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here4theheartbreak · 4 years

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AO3 Link Here

Relationships: Lee Taemin x Park Jimin, Choi Minho x Kim Taehyung, Choi Minho x Kim Taehyung x Lee Taemin x Park Jimin (V3Min) Rating: Explicit

Genres: angst, smut Tags: smut, angst, fake dating, jealousy, pining, friends with benefits, getting together, bottom Taemin, switch Jimin, top Taehyung, top Minho

Summary: Minho has been in love with his best friend since forever. But Taemin was determined to be unattached... Until suddenly he wasn't. Taehyung spent his entire life pining after happiness with his best friend, only to have it ripped away when Jimin finds someone else. The rational response? Hatch a plan to make their respective crushes jealous. The part where they fell in love with each other, however, wasn't part of the plan.

Chapter Word Count: ~5.1k

“My father is literally trying to murder me.”

Minho didn’t bother to bite back his grin as soon as he entered the salon. He crossed the room as the handsome hairstylist whined and stomped one foot.

“You know, they say that a haircut is similar to going to a bar,” Minho commented as he took a seat.

“What?”

He lifted his chin to allow the cape to nestle against his throat. “The patrons dump their worries onto the stylist the same as they would a bartender. It’s cheap therapy. The bartender – and stylist – aren’t supposed to do things the other way around.”

Minho met Taemin’s gaze in the mirror, smirking at his pout.

“I’m having a crisis, hyung,” Taemin whined. Minho sighed patiently.

“Fine. Your father is metaphorically trying to murder you – I strongly doubt he’s intending to physically kill his youngest. Why do you think he’s out to get you?”

Taemin’s pout increased, making him look years younger than he actually was.

“He wants to arrange a marriage. Who even does that anymore?”

“Well, I mean quite a few families? It’s not like you have to marry the person he introduces you to.”

Taemin snorted, picking up his comb and spraying Minho’s hair lightly. “He all but threatened to cut me off and kick me out if I didn’t. Which is why I say, he’s out to get me.”

“Who’s the person, do you know?”

“Her name is Park Jisoo.”

“Oh, I know of that family. They’re pretty wealthy.”

“So my father said. I don’t care though. I don’t want to marry anyone, I’m happy how I am and I don’t wanna be tied down. If he’s so keen on me getting hitched, I might as well marry you.”

Minho snorted. “That’s never gonna happen.”

Taemin pouted again. “Why are you laughing?”

“Look, you and I might have fun in bed, but you said it yourself. You don’t want to be tied down. If you married me I’d drive you nuts. And either way, your dad is trying to set you up with a girl because he hates that you’re interested in men at all. Marrying me would set both of our fathers off.”

“It’d be fun to watch their heads explode though, wouldn’t it? Remember the first time your dad caught us kissing in the pool?”

“I thought mine was going to drown us both. I’ve never seen his face get so red. But to be fair… We were kids.”

“We were teenagers. All of our straight friends were already making out with their girlfriends in the broom closets.”

Minho chuckled. “Point made. Maybe she won’t be so bad. Everyone knows you’re a natural charmer, you’ll win her over in no time. You just have to make it clear you have boundaries and the marriage is a professional thing only.”

“That’s not fair to her.”

Minho smiled patiently. He watched Taemin through the mirror as he shaped the cut he knew Minho preferred, his brows furrowed in concentration. He’d known the man since Taemin was born, nearly – they’d grown up side by side in their apartment complex otherwise filled with teens and adults. Though there was an age gap, Minho adored Taemin, more than his same age friends most of the time. When Taemin realized at puberty that he might not be entirely into girls, it was natural for him to come to Minho… And to subsequently experiment with him.

Minho knew he was Taemin’s safety and friend… But not more.

Taemin had a reputation around their city as a bit of a player. People always came and went from his bed, and they had since he was barely legal. Minho was a constant, but the idea of being something more… It was a fantasy. Minho knew that, and resigned himself to what he was given. He loved Taemin in every way possible, and his happiness was what mattered. Minho honestly didn’t believe Taemin would ever find someone to settle down with – he was just too… Lee Taemin. Bouncing from person to person, content with a few nights of fun before moving on. It worked for them. Taemin never tired of Minho.

“So, when do you start shooting for your new role?” Taemin asked, breaking Minho’s inner dialogue.

“Hm? Oh, next week.”

“Do you need to leave Seoul for it?”

Minho grunted an affirmative. “Yeah, a month in Andong.”

“Ooh, it’s pretty there,” Taemin commented. He leaned down, resting his chin on Minho’s shoulder. “Pack me in your suitcase and take me with you.”

Minho beamed, pushing Taemin’s head playfully. “I wish. I don’t know any of the actors. There’s some rookie too, heard he thinks he’s hot shit.”

Taemin wrinkled his nose. “Gross.”

“I mean, he might be. I got that reputation too when I was new because I was good. I’ll give him a shot, but…” He shrugged the shoulder Taemin wasn’t perched on. “I’ll miss you.”

“Wanna hang out tonight?” Taemin smirked, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth. “Have a little fun?”

Minho chuckled. “Where’s Sehyoon?”

“Ah,” Taemin straightened up, angling his comb back to Minho’s hair. “You know how it is, easy come, easy go.”

“Dumped him, didn’t you?”

“Mutual separation. He wanted more, you know me.”

“He was cute.”

“He’s single.”

Minho snorted. “Not a chance. I’m not even dating you and I’ve got my hands full.”

Taemin smacked the back of Minho’s head with the comb. “I have scissors.”

Minho winced, rubbing the spot. “Such a brat.”

Taemin beamed at that, his entire face lighting up as he did. Minho couldn’t help but smile, his heart doing an all too familiar two step beat against his ribs. He knew he’d never end up with Taemin… But it didn’t stop him from secretly wanting to.

***

Minho bowed politely to Taemin’s father when he opened the door, not bothering to hide his smirk. “Good evening, Sir. Is Taemin in?”

“Not for the likes of you.”

Though Taemin’s father tolerated Minho to some degree, he was no fool about what went on between the two.

“I heard you intend to arrange a meeting for Taemin with the Park girl. She is quite beautiful.”

Taemin’s father straightened a little, scowling. “Her family is powerful. And she has the firm hand the boy needs.”

“Well, he does like a firm hand,” Minho bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the subtle widening of Taemin’s father’s eyes. “I mean… He certainly needs it to keep in line, correct?”

“Hm.”

“He discussed it with me today. He’s quite nervous. Wondered if I could come over before my trip and relax him, get him energized to meet his potential bride to be. That’s why I’m here.’ Minho planted his most sweet smile, letting his head tilt just a bit. “Nothing scandalous.”

Taemin’s father’s eyes narrowed. “Hm… He’s in his room, playing that damned music too loud.” He stepped aside, allowing Minho in. “For a boy his age, he certainly acts like a child. You’re older than him, shouldn’t you be a better influence?”

Minho smiled and bowed as he stepped out of his sneakers. “Ah, you know your son better than anyone, Mr. Lee. He’s as stubborn as a mule. It’s an admirable trait, even if it drives us all a bit insane. It’ll come in handy in business.”

“I suppose you’re right. Go. Go, leave the door open a crack. I know how your kind is.”

Minho nodded and jogged up the stairs, rapping on Taemin’s door before opening it and slipping through. He shut it firmly, kicking Taemin’s makeshift doorstop under it to effectively lock it.

Taemin was stretched out on his bed in a pair of shredded jeans, showing more skin than they were covering. He was flipping through a magazine, and glanced up when Minho entered.

“You came.”

“Not yet, but I intend to.”

Taemin smirked, sitting up and tossing the magazine aside. “Well come on then.” He leaned back on his hands, shifting to show off the curve of his body. Minho sighed deeply, letting his gaze roam over Taemin. He stripped off his hoodie and t-shirt, crawling up Taemin’s legs.

“You’re a tease,” he scolded without venom when their noses brushed. Taemin smirked.

“It’s only teasing if I don’t come through with it.” He slid his palm down Minho’s chest, cupping his crotch and giving a playful squeeze that had Minho’s eyelids fluttering. “And you know I always come through.”

“Oh, I do.” Minho brushed his lips over Taemin’s neck. “How are you feeling it today?”

Taemin laid back, looking up at Minho. “Hm. Not too rough… But don’t go easy on me either.”

“Deal… Do you still have my bag?”

Taemin nodded, then jutted his chin toward his closet. “Floor, left side… What do you need from it?” His lips curved up into a smirk.

“Guess you’ll have to find out.” Minho winked and wiggled off the bed, heading over to the closet. He dug around a bit before rising, turning back to the bed.

Taemin’s grin was irrationally bright given the handful of items Minho had. He held a heavy black rope and a bottle of lube, as well as a thin strip of flat wood like an unmarked ruler, and a sturdy rubber ring. He crawled back onto the bed, placing all the items but the rope onto the stand.

“Arms up.”

Taemin obeyed, his eyes wide and pupils dilated. He wet his lips, glancing up as Minho tied his arms together with the rope, then wound it through the rungs of the bedframe.

“I love when you’re like this,” Taemin whispered, nudging Minho’s arm with his cheek.

“Like what?”

“Bossy. Firm.”

“You need it,” Minho said, tugging the rope firmly. He grabbed Taemin’s jaw in a firm grip, squeezing just enough to pinch. “You’re a little shit. Always talking back and mouthing off to your elders. You’re lucky I do this instead of beating your ass.”

Taemin smirked. “I suck your cock too good for you to really be mad at any of that.”

Minho leaned forward, brushing his mouth against Taemin’s. “Says you.” He shoved his head back hard enough that Taemin bumped it against the wood frame, grimacing. He grinned broadly when Minho scooted down, tugging his belt off. He twisted his hips, helping Minho as much as he could to pull of his jeans. Minho swore.

“You know, if these weren’t so skintight…”

“Everyone would be disappointed,” Taemin snarked.

“I’d probably already be playing with your dick,” Minho said, finally yanking the denim down his slender legs. He tossed it off the bed and grabbed the base of Taemin’s foot firmly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Don’t—” Taemin warned, his own eyes widening. Minho scraped his nail along the arch of Taemin’s foot, chuckling when he squeaked and began to writhe.

“Don’t,” he whined.

“You gonna be good? Or keep being a little brat?” Minho tickled him again.

“I’ll be good!” Taemin promised. Minho freed his foot, grabbed his boxers instead and yanking them off.

He pushed his legs open, sliding his hands over the smooth skin of his thighs. “You’re so ridiculously beautiful.”

“You don’t need to flirt,” Taemin said with a bright laugh, “I’ve been giving you my ass since we were teenagers.”

Minho smiled, but the words cut more deeply than Taemin would ever realize. It may have been true; they’d taken one another’s virginities, but Minho wished beyond all else that one day his praises and compliments and teasing suggestions would be seen as more… As a viable option for Taemin. But it just wasn’t in the cards. So he hid the hurt behind grins and playful flirtations, opting instead to be everything Taemin wanted.

He pushed his legs open a little further, the glint of something metallic catching his eye.

“Oh—”

“Found my surprise.” Taemin twisted his hips, spreading his legs wide to reveal a sturdy silver anal plug nestled in his ass. “I got myself ready for you. I know how worked up we get… Thought this could make it… Kinda fun.”

“You… You are perfect,” Minho whispered. He moved up, grabbing the thin wooden paddle. He smacked it on his own hand, ignoring the tickling sting in favor of watching the way Taemin’s eyes dilated, his lips parting. Almost tickle soft, he brushed the edge of the paddle along the curve of Taemin’s muscle, watching it tense and relax. The first time he’d discovered Taemin had this kink it had been an accident. They’d been making out and Taemin, per his usual teasing attitude, had risen to walk off, earning a sharp swat on his bare ass. Their relationship escalated naturally afterward, each learning the other’s secret kinks and preferences. Despite the number of people Taemin slept with, Minho was the only one he relaxed like this with.

The first crack of the wood on his thigh landed on a quiet beat of the music. Taemin’s moan broke into a giggle. “Shh… My Dad’s gonna hear.”

“He can’t get in,” Minho said simply, smacking the other side just as hard. Taemin gasped, moaning softly. Minho alternated his smacks between the inner thighs and outer thighs, pausing every few strikes to massage the welted skin. He let a blow land lightly on Taemin’s stomach, just a few centimeter’s away from his cock, just enough to startle.

Taemin whined, his hips twitching up.

“Ohh… You liked that,” Minho said simply, a teasing lit in his tone. Taemin nodded, his eyes fluttering open.

“Again.”

“You don’t to be the boss,” Minho warned. He swatted Taemin’s exposed forearm with some force, watching the smooth skin redden and welt. “Try that again. Politely.”

Taemin bared his teeth, eyes narrowing. “Hit me again.”

Minho swatted his other forearm, giving it a matching welt.

“Somewhere else,” Taemin growled. Minho dropped the paddle and slapped Taemin across the cheek. He gasped, blinking tears from his eyes. Minho smirked, grabbing his chin again and yanking him forward as much as his bound arms would allow. He crawled up, going almost nose to nose with him.

“Don’t. Be. A. Brat.”

“Why not?” Taemin breathed. “You fucking love it. I can see how hard your cock is already.” He jerked his hips up, emphasizing his point. Minho squeezed harder.

“I’ll only fuck you if you be a good boy for me, Taemin. Can you do that?”

“That’s no fun. Plus… You wanna come too.”

“There are other ways to come.” He slid his thumb over Taemin’s plush bottom lip, pushing it into his mouth and pressing down on his tongue. “I do have the gag.”

Taemin’s eyes fluttered for a moment, and Minho knew he was affecting him.

“Would you like me to get that, baby?” He threatened, his tone measured and even. “Fuck your pretty mouth and not let you come for me?”

Taemin shook his head as well as he could with Minho’s firm grip. “I’ll try to be good.”

“Good boy.” Minho let go of his face and kissed him hard.

He pulled back and grabbed the rubber ring, reaching down to stroke Taemin’s cock a few times. “Remember… You don’t come until I say you can, brat.”

Taemin hissed as Minho slid the ring on, settling it against the base of his cock. He reached lower and grabbed the plug, tugging it. It caught for a moment then slid out, a dribble of lube following.

Minho swore under his breath, sliding two fingers into Taemin. He wiggled.

“Don’t, please, hyung.” He blinked down at him, smiling as politely as he could likely manage. “I’m stretched. I want you just to put it in.”

“You sure? You still seem so tight…”

Taemin snorted. “You know I can take it. Just fuck my ass. Fill me up. I know you want to.” He purred, spreading his legs further. He lifted them with a practiced ease, the muscles in his thighs twitching as he pressed his knees against his chest, his breathing coming in strained pants. The motion gave Minho a perfect view of his ass, wet with lube, the smallest gape when he flexed.

Minho slid his hands up the backs of Taemin’s thighs, feeling the musculature under his palms. Despite his relatively stagnant job as stylist, Taemin had the body of a dancer. He was slender and flexible, head to toe lean muscle and stamina to boot.

“Get my dick wet first,” Minho finally said. He pushed Taemin’s legs back down and rose, stripping out of his jeans and boxers. He stroked his own cock lazily, gaze roaming over Taemin’s bound form.

Taemin peeked through his shaggy bangs, lips parted and wet. He squeezed his thighs together repeatedly, obviously seeking any stimulation he could manage.

“Beg,” Minho growled.

“Please,” Taemin whispered, clearly more eager to please and get his reward than play stubborn. “Come fuck my ass, hyung. You have to go without it for a whole month. Come take what you need, fill me up and make me ache when I sit down. Please, I need it… No one screws me like you do,” he whined, spreading his legs open.

Minho crawled back onto the bed, straddling his chest and fisting his hair.

“Look at me.”

Taemin rolled his eyes up, wetting his lips. “Gonna make me choke on it, sir?”

There was the attitude. Minho smirked. “You know it.” He slid his tip over Taemin’s bottom lip.

“Get it nice and wet for your ass.” He pushed his cock in and slid his hips forward until the tip bumped against the back of Taemin’s throat. His shoulders jerked and Minho groaned, tightening his grip on his hair. Starting off slow but persistent, Minho pumped his hips, driving his cock as deep as it would go. He pulled Taemin forward, grunting softly when his throat began to relax, giving into the intrusion. Taemin gagged around him, coughing up spit and precome as Minho worked his cock into his throat.

“There you go, Tae… Swallow it down, baby. Work on that gag reflex,” Minho praised, holding Taemin’s chin with his free hand. Taemin looked up, tears filling his dark eyes. One slid down his cheek, accompanied with a hard gag, that had Minho’s eyes rolling back as his throat squeezed around his tip.

“Fuck… The way I wanna fill your mouth,” he panted. Taemin began to struggle, his hands in fists. Minho pulled back immediately and loosened his grip, searching his face for distress. Taemin coughed, dragging in much needed air.

“Please, not today,” he rasped. “My ass.”

Minho smirked, wiping spit from his chin. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll come up your ass. That mouth is just a damn big temptation.”

Taemin grinned broadly. “When you come back from filming you can come down my throat, okay?”

“Deal.” He kissed him gently, brushing his hair down from where he’d mussed it pulling. He settled between Taemin’s thighs, pushing his knees up to his chest again. “Relax.”

Taemin nodded, letting his eyes slip shut. Minho added lube to his spit slicked cock and lined up, taking only a moment before pushing past Taemin’s tight rim. They both moaned. Taemin’s head fell back onto the pillow, a small, contented smile crossing his face.

Minho braced himself on either side of Taemin’s chest and began to thrust, slow and steady to begin. Taemin was unbearably tight, his hole clenching and releasing in a pulse-like rhythm as his body adjusted to the intrusion.

Minho grabbed the paddle again, sliding the edge over Taemin’s cock.

Taemin whined, biting his bottom lip. Minho swatted his tip as gently as he could. Taemin bucked upward, nearly forcing Minho’s cock out. He let his legs fall over Minho’s shoulders, a high whimper slipping from his lips. Minho swatted his cock lightly again, this time driving as deeply as he could.

Taemin cried out, his body tensing. “Stop teasing me,” he snarled, his teeth bared.

“What was that?” Minho asked. He pulled his cock free, ignoring Taemin’s strained plea. Instead, he smacked the thin paddle lightly over Taemin’s gaped hole three times before driving two fingers in, thrusting them aggressively.

“I asked you a question, brat.”

Taemin moaned brokenly, his cock twitching against his heaving stomach. “Fuck me, please— Put it back in!”

“Not until you behave. I warned you.” Minho brought the paddle down on the exposed meat of his ass, grunting when Taemin’s ass clamped down on his fingers. “You don’t control this situation, Taemin. Do you?”

Taemin bit his lap, a smirk curving the corners of his mouth up. “Since you’re using my ass... Don’t I?” He asked. Minho cocked a brow.

“If you wanna be that way.” Minho pushed Taemin’s legs off his shoulders, kneeling between them to keep them spread open. He swatted Taemin’s hole and ass four times in quick succession before placing the paddle aside. He poured lube into his hand and made a fist around his cock before beginning to thrust his hips forward, squeezing and relaxing his fist rhythmically as he did. The wet squelch of the lube and Minho’s grunts punctuated the soft points of the music.

“You sure I need your body?” Minho grunted out. Taemin was squirming on the bed, his hole flexing as he tended and relaxed, clearly needing more. He wet his lips, eyes not leaving Minho’s cock.

“Or do you maybe need my cock up your tight ass to come, hm?”

Taemin chewed his bottom lip. His cock twitched at Minho’s words. “It won’t be as good... Your hand is nothing compared to my hole and you know it.”

“Maybe,” Minho grunted, shivering as he squeezed his tip. “But I’ll still be able to come and be satisfied. Will you?”

Taemin squirmed again. He remained silent, watching Minho masturbate in front of him for a few moments.

“I need it,” Taemin finally whispered.

“Oh? What was that?”

Taemin swallowed thickly. “I need your cock to feel good... Please, Hyung.”

“Ah, I thought so.” Minho stopped jerking off, grabbing the paddle and swatting Taemin’s thigh. “I’m waiting for those special words though.”

“Please!” Taemin hissed.

“No, the other ones.”

Taemin rolled his eyes. Minho swatted his thigh hard with his bare hand, smirking when he whimpered. “Aw, and here I thought you wanted my cock.” He leaned back, fisting his cock again.

“I’m sorry!” Taemin cried. “I— I’m sorry, sir. Please— Use my ass.”

Minho nodded. “There we go.” He knew Taemin was far from sorry; this was just the game they played. He had nothing to be sorry for, but it was damn sexy to watch him plead.

Minho rammed his cock back in, moaning when Taemin clenched around him and bucked off the bed. He grabbed a handful of his ass and squeezed before smacking hard three times. Taemin’s ass clenched almost painfully tight, ripping a cry from Minho’s mouth.

He began to fuck into him hard and fast, smacking his ass every few thrusts for that perfect squeeze around his cock.

Taemin writhed under him, his hips twisting to help with the thrusts, head thrown back as soft cries of pleasure-pain fell from his bite swollen lips. He was the most beautiful person Minho had ever seen. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to Taemin’s parted lips.

“Tell me how it feels, baby,” he panted.

“Thick—“ Taemin whined, the muscles in his arms bulging as he struggled against the ropes. “So big, it almost hurts... Fuck me harder, please—“ he broke off in a moan when Minho shifted angles, driving just a bit deeper.

Minho leaned back, slowly pushing Taemin’s hips up as he fucked into him.

Taemin smirked, open mouthed. “Wanna see?” He panted. Minho nodded. He reached forward and fisted Taemin’s hair, dragging his head forward. As he did, he folded Taemin’s flexible body more inward, still thrusting into his ass. He grabbed Taemin’s cock and pulled the ring off, angling it outward and pushing his body until Taemin was able to place the tip of his own cock into his mouth.

His eyes rolled back as he sucked, moan muffled.

Minho swore, his cock throbbing hard at the sight. He continued to fuck Taemin’s ass, each thrust shifting the cock between his lips.

“You wanna come like this?” Minho panted.

Taemin nodded as well as he could.

“Don’t swallow.”

He began to thrust as hard as he could manage, chasing his own orgasm. Taemin’s eyes rolled back, his moans muffled by the twitching cock between his lips. He clenched around Minho, toes curling as his balls began to throb, cock twitching.

Minho groaned, sliding his thumb over the underside of Taemin’s cock as he spilled into his own mouth. When the throbs slowed and stopped, Minho shifted, letting Taemin’s head go. His cock slipped free and he opened his mouth, showing Minho the thick, milky fluid within. Minho groaned. He let Taemin’s legs fall and leaned forward, kissing him hard.

Taemin wrapped his legs around Minho’s hips, moaning as their tongues slid together, sharing his come.

Minho’s stomach clenched, his balls drawing up almost painfully tight. He grunted into Taemin’s mouth, hips losing rhythm as his nerves heightened in sensitivity. Taemin pulled back, his lips glossy with come and spit.

“Fill my ass, hyung... Please,” he whispered, looking up at Minho from half closed eyes.

Minho grunted his name, grabbing Taemin’s hip almost painfully tight as the pressure in his body peaked, a wall of tension that built in his cock and sent shudders through his form. He came, cock throbbing against Taemin’s tight inner walls, his body clenching and releasing each spurt of fluid. He could hear himself grunting and whining, and Taemin speaking softly, though making out the words was an impossible feat.

One final throb and the tension of his body released all at once, the flood of feel good hormones turning every muscle into pudding. He collapsed over Taemin, grinning dumbly.

Taemin shifted, tugging at the ropes binding him. Minho reached up and pulled the release he’d tied into the rope, freeing Taemin before relaxing once more, nuzzling against his soft shoulder.

“Talk to me,” Minho mumbled, pressing kisses to his skin.

“I’m good.”

Minho pulled back, meeting Taemin’s sleepy gaze. “Yeah?”

Taemin nodded. “I promise. No floating.”

Minho nodded. He sat up and stretched, rubbing the back of his neck. This was always the time he hated. For the time they were having sex, the ‘no strings attached’ part of their relationship didn’t matter. He could kiss and cuddle and hold Taemin to his heart’s content. When they went far enough, and Taemin hit that floaty, feel good feeling as he described it, it gave Minho an out. Free reign to take care of Taemin like he wanted to all the time, bring him back to earth slowly. When he didn’t reach that point… Minho was just another quick fuck. The only difference was that Taemin didn’t kick him out of his house when he was done. Minho wasn’t sure that would be worse.

He pulled on his jeans, passing Taemin his jeans and boxers before rising to put away their toys.

“Why is this door shut?!” The door shook in its frame as Taemin’s father rapped on it.

Minho pulled a face, showing his teeth before chuckling. He slid the closet shut and ran fingers through his hair before nudging the stopper out of the way and opening it, smiling sheepishly and bowing.

“Sorry, Sir.”

“I told you to keep that door open,” He snapped. “Why is your shirt off? I swear—"

“It’s just so hot,” Minho whined as well as he could, fanning his hand in front of his face. “We shut the door to try and keep the cool air from the window in the room.” He shifted to show Taemin on the bed, his jeans perfectly in place, shirt missing still. “Could we have permission to turn the AC up a little?”

Taemin’s father’s eyes narrowed. Minho knew he could likely smell the sex from the room. He kept the innocent smile planted on his face nonetheless even as Taemin’s father’s eyes searched the room for any physical sign of their coitus.

“I will turn up the air conditioning. Keep the door open, it allows for better airflow… And put on a damn shirt.”

Minho bowed his head politely, stepping further into the room and grabbing his shirt from the floor. Taemin’s father scanned the room once more, his lips disappearing into an annoyed line before he stalked off.

Minho sat on the bed, pulling his shirt on. “You have got to get a place of your own, Tae.”

“I like living rent free,” Taemin whined. “I can save my money for stuff I want.”

“I know, and I get it – I hated moving out of my parents… But your dad is so pushy.”

Taemin shrugged. He sat up and moved to where Minho was sitting, putting his head on his shoulder.

“I won’t have to worry about it in a few weeks. I’ll be getting hitched.” The sarcasm was obvious in his tone.

“You don’t have to say yes, Tae. You should follow your heart.”

Taemin snorted. “It’s easier. I’ll just do what you said, let her know I’m not gonna be some good husband. I’ll go through the motions, be married, but she has to accept that she won’t be my only person. I don’t do love.”

Minho sighed. “Maybe you will. What if she ends up being perfect for you?”

“I doubt it. You know I’m up for anything but I’ve always leaned toward guys. If I end up with anyone long term I think it’ll be someone male identifying.”

“Never know.” Minho nudged him playfully. “Just go to the date with an open mind, okay?”

“Okay.” Taemin sighed, flopping back onto the bed. “He’s sending me to her next Friday.”

“End of the same week I leave. You’ll have to text me with how it went. Or Facetime me in the evening.”

“I will. I’m sure I’ll need your support,” Taemin said through a laugh. “Wanna play a game? We can order something for food.”

Minho nodded. “Always. You order, I’ll set it up.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence as they played rounds of the game, spending the next few hours with one another. It was always this way, as long as Minho could remember. He loved it, and wouldn’t dare ruin it by asking for more. Even if, sometimes, in his dreams, he wished.

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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hotel california. (gigi/jackie) — chapter one. - Roza

summary: jackie is a new immigrant to california in the late 70s after the explosion of the iranian revolution and meets gigi goode, a motorcyclist whose father owns the complex the persian is staying at for the next few months. what could possibly go wrong. [songfic based on hotel california]

author's note: thank you to all of jankie candle for being the best support and alex for being the best beta. ty guys for always loving this idea from the beginning, I hope you all enjoy and tumblr is @leljaaa as always xx

my tumblr: leljaaa / ao3 link / ( ꈍᴗꈍ)

— *.✧

August 25th 1978.

Jackie's hands ceased to move as she stood completely stone-faced, looking towards the windows of the Yeşilköy Airport in Istanbul.

Her eyes glanced around the larger-than-life interior of the building as she was left to stare at the small view of the water from the terminal gate her ticket has assigned her to be present in.

Water.

That's all that managed to separate Jackie from her motherland.

All of her childhood and current life was to be completely thrown away and restarted.

The storm clouds concerning the collapse of the entire country had gathered for almost an entire year. It didn't help that everyone was simply butting heads over how to properly come together to try and overthrow the reigning government in power.

The Pro-Western, secret-police-filled lavish monarchy was now, apparently, wanting to be replaced with a Anti-Western theocracy. It had been largely nonviolent, thankfully, and simply was massed with civil protests as well as marches and chants from various citizens.

But the revolution finally erupted when only six days ago, 500 citizens were burned to their demise in an intentional fire that started at a local movie theatre.

Outcry, screams, rallying on the streets.

Constant.

Jackie left her family, called her mother one last time and promised to try to communicate as much as she could when she finally reached the West.

Storming out of University she groaned, running for Istanbul with her one suitcase after she hugged her roommate goodbye. She wiped the tears from her eyes as she passed by the warm and friendly neighborhood cats in Tehran one last time.

She adjusted her long blue and white floral dress as she pulled on the tassels near her neckline, making an attempt to tighten the top of the outfit as she gasped, hearing the announcement in Turkish and English about her flight finally boarding the next class in line.

Los Angeles was the only destination she was able to find a decent price for, her main sights were set on Canada where they had vacationed before to see cousins and distant family. However, most Iranians were fleeing to the states, so much so that the number in colleges jumped up almost 40,000 people.

Arrangements for her housing were made over in a telephone booth nearly an hour ago as Jackie detailed her situation to the man who apparently owned one of the cheaper complexes in California.

It wasn't her first choice but it was certainly her only choice at the moment, especially when she was about to board a plane to the destination.

Is this the American dream? Telling a stranger my life story as I sob over a payphone?

They exchanged information and she was booked through the system as she had just barely enough money to cover her basic expenses and the down payment he spoke of.

All that money saved from new year celebrations, her birthday, college and her job as a waitress would barely even cover a good two weeks of rent.

Basic math showed that seventy Iranian rial only equated to a single US Dollar.

Luckily, being an English and Linguistics major she knew the language like the back of her hand even if she still slipped heavily into her accent while conversing.

She could at least try to find work with the skills she had under her belt.

I know French fluently in any worst case. I'm sure there's some posh, Parisian strolling around the malls of America I've heard described in my magazines.

"Thank you," she whispered in English as she gripped her pastel blue suitcase close to her chest, stepping past the flight attendant as she entered the covered bridge.

My whole life is now on hold.

— *.✧

"Morning Miss Goode," a gentle voice spoke as the blonde flipped her long hair and shut the door in front of her. She smiled seeing one of their long time visitors, Clarissa, sitting near the lounge of the apartment complex with Earth, Wind & Fire blaring across the radio.

"Good morning," she grinned as she gave her a hug, gently crouching as she tried to keep a smile while hugging the older woman, who was reading her daily newspaper.

Her denim jumpsuit was covered in oil stains as she wiped her face dabbed in sweat.

"Riding again?"

The twenty year old laughed, confirming the woman's suggestion and shrugging with a small smile painted across her lips as she tied her hair back, explaining that she was trying to see if her motorcycle had an oil leak, that was all.

"Just trying to work on the bike while I can."

Owning the complex was always some kind of burden and weight on her shoulders, though it wasn't the Ritz or a five star resort, she grew up knowing it was a deep part of her family history and she was next to own it and take over the business.

Go to University and study business, paid for by her parents, come home and expand the housing and see a surge in profit.

If this plan was the stairwell to Heaven, Gigi had completely turned around and jumped off backwards after hitting that first step.

Gigi could care less about education in a society where no one cared unless you were rich or singing the number one hit song charting on the radios.

She had barely gotten her high school diploma before she decided to drop out of community college, despite getting to live with her best friend since middle school, Crystal.

The redhead had been extremely anxious about the sudden separation, until she realized that the starving poor artist wasn't a good look for her or her family, who barely had enough means as it was.

Now they both worked at the complex for decent money, Crystal great with design and helping out with various projects concerning architecture or the new paint jobs for the inside of some of the rooms.

Gigi was often stuck at the front desk, or trying to mingle with confused or returning guests who took every chance to complain to the daughter of the owner whenever they possibly could.

She entered the door to her childhood home as she was immediately met with an uncertain stare directed her way.

"Dad—" her lips pursed together as she was immediately stopped by her father who sighed, not even needing an explanation of where she was or what she partook in instead of her job at the front desk of the small hotel.

"Gigi! We talked about this, you have to focus on your job here and make your money's worth and not just ride your bike!"

"I know…" she pouted as she took a deep breath, saddling in for another long rant from her father. But her mom seemed to hear her inner prayers, walking by and rubbing her shoulders, insisting that Gigi was allowed to have some fun during these hot dull summer months.

"Thank you," she whispered as she was bestowed with a loving kiss upon her forehead, her mom holding her hand as she stepped over to the kitchen, asking if Gigi would like anything to drink.

"I'm good."

Her father seemed to ignore the last two minutes as he sat on the couch, blissfully watching whatever channel was being broadcast as the mention of a new, month long rental had called in this morning.

"She's coming all the way from Iran. Only a bit older than Gigi."

Gigi's ears perked up as she changed in the bathroom out of the tight outfit into her short-cut t-shirt gifted from Crystal as a token of their friendship.

Her mind ran rampant with questions as she bit her lower lip and shook her head; she knew well enough from consistent pestering and close observation that right now wasn't a good time to be speaking about something still considered so taboo.

The only lesbian in all of Los Angeles who wasn't ancient or leading an uprise was Crystal and her other close friend from high school, Jan, who was as about as open as you could get with someone still fiercely in the closet.

"What about a new girl?" She asked curiously as she stepped out from the shadows.

Her father smiled, happy that Gigi was interested in anything pertaining to work, though the blonde knew exactly where her head laid with that question.

"She's a refugee, the revolution is apparently starting to build and she needs a place to stay," her mother recapped as Gigi slid by the fridge, listening impatiently to her father's blind knowledge of politics and foreign affairs as she stole a soda.

"Their royalty recently spoke to our own Jimmy Carter you know."

"Really?" Gigi replied with genuine shock, opening her bottle of Dr. Pepper, completely forgetting who her own country's president was for a solid two minutes.

I could give less of a shit.

It wasn't her fault she had failed Government and Economics in high school.

She had always been in favour of taking those 45 minutes to instead go on a ride or just hide behind the bleachers with one of the cigarettes she had managed to steal from Crystal.

"Name?"

"Jacqueline, she's scheduled to arrive around late afternoon so we should go down in a few to work on some unfinished papers and also to make sure she's comfortable."

Gigi groaned, sipping her drink as she kept moaning at the thought of having to do math at a table alone. The incredibly interesting job of paperwork, however, would end with her meeting a new and mysterious woman almost her age.

She could either be Gigi's next crush or turn into a decently close friend, and either way she considered it a win-win situation for the better.

— *.✧

"More to the left," the blonde spoke as Crystal lifted the piece of artwork towards the end of where she had placed her chair.

"Good!"

Nailing it in, the redhead jumped down from the chair as she and Gigi exchanged a round of high fives and hugs.

The time had rolled around to ten minutes to four in the afternoon as the two were attempting to keep on singing with the ABBA record that was playing as they finished up the final touches of the autumn decor near the lobby.

It wasn't the most interesting time, but the pair always managed to make it as lively and fun as can be.

"Good job," she admitted as both headed for the pool before Gigi gasped, stopping immediately in her tracks when noticing what must've been the new Persian girl her father was talking about.

"Crystal, that's her!" She whisper-shouted as her best friend nodded, looking up and down at her beautifully styled outfit.

Flowing curly black hair, her dress long with a slit almost up to her thigh as she wore her locks down with little makeup on.

She was more than beautiful.

She was completely ethereal.

A goddess, the kind of figure that would make anyone stop on the street just so they could take her in and bask in the pure, unfiltered grace and poise you would feel looking at such a textbook definition of stunning.

Crystal disappeared in broad daylight as Gigi was left staring, engulfed completely in fantasy and admiration for someone her age to travel all this way just to feel some stable security and safety.

"Your full name?"

The Persian tilted her head, confused before Gigi's father explained that it was just for check in purposes so they could find her room number and call number.

"Jacqueline but most will just call me Jackie, Cox."

"Very American last name," her dad spoke, curious, Gigi wanting to bash her head against the wall the moment the words left his lips.

"My dad was born in Canada," she explained sheepishly as she covered her cheeks with her fingertips, trying to disguise the blush that soon infiltrated her entire face.

They exchanged a couple of chuckles here and there before the Persian finally received the key to her hotel room, Gigi jumping out from behind her father to explain that she would show her the place she would be staying in.

Locking eyes, Jackie's expression brightened significantly as Gigi rapidly fluttered her lashes. Her tough girl exterior completely crumbled at the sight of someone so perfect and refined.

"Gigi Goode."

"Jackie Cox."

They shook hands firmly, the both of them walking towards the elevator as Jackie held her suitcase, completely indifferent to the idea of staying at this complex despite the cute girl next to her who made sure she would get to her room in an orderly fashion.

Jackie missed her apartment in Tehran, she missed the mountains and high-rises in the window of her student home, with the silver tabbies sometimes hopping on the window when they smelled something good being cooked.

"I don't wanna ask you if it's triggering but what drove you to Los Angeles specifically? Is there a lot of students here from your country?"

The Persian smiled, licking her lips as she tried to come up with a put together answer to the question without having to go through a textbook of back story concerning the revolution.

"There is a lot of fighting over my government and I just fled knowing it's going to get worse. Los Angeles does have some Persians here for sure but I only am here because it was the cheapest ticket option."

"Awesome," Gigi gasped, "I mean not awesome! I'm sorry you're here but I'm very glad you're here and are staying with us!"

Way to make a first impression Gigi.

Jackie laughed at how quickly the blonde seemed to trip over her own words as the elevator opened to the second floor, Gigi skipping out before holding out her hand for the taller woman.

"Ladies first."

"Thank you!"

Making her way to the door she slid her key into the room as she finally managed to unlock it before nodding at the space within the room.

"It's very nice!"

"You don't have to lie just because my father owns this building," Gigi admitted with a snicker as Jackie shook her head furiously.

"I mean it!"

Gigi couldn't help but stare at the brightly coloured walls, though she supposed anything was better than Jackie's current situation back in her home country.

She explained that her and her best friend were probably going to be redoing the rooms soon with new paint job finishes.

"It's very cute, I like the colours."

Jackie sets her suitcase down on the couch as she jumps on to it, wiggling around as she leaned back and sighed, remembering suddenly that she needed to find a way to speak with her mother.

"Do you possibly have some kind of phone around? I just need to contact my mother if that's okay."

Gigi frowned, the idea of being away from her mom during a damn revolution abroad completely would destroy her, though Jackie seemed fine, or was at least able to mask her true emotions extremely well.

"Yeah, there should be one in the kitchen. It has a guide in English and French if you know it," She jokes though the Persian claps, admitting she's fluent and better at it than English.

Oh so she's also a cunning linguist.

What a home run.

"It's a bit confusing but if you get stuck you can always ask me, I work at the front desk most of the time."

Jackie stands, their faces in proximity as she thanks Gigi for all the good service and help. The Persian admitted she definitely wanted to see her again considering she was the first connection she had made arriving in America.

"If you ever wanna see me you can catch me on my Kawasaki motorcycle, I'm almost always out somewhere riding."

"You drive a motorcycle?" She asks, genuinely intrigued at Gigi's few hobbies.

"I do and I would be happy to take you anywhere you need, we live near one of the best downtown areas so whenever you need food or just want to stroll, let me know."

Jackie tucked the loose strands of her black hair behind her ear as she blushed, admitting it might have to be soon since she had to go off and buy some food for herself.

"If it's any trouble, I absolutely do not mind walking…"

"You're not going to walk to a grocery store, what time do you want to go? I'll knock on your door."

The Persian stared at the clock before humming, admitting that somewhere around six or seven would be perfect.

"It's a date," Gigi flirted before making a move and kissing Jackie's hand, saying goodbye to her new-found friend as the refugee stared at her with a smirk.

"Bye Gigi," she whispered as the blonde turned and closed the door, Jackie locking it before trying not to let the thought of this girl completely hypnotize her.

She was beautiful and very sweet. She was trying to make Jackie feel as comforted as possible, even if her responses were sometimes just a bit floundered.

Content with what she had, she turned on the small television perked in her room as she quickly explored the remaining calibers of the place she would call home for the next few weeks or so.

Her body stopped at the sight of the phone as she gripped the wires, her fingers wrapping around them as she anxiously attempted to call her mother, though she knew it was a long shot, and if it wasn't it would still be expensive.

No answer.

She groaned, head in her heads as she attempted to not cry. She put aside some of her extra money she budgeted out for non-necessity items.

I will ask Gigi to find me a payphone so I can give a call.

However, I still have to work out these timezone conversions.

Her suitcase was filled to the brim with whatever she could bring: her best outfits, three pairs of shoes, all her basic first aid, the money, some tokens of her home country to keep her at ease, a small Iranian flag and some miscellaneous items to keep her entertained like a few vinyl records and lots of art and writing materials.

"This is the American dream they always speak about," she muttered under her breath as she pulled out a long white kaftan to wear for the rest of the day.

Welcome to the United States Jackie, everything is only uphill from here...

#rpdr fanfiction #jackie cox #gigi goode #crystal methyd #jan sport #gigi x jackie #lesbian au #seventies au #decades au #song fic #hotel california #roza #concrit welcome #s12

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emybain · 5 years

Note

can you do some with nova and adrian in the house with hugh & simon like in archenemies

soo...I tried. im terrible at writing adults for whatever reason. also, im sorry bc I used this as self indulgence and basically continued a previous tiny group of fics that I plan to keep adding on to

anyway, this is nodrian house hunting, basically. that's it.

Nova’s hands curled tighter around her mug as thunder and lightning disrupted the steady downfall of rain. She shifted closer to Adrian underneath the blanket they were sharing to get a better look at the new image he pulled up on his tablet.

“Two bedroom, one bathroom,” he read off, scrolling down to look at the description of the apartment. “Sun filled updated condo in a great location...completely renovated kitchen...front porch and fenced in back patio…” He nodded, lips pursed.

Nova sipped her tea, enjoying its warmth. “Square footage?”

“Just over one thousand.” Adrian scrolled back up to the pictures included with the condo. Nova nearly choked on her drink.

“Great skies, Adrian. You said you were looking for an apartment, not a house.”

Adrian began swiping through the photos. “This is a condo, Nova. It’s just the first floor, not both.”

“Well, they’re charging quite a bit for just the first floor.” Nova leaned in front of her to set the mug down on the coffee table.

They were sitting in the living area of Adrian’s home, looking for a place for Adrian to call his own due to the many circumstances including privacy. When Adrian had first mentioned house hunting after he returned from his Africa trip, they had planned on meeting at Nova’s place to keep away from the prying eyes of Simon and Hugh, Adrian’s nosy dads. However, they hadn’t planned on the heating system to stop working throughout the entire apartment complex during a week of storms, so they agreed to just meet at Adrian’s house and keep it low key. Lucky for them, Simon and Hugh had been gone for the better part of the day, running errands and working with other Renegades to rebuild the system. Neither of them held the knowledge that their former worst enemy and current girlfriend of their son was cuddled up next to him on their couch in the middle of their living room, doing the most domestic thing on the planet. Max, who was just in the early stages of his teen years, was locked away in his room with his video games. He had been in the living area when Nova came over, but immediately fled to the safety of his bedroom to ‘avoid gross couple-y things’.

“I don’t mind going a little over budget.” Adrian shrugged nonchalantly. “The kitchen is actually really nice for a condo. Lots of light. New appliances. I think this is in one of those old neighborhoods that they’re trying to bring back to life.”

Nova raised an eyebrow. “A little over budget is a few thousand. Your price ranger is under one-fifty. This is almost three hundred, Adrian.”

“I’m well aware.” Adrian shot her a look, eyes glinting in amusement. He pressed a kiss to her temple. “The yard’s too small anyway.” He exited out of the condo and went back to the main list.

“Now you want a yard?” Nova shifted to face him better. The blanket twisted with her. “What are you going to do? Adopt a dog?”

“I might.” Adrian glanced at her again, this time quicker than the last.

After a few minutes of scrolling, he opened up another listing. Nova resisted the urge to roll her eyes. This one was a house. Or, as the description read, single family home. “What are you going to do with a two story house, Adrian Everhart? With three bedrooms?” Upon closer examination of the description, she blinked in confusion. “Buddy. This isn’t even in Gatlon.”

“Would you like to do the searching for me?” Adrian offered her the tablet jokingly, although she could tell he was a little miffed from the tight set of his shoulders. Nova wanted to shrink back into the blanket, but she refused to.

“I just want to know why you’re looking at places bigger and more expensive than you mentioned before. Not to mention that they don’t really look like a first home for a twenty year old planning to live by himself.”

Adrian set the tablet back down in his lap. “Maybe I don’t plan to live by myself.”

Nova gave him a long look, which he returned. “And who’s going to be living with you? Oscar and Ruby are getting married, so that rules out him. One of your old friends?”

“Well, maybe I plan to live by myself at first,” Adrian paused, “but it never hurts to be prepared for the future.” He went quiet after that and tore his eyes from Nova’s. As he returned to the main list, it struck Nova, turning her cheeks a dark color.

“Adrian-”

“Look, here’s an apartment. Two bedroom, one bathroom, in the price range and in Gatlon.”

She rested her hand on his neck, forcing him to turn his head back to face her.

“What?” He feigned being oblivious, but Nova saw through it.

“Adrian,” she started again, biting her lip. “We don’t know what’s in the future. We haven’t even been together for six months yet.”

“I don’t need six months to know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Nova.”

It was Nova’s turn to fall silent. Her eyes fell to the tablet, with the apartment Adrian had pulled up. It was hideous, judging from the first photo. Definitely not Adrian’s style.

Nova couldn’t deny that she had thought of what life would be like if she and Adrian stayed together long enough to make a huge decision like moving in together. But every time that her mind brought it up, it terrified her. Almost her whole life had been spent alone, even when she lived in the subway tunnels with the Anarchists. Even now, when she had been spending the past two years surrounded by people and building relationships that had previously been made up of lies. She lived alone, she made all her own decisions, she worked independently among a group of people. The last time she hadn’t truly been alone was before her family was killed.

Sure, since she had started dating Adrian, for real, some of those things were altered. She began to be more open and friendly (because Adrian told her that she gave off a ‘I’m-better-than-everyone-else’ bitch vibe whenever she kept to herself), and she was more open to collaborating. But none of those were as big as changing her whole living situation by moving in with Adrian. Moving in with Adrian would mean exposing herself and trusting him in the rawest ways possible. Not that she didn’t already trust him. She trusted him with her life. But this was a different kind of trust, and she didn’t know if she was ready for it. For now, at least. So she told him.

“But things could change later,” Nova said quickly, upon seeing Adrian’s face fall. “And...I guess you’re right. It doesn’t hurt to prepare for the future.” To reassure him, she tilted her head up and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

Adrian reached for her hand, entwining their fingers together. “So, what you’re saying is that you’re not against moving in together one day?”

“I’m not saying no,” Nova corrected, although the corner of her mouth began to twitch at the change in mood.

A grin painted itself on Adrian’s face, and he leaned forward, cupping Nova’s face and pressing his lips to hers, not quite as gentle as before.

“I love you,” he murmured, tracing his thumb just underneath her ear.

“I love you, too.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again. As Adrian slowly moved his hands to her waist to pull her into his lap, the tablet slid to the ground with a thud that neither of them heard.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, wrapped up in each other’s embrace, kissing slowly and savoring the moment, when a click came from the front of the house, followed by the sound of a door opening.

Upon hearing the voices of Adrian’s dads, calling to Adrian and Max that they were home, Nova’s eyes flung open, meeting Adrian’s panicked ones. She all but leaped from his lap, nearly falling to the ground in her struggle to unwrap her legs from where they were previously situated around his waist. Adrian reached for the fallen tablet and straightened his collar, which was slightly disturbed. Nova pushed herself to the other end of the couch, and reached up to make sure her hair wasn’t tussled.

Adrian loved playing with her hair, she had come to learn since starting their relationship. Whether it was when they were just spending time together or an hour long of kissing and cuddling, he liked to have his hands in her hair. Because of that, her hair tended to be messy after their dates. And not just unbrushed messy; it made it clearly obvious that Nova had been doing questionable things with someone. That someone being Adrian.

His dads entered the room, Hugh leading, and paused when they saw Nova sitting next to their son on the couch, both trying to keep their breathing steady. Simon was the first to break the silence with a smile.

“We didn’t know Adrian was having you over, Nova. It’s nice to see you.”

Nova managed to smile back, eyes flickering between him and Hugh. “Uh...yeah. It’s good to see you, too.”

Hugh, who remained quiet, had been wary of Nova ever since her identity had been revealed years ago. While they were on friendlier terms, he still exercised caution around her, and he still held a bit of a grudge against her for everything she did to his family. Which he was allowed to hold. Just as she was allowed to hold a grudge against him for all the times he had wronged her. Despite the fact that both parties had apologized for wrongdoings against the other. Perhaps one day, they would find a compromise that would put the past behind them. Today was not that day, for obvious reasons.

Simon cleared his throat, glancing at their set up, made of blankets, pillows, and hot drinks. It was practically screaming evidence that he and Hugh were interrupting a date. “So...what are you two up to?”

Nova exchanged a quick glance with Adrian. “Apartment hunting,” he stated plainly, holding up the tablet to show them. “I, uh, asked Nova the other day to help me out. She actually has a knack for real estate.”

Nova nodded, maybe a little too enthusiastically. “Yeah! Who knew, right?”

“Any luck?” Hugh finally spoke, strolling over to the couch to peer over Adrian’s shoulder. Nova tensed.

“Not really.” Adrian laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck and readjusting his glasses. “At least, not in the city.”

“What about the suburbs?”

“Nova doesn’t think it’s wise to buy a house at my age.” Adrian’s tone was light, meant to come across as joking, but Nova still felt a wave of guilt roll through her when Hugh’s eyes laid on her again.

“Well, it’s not like you have to listen to me,” Nova retorted, looking down. “I’m just here for suggestions.”

She nearly jumped when the couch shifted with the weight of Captain Chromium settling into it, creating a barrier between her and Adrian. Simon caught her eye as he sat down as well, although in the armchair beside the couch; his look was sympathetic. Nova tried to hide her blush.

“You see, the key to narrowing it down…” Hugh went off onto a lecture on house hunting, going full out and using his hands for emphasis. Nova watched as Adrian nodded along, clearly uncomfortable, compared to not twenty minutes before when they were snuggled up together.

“Well, I guess I should be going.” Nova stood to leave, only for Hugh to push her back down. She had to restrain from glaring at him. She was already on thin ice with this man.

“This is important for you to hear as well, Nova. You may learn a thing or two.”

The smug look Adrian gave her almost made her throw a pillow at his face, just to wipe away the smile.

#renegades #archenemies #archenemies spoilers #nova artino #adrian everhart #nodrian #my writing

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sincerelybillie · 5 years

Text

“oh, you must be so proud”

i pulled into the promenade towers’ parking garage, using the time until the parking attendant walked over to me, to engage in a staring contest with a woman who very critically wondered what i was doing in her neck of the woods. she was sitting with a man at a table outside of the cafe of the shopping center that was connected to the complex. they were wearing matching tennis outfits.

“if only she knew what her boyfriend was doing in the neck of my woods,” spoke Garnet, a specter that sometimes rides shotgun with me. i lost the staring contest by turning to look at her.

“the guy sitting across from her?” i looked again to see that the woman had turned to him. she aggressively flipped her blonde hair over one shoulder and crossed her arms, as he retreated into his seat. Garnet nodded. i placed my forehead on the steering wheel. “fuck...”

when i sat back up, the parking attendant was smiling at me, asking with his eyes, “long day?” i greeted him, in a manner that a polite and normal person would. the gate lifted, i somehow crammed my large sports car into my narrow parking spot, and Garnet and i walked up to my studio.

the leasing agent greeted us, me with a warm smile, and i noticed her with who i assumed to be a new tenant heading towards the same elevator as me. i decided then to take the stairs, but seeing as how i lived on the 14th floor and Garnet was already yanking me to the elevator, i inevitably ended up with the three of them. the tenant was a man about my height, who looked to be in his early 30′s but carried the sadness of someone who lived much longer and failed to fill it with things that made him happy. but whatever he spent that time doing, it afforded him this place.

the leasing agent, Theresa, introduced us, and i wish she hadn’t. his name was Frank Gennaro, he was moving in today after living on the east coast his whole life, and he was single. Garnet perked up and looked at me, and i pretended not to notice her, which was important. because normal people weren’t supposed to notice her.

as we ascended stories, i began to worry Frank was going to be occupying the vacant studio on my floor, the one i shared a wall with.

Theresa does this thing where she likes to double as a matchmaker so her workday can involve something other than telling people about the unreasonable fees that make living here unattainable for the average american.

“if there’s anything i haven’t shown you or told you or answered questions about, i’m sure this wonderful lady here can help you,” Theresa said, rubbing my arm affectionately. i forced an uncomfortable smile, trying to make it look like the kind a wonderful lady would give someone. i got out first when the elevator dinged. i winced when i realized Theresa was, in fact, unlocking the apartment next door. i heard a whoosh sound and already knew Garnet was gone. the door locked behind them, and i sighed, entering my place.

i walked to the edge of my less-than-400 square foot studio and stepped into my solarium, watching the afternoon ubers and commuters and metro buses below. every time i’m up here, it feels like i’m levitating above the city. if i was more of a classist, it might actually make me feel like i’m better than everyone down there, better than the girl who was giving me death glare even though Garnet slept with her boyfriend and didn’t let me know.

speaking of the devil, just a moment later, she phased through the wall and rushed up behind me, startling me. she laughed, knowing i had plenty of thoughts of the window somehow shattering and me plummeting to my death from the 14-story fall. i know Garnet had compulsive thoughts about pushing me, too.

“he’s definitely single,” Garnet confirmed, not that i was curious. i checked my phone, noticing a missed call from my dad. he probably wanted me to meet some relatives for dinner in la habra, mention my degree or job or the things he can find it in his heart to be proud of me for. i texted him an apology and said i wasn’t feeling well.

and it wasn’t a lie. i hadn’t been feeling well for awhile. Garnet had become tangible, started body snatching, and even killing people. i couldn’t really go anywhere without her, and it was hard to explain my current living situation without delving into the madness of it all. but maybe my dad could finally brag to people that i got into stanford, as long as he omitted it was the psychiatric hospital.

it might also be hard to explain that my “savings account money” that allowed me to apply for the promenade without a guarantor was money Garnet phased into a federal bank for. and i, in true cliche scandal form, got the highest paying entry level job one could find in this industry, through blackmail via information that Garnet retrieved. and that since the new year began, i don’t remember the people i have slept with or that i have slept with them because Garnet only tells me weeks after it happens because she gets a twisted kick out of watching me bump into my, her hook ups.

Garnet was a curse, but she got other people’s parents to tell my father, “oh, you must be so proud” in regards to me. so, in a way, i was indebted to her, even if i didn’t ask for or agree with the ways she showed up in my life. she was supportive and destructive at the same time, so it was hard to really figure out how i felt about her. the same can be said about many parents.

that night, i decided to clear my head and go to the jacuzzi by the south tower because it was the less popular one and therefore the one where i could have more time and space to myself. it was only less popular because the Rich Old Business Men lived in many of the south tower condos, and most young tenants know not to go to their jacuzzi at night, lest we want an uncomfortable encounter with someone who is more than likely a registered Republican.

i took my chances because i wanted to be alone and it was 1am on a tuesday night, so the Rich Old Business Men were probably too sleepy to sexually assault a neighbour. this was naive, and as if i wouldn’t already be forced to assume responsibility for the actions of a repulsive, entitled but ultimately powerful magnate...i would be actually a little at fault for what happened tonight.

i don’t really wear bikinis out in public because it’s out of character and style for me. i typically dress like a 19 year old boy. a 19 year old boy interning at a late night talk show if i’m being business casual. when i do wear them, people come to the realization that i have long legs and tits, parts of me other people have always liked more than i ever got to.

i sank into the jacuzzi’s bubbling water, needing my muscles to relax after a long day at work and dealing with the awkward aftermaths of anything Garnet had been a part of. but i would be lying if i said my body’s tension wasn’t partially caused by the fact that i saw the sliding doors of the fitness center open and a mysterious-looking man step outside. he began walking alongside the pool, towards me. i wanted to hide, like an alligator in swamp waters, only i felt less like the predator and more like the prey. i didn’t know if i would be able to do anything if the man was to suddenly join me in the hot tub, if i was already this scared from this far away. the offense was more Garnet’s speed. and the one time i think i actually needed her, she was nowhere to be found.

the man came closer, and underneath the light, i finally saw that it was Frank.

“hey,” he greeted.

“hi,” i said, slowly lifting my body back up. i noticed his large gym bag, dangling from his right hand. in an attempt to move the conversation to its cordial end, i told him, “you know, everyone gets their own locker in the fitness center, so you don’t have to lug your gym stuff back and forth from your apartment.” i gestured back to the center.

“i know,” he said, placing the bag down. my heart started racing to keep up with the thoughts rushing to my head, that something bad was about to happen to me. i noticed him staring at my chest, and if i retreated back into the water, he’d know he scared me. if i got out and ran, that only said it louder. he reached into his bag.

“what are you -” i began to ask, but felt too paralyzed to finish because did i even want to know? was he actually going to tell me, “i’m just gonna reach into my bag and grab the thing i’m going to kill you with. i mean, look at me, i’m obviously too sad to care about the consequences. and your death might make me feel like i had control over something in my life.” no, he wasn’t going to say that.

i sat up abruptly, as he held a type of flashlight at me and pointed it at my chest. i flinched, blinded by the brightness and looked down, squinting at whatever he was pointing at.

there was a massive hole in my sternum. i looked up, horrified and confused. i began breathing heavily, scooting back into my corner of the jacuzzi and scrambling up and out of it.

“what the fuck is that?! what did you do?!”

Frank turned the light off, placed it back in his bag, and pulled out a small cylindrical container i can only describe as something you’d see in Ghostbusters. it looked like the vacuum cartridge to suck ghosts into, which was fitting, because as Frank rotated the container, i saw a gaseous, flailing, inaudibly screaming Garnet inside.

i looked up at Frank, reaching for my towel and my grip on reality, which was already a bit fuzzy, considering Garnet had been a part of it. and now, Ghost Hunter Frank was, too. he placed the container back in his bag and stood up. i did, too. this lighting really didn’t help his whole dark eye circles, pale skin and freckles combination situation. he looked, quite literally, like he had just seen a ghost.

“i can explain everything to you tomorrow. meet me at the cafe at 10,” he said, before walking away, with both a calmness and an exhaustion i have never seen.

i stood in my towel, calling after him, angry that he got to see me in two of the most vulnerable states i could be found in, “what the fuck am i supposed to do now?”

he stopped and turned around. i tried to hold my anger, but i was definitely intimidated.

“get some sleep. i imagine you haven’t been able to do that for awhile now.”

Garnet orchestrated some intense dreams and messed with the thermostat in the middle of the night enough times for me to easily agree that Frank’s statement was true. i haven’t slept properly in ages. but it was the first time in awhile that i was going to go to bed without her presence.

and ironically, the thought of her absence and what i just saw and questions about Frank had kept me up all night. i rolled over in bed all night, occasionally glancing at the solarium, seeing more lights turn off in the apartment buildings across the street. i watched the sun come up.

when 10am rolled around, so did i, turning the corner to the cafe when and where we said we would meet. Garnet still apparently haunted me because i walked right into the chest of that blonde woman’s boyfriend.

“hey!” he said, annoyed at first and then adjusting his facial expression when he noticed it was me. “hey...” he said again, and then once more when he asked if we could talk.

“i can’t, i’m actually meeting someone,” i said, conveniently being able to gesture at Frank, who was watching us from the same table the matching tennis outfit couple had been at just yesterday.

he looked back at Frank and chuckled resentfully when he turned to face me again. “yeah? and you’re gonna fuck around with him, too?” he asked, his demeanor suddenly shifting back to irritation. i paused.

what the fuck. he was just as guilty as, if not more than, me, Garnet for cheating on his girlfriend. i didn’t know who he was, much less that he had an uppity, classist, racist girlfriend who thinks every person of colour at the promenade is “the help” and treats the actual staff at the complex even worse.

from what i’ve seen, she was a bad emotional investment to begin with and if he wanted to be with someone else (or just not her), he should have had the decency to break up with her. Garnet might’ve known he wasn’t single, but i wasn’t responsible for his relationship. or Garnet. and that was especially true because she was locked away in a goddamn vacuum sealed container and i was still processing that.

so, “fuck you, man”, i said, and walked over to Frank.

annoyed by the double standards of my previous male encounter, my hostile energy translated to my interaction with Frank. “where’s Garnet?” i asked with tautness, suddenly feeling protective of her. so what if she was selfish, reckless, and mean? she was still a person. or at least, she was once. right? what are the laws or ethics around holding captive someone who disobeys the laws of physics...

“she’s still where she was the last time you saw her,” he said. “do you want coffee?”

he was speaking so calmly. like, this was casual conversation had between endearing neighbours. “i need answers,” i said, growing agitated. “what was that last night?”

the boyfriend walked past as i asked that and i felt his rays of slut-shaming shooting at me. and speaking of rays, there was that light Frank had shined on me that looked like i got vaporized. “and now, there’s a giant fucking hole in my chest?”

“that’s what happens when you fuck around with people who are taken,” muttered the blonde woman, who had apparently been meeting up with her man just one table over. no matching outfits this time.

“eavesdropping? really? are either of you capable of actually focusing on your own relationship?” i snapped.

“hey,” Frank whispered, trying to lasso my attention and temper.

“what was your plan just two minutes ago?” i asked the boyfriend. “to chat with me real quick about how you can’t stop thinking about that night before patching things up with your girlfriend who, by the way, has a lot of misdirected rage?” they didn’t say anything, and i turned back to face Frank, who was looking down, either embarrassed for me or by me.

“oh, shut up,” i told him. he shook his head.

“i didn’t say anything.”

“you’re not saying anything helpful at all,” i argued.

“that’s because you barely let me get a word in,” he said, sternly. i exhaled.

“i didn’t do anything. all of the bad shit that gets associated with me, the guy and his girlfriend and the whole fucking around thing. that wasn’t me. it was Garnet, and -”

“i know. i know it’s not you, but it’s...kind of you.” he cleared his throat, lowering his voice. “i know you might think Garnet is just some ghost who picked you for some reason to be the subject or vehicle of all of her mayhem, but she’s more than that.”

“what do you mean?”

“she’s a manifestation of every negative thought you’ve had, every impulse you wanted to act on. it’s really rare for them to have real-life consequences of this magnitude, much less actually appear in tangible or intangible form whenever they want. but that’s where i come in.”

“...as a ghostbuster?”

“as an exterminator. think of Garnet as an infestation of bad thoughts. she’s a part of you, but a part of you that has gotten stronger with your built up resentment or anger. you have to remove her, like a tumor before she eventually kills the host and takes over completely. like, when termites start weakening the foundation of a home -”

“i get the metaphor,” i interrupted, taken aback by the information and how quickly and how much Frank suddenly started talking.

“but that’s what the hole is; the stronger she gets, the closer she becomes to having a permanent physical form, while you start dissolving.”

i sat back, exhaling deeply. after a moment, i asked, “so, you really moved in next to me just to to catch her? how did you know she was here?”

“actually, that was a wild coincidence. i retired and moved out here as a getaway, maybe do freelance engineering work, but i forgot i didn’t uninstall the software on my watch that detects paranormal energy. when you got in the elevator, i had gotten an alert. and then i got another one when Theresa was in my apartment.”

“i think the most unbelievable part of that story is that anyone could possibly retire in their 30′s...”

“i’m 47,” he corrected me. “but thank you.”

“being able to retire at 47 is still unrealistic,” i said, diverting my own attention from his appearance and accidentally flattering it.

“i was the only one doing this work in my area for a long time, so the demand got kind of crazy and when you’re the best bet to call every single time -”

"you must be so proud,” i teased at his humble-brag, attempting to stifle my own heightening panic. Frank sighed as well, sounding a different kind of exhausted. “so, why didn’t you think Theresa was the source of the paranormal whatever, if your watch beeped whenever you were around her?” i asked.

“if it was Theresa, then she’s the physical manifestation of kindness and hospitality. i mean, if there’s a ghost running around helping people...i don’t feel the need to intervene. Garnet’s energy was volatile...dangerous. if you let her get any worse, she could do some serious damage.”

i wanted to defend myself and say i wasn’t “letting” her do anything, but she had shoved a man off a cliff this past summer and when the local news station reported it as a whitewater rafting accident, she was laughing at the tv screen. like she was proud of herself for getting away with it and mocking the reporters for not being as smart as her. and i didn’t even scold her. i wanted to believe that maybe the guy was awful in his own way, so the scales were balanced. and maybe that reaction made me just as horrible as Garnet. Garnet had been an out-of-control beast of a child that i didn’t even try to discipline because a part of me felt like everything she did was sort of justified. if she came from me, from the worst parts of me, that were angry and hurt, i understood her. and in a way, i was grieving the loss of her. i had even been a little jealous of her for getting to exist on her own terms. she got to act on everything that she felt in ways i couldn’t and didn’t.

i wanted to see her as a robin hood, but maybe i was idealizing a monster because it was easier than actually growing up and being accountable for my own responses to all the pain in my life.

Frank caught me deep in thought, puncturing the space between us with a “are you going to be okay?”

“i don’t know,” i said after a moment. and it might have been the most honest thing i had said in years.

TEN YEARS LATER

Faith’s kindergarten teacher opens the door at dismissal, and kids shuffle over to their parents and/or guardians. mine toddles over with her unicorn backpack, face full of freckles, and bouncy curls. she’s the most precious thing i’ve ever seen in my entire life, and i feel this way every time i look at her. just before i hold my hand out to grab hers, her teacher turns to me.

“oh, Mrs. Gennaro!” she chirps, and i match her energy.

“hiiiii,” i respond.

“i just wanted to say you know, that Faith was such a great helper today! i really appreciate how eager she is to make sure the classroom is organized.”

“oh, well, that’s great to hear,” i laugh. “she’s really meticulous about things being in order at home, too, actually. makes life a lot easier for me.” her teacher’s smile dissolved slightly.

“oh, you must be so proud. and well, i actually wanted to discuss that a little more with you if you ever have time.”

“what do you mean? is something wrong?” i asked. the teacher was intermittently saying goodbye to other students and the people picking them up while trying to pacify my increasing impatience. finally, when they all left (and by now, Faith was waiting for me at the swings), the teacher looked at me with the concern only an educator who is about to suggest counseling possesses.

“Faith’s attention to detail is definitely a strong suit, but she is exhibiting behaviour that can be symptomatic of obsessive compulsive disorder,” she told me.

“you’re saying my kid has OCD?” i asked, crossing my arms at her bold suggestion. “just because a five year old is more organized than most adults does not mean something’s going on with her head and we can start throwing around psychological evaluations.”

“i’m not diagnosing her by any means, but i do double as the school’s therapist and i do know the signs. she is very particular about the way she wants things placed or the order art materials and books are in. she counts the steps from the playground to her carpet square. and if it’s not to her liking, she lashes out or repeats things and moves things around. and if someone gets in her way or rushes her, she has started screaming at them. i’m worried it will impact her ability to be around other students and focus in class.”

most kids want things done their way and will throw a fit every now and then, nobody’s perfect. i didn’t spoil her and nobody yelled in our household, so wherever she picked it up was either A. from some other child at the school who figured out screaming equals appeasement served up by weak and/or tired adults or B. it was normal childlike behaviour that shouldn’t be read into so much.

as i was thinking this, i looked again at Faith while she swung on the swingset, kicking her feet up in the air and giggling, alongside another girl. i hadn’t noticed the other student before, but she looked remarkably familiar. Faith waved at me, and i waved back smiling. the other girl joined, continuing to wave even after Faith put her hand down.

“well, she seems to be getting along just fine with her friend,” i noted. the teacher looked over to the playground and back at me, puzzled by my statement. i followed her eyes and saw Faith swinging alone.

“nevertheless, call me if you’d ever like to discuss how we can both best support her in class,” her teacher offered, probably deciding i needed counseling, too, or something more intensive. i called Faith over, and as we headed to the car, my heart dropped.

“i call shotgun,” spoke Garnet, already sitting in the front passenger seat. behind her, in a levitating booster seat was the girl i had seen swinging next to Faith just moments ago.

i pulled out my phone to call Frank, but my hands were trembling. i dropped my phone because i was shaking so hard. Faith picked it up.

“there’s lots of calls from Daddy,” she told me. i looked at my phone and saw four missed calls and about a bunch of text messages.

“Call me back, EMERGENCY”

“Storage unit got broken into, someone has the container”

“CALL ME BACK”

“DO NOT COME HOME, MEET ME AT MY OFFICE WHEN YOU PICK UP FAITH”

“ARE YOU OKAY? DO YOU HAVE FAITH?”

“COME TO MY OFFICE ASAP”

Garnet smirked at me as i read Frank’s texts. “well? do you have faith?” she asked, and i could see her holding her in her corny laughter. time (and the vacuum sealed container) hadn’t been kind to her. her makeup was smudged, her lips were chapped, and she had lost a lot of (metaphysical) weight.

“Mommy?” Faith asked, as i stared into the backseat of the car. the other girl had started inaudibly screaming from inside, bashing her head against the window and swinging her hands around violently, her tiny fists thudding against the glass. i gasped, stepping back and felt Faith tugging on my shirt, getting scared as well. “who is that?”

“you can see them?” i asked.

“that girl’s in my class. and that’s her mom. she said she was your old friend.” i swallowed the knot in my throat. “are we giving them a ride?”

“no,” i answered.

“why is she acting like that?” Faith asked, as the other girl only got more violent, rabid almost.

“i don’t know. we need to get to your father.”

Garnet appeared next to me, holding the hand of her own daughter, who had suddenly calmed down.

“race you there,” she challenged. “your kid seems smart.” i looked down at Faith, gripping her hand tighter and making sure she was still there, still mine, still safe. “you must be so proud,” Garnet whispered before disappearing.

#writing #fiction #creative writing #spooky stories #horror #halloween #short stories #prose #scary stories #bedtime stories #original

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lifeinahole27 · 5 years

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CS ff: “A Toast to Now” (Part 2) (au)

Summary: His neighbors may be brightening their own holidays, but they’re ruining the constant melancholy of his life. He’s determined to keep to himself until the single mother that lives next door to him drops literally through his door two nights before Christmas. It’s the moment that may be temporary, like everything else, but it may just change everything.

Rating: E (sorry not sorry)

Warnings: Just smut for this part. Not exactly anti-Neal but also not pro-Neal.

A/N: Hoooooly crap it’s finally done! This is way longer than I anticipated it would be, and I thought about splitting it into more sections and posting for a couple days, but the whole thing is just over 13k so why the hell not just post the remaining 11k. This is, of course, the “second part” to @effulgentcolors secret santa gift for 2018. I’m so glad I got you, that I could take a little more time and make it something I’m really proud of writing for you, and using all the things you like to hopefully make one hell of a gift. I hope you enjoy it, dear. And I hope all of you reading enjoy. Now to get back to work on my second CSJJ! Thanks one more time to @cssecretsanta2k18 for rocking this event and staying on top of everything!

Read Part 1 Here!

Posted as one part to FFN & Ao3 if you’d prefer to read it there!

-x-

Emma wakes in the morning to her phone ringing, a headache, and the reminder that she did not get to spend the night in her own apartment. With groggy morning brain, she rolls from the couch, trying to locate her phone and finding it plugged into a charger that’s definitely not hers, nor did she plug it in. Killian Jones, it seems, is one of the most considerate people she’s ever met, and she’s now madder than ever that she was so drunk last night and couldn’t even enjoy their meeting to the fullest extent.

The third ring of her phone has her scrambling for it, and she greets Marco as cheerfully and as quietly as she can. She already interrupted Killian’s night; she doesn’t want to interrupt his sleep, as well. She agrees to meet the landlord at the door and hangs up, quietly gathering her clothes and phone and bag and creeping out the door. She hopes she can get into her apartment and change before her neighbor wakes up, intent on sneaking back in after she’s had a chance to change and make some coffee for the both of them. It’s the least she can do.

As soon as Marco unlocks the door, Emma thanks him and hurries in, throwing items where they need to go while rushing for the coffee maker. While it heats up and brews, she changes into her own clothes, folding Killian’s carefully and putting them off to the side to return to him.

After she’s washed up – teeth brushed, hair untangled and braided, face quickly washed free of any makeup she still had left – she heads back to her kitchen. It takes her a second to realize she’s looking straight at her keys on her counter, not so lost after all, and she groans as she stuffs them in the pocket not occupied by her phone before she pours a couple mugs of coffee and secures lids on each of them.

Maybe she just won’t tell him that they were here all along, or maybe he’ll find the humor in it like she eventually will. But eventually, because it’s certainly not so funny right this moment. Slipping on a pair of flats to walk down the hall, Emma checks her appearance in a small mirror by the entrance and balances the mugs to open and shut the door behind her.

She’s always wondered what her next door neighbor was like. Henry was always going on and on about what a cool guy Mr. Jones was, and he was one of three people in the whole complex she was comfortable with her son talking to, just because of word of mouth. She knew he was quiet and kept to himself, but in the years he has lived here beyond their length of renting, he’s known to everyone as a gentle presence. She doesn’t even know how old he is, but he’s definitely not the old man everyone claimed “Jones” to be.

A puzzle to be put together with more than rumors, if she has anything to say about it.

He seems surprised as hell when she shows up just a half hour later with two travel mugs, fresh clothes, and a smile. The somewhat sour expression he had on his face when he opened the door slowly morphed into pleasant wonder, and he opens the door further when she asks if she can come in.

“I take it you got your extra key?” His voice is rough, and she finds she likes the sound of it more than she should.

“Marco let me in a bit ago. I uh, I don’t cook or else I would’ve made breakfast. Just wanted to do something small to say thanks again for last night.”

“Never a problem, Swan. If you ever need anything, you only need to ask.”

“Well, how about helping me share a pizza tonight for dinner.”

“Pardon?”

“Henry doesn’t come back until late tonight, and I actually hate being alone during the holidays. I spent enough years on my own,” she says before she can stop herself from saying it. The look in Killian’s eyes, however, holds no further question or judgement. He, too, looks like someone who has spent quite a few holidays alone. “Anyway, I thought maybe we could get to actually know each other, seeing as we’ve been neighbors for so long and I just finally learned your name.”

He hesitates in answering, and it’s during his pause that her eyes land on the star on the wall, Henry’s rough penmanship written across the front in marker. She has a matching one on the tree. She didn’t realize she made one for Killian, too. She reaches out to run her finger along the edge, a smile on her face as she does, before she turns back to Killian. His brows are furrowed, the emotion in his eyes one she can’t quite place, but there’s a softness there she didn’t expect.

“I suppose pizza would be a good way to spend the evening,” he says after another moment.

With a brilliant smile, she gives him a time to be at her place, telling him to return the mug when he comes by before she ducks back out of the apartment.

Once back in her own place, she looks around at the chaotic mess she and Henry live in, and she cringes. Now she just needs to make it look like a tornado hasn’t blown through recently and she’ll be ready to have him over.

The day moves so slowly after the tidying takes way less time than she thought it would. Henry has a pile of mess to clean off his bed when he gets back tonight, but maybe he should’ve listened when she told him to clean up his stuff before he left for his dad’s place. She even cleaned the bathroom, just in case. When she calls the pizza place, she makes sure she’s the last one on their delivery list for their early hours, and promises a hefty tip to the kid before she hangs up.

Killian arrives only three minutes after the pizza does, and he holds up a six pack in greeting.

“Wasn’t sure if you liked beer, or what kind?”

“I do, and it’s just my kind,” she says as she takes the offering and ushers him in. When she sets it down on the counter, he also holds up the left hand – today it’s a hook, but she’s seen the artificial hand, as well – and releases the handle of her travel mug when she grabs it. “Thanks,” she says, giving him another smile. She makes a mental note to tell him about his borrowed clothes on the entryway table later on, but for now she rummages through her gadget drawer for a bottle opener before lifting it victoriously.

Over the course of two beers and three pieces each (she’s not ashamed, she works hard at the gym for her abs and deserves her carbs when she wants them), she finds out more about Killian than she anticipated. Some of it, the standard information like his time in Storybrooke and his jobs, she was already partially aware of thanks to Henry and town gossip. The other stuff, it doesn’t look like he even means to tell her. But there’s the story of how he lost his hand, and why he ended up here. She finds out about his brother passing away, and his ultimate heartbreak when his almost-wife died tragically.

She only feels right, then, sharing as much as she can with him in return. Her foster home upbringing gets aired out quickly, along with her relationship with her adopted brother and his sickeningly cute marriage to Snow White (they call her Snow anyway, so technically, it’s not an exaggeration). She talks about her decision to get her GED while she worked bail bonds, and how that led to her going to the police academy and coming back to Storybrooke to take a position as deputy.

“I was here from the moment Ruth adopted me at thirteen until the moment I ran away with Neal my senior year of high school,” she tells him as she’s nursing the end of beer number two. He doesn’t seem in any rush to reach for the third, either, so she sets it off to the side. “Do you want hot chocolate? Coffee? I don’t know if you noticed but our windows are extremely drafty in this apartment and I need something to warm me up.”

He chuckles when she says it, shifting to help gather some of his own trash as Emma’s doing the same. “I offered to weatherproof my own after my first winter here. I can ask Marco if I can do the same for yours, if you’d like. He used to have his son to do the maintenance around here until August went off to be a writer in New York.”

“Hey, I’m certainly not gonna say no to that offer. So? What’ll it be?”

Killian fiddles with the bottle in his hand for a minute before he shrugs and nods. “I’ll have whatever you’re having. When’s your boy due home?”

“Well, according to the custody agreement, he should be home at ten. It was earlier when he was younger, but since he stopped believing in Santa, we’ve been able to play with the times a little.”

“He’s only just turned twelve, hasn’t he?”

“Yep.” She knows he’s doing the math, or at least trying to, and she’s getting ready to cringe as his brows furrow and he looks at her. The kettle whistles, saving her from a conversation she doesn’t want to have just yet, a conversation that she’s only had twice in her life – once with Henry when he asked two years ago and once with David when she showed up back on his doorstep, three months pregnant and crying.

With care, she mixes the hot chocolate in each mug and tops them with her signature whipped cream and cinnamon. “I usually make the good stuff with milk or cream, but I’m out of both and won’t be able to shop until the day after tomorrow,” she explains, not really needing to but wanting to anyways.

“Don’t usually make it, meself. So this is all new to me,” he tells her as he takes the handle of his mug and follows her back to the couch. It’s still early, with two more hours until Henry will be flying through that door.

“Well, come back over when I have all my usual ingredients. I may not cook much but I make a damn good hot chocolate.”

He stops and stares at her, and Emma tilts her head to the side in question. “What is it?”

“You want me to come back for more than just weatherproofing?”

It’s something about the tone of his words that takes her a moment to form her response. “Well, of course I do. I wouldn’t have offered pizza in the first place if I didn’t want you to come over. And I don’t know about you but I’ve been having a great time tonight.”

“I have too, Swan. Thank you. I’m sure it’s obvious, but I don’t spend much time socializing outside my apartment. It’s quite nice to have a… friend?”

“Same here,” Emma says, smiling and resisting reaching out and touching him. Because suddenly, she wants to touch his hand. Worse, she wants to kiss him. It’s going to take some time for her to unpack that thought, though.

He stays almost until the time Henry comes home. And while she told him he was welcome to stay and say hello, he still helped her clean up and said he’d catch Henry again soon. His goodnight and wishes for a happy Christmas were given quietly, their proximity in the doorway closer than she intended to be to him but unable to move away. She manages to keep her hands to herself as she repeats the words back to him, closing the door and leaning against it until she hears his door close further down the hallway.

“Crap,” Emma mutters to herself. She wanted to meet her neighbor, not fall for him.

-x-

Killian figures he’ll wait a few days and then offer to help Emma with the weatherproofing he said he would complete for her. He figures he won’t hear from her, and that he’ll just try his best to see when their schedules line up, and that’ll be that. What he does not expect is the knock on his door just past breakfast time on Christmas morning. Looking out the spy hole on his door reveals not only Emma, but Henry as well. Both of them have their hands behind their backs, and their expressions border on mischief. He runs a hand through his hair once, trying to tame it back, then opens the door for them.

“Merry Christmas!” they say in unison. They sound far too cheery for the early hour, but he can’t help but smile at the both of them and give them greetings as well.

“Why do you both look as if you’re up to something?”

“Because we are,” Henry says immediately, his smile large and toothy and almost childlike in its appearance.

“May we come in?” Emma asks, her smile smaller but no less playful.

He narrows his eyes, sizing them both up, but they stand their ground until he steps back and opens the door wider. What happens next can only be described as a Christmas ambush. They each had multiple bags behind their backs, laden and damn near bursting at the seams with all that was inside them.

“So I let slip that you have your ornament hanging on the wall,” Emma explains as she sets her bag down and Henry starts pulling out item after item, as if the bag was a clown car rather than a reusable shopping bag. “And that you don’t have a tree, or any decorations. I tried to stop him?” She says it with a shrug, and an adorable twist of his lips, and Killian still can’t believe they’re even here, and apparently setting to work giving him a Christmas miracle, by the looks of it.

“Where the blazes did you get all this?” It’s not quite the first thing he was going to say, but neither of them slow even for a heartbeat in their process.

“So when we moved from Boston, we finally had enough space for a bigger tree, and we wanted bigger ornaments with more meaning, so we started collecting them and Henry started making his own. These have been in storage until, well, this morning.”

“Mom told me you don’t have anything up in here. I like my ornament on the wall, but I think it would look much better on this tree,” Henry finally pipes up, and Killian looks over to see that he’s placed a small tree on one of his empty end tables. He’s even managed to find an outlet for it, and it twinkles merrily with its pre-lit multi-color lights. The boy is looking at him, and while he was brazen when he walked in and started unpacking, there’s an edge of uncertainty in his eyes at the moment.

With care, Killian closes his mouth and wanders over to where Henry is starting to fidget by the bag of decorations. Killian stoops to rummage through the bag for a moment and procure a package of tiny baubles that are the perfect size for the miniature tree. He tilts the box back and forth to see the way the glitter catches the lights.

“Tell me, lad. Did you pick these out?”

“Mom and I did together,” Henry responds, his eyes darting over to Emma and the smile coming unbidden to his face before he looks back at Killian. He’s going to start growing like a weed soon, Killian can tell just by looking at him, and he starts to grin with that thought. He pictures Emma and Henry picking out small ornaments for their small tree as a small family, and the image in his mind is sweet and filled with hope and love, and he can feel the life spreading through his body.

“I love them,” he tells Henry plainly. “But I want your ornament to be the first one on this tree.”

If he thought the boy was smiling before, then he’s downright beaming after Killian says that. He runs over to where the star is hanging on the wall and carefully pulls it down, hastening back to Killian’s side to hand the star over. Killian handles it just as gently, affixing the string to one of the upper branches so the star falls in the very middle.

It’s perfect.

“Yeah, it is,” Emma says, suddenly standing much closer than she was before. He wasn’t aware he said it out loud, but he’s glad he did because it’s true. With the first one done, the three of them get to work decorating his new tree, filling it with more ornaments than it should realistically fit. There’s even a tiny strand of garland that they wrap around it, and a red and white skirt which wraps around the base and ties the whole picture together nicely.

But the bags are nowhere near empty.

“Bloody hell, have you brought the whole store with you, then?”

“Yep,” Emma says, the ‘p’ popping at the end as she smirks at him.

With every item that comes out of the bags, she gives the story: It’s something she picked up ages ago but never put out, it’s something she wants to put out but doesn’t have the right space, it’s something she got from a secret Santa when she first moved to Storybrooke, it’s something she bought for David and never gave to him…

By the time they’re done, not only is there a resplendent little tree on one of his end tables, but they’ve strung lights around the window in his living room and placed holiday themed items around the room. There’s a candle that smells like cinnamon burning on his coffee table, and a wreath made of grapevines with sprays of berries and pine trimmings. All fake, of course, but the whole thing looks rustic and fits perfectly in his opinion. There’s also a very light throw with a buffalo check pattern in red and black that comes out last, and Emma carefully drapes it over the back of his couch.

“That’s one of my throws. But once I pictured it in this area, I couldn’t leave it alone.”

He can hardly believe his eyes, or that this transformation has taken place in his own living space. There’s so much more color and vibrancy to the room, and he wonders how he ever did without any of it – which goes far beyond the decorations. Emma and Henry fit here, too. Their laughter fills in all the cracks and warms his heart in ways he didn’t know he was missing. At lunch time, Henry’s stomach growls so loudly that Emma apologizes for him while chuckling.

“Would you like to join us for grilled cheese and soup?” she asks him when she finally controls herself. There’s no possible way he could turn that down.

They include him in their whole day, and Killian can’t say he minds one bit. It’s clear they had their morning together and breakfast, but lunch and dinner and every space between they spend with Killian. They bounce back and forth between apartments, as well, spending lunch at theirs and dinner at his. He only had a few chicken breasts he planned on baking and saving for dinner all week, but with their kitchen contents combined, they make a recipe Emma calls “Chicken Supreme” and they settle along his breakfast bar to eat, with Henry sitting on the counter because he only has two stools.

While Emma and Killian clean up the kitchen, Henry takes command of the remote and finds a marathon of Christmas movies. It gives him time with Emma, not that he doesn’t want Henry there, but just a moment to express his gratitude for the whole day.

“Swan, I wanted to thank you for today,” he says as she finishes packing away the leftovers and hands him the container to put into the fridge.

“It was our pleasure,” she responds, tossing a smile and a look he’s unsure of over her shoulder as she does. She goes right back to cleaning up, setting the pan in the sink to soak a bit before Killian ushers her away to finish loading the dishwasher. With the cycle started on that, they join Henry in the living room.

He’s taken up occupancy of his armchair, which means Killian and Emma are together on the couch. They sit a respectable distance apart, but as the evening draws on and they get more comfortable, he’s shocked to feel her pinky finger touching his on the cushion between them. It could be an accidental touch, so he holds perfectly still, trying to stay as natural as possible while his heart damn well beats out of his chest over the slightest bit of contact. Ah, how the suave have fallen.

It’s no accident, however, when her finger nudges his, and he looks down at their hands and up at Emma’s eyes. There’s a question there, a nervous gesture when she wets her lips and presses them together. And oh, how he wants to kiss her right now. But instead, he extends his pinky and wraps it around hers. Her eyelashes flutter a few times before she smiles, and the space between them naturally thins as the movie rolls onward. Before the credits, their hands are clasped palm to palm with their fingers linked together, and Killian is struggling to remember a time when something so small meant so much to him.

With the late hour and the long day, Henry has long since fallen asleep in the armchair. Really, for him, the extra time was a wonderful excuse for him to hold Emma’s hand a little longer. Even she seems a little reluctant when it becomes obvious that her eyes are growing heavy, as well.

“Thanks for everything today,” she says quietly. The television has been switched off and so they sit in the dim lighting of the tree, Henry’s even breathing the only sound besides their words.

“I could say the same,” he murmurs. Again, he wants nothing more than to kiss her, but it’s been two days; something tells him that they both need more time for this to develop properly. So instead, he kisses the back of Emma’s hand and rises from the couch first. He helps her to her feet, relishing the moment she sways into his space. It’s not really an embrace, but it’s something close to one. He ghosts his lips across her hair and swears to himself that he’ll do everything in his power to do this right.

After they rouse Henry, he sees them off, wishing them one last happy tiding and a good night, as well. Back in his own apartment, he’s surprised it doesn’t feel as empty as he expected it to with the two of them gone. The glow from the tree helps, as does the evidence of their presence in almost every space he’s used to seeing barren.

-x-

Slow progress is good progress, according to Emma. Her heart had stuttered and then beat twice as hard when Killian’s finger linked with her own on Christmas. On New Year’s Eve, right as the ball drops, they kiss. It’s a mutual agreement as they watch the countdown on television. Henry’s not there, so it’s just the two of them on her couch with a bottle of champagne. They’re even both in their pajamas. It would be so easy to invite him to her bed, strip off those flannel pants, but she wants this to stay at the pace it’s going.

So they kiss – a couple sweet and simple touches of their lips that taste like champagne and chocolates from where she was snacking earlier. Shortly after that, he rises from her couch and wishes her goodnight with another kiss, and she walks him to the door as if it’s not been forever since she kissed someone and she doesn’t want to stop.

On Valentine’s Day, a bouquet of flowers shows up at the station with her name on them. They aren’t red, they aren’t roses, and they’re signed simply with “Thinking of You – K. Jones” and she almost cries. She leaves the arrangement in her car as she stops at the bar after her shift, not really caring about the few patrons scattered around the quiet little establishment as she heads straight for the man behind the worn wood. She pulls him over the divider just enough to kiss him hard, his hand barely having time to caress her cheek before she’s pulling away again. She has to go pick up Henry from David and Snow’s house still, and they have dinner being delivered in an hour, but she needed to do this in person today.

“Thanks for the flowers, Jones. See you tomorrow?”

He nods, his eyes still transfixed on her lips as she speaks, and she’s tempted to kiss him again but she won’t leave if she does. Instead, she releases her hold on his shirt and sends him a wink as she gets closer to the door. The whole bar is turned to stare at her, all with the same dumbstruck look on their faces as Killian has as he raises his hand in farewell and a smile blooms across his whole face.

On St. Patrick’s Day, neither of them make any moves at all. In fact, they hadn’t really planned on seeing each other because of the nature of both of their jobs. While Storybrooke isn’t a big party town by any means imaginable, Killian still works at a bar, and Emma still works as a deputy, which means they’ve both been wrangling drunks all night.

Thanks to David and Snow, Henry is spending the night at their house tonight. He got back sometime this evening but knowing the holiday, Neal took him straight out to her brother’s place. He’s a piece of work, but he doesn’t fight the dumb shit anymore – not that he ever should have since he all but ran when she told him she was pregnant – but he pays her a hefty amount of child support and made up monetarily for the years he missed in the beginning. As long as he doesn’t fight her on custody or try to poison Henry’s mind against her, she really doesn’t give a damn about him.

That’s a whole different story, though, and one that’s not important to Emma as she all but crashes into Killian in the stairwell that leads to the apartments. Wordlessly, and looking just as exhausted as she feels, he invites her in to his place since it’s closer.

They barely make it into pajamas before falling into his bed, which is how Emma wakes up after having slept with Killian for the first time. And not even the really fun kind, but the necessary kind. He’s still asleep but stirring awake when she opens her eyes, so she gets to see the way his eyelashes flutter and how he turns and stretches his whole body upon waking.

His hair is an absolute riot on top of his head, the dark brown and hints of gray going in every direction. She has never, in all her life, been attracted to a man so much older than her. Sure, something can be said about how she’s always gone for men older than she is, but this is definitely a different playing field. But Killian doesn’t really act like there’s an age gap between them, so she chooses to see past it as well.

Right now, he looks so much younger than the day they met. His hair is trimmed short now, as it has been since right after the Christmas. He showed up at the station with coffee for her one morning with his hair cut and styled like she imagines he may have worn it once. The unruly beard he’d sported before was suddenly shorter, bordering on the growth from not shaving for a few days, but neater.

She can’t get over the way he looks so similar to before but different, all dark brown hair with gray wings spread along his temples and up over his forehead. The same silver is just starting to pepper into his eyebrows and beard, and she idly wonders how long it’ll take for him to go fully gray. She’s really never entertained the idea of sleeping with a silver fox before, but looking at the way Killian pops his empty wrist beneath his head and rubs his hand over his face before running it through his hair, she has to admit that her thoughts are getting less pure by the minute.

Especially when Killian catches her staring, his eyebrow raising as his lips twitch up knowingly. “Good morning, love,” comes his husky whisper.

“Morning,” she responds, just as quietly and her voice just a bit breathless. “Sleep well?”

“Aye. Like a dream. You?”

She nods, her eyes still trained on him, her body nudging her to move closer, to touch, to kiss, to finally feel. It’s been almost three months since her ridiculous failure of a night before Christmas Eve. They’ve kissed more times than she can count, fallen asleep watching movies – with and without Henry in attendance – at both of their apartments, they’ve spent countless nights getting to know each other, divulging the secrets of their pasts slowly but surely. There’s been some heavy make-out sessions and she’s found that he’s learned exactly how to turn her on already.

But actually venturing into sexual activities? That’s the one place they’ve taken it slow. So really, can anyone blame her for sliding across the unoccupied space in his bed and leaning over him to kiss him senseless? She doesn’t even wait for it to start shifting into something a little deeper before she’s rising up all the way, settling over his thighs as her hands wander up under the hem of the t-shirt he slept in. She feels his muscles twitch, his stomach hollowing out as she hits a particularly ticklish spot, and then resettling when her hands brush over his pecs.

Killian’s hand tangles in her hair, the strands partially wrapped around his fingers as he caresses her neck and pulls her closer. She shimmies up a little, resting right over his hardening cock and rocking experimentally to see how he’ll react. A groan emanates from deep in his chest, and he waits until she’s done it a couple times before flipping them over with ease, settling between her thighs even with his bottoms and her underwear between them. He thrusts against her, in no apparent hurry to shed any of their clothing. Instead, he steals her breath away with his movements, with his deep kisses, with his fingers ghosting along her tank top to tease her nipples into stiffening.

She barely has time to reconcile that they’re actually doing this before she’s tightening her thighs around his hips, his name a silent whisper on repeat as she comes undone. Her nails scrape down his back and he stills, his eyes shut tightly and her name huffed out on a quiet breath. They both pause, both trying to regain their senses as they open their eyes to look at the other. Their matching smiles are almost shy, but Killian leans down to leave a tender kiss on her lips.

He clears his throat, his eyebrows furrowing a little as he holds back a salacious grin. “Would you like some coffee this morning?”

“Isn’t that what we just had?” she inquires, arching up a little and relishing in the way he scrunches one eye closed as he encounters his own release in his pajamas.

“I’ve thought of roughly three things to reply and all of them sound dirty. Out of bed with you, love. Give me a moment to change and I’ll meet you in the kitchen?”

She nods, her nose bumping into his as she does, and she can’t resist kissing him again. This is something she can get used to – all day, every day, please and thank you.

They split ways approximately three minutes and what feels like a thousand more kisses later – Emma rushes to the bathroom to tidy up a little and throw on the same plaid pj bottoms he gave to her months ago under different circumstances, and then she wanders out to the kitchen to set up his coffee maker. She’s familiar with the whole set up now, so she prepares it and hits the button to start the brew cycle at the same time Killian shows up behind her.

With time to wait until the coffee finishes percolating, he wastes no time wrapping his arms around her waist. His hand travels up to palm at her breast while his lips tease along her neck, and suddenly Emma’s thoughts have nothing to do with coffee.

“You sure you don’t need a nap or something before starting up again?”

He doesn’t even pause in his ministrations, and her breath quickens as his hand starts traveling to slip beneath the waistband of her borrowed bottoms. His fingers brush along the spot where thigh meets body and she struggles to keep herself upright on her own – her knees actually go weak for a moment.

“I may be older than you, Swan, but that just means I’ve had longer to hone my experience, and my recovery time,” he tells her, pulling her back until they’re pressed against each other from shoulders to knees. “For the record, I had a very romantic plan for our next date night that involved a lot of candles and my best set of sheets having to be replaced before morning, if you’d been agreeable to it. You and I were very naked when I imagined the course of the evening, and it was probably incredibly old-fashioned, but very worth the wait we’ve spent.”

It does sound perfect, and she’s almost tempted to tell him to wait, that they can hold out a little longer and have that perfect evening he’s imagined, but he chooses that moment to press their hips together a little more and she leans back into his touch.

“Next time,” she utters, reaching back to wrap her arm around his neck and maneuvering so he’s kissing her right as they are. The straps of her tank top get peeled off her shoulders, and Emma shudders with pleasure as he draws the material down over her breasts, leaving it bunched at her waist for the moment so he can touch without barriers for the first time. His left arm remains wrapped around her waist, providing leverage for the shallow thrusts he’s making against her backside. “You need to lose the pants or else we’re having a repeat of when we woke up,” she tells him plainly, abandoning her own needs for a moment as she turns and urges him to remove his shirt.

For all the ways she’s seen Killian at this point, self-conscious never really came to mind, but as soon as that shirt comes off, that’s exactly how he looks. But she has no idea why. The man is built beautifully. His biceps are firm, his chest broad and his shoulders strong. But more than all of that, he’s human. He has scars – more than the obvious ones around his wrist – and other places where his skin is so baby smooth that she can’t help but stroke it peacefully for both their contentment. But now is not time for simply contentment. She leans up on her toes to kiss him again, pressing her chest against his and swallowing his noise of satisfaction.

“Fast, Killian,” she mutters between kisses, and he immediately walks them towards the counter. With her nod of approval he spins them again until she’s facing the counter. Behind her, Killian slides her top and bottoms over her hips and leaves them pooled on the floor by her feet. His hand disappears for a second, but when he comes back she can feel the hard heat of him pressing between her thighs at the same time his hand reaches forward and his fingers drag along her wetness. She doesn’t know which she wants more, to lean back and fall into his embrace or move forward and ask him for more.

He brings her almost to the brink of orgasm like that, his fingers circling her clit between dipping inside of her. He presses his cock against her center, coating himself to lubricate before he silently asks her to lean forward a little, just the right angle for him to enter her slowly on the next thrust. His hand once again moves, but his fingers just cover over her clit as he pushes her against the counter with each thrust, providing the perfect pressure to build her up all over again.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she murmurs with the time of each thrust; it takes next to no time at all before she’s actually coming again, her voice loud in his quiet apartment, and she’s so glad that she’s his immediate neighbor so no one else can hear her. He slips out of her, still hard, but he’s turning her so he can kiss her again, deep and passionate, like the sex he described to her earlier.

Emma pushes them away from the counter, the coffee completely forgotten even as it beeps to signify it’s ready. She’s too busy turning him towards the bedroom and pushing him along, her hands splayed on his shoulders as she finally gets to see the whole deal from behind. Wonderful shoulders and arms, smooth back, great ass.

“I can hear your thoughts, Swan, and thank you for admiring it. I feel like I need to start attending a gym again in order to measure up to yours, though.”

“No way. This is all…” Instead of finishing her thought, she grabs two handfuls of butt and squeezes, laughing as he makes an absolutely undignified noise and spins around. And that view, well, suffice to say she has no complaints at all with his physical appearance, officially speaking. Even half hard as he is, Killian is a shape and size and length that she would consider ideal if she had preferences. But since she really doesn’t, all she takes into account is that he’s growing hard under her stare again and he’s all hers. Just as she’s all his. They haven’t really discussed their status, but one of these days she’s going to introduce him to David and Snow as her boyfriend.

Her face must change in some way because Killian’s moving forward, trailing the backs of his fingers down her arm. “What was that thought you just had, love? Let me into that mind of yours.”

“Do you have objections to me calling you my boyfriend?”

His eyes light up as he smiles, his laughter coming out breathless as he pulls her closer again. “None at all. In fact, I would very much like to call you my girlfriend. Does that meet with your approval?”

She nods, nibbling her lower lip for just a moment before she seals their titles with a kiss. Then, she makes good on her earlier direction, walking him backwards to the bed until he’s sitting on the edge with her in his lap.

-x-

There’s a goddess straddling his lap right now and Killian Jones has not a single complaint in the world. Had you asked him three months ago if he ever imagined what Emma Swan looked like in the throes of passion, he’d have politely walked away from the question and changed topics, even if he secretly had dreamt this moment once or twice.

What makes it even better is that she’s seen him fully bared and didn’t walk away – and that’s more than just a reference to his current state of nudity. He and Emma have slowly coaxed all the scars for the both of them into the light. And maybe that’s why he’s feeling so light-headed as she slides back down onto his cock. It’s either that or the fact that he’s managed to stave off a second climax for this long and there’s no longer any blood left for his brain to function.

She is so much more than goddess – she is siren and ethereal. She is otherworldly in all the best ways, and in all the other best ways she is entirely human. Her flaws are simple and understandable, her emotions guarded for the right reasons to start. Seeing the slow transition to where they are today has been one of the most fulfilling adventures of his life. And now, with her perfectly imperfect body, she is loving him, though there’s not a chance in hell that he’d call it that right now. That’s still down the road a ways.

His focus narrows and broadens with each time she moves, his mind wholly focused and unfocused on the clasp of her body, the grip of her hands, the quickness of her breath as they chase closer to release. He could watch her riding him all day and never tire of it, he’s sure, and he already can’t wait for the next time when he gets to taste and explore every inch of her body at his leisure.

The thought alone has him gripping her hip a little tighter, urging her moves as he finds leverage to thrust up into her. He falls back to the bed, his feet still on the floor but from this position he can meet her movements to benefit both of them.

“Touch yourself, love. Come with me,” he gasps out, and she slides one hand to where they’re joined, hitting just above where he’s hard and aching at this point with each circular movement. As she starts to shudder in his arms, she presses down against him, her hand anchoring in his chest hair and tugging just to the point of pain but causing him to tumble over the edge with her.

If he thought coming in his pajamas earlier was messy, this is a whole different variety of one. They’re both sweaty, and he can feel his release sliding back down his shaft as he softens. He sits up, shifting so he slips out entirely. He shudders at the loss of her warmth, at the aftershocks of the orgasm, but he focuses on drawing her closer so he can kiss her.

“You’re bloody brilliant,” he utters, watching the smile light up her whole face even though she looks like she could use a few more hours of sleep after that. At her eyes fluttering closed a few times, he can’t help the comment from escaping. “Now who’s the one who needs a nap?” He gracefully accepts the pinch she gives to his side, chuckling as she leans forward and places a kiss to the side of his neck.

“Both of us, I’m betting,” she finally says. Still, she moves off his lap, steadying herself with a hand on Killian’s shoulder while the other pushes her hair back from her face.

“Swan, if you kiss me again, we’ll never leave the bed for the rest of the day.”

“Fair point. I’m going to your bathroom, and then I’m going to rummage through your kitchen and find us food.”

He nods, biting his lip and tipping his chin towards the door, resting back on his elbows as she raises her eyebrows at him and breezes out the door.

Okay, so all he desperately wants to do is collapse back onto the bed and sleep for days after two orgasms in such a short amount of time, but he figures they can nap after they’ve had some breakfast. Henry gets home from school right around three and that means the whole day stretches before them with no interruptions but their own.

From that day forward, it’s settled. They are dating, in a committed relationship, more than courting or “talking” – they are boyfriend and girlfriend, which sounds so mislabeled when they are both over 30. Henry is delighted when they share the news, specifically because now he doesn’t have to struggle to explain that Killian is their neighbor who may or may not be dating his mom. Maybe. Sort of. But not really. Now, Henry goes around telling everyone about his mom’s boyfriend, Killian, who lives down the hall from them.

And so they all fumble through it:

It’s two weeks later that Killian meets David and Snow, with Emma tugging on his arm and leading him to the farm house that Henry has already disappeared into.

“Your brother isn’t going to give me some protective dad speech, is he?”

“He better not. First off, you’re older than he is. Second, you’re the first man I’ve dated for longer than two weeks since before I moved here. And third, if he does, I’ll beat him up.”

“Somehow, I don’t doubt that, love.”

She spins on him before they get to the front porch, pushing up on her toes to kiss him, something heady and wonderful, sweet and sensual at the same time.

And so that’s how he first meets David, with Killian’s tongue just ghosting Emma’s lips and his hand just a touch too low on her hip. David clears his throat, causing Emma to spring away and turn to the door.

“Hi! Sorry, we were just…” But she can’t finish the statement, because what would she say? We were just making out like teenagers outside while you were waiting for us to walk in? Not bloody likely.

“Uh huh,” is all David says with a wry grin, his arms crossed across his chest as he leans against the door frame. Then his lips slowly quirk up and he shakes his head, motioning them inside. It’s April, but there’s still a bite in the air and Killian is eager to get out of the chill. He urges her forward and takes her hand again, trailing only a little behind her in trepidation.

Anything he worried about was all for naught. David is a little chilly towards him at first, but over the course of the evening, they find quite a few topics in common and he’s in the middle of a rant about American football versus actual football when he catches Emma staring at them. Snow leans over and whispers something as David is replying his own thoughts, and Emma laughs softly at whatever was said to her. He catches her eye and winks at her before turning back to the conversation.

They dive in even further when Henry asks what the big deal is. He and David both go on the attack with that one, and it takes roughly three minutes before Henry is sorry he asked, but it’s already too late – they’re going to educate him on all the intricacies if they have to.

By the end of the evening, Snow has packed up enough leftovers to last the three of them for days, somehow, and hugged him so hard he may have felt one of his organs shift. David gives him a handshake and promises to drop by the bar sometime, clapping Killian on the shoulder once as they turn to leave.

It’s like another piece falling into place. Over a decade in Storybrooke and Killian could barely string together three words to say to any one person in the whole town. Now, suddenly, he has a girlfriend, and David and Snow could be… friends. And there’s Henry, who – heavens above, let him not jinx it – if this all keeps lasting, could be his step-son.

They’re back in their building, walking down the hallway hand in hand with Henry in front of them when Killian suddenly stops at the very thought, and Emma turns to look at him, her face pinching in concern.

“You okay?”

“Of course, love. Just couldn’t remember something I put on my list for tomorrow.”

There’s a joke on the tip of her tongue about him forgetting anything because she constantly says he’s worse than an elephant as far as memory goes, but instead she just kisses him. “You wanna stay at mine tonight?”

“Are you sure?”

“Killian, do you really need to ask if she’s sure ten times before you finally come inside?”

Henry is still six months away from 13 but that certainly doesn’t stop him from acting like a cheeky teenager whenever he feels like it.

“Besides,” the boy continues, “if you’re asking because of me, I’m pretty sure you don’t have to tiptoe around that anymore. You’re mom’s boyfriend. Even though you live right there, you’re still allowed to come spend the night.”

“Thanks, Henry,” Emma says flatly, an incredulous smile on her face. “What he said.”

Forward they move again, that summer, when the admissions finally happen. Honestly, Killian would’ve told her sooner – he’d known he loved her shortly after Christmas – but there was always that fear and anxiety that it would all go wrong. So he waits, and waits, and waits, all the while hoping she’ll say it first so he can know it’s okay to finally tell her. But then it happens on its own.

During the summer, they plan two mini-vacations. One is for the three of them, where Emma, Henry, and Killian all load up into Emma’s Volkswagen Bug and drive it down to Boston. If they have more time before school starts for Henry, they’ll do it again down to New York City, just a quick weekend with hit-it-and-quit-it tourism, as Emma calls it (though not in front of Henry).

The second mini-vacation, while Henry spends two solid weeks with his dad, is for only a few days of that seemingly long time. So while a majority of the time spent without their third partner in crime consists of cleaning and working, there are four beautiful days and three memorable nights that they spend at a fancy bed and breakfast just a few miles south of Storybrooke. They’ll never admit it to Granny, but they’d stay all the time if they could.

On the second night, after dinner and watching the stars appear above the horizon, they retire to their room. While Killian is in the bathroom, he can hear Emma moving about the room, and he hears her speaking in low tones to someone before the door shuts more audibly than it opened. While he washes his hand and takes his time, he still walks into the main room with a skeptical look on his face. He clears his throat while Emma faces the dresser and fusses with something. She jumps when he calls to her attention, and when she turns she has a hidden guilty smile.

“I know you didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but…” As she shifts out of the way, there’s a small cake for two sitting there beside plates and forks. She has a lighter in her hand, just about to light the candles, it appears. “Happy birthday, babe.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, wandering over to grasp her hip and kiss her, intent on trying to figure out how to pass over his heart for safe keeping. Which is why he isn’t quite expecting the words that come out of his own mouth. “I love you, Swan.” He’d meant to say thank you, thank you.

They both pause, and he keeps his eyes closed for a moment, praying that when he opens them it’ll all be fine, that he’ll not have royally fucked it all up. He can feel the way she’s stopped breathing for that same moment, her chest pushed against his and not moving for whole heartbeats, and it’s just as his eyes open that the breath whooshes out of her and she swoops back in, dropping the lighter in her haste to get her hands on him.

It’s clear in the way she hesitates, throws herself more into the kiss than into saying anything back, that she’s not ready. He understands, he understands so well that he pulls back for a heartbeat to tell her that she doesn’t have to say it until she’s ready, if and when she feels the same way he does. She nods, a smile cresting over her lips as she kisses him one last time. They both bask in and shake off the moment, something else to be celebrated later on when they climb the tiny steps to their massive four-poster. Emma refocuses them on the cake, struggling for a few seconds to locate the lighter.

“It’s Italian rum, no almonds. Just the way you like it,” she explains as she finally finds the lost item and turns back to it. With a little click, she starts the flames on the candles and lifts it up. “I’d sing happy birthday but you’re too old for that shit.”

At that, Killian throws back his head and laughs. “You’ll pay for that later, love. For now, let me see what I might wish for when I’ve a beautiful woman in my room.” He gives her a teasing look, letting his eyebrows lift and play for a minute before he looks back to the cake.

He thinks hard, and wishes with all his might, that this will continue, that she loves him back, that she’ll consider this an arrangement for the rest of their lives. Because he has officially entered a state where he cannot imagine living without her by his side. He wishes…. he wishes that they’ll consider moving in together in the upcoming years, and he wishes that they’ll talk of marriage and see how the other feels. And maybe, if it’s in the stars for them, Emma will also want to continue their family and consider having her implant out.

All of it he wishes for, but knows that if she only loves him back, there’s nothing else he could ask for beyond her companionship from now until forever. And that’s the thought he has in his mind when he blows out the candles.

The rest of their vacation can only be described as blissful, even as they eat breakfast with strangers and sometimes have to convince the other that they should do more than spend the whole day in bed. They do plenty of that, too, but they manage to wander the little town enough that they feel it wasn’t wasted time someplace new.

It’s not always perfect, by any means. They fight, they argue, they disagree. But they make sure to talk it out as much as possible for two people with communication problems. Henry goes through his teenage rebellion phase, but in how he acts or how he handles chores rather than smoking or stealing porno mags from the corner store. But they take all the imperfections, the sarcasm, the sometimes-unavoidable attitude by talking or laughing or making it up to each other, and that’s what really matters to all three of them.

-x-

She has to admit, when Killian told her he loves her on vacation, her heart actually stuttered in her chest. She hasn’t stopped thinking about the way he said the words that night. He says them occasionally, just to say them to her, without expecting anything in response. And at this point, it’s almost embarrassing that she hasn’t said it back. If they’ve been dancing around each other since Christmas, it’s been ten months since this all began – next week is her birthday – and it’s been four months since her boyfriend declared his love for her.

He is so patient and giving that she almost can’t believe that this whole thing is hers.

For her and Henry’s combined birthdays, they have a party out at David and Snow’s house, with friends she’s made over the years and people Killian has come to know, as well. It’s somewhere among the friendly laughter and warmth that doesn’t leave her limbs for the entirety of it that she decides she’s going to tell Killian as soon as they get a moment alone tonight.

Until then, they mingle and chat, enjoying the antics of the kids and adults alike. She rests her head on his shoulder while his arm slips around her back, his hand playing with the ends of her hair as they chat with their friends.

Despite being a brand-new teenager, Henry isn’t the least bit embarrassed to be ushered inside at the end of the night by both Emma and Killian. He’s barely awake, his eyes struggling to stay open, and Emma gently guides him away from walls and obstacles as they make their way inside. It’s only after he’s tucked away in his room, quiet snores disappearing behind the door that Emma closes, that she moves immediately to her almost equally tired boyfriend in the bedroom.

He’s already changed, his brace off and resting on the nightstand as he settles into the bed. Emma crawls across her empty side in order to kiss him, making sure she has his full attention before she smiles at him. “I love you.” The words are so easy to say after all this time that she wonders why she couldn’t say them sooner, but the look on Killian’s face is worth the wait.

“I love you, Swan.” He pulls her close again to kiss her once more before she shifts away to get ready for bed.

A month and a half later, their lives are in upheaval as they try to decorate for Christmas, but no one can seem to find anything amidst the mess. Of course, that’s what happens when you combine two households into one just before the holidays.

“I can’t find my tree,” Killian says, exasperation showing through as he lifts box after box in their basement. They have a basement. And three bedrooms. They already set up the big tree in the living room, decorations and all because the storage spaces were the last things they emptied and the first things that came into the house. But while Emma thought Killian’s decorations were also in his storage space, they’ve gone through everything twice and can’t seem to find them.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find it,” Emma says soothingly when he almost throws one of the boxes of Henry’s books. She reaches out and actually grabs his arm, moving close to kiss his clothed shoulder. Killian looks so crestfallen, and she takes his hand and leads him back upstairs.

It’s after he goes to work for the evening that she heads back downstairs and starts carefully sorting through the boxes still left over. Old clothes from her, books of Henry’s, kitchen items that they didn’t need doubles of… Each box is put into a pile until Emma finally unearths a box from Killian’s apartment. It’s labeled simply as “MISC” and he may have completely missed it beneath the other boxes, so she opens it to make sure.

When Killian shakes her awake when he gets home, he’s smiling softly, the expression on his face lit only by the small tree she found and set up. Henry’s star is front and center, and he looks so relieved to see it all that she can see as plain as day that he loves her son. Surely, the thought has passed through her mind before, but to see how much he cares about it – not to mention that the star is what started all of this – is something lovely.

“Thank you, love. I don’t know how you found it, but thank you.”

He kisses her gently, resting on the edge of the couch next to her, his hand in her hair and she finds his hook with her hand.

“Something I don’t think I’ve told you before, but when I woke up the morning after we met and you weren’t on my couch, I really thought that was going to be the end of it. I thought we would go back to being awkward neighbors who never spoke again.”

Emma pushes herself into a sitting position, throwing her legs over Killian’s lap as he settles fully on the couch. “But I just ran down the hall to get coffee.”

“Aye, but I didn’t know that at the time. And then you invited me over to have pizza, but I still didn’t think it was going to lead to anything further.”

“And then we barged in the next night with bags of Christmas decorations.”

“That you did, Swan. Fell in love with you a little bit more even then. You were already working on my heart only hours after our formal introductions.”

“That sounds about right,” she murmurs as she strokes along his jaw, watching his eyes flutter closed at the contact. When he opens them again, he’s staring at her with an intensity she can almost feel in her bones. “Henry named our mission, by the way. Operation Killian’s Christmas Miracle. He just couldn’t stand the thought of you down the hall by yourself with only one little star hung up on the wall.”

“You both were my Christmas miracle.”

“I’m sad now that Henry’s out of the age where he makes handmade ornaments, since technically that’s what started everything.” Killian’s eyebrow jumps a little, his lips pressing together to suppress a smile of some kind. He reaches up to scratch behind his ear and that’s the final tell; he’s hiding something from her.

“Aye, I probably would’ve wanted a few more for the collection,” is all he replies. She lets it ride. He doesn’t keep anything from her, so the need for secrecy must have something to do with a Christmas gift or else he would’ve told her already.

When she gets home from work on the eve of Christmas Eve, she gets to see exactly what was going on. There are little ornaments strung throughout the whole downstairs, both with Killian and Henry’s handwriting all over them, and they’re both trying to get something hung up by the fireplace – her weed of a teenager and Killian stretching his arm so high that his shirt has come untucked to show part of his side – so intently that they don’t even hear her come in until she swings the door shut. They both whirl around, and Emma can see the small form still dangling from Killian’s hand.

The wind from the door movement and what followed her inside hits against what she previously thought were just shapes with writing on them, so they flutter back and forth and Emma’s eyes go wide. The writing, it turns out, is dates and locations – landmarks and milestones for the three of them individually and together. The other side has photos filling the shape; they are all handmade ornaments of all the major things that have happened in their lives.

There’s Henry’s birth photo, and one of Killian in the Royal Navy. There’s Emma’s induction into the Storybrooke Sheriff Department, with Henry by her side as she smiles. There’s a picture of Killian and Henry taken on Christmas last year, one she didn’t even know existed, with Killian’s hair still long and his beard fuller. She can’t believe how different he looks, but she does still declare she’d have taken him either way.

Pictures of Emma and Killian, Killian and David, Emma and Snow, Emma and Henry and Killian – they’re all represented. Each holiday, each landmark. A picture from Killian’s birthday when they walked along the beach with the inscription of the date and “I love you, Swan” written below it. Another from her own birthday taken from afar of the moment she tucked into his side as they talked, her own words of love adorning the back. There’s one of the three of them when they decided as a unit that it was time to move house – it was pointless to keep walking back and forth down the hallway to spend time at each apartment when they were all together all the time now.

And the ones along the fireplace… those are the ones she sees last, the most important ones, because as she gets closer she can see Killian’s signs of anxiety heighten. Henry’s smile just grows and grows as he watches all of this take place. There are three along the mantel and one in Killian’s hand, and she doesn’t even have to see what’s written on them to know what she’s going to find. Still, she comes all the way into the living room after removing her boots, reaching for Henry first and pressing a kiss to the side of his head and marveling at the way he’s grown even more.

She moves to stand in front of Killian, taking his hand even as he drops to one knee, and she waits as patiently as she can for him to finish the question before blurting out her answer, but it’s a close thing.

-x-

On Christmas day, earlier than when he and Emma would’ve first held hands, she settles into his arms once more while they sneak in a movie before Henry leaves to spend the rest of the day with his father. It’s something he may have asked for as a growing teenager with a sensitivity to spend holidays with both sides of his family, or it could have something to do with two nights ago. Killian once thought that, on the rare occasion something bright happened in his life, it was only temporary.

But not all things are so temporary. The ring resting on Emma’s finger only proves further that sometimes, if you’re patient enough, it lasts.

#captain swan #cs fanfiction #cs ff au #captain swan ff #captain swan secret santa 2018 #cs secret santa 2018 #gifts for lovely friends #sarah writes ff

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voidwaren · 5 years

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Teen Wolf prompt anon again~ If you're up for a challenge shuffle your music and write a drabble to the first song that comes up! I would love more Sterek but you can pick the pairing

I wrote more for this prompt than I have all month for Camp NaNo…

so the song I got when I shuffled was Who Do You Love by Chainsmokers & 5SOS, but you all know me. I don’t do established relationships, so this went in an entirely different direction from the song. I had a hell of a lot of fun with it though, so thank you so much for it! also sorry it took me a hot sec to get it out!

it’s very lightly Sterek. I can’t not have a little, okay.

“Where the hell does he go at night?” Stiles mumbles to himself as he shuffles through the most recent stack of blurry, useless photos courtesy of the security camera stationed outside of the temporary Hale apartment complex. Sure, he didn’t technically have clearance to even touch the footage, but what his dad didn’t know wouldn’t kill him. Probably.

“Why do you care, Stiles?” Scott replies, his werewolf hearing apparently having picked up Stiles’ speculation. He’s draped over the back of the couch like a three-year-old, though, so Stiles doesn’t think his opinion matters right now. “He’s an adult,” Scott continues when Stiles only huffs in annoyance. “He can go wherever he wants.”

“Maybe he’s patrolling,” Isaac offers, throwing himself onto couch until he’s taking up all the room Stiles hadn’t, and then some. Stiles pushes him, but he doesn’t budge.

“Alone?” Stiles asks dubiously. “He has his dumb moments, yeah, but he also has you guys now. Why wouldn’t he take one of you?”

“I think he takes Erica, actually,” Isaac says helpfully. Stiles glares at him.

“And you didn’t think to tell me this before I started all of this research?”

Scott wrinkles his nose. Isaac mouths “creepy”, which Stiles totally sees. “You’ve only been doing it for like an hour,” Scott points out.

“An hour I’ll never get back!”

The collective eye roll he gets in return tells him he’s getting nothing useful out of the two, so he decidedly gathers up his photos and stuffs them into his backpack.

“Where are you going?” Scott finally asks, only once Stiles has started cramming his feet into his sneakers.

“I’m going to ask Erica what she does with Derek at night.”

Isaac makes a gagging noise. It’s downright poetic in its execution. “Gross, Stiles,” he whines.

Stiles throws a pen at him, which he doesn’t even remotely manage to deflect. Werewolf reflexes, his ass. “She’s dating Boyd, stupid.”

“So? It’s Erica.”

“She’s not like that,” Stiles asserts as he clambers out the door, ignoring the small voice in the back of his head asking him if he ever really knew her in the first place. He’s not even securely in his Jeep before Isaac and Scott come blundering in, seating themselves firmly in the car seats before Stiles even manages to think of a reasonable reason why they can’t come along.

Guess backup couldn’t hurt.

“Uh, no. I don’t go anywhere with Derek at night.”

Stiles stares at Erica. Then, he turns and stares at Isaac. When Isaac looks confused, Stiles gestures violently at Erica. Twice after Isaac throws up his hands in a gesture meant to convey innocence.

“She’s not usually home when I wake up to pee!” Isaac exclaims. Stiles narrows his eyes, and behind Isaac Scott rolls his in exasperation.

“That doesn’t mean I’m creeping around with Derek, Isaac,” Erica says drily. Stiles opens his mouth to ask what she does do, but she holds up a finger before he can. “Not answering that,” she says, leaving absolutely no room to argue, even for him. Stiles deflates.

“Then where do you go?” Isaac pushes.

A fleeting look of embarrassment crosses Erica’s face. It’s gone so fast, Stiles isn’t totally sure it was there in the first place by the time it’s replaced with one of annoyance. “None of your business,” she bites.

“Actually, it is,” Isaac points out. “We’re pack. I’m supposed to know where you are.”

Erica gives him a wicked grin. “And you think that’ll make me break?”

Isaac doesn’t answer her, and that tells everyone in the room his answer.

“Alright, okay,” Stiles starts so they can move on with the conversation before it got ugly. “So if Erica isn’t the one ditching with Derek, then how the hell are we going to figure out what he does when he vanishes into the night?”

“We could track him?” Scott offers. Stiles shakes his head.

“Nope. No. Not a single one of us is stealthy enough to get away with that. Next.”

Scott pouts in his direction, but Stiles ignores it. Erica looks thoughtful, her head tilted towards the ceiling.

“Do you think he’s meeting up with someone?” Isaac offers.

Stiles strokes his chin a la BBC Sherlock. “Maybe. That would explain why he’s gone so long throughout the night. Maybe he’s doing things with them.”

“You think he’s sleeping with an enemy?” Erica asks, throwing Stiles through a total loop.

Stiles gives her a startled look. “What?”

“You don’t think that?”

“Well NOW I do!” Stiles exclaims.

“I thought that’s what you were implying.” Erica shrugs likes she’s sloughing off any potential guilt she might have for planting that idea in his head. “What did you think before?”

“That he was just fraternizing,” Stiles says helplessly.

Isaac frowns. “I thought you said you just thought he was being weird and stuff.”

Scott nods. “Yeah, who said anything about enemies?”

“Erica.” Stiles gestures at her for good measure. She grins, evidently pleased with her chaotic evil nature. “She literally just said that. Now I’m thinking it.”

Isaac looks unconvinced. “That fast?”

“My brain works very fast,” says Stiles, offended. “It’s the ADHD.”

“Okay, you know what?” Erica says, placing a hand on Stiles’ arm. It’d be charming if she wasn’t so rough about it. “How about we just ask Derek?”

“Do you know where he is?” Scott asks.

“With Boyd at the apartment.”

That’s all Stiles needs—he’s shrugged off Erica and made a beeline for the door before anyone else has moved, and Scott says something he doesn’t quite catch. Stiles was on a mission and, dammit, he was going to get to the bottom of his.

“I knew it!” Stiles exclaims loudly the moment he bursts into the room, Scott, Erica, and Isaac clamoring in behind him like the graceless supernatural beings they were. Derek and Boyd look up at them in confusion, and Stiles belatedly realizes they’re bent over a map spread out on a table. Stiles points at it aggressively. “You’re planning something!”

“… What?” Boyd asks after a beat.

“With the enemy,” Isaac tacks on gravely, still very accusing. Boyd looks at Derek in bewilderment, but he’s still looking at Stiles like he’s debating if keeping him alive was really worth staying out of jail for. Boyd turns his confused look back on Stiles and the others behind him again.

“What,” Derek starts, slowly, and with a large amount of pure, unadulterated annoyance, “are you talking about?”

“Stiles is under the impression you’re fraternizing with the enemy,” Scott offers. Stiles turns to glare at him, but it’s too late now that he’s made it look like Stiles was the only one thinking this.

“Thanks, Scott,” he says drily.

“Actually, he thought you were sleeping with them,” Isaac corrects.

“Thanks, Isaac!”

“More than one,” Erica adds on.

“Erica. Seriously?”

“What?” she asks in faux innocence, turning those damn big eyes on him. “I’m not wrong.”

“That was your input into the collective query, okay! You!”

Erica shrugs. “I’m still not wrong. You thought it after I suggested it.”

Stiles opens his mouth to continue arguing the matter, but he’s stopped by the relative force of Derek’s hand coming out and smacking him in the chest. It’s not a hard blow, exactly, but it does startle Stiles enough to stop him from talking, which he thinks was the point.

“Can you all shut the hell up for a second?” Derek begs, his tone gruff and very obviously annoyed. Probably yet again with the fact he got involved with a bunch of teengers. Stiles knows he’d be pulling his hair out by the roots if he were in Derek’s position.

They all quiet, waiting patiently as Derek visibly processes the information he’d just been given. When he finally opens his mouth again, Stiles can’t help but tense up, which is kind of embarrassing considering Derek hadn’t removed his hand yet.

“You thought I was sleeping around with—” Derek stops, his face wrinkling up like he was trying to recall what it was exactly they were accusing him of. “—multiple enemies?” Erica snickers, and Derek turns his glare on her. She quiets, but the smirk doesn’t drop from her lips.

“It was a reasonable conclusion,” Stiles says weakly. Derek turns to look at him. His expression is so close to incredulous that Stiles is starting to feel bad he even thought anything like that in the first place. “Fine,” Stiles mutters, “not that reasonable.”

After a moment where no one says anything, Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. He looks like he’s in pain when he says, “All right. This is ridiculous. At night?” He drops his hand and Stiles is not-so-vaguely reminded of the time he accused his dad of intentionally foiling any attempts Stiles had made at getting him a date. Much like now, he’d been very, very wrong in his deduction. (Turns out, Stiles just hadn’t been a very good matchmaker, and his inconsistent oblivious nature was genetic.) “I’m conferring with Druids to make sure nothing weird can sneak up on us. Apparently, none of you idiots realize they do most of their work under the moonlight.” He gives Stiles a pointed look at this. Stiles lowers his gaze, because he did know that from all the research he’d done when Scott had first gotten turned. And Derek knew he knew that.

“Why didn’t you just tell us that, then?” Scott asks.

Derek only turns and looks at him. “I wasn’t asked.”

Scott looks at Isaac helplessly, who looks at Boyd, who looks at Erica. If she in turn looks at Stiles, he doesn’t see it, because he’s looking at Derek again and feeling like the biggest of dickholes.

“Well, we fucked up,” Isaac announces after they’ve all had a moment to settle on this collective conclusion.

“Shocker,” Erica mutters.

“Now that we’ve figured out that none of you know how to ask the source before jumping to asinine conclusions,” Derek starts, arms crossed, “I’d appreciate if you all would leave.”

“We live here though,” Isaac tries weakly, but lowers his head dejectedly when Derek only glares at him.

“Didn’t want to be here anyway,” Erica grumbles.

They all slump out of the apartment, leaving Boyd behind, and Stiles starts the drive back to everyone’s respective places he’d found them at in the first place. Scott tries to broach the subject only once during the drive, but Stiles decidedly ignores his attempt and loudly declares a need for greasy food before his father got home instead. That gets everyone hungry, and they stop at an In-N-Out on the way. Erica steals more of his fries than Stiles is entirely comfortable with, but she doesn’t even try to talk about what just happened, so Stiles lets her without too much protest.

When Stiles finally gets back to his own place, sans Isaac and Scott (who both were dropped at Scott’s place), it’s nearly dark and his Jeep smells strongly of grease and American fast food goodness. His dad isn’t home yet, so Stiles knows that means he’s in charge of dinner for the night. He’s barely turned his engine off when Derek appears out of nowhere and sticks his head through Stiles’ open window.

“You want to tell me why you’ve been logging video information on me?” Derek asks, scaring the absolute shit out of Stiles, leaning in the window of the Jeep and looking entirely too Abercrombie & Fitch Model while doing it for Stiles’ liking. Stiles determinedly glares at his steering wheel once he’s finished flailing and generally acting like a spazz. “Which, correct me if I’m wrong,” Derek continues where Stiles doesn’t answer him, “is illegal to do? I could report you and get a restraining order.”

“You won’t,” Stiles says immediately. Derek raises both his eyebrows. “You need me,” Stiles asserts. He’s looking at Derek fully now, and Derek meets his gaze.

“I don’t need anyone,” he replies in that gruff, annoyingly sour way of his.

“Keep telling yourself that.” If Stiles rips his keys from the ignition, he thinks he has a fair reason to be doing it. “And don’t tell my dad.”

“I don’t talk to your dad if I can help it.”

“Well,” Stiles says, “good.”

Silence falls. Stiles can’t get out of the car with Derek blocking it, but he debates launching himself across the seat to get out the other side if only so he doesn’t have to sit here being awkward, yet again, with Derek Hale. Didn’t this guy know anything about tact?

(Okay, maybe Stiles himself wasn’t exactly the best judge of that. Still. Derek made everything awkward, and Stiles wanted nothing more to get out of the conversation—if it could be called that.)

Derek ruins Stiles’ potential attempt at jumping across his car by speaking and messing up his thought process. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Stiles glares at him. “Duh. I don’t have to.”

“You’re stalking me, Stiles.”

“It’s not stalking!” Stiles protests, twisting around in his seat until he’s almost face-to-face with Derek again. “It’s precautionary surveillance.”

Derek just gives him a look. “You’re getting footage illegally from my apartment complex’s security cameras because, why exactly?”

Stiles doesn’t answer right away. He knew exactly why he was doing it and he doesn’t have to ask how Derek knew exactly what Stiles was doing. Derek knows how to break into houses undetected. “I don’t trust you,” Stiles finally says, and, to his credit, he kind of mumbles it to his steering wheel guiltily. He might not have been Derek’s biggest fan, but telling him he didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him to his face wasn’t exactly something Stiles wanted to do. At least, not right now. Under different circumstances, maybe.

Derek doesn’t answer. Stiles dares a look at him. He looks pissed, but Derek had a habit of looking pissed at most times of the day. Stiles is pretty sure he just had RBF. “I need to change that,” he says, sounding more like he was talking to himself than to Stiles.

Stiles blinks at him in surprise. “What?”

“If our packs are going to be working together in harmony, you need to trust me.”

Stiles has no idea what to say to that. He’s faintly sure someone just abducted Derek and replaced him with a faulty copy that only looked exactly like Derek. “I’m not exactly an important figurehead in Scott’s pack,” he finally says.

Derek shakes his head. “Scott’s a total idiot. He looks to you more than you must realize.”

“I don’t know about that,” Stiles answers honestly. “Is it really that important? I’m not a trusting person by nature, you’re in for the long haul if you’re going to try winning my trust.”

Derek pauses, and an expression Stiles can’t quite name passes over his features briefly. “Yes,” he says, strangely earnest. Then, completely out of character, he says, “I need you to trust me.”

Stiles stares at him. Swallows. And then, like the absolute idiot he is, opens his mouth and says, “Well, big guy, maybe you should take me out to dinner first before you go about trying to woo me like that.”

That does it. Derek looks at Stiles like it’s physically paining him to have to listen to anything coming out of his mouth, and Stiles is pretty sure it really is. Then, Derek shakes his head and finally moves out of Stiles’ window. “Come to the pack meeting on Sunday,” is all he says, and then he turns and stalks off into the night.

“What pack meeting on Sunday?” Stiles calls, but Derek doesn’t answer. “Well, fine,” he says to himself, slumping back into his seat. Guess he was going to a pack meeting on Sunday, and Derek was now going to try his darndest to win Stiles’ trust.

When exactly is his life going to stop getting so weird?

#Teen Wolf #Sterek #drabbles #asks #god that was a blast #thank you!!!

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lethesomething · 6 years

Text

The definitely not definitive otome guide

I sincerely doubt the world needs this, but that sort of thing has never stopped me before. Have an extremely biased guide of several dating sim games, organised by some arbitrary metrics.

Word of warning: this will be long (4k words), because I've played an embarrassingly large amount of otomes.

As a disclaimer: obviously this is a personal opinion. If you (as a lot of people do) enjoy the more forceful bad boy type in your dating sim, I’m not going to judge you. I, however, don’t, so this list is very specifically going to call out games for how they treat the protag.

Featured here: Amnesia: Memories, Blood in Roses, Cutie Demon Crashers, Destined to Love, Dream Daddy, Hatoful Boyfriend, Hustle Cat, Ikemen Revolution, Ikemen Sengoku, Lost Alice, Midnight Cinderella, Monster Prom, Mystic Messenger

A note on play styles.

These games come in a few flavours, which is important to know if you're gonna try them.

The vast majority of the mobile games here follow a basic visual novel structure. You pick a guy and read through the different chapters, and depending on your answers you'll be leaning toward one of two or three endngs. Since these are free to play mobiles, there's a bunch of challenges you will need to log in daily to pass.

Mystic Messenger is the main outlier, since it's a chat simulator that plays in real time.

The pc games tend to be more complex, with interlocking routes and more endings, generally. You'll need a number of skill points to meet character A for instance, or you'll need to do a series of actions to reach ending B.

Great games

Ikemen Sengoku

Hands down one of the best mobile otomes out there right now. I found this when searching for pics of Masamune Date (from a different game) and I've sort of been obsessed with otomes since.

Platform: Android (free to play, pay for premiums) Story: MC gets sucked into a wormhole and finds herself 500 years back in time, in Sengoku era Japan. She drops in on the exact moment where Nobunaga Oda, the Demon King, would be assassinated at Honno-ji. She stops the murder, disrupts the timeline and now there's a bunch of hot warlords vying for her attention. Protagonist’s spine: Reinforced steel. This is one of my favourite protags, because she is Super Sassy and doesn't take shit, unless she's literally being threatened with a sword. The protags where I feel like I understand their actions are few and far between, but this is one of them. Except when she goes far beyond mere bravery to get her man, and decides to forgo tampons and, like, wifi, to live 500 years in the god damn past. Squick factor: Low. This game is made by Cybird, a company that appears very big on consent. The guys generally treat MC with respect, probably more than could be reasonably asked of a Sengoku warlord. The only worrying stuff happens in the Obvious Yandere route, but you kinda know what you're getting yourself into with that one.

The Good: I friggin love the writing for this game. The guys feel like real characters, there's a ton of interaction between them and I need to give this game extra points for the story events, which are almost invariably gold. This is where the makers stop giving a shit about realism and just go for what they want to write. There's ones where all the guys are suddenly idols, there's a Christmas episode, there's one where they battle through cooking and cleaning. It doesn't take itself serious, is what i mean, and it's Hilarious. The Bad: This is one where the in-game art (aside from the CG's) is actually not that great. Hideyoshi's smile is kinda weird looking and the models feel a little outdated at this point. Best Warlord: This is very difficult, because a lot of them are dreamy, but let's just say that I need a Mitsuhide route so very badly.

Ikemen Revolution

The newest Cybird game and my current fave.

Story: MC falls down the rabbit hole when she tries to give a rushed White Rabbit man something he dropped. She ends up in Cradle/Wonderland, where war is about to break out between the Red and Black army, the Hearts and the Spades. Everyone is hot dudes and MC is considered Alice the Second (after the one from Through the Looking Glass). Squick factor: Low. Again: Cybird game. This means there is steamy situations and sex scenes, but they're blatantly consensual. The routes I've played so far keep well within the bounds of what I would consider romantic. Protagonist’s spine: Varnished wood. In general MC is self-propelling with occasional bouts of bravery. You can tell why she's doing the things she's doing and how she reacts to situations feels sort of logical. She's hard-working and caring and a little naïve, but the fact that she's canonically a woman from early 19th Century London does put a lot of her actions in perspective (like the amount of bullshit she puts up with).

The Good: The writing is fun. There's a good mix of angst and just… general comedy. The characters interact with each other a lot, and it feels like they're a big loud family, especially in the Black Army, which is more like a frat than anything else. The art is also decent. The backgrounds are utterly gorgeous and most of the guys are very good looking. When I first started the game I was weirded out by the blinking animation, but I have since gotten used to that. The Bad: I found some of the plot rushed. Like you spend so long slow burn growing toward each other, and then suddenly stuff has to happen action movie style because we're running out of chapters. The final chapters of Fenrir's route were just plain dumb. Like could that BE more of an obvious trap. Come on MC, I expected better of you. Also, since this is a very new game, not that many routes are out (four at the time of writing). Best boy: Hooo man. Of the routes that are out, Ray is very… oooof. But my fave chars are probably 'so done' Sirius (the fact that he's voiced by Suwabe has nothing to do with this, surely) and 'also quite done' Kyle, who is both a doctor and an alcoholic wreck of a human being.

Mystic Messenger

You know Mystic Messenger, it's like one of the biggest otome's of the past few years.

Platform: Android, iOS (free to play, pay for extra saves and stuff) The Story: MC follows a text message to a weirdly high tech apartment and this somehow puts her in the position of party planner for a secretive group of weird people. It only gets more complicated from there. The game plays out in real time, via chat conversations and the occasional story segment. Squick factor: Um. I personally wasn't weirded out, but I also decided very specifically not to play Jumin's route. This girl did her research. The routes in Another Story are also very over the top and would probably bug me. While I love the Saeran character, I don't think I'd be able to handle that route. So: highly dependent on chosen route. Protagonist’s spine: Adderall. It takes a specific kind of person to download a chat app and follow the instructions given by a random stranger therein. It takes a much stranger person to sit in an apartment with a bomb and just keep inviting people to a party. MC is on a different level from us mortals.

The Good: I loved the game mechanic, because it felt very real. The player is following a chatroom, just like the character is. Besides that, the story is completely bonkers and I appreciate that. The Bad: Did I mention it plays in real time? Because it plays in real time, meaning you get chat conversations at two in the morning. I was very sleep deprived when I played this. Best boy: 707. Dude is funny and deep and hot and relatable and smart and I want to give him all the hugs.

Dream Daddy

One of the few decidedly mlm games I've played so far. You've probably heard of it since it was the subject of much hype and much controversy. Markiplier played it. Friggin Buzzfeed has video's on it.

Platform: PC and Mac (it's on Steam) The Story: MC is a Dad who moves into a neighbourhood with a lot of other single(-ish) dads. Time to work it. Squick factor: Low. This is primarily a humour game: there's a ton of dad jokes and silly mini games, and a distinct lack of kabe don's. The canon routes are all very thoughtful. Protagonist’s spine: Barbecued sausage. Player Dad just goes for it. He’s flexible and caring enough to handle the more sensitive subjects, and self aware enough to deal with random crime and weird drunks.

The Good: I remember opening this game and, in the character creation screen, telling a trans friend of mine 'omg you can wear binders', and the sheer Glee of his reaction. That's the kinda stuff this game was, partly, made for and it is appreciated. I really liked the tongue-in-cheek writing, most of the jokes landed and the whole thing is just a lot of fun. The Bad: Some of the minigames are annoying. Why the hell are you making me play Bejeweled with fish? I also had a hard time sympathizing with some of the kids. I mean… Lucien straight up tries to murder someone? Ernest is 'rebellious' but he's also an ass. Best dad: Damien has the best route, but have you Seen Mat? Holy moly.

Not worth it games

Amnesia: Memories

This game should come with a friggin warning, so I'm giving it here. Its popularity and star rating is a terrible indicator for how much you may enjoy this game. It presents itself as a cute dating sim with gorgeous art, but it devolves into straight up horror, and not in the good way. This feels like a guidebook written in the 1800's to tell young women their place. Not even mortified intrigue could make me finish this.

Platform: PC (Steam or Google Play) and PlayStation Vita Story: MC wakes up with amnesia. Someone hurt her and she doesn't know who to trust. You'll need to figure out what happened. Squick factor: Super high. Like… so high. Everyone treats MC like shit and she just lets it happen, even developing all kinds of Stockholm Syndrome as she falls in love with these asshats. MC's childhood friend supposedly loves her but is such a tsun and just… doesn't communicate while also treating her like a small child. One of the other characters is so popular he has a fucking harem but MC is just supposed to wait for him to actually fall in love with her. And don't even get me started on that friggin yandere. *shudders* Even the secret route 'true love' character is a million types of wrong. Protagonist’s spine: Undercooked custard. MC has the self preservation skills of a wet sponge and whoever is playing this is supposed to get turned on by high concept ideas of S&M that are just written out so badly everything feels like an abusive relationship.

The Good: *sigh* The art. The art is very pretty (I'm upset at the art since it sucked me into the horror). Also, as a visual novel, this one is complex as all hell. There's a ton of endings (most of them deadly) depending your actions as a player. It's vast, is what I'm saying. Also, I hear the clover route isn't as bad as some of the others, but I was too weirded out to try. The Bad: See rant. This is one of those games that really seems to glorify the whole possessive, abusive boyfriend shtick, but it's ok because he loves you, really. Ugh. Just… ugh. Best boy: Kent? I guess? He doesn't appear to be actively abusing MC at least.

Shall we date: Lost Alice

I wondered if I should include this because I literally played like ten chapters and then deleted it, but that in itself should give some indication.

Platform: Android (free to play, in-app premium purchases) Story: MC wakes up in the forest with amnesia (I see a trend). Turns out she's in Wonderland and everyone thinks she's Alice. Most of Wonderland's characters are, predictably, hot men. Squick factor: Unavailable. I didn't play far enough to see but some of the men are quite pushy and also it's a Shall we date app, so… tread carefully. Protagonist’s spine: Cement. This is an MC that puts up a fight, which I respect. Sadly she does so in that 'needlessly aggressive' way that anime characters sometimes have. I didn't find her particularly sympathetic.

The Good: The art. It's always the art that gets me. The Bad: The UI annoyed the shit out of me. This is a free to play, pay for premiums game, so some level of mindless clicking is expected if you try to play for free. This one had just too much. There was friend greeting and picture rating and princess lessons and got knows what else, all taking a ton of time. Trying to get to the home page popped up at least four different 'now on sale' screens every single time. The writing wasn't good enough for me to deal with that. Best boy: Well there’s a cat. So.

Decent games

Hustle cat

This game is set in a cat café, that was all the encouragement I needed to buy it.

Platform: PC (Steam) Story: MC is invited to take a job at a cat café. Turns out everyone in the café is cursed, and also they're into you. Squick factor: Almost non-existant. This is a very tumblr friendly game in the sense that your love interests are both male and female, and none of them are particularly pushy. The relationships feel pretty natural and mostly consist of MC helping their love interest with some subquest. Protagonist’s spine: Cucumber. MC is actually pretty cool. The game does that 'modern western game' thing where you get to pick a gender and a skin colour for your protag and the general atmosphere is 'tongue in cheek'. MC doesn't let people walk over them, but they're generally helpful.

The Good: CATS. The premise of this game is pretty neat. The Bad: According to Steam I played this five months ago, and I pretty much forgot about it. Fun game but not particularly memorable. Best cat: Landry. Tall, gentle giants are a particular weakness.

Shall we date: Blood in Roses

This is me giving Shall we Date another shot, because the amount of hot mildly medieval boys was intriguing.

Platform: Android (free to play, in-app premiums) Story: There's two, because this app has been around for a while and now has two 'seasons'. The Witch stumbles upon a supposedly abandoned castle and gets imprisoned there by a bunch of vampires. The Hunter, meanwhile, seeks out the castle because she wants to stop an attack on her village. Both come to realize that the castle is now a hotel for monsters, and that its denizens are both not what they imagined, and also hot. Squick factor: Highly dependent on route. The Witch literally starts in a jail cell, so you can imagine the Stockholm Syndrome shit that goes down. Also, this is a personal preference, but I'm really weirded out by a lot of blood play stuff so most of the vampire routes are gonna be… problematic. Shall we Date games don't shy away from sex scenes and I like that, but coupling them with drinking blood 'to get in the mood' is a rather specific niche. The game does offer a number of other options for you to court, from werewolves to wizards and… grim reapers? It's a mixed batch. If you're not into pushed boundaries I can offer one tip: stay away from the vampires. Protagonist’s spine: Sand cookie. She has one, but it's brittle. I've mostly played Hunter routes and it's like… she tries, and she can take care of herself but she also tolerates more bullshit than necessary, ya know.

The Good: The art is good, and some of the storylines are intriguing despite my reservations. I'm still playing it (mostly in a quest to find a good ending where MC doesn't die to become a weird immortal creature). The UI, while annoying, isn't as bad as Lost Alice's, or so it seems. The Bad: The writing is very hit or miss. There's routes where the guy just sort of lowkey stalks MC, until she suddenly decides she's incredibly in love with him. There's others that make even less sense, and then there's ones that feel more natural. In general, MC's actions don't seem to have a lot of thought put into them. Best boy: So far: Gordon. He's cute and sensible and tortured and not incredibly antagonistic.

Midnight Cinderella

You'll notice a friggin ton of Cybird games on here.

Platform: Android (free to play, premium purchases) Story: MC gets, mostly by accident, chosen to be the Princess of Wysteria. As such she must prepare to govern the country when the king dies, and choose a consort from a number of suitors. Squick factor: Low. Not only are these men respectful of her, they're rather literally treating her like royalty. Having said that, there is a lot of the typical hurtful tsun stuff going in several routes. Protagonist’s spine: Lightly done steak. There's something weird going on with the protag in this game. When it comes to governing, she's tough as nails. She's thrown into a situation she wasn't ready for, and while this stresses her out 24/7, she performs admirably. On the other hand, her main reaction to literally anything when it comes to love is 'Oh'. She cries a lot, at times she feels like a wet rag. There's a bunch of situations she could have just solved by going 'Yeah I'm into you'. She's complex, I guess.

The Good: The writing, while melodramatic, is nice. The art is good as well. The Bad: This is an old game and it doesn't perform that well on my current-gen smartphone. Expect to push certain buttons several times before the game realizes what you're trying to do. Also the loading takes ages. Best boy: For me, Sid, because he reminds me of Aomine Daiki and I'm weak for that type of personality. As far as routes go, Leo's probably had the most impact on me.

Destined to Love

I'll be honest, I started this because of an event in Ikemen Sengoku that would give me cross game storage. Don't judge me.

The Story: MC gets flung back in time (this is also a trend, it seems) to the 1800's, a few weeks before the Ikedaya incident will make the Shinsen-gumi a historic Legend. She meets, and chrams, a whole bunch of historical figures. Protagonist’s spine: Cured leather. As a modern woman sent back in time, MC is probably fairly sassy by the standards of the time, but she remains mostly polite. She's tough, considering the circumstances, but quite pliable in that 'we'll see where this goes and make the best of it' way. Squick factor: Low. There's one character that just screams 'red flag' but I have yet to try his route. Since this is a Cybird game, most of the guys are pretty respectful.

The Good: I really like the premise? As the title suggests, MC's love is part of a higher destiny, one that transcends time, and it's one of the reasons she has to go to friggin 1800's Japan. She has a hand in making history. This amuses me. Also, the guys are pretty good looking. The Bad: This is a fairly old mobile game and you can kinda tell. On a technical level it's not as bad as Midnight Cinderella, but again the touch buttons aren't always responsive. Besides that, some of the writing is rather clunkily translated and a bunch of the art is low res. Best Boy: I haven't played all the routes here, but Katsura is a god damn sweetheart, and Kyo and Yamazaki seem adorable AF.

The weird: the special ones

Hatoful Boyfriend

The reason I know otome's exist. This one shot to meme status a few years back.

Platform: PC (it's on Steam) Story: MC is one of the last remaining humans after sentient birds took over the world. She gets enrolled into an elite school for pigeons. Squick factor: Medium to high. The major thing to understand about Hatoful is that on the surface it looks like a particularly silly dating sim with pigeons, but dig deeper and it is Also a full blown apocalyptic horror story. And it follows the genre where a wrong move gets MC horrifically killed. Having said that, several of the routes, including the god damn serial killer one, didn't bother me as much as something like Amnesia, because they were not sold as romantic. Maybe it's the whole pigeon thing, maybe it's the general weirdness of the plot, or maybe it is because said serial killer actually goes 'Surely you knew this would happen', before he guts you. Protagonist’s spine: Gummy bear. MC is highly forgettable, but therefore also like… not annoying. The main focus here is on uncovering the many layered plot and the player character doesn't really have a scripted personality, she just embodies the player's actions.

The Good: This whole game is so out there. There's a reason it became so popular. It's an Experience. The plot is over the top and intricate and Weird, and that makes it intriguing. There's a ton of routes and endings, some more secret than others. The 'human' version of some of these birds is kinda hot (sadly that includes the serial killer). The Bad: the plot is so weird and meandering that it's kinda hard to follow at times. I'm fairly certain it takes several guides to unlock all the endings. Best Birb: It's been a while, but I remember liking Yuuya's route quite a lot.

Monster Prom

The new hype.

Platform: PC (Steam!) Story: MC is a student at Monster High, and is trying to get a date for Monster Prom with one of the hot people. Squick factor: None. I mean, nothing that happens here is in accordance to health and safety norms, but that's kinda the point. It's a parody game, making fun of all the hoops teenagers are willing to jump through to become popular. Protagonist's spine: Coagulated blood. MC is willing to make deals with demons, wear corpses as a hat, anything really. The question is very openly: what could I do to make them like me.

The Good: It's a funny game. I like the characters, who embody everything from the Mean Girl to the Hipster Nerd and the Needlessly Aggressive Jock. The art is simple, cartoon style, but pretty neat. The Bad: Everything is very tongue in cheek, which leaves it a little… light for my tastes. I don't feel like any of the routes matter in the grand scheme of things, MC hasn't truly touched anyone's heart. The whole thing is a joke game, so it's funny, but a bit shallow. Best monster: Polly, the permanently stoned party girl.

Cute Demon Crashers

Technically a sex game? But a really very special one.

Platform: PC (free! Here!) Story: A portal opens in MC's house and four Incubi/Succubi drop through. To apologize for the inconvenience, while they wait for a portal back, they offer to teach MC about sex. Squick factor: I've written about this game before and the best thing, the very best thing about it is how incredibly consent-minded it is. Like, even if you're already in bed, getting it on, there's always an option to turn back and leave it at that. The demons are really just there to help MC find out what gives her pleasure. Protagonist’s spine: Rock. Obviously, MC is mildly upset about four random demons showing up. As mentioned before, what happens next is mostly up to the player.

The Good: It's free and the art is pretty and I love the premise. The Bad: Kinda short, but again: free. Cutest Demon Crasher: *cough* Orias *cough*

#otome game #mystic messenger #ikemen revolution #ikemen sengoku #amnesia memories #and a bunch more #shall we date #lethey writes #long post

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galfridus1 · 6 years

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Doctors In Waiting Published

As part of NNT Week, I posted an extract of a story I was working on set in 21st century Oxford. Doctors In Waiting is now finished and is up on FFN and AO3. Meliodas and Ban are PhD students and the early chapters focus on their friendship (and yes they do arm wrestle). Zeldris, Elizabeth and Gelda are also studying at the university (History, Medicine and Medieval English respectively) while Merlin and Arthur are faculty staff. Estarossa, Melascyla and Elaine show up too, as does a human version of our hero’s father.

I know these types of AU are not everyone’s cup of tea but I worked hard on this story and I hope it’s entertaining enough. It was 2.5 month’s solid effort, every section has been re-written at least twice and it got to the point where the characters were telling me what to do, especially Gelda and Estarossa who radically changed the plot.

Here are two extracts which give a flavour for the story. First is Meliodas and Ban celebrating the end of the Michaelmas term. Second is the full transcript of the rather nasty conversation between Zeldris and Elizabeth which featured in NNT week.

If you have some spare time, I’d be honoured if you’d check it out and let me know what you think.

***

Meliodas and Ban from Chapter 2

“Here you go, thanks for waiting. Five pints of lager. Drink up!” Meliodas said brightly plonking the foaming cups down on the table in front of his friend, the glasses clinking slightly as they knocked together.

“Wow. You rock!” shouted Ban, grabbing two of the glasses and pouring the contents of them straight down his throat, one after the other.

“He, he. There was a special offer on, five for the price of four,” Meliodas sang out with a smirk. “Way too good to pass up.”

“How did you even carry them all over here?” Ban asked with difficulty, his words slightly slurred. “Your hands are tiny.”

“I was a bartender in a previous life.” Meliodas grinned back, copying Ban and drinking two pints himself.

“So who gets this one?” Ban asked, gesturing at the remaining pint, a definite hic showing he was beginning to feel the effects of intoxication. Normally it would take Ban more than this to show he was drunk, but the club did not open up until ten so they had shared a couple of bottles of wine over dinner and downed two shots of vodka for luck before setting off.

“Wanna arm wrestle for it?” Ban asked, leering with the effects of the booze.

“Nah, we’ll bust up the place and I don’t wanna leave till I can’t see straight,” Meliodas replied, also beginning to slur his words slightly. It took a lot for him to get truly drunk, but even he was on the way to reaching his limit.

“Tell you what, I got paid yesterday. Next round’s on me,” Ban said, rising unsteadily to his feet and making his way towards the bar, swaying slightly with the effort.

Meliodas sat back and watched his friend as he disappeared off into the crowds. He looked around. The idea of tonight was to get laid or get wrecked and Meliodas wondered if there was any prospect of taking someone home for the night. It had been ages since he’d spent time with a woman romantically and a sexual liaison was long overdue. It was easy enough. With a certain class of female the mere mention that he was Lord Lorimer’s son was enough to bring them around to the idea. Most people knew his family was loaded and that was all it took for some, the thought of the wealth outweighing any distaste they felt. While he did not like flashing his family name about he was more than prepared to do it to secure an easy one night stand, however crap he felt about it afterwards. The thought made him impatient for Ban to return so that he could go and take a proper look round.

Ban came back, multiple glasses in hand.

“Great offer!” he said unsteadily as he set five more pints down on the table.

“Cheers to that!” Meliodas replied downing another two pints. “It’s been too long since I’ve got wasted like this.”

“So are you going to go home for Christmas?” Ban asked matching his drinking partner pint for pint, the words only just distinguishable. “Coz I’m staying right here.”

“I’ll go to my father for the day itself, but otherwise no. Estarossa and I spend as little time as possible at at the ancestral place,” Meliodas replied. “Father takes us to church to show us off, well to show Zeldris off anyway, and then we spend the day drinking and avoiding each other. I’ll come back here on Boxing Day.”

“Wow, that’s rough,” Ban replied. “Don’t you ever go home to visit properly?”

“Nah. Zeldris goes back sometimes but Estarossa and I avoid the place like the plague. We only go to my father’s twice a year, for Christmas and February fifth”.

“What’s so special about February fifth?” Ban enquired, his eyes glazing over.

“We all go to put flowers on my mother’s grave. She died when I was seven. Placental abruption,” Meliodas said quietly. “I remember looking out of the window and seeing her being lifted into the ambulance. She was bleeding so much I thought the white blanket they’d put over her was red…” Meliodas shook himself. He must be more drunk than he realised to have said all that out loud.

Ban put his pint glass down. “I’m really sorry,” he said, the slurring a bit less evident, his red eyes unusually soft. “My mum’s dead too. Died when I was eight.”

Meliodas waited. They’d been living together for nearly three months now and in all that time Ban had not revealed a single thing about his life. Meliodas had respected his privacy, but admitted to himself that he was curious. He’d watched Ban as he embarked on his PhD, dragging Ban along to the seminars the Social Policy research students put on to showcase their work. Ban gave off the impression of being less than astute but Meliodas had long since discovered that this was a facade. When he got talking, it was clear that Ban had an easy command of the broad discipline which was home to students studying everything from international development to demography, from poverty measurement to spending on pensions. He’d made intelligent enquires of Gowther’s complex examination of demand for brand-named drugs when generics came on the market and found a serious hole in King’s plans to look at adult social care. His own work had however remained shrouded in mystery, though Meliodas had weedled out of Ban that it was something to do with higher education policy.

Meliodas could not believe Ban had not secured funding for his work, but then the availability of grants had dropped dramatically since the economic crash. He felt a hot flush of shame when he thought about this. He had funding himself, receiving an annual stipend from one of the UK’s research councils thanks to his supervisor’s recommendation. Merlin knew how to pull strings for her students. But Ban both needed it and deserved it more than he did.

“My dad killed her,” Ban blurted out, and instantly Meliodas felt the warmth being sucked out of his cheeks and his heart miss a beat. “He was a nasty drunk, could never keep his fists to himself. That night he gave me this,” Ban slurred as he gestured at the gash on his face. “She stood in front of me, tried to protect me and I was useless, I couldn’t do anything…” Ban trailed off into silence.

“Oh, Ban!” Meliodas cried. He wanted to reach out and hug his friend tight but knew Ban well enough to anticipate that this wouldn’t go down well, even in his current state of inebriation.

“My sister was four when we went into foster care. She was ill and starving. We only ate what I could steal and I was crap at it. I kept getting caught. They tried to save her, but she died too…” Ban trailed off again, his head bowed and his eyes fixed on the wooden table, scarred with white rings from alcohol-soaked glasses.

“She should have been taken into care years before, and your brother thinks too much public money is spent trying to protect the likes of us,” Ban spat angrily, his eyes still looking downwards.

***

Zeldris and Elizabeth from Chapter 3

“You all go on ahead. I have some business to attend to here,“ Zeldris ordered, his voice ringing with authority. Elizabeth was surprised to see the others immediately comply with his instructions. They moved quickly to the staircase which led to the dorms, leaving Zeldris standing alone in the quad.

"You can come out now,” Zeldris barked as he spun round to stare at the place where Elizabeth was hiding. “I know you’re there and that you were listening.”

Elizabeth unwillingly stepped out into the open, her face showing plainly her nervousness as her hand went to play with the scarf round her neck.

“Elizabeth Liones. If you want to hide I suggest you learn to control your breathing.” Zeldris stared at her coldly, his raven eyes flashing with anger. “You want to explain what you were doing?”

“I… nothing. I just came back from my shift…”

“Don’t lie to me! I saw you leaving my father’s apartment and there’s only one reason you’d be there at this hour. You’ve been stupid enough to let yourself become one of my brother’s many conquests now he’s back on the market. Even I would not have thought he’d be so desperate that he’d sleep with the enemy, though he evidently doesn’t care about you enough to let you stay for the night.” Zeldris snarled, his words sounding rich with the honey of pure loathing.

Elizabeth flushed up to the roots of her hair and her mouth fell open as she struggled to find her voice. She felt like she’d been slapped.

“It… it’s not like that at all…” she flustered.

“Oh really? Your face says otherwise,” Zeldris shot back.

“We were only talking.” Elizabeth managed to squeak out.

“Just as well. I advise you not to get too attached. Meliodas will happily use you, as he has so many other women, but he will never do more for you than satisfy his own needs.”

“I don’t believe you,” Elizabeth said coldly, her nervousness gone. “He’s not like that at all.”

“Seems you know more about my brother than you were letting on, or at least you think you do,” Zeldris crowed triumphantly, a smirk spreading over his face. “Proof enough of your feelings. But did he tell you what he did to his ex?”

Elizabeth paused, a question about what Meliodas had done that was so bad was on the tip of her tongue, but she suppressed it. It was his secret to keep and she would not give his brother the satisfaction he was obviously craving. She returned Zeldris’ gaze, her jaw clenched hard and her hands balled into fists at her sides, determined not to show him how much he frightened her.

“He threw her out. He got what he needed, then cast her aside with nothing to her name. They were talking marriage and children, and she thought everything was fine. But did he care? He’d had enough, so that was the end. That’s what he does. Everything is always about him.

"Still, it was for the best. She was not good enough. She would never have held her own with my family. We used to laugh at her. Even Estarossa thought she was thick. The only reason father put up with her was her title, and you would be no different. I know all about you. Your grades are reasonable but you work like a dog for them. You have no verve, no genuine intellect. Without your family connections you would not be here at all. Oxford is for people with brains, not cart horses like you. For all his faults, Meliodas is brilliant. No one can hold a candle to him. How can you of all people ever hope to keep up? Once he’s done with you physically, how could you possibly hope to hold his ever-wandering attention?”

Elizabeth felt herself flushing profusely, her face and neck flaming with uncomfortable heat as she gave into the urge and dropped her eyes to the floor. Try as she might, Zeldris’ words were upsetting her deeply. She did her best to take even breaths of the cold December air in an attempt to control the adrenaline coursing through her. The last thing she wanted to do was burst into tears. But his words hurt. He was right, she wasn’t that clever. She had enough intelligence to get by, but unlike her colleagues she had to study hard. She enjoyed the work, but it did not come naturally. The thing she liked about medicine was putting the patients at ease, helping them understand that she would do her best, building their trust and reaping the rewards when their health slowly recovered. She was not an academic and never would be.

“You will leave my brother alone if you know what’s good for you,” Zeldris warned quietly, taking a menacing step towards Elizabeth, seeming to tower over her despite his small stature as he pressed into her personal space. “If nothing else, do you know what my father would do to him if he found out about this? He hates Bartra Liones and will hate you just as much. And enjoyable as it would be to watch my brother get the discipline he deserves, I give you fair warning it will not be pleasant. If you know what’s good for you both, you will stay away.”

#nnt #seven deadly sins #fanfiction #meliodas #ban #zeldris #elizabeth liones #doctors in waiting #oxford au

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herenortherenearnorfar · 6 years

Text

Pretender to the Throne

(Just a not-so-quick SvtFoE bit because I’m still deep in Medical Terminology work but I love the twists, love me some complicated mother-daughter relationships and family dynasties. I guess the third part of my to-be-jossed, Butterfly centric SvtFoE fics.)

Star had never put much stock by her royal privilege. When you were born with something, you took it for granted; like Tom with fire, or Ponyhead with floating.

More and more often, Marco was the one who put the pieces together for her. He bothered to learn about royal rules and rights, and how Star could technically skip to the head of any ice cream line in the allied kingdoms of Mewni. He was the one who shook her shoulder on the carriage ride home and whispered, “Hey, if Miss Heinous is a Butterfly, and she was Eclipsa’s daughter, and Eclipsa was queen, does that mean she was supposed to be queen?”

Star’s eyes flew open, and she punched Tom- her makeshift pillow- in the chest instinctively. He flicked the back of her head. “Not full of goose feathers, Star.”

“Sorry,” she said, apologetically. “Marco just said something real whack though. Marco, repeat the whack thing.”

Marco blushed under all the attention. Pony, at least, was still asleep, napping off the punch, but Star was staring blearily and even Tom was paying attention in between tearing strips off his shock blanket and incinerating them. “I mean, Eclipsa was queen, and Miss Heinous was- is, really- her daughter. And the daughter of a queen becomes queen next, right?”

“Normally, yes...” Star was too upset with the night to explain the complexities of Mewni’s succession- and frankly she hadn’t paid enough attention in school. She was next in line and that was all that mattered. “But not if there’s an older daughter, I don’t think. And Eclipsa is my great-whatever grandma, so she must have had an older daughter, right?”

Suddenly, she felt uncertain of that once sure fact. Maybe Eclipsa was just her aunt, or her cousin. The grandma room couldn’t only be for grandmas. Butterflys charged into battle too often and too recklessly for them to have maintained a single line of descent.

“Besides,” she said, covering for her sudden confusion with overconfidence, “A monster couldn’t inherit.”

Marco shifted a little on his bench, like he had in class when he knew the right answer but was afraid to say so. “Are you sure?”

Star gaped at him, mouth moving silently as she looked for an explanation she couldn’t provide. Desperately she glanced around the carriage, as if an inheritance lawyer would appear out of nowhere and solve her woes, but there were only the four of them. Ponyhead snored softly and Tom shrugged, as unhelpful as ever. His mother had emerged from lava and primordial evil and his father was the abstract conglomeration of every middle-aged dad who had ever gotten angry at a hardware store. He didn’t have to deal with extended family.

“It might not be a law,” Star rallied finally, “But you know what mewmans are like; no one would have let her inherit. Especially not if she was a baby.”

“Yeah,” Marco said, “They might, I don’t know, try to kill her? Leave a crazy lady with purple hair outside her bedroom in case she ever tried to come back?”

“It does kind of make sense,” Tom said helpfully, “You don’t leave someone to guard something that isn’t dangerous- I’m just saying!” He held up his hands like he was afraid he’d get punched again.

“I’m almost certain Eclipsa is my grandmother,” Star said, “’Cause her tapestry said she was married to a mewman first and you don’t say that unless you- you know.” It felt awkward to explain the basics of royal marriage to a pair of boys, even boys who were her friends, but they both nodded agreeably.

“Got busy, yeah,” Tom said. “Maybe they were afraid she’d try to inherit anyway. Like, a bunch of monsters would want to make her queen because she’s a monster too.”

There was a long pause.

“That’s really smart, Tom,” Marco said.

Tom nodded, “I try.” The ragged remainder of the shock blanket burst into flames in his hands, sending Star scooching down the bench towards Marco. The flames died down quickly, Tom’s fires always burned out fast, but Star elected to stay away. He seemed a little moody, even if he didn’t realize it, and there was still a lot of hairspray in her hair.

“Even if Miss Heinous- Meteora- was the heir back then, that doesn’t really matter now though, does it?” Star asked, trying to steer the conversation back on track. “There have been lots of queens. Seems like you’ve got a window to grab the throne and after that you’ve lost your chance.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works legally,” Marco said with a frown.

“Legality, reality. It doesn’t matter what’s legal, Marco!”

There was a long silence. Tom started to gently smoke. Both Marco and Star turned on him, concerned.

Marco edged around the carriage floor until he was across from Tom, trying not to get jolted into the demon’s personal space. “Hey, Tom, buddy? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Tom insisted, crossing his arms. Star closed in on him from the side.

“You smell like brimstone,” she pointed out, with an awkward chuckle, “The driver is going to think we’re up to something in here.”

Tom didn’t respond. Marco reached over and carefully patted his hand, then withdrew with a yelp. “It’s okay to talk to your friends,” he said as he stuck his fingers in his mouth, “Also your skin is really hot and I’d prefer that no one gets second degree burns the next time we go around a bend really fast. We need to cool off.”

The threat of imminent danger to others finally did it. Tom flipped his sunglasses down over his eyes and leaned back against the carriage’s upholstery, ignoring how the leather hissed in protest. “She just looked a lot like me, is all. Looks human with a big red parent, magical powers, royal heritage. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since I realized. You know I don’t usually care about politics but this one feels... strange.”

He wasn’t exactly wrong, Star reflected. Meteora did kind of look like him, if you squinted. The pale hair, the pointed ears, the hint of fangs.

She hugged Tom, heedless of the way the cushions were melting around him. Sure enough, by the time she touched him he was just uncomfortably warm. “It’s not weird.”

“This doesn’t mean I’m on her side, or anything,” Tom protested, “Just some mildly uncomfortable feelings for me to talk out with my therapist.” “Well, I’m sort of on her side,” Marco said, as Star and Tom pulled apart. “Miss Heinous is terrible, but whatever happened to her sounds worse.”

“I know,” Star agreed, voice feeling too tight in her throat. “And I didn’t mean to say- I mean. We need to focus on what we can do now to fix this. I need to talk to my parents. I just don’t know what I’m going to say.”

A hand rapped on the side of the carriage and a voice full of knightly bluster called, “Five minutes until the Underworld and Cloud Kingdom!”

Tom pressed a little closer to Star’s side. “If anyone can figure it out, it’s you.”

In the corner, Pony abruptly stopped snoring and righted herself in midair, shaking free of the bubble Star had put her in to keep her from sleep goring anyone on the long and bumpy ride. Star brightened.

“Ponyhead! We were just talking about-”

“Mmmhm,” Pony, never a light sleeper, looked oddly alert. “I heard. I was ignoring you because it was, how can I say this, not very interesting? But it’s clear that you all need my help.”

Marco, less used to Ponyhead, looked affronted. “We don’t need-”

It was no use, she was on a roll. “It’s not your fault, you’re all only children. Politics don’t come easily to you. But I’ve had to live and breath politics every day or get stabbed in the back. Sibling life, you know. Listen up, because I’m only going to say this once.”

Star leaned in. Marco sighed but dutifully took out his favorite notebook. Tom stared out the window, pretending not to listen.

“First off, you need to figure out the laws. Loopholes are your friends and everyone else is going try to use them. Learn every last declaration and requirement. And figure out how our girl Heinous really is related to you. Much as I hate to say it, you’re going to have to read some stuff.”

“We can do that,” Marco said slowly,

“I’m not done. Don’t tell your parents. Parents have no sense of humor about this sort of thing. Also if they know you’re looking for the information they might start looking at what you’re checking out of the library and that won’t end well. Do talk to historians though. They love talking, it’s the worst. And see if you can get some information out of our girl Eclipsa.” Ponyhead had the calculating look of someone who dealt with secret evil cousins very week, “Don’t tell her about her kid being alive though, that might upset her.”

“I can’t lie to her!” Star protested.

“You can and you have to, bestie. She’s dangerous. You should also listen to the monster communities. If someone wants the throne they need co-conspirators, and the first place you look is family. If Heinous can’t get to her mom she’s going to turn to monsters related to her dad, or just monsters in general. Keep your ear to the ground.”

The carriage started to slow to a halt.

“That’s our stop,” Ponyhead commented.

Star gave her a neck crushing hug. “Thank you for the advice,” she whispered.

“Learn how to throw better parties! Love you! Talk to you!” Pony said as she drifted out the door, now being held open by a waiting knight. ‘

Tom lingered. Under the gaze of Mewni’s finest they couldn’t talk freely, but he kissed Star on the cheek and said, “I’m sure you’ll figure... all of this out.”

“Thanks. And Tom? You know if you ever want to talk about feelings we’re here, right?”

“All of us,” Marco confirmed, looking up from his notebook to give Tom an earnest, if bleary smile.

Tom backed out of the carriage hastily, “I absolutely will not be taking you up on that. Later, babe!”

The door closed, and the carriage started back on it’s way. It wasn’t too far from the outskirts of the city to the castle, and Star already felt dread at the scolding she was about to get slowly bubbling in her stomach. She threw herself across the carriage and stretched out on the unburnt bench so her head was next to Marco’s thigh and her legs were folded up against the wall. Even the sight of her party boots wasn’t enough to soothe her.

Marco starting taking the pins out of her hair. Half of them had already fallen out, and the removal of just a few more made the entire updo collapse like a souffle.

After a few minutes of listening to the wheels on the cobbles and the soft bleats of the invisible goat, Star had had enough.

“It’s just... it’s so messed up!” she said, hand fluttering in frustration. “Mewni was bad to begin with, but I thought I could fix the problems with monsters and mewmans. I thought I could help Eclipsa. I don’t know if I can fix this. It’s so big.”

“Yeah, it is,” Marco agreed. “But I think we have to try.”

They did. As horrible as all the options for action were, inaction was even worse.

It was only- Star was a royal, born and bred. She didn’t always think about it, or pay attention to it, but it was in her bones. She could disregard the privileges and ignore the customs of her station, but deep within her bones lurked the imperative to protect her birthright, protect her kingdom, protect her magic. It was something her mother had whispered to her when she was too young to fully remember it.

Helping the monsters hadn’t required disregarding that. Neither had helping Eclipsa, long deposed and with no interest in queendom. But helping Meteora, who was frightening and had been wronged, and whose hurt might have given Star her crown?

As Ponyhead always pointed out when she pushed her sisters around, a princess couldn’t well help her rival to the throne.

“She’s family,” Star muttered.

Marco patted her head. “Yeah. Your family is super messed up.”

#svtfoe fanfic #svtfoe #star butterfly #marco diaz #ponyhead #tom lucitor #meteora

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xaviervworld-blog · 4 years

Text

Three Windows of Life: Memoir

My earliest memories as a child are looking through an old window in our apartment building from the second floor. The blue curtains swayed from side to side as I could feel the spring breeze with my window that was slightly ajar. My parents were afraid that I would eventually try to prove that I could fly, so my window was rigged to only open a few inches. My twin bed was near the window on one side of the wall, while my baby brother’s crib was on the opposite side of the room. All of the apartments were so close, that I could clearly see into our neighbor’s kitchen from my bedroom window. I spent hours playing with all of my matchbox cars in my room or watching all the muscle cars driving down the street. I could see people walking on a nearby dirt path which was made into the neighborhood trail. As I look back, my brother must’ve thought I was his personal entertainment as I focused on making him laugh during all times of the night. My mother worked all day, came home and cooked, then stayed up half the night with my brother. Through my young mind, I thought I could help my parents out by climbing into my brother’s crib (if he woke up at night) in order to help my brother, go back to sleep. Sometimes I helped find his pacifier, pulled his blanket over him, or turned my bed into a trampoline, so he would laugh his way back to sleep. I can remember the day my feelings changed toward my entire family, as my preschool teacher whispered into my father’s ear that I was sleeping all day and failed to participate with any of the class work. My father was a big disciplinarian, so he believed that a few of my actions could be corrected with a belt, switch, or whatever was within reach. He didn’t realize that as my brother woke up at night, I tried to console him, so my mother didn’t have to get up at night. One day I forgot to climb out of my brother’s crib and was abruptly awakened by my father and his brown leather belt. I felt completely misunderstood, angry and alone. I focused on looking at all the cars pulling into the small apartment complex. As I look back, I remember seeing cars or trucks parked in the parking spots, half way on the sidewalk, some were in the grass, some were backed in, in this tiny parking lot for our apartment building. All of the oil spots that stained the parking lot seemed normal, as we walked outside and down to our car. As I looked out the window in my bedroom there was always men and women, some were married or single gathering in the parking lot of the apartment complex, wearing the same uniform. A uniform with the same color shirt, the same color pants, the same boots and hats, and the same chains around their necks. All of these people, including my father were active duty soldiers in the military, trying to earn a living for themselves or their families and protect our country. Sometimes the stress of those everyday demands of my dad’s job as a soldier, felt as though it was aimed at me, my mom, and my brother.

I felt that I had one of the most fun childhoods that a young kid could have but as I look back on the whole situation I feel as if there were a lot of good lessons that I learned and some lessons I didn’t learn until I got older. When you’re a child you may feel as if you should challenge things that your parents would say or do because you might not agree with anything they have to say. I challenged my bed time as a kid because I could still see kids playing outside, while looking through my window. I could still hear the music playing from the cars in the parking lot on any night of the week. Sometimes my parents went outside to join the “parking lot parties” and other times they didn’t join. I remember asking for popsicles before dinner was ready but most of the time I was turned down. Sometimes I would get up at night and carry my bathroom stool into the kitchen and get the popsicle out of the freezer. As I look back, I don’t know why I did this while knowing that I would get in big trouble if I was caught doing two things wrong. First, getting out of my bed after my bedtime and second getting popsicles that I was told I couldn’t have that day. I asked my mom questions about why I couldn’t have the popsicle. It was hot outside and I had a long day, so I deserved the popsicle.

After we moved into house, I met so many kids in the neighborhood. I was at a new school, new area, and there was a Dollar General right around the corner from our new brick house. I thought I would have my own room, but my younger brother convinced my parents that he was scared to be in a room by himself. The next day I came home from the Boys & Girls Club, there were bunkbeds in our room. I admit, at first, I was pretty angry, but it was good having my brother in the same room. We stayed up late at night, talked about the new neighborhood, and how there were so many kids playing outside until almost midnight. As a young kid, I liked to play all the rough sports inside of school and also sports leagues offered outside of school. I was one of those kids that saw myself as invincible while playing on any field, such as the football field, baseball fields, or even the basketball courts. When I say “invincible” I’m talking about getting big groups of kids together after school to play tackle football in the fields of our neighborhood. When someone yelled “down, set, hut” we ran at top speeds to obliterate any and everyone who blocked, who held the ball, or anyone that looked like they would help the team score. As a defensive tackle, I remember squaring my shoulders, lowering my hips, and taking the first steps to stay low as possible to get through the blocks. We were a bunch of kids going through puberty, trying to hurt each other just for fun but we loved it. We walked away from the fields laughing, turf burn on our elbows and knees, but we felt like we had just gone to war. We walked back home to ask for some cash to head to the Dollar General around the corner from the house.

As I looked back, I realize that a lot of kids in the neighborhood were really cool but got into a lot of trouble at school with not listening to the teachers, challenging any substitutes in the classroom or being the class clown every day. I admit, I laughed at them or laughed with them as we sat in the classroom. At the time, it was funny but as I look back, I realized that I they were from broken homes rough around the edges which grew up a little rough around the edges as a one of my classmates.

As I’m always thinking about my childhood and decisions that I made, some of my childhood memories are eye openers and others pretty much give you that feeling like “wow I really did that when I was a kid”. For example, remember when you would be outside from at least after breakfast time to the time the street lights came on? Or even when you’re all the parents that lived on your street would visit and talk for hours leaving you and all the neighborhood kids to stay out for at least an extra hour? Coming up my childhood consisted of chasing that one ice cream truck, leaving the house clean with a high chance of coming home dirty, feeling like you had to be the neighborhood mechanic fixing your friends bicycle chain because the chain had popped off, or even playing basketball in the street with that one old tire, or those large bricks that always sat on the back of the goal where the water was supposed to be. I always think about the times that I had played tackle football in the grass with no equipment, or tried to see who the best thrower in my group was by throwing the football over cars when they had come down the street, or even who the fastest runner was too. It was crazy that we had to explain to our parents and talk about why the shoes that we had just gotten in not too long ago were already banged up and ready to be thrown away a week or two later. Also let’s not forget that one friend that we all had that naturally thought they were the best with the all the neighborhood girls of course. In this case, this was my good friend. This was one of those friends that just thought that all you needed was abs and then all the girls would come to you naturally. I never liked school at all because every time I looked up, I always remember sitting in the principal’s office getting an earful about the principal running low on patience or how I was running out of chances. I looked at school honestly as a way to socialize even if that meant that you might be getting that phone call home that you already knew was coming because the teacher told you. I never knew why I couldn’t get it together in class, but I could easily make the best jokes or say something that wasn’t meant to be funny but the whole class ended up laughing at. In middle school I eventually got to the point of me being so insubordinate that the only way that I could function naturally was in on campus suspension. The school that I went to was a really old building in a really bad neighborhood that always seemed to have a broken window or two over the weekend, literally just because the kids that lived in the surrounding neighborhood hated the school that bad. I remember making funny jokes in class, throwing crumbled up paper into the trashcan from a distance, and even making those folded up pieces of paper that used to make an unnecessarily loud pop noise and get the class off track to get a reaction. We all had that one accomplice in the classroom that would do pretty much everything that you would, but it always seemed to have more of a negative impact. One day I remember just having all the fun in the world cutting up in class until the next day, my parents had beat me to school because I was always on the school bus. I was military child and my father was in the army, and even though I knew the consequences I guess I thought that maybe this punishment wasn’t going to be as bad. Well I can in fact say that I was very wrong because all I could always remember was my mother and my father walking down the school hallways with the school issued visitors passes with those irritated looks on their faces because they had to get off of work to come see what the situation was. Seeing my father was always the scariest because he would always come to school with the standard army ACU’s and the thing is that I would never see him first, but I always had that friend that would be on a bathroom break or run an errand and come to class and say “bro your parents are here” making you get that gut feeling like you just caught the world’s worst stomach ache. I’m so glad that I grew out of that phase, and glad that I got to experience those lesson learning memories!

As I look back, I realized that I had a much more difficult life lesson awaiting when I entered high school. I’m not quite sure how I didn’t get some of the psychological games or hundreds of verbal cues from my father. He seemed to be the happiest as he watched me on the football field, unless I made a mistake. I was so angry when I made a mistake because I knew I would never hear the end of it from my father. I wanted to make him proud, but I still didn’t know what the hell he wanted from me because nothing was good enough. How could I have expected him to know how to be a good father when he was abused by his own mother? He had a scar on his arm, a keloid, that was created when his mother slashed his arm with a shard from a broken vase. I was thankful that my mother was like the rock of our family, but she could only do so much to strengthen and lift our spirits. My mother was loving and prayerful, yet funny, strong and crazy all at the same time. When I say “crazy” I don’t mean that she was in the psych ward or anything. I mean that she was fearless with protecting our family or standing up for what she believed. My mother had to step into my father’s shoes as the disciplinarian when my father deployed. As I reflect, I realize that I pushed limits and boundaries with my mother far too many times. Before I jump too far ahead, I will start off by saying that things in our family took a turn for the worst, so my parents got divorced. My brother and I saw the arguments progressively getting worse and at times escalated from emotional to physical abuse. I’m not sure if it was the additional stress from deploying so much, anxiety of trying to measure up to his internal perception of himself, or continuance of the cycle of abuse from his upbringing. Regardless of why it occurred, it was still unacceptable. After the divorce we moved away from all of my friends and everyone that made the city home. I do not know why divorce and moving away seem to go together, but I was not sure how I felt about going to a new school and starting over. At 7:00 am, we pulled into the parking lot on my first day of school. Classes started at 7:30 but it there was already policemen standing in front of the school, a gang task force unit, and guys trying to prove they had the “juice” early in the morning. People were already talking about how the football season would go, ladies dancing in the hallways, and a few dudes throwing up “gang signs” from their set. As I waited to get my new schedule from the counselor, a police officer and a student came into the office. I was sleepy before I arrived at school, but I suddenly was awake with all the action happening so early in the morning. There were so many beautiful ladies walking by the office and some even waved to me as I waited. I was too busy watching all the ladies walk by the office so I didn’t hear the police officer introduce me to the student which I will call “Ray” to protect his identity. The police officer says, “Ray has been into a lot of trouble in the past but has turned his life around.” I wasn’t quite sure what to think about Ray. I wondered if he had been to jail, was in a gang, or what exactly happened in the past. Ray reached out his hand and said, “what’s up bro, I’ll show you what’s what today.” As soon as we stepped in the hallway, Ray was greeted by teachers, principals, the ladies and anybody that was anybody. Ray vouched for me that day and it turned out to be one of the best days of my young life. Most of the time I made good decisions during my first year at this school, but I had some bumps in the road with drinking, skipping school, and smoking that drove my mother crazy. Although my parents were no longer together their co-parenting skills were much better, so there wasn’t a way to divide and conquer. Ultimately, I started making better choices because I did not want to live with regret as I looked in the mirror. I started taking school seriously and my outlook on life started to change. I realized that I could still have a good time but focus on creating better goals to be successful in my life. I may not be able to change the past but I could definitely change the future.

#military young student

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whimsically-ominously-auspice · 4 years

Text

youtube

Madonna knew about my work in Harlem and how i got the children off the street by pounding nails and giving them food.

She wanted a song for everyone in the world but to dedicate it to the most hard-working Construction man or woman out there on my team

I said "they're all hard working... Tho but i say Jess-- because i don't pronounce the T and they all look at me but i also say it in different ways because of my accent always changing depending who I've been talking to most I always pick up on it so its sometimes with a y sound or an I or an e or even the U. So what do you think about that?"

"Oh yeah that would work the Jessies. Now how do you wanna spell it. But i just wanted to do it with one So how about i drop the last s? Oh that will work, see look Jessie and no s"

Jessies to Jessie when its usually Jesse.

"Because the song is about one individual and we are all about individuality the last thing i want to do is sing about a group and jam them altogether. They're not plums, they're people. Yeah?"

"Yes!!!"

"But they're too hard working for what they get"

"But they get them a house"

"What they do?! None of them said that!"

"Its a surprise we keep track of their hours. 1,000 hours is a free house for their families. But i made a mistake in the beginning i had 3 kids and they worked 2,000 hours well almost 2225 actually and so i gave them two houses. But look the houses were really small and the kids were gonna have to share a bedroom, the two girls and they worked hardest so we just tore down a wall and gave them furniture -- for the girls because they did 1757.5 and then the boy and dad we just got them new beds and they kept the two kitchens. That was fun. One was old and not remodeled and the other was brand new, thats the way they wanted it said the girls so they could see how much work they had accomplished. Single dad. Raising 3 kids in the Bronx"

"Oh well that's not a mistake thats a blessing. And oh my those are Jessies i am going to think of them. Two girls i will say they're twins so in my mind one pregnancy and one child. Okay good. Don't tell me any different but when im done i want to meet what is real behind my inspiration!"

"Done deal!"

Madonna she made me cry a lot she is just so beautiful.

We did Harlem the most but we hit the Bronx, lower Manhattan, Brooklyn, Staten Island, even Central Park, Times Square. We went everywhere.

John Gray's mom worked in Manhattan as a nurse but they lived in Harlem. They both worked to earn a house after his mom got onto me about slave labor and we moved her into a brand new apartment complex in Lower Manhattan i had just bought halfway finished and used the same construction crew to complete. That was closer to the hospital and had better schools. Eventually they saved enough money and were able to fulfill their dreams to move back South.

1000 hours bought a house.

The kids that knew nothing or were clumsy had nails pounded in partially and they just had to finish pounding them in. Help carry and move things. We had older people and professionals that we didn't pay.

Grab and go breakfast like pastry or bagels, lunch of a sandwich and chips and dinner of the same. Water always and soda on the weekends. Juice at breakfast. If it lasted it did. No one left without a bag lunch even if they had just ate. We paid people to make food in an apartment. We called it "catered" Usually the real old ladies they worked in an assembly line. We paid them $5 per day plus they earned their full hours. But they needed pain meds just to keep up with the demand so we gave them the extra cash.

The lawyer Steve would shop and make sure all the names and hours and dates were recorded proper.

Some kids just went and ate. Steve would tell them they were thevies and had to work a half hour to not go to jail. And they would. He told them to buy the food they owed 6 hours per "plate" so they never bought it they just paid their time to stay out of jail because he was their lawyer and i was the judge. The cop was their guilt.

So we had a pretty sweet set up to get kids to buy houses through work.

We always printed a certificate on dot matrix printer and framed it and had them hang it in the houses near the door so they were always reminded who bought it and that good work is an honest living and its how you earn a good life.

We always know that 1000 hours will never buy a house and will barely pay the bills.

Yet it was Harlem and people were so poor and Ms Chen really got to me about that voting shit. How blacks couldn't vote till the 1965 law and how in the beginning of time no one could vote till they were a land owner.

So I said let's beat the government and haters and hypocrites!

Give not only the poorest but poorest blacks and let them know they can now vote!!! That's how we ended up on Harlem. Also I had seen the Harlem Globetrotters on TV and I thought a lot of people in Harlem were in wheelchairs -- Hey i may be reincarnated but I was only 5 and hadn't been to NYC to live since slavery was intact and even then it was a fee short years! i was from Detroit in my last life! And NYC was big!! I didn't know if they had a special section or what. My uncle dad laughed at me and took me to Harlem so we could see.

"Nope i don't see any wheelchairs. Will it still work for you?"

"Yeah let me talk to the people and we will see"

I talked to about 50 kids from the street and playground and about 10 adults. All the kids said they worried about money and their parents and the adults said things were okay but one who said it was rough but they were making it.

"Thanks for waiting these 3 hours. Well this is the place! Now excuse me for I must cry for all these kids"

This is why kids (and adults that touched my heart) got houses for only 1000 hours

Stingy Steve I called him... I wanted 100 hours but he said 1000 is more reasonable. He said 100,000 hours is more respectable and accurate but they were kids so 1000 hours was very respectable.

But because the children worried about money and places to live and about their parents.

We bought apartment complex after apartment complex. Renovated on kids labor and paid the children houses.

No one waa too young we had a one year old work with her parents. Usually I just babysat him when they both worked but usually they carried him ina sling... But if she had been sick or it was hot and sunny or they were carrying something they had been working on in, I got the baby.

I got some toddlers, too. They learned to drive nails like no one's business. Twin girls driving their momma nuts "can I just drop them here for a few? Its hot"

I got a panel of nail driving practice so I had them hammer it in Then look the other side to see they got it in Then hammer it out the other way.

The panel always had nails where the nails went in real work. So that in practice they got real location practice. They could see how if they nailed a nail or did a screw crooked how it would affect the work badly. The back side had the frame the panel went onto so they could see if it was a hit or miss.

Usually it was the sheet rock practice. But they had to practice screws also but we began with nails. Before the drill. Some kids had stole our drills so drills were practiced inside. But the dedicated kids got our drills back they knew who stole them.

So that day we had a graduation of Drill work and i got the practice panel back and i had me some toddlers.

Their mom was a lifter because she wasn't good on nails. She saw her babies missing from the shade so she came to look for us because sometimes i took them to the park but i always told her or left a note on my chair. And so she went to check and she saw me and they were behind the panel somewhat having lost interest and were pulling at the nails and feeling them and the board while my back rested

So momma learned to drive nails better because she could screw to assemble because Jesse would start the screws on counterwork and she would finish. So her and her babies learned alot that week.

We liked the kids to hang sheetrock because that was the building of a house. Then they would install plumbing and all that stuff. If we didn't have adults we had the kids build cabinetry. Or often had them build it together.

But we had professional craftsmen (construction workers and plumbers and electricians) teach the kids all the ins and outs of their new house so if any thing went wrong they could fix it.

So they did all the wiring and plumbing.

Id see kids walk out "i just installed a toilet!" I would see faces of disgust and amazement and pride and sometimes all at the same time. I would always applaud that, "you've installed your throne!"

That was the only thing they had to tell me about. Although i liked to hear about the sink. The toilet I had to hear about for my own amusement.

And because we would explain to them the history of toilets and so they would learn all about out houses before earning their toilets.

That is how they earned their materials. History and usually they had a small test. If they couldn't pass twice they had to come to me. Usually they were untrusting or shy so they would test in front of me and then I would say "i know you know that answer because when he read it to you your eyes lit up so what is in the back of your head behind your ear? That's the truth to the answer"

We had a lot of special education students. But they always earned their materials. Even if we took to dusk to help them learn it. There was a small handful I had to help especially because they had too much doubt or fear they were smart or educated. So I did a small class outside and did all their history tests with them. So then when it got to that material they then we're just read it again or talked about it or were asked what they remember most or their favorite information.

Eventually I had to go to the schools to talk to their teachers as to why they were in special ed. I wouldn't say their names but would say "a kid that says your he's teacher...."

Because one kid had memorized 3 pages of history word for word and had been in special ed for 3 years.

I got his mom to go with me on her off day after she saw and the kid "read" what he saw in his mind while the teacher read off the paper.

"Well he missed a few words he said "thee" not "thuh""

"Well that's an accent not a reading defect. He learned it from me allot. I'm English from England not from New York"

"Well we will have to take speech then"

"You can't. Its an accent. It's a way of speech. A dialect not a defect. Would you put Yosemite Sam in speech therapy?"

"Well you're stup--"

"Okay well I might be stupid or stup-eh-eh with your throat drowning out the sound of what you're going to say but you're not getting this kid out of special ed, not with your attitude"

"You're right. I'M NOT. I'M GETTING HIM OUT BECAUSE HE'S SMART AND MAYBE EVEN SMARTER THAN ALL OF US SITTING IN THIS ROOM RIGHT NOW. He could be the next Einstein and for what?!? Because he's black? Because he's Latino? I'm taking this to the school board. You're full of shit. Come on"

"No wait".

She took him out that very day. He went to Harvard and is now a Law Professor at Yale.

Y'all can do anything.

She got fired. Because I went to the principal who actually did complain as well and i went to the superintendent who knew nothing.

So i invited the school board to the streets of the Bronx. (Its where i started -- i was still trying to buy homes in Harlem) invited them to my table and had a list of kids that said they were in special education and had the superintendent and other school board members test them right Then and there.

She wasn't a bad person... She just wanted extra money for the school. But she was fucking with little kids heads and that wasn't right. That next school year special ed was less than half and they were the best testing school in the district.

Now i could say the same for Harlem but they tested out of NYC. They were in the Top 3 in the state.

I have an expert to update you on the rest of the success stories we have because we took the time to care and encourage as i hope you are all doing in homeschooling during Quarentine.

#Youtube

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best-otaku-trash · 7 years

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Reminiscing Rant

Sooo yea, I got some shit to let out of my chest.

This was suppose to be in a private chat, but considering most of my followers are p0rn blogs/don’t care/silent/”dead”, I’ll just post it here. It’ll be like yelling into the void, kinda.

I promised a buddy of mine that I would tell her everything, but I’ve putting it off for so long. (Sorry about that by the way). I came to the conclusion that I shouldn’t just tell her; I should just tell all my buddies that just so happen to follow me since it’s mere coincidence.

If you follow my art blog *cough @cherricreates cough*, you may know, from the 30 day challenge I did, I've been through some shit. Well, I'll be telling the whole story. Just as a head's up, this will be triggering to some, as it has mentions of abuse and dark shit. Just letting you know that it's on this post, so you don't have to read it if you don't want to. I'm putting this out there so I can live with this out of my system.

This is also VERY LONG! I got a lot to say...

As some of my friends knew, or know or whatever, my mother was strict. What some of those selective few that I’ve told know is how my parent would emotionally manipulate and hurt me. She would:

Degrading comments like “stupid” and “ret@rded” when I didn’t get it the first time.

Declare I didn’t know anything or even had a brain when I didn’t give a straight answer or got a grade lower than an A-.

Calling me a witch when I messed up and a drama queen when I cried.

Hitting my legs and head and arms with her fists or her slippers.

Threatened to kick me out the house on numerous occasions.

Complained about everything I did.

Insulted my voice and drawings.

Assaulted me with scissors.

Said to my father that she only gave birth to two kids, not three, and how I wasn’t her child.

Well, some of those were somewhat in reason. Or at least, I would like to think it was within reason. My brain and heart are still debating on that. But yeah, I was dealing with this for 18 years straight. Constant criticism and dissatisfaction about me and everything I said or do. It got to the point where I believed every single word that came out of her mouth.

It got tot the point where I started to say all that shit to myself.

It got to when I wanted to kill myself. This happened around freshman year of high school. I was so tired, and weak, and just wanted her to change. Every insult was fuel to my suicidal thoughts, I started to think of ways to end it. Whether I hung myself, cut my wrists, ran into traffic, drowned in the lake or river, shoved a knife in my throat-

Whatever it took to get away from the degrading she did, and the emotional self harm I did. I knew I could do it whenever; I was alone in a studio apartment for 4-8 hours everyday. I wasn’t allowed to bring friends over, nor could I hang out with them.

However, there was a thought in the back of my head asking “what if you fail? what if you’re saved by some stranger and taken to the hospital? what if she found out about what you were about to do?” I was so alone. I told my friends but that didn’t ease the dread in my gut. I was scared to tell any of the teachers because I thought they wouldn’t understand, or they would turn against me and join her. I was scared to go home. I automatically hid in the bathroom when I thought I was going to be in trouble at home. I was so paranoid from my own parental figure that the more obvious shit almost didn’t faze me. Hell, I was surprised that I was even thinking of dying. Not gonna lie; I was comfortable with dying. There were days during high school I wished a shooter came in and shot me, stabbed me, whatever.

Guess what? That was the beginning of the entire story.

Shit got more complex when I got my current boyfriend. I told him everything. He was the first to outright tell me that this isn’t right and how I shouldn’t be treated like that. How she was never going to change. How staying in this toxic situation is terrible. He was the only thing to keep me stable. I started to sneak him in when my parents weren’t home. Such a rebel, I know. We would just hang out, play some computer games and cuddle. I started to feel happy.

Then she caught us. Not once, but three times. On three different occasions.

I know I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have sneaked him in. I regretted it, but at the same time, I didn’t. Remember how I mentioned being assaulted by scissors? Well, I got a haircut I didn’t ask for. I almost got kicked out of the house, and out of my family. I was called every name in the book. I came to school the next day and my boyfriend saw a faint line on my cheek and put 2 and 2 together. The rest of the day was torture. I was getting complimented on this haircut, and I wanted to cry. They didn’t know what I dealt with the previous day.

The second time, I was beaten and yelled at, and got threatened to have all my belongings thrown in the river.

The third, she threatened to throw boiling hot oil at my face. This time, I called my BF. He planned to stay by the door outside and if I called, he would intervene. He called her out for her shit. All the abuse and beatings. But she kept a facade. It was so obvious she was faking it, and wanted him to leave. He made her swore she wouldn’t hurt me and left.

That lasted a couple months.

Her threats got more dangerous, and I got more anxious and paranoid to when I couldn’t sleep or eat. My BF then offered to help me move into his place at the beginning of senior year.

I remember this day so vividly. It was the night before the annual Arts Festival. I said yes to his offer, and sure enough, his family (him, his mom, and sis) helped me out. I didn’t get everything, but I got most of my stuff. We did this when no one was home. I left a note on the table, and left. A few hours later, they are in front of his, our house. My dad was wondering why I did such a thing, and I explained everything. My BF and his mom explained everything. My parents begged me to come back “home”. I said no in fear and ran all the way up to the top floor.

The day of the Arts Festival at the high school. I’m super excited since it was the first time I get to openly show my work to people that weren’t my art teacher or friends. I’m in my second to last class when I get called to the office to “go home”. Instantly, I panic. My BF instantly knew what was going on and brought me to my counselor. His mom found out what was happening and went to the school. I spill everything to the counselor and he understands. He then tells the principal, vice principal, and police with my consent. My dad comes into the office and I state I wasn’t going to move back. They said I can leave as soon as I felt uncomfortable.I was told about restraining orders and how they work. He said if I talk my mother. I hesitantly said sure. BF and his mom drive to Toxic City and I talk to her. She begs for me to stay while I say no. She asks if she can come to the Arts Festival and I said sure.

Big. Mistake.

Arts Festival begins. I feel like shit but all the compliments about my artwork are giving me confidence and I’m having fun!

Then she comes in, sees me, and stands next to me. She then starts to degrade me in front of eVERYONE. Whispering about how I’m just wasting my BF’s time and how I should just come back. BF sees this and then situates himself in-between her and me. Shes leaves in a slight huff and I remember not enjoying the festival anymore.

Months later, I graduated high school! I’m adjusting to living with BF’s family and didn’t get any anxiety attacks. Now college right? At this point, I convinced my parents that I wanted to go to a specific college and they said they supported me and my dreams. I need to get a loan to go to said college. Okay, cool. I go to my parents and ask them if they can help me get a loan. My mother said sure-

HOWEVER

I was suppose to:

Break up with BF

Go to a college that didn’t even have MY DESIRED MAJOR

MOVE BACK TO THEM

...Needless to say, I am currently not in college, and I don’t think I ever will.

And that’s about it. I basically told you my life story. Well, yelled it into the void. Now, I don’t need sympathy or pity or whatever you wanna call it. I just want to get this out of my chest so I live my life. Now to my buddies that read this...

If your opinion of me changes, fine. If you find me to be a disappointment, that’s okay. If you don’t want to talk to me anymore, you can do that. I’m just tired of keeping a fake persona. I don’t want to ask you to support me and my endeavors, cause I don’t do that shit. I just want to live my life a day at a time. I just hope you could understand that.

Thanks for reading. Really appreciate it guys.

#personal #tw abuse #tw #suicidal thoughts #i promise my next text post will be happy #if i ever decide to type another text post lol

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laughriotgrrrl · 7 years

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Iliza is wrong. But it’s not her fault (kinda).

By Bobbie Oliver On Twitter: @TheBobbieOliver

Iliza Shlesinger begins her interview in Deadline Hollywood ok, “a big part of my comedy is wanting to speak to women and people that are my age in a funny and relatable way. I think the landscape of what’s available out there for women is not as extensive as it could be.” So far, so good (except the limiting it to people her age). But, then she goes on to say:

“I’m so glad you asked that [the way she portrays female comedy in her new project] because I put in those sketches and no one’s ever asked me about it because I think people were too busy laughing in agreement. As a comedian, I have a set of morals. I have a specific point of view. I think a lot of what I see out there, out in comedy clubs, watching contests, watching TV, watching movies—gathering data from these different matrixes…

When you’re a woman in comedy and you get a break, people get so excited about it, but while we have to work hard to get that attention, I do think many women think, “Oh if I just act like a guy, if I go for that low hanging fruit…” Everything’s about sex, or how weird I am. It all just kind of runs together.

I could walk into The Improv, close my eyes, and I can’t tell one girl’s act apart from another. That’s not saying that 30-something white guys don’t all sound the same sometimes, but I’m banging my head against the wall because women want to be treated as equals, and we want feminism to be a thing, but it’s really difficult when every woman makes the same point about her vagina, over and over. I think I’m the only woman out there that has a joke about World War II in my set. I think shock value works well for women, but beyond that, there’s no substance. I want to see what else there is with such complex, smart creatures.”

I included the quote so no one could say I misrepresented her words. Those were her exact words. Since this was released, Iliza has been bombarded with responses from female comics (myself included) because it turns out people weren’t just “laughing in agreement” and that she did not succeed at talking to women “in a relatable way.” Did Iliza look at those comments, think ‘hmm maybe I am missing something and should listen to these women’s collective experiences?’ Spoiler! Um, no. She doubled down; she attacked; she ranted and raved and blamed women with (since deleted) tweets to the effect of ‘women shouldn’t complain about what I said; women just need to get better; my experience is more valid than yours; I worked TEN WHOLE YEARS and nobody gave anything to me; everyone is just jealous; if it doesn’t fit you, don’t be offended...’

There is SO MUCH to unpack there, and I may be all over the place cause I’m pissed I have to sit down and blog about this shit AGAIN. I just got finished producing the 3rd Annual Laugh Riot Grrrl Festival, which features over 100 female comedians each year in a week’s worth of shows and activities. I was feeling pretty good about the state of women in comedy (rare for me) and thinking we just smashed the Patriarchy, even if it were just a little. And then, I turn on my computer to see yet another dick dissing women in comedy, setting us back instead of propelling us forward- and this time that dick was a fellow female comic. I am angry, yes, but mostly I am disappointed. But, Iliza said this is her experience and we have to take that as gold. Well, here is my experience...

I started doing comedy in college at 19 years old in 1988 (a little longer than TEN WHOLE YEARS). As a elder in the comedy community (I am 49, been doing comedy for 29 years, teaching comedy for 13 years, wrote a critically acclaimed book about comedy, own a comedy school, was on the road for years on the East Coast and moved to LA 20 years ago, etc), I feel like it is my OBLIGATION not only to create as many opportunities for women in comedy as possible (in addition to my women’s comedy fest, I produce women-only open mics, feminist comedy shows, etc), but to elevate other women as often as I can ESPECIALLY IN PUBLIC INTERVIEWS. No, I am not rich or famous. Probably never will be. But, I have made my entire living off comedy most of my adult life and my experience matters, too.

Saying women shouldn’t be offended by her lazy answer in an interview if it doesn’t apply to them is like Trump saying Mexicans are rapists and black people are criminals but don’t be offended if you aren’t those things. Nice try. And women just need to get better?? Seriously? Do you know how tired you sound? How many racists have said, in response to being confronted on lack of diversity in their school, business, organization, ‘black people just need to earn it like the rest of us.’ Yeah, cause Obama was the first black man to ever be qualified to be President? Not even close.

Iliza, your experiences are a lot more limited than you realize. Ten years is nothing in comedy and you know that. It is a well-known adage in comedy that it takes 10 years just to find your voice. Getting to your level of success in 10 years thanks to Last Comic Standing (and yes, I and many female comics voted for you, and don’t regret it) is a fast track to the top, bypassing decades of work that other women have put in. Did you deserve that? Sure, why not? You deserve it as much as anyone. But, don’t pretend it didn’t come fast and relatively easy. Because of that, you haven’t worked in as many low level rooms as most of us, so your experience is limited mostly to comedy clubs. Comedy clubs rarely book women, even more rare to have two or more on a single show. All the years I was on the road, I was only in a comedy condo with another woman TWICE. The comedy clubs that do book women are not booking a representation of the best female comedy. Just like Justin Bieber being mega rich and famous is not a representation of the best in music. A more accurate comment would have been, ‘I walk into the Improv and they only book a few women and all the same kinds of female comics. Comedy clubs need more diversity.’

Iliza was right when she said that the “landscape of what’s available out there for women is not as extensive as it could be.” Therein lies the problem. But, you don’t begin by basing the state of female comedy on the “handful” of women you see around. For one thing, I know women who have been unbooked from shows with Iliza because her ‘people’ told them she doesn’t like to have too many women on a show (if those emails are false, she should take that up with her people). Also, most headliners, Iliza included (in my experience) don’t stay in the room and watch all the other comics. I am guilty of that, too. It’s easy to roll up in the club right before your set and leave the room right after. I mean, what comedian wants to watch every other comedian? But, that limits your ability to accurately report on the state of comedy. Because I produce so many events for female comics (and have to be in the room), I see hundreds of women perform yearly in open mics, standup shows, festivals, sketch groups, etc. By producing events like my yearly Women in Comedy Roundtable, I get to/choose to listen to women A LOT. Those women are trying to speak now, and we need to listen and really hear them.

Let’s also talk about smart comedy, low hanging fruit and using our comedy powers for good or evil. I have mutiple degrees, am extremely well-read and follow politics very closely. I don’t think I’m unusual. Most comics make it a point to have informed opinions. Iliza boasted that she’s the only female comic with a WWII joke. Well, she’s not. And, even if she were, what the fuck does that matter? I talk about politics, rape culture, feminism, homelessness, as well as marriage, kids, my Trump-supporting dad, and occasionally, will make a pussy reference if I goddamn feel like it. Men are never policed on their dirty joke subjects, on their ‘bad language’ so I will not be, either. All the hateful rape jokes men tell, and we are worried that a women said, ‘pussy,’ really?? And my pussy does not hang low, thank you very much.

Iilza, like every person you ever hear say women aren’t funny enough, is a victim of the Entertainment Industrial Complex. Art is not TV. If you see a limited number of women and those women all make similar jokes (all jokes that Iliza herself has made), you are not seeing a fair representation of women. You are seeing the ones that made it past the gatekeepers in one way or another. Perhaps they are funny, but perhaps they are also hot, don’t rock the boat, know their place or were in the right place at the right time and got lucky. I have always rocked the boat, never accepted their idea of my place and have never been hot. I do feel lucky because I make a living performing standup and writing jokes for other comics. And I can tell you that I am AMAZED by the state of female comedy. Absolutely flabbergasted at the depth and talent and wit of the incredible women I get to (because I make it a point to) work with weekly. Right after the festival, I was quoted as saying that the only way I was able to get through 14 shows in one week is because every women was not only hilarious, but SO DIFFERENT from each other. My husband, comedian Chris Oliver, said the same. We also book tons of men and, frankly, some of them run together in my mind. Sometimes I can’t remember who made which shitting my pants in traffic joke and which ones told which rape jokes. I mean, let’s face it, MOST COMEDY IS HORRIBLE. It is. It’s painful. But, a lot of those comics get better and wiser and more likeable. Some are given regular spots at the Comedy Store (by some, I mean men, of course) and have an opportunity to grow and reflect and change and improve.

Feminism is already “a thing,” and we are equal, no matter who acknowledges it. As feminists, we need to use our comedy powers for good, to help a sister out. Iliza mentioned hiring women on her show and as openers for her. That’s great. Honestly. It is. Does it make you Feminist of the Year? No. In that major public platform, Iliza was given a chance to be heard by more people than most comics, especially women, ever get. She did not widen the landscape for women, she relied on tired old easily-disproven stereotypes that will not elevate us a profession, but will serve to help keep us as second class citizens in comedy. That statement validated every person who thinks women aren’t funny enough. I mean a famous female comic said it, so it must be true.

There is nothing wrong with misspeaking. We all fuck up. But, after the shock and anger wears off, it’s time to take a real look at our own misconceptions and the role we play in the fight as a whole. And did anyone ever figure out what that “one point” about the vagina is?

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autumn-elwood · 6 years

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A Study in Invigorating Description

This is a prompt list. Please vote in the ask box. Please. I've worked on this for several days. Please. Just write a number between 1 and 20. Please.

Also available on Blogger

Enjoy! (I'm exhausted. Send coffee.)

1. When I was younger I always thought I was pretty hot shit. I could write stories and draw pictures that could move even my toughest classmates to tears. As an adult, I came to the stunning realization that I was not, in fact, the hot shit I thought I was. My first manuscript did not even make it past the publishers and my other attempts fared no better. It was not, however, because I lacked talent. One man told me my writing was great but I lacked references. Why should I risk publishing your work if I don’t know if it will tank or not, he told me. It’s not worth the risk.

Since then I have set my book career aside to earn myself some small time fame. I am now a journalist for a local paper.

“Clyde? What are you thinking about? The ask-column is due by 17:00! Hurry your ass up!”

“Almost done, Grace. I just need to complete some small corrections,” I hollered back. Grace did not reply.

One day I’m going to make it big with a novel that’s going to knock everyone’s socks off. Those damn publishers are going to regret the day they turned down the brilliant writing of Clyde Palmer.

“Wipe that damn smirk off your face Palmer and get to editing!”

“Yes, Grace.”

I hate that woman. 2. Patrick Delaney will freely admit he is slightly terrified of his daughter. She is a skinny little thing of thirteen with no weight training to speak of, that can lift things that would give him trouble. Don’t get him wrong. He still loves his little princess but seeing her lift two twenty-four packs of water bottles at the same time would make any single father break a sweat. He was finally getting used to her unnatural strength when she dent a semi’s hood that had been careening toward a small boy and herself.

When that happened, Patrick did what every reasonable person would do in that situation; he fainted.

3. Humans, in my experience, are odd and violent creatures. Many of them strive for individualism while attacking anyone and anything they perceive as different from themselves. Quite the paradox.

My name is Venxiaqle and I am not from this planet. I am an explorer from a small planet on the far ends of the Milky Way galaxy. After landing on Earth, or Terra Prime as it is called on my homeworld, I was quite thankful to have been born with my shape-shifting ability, that I inherited from my father. Without it, I fear my new earthling companion, William, would have attacked me worse. He was quite terrified when I crashed my ship on a strip of his grandparents’ grape orchard.

Despite our rocky start, I am grateful to have found a native to help me detail the wildlife of ‘Earth’ and assist me in blending in with the planet's dominating species, the human. I just wish he would call me by my actual name, instead of the diminutive, Vinney.

4. I breathed heavily as I scaled the desolated parking complex, dragging my companion up. Mandy was frightened and apologetic, muttering unintelligently about how it was all her fault. I wanted to smack her but I was afraid her already weakened jaw wouldn’t be able to take the force. Most of the flesh in that area had already decomposed and the only thing keeping it attached was some discolored skin and her muscles.

The zombies after us were my fault. The hunters were Mandy’s. Both of us were simultaneously at fault and victims of our circumstances. Mandy had been turned and had kept her mind while I was in love with her.

“Amy, please just leave me behind,” she pleaded. “You need to escape.”

“Not without you, honey,” I told her. “Never without you. We said death ‘till us part and you’re still kicking even if you aren’t breathing, sweetie.”

“You’re an idiot, Amy,” she muttered as she held me tighter, rubbing her oily head into the crook of my neck as I hoisted us above the ledge of one of the parking levels.

“That’s why you love me,” I laughed as I tossed a homemade explosive at our pursuers, zombie and human alike. At one time I would have felt bad for all of the people I just massacred but now I felt only relief. Fire slowed down the zombies and charred humans couldn’t shoot us or be forced to join the ranks of our undead pals.

I heard the cock of a shotgun.

“Fuck.”

5. My neighbor, Rena, scares me. I often see her storming down the corridors of our apartment complex with murder written on her face. The few times I have heard her speak, she was yelling and cursing like the world had personally insulted her. I do not know if I am more scared of her or for her. Sometimes I just want to ask her what’s wrong. How’s your blood pressure? Can I do anything to help you?

“What the fuck do you want, bitch?”

“Nothing Rena!” I whimpered as she passed me that afternoon of September 12th.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously in my direction. Oh my god. What did I do? Is she going to kill me? Why? Oh, I’m so dead. God, help me.

“How the fuck do you know my name, round face?”

Round face? I hugged my chubby body subconsciously. Why couldn’t she have continued to call me bitch like she does like every other chick on this row? What did I say to warrant a nickname?

“I heard the landlord yelling at you when you moved in,” I whispered.

Rena looked pissed.

“Stupid son of a bitch. Can’t keep his mouth shut,” she muttered mutinously. “Anyways, what’s your name, round face?”

“Um, Lucy…”

Rena gave me a stiff nod before she stomped off to her flat. I clutched my heart and sank to the floor. Well, that was over, thank the lord.

6. Sometimes the things we love the most hurt us the most. That was very true for me. I stared in horror as a large shadow towered over me like a running spider. Like hail from the sky, the books rained down on me, leaving no inch unbruised. I whimpered and pushed the heavy novels off me only to be assaulted by four more books.

“Oh shit,” an unfamiliar male voice shouted. “Are you alright?”

“Is that you, God?” I muttered unironically.

“Not the god you’re talking about.”

I threw the tomes off me.

“What?!”

“Kidding,” a man with caramel skin snickered. HIs eyes were black like the void. He seemed like the kind of guy that if he were a fictional character people way younger than him would be screaming, “My son, I will protect you!”

“Hug me.”

“What?”

I should not have said that.

7. When I became a villain I did not sign up to be a parent. Usually, when you think villain, you think terrorizing the public and world domination, which is what I signed up for, not trying to get some twelve-year-old some help.

My nemesis, Star Child, had been kicking my proverbial ass for months when I realized he was in fact twelve.You would think I would be offended that my arch enemy was a pre-teen but I was in reality, horrified. I had held a twelve-year-old boy above an acid tank. I had thrown him into several buildings. I had broken his arm. He wasn’t even in high school and he was fighting supervillains. Oh my god.

Next time we fought, I handcuffed him to a chair and gave him some fruit slices.

“Why are you not in school?” I began. “Your grades are important, Star Child. Even if you choose to pursue hero work after you complete your education, you still need to be able to get a job. Also, you are twelve. You should not be going up against supervillains at your age. Small crime maybe but supervillains… No.”

The boy blinked rapidly. Several times he opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

Finally, he settled on a very intelligent, “What?”

I scowled at him and put my hands on my hips.

“KId, do not throw away your life for a payless job. Being a hero is noble and very rewarding but it doesn’t pay the bills. Besides, what would your parents say f they knew you were fighting crime instead of doing your homework.

Dead? Fuck. Who’s watching this kid if he gets away with this? I need to adopt this kid stat. Wait, no. I can’t. I’m a villain He’s my nemesis. I really shouldn’t.

Fuck it. I’m going to adopt this kid.

8. Two days ago, Daddy finished building me so I look like a normal little boy. Yesterday, Daddy was arrested for villain activity. Today, Mommy’s still scared of me. She doesn’t know what to do with me. My energy levels are low and my water tank is near empty as a result of me sobbing as I watched Daddy be arrested on television. Daddy hooked me up to the internet and the internet says villains are evil. I hate Daddy. He made Mommy sad and scared.

I don’t think he told Mommy I have to eat. Another reason I hate Daddy now is because he left Mommy with the burden of taking care of me all by herself.

“Mommy, I’m hungry,” I whispered as we watch Daddy’s arrest for the 767th time. She hadn’t eaten since it happened. I hope taking care of me will remind her even though I scare her. I wish I knew why Mommy was scared of me. Maybe then, I could fix it.

“What?” she stuttered out in alarm. She flinched seeing how close I was.

“I’m hungry, Mommy. We haven’t eaten since yesterday and we haven’t slept. I’m tired.”

She hugged herself and looked away from me. Her long glossy black locks were a mess and her dark circles were unhealthy pronounced. She looked pale and broken like a porcelain doll that had slipped off its display shelf. I wanted to hug her but I knew any physical action of comfort I could offer would only make things worse. My body was so cold.

“Don’t call me that,” she sobbed, voice cracking.

“Mommy–”

“Chester, I’m not your mom. Evan― your dad―started making you when we found out I was infertile,” she wiped a few stray tears away, straightening herself like a soldier preparing for battle. “Frankly, I never approved and based off what happened yesterday, he… he started working with villains to get the parts to make you

“I found a letter in his journal. They only agreed to fund him if they could use you later. I… I don’t know what to do. I just know I can’t handle being your mother. I just can’t, knowing what they’re going to use you for. I can’t let myself get attached to you.”

I felt tears build in my eyes. “ I don’t want to be a villain. I don’t want to hurt you. I want to be a hero. I want to stop people like Daddy from hurting other people!”

She looked at me like a shattering wine glass and lunged forward, pulling me into a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry, Chester. I’m sorry,” she wailed.

The meaning of her apology evaded me but those words and her arms made me feel something I had yet to feel in my two days of existence; safe. My resolve to become a hero cemented itself into my programming. I would become the strongest, kindest hero and no one, not Daddy and not anyone else would ever hurt Mommy, or anyone else, like this again. I would not allow it.

9. It’s 1:00 am and I should be asleep but I’m not. What my father said early this evening echoes in my head.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” he said as he pulled me into his unfamiliar arms.

I do not understand why he apologized. This is hardly the first time he has said I have ruined his life. This is just the first time he has said it so blatantly. He has never said sorry before so I am confused on why he is now. Maybe Mom told him he had to. I wouldn’t be surprised.

I’m tired of pondering this but it won’t leave me alone. Hearing him say that should have made me sad or mad or something but I hardly blinked. I just went to my room and did my homework.

“What are you doing up?” I heard my brother ask from my door.

“I could ask you the same question, Peter.”

He walked over to my bed and sat down near my feet.

“He should know better than to say things like that to us, to you, Eliza. He’s an adult.”

“He’s a child who never grew up. He was just throwing a tantrum because my opinion didn’t fall in line with his.

He clenched his fists in his lap and growled.

“That doesn’t make it any better, that doesn’t excuse him.”

I breathed out a laugh.

“I know but there’s nothing we can do. We just have to deal with it.”

Peter threw his hands in the air, his face turning red with anger.

“We shouldn’t have to deal with it,” he whisper-shouted.

“I know,” I sighed, my heavy eyes sliding shut as slipped into oblivion.

10. I’m sitting on the cool itchy grass of summer, staring at the inky night sky. Around me, couples and families sit on picnic blankets, on the edge of their seats staring up at the glittering heavens in anticipation. I am alone.

Boom! The first firework explodes in a cascade of reds, blues, and golds.

Many times when people think of fireworks, they think of smiling children running around with sparklers, a kiss between lovers under the vivacious colors, hope. I do not think of these things. I think of how a firework can parallel loneliness. The unexploded firework being launched into the sky is like me when I say everything’s wonderful and amazing, and I don’t need anyone to be happy.

The explosion is when it all comes crashing down. So many tumultuous feelings breaking free of their bottle. The furious roar of red unrighteous anger covering up the fear. The endless chasms of blue sorrow and hopelessness. The festering and blistering like greens of envy. I hate fireworks but here I am watching them again, my emotions on full display to my empty eyes.

It is truly pathetic.

11. Veronica had always been a risk taker so when her friend Barry dared her to spend the night in the abandoned house on 6th street, she hadn’t said no. She told Barry that his dare was a bit cliche but she hadn’t said no.

The abandoned building on 6th was practically a public danger. It had been sealed off in the sixties but was much older than that. The right corner of the place’s roof was caved in and the structural integrity of the place was poor. The place was infested with rats and bugs of all sorts. There was illegible graffiti throughout the rotten walls and few had dared step foot in it since the murder five years ago. Regrettably, the murder had revived the urban legend that the place was haunted.

Veronica thought those rumours were bullshit but Barry believed in them wholeheartedly. Probably the reason he chose this dare, she thought with an internal scoff.

She carefully laid her stuff in the middle of the floor of what she thought may have once been a dining room. She slowly lowered herself onto the floor, wincing at every creak of the ratty wooden floor. So far she hadn’t found any evidence of ghosts but she hadn’t really ventured past the first floor. To be honest, she was more scared of finding a living person in the house than an incorporable being of post-human consciousness. She crossed her fingers and went to bed.

Her blood was pumping with excitement which made nodding off very difficult. Urban exploration was illegal after all. She felt herself drifting off when a young voice cut through her drowsiness.

“What are you doing here?”

Her eyes snapped open. Veronica barely held back a scream. Above her was a floating young girl, her long hair seemingly unaffected by gravity with her eyeballs gouged out leaving bloody black holes in their place.

Veronica struggled backward, incoherent noises exiting her mouth in panic. The specter followed after her and stopped as Veronica made impact with a wall.

“Hi! I’m Erie,” she beamed, obliviously unaware of Veronica’s terror. She wondered if the ghost could see. “What’s your name?”

“Veronica,” she managed to squeak out before fainting.

12. Kain couldn’t help but feel bored for some odd reason. He honestly shouldn’t be feeling bored with the number of adventures Cyrus and himself had been on together since they took up the pseudonyms, Castor and Pollux, and joining the cavern of Hermes.

They had made tons of new friends in Eris, Apollo, Thanatos, and Persephone. They had raided a slave auction and dug up objects and tomes from the buried pre-rest buildings in the dunes of the Estival Desert. They had even met up with Lady Alma to make sure she was getting on alright, for crying out loud. Kain was safe from Lord Zafar. Cyrus was safe from Lord Zafar. They got to transcribe books and sell them in Apple-polish market.

Why was he so bored?!

“Um… Are there any titles you would recommend?” a familiar voice queried.

He looked up to see a man with short blond hair and a scruffy beard. He looked familiar too. Had he met this man before?

“Oliver Twist’s pretty―,” he began before cutting himself off, the man’s identity becoming shockingly clear.

“You bastard,” Kain growled, eyes filled with rage.

The bastard blinked in surprise, unsure of how to respond to Kain’s sudden insult.

“Pollux,” he heard Cyrus say with a sharp a sharp warning before making apologies to the customer.

Kain clenched his fists, his anger rising even higher after realizing Cyrus didn’t recognize the bastard in front of them. And even worse, the no good lying son of a bitch didn’t recognize them either. Kain threw a hand in front of his brother in a clear sign for the younger boy to be quiet. Cyrus’ voice faded off and he stared at his brother nervously, wondering what Kain was going to say.

“How dare you show your face here in front of me after what you did!” Kain sneered.

The man looked flustered as he glanced around the market at the stares they were attracting. “Sir, I believe you have the wrong―”

Kain slammed his hands on the front of the stall, cutting the man off.

“How dare you show your face after you abandoned your wife and children to the mercy of Lord Zafar!” he screamed, a mixture of hysteria and anger coloring his words

Cyrus gasped as the meaning of those words sunk in.

“Kain,” the man proclaimed in shock.

Kain slugged him straight in the nose.

13. I was fairly young when I first asked my mom why she chose the Merriam for my name. She gave me a smile before pulling a tattered paperback dictionary from the living room shelf.

“I’ve always admired the Señores Merriam, mi hijo. Not for any of their actions or beliefs. To be honest, I've never much looked into their history but I admire them for creating a book full of meanings. One of the first books your abuela bought for me when I began my schooling here, was this dictionary,” she remarked wistfully. “We didn't have much money then so when she gave it to me, I was so excited.”

Mom gave a little laugh.

“It was my first book in the start of a grand collection but never mind all that, Merriam. You were asking about your name. I gave you the name Merriam because I wanted you to have an understanding of both your heart and mind.”

It was such a sweet story that at the time I was so proud of my name. I later grew to hold my name in my heart with an odd amount of awe and resentment. Being called “Dictionary Boy” does not always inspire positive feelings.

“Yo, Mary, whatcha thinkin’?”

I looked over to my friend, Bryce, in disdain. Besides the association with dictionaries, Merriam has more often been a girls’ name than a boys’, men only finding Merriam in their names as a surname.

“I told you never to call me that,” I hissed.

Bryce cackled obnoxiously. “Oops. I forgot, man.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” he affirmed with a smirk.

Pulling a cigarette from his pocket, he put the unlit stick in his mouth and proceeded to take out a rubix cube without lighting the thing.

“If you’re going to put them in your mouth at least light them. Who are you? Augustus Waters?”

“Don’t make references to books you've never read, Mary,” Bryce muttered distractedly. “I’m trying to quit.”

“You’re trying to quit now, months after I’ve stopped lecturing you about the health risks posed by cigarettes,” I questioned skeptically.

“Yep. Better late than never.”

This came across as bizarre to me. Bryce was stubborn so I didn’t get why he had chosen to change his habits now. After a minute of me staring at him and him trying and failing to solve the rubix cube, he said something that made me almost topple down the stairs.

“Adrie’s pregnant.”

“Fuck.”

He looked up at me and shrugged.

“It’s not that bad. We’re in college so they can transfer to online courses before it gets to the point where they shouldn’t be straining themselves anymore.”

“You’re right, I suppose,” I agreed, still reeling.

Adrie was a pretty responsible person so it was kind of a shock that Bryce had managed to get them pregnant but then again, condoms did break.

“Would you like to be the godfather?”

“You’re joking, right?”

“No. Adrie likes you.”

Adrie likes everyone.”

Bryce put the rubix cube down and extracted the cancer stick from his mouth.

“Surprisingly, no. Adrie smiles and talks to everyone but the two of us are their only friends. Well, I’m their boyfriend but you get the point.”

“Very touching but I think you could find a much better choice for a godfather.”

Bryce snorted. “We’ll see.”

Yeah, no.

14. The room was warm and smelt of singed turkey. I blinked blearily at my surroundings. Where was I? My apartment? No, much too clean. A friend’s? No, none of my friends could afford a turkey. Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I also noted that much of the furniture was too expensive for my apartment or anyone else I know.

How did I get here? I looked around for a door before landing my eyes on the thing in question.

It was painted white with a gold peephole. The deadbolt was broken and the knobs were unlocked. I felt a deep seeded feeling of dread in my gut.

Did I break in here, I asked myself.

Most people don’t have to ask themselves these kinds of questions but I take some anxiety medication that causes some disinhibition and memory loss, and I am prone to making stupid decisions regardless of my state of awareness. What day was it?

The aroma of the turkey caused the date to click with me.

A scream of shocked terror had me holding my ears in pain.

“Who are you?” a feminine voice cried. “Why are you in my house?”

Then, like a dumbass, my chosen reply was a slurred:

“Happy Thanksgiving!”

15. The lazy sunlight crept into my apartment window, sharply hitting my eyes. I shift against my soft couch cushions, a warm weight melting into my side.

“Lee, you awake?”

He mumbled unintelligently but didn’t stir. I held him tighter in my arms. I never wanted this moment to end but like all beautiful moments that block out the horribleness of reality, it has to end.

My name is Jay, codename, Vitality and I am a hero. My boyfriend, Lee, is a villain named Lord Decay. We live in a society of people with metahuman abilities where few elect to utilize those abilities. The few that do mainly use their powers to help maintain our society or tear it down.

Lee wants to tear it down and rebuild it from scratch. He wants to change the world and he grew to believe the only way to inspire that change was to make people listen. The people don’t like being told to change. The people have too much pride in the society we created following the rise of powers.

People without powers are left isolated and degraded. People with stereotypically villainous powers are abused and treated like shit while those gifted with heroic-like powers are praised and treated like gods.

Our society needs to change but the way Lee has chosen to go about bringing that change is wrong.

One time I asked him why he didn’t go to school to become a hero, to prove society wrong. To prove people with villainous powers can be heroes too. That powers don’t make the person, the person makes the powers.

“No place would accept me,” he said. “When my powers activated… I… I was playing with my cars and they began to turn to dust… Everything my hands touched turned to dust. I started screaming and my mom came in with a worried expression

“She fell to her knees and told me to calm down but I couldn't…”

Tears pooled in his eyes and his voice began to choke out every word.

“She pulled me into a hug and then she started screaming and pushed me away… On her back where my hands had been. God, there was so much blood, Jay and I couldn’t call for help. The phone fell apart in my hands. She was already dead by the time my dad got home,

“He sent me away. He couldn’t handle knowing his own five-year-old son had killed his wife.”

Lee stared down at his hands.

“I still can’t control my powers. At any time I could accidentally destroy this bus. I could hurt you… I could hurt you. Who would want someone like me to be a hero?”

“I would,” I whispered.

His smile looked like fractured glass.

“It might be too late for me to be a hero now.

16.Sometimes the drifting apart of a friendship is gradual. Sometimes it’s quick. For Jane and Mels’ friendship, Jane felt like she was pulling a loose thread tighter only to feel tears of frustration prickle at the corners of her eyes as she saw the thread loosen again, occasionally losing more stitches. She was stuck looking on because somewhere along the way she had lost the needle in the sands of Kronos’ beach.

“Hey, Jane,” Mels said as she sat down. “How are you?”

“Great. How was your morning?" Jane replied, trying to focus on the conversation.

It was so hard to focus these days. Mels’ reply was negative but Jane couldn’t register the contents and everything sounded thick like her head was underwater. Jane murmured vaguely while Mels turned on her phone, scrolling through her messages.

The silence was stifling for Jane but she didn’t know what to say. Should she ask after her sister? Who her latest crush is on? A school thing?

“Finals are coming soon,” she settled on. “Which are you dreading?”

Mels glanced up from her phone, distaste clear on her face.

“Jay, don’t get me started on finals. You know I’m not prepared for any of them.”

Personally, Jane felt Melane was exaggerating but she did not interrupt her friend’s tirade.

“I guess chemistry,” Mels concluded after several minutes of listing why she thought each final was going to be difficult. Jane nodded, not sure what to say. The bell rang for class. Jane did not see Melane again until the next morning.

17. Joseph had been Chase’s roommate since their freshman year of college. After three years he couldn’t really call them friends but they were closer than mere acquaintances. Chase was not the kind of guy that was easy to get to know. He was a stubborn, rude, asshole but Joseph liked him okay. He had a low tolerance for bullshit and messing around which was basically all Joseph liked to do. They balanced each other out that way.

Joseph liked to think the reason Chase had such a low tolerance for bullshit was that he liked to shove his own behind a counter and never speak about it. That was probably kind of unhealthy but he was no therapist so he just shrugged his shoulders like “what can you do”. Today was one of those days where Joseph actually got to see some of basket case’s bullshit and found himself stumped.

“I’m not going to be here tonight. I’m going to help my dad check my mom out of the hospital.”

Joseph spit out his drink and looked up from his show.

“Your mom was in the hospital! Since when?”

Chase grimaced, probably more at the idea of touching the sticky soda that had been sprayed from Joseph’s mouth than the question.

“Six months ago.”

Joseph felt sick. Did Chase say something about this while he wasn’t paying attention?

“What happened? Coma? Cancer?”

Chase got a peculiar expression on his face like he was debating on whether to answer the question or smack his roommate for being insensitive.

“She had a mental breakdown.”

“Holy fuck.”

18. Matt heard crying from through the baby monitor. It’s too early for this, he thought in despair as the fog of sleep seeped out of him.

“Janielle, could you―” he mumbled, frowning as his arm hit the cold sheets beside him.

Had she already started to make her way to the twins’ room? He sat up slowly, blanket slipping off his shoulders causing him to shiver in the frigid morning air. He scratched his fluffy brown hair scanning the room. The crying persisted. Maybe both the twins were up. He should go―

There was a note on Janielle’s pillow. She probably had to go to work early, he thought, grabbing the note, making his way down to the nursery. Halfway down the hall, he froze.

Matt,

I’m sorry but I can’t do this anymore. I wasn’t even sure I could handle being a mom of one but of twins, I just can’t. And Matt, you’re sweet but before we found out I was pregnant, I was going to break up with you. You’re a great guy but you’re just not the great guy for me. I’ll send money for Bernice and Aaron when I can. I love them and you dearly but I am afraid I can’t be there for you three.

Love,

Janielle

Matt felt numb. He robotically went up to one of the cribs and picked up Bernice. Aaron, miraculously, had not woken up.

“What’s wrong, Burn-Burn,” he whispered feeling like he was choking on every word. “I-is it Mommy? Did you see her leave?”

Bernice continued to wail. Matt sank to the floor, cradling his daughter close.

“I’m sorry. Daddy’s so sorry Burn-Burn,” he croaked.

He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know what he was going to do.

He was alone.

19. I sat down at a table, a trusty trash can by my side. My sharp blades glittered smartly as I swiftly cut ovals and triangles into a dead tree sheet in the shape of a circle folded multiple times like a two-dimensional cone. I unfolded it. Snowflake decoration twenty-five complete and ready for hanging.

“Hey, Clarence. Nice snowflakes.”

I paused in my work and looked awkwardly up at who had spoken.

“Um… Why thank you, Karen. Well, um… how are you doing?” I floundered.

“Great,” she beamed. “What are you doing for Christmas?”

“Nothing really,” I muttered looking at her shoulder.

I could literally hear her smile grow.

“Fantastic. I'm having a holiday Christmas party for everyone at work at my house on Christmas Eve. Would you like to come?”

I didn't want to go.

“Yes.”

She clapped excitedly.

“Sweet. Do you need my address?”

“No. I still have it on my phone. How many people are coming so far?”

Karen looked downcast.

“Well, only you and I so far,” she perked up. “But I'm sure lots of others are going to come too.”

Well, there goes my chance of skipping out.

“See you at the party, Karen.”

“See you there, Clarence,” she winked at me.

20. I live with Father and Mother in my dreams, although they are not my mother and father, those are simply their names. They are married but they are not in love.

Father once told me that Aunt and Uncle decided that he and Mother should be joined together in holy matrimony forever. However, Father when narrating these events to me always pronounces the forever as foe-ever. I can understand why Father might view Mother as an enemy. They are completely opposite forces of nature, after all.

Mother is small, poised, and incredibly neat. She wears her white hair straight down, not a single hair out of place. She dresses in a wedding gown so clean and refined, lacking the creases made by clothes on a body that it is as if she is not wearing the dress at all. She is often quiet and seldom speaks. When she does her voice is clipped, cold, and cruel like the breaking off a glass.

Father has messy black hair and wears a rumpled burgundy suit. He is loud and very kind.

Mother rules the house. She keeps the house so spotless it is devoid of life. It is wretched but I enjoy living with them when I sleep.

“Ernest,” Mother calls. “When are you going to come find us? Father and I grow tired of waiting for you.”

Father laughed. “The only thing we can agree on. When are you coming, Nestling?”

I blinked. “I don't know where the house is.”

“Do not,” Mother corrects flatly as if she cannot even summon annoyance to respond to my stupidity.

Father rolls his eyes at her and grabs my hand.

“Well then, sweet Nestling, I'll simply have to fetch you. Where do you find yourself now?”

Smiling widely, I whisper, “Broomstock’s orphanage in Miller’s Hollow.”

Father frowns and hums vaguely.

“That's so far Nestling, amusement peppering his voice. “But Mother and I will make the journey to retrieve you.”

Mother leaned forward and muttered, “Be grateful, boy. If it were up to me, we'd leave you there and simply wait for your lazy bum to make its way to us.”

“Oh, hush, Mother,” Father laughed. “She likes you. She would have grown very impatient and ran ramped to find you if it was up to her.”

I smiled. How lovely, my friends wished to come to whisk me away. Too bad they were only the products of a child’s fancies.

“I look forward to your arrival, Father, Mother.”

“See you soon,” Father cried.

“Farewell,” Mother muttered grudgingly.

I open my eyes to the wooden beams of the ceiling, cold seeping into my bones. If only they would come.

Regular prompts are also still open. I'll try to get a poem out tomorrow but no promises.

#autumn writes #personal list #do not use #fiction #writing #coffee #need sleep

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