| HEAT 1995 | OC x Vincent Hanna | SFW |

Vincent had gone back to the hollow apartment in the days that followed. Jack Daniels had proved to be his only dinner.

The week crawled to Saturday. Hanna had been itching to talk to Venessa, but didn’t know how. Didn’t have her number, didn’t even know if she had a cell. Half of him wanted to show up to her apartment—and then say what?

So he did what men like him did best. Bought things. He walked into Ralph Lauren, looked at a jacket which he guessed Venessa might like, and tucked it under his arm as he made his way to the car and into Olvera Street.

The courtyard seemed to have a perennial flow of kids playing. The scene hadn’t changed much since the time he visited it last week, except the asphalt had cooked off and the streetlights flickered.

He parked the car on the road and made his way to the courtyard.

“Hey, kid,” he muttered from behind the checkered boundary.

His voice turned a few heads. Some scrambled. Olvera wasn’t exactly the best kidnap neighborhood. He’d been here a few times. Hit and runs, drugs. The works.

A kid made his way to him.

“What’s up?”

Vincent crouched to face him at eye level.

“Ya know where Venessa lives?” he asked.

The kid frowned.

“Man, we got five Venessas livin’ here. Which one you lookin’ for?”

Hanna bit a curse under his breath. Fuck. He didn’t even know her surname.

“Uh—she goes by Moxie,” he said.

The kid rolled his eyes.

“Wears glasses?”

Hanna nodded.

“Yeah, yeah.”

The kid pointed to a window on the third floor.

“34C.”

Hanna nodded, jogging his way up the stairs.

The building wasn’t exactly dirty. Neither was it clean. The staircase was crooked and seemed endless. The lack of windows added to the claustrophobia. The light flickered overhead.

Finally, he made his way into the hallway and noticed her apartment. The green paint on the wall was peeling. The switch beside the doorframe was already busted.

He knocked. Once. Twice.

“JESUS, I’M COMING,” someone yelled from the other side.

Hanna shifted on his knees. The door opened with a grunt, it seemed.

Venessa stood on the other side. The knot behind her head looked like it was trying its best to be a bun, but had failed. Pupils dilated behind her eyes. Shoulders sagged as the threadbare Guns N’ Roses shirt swallowed her frame, the shorts peeking from underneath it.

A grin tugged at her lips as recognition set in.

“Hey, officer. Got a warrant or some shit?”

Hanna grinned at her lazy drawl. Her vowels overlapped on one another, tone lulled by something.

“You forgot something at my place,” he said.

Her eyebrows raised. He handed her the jacket, folded neatly. She held it like it was radioactive.

“Huh?” She turned it around, felt the leather, then chuckled after a moment.

“Ah, nah, man. This ain’t mine. Too costly. Can’t afford this shit. Probably some other chick’s,” she said, handing it back to him.

Hanna bit into his cheeks.

“You can have it—”

She stared like he had grown a third head.

“Nah, man. I ain’t taking some chick’s jacket. Weird-ass voodoo shit, who knows.” She shrugged. “You can keep it, really.”

Hanna said again, “I’m giving it to you.”

“Girl, what?”

Hanna sighed, preempting the incoming headache.

“I’m giving it to you.”

“Huh, why—” she muttered, then saw his face.

“Oh. Oh. Oh, man. Oh—you’re flirting with me. Oh shit, it’s a gift. Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

She took the jacket from him now.

“I’m a little high,” she admitted.

Hanna rolled his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…” She muttered, rubbing her eyes. “Gonna arrest me for substance use or some shit?”

Vincent chuckled.

“Not yet.”

Venessa looked back into her room, then at the jacket, and sighed.

“You, uh… you wanna come in?”

—fin

aaaaa hope ya'll like it.

reblog, comments and likes hugely appreciated babies.

I've a few more parts written I'll post them later.

A drug-addicted Moroccan catering waitress doing illegal favors for her boss.

Her ex-fling coworker that keeps staring at her instead of doing her job.

Luxury wedding halls that smell like cigarettes, sweat and mold behind closed doors.

Back of House (English)

Achter de Zaal (Dutch

Out Monday, May 26th on Wattpad, Ao3 and Quotev

Thank you @zmwrites (here) for tagging me! ♥️

Here's the (sort of) reveal to a tag game I did months ago; I meant to share a longer excerpt once the poll was done and then I proceeded to forget about it... whoops 😅

These lines may not have been written recently, but they are the last lines I edited, so I hope that’s okay.

"Must we play hide and seek every time I come looking for you?" The man asked, crouching down before him. Alais couldn't help but shrink back further in response, his eyes squeezing shut in a desperate attempt to avoid him. His last encounter with that cold, steel gaze had been a fight for his very soul, and although he was allowed to keep it then, Alais doubted the man would grant him that same mercy a second time. He flinched as cold knuckles grazed his forehead whilst fingers swept the hair away from his face, stripping him of what little sanctuary he had left. "I'll always know where to find you, little rabbit."

Tagging: @vacantgodling @writingrosesonneptune plus an open tag for anyone else who'd like to share!

We are now in California, in a place called Carmel-by-the-Sea. It is a town by the sea. The architecture reminds me of the movie Shrek.

We have been here for the past three days. Earlier today, River said that she is “never leaving.” I hope she is being facetious, because I do not think Sabrine or Andy would appreciate never seeing us again. Not to mention, I told Ms. Peabody that I would be back soon.

Anyway, this is photographic evidence of my time here in Carmel-by-the-Sea.

“You took that punch like a champ,” Nicholas said with a light-hearted chuckle. 

“Yeah, thanks.” She dabbed at her bloodied and cracked lip with the rag. “So did you.”

He laughed and winched from the pain in his cheek. “It’s going to show in the morning.”

She grabbed his chin with a cold hand and turned his head at a quick angle to examine his already darkening eye. “Might be an improvement.”

He shoved her hand away but held her stare, whispering a soft, “Maybe.”

The darkness in his eyes in the low light seemed softer than before. The bruise starting to show around his left eye was a deep and violent purple outlined by a jagged scratch of red from his torn skin, and the dark shades mingled perfectly with the darkness under his eyes from too many restless but short-slept nights. The thickness of his beard shimmered like gold beneath the cone of hazy light emitted from the street lamp behind them, and his hair—usually styled perfectly about his head—hung in limp strands along the sides of his face having broken loose from the struggle. He was a mess, but he didn’t seem to care. He smiled instead. 

“You glad you came with me?”

“I couldn’t have let you take that beating alone.”

She snorted a laugh but didn’t look away. He didn’t either.

Police cruisers pulled up in front of the building on the street below. They arrived quiet; no light and no sirens. Most of the neighborhood was sleeping by now, and the man inside was already dead. There was nothing to be gained by waking those who already found peace.

“I should head inside,” he confessed, letting his eyes drift toward the parade of patrol cars and the ambulance that joined them. 

They sat in silence and watched the officers file out of their cars one by one and enter the building, followed by a pair of EMTs hauling a stretcher. 

“You OK to get yourself home?” He turned his eyes back to her.

“I can figure out something.”

He hesitated. She didn’t hear it in his words or feel it in his movements. She saw it in the twitch in his cheek and the slight widening of his eyes. He wanted to ask—ask her to wait, ask her to stick around so he could drive her home, make sure she was safe. He smothered the impulse fast, nodded even quicker, and stood from the iron steps of the fire escape. He was past it, but she couldn’t forget it, seeing that momentary weakness, that momentary concern for her well-being. It was enough to warm her even on this cold night. 

He started toward the open window to return to the apartment and greet the incoming police. It would be a long night for him; staying was a foolish choice—especially since her night would be spent hiding on the fire escape. But as she watched him climb through the window, she found herself wishing she could stay, even knowing that thought would taste like ash in her throat by morning. Tonight was fun, the most fun and laughter she had known in a while, and she wasn’t ready to say goodbye to it, to him.

But she smothered such desires, same as him, and she rose to her feet and crossed to the ladder of the fire escape, ready to begin her descent while he succumbed to the punishment inside—endless hours of explanations and repeating answers to the same questions of the who and why and how. He would do this alone, like he wanted, and she would let him, as she had to.

She grabbed the rails of the ladder and started climbing down, but before she lost sight of him, she paused.

“Keep some ice on that eye,” she called to him. “It’ll help.”

still working on it though

For @flashfictionfridayofficial​, my sixth piece. A breakup? A little over 1k tbh... From my WIP Biomech, featuring Nova Alterion (they/them), Aster Gemini (she/her) and Lana Highvale (she/her).

Content warning: alcohol use

"You're ashamed of me!"

Aster sighed. "That's not true," she said, quietly.

"Well you sure do a poor job of pretending otherwise! And you can sleep in your stupid ship tonight, I don't want to see your face again!" Nova stormed out of the restaurant, leaving Lana and Aster with a good deal of food remaining on the table, and the surrounding patrons gaping at them in surprise.