I'm Never Shooting Another Snuff Film

You don’t start out shooting snuff. You build up to it. To be honest, I never thought I’d let it get that far. And I wish I never did.

I started out wanting to be a legit film maker. But that’s a hard business to break into when you don’t know the right people. Living on your own is expensive, and it gets humiliating to ask your parents for help covering your rent after the second time. My mom was always more than happy to help, but it wasn’t like my parents were loaded, and I hated being a leech.

Eating nothing but ramen noodles and cheap mac n cheese is its own kind of misery. Not to mention being unable to go out and do anything with friends. I mean, I survived, but I was miserable. So when the chance to film a porno came up, I jumped at the chance. I told myself it would be just this once.

Just this once turned into just one more time, then this would be the last time, and before I knew it I started getting deeper and deeper into the taboo. Like Fifty Shades of Grey looked vanilla compared to some of the BDSM I was behind the camera for.

I knew I was getting out of the realm of legal when I filmed a girl cutting open her arms and licking up the blood. I don’t know what she was on, but she had to be on something to do this all while smiling and giggling. But that check felt so damn good, so I kept my mouth shut. I was finally in the black. I told myself no one made her do those things, so what was the harm in it?

Then one day I was approached with a once in a lifetime deal. I normally worked with my guy Charlie, he got all the hook ups for the weird stuff. One day Charlie came over with this other guy I’d never met before who introduced himself as Noel.

Noel doesn’t look how you’re probably picturing someone in this scene, he was about five foot six and balding on top. He wore these round wire framed glasses and made me think of a schoolteacher. The kind of teacher that everyone loved, the one that you couldn’t wait for his class every day because he never assigned homework and let you listen to music while you worked.

“I’m a fan of your work, Frank- can I call you Frank?” Noel took out his wallet and counted out a few hundred dollar bills. “This is your signing bonus. Once the film is complete, I’ll give you double that.”

My eyes nearly popped out of my head. “How long’s the filming going on for?” I asked, already snatching up the money.

“Oh, just a day. Maybe two, if we need to do reshoots. Don’t worry, you’ll be compensated if it takes any longer than it should.” Noel extended his hand. “What do you say? No hard feelings if you feel you’re not up for the task.”

I shook Noel’s hand and asked when I started.

I figured it would just be over the top BDSM when I saw the set, all chains and brick. I had a few drinks with the two male actors while we waited for the actress to make her appearance. Not gonna lie, I got Ted Bundy vibes from the guy calling himself Tommy, but Gabe seemed like another average, fun guy.

When I saw the actress get dragged in, I realized how very deep I was in over my head.

Her mouth had been duct taped shut, she’d clearly been crying and looked pretty banged up. Noel followed the men dragging her and clapped his hands together. “Let’s get to work then! Frank, I’d like for you to focus a lot on her limbs. The commissioner is very into legs and arms. You’ll only get one chance, but since this is your first time filming this sort of kink, I won’t be too upset if it’s not perfect.”

I should’ve just bolted then. Gave Noel back his goddamn money and left. Gone to the cops, gone to someone.

Instead, I quietly sat behind the camera and treated it like any other porn film.

Lights, camera, action.

I never knew the girl’s name. Both Tommy and Gabe wore full leather masks and were armed with hand saws. I zoomed in as they started sawing through her shoulder. Drops of blood landed on the camera and I brushed them off without even thinking. I saw Noel nod approvingly at that natural motion. The arm fell to the ground and I panned over it nice and slow as it rested on the floor.

They took off her other arm and both legs, her struggles slowly fading and her eyes fluttering shut by the time they got through the final femur. Tommy and Gabe stood, bowed to the camera like they were on stage for a play.

And cut.

I had to run to the bathroom after that. I vomited for what felt like an hour. When I finally stumbled out, Noel handed me the rest of my payment. He patted my shoulder and helped escort me to my car. “It’s always hardest the first time. I bet you had dreams of filming the next summer blockbuster someday?” He said.

I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t need to. Noel just nodded. “We all had dreams like that. Maybe if things turned out differently we would’ve been working on one of those blockbusters together. I’ll call you when I need your services again.”

I told myself that I wouldn’t pick up the phone again when Noel called.

But I did.

I did twenty-five snuff films in total. The money felt so, so damn good. And after a while, you really do become desensitized to it all. For me, it just felt like I was in a dream. A dream with gore and guts and horrible, horrible things happening to people, but it wasn’t happening to me. I just saw it through a lens.

The twenty-fifth film was the one that finally made me quit.

I was out drinking with my fellow crew members when Noel came up with this darling blonde on his shoulder. I don’t know how he did it as he was pretty average in appearance, but Noel could get the hottest women.

“Gentlemen, this is Rada. Rada, this is Tommy, Gabe, and Frank,” He said, gesturing to them all.

Rada giggled and clapped. “Noel tells me you are… actors?” She said, her Russian accent thick on her words.

Gabe puffed up. “Tommy and I are the actors. Frank’s the camera man,” He said.

“Camera man?” She cocked her head to the side. “Is it fun?” She asked.

I shrugged. “Well, I like it. It pays the bills,” I said.

“Very good, very good!” Rada clapped before looking up at Noel. “Could I be in a film? I’ve always wanted to be an actress.”

I nearly dropped my glass. I had to excuse myself from the table, unable to ignore that glint of darkness in Noel’s smile.

I got a text about twenty minutes later saying to head to the ‘studio’. I stopped by at home to change into clothes I didn’t mind getting bloody before I walked over.

Rada was clearly drunk as she teetered around the set. She poked at the chains on the wall and smiled. “Am I a captive in your scene, Noel?” She asked.

“That sounds about right.” Noel helped her into the chains, Rada’s innocent doe brown eyes looking excitedly around. This whole thing made me genuinely sick. It was one thing when they were terrified, begging for mercy and sobbing as they realized they were doomed. But the innocent expression on Rada’s face, how clear it was she had no idea what was going to happen… I almost walked out then.

But then Noel slipped a few hundreds in my hand and I just got the camera ready.

“Now remember, Rada, you are terrified. You are in true fear of your life as this man is about to gut you. Don’t be afraid to scream,” Noel said.

Rada nodded. “I can do that! I’m very good at being scared,” She said.

Tommy snickered before he pulled on his leather mask. “This is just too easy sometimes,” He murmured to me. I just rolled my eyes.

Lights. Camera. Action.

Rada’s bubbly expression changed to one of true terror as Tommy walked into the camera. “Please, why am I here? I want to go home, please,” She said as a tear rolled down her cheek.

Tommy twirled around the knife before sliding it down her front, slicing through the front of her dress. Rada whimpered and turned her face away. “I’ll do whatever you want! Please, take my money, use my body!” She begged.

The knife nicked her skin and I saw this brief moment of confusion before she began to struggle in earnest, realizing this wasn’t just a movie anymore. “Nyet! Unchain me! I don’t like this game! Director! I don’t want to play anymore!” She shouted.

The knife went into her stomach and her breath caught before she screamed so loudly I felt my ears pop.

Tommy sliced down her stomach, thrusting his hand inside to pull out her intestines. He held them in front of her eyes as she continued to scream actual bloody murder. Even Noel, who was typically quite passive during these scenes, winced and rubbed one of his ears.

Rada’s dying breaths came as all her organs were spilled out in front of her. Tommy bowed for the camera.

And cut.

“Incredible,” Noel shook his head before he got up and threw Tommy a towel, “You’ve outdone yourself.”

Tommy nodded before I heard a groan.

“Noel, can I go again? I can do better.”

I am not lying when I say I literally pissed my pants when I saw Rada’s head roll back up, blinking a few times before her eyes focused on Noel.

Tommy screamed like a school girl as he scrambled away, ripping off his mask. “How the fuck!?!” He yelped as Rada began to tug at her chains.

The girl groaned before rolling her eyes and smashing her right hand against the wall, I heard bones crack before she pulled her mangled hand free. She did the same to the left before she began the impossible task of shoving her organs inside her mangled torso. “Scene… sorry… your language is hard… when I hurt…” She grunted as she popped her large intestine back inside. “Scene would look better, covered in my blood? I can be cleaned,” She looked up with a smile as she attempted to pull her skin together.

Noel got up from his chair, I saw him shake as he slowly approached this woman that should absolutely be dead. “What are you?” He said softly.

Rada giggled.

“An actress, Noel. I want to be a very good actress.”

We filmed that scene three more times. Rada had to film the rest of the shots naked, but she didn’t mind. Only thing that bothered her was how cold the stone under her ass was. After each time she’d get up, put herself back together, and we’d go again. I’d never filmed for so long before, not for one of Noel’s films. The sun was coming up when Noel finally said we were done.

I was about to leave when Rada stopped me. “Can I see?” She asked, snuggling into the shirt she’d stolen from Tommy.

Swallowing, I let her have the camera and rewound to the final time we filmed, which Noel had said was going to be his best work yet. She watched silently, nodding approvingly as Tommy tore out her heart and squeezed the beating organ in his hand. “My expressions are believable?” She asked.

“Does it really hurt you?” I asked.

Rada nodded. “It hurts like it would if it would kill me. But like I said, I want to be an actress. Will I be famous in these films? I can change if the director needs me to be a different girl.” She looked so eager for my response.

“… In certain circles, you’ll be a star.”

I left that day and never went back. I never picked up Noel’s phonecalls. Charlie was as good as dead to me. I cut my lease early and am now living back with my parents in Ohio. I think I’ll be going back to school, go into something less bloody like accounting. My mom always wanted me to be an accountant.

I never want to film anything again. Especially one of Noel’s films.

I wonder if Rada’s starring in all his movies now.

Fool’s Rush In

Chapter 17

This is my @wackydrabbles​ post for week 87. The prompt is bolded. "No offense, but I'm not interested."

Book: TRR

Pairing: Liam x Riley

Warnings: Drake and some language.

*I was in a silly mood and this turned into a dumpster fire lol and it feels very rushed but I was trying to meet the word count. There may be a little bit of plot in this.

Word count: 1999

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

Liam sat on the floor with his back pressed against the mattress; one leg bent upright with the other extended crookedly out in front of him. Half of a bottle of Don Julio dangled loosely from a hand settled on his knee while two shiny gold rings encircled the pinky tip of his other.

In a fit of anger late last night, he searched for and consumed the first bottle of alcohol he came across in the liquor cabinet. He had no intentions of getting hammered or even a little drunk; Liam just needed something to take the edge off the hurt. Not that he for one second believed a word Riley told him before she walked out and boarded a red-eye commercial flight back to the States. 

As Liam pondered her abrupt departure in the early hours of the morning, one thing was for sure: He'd never been in love before, but what he felt for Riley was real -- and reciprocated -- that, "no," she spewed from her mouth when asked if she loved him was a lie.  

But why? That was the question he just couldn't figure out.

Having racked his brain for hours and with the sun finally coloring in the darkness of his chambers, Liam set aside his drink and lifted himself off the ground. Every thought that consumed him for the last several hours was riddled with putting the pieces together of why she actually left and why she felt she couldn't tell him the truth. Nothing made sense, yet ruminating alone in his room until he figured it out wasn't going to solve anything; the only way to get to the bottom of this was to retrace Riley's steps from the time she left the ball to when he made his way up to join her a little later. 

Stumbling to the bathroom -- mostly from exhaustion and perhaps a little drunker than he realized -- Liam stripped off the tuxedo he wore the prior evening and took a quick shower before heading down to the security office.

-----------

Riley's heavily drooping eyelids popped wide open when the plane shook from another vigorous tremor of turbulence. Gripping the armrests on both sides of her seat, she hesitated to peek out the window but was relieved when she saw the billowy waters of the Pacific had transformed into small, mosaic blocks of land covered by a shadow of the nearly setting sun. 

When the aircraft settled again, Riley reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone to check the time, grateful to be landing soon. She planned to go straight home, sink into her bed, and sleep the rest of her life away. Maybe wake up every once in a while to sob again before going back to sleep. Whatever Riley decided to do, she hated Madeleine, she hated Tyler, and she hated telling Liam she didn't love him; the more Riley thought about the stunned look on his face when she said it, the more nauseous her stomach felt.

And the nausea was getting worse.

Riley caught the eye of a nearby stewardess and waved her over; she needed ginger ale, and she needed it fast. 

"Can I help you, Miss?"

"I … I need, ginger ale, please." She asked through ragged breaths.

"Let me check and see if we have more." Riley nodded appreciatively.

"Hey. Don't I know you from somewhere?" A relatively large guy in the center seat, whose sweaty arm flab had been lodged in Riley's shoulder since takeoff, asked. Oh shit! Riley cupped a tight hand over her mouth and shook her head vigorously; the last thing she wanted was to be recognized. 

Or vomit.

While the stewardess searched the service cart for the requested drink, the gentleman's eyes enlarged. "Wait a minute. Yeah! You're that little gal who married some king, with ..." he snapped his fingers before adding in his thick Texan drawl, "the monkey and hookers and shit. Wow, my fiance wants to have a wedding just like yours." He held his hand out to her. "The names Beaver Calhoun, mayor of Slippery Nip, Texas. I guess you could say we're both royals, huh?"

Riley lowered her hand slightly; she was past the point of ginger ale helping, and this guy was blocking her way out. "Beaver, I need you to move." 

He stroked his chin in thought. "Well, I don't know, Queenie. I'm pretty content with my life there in Slippery Nip, Not really lookin' to uproot."

"No!' Riley's strained voice responded forcefully, "move out of the way--" She tried to fight it, but her head flung forward and everything came out with her last word.

Beaver looked down at his shirt and quirked a brow. "That's gonna leave a stain."

=============

On the second floor of a run-down Motel 6, just off the beaten path in Las Vegas, Drake tossed in the last of his clothes and airline tickets in a duffle bag and zipped it. Stepping over to the window, he pulled aside the tattered curtains to check if the airport's shuttle van had arrived yet. Disappointed, he grumbled to himself, "Where the hell are you? I'm ready to get the fuck out of here." 

The past week had been intense -- well, frankly, the entire month had been nothing short of shit balls. Five weeks ago, Drake landed in Las Vegas for Liam's bachelor party and won big money at the casino, only to have it all pissed away on some old, decrepit hooker who stole his wallet, cell phone, dick health, and what little joy he had in the world. Liam left with a sexy ass wife, and all Drake got was the false claim of fathering triplets and his scowling face on the front cover of the National Enquirer with Dr. Ethan Ramsey detailing the entire sordid journey from pre-surgical rooster rot to the aftercare.

He made a quick $500 for the story, in which he badly needed the money, considering he couldn't leave Vegas until the paternity test results came back. It was enough for his lodging, a couple cans of Beenie-Weenies and a few boxes of pepperoni Hot Pockets; his stomach felt like oil sludge at this point. But as a joke, Leo had sent a box of Ding-Dongs, so it wasn't all bad.

The rotary phone in his room rang out, and he answered the call from the front desk, which let him know transportation had arrived. Drake grabbed his bag, flicked a cockroach off of it, and exited his room into the enclosed hallway.

After stepping onto the elevator and hitting the down button, another person strolled on in a black leather mini-skirt, white see-through halter top, and a pair of fishnet stockings that he'd recognize anywhere.

"You!" He growled at the chain-smoking hooker, backing her up into the corner. "Do you have any fucking idea what you did to me? And I WANT my wallet and cell phone back, now!" He hovered menacingly over the much smaller woman.

"No offense, but I'm not interested in giving them back to you," Pinquee Kittee sneered before reaching into her bra for mace and spraying him directly in the eyes. The rapid burn gave way to her next act of defense when a screaming, blinded Drake was doubled over by a swift karate kick to his newly transplanted organ. "Hiiiiyah!"

Drake cupped himself in anguish, fell to the floor, and slumped over as the elevator doors opened. Pinquee Kittee grabbed his duffle bag and peeked down the hallway to make sure no one was around before making her getaway.

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

Just outside of the palace's security office, Liam knocked on the door several times without an answer. It was rare that the King would personally pay a visit. Usually, he would call Bastien and have the head guard look into any issues. With him gone, this just felt like something Liam needed to do in person. 

After several more knocks, Liam reached for the door handle and slowly opened it to let himself inside. The lights were off, with only a few CCTV screens displaying various images of places within and surrounding the palace. Finding the light switch on the wall beside the door, Liam flipped them on, and his mouth fell agape at what he saw.

"What the hell happened in here?" He shouted as his hands shot to his hips, glaring around the room. 

On the floor was a maze of beer cans, whiskey bottles, remnants of silly string, a five-gallon bucket of butter next to a slip-n-slide, a voodoo doll with Liam's face on it, and half-a-dozen guards passed out. 

A furious Liam made his way through, kicking the feet of guardsmen as he stepped along. "Get up! All of you!"

One-by-one, they slowly roused until they realized it was the King in their presence, then they jumped to their feet at attention. 

"Would someone like to explain what the actual fuck happened in here?" Liam wasn't one to swear in front of his staff, but there was no way he could hold back after walking in on this scene. His glowering eyes shifted with expectancy from one man to the next, waiting for an answer, until someone finally called out, "We threw Rogers a going away party for his last night on the job, Your Majesty."

"And you thought having a wild party while you were ON DUTY to protect 400 members of the nobility for a major event was the time to do that?

The guard shook his head. "Not at all, Sir. I admit we weren't as attentive as we should have been last night ..." he pointed behind Liam, "but Prince Leo came by and suggested we kick it up a notch."

Liam turned around and caught Leo slithering along the edge of the wall toward the door. "Leo!"

The Prince stopped dead in his tracks, then flickered his eyes and jolted his body as if he were just waking up. Leo looked at Liam, acting surprised to see him. "Liam? Is that you? H-How did I get in here?"

Liam rolled his eyes. "Knock it off, Leo."

"What?” Leo shrugged innocently. “You know what I think happened. I must have been sleepwalking again. You know how I get when I watch The Duchess before bed." He cocked his head introspectively at his brother. “And you do look like the Duke from that movie, you handsome devil you?” He grinned impishly.

Liam stared blankly at his older brother for a few seconds, then turned around to face the others gathered around. "Who's in charge here?"

When one of the men raised a hand, the King stepped up to him and explained, "Alright, I need you to pull up security footage from last night. I want to review everything from the moment I stepped outside the ballroom to meet the Queen around 9:30, and where she went after I went back into the ballroom." 

If this were any other day, Liam would have fired every one of them on the spot and sent Leo to Antarctica, but he only had one concern: Finding out what happened to Riley.

As the guard typed in his computer to pull up footage from last night, Leo stepped up to Liam, who was hovering over the guard's shoulder with anticipation. "What's going on?"

Never taking his eyes off the screen, he responded. "Riley went back to Las Vegas last night."

"Wh-Why? What happened?"

Liam let out a breath. "That's what I'm trying to find out."

Leo remained silent before giving his little brother's shoulder a reassuring squeeze and watching with him.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary as different camera footages were switched to follow Riley walking from the main staircase, through several passages, and finally ending with the corridor outside of his quarters.

"Stop!" Liam leaned in closer as the guard paused the video; his entire body tensed up at what he saw.

"Is that ..." Leo scrunched up his face in disgust.

"Madeleine."

___________

Tags: @burnsoslow​ @dcbbw​ @ao719​  @jessiembruno​ @texaskitten30​ @janezillow​ @merridithsmiscellany-blog @mskaneko @callmeellabella @queenjilian @sirbeepsalot @drakexwillow @jovialyouthmusic​ @forthebrokenheartedthings​s @bebepac​ @kingliam2019​ @lovablegranny​ @cordoniaqueensworld​ @amandablink​ @liamxs-world​ @choiceskatie @iaminlovewithtrr​ @hopelessromanticmonie​ @charlotteg234​ @annekebbphotography​ @txemrn​ @thecordoniandiaries @alyssalauren​ @cordonianroyalty @monsoonbloom12 @mom2000aggie​ @theroyalheirshadowhunter​ @princessleac1​ @kimmiedoo5​ @graceful-leah​ @iam-the-kind-and-thoughtful​ @thegreentwin​ @gkittylove99​ @neotericthemis​ @pink-diamond13​ @walker7519 @natureblooms24 @yourmajesty09​ @gabesmommie1130​ @sweatyrysconnoisour @kat-tia801​ @debmcg1106 @lifeaskim @choicesstan650​ @emkay512​ @royalromancer​

Liam x MC: @cordonia-gothqueen​n

Anything with Drake:@tinkie1973

FRI Series Tags:   @narrytheworld​​  @queenwalton​  @cordonianprincess​        @zaffrenotes​ @zilch3​  @drrookie​ @sfb123​ @secretaryunpaid​ @masterofbluff​

42. I’m going to save you from the terrible date you’re having, Juke

this got...a little longer then i meant it too 😬but that is also unsurprising because i do not know how to write short prompts. but this was fun!! thank you for sending it! 😊💜

42. I’m going to save you from the terrible date you’re having

50 cliche tropes and prompts!

Julie didn’t mean to start watching the couple. Really, she’d had every intention of doing some work on a paper due next week while she waited for Flynn. Drink her coffee and mind her business.

But then a guy had walked in, brushing hair out of his eyes —and Julie couldn’t help but notice his arms. Mostly because they were on full display and he was standing only a few steps away from her and Julie had a clear view of the way his back muscles moved as he moved. It was kind of distracting — as he scanned the cafe and blowing out a sigh as he spotted whoever it was he was there to meet.

Which was what had moved her attention from his arms to his face, because it wasn’t a happy sigh, more resigned, accepting of his fate.

So Julie had scanned the cafe to see who could make a guy like him unhappy, when they’d landed on a girl a few tables away, waving at him with a polite smile. And okay, Julie doesn’t like to judge other people, she thinks it’s rude and basing your opinion off of looks and minimal interactions was never the way to go. But this girl is dressed for a fancy restaurant, not a corner cafe that has specials named with book puns.

Plus, Julie had heard her on the phone to a friend a few minutes ago to complain about her date not being there yet and that she ‘really hated the smell of oranges’ which seemed weird. And reminded her of girls she’d gone to high school with who always seemed to think they were entitled to something more than they were, so Julie had tried to ignore her.

But this was before Julie was invested in the situation. Now she was wishing she’d paid more attention to what she was saying before The Date had arrived. Now all she knew was that she hated oranges, preferred her dates to be early and had made Mr Bicep McDate sigh in resignation.

It seemed like a recipe for disaster and Julie was kind of excited to see the train wreck.

And then The Date had started talking about the new music he was working on when the girl asked what he’d been doing — and promptly cut him off when he really seemed to get to the exciting part of the way his hands moving through the air was anything to go by.

She did it a few more times, cut him off mid sentence whenever he seemed to get too excited about whatever it was he was talking about. Change the subject to something about her.

Which was kind of making Julie think maybe her initial thoughts on the other girl were right. And was also taking away any entertainment she might have had watching their terrible first date. The guy was clearly excited about his music. It wouldn’t have killed the girl to let him talk a little about it, would it?

Julie chews on her bottom lip as she watches the girl laugh loudly at something she said, the way The Date gives a half hearted laugh of his own as his fingers mess with the chain on his jeans — which, if Julie was still thinking about how this was a disaster from the get go would be added straight to the list. Who even still wore chains on their jeans? What year was this guy in?

It’s when the girl cuts him off again that Julie decides she has to save him. Sure, she doesn’t even know his name but if someone saw her having a terrible date like his, she’d hope someone would do the same for her. Shoving her notebook into her bag and finishing the last of her drink, Julie stands up and moves towards the door, hoping that if either of them had seen her earlier they’d think she was just walking back in.

Blowing out a breath, and trying to imagine she’s Flynn, a whirlwind of grace and talent and ‘no fucks to give’, Julie grips the strap of her bag, tosses her hair over her shoulder and walks quickly up to their table.

“Oh good you’re here! Grandma's party starts in an hour! We’re going to be late!” Julie's pretty sure she looks a little wild, with the way she widens her eyes, flicking them between him and the other girl, one hand waving in the air. But the guy seems to get what she’s doing, because his eye widen in response and a wide smile breaks out across his face.

“Oh shit! That’s today?” He pushes up to his feet, reaching for the wallet hanging by his hip as he grabs some money and shakes his head sadly at the girl, “Sorry Lindsay, I gotta go. We’ll rearrange?”

It’s more of a question than a statement but judging from the way Lindsay is pursing her lips, Julie doesn’t think they’ll be rearranging. She wants to feel bad but she really doesn’t.

They rush out of the cafe together after that, turning left and walking until they can’t see the cafe anymore before The Date lets out an almost breathless laugh as he shakes his head and pulls them to a stop by a lamppost.

“I don’t know how to thank you for that,” he says, eyes peering down at her and a smile on his face. That, coupled with the way his arms are suddenly very close is all very distracting that she nearly misses what he says next. “My friend was supposed to text me after 20 minuets to give me an excuse to leave but he seems to have forgotten. I was starting to think I might have to climb out the bathroom window.”

“The windows in the bathroom don’t open,” she blurts out, which hadn’t been her intention and now she can feel her cheeks heating. Which only worsens from the way his eyebrows tick up and a chuckle leaves his lips, feeling like it snakes up her spine.

“Really? Well, guess I really owe you for saving me then,” he bites his bottom lip and Julie watches as he seems to bounce slightly on the balls of his feet, like doesn’t know how to be still, and one hand goes to rub at the back of his neck, almost like he’s nervous. “I’m uh Luke by the way.”

“Julie,” she replies with a smile, wondering what happens now. Do they part ways and act like this never happened? God she hopes not, she wants to ask him about his music. About why he was on a date with that other girl. About why he’s wearing a chain on his jeans. She also kinda wants to know what his arms would feel like wrapped around her but she’s not sure that’s something she can just ask someone without a little small talk first.

“Can I maybe buy you a coffee?” Luke asks, cutting off her thoughts of arms and small talk and a smile breaks out across her face.

“Sure. You kinda owe me," and she can't help but drop one eye in a wink at him, happy to see the resulting blush on his cheeks even as he grins.

She'd have to text Flynn to rearrange their study date, but she's pretty sure her friend will understand.

A True Love The Final Chapter

Gif credit @yourwonkywriter

Taglist. @nocturnalherb16 @leaalfred. @creepers-baby-girl. @jesseswartzwelder. @writerwithasoul. @glimmerglittergirl. @ilovetaquitosmmmm. @twistnet. @baylishh. @tomhardydallasstarsgirl. @spnaquakindgdom. @mayans-mc. @lovebennycolonmiguelgalindo. @withmyteeth. @miss-nori85. @mrsmarvelous1995. @believinghurts

While Nestor talked with his men. Miguel smoked his cigar with a smile on his face. He knew the Mayans had something to do with your disappearance. But he didnt know if they took you or if you ran off with one of them. That stumped him. But he would soon find out.

"Kill them all if you have too. They're no use to me". Miguel told Nestor.

"What about the deal we had with them? Alvarez isn't going to like that".

"You let me deal with Alvarez when the time comes. Just take them out and bring me her". Miguel eyed Nestor. Nestor nodded and went to do his job. He's never seen Miguel like this before willing to kill entire club for a girl when he could have anyone. He didnt understand.

So the plan was set, Ez would take Gilly and Riz with him to Pops to look after you and your family. Angel and the others would take the bodies and the girl they paid off to Nestor at the designated place and time. It all seemed to perfect. Everyone had a gut feeling this wasnt going to work but they all knew the risks.

"You protect her. If anything happens call me. Ill be right here". Angel hugged Ez before leaving.

"Dont worry about us. You be safe".

"So I'll see you when we get back"? Angel grabbed you by your belt loop, bring you close to him.

"Not if I see you first". You both chuckled. You played with his chain on his wallet.

"I'll be alright. Dont worry". He moved your chin up with his hand.

"I'm going to worry. I just need you back home safely. I want more sneaking around". You giggled.

"Oh we'll have to sneak around, here at pops. He has ears like a dog. Plus your moms here and your grandfather. He scares me by the way". Angel chuckled wrapping his arms around you.

"Just come back to me".

"I will. I love you".

"I love you too". Angel leaned down and kissed your lips. Maybe for the last time. He kissed you long and hard. Not wanting it to end.

"I have to go". Angel released your lips and your waist, he grabbed his helmet from Ez.

You blew Angel a kiss before getting into the truck. This might be the last time you see him. It scared you. It was like going into battle and never knowing if you're coming home.

Angel and his guys road off down the street. And you in the opposite direction. You couldnt let this be what it came too. Going into the unknown. You had a plan of your own.

Getting to Pops, he met you outside and greeted you. Your grandfather took a liking to him. He was a simple man and he liked that.

"You can have my room and I'll take the couch". He offered.

"That's kind of you but I cant throw you out on the couch. I'll sleep on the couch or I can just bunk with my little sister". You said with a laugh. She hated sharing a bed when you were kids. She'd hate it worse now.

"If you're okay with that. That's fine with me". He chuckled and went inside the house.

"Hey Ez, where's the bathroom"? You asked.

"Go past the kitchen and it's your first door on the left". He said bringing in the suitcases.

"Thanks". You walked past him and headed in that direction but you made a little detour to the back door and started running. You just hoped Angel hasnt got to Nestor yet.

Angel and the others flew down the highway. The truck behind them carried three bodies. Two male and one female. With a girl passenger in front. His mind raced. He wanted this to work. He needed it to work. He was kinda second guessing his choice. Maybe he should have chose to leave. But it was to late for that. They turned off to the place they were to meet Nestor.

There stood Nestor and five of his guys. Their guns in hand.

"What took you so long"? Nestor asked before they could get off their helmets.

"Had to chase this one down. She wasnt cooperating with us". Bishop started off.

"Was Y/N there"?

"There wasnt any sign of her. Her family said they hadn't seen her in years". Angel spoke up, taking off his gloves.

"They could be lying. Has she said anything"? Nestor pointed to the girl.

"No. We dont think she can talk".

"We dont pay you for your thinking. Get her out of the truck and put her in the van. Now". Nestor ordered.

"Where do you want the others"?

"Bury them here. As long as they're dead she has no place to to go". Nestor got back into his car and waited for them to finish up.

Angel, Coco and Creeper got the bodies out while Bishop watched Nestor making sure he didn't pull something over their heads.

Nestor watched them as they unloaded. He got on the phone to call his boss but Miguel didn't pick up. He figured he was having another one of his fits. Nestor wasnt okay with taking and killing the girl as she sat beside him. He figured he would let the mayans do the dirty work and kill her as well.

"Loza". Nestor barked at the presidente. Bishop went over to the car.

"Take care of her too. We dont need her after all". Nestor opened the door for the girl and she got out.

"What do you want me to do to her"?

"Kill her. She's a witness". Nestor said coldly.

"Fine. After all that hard work and tracking her down. You just want me to kill her"? Bishop had to make it convincing.

"Yes. Bury her with the others". Nestor rolled up his window and his driver took off down the road.

That's exactly what the mayans wanted.

"Here's four thousand. Creeper will drive you where you want to go. Dont come back here dont speak of this to anyone. Okay"? Bishop handed the girl a wad of cash and sent her off to Creeper.

"You think he'll buy it"? Angel came up behind Bishop.

"Yeah. We have this in the bag. Get these bodies buried and let's head out". Bishop ordered and the others started digging.

While Angel's problems seemed to go away, you had yours. Getting back to Miguel's was hard without a car. You had to sneak everywhere. Looking behind your back and watching over your shoulder. His guys were everywhere.

But then you saw the house. You knew a secret way to get in without being seen. It was your only way in and out without Miguel finding out. Going through the woods and finding the back door you sneaked in.

No one was around, which was suspicious. No noise or anything. That's when you knew Miguel knew you were coming.

"Welcome back, Mi Amor". His voice scared you as he came up behind you.

"You look well". You sarcastically said at his appearance. The bags under his eyes. The day old clothes.

"I've been worried about you. Where have you been"? He steps forward, you step back.

"Around". You kept your answers short.

"Well, I've looked everywhere for you. No one has seen you or heard from you. So you went willingly. Because there was no ransom or demands. Just your wedding ring". Miguel tossed your wedding ring at you.

"I needed to get away. I couldn't do this any more".

"Do what? Be loved and cared for. Get everything your heart desired".

"Be afraid of living my life. I couldn't with you. You controlled everything I did. Who I saw. What I wore. Everything. No one should live like that".

"So why did you come back? Maybe to save someone"? Miguel chuckled. You knew he figured that it was a mayan but not which one.

"I came back to end this. To tell you I want out".

"It's not that easy, sweet girl. You and I are joined until death". Miguel stepped forward and grabbed your arm. Squeezing you tight. Angel was going to he pissed once he seen the bruises.

"Let go". You gritted your teeth as you clawed his hand. He pulled his hand back and slapped you across the face. That was the first time he hit you and it was going to be the last.

Miguel jerked you to him by your wrist. "I gave you everything. A nice home. A man that loves you. Nice things. Anything you wanted you got". He yelled in your face.

"Not everything. I needed freedom and I needed someone to love. I never loved you. I have hated you since I met you. That was our wedding. I dreaded to be alone with you".

"You ungrateful bitch". Miguel went to raise his hand again but you saw the gun in his waistband and grabbed for it. He saw it too and went to get it. Both of you struggled for the trigger. It simply went off. Both of you were shocked but only one was shot. The gun fell to the ground and so did Miguel. A gun shot wound to his lower abdomen. Shock on your face.

You stood over him, watching the life drain from his eyes. You knew you should call the police but why they were on his payroll. So you went to the security room and deleted all the tapes for that day. Wiped away any evidence that you were there. Looking at the house one last time, you left all your belongings. All the pictures you had of your family. Everything you had was in there. But that didnt matter. You had Angel and your family back. That's what was precious. So you headed back to Pops. Angel was probably there already. Killing Ez.

"You had one fucking job to do and you screwed it up". Angel yelled at Gilly, Ez and Riz.

They looked all over for you before Angel got back. You were a ghost in the wind. Once again.

"I'm sorry. She couldn't have gone far. She has no car". Gilly piped up but regretted it when Angel gave a death glare at him.

Angel was so angry. He fought for you and now his little brother lost you. He was worried that one of Galindos guys picked you up or worse you're dead. But all his worries changes when he saw you coming up the driveway. Something about you changed. Your hair was free flowing and you had a smile on your face. Not a care in the world.

Angel ran to you, picking you up and twirling you around in the sun. You kissed him deeply with everything you had. He was finally yours and you were finally his.

You were no longer Mrs. Galindo. You were now who ever you wanted to be. No labels. Just free. Except for Angel he was the only one that had a hold on you and you weren't going to let him go.

Gif credit @angelreyesgirl.

THANK YOU ALL 😘🥰😍

For the Time Being. || gyu💫

𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒄𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 <3 (i hope you don’t mind if I remixed it a bit)

╰─▸🖤❝ @[𝒃𝒖𝒈𝒔𝒃𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒚𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈.. ] 

✎𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: 𝒃𝒆𝒐𝒎𝒈𝒚𝒖 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 

✎ 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆¡ 

✎ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕; 2k

[@𝒃𝒖𝒈𝒔𝒃𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒆] 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒇𝒇..

-ˏˋ🍧 “𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 𝒘𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒖𝒎--𝒇𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆. 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘? 𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒐𝒇𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒂𝒔𝒔 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆...”.  ˎˊ-

“we have to hurry up choi beomgyu is playing tonight”, yara warns, smearing another coat of ruby red lipstick on her plump, weirdly attractive, heart shaped lips. 

“don’t worry we’ll be on time, let me just do this mascara real quick”. rayne then says shortly after smoothing her sparkly gloss on her lips and twisting the metallic golden cap of her mascara specially made by kylie jenner. you always thought elongated lashes perfectly complimented her beautiful brown skin. 

“right? we’re lucky we’re doing our makeup right now or else we’d never get a spot on the bleechers. yara is hella pressed for no reason”. sage quickly wits making you and rayne laugh in unison but only making yara scoff and look at her funny through the bathroom mirror. 

you would apply some eyeshadow, eyeliner, hell even mascara but you weren’t really talented at that. last time you did your makeup the girls teased you for looking like you were heading straight into your casket. so you left those things alone and instead did something you worked best at which was fashion. 

you wore a two piece pastel pink halter top with a tightly fitted skirt to match. you curled your hair as best you could and parted it to the side. you thought you looked pretty cute, especially with the soft pink half rhinestone/half fur chunky slides that you wore. you weren’t rich by any means, so you definitely tried your best to keep up with your friends whose makeup always outdid anything you wore. 

“i’m not pressed, and honestly the most pressed one in this room right now is the pink panther over there glaring at herself in the mirror”. yara combats, popping her lips in the midst of rayne and sage’s laughter to make sure she had enough on. 

“how am I pressed? you’re the one rushing us”. you reply trying to seem as unbothered as physically possible. it was harder to be unbothered when you actually were. you were bothered every single time, in fact. but that’s how everyone in your friend group interacted with one another, so you didn’t want to feel like the sensitive one. 

“you wore all that just so beomgyu can notice you? you did the absolute most. imagine having to wear skin tight clothes to be noticed”. yara always had this playful demeanor whenever she said things like this, so you never knew when she was actually joking. making it even harder for you to know when to be properly angry. 

“girl leave her alone. if she wants to walk around the game looking like she’s in a strip club then let her”. rayne defends. well, that’s how you interpreted it at least. 

she was defending you right? 

you laugh it off, “can you guys relax? it’s just an outfit”. 

“yeah anyways--”. yara neverminds, sparking another fit of laughter out of rayne and sage. sage rubs your shoulder in a half assed apology, “girl you know we’re just playing with you”. she assures. 

yeah, playing. except you were always waiting for the joke to start.

speaking of playing, the University’s varsity team was playing well. It was the biggest game of the year after all, so it was only right that they gave it their all. but up by 50 points during halftime? that was a guaranteed win. 

“god look at him, he’s so sexy”. yara stared, referring to beomgyu who was currently taking a rest to drink some water from his bottle, his long wet black locks desperately clinging to his forehead, sweat glissading down the milky skin of his neck and his ear piercings shining under the beams of the basketball court.

“he looks sexy sweaty, I can only imagine him shirtless”. rayne adds, just as stargazed as yara. 

you roll your eyes at them both. yeah he was cute, you thought. given, he’s the university’s most valuable player. but the way girls obsessed over him was utterly insane. you got the concept of a crush definitely, but you knew rayne and yara would downright stalk him if they ever got the chance. 

“the thirst is real”. you scoff before standing up, adjusting the purse chain dangling off your shoulder.  “I’m going to the snack bar. you guys coming?”. 

“oh my god he’s about to come over here”. yara freaks, anxiously tapping rayne’s hand. “i’m going to talk to him”. she adds while shuffling through her purse trying to find her lipstick. 

“calm down. he could be going to see his family”. you point out, not wanting her to get her hopes up only for them to be quickly shot down. rayne gave you this spiteful gaze before rolling her eyes. you knew she was going to crack another friendly joke.

“just because you can’t get a boyfriend to save your life doesn’t mean she can’t”. she sasses, leaving sage in utter shock. “damn rayne. that shit was kind of cold”. 

“she’ll get over it she always does”. she dismisses before helping yara get ready. your heart sunk, you wanted to cry. you wanted to just run back to your dorm and stay there for the rest of your life. but again, you couldn’t be the sensitive one. you maintained yourself by rolling your eyes in a sassy manner and heading to the snack bar alone. 

it was hard pushing through hoards of people who were stoked about the game. most of them damn near yelling about what team was going to make a comeback and how. you even almost ran into someone’s baby stroller, that’s how crowded the school gym was. all this, and all you wanted was a candy bar. 

to be quite honest, you didn’t know if you wanted to take your candy bar and go back to your seat or take your candy bar and leave. 

rayne knew that was something you were insecure about. yet she ridiculed you about it anyway. 

you swallowed the knot in your throat. trying to push her words to the back of your mind. 

“damn you alright? you look like you’re about to cry”. 

you turn to the voice beside you, wanting to pinch yourself at the sighting of choi beomgyu. you quickly fix your composure. 

“i’m fine. i’m just--anyway you’re playing well tonight. the university is definitely never going to stop talking about this”. you say with your heart fluttering. he nods in appreciation. he found it hard for his eyes to glare into yours so he fidgeted a lot. he was shy, but of course he was trying to play it off. 

“thank you. you sure you’re okay?”. 

“of course. why wouldn’t I be?”. 

“well I may not be an expert when it comes to girls... but they can say the opposite of what they feel sometimes”. 

“it’s really nothing beomgyu. you should get back to the court, the news is interviewing your teammates”. you say brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. not realizing that beomgyu was watching you closely-- wondering how in the hell someone could be so pretty. 

feeling his eyes you turn to him and he diverts his gaze quickly to the cashier since you both were next in line. he wanted to slap himself for almost getting caught. he smiles softly at the guy, “hey can I have a hotdog please?”. he asks and pulls out his wallet. you admit you were kind of shocked at his manners. 

shouldn’t star athletes be mean? cocky even? 

“would you like anything?”. he questions and you shake your head quickly. “no it’s okay I got it”. you assure before paying for your snack minutes after. you were expecting him to get his food and quickly run off to the guys but he didn’t. he was sort of waiting for you. 

no way was this happening right now.

you shyly stroll towards him so the both of you could continue your walk back to the bleechers.

alongside you, beomgyu took a breath, and decided to just go for it. 

just say it, beomgyu. she won’t reject you. 

“you know um--to be pretty you’re actually really timid”.

you stifle a blush from going to your cheeks. “well, when your self confidence is shot down by your friends everyday what else can you be”. you say sarcastically. 

“that doesn’t sound like a friend to me”. he replies. 

“yeah I guess that’s just how they bond with others? I don’t know. but it hurts even more when they do it for--worthless reasons”. 

“like what?”. 

“over a boy”.

“that’s pretty fucked up. they ruin your self esteem everyday over guys?”. 

“pretty much but I should be used to it at this point. I don’t want to be too sensitive maybe I’m just rambling”. 

“it’s not being sensitive if it really hurts your feelings. do you stand up for yourself?”. 

“i try but it backfires”. 

“revenge?”. 

you roll your eyes, pulling the chain of your purse back onto your shoulder. “how the hell am I going to get revenge on all three of them? they look better than me anyways”. you mumble. 

“well what guy is making them say all that?”. 

you nervously bit the insides of your cheeks and sigh.  

“you”. you mutter underneath your breath. “but I mean what would you care anyway? it’s not like that’s the first time you heard that someone liked you. several even. just go join your teammates beomgyu. don’t waste your time talking to me”. you quickly add. 

“I care enough to make them jealous”. 

“what?”. 

“maybe we can um--fake date. you know? at least so they can get off your ass a little”. 

your heart starts to pound in rates you never thought you’d reach. fake date? with choi beomgyu? is he joking?

“i can’t ask you to do that you have too much of a reputation on your shoulders”. 

“you didn’t ask me I’m offering. and I’m willing to do it as long as it’s okay with you of course. just a favor as friends. I promise to end it once you’re satisfied with the damage done.”. 

“w-well--”. 

“and I’m pretty sure as many times as they made you feel bad about yourself this one thing could ruin them all”. he chuckles sweetly. 

“it’s not that it’s just I’ve never even had a boyfriend before so how will I even act?”. 

“well first--”. beomgyu pauses to place his soft, way larger might you add- hand into yours. he squeezes it for good measure. “we hold hands”. 

oh god--he was only your hands and sparks of electricity shot through your veins. 

“but don’t you think we’re moving too fast? i go to the snack bar once and now I come back with a boyfriend”. you laugh. 

he chuckles, “don’t tell them we’re dating. look I’ll walk you back to your seat and do some flirtacious shit and you just follow my lead”. 

you nod with your nerves burning holes through your stomach. you finally approach the spot where you were sitting and you could see the girls freak out until they noticed his hand intertwined with yours. 

you diverted your gaze as beomgyu walked up the bleechers with you and led you to your seat. you cross your legs, trying to make things look as natural as possible. 

“thank you gyu”. you daintily smile and he smiles back. 

“no problem, don’t lose the number I gave you. I have to get back to the game”. you nod assuringly and wondered how the hell gyu was so good at this. you were practically torn on the inside. 

“I won’t. play well!”. you shout after him. “always!”. he shouts back blowing a kiss at you while making his way to the court before halftime was over. 

it was fake but, why were you smiling from ear to ear?

Chromeskull falling for the reader whose a Burlesque Dancer who wears a revealing Bride of Frankenstein costume that shows off childhood scars that have tattoos to look like stitches over them.

Chromeskull x Reader- Freakish Proposition

Authors Note: Writing again for my 6′7 tall husband....and also trying to get back into the writing game more.

Warning: None

Words: 2.1k

Jesse Cromeans was an extrovert by any means and the nature of his business got him into all type of places, especially exclusive clubs varying from classy snobby ones to stripper nightclubs to the more unusual ones, so no wonder that Halloween was to be spent into a night of fine alcohol and possibly some piggy hunting into these nightclubs.

Halloween meant that he could be more of Chromeskull and less Jesse Cromeans, wearing the chromed skull mask was giving him a boost of power and confidence, not like he really needed it, but for Jesse there was never enough, call him a greedy bastard, but that's how you get successful and respected into the world of the rich and nasty.

Humans were like animals in Jesse's opinion, even him, but here depends on what animal you are according to the food chain, and Jesse was definitely an apex predator and what does a predator do? Stalk piggies and tear them apart, limb by limb.

Nightclubs were the perfect environment for piggies, especially the exclusive ones because all piggies had to do to get a free ticket inside was flash some skin, push their chest out, and bat their eyelashes, looking for a fat walking wallet full of money to support their needs. They didn't care who it was as long as they were buying the piggy the last Gucci purse and gifted them a Porsche for their birthday.

It was the cruel reality of what relationships were like nowadays; there was no such thing as love, it was all business under the facade of sweet-talking and arms holding. Jesse didn't mind cruelty, it was one of his top characteristics, one that gained him his status in society; no wonder men wanted to be in his Oxford shoes and women to choke on his cock in an attempt to get a fancy dinner and a bottle of Moet.

He loved the dim-lit nightclubs, he was accustomed to the eerie vibe it gave, after all, the most interesting part of his life happened at night, and the fact that everyone's attention was pulled on the highlighted stage gave him the opportunity to observe more; more piggies to kill and from the audience sitting at the tables, close to the old geezers, he had plenty to choose from.

The show was about to start in 15 minutes, so he took his time, a waitress coming to deliver a bottle of Lagavulin, a whiskey glass, and a small bucket of ice. She poured Jesse the expensive liquor into the crystal glass, adding two cubs of ice, and he was more than amused when she tried to flash him a view of her cleavage; desperate piggy.

He could see from behind the mask how the other piggies observed; they were predators too in a way, but cheaper ones, their eyes always scanning what the men ordered because that showed how much money they had. 

You don't just simply go to a man who orders one glass of cheap vodka over one who had a whole bottle of a 16-year-old fine whiskey.

Tattooed hands pulled the chromed mask off, and from the corner of his eyes, he could read the disgust on the piggies across the room as they took in his scarred face. He got used to such reactions, but flash a stack of money in their faces and the botoxed bimbos will be on their knees, worshipping his cock.

Jesse wondered how their lips would look cut off and showed up their loose cunts, while their eyes would be filled with tears, blood pouring out of each cut on their caked up skin, each cut deeper than the last.

He was pulled out of his sadistic daydream by a voice announcing that the show will start in 10 seconds and a chorus of applause followed as the red curtain drapes moved to each side, the slow jazz music started as did the girls on the stage started their dancing.

One girl, in particular, pulled on Jesse's attention, unlike the other females, her attire and make-up were different, declaring that she was the lead one, and his assumptions were approved as she started to sing, or better said, you started to sing, the slow beat of the music picking up speed as did the sensual moves.

Unlike the other dancers who wore white, your attire was as black as night, with lace details, a tight corset that made the bald man feel jealous. Most would say that your outfit was skimpy, but that's how the burlesque dancers were supposed to be dressed; sexy, sensual, and very appealing to the eye, and God how much you caught Mr. Cromeans brown eye.

Not only were you a vixen in black lace, but also very adorable, your smile and sparkling eyes showing that you were genuine having the time of your life. Jesse is a very observant man and couldn't ignore the tattoo sleeves down your arms; red and black roses are adorned by delicate barbed wire representing stitches.

If Jesse knew something very well, it was the ink on the skin and could identify scars under the intricate designs, and sure as hell, you were hiding quite a lot for such a delicate, little thing; well, everything was little compared to his intimidating height. It was very unusual to see scars nowadays on women; maybe you had a toxic and abusive relationship, maybe a destructive childhood? 

He was getting curious and not even the depraved looks from the piggies around him got his attention, and that said something because he wasn't on to pass up the opportunity to slaughter some beef. He was more interested in the little ghoul on the stage; you finished your performance and bowed with a grin, waving around, the audience clapping and some wolf-whistling, the scarlet curtain falling down and hiding the stage.

Taking one sip of his whiskey, he saw you march up to the bar in a happy skip like you didn't have a care in the whole world. He snapped his fingers and motioned for the waitress to come to him which she happily did.

"What can I do for you, Sir?" she asked, batting her eyelashes, not at all impressing Jesse.

'Her. Tell her to come over here.' he typed on the phone then showed the waitress, who dropped her sugar-sweet attitude and rolled her eyes.

Note: Hang the waitress by her guts later.

You were ready to get a drink for yourself too after the performance, but someone tapped you on the shoulder. Turning around you saw it was Tina, who had a scowl on her face.

"That bald guy over there wants to talk with you." she told you, then just like that left. You furrowed your eyebrows and finally, your gaze landed on the said man, who motioned for you with a curled finger to come to him.

Curiosity took over you and you moved over to him.

"Yes? May I help you?" you asked and you noticed that he was typing on the phone, then an electronic voice startled you.

'Sit down. I could use some company.'

Well, that certainly took you by surprise; one that he wanted your company when he could get any waitress or glamorous trophy girl from this nightclub, and two...He was mute....That or either he was some weirdo who hated to talk.

You did as he wanted, taking a seat across from him, looking down at your hands, not knowing exactly what to discuss with him, not to mention he didn't even tell you his name, so you decided to start with that, introducing yourself.

'Jesse Cromeans, a pleasure to meet you, little ghoul.' you really needed to get used to that spooky electronic voice from his phone.

"Actually, I was supposed to be Frankensteins Bride, but it turned out to be more of a ghoul." you said with a nervous chuckle, which he returned with a smirk, one that seemed to suit him, despite the scars he had, he was...unique; not necessarily handsome or drop-dead beautiful, but he had that specific charisma that drew people in like an aphrodisiac.

'And where is your Frankenstein?' You had to stifle a laugh at his humorous question, so might as feel continue to entertain him.

"Probably in a coffin." you answered, making Jesse's smirk devilish so like you said something very appealing and familiar.

"Seriously, no. No undead husband or boyfriend." you said, licking your dry lips. You really needed a drink and like Jesse could read body language he called upon the waitress again, and you ordered your favorite.

'White Russian? I pictured you more of a Bloody Mary.'

Again, you smiled and laughed.

"Not a fan of tomato juice. If I had to choose a red drink, maybe cherry or strawberry." you responded.

Although your answers seemed all casual and not even flirty, to Jesse they triggered the killer side, because when you're a very sleek serial killer like Chromeskull, you got a dark sense of humor.

'Performing again next weekend?'

"No. This was just a one-time thing, I'm not exactly a showgirl and if I'm gonna be honest the only reason I was so relaxed was because of the make-up that made me look like a monster girl." you answered, taking a sip of your drink.

'If not a showgirl, then what?'

Jesse was simply curious; if she wasn't a performer here then with what was she filling her time, what did she worked as?

"I am studying medicine, but it's not exactly the path I've wanted." you said with a sigh, your cheerful mood dropping.

'Interesting. The medicine you say? And why did you choose it if you don't like it?'

"No, no! I like...well, liked it, but let's say it's not cheap to stay for so many years in college and I don't wanna burden my parents with the taxes that are way out of their limit."

A good-hearted piggy? That was something new.

'How did you managed to get so far if you say the taxes are way over your budget?'

He was pretty much dissecting her, he wanted to know more; and it wouldn't really surprise him if she said that she did unorthodox things for money, most girls in college do.

"Well, when I finished high-school I went to military school and went for two years in Afganistan, but you know...not the perfect environment for a small girl like me so I came back to try something else. I chose medicine, I was really curious about it, and with the money from the military years, I managed to pay my taxes until now.

Military? That would explain the scars, you don't need to be a detective to put the pieces together.

'Now?'

"Now? I work three jobs; at a library, as a waitress for a kids' restaurant, and recently here, but I think I'm gonna pass....Skimpy clothes aren't my cup of tea." you said, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, putting one between red-painted lips, only to be snatched away by Jesse.

You looked at him with a dumbfounded look.

'Talk. Smoking later.'

You sighed, not in the mood to make a scene over a cigarette, plus he seemed like the type who will have his way no matter what.

"What else do you want to know?"

'Amuse me.'

You snorted at that.

"What do you want me to juggle with knives?" you asked in a sassy tone.

Oh, piggy....That would definitely be entertaining.

'I have a proposition for you. If it's really your dream to be a surgeon and dissect people, I can help you get through with taxes.'

"I'm not a prostitute, jerk." you quickly said, probably it was a bit rude, and in other circumstances, Jesse would have bend over the said person and decapitate said piggy, but he was more amused and gave you a silent laugh.

'As much as tempting that sounds, no. I can help you pay the taxes; I can offer you a decent job that won't involve parading for old geezers...but if you want to spice things up I won't deny it.'

Was he really hitting on you?

"I didn't picture you for a philantroph." you responded, earning an arrogant smirk from Jesse, who lightened up the cigarette that he snatched from you, blowing a cloud of smoke in your direction.

'I can be many things, sugar....What do you say?'

Debating a little and looking down at your remaining drink in hand, you chose.

"I'm listening."

'Sweet. I knew you would see things my way.'

Hey love! Can you do a fic where the reader and Bucky are teens in the 1930s and they run around making mischief and cute fluffy stuffs?

Trinkets (bucky barnes x reader)

word count: 1520

warnings: just a guy being an ass

A/N: tysm for the request holy shit quaratine’s been really boring and hopefully this is what you requested :))

       “Buck, c’mon!” y/n, her eyes filled with excitement, intertwined her fingers with Bucky’s as she pulled him through the busy streets of Brooklyn.

       “Doll, what are you up to this time?” Bucky chuckled, wondering how she managed to pull him through crowds with the shoes she wore and the restricting blue skirt she wore.

       “Whatever I want to do, Buck. And this time, you are going to go along with it,” Y/N grinned, peering around the streets for something to do. When she told him, she wanted to go out for a walk, Bucky was skeptical. Y/N L/N just going out for a walk? He should have known she was up to something when she decided to drag him along with her.

       “I thought we were going out for a walk,” Bucky chuckled, admiring the look of determination on Y/N’s features as she looked for anything she could do. He chuckled, knowing damn well nothing good—for anyone who was not Y/N—would come from her antics, yet he allowed it.

       “We’re walking, aren’t we?” Y/N grinned, slowing her pace as she still searched the streets for something to do.

       He noticed the way her eyes lit up at the sight of a small boutique along the sides of the street. Like a lion finding its prey, Y/N ran to the boutique, her grip on Bucky’s hand tightening to make sure she didn’t lose him in the crowds.

       “You’re going shopping?” Bucky questioned, peering through the windows of the small store. Y/N nodded excitedly as she rushed into the store. For the umpteenth time of the day, Bucky smiled at Y/N’s antics as he followed her into the boutique.

       “Can you hold this for me?” Y/N flashed Bucky her best puppy dog eyes as she held out a stack of clothes in different colors. It had been mere seconds since she entered the boutique; how did she manage to pick out that many clothes?

       “You’re buying all this?” Bucky raised a brow at Y/N in shock. She chuckled, shaking her head.

       “I’ve been saving up, and I decided I wanted to help out in the community. These clothes? I’m donating them all after I buy them,” Y/N smiled proudly. This was one of the many reasons Bucky enjoyed Y/N’s company; the girl had a heart of gold. She made him want to be a better person.

       “You’re one hell of a gal, have I ever told you that?” Bucky smiled warmly, taking the stack of clothes into his arms.

       “Every single day, Buck,” Y/N chuckled, turning away from Bucky and picking out more clothes. Y/N’s father was a wealthy man and whatever she must have saved up from her allowance went into buying the clothes seeing as she happily picked things off the shelves.

       After a while in the boutique, Y/N eventually stopped picking articles of clothing off the shelves, and stood in place when she came across a glass display case, her mouth agape. Bucky could barely see what she it was that caught her interest because of the massive amount of clothes he held in his arms.

      “Whatcha looking at, doll?” Bucky questioned, still somehow balancing the stacks of clothes he had in his arms.

       “Oh, it’s nothing. I don’t think I’d have enough money to buy it anyways,” Y/N flashed him a sad smile before leading him to the counter where Y/N paid for everything she bought into large shopping bags, all looking full and heavy.

       Y/N picked up two of the bags, while Bucky held onto the rest of them. When they got out of the store, Bucky noticed a tinge of sadness in Y/N’s expression. She must have really wanted whatever it was she saw in the boutique, but he knew she was too selfless to spend more on herself than she had to. It was then an idea crossed his mind.

        “I think I left my cap inside. Would you mind if I go get it, doll?” Bucky questioned.

        “Buck, I don’t remember you wearing—” Y/N spoke confusedly, only to be cut off by Bucky once again.

       “I was wearing one when I went in. Wait right here, I’ll go look for it first,” Bucky sped off, barely leaving Y/N any time to respond. She mumbled a quick ‘I guess I’ll just sit here and do nothing’ to herself before making her way onto a wooden bench placed conveniently outside the boutique.

       When Bucky got inside, he rushed to the same spot Y/N stood in earlier, and looked through everything in the glass case.

       “Can I help you with anything, son?” a feminine voice came from behind the glass counter. He averted his gaze to see an older lady, clad in a uniform, smiling up at him.

       “The girl I was with, do you have any idea what she was looking at earlier?” Bucky questioned, his hands tapping nervously on the glass.

       “I believe she was looking at this,” the woman pulled out a small box, a shining silver locket. Bucky picked up the box and took in the intricate carvings on the heart-shaped locket.

       “I’ll take it,” Bucky smiled, pulling his wallet out his pocket. He didn’t dare ask for the price; he was willing to spend every penny he had to see Y/N happy.

       The lady took the box from his hands and she wrapped it in a delicate blue ribbon and handed Bucky the box, a smile on her face as he handed her the payment for the locket. He headed out the boutique, expecting to see Y/N waiting patiently for him. He should have known better.

       “I don’t care! With all due respect—which you clearly don’t deserve—I don’t owe you anything, sir!” a familiar female voice was the first thing he heard. He was then met with the sight of Y/N standing angrily in front of a man he’d never seen before.

       “I’m just saying, you shouldn’t be out spending your husband’s money this much,” the man snarled at Y/N.

       “I’m not married, prick!” Y/N yelled dropping the shopping bags onto the ground and taking her shoes off her feet as though getting ready to attack the man. It was an all too familiar sight.  

       “You should really fix that, then, eh?” the man, clearly disappointed upon hearing Y/N wasn’t married, snarked.

       “That’s none of your business,” Y/N chuckled darkly, taking off her other heel and getting ready to attack the man. Before she could move out of her spot, Bucky rushed to her side and held her back.

      “You better keep your girl in check, you’re clearly spoiling her, bud,” the man chuckled before walking away. Y/N was fuming and fought against Bucky’s grip but to no avail.

       “Bucky, let me go, please” Y/N spoke more calmly, all evidences of anger leaving her body.  She didn’t even bother to try wiggling out of his grip. Little did Bucky know it was his arms being around her that calmed her down.

       “Do you promise not to run after that man if I let you go?” Bucky raised a brow firmly.

       “Yes, yes, whatever. He isn’t worth it,” Y/N flashed a tight smile and Bucky chuckled before letting go of her. He went to pick up the paper bags she left on the sidewalk while Y/N put her shoes back on her feet with a dissatisfied grumble. She could have easily shut the man up herself.

       “I got something for you,” Bucky smiled widely, holding up the small box. Y/N’s eyes widened in shock; she wasn’t expecting to receive anything that day.

        “Buck, you shouldn’t have,” Y/N frowned as she stared blankly at the box.

       “Come on, I saw you staring earlier and I figured you deserve something nice for deciding to help out others,” Bucky insisted, handing Y/N the box. She reluctantly accepted the gift and unwrapped the ribbon, opened the box, and chuckled.

        “You’re pretty observant, but the only reason I was staring at the locket was because my mother had one like it. I borrowed it when we went to Coney Island last week and I dropped it when we were on the cyclone,” Y/N admitted shyly, her hands tracing over the patterns on the silver.

       “So, you were planning on buying this to replace the one you lost?” Bucky chuckled, combing his fingers through his hair.

       “Pretty much,” Y/N nodded, smiling shyly. Bucky nearly fell to the ground in a fit of laughter when the words left her mouth.

       “I think you should keep it as a reminder of the day we went to Coney Island, don’t you think?” Bucky suggested, pulling a smile from Y/N.

       “I already have you to remind me of that day, Buck, but sure, I’ll keep it,” Y/N smiled warmly, lockig Bucky in her embrace while the silver chain dangled in her hand. They stayed like that for a moment, blocking out the world until they heard a familiar voice utter very familiar words.

       “I could do this all day.” Bucky and Y/N gave each other knowing looks before rushing to the alley from which they heard the commotion.

TAGLIST: @spatium-viatorem /  @sxphiiwrld / @captainamerica-is-bae

Fall From Grace, Pt. 8

Bryan Kneef x Reader. Fandom: The Good Fight. Reference: S4, E.4, “The Gang is Satirized and Doesn’t Like It.” CW: Angst, language.

AN: Our lovely REE was on The Good Fight for all of 3 minutes so I am taking lots of liberties. I am obsessed with the anti-Barba. He was just delicious.

AN2: I may have been inspired slightly by that horrible Barba episode that I pretend doesn’t exist - you may recognize what Barba said to Liv. So credit to SVU, S.19, E. 13, The Undiscovered Country. 

AN3: Bryan’s outfit was inspired by Chef Harry. So if you don’t know what that looks like, may I present you...

--

Reading your text caused Bryan’s heart to lurch.

He slammed his glass of whiskey back, swallowing it hole. He was tempted to respond but instead he did not. Not right away at least. He mulled over what Marissa had said: “All this fussing to say you care? Sounds like love to me.”

Love.

He wasn’t one for love. Life was like an old black and white movie; he was absolutely sure who were the good guys and the bad guys – nine times out of ten, he was the good guy in court, but the bad guy in relationships. And then you had weaseled your way into his world and black and white became different shades of gray. And then it became blues and greens. 

He then recalled Marissa’s other advice: Be honest about what you want. All it takes is some communication.

But it seemed you didn’t want to have any opportunity to talk to him.

Never one to back down from a challenge, he decided he was going to make his own opportunity. Bryan knew he fucked up and he vowed to himself to make it up to you – if only you’d let him.

And he hoped you would.

--

You walked up the sidewalk to your apartment, hands full of empty boxes. You had made sure to get to the market early so you could get the good boxes – otherwise you were stuck with the boxes that smelled like melon.

You made your way back into your apartment. It wasn’t that hot yet, so you opened the window to let the morning breeze come in. You asked Alexa to play your favorite playlist and then tied your hair into a pony-tail.

Packing sucked. But you had movers coming in three days and you needed to get your affairs in order.

Hours later, you still had a ways to go but you had a good section done. You needed more boxes so you made plans to pick up some more, resigning that some of your stuff would smell like melon after all.

Exhausted, you collapsed on your couch with a cool compress on your forehead. “Mmmm, just need a nap.” You mumbled to yourself.

Your eyes felt heavy and you knew it wouldn’t be long until you were out. You sighed contentedly, ready for the sleep to settle in when the loud roar of a motorcycle startled you awake. Annoyed, you walked over to the window to close it when you noticed who was getting off the motorcycle.

It was Bryan.

He looked up towards the apartment windows and you immediately ducked your head, hitting it on the head of the window frame.

“Son of bitch!” You moaned, rubbing your head. You could hear your phone buzzing in the distance and you knew it was Bryan calling. You didn’t pick up, instead choosing to head downstairs to meet him outside.

With every step down, you felt the knots in your stomach grow.  With a deep breath, you opened the main entrance door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Bryan looked up from his cellphone and gave you what you were certain was a genuine smile.

You didn’t let it sway you.

You looked both ways before crossing the street. You felt woefully under-dressed – more of a hot mess if you will. You were in grey sweat shorts and a dark blue fitted t-shirt. And you would be damned if you didn’t admit how good he looked. Especially in the leather jacket. He wore faded black jeans and a dark grey Henley. A gold chain glinted under the few buttons of the Henley that were undone.

“What are you doing here?” You hissed at Bryan.

“We need to talk.” Bryan replied, removing his helmet. “Can I come up and talk to you for a few minutes?”

“About what?” You asked, with a sneer. You crossed your arms under your chest. “I don't think that's a good idea.

“Because of what might happen?”

“Because it's not a good time.”

“You’re quitting. You’re leaving.” Bryan tossed his helmet from hand to hand. “You’re not leaving me with much of an option.”

“I told you – there is no reason for me to stay.”

Bryan sighed and placed his helmet on the seat of his bike. “That’s not entirely true. Can we please go upstairs and talk?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Fine, but don’t get any funny ideas. I hope you know that I hate you from the bottom of my vagina.”

Bryan cocked his head, covering his mouth that was threatening to twitch into a smile. “Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes and the two of you made way back into the apartment. Bryan felt his heart sink further as he took in the sight of your half-packed apartment. You really were leaving. And it was his fault.

You looked over your shoulder. “Do you want anything to drink? I have vodka in the freezer, soda and water.”

“Water is just fine.”

You stood behind your breakfast bar – the idea that somehow it served as a barrier between you and Bryan was almost laughable. There was a part of you that wanted to fling yourself over and kiss him. But you held your ground.

Bryan took the water and drank it before sitting on your couch. You eyed him warily; you could feel your heart thumping in your chest and your stomach was in knots. Bryan reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through to your text, and murmured the majority before speaking at full volume: I picked NYC because the man who doesn’t love me isn’t there.”

“I know what I said Bryan.” 

“The implication is that I don’t love you. That couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

“Don’t you dare say it, Bryan!”

“I love you.”

You felt all the air get sucked out of your lungs. 

“Goddammit Bryan! You broke my heart!” You turned your back to him and roughly opened the fridge to grab something for yourself to drink. You used the tip of your nail to open the can of soda. “You think you can waltz in here on your bike, looking good…because damn, you do look so good… say these things and have me pretend like what happened never happened? You were an asshole!” You shout as you pivoted back to face him. And instead you came face to face with him. Your mind flashed back to your initial run-in with him – the start of everything. Your eyes welled with tears.

“I was.”

A tear escaped your eye. Bryan used the pad of his thumb to wipe it away and you bowed your head slightly, in near defeat.

“I think you love me too.” Bryan replied softly, cupping your chin to face him. “I feel fairly certain that there is still something between us. I know that you're angry. You have every right to be. I fucked up.”

You didn’t respond. 

“I miss you. I've missed you. You should know that. I lie in bed at night and I think about us, I think about all of our time together. I should have told you how I felt. How I feel.” Brian continued. 

You jutted your chin out of his grasp. “Don’t. You don’t get to do this to me.” You scanned your apartment. “I have to finish packing.”

You turned to move past Bryan, but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you flush against him.  You had a sense of déjà vu . The last time you were this physically close to Bryan, he kissed you hard and you smacked him in response. The kiss this time was deliberately soft. Bryan’s cologne overwhelmed your senses. You pressed yourself, leaning up to return the kiss. Bryan groaned as your tongue swirled around his and he wrapped his arms around your waist. It was so easy to get caught up into the kiss and to lose yourself in the passion.

You forced yourself to break the kiss. You looked up at Bryan, searching his green eyes. Tears streaked your cheeks. “I’m sorry Bryan. I can’t. I… just don’t know if I can trust you anymore. You treated me like shit for no reason.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Please.” Bryan near begged. “We can work this out. Please don’t leave. Give me a chance.” His voice cracked.

You shook your head. “No. I’ve got to move on. Please leave.”

Bryan’s face, once somber, turned stoic. He cleared his throat. “Fine. Good luck with the move.” His voice was clipped and inwardly you winced.

You walked Bryan out and shut the door behind him with a click. For good measure, you made sure to bolt the door. You watched him get on his motorcycle from your window and as he kicked it into gear, you burst into tears.

Because Bryan was right. You were in love with him.

--

Days later, the last of the movers had packed your boxes in their truck. You reached into your pocket and left your copy of the key on the breakfast bar. You checked your phone to make sure your boarding pass was loaded. It was and you used the opportunity to check into your flight.

There was a knock on the door. “Ms. Y/L/N?”

You jumped, startled. Turning around, you eyed the delivery man. “That is me. Can I help you?”

The delivery man smiled in relief. “Oh good. I managed to catch you before you left. I have a delivery from a Mr. Kneef.”

You frowned. “Okay. Let me get my wallet to tip you.”

“No need, already taken care of.” The delivery man replied. He set the bag on the breakfast bar, by your key. You wished him well and then turned to the small delivery bag.

In it, was a box of English toffee from Cora Lee. It was your favorite candy that only came around during firm victories. You wondered how he knew - but at the same time, it didn’t surprise you that he knew. In addition, there was a long red box from Cartier, which contained a delicate diamond tennis bracelet.

There was also a note. 

NYC is so lucky to have you.

Yours – always.

BK

--

Tags: @madpanda75​ @tropes-and-tales​ @delia26​ @mgarner1227​ @beardedmccoy​ @youreverycolor​ @neely1177​ @the-baby-bookworm​ @mrsrafaelbarba​ @skittle479​ @ottosuricato​ @delia26​ @sass-and-suspenders​ @mommakat32​ @dreila03​ @beccabarba​ @garturbo​ @lovebennycolon​ @imjustreallynosy​ @sweetsummertime99​ @whyissvuruiningmylovelife​ @annabelleb49​ @scarletsoldierrr​ @cesarofangirl78​ @redlipstickandplaid​ @redlipstickandblacktea​ @zoeykaytesmom​ @differentshadesofgray​ @misssirenlove​ @esparza-army​ @bananas-pajamas​ @mishaissocoolike @thefanficfaerie​ @theenchantedgalleryofstories​ @catnip987 @choppedgalaxynerd @pieceofshittytitty​ @ktiz90 @evee87​ @itsjustmyfantasyroom @blk0912 @detective-giggles​ @rampantmuses​ @jazzyjoi​ @caked-crusader​- anyone else, just ask!

Merry Christmas, obsessedbutonline!

For @obsessedbutonline, who listed fluff, angst, and ‘Derek giving Stiles gift’ as a few ‘Likes’. I hope I did those items justice. Hope you have a wonderful Christmas, Friend!

Read On AO3

*****

The Gift

The gift. He supposed it all started with the gift. Or maybe Star Trek. Derek wasn’t sure. It was Stiles, after all. One day, the younger man had been debating the cuddle rating of a Tribble, before diving into an analysis of The Voyage Home being one of the worst movies in franchise history (except for the whales, of course), and the next thing Derek knew, he’d found himself discussing how Moby Dick was one of his favorite books. The random jumps from one topic to another hadn’t been anything new for Stiles, but that had also been the year they’d legitimately gotten ‘together’ after their contentious circling of each other’s orbits, so when Derek had opened an inelegantly wrapped early edition of the novel on that first Christmas as a couple, he’d been rendered speechless.

He couldn’t remember how long he’d stared at the leather-bound copy exactly, but he did recall feeling a bout of inadequacy. He thought he’d hid it well though. “Stiles – “ he’d started. “I wasn’t expecting…This is too much.”

Stiles had shrugged like it hadn’t been a big deal, an eager grin on his face. “Nah, it wasn’t too bad. A classmate mentioned a prof who needed an assistant to help translate some Latin verses, and I thought I’d check it out. When I went, I noticed a copy of Moby Dick in his office, and you’d mentioned it was one of your favorites, so I offered my translation services for free if he would sell the book for a discounted price.”

Of course, Stiles had remembered that weird detail from a throwaway conversation. And of course, he’d been resourceful in procuring it. That was just who Stiles was. Now, Derek, on the other hand… well, he’d felt completely out of his league when he’d pulled out the gift card he’d picked up a day earlier from a comic book store. He hadn’t even known if that was a store Stiles ever visited. He really sucked at gift-giving. “Sorry, I didn’t …”

Stiles had yanked it out of his hands before he’d even finished. “I love it. Thanks, Derek!” The younger man had beamed excitedly, clutching that cheap piece of plastic in his hands as if he’d just received some personal heirloom. There had been no uptick in the man’s heartrate, so there’d been no lie in those words, but that hadn’t stop Derek from feeling bad.

And it was then that he had resolved to do better, that he would be thoughtful and meticulous in his gift selection the next time Christmas rolled around. Stiles deserved as much.

But he’d mentioned he was bad at gift-giving, right? As in, monumentally bad. Because the next Christmas, when they’d settled down on his couch after an intimate holiday dinner he’d prepared for the two of them, Stiles had presented him with a charmingly wrinkled gift bag. And when he’d pulled out a lovingly restored and framed photograph of his family from before the fire, he’d not only felt a slight lump in his throat at the sentiment, he’d also felt remarkably small and completely lacking in comparison. It was a good thing they’d come to a mutual understanding that their birthdays would be a no-gift zone, because Derek wasn’t sure he could’ve handled double the inferiority complex this time of year.

“I found a copy of the photo from the digital archives of the town newspaper. It was for some fundraiser committee your mom chaired, I think. I saved a copy, and googled around for some pointers on how to increase the resolution so I could print out a decent version of it,” Stiles had explained.

Derek had nodded absently, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of his mother’s face under the cool glass. His whole family had stared back at him, carefree and unburdened in the moment that photo had been taken, eyes all shiny from a sunny afternoon picnic. “Yeah, I remember. It was a Pets in the Park fundraiser for the local animal shelter.” There had been an ache in the pit of his stomach at the reminder of everything he’d lost, but it wasn’t as sharp as it had once been. Now, it had been dulled by time, and tempered by the meaningful relationships he’d found, foremost of which was the one with the man beside him. “Thank you,” he’d said slowly, slightly surprised that his voice hadn’t cracked at the pool of emotion swirling within him.

“Anytime, big guy.” Stiles had leaned in, his weight and warmth freely offered as a source of silent strength.

But when he’d pulled out his gift for Stiles, he had had that sinking feeling of failing an important test. He hadn’t even had time to wrap it properly, opting to place a haphazard bow on it instead. “Sorry, I didn’t know …”

Stiles had grabbed the cellophane-covered box with a puzzled expression. “A bath set?” he’d asked slowly. “Is this your way of telling me I stink?”

There had been amusement in the younger man’s tone, devoid of upset or disappointment, but that hadn’t stopped Derek from feeling upset and disappointed in himself. After Stiles had gone through all the trouble of giving him such a personal and meaningful gift, he’d reciprocated with … soap. “Remember when you were on break during Thanksgiving,” he’d started to explain. “That necromancer problem we had?”

“Oh, damn, do I ever! We spent the whole night trying to wash zombie goo out of bodily crevices I never knew I had!” Then, realization had set in as those rich brown eyes widened. “This is perfect, Derek! Thank you!” And just like that, Stiles had fallen on him with his usual gracelessness, and proceeded to express his ‘gratitude’ properly.

That had been last year. But this time around, right before Stiles had returned to campus for his final two semesters of college, Derek had stumbled upon the ideal Christmas gift, while they were cleaning, of all things. They’d been packing up and storing some of Stiles’ stuff before the younger man headed back to school when they’d gotten diverted by some dusty, old boxes in the Sheriff’s attic. Somehow, in the way of procrastination, they’d ended up flipping through old photo albums when Stiles had paused to tell him about a picture of his mother.

“Oh, there’s the locket my dad helped me buy for Mother’s Day when I was eight,” Stiles had said as he’d pointed to a picture of Claudia Stilinski, vivacious and beaming brightly at the camera. Anyone could see where Stiles had gotten his smile. “I didn’t have the greatest taste in jewelry, so it doesn’t look like much, but she was so excited when she got it. She wore it all the time.”

“It’s nice that you have a memento to remember her by,” Derek had supplied.

Stiles’ shoulders had slumped a little at the comment. “Yeah, I think we accidentally sold it during a garage sale not long after she died. Dad wasn’t exactly in the best place, and he just wanted to get rid of the memories because they hurt so much back then. Lots of regret now. Who knows? It might’ve found another home, or it might be in a garbage dump somewhere.”

And that comment had led him down the winding, convoluted path to where he was now: standing in front of a teenage girl with bright blue hair and an eclectic ensemble of a loose plaid shirt, artfully ripped leggings, and combat boots.

“A hundred bucks,” the girl re-stated, her tone indicating that this wasn’t a negotiation.

“One hundred? The pawn shop owner said you only paid five dollars for it.” He could be stubborn too, though deep down, he knew he wasn’t really in a position of power in this situation, much as that rankled him.

Ms. Blue-hair shrugged. “So? If you want it that bad, then you should be willing to pay for it.”

She had him there. Three months of diligently interviewing the Stilinski neighbors, and following a trail of multiple goodwill and pawn shops had led him to that very locket hanging from the girl’s neck, that very locket Stiles had shown him in that old photo of his mother. He gave the teen what Stiles had laughingly termed his ‘murder-brow’ look and pulled out his wallet. Of course, he would pay, especially after all the work he’d put into tracking it down, and because this was for Stiles. He didn’t have to like being swindled like this though.

“That’s a nice jacket, by the way.”

Derek looked up from pulling out the cash and froze. He glared at the girl, hoping the intensity of his stare would deter whatever she was about to insinuate. It didn’t work.

“No,” he said flatly as she watched him expectantly.

“Okay, I guess we’re done here then. Nice meeting you.” And with that, she turned and started to walk away.

Derek ground his teeth together to keep from outright growling and fought hard to not wolf out. He hated being bested like this. Life would’ve been so much simpler if he could just take the damned piece of jewelry by force and run off with it. Stupid morals.

“Fine,” he conceded with a clenched jaw after she’d managed to walk several feet away.

She turned with a triumphant smile as he started to shrug off his leather jacket. When he held it out with the wad of cash, she unclasped the chain without any further objections and handed it over. “Pleasure doing business with you, sir.”

(***)

Stiles’ name flashed on his lock screen just as he was pulling up to his loft.

“Hey, you back already?” he answered as he shifted his car into park. His regular visits to Stanford notwithstanding, he’d been anticipating Stiles’ winter break for a while, and the timing couldn’t have worked out any better with him finding the locket when he had. “I was going to pick you up tonight after you’ve had a few hours with your dad.”

Several seconds of heavy breathing greeted his words, and almost instantly, he was on alert, muscles tensing and heartrate increasing. “Stiles?”

“Yeah, Derek, I’m here,” a familiar voice sounded through the phone. “Sorry, just had to get around Scott to check something out. But no, I’m not home yet. Got sidetracked on my way into town. Can you come to the preserve right now? The trail just off Parsons. We’ve got, um, a problem.”

Since his return to Beacon Hills, the supernatural activity in the area had decreased significantly, especially with a solid pack established in the area now, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t the occasional run-in with creatures bringing in death and mayhem. This sounded like one of those times. Shifting gears into reverse, he responded without hesitation, “On my way.”

The trip to the preserve was quick, the route having been travelled so many times that he could probably drive it eyes closed. After parking in the lot off Parsons, he picked up Stiles’ scent almost immediately, along with a few others of the pack, and had no problems tracking the source down a few hundred feet off a popular running path.

Not surprisingly, Scott noticed him first, looking up from a patch of tall grass and nodding in greeting as Derek silently approached. Stiles stood more out in the open, back turned and head down as he tapped busily on his phone. Once upon a time, his quiet ‘stalking’ would’ve caused a flailing of limbs and a high-pitched yelp from the younger man, but of the familiarity borne from the years of closeness, Stiles simply turned, smiled, and greeted him with a warm ‘hey’ as if he’d known he was there the whole time. And all things considered, he probably had.

They’d never been a couple for overt displays of affection, but the way Stiles unconsciously leaned toward him, trusting and open, worked just as well in telling Derek how the other man felt. He usually did the same, subtly breathing in the scent of his boyfriend and feeling more settled in his presence. They hadn’t seen each for a couple of weeks, and he’d missed having Stiles near.

“What’s going on?” he asked, looking around for the rest of the pack. Their scents were fainter, which meant they had been here recently, but had likely wandered off or left altogether.

“It’s Christmastime in Beacon Hills, so the usual. Y’know, carolers, Santa parades, sleigh rides, tidings of comfort and joy, and oh yeah, witches.”

Derek had never been bothered by Stiles’ sarcasm, though he wouldn’t openly admit that if asked about their first encounters with each other, but now, he found the trait rather endearing. “So, we’re dealing with a witch. How bad?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I was driving back into town when I saw a kid running across the road. Freaked me out, and barely stopped in time. When I went to check on him, he was crying and said an old woman had tried to take him. At first, I thought it was an attempted kidnapping, but then, he said that there was a lot of screaming coming from her big bag, and he was scared of getting stuffed in there with all the other kid. For this town, that triggered alarm bells. Stuffing kids into bags and lugging them around is not your regular run-of-the-mill kidnapper MO. I called my dad, and he came out here with a few units, but is running interference on the supernatural front. He’d mentioned that this was the third attempted kidnapping this month, so the deputies are on high alert. They still think it’s a regular human predator, so they’re canvassing the other side of the preserve right now, which means we can do our own investigation here. I called Scott, and the others are now fanned out, doing a search to see if we can catch a scent.”

“No luck yet,” Scott added as he strode over to join them. “Just a whole bunch of the usual smells, and with the people that use the running trails, it’s hard to pinpoint a specific one. We’re not exactly sure what we’re looking for.”

“I think I have a lead though.” Stiles held out his phone to show an etching of a stooped crone with a large sack. “We might have an Icelandic witch in the area, one that kidnaps and eats children, but I’m not a hundred percent. I hope I’m not right because … well, children! But she’s supposed to be active around Christmas. I need to double-check some books at my house to make sure though.”

Derek nodded, not surprised that Stiles had pretty much figured it out already. As human as Stiles was, he was arguably one of the pack’s most valuable assets, and truth be told, Derek felt quite proud of the other man’s quick wit and life-saving accomplishments. “So, you need to go home then?”

Stiles made a sound of agreement as he tucked his phone away and gave him an apologetic look. No words were needed to communicate how sorry he was that their reunion wasn’t what they’d planned.

“Okay, call us with any info,” Scott chimed in. “Derek and I will probably be more useful if we keep scouting the area. This is children we’re talking about. I don’t want anymore of them put in danger.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Alpha leader, sir,” Stiles replied jokingly, giving his friend a mock salute.

The years had matured Scott somewhat, enough that the erstwhile werewolf took his role and responsibilities somewhat seriously now. And for this, Derek was grateful.

Scott gave Stiles a shove to get him on his way, before shaking his head with a laugh and started to move back to the tall grass he’d been searching through earlier. “Go, you idiot.”

Stiles responded with the very mature gesture of sticking out his tongue. Then, Derek felt the younger man’s arm wrap lightly around his waist and pull him close for a quick kiss. The motion was casual, natural, and one that Derek returned without thought. “Sorry, not what we’d planned when I got back, huh? Let’s catch this witch fast so we can start our Christmas cuddle session, ‘kay?”

Derek raised an eyebrow at the comment. His boyfriend sure did have a way with words sometimes. “Christmas cuddle?”

“Hey, it is what it is.” Stiles shrugged innocently as he started to move away.

“I’m not calling it that.”

“Suit yourself, Sourwolf, but I’ve officially labelled it, and you can’t take that away from me,” Stiles said as he walked backwards toward the nearby trail. Derek half-expected him to trip on some invisible rock in the next few seconds. “Gonna say it all I want!”

He rolled his eyes as the younger man’s antics. “Go.”

“Christmas cuddle! Oh, and far be it for me to complain about seeing you in that t-shirt, but you do know it’s winter, right? We may live in California, and you may have some super-awesome internal wolfy furnace going, but I’m cold just looking at you. Where’s your jacket?”

“Go!” While he didn’t feel the chill as acutely, he didn’t need to be reminded about his fleecing by a greedy, blue-haired teenager.

After Stiles wave his acknowledgement and jogged out of sight, Derek turned back to join Scott. Their relationship may have started out roughly, but they’d fallen into a companionable pattern over the last few years. It was likely because of everything Scott had been through and his maturation, but Derek guessed part of it may have been out of respect for both their relationships with Stiles. Without much preamble, they quickly sectioned off their respective search zones, and fanned out into the thicker parts of the preserve. Derek had grown up here, had run and played amongst the trees and foliage so often that walking through it now stirred a sense of homecoming. Still, sometimes, there were things here that could still surprise him. Like the odd whiff of fear and panic he caught a few minutes after he’d split off from Scott. It was faint, probably non-existent for the newer wolves, but it was there, so out of place with the earthy scent of moss and soil. He started to follow it, his senses sharpening as he homed in on the potential prey. He hadn’t made much progress before he heard a howl off in the distance, and his entire body tensed, ready for action.

They’d found something!

Once he pinpointed the source, he was off, dashing through branches and over roots with a surety of stride that had been acquired from a lifetime of running these woods. He didn’t get very far though. He heard it first, a loud symphony of disembodied laughter all around him. Before he could stop and confront whatever it was, he caught a flutter of movement in his periphery, and then, he was flying, thrown through the air by an impact harder than anything in recent memory. He was out cold before he even landed.

(***)

He wasn’t unconscious for long. At least, he didn’t think he was, given that generations of werewolf evolution had refined his healing abilities to the point where he shouldn’t be. But however long it was, it was enough to find himself strapped to a board – or a crude table, perhaps – staring up at the flickering shadows of a stone ceiling. Or a cave? He honestly hated losing time like this and waking up in unexpected places, which, given who he was and where he lived, was an actual occupational hazard.

A whimper somewhere to his left drew his attention just then, and he tilted his head at an uncomfortable angle to take better stock of where he was, and with whom. Just within his field of vision, he could barely make out a small figure sat huddled inside a primitively constructed cage no higher than his hip. A wood fire burned beneath a big vat just a few feet away, thoroughly heating up whatever was inside if the bubbling sound was any indication.

“Hey,” he said quietly, if a little hoarsely, hoping the hunched figure would shift enough into the firelight for him to make out who it was.

The figure shuffled over, and Derek could see the tear-streaked face of a boy, probably no more than eight or nine years old. Stiles had said there’d been attempted kidnappings. It looked like one had succeeded.

“H-hello? You’re awake.”

“Yeah, I am.” He wasn’t good with children, barring the few cousins he’d played with when he was younger, yet that had been different. They’d been family. He knew this kid was scared, could hear it in the tremor of his voice and smell it in the dankness of the air, but he wasn’t sure what he could say to help with that. “I’m Derek. What’s your name?”

“A-Andy.”

“Well, Andy, if you give me a minute, we can get out of here and I’ll take you back to your parents.” He tried to sound reassuring, though he wasn’t sure it worked as well as he’d intended when he was tugging and testing the thick ropes tied around his chest, waist, and legs. They were tight, but he managed to slide a hand free enough to shift and start slicing away at the restraints with his claw.

“Just Mom,” the boy said quietly. “Dad left.”

“Okay, we’re going to find your mom then. I’m sure she’s really missing you right now.” He figured that keeping a calm tone and easy conversation going was as good a plan as any while he worked on the ropes.

Andy shuffled a little in his cage, his face dipping down again into the shadows cast by the nearby fire. “She’s working. She’s always working. She promised I’d get to see Dad, but she couldn’t take me, so I went to find him myself.”

Which might explain why the boy hadn’t been reported missing yet. There was some give to the rope by his right hip, so he tilted his head and tried to look over at the boy and hoped he properly projected the sincerity of his words. “That doesn’t mean she’s not missing you, Andy. I know she’s probably very worried. She – “

The stench assaulted him first, sour and rancid, before he felt the whole space shake with a reverberating thud. Andy quickly scooted back into the corner of his cage with a scared squeak, leaving Derek to turn and search out the source in the dim light. An old woman came into view near the foot of his table, posture bent and face haggard, each of her steps sending tiny shockwaves through the cave. Her long, gray hair hung in a greasy, unkempt mess, framing a crooked nose and a gap-toothed, mirthless grin. She resembled the picture Stiles had shown him on his phone, but the younger man had neglected to mention one thing. She was a fucking giant!

The whole cave suddenly felt cramped, and her looming presence caused his heartrate to spike. He worked faster on his ropes.

“Good dog. You’re too old and gristly for my liking, but if my lads want a pet, a pet they will get,” she said in a voice deeper than he’d expected. She patted his stomach dismissively as she passed, and he fought hard not cry out at the jarring, painful contact. “Now, where’s my little snack? Little boy for a little snack. Little boy snack.” She cackled at her own wit.

He heard Andy whimper again as the old, giant crone ambled her way over to the cage, and he wanted to tell the boy to be brave, to hold on because he was almost through his rope. Yet, as he was about to do just that, he caught the scent of metal and electricity in the air. It cut through the myriad of other unpleasant smells like an olfactory beacon, clear and crisp and a harbinger of something – or someone – familiar. He couldn’t help but smile a little at the arrival of the calvary, even as Andy shrieked when the witch pulled him roughly from the cage and shuffled over to the boiling pot.

Then, several things happened at once. First, voices that sounded like the disembodied laughter he’d heard earlier came from somewhere outside. This time, however, they were shouting out in distress, intermingled with the familiar voices of his pack. The cries gave the witch pause for a split second, just as he cut through the last of his restraints and pulled free. After that, he was up and leaping through the air, aiming to get Andy free of the old woman’s clutches and away from the fire. And he managed just that, wrapping his arms around the boy as he clawed at the large hand that held him. But he underestimated the reaction speed of the crone, and barely managed to turn his body to shield Andy before her other hand swatted his side. He landed with bone-cracking impact against the boiling pot, adrenalin enhancing his movements as he rolled quickly to avoid landing on the fire or getting splattered by the hot liquid in the toppling vat. He was pretty sure he’d probably cracked a few ribs, but they were already healing. Andy seemed none the worse for wear when he looked down, unhurt and safe in his arms still.

“My boys! What are they doing to my boys?” the witch wailed.

Derek tensed briefly, thinking the giantess would take her surprise and anger out on him. He readied himself for a fight, but instead, she turned and marched the other way, he and Andy seemingly forgotten. He eased himself up with a barely suppressed groan, and let the small body pressed against his chest slide down to his lap. He could hear the pack outside, the growls of the wolves and the foreign-sounding chants from Stiles, and he knew that they had it handled.

“You okay?” he asked as he gave Andy a good once-over.

The boy simply nodded, his whole body still trembling. Then, without a word, he leaned forward and hugged Derek as if his life depended on it. Not sure how else to respond, Derek hugged the child back.

That was how Stiles found them a few minutes later when he stumbled clumsily into the cave. After some coaxing, they both managed to talk Andy into finally letting go. Scott took it from there, coming in to take the boy away to find the Sheriff, who had been called to the area when Stiles had triangulated Derek’s location. Stiles waited a moment after Scott had left before he turned and threw himself into Derek’s arms.

“Oh, thank every deity I just prayed to you’re okay. Had me worried.”

Derek squeezed the warm, lithe body clinging to him like an octopus, and bent down to briefly nuzzle his partner’s neck. He breathed in the fortifying scent that was simply Stiles and used it to ground himself after the crazy events that had just happened. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m fine.”

“I know. You’re one tough son of a bitch, but the uncertainty always gets me.” Stiles pulled away and gave him a look with those ridiculously wide Bambi-like eyes that made Derek’s insides go warm. “And of course, you would go all superhero and save a child while we saved you. With the way the boy was holding on to you, I thought you’d replaced me with a cuter, newer model.”

Derek quirked up his lip into a lopsided, half-smile. “Never,” he returned easily. “If I did, I would at least try to get a good trade-in price for you.”

“Smartass.” As his comeback, Stiles smacked his arm with the back of his hand. He then slipped said hand into Derek’s, intertwined their fingers, and started walking out of the cave. “See if I ever send baddies back through an intercontinental gate for you again.”

“So, she wasn’t a witch?” Derek asked as he followed Stiles’ lead out of the cave

“Oh, no, she was a witch. The giantess witch, Gryla, and her sons, the Yule Lads. I don’t know how they got here, but I was working off of some quick and dirty research, so the best I could do was track down caves in the area, which is what the literature says she tends to favor, and find a spell to send her back to her native Iceland.”

Derek silently listened as Stiles explained what had happened, both grateful and proud – and not for the first or last time either – at the quick wit and resourcefulness of the guy he got to call his. They eventually emerged from the cave, and he immediately felt lighter the moment he could smell the fresh earth and foliage again. The sun was beginning to set, creating lengthening shadows of the redwoods and the oaks that stood like sentinels around them. And with that came a distinct chill in the air. He felt Stiles shiver at the lower temperature, and wished he’d had his jacket around to offer the other man. The jacket that he’d exchanged for …

With his free hand, he reached into his jeans pocket where he’d tucked the locket earlier, and –

Shit!

Without another thought, he turned and sprinted back into the cave. He quickly scanned the area and did not see the locket anywhere. His eyes then fell on the overturned pot and the still-burning embers of the woodfire. A dash of panic began to taint his actions, but he didn’t stop to quell it. Instead, he rushed over to the dying fire and started digging through the ashes. His hands burned and healed almost simultaneously as he dug desperately through the charred wood, an odd combination of frustration and helplessness clouding his judgement.

“Derek?”

He heard Stiles, but didn’t answer, mainly because his fingers wrapped around a clump of metal just then. He looked down at what used to be Stiles’ mother’s locket, the piece now misshapen by the heat and bearing no resemblance to what it used to be. He dropped the thing, both dejected and angry. This was supposed to be the year. This was supposed to be the Christmas where he would show Stiles how much the younger man meant to him by putting the care and thought into his gift that Stiles had always put into his. But everything… everything had been for nothing.

“Derek? What’s wrong? You okay?” Stiles approached and knelt beside him, looking ready to join him in whatever he was searching for.

He brushed the soot and ash off his hands, shook his head, and stood up. “Nothing. I’m good. Just thought I dropped something but I was wrong. C’mon, let’s go home.”

Puzzled, Stiles stood too, though he didn’t pry, and together, they made their way out of the cave once more, but not before Derek threw one last, longing glance at the pile of ashes.

(***)

“Oh, my god, I’m so stuffed,” Stiles said as he plopped down on the couch and rubbed his belly. “I might have to be rolled off to bed later because there’s no way I’m standing up.”

Derek smiled softly at the younger man’s dramatics, and joined him on the sofa. Christmas dinner had been an intimate one again between just the two of them, with Derek doing most of the preparation, while Stiles had ‘helped’. He didn’t mind though. He enjoyed their time together. The way they fit together, their ease with each other … it had all been hard-won, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything. The younger man had chatted animatedly throughout the meal and Derek had let him go on, wanting to prolong the whole thing because, if he was being honest, he was dreading what would happen afterwards: their gift exchange.

“Merry Christmas, Derek,” Stiles said, as if reading his thoughts. He reached over to the end table and grabbed an unevenly wrapped gift.

Derek stared at the thing for a moment, just knowing deep down it would be a typical Stiles present, all special and personal. Why did Stiles even stay with him? He must come across as an unthoughtful, unappreciative jerk. Slowly, he unwrapped the gift, and revealed a collage of artfully arranged photographs. There were trees and flowers and butterflies dancing on sunbeams across open trails. They were beautiful, more so in that Derek recognized where they had been taken: the preserve.

“You sometimes talk about how you grew up in the preserve,” Stiles explained. “How it’s a second home to you, and how you have all those memories with your family there. I know the memories are special, so I went and took some pictures during summer break. I hope these help you remember all those good times.”

Derek blinked away the prickling he felt in his eyes. Stiles may have assumed he was touched by the gift, which was fine. He didn’t need to know what Derek was really feeling. He didn’t need to know that in that moment, he thought Stiles really deserved so much better than him.

“Thank you. It’s perfect,” he choked out. “I – “ He didn’t know how to continue. What else could he say? “My present isn’t –“

He stopped. Stiles looked at him expectantly. Not finding the right words, he leaned over to the coffee table and grabbed the last-minute gift bag he’d filled the day before. “Here.”

He looked away while Stiles eagerly dug into the bag. He knew what was in there, and he didn’t need to see the lackluster reaction the younger man would have at the assortment of Reese’s candies he’d find.

“Oh, this is awesome, Derek!” Stiles exclaimed excitedly. “Holy shit, there’s a half pound peanut butter cup in here! Hello, Heaven!”

Derek felt Stiles’ arms wrap around him in gratitude, but he couldn’t find it in himself to return the gesture. The younger man seemed to notice and pulled back. “Derek?”

He turned and took in Stiles’ questioning gaze. He couldn’t do this. They complemented each other so well in everything, but somehow, in this, they were completely mismatched. “Doesn’t it bother you?” he asked in earnest.

“What?”

“My gifts. Doesn’t it bother you that my gifts are so … so bad. Yours are always so … so perfect.” It felt good to get that off his chest.

Stiles gawked at him as if he was speaking a foreign language. “Huh? But I think your gifts are perfect. And that’s not a lie. You can tell, right?”

True, Derek hadn’t heard any change in the other man’s heartrate to indicate otherwise, but no one could like his choice of gifts that much. “I just ... I wanted to show you how much I appreciate you, how much I care about you, the same way to do for me, especially with the gifts you give me. But I can’t seem to do that.” This was uncharted territory for him, this admission. He wasn’t used to revealing his insecurities like this. Yet, this was Stiles he was talking to, he reminded himself. Stiles, who never had any shame in revealing his every failure and weakness, and who gave his trust without fear of being hurt. Derek owed him the same. “I found your mother’s locket,” he finally said. “The one from the album you showed me. I found it, and was going to give it to you, but I lost it when we fought that witch last week. I’m sorry.”

He stared at the coffee table. He stared at the discard wrapping paper of the collage he’d just received. He started at everything but Stiles.

And then, “That’s what you were worried about? Not being able to show me you loved me?” Stiles’ tone was incredulous, and it was enough for Derek to turn his attention to the younger man again. “You’re an idiot, Derek,” Stiles continued. “For the record, your presents are awesome. But that’s not the point. You drive three hours each way to visit me on campus every other weekend. You cook Christmas dinner for us every year. You help me pack for college each fall. You drop everything and meet me in a forest, no questions asked, when I call. You even spent all night picking zombie guts out of my hair. If that doesn’t say ‘love’, I don’t know what does!”

To put an exclamation to his point, Stiles pulled him in for a long, lingering kiss. “I love you, Derek Hale, and I know you love me. You don’t need to give me things to show me that. You show me every day in the things you do. And that’s more than enough.”

Derek looked at the man sitting beside him, stunned and at a loss. “I –“

“It’s more than enough,” Stiles re-stated firmly. “Now, stop your self-flagellation, and show me how much you appreciate my gift by kissing me.”

Stiles pulled him in again, and this time, Derek did put everything he had into that kiss because the weight of those heartfelt words were slowly sinking in. He loved Stiles. And Stiles … Stiles knew that. He groaned in appreciation at the true gift he’d been given as he pushed the younger man down onto his back, bracing his weight on his arms as he ground their hips together. Fuck it, he felt like he’d really won the lottery in finding Stiles … because Stiles was right, he realized as he deepened their kiss, tasting and teasing the smart, sarcastic, and silly man beneath him.

This … This was more than enough.

hey bub don't forget to post the met gala fic! xoxo ur reminder anon

tHANK YOU FOR REMINDING ME :D

“Holy shit.”

Y/N had seen Harry in a lot of things -- being his best friend meant experiencing his wardrobe, including but not limited to getting pictures of outfits laid out for something with question marks for her opinion, entering expensive boutiques with eyes averting from price tags in attempt not to panic, marveling as she walks through his closet to see pieces he’d purchased unbeknownst to her (plucking a few things from his drawers), and sending him links to things she think he ought to like just to see him in a photo online in it a week or so later. Despite how familiar she was with his taste in fashion and what he looks like in items of different colors, cuts, and fabrics, she is still often blown away with what he could conjure up. There was just something so. . .alluring, about the way in which he wore things with confidence without oozing any sort of cockiness that might turn someone off from him.

So when he’d invited her to come with him to New York for the Met Gala (in which she would not be attending, given she didn’t have thirty grand lying around to spend, but she got to sleep in a fancy hotel and eat like a King for a few days so she was happy), she’d been more than ecstatic. Was keen on seeing his outfits, hearing what he would do, what he’d have to say, and hope that he explain to her what even happens at the Met Gala apart from the red carpet. Even had fun with his impromptu ear piercing that she helped with (she’s got steadier hands than him). Her plan was simple -- to enjoy the luxuries of being rich without actually having to be rich, dawning one of the expensive hotel robes, slipping her feet into slippers and watch a livestream of the carpet while simultaneously pretending she would be willing to spend more than twenty dollars on a top as she scrolled through various clothing websites. Maybe take a bath or something and wait for him to come back, wondering what food they served at those kinds of events, if Harry would even like it, and if she should order room service (to which she would pay him back for even if it meant sliding money into his wallet when he wasn’t looking) and get him something in case he didn’t.

Though as the night continued on, picture after picture being released, videos and live streams from the event, everything seems so exciting and entertaining, she began to feel a small pit of. . .of something in her chest. She couldn’t quite tell what it was -- she was so proud of him and so happy to see him happy, that her cheeks could burst with a smile from it, but her heart weighs heavy. Harry makes good to rarely seem like he’s famous. Apart from the occasional fan picture or paparazzi hoard, he’s just normal Harry, who snores way too loud, has awful gas after eating jambalaya, picks off people’s plates without so much as a question to, and cannot sit still or keep quiet through a movie if he wasn’t interested in the subject matter. He was the Harry that shoved his head under her hand as his formal request for her to play with his hair and gave her drunken, emotional kisses because he’s “never felt so close t’a someone before”, and would rather sleep on her dingy old couch in her worn down flat than sleep in his multi-million dollar home if it meant that he didn’t have to be alone.

This Harry though -- famous Harry -- appeared to be completely in his element. Floating down the pink carpet with the man responsible for all things Gucci, dancing to Cher, mingling with celebrities, hosting the fucking event. It was like a whole different world he was apart of; one of glamour and opulence that she could only ever dream of. At that moment, for the first time, she’d felt as if she’d been holding Harry back somehow. She’s more than aware that she does not have that kind of power to do it on her own, but what about what he does for her? The nights that she wants him to come over, is he turning down plans with someone who might be more beneficial to his career? Or with someone who has much better, more interesting stories than what her professor tried to pull in her lecture? Maybe he was passing on drinks with stylists and people of greater importance because he’s far too loyal to pass on a romantic comedy movie night with her?

He deserved all good things; nothing but great, wonderful things and she feels endlessly guilty that she is unable to cater to that side of him.

That’s why when he returns a little earlier than he had expected, showing off the second garment he had changed into, his eyes wide and bright, “Get dressed, you’re comin’ with me to an after party!” He chirps after bursting through the door, walking towards the closet without a second thought and swinging the door open to reveal what she had presumed was a bag for one of his suits. Instead he pulls it from the closet, tosses it onto the mattress that she was sprawled on and points his finger at it, “Loads of people I wan’ you t’a meet, yeah?”

Her heart kicks up in her chest, not only because he is even more ethereal in person, nor was it just the fact that he had literally scared her phone out of her hand when he’d plowed in through the door, but because what in the hell? People he wants her to meet? At a met gala after party? Is she even allowed at those?

“Am  I even allowed at those?” She mirrors her confusion and he shrugs his shoulders.

“Don’t see why not; m’the co-chair, so I think I get a bit of leeway with a thing or two,” he pulls the zipper open to the bag, uncovering a beautiful glittery, chain detailed silver slip dress that she only distantly remembers stroking her fingers against on the mannequin, checked the price tag, and pretend it didn’t happen. Y/N couldn’t believe he’d remembered it let alone purchased the damn thing and now it was just sat on the mattress, waiting for her to put it on, “If anything everyone will suspect your just some smarmy socialite who doesn’t a hundred percent what Camp is and that’s’ okay. Hurry on then, I don’ want them to have too much fun without me.”

Her eyes were wide, “Holy shit,” sbe begins, placing her fingers to her temples, “Holy shit, Harry,” she shakes her head, “I can’t go! I’m not even -- I don’t even -- I took like a half assed shower at best!”

“And you look marvelous, Darling,” he took the liberty of withdrawing the dress from the bag, thrusting it out towards her with his fist around the sleek dark wood of the hanger, “I’ve been gushing about ya all night, and y’know I hate to be made a liar.” He motions towards the piece in his hand, brows furrowed as he becomes impatient, “S’been like two months since I bought this so if y’don’t like it anymore then --”

“Shut up, you know I love it,” she takes it from him, trying to ignore the way her heart swells when his mouth pulls up in a big, triumphant smile, “But it was at least one month’s rent, you’re asking me to go to a party with a ton of famous people and that’s something that I need to like prepare for mentally weeks beforehand.”

As soon as she’s got the dress in hand, he takes her by the shoulders and guides her towards the bathroom, “Yeah, yeah, Lovie, listen -- they’re all jus’ like me, yeah? Normal, dressed a bit fancy,” he squeezes her where his hands lay, “Loud as all get out, just like a good chat, will absolutely adore you if you get your arse ready in the next twenty or so minutes.”

He’d managed to close her in the bathroom, leaving Y/N to stare into the large floor to ceiling mirror illuminating every flaw she could’ve possibly thought to have all at once. She looks disheveled -- like someone who had only been planning on lounging around on a hotel bed and living simultaneously through Met Gala Twitter. Not somebody who was meant to get ready in twenty minutes. However, somehow Harry was incredibly persuasive without even having to be persuasive and she was sliding the robe from her shoulders, letting it pool to the floor.

She could get ready in twenty minutes -- she’s had worse time constraints in the past.

                                                                .                                    .                                       .

Y/N’s head is spinning.

Too much had happened in such a short amount of time; she’d met more people than she would have thought to be imaginable in a night than she’d ever met in her entire life. People of such fame and opulence she was certain that they would never cross paths, no matter the fact that she’s Harry’s right hand for most things. However, she realizes tonight as she’s mingling and meeting these people Harry has known for a long while and had never let the situation arise in which Y/N would meet them. Harry kept his personal life separate from his public life and if he could, she realizes, he kept her personal to him which simultaneously made her heart soften and ache all in the same.

She doesn’t think it would hurt too bad, until she had fluttered around the room with him and he had left her to her own devices for a moment so he could get them both something to drink. That’s when someone had turned to her (she wishes she could remember their name but after meeting so many people in a night, most of them escaped her) and said with a look of bewilderment on their face, “So you guys have been friends for how long? You seem so close, I wonder why he hasn’t really mentioned you before.”

It’s not like she expected him to be speaking on her twenty four seven, that definitely wasn’t the case! However, she talks about him a healthy amount to her other friends, and not even in a way where he’s Harry Styles -- again, just the boy who gets drooly when his face is smushed up against a shoulder -- they know that he’s around and is aware of his presence and their friendship. It makes her wonder if he’s ashamed of her or something. . .was being friends with a college student considered unclassy? Would it be better if she was some socialite who had infiltrated the world of celebrities and shared all their gossip at the first breath of their names? Because those are the friends of his that these people know about.

But he had brought her tonight, so that meant something didn’t it? It had to have, right? Was this a test to see how she would do in a situation where she was placed amongst people of such high regard? Or did he just feel guilty for inviting her then leaving? Or was he just riding off the high of the night and was making hasty decisions that he otherwise wouldn’t dream of?

There’s too many possibilities, it makes her head spin, more so than the apple flavored vodka she’d been sipping on. She needed to get out of her head -- she knows she does -- but it feels impossible when she so clearly doesn’t belong. And without Harry at her side, she felt even more misplaced than she had to begin with. The judging glances from people who couldn’t seem to decipher why she was there, why she was silent unless spoken to, and why it appeared like she wanted to jump from her skin. She had never been more uncomfortable in her life, and she decides then that maybe Harry keeping her away from this was best.

When she’d sought him out to tell him she was going to head home -- make up some excuse about a migraine or something -- she sees him speaking with Kendall, which only seems to further the wrench in her heart. All those teenage glimmers of hope that she could be his right hand are squashed because she’d only proven tonight that she couldn’t handle this side and this was such a large part of him. Not the only part, but big enough that she could understand if he didn’t want to bother trying to acclimate her to it. Why would he want to be with someone who he couldn’t bring to events without them starting to doubt themselves? And why the hell is she even thinking about being with him right now?

She retreats to the bathroom -- just for a little space, at the very least, to calm her down. Tears threaten to crawl up her eyes but she won’t let them. God! Why is she being so melodramatic? What’s her deal all of the sudden? She’s about three minutes from kicking her own ass -- surrounded by celebrities and idols she’s had for years, just to go to the restroom and sit still on the toilet long after she finished peeing? Just because she plummeted herself into her feelings about a boy? It’s like some twisted form of movie high school prom that she’d never, ever wanted to encounter.

Y/N isn’t sure how long she’d been sat there, until her phone dings a bright noise and startles her from whatever reverie she’d thrown herself into. She’s surprised to see Harry’s contact be what she sees, considering she didn’t even think he had pockets to keep his phone, so she swipes right on it quickly.

Where are you? Is everything okay?

And then the bastard had to be so damn sweet! Why should he care if she’s okay? He’d just hosted the damn Met Gala for Christ sake, she should be the last thing on his mind.

She feels her eyes well; here she was in the bathroom, feeling sorry for herself when it was Harry’s night. How could she run off to the hotel? She was here to support him and praise him because tonight is about him and she almost feels selfish for letting her emotions have her feeling like it was even remotely about her.

Deciding to no longer feel sorry for herself, she answers him back letting him know she was in the bathroom, stands up, finally wipes like she should have about ten minutes ago, and goes to wash her hands. She looks at herself in the mirror, very seriously tells herself to buck the hell up only to jump some when she realizes that Katy Perry is beside her in a burger costume. She nods politely, pulls a paper towel from the dispenser and pushes her way out to see Harry was standing and waiting for her, a dopey smile on his stupidly cute face.

“Are ya havin’ fun?”

Y/N musters her best smile and nods, “Loads,” she responds, “Are you?”

He nods enthusiastically, reaching out for her arm and giving her a small tug, “C’mon then, ‘ve been DJ-ing with Mark and I want you to have a go.”

                                                        .                               .                             .

By the end of the night it is very well apparent that celebrities party like college students. After the first afterparty he had taken her to, they went to a smaller one that he co-hosted, and it was a bit slower paced. Y/N felt more comfortable there at the very least -- maybe too comfortable, because several times she caught herself slowly fading to sleep, only brought back to full alertness when the coolness of her glass is pressed against her thigh. She’d done her fair share of mingling here too and met a handful of people that made her mouth dry, but by the time the sun started to rise in the sky, she was curled up on a couch and scrolling through her phone absently, waiting for Harry’s cue that they could go back to the hotel. He’d come to check on her a few times, asking if she wanted to meet someone (she would say yes), or if she just needed company but she urged him several times to go have fun (“You and I will be together for the next few days anyway, y’might as well enjoy your time without me hovering,” she had told him to which he replied with a pout of, “But I like when you hover.” that made her heart flutter more than it should have).

She was in the weird state of drunk-ish but slowly sobering; the last shot she had was an hour or so ago but she still felt buzzy and light. Still drunk enough to think that considering trekking downstairs and hitching a taxi by herself when she wasn’t all too sure of where their hotel was, might be a good idea -- but of sound enough mind to recognize that her feet ached too much to even think about trekking anywhere.

Around 7-ish, a gentle hand lies on her shoulder and nearly has her spring from her skin. Harry’s soft, low, sleepy chuckle is her first indication that it’s him before she turns around and sees his bow is a bit askew, his hair has been tousled and combed through to high heavens, and his eyes were puffy and red from his own weariness. “Jumpy,” he’d murmured, and she could tell he had sobered up considerably and was probably far soberer than she was, as he holds his hand out for her to take, helping her rise and leaning over to grab the heels she had kicked off and lied beside the couch, “Y’should’ve told me you were tired. Would’ve gotten you back to the hotel.”

“And what, miss out on some rich hot shot celebrity falling in love with my drunken sleeping form?” She stood, wincing and pouting, taking her heels from his fingers and sliding them back onto her foot, “Speaking of, m’pretty sure Taron Egerton is bringing me home actually, so I’ll send for my things.”

He furrows his brows at her and waves her along, “Yeah, yeah, and Alessandro is signing Gucci over to me -- c’mon now.”

“That’s actually not so unbelievable,” she replies.

The ride home, Y/N demands Harry work through his jaded brain to tell her about his entire night. She hypes him up even after the fact, reveling in his stories with him, all the new people he meant, how invigorating it was to be hosting the very first Met Gala that he attended, how freeing it was to have his nipples out at an event of this high stature, and how much fun he’d had even afterward. Though he still shies from her praise, blushing a pretty pink when she tells him he’s a legend and, “You’re literally doing such great things at such a young point in your solo career, m’surprised you aren’t floating from ego bloat,” makes him shake his head through a laugh.

She had thought she had made a brilliant recovery from her previous, mid-party panic, and was actually patting herself on the back for having it go unnoticed by him (because he notices absolutely everything; people could call Harry a lot of things, but one of them wasn’t dense). This is why she was so blindsided by how he approaches her when she’d plopped down on the hotel bed, kicking the heels off once again and flopping back against the mattress.

“So are you going to tell me what had you bent out of shape earlier?”

Y/N’s brows furrowed, heart sinking to her stomach, “Hm?” She plays dumb but he gives her that look -- that “don’t for a second think that you can trick me” look that almost makes her visibly shudder.

“You know what I mean,” he responds, “Y’think I don’t notice when you’re gone quiet? Or when you disappear for twenty minutes? Did someone say something to you?”

She opens her mouth to deny it but he shoots her that look again and she crumbles beneath it, shaking her head, “It was nothing,” she tells him, “I just got in my head, is all but it doesn’t matter and m’fine, so everything is good.”

“Don’t say you’re feelings don’t matter, because they do,” he responds almost immediately, peeling himself from his outfit and revealing the creamy smooth skin beneath -- Y/N has to tear her eyes from his torso so that she’s listening -- “Tell me what was wrong.”

“You’re awful demanding,” she grumbles, reaching up to take her earrings out, “It was just new and weird; I was surrounded by people I only ever see on a screen and then there were some people that just -- I just realized I didn’t really fit in, and I got in my head, but I got over it.”

His brows furrow, crawling up onto the bed, “Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

“Because it was your night idiot!” She all but snaps at him, not out of anger with him, but from pure frustration with herself, “I wasn’t going to hold you back because I felt weird. That wouldn’t be fair to you, n’I just -- I’m not apart of that world and it was very apparent and I just realized that I could be holding you back from something better when you’re hanging out with me or even that you have to take me places with you ‘cos you feel guilty. And if. . .and someone just -- I said we were best friends and they made a face and I -- it just feels weird. . .I felt weird.” Pushing the heels of her palms to her eyes, she shakes her head, “But it doesn’t matter, stop prying, me head hurts enough and I’m not letting this ruin how amazing tonight was.”

Harry’s fingers are gentle as they loop around her wrist, pulling it at it delicately so he could draw her hands from her face, “Okay,” he murmurs gently, “Okay, okay, I’ll stop, I just --” he pauses for a moment, like he’s trying to pluck the right words from his brain, “You’re so important t’me, y’know that? Right important and I wanted to bring you with me t’night, because I wanted to experience this amazing night with you.” His thumb carefully caresses her skin, and she can feel his eyes boring into her though she doesn’t look up at him, “Y’don’t have to be apart of that world, yeah? I like that you aren’t ‘cos -- well, as selfish as it is, I just want you all to myself. You’re my person. And don’t ever think you’re holding me back, Lovie, if I wanted to hang out with a ton of snobby rich celebrities all day then I would.” He leans in, pushing a kiss to her forehead, “I love you Dummy.”

Her heart pulls in her chest, “I love you more,” she murmurs.

They finish getting ready for bed (despite it being close to 9AM) and Y/N returns from the bathroom to see that Harry had planted himself on her mattress opposed to his own, snuggled up beneath her covers with only his eyes peeking out at her, “Get in,” his words are muffled by the blankets and Y/N rolls her eyes, climbing up into bed beside him. He wriggles his way over to her almost instantly, lying his head against her chest and sighing contentedly as his eyes flutter shut.

“You looked really hot t’night,” she murmurs idly as she combs her fingers through his hair and he hums, nestling closer to her, “Especially in the first outfit. You’re lucky I didn’t jump your bones.”

Harry laugh comes as a soft puff through his nose.

“You should’ve.” He responded.

Y/N stays up for an hour after thinking about it.

One Night in Richmond

~Busted~

It never hurts to show up with a case of beer so I stop at Lombardy Kroger on my way to the Circle and pick up some Blue Moons and a box of popsicles -both alluding to the festive mood facing through the air. This morning the mayor announced the resignation of our only ten-day old police chief, and while many understood the dense socio-political tactics implied with the decision, most celebrated the occasion as well. A Friday night at the top of summer will always carry with it feelings of excitement and reward.

I pull my bike up to the normal spot at Marcus-David Peters Circle and recognize a few familiar faces in the soft afterglow of dusk’s light. The sun is just now setting, leaving only about 30 minutes until full darkness and the cover that comes with it. Now, the sun is still tightrope walking over the horizon, the sky shimmering with raspberry-lemonade tones and watermelon marshmallow clouds. Around the turn of the Circle a free concert is underway, made possible with just a microphone, a generator, and a few amps. We doodle with spray-paint, or attempt freestyle tricks on our fixed gears, as we sip beers and bust musings on the day.

We’re all rocking on the obvious cookout vibe, but we’re tentative as well; We aren’t completely relaxed. We’ve seen things turn from lax to chaos before, in only a second, for no reason at all, and we know it can happen again.  When you’re facing an enemy that has full control over the definitions of combat, it’s forgiven to feel nervous.

For now though, it’s good vibes and sunshine. And while our conversations dance around the protests, the police, police brutality, human rights, the mistakes of the generations before us, and our determination to fix those mistakes, mostly we just talk about Richmond. It’s hard to explain Richmond to someone who hasn’t stayed there for any amount of time. Richmond is like an oasis that’s also a black hole. Richmond is the place you’re trying to get out of, and also the place you can’t wait to be back in. Richmond is the place you think you deserve. Richmond is where a lot of us feel most at home, but it’s a home that needs sweeping renovations.

As we expound freely on the failures and accomplishments of the capitol city, more and more of our friends arrive, skidding to stops at the periphery of our claimed area and slowly increasing our settlement size. It’s easy to dominate a space when everyone arrives with a bicycle, and in our group it’s pretty much a necessity to show up with some wheels of a sort. Besides a general interest in protesting the state, bicycles have been the strongest conjoining factor throughout the ragtag group of friends that I’ve been meeting with near-daily since the brutal murder of George Floyd at the end of March.

Some of these friends, like Salad (our stoic, de facto captain of the group who’s got friends in every part of town) and Funky (our resident artist and Big Wheel extraordinaire), I’ve known for a while and originally met just by biking in the same parts of town. But others, like Sophia (badass girl with a Wide Bars/Big Heart combo) or Johnny (no fixie yet [just a road bike], but is well-loved for his reputation of generosity and hilarious braggadociousness) I’ve only spent real time with since the protests began. All in all, there’s about 12 of us that have formed a little posse of itinerant protestors. Every summer brings with it something new, but something about the revolution marching down the streets had this summer already feeling particularly seismic. And something about all that “newness” in the air made me feel more like a kid again.

Soon, a few men in assault rifles and military vests approach us, seemingly threatened by their own lack of acceptance and comradery now reflected against our group of laughing friends.  

“Is this your tent? This tent’s gotta go!” the man begins the conversation, unaware or unwilling to exchange pleasantries.

“It’s not our tent but we don’t think it should go”, a few people begin to say at once. “That tent is covering a free community library.”

“Well, when the cops get here this is going to make them upset, and they’re going to come in here and destroy it anyway,” the man says. “So I’m just saying y’all should take it down before I come back with a few other guys with rifles and take it down myself….cuz we don’t want the cops to come!”

“You can do whatever you want, man, but we’re not going to take down some tent that isn’t ours just because you think the cops might come,” our friend Amin (always good for a giant smile and a fat joint) says. “And also, that whole theory doesn’t make a lot of sense to me” He punctuates this last part with a tip of his head and a swig of his beer.

The man grumbles to himself and walks away, returning ten minutes later with his aforementioned rifled goons, as well as a lady that doesn’t really seem to fit in with them.

“This lady owns the library so we’re getting her to take it down,” the man says, directing his speech towards our group for no apparent reason other than to start a conflict. He was obviously oblivious to how his aggressive, commandeering attitude was completely antithetical to the entire idea of the community space that is Marcus-David Peters Circle…or maybe he was just an asshole. Regardless, he was a blatant intimidator, and unless we’re talking about Number 3 (RIP) there’s just no room for that inside the Circle.

We ignored whatever the guy was trying to serve to us and kicked back, but soon the man was back again with an even larger group, now forcefully encouraging everyone to exit the interior of the Circle under the assurance that “the cops can’t touch us if we aren’t in the Circle”. As one tends to notice, it’s hard to say “no” to a group of men with large guns in their hands, so the group was having large amounts of success with their attempts to incentive people out of the area. Our group, though still not understanding completely or agreeing with the logic of the move, followed suit, packing up our blankets, beers, and popsicles.

Not five minutes after the entire populace of the Circle had been cleared out of the area that lay surrounded by graffitied barriers, officers in riot gear began to arrive, just as the man earlier had “predicted”. Predicted! *Hmpf*! Predicted, or imprecated? Or better yet, foretold? Because I reckon it’s a hell of a lot easier to predict the future when you’ve got a direct line to the chain of commands. I also reckon that about the only person who would come up and complain about the tent covering up a free library was some bootlicking wannabe-cop snitch who knew, without a doubt, that the cops were coming that night, whether they had a reason to or not.

And, of course, there was no reason that any amount of police officers, let alone 50+ outfitted in full riot gear, should have appeared that night. No reason for a city to sic a militarized pack of baton-wielding goons on its own people. No reason why the citizens of Richmond could not have just been left to be: listening to music, drinking beers, talking with friends. These were the crimes we committed before being attacked.

As police announced to the crowd that the surrounding area had been declared an “unlawful assembly” by the state, tempers began to flare on both sides. Rampant rubber bullets and flash bang grenades sliced through the air, as chants and screams rose up from the civilians. Suddenly, the space felt like a warzone, a battle with what seemed like completely lopsided enemies. On one side stood line after line of grown men adorned in battle armor, helmets, and shields. Some held Assault Rifles or guns meant for firing rubber bullets and smoke canisters; all wore heavy, polished, steel-toed boots. On the other side stood men, women, children, and pets equipped with nothing more than their wallets, sunglasses, tank tops, and shorts. Some held bottles of water for extinguishing smoke, others had gloves on for tossing tear gas canisters away; all wore a sense of fear, anger, confusion, and determination on their face. These Richmonders, who had done nothing more than to enjoy the public space of their city, would not be deterred so easily. A feeling had spread through the crowd that we would not be punished unjustly tonight. If we were going to have to face the consequences of merely existing in the street, then we weren’t going down without a fight.  

The ranks of G.I. Joe-pretenders slowly increased their perimeter, pushing citizens further and further from the reclaimed art space at the epicenter of the Circle. Soon, we stood in the middle of Park Avenue, a block from Monument Avenue, and still we were being told to “back up” and “get out of the street”, by both RPD and VSP. It seemed the boars with badges would not be content until they had claimed the whole neighborhood as their own Draconian hang-space.

When my friend Nick (The big love bully - The homie to ask you if you’re okay when you’ve got a down face) shines his flashlight toward a group of suspicious looking officers, he’s swarmed upon by a particularly dorky looking Virginia State officer who accosts him with a completely trivial question about the bike he’s riding.

“Whoah! Hey! You got lights for this bicycle here?” the officer asked, taking strides closer and closer to us, hand on his hip.

“Two, actually!” Came Nick’s response as we all flipped our bikes around to put some space between the officers and ourselves. “You’re not gunna get us on some shit like that!” He shouted over his shoulder as we pedaled up the street towards a safer space. “ya dumbass cop”

With some distance between the commotion and us, we regroup. Nick, Sophia, Salad, Ryan, Johnny, and I squad up at a park only a block away.

“Shit’s wild”

“What even started this?”

“Oh, they’re definitely mad about the chief resigning.”

“I saw someone get hit right in the face with a rubber bullet”

“Fuck!”

“I saw a couple kids with paint guns shooting at the cops, I think that’s what started it all”

“I mean, the cops started it all when they showed up…”

“AGREED!”

Looking behind him, Johnny says, “This car coming up is an unmarked cop car, anyone want to see where it’s going?”

“Let’s do it”, I say.

And we take off. The two of us darting after this beefy-looking tinted black SUV, keeping close but keeping our distance.

After a few blocks Johnny turns to me and says, “They aren’t going anywhere interesting, let’s head back.” and we reverse-course towards the way we came.

Coming back up towards the intersection where we left the rest of our friends, I can’t say that anything felt particularly off, though it did seem a little quiet, not a simple quiet but a stifled one.

As Johnny and I make our way through the shadow left in the space between two light posts, we hear a “GRAB HIM!” and a hidden mass springs from the darkness. I watch as Johnny’s bike finds the space between charging homunculus and a row of cards and skirts through it successfully, just as the same cop changes direction to tackle me off my bike (FUCK!). The goon leaps into the air as gracefully as an anemic hippopotamus, and tackles me off my bike with the ease of a drunken uncle at Thanksgiving.

“All right, big guy, you got me! You can chill out.” I say to the panting officer now shoving my arms in positions not familiar to them, restraining my non-resisting body with the help of 3 or 4 buddies. “I appreciate all the attention but it’s really not necessary”

“It’s for both of our safeties”, the stormtrooper says to me without looking at my face, instead holding his nose high with eyes darting around the perimeter like some cracked-out hound-dog.

“Oh yeah, I bet”, I say, laughing a little. “Hey man, you having any fun?”

The officer just grunts.

“Aw, c’mon man, what’s your name?”

“Officer Harris” Still no eye contact.

“Hey, officer Harris, you having any fun out here? It’s ok to have fun, I’m having some fun, are you having fun?”

Officer Harris shifts his weight from one foot to the other, rolls his tongue across his upper teeth, and says out of the side of his mouth, “Yeah, I’m having a little fun…but you guys are making it hard for us out here.”

“GROSSSSSSS!” I say laughing from the pit of my stomach, “Oh, Officer Harris, we’ve got real problems” And I continue to laugh as this confused cop looks down on me, still zip-tied at his feet. I was beyond affable at this point from the adrenaline and alcohol coursing through my bloodstream, and while the fear of this cop and his gang of buddies assaulting me crossed through my mind, I figured if I was in for a penny I was in for a pound. Being arrested for protesting the police force already put me in a vulnerable position, and I figured the policeman’s image of me couldn’t be altered much in the short time we were interacting with each other, but I wanted to say one more thing before Officer Harris cast me aside as some wanton rioter.

“I hope you don’t think I’m just some white punk, some revolutionary with no cause. I’m fighting for what I believe in, and I sleep well every night, Officer Harris, do you?”

“I try,” Khaleed Harris said with a sigh as he put me in a cage in the back of a van.

“Now, watch your head.”

First Date

This is for the @danganevents valentines fic exchange :) I was assigned @deadpunkin who wanted komahina fluff! This was my first time doing something like this and It was a cool experience- I hope you have fun reading it! ^^

Hajime Hinata was running late.

This wasn’t a common nor uncommon experience really. Hajime’s most remarkable quality (excluding his abnormally spikey hair) would have to be how average he is. And being late occasionally is just a part of life! That was something anyone could understand and be understanding of, surely..

This is what was repeating through Hajime’s head as he dashed to the bus stop down the street from his apartment complex. Just a little bit further-

“OOF!”

Upon rounding the street corner Hajime collides with an immense and immovable object. This ‘object’ was none other than Nekomaru Nidai.

“Woah, there- What’s the rush!” Nekomaru exclaimed, helping pick Hajime up from off the ground where he had fallen. The Ultimate Team Manager was built like a brick house and running headlong into him made that especially clear.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, though your form is severely lacking!” He continued, helping brush Hajime off lightly and doing his best to smooth down the spiky mass of hair “Having heart is important but we’ll never reach play offs on that alone. If you really want to improve your run time I can help you devise a solid regiment suited to your build!” At this point Nidai had given up on fixing the mess known as Hajime’s hair and punched his fists together enthusiastically “Just give me the word an-“

“Nidai I am so sorry but also- I do Not have time for this today.” Hajime sputtered out darting around the managers’ form and making a run for it, “We can talk about this another day!” He half-heartedly promised over his shoulder, already trying to calculate how much this detour would affect his time. As he was not the SHSL Mathematician, however, Hajime soon abandoned this line of thought.

Nidai huffs to himself lightly, as the smaller student flees away in a full on sprint, “He must really have to take a shit..”

Across town a lone figure arrives at the door of Jabberwock Java, a local coffee chain renowned for its fun and exotic take on the classic café theme.

-

“Huh. I’m 15 minutes early! That’s just my luck..” He sighed before sitting at one of the outside tables to wait for 6 o’clock. Better than being late, really. Nagito had made sure to leave Hope’s Peak with plenty of time and to take the most secure path available according to Google maps. That way even if was waylaid by criminals or caught in a storm he would have plenty of time to deal with the issue.

Despite emotionally preparing for something unfortunate the entirety of the trip, it had been remarkably easy. Almost frighteningly so.

“A lot can happen in 15 minutes,” Nagito thinks to himself while thoughtfully gazing towards the horizon.

-

He made it! The bus was leaving right as he arrived but due to Hajime’s quick reflexes and the bus driver’s kindness (ie. Running alongside the bus as it started to pull off and knocking on door), he was now seated in the fourth closest seat to the door.

“Finally, something is going right,” Hajime sighs, taking a moment to try and catch his breath. The fellow bus occupants were likely judging him, but he had made it on and that’s what really counts. The person in the next seat over was openly staring daggers at him.

They would probably stop once they realized he wasn’t going to acknowledge them. Sweat dripped down the side of his neck and Hajime wished he had the foresight to bring water.

Or the foresight to just leave on time instead fussing over his stupid outfit for half an hour. Its not like he even wore anything that different from his usual clothes..

“Hajime?..”

Sure, it was a slightly nicer button down. Crisp collar, unlike his every day outfit. And the tie he chose was not the usual green- but a more grey-ish green shade than usual. Not that he bought it specifically for this or anything! He just… needed a new tie.

“Hajime!”

Oh fuck.

So much for ignoring them, “Oh! Hey there Ibuki,” he smiled in what was hopefully a nonchalant manner “What’s up?” He went to lean in to more of a relaxed slouch against the handrail but, upon realizing an outer seat didn’t actually have that, stopped before he could fall into the center aisle.

He could play it cool. Right.

“What’s up with Ibuki?! More like what’s up with Hajime!” She exclaimed loudly, almost certainly drawing unnecessary looks from everyone else on the bus, who hadn’t paid attention to his frantic pounding on the bus window a couple minutes back “Ibuki saw you run from alllllll the way by down the street.”

“Now what could Ibuki’s favorite drummer be doing running so desperately,” She crossed her arms in thought.

“Its- really its no big deal! I was just,” Think Hajime, think “Getting in my steps for the day.” Nailed it.

“Oh!! Ibuki sees,” Here she shot a wide grin, and nodded in a self satisfied manner “And after his steps Hajime always goes to treat himself with some tea! Of course!!”

“Uh.. sure.”

“And of course the best place to get tea is the Hanamura Family Diner!”

Hajime felt his heart drop.

“Which is why you are on a bus alllllll the way to Aoyama!” Ibuki continued, unaware of Hajime’s turmoil “Ibuki still needs to go there one day, but she can never seem to find it! Even when she goes to watch concerts in that area no one ever seems to have heard of it!”

“..This bus is headed where?”

-

Nagito checked his phone. It was only just after 6… Hajime probably just got lost on his way here. At this point it was almost rude to loiter outside without at least going to buy something.

Mind made up Nagito headed inside the café, deciding to order a small drink and stake out a nice spot for when Hajime arrives. He checks his phone again, as a force of habit.

No new messages.

-

After getting off at the next nearest stop and declining Ibuki’s invitation to play ‘Will I get there?’ Hajime has to be completely honest with himself.

This isn’t just a little late anymore. Assuming Nagito arrived on time (and not early as Hajime feared) he would have been waiting for at least 45 minutes now. While the luckster has come a long way from disdainful student he had been (And only seemed to be warming up to Hajime more and more every day), surely, he was pushing the others patience at this point.

Hajime was across town with no way to the café. He should just call and tell him what happened, reschedule for another day and cut his losses.

He reaches into his pocket to retrieve his phone.

Aaaaand finds nothing. Hajime blinks for a bit, before re-checking each and every pocket he has. The search comes up with his wallet, the apartment key, a pack of mint fresh gum, and absolutely nothing else.

“Ughhhhhhh..” He puts his head in hands for a moment and thinks. He had been avoiding checking the time since he first left so as not to psyche himself out too much. It must have been left at home. And if it was lost anywhere else, then… Well that would be a problem for future Hajime.

Current Hajime has very specific problems to deal with. Namely not disappointing the guy he was supposed to meet up with any more than he already has. With renewed energy Hajime stands up and looks over the map located at the stop.

The next bus he needed wasn’t coming for a good while. There must be another way to get there… Suddenly a car with deeply tinted windows pulls up next to Hajime on the curve. The window starts to roll down on the passenger side and Hajime tenses up ever so slightly. If he throws the gum then that should be enough of a distraction to make a run for it if need be.

“Hey Hajime! What are you doing all the way on this side of town?”

“….Fuyuhikyo?”

Behind the Kuzuryu heir Peko waves lightly from the driver seat.

-

Nagito is easygoing in a lot of ways. Life happens and things often out of your control can make keeping plans difficult at times. It was like his luck with its ups and downs and the unpredictable nature of things, honestly. But Nagito is also a realist.

He had his… reservations about this outing from the beginning, and it was becoming increasingly clear that so must have Hajime. It was 7:30 with no calls or messages, and no sign of the spiky haired teenager. Though the timing was unfortunate, he must have finally realized his time would be better spent with almost anyone else. It was an unavoidable outcome really. Nagito was almost surprised it took this long, even with the young man’s stubborn nature.

Either that or something could have happened to Hajime- which was unthinkable. A light shudder wracked his frame at the idea. Nagito would be fine with ignoring whatever this could have been if Hajime is okay. He would have to be okay.

For everything else the universe had taken away from him it should owe him this much at least.

With that Nagito strengthens his resolve to greet Hajime normally tomorrow, as he always does after class. He won’t mention being stood up or talk about waiting on him. He won’t push for more than he deserves.

Though only a reserve course student Hajime had so much hope in his heart. That was really the only way Nagito could put it. He had a way of making everyone around him feel acknowledged and cared for just by being there. It’s really no wonder that he had become such an essential part of the 77th class of Hope’s Peak Academy, despite being an unofficial member.

Though the two had taken a while to get used to each other and only recently started to understand one another, they worked well together. There was a base attraction that only flourished as they shared their stories, love of Hope’s Peak Academy and what it represents, even their deepest dreams with one another.

Or at least that’s what Nagito had thought.  

It had seemed reciprocated if the confession (Could it even be called that?) from Hajime was anything to go by. It had been pretty round about in the way he did it, but the intent seemed clear. His eyes had been bright and cheeks flushed as he mentioned with a forced off-handedness about this café he had been meaning to try, and ‘Gee, wouldn’t it be nice to go together, Nagito?’

Really, the nail in the coffin was Hajime insisting that they do this on a couple’s holiday. Nagito didn’t consider himself to be oblivious but the implications of that seemed... pretty straightforward.

Lost in thought and fidgeting with his long since empty cup he almost doesn’t notice the shadow that crosses his table.

“Hey.” The seat across from him pulls out as a somewhat ruffled looking Hajime takes a seat.

“Sorry to keep you waiting for so long- there was an issue with the bus and misplacing my phone. It was kind of crazy trying to get here honestly!”

Seeing how much of a mess the other boy’s hair was (Which is to say it was slightly worse than usual) and how his tie (..Was that new? It was a silky looking grey-green shade that was endearingly familiar) noticeably askew, that seemed believable. Not that Hajime was the type to lie to protect someone’s feelings, but it was comforting evidence, nonetheless.

“Oh! That sounds rather troublesome,” Nagito answered after a moment “I’m honored you invited me here in the first place, but you really shouldn’t go to such lengths just to meet with me!” He laughed a bit self-consciously.

“I wanted to.” Hajime reply’s immediately. Firmly.

A warm hand grasps Nagito’s own on top of the table. He can feel his heart skip a beat.

“Whether it’s talking about whatever comes to mind or even just saying nothing at all,” Hajime pauses as if searching for the right words “being with you is.. good, Nagito. You are really important to me.”

As Nagito begins to flush at the unexpected praise, at the counter across the room Fuyuhikyo and Peko order a couple of green tea’s and a bag of fried dough cookies to go.

“It’s about time,” Fuyuhikyo huffs lightly nodding at their friends joined hands. Peko hums in agreement, collecting the sweets bag and passing a cookie over.

“They’ve only been dancing around each other for the past three years. Sheesh, were we ever that insufferable?” Peko gives him a look that speaks volumes, and the two leave Jabberwock Java and the soon to be couple behind.

Chapter 7

He woke up to the smell of beef stew and red wine, the comfort of his own bed alerting him to the fact that he was back at Jin and Joon’s place. He opened his eyes slowly, groggily, his gaze landing on Joon reading a book, sitting on a chair next to his bed. “Oh, you’re awake.” Joon closed the book gently, leaning forwards, a concerned look on their face. “How’re you feeling?” Hoseok swallowed with difficulty, tears forming in his eyes. Panic and guilt and too many conflicting emotions making him cover his face with his hands and start sobbing, curling in on himself and not seeing the panicked look on Joon’s face. “Woah, hey, come on now. It’s all good, we’re not upset.” They placed the book on the bedside table and reached out to touch Hoseok’s shoulder, a cold stab of sadness running up their spine when he flinched away. “Aw fuck.” Hoseok heard them stand up and leave the room, and he tried to stop crying but everything was far too much for him. “Hoseok, love, I’ll just sit here and talk. Please don’t feel like this is your fault, because it’s not.” Jin’s voice was soft and rough, given how much he’d been crying since yesterday. “I met Joon about 4 or 5 years ago, when they still went by Namjoon. We met Jungkook about two years later, and we had been dating for almost a year.” He sighed, a soft, gentle sound. “We’d actually had a fight about Jungkook back then too. We almost broke up over it, actually.” Hoseok managed to get his breathing back in order, and he sat up, wiping at his eyes. He didn’t say anything, but Jin continued talking. “... It’s not as complicated as we’ve made it out to be, but it’s so easy to get into your head about being monogamous and only having one partner that we ended up distancing ourselves from him until this year, when he started working at the bar.” A dry chuckle escaped the elder. “I thought those feelings would disappear after almost two years of distance, but they just bubbled up like a clogged fountain and we handled it poorly once more.” “Jungkook gets infatuated so very easily and we saw it happen while distancing ourselves from him. You know how close he was with Taehyung, but they were just friends, and then Jimin came into the picture and Jungkook fell head-over heels for him. There was some semblance of courtship for a while, but Tae and Jimin just clicked when they got to uni. Jungkook was so broken about it, he started distancing himself from us.” Joon had walked back in, a glass of water in one hand and a bowl of the delicious-smelling stew in the other. “So… You guys like him back?” Hoseok finally piped up after like a minute of silence in which the stew and the water were placed on his bedside table. “Yes.” “Then why? Why would you do what you did?” “We met him when he was 17. I was 20 and Jin was 22, I was already in my second year of uni and he was barely in his first year of Sixth Form.” Joon sighed heavily, running a hand through their loose hair, long purple tresses falling haphazardly. “He was riding the waves of a terrible breakup of a terrible relationship, and at first we just thought it was infatuation of the people he confided in. He’s still so young.” “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t understand how relationships work, or how to fall in love. He’s a good kid, and he’s already been through so much, it seems. Give him a chance.” Hoseok’s voice turned into a whisper at the end, tears threatening to spill once more. The other two shared a look, and a small, sad smile. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Summer was inching closer and closer and the weather was fucking unbearable. One day it was a nice cool 17ºC and the next it was a daunting 25ºC. Today was one of those days. “Fucking kill me, Minnie.” Hoseok was dressed in black shorts and a burgundy tank top, with a black and red snapback holding back his hair. “I don’t want to go to Oxfam today.” “We need supplies, Hobi. You wanted to learn how to make your own swing outfit, so you’re walking to Oxfam in 25º heat and getting the slacks and the dress you wanted.” Jimin was washing the dishes, the small flat where he and Taehyung lived homely and cool, because they had a good AC unit. “Don’t let me melt, Minnie, please.” Jimin shook his head. “It’s now or never, Hoseok. Now go out there and get your clothes!” He ushered the taller out of the flat. “Oh, and get me a pair of pink pumps. I have a new idea for an act and it requires a lot of pink.” The door slammed in Hoseok’s face and he groaned, clomping down the stairs and looking up at the sky. Working weekends at the bar, Wednesdays and Fridays at the studio and now Monday to Thursday at L’Eto was finally bringing in a good amount of money. He could help Jin and Joon with their rent, and he could get his own clothes for shows, which was a good thing. He was indeed looking for a set of trousers and a dress to alter in an Oxfam, when he bumped, or more like crashed, into a certain short someone. “Oh, fuck, sorry.” Hoseok hissed, squatting down to help the other guy stand. “Are you alright?” Soft grey hair, oversized purple and grey hoodie over black ripped skinny jeans and purple canvas shoes, small, pretty hair clips on his bangs and shimmery pink lip gloss. The hair clips, upon closer inspection, were small, cartoon skulls and bats, drippy pastel purple eyes and bones. When the shorter guy looked up, it was as if time had slowed down to allow Hoseok to take in every detail. Smudged purple eyeshadow and delicately drawn eyeliner, making his dark eyes stand out on his pale skin. A matte black septum ring adorned a dainty button nose, a simple hoop in the middle of his lower lip (which Hoseok couldn’t help but notice were pouty and plush), a dripping pink heart sticker on his cheek, and the jewellery around his neck was witchy and pastel purple, small ouija planchettes hanging from silver chains, bats and ribcages, all a pretty shade of purple and black. He looked so goddamn soft. But that didn’t last for long. The other guy grunted as he stood up himself, swatting Hoseok’s hand away. “Yeah, I’m fine. Would’ve been be’er if you looked where you were goin’, buh, wha’ever.” The thick North London accent mixed with the raspy depth of his voice brought Hoseok out of the pastel fantasy he was wearing. He barreled past Hoseok, who tipped over to fall flat on his ass, having stayed crouching through the short introduction. “What the…?” Hoseok stood up slowly, his brain still trying to tie the soft exterior with the voice. He shook his head and picked up the black lace dress and white slacks he’d grabbed before crashing into the other guy, every little detail burned into his mind. Fuck, he was cute. Hoseok made his way around the shop, sweat beading on his forehead as he scoured the shoe section for Jimin’s request. Finding bright pink pumps was harder than it seemed, but he finally found a pair and he made his way to the checkout, placing the items on the counter and fishing around in his shorts’ pockets for his wallet. “Seriously?” Hoseok looked up at the sound of the pastel boy’s voice, sunny smile breaking through. “Oh, hey! I’m really sorry I crashed into you, man. I should’ve been watching where I was going.” “If y’hadn’t been textin’ while walkin’ ‘round a crowded shop, then we would’ve never crashed into each other.” He grumbled, a whispered addition soft enough that Hoseok almost missed it. "Fuckin' chav." “Yoongi, be nice to the customers!” An old woman’s voice rang out from the room in the back, and the pastel boy, who now Hoseok knew was called Yoongi, rolled his eyes, a small, amused smile on his face. It certainly changed the aura around him, the smile, long gone was that exhausted frustration and now there was a fondness that Hoseok would love to see more of that smile. Maybe even a grin, just to see how much Yoongi would light up. “That’ll be 67 pounds.” Hoseok bit back a scowl, shaking his head slightly. He hated how expensive charity shops could be, but it was for a good cause so he relinquished his card with little resistance. “Is this for like your mum or something?” Yoongi remarked, raising up the black lace dress to fold it neatly and put it into a bag. “No, but it does look like something she’d wear.” Hoseok chuckled brightly, pulling his snapback off to fix his hair. Jimin and Tae had convinced him to dye his hair the same bright red as the wigs he wore for shows and around the bar, and to be honest it looked good on him. A sudden sharp intake of breath and the subsequent coughing fit made Hoseok look up to find Yoongi, cheeks bright red, coughing. “Are you alright, mate?” Yoongi waved a hand dismissively, coughing fit residing and calming down so he could breathe properly. “Yeah, ‘m fine. Just choked on my own spi’, don’t worry abou’ it.” He cleared his throat and finished packing up the clothes and shoes, handing Hoseok his card and the bag with a serious face. “‘Ave a good day.” “You too! Hope to see you around, Yoongi!” Hoseok waved his goodbye and walked out of the shop, snapback on his head once more. Suddenly the blazing sunlight and god-awful heat weren’t as bad as they were before.

Any criticisms or feedback are greatly appreciated, and it really does motivate me to continue. Also please let me know if you would like a series of one-shots about how Jin and Joon met, how they met Jungkook, how Jin and Joon's first date went, or any other anecdotes you'd like to hear.

Tell me some of your favorite stories with your friends. I need good vibes my way!

Hey! Sorry this took a couple days to get to, but let’s see here… This is a very long story, and I apologize in advance.

A couple years ago, I went to my first anime convention with CactusoftheNight and yurukiturah (Cas and Cat respectively; try not get them mixed up). The three of us often refer to that event as “The No Chill Weekend” because shit just… kept happening.

Now, before this, I had never met either of them in real life, but Cas and I had met online a few years prior, and he’s known Cat since gradeschool. Cas and I were (and still are) way too into homestuck for our own good at the time, and while he’d been to this particular convention in Dallas, Texas numerous times neither of us had ever cosplayed. As you can imagine, our stars were aligned. Months of planning and prep, measuring, cutting, sewing, fabric paint, body paint, makeup, arm socks, paper clay, broken horns, a broken wand, experimenting with everything! Mistakes were made. Money was wasted. This is all before the actual convention weekend. We had no idea what we were in for. 

Summer arrived, and it was finally time. I took a bus 800 miles from my sleepy little hometown in Illinois all the way to Dallas. It was my first time taking a bus, and my first time traveling alone. My bags had been packed meticulously carefully with all of my cosplay supplies, and I was a paranoid wreck whenever my luggage wasn’t gripped in my hands. Luckily the trip down was relatively uneventful. I rode overnight and arrived early in the morning, dazed from lack of sleep, but excited beyond belief.

Cas and his mom picked me up from the bus station and treated me to a nice breakfast at IHOP. I stayed at Cas’s place for the next two days while we did our final prep work for the con. We should’ve known then that it was going to be an interesting weekend. Neither of us had finished our armsocks (a crucial piece of costuming for any looking to transform into one of those candycorn motherfuckers), so it was now a race to get them done. We listened to Nightvale while we sewed, and that was about all we did for those days. It was hard work, but we didn’t care. We were going to be stepping into the skins of our favorite homestuck trolls (I was going as Eridan, and Cas was going as Gamzee), and we were high on the excitement of it all.

Then it was time to meet up with Cat. For the rest of the con weekend, we were staying in her dad’s condo, because it was the closest place we could stay to the convention without renting a hotel room (which we had no money for). The day before the con officially started people could come in and do their registration and then stay for a masquerade ball, which is exactly what we did. Cas and I had originally planned on cosplaying that night as well, just fancied up, but we didn’t have enough time to fuck around with all that facepaint. Also we still hadn’t finished the armsocks. I still wore my cape.

The cape was a mistake.

The chain holding it closed about my neck was flimsier than I had realized, and it snapped while we were trying to dance (badly, I might add, because we missed the dancing lessons they were supposed to hold earlier that day). The combination of a broken costume piece, a crowded ballroom, nothing to do, and my crippling anxiety issues led to us leaving early. We managed to fix my cape well enough that it would mostly hold together, but it still gave me grief for the rest of the weekend. We spent the rest of the night relaxing and playing CAH, and we still didn’t get our armsocks finished.

The next morning, we started the rush to get in costume. It took hours and a metric fuckton of baby powder, but our paint looked perfect and was sealed. Cas and I had only half of our armsocks done and since his arms were going to be more uncovered, we had to cut each of the finished arms into long gloves for him to wear, and then I got to paint my hands.

We had to take a few buses and then a train down to the hotel where the convention was being held, and then there was still a bit of walking to do on the way. I should mention at this point that Cat was in a long, black, leather trench coat - the garb of Org XIII from the Kingdom Hearts series. Cat is also very tall. Like a foot taller than Cas and I. We were a sight to behold. And behold us they did. You’d honestly be surprised how many people who don’t live immediately next to the hotel don’t know about the convention. Incredulous looks and questions abound.

On our way between the bus and the train, we stopped for a snowcone. An older gentleman questioned all three of us about our costumes, but he seemed the most enamored by mine, kept asking what I was supposed to be.

“A fish,” I replied simply, not knowing how else to explain (homestuck cannot be explained).

“Oh!” he responded, excitedly. “Well, swim all over me!”

The three of us laughed awkwardly and then our next bus arrived. I don’t think we’ll ever forget the “swim all over me” guy.

That first day was amazing. A-kon is the oldest anime convention in the united states, and it shows. Until recently, it was held at the Hilton-Anatole in Dallas, which is where we were that weekend, and it is a beautiful event. So many people in so many fandoms coming together in one spot. The dealer’s room and artist alley had so much to display you could hardly get through it all. We didn’t go to any panels, but everything we did do was worth the time we spent.

The first two days were busy and tiring, but fun, and not a disaster. But on the night of the second day, things took a turn. It started when Cas and I decided to stay for a panel that was being held a bit late. Unfortunately this meant we missed the Rocky Horror showing, but they do that every year and we planned on being back, so we figured we weren’t missing too much. In the interest of not dragging out this story anymore than it already is, I’ll spare the details on the panel we went to, but know that Cat couldn’t go with us because she wasn’t old enough at the time. This left her alone, and it was getting late before the panel ended, so eventually Cas and I had to rejoin her so we could head home before the trains stopped running.

Nerves were already a bit frayed at this point, as we were all sore and tired, and the walk to the train station was not a short one. When we made it to the ticket kiosk, the train was already pulling in and stopping. In our rush to get our tickets and get on the train, Cas’s backpack was left open and several things fell out. We realized this after another passenger handed him his phone charger. I had Cas check for my wallet (I had no pockets that could hold it) and sure enough it was gone.

Panic set in.

At the train’s next stop, a few blocks down the road, we got off and before we could so much as think, Cas was handing me his backpack and sprinting off back to the other station. I was still freaking out, and took off after him without thinking. Poor Cat stayed behind, alone again (I am still so sorry about that, oh my god). I wasn’t fast enough to keep up and soon lost sight of him, but continued on at a walking pace, knowing I would catch up eventually.

Meanwhile, Cas was running on. If you’ve never seen a chubby alien juggalo running straight at you with a look of sheer determination on their face, you can’t really know exactly how the people downtown felt when they saw Cas approaching that night. He searched all over the platform. He asked everyone who happened to be there waiting for the train if they had seen my wallet. They all stammered and shook their heads, perplexed by the urgent request from the strange grey man. “Was that Satan?!” Cas heard one of them exclaim as he was leaving them to ask the next bystander.

I was still on my way, alone, in a city I’d never known. I was constantly looking over my shoulder, but too scared to turn back at this point. A stranger spoke up from the darkness behind me, and I nearly jumped out of my shitty painted shoes. Luckily he was nice, and apologized for scaring me. He walked with me to the train stop, asking me about my costume and why I was out dressed like that so late. I gave him a brief rundown.

Just before making it to the train station, Cas crossed the street and met up with us, defeat and physical exertion coloring his face. We both had tears in our eyes at this point, and now we had to get back to Cat and figure out what to do. The stranger walked with us for a bit longer to make sure we would be okay before parting ways.

We eventually made it back. Cas called my dad for me and I explained through shaking sobs what had happened. My driver’s license, my debit card, and about $60 cash were now gone, and I was a 19-year-old in a city far from home. Anything worse that had ever happened to me before had involved physical injury. My dad agreed to call the bank asap and cancel my debit, and then we’d have to figure out my driver’s license when I got back. Cat called her parents, and they reimbursed me for the lost cash.

The three of us stood and waited for the next train. Some rando with a skateboard walked by and shouted at us something along the lines of “You guys wanna fuck me? I’d fuck me!” Still not sure if he was high as shit or just weird, but you gotta be pretty brave to solicit what appear to be a dark sorceress and the demons she summoned. At the time, we were too stressed to be amused by this, and if he hadn’t shut up and gone away, I honestly think we would’ve thrown down.

So the train arrives and we board. I’m still drying my eyes, and my two friends are doing a good job trying to calm me down. Eventually the train picks up some more passengers and we’re treated to a lovely conversation with some very drunk girls (and one guy, who happened to look like Matt Smith) who had just gotten back from a country music concert. They told us all how nice our costumes were, and we explained about the convention and how I’d lost my wallet. We showed them some cool stuff we’d bought at the con, including an Ouran Highschool Host Club poster I got, which, after seeing, they proceeded to tell Cat she looked like Honey. Drunk girls who go out of their way to be friendly and cheer you up give me life, tbh.

But eventually we get to our stop. And by now the buses have stopped running, as we knew they would, so now we have to walk. Unfortunately, Cat underestimated the distance from the train station to her dad’s condo. It was about 4 miles. I once walked about 3 miles for a school event once, and, as someone who doesn’t walk regularly, it was rough. There was nothing for it, though; we had to walk.

My heels were already starting to blister just from all the walking we’d done at the con. Cas was in mostly the same boat. Our shoes were not good for this at all. On top of it all, we were hungry, thirsty, and our bladders were full. There were no sidewalks for most of the trip, so we had to keep to the side and stay vigilant for cars. And even with light pollution and nearby buildings, I realized that night just how unnervingly dark a street with no street lights can get. People talk about liminal spaces on this site a lot, and I can tell you that entire night felt liminal.

Eventually we decided we needed to stop the first chance we got, and that came in the form of a gas station. Let me set the scene. It was on a corner, as gas stations tend to be. By this time we had made it to a small business district. There were definitely other buildings around, I think we even passed a Jack In The Box or similar establishment shortly before, but as I recall this, the gas station, the lot it was on, the road, and the cemetery (I’m not making this up) on the side of the road we were on all felt alone in an abyss of night.

I feel I should reiterate at this point exactly what we all looked like to set up this next part. Cat is 6 feet tall and mostly just looks like herself, but she is wearing a long, black leather trenchcoat. Cas and I are both roughly one foot shorter. We’re both painted grey and have yellow-orange horns on our heads. And Cas has his face painted white over the grey in a clown-makeup patter. Oh, and he has deep purple claw marks painted on over that. We’ve been walking for a while and we’ve been through some shit tonight, so we look a little disheveled. Did I mention we’re approaching out of the dark from the direction of a cemetery?

We cross the road, relieved that all the lights are on and it looks like we’re going to get to use the bathroom and have a little snack to keep us going for the last leg of the journey. We cross the lot and go and into the store, only to find… No one is there.

“Hello?” We call out. “Is anyone here? Are you open?”

From the back hallway we hear some movement, and out come two young adults, a man and a woman, probably only a year or two older than us. If I remember right, one of them was holding a broom. Fear was plain on their faces.

“Y’all scared us!” They said.

Oh my god… they thought we were demons.

We quickly apologized and asked if they had a bathroom. They were too stunned at first to really register what we were asking for, and just kept prodding us with questions. “What’re y’all doin out here?” “Is your skin really grey????” “Why are you dressed like that?”

We did our best to answer quickly and politely, but Cas and I were nearly bursting at this point, so we reiterated that a bathroom was urgently needed. They showed us the one bathroom in the place. It was small, and cramped, and the “door” was basically a piece of plywood you had to pick up and slide out of the way, which technically had a functioning lock… in theory at least. We did our business quickly, me first and then Cas, and while one relieved themselves, the other two stayed out and talked to the workers, trying our best to calm them down and assure them that no, we aren’t actually demons, they’re just costumes, there’s a convention in town.

We finished up, got our snacks (I think I got a snickers bar and a cherry pepsi), and then went on our way. We got back to Cat’s place without much more fuss and promptly passed out. The next morning we still got up and cosplayed for the last day of the convention. Cas’s horns broke, and we spent the last of our time at the con hanging out with some other homestucks who tried (to no avail) to help us fix them.

Then Cas and I went back to his place, we packed our stuff, and then he went back up to Illinois with me for a little less than a week. We started dating that summer. It’s been almost two and a half years since that weekend and we just got married at the end of October.

And that’s one of the best stories of my friends that I have.

I am so sorry this couldn’t have been shorter. Thank you for the ask!

MONTPARNASSE’S RP PLOTTING CHEAT-SHEET

Want new-and-exciting plots for your character? Long to reach out to more of your followers, but don’t know where to start? Fear not! Fill out this form and give your RP partners both present and future all the of juicy jumping off points they need to help you get your characters acquainted.

                            — Be sure to repost, don’t reblog! Template here. —

Mun name: Kaitie OOC Contact: Tumblr IM or discord if you have it

who the frick is montparnasse anyway:

THE BOY. He was born Raoul Nejem, son of a French native and Pakistani immigrant. Outside of his father and uncle, he’s never really met his dad’s side of the family, but he grew up surrounded by his maternal grandparents, and his mother’s sister in a suburb outside of Paris. His family never really had a lot of money, but they made do. His father works as a pastry chef and his mother is in management of a small boutique chain. Raoul grew up in a loving environment, but the short of it is, he’s still a shitty human being. He was something of a bully in elementary school, getting others in trouble for the things he did, stealing from classmates, etc. The longer he got away with it, the more the habits stuck with him. He made rule breaking seem cool and by time he was in high school he was fairly popular with the wrong crowd and was starting to call himself Montparnasse. He was everything parents warned their kids about, but always wore a smile and put on a pleasant face in front of authority. In school itself, he coasted on average grades with bare minimum effort to keep them, but in the end he still dropped out his senior year to his parent’s dismay.

THE TEEN. Montparnasse left behind all ties to Raoul Nejem and moved to Paris proper with a friend. The two quickly lost track of each other and Montparnasse got involved with a rapidly increasing amount of crime. It started with knock offs, moved onto drug trade, and escalated to murder after a partner turned on him. It was self defense, but it shattered any remaining innocence of the boy from Arcueil. Having caught the attention of three older, more experienced criminals in the city, Montparnasse made an alliance with what would soon be known as the Patron Minette. Between the four of them, they had a wide range of influence in crime in the city and coming together brought them stability and control.

THE LEGEND. Montparnasse is now a name known throughout the criminal scene of Paris as Patron Minette’s boy king. He is not the leader of the four, that is a title they each hold claim to, but he is known for his theatrics and flair in a way that the others are generally not. He is a shadow, a thief, a crime lord. He is petty, vengeful, terrible, and capable of deceiving half of Paris with no more than a smile.

points of interest:

THIEF: Montparnasse has been stealing for the fun of it since he was a boy and has turned it into something of a career move. While he’s generally more of a night person, if Montparnasse is out and about during the day it’s generally in the business of lifting people of their wallets and valuables. Both wiith the Minette and on his own, Montparnasse is something of a burglar as well. Alarm systems do little to deter him.

DRUGS: Montparnasse is in the business of trading more than he is in the business of using. He and the Minette supply their dealers scattereed around the city and handle the shipping of the drugs into Paris more than anything. While he’s not opposed to using recreationally, he has a strict rule against injecting anything and ruining his skin with track marks.

FASHION: Montparnasse dresses in the best of what he can get his hands on. While having a strong hand in the knock off trade, he strives to replace his own fakes with the real designers. Even when he’s in jeans and a tee shirt, it’s safe to assume Montparnasse is either wearing or emulating a designer name. He is also known to wear clothing designed with women in mind, never so far as to be considered a cross dresser, but he does wear them casually and without care. Generally, it’s just in the cut of the pants or the shirt, but he has been known to wear other garments as well. Most notably, he wears heeled boots and has absolutely been seen running in them with something of a terrifying proficiency.

RECORD: He has been arrested on several occasions, but has never been caught for something that could put him away, much to the displeasure of certain inspectors. Eponine usually ends up posting bail for him since loyalty of the Minette does not really extend to walking into the hands of the police force.

MURDER: Montparnasse does not take this course of action lightly. While his associates might take to this a little more frequently than he likes, Montparnasse really has no inclination to get caught up in a murder investigation. If he needs someone gone, he leaves it to Claquesous and Gueulemer or tasks it to one of their subordinates. DO NOT, howvever, mistake his unwillingness to a lack of capablity. He can and will take a life if it comes down to it. He has no tolerance for traitors and will often personally put the bullet in the skull of anywhere who wears Minette colors and turns.

THREAT: Montparnasse is dangerous, but the majority of those who meet him do not know to what extent. While he can absolutely be charming and polite, he is generally something of an asshole and wears the ‘bad boy’ attitude as something of a badge. Most people, and this goes for the majority of Les Amis as well, do not know to what extent his criminal connections go. It is generally safe to assume he has some shady friends and probably carries a knife for more than decoration, but few connect him to the criminal organization that is practicaly running Paris underground unless they too have ties to the criminal underground. If that’s the case, Montparnasse is probably a name they reognize, even if they don’t connect it to the pretty boy in front of them.

DECEPTION: Montparnasse is willing to play to the assumptions made about him – to an extent. There are people who see him among the other leaders and think it’s some kind of joke. He has been taken as some sort of ‘boy toy’ to the other three on several occasions and has always let the bastard dig their grave before destroying them and brutally setting things straight. If there is a chance for him to use your assumptions of him to his own benefit, he absolutely will.

what they’ve been up to recently:

Montparnasse manages to keep a low profile, shockingly enough. While his reputation proceeds him, unless something Big™ is going down, his pursuits are generally played close to hand. On the regular, he is managing the Minette with the other three and dealing with those who report to him. He is largely involved in their knock off and smuggling dealings, often using the knock offs as a means of transporting other products including counterfeits and drugs.

where to find them:

THE THEATRE: This locale is limited to the heads and upper tier of Patron Minette, and probably Gavroche who is just, you know. Gavroche. This is the main headquarters of the four heads and where Montparnasse spends a good deal of his time organizing jobs and the like.

APARTMENT: Montparnasse has an apartment that is strictly his own and usually frowns on the other Minette showing up at it, or at the very least on them lurking around his doorstep. It’s a small, modern set up that he keeps extremely neat to the point it looks under lived in.

SAFE HOUSES: The Minette have a number of safe houses scattered in and around Paris that the four heads and a handful of their subordinates know about. Most learn about the locations after being brought to one by one of the heads when a situation got too hot.

SOUTH SIDE: Montparnasse does most of his business around the south side of the city in the area of the Montparnasse cemetery because he’s that kind of asshole. This is in the general vicinity of the Musain, so while he doesn’t usually attend the cafe, he does cross paths with its regulars frequently.

current plans:

CRIME: It’s not so much a plan as it as a life style. He’s just doing his day to day in managing his corner of the operation and keeping up his own standard of living through illegal means. He has no interest in the affairs of Les Amis and their lofty aspirations, he’s just focused on number one.

NOT PRISON: He can’t even begin to describe how badly he would like to not go to prison. Getting arrested is one thing, but the idea of an actual prison sentence is the kind of shit he chain smokes over at six in the morning when he’s trying to sleep.

desired interactions:

Montparnasse trying to get himself out of trouble is one of my favorite things in the world and watching him sweet talking his way out of and into anything is always fun. There is so much room to work with Montparnasse and I would love to explore him beyond the guy Les Amis wrinkle their noses at. I want to especially do more with Montparnasse flaunting his dangerous side, more so when it’s around other dangerous characters than the goody goods.

offered interactions:

The bad boy. The asshole. The thief. Montparnasse isn’t pure evil by any means, and he does have his redeeming qualities if you’ve managed to hack away at his 97 defense layers, but he is an antagonistic character. If you ever need someone to play the part of the jerk, he’s here for you. Montparnasse is pretty much the worst qualities of every dude T.Swift has ever sung about rolled up into one pretty, trash prince package.

anything else?:

I love all my alternate verses for Montparnasse, and I will always be excited to explore one of those with you too. Additionally, I have a not-so-secret-secret au option of interacting with older/post-barricade Montparnasse if you want him.

Cafe Grumps

((I said I was gonna do it.  Here’s the drabble of Nil and Monitor’s first meet, because since this friendship is now canon (very canon), I might as well give it a proper introduction.  This drabble occurs early December of 2016))

This certainly wasn’t Nil’s first venture into the realm of toons, although she still felt she needed more time to get into the swing of film-jumping.  Being a video game sprite, she was admittedly self-conscious it would be obvious she didn’t belong.  The spider-virus was also aware she was slightly more vulnerable than she would be if she stuck to the world of code -- as the rules governing the new lands she visited were much more strictly set in place.  There were no one’s or zero’s to move around that would make things go her way.  But Nil wasn’t out for conquest, at least not yet.

Nil enjoyed observing these untouched lands.  This is why she chose to visit a very isolated video cassette.  The VHS player was plugged into a wall, allowing her access to it, and contained within were recordings of a handful of Saturday morning cartoons.  She was drawn to a section containing the Beetlejuice cartoon, feeling a land of dead people would be exactly her style.

After a while of aimless wandering, including several instances of dodging the local yokels as they cavorted about, Nil found herself in what looked to be a business district of sorts.  She entered a small cafe that seemed quiet, at least in comparison to everything so far.  She spent a fair amount of time observing, ordering several coffee’s over the course of a couple hours.  It was mid-afternoon and business was slow.  A few monsters sat at a table and one appeared to be a skeleton with a film camera for a head.  Nil squinted at it before she was distracted by the tingling of the front entrance.

A cold wind blew in from outside as a disgruntled-looking ghoul let himself into the cafe.  He was decently large, especially compared to Nil’s less-than-staggering height of just slightly over four feet.  The most identifiable feature of this ghoul were the four television screens that served as his heads.  Nil recognized the character from the couple dozen or so episodes she’d watched of the cartoon.  This was Mr. Monitor, an on-and-off antagonist that worked at some in-world television network.  Nil turned to look out a far window and, through the snow flurry outside, she could barely see the Network building towering in the distance.

“Shouldn’t you be over there, tube-head?” she muttered to herself.

Nil’s attention was taken by her phone, which buzzed, alerting her of a text.  It was from someone designated “Cobra Commander”, and she rolled her eyes upon reading the text.

“Mind your own business, Turbrat.  I don’t bother you when you’re having personal time,” she sneered, tapping the keypad with her pointed nails.

After she was finished replying to her virus acquaintance, she turned her attention back over to the ghoul, who by then was waiting in the pick-up line, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Yeah.  You’ll do,” Nil purred musingly to herself.

“This is my only lunch break.  Do they know who I am?” the ghoul breathed.

The teenaged workers behind the counter clearly were not being paid enough to acknowledge his scolding comment.  Mr. Monitor just frowned and put a hand on his hip.  Not long after, he was aware of the presence behind him.  He was not too important to ignore the grey-skinned woman when he was addressed.

“Hey big guy, do ya’ think this can hold you over?” Nil said, holding one of the paper coffee cups in her hand closer to him, “I ordered, like, three.  You can have one.”

Briefly, Monitor flicked his eyes in the direction of the cafe workers, who were taking their sweet ass time.

“You look like you could use it.  I didn’t spit in it or nothing.”

He sighed deeply before brushing off some snow that was still accumulated on his suit and turning to face her.  The frowns he wore lessened, although they still dominated his expression.  Nil smirked just ever so slightly as the cup was taken from her hand.  They turned toward the counter, taking a sip from their respective drinks almost in unison.

“How much do I owe you for it?” Monitor questioned in a droll tone, rooting into his pocket for his wallet.

“Don’t worry about it.  Pretty sure I can afford the loss,” Nil responded.

“Minotaur?” interrupted the teen behind the desk.

“Monitor!  You boob.”

“Whatever.”

Monitor curled his lip and glared down.  The stoic employee presented him with a large cup of black coffee and some kind of a sandwich in a paper wrapper.  After paying for his lunch, he turned around to find the grey-skinned woman still standing where she had been.

“You’re still here?” he snorted.

“Well yeah.  Do you wanna go sit at that corner table over there, big guy?  I’d hate to watch you have to eat your lunch all by yourself.”

Tilting his heads up in the direction of the indicated seat, Monitor paused for a moment before starting to walk.  Nil followed behind him, observing his movements with interest.

“Do you happen to know who I am?” asked the ghoul as he sat down.

“You’re that Mr. Monitor guy who does… some kinda job over at the TV station,” Nil responded, hand-waving her lack of knowing his title proper.

He didn’t seem pleased by the response, “The Neitherworld Network is so much more than a singular television station; we are the largest distributor of programming in all the Neitherworld.  And I am one of the highest-ranking ghouls working there.”

“Oh really,” Nil responded, smiling coyly, “How high-ranking?”

Monitor glowered and focused his attention on unwrapping his sandwich.

“Hey.  Come on, mister grumpy tubes,” she said laughing slightly, “It’s okay.  You can tell.  I used to sorta work in entertainment myself you know.”

He lifted his heads after having taken a bite of his sandwich.  One of his mouths chewed whilst the other three spoke: Nil found this slightly distracting.

“Is that so?” he swallowed and continued, “Very well.  I’ll have you know, I’m second in line to the throne.  Hah hah.  I’m very close with the Head of the Network.”

“Hm.  You too, huh?” Nil responded, putting her cheek in her palm.

“Me too?  Me too what?”

“Second place?  I’ve kinda always been stuck as number two back where I used to work,” she said.

“Oh,” he said, lifting his eyebrows, before shrinking in his seat, “Actually… you miscount.  I’m number three.  Ah -- the chain of command is: the Head of the Network, his Special Assistant, and then myself.  Ah hah hah.  That’s what it is on a good day, anyway.”

Mr. Monitor resumed eating as a way to avoid any further discussion of the subject.  Nil folded her hands on top of the table and waited.  Between his four mouths, it didn’t take long before the sandwich had vanished.  It was as he was cleaning his faces that he noticed the woman hadn’t bothered him further.  She must have realized he wasn’t comfortable talking about his current standing within the Network.  Given that a usual day for him consisted of humiliation and panic, he appreciated her supposed sensitivity.

“How rude of me,” he chortled suddenly, “I’ve never asked your name, dear.”

“Nil,” she said.

“Don’t you have a last name?” he asked.

“Don’t you have a first name?” she replied, smirking.

“Fair enough,” Mr. Monitor said before reaching his hand over the table.

Nil hesitated before extending her arm out.  Though his hand was almost comically large compared to her’s, he somehow managed not to hurt her: although his grip was freezing.  A pain-free handshake was a decent way to start a partnership, she thought.

“You said you worked in entertainment as well?” Monitor purred.

She slid her talon away from his massive paw.

“Used to,” Nil uttered, “Guess you could say I was sorta an actor?  But, fuck, I was never the starring role.  Know what I mean?  I think you do.  Anyway, my career was sorta ruined.  My, um, ‘show’ was, uh, ‘canceled’.  Follow?”

“I am not sure that I do,” Monitor said, before leaning in closer, “No.  You’re a warm-blood.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, static-breath?”

Monitor smiled, moving back, explaining, “Nothing bad.  Necessarily.  You’re alive is what I meant.  You have a pulse.  You expel oxygen.”

“You figure that how?  I feel pretty damn dead most the time,” Nil snorted.

“Your hand.  It was warm,” he stated, “Although you’re strange.  In appearance you could pass as dead.”

“Pardon?”

“A complement, Miss Nil.  A complement.  Hah hah,” he cleared his throats and continued, “Are you, perhaps, not from here?”

Nil was silent.  She was silent long enough for both of them to take an awkward sip of their coffees.  At last, Nil shrugged, putting her hands up.

“You got me, big guy,” she said, “Is it that obvious?”

“Hm.  Well, you don't strike me as an ordinary -- whatever you are.  I have a strange feeling in my gut,” Monitor made an attempt to explain.

“Oh I see.”

It was becoming clear that her virus infection could be picked up even when she was so far away from the digital world.  Her head sunk more heavily into her palm as she realized she could likely never blend into a crowd again.  She didn't want to cause the old ghoul trouble, so she looked away just as he started to tilt his heads in confusion.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“Ohh ho ho ho, no!” Monitor projected, “Don't flatter yourself.  You aren't nearly the most nauseating individual I come across on a daily basis!  Not even remotely close, madam!”

Nil looked at him.  He was leaning back in the seat, one of his fists balled on the table, his eyes focused beyond her.

“You’re not like-- like, Beetlejuice!”

She opened her mouth but the TV was intent on continuing on.

“Obnoxious nuisance!  I'm expected to work with him, like some sort of cruel joke.  It isn't even like I can fire him.  I tried once.  Apparently, the show simply cannot go on without that annoying buffoon.  Why, I'm about through putting up with him.  But there's--”

“Nothing you can do?” Nil spoke over him.

Monitor put his elbows on the table and massaged his side panels.

“Yes.”

“Sounds like a shitty time.”

“You have no idea,” he whined, “My poor transistors.  Oh, my heads hurt just thinking about him.”

“Yeah.  I get ya.  Not fun.  Hey, big guy, I had an obnoxious friend when I was working in entertainment too.  Actually, he was the guy who ruined my life.”

“Mm,” he grumbled.

“He pesters me to this day too,” Nil added.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Monitor said, closing his eyes.

Nil continued to watch him even though it seemed like he checked out.  He ran his hand across his faces.  Suddenly, his spine straightened.  He pulled up one of his sleeves to reveal something around his wrist.  Rather than having a watch, there was a cartoony looking chart, displaying something in real time.  Mr. Monitor stared at it nervously.

“Oh.  Your ratings, right?” Nil said.

“Ah.  Hah hah.  Correct.  Oh, I don't like this,” he whimpered.

Nil was at his side in a moment, looking at the thing on his wrist.  She squinted at it.

“So what's the problem?” she asked.

“They're going down.  The ratings are going down!”

Nil was silent for a moment longer, before saying:

“That chart doesn't look like it moved to me.”

“Hush!  I'm the professional!” he snapped.

“You're a looney.”

His eyes started to dart around the cafe as he hissed, “Enough.  I have to amend this.  I must -- I must-- oh.  What'll I do?  The Network depends on me.  I'll fire my PA!  Yes.  I'll fire--”

“Woah, woah, big guy!” Nil interjected, grabbing his sleeve as he started to stand.

Mr. Monitor yowled, feeling his arm pulled.  Nil immediately let him go seeing his dramatic reaction.  He glared and sank back into his seat.

“Don't grab me,” he growled.

“You don't like that,” she said.

“No.”

“I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have grabbed you,” Nil murmured, turning her head away, “Fuck.  I of all people should've known better.”

The ghoul began to move his gaze back toward his chart, wheezing nervously.  He resumed his rant under his breath for a moment before Nil interrupted:

“Easy.  Easy.  I was just trying to get you to calm down.  Don't wanna burn yourself out, right?”

“But I--”

“Calm down.”

He didn’t seem like he was listening.  Stubbornly, he went to stare at the chart again.  It was then that Nil began to get the impression she was fighting an uphill battle.

“Are you okay if I touch you now?” Nil asked, not wanting him to freak out again.

“Go ahead,” Monitor responded, agitation in his voice.

Reluctantly, she put her hands on one of his arms.  This time, he barely seemed to notice.  She scooted in a bit, trying to get between his line of sight and his chart.

“Hey.  Look at me,” she said, waited for a moment and then added, “All of your eyes please.”

Each of his faces turned toward her, sporting rather frazzled expressions.  She patted the arm she’d been holding.

“You’re okay.  I’d hate to watch you have a conniption.”

“Hah hah.  I’m surprised it matters that much to you,” he breathed, “You’re, hah hah, worried about me?”

“Yeah buddy.  You sorta were just having a breakdown.”

“Ohh.  Don’t bother.  I’m well acclimated to the stress, Miss Nil.  Now.  Ahem...”

Mr. Monitor looked down at the arm her claws were laying on.  After she brought her hands back, he rose from his seat.  Nil mimicked him.

“I really do need to start heading back to the Network.  I am a very busy man.”

They both turned toward the cafe window at once.  The snow flurry had grown thicker.  The cold wind could be heard from outside.  Curiously, Nil observed the ghoul’s response.  He looked unhappy, pocketed his hands and let his heads sink back into the collar of his suit.

“You’ll catch your death out there,” Nil said.

“If that’s a joke…  Hmph,” Monitor grumbled.

“You game for me walking you back to work?” she offered.

“Can I not be rid of you?  Very well.  Let’s proceed, shall we?”

Moments later, the tingling of the bells at the door sounded as the pair stepped into the snow-covered city outside.

“Hmm.  I will need to come up with some kind of solution to that abysmal viewership!” Monitor scoffed, briskly moving along, bringing a hand close to his chins, “We haven’t had fresh programming in a while!  I’ll need ideas.  Ooo.  Something -- something provocative, but not stale.  Let me see…”

“Hate to interrupt your monologue, big guy, but if you’re looking, I could bring you some material,” Nil crooned, smiling, “I can pull a few stings for you.  I guarantee I can give you things you’ve never seen before.”

Mr. Monitor turned to look down at her as he walked.  He was wearing a few less than well-meaning grins himself.

“Can you?  Oh, that’s a big promise.  A big promise indeed,” he thundered, “You can bring me cheap thrills -- scandal -- the lowest common denominator?”

“Well, Mr. Monitor, you’ll have to find out tomorrow,” she told him, looking away.

“I --  Ah?  Tomorrow?” the ghoul whimpered, looking like a disappointed child.

“Tomorrow.  We’ll have lunch.  Same time, same place.  How’s that?”

“That is, ah hah hah, acceptable,” he panted, before stopping and turning to her, “But are you sure you can’t tell me what you have in mind? -- a small taste perhaps?”

“Hmm.  Okay,” she conceited, stopping herself and facing him, “You have to come in close.  I’ll whisper in your ear.”

Monitor began to stoop to get to her level.  As they came closer, Nil’s yellow teeth became visible in a tiny smirk.

But then:

“ I hate myself for lovin’ you

Can’t break free from the -- “

Staring daggers at the phone she whipped from her pocket, Nil took a step back.

“Fucking Christ!  I thought I silenced you!”

She jammed her claw into the screen and then brought it to the side of her head.

“What do you want, dickcheese?  I’m kinda in the middle of something here,” Nil demanded from the device.

“Ooh, heavens me!  Hoo!  We are crabby!” said the voice from the other side.

“No shit, Turbrat,” she snarled, “I told you to leave me alone.”

“Who are you with, sweetheart?”

“Not this shit again.  What’s it matter to you?”

Meanwhile, as this disaster unfolded before him, Mr. Monitor slowly began taking steps back.  Once he felt he was a safe distance away, he pulled at his collar, which only grew more sweaty by the second.

“Look, Turbo.  I’m living my own life now.  You’re the one who has a problem not getting over that.”

“Miss Nil, ahh hah hah,” Monitor interrupted, anxiously side-stepping, “As you’re currently busy, I’ll see myself back to the Network, thank you.”

Nil covered her phone with her hand, “Wait.  I just need--”

“No ho ho!  I’m quite okay!  I -- hah -- I’ll see you again tomorrow.  Have a nice day!”

With that, the TV monster made his swift retreat.  Standing for a few seconds with her arm outstretched, Nil witnessed him vanish into the snow squall.  Furrowing her brows, she slowly returned her phone to its position at the side of her face.  A few seconds of silence passed and in that time Nil became less tense, sighing deeply.

“So then, what have you been up to?” asked the voice, attempting to sound casual.

“I think… I made a friend,” Nil stated slyly.

“Splendid!  Who’s your new friend!?”

“Hm.  That old Beetlejuice cartoon -- you know of a Mr. Monitor?”

“I -- haha -- I’m afraid that rings approximately zero bells.”

“Ratings guy?”

“Ooooh yes.  The… evil Windows logo?” the voice chuckled hollowly, “You meet him?  That interesting.  I suppose.”

“A little high-strung,” Nil muttered, “Poor guy.  I duno.  I tried to make him feel better.  He seemed to appreciate my caring it at least.”

“Oh.  Nil, Nil, Nil…  There’s no use in that.  Status quo has to be maintained.  Trying to help is a waste of time.  That’s why I avoid the toon world -- there’s no code there, dear!”

“I know.  I wasn’t born yesterday,” Nil jeered as she sat on a nearby bench.

“See, Nil: we can’t puppeteer the likes of them.”

“Well Turbo, maybe I’m not interested in forcing this world or my new friend to do anything.  Maybe I want a genuine relationship for once.”

“You’re, haha, confusing me Nil.  I don’t think I like this.”

“Good.”

Nil hung up without another word.

((whhoooo’s ready for the follow up drabble where Nil introduces her not-boyfriend to Turbo???))