#moved half way across the country to get away from shitty people

[fandomxpreferences]

The One That Got Away

The One That Came Back (Part Two) Part Three Part Four

Pairing: ex!Jake Seresin x female!reader

TW:swearing, toxic relationship, angst

Summary: After several years, you run into Jake again. The thing is, you're with your shitty boyfriend and Jake doesn't take a liking to him.

Word Count: 2.1K

A/N: Don't worry this will have a part 2 

You slam the car door shut and half-jog after your boyfriend. He always does this when you go out. The second he’s around other people, he loses all his senses and you’re left in the dust. 

You huff lightly when he lets the door to the fancy restaurant shut in your face and heave it open. You watch as he walks up to his friends and your eyes stare daggers into the back of his head when he doesn’t introduce you.

You approach the group with a small smile and one of the men looks you over. “Who is this, Chase?”

Your boyfriend whips around with a frown and his eyes land on you standing behind him. “Oh,” he remarks nonchalantly. “This is Y/N.” He quickly returns to his conversation as if you don’t exist and you refrain from rolling your eyes.

He doesn’t bother to tell you anybody's name or include you. You stare at your phone while waiting to be seated and once the name is called you trail behind the group, completely forgotten.

There are a couple other girlfriends there but they’re attached to their boyfriend's arms and you wonder how you always manage to pick the asshole out of a group of guys.

Everyone takes a seat and you look over the drink menu trying to find the strongest cocktail they offer. Your nose is still buried when you hear a voice and freeze. There’s no way.

“Sorry I’m late. Got stuck behind a car going five under.” He laughs and you slowly lift your eyes to look at the man. Your heart stops in your chest when you see your ex and you silently curse the universe. It would be your luck that this is how you reunite.

Everyone always wondered why such a good-looking guy never settled down, and the answer is you.

Contrary to popular belief, Jake is a relationship guy. But there was only one relationship he wanted, and no one ever held a candle to it. The two of you met in high school and dated well into your twenties.

When he was freshly enlisted and finished flight school, you followed him across the country. At 24, he wanted to get married and you wanted to take some more time to travel and find yourself.

You went your separate ways with the promise of coming back together when the time was right. That time just never seemed to come. Life always seemed to get in the way and now it’s been nearly 5 years since you’ve seen him.

You clearly tried to move on, but Jake didn’t. He’s had a revolving door of women, sure, but none of them would ever have his heart. It’s not his to give away anymore. It hasn’t been since you waltzed into third period his junior year, and it won’t be again for as long as he’s alive. You’re the one that got away.

You're torn out of your thoughts when you hear your boyfriend's voice grate against your ears. “Hey man! Glad you could make it!”

Chase doesn’t know about you and Jake. Why would he? There was never a feasible reason that it would be an issue.

He knows about your past relationship with a naval aviator, but you’ve never given him details. You hold your breath as Jake sits down directly across from you, waiting for him to see you. You observe him while he pulls the chair out and you can’t help but notice he looks good.

He's a lot broader than he was when you were together and his skin is sun-kissed with the faintest hint of a few wrinkles, but he’s still your same old Jake. You notice some scruff from him being on leave and it reminds you of when he was in college. Your heart twinges in his presence again and for a moment, you forget the circumstances.

Jake’s eye land on yours and you see them twinkle. He doesn’t look even remotely surprised to see you and you wonder if he did this on purpose.

They obviously aren’t close, Chase has never mentioned him to you. Come to think of it, you have no idea how the two of them would have even met.

Jake is a pilot and Chase is just a sailor who works in intelligence with no real importance.

Jake’s eyebrows raise when your boyfriend doesn’t try to introduce you or even acknowledge you. He knows this guy is a dick.

He’d only befriended him on his last ship deployment after he was passing around a picture of you and bragging about you being a good lay. It made his blood boil.

“It’s been a long time, Y/N. You look good.” He winks and you give him a ghost of a smile.

“Likewise, Jake.” You keep it simple, not wanting to get into all of this here.

The waitress comes to take your order and Chase decides to speak for you.

“She’ll have something girly, like sex on the beach.” He says and before you can object, Jake speaks up.

“Actually,” he begins with a small smirk. “Since we’re apparently taking it upon ourselves to speak for others, she’ll take amaretto and coke on the rocks.”

He turns to Chase with an unimpressed look and leans forward onto the table. “She’s never liked fruity cocktails, they give her a nasty hangover. She hates sex on the beach the most.”

Chase gives you a pointed look and is going to ask what the hell is going on when he’s interrupted.

“Come on Jake. Pretty thing like that? I’m sure she loves sex on the beach.” One of the men howls and your face heats up.

You feel tears sting your eyes as embarrassment courses through your body, and to add insult to injury Chase laughs right along. Jake can see you’re uncomfortable and his jaw ticks.

His fist clenches at his side and he turns his head sharply toward the source of the commotion.

“Be respectful.” He bites but the gravelly tone in his voice makes it clear that the demand holds repercussions if not followed.

The laughter stops abruptly and the man scowls. “It's just a joke.” He scoffs and Jake’s mouth is set into a hard line as he listens to the excuse.

“Jokes are supposed to be funny. Do I look like I'm laughing?” He asks aggressively and Chase finally speaks up.

“What are you doing bro? It’s not that deep.” He chuckles and Jake shoots you a look that lets you know he’s thinking ‘this guy? Really?’

“What I'm doing, bro is your job.” His voice sounds calm and collected now, but you know better. He’s furious.

“You should be paying attention to the fact your girl is uncomfortable and defending her. But I'm sure that's hard to do when you won’t even look at her.” He states and Chase's eyes narrow.

Thankfully, the drinks are brought out and food orders are placed before anything escalates and you breathe a sigh of relief.

You and Jake make small talk as the rest of the table join their own conversation without you.

“How’s the family?” He asks and you smile fondly.

“They’re good. Mom still asks about you around the holidays and anytime she sees something that reminds her of you.” You inform him and he chuckles.

“Yeah, she still sends me a text on my birthday and Christmas. Keeps me updated on important milestones. She told me your sister just had a baby.” He says and your mouth drops open.

She’d lose her mind if she saw you two now, laughing as if no time has passed at all.

“Yeah, a couple months ago. She’s a cutie. Do you want to see her or did mom already show you?” You offer and he grins like a madman.

“She did but only when she was a newborn. I’d love to see a recent picture.”

You smile and pull out your phone to show him and he coos at the baby on your screen.

“She’s adorable. Looks just like your sister.” He observes and you nod in agreement. The conversation switches to your careers and you can’t shake the nagging feeling in your chest.

Chase doesn’t even know you have a sister. He’s never bothered to ask. Yet after almost 5 years, Jake still remembers what you drink and is intimately aware of your life. It brings old feelings rushing back to the surface.

The food comes quickly and Jake watches with disdain as you ask Chase for a bite of his steak only to be met with a reprimand.

“If you wanted steak you should’ve ordered it.” He snarks and you frown.

“I didn’t want a whole steak, I just wanted a little bite.” You reason and he rolls his eyes before turning back to his friend.

You swallow thickly and begin eating your food silently. You’re completely humiliated at the way he treats you and he couldn’t care less.

Chase watches out of the corner of his eye as Jake scoots his plate closer to you.

“Take whatever you want, darlin. I ordered extra fries since you always want more.” He says quietly and you smile gratefully.

“Thank you.” You mouth and he shoots you a wink.

The rest of the evening Jake watches as Chase brushes off every attempt you make at some form of an interaction. You don’t seem to be phased by it which tells him that this is a regular occurrence.

“How long have you two been seeing each other?” Jake asks before snapping at Chase to get his attention.

He looks over with a deep frown and gives Jake a once-over. “Are you talking to me?” He asks and Jake lets out a smug laugh.

“Yeah playboy, I’m talking to you. How long have y’all been dating?” He asks again and you watch the wheels turn in Chase's head.

“Uhhhhh..” he hesitates and you sigh before answering for him.

“Three months.”

Chase glances over at you and nods his head curtly. “Yeah, something like that.”

You feel your chest squeeze when you realize he didn’t even know and you want nothing more than to leave right now. You wish the ground would just open up and swallow you whole.

After another couple of minutes, everyone finishes paying the bill and stands to leave. You reach for Chase's hand and he rips it away from you, too enthralled with whatever story he’s telling.

You walk silently behind everybody and feel Jake’s presence as he comes up beside you. You look over with a small grin and see his eyes hold a certain level of pain and curiosity within them.

“I’d hope I treated you well enough that you have higher standards than that.” He mutters and you give him a warning look.

“Don’t, Jake.” You say firmly. “He’s nice when it’s just us.”

Jake laughs humorlessly and shakes his head. “Doesn’t count when he treats you like shit around other people.”

You don’t respond as you walk up to Chase's mustang. “This is me.” You say and once again, Jake is pissed off at the way your boyfriend rounds the car and climbs in with no regard for you.

He reaches down to open the door and you climb in silently. Your stomach erupts in butterflies and you do your best to keep the emotion off your face. He gives you one last smile and Chase speeds off.

The car ride back to his place is filled with screaming and crying as he interrogates you about Jake and says you embarrassed him.

Once he pulls into his driveway you go inside wordlessly to change clothes and settle in for what you’re sure is going to be a long night.

It’s not until Chase launches his keys at your head while shouting that you're a whore that you grab your keys and sprint out the door.

He tries to run after you but you’re faster than him and slam the car door in his face just as he’s about to reach you.

You crank the engine and reverse like a bat out of hell as he bangs on your car trying to stop you. Once you’re down the street the tears flow freely and you head toward the only place you know.

You silently pray that he still stays at the same place he always has when he comes back to North Island and your prayers are answered when you see his truck in the driveway.

Jake is fresh out of the shower and towel-drying his hair when he hears frantic knocking. He slips on a pair of basketball shorts and makes his way to his front door.

He’s about to scold whoever’s on his doorstep but stops in his tracks when he sees you. Your hair is disheveled and you have tears running down your splotchy cheeks.

“Hi.” You greet him with a watery voice and Jake opens the door wider to invite you in.

“Hi.”

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#jake seresin #Jake seresin imagine #jake seresin top gun #Jake seresin x reader #hangman #hangman imagine #hangman top gun #hangman x reader #hangman angst #top gun imagine #top gun maverick #top gun angst

[guns-n-jovi]

So, this is my ultimate 80s dream world if I could go back in time…

It’s sometime before 1987. I live in LA in West Hollywood in a shitty apt right off the Sunset Strip. I work in one of the bars, perhaps the Whisky or the Roxy, as a waitress or bartender. I get to see all the cool up and coming bands play BEFORE they hit it big. Guns plays my club and, of course they meet me and instantly, we all get along like we’ve known each other our whole lives. They all love me like family; I’m BFFs with all the guys. Except that cool, articulate, dark, quiet one with the soft brown eyes, rosebud lips, and gorgeous Romanesque nose. He LOVES me. Like every woman DREAMS of being loved. With every fiber of his being. And the feeling is definitely mutual.

Anyway, the guys end up shacking up with me in my tiny apartment and its OKAY. We all live together like one big family. The quiet one finally tells me how he feels about me. The band gets their record deal. There is a song written about me that becomes a number one hit. Written by Mr. Izzy Stradlin. The words are so heartfelt and deeply personal. Of course, I go out on tour with them. I cook for them, clean for them, do their laundry in laundromats all across the country. It is a life on the road in a luxury tour bus and I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. I am not a slut. I am not a whore. Unless you count the epic, passionate sex I have with Izzy. He treats me like the lady I am at all times—well, maybe not at ALL times. 😉😏 The boys love having me along on tour. I bring so much joy and happiness to them.

The most dangerous band in the world? Yeah, sure. To everyone in the world but me. They do drink, they do do drugs. But it’s never out of control. There are plenty of women. For four of them. For the fifth boy, only ONE girl. Forever.

Steven never gets fired, Izzy never leaves the band, Axl keeps it REAL; he doesn’t sell out for big money. Their success isn’t fleeting. It lasts many years. But all along the way, there’s one girl who’s ALWAYS there. Who knows them all better than they know themselves. She is ME.

I ADORE THIS! Clearly, you've put a lot of thought into this! It's so good, I love it. This is every woman's dream, I know.

So, here's mine:

I, too, grew up in LaFayette, Indiana, and lived on the same street with Axl and Izzy. (I don't know if they actually lived on the same street in real life, but they do here, lol.) While Axl sings, Izzy sings and plays guitar, I have a particular ear for keyboarding. When they were barely old enough, Axl and Izzy moved off to Los Angeles, and I was left alone in Indiana. Never really relating to anyone my age, and always preferring my two guy best friends, I feel so lost without them and miss them so much. (I'm 18, at this point.) So, after talking to Axl and Izzy on the phone, they both think I should move out to Los Angeles with them. It was hard to imagine that kind of life at first, but I realize there really is nothing for me anymore in Indiana. At any rate, my music interests could thrive more. So, with nothing at home, my best friends in Los Angeles, and better chances for my music career in LA, I finally move to a small apartment in LA.

For about a half a year, or even less, everything feels dead. The idea of a band is temporarily abandoned. With Axl and Izzy more interested in the women they're meeting than their lifelong best friend, I feel somewhat forgotten, depressed, and feeling like I've made a bad decision by moving so far away from home.

One day, I'm sitting in a coffee shop, jotting down half-hearted song ideas and struggling to focus my mind on what I'm writing. Unenthused, my mind wanders, and soon, my pen is on the wooden table, and my face against the glass. Staring out at the bus stop, watching people come in and out like toy marching soldiers, I'm very zoned out, lost in thought- but not thinking very much of anything.

And I see something- someONE- that makes me freeze in my tracks.

A boy, or a really, really young man steps off of the bus out on the streets. He's wearing jeans, a black tank top, and holding a leather coat around his dark, muscular shoulders. He has a straight, squared jawline, chocolate eyes, deep, dark, shiny skin glowing with youth and health, and mahogany, glossy curls blooming around his face and bobbing when he takes a step. With one large, dark hand, he's holding his black, shiny leather coat together at his chest. He squints into the golden sun that illuminates his face and is gracefully brushing his hair back with his palm of the other hand. His face no longer hidden behind the heavy curtains of dark hair, I see his full face, and his blinding smile he gives a friend of his that he's with. He's a stranger, but he looks to be my age, and he is beautiful.

He's 19 year old Saul Hudson, but I didn't know that at the time. For all I knew, he was just a gorgeous stranger who I immediately thought I'd never have a chance of seeing again. Is LA not huge?

I have this desire for him that I can't get over. None of my friends know anyone who fits his masculine, youthful description. He's seemingly lost in the throngs of people that inhabit the Los Angeles vicinity like a needle in a haystack.

One day, Axl calls me. He tells me to come to his apartment because he has a potential guitarist for his band. "I want you to meet the guy- he's cool, you'd like him." So, dressed in my usual black leggings, black tank top, and black leather coat, I drive in my car that desperately needs a paint job to Axl's apartment. When Izzy lets me in the door, I am stunned.

It's him- it's the young man who I had seen ascend from the bus and walk gracefully down the streets. I'm more sure of it than anything; although I'd only seen him once, I'd know his looks anywhere. The thick, full lips, his shiny skin, muscular biceps and shoulders, and those sinfully gorgeous curls of dark hair, he was too familiar to me for me to forget him.

I notice all these things in the span of one second. Shocked, I hurry toward him, but trip through the door frame. (Pause: I know what you're thinking- WHY would she WANT that to happen? It would be so embarrassing. And you are right. BUT, I can say that I literally "fell for him", and there's this cute story basically everyone knows about the first time we met.) Izzy and Axl rush to help me, but it's the stranger who smiles, shakes his head so that his curls rustle, and extends two dark, large hands to help me up.

"You okay, miss?" he chuckles, softly. "I hope you're not hurt or nothin'."

Our hands still together, his smile slowly fades into more of a soft, subtle look as we search each other's eyes. I'm speechless- not because of the sheer disbelief at this coincidence, but because of how beautiful he is. He's so much more beautiful up close- I just want to melt in his hands and let him do whatever he wants to me. Axl and Izzy watch, before Axl clears his throat and introduces us.

We talk for about an hour, ascended in a cloud of cigarette smoke and sipping drinks. I don't say much that whole hour- I mainly stare at Saul Hudson (who told me, in our initial greetings, that he goes by "Slash") in scarlet-faced silence. When he sees me staring at him, he gives me a shy smile, blushes, and looks down at his feet that are nervously tapping in black cowboy boots. As we leave, Slash asks me for my number, and asks if I wanted to meet him at The Roxy the next evening at 8 for dinner.

I leave that date more giddy than ever, having talked to Slash like I knew him my entire life. To say I'm "in love" would be an understatement to beat all others. He's the one, I tell myself. I've found my Mr. Right. The insane thing is, I have this feeling I cannot shake- that he feels the same way about me. I know, more sure of it than anything, that Slash and I are each other's soulmates.

The rest of Guns N' Roses soon forms, and Slash and I are officially boyfriend and girlfriend. We spend every minute of every day with each other in rehearsal, or hanging out with the other guys, but go out together every night to have some time to ourselves. It's the best time of my life- when I fall a little more for him every day, when I start to dream of the life we'll share together- and there was never, ever a doubt in my mind that our relationship would end. No, we were destined to be together. Made for each other. Nothing would ever change that belief of mine.

However, when Appetite For Destruction starts breaking records and topping chart after chart, I'm momentarily distracted from Slash and my immense adoration for him. I'm the keyboardist of Guns N' Roses, but because I am a female in a male band, MANY heads are turned. The boys of GnR only let me be in the band at first because they thought I was cute and pretty, and Axl and Izzy did not want to turn down their childhood best friend. But they all soon realized I was talented, popular, and could get the band far. I have worshippers; people who see me as an example of how women can thrive in an environment inhabited primarily by men- and rowdy, sometimes feral men at that. While some haters did hate, the majority of the world saw me as beautiful, talented, and still with a sense of poise and dignity, despite being a member of the most dangerous band in the world. I was still distracted by all of that in fall of 1987.....when Slash proposed to me, asking me to become his wife.

It was an easy answer. Yes! And yes led to "I do", until Slash and I were a rock n' roll supercouple. Playing alongside each other in a band, we were inseparable, doing everything together, never leaving each other's sides for a moment. In addition, we were wholly committed to each other. On our wedding night, we confessed to each other that it would be hard to remain devoted to one another in an environment that constantly offered so many temptations. We swore on our lives and everything else that we were made for each other, living for each other, and we would be each other's one-and-only till the end of time itself.

I was very close with all the members of the band. We were a family, and they were closer to me and more beloved by me than anyone else. I adored each of them so much, in ways that made each individual friendship special. I had inside jokes with Steven, a secret handshake with Duff, and an unshakable emotional connection to both Axl and Izzy because we'd shared our childhoods. Then, my beloved husband- the light and love of my life- Slash.

In interviews, I was asked my amazed interviewers how I ever dealt with all of them, and if I ever came close to losing my mind. Giggling, I shake my head and say, "It's like having a bunch of mean big brothers." We did bicker, only playfully, but it was me who added an element of simplicity to the band. An element of basic life to the high lives they lived. I cooked for them warm, home-cooked meals whenever it was convenient for me, I talked them through any drama they had with girls or with other guy friends, took care of them, and was really almost a mother figure in the band. (Pause: That is SO weird, but this whole thing is, so please don't judge.)

The band hit its first patch of turbulence when Steven was no longer a member. Losing Steven shattered me completely. Steven and I were so close, such close friends, and I started to miss him and bawl for him when we were at rehearsals, and I knew he'd never come back. The others were spiteful and bitter towards the former drummer, at first, at least. But I began to blame Axl. It was the beginning of the end for mine and Axl's lifelong friendship. While Slash was bitter towards Steven at first, he was willing to relate to me and Steven enough to console me, and help me through a time he knew was hard. I was the only one of us who would still talk to Steven for a little bit, and I saw myself as a bridge over the gap of torn bonds between the four men left and Steven.

Just as I had healed from losing Steven, Izzy left. The day Izzy left marked the day I lost my deep emotional foundation in the band. When I lost Izzy, a part of me left the band with him. My heart for music went with him. Izzy...my dear, dear Izzy. With his new band, and me still in GnR, seeing each other was made nearly impossible. It was even worsened by the fact that Slash didn't want to see Izzy anymore. But he knew how much Izzy meant to me. So, for me, he began to mend his bond with Izzy and get at least on speaking terms with him, so that whenever we met up, it wouldn't be hideously awkward.

By the end of Use Your Illusion 2, I had no heart at all left for GnR. None. I used to wish guiltily that something would happen to eradicate the institution of the band. Not the band members, but the band itself. The truth was, I wanted it gone. What had been such a blessing to me for five or six healthy years was now a ball and chains. In addition, my relationship with Axl was worsening by the day. Soon, we never even spoke to each other in rehearsals. It was because he knew I missed Steven and Izzy, and he felt that I blamed him for them leaving.

So why didn't I leave?

Slash, of course. I was beginning to feel under the impression that Slash shared many of my feelings, but he wasn't ready to let go of GnR just yet. Whenever I sprung a reference to wanting to leave, he would talk to me, and softly convince me to stay. Even though he was very gentle about it at first, I obeyed him as diligently as if he'd yelled at me about it. My biggest fear was losing Slash, and endangering our sacred relationship. If Slash wanted me to stay, I would stay indefinitely- willingly and with a good attitude. If he wanted me to leave, I would immediately leave. But until then, I stuck it out for him.

GnR was virtually abandoned by the late 90s. And I had so hoped that would be good for me- I hoped it would be what I wanted. When it came to pass, I found myself in a state of withdrawal from having to give up my identity I'd had for six years. Heartbroken by golden memories now long gone, friendships inhumanely severed, and a dullness in my life, I am only existing for a while, and not living.

Izzy was who I talked to after I'd talked to Slash about it. While Slash comforted me in every way he knew how, I'd found I'd always liked Izzy's style of advice- I'd asked it often. So, when I found the guts to confront someone other than my husband with it, I poured my heart out to Izzy and found myself begging his advice and wisdom.

There was a pause, in which I could almost feel him glaring at me from through his black shades.

"This may be in inappropriate suggestion, circumstances being what they are," he prefaced. "But..."

He leaned forward. "Have you ever considered joining another band?"

Of course not. Sure, it was logical, and latent in plain sight. But the thought had never crossed my mind. When I admitted to him I had not, after fearing he'd judge me, he suggested that I join another band. He thought it was a good thing that I'd lost Guns N' Roses, but not that I'd lost involvement and had fallen out of practice of keyboard and piano. So he told me to be on the lookout for any new job opportunities.

It was not very long after this that Velvet Revolver began. I had been offered the spot as the keyboardist. A keyboardist wasn't needed for the kind of music they played, but Slash and the others convinced me that my association with the band could help it gain some more fame. Besides, they promised to write in some parts for me. Still, I was skeptical, and very nervous. What if it ended badly, the way Guns had? Still, a part of me wanted to give it a try...so I did.

I ended up loving Velvet Revolver. It was almost as fun as the early days of GnR had been. Slash, Duff and I- older and more mature- laughed on the golden memories of our happy youths, memories of the band, and sat on the hoods of our cars late at night, remembering the old days and watching the stars. Velvet Revolver healed me, reigniting my love for music.

My life, nourished back to its form nearly twenty years before, was in a good spot. Slash and I had never been closer and loved each other more. I had no regrets on my life, no bitterness anymore...well, almost none.

I still held a grudge against Axl, because I felt the metaphoric sinking of GnR in its original form was his fault. In addition, I had seen firsthand the effects of his fiery personality. From things as small as remarks that hurt my feelings to things as large as the St. Louis riot. All the same, I still loved Axl. I didn't always like him, but I still loved him, and hadn't had the courage to admit it to anyone. I couldn't just let Axl go, even if I had ample justification. He was my childhood best friend. We couldn't obscure our childhood memories in a sheen of anger. And although it had been nearly ten years, at this point, since I'd ever spoken to him.

I wanted to mend our bond. It was the only bitterness and regret in my life at that good, good point. But it had to be addressed. For a year, I was too nervous to do anything about it. For a year, the idea of forgiving Axl and making up with him was abandoned. But one day, I remembered- with a laugh- that I'd once said the idea of a band forming in the mid 80s had been abandoned, and wouldn't go anywhere. And it had, hadn't it?

I called Axl, and when he heard my voice, he didn't hang up as I had expected. I heard a delicate timbre behind his voice, as if he were emotional to hear me speak again. He wasn't crying- he'd never cry. But there was a bittersweet, nostalgic emotion in his voice that I knew all too well. I felt the bittersweet nostalgia myself, more times than I could count, in more ways than I could ever begin to tell anyone.

It wasn't very long afterward that GnR began touring again. I was asked if I would like to join Slash, Duff and Axl, to which I laughed, wondering why they'd even asked me! Did they not know I would be in, and all in? They could have counted me in without even asking my permission. They knew, as well as they knew anything, that I wouldn't miss it for the entire world, and everything in it.

I wrote you a book, Shells. 😂

Man, I am WEIRD!!! But I LOVE it. It makes me so happy. Now, I understand that nothing about this is realistic. I know there is no way on EARTH GnR would ever let a girl in their band. But, in this universe, they would! And that girl would be yours truly.

I need a life, lol. 😂

#shells 🐚 #my southern sis 🧡

[littlewalken]

jan 14

I don't like anything ASMR but I do agree with the soothing tones of Andy Robinson saying "My dear doctor".

If he can read his book off an ipad so can you.

I will also remind y'all that I have a second hard copy of ASIT (in beautiful condition), the collection with the follow up, and the rest of Uma McCormack's first run novels and the Section 31 Gashir ones to part with at a reasonable rate (must take all, about 10 books in total) but now it has to wait until after our move because aside from ASIT they're all in storage right now.

The second copy of ASIT along with my copy will be placed in a plastic storage tub padded by clothing. One of the ways I cope with how shitty things were in 2021 is to tell myself if the greedy cosuins heard I had not one but two books worth $$$ in my storage unit they would have been running to help me move so they could steal them. I also would have lied and said it was the NKOTB comics and everything depended on their condition and completeness. Or like that 1000 page Birth of The Modern book.

It's two weeks to go until the move and I am actively working on no longer saying Trust is just a song on the Wish album because aside from the receipt for the holding deposit and general 'welcome to the complex' stuff we haven't really heard anything. Being they aren't a toddler or a pet one must assume no news is good news.

As for anyone out there who wishes they had some sort of tic or OCD disorder for clout do not neglect the thought loop parts that want to remind you that you aren't save and snug in your bed, you're actually still in the worst situation you've ever been in your recent life and it's all out of your control and the only way out you can see is giving yourself to Azrael unless things change.

It takes inner strength to remind yourself that things did change, sense took over, and you are snug in your own bed half a country away from those people and never ever have to go there or see or deal with them again.

This move can't possibly be like the last one. We have a place to go, we have a date for when our rent starts.

We have a near by dog park and spotted a borzoi across the street from it.

So one of these days when I feel the need to get out and my walking has improved enough, or I have a scooty bike, I will be able to go to the dog park and hang out and pet dogs while being on the look out for the borzoi. Then I will pet the borzoi.

On the creative side I'm pondering trying to get a draft of my Gashir and a baby story going or rework the Tain one I just came up with earlier this month. I'm also feeling the pull to read my Hollywood story and see if anything comes from that. There's a scene that needs to happen where one character finds out another they have a crush on has a ___ and has to deal with it because everyone knows what happened the last time that character encountered a ___.

[eideticmemory]

TWO GHOSTS IV | MATTHEW GUBLER

It’s been 15 years. 15 years has to be long enough . . . right? Read PART 3.

Set 15 years after the end of Ever Since New York, so give that a read first!

Word Count: 3.9k.

Warning: Usual angst, porn, and poor communication amongst characters.

SOUNDTRACK:

Love Affair - UMI

Debt - Eliza McLamb

Sometimes Sunshine - Seasalt

A nonstop flight, from New York City to Los Angeles, is three hours long. On a good day. And May 16 was supposed to be a good day. A great day. The best day of Matthew’s life. He tries not to think about it, not to reminisce too often. About the way he walked through the airport with a little jog, a little pep in his step. And the way he smiled through security, and constantly checked behind him as if you would magically appear. The roses he bought for you in a gift shop near the terminal.

See, a nonstop flight from New York City to Los Angeles is three hours long. On a good day. But Matthew wasn’t looking for three hours. He wasn’t asking you for a few hours of your time, or even a good day. He was asking you for a lifetime.

And that day, he had booked you two a connecting flight that totaled over six hours, with a two hour layover in Colorado. There was a little ice cream shop in the Denver airport, and they served blueberry ice cream. Matthew remembered it was your favorite, and saved just enough money to get your tickets and an entire pint. He couldn’t shake the thought of flying across the country with you, seeing a few small parts of it at a time. A few small parts at a time, until someday, you two had seen the whole world together.

He bought a blanket for you and, while waiting at the terminal, he sat it in the seat beside him, keeping it warm for when you would arrive. He had a little itinerary written in his notes app, and so far everything was going to plan. He had a bouquet of roses in his lap, and he killed time by looking up engagement rings online.

He didn’t start to worry until maybe, an hour, an hour and a half before the plane was set to depart. He called you, just to check in, and it went straight to voicemail. But he was still hopeful. There was very little that could destroy his peace that day. His hope. His happiness.

He tries not to think about it. The way the seconds inched by like a caterpillar moving across the limb of a tree. Slowly, painfully. The way his hope dwindled, and dwindled, and the insane amount of times he heard,

Hey, it’s [y/n]! Leave a message!

He can’t think about it anymore. The way he spents those six hours alone. Bawling his way through flight after flight, and eating a pint of blueberry ice cream by himself. He spent hours on his own. And weeks, months, hell, he spent years thinking that maybe, just maybe, you would find your way back to him.That the universe would magically correct itself.

And you’d come home.

Fifteen.

It took him fifteen years to find you again. It took fifteen years for the universe to bring you back together, and Matthew spent the first five thinking it was all some really shitty nightmare. It took him fifteen years to get close to you, to hear you say his name again, to get inside of you again.

And he managed to fuck it all up in a matter of twenty-four hours.

His body is paralyzed. His mind is moving a mile a minute, and he can’t take his eyes off the ceiling. His chest feels tight, like he can’t breathe properly. He knows he should not feel sorry for himself. That he, alone, is responsible for this wreck. But he can’t seem to shake it. He can’t seem to move.

“What the hell did I do?”

A knock at your door wakes you up. You don’t remember falling asleep, you don’t know how you were able to. But now, it’s all you want to do. You want to stay in the bed, in a state of unconsciousness and dreariness where you can’t remember your mistakes. But someone is knocking. Incessantly, loudly. And they won’t stop.

You roll out of bed, and drag your body across the floor. Zombie like, your shoulders are slouched, your eyes are hooded. Your feet shuffle along the floor like they’re weighted to the hardwood. Your footsteps are slow, hesitant. You don’t know what you’ll do if Matthew is on the other side of that door. You just . . . you don’t know. The very thought of it is making your stomach churn, and you suddenly feel very, very nauseous. The banging continues, and it’s as someone is using all their force. Like they’d break the door down if they could.

“[y/n]!”

You instantly relax at the sound of her voice. You speed up, hurry to the door, “[y/n] [y/l/n]! I know you can hear me! Open up!”

The door swings open and you catch her with her fist in the air, ready to strike the door once again. She’s pissed, doesn’t try to hide it, couldn’t hide it even if she tried.

“Good morning,” you rasp.

“It’s one in the afternoon,” she corrects you, pushing her way into your home.

“Please,” you say, shutting the door behind her. “Come on in.”

“Y’know,” Everest starts, clasping her hands in front of her as a wild look graces her face. “You’ve always been one of the good ones . . . hell, you’ve been . . . great, if that’s the word. You’re better than the others. The ones that really write my checks. But, um, you’re testing me, [y/n].”

You don’t even have to ask.

“Now, if there’s is some magical relationship blooming, or a monumental disaster about to strike, then you need to tell me now, so I can fix it. I’m a fixer, you know, that’s what I do. So, why are you making this so hard for me?”

“If it . . .” you clear your throat, cross your arms as you stare at her feet. “If it makes you feel any better, um, this is hard for me, too.” You attempt to joke. But you just sound sad.

“Yeah?” she raises her eyebrows. “So hard that you come out of his hotel in tears? And what the hell were you doing over there anyway? Was there a plan? Did he call you to come over?”

“I don’t see how any of this matters.”

“It matters because I woke up at seven in the morning — on a saturday — to all sorts of choas and speculation, and picture evidence of you doing exactly what I told you not to do!”

“Yeah, well, I’m a idiot. Don’t worry, that’s been established.”

“The internet is undefeated. Okay? People are . . . great at making up stories, making assumptions. And as your publicist, I need to know the whole story, the real story, before it gets twisted even further.”

You sigh, and walk over to the couch. As you sit down, you pull a pillow into your lap for just a little bit of comfort. “What do you mean the whole story?”

“Wrong choice of words,” Everest says. “The important parts of the whole story. Like are you dating him? Are you fucking him? If so, how long has this been going on?”

You can’t make eye contact as you speak, “I . . . fucked . . . him . . . a few times, a long time ago . . .”

She nods. She motions at you to continue, “. . . And?”

“And . . .” you breathe out. “I fucked him, again. Recently.”

“Last night? At the hotel?”

“Last night . . . not at the hotel.”

“Sooo, when? — Oh, my God,” she lowers her eyebrows at you, purses her lips. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did,” you nod. It’s a shameful nod. “You know they say there’s no sex like sex in a dressing room.”

“They also say polka dots are making a comeback, you believe everything you hear?”

“Sorry.”

“So you fuck him in the dressing room, and?”

“And . . . we go our seperate ways . . . again. And, then I realize that’s a lot easier said then done, so I . . . I go for him. I go for him . . .” Everest can hear the way your voice is cracking, the way the weight on your shoulder is slowly pushing the air out of your lungs. “And, uh,” you clear your throat. “Yeah. Yeah, it didn’t work out. Hence the . . . photos of me crying, I guess.”

“Mm,” she nods, crosses her arms. “And the other girl?”

You freeze, cut your head up at her. “What other girl?”

“What do you mean? The girls that came out right behind you. Same sad face? Kinda got a Natalie Portman look to her?”

“I . . .” you shake your head. “I didn’t know she came out after me, I must have left by then.”

“Who is she?”

You give her a shrug, “I don’t know.”

“His girlfriend?”

You huff, “Guess so.”

“Ah, so, some people online actually got it right. Huh, look at that.”

“Look, if the point of all of this is to keep me away from him, you can stop now. I don’t plan on seeing him ever again.”

The doorbell rings, as if on queue, and Everest instantly gives you a look. “What?” you ask. “I don’t know who it is. Your guess is as good as mine.”

She scoffs at you, and turns around, marching towards the door with a certain determination. She pulls it open, and immediately puts her hand on her hip. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“Oh,” Matthew gasps. “Uh, oh . . . fuck . . . sorry, I must — I must have the wrong house.”

“You sure do, Romeo.”

You stand from the couch, your face laced with shock and anger and confusion, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Don’t engage, [y/n], what the hell?” Everest interjects.

You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest. “How the hell did you find my house?” you direct at Matthew.

“Oh, what?” he scoffs. “Like you’re the only one around here who can play stalker?”

“Go home, Matthew.”

“Five minutes. I’m asking you for five minutes. You can time me if you want.”

“Go back to California, Matthew.”

“Look, I know I fucked up. I know, but —“

“Do you?” you snap. You take slow, calculated steps towards the front door, and your voice is lowering to a rumble. “Do you know that you fucked up? Because, if you did, if you truly knew just how badly you fucked up, then you would leave. You would get on a fucking plane and leave, and you would never come back!”

The way Matthew is looking at you right now.Like he can’t fathom what’s happening. Like he is trying his very best not to feel defeated. “Can I . . . can I just —“

“No.” Everest says. “You heard her. Fuck off, string bean.”

You walk away, retiring to your kitchen. You try to keep yourself busy, but you’re trembling like mad and you can barely breathe.

Matthew leaves. You know because you hear the door close. Everest comes into the kitchen, and you feel stuck. Frozen to the spot and position you’re in. Your back is to her, and you can’t begin to imagine or guess what look is on her face right now.

She’s quiet for a moment, eyeing you with her arms crossed at her chest. She leans against the entryway and sighs, “Tell me more.”

Ramona walks up your driveway, and it isn’t until she looks up from her phone that she sees Matthew. She notices him, and he notices her, and Ramona tries to act like it didn’t happen, But when Matthew opens his mouth to speak, she blows past him, “I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

“I know,” he says instantly. He is well aware, but it doesn’t stop him from running in front of her, blocking her from your front door. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, but . . . please, can you give this [y/n]?”

Matthew holds out an envelope. It’s bright red, your name is printed on the front of it in his handwriting.

Ramona glances at it, but she quickly glances back up, “Do I look like a mailman to you?”

“She won’t take it from me. She won’t talk to me. She might take it from you.”

“Yeah, or she might fire me for even taking it from you in the first place.”

“[y/n] wouldn’t do that.”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s usually pretty amazing, except for when you’re around, or when you’re brought up, or when you’re fucking with her head. You make her a different person, dude. I want no part of it.”

He nods, looks down, “Fair enough . . . I’ll put it in her mailbox.”

“Yeah, why don’t you do that?” She shrugs, and she continues on by him.

“Damn . . .” Everest says. “You ghosted the guy at the airport?”

“Basically,” you shrug.

“Well, fuck,” she scoffs. “That is some serious great gatsby shit.”

“Yeah, we’ve always had a flair for the dramatic.”

The doorbell rings, and you both turn your heads sharply towards the entrance. “You don’t think he would come back, do you?” Everest asks as she walks to the door.

“Well, he never listens much to anything I say, but he’s probably a little scared of you.”

She laughs, and when she opens the door, she tells you it’s only Ramona, who walks in quickly, looking for you. She gives you a soft smile, and joins you in the kitchen as Everest follows close behind.

“So,” Ramona pips. “What’s the game plan?”

“You and [y/n] come to my office in the city and we’ll figure it out. Hey, did you pass him on your way out?” Everest asks her.

“Uh, who?”

“Matthew,” you tell her. “He was just here, you didn’t see him?”

“He was here?” Ramona questions, putting on a look of bewilderment. “When?”

“Just now. He left right before you got here.” Everest explains.

“Holy shit,” Ramona says. “What’d he want?”

“[y/n].”

“So,” you interrupt. “Your office? Now? We can go ahead and get going.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Everest stops you in your tracks, throwing her hands up. “Not so fast, you . . . you need to shower first.”

You look down at your outfit. You’re still dressed in Claire’s clothes and they’re completely disheveled. You haven’t showered or brushed your teeth since the last time you had sex, and the very thought makes you feel dirty. You look exactly how you feel. You sigh, “Fair enough.”

“We’ll wait in the car,” Everest nods, and motions to Ramona to follow her.

“What are we gonna do with her?” she says to Ramona as soon as they’re out of the house and walking down the driveway.

“I don’t know, she’s my boss . . . I can only help so much.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve known [y/n] for a long time now, and she’s never needed saving. But, something tells me we’re going to have to keep her away from this one.”

“From Matthew?” Ramona stops in her tracks.

“Well,” Everest stops, turns around to look at her. “She’s a grown woman. She’ll do what she wants. But, that zombie in there,” she motions to the house. “Who walks around the city in her pajamas for a man, is not [y/n]. Atleast, not the world’s [y/n]. People love her. She’s one of the few celebrities that’s kind and passionate and isn’t problematic. I’m just being proactive here.”

“Proactive?”

“She says she’s done with him. She told him she’s done with him. Now, we will just keep her on that path. Few months later, she and the rest of the world forget this ever happened and everything is back to normal.”

“You sound very sure of all of this.”

“Yeah, well, I like my schedules and I happen to like [y/n] so I better be sure. Come on, our ride’s further down the driveway,” Everest continues walking. While Ramona is stuck in place.

“Hey! Uh,” Ramona stutters, suddenly, loudly, causing Everest to turn around once again. “I think I left my water bottle in the house. I’ll meet you in the car?”

“Okay,” Everest eyes her. “It’s just around the corner. And tell [y/n] to hurry up.”

“I will!”

Ramona waits for Everest to continue down the driveway, and when she’s just far enough, Ramona turns around and acts as if she’s walking back up to your front door. When she’s positive Everest has made it to the car, she runs over to your mailbox. She opens it slowly, so it doesn’t creak as loud. The bright red envelope is the only thing in there, and she takes it out quickly. She looks at it for a moment, asks herself what the hell she’s doing. But she doesn’t have time to think right now, you could walk out at any moment. She closes your mailbox, shoves the envelope in her bag, and walks down the driveway.

Matthew Gubler, himself, is a disruption in the space-time continuum.

When you start tallying up the days, it just doesn’t make sense. Some days, every second feels like it’s crawling by. You’ll be in class, at the head of the class, and you’re surprised when your lesson plan ends atleast ten minutes early. And some days, time moves too fast. You find yourself running late for things, events, important people or things, which isn’t like you.

You call it Matthew Brain, and you keep that term to yourself. It happened fifteen years ago. And it’s happening now. It’s a slow, steady descent back to earth, back to reality. Time isn’t real with him, and you think that’s the reason you can’t remember much of your senior year. It’s a rush, a high to even be near him, and it’s the ultimate collapse when he’s gone. Really gone. Out of the life, for the second time.

Time has reset.

And what feels like one month with Matthew Gubler, only turns out to be four days.

You’re on a journey back to earth, and you haven’t even reached the bottom yet. It’s coming, but not now, you thought. You have time to prepare. And this time you’ll be ready. Ready to hit rock bottom, and spend another fifteen years digging yourself out. You have time, you’re sure of it.

Then Ramona comes into your office. She notices you crying, and you have to twirl around in your chair while you wipe the tears away. “Shit, Ro,” you try to laugh. “What’s up?”

“Uh, your afternoon class?” she reminds you. “With the girls at the community center? . . . What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

A lot. Not anything that you can really talk to Ramona about. And each day is something different. Like today, you’re feeling like a fucking idiot. You feel unbelievably stupid and lost and question why anyone in their right mind would choose to learn anything from you. You feel defeated, and you can’t get the look on that girl’s face out of your head.

You turn to Ramona with a soft smile, “I’m fine. I forgot about the class, thank you for reminding me. I just have to grab a few things before I go.”

“Well,” she sets her bag down in one of the chairs on the opposite side of your desk. She takes a seat in the other, “You’ve got some time, I haven’t even called the ride yet.”

You eye her, suspicious furrowing your eyebrows, “Oh, don’t do that.”

“Do what?” she seems genuinely confused.

“Sit there and feel sorry for me. I don’t need pity. I’m alright.”

“I’ve never seen you cry before . . . I’m just worried.”

“And I appreciate that, kid, I really do. But you don’t have to be, alright?”

“. . . okay.” she shrugs.

“Anyways,” you change the subject. “How much time do I have until I’ve gotta be out of here?”

“Um, I can call you a ride now, it should be here in about, ten minutes?” Ramona pulls her phone from her pocket, and holds it up as she dials the number.

“Sounds good,” you nod.

She leaves the room to make the call, and when she closes the door, you release a big sigh. As if you’d been holding it in the whole time she was here. You get up from your chair, and walk around the desk. Not paying attention, you stub your toe into the adjacent chair, so hard that the chair falls to the ground.

“Ow! Son of a b—“ your yelp is cut off by a painful groan, and your reach down to hold your foot. You look out in front of you, and Ramona’s entire bag has spilled out across the floor. “Fuck,” you mumble and instantly begin to clean it up.

It’s bright red. And it sticks out like a sore thumb. You reach over to grab it, but only because you recognized his hand writing. You run your fingers over your name, and your head is starting to hurt from the amount of pure confusion.

The door swings open, “Okay, they’ll be here in fifteen, but you have some wiggle room —“ Ramona stops when she sees the item in your hand.

You stand up straight, look her in the eye. She’s shaking. She’s trembling, and there are already tears in her eyes.

“I . . . can explain,” she says.

“Then explain.”

“Matthew . . . wanted me to — to give that to you.”

“When?”

“When, um, when he was at your house on Saturday.”

“You said you didn’t see him. You acted like you didn’t even know he had been there. You took this from him?” your voice goes up at slight octave. Not by much, but it stills cuts Ramona like a knife.

“No! No, I didn’t take it from him. I told him to put it in the mailbox. Which he did, but then I . . .”

“You? You what? Went into my mailbox and took it? Are you kidding?”

“It was crazy! I know! It was absolutely insane of me! But—But Everest was saying all these things about protecting your image, and being proactive, I just wanted to help. I thought —“

“Everest? Everest knew about this?”

“No. No. I took it when she wasn’t looking, and I just, I thought maybe if you didn’t know about the letter, you would be able to move on, y’know? Heal.”

“That was not your decision to make.”

“I know. [y/n], I’m so sorry. I can’t — I can’t even begin —“

“You’re right,” you interrupt her. “You can’t.”

You look down at the envelope in your hands, and shake your head. “God, Ro, I can barely look at you right now.”

“I’m sorry . . .”

You nod.

“I’ll . . . go wait for the car,” she nods, sadly and apologetically exiting the room.

You close the door behind her, and press your back against it. You slide to the floor, and bring the evelope close to your face. The day is not over, and you may need all night to take this in. You are not mentally prepared for whatever is in your hands, but, you rip it open anyway.

There’s a thin piece of paper inside. You pick it up, and it feels so frail that you worry it might rip. You set it on top of the envelope, and examine it. Your eyes dot over the page, until you realize, it’s not a letter at all.

American Airlines

[y/n] [y/l/n]

Seat: 14A

May Sixteenth, 2002

It’s a plane ticket. From fifteen years ago.

One you’ve never seen.

One you’ve never touched.

And now that it’s in your hands, you wish you never knew it existed.

#mgg #esny #tg #mine

[creatingnikki]

What 2020 has taught me

1. Those things that seem like content for sci fi or pure fiction are actually things that can happen. To the entire world. Like a pandemic. And to you. Like a seizure.

2. Everyone is sad. Everyone is struggling. In different ways and in different measures. Makes no one special. But you still get to feel sad for yourself and be compassionate towards others. But it's also okay to draw boundaries because you're everyone too. Remember, not special? You're sad and trying to deal with it too.

3. Every job you have will not add value to your life. It will not teach you new things or give you people you'll want to stay in touch with. Sometimes some jobs will only be a season of your life. Even if the season lasts for over a year. It's okay.

4. You know how you thought picking a college and picking a major and picking your first job and picking a specific industry were all the career decisions you had to make? Yeah, no. It's never a one time thing. You could have a job as a marketing strategist for two years and then want nothing to do with it. And then you'll have to make another decision and work towards it. So I'd like to call it moves. It's like chess. You always have to make a move. And it always has to be strategic, yes. But the truth is in your 20s it probably won't. Even if you try. And as long as you're trying, you'll be fine.

5. You may have different sorts of friends like the one you only talk to about kdrama with or the one you met when you went book shopping alone and the friendship is all about books really. That's normal. But irrespective of why and how you became friends with them, if you consider them a friend then there has to be this basic sense of care, respect and empathy for each other. I don't care what people want to say. If you're faced with the worst trauma of your life, the least your friends can do is check up on you regularly. On text. And if they don't even do that then guess what? They aren't friends. They are acquaintances. Social media and quick promises make everyone seem like your friend. But they are not. They are just nice people who will be nice to you for specific periods and then wander away like you are a speck of dust floating in their journey.

6. You speak a lot and write and you express yourself and you’re emotionally mature but oh my god. You still hold in so much. You’ve known that at a subconscious level and over the last year people - experts - have told you that. You have also realized that you make your pain and sadness about pettier things because dealing with them, admitting about them, sharing that with your friends, is easier. You do that so that you don’t have to deal with the real stuff. Because it’s so damn painful. And you don’t know how to do it. Yet. Acknowledging is the first step anyway right? I know you’re confused about how exactly to let go of all this pain and sadness and feel lighter, and you know that talking to people really isn’t the solution, but I also know you’re smart enough to figure it out. 

7. Talking about being smart...you know you’re different than others. Better. Special. Smarter. None of these are the right words. And you never voiced this out until this year because you knew it would make you come across as narcissistic. Some would say it’s because you’re an INFJ. But my mother once said that this may be the first time we are consciously living life but our souls are old and so our instinct and the things we know but can’t explain are because this isn’t the first time for our souls. The connections we feel with certain people, the reason we are so different from our siblings who grew up in the exact same environment with the exact same opportunities, our sense of right and wrong...it’s all because our souls learn and grow with each time and that’s why we are who we are. I think that’s probably how I can explain what I have always felt. That I am living in a different universe than everybody but I have to pretend to be in this one and dumb my emotions and thoughts down. Maybe that’s because my soul has lived through thousands of years while most around me are living their 100th life. Or maybe I’m just narcissistic, who knows?

8. You shift between talking in first person and second person but that’s because that’s how you think in your head and talk to yourself and live your life. You ask yourself things and you accuse yourself of things and you apologize to yourself and you comfort yourself. I think that seeps into your writing and the changing of the voices. 

9. You always genuinely thought that you’d not be afraid of dying. And then what happened this October proved you shockingly wrong. I know it’s not so much being afraid of dying but the unbearable pain of knowing what that would mean to your family. So you have to be more prudent and less reckless with your life and the choices you make. 

10. Regret is not something that plagued you but this year the realisation and pain of giving away your favourite books from your own personal collection to people you care about as a show of affection and them turning out to be ass holes or losers has hit you so hard. So, yes. No more of that shit. I really fucking want my copy of The Perks Of Being A Wallflower back. UGH. With the childhood picture of me inside it! 

11. Sleeping at 5 am in the morning stops being fun or romanticised when you realise just how much harm it does to your body and mind. Literally every single disease and disorder can be traced back to a shitty fucking sleep schedule. It’s not just the hours you sleep but also the quality of sleep and the time you sleep at. So yes sleeping for 8 hours is healthy but not if that 8 hours is from 5 am to 12 pm. ‘Not a morning person’ is just another construct of capitalism and you don’t realise how many industries profit from having you believe that and staying up late or all night. Entertainment. Food. Alcohol. Pharma. Biologically and naturally you are a bloody morning person. And you don’t need 3 cups of coffee to begin your day or your phone notifications to get you to open your eyes and brain to wake up. 

12. Sometimes you really have to stop taking people so seriously. I know the idea of treating people as casual friends or entertainment makes you want to fight that concept but you know what? Some people like Pineapple are ever only going to be good for that. No matter how much they ‘grow and change’. So keep them in the background for whenever you want some entertainment or drama. But please don’t clear up your busy schedule to meet them or send them gifts on their birthday. 

13. If you don’t have the fruit juice or green juice within half an hour of making it then you are losing out on its most optimum health benefits. Or when you remove the white stringy stuff from oranges. That’s where all the actual nutrients are.

14. I am privileged and so are most of the people I interact with. The global pandemic has been hell for a lot of people around the world. Health wise. Financially. Losing people they care about. But I was blessed enough to be safe at home and have a job that I could smoothly do from home and not have a pay cut or 4-hour long Zoom meetings. So honestly when my friends tell me 2020 has been bad I have to stop and ask them why? Yes, the crippling uncertainty and anxiety is not something that can be undermined. But most people I know had very great positive life-changing milestones this year like moving away to another country for college or taking their first solo trip or getting married. So I have to ask them. Because I am not going to agree that everybody’s 2020 and pandemic narrative is the same. 

15. Money gets spent really quickly. When I left my job earlier this year because of personal issues, I thought I had enough savings to last me a year. Full disclosure - I mean to last my personal expenses because I live with my parents. But it didn’t even last me 3 months. And so to use money wisely and buy things that provide utility than instant gratification is something to follow. Also buying one pair of really expensive but quality shoes is better than buying 5 pairs of affordable but low quality shoes that will have a very short life and force you to buy more. I know that higher price doesn’t always mean better quality but sometimes it does. And as an adult now I want to do the whole quality > quantity thing even with things and not just people. 

16. Everyone in their 20s went through a crisis of what they should do with their lives and their careers and it’s not unique to the 21st century and the challenges of today. Whether it was Vincent Van Gogh in the 19th century or Sylvia Plath in the 20th, every single person, as brilliant as them went through the torture of making these decisions and living with their consequences. You may think I picked wrong examples for they both killed themselves but you know what? They were the people who really want to live more than anyone. They knew what life meant. And maybe if mental health help was more accessible back then their lives would be longer and more peaceful. 

17. Telling people everything is overrated. You don’t have to talk about every single thing that’s on your mind or that’s going on in your life. The good and the bad and the mediocre. You have to be mindful about how much of yourself you’re giving away. 

18. Re-watch Suits when people at work feel intimidating because the confidence + negotiation tactics that they show can actually work irl cos at the end of the day no matter in what position you’re dealing with people who have emotions and fears and insecurities and desires. You understand how to leverage that nobody can get the better of you. 

19. You belong to yourself. No matter how much you love someone or how much they have done for you or how much you owe them - you belong to yourself. You can’t live your life for someone else. Everyone belongs to themselves first. No relationship, no promise, no circumstance should make you feel like you have to give up your life and make it all about them. If and when the time comes to die for them, go ahead. Take a bullet. Donate that kidney. Write them in your will. But live your life for yourself. And let them live theirs. 

20. Twenty three was a challenging year. When it started you claimed the age 23 sounds boring and insignificant. Guess it proved you wrong. It hurt so much now. But that only means you’ll look back on it later and see how it added so much wisdom and resilience to your being. It doesn’t mean that it makes all the bad things that happened to you okay. Or that you should be grateful to them. Fuck no. It means that you should be kinder to yourself because at the end of the day, your mind and body find it in themselves to deal with whatever is thrown their way. They have your back. It’s time you learn to sit straight. 

#what i learned in 2020 #poeticstories #writerscreed #poetryportal #inkstay #writtenconsiderations #flowerais #wnq writers #shareaquote #note to self #things to learn #things to remember #writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #words to live by #books and libraries #self realisation #self reflection #year end reflection #year end review #end of the year #new year new me #New Year Resolutions #Career choices #vincent van gogh #sylvia plath #2020 #creatingnikki

[spiltscribbles]

Worth It

~Notes: Oof, I know I have so many prompts in my inbox and I appreciate them so much! But I wanted to write something after dinner in dedication and a gift to the lovely Remus-John-Lupin!!!!!!!<3<3<3 I love you RJ and I appreciate you and your friendship so fucking much, so this is just a strange little gift from me to you in thanks for how kind you’ve always been to me since I joined this crazy fandom, ILY and you’re my favorite slag!!!!

.-

Sirius silently reminds himself that he in fact likes Lily, he thinks she’s a total knock out and is happy that his brother is finally getting to date the girl of his dreams. He likes her damn it,! And one does not commit battery to folks that they like.

Assured that his pure irritation won’t bleed through his words, Sirius tries again in his most charming of inflections. “All I want is his number.”

“No,” she repeats, casually steadfast while poking at her salad— Not even bothering to flick her gaze up at an increasingly irate Sirius.

“Why are you being so fucking difficult!”

“Why are you still bitching about this,” she counters, finally giving him her undivided attention, even if it’s her glaring at him like she’d like to skewer Sirius on a stick.

“Hey guys, let’s chill.” James tries to mediate, laughing awkwardly between the pair of them, hand raised in concession and glasses going a bit skewed.

They promptly ignore him.

“I like him. What is so difficult to understand Evans? Aren’t you like supposed to be some brainiac or some shit?”

“It’s been like two months Black,” she says pointedly, grip on her fork tightening while her mouth curls unpleasantly. “That’s way past your ordinary infatuations, so why the hell do you still even care.”

Sirius bares his teeth, pinning her with a glower that once made an old school yard bully of Regulus’s actually piss his pants. So of course Lily doesn’t even flinch. “He’s cute.”

“You’re a dog.”

“You’re being a total ass.”

“And you’re a bastard.”

“But you love me though.”

“Just barely.”

“So you’ll give me Remus’s number?”

“Dream on.” she says with a lofty sniff and haughty flip of the hair, discarding her barely eaten lunch before swaggering over to where a group of her friends from the STEM club are sat, including Alice Flores and Dorcas Meadowes. 

“Guess you’re back to square one Pads.” James says, unhelpful as fuck, so Sirius only flips him off before snatching back his calculus homework from a pitiful looking Peter.

“Fuck this.”

.-

Sirius thinks of himself as a reasonable sort of guy.

He isn’t one for holding grudges or obsessing over perceived slights. He’s brilliant whether he’s playing linebacker on the field or taking a exam in class.

For fuck’s sake, Sirius  can be plumped down in any and all social situations without warning, and can have the room eating out the palm of his hand within the first five minutes.

In layman’s terms, he’s decent and driven and downright charismatic. Mix this all together, and well Sirius thinks he’s a pretty fantastic fucking package— if he does say so himself. He can have his pick of the lot, truly. Especially when walking down the halls flocked by his best friend turned second brother on one end and little Petey, who’s a great hype man, on the other. So its only poetic justice that the one person who’s been able to swallow up all his attention is the one person who doesn’t even give him a second glance most days.

And that’s fucking ridiculous.

This is ridiculous! He is fucking ridiculous! No, record scratch. Remus fucking Lupin is the most ridiculous part of this all!

Remus lupin with his delightfully disheveled hair the color of gold and his crooked grin that’s everything darling in the world, and his big doe eyes that sometimes flare with green specs when he’s especially passionate in class or when he’s chatting with Lily in the halls. Remus lupin who’s only just moved here to Murray Hill from a small town in southern Illinois and who toppled Sirius’s world upside-down while he was at it. 

The first time they met was completely on accident.

It was the week before classes began, and Sirius had only just come back from his family trip to their villa in Rome, and he was only meant to meet James at the coffee shop that Lily was working at now. They were suppose to head to the city and go out drinking to celebrate the start of their senior year.  Sirius was suppose to find a nice, college aged girl to fuck because he’s given up on the boring lot that infests Hogwarts these days. It was suppose to be easy and fun and he was suppose to stay stringless and unattached as ever.

But that didn’t happen.

Instead, Sirius walked into the Howling Moon  and was met by the sight of the most lovely, most gorgeous boy he’s ever met. Hand to God, it felt like one of those slow motion moments in a Romantic Comedy when the disgruntled, wayward lead first sets their eyes on that love interest— the one to out shine all others, the one  who turns everything inside out and makes it all glitter gold.

“Hey there,” Remus had grinned like the fucking sun, slipping the pen from his ear and hand poised over the cups lining the counter. “What can I get ya?”

“Oh, erm— Yeah. Just a caramel macchiato, iced.”Sirius’s ordinarily smooth baritone almost fucking cracked while ordering, and Remus’s beautiful eyes had glittered.

“Would’ve taken you for a dark roast sort of guy.” He said, and Sirius swears that it was playful and flirtatious and a little mischievous too. 

Sirius was in love.

“I’ve been known to partake in sweets, you know, if they catch my eye,” he replied, eyes lingering meaningfully up and down Remus’s slighter frame.

“What a come on,” Remus had laughed, head thrown back to show off his long neck and Sirius was so fucking gobsmacked at how it quite literally sounded like all the most splendid instruments woven together.

He had ducked his head, so unordinary bashful but so beyond pleased. “What can I say beautiful, you bring it out of me.”

“”Cute.” Remus had chuckled, cheeks going a fetching red and scribbling down the order. “Definitely one of the more interesting one liners I’ve gotten today.”

Sirius ignored the flare of jealousy over that, considering that he hasn’t gotten to even kiss him yet, and he should probably take this slow if he doesn’t want to screw it up. “Has anyone of those bastards mentioned how your eyes put the brownies on sale to shame?”

“No one as hot as you if I’m being honest,” Remus retorted, ringing him up and sinking his teeth into his plump bottom lip. And fuck, Sirius knew he was in trouble from then on.

They had talked for over half an hour about nothing at all in that tiny bistro while Remus was busy exchanging the coffee pots for a fresh batch and rearranging the baked goods, and it was amazing.

 Sirius has always been someone who couldn’t sit still, who had to be fluttering all over the place to feel like he was actually headed somewhere, like he was getting something finished. But for the first time in too long, just sitting there, still and silent and besotted while Remus chatted about his hometown and moving half way across the country and his eccentric mother— Well Sirius felt completely balanced, completely calm. He felt like just as long as Remus was their chatting with him and smiling in that beguiling way of his, that Sirius could actually breathe without pressure. Like he knew what it meant to have a center.

So of course, right when he decided that he was going to snatch him up— to ask him out on a date before anyone else from their shitty class filled with degenerates and dick heads could— Lily of all people  had swaggered in, and gave him a caustic sort of glower that plainly said, keep the fuck away.

Ordinarily Sirius would’ve completely ignored her warning, would’ve unashamedly and excitedly chased after the cutest fucking boy he’s ever laid his eyes on with an absurd sort of zeal. But he under estimated just how much sway Lily was able to cater with Remus in the few weeks they worked with one another before he had met him. So instead of starting off the year with a brand new, insanely pretty boyfriend wrapped around one arm, Sirius has just spent the past nine weeks pining like a fucking love sick loser. Like he was starring in some cheesy John Hughes movie from the damn 80s!

And this will not do, this is not all right, not okay at all.

Sirius needs to figure out a way to get close to Remus, and outside of Lily’s overbearing claws. Something that only Remus likes, that Sirius can partake in to prove himself worthy.

As he promenades down the hall towards his free period, Sirius creates a mental check list of the things he knows Remus enjoys.

Remus enjoys poetry, and Sirius knows that he’s part of the school’s award winning Forensics team. But they meet during the football practices so Sirius couldn’t even try to impress him in that arena until the spring. He also knows that Remus likes history, that he’s going to end up majoring in classics in University, but Sirius really doubts his ability to memorize the Iliad in the matter of a few hours— He’s good, but not that good.

“Jesus fuck is this hard,” he mutters nastily to himself, tugging at the ends of his dark hair before ramming straight into a display outside the southern wing of their preparatory school’s building.

He winces, not so much for the throbbing in his toes, but because of Marlene’s snappish attitude when he makes it so that the table shakes.

“Keep your head out your ass Black,” she scolds before going back to filing her nails. And Sirius is about to snipe right back at her— That is until he catches on the bright poster adorned with small rainbows and the words, GSA FOOD DRIVE spelt out in large lettering.

And oh!

“Eureka!”

“Pardon?” Marlene asks, nose wrinkled indelicately as she eyes him like he’s about to puke on her brand new Doc Martens again like last weekend. Holy shit, she should really get over it by now.

But Sirius is smart enough and tactful enough not to mention his thoughts on the matter, only smiles down at her with pure elation. “Marls, what if I said I had a brilliant idea to help our lovely GSA.”

“I’d accuse you to only doing it to try and get in Lupin’s pants since he’s our new VP.”

Sirius grapples for his chest, feigning indignant. “You pain me my old friend.”

Marlene snorts. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“That’s neither here nor there.”

“So are your chances with Lupin.”

“You’re a sick fuck McKinnon.”

“What do you want from me you gnat.”

“Let me help with the fundraiser.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll tell Lily to get Meadowes to notice you?”

Marlene glares at him now. “We’ve been fucking for like a month you prick.”

“Oh— Erm, then for some of that good old Bi unity?”

Marlene suddenly looks so very shrewd and Sirius hates how every fucking woman in his life could eat him whole for breakfast. “Absolutely not.”

“Fine, what the fuck do you want.”

“You cover Fabian’s costs for the goods  when we go to that rave for 2KBABY in January.”

“Eh, didn’t you guys use to fuck?”

“Yes. But I don’t see the connection?”

“He won’t even give you a discount on the good shit?”

“Oh he does,” she leers, blue eyes glinting wickedly in the hallway light. “But I’d rather see you pay full price for’m.”

Sirius glares down at her, and repeats himself.  “You. Are. A. Sick. Fuck.”

Marlene just lies back in her seat and returns to manicuring her nails. “Well if cheekbones isn’t worth the bother?”

“Fine,” Sirius all but growls out. “But we do this my way.”

“Scout’s honor handsome,” she absolutely beams, and Sirius reminds himself that this is all for Remus and that’s worth it at the end of the day.

.-

It’s a week later, right before Thanksgiving break hits, and Sirius is sat in front of the cafeteria, smirking at the line of mostly pink faced girls and a few others amongst their midst, who have all queued up in front of him. A dollar in each of their hands, though he does see that a few have fives and even tens or more, and he doesn’t know how to subtly tell them that all he’s promising is a quick peck of his lips, and absolutely no other groping— including of his legendary ass or admittedly perfect abs.

“You’re just really enjoying yourself, aren’t you.” James hisses besides him after the latest girl— a blonde sophomore who’s decked out in Lulu Lemon for their only non uniform day of the week— scurries off. “Just a ego trip.”

“Jealous Jamie darling?” Sirius boasts, tipping back on his chair while Marlene collects the cash from the next five in line so that they can clammer closer towards him.

“I can’t believe all of them want to kiss you,” Peter marvels, round eyes completely in aw. 

“I can’t believe you think this is how to get Remus’s attention,” Lily interjects huffily, lips set in a moody pout while perched on James’s lap to Sirius’s left.

“I bet you would’ve been in line if you weren’t dating Jamie here.” Sirius counters, smug as all get out, and laughing when all Lily deigns as a adequate response is her middle finger.

Sirius is on cloud nine. He can’t believe he didn’t think of this sooner! Remus loves all this shit, from the club to the charity. This is perfect! This basically guarantees that he’ll finally get a good smooch on him. And once their lips finally  touch, Remus will surely feel the swarm of butterflies in his gut just like in those Harleyquin romance novels his cousin Narcissa would always read with a dreamy look on her face during their various Family vacations.

“You’re not gonna get him this way.”

“He’s not gonna know what hit’m Evans,” Sirius retorts, completely self assured.

.-

One should never bet against Lily Marie Evans.

Sirius knows this now. But he still hates it with the passion of a thousand burning suns.

By the end of the lunch hour, Sirius’s earned over sixty bucks to the GSA’s fundraiser fund, and absolutely zero potential boyfriends who look like golden angels and make Sirius’s knees weak.

“I told you,” Lily says in that sing-song sort of voice that is so not appreciated right now. “Remus is not the type to kiss you in front of a huge crowd and after like a bunch of others. That’s not his style.”

Sirius is moody as all get out, and he’s irritated that he’s just wasted five dozen perfectly fine kisses on folks who aren’t Remus, so he doesn’t bother to hide his irritation when he gripes back at her, “Then tell me what the fuck is his style.”

Miraculously, that actually proved enough to get Lily to slow down her stroll, and cock her head curiously at him. “You actually care.”

“What the fuck have I been trying to tell you Evans!” He nearly shouts.

“I just thought— You know. That it was a game.”

Sirius’s face goes stoney, and he juts his chin away from her. “It’s not always a fucking game, all right. It’s not a game with him— I like him. I like Remus.”

“Oh,” Lily says very quietly, her face pulled in a thousand different directions before settling on something akin to solemn. “You should go to the music room for your free period today.”

Sirius quirks a brow at her, frowning while he asks, “Why?”

“Just trust me S,” she says, reaching over her hand to squeeze his forearm.

Sirius watches her walk off, hand in hand with James, and he feels a strange twisting to his heart when he imagines a very similar image— only with him and Remus and punctuated by plenty of kisses to the cheek, and jawline and lips too.

.-

The music room is towards the back of the school, in a separate building along with the theatre and main auditorium.

The early autumnal chill lashes against Sirius’s face while he makes the track to the room, continuously chanting to himself that he actually trusts Lily and this is gonna be worth it if there’s a merciful God up there.

Once Sirius clammers in doors, he rubs his cold hands together, and shakes out his hair. 

The first thing he hears is the soft strumming of a guitar, and finds himself in front of the music room after following its melodic toon. 

Through the window he can spot the form of Remus bent over the instrument, his thick curls getting in his eyes and his steady hands plucking a few chords as he sits cross legged atop the piano.

Sirius feels his heart lodging in his throat at the sight of him, so beautiful and perfect and warm looking in that scarlet sweater. And he knows in his bones that this is some sort of unspoken blessing that Lily’s given him, so with a deep breath, Sirius opens the door and strolls in.

Remus starts slightly, going flushed once his eyes catch on Sirius’s own.

“Oh Sirius,” he greets, the corners of his mouth tipping into a smile that doesn’t ring true. “You pulled away from the haram?”

“That’s a bit much? Calling them a haram,” Sirius says cooly, hitching up besides him and swinging his long legs. “I just did it to help you.”

“Oh— Yeah,” Remus nods. “The GSA appreciates all the help we can get.”  His words are quiet, and he’s rinsing a hand through his curls, so Sirius can tell that he’s a bit nervous. And it’s impossibly cute, but also not on. He doubts that he’ll ever get his kiss if Remus won’t even look at him in the eyes.

Gingerly, Sirius sets the pad of his pointer finger beneath Remus’s chin, lifting his gaze upwards. “Not the GSA— Though I appreciate the club’s work and your part in that.”

“Oh,” Remus says again, lips pursed and his throat pulsing when he swallows down. “Then—“

“I did it for you Remus,” Sirius repeats heatedly. “I did it because I’ve been mad for you since ever meeting you in August, and I can’t get your fucking face or name or lips or ass out of my head. And I thought that if maybe I pulled a dumb stunt like that, you would actually kiss me along with the lot of those idiots who can’t even hold a candle to you.”

“M—My ass?” Remus questions, voice going pitchy and face bright with emotion. 

Sirius laughs, booming and bombastic. “You have the best ass I’ve ever seen Remus Lupin and it’s really obscene.”

Remus shoulder checks him, looking down and then back up through his lashes at Sirius and it’s a sight Sirius wish he can keep with him for the rest of his days.

“So you thought I’d want our first kiss to happen after you’ve just made out with half the school?” 

Sirius grimaces, bending down so that their lips are only inches apart. “Listen, I can be a complete dumb ass on occasion.”

“Don’t forget arrogant.”

“Okay, fair.”

“And brash too.”

“Right.”

“Also you tend—“

Sirius places a soft hand over Remus’s supple lips, glaring teasingly at the other boy, who’s grinning like the cat who’s caught the canary, his eyes teeming with laughter. 

Remus Lupin is going to be the death of  him, Sirius knows it.

“Listen Lupin, I’d like a shred of self respect here, so I can actually muster up the courage to ask you out on a proper date already.”

Remus perks at that, so Sirius moves his grasp.

 “You wanna ask me out?”

“Depends…. You wanna continue that little rant until I’m blue balled and  gutless.”

“Hmm,” Remus inches closer, setting his hand over Sirius’s on the piano. “Nah, I think I’d rather do this.”

He leans forwards and Sirius barely has enough time to gather his bearings when he feels Remus’s mouth over his own and it’s literally every starlit promise and sugar burnt secret and sunlit afternoon all rolled into one. And Sirius feels his heart thud an uneven staccato when he grabs for either end of Remus’s waistline and plunges his tongue into his own and he lets himself get lost in the overwhelming feeling of it all.

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #MARAUDERS #HARRY POTTER SERIES #💜rj💜 #SPILT INK

[tobesolonely]

muse

A/n: hello everyone!! im very excited to put this out :-) i was going to make a long one shot but ive never written anything multi-part before and i wanted to give it a go!! also my first time with an oc 🌟so i hope everyone enjoys!! not sure when the next part will come out but i wanna upload at least once a week or every two weeks or something idk haha but anywayssss lmk ur thoughts!

biggest, biggest thank u to my love @harryysstyless​ for beta reading and being so encouraging<333 luv u!!

photographer oc x harry styles

please let me know your thoughts on miss aminah, iman, serena, and harry!

my ko-fi! thank you :)

Los Angeles was your newest muse.

You had always been the spontaneous type. It came as no shock to your family and friends when you told them you had purchased a one-way ticket and were moving across the country. Although your parents weren’t too keen on the idea of their daughter moving so far away from them, they helped you withdraw your savings and find a modest apartment in LA before sending you on your way.

Your reason for moving to LA was simple, really. You were a freelance photographer that felt your career was growing rather… stagnant. You had a thick portfolio and were proud of the work you produced, but your clientele wasn’t as impressive as you’d hope it would be after nearly six years of working at it.

And so began your desire to move from New York to Los Angeles— one big city to the next.

People who knew you often described you as ambitious, fiery, and an absolute go-getter. If your big move scared you in any way, no one knew any better. Your confidence never faltered— not even in the slightest.

After nearly three months of being in LA, you developed a routine of sorts. You’d wake up, eat a breakfast that almost always consisted of avocado toast and coffee, and go on a run. After your run, you would come home, shower, and decide how far you wanted to venture to take pictures that day.

Sometimes your roommates, Serena and Iman, would join you to keep you company. Although you’d never met either one of them before answering their ad for a roommate on Craigslist, you had grown extremely close to the girls in the few months that you’d known them. Despite the two girls being friends since their childhood, they never made you feel left out, and you fit in with them effortlessly.

During your short time in the city, there were so many places you had been, but still, even more you had yet to see. Serena and Iman, both native Angelenos, would often suggest spots for you to check out and even offer to drive you around— you were from New York after all, and at twenty-four years old, you were still not the owner of a driver's license.

“You’ve never been to North Hollywood yet, right Aminah?” Iman questioned as you all lounged around, trying to come up with a place you had not yet been.

“No, I haven’t really gone anywhere farther than walking distance,” you reply, looking around the cramped living room for your camera bag. “Or the places you guys have driven me. That was still considered Downtown though, right? Where we went the other day?” You were still getting used to how absolutely massive Los Angeles was.

“We should go to Santa Monica or something— wait, Malibu!” Serena exclaims. “We have to go to Malibu, Mina. It’s so nice there, you could totally get a bunch of good shots.”

“Yeah, we might even see a celebrity!” Iman chimes in, stifling laughter.

It was an on-going joke between the three of you. When you first moved to LA, you told your roommates that you couldn’t wait to make your way around the city because you were hoping to run into a celebrity. It was Los Angeles after all— you figured they were everywhere.

You quickly learned that wasn’t the case. Celebrities here kept a low-profile and even if you did encounter a celebrity, it’s not like you would approach them. “You’re not funny, Iman,” you tell your roommate with a roll of your eyes.

“Yes I am,” Iman quips, wiggling her eyebrows. “If we’re gonna go to Malibu then I gotta change. Can I borrow a cute shirt from anyone?”

A short twenty minutes later, the three of you were piled in Serena’s car on your way to Malibu. You’d heard of the city before and knew it was a wealthy area, but that’s about it. Your roommates promised you that out of all the beaches in LA, Malibu had the nicest ones, and lots of places to take pictures. Since none of you had anything to do, you all decided it was as good a day as any to have a beach day and get some shots of your roommates to add to your portfolio. Since you didn’t know anyone except Serena and Iman, the pictures on your camera from the last few months consisted entirely of nature and inanimate objects. While it was good practice, you really preferred to photograph actual people.

“Traffic is so bad today,” you say from the backseat after traveling approximately two feet in five minutes. Iman snorts from the passenger side.

“When isn’t traffic bad, Mina,” she turns to look at you, an amused look on her face. “Don’t worry about it. It always gets backed up at this fuckin’ exit and then as soon as we get past it there’s like, zero traffic.”

“Right! I always complain about how shitty this exit is. I have no clue who designed it,” Serena adds, skipping through songs on her playlist. “It’s still early in the day, though. I’m just hoping the beach won’t be too crowded by the time we get there.”

“I don’t care how crowded the beach is. I just don’t want it to take us forty minutes to find parking…”

You tune out your roommate's voices, instead choosing to focus on the traffic jam outside the car. To Serena and Iman, people who were born and raised in Los Angeles, the city wasn’t necessarily anything special. Sure, they loved how there was always something to do, but the bad drivers, traffic, and smog got old. The novelty of LA hadn’t yet worn off to you, though. You didn’t know how your roommates were content to sit inside the apartment all day when there were tons of things to do basically right outside your doorstep. You felt like you were the one convincing them to go out with you half of the time, and you didn’t even know where you were going.

After what feels like almost entirely too long but was really only half an hour, Serena pulls into a fairly empty parking lot. “Are we not allowed to be here?”

“Why do you think that?” Iman asks, squinting her eyes to read a sign. “It doesn’t say it’s closed. I mean, there are a few cars–– look.” She points to a few cars scattered around the parking lot.

“I mean, it is nine in the morning on a Wednesday. People are probably at work,” you tell the two girls in the front seat. “Besides, there’s someone in the parking booth. Can you even close a beach?”

Serena drives forward, rolling down her window. “I mean, I guess not. You can close the parking lot, though.” You hum in agreement. She quickly pays for parking and tosses her receipt on the dashboard before driving slowly through the parking lot.

“I love when no one’s at the beach,” Iman sighs, clapping her hands. “No one will get in the way of your picture-taking either, Meens.”

You smile at the nickname. “Yeah, that’s true. We picked a perfect time to come too, guys. The lighting’s great.”

“Really? Is it gonna make my skin pop?” Iman turns around and sticks her arm out, sensually running her fingers along it.

“You always look good no matter what the lighting’s like, Iman,” you reply, refraining from rolling your eyes at her. “You have the glowiest complexion out of all of us.”

“We’re literally all the same skin-tone, Aminah,” she retorts, crossing her arms.

“We have different undertones, though,” you answer. “So not really. Plus, Serena is way lighter than us! What are you talking about?”

“Should I park here?” Serena asks, interrupting your conversation.

“Why here? All these empty spots and you wanna park directly next to this car?”

“This is a good spot, Iman. It’s a parking lot. If they didn’t want anyone to park next to them, they should’ve taken an Uber and got dropped off.” She turns into the spot, quickly putting the car in park and crossing her arms to prove her point.

You unbuckle your seatbelt, smiling at your friends’ bickering. They were so close they were basically sisters. They argued sometimes and were quick to call the other out on their shit, and you loved it.

“I just think you’re weird for parking next to this car. It’s a nice car.”

“Who cares, girl?” Serena groans, exasperated. “We’re gonna be on the beach. They’ll probably be gone before we will.” She pops the trunk before unplugging her phone from the aux cord and stepping outside. Iman mimics her before flinging the door open as well and stepping out of the car.

You make sure your camera bag is closed all the way before situating it over your shoulder and climbing out of the car as well.

“It’s kinda cold,” Iman says, wrapping her arms around her body. “If I knew it would be so overcast I would’ve bought a jacket.” Serena hums in agreement and you look up at the sky, unphased.

“It’s like, seventy degrees?” you look at the weather app on your phone in confirmation.

“We get it, Meens. You’re from New York,” Serena teases, closing her trunk. She hands you a few towels and a blanket to carry while she rolls the cooler and Iman carries the beach chairs and umbrella.

“It’s a cold seventy degrees and you know it,” Iman defends. “Look at my goosebumps. I can’t fake this shit.” You shake your head at your overly dramatic friends and follow them down to the beach. You take off your sandals as soon as you’re off the pavement, wiggling your toes in the cold sand.

“We can set up pretty much wherever we want,” Serena points out, tucking flyaway curls behind her ears. “Where do you think the best place to be is, Mina? Y’know, so you can get good pictures?”

“It doesn’t really matter, to be honest,” you tell them distractedly, too busy looking around the beach in awe. Your friends were right–– out of all the beaches you’d visited in Los Angeles so far, this one was the nicest (and cleanest). “Maybe we can get a little closer to the water?”

The three of you walk for a couple of minutes before Iman abruptly stops, dramatically dropping everything she was carrying. “Let’s just set up here. There’s no one around anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

“There actually is someone around,” you tell them, looking at a stranger who seemed to be fixated on staring at you and your friends. “Don’t look, but a cute guy is staring at us.” Serena and Iman immediately turn around, shading their eyes from the bit of sun that was starting to peek through the clouds. The guy couldn’t have been more than twenty yards away from where you were setting up.

...“Huh,” Serena says, turning back around. “Is it just me, or does that guy look a lot like Harry Styles?” She looks back over her shoulder again, but he’s no longer staring at the three of you, focusing on what appeared to be a book instead.

“Why would Harry Styles be at the beach by himself at nine in the morning?” Iman asks, unfolding a beach chair and flopping down on it.

“Why wouldn’t he? It’s Malibu, dude,” Serena responds. You could tell your friends were about to start bickering again, so you quickly jump in.

“Doesn’t matter. Neither one of you would go up to him even if it was, so what’s the point in arguing about it?” They both raise their eyebrows at you.

“And you would, Mina? Bullshit!” Iman exclaims, laughing. “I dare you to go see if it’s him, and if it is, ask him if he wants to join us.”

“That’s weird! What if it’s not him?”

“Even if it’s not him, we’ll still get to hang out with a cute boy.” Iman points out. Serena nods in agreement and you can’t deny that she makes a convincing argument. “Just ask him if he wants a mimosa or something!”

“No, don’t ask that,” Serena interjects. “Tell him that you’re a photographer and you’re working on building a new portfolio. Ask him if he would be cool with you photographing him.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Are you sure that’s not weird, Serena?”

“Aminah, trust me. I wouldn’t deliberately let you make yourself look weird.” Your roommate reassures you.

And so you found yourself clearing the short distance to where the handsome stranger was laid, half hoping it was Harry Styles, half hoping it was not. You couldn’t act like you weren’t a fan of him–– you thought he was incredibly attractive and enjoyed his music just like most people. If Harry Styles was the first celebrity you encountered during your short time in Los Angeles, you‘d never stop talking about it. Ever.

When you’re almost to him he looks up, dog-earring the page he’s on. After making eye contact with him, there’s no mistaking that this is Harry Styles. You pinch the back of your hand, urging yourself not to freak out. He has a knowing look on his face and you’re grateful for your darker complexion that hides your blush.

“Hi,” you speak first, stopping a few feet away from him. “Uh, my friends and I are just uh, we’re... you know.” You internally wince at your inability to form a coherent sentence. His gaze never breaks from yours and you look away first, growing shyer by the second. If you thought he was beautiful on Instagram, he was even more gorgeous in person. It was incredible.

“Hi,” he finally says after a brief moment of silence. “‘M sorry if I was starin’ at you ladies a moment ago. I jus’ usually never see anyone else this early out here. Are you a photographer?”

You almost ask him how he knows when you realize your camera is still hanging around your neck. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I am.” He’s still staring intently at you.

“Would you like to sit?”

You look over your shoulder at Serena and Iman who were pretending to be preoccupied putting on sunscreen, but you know they were waiting for you to come back with the man you now knew to be Harry Styles.

“Oh, my friends are waiting for me,” Harry looks up at you patiently, waiting for you to continue speaking. “I was actually going to photograph them. I’m working on building up my portfolio. I understand if you can’t for… I dunno, legal reasons? Or if you just don’t want to–– and that’s fine if you don’t, but would it be okay if I photographed you as well?”

“That actually sounds like a lot of fun. It’s kinda boring jus’ readin’ out here on my own,” he agrees quickly, surprising you. Harry stands up and stretches a bit before leaning down to gather up his blanket, towel, water bottle, and book. “What’s your name? I’m Harry.”

You know that Harry knows that you know exactly who he is, but the fact that he introduced himself to you makes him even more endearing. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Aminah.”

Harry extends his free hand to you. “It’s very nice to meet you, Aminah.” You love the way your name sounds coming out of his mouth.

As you approach Serena and Iman, their eyes go wide when they realize it really was him. Serena nudges Iman and you know without even having heard it that she’s saying, “I told you so!” Harry stops a bit behind you, smiling at them.

“Hello,” he starts. “S’okay if I join you ladies? Aminah here extended such a nice offer that I jus’ couldn’t pass it up, but wanna check with the two of you first.”

Serena’s mouth is shamelessly hanging open, and you realize that she may have been a bigger fan than she let on. Iman answers for them. “Of course! Mina’s building her portfolio and I bet it would look like, super cool, if you were a part of it!” Harry nods, setting the few things he had with him down.

“I don’t think I would even be the center of attention if ‘m sittin’ beside you beautiful ladies. I’ll jus’ act as a prop or something,” he flashes them a dimpled smile. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are your names? I’m Harry.”

“We know,” Iman answers a little too quickly. “I’m Iman and this is Serena.” Serena gives him a timid wave.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you all. Are you guys from around here?” He lays his blanket beside all of your stuff and sits down cross-legged, not once breaking eye contact with any of you. You had no idea how he did it.

“We live Downtown. We’re only over here so Mina could get some good pictures, she’s a photographer,” Iman answers proudly. “She’s amazing, but she’ll never admit it.”

“Iman…,” you trail off. “Stop, dude.”

“It’s true,” Serena jumps into the conversation, now seemingly over the initial shock of who was sitting barely two feet away from her. “She’s the best photographer I know.” Harry turns to look at you, an amused look on his face.

“That’s a hefty claim. I can’t wait to see your photography skills, Aminah.”

“They’re just hyping me up,” you reply, making a mental note to yell at your friends for embarrassing you once the three of you were alone again. “I’m not that good.”

“That looks pretty professional to me,” Harry says, gesturing to the camera that has not yet left your neck since arriving at the beach. “I bet you’re just as good as they say you are.” You look away, hiding your face. Iman, being the wing woman she is, can tell you’re growing flustered from all the attention and moves the conversation away from you.

“Do any of y’all want a mimosa?” Before anyone can even answer her, she’s popping open the champagne and handing the orange juice to Serena to open. Harry politely declines, as he drove himself to the beach that morning. You and Iman are ultimately the only ones who indulge in a drink since you were the only ones not driving.

Talking to Harry was like catching up with an old friend. He wanted to know everything about the three of you and whenever he felt the conversation was becoming too much about him, he quickly changed the subject. Harry learned that Iman and Serena have been friends since the second grade when Iman pushed some boy off of the monkey bars for teasing Serena. He learned your favorite take-out spots, your favorite bars, and what freeways Iman and Serena tried to avoid at all cost (it was the 405, which he agreed with). What seemed to intrigue Harry the most, though, was him learning that you just moved from New York and had never even been to Los Angeles before moving.

“Why did you pick somewhere all the way across the country that you’d never even vacationed at before?” He had a look of confusion written across his face. You shrug, not really knowing the answer.

“I mean, I’ve seen it on TV shows and in movies. That doesn’t count?” you joke. Harry still looks utterly bewildered.

“I mean… no?”

Serena laughs. “We were just as confused as you were, Harry. We were scared for a moment when she moved in because we were like, oh shit, what if she’s insane? You know? Like, what sane person would move all the way across the country to live somewhere they’d never even vacationed before?”

You let out an offended, “heyyyy”, lightly smacking Serena’s thigh. “I just needed a change and I’m a drastic person! I either go all-in when I do something, or I just don’t do it at all.” You defend yourself.

“I actually think that’s really fuckin’ cool,” Harry says after a moment. “Sometimes I wish I could just… up an’ go. Y’know?” you all nod, and it falls silent again. “Well, should we take some pictures now?”

Any intimidation you felt to photograph Harry disappeared as soon as he started posing for you.

Being that he was a major celebrity, he was no stranger to posing for a photoshoot. Harry was ethereal–– you knew the pictures of him would most likely require minimal to no editing. Serena and Iman also looked incredible, and you were thankful to have such gorgeous people as your muses. You were taking pictures of them in various places around the beach, only stopping once it started getting too crowded. There were starting to be too many people in the background of your shots and Harry wanted to get going, not particularly in the mood to be recognized. The three of you decide you should get going too. You had more than enough pictures to go through and besides, you were all starting to grow hungry.

Harry follows the three of you to the parking lot, keeping his head down the entire way. The closer you got to Serena’s car, the sadder you got. You didn’t want to stop talking to Harry and photographing him. However, you knew you were just in the right place at the right time, and it was likely that you’d never cross paths with him any time soon–– if ever again.

“Thank you for letting me photograph you,” you tell him sincerely once you were almost to Serena’s car. “That was really kind of you. I can promise you I won’t post them anywhere without your permission or like, disclose the location or anything like that.”

Harry finally looks up, determining you were far enough away from the crowds and he was no longer at risk of getting recognized. “It was my pleasure, really. Thank you for inviting me to hang out with you and your friends. It was a lot of fun getting to know you all.” You feel your body heat up.

“Where did you park?”

“Right there,” Harry points straight ahead. “You?”

You let out a loud laugh, causing Serena and Iman, who was walking slightly ahead of you and Harry, to turn around and look at the two of you. “We parked right next to you! Iman was getting on Serena for parking next to you because the lot was pretty much empty when we got here this morning.”

Harry lets out a breathy chuckle. “I guess it’s fate that we crossed paths then, yeah?” You let out a quiet hum in agreement, stopping a few feet in front of Serena’s car. You hear her and Iman debating on where you should stop for lunch, but you were waiting to see what Harry would say next.

“Aminah? After you get a chance to look at those pictures, do you think you can send them to my manager? His name’s Jeff. I’d love to see how they come out.”

“Oh yeah, of course! Do you have his business card or something?” You were excited that Harry actually cared to see your work but based on the couple of hours you spent interacting with him, you learned he was just an overall insanely kind person.

“I can jus’ put his contact info in your phone? If you don’t mind,” his gaze falters, a sheepish look on his face.

“Totally! Let me just unlock my phone,” you dig in the pocket of your shorts, pulling your phone out and unlocking it with your face. You hand it over to him and while he’s looking down typing you glance over at your roommates who had shocked looks on their faces. You would explain to them later that he wasn’t giving you his number, just his managers, but for now, you’d let them think he was giving his number to you out of all people–– a total stranger.

Harry hands it back to you a few moments later, running his fingers through his hair. “Thank you again for such a great morning, Aminah. I’ll let you get goin’, don’t wanna hold you ladies up any longer,” he waves at Serena and Iman. “It was really nice to meet all of you. Hope to see you all again soon.” You notice that his gaze lingers on you for a moment when he says that, and you feel your body heat up for what must have been at least the tenth time that day.

The three of you watch as Harry unlocks his car and throws his items haphazardly into the passenger side before climbing in, slamming the door shut. His car starts immediately afterwards and he gives you a quick nod before quickly backing out of the spot, leaving. None of you say anything for a bit, just processing what just happened. Serena is the first one to speak, her hand on the handle of her car door.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Harry fucking Styles?” her voice raises at least two octaves and you know she’s about to have a mini freakout. “Did he ask for your number, Meens?”

“No dude, he just gave me his manager's number. He wants to see how the pictures come out after I edit them,” you tell her, opening the backseat of her car. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Uh, that’s definitely a big deal, Aminah. Stop being so humble,” Iman tells you, exaggerated annoyance lacing her voice. “Did you see how he looked at you? When he said, ‘Hope to see you all again soon’?” She puts on a terrible posh accent.

“You’re so annoying,” you groan, shaking out the blanket and beach towels before throwing them onto the seat. “Where are we gonna eat?”

Iman and Serena pile into the car as well, telling you about the three restaurants they were stuck choosing between. You hum distractedly, typing the name ‘Jeff’ into your contacts to see if Harry left a number and an email, or just an email. Your brows furrowed in confusion when you see the name is nowhere to be found in your contact list. You chalk up the mistake to Harry just forgetting to press ‘save’ after creating the contact and figure you can just find his manager’s contact information on the internet somewhere. As you’re scrolling back up through your contact list, your eye lands on a name that makes your breath hitch in your throat.

Harry Styles.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles x oc #harry styles one shot #uhhh idk what else to tag this #enjoy!!

[catxsnow]

CIRCUS FREAK D.G.

Request: okay so i was listening to rewrite the stars and got the idea where the reader is a socialite from a very wealthy family, and she fell for dick grayson but her family doesn't approve because he's not a real wayne/rich. so can i request that? thank you once again!!���❤️

Warning: swears, having really shitty parents

A/N: That gif just melts my heart every time I see it. 

Word Count: 2k

Dick Grayson was an unexpected surprise in your life.

Your parents were the kind of people that expected you to marry a literal prince. They wanted you to continue the family legacy of money, power, and popularity. Generations of marrying important figures to keep the family name from being tainted. Your family took pride in their place in the world.

When they moved to Gotham, there was only one family that was going to be good enough for your parents: The Wayne's. Bruce Wayne was the richest person in the city - maybe even the entirety of the country. When you parents wiggled their way into his life and to his famous gala's, you were to be dragged along as well.

Your parents pointed out dozens of rich men, those who owned big businesses or were part of world affairs. They wanted you to talk to them, date them, and eventually marry one of them. It wasn't those snobby men that you were intrigued by. It was the man across the room with a genuine smile.

At the time you weren't aware that this was Bruce's oldest adopted son. He didn't seem like the rest. Dick wasn't trying to prove his worth by being there, in fact it almost seemed like he didn't want to be there at all. Behind his smile, you could see that he had places he'd rather be - but his kindness to others never faltered.

Out of all the people in that room, he was the only one that you wanted to talk to.

Dick felt your eyes on him. He looked up from the person he was having a conversation with and gazed at you from across the room. A smile lit up his face at the sight of how stunning you looked. He no longer cared about the man he was chatting with - he wanted to go talk to you instead.

That was how you met the love of your life. The second that he asked you to dance, you knew that you never wanted to let him go. You danced your heart away that night, twirling and spinning until your legs were ready to give out on you. Being with Dick... it was like floating in the stars.

You met with him again and again after that night. Every meet up seemed to last shorter than the previous, you never seemed to get enough time with him. There weren't enough hours in the day for you to be with Dick as much as you wanted to. He had cut down on his over time at work, even patrol to be with you.

He was in love.

You weren't like the rest of the snobby rich, young adults that attended these gala's. Unlike so many of these families that just wanted to make money, you wanted to make the world a better place. Dick respected that about you. While you were both trying to change the world in different ways, it seemed to bring you closer together.

Bruce knew who you were. He was aware of your parents and their appearance in Gotham. Thinking like a business man, he assumed that you were only interested in Dick for the money in his name. Upon meeting you, he could clearly see that wasn't the case at all. You were completely head over heels for him.

The issue arose when Dick was meant to meet your parents for the first time. Every man that you had brought home to them wasn't good enough. They drove him away until you were left heartbroken. As the son of Bruce Wayne, you assumed that they would approve of him. Even so, Dick was brave enough to stick around through your parents wrath.

Dick was dressed in his best suit. You were looped around his arm in your best clothes as well. The two of you stood outside the doors of the fanciest restaurant in the city. Your parents were already inside and waiting upon the two of you. Dick leaned down to give you a quick peck on the lips.

"Stop worrying so much."

"Aren't I supposed to be telling you that?" You chuckled. Dick rolled his eyes and led you through the doors. Truth be told, he wasn't nervous. Throughout all his years, he had impressed every set of parents that he met. Yours couldn't be that different. "Just... don't think of me differently after today, okay?"

"I would never, my love," Dick assured. You switched from having your arm around his to intertwining your hands. The server led you towards the table your parents were sitting in. They looked to be in a good mood. Hopefully they would keep it up when you arrived with Dick.

Dick Grayson should have been nervous. After knowing you this past half a year, he didn't think that anyone related to you could be cruel. You were the kindest person that he had ever met, always worried about everyone around you before yourself. He assumed that it was your parents that raised you like that.

He was wrong, very wrong. Your parents seemed to be angered the second that you two sat down at the table. Dick was on his best behavior. He made sure to give the biggest smile, shook their hands, and referred to them with the utmost respect. It didn't seem to matter, the second they laid eyes on him they weren't impressed.

When you told your mother that you were bringing a Wayne to dinner, they assumed you meant a real Wayne - not an adopted one. Bruce was far too old for you, Damian far too young. Tim was the one that they were expecting, even if he was considerably younger than you as well. Even if he wasn't a real Wayne, he was the one to run WE.

Dick Grayson was nothing but a circus freak.

A boy who was born from poor parents and grew up in the circus. He was the exact opposite of what your parents wanted of you. Even with being adopted by Bruce, it wasn't enough for them. You were tired of pleasing your parents. Dick was the love of your life, you knew it in less than a year of being with him.

"You're lucky Bruce Wayne adopted you. I suppose living in a circus you had no where to go but up," Your mother spoke. She sipped her wine, acting as if what she had said was a compliment. Dick's eyes widened in shock but he remained quiet.

"You're not a real Wayne, though, right? Like Bruce's inheritance isn't going to go to you, it'll go to his youngest, the blood son?" Your father pitched in. "(Y/N) are you sure you want this one? What about the other, the one running Bruce's company - at least he has something going for him."

"That's enough!" You raised your voice. Your parents were not-so-subtle about their dislike towards Dick. They shamed his upbringing, saying that he was lucky to be taken in by Bruce rather than continue his life in the circus. Though you knew their words hurt him, he stayed calm throughout the matter.

You on the other hand, couldn't hear anymore of it. "Who the fuck do you think you are to say those things? Huh? You're nothing but snobbish pricks who only want me to marry for money! I'm sick of it! I'm sick of seeing you on your high fucking horse thinking you're better than everyone!

"I'm ashamed to call you my parents. You don't care about Gotham or your own daughter! You only care about yourselves and money. Have fun being fucking miserable, I'm not putting up with your shit any longer. Never again."

The restaurant had gone silent. All eye were on your table, listening in to the scene that you were causing. Your parents sat there in shock. you had never showed any signs of aggression like that before. Not once in your life had you went against them so fiercely and so publicly. Unfortunately, they blamed this attitude on Dick.

Before they could say anything about your outburst, you grabbed Dick's hand and nearly dragged him out of the restaurant. You were beyond angry. So full of rage, humiliation, even guilt. You so desperately wanted this dinner to go well and it had gone anything but. Dick finally stopped you from racing back towards his car.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as he looked down to you. Without hesitating, he pulled you into a much needed hug. You sobbed into his chest, your heart aching for the words that your parents said to him. He didn't deserve that, any of it. Dick was too polite to stand up against strangers like that - especially when they were your parents.

"I'm sorry," You whispered. Dick kissed the top of your head before wiping away your tears. When you asked him not to judge you for your parents, he never thought you would mean to this extreme. Still, he kept with his promise. You weren't your parents, you were nothing like them.

"Don't be," Dick assured. He had gone through far worse things than some angry parents. He got broken, battered, and bruised every week - a few hurtful words shouldn't have fazed him. But seeing you so upset because you cared this deeply about him? That broke his heart far more than what your parents said about him.

"My parents are horrible people. They've always only cared about keeping the family name as an important figure. I've pretty much would be stuck in an arranged marriage if they got what they wanted," You squeezed your eyes shut, remembering the hurt looks on Dick's face as they spoke poorly about him.

Dick didn't know what to say. To be honest, he was still in shock over the events that had just happened between you and your parents. Firstly with how horrible they were, and secondly, how quick you were to stand up for him. You had only known him for six months and you were willing to throw away your relationship with you parents for him.

Realizing just how committed you were to this relationship sparked something in him. He knew that he loved you, and even if it was a relatively short time together with you, he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. Dick was completely and utterly in love with you.

"You're not a freak, Dick," you continued as he didn't speak. Without him saying what was on his mind you were left to believe that he was thinking the worst. He no longer wanted to be with, he didn't love you anymore. It broke you to think like that, you would do anything to change it. "You're not a Wayne, you're a Grayson. A Flying Grayson, that's the man that I love."

"I love you," Dick finally spoke his mind. Relief flooded you; that was what you wanted to hear. "You aren't your parents, I see that more than ever now. Just like how I'm not Bruce. We're meant to be our own people, to live and grow and discover who we really are. Right now, I know that I'm meant to grow with you."

"You make me a better person every day, Dick Grayson," You smiled up at him. Dick pulled you closer by your hips and lowered his lips to yours. He didn't care about the random people walking by you or the sound of car horns in the background, you were all that mattered.

It didn't matter if you parents didn't approve of him. He had your heart, and you hoped that he never let it go.

#dickgrayson #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #nightwing #nightwing imagine #nightwing oneshot #batfam #batfam x reader #batfam imagine #batfam one shot #dc imagine #dc one shot #dc #fluff #angst #fanfic #fic

[neonponders]

👀 👀 👀 👀  Oh jesus oh lord. Deeper Than Skin is finished so I’ll enable another wip.

@ghostofjellyfishforgotten I hope you don’t mind me using your tags on this vampire!Billy / blood donor!Steve post as inspiration! Your brain is just too big for me not to pass up an opportunity to write vampire shenanigans.

Read on ao3 ~

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

Steve didn’t judge people who worked as donors—

Fine, as an adult with a better awareness and compassion, Steve didn’t judge donors. He might’ve said some shitty things to Jonathan Byers when he worked to make his family extra money.

Honestly? Steve admired that. Jonathan being underage and having the guts to figure out how to get into the donation clinic, and then to let…

Steve knew he was a coward in a lot of ways. He knew it when he called Jonathan a queer who enjoyed leeches sucking on him. He knew it when he lost to the punches Byers threw. For a skinny, half empty blood bag, the guy could really hit. And Steve knew it when he almost ran away from Nancy and Jonathan fighting off the rogue vampire who kidnapped little Will Byers.

But Steve didn’t run away.

Just like he didn’t run away from the couch he sat on with his mother while his father explained…a situation that left Steve digging deeper and deeper into the gap between fear and bravery. Maybe call it disassociation. Or confused shock.

“You what?”

Harrington senior never took well to being interrupted. But he sighed from across the coffee table and reiterated, “The family is in debt.”

“No. You. You’re in debt. This is your problem.”

The man certainly didn’t take well to having his own mistakes shoved under his nose. “This isn’t for debate. This is the way things are and need to be.”

“No,” Steve repeated like a broken record clinging onto its song. “This is your fault. Who’s made me work minimum wage jobs to teach me a lesson? Who’s refused to pay for me to go to community college? Who hasn’t let me work in their company? And who made the shitty gambles with your company’s stocks? You shoved me out, so it’s definitely not my problem—”

“The contract has already been signed.”

Now his mother shifted her posture on the couch beside him. “Excuse me?”

Steve’s father moved his blunt nails over the armrest of his wingback, fidgeting. At least something put fear into the old bastard’s heart.

“There’s nothing I could do. The market has been evolving ever since vampires gained their rights and opened up their decades and centuries old bonds—”

“Vampire legislation passed over a century ago,” Mrs. Harrington purred. Sometimes the worst anger was the quiet kind. “You have no excuse. You lost the game, and you sold our son. Is that what we’re to believe?”

“That’s not possible,” Steve intercepted. “Slavery isn’t a thing anymore. Even I picked that up in history. And I would have to be there to sign the contract! It’s my—”

“Steve,” his father silenced. “When enough money is involved, anything is bought. And you’re not like anyone else.”

Mrs. Harrington fumed, “Do not talk to him like he’s a prize pony!”

“Except to a wealthy vampire, he is.”

Steve could only sit in weighted silence for a moment. He always joked to himself that he’d be disowned one of these days. For being a disappointment. For all of his bad grades. For giving his friends alcohol and cigarettes. For only being able to get jobs that required no qualifications or experience level at all. For discovering he liked kissing boys at the grimy music venues Robin took him to. Maybe living at home for too long. Or leaving the smell of burnt pancakes in the air too often because he always struggled with the first one—

“Vampire?” he croaked. For some reason it hadn’t dawned to him until now but…shit.

Holy shit.

Steve wasn’t being sold off to be some billionaire’s secretary for life. He was being…truly sold. Like…goodbye, Steve, who likes spring nights and summer mornings. His favorite food is breakfast and he wishes he kept with the music lessons his mom paid for instead of being peer pressured into sports. Whose best friend was Robin Buckley because she was brave and funny and stuck with him during his ironic and a little bit terrifying queer awakening…

Hello, Donor 0235. Blood type O. Allergic to nickel and checks off all vaccination requirements.

“Steve’s not wrong,” his mother echoed like a voice deep in a cave, drawing Steve out of his thoughts. “He is the one to sign the contract. Not you.”

“He is still classified as our dependent and on our insurance,” his father refused.

“So being an adult means nothing in this country?”

“They have our family records, Annette!” he exclaimed. “There is a dual government in this country even if nobody below upper-middle class sees it. The human government had to cede a great deal because the vampire population is massive. And they’ve kept track of all the Sanguis families! Name changes, and two World Wars did nothing to save us—”

“The what?” Steve all but whispered.

His mother rotated her hips to face him. “We only have legends about how it happened. Paleolithic gods making deals, vampires crossbreeding humans to make a certain kind of blood donor, human evolution after symbiotic deals were struck—but that doesn’t matter. The point is that there are people in this world with abilities that preserve themselves against vampires. That’s why you healed in less than two days after that silly fight by the movie theatre.”

His father intercepted, “The genes skipped your mother but fell to you.”

Steve’s eyes widened as his mother confirmed, “To protect us, girls have been promoted in the family tree for generations. Through marriage, their names could change, and make them harder to track.”

Steve countered toward his father, “So this really isn’t your place to sign my life away. Like five times over.”

“I quite agree,” his mother turned back to the man she’d married. The man who was supposed to protect her and her children with his name and promising, growing business.

At least Steve wasn’t the only failure in the family.

His father massaged his forehead and defended, “As I said. Humans’ government is far easier to corrupt our way into forgiving any debt. The vampires, however, are inconsolable. The bastard would have my business, the cars, our house, and taken his time discovering Steve on his own if I hadn’t—”

Steve took after his father, but he was his mother’s son as they both stood up from the couch, furious that this man had thrown his own kid under a vampire’s bus—

“Get out of the house, Steve.”

His head whipped around at her. “I-What?”

“Get out of the house,” she seethed, but not at him. “I don’t care where or what you do. Go.”

Steve didn’t need to be told twice but he hadn’t managed to grab his car keys or his shoes before the house and his ribcage trembled with his parents’ arguing. He went in his socks outside and put the shoes on in his car.

Then…he didn’t know where to go. Running the hell away seemed like the obvious solution, but if vampires really had such a network, what was the point? And if he left, what would happen to his mom?

Steve drove on autopilot to the video rental store. Robin. All he had was Robin, who took the lollipop out of her mouth when the bell on the door twittered. “Hey, dingus, it’s your day off—Steve?”

He couldn’t really remember driving. That probably should have raised more red flags than he already had, but for now, the black and neon carpeting of the Family Video was blurring and swirling…

“I’m gonna throw up,” he heard himself say.

And Robin in that distant, echoing cave his mother had spoken from, “Outside! STEVE!”

#harringrove #vampire!billy #blood donor!steve #sanguis #neonponders #pondermoniums #ghostofjellyfishforgotten

[mourntheantagonist]

Have it Your Way

HWOL Day 2 Prompt: Overstimulation

Rating: E

Word Count: 4.2k

warnings for referenced underage sex with adults and homophobic language

read on ao3

Billy was always seeking out just a fast and easy release. A quick fuck in an alley outside or blowjobs in the bathroom stalls with whatever guy was eyeing him at the other side of the bar. Usually just two closet cases out for the night to earn the sweet release they were desperate for before they performed the same walk of shame back to their shitty lives in their heteronormative world, hitting on girls and becoming overcompensating womanizers.

At least that was the case for Billy Hargrove. Forgoing feelings and foreplay for the feeling of a cock in his ass as he’s fucked senselessly into a brick wall next to trash filled dumpsters, but only smelling the rich scent of cheap cologne and sweat. A much preferred alternative to the delicate fragrances and cleanliness he was supposed to enjoy. The perfume that always made the dissociation and imagination wear off when he was fucking girls at parties in the host’s parents bedroom, making sure partygoers heard the moans and groans to keep up appearances. Have a reputation like Billy’s and nobody would ever question his early departures. Nobody ever knew what he did for the after party.

California was easy. Getting his hands on a guy who just wanted to fuck was as simple as walking three miles to whatever run down gaybar that would let the pretty underaged boy in through the doors with just the flash of his devilish smile. He never walked home empty handed, just the signature limp of someone who took it a little too rough that night. Men twice his age were always buying him drinks and flirting with him at the bar, he could have anyone he damn well pleased. It was easy, simple, and honestly super fucking convenient. Free booze followed by a no strings attached hook-up with his pick of the litter. No names were exchanged, rarely even words at all. Just telling movements of the eyes and sounds of heavy breathing and moaning that echoed alongside others who found their way into the men’s room. Two, or even three pairs of feet seen underneath the gap of each stall. Panting and releasing expletives as the doors rattled from bodys that were slammed against locked doors.

California was easy.

Indiana was not.

Especially not Hawkins of all places. One bar in the entire town that was most certainly not his kind of bar. No clubs no anything. Release wasn’t three miles away anymore, it was a hundred miles away. But that was Neil’s plan all along wasn’t it? Drag his no good queer son across the country to the most conservative town he could find on the map, where if there even were gay people around they were so far deep into the closet they couldn’t even see daylight.

But there had to be somebody right? There had to be someone. Else Billy might completely explode. Already beginning his reputation building by fucking the first girl who showed interest in the backseat of the Camaro in the school parking lot. With no quickie in a back alley to follow it up, he was left keyed up and desperate and his hand and a mag could only do so much before he completely lost his mind.

Especially when people like Steve fucking Harrington existed. Back in California he never let himself look at another classmate like that. They were off limits. He had the means he needed there and didn’t need to steal looks in the showers or get a little too handsy during gym. But that’s all he’s got. All he had was the glorious feeling of his dick rubbing up against Steve’s ass in tight green shorts as he boxed him out, and the stolen glances of his soft dick as water cascaded down his body and dripped from the tip. Manifesting his entire will to keep his dick down and tamed while he burned the whole sight into his long term memory. Saving it for his sock later.

Billy was correct to assume Hawkins, Indiana wasn’t like California. It was quiet and quaint, but he was wrong to assume he’d entered the land of purity. Small town folks were just as freaky as the people living it up in the city, they were just more quiet about it. Playing the long game to pick up on certain traits and actions before making a move because house parties weren’t gay bars where everyone was already on the same page. It was a game of needle in a haystack. And Billy guesses he finally put out enough clues to be found.

By Steve fucking Harrington of all people.

What Billy didn’t yet realize when he was cornered into an empty bedroom at some random junior house party was that Steve may have found his needle in a haystack, but Billy, he had struck gold.

The door was slammed closed by the force of Billy’s weight as Steve gripped the collar of his shirt and pushed him back against it. Lips slamming into his with bruise inducing force that had Billy almost sinking to the floor. Breath caught in his throat and his only reaction was to pull Steve’s body in closer by the tug of his belt loops so he could feel the dick he so perfectly memorized pressed up against his own through multiple layers of clothing. His jeans were already growing tighter and it hadn’t even been a minute.

How was he already this damn hard?

And now Steve had felt it and it was his own damn fault that he did.

“Already huh?”

Instead of trying to hide it, he just pulls his hips even closer and jerks his pelvis forward against Steve’s. Snaking a hand around to grab at Steve’s ass through his jeans, imagining he was wearing those same little green shorts he wore during P.E.

“Are we gonna do this or not?” Billy asked, in a deep and husky voice, noses nearly touching, eyes half lidded.

“Oh we’re doing this, but we’re doing this my way.”

His way? Well count Billy as intrigued.

“I’m versatile if that’s what you want to know.”

Steve huffed out a laugh and twisted a finger into Billy’s curls.

“Oh I already know you can take, I wasn’t worried about that.” Billy eyed him, wondering exactly what vibe he gave off to make that something he was so sure of. Instead of questioning it for long, he let his hand snake back around to the front of Steve’s jeans and tug down at his belt buckle, leading Steve to grip him by the wrist and pull his hand away.

“Not so fast. My way.”

“Well fuck pretty boy, get on with it then.”

He expects Steve to pull him back away from the door, secure the lock, and toss him onto the strangers bed. All mean and rough just like what he was used to. Completely have his way with him, take his ability to walk and leave him there naked on the bed as he recovered. And he would be completely happy with that. Elated even. Just another hook-up like all the others.

What he doesn’t expect is for Steve to start kissing him again. A hand cradling his jaw as he slowly moves his lips against his, a striking change from his little introduction. This one was soft and gentle and completely unlike any kiss he’s ever had before. The closest comparisons that came to mind were the ones with girls and those were different in the fact that this one in particular was actually enjoyable. And he allowed himself to enjoy it. Allowed himself to take part in something he never had the chance to receive. A solid lead up, the full exposition and rising action instead of skipping straight to the climax. It was weird and foreign but not totally unpleasant.

He could honestly do this for hours if he wasn’t so painfully hard and so desperately impatient. Each effort made to pull away or snake a hand down Steve’s pants or even just touch himself was met with a quick slap on the wrist, until Steve finally got tired of that and pinned Billy’s hands above his head, thumbs digging into his wrists. Immobilizing him. Continuing working away at him with only the use of his lips. Tongue moving like it was on some kind of exploration. Mapping the geography that was Billy’s mouth.

Finally, after what seems like a goddamn eternity, Steve’s lips separate from his. Now they can get to the good stuff. The real reason they were here.

Except he goes back in, this time passing up his lips to instead begin sucking on his neck. Billy’s starting to get sick of these surprises.

Hickies. Something else he’s never received. Never had someone’s lips find their way to the most sensitive part of the area and suck harshly enough to leave a bruise. He couldn’t let that happen anyway. Couldn’t leave any physical evidence behind that Neil could grasp onto. But this situation was different. Neil might even see the hickey and be proud because Hawkins Indiana didn’t have any faggots like him. Must have been a girl right? But it wasn’t like anyone had really even tried to do that back in California. The guys he hooked up with didn’t do any of this. It was different but not necessarily a bad kind of different. Nobody had ever so much as kissed his neck, most certainly never taken skin between teeth and bit down. Not like Steve just fucking did.

Billy physically convulses and stifles a moan with the bite of his own lower lip. Feels as the sensation travels from where Steve’s teeth came in contact all the way down his spine making him almost whimper before Steve finally competes dragging his teeth and has let go.

“You like that huh?” Steve whispers into the crook of his neck. Breath hot against the dampness that coated his neck from the combination of Steve’s saliva and his own sweat. He’s almost positive that he’s leaking precome into his jeans right now because no interaction he’s ever had has lasted this long. He’s never kept his pants up for such a length of time and it’s starting to become too much. Not sure how much of that is Steve’s credit, and how much is the credit of months of jerking off in the shower and forcing his way through another just-for-show encounter with the latest girl who hit on him. It was all building up inside of him, waiting for this moment and Steve really had the audacity to withhold that from him.

“God would you just fucking screw me already?”

Steve just moves back into Billy lips. Chins touching but not kissing him. Speaking the words into his open mouth.

“If you’re not enjoying yourself I can leave.”

No. Anything but that.

“Fine. We’ll do things your fucking way.”

“I’m glad we’re finally on the same page.”

Billy still didn’t fully understand what “his way” entailed, but he figured out soon enough that it had something to do with going slow. Agonizingly slow to the point his dick was absolutely throbbing and he found himself fighting against Steve’s continued hold on his wrists because he just needed to touch. Failing against Steve’s strength and moving on to plan B which entailed extending his hips forward against his thighs, rubbing up and down against the muscle under the denim.

“You’re really fucking impatient, you know that?” Steve says in response and it just occurs to Billy that none of this is affecting Steve the way it is him. He can feel he’s hard in his jeans as well yet he’s not on the brink of collapse like Billy.

But finally Steve does something that at the very least scratches an itch. Releases his hold on one of his wrists and with his own hand palms Billy’s crotch through his jeans. He doesn’t rub or gently squeeze, just lets the palm rest there and ever so slightly push against it and Billy is left to do the remainder of the work. Moving his crotch against Steve’s hand with a heavy release of a sigh. It only does what he needs for just a few short seconds before it starts to get uncomfortable again. He needs Steve to move his hand, do something other than just let it sit there completely still. And now there’s no holding back the whimpering and he’s about ready to resort to desperate pleas.

Steve’s hand leaves where it was cupping his excruciating hard dick and Billy’s learned by this point not to get his hopes up for anything. The hand moves upward and presses against where he stopped buttoning his shirt leaving his chest halfway exposed, finally some fucking skin to skin contact. Billy takes the opportunity with his free hand to finally grab at himself, and he’s more than thankful when Steve doesn’t pin it back up against the door. Instead Steve uses his own free hand to travel up the length of his chest until it finds the spot he was searching for. The spot that would send Billy absolutely reeling. Gently, the tip of one of his fingers brushes over an erect nipple and just the brush of contact makes Billy shiver. Responding to the reaction Billy produces by taking the nub in between his two fingers and pinching them together. Suddenly receptors are firing off like fireworks and his dick is twitching and he’s this close to coming in his pants from the combination of Steve’s excruciating idea of foreplay and the friction against his own hand.

“Shit Harrington I’m fucking close.” He breathes out. Chest heaving as Steve only tightens his grip. Smiles at him, no, smirks at him with raised eyebrows and he ever so slowly lowers himself with the bend of his knees. Then doing the fucking unthinkable. With his right hand he continues rubbing and pinching Billy’s left nipple, while Steve takes the right into his fucking mouth. Dragging and flicking his tongue against the tip before catching it in between his teeth, suddenly an area far more sensitive than his neck. He’s nearly done for. It was a lot.

He thought his problem was that he hadn’t been getting enough.

The problem was he was getting too much.

“Fuck, Steve!”

Billy was never a talker during sex, but right now it was getting harder and harder to keep his mouth shut.

“I’m gonna— fuck, shit Harrington!”

A tight squeeze to his left nipple paired with a wet suction to his right and the frantic humping of his own hand has him finally reaching his limit. Spilling his load into his own underwear coupled with the humiliating noise that escapes his body like a ghost.

That was typically where the night ended. He was rarely ever the first to come and even when he did, the other guy followed shortly after. But Steve wasn’t even close. Erection still very prevalent in the outline of his jeans. Billy had no idea what tricks Steve had beneath his sleeve.

Despite Billy literally creaming his pants, Steve doesn’t stop playing with his nipples, only finally releasing his hold on Billy’s other wrist that had been pinned above his head for practically the entire duration. Steve is so into what he’s currently doing like he derives pleasure from making others feel good. Which is extraordinarily hot, and Billy quickly starts to feel the same cock that was fucking throbbing just moments ago begin to chub up again.

So this was his fucking plan.

He seems very pleased with himself when he’s had enough with the nipple play and rises back up to his regular height to kiss Billy again. Deeply this time, inhaling his smell and taste and relishing in it.

“Now let’s have some real fun.” He says once their lips come to part from each other. By now Billy just accepts that Steve is the one in charge and follows his lead without pushback. Letting Steve guide his hands to his belt, finally giving him the permission to do what he’s been fucking aching to do since he stepped, or more accurately was dragged, through the bedroom door. Chaotically undoing his belt and yanking down Steve’s jeans and boxers simultaneously while Steve pulled his own tee over his head. His dick bobbing free, catching a glimpse of it hard for the first time. So much bigger than he’d remembered. And it’s hard for him.

He starts working at his own belt while Steve undoes the two fastened buttons of his shirt, despite being able to just as easily pull it over his head. Billy drops his pants to the floor, his dick is coated in his own come from his previous orgasm and he’s already more than half hard, earning a grin out of Steve when he looks down to see it.

“Bed.” Steve says, gesturing toward the California King. How fucking fitting.

Billy takes his naked body and lies out onto the bed, letting himself get comfortable. Head resting on a surprisingly soft pillow. Steve checks the lock on the door and reaches down into his jeans to pull out a small bottle.

“You just carry lube around with you to parties?” Steve laughs as he makes his way over to the bed. Crawling on top to where he’s situated in between Billy’s spread out legs.

“Never know when you might need it.”

“Yeah. Well I usually take my dicking rough.”

Steve wrapped a hand around each of Billy’s shins and moved his feet up the bed so that his knees were bent and his hole was exposed.

“Well rough isn’t really my style.”

“Yeah, I fucking noticed.”

Billy propped himself up on his shoulders as he watched Steve. Waiting for the click sound of the lube bottle opening, not expecting to see Steve’s face midway through a movement angling down. Hands bracing themselves against his bare hips, fingernails gripping and digging into the skin leaving crescent shaped indentations as Steve’s lips begin to suck on his inner thigh. His hair falling forward and brushing over his dick that was already getting harder by the second without Steve’s head between his legs.

How the fuck did Billy not know about all these sensitive areas of his? Secondly, how the fuck did Steve know about them?

His legs are fucking wobbling and he can’t contain the movement at all. He’s already gripping the sheets and Steve hasn’t even put a finger inside of him.

Something about the whole thing felt odd, and he was struggling to put his finger on it until he let his head fall back against the soft pillow.

This was the first time he’s ever taken a man to bed. He’s fucked and been fucked by countless nameless and sometimes faceless men, yet he’s never done it in the comfort of a private area, let alone a comfortable bed. The ideal place for such an activity.

However, Billy doesn’t get to think too long and hard about that before cold hands quickly spread his cheeks and the tongue that was just leaving bruises on his thighs is suddenly licking over his hole.

He tenses due to surprise and has to actually bite the pillow to stop himself from loudly moaning when the underside of Steve’s tongue trails back down. His tongue soon darting inwards and swirling around inside of him making him gasp.

Billy thought experience was something he had, easily.

Turns out there were a lot of things that he hadn’t felt before.

And Steve Harrington decided to just check off the whole goddamn list in one go.

He was completely hard by now and beginning to leak pre once again. The head of cock red, and throbbing in his ears.

Steve’s tongue feels good. Really fucking good but he is absolutely desperate to have his back fucking broken by the dick that’s been permanently ingrained in his head for weeks now. He’s fit to scream at any moment.

The glorious sound of a cap clicking open is what pulls him off of the edge of absolute insanity. Two fingers adorning a cool gel find his hole and slowly one of the fingers slips in with a comfortable ease.

As previously mentioned, this wasn’t Billy’s first time around the block. And apparently not Steve’s either, which Billy expected to have some follow up questions once everything was all said and done.

Steve’s single finger was quickly followed by the institution of a second. His index and middle surging knuckles deep inside of him and beginning to scissor open and closed, spreading the walls apart and opening him up for more. Opening him up for Steve.

Soon the second finger turns into a third. And while everything is progressing along much quicker than it was while he was pressed up against that door, it’s still way too slow for Billy. He’s refraining from wrapping his hand around his own dick just out of sheer curiosity to see what Steve wants to do. Fights the extremely tempting urge, instead propping himself back up on his shoulders so that his hands were occupied elsewhere.

Billy’s not sure whether he regrets the decision to look at Steve or not. Because as Steve spreads his fingers within him, he looks fucking ethereal. Hair strands falling perfectly into his face, mouth hanging open with his tongue slightly hanging out past his lips. A look of sheer focus. Beads of sweat constellating his forehead alongside the constellation of moles that decorate his entire body. He’s going to lose it again if Steve doesn’t fucking get on with it already.

It’s actually beginning to hurt with how much desire he has coursing through his veins and pooling into the head of his cock.

Too much. It’s too much.

Steve can see the look on his face, the aggressive scrunching of his face as he waits for Steve to finally destroy him with what he’s aching for. What has been haunting his every dream and moment alone in the shower.

The rising action was nearing its end, it was time for the climax of this story to begin.

Steve removed his fingers from Billy and ripped open a new condom with his teeth. Rolling it onto his own dick that is finally looking to be at the same point Billy’s is. Absolutely rock hard.

He presses the tip of his dick firmly against Billy’s hole and it’s as if time stops just before Steve makes his slow and steady entrance, and Billy’s breath hitches.

Steve’s own eyes fall shut as he begins pumping in and out slowly trying to find his rhythm, while one hand situates itself onto Billy’s thigh, while the other that’s already coated in lube wraps around Billy’s shaft and begins pumping his hand at an identical rhythm. Pacing perfectly matched with Billy’s own breathing. Chest heaving up and down with every pump of Steve’s hand around his dick and every slam into his prostate.

“I’m close Steve. Fuck! I’m close.” Billy grunts out. Steve just picks up the pace. The first time he’s done that all damn night. Rhythm becoming erratic with Steve’s own breathing following suit. Panting heavy exhales that hit Billy’s stomach with their heat making him shiver and shake.

The muffled music and chatter that’s occurring on the other side of the wall behind him completely goes silent in his head and all he can hear is Steve. His breathing and groaning as he gets closer and closer to his own climax and Billy begins to view it as a competition on who can last the longest.

But it’s already clear who would win that battle, isn’t it?

Surely enough, Billy lasts about another measly forty-five seconds before he’s coming into Steve’s hands and dripping out over his stomach.

But like most of his hookups before, it isn't long before Steve is bottoming out and filling up the condom within Billy. Letting out his own hefty moan upon release. Letting his head toss backwards and his hair flip back out of his face and he could honestly get hard again if he wasn’t literally trying with all of his might to do anything else.

Steve eventually toppled over and fell onto the bed, lying on his back right beside Billy as they both looked up at the same ceiling fan and came down together.

“That was fucking something.” Billy said, finally catching onto his breath and reentering reality.

“Yeah, that was fun. I’m looking forward to next time.”

“Next time?” Billy turned his head so that he was looking at Steve.

“Yeah. You owe me an orgasm.”

Billy looked at him incredulously.

“You didn’t cum?”

“No, I did. But I didn’t cum twice.”

Billy playfully pushed his shoulder with three fingers. “That’s your own damn fault, you know that.”

“Are you turning the offer down?”

Billy smiles, takes advantage of the fact that he can kiss Steve and he does, rolling over on top of him and planting a short and wet one right onto his lips.

“No.”

Billy watches Steve walk out of that room approximately ten minutes later, leaving him naked and alone on the bed just like he expected, except this time, there’s hope for more.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #mandi writes tresh #fanfic #harringroveweekoflove #harringrove week of love #weekofloveifao

[uglymanchronicles]

Ugly Man Chronicles Reignition Book 2 Chapter 2: My Breakfast With Evan

Just a couple dudes getting to know each other.

“If you must know,” Evan sighed, spearing a glistening sausage on the end of a flimsy plastic fork, “my jackass older sister thought it would be hilarious to give me a cupcake she'd baked with about a dozen powdered viagra for my fifteenth birthday. I wound up passing out eventually. Burst a lot of blood vessels. Damaged the erectile tissue beyond usefulness.”

Titus froze mid-coffee-sip. “Seriously? What a bitch!”

“Buddy, you don't know the half of it.”

“So... no signs of life down there?”

“Nothing for twelve years.”

“I think I would literally kill myself.”

“It's not so bad, I guess. At least I don't have to drain the blood out of it any more.”

“Eugh! Fuck! Did not need to hear that!”

“Well, maybe you shouldn't ask questions you don't want the answer to.”

“Do you get, like, blue balls all the time, then?”

“That's basically my ground state of being.”

Titus whistled flatly, avoiding looking Evan in the eye. He settled for staring at the table. There wasn't a lot of Evan's face that he felt comfortable looking at; every part seemed to at least be adjacent to some unpleasantry or another. About the only safe area was his right eye, which, as luck would have it, was directly opposite Titus's 'good' eye. Titus rallied and met Evan's gaze again. “Alright, your turn.”

They'd agreed on a sort of mutual interview process, taking turns asking questions to suss out what the other was capable or if he was worth having around. Evan took a bite out of the sausage and chewed thoughtfully for a moment.

“Who's Moreno?”

Titus hissed through his teeth. “A real piece of shit.”

“I'm going to need more than that.”

“I'm getting to it. He's basically, like... a freelance henchman? Like, sort of a mercenary criminal. Sells his services to the highest bidder.”

“And why's he matter?”

“That's another question.”

“No, it is not,” Evan said, quiet and serious. “Do not argue with me in bad faith, Titus. I have very little patience for it in the best of times.”

Titus regarded him for a long moment. The man across from him was wider than the table they sat at. His muscles were so pronounced in some points that Titus could tell when he was about to move by the way they bulged and contracted. Yet he gave the impression that he was constantly trying to pull himself inward, to make himself smaller. He spoke quietly and with a simple formality, but only hours before Titus had watched him single-handedly beat down some of the nastiest people he'd met in the past month.

Hmm.

“Fine. Moreno matters because I'm after the guy he's working for. You see, Moreno isn't just a normal scumbag. He works for people who need nasty things done. Not like regular nasty, either. How much do you actually know about magic?”

“I've got some... notes. So far I'm not able to find a lot of coherent rules. It mostly seems like it relies on things that nobody would normally do.”

Titus snapped his fingers and pointed at Evan. “Hit it right on the head. Rituals, reagents, that kind of thing... the reason—well, one of the reasons—magic doesn't just happen all the time by accident is that it's all weird little things. A lot of the more heavy magic relies on some pretty elaborate and obtuse shit to get it going.”

Evan momentarily thought back to the Book of Fate and his ritual in the woods. “So Moreno does these things for people?”

“Yeah. Thing is, though...” Titus stopped raising a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth and set it down again, as if he'd momentarily lost his appetite. “The people who use his services generally practice some pretty vile magic. Real depraved shit. And to empower depraved magic, you need depraved rituals. Moreno is the guy you go to when...”

“I think I get it,” Evan interjected, since Titus seemed to be struggling with deciding whether to continue. “Your turn.”

Titus tapped his fingers on the table for a moment, then looked Evan in the eye. “How smart are you?”

The scars on Evan's face squirmed around as he actually smirked. “What kind of question is that?”

“Hey, we agreed no 'whys'.”

“Alright, alright. Well, there's really no objective metric for it, but... I have Master's degrees in computer science and theoretical physics, Bachelor's in those in addition to mathematics and electrical engineering, and associate's degrees and certificates in everything from EMT training to ballet. I should have my doctorate in physics, but...” he said, with a bitterness that Titus made a note of, then changed gears. “Oh, and I also speak Mandarin, Spanish, Japanese, French, and Arabic pretty fluently. I also know ASL. I can get by in German and Russian, too. I don't know if any of that is what you meant but--”

“Jesus, I get it,” Titus muttered, rubbing the side of his head. “How the fuck do you make money?”

“Software consulting, mostly. I specialize in security and processing efficiency. People pay me to break into their systems and then patch the holes, or to make their code run quicker or make their programs smaller. I've got a few patents I've licensed that bring in most of my income nowadays, though.”

“Anything I would have heard of?”

“If you've used a computer made in the last four years it probably has something I wrote integrated somewhere into it. I also helped develop a protein-sequencing program that helped develop a vaccine for this nasty SARS variant that broke out in China last year. They say if they hadn’t nipped it in the bud it could’ve spread worldwide and we’d be looking at millions of deaths by now.”

Titus scrunched up his face. “Oh yeah, just say that like it’s no big deal.”

“I’m just glad it turned out not to be one. What I'd really like to do is get my compression algorithm out there, but if I do that, somebody's going to try to hoard it all for themselves.”

“Are you talking to yourself or me?”

“Look, I... a few years ago I figured out a way to compress memory down by a exponential factor of six with zero loss. All it takes is a couple software plugins that don't take up much room themselves. Essentially, I could make a gigabyte fit in a kilobyte with very little trouble, now that the math's figured out.”

“Holy fuck, that's insane! Why haven't I heard anything about this?”

“Mainly because I don't tell people. If I put it up on the market, some ISP would buy it and bury it. If you make information smaller, you make it faster. Can you imagine what it'd do to internet access if dial-up and barebones cellular networks suddenly had the bandwidth of fiber optics? It would... maybe not revolutionize our society, but it would level a lot of playing fields. Bring a lot of underdeveloped areas of the world—hell, this country—up to modern levels with no extra cost. The telecomms would crash and burn so hard. But I don't have the means to get it out there without going through someone else. Yet,” Evan added. “So I basically work watered-down versions of the compressor into the software I make. Nothing that can be duplicated, and nowhere near its full potential, but enough to get me hailed as some kind of genius and pay the bills.”

“So why aren't you on your own private island or something somewhere instead of puttering around God's Ashtray in a shitty old Bug?”

“Hey, the Beetle is not shitty,” Evan said, defensively. “And I'm just waiting for the AC in my RV to get fixed or I'd be driving that.”

“Oh hot damn! Now that's the way to live!”

“Not the one I'd choose voluntarily, but it could be worse.”

“How come you're doing it, then?”

“I think it's my turn to ask,” Evan said, mildly.

“Fine,” Titus said grumpily, crossing his arms.

“How do you make money?”

“That's easy. I'm basically a freelance bailbondsman. I just roam around, drop my advertising around bars and courthouses.”

“You get many clients that way?” Evan asked, cocking his remaining eyebrow.

“Oh, you'd be amazed how desperate people can get,” Titus said, shrugging. “Of course, they're usually not the most responsible people, so when they bounce, I track 'em down myself, drag ‘em back to jail, get the money back. My eye usually makes it super easy. Sometimes they don't even see me before I get the cuffs on 'em.”

“Why did you feel the need to rob a bunch of drug dealers, then? The thrill of it?”

“I had a pressing need for a large amount of cash that my normal work doesn't bring in. That got me enough to hold it off for a while. My turn.”

Evan waved down a waitress for a refill of his coffee, trying not to take it personally when she gasped upon seeing his face. “Go ahead…”

“No, no, hang on.” Titus waved a hand dismissively. “I want to try something. Take your hair out of the ponytail.”

“What? Why?”

“Humor me.”

Evan groaned and reached back, removing his hair tie. After shaking his head, his hair fell over his face, obscuring everything but his nose and mouth. Titus pursed his lips and regarded him seriously for a moment.

“Can you see?”

“Yeah, I guess. Well enough to not walk into things, I think, and I could probably read if I had to.”

Titus snapped his fingers. “Good. Go with that from now on.”

��Why?”

“Because now you don’t look like God’s mistake. Now you look like a big, dumb-but-lovable goon. Like Jack Black would voice you in a cartoon.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“Do you like seeing people contemplating their own mortality and the general cruel absurdity of the tragic farce that is human existence when they get a glimpse of your face?”

Evan felt his cheeks burn and was actually grateful his hair was covering most of his face. “…not particularly, no.”

“Then there you go. You’re welcome. Okay, question time. Uh… how did you get your powers?”

“Which one?”

“Oh, now who’s arguing in bad faith? Fucking all of them, you thick-lipped gargoyle.”

Evan had the feeling he hit a sore spot. Titus's easy-going, jocular tone had bled away from him, leaving behind the hard-edged razor-blade of a man that had ambushed him the night before. He decided not to belabor the point.

“I don't know why I can rege—why I heal so quickly. No, I'm serious, as far as I know, it just started happening sometime in the past few months. I can't remember. Don't look at me like that, I'll get to that in a minute. When I was younger I recovered from a lot of injuries a lot quicker than the doctors thought I would, so maybe it's something I was born with and it just got stronger recently for some reason.”

Evan took a sip of coffee, mainly to buy a few seconds to think of how much to explain for the next part.

“The ability to shut off powers... that's part of, well, I guess you'd call it a magic ritual, because I don't know what else to call it. I found a weird old book that said it contained the key to making someone an instrument of universal justice, or something of the sort. Since then I can see... I guess they're souls? Maybe? I can sort of move mine and when I run it into someone else's it seems like I can shut off their powers. Or... take them entirely, if they're dying.”

“Horseshit!” Titus scoffed. “That's... that's like meta-magic. I don't even know if that's real.”

“No, seriously! I don't think it's just magic powers, I think it... 'normalizes' things.” He briefly recounted his encounter with the pain monster.

“Are you kidding me? That...” Titus took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair, exhaling slowly and loudly. “Look, I don't know much, but the fact that you even ran into something like that, let alone survived... those odds are astronomical. And you say you negated not just its powers, but its whole form?”

“Yeah. Once I... reached into it, like I did with you—oh don't make that face. Grow up—I kind of disrupted what made it... different, I guess? Like I cut it off from its special qualities. Like it was...”

“Disjuncted,” Titus cut in.

“Yeah, that's a good word for it. Like the old Mordenkainen spell?”

“Fucking nerd.”

“Eat my ass. Anyway, after I killed it, I was able to reach into its... soul? Animating force? Aura? I don't know what to call it. I was able to grab something and pull it out and it just got pulled into me.”

“Not aura.”

“What?”

“Aura's a different thing,” Titus said, dismissively. “So what did you get from doing that?”

“I.. I feel pain differently. I don't flinch or get adrenaline rushes from injuries that don't actually impede my ability to function. I think I have a better sense of what is actually dangerous to my body now. It still hurts, but I don't react to pain like people normally do. It's like...hmm.” Evan drummed his fingers on the table. “Do you know anything about video games? Fighting games, specifically?”

“I used to fuck around on an old Alpha 3rd Strike cabinet when I was a kid. Why?”

“Do you know what 'super armor' is?”

“Isn't that where a move can't get stopped by being hit when you're doing it?”

“Right. I'm kind of like that now. Pain doesn't interrupt me.”

“Fucking nerd.”

Evan's fist involuntarily clenched. “I'm trying to put this in terms you can understand, you stupid reprobate. My experience with your judgment thus far hasn't given me much faith in your intellect.”

Titus burst out laughing. “So he does know how to banter! I thought you might be one of those Rainman types.”

“Oh sure, call it 'banter' to try to excuse the fact that you've been insulting me for the past half hour. Do you say you're ‘just joking’ when people get mad at you for saying stupid shit, too?”

“C'mon, lighten up! We're partners now! Tell me more about this soul thing. I still think you're full of shit.”

Evan sighed through his nose, then held up his left hand, forming his fingers into a circle and peering through them.

“Yours is... a sort of cross between a sea green and an oil slick. The tendrils of it keep reaching out and snapping back, going all over the place. It seems to keep expanding and contracting. It's almost flickering, like... it's indecisive. Very chaotic. The tendrils that aren't snapping around seem to be kept pretty close to your body, wrapping around you like... I can't tell if it's protective or restrictive.”

Titus's expression slowly became serious. “What does that mean?”

“I don't know. I have a lot of theories, but nothing solid to go on. I'm not sure if it's allegorical or a literal representation of a person's... power, maybe? Yours definitely looks a lot different than most people's.”

“I don't believe this for a second. Let me see.”

“How would I do tha—hey!”

Titus grabbed Evan's wrist and held his hand up to his eye. “Ho-lee...”

He pulled back from Evan's hand, staring at him. Then he looked around the room, mouth slack as he took in the diner's other occupants.

“Huh. Did you know it keeps working until you blink?” He said after a moment, a faraway tone to his voice.

“I didn't even know other people could do it,” Evan said, awe in his voice. “Hey, wow, you're right!”

“Jesus, yours is, like, really blue. It looks like... a bunch of steel cables. It's weird, I felt like I both could and couldn't see the edges of it...”

“I can kind of move it, but I'm not sure if I can do anything with it beyond interfering with people's powers. It's like learning to use a muscle you didn't know you had.”

“Huh.” Titus was again silent for a long moment. “Your turn.”

“Can you do anything else supernatural? Besides your time-eye?”

“Don't call it that, it sounds stupid. And... sorta. I seem to have whatever innate talent you need to actually do magic, but it's not like it's easy to find instructions. Most of the people I know who can use it just dabble with half-broken magic items—wands, amulets, charms,” he pulled the silence charm out from under his coat and bounced it at the end of its chain. “I guess I'm sort of a dabbler. I know a few tricks, I can use a lot of magic tools, I can sense magic pretty well, I can dowse... Most of the time I really never have to use anything besides the eye, though.”

“Is the eye all-or-nothing?”

“Yeah. It's not nearly as useful as you'd think, but any edge is an edge.”

“When I turned off your power and it was coming back, though, you started speeding up—or, I guess, everything else was slowing down? You were moving faster, one way or the other. You were able to touch me, and those punches hurt.”

“Huh, yeah, you're right.”

“Do you think there's a way you could learn to only partially activate it?”

“That'd be great, wouldn't it? Thing is, just using it is a huge strain, and that time spend outside of time adds up. Going by normal calendar time I'm only 26.”

“Fuck, I'm 27!” Evan laughed.

“Yeah, well, I'd rather be prematurely gray than what you've got going on. My turn. Uh... huh, I can't really think of anything else. Uh... are you gay?”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“No, but the question still counts.”

“I'm bi,” Evan mumbled, crossing his arms across his prodigious chest. “Not that it matters. And before you ask, no, you are not my type. We're done talking about this.”

“Huh. You ever sucked--”

“We. Are. Done. Talking about this.”

“Fine, God. Go.”

Evan mentally circled back to an earlier question he felt hadn't been properly answered. “Why are you after Moreno?”

To Evan's surprise, Titus didn't hesitate. “I'm actually after his current boss. He's just the best lead I have to go on.” He took a deep breath, then started talking with a rushed, deadpan pace, as if he was eager to get the words out as quickly as possible so they wouldn't be in his mouth very long.

“Moreno is working for a guy only known as the Soultaker. He has an innate supernatural ability to pull a person's soul out of their body. When that happens, the person just... shuts down, usually. No motive force behind them. Eventually they just die of dehydration, usually. I've seen some people so set in routine that they keep going without a soul, but... it's not really life.

“It seems like the extraction process takes a while, so he can't just walk past you on the street and pickpocket your entire essence. So he needs people rounded up for him, held until he can do his nasty juju. So that's where a degenerate like Moreno comes in.

“So when he pulls out a soul, it, well, it looks like this.”

Titus pulled a battered, faded Crown Royale bag out of his jacket. It bulged strangely and made a quiet clacking when he set it on the table. He pulled out what looked like a large marble, or maybe a dull pearl, and handed it to Evan.

Evan brushed his hair out of his eyes and peered into the milky depths of the sphere. After a few moments of staring, the murky clouds inside the thing seemed to clear and a face floated to the surface. A black man, maybe in his late 40s, going thin on top. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be sleeping, but his expression had a look of discomfort to it, as if he was having a bad dream.

“Jesus Christ,” Evan whispered, “I've seen this guy... Martell Calloway? I saw some news article about how his family found him tied up in his apartment and completely comatose! But he didn't have any injuries beyond being a black eye... so he's dead?”

“Life support,” Titus said, taking Mr. Calloway's soul back from Evan's unresisting fingers, “technically, he's one of the lucky ones. They found his body before it wasted away to nothing, and I was able to intercept his soul before it got to a buyer.”

“Why would someone buy something like this? What use is it? Can you fix him?”

“A human soul is a damn near exhaustible arcane battery,” Titus said gravely. In the split second between sentences, Evan noticed something—after he'd put the bag back into his jacket, Titus surreptitiously touched a pocket on the other side of his jacket, as if he was making sure something was still there.

“If you know what you're doing, you can power a lot of magic using a soul. And you can reuse them as long as you don't overdo it. If you know what you're doing, you can wring all but the last drops of essence out of a soul and let it heal or recover or whatever, and it'll eventually be back to full strength. Very resilient things,” Titus continued. “I don't think they're conscious in there, but... anyway, it's supposed to be really hard to extract a soul. But this guy was born with or spontaneously developed or somehow figured out a shortcut to the whole process. So the market is getting flooded with torture-batteries and ECUs are getting flooded with vegetables. And families are winding up with loved ones who are as good as dead, without having any idea why this happened to them. Dozens of them have been taken off life support in the past few months. Half these souls have no body to return to. And no, I can't fix it. At least not yet,” he sighed again. “I was hoping once I found him, I could somehow get the secret out of him or force him to put them back, or... maybe I thought if I killed him it'd reverse the effect. He needs killing, either way.”

Titus's eye widened as a thought struck him and he looked Evan in the eye for the first time since he'd started the story. Evan realized what he was thinking and looked down at the tattoo on his left arm, flexing his fingers.

“If you can take people's powers after they die...”

“...then we can save these people.”

Titus put a hand over his mouth and for a moment Evan thought he saw his eye well up.

“I'm in,” Evan said, a sense of righteous purpose welling in his heart. “I don't really know what the universe wants, but I doubt... I know it's not this. We'll find him, we'll stop him, and we'll save as many of these people as we can.”

“...thanks,” Titus mumbled behind his hand. He swallowed hard, then seemed to come back to himself. “We're back to square one, though.”

“You said you could dowse? Like, for real?”

“Yes, for real. I can find things and people with the pendulum method. It's handy for tracking down bounties.”

“Why don't you dowse Moreno?”

“Why didn't I think of that?!” Titus said incredulously, smacking his forehead. “Because he's warded. He's not magic himself, but he's collected enough gear through his career that my normal methods don't work.”

Evan rubbed his chin. “What if we used an abnormal method?”

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

An hour later, they were in the RV. Titus was poring over the collection of Evan's notes and the strange papers he'd bought from Delmann's shop. Evan was very carefully slicing a strip of skin from his own ankle up all the way up his leg. The Guiding Light—the Finder's Follysat on the table between them, filled with fresh blood.

“Even if this works, he's going to know we're coming,” Titus muttered, engrossed in the pages. “Remember what I said?”

“That's why we're not going to look for him,” Evan said, adjusting his grip on the potato peeler. “I don't know how we'd even write his name. Can you read that, by the way?”

“Kind of. This is... most of this is written in, like, arcane pidgin. Who compiled these notes?”

“I did, I think.”

“You think?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot to clarify on that. Apparently a couple months ago, before the ritual, I drilled a hole in my own brain to erase some kind of very dangerous memory.”

“You what.”

“That's not a metaphor or anything. Really did it. I could show you the video.”

“I'll pass. So you don't remember where this came from?” Titus shook the Book of Fate at him.

“Nope.”

“Jesus shit, do you have any idea--”

“How reckless that was? Yeah, yeah, I'm still here and I'm the answer to your fuckin' prayers, aren't I?” Evan gave a whoop as the peeling skin reached his thigh. “Got it this time!” he said cheerfully, snipping the flesh-ribbon off with scissors.

“God, that's so fucking gross. Anyway, you haven't explained how we're going to use that thing to find Moreno.”

“We don't set it to look for him. We look for somewhere he's been. Maybe the last place he slept. Do you think you can describe him well enough in that language for it to work?”

Titus looked like he might actually be impressed, but he hid it well. “Yeah, probably.”

“Good. I've got a dictionary I've put together on that tablet next to you, but I'm not sure how accurate it is. Maybe it'll help?”

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

Two hours later, they had it.

Find where a man born between the 27th and 28th north parallels during a new moon under the sign of capricorn with black hair and green eyes who has killed at least 10 people slept in the past week.

They really had to squeeze the letters in, but when Evan put a flame to the wick, it sprung to life, wavered for a moment, and then pointed east. Both men cheered. Evan threw Titus the keys.

“Drive! Drive north until I tell you otherwise!”

While Titus started the engine, Evan spread a map of the United States on the table in front of the lamp, then produced a protractor and a notebook from a drawer. “Okay, you bastard... let's see where you've been hiding...”

It took three days—one spent driving north, one spent driving back to where they'd started, and one spent driving south. While Titus drove, Evan made meticulous notes of the flame's direction, marking angles on the map. Finally he threw the pencil down triumphantly.

“He's in Salt Lake City.”

“Well, that narrows it down a little, I guess. So what, do we just go there and hope this thing points us in the right direction?”

“Too slow,” Evan called, stepping back into what used to be his bedroom and sitting at his computer. “Now I work my magic.”

After parking, Titus walked back to look over Evan's shoulder. The half-dozen monitors on the wall were flickering between rapidly-changing pictures of faces and what appeared to be CCTV footage.

“What is this?”

“This,” Evan said with dramatic pride, “is Blaccat. Facial recognition algorithms that the CIA wishesit had. I actually started working on it years ago before I thought about the implications of it, but I shelved it. I figured since I may be needing to, uh...”

“Be Batman?”

“...yeah...that I should get back to work on it. Right now it's comparing faces to the description you gave me and cycling through every damn security camera in the city looking for it.”

“How illegal is this?”

“Soooooo illegal.”

“Oh, hey, can you get into police department records?”

“Does the Pope shit in the woods?”

“See if you can get into the Las Vegas mugshots from... February 2019. Run your face-recognition thingy there.”

“Alright.... and... is that our boy?”

A handsome Latino man in his early 30s with shoulder-length jet-black hair and piercing green eyes stared at them from over a booking clipboard.

“That's him,” Titus breathed.

“Perfect! Now I just have to feed that into... wow.” Evan made a gesture and a black and white video popped up on the biggest monitor. The man in the mugshot was walking along the street, flanked by a short stocky man in bandanna and a lanky man with the ugliest white-boy dreads Evan had ever seen.

“That's him! Where is that? When is that?”

Evan grinned up at Titus. “That's live. I can track him and put us at the nearest intersection.”

Titus smiled, eye overbright, and began breathing heavily through his nose. “We got him.”

Evan met his eye and nodded. “Let's get him.”

#my writing #urban fantasy #ugly man chronicles: reignition

[lovelyirony]

@peachy-keener incredibly late, but better that than never, right? 

Rhodey has mourned Tony far more often than you should mourn for a friend. He mourned him when he was lost to Afghanistan, cried far too many tears than he actually let on. He cried and mourned when he saw the crossword puzzle creeping along his chest at a steady rate, because he knew what that meant, but they never mentioned it.

His heart leaped into his throat when he saw the news of Tony going into space, hurtling back down at a speed that no one could really come back from, but he did.

And he mourned when Tony went back up into space for a second time and didn’t come back down. When people disappeared, and Rhodey and Pepper had to lean on each other as they grieved. As they buried an empty casket and held far too much hope that he would come back.

But then he did. Tony came back, and their hearts sang. Rhodey and Pepper couldn’t stop touching his shoulder lightly, pulling him into hugs whenever he needed one. They wanted to hide him away from the world, and he didn’t mind much.

They didn’t talk about space. They didn’t talk about it, just focused on getting him better.

And then they bring Morgan into the world. She has Pepper’s nose and Tony’s inquisitive eyes, and Rhodey is ready to be the doting uncle. He holds her as Pepper and Tony drag their feet upstairs to get some much-needed sleep, and Rhodey promises that he won’t let harm come to Morgan.

He should’ve promised no harm to any of the family.

Tony is tired, and he has saved the world before.

“I…am…Iron Man.”

His last symphony. His last stand.

Rhodey knows he’s not coming back from this one, not with how far away they are.

He passes on and it’s time, but Rhodey hates how bitter his throat feels. Tony just saved the world and as shitty a want as it is, Rhodey wishes—he almost wishes—that he hadn’t.

“We both knew he would be the one,” Pepper whispers as they’re on the plane ride home. Happy is with Morgan, and they have to tell her that dad isn’t coming back.

That affects him more than he thought it could.

She’s still young. Maybe it won’t be bad. God, she’s going to have a lot to live up to. It reminds him of Tony a year after they graduated college, complaining about how much of a legacy Howard had left behind, how he couldn’t fill his shoes.

“You don’t fill someone else’s shoes, you buy your own damn shoes,” Rhodey had told him at the time.

He wonders when Morgan will need that advice.

-

They have a private funeral. It’s the team and the family.

He notices one kid there that he wasn’t expecting—Harley Keener.

Tony had told him all about Harley.

“He’s smart, and an asshole,” he had said while they were on the balcony.

“Oh, so he’s you?” Rhodey responded, grinning as Tony sent him a dirty look.

“Not the point, and no. We are not alike.”

“I guarantee that you are.”

“Hmph.”

While Rhodey had never seen Harley in person, Tony had shown him pictures and called him frequently. Keener was a smart kid, miles above everyone in his small town. He’s been able to keep up with all of Tony’s light jabs and able to launch back some of his own. Rhodey’s laughed as he was in the kitchen, listening to them.

And this.

Rhodey hates mourning. And so when the bouquet gets pushed out onto the lake, when everyone coalesces into their own groups, he watches everyone.

Pepper is surrounded with Morgan and people wishing her well before they leave. Happy and May surround Peter, who’s eyes have been rimmed with red every single day now.

And Harley…he doesn’t know anyone here. He’s never met half the people.

So Rhodey approaches him.

“You may not know me. I’m Rhodey.”

“I know who you are,” Harley says, although his tone is even. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“So am I,” Rhodey says.

Neither of them have cried. They both don’t like crying. (They don’t know that about each other yet.)

They stand together for a moment, and Rhodey turns towards him.

“What brought you all the way here?”

“May or may not have been someone else’s car,” Harley says. “May not have been the best idea.”

Rhodey laughs.

“It’s what Tony would’ve done.”

The past lays thick on his tongue as they stand there together.

“I, um. I don’t mean to be rude. But, uh. Hotels are all full here, and I’m really not looking forward to crashing in the car. Do you know a place I could stay around here?”

“Come with me,” Rhodey says. “I have a place not too far from here.”

Rhodey’s place isn’t the secluded cabin that Tony had built.

“Jealous?” he asked Rhodey, grinning.

“Of course,” Rhodey scoffs. He’s jealous—just not of the cabin. He’s jealous about—

“Rhodey, good to see you again,” Pepper says. She has a hand cradled around her stomach. “What do you think of this place?”

“Good views and better people,” Rhodey responds, smiling. Wishing he was smiling about something else.

But that doesn’t matter now.

His place is an apartment that has another bedroom, because he was a fool and thought that Tony would need another place to crash, but he has a house and a wife and a daughter. So then it became Morgan’s room.

Some of her toys are still here, and a note from Tony. Rhodey sweeps it out of the room before Harley can see it, and moves some of the toys to underneath the bed.

“It’s not much, but it’ll do,” he says.

“This is more than enough,” Harley answers, dropping a backpack that looks like it should’ve been replaced about two years ago.

Rhodey doesn’t know what to say. Just says that he’ll order a pizza and he’ll call Harley when it’s here.

It’s from Tony’s favorite place in the area. Well, really Morgan’s. But Tony loves whatever someone else loves. That’s why his favorite Mexican restaurant was Rhodey’s favorite. The pizza is good.

He calls Harley, and they eat together.

“When Tony and I first ordered a pizza from college, he ate it with a fork and knife,” Rhodey says.

Harley grins.

“What, like a full-fledged socialite?”

“Yup. Had to ask him what the hell he was doing and practically teach him how to hold a pizza. He couldn’t do it for a month, and finally broke down around midterm season of college.”

Harley cracks a grin.

They trade stories back and forth.

Harley made Tony like two country songs, which amazed Rhodey. He tells him all about Tony’s first lab, and the cursed poster of Bruce Lee on the wall that got warped in the factory production, so his legs were stretched a bit too long, and the proportions were totally messed up.

In the morning, Rhodey is in his chair. This is usual routine, but he fears it might be a bit more routine now since Tony isn’t here to fix him up. None of the doctors even come close to the mobility the braces give, and they weren’t exactly doing one-hundred-percent after the big fight.

(And Rhodey feels guilty, that his thoughts are on this.)

Harley takes one look at them and suggests two different ways to fix them.

He’s a hell of a lot like Tony.

“Let’s get to work,” Rhodey says. “After breakfast.”

Harley and Rhodey take their eggs the same way: over-easy. With a piece of toast. Fruit’s on the side, a glass of juice to the right. It’s weirdly similar. But Harley likes strawberries over blueberries.

“You the reason why Tony likes blueberries?” Harley asks. “Or, uh, liked blueberries?”

“Yeah,” Rhodey says. “I am. He couldn’t get enough of them after we went blueberry-picking.”

“You went blueberry-picking?”

“Not all of our trips were extravagant,” Rhodey says. “I’ll tell you more about it when we get to the garage.”

Tony’s lab was always a bit more futuristic, and Rhodey liked the basics.

“Glad I can actually find the tools here,” Harley murmurs. “Tony’s organization was a shit-show.”

“He never could do it,” Rhodey says, laughing.

They work on the braces. Harley makes leaps and bounds and assumes and then is correct and gets a little grin when he’s right.

Rhodey thinks he picked that up from Tony.

“I’ll probably need to go to Tony’s lab space to pick up some stuff,” Harley says.

“We can go tomorrow,” Rhodey says. “It’s Morgan’s dinner and bath time right now, and if she still hates baths as much as I remember, Pepper’s gonna be exhausted after that.”

“I just. I don’t wanna invade your space for too long,” Harley says, uncomfortable.

“It’s for the best,” Rhodey says. “But I don’t wanna keep you any longer than you want to be kept here.”

“I like it here.”

“You do?”

Harley looks up at him, shuffling his beat-up sneakers together. Reminds Rhodey of how Tony used to tease him about his shoes.

“Dude. Your shoes are duct-taped together. It’s orange duct-tape. Are you joking me?”

“They can last a little longer!” Rhodey protests. “And I don’t need new shoes. These are fine.”

“You can afford them,” Tony deadpans. “I know Mama’s gonna kick your ass if you show up in those when you visit next weekend.”

“She won’t kick my ass,” Rhodey grumbles.

Tony rolls his eyes, but leaves a kiss on the forehead for him.

“I gotta go to class. Love you!”

The responding “love you too” goes unnoticed and unheard.

-

The next day, Rhodey and Harley are awkwardly waiting outside of the house.

Morgan hugs Rhodey tight.

“I’ve missed you!” she says. “I made a Lego castle.”

“You did?” Rhodey asks, smiling. “Well, you’ll have to show me.”

Morgan looks hesitantly at Harley.

“This is your cousin, Harley,” Rhodey says. “He’s the one from real far away. You remember where?”

“Tennessee,” Morgan says proudly.

Harley looks surprised.

“He…told her about me?”

“He told Morgan about everyone,” Pepper says quietly. “Tony loved you.”

Harley doesn’t say anything, just smiles as Morgan nods and still drags Rhodey to go see her structure that he’s built.

Pepper lets Harley into the garage, to yell if he needs anything. Her breath hitches as she sees the pictures and she sees the tools still lying haphazardly across.

Harley doesn’t know what to respond. He just walks forward.

He likes seeing what Tony was up to here. It feels like a better tribute to his memory than the flowers. They were a nice touch, but this…this is the Tony that he knew. That he knows.

Rhodey, after seeing Morgan’s impressive structure and checking in with Pepper (who is not doing well, but that’s…unfortunately expected), he goes over to Harley.

He looks so damn natural in the garage. He looks like Tony for a moment. For a moment, Rhodey can see Tony sifting through all the different drawers where he never kept anything organized, the small little furrow to his brow that he would get.

For a moment, Harley is Tony, kind of.

“Find what you need, kiddo?”

“Yeah,” Harley says, putting one of the smaller screwdriver behind his ear like Tony used to do. “You ready to go, or are we gonna stay for a while?”

“You know the way back home?”

“I…think so.”

“GPS already has it locked in for you. I gotta talk with Pepper some.”

Harley nods, already raising his hands up for the keys. Rhodey tosses them, and for a moment Harley reminds him a lot of himself.

Rhodey sits down with Pepper while they watch Morgan color a picture.

“She had a bad day yesterday,” Pepper says. “Dying is…it’s unfair.”

“I know,” Rhodey responds. “But at least Tony left her a message. And she has you and Happy and I.”

“But is it enough?” Pepper asks.

“No,” Rhodey answers. “When someone leaves, nothing is ever enough. But we work with what we are given.”

“We’ve never been good at that,” Pepper says, voice watery with grief.

They never have been, Tony and Pepper. Tony because he’s used to doing the impossible, Pepper because she’s always had to work with more than what she was given. That’s just what running a company like Stark Industries did to her.

Rhodey…he’s never been one for the impossible, he just rolls with the punches.

Tony never could. That’s why he stood against Stane, against Vanko, against his own death. It’s why Pepper adjusted to it.

Rhodey doesn’t know what to tell her other than that. So he asks her if she wants him to cook dinner, and she says no.

“Gives me a sense of routine,” Pepper says. “I’m working on writing down all of his recipes for Morgan.”

“I’ll bring some of my own by next visit,” Rhodey says.

He’s pretty sure right now, she’s only living for Morgan. Tony was the love of her life, even if sometimes she rolled her eyes at his antics. They fit well together. They fit so well together.

He swallows the jealousy down his throat, wills it to just leave, and texts Harley to come pick him up.

He gets there, and Rhodey doesn’t say much as he gets himself into the car.

“Pepper doing okay?”

“As good as she can be. She’s cooking dinner, so that’s an improvement.”

“Good. What are we having for dinner?”

Rhodey thinks about what they have in the pantry. Harley will probably need more than they eat.

“We need to stop at the grocery store.”

Harley nods, and Rhodey tells him where to go. Harley drives with the self-assurance that all new teens have, and it’s half-terrifying, half-exhilarating. It reminds Rhodey of when Tony would let him drive his fancy cars and he’d almost have a heart-attack the whole time.

This is payback.

“How did you get your license?” Rhodey wheezes.

“I didn’t,” Harley says with a shrug.

“Next stop: the DMV.”

“DMV doesn’t matter, Rhodey,” he says, tossing him the keys as they get out of the car. “What are we getting?”

“Lots of pasta. What kind of fruit do you like? Vegetables?”

“Do we need vegetables?��� Harley says, scrunching up his face.

“Yes,” he answers, laughing. “We can do a small portion, but we still need vegetables.”

Harley sighs, but gets a grocery cart and they start going.

They get everything in a good sense of time, and Rhodey sneaks in a good amount of candy, which isn’t so much a sneaky thing, because Harley sees the whole thing and sneaks in his own choice, which are those weirdly spicy snacks that will probably absolutely wreck an intestinal system if one eats too much of them.

“When is your mom expecting you back?” Rhodey asks as they unload the car.

“Sometime this week,” Harley says. “I wasn’t sure what was going to happen when I came here, if anyone would need anything. Looks like they don’t.”

“Well I need your help with cooking dinner,” Rhodey says. “Put my strainer on the top shelf, and no way in hell can I reach it now. Plus, you’ve been helping me out with my braces. You’re doing good, kid.”

Harley nods and doesn’t say anything back.

Rhodey gets it.

They eat spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. They don’t talk much until they’re washing the dishes (Rhodey hates the dishwasher and uses it for storage more than anything), and Harley looks at him.

Really looks at him.

“You miss him a lot, don’t you?”

Rhodey stops washing the plate.

“Yeah.”

No point in denying it. No point in doing any of that when someone dies. You miss them or you lie very badly and say you don’t miss them.

“What was your favorite thing about him?” Harley asks.

“I can’t choose one.”

“Then tell me about all of them. I never really got to hear a lot from you about your college days.”

“Well let’s start off with the premise that everything Tony told you about me is a lie,” Rhodey jokes. “But I met this skinny little kid my first day of move-in, and I was also a skinny little kid, so we wreaked havoc in the dining hall. They had it set up buffet-style, so…”

Harley listens with rapt attention, laughing at all the right parts and interjecting with his own opinion on the matters at hand.

He tells Rhodey about Rose Hill. He tells him about his mother and his sister, about Tony who has always been awkward as hell around people he wanted to impress.

Rhodey tells him about the time that Tony was gone, the first time. How it felt like part of his heart was out of its body, how he went nearly crazy trying to find him.

They talk and the spaghetti gets cold, and they have to refill water glasses because they’ve talked so much.

Rhodey ends up cleaning up the kitchen after Harley goes to bed, and he hums Tony’s favorite song as he does it. Tony always had some sort of music going when he was cleaning, although he’d usually get side-tracked if one of his many, many favorite songs came on, and leave a dish half-cleaned as he danced.

He misses Tony a hell of a lot.

But as he cleans up and he checks up on Harley, who’s fallen asleep on the couch with his arms at a very weird angle, he realizes something, and that is that this kid will need him for a long time.

He’s a genius, just like he and Tony are. (Were? He’s not sure. Doesn’t want to think about using the past tense.) But Harley needs help. He needs someone who can help him with his future, and Rhodey can do that.

He wants to do that.

So when Harley packs up everything to head back to Tennessee, Rhodey gives him his number and a couple of road trip snacks.

“I’m here for you, alright?” he says, smiling as Harley gets the last of his stuff into the car.

“I know,” Harley says. “I’ll call you when I need something.”

“Or if you just want to talk,” Rhodey responds. “Don’t do anything stupid without consulting me.”

“Oh come on,” he whines. “I don’t do anything stupid.”

Two months later, he gets a phone call that is trying to be casual.

“Hi Harley,” Rhodey starts out, “what are you doing in public airspace?”

“Um, that’s not me?” Harley says, but Rhodey can hear the whistling of the wind that he remembers from when Tony pulled the same trick.

“I’ll come up with an excuse for you,” Rhodey sighs. “Just…get here. I know that you probably forgot some stupid, obvious thing.”

“I resent that remark!”

“And you resemble it,” he says with a laugh. “Please tell me you remembered the icing problem.”

“The…icing problem?”

“Drop your altitude!” Rhodey barks.

“But then I might get caught!”

“You telling me you can’t go faster than a fighter jet?”

“…no.”

Rhodey laughs. Of course Harley would factor that but not icing.

“Alright, circle back. I got you.”

“Promise?”

“As long as you don’t do anything stupid.”

“You can handle stupid.”

#harley keener #tony stark #rhodey #one-sided rhodeytony :( #pepper potts #morgan stark #awkward dynamics! #lovelyirony writes #harley is like both rhodey and tony!!!! i love that #i hope i did this justice

[memes-saved-me]

Okay but what if Steve and Billy were high school sweethearts but then drifted away (maybe Billy moved to California?)

And then they see each other again in their 30’s or something

Billy and Steve were that couple, the one people saw going the extra mile and being together forever but life doesn't always work like that. It happens, people drift or forget things and eventually people move away and promise to stay in touch but when you're half way across the country its hard. Its even harder when all you have is postcards and late night phone calls after work.

Thing is they never officially broke up, they just moved on and used life to cope and sometimes life is enough to help you forget that the person you wanted to marry moved away or that they didn't come with you.

No hard feelings or heartbreak, life.

So when there's a shitty high school reunion Billy strolls into town the same as he was 10 years ago, except that early 30s metabolism isn't so friendly to his jawline and his hair is short but his fashion exactly the same.

Steve never left, got married, had a kid and then got a divorce. It didn't even dawn on his how much Billy meant until he saw him by the bar, leather jacket and boots pointing him out amongst the 90s questionable fashion. Not many familiar faces but his.

He hesitates because he heard from Max that he's doing pretty well for himself, runs a small surfing supply chain in Cali and Steve, well he is manager at the super market.

But Billy spots him and rushes over to wrap his arms around him in this confident caring embrace that always knocks him off his feet but it feels so good. The smell, the warmth is so familiar he feels 20 again.

They chat, catch up and its as if he never left and the phonecalls never stopped. They fell right back into where they left off and for the first time in years the both of them enjoyed themselves. Sure life in Cali is great but there's something missing and Steve's favourite thing is being a dad but not a single one.

The end of the night comes and they're left outside of the Hawkins High gym and Steve drags him inside to reminisce but that turns into touching and touching turns into kissing and well you get the idea.

They're woken up the next morning in Steve's 2 bedroom house by knocking at the door and he remembers his daughter his at his for the weekend and leaps out of bed. Tells Billy he can slip out the back if he wants but he's like nah let me meet her I bet she's full of mischief and he stays.

Actually he stays for the whole weekend and when she leaves they're best friends and Steve is the happiest he's been in years until he has to go again. Except this time when he promises he's just going back to California to sort some things out and then he's coming back to make up for lost time he actually means it because not even a week later he's at Steve's doorstep with a suitcase and a smile on his face.

They pick up where they left off

#yeeeees #harringrove #ask #longpost #long post