the attention of the guards.

The large, black-armored programs with long pikes in their hands rushed over and stopped right in front of the storage room’s entrance.

Harm tried to sound as scared as he could, “Th… The scary program attacked me and… and then escaped!” He pointed towards the shattered window.

The guards looked at the scene, then at one another, muttering amongst themselves before leaving. Not even bothering to help Harm out.

They slammed the door once they left, and for the next few moments, it was silent.

Once the coast was clear, the other program opened the locker and pushed themself out, grunting.

They took off their helmet, revealing their dark skin and black crew cut. His expression seemed that of displeasure, but after he shoved the shelves off of Harm and helped him to his feet, a smirk formed on his face.

“ ‘Scary program’?” He repeated, brushing Harm off.

He’s smiling? Yeah, this is probably soooo funny for the guy that didn’t get nearly crushed by junk, had to break his own property, and nearly put themselves at risk to help some random program.

“Yeah, you’re welcome.” Harm growled and pulled away.

The program’s smile dropped when he raised a brow, “Thank you. Sorry for all of this. Your store was the first place I spotted, and I needed to lose them.”

Harm stared at him for a moment, looked back at the storage room, then back at the program.

“What’s your name?” Harm asked as he made his way to his desk. He grabbed the first pen he saw, clicked it, then tore out a strip of paper.

The program followed behind, “Cutler.”

“Congratulations, Cutler.” Harm replied, jotting his name down. “You owe me a new window.”

Cutler blinked, “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t know if you think it’s easy to get money around these parts, but it’s not. You owe me at least 200.”

“Now hold on, you chose to break your own window.” Cutler argued.

“Yeah, and if I hadn’t done that, the guards would’ve searched this place. You’re welcome, again.” Harm said.

“I’m not even from this city, I just came here to tell others about Tr--”

Harm cut him off, “Well, if you’re not willing to pay, I’m sure the guards would give me a wonderful sum of money if I turned you in…”

“Alright.” Cutler stepped in, “I’ll find a way to get your money.”

“Great.” Harm raised his brows, “Glad we could come to an agreement. I expect my payment sometime next week.”

“Fine.” Cutler said coldly, facing away from the other program as he approached the front door. “Next week.”

Harm watched Cutler crack the door open, scan the area, then put his helmet back on before running through the streets. What a shame, not even a goodbye.

Whatever Cutler’s determined to tell others about must be important, especially if he’s trying to get word to spread in this terrible, terrible city.

[paperwayne]

steady.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You” ➡ 1. Holding their hands when they are shaking.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Word Count: 2,450 words

Warnings: None

I.

You’ve known Jason Todd long enough to know how sticky his fingers can be. It’s a talent, really, something to be admired in the slums of Gotham; an apple here, a wallet there, and more recently, tires right off of cars.

Stealing isn’t wrong if you’re trying to survive. But sometimes, you can’t resist doing it out of pleasure rather than necessity.

Jason’s hand is clean and warm as it curls firmly around your wrist – a habit that has now become a signal, back when you had been loose-lipped and jumpy whenever the two of you walked past the cashiers at stores – and you tear your gaze away from the crude caricature of Batman you had been scribbling onto an Etch A Sketch you had found, blinking as your friend glances at your artwork.

“Funny,” he compliments, and you crack a smile before he jerks his head slightly toward the exit. “C’mon, let’s go.”

You give the gummy Etch A Sketch a few vigorous shakes and slide it back onto the dusty shelf from whence it came. As you and Jason make your way to the door, the old man at the register stares suspiciously. You smile at him, innocent in your youth.

The door is just about to close completely before it swings open again, but by then you had crossed the street.

“You little brats, get back here!”

Jason’s grip on you tightens and that’s another signal.

Run.

You don’t have to look to know that Jason’s biting down a grin as you drag each other along the dirty, buckling sidewalk, evading indifferent passersby as the cashier shouts out a few expletives in vain. You keep your breathing in time with his, pumping your arms as you leap over cracks and clumps of yellowing grass. Jason’s hand slides down from your wrist to wrap around your own hand, vicelike and stubborn. It’s easier to run that way, you think.

Eventually, you find yourselves in an alleyway that’s mostly empty, save for a homeless woman dozing off next to the dumpster. Jason lets go of your hand to unzip his jacket while you do the same. The trash bag behind you crackles when you shuffle back to lean against the brick wall, panting.

“So,” he murmurs, blue eyes a steely shade of grey in the shadows of the alley, “Purple or green?”

“… Green.” You try to swallow and moisten your parched throat. “R-Red or orange?”

“Something wrong, [Y/n]?”

You pause when Jason asks that question, one of his eyebrows raised. His gaze darts down to the pairs of socks in your two hands. That’s when you realize that they are shaking, and it’s a split second later when you realize that it’s because your hands are shaking. Trembling, more like.

“Oh.” Immediately, you clench your fists, embarrassed as you try to still your jittery fingers. “I didn’t even – it’s nothing.” In the brief moment of skeptical silence, you say the only other thing that automatically comes to mind. “Sorry.”

Jason’s curious expression morphs into one of confusion. “The hell’re you saying ��sorry’ for?” he asks. His tone is a little rough, but when you blurt out another ‘sorry,’ he has the sense to soften a bit. “’S’nothing to say sorry for. We didn’t get caught, so you don’t gotta be shaking.”

You nod, looking down, and he sighs.

“Here.”

He takes your red pair of socks and tucks it into his pocket, then unceremoniously presses the candy bar with the green wrapper into your hand and places your other hand over it. You think that he’ll pull away soon, but he doesn’t; his hands engulf both of yours like some sort of sandwich, and then they stay. His skin is no longer warm like it had been in the store, but his hold is just as firm as it had been when he gripped your wrist not ten minutes ago.

Jason stares intently at his hands and yours, and after a few minutes, he finally lets go, satisfied.

“It’s choco-caramel,” he says, as if nothing had just happened. “Lucky guess.”

You tuck the candy bar into your jacket pocket, hands steady.

II.

You’ve known Jason Todd long enough to know that sometimes, he feels too much.

There’s a whoosh of air as your bedroom door opens, and you think you hear yourself mumble a few protests as the door slams loudly behind Jason. Eyes squinting, you reach out to turn on the bedside lamp, flinching when you click it on.

Heavy, angry breaths heave from the boy’s chest when you fix your gaze upon his hunched-over figure. His mask is gone, but the rest of his uniform still displays its bright and cheerful colors, a stark contrast to the darkness rolling off Jason in waves. Your eyes trace downward from his hair, matted and sweaty from a night of patrolling, to his arms and his hands, straight and stiff at his sides.

Anger still bubbles beneath the surface of his skin, you can see; it escapes in the form of shaking arms and fists.

“Jay?” you murmur in the choking silence.

As if awakened, Jason whirls around to kick the wall. It’s enough to jolt the rest of the sleep out of you, and you blink as he continues to slam his foot against the plaster and concrete, cursing both under and over his breath.

“Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!”

“Jason!”

You throw the blankets off you and cross the room, grabbing his arm. He tears away just as quickly, jaw clenched as he shoots you a venomous glare that’s not quite all there.

“Why the hell are you in my room?!”

“This is my room!”

“No, it’s —” Jason cuts himself off as he finally registers the contents of your bedroom, gaze flitting across your stuffed animals and the Etch a Sketch on your bedside drawer. His mouth tightens, and his expression crumples back into one of irritation.

“No, you’re staying here until you tell me what’s wrong,” you state firmly when he moves to open the door again. Reaching out to touch his arm once more, you hold it as you lead him to your bed and sit down at the edge. “Did Bruce get mad at you again?”

Jason scoffs, high-pitched and loud. “He’s always mad at me during patrol. He’s got a stick up his ass.”

You examine the way he clenches and unclenches his hands in his lap. His breathing is still uneven. “… Something went wrong, didn’t it?”

“He got shot.”

“Bruce?” You frown. Though it’s obviously painful, you know that Bruce’s been shot before, and he gets over it pretty quickly every time.

“No. A – a kid. He was little. I wasn’t quick enough. It was in the leg, but Bruce said if I stayed back the bastard wouldn’t have fired the gun in the first place.” Jason spits out the words like they’re poison. “The hell does he know? He’s never used a gun in his life.”

You chew on your lip. You can picture the scene all too well, bits of memories of Crime Alley shootouts and family homicides filling in the gaps. You can imagine the scream of the child. You can imagine the argument in the Batcave afterwards, Batman glowering over Jason like the Gotham Clocktower, dark and disapproving, as Jason throws his mask down and stomps away.

“Did the kid get to the hospital?” you whisper.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” You breathe out slowly, deliberately. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

Jason is quiet. You look at his hands again, and as if in a daze, you reach out to hold them.

The gloves are dirty. You pull them off as his hands unclench, blinking down at the pale skin mottled with purple bruises at the knuckles. You turn them over to inspect his palms and fingertips as if you’re about to read them, prophesy about his fate or something, but really you just mean to look at them for the sake of doing so. It brings you back in time, touching his hands. They’re still rough with callouses. Still shaking.

“As long as you’ve stopped them,” you mutter, relaxing your hold as the tremors slow, then fade from his muscles. “It doesn’t matter how you do it as long as they don’t do it again.”

“Thanks,” he says. It’s forced out, but it’s sincere. You meet his eyes when he extracts his hands from yours, fingers pulling away as slow as pulling taffy, and they’re tired but resolute.

You almost kiss him that night. But you don’t, thinking that a better time would probably come, when both of you are older and wiser and happier, and when Jason would perhaps not mind kissing you.

That chance is buried along with Jason a few months later, and with it, a part of yourself.

III.

You used to know Jason Todd.

Used to, because Jason is gone. You had been there at his funeral. You had watched his casket get lowered into the ground, and you had thrown a dumb flower at it like it would magically make a wooden box with a dead body prettier somehow. You had cried for him.

Jason Todd is dead. But then Uncle Alfred calls, and all of a sudden, you aren’t so sure anymore.

Although Bruce had initially objected, Alfred tells you about the empty casket and the Red Hood. He asks if any men had visited you lately, or if you feel like someone’s watching you. You tell him that you’d probably be dead if either of those things happened. He chuckles.

He tells you that Bruce sends his regards. You hang up.

It’s kind of ironic that you almost get killed that same night.

Your ears are still ringing and the frigid night air makes it hard to breathe; the ghost of a cold, hard pistol pressed against your temple renders you dizzy. The whole thing could have been avoided if you’d remembered to test the battery of your damn taser this month, but you hadn’t, and now three bodies are in the alleyway – yours; the man that had touched you, now deceased, lying on the asphalt; and a strange man with the gun that had won.

The rest of the smoke finally dissipates from the barrel. Your savior for the night spins the weapon in his hand before tucking it away at his hip, strolling over to crouch down at the thief’s side. With no great effort, he shoves a hand underneath the corpse to roll it over.

You stand, still quite in shock, as the man in the red helmet reaches into the dead man’s back pocket and plucks out a square, leather object. He stands up and holds it out to you, and you realize that it’s your wallet.

You take it. “Thanks … er …”

“Red Hood,” he says, looking down at you. It feels like he’s staring.

“Yeah,” your heart is in your throat and you will the next few words to come out smoothly, “I know. I’ve heard about you.”

“Well, shucks, I’m flattered. I bet the rumors are full of sunshine and rainbows.”

The words seem innocent, but the tone is familiar. You know this tone and manner of speaking. It’s baiting, a subtle prod to reveal yourself, and overwhelming curiosity leads you to reciprocate.

“There’s not many vigilantes out in Gotham who aren’t under the bat, you know.”

The Red Hood barks out a sharp laugh. “Don’t need the bat when I’ve got a gun.”

He’s right, though you know Batman certainly wouldn’t appreciate that reasoning. Your gaze darts down to the leather holster cradling that deadly weapon. You wet your lips, cautiously, as he leans against the wall opposite you and waits for you to talk again.

“You could’ve just knocked him out.”

“I also could’ve let him splatter your brains out. Life’s full of possibilities.” He uncrosses his arms, and you, for some insane reason, stay where you are as he suddenly pushes off the wall. His voice lowers. “So’s death.”

Your next words are exceptionally careful. He’s getting closer, the white eyes of his helmet washed in shadows as you meet them as solidly as you can. “I’ve heard about that too.”

(Despite your greatest efforts, you feel your hands begin to shake. No no no. You cross your arms to hide them and look more put together than you feel.)

“Really,” he says. “Do tell.”

“My uncle,” you begin slowly, “was just telling me today about a casket that was recently dug back up in the cemetery. They found that the person in it – who was supposed to be in it – was never there.”

“Wow. That’s wild.”

“Yeah. Wild.”

God, your hands won’t stop shaking. They tremble, suffocating in the crooks of your elbows, and you’re growing more and more frustrated as the Red Hood just stands there, infuriatingly silent as he watches your patience slowly unravel until the last thread snaps.

“Look,” you finally exclaim, taking a single step forward; your voice is hoarse and desperate and barely above a whisper. “Jason, if that’s you, tell me. It was just us for so long – you owe me a yes or no, goddammit!”

Your fingers are achingly, annoyingly stiff. Tremors wrack through each tendon and joint. Breathing heavily, you realize that you’re now gripping his biceps, blunt nails digging into the soft leather of his jacket, and that you’re standing much closer to him than you thought you were.

A solid minute passes. Then, slowly, the Red Hood reaches up to grasp your forearms, his hands dragging down to meet yours as they pull away from his jacket. You bite your tongue, glaring at the space between you.

Jason squeezes your hands tight, and then he lets go.

Your arms drop down to your sides, limp, as he pats your shoulder, looking to his left. “Your apartment’s just across the street, right? You’ll probably make it,” is all he says.

You just nod emptily and amble out of the alleyway, mind blurry while he trails close behind, leaving the corpse of your assailant where it had fallen. There’s no cars driving around right now so you just walk across the street without looking both ways, only stopping once you reach your apartment door and have your key out to unlock it. 

You turn around before opening the door; no one’s around, naturally, and you exhale and step inside.

As soon as the lock clicks, your legs give out underneath you. You crumple on the cold tile, hands folded and crushing against your mouth in some semblance of a prayer, and start to cry – and you can’t, for the life of you, figure out why.

__

[50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You” prompt list (requests using this prompt list are CLOSED)]

[one-leaf-grimoire]

“Illusion” ch 7!

Link to the full Ao3 work

Warnings: hangover, mentions of drinking/drugs

Also MC has a moment where she literally does this:

Uh oh... a hint of romance? Perhaps...

"Hey... you okay?"

Someone's voice softly pervades my mind, finally stirring it enough for consciousness to take hold. The first thing I do is wince, scrunching up my face. Ow ow ow! Fuck... My stomach feels like it's full of fire ants, crawling their way up my esophagus and into my throat. I splutter out a weak cough, someone pressing something cold onto my forehead. I can feel liquid dripping; whether it's from a wet cloth or my own sweat, I don't know. It feels good, though, on my burning skin.

"Hey, can you speak? I'm so scared..."

I open my mouth in an attempt to speak, but end up coughing instead. Ouch! It rips through my throat like barbed wire, but I manage to crack open my eyes. I see a familiar (albeit fuzzy) face peering down at me, her eyes full of worry and fear. "...Alice?"

She manages to smile, smoothing down my hair as she crouches next to my bed. "Thank god... I was worried you weren't going to wake up!"

I nod slowly, a little confused as to what's going on. Last night... we went out... and... That's where my memory runs out. "What happen- OUCH!" I cry out a small exclamation of pain as I sit up, my head throbbing. "Ow, ow, ow... Am I hungover?!"

Alice nods slowly, rubbing my shoulder. "Probably... geez, you really don't hold your liquor well, do you? I leave for one second and you wander off and collapse drunkenly in an alley!"

"You left?" I blink slowly, putting the puzzle pieces together with much difficulty. "I-I didn't go with you?"

"No, I asked if you wanted to, but you said no," Alice explains. "I don't blame you, Margery puke is something I don't want to see, either."

Right... Wren came in... he told us Margery was sick... and then... 

Did I drink anything after that? I suppose I wouldn't remember...

"Come on, you need a shower. You probably have alcohol poisoning or something." With some difficulty, Alice pries me out of bed, wraps me up in a blanket when I start shivering, and leads me out into the hallway. "Everyone else is out and about, I managed to get the Captain to give you the day off.

"Oh..." I say softly, for some reason feeling very upset by this news. My eyes even start to water a little. "That's... good, I guess."

Something doesn't add up. I was in an alley? Drunk? Wouldn't I have just stayed at the bar if I passed out? Unless someone dragged me out-

"Oh, good morning, you two! I'm glad to see you awake~"

...huh? That voice...

I look up and have to squint, but finally the face of the taller man grows into focus. OH... FUCK! 

"J-J-Julius?!" I stutter out, a lot louder than I mean to. I feel my face heating up for some reason. Ah! Get a grip! Why am I reacting this way... he literally just said good morning! "I mean... uh, good morning to you, too?" I wish I could shrink down and disappear into the blanket that's wrapped around me.

Despite the fact that I'm definitely blushing an embarrassingly dark shade of pink right now, Julius just smiles and lets out a relieved sigh, but the corners of his eyes crinkle with worry. "Ah, you're probably exhausted, I'll leave you to nurse that... hangover." He pats me on the shoulder, his hand lingering for a few moments longer than normal before letting go to brush past me. I stand there, still kind of stunned, before my senses hit me again. "Oh-" I turn around to see him glancing back at me. "Let me know if you need anything. You know where to find me!"

He finally disappears around the corner, and I let out a heaving sigh. Jesus, I must be really out of it... I hear a giggle and look over to see Alice smirking at me. "What was that?"

I suck in a breath through my nose and look away. "I-I don't know what you're talking about!"

"You're red as a beet! And you basically moaned his name!"

"What?! And I'm sick, of course I'm red! There was no moaning whatsoever!!"

"Hmm, whatever you say~"

"Alice!"

Eventually she stops teasing me, and I start to feel better after taking a shower. However, my stomach still feels all wonky and I end up throwing up into a toilet for about seven minutes straight. "I was wondering when this was going to happen," Alice says sadly as she hands me a glass of water after the "tide" has retreated. "You didn't throw up at all last night, and Julius said you hadn't when you were in the alley. I guess it has to happen sometime."

I nearly choke on my water. "H-Huh?! Julius... he was the one who found me?!"

"Yeah, actually. I guess you were lucky, he always knows what to do-" Alice freezes up as I suddenly clap my hands over my face and shamelessly burst into tears. "What? Hey, hey, it's not a big deal!"

I shake my head a little as I feel her arms wrap around me.

"Everyone has this happen... it's not something to be embarrassed about! Julius doesn't care, he's seen it all, I'm sure!"

Her embrace doesn't melt the growing icicle of fear away.

I'm not embarrassed... I'm happy.

Because... I can't put my finger on it, but I think something bad happened last night, I was in danger. But Julius...

I don't know why I can't shake that uneasy feeling throughout the day. A nagging suspicion in the back of my mind keeps kicking me, trying to force me to face the very real chance that I wasn't drunk.

If I wasn't drunk, then what was I?

At about five in the evening, Alice gets dressed to leave our room. "I have a patrol, it's going to go until tomorrow morning," she groans, even though this kind of mission is usual for her. "Are you going to be okay? I know you said that you don't think you have to worry about anyone here anymore-"

"I'll be fine!" I give her a smile from my bed, still sipping water. "See you later!"

Alice bids me farewell before leaving me alone once again. I sigh and flop back on my bed, closing my eyes and scraping the corners of my mind to find an explanation for these badly-fitting puzzle pieces. The dread won't go away, so it must mean something, right?

My friends... they wouldn't hurt me...

But the last thing I remember drinking, the Cinnamon Whiskey, it was bitter, not sweet or spicy.

I open my eyes again to stare at the ceiling blankly.

Did I really drink after that? I don't remember at all...

Suddenly, I get an idea. Without hesitation, I get up and pull on some clothes before running off towards Captain Hervey's office. Luckily, he's inside, working on some papers. "Oh, it's you," he greets sternly, getting up out of his chair as I close the door behind me. "I was wondering when you were going to show up... how are you feeling?"

"Er, good, sir," I reply, feeling my face heat up. "I'm really sorry about being a nuisance... I didn't mean to get so drunk or anything, to be honest, I don't really remember drinking very much, but it happens, I suppose."

Hervey eyes me curiously before letting out a hearty laugh. "It happens! You've got to work up your tolerance somehow, I suppose!" He suddenly grabs my head and shakes me around playfully, a little more rough than my stomach can bear right now. "Just don't embarrass the squad, that's all I ask!"

"Ah! Y-Yes sir!" He finally releases me and I straighten up. "I was wondering... do you still have last night's bar tab somewhere? I'd like to see it."

"Huh? Why?" I shrug, earning a sigh from the captain as he turns to rummage through the trash. "You're lucky... I just paid the tab, and was about to take out the trash." Hervey always pays for our nights out, which is why he has our tab. "Here, now scram!"

I catch the crumpled up paper he tosses me, squeak out a thank you then run back to my room. This should tell me something...

Once in my room, I uncrumple the tab and start skimming through it. There, that's the inn... and there's the drinks we got...

My blood runs cold.

According to the tab, we were served just five cinnamon whiskeys.

Just... five. 

Wait... if we just had five... then what the Hell did I drink later?! 

I loosen my grip, and the paper wafts down to the floor at my feet.

I... I can't have been... drugged?

The cinnamon whiskey was bitter.

No... I-

But, who would have done it? Some random guy at the bar? I didn't notice anyone else come close to us... then, the bartender? No, that would be too easy to trace! Then...

It was one of them... Giles, Elia, Nigel, Alice...

Maybe not Alice, but right now the dark cloud of paranoia won't let me let go of that option.

So... it wasn't just one of my squadmates. It was one of my very own friends...

The hope I started to feel is gone, leaving nothing but an empty, taunting shell. Because, it's not over. Once again, someone is trying to intimidate me, to harm me, to make me fear the people around me. They've succeeded.

Thank goodness Julius found me... who knows what would have happened, then? It explains the severity of my illness this morning. This isn't a hangover, it's the product of some potent, poisonous drug. My hands tremble where they rest on my bare knees, and suddenly my nightgown is not nearly enough to shield me from the chill of this room. 

I'm... still in danger... but why?! I ball up my fists, feeling hot tears on my cheeks again. At this point, I'm feeling more frustrated than afraid. Why would someone target me like this? What did I do?! How do I make it stop...

Suddenly, I've been sitting there in silence for a long time, longer than I meant to. I look up sharply at my door, faint light from the hallway spilling under the crack.

I... I'm alone... Alice... she's going to be gone all night...

The frustration decidedly turns into fear. Visceral fear. I could die tonight. Someone could kill me in my sleep.

So... I won't sleep!

I move mechanically, slipping off my bed and turning on a light. My fingers are shaking, fumbling at the lamp.

I...I'll be fine! I can do this alone... and in the morning, I'll tell Alice, and we'll tell the captain-

No. I won't be fine.

I...I can fight them off... I have magic!

My hands clutch my Grimoire as I sit cross-legged on the floor, staring with wide eyes at the door. There's no strength in my gaze.

They haven't even gotten here... but they've already defeated me...

My blood freezes in my veins as I hear a footstep.

Then another.

I-it's coming closer...

I can it so clearly. They're getting closer.

Okay... get ready...

I hold up my hand.

You can do it... if you cast Fear Landscape now...

The footsteps slow as they near my door. I squeeze my eyes shut.

Do it... please...

My body refuses to move. My magic refuses to move. I'm completely petrified with fear.

I... don't want to die... please...

The footsteps speed up, and disappear down the hall.

I stay sitting there for a moment, before my eyes snap back open, blinking away tears.

I'm pathetic... I'm right, they've already defeated me...

My Grimoire thunks to the ground as I drop it, and I stare at the pair of useless hands I've been cursed with.

There's an escape... maybe I should just leave now... I'll be to the castle by morning. Lawrence will protect me, right?

No. A life with Lawrence would be worse than anything I have to face tonight. No matter how nice or comforting he tries to be, he can't erase the past. He'll never bring me the same warmth from his smile as...

...

That's right... there's someone still here that I can trust!

The realization fills my limbs with purpose, and before I know it, I throw open my door and sprint away as quietly as I can. I turn a few corners, climb one set of stairs, and there it is, that room, his room!

I skid to a stop before I slam into the door and knock on the wood urgently, glancing behind me. Please be here! Please- I feel like a rabbit, being chased down by a ravenous pack of wolves, ready to tear me apart the moment I falter. Please... please!-

Mid-knock, the door opens, and Julius pokes his head out. "Oh! Good- evening-"

He doesn't get to finish as I push my way inside, bursting right past him, and slam the door shut with a loud bang. I gasp in a breath, adrenaline still filling my veins as I lean against the closed door. I did it! I escaped... I should be safe now... now that I'm...

I suddenly go pale.

...oops. I just broke into Julius's room, didn't I?

I turn around slowly to look back up at Julius, who is speechless, his mouth open wordlessly. Finally, he blinks a few times. "Er... to what do I owe the pleasure of this late-night-visit?" He closes his eyes as he smiles, still emanating that comforting aura that I was seeking out.

He looks... so warm... so... safe...

Safe.

It's something I desperately want to feel right now, but even here in this room, locked away from the danger outside, I can't relax. 

"...what's wrong?"

I get snapped from my thoughts as Julius gently touches my shoulder. I slowly look up at him, at his concerned face. He knows something is wrong...

"Hey, whatever it is, you can tell me, alright? Even if it's something, er- girly, although I'm sure Malota is better suited for that kind of- Ah! Why are you crying? Did I say something?"

I shake my head, and without another moment of thought I let the tears fall, and fling myself into his warm, safe chest.

OooooOooooOo ;.; Nice! Please comment and lmk what you think 0.0

I’m having so much fun writing this rn  I hope ya’ll like it too <3

[jojoreadwhat]

nothing else will do, all I want is you this christmas. | j.m. x fem!reader

a/n; hi. so you probably seen the post where I explained I deleted my last piece for Joe. I was not happy with it and I had another idea just floating in my head. this I think is my fav yet, so I hope you enjoy! I also re-tagged everyone from the last post, hope that’s cool! you’re the best!

prompt; joe can’t make it home for Christmas.

words; 1.7k

mentions; lucy boynton, ben hardy, gwilym lee & rami malek. (this is set around borhap’s production)

this tale includes lots of fluff which may lead to a lot laughs and a bunch of sweet kisses.

inspiration;

You were heartbroken by the news of Joe not being able to come home for Christmas. This was going to be your first, elaborate holiday spent apart across the pond.

“I’m sorry, y/n.” Joe repeated for the fourth time in the last 30 minutes through the blue screen of your laptop during a somber video chat.

Joe has been working on a major project, Bohemian Rhapsody, in London while you were back home in New York. This was Joe’s biggest part yet and it was supposed to stop, momentarily, for a lengthy week of rest for the cast. Unfortunately they have a deadline to catch up to and can’t halt the production.

Smiling soft and shaking your head. “It’s not your fault. We’ll celebrate it once you get back!” Trying to change the mood of things, Joe smirked briefly before his eyes trailed off the screen.

You felt so bad, in the way that technology advanced in today’s world, you were wishing you could reach through the screen and hug him, hug all of his sadness away and kiss the straightness of his lips till it giggled against your lips, curling up. Telling him it was going to be okay. Nothing made you more upset then seeing your boyfriend, blaming himself for something that was out of his hands.

“Joey?” Watching his eyes look up at the sound of your voice. Breaking the silence, “Hm.” meeting the lens like he was looking into yours with all of his attention. “Please don’t beat yourself up for it, it’s okay.”

It wasn’t, not for him anyways.

Joe and you have been together for a little over a year. You met through mutual friends at a party and hit it off instantly. He wasn’t expecting you to come in his life. Joe had his fair share of relationships and flings to keep him steady, he was ready to settle the bat down after a shit game on the field of love. But he met you right before he benched himself. You’ve become his best friend, his confidant, his lover and all good things between or beyond since. He was lucky to have stumbled upon your path, grateful even. It was time like these that made him question if he deserved you.

In the many years of his acting career, this current film was the most challenging he’s ever experienced. The longest he’s ever been away from home too. It was worse taking up jobs like this knowing he had someone to come home. He doesn’t know how you’ve stayed this long. He swore the first time that he spent away from you, would be the last he’d ever see you. He would’ve understood you leaving too. You stayed though, he never understood that by a long shot but you did and he wanted nothing more than to be back home with you.

Falling into another silence, you spoke up again. “What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

“How you do it.” He remarked, gingerly. His chin resting on hands, peering back at you. You raised your brow in confusion, wondering where this was going. “Do what?” Your naivety getting the best of you.

He smirked at your dumbfounded expression, you really had no idea what you meant to him.

“Stay.” He said, feeling your lips turn up into a smirk you couldn’t put a stop to even if you wanted to.

Sometimes you really thought you weren’t good enough in the ways that Joe was good to you. You couldn’t begin on how much he meant to you. How important and how amazing he was to you. You had your share of boyfriends using your heart as a welcome mat. When Joe came into your life it was like nobody could ever show you greater if anything wrong were to happen to your relationship. He was your beacon of light, the most kind, most affection, fun and generous soul you ever had the honor of having in your life. To call yours, for hopefully forever if he’d have you. You couldn’t walk away from him.

You smiled, brightly at the fluffy red hair with a funny, but adorable perm right now and his hazel eyes gazing back at you. “Because,” you began. “I love you.” watching his cheeks grow a deep shade of pink as he wasn’t used to hearing that.

Soon after, Joe and you bid your goodbyes before closing down your laptop. You sighed to yourself, dimly. Your eyes following the glistening, warm Christmas lights scattered against walls in the living room up until you focused on tree. Covered in odd ornaments, admiring it. You wished you could bring Christmas to him.

That’s when it hit you, what if you could? Joe couldn’t fly out but nothing was stopping you from flying out to him! You were overjoyed by the idea, checking your calendar and immediately texting the best person you know would be down to help.

Lucy Goosy: Are you up??? I just had the best idea!!

+

Lucy was over the moon by your idea of coming to London to bring Christmas cheer to Joe. She was also so excited to have another female around on set for the next week to be honest.

You two had met earlier on in the year before Bohemian Rhapsody began to be filmed. It was a little get together between the cast and crew, you two hit it off well and absolutely adored each other. She would help you out sometimes on keeping a good eye on Joe and his well being. She was always rooted for Joe and you, she knew first hand how much you meant to him.

When you landed on english soil on Christmas Eve. Lucy had her driver pick you up at the airport. You sat in the back of the black SUV, your nerves shot and all over the place, anxious and excited all in one over what today was going to be like. You hadn’t seen him, physically, in months and you couldn’t wait much longer, it was driving you mad not seeing that goofy smile and those hazel eyes for so long.

You texted Lucy when you had arrived outside of the place where her and the boys were filming.

She had everything figured out, even jobs for the boys. Lucy was going to do everything in her willpower to make sure this goes perfect as planned.

Still waiting for the go to exit the SUV, Lucy opened the door.

“Y/N!” Lucy shouted, excited as you shared the same enthusiasm, leaping into her arms. “It’s so great to see you!”

Gwilym was standing behind her, I shot him a smile before I pulled away and gave him a hug too.

Lucy placed my hands into hers, “Okay, so Rami and Ben have Joe out and about for lunch.” Smiling big, “We have an hour!”

We came up with the idea of decorating Joe’s trailer. “Okay! Let’s get rolling!”

+

Gwil, Lucy and you all hurried with bags full of twinkle lights and frilly decor to Joe’s trailer. Gwilym being the tall chap that he is, helped with hanging garlands and lights from the walls and draping from the ceiling. Lucy and you fluffed out a tree she had found from somewhere, cluttering it with lights and ornaments.

You were hooking a few ornaments, cute little Yankees ones too. “Lu, these are so cute!” Holding up one to her, she flashed a smile. “I heard wedding bells when I seen them!” Winking at you, “I believe I saw him looking at rings on his phone!” And your cheeks grew rosy as you placed the ornament onto the tree.

Time had passed and you had finished up with ten minutes to spare.

Gwilym was adding extra bows to empty areas and Lucy was adding an extra “dazzle” she quoted, with some candles.

We all stood in the main room at the glistening lights “It’s so cute!!” You cried, wrapping your arms around their middles and pulling them to your sides, gleefully. “Seriously couldn’t have done it without you guys,” leaning your head onto Lucy’s shoulder. “I owe you all lunch before I go!”

Gwilym chuckled, “No need! Just get our boy to cheer up, will ya?” You smiled, toothlessly. Nodding, “Absolutely.”

Lucy’s phone dinged, “Alright, they’re on their way back!” They scurried around quickly, grabbing trash and what nots before hugging you, “He’ll be here right after he gets in to change.” Gwilym announced, “hang tight!”

+

You sat on Joe’s sofa with a smile plastered to your face, in awe about the way the place came out. You were overwhelmed wanting to see his face.

Shortly you heard muffled sounds outside, you immediately went into action. Turning out the light switch and standing in place.

Your heart grew faster at how close you heard Joe’s sweet voice getting to the trailer.

“Hold on, I’ve gotta change back into my costume.” He yelled outside the door, hearing the door knob move.

You stayed carefully still, afraid he’d make out your shadow. “I thought I left the lamp on?” Muttering to him once he entered the room, hearing his feet shuffle across the floor as he reached for the light switch.

“Oh my god!” Joe nearly screeched at the sight and then when he seen you, he gasped “Y/N!” Beaming at the sight of his excitement taking over him.

He almost knocked you over with how fast he hurried to you, engulfing you into the warmest hug that you felt in ages. “Oh my god, you’re here!” Feeling his words in your hair, his hands roaming you like he was making sure you were really here.

“When did you get in?” His mouth was running for miles, How did you do all of this?!” He finished, then. Pulling away to go look around him at all the decorations, overwhelmed by everything.

You stood by, adoring him as he admired everything. “I had a little help, thanks to Lucy and the boys.”

He gasped, “they knew you were coming this whole time?!” Giggling as he watching him talk with his hands, one landing to his chest. “Come here,” waving his hand over towards you.

Wrapping your arms around his waist, he brought his hands to your cheeks. Tilting your head up towards his. “What did I do to deserve you?”

You didn’t know how to answer his question, but you knew he needed to be happy in the same way he made you feel.

Moving your hands to his dark red fluffy locks, simply smiling as you brought his lips to yours before pulling away to look at his eyes, the hazel ones you called home and loved with your all.

“Merry Christmas, Joe.”

Taglist - @myfatbottomedgirls @fairestkillerqueenofall @stephydearestxo @merryjolie @deacyblues @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @bethanyann64 @fallingoutofthe1975 @plentyoffandoms @ask-mr-baldis-class @miss-artemis-wild @candiesandcherries @rocknrollqueenie @stormyparker @pastelhybristophiliac @briarrose26 @justapurrcat @theyreallidiots @standing-onthe-edge @escabell @heykarsyn @xinning19760326 @sheerhotspace @ca0s-artistic0 @augustturtle @strangemaximoff @richardhammondappreciationblog @coincidence-ithinknots-blog @kaleighmc

[shineonmalcolmbright]

Shine On, Bright: Chapter Ten

Table of Contents

Past

Familicide: A type of murder or murder-suicide when an individual kills multiple close family members in a quick succession such as their children, relatives, spouse, siblings, or parents. Typically, the individual takes their own life last. Researchers refer to this criminal behavior as family annihilator because often the individual is attempting to spare their families from indignity or tragedy whether this is real or imagined.

Additional research does its best to investigate the internal logic for family annihilation although it appears this act can stem from a number of sources.

To list a few:

The individual sees their family as a status symbol, and when their economic status collapses, they start to view their family as surplus to requirements. This then results in the individual to enact familicide since their family no longer lives up to their ideals on family life.

A self-righteous individual chooses to kill their family to exact revenge upon either the mother or father. All the blame is put on who the individual deems is at fault.

A paranoid individual kills their family in a way or an attempt to protect them from something even worse

Malcolm sat in the library or what he believed to be the Overlook’s library. It was a room with a bunch of dusty books. So dusty he choked on the air at first. Apparently, guests of the hotel preferred not to read.

After a few tries he found a chunky book about some psychology, maybe. In a gift shop downstairs, he dug up a notebook about visiting Colorado. Each page had a fun fact printed in the corner and more important, it had lines along each page, in which he started to jot down those words before finishing it off: Why did Delbert Grady kill his whole family?

The newspaper from the basement was cut up and taped down into that notebook covering up Colorado Fun Fact #1, which wasn’t even about the state. Instead, it just stated a fact about the Overlook Hotel. Fun Fact #1: The Overlook Hotel is a 142 roomed colonial-revival hotel. Somehow the place felt like it was the center of everything.

Muttering to himself, Malcolm looked between the newspaper and the text. “So what was it Mr. Delbert Grady? Were you a paranoid killer or a self-righteous individual? I don’t think you saw your family as a status symbol because you worked here as a caretaker. . .” He made actual notes on paper because mental notes were easily forgotten.

Why did Delbert Grady kill his whole family?

“Malcolm?”

Hearing his name startled him so much, he fell out of his seat still clinging to the pencil. Malcolm turned around to see Ainsley entering the room. She’s hanging onto a bright green bouncy ball, which she does a bad job at passing toward Malcolm. It’s too small and bouncy. The little thing rockets off the walls and some books and knocks over a little green-shaded lamp at a desk. The thing shatters upon impact.

“I’m sorry!” yelped Ainsley.

“It’s ok,” replied Malcolm. All they’d need was a broom and a trash can so that neither parent would ever find out. He fished the bouncy ball out from the shards of glass bringing it back to Ainsley. “Where did you get that?”

“Dad says we can’t go back to the room. Just so you know.”

Malcolm was stuck with the ball in his palm looking at her. “Oh? Why?”

“Killing wasps.” Ainsley looked over her shoulder as if those critters were flying around out in that hallway there. None were though. When she looked back at Malcolm, she flailed her hands around a bit as if they added to the story. “They’re outside my window so dad is going to kill them all.”

“Our window.”

Ainsley shook her head while humming out a nah-uh. She poked a finger into her chest. “MY window!”

“Why’s he killing wasps if they’re outside? What’s the point? They can’t hurt you.”

“I’m scared of wasps.”

Malcolm leaned back a bit taking that in. “Wait, what? Since when were you afraid of wasps? You’ve never even been stung by one?”

“I don’t know. They’re scary. I mean, have you ever seen one before?!” Ainsley groaned and rolled her eyes before pointing outside the library room. “Are you coming or what?”

“Depends, to do what?” Malcolm still held onto his pencil, a reminder that he had a lot of research to do, which was more interesting than hanging out with his little sister.

“We’re playing catch.” Ainsley took the bouncy ball from Malcolm. “Are you coming or what?”

Already Malcolm backed up into the room. “No thanks, I have research to do.”

“Ugh, boring!” And Ainsley was off in the hallway.

Malcolm took a seat in front of the book unsure what entry to look up next to better form an understanding of this Delbert Grady. He flipped back to its index about to start with the A’s like a regular researcher when some odd note struck a chord. He snapped his attention at the door like Ainsley still hung around. Since she wasn’t he needed to get up shouting for her, “Wait, Ainsley! What do you mean by we’re playing catch? Who’re with?”

No answer.

It was ridiculous. Of course Ainsley was playing with their mother.

But wait, no.

Jessica Whitley wasn’t the type to hand out bouncy balls then play catch with them. In fact, the only game he could ever recall playing with Jessica was the quiet game to see who could stay the quietest the longest. In hindsight, she used it to mind her own business.

“AINSLEY!” Malcolm shouted unsure if there were any guests left in the hotel. He was pretty sure their purpose was to stay when nobody else did. It snowed a lot up there. Got real lonely. A fatal loneliness according to the newspaper article suggested Delbrert Grady annihilated his family because he simply got lonely. But so far, Malcolm’s research said otherwise.

Outside there wasn’t any sign of her but he could hear Ainsley giggling somewhere ahead of him. Good place to start. Malcolm chased after those giggles hoping some stranger lurked alongside his sister. He should’ve looked up other definitions in the book. Other types of murderers that lurked on the page and in reality. Maybe he should’ve asked more about his ability to be more aware than the rest of the world. If he squeezed his eyes shut, maybe he could pick up on Ainsley’s thoughts or whoever she played with.

Nothing.

“AINS. . .” Her name was stolen right when he called after her.

Malcolm tumbled forward spotting a slightly ajar door. Each and every single door opened into the hallway. This door reached out toward him, just a tad bit. They’re all supposed to be closed to the rest of the world. All the doors were supposed to be closed and the hotel was supposed to be empty. The only people inside were supposed to be him, Ainsley, and their parents. Yet up ahead he heard Ainsley as she probably disappeared around a corner giggling and shouting, Wait for me, Alexa!

There wasn’t a single Alexa Malcolm knew.

Before heading after her, he came closer to that slightly ajar door. Malcolm took note of it: Room 217. Alright then. He’d report the issue to his father later. The hinges on the door were probably broken letting the door open up on its own. Still, he approached with caution. His feet scraped along that hideous carpet. It sounded so dry as he moved. Worse than nails on a chalkboard. He stood up on his toes to stretch his hand out to see it shut.

Except the door had a mind of its own. Right as his fingers made contact, he went to push it shut when instead the door burst open and knocked him off his feet. His butt sparked with pain when he struck the ground. That tailbone. Pain, lots of pain. But it’ll pass. Everything passed. All pain went away after a time, right?

Looking up Malcolm saw a man come out of the room. He looked about as regular as any human man could look. He hesitated looking down before saying, “Oh sorry about that Malcolm.”

Even though he put a hand out to help Malcolm up, Malcolm refused. Instead, Malcolm concentrated as hard as possible on the man’s head to dig into those thoughts. Except the man’s brain was. . .noiseless.

“Oh, sorry. Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine, I’m fine.” Malcolm took his hand and raised to his feet. “Who are you?”

“A friend of your father’s who. . .hold on a second.” The man went back into Room 217. At least, he wasn’t gone for too long. When the man came out, he handed a note to Malcolm. The front of it casually said Martin. “Do you mind giving that to your father?”

Malcolm still looked at the note rather than study the man’s face. “Sure.” But when he did look up again, he asked, “I’m sorry, but who are you again?”

“Apologies, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m still just a stranger and you know, children shouldn’t talk to strangers.”

Well, that got Malcolm to take a step back from him. He squinted at the man hoping to really dig into his thoughts only for noiselessness to greet him.

“John Watkins, a friend of your father.” The man paused inhaling deeply. “Told me I could stay here if. . .I helped with this place.” Malcolm added no comment while he watched this John Watkins unable to remember a time he heard his name. For a person who could hear the spoken and unspoken, it seemed weird he had no idea who this stranger was standing in front of him. “It’s a very spooky place, right?”

“Hotels are just weird when they are empty. It isn’t right,” whispered Malcolm. He held up the note. “I’ll give this to my dad. Have. . .a nice day.”

Rather than wait around for small talk, Malcolm took off down the hall. He didn’t quite run but power walked. Several turns helped separate him from Room 217 and the man’s silent brain. Malcolm tried his best to open up the envelope. It ripped too much so he needed to toss that half of it. But he looked at the letter unsure about reading it, but he did. Privacy was one thing for most people. It was different for him because he could hear passing throughs from people around him. Not from John Watkins though. The entire time he stood before the man there wasn’t a sound from his brain. Not a single murmur or passing thought while the two stood together.

The note was a single sentence:

Meet me at the bar downstairs after dinner.

“Malcolm.”

It was the second time in a single day that his own name startled him. He whirled around clutching the note, the paper scrunched up in his hand. But just Martin stood in the hallway. He was coming toward him. His thoughts buzzing loud with the buzzing of the wasps he battled outside Ainsley’s window.

“You’re hurt,” commented Malcolm.

“Just a wasp sting. Good thing I’m not allergic.” Martin stopped in front of him blowing on his little sting wound. “What do you have there?”

Oh no, his notebook was still in the library with all those pages open to death. Malcolm reached out handing the note. “This is for you.”

Martin took it and somehow his thoughts made less sense. They became just a flash of red. “So you met Mr. Watkins.”

“I did.”

Be careful. Martin smiled and ruffled Malcolm’s hair. “I’ll see you later.”

Malcolm turned to watch Martin leave him standing there in the hallway. No further explanation to the flash of red that clung to them. Brighter than the geometric carpet underneath their feet. Something that caused his heart to beat a little faster with the Be careful igniting some other distant, distant panic. Such a weird thing to say about a friend. There was no way his father would let somebody dangerous live beside them, right? Right.

[deansawthetvglow]

The ficlet: Welcome Home, 2.2k, post s14.

The prompt: Yo! Congrats for the 3000! I was thinking a cute ficlet of Dean finding Cas' sketch book and it's all cute drawings of Dean with little sentences or notes by Cas. Stuff like a drawing of deans sleepy waking up face and Cas' note saying "this is my 2nd favorite Dean face". for @idkmanjustgo

It’s been a week since Dean and Sam have seen Cas.

They’re stuck in the bunker, and Cas is out hunting God.

“We should be out there with him, Sammy.” Dean grumbles.

“I know Dean, but Cas can help locate him faster. Once he does, we can go help with the fight.”

Dean rolls his eyes at his brother. “How can you be so okay with Cas leaving at a time like this?”

It’s been a week since Chuck snapped his fingers and the aftermath is immense. The sky is constantly dark, black smoke blocking out the sun as demons search for available vessels to trash. Ghosts roam the earth, tied to nothing but the stench of hell. Dead men shuffle through the streets, rotting and hungry.

Cas shouldn’t be out there alone.

That’s when Dean’s phone rings and he lunges to grab it from the countertop next to the stove.

“Cas?”

“Dean. I have been...unsuccessful...in my search. I know that you would prefer me to stay away from the bunker at this time, but I’m,” an exerted grunt crackles through the phone, “quite injured and could use a place to rest.”

Dean kicks himself. It’s the end of the fucking world so of course, he had just told Cas he’s no longer welcome. “You’re dead to me.” How fucking stupid.

Dean sighs, trying not to give away how much Cas is not dead to him at all. In fact, he’s pretty much all he’s been fixating on for the entire past week and now he’s worried sick at the prospect of Cas being so injured he needs time to heal.

“Course, Cas. You, uh, you’re always welcome here.”

“I estimate my drive will be around 12 hours, considering all the chaos on the roads.”

“Sure. See you soon.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean hangs up and presses the phone to counter, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in.

“So, Cas is coming back?” Sam says over his book from the kitchen table.

Dean just nods and leaves the room.

He knows there’s not much he can do to help Cas, he knows that they are more fractured than they’ve been before. There’s no fiery anger or sorrow, there’s nothing to hold onto. Instead, it feels like a faux indifference, one overcompensating for true emotions and is eating away at them both.

Neither wants to show weakness. Neither wants to feel the full weight of their situation. Neither wants to admit the opposite of their indifference.

But Dean decides, fuck it, it really is the end of the world this time and he needs to make sure Castiel feels welcome in the family again.

It’s a small step, and it won’t erase the words he’s already said, but it’s in this moment that he decides to prepare Cas’ room for his arrival.

He reaches door 15 and hesitates. Castiel deserves his own god damn permanent room, not some guest room that’s only available when it’s convenient for them.

Dean decides to move Cas to room 12, just down the hall from his own. Maybe he’ll regret it but c’est la fuckin vie.

When he finally enters the guest room to collect Cas’ things, he doesn’t find much.

It’s a sterile room, lonely almost. He grabs the little photo leaned up against the lamp, the one they took back with Bobby and Jo and Ellen all those years back, a few spare buttons and some weird Enochian book with a few goats etched in gold on the front.

He turns to leave when he notices the corner of a piece of paper peeking out from under the bed.

When Dean leans down to grab it, he realizes, it’s not just a piece. It’s a whole notebook.

The pages are sturdy and lightly creme tinted and the cover is white, simple, smooth, blank.

He knows he shouldn’t, but once he reaches room 12 and sets the knickknacks he found down on the desk, he sits on the edge of the bed and opens the journal.

What he sees first makes him gasp.

It’s a hand on a shoulder from a high perspective. There are terrible faces screaming, warped, muddled together in the background, but there is a light, replicated by the contrast from perfect charcoal shading, that blinds in the foreground.

The bottom corner reads “Dean Winchester is Saved”

Dean’s mind flashes back to his first moment seeing the scar from Castiel. His stomach lurches.

Dean never expected Castiel to be an artist, but now, seeing the magnificence of something so simple, his heart yearns to turn the page. He knows there’s something wrong about looking through someone else’s notes, but he can’t help it.

He does.

This page is eyes. His eyes.

Angry eyes. Soft eyes. Closed eyes with long lashes. Crying eyes. Eyes with pupils so dilated, Dean can see love. A few of the eyes are framed by expressive brows, some sketches reach down to the tops of freckled cheekbones.

He breathes deeply and closes his own eyes, letting his finger softly run down the page, not enough to smudge it, but just enough to feel the intensity at which these were drawn.

He opens his eyes.

Turns the page.

This page is noses. All the same one. Freckles spattered meticulously over them. Some are side profiles, others, straight on. Some flared, some scrunched. Dean never thought a nose could be a muse, and yet...

Another page flipped means he reaches lips. Dean lifts a finger to his own to trace the shape. These are his lips. They are drawn lightly open, smiling, pressed together, shouting.

One depiction has his lips locked with another’s. His lips dominate the image so he can’t pick out who’s they are. He wonders if he’s kissed that set of lips before. He wonders if they are Castiel’s, but quickly shakes the thought from his head.

Another page turned and he’s not sure how to feel.

It’s his entire profile, perfected. Mimicked sunlight hits his face and his eyes gleam in the light. His face is sharp and determined, but his eyes fool no one.

This one is labeled, “Dean running us through a case. It’s morning, the sun rises and warms us through a dirty motel window. I don’t remember the case. I was too busy looking at him.”

The next page is him sleeping. He wishes he felt weird about it, wishes he hated that Cas had drawn him like this, messy hair and parted lips and cheek squished into a soft pillow, but he can’t help but feel warm and soft and flattered.

The accompanying note does nothing to settle the butterflies in his stomach.

“Dean didn’t sleep well last night, he doesn’t usually. He sleeps angry. But we returned from a case in Illinois last night and he needed true rest. I snuck in and gave him a dream. Here is his face when he’s dreaming of picnics with a woman he saw on a billboard for shampoo yesterday.”

He keeps turning pages, settles back into the pillows on the bed and lets his feet swing up. He flips and gazes for a long while.

There are countless images of bees drawn on the sides of pages, one page is an entire hive of them, honeycomb patterning in the back.

There are a few drawings of Sam and Jack here and there as well. Sam looks so happy in one of the sketches that Dean’s heart nearly bursts. He hasn’t seen Sam that happy since...ever...and seeing it, well, maybe it should make him sad, but he can’t bring himself to care. It’s perfect and it makes Dean think it’d be possible to see that exact expression on his brother’s face sometime.

Sometime soon, he hopes.

There’s one page in a cartoon style that depicts Jack as a superhero, a whole costume design and everything. “Angel Man” written messily at the top.

Dean snorts into the silence, Cas, you are such a huge dork.

Finally, he reaches one of the last pages, and he shuts the book abruptly. He squeezes his eyes and holds the book between two hands against his chest. He looks up at the concrete ceiling and tries to calm himself by counting air bubbles in the harsh grey above.

He can’t resist it though.

Tentatively, he opens the book again, to the place his thumb subconsciously kept for him.

It’s not just lips this time.

It’s their faces, the entirety of each, down to the shoulders. Dean is pressed up against the line of a wall and Castiel’s thumb is resting on his cheek as the rest of his hand disappears by the nape of his neck.

Dean’s hand is hidden by Cas’ face but he can see his fingers buried and tugging lightly at black hair. Castiel’s face is so sincere, like every emotion he has ever felt as an angel— anguish, doubt, fear, devotion, loyalty, love(?)—is committed to one kiss. Dean’s face is less complex, it’s accepting and relaxed and wanting.

Dean isn’t sure how Cas depicted such emotions on the page, maybe used some angel mojo or something, but all he knows is he can feel the kiss. The weight of it. The importance.

Most of all, he feels the want.

He wishes he didn’t. He wishes Cas hadn’t gotten his face so painfully right, but he had. Everything that he had built up in his chest was screaming to be let out.

Holding those feelings down had been worse than locking down Michael— perhaps that’s why he had been so good at keeping the archangel in captivity for so long.

Dean lets his eyes roam the page once more before noticing the tiny phrase written in the lower right corner, “A dream.”

His heart flutters and he gingerly closes the book this time. He sits up and sets it on the bedside table.

Running a hand through his hair, Dean lets the silence overtake him.

He wants nothing more than to feel turmoil about this. He wants to feel angry or betrayed or confused. But he doesn’t.

All he can feel, book set aside, silence settling, is peace.

With that, he finally stands. He turns down the sheets and fluffs the pillows. Adds another, extra-soft blanket from the bottom drawer of the cabinet to make it feel even more like home. Then, impulsively, he tears one of the last empty pages from the angel’s sketchbook and scribbles onto it, setting it gently on the pillow.

When he’s finished, he slips out of the room, leaving the door ajar.

—

Cas got home exactly when he thought he would.

When evening rolled around, he was pulling in to the bunker garage and walking in to greet Sam and Dean in the kitchen.

When he did, he was limping, eyes heavy and tired.

Sam was first to rise and greet him by supporting him and helping him hobble forward.

“Is there anything I need to check out for you? Are you okay?”

His voice is scratchy, but it comes out okay, “Just need rest. Thank you, Sam.”

Dean stayed silent, staring at Cas and Sam slink through the kitchen to the hallway. He sipped the whiskey in his hand for a moment before standing and following the two.

When Sam nearly let go of Cas to open the door of room 15 for him Dean let out a “Nope. 12.”

Sam looked over his shoulder at Dean leaning against the wall and half glared.

“Little help here?”

Dean moved forward and passed the two before pushing open the door to room 12 and letting them walk past.

Sam gently lowered Cas to sit on the bed. Cas smiled as he saw all of his things neatly resting on his nightstand. Finally, he turned and picked up the note on his pillow.

Welcome Home.

He read it, and Dean watched as the angel’s cheeks turned pink as he felt the familiar material of the paper under his fingers.

Cas first looked to Sam, but Sam shook his head, already knowing the question on Castiel’s mind.

“Then...who?”

Dean broke a bit at the utter confusion on Castiel’s face. How could he have said something so hurtful that Cas couldn’t even comprehend a “welcome home” coming from him?

Dean let his eyes flick over to Sam, who in turn nodded towards Cas with a soft smile. With that, Sam turned and left the room.

Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah, welcome home, Cas.” And washed down the rasp with a swig of his whiskey.

Cas just looked up at Dean with a mix of fear and wonder in his eyes.

“Thank you, Dean, this means,” he brought the note close to his chest and let his eyes close, “so much.”

Dean couldn’t stop his feet from moving him to sit beside Cas. But he didn’t really mind.

He placed a hand on Cas’s shoulder and let the wave of blue that hit him when Cas’ eyes were trained to his own wash over him.

Dean quirked his lips into a half smile.

Cas’ eyes, usually so set, flicked to his hands. “I assume you’ve seen my sketches.”

With that, Dean slid his hand off of Cas’ shoulder and brought it to rub his chin.

“Yeah, listen, I am so s-“

But before he could finish Castiel rushed out a “Please don’t be angry.”

Dean’s stomach twisted with guilt.

“Cas, no.”

Castiel was squeezing his eyes shut, the note in his hand now crumpled from the pressure of his fist.

“Cas, hey,” Dean breathed out again. His heart rate quickened as he reached out his index finger and placed it under the angel’s chin, moving to guide his face towards him, “look at me.”

Now facing Dean, Castiel opened his eyes and saw something he never expected. Something he never drew for fear of not having the privilege of seeing it in real life.

He saw Dean longing for him.

Like a low roll of thunder in the distance, “Dean.”

And then Dean was leading Castiel’s chin forward and bringing his lips to meet his own.

The touch was feather light at first, hesitant, but then he was pushing closer when Castiel didn’t pull away.

Their lips were slotted perfectly together.

Heaven and Hell. Angel and Man. Dean and Castiel.

When their lips finally parted, Dean refused to let Castiel away completely. He set his forehead gently against Cas’ and looked into the blur of perfect blue. Tears were leaking from the angel’s eyes, and Dean furrowed his brow in concern as he wiped one away with the pad of his thumb.

There were no words, but Dean understood. He knew what his angel was feeling. He had seen it before in charcoal.

That night, Dean didn’t sleep in his own room, and Castiel rested, drawing the details of an arm draped over his torso and a face pressed against his chest and legs intertwined with his.

Home.

[oneofyatosfollowers]

Noragami/Wall-E AU

Prologue

The air was a visible mustard brown with dirt particles and other debris mixed in. It gave the natural sunlight a dull glow, just enough to illuminate the hunks of useless metal that orbited the planet. On the planet, similar junk made up mountains, piled high against windmills and phone poles. Lose paper and plastic bags caught against the skeletons of old sky scrapers that have long-since collapsed into more rubble. Everything old, rusted, and abandoned; covered in the same brown dust that seemed to make up the planet itself.

On the outskirts of the city, the trash dunes were much smaller. Pressed into compact squares and piled into neater cubes. Pathways between these heaps curved and stretched on for miles, the darker shade of brown the dirt made showing which were the most traveled on. Traveling at a relaxed pace, an object made it's way through the cubes with practiced ease, not even glancing at it's surroundings. Old 80s music echoed from the object, traveling without any clash.

The speaker was a small, bright pink electronic, plugged into another machine. This machine was imbedded into a creature that was once human, but now a cyborg of ancient technology, made only to clean up the leftovers of man-kind's time on Earth. As he traveled, a short breeze or two ruffled his black hair, greasily pulled back into a short pony tail. The pink iPod was shoved into the pocket of a light brown fullbody coverall. One of many small nicknacks in one of many pockets. The jean fabric more than wore down, but with every rip stitched back together almost seamlessly. On his right breast pocket, the name 'Yato' was stitched in black, below the title 'Wall-E'.

The trash cleaner made his way to the nearest non-compacted trash pile and took a deep breath through his oxygen mask. Sitting down the small cooler he carried, Yato reached above his shoulder to grab hold of a lean metal handle, his brain send the signal for object to unlock. The metal clasps embedded in his back fell open and the flatted compactor came lose. He brought it to the front of him and set it on the ground. Opposite to the handle was a folded steel box that would click into shape. In the middle was a heaver iron square that molded into the handle. Once set up, all the cyborg had to do was gather as much trash as can fit in the hollow box bring the handle- with the lid- on top and press down. After the trash was in a neat square, the Wall-E would yank the handle up and let the cube roll out before placing it next to the billions of others.

This jostling woke up a small cockroach, who peaked outside a soup can to see what the ruckus was. At the sight of the cyborg, the insect squeaked and made her way over to the pile that only grew as the years went by. She made her way up the piles without much effort and sat herself on the new block. At the sound of her squeak the trash-collector turned with a wide smile.

"Stray!" he exclaimed cheerfully, "You're awake! Goodmorning!"

At his words, the cockroach let out an annoyed shriek. Yato recoiled but never ceased smiling.

"Sorry. Nora. There is that better?" Yato reached a hand out to her waiting for her to climb on. Nora flicked her antenna and crawled on slowly, with her nose in the air.

"I don't know why you like the japansese way better," he said as she settled on his shoulder, "though I guess Nora is more of a name." he mumbled the last part. Grinning at her when she chirped in agreement.

To his left, something shiny caught his eye. Making his way over to it, Yato moved aside some old newspapers and found a trash can lid. He held it up and watched as the sunlight shone even brighter against the silver disk. Yato's blue eyes didn't look away as he moved the light to different parts of the lid.

"Pretty cool, huh? Rare to find something not rusted." He said, walking back to where he left the cooler and placing it with the other treasures found earlier that day. On his shoulder, Nora's head made the movement of rolling her eyes. Yato contiuned back down the path that winded around a skyscraper made of the trash-cubes. Nora faithfully on his shoulder. He made his way past the abandoned super store, its food long since degraded and any other item caked in dust. Some of the hallow gram advertisements flickered on and off, their color long since dulled and the music coming out slow and deep. One sign stood out to him, just for a moment, the sign posted across the globe long long ago. "Become a Wall-E and save the world! Be taken care of and live for ETERNITY!"

Yato remembers his father, a biotechnical engineer who lost all faith in mankind. Who chose to stay far away from the rest of humanity- here on Earth- but remained human. He remembers being the first sucessful Wall-E test subject of his father's design. Outliving his creator and all the other Wall-E volunteers who later realized money is irrelevant as a cyborg without a government.

Nora made a soft noise and Yato gave her a small smile- covered by the oxygen mask- and continued on his way, his footsteps echoing in the empty city.

When they made it to the train tracks, Yato looked both ways out of habit, then made his way north. Walking down the tracks, Yato stood above 'The Graveyard'. A place where Wall-Es that forever stopped working were laid. Most of their organic bodies have eroded away, leaving behind their inorganic parts. The young woman he helped lay down decades ago, was a special friend to Yato. the last of the Wall-Es. Except for himself. Yato took a deep breath in, his filter has become more and more worn down by the particles.

The stairs creaked as Yato padded down them, dirt falling in an avalanche to the ground below. He silently and carefully weaved among the older remains, looking to take only what he needed. One mask looked hardly touched, so he pocketed his old one and quickly exchanged the new. It wasn't as if he lungs needed clean oxygen, but the filtration is what kept him going so long in the first place. The owner of this one, either ignored it in favor of their new 'immortality', or no longer wanted to live forever.

By now Yato had reached the old transit staion. Large bridges connected to tall stair cases that hovered over empty terminals, deep enough to fit a blue whale and long enough to fit the Empire State building. Twelve of these ports were lined up for this station, all empty without waiting for return. More advertisements flickered into action as the Wall-E went by. Nora hissed at the reassurance the audio gave as it showed family deals for the Outer Space Luxury Cruise Liner. Pictures of Yato's former colleges compressing the trash in the local dump flashed by in a promise for the humans to return to a better home.

As he walked through more advertisements popped up, one for the main cruise: "Heaven's Sun"- mostly just called Heaven-which would hold the majority of the upper class and the worker-bots like Yato, as well as the very first space branch military. It held promise of the best food, comfort, and entertainment out of all the other cruises. Heaven's Sun is lead in this flocks departure, with a captain and cyborg copilot.

Yato stared again at the picture as the advertisement kept glitching. The promise was for five years. It was well past that. Of course the planet wasn't cleaned up yet, so of course they weren't back. But Yato hasn't heard word from Heaven asking for an update, or if they were even coming back. Or even if they were still out there.

On his shoulder, Nora buzzed. Yato didn't look at her.

"Did I ever tell you my dad designed the copilot after he worked on me?"

Nora didn't answer. He had, many, many times. The two had long since run out of new things to talk about, other than Yato's dreams or things Nora found. The copilot stared back with glowing red eyes and a small smile, his hair a light brown color, it matched the dust that littered the atmosphere.

By the time Yato made it home, it was dusk. He lived in an old massive semi-trailer, modified to open only at the pull of a lever. The inside was also modified to have rotating shelves, in order to neatly hold all of Yato's findings and necessities. Odd shiny nicknacks tied together with string hung from the ceiling, along side Christmas lights and posters. The lamps and lights all connected flickered on once Yato flicked up a hanging switch.

Once the door was closed and the air filter was on, Yato tugged off the mask letting out a large sigh, hanging it up on a hook. He then took off his ascot and hung that up too, before letting his hair fall out of its tie. He then set down his cooler of goodies and opened it. First came the trash lid, which he placed with the other shinnies. Next came some Capybara land keychains- each wearing different color overalls and a crown- which went with the other small Capybara toys. He continued emptying the box, a lighter with other lighters, a glass bottle, a pink scarf.

He had a movie playing in the background, often playing it when he got ready for work in the morning but it was finished by the usual clock-out time. But today he had called it quits early, so the movie was on the final scene. The lady capybara and the man capybara having successfully made it to an island together, after a harrowing journey. Yato crept closer with shiny eyes. They sang a beautiful song of love, having made it through together because of it and now never having to be alone.

Yato numbly took out his iPod and hit record, placing it next to the TV's speaker. His eyes never leaving the screen. He watched them sing while gazing into each other's eyes, their hands held between them, twining together seamlessly. When they leaned in for a kiss, Yato's eyes got even bigger and his heart did a bittersweet dance.

The movie then faded to black and showed the names of humans that created it. He sighed again and clicked the television off, taking his iPod as he did so. Walking back towards the the door he opened it again, placing the mask back on as he did so. He then plopped down on the ramp and began shaking out his cooler, feeling the wind shift as he did.

Yato looked up as he dusted the box, and himself, off. The smog clearing so that the stars could be visible. It filled Yato with the same wispy feeling the movie did, so he pressed play on his new recording. It echoed off of the small round speaker just under his chin, filling his bones with the melody. That was until is mainframe sent an alert through it. The song cut out as the alarm blared though the night. His blue eyes quickly flickered back and forth, numbers and words flashing through his parifial.

His vision went red when he focused to the front of him, the words 'Weather Alert' and 'Danger' flashing. A massive dust cloud was barrelling towards his home at an alarming rate. This wasn't common, but it wasn't unheard of. Regardless, Yato quickly got back inside, calling Nora as he did so, and shut the door before any dirt could get in.

He wouldn't be able to go out for a while so, it was time to hit the sack. Yato gave Nora some food, eating some dry ramen as well, then made his way to the bare mattress in the far corner next to the TV. He flopped down and threw the blanket haphazardly over himself, ordering his system to set an alarm for the morning, then go into sleep mode. Yato was asleep instantly.

[nowitsdarkfic]

chapter ten (joe the drummer)

“Coin operated boy, He may not be real, experienced with girls but I know he feels like a boy should feel Isn’t that the point? That is why i want a Coin operated boy, With his pretty coin operated voice saying that he loves me, that he's thinking of me Straight and to the point, that is why I want A coin operated boy.” -“Coin Operated Boy”, The Dresden Dolls

November 28, 1988. Boston, Massachusetts.

So I had left Oswego at about ten this morning because I didn't know if or when Matt and Dominique were going to be in Boston today, but I have this hydrogen car that Maya left behind and I have nothing more to do than to take it for myself. I had the copy of Ultramega OK in the disc player for the first stint of the trip: as I drove through Syracuse, their cover of “Smokestack Lightning” came on, and I couldn't help but think of Ellen and seeing Brick in the hospital. It felt like a sign, seeing the chimneys in the outskirts with their rising smoke against the bitter upstate cold.

I've done this drive before by myself and with my parents and my grandparents, but this time it was interesting because not one time did I have to stop to refuel because of the hydrogen. There was that one time Maya stopped on the way back up, but that was it. The whole thing throws me because I always think it's going to run low at some point and it never does. To be honest, I'm surprised this car doesn't have an autopilot option because sometime around Albany, I wanted to put my feet up on the dashboard next to me and relax for a moment before I resumed onward to Springfield and then eventually to Boston. I played Ultramega again once I entered Massachusetts, where more and more the brick and mortar began to rise up from the cold earth and the outskirts of the City.

She said they're going to be near the women's college, and the only one I can think of offhand, just from my doing gigs over here with Anthrax and a couple of my past cover bands, is to the north of the heart of the city itself.

I take the next exit leading me over to Wellesley, and this is the part of town that, along with New York City, makes me wonder if Maxwell Industries in Seattle is serious about their wanting to move out this way. Over the edge of the freeway, I can make out the small cobblestones comprising the streets down below: every other building is made of stone and brick, and has a chimney bleeding out plumes of pure white steam. The sky is pure white with the sun reflecting on the steam, and so I'm driving about with my mirrors on and my scarf around my neck like I'm a pilot. I even have the black gloves and the black boots.

Everything is made of brick and mortar and cold metal: not a lick of bright blue neon to be found. There's a row of shiny silver entities floating in the air over my head, but they're too small to be considered airships. At least I think so anyways. They seem to drift onward over me and across the freeway to the other side within a mile of my next exit. Something about them is unnerving, like what are they?

I'm soon winding my way through the tightly woven web of spirals that is Wellesley and I indeed recognize the school up the street and past the four roundabouts.

Oh boy, this is going to be fun!

Trying not to wreck the car, seeing as this isn't even mine and I just don't want to wreck the damn thing, I begin to weave my way through the roundabouts like it's a snake. I really am like a pilot now because I'm having to keep this thing in control. The hydrogen hum is totally silent but the tires are yelling at me over the cobblestones.

Surprised there are no passersby on the sidewalks. It's the middle of the day following Thanksgiving: usually I would expect the whole area would be filled to the brim with hustle and bustle like Syracuse or Albany—Oswego had more happening when I left this morning. But no: there's no one here.

I weave one last time around the fourth and final roundabout and I catch the view of the stationary shop in question: this little pale brick building with a bright pink and white striped awning over the gilded glass. I know that's what it is because I recognize Dominique and her heavy black overcoat and purple tinted glasses standing next to Matt and another woman.

I don't realize where I'm going and I almost drive right into the narrow alleyway running adjacent to the place.

I slam on the brakes. I turn the wheel around so as to avoid hitting anything.

And the car drifts up to the curb.

I stop right there right before them, and Matt pushing the two women back away from the edge of the sidewalk so as to miss me. He then recognizes me with a nod.

“Oh, hey! It's Joey!” I hear Dominique declare through the windshield.

I switch the thing off and stumble out of the car to meet up with them. The steam in the air makes everything feel cold and the whole place smells sweet, like cooking molasses. I toss back my black curls and adjust the shades before meeting up with them.

“Quite the entrance if I might say so myself,” Matt remarks with a big beaming grin underneath his big smokey sunglasses.

“Joey, this is my mentor Angeline Belotti from the New York Times,” Dominique introduces me to the blonde lady in a lush dark red velvet dress with a low plunging neckline and a big matching handbag in her left hand. She's got on these little cream colored leather gloves protecting her hands from the bitter cold around us.

“Joey Belladonna, right?” she asks me in that strong Queens accent that makes me think of Anthrax.

“Yes'm.”

“I thought I recognized you. That little upstate indigenous boy that Anthrax fired for—reasons I haven't been able to find out.”

I shrug at that. Yeah, me, too, and the thousands of other fans who are left wondering.

“Anyways, I'm glad you could make it, Joey,” she continues, “Matt and Dominique were just telling me about a young lady named Maya Sorensen whom you found last month in a gutter.”

“Yeah, I was just walking and I saw her laying there on the sidewalk all disoriented and helpless.”

“He was just being a good guy, y'know?” Dominique fills in for me.

“Well, of course. But what I don't understand is why didn't you take her to the authorities and earn credit that way?”

I flash back on what she said in After the Watershed: her fear of being discovered by someone who wanted to hurt her. Come to think of it, that's actually quite the bullet I dodged myself, too.

“She told me not to,” I reply to her.

“She told you not to?” Angeline repeats it.

“See, I thought there was more to this,” Dominique says, her eyes lighting up behind the purple lenses. “I thought you and I would be in for hell of a scoop, Angeline.”

“Well, anyways, she and I were going to do some writing practice here in this shop next to us,” Angeline explains to me, “and we were hoping you'd show up because Matt's got nothing better to do at the moment.”

“Yeah, today's my birthday,” he says out of the blue. “I'm twenty six.”

“Oh, really? Happy birthday, man.”

“There's a pub right back here if you guys want a bite to eat,” Angeline gestures behind me to the sidewalk running around the corner of the shop.

“Yeah, we're gonna be in here a while,” Dominique adds.

“I haven't eaten since I left Oswego,” I confess.

“All the better,” Matt assures me. “C'mon, man—”

He leads me away from there and we turn the corner to the narrow alleyway I almost plowed into. This little passage way smells more of molasses even with the piles of rusty wires and the shiny silver air conditioners resting upon the ground.

“Dom and I got one of these,” he starts, gesturing to the air conditioner closest to the other end of the alley.

“These exact ones?” I ask him as the bright white glare of the sun shines over his blond hair like it's a vein of pure gold.

“Exact one. For some reason, the cybernetic ones Maxwell Industries makes don't work as well as they should. Here we are—”

He holds the door for me and I step into the cozy, intimately lit pub of dark wood and wire framed lamps first. The place smells of French fries and honey. Once I take off my sunglasses, I catch a glimpse of a little plaque on the wall next to us.

“'Open mic night,'” I read aloud.

“Huh?” He takes off his sunglasses once the door closes behind him.

“It's open mic night.” I grin at him as I lead him into the main room of the pub.

“Oh, no, you aren't suggesting—”

“I am, and—hey! Check it out! There's a full on drum kit in here!”

“Oh, man.”

“Come on, dude. I'm out on the job and I'm pretty much a trash digger at this point. Sometimes a guy's gotta drum his heart out, y'know?” And then he bursts out laughing.

“I hear that!”

We take a seat at the big heavy dark polished wooden bar dotted by single beeswax candles held up by fancy iron catches. He asks for a glass of stout, and I for a glass of straight up root beer. Too much bad karma with sarsaparilla now. He takes a sip from his glass when I sit back in the stool with my legs crossed. A few more people enter the place behind us, followed by an elderly couple.

“Been meaning to ask you this, too,” he starts, “—what do you think of our album?”

“Ultramega?”

“Yeah.”

“It's all so—grungely,” I tell him, and he bursts out laughing at that. “Grungely and totally badass.” He picks up his glass again for another swig of stout and then takes a look over at me with a lick of his lips. I raise a glass to him and we clink them together at the edges. He asks for a refill when I ask for some battered cod and a little dish of tartar sauce.

The candles seem brighter than they were when we came in. More and more people are coming in behind us, and soon the pub is bustling with people.

I turn my head to the window on the other side of the room, at the growing shadows casting across the floor and the drum kit with the waning light. A girl with a guitar steps up onto the stage.

“Any volunteers to play rhythm section with me?” she asks into the microphone over the drum kit. I turn to Matt as he's downing the rest of his stout.

“That drum kit over there's freed up,” I point out to him.

“I dunno if I can play, though,” he admits. “I can be—kinda unsure of myself when—hic, 'scuse me—I've taken down a couple of drinks.”

I think back to the first time I played Ultramega OK on my player, and the other times I played it, including this morning.

“You know, I really like you guys' cover of 'Smokestack Lightning',” I tell him.

He swallows, but doesn't reply. I glance up at the drum kit once again. All the times I played in cover bands are returning to me.

Oh. Oh, okay. I'm gonna be Phil Collins now. I take one final sip of the root beer and wolf down the last bite of fish before striding on over to her to join her.

She welcomes me by telling me she's not the best singer. I concede as I take a seat on the stool behind the snare and the bass. It's a small kit, one that I'm definitely used to. I tell her what song I want to play and her face lights up; and then there's that microphone next to my head.

“Hi, my name's Joe Belladonna. I'm the singer as well as the drummer for tonight. Just call me Joe the drummer.”

I'm a little rusty, especially since Matt's got such an interesting way of playing but I do know it. I'm also doing the duty of singing like Chris.

Nancy says I'm like Chris. Well, tonight I'm gonna be Chris as well as Matt, playing this old blues song in a dark steamy town that smells of molasses.

There's just one difference: my screams don't go as nearly high as Chris, and I'm a tenor.

[eene-fangirl]

Monster House-ED Chapter 3 (An Ed, Edd n Eddy Crossover)

Grasping his beating heart, Eddy took a deep breath. In and out, feel the ground, you are safe.

Was he safe?

His whole room was dark. Checking the time, it was just after eleven o’clock at night. Did he really just fall asleep for five hours? It wasn’t even that late by the time he retreated to his bedroom. That happened on days when he was very stressed. One day after school about a few months ago, Eddy passed out and didn’t wake up until it was time for dinner. When his mother found out it only further worried her. Now he was going to have a heck of a time trying to fall asleep again.

The phone rang again, startling Eddy.

Ugh, why did Ed like to call late?

Wiping the sleep from his eyes, Eddy picked up the phone. “What do yah want, Ed?”

On the other line, something was breathing. It sounded like a low hum like a car sitting in the driveway.

“Ed, you tryin’ to mimic a monster again? Go to bed!” And Eddy hung up the phone. 

The phone rang again, louder than ever, blaring its incessant ring through Eddy’s ears. That noise was giving him a headache!

Eddy nervously glanced around his dark room. Even with the glow from his glow lamp sitting right near the table wasn’t helping anything. Darkness was darkness. And he hated it. The set of pictures of Old Man Jonny hanging up on his wall made his stomach squirm.

Reluctantly, Eddy answered the phone again. “Yes?” Eddy barked.

Again, breathing, mixed with a low growl of an animal was on the other end. This was ridiculous! “Very funny, Ed!”

Now it was his turn. Pressing the buttons, Eddy prepared for his own ruse on Ed. Ever since he and Ed were kids they’d always call to act like monsters. It was fun. But Ed never did it this late.

The phone rang on the other line. Waiting impatiently, something caught Eddy’s attention. He could hear a phone ringing. And it was close by. Like, right next to him.

Feeling chills run up his spine, Eddy turned to his window.

Across the street, the house was staring into his soul with its glassy window eyes. It was so faint but the phone was definitely ringing. Lifting up his window, the noise was louder now. Who knew a phone ringing could be so alarming. Now he knew how those people in horror movies felt. Eddy’s breath hitched in his throat. Just like the line on his phone, it kept ringing, and ringing, and ringing. The house... was calling him...

“BOO!” Someone’s hands painfully clapped down against his shoulders. Turning around, Eddy screamed when he was met with the smashed face of a chicken with tire tracks covering it.

The person under the mask laughed mockingly, pointing a finger in Eddy’s startled face. “Happy Halloween, dork!”

And then, Marie walked into the room switching on the light. Briefly glancing at Eddy to make sure he was okay, Marie laughed in that annoying high pitched voice. “Nice one, Kev!”

Removing the mask, a young man with long, very tangled ginger hair appeared. Taking an orange hat out of his pocket, he placed it right on his head. Eddy’s nose turned up when he saw his terrible crooked teeth. Clearly, someone had never heard of going to the dentist! His ripped pants sagged and he smelled foul. Like a smell Eddy knew very well whenever his brother disappeared to be alone in his room.

“Hey, just ‘cause I’m not allowed to have people over doesn’t mean you can!” Eddy confronted Marie.

“Relax! He’d just here to keep me company! This is Kevin,” Marie introduced.

“Sup, dork!” Kevin tilted his head as if to greet him.

“He’s a professional biker.”

Kevin took out his wallet. Right in front of his picture of Marie was a bike.“Yeah! Wanna see some pics of the gorgeous gal?”

“You actually carry around a picture of your bike?” Eddy turned up his brow.

“Hey, don’t insult her!” Kevin spat. 

Marie also rolled her eyes. “Anyway, aren’t you up way past your bedtime?” Marie stood over Eddy trying to intimidate him.

Eddy shook his head. The phone was still ringing from across the street. “No, you gotta see this! Listen!” He told Marie, placing the still ringing phone in her hand and pointing across the street at the house.

Marie turned her brow up, unphased by the predicament. “Uh... wow, you called the neighbors. Good for you.” And turned the phone off and closed the window.

“No, he called me!” Eddy’s voice cracked.

“Who called you?” Marie asked briefly alarmed but annoyed at the same time.

“Old Man Jonny! P.S. he died today!”

“You lie!” Kevin confronted pointing a finger in his face. 

“No way! He died and now he’s haunting me!” Eddy claimed.

Kevin stared mesmerized at the house. “Wow, a phone call from beyond the grave. Word!”

Eddy noticed Marie and Kevin look at each other. Clearly, they didn’t believe him. Who did?

Then Kevin burst out holding his arms out in a ghoulish fashion. “OOOOOOOH!”

“Seriously, are you trying to be Marley? That guy isn’t even scary. I’m serious!” Eddy fought with them. No, his mind was no messing with him. That’s what his brother always tried to do.

Turning up his nose, Kevin spied something that made his eyes light up. “Oh, you’re serious?” Kevin took the magazine that was sticking out from underneath Eddy’s pillow.

“Hey, that’s mine!” Eddy jumped up trying to get his magazine. Kevin waved it over his head just to further mock him. Then he opened up the pages.

“What is that?” Marie turned her nose up.

“Did you know he was serious?” Kevin asked the girl on the front cover of the magazine.

Eddy jumped, trying to retrieve the magazine. “Come on, give it back!”

“Sure, but first, do you mind?” And Kevin started licking the pages.

“Gross! Stop!”

“Wait, wait, somethin’ wrong!” Kevin alerted pressing his ear to the page. “Yeah, they’re all havin’ trouble breathing due to rippled pages! Let me handle it!”

Kevin ripped up the magazine, shredding it to pieces.

“Hey, stop! My bro gave me that!” Eddy’s breath caught in his throat. Unaware that he had fallen on to the ground, Eddy’s insides shivered. Bro...

“Hey, Kevin, knock it off! Downstairs, right now!” Marie point to the door. Briefly, she glanced at Eddy to make sure that he was okay. She was about to bend down to his side to make sure he was okay. Was this the episode that Eddy’s parents were warning him about if one were to ever happen?

Kevin sneered, laughing at Eddy. “Looks like playtime’s over! See yah, dork!”

And Marie and Kevin left the room, leaving Eddy alone. He just stared at the ripped up pages of the magazine at his feet. The magazine was his brothers. He gave him his collection of magazines. Did that mean... he cared?

Fuming, Eddy collected the ripped pages. Holding them over the trash can, his fingers refused to let the pages go. So, instead, he just placed them on the desk with his investigation notes. Why? Why did his life end up this way? Was he really wasting his whole life away when he could have been out playing sports?

Why was this so hard? His brother had only been gone for a year and yet it still felt like he was here torturing him. Seeing him was out of the consequences. Of course, it’s not like Eddy really wanted to see him.

Just then, Eddy caught something peculiar. The last time he looked at the house wasn’t the shade on the window up?

And then, the shade flew up revealing the dark glass staring back at him.

Cowering behind the drape, Eddy mentally kicked himself. Slowly, Eddy caught the slightest peak at the house, just barely making it out. Now, the shade was closed again.

This was crazy. Something was wrong. There was something up with that house. And he couldn’t inspect the situation alone.

Reaching for his phone, Eddy waited and waited, pacing the room.

“Hello?” Ed answered on the other line. Just from the loud noises in the background, Eddy knew in an instant that Ed was playing a video game.

“Ed, you gotta meet me at the construction site right now! Where are your parents?”

“Well, Mom is still out and Dad passed out on the couch two hours ago,” Ed responded somewhat uncomfortable.

“Okay, meet me there! Pronto!”

Now, all Eddy had to do was sneak passed, Marie. Like that would be a problem. Unless she was actually going to do her job tonight.

As he descended the stairs, Marie and Kevin’s bickering grew louder. They were in the other room. The TV was on but they weren’t paying any attention to it. They kept the room dark. This was going to be too easy.

“Aw, come on, Marie! Lighten up!” Kevin groaned.

“I said no!”

Eddy didn’t even want to know. He was listened in on one, out of many, of his brother's dates.

Finally, Marie sighed in exasperation. “You know, I saw an ambulance on my way here today.”

Eddy saw Kevin took a swig from a bottle he knew very well. “So?”

“So, maybe Old Man Jonny really did die!”

“Yeah, and the guy is so weird! He was a mental case! Not to mention, evil!”

Again, Marie rolled her eyes, annoyed. She even hugged her legs, sitting at a distance on the couch from Kevin. “Don’t say that! The guy was just misunderstood. He was old.”

“Oh, really, Marie?” Kevin sat up catching her attention. “When I was twelve, I had this bike. Awesome bike. It was so pretty. The chains were rad! And you should have seen the brakes on that thing...”

“Get to the point!” Marie whacked him with a pillow.

“Fine! I could ride that baby for miles. And then one day, it got caught in the grass right over there,” Kevin pointed out the window across the street at the house that was staring back at them.

Marie gently smoothed his face. “Aw, did he take your bike?”

“Yeah, he takes whatever lands on his lawn! But, you know, there were rumors that he didn’t live in that house alone.”

“Who lived with him? Was he married?” Marie asked.

“He had this friend. And everyone knows what he did to him.”

“What? What did he do?” Marie asked crawling forward on the couch in anticipation.

“He killed him... and then he ate him!” Kevin threw himself on Marie to which they trampled off the couch out of sight.

Rolling his eyes, this was a good chance for Eddy to sneak out. As Marie threw Kevin out of the house, Eddy left out the back door.

“Come back when you learn some respect for women!” Marie huffed. 

“What’s her problem?” Kevin took another swig of his drink, swaying as he walked down the pathway.

The house from across the street sat in place, staring at him.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Walking over, Kevin happily stood on the property, trespassing on Jonny’s land. “Hey, I’m on your lawn! What’re you gonna do about it?”

Kevin threw his bottle across the lawn and then ripped up the grass shouting.

Catching his attention, the door to the house opened. In the doorway... his bike!

“Righteous!”

As if he were in hypnosis, Kevin walked right up to the house with this childlike smile on his face. He hadn’t seen his old bike in years. It hadn’t aged a day.

Touching the handles, the happy feeling immediately subsided when Kevin was pulled inside the house, disappearing.