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gingersnaaps · 3 years

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you should always remember to close your tabs - especially your tabs of tumblr smut, and especially around miya atsumu.

wc: 1.6k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): explicit n*fw, noncon, fingering, panty gag, finger sucking, condescension, super meta, fem!reader with internal genitals, college!au

a/n: i feel like this has been done before but i’ve had this concept on my mind for a while

i don’t want minors interacting with my content

Miya Atsumu. Star volleyball player at your college. Undeniably talented. Riddled with scholarship offers and professional opportunities. Infuriatingly attractive.

Also: a terrible group project member.

“Just lemme have a look,” he whines, grabbing at your laptop. “It’ll only take a few seconds. Promise.”

It’s a heroic task, ignoring him. It almost takes as much brainpower as doing his portion of the project for him.

Your eye begins to twitch as his perfectly-filed fingernails intrude at the edge of your screen, obscuring part of the slide you’d been working on. Technically, he should have been the one doing them, but as much of a genius as he may be at volleyball(this fact was grudgingly admitted after you’d watched him play once), he was utterly useless when it came to anatomy and physiology.

And you really, really, needed to end the semester without failing.

The cool metal of the laptop slips out of your grasp, and you roll your eyes so hard that you think they might get stuck in your head.

“Just wanted to see what you’d been workin’ on,” Atsumu says sheepishly. He’s sitting at the opposite end of your couch, legs kicked up and crossed on the coffee table, and the bright screen disappears from view as he begins clicking through the slideshow. “Not bad,” he muses. He presses a few more keys.

His face suddenly changes, a brow quirking as his eyes darken.

“What?” you snap. “Should’ve done it yourself earlier if there’s something you don’t like.”

He jumps slightly, startled by your harsh reaction. “No,” he says quickly. Too quickly. “It’s good. I like it.”

One more thing to note about Miya Atsumu, you thought to yourself: he was probably terrible at poker.

He returns the laptop to you, as promised, and hums idly as you resume working. The two of you sit in silence, but it’s not exactly comfortable - after the awkward exchange, there’s a layer of tension that hangs thick and heavy in the air. The air conditioning drones on in the background, like white noise meant to soothe, but it worms its way into your conscious mind and sits there, just noticeable enough to be irritating. Aside from that, it’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

Of course, he’s the one to break the silence.

“Didn’t know you were into that kinda’ stuff.”

You freeze.

“Didn’t think that a girl like you would ever be lookin’ at something so messed up.”

Panic clenches at your stomach, and you reply carefully, voice measured and cold. “What are you talking about?”

“Should really be more careful about which tabs you leave open,” he chuckles.

You scan the cluttered row of tabs at the top; there’s nothing missing. Your eyes dart around the screen frantically -

There’s an incognito window open along your taskbar.

“Rough sex, violent sex, rape? Jesus christ, sweetheart.”

You click nervously, and on the screen, clear as day, is the fic you’d been reading earlier that morning. It’s one of the blogs you frequent - normally one of your favorite places to scroll through after a nasty day - but right now, it seems almost sinister, black font on a white background staring back accusingly as your skin prickles under his gaze. You swallow; a heavy, sinking feeling squeezes at your chest, closes up your throat, makes you feel like you’re dry drowning.

He grabs the laptop back. He’s sitting a lot closer now.

“I mean, just look at this shit. You really want this, huh?”

“No, I- I don’t.” Your voice sounds foreign, far away - you feel like you’re underwater, and your denial sounds guilty even to your own ears.

His lips graze your ear, the warmth of his body spreading to yours as he slides an arm around waist.

“If you wanted to be raped, angel,” he whispers, a terrifying grin stretched wide across his face. “All you had to do was ask.”

He laughs at his clever little joke, and pulls you onto his lap.

You feel numb, paralyzed, unable to fight back or move at all as his hands glide along your inner thighs, kneading the soft, puffy, flesh, spreading them apart until you’re straddling his lap. He pulls your hair to one side and starts kissing along your jaw, rough and sloppy, sharp teeth nipping at the underside of your jaw as you shiver.

He punctuates his words with a harsh squeeze to your thigh, thumb brushing dangerously close to your cunt. “I bet you were getting off t’ this, weren’t you?” he hisses. “Bet you were just dripping down your thighs, squirmin’ around ‘n moaning, fantasizing about some scary man who just takes what he wants.”

The dull, pained, look in your eyes reads like defeat to him, sending a thrill of pleasure through his veins. He’s right, isn’t he? He’s fuckn’ spot on about your little habits, your little fantasies, and he’s gonna make sure that all your dreams come true.

“Let’s do this exactly how it’s written out, how’s that sound? Follow along with your cute story ‘nd everything,” he muses, scrolling down the page. “Starts out with her - you - getting fingerfucked.”

It’s as if those words break some sort of dam inside you, a flurry of tears and sobs heaving out of your chest as his fingers trail up to your clothed clit. You squirm back and forth in his lap, ass rutting against his hardening cock. “Don’t want it,” you whimper. “Don’t make me. Please.”

“Playin’ along, angel? That’s cute.”

He peels your skirt off of you, thumbs hooking around the waistband of your panties as he pulls them off and stuffs them in your mouth. You can taste yourself on the damp fabric that clings to the roof of your mouth, spit soaking through as your whines and protests become muffled.

Fingers spread your pussy apart, sliding and squelching embarrassingly in the slick, your skin cold and exposed in the open air. As he rests his thumb lightly on your clit, he quirks his lips at the way your heartbeat thrums in your cunt, your pussy twitching as you clench around nothing.

Best part is that you like this, that you're turned on by this, he thinks. The fat, silvery, tears streaming down your face mean absolutely nothing when you’re so obviously into it.

He thrusts a long, thick, finger in, all the way to the last knuckle, the calloused pad of his fingertip brushing up against your spongy walls as your pussy contracts and squeezes him tight. “So eager,” he coos. “It’s jus’ like you always imagined, huh?”

You sniffle as the outline of his cock presses into your ass, rutting his hips against you and moaning from the delicious friction of the fabric. There’s nowhere for you to go, one large hand squeezing your waist and holding you down, the other fucking you backwards into his broad chest.

He crooks his finger; you sob, body drawn taught with pleasure, and he pushes another inside as you spasm. He’s good with his hands, unfairly good, his thumb nudging against your sweet clit in circles as his fingers scissor your walls and stretch you out so good. It’s as if you’re his little puppet, jerking around whenever he drags his fingers roughly against your g-spot, crying out through your stuffed mouth as blunt teeth sink into your neck and his tongue runs along the ridge of your ear.

“You’re makin’ a mess, pretty girl,” he murmurs, watching in delight as you flush with shame. “Dripping into my palm and all down your thighs, just like the girl in the story.”

You turn your head, trying to look away, but he grabs at the hinge of your jaw and forces you to meet his gaze. It’s taunting, cruel - he looks so pleased with himself as he fingers you until your thighs start trembling, walls clenching erratically as pleasure builds and builds.

His grip on your face turns tight, pressing bruises into your skin as you cream and gush around his thick digits. The orgasm crashes down on you in waves of pleasure, his fingers fucking you through it with constant probing and circling and stimulation.

His nimble fingers pluck the panties from your mouth, soaked with drool, and tosses them aside onto the floor. “Open up,” he says, prying at your mouth.

Your jaw goes slack, falling open, too tired to put up a fight as he shoves his fingers in. You’re not sure there’s much of a point. You suck sloppily, tongue laving around his digits, cleaning your cum off of him as he shoves his hand in deeper, making you gag and retch, and he moans loudly at the sight. You look so perfect - his precious little angel choking on his fingers, eyes watering and body trembling as you do everything he makes you.

You’re shivering when he withdraws his fingers with a pop.

He helps you put your clothes back on, wet panties sliding across your skin and leaving trails of shining slick. It sticks and clings to your pussy, makes you feel all filthy and used, and bile rises in your throat. Goosebumps ripple down your thigh at the sensation of cool air.

Atsumu nuzzles at your neck, fingers patting at your spent pussy, his tenderness almost mocking, and clicks back to the slideshow you’d been working on.

“Let’s save the cock for after you get us the A, hmm?”

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mrsalwayswrite · 3 years

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To Be My Night And My Day - Part 2

Summary: Hvitserk has been your best friend since childhood, the one you can always rely on. So when you start doubting your current relationship with Sihtric, Hvitserk kindly offers to help you out….but the consequences are never what you expected.

Pairing- Sihtric x Plus Size!Reader & Hvitserk x Plus Size!Reader

Warnings: Angst, tears, soft boys

Words: 3k

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius @evelynshelby @pomegranates-and-blood @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @geekandbooknerd @adrille88 @dini73 @flowers-in-your-hayr (lemme know if you want to be added or deleted)

Catch up with Part 1

Sunlight streamed through the window in your home, warming your skin, as you tended to the few herb pots on the window sill. A pleased grin resided on your face as you took in how the plants were thriving. They had been a gift from Queen Aslaug for your last name day. You could not wait to tell her how alive and vibrant they were….unlike your prior attempts.

At the sound of the door opening, you looked over your shoulder to see Sihtric come in. You smiled at him, ready to make a quip about him getting off early from training. The tease died on your tongue when you really took in his appearance. His shoulders were hunched over, like he carried the weight of the world there. Each movement, each step, was slow and deliberate as if moving through a fog. Even the couple warrior braids on one side of his head were thoroughly disheveled. You wondered what had caused him to run his hand over them so aggressively and frequently. Yet it was the frown that marred his handsome face and the distant look in his dark eyes that caused a concerned churning in your gut.

"Sihtric, what's wrong?" You fully turned around, dusting the little bit of dirt off your fingers.

Carefully, he unhooked his sword belt, moving methodically, and laid it on the table with that far off glaze still over his eyes. His soft lips were pressed together in a thin line. It was not until he began walking in your direction that he lifted his gaze to meet yours. His arms wrapped around you, pulling your full frame against him. You immediately placed your arms around his neck, laying your head on his chest. Beneath your ear, you could hear his unsteady heartbeat and his shallow breathing. Internally, you attempted to quell your own fear, knowing Sihtric needed comfort right now, for whatever had caused his distress. This was the first time you had ever seen him act this way, and truthfully, it frightened you.

You started to massage the back of his neck with your hand, lightly squeezing and rubbing it in a way you knew soothed him. In response, his arms tightened around you, somehow drawing you even closer as if he wanted to meld your bodies into one. His head rested on yours, and for a moment you thought you heard a sniffle but you were uncertain.

A handful of minutes passed before you decided to break the silence. "Sihtric? What happened?"

"I'm going to ask you a question…." he whispered, "....and I need you to answer honestly."

"Of course."

"Did Hvitserk and you have sex recently?"

Immediately, you felt as if you had plunged into a frozen lake. Ice filled your veins, even as you tensed. It had been two days since Hvitserk and you slept together, and you had truly hoped that the blond prince had taken to heart your begging for him not to say anything to Sihtric. Guilt had clawed away continuously at your mind ever since Hvitserk walked out of your home, determined to find your man. But that night when Sihtric returned from guard duty, a tired smile on his face and a lingering kiss to your lips, you knew Hvitserk had not found him. So you had hoped, and prayed, that this would all blow over somehow.

Yet the truth was, a Pandora's box had been awakened in you. For even now, you still thought of Hvitserk in your bed, confessing his devotion to you. And you desperately wanted to make love to him again.

"So, he was telling the truth…." Sihtric stated blandly. His arms unwound from around your waist, then grabbed yours from around his neck and dropped them like they had physically burned him. Without another word, he stepped back away from you, creating distance that felt so much more than just physical.

Your heart shattered like broken pottery at your feet with the utter look of betrayal on his face. "Please, lemme ex‐‐"

He held his hand up, cutting you off. Your mouth audibly snapped shut. Silently, you watched him take several shallow breaths, hands on his hips, as if trying to internalize his anger and pain, to make sure he did not lash out at you.

At this moment though, you wish he would. Anything would be better than watching him attempt to hide his pain, his heart tearing in two. You wish he would scream at you. But this was Sihtric. He was too good, too kind, too caring to lash out at you. It only wrecked your heart even more.

"Sihtric, please, it was--"

"I trusted you." He cut you off again. A tear slid down his cheek before he hastily wiped it away. "I thought….I thought you were happy with me. I know we haven't known each other long but….I guess I should have expected this."

"What?"

"I have seen the way you and Hvitserk look at each other. You always explained it away as being best friends, but I know….in my gut I knew there was more to it. But I trusted you. You're the only woman besides my mother I've ever trusted….and cared for."

Tears streamed down your cheeks and dripped onto your ample chest, a physical manifestation of the river of anguish coursing through you. "I am happy with you."

"Then why?! I don't understand!"

"Because….ugh, it seems so stupid now."

"Am I not enough for you? I know he's a prince and I'm only a bastard but you said that didn't matter. Has that changed?" He took another step back, furthering the void growing between you two.

You wanted to reach out to him, to bridge the gap, to just touch him and hope he felt your sorrow. But the crestfallen look on his face, the dejection in his dark eyes stayed your hand. "No, I promise." You pleaded, hoping he could hear the truth in your words. "I don't care that you're a bastard."

"Then why?!" He demanded, another tear rolling down his cheek. "Why would you do that? To me? To us?!"

"Because I thought you were going to leave me!" You cried out. There it was. The painful truth. You never expected him to truly stay. But once you got a taste of him, knew what it was like to be cherished….you never wanted to let him go.

His eyes widened and mouth opened slightly as he took in your words. "What?"

This time it was you who stepped away. You turned your back on him, your stomach churning and for a moment you worried you might vomit. "I've seen you talking lately more with the shieldmaidens, laughing with them, training with them…."

"So, it is jealousy? You decided to get back at me by letting Hvitserk fuck you?" He accused.

"No!" You whipped back around, frustration and sorrow creating an explosive concoction in your heart. "Gods! That's not…."

"What is it then?"

"I figured you were talking to them because you disliked having sex with me and were looking for someone….new. Someone who would be more interesting and knowledgeable and….and prettier. Just, someone not like me."

This time he looked utterly destroyed after your explanation. "What?"

"Why else would you be leaving immediately after we have sex? Or….or stay out so late? I just thought I was becoming boring to you….which I understand…."

"And Hvitserk?"

You shrugged. "He offered to help try and boost my confidence….in the bedroom….hopefully that would make you want to stay. I didn't know he had….feelings until after."

He scrubbed his hands over his face as he heaved a deep sigh. Turning, he placed his hands on the back of a nearby chair as if to ground himself.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Sihtric." You mumbled through your tears, as you pressed a hand to your mouth, desperately trying to suppress the sobs rising up in your throat. "Please just….I'm so sorry."

He shook his head, his voice morose. To your surprise, he chuckled darkly before speaking again. "No, I'm sorry. It's my fault. It's all my fault."

"What? No…."

He turned around, a wetness on his cheeks that had not been there prior. "I should have told you….I just…." His voice trailed off, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"Sihtric? What? Told me what?"

"I love you!" He blurted out.

All the air vanished from your home. Your lungs struggled to expand, leaving your mouth gaping open. A kick to the chest from a horse would have been less painful than his admission. You could only stare at him as his declaration bounced around in your brain but refused to settle. "You….you do?"

Slowly he walked over and tenderly held your hands in his, the battle-hardened calluses a contradiction from your own soft hands. Those dark eyes you loved stayed focused on your clasped hands as he spoke softly. "I know we haven't been together long….but I've known it for a while. You're special. Before you I never wanted to open up, trust was something that was hard. A quick fuck was easy, but to linger, to find myself wanting to hold you in my arms all night, to see your sleepy, sated face in the morning light. That was new. And it scared me. Somehow you changed all that. The more time we spent together, the more I hated to be away from you. That's how I knew….that's how I knew I loved you."

"Why did you never say anything?"

He chuckled, thumbs rubbing on the back of your hands. "I almost did. Gods, so many times. After we'd make love. Sometimes in the morning, seeing you laying in our bed. When I'd come back from training or guard duty and you'd greet me with that sweet smile on your face and a kiss….so many times I had to bite my tongue to keep the words from spilling forth."

Everything clicked in that moment. And if it was possible for your heart to shatter even more, yours surely had. "That's why you would leave….it wasn't because you didn't like me…."

"Never."

"Sihtric, I love you too." You choked out amidst a sob. "I wish you had said something."

"I couldn't."

"Why not?"

Finally, he raised his eyes to meet yours, a smile full of hopelessness on his lips. "Because I knew Hvitserk was in love with you, just as much as you're in love with him."

"But…."

"I know you always said you're best friends, but it's obvious to anyone who looks past the facade. There was always more underneath. The way you two gravitate to each other, the lingering looks and touches, the comfortability there….I always figured I was just someone to pass the time with, until the two of you finally confessed to one another. I just never expected it would be my fault that it'd finally happen."

"Oh Sihtric, I'm so sorry." You cried, no longer able to restrain your sobs. Sihtric pulled you against him, letting you bury your head against his broad chest as you bled out your heartache. With the way his chest rose and fell rapidly and the wetness against your hair, you knew he was silently crying with you. For the miscommunication. For the betrayal. For all the unspoken hopes and dreams both of you had carried, now trampled and laying broken at your feet.

After some time, when both of your tears subsided, you continued to cling to one another like that would somehow stem the outpouring of your bleeding hearts.

The dark-haired Viking broke the silence tainted with misery. "He said he wanted to fight me. For you. Over you. How he can't live without you now….and will do anything to have you."

"Will you?" You cautiously asked, face still pressed to his wet tunic. "Will you fight him?"

"Do you want me too?"

You lifted your head, wanting to see his face as you answered. "I don't want you to fight. Either one of you. I'm not….I'm not worth it."

"You're worth everything." He replied, cupping your cheek so tenderly it caused a fresh wave of tears to fill your eyes.

"Sihtric….please don't. I couldn't bear it if you got hurt….either one of you."

"Then you need to decide."

Your heart stuttered in your chest, your breath catching. "What do you mean?"

"Y/n, my love…." He rubbed his thumb over your cheek, collecting the evidence of your sorrow. "You have to choose one of us."

You shook your head. "I don't….I can't….Sihtric."

His thumb continued to run along your cheek as he gazed at you, a swirl of emotions in his eyes that pierced you like an arrow. After a long moment, he nodded and dropped his hand. "I'll leave. Let you think in peace. Just know….whatever your decision, I'll respect it."

"Sihtric…." You begged, but what more could you say?

After pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, he released you from his strong arms. He stared at you helplessly, further shredding any remnants of your heart left. With that, he quickly turned and walked away, snatching his sword belt off the table, not even bothering to take the time to put it on before he was out the door.

Soon as the door softly closed behind him, you dropped to the ground with soul-wracking sobs.

It was selfish, you knew. There were two handsome, perfect men both asking for your devotion, both desiring you, both wanting you to choose them over the other. How could you possibly choose? You wanted them both. Needed them both. It was so selfish.

But it was the gods-forsaken truth.

*****

You cried yourself to sleep that night.

And the next night, when Sihtric did not return home.

Hvitserk found you the next morning, still lying in bed. Your throat was hoarse from all your crying and your eyes felt permanently dry and red-rimmed. Curled under your furs in your thin shift, the desire to leave your warm nest was nonexistent. Food and drink had barely passed your lips. You knew it was all your own fault. Yet you wallowed in your misery, unable to escape its tenacious pull. Your thoughts swirled like a cyclone in your mind, a force of destruction you could not flee from. No matter how much you wanted to.

For how could you choose one over the other?

Without a word, he crawled into the bed with you, tucking your body against his in a warm embrace. Without a second thought you melted against him, desperate for the safe haven he provided in the stormy seas of your mind. Your full figure snuggled against his lean form in a way that was effortless, like your bodies were made for this embrace. Exhausted from your lack of sleep and excessive crying, it did not take long for you to drift in and out of sleep, sniffling pathetically when awake. He never commented on your deplorable state of being, just held you tight, an anchor in your waves.

"My sweet," Hvitserk kissed the top of your head as he soothingly ran a hand up and down your back, "don't cry. The Norns will decide."

"Please don't fight him, please Hvitserk. I couldn't take it if either of you were injured."

"Hmmm….what did he say?"

You sniffled pathetically, throat raw as you spoke. "He said I had to choose."

"And?" He encouraged quietly.

"Oh, Serk, I'm so selfish." You lamented, gripping the front of his tunic, now ruined by your tears. "Thor strike me down! I can't. I can't choose. I love you both. Gods, I'm so selfish."

This would be the reason for him to walk away. You were sure of it. Even after all of your years of friendship, you were unable to choose him over your lover, someone you had only known for two years. Why would the blond prince stay? There were plenty of women who would willingly fill his bed. Why would he waste his time on someone like you?

And Sihtric. Someone who clearly gave you their all- their trust, their love, their hopes and dreams. Surely, he could easily find someone new. Someone better than you. Why would he fight for you?

How selfish were you to hurt both of these men you loved….and for some reason they loved you too.

Suddenly, you felt him nuzzle your hair. "You love me?" He whispered.

"Yes."

He hummed, a hand drawing random patterns on your back as if in thought. "And you love him?"

"Yes." You choked out, a fresh wave of remorse and self-loathing crashing over you.

Gently, he tipped your face up to draw you into a kiss. A soft press of mouths, urging you to respond, to sink into the comfort he so willingly offered. You clung to him as your lips moved in tandem, seeking the momentarily solace provided.

You pulled back eventually, opening your eyes to meet his green orbs. "Serk?"

"It'll all work out, beautiful. You'll see." He assured with a smile, drawing you back to his sweet lips.

Even with his confident words, you were left unsure if you could believe him.

Or if your fractured heart could even try.

Part 3

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duskholland · 4 years

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hi yes hello!!! i’m in need of some advice from a fan fic/blog owner herself since i’ve been having this silent fight with myslef basically the entirety of my summer. for a while i’ve thought about posting my writing onto tumblr and i’ve made countless drafts with the whole word count and summary before getting too nervous and deleting it before i get to post it. i’m afraid that maybe my writing isn’t as great as other creators because though you should never compare yourself, it’s hard to resist when you have very little faith in what you’re actually creating. there’s this one specific piece that i’d love love love to share but i’m afraid that others may not like it, or that it simply won’t reach anybody. i know you shouldn’t have to get validation from others but i wish at certain points i could share my work with someone and they’d have a positive response :( i also don’t think i can uphold a full blog anyways, since i don’t always have inspiration and i’ve never really written a full series before either. i guess i’m just feeling a little insecure about my abilities is all. so sorry if this was a lot, it’s quite silly, i know

ooooft reading this transported me back a couple years lemme tell you--

okay first: your feelings are so valid, and I promise that you’re not alone in the self-doubt and the last-minute changes of heart about posting. I think every content creator on here feels those doubts and those insecurities sometimes. we all, to some level, compare ourselves to our peers and I think that is so, so normal (though, of course, unpleasant!!!!!!!)

comparison is tricky, especially when it comes to starting out on tumblr. I’m not gonna sugarcoat it - for new writers, it can be hard to get a foot in the door. it can be very discouraging sometimes if first pieces don’t go down very well, but I don’t think that fear should discourage you from posting in the first place. I think as long as you know that it can take a lil time to break into tumblr and start garnering readers/attention, then you should be prepared for whatever may come (tho of course I am absolutely hoping that you will get a deserved, amazing reaction to your first piece !!!!) comparing numbers and interactions against established blogs who have been writing for a long time is where it gets tricky, because a lot of us have established readers bases and it’s an unfair comparison there. please don’t let it knock your confidence.

just know that someone will read your fic. someone will enjoy it. you create worlds with your words, and someone out there will read it. if you tag me, I will read it. but that aside - sometimes it’s nice to just get your stuff out there, and feel proud of yourself for writing a piece! so please don’t let your fear stop you from sharing your wonderful writing with us - especially if it’s a story you’re really passionate about.

if you’re feeling really nervous about actually posting it - I sometimes delete the actual tumblr app right after posting because I get way way way way way too anxious refreshing and waiting, so you could try that?

if you want anyone to read your piece, I am here !!!! I am so here and I am always down for reading it or giving advice or anything at all.

and as for the running a blog/inspiration part -- do what you’re comfortable with ! there is no /right/ way to run a blog. some people run blogs which only become active when they post, and lie dormant for months in between. tons of people don’t ever write series. some people only write series. it’s very much flexible here and up to you about what you wanna do, so don’t stress yourself out thinking about running a blog/frequently posting, because that might take the fun from it! just take it easy and go with the flow, and I promise you it’ll be okay x

as I said, I’m here if you need anything at all. feel free to tag me in your fic when you post it !!! I would love to read it. sending you my best wishes and all the encouragement I can muster <3

#its def a myth that writers dont compare themselves to others #i know i definitely do #but it's really important to move through it #and recognise that:#the fact you can string together words in an order that creates a story is exceptional #sending you the best of luck !!!!#you won't know until you try yanno???#you've got this #i believe in you #i hope this was somewhat helpful- fhjdfh #anonymous

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jack-kellys · 5 years

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hey y’all so this is the fic I wrote for Saph’s contest!

——————

no such thing

words: 1500

warnings: angst, implied death, swearing

———————

Jack felt like he was doing well. Social outings were becoming more frequent, him even hosting more than a few of them. He was painting again, after such a lack of inspiration. He’d jumped into work more than before, busying himself with his job.

Distracting himself, Davey would correct him.

Distracting, okay, fine. But it was working. Things were better than they’d been before.

Jack had just come home from Race’s that night, tired from the night’s excitement but with a clear vision in his head he just had to get down on a canvas.

He was about to put his brush to it when he was interrupted.

“What are we painting this time, Jacky?”

The brush froze after it nearly dropped from his hand, Jack letting out a humorless laugh. “Jesus Christ, Dave. Don’t scare me like that.”

“Sorry,” Davey whispered his apology with a smile. “Habit.”

Jack only nodded, resisting the urge to turn around. His brush travelled in short lines up and across the bottom, a dulled aqua color as he tried to conjure what was in his head.

“You know,” Davey continued to speak, “we haven’t had a date night in a while.”

Jack hummed in agreement, eyes narrowed at the canvas now. The previous vision he had was fading, suddenly.

“We should plan one out, I think. I know we’re both busy, but we deserve a break. You deserve a break, honey.”

“Dave,” Jack did allow himself to turn towards his husband, who was perched on their armchair.

A mistake, really. Davey glowed tonight, his pale skin illuminated by the moon waiting over the railing of their fire escape. The slight breeze from the open terrace ruffled his chestnut hair, displacing it just right.

Jack snapped his gaze back to his canvas. “You’re distractin’ me, sweetheart, c’mon.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Davey sighed. “You’ve just been so tense lately. I thought that was my job.”

Jack chuckled, wincing internally. He had shoved himself under a lot lately; typical of Dave to see it before Jack said anything.

“It was. I wish it still was,” Jack joked, earning a small, tinkly laugh from Davey.

“It’s...hard.”

Davey nodded his agreement, but still looked ready to add something.

Jack relented in his concentration again, sliding his deadpanned gaze to Davey’s. “Say it, come on,” he sighed with a tired smile.

“It’s just that- well,” Davey immediately let the words fall out. “You should allow yourself a break if the tensity is weighing on you, right?”

“Right…” Jack raised an eyebrow, signaling for Davey to continue.

The brunette stood, coming up behind Jack and placing his hands on his shoulders. Jack couldn’t help leaning back into it, a little.

“Let me share the weight,” Davey murmured. “Please, baby. You're hurting.”

Davey’s arms came around Jack’s torso, his head placed in his shoulder, and Jack’s vision of the canvas vanished from his mind. He turned in Davey’s embrace, wrapping his arms around his neck and inhaling deeply as he tucked his head under Davey’s chin. Dave’s arms squeezed around Jack’s back, warm and waiting and everything he wanted. Jack let his eyes close, pictures of memories passing through his mind, sweet and smooth like honey. He didn’t want to be anywhere else but with Davey. Couldn’t imagine it.

Jack’s eyes opened.

Yes, he could imagine it. He didn’t even have to.

“Okay, Dave. Lemme go,” he asked.

“Nope,” Davey hummed. The embrace grew closer.

Was Davey even warm?

“Dave. Let go, come on.”

“I regret nothing,” Davey sang.

No, Jack didn’t think he was. He was cold, actually.

“Davey, I love you, but please. Don’t touch me,” Jack whispered.

Davey let out a long sigh, but did release Jack. “Don’t worry, that was just plan A anyway.”

Jack stepped further away from him at that. “Dave, what does—”

“I know you can’t really let me go, Jacky, that’s why I’m still here,” Davey said, in that knowing tone he used when Jack was wrong. His arms were crossed now, too, like a father about to lecture his son.

“No,” Jack said anyway, shaking his head. “You ain’t here, I let you go, I watched them—”

“—lower me into the ground, yes,” Davey sighed. “You know that doesn’t mean I’m gone to you, right?”

Jack averted his gaze. Of course he knew. He’d been seeing Davey for weeks, each time making his heart strings heavier and heavier. He physically ached for David some days, the days Dave didn’t appear. Jack was told those were actually his healthiest days, despite them feeling the worst.

Jack decided against replying, hunching himself on the couch as he sat down. “But why is my vision gone?” he murmured instead, partially to himself.

“Your what?”

“My...ah, my- what I was gonna paint,” Jack said, staring in disbelief at the small amount of blue on the canvas. It had been so clear in his head just minutes ago. “I can’t think of it anymore.”

A thought struck him as his head snapped back up to Davey. “You did that,” Jack said slowly, not wanting to admit it. “You yanked it right outta me, didn’t you. I needed that, I coulda made commission on that. Fucking- goddammit.”

Davey sighed, shrugging as he gave up on playing dumb. “Technically...you did that, Jack.” When Jack still glared, Davey continued. “What’s the only thing you can think about, right now?”

Jack leaned back on the couch, eyes narrowed not only at Davey but also in thought. He definitely couldn’t think of his previous artistic vision, thanks to Dave. Jack remembered when Davey used to give him little inklings all the time, in menial things he said, even in the lilt of his voice sometimes. Occasionally Davey would actually try and give Jack an idea, but when he did, they'd always be slightly off, not belonging on a page. There was one time when Davey was furious at Albert for something and Davey practically demanded Jack to paint—on the largest canvas he could find, too—the most realistic rendering of flipping the bird, and send it straight to Al’s door. Of course Jack did, gleefully did, and then—

Oh.

“You,” Jack said quietly. “Just you.” He sat forward and resumed his hunched position, placing his head in his hands as memories of Davey continued to station themselves in his head.

Jack felt the couch sink next to him, then Davey’s hand rubbing up and down his back.

“I’m not asking you to not think of me,” Davey said, matching Jack’s previous volume. “I just need you to let me go, every once and awhile, okay?”

“I can’t, Davey, I-I—” Fuck. Jack felt his throat close slightly and cursed himself for it. “I need you. I need you to do this with me, I can’t live like this anymore.”

“Honey...” Davey soothed, brows creased in concern. “Jack, you have been. You’ve been doing so well, I swear it. You just gotta go the extra step now, okay? Just one more for me.”

“But I won’t see you,” Jack whispered inwardly, fearfully almost. Davey felt like the last thin strand of sanity he was clinging to, if he snipped that… “I don’t know what to do without you, Dave.”

“You’ll never be without me, hun, really,” Davey added as Jack looked up. He let Davey swipe his thumb under his eye. “You can let go and still hold on.”

“How?” Jack asked hollowly. His eyes were wide, desperate. He hated how afraid he was, still, of losing Davey, even though he already had.

“Well,” Davey said, sitting up more in that way he used to when he was about to make a point, “when you think of me, let it make you happy instead of...despairing, shall we say. Let it remind you that you are capable of being happy again. Let my memory...let me make you happy again. Allow it, it’s alright.”

Jack stayed quiet for a long while, staring at Davey’s hands now laid over his own. He still couldn’t picture anyone else’s hands looking like that on his.

“You sound like you’re presenting a damn PowerPoint presentation,” Jack mumbled, the barest trace of a smile on his face.

“It’s what I do best,” Davey laughed, and Jack could see the tears in his eyes, too. “...Are you ready, honey?”

Jack let out a breath he’d been holding since the funeral.

“Yeah- oh, wait,” he smirked, cradling Davey’s face in his hands and softly pressing their lips together, one last time and impossibly close as usual, before pulling away slightly.

“Now I’m ready,” Jack managed to smile, leaning his cheek into Davey’s hand when he brought it up to cup Jack’s face.

“I’ll see you around, Jacky,” Davey whispered with a nod. “I love you. You can do this.”

Jack nodded back. “Love you too.”

The feel of Davey’s hand disappeared. Jack blinked, and Davey was gone.

A few minutes later, Jack let himself get up from the couch and back to his canvas. He paused, staring at the lonely blue again more intently.

....Wasn’t that the color of Davey’s button down he had just been wearing?

He gazed at it longer, before finally deciding to pick up his brush again. A pale yellowed pink, a chestnut brown, and a maple syrup color made their ways onto the canvas eventually. A portrait of Davey gazed back at Jack after a few hours of work, his knowing smile reaching Jack through the paint.

And Jack smiled back. After all, it made him happy.

————

so I wouldn’t say I’m back, but I’m happy I wrote this :)

TAG LIST

@suddenly-im-respecsable @getchapapes @felix-loves-albert-and-ralbert @spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn @stopthe-presses @technically-whizzy @papesdontsellthemselves @starrysence @seasickdolphin @iamliterallyaghost @beep-beep-byler @the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog @thomasbeingthomas @the-king-of-brooklyn @localfakeitalian @thebroadwayaesthetic @spot-me50-papes @i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing @iwontfallinlovewfalling @gahbliz @kingofsantafe @we-dont-sell-papes @eveningpaper @sure-as-a-star @godhatesjordan @awkwardstranger98 @ireallyloveiainyoungwow @big-potato-asshole @have-we-got-news-for-you @bxnesof92 @backgroundensemble @orollyitsracetrackhiggins @a-most-auspicious-erster @modern-race-owns-airpods @asphodelnerd @albert-eats-cookie-cake @infinity-fandom-trash @whateva-ya-want

hey so obvious a lot of these don’t work so pls message me, URLs have changed a LOT recently!

#my writing #yayeet #newsies fics #javid #jack kelly #davey jacobs #fizz freaks #saph tag #newsies

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stimmyvillainarchive · 6 years

Note

WHY does the android app gotta suck so much, when i click the faq link it just like refreshes the page,,,, this happens with all links in bios on the andoird app :[

NNNN lovin this broke ass app.

I’mma go ahead and paste the FAQ just under the cut, hopefully you should be able to read it now :’))

(FAQ is written by Mod Joker)

“Are requests open?”

We get this ask a lot. And while I don’t mind answering, it does get a lilll annoying sometimes since we’re essentially repeating ourselves constantly. Before you ask, please check our ask box! It will ALWAYS give our request status!

From now on if we receive requests when they’re closed, we’re going to delete the message entirely. You’re free to ask again when they’re open, but we need breaks!

“Can allistic/neurotypical people follow?”

Yes! So long as you’re respectful of stimming and understand it’s not an aesthetic or something to make fun of.

“It says there’s two mods, but I only really see Mod Joker post.”

There is! But Mod Boo is rather, well, shy. We both are, tbh. I’ve just gotten used to talking a lot on this blog. And to tell ya the truth I invited her to mod this with me because she considered making a blog but wasn’t sure how she’d do it, and was worried she’d be too awkward/quiet. But she actually tends to see your messages a lot! She just tends to let me handle things. But if you ever wanna talk to her, just say the message is specifically for her and I’m sure she’ll get back to you. She’s very friendly and tbh one of the best people to talk to!!

“How do you make gifs?”

I use the same method stimmybby uses! His tutorial’s right here!

“How do you make banners?”

I use photoshop and for backgrounds (depending on what type of background), I use paint tool SAI. I made a tutorial on how I do it here!

“Can we use your banners for posts that aren’t stim related?”

Absolutely! So long as credit is given and you’re not in our dni, then use it as you like! Discourse posts, art, vent posts, promo posts, whatever floats your boat!

“Can I use your gif/s?”

As long as there’s credit to us for the gif/s and you don’t apply to our dni, you’re free to!

“How can I credit you?”

There’s a few ways! Such as

- Including the credit in the post and/or under the cut (this is the best way people can access the original post and see the credit!

- Include the credit in the post’s captions

- Include the credit in the tags

- Include a link in the post to another post that has the credits in it

- Saying you got the gif/s from us in the post

“What are bad/wrong ways to ”“credit”“ you?”

- Saying “I don’t own these gifs”

- Saying “credit to the original owner(s)/gifmaker(s)

- Straight up not saying you took these gifs from people/including in no credits

- Claiming the gif/s are yours/you made them

If I see any of these I WILL publicly call you out on it and you WILL be blocked immediately thereafter. That block will not be lifted.

“What does REG mean?”

Reactionary Exclusionary Gatekeeper. Meaning people who try to exclude certain queer people from queer spaces. Such a biphobes, transphobes, aphobes, panphobes, and so on.

“What does TERF mean?”

Trans/Transgender Exclusionary Radical Feminist. Meaning radfems who are transphobic and are violent towards trans people (especially trans women).

“What does SWERF mean?”

Sex Worker Exclusionary Radical Feminist. They’re radfems who try to exclude sex worker from their feminism and often treat women attracted to men as less worthy.

“What’s the ADT community?”

ADT stands for “Actually Dysphoric Trans/Transgender” and was created by transmedicalists/truscum to break off from the trans community. It’s an insult to the trans community, an insult to the creator of the transgender pride flag (it’s removed the white that was there for people who ID as non-binary/outside the gender binary), and is there purely to start drama and create rifts in a community that’s already got enough enemies for simply existing in a transphobic world

“He/Him lesbians don’t exist/they’re transphobic towards trans men”

As a trans man who doesn’t think the world revolves around me and who understands that what lesbians decide to do it literally none of my goddamn business: get the fuck over yourself you whiny pissbaby

“What do you mean by people in the true crime community?”

People who sexualize, romanticize, excuse, and/or support serial killers and their actions/crimes. This doesn’t include people who are INTERESTED in the topic of crimes, serial killers, etc but acknowledging how these people are disgusting and their actions are unforgivable.

“Why are you anti-cgl?”

Cause we hate pedophiles and are decent human beings.

“You’re bigoted to kinksters just like homophobes are bigoted to gay people!”

I hate to break it to ya bud but I’m proudly kinkphobic and you’re a giant homophobe!!

“I’m a SFW cgl(re)/littlespace blog so I’m following/interacting uwu”

No the fuck you aren’t!! You’re a kink blog, there’s no such thing as a “sfw kink” even if you’re remaining two braincells are too busy fighting over the last pacifier to tell you some fuckin common sense. Your ass is getting blocked and I’ll also be using your blog to take a look at the people you interact and block them too just for safe measure! Eat a cactus, fuck nugget

“You hate lesbians if you hate TERFs”

You owe every lesbian an apology for assuming they’re all mysogynistic, LGBT+phobic pieces of horseshit like you are. Eat a dick.

“aces/aros aren’t LGBT uwu”

Wow… that’s so wrong Alexa play Fuck You by Lily Allen

“Me/Someone I know/(insert user/s) has been blocked. Why?”

There can be a number of reasons why you’re blocked, and I’m not afraid to block people as I want this place comfortable and safe for the mods and followers. So there’s several reasons as to why.

- You apply to our DNI (see BYF)

- You’re a (insert harmless children’s cartoon) critical blog (I tend to block those due to them saying LGBT+phobic things)

- You get into kin drama

- You’re an ace discourse, pan discourse, bi discourse, and/or overall REG discourse blog (this does not mean I block inherently block discourse blogs! I block the shitty ones)

- You’re a spam/porn/etc bot (if I’ve gotten this wrong, lemme know! I tend to block shady and empty blogs for this reason unless their desc/url/etc says it’s empty/weird for a reason)

- You’re a blog that frequently posts/centers around one or more of my triggers

- You’re an aesthetic blog (though I tend to soft block for them. But this is NOT an aesthetic blog and stimmy is NOT an aesthetic)

- You’re an “anyone can interact” stim blog

- You’re a stim blog that steals/doesn’t credit the gifs they use

- I feel you and I are going to argue and I’m just saving us the trouble of future unpleasant encounter/s

- You’ve been shitty to my friends or just been shitty to people in general and I’ve noticed it

HOWEVER I’ve made slip ups in the past! If you feel you don’t apply to any of these, you can contact me through my main and ask why. Sometimes I don’t always remember why I blocked somebody (sadly there’s a lot of shitheads on this site I’ve needed to block) or I’ve confused one blog for another person’s blog. Or maybe the person was more chill than I thought. Please contact me yourself rather than ask somebody else to do it though so I can get all the details! Even if I don’t lift the block, I won’t report you for block evading or anything.

“You used to be kidheart friendly and now you’re not, why’s that?”

Sadly, Raven (the creator of Kidhearts) has proven to be a bully sympathizer and feels it’s okay to compare agere to kinks/cgl and sides with regressionuncensored. She condones bullying/harassment/the sexualization of minors and I am not nor will ever be okay with that.

“But Raven sai-”

I don’t care what she says. She made it abundantly clear that she supports regressionuncensored and I don’t care that it came back to bite her in the ass. Bullies deserve no support, no sympathy, no nothing. And if you side with her than don’t come near this blog. This is agere safe and I will not allow people who support sexualizing it to interact. Kidhearts WILL be blocked on the spot, no questions asked.

“I’ve left a community on the dni list, can I follow/interact?”

Yes!

“Why are you anti-(insert thing on blacklist here)?”

Camp Camp: It’s racist + antisemitic

Dragon Maid: It’s pedophilic

Killing Stalking: It’s homophobic, ableist, sexist, perpetuates rape culture, and fetishizes abuse

Your Lie in April: It romanticizes child abuse and it literally starts off with a gross pedo joke when we meet the love interest in episode one

Split: It’s ableist

Hetalia: It’s antisemitic

Harry Potter/J.K. Rowling’s works: Actually there’s nothing inherently bad about the story. I just don’t like it. HOWEVER: I can’t stand J.K. Rowling as she’s a TERF/overall LGBT+phobe, and racist. So none of her creations will be featured here.

Sonic Boom: Nothing inherently problematic. I just can’t stand the show because it just fuckin sucks

13 Reasons Why: It romanticizes suicide and the creators refused to listen to actual mental health experts and have made the show potentially dangerous to anyone who even slightly deals with suicidal thoughts/urges

Detroit Become Human: It’s racist + antisemitic

Voltron: Legendary Defender: It queerbaits/it’s LGBT+phobic

“REG is a transphobic term”

I, Mod Joker, am trans. Try again.

“A-specs aren’t LG-”

*buzzer sound* wrong. So sad for you

“You’re not LGBT+ because you DARED disagree with me because you actually acknowledged that tumblr didn’t credit the community sweaty uwu”

We get this shit because a lot of you assume I’m ace or at the very least a-spec. And… Ya couldn’t be far from it. I’m a pan, genderfluid trans man. Even with all your gatekeeper (sorry, BULLSHIT) logic; I’d still be attracted to multiple genders and not be cis. I’m p queer. So no matter which way you slice it, I’m part of LGBT+. Die mad about it.

“You’re comparing aphobes to TERFs and SWERFs you fucking transphobe!”

Wow I didn’t realize setting boundaries meant that I viewed y'all in the EXACT same light. I’m so glad I have the lovely aphobes that have told my friends that they should kill themselves to set me straight.

Asking people not to interact doesn’t inherently mean I think they’re the EXACT same thing.

“Mod Joker is a gif-thief and reposts people’s content without properly crediting them!”

I have made this entire post explaining that’s wrong. Idrc if the post is too lengthy for you. Don’t talk shit if you don’t even have all the details.

Additionally, if you send me somethin about this in a negative light I’m IP blocking you. One strike and you’re out. If you want to believe people with false info and false accusations then that’s your baggage. Not mine.

HOWEVER if I’ve accidentally mis-credited, forgot to/messed up on crediting a person for their gif/video, or so on let me know! I’ll make mistakes, but I never do it intentionally.

#I realized the last link was a bit outdated anyway so whatever #this should help at least!#asks #anon #Mod Joker

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bastardnev · 6 years

Text

That Guy Next Door -- Chapter 4

this chapter is Sad but it’s also Long so there’s That

tagging: @tylerblacks @joonhobi @rivela @aliciasfox @sailor-slam-dunk @kidvoodoo @smolsammichu @simulated-heat @douglas-leon-michael @1dluver13xx (lemme kno if you wanna be on my nevstafa taglist!!)

Prev.: Ch. 1 ♡ Ch. 2 ♡ Ch. 3 ♡

The rest of the day had been a blur.

Neville could remember going home and getting a big reception from the girls (as well as a disgruntled and hungry Wade), but not much else after that. He was distracted during all of dinnertime, while he was cleaning up afterwards, when he was putting the girls to bed -- so much had happened once he made it back to his house, and yet he barely remembered a thing.

All because he couldn’t stop thinking about Mustafa.

He toyed with the idea of telling Wade about what happened. In all the years that they’d known each other, Wade had been his go-to man whenever he needed advice on anything. He would always be there to listen to him and help him through whatever problems he had. There certainly wouldn’t be any harm in seeing what he had to say, would there?

But then he remembered the texts that Wade had sent him while he was over at Mustafa’s house, and how he had spent the last few weeks doing nothing but teasing him about how ‘perfect’ he and Mustafa would be if they were to become a couple, and just like that the idea of talking to him became very unappealing.

Neville knew that Wade didn’t mean any harm by his comments and that in the end he was only trying to help him, but asking him for advice on whether or not he should accept the date seemed like a poor idea considering the response he was sure to get. He got the feeling that there would be a solid five minutes of ‘I told you so’ before any actual conversation took place. If Neville wanted to have a serious discussion about this, Wade was probably not the best person to speak to about it, so he decided to keep this little secret to himself for the time being.

As Neville lie awake in bed that night, he replayed that moment over and over again in his mind. He swore that he could still feel Mustafa’s hand grabbing his arm, resting on the hoodie that was now neatly folded and sitting atop Neville’s dresser. Neville would bury his face in his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut and hoping that sleep would soon overcome him, or that he would be able to focus on literally anything else, but it was all for naught.

Try as he might, he simply couldn’t scrub Mustafa out of his mind.

Neville sat up and reached towards his phone sitting on his night table. As he squinted at the bright light of his lock screen, he noticed that it was close to 1:30 in the morning. Great, I’ll be tired as fuck during work tomorrow. He put the phone back down and huffed as the back of his head sunk into his pillow. Of all the times he could have chosen to have a relationship crisis, he had to choose now?

“What the fuck am I gonna do…?” Neville groaned aloud to no one in particular, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands so hard that he was beginning to see stars. He knew that he couldn’t keep Mustafa waiting very long -- he said that there was no rush and that he could take his time, but it would feel wrong if it took Neville forever to make a decision.

It was only a yes or no question, wasn’t it? This should be simple to answer. Does Neville want to go on a date with him, or doesn’t he? Originally Neville had been positive that the latter would be the case -- the two of them hardly knew each other. They were complete strangers. Who possibly expected Neville to agree to a date with someone who had only just moved into the neighborhood? It was foolish to think that way.

But then Neville had started to get to know Mustafa. He was immediately drawn to him from the moment that their eyes locked on the day he went to retrieve Daisy and Jen’s ball. There was something about him that made Neville want to be around him more often -- hell, he had been hanging around in his house only a few hours ago. It was as if he was subconsciously finding excuses just to be able to speak with him again. Would he really have given a shit if I’d thrown his junk mail away? Did I really have to bring it over to him? Did Neville do that out of the kindness of his heart, or because he wanted to see him?

And the more that Neville thought about it -- and as nervous as this particular thought made him -- he wondered if being in an actual relationship with Mustafa would be all that bad. He was a kind, good-looking guy who got along well with children. From the little bit that he’d seen, he and the girls seemed to like each other. He and Neville would probably work… well together.

Before he could stop himself, Neville’s mind was suddenly flooded with different scenarios of the two of them together. He pictured himself waking up next to him early one morning, sunlight barely shining in through the curtains. Maybe it was a little chilly in the room, so he pulled the blankets up over the two of them and snuggled his face into Mustafa’s chest until he finally fell asleep again.

He pictured himself walking down a busy street with him, their hands tightly laced together as they wove their way through the crowd of people. Neville wasn’t entirely sure of where the two of them were headed, but judging by the big smile on Mustafa’s face it had to be good. Was it the coffee shop he’d told him about? Or maybe he was going to surprise him by taking him someplace fancy? Whatever the case may be, he kept his hand in his.

He pictured himself standing close to him one night as they’re both home alone, Wade most likely having taken the girls out some place so the two of them could have some time together. Neville’s back was pressed against the wall, his arms were wrapped around Mustafa’s waist, and he was slowly leaning in until their lips were mere centimeters apart…

Christ, stop it!! Neville scolded himself and shook his head, sighing frustratedly into his pillow as his hands balled into fists. This shouldn’t be happening. It wasn’t right. It didn’t make any sense. After all this time, after all these years of being single and not being interested in dating, what the fuck was he doing falling for someone this quickly and this hard? He hadn’t even fallen for his ex-wife this quickly, yet here he was having such… interesting thoughts about someone he’d only recently met. What was it about Mustafa that made him feel this way?

Then he remembered Wade. This was all his fault. Since day one Wade had planted the seed in his mind and had been trying to get them together. All of this talk about them being in a relationship most likely had some sort of subliminal effect on Neville. Yes, that made sense! He couldn’t think of any other explanation. All of these feelings were without a doubt caused by Wade, there was no actual attraction there at all.

Satisfied after having finally found a solution that put his mind at ease, he slid his eyes shut, at long last being able to focus his attention on something different and fall asleep.

That night, Neville dreamt of her.

He hadn’t had a dream about his wife in quite some time. They were more frequent immediately following the divorce, but as the years went on they occurred less and less often. Whenever it happened, she was there for only a moment -- she would make a brief appearance before Neville would either wake up or the dream would go in a completely different direction that didn’t involve her. As much of a nuisance as it was, he tended not to dwell on it for very long since it was really a very minor thing.

This one was different from all the rest, however.

The setting was a hotel -- one that the two of them had stayed in with the girls many times before during their annual family vacation. Neville was sitting at the foot of the bed, watching fondly as both Jen and Daisy excitedly ran around what would be their new bedroom for a few nights. His wife was bringing the last of their belongings into the room, Daisy squealing excitedly when she saw that her favorite star-patterned backpack had finally arrived (in real life, Neville had once tried buying a new bag for her to pack her things in only to be ignored for three days.)

He kept his gaze focused on his daughters as Daisy began to dig through her bag, no doubt looking for one of the dolls she’d chosen to bring so she could give her a grand tour of the room. He felt the bed sink a little bit next to him as his wife sat down, initiating a conversation. He nodded along, though in all honesty he had no idea what she was saying. His memory of this part was hazy, and in the end he couldn’t remember a single word that came out of her mouth.

There was one thing from the dream that he did remember, however. Quite clearly.

Just as he’d turned his head to ask her to repeat what she’d said, she kissed him.

The sheer shock of the sudden gesture was enough to force Neville awake. His eyes were wide, and he was sweating, the long-since forgotten sensation of her lips on his once again being brought to the forefront of his memory. In all of the dreams he’d had of her, never was there a kiss. There was a conversation at most. Nothing romantic had ever taken place.

Just forget about it… Neville told himself as he heaved a heavy sigh, and he tugged the blankets up and over his head, his eyes slowly shutting again. It was only a dream, wasn’t it? This was nothing to worry about. This was just like every other dream he’d had about her, only with a little… extra. He knew he would get over this one just like he’d done with the rest, so long as he didn’t dwell on it.

Neville didn’t get over it as well as he’d hope he would.

At first, it seemed as if he was successful at pushing it out of his mind. His boss was required to fly across the country by the end of the week and needed his flight and hotel arrangements made, so that kept Neville busy for a little while. For once, he was actually grateful for his boss’ assignments -- they provided a nice distraction. Finding the right hotel that fit both the budget and his boss’ standards was a bit of a challenge, and he couldn’t afford to dawdle or daydream.

Things had gotten busier at home, too. With the girls starting school in less than two weeks, the time had come for them to begin purchasing their supplies for class. Jen wanted to use glitter pens, and Daisy wanted stickers to put all over her notebooks, so Neville had his work cut out for him trying to meet their specific requests while getting them ready for the year ahead. Never in his life did he think he would be buying such things at his age (though he firmly believed that 31 wasn’t old, Wade -- who was 37, no less -- constantly joked about moving him to a nursing home), but he was willing to do anything if it meant his girls were actually excited about school starting.

Even the first day went off without a hitch. Neville had dropped them off in front of the building just like he’d done so many times in the past, and then returned home to begin what was sure to be an… interesting day with Wade. The house still felt empty now that two of its residents were gone for the day, but in the end it didn’t affect Neville nearly as much as he figured it would. Who would have guessed that poorly planned cooking lessons from Wade would be so amusing?

But of course, since nothing good could ever last forever, everything came crashing down on Neville once he’d gone to pick the girls up.

He heard the two of them chatting animatedly in the backseat, occasionally sharing with him an interesting tidbit about their day. Jen was forced to play an introduction game, the sheer mention of the activity causing a chill to run down Neville’s spine, but she was proud of the fact that she hadn’t stuttered even once. Daisy, meanwhile, had received compliments on her “fancy stickerwork”, and made sure to rub it in Jen’s face that she wasn’t teased like her sister thought she would be. All in all, it was lovely conversation.

And then Jen said it.

“Remember how Mommy used to take us for ice cream after the first day?”

Neville felt his grip on the steering wheel tighten at her words. Jesus, he had completely forgotten about the damn ice cream. He had been forced to put up with this little tradition every year since the split, and yet it still always caught him off guard. He remained silent until Daisy responded, “Yeah, yeah! Daddy, can we do that?”

“No,” Neville replied a little harsher than he would have liked to, and he quickly cleared his throat, his tone returning to normal. “Not today, girlies. Maybe tomorrow. Daddy’s gotta work.”

“But didn’t you take off today?” Jen asked.

“Yeah, well… Still gotta check the email, y’know? Never know when someone could need me.” He chuckled nervously, knuckles beginning to turn white, the memory of the dream coming flooding back to him.

They pulled into the driveway a few minutes later, and Neville shut the car off, looking back at his daughters. “Why don’t you two head inside? I’ll join you in a little bit. Gotta take care of something first.”

The two of them exchanged glances, but they didn’t question him, and they grabbed their respective backpacks and exited the car. Neville watched as they trotted up to the front porch and let out a sigh, resting his head against the wheel.

I really am a shitty father, aren’t I?

Neville was so focused on how the divorce had affected him, how much those intrusive dreams were affecting him, that he never gave any thought to how his own goddamn children were feeling. Yes, it had been a few years, but both girls still remembered their mother quite well. It wasn’t as if they were little infants when they separated -- they knew about her, and they even remembered the little details about her, right down to the post-first day at school rituals.

And Neville had taken that away from them.

Though the split had been amicable, Neville still had his regrets -- not because he actually missed her, but because he knew that the girls missed her. Neither of them would outright say it to him, but it was obvious that they sometimes still wished that their mother was around. All of their other classmates had two parents, why didn’t they? All they had was their father and his close friend.

Rebecca from Jen’s class had gone clothes shopping with her mother that past weekend -- when was the last time that Jen had done something like that? Neville had never been big on extensive shopping trips like his wife had been, so Jen never got to experience the same thing that her friend did. Timothy from Daisy’s class had plans to watch a movie with his parents later that night -- both of them. Neither one of Neville’s girls could say the same.

All of this was because Neville wasn’t fucking good enough to keep everything together. He let everything fall apart and did nothing to stop it.

Neville ended up surprising himself that weekend, however, as he actually did take the girls out for their back-to-school ice cream.

He thought he was going to be able to get away with skipping it that year, but it was the weekend, and both Jen and Daisy were looking forward to spending it the right way. It was still early on in the school year, so they didn’t have much homework and wanted to spend their last Saturday before the real work kicked in enjoying themselves. What better way to do so than to honor an important tradition?

Neville also figured that, after having acting so oddly on the way home the other day, he owed them a nice day out. He had suddenly grown cold all because they had the audacity to mention their own mother around them. He was still stressed out, yes, but that didn’t mean that he could just deprive his own children of something they always looked forward to. None of this was their fault at all, so why was he taking his issues out on them? They didn’t deserve that -- they deserved a nice day out with their father.

And of course, his wife had come up multiple times during their time out, though he managed to keep his mood in check, at least on the outside. As he kept repeating to himself over and over again, they meant to harm. There was nothing wrong with them wanting to mention how their mother “always” did something with them during this time of the year.

On the inside, however, he was feeling poorly. The constant reminder that his daughters didn’t have a mother had soured his mood. There was a tiny voice in the back of his mind that wouldn’t stop nagging him, that kept telling him that this was all his fault. These girls wouldn’t have to worry about being the only ones in their classes that didn’t have a mother and a father had it not been for him. Had it not been for his inability to make things work.

They wanted their mother back.

And he was the reason why she wasn’t there.

“Daddy, can we go again next week?” Daisy later asked as they were on their way home, bouncing in the backseat and no doubt wound up by the amount of sugar she’d consumed. “I wanna try the next flavor of the week!”

“We’ll see,” Neville replied. “I’d rather you spend your weekends going forward working on homework.”

“Boo, that’s boring!”

“You can say whatever you want, you’ll be thanking me in the future when you get good grades, kiddo.”

They went back and forth for a little while longer, and before they knew it they were pulling into their driveway. “We should bring Wade next time!” Jen suggested as she walked towards the front door, her sister and father not far behind.

“Maybe,” Neville started. “If he ever gets a job, we can take him out to celebrate.”

“When’s he’s gonna get a job?” Daisy asked.

“I’ve been asking myself that same question for years, Daze. Doesn’t look like I’m gonna get an answer any time soon--”

“Mr. Moose!!” Daisy suddenly exclaimed and bolted in the direction of the sidewalk.

Neville blinked as he stared at the spot where she’d just been. So much for our conversation, I guess. “Um, who?” He turned to watch her, his eyes widening when he saw that she was heading directly towards Mustafa. How long has he been standing there?! “O-Oh, hello there,” he greeted him.

“Guess what we all did today!” Daisy said. Mustafa opened his mouth as if he were about to respond, but she cut him off. “Daddy got us ice cream!”

“And you had far too much sugar.” Neville placed a hand on her shoulder, gently pulling her away from him. “Let’s not crowd, uh… ‘Mr. Moose’, shall we?” Where in the world did she even come up with such a nickname? Had the two of them even spoken enough times to be on nickname-basis? As far as he knew, they’d only spoken one other time before that day.

Either way, Mustafa laughed at her, clearly not bothered. “That sounds awesome!” He said. “You’ve got a really great daddy, don’t you?” He smiled at Neville.

“We do!” Jen had now decided to join the conversation. “The best.”

“The bestest dad ever!” Daisy wrapped her arms around her father, and he gave her a little pat on the back in return.

“Aww, shucks, now you’re just flattering me…” Neville looked down at her with a bashful smile, his face feeling a little hot (and only growing hotter at Mustafa’s chuckle).

“Ladies, would you mind if I borrowed the ‘bestest dad ever’ for a moment? There’s something I gotta give him.” Mustafa asked, prompting Neville to raise his eyebrows in surprise. What was this all about?

“What are you gonna give him?” Jen asked, looking to Neville. “Daddy, what’s he gonna give you?”

“Good question,” Neville replied. Confused as he was, he was also very curious. “Head on inside, girls. I’ll join you in a little bit, okay?” Neville said.

“Bye Mr. Moose!” Daisy said, both girls giving him a small wave in parting as they turned and went in the direction of the house.

“Oh, and please don’t hurt Wade while I’m out. I want to come back and find him in one piece, please.” The lack of response to this plea was a little concerning to Neville, though he supposed that there were more important things to focus on -- namely, the man standing in front of him.

“‘Mr. Moose’...” Mustafa quoted. “It’s got a nice ring to it.”

“I’m sorry about that, I’ll have to talk to her later about giving nicknames to people she hardly knows.”

“No need, I like it!” He grinned. “It’s very fitting. I think I’m gonna ask people to start calling me that from now on.”

“So, what’s this about you having something for me?”

“Oh, right. It’s actually over at my place. Sorry, I didn’t actually bring it over with me.”

“That’s fine, but why did you leave it home?” Neville asked as he started to follow Mustafa over to his house. Why would he tell Neville that he had something to give him and then not even bring it with him?

“I, uh… didn’t want the girls to see it, since it’s cookies and all. They’d probably want to eat them all right away and spoil their appetites for dinner. Figured that was the last thing you wanted.”

“...I see.” Neville didn’t want to say it, but he felt like that was a weak excuse -- like he’d just come up with it on the spot. If Neville didn’t know any better, he would think that that was an excuse for Mustafa to bring him into his house again.

And if this ended up being true, it meant that he was probably going to bring up the date.

The same date that Neville still hadn’t made up his mind about yet.

Shit.

“S-So are these cookies chocolate chip again?” Neville asked once they were standing in Mustafa’s hallway, trying to keep his cool. The last time they’d been standing together in this same spot, Mustafa had loaned him his hoodie (which Neville still needed to return, now that he thought about it) and asked him one of the most confusing questions he’d been asked in recent memory.

“They are indeed.” Mustafa smiled, motioning for Neville to follow him into the kitchen. “I know they’re your favorite, so I just had to make them again.”

“Nice! I had some of the last ones you made, they were so good. You’re a real pro at this baking thing, you know that?”

“Meh, I’m alright.” He laughed. “Thanks, though.”

“Maybe you can give me some pointers?” Neville asked with a smirk as he crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Since I’m absolutely awful at cooking.”

“Aww, don’t say that. I’m sure you’re great.” Mustafa picked up a small bag of cookies from the counter.

“You don’t understand, I’m terrible at it. Like, so bad. Wade usually has to handle the cooking since I end up burning things more often than not.”

“Really?” He frowned. “Well, I don’t mind giving you some tips. Maybe one day when you’re not busy I can show you what to do. For the time being, however…” He handed over the bag. “I believe these are yours. Don’t you go spoiling your own appetite, now.”

“I’ll try, but I can’t guarantee anything.” Neville smiled. “God, ice cream and cookies in one day… I can’t even remember the last time I had this many sweets.”

“What was the ice cream for, if you don’t mind me asking?” Mustafa asked. “Like, is it one of the girls’ birthdays or…?”

“No, it’s just a yearly tradition. They like to get ice cream once school starts up again.” Neville cleared his throat, continuing before he could stop himself. “It was my wife’s idea, as they make sure to remind me…” He laughed a little bitterly.

Mustafa’s brow furrowed. “Really? Well, it’s… nice that they like to keep the tradition alive, at least.”

“It sure is…” Neville looked down towards the floor, biting his cheek. Why did he have to go and bring up his wife? He could have easily just said it was a tradition and left it at that.

“Adrian, are you… okay?” Neville looked up and noticed that Mustafa now appeared concerned.

Great, now he’s worried about me. “It’s… really nothing. Just me being dumb again.” He tried to laugh it off, but Mustafa didn’t look like he was having any of it.

“You’re not dumb.”

“I… kinda am, though. I mean, I’m letting myself get this bothered over something so small. It’s really nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” A lie. “It’s not that big of a deal, I promise.” Another lie.

Mustafa chewed on his lower lip for a beat. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right? I know you and I haven’t known each other long, but… I still want you to know that I’m here for you if you need someone.”

“I appreciate it, though I wouldn’t want to burden you with my stupid marital problems. I’m sure you have enough problems of your own and don’t need mine on top of them.”

“So this is about your wife, huh?” Great fucking job, Neville! You told the guy who asked you out that you’re having weird thoughts about your ex-wife -- that’s exactly what he wants to hear!

“Not just her, it’s… about the kids, too. Some stuff that they’ve been saying lately.”

“I can… probably relate a little bit, actually. To the dating part, at least.” Mustafa scratched the back of his head. “I’ve, uh, been having some trouble with an ex lately, too.”

“Have you?” Neville was surprised to hear that.

“Mhm. He was the first guy I’d ever been with. We never got married or anything, but we were pretty serious for awhile before… well, before he cheated on me.”

“God…”

“He’s been texting me a lot these last few days. I’m guessing he wants to get back together.” Mustafa looked past Neville, suddenly finding the wall much more interesting to look at. “I know it’s not exactly the same thing that you’re dealing with, but… I just wanted to let you know that you’re not alone. I’ve been through this kinda stuff before, and I’m willing to help you out.”

The room fell silent. Neville never would have guessed that Mustafa had dealt with something like this before. Not only that, but he’d been cheated on. How the fuck could anybody cheat on him? He had never met anybody who could relate to him on this subject -- he had spoken about it to Wade very briefly, but Wade had never dealt with something like this. He’d never had a serious partner before.

Right in front of Neville stood a man who was completely willing to help him get through whatever the hell it was he was currently dealing with, someone who wouldn’t judge him for anything that he said. Could Neville really pass up this opportunity?

“...Adrian, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, okay?” Mustafa spoke first, shaking his head. “Geez, I’m really sorry if I made it seem like you had to talk to me. I don’t know what I was thinking. This is your business, not mine.”

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Neville assured. “You’re only trying to help. It… really means a lot to me.”

“It’s okay if you want to go now. I don’t want you to feel obligated to stick around if you really don’t want to. And I know you told the girls you’d only be gone a couple of minutes, so I don’t want to keep you for too long since they’re expecting you.”

“No.” Neville took a deep breath, finding his resolve. He took his phone out of his pocket. “...I think… I’m gonna text Wade and let him know that I’ll be out for a little longer. So he can tell the girls not to worry.”

“So, you want to talk? You’re sure?”

“...Yeah. I do.”

“Remember that you don’t have to tell me anything that you don’t want to, okay?” Mustafa reminded him. The two of them were both seated on the couch, mugs of coffee in their hands. Neville was staring down into the dark liquid, a frown on his face as he nodded.

“I understand,” he replied, running his tongue over his dry lower lip.

“Don’t feel like you have to tell me everything. Only what you’re comfortable sharing.”

Neville nodded again, his grip tightening on the mug. “So…” God, where did he even start? There was so much on his mind -- too much. “I’ve been having these… complicated thoughts lately. Thoughts I haven’t had in a really long time.”

“About what?”

“Do you ever…” Neville paused, unsure how to phrase what he was going to say. “Do you ever get the feeling that it’s your fault why things are the way they are? Like… things would be better if you’d left it alone and hadn’t gotten involved?”

Mustafa frowned at him. “Well, yeah. Everyone has thoughts like that sometimes. Like, there have been times I’ve seen fights in my classroom and I’d try to mediate it, but things only got worse. Things like that just happen.”

“I’m talking about relationships, though. Like, when you were with your ex, did you ever do something to him and then regret it later?”

Mustafa scratched his chin, taking a moment to ponder his reply. “I mean, I’m sure I have at some point. He and I were together a while, so I can’t remember every little thing that happened. I know I’ve made mistakes, though. Main one being getting with him in the first place.” He laughed a little self-derisively. “But is that what’s been on your mind lately?”

“More or less.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my divorce in the last few weeks.”

“What kind of thinking?”

“Well… I had this dream about my wife. Dreams about her usually don’t bother me, but this one stuck with me for whatever reason. I didn’t get over it as quickly as I normally did.”

“What happened in it?”

“It wasn’t even anything crazy. She just gave me a kiss, that’s it. I’m not sure why the hell it’s bugging me this much.”

“Probably because it’s been awhile since you’ve even thought about kissing her. It kinda threw you for a loop.”

“Maybe…” Neville stared down into his coffee again. “I’ve also been wondering if maybe I made a mistake divorcing her in the first place.”

“Really?” Mustafa looked away from him and down towards his lap. After a moment, he finally looked to Neville again and asked, “Do you miss her at all?”

“This might not sound good, but I really don’t. It’s not that I dislike her or anything -- Marina is an excellent woman and a great mother -- but the two of us just couldn’t be together anymore. I worry that the girls miss her, though.”

“I see.” Mustafa tapped the side of his mug with his fingers, his nails making a clinking sound. “Have they said anything about missing her?”

“I’ve never heard them say anything like that, no, but… They brought her up a lot while we were out today, which I sort of expected since the ice cream thing was her idea, but… It still made me feel weird. And I keep thinking that maybe…” He trailed off.

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe they’re… mad at me.” Neville’s voice cracked a little at the end, and he swallowed. He would be damned if he ended up crying -- Mustafa would probably think he’s some weirdo if he just burst into tears mid-conversation.

“You think they’re mad at you? Why would you say that?” Mustafa’s tone was soft, his eyebrows scrunched together.

“How can they not be? I know I’d be mad at me, if I were them. I was one of the main reasons for the divorce.”

“How so?”

Neville took a long sip from his mug, attempting to compose himself before starting. “Ever since we’d gotten married and had Jen, our relationship felt… odd. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out why -- I’d just gotten with an amazing woman, and we had a child together. We even had a second little girl on the way. You’d think I’d be the happiest man alive. I definitely thought I was.

“But the more that time went on, the more things changed. The more I started to feel like I was doing something wrong. None of it made any goddamn sense to me. She hadn’t done anything to offend me or make me hate her. She was the greatest woman I’d ever met, and I knew I still had very strong feelings towards her. I just… wasn’t sure if they were romantic or not.”

“You guys didn’t get into any big fights or anything?” Mustafa asked.

“I mean, we did fight sometimes, but that’s expected in a relationship. We never had any major arguments, though. And with each passing day I was finding myself less and less interested in being with not just her, but… anybody, really.” Neville sighed. “And things only seemed to get weirder once Daisy was born. I ended up talking to Wade to get his opinion. I told him everything that I was feeling because I thought that he could help, and he definitely did. Much more than I honestly thought he would.”

“What did he say?”

“He told me that everything that I’d been going through was very similar to what he’d been dealing with for a good portion of his life. He said that when he was in his teens he’d been with a few girls, but nothing serious ever came out of those relationships. He never felt a connection with any of them, even though they were all great girls. It was only after he’d given the whole thing a lot of thought that he realized that he was feeling this way because he…” Neville trailed off again.

“Because he what?”

He took a deep breath. “Well… because he only liked guys.”

“Oh…” Mustafa paused, causing the room to become silent. “So what you’re saying is… after you talked to Wade, you realized that you are also into guys?”

“Yes.” Neville licked his lower lip.

“How did your wife -- uh, you said her name is Marina? How did she react?”

“She… actually handled it fairly well. I guess she sort of figured that there was something going on since I’d been so distant. She finally got closure. But she was definitely still upset -- her husband did just tell her that he wasn’t attracted to her. That doesn’t exactly bring a smile to someone’s face.”

“So you guys got divorced after that?”

“Not right away, no. We knew that we were going to, but we couldn’t afford to just rush into it. That, and we had two little girls who needed their parents. Even if it was just as friends, we still needed to raise them as their guardians.” He shook his head. “In hindsight, that was a mistake. It wasn’t fair to anybody for us to force ourselves to stay together -- not me, not her, and especially not Daisy and Jen.

“She moved out once the process was over with, and for a little while it seemed like everything was okay. The girls still went to see her pretty often, and she and I were still friends. Then she found a new partner, and she ended up having to move to a whole different state for her job. It’s been quite some time since the girls have been able to talk with her.” He looked down. “I know they must miss her terribly.”

“Is that why you think that they’re mad at you?”

Neville couldn’t bring himself to respond to Mustafa’s question. He opened his mouth, but the words would never come out. “I-I…” was all he’d been able to get out before he felt tears prickling at his eyes again. He tried to blink them away before Mustafa noticed how upset he was getting, though his attempts proved to be futile, as he felt a hand on his shoulder at that moment.

“Adrian?” He asked with a gentle voice.

Neville felt one of the tears start to roll down his cheek, and he roughly wiped it away. “Fuck…” He muttered under his breath, Mustafa’s grip on his shoulder tightening as a result. “God, I’m so sorry for this…” He gritted his teeth, his ears red with embarrassment.

“Hey, it’s okay…” Mustafa took their mugs and placed them down on the coffee table (next to the cookies that had led to this whole scene) before scooting closer to him, placing an arm around his shoulders. “If it’s too much, you don’t have to say anything else. Don’t push yourself.”

Neville rested his head on his shoulder, taking a few breaths. When Mustafa had first invited Neville into his home, Neville had initially thought he would be in and out. He was only going to pick up a gift, right? He wouldn’t be in there for longer than a few minutes. He never anticipated that he would end up like this.

“I-I…” He started again. “I do think that that’s why they’re mad at me. They’d still have a mother if it weren’t for me, wouldn’t they? If I hadn’t insisted on looking into these stupid fucking feelings of mine and just left it be, then we’d still be together. They would have both their parents, not just their dad. I fucked up.”

“No you didn’t. Things would have been worse if you hadn’t done anything.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you’d be living a lie. You said before that trying to stay together for the girls’ sake wasn’t fair to anyone, doesn’t that also apply to this? It wasn’t fair to you either. If you denied how you felt and tried to make the whole thing work all for them, things would have turned out poorly. You would’ve gotten hurt. Being honest was the right choice.”

“But being honest took away their mother, didn’t it? They never get to see her anymore! God, the three of them would all be hanging out together right now if it hadn’t been for me. I ruined things for everyone.”

“You didn’t ruin anything, I promise you that. Please believe me. I know that both of your girls love you to death -- don’t you remember before you came over here and we were all talking? They were calling you the best dad ever. You and I both know that little kids aren’t shy when it comes to making their opinions known. If they really hated you, they definitely would have told you by now.”

“How can you be so sure that they weren’t just saying that because you were there?”

“Like I just said, kids really don’t have much of a filter when they’re at this age. If anything, they’d be more likely to share their opinion of you when they have an audience.”

Neville swallowed deeply and took off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. He knew that Mustafa was probably right, but there was still such a large part of him that was doubting everything that he’d just said, and he felt like absolute shit because of that fact. He was trying so hard to help Neville feel better, and here he was, rejecting what he’d been told.

“Do you think…” Neville said as he put his glasses back on. “Do you think I’m a good dad?” He knew that it was a stupid question -- they had only known each other for a month. How could he possibly know about Neville’s parenting skills?

“Of course I do,” Mustafa replied, raising a hand and beginning to lightly stroke Neville’s hair. “I can tell from this conversation alone just how much you care about the girls. You don’t sound like someone who’s a bad parent.”

“I’m just trying so hard, Mustafa,” he quietly said. “I’m trying so goddamn hard to be the best dad to them that I can be. I feel like I’m not there for them as often as I should be, since I have to work and all.”

“It’s not like they never get to see you anymore. And besides, they have Wade, don’t they? It’s not like they’re always by themselves.”

“Yes, but Wade isn’t their dad. I am. It’s not fair to him that I keep making him watch them for me.”

“Does he mind it?”

“No, he’s okay with it. He’s…” Neville paused. “He’s made it clear to me that he isn’t interested in being their father, though. With how often they’re all together, you’d think he is, but he’s definitely not, which I don’t fault him for at all. As okay with babysitting as he claims is, I know I can’t rely on him forever.”

“Well…” Mustafa started. “If you want… I can watch them sometimes.”

“I can’t ask you to do that. Don’t you have to work, too?”

“I do… but I have days off. There are gonna be days when school is closed but you still have to work, aren’t there? If you ever need any extra help and wanna give Wade some time off, don’t hesitate to let me know. I’d be more than happy to spend some time with them.”

“You’re really willing to do that for me?”

“Absolutely. I really do care about you, Adrian. I know that things aren’t exactly easy for you and that you’re under a lot of stress, and I want to help you out in any way that I can.”

“I… really appreciate it…Thank you. So much.” Neville looked down at his lap. Mustafa cared about him. Knowing that there was another person out there that actually gave a shit about him and how he felt made him feel as if a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders.

It was while Neville was looking in this direction that he noticed how close they were -- their knees were brushing up against each other. Not only that, but his head was still resting on his shoulder, and Mustafa was still gently petting his hair. It felt… nice sitting with him like this. Being so close filled him with a comfortable feeling of warmth, one that he hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.

He wanted to feel this way more often.

And Neville finally looked up, found himself once again entranced by Mustafa’s brown eyes, the same way he had when they first met.

And he realized.

What he’d been feeling for all these weeks was without a doubt real.

“You okay now?” Mustafa said.

“Yeah.” Neville nodded. “H-Hey, so… there’s actually something else I want to tell you.”

“Hmm? What’s that?”

“I…” Neville swallowed, a little hesitant, his face red. “I haven’t actually been… with anybody for awhile. I’ve been too nervous… But I think I’m ready now.” He took a deep breath, composing himself. “What I’m trying to say is… yes, I will go to that coffee shop with you.”

Mustafa’s eyebrows raised, and he smiled. “Really? Are you sure you’re up for it?”

“I’m sure. It’s been so long since the last time I felt this way, and… I really want to get to know you better.”

Mustafa smiled, wrapping both arms around him now and pulling him into a tight hug. “I’m so glad.”

“Me too.” There was still part of Neville that was nervous, that made him think that he was making a mistake and rushing things.

But he didn’t care about that. In that moment, Mustafa was the only thing that mattered to him.

#mustafa ali #neville #adrian neville #wwe fanfiction #mustafa x neville #i never realized how many words i italicized in this fic #until i had to go through it and italicize them all again bc for some reason it didn't carry over when i copied and pasted it here #long post #REALLY long post #rip in peace mobile users #jess.txt

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samingtonwilson · 7 years

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Loot - Part 7 - Jim Kirk

Loot masterlist Word count: 2,734 (GOD WHAT THE HELL) Warnings: language

A/N: let me start off by saying part 8 will be a lot better and will actually push the story along, i just wanted and needed some leonard mccoy in my life. i want to wrap this story up in 10-11 parts so we’ll see if i can actually do that. also the romulan in here is pulled right from memory alpha because im too lazy to look for more somewhere else. i also added uhura to this part because i would die for her. that’s all i guess. ENJOY N LEMME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! tell me if you want to be tagged, etc.

You sat beside Lieutenant Nyota Uhura on the bridge. The officer usually in that place, Lieutenant Bashir was cooped up in the medbay with something resembling Legionnaires’ disease but of an unknown origin— McCoy assumed it came from the away mission Jim and six others carried out despite advice not to.

The doctor’s advice was sound considering the hostile natives of the planet that forced the away team into hiding. This wouldn’t have been much of a problem had there not been an ongoing storm— that interference rendered Scotty unable to beam the seven officers back on board and forced said seven to fend for themselves food-wise. Usually well-stocked with rations, Jim ensured the crew there would be absolutely no way they would miss any meals. This, of course, was wrong and poor Lieutenant Bashir, who filled the medbay with his groans and winces, likely ingested a foreign bacteria through the planet’s limited water and food supply.

While you were thankful to shadow probably the absolute best xenolinguist in Starfleet Academy history because of Jim’s decision to execute the away mission, his behavior worried you.

You’d always heard that Jim was daring, brave, and adventurous, but each decision he’d made in the last week was made without consideration for consequences. Being the last person to preach that, however, you kept quiet— and it wasn’t as if the two of you were speaking enough for you to say anything in the first place.

“Here— put this in,” Nyota told you, placing her metallic earphone in your hand. She rose from her chair next. “And sit here. I want to play you a recording from a few years ago.”

You nodded and stuck the speaker in your ear, a bobbled portion of it sticking out. You smoothed your hand over your tied hair and slid into her seat as she stood behind you.

You enjoyed Nyota’s company. She was a better teacher than most at the Academy. Her technique, her knowledge, and her humor helped beyond what any class would. Aside from her total brilliance, she was quick-witted, kind when merited, and extremely understanding— not to mention outrageously beautiful.

Her dark hair was usually pulled back and tied out of her striking features, her large brown eyes always lined impeccably with black eyeliner and the thickest frame of eyelashes, and her cappuccino skin managed to glow in even the abysmal lighting of the bridge and the commissary. You had to physically stop yourself from constantly flirting with her— especially around Commander Spock.

She reached over your shoulder and flipped a switch, the screen displaying several sound waves.

“Now, listen carefully. I want you to tell me what you hear— an origin planet of the dialect and a translation.”

You nodded again and listened as she played the recording at a louder volume. You bit down on your bottom lip and leaned forward. “It’s Romulan.”

“What’s it saying?”

You listened carefully and tilted your head a little.

“Setha-tri par trukatha. Setha-ki par trukatha. Setha-mille par trukatha.”

Your eyebrows came together and you repeated the message in your head. “Is it a self-destruction message?”

“Yes!” she said loudly, her hand clapping against your shoulder. She laughed when you winced quietly. “Oh, honey, you’d be surprised how many communications officers actually speak and understand any of the three Romulan dialects. It’s how I got this position— the officer before me couldn’t distinguish Romulan from Vulcan.”

“And he was the primary communications officer?” you snorted.

She motioned for you to move back to your original seat. “I know, I couldn’t believe it either. I guess not everyone has an aptitude for languages like you and I,” she said with a sigh, brushing her hair over her shoulder.

You laughed and sat back. You crossed your legs, setting your arms atop your knee. Your fingers went from being clasped together to twisting one another and the toe of your boot went from bouncing to kicking the air.

You knew your restlessness was a by-product of your anxiety caused by your presence on the bridge— and you thought that domino effect was awfully tiring.

Though the bridge crew was nice enough, Jim constant occupation of the captain’s chair was unnerving. Once aboard the bridge, Captain Mode was his default setting. His arms placed on the armrests so his fingers could dangle off the ends, he would sit with his icy blue eyes narrowed at the large window overlooking open space. He spoke only when he deemed necessary and rarely smiled in the way you were so used to.

As if you didn’t know, Nyota told you this was unlike him. Of course, he would behave as a captain should whilst on the bridge, however, he would rarely snap as he was beginning to and would rarely keep the atmosphere so full of tension. He usually spoke non-stop, expressing his observations to Spock, Chekov, or Sulu— depending on who he thought would be more interested in his musings. She said the behavioral change had come about in just the past two weeks or so.

He seemed vacant.

His eyes felt vacant, his voice sounded vacant, and his smiles appeared vacant. He didn’t look lost or uninterested, nor did he look sad or especially frustrated, he was just absent. Physically there, his features and behavior made you think he’d gone as far as he could in his mind and sat there without the ability to face what was before him. He reminded you of a shell.

You thought he might have sensed the intense emptiness of his actions and tried to make up for it with increasingly risky behavior— as if he was overcompensating.

From the execution of an unendorsed-by-his-crew away mission, to his blatant disregard for Spock’s warnings about the native population by poking the natives’ patience with a stick, Jim seemed to be hoping his riskiness would give his superficial frustration, his disingenuous lack of interest the appearance of substance. Like he really was an angry young man stereotype that thought himself above all else.

It was poor decision-making on his part considering each member of his crew knew him well enough to know he rarely embodied and relied on stereotypes— even you knew him well enough to know that.

But he stuck to it. He remained vacant and continued to overcompensate with bouts of anger and precarious behavior— and you couldn’t help but feel totally responsible.

The thought that you made Jim into the shell he’d assumably become when your intention was to prevent the occurrence of such a thing in the future pushed your tired body to the point of utter exhaustion— an exhaustion too deep for sleep to cure, an exhaustion inching you toward regretting coming on the bridge each morning.

You returned to the bridge like clockwork each day regardless.

You only observed Nyota for three hours and the objective benefits outweighed the subjective cons. Besides, you were beginning to think of going to the bridge and seeing Jim act this way as penance for your mistake-prone, likely blister-covered soul.

At the end of your three hours, you would find relief in solitude. Solitary turbolift ride, solitary walk from the lift to your quarters, solitary evening in your quarters. It was a relief like no other.

However, much to your dismay, today was a bit different.

Unfortunately, you were to head to the medbay for your weekly check-in with McCoy. Although it was only the second time you had one of these appointments, you were tired of them.

You loved Dr. McCoy— he was as funny as he was grumpy, and he was very grumpy— but the idea of needing to be checked over every week to make sure you hadn’t charred another part of your body felt a bit excessive.

As you rose from your chair after saying goodbye to Nyota, you pulled the left sleeve of your shirt to cover the scarring that remained over your palm and fingers and took a deep breath to sooth your lightheadedness.

You smiled at Chekov when you caught his eye as he turned around and silently waved.

He returned the wave, his action gaining Jim’s attention.

Jim twisted his neck a bit, a lock of his otherwise neat blonde hair falling over his forehead. His blue eyes met yours and you watched his eyebrows fall to a neutral position rather than furrowed. His frown straightened out and his usually clenched jaw came loose.

You smiled at him a little, nodding once. The lightheadedness, in turn, grew stronger.

He offered you a similar smile and turned to face the window again.

You took that as your cue to rush to the lift and not stop deep breathing exercises until it came to a halt upon your desired deck.

The medbay doors slid open as you approached them and the smell of antiseptic was overpowering. The pretty blonde nurse seated at the nurse’s station smiled at you politely.

You knew she recognized you. You felt in the medbay what frequent flyers probably felt in airports— you just didn’t like it.

“He’s in Exam Room 2,” she said, motioning towards the corridor to your left.

You nodded and, once you were two feet from entering the exam room, called out, “Bonesy, I’m still scarred.”

“Emotionally or physically?” was the response you received as you stepped through the door. You could hear the smirk in his gruff voice.

“Oh, both.” You smiled at him and hopped onto the biobed. “Obviously.”

He was leant against the counter on the far right of the room with his arms crossed over his chest. His dark hair was combed perfectly and his blue shirt was totally wrinkle-free— it was hard to believe he was on hour seven of an eight-hour shift. “What’s the damage this week?”

“Minimal,” you answered honestly, rolling your sleeves up. You held your arms out to him. “See? No new burns.”

He rolled his hazel eyes with a purse of his lips— his usual disbelieving expression. He stepped before you and began recording the many numbers displayed on the monitor. “Vitals are off. Heart rate is quick and temperature’s a little high. Have you been feelin’ a little sick lately?”

“No more so than usual.”

You wanted to back away from his hand as he laid it flat against your forehead, his lips forming an abyss-like scowl.

“Last time we did your bloodwork, your hemoglobin and sodium were low. Takin’ those iron supplements and salt tablets, I trust.” His expression said he did not trust.

You shrugged. “Whenever I remember to.”

“Not good enough.” He stared at his PADD again. “Eatin’ well?”

“We’re on a starship, Bones. No one is eating well.”

“Try to,” he said simply, looking up at you through his thick eyelashes. “What about sleep? Gettin’ enough of that?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Define ‘enough.’”

“Darlin’, have you been sleeping at all?”

“‘At all’ is, like, one minute and above, right?” you asked. “If so, yes, I have been sleeping at all.”

He offered you his most sarcastic look. “You’re not eating right, your vitals are all over the place, you only take your supplements when you remember to rather than when you’ve been asked to, and you aren’t sleepin’. This is what you’re callin’ minimal damage?”

“Yes, but all of those things were true last week, too. This week, I didn’t burn myself,” you pointed out with an almost pitiable amount of pride. “That’s real progress, my friend.”

“That’s real pathetic, my friend.”

“You’ll heal more flies with honey than vinegar.”

He snorted. “It’s ‘you’ll catch more flies with honey.’ Either your lack of sleep is already takin’ a toll on cognitive processes, or you’ve never been the sharpest tool in the shed.” He paused to frown in consideration before continuing, “Maybe a lil’ bit of both.”

“Has anyone ever told you to heal with love?”

“Ain’t a chance in hell I’ll be takin’ your advice after ‘you’ll heal more flies with honey,’” he told you with a laugh, shaking his head once. “I take it the lack of burns means Scotty fixed your replicator.”

“Something like that,” you shrugged. “He threw it out and gave me a new one.”

You’d thought that, in itself, would be a pain. You wouldn’t have an excuse to have forearms littered with crescent-shaped burns anymore. You would be forced into being careful— something you weren’t used to.

The artifact wasn’t giving you much trouble, however, and didn’t bother the ship much either. After you returned from the medbay and retrieved it from the storage closet that night, you tossed the burnt shirt aside and stared at the ancient metal in your hands. You ran your finger over the inscriptions and fought the urge to throw it against the wall. Instead, you once again placed it in your closet and prepared yourself for the worst.

But, over the last two weeks, a strange calm had come over the artifact. There were no temperature hikes, no increases in humidity, no spikes in volatility— an orange glow stayed over your clothes and a soft hum emitted from the closet. You assumed it was due to the artifact’s overcoming of the nebula’s magnetic impact and hoped for precisely that, extremely satisfied that you weren’t roped into heedful behavior.

“Wise man.”

“Wise snitch of a man,” you corrected, scowling.

McCoy snorted. “Don’t be such a child— he did the right thing.”

“Yeah, yeah— agree to disagree. Let’s move on.”

“Okay, new subject then.” He looked up from his PADD and set the tablet beside you on the biobed. “Is there a reason you aren’t able to eat or sleep?”

“Seamless topic change.”

“Thanks, I try. Answer the question.

“There’s a reason,” you nodded. “The food’s gross and my mattress is made of broken glass.”

He narrowed his eyes and raked his long fingers through his hair. “I’m bein’ serious. Did you notice a pick-up in your sleeplessness and lack of appetite?”

“Cut to the chase,” was becoming a common phrase for you since boarding the Enterprise and you used it again in that moment, crossing your arms over your chest and cocking a single eyebrow.

“In the last two weeks, you’ve barely been eating.”

He shook his head when you opened your mouth to speak. “Don’t try to defend yourself, sweetheart— I pulled your replicator logs.”

He nodded when you shut your mouth and continued, “Judging by the onset of your pale appearance, your lightheadedness, forgetfulness, obvious deficiency in knowledge of idioms, you haven’t been able to sleep for approximately the same amount of time.”

“Okay. I’ve been busier these last two weeks— with Uhura on the bridge and—”

“I make it a point not to get involved with Jim’s love life.” He shook his head and clicked his tongue, “Or rather, sex life. But I’ll interfere when I feel like it’s necessary.” He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest just as you had. “So, tell me, darlin’, what the fuck is wrong with the two of you that two weeks of nonsense aren’t enough?”

“What?” You sounded a bit annoyed— mostly because you were. “What are you talking about?”

“Botha y’all, I swear,” he said under his breath. “Fuck if I care who is sleepin’ with who, but when your health starts slipping, it becomes my concern. Same with Jim’s.”

“I’m fine, Jim is fine.”

“It’s like y’all fuckin’ rehearsed this shit. I can see who’s fine and who isn’t with objectivity, I don’t need your input or Jim’s input. Be adults, talk to one another, sort it out— there would be no reason for the both of you to be so upset if it was unsalvageable.”

“Bones, my reasons haven’t changed. Think of it as preventative measures, like a vaccine.”

He smiled at you softly. “Darlin’, dealing with people and dealing with diseases are two very different things. Stop worryin’ about what’ll happen in the future and causin’ yourself pain on a ‘what if.’”

“If the ‘what if’ comes true, it’s gonna be a lot worse than this.”

“Take it as it comes. This whole thing might be worth all of that.” He paused and raised a single eyebrow, frowning. “Hard to believe y’all have feelings for each other in the first place— you both have the emotional depth of goldfish and the attachment tendencies of nomads.”

“Please, God, no more analogies.”

tagged: @outside-the-government @daughterofthebrowncoats @multifandom-slytherin@buckyy3s @cinema212 @caaptain @dani-fae @wonders-of-the-enterprise @imaginesofdreams @the-witching-hours12-3 @kaitymccoy123

#jim kirk #jim kirk imagine #kirk imagine #jim kirk x reader #star trek #star trek imagine #captain kirk x reader #captain kirk imagine #imagine kirk #imagine jim kirk #imagine this story not going off the rails #imagine me actually writing something decent #imagine getting a good night's sleep #byeeeeeeee

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bondedbrotherhood-blog · 7 years

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Angel style recruiting - by Lassiter and Rhoar.

http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1sobcsr

#SL #AngelStyleRecruiting

Co-written by @HeedMyRhoar and @LordshipHalogen

http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1sobcfe

Lassiter: Humming lines of ‘the party don’t start till I walk in’, I sashayed towards the entrance of the Iron Mask, not at all surprised when the bouncers merely stepped aside for me. My presence was becoming increasingly frequent at the bar, enough that the staff knew me by name, my preferred drinks, my eccentricities, and not to blink too closely at my eyes. That last one I really fucking appreciated.

Giving Silent Tom a broad grin and a wink, the kind that made the man shuffle awkwardly on the spot, I breezed by and made a beeline for the private booths toward the back. Without thinking I threw a mental ‘HAI, HOW ARE YA?’ to Trez in the back, wanting the vampire’s attention.

Trez was one of the few that didn’t flinch, groan, bitch, curse or grumble whenever I came near him, something that made the Shadow all the more endearing to me. Then there was the whole, ‘helping keep him and his brother alive during that nasty thing with the other Shadows’ business that occurred a while back. Yeah, totally have a man crush for Trez. No BFD. Whatevs.

Picking my favorite booth I flop into it and give a charming smile to the bar staff, who immediately brought over a shot and a drink.

“Thanks babe. Trez busy out back?”

“I think he’s interviewing for a new spot on the floor with the girls,” she murmured, glancing around. “But he probably knows you’re here. He’ll be out soon.”

“Thanks dollface!” I reply with a wink, taking the shot and downing it in one, placing the empty glass back on her tray then reaching for the beer. “I’ll wait right here then. I’d hate for him to miss me.”

“As if anyone could miss you,” she replied with a wry grin and a wink of her own, purple lipstick gleaming as she turned to head back to the bar and a collection of barely legal pussy waiting to get sloshed.

http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1sobcg8

Rhoar: I’d been in my little section of ‘paradise’ for what felt like hours, but I knew it wasn’t nearly so long. I was becoming bored. Again. And it was driving me fucking nuts. I used to come to the Iron Mask and feel enthralled, but much like when you see a hooker the morning after a night of work, the allure was fast losing it’s appeal. The booze didn’t whittle away my time the way it used to, the civilians and humans didn’t entertain me like they once did.

Hell, I’d even considered picking fights with some of the larger males that inhabited the joint, just to fucking feel something, but I wouldn’t do something as stupid as that. Reputation was everything in the vampire world, and mine was already shot to shit because of an asshole of an ancestor. When you desert your Brothers, and therefore the Brotherhood? You put a black spot against your name, and the name of every child born into your line. Trauhma is the source of my family’s shame, and the three generations before mine have paid the price for his actions.

Fucking hell, I was being morose tonight, and I needed something to pull me out of the tailspin. I considered briefly the idea of inviting a couple of the civilians or humans to join me, but then I remembered how much effort it took to play the jovial prince, and I wasn’t in the mood to pretend tonight. Instead, I raised my empty glass so one of the waitresses could see; it had been dry for some time now, come to think of it, the realisation causing a muscle in my jaw to twitch. That said, the waitress was hotfooting it to me with two fingers of Lagavulin and two rock cubes quicker than you could say ‘scotch’ once she realised, a smirk tugging the corner of my lips as she neared. “Sorry Rhoar,” her voice holding a sunny warmth along with the apology. “I would’ve brought you something sooner, but the bar-”

“It’s fine, Shelly. Gotta keep the masses wet and coming back for more, after all,” my previous impatience replaced by a dark humour as she set down the drink, her blue eyes casting up through her lashes to catch my gaze. Though my smirk stayed in place, hinting at mischief and amusement, it didn’t quite meet my eyes. Not that she realised, taking my expression as encouragement.

“Speaking of wet-”

“Shelly!” the barman yelling out to the bottle-black waitress, causing her to pout as she straightened her posture and stood.

“I’ll be sure to keep an eye out to see if you need a top up,” the woman throwing an extra sashay into her walk as she made her way back to the bar.

Great, just what I needed. The working girls didn’t even bother coming to my booth anymore, I’d turned them all down so many times. They’d realised I wasn’t even remotely interested in their company; the bar staff had yet to catch on, apparently.

Letting out a slow breath, I leaned back and let my legs sprawl, getting my ass comfortable as I raised the glass to my lips to take a languished sip.

“I’ll wait right here then. I’d hate for him to miss me,” a male’s voice breaking through and causing a wicked smirk to curve my lips once again. I’d seen him here from time to time, and the waitress was right: he was hard to miss. Somehow, I managed to withhold a snort of laughter, my defences finally relaxing as I allowed myself to enjoy my scotch.

http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1sobch9

Lassiter: My acute hearing caught the snort behind me, and without being too obvious, like turning on my personal inner light switch or jumping the fuck up to look over, I let my seemingly sightless gaze drift across the crowd until it came to rest on the stranger. Let’s give a round of applause for all white eyes; without a pupil most were oblivious to my stare.

“You make nights more interesting you know.”

Looking back to Trez as the Shadow strode over to his booth, I offered a beaming smile, just shy of a glow.

“Yo Trez! What’s up? I was bored at the mansion. Everyone’s being a fucking spoil sport of late and not letting me go out for a fight. Even Tohr is cock blocking me for some action.”

I paused, making a face and taking another swig from my beer.

“That sounded really fuckin’ wrong. Okay, new plan, what should I be doing to entertain myself, other than causing havoc here?”

Shaking his head in a way that was all too familiar, the Shadow moved into the booth and sat beside me. The smile was refreshing though; none of the Brothers at the house ever looked this happy to see me unless it was the back of me as I was leaving. Glancing toward the civilian one more time, I leant closer and dropped my voice to be between the pair of us.

“That one over there. Who’s he? What’s his deal?”

Trez shrugged and glanced toward the patron, then away, eyes fixing on his bar and taking in the staff, the humans drowning themselves in liquor and the other civilians assessing potential.

“He comes for a drink on occasion. Keeps to himself.”

Dark eyes looked to white for a second, a small smirk curving his lips.

“Male of worth though.”

I perked.

“Really?”

Trez gave another nod, a serene, almost knowing expression on his face. It was one of the things I liked about the Shadow, a trait we shared, the ability to look into people at times, see them, know them, and take them on that merit rather than any façade presented to the world.

“Well then… the night is lookin’ up.”

http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1sobchu

Rhoar: As I saw the owner emerge, I gave a respectful dip of my head; while in the eyes of the glymeria and the Brotherhood I may be without value, that didn’t mean my manners would suffer. The male had been nothing but professional, ignoring the usual social protocols of vampire society to acknowledge that my wealth, despite my ruined lineage, placed me in a position of influence.

Male of worth, through and through, that one.

Other than that, I paid little attention to the meeting, or whatever it was, the male was having with the damn near iridescent character he shared the booth with. Instead, I let the music wash over me as I lay the arm not supporting my drink along the back of the plush seating, the scotch raised methodically to my lips as I savoured the subtle burn of the liquor down my throat.

At least Shelly was good to her word, bringing me another two fingers of Lagavulin before I’d set down my empty glass. “Thanks, sugar,” the girl practically preening before she made her way back to the bar. As much as I wanted to discourage her from thinking she’d be able to find a way to get me interested in her ‘graces’, it wasn’t in me to be rude to her for the sake of it. She was a good barmaid, and an attentive VIP attendant; the last thing I’d want is to ruin her night.

I’d just have to find a way to let her down gently; the same way, but different, to how I had the working girls. They’d been simple; you just made it clear that despite their ample charms, you weren’t interested in paying for it.

It was always the girls with the less obvious price tags that were harder to dissuade.

http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1sobcia

Lassiter: Downing my beer in several large gulps, I set the bottle down with a dull thunk and smacked my lips.

“Hits the spot. Alright, well, since you’re a busy little bee n’ I’m bored as hell I’m going to go bug your local male of worth and find out his deal. I mean, what’s the worst he could do when I already live with a bunch of assholes that talk about setting explosives in my bed?” I mused dryly, only half kidding. Hell, hardly kidding at all.

Trez grinned and nodded, getting back to his feet and stepping out of the booth.

“Don’t drive him off completely, Angel. He’s a good customer.”

“You wound me with the assumption I could drive ‘anyone’ off,” I declared boldly, getting to my feet and exiting the booth as well.

Offering my hand, I was pleased and warmed when the Shadow took it and shook it firmly.

“Lemme know if you need anything, Glowstick.”

“Cute. Also, go fuck yourself,” I replied airily, grinning as I turned and sauntered over to the male’s private booth and dropped my ass right on down opposite him.

“Hi there!” I exclaimed with wry cheer and a grin. “How you doin tonight?”

http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1sobcie

Rhoar: Apparently, my night was going to go from blasé to booth-crashed, the damn-near glowing figure deciding to join me. At first I simply arched a brow, taking another swallow from my drink before I set down the glass.

“Well enough,” the answer offered with the slightest curve to the corner of my lips while I mulled over what his agenda might be. After all, you didn’t just make yourself at home in one of these expensive slices of heaven without an invitation, and you didn’t crash in on someone else’s without a reason. So of course, I was curious.

Raising the glass once more, I spoke before I took another measured mouthful. “And yours, friend?” swirling the remaining scotch and generally ignoring the clink of the rock cubes against the glass. A pretty easy feat, given the throbbing music and pulsating energy at work in the club.

http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1sobcjv

Lassiter: “S’lookin up,” I replied honestly, openly staring at the other male and sweeping him from head to toe. While a lack of iris probably hid some of that appraisal, there was no hiding the fact I was checking him out. Well… not like ‘that’. Though there was an appeal…

“So, my main man Trez tells me you’re in here often enough. You ever lookin for company or doin anything special?”

I paused. Well fuck. Didn’t /that/ sound all kinds of wrong.

“For the record,” I added quickly, “I am not looking to suck you, fuck you, or do anything else that requires parts south of the border. You’re nice to look at n’ all, but I don’t swing my piece in all directions unless there’s a good fuckin’ reason.”

Now that I’d cleared /that/ up…

“I was just curious as to the reason you frequent this space, other than the fact it’s the best damn club for males n’ females that wanna relax in the city.”

I’d move onto his profession and what not next, assuming the male didn’t smash that glass over my head and walk out. Considering this introduction, I wasn’t sure I could blame him. Tonight really was an off fucking night. I was about to cock block myself for entertainment, for fuck sake.

http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1sobckr

Rhoar: While the lack of pupil allowed a modicum of discretion there was no disguising as the other male raked those white eyes of his over me, a smirk tugging only gently at the corner of my lips as my head shifted slightly to the side and my left brow ticked. But that along with the rest of his statement? Well, didn’t that just have me wanting to snort all over again.

But, in the interests of not being an asshole, I let the male finish. Nothing like interrupting someone in the middle of a tirade to get things all kinds of fucked up, and not in a good way. I was marginally mollified to find out the guy wasn’t after the package between my legs, though I wouldn’t lie and say he was all that unappealing. I was just starting to doubt whether you could even shut him up if he had a cock in his mouth.

“I’m trying to decide if I should be thankful or offended, for the moment,” raising my glass and swallowing the remainder of its contents. Hopefully Shelly would be smart enough to bring a top up for my new companion when she traipsed over here with her desperate hopes and a new glass.

“But if you’re asking whether I come here to fuck and be fucked? Then the answer is no,” turning the glass in my hand rather absently as I shifted and made myself more comfortable. I had no qualms about the male’s scrutiny, though I was intrigued to know why he gave a fuck.

“What I come here for,” and I couldn’t believe that I was actually considering answering that, “is the same as everyone else. An escape from reality,” lilac eyes unwavering, daring him to question it as I let the moment hang suspended. “Why do you?” giving an absent nod to Shelly as she set down my drink, along with a shot and bottle of beer for my companion. She looked like she was waiting for something, pausing by the booth with a smile that wavered the longer she stood there.

All I did was keep my attention on the gently glowing figure, and push my empty to the side. She’d probably take the exchange as my preferring the attention of males; her ego would demand it. With a slight huff, she picked up the glass and flounced off, my poker face cracking enough for my lips to twitch as I heard her bitching to the other staff.

So typical.

http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1sobcme

Lassiter: “Most people are offended by me whether m’ tryin to be nice or not, so it’s not like you’d be outside the norm,” I replied dryly, stopping shy of rolling my eyes, though it’d be a wasted gesture. “Feel free to be offended. I have that effect on people. My presence seems to offend most males.”

Stopping shy of mentioning the brothers outright, I cocked my head at the male as he finished his drink. Copying him, I set down the empty in the hopes of getting a fresh one too. The staff here were decent at keeping me liquored up. Some argued it was one of the few times I was tolerable.

The answer made me wonder what it was the male needed to escape. It was a question I could ask outright, sure, but if I was hoping to take this conversation further than the male flipping me off and leaving, I might need a fuckin’ modicum of tact here. Nodding to the waitress at the fresh beverages, it took great restraint for me not to comment on the woman’s desperate need for attention from the other male. Brownie points to me.

When she was finally gone, and complaining at that, I snorted.

“Ya know, I can lay one on ya if it helps keep her from trying to climb ya like a light post,” I offered easily, perfectly comfortable with macking on with a perfect stranger. “M’ Lassiter, by the way. Figure I should share a name before I start offering make out moments for free. And as for your question… well, I come here out of sheer fucking boredom. Nights like these I have nothing else to do. And the owner’s a real good friend of mine.”

Though there was the possibility Trez wouldn’t sponsor the ‘real good’ part. Oh well.

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Rhoar: I mulled that tidbit over in my mind, lilac eyes unwavering as I considered the other male and his temperament. He certainly wasn’t a vampire, but he was definitely ‘other’, and considering the dull glow about him, it was probably a bad idea for me to start guessing. Of course, I’d heard rumours about the pupil-less inhabitant of the club, but I didn’t put stock in gossip. I wasn’t a snitch, and I wasn’t a bitch, so I didn’t see the point in it.

Rumours and gossip were what had kept my family a slave to our reputation, so I flipped it the bird as often as I could.

“And why’re they so offended by your presence? Is it because they’re intimidated by you? Or is it because you threaten their masculinity?” another slight twitch to my lips as Shelly’s bitching continued on in the background.

The offer for a makeout session though had me arching a brow and cocking my head, straightening it as introductions were finally made between us. “Rhoar,” I offered, and I felt the niggling of some random fact in the back of my mind as I considered the other’s name. “And though I appreciate the offer, if she doesn’t take heed to the most simple expressions of my disinterest? Then feeding her fuel about me being interested in males will only exacerbate the smarting ego she’s sporting,” though I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought of bringing two or more human females into my booth to make things clear.

It was his admission of boredom though that got me. “I can understand that. You support a friend’s business, while keeping yourself entertained,” something still nagging at me about his name. “But forgive me for being blunt. While I have manners, they aren’t as cultivated as they once could have been,” raising my drink to take a languished sip before setting it back down. “Why is it that I have the…” trying to find a word other than ‘pleasure’, “honour of your company? Because we both know that your boredom isn’t it.”

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Lassiter: Well hot damn, I was really starting to like this male. Saving that happy phrase of ‘intimidated by you’ in the back of my mind to enjoy later, I grinned and shrugged my shoulders, reaching for my shot. Dipping my head toward the other male, I then threw it back and set down the empty glass.

“I could ask them that,” I mused, “but I’m pretty sure every single one of them would take it as an opportunity to ‘prove’ they’re not, and shank me with their shiny black blades.”

That small, purposeful implication was left in the air for a second, so that the male, Rhoar, could make of it what he would. Most of the civilians knew enough about the Black Dagger Brotherhood, and why they were named that way. As for the rejection of a make out session…

“Naw, shame for me,” I replied, bemused and giving a wink to show I was teasing. “N’ your manners are damn fine really, specially compared to the rough bastards I’m used to. Well, apart from Trez. Got mad love for that male back there, I tell you,” I admitted carelessly, taking a sip from my beer. “As for the reason why… Well, let’s just say I’m interested in males of worth, and I hear you ring all the right bells for what I’m after, Rhoar.”

Now wouldn’t /that/ no doubt catch the male’s interest, and probably connect a few dots after his little black blades comment. Frankly, if I could get this male into the program, I’d be feeling a lot more inclined to help out with the training they kept bitching about.

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Rhoar: At the mention of the shiny black blades I felt my muscles tense, though I didn’t let my body freeze. Instead, I relaxed back into my seat and drew my drink back towards me, a quiet hum lodged in the back of my throat. So, the male was a consultant, of sorts, for the Brotherhood. And suddenly, the name clicked. There’d been rumours of a Fallen Angel running around with the Brothers, and as I said before, I didn’t usually put stock in such things… until they were proven to be true.

What the hell he was doing with me, then, was a complete mystery. If the Brothers knew who he was talking to? They’d be fucking pissed.

After all, they didn’t take too kindly to traitors, or the families of them.

I listened though to the Angel’s tirade, the occasional twitch to my lips to show I was, indeed, taking in what he was saying. It was at his mention of ‘male of worth’, however, that finally drew a snort of laughter from me. “My man, I appreciate what you’re trying to do here,” taking a sip from my drink and savouring the slow burn, “but you’re wasting your time.” Many of the upper echelon families had heard of the training program the Brotherhood had renewed interest in, feeling that a significant enough time had passed since the raids so that they might start to once again train soldiers, if not Brothers, to protect the race.

“If those boys of yours knew you were talking to me about this? They’d take your left nut, sauté it, and make you eat it with a side of ‘slaw,” my gaze unwavering as I downed the last of my drink.

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Lassiter: I gave a snort of equal measure, rolling my white eyes even if the effect was lost on my companion. The notion that the Brother’s might want to hurt me for ‘actually’ doing something was laughable, considering they wanted to hurt me even when I was doing nothing at all.

“Look man, here’s the sitch, the training program needs bodies n’ yours seems damn fine for the job. The Brother’s ain’t picky. Or at least, they aren’t no more. They’re letting anyone in. They’re letting anyone join. Just recently, they accepted a male of no blood line into the fold of the ‘actual’ Brotherhood,” I pointed out, thinking of Qhuinn with a bemused grin.

That male was all kinds of entertainment.

“So I dunno what your deal is, or why you think you wouldn’t be making the cut, but with my endorsement there ain’t no reason you can’t train and fight. Unless you don’t ‘want’ to fight, n’ I’m wasting my time with this rather awesome pitch.”

Tilting my head back, I swallowed the last few mouthfuls of my second beer, setting the bottle down and lightly pushing it away from us both. My seemingly blank gaze fixed on the vampire and I gave him my approximation of a hard look. Sure, I dicked around with the Brother’s, but at least they all knew if push came to shove, I was there. I could fight. I had their backs, however much they wanted to gripe about it. Ungrateful ticks.

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Rhoar: The insinuation that I was, essentially, a pussy that didn’t want to fight for my race had a snarl dragging across my lips, and had I been facing the bar at that particular moment, I’m fairly certain I would’ve scared the pants off a number of the staff. “Fighting, and dying, for my race is the greatest honour that could’ve ever been bestowed on me,” having leant forward as I spoke.

They’d let a male of no blooded consequence into the fold, and yet me, a legacy, and a direct descendant of a Brother, would in all likelihood still be sneered at. The only reason I didn’t fight alone was because I knew it would kill my mahmen to lose the one chance of restoration our family had known in generations. The Fallen Chosen had gone through enough; seeing the way I’d turned out post my transition had left a fine tremble in her body for weeks, because she knew, just by looking at the size of me, that I’d want to fight.

I’d taken up a personal trainer early, worked my musculature into a formidable presence. I found others who trained in guns and other weaponry, trying to find some constructive way to manage the energy I had amassed, the drive. She could have lived with that, I think, but what scared her cold enough to glimpse the Fade was the fact I wanted to fight… alone. It wasn’t like civilians wanted to band together and perform their own version of justice on the creatures that despised our very existence, and males of the glymeria certainly didn’t. Which left me, on my own, out in the black of night looking for a fight.

And I’d gotten it good, one night, coming home bloodier and in worse shape than when I was birthed, sending mahmen into a spell. She’d made me swear I wouldn’t go out again, not on my own. I was her only son, and too precious to the family line to waste on something like dying young.

Of course, I’d sworn, and from that night on, all I’d been able to do was train. I had no outlet to vent my frustrations, until I decided to stick it to the glymeria, who treated us worse than second class citizens, and built an empire for my family to be sheltered under. If the race couldn’t respect me for my fighting, and my protection of them, then they could at least respect what I’d accomplished for my family.

What I wouldn’t do to be able to go back in time and beat some sense into Trauhma. Make him realise exactly what he was doing to himself, and to the eons of family he was leaving behind to sully.

“So unless they’re taking in the family of Brothers that betrayed them in the past,” fire damn near burning in my eyes as I sat back, “then I don’t see how the Blind King would allow it.”

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Lassiter: ‘There we go,’ I thought, smug and pleased with myself when I finally got a real reaction out of the male. There was a fighter in there, ready to do battle and bleed, to protect the race. He had the bearing of a Brother, the shoulders, the muscle, and the almost manic gleam to the eye when he spoke about fighting for his people. Yep, I had hit the nail on the head with this one. Thank you, Trez, you fuckin’ beautiful Shadow.

“That’s what I want, right there,” I purred, leaning forward just as Rhoar did, bracing myself and meeting that incensed stare with my own determined one. “You’re trainee material. You’re warrior material. Fuck the past. This is the present n’ your species is ‘dying’,” I said forcefully. “No one knows that better than the King, n’ he’s not about to hold a grudge over some shit that happened how long ago?”

Sitting back, I ignored my drink and shook my head. The blonde and black locks whipped around me for a second, some weaving their way around my piercings so that they gleamed in the light.

“The Blind King changed the laws so he could marry his half breed shellan n’ have a babe with her,” I continued, voice low, just for the two of us. “He greets the people. He trains with female fighters, for fuck sake. N’ he’s letting in civilians to train now. Look at ya,” I add faintly, gesturing at the specimen across from me with nothing short of admiration. “You’re ‘perfect’ for it. You got the build, the body, n’ the brain. The King can be an ass but he’s not n’ idiot. He’s not about to throw away a good fighter over a historic feud, man.”

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Rhoar: “You think I don’t know we’re dying?” I snarled, trying to control the anger that flowed through my veins like the very blood that sustained me. “You think I don’t know how much trouble the race is in? I feel the lack of the Scribe Virgin’s touch in our world with every passing day. The light of us is fading, angel, and the people are ignoring it for their own petty pursuits or because they’re too afraid to practice their religion after what happened to Wellisandra. She was a wonderful female, and very kind to my mahmen, despite our social disgrace,” sitting back and waiting to see if I’d get a reaction for calling my ‘companion’ by what I suspected him to be. “Ignorance, for them, is bliss, because they have no goddamn idea how to deal with the big picture.”

Trying to calm my breathing, I focused for a moment on unclenching my jaw, much of my tirade hissed at the other, in case we were overheard. The last thing I needed to deal with was the fallout in case others of the race heard our discussion.

“And if you think who I descend from won’t matter to them, then you don’t know your boys as well as you think. The Brotherhood, training, fighting… it’s all about trust, and you couldn’t pay those males enough money to trust the spawn of someone that literally left his Brothers in the middle of a fight with no regard for whether they would live or die.”

Taking a deep breath, I raised a hand to rub across my eyes, slumping somewhat in my chair as I dropped my hand to regard the blond-and-black haired male. “I’m not saying I won’t train with them if you can convince them to let me in. But I’m sure you can appreciate that I won’t be holding my breath.”

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Lassiter: “Well, glad m’ not the only one that feels the loss of her around these parts. These days I’m the only thing that floats around n’ glows, and I’m nowhere near as pretty. Though don’t tell anyone I /actually/ admitted to that. They all think I’m fabulous,” I added calmly, no hint of a lie in my voice. “But even angels aren’t deity style awesome.”

The mention of Wellsie made me flinch slightly, looking away as I thought of the female, trapped in the In Between. That I’d managed to help Tohr enough to get her out of there, get her to happiness with that babe, was one of my greatest achievements. It was that thought I hung on to as I drew in a deep breath and looked back to the male.

“I know that trust is earned, n’ you haven’t been given the chance to earn it yet. Wrath is all about settin’ new standards n’ judgin’ his people based on /their/ merits, not some stupid shit their dipshit ancestors pulled. I’m vouchin’ for ya, n’ hell, I’d be willin’ to bet Trez would too,” I added firmly, gesturing toward the back or wherever the fuck the Shadow had ghosted his ass off to.

“You let me deal with the grumpy fuck club n’ you just get your ass to training when n’ where I tell ya, okay? Survive it, kill some Lessers, n’ show everyone what I already suspect is there. Time to let go of the past, sunshine, n’ prepare yourself for a new future, cause soon it won’t be the fuckup ancestor that everyone knows ya for. It’ll be your own damn name. Something to be proud of. Feel me?”

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Rhoar: The fact he could talk about the Scribe Virgin, the mother of the race, in such personal terms just about had me slack jawed. Jesus Christ, he’d not just confirmed what I thought he was, he knocked all pretence right out of the park. “I’ll keep it under my hat,” I rasped out, though there was a wry curl to the left corner of my lips. This character was becoming increasingly interesting… and yet, I still had no idea why he would want to take a personal interest in me. I was a big male, sure, but there were plenty of those around. I had the pedigree, which he hadn’t known, or at least was convincing in pretending he didn’t. I had the fire of anger burning in my gut to keep my people safe, and though it seemed he had no idea what I did for a living.

This ‘Lassiter’ could be all kinds of trouble, and yet, the (more than) small part of me that wanted to prove the blood of my ancestor wrong all but roared for me to believe him. Though in business… if something seems too good to be true, it usually is.

“What’s the catch, angel. Gifts of this magnitude are rarely given without a silent price tag attached to them, and you have no real reason to vouch for a male you’ve just met. And neither does the illustrious owner of this fine establishment. Trez is a good male, and I have a lot of respect for him, but what do either of you get out of putting up my candidacy?” a dark smile on my lips as I continued.

“I’ve plenty to be proud of already. Would I love the chance to prove the assholes who’ve persecuted my family for generations wrong? You bet your ass I would. But you don’t get to be where I am right now, in this glittering assortment of the debased and the debaucherous without becoming successful in other ways. Don’t assume I’ve nothing else to restore my family’s name.”

I was a proud male, so sue me.

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Lassiter: “Maybe m’ fuckin’ tired of some of those pompous ass little shits traipsing their way in and boasting about being heroes. Maybe I want actual fuckin’ heroes watchin my back,” I mused, leaning forward and bracing my elbows on the table. “Not these glymeria brats convinced o’ their own self importance and thinking they have something to prove. You’re strong, you’re capable, n’ you’re not about to be led by your fuckin’ ego, am I right? Not when it /matters/,” I said calmly.

“As for what else it is you do? Don’t care man,” I said honestly. “You can deal drugs, women or fuckin’ diamonds for all I care, so long as you’re set on protectin’ your race and watchin’ everyone else’s backs. The only thing I want?” I add, grinning as if I was finally bringing up the ‘payment’ part of this little conversation. “I want someone to be on rotation with that isn’t about to bitch and moan about it. I want a partner to have my back that I can count on, n’ hey, maybe I want a fuckin’ friend to drink with when I come here. Gets real fuckin’ lonely, lookin this awesome in public. Everyone’s shy,” I mused, glancing around and taking in the club, the music, the civilians.

Looking back to Rhoar, I grinned and winked. “So, how’s that? You feel me?” Whipping out my phone, I placed it on the table between us and made a kissy kissy face. “Let m’ think we’re about to exchange numbers for sex. Cause Lord fuckin’ /knows/ that’d be real entertainin’ shit right there.”

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Rhoar: A sneer cut across my lips as the angel mentioned the glymeria brats. My my. How many of them would be running back to their parents crying foul when my ass walked into training. That in and of itself did a world of good for the angel’s proposition. To hear him talk though, you’d think he was having a hard time finding a partner; someone to run with into the fray when the day went dark and the night welcomed into its hold the blood of vampires and Lessers. What could be so wrong with the male that no-one wanted to roll with him? Or what was so wrong with the others, that they didn’t know an alley when they saw one.

I wasn’t able to withhold the snort of laughter at his honesty though. The guy didn’t care what I did? Fantastic. One less thing to worry about. While it wasn’t strictly speaking illegal, many frowned on dealings with humans. Private security was the name of the game, and I could charge exorbitant prices… if I didn’t want to know what it was I was really protecting. Like I gave a shit. All that mattered was that I could provide for my family, and that I could provide them the luxury they deserved.

“For you, when you’re wondering if I’m sincere in returning the attention you want?” a dark, mischievous curl to my lips as I raised my chin in an upward nod of ‘how you doin’?’ at the angel. “Or for them? When they’re thinking about what it’d be like if we really did the nasty?” taking the male’s phone from the table between us, keeping eye contact as I did. Probably looked to be imbued with meaning, for anyone watching us. I could practically hear Shelly howling from here.

Without breaking my focus on the male, I input my details, finally relaxing into the exchange and lowering the guard I’d amassed in small increments. Sliding the device back towards him when I was done with it, I lounged back against the booth and a gave a slight hum, probably sounding almost content. “So, Lassiter. When should I be expecting your call?”

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Lassiter: “Right now,” I reply smoothly, hitting dial and giving it a minute to ring. “Now, you’ve got my number n’ I’ve got yours. Tit for fuckin’ tat, right?”

Flashing a grin at that, the kind that made you think of what was going to happen later and just how R rated it would be, I leant back in my seat and resisted the urge to lift my shit kickers up onto the table. Doubted that’d fly in Trez’s house, even if the male was fond of me.

“But seriously… gimme a few days,” I muse, “at max. Gives me time to talk to those in charge n’ secure you a spot, aight? Then I’ll be in touch with deets about when n’ where you can rock up. I’ll come to the trainin’ as well.”

The words were a promise, my own personal guarantee that I was going to help this male as much as I could to get him in and get him through.

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Rhoar: Tit for fucking tat indeed, my cell vibrating incessantly in my pocket as the angel availed himself of my number. He was quick, I’d give him that; he just took the bull right by the horns and rode it down to the ground. Couldn’t say I blamed him.

Returning the devious smile he flashed me with one all my own, I left it in place a few moments as the other gave me a more serious answer to my question. “A few days it is,” I mused, raising an arm to lay along the back of the booth once more. “And are you coming to see me in action? Make sure I’m as good as you seem to think I’ll be?” stopping shy of saying what I actually wanted to, which was to make sure that his boys made good on admitting me into the program, like they said. They were males of worth, and as bad as the blood was between my family and the Brotherhood, I would bite my tongue until I had reason to otherwise.

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Lassiter: I laughed and shrugged, keeping up the flirting display as I winked across the table at the male. Lacing my fingers behind my head and leaning back into that bracket like it was a pillow, I lifted my shoulders in a half shrug.

“Yeah. That’s it. Wanna make sure you’re not about to get me killed. Cause pretty as you are to look at, Lessers ain’t gonna give two shits bout that. Might distract me,” I add airily, “n’ I’ll need to see that you’re capable of covering us both when m’ starin’ at your ass.”

I held my breath for all of a moment before snorting and shaking my head, letting my arms fall as I laughed.

“Nah, m’ jokin’ man. I wanna be part of the training these days n’ it’ll give us a chance to get a feel for each other, yeah? That’s all. If I get a say in the recruiting process I won’t feel so jipped when I gotta teach.”

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Rhoar: Fuck me, I was already getting used to the angel’s demeanour, the rough infusion of teasing, smartassery and rare gems of pure honesty. It was a refreshing change to what I was used to. The civilians, well… they were nice enough, but one look at the size of me, and many balked. The glymeria didn’t condescend to look at me, unless they needed something of my services, which was rare; and even then, they sent their doggen to do their bidding. Human men either wanted to pick a fight to make themselves feel more manly, or fucked right off in the other direction. The women, of course, just saw it as a challenge, like I was some big bad bear that needed their love and attention to change.

Jesus Christ, it was pathetic.

“I’ll be sure to flex, so at least the view is worth it when you take a bullet in the chest,” my smile taking on a roguish quality as I drummed my fingers against the top of the booth. “Assuming I don’t catch the bastard in the chest with something sharp myself,” taking the ribbing easily.

I listened intently though, as one of those rare gems of honesty were explored. “Makes sense. If you’re looking for a partner, you’d wanna make sure you have a similar rhythm, and instincts that are in tune,” my expression having become more serious as I spoke, or at least, more appropriate for the topic of conversation. Already, I knew the male would likely see the gutter in my expression, but I didn’t give a fuck.

It was in that moment though that a ‘trouble just waiting to happen’ idea slammed like a star picket into my mind, and a slow, dark smile curved my lips. “Unless you’d rather a preview right now, of course?”

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Lassiter: Well /hello/. Now wasn’t that a fucking great idea, I thought happily, finishing my drink and leaping to my feet, jostling the booth as I grinned.

“I’d fuckin’ /love/ one,” I breathed out, white eyes glowing in the dark light of the club as I made my way out from the reclusive area and back down onto the floor, beckoning the male to follow me like a child on crack.

If the vampire wanted to demonstrate what he was capable now I wasn’t about to say no. I’d been cock blocked for the night but with a male that actually wanted to fight with me, maybe I could get some action! The brothers didn’t have to be the gate keepers of my god damn fun.

Half skipping past Silent Tom, even pausing to blow him a kiss over my shoulder and earn one of those uneasy shuffles all over again, I grinned and threw my arms wide, breathing in the Caldwell city air like I could turn bloodhound for Lessers. Now wouldn’t /that/ be a sucky job, tracking those smelly fucks.

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Rhoar: Snorting as the male all but knocked over the booth with his enthusiastic leap, I swallowed the last of my drink and uncurled myself from my seat. As I stood, I caught the glare of ice blue eyes in Shelly, and I couldn’t hide my smirk as I sauntered up to the bar to square the tab.

“You could’ve just told me you were interested in men,” she hissed while attempting to seem pleasant, a slight uptick to my brow as I paid with my black Amex. Leaning down across the bar, a dark, more purposeful form of mischief played across my expression as I spoke.

“It’s not just because I’m interested in men, Shelly. It’s because I’m not interested in you,” slowly leaning back as she balked, looking hurt and wide eyed, as though she’d never come across a male that didn’t want her. “I prefer not to fuck the women who work in the establishments I frequent,” not that I owed her an explanation as I tucked the card away. “It causes tension and unnecessary bullshit. In another situation…” I let the moment hang, to let her think that had this been anywhere but her place of business, I’d have considered her. “But now? We’ll never know, will we? Have a nice night,” the sarcasm thick on my tongue as I saw her stumble to form some kind of apology.

Nodding as I passed the bouncers and headed out onto the street, the sight of the angel with his arms outstretched like he was about to proclaim himself a ‘golden god’ and jump off the roof of a house into a pool just about called another snort of laughter from me. “You ‘bout done, basking in the moonlight?” I asked with wry humour as I stepped down onto the pavement, and made my way to his side. “‘Cause I thought we were going out to find us some Lessers?”

And sure as shit, on a night like tonight? We’d find them.

Our kinds always did.

Angel style recruiting - written by Lassiter and Rhoar.

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