#like i remember i have a little group of people with little picket signs telling me to open google docs

[dojunie]

THE WAY I GASPED WHEN U SAID THAT JENO DOESN'T KNOW THAT THERE WERE NO SERIOUS FEELINGS INVOLVED IN THE LAKE THINGY AND THAT HE'S KINDA ??? AT THE FACT THAT JAEMIN ACTED ON HIS FEELINGS REGARDLESS OF WHAT MARK FELT WHEN HE COULDN'T that's just drama / a relationship catalyst waiting to be used (winky face) MY MIND IS RUNNING WITH ENDLESS POSSIBILITIES like it seems that jaemin is definitely aware of mc's and jeno's feelings for each other and he seems like the type to give his friends a little nudge when needed HAHAHHAHA but also that seems a bit too cliche so idk 🤔 and yes i agree with you on the fact that jeno seems like the type to just sit on his jealousy and not do anything about it- but also i feel like he's the type who might start acting weird without him realizing it and also i kinda just imagine a point where he's just having a mental breaking down out of frustration and beating himself up for it though i'm not sure if he would have an "outburst" that leads him to confront mc per se like hmm I DEFINITELY IMAGINE HIS PROTECTIVENESS INCREASING QUITE A BIT given how he always seems to keep an eye on her and mc getting ??? bc they already had "closure" (and this is a little advanced but ghad i can already see the disaster for when jeno and mc finally kinda fix things and mark finds out there's something going on between them JFJSKND or does he find out before they kinda resolve things 🤔) REGARDLESS I JUST SMELL DRAMA HOW EXCITING AHHH

but can i just tell you how i find it so cute that jeno just remembers every single little thing about her and just sees right through her all the time like me irl when 🥲

ALSO A SIDE STORY ABOUT THE JAEMIN REBOUND SITUATION??? i'm hardcore jeno biased BUT W/ HOW GOOD JAEMIN LOOKED IN THE DREAM SHOW 2 CONCERT??? (WITH HIS ARMS???) don't mind if i do 😋

AND i'm so sorry if i send you messages at the weirdest times JFISOFK i'm filipino and live in the philippines so i usually read ur stuff late at night HAHHAHAH

-covid anon 🤒 (i can use this emoji as my anon name if ever but honestly i've grown attached to covid anon HAHHAHAHA)

COVID ANON!!! I LOVE YOU !!! I LOVE YOU!!!!!!

obligatory read more bc i always get way too into answering your asks oml

writing the lake hookup reveal thing took me tf out... actually, i even have a saved copy of what i almost went with in regards to jeno finding that out, a draft of that conversation i didn't end up going with?? maybe you will find it of interest. it is this:

so???? maybe that gives a little insight to where jeno's head is at atm 👀 you're very on point with this jeno being the type to just stew in his own thoughts and start acting a little funny without knowing he's acting a little funny. that's going to show up considerably in CH4 lol, you're ahead of the curve 💪 and jaemin definitely knows... more than everyone thinks he knows, regarding who has feelings for who. but he's also not the person who's going to interfere, because he is of the staunch mindset that both jeno and mc Are Adults, and for them to figure out whats happening with their feelings it's kind of important that they're the ones who figure it out, not him, not mark, not anybody else. he's the relationship angel right now <3

and!! markie bby is finally going to make his grand appearance. will mc's description of him hold up? or will he be the perfect picture of innocence, his intentions marred by the trials and tribulations of being a protective older sibling?? you will find out on the next episode of misdial...!

thank you for giving me so much to think and ponder about covid anon <33333333

#covid anon #my beloved #dojun talks #dojun answers #answering asks always gets me so fired up to write #like i remember i have a little group of people with little picket signs telling me to open google docs #and i love it <3 thank you all

[caiuscassiuss]

Homecoming (M)

Pairing: NCT Johnny ♡ Female!Reader

Description: When a high school reunion drags you back from the bustling city to your hometown, you can’t help but feel inadequate compared your friends’ settled lives, who have thing you want most— kids. You may get your most desperate wish when your long-lost best friend sweeps into town, not quite the introverted nerd he was from 10 years ago.

Genre: high school reunion au smut | romance  WC: 16k Warnings: graphic smut (Dom! Johnny + Sub! Reader, dirty talk, !!!pregnancy kink!!!, unprotected sex, oral sex, rough sex, bulge kink, slight exhibitionism, footsie, slight cum eating, overstimulation), mentions of adultery

(A/N: I’m dedicating this fic to my bestie, my Ten to my Taeyong, my vanilla bean to my weird kinky shit: @kookyong. Thank you so much for supporting me through the creation of this fic and cheering me on when I felt down. Also, fuck you, you stole my idea of dedication before I even told you. Also, a huge thanks to @lovingyong for beta-ing a part of this story and providing such great feedback! I’d also like to thank @galaxybeeji and @aveluant1a for helping me translate some Korean.)

Also, please don’t have unprotected sex and stay safe.

A sigh leaves your lips as you sip at your beer, basking in the electronic light of your phone in the dim, crowded bar. You started reaching over for another fry in the basket, but as you looked up from your phone you noticed there was less than a fourth of the fries remaining.

Apparently, you were steadily but surely devouring the fry basket no one had touched. 

Truly, you had no idea why you were here, sitting alone in a dark booth, watching your co-workers slowly lose their inhibitions as the night went on. The little get together your coworkers made took over the whole bar, filling it with laughter and yells all around.

You scrolled through more pictures of your friends’ perfect family lives, each photo of a white-picket house they were moving into or the welcoming their new child slowly piled weight onto your chest. While you have never been claustrophobic, you felt the walls and the people of this little dingy bar on 43rd street close in on you like a vice.

Scooting out of the booth, you stayed to the sides of the crowded room while attempting to navigate groups of tipsy adults. You inwardly cringed of how much you stood out, a dark spot staining the convivial atmosphere.

“Y/N?”

You whipped around wide-eyed to see Sara standing behind you, a slight sloppy smile plastered to her face as your middle-aged co-workers stared at her unabashedly. Young, beautiful, vivacious— Sara was the office catch, in her red slip and heels. She was dressed to kill.

“Hey! Sara,” you said awkwardly, twiddling with the flap of your purse. Even standing in your best slinky dress in front of her, you felt like a washed out, pale imitation of her.

“Where are you off to? The party just started!” she giggled, the shimmery sequins of her dress sparkling along with her smile.

You quickly tried to formulate a valid excuse. “I actually—”

A loud ring came from your cell phone, vibrating against your thigh.

“I just need to step out real quick to answer this call,” you smiled softly, hoping to convey you needed to take this urgent call as quickly as possible.

“Well, okay,” she pouted. You motioned to step out but a soft hand on your arm stopped you.

Turning back to Sara, she looked unusually serious as she gripped your arm slightly.

“Y/N, have some fun here, alright? You work so hard, you deserve a night out. Especially since you’re all alone-”

What you hoped was a smile was plastered to your face as you shook yourself out of her grip, your small “thanks” murmured into a loud bar unheard as you stepped out.

“Cynthia?” you asked into the phone, sitting on a chair on the terrace.

“Y/N! Oh my god, girl, how are you?” your high school friend squealed into the phone.

Wondering how she could be awake at this time as a new mom, you quickly realized she was a few hours behind New York time.

“Hey yourself, I’m doing well. How about you?” you asked softly.

“I’m doing well! I just had to tell you about Ryland! Our new son, remember? So-”

As she gushed over the first words of her newborn baby, you hummed and agreed at the appropriate moments. You marveled at how much she had changed since your high school days. This was a big difference from the wild girl from high school you knew, the girl with sharp cheekbones with an even sharper wit. Now, in her profile pictures she was rounded and aglow from the joys of motherhood. Your hand slowly rose to meet where your eye and cheekbone met, feeling the flesh that lay there. You had no laugh lines.

“-invitation?”

“Huh?” you asked, shaking out of your stupor.

Cynthia huffed. “Sily, I said did you get my invite on Facebook?”

“No,” you said plainly. You were lying, of course. You had seen the invite, but you scrolled past without even looking at the title.

A groan resounded from the phone. “Y/N, what am I supposed to do with you? God, it’s an invite to our high school reunion!”

Immediately, you wanted to say no. Like, hell no, but you thankfully held your tongue.

“Oh, really? That’s great, Cynthia, but I’m afraid I can’t go—”

“Wait! I haven’t even mentioned the date! It’s a few weeks from now, and you just have to go! Everyone does!”

Truthfully, you had no desire to go back to your old town and see your friends’ perfect families and their perfect kids, their perfect domestic lives. Your high school reunion was always popular with alumni as an event to flaunt how much they were making, how gorgeous their significant other was, how adorable their kids were. It was all one big clusterfuck of gossip and arrogance— not endearing at the slightest.

“Everyone misses you, Y/N. I know I do.”

“I miss you too but I don’t know, I’m really busy with work—”

“Shut up, Y/N. You’re just using that as an excuse since you’re too scared to face everyone.”

Ah, there’s her sharp riposte. Her wit had not dulled with her age, it seems.

“Cynthia—” you stuttered, unable to reply to her retort.

“You bet your ass I will fly out to New York, find you in that concrete jungle then drag you back to attend this goddamn reunion.”

“...I’ll see,” you relented.

“Great! So—” a baby’s cry resounded in the background. “Oh my gosh, I have to go to Ryland now! I’ll text you the details later, bye bye!”

The dark screen of your phone stared back at you as she hung up on you. You could only pray to some higher being this reunion wouldn’t turn out badly.

The skyline of your hometown was unfamiliar to you.

There were a few shadows added, maybe some missing, maybe not. It is not the familiar curves and dips you always used to see when you glanced out your bedroom window.

Even passing through the main part of the town itself, it was so surreal. There were so many new buildings of glass and concrete that juxtaposed the old timey feel of the main street. New signs, new roads, new people passed by you in your Lyft ride.

You had to stop yourself from wondering over the town when you saw your breath fog up the windshield and you hastily jerked back. You hoped the driver didn’t see you looking like an excited 8 year old.

As the car slowly turned into your parent’s neighborhood, a wave of pure nostalgia hit you like a truck. As your eyes traced over the familiar houses on your street, a whole flood of innocent, child-like memories came back to you. All the times playing ball in the street with your neighbor, or even waiting nervously at the bus stop for the first day of school— long forgotten things from your past rose up.

Memories of tanned skin and wide smiles filled your memory, and you felt a pang with in your heart.

Johnny Suh.

“Uhm, ma’am? We’re here?”

You were shaken out of your memories but the sound of the Lyft driver looking at you nervously through his rearview window. 

“Oh, sorry sir! Thank you for the ride.”

Your two heavy suitcases rolled behind you as you strolled through your parents’ large driveway, and your heart started to beat nervously as you saw the front door slowly getting larger.

Hands trembling, you rung the doorbell and stared into the cloudy glass.

You heard flurry of footsteps pitter patter to the front, and you thought you were prepared when your mother opened front door, but turns out you weren’t.

“Y/N?”

Your mother looked as beautiful as ever, the crow lines underneath her eyes and the wisps of grey in her hair looking gorgeous. You haven’t seen her in years, and you could feel a gathering of tears in your waterline.

“Mommy,” you said, choking up a bit towards the end.

“My darling girl? My sweetheart? You’re here?”

“Yes, mom.”

“Y/D/N, come! Y/N is back!”

As your dad came tearing down the hall and his eyes focused on you, you saw his old eyes brighten and fill up with tears.

“My little turtle?”

“Hi daddy!” you smile weakly, giving a little wave.

“Come and give your dad a hug! I haven’t seen you in so long!”

As you rested in the embrace of your mother and father, you thought that maybe coming home wasn’t so bad at all.

The afternoon sun beat down upon your bare shoulders, your wide-brimmed boater hat offering no respite.

You could only drink your ice-cold lemonade in hopes of cooling down and not feeling like a sweaty rat, fanning yourself with a menu and looking over the balcony.

“—and Ryland goes “I wanna pear, mommy!” and then Callie says ,”Ryland, that’s a potato.” It was a mango!”

Cynthia cracked up laughing, and you let out a few peals of laughter so as to not seem awkward. Every time Cynthia mentioned her darling kids, a burning jealousy gripped your heart until you could only see green. You truly wish you could enjoy your friends’ stories about how her kids could say the darndest things, but it only increased your yearning for kids tenfold.

“Well, enough about my life. How’s your job in the Big Apple? You’re one of those white collar types now, aren’t you?”

You sipped at the lemonade, wishing it was something much stronger. Your eyes swept over her appearance; the Facebook pictures were wrong, she was much more radiant in person. “You could say that, I guess. I travel a lot, though I’m only in New York half of the year. Usually I end up in the UK or Beijing. My work is very good to me.”

Cynthia sighed in faux envy, her hand resting over her swollen breasts from pregnancy. “You’re so cool, Y/N. It must be so fun traveling all over the world and seeing all these new things, tasting all the great food!”

You thought back to your large, empty apartment overlooking the Greenway that felt more like a showroom.The film of dust your housekeeper had to clean. The vacant adjacent plane seats. The uncomfortable fact you never had someone to go home to.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

After a few minutes of light hearted chat, your straw was sucking at your almost empty glass. God, you needed to pee.

“Sorry, Cy. I gotta go to the restroom for a minute, un momento!”

After relieving yourself, you stepped out of the restroom only to walk face first into a well-built chest. As much as you wanted to press your whole body onto his delicious one, it wasn’t exactly societally acceptable to be seen rubbing yourself against a stranger like a dog in the heat.

You (unfortunately) moved back, apologizing profusely. “I am so sorry, are you alrig...”

The last syllables left your mouth at the pace of molasses at your shock of seeing this god of a man in front of you. Tall, broad shouldered, with hidden muscles flexing under his casual white oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his veiny forearms.

And his face. His face was like sin, chiseled as hell with pouty lips and sharp eyes. But as your gaze roamed over his features, you saw the scar near his lips that was barely visible. Only one person you knew had that unique scar, in its unique placement. He got it from accidentally knocking his trumpet too hard into his lips in sophomore year.

“Johnny?!” you gasped.

His face brightened up for a second, a brilliant gleam to his eyes until it went away in a flash.

“Y/N.”

His dark, tenor tone raised gooseflesh along your bare arms and shoulders. This was definitely not the Johnny you knew so well from high school.

After a moment of awkward silence (he didn’t look inclined to embrace you in a hug or even speak), and you spoke up. “Um, it’s great to see you. You look good.”

“Thanks, you too,” he said shortly.

A slight crease formed on your brow as you frowned lightly, not used to his coldness. If this were the Johnny you knew in high school, he would’ve wrapped you in a big bear hug with his long, lanky limbs flailing. He looked like he grew into those limbs.

“Well, do you have time to catch up? I haven’t seen you in a decade,” you breathed out.

He pursed his lips for a moment. “Sorry, I’m afraid I can’t. I’m only here because I’m meeting an old investor.”

It was only then you noticed his fancy watch and his shined Weston shoes, along with the dark leather briefcase he had in his hand. He looked like a Wall Street shark.

You were sure your face fell for a second, since he frowned minutely, until you felt a mask of pity snap into place. “That’s a shame. Well, have fun with your investor. See you… sometime.”

You bravely moved to pat his arm, and his face did not change even when you passed by him. You felt his intense gaze upon your retreating figure and until you were sure he couldn’t see you, sprinted through the crowded cafe to your balcony table with Cynthia.

“God, what took you so long?” she complained. “Our food already arrived.”

“Did you know Johnny Suh was in town?! I just ran into him!” you fake whispered.

Her brows lifted in surprise. “No? I didn’t see him on the Facebook guest list—”

You quickly pulled out your phone and opened the invite list. There, in dark navy font, was Johnny Suh.

“He was your best friend, right? The nerdy band kid you was always with?”

You felt the edges of your mouth pull down. “Hey, he’s not like that. He was a great and friendly guy! But I haven’t seen him in forever.”

“Well, how is he?”

“I-He looked like a damn god, Cynthia. He’s so different from high school. I couldn’t even recognize him,” you breathed out.

Her eyebrows only climbed higher in surprise. “Well, I’ll be. Was not expecting that.”

You snorted. “No one was, even his fucking best friend of 4 years didn’t.”

Cynthia took a bite of her salad, a look of contemplation upon her rounded features.

“Something wrong, Y/N?”

You hugged yourself and looked away. “Well, when I say he’s not like from before, he really isn’t. I wasn’t expecting him to be this cold.”

This really wasn’t a situation you wanted to be in. At all. 

Sitting here in a pretty, floral sundress, sitting on a park bench in the midst of all your former classmates chatting with decked out strollers parked beside them.

You tried your best to not feel uncomfortable, as Cynthia looked like she was enjoying herself, but this was simply not your speed. You’d never expected Cynthia to be friends with the popular kids at school in the future, but look where she was now. Chattering and giggling with the rest of them.

Your discomfort was only enforced by how different you looked from everybody, how Cynthia’s PTA mom friends were dressed like they were about to go to play tennis. They knew each other well and could giggle and gossip, but you were in your own isolated world.

Last, but not least:

They all had children.

You stared enviously at the little angels ran around the playground, screaming and cavorting about. Some stumbled on their legs, new to the concept to walking, but some sat quite passively staring out in space. Reluctantly, a smile crept upon your face as a group of little ones played tag. They ran, weaving in and out between children and playground equipment. Your eyes followed a darling girl dressed in red, with her cheeks flushed in excitement as she zoomed around but then--wham!-- slammed into a playground pole.

A gasp escaped your mouth and you almost stood up to go to her, until a tired groan resounded from across from you as a tanned blonde lazily got up to attend to her child. Then, you were bitterly reminded that, no, that was not your beautiful child.

“Oh my, poor Kayla, that little darling is always getting hurt! Bless her poor heart!” a woman (Kendall, maybe?) dressed in neon pink cooed her concern.

You could only sulk in pathetic silence as you deliberately excluded yourself from the conversation, too uncomfortable and upset to truly feel at place. Hell, it wasn’t just because you were clearly an outsider, it was the way this group of women treated people they thought lower them. Sudden memories came to you of Johnny’s crooked smile fading as he realized they never thought of him as a friend. How his friendly, warm personality was used against him as he helped them with their homework but was never truly thought as “in”.  He cried so much that night.

“-you nowadays, Y/N?”

You whipped your head back around to see one of the nicer women, Katie, smiling at you as the whole group focused on your angered face.

“I’m sorry, come again? I’m afraid I was distracted.”

She laughed. “No problemo, sweetie. I just said ‘How are you?’ What’s going on in your life?”

A tight smile spread across your mouth. “I’m doing well right now. I work in New York as a private manager for J.P. Morgan,” you said politely, steeling yourself for the onslaught of questions.

“Ooh, so do you get paid well? Do you travel a lot?” someone butt in. You turned to see it was that one noisy theater kid (Anna?) and you decided to answer politely.

You tittered out a delicate laugh, the type you emit when you have to play nice with a client. You turn a modest smile Anna’s way. “I get by comfortably, and yes, I’m usually out of the country until someone here,” you side-eyed Cynthia, who waved cheerfully, “convinced me to come back for the reunion.”

Noises of approval came from the group, and they continued to ask polite questions until one sugary sweet drawl slithered in.

“Well, you sound so accomplished! This is all so amazing,” the tanned, voluptuous brunette 2 seats down from you piped up. “But, do you have anyone to share it with? Any hotshot hubby? Darling kids?”

You gritted your teeth, “No, unfortunately my job hasn’t allowed me to have much personal time.”

The other part of group turned away, wandering into other conversations and leaving the two of you relatively alone. She gasped dramatically, showing her immaculate gel manicure. “Are you even of the female kind?!” she playfully joked, but you could hear the undertone of smugness beneath.

Oh. Now you remember.

Victoria Edwards, that little bitch from the church group that always seemed to hate you. You had no idea what was her problem, especially since your parents had long been friendly with hers. Perhaps it was the fact you were amiable with everyone while many were tired of her spoiled attitude. Nevertheless, every chance she had to spite you or make things uncomfortable, she took it. Victoria did it with such calculated anger, you wondered what you ever did wrong to her. You never found out; she just had it out for you.

You shrugged modestly, careful to hide your trembling fingers in the folds of your dress lest you reach out a put her in a chokehold.

“But don’t you want kids? Who’s going to take care of you when you get older?” she continued, a look of faux pity on her heart-shaped face.

She just can’t stop, huh?

“Perhaps if everything slows down,” you replied carefully.

“Your eggs are going to get cold if you wait too long! I’ve heard those new fangled procedures for older women are very risky with a low chance of—”

“Thank you for the advice, Victoria. You seem very well-read on it— since your husband is always busy, you know— and you sound like you have some good experience under your belt. I’ll come to you for any help.”

You send a charming smile her way, and slowly rise up from your comfortable perch. Waving a goodbye Cynthia’s way, you continue to depart.

You refrain from sashaying away.

Wandering through the paths of your town’s best park, you reveled in the feeling of truly being in nature for the first time in over a decade. New York had Central, sure, but your town’s really immersed you in the outdoors without sky-scraping structures looming threateningly over you.

Closing your eyes to feel the radiant sunshine on your skin, you were startled when a little girl’s cry broke the peaceful silence of the area. It sounded muffled, but not too far away from where you were from.

“Hello? Sweetie, where are you?”

The cries only grew louder, and your footsteps only grew more frantic as you searched through the undergrowth.

“Hold, I’m coming to get you—”

You burst into a secluded part of the path and see a familiar little girl in a yellow jumpsuit bawling her eyes. You spotted a blotch of red and brown on her pale elbow and you practically ran to her shaking figure.

“Oh, poor sweetie, are you okay?”

She pulled her head out from her knees and cautiously stared at you, her cries dying down. You recognize her immediately. She was Cynthia’s snarky little 5 years old, Callie.

“I want M-mommy,” she pouted, rubbing her eyes so adorably you couldn’t help but melt.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry it’s Aunt Y/N,” you smiled kindly at her.

“A-Auntie?” she sniffled.

“Yes, sweetheart.”

She put her arms up and you obliged, careful not to jostle her wound too badly.

“Let’s go to Mommy, alright? It’s gonna be A-Okay.”

She buried your face in your neck, her soft puffs of hair brushing your cheek and you almost melted right there on the spot.

“You wanna tell me what happened, baby?” you asked, taking a fast past towards the trail path.

“I twipped on somethin’,” she mumbled.

“I’m so sorry sweet girl, how much does it hurt?”

“Vewy bad.”

“Oh dear,” you whispered.

As soon as you saw a small shed that had a red cross over it, you quickly made your way on over. Sitting her on the counter gently, you smiled your best smile.

“Auntie’s gonna get you all cleaned up, okay?”

She nodded, and you took that as consent when you reached for a first aid kit. You immediately cringed, knowing the first step was going to be painful for both of you.

“Baby, to get rid of the red and black, I’m gonna have to clean it. It might sting a bit so can you a strong girl for me?”

You saw her stubbornness Cynthia frequently complained about, as she jutted out her lip and nodded resolutely.

Getting out the alcohol and pads, you gave her a warning as you lightly pressed, She made a noise of discomfort, and your head snapped up to see if she was any pain.

“Callie?”

“I-I’m fine, Auntie,” she mumbled firmly. 

Pinching her cheek playfully, you continued to disinfect the wound to reveal a light scrape on the skin of her elbow. Wrapping it up nice and tight, you patted her thigh.

“All done, baby,” you smiled. “Good job,” you pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Is she yours?”

You let out a little scream as you dropped the cotton pads. You snapped your head to see Johnny Suh in a sleeveless tank and jogging shorts, a light sheen to his muscles from his work out.

He has one fit bod, a part of you whispered. The veins in his toned forearms, his fit calves, the hint of his strong chest in his tank— 

There was a child next to you, for god’s sake!

Callie was laughing next to you, all her pain forgotten. Recovering from your shock, you rolled your eyes and playfully booped her on the nose, causing her to swat at it playfully.

“You silly little goose,” you chastized. She giggled even more, a beautiful smile split on her face.

A cough resounded from behind you and you remembered Johnny fucking Suh was behind you in the hottest workout gear you’ve ever seen and you blanched.

“So?” he raised an eyebrow, nodding towards Callie.

“Nope, this little sweetheart is Cynthia’s,” you said, squeezing Callie closer.

“Oh,” he merely said. You thought you detected a glimpse of relief on his face, before he moved it to that impassive mask.

His sharp eyes zoomed in on the bandage at her elbow and he frowned. “What happened? Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine, just a minor trip,” you soothed, picking up Callie from the counter.

“Auntie, who is that?” she inconspicuously whispered, causing you to muffle your laughter against her head. Johnny had a slightly amused grin on his face.

“That’s Mr. Johnny. He’s an old… friend of mine,” you informed her, shifting her on your hip.

“Hi Mr. Johnny! I’m Callie and I’m 6 years old!” Callie brightly smiled, holding up 5 fingers.

“Sweetie, you need one more finger to make six,” you giggled, as you uncurled another finger on her other palm to make six.

Johnny let out a chuckle and bent down to eye level with the child in your arms. “Hiya kid. You can call me Johnny.”

“How old are you Mister Johnny? You look… like… very old!,” Callie flails her arms, unable to properly express the number.

A small smile graced his face, a glow in his eyes as he looked at the small child in your arms. His face wasn’t the one you saw in the cafe. “Not quite, baby. I’m the same age as your mommy.”

Callie continued to entertain Johnny as the three of you walked down the path, towards where her mom was sitting. Eventually, the adrenaline of the whole experience of getting hurt and meeting someone new wore off, and she slept soundly on your shoulder.

An awkward silence permeated between you and Johnny, as you busied yourself with the scenery you had seen hundreds of times while he regressed to his cold persona. His presence next to you was too close yet too far, and you could feel how tense you were walking next to him. Sometimes, his arm would brush against your shoulder and it ignited a series of nerves you haven’t felt in years. It was like there was a furnace flowing underneath your skin. You curled Callie in your arms a bit tighter to stave off whatever he was doing to you.

You felt Callie rustle a bit and you knew that if she woke up, she would be extremely grumpy so you hummed lightly, bouncing her up and down in your arms while patting her back lightly. So focused you were in your task, the undecipherable look in Johnny’s eyes went unnoticed.

“How have you been?,” Johnny spoke, his low voice still so unfamiliar to your ears.

Your head snapped up toward his, him now towering over you when you had once been his height. His black hair lay across his eyes, his amber eyes intensely focused at you.

“I’ve been alright. Good,” you mumbled.

Another lengthy period of silence stretched between you.

“...I heard you were snatched up by J.P. Morgan when you graduated. That’s a good company,” Johnny said.

“Yeah, I’m now a private manager there. They’ve— the company—has been very good to me over these years,” you smiled slightly. It was true, the company had treated you well and given you a career, but you were still so...lonely.

“You look like you’re doing well for yourself.”

“....yes.” Silence. “You too— you look like you’re doing well.”

“I’d like to think so. I-, uhm, I’m the CEO of an online banking company— Banksy, have you heard of it?”

You were embarrassed to admit you gaped at him for a solid minute. Banksy? It was one of the trendiest e-businesses that had grown exponentially when the tech boom hit the market. The small start-up crested the wave until it had become a blue-chip name on the stock exchange. You even had an account with them!

“I-I have. I even have an account with them— you. Wow, Johnny, congratulations, that’s honestly amazing,” you smiled brightly at him, really and truly proud of your high school best friend doing so well for himself— no matter how cold he was to you.

A reluctant smile crawled over his plump lips, and you realize how much you had missed him. Yes, he was your best friend in every sense the word meant. He had been there and celebrated when you made it onto the softball team, offered you his hoodie when your period had come out of nowhere, even been there when you had gotten into an accident, senior year.

He had gotten there first. Not the police, not your parents— him, in his stupid Naruto pajamas, pulling up in his shitty 2001 Honda Accord and bawling his eyes out.

You hadn’t realized how much you relied upon him until you moved to college in another state, totally lost and confused without your best friend. Regret had always been an emotion associated with his name. You wished you had kept in contact with him, and even more so regretted you hadn’t ever truly revealed your...

“Thank you, Y/N.”

He opened up his mouth to say something, then immediately opened it again, but then paused. He looked like he was having a conflict within himself, but he shook his head and stared directly at you.

“Y/N, I’m sorry I couldn’t really talk to you that day with met at the cafe. It was a bit… rude in hindsight.”

You blinked in shock, mouth slightly ajar as you stumbled on the path.

“O-Oh, that? Don’t worry about it— I get it, we’re all so busy nowadays,” you offered a weak smile.

“No, I’m in the wrong here. We were… we were best friends for years, I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

His brows furrowed, you notice how much he has matured. Not just in his looks and the way he presented himself, it was the way he treated you. Don’t get it wrong (he was a sweetheart during high school), but he seemed more sure of himself, more able to take responsibility and address conflict. He had always had kind of avoided confrontation, the one part you hated of him you hated during high school, and would always just kind of awkwardly wait for any conflict to pass by and ignore it. He was so much Johnny, but so much less.

“Hey, it’s alright. We were both just not used to each other, y’know? You were probably stressed out at the time and took it out on me. There’s no need to get in a tizzy over that.”

“It’s just I haven’t seen you in years and I treated you like that—”

“Youngho.”

His Korean name sort of forced itself out of your mouth, hiding in the back of your throat all these years and finally popping back up when the man himself did. No one really knew of his other name other than his sweet mother and you, since your white-ass town would’ve butchered it until the point of disfiguration. Hearing you say it had always calmed him down.

“...fine,” he pouted. Maybe, just maybe, you saw bits of the old Johnny peek through the new mask, new body of his. “Man, I just feel terrible about it, though. It hasn’t left my mind in days.”

“Why don’t you make it up to me by getting a coffee with me sometime? I.. I’d love to catch up, Johnny. I’d really, really like to.”

His dark eyes met yours and yours widened.

“I’d love to.”

By the time your unlikely trio reached the PTA moms plus Cynthia, it was already late afternoon. The sun had turned golden, the kids were getting tired, and the music from your town’s main street could be faintly heard.

“Y/N? Y/N?! Have you seen—” Cynthia called out frantically, waving her cell phone around but paused when she saw her child in your arms.

“Oh my god, Callie! Sweetheart!”

She sprinted across the sidewalk to immediately take the sleepy child from your tired arms. You could see the sunlight glint off her sweaty face, her unkempt hair frizzing out of her bun while she rocked Callie in her arms.

A slight grin graced your face as you tilted your head and took in the sweet mother-daughter moment. Unbeknownst to you, the man beside you had the same expression on as well, his hands itching to pull you closer.

“Cynthia? Sweetheart, did you find Callie?” someone shouted from the side.

A flock of moms headed towards your general direction, all carrying their kids with them and hoisting their heavy bags. As soon as they reached you, their eyes had wandered from Cynthia and zoomed in on the delectable piece of man next to you. You remembered how he looked with his toned and veiny arms on display in his loose tank, how good he looked with his hair windblown and disheveled and you inwardly smacked your head. He was basically bait for middle-aged women.

“Y/N, who is this? Would you care to introduce us?” the woman you thought was Kendall cocked out her hip, her eyes still fixated on Johnny.

“This is—”

“Am I late to the party? Well, thank god we found Ca— oh, who is this?”

Everyone’s favorite girl Victoria sauntered into your midst, her rambunctious kids following behind her.

You gave a tight smile. “Ladies, do you remember Johnny Suh from high school? This is him.”

The women present smiled brightly but did not seem to remember his name.

“I’m so sorry, I can’t seem to recall you from back then,” Victoria smiled apologetically. Your eyes zoomed in on the subtle movements she displayed— the slight stroking of her bare arms, the hooded lids— and you rolled your eyes.

“Hold on, weren’t you a trumpet in marching band? Vice president of the Anime Club?” Anne popped out, the glint of recognition in her eyes,

Johnny chuckles and shifted his weight. “Yeah, that was me,” he said, with a sort of secretive smile on his lips.

You watched with smug satisfaction as the ladies’ eyes collectively widened in disbelief, Victoria even going stiff for a moment before recovering. The boy they had excluded, used, looked down on, had grown into this man next to you.

“W-well, I’ll be! You’ve changed so much from back then,” Kendall (still unsure who the hell she is) grinned.

“You could say that,” Johnny smirked before pushing his hair out of his face, everyone’s eyes following his toned arms flexing.

Karma is so sweet.

“Y/N, mom threatened to decapitate me if I didn’t invite you to dinner. Could you come over?”

Always the momma’s boy.

“You want to save this sexy face, right?”

There he was. That was the Johnny you knew.

“Mm, I don’t know. You could use a little ego beat down,” you laughed, bending down to open your suitcase.

“Don’t lie, love, you find me attractive,” he breathed, his voice rough. You bit your lip at the noise, gripping your shirt tight enough to create wrinkles.

A beat of silence passed before you moved to speak. “Dress code, Johnny?”

He snorted. “You could show up in pajamas and mom and dad would still be glad to see you.”

“Even in those silly Naruto pajamas you wore?” you teased.

“Hey! They were not silly-”

“- sure, anime club VP-”

“- and shut up, you stole them anyways.”

You sighed, remembering the orange pajama top stuffed in the back of a cabinet. “I mean, I could just show up naked if you’re not going to give me some kind of dress code.”

A muffled grunt met your ears as it sounded like he quickly moved the phone away from his mouth and your eyes widened.

“Ugh, sorry about that I...dropped something. But fine, woman, dressy casual. Mom just came back from church and she wants to see dad and I look at least somewhat presentable.”

“How is your mom, by the way? The church?”

“Both doing fine. Mom is running the back to school drive again. Remember Mark Lee? That kid in our youth group? He’s actually the Faith Formation leader now.”

“Markie? Oh my god, I missed him!” you smiled widely as you remembered the hyper boy 4 years younger than you, who was too kind and too pure for his own good.

“I’m starting to feel offended, what about me?”

“No, ‘cause he’s cute and you’re not, Johnny.”

“That right, ‘cause I’m sexy.”

“Oh my god.”

You both burst out laughing, the moment feeling so right it warmed your chest. You laid your floral dress on your bed and flopped down next to it.

“Well, if you’re done inflating your ego, I gotta get ready. Bye bye.”

“Bye, love.”

You sighed for the umpteenth time today and your eyes were drawn around your room. Colorful pictures, awards, and random stuff covered the walls and surfaces of your room. It looked so lived in, so alive and loved it hurt to think about going back home to your starkly empty bedroom. 

To be honest, you had no idea what happened. Cynthia liked to call you the ultimate girl next door, and while you vehemently protested it at the time, now you couldn’t help but feel she was right. Back then you thought you were antisocial as hell, but as opposed to the present, you were the life of the party. Clubs, church group, Johnny— you were so bright and bubbly back then, so many people surrounding you in your small hometown.

Now, as opposed to then, you lived life like clockwork. It wasn’t surprising, since after college you threw yourself into studying to be successful, forgetting everything and everyone that made you feel alive. Now, it was robotic, tiring, and lonely.

The picture at the very center of your room caught your attention. It was a lovely one, set during the late afternoon at your town’s park. You and Johnny stood close together, arm in arm, smiling brightly at the camera dressed to the nines.

Prom.

Picking up the frame, you brushed a reverent hand across the picture of the two of you. You both had no one to go with, and decided to go together since everyone else you knew paired off. You remember him awkwardly sliding the white corsage onto your wrist, you having to tip-toe to pin his to the lapel of his blazer. In hindsight, Johnny in senior year was starting to look like the Johnny of today.

That night was so fun. Dancing ‘til you had to take off your heels, Johnny pretending to spike the punch, stuffing your face with the fancy sandwiches provided— the classical prom experience. 

The highlight was when Johnny pulled you into dancing the last song of the night. The pair of you couldn’t look each other in the eye as you slowly swayed to the music, breaths hitching at the slight distance between each other. But at the end, when you two finally caught each other’s gazes, was exhilarating. He opened his mouth, his eyes shifting back and forth in nervousness.

You thought he was going to confess.

Instead, he seemed to stop himself and smiled weakly at you. That moment of what could have been, what you could’ve done, haunted you forever until you threw yourself into studying.

What would’ve happened if you had spoken up?

“Y/N-ah!!! My love, come here!”

Heat diffused into your cheeks as you crossed the yard to the tiny woman under the patio bouncing with energy.

You struggled not to run and leap into Mrs. Suh’s arms while carrying a small roll cake from Tous Les Jours. But when you saw her wide smile and eyes folded up like crescents in happiness, you dropped your stuff on the ground and ran into her arms.

“Hi Auntie!” you murmured into her shoulder as you embraced her, tears coming into your eyes as you settled into her warm embrace.

“Oh, Y/N! I haven’t seen you for 10 years, don’t cry!” Mrs. Suh laughed as she held you at arm's length, eyes roving over your face. She wiped a tear off your cheek with her thumb and patted your neck.

“You’ve always been pretty, but now you’ve grown to be so beautiful.” She pinched your arm. “But why aren’t you eating more? Come, auntie will get you some good food.”

“I brought a roll cake, Auntie. I hope you like it,” you said, wiping tears off your face as she led you down the hall.

“Thank you, sweetheart. 여보 (Husband)! Y/N is here! Come out, come out!” she yelled down into the home office.

“Eh? Y/N?” Mr. Suh’s thin voice echoed from the office as a new wave of tears threatened to rise up.

Mr. Suh, a bit older and thinner than when you last saw him, opened the door to his office and a wide smile lit up his face.

“Give your uncle a hug!” 

As you gave your best friend’s dad a hug, more tears spilled onto your cheeks. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry!” Mrs. Suh said as she grabbed you into a side-hug, wiping off your tears.

“I just missed you guys so much,” you blubbered, struggling to compose yourself. Tears started to come to Mrs. Suh’s eyes and Mr. Suh laughed. These two had been more than your best friend’s parents, they had raised both of you through thick and thin. You were closer to them than most of your family when you were in high school, and they had never failed to welcome you into their home with open arms.

“Y/N, my wife has been missing her church helper. Bake sales don’t make themselves and she’s getting so old these days, you know?” he said, teasing his wife. 

She released you as she slapped his arm. “Yah! You know what, you can set up the table by yourself.. Go!”

You smiled at the utter love and admiration in their eyes as they teased each other. You had always hoped that one day, you could stare into your significant other’s eyes with an ounce of the love they have.

“Ah, Johnny’s probably still fussing with his hair upstairs. He’s missed you so much these days,” she smiled up at you.

“Moooommmm,” Johnny whined, coming down the stairs. “내 비밀 드러내지 마세요! (Don’t reveal my secrets)!”

“What? It’s true, John-ah,” she smiled at him she hugged his torso.

He turned to you, and you looked down, blushing. Johnny looked extra good today, in a casual Oxford and jeans combo that emphasized his proportions.

“Hi there,” he said, leaning on the railing. He gave you a discreet wink from above his mother’s head and affixed an intense stare on your person, his eyes roving up and down your body.

“H-Hey John,” you mumbled, your body curling on itself from his gaze.

“Well, I’m going to leave you two kids alone before my husband breaks something,” she said with a mysterious sparkle in her eye. As if on cue, silverware clattered onto a plate. “Oh dear,” she muttered as she sped down to the kitchen.

The two of you were left in silence.

“You look great today, Y/N.” Johnny smirking as he tilted his head towards you. Where did this confident Johnny come from?

“You too. Since when did you learn such good Korean?” you grinned, trying to lighten the mood. To be fair, Johnny only knew really basic phrases in high school and you were surprised to see unaccented Korean flow fluently from his mouth.

“Oh, I was kinda dropped into the Korea and told to swim, ha.”

“Cool.”

Another awkward silence.

“I missed you a lot, Johnny,” you whispered, foot tracing patterns into the floor.

“Me too, Y/N. I… I missed my best friend.”

You bit your lip as you opened your arms for him and he quickly wrapped his arms around your torso. Even with you standing on your toes, with his tall height he had to bend down slightly. So familiar, yet so different. Breathing in the scent of cologne and the clean linen of his shirt, you hoped he would not hear the pounding of your heart through the thin fabric of your dress.

The two of you stood there in the hallway, basking in the warmth of each other’s bodies until the noise of an iPhone shutter sounded.

Johnny lifted his head from your hair and you looked to see Mrs. Suh standing in the doorway, grinning at the screen of her iPhone which was directed at you.

“엄마 (Mom)!” he groaned, not letting go of you yet.

“I wanted to capture my two loves together, okay? Now give Y/N a pair of slippers, please,” she said, bustling off the kitchen once again.

You let go of him slowly, leaning back down onto the floor.

“You know, you look so different Johnny. I didn’t recognize you at first,” you said quietly, raising a hand to caress his jaw.

“I’ve changed a lot,” he responded, equally as soft. A grin split his face as he grabbed your hand. “You can ogle me later, let’s go before mom smacks me for not helping.”

His hand wrapped around your smaller one as he led you to the dining room table. You tried to go to the kitchen and help but used his grip to force you into a seat, citing you were a guest. You weren’t sure if he did it intentionally, but his hand stroked your arm as he let go of your hand to help in the kitchen, a caress so soft it sent shivers down your spine.

When dinner was served and everyone sat down, you could not resist hungrily scooping large portions of Mrs. Suh’s homemade kimchi-jjigae and Mr. Suh’s galbi onto your plate.

“Eat up, eat up, my love. I cooked your favorites.” Mrs. Suh smiled beside you.

You savored in the taste of her cooking as conversation languidly started, regular family chat you remembered from your many dinners here in high school. As you uncrossed your legs, you accidentally kicked Johnny’s long legs under the table. I’m so sorry, you mouthed silently. Turning back to Mrs. Suh, you couldn’t see the devious smirk crawl upon his plump lips.

You found out Mr. and Mrs. Suh were now fully retired. Mr. Suh spent his days at the Korean Golf Association, playing there and running the tournaments they hosted. Mrs. Suh was now fully committed to the church, taking on a busy schedule of events that was getting hard to manage.

Mrs. Suh was complaining about the new church moms when you quietly asked Johnny to pass the radish over, and he complied. Instead of just handing you the dish, he forked over some slices and dipped them in vinegar, just the way you like it. You grinned at him and he leaned over, then his leg brushed the smooth skin of your bare calves. Your eyes widened.

“...you would not believe how many mothers tried to get me to introduce their daughters to John-ah after I showed them a photo…”

You almost choked as his pant clad leg inserted itself between yours, the fabric of his pants tickling various spots on your legs causing every sense to be heightened. Feeling the goosebumps on your arms, you turned an accusing gaze to him but he looked nonplussed, eating his cabbage.

“...but I’ve met them already, and they’re not for Johnny, you know? They never liked Johnny in high school, so why should…”

You frantically grabbed for a glass of water as his knee brushed the inside of your thigh. A small whine left your lips as your pussy tightened, gripping the glass very tight. A drop of moisture collected in your panties, and quickly created a pool as his legs trapped yours.

“... Oh I love Mark-ah and Hyerim, but you were so good with the kids, Y/N-ah!...”

You let a curtain of hair cover your face to hide your reddening expression, breasts heaving as your breathing start to pick up. When his knee started move along the inside of your thigh, your teeth dug into your bottom lip hard enough to bleed, your remaining hand bunching up in your dress. You could see a small smirk form on Johnny’s face while he was eating and you scowled in his direction, squirming from the added moisture in your panties.

“...kids, Y/N-ah?”

You were shaken out of your daze when Mr. and Mrs. Suh looked expectantly at you.

“Sorry, auntie?”

“Do you have a husband? Or wife? How about kids— you are a born mother!”

Johnny’s foot slid to meet your ankle, forcing you to swallow hard. You hoped like hell your nipples wouldn’t peak through your dress. You already knew there was no saving your panties, shifting so your arousal wouldn’t stain your dress or the chair beneath you. You laughed awkwardly. “Ah, no, not quite. My job keeps me traveling around so much and I haven’t had time to start a family.”

“You still want one?”

Images of kids with hair like yours running around sunlit fields, a big house and a big belly, swollen with your baby flashed quickly in your head. Your smile turned sad.

“I’d love nothing more than one.”

Mrs. Suh smiled proudly, and turned to Johnny to nag him about her lack of grandkids or a daughter in law. Johnny had stopped playing footsie with you and was trying to avoid his mom’s hands grabbing at his face, but your breath still ran ragged when something occurred to you about your vision.

Those kids had the same eyes as Johnny.

(So caught up in your thoughts, you didn’t notice Mr. Suh nudge Johnny in the arm, silently telling him to “hurry up”.)

“Y/N, I ban you from the kitchen! You are the guest,” Mrs. Suh stressed, waving you out of the question with a soapy glove.

“Absolutely not. I want to help you clean. Besides, you’re getting old, y’know?” you ribbed, pulling back your hair and grabbing a clean towel. As soon as dinner ended, you bolted out of the room into the kitchen, ignoring the stickiness between your legs.

“Aigoo! Fine, fine,” she relented, rinsing a dirty bowl.

Toweling off the glasses Mrs. Suh had recently cleaned, your gaze had wandered to Johnny’s tall figure in the dining room. As he moved about, Johnny seemed so much more comfortable in his lanky limbs, no longer the awkward kid you knew. His actions were done with surety of someone who knew of his own self-worth, sure of his abilities and flaws. Regret washed over you, mixed in with pride. You were so, so proud of the man you see before your eyes, but you desperately wished you could have been part of it.

Mrs. Suh watched you with a secret smile as your toweling slowed down.

“I know I said it before, but Johnny really missed you.”

“Huh?” you asked dumbly, taken out of your stupor.

“During the first few years after high school, I was so sure Johnny was going to break down. You two had become so busy and slowly lost contact— he didn’t know how to function without you! John-ah was like a blind man, stumbling around, aimless. But one day... it somehow all changed.”

“How?” you asked quietly.

“I found him in his room one day, one of the times he came back home. He was reading some of the Post-It notes he would randomly stick around his room, and it looked faded. I couldn’t see it, of course, but I saw John-ah slip into his pocket. The night I saw him, his eyes were bright, his shoulders, determined. His company took off right after he visited.”

Mrs. Suh stopped cleaning as she gazed at her boy, a small smile playing at her lips.

“I’m so proud of the man he has become. Yet… yet he’s told me he doesn’t feel satisfied, you know? Like there’s something empty in his chest. Like he’s looking for something but he doesn’t know what.”

Your breath caught in your throat and your heartbeat started to pound in your ears. How… how could it be so similar? How could he feel the exact same as what you do?

“Personally, I...I think he needs a family. He wants a girl he can love, and, dear god, you don’t know how much he wants kids.”

If you bit any harder, your lip would bleed onto your pretty dress.

“John-ah… you don’t see the look in his eyes when we pass by a child. He just completely stops listening to the conversation, and it’s like he can’t look away. He told me about your friend’s daughter— Callie, yes?— and then he finally realized how much he wanted kids. So, so much.”

A fine tremor wracked your hand as you put away the plates, lost in your thoughts. It wasn’t as if you were shocked, oh no. It was more the fact that you could finally see it: you and Johnny, looking into each other’s eyes, in each other’s loving embrace as your children with your hair and his eyes slept in the crib in front of you.

Distractedly, you toweled the rest of the dishes and kissed her cheek as you shuffled off to the living room.

“Y/N, dear,” she called out after you.

“Yes, Auntie?”

Her eyes suddenly seemed so old.

“You don’t know how scared he was when he thought Callie was yours.”

As promised, the next day Johnny took you out to the best coffee place in your hometown. Broken Egg Cafe was a small place squeezed in between a boutique and an alcohol store on main street, and it was as shabby as it looked on its facade. Mix and match furniture dotted the rustic food place, dim lighting providing an ambient atmosphere. The cafe was the usual haunt of the local community college kids who liked the hipster atmosphere and comfy spots. That, and it was the place where everyone knew that if you went on a date, you were seriously committed to each other.

Trying not to dwell on it, you sat patiently while scrolling through your phone. A grin lit up your face as you saw the series of photos Mrs. Suh had posted on Facebook, all of the Suh family dinner you partook in. You clicked the heart and saved all the photos, and, embarrassingly, the one where Johnny had led you to the table. You were grinning at each other, his hand resting on your shoulder, as Mr. Suh was reached for something out of frame. Quickly, a few taps had replaced the generic background of your phone with the picture.

Funnily enough, all the photos posted had included you in it. Call yourself crazy, but you expected Mrs. Suh to post a few of her and her husband, or her and her son— but no. You could even see the ones where visible sweat gleaned from your brow, shakily smiling after Johnny had played footsie under the table.

“Y/N!”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. You gave him a quick glance over and, wow, he looked devilishly handsome today. An old Ramones shirt half-tucked into skinny jeans was an interesting contrast to his usual business attire, his ratty converse slapping on the wood beams as he strode towards you.

He evidently saw your glance-over as a shit-eating grin graced his lips, and you could only ignore the heat in your cheeks then bury your head into his chest.

“Hey sweet girl, how are you?” he whispered into your ear, your shoulders tensing as a breath of hot air hit your sensitive neck.

“Well, you?” you murmured near his neck.

“Great as you can be waiting for the reunion tonight,” he snickered.

A snort passed your lips as you flopped down onto the couch, tucking your feet under you and propping your head on your palm. His lanky figure settled into the couch, limbs comfortably positioned to face you.

“I ordered your ridiculous drink, you know. Grande Chai Tea Latte, 3 Pumps, Skim Milk, Lite Water—”

“—no foam, extra hot?” you asked disbelievingly.

“Yes, your frou-frou white girl drink that’ll cause cavities,” he grumbled.

“I could kiss you, you know that?” you blurted, eyes glued to the server bringing you your drink.

He murmured something as you said your thanks to the server, grasping the cup with 2 hands.

“Huh?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

You rolled your eyes and knocked your knee against his. “Didn’t Auntie tell you to stop doing that?”

Soon, a light hearted conversation reminiscing about the past started up. You could both of you slip back into that easy rhythm that was your dynamic back in high school, joking and ranting to each other. You laughed about everything from the time he took up skateboarding and briefly became emo, the antics the band kids had gotten up to, and even your horrible experience with AP Calculus.

“And, oh my god, remember what Jake did at senior prom? I can’t believe he wasn’t expelled,” you said, eyes wide.

“Jake? My lord and savior, Jake?” Johnny asked, his grin widening. “Man, that was my bro. Swag brothers forever.”

“Johnny, he put smuggled in a chicken. To this day I don’t how he did that!”

“Secret.” He put a finger over his lips. “But, I will tell you I had to distract to Prom Committee by B-Boying.”

You shook your head, hiding a smile. “Prom was so fun, wasn’t it? The theme was great that year, they ordered great food—”

“—You went with me, duh—”

“—and I didn’t trip over my dress! You were an okay date for prom.”

Johnny gasped loudly, and laid a hand over his hard, clearly offended. “Excuse me? I clearly remember you made me trip during the last dance! Here I was, being a great date, leading us through the dance, and you placed a wrong foot forward. You!”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “That was only because you–” you pressed a finger into his hard chest “–were too close.”

“Can you blame me?” he breathed.

It was in that moment you realized how close you were to him. Somehow, throughout the course of the conversation, you both had scooted closer to each other on the couch and ended up with both your legs tangled together.

“W-what are you talking about, Youngho?”

He sighed, his hands unconsciously seeking out yours. “Y/N, can I be honest?”

“Of course you can, you can always be with me,” you reassured, still confused as hell.

A soft smile came to his face. “I...  the day at the cafe. I was never in town to meet with my old investor. I came here, back to town and this reunion, in hopes of seeing my beautiful best friend.”

“I–”

“Hold on, let me… let me tell you what’s been on my mind.”

His thumb started stroking hands, your mind briefly registering the large difference in size before freaking out at how close he was to you.

“In high school, you were my only good friend. My pillar, my rock, the only one who held my hand before I became...me. From freshman to senior year, you enchanted me and I could only helplessly fall into you, like a singularity Mrs. Kee harped on about in Physics,” he chuckled.

“Sometimes, I would look at you and think, why me? You could have befriended every other boy, but no. It was me. Even when everyone made fun of me and rejected me, it was always me. And god, prom.”

“I was so damn close to telling you how I felt that night, dancing with you for the last song. I mentally prepared myself and everything, I needed to tell you before we graduated, and I opened my mouth and then it hit me: you deserve someone so much better. You had your whole life in front of you, and why should dorky ol’ me hold you back? I didn’t tell you, and I...I don’t regret it.”

Pain rippled over his face then he composed himself, his stare burning into yours.

“I was so lost without you for years. How could I be with you when I didn’t even know where I was going? But that one day… I decided I was going to find myself. Moved to Korea, started a company… you know the rest. I became the best I could be.”

Tears started to well up at the edges of your eyes, and as your lips quivered you brought a soft hand to cheek. You didn’t know his insecurity ran that deep; you thought those little self-deprecating jokes were just that–jokes. What kind of best friend were you that you let him think so badly of himself, from high school and the years that followed?

He leaned into your touch, and the tension evaporated from his broad shoulders.

“10 years later, and I think that maybe, maybe I’m good enough for myself– good enough for you. So I sign myself up for this stupid little reunion, fly back home, yet in that little cafe I was so unprepared to see you.”

His lips brushed over your palm, like the brush of silk, and then he leaned back.

“When I saw you that day, it felt like a dream. I wasn’t sure if I was seeing you for real and when I knew, I was so fucking happy. And, like a cruel imitation of prom, something held me back.”

“I didn’t realize that maybe you moved on without me, maybe you had a family and a new best friend. I felt so stupid at the time, seeing you look so beautiful, thinking I could just waltz back in we could pick up where we left off. It’s no excuse, but it’s why I lied and was a complete asshole towards you. I was so disappointed in myself.”

You couldn’t hear anything around you, see anything around you, and was engulfed by the vision of your best friend looking at you like a prayer.

“What do you feel now, Youngho?” you whispered.

“I will always see you as my everything.”

His lips brushed against your forehead and he walked out before you could process anything.

“Thanks!” Cynthia calls out as she exits the Uber Black XL. You give a wan smile to the driver as you carefully step out onto the pavement.

The golden sign of the Langham shone bright against the rapidly darkening Chicago skyline, reflecting off the mirror-like glass. Perhaps it was the fact that you were a New Yorker, or the fact you were shivering and it wasn’t because of the cold, but you could not concentrate on the sight at all.

“Isn’t this place gorgeous? The girls and I worked hard to get a banquet hall here, like, hard. Who cares about the thirty minute drive when you can get a place like this?” your friend calls out excitedly, sweeping an arm to emphasize to view.

“You did well for yourselves this time. I bet the committee for the class before ours is steaming,” you shakily joked. Well, not quite. As said before, school reunions were huge for your school, each class trying to outdo each other at every turn, from the venue to the catering and more. Your class must be feeling quite proud right now.

“I bet this is so-so for you, city girl,” she ribbed. A yelp escaped your lips, accusingly looking towards her as you rubbed the spot where she elbowed you. “Oh shut up, PTA mom.”

No matter how much you liked to tease her, Cynthia looked the opposite of a PTA mom tonight. Her cocktail attire hugged her post-pregnancy curves, but, looking at her now, she looked like a mix of her youthful party persona with worldly maturity. She definitely would be turning a few heads tonight.

“C’mon, city girl, let’s go. I need to see if everything is perfect!” 

Your 10-year high school reunion was held in a ballroom 2 stories above the street, sumptuous in its decoration and looking more like a corporate dinner than anything else. Dozens of circular tables dotted the floor of the room, each set in the green and gold of your high school colors. A particularly large “Go Spartans! Class of 2XXX” sign was posted right outside the door, attracting people to sign their names onto the banner with a flourish. While you and Cynthia were on time, many people had shown up and milled about the room.

“Oh my god, there’s our val! Let’s see if she’s something cool or just peaked in high school,” Cynthia whispered conspiratorially, dragging your unsure figure towards the crowd.

You tried your best to greet everybody in the large ballroom, but a certain man was still lingering at the forefront of your mind. Every few seconds, you would catch yourself glancing around nervously, especially towards the large double doors that heralded anyone’s arrival. Eventually, when you caught yourself gravitating closer to the entrance, you knew you were being ridiculous.

An expensive-sounding roar sounded outside the building, and a collective head turn had the crowd’s eyes riveted on a white car in the valet lane of the hotel. You didn’t know much about cars, but even looking at it 2 stories up, it looked like something out of a movie. Male murmurs of appreciation were heard as the butterfly doors of the car opened up, even bystanders stopping and staring. You felt a sinking feeling at the bottom of your stomach as a good-looking man in a grey suit stepped out, his black wavy hair visible from a distance.

God, how were you even supposed to talk to Johnny? Somehow, telling him “I’ve secretly pined over you for years and would like to have your babies” didn’t quite do it for you.

“Y/N? Oh my gosh!”

Not this shit again.

Repressing an oncoming headache, you plastered your best fake smile that you put on especially for disagreeable clients and turned towards the snooty, entitled voice that was so familiar.

“Victoria! Wonderful to see you again,” you simpered. Goodness, you could see her fake tan glowing radioactively in the dim light.

“Oh, come here! It’s great to see you here, don’t you look just fab.” Victoria threw her arms out, as if you two were the best of friends, and you stepped into a polite embrace. Granted, now you could see her typical Brooks Brother dress was well-fitted, but screamed “country-club mom!” in your face.

“You’ve got to meet my husband. James, come here!”

A well-built man in a tailored navy suit lumbered towards her, two champagne flutes in his hands. Gazing at his chiseled features and neat blond hair, you could admit Victoria had caught quite the catch.

“Victoria,” he murmured, handing a glass to her. He caught sight of you, his eyes roving predatorily over your body that made you shiver in a not-so-nice way. 

“Sweetheart, would you care to introduce me to your friend?” he said, not taking his eyes off of you.

She clearly noticed the way he was speaking to you, her lined eyes narrowing and her lips curling into a snarl.

“Husband, this is Y/N, an acquaintance of mine. We didn’t hang out with the same crowd, she preferred those geeky types,” Victoria emphasized, making it clear that you were undesirable.

He hummed while still looking at your legs and you could spot the signs of a dysfunctional marriage right away. You saw it in the men you worked with, obviously bored with a taste for female coworkers, even though his wedding band shone bright on his left hand. You sort of felt bad for her, no matter how much of a bitch she was to you.

“Anyways, I saw you were looking for someone. Did you bring any hot hubby?” she giggled a bit too brightly.

You smiled tightly. She was clearly trying to humiliate you, but once her dear husband found out you were single, you wouldn’t be surprised if you found yourself cornered in a hallway. “Not today, Vicky,” you said, knowing it would irritate the hell out of her. Victoria hated the nickname ‘Vicky’, claiming it sounded too country-bumpkin for her tastes.

“That’s right! You’re single, with your fancy office job and all–”

“Y/N, I was looking for you.”

It felt like your senses were on superdrive, hyper-alert of the man standing behind you.

You really weren’t prepared for this. You really, really weren’t. You hadn’t had any time to mentally or emotionally prepare for when you spoke to Johnny the next time you saw him, cowardly languishing in a pool of anxiety and insecurity.

Well, you were L/N Y/N. Hired straight out of college for J.P. Morgan. You were promoted and trusted because you could handle high pressure situations like this. So, you put on your big girl face and turned to see Johnny.

His smirking lips were the first thing you saw, and then his eyes, wolfish and sharp. Johnny was indeed the man in the grey suit with the fancy car, and you could see the way this particular get-up highlighted his lean figure.

“Johnny, hey,” you smiled softly, though you were sure there was a nervous lilt to your voice. Evidently, he caught on as his smirk widened and he stepped closer to you. The whiplash was real. One moment he was a lovestruck boy confessing to you in a coffee shop and the next he was a smooth-tongued man that made your knees weak.

“Johnny Suh? Mister Johnny Suh?”

The pair of you looked towards Victoria’s husband, whom looked awe-struck.

“Yes?” Johnny asked, eyes settling on the man in front of him.

There was no masculine size-up moment you’ve always seen in Wall street meetings, but James postured and simpered his way to Johnny.

“It’s great to meet you! I’m James Bouchard, a financial analyst. I worked with Banksy’s finance department before on the 2015 Orchard project.”

A charming smile made its way onto Johnny’s face, the perfect picture of a suave businessman. As great as it was looking at Johnny in his natural element, it was infinitely more amusing to watch the changing moods on Victoria’s countenance. Currently, she was stuck on shock as she learned more about the boy she shunned.

“Is Ms. Y/N your lovely wife? My wife just introduced me to her, you caught a great one,” he winked, trying to flatter Johnny’s ego. 

Your best friend (crush? Classmate? Acquaintance?) merely chuckled and snaked an arm around your waist. He looked down at you with undisguised admiration, making you blush and look away. “I’d say she was the one that caught me, since we’ve been best friends since high school. Although, your wife didn’t quite seem to like me in high school. Pity.” Unable to resist, you looked sharply up at him. Since when were you his wife? Well, not that you’d protest, but these kinds of decisions require two consenting adults!

James looked down on his wife with malice in his eyes for potentially ruining a lucrative connection that she didn’t even know would exist. Victoria looked deeply embarrassed.

“Well, it was great seeing both of you! C’mon, James, dear, the food looks lovely,” she said brightly, beating out a hasty retreat with James angrily striding behind.

Sitting in silence for a few moments, you finally raised an eyebrow, a common signal that you used to ask him to ‘explain’. He opened his mouth, but a shout of his name had both of you turning towards the origin. Johnny rolled his eyes, and went to speak to you again but louder, greater shouts interrupted him.

“Look, baby, I’ll talk to you later, okay?” he ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated at the interruption.

“Go to your swag bros, Johnny. I think they miss you,” you said drily as they began clanging glasses.

“You’re the best,” he kissed your forehead hurriedly. 

“Ooh-la-la, what was that about?” Cynthia sauntered up beside you, looking in the direction of the tall man.

“It was nothing, Cynthia.”

“Nothing? Johnny-with-the-great-biceps called you ‘baby’ and kissed you on the forehead, I don’t think that’s nothing.”

“Cynthia, I…” you bit your lip, discomfited.

Her eyes softened, seeing the deeply troubled set to your face.

“Let’s go to somewhere else.”

“—and now I don’t know what to do!”

Cynthia nodded mutely after hearing you explain the past days’ goings on, from the cafe to the walk and even to the dinner. She was uncharacteristically staying silent, soaking in the information as you recounted the tale.

She looked contemplative for a few moments, before her eyes sought yours. “You want to know what I think?”

“Aren’t you here for that?” you snapped.

She looked you dead in the eye. “You’re being an absolute idiot right now.”

You spluttered for a few seconds. “Uh- what? Hold on, Cynthia—”

“He’s deeply in love with you, and from what I’ve heard you sound like you feel the same. It’s that simple.”

“I-I—”

“Tell me right now, what would happen if he got married right now to someone that wasn’t you?”

“I would die before that would happen!” you snarled. Going back, you realized what you said and quickly deflated. “Well, I… I would be deeply devastated. God, Cynthia, from the time in school to now, I realized I love him. He’s my best friend, my pillar, my rock. He’s been there for me so many times I can’t even count it all.”

“And then it gets even worse knowing that he wants a family too. I don’t know if you know Cynthia, but I’m so lonely up in the big bright lights of New York. It’s gotten so bad that I’ve considered adopting and artificial insemination, even gone to an IVF clinic. But it won’t be the same, because I want a family and my belly round and my kids playing in the backyard, and it scares me that I can see it all with him.”

You sighed glumly. “I should’ve just confessed to him at prom.”

Cynthia smiled sympathetically. “Why don’t you just tell him what you told me?”

“She just did.”

You both started violently, and saw a large shadow blocking the doorway.

Johnny.

Your girl best friend snorted and quickly exited, patting Johnny’s back on her way out.

“Johnny! You scared the hell out of me!” you scolded, your hand on your rapidly rising chest.

A deep laugh rumbled from his chest as he took a seat next to you.

“Do you have something to tell me, baby?”

Heat rose to your cheeks. “Yes.”

“Go on, sweet cheeks. I won’t judge.”

However, his smug grin of a man knowing what’s about to come told you otherwise.

“Johnny!” you whined, flinging a throw pillow at him.

He ducked and snickered. “Fine, fine, I’ll stop.”

You settled down and hugged yourself. “This may not be as long as what you said in the coffee shop, but Johnny… I’ve loved you since freshman year. I’ve loved you in every year after that, even when we got separated for almost a decade. I didn’t realize what I was missing in my life was you, that my life wasn’t right without my best friend by my side. When I came back home I wasn’t expecting anything, but I think an unconscious part of me hoped to see you. Everything I said with Cynthia is true and I—stop staring at me!’’

“I can’t, you’re too beautiful,” he deadpanned, but you saw the mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

“Just kiss me you– you tub of lard!” 

Johnny effortlessly pulled you into his lap to straddle, arms snaking around your hips as he placed his lips onto yours.

All the tension immediately evaporated from your body, as your limbs felt like liquid in his arms. His tongue swiped against the bottom of your lips, and you found a shred of will inside of you and playfully resisted. He squeezed your side, the sensitive bit right under your breasts, and your lips parted automatically as you moaned.

You felt shivers wherever he touched you, but felt it was unfair he was giving and not receiving. Your nails combed through his hair, found a section of hair, tugged sharply.

He growled into the kiss and you felt his hard erection through his dress pants, poking at your inner thigh.

“Still think I’m a tub of lard?” he whispered at the corner of your mouth, flexing his thick thighs underneath you and pulling you closer to his rock-hard chest.

“Mmph, no, Johnny.”

His smoky eyes looked into yours. “Also, don’t, Y/N.”

“...what?” you said confusedly as you calmed down. Did you do something wrong?

“Don’t try to have kids through those… those methods.”

“Do you mean IVF? Artificial insemination?”

A nod.

A frown pulled at your lips and you leaned back unconsciously. “Johnny, don’t you understand? I want my own children so badly I can barely think, okay? I never thought I’d want to have one a few years ago, but call it mother’s instincts— “

“When you have a child, it’s going to be mine. You’re gonna have one the proper way—by me throughly fucking a baby into your cunt,” he hissed through his teeth, right into your ear.

Goosebumps rose along your skin and you clenched his shoulders harder as he suckled kisses along the side of your neck. With some, he even added little presses of the tongue, making you clench your legs around his torso tighter.

“My baby likes dirty talk, doesn’t she? Just like she liked my little game of footsie,” he laughed, puffs of air blooming on your sensitive skin.

“Johnny,” you weakly reprimanded. You then noticed the hands that were clasped at your knees, rubbing the sweet spot underneath, and felt a moisture pool in your lacy thong.

“So, whaddya say? You say yes and I drive to my apartment and fuck you until your stomach swells with my children, or I do it regardless of where we are.”

You finally realize you are heavily making out in a side hallway where someone could see you easily. While the idea was tempting, if not a bit hot, you visualize your naked bodies writhing as he slides in and out of you—

“Yes, please, Johnny, please.”

The ride to his apartment was surprisingly comfortable. After hastily leaving the party, you two hopped into his butterfly sports car and roared down the avenue.

Don’t get it wrong, the sexual tension was there and as present as ever, but it wasn’t awkward in the slightest. You folded your legs up to the side and leaned towards him, his right hand softly stroking your knee while he zoomed down the streets of Chicago.

An elevator ride later, you were admiring the night Chicago skyline from Johnny’s bedroom window as he pressed kisses onto your shoulders.

“Youngho,” you sighed, leaning into him.

He hummed and nipped lightly at your neck.

“C’mon babe, undress for me.”

He sauntered back to the bed as you fumbled with the pins in your hair, shaking your hair loose of the tight up-do it had been in.

You looked back to see Johnny at the edge of the bed, his legs spread wide and leaning back with an arm.

“I haven’t done this in a long time, so I’m probably going to disappoint you,” you warned as you set down the pins with a clink.

“Indulge me. I’ve been fantasizing about this moment since Junior year,” he smirked lazily.

You cast a doubtful look towards him, but obliged nonetheless.

Starting with your jewelry, you unclasped your necklace, earrings, and watch and carefully set them on the counter. Your heels were kicked off to the side, and that was left was your dress. You breathed in deeply and released, methodically unbuttoning your dress until it fell with a soft whisper on the floor.

You looked through your curtain of hair to gauge his reaction and Johnny looked dazed, his eyes slightly glassy with his mouth slightly parted.

“Youngho?”

“C’mere.”

You was sure your gait resembled a newborn foal rather than some sultry vixen, but Johnny did not seem to care. He pulled you into his lap once again, but this time sideways.

His kisses trailed innocently at the top of your bra and you find yourself impatient. “I thought you were going to fuck my cunt?” you pronounced succinctly.

Johnny’s teeth bit harshly at the tops of your breasts, eliciting a harsh hiss from you. “Now you’ve done it, baby.”

You giggled as he practically threw you onto the bed, a male moan of appreciation slipping from his lips when he saw you splayed out for him. He ducked in to steal a kiss, supporting himself with his toned arms and you grasped the back of his head.

Johnny licked a long stripe on your clavicle as you gave a sharp tug on the knot of his tie. Removing the black tie, your fingers quickly got to work unbuttoning his shirt. He got on his knees to tug it off in one glorious motion, exposing his well-built chest to your hungry eyes.

It was surreal to see this Johnny kneeling before you, topless and licking his lips, and it was hard to find any trace of the boy in Naruto pajamas everywhere.

“Get up for me baby, scoot up a bit,” he urged.

As you obeyed, you took the chance to slip off your bra. Heat rose to stay permanently on your cheeks as you unclasped it and shrugged it off. You nipples quickly stiffened to the air and Johnny looked absolutely delighted.

Your eyes tracked him as he leaned forward and carefully weighed one in his large hands. His thumb brushed the soft underside of your breast and your shoulders quivered like a leaf in the wind.

“All for me to play with?” he said under his breath, looking entranced by the pliant flesh in his hands.

Getting between your legs, his tongue laved at the skin of your breasts, “accidental” licks getting you to squirm. Johnny’s plump lips continued their trail to your stomach and finally kissed the edges of your thong.

“May I?” he asked formally, raising his gleaming eyes to yours.

You nodded and his nimble fingers dragged your panties down, forcing you to brace your calves against his shoulders. He tossed them carefully to the vanity before lowering himself to eye level with your pussy.

“My pretty baby has such a pretty pussy, doesn’t she?” he cooed, thumbs rubbing the crux of your thighs.

Whining in agreement, you opened your legs wider for his perusal and looked away in embarrassment.

Johnny tsked and forced your chin to look at down at him. “Look at me.”

He wouldn’t let go until you leaned your head into his palm. He held eye contact with you as he slowly pressed his lips against your labia, your eyes widening and mewl escaping your lips.

You slammed your hand against your mouth as he began exploring, curling into the pillow and looking heavenward. His tongue peaked out and caressed the hood of your clit, beckoning for it to come. You muffled a scream when he used his tongue more liberally, reaching deeper and curling into the walls of your pussy. Your hips lifted off the mattress as you writhed underneath his torturous tongue until Johnny’s hands clamped down and forced your limbs onto the bed.

He was truly gifted at this, easily finding the spots that made you squirm. It felt like hours passed as he used his flexible tongue on you, playing you easily, and you slipped in and out of reality. But then he suckled, and you lost it.

Your limbs flailed as you wailed, suffocated with a blanket of pleasure. You had no idea what to do with your hands, switching places from tugging at your hair to squeezing your arms and even grasping Johnny’s thick locks until you settled for grasped the edges of the pillow next to you.

“No! Johnny, I- I can’t— oh my god—Agh!”

He shushed you quickly, murmuring “you can take it” against your thighs. You felt the pressure inside your stomach build, holding your breath as it inched closer and closer to that edge. Johnny finally pressed his thumb against your clit and you let out a full-throated scream, succumbing to the wave of pleasure dragging you under. Your knees knocked together painfully and you slid further down the mattress, pussy gushing out underneath you.

But no; he cruelly drew it out, kept on rubbing circles into your sensitive flesh until your eyes rolled to the back of your head and were unable to speak.

A few breathless moments passed and he broke the silence. “Not only are my oral skills great, but my oral skills are too” He wiggled his eyebrows at you and you rolled your eyes, before yelping as one of the aftershocks wracked your limbs.

Johnny merely chuckled before flipping you onto your stomach, face down on the mattress. Peeking over your shoulder, you glimpsed Johnny tugging off his pants and boxers until his hard erection stood proud, springing back and forth in the air. You gulped; it was a beautiful pink, veiny as hell, topped with a mushroom tip oozing out pre cum. Most importantly, it was huge —you had no idea he was packing that underneath his gym shorts— and looked to be the girth of your wrist.

“Johnny, i-is it gonna fit?” you stuttered nervously.

He smiled proudly at you, his hand stroking his cock up and down. “You have one tight pussy, love, but I’ve prepped you a lot and we’ll make it work. Don’t worry, okay?”

With that he forced your head against the sheets, taking away your vision completely. You felt extremely vulnerable with your butt raised high up in the air, but Johnny quickly grasped your hips and rubbed his cock against the seam of your pussy lips, lathering it in your cum.

“Tell me, baby, how much do you want this?”

“So much!” you murmured into the mattress.

He thrust his hips just a bit and his tip quickly slid in and out of you. “What was that?”

“Johnny, please! I want it so much!” you moaned into the mattress.

“Say it. I want to hear filth from your pretty lips,” he hissed, sounding impatient. He certainly felt impatient, his hands gripping your hips so hard they would surely bruise and his erection throbbing against your quim.

“I want you to fuck me raw with your huge cock! I want your cum leaking from my pussy—please, Johnny, please! Fuck me!” you cried.

“My dirty girl,” he purred. HIs lined his cock up with your entrance and slowly sank in, both of you groaning reactively. His dick stretched you and it toed the line between pain and pleasure but, nevertheless, you sunk your hips into his.

“Not— not too fast, Youngho. You’re really, really big,” you whimpered. He waited for a while before leisurely thrusting in and then picking up pace.

“Oh fuck, Youngho, just like that,” you moaned. He also let out strangled groans of pleasure, echoing in his large bedroom. Crude slaps of flesh against flesh reverberated in your ears, puncturing the sound of blood roaring in your veins. His testes smacked periodically against your clit and you could not stop the indecent noises coming from your mouth.

“Good?” he grunted, his sweaty black bangs sticking to his forehead as he thrust. You could imagine his chest gleaming with sweat from the city lights and the image made you wetter, if possible.

A particularly sharp thrust jolted your hips, and kept his hips flush against yours with his cock in you. “I said, good?”

“Fuck, I like it—it’s so good— and, oh my gosh, I love it, I love it, I love it—” you rambled incoherently.

He snorted and pulled out.

“Youngho, don’t stop—”

“Get on your back, baby. Let me see you.”

With great effort, you rolled over and your vision of him did no justice. He looked ethereal, gleaming in his sweat. Shadows played across his body as his muscles flexed and contracted and you were breathless.

“I’m gonna fuck a baby into you, Y/N.”

A terrible mixture of excitement and arousal arose from you. The idea of him fucking you full of his come and looking down at your round belly was almost too much. You whined up at him, wiggling your hips.

He tsked in disapproval. “Nuh-uh, legs up, sweetheart. Missionary is the best way to get you pregnant.”

You truly were worried that your arousal would leak down your legs as you lifted your limbs up to his broad shoulders. He firmly grasped the sides of your stomach and pulled you closer to him.

As you were watching him with a sort of breathless excitement, he was glued to the sight of his cock sinking into your pussy, bewitched by the way your folds parted for his cock like the blooming of a flower. Johnny quickly put a hand over the lower half of your stomach, thrusting robustly upwards and while you screamed, he wore a shit-eating grin on his face.

“W-What is it, Johnny?” you breathed harshly.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he groaned loudly as he thrust once more. “F-feel this, baby.”

He put your hand where his had previously been and thrust upwards. Your lips parted in wonder when you felt a small bulge form underneath your hand. His cock was that big?

“Holy—Agh!— shit,” you pant.

His eyes flared with lust as he rammed his cock in again, just to see that little bump appear, and did so again and again until you heard his fancy bed frame start to creak.

This position was by far the best, even if it was good ol’ missionary. The slight curve to his cock caused the head to press deliciously into the walls of your pussy, and you felt him much closer than ever before.

You could spot his thick, muscled thighs ripple with the effort he was putting into fucking you and gripped the sheets much harder. Noises of content, ‘yes’s’ and ‘fuck’s!’ spat out with increasing frequency, permeated the air thick of the scent of sex and sweat.

He slipped your legs off his shoulders and around his waist before supporting himself above you with his veiny forearms. “Homestretch, baby.”

You were cut off from snorting as you screamed, his cock ramming into your hips. In-and-out, the delicious stretch repeating over and over again until you felt a familiar haze spread over you.

“I’m going to stuff you full of cum, Y/N. I’m going to knock you up with the baby you so desperately want, right? A baby with my eyes and your hair?” he growled.

You heart skipped a beat. How did he know what you saw?

“Mmm! Yes, yes! I’ll be barefoot and pregnant for you!”

“Your pussy takes my cock so well, baby, so well, you don’t even know. Fuck, I’m just imagining my cum on your pretty pink pussy lips.”

He went in so deep, until you felt his balls pressing into your ass and the tip of his cock pressing into your womb.You felt so filled, physically and emotionally, as you basked in the man thrusting into you like a piston.

The same in-and-out of reality experience occurred and you found your eyes rolling back into your head, not registering anything else. You felt like you were sinking in molasses, pleasure and bliss cocooning you tight and secure. The familiar wave was starting to build up again.

You came back to your senses as his hand drifted in between you and hovered near the crux of your thighs. In concurrence with his solid thrusting, his thumb began harshly rubbing circles into your clit, zings of delight firing over your whole body.

“Cum, baby, I know you want to. I can feel your tight pussy fluttering all over my cock,” he grunted.

His cock hit your cervix and your hands made vicious marks against his back as you wailed loudly in pleasure. The wave had crested but Johnny had not stopped whatsoever. Your best friend was still in desperate search for his peak that he thrust even faster, overstimulating you so much you inadvertently thrashed to get away from him.

A choked cry left your lips as he ruthlessly pulled your hips back and inserted his cock again, this time slamming into you with a force caused loud creaks from the bed frame.

“You don’t get to stop until there’s a goddamn baby in you. God, I’m going to cum so fucking hard.”

“Fill me up, Johnny.” you goaded. “Make me yours forever. Put a fucking baby in my belly.”

“Shit!” he hissed out.

You felt the spurts of his come from the tip and you wrapped yourself around him tighter as he let out a strangled moan, burying his face into the crook of your neck. Biting the spot between your collarbone and your neck, Johnny added to the collection of red and purple you were sure was already there. He gave little staccato thrusts as you felt more and more cum fill up your pussy, until an obscene squelching sound was heard as he was moving in and out of you.

He panted for a few moments, kneeling back onto the bed and spreading your legs wide. You attempted to cover your seeping pussy but he brushed your hand aside and focused on the small stream of white leaking.

“You look gorgeous like that, Y/N. Tired and sated with my cum leaking out of you.”

You scooped up some of the excess and brought it to your lips, sucking his salty cum off of your fingers one by one. You raised an eyebrow.

He groaned and wrapped you into his side, as if asking the universe “What am I going to do with her?”. You smiled snuggled into his side, happy that you finally weren’t alone anymore.

“Johnny... I’m ovulating today. There is a huge, huge chance of me getting pregnant. D-do you really, really want to this baby? Do you really… do you really want a family? With me?” you whispered.

“Let me show you something.” He climbed out of bed, naked as the day he was born, and returned to the room a navy suit jacket when you saw him at the cafe. He pulled out one of the heart-shaped pink Post-It notes you gave to him ironically during sophomore year and handed it to you.

On the paper, it had a date and some scribbled words.

11/4/2XXX

I’m going to marry Y/N.

“I wrote that in 10th grade,” he murmured beside you. “I’m more confident in myself that I can owe up to those words. I feel like… like I’m worthy of you now.”

“Oh, Youngho,” you sighed, thumb stroking his plump lips. You kissed them and smiled up at the man who was your best friend, your lover—the man you wanted to marry and have kids with. How could you ever repay him for making you feel whole again?  “I accept the you from then and the you now. Whatever you are and wherever you are, you are always worthy of love.”

Please don’t forget to like, comment and reblog! I would also really appreciate that if you liked my work enough, that you would consider supporting me by buying me a kofi at ko-fi.com/caiuscassiuss. Thank you so much for reading!

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[owlswing]

SO I’M A TERRIBLE PERSON...

Hahaha! Guess who dropped off the face of the earth AGAIN? This guy! Well, anyways: Here is my contribution to the 2020 ROTBTD gift exchange! I swore I wouldn’t get on tumblr again until it was finished, but then life went insane.

@siodymph I am so sorry that it’s taken so long, and that this is so short, but I really hope you like it! Your very, VERY late Secret Santa!

Seashells

Rapunzel bit her bottom lip, squinting at her latest painting. It wasn't that she hated it or anything, but it just seemed off. No matter how hard she tried there was just that little nagging thought in the back of her mind slowly driving her insane the longer she looked at it.

"What do you think?" She asked without looking at the others who were standing there with her, staring at the painting with tilted heads.

"Rapunzel... It's white." Jack said.

"But it's not the Right white!" Rapunzel threw her arms up in the air, turning away from the painting so she could pace across her room. "I promised Eugene's dad that I would make the perfect flag for the Moon Kingdom in honor of their reconstruction and the treaty with Corona, but it won't be perfect if I can't even use the right colors!"

"What's the difference? It's white!" Merida questioned, looking between Rapunzel and the painted canvas.

"No! This is cotton white! I need pearl white! The flowers just don't look right without it!" Rapunzel huffed, looking through all of her paints and art supplies to see if by some miracle she still had some hidden somewhere. "Moon Flowers are the designated symbol of the Moon Kingdom, and if this flag is going to fly above their castle for the next few centuries, the least I can do is make it the right shade of white! But of course I don't have anymore and I've already been to three different shops in the city; No one has it!"

"Well, you know how to make all your paints, don't you? Why don't we just get the ingredients and you can make it yourself." Hiccup suggested, and Rapunzel sighed.

"It's not that simple! This paint is made from special seashells found on a specific beach three days away from here. Gothel only ever got them for me once! Okay, well, twice! But the second time is when I asked her to go get them so I could leave the tower and I never actually got the shells so I never got to make the paint! Not to mention to boil it down and make the paint would take at least a full day . Already that's a whole week and we have to leave for the Moon Kingdom in five days!" Rapunzel stressed, part of her brain told her that if she kept biting her lip like that she was going to split it.

"That's an easy fix! With Toothless it should only take a day to get there. We'll spend the night and be back with plenty of time for you to make the paints." Hiccup said, looked over at Toothless who looked up from where he was napping at the foot of Rapunzel's bed upon hearing his name.

"Sweet! Flying Trip!" Jack pumped his fist into the air.

"It has been a while since we went adventuring." Merida grinned.

"I don't know," Rapunzel hesitated. "Normally when we try to do something like this, something happens and then we end up in some kind of trouble. Remember last time? When Hiccup had a cold?"

"It was not my fault!" Merida snapped to attention, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Never again." Jack muttered, shivering.

"I don't remember much from that one, but even if it does take a little longer than it's supposed to, Toothless and I can fly you to the Moon Kingdom to make up for time. Just tell your dad it's super important, I'm sure he'll understand." Hiccup shrugged.

"Or, don't tell him anything and if he comes looking, we stall for as long as we need." Jack offered, leaning against his staff with a playful smirk.

They all looked at each other for a few minutes, considering their options...

~*~*~

"WHOOHOO!" Rapunzel shouted, her hands up in the air as Toothless and Hiccup angled along an air-current, gliding across the sky in a smooth swoop.

Jack popped up next to them, floating along on his staff with his arms behind his head as her reclined backwards. Merida rode on the back of Toothless's saddle, reading the map as best she could while it flapped in the wind.

"We're almost there now!" Merida announced, glancing down below at landmarks and pathways. "There's a town just a few miles from the beach coming up. If we're lucky, they might already have the paint made there."

"We should take a rest. Toothless isn't used to carrying so many people, and it's usually better to go in on foot then to land a dragon in the middle of town." Hiccup reminded them with a wry smile, peering over the Night Fury's shoulder to look for a good landing place.

"Oh, so we're not going to strike fear into the hearts of innocent villagers today. Good to know." Jack chuckled, flipping around and grabbing his staff in one hand to look down at the earth.

"We've never tried to scare people, Jack!" Rapunzel argued.

"Speak for yourself!" He quipped and Hiccup snorted, trying to hold in a laugh. Toothless didn't bother hiding his dragon-chuckle.

"Anyways," Merida cut in, sticking her tongue out at Jack, who was rolling his eyes at her. "There's a forest down there. Plenty of space for Toothless while we go into town!"

"Sounds like a plan. Let's go, bud!" Hiccup grinned patting Toothless's shoulder.

The two moved in sync as they tilted to one side and began their descent towards the earth. Air rushed up around them, and Rapunzel's heart fluttered in her chest at the exhilaration from it all.

Within the hour, Toothless was settled by a nice rock formation that offered him a decent enough hiding place and a small clearing to stretch his limbs while the Four made their way towards the town. The town had a port, so there was more activity than in most with ships sailing in and out, goods coming and going, people traveling. Though it was small and less visited than the larger ports like Corona itself, the town was still thriving and teeming with excitement.

The crossroads before the town had a tall picket with road signs nailed into it. One way led into the town, another path led to the beach, and a third path led out to the pasture land where sheep and cattle with grazing. Right below the picket was a fairly new-looking sign in red paint: Unauthorized Collecting of Seashells is strictly Prohibited! Violators will be Arrested!

"Now what's that about?" Merida demanded, her fists on her hips.

"Looks like we need to come back tonight with Hiccup in a wig." Jack said.

"I am not going to be the distraction! You like being the center of attention so much, you go and do it!" Hiccup grumbled.

"Okay, fine! How about plan B?" Jack asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Plan B only works if we get caught! The whole point of this is to not get caught!" Hiccup exclaimed.

"We are not breaking the law!" Rapunzel told them. "I'm sure it's just regulation to keep people from over-harvesting the seashells. Let's go into town and see if we can find a vendor who knows more."

"Okay, but remember we can always just tell Bunny that some guy in town said the Easter Bunny's a total wuss, and that'll be plenty of distraction!" Jack grinned.

"This is why the Yeti's don't let you go anywhere in the Pole unsupervised." Merida told him as they walked towards the town.

The fast-paced bustle of the town was even more intense when one was right in the middle of it, but Rapunzel had gotten used to crowded environments from living in Corona and exploring the city, and also with her traveling with her friends. Haggling though, was a skill that she just couldn't seem to get the hang of, so when they reached the market and began looking at the different vendors and shops, Rapunzel and Jack took a step back and followed after Merida and Hiccup.

Merida had the attitude of a pauper and, much to her mother's chagrin, had spent a good portion of her childhood haggling with townspeople and sailors whether on her own or alongside her father. Hiccup, by comparison, was simply a Viking. Trading and Haggling was one of many occupational necessities and also something he was especially trained in as future Chief.

Ambling up to the different booths and extracting goods for reasonable prices, or even just information with little trouble, was something the pair had down pat. So it wasn't surprising when fifteen minutes after entering the market district, Merida returned to the group with information on where to find the Seashell vendor.

"Guy was pretty tight-lipped about it, and he said the old hag's a bit crazy, but I told him we've dealt with worse. Anyways, he said she'll be down the road, 'round the corner from the tavern." Merida explained.

"Great! Let's go see her, then!" Jack jumped up from the fountain ledge he and Rapunzel had been seated on, pulling Rapunzel to her feet beside him.

Again the Four were off to their next destination, finding themselves walking deeper into the town. The closer they got to the large storehouses by the docks, the more dreary things became. No one was about on the street, and those who were looked on with watchful, skittish eyes. Rats ran about underfoot and the seagulls perched on lamp posts looked slightly deranged.

"Are we sure this is the place?" Hiccup asked, his eyes moving over to the tavern as a man stumbled out and barfed into the gutter.

"That's what the shop handler said, but it wouldn't be a surprise if he'd lied. He was a bit seedy looking." Merida shrugged.

"Merida! I'm sure he was a very nice man! We haven't even seen the inside yet! I'm sure as soon as we cross through that door, we'll see the Seashell vendor!" Rapunzel smiled confidently, turning towards the door and tapping out a cheery tune with her fist.

The door swung open very slowly with a low creak and they all tilted their heads to see inside the crack the door caused. It was dark inside.

"Well, that's creepy." Hiccup muttered.

"Come on, guys! It's not that bad..." Rapunzel tried, tiptoing closer as she gently poked the door open with her index finger. The door gave a louder creak as it swung open further, and Rapunzel's voice wavered a bit at the sight of more dark shadows. She gave a nervous chuckle. "Okay... Well, I'm sure it'll look better from the inside."

"I'd rather not get jumped in a dark room in the back of an alley today, thank you." Hiccup said, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture.

"I might have to agree with Hicc on this one." Jack glanced between Rapunzel and Merida, looking rather hesitant.

"Oh, honestly!" Merida huffed, stomping passed them and up to the door. "Here, I've got a flare in my bag."

"Why do you have a flare?" Jack wanted to know.

"In case I have to see inside creepy dark rooms, or get lost in the woods, or want to have a party with explosives." Merida said with a smile. "But also my brothers bought some off of a foreign trader last week. I promised not to tell mom as long as they gave me a couple."

"I love your brothers!" Jack grinned.

Merida pulled out the flare and struck it against the stone wall of the building. A bright flame sparked to life and Merida held it up as she and Rapunzel stepped further into the room together. The boys quickly followed in behind, and the Four shuffled forward quietly and slowly. The flare threw strange, flickering shadows across the room, and the four friends pressed closer together as they stared at all of the figures of fanged and clawed creatures.

"Are these... Bears?!" Merida exclaimed.

"What are they made of?" Hiccup asked, squinting at the closest figurine.

There were sculptures, cutouts, carved plank art, toys, moving trinkets, clocks, plant holders, and so much more. Everything had Bears. Small bears, big bears, slim bears, big round bears. There were so many bears made out of little white...

"These are shells." Jack said.

"And this whole thing seems very famil- AHH!" Merida screamed jumping back and slamming into the other three. They all stumbled, and Rapunzel fell against a shelf, rattling everything on it, but the tall sculpture on the very top tipped over and fell to the floor, shattering with a loud clattering of a hundred different shells.

"What is going on in here?!" A new voice shouted. There were two claps, and suddenly the blinds were thrown on the curtains and several candles were lit, filling the whole room into light.

The Four looked up from where they were piled on the ground, finding themselves in the middle of a shop filled to the brim with bear-themed shell-crafts. At the very center of it all, stood a woman that had Merida's jaw dropping open.

"You!" Merida shouted, throwing a finger towards the old woman standing before her.

"Oh! Hello there, dearie! So good to see you again! I hear that spell worked out pretty well for you, hmmm?" The old Bear Witch beamed at her, with her wide eyes that blinked slightly out of sync, the same ragged-looking crow looming on her shoulder.

"YOU?!" All four of the young adventurers shouted, recognizing the old witch almost immediately from their first major calamity of a quest in Scotland.

"What are You doing here?!" Merida demanded, stomping to her feet with her arms stuck straight by her sides and her hands clenched into fists.

"Oh, oh, oh! Well, Dearie, after you bought all of my carvings, I had to set up shop elsewhere! Getting wood out in these parts isn't so easy, though. But they've got plenty of these nifty little shells laying around!" She cackled, gesturing to all her art pieces. "Course I had a bit of trouble getting around those pesky bandits who decided they owned the beach! A few cakes seemed to do the trick just fine!"

She snapped her fingers and several larger pieces flew to the sides, revealing a cage with two bears inside wearing scrappy-looking vests and hats. One of them had a gold tooth. Merida stared at them before looking back at her friends, but they seemed as speechless as her.

"Well, anyways, what can I do you for? A paper weight? A planter box? Oh! How about this lovely little wall piece I finished just the other day!" She beamed, holding up a rather tacky sea-shell image of two bears reaching for one another.

"Oh, hehehe, we, um," Rapunzel coughed a little to clear her throat and then twirled her fingers around each other as she continued. "We just came here to collect some loose shells to make some paint. We thought maybe we would have to speak with the beach owners, but I guess that's not too much of an issue now."

"Oh, not at all dearie! There's a pile in the back! Help yourself! I need to get this cage ready! I've got a circus leader coming to pick these boys up in just a few hours!" The old witch grinned and then let out a shrieking cackle.

She turned and hobbled towards the back of the shop as Merida took a large, decisive step backwards to rejoin her friends.

"Should we do something?" She whispered to them.

"I really don't want to get turned into bears." Hiccup replied.

"But it can't be right to just leave those guys as bears... Is it?" Merida nodded at the two bears that... well, they didn't look unhappy with their forms. One was napping, and the other was licking himself.

"I mean, they're bandits. Let's be honest. If we'd gotten here first, we would've argued over how it's not right for them to claim ownership of the beach, they would've disagreed, then we would've fought them, eventually win and turn them over to the police. They'd spent the better part of the rest of their lives in jail. At least like this they can spend their time in the circus. That sounds pretty fun, right?" Jack offered, his tone wavering back and forth as he tried to make it sound less terrible.

"Jack, that's terrible!" Rapunzel said.

"What? I'm just saying; she gets to enjoy her creepy witch powers, they don't go to jail, we don't get tied up in something that will lead to Another lecture from your parents and North and Eugene. This seems like a win-win situation all around." Jack tried to be reasonable.

"He does have a point! I mean, we generally do good things, but that doesn't mean our moral codes have to be perfect." Hiccup remarked, and Jack nudged Hiccup's arm with a grin.

"That's not funny!" Rapunzel retorted.

"It's a little funny. But you two have definitely spent way too much time with Snotlout and the twins." Merida amended. Rapunzel snorted and turned towards the witch, much to her friends' horror.

"Um, excuse me? Miss... Miss Witch-Carver?" Rapunzel said as politely as possible.

"Yes, dearie? Find something you like?" The witch turned, grinning enthusiastically at the thought a possible sale.

"Ahem, not exactly... I was just wondering; those two aren't going to be like that Forever... Are they?" Rapunzel cringed at the way her voice squeaked even in her own ears, and the witch raised one large eyebrow at her before cackling and waving her off.

"Oh, no! Of course not! This spell is only temporary! The circus leader owes me a pretty penny for a marvelous piece I gave to him two weeks ago. He promised to send the payment, but never did. I'm going to change these two back into blundering buffoons right before show time! That'll show that slimy circus man!" The witch grinned, and Rapunzel's arms hung at her sides. She had no idea how to respond to the old woman.

"So, what I'm hearing is, you already caught the bad guys trying to own the beach and we can go collect our own shells without the risk of becoming bears or being subject to strange witchy-revenge later down the line." Jack stated, looking back at Hiccup and Merida, who both nodded frantically.

"Aren't you a bit worried about what all of them will do after you cause such a big fiasco?" Rapunzel wondered.

"I'm a witch, dearie, not one of them is going to come around here again if they know what's good for them!" She said, whacking the cage bars with a broom to emphasize her point.

Rapunzel opened her mouth to continue, but Merida grabbed her arm and started pulling her out of the small shop as the bears growled and roared while the Witch shouted back at them angrily. Jack held the door open, and Hiccup gave a small wave.

"We'll just be going now. Thanks for all your help." He forced out a grin, but there was a grimace in his tone, and then the four quickly filed out of the shop onto the front porch, letting the door slam shut behind them.

They stood side by side there for a few moments, processing, until Jack finally broke the silence.

"Pretend that never happened?" He suggested.

"Agreed." The others immediately nodded and they hurried back up the street they had come from.

Collecting the shells from the beach and returning to a napping Toothless was a quick and easy affair. They arrived back at the castle with plenty of time for Rapunzel to make her paint and finish the flag for the Moon Kingdom, and she even convinced Eugene to talk his father into extending her invitation to include Jack, Merida, Hiccup, and Toothless. Though, that was only under the agreement that they remain with the group at all times and agree to have Cass and Varian watching them the whole time.

Rapunzel knew it was a bit of a stretch to promise that nothing happen, so she simply agreed that they wouldn't try to cause, or go looking for, any kind of trouble. Jack, Merida, and Hiccup had all agreed with varying degrees of less-than-enthusiastic, but were happy to be attending.

Later that week, when the festivities were coming to an end and Rapunzel had finally found a quiet moment alone with Eugene, he asked about what they'd gotten up to while he was away helping his father.

"I mean, knowing the four of you, I probably shouldn't be asking, but also I'm concerned because I wasn't there and Cass and Varian haven't taken a single one of my warnings seriously because they haven't Seen the sort of stuff you four get into!" Eugene was rambling a bit, and Rapunzel chuckled nervously as she rubbed her arm.

"Well... No one got arrested this time." Rapunzel offered.

"What kind of a response is that?!" Eugene blurted out, fear washing over his face.

"I mean, we may have come across a gang war between a witch and some bandits who tried taking over a small beach town and a circus leader, but we all agreed to walk away before things got weirder!" Rapunzel explained. "I think it was mostly because Hiccup and Jack didn't want to get turned into bears, and you know Merida's had her fair share of bear stories."

"Most people don't have Bear Stories." Eugene informed her with a rather dry look.

"I like to think that we're special." Rapunzel smiled, and Eugene sighed rubbing a hand down his face.

"You most definitely are." Eugene chuckled, smiling back at her. "And I'm going to go with my first instinct of 'I don't want to know'."

"That's probably for the best," Rapunzel said. "It wasn't the most eventful trip we've had anyways."

"Oh, yeah, sounds like it." Eugene agreed easily, and Rapunzel made a face at him for the sarcasm. They both laughed, but were cut off by a loud crashing noise from another room.

"IT WASN'T ME!" Jack's shout came after a few seconds of silence and Eugene sighed heavily, trudging off to find the others with Rapunzel close on his heels.

#rotbtd #the big four #mini adventure #rapunzel #jack frost #merida #hiccup #toothless #seashells #not a beach espisode #it's kinda random #humor #oneshot #writing #I cannot apologize enough

[minuteminx]

Revolutionary

Pairing: Preston Garvey/ Female Sole Survivor

Summary: In the aftermath of personal tragedies, Preston and Charlie both seek to make a difference in the Commonwealth and those around them. They could never anticipate the impact that they will have on eachother in the process.

Chapter Four: Sole Survivor

Chapter Summary:   Charlie tells Preston a long story. 

[First Chapter]

[Previous Chapter]

[AO3 Link]

“A bridge of silver wings stretches from the dead ashes of an unforgiving nightmare to the jeweled vision of a life started anew.”

― Aberjhani, Journey through the Power of the Rainbow: Quotations from a Life Made Out of Poetry

Sanctuary  Hills, October 2287

The trek out of Concord, and up the road to a place called Sanctuary Hills was largely silent and uneventful. Preston took point, and Charlie offered to hang back in case there were any straggling raiders who decided to follow. He wasn’t so sure that she was in any condition to watch the rear, but he wasn’t about to argue with the woman who’d just turned a deathclaw inside out. It was more than alarming to see the bloody massacre Charlie’s tangle with the deathclaw had caused up close and personal as they passed by. He was just glad she’d survived, and that he didn’t have to fight the damn thing.

On the way to their hopeful home, Sturges spotted a largely intact Red Rocket on the side of the road, stacked with old tires and filled with useless junk that Sturges would scrape up a use for. Jun and Marcy walked together in somber silence and Mama Murphy hobbled along in the back, arm looped through Charlie’s, whose open hand gripped a 10mm so tightly her knuckles turned white. She had a hell of a poker face, he’d give her that much.

Nearing the old neighborhood, a statue of a lone guardian stood tall, musket in hand, holding his centuries-old post at the bridge where the American Revolution began. It was almost like some weird omen, Preston thought, observing the Minuteman and then the bridge. Maybe Mama’s visions had some truth to them after all. He did not realize he’d mused out loud until Sturges’ hand clapped him on the back.

“I don’t know what the heck you’re talkin’ about boss, but I’m glad you’re happy.”

Preston laughed. “Thanks, man.”

Crossing Old North Bridge into their hopeful home seemed monumental, the group propelled forward by the potential of a place to finally rest. There were more than a handful of homes that still had enough structural integrity to be tidied and boarded up for use as shelters. It was bittersweet to see the remnants of picket fences, lawn furniture, and pink, plastic birds that dotted the landscape. Skeletons of old cars littered spots where garages might have been. Preston imagined what the area might have been like back before the war, pictured neighbors talking to one another from their yards, children playing together in the streets. It was a way of life he knew he’d never get to have.

Before long, Preston had done a sweep of the entire cul de sac, making sure there wasn’t anything dangerous lurking inside any buildings. All he found were several dead rad roaches and bloatflies, as well as a high-strung Mr. Handy robot that called itself Codsworth.  It kept attempting to scrub the rust off the paneling outside one of the homes, muttering something about making sure it was in “tip-top” shape for when its family returned. He wasn’t exactly sure what to do with the thing, so he just left it to clean aimlessly in hopes that it’d be someone else’s problem later.

“Hey boss,” Sturges called out to him, waving him overs to where the others had congregated near the mechanic’s makeshift workstation, lamplight flickering on their exhausted faces, “Check out what we found in one of the fridges.”

Preston walked over, catching a glimpse of the round face of Button Gwinnett on a cardboard case of Southie Stouts. “Damn, and here I thought we’d used up all our luck for the day.”

“I’d prefer Beantown,” Marcy said as she brought her bottle to her lips, and Preston caught the briefest flash of a grin wrinkling at the corners of her mouth.

“C’mon Marcy,” Jun interjected, nudging her shoulder, “You know that’s not true.”

“I’m a Gwinnett guy, but I’d probably drink anything wet with a kick right about now,” Preston said, grabbing one of the dark brown bottles and examining it more closely. It had been forever since he’d actually gotten to enjoy a drink, long before Qunicy, that was for sure. Just as he placed his hand on the cap to pop it off, there was a bump at the back of his legs. He startled and turned around to see Dogmeat peering up at him expectantly, whining and wagging his tail. Preston knelt down and gave him a scratch behind the ears. “You a Gwinnett guy, too, boy?”

The dog let out a stern bark that sounded like a correction, and then turned toward the house across the street before looking back at him. Following Dogmeat’s instruction, Preston glanced over at the house, where Charlie stood alone, frozen and staring vacantly inside as if she wanted to enter but couldn’t.  Without hesitation, he grabbed another bottle and headed toward her

He cleared his throat as he approached to make sure he didn’t startle her.  It was neither polite nor smart to spook a lady who was already pretty shaken up.  She darted her head toward him, scrubbing at her face as if he wouldn’t notice her tear-stained cheeks and swollen nose. He pretended not to, anyway, instead holding up the bottles in his hands and smiling. “Thought you could use a drink.”

She perked up at the sight of the drinks, tilting her head and squinting at the label. “Are those--? Oh wow.”

“Yeah,” Preston said, popping the cap off of one of the bottles and handing it to her, “Stouts are harder to come by than the other stuff.”

Charlie shook her head and examined the bottle, running her thumb up and down across the label. “No… it’s just.  I’m surprised there are still any left after you know--” she swallowed hard-- “the bombs.”

She sounded harrowed, as if the bombs had just fallen yesterday or something. Maybe she was just harrowed in general.  God knew she had every right to be.

“Me too,” Preston said, opening his own drink and taking a swig, lukewarm and bitter.  It hit the spot. “It’s kinda crazy, you know, what survived.

She took a sip, sad smile at the corners of her mouth. “Like the lawn flamingos? Such a testament to pre-war vanity.”

“Those damn birds,” Preston replied, nodding and laughing.  He’d never thought much about the lawn ornaments before, other than thinking they were ridiculous.

The air between them fell silent as Charlie stared down at her bottle, picking at the label with a polished thumbnail. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, but then closed it and sighed before glancing over at him. “Can I tell you something?  It’s going to sound really weird, but I’m going to lose my shit if I don’t talk to someone.”

“Is this that ‘long story’ you mentioned before?”

“Yeah.” Charlie walked toward the bright red door to the house in front of them, slightly ajar, knob and hinges specked with rust. She ran her hand along the wooden surface and took a deep breath.  “I used to live here.  In Sanctuary Hills.  In this house.”

“But,” Preston’s brows drew together, “That’s not possible.  This place hasn’t been settled since--”

“Before the bombs fell.” She spun back around to look at him, leaning back against the door frame. “I know.  That’s when I lived here.”

“Two-hundred and ten years ago?”

She nodded her head slowly. “2077.  I had the perfect life: a good career, the best husband, a beautiful baby boy, and a shiny new Mr. Handy unit that was much less neurotic than the one over there trying to clean the dirt off the ground.”

He blinked, attempting to figure out where he’d misheard the woman, because if he hadn’t then that would make her over two-hundred years old.  That couldn’t be possible, at least not without being a ghoul, although he wouldn’t mind if she could take Codsworth off his hands.  

Charlie frowned. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

“No, no,” Preston stammered out quickly,  “I believe you, but… how?”

“That might be a better question for Vault-Tec,” she remarked, looking down at her suit, “My husband and I signed up for a  spot, just as a precaution.  Nobody thought the Chinese military would actually drop those nukes. Not sure if it was arrogance or complacency, but either way, it happened.  My family and I were rushed to Vault 111 to shelter.  That’s all it was supposed to be: A shelter .”

“I’m guessing it wasn’t just a shelter?”

“No.” She laughed bitterly.  “They herded us, like lab rats, into these cryogenic chambers, and locked us in there.  Last thing I remembered before waking up was my limbs going numb and my vision going dark.”

“Damn.” Preston was stuck somewhere between horror and amazement.  “Did anyone else make it out with you?”

“No.”  Her answer was abrupt, eyes welling up visibly and he immediately felt bad for asking. “When I woke up, there were these people in weird lab coats and a man with this scar--” She traced a line with her little finger, vertically from her eyebrow down to her cheek-- “He opened up my husband’s chamber and took my baby.  Nate fought, but… they shot him.  After that, I think everyone else’s life support failed.  A whole damn town, and I’m the only one who survived.”

“I’m… so sorry.”  He didn’t know what else to say.  He knew how it felt, to be a sole survivor of a terrible tragedy, but he couldn’t bring up Quincy, even if it was just to show her he understood.  “If there’s anything I can do, or that the Minutemen can do…”

“I think the Minutemen have their own problems at the moment, hmm?”  She smirked, eyes twinkling with humor despite the tears.

Preston looked around and chuckled in exasperation. “Well, considering that I’m the only one left, I’d say yes. We have so many problems.  That doesn’t change the fact that I owe you.”

Charlie tilted her head back and finished off the rest of her stout, then looked decisively at Preston.  “You’re not the only one.”

“Pardon?”

“I never thought I’d get to say this in my lifetime, outside the context of some weird historical play, but... I’m joining the Minutemen.” She tossed her bottle to the ground. “I don’t have any survival skills, I couldn’t shoot dead fish in a barrell, and I’m a bit traumatized, but I figure it’s still better than nothing.”

“Are you serious?”  Preston could barely contain his excitement.  He didn’t care if he had to spend months teaching her how to shoot or get by in the Commonwealth.  He’d been without help for so long now, he would be glad to not be alone.

“I know it’s hard to believe that anyone could be that bad of a shot, but--”

“No, Charlie,” he interrupted, “Are you serious about joining up?”

Charlie grinned, playfully. “Hell yeah.”

“That’s... well.  Let’s just say that’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time.”

If Preston were a hugger, and if he’d known her longer than a few hours, he would have embraced the woman.  Maybe it wasn’t just the jet.  Maybe Mama Murphy was right all along.

#fallout 4 #preston garvey x sole survivor #preston garvey x f!sole survivor #preston garvey #charlie smart #my writing #longfic

[mountphoenixrp]

We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

                       Han Sumin, who is known by no other name,                                   a 25 year old daughter of Skuld.                                She is a stock clerk at Siren’s Song.

FC NAME/GROUP: Park Chaeyoung - Rosé/Blackpink CHARACTER NAME: Han Sumin AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 09/03/1995 PLACE OF BIRTH: Outskirts of Incheon OCCUPATION: Stock clerk at Siren’s Song HEIGHT: 1.68 cm WEIGHT: 46 kg DEFINING FEATURES: beauty mark near the lower lip

PERSONALITY: She is a messy book, filled with half read sentences, marked up paragraphs, folded corners and empty pages. She doesn’t let people in, only a few have trickled deep within the small gaps between the pages, and somehow the book opens up a little and she gives them a chapter. She feels with a terrible intensity. Too many vowels in her mouth, too many crumpled up pages in her pockets. Her mouth twisted into rivers, pouring into too many oceans at once. At times, she says quite a lot and nothing at all. She always takes too little and gives too much. Reaches for anything, finding joy in the most rare of places. Comes and goes, disappears like mist rising in the sky. Maybe she is a liminal space. An in-between. A gas station on a longer journey. Blurry, dreamlike. A threshold. An exhilarating parenthesis. She is simply someone searching for — a phrase, a light, a fire. The signs along the way

HISTORY:

i.

Han Sumin comes to the world quietly. Her chest does not heave. How long can one live without oxygen? She is declared a stillborn the moment she gets pulled from the womb. It is better that way. Don’t get your hopes up.

Her father used to pray before supper when he was a child.  He hasn’t in years, he is a grown man see, he does not truly believe in any deity, but one does not necessarily need to believe to beg the universe for favors.

Miracles don’t just happen.

Miracles, by definition, should not exist at all. and yet, they do.

ii.

Before  she can understand the concept of fear, they move to a country house. They have all the necessities of suburban living; picket fence, marble counters, two stories and the whole jazz. During the winter, her father  stack the fireplace with finely chopped wood, and light it on fire. He  doesn’t allow her to sit near.

When she is four, she finds a white  kitty tangled in the rose bushes and brings it inside. her father  disapproves, but helps her wash it anyway. In some awful way, it reminds him of Sumin. They decide to keep it. When she is five, the summer before school starts, she does what any child her age would; misbehaves. The cat has grown thicker and bigger, and it no longer wishes to play with her in the same manner as before, but that doesn’t mean she won’t try. She chases it around the yard with a spray bottle full of water, merrily  unaware that her actions have consequences. It jumps over the fence in one go. Cats are curious like that.

Memories are like fabric. With time, their color washes away. With even more time, they tear in tiny sections, with holes you can never possibly stitch. She doesn’t remember how she got there. She remembers  engine grease and heavy smoke, a big man holding her accountable with an even bigger tone. “You could have died!” Her kitty is hiding in the underbrush. It is not white anymore. When she reaches out to curl her fingers in its soft fur, they come back sticky with red and goo.

Crying  she tells her father she saw it coming, mentions the way the image came to her over and over again every time she touched the cat weeks before it happened. Her father does not know what to make of it. They bury the cat on their backyard.

Turns out, cats do not have nine lives. They only have one.

iii.

Her life is a series of newspaper clippings stuck in the tragedy section.

Teenager crashes car, saving her own father from getting run over. Teen gets robbed during late night bus ride. Family miraculously survives devastating fire.

She never tells anyone of the things she sees when her fingers come in contact with skin. Images flash by at breakneck speed always illogical and always true.

“It’s coincidence,” she lies to herself each time a premonition comes true, “Just pure fucking coincidence.”

She sees old lady Park’s death weeks before it even happens. Watches her fall into the lake, calling out for help as the life leaves her body. She knows the boy who helps her father will get arrested for burglary far before he commits his crime. She sees entirely too much and never breathes a word of any of it to anyone anymore, never willing to intervene for when she does it leaves a hole, her colors fade. She’s learned that their fate is their own. Her fate is her own.

Sumin takes odd jobs to help her father, handing out fliers, being the mascot for a local restaurant, birthday and festival gigs, a wealthy man’s lap when she’s desperate. It’s all a means to an end.

She doesn’t say much from behind the window as she watches droplets of rain hit the glass with a ‘tap’ and by now she knows better than to light all the dark rooms in her house. No one ever had to tell her anything, she always managed to catch snippets of what was going to happen, yet the sight of her father crying as he was given his diagnosis was something unfamiliar to her, something she would never forget.

This time, there wasn’t much she could do.

How often do we wear smiles that hurt, smiles that tell us we have endured too long? Sumin feels heavy and the worst thing is, she knows the weather of departure; the humid air, the rain pouring announcing that winter is near.

iv.

Between gigs, she takes a trip to the tarot shop for a reading. It costs her a coffee but she feels vindicated when the first card she touches is death upright.

New beginnings and change, the woman at the helm assures her, and maybe she should be more embarrassed that it takes a woman in a dusty robe and tacky jewelry to make her realize that she is special, that within her lies a gift and a curse. She tells her of a place, where lost souls with unusual gifts, like hers, can live freely.

And so she roams the island, unsure of what she’s looking for, but sure enough that she will find it.

PANTHEON: Norse CHILD OF: Skuld POWERS: Can see fragments of people’s future upon physical contact. If she dare change someone’s fate, she loses parts of her memory if she succeeds in doing so. STRENGTHS: Charming, creative, dedicated, hard-working, open-minded, laid-back. WEAKNESSES: Blunt, uncaring, stubborn, unpredictable, secretive.

#kpop rp #krp #blackpink #park chaeyoung #roseanne park #blackpink rose #mp; welcome

[calumcest]

there’s no time for running away now

so me exposing myself: yes i write fics that i never post. here is one of them that i’m pretty sure i wrote while completely out of my fucking mind at like 2am and have not re-read or edited so? absolutely cannot guarantee the quality of this fic in any way shape or form please do not hold me accountable for any of its content. unless you like it in which case please do hold me accountable because i require at least 3 doses of validation a day to survive. also this fic was literally me coming up with the final line and then writing 2.4k just to have a reason to have it

It’s three a.m., and Ashton’s awake. 

On the surface, that might not appear to be a problem. And ordinarily, it wouldn’t be - ordinarily, Ashton would either roll over groggily, will sleep to come with every fibre of his being and maybe a quick prayer or two, or read something mind-numbingly boring like his urgent work emails to send him back to sleep. This, however, isn’t the most ordinary situation. 

Ashton is awake because of Luke. 

And, okay, that’s a bit of an unfair characterisation. It’s actually Ashton’s racing thoughts keeping him up, but since Luke’s the focus of said thoughts swirling in a huge cluster through Ashton’s mind, overlapping and interlocking so Ashton can’t pick them apart from the love love love that’s threading through them all, he’s going to blame it on Luke. And it’s not exactly Ashton’s fault he’s in love with Luke, is it? He’d challenge anyone to spend years crammed in tight spaces with Luke Hemmings and not fall in love with him. 

(Michael and Calum don’t count, obviously. Ashton’s never seen two people so blinkered by love in his life, and he’s equal parts envious of their deep, easy love and grateful that they’re not his competition. He’s not sure he could take on Calum’s thoughtfulness if it came down to it.) 

The real problem is that Ashton’s alone. They’re in a hotel, some shitty place in northern England that Ashton can’t even remember the name of, but they’d all been so ecstatic to find out that they had a room each (each!) that they hadn’t been able to bring themselves to care. They’d all hopped straight in the shower, washing off three days’ worth of sweat and grime, and then one by one dropped out of the group chat (Ashton had heard Calum’s door clicking open and shut, muted footsteps and muffled voices), until Ashton thought he was the only one left awake. 

When Ashton’s squashed in a tour bus with God knows how many other six-foot-something men in their twenties, there’s nothing he wishes for more than a moment to himself. He sneaks the moments in when he can - a few minutes backstage, a few moments on the bus in the morning before anyone else has woken up, before Luke comes padding in with bleary eyes and a sleepy smile that makes Ashton’s stomach flip - but it’s never more than ten minutes, never enough time to feel the solitude. Now, though, he’s got nothing to do besides let the seclusion envelop him, listen to the silence and his tinnitus and let the ringing infiltrate his thoughts. 

It’s been so long since Ashton’s been on his own, really been on his own - usually on hotel nights, he’s so exhausted and grateful for a proper bed he falls asleep fully-dressed and wakes up disoriented - that he’s kind of forgotten what it’s like. He’s forgotten the way that his thoughts start to squirm around in his mind, all clamouring for his attention, one following the other in such rapid succession that Ashton barely has the time to process them before the next one is already gripping him by the throat and forcing him to look at it. He’s forgotten how fucking overwhelming it is, how it makes his breath catch in his throat, his stomach churn, thinking himself in spirals that he can’t think himself out of. 

The fact that Luke’s next door isn’t exactly helping matters. The hotel walls seem to be a product of a scientific experiment into creating materials that are one atom thick, so Ashton can hear every move Luke makes. He heard it when Luke padded into the bathroom for a shower, when Luke ambled over to the desk, heard the entirety of the news that Luke had on for about twenty minutes (apparently the Queen’s giving a speech tomorrow, and the EU are looking to pass a law about interest rates). He heard it when Luke got changed, heard his fucking jeans drop to the floor, heard him tossing and turning trying to get comfortable on the lumpy mattress. He can hear every creak of Luke’s bed, can almost make out Luke’s deep breathing if he really strains his ears, and it’s making it impossible not to think about him. Not that Ashton’s particularly good at ever not thinking about Luke. Luke Hemmings is definitely the majority shareholder of Ashton’s mind. 

Now, though, at three in the morning, in a shitty hotel room in God knows where, a country that isn’t home and never will be, on his own with nobody there to ground him, it feels frightening, more overwhelming than Ashton could ever put into words. He’s so in love with Luke, so fucking in love with Luke, and it puts everything on a knife’s edge. His sanity, his friendship with Luke, his career - everything’s on the line because Ashton can’t say no to those baby blues.

At half-past, when Luke rolls over in bed and makes a little noise of contentment, duvet rustling as he moves, Ashton breaks. 

“Wha’?” Michael says groggily when he picks up, sounding too sleepy to be annoyed. 

“Are you awake?” Ashton says, as quietly as possible, gnawing at his lip. 

“No,” Michael says, and then the line cuts out. Ashton hates him. 

“Are you up?” Ashton asks, when Michael picks up again, on the first ring. 

“Am now, dickhead,” Michael grunts. “‘s up?” 

“Luke.” There’s a pause, then a rustling sound and quiet footsteps, and then the sound of a door locking. 

“Ash, it’s three thirty in the fucking morning,” Michael says, and his voice echoes strangely, bouncing off the walls of what Ashton can only suppose is his en-suite, but it’s soft, understanding. He knows why Ashton’s still up, why he’s getting a call from across the hall at three-thirty in the morning. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says, hoping Michael understands yeah, that’s why I’m this fucked up. Everything feels worse at night, when Ashton doesn’t have the bright light of day to convince himself that it’s not that bad, he’s not going to fuck everything up that badly. Michael sighs, and it’s tinny and a little staticky, and Ashton’s suddenly struck with the thought that Michael’s voice is being beamed up to a satellite thousands of miles away before being sent back to Ashton, even though he’s about five strides away. It makes him feel a little sick, that level of removal between the two of them. Michael’s a few metres and yet thousands of miles away. 

“Ash,” he says gently, which is never a good sign from Michael. “You’ve got to stop torturing yourself like this.” Ashton bites at his thumbnail. 

“‘m not torturing myself,” he mumbles. 

“Oh?” Michael says, a note of scepticism in his voice. “You’re not lying in bed at three-thirty in the fucking morning thinking about how in love you are with Luke, convincing yourself you’re going to fuck everything up because of it?” Ashton hesitates. 

“Fuck you,” he says eventually, and Michael doesn’t even retort, just sighs again, heavy and sad. 

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” he says. 

“You’re not seeing me,” Ashton says, a little childishly. 

“You know what I mean.” Ashton does, and he hates it. It adds a sheen of guilt to all the other confusing emotions bubbling through him, that Michael’s got to deal with this, got to walk the tightrope of being between his two best friends. 

“Sorry,” Ashton says, a little too meekly. 

“Don’t,” Michael says sternly. “You’ve got to do something about it, Ash. You can’t spend the rest of your life stuck in perpetual limbo.” Ashton tears at a hangnail, relishing the way it stings when he rips it. 

“Do what?” Ashton says. “‘s not like I can tell him. Could fuck everything up.” He hesitates, and then adds: “Could fuck your life up.” 

“You think that matters more to me than your happiness?” Michael says, sounding genuinely incredulous, and Ashton loves him, absolutely fucking loves him, and absolutely doesn’t deserve him. 

“I love you,” he tells Michael, who snorts, the sound echoing strangely in the bathroom. 

“You’d better,” he says, but it’s fond. “C’mon, Ash, you’ve got to talk to him at some point. What the fuck else are you going to do? Sit around and wait for Luke to get married and have two-point-five kids?” Ashton blinks up at the ceiling, stomach churning at the thought of Luke with a faceless spouse and a white picket fence. 

“Maybe,” he says, counting the stains on the white paint to give him something else to think about. “Doesn’t sound like the worst plan in the world.” 

“No, Ash, it does,” Michael’s tinny voice tells him. “Christ. You’re such a fucking emotional masochist.” Ashton sighs, and casts his gaze down to the hem of his shirt, picking at a loose thread.

“What the fuck would I even say?” he says. It’s not like he’s never envisioned it; a grand declaration of love - always returned by Luke, of course - but in his fantasies, it’s a certainty that Luke’s going to feel the same way, so there’s none of that gut-wrenching, stomach-rolling uncertainty, no bile rising in his throat, no clammy hands and dry mouth. 

“The truth?” Michael suggests. Ashton rolls his eyes. 

“Mike, I can’t just waltz up to Luke and tell him I’m in love with him,” he says.

“Worked for me,” Michael says, and Ashton can almost hear him shrugging. 

“That’s different,” Ashton says, because it is. Michael’s not a massive fucking overthinker. 

“Is it?” Michael says, a little shrewdly. “I didn’t know if Calum felt the same way. But what else was I gonna do, wait around the rest of my life wasting my time on him? I needed closure either way. Would’ve spent the rest of my life making myself miserable living off hope otherwise.” Ashton knows he’s right, knows from the way his stomach sinks and his heart speeds up, but hates it, wants to rationalise why he doesn’t need to tell Luke, why he shouldn’t. “You’re overthinking it,” Michael says into the silence, like he knows exactly what’s going through Ashton’s mind right now, and Ashton scowls. 

“Right, fuck me for overthinking something that could end my career,” he hisses, gripping the phone tighter than necessary because his hands are a little cold and clammy now at the thought of having to actually stand in front of Luke and say the words I’m in love with you. 

“You’re such a fucking drama queen,” Michael says, tutting. 

“Are you insane?” Ashton demands, incensed, and this is good, this is safe. He can redirect all the discomfort and anxiety into righteous anger; he can handle that. That’s well-worn territory with him and Michael. 

“I’m not doing this, Ash,” Michael says sensibly, because he knows Ashton far too well for Ashton’s liking. “You can’t keep running from your feelings the minute they get too heavy for you to bear. ‘S never gonna get any better if you’re not letting yourself process it. It doesn’t go away on its own.” 

“I know,” Ashton says hopelessly, because he does, and it’s what he’s been trying to run from. He knows he can’t live in this limbo forever, but he can’t bring himself to take a step in either direction. “Fuck, Michael. I don’t know if I can do it.” 

“You can,” Michael says, gentle, encouraging. 

“It’d fuck everything up,” Ashton says. 

“It won’t,” Michael says. “You’re both mature adults.” He pauses, and Ashton knows they’re thinking the same thing, and then he adds: “Okay, well. You’re a mature adult. I’ll drag Luke into maturity kicking and screaming.” Ashton can’t help but huff out a laugh at that, chest warming as he hears the meaning behind what Michael’s saying - I’ll fight your corner. I’ve got your back. 

“What if he doesn’t feel the same?” Ashton says, biting his lip. 

“Then at least you know,” Michael says. “And you can start moving on.” Ashton swallows, ignoring the pain of the lump in his throat. 

“I don’t want to,” he says, and it comes out a little strangled. 

“I know,” Michael says. Ashton waits for something else, for him to justify it, but there’s just staticky silence from Michael’s end of the line. 

“That’s it?” 

“What, you want a deep, motivational speech as to why you should tell him?” Michael says. “I’m not going to give you that, Ash. Do it or don’t, it’s up to you. But you’ll never be able to rest, never have your mind to yourself, until you do it.” Ashton exhales shakily. 

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice cracks, because God, it’s fucking terrifying, thinking that he might have to face Luke and say the words I’m in love with you in order to get his own sanity back. “You’re right.” 

“I know,” Michael says, and Ashton huffs out a laugh to cover the flutters of panic in his chest. “Can I go back to sleep now?” Ashton blinks, and nods. 

“Yeah,” he says again, voice a little steadier this time. “Sorry.” 

“‘S okay,” Michael says through a yawn, and Ashton has to stifle a yawn of his own. Christ, he’s actually fucking drained. Overthinking should qualify as a sport. “Love you. Not as much as I love Calum, though.” 

“Arsehole,” Ashton says, rolling his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Love you too. But not as much as I love Luke.” 

“I’d fucking hope not,” Michael says. “Don’t want you to be fantasising about fucking me.” Ashton wrinkles his nose. 

“I don’t want to fantasise about that either,” he says. 

“So don’t.” 

“I won’t.” 

“Good,” Michael says, stifling a yawn. “Don’t fantasise about Calum, either.” 

“Why the fuck would I fantasise about Calum?” Ashton wants to know. 

“Hey,” Michael says, sounding a little affronted. “What the fuck are you trying to say?” 

“I’m saying neither you nor Calum are exactly at the top of my fantasy list when Luke’s right there,” Ashton says. 

“That’s fucking rude,” Michael tells him. 

“What the fuck? You just told me-” 

"Yeah, but on principle you should want to fantasise about us,” Michael interrupts. “You just aren’t allowed.” Ashton rolls his eyes. 

“I’m not fantasising about anyone except Luke,” he says. 

“I don’t want to know that.” Jesus Christ. Michael’s fucking impossible. 

“Go to fucking sleep,” Ashton says, because arguing with Michael is a waste of time on the best of days, let alone at four in the fucking morning. 

“I’ve been trying,” Michael says, and there’s rustling sounds as he gets to his feet. “Night, Ashton. Love you.”

“Night,” Ashton says, but Michael’s already hung up. 

He plugs his phone in and rolls back over in bed, the emotional exhaustion starting to kick in, and he closes his eyes, ready to fall asleep, when from Luke’s room he hears a very, very clear-

“Night, Ash.” 

Fuck. 

taglist: @sadistmichael @callmeboatboy @clumsyclifford @angel-cal @tirednotflirting @cthofficial @tigerteeff @haikucal @queer-5sos @i-am-wierd-always @stupidfukimgspam @bloodyoathcal

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#lashton #5sos fic #5sos fanfic #5sos fanfiction #5sos slash #thats probably the sneakiest britpop title i could possibly come up with #i'm actually dead proud of myself for that one #dithered about whether to put the line before in or not #but hopefully no one will read these tags and realise its britpop #lets be honest with ourselves am i going to post something with ZERO britpop references rn? #actually yes i am bc i did that with soulmate au #god my brand...who am i? letting the fucking team down #yes i've literally spent the entire time since answering that ask searching for a sneaky britpop lyric to put as the title #could have written a fkn sequel in that time but oh well! #i wonder if anyone actually reads these tags and is like bloody hell...glad i'm not in her brain #my tags are literally such an insight into how my mind works. or doesnt <3

[hmel78]

In conversation with Raphael Doyle ...

A few weeks ago my attention was drawn to a video in which Tom Robinson [Tom Robinson Band / presenter on BBC radio] spoke about a project he’s working on with his old friend, Raphael Doyle. Now, Crowd Funding has become the ‘in thing’ and many people pay it no mind, but this pledge was different. And why? Because there’s real a story behind it - This is not just about a band expecting their fans to donate money in return for a signed photo, or a cheesy ringtone, thus ensuring  the next album is made. From what I’ve heard, the album is going to be something special musically - but not only that, this album is a genuine work of LOVE; not for profit. but for the sake of creativity, for the music ; it’s about old friends, and new, coming together to be a part of Raphael’s album - And they’re against the clock  (for more than one reason) which makes it all the more compelling. I was, of course, interested to know more about Raphael, who along with Tom Robinson and Hereward Kaye in the late 1960’s, formed the trio ‘Cafe Society’.

I should imagine you’re already familiar with Tom, and perhaps Hereward too [from his days with The Flying Pickets], but Raphael has clearly managed to remain off the radar - until now! Born in Northern Ireland, Raphael absconded to England when he was 15 - An unconventional teenager, but a keen songwriter and poet - he found himself at Finchden Manor in Kent, before carving a career, one way or another, in music. ‘Cafe Society’ enjoyed a relative amount of success but it was short lived, and following the break up of the band in 1976, Raphael’s  biography states that he was, at that time “Painfully short on confidence and increasingly dependent on drink”. By the time he was 19 Raphael had already married Rose. Over 40 years later, through thick and thin, and with a clan of four children, they’re still going strong! When I first spoke to him he was telling me about his return to living in the North East of England, having been lucky enough to buy back the very same house he and Rose had lived in as a young couple ; add to that his return to making music, and it would seem that there are many aspects of his life that are coming ‘full circle’.   “Never Closer” is the title of the album - Raphael sings us through a number of extraordinary tracks inspired by “a messy life encompassing darkness and recovery pain and love”,  but at the end of it all, quite contentedly  concludes - “The whole journey has definitely been worth it” ... You can keep up with Raphael’s story, and the pledge campaign, as it unfolds via his website and social media, but in the meantime, we thought we’d attempt to extract some more of his memories about those early days as a musician.

HR : If you’re open to talking about it Raphael, I’d like to go back to 1968 - to Finchden Manor**, where you met up with Tom Robinson - what was life like there?

Raphael Doyle : Well, I was 15 when I arrived at Finchden. I'd come from Northern Ireland where I'd had unhappy fallings out with a couple of schools.  I was clashing with the conservative, Catholic environment of my upbringing, and I was a fledgling hippy in the world that didn't like that. Finchden was like another world entirely - suddenly you found yourself somewhere where you weren't in the wrong all the time - where you could be yourself. It was very unstructured. Your time was your own.

HR : Were you encouraged to be creative?

RD : It wasn't so much that you were encouraged to be creative, but more that you were given the space to be yourself. So some people got into making things, some got into gardening, lots of us spent a lot of time talking. And there was a great spilling out of creativity, whether music, art, pottery, poetry. Whatever people had in them. Just in the time that I was there, there was Matthew Collings scribbling away amazing cartoon-like drawings, who has gone on to become a very highly regarded artist and art critic. There was Mike Medora who was playing searing blues guitar and he went on to do the festival circuit with Global Village Trucking company. There was Danny Kustow, still a much loved guitarist, who became famous beside Tom Robinson in TRB. There was the amazing and eccentric Robert Godfrey who went off to form the Enid, a legendary prog rock band, and he took with him a bunch of other boys, notably Francis Lickerish, another brilliant guitarist and multi-instrumentalist. And there was Tom and me, writing songs, putting groups together- and I guess we were encouraged, yes. We used to be brought out to play to visitors… I remember us being taken off on long journeys in George Lyward- the founder -in his old car to visit Lord and Lady somebody or other in a mansion, and he would give a fundraising talk, and Tom and I would sing a couple songs, and then wander outside where we chanced upon this old guy in ancient corduroys tending a rhubarb patch, who turned out to be the Lord himself. Very PG Wodehouse!

HR : Actually it sounds like fun,  despite being a difficult time ... There’s a great quote from Hereward [Kaye] about your songwriting, he says “The lyrics were all his own and smelt of trouble. How I longed to be deeply troubled like him!”     What was it about music, and songwriting that engaged you? Is it fair to say that without music, you may have strayed onto a very different path?

RD : Well, Hereward was right. I was a troubled young man. We all were at Finchden. But even before I went there, back in Northern Ireland, music and writing had become my escape valve. I came from a little seaside town, and a Scottish wild card called Colvin Hamilton took over the swimming pool cafe and turned it into a venue -  The Scene  - and he would bring down bands from Belfast. This was at the height of the early 60s R&B boom. ‘Van Morrison’ and ‘Them’ were the big name. I was too young to be let in but I'd spend the weekend nights with my ear pressed to the blacked out plate glass window, listening to that raw, rough earthy music. And at home, and in friends’ houses, I was listening to Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Nina Simone, Ray Charles, Buddy Guy, Robert Johnson, John Mayalls blues breakers ... So Music was already my landscape. It didn't stop me getting into trouble though!  So it was arriving at Finchden, having a place of respite , the chance to heal and grow, and there to get together with Tom and start honing my musical instincts - that's where my direction became set. I became a musician at Finchden.

HR : It was Tom who introduced you to Hereward, in Middlesborough - what happened in the interim before you eventually moved to London and formed ‘Cafe Society’?

RD : Tom's family were living in the north-east and I went up there with him for a holiday. A neighbour of his decided to introduce us to some other arty young folk she knew of from Middlesbrough, and that's where Hereward came in. We just clicked - it wasn't so usual then to meet others passionately into writing and making music. Hereward in Teesside and Tom and I in Kent would make reel to reel revox recordings of each new song and post them to each other, then when we'd meet 2 or 3 times a year and we'd have long sessions playing the songs to each other and trying out harmonies. So then when we finally got together in London it was natural to get into a bedroom or a cellar and just spend hours playing and arranging and practicing.... We were buzzing on it.

HR : From what I’ve read, many people were buzzing about it, including Alexis Korner. You had a really strong connection to him - how did that come about?

RD : Alexis had been at Finchden in his youth - he was an 'old boy'. While we were there his daughter Sappho stayed for a while ... I remember Alexis and Sappho singing the country blues song “Trouble In Mind” together. This was when Tom and I would be wheeled out to play for visitors and there were some powerful times when Alexis and us would play in a packed Oak Room to visitors and wild eyed disturbed adolescents ... So Alexis got to know us and became something of a mentor. HR : Alexis was really big on the music scene, especially with  ‘Blues Incorporated’ - how connected  were you to all of that?  

RD : I remember staying at his place in Queensway and meeting John Mayall - I was a bit dumbstruck. It wasn't that long before that I'd been standing in the dark in a blues club in Belfast watching the ‘Blues Breakers’ with John Mayall and the new guitarist Peter Green playing stunning music, and here was the man standing before me. I don't know what I mumbled but I think it was embarrassing. Another time I was sitting in Alexis' front room with Andy Fraser who was someone Tom and I both loved very much. We'd been to see ‘Free’ at the Redcar Jazz club - the place of been jampacked and heaving and the band were incredible. And here was Andy talking to Alexis about what to do now Free had broken up. He put together a band called Toby. A little while later Hereward and I nicked his drummer Stan Speake, for the band we were putting together while we were waiting for Tom to come to London.

HR : So when Tom arrived, and ‘Cafe Society’ formed properly, what attracted you to the folk scene above any of the others?

RD : We didn't really choose the folk scene. It was just that we were three guys with acoustic guitars, a focus on harmonies, writing our own songs. In those days you either put together a band and played places like the hundred club, or you went to the booming folk circuit. So we began there ...

HR : You landed a residency, as a 3 piece, at The Troubadour coffee house - what do you remember about those first performances?

RD : As far as I remember we had a residency at Bunjies first. We were playing around a lot of clubs- The Rising Sun in Tottenham Court road was a good one. But the Troubadour had the cachet; it had a more serious reputation. We used to go down there and do floor spots on other people's nights and gradually we were building up a following. So then we got a night of our own-Tuesday nights.   It was a wonderful time, a very atmospheric place to try out new songs, to practice our harmonies. We had a captive audience in a little space and it became a shared experience. I think we had a very distinctive blend.   Tom was serious about the nuts and bolts of arrangements and song structure. Hereward was a showman, flamboyant in his songs and performance, and I would escape into the music and let my soul pour out. It made for a dynamic blend. And we were all fans, we all loved music, for us the people we listened to were our heroes and we wanted to join them. HR : And it wasn’t long before you did, was it? RD : No - By now we were trying to get a deal. That was the big Next step in those days. First you build up a bit of a following, then you got management, then you got a deal. We got a manager. Hereward knew John McCoy who ran music venues in and around Middlesbrough where he came from. John went on to become Chris Rea's manager and got him signed and started on his career. We used to go up and play at the Kirk, the most happening club on Teesside at the time, which John owned and ran. He listened to our stuff and wasn't quite sure what to make of it but he agreed to manage us, and one thing led to another and it resulted in Ray Davies of ‘The Kinks’ coming down to the troubadour to check us out. It was the same night Alexis was headlining for us so there was a real buzz in the air. Ray did a bit of a floor spot with us standing alongside not quite able to believe what was happening. Ray saw something in us, I think, that chimed with his own sense of song. He signed us up to his new indie label Konk -the first one in the country-and he himself produced our first album.

HR : Presumably that opened a few doors?

RD : Sure. From playing the London folk clubs, suddenly we were getting support act slots on national tours. We supported ‘The Kinks’ a whole bunch of times,  which was a bit odd because we were this very well mannered acoustic trio in the middle of the stage set up for this raucous pop rock band and the audiences were kind of looking for a good time. But we went down surprisingly well on those tours.  HR : Didn’t you also open for Barclay James Harvest? RD : Yes -That was a bit weird because they were a full blown prog rock band with colours and smoke and atmospherics and everyone took the whole thing very seriously!   I think for some of them a support band was just a necessary evil so we felt a bit sidelined. But luckily a lot of their audiences were the listening kind and enjoyed what we did. Also I have to say that Woolly Wolstenholme was a really sweet guy and he was always very encouraging and would make time for us. We learned a great deal on all of those shows. Sometimes it's when you're not doing your own show, but having to make your mark in someone else's, that you can learn most about holding true to yourself and standing firm as a performer. Then I remember we did the Alan Hull solo album tour. Alan was big at that point as the singer songwriter of Lindisfarne so it was a much better match for us as an acoustic trio. He did the whole tour solo and the audiences were great for us.  Mind you the dressing room was a place to be .... A parade of beautiful people hobnobbing with the latest thing ... Eh, that'd be him, not us!

HR : So as things progressed, and you were having this amount of success as a trio, what prompted you to add more members and form a ‘proper’ band, changing the dynamic, and presumably the sound?

RD : Well, as I said, we weren't really a folk group. We did love people like Neil Young,  Paul Simon, Dylan... We used to finish with a James Taylor song “Lo and behold” . Tom always really liked Richard Thompson. I remember at The Troubadour we used to sing the Fairport song 'Meet on the Ledge'. But really our folk credentials were accidental. We always saw ourselves as a band. Hereward and I had both been in blues bands, and played the raunchier end of R&B pop. Tom's musical interests ranged really widely. He was a big fan of early ‘Manfred Mann’. He and I were besotted with ‘The Band’, “Music from Big Pink”. So really we were just waiting for the chance to expand and go electric - unfortunately it happened just as Ray Davies was making the first album with us. He signed an acoustic trio, but while Ray was supervising recording us at Konk, a process in which we didn't feel we had much say, we were off down the road when not needed in the studio, doing our own demos in a little place in Holloway with a drummer and a bass player and a keyboard player. We abandoned the folk circuit and started to play the pub scene. The Golden Lion in Fulham, The Three Kings in North End Road where the unknown Elvis Costello was forcing himself on the attentions of a bemused audience! Upstairs at Ronnie Scott's. There was a new buzz around and we wanted to spread our wings. So with one thing and another the Konk relationship fizzled out.

HR : ‘Cafe Society’ were dubbed band of the year by Sounds magazine in 1976, but the same year saw  the arrival of ‘The Sex Pistols’ and a whole new scene - what impact did Punk have on you and the rest of the band?

RD : We had built up an expanded following as a band and it felt like we had lots to do. But Ray Davies brought in a production team to work on our second album, who were nice guys but they were not about new music. We were trying to make a go of it with them, and Hereward and I were both newly married and putting a lot of time into that side of things - so the impact of punk, for me at least, Was Tom turning up one night to visit me and sitting down in the front room and telling me how he had been going to the hundred club and seeing  this group - ‘The Sex Pistols’ - and that everything was changing. Tom was going out nights and seeing them and ‘The Clash’, the new bands, and he knew that the album we were recording was redundant.   And he did the right thing. He went off and he dived into the deep end of this new wave. A few short months later Hereward and I were standing at the back of the Lyceum on the Strand looking in disbelief at this mass of thousands of people all with their backs to us, Facing forwards, arms raised and yelling to the rafters for TRB. We didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I think we did both, but very proudly.

HR : It seems at that point, Tom was destined to go a different route - did you and Hereward plan to continue?

RD : When Tom announced he was leaving I didn't want, for myself, to carry on. But Hereward really wanted us to finish the album, which was looking more of a Hereward album anyway. So we continued. But it was without any real sense of ownership or involvement or hope. Really, it was over when Tom left.

HR : What direction did you take musically after the band broke up for good?

RD : I put together a band doing mostly my songs and some of my favourites. There was still a healthy pub rock circuit in London and we were playing places like the golden lion in Fulham and the Stapleton near Crouch end where the Jam were making their mark. There was a buzz - EMI were interested. Robert Plant came down to check us out. But the truth is my confidence was in bits ... I would be sick and need a drink before going on. I couldn't handle the business side - promoters, A&R men. Aargh. It freaks me out just remembering it. You either have the balls to be a good self promoter or you don't. I didn't. I carried on writing songs and playing in many different settings - clubs, in pubs, in schools, and made a couple of albums with a  gospel rock band in England and in the states. Later I returned to the blues with an old friend Paul Davey on guitar. I always loved Paul's playing and he has a quality to him which is very authentic. He is not flashy, he's like The early Peter Green I saw all those years ago in Belfast. But essentially I think I'm still what you might call a soul/folk singer. I love to make contemporary music that is now on the surface, but plunging deep into the timeless in the feel

HR : Some 40 years later there seem to be a lot of things that are coming full circle in your life ... in music particularly ...

RD : Yeah - Really when I look back my life has been about life, but music is a thread that runs through it either in the actual doing of it or in the yearning for it. I absolutely love making music. And that special magical thing of making music with really good musicians, where an unspoken understanding happens and creates a platform on which something even better then you know how to make, actually suddenly happens. A moment outside time. I remember seeing an interview with a very respectable English poet John Betjeman  - he was old and in failing health and he was asked rather respectfully if he had any regrets. And he said "yes. I wish I'd had more sex ". That's how I feel about that level of music making. And that's why am so blown away with what's been happening. Everything I've hungered for has come to me this year.  Making a new album, working with great people, and a really special night at the Troubadour. HR : Oh yes - the show at The Troubadour - how did it feel to perform there again? Was the atmosphere the same?

RD : Actually, the atmosphere was even better than before! I've just been listening to a recording of the opening song, “Give Us A Break”. It's a song of Tom's he and I used to do back at Finchden and we did it acoustically to start the night and it was magic. Then a series of great artists doing floor spots, then me with a spot-on young band, and Tom and Hereward getting up to join in. It was a 10 course meal by candle light! And the audience .... They might as well have been on stage, we were all so involved together.

HR : You remained friends with Tom, and Hereward - as you say they played with you recently, and have teamed in for your Solo album “Never Closer” - how does it feel to be back in their company on a creative level?

RD : Well you know we haven't been strangers to each other.

Hereward and I are brothers in law as well as friends so there's always been opportunities for us to get the guitars out and play together.  My song “Feet on the Floor”, on the new album, wouldn't be the same without Herry's harmonies.  And he's put a lovely, subtle keyboard part on “Kiltermon”, one of the most important songs for me. Tom though, his part in this has been crucial. He says he sees himself as executive producer, just making sure it happens but leaving the music up to me. The truth is he is much more than that. Looking back to the beginning, I wouldn't even be a serious musician but for Tom. And so to be doing this album in partnership with him is just fantastic.

The sense of coming full circle, of completion, of fulfilment is really strong in my life this year. This album is a big example of that, and Tom and Hereward and myself getting up on stage together at the troubadour, and being in the studio together looking into each others eyes, listening to each other, singing together, is deeply wonderful for me.

HR : You’ve said recently, that the recording process took the magic out of the music in the early days, so what has changed for you with this solo record?

RD : The heart went out of the music in the recording process in the 70s for us because it was an artificial environment and a rather autocratic structure. Music is about musicians sharing from their souls together, and that sharing combining, meeting in the air and combining into something extra. That just can't happen in a compartmentalised and splintered and structured and often rather heartless recording process. It's not always like that of course, but too often it has been. We need to get back to the magic of creativity. With this album it's very different. I suppose it's not too strong to say that this album is an act of love. And everybody involved in it is acting with creative integrity and with mutual regard. It's a great thing to be part of.

HR : What was your inspiration for putting these songs together, now?

RD : Back in the spring I noticed that I couldn't grip the plectrum when I was playing the guitar. That led me to check some things out, and I was diagnosed with motor neuron disease in April. I've had a good long summer since my diagnosis, holding the condition at arms length, and it's been great - But it is increasingly something that I am living with day by day so it is a big part of the reality of this stage of my life, and will only continue to be so, and more so ... So it's true to say that all this has come about in response to my diagnosis: Tom and my son Louis started looking at the songs that had never really seen the light of day, and talking about making an album - they were both very much spurred on to bring this about with me because time is an issue.  I wasn't sure  ... I certainly didn't want to make an album just for the sake of it. I wanted it to exist primarily as a piece of work in its own right, and have not wanted my health issue to be a dominant factor in what I've been doing - but the reality and beauty and urgency of this project has come about in trying to get these tracks down while it is still possible. Every stage of this process, of building this album, has been full of surprises.  It's incredibly alive. It's the story of a life. And it's a great collaboration between creative artists - not just me, but Louis, the brilliant Gerry Diver, Tom and everyone who's contributed..

HR : As you say there, the album also features your son Louis - what does it mean to you to be able to have this creative relationship with him, and your other children?

RD : It's been brilliant doing this with Louis. I always say he outstripped me musically a long time ago. The work he's done, from his early band the Cadets, to Slides, and now the Spare Room is often amazing. When he and I started looking at the songs for this album we started to get some of those shivery moments, like I used to get rehearsing in the cellar in Clapham with cafe society. I remember the rehearsal before the troubadour, we got the band together at the Music Room in New Cross and I had Louis on one side of me and my other son Jess on bass guitar on the other side, and we were all blasting out harmonies and it was like something in me just took off and flew up into the air. To be doing this together, at The Troubadour, and in the studio, and at such a wonderful high standard, is something that it's hard to explain. It's just beautiful.

HR : When are you hoping for it to be released?

RD : We are making the album with crowd funding - pledge music - so people are pre-ordering their copies and that helps pay for the cost of making it. The aim is to release it in January - hopefully on the 6th, my birthday - when I'm 64! 

HR : And what can listeners expect? RD : Well, the answer to that changes every week and every time we go back in the studio. It was going to be a good album, but there is all kinds of magic brewing in the cauldron. What can I say. I'm blown away by some of the things we've done. Gerry Diver is doing some extraordinary work on arrangements and production. Louis has written some great music, played brilliant guitar and found lovely musicians and I, I promise you, am singing my heart out. I tell you, I'm a happy man. But there's lots of previews on the PledgeMusic page, with some videos of different songs from the album or the Troubadour - keep watching.   It's at  http://www.pledgemusic.com/projects/raphael-doyle-never-closer , and my Facebook page raphaeldoylemusic

https://www.facebook.com/raphaeldoylemusic/?fref=ts

“I Come From Ireland” - a spoken word track is currently claiming worldwide acclaim, having made it to a feature in the Huffington Post!

The album - Songs Of Experience - can be found here http://www.raphaeldoyle.co.uk/

[Sadly Raphael passed away in March 2018. It is with huge thanks to my friend Ian Donald Crockett, that I had the pleasure of knowing Raphael for that short time].

#tom robinson #bbcradio #pledge music #motor neurone disease #hereward kaye #raphael doyle #cafe society #finchden #alexis korner #london

[catlordewrites]

An Enigma of Broken Wings: Chapter Two

Reeling from the Time War, the Doctor finds comfort in a mysterious creature that no one has ever seen. Things get more complicated when he discovers that this kindred spirit is a member of one of the most feared species in the universe.

Previous Chapter, Chapter Two, Next Chapter

Chapter Two

The Doctor poked his head out from around the TARDIS door. He took one deep breath of the cool breeze before striding out into the moist landscape, mood somewhat improved.

Rain later, he thought, gazing around at the scene before him. It was a small town, lined with brown brick shops with fairy lights in the windows, warm light and smells leaking out into the muddy streets. Powerlines stretched between the shops. The Doctor followed them with his eyes and they directed his attention to the lush mountainside on one side of the town, and the steep drop off on the other. Beyond the drop off he could see the continuation of the mountain range, smooth, rolling hulks of dirt covered with thick, leafy trees; shrouded in mist.

The Doctor strolled through the main street, taking note of the aliens he passed. They looked human, or Time Lord, depending on your perspective. A little shorter than average, but near enough. The Doctor was a tall man, so he got a few odd looks. Nothing too out of the ordinary, though.  

The Doctor stopped beside a newspaper stand, peering at the titles with mild interest. He didn’t really read any of them, but names like ‘Saint Stonpul’ and ‘North Swafburnfer’ stuck out. Assuming North Swafburnfer was the name of the town, then that would put him on… he mentally ticked off a list of options… Glocnappenspa, probably. A small Earth-like world on the far side of the Andromeda Galaxy. He glanced up at the slowly darkening sky. He couldn’t be sure until nightfall, then he could calculate his position based on the stars. 

A group of seven or more children hurried past him, drawing his attention away from the sky. They were strangely quiet for a bunch of children, which is what drew his attention to them in the first place. A few of them were muddy, and one or two were close to tears. The Doctor watched as they scurried off down the road before, curiosity getting the better of him, he ambled off after them. 

The Doctor shadowed the group to the outskirts of the town to what appeared to be a large farm house surrounded by an aging white picket fence. He paused to read the large ornate sign hanging by the front, proudly displaying the words: ‘State Children’s Home - Matron Malwom’ in loopy red letters.

The Time Lord, ever so confident, marched right up to the front door, where he was greeted by the sight of the child gang crowding around an older woman with snaggly teeth and a somewhat impressive mole on her right cheek.

“... and he just went in!” One of the boys, a blond with a heavy brow was saying. 

“Why would he do that?” The woman, whom the Doctor assumed was Matron Malwom, exclaimed. 

The blond boy shuffled his feet guiltily. “Cos we dared ‘im too.”

“Well, I never!” The Matron sputtered, looking slightly panicked. “You all know that you’re not supposed to go anywhere near the tunnels! Much less dare anyone to go in!”

The Doctor decided to make himself known. “Hello! Is there anything I can do to help?” The Doctor asked cheerfully, putting on his best smile and beaming down at the tearful little boy.

The Matron glared at him impassively. “I think not, Mister…?”

“Just ‘the Doctor’, thanks,” the Doctor offered, managing to keep the smile plastered on his face despite the woman’s harsh tone. “What’s this about kids going missing?”

The Matron opened her mouth to respond, but the boy beat her to it. “The tunnels, mister. The Labyrinth. Actom’s gone inside.” Fresh tears began welling up in his eyes. “We ain’t gonna see ‘im again. An’ it’s my fault.”

The Doctor knelt down in front of the boy. “What’s your name?”

“Hawee,”  the boy answered, peering up at him with dark brown eyes. 

“Hawee,” the Doctor repeated, “why would it be your fault?”

“It was my idea,” Hawee admitted guiltily. “He took my toy, y’see. I just wanted him to give it back, but he said he didn’t take it.”

“He dared him to go into the Labyrinth,” a little girl with eyes so blue they were nearly purple piped up. “Cos if you’re innocent, you can get back out.”

“How long ago did Actom go in?” The Doctor asked, picking up on the urgency of the situation. 

“Hours ago,” the girl answered. “We all went just after lunch.”

The Doctor got back on his feet and turned to see that Matron Malwom was on the phone, presumably with emergency services. She slammed the phone back down on the hook rather harshly, causing the Doctor to raise his eyebrows.

“What did they say?”

“This is North Swafburnfer,” she snapped, “we don’t have proper anything. Nothing ever happens here. The best they could do is redirect me to West Swafburnfer, who redirected me to the State’s office…”

“And?” The Doctor prompted.

“They’re sending out a search and rescue.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

“But they won’t be sent out until morning,” she continued. “And then it’ll take them hours to get here. The State dispatch is nearly four hundred miles away. The best they can do is sometime around mid afternoon.”

“That’s a long time,” the Doctor conceded. “Right, I have a bit of experience with this sort of thing. I’ll go an’ have a look.”

The Matron shook her head in disapproval. “I don’t think that’s wise. People go in there all the time and don’t come back out. All you’ll succeed in doing is giving them two people to find tomorrow.”

“We can’t just leave him down there on his own!” The Doctor protested. “Don’t worry about me, I can handle myself pretty well.”

Matron Malwom glared at him disbelievingly. 

The Doctor sighed. “Alright, I won’t go in. I’ll just have a look. Really could use someone to point me in the right direction, though.”

“I’ll show you!” Hawee insisted, bouncing up and down on one foot eagerly while waving his hand in the air. He was immediately accompanied by the whole gaggle of children, all with varying stages of guilt and ready to be of use. 

“Absolutely not!” Matron Malwom snapped. “One of you can go and show him the way, and then come straight back. I’ll call Patron Broodo.”

“Who’s that?” The Doctor inquired, glancing at her over the flurry of hands waving around in his face for his attention.

“The Reverend.” At the Doctor’s blank stare, she added, “The owner of the land the Labyrinth is on. The Worship Center, Saint Stonpul, is just up the hill from there.”

“Ah.” The Doctor snagged one of the hands and pulled Hawee out of the fray. “Good. He can tell me more about this ‘labyrinth’.”

~0~0~0~

.

.

~0~0~0~

As promised, Patron Broodo met them at the top of the steep slope. He was an older man, probably in his late fifties, with a weak chin and extremely bushy eyebrows. He stood in front of the large white-stone building that served as the North Swafburnfer place of worship, hands tucked into the baggy sleeves of his hideous yellow robe. 

Hawee bounded up the path ahead of the Doctor. Having woven all sorts of stories about the Labyrinth on the way, Hawee balked at the sight of the Patron’s severe look and decided to hide behind the Doctor.

“You must be Patron Broodo,” the Doctor greeted cheerfully as soon as he was close enough. “I’m the Doctor. Been hearing all about you on the way over.”

“Horrible things, I’m sure,” Broodo sniffed airily. “Boring Broodo, all the children call me. Brooding Broodo. Bland Broodo. Banal Broodo.”

The Doctor looked a little uncomfortable at this declaration, but relaxed when he saw the good natured gleam in the man’s eyes. He reached out and shook Broodo’s hand heartily. “I think I’d rather come up with my own opinion on that, Patron.”

Broodo smiled back warmly. “I hope it’s a positive one, my friend. But first, we have a much more important matter on our hands.”

“Right.” The Doctor instantly became serious once more. “Show me these tunnels.”

Broodo led the way down the steep grassy hill and into the dense forest, explaining on the way. “The Labyrinth has been a part of the culture of Swafburnfer for longer than anyone can remember. The Legends go back centuries. Stories about the people that go into the caves.”

“Earlier,” the Doctor interrupted, “someone mentioned that you can only come out of the tunnels if you’re innocent.”

“That’s part of it,” Broodo confirmed. “Someone hasn’t been listening to my lessons.”

Hawee shuffled nervously.

“The simple version is: You go into the Labyrinth to confess your sins. If the creature of the Labyrinth deems you innocent or... worthy of forgiveness, it’ll lead you to the surface.  If not, you’ll never be seen again.” Broodo laughed dryly. “Long ago, the people around here used this as a justice system. They would lead the criminal to the entrance. From there, the accused could accept the creature’s decision, or die. If it sends them back, the church would sentence them penance.”

“Sounds a bit harsh,” the Doctor commented dryly. “Do you lot still do that? And what sort of creature?”

“Of course not,” Broodo sighed. “That system fell when the State was formed. No one really knows what the creature is, or, beyond the faith of the church, if it even exists.”

“What do you believe, Patron?” The Doctor asked curiously.

“I’m religious, Doctor,” Broodo gave him a sideways look, “I believe what the Church has taught me.”

“And what do your studies say?” 

“It has many names. The most popular one is ‘Creature of the Labyrinth’, but the oldest translation refers to it as ‘The Adjudicator’.”

“That’s what really made Actom go in,” Hawee said gloomily, speaking up for the first time since the Patron had joined them. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Brought what up?” The Doctor asked, turning to study the young boy. 

“His mum and dad.” Hawee refused to meet the Doctor’s eyes.

“Did they go in the Labyrinth?” The Doctor pressed gently.

Hawee refused to answer, so the Doctor turned to Broodo.

“Two years ago,” the Patron explained in a hushed voice, “the boy’s father killed his mother while in a rage. When he realised what he had done, he went to the Labyrinth.”

“I thought you said you lot didn’t use that as a justice system anymore?” The Doctor scoffed.

“We don’t. He made it there before the State Officers could arrest him. He couldn’t handle the guilt of his actions, so he let the Spirits settle it for him.”

“Not sure how much I like your State’s dispatch,” the Doctor complained. “They take forever to get anything done.”

Broodo hummed in agreement. “The Labyrinth is generally unoccupied these days. It is only used by those suffering with guilt, or thrill seekers that don’t know what they’re getting into.”

“How much further?” As soon as the words left his mouth, the Doctor spotted a large, gaping hole in the side of a hill. In front of the gap stood two boulders, one on either side of the mouth, each easily three times the Doctor’s height. “Ah.”

The Doctor paced over to the tunnel mouth, peering into the wall of darkness. He bent down and picked up a stone, tossing it up into the air and catching it before hurling it into the tunnel. He frowned when it vanished entirely, listening to the clatter of stone on stone as it landed less than ten feet into the maze.

The Doctor gave a low whistle. “Blimey, that’s dark. How big is the Labyrinth, exactly?”

“No one knows. As soon as you lose sight of the entrance, it is impossible to keep a sense of direction. There are so many twists and turns that it is impossible to find your way out again.”

“Unless the creature shows you the way?”

Broodo nodded. 

The Doctor noticed how the Patron had suddenly gone very pale, so he asked, “Have you ever been in the Labyrinth?”

Broodo didn’t answer directly, but developed a very haunted look. “I sometimes hear it. Screaming in the night. I don’t know if it is a benevolent force or a creature from the pits of hell. But whatever it is, we need to find young Actom.”

Both of the men jumped when a small object came flying out of the cave mouth to land neatly at the Doctor’s feet. The Time Lord leaned down and picked up the exact same stone he had thrown in minutes before.

They both jumped again at a shout from Hawee.

“Actom!”

#doctor who #dw #doctorwho #nuwho #new who #newwho #ninth doctor #9th doctor #ninth doctor fanfic #ninth doctor fanfiction #fanfic #oc #fanfiction #ninth doctor x oc #weeping angel #weeping angel oc #weepingangel #9 #9 fanfic #9 fanfiction #9th doctor x oc

[walriding]

@mauscleum​ said: 💃 Pull my muse onto a dance floor/up to dance - from darling dottir who needs a dance partner at the school dance (:

nonverbal starters || accepting

      Middle school is a tumultuous time for just about everyone. It’s an awkwardly tense handful of years filled with ever-shifting social circles as peers struggle to find the acceptable niche where they belong -- or attempt desperately to shake off the labels that they’ve mercilessly been tagged with. Miles remembers that time with nothing similar to fondness. Suddenly playground scuffles weren’t as easily brushed off. Bullies were no longer content with just calling you mean names at recess. Confidence had yet to develop, and what little he had wasn’t exactly appreciated by the authority figures in his life.

      He wouldn’t go back to gradeschool if you paid him.

      And yet in spite of his own rocky formative years, Miles knows that his own experiences pale in comparison to Alessa’s. Moving doesn’t help, for one thing -- and that’s one thing they do seem to have down to a science. Picking up the tent pegs and heading out. It’s an odd and unfortunate clashing of their respective backgrounds, but staying in one place for too long carries risks. Murkoff is still out there, as is Silent Hill’s cult. He can’t be sure that either group will ever leave them alone. This particular stint of domesticity has been one of their longer ones. They’re even renting a house this time -- under a different name, of course. Just the Ramírezes this go around. 

      Even so, Alessa doesn’t reveal much about her days at school to him. She talks, at least, but he knows there are things she’s probably keeping from him. Hell, he had plenty of secrets from his parents at this age, he knows better than to assume otherwise. She talks about her lessons and her classes, touches upon the vaguer aspects of preteen socialization. But he doesn’t know who her friends are, if she even has any. So when the notification goes around that the school is looking for parent chaperones for a seasonal dance, and Alessa indicates in the feet-shuffling manner of a sheepish girl that she might like to go, he decides rather against his better judgement that he might as well sign up. Partially because he knows he struggles on the supportive parent front, and partially because he’s morbidly curious what bullshit kids these days are up to.

      They drive to the school together, though he has to drop her off at the designated student entrance before he can park. There’s a moment when she slides out of the car where she turns back to him -- a painfully apprehensive look painted across her small features -- where he distinctly remembers how much of adolescence feels like feeding yourself to the wolves. But he nods at her, tells her he’ll be right in after her, and she seems to set her shoulders before making her way towards the door.

      Once inside, Miles gives her a small wave before steeling himself to mingle with the other parents. Though he has half a mind to watch over Alessa, he doesn’t want to be that dad. It’s no surprise that suburban chatter doesn’t hold his interest for long, though one of the moms triumphantly -- though clandestinely -- produces a flask from her purse to pass around the parental circle. Miles laughs and accept it in spite of himself. Maybe picket fences and minivans aren’t as boring as he thought.

      The night wears on with little in the way of distraction -- save for a group of boys who’d gotten caught lingering around a fire alarm, the kids are almost nauseatingly well-behaved. He keeps sneaking glances in Alessa’s direction, and each time his heart sinks minutely when he sees that she hasn’t made much progress. Earlier she’d been on the fringes of a giggling pack of girls, but for the last half hour she’s been sitting at one of the cheesily decorated tables alone. The music lulls, and the hired DJ announces it’s time for a slow dance. Miles all but rolls his eyes when a few couples meander onto the dance floor, all pinched smiles and uncertain hands. A few of the teachers move in, likely to be certain that hands don’t wander too far. If he’d peeked in Alessa’s direction just a moment later, he wouldn’t have noticed the way she first straightens up, looking almost hopeful, then summarily deflates when the first notes of the song begin to play.

      She’s never told him of any crushes, though part of him had secretly hoped she was just too embarrassed to talk about boys -- or girls -- with her lame dad. Miles wants nothing more than for her to fit in. Conformity has never been his style, and he’d be the first one to encourage her to follow her passions and find her people regardless of the narrow mindsets of her age group. But maybe the unfortunate reality is that she just hasn’t found her place yet. He waits a moment longer, fingers drumming against the side of his leg before making his way over to her. Hesitation is brought on only by his own reluctance to mortify her in front of her friends, but he can see the way she seems to crumble in on herself just before he reaches a hand out to her.

      “May I have this dance?”

      Someone’s going to laugh about it at school tomorrow, no doubt, but that’s just another lesson he’ll have to impart her. How to hold your head high and not give a fuck, because kids are assholes. But based on the way she’s smiling up at him, not glancing around worrying about who’s watching and what they’re saying, he figures she already knows that.

#(ɪɴᴠᴇsᴛɪɢᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴊᴏᴜʀɴᴀʟɪsᴍ) ;;; ᴀsᴋs #mauscleum #(sᴛᴀᴛɪᴄ sᴋɪɴ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴜᴢᴢɪɴɢ ʙᴏɴᴇs) ;;; Vᴇʀsᴇ: Mᴀɪɴ #henlo i cry

[southboundhq]

MEET HECTOR,

FULL NAME › Hector Miguel Ibáñez AGE › twenty two GENDER › Cis male (He/His/Him) FROM › Reno, Nevada LODGING › Copper Cactus Motel PRIOR EMPLOYMENT › Petty Thief NOW PLAYING › Surfin’ On Heroin by The Forgotten Rebels

BIOGRAPHY,

trigger/content warnings: homelessness, drug use mentions, sexual situations mentions, criminal activity

Where does a boy like Hector Ibáñez come from? It’s a question that’s weighed on many minds before, but the answer isn’t as dramatic or tragic as some have imagined. Hector was born of the most normal circumstances, a suburban love story that ended in marriage and two children, one of which being Hector. The house at the end of a cul-de-sac housed the perfect little nuclear family; white picket fence, manicured lawn, a dog, a cat, even a hamster. Hector was born like any other, lived like any other, but something kept him apart from his family: an independent streak that’s lasted his whole life. Even as an infant, Hector had a tendency to pull away from others, lead the charge, not let anything get in the way of what he wanted. Hugs and kisses were met with squirms and wiggles out of it, unless he initiated it. Directing him in how to play made him do the exact opposite, pushing his sister’s hands out of the way when she wanted to help him with the child’s puzzle, his father’s warnings ignored when he got too close to something dangerous. He didn’t play well with others, he would only play Simon Says if he got to play Simon, and he always got to be Simon. Even with his independent, selfish personality, he was friendly and jovial to those he liked, but who exactly he liked changed daily, feelings changing on a whim.

Childhood in Tulsa, a nice place to raise a family, Hector only found it boring. The only entertainment, barring television and video games, was interacting, talking. As independent as he was, talking with others was the only thing to satiate his hunger for entertainment, and quickly it devolved into playing. A little middle school terror, a hierarchy was established within his group of friends and Hector gained a reputation as a troublemaker and bully—more pushy than cruel, but a bully nonetheless. Rowdy and sly, Hector never took anything seriously, thinking of everything as a joke and thinking of others only in terms of what they could do for him. His family, he liked them well enough, but even as a child, he never felt what he was supposed to feel for his family. He wasn’t attached to them, he didn’t love them like they had loved him. His parents, his older sister, they tried so hard, they loved him very much, they did everything in their power to foster a normal, healthy relationship with Hector. For all of their efforts, they were mostly ignored by Hector, and by the time he was a pre-teen, he spent every second he possibly could away from his house, never telling them where he was going or what he was doing. His sister and father eventually gave up, but his mother still has hope it’s just an incredibly long phase, even now.

Thrust into high school, Hector only worsened as he grew. Now barely attending school even when he legally had to, his main focus shifted from playing to pleasure. Only in the pursuit for a good time, that meant sex, drugs, and copious amounts of partying. Scaring little old ladies, taking cars on joyrides, swiping things simply because his hand itched for it. A petty criminal by the age of fifteen, Hector’s run-ins with the law were surprisingly low, but mostly because he didn’t get caught, and really, he had such a cute little face. A face that promoted innocence with a hint of mischief underneath, it’s really his saving grace, the only thing that keeps him from getting into trouble. High school, while it should’ve been his playground, he never attended enough to explore all its corners, the truancy officer his number-one enemy. His parents toying with the idea of military school or kicking Hector out, they never got the chance. At the age of seventeen, Hector Ibáñez left to a friend’s house and never came back home.

It’s not as mysterious as it sounds. Hector left to his friend’s house and they suddenly had the bright idea to hitch a ride to Oklahoma City for a party. Once they were there, it was hard to remember they were supposed to be high school students in Tulsa. It didn’t bother Hector none, having only the clothes on his back and nowhere concrete to stay for the night, but he was so high he didn’t have much time to dwell on it. His junior year was spent sleeping all day, hanging out all night with people much older than him, taking money wherever they could find it and sleeping wherever there was an open spot on the floor. Oklahoma City didn’t have much for Hector, ditching that friend shortly after the ‘move’ into the capital, and he left on the back of a stranger’s truck to Denver for new exploits. Denver didn’t last for very long either, creating a pattern, sticking around long enough to cause lots of trouble but leaving before the consequences caught up.

Out on his own, or rather couch surfing with like-minded individuals, Hector got the freedom he wanted as a child. Just a teenager, Hector had spent his adolescence simply waiting for adulthood, shucking his innocence as quickly as he could. On the road, his tastes started to develop, a thirst for pain and pleasure mixed together. Only eighteen, he became a full blown hedonist, the only thing that mattered (and matters) to him was fucking, fighting, stealing, and getting high. Moving whenever he felt like it, weaseling his way into homes with a sweet smile and curly brown hair. Somehow, wherever he went, there was always someone willing to take care of him, fool themselves into believing he’d change for them because they were the right person, they were worth it. The only thing that holds worth for Hector is himself, and even then, not by much. Still, those times in a nice house with a lonely old woman gave him things he couldn’t get on the streets, like his GED and a driver’s license. Of course, those times have always ended with the host realizing how depraved he is, how chaotic he is, that he’ll never change.

From Denver to Tuscon to Las Vegas, if there’s one place Hector has planted his flag, it’s Reno. It’s the place he quickly considered to be his home, though he’s never actually held residency there, even when he did a quick stint working in a casino. Even though it was his home, he left often on a whim, usually without telling anyone, always returning days to months later like a neighborhood stray cat. Sometimes leaving to evade the cops, sometimes leaving for some new scenery, sometimes leaving on accident. It’s all three when it comes to Boot Hill.

Boosting cars for a local chop shop for some cash and exhausting every connection he had for a place to sleep for a week, it seemed it was time to leave Reno again when there was word of cops on his trail. (Of course, it never occurred to him that people were lying just to get him out of their hair and out of Reno again.) Boarding a bus for Phoenix, Hector quickly fell asleep once aboard and woke up again when the bus stopped at the last terminal on the road. Sleepily confused, Hector exited the bus, only for it to practically disappear behind him, as if it vanished in thin air. Content to just sleep some more on a bench, he found the terminal suspiciously empty, only one person working the ticket counter that treated him with such hostility—he had to vaguely wonder if he’d dated them in the past or something, to deserve such treatment. Time seemed to pass really quickly, hours folding into minutes, and yet another bus didn’t come.

Being in the middle of nowhere didn’t really bother Hector, used to boarding buses or trains or accepting rides from strangers and staying simply wherever they’ve dropped him off, but it was strange how he was virtually alone. If there was another bus on this route, it seemed to only come once a day, and he had to assume the ticket booth woman went home when the sun started to lower in the sky and he couldn’t find her again. Without much thought, he left the station and started walking along the highway; the desert winter sun in the day isn’t as hot, but he didn’t think much about how cold it would be at night. Fortunately for Hector, the night never came, even though he was sure it must’ve been six or seven by the time he started walking. Maybe it wasn’t, maybe it was six or seven in the morning, because he felt the warmth of the sun for the entire length of his stay on the road. It must have taken him twelve hours, because the light never left. In fact, it seemed like the sun never moved at all, high in the sky as his limbs screamed with every step he took, heat visibly rising off of the blacktop. It must have taken him twelve hours, but it felt like three days.

Finally, just as he was about to give up, a car whizzed right past him. Funny, in those twelve or so hours, he hadn’t seen even a suggestion of life, not even animals or insects. It was incredibly quiet, the wind still and the birds gone. Finally, a sign of life, but they didn’t stop for him, even as he waved his arms high but tiredly. They ignored him, but still, it meant he wasn’t alone on this highway. It gave him a reason to keep pushing, despite the raw thirst in his throat and the numbness of his feet. His skin must have been burnt, blistered, it hissed with every movement. He had to imagine he looked so scary, no wonder they wouldn’t pick up a ghoul on the side of the road. Still, he kept going. Though he was alone, completely and totally alone, it didn’t feel like it. It felt like if he stopped, something behind him would catch up. If it did…

Time stretched on, feeling like he was wading through molasses. The sun kept still, but he was probably delirious, on his feet so long. He’d been on his feet so long, he wasn’t even sure anymore. Maybe he wasn’t, maybe this was Purgatory. He could’ve died on that bus and Hell is just an endless road where there’s never a destination. If it was Hell, it was quite effective, and by the time he fell to his knees on the dirt, he was promising to the Devil or God that he’d call his mother and tell her that he loves her as soon as he reaches civilization.

Of course, Hector is a liar. He reached civilization without realizing it then, stopping dead in front of the Boot Hill welcoming sign. He might’ve been there for an hour, possibly a day, but eventually, someone found him face down on the desert floor. They woke him up, concerned over the scraggly stranger on the threshold of their town, and Hector instantly thought he’d passed God’s test, an angel there to bring him to Heaven, or perhaps God decided he belonged in Hell. Either way, he was no longer on the road, despite physically laying on it. The test was over. Of course, it wasn’t a test, because once he awoke, he realized it was just a town. Some little place called Boot Hill. He’d never heard of it, a generic small western town that was just a speck of dust on the highway, but small places don’t bother Hector as much as they should’ve; he likes being the big fish in a small pond. It’s easier that way.

This angel person waking him, they brought him into town, insisting on taking him to the hospital. Like any criminal, Hector refused, lest the cops figure out where he is, or just people in general (already reneging on his promise to God to contact his mother). Besides, he caught his reflection in a store window, he looked fine. No cracked lips, no burned skin, barely any dirt or sweat; he looked as healthy and clean as a baby. He was hungry, though. Quickly ditching his savior, he fumbled his way into some diner painted turquoise. Figuring he’d have to beg his way into being a patron, the pretty waitress only greeted him with a smile and treated him sweetly as he perused the menu. He ordered a burger, it fit the americana feel and well, he was starving. Eating like he hadn’t in days, the food was finished quicker than it had arrived, and Hector was figuring out how he was going to dine and dash when suddenly, his cheque had been paid for. Some nice older woman at the counter paid for him, since he seemed to be down on his luck. He could’ve kissed her.

But now that he had ate, the question was one that he’s always had to ask since he was seventeen years old: where is he going to sleep tonight? And truthfully, he was beyond dead tired, he could’ve slept in that booth and he was sure that waitress would’ve let him. That waitress, noticing how tired he was, suggested the Copper Cactus Motel just down the street. As soon as he left the diner, he was complimented on his hair and smiled at like he’d lived there his entire life. By the time he got to the Copper Cactus, he was nearly maxed out on self esteem, higher than that damn desert sun. Though he didn’t have money for a room, the receptionist granted him a room on the promise that he’d pay later, or he’d have to do what he’s done in every place he’s ever lived: coast on charm and curls, weasel his way into good graces. After all, he just needs a place to sleep, if only for a few nights...

❝ there’s something in you that’s like biting on tinfoil. ❞

CENSUS,

FACECLAIM › Benjamin Wadsworth AUTHOR › Admin Rachel

#benjamin wadsworth #rp #rpg #oc rp #new rp #{ all. } #{ newcomer. } #{ m. } #{ over twenty. } #{ rachel. } #homelessness tw #drug use tw

[mud-on-the-turntable-blog]

Nana Grizol - Love It Love It (2008, Folk Punk / Indie Rock)

Hi! Nice to meet you! We are Max and Michayla, and this is the first post of our music review blog, Mud on the Turntable. The way our reviews work is one of us will recommend the other an album, and we both write some interesting things about the album separately. Read both of them, or just one of us if you like one of our particular writing styles, or neither if you don’t like either. Our first album is one Max suggested, Love It Love It by Nana Grizol. Enjoy!

Max + Michayla! xox

Michayla’s Review

Circles ‘Round the Moon

Feels like walking into your great-aunt’s yellow-walled kitchen at the break of day in the height of August. There is a hand-painted ceramic fruit bowl sitting on the counter full of oranges and grapefruit and limes. Your aunt is making pancakes and the scent of morning air, fresh cut grass, lavender, and clean sheets wafts in through the open windows while the warm morning sunlight pools onto the floors and cabinets and walls.

Colours: #f7f499/rgb(247, 244, 153), #ff693f/rgb(255, 105, 63), #68b233/rgb(104, 178, 51)

Tambourine - N - Thyme

Feels like floating suspended in deep aqua water, glittering fractals of light and swirls of infinitesimally small bubbles dancing around your body, framing you, frozen in a soft scream, watching the surface and the murk around you, but at peace with yourself, so beautifully suspended in fluid water. The smell of mossy dirt and powdered sugar on the tip of your tongue, neon lights shimmering in the distance, far, far away.

Colours: #0d7d99/rgb(13, 125, 153), #e20fbc/rgb(226, 15, 188), #c7f736/rgb(199, 247, 54)

Less Than the Air

Limoncello coloured with patches of red seeping through the page, like sun hitting your eyelashes while walking down an old dusty path, a long, hot sidewalk home, and walking through the front door of your house. Old maple floors lead into your living room, cream walls, pockmarked, covered in part by white linen curtains. You put on a record and dance barefoot in the living room. It feels like light, and the way it blurs your vision when it hits you like a camera lens. Tastes like fairy bread and rosemary.

Colours: #fff0a5/rgb(255, 240, 165), #d60000/rgb(214, 0, 0), #ad7c2d/rgb(173, 124, 45)

Motion in the Ocean

A soft blush pink set against ivory countertops. You find yourself getting ready for a party you never intended on going to, shell jewelry, drops of gold falling from your fingers like tears, the sky is darkening to indigo outside your window. Counting minutes on your fingers only to find you’ve run out far more times than it takes to eat the peaches your mother brought you late at night. Waking up tired and wishing for the sun, the taste of cold water and soft kisses, a memory of a dream.

Colours: #f2cbcb/rgb(242, 203, 203), #fcf6e3/rgb(252, 246, 227), #16074f/rgb(22, 7, 79)

Voices Echo Down Thee Halls

Stopping at a tiny diner along the highway, the vinyl seats are a pale minty-olive, you lean against the wall, faded highway signs and ancient greeting flash before your eyes, technicolour in the key of static radio waves, lying on the pavement, the sun beats down as you roll into the gravel, the dirt. Asphalt and car fumes, toasted tomato sandwiches and too much salt, wooden car panelling and the wrong colour of carpet.

Colours: #5faf56/rgb(95, 175, 86), #d1a877/rgb(209, 168, 119), #ef410b/rgb(239, 65, 11)

Stop and Smell Thee Roses

Like picking daisies in the overrun backyard of your childhood best friend’s house, dirty white picket fence set against mud and grass and a rain-heavy sky. Your laughter feels like home in her hands and you remember the sound of so many of you, running out the screen door, all strawberry-red-stained fingers and polaroid photos and charcoal smouldering in the fire pit, notes scribbled in pencil on loose-leaf paper, store-bought bread sticky on your teeth. The moment retakes you and you fall to your knees and smile and the first drops of rain hit your face.

Colours: #d8c302/rgb(216, 195, 2), #9598a0/rgb(149, 152, 160), #ffffff/rgb(255, 255, 255)

Tiny Rainbows

The rain clearing up and leaving sparkling puddles in the cracks in the pavement around your school, a warm september, you dive in and the droplets fall everywhere except your eyes, a rubber raincoat and not a single lie. Like falling down and finding yourself,a loving embrace after a cold winter day, fresh fruit on your lips, and the smell of coming home.

Colours: #05000f/rgb(5, 0, 15), #d3287b/rgb(211, 40, 123), #ff9011/rgb(255, 144, 17)

Everything You Ever Hoped or Worked For

Watching the sunset burn bright and melt down on another’s face, running away and finding joy in the places you’ve been. Crickets humming along to the beat of your footsteps and lulling you to sleep, to dream of stars and new beginnings at 2 in the afternoon. It tastes like bubblegum and sunshine, spilling down your chin from the back of your glass, bottle green, a telescope to where you’ll be, soon.

Colours: #65b277/rgb(101, 178, 119), #ff4e02/rgb(255, 78, 2), #abad53/rgb(171, 173, 83)

Broken Cityscapes

Washed out denim, sleeping with your jacket and shoes on, preaching holy words in the back alley to the birds, scattering seeds, soft and teardrop shaped, a touch of arange, rosy edges. Windchimes in the distance as they flock on the telephone wires and the words fade out, your hands dry and cracked but worth the smiles of the living, light seeping through the cracks in the clouds on a morning of second chances. The taste of cold tea chokes the back of your throat, garden carrots and lake water up your nose.

Colours: #9398c4/rgb(147, 152, 196), #e08247/rgb(224, 130, 71), #d9d4dbrgb(217, 212, 219)

The Idea That Everything Could Ever Possibly Be Said

Deep saturated garden greens not properly captured behind a grainy sepia photograph. Making notes on old graph paper, left on the desk in the unfinished attic, the trees tapping on the windows as the daylight pours into the room and into you, the exposed wooden beams house secrets and grocery lists, your mother told you to take out the trash, but that was five years ago today. You find comfort in eating cereal for lunch and all those things you would do as a child, now grown, now finding the light.

Colours: #543722/rgb(84, 55, 34), #0b5111/rgb(11, 81, 17), #e0e2b3/rgb(224, 226, 179)

Untitled Hidden Track

Screeching to a halt on a grid road just to see the stars, pen in spilled everywhere after your pen broke, you run and hide, the smell of acetone and burnt toast follows. It feels like shoving everything you wn off a desk and into your backpack and running, tears or blood or sweat running down your cheeks.

Colours: #0a0047/rgb(10, 0, 71), #f4fc58/rgb(244, 252, 88), #ff2b2b/rgb(255, 43, 43)

Overview

Overall, this album feels like falling into a pool of sunshine, and filling your lungs with it. Every song feels like another wave washing over you, the endings of each track hit like breaking the surface of the water for a gasp of air before going under again. If you needed a pick me up, try this one shot injection of good vibes, sunlight, and punchy musical citrus.

Anywho, congrats if you made it through that entire review! If you’re curious about how the songs translate into colours through my synesthesia, go on and copy/paste the colour codes into Google’s handy “colour picker” (just google it and then chuck the bits with a # into the top line of the colour picker) and it should work. I think. . .

Cheers!

Michayla Siwak

Max’s Review

Very rarely do I feel like I am the target audience of an album. However, whether this is actually true or not, Nana Grizol’s Love It Love It is certainly one that matches how I currently feel at this stage in my life.

All throughout this record, there is a sense of nostalgia and bittersweetness that I just couldn’t shake while listening to it. This emotional impact is noticeable from the very first song, “Circles ‘Round the Moon”. It represents a type of fantasy that I, and probably many other 18-year-old music fans who are scared of, yet excited about the intimidatingly massive world they’ve been thrust into, have quite often. Yes, the track tells a story of young relationships and figuring all those out, but it also describes leaving the big city for some place of solitude and simplicity in nature. It’s a beautiful thing really.

Musically, this feeling of homemade simplicity is reflected in every track. Far and away my favourite musical aspect of this album is the horns that will often come in and add to the pretty intense emotional impact this album has. The little imperfections and human-ness that is added by these wind arrangements serves as another tool to emphasize the feelings I’ve been writing about so far. Beautiful swells of trumpets cause your stomach to do little flips of excitement and emotion in songs like “The Idea That Everything Could Ever Possibly Be Said”. They add so much to the crescendos and dynamic changes throughout the album and are an indispensable part of the project as a whole. The songs all feel organic, like they’re being played by a group of friends in the background while you’re at some house party, stoned out of your mind and feeling insecure about the stupid shit you say in front of individuals of your preferred sex.

“Motion in the Ocean”, a huge highlight on the album for me both lyrically and musically, resonates with me more than almost anything else on this record. Lines like “It seems that we are clams inside our shells / Side by side on rocks we feel the tide as the sea contracts and swells” emphasize the feeling of powerlessness an 18-year-old Canadian who just failed his first year of university in a city of 2.463 million people (as of 2016) can feel sometimes. Yes, perhaps many of these lyrics are a tad on-the-nose and almost approaching cliché, but that adds to the beauty of it. Does this really make the messages and emotions conveyed by Love It Love It any less powerful or have any less meaning? These emotions and themes feel so genuine it’s hard to hate them, as much as the cold, cynical, pretentious arsehole in me wants to. What can I say? I can’t help but like and relate to this dumb little album. It’s great.

Yeah, sure. There’s lots of folky indie rock out there that will give you these kind of feels. I’m sure there are thousands of bands like this that try to do the same things. I can’t call this album revolutionary, or even especially fresh and different. No, the power in this album lies in its consistency and lovability. It fits very comfortably in a genre and mood that’s been done to death, but the playful, casual arrangements, lovably self-deprecating yet optimistic lyrics, and complete relatability to this young, confused college student make it pretty damn special in my books. Listen to it with some friends in the forest and let the stresses of post-adolescent mediocrity float away from you for a bit. At the very least, you’ll feel a helluva lot less alone after giving this a spin.

Perhaps this was a very fitting album for our first review in the gargantuan community of music reviewers. It’s pretty hard to recommend a better album for a couple of kids just starting their journey into a brand-new world who have no fucking clue what we’re doing. Anyway, I hope you enjoy our reviews.

Love,

Max Gilmour

Bandcamp

#music #2008 #punk #punk rock #folk punk #pop punk #music review #indie #indie music #love it love it #nana grizol

[heydisneyhiremeplease]

what about the reader asking for help to his boyfriend (steve or bucky) for her project in college about wwii or something related

“What Do You Want to Know?”

Word count: 1,317

Warnings: None

Timeline: After Age of Ultron, before Civil War.

“Umm…hey, Steve?” you asked your boyfriend. You were a little nervous about what might happen if you actually went through with voicing your question. The two of you had been together for several months now, but you had never requested anything of him like this.

“Need something, doll?” came his reply as he strolled into the kitchen, where you were seated. For a moment, you were distracted. Ever since you had begun dating, his little nickname for you was one of your favorite things in the world. It made you think that it was possible for the two of you to settle down somewhere, someday, in a quiet little town with white picket fences and green grass and blue skies…far away from either of your haunting pasts. But that was a long ways away, and you both knew it.

You were superheroes, superheroes who had promised to serve and protect innocent people from anything that threatened them. That was why you had initially chosen not to go to college. You had gotten your powers accidentally over the summer after you graduated from high school. You had needed to earn extra money before going off to school in the fall, and so you signed up to test experimental drugs in exchange for payment. You had been taking the new medicine for only a week when you noticed strange things were beginning to happen.

You reported the side effects to the doctors, who immediately took you off the medicine. When the weird occurrences ceased shortly thereafter, you figured all was well and you went about looking for new ways to earn money, since the drug testing program would not take you back. However, it was only a month later when the side effects came back—with a vengeance. You hadn’t bothered to tell your family anything about the program, or when the symptoms had started the first time because you knew they’d disapprove. You were terrified of what they would say. But they were on your side, and all of you began researching the drug and looking up lawyers.

It wasn’t long before news of the strange set of circumstances that was your life made the national news, and that’s when Bruce Banner heard about you. He contacted you, wanting to help try to cure you, sympathizing with you because of his own experiment gone wrong, and Tony Stark promised to fund the effort. You couldn’t believe it. But upon your arrival at Stark Tower, where you witnessed a group of other “strange” individuals fighting and working together, you realized that the side effects weren’t something to be cured like a disease; they were a gift you could harness to help others. You joined the Avengers and began to work with the team as a protector of Earth.

By that point, you’d skipped a whole year of school, the time during which you would have been a freshman in college. So you decided not to worry about it. It wasn’t like you had wasted a year mooching off of your parents. You had gone through a seriously traumatic ordeal, only to come out on the other side better than ever. Your parents, who had always pushed you to attend college, were immensely proud despite your “gap year.”

But now, after some years had passed and you were quite used to your gifts, and had entered into a serious relationship with Steve, you were starting to think about practical things like white picket fences and college once more. You were in no hurry to quit the Avengers, but you did want to earn a degree. You knew it would make you more well-rounded, and perhaps you would find something to do that you really loved, outside of being a superhero. So, with some monetary aid from one Tony Stark, you enrolled in a few online classes. You were working on general education courses at the moment, all things that ended in “101.” You had just started your American history essay, which would be due in a couple weeks, and your instructions included finding a primary source on World War II. Now, your first inclination had been to look up some old interview, or autobiography, and take some quotes from that. But then it hit you: wasn’t the Steve Rogers the perfect source for a firsthand account of the second World War? You almost face-palmed when you thought of it.

But there was still one problem: you and Steve had never really talked about his life before he was recovered and revived in 2011. Would he be comfortable sharing it with you? After all, your relationship with him was no longer new. You had both revealed secrets about yourselves, and told the other one things you never thought you’d tell anyone. Wasn’t it time he allowed you into his head regarding his former life? But you didn’t want to upset him, either. You may have experienced some hardships in your time, but you had never taken a seventy-year-long nap, only to wake up and find that everything and everyone you knew was gone. How could you compare your problems to his?

But Steve loved you—he’d said as much before. Wouldn’t he do this to help you? You felt that you were sure to get a good grade if Captain America was one of your sources. Then again, was a good grade worth forcing Steve to dredge up such painful memories? No. It wasn’t. You couldn’t ask this of him. You wouldn’t.

“You okay?” he asked, and you jumped. You remembered suddenly that you had called his name a moment ago, but then your rampaging thoughts had prevented you from saying anything more. You wondered exactly how long you had sat there thinking. He seemed confused and a little worried.

“Yes, I’m fine. Of course I’m fine.” You gave an awkward smile, and immediately knew that he wasn’t going to allow you to escape without telling him what you wanted. He arched an eyebrow over a pair of eyes that you knew could see right through your scheme. He sat down at the table next to you, and you understood that he had planted himself there for the time being, as long as it was going to take.

You fought on, saying, “I’m sorry to bother you, really, I thought I would ask if you wanted to see a movie later, after I get this assignment finished.” you quickly filled in, remembering the way Natasha had taught you to lie convincingly. But it still wasn’t enough to get Steve off your back. He knew there was something else. “I could do this all day.” he reminded you, shaking his head.

You rolled your eyes and sighed. You had to go for it. What would he do, end the relationship and say he never wanted to see you again just because of one question? Steve was more understanding than that. You took a breath, preparing for the worst, and said, “Steve, I have a paper due for my American history class, and I’m supposed to find a primary source on World War II.” You knew he’d put the pieces together and understand what you wanted.

“Okay,” he shrugged. “What do you want to know?” You couldn’t believe it. There was a smile on his face. A smile! That perfect smile that you loved, the same one on his face the first time he ever called you “doll.” All your fears and worries…over a smile?

“Y-you’re okay with talking about it?” You stuttered. He nodded. “Well, yeah. I don’t like thinking about it, but it’s been years since I came out of the ice. I’ve got to come to terms with things. And you know I’d do anything for my best girl.” He reached across the table to take your hand, before the two of you went over the things you needed for your assignment.

Note: Instead of making the reader 18, I aged her up some. I’m pretty sure Steve is supposed to be 30, and I just thought it would be too weird. If the Avengers formed in 2012, and the reader arrived at Stark Tower for treatment later that year, and this imagine takes place right before Civil War, then she’s at least 22 when she first enrolls in college. That’s still a crazy age gap, but I really wanted it to work with the MCU timeline.

Masterlist!

#marvel #marvel mcu #avengers #avengers imagine #avengers imagines #captain america #steve rogers #marvel imagine #marvel imagines

[writingsofalyricalheart]

Labels (journal entry)

I used to not get why people said they hated labels.

How I used to see it was, labels had the power to make you feel understood. They had the power to give you a sense of belonging, and give an answer to the endless search in discovering who we are.

The thing is, much like anything else in life, the excitement in the newness of something can only last for so long before it fades. Like discovering a new TV show. Or a new album. Or a new book. Or a new toy. Or a new makeup product. Or a new gadget. Or a new instrument. Or a new relationship. Or literally anything. Over time, the things we think will solve us will become as boring and futile as anything else in this world.

While the newness and excitement of things can help fill a need and distract for a while, it's shelf life is short.

(Which also raises the question of if we are bound to grow bored of things, will we always be chained to the want and search for something more, or is that human nature and more of a blessing to keep evolving and revolving? Question for another day I suppose.)

And I know, I know, that’s a very pessimistic take on things.

But it’s true.

Recently I’ve been chasing down the “now that I have money, let’s buy things to help make me feel whole" train, and it really doesn’t solve any of my problems. I live in a tiny room in my parents house, and while I love the life I’ve been provided, and am so thankful for it all, I feel so unaccomplished.

I'm reminded each time I buy something. It adds to the pile of "things I wish I had time for, and the kind of person I wis I could be for a little while, just to try it".

I look at my coworkers and see they are working hard towards goals that will produce fruit later on in time. They aren’t looking for temporary vices to fill them until they find what they’re searching for like I am.

I am so uncomfortable with the idea of sitting with my own self, my own failures, my own mistakes, glaring back in my face like a giant neon sign, blinking and pointing and taunting. It’s hard to look at after a while. The letters spell out who I’ve been, and I want to ask them to stop, but I’m not worthy of asking that.

I’ve made decisions about who I am recently. I’ve tried on new labels like a fashion trend. Leaned into things I’ve always felt but wanted to explore a bit. But it still doesn’t feel right. If I lean too much one way, I’m seen as one thing, and vice versa.

In the past two years, I’ve decided to start labeling myself as bisexual. At first, the label fit about how a size too big t-shirt would on a growing child. “I’ll grow into it, I’m sure”, I would tell myself. Well now I’m into it, and I have an entire friend group who not only knows about it, not only supports it, but feels the same way, and I feel trapped.

I’ve always leaned towards dating guys on the spectrum, but I’ve also absolutely felt things for girls as well. Not always in the same way, either. My heart is the same at the core, but different traits behave differently around different genders, and it makes me question who I am.

Could I ever find a love, or a partner in this life, who could love the complete version of me? The one who’s heart is in all places at once? Is there a part of me I’ll be forced to tame, or a part I’ll need to choose over another in order to be with someone? Can I not be myself?

Am I better off single if I feel this way? I used to think yes. But even the Bible states “it is not good for man to be alone”.

I often wonder if I’m a good person.

For years I’ve gone in and out of churches wondering if I’ll ever be enough to be there. I know Christianity is based around forgiveness and love and letting go of the past, but I’ve always felt this pressure to keep up a certain level of perfection. Like if I’m washed clean, I must stay clean. And each time I falter, it’s another tally mark against me. And I know that’s not the salvation Christianity offers. It’s not something you can lose.

But if I’m dabbling in things even good Christians say is wrong, where does that leave me?

I’ve always been attracted to men, and women. I don’t know how or why. Men have been more socially acceptable, so I’ve leaned into it more. Women have not been, but more like a private, personal secret that I’ve been able to indulge in like a stash of secret candy in a locked away drawer, and only I’ve been holding the keys.

But now some people know. I worry if all know, they'll think I was lying to them. And I wasn't, I just wasn't sure until now. Or, wasn't sure it was alright to feel this way until now.

When I came out to my friends, I did it because I was sick of being shoved in boxes. I was sick of being told I’d find my fairytale ending, as they imagined, not me. If I only worked hard enough for a Christ centered marriage, if I only read my bible and studied the word I’d fall more in love with Jesus, if I only served more, etc.

And just like that, the very place I’d found solitude in, became a contest for how good of a Christian I can be. Like the only successes worth celebrating were if I were “on fire for the Lord”. But I still have a personality, you know? I’m still me.

I’ve had friends recently ask me if I wanted to join their church, and honestly all of it feels like a club where I’ll never measure up if I’m known, and though I want to feel whole, I’ve felt more accepted in a friends basement drinking and playing games and talking about poetry than I have in a bible study. Maybe Jesus accepts me, but I’m not squeaky clean enough to sit quietly in a church function and behave like a “good Christian girl”.

I do believe in God, but I don't believe in holding your breath to love a person; I don't believe in waiting until they are enough like you to be there for them. And oddly enough, I've seen a lot of that, and I don't like it.

I’ve got a mouth like a sailor sometimes (a lot of the time), I make dirty jokes (honestly sometimes) and puns (my friends like them, and I like making them laugh), and I feel like if I can at least let all of that out and let my guards down, the real me will have a chance to take a step outside and relax. Mind you, what’s at my core are not completely these things. These are social things I’ve learned to make friends and get along, and express who I am. They're my reflection, pieces of my heart, but not the full spectrum.

Who I am is both sensitive and loving, and also passionate as fuck. I don’t always have all the facts. I don’t always know everything about everything. Sometimes I fight vigorously without knowing the full reason why except I know by some feeling deep inside me that it’s right, whatever it may be. Logic and boxes drive me crazy, as I spill out of them constantly.

It’s like trying to control a volcano. You never will. My heart is full and I am ready. I don’t aim to harm, I aim to improve and fix things. Shake people out of comfort zones into the unknown, but into the possibility of a better future and existence, individually and as a whole.

That is who I am. This is who I am.

I’ve had a million different people give me titles to hold on to, to hold up picket signs for, to scream and claw my way out of traditional rules and boundaries for.

But it’s not who I am. I know what I believe when it’s tested. I don’t always flaunt it or flex it, but I know it. It’s not always explainable, or easy to remember/make a bullet point list of. But when it’s threatened, when it's time, you’ll know.

Labels can help you feel like the puzzle pieces life has given each of us have images, like they have a face. They can help us understand where we belong to ourselves and in the greater picture. But sometimes the laundry list of expectations and stereotypes associated with the labels we hope will help us feel more understood are too much to bear.

Who can stand a weight that heavy on their shoulders?

So though I know who I am and how I’d like to label myself, sometimes I’d rather be nothing because I want to be seen as I truly am, not a boulevard of light up signs screaming for your attention. I’d rather be a small coffee shop hidden amongst the chaos and madness (and I’ve used this metaphor before, but I like it a lot) run by a nice old lady who is equal parts caring and passionate, who sweeps her shop to pass the time, humming and twirling along like Rose did in Sleeping Beauty (the Disney movie adaption, not the grim Brothers version), but would also beat you with her broom if you threatened her plane of existence, including anyone she loves and cares for.

I want to sweep the corners of my mind free of any complicated tasks that have been given to me by people who are trying to solve me like a riddle. Maybe sometimes we don’t need to solve each other, but just fucking accept it. Maybe I wonder and worry and feel selfish often for choosing to be the person I am. But I hope the people dearest and nearest to me can see my soul is a well full of life, and sometimes the water gets poisoned by pain and hurt and anger, but I’m trying to keep my surrounding gardens well and thriving as best as I can. I want to be a wild, untamed garden, who is also deeply cared for.

As we all do, I want to be loved.

All I want and have ever wanted is to be loved.

---------

-Samiiiiiiiiiiii 💖

#writingsofalyricalheart #myposts #writers of tumblr #mywords #writelr #thoughts #who i am #who am i #sexuality #bisexuality #bisexual #god #christianity #labels #pieces #puzzle pieces #who are we #answers #questions

[the-coolest-mallard]

Task: Character in a Popular TV AU

“Louie’s Good Place” 

FADE IN: Camera zooms in on Louie’s brown eyes opening wide.

WAKING UP

It pans out to Louie sitting on a generic couch.

Camera pans over to what Louie would be looking at, and the blank wall says ‘Welcome! Everything is fine.’

    Louie smiles.

A door opens, and Vinny steps through the door in a business suit.

    Vinny smiles.

VINNY

Louie? Come on in.

He steps back into the doorway. Louie walks in after him.

    Vinny sits down in a chair behind a desk.

VINNY

Louie, I’m Vinny. How are ya?

LOUIE

I’m good. Oh quick question. Where am I? Who’re you? And what even is going on?

VINNY

Right. So. You, Llewellyn Mallard, are dead. Yer life ‘n Earth’s done. Yer in th’ next phase of existence in th’ Universe.

LOUIE

Cool cool cool cool. Got a few questions.

Vinny

Yeah, thought ya might. [he laughs]

LOUIE

How’d I die? I don’t remember.

VINNY

Yeh, in cases o’ traumatic, embarrassin’ deaths, we get rid o’ the memory t’ allow for a peaceful transition. Ya sure ya wanna hear?

  Louie quickly nods.

VINNY

A’right. Well ya were ‘n yer phone instagrammin’ some royal Avalorian or somethin’. Ya were addin’ a bunch of dolla sign emojis an’ not payin’ attention to where ya were walkin’. A group a horse riders from the stables were takin’ Excalibur Road‘n goin’ too fast. One a the horses plowed right into ya.

LOUIE

Oof. That’s how I died.

VINNY

[breaks in] sorry there’s more. Ya were able to sort of righ’ yerself and stumble sideways, but then another one came right in and plowed into ya. Tha’ one sent ya flyin’ and ya were knocked right into th’ lake an’ ya drowned. Funnily enough, the firs’ person to arrive was yer brother Huey-

LOUIE

Ooookay that’s enough. I got it. So uh am I...ya know

    Louie gestures with a finger up towards the ceiling, and then flips his hand over to point down towards the ground.

VINNY

Well ‘s not the heaven or hell idea ya been raised on. But generally speakin’ in th’ afterlife there’s a good place ‘n a bad place. Yer in the good place.

    Louie lets out a relieved breath and smiles.

LOUIE

Wow. That’s great!

VINNY

Sure is.

VINNY

Ok let’s take a walk. A’right?

Vinny gets up from his desk chair, Louie from his own chair as well. They head out of the office.

Vinny leads Louie out into the neighborhood.

VINNY

So this is ‘ow it works. Th’ good place is divided into distinct neighborhoods.

    Louie sees different buildings with odd names: the exotic awesome animal depot, anticipated needs, everything fits!, yogurt acres

VINNY

People are selected to blend together ‘n a blissful harmonic balance.

LOUIE

Do all the neighborhoods look like this? I was expecting...

VINNY

Somethin’ a little holier than thou?

LOUIE

Yep. With a little more light and manly robes.

VINNY

Every neighborhood ‘s different. Some have warm weather, some cold. Cities, some farmland, each one has been carefully designed.

    Louie looks around the place and notices something sort of weird.

LOUIE

There’s a lot of frozen yogurt places.

VINNY

Yeah we put it in all the neighborhoods. It’s one thing everyone loved.

Louie gets sat down to see an orientation film for the afterlife. Explains positive negative value of actions done in life. It also went on about a true soulmate being in the good place as well.

The orientation film ends and the camera fades out.

FADES IN: VINNY and LOUIE walk toward the house set up for Louie.

LOUIE

Okay so tell me something interesting. Who’s in the bad place that I wouldn’t expect?

VINNY

To start? Picasso, Elvis, every artist ever. Uh, most US presidents ‘cept Lincoln ‘n Obama. System’s pretty selective. Most people don’ make it here. But you? An innovative teen who in his short time on Earth saved a royal family ‘n gave all the money he managed to save t’ charity…who shared all his worldly possessions with the people he met in town…you’re special Louie.

    Louie manages an awkward smile, slowly registering that the story that this guy had was not Louie’s actual life story.

VINNY

By th’ way? Welcome to yer new home.

Vinny turns Louie around and Louie looks up in excitement, only to find a small house with a white picket fence and plain gray color scheme on the outside. The house is more like a small American home than the mansion of his dreams.

VINNY

Every person here gets a house matched perfectly t’ the person’s essence.

LOUIE

Cool cool cool cool. So I guess that’s why my house is uh…this little white picket fence deal whereas other people might’ve gotten homes that are…bigger. Like that one!

    Louie gestures to an enormous looking mansion that…honestly it looked exactly like something he would want to live in if he could have.

VINNY

Ya got it!

    Louie is brought into a house full of absolutely nothing that he would particularly choose to decorate with. And everything is colored brown. A record player is playing some obnoxious Britney Spears song.

LOUIE

Wait a minute….this is the bad place isn’t it?

    He looks stunned, and Vinny looks a mixture of stunned and furious.

FADE OUT: Camera pans out with Vinny’s arms crossed in front of him, and Louie looking almost triumphant.

 THE END

#bdrpwrimolena #bdrpwrimo2018lena

[not-close-to-straight]

Coming Home (Chapter Five)

ADDITIONAL CHAPTERS HERE

Enjoy :) (or cry, which is probably more true)

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

(Day Sixty One)

(The Tower)

“Steve.” Clint slid his arms around Steve’s broad shoulders, burying his face in the back of his neck, and Steve shivered, dropping his wings when Clint brought his deep brown ones around to cover him. “Have you taken a break recently?”

“No, I haven't.” Steve rubbed at his eyes and turned away from the computer, tilting his head to nuzzle against the other Omega. “But I'm fine.”

“You can't do any good if you’re too tired to see straight.” Clint scolded. “Please come upstairs and rest for a little bit. I'll stay with you, if you want?”

“Thank you.” Steve turned further and kissed Clint gently, drawing his fingers down his jaw and smiling at the stubble on his chin. “But I can't stop, Clint. I’ve got to find something that will lead us to Tony.”

“I know baby, but again-- you aren't any good to us if you are too tired to see straight. Have you heard from Bucky?” Clint pulled up a chair next to Steve and took his hand, blue eyes flicking over the computer screen. “What is all this?”

“I haven't heard from Bucky in four days.” Steve scrubbed at his face tiredly. “Rhodes called me last night though. Apparently they are starting to catch up with Bucky, he says they are coming across villages where the children describe a soldier with knives instead of feathers.”

“That's Bucky.”

“Right. He also says the women they come across have been crying, telling them that the Soldier came back to save them this time.”

“This time?” Clint repeated and Steve swallowed hard.

“Apparently, several years ago, the Winter Soldier was sent to Afghanistan with Hydra and his visit was--” he cleared his throat and Clint squeezed his hand sympathetically. “His visit was not good. Rhodes has had women who remember their father being murdered by the Winter Soldier, all the sudden having their sons saved from combatants by the same Soldier. They are calling it a miracle.”

“Do you think Bucky remembers being there? Or do you think since he broke his programming he is rescuing people because it's just...right?”

“I don't want Bucky to remember it.” Steve said quietly. “I hope he isn't retracing his steps through some horrible, bloody mission. I don't want him to have to go through that. Don't want him to have to relive all that horror and then be desperately trying to fix his mistakes.”

“Me either.” Clint was quiet for a minute. “Well, come take a break, Steve. Sam dragged Tasha down to the gym to kick her ass so she would finally sleep. Pepper is with Bruce in DC and Wanda and Pietro are finally on their way back to Russia, so it's pretty quiet upstairs.”

“It was good of the kids to come and be with us.” Steve murmured, ignoring Clint’s suggestion. “They certainly didn't have to.”

“Tony’s missing.” Clint stated. “It took everything I had to convince them not to move right in and set up camp. I also had to convince Wanda not to tell the UN to go fuck themselves and fling herself and her speedy bastard of a brother over borders and wreak havoc themselves. They aren't very happy with me. I think Pietros exact words were “dad you’re no fun.” and Wanda’s were something colorful and furious in Russian. I asked Nat to translate and she refused. Can't get no respect from those two.”

“Hm.”  Steve rolled his neck, flinching when it pulled uncomfortably. “I gotta say, I don't envy your sudden adoptive parenthood of completely dangerous, possibly slightly unhinged, super powered orphans.”

“You don't want to have a kid?” Clint sounded surprised. “Captain America doesn't want a house with a white picket fence and 2.5 kids with his loving Alpha? I find that hard to believe.”

“Clint.” Steve finally smiled. “It wouldn't be a house with a white picket fence, it would be a compound somewhere upstate where Tony felt like any child any of us had biologically or adopted would have plenty of room to run and play. A huge dining room to fit everyone, a bigger kitchen to make sure we could cook all we wanted. A dozen bathrooms, at least, a movie theater for movie nights, a garage that I feel like would constantly expand as the kids got old enough for bikes, and then ATV’s and then their own cars. It wouldn't be a white picket fence so much as a security and privacy fence because heaven help the reporter who tries to get into the family’s house. A dance studio for Tasha, an archery range, a shooting range, a special lab for Bruce.--- should I continue?”

“A park for the kids.” Clint added. “With some ridiculous jungle gym and swing set. A play house for the girls that's more of a regular house and a tree fort for the boys with trap doors and it's own version of JARVIS.”

“Boys and girls, huh?” Steve sounded wistful. “You think both?”

“Well yeah.  The two or three you and Tony have together, the eight or nine I'm planning on having. One for Bucky, right? Just a little girl with bright blue eyes and a terrifying scowl? Maybe a set of twins for Nat. I'm sure Sam wants a big strapping boy to carry on that family name…”

Steve laughed. “Eight or nine for you?”

“I've already got two.” Clint grinned. “I'm sure Wanda and Pietro can bring me six or seven more little orphans who all speak Russian and can sign to me. Tony would be completely fine with it.”

“He would be fine with it. If he would just believe how badly we want to mate with him-- fuck. Fuck I miss him.” Steve looked away, and Clint crooned softly, settling his wings over Steve's shoulders again and sliding onto his lap as Steve’s breath hitched. “I miss him, Clint. What if he never comes home? What if we never get the chance to have our compound in upstate and let kids run around?”

“Tony is too stubborn to not come home.” Clint argued, pressing their foreheads together. “We will find him, and then I'll kick your ass for doubting him.”

“Please do.” Steve wrapped his arms around Clints waist and breathed in deep, letting the scent of the familiar Omega comfort him, distract him for a few minutes. “Thank you.”

“I want you to sleep in my room tonight.” Clint tipped Steve’s chin up. “I know you like to sleep in your bed because it scents like Bucky, and I know none of us can stand to sleep in Tony's bed without him, but I'm tired of sleeping alone. Sam and Tasha have been sharing a room for weeks now, why aren't we doing the same thing?”

“I know. And Bruce and Pepper are staying in her apartment or a hotel room when they are traveling.”

“So?”

“Yeah. I'd like that.” Steve nodded and Clint kissed him again, soft and sweet and slow, drawing it out until Steve’s golden wings lifted in interest, and he whined in his throat. “Definitely. I'd love some time with you.”

“Good.” Clint kissed him again, nuzzled into his neck. “See you in a few hours okay? Promise me you’ll come to bed.”

“I promise.” he smiled when Clint growled playfully, then moved away, running a rough hand through Steve’s blond hair. “Just a few more hours.”

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

Afghanistan

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

“Anthony Edward Stark.”

The deep voice cut through the fog in Tony's mind, but it was the sudden spotlight on his face that brought him startling awake, and he hissed in agony as everything pulled. “What?” he spat, fucking tired of tasting blood in his mouth every time he came to. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Rude.” the voice sounded amused. “Would your mother let you speak to people that way?”

“Don't you talk about my mother.” Tony warned, and struggled to sit up, keeping a hand firmly on his chest to keep the wires still. “She was a saint, and you have no right to even mention her. You didn't know her and you can’t--”

“You don't know who I am, do you?” Now the stranger sounded surprised. “They erased me from your life, didn't they?”

“Wh-what?” Tony squinted against the bright light, lifting his hand to touch at the bruising on his face. “What do you mean? How would I know you?”

“You look like her, you know. Like Maria. She was a beauty. I was surprised to hear you presented as Alpha, looking like you do. It is natural, right? Daddy Stark didn't pump you full of something else to force you from Omega to Alpha?”

“What are you talking about, something else? My dad never did anything to me.” Tony sat up straighter, straining to look beyond the bright light to the shadowed figure sitting against the wall. A quick glance around the cave showed Yinsen nowhere to be seen and that was unnerving. “Where’s Yinsen? What did you do to him?”

“He doenst matter right now.” the man answered, and Tony took as deep a breath as he could, pulling in the scent of Alpha, the stale aroma of expensive cigars, and something tinged with anger that made him uneasy. “You have more important things to worry about. You have taken the Winter Soldier into your home, correct? That Tower that houses that ridiculous group you call a family?”

“Don't talk about my family!” Tony's dark eyes blazed, red bleeding in through the brown. “You don't know half of anything about us!”

“That is where you are wrong.” A computer that Tony hadn't noticed clicked on, a grainy video filling the screen. “You in fact, don't know half of anything about the ones you bring into your secure little world. You welcomed the Winter Soldier with open arms, and didn't think twice about it. But tell me, my boy. What kind of Alpha lets this sort of man around the ones he loves?”

Tony opened his mouth to protest, to scream for him to shut up, to defend Bucky down to his last breath--

--but then something on the video caught his eye.

“I know that road.” he whispered, and he glanced down at the date on the bottom of the screen.

December 19th, 1991.

“I know that road.” he said again. “What is this? No no no, what is this?”

“You know what it is.” The voice answered. “But keep watching anyway.”

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

New York

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

Steve couldn't tear his eyes away from the screen, and even though he had seen the video four times now, it still shook him to his core.

It had been an accident, finding it. He had been systematically searching through every threat on Howard or Maria Stark’s life, using JARVIS to hack through SHIELD’s databases, trying to find some connection to the Middle East, any crumb of anything that would lead him to Tony. Thanks to Natasha’s data dump when they had discovered SHIELD being all but run by a new arm of HYDRA, there was bits and pieces of everything out there, and once he had found what seemed like a trail, he just kept digging.

It had taken hours, and he was way past when he was supposed to crawl into bed with Clint, but he had come across a name, Obadiah Stane, and a reference to the Winter Soldier, and a date- December 19th 1991- that shouldn't have existed outside of an obituary.

And then he had found the video.

“JARVIS tell me this is fabricated.” he ordered, his voice shaky. “Tell me it's...altered. They can do all sorts of stuff like that now. It's fake, right?”

“I'm sorry, Captain Rogers.” The AI sounded distressed. “This is an unaltered video. I'm afraid what you are seeing is true.”

“No.” Steve shook his head adamantly. “There’s no way Bucky would have---” he hit pause, unable to watch it again. “Tony can’t ever find out about this. It will destroy him. I can't let him know.”

“What if he already knows, Captain?”

“Dammit.” Steve fisted his hands in his hair. “Dammit JARVIS, what if Tony already knows?”

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

Afghanistan

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

Stane waved the television away after Tony had watched the whole video, after he had cried out for his dad, and then sat there with tears rolling down his face watching his mother be strangled by the Soldier.

He turned off the bright spotlights, throwing the cave into darkness, and lit a cigar, taking a deep, satisfying pull off it before blowing the smoke in Tony's direction.

“Are you ready to build my bomb, Tony?”

Silence for a long time, then Tony's voice from the dark, sounding empty and flat and so void of life it was nearly unsettling.

“I'm ready to build your bomb.”

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

#ncts fics #coming home #alpha tony stark #omega steve rogers #Winter Soldier

[ecotone99]

Fantasy [FN] The Octopus Tree

“She takes care of me. She always takes care of me.”

That was the only way Blair could explain how he survived falling down the hill near his house. He never reached the river at the bottom, and even with it snowing, his parents found him, alive. He should have never survived that accident. That was years ago, and he’s dedicated his life to taking care of her, farming, and producing crops and lumber for years. It doesn’t matter how the season goes; she provides. Blair knows if he takes care of her, she will take care of him. Midday Blair is about to quit for the day. As he moves the tractor into the barn, he sees several cars speed by him. One right after another, each of them filled with people holding signs and screaming out the window. He walks to the end of the driveway; he overhears the train of cars yell, “Save the trees!”

“Save the trees?!” Blair thought to himself.

There are millions of trees, how are they going to protect them all. And it dawns on Blair. The Octopus Tree. The only one that would make people grab pitchforks and torches to save it, okay maybe not torches. This tree is enormous. Just as the name speaks for itself, its branches sprawl out and up, reaching for the skies above. Blair has been frequently but never thought they would endanger it. He jumps onto his bicycle and heads to where a crowd has gathered.

Once he arrives, Blair sees the massive machinery, the kind you’d expect to wipe out a forest. He sees VW busses, electric cars, and several bicycles gathered around. Blair weaves his way closer than swerves around a giant rig, looking like a portable lab. One the side a logo which he could only translate as a tree struck by lightning. As Blair rounds the corner, a door slams into his face, knocking him back. Before he lands, he hears a man talking on his phone with a low deep raspy voice, and he sees the lower half of the guy, at least one leg and an artificial limb.

The man says, “Yes, we are close to the goal, the conversion is in our reach, just need to get rid of these...”

The door silenced the rest. As Blair picks himself up, he hears another voice.

“Are you okay? The jerk didn’t even bother to check.”

Blair turns to see a petite red-haired miss, wearing overalls and a colorful flannel top. Blair isn’t usually shy with words, but seeing her made him lose all of them.

“Um, I’m fine, I guess, just caught me off guard,” he says.

“Don’t be modest, that was Dr. Cruickshank, he’s responsible for this, and he is a grade A, top-level as... well you know what I mean,” she responds.

Blair chuckles and asks, “What IS happening here?”

“Wait, you haven’t heard?” she responds.

Blair shakes his head.

“Well, these giant tree demolishing rigs and this piece of...” she says as she slaps the side of the lab, “are Dr. Cruickshank’s company, and they supposedly discovered that you could convert lumber into energy.”

“Wait. What?” Blair responds.

“Yup, that’s why I put together this little party, to prevent them from doing just that, kill our trees for energy.”

“You put this together?” Blair asked, looking at all the people gathered.

“Don’t look so shocked?” Moira says as she walks towards the Octopus Tree, “My name is Moira.”

Before Blair could respond, Moira is greeted by those with picket signs and yelling at the people in white lab coats.

She jumps up onto a makeshift stage and belts out in a mega-phone.

“We cannot let them take away one of our many life sources!” she exclaims, “Is this not known for its beautiful forests?! Is it not known for its timber? We even have a soccer team named after just that. Why would we want to give another reason for people to take our trees?!”

“She has a brilliant point,” thought Blair.

Just as he thought about turning around the same door that hit him before flies open, inches away from his face, Blair sees that artificial limb step down and hears a low, raspy groan. He then hears the man speak to someone else inside the trailer, “Can you please get your goons to go out there and remove her, she’s taking up precious time, and causing me quite the headache. Do whatever you need to, we need to conduct this experiment now.”

With that, the mystery man steps back into the trailer and slams the door shut. As that door closes, another one opens, on the other end of the container. At least five to six men, dressed in a combination of excellent suites and riot gear, come barging out and start making their way to the crowd. Blair sees one of the men lift a gun and fire into the group. A tear gas cartridge flies through the air and landing amongst the masses. With a loud pop, gas pours up and out. Screams immediately follow as the crowds begin dispersing. Chaos begins to show its ugly head as another tear gas cartridge, causing me more panic and confusion. Blair is knocked to the ground by people fleeing. As he lands, his hands hit the side of a metal cover running towards the old tree. An image flashed before his eyes, of chemicals and electric current running to the tree and the trees melting away into a powder. But what scares Blair is the feeling that came with that image; pain, fear, sadness, and even grief flood him. Tears well up in his eyes, as he wipes them away, he sees Moira covering her face and eyes, and off to the side is one of the men, with a mask, coming at her with a baton. Before Blair could even realize it, he had his shirt off and wrapped around his mouth and nose. He was sprinting towards Moira. The gas was getting thick, and hurting Blair’s eyes, more tears formed. A breeze came flowing through, creating a path for Blair. He lunges just as the man’s baton comes down and clips his shoulder. Blair manages to tackle Moira to the side.

“What the...?!” yells Moira.

She wipes her eyes and sees the security guard over both of them. His baton raised again, and the of them trapped between the guard and the tree. Blair was recouping from the tackle. Moira closed her eyes, expecting to get knocked on the side of her head. She raises her hands. Then she peeks. The guards are not there like he vanished. She sees the branch of the Octopus tree going back towards the sky. She doesn’t believe it.

She helps Blair up, “Did you see that?”

“What?” asks Blair.

“The tree...it...it...” but before she can finish, Blair grabbed her by the arm and was running to the other side of the tree, away from the crowd and gas. Moira was in a state of shock, thinking she must have hit her head.

“What about the tree?” Blair asks.

“Nevermind,” Moira responds.

“Hey, we’ve got to save her,” Blair states as begins looking around the ground near the base of the tree.

Moira gives him a concerning glance, “Save who?” she asks as she follows him.

Before he can answer, he uncovers piping and cables attached to the different parts of the giant trunk. Some are screwed in, and some nailed, some clipped. Blair begins to frantically pull at the different attached points. As they get one unhooked, two guards come sprinting around running towards them. A giant root pops up out of the ground and whips one of the guards, sending him flying back into the nearby brush. Moira’s jaw drops. Blair gets pushed, sending him crashing to the ground. The guard looks to reconnect what he was removed. That raspy unsettling voice is sent booming over a loudspeaker from the other side.

“Conducting test number 1859, in 10..9...8...7...6...”

Blair gets another image flash and rush of feelings as he did before.

“5...4...3...2...”

Blair jumps up, tackles the guard. He grabs the baton and begins frantically wailing away at the pipes and cables, and anything else metal.

“1...go!”

With that, the sound of a surge and rush of electricity come flying around and with a powerful flash and bang. Both Moira and Blair sent flying back into the brush. Moments later, Blair opens his eyes; he can see the limbs of the Octopus Tree, reaching high. Blair smiles. He remembers Moira and gets up and finds her a foot away.

“Moira?! Are you okay?! Talk to me!” he yells, running to her side.

“Dude! Chill. I’m fine, just a little bruised,” she responds.

Blair lets out a massive sigh of relief. Just then, he hears the voice again over the loudspeaker.

“What happened?! Can anyone tell me, please tell me why the tree is still standing there?!”

Several men and women in lab coats come walking around the tree. Blair and Moira stay put, still hidden by brush and plants. They walk around, writing down notes, looking at and feeling the tree. They come up to the side, seeing the damage started by Blair. All of them gather around looking, chatting, and writing down note after note. One of them pulls up a walkie talkie.

“Sir, it looks like either an animal got to the inserts, or they exploded do to the tree being too big.”

A short pause, before you hear an annoyed grunt in that raspy voice, “I find that hard to believe, but never mind, we have a strict time frame we need to meet and do not have time to set up everything again, just leave it and try at our next experimental point.”

The group of them shuffle back towards the trailer.

Blair and Moira wait a few moments before finding their way back to Blair’s bicycle.

“Whoa, that was close,” Blair said, “she almost got hurt; we need to stop that next experiment.”

Moira gives him a concerning look again, “You are interesting...” she says, pausing for Blair to fill in the blank.

Blair giggles, “Blair, and yea, sorry for tackling you earlier, I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

“Nothing I can’t handle, I grew up with brothers, but I have to say I witnessed some unusual and unexpected things today Blair, and I’m getting the sense you know what I’m talking about.”

Blair just smiles and gets on his bike, “I need to find out where they are planning on going to next”

Moira looks over at her VW bus, “If we take my car, we could get there quicker; besides, my phone is in there, and I know a few people that could help us figure it out.”

Blair looks down at his bike and back up her car, “Can we take my bike?”

Moira laughs, “Yea, we can take your bike.”

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