#i love whatever is going on in bic's mouth

[meldyfrogs]

Gin rummy x Sweet Black girl reader!

So. This is my first time EVER writing on tumblr. I’m excited!

I haven’t seen ANY tumblr’s of Gin Rummy and I LOVE him. Idk why. But this may be bad. But tell me some things and I promise I’ll get better!

TW: Gunshot, guns, foul language, mention of death, gunshot wound, and children being traumatized.

Not smut, but definitely not fluff.

Gin rummy, your boyfriend. One of the best boyfriends you could ask for, he acts all hard in front of people but he is such a softie for you and only you. Whenever your in his presence he melts, and he’s a lot nicer. He listens to you, like a dog.

"Mornin’ Rummy. You woke up a bit late so I’m cooking breakfast today. Anything specific you want?" You asked him will putting the bacon in the oven.

"Mmm.. Pancakes." He said in his groggy voice that gave you butterflies. "Uh-uh. No pancakes, you always put way too much Suva’ and you end up all over the place. How about sausage instead?"

"Mm." Was all he said as he sunk back into your neck and taking in your sweet natural smell.

Knock! Knock!

"You get that Rummy?" He nodded his head and rubbed his eyes to wake himself up before opening the door.

"Oh snap! Ed Wuncler the third." Ed? The hell is he doing here?

"My man, Gin Rummy. What’s good baby?"

"It’s all good man, just about to eat breakfast. Come on in."

"I know dat smell from a mile of damn way! Y/n yo ass in here!?" Sometimes Ed annoyed you but most of the time he was cool.

"What’s good Ed." You sapped him up. "Kids..? Since when did you have children?" You asked tilting your head to look at a boy with an Afro and another boy with cornrows."

"Man do I look like I got kids!? These little motherfuckers need some help finding a killer or sum shit." You nodded your head as Ed walked away to talk to Rummy. You decided to talk to them.

"Hey boys, what’s your names?" You got down to their level and gave them a small smile.

"Huey."

"Riley, AKA young reezy."

"Nice to meet you Huey, and young Reezy. Would you boy like some breakfast? It’s Eggs, Bacon, and sausage. And if not theirs English muffins and some peach jelly."

The boys shook their head no at the same. You were so nice to them and your smile was so bright and filled with nothing but care just from seeing two boys you didn’t even know.

You set up plates for Ed and Rummy as the boys and Ed were talking.

"Look, we have exactly 4 hours and 45 minutes to find the X-Bic killer. Can you help us do it?" You heard Huey say as you sit a plate of food down in front of Ed.

"I’ll be dead on his ass Like Spenser: For rucking Hire. I’ll hunt him down and feed him his own testicles, and, I’ll do it in a jiffy. And I don’t care if his momma there his grandmama, innocent bystanders, Lilly kids, babysitters, bill collectors, whatever. I’ll leave his whole block filled with hot brass if I have to. And you know why? Because I just don’t t give a fuck!"

You sighed and looked at him "Try not to get so upset. Eat your food so you don’t go out on an empty stomach, ok?" You have another one of those sweet passion filled smiles to him that made his stomach do front lips and somersaults.

"Yeah- I’m just- sorry." You smiled and gave an apologetic look to the boys. So decent for someone like him.

In the car.

You sat in between Huey and Riley while you watched Rummy load his gun.

"So y’all was in Iraq together?" Riley asked rummy.

"Yeah, we was in Iraq." Rummy said back.

"What did y’all do?"

"We was looking for weapons of mass destruction."

"…Did you ever find ‘em?"

"You know god damn well we ain’t find ‘em!" He yelled at Riley. You need to keep him in check.

"Rummy, chill. He’s a kid ok. Remember what we talked about. Kids ask questions."

He sighed and shut his mouth. "I was looking for butches but they had carpet shut all over ‘em, and I couldn’t see what they looked like. All that was really exposed was their eyes and that wasn’t enough for me. Cuz you know, I’m looking at they eyes and they eyes be pretty and I take their carpet off and then I get a whole tragedy." Ed said.

And then rummy spoke again. "Well no, we didn’t fine ‘em but I always say "The absence of evidence is not the evidence of absence."

"What?" Huey said.

You sighed and tried explaining yourself. "What he means is, simply because you don’t have evidence that something does exist doesnt mean you have evidence something doesn’t exist."

"What?" Riley said

"What country you from?" Rummy spoke.

“What?" Riley said the same thing, again.

"What ain’t no country I heard of, they speak English in what?"

"What?"

"English motherfucker do you speak it!?" Rummy screamed in the kids face.

"Yeah.."

"So do you understand the words I’m saying to you!?"

"Y-yeah."

"Rummy please, you’re scaring him." You chimed in ad you put your hand on Riley’s shoulder.

"You ok Riley?” You said to him and he just looked at you.

"… What?"

You sighed.

At the store.

"Aye! Slow your role G! You guys have to pay first!" The cashier said as you looked in your purse for your wallet.

“Damn! Chill out Aladdin Hussein! You know I’m good for it!"

Rummy put his hand your arm to stop you from getting your wallet out of your purse. You looked up at him, confused. He might pay for it.

….

"Look! He got a weapon!" Ed yelled when he saw the cop.

"Hold on! Wait a minute put the gun down!" You saw Rummy play along.

You stepped back from them and up to the children standing in front of them. You obviously weren’t their mother but it was instinct.

After yelling from across the room you heard Huey from behind you. "There is no weapon! They’re robbing the store!" You did t say anything, you didn’t want rummy to go to prison but you also did t wanna get in trouble so you did t say anything.

You watched them all scream at each other as you made sure those kids stayed tight behind you and you closed your eyes as they all argued.

Untill you heard gunshots. You moved as quick as lightning picking up Huey and Riley and setting them behind an isle in the gas station making them stay down.

You loooked past the isle and saw rummy getting blown across the counter and Ed running around. "Rummy! Both of you stay here!" You ran out from the isle to get to your boyfridnyou were so close.

You fell on your stomach. "… God, it’s so warm, like… water on my stomach. It’s so warm… and gooey… and red… and red. It’s fucking red. I just got fucking shot!

Soon the warmth stopped as you held your stomach while screaming in pain.

“Shit shit shit! Cmon- we gotta- we gotta call the ambulance!" You heard rummy yell to ed as you layed on the floor untill feeling him scoop you up and bring you behind a counter.

"Man is you crazy!? We cal the ambulance we gon’ be in trouble too!" Ed yelled back to him.

"You’ll- you’ll be fine- God- fuck! He put his hand on your stomach and pressed on it as you breathed heavily. Everything went black.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

You woke up in the hospital to hear light snoring on your lap and you saw rummy, Huey, and Riley all asleep on your hospital bed. Ed was on the couch.

You ran your hands on Rummy’s hair. And he slowly woke up. “You’re awake.” He said to you. “I can see that.” You said back smiling. “How the hell are you still smiling? You just got shot baby. And you’re smiling?"he asked as he held your hand. "Just because I’m smiling doesn’t mean I’m happy about what happened. I’m just happy we all got out alive and no one died.” He sighed and put his head back on your lap.

“Were the boys ok?” You asked you wondere how Huey and Riley felt. Their just kids seeing all of this. “Huey was giving me a whole lecture about it like he a teacher and Riley thought you were gonna die.” He said looking at them.

“Good thing you didn’t, right?”

“Right.”

#the boondocks #gin rummy #riley freeman #huey freeman #2000s anime #black people #black anime

[hueningkai]

MOVIN’ ENDING FAIRIES x 210903

#mcnd #mcndnetwork #huijun #seungmin #junhyuk #underratedidolsedit #idolsincedits #usersoppa #ultkpopnetwork #hijaehyukkies #aquablues #gif* #mcnd* #gif: seungmin #gif: huijun #gif: junhyuk #theyyyyyyyy #i love whatever is going on in bic's mouth

[ravenvsfox]

andreil - my peace has always been dependent, on all the ashes in my wake

(I had juuuuust started this one during the last batch of hozier lyric prompts, so I thought I’d give you the very beginning of what I wrote, my luv 💖)

_____

When he’s eighteen, he pulls a bandana up over his mouth and sets his mother on fire.

The car ride over is a long strip of gasoline, and he shakes the whole winding way down the cliff to the abandoned alcoves of the beach. Mary Wesninski, Mary Hatford, his last line of defence, puts a matchbook in his hand, seizes, and dies.

He remembers every second of it, the damp sand sticking to his face when he rubbed the sweat from his brow. The blood in the crevices of his fingerprints. The electric pounding in his head, the lights of the traffic far above shimmering over the wine-dark surface of the water.

Surely, he thinks, staring at the blackened shell of their latest vehicle, they will find me now.

The tragedy is finished, the pyre is out, and he’s still here, thrown over the mound of sand that his mother’s bones will be a part of, always.

He kneels, eventually, and looks at his dirty hands. He’s never been to the beach to swim, before. He’s never seen a person stop being a person before either. He couldn’t watch, but he couldn’t leave, and he’d seen flickers of her metamorphosis though the flames.

He heaves over, and throws up in the shallow water of the cave he’s in.

He forces himself to walk straight, all the way up the cliff that they had driven down together. He tastes ash, for days after.

A week later, he’s Neil.

Two years later, and he pulls a bandana up into his hair, and catches sight of Andrew behind him in their bathroom mirror, sleeping with his hand pressed under Neil’s pillow like a love note.

He slips quietly out of their apartment, and zips his windbreaker up to his chin. It’s drizzling, the pavement is brown with rainwater, and it isn’t fully light out yet. No one’s on the street but him. He breathes out, relieved out of habit.

He runs. No pressure on the small of his back, or breath on his neck.

He thinks of the groceries they need to get. Pineapple, because it’s sweet enough for Andrew. Chocolate milk. Mixed greens. Lean chicken thighs. Paper towel. A couple of new Bic lighters.

He cracks his neck, and focuses on the way the sweat at his hairline is cancelled out by the chill in the air. His sneakers pound into the same trail that he runs every day, and his head turns over and over with easy white noise.

When he circles back towards home, he spots Andrew sitting on the front steps of their complex.

He slows to a jog, and Andrew watches him approach. He’s not smoking, or pretending to do anything but watch Neil pull closer. He’s wearing this flimsy white t-shirt, and his feet are jammed into a pair of Neil’s shoes so that the backs are folded down beneath his heels.

“You’re up early,” he says, hopping up so he can lean teasingly over the steps, like he might fall down into him.

“There was a phone call,” Andrew says mildly.

“Hmm?”

Neil smiles. He’s not really thinking about it. Whatever gets him out of bed before noon.

“The police,” Andrew continues.

Neil lowers himself back down to ground level. He’d almost forgotten, what early morning phone calls mean.

“Who is it?” Who’s hurt, lost, arrested, gone. He runs through the people that matter to him, and the people who might relapse into trouble, and he finds that it’s almost exactly the same list. He grits his teeth.

Andrew shrugs, and leans back on his hands. He’s being blasé to calm Neil down. “Your mother.”

“My mother,” he repeats. The words mean nothing. Her name wasn’t on either list. Or any list at all, other than tragedies he had to live through to get to a good ending that stuck.

“They found her bones.”

He’s already shaking his head. “No, they can’t have. I burnt them, and buried them.”

“Are you telling me you did a perfect job?”

“She—she taught me how to get rid of a body.”

“And your work wasn’t affected at all by it being her?” Andrew asks steadily.

Neil swallows. He thinks of retching violently into the water, trembling so hard that the first 3 matches broke. He can see his own body crumpled a few feet over his mother’s, exhausted.

“But no one was looking for her,” he whispers.

“Someone found her,” Andrew says. He stands and fists his hands in Neil’s jacket. “Is this going to be okay for you?” he asks, uncharacteristically gentle.

“I don’t know. I think so. Do you think the FBI will—will do something to keep me out of it? To cover for themselves?”

Andrew shrugs. “Local police want to talk to you. See where that goes.”

“I think—I was all over that cover-up, Andrew, they could pin me with this.”

“They won’t. You’ll go and talk your way out of it, as always, and we’ll go home.”

Neil breathes out. Across from them, someone steps out of the apartment block across the street with their dog. “You’re right,” he says, distracted. Andrew reaches up and unzips Neil’s jacket to get his focus back.

“I’m right,” he repeats. “Call them back.”

#just a tiny unfinished little something #aftg #tfc fanfic #mine #wip #long post #but not long enough to put behind a read more lol #skippinginclouds #ask

[solbabies]

Im a hoe for the classics and by classics i mean popular x nerd trope,, so how about an Elu au with popular!Eliott and Nerd!Lucas 😎

Voila! Here is a great classic trope! Thank you for the request, and I hope you enjoy it! 

Find more of my Elu work on AO3 as @Book_Lover2001

_______________________

It was all because of a pen. A BiC to be exact; a round stic, blue ink, fine point, 0.8mm pen. Not quite technically a butterfly, but all the same in the matter of science.

The test was going to be easy. Multiple choice and long answer-- show your work, of course-- and Lucas had studied all weekend. He was on his way to acing the biology unit test. As Mrs. Rigaux began to unpack the stack of papers, Lucas reached for his backpack’s front pocket to find an empty space where his lucky pen was only moments before. Panic began to mildly set in. He just had it last class.

“Imane,” Lucas whispered to his seat partner who held a stoic, yet slightly nervous look. “Do you have a pen?” She rolled her eyes at him with the air of a disappointed mother, before searching through her own bag and retrieving what he had asked for.

“Are you coming to the meeting tonight?” she asked him quietly, as she handed him the pen. He tilted his head, unsure of what she was talking about.

“What meeting?”

“The meeting for the foyer?” she said as if obvious, before signing heavily. “The one that Daphné told you about? The student commons that we’re refixing? Dude, you’re honestly helpless. Sometimes I wonder if you’re actually smart.”

“Hey,” he defended, but didn’t take it to heart. She was always like this. “I’m smart.”

“Then where’s your pen?” she countered with a mocking smile. Mrs. Rigaux began to pass out the sheets of paper, weaving around the class as it started to fall silent.

“I swear, girl, I had one. I must have left it in my last class or something.” A paper was placed forcefully in front of him as they were shushed by their teacher.

“Do I need to separate you two?” she tisked as she handed Imane her sheet. “No more talking.”

When the end of the day came around, Lucas had already forgotten about his missing pen, although at the time of its disappearance he had been contemplating putting up ‘missing person’ signs.

“Lucas,” his name was spoken with a smooth tone as he opened his locker. Lucas was clutching his books to his chest as he pulled it’s door open, effectively hiding the person from his sight.

“Eliott,” he returned in a similar voice.

“Are we still on for tomorrow?” he asked as if Lucas hadn’t just rudely shielded his face from him.

“And what are we doing tomorrow?” he replied, as he attempted to fit all his papers inside the small space. Eliott had moved around to stand at Lucas’ other side, his back resting against the neighbouring lockers.

“You promised to teach me chemistry,” the older boy said with a smile pulling at his lips.

“Eliott, you are an L student,” Lucas brushed him off, shutting his locker in the process.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to learn science, and you are a really, really good S student-- the best I heard.” Lucas didn’t know whether he wanted to punch him or blush; maybe both.

“I think you’re confusing me with Imane, but I will gladly set you two up for a study date if you’d like?” Lucas told him, beginning to walk away. Eliott followed like a puppy chasing after it’s owner.

“Come on, Lucas. I know you tutor other people, why not me?”

“Those kids are actual ‘S’ students, taking ‘S’ courses, plus I have better things to be doing than humouring you for an afternoon. Don’t you have a party to plan or something?”

“I’m offended, my love, horribly offended…Unless you want a party, then I’ll throw you a rager-- in your honour of course.”

“I don’t ‘party’ Eliott,” he responded, shifting his backpack from one shoulder to the next. Lucas didn’t like parties, or large crowds at all. He didn’t like being looked at in the halls, or being passively judged by the countless people in Eliott’s circle of friends. Lucas preferred to stay at home with his books or his video games, watching random videos online until three in the morning. 

The hallway was beginning to clear itself out the further they walked into the school.

“Sticking around?” Eliott noted the direction they were moving in. Lucas looked at him from his peripheral vision. Sure, Eliott was objectively hot, but objectively a lot of people were.

“Hey, man!” Someone greeted Eliott as they passed a group of first years. Eliott nodded at them but didn’t break away from Lucas.

“I’m going to that foyer meeting for my friends. Feel free to leave.”

“Sounds like fun, I’m in,” Eliott shrugged. Lucas stopped walking, turning to look at him carefully, watching him with curious eyes.

“Why are you like this?”

“Like what?” Eliott asked, tilting his head, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“You’re going to come to the foyer meeting… voluntarily?”

“You’re going.”

“Yeah, but--”

“So I’m going.”

________

“I hate him,” Lucas told Yann as he flopped down on his best friend’s sofa. Basile and Arthur were stretched out on the floor, arguing amongst themselves about the Fifa game they were struggling to win.

“Why?” Yann asked, leaning back against the arm rest. Lucas blinked at him, his jaw clenched as he tried to verbalize his feelings.

“I… I don’t know! He’s just so… so…”

“Hot?” Arthur offered, not taking his eyes off the screen. Lucas nudged him with his foot, earning a noise of annoyance from the taller boy.

“Persistent,” Lucas concluded. “He won’t give up.”

“But… you like him?” Basile asked, curiously.

“Of course I don’t like him.”

“But he’s hot?” Basile questioned.

“I guess, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to date him.”

“But he’s also a nice guy,” Yann added, unhelpfully. “Always helpful, cheerful, popular-- everyone likes him.”

“Except me, apparently. Why do I have to like him? He walks around like the god of the school, just expecting me to… I don’t know, fall to his feet like everyone else? He’s always coming up with stupid excuses to see me, or talk to me. Every corner I take, I’m surprised when I don’t find him following me. He’s always listening to me, even when I’m purposefully talking absolute nonsense to bore him. He came to a foyer meeting today because I was going and then he volunteered to paint the mural for the common room because I mentioned how ugly it was and--” Lucas cut himself off, letting his brain catch up to his mouth.

“And what?” Yann asked, hanging on his last word.

“And I thought it was really nice,” Lucas spoke with a softer tone, surprising even himself. “I guess sometimes I get disappointed when he’s not at my locker waiting for me at the end of the day… like that one time he was sick and I was a bit worried something happened to him. Sometimes he leaves me these little drawings when he’s got football practice and can’t make it. I…” The boys were all staring at him as the realization dawned on him. “Do I like Eliott?”

________

Eliott was talking to some girls, a horde of girls actually. They were all smiling and giggling at something that he said, but he looked completely unphased by their reactions. His smile seemed more focused on what he was talking about, rather than who was listening.

“Ugh,” Alexia said, as Lucas and the Crew walked out of the common room. “He’s so hot. I can’t.”

“Aren’t you dating someone?” Lucas noted, watching the scene unfolding in front of him with an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.

“So?” she replied, waving off his observation. The girls all laughed taking off down the hall with a chorus of ‘goodbyes’ to Lucas. Instead of heading to his next class, which would start soon as the lunch hour came closer to ending, he stood frozen like an idiot watching Eliott talk. The way his smile pinched the corners of his eyes the more he droned on about whatever was so fascinating. The way his hands moved as he explained something to the girls who so obviously didn’t care about anything other than staring at his angular face and model-esque physique. The way that Lucas knew, even without seeing, that Eliott’s eyes were probably shimmering as he laughed at his own joke. None of it settled right with Lucas.

Before he could register what he was doing, Lucas was marching across the hall with purposeful strides. Without a word, Lucas yanked Eliott into the nearby empty classroom, ignoring the confused and slightly shocked faces of the girls.

“Lucas!” Eliott spoke with a stern voice, completely caught off guard by the sudden and very unexpected action. Lucas had his arms crossed, his foot tapping against the ground as he glared at the popular boy with narrowed eyes.

“I don’t know how you did it,” Lucas said, his voice low. Eliott’s face twitched, unsure of what was happening. There was a pause.

“Did what?”

“Make me like you.” Eliott drew back his head at the answer, his mouth curving into a small smile. “Don’t look so smug, I’m still trying to figure out when you altered the chemicals in my brain.”

“The chemicals in your brain?”

“Yeah, with your… pheromones! God, I hate you!” Lucas shouted.

“Well clearly you don’t,” Eliott chuckled, finding Lucas’ inner turmoil utterly entertaining. Taking a breath, Lucas realized what he had admitted and what he had abruptly done, and he was mortified with himself. His cheeks turned pink with embarrassment, his mouth opening slightly only to close.

“I…” Lucas began slowly. “I don’t know what came over me. Sorry. Can we just ignore what I just said? Great, I’m leaving.” Lucas reached for the door knob, but Eliott stopped him, his fingers curled around Lucas’ wrist.

“Wait,” he started. “You can’t just leave.”

“Why not? I said stupid things and now I’m going to leave so we can pretend it never happened.”

“So, you don’t like me then?” The question hung in the air and it was as if his words were suffocating him.

“No.”

“No, as in you don’t like me, or no, as in you do like me?” Lucas raked his teeth across his bottom lip as Eliott waited for his answer. His hand was still holding Lucas in place, and it was as if Lucas’ entire body was on fire.

“The… latter.” Eliott’s eyes softened, his touch dropping from Lucas as he brought his arm back down to his side.

“What changed?” Lucas ran his own hand soothingly up and down his arm, as if trying to comfort himself in this moment of honesty.

“I don’t think anything did,” he finally said. “I think I just lost my pen.”

“The butterfly effect?” Lucas raised his brow, as Eliott gave a soft laugh. “I listen to you when you talk, you know. You mentioned it once because it was in a book you were reading.” All Lucas could do was look at him. He didn’t understand Eliott, or why he does the things he does, or why he acts the way he acts. Lucas was barely processing the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to him.

“Kiss me,” Lucas blurted out against his own better judgement. Something passed before Eliott’s eyes, as his smile grew into a genuine expression that made Lucas’ heart ache. Eliott stepped forward, drawing Lucas closer to him by his waist. Their lips were so close Lucas could feel the static between them.

“You can change your mind.” But Lucas didn’t want to. Rather, he tipped his head up, closing the space between them, wrapping his arms around Eliott’s neck to hold him even closer. It felt as if something clicked in Lucas; like a lock turning open with the right key, or the last piece being fitted into a puzzle. Eliott felt like something he had been missing, and finally the last code of his cipher has been discovered.

By the time the bell rang, they were breathless and reluctant to pull away.

“I have to get to biology,” Lucas sighed, running his fingers through Eliott’s hair.

“I have to go to philosophy.” They both made a face.

“I’ll see you at my locker?”

“Now that I’ve seduced you, I don’t need to stay an extra hour to wait for you,” Eliott teased playfully. Lucas, who had begun to move for the door, paused.

“You waited an extra hour for me?

“My day ends earlier than yours,” Eliott replied with a shrug, as he draped his arm over Lucas’ shoulders to walk into the hall.

“But--”

“Don’t feel bad, I didn’t mind waiting,” Eliott said, dropping a kiss on the top of Lucas’ hair. “Plus, it actually forced me to do my homework when I was bored.”

“Why are you so…”

“Perfect? Handsome? Amazing?” Lucas was going to say stupid. Stupid for wasting his time on Lucas.

“Sure,” Lucas gave in. “All of the above.” As Eliott tucked him closely into his side as he walked him to his biology class, Lucas could already feel the eyes on him making his entire body tense.

“They’re all jealous,” Eliott whispered in his ear as they rounded a corner. “That they never had a chance.”

“Never?” Lucas highly doubted that.

“Never ever. You’re all I’ve ever seen, since the first day I transferred here.”

“No pressure or anything,” Lucas muttered lightly. Eliott’s laugh rang in Lucas’ ear like a song that made his heart skip a beat.

“Absolutely none, my love. Absolutely none.”

#elu #skam france #skam france elu #skam france oneshot #skam france fanfic #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #lucas and eliott #lucas x eliott #nerd and popular au #nerd au #popular au #oneshot #one shot #fanfic #skam #skam remakes

[jonathananubian]

Te Dralyc Kar 8 [Star Wars Fanfic]

Synopsis:

Jango isn’t quite sure how he came to adopt a blonde slave boy after a job on Tatooine went sideways, but he honestly couldn’t complain. The boy is a little genius, brimming with compassion and a willingness to learn. The only hiccup, as far as Jango is concerned, is the fact that his boy is a naturally powerful force user. Someone the jetii would want to get their hands on.

Of course- he’d just like to see them try.

[This story isn’t linear. More like a series of snapshots. At least until later chapters.]

Keldabe. He hadn’t been back to the capitol city for years. The familiar sights and sounds made him ache deep in his core as he watched Mando’ade going about their daily business among the crowded streets. At his side, hand held firmly in his own, Anakin stared at everything in excited awe, pointing at things and asking him questions in a mix of Basic, Huttese, Ryl, and Mando’a that was almost too fast to translate.

Stopping by one of the many food vendors he grabbed two skewers of cooked meat and a small bag of spiced candies. Anakin took the skewer and thanked the vendor in Mando’a before biting into it. Thankfully the boy’s home planet hadn’t been been particularly fussy about food and his son could practically eat anything. Including insects, which was a bit disturbing but at least it was a good survival skill.

When they were finished they stopped by a fountain and he wet a handkerchief to clean the boy’s hands. “This is a cinnamon sweet. It’s a little spicy. Would you like to try it?” The boy nodded eagerly and opened his hand for one. Jango chuckled and gave him one of the fiery hard candies to suck on. Popping one in his own mouth he slipped the sweets into a pouch on his belt before taking Anakin’s hand once more. They had a ways to walk yet before they came to his favourite inn. He had stayed at the Tranyc Vhetin many times, both with his buir and alone after the man had died on Korda VI.

Coming into the cozy building he felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him. Anakin looked up at him, blue eyes sharp, and hugged his waist. Of course his little Ka’runi would sense how off kilter he was. Even Partra had admitted the boy was the brightest soul he’d ever felt, and the jetii from the diner had to have felt something seeing as he had tried to ask whether or not his son had been ‘tested.’ Jango didn’t want to know how the jetii tested kids. It’d probably just piss him off to know.

“Solus yamika par gar bal gar ad?” ‘One room for you and your child?’ The staff member at the desk asked, looking between he and his son with a small smile.

“Elek, vor’e.” ‘Yes, thank you.’ Anakin practically bounced up the stairs once they were given a key, making Jango chuckle in amusement.

On the second floor his son was examining the doors, his face scrunched slightly as he tried to remember how to differentiate between the different numbers in Mandalorian Script. Finding their room he opened the door and let the two of them inside. Closing and locking the door behind him he slipped his bucket back off and set it down on the small table near the door. Anakin ran over to the window and drew the curtains, letting in the light. Opening the window he looked out over the street at the colorful banners flapping in the breeze.

“Kandosii!” ‘Wicked!’ Jango let out a low chuckle and went about checking the room for anything potentially dangerous. Not that he believed the innkeepers would have bugged the room or anything like that, but it always paid to be prepared.

Sitting at the small table he watched Anakin dropping his kit bag on the smaller of the two beds and rummage through it. Pulling out his small amenities bag he went to put them in the fresher, exclaiming in surprise when he saw the actual washing tub in the antique style room. “Buir? What’s this for?” He asked, poking his head out.

“It’s a washing tub. You fill it with water and bathe in it. We used to have one on the farm where I grew up. Buir would wash our clothes in it during the cold season.” The emotions associated with the memories of his younger days had dulled over time but he could still feel that burning sadness and anger in his core. So many of those he cared about had been taken away from him…

“Buir?” He looked down at his son, who stood there with an understanding look in his liquid blue eyes. “I’m sorry you’re sad. I know I can’t make it go away. But I can give you a hug?” Smiling he opened his arms for his boy and let out a shaky breath.

“Sadness is a part of life, An’ika. It will fade with time but it never really goes away.” The boy made a thoughtful noise.

“Why do we have to feel sad?” Jango frowned. His kid was too young to keep asking all these philosophical questions, his genius be damned. But it was the nature of children to be curious.

“If we never felt sad then the times we’re happy wouldn’t feel as special. Everyone has happy and sad times, An’ika. It helps shape who we are.” He pulled back and looked down at his son. “But we’ll talk more about that another day. Just because we’re not on the ship doesn’t mean you can skip training or meditation. Get changed.” The blonde gave him a small pout.

“Aw, okay.”

[Anakin]

Walking with his father through the busy streets he couldn’t help but be reminded a little of Tatooine. The district they were in now was called Mayen Goyust, or Anything Road. It was where his dad said they could find all sorts of cool things. From weapons to new clothes, jewelry, and even toys! Everywhere they went his dad seemed to attract attention. They kept looking at his face, then his armor, then his face again. A lot of the time there would be a sense of recognition before the other feelings would come.

Fear, anger, dread, relief, joy, hope. So many and they just kept coming. He heard the whispers behind them as they passed and soon he could feel their focus shift from his dad to him. It was really uncomfortable. “Buir…” He mumbled, tightening his hold on his dad’s hand and stepping closer to him shyly. Like all the other times his dad felt protective and unnerved he quickly scooped Anakin up into his arms and began walking faster toward whatever the location of his mission was.

They came up to a building that felt really, really, old and Anakin couldn’t help but to stare as they walked right in without stopping. Wherever this was his dad felt like he belonged there.

Inside the building it smelled like heavy spices and ale. Sitting at the tables were men and women wearing armor a lot like his dad’s. But theirs was all painted while his dad’s was all silver. He wondered if his dad would paint it. In his vision his own armor was always black and blue with red accents. His dad still hadn’t told him what all the colors meant yet. Apparently the meaning changed depending on clan.

Setting him down his dad took a seat at a table and motioned someone over. A woman in tunics cut like the people outside hurried over with a smile, although she felt jumpy on the inside. “Su’cuy gar jatne’vode! Me’copaani?”

“Tiingilar, ne’tra gal, shig, bal ibi’tuur vutyc par ner ad.” Anakin understood a few of the words and waited patiently until the woman walked away.

Taking a deep breath he was about to ask questions when his dad grinned at him. “Tiingilar is a very spicy dish, made with meat, grains, and vegetables. Ne’tra gal is black ale, something you can’t have until you’re much older. Ibi’tuur vutcy is the day’s special. Just like at Dex’s.” Letting out a huff he pouted as his dad anticipated all of his questions and answered them rapidly. The man had the gall to laugh at him. “We’ll have to set aside some more joha hibirar’la.” ‘Language lessons.’ Anakin nodded excitedly. He loved learning Mando’a. It was the first language he wanted to learn by choice, rather than necessity. Since his dad spoke perfect Basic and was really good at Huttese they had no trouble communicating. But Mando’a was something they could share between them and that made it special.

“Can I try your tin-tiinga-tiingilar?” His dad ruffled his hair.

“Sure you can, kiddo. But it’s even more spicy than the cinnamon sweet from earlier.” Anakin made a face. He’d liked the bright red candy at first. But the more he sucked on it the more spicy it became. Eventually he’d complained to his dad, who laughed, and had him spit it out into a handkerchief. Then his dad bought him a small iced milk treat to make up for the spiciness.

“…maybe I won’t try it today.” His father’s face split into a mischievous smile and he could feel the man’s bright amusement in the force. He stuck his tongue out at him and his dad barked out a laugh. It was rare his dad actually laughed, usually he just smiled or chuckled. Anakin counted this as his win.

“Cuyir ibac tion'ad ni mirdir bic cuyir?” A wave of strong emotions ran through his dad when the man looked over his shoulder, before his presence suddenly became as smooth as beskar. His hands twitched towards his blasters for a moment but he stopped, clenching them instead.

“Vizla.” Anakin shivered at the anger he could hear dripping from his dad’s voice. Everyone in the tapcaf was watching the two men warily, ready for a fight to break out.

“Yaimparla teh kyr’am, Jango Fett?” The man who felt like cold fire turned to look at him and Anakin froze in place. Maybe if he didn’t move the man wouldn’t notice him? “Tion’ad adiik? Gar?” Growling his dad stood up from his chair, knocking it back onto the floor.

“Copaani mirshmure'cye, vod?” His dad spat the words like venom and Anakin ducked his head, scared. His dad glanced back at him and slowly let out a breath. The brimming anger in the air lessened and his dad picked up his chair to right it again, never turning his back on the man who felt like cold fire. “Digur bic. Ba’slanar, Vizla. Ni nu'copad at haa'taylir gar troan.” Pointedly turning around his dad sat back down, giving Anakin a complicated look.

“Hut’uun.” ‘Coward.’ The bad man said from behind them. Anakin stood up on his chair and glared at the man.

“Nayc! Buir cuyir ne’hut’uun! Tun otaf’alkin!” ‘No! Dad is not a coward! You cave butcher!’ He shouted in a mix of Mando’a and Ryl. Around the room objects rattled on tables and the wall, some items falling to the floor as his control began to slip.

The man scowled at him and took a step forward, only to be stopped as others stood from their seats in response. His dad grabbed him and pulled him into his lap, hiding him from the cold-fire man with shaking hands. Anakin’s anger evaporated and he quickly snuggled into his father’s hold, not wanting to cause him any more grief.

“Ba’slanar, Vizla. Jii.” ‘Leave, Vizla. Now.’ Anakin peeked over his father’s shoulder as the bad man left with the people who came in with him.

One of the armored warriors came over to them slowly, making sure to walk where his father could see them. “Me’vaar Jan’ika?” ‘You okay Jan’ika?’ His dad looked up at the man, eyes searching, before he nodded curtly.

[Jango]

Holding his son to him Jango had to breathe deeply to keep from getting up, following Vizla out into the street, and shooting him in the back of the head. If it weren’t for Anakin being there he very well may have lost his mind to anger and fought the rotten bastard to the death right then. He knew that Vizla had no honor and now the man knew he had a vulnerable son. He wouldn’t put it past the bastard to target a child if it helped him achieve his goals.

“Are you okay Jan’ika?” Looking into the speaker’s eyes he recognized Kadaab Egress, a Clan who had chosen to follow Jaster’s codex. He nodded, unsure if he could speak without his voice shaking. It was not fear or cowardice he struggled with at the moment, but his sheer overpowering hatred for anyone wearing Vizla’s colors. He hadn’t even recognized the young man, just the armor he wore.

Jango didn’t want to subject his son to that hatred. He knew what happened to Ka’runi when hatred became their only focus. He never wanted to see Anakin become like that. It would break his heart.

“Buir? I’m sorry. I got mad and yelled… and moved stuff again.” Kadaab looked between the boy and the frames that had fallen off the wall. His eyes widened with understanding.

“Jan’ika.” He looked back at the older man. “Protecting your child does not make you a coward. Vizla’s full of it, and everyone who matters knows it.” Jango felt tension bleed out of him as he looked around the room and was met with understanding. Nearly everyone there had been or currently was a parent. Jango swallowed a lump in his throat.

“Thank you.” Now that things were calming down the old woman from the back came to their table and set down their food. “Thank you, Ati’ba.” Jango said sincerely as he settled Anakin back in his own seat. The old woman smiled at him, winked at Anakin, and shuffled off back to the kitchen.

Anakin watched the old woman go, transfixed, until she vanished into the back. Then he turned to Jango, eyes as wide as saucers. “Buir! I think that old lady is a ghost!” Chuckles erupted around them and Kadaab snorted in amusement.

“Don’t worry about it, child.” The man said as he returned to his own table. Jango took a sip of his ale and smiled. His reaction had been much the same as Anakin’s back in the day.

Watching his son digging into the fish and rice dish that had been brought out to him Jango felt the last of his anger melt away. He had made the right decision not to engage Vizla. That bastard’s time would come. Right now Jango had more important things to do.

Mando’a: Su’cuy gar jatne’vode! Me’copaani?- Hello Sirs! What would you like? Tiingilar, ne’tra gal, shig, bal ibi’tuur vutyc par ner ad- Tiingilar, black ale, shig, and today’s special for my child. Cuyir ibac tion'ad ni mirdir bic cuyir?- Is that who I think it is? Yaimparla teh kyr’am, Jango Fett?- Back from the dead, Jango Fett? Tion’ad adiik? Gar?- Whose child is that? Yours? Copaani mirshmure'cye, vod?- You want a smack to the face, mate? Digur bic. Ba’slanar, Vizla.- Forget it. Leave, Vizla. Ni nu'copad at haa'taylir gar troan- I don’t want to see your face. Otaf’alkin!- (Ryl) A reptilian predator native to Ryloth and found deep in the underground caverns, the name literally means “cave butcher.” It is also used as an insult to indicate one who kills without remorse, as if they were a heartless animal.

#fanfic #fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #star wars #jango fett #young anakin skywalker #adoption #mandalorian culture #mandalorian anakin #True Mandalorians #mandalorian ocs #found family #keldabe #mandalore #mando'a

[kenzieam]

Mortal - Chapter Four

Rating: M (smut, language, angst and sorrow)

Genre: Drama/Angst

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***Slightly Non-Canon. Asgard hasn’t been destroyed, Thanos didn’t succeed with the snap….. I’ve taken a few liberties, my lovelies***

Sorry this chapter has taken so long!!! I hope it’s worth it? CAN’T REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED? CATCH UP HERE!

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Remy returned to the Tower hours later; despite her ugly words with Bucky, tonight was one of the nights each week the team made a special effort to all sit down and eat together as a family; and Remy was on cooking duty with Sam. He glanced up as she entered the kitchen, a cautious smile on his face.

"Hey Beauty, how was your day?" The slight edge in his voice said he knew of her words with Bucky, knew she'd taken Rora out with her, but didn't hint at how he felt about either.

"Fine." Remy replied neutrally as she set Rora gently in her bouncy chair, secured on the counter.

Sam sighed, "C'mon, don't be like that."

He set down the knife he was using and turned to Remy; wiping his hands on his jeans, he stepped forwards and pulled her into a hug. "I'll admit, Buck was out of line questioning your intentions like that, we know Aurora is the most important thing in the world to you, but... we just want you two safe, that's all."

"Do you think the same thing?"  

"What? That you're too wrapped up in Loki to put Rora first?"

Remy winced. "Yeah."

"I'll admit it Beauty, it crossed my mind; it's crossed all our minds, but we know you. You're smart and you're loyal and you'd never put Rora in danger for anything like that. It flicked through my head but went right back out again."

"But-"

"And Buck knows it too, he's just scared, like all of us; we don't want anything to happen-"

"Nothing will-"

"Yes, but that doesn't stop you from worrying about someone you love." Sam replied, reaching up to gently cup Remy's face, gazing down at her implacably. "You mean a shit-ton to us, kid. We worry when you leave the Tower for ice cream, let alone meeting a man we only know as the bad guy."

"A shit-ton, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam grinned.

"That a measurable unit?"

"Uh-huh, right up there with a fuck-ton."

Remy rolled her eyes and Sam let her go, ruffling her hair. "Now get to work, brat; dinner ain't gonna make itself."

"You sound like a chicken over there, Wilson. Bawk, bawk, bawk." Remy threw back, unable to stop a smile. Sam rolled his eyes and pointed a finger mock-threateningly at her. "Don't start with me, Sparky; we got a fire extinguisher just around the corner."

This was standard banter between Remy and Sam, and she felt an almost disproportionate level of relief about it, pulling out the defrosted chicken from the fridge to arrange in a pan.  

Dinner was three-quarters cooked and Remy was taking a moment to babble at Rora when Sam elbowed her gently. Remy straightened and followed Sam's jerked chin to the doorway. The grin on her face slid off when she saw Bucky standing there, hands in his pockets. The look in his eyes was pleading.

"Rem, can we talk?"  

Remy curled her lip, ready to spit fire again; when Bucky continued, and the waver in his voice, the near-break, changed her mind instantly. "Please?

Remy's shoulders sagged as the heat of her temper cooled immediately. She couldn't stay mad at him, not when he looked like he'd spent the last hours ripping himself apart, not when his skin was pale and eyes circled with black, looking almost bruised. Nobody was harder on Bucky than himself, and Remy felt a sharp pang of shame for adding to his already bottomless guilt over his past.

"Watch Rora for me?" She asked quietly and, at Sam's nod, she marched towards the soldier waiting quietly in the doorway for her.

"Rem, I-"

"Not here." Remy cut him off sharply, continuing past him and down the hallway, not looking back to see if he was following. Reaching a quiet corridor, Remy whirled, nearly crashing into the massive man behind her. She looked up, meeting his eyes and fighting to keep a neutral face. She waited silently for Bucky to speak first.

"Remy." Bucky reached out to cup her face but stopped at the look still smoldering in her eyes and dropped his hand to his side. "I’m sorry. You know I didn't mean that."

"How would I know that, James? The guy I look up to, the guy I call my brother, questions my motives with my child, my intentions? If you didn't mean it, why did you say it?"

"I'm-" Bucky broke off and shook his head, resting his hands on his hips for a beat, then wiping his mouth and looking at Remy with renewed intensity. "I'm scared for you, okay? I'm scared for Rora. What if this is all a trap?"

"Why would he go through that amount of trouble? Letting Wanda into his head, traveling back here and dealing with all of you in his face? Is it that hard to believe that someone could love me?"

Bucky's face contorted with pain and he grabbed her upper arms. "No. Jesus, Remy! I don't think that. Of course, someone could love you! There is nothing wrong with you, you are worthy and deserving of everything good, just.... why him?!"

Remy sagged, defeated. "You can't help who you fall in love with, James. Do you think I'd still be trying, fighting all of you this way, if I didn't love him? In ways I can't explain? If I didn't believe, with everything I have, that he truly loves me back? Do you honestly believe I would put any of you in danger, for the attention of someone I didn't love so completely? I can't choose between you and him, please don't ask me to."

"Remy," Bucky's voice broke and he hung his head.  

Remy reached up to cup his face, his stubble rasping in her hands. The tears trailing down his cheeks were answered by hers and it took all of Remy's determination to force herself to speak and not simply dissolve into tears.

"I love you, Bucky. I love all of you.” He closed his eyes with an almost inaudible moan. “You are my family. I would die with a smile on my face if I knew it would keep you all safe. But I can't... I can't explain it. I just trust him."

Bucky exhaled hard, shuddering and reached up to grip Remy's wrists. After a long pause, he nodded slowly and raised his head, opening his eyes. "Okay." His eyes were red-rimmed but clear and determined. "I'm not going to pretend I like it, but... I'm with you, baby sister. Whatever happens, I'm here."

Baby sister, I'm here. The force of Remy's tears took her by surprise and it was long minutes before she was able to pull away from Bucky's shoulder, where he'd drawn her when she'd begun to cry.  

"I'm sorry, Rem." Bucky murmured. "I love you; I can't just turn that off."

"S’okay, Bucky. I've been pushing my limits with everyone lately."

Bucky pulled away again, and fixed Remy with a serious look. "I mean it though; something goes sideways, you come to me. I won't rub it in your face, I just want to help."

Remy nodded, smiling shakily when Bucky leaned forwards and pressed his lips tenderly to her forehead.

"Sparky?! Little Bic just dropped a deuce!" Sam bellowed from afar and Bucky snorted a laugh.

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

"All of you?" Remy asked incredulously. Her gaze flickered between her family even as her heart began to clench.  

Tony sighed and nodded, scrubbing a hand over his hair. "We haven't replaced Eric and you're still out, so yeah. Hopefully, it won't take long, but this is a major HYDRA hive, one we've been looking for for months, we have to move now. The only one not going is Pepper, but she has to be in Washington."

Remy exhaled and looked over at Rora, sleeping peacefully on Bucky's shoulder. His face was tense and thoughtful; even as his arms gently cradled the baby.  

"Stay with Loki." He spoke suddenly and every head swiveled his way in surprise. He glanced at the team, at the mix of expressions, and shrugged. "We can't keep pretending it isn't happening. We haven't chased him off yet, looks like he's here to stay, we need to accept it." He flicked a glance at Tony. "But I doubt you want him around the Tower unsupervised."

Tony startled slightly at this thought and sat forwards, nodding vigorously. "Right, right." He turned to look at Remy, grinning crookedly. "Go stay with Loki."

When Remy looked back at Bucky, he side-eyed her with a grin.

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Remy knew he was standing in the doorway, leaning against it, even though he hadn't spoken and she called out without turning.

"Pretty tricky, Barnes."

"You liked that, huh?" He moved closer, the leather of his uniform creaking.  

When he reached her side, Remy glanced up from her duffel bag and smirked. "Thank you."

He smiled gently in return. "I meant what I said. I just hope I haven't made a mistake."

Remy sighed, pushing her duffel to the floor and flopping onto the bed, Bucky flopped beside her and for a few beats, they stared at the ceiling. Still staring up, Remy spoke.  

"I've been... stressed about all this." At Bucky's snort of amusement, she elbowed him hard, making him chuckle. "What I mean, doofus, is Loki; he's crazy perceptive, he can tell when I'm not fully there with him and he just listens and lets me vent. And he said once, 'I'm so sorry, my goddess. Your family only wants what is best for you, and all they can see me as is the monster I was, and I don't blame them and I ask that you don't either. Don't fault them for loving you. If I were a stronger man, I would leave you and you would know peace; but I cannot, my heart beats for you now’."  Remy exhaled slowly. "Does that sound like a guy who doesn't care?"

Bucky was stunned, and took a moment to form his words. He'd not expected this, had secretly (and cynically) believed that Loki would not waste any opportunities to undermine the team, to fill Remy's head with twisted words and lies to ensure her belonging to him and him alone. Loki's humble words shamed Bucky, for he realized it was his own prejudice he'd been fostering, his own cynical poison and the man-god did indeed have Remy's best interests at heart; a heart that he claimed would cease beating without her. Bucky knew the feeling, the thought of Levi no longer being his would at times wake him from a deep sleep, leave him weak and sweating and panting, heart racing. He felt the same way about Levi that Loki felt about Remy, and if he was allowed such a thing, why wasn't another?

Remy rolled onto her side and propped her head up on her elbow, studying her adopted brother's face. After a moment, he realized he was being watched and cleared his throat, blinked rapidly to dispel the growing tears.

"No," he replied gruffly. “Was he happy to hear you’re coming over?”

Remy giggled. “Oh yeah, he thought I was joking. I had to repeat myself like, four times before he believed me. He’s so excited.”

Bucky smiled faintly. “And how does Rora like him?”

Remy’s face lit up. “She loves him, she gets so excited when she sees him, tries to reach out for him. And he’s the same. He’s still not expecting me to bring her, so every time he sees I have her, his face just lights up like Christmas and he starts smiling. I’ll hand her over and he cradles her like she’s this precious, breakable glass and sometimes, they just stare at each other, then Rora will squeal or babble at him and make him laugh. And, he’ll just hold her and talk to her, like she’s listening and understanding him. Wherever we are, he’ll point out landmarks and trees and buildings and tell her about them, and she just listens. We were in the Conservatory in Central Park, you know, by that one pond? And Loki’s holding Rora and pointing at the statue in the pond and I’m a few feet away, just watching and this lady sidles up to me and just stands there for a minute, watching Loki with me. Then she smiles and looks over at me and says ‘what a devoted father, are they yours?’ and I was so proud to say like, 'yeah, they are.’ Remy broke off, cheeks going pink and chanced a glance up at Bucky’s face, expecting anger and was surprised instead to find a thoughtful smile.  

“That’s great, Rem. I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but I like hearing that.”

“So... you don’t mind?” Remy asked tentatively. Her family resembled grizzly bears at times, almost fanatically protective of theirs, doubly so since Rora was born, and Remy had been genuinely anxious to tell anyone of how well Loki had taken to Rora, and vice versa, expecting violent anger and indignation, not this thoughtful and benign acceptance.

“Yeah,” Bucky smiled back, reaching over and clucking Remy under the chin. “I don’t think you could fake that, not enough to fool a baby; they’ve got crazy accurate instincts. If Rora likes him, he must be genuine.”

Remy paused, tempted to tap sharply at Bucky’s forehead to see if the body-snatching alien that had obviously possessed him would fall out, then decided to just accept it. The rest of the family would be another story, but it was such a relief to have Bucky on her side now.  

“Thanks, James.”  

He smiled over at her for a heartbeat longer, then sighed heavily and pushed himself upwards with a groan. “I gotta go, baby-doll. Walk me to the jet?”

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Loki’s face was incandescent when he opened the door, and Remy shared his smile. Rora had awakened as Remy stepped out of the elevator to the penthouse Loki had been renting at the Four Seasons for the last few weeks; and now squealed happily when she recognized him, beginning to squirm in her wrap.  

Remy barely released Rora from her confines before Loki snatched her away, making the infant belly-laugh as he smothered her in kisses. No one watching would believe this was the fearsome God of Mischief, the being responsible for so much destruction and chaos; not the man so obviously head over heels for the little girl in his arms, or her mother he eventually leaned over to kiss, cradling the child with one hand while he used the other to pull Remy close, curling his fingers against the back of her head, savoring her mouth as Rora cooed excitedly, pawing at his collar.  

“Hello, my darlings.” He purred as he pulled away from Remy, resting his forehead to hers for a beat before planting one last peck at her lips. Standing back upright, he lifted Rora to eye level and began talking to her, responding to her delighted babbles as if she was indeed holding a conversation with him. Remy stepped back and leaned against the door frame, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched, unable to hold back a smile.  

After a moment, Loki looked back over at her, realized he’d been neglecting her shamefully, his pale cheeks going pink. “Forgive me, my goddess.” Cradling Rora to his chest he reached for Remy’s hand and gently pulled her into the penthouse, shutting the door behind them. A mass of carrier bags and boxes in the main room drew Remy’s attention and she glanced over at Loki, who went ever redder.

“You weren’t sure how long the mission would be, and I wanted you and Rora to be comfortable here.” Loki sounded almost defensive as Remy started rooting through the bags, only relaxing again when she whirled back towards him and wrapped her arms around him, grinning widely.

“Thank you,” she murmured, not missing Loki’s shiver when she gently kissed behind his ear. “But you didn’t need to buy a whole nursery-”

“I didn’t.” Loki protested. “Just a crib and some clothes-”

“And toys and games... What’s this?” Remy pulled a large box out of a bag and stared at the outside of it for a minute. “A Storyland Playtime Musical Mat?”  

Loki shrugged, but the defensive air was back. “She can lay on it and look up at the mobiles-”

“You’re such a sweetie.” Remy gushed, unable to maintain her paltry attempts at being stern. Wrapping her arms around him, she nuzzled close and hummed happily.  

“Don’t tell anyone.” Loki mumbled back, fighting a pleased grin.

“Da!” Rora suddenly babbled. She’d been flirting with more and more coherent sounds for the last few days, but none had sounded so much like words before. “Da-da-da-da-da-da.”  

Remy stared in shock at her daughter. Rora was advanced for her age, and was already reaching the period where she’d start experimenting with babbles and sounds, trying to mimic and communicate, but wow, what a first attempt. She glanced up at Loki’s face, not sure how the god would react, or if he’d even realized how closely Rora’s gibberish resembled a certain word.  

Tears glittered in his eyes even as he cleared his throat and blinked rapidly.   “I-” Remy began.

Loki gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “Just baby babble. She couldn’t mistake me-”

“Da-da-da!” Rora gabbled, eyes alight, fists clumsily swinging. One finger managed to brush his chin. “DA!” She finished with a flourish, dribble on her chin, staring up at Loki with hero worship in her eyes.

Loki’s gaze reached Remy’s and she saw tearful hope in them, a desperate kind of longing. Then he closed his eyes and pulled Rora close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. His lips lingered a moment, then he inhaled sharply and pulled away, seeming to be steeling himself to ignore Rora’s proclamation, or at least not encourage it.  

“Look, child.” He beckoned quietly, angling Rora to see the musical mat her mother had just teased him about. She cooed and tried to swipe at the colorful box but was soon squirming in Loki’s arms, making the distressed little noises Remy knew meant she wanted to be held close. Loki knew what the sounds meant too, and tucked Rora into the crook of his neck, her little face burying in his throat. Her tiny sigh was audible as she snuggled against him and seemed to fall instantly asleep.  

Loki swallowed hard, eyes flicking nervously to Remy’s before snapping away, focusing in the floor. “I never meant-”

“It’s alright.” Remy murmured, moving close. Keeping one arm securely around Rora, Loki opened the other for Remy to join them, and exhaled shakily when Remy burrowed her face into his other side.

“l love you.” He whispered, emotion weighting down his words, an emphatic declaration. “With all my heart, all that I am; I love you, Remy. I love your daughter.”

“Our daughter.” Remy breathed, so quietly not even Loki could hear.

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

Later, Remy sat cross-legged on the couch, readying to nurse Rora before laying her down to bed for the night. She cooed down at her daughter, stroking her cheek gently before letting her latch and begin to nurse, then sat back against the cushions with a contented sigh. After a minute, she felt eyes on her and opened hers, glancing around.

Loki leaned uncertainly in the doorway and Remy beckoned him closer with a gentle smile, patting the cushion beside her. Hesitantly, he sat, sitting almost rigidly beside her.  

“You can watch,” Remy whispered quietly. “I don’t mind.”

Loki looked up at her in surprise, cheeks flushing slightly. “You just... you look so content here, and Rora too, I-”

“It’s okay.” Remy replied. “Rora’s going to crash soon, talk to me.”

A wry half-smile. “Did you enjoy dinner, my darling?”

Remy smirked back. “Yes, I’ve never had room-service before. Tomorrow you can take us to the fancy restaurant you had planned.”

Loki grinned mildly back, then tipped his head to rest beside Remy’s. Slowly he relaxed against her, then, with a heartbreaking timidity, he reached out and stroked the back of his finger against Rora’s cheek, watching her in fascination.  

“You look so beautiful, Remy. Nourishing your child.”

“Not everyone out there wants to see women doing this.”

“Fools.” Loki snorted dismissively. His hand moved from Rora’s cheek to cradle the back of her head a moment before retreating to Remy’s bent knee and he exhaled a deep sigh as he snuggled closer, seeming to melt against her. They watched Rora is silence, grinning faintly at her happy, hungry little noises; her sighs of contentment.  

Gradually Rora slowed down, drifting asleep, longer and longer pauses between her swallows. An indescribable peace washed through Remy, with Rora tucked to her chest and Loki relaxed at her shoulder and she turned her head impulsively, pressing a kiss to the side of Loki’s head.  

“Hmm?” Loki’s hum was languid and laid-back; he seemed to be falling asleep as fast as Aurora.  

“Thank you.”

“Mmm,” Loki lifted his head, eyeing her leisurely. “I would do anything to have you both with me.” He hesitated, then his eyes darkened as he leaned slowly forwards, pausing only a hairsbreadth from Remy’s lips, breathing shakily as he closed the remaining distance, pressing his lips to hers.  

A jolt of desire and want shot through Remy and she couldn’t stop a ragged moan. It sharpened to almost a whine as his tongue swept inside her mouth, and her skin flared hot when Loki reached up to cup her face, hold her in place while he ravaged her mouth.

Remy pulled away reluctantly, her pulse hammering in her ears. “Just-” she swallowed hard, forcing herself to concentrate. “I have to lay Rora down.”

Loki’s skin was flushed and he was breathing hard through parted lips. His eyes were solid black, blazing with need. “Yes.” He managed breathlessly; “yes, of course.” Stiffly, he sat back, wiped a hand across his face. “Forgive me, Remy. I shouldn’t-”  

Remy cut him off, reaching out to brush his thigh. He shivered, eyes darting to hers before moving away again, his chest heaving.

“Don’t chicken out on me now, Odinson.” Remy teased. “You’ve made me wait five years for this.” 

#loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki fic #loki x oc #loki x remy #loki of asgard #loki odinson

[queenmorgawse]

transmigration for dummies

chapter three. mdzs scum villain au. read on ao3 + end notes.  credit to @lee-luca, esp as another bit of the comic is mentioned here.  previous | first | next 

One hour, thirty minutes and two hundred rules into his punishment, Jingyi is as bored as he’s ever been in this life. To top it all off, the System isn’t responding to any of his pleas for company, only responding with oops ): something went wrong when he tries to ping it. Back home, this is about when he would have given up on homework and started scrolling through his Twitter feed instead, but there’s not much he can do without his phone.

Ugh, he’d kill for one of these crappy McDonalds games. Even a Kinder toy would make him happy right now. Instead, he doodles on his torn-up first drafts, on which the ink made blots from his clumsy first attempts to imitate the original text’s elegant calligraphy.

He silently adds bic pens to the ever-increasing list of modern appliances he misses.

When badly-drawn stickmen get boring as well, he starts to think about the original Lan Jingyi in his life. Maybe that’s how it works, after all. Mom sure would love someone who’d actually go to bed early when she tells him to. On the other hand, once he got over the initial shock of modern Jingyi’s life, he’d probably find it pretty dull. High school isn’t about to compare to flying swords and cultivation, that’s for sure.  

Opposite him, Sizhui is bent over his own stack of scrolls, poring over rows and rows of tiny characters and absent-mindedly running his fingers along the lines. From the way he hums to himself when he thinks Jingyi is too busy copying to care, he guesses they’re music sheets of some kind. Unlike Jingyi, he looks like he’s actually engrossed in what he’s doing.

Too bad. Jingyi’s reached that point of boredom at which he needs to talk to someone or else he’ll implode. ( Still, he promises himself he’ll stop if Sizhui shows even a hint of genuine annoyance. )

“Hey, Lan Sizhui ⎯ can I call you just Sizhui? Um, sorry I got you stuck here.”

To his relief, the other doesn’t look irritated, just surprised. “Sizhui is fine,” he ventures after a few seconds. A smile breaks out on his face. “That’s good. I was afraid you were still mad me, you’ve been so awkward all day...”

Wait, what? Who’s angry at you? Someone who kicks kittens for fun, probably.

Oh right, me. Maybe he’s the one whose brain needs a reboot. How does he explain that it’s not him who’s mad? Hell, he doesn’t even know what the original is supposed to be mad about. For some reason, it feels weird to ask, just because it seems important enough that admitting he forgot would be insulting.

“Anyway,” Sizhui continues after coughing into his sleeve, “it’s alright, you don’t have to apologize to me. I’ve got to go over these before tomorrow’s lesson anyway, I might as well do it here.”

“Inquiry?” Jingyi ventures, maybe-maybe-not because it’s the only title he clearly remembers from the ones canon mentioned.

“Oh, no. Asking very specific questions is still a bit out of my reach, but Fa...Hanguang-jun wrote down a list of phrases for me, so we’re going to try them tomorrow.” His face softens at the mention of Lan Wangji. If this was a fic, this would be when Jingyi keels over and presses his face into a pillow for a little while.   

The chat devolves into musical cultivation. Jingyi muddles his way through it the best he can, feeling like he’s bullshitting an essay out loud, but Sizhui doesn’t seem to find his vague answers all that off-putting. He still pointedly glances down at the stack of unfinished notes on the table from time to time, but since Jingyi’s calligraphy has been getting worse and worse the less attention he pays to it, maybe it’s for the better.   

When dinner time rolls around, they eat their bowls sitting on the steps leading up to the Library Pavilion, after Sizhui rightfully points out Lan Qiren would have their skins if they spilled even a drop of sauce on the sect’s precious texts. Gradually, Jingyi feels himself relax.

“So, are we chill?” he asks between two mouthfuls of rice.

Sizhui just stares at him.

Right. No slang. “...I mean, we’re doing good, right? We’re friends?”

Something complicated passes over Sizhui’s expression. It’s too fleeting for him to catch more than a glimpse of it, especially as it’s overridden by his usual calm smile before Jingyi can shove another rice ball into his mouth, but he could swear the other winced.

Well, ouch. It must show on his face, because Sizhui suddenly looks alarmed and adds : “Yes, yes, we are!” Another smile. This time, Jingyi can definitely see the strain. “We’re friends. You don’t have to doubt that.”

“Oh. Great!” Jingyi resists the urge to reach out and gently punch his shoulder. Who knows how it’d be perceived. “We’re gonna spend a lot of time together, if I’ve got to keep copying rules, so...I wanted to make sure.”

【OOC behavior detected : contradiction of backstory despite hints : -20 points. Current balance : 65 points. 】

Shut up! I want him to like me!

“We’re friends,” Sizhui repeats one last time, like he’s trying to convince himself. Then he reaches for Jingyi’s shoulder and gives his robes a tug. “We should get back in there. Two more hours before curfew, you can still get a few lines in. I won’t distract you.”

“Ugh.”

Jingyi makes a face. Sizhui laughs, and the tension from earlier dissolves. “Come on. The more you get done, the faster it’ll be over.”

-

It turns out they’re both severely underestimating the number of rules Jingyi can break without realizing, and therefore the amount of time they’ll be spending here.

Despite these setbacks, over the course of the next handful of weeks, Jingyi adapts to his new life the best he can. He finds out, with much relief, that even though he can’t access the original’s knowledge and memories, training since childhood pays off even after a body swap. He doesn’t have to think too hard about sparring, just keep a firm grip on his sword, and his muscles can apparently do the rest with minimal effort on his part.

It only works with the actual fighting, though. After going to bed feeling sore all over for a week straight, Jingyi gives up and gives the cold springs a shot. It freezes his limbs off, but the ache gets better after that. It even gets him about a dozen points, which he adds to the rest, gained through menial tasks across the Cloud Recesses and some well-timed mischief.

He also likes to think he gets some progress done with step one of his grand plan to survive this novel. There’s no undoing years of being a pain in everyone’s ass in a matter of weeks, but Jingyi still gives it his best shot - peppered with tasteful cursing at the System when it deducts points for actually following the rules or, you know, not being a dick to everyone he talks to. As a result, he goes from mostly being avoided by the other disciples to tolerated, even if no one but Sizhui goes out of their way to talk to him or invite him to join in on...whatever fun they have.

Jingyi doubts he’s missing out on much, at least where the Lans are concerned. But rumor has it some of the guest disciples snuck out into Caiyi to try some of the local wine, and he’s jealous of that, which is kind of irrational. He doesn’t even like the taste of wine that much, and besides, that may be too much of an infraction for a raised Lan, however prone to rule-breaking said Lan is supposed to be.

( He really can’t afford to slip up again. When he dared chop a solid forty centimeters off his hair after struggling to run a comb through it for the fifth time that week, the System’s alarm blared so loud he almost had an out of body experience. He’d felt the hundred points shaved off his score, though, even if he’d managed to negotiate half of them back. That was the spiritual equivalent of having a car zoom past right as you were about to cross the street, and Jingyi’s in no hurry to do it again...but with that said, it feels great not to have to deal with a bird’s nest every time he wakes up. )

-

Of course, he can’t just get comfortable with his new daily routine. Something has to happen. This time, said something takes the shape of a summon from Teacher Lan. Jingyi drags his feet over from the Library Pavilion and away from his sixth copy of Gusu Lan rules. His wrist is still complaining every time he bends it a little too far. Fuck corpse powder, it’s carpal tunnel that’s going to do him in.

Speaking of copies, maybe he shouldn’t slump this much. He’s fairly sure there’s a rule for that somewhere in the two thousand and nineties.

Given the circumstances, Jingyi fully expects another lecture from Lan Qiren the moment he sets foot in the communal hall, but quickly readjusts his expectations when he spots the small crowd of disciples gathered around their teacher. Most of them are familiar faces by now, except for the girls, who for some reason live in a completely different part of the Cloud Recesses. Still, he recognizes Lan Fan, the shimei who looks like she could bite your head off but actually gave him some pretty helpful tips on sword stances the other day, Tao Ming, the boy who’d seemed vaguely suspicious of him that first day, and of course, Sizhui in the forefront.

Lan Qiren narrows his eyes at him as he hastily joins the rest of the group. “Late again, Lan Jingyi.”

“Sorry, Teacher. This disciple was busy copying rules when he heard.”

A few of his companions snort, the noise quickly disguised as a sudden and collective bout of coughing. Jingyi can’t blame them ; if he’d heard the same words everyday for weeks on end, he’d be laughing too. Lan Qiren gives a long-suffering sigh, but whatever he’s about to tell them must take precedence, because Jingyi gets away with what might otherwise have been considered cheek.

“Madam Mo of Mo Village has sent us a request for assistance.” Given their teacher’s expression, he might as well said that she’d beaten down their door in the middle of the night and let a donkey loose in the courtyard. “From the servants’ description, it shouldn’t be anything more than a few walking corpses. Nothing a group of juniors cannot handle.”

Yeah, right. Despite knowing he’s supposed to let canon run its course, Jingyi still feels a twinge of apprehension. Why, you ask? He can answer that in two points.

Things Jingyi knows : mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.

Things Jingyi doesn’t know : how to kill zombies with swords.

In theory, he did spend the last few weeks training, and he didn’t slack off either, thank you very much. Doesn’t mean he’s ever gone up against a corpse before. He’s a coward, okay? Horror movie night was hell, back in his own world. He’s in no hurry to experience it in real (?) life.

“Lan Sizhui will lead the group,” Lan Qiren continues. “I expect all of you to keep your behaviors appropriate and not bring shame onto our sect.” To no one’s surprise, Jingyi thinks, and throws the interested party a small smile. To his surprise, Sizhui blushes and looks down at his boots, looking both embarrassed and pleased. It’s an unfairly cute look on him, but again, most of his looks are.  

Right on cue, the System wheezes to life like it just crawled out of a computer from the nineties.【Beginning stage checkpoint mission assigned. Destination : Mo Village. Mission : ensure the protagonist, Wei Wuxian, makes it to Mount Dafan to meet love interest Lan Wangji. Please click to accept.】

Jingyi mentally slams the Accept button.

Ding!  【Mission successfully accepted. Please read the file carefully for mission details and make appropriate preparations. We wish you success. 】

OOC function, here he comes!

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #lan jingyi #zhuiyi #transmigrator!ljy #kim's fics

[god--baby]

chasing after dreams ch 2 (nsfw)

poly bowers gang x ambiguously gendered reader

part one

previously on: you’re secretly in love with all the boys in your gang. with graduation quickly approaching, you cause some trouble. also, getting high, flirting with a teacher, jerking off, making a bet, and waiting tables.

summary: you graduate high school, and run into that hot teacher in walmart. then, you go to a party and find someone to fuck. you sleep over with Belch. also noxious punch, vic’s a little bit gay, the resident whore, and lettuce. 

word count: 4026

tag list: @heckstetter @bowersbeloved @surahbow @cordysblog @purplezebra68 @frostwolfie2936 @not-uh-author @paulslefttesticle @sarah-bow-beara @daddyyourembarassingme @marsieparsie @tonguepopperr @daddywise-issues @bisexualbitchbabe

On Monday, you graduated. After everything was done, you ran to Belch. He swept you up a hug, and you laughed, loud and long.

You were free. Finally, you could do what you wanted with your life.

After you did the cursory hello, yes, isn’t it great, with your parents, they let you go with the boys.

You took off your gown and hat, stuffing them in the trunk of the Trans Am.

“What should we do today?” asked Belch.

“Who fucking cares?” asked Henry.

You could tell he was silently hurting.

Butch hadn’t made the effort to come, working a shift of pulling over speeding drivers instead.

“I care,” said Vic. “This is our first day as free people. Should we go to the quarry?”

“Fuck no,” said Patrick. “It’ll be full of kids.”

The way he said kids told you all you needed to know.

“So, what then?” you asked, leaning up against him. “If you say no to an idea, you gotta have something better.”

“Walmart,” he said. “Let’s see if we can get kicked out.”

Nothing you��d done so far had gotten the staff to give you the boot, but fuck, if you weren’t going to try.

So you went, wandering around, being loud and causing a ruckus.

In the produce section, Vic gently shoved your shoulder.

“Look,” he said. “It’s your boyfriend.”

Confused, you followed his gaze. Inspecting a head of lettuce was Mr. Cleaver. You grinned.

“Bye, boys. I got business to attend to,” you said, leaving them behind with a swish of your hips.

“Hi, there,” you said, arriving at Mr. Cleaver’s side.

“Oh,” he said, caught off guard. “Hello.”

“Guess what?” you said, giving him your signature smile.

“What?”

“I’m not your student anymore.”

“Mm. Congratulations on graduating.”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” you said, taking a step closer to him. He didn’t move away, but he didn’t lean in. He was being so, so careful.

“I know.”

“Mr. C,” you started, intending on telling him exactly what you wanted.

“John,” he said, voice quiet.

“Hm?”

“My name. It’s John.”

He finally made eye contact with you. What you found surprised you. He looked lonesome.

“John,” you said gently. “John. What are you up to today? A beer or two after a long school year?” Then you paused, correcting yourself. “Oh, no. No. You look like a whiskey man.”

“As a matter of fact, I am,” he said.

“Good thing I like a man who can hold his liquor,” you said.

He laughed, eyes crinkling.

It reminded you of Belch, and you angrily shoved that thought away.

“You talk like you have so much experience,” he said.

“Come on, John. You know my reputation precedes me,” you said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He tensed under the touch, looking out behind you.

You looked over your shoulder, and Henry, grinning, gave the both of you a little wave.

“What is this?” Mr. Cleaver asked. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Oh, no,” you said, lying your ass off. You’d sooner die than tell him about the bet. “Even I’m not so cruel.”

“Then what is it?”

“Call it… curiosity. Call it me harboring a crush and wanting to see it through.”

“Curious about what?” he asked.

You sent a pointed look to the front of his pants before looking back to his eyes, one eyebrow up.

“I think you know exactly what I’m curious about. John.”

He leaned in.

“There are some things kids shouldn’t play with, no matter what their reputation is.”

“I’m going to a party tonight,” you said, changing the subject. “Mind if I find some boy who looks just like you and practice a little?”

He blushed. He actually blushed. You grinned.

“You can do what you want,” he said. “I’ll have nothing to do with it.”

“Oh, but you will,” you said, holding out your hand. The one where his ring still rested on your thumb.

He looked at it, and back to you. You couldn’t read his expression.

“Don’t deny it,” you said. “You like having a bit of yourself on me.”

He licked his lips, and you smiled.

“Whether I like it or not is no concern of yours,” he said.

“Oh, but it is. I bet you love it. I bet you’re wondering what it would be like for you to be all over me.”

“I have to go,” he said quickly.

“Mm. Think of me?”

“Against my will, I probably will,” he said.

You took a chance, backing away from him and blowing him a kiss. He raised his eyebrows at you as you rejoined the group, walking away, your boots heavy on the tile, carrying you away.

“I know a word for you,” said Belch.

“Hm?”

“Incorrigible.”

Vic laughed, grabbing his side.

“Jesus, Belch. What’s up with you and all the big words?”

“I’m not stupid,” Belch snapped. “But you are, doing this.”

The last remark was directed at you.

“Belch,” you said gently. “It’s fine. I’ll fuck him once and forget him. Just like everyone else.”

“One day,” he said, his voice halting. “One day you’ll understand that your actions have consequences.”

You took his hand, squeezing it for a bare moment.

“I’ll be okay,” you said.

“I know you will. But other people aren’t toys for you to play with.”

You pulled back, shocked.

“Other people are toys to you,” you said. “What about that string of girls you’ve fucked and forgotten? What about the kids you wail on just because you’re bored?”

“That’s different,” he said.

“No,” you said. “No, it’s not.”

That night, the guys picked you up, all heading for a party one of the football guys was throwing. You were in combat boots and your skinniest fuck-me jeans. You even had a little bit of eyeliner smudged on your lids. You were going for sex on a stick, and you were pretty sure you’d accomplished your goal.

“Damn, sweetheart,” said Patrick, finally getting a good look at you once you’d all gotten out of the car and were standing in the lawn, getting ready to give them hell. “Do a little turn, let me see your ass.”

You grinned.

“No,” you said.

“Aw, c’mon. I know you’re gonna find someone to fuck, I wanna know what you’re walking in there with.”

You patted your pockets, making sure your cigarettes and Bic were where they were supposed to be.

“Then watch it as it walks away,” you said, leading them into the party.

When you got in, and people saw you were there, a few people cheered, raised their plastic cups of booze to you.

It wasn’t a party without you and the boys.

You spotted Gretta Bowie in the kitchen. She looked at you, then past you, at Patrick. She wasn’t nearly as slick as she obviously wanted to be. You could tell exactly what she was looking for. What she wanted: to be on top of him, in some dark corner, moaning like a little bitch.

You gave her a predatory grin, getting yourself a drink. Something strong. Some of the punch, whatever was in it. It smelled like vodka, and you figured that was good. You didn’t trust anything you couldn’t taste the alcohol in.

Then, you waved goodbye to the guys as you left, going out to the back porch. Smokers and stoners congregated, a thin cloud of smoke over everyone.

You were looking for something. Someone. Anyone would do — anyone to take your mind off your boys. Anyone to replace Mr. Cleaver, the dick you wanted, the dick you’d have, but not now.

You wondered what he was doing. Alone, in an apartment, or maybe a house. Sitting in an armchair or up in bed. Probably just in his boxers, nursing a few fingers of whiskey.

You wondered if he’d jerk off thinking about you. Would it be fast, stripping his dick, thinking about you on top of him, or would it be nice and slow, just wondering? Just thinking. Just hoping.

“Hey, there,” said a voice you hadn’t heard before.

You turned, surveying the boy in front of you.

Not bad. Shaggy dark hair and blue eyes. He looked a bit like Patrick, when you squinted.

He had almost the same predatory smirk, too. It put knots in your stomach, that halfway dark smile.

“Well, hey,” you said. “You’re cute.”

That smile just got bigger.

“I can say the same thing for you,” he said.

“So, what’s your name?” you asked.

“Blaine,” he said. “I’m Blaine.”

“Well,” you said. “Nice to meet you. I’m —”

“Oh, I know who you are,” he said.

You furrowed your brows, confused. You’d never even seen this boy before. You doubted he was even from your school.

“You’re the one who runs with Henry Bowers and his crew. I’ve heard of you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve heard… well, a lot, actually.”

You put one hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer to you.

“How much have you heard?” you asked, voice soft.

“Enough for me to want to see what the fuss is about. I think I get it, now.”

“Oh, I can show you more,” you said, pulling him even closer and slipping one of his legs between yours.

“That’s what I was counting on,” he said. “Can I get you a drink?”

You held up the cup in your hand, chugging what was left, then held it out for him.

“Sure,” you said. “I’m having the punch.”

He grinned.

“I’ll be back,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere.”

While he was gone, Vic found you.

“You already find your piece of ass for the night?” he asked.

“You fucking know it,” you said, lighting up a cigarette.

He took it from you, taking a drag, and you fought the thought that that’s where your mouth had been, only moments before.

Your life seemed to be full of things that could be kisses, could be embraces, could be affection, if just… just moved a little bit. Adjusted.

“What’s their name?” he asked, careful not to leave anyone out. God knew you didn’t.

“Blaine. Kid from another school. And my reputation reached him long before he found me.”

“Yes, it did,” said Blaine, standing just behind you.

You turned to see him looking Vic over, a little jealous.

“Blaine,” you said. “This is Vic. My friend. Part of my crew.”

“Mm,” said Blaine. “A friend.”

“Trust me,” said Vic. “Nothing’s happening here. Just checking in.”

And then he walked away, passing your cigarette back. Blaine put his arm around you, and you smiled up at him, giving him the attention he obviously so desperately wanted.

“Got you a refill,” he said, holding out your cup.

“Thanks, sugar,” you said.

You took it and swallowed down several gulps of the sickly sweet and deadly strong concoction. He took your cigarette and took a drag, holding it between his forefinger and thumb, the way Henry smoked.

You forced Henry from your mind.

You finished your cup, and he took you by the hand, pulling you into the house. The music was blaring, something popular and kinda shitty, but it had a decent bassline. So, you pulled him into the living room and grinded on him.

In the corner behind Blaine’s back, Henry and Belch sat talking. Henry looked at you, then looked at Blaine. You slid your legs around one of Blaine’s, grinding down on him to the beat of the song, looking away from Henry.

Blaine curled one hand around your throat, forcing your face up to look at him. Then he kissed you, hard, biting your lip before soothing it with his tongue. His hand stayed tight around your throat.

You moaned for him, putting on a little show. You pulled back, licking your lips.

“Wanna take this somewhere more private?” you asked.

He smiled.

“I guess,” he said. “Much as I’d love you to blow me with everyone watching. Let’s find somewhere.”

You took him by the hand, leading him around the house, searching for somewhere to fuck. You ended up upstairs. He tested one door, and finding it unlocked, he opened it. You both got an eyeful of Patrick fucking Gretta at a brutal pace and closed the door again.

Your cheeks were burning. You hoped Blaine wouldn’t notice, but he did.

“What, you jealous he got that ass?”

“Fuck no,” you spat. “I wouldn’t touch her pussy with a ten-foot pole.”

“Ah,” he said, testing another door. It was locked. He turned to the bathroom, blissfully empty with no one standing around waiting on it. “C’mon.”

He pushed you into the bathroom, closing the door behind you, and locking it for good measure. Then he pulled you into another hard kiss, forcing his tongue into your mouth. You moaned again, hands going to his hair, gently pulling.

“I know what it is,” he said.

“Huh?”

“You’re jealous of her.”

“What?” you asked sharply.

“You’re jealous that he’s fucking her, not you.”

“Fuck you, Blaine,” you said, pulling him in for another kiss, hands going to his pants, undoing them and pushing inside, stroking over his clothed cock.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said, pushing you to your knees. “Tell me I’m fucking wrong.”

“You’re wrong,” you said.

He slapped you lightly on the cheek as you were pulling his pants and underwear down.

“Don’t lie to me. You want him to fuck you.”

“So what?” you spat.

“So pretend, if that’s what you want so bad. Wanna call me Patrick?”

You glowered at him, slowly stroking his cock in one hand.

“No,” you lied.

“Don’t lie to me. You want that.”

“So I call you Patrick. You gonna get off on me wanting someone else?”

“I get off on being what people want me to be,” he said, grinning down at you. “You want me to be Patrick, close your eyes and think of him.”

Dubious, you did it. You closed your eyes and imagined that it was Patrick’s cock in your hand, then in your mouth, pushing past your gag reflex. You imagined it was Patrick’s hand in your hair, pulling you on and off of him.

“Slut,” Blaine said.

Patrick said.

You moaned around his cock, and you could imagine Patrick’s grin, that shark faced thing he had when he was getting what he wanted.

“Get up,” he said. “I’m gonna fuck you.”

You stood, keeping your eyes halfway shut. Like this, he really looked like him. Tall, lanky, dark. Dangerously handsome.

He put his hands on your waist and pushed you up against the counter, reaching around you to undo your pants and push them down to your knees. You faced the mirror, but you couldn’t see his face at this angle, as you bent over and he reached down to slide a few fingers over your hole.

“Look at you,” he said, slipping two fingers inside. “So tight for me.”

You swallowed hard. Then, you got brave.

“Patrick,” you whined.

“That’s it, baby.”

He rolled on a condom and pushed into you, a slow slide like he had all the time in the world. His hands were bruising on your hips, pulling you back on him. You went with little moans and grunts.

“Fuck, Patrick,” you said quietly.

You desperately didn’t want anyone to hear.

“You’re my good little slut, aren’t you?” he hissed in your ear.

You flushed.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’m — fuck, Patrick, I’m your slut.”

“Just mine, aren’t you, baby,” he asked, licking a stripe up the side of your neck.

You nodded, frantic, one of your hands furiously stroking yourself.

He picked up the pace, eventually pounding into you, one hand wrapped around your throat. You could breathe, but only barely, and you let out strangled little moans and whines as he slammed into you again and again.

He came with a groan, pulling you back on him, and then pulled out, turning you around and kneeling at your feet, putting his mouth on you.

You moaned and threw your head back, one hand in his hair as he made you come, and come hard.

Then, he stood. He took the condom off and threw it away and quietly put himself back together. You did the same, cheeks burning, your back turned to him.

You washed your hands, and he wrapped his arms around your middle, resting his chin on one of your shoulders.  

“You’re a damn decent fuck,” he said.

You laughed, shoving unruly thoughts of Patrick out of your mind.

“I’m the best fuck you’ve ever had and you know it,” you said.

“Nah, the best fuck I ever had was last year. Fucking mind-blowing. But you? A close second.”

You dried your hands and turned in his arms.

“You really don’t mind?” you asked, looking at his chest instead of his face.

“If I minded, I wouldn’t have let you,” he said gently. “Listen, he’s hot. I kinda want to be him just as bad as you want to fuck him.”

You leaned up and kissed him in gratitude. That sly smile he had returned.

“You know,” you said. “You’re really not much like him at all.”

“From what I hear,” he said, “that’s a good thing. C’mon, let’s rejoin the world.”

You opened the door to find Gretta Bowie standing waiting for the bathroom.

“Jesus, that’s what took so long,” she bitched.

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, cheeks burning again.

You left the bathroom only to immediately run into Patrick, who was zipping up his pants and giving a wolfish smile to the back of Gretta’s retreating head.

“Who’s your bitch?” he asked, nodding at Blaine.

“This is Blaine,” you said, one hand still in his. “Blaine, Patrick.”

“Something you wanna tell me, sweetheart?” Patrick asked.

“We fucked? But you could tell, I know you could.”

“Uh huh. No offense, Blaine, but you look a lot like me.”

Blaine laughed. “I don’t see it,” he said.

Bless him.

“Mm. C’mon, I wanna smoke. You still got yours, or you trade it for dick?” Patrick said to you.

“Patrick.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I never pay for dick.”

“I’m not talking about money, I’m talking about a barter system,” he said as you headed downstairs, Blaine pulling up the rear.

You got outside and managed to get chairs. You sat, then put your feet in Patrick’s lap. If you didn’t, he’d be able to tell that something was up. You had to keep being as handsy as he was, or he’d smell a rat.

Blaine sat next to you, lighting up one of his menthols. He was about to throw an arm around your shoulders but caught a hard look from Patrick and thought better of it.

“So, how long have you guys known each other?” Blaine asked, gesturing to the knot that was you and Patrick.

The two of you looked at each other.

“Ten years?” you asked.

“Thirteen,” he said.

“Yeah, right. Thirteen. Since kindergarten.”

“Jesus,” Blaine said. “How the fuck did you stay friends for so long?”

“Nothing better to do,” you joked.

“Everyone else is boring,” Patrick said.

That was the truth. You were utterly bored by just about everyone outside of your group, but Patrick held a special place in your heart. You could still remember the first time he drew a picture and handed it to you, in your first-grade class in the middle of Art. It was all black and brown squiggles, and for some reason, you knew you should be afraid.

But you weren’t. You were stupid that way.

Stupid, or just hard headed. You were determined to be his friend, and you were. He wasn’t friendly, barely even acted like he liked you, but you stuck by him, and now here you were, the fruits of your labor evidenced by his arm now around your shoulders.

The rest of the guys had come later. In middle school. All three of them at the same time — Belch glued to Henry’s side, Vic glued to Belch’s. They thought you were a twerp and Patrick was a creep, but when they tried to wail on the both of you, they discovered that in a fight, you two were unstoppable.

There’s something to be said for a boy who gets his ass beat and turns around and says, “Fuck you. Do you wanna eat lunch with us?”

That was Henry. Always the wordsmith.

“Jesus,” Blaine said quietly. He put his cigarette butt on the ground and crushed it under his foot before he stood. “Well, kids. It was fun. I’m leaving, though.”

You stood, pulling him in for another kiss.

He whispered in your ear.

“If you ever want to pretend again, look me up.”

You smiled at him and watched him go.

“What’d that fag say?” Patrick asked.

“Patrick,” you said. “You fuck guys and girls. Don’t you think that word applies to you?”

He grinned, pulling you onto his lap.

“Whatever.”

You managed to get someone to bring you another cup of that punch and worked your way from merely tipsy to slightly sloshed. You didn’t want to get any farther than that, though, and you asked Patrick — before downing yet another cup of punch — to make sure you didn’t drink any more.

Patrick was good for that sort of thing. He didn’t want to deal with you getting sick, so when you reached for another drink, he handed you a bottle of water.

You sat with him, smoking, watching through the glass doors as people danced and grinded on each other. Vic was in the mix, some cute boy you were pretty sure was a junior right in front of him, ass to crotch.

“You think he’s gonna get that ass?” Patrick asked, clearly not caring much either way.

“Nah,” you said. “If he was, he would’ve already.”

“Fair,” Patrick said, lighting up another cigarette.

When Henry decided he was done, you all left, talking in twos and threes about the party, who’d been fucking around with who in what dark corner, who’d been puking in the bushes.

“Our resident whore got some ass,” Vic said, clapping a hand on your shoulder in the back seat as you pulled away from the party.

You took a bow.

“Guy named Blaine,” Patrick said. He said his name with a certain amount of artful disdain.

“Good for you, getting legal dick,” said Belch.

“Cleaver is perfectly legal,” you said, knowing exactly what he was thinking about.

“He shouldn’t be,” he shot back, pulling up to Vic’s house.

Vic climbed out of the back seat, waving goodbye as he walked to the door.

“I don’t want to go home,” you said.

“Poor baby,” Patrick said, pulling you in with one arm around your shoulder. You put his head on your shoulder, closing your eyes for a bare moment.

“I mean it,” you said. “Can I stay with one of you guys?”

“Fuck, not me,” said Henry.

You already knew it wasn’t an option.

Didn’t mean you would leave him out, though.

“Patrick?” you asked.

“Not tonight, sweetheart,” he said.

“Belch?”

He thought about it.

“Fine,” he said. “But only ‘cause Mama’s working tonight.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” you said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He had the biggest bed, anyway. He was the best option.

After he dropped off first Patrick and then Henry, you drove the long way back to the center of town, to Belch’s neighborhood. You dozed in the front seat until he put on the e-brake and you woke up, eyes wide.

“Fuck,” you said. “I bet I’ll have a fucking hangover.”

“Not if you’re smart,” he said.

You both got out of the car and let yourselves into his house, winding your way through it in the dark.

In his bathroom, he gave you a cup of water and two ibuprofens. You took them, grateful, and went to his room, taking off your shoes before crawling into bed.

He got into bed after you, down to his boxers and shirt. You laid in bed, facing each other, saying nothing.

You fell asleep like that.

#poly bowers gang #henry bowers x reader #vic criss x reader #belch huggins x reader #patrick hockstetter x reader #mine

[dallasxharper-blog]

Happy Birthday to You || Past Self Para

The self para below the cut include numerous triggers including: abuse, violence abuse, homophobia, guns, gore, death of a parent, murder, and suicide

“I just want to go out to dinner.” Rowan did his best not to sound whiny. That was no way to get his father on this side.

“Absolutely not.” The response came fast and harsh like a fire trying to burn him to the ground.

“But—”

“Children who bring home C’s on calculous test don’t get to celebrate.”

“It’s pre-cal—”

“Do you really think that makes a difference Rowan?” The man sneered. His tone carried the words he didn’t say. Do you think I care? You’re a failure either way. You should know better than to argue with me.

“Allen…I already told him we would,” his mother’s voice was soft, weary, already scared of the man’s response.

“And why the fuck would you do that you dumb cunt?” His father whirled on her. She shrank back and Rowan swallowed around the lump in his throat. He was glad to have the patriarch’s attention off him but it didn’t feel any more comfortable with it on his mom. His father had always been more prone to violence with her.

“It’s his birthday Allen…”

“Like I give a shit. He knows better than bringing home shit grades. He walks around with his head in the clouds all the time because you encourage it. Then he comes home with a C—”

“Dad it’s one test. I’ll get my final grade up. I always do.” And he did. A flawless record of straight As except for a single B that had earned him a summer of reworking everything problem he’d missed all year. Math just wasn’t his strong suit. It was too rigid. It didn’t capture his attention the way language or history or his acting class did.

“I do not care Rowan. I won’t have you bringing home grades like that. I won’t tolerate you being a failure.”

“Allen…why don’t we go upstairs to talk?” his mother said gently. Rowan’s heart squeezed in his chest. She shouldn’t be fighting his father for him. But all he wanted was a nice dinner to celebrate his birthday. He knew they could easily afford it. It didn’t seem like he was asking that much.

His father rolled his eyes and started stomping up the stairs. His mom came over to him, a warm smile on her face. She was always warm. She as always caring. She always told him she loved him. Unlike his father. Her smile was like warm honey as she pulled him to her chest. Rowan wrapped his arms around her. He was sixteen but he never minded showing her he cared. His father certainly wasn’t going to and her family was so far away. Someone needed to.

She kissed his head. “It’ll be fine प्रिय. You’ll see.”

“Babying him like that is exactly what’s wrong,” he heard his father should back from halfway up the stairs. “You’re making him soft. Next thing you know, he’ll be announcing he’s a fag.”

Rowan’s stomach clinched up again, truths they he hadn’t yet let himself admit bubbling to the surface behind scared eyes.

“It’s going to be fine Row. You’ll see.” His mother whispered before climbing up the stairs. Rowan wasn’t so sure.

He pulled a worn five subject notebook and black Bic pen from his backpack, curling up in the big chair by the living room window. He’d been working on the story for years now, since before middle school. In it, a young knight faced a horrifying dragon time and again for the sake of the queen. It was pure fiction, he told himself. And it was. The knight always won and the queen’s happiness and safety was always restored in the story. But after only a few added sentences, his attention drifted out the window, the pen slowing then stopping on the page.

All is friends said their parents yelled at them for grades too. But Rowan wondered. The ones who laughed about it the most were the ones who actually were at risk of failing. And they all just said it with a shrug. He wondered if their parents actually yelled. If they were also afraid of being called a failure or being shoved into the nearest wall or being woke up at three in the morning for more studying. They probably did. It was probably normal.

It was probably normal for your parents to fight like this too. For mothers to feel the need to physically separate their children and their spouse when he was angry. The father yelling so loud their child could hear most of his comments from another floor. It was probably normal to know one of your parents didn’t love the other. To ask girls at school if they could buy you makeup ‘for acting class’ so your mother could cover a new bruise and your father wouldn’t let her buy anything new. It was probably all just normal. His father was probably right. He was probably just a dramatic kid who would do anything to play the victim.

What wasn’t normal was the sudden, loud booming came from the fight above. Rowan’s head snapped up in shock, his mind spinning to catch up with what was happening. Only moments ago he’d heard his father screaming and his mother’s more hushed voice countering him. Now there was nothing. Until suddenly the sound came again. The moment the second shot reached his ears, Rowan was out of his seat, taking the stairs two at a time.

He didn’t dare say anything out loud, not for the fear that it would only make whatever his father had done worse for his mother, just ran in silence, slamming the door of his parents’ bedroom open. The second it was open, it was Rowan’s turn to stand in silence. There was blood everywhere. A strange, wet substance he’d later learn was his father’s brain matter splatter the closet door. And it was that man he saw first, his father laying with a gun in his hand, slouched against the wall. Rowan’s eyes only stayed on him for a second. It wasn’t him he cared about. When his eyes moved over the room, that was when he saw her. His mother, lying on the floor, blood pouring from her chest.

“Mom!” he screamed, rushing across the room in seconds too her side. “Mom! Mom, wake up! MOM!”

His hands clamped over her chest trying to stop the bleeding. Had he not been overwhelmed by shock and fear, maybe it would have occurred to him that it was a chest wound, right on her heart, and there was no hope, even before he’d entered the room. Her blood coated his hands, making them warm and wet as he pushed down. Tears fell quickly, burring his vision as he screamed at her still, trying to get her to wake up. To say she was okay. To tell him she loved him one more time.

“Mom!” The word pinched in his throat, the pitch high. “Mom please! Mom don’t leave me! Please. Please. Mom- Mom just hang in there. Mom-”

There was a part of him that knew she was already gone—or too close for it to matter. But he wanted her to be okay so badly. He needed her to be okay. She was the only one who loved him. He didn’t look once to see if his father was okay. He didn’t know and he didn’t care. All he cared about was his mother, whose blood was spilling over onto the floor.

He couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t help her. There wasn’t enough he could do. He looked around, grabbing desperately for his father’s phone, fingers slipping on the tiny buttons as he dialed 911.

“911 what is your—”

“My mom! My mom, she’s been shot!” he threw the phone down onto the floor so he could put pressure back on the wound. “She’s been shot, she’s bleeding, she’s bleeding so much.”

“Okay, where are you?”

Rowan gave the address quickly. “Hurry. Please. Please there’s so much blood.” It was seeping through his fingers again. His hands were shaking now. He couldn’t stop it.

“Who shot her sweetie, did you see who?”

“My dad. I think it was my dad.”

“Is he there?”

“Yeah.”

“Does he still have the gun?”

“Yeah. But I think he’s dead too.” That last word slipped out of his mouth before he realized it. No. No. She couldn’t be. His breathing quickened and became shallower until it felt like there was no oxygen left in his lungs. The dispatcher was still saying something on the phone, but he didn’t hear it. Her words didn’t mean anything to him. It only mattered that is mom was laying on the flood and her blood was all over him. It was the only thing that would matter again. “Mom! Mom I need you! Mom come back!”

#para #self para

[justfollowmyhansel]

October 13th – By the Gold Light of Your Halo

And the end of this sentence has never been truer. I was almost close enough to touch him…. (Not quite, but I sort of tried to a couple of times since I was literally second row aisle seat.) But I’m getting ahead of myself. Or is that a-Hed? You decide.

I was actually awake when Miya’s alarm went off the first time. Pretending to be asleep, but I’d checked my phone a time or two already.

Shortly after, my mom texted saying she’d talk with my favourite person at the bank about my debit card. I had more than enough to cover what I had tried to buy with it and yet…. Both she and Vicki were going to try to get down to the bottom of this because clearly, this wasn’t good.

I decided to answer the message when I actually got up. Which as it happened was about an hour later when John posted.

Of course 4G in Japan is still super slow and it takes forever to load, but whatever. It’s still John.

The previous afternoon, it was announced that there was no stagedooring. A little disappointing, but the stagedooring aspect was making nervous. What if I said something stupid to him like ‘You were great except for .“ Or "What the fuck is up with your wardrobe? Don’t you know how to dress yourself?” What if I lost the ability to speak my first language? (“John, ich lebe dich. Du bist der Hellstestern, meine Schöner.”)

I mean…. That’s the sort of thing that he might appreciate more if he actually KNEW me and knew that I was meaning that as teasing and that I wouldn’t actually want him to change the way he dresses or that I’m not actually all that fussed about whatever line changes there were (that weren’t supposed to be there.) I know it must be frustrating as hell for him when he forgets his lines or loses track of where he is in the script, but I think it’s cute. Very Hedwig. Very rock n roll. Very…. Robbie Williams. That man sold out STADIUMS and still would forget the lyrics to his hits. (Now he has a teleprompter XD)

Miya and I had breakfast. I had bought a waffle-thing at the store the previous night, but instead I tried some of the raisin sandwiches that I had purchased the night before. They were a sort of hard biscuit cookie with a soft, almost whipped, crème with raisins in it. And tea made with the lactose free coffee creamers that Miya had generously bought for me the night before.

We packed up our stuff to go to the theatre and ride the train. On the way down, I photographed every few stops so that I know where I’m going. On the way in, I saw an ad for a record store. Tower Records. I briefly daydreamt about running into John there. I know we probably wouldn’t if we went, but…. Still. Records. John. Not only two things I love, but things that actually go together.

The station we arrived at was actually under construction, the usual signs in English and Japanese having either been covered or taken down because of the diversions. In their place were signs reading only in Japanese and with arrows. I took photos of the ones I needed to remember to either turn at or follow.

Miya showed me around the Hikarie a little. In the back of my mind, this word sounds familiar to me, but it’s not until the next day that I can begin place it. The tour is more or less just walking by the various shops, occasionally discussing what they are, but more often discussing what’s likely going to happen with the show or Japanese culture questions. We actually went to lunch shortly after arriving.

For lunch, we picked the sushi 🍣 place on the 6th floor. The entire 6th floor is restaurants. Some of the other floors have restaurants and cafes too, like the 11th has a cafe right outside of it, but I wouldn’t know that for a few more hours.)

We go in and are seated.The restaurant has a very Deep Space Nine ordering system. You can click for your own language on the wall-mounted menu, there’s pictures, you tell it how much of everything you want, and the food comes on a short little track thing that looks like one of those short train things you used to see in westerns. And there’s a sushi conveyor belt. Very cool.

Miya remembered that sometimes shops in the Hikarie give discounts if you have a ticket to that day’s/that night’s show at the Orb. She calls it up on her iPad and then calls over the waitress. We get free drinks because we’re seeing Hedwig! I ordered tea, Miya stuck with the water and matcha powder.

We cancel the drink order off of our digital menu and then get down to actually ordering lunch. Miya orders one of the lunch specials, whereas I go a la carte. 

The first things I picked were a tuna roll and two pieces of salmon avocado. I miss avocado. I miss when avocados didn’t cost $5 per fruit…. The food arrives and is incredible. The best salmon with avocado I’ve ever had…. It was one of the few times in my life that I have ever had avocado that was light and melt-in-your-mouth and the salmon was So. Fresh. just… so fresh. 

I then opted to try some of the conveyor belt, pre-made sushi that was circulating around the restaurant. I grabbed the first thing that looked interesting – some small fried shrimp on top of a small pad of rice that was then all wrapped in seaweed. It had a nice, surprising yet mild heat to it. Feeling less certain in my ability to put the whole thing in my mouth, I picked some of the shrimp off of the first piece with my chopsticks. I also tried squid with a little bit of rice.

What I had forgotten about squid from the other time I had it at Wasabi is that it’s a very chewy piece of fish that’s hard to break pieces off of. Which in turn, makes it very hard to eat any of without putting the whole thing in your mouth. And when you swallow it, gives the unpleasant sensation that the whole thing is about ready to come back up.

The last unique thing I ordered was a couple of pieces of red fish on top of rice. I think this one was also tuna, but I’m not sure. And another salmon with avocado.

After we ate, Miya and I went to Bic Camera.

What necessitated going to Bic Camera was getting printer ink. And what necessitated the ink was that Miya wanted to give me maps to help with the getting around. At this point, I was just happy to be along for the ride. I’d never been to any of these places and possibly wouldn’t get a chance to go to them again anytime soon so why not? Just because it’s seemingly mundane, doesn’t mean comparing the differences isn’t interesting. We arrived at Bic Camera and were told that we actually needed to be in a different building for Bic Camera. Later, looking at the map of Shibuya that the Hikarie had for tourists, I learned that there are actually three buildings for Bic Camera in a relatively short amount of space. Who would have guessed!

Once at the correct Bic Camera, we went upstairs to get the printer ink. This building of the BC was set up like a department store, but entirely for computers, cameras, phones, and other electronics with a single floor dedicated to laptops, a different one for printers, a different one for phones, and phone cases hanging off of the edges of the levels as you rode the escalator up. This is the one of the stores I would love to have had the time to truly explore, but this was one of the few days where everything didn’t seem like it was going in such a rush to go here or go there or get this and get that.

We bought the ink and returned to the initial building for Bic Camera. Miya showed me some of the shampoos on offer since I had mentioned wanting to buy some the previous night. I explained that I had meant that I would buy her more of her own shampoo as a thank you for letting me stay with her! (They didn’t actually have her kind of shampoo and then we both forgot about it before I left Japan.)

The next thing on our list of things to do was to pick up the movie ticket for How to Talk to Girls at Parties. About two weeks before the start of the trip, it was announced that John was going to have his Japanese premiere of the film at the end of the week he was performing Hedwig. Of course, the tickets were again done by lottery and while we had won tickets to all of the Hedwig performances, I wasn’t certain that our luck would hold out enough to substantiate changing the plane ticket and extending my hotel reservation on the off chance that this would be the thing we weren’t lucky on. As a sort of consolation, when it was announced that fans could buy advanced tickets for when the movie actually opened in Japan, Miya offered to buy a ticket and give me the promotional pins that came with it. I had thanked her and offered to buy the ticket for her, again as a way of thanks. She had that said she did want to see the movie, that wouldn’t be necessary.

What was interesting then and what’s interesting to me still now is how many buildings in Japan have that department store structure. Where either it’s a multi-floor building that all of the shops belong to one business and you pay on at each floor or where it’s multiple businesses that are still interconnected and you have to walk through a shoe store to get to a dollar store. Being from the midwest where department stores are kind of the sole purview of malls and most businesses only get a single, possibly up to three levels, of their own, this was a fascinating anthropological difference. It wasn’t until I got to Osaka that I started to see more stand alone single story businesses.

We picked up the ticket, and I picked up some flyers for the movie. Miya stuck the pins and the ticket into her bag so that they wouldn’t get lost in my relatively huge Hello Kitty duffle bag that I had brought with me to carry my things and then we went back to the Hikarie. We still had over three hours before the show was supposed to start and had exhausted all of the errands that we had to do that day. 

Miya asked what I wanted to do, if there was any shops that had caught my eye, or if there was any particular type of store that I wanted to visit and I remembered seeing the billboard ad for Tower Records on the way in. Off of the prompt ‘record store’ (cos I couldn’t remember the name), Miya found where we needed to be and we set off again, past Bic Camera, and arrived at the record store.

What I was looking for most was David Bowie or Queen things. Both musicians are ones that I have numerous antidotes and stories both from and about in Japan. Freddie in particular absolutely adored Japan and had his house decorated in a Japanese/Victorian England style and David, well Japan was the first time that David felt like a success. (In addition – the story that he told in one of Mick Rock’s books about how he was given a beautiful cape that had writing on it, that he used in his Ziggy shows a lot, but didn’t know what it meant for over 20 years. It was his name.)

We entered on the second floor, and like I usually do in record stores, I found the clearance/discount section on the floor I wanted and started looking through. I didn’t find anything for David, but I did find some Beatles and George Harrison. It wasn’t until we started looking through the aisles that I found David. His section had the last photo that was ever taken of him as the header section – it’s by Jimmy King, it was taken on his birthday, I was not expecting to see that photo on that day. I started looking through the collected CDs, finding a few that I took photos of for later purchasing or eBay searching. (At this point, I was still using the money converter to estimate about how much each thing would cost.) All the while, I’m telling Miya little antidotes about David or about the recording of each particular album, session, or concert. It’s the first time this trip that I nearly start crying…..

Eventually, we leave the section – or rather, I decide that we have to leave the section – and go looking for Queen. It occurred to me in the process of making that decision how silly it would be to be crying on the day that I was seeing Hedwig for the first time.

Along the way, I found Freddie’s solo section. The price for his singles was just a little too high for what I was willing to pay at the moment, but I took yet another photo of the back for later research when I had the time and wasn’t anticipating potentially buying a lot of merchandise at the show. So far, the only things that had been announced were the t-shirt and the program, but in the back of my mind, I kept thinking that more things might have been announced. And of course, dropping a LOT of money on Hedwig merch was the reason I had come out to Japan right now anyway. Well, that and seeing John.

Unfortunately, the Queen section was the same story – I either already had it or didn’t want to pay as much as the asking price for it. According to Miya, it’s because of the import charge. I found this highly ironic since in the US, it’s usually the Japanese things that have the extreme import charges. 

Since that was it for that floor, after a brief flick-through of the clearance section up front, I purchased a David interview CD, a small magazine for my mother with The Smiths on the cover, and a bag of record sleeves since they were cheaper to buy here than to wait to get in the US.

We walked back down to the floor that we thought Ataru’s music would most likely be on and outside, I picked up some more flyers and booklets for things that I thought sounded interesting or cool. I ended up buying one of Ataru’s CDs – her most recent – before we moved onto the last floor we visited that day: soundtracks and movies.

That particular Tower Records had nothing for Hedwig nor RENT on the day that we visited, but I was able to snag some photos of the press for Trainspotting 2 (my favourite film with a US release this year) before we left.

We headed back to the Hikarie again and still had about an hour and a half before the show was going to start. Miya asked if I wanted to go get something on one of the lower levels or at the cafe outside the theatre, but since re-entering the building, it was all about Hedwig. Every part of me was focused on Hedwig. And like I usually am before seeing a show I’m highly anticipating or talking to a crush, I was trying not to vibrate out of my skin. Definitely too nervous to eat.

We went to the convenience store outside of the theater, this time a Lawson and not a 7/11, and I bought a pack of something that was shoved into my bag for later and a hot bottle of tea. The flavour of the tea was what I’d imagine hot barley to taste like, not bad, but not really….flavoured at all. Not that it mattered. Not that any of it mattered since it was getting down to ACTUALLY seeing the show.

A few minutes of nervously waiting outside the theatre passed and Miya opted to take another swing around the building again. We take some photos out of the windows at the now, very night time, Tokyo and then literally walk around the building. When we return, the doors have opened to go upstairs. We take the escalator, show our tickets, and are allowed into a room with posters advertising the program, a tv screen showing the currently static stage, the merchandise booth, and the many, many cosplayers for the evening. (While we had been waiting, I had looked up to one of the upper levels and very, very briefly mistaken one of the cosplayers for John.)

I bought the merchandise for myself and for Risa, Miya bought a program for herself, and then we went to find our seats. Our SECOND ROW seats.

They were playing Love Will Keep Us Together as we sat down and I was trying not to completely freak out since it’s one of the songs mentioned in the script! And then immediately after, Young Americans by David Bowie. Another song referenced in the script!! When they played Lust for Life by Iggy Pop, I figured the show would be starting since it was traditional that Iggy was usually the last artist played before the show started. In Japan, it wasn’t. Light My Fire by The Doors was.

And the show started with Ataru coming from one of the side doors and announcing “Ladies and gentlemen, whether you like it or not, Hedwig!!! Hed-wig! Hed-wig! Hed-wig!” getting the audience to cheer and chant for Hedwig, clapping for her arrival into the venue. I was turned, looking at Ataru, clapping of course, chanting for Hedwig’s arrival when the show started.

On Broadway, Hedwig had descended from the ceiling; Off-Broadway, she had come from the back of the venue, sauntering up to the stage…. but here, here Hedwig was standing behind the screen projecting an image of the Berlin Wall with graffiti on the Western side and stark nothing on the East. As the audience chants, the wall develops cracks in the middle, eventually exploding from the middle with Hedwig standing triumphant, beautiful…. in the sudden divide between East and West. I… had been looking in the wrong direction.

I whipped my head back towards the stage so quickly you’d have developed second-hand whiplash watching me.

Part of the performance, I’m watching the show completely amazed that this is happening, that this is real. That I’m actually in the same room as my favourite show being performed. I’m not sure I blinked the entire time I was watching the show. The other part of the performance, the part that features Yitzhak more than Hedwig, I’m still looking at John, looking to see how he is reacting to Yitzhak as Hedwig or simply being Hedwig without speaking and without making grand movements at that point. Mostly just…. being. To me, it’s fascinating, being in the second row. Being able to see all of the little reactions, expressions, costume alterations behind semi-opaque screens. In a way, it’s like a “How It’s Made” of my favourite show. Sometimes, during these moments I feel like I should probably actually be watching Yitzhak since she’s the one driving the action at that point….

The show was staged completely different from any version of Hedwig I’d ever seen before with new lines, new alterations to the script and to the format. For the first time since the movie, I’m seeing a production that doesn’t either actually have Emily Hubbly’s drawings or someone imitating her style. The design of the animations is specifically more Japanese than the other versions, which of course makes sense being as the show is set in Japan.

The show was also basically a public dress rehearsal; something that annoyed some of the people on Twitter later (apparently), but I found completely wonderful. Again, this is a show that I know so well that I can follow international versions where I don’t speak the language just based off of intuiting a few words, of course I want to see a messier version of the show. A less polished version in terms of performance. My two favourite differences that weren’t in the script were 1.) where Hedwig is talking about masturbating Tommy in the bath and her wig completely popped off. She looked very surprised for a moment before picking up her wig and continuing perfectly. And 2.) the line change that Hedwig had in Wicked Little Town Reprise? She sang it so confidently for being the absolute wrong lyrics…. And of course, a million other little improv things stood out, like Hedwig calling Yitzhak her “oto” and then asking “what’s the other one again? [Yitzhak supplies word] Oh that’s right.” And the golden Hello Kitty patch on her ass (up towards her hip more than centered like the handprints were on Broadway.)

At the end of the show, I felt like I had probably smiled through 90% of the show it was performed so well. John, of course was amazing. And Ataru was completely incredible. I had anticipated loving her from the things that I had seen of her on YouTube and she blew away any expectations that I had had of her, she was so good.

Afterwards, as Miya and I walked out of the venue, she asked what I wanted to get for dinner/snack after the show. I said I didn’t care; wherever she wanted was fine because I had literally just had one of the best experiences of my life.

We opted to go back to the sushi restaurant, this time actually sitting at the bar/lunch counter. She ordered some a la carte sushi this time, I took more things off of the sushi conveyor belt. Since we had seen the show now, we were technically entitled to more free drinks. I opted to go for a not-free option of cold sake and Miya had…. I think iced tea? Maybe more matcha.

Honestly, cold sake tastes exactly like hot sake, but just a little bit smoother. While I liked the smoothness of it, I think the hotness of the hot sake helped it out a little bit more. I definitely would not drink sake on a regular basis, but it is interesting to me to see how that strong of a taste when blended into a sauce for Chinese food is completely minimized outside of an afterburn when you swallow. Miya had a sip or two of it too and I don’t think she was all that impressed with it either. I accidentally knocked over my glass at one point, getting the menu and the counter wet and sake-covered. I think the waiter thought I was drunk, but truly, I was just that clumsy.

While we ate, I searched for that one video I had remembered John posting about being worried about a lot of serious things and then his ass. I thought it would be a good idea to say “I don’t know about the other things, but your ass looked amazing from the second row!” I swear to you, I came up with that before I even thought about ordering the sake.

We paid and left both the restaurant and the Hikarie. I was feeling very optimistic. And a little sleepy.

The journey back went very smoothly and unlike the previous night, we did not stop at the 7/11 before going back to Miya’s.

Back at her apartment, I flipped through my own copy of the program by cell phone flashlight before falling asleep. Only a few Instagram posts by John of various backstage photos and rehearsal video keeping me awake.

#travel diary #travel diary japan #japan day 3

[russianspy24]

Devils in the Windy City - Chapter 2

Summary: Elijah travels to Chicago, led by a vague prophecy about a girl who could be the Mikaelson family’s salvation. Klaus soon confronts him, and later Rebekah is drawn into another case of family drama. However, this trip to the Windy City turns out to be longer than a short stint. The Mikaelsons discover that their lives may change forever. Including every other vampire’s.

Word Count: 4,870

Author’s Note: This story is posted on FF.net and AO3, and since I’m on Tumblr, decided to post it here. ‘Bout time I’d say. Hopefully you read and enjoy!

Warnings: Rated M

Previous Chapter  - Next Chapter

Chapter 2: Don't Fear the Reaper

There was a jingle of metal against plastic. A hand held out an old 7-Eleven slurpee cup. The fingers belonging to the hand needed a good scrub in running water, and there was dirt underneath the nails.

The old man who was hunching over had probably seen better days long ago, and that included his worn, tattered clothes. He made his way under the overpass from busy North Broadway. People who were on their way home or wherever else usually passed him by without a glance, but a few dropped whatever change they could find in their pockets, and he always muttered, "Thanks," and "God bless."

He came to a halt twenty feet away from the glass doors of the Bryn Mawr red line stop, under said overpass, and leaned against the brick wall behind him. A smoke break was in order. So, he put the slurpee cup under his armpit—there was already a good amount of coins inside, maybe three buck’s worth—and rummaged in the oversized pockets of his cargo jacket, using his other hand.

Obviously, he had more money than that, which he'd accumulated throughout the day, but he wasn't going to reveal it all if he wanted more. That was not how it was done. Had to show 'em far less than you actually had. A middle-aged man walked by and held out a dollar.

The bum said, like always, "Thanks. God bless," and, in addition, "You have a good night, sir." Then he pocketed the dollar, put a cigarette in his mouth, and prepared to light it with a bic lighter. Only no matter how many times he flicked it, it wouldn't light.

"Hey," he called out to a well-dressed businessman, who stood on the other side of the sidewalk. He looked like he was waiting. "Hey, man, you got a light?"

Cars passed by, honking.

"Hey, man!"

Elijah heard him. He just didn't realize that the homeless man was talking to him. He registered his presence when he heard the shuffling of feet, the jingling of coins, and the musty smell. He looked at the human as if he were an alien.

Then he blinked and saw the cigarette in his hand. The homeless man lifted it and said, "Got a lighter?"

The vampire shifted back slightly. Obviously not because he was afraid, but because the smell of a city street was interesting enough. Elijah wasn't too keen on the new notes, which seemed to be of...general uncleanliness, coupled with the smell of alcohol and whatever else that he didn't want to fathom.

So, Elijah haughtily said, "No. I don't."

The bum deliberately stared at him, not believing him. Putting the cigarette behind his ear, he tilted his head of matted hair and regarded the fancy man. "Got any change then?"

Elijah's gaze darted past him impatiently, to the glass doors, before returning sharply to the begging man. Again. "No. I don't."

The bum's expression was blank. He didn't move.

"Bullshit, man," he said after a moment. Elijah's eyebrows rose. "A guy like you has extra change. Bet a guy like you doesn't even live in this neighborhood. You from the Gold Coast?"

Elijah glared at him now. "Come on, man—" The persistence in the homeless man's gaze stilled all of a sudden. He didn't blink, and Elijah narrowed his own eyes, compelling him.

"You will go now." And an annoyed afterthought, "You're quite lucky I am not my brother."

"Who?" the man uttered. His mouth gaped slightly like a fish. Hypnotized, his head cocked the other way.

"Run along."

Obediently, the homeless man took a step back. Elijah straightened the lapels of his suit jacket even though they didn't need fixing. He didn't watch as the beggar proceeded robotically down the sidewalk, out the other side of the overpass, and into the night.

Elijah had looked up as he felt a rumble in the distance, stirring the air, vibrating beneath his feet through the asphalt. He glanced down at the Patek Philippe on his wrist and said to himself, "On time actually." The watch read ten past nine. The train slowed to a screeching stop so that its passengers could get off and head downstairs to street level.

In 1893, there was no Starbucks on the corner of Bryn Mawr and Winthrop Avenues, and no 7-Eleven or the UPS store further down. No hole-in-the-wall Thai places, or trendy, hipster breakfast joints.

Before 1889, this neighborhood of Edgewater was known to be "the only electric lighted suburb adjacent to Chicago," and was a part of the Lake View Township. Mansions, belonging to the elite, lined the shorefront. Then after 1889, Edgewater became a part of Chicago and quickly rose to the status of being one of the most prestigious communities. So, the homeless man was wrong. Elijah could've been part of this neighborhood, at least long ago.

During the year of the fair, he and his sister Rebekah were invited to this northern part of the city to attend a soiree, which was organized by none other than Marshall Field, who was perhaps the wealthiest man in the world in the 1890s. He was the founder of Marshall Field and Company, the Chicago-based department stores. To say that Rebekah was ecstatic was an understatement, for she loved parties and shopping, but that's a story for later.

Now, Edgewater was gentrified, and many students and young people lived there, with or without children. Renting prices were reasonable enough, and it was within walking distance of the beach. Parking was terrible, particularly in the summer, though that was name of the game in the city. Getting around town was what the El was there for.

The area off of the Bryn Mawr stop was generally safe, but at night, girls and young women usually used common sense so as not to walk alone, or if they did, they had to maintain constant vigilance. This was Chicago, after all.

The train started moving again. It was heading north toward its end stop, Howard. Loyola University was up ahead several blocks, and downtown glittered south in the night, the Loop seven miles away. The beach was just two streets over to the east.

A crowd pushed through those glass doors.

The train obscured Elijah's senses far more than automobiles ever could. He almost lost Liza for a moment, distracted by the grinding of metal that ground on his ears like nails on a chalkboard. He had moved behind one of the underpass's cracking columns so that she wouldn't see him. Then, as the noise from the tracks receded, he hurried out from under the bridge and deftly followed the girl, who'd already made it across Bryn Mawr, intent on turning left, which was north, onto Winthrop.

She was fast, not breaking her stride. The earbuds were still in, but her music was off. The set of her shoulders projected her instinctive caution. Even though she lit another cigarette, and Elijah caught whiffs of the smoke, he was glad to see that the girl was wary. She'd glanced back over her shoulder a few times, as she passed the breakfast place called Nookies, and the residential part of the street began.

Elijah expertly hid in the shadows as he followed her. He had a little over a thousand years to perfect this. One could indeed call it stalking, but he wasn't a pervert tailing some girl, so he most certainly didn't consider this stalking. This was investigating.

But he knew that when he'd finally reveal himself to her, whenever the time was right, there was a great chance of her reaction not being a good one. This he'd have to handle whatever way he could. And this was another reason why Elijah was following the girl alone. Not with any of his siblings.

This block or two of Winthrop mostly had courtyard apartment buildings. There were also a few worker cottages, but there were more classic Chicago graystones, which were either two level or three. Some appeared to be remodeled. Others kept the iconic gray limestone.

Liza, in particular, lived in a two level one, which was right next door to a tall building that used to be a hotel in the '20s. Present day, it was a residential apartment building. Sure, it might've dwarfed Liza's graystone, but her home was very quaint. She lived on the second floor.

Most graystones were very similar. This one had its wide stone steps to the right, leading up to a shared porch, and a wide bow of projecting, round windows to the other side. The first-floor windows were shielded by a small pine tree. The second-floor bay windows were rounded as well, curtains wide open, the light on, and above the porch, there was a balcony, a nice feature that allowed an overlook of the street.

The small front "yard" was fenced in and grew some sort of plant that was supposed to be decorative. The metal gate swung shut behind the girl, and she jogged up the steps.

The lower level was home to an elderly couple who owned the graystone itself. The Masked Singer was seen on the screen of an old television through the branches of pine. After Liza stepped inside into the small foyer, where her landlord's door was to the left of the stairs, she already heard the telltale sound of...paws upstairs.

On the second-floor landing, the door to that balcony above the porch was left again, and her own apartment door was directly ahead. The balcony was technically communal, but the old folks never went up there.

2B, read the metal characters directly above the peephole. The hanging little bell above the apartment number rang when Liza stepped inside her place. The sound of dancing paws grew only more furious with excitement. A roughly eighty-five-pound red Akita Inu assailed her with a half-destroyed teddy bear in his mouth.

A smile cracked across the girl's face, which was covered with a slight sheen of oil in the T-zone area, something that often happened when riding a subway car that was almost full to the brim with people. It might've been in the high fifties during the day, steadily cooling into the forties with the sunset, but subway trains perfectly insulated that cringeworthy BO.

"I'm tired, Ramsey," Liza said to her dog as she shut the door behind her. She hung her keys on one of the two hooks on the wall—on the other nail hung someone else's set—and gave the destroyed teddy bear a halfhearted tug before letting go.

The Akita's curled tail still wagged as he eagerly looked up at the human, his triangular, brown eyes hopeful. Liza shook her head and went past the canine.

Through the small foyer, in the parlor (or living room as they called it nowadays) was a pile of shit in front of the bay windows. Liza sighed, seeing it, and walked further into the apartment. Judging by the lack of smell, Ramsey must've pooped earlier in the day when no one was home.

"Hey, Ollie," she said. There was another girl there.

This girl sat on the dark gray Ikea couch, which stood with its back to the front door. She was watching that show Harlots that was on Hulu. Their television was a decently sized flat-screen, hanging on the wall directly in front of the cheap sectional. Before her, on the coffee table, which was also from Ikea, was a large plate of steak and mashed potatoes. Oh, and don't forget the bowl of chopped tomatoes and cucumbers, sprinkled with feta. For a girl of her petite size, it was hard to imagine that she could eat it all.

This girl responded with a distracted, "Hi."

Liza stepped past the couch, looking back at the headful of thick, wavy dark hair.

Judging by the way she spoke, even by that one syllable in Hi, Olympia Belugin was in a mood. And instead of following Liza through the rest of the apartment, Ramsey dropped the teddy bear and watched her go. But he didn't watch for long. Oh no.

He quickly went around the chaise part of the couch to sit directly before Ollie and the coffee table, and resumed watching her eat (which was what he had been doing before Liza got there) while Ollie kept her eyes glued to the television. In the show, Lucy Wells was at the opera with her mother, who was taking silent bids for her daughter's virginity. It was riveting, clearly.

The dining room was really an extension of the living space, with its own large windows that looked out into the lovely, narrow alley alongside the building. The dining table, which was hardly used, was from (guess?)—Ikea!

The first door on the right was Liza's room, and just as she turned the doorknob, she heard from Ollie: "Oh, yeah, and you forgot to do the dishes from last night. Thanks. Exactly what I need when I come back from work."

Liza closed her eyes and found no energy to offer up an excuse—which was that she had overslept and had to rush to work that morning. Hence the dirty dishes. Hence the poop. Still, she didn't answer Ollie.

She stepped inside her room, switching on the light, and crossed the floor to put her messenger bag onto her bed. The yellow bedspread and light blue walls were a little too obnoxious at the moment. The color choice hadn't been her choice. Rather, the room had been painted by the previous tenants before they had moved into this place a little over a year ago. The color yellow logically was supposed to brighten spirits.

Not so much now.

Leaving the light on, Liza left. The kitchen was in the back, as all kitchens were when graystones were built sometime during the beginning of the 20th century.

Ollie's room was right next door to hers, and their shared bathroom was directly across from both of their doors, between the dining room and kitchen. One of the few bonuses of living in such an old building was the fact that the landlords kept the vintage pedestal sink and the deep tub.

The back entrance, which had been originally used for receiving deliveries, from say, the milkman, was now where Liza often stepped out onto the patio for a cigarette. When Ollie was in better spirits, she too joined. Or she made enough steak for the two of them on their little grill. The lingering aroma from the food stirred the emptiness of her stomach, but Liza wouldn't dare to ask if Ollie would share. Not now.

The street outside was quiet, save for a few neighbors who were more than likely arriving home late and now searched for parking. They made circles around the block. When he'd noticed one of the cars for a third time, Elijah decided to step further into the shadows. He hid partway in the alleyway that separated the graystone from the newer, red-bricked house on the other side.

He was looking up along the corner of the home, that corner of the living room to be exact. There were moans coming from above. They sounded very much like ones that a lady might utter mid coitus. Regardless of who was moaning and then shrieking, he realized after a moment that whatever sexual activities that were going on in the girl's apartment were coming from a television.

After his previous search on the internet, he'd found out that Liza had a roommate. She was supposed to live with another girl. Considering that he still had much to learn about this Elizaveta Belov, he certainly had no idea who the roommate was. He couldn't see much of the apartment at all. He resorted to just listening. But after a moment, he did see Liza's face against the warm beige walls, what he could see of them at least. Mostly his view was of the ceiling and its original crown molding.

The downstairs folk were far too absorbed with figuring out who the masked singer, the rabbit, was to even bother looking out their windows. Plus, their eyesight would've probably been too poor to distinguish the lurker from the moving shadows of the pine.

Having gotten a plastic bag and some clorox wipes, Liza had stepped in front of the bay windows and then ducked down. She was cleaning up Ramsey's mess. Quick about it, she rose a few seconds later, only to disappear again.

Inside the apartment, she lingered behind the couch again. In her hand, she held the plastic bag containing the dog crap. Ollie didn't turn around. She stuffed a forkful of meat into her mouth.

"Did you take the wolfsbane I made?" Liza asked. Her voice was careful. "I know it turned out thick this time…"

Ollie spoke as she chewed. "No' 'et. I'm 'oing 'o 'omorrow."

"Okay," was Liza's reply. Letting out a soft breath, she turned to head back to the kitchen.

Ollie's delayed reply sounded before Liza opened the patio door: "Thanks...for the wolfsbane." It was a reluctant apology from someone who naturally had a hard time apologizing for things, but something about Liza's own tone sounded understanding.

"No problem, Oll." Liza left the plastic bag outside on the patio so it wouldn't stink up the apartment during the night and shut the door behind her.

Below, at the front of the building, Elijah stood very still. Had he heard correctly? Wolfsbane?

He was certainly no expert in mystical herbal remedies, but he knew for a fact that a concoction of wolfsbane was used only in one instance, and that was to subdue, to weaken, a werewolf.

Was that who this second girl was? A wolf?

Next, he heard the sound of clinking china and running water. Dishes. But the sounds were muted because they came from the back. Liza must've been washing said dishes per her friend's request. Although, it had been more like an order that would've come from someone's mother.

"Rams, get away. I'm not sharing," he heard Ollie's voice next.

Then came the sound of paws. He couldn't see this brief interaction, but this is what happened: Ramsey, ever persistent, jumped onto the couch beside Ollie, who turned to face him with unexpected yellow eyes.

There was a moment of silence between them, a stare down, and then the dog finally obeyed. He stepped backward, lowering his head in submission. Ollie said, "Go," and pointed the way.

Rams went, jumping off of the couch and trotting around it, tail a little low. He looked down the way to the other side of the apartment, where he could see Liza standing in front of the sink. The canine was at a loss as to what to do next. The forlorn teddy bear, which was lying where he'd dropped it, was an option.

Maybe. That was until something caught his attention.

His pointed ears turned back, he straightened, his tail went up in a tight curl, and he was moving to the front windows. Akitas rarely barked, only if there was a good reason to. Despite their size, they were far from Goldens or Labs. They were sneaky and very smart, and they didn't do anything without a purpose. So, when Ramsey sensed someone outside, and he released a low, rolling growl, Ollie tore her attention from the television and paused in her chewing, cheeks puffy.

Elijah took a small step back, hearing the dog. Old leaves crinkled underneath a polished shoe, and Ramsey's head peeked above the window frame. The man saw that the animal was very reminiscent of a large fox, or an orange husky, or a red wolf.

"Why are you freaking out, Ramsey?" Elijah heard Ollie ask, suspiciously, too.

Ramsey yowled at the dark. He didn't quite see Elijah, but the vampire had certainly been made. Ollie's face appeared in the window a second later. She too looked out to see who was there, lurking. She scanned the street, then the sidewalk, north and south. The front of the building, the fenced-in yard, if you could call it that.

"Who's out there, Rams? Huh? Who's out there?" A playful note entered her words. Her voice was slightly husky compared to that of Liza's smooth cadence.

Ollie was pretty, her hair darker, thicker, and slightly longer than that of her friend. Her face, rounder, had those slavic cheeks, too. But whereas Liza was fair, Ollie was warmer-toned. Dark, arching eyebrows framed her eyes, which were large and green.

As that green gaze surveyed the front of the building, Elijah deftly snuck away, going unnoticed, even as the dog still ruff'd.

"What's wrong?" he heard Liza call from the kitchen.

"Rams heard something outside," Ollie answered. "It's fine."

Then their feet were moving. Ollie returned to the couch, fell onto it backward. Liza stepped back to the sink. The dog retreated from the window once he sensed the vampire was gone—from the front of the house, at least.

The scandalous TV show was being rewound. It was harder to hear, while the sound of the sink grew louder now. Elijah blended into the darkness, creeping outside of the first-floor patio, looking up at the window of the second-floor kitchen.

Steam rose, fogging up the glass. He could see Liza behind it. Lifting an arm, she wiped her forehead with the back of her forearm. She had those yellow kitchen gloves on. Elijah took two steps back to better see her face. As unnerving as it was that her roommate was an apparent werewolf, he was there for Liza, after all. But what the hell did she have to do with his family? The fact that she'd brought up wolfsbane could've meant a couple of things. He didn't want to jump to conclusions, however. He wanted proof first. The most important thing was to proceed with caution.

Liza's brown gaze was set much like the expression that he'd seen on her face earlier that day, when he'd left the tea shop: pensive, somber. Her brows were drawn slightly, her lips pressed together, far from a smile, but not quite a frown either. She didn't appear to be one of those girls who were quick to smile, or easily amused. She might've been a deep thinker. She looked like something heavy was on her mind. Maybe not. He could've been wrong. This was only what he was assuming as he tried to read her features.

She was putting the dishes by the sink. Once she was finished, she shut the water off and took off her gloves. She hung them over the faucet, but before stepping away, she looked out the window.

Beyond the first and second floor patios, there was a short driveway and a small single-car garage beside it. An old, Ford sedan from the mid 2000s was parked before a much newer silver Mustang.

In front of the garage on a chunk of dead grass, there were a few pieces of patio furniture—nothing special, just two lawn chairs and a glass table. The place needed some sprucing up, but it wasn't too terrible. There was one of those round, unused charcoal grills near the lawn chairs. The whole area was surrounded by a fence, as were most of the backyards of these graystones. At the end of the driveway, on the other side of the gate, was the alley.

There were no milk men nowadays. Only garbage trucks on Tuesdays, and sometimes scavengers with their trunk beds in the evenings on Mondays before. The homeless were known to waddle past with carts as well. And bordering the alley were the above-ground El tracks.

Liza watched the tracks as a train—no, maybe two trains—neared, for the sound was louder than usual. Elijah too looked back, past the garage, and up at the rails beyond the back street. How the hell a person could get used to the noise was beyond him. When he glanced back at Liza, he saw that her attention was riveted on the train line. The rushing trains, going in opposite directions, snapped with electricity and clanged rhythmically against the rails. Yellow windows with silhouettes, which were sitting or standing, blurred past.

Her face was unreadable, almost in the way of Elijah's own natural physiognomy, everything there below the surface, yet all of it hidden. His own face usually obscured his thoughts, leaving most people floundering as they would try to figure him out. Liza was clearly far, far away now. Maybe there was something hypnotic about the sound of the train—because it did something to the girl. He didn't take his attention off of her.

The trains passed each other with a whoosh and sped to the south and north ends of the line. Even as the roaring receded, Liza kept her gaze there for a moment or two longer. Then, her eyes lowered to the yard.

Elijah shifted closer again to the first-floor patio, to make sure she didn't spot him.

There was a clink sound. When Liza had jumped, he tensed. She was turning around, and although Elijah had a harder time seeing her through the window now, he heard the girls.

"Jesus," Liza had gasped.

Ollie had brought in her dirty dishes. Liza obligingly took them and turned on the sink again.

"Sometimes I forget you're not a wolf after I'm around them all day at the daycare," Ollie said with a hint of dark amusement. There was a smirk in her voice, too.

Elijah heard Liza's heart rate go up as she scrubbed her friend's plate, foregoing the gloves this time. He wouldn't blame any human for being taken aback like that. The wolf's heart beat was steady. Of course, it would be. The vampire found himself on edge. He couldn't help it.

"I thought you said that every woman can find her "she-wolf," Liza quipped, sounding bemused. It was a reference to the Shakira song, which Elijah didn't catch.

"Well, yeah. But you know what I mean. You're so jumpy." Ollie laughed, a rougher edge in her throat.

Elijah took hold of one of the wooden balusters of the patio.

"Shut up."

"Can't I tease you? You have something smart to say all the time."

Liza was silent. She certainly wasn't acting sharp-tongued right at that moment. Ollie yanked the fridge open.

Liza's pulse skipped a beat. She turned off the faucet, added Ollie's now-clean dishes and utensils to the dish rack on the counter, and turned around to find the shorter girl chugging out of a plastic bottle of kefir. Liza crossed her arms and leaned against the sink. Ollie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and gave her a look.

"Oh, don't be so sensitive."

Knowing better than to argue with a wolf, who was feeling the effects of the coming full moon, Liza forced a smile. She hid her face by turning around to get a glass out of a cupboard.

Ollie threw the now-empty kefir bottle into the trash can, which had a secure lid—so the dog couldn't get in. "I'm going to bed. Good night."

"See you in a couple days," Liza bid. Her tone now belied a relief that she couldn't help but feel. Ollie didn't take offense if she even noticed.

"I won't be bitchy then." Ollie's footsteps were already receding down the hall.

Liza was filling her glass with water from the fridge filter. "I know," she said.

However, they needed a break from each other. It was hard living with a friend. And female werwolves were bitchy twice a month, not once. Sometimes their time of the month coincided with the full moon, but not always.

Elijah was calmer but waited still. He heard, "Come on, Rams," as Liza stepped out of the kitchen, the lights going out. Ollie's door, the closest to the kitchen, closed shut.

Liza continued to speak to her dog: "No? You're not coming in? Fine then." The hallway light dimmed next. She stepped inside her own room, but there was no sound of the door closing, which meant she left it open.

But instead of following his owner, Ramsey stepped into the kitchen, not ready to call it a night. His part-time job of security dog wasn't over yet for the day. Elijah heard the growl. Then a scrape of paws at the back door. The vampire took this as his cue to finally leave. So, he vanished into the darkness, around the building, without making the slightest of sounds.

Sensing the reaper's movement, Ramsey ran out of the kitchen and bolted into Liza's room. She gasped as he skidded to the window, putting his paws up on the frame. He barked loudly and his snout pressed against the glass, fogging it up. Having taken off her shirt, in her bra, Liza quickly reached to yank the curtains shut.

Rams stuck his head past the fabric, anyway, and huffed out a low, threatening snarl that must've translated as, "I know you were there, asshole."

"Shut up, Ramses!" Ollie yelled through the wall.

#vampire diaries fanfiction #the vampire diaries #the originals fanfiction #the originals #elijah mikaelson #klaus mikaelson #marcel gerard #rebekah mikaelson #original character #elijah mikaelson x oc #klaus mikaelson x oc #fanfiction #originals fanfiction #ORIGINALS #vampires #elijah mikaelson fanfic #klaus mikaelson fanfiction

[calyfornian]

Titleless -Chapter 24.1/A : Christina, Clair, and Anthony

My nostrils couldn't stop flaring. There was something burning and no matter how many times I tried to snort it away, it wasn't going anywhere. This was some good shit, but the constant fire right before I met up with Christina might have been a bigger distraction than I had bargained for.

My focus was caught between waiting for her front door to open, rubbing my nose until it felt better, and thinking about Charlie Alexis Aarons. Although, that one wasn't anything new. She always took up at least fifty percent of my mind. One hundred when things were great, well, good.

I plugged my right nostril and snorted as hard as I could to really wipe out the remnants of the left. I don't know if it worked or not. I was also getting really congested and I felt mostly mucous in my nasal cavity.

The black screen door swung open somewhere in between the aggressive snorting and drip.

From far away, Christina looked like a thing of beauty, she was in a short, tight, black dress. There were 2 thin straps hanging over her shoulders on each side, with a red rose near her heart, drawing attention to her cleavage. When she got closer, I could see that black fabric over her face, with the holes in it, the ones girls-women, usually wear to funerals. It was connected somewhere on her head, not like a hat, it was more wrapped in her hair, in some elaborate kind of bun. Her lips matched the rose. She looked beautiful, like she had a date with death.

I hopped out of the car as quick as I could .Well, as quick a I could coked out of my damn mind and wearing kind of a tight fitting suit.

My mom thought it be appropriate if we looked nice. We went to a suit shop and everything. She noticed I had been withering away to nothing when my pant size was about 8 inches smaller and I could fit into mediums and still have some room to wiggle about. I think she also pretended not to notice, bless her.

Christina paused a couple feet before the truck and smiled as I hurried to get my awkward hand on the handle to open the door for her. It revealed her white teeth and good nature.

"Why thank you, sir." She rested her hand on my shoulder and gave me a kiss on the chick before climbing into the passenger side of the truck.

Maybe it was the coke, or maybe it was the occasion, but my head was spinning when I closed the door with a, "No problem."

I circled around the front of the truck, hitting my pockets, looking for a pack of smokes to put me at some kind of ease. There was the pack of Marlboro Blacks in my right breast pocket. I thanked some kind of higher power when I climbed into the driver's seat with a cigarette in between my teeth.

"Great minds think alike." Christina was rolling down her window with a cigarette in between her lush, red lips.

I just kind of laughed, and rolled down my window and reached around my pockets for my lighter, just then, Christina extended her hand towards my face and flicked her white Bic lighter, igniting it.

"A pretty girl never lights her own cigarette." She seemed so damn pleased with herself when I looked up from my pants pockets.

I put my cigarette to the flame and inhaled a couple times to get the end lit. Then I was in front of her in a flash with my lighter next to her cigarette, "A pretty girl never lights her own cigarette."

I tried to smile, and I hoped that I had. I hadn't seen Christina in who knows how fucking long, and I needed all the points I could muster.

"This one does," she pulled her lighter ahead of mine and set her cigarette on fire.

I was half disappointed, half caught up in the way she inhaled the smoke through her nose that had slipped out of her mouth, half in love with how she exhaled and it came out in some thick kind of gray smoke. My friends were so damn cool.

"What have you been up to, lately?" I didn't know where to start. I got the truck going again.

"Honey, can we skip the small talk? I've been a bit exhausted lately." She rubbed my thigh and I think it was supposed to be comforting.

I snorted hard when my nostrils burned.

"Mmm." She still looked so damn elegant.

"'Mmm?'" I had to rub my fucking nose.

"I didn't really think to believe Clair when she told me you were doing blow,"

"Christina, you don't know what you're talking about-"

"But I do. I thought it was weird how much time you were spending with Anthony again. I knew he was up to no good, the boy usually is, and look at him now," 

I cut in at her pause, "We really don't need to fucking do this right now Christina, not of all days, not when, not when-"

"Andy. Andy. I love you to death. I loved you after you got into drugs. I loved you after you fucked me for that time and then fucked me over. I loved you when you started doing the same thing to Charlie-"

"Don't fucking bring Charlie into this. You don't get to-"

"I don't get to what, Andy?!" She was yelling now, halfway between a scream and a cry and her cigarette had built up an abundance of ash, "She was my friend too God damn it. I don't get to see her anymore either because of your series of fucking poor decisions. I don't get to see her after you started doing more coke than you slept. I don't to see her after you decided to explore whatever pent up homosexuality you had saved up with someone I consider to be my fucking brother. After you threw Clair away like some kind of fucking garbage?! After you just fucking forget about me... Christ I'm rambling, but don't tell me I don't have the right to feel how I fucking feel." She hit the ash off of her cigarette and I watched it flutter about on the outside of the truck.

We were silent for a moment, up until we finished out cigarettes. I pulled two out, lit them both, and passed her another one.

"The worst part, the worst part Andy, cut your fucking engine, you're wasting gas-" always the sensible one, her and Clair, always the sensible ones, and Charlie, "The worst part, after all of that, after all the heartbreak, after having to rebuild bridges and tear down walls, after doing all that alone, after doing all that without you, and feeling the lowest I've possibly ever been; you could have told me. You could have fucking told me at any point and I would have come running. I would have fucking been there for you like no one else. I would have dropped my whole entire world to help any of my friends." She was short of breath at the end, and teary eyed as all hell.

I was caught up in myself, I was caught up in my walls and my burning bridges, but for the first time in unfortunately was a long time, Christina got through to me, her tears hit me like they would have before cocaine, like they would have before Charlie- no, not before Charlie, don't.

"Christina, I don't mean to make this a pity party, or say poor me, but I can tell you, I can tell you that these last months have been so damn excruciating. These last months have been the worst kind of hell. I'm so fucking unhappy. I'm so fucking unable to cope with anything unless I have something up my nose or something in my lungs I'm falling apart, and I wish I had a better fucking way to explain it, but I'm just fucking falling apart." It felt unreal, no, fake, I should have been crying, I should have had my heart ripping into bits, but there was nothing.

"I would have been there for you Andy! I've always been there for you. We've always been there for each other through the worst times," She stopped and took a strong breath, exhaled, then took a drag of her cigarette, "I just, I just would have fucking been there for you, but you forgot about me. You fucking forgot about me...."

"Christina, I'm, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I know how much you care and I just got fucking lost. I'm still fucking lost." There was something that time. I was sorry. I was fucking sorry and I just hoped t wasn't in the way that I was just a fucking sorry human being.

"Don't mention it. Just don't mention it right now, I don't even know why I'm doing this right now..." She hit her cigarette hard and let the smoke fall out of her mouth only to inhale it through her nostrils.

"What do you mean?" I still felt coked out. That was it. My emotions weren't apparent because there wasn't much to feel when you were numb.

"I mean. I mean, its a little late for us, don't you think?" She turned her head to me, and her lips looked so damn inviting, and her eyes looked so damn innocent.

"What do you mean?" I didn't understand. This fucking idiot didn't understand. I didn't fucking understand. I should have known better. I always should have known better.

"There's not much left for us Andy." When she said it, I had to look away, she looked so fucking pure, or maybe I was just too damn dirty.

"Christina, I don't- I don't understand."

"Lets just get through today, and we'll talk about it later." She leaned over the empty space and kissed me on the cheek and it subsided me as if it were Charlie.

It reminded me that I was too damn broken. It helped click that that was the real reason. These people who knew how to cope with existence, who knew how to carry themselves about in this life, they didn't want anything to do with people like Anthony and I. No, they didn't want anything to do with people like me. Fuck, what was even wrong with me anymore?

I started the engine without a word, took a couple puffs, and put it in drive. The engine didn't shake, the truck didn't jump, it had warmed up enough.

"Thanks again for giving me a ride, Andrew; I really appreciate it." I could see her from my peripheral vision. She was looking straight at me, and I think she was smiling.

All the fucking women in my life had that damn magic when they found it convenient.

#titleless

[broke-ass-twat]

all of them . . .

Fuck you and fuck the anonymous asker and lets fucking get this shit started. Also do your goddamn work Izzy.

200: My crush’s name is: Hey Izzy. Because that was such a huge secret199: I was born in: October198: I am really: Bored197: My cellphone company is: AT & T (Are you gonna ask my mother’s maiden name and first pet name now?)196: My eye color is: Brown195: My shoe size is: 11?194: My ring size is: Decently large193: My height is: 6 foot tall god192: I am allergic to: Assholes. And cats and dogs and eggs and milk and eggplant191: My 1st car was: I had a first car?190: My 1st job was: I had a first job?189: Last book you read: The first 6 pages of Cat’s Cradle. Alternatively book 25 of Desolate Era (it’s a Chinese wuxia novel)188: My bed is: Comfortable?187: My pet: Don’t have one186: My best friend: I have several185: My favorite shampoo is: Head and shoulders184: Xbox or ps3: Xbox183: Piggy banks are: Chill182: In my pockets: 2 bic pens, typically my phone, wallet, asthma pump, chapstick, and keys181: On my calendar: I don’t really use calendars180: Marriage is: Something I’ll get to179: Spongebob can: Suck my dick (I don’t really get spongebob?)178: My mom: is caring but could use some chill177: The last three songs I bought were? I don’t honestly remember the last time I bought a song. Which is a lie but I don’t know what I bought176: Last YouTube video watched: Vaguely watched the youtube video for Girls by Mura Masa175: How many cousins do you have? Total of 3 I think174: Do you have any siblings? I have a twin sister173: Are your parents divorced? Yes172: Are you taller than your mom? Definitely171: Do you play an instrument? Nope170: What did you do yesterday? Die slowly

[ I Believe In ]169: Love at first sight: Sort of yeah168: Luck: Sort of but not really167: Fate: No166: Yourself: Honestly not really and that accounts for at least 2 rather important problems I can think of165: Aliens: Sure164: Heaven: No163: Hell: No162: God: No161: Horoscopes: They’re fun and sometimes fool me but no160: Soul mates: Not really?159: Ghosts: Sometimes momentarily hen I se shit move in the dark out of the corner of my eyes158: Gay Marriage: Yah157: War: Depends but yah156: Orbs: ????155: Magic: I fucking wish

[ This or That ]154: Hugs or Kisses: Um. Fucking both. but kisses153: Drunk or High: Depends. Mostly drunk152: Phone or Online: Online151: Red heads or Black haired: Read heads are hot150: Blondes or Brunettes: Brunettes149: Hot or cold: Hot148: Summer or winter: Feeling winter atm (I know its odd)147: Autumn or Spring: Autumn 146: Chocolate or vanilla: Chocolate when eh. Vanilla when stuff is quality145: Night or Day: Night144: Oranges or Apples: Orange143: Curly or Straight hair: Um. Curly?142: McDonalds or Burger King: McDonalds is my shit (cuz apple pie)141: White Chocolate or Milk Chocolate: Milk chocolate you fucking heathen140: Mac or PC: Mac (theyre prettier tho I know PCs can be better)139: Flip flops or high heals: I don’t really wear either. Both are fine.138: Ugly and rich OR sweet and poor: I can be ugly, sweet, and rich. Tho I guess this means ugly person. Ugly and rich since I’d just do whatever the hell I want and be rich137: Coke or Pepsi: Coke136: Hillary or Obama: Obama135: Burried or cremated: Cremate this mess134: Singing or Dancing: Dancing133: Coach or Chanel: My dude I know fuck all about either brand. Still would go with Chanel132: Kat McPhee or Taylor Hicks: Who the fuck?131: Small town or Big city: Big city130: Wal-Mart or Target: They’re both cool. target feels nicer tho129: Ben Stiller or Adam Sandler: I hate them both128: Manicure or Pedicure: manicure127: East Coast or West Coast: This is actually hard. Um. Shit. Hm. Weast coast?126: Your Birthday or Christmas: Christmas. My birthday doesn’t tend to mean a whole lot to me (probably cuz I didn’t really have birthday parties as a kid)125: Chocolate or Flowers: I’ve never gotten flowers and that’d be chill but chocolate124: Disney or Six Flags: Disney probably.123: Yankees or Red Sox: Yankees you fucking heathen

[ Here’s What I Think About ]122: War: Avoid it if possible121: George Bush: No very intelligent120: Gay Marriage: It’s fine119: The presidential election: Kill me118: Abortion: It’s your choice and fuck what other people have to say. Though it’s interesting to think about if one potential person wants the child and the other doesn’t. At which point I feel like whoever really wants it that bad should have sole care of it otherwise it’s unfair to both the child and one who didn’t want it. And if the dude wants the child then it’s still the woman’s choice I feel like? But this is rocky but would make a fun conversation tbh117: MySpace: Stop poking the dead thing with a stick116: Reality TV: Mostly really dumb with marginal entertainment115: Parents: Mine I guess are half really good but hard on me for good reason and the other half I seriously feel like I couldn’t care less about. In general Id hope for them to be caring, understanding, firm, and logical114: Back stabbers: Fuck em113: Ebay: Chill concept I’ve never used112: Facebook: Blackhole for my time111: Work: I hate doing it as it very rarely interests me110: My Neighbors: Chill109: Gas Prices: High I guess?108: Designer Clothes: Can be cool but mostly just why and dumb107: College: Fucking scam but also really cool adult babysitting106: Sports: theyre alright I suppose. Don’t really pay them any mind at all105: My family: I only pay attention to the ones I interact with even though there is a family member I really should talk to but don’t cuz I have a hard time caring although I really should104: The future: Scary

[ Last time I ]103: Hugged someone: Today sorta. If not today then sunday102: Last time you ate: Like an hour ago101: Saw someone I haven’t seen in awhile: Thanksgiving100: Cried in front of someone: It’s been a while. Don’t remember99: Went to a movie theater: During spring break like 2 weeks ago98: Took a vacation: like 2 weeks ago97: Swam in a pool: been a while. Swam in the ocean like 2 weeks ago

96: Changed a diaper: I’ve never done that

95: Got my nails done: never94: Went to a wedding: It’s been a few years. Would’ve liked to go to one this year but couldn’t for some pretty shit reasons93: Broke a bone: Never92: Got a peircing: Never91: Broke the law: Um. Like Saturday90: Texted: like 30 minutes ago

[ MISC ]89: Who makes you laugh the most: Things that are funny. Also myself88: Something I will really miss when I leave home is: Parents paying for shit87: The last movie I saw: Get out86: The thing that I’m looking forward to the most: Figuring out my shit85: The thing im not looking forward to: the future84: People call me: Kemi83: The most difficult thing to do is: Have self control and follow through on it82: I have gotten a speeding ticket: Never81: My zodiac sign is: Libra80: The first person i talked to today was: Today a girl named sara cuz I was up and around at 2am79: First time you had a crush: Like elementary school78: The one person who i can’t hide things from: There is no one I can’t hide things from77: Last time someone said something you were thinking: I have no idea. Probably within the last few days76: Right now I am talking to: Well right now I’m not talking to anyone75: What are you going to do when you grow up: Hopefully happy and relatively successful74: I have/will get a job: hopefully over the summer73: Tomorrow: Is another day72: Today: Is my current reality that I really should use a lot more wisely but tend not to71: Next Summer: It’d be nice to be a more productive person70: Next Weekend: Probably gonna be doing fuck all instead of doing work69: I have these pets: I don’t have pets68: The worst sound in the world: Nails on a  chalkboard, velcro ripping, people chewing with their fucking mouths open. I can’t choose one67: The person that makes me cry the most is: Um. Prolly my stepfather?66: People that make you happy: My friends occasionally family when they aren’t disappointed in me65: Last time I cried: I dunno64: My friends are: Chill63: My computer is: Cool but mostly a huge distraction I literally can’t live without cuz I need it for everything. And I also really like it.62: My School: Is meh. Some chill people61: My Car: Don’t have one60: I lose all respect for people who: I suppose cheat59: The movie I cried at was: I dunno58: Your hair color is: Black57: TV shows you watch: I dunno. A lot 56: Favorite web site: Youtube probably55: Your dream vacation: Europe54: The worst pain I was ever in was: I don’t remember feeling pain I thought was all that intense. Like shit has hurt a lot but not like holy fuck I’m screaming53: How do you like your steak cooked: Medium52: My room is: A little dirty atm51: My favorite celebrity is: Um. Gordon Ramsey I suppose? Don’t really have one50: Where would you like to be: In a very nice restaurant sipping very nice whiskey with a lot of money. Ive said this before.49: Do you want children: Maybe eventually. At least 2 but not more than 348: Ever been in love: yeah47: Who’s your best friend: I have multiple46: More guy friends or girl friends: I definitely have more girl friends45: One thing that makes you feel great is: music44: One person that you wish you could see right now: My girlfriend would be nice to just chill with tbh43: Do you have a 5 year plan: Don’t be a failure is sorta just it. realistically grad school.42: Have you made a list of things to do before you die: I actually haven't 41: Have you pre-named your children: Nope40: Last person I got mad at: Um. I dunno39: I would like to move to: Somewhere on the west coast38: I wish I was a professional: Chef

[ My Favorites ]37: Candy: Twix is up there36: Vehicle: Teslas are pretty fucking cool35: President: Obama probably wasn’t the best but damn was he chill34: State visited: California never really disappoints me33: Cellphone provider: AT &T I guess? What the hell sort of question is this32: Athlete: Um. Don’t really have one. Ichiro Suzuki seems pretty chill. Curtis Grandson also seems chill. What can I say my stepdad likes the Yankees. Well so does my father31: Actor: Um. idk30: Actress: Idk29: Singer: Adele comes to mind cuz damn that voice. But I probably have others I like more and don’t remember28: Band: Mura Masa is high up there for producers. So is Flume, Ekali atm, Ta-ku, and Snago27: Clothing store: Don’t really have one. Uniqlo is pretty chill26: Grocery store: Fairways is chill25: TV show: Adventure time probably24: Movie: Don’t really have one tbh23: Website: I Don’t per se have a favorite. I like tumblr and Facebook 22: Animal: Deer are chill21: Theme park: Don’t have one. Which ever one has the wildest roller coasters20: Holiday: Um. Christmas19: Sport to watch: Baseball if I had to choose18: Sport to play: Ultimate frisbee17: Magazine: Cooks Illustrated is cool16: Book: Don’t really have one15: Day of the week: Friday or saturday14: Beach: Orange beach atm cuz it’s the nicest one i’ve been to13: Concert attended: Shitttttttt. Alina Baraz and Jauz are really high up there12: Thing to cook: I like making pasta cuz I do all sorts of shit to the sauce and I’m good at it. I also make pretty decent pork chops and shit. I dunno. 11: Food: Sushi probably. Also like steak and curry a lot.10: Restaurant: Um. Five guys? I don’t really have one.9: Radio station: Don’t really listen to radio8: Yankee candle scent: Don’t know any7: Perfume: same as above6: Flower: honeysuckle5: Color: Blue and green4: Talk show host: Don’t have one3: Comedian: Louis C.K. is great2: Dog breed: Cant choose1: Did you answer all these truthfully? Very

#me

[whatstheproblembaby]

Fic: What You Need

Skank!Kurt/pocket!Blaine, inspired by this picture. ~1670 words, PG-13, fluff.

“Oh, goddammit,” Kurt said, staring down at the narrow yet surprisingly deep crack in the pavement below the bleachers. He had fumbled his lighter while pulling it out of his pants and dropped it, and from the looks of it, that lighter was going to be gone forever. “Great. Amazing. Just what I needed.”

He took a seat on the low concrete divider that helped support the metal seats, wondering what would be the fastest way to get his cigarette lit. Most of the Skanks were off in Columbus for what they were calling “Senior Ditch Day,” like they needed an excuse to ditch class, while the few that hadn’t gone were nowhere in sight. Kurt was mentally debating whether he should go buy a new lighter from the closest 7/11 or try to hunt down Quinn when a bright flash and a loud crack startled him from his thoughts.

“What the-”

“You need help?” A warm voice asked. Kurt whipped his head around trying to determine where it was coming from. “Down here!”

Kurt nearly fell off the wall and cracked his head open.

“I’m hallucinating,” he whispered, staring transfixed at the five-inch tall man standing between his feet. “I’m going into nicotine withdrawal and I’m hallucinating.”

“I assure you, I’m real,” the man said. “Hang on, I can prove it.”

“Ow!”

“See?” the man said, a smirk appearing on his face. “You definitely felt that pinch.”

“Okay, so you’re not a hallucination,” Kurt said, pulling his leg up so he could rub at the sore spot on his calf. “Do you have a name or something?”

“I’m Blaine! And you must be Kurt.”

“I’m really gonna need you to explain-”

“You’re the one who called me here. Of course I know your name!” Blaine said matter-of-factly.

Kurt just stared at him incredulously.

“You don’t - right, I forgot that people don’t really know about us anymore. I’m a brownie! We help people with whatever they need.” Blaine paused, thinking. “Well, I do - some of my brethren are a little more mischievous.”

“Wait, you showed up out of nowhere just because I dropped my lighter?” Kurt asked. “That seems excessive.”

“If it’s meaningful to you, then it’s enough to bring me here,” Blaine said. “Where’d you drop it?”

“That crack behind you,” Kurt said, gesturing to the dirty pavement. Blaine started to run over as he continued, “But really, it’s just a standard Bic lighter. I can go get another-”

“Is it important to you?” Blaine interrupted, stopping to level Kurt with a serious look.

“Well...yes,” Kurt admitted. “My friend Quinn gave it to me the day I joined the Skanks. Said I deserved a present after all the shit I’d been through recently, even if it was just a cheap purple plastic lighter. I know it’s silly.”

“It’s not silly,” Blaine said, voice strong and certain. “And I can get it back for you, if you don’t mind lending a hand.”

“What do you need?”

“If you lower me in by the legs, I can grab onto your lighter,” Blaine said, leaning over the crack. “Then all you have to do is hoist me back out.”

“I shouldn’t be able to fuck that up too badly,” Kurt said, walking over to Blaine and kneeling down beside him. “Ready when you are.”

“Let’s do this!” Blaine said, smiling so bright that Kurt just had to grin in return.

Kurt grabbed Blaine’s legs as gently as he could, seizing each of his ankles between his thumb and forefinger before lifting him up and helping him flip over and into the crack. He tried to keep an eye on Blaine as he descended, but the crack was a little too narrow for him to have a good view. A few seconds after lowering Blaine down, though, he heard a muffled cry of “Okay! Pull me back!” and did as he was told.

“One lighter, as promised,” Blaine said once he was out and right-side up. “Though I have to say - and I’m sorry, this is a little rude - it would be better for you in the long run to just stop smoking.”

“I know, I know, I plan to someday,” Kurt said, pocketing his lighter carefully before plopping down on his butt. “But how I can be a real teenage rebel if I don’t even smoke?”

“Your aesthetic would lose a little of its authenticity if you stopped, I admit,” Blaine said, looking Kurt up and down.

“Once I don’t need this aesthetic to get by, the cigarettes are going to go,” Kurt said. “Even if I have to chew Nicorette for the rest of my life.”

“What do you mean, ‘need this aesthetic’?” Blaine asked.

Kurt’s heart squeezed for a moment - Blaine looked so concerned for him, yet he didn’t feel pitied or condescended to like he did when so many other people asked why he became a Skank.

“Life is hard when you’re gay in small town Ohio,” Kurt said, trying to stay succinct. “But it gets easier if you make the bullies scared of you.”

“I see,” Blaine said, and Kurt believed that he really did.

“Do you - are you just going to disappear now that you’ve helped me, or do you have time to grab a coffee? Do brownies like coffee?” Kurt asked, feeling a little foolish.

“I haven’t had coffee in decades,” Blaine said, an excited smile on his face. “And I should check back in with my people eventually, but I think I can swing a coffee break.”

“Great,” Kurt said, smiling back. “Then, uh - hop in? If you’d like?”

Kurt stretched out the breast pocket of his henley with a shrug.

“I’d love to,” Blaine said. He let Kurt lift him into his pocket, where he huddled down. “I’ll keep my head down while we’re in public, unless it’s normal for people to have magical creatures in their pockets now?”

“Uh, no, not quite,” Kurt said. “But I’ll find us somewhere private to eat once we’ve ordered.”

“Wonderful,” Blaine said as Kurt stood and started walking.

Kurt couldn’t help but agree.

_____________________

They soon developed a pattern. Kurt would drop his lighter or a piercing or get ash on his clothes, and then Blaine would appear with that now-standard flash of light and help Kurt out of his predicament. They would then go for coffee or soft pretzels, or once, memorably, a children’s movie about fairies that made Blaine laugh hysterically from start to finish.

“I should be mad that they didn’t even include any boy fairies, but honestly, that movie was so funny that I can’t even get upset. They trailed glitter everywhere they went, Kurt!” Blaine had said afterwards, wiping tears from his eyes.

Kurt snickered at the memory, still amused by it weeks later. Blaine looked up from where he was scouring Kurt’s carpet for an earring back, curious.

“Just thinking about that movie we saw,” Kurt explained.

Blaine snorted. “Oh my God, it was terrible!”

“I heard they’re making a sequel. I’ll have to drop my lighter again when it comes out so we can see it.”

“I really wish you’d stop smoking, Kurt,” Blaine said, looking pointedly at the cigarette Kurt was smoking out his window so it wouldn’t make his room smelly. “I know it helps with your look, but I just - I don’t like it.”

“How am I supposed to keep seeing you if I don’t smoke, Blaine?” Kurt said rapidly. When he took time to process what he’d just said, he clapped a hand over his mouth.

“What?”

“You only appeared because I dropped my lighter,” Kurt said, knowing there was no deflecting Blaine when he was on a mission - if he was willing to go through every single button in Kurt’s collection to find a match for his shirt repair, he’d hound Kurt about this topic until he spilled. “If I don’t need a lighter anymore, you’ll have fewer reasons to come back. I don’t actually have a deep emotional connection to most of my earrings, Blaine.”

“You think I don’t know that? Kurt, I’ve been grasping for reasons to see you ever since I got back that first day. My people are getting sick of me taking whatever excuse I can to help you out,” Blaine said. He straightened up and clambered up Kurt’s desk chair, where he jumped to the windowsill next to Kurt. “But I won’t have any excuses to come back if you’re dead from lung cancer! We could have years together, Kurt, but if you keep smoking, you lower our chances.”

Kurt stubbed his cigarette out on his nearby ashtray before flinging the whole thing in the trash. “I’ll go get the patch. Immediately. You can come with me and watch me put it on, if you want. I just thought I needed to have reasons to keep you around-”

“You are the reason I’m around,” Blaine said. He tugged at Kurt’s jacket, gesturing for Kurt to lift him up closer to his face. When Kurt did, Blaine leaned in and kissed him sweetly, just barely able to center both of his lips on Kurt’s upper.

Kurt kissed back as best he could, not wanting to smother Blaine. He was distracted by the blinding flash and sudden weight against his chest that sent him toppling to the floor, though.

“What the-”

“Holy crap,” Blaine said, now straddling Kurt.

“Blaine, you’re - you’re-”

“Human-sized!” Blaine finished, extending one of his arms and looking at it in awe.

Kurt pushed himself up to sit against his bed, wrapping an arm around Blaine’s waist when he tried to move away. “How did this happen?!” he asked.

“It’s like I told you when we met - I help with whatever you need,” Blaine said. “Right now, what you needed - what we both needed - was each other.”

“So you’ll stay this way?”

“As long as you need me to.”

“You know that’ll be forever, right?”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

Kurt just grinned and pulled Blaine in for another kiss.

#klaine fic #skank!kurt #pocket!blaine #glee fic #jen does words #g: au

[davidastbury]

August 2017

Margaret ...1965 She had a flat in the All Saints district of Manchester, quite near to the big hospital. On summer evenings, with the window open, the noise of the ambulance sirens would have bothered most people, but she didn't mind. Her friends gave up trying to persuade her to join them - she preferred to stay at home during the week, reading or listening to music. The man from downstairs was a problem. She shouldn't have encouraged him by letting him in, but he was obviously lonely, and she had felt sorry for him. But then he started to get his drug kit out and she smoked with him. They would watch television and giggle - but afterwards hated herself. So she stopped answering her door when she knew it was him - she didn't want to see his worried face and his trembling hands; his dirty matchboxes and silver paper. So she would sit reading - any book would do - and look up when an ambulance passed - her face tightening with concern at the poor person being rushed to On the Train For a few miles the train ran parallel to a motorway and we were going a lot faster than the cars. A young couple have moved seats so that they can be together. We are all being quickly carried to our destinations - we have no control, no say in the matter. The young couple are sharing their food, pouring drinks, having a laugh about something and the lights have been dimmed as the future rushes towards them. Summer Nights A mad, hot night. Last year in a mini heatwave our little city was pretending to be New Orleans - music blaring, smoke of fast cooking, half-dressed people toppling over and laughing and the continuous rattle and bang of public pleasures. I was walking through all this, head down but seeing everything, hoping not be confronted with aggressive friendliness. Unexpectedly the people ahead started to split up, skipping unsteadily into the road. A police van was parked and several officers were standing over someone lying on the pavement. I was waved on - I couldn't see who it was or anything - there was a dark stain of some liquid - perhaps urine or alcohol or blood. We all moved on - we were an obstruction - we weren't wanted. And then I saw another policeman alone in a doorway He was just standing and staring. Early twenties I'd say, his shirt dark with sweat, black hair across his forehead and superb eyes - eyes as beautiful as a woman's staring into space - numbed with shock at human stupidity. Who Could Blame Them? They were absolute beginners- everything was new, untested, exciting. They knocked each other about with amorous cruelty; their kisses and betrayals leaving them marked for life. Eventually they returned to safe ground to lick their wounds and through the following decades look back and ask themselves - 'was that really me?' On The Train Fascinating face on platform 4. Woman in her fifties I'd guess. Why is her face fascinating ? Not had enough time to analyse but I suggest this theory:- we are instinctively drawn to a paradox: the regular, although pleasing, does not hold us. And the greatest paradox is when the face offers two different messages - the upper part gives a certain expression to the lower part. In this case, as I can remember it, her eyes are gentle but her mouth is set in a hard, uncompromising forcefulness. This doesn't occur in younger people but is fairly common in middle age and beyond. Mr Robinson I once worked at a firm where the golden rule was 'documentation'. Everything had to be written down - meetings with customers, phone conversations, follow-ups to enquiries, orders and transfers - everything. Not only did it have to be written down but it had to be written in only one type of black ball-point - the Bic Crystal. The firm used to buy dozens of boxes of these and they were stored in locked cabinets behind the desk of Mr Robinson. Whenever your pen ran dry (about twice weekly) you had to go to Mr Robinson and request a new one. He would sigh and look at you with hostility. 'And where is your old one?' - he would ask - because you had to present proof that your pen had expired. He would examine it and then, instead of tossing it into the rubbish bin (where someone might dishonestly retrieve it and return it for replacement) he would snap it in two. This involved some straining and heaving - the yellow bones of his knuckles showing through his skin. I remember how he turned his face away to avoid splinters when the pen fractured. I was sixteen - cocky and humorous - and had the impression that he would have liked to do that to my neck Going back isn't always a good idea - but there he was back to where it had all happened. It would have been nice to feel a connection; a confirmation of how he remembered things, but instead it was as if he had no part in anything. The trees had changed shape - the beach was smaller - the grass held no memory and the place knew him not. Couples I'm thinking of people we've met on holidays . A young couple from Liverpool in Tunisia - he Kurdish, open-faced and friendly; building up an ice-cream business. She as lovely as a film-star, accent like the Beatles, got herself a hairdressing shop and doing-very-well-thank-you. They had left their little boy at home with his grandma but his mum never stopped thinking about him. We got onto the subject of Kurdistan and yes, she had been there twice with her husband - met all his big family. I asked how she got along with them and she replied - 'The men are really nice... but the women were standoffish, they weren't friendly.' I remember the long silence. At first we all nodded, showing deep sympathy and then a unspoken humour appeared until it became a struggle to keep our faces straight. Tenerife - Hotel Restaurant, breakfast. All eyes on her as the waiter fusses her to a table - really, there is no need to walk backwards! She floats on the attention with only the slightest flicker of pleasure - as if born to be served. And then she exchanges a few words with her boyfriend, or husband or whatever he is. Her voice is pitched low so that even those very near won't catch it - she doesn't want to be heard, but she enjoys all the eyes being on her. And then a couple struggle their way through the tables, loaded with a baby and all the necessary equipment. He hollow-eyed and with a ginger beard; she with that slightly crazy look of new mothers. The baby, a girl I think, is installed in a high chair and starts drumming with a spoon - uneven tufts of hair shake about as she gazes at all the smiling strangers. Six Thousand Miles Away A priest called on her without any notice - just a knock on the door. He informed her that her mother had been arrested in California and was being held on drug charges. It was a shock but not a surprise. Apparently she had a lawyer and was getting help, but she wanted to see her daughter - a letter explaining everything was on the way. He gave her a sheet of paper with details of where the penitentiary was situated. When the priest had left she sat and remembered the tensions and troubles of her childhood - the instability and fights - the extravagant promises - the treatments - the start-ups and relapses - the succession of awful men, all greedy, drug ridden and over friendly - it was all hard-edged and unpleasant. California was five/six thousand miles away. She couldn't just drop everything and go. If her mother was ill she'd go to meet her without any hesitation - if she were ill she would rush to be with her - of course she would - what daughter wouldn't? Hotel Pool. Tenerife Hockney blue water and Topkapi tiling. Lovers, enjoying the semi- concealment, laugh and maul each other. Nymphs and brats frolic in the foam. I go deep into the turquoise thunder and see it all slide above me - the white hotel with blue railings - the dancing sun-umbrellas - the melting clouds - an orange triangle of bikini - white, perfect teeth - golden hair and nut-brown legs. The nice thing about being away on holiday is that priorities are reversed - the trivial becomes important. The rescue of a butterfly in a fountain attracts a crowd - a toddler splashing another is high drama - kites that will not fly draw masses of technical advice. I like to join the confusion in many languages - Germans looking at me think that I am German and I say 'Ja wohl ' and do my Friedrich Nietzsche face. Saudi Arabia There was nothing - thousands of miles of emptiness; nothing but sand and the occasional cluster of palm trees. What became known as the capital was given the name Riyadh, which means 'underground water'. The palm tree gives shade - it gives food, dates - it supplies fuel, slow burning wood - for construction purposes it has leaves to mix with clay for bricks and adobe, and hard wood for supports - the leaves can also be dried and woven into floor coverings and screens - even the ash after burning can be used as nourishment for plants. For hundreds of years the palm tree supplied comfort and shade for travellers, poets and storytellers. There was nothing else in Arabia, but from this austere beauty came Islam and then the black gold of crude oil. And that nothingness will surprise us again. Hotel Tenerife Met a woman in the hotel - originally from Germany but lived all over the world. She's at least 80, perfect English, smokes continuously ('and have done all my life'); gave up driving last year and misses it badly, sold her beloved Porsche but says she's going to buy a new one; loves London and is fighting to save Soho and Camden from the developers. She says outrageous things and you know at a glance that she isn't what the English call 'respectable'. She's thin and wears saffron coloured tops and creased linen trousers - which may be a throw back to a hippy past. There is a husband too, although I haven't seen him, and then she told me that he was staying 'Up in the room'. With a dismissive flick of cigarette ash and a wicked smile with half of her mouth, she added - 'Man-flu' A Near Miss Out in the hills in a mini-bus. Driver rolling with the wheel; cheerful music loud at full volume and still managing a shouting chat with his pal in the front seat. Cocky driving - all accelerator and brake. We all hold tight as he swings us on the hair-pin bends and look with dismay at the sheer down to a dried up riverbed far below. And then he gets his timing wrong and we very nearly go through the low wall - which would have been the end of us. But we were lucky - but only just. He resumed his shouting chat and his hairy arms wrestled with the wheel. I felt a rising anger, surely justified, at how our lives were at the whim of his caprice, and yet it was a sort of synthetic anger - not on my own behalf - more for the nice young couple in front of me, who were too busy looking at each other to see anything else. The Ghosts of Oxford Street It was said that if you walked the length of The Strand you would pass at least two murderers and one international spy. Today if you walk Oxford Street, preferably on a hot afternoon, it is likely you will meet the ghost of Dr Stephen Ward. Ward loved Oxford Street for two reasons - it had lots of coffee bars with huge windows and passing along those pavement was a parade of the prettiest young women in the country; perhaps in the world. He was well known in these coffee bars, always in a grey suit and white shirt, chain-smoking Player’s untipped cigarettes, sometimes alone sketching, sometimes talking with a friend, but always, always with an eye on the young women passing outside. And the women adored him. So many shared his flat and talked about his fussing over bathroom arrangements and disapproval at unsuitable boyfriends. The coffee bars closed down long ago. Friends The smiles and waves when leaving friends are insincere. The cheerful - ‘See you soon’ is bogus and everyone knows it is - but we play our parts because we have to. You don't want the music of their voices to fade away. You don't want to return to your own silences. You imagine the conversations continuing - you offer suggestions - you make jokes. But what you will miss most of all is the feeling of easy happiness - of undemanding happiness! And the certainty that nothing bad can happen. Ronnie He disliked me from day one. We shared the same office and I did my best to have as little contact as possible. What got him was probably my 60s cockiness and effete languor. He was double my age and had been through the war - apparently in Lancaster bombers. He viewed me with contempt, and he was much the same with the other people. We knew he was a bit weird - if something went wrong he would explode with rage, sort of hysterical, his voice high. And I would have never have known more about him if I hadn't been seated opposite him at the annual Christmas dinner. He was talking to the man on his left and I could hear what was going on. Ronnie was explaining why he couldn't use the offered ticket for a football match - he was unable to cope with excitement. As the evening drew out I learned a lot about him. Somehow he had managed to survive the war - Lancasters had a bad reputation, they were very difficult to get out of if you were hit - only 16% of airmen successfully made it. The crew would be in a state of terror throughout; drenched in sweat but shivering with the cold. When the war ended he found there was nothing for him. He called at the RAF places in Pall Mall, and he was humiliated. He was mentally ill at a time when it was regarded as shameful. He was offered a place at university but he didn't feel strong enough to study. He lived as a lodger on full board; he had a bedroom and use of facilities. He said it suited him better than having to cook and do things like shopping. I listened to all without looking at him and pictured him hanging up his hat and coat on a hook behind the door - the low ceiling and floral wallpaper - the suitcase under the bed - the wardrobe door that swings open - the light switch on the end of a cord - a neat pile of paperback thrillers - a cheap Timex watch - two pairs of highly polished shoes - and on the bedside table a small framed photograph of Winston Churchill. Mary Notnice… (1966). For Frances Mary was furious and it was best to keep out of her way. Later that day I thought she had calmed down a little and asked what was wrong. Apparently the boss has said to her that she looked like Sonny and Cher. I said that Cher is gorgeous. The boss had told her that she looked like Sonny. We hear about so many people being ill in one way or another. People sometimes say that they will pray that their friends will recover - but they don't know how to put this into words. I know that simple sincerity is the key, but structure is also important. I would like to offer this prayer for healing… ‘May the One who was a source of blessing for our ancestors, bring blessings of healing upon (recite the English/ Hebrew or just English name in full) a healing of body and a healing of spirit. May those in whose care they are entrusted, be gifted with wisdom and skill, and those who surround them, be gifted with love and trust, openness and support in their care. And may they be healed along with all those who are in need. Blessed are You, Source of healing. Amen.’ Mary Notnice ….(1965 and all that) She is the only one I would like to know more about - I am curious of what became of her. The rest of us - thrown together in that office in Cross Street Manchester - were very average and conventional. We posed and squawked, brimming with boasts and shrill ambitions, and the normal torments of pretentious young people - randy and restless, trusting and treacherous. But Mary was never part of our group; she distanced herself and nursed her anger. She would frown through her fringe - her pointed elbows keeping you at your distance. I remember how she wore a fluffy jumper of some sort, incongruously feminine, and commenting that it concealed needles - that got a laugh, and it now makes me ashamed. She disliked us and hardly ever joined in the conversations. I can still see her sitting by herself in the staff-room, her tea-cup empty and her hands out of sight. She sat like a painting, totally still, totally remote, totally self contained. It should have been enough. The sky opened and gave them everything - all their dreams came true, not just their dreams but even things beyond their dreams. It should have been enough. But it wasn't. Are You a Lesbian? She was in her bedroom, not properly dressed, just sprawling and thinking her own private thoughts when her mother came in - she didn't knock, she just came in. You could see she had a determined look, as if resolved to do something and was set on doing it. No preamble - out came the question - ‘Are you a lesbian?’ This was a continuation of an earlier conversation. They had talked about boys and the mother mentioned boys who had shown an interest. The girl hooted with laughter at her mother’s cringy suggestions. She choked with snorting derision. So the mother had been pondering a certain thread of thought. Hence the question - which was asked with that concerned, pained, but creepy expression that mothers use. The girl was shocked - real jaw-sagging incredulity - a mixture of astonishment and annoyance - she looked so alarmed that the mother backed off immediately, mumbling apologies - but at the same time pleased. Alone again, the girl stared at the ceiling and then grabbed her mobile to text her girlfriend. L'éducation Sentimentale Leonardo’s Madonna touched him with icy fingers and he moved away. Once he visited Italy and stood perfectly still in front of Primavera, by Botticelli, as she tossed flowers and smiled at him, romping and randy. Others called to him - Renoir’s sizzling nudes, golden girls in the river, water up to their hips, splashing and laughing. But he remained loyal to his Tess. She haunted him - and although he was never without a copy of the book, he could not read it again… Tess - the love of his life. On the Train Couple sitting at a diagonal to me - mid thirties at a guess. The speak together but don't look at each other; they listen only to the voice. Years ago, when they were getting to know each other they agreed not to have secrets and to tell each other everything. He told of the fears that had tormented him all his life; he also recounted his past - what he had done and what he would have liked to have done. She was shocked - and that was the end of it. And so he never mentions his secret fears but they haven't gone away - they crowd up and show in his face - and they are to be found (in a coded form) in everything he says 
On the Train She must be a dancer! Long rangy limbs with the elasticity of the super fit - reaching and stretching for her cluster of bags and things. Fabulous angular face - beautiful bones that will never change - sharp shoulders - pointed chin - a jaw like a Lautrec - a profile like Buffet’s ‘Annabelle’ - pale grey ‘didn't-get-much-sleep-last-night’ eyes - front teeth showing in a childish sort of way - silver rings through her left nostril, girlish and yet puzzlingly androgynous - she’s like a boy who has decided to be a ballerina! But the train has been stopped and with the sun beating down we are feeling the heat. A man is struggling to open the windows. The dancer takes off her jumper and tosses it onto the opposite seat - in that quick movement, with her arms stretched fully above her head and wearing only a very abbreviated, sleeveless T-shirt, she showed off her thick black armpit hair. !’ Mischief in Patisserie Valerie I shouldn't make such assumptions when I see people, but this is too good to miss! Here is a normal looking young woman - she keeps glancing at the door, as if expecting someone. Her expression shows equanimity and patience, but you feel that her slow-blinking seriousness is actually a mask - her wondering, girlish gaze is a fake. She has a steady stream of boyfriends - few of whom hold her interest beyond a couple of weeks. There is a set routine - she annoys them. She does things that will irritate or embarrass them - when out on a date she might spill her drink down the front of his trousers - or she might borrow his iPad and delete some of his apps. When she sees the anger on his face she becomes contrite and compliant - and he softens - then she does something else to annoy him. It is her game and she plays it to perfection. If the boyfriend is clever he will join in, but mustn't give away that he knows - if he isn't clever, he's finished! Mary Temple (Minny) 1846-1870 Cousin of Henry James. She was intellectually brilliant, headstrong, restless, searingly honest. The photograph was taken at the age of 17 - after she had cropped her hair. As time ran out (she died at 24) she made a single demand:- ‘You must tell me something that you are sure is true.’ More birds than ever this morning. All waiting for me to go out in the rain and feed them. At the back of the garden, in the branches, a line of jackdaws, blinking and cawing - water dripping from their beaks. On the lower branches are pairs of wood-pigeons, but some single ones too - perhaps widows or widowers. I put out bread for them and a mix from a sack - wheat, sunflower, maize, oats, millet, dari, rapeseed oil. That will keep them happy for a while - and if they are happy I am happy. There is something that will make you smile and feel happy every time you come home. In your hall - the first thing you see - a little girl’s pink bicycle! She was in her second year at medical school and had already decided to be an opthalmologist. She used to sit in the library studying a book called ‘The Eye and Orbit’ and other titles dealing with surgery of the eye. She was called Jackie (Jacqueline) and she was the girlfriend of my friend Kevin. Kevin kept her very much to himself - we only saw him when he was alone. I once commented on this and he said that Jackie didn't like being in a crowd; she was shy and very quiet. But around that time there was some sort of incident on Oxford Road; very near to the medical library. A man was on the pavement and people were bunched up around him. Someone had phoned for help, but it wasn't clear what had happened - a woman said that he had fallen over in a fit of some sort. Another said that a man had come up and hit him and then ran off. He wasn't fully conscious. Jackie, apparently untroubled by shyness, announced that she was a medical student and that everyone must stand back and let her through. She knelt beside him and did all the things that doctors do in such situations - but - all the time she was working on the man her face was very close to his - very close - nearly touching. Later Kevin told about this - the incident with unconscious stranger and how Jackie had put her face over his. Of course, it was all about the eyes! But I said nothing, letting him work it out for himself. Rick He didn't want her to go but what could he do? He knew that she had intended going to university right from the start. They agreed to make the best of it - she would come home for the vacations and he would visit from time to time. And that's what they did; and for a while it was okay. But the journey to Cambridge from the North West is difficult - it isn't something you would do every weekend, even if you could afford it. So they saw less of each other. Inevitably, her new life began to fill her needs and her interest in Rick diminished; unfortunately his interest in her increased. And then it was all over. Rick didn't take up with anyone else - he took girls out to clubs and parties but there was never anyone ‘special’. He told someone that he was stuck and could not move on - no one felt right - that was his phrase - ‘No one felt right’. At the Jewellers #3 An unhappy customer! They should have ushered her into a private room and offered soothing words and sympathy - instead she's having a rant and everyone can hear - except me of course. Exiles Even a small kindness to a stranger can be important - it may seem insignificant but that unexpected friendliness will reconnect them to what they may have lost - a much greater kindness with other people - at another place - at another time. The Haunted House There had once been a double murder in the house and it was never again occupied. Gradually it became a ruin, the roof collapsed and tree branches grew through the windows. Naturally, to eight-year-olds it was a place of fear and wonderment and excitement. It stood alone and desolate and although we were told never to go near the place, we used to meet-up there and explore the dark rooms and broken stairway. Two areas were too terrifying to enter - the cellar and a kitchen scullery - it was where the bodies were found and the doors were nailed shut. As it grew dark we would take turns at telling ghost stories - we would creep up behind each other and scream. It was good fun, but we felt real fear too and we would all leave the place together - not quite holding hands, but very nearly. Once, as we came out of the country lane and back to civilisation - street lights and road traffic - I found that I’d left my jacket back at the haunted house. The jacket was important but even more were the items packed in the pockets, back-door key, knife, cash, and a Smiths pocket watch (yes, as a little boy I had pocket-watches) and other treasures. I had to go back and get it. I had to go back, in darkness, alone, down the lanes and across the fields to a place that even grown-ups shunned. I was shaking with fear. I could hear someone coming after me and it was Jack. He wasn't a best friend and he was younger. We didn't speak, and I knew he was as afraid as I was, but having someone next to me - even a seven-year-old - somehow made me stronger.

[investnlord]

The Waiting Room 2

Hardcastle: ***

Hardcastle: You sit at

Hardcastle: the table

Hardcastle: on your stool

Hardcastle: the light hangs overhead dimly lighting this unexceptional room

Hardcastle: shelves of mail

Hardcastle: you drum your feet against the center island counter where more mail is piled

Hardcastle: what's your favorite color?*

Bourbon: brown

Bourbon: *

Hardcastle: The mail flutters out of chutes and into bins

Hardcastle: those by the door

Hardcastle: the mail always flows

Hardcastle: day and night

Hardcastle: you either hate this job or you love it

Hardcastle: it's a strong emotion

Hardcastle: There's a packet in front of you

Hardcastle: it has YOUR name on it

Hardcastle: It's sealed, but from the shape and weight you guess it's some kind of invitation*

Bourbon: i

Bourbon: have this job

Bourbon: i've never gotten mail before

Bourbon: well

Bourbon: not here

Bourbon: i break my concentration and listen to the churning hum around me

Bourbon: pick up my mail and let the rest of the mail just

Bourbon: go wherever

Bourbon: i open my letter*

Bourbon: (https://dekanta.com/store/yamazaki-25-years-old/)

Bourbon: (very trashy to be so expensive)

Hardcastle: It's the highest-grade of stationary

Hardcastle: you know because you exclusively work with mail

Hardcastle: or so we'd like to think

Hardcastle: On it in gold ink script-

Hardcastle: "Find a man who has done you no wrong and slay him and receive a revelation"

Hardcastle: There is no name signed*

Bourbon: hmm

Bourbon: examine the envelope

Bourbon: does it have a postmark or a return address*

Hardcastle: No

Hardcastle: it appears to have been

Hardcastle: Hand delivered

Hardcastle: You have

Hardcastle: Tucked in button down shirt

Hardcastle: pants

Hardcastle: good working shoes with arch support

Hardcastle: a northface jacket

Hardcastle: cell phone, wallet, watch

Hardcastle: Flask of Japanese Whiskey

Hardcastle: Pocket knife

Hardcastle: matches, bic lighter, cigarettes

Hardcastle: *

Bourbon: oh i'm kind of an old fashioned m'dude

Bourbon: that's alright

Bourbon: sounds good

Bourbon: ok well hmm

Bourbon: i write on a piece of paper

Bourbon: WENT TO LUNCH THANKS

Bourbon: and put it on the door

Bourbon: leave the mailroom*

Hardcastle: You exit and find you are in the hallway of a hospital ward

Hardcastle: There are gurneys and IV towers scattered about

Hardcastle: It's almost too cluttered, like the wing has been closed for storage

Hardcastle: you hear far off sounds of traffic

Hardcastle: but in here you feel you are alone

Hardcastle: down the hall is a set of double doors which must lead out

Hardcastle: and there are multiple patient rooms here which are not sealed*

Bourbon: who left them

Bourbon: unsealed

Bourbon: shouldn't they be

Bourbon: idk i just do the mail thing

Bourbon: assess the patient rooms

Bourbon: are they numbered

Bourbon: are there names

Bourbon: is there an

Bourbon: order

Bourbon: *

Hardcastle: No it's all pretty disheveled

Hardcastle: Big old dialysis machine wrapped in a plastic sheet

Hardcastle: dusty clipboards set on tarps covering gurneys

Hardcastle: no one has been back here for months

Hardcastle: You poke your head into a patient room

Hardcastle: the hair on the nape of your neck stands as you realize you aren't alone

Hardcastle: something shuffles erratically and a box of tongue depressors hits the floor making a scattered racket*

Bourbon: look at the tongue depressors

Bourbon: why did they fall

Bourbon: assess patient*

Hardcastle: You step into the room where you can see a bit better

Hardcastle: your foot crunches some of the wood sticks which fell

Hardcastle: A terrified young man in scrubs is in a feeble defensive posture

Hardcastle: hand outstretched

Hardcastle: as he tries to burrow further into the corner

Hardcastle: a pipe lays abandoned on the floor with the smoke still wafting from it's bowl

Hardcastle: his eyes are as red a the devil's dick and he's making terrified chittering noises

Hardcastle: he is wearing brown scrubs

Hardcastle: which, if the brown is anything to go by, means he is of some kind of orderly staff*

Bourbon: i close the door and walk over to him

Bourbon: crouch down

Bourbon: swallow him up

Bourbon: i stab him with the pocket knife

Bourbon: over and over again

Bourbon: *

Hardcastle: Oh my god

Hardcastle: The stone orderly is incapacitated

Hardcastle: blood is spilling over his tunic and your shoes

Hardcastle: he makes gurgling sounds

Hardcastle: not dead but messed up

Hardcastle: what's the plan here?*

Bourbon: ok well actually kill him

Bourbon: jeez*

Hardcastle: You play the waiting game as his throat wound continues to gush less as less blood

Hardcastle: eventually he subsides with a little gasp and your skin feels the chill of a nearby passing

Hardcastle: You have committed a murder!

Hardcastle: -10 Good Boy Points

Hardcastle: What do you do?*

Bourbon: ok go back to the mailroom for my revelation*

Hardcastle: You open the door to go out but you just see the wall where you came out

Hardcastle: There is a graffiti on the wall of a dragon spitting flames

Hardcastle: and a yellow wizard with his pants down!

Hardcastle: he's even got a little pecker!

Hardcastle: There's no door here idiot

Hardcastle: you think revelations are just put out that easy

Hardcastle: he's a fucking drone!

Hardcastle: Get us a good prize*

Bourbon: damn dude shit

Bourbon: who would have expected this

Bourbon: from a mailroom

Bourbon: ok uh

Bourbon: ok

Bourbon: ok

Bourbon: gotta start doing damage control

Bourbon: hit up another patient's room*

Hardcastle: You pop from room to room

Hardcastle: the blood thirst unquenched

Hardcastle: and the thirst is real bad

Hardcastle: You find more beds

Hardcastle: equipment

Hardcastle: no victims

Hardcastle: not even primo meds

Hardcastle: the only substance besides your tobacco is whatever unholy shit is in that kid's pipe

Hardcastle: maybe he had some shit on him

Hardcastle: I don't know

Hardcastle: I'm not in the habit of handing out hints

Hardcastle: You hear the intercom blurgergurgle on the other side of the double doors

Hardcastle: you know there are probably people there

Hardcastle: working away to save lives

Hardcastle: while you're back here taking them like some deranged ghost

Hardcastle: You make a sweep and determine the only kit you can add will come from homeboy deadguy over here*

Bourbon: (sorry dude making a midnight snack)

Groy: (well hurry up)

Bourbon: no no no no

Bourbon: i'm not

Bourbon: that one

Bourbon: assess the patient in here

Bourbon: *

Hardcastle: Explain though

Hardcastle: Do you mean the guy you just fucked up?

Hardcastle: Just you and him in this abandoned ward*

Bourbon: i mean

Bourbon: the one in this new room*

Bourbon: (if you were also drinking whiskey)

Bourbon: (this would all come together)

Hardcastle: Aight okay you're in shock

Hardcastle: It's probably the adrenaline

Hardcastle: from the murder

Hardcastle: you are in a wing with 10 rooms

Hardcastle: all of them are stuffed with storage

Hardcastle: there are no patients here

Hardcastle: but on the other side of that door

Hardcastle: it's a hospital

Hardcastle: with people dying and being reborn every minute

Hardcastle: shit man

Hardcastle: you're in the right place

Hardcastle: what a holy place

Hardcastle: you just gotta be ready

Hardcastle: to walk through that door*

Bourbon: (ok got my snack)

Bourbon: ok i just need

Bourbon: to

Bourbon: how bloody am i*

Bourbon: (do you ever make asian noodles and it's like)

Bourbon: (should have put peanut butter in there)

Hardcastle: (oh dude yeah)

Hardcastle: Blood on your shoes

Hardcastle: a little splatter on the rest of you

Hardcastle: from the stabbing

Hardcastle: *

Bourbon: ok i undress this patient

Bourbon: and put his clothes on*

Hardcastle: You don the orderly's brown scrubs

Hardcastle: his ID badge does not match your appearance but

Hardcastle: who really looks

Hardcastle: Jacob MacIntosh

Hardcastle: not that it matters

Hardcastle: just thought you should know

Hardcastle: You pick up his pipe too for good measure

Hardcastle: You now look like a very bloody, disheveled orderly at this hospital*

Bourbon: uh huh

Bourbon: ok uh

Bourbon: ok

Bourbon: do i still have my letter from before

Bourbon: the one about

Bourbon: revelation*

Hardcastle: Totally!*

Bourbon: ok good

Bourbon: good good good

Bourbon: ok leave the hospital

Bourbon: find me a tree

Bourbon: out of sight*

Hardcastle: Okay

Hardcastle: You look out the window and see you are on

Hardcastle: the first floor

Hardcastle: you open a window and you are outside

Hardcastle: You sprint across the parking lot

Hardcastle: no one notices

Hardcastle: shit

Hardcastle: no one is paying attention at all with their phones and ipads

Hardcastle: anyway there's a tree beside the parking lot

Hardcastle: next to a nice fence

Hardcastle: you sit behind it

Hardcastle: now you're bloody and sweaty

Hardcastle: which is confusing because it's like 50 degrees outside*

Bourbon: good

Bourbon: hey tree

Bourbon: alright

Bourbon: mop the sweat off my face with my hands

Bourbon: collect myself

Bourbon: center

Bourbon: my chi*

Hardcastle: You breathe

Hardcastle: in through your nose out through your mouth

Hardcastle: you are

Hardcastle: centered*

Bourbon: and

Bourbon: ok

Bourbon: get the revelation*

Hardcastle: (Bourbon there is a shirt called the night manager and it has sophie from peep show as an mi6 spy)

Hardcastle: Nothing

Hardcastle: No revelation comes

Hardcastle: Maybe a true innocent is needed

Hardcastle: not just to you but

Hardcastle: to everyone

Hardcastle: an innocent soul*

Bourbon: (god yes)

Bourbon: hmm

Bourbon: i'm no innocent

Bourbon: i can't just

Bourbon: kill myself

Bourbon: i crush a bug

Bourbon: crush it into paste*

Hardcastle: Haha

Hardcastle: Dude come on

Hardcastle: Suddenly a modest Volvo whips into the ER loading/unloading nearby

Bourbon: (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iy2DgCym6Uw)

Hardcastle: you hear tires screech and wailing

Hardcastle: A man in a yarmulke leaps from his car and calls for help

Hardcastle: two smoking CNA's stroll out and waddle the jew's wife into a wheelchair

Hardcastle: they usher both of them inside and the automatic doors

Hardcastle: thump

Hardcastle: closed

Hardcastle: then reopen as the man comes back out and pulls into a parking spot nearby

Hardcastle: he bolts back to the waiting room you suppose*

Bourbon: man

Bourbon: ok

Bourbon: alright

Bourbon: i hop in his car

Bourbon: *

Hardcastle: You approach the car, now as abandoned as the man you murdered

Hardcastle: you check in the back seat and see an overnight bag and some magazines

Hardcastle: you brick the window and slide in passenger rear

Hardcastle: dusting the glass out of the seats you make a move to be low in the back*

Bourbon: (Hardcastle i gotta go to bed

Bourbon: (i just gotta)

Hardcastle: Oh man

Hardcastle: (Oh man)

Hardcastle: okay

Hardcastle: call it

Hardcastle: ***

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