#(trust me the whole thing about his stuff being So High Brow is bullshit)

[eyrieofsynapses]

Hey, Leverage peeps. Y’know how Sophie is introduced playing Lady Macbeth in Shakespeare’s Macbeth? I (re)read the play recently for a class (yes, I'm a literature nerd who voluntarily takes classes involving Shakespeare, sue me), and it got me thinking.

Because, guys… there's definitely meaning behind that choice. Lady Macbeth's character is an ambitious and manipulative woman who pulls her husband's strings to gain power, only to be consumed be guilt. Sound familiar? Yeah. There’s a lot of parallels.

I'm guessing many of you haven't read the play, so I'll explain the bare bones of what you need to know for the meta. Macbeth is a play about a general/nobleman named, of course, Macbeth. At the beginning, he encounters three witches—they're the origin of the "double, double toil and trouble / fire burn and cauldron bubble" phrase—who prophesize that Macbeth will become king. Macbeth describes his encounter to his wife, Lady Macbeth, who coerces him into murdering the current King Duncan. They work together to kill Duncan, and Macbeth ascends to the throne. He has numerous other people killed to keep his throne safe.

(Trigger warning for suicide mention! Skip to the next paragraph if you don't want to read.) Both he and Lady Macbeth are consumed by guilt as the play goes on, though, and she goes more or less insane and eventually commits suicide. (Trigger warning over.)

If you've ever heard of "out, out, damned spot," that's Lady Macbeth agonizing over the metaphorical blood she can't get off her hands.

So, how does this work with Sophie? Here's the thing. Lady Macbeth is known as one of the characters, if not the character, that coined the "dangerously ambitious woman" trope. She's determined to secure Macbeth's position on the throne, mostly for the power it'll gain her as Queen, and she pulls his strings over and over to get him to murder his way there.

Sophie is, of course, a grifter. Her entire skillset is designed to manipulate people—oftentimes rich and powerful men—to get what she wants. She isn't necessarily ambitious so much as obsessed with stealing artwork and other valuables, but she enjoys the downfall of most of her marks. She luxuriates in the power of making people do what she wants them to.

And yet Lady Macbeth does eventually succumb to the guilt of everything she's done… just as Sophie comes to recognize and regret the pain she's wrought. Remember The King George Job?

"Nate: I know what you're thinking, but it's not the same thing.

Sophie: Oh, no. Of course it's not. I stole from one rich man to sell to another rich man.

Nate: No one got hurt.

Sophie: That I know of. How do I know that innocent children were never used to shift my merchandise?"

(transcript)

In the same scene, she also says this:

"Listen, I know I grifted from filthy-rich wankers who hardly ever missed the money, of being taken for a ride. But this, this whole Moreau business has got me thinking. Keller steals from the rich, too, and a little girl ends up in detainment for it."

She comes to recognize her past wrongdoings via the work she does with the crew, and at the same time begins to redeem herself for it. That prevents her from becoming consumed by guilt as Lady Macbeth does. The theme, however, remains consistent.

It's also fascinating that Sophie refers to Nate as a "white knight, black king" in the very same episode as her initial (awful) performance as Lady Macbeth. White is often associated with purity and innocence, thus implying a “pure knight.” Macbeth himself is a noble and well-respected "knight" (technically general and nobleman, but it follows the same concept) before Lady Macbeth coerces him into murdering King Duncan. This parallels neatly with Nate as a “pure knight,” or an “honest man” (as Macbeth was before the play began).

Then, of course, we have "black king." Black is a color frequently associated with sin, darkness, etc., and thus Macbeth could be seen as a "black king" himself: someone who has done great wrongs to reach his position of power. He’s turned into that “black king” by Lady Macbeth. Nate, meanwhile, is called the "black" chess king. He is metaphorically “corrupted”—arguably, by Sophie and the crew. (Of course, in Nate’s case, the “corruption” is a good thing and leads him to become a better person. But the parallel itself still stands.)

Chess is about strategy, manipulation, and cleverness. Sophie and Lady Macbeth are both very good at manipulating people into doing what they want them to for power's sake. Nate is often referred to as the master chess player, where "chess" is the metaphor for cons. Yet realistically, Sophie is the best at playing "chess" with people. Not to mention that the king is, in many ways, not a powerful piece. It can only move one square at a time, and if it's captured, its side loses. The queen is the most powerful piece on the chessboard. And here's Sophie, referring to Nate as a chess piece.

(There's something to be said here about how Sophie manipulates Nate both for his own good but also to her advantage, specifically in The First David Job and The Second David Job. But for the sake of keeping this meta at a reasonable length, I’ll leave it for now.)

"But Synapse!" I hear you cry. "Sophie's really bad at the Lady Macbeth speech in the first episode, but she's fantastic in the last one! If she became a better person, wouldn't it be the other way around?"

Fair point, friend, and it's something I've been trying to figure out myself. Here's my proposal:

I'm not an actor, but from what I understand, acting requires you to deeply empathize with your character. Conning isn't dissimilar, but in a way, Sophie knows that when she cons, it is not her. She's hiding everything she is for the sake of deception.

Regular acting, on the other hand, requires you to be exposed about yourself and who you are. You have to be willing to be vulnerable for your audience. And Sophie truly does not know how to be vulnerable, or indeed who she is at all. Of all the characters on Leverage, she's always been the most mysterious about her past and her true depths.

In The Nigerian Job, Sophie claims she's gone to a civilian life and dropped her grifting. She's questioning the very thing that she loves to do, uncertain of herself and where she's going with her life. Her ambition and drive have been, if not lost, undermined. We know that Sophie is a paradoxically compassionate and maternal person just as much as she is a master of the con. When she joins up with the crew, she near-immediately falls into a momfriend role to Parker, Hardison, and Eliot, and she’s an exceptional teacher.

Perhaps she struggles to find kinship in Lady Macbeth's motivation in that first episode. She can't act what she doesn't understand. Plus, she has no outlet for the side of her that desperately wants to do good, and maybe that’s showing through in her inability to embrace being bad.

But in The Long Goodbye Job, Sophie aces her performance when she's doing it for a con. Yet at that time she is arguably far less like Lady Macbeth than she is in the first episode. So what changes? What about the con makes it so much easier?

I'd say it's a few things. Firstly, Sophie's newfound stability. She knows who she is, and she knows that she is not Lady Macbeth. Her desire to teach and support others has a) been discovered and b) is being fulfilled. She's found that her love for manipulation is most satisfying when directed at people who are maliciously uncaring and contradictory to her own morals. Thus, the ways her personality overlaps with Lady Macbeth's can't be destabilized by Sophie's internal war over how much she really is like Lady Macbeth. She knows who she is, and she knows what parts of Lady Macbeth she can relate to and what parts she has to truly act out.

Moreover, she's acting for a con: she knows the character she's playing does not truly represent herself. Her mask is complete, rather than requiring pieces of herself to be exposed.

Compare Sophie's performance in The Nigerian Job to the part of Lady Macbeth's soliloquy she's attempting to recite (yes, I'll explain the bits of the soliloquy that I reference, don't worry):

"Sophie: Come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, and fill me from the crown to the toe top-full of direst! Make thick my blood;

Sophie: Stop up the access and passage to remorse, that no… (she hesitates and restarts her line) That no compunctious visitings of nature"

(transcript)

Versus the original soliloquy:

"Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood, Stop up th’ access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between Th’ effect and it! Come to my woman’s breasts, And take my milk for gall, your murd’ring ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature’s mischief!"

(Macbeth, Act I, Scene V, lines 45-55; I’ve bolded the lines Sophie recites)

Note where Sophie trips up: she loses the word "cruelty" from "of direst cruelty" first, and then she hesitates on the lines "stop up the access and passage to remorse / that no compunctious visitings of nature / shake my fell purpose". If the latter line is gobbledygook to you, it basically means "stop me from feeling guilty so my guilt can't get in the way of my awful plans."

So where is Sophie hesitating? On the maliciousness of Lady Macbeth, and on her desire to feel no remorse. And what do we know about Sophie? That she is a) still inherently kind, and b) that she does feel remorse for the pain she's caused—or at least that she learns to feel it over the course of the show.

By the way, it's interesting that Lady Macbeth's bit about "take my milk for gall" is excluded too, because it's sort of like her saying "turn any motherly feelings/kindness I feel into cruelty." Compare that against Sophie's maternal attitude. It's probably not massively significant, given that there wasn’t a need for more than a couple lines for the writing of the show, but I find it interesting.

Now, compare this to Sophie's performance in The Long Goodbye Job:

"Sophie (wonderfully): Come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts, fill me from the crown to the toe, top-full of direst cruelty. Make thick my blood. Stop up the access and passage to remorse."

(transcript)

She's completely on-point. I'd say this is both because she's doing it for a con and doesn't feel internal conflict over it, but also because the marks deserve no mercy. The Black Book is full of people who have done awful things in the name of greed. Why should she feel guilt over dethroning them?

TL;DR: Sophie plays a character who simultaneously parallels and contradicts her. Lady Macbeth is manipulative and ambitious, much like Sophie, but also cruel and malicious, which is not very Sophie-like. Yet Lady Macbeth does eventually go crazy from guilt and remorse—and Sophie also has to learn how to deal with her guilt.

This is why Sophie struggles so much in her first performance: she’s questioning her identity in relationship to her similarities with Lady Macbeth. At the end, however, she’s become confident in who she is. She’s also learned to use her skills to destroy those who take advantage of their power to hurt others, rather than good men like King Duncan.

In fact, she’s dethroning people who are greedy for power… people who are not so dissimilar to Macbeth and Lady Macbeth themselves. Sophie has become their antithesis.

Damn, but this show is good.

[mrvdocks]

Nightcall P.1

Request/Summary: Kurt is obsessive over a model and kidnaps her, taking her along for the ride of the night. 

After

The flurry of phones ringing off the hook and background noise felt foreign to you, it was just a buzzing in your ear. You pulled the safety blanket around you closer, grabbing it in fistfuls. You don’t know how long you’ve been here, but it feels like hours. The fluorescent in the room probably only made you look even worse for wear than you were hours before, but it didn’t matter now. In a span of 24 hours, your life had changed. 

The guarded door opened and an officer pulled up a chair in front of you, dropping photos of the gruesome scene you’d seen firsthand. She slides the photos closer, her thumb obscuring the killer’s face. You didn’t need to see it a second time.

“You were found in the residence of Mr. Kunkle, with one Jessie Adams and a John Doe, who seems to have been the victim of Mr. Kunkle’s spree amongst others.”

Even his name brings chills down your spine. 

“I already told the police everything.” You say groggily, your throat still sore from the whole ordeal.

“Yes, but there seems to be some doubt on your partnership with Mr. Kunkle. Footage, eyewitness accounts,” she’s studying you no doubt. Any sort of tick or movement you made without thought that could somehow lead her to think you were lying about anything you had explained earlier. 

“What was your relationship with Mr. Kunkle?” She pries, bringing multiple photos of Kurt to be splayed out in front of you. Some good, some bad, some….disturbing. 

“I - none. He just knew me through the socials.” 

“And you were also the target of his mania.” There’s something unsettling in how much she’s liking interrogating you. You ignore it. 

“You think it’s my fault he did this.” 

It was not your fault. None of this was. Kurt was just too power hungry. Maybe you were too trusting. You didn’t want to see Kurt for what he really was until it was too late. 

“I’m not saying it’s your fault, but your compliance does seem suspicious.”

“I-I didn’t know him very well. He was just my Spree driver for a day. But he was always nice to me.”

“He was also your kidnapper.”

“Like I said, he was a nice guy.” Your voice breaks. 

They’re all nice guys until they aren’t. 

“And you didn’t think to call the authorities when you were alone? Were you helping him lure these people?”

You can feel her eyes burning into you. 

“I’m not stupid,” you cry. “I know how this sounds. But I’m telling you, he gave me a ride and then he - all of this. Oh God.” 

You bring your shaky hands to run through your worn and tired face, specks of dried blood still prominent even through many washes with soap. It’s another way Kurt managed to stay with you. 

“Let’s start at the beginning,” she sits back with her arms folded. “And spare no detail.”

Before

He scrolls through your feed for the millionth time today.

Photos of you on your daily walks, exploring hidden LA gems, posting places you were shooting at, people you were hanging out with, all at the touch of a button for him. The bell notification alerts him, telling him that you’ve posted. He taps the screen in the blink of an eye, meeting your face as you giggle about falling while skating. 

You pout as you show the damage, remarking that it was lucky you weren’t shooting that day otherwise you would’ve had to cover up on such a hot day. 

In a vain industry, you try to keep yourself humble and that’s what he loves about you. Though he’s never met you, he thinks you could live up to the image he’s created of you. One that matches your optimistic and humorous one. 

He re watches your story, pausing at random moments where he screenshots and saves to his photos. His home screen is a shot of you in black and white, seemingly topless from chest down and looking back with an enticing smile. He loves the way your hair frames your face, the way pieces of it were meticulously picked out to give it a sort of messy look.

You could make anything look good, he thinks.

Bobby gives him a hard time about you, bragging about how he knows you and that although you’re more well known than he is, you are the one who should be grateful for his exposure.

Kurt thinks it’s bullshit but he wouldn’t be surprised if it were true, maybe you’d come around to meet him one day.

The vibration of a text brings him out of his daze, seeing Bobby’s name in big bold letters. 

He can’t believe his eyes when he opens the text. It’s an off guard video of you behind Bobby, giggling at something on your phone before noticing that he’s recording and flashing a cheeky smile and a peace sign.

“Found your girlfriend.” Bobby mocks before erupting into hysterical laughter.

Kurt replays it until his phone dies, Bobby’s words echoing in his head.

An idea pops into his head, it would be difficult if he didn’t know your exact routine but thanks to your fan accounts and the power of gossip blogs, it’s a definite success. 

He calls Bobby immediately, hearing him and his entourage in the background as they talked about a video idea. 

“What do you want, Kurt? I’m busy right now.” His annoyance is clear but Kurt is way too focused on you to notice.

“I need a favor.”

It’s amazing what the internet contains about a person. It’s also quite terrifying. Through just a few minutes of research, he’s found out your schedule along with where you went to school, where you live and your closest friends. 

In a photo Bobby had taken, the location of the next shoot you had taking place somewhere was barely visible.

He connects the dots, thinking about how your involvement could help him get  #TheLesson out and make him a household name. 

And it’s exactly what he does the day of. He parks near your neighborhood, foot bouncing and anxiously looking at his phone. He declines the others in hopes of finding you according to the schedule. You almost never use your real name on anything when going out but he recognizes your fake name and location, he puts the car into drive and talks himself up. 

He parks across the street, giving him a better view of you.  

His heart skitters when he sees you look in his direction, your brows quirk up as you give him an easy smile and cross carefully. 

You stop and bend to meet him at the passenger window, “Kurt, right?”

His name coming out of your mouth is something he’s dreamed of since he first saw you. He almost pinches himself to know if this is real. 

He knows he’s grinning like an idiot because you laugh at his speechlessness. 

“Sorry,” he motions to the backseat, “Hop in!” 

“I take it you know who I am.” 

You’re not oblivious to your recognition, but with some guys it was just always a hit or miss. They either wanted you to take your top off or asked for some weird things.

“Are you kidding? I’m like your biggest fan.” He beams, going back on the road. 

You’re not good at accepting compliments, so all you can manage is a shy smile and a, “Thanks!”

You notice his set up of cameras and ask him about it, to which he says they’re just for protection. Throughout the ride you learn more about him, particularly that he was going something the next day called The Lesson. He had a very particular view about this digital world you both lived in, talking about these odd jobs he’d been doing along with trying to build up his following. In between talking about himself, he mentions Bobby and the events of last night from the video. 

“Oh right, Bobby.” You roll your eyes at the mention of his name. 

Bobby was a pain in your ass sometimes, acting all high and mighty all the time and just like he was the overall shit. 

“Yeah he’s alright. He could just tone it down a little.”

“Oh yeah - definitely, he was the same when he was a kid. Just pure chaotic energy.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

In between other conversations, Kurt brought back the spotlight to you, asking you about different people you hung out with. It was pleasant conversation, you felt like you were talking to an old friend and letting off some steam. The red flags hadn’t gone off just yet. 

To let loose and make you live a little, Kurt races past a red light and nearly misses being in a collision. 

It startles you but he assures you there’s no danger. 

“You trust me right?” He asks, glancing back to you.

“I mean, yeah.” 

The confirmation is validation to him. It’s all he needed to begin.

He picks up another passenger, an older man who definitely did not hide the way he was staring at your body. You’re thankful for sitting a little father from him but when Kurt initiates conversation with him, everything goes downhill.

“I know you from somewhere.” The man points out, his obvious staring makes you cringe as you stay silent.

“You’re that model, I’ve seen your stuff around Westwood. Bangin’ body.”

You can feel the anger in your chest rise as Kurt finally notices.

“What’s going on?” He glances to the back, meeting your shifting eyes.

The man ignores him. “Sweetheart when someone compliments you, the nice thing to do is smile.”

That did it.

“Excuse me? I don’t owe you shit!” You grit.

“Whoa! Whoa! Sir you can’t be saying that anymore.” Kurt changes lanes, ready to stop if the situation gets worse.

“She should be proud she doesn’t look like her people. All of ‘em just fat and lazy.”

“Excuse me?! My people?” You’re sure you don’t look the least bit intimidating but it doesn’t matter. You were willing to kick this man’s ass if need be.

Kurt pulls off the the side of the road, “Alright, get out.” 

“What? No, I paid for this ride fair and square. I’m not leaving for shit. I can say what I want.” He says adamantly.

“Sir if you make those comments again I’m going to have to cancel the Spree.”

Something clicks in Kurt’s head as he remembers the water bottles. 

He motions for you to take the passenger seat which you do without much hesitation. 

Kurt waits a minute before merging again, glancing at the man every so often and taking more desolate streets. You don’t notice the absence of cars and you definitely don’t notice when the man takes a bottle and practically chugs it. 

Kurt smirks as he slows down. “Hey maybe you should let them know you’re not going to make it.”

Confused, you glance at Kurt and then at the man who’s now starting to grab at his throat and coughing violently.  

Your eyes widen as you attempt to get Kurt to stop the car but he doesn’t move, instead he keeps his eyes trained on the road.

“Kurt, stop the car.”

The man’s coughs get worse by the second and he turns a very bright red. 

“Kurt! Stop the car!” 

You’re frozen, helpless to watch the man as he tries to grab at Kurt from behind but coughs up blood and passes out in the backseat. You slink back in your seat, utterly terrified of what just happened. 

Adrenaline and fear course through you. You side eye Kurt who is not as affected by this as you are as he merely readjusts his camera. 

You begin to hyperventilate and try the passenger door. When it doesn’t budge you shut your eyes and cry.

“I won’t say anything. I won’t I promise. I promise, Kurt. Please.”

Kurt sighs as he retrieves a piece of cloth from his pocket. Your eyes widen as he comes close and pins you in your seat and smothers you with the cloth. You struggle under him, pushing against his chest to no avail. 

The smell of the chloroform inundates your senses and in a matter of seconds you feel your eyes roll back and everything go black. 

Once you’re knocked out, Kurt takes both your phone and the other passengers to knock suspicion off of him. He has plans for the racist prick in the back, but for you, he has much bigger plans.

[ghostly-cabbage]

Frigid (Chapter 1)

Danny Phantom fanfic

Genre: Horror, Angst, Enemies to Friends

Fic Rating: M (Language, Underage Drug Use, Violence and Gore)

Summary: Wes and his brother Kyle have just moved to Amity Park. Wes is only worried about fitting in, but all the ghost nonsense is making that harder and harder. Something weird is going on in this place, and his chemistry lab partner is no different. Seriously, what the hell was up with the Fenton kid and why did everyone ignore it?

Danny is a junior in high school, and pressure is squeezing in on all sides. Keeping good enough grades to graduate, and dealing with the snoopy new kid wasn't bad enough, but he's starting to feel like his parents are getting closer to figuring out his secret. Jazz is off at college and he didn't realize just how helpful it was when she was home to cover for him.

Danny's been able to keep his secret at school for one reason, and that's that no one cares to watch him close enough to connect the dots. Wes is different.

AO3   FFN

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"The air is different here," Wes said, looking up at the swath of stars across the sky. Kyle exhaled a plume of smoke that clouded the view. 

"Shit. Don't get all poetic on me now." Kyle coughed his way into a laugh and Wes kicked his shin just hard enough to hurt. 

"Ow!" 

"Shut up dude, I mean it's colder here. More humid or something too." 

"Yeah, definitely nothing like home." Kyle swung his legs back and forth off the brow of the roof. "How was your first day of school btdubs?" He offered Wes the joint pinched between his fingers. Wes waved him off. 

"Thrilling, nothin' like being the new kid," he said.  

Kyle shrugged and took another hit.

“‘S not so bad, my day was chill,” he croaked out while trying to keep his breath held in. 

Wes scrunched his nose at the smell. “Jesus dude, that stuff smells worse than normal.” 

“Yeah—” he puffed out the cloud of smoke “—the shit here isn’t as good. Missin’ that green triangle right about now.” Kyle let out a wistful sigh. Wes almost wanted to ask how he’d found a dealer already, but it was Kyle. He always found someone. It was like his supernatural ability to sniff out someone who’d sell to minors.

 “Anyway, basketball tryouts are at the end of the week, right? Cheer up my man, you’ll get mad chicks once you make the team.” Wes shot him a glare. Getting chicks was the last thing on his mind. He was more preoccupied with the fact their dad uprooted their entire lives to move to fucking Illinois. Illinois!

“Whatever dude.” There was a brief silence, before Kyle bumped his shoulder into him. He took another deep drag off his joint, the static burn filling the air like white noise. The stars continued to glimmer coldly in the sky, and it sent a pang of homesickness through him. It was bullshit. 

“Any classes you like?” 

“Psh. Hardly… Well. There’s a photography class—” 

“Didn’t you mention something about chem at lunch?” 

“Oh. That.” Wes started to get angry just thinking about it. “Yeah. Chemistry two. Apparently we have to have a lab partner for the whole semester. Which wouldn't be a big deal but I got stuck paired with a dude that’s ‘banned for life’ from using the chem equipment.” He used his fingers for the air quotes. “So I’m probably gonna have to do everything.”

Kyle took a breath like he was about to say something, but Wes pressed on. “What the hell do you even have to do to get banned for life from using the chemistry stuff?” 

“Dude! Maybe your partner got busted for making drugs! That Breaking Bad kinda shit! That’d get him banned fer sure fer sure.” His words slurred around the edges.

Wes almost laughed. “You’re high Kyle. If you saw him you’d understand. This guy isn’t a drug lord, trust me, he’s a twig. No way he’d be involved in anything dangerous. If that guy does anything more exciting than video games I’d eat your hat.” 

Kyle gasped. “Brooo!” 

“What?”

“Somthin’ to eat sounds wicked. Wanna swing by that... Nasty place, what’zit called? We saw it on the way in.” 

Wes rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh. 

“Nasty Burger?”

“Nasty Burger!”

“As a majority of you are aware, it’s a new school year, which means as per new school district regulation it’s time to report to the gym for the annual ghost safety course, and later today at an unspecified time there will be a ghost drill.” Mr. Lancer droned at the front of the class. The other students around Wes all groaned like they’d been assigned a pop quiz, rather than that being the most batshit crazy thing they’d ever heard. Uh, what the hell? He raised his hand. 

“Yes, Mr. Weston.” 

“Did... you just say ghost safety course?” Kids around him chuckled and shared knowing looks. It was like he was on the other side of an inside joke.   

“Regrettably so, Mr. Weston. Everyone single file to the gym please. Leave your bags here, you’ll be back before the third period,” Lancer said as he gestured to the door. Wes stayed sitting for a few seconds longer than the class, trying to make sense of what he’d just heard. Ghosts? Like actual ghosts? 

“Hey, Fenturd, can’t wait to see how your parents fuck it up this year!” Wes turned towards the back of the classroom to see a tall broad shouldered guy, Dash if he remembered right, shoving past Danny Fenton, AKA his chem lab partner. Danny lurched to the side, stumbling into a desk. There were two other kids that Wes hadn’t seen before standing behind Danny, a goth girl and a dweeby kid in a beret.

“Bro, I still have the picture on my phone from when they couldn’t get Mr. Fenton out of that ghost netting,” said an equally massive asian guy. The small knot of kids around them all laughed and filed past Danny and his presumed friends. Danny was glaring daggers at the back of Dash’s head. 

So… Danny’s parents were the guest speakers, and they were giving a talk on... ghost safety… Seriously, did anything here make sense? Wes followed after the crowd, trying to wrap his head around it. The odd trio started following a few paces back.

“Great. Just what I need to kick off the year again,” Wes heard Danny grumble. 

“Oh come on Danny, It wasn’t that bad,” the goth girl said. 

“Nah, it was pretty bad.” 

“Tucker!” 

“What?!”  

Wes tried to continue listening to their conversation but the person in front of him turned around to look at him. 

“You’re the new kid right?” She asked. She had long blonde hair and perfect makeup. 

“Uh, yeah. Wes.” 

“I hear you’re trying out for the basketball team, right?” A few of the popular kids walking in front of her glanced over their shoulders to look at Wes.

“Y-yeah. I was point guard on my last team back home.” 

“I don’t know what that means.” She tossed a lock of hair behind her shoulder. Her eyes were burning into him like she was personally judging where he fit into the social caste system of the school.  “But good luck. I’m Star, by the way. My boyfriend’s on the football team so don’t get any ideas.”  

“Oh please Star, you’re like, totally out of his league, basketball team or not,” a new voice cut in from just in front of Star. Another girl with dark wavy hair turned to look at him. She had dark olive skin, almond eyes and thick eyelashes. “I’m Paulina, but I’m sure you’ve heard all about me already. People are kind of obsessed with me, they can’t help it.” She said it with a smile and a cute giggle to punctuate her sentences. He’d seen her in homeroom yesterday, and he knew right off the bat she was top of the hierarchy, her and Dash both seemed to have a pretty solid hold on their popularity. If he was going to survive here he needed to make sure they liked him, or at the very least had nothing bad to say about him. 

“I can see why, it’s nice to meet you,” he said. The two girls shared a look, shrugged and turned their attention away from him. 

He let go of the breath he’d been holding, feeling like he’d just passed some sort of test.  He’d never exactly been a popular kid. In elementary school he was small and easy to pick on. Unless Kyle was around, who had a nonchalant courage about him, even as a kid. It’d taken a lot of work for Wes to figure out how to fit in just under the radar of the big fish. 

He stepped into the bustling gym along with the rest of the Junior homeroom class. The bleachers were pulled out, and the class dispersed to find their place to sit. Wes bobbed his head over the shoulders of other students looking for Kyle. It took some work but eventually his eyes landed on his brother. He was lounging, taking up two seats worth of space on the far left side of the bleachers. He made a beeline for him, and took the stairs two at a time. The clamor of the student body filled the room, and when he sat down he had to speak over it. 

“Dude, can you believe this? A ghost assembly?” His brother had never been the most believing of the supernatural. But this place, openly acknowledging the presence of ghosts? He’d like to see Kyle try and refuse to believe now. 

“Yeah man! This school must really love Halloween.” 

And there it was. 

“Kyle. It’s September.” 

“And? Bro they got the Halloween decorations up at wally-world already, why not have a fun Halloween thing?” Wes frowned, and clicked his tongue. He propped his chin against his hand and watched as the school started to settle. His eyes wandered the rows until he found the goth girl. Danny and the kid she’d called Tucker were with her. They were sitting in the section over a row down. Danny had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his black NASA hoodie, and a pinched look on his face. He couldn’t exactly say he blamed the kid, the thought of his own dad showing up to give a presentation made him shiver in horror. 

They’d set up a stage in the center of the gym. Principal Ishiyama stepped up to the podium, and tapped the mic. 

“Hello students of Casper High! For incoming freshmen, allow me to officially extend a warm welcome, and to all returning students, welcome back!” She was way too chipper for the time of morning. “As many of you know we have to review some safety precautions. Now, this may not be new information but I expect you all to pay attention and be respectful regardless. With that, allow me to introduce local ghost experts: Jack and Maddie Fenton.” Ishiyama moved back, clapping for the guests. The crowd gave mixed reactions. Most people looked like they were only applauding out of awkwardness. Wes was definitely included in that category. 

A man and woman with brightly colored… jumpsuits? Hazmat suits? Whatever they were, came forward. The man was intimidating from the pure size of him alone. Jesus christ, he looked like a NFL linebacker. Next to him, was a slight and fit woman. She spoke first, standing at the podium. 

“Good morning everyone! My husband and I are honored to be welcomed back to run through the safety course with you kids!” Mrs. Fenton was peppy and direct with the way she spoke and the way she moved. “As of last year the manual ghost alarms were installed around the school.” Maddie motioned to the projector screen behind her that had been lowered from the ceiling. “As you can see here.” The picture on the projector showed huge red buttons ringed by yellow and black caution trim. Wes had seen them around before, but he’d figured they were for... tornados or something, they had those here right?

“If you see a ghost you are encouraged to press this button so that the school can evacuate and the correct professionals may be notified.” 

“By that she means us!” Mr. Fenton shouted, popping up in front of the projector. She moved on as if the interruption hadn’t even happened. 

“Whatever you do, do not engage with a ghost. Ghosts are highly dangerous. Even a low level ecto-entity can be a threat to your life and well-being!” Her voice was grave, and practically oozed with conviction. Wes looked over at Kyle, gesturing towards the stage, incredulous. 

“Really? Nothing to say about this?”

“What can I say, they’re pretty dedicated. Dude, Wes, it might be an ARPG, like remember the Halo 2 ‘I love bees' thing?”

“I hate you. This isn’t even anything close to—” 

“Shh!” Someone who sounded like a teacher hissed at them. He turned his attention back to the presentation, annoyed. 

“Now, let’s go over what to do if you think you’ve been possessed or otherwise overshadowed by a ghost! First thing to look for are gaps in memory or consciousness. Changes in mood or violent tendencies can also occur. Keep an eye on your friends and loved ones. Remember that no one is immune to being overshadowed by a ghost, unless you purchase a Fenton Specter Deflector available on our website!” Almost out of nowhere, the woman pulled out what looked like a metal belt. There was silence in response, and she cleared her throat. 

“If you or someone you know has been or is currently possessed please seek help immediately, go to your teachers or parents.” Wes watched as she moved on to the next subject, talking with the fervor and simplicity of an expert. Screw whatever Kyle said, this wasn’t just for shits and giggles or some halloween event. Something was different here. The other students, despite seeming bored, looked like they fully believed her. Maybe people here would actually believe him about what happened when he was a kid. 

The hazy memories crept along his skin, making the hair on his arms stand on end. His dad told him he had an active imagination. He knew it wasn’t that.

“Finally, let’s go over what to do if a ghost fight breaks out!” 

“A ghost fight?” he echoed, brows furrowing. 

“As we’ve said, do not engage or interact with ghosts for any reason—”

“Hey, what about Phantom?” Someone from the crowd shouted. A murmur of agreement rippled through the students. 

“Who’s Phantom?” He wondered out loud, and a guy sitting in front of him turned to give him an affronted look. 

“We strongly discourage interacting with Phantom especially! When it comes to ghosts, it’s simple. There are no good ghosts! Ghosts are ectoplasmic post-human impressions driven only by their obsession! They are not human and don’t care about the havoc they wreak.”  

The crowd murmured again, the disapproval evident. A few kids shouted unintelligible things, but they sounded defensive. Wes didn’t get it, the Fenton lady seemed to know her shit, why argue? 

“Quiet! Quiet please!” Ishiyama called over the voices. Eventually the students settled, and the Fentons wrapped up their presentation. Everyone seemed disappointed that nothing embarrassing happened, until Mr. Fenton underestimated the height of the stage, and face planted onto the gym floor. The students broke into an uproar of laughter, and Ishiyama rushed to the mic to dismiss everyone back to homeroom. Wes couldn’t hold back a laugh, and glanced over to see Danny hunching up his shoulders. If Wes had to describe someone that looked like they wanted to disappear, it would be Danny in that moment. 

The walk back to the classroom was uneventful, though he was pretty sure he heard Mrs. Fenton repeatedly calling out “Danny sweetie!” Wes was really glad he wasn’t that poor bastard, talk about humiliating. He tried to ignore the pang that twisted inside his stomach. Still, it must be nice to have a mom around. 

Fifth period started in four minutes, and Wes was stuck fiddling with the lock on his locker. The damn thing looked like it’d been fished off the titanic. The wheel made an awful squealing noise when he twisted it, and even when the lock popped, he had to yank on it to get it to unlatch all the way. He put in his combo for the third time and pulled. It came undone and if it weren’t for holes on the handle he’d have gone stumbling backwards. He opened the locker and was just about to grab his History textbook, when an ear splitting alarm blasted from the overhead speakers. He jumped and spun around, hands coming up to cover his ears. 

It wasn’t like a fire alarm, instead of the shrill school bell ringing, it was a long whooping siren that echoed up and down the halls like a nuclear strike was incoming. Wes had to hand it to them, it sounded creepy as fuck. The emergency lights flashed in the hallways, and the kids around him started to make for the exits.  

“Your attention please,” an automated female voice came over the speaker, offering  a brief respite from the siren. “A ghost has been sighted in the building. Please evacuate or get to safety as soon as possible.” Holy shit, was this really happening? The siren began its wailing again. His heart thundered in his chest, and he looked both ways up and down the hall. He didn’t see anything, except for Lancer standing at the end of the hall, directing students to an emergency exit. Wes remembered then that Lancer had said something about a “ghost drill”. Of course that’s what this was. Just a drill. Wes let out a shaky breath, and went to close up his locker before he headed out. 

Which in retrospect wasn’t the greatest idea. In less than a second, something changed. The hall felt darker, and the air grew cold. Not cold like someone left the window open, cold like he’d just walked into a meat freezer. It prickled against his skin, and he felt a deep sense of dread sink to the bottom of his stomach. 

“Little lamb…” Murmured a soft voice. It echoed up the hall, and Wes forced himself to turn and look. He shouldn’t have, he really shouldn’t have. It was the shape of a woman, but she was floating a foot off the ground. She had stringy hair, and bangs that partially covered her empty eyes. In her hand looked like a shepherd's crook. Wes slammed his back against his locker, his knees locking up. He felt his hands start to tremble. Not again, he didn’t want the nightmares again.

The hall was empty, the last few terrified kids were gone. 

“Little lamb... separated from the herd… Don’t you know there’s predators?” Her voice echoed unnaturally, it’s clarity sending chills across his skin. She was hardly speaking above a whisper, but it was rough and cracked, like something had happened to her voice. But the thing that was worse was even at barely a whisper, he could somehow hear her over the sirens. Like she was right next to him breathing the words into his ears. 

The alarm cut out and the automated message looped. The woman—ghost lifted her crook to point at him. “Little lambs have to come back home,” she said. The sound of panting and low growling filled the hall. A green shape, low and lean flew out from behind her. It closed the gap between them in three strides flat. It’s eyes glowed red, and white teeth slavered toxic green. Wes’ voice stuck in his throat and he couldn’t scream, he squeezed his eyes shut and hoped he’d wake up.

Wes felt the air stir in front of him, and he heard a meaty crunch followed by a deafening caterwaul. His eyes flashed open to see the mountain lion-like creature picking itself up off the ground on the other side of the hall. And directly in front of him, it was another human shape, another ghost. They had white hair and a black jumpsuit on. 

“Bad kitty! What, did someone forget the catnip?” It was a guy’s voice that echoed around the hall. The shape cast a glance over his shoulder at Wes. He gulped down a breath, it was a boy about his age. His eyes glowed the same neon toxic green that painted the hall in its supernatural light. He looked like he was about to say something, when the big cat hurled itself at his flank. Its massive front paws slammed into his midsection and they disappeared into the wall. 

The shepherd moved towards him, and Wes felt like he was going to pass out or throw up. Maybe both, both sounded okay. She was focused entirely on him as she drifted over the floor. She was four feet away, and the expression etched onto her dead face made his stomach twist. This was worse, this was way worse than even the nightmares. Her empty eyes leaked tears. 

“It’s dangerous. There’s predators.” She lifted a hand like she was trying to reach for him. A blast of green light suddenly filled his vision, and the girl let out a scream. She was slammed backwards into a set of lockers and she slipped down to the ground. Wes’ gaze snapped to where the blast of energy had come from and saw the ghost boy. He was floating six feet off the ground, and his right hand was glowing green. He had a long deep slash across his side that was oozing and dripping globby green ectoplasm. 

“I’ve never seen you before,” he said. “What do you want?” his tone of voice was firm and sharp, it felt like ice. The girl looked up at the boy. She opened her mouth and screamed. It was a raw terrible thing that petered off into an agonized gurgle. The ghost boy arched a brow, but before he could say anything else the Shepherd melted into the wall. 

“Shit,” the ghost puffed. He turned his eyes to Wes and he stiffened again. Right, he wasn’t exactly out of the woods yet. “You must be new here. Piece of advice, run away next time, okay dude?” The ghost boy looked up at the ceiling that still had the alarms blaring and rolled his eyes. In the next instant he shot through the wall where the shepherd ghost had disappeared. 

Wes let out a breath and sunk to the floor, shivering from head to toe. What the hell was that?    

[pandoraborn]

NO PLACE FOR HEROES Chapter One. (prologue)

The dig site is a miserable location: cold, dark, and if Jackie didn’t know any better, he’d say it was more of an asteroid than some desolate planet. He’d say more it was a moon, even, with how little oxygen is available. The mask he’s forced to wear just to survive tells him this isn’t a habitable planet.

He knows why they’re there though. ‘They’, being the Dahl splinter group run by Marcel LaMont. If asked by Marcel himself, Jackie would put on a large smile and say there was no one he’d rather work for, but in private, Jackie would bitch about the man. Marcel is a tall, muscular man with a charming smile that shines brightly on the surface, but carries nothing but malice underneath his persona. It’s a face Jackie would very much love to punch one day, not just because the man’s an asshole, but because of his beliefs.

Come to think of it, Jackie can’t understand why he’s even still working for Dahl. Dahl official went out of business years ago, having disbanded for reasons unknown. Marcel had offered a job, promising to rebuild, and Jackie, like any desperate moron, had taken him up on his offer.

That’s how they ended up on this stupid pathetic chunk of rock to begin with.

With a shiver, Jackie sits in his tent, using an unopened crate as a chair as he uses a lantern to pour over documents. There are maps and locations Marcel wants Jackie to mark out with his ECHO, but Jackie can’t concentrate. There must be hundreds of pages of scrawled notes to sift through and put on the ECHO, and already Jackie can feel his eyes rolling back into his head. He hadn’t even made it past the first page.

A lot of the notes are how Marcel wants to hire prisoners to do the dirty work for him. That’s something Jackie will forever disagree with the man over; there’s a fully functional crew of at least twenty men here that can mine the planet for whatever ores they’re looking for. Jackie also knows well ahead of time that this planet probably doesn’t have anything valuable to its name, otherwise there would be more than one port city on the entire surface. They’re already a few hours away from port as is, Jackie can’t understand why Marcel got the genius idea to camp so far away from the meager civilization.

“Jackie, are you done yet?” Marcel’s sleepy voice is heard at the entrance of Jackie’s tent, causing the man to jump back, nearly toppling over. He presses his hand to the side of his face, checking to make sure his goggles haven’t fallen off in his surprise.

“No, sir, you just gave me these notes an hour ago. I’m still trying to make sense of them.”

Marcel steps into the tent, looking far more intimidating when half bathed in shadows. He seems taller, bigger. Jackie can feel himself shrinking back in sheer hatred as he stares at Marcel’s neck. “I expect you to do the work I assign you, Jackie. I hired you for a reason, and I’m starting to wonder if you’re pulling your weight.”

Jackie’s eyes narrow as he chews on his bottom lip. “Marcel, you gave me hundreds of notes an hour ago. I’m not exactly sure what it is you want from me. I’m tired, bro.”

“Then let me speed up the process for you: I want you to get on the ECHO and scan for nearby prison ships in need of labor. Also, do not call me bro.”

“I’m not hiring slaves for you, Mark.” Jackie’s tone is cold now. “We can dig ourselves. We have the equipment and the manpower, I don’t know why you want slaves, especially when we’re not guaranteed to find anything worth much here.”

“I smell minerals in the air, Jackie. This place is going to earn me plenty of riches, and twenty men isn’t enough to mine through to the center of the planet. Get on the ECHO and start asking around for prisoners who want to work. I’m going to need a full crew. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

He leaves before Jackie can disagree again. Jackie slumps back against the crate, crumbling up a few pages of notes and tossing them toward the entrance of the tent, before burying his face in his hands. Normally Jackie would grit his teeth and bear with Marcel’s eccentricities, but he can’t tolerate this. Jackie doesn’t want to work alongside criminals, he wouldn’t trust them, and it’s this bullshit that landed Dahl in hot water before. Hell, it’s how Pandora came to be infected with bandits.

He starts scanning the rest of the notes, trying to find anything he could use against Marcel. He picks up the whole pile, ready to chuck everything to the floor so he can stomp on it in a childish fit, but the second Jackie lifts the pile, a wrinkled, torn map slips free and back to the table.

It’s not often people find a hand drawn map, it’s not often they exist, but this one does. It’s labeled as official documentation; Jackie recognizes the Dahl emblem in the top right corner. This only tells Jackie that Marcel isn’t supposed to have this either, or he didn’t mean to pass it over to Jackie.

It doesn’t make much sense, but he can guess from the scrawled notes that this is a big discovery. The handwriting isn’t Marcel’s, it’s not anything Jackie recognizes, and it’s almost indecipherable. Still, Jackie holds his wrist over the map, hoping his ECHO picks up more than he can. A hologram of a planet opens up, with that same scrawled handwriting spinning around the center of the planet. Jackie blinks and leans closer, pulling his goggles over his eyes so he can see better.

“What is Kaladia?” Jackie’s keeping his voice low as he starts speaking to himself, shooting glances toward the entrance to make sure Marcel isn’t coming back. He reaches his other hand up to spin the hologram around, zooming in on the planet, then out. He can’t tell where it is, but he looks back down at the map, tilting his head to the side. He moves his echo over more, scanning all the notes and trying to pick up more information.

“A vault?” Jackie frowns when his ECHO beeps. It’s a map that leads to a planet, that’s for certain, but where this planet is, is still a mystery. According to his echo, it’s a planet that’s a giant vault, or so the notes say. There’s more, though, his ECHO is beeping again, more rapidly than before.

Jackie hunches over the map, as well as the hologram as he continues to study. According to the map, the planet is rumored to be a myth. Even his ECHO is saying the planet doesn’t exist. But if it’s a giant vault, that must mean it holds boundless treasure. Jackie’s eyes widen at the implications. If Marcel has this map, and he’s wanting slave labor, that must mean he already has some idea.

Not if Jackie takes this away from the asshole.

Getting to his feet, Jackie peeks out of his tent, listening for any voices. He can’t hear anything but distant snoring. It sounds like everyone is asleep, and he can only hope Marcel went back to bed after being his typical self righteous self. This gives Jackie the perfect opportunity to grab the map, fold it up, and shove it in his pocket. He shuts the hologram of the planet off as well, so the light emitting from the ECHO doesn’t alert anyone.

He’s going to have to walk a distance before using a vehicle. Jackie knows there are Catch-A-Rides periodically across the planet, which is fine with him, it’s not like walking well away from camp is going to hurt him. He just needs to get to the port city as soon as possible and catch the next ship leaving.

Quietly, Jackie rummages through his tent, gathering anything he might need on him. Most things can be stored digitally, like money and weapons he might need, but everything else, like food, needs to be carried in his backpack. He stuffs it full of canned goods and leftover pizza before flinging it over his shoulders. Jackie briefly contemplates raiding Marcel’s tent for goods, but decides against it. Marcel is a light sleeper, and Jackie doesn’t want to explain why he’s running away with something of high value.

He glances around his tent one last time before leaving, taking the lantern with him for light. Truthfully, Jackie doesn’t even need the lantern, but it’s his last ‘fuck you’ to Marcel. He checks his ECHO though, looking at the port city’s ship schedules. There’s a ship that’s bound to leave for Promethea in four hours, which is perfect for Jackie. Still, he radios the city.

“Yeah?” Comes the static-filled voice of the operator, Jackie’s assuming. “How can I help you?”

“What time does your next ship leave?” He’s walking briskly, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds. He’s going to have to ditch this ECHO, or at least hack it so Marcel can’t easily radio in and track Jackie down. “Also, I’d like to buy a spare ECHO. I need a new one.”

“We have one leaving for Athenas in two hours, Promethea in four, and we have ECHOnet devices available, how far away are you and when can I expect you?”

Jackie breathes a sigh of relief. “I’ll be there just in time to board for Promethea. Can I place an ECHO device on hold? I’d like to transfer almost everything over immediately.”

“You’re not a bandit, are you?” The voice on the other end sounds suspicious. Jackie can practically see their brow furrowing with concern.

“No, I’m on the run from one.” Probably not the smartest way to describe Marcel, but Jackie’s well aware that this move is going to cost him greatly. “I need to be able to not be tracked. Can I transfer my funds and weapons over to a new one? You can take the payment out of my money, I’ll pick it up when I get there.”

“Sure, give me your information too. I’ll make sure you’re all set by the time you get here. Er, what did you say your name was?”

Jackie looks back one last time. The camp is now in the distance, with him having already put a decent distance between himself and Marcel. His heart is racing though, because there are lights on now, which means Jackie’s window of escaping is starting to close. He needs to leave, now. “Jackson Collins. I’ll transfer my information over, I just need to ditch this one. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Roger that, Jackson. We’ll set you up.”

The line goes dead after that. Maybe they hung up on each other at the same time, Jackie doesn’t know. Still, he’s walking forward, pushing as fast as he can without breaking into a run. While he walks, he transfers his ID, his money, weapons, and even the hologram over to the operator. Everything else: his contacts, his business information, is completely discarded. Jackie shuts the ECHO off and drops it to the ground, kicking dirt up around it in an attempt to hide it. Then, he runs.

The only thoughts on Jackie’s mind now are thoughts of this strange planet, and if it means sticking it to some greedy asshole, then Jackie will be happy to take on this role.

After all, he knows he’s a greedy asshole too.

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

Lily Briscoe, Remember?

PART TWENTY-SIX OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: drinking, smoking, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 3.7K

Summary: After a visit to a local bar, Ella catches up with Jess and spends a night in Philadelphia.

Twirling her cool water glass around and around on the grimy table, Ella smiled softly when a Strokes song came over the speakers. The bar was some hole-in-the-wall dive a few blocks down from the publishing house, still adorned with St. Patrick’s Day decorations although it was halfway through May. But Ella didn’t mind it. There weren’t rowdy swarms of college students or bachelorette parties. Instead, people in their late twenties sat around in black, square-framed glasses talking in buzzing tones. They had locally-made beer and a small, empty stage with just a stool, where independent artists played on the weekends. The air was salty with fries and early summer excitement. Matthew made conversation with her as Chris and Jess went up to order the drinks. Leaning back against the ripped vinyl booth, Ella listened intently as Matthew, sat across from her in a creaky wooden chair, told her about he and Chris meeting in high school.

“...so, we weren’t in the AV club or anything, but we definitely weren’t on the football team either-”

Chris led the way back to the table with a tray of beers and a hoot of satisfaction, Jess trailing behind his friend and rolling his eyes.

Stopping mid-sentence, Matthew turned to Chris and swiped a drink. Chris sat down beside him and was almost instantly chattering away. Matthew seemed kind, quiet, subdued. A good balance to Chris’s chaotic enthusiasm. Jess slid into the booth beside Ella, shrugging off his suit jacket, flushed in the stuffy air. Their upper arms touched, making her stomach do a flip. Even though it had been years since he lived at Luke’s, Jess still somehow had an aroma of pine.

“So,” Chris began, turning to Ella with a pointed look and a grin, “what do you do, Ella?”

“Oh, um, I’m a waitress.”

“And an artist,” Jess chimed in, taking a sip from his bottle.

Ella rolled her eyes and then shot him a teasing glare. “Not professionally. But I just graduated from Southern Connecticut State last week. Hopefully I won’t be filling sandwich orders my whole life.”

“You graduated already, Doogie?” Jess asked with a pleasant, surprised chuckle.

She shrugged. “Wasn’t too big a deal. I took summer classes and stuff.”

“What’s your major?” Matthew asked.

“Studio art,” she said. “Minor in history, though.”

Jess raised his brows, but said nothing. Apparently she hadn’t gone through only outward changes. He could smell her lavender perfume as he sipped on his cheap, watery beer. It was odd to see her in Keeley’s, a bar he’d frequented since arriving in Philadelphia. The feeling was not quite deja-vu, but his worlds were certainly colliding. In the back of his mind, he wondered where her necklace was, wondered where she was living. It was easy to feel like he knew her, maybe better than anyone, but they hadn’t spoken in so long. She could be married, for all he knew. Scanning her thin hands, he found no engagement or wedding rings. But an uneasiness still sat right under his skin, eager to be resolved.

Crossing his arms, elbows on the table, Chris leaned closer into the conversation. “That’s so cool! Do you have anything lined up? Seems like you should, considering how many people tried to buy your sketches today.”

She scoffed, continuing to turn her glass anxiously. A blush warmed her cheeks, and a nervous smile tugged at her lips as she averted her eyes down to the table. “Sort of. Grad school is where I’m headed now.”

“Really?” Jess chimed in. “Where?”

Clearing her throat, Ella raked a hand through her hair. Though Jess tilted his head at her, she refused to meet his gaze. “It’s funny, actually. I’ve still got some things to work out...but UPenn.”

“No way! That’s right down the road from us!” Chris exclaimed.

Ella’s smile widened marginally, and excitement rose in her chest. “Yeah, it’s weird. I had a few I was choosing between, and Penn reached out and...I only confirmed a couple weeks ago. A few days before I got your invitation in the mail. Since I was coming down here anyway, I scheduled my interview with the Dean for tomorrow.”

“Well, congrats,” Matthew said, raising his bottle.

“Thanks,” she replied, feeling slightly silly as she toasted her water against their beers.

Before another moment had passed, Chris got a page on his beeper. Apparently, the poet who had performed at the open house had left something of his behind and would need to be let in early the next morning. Matthew and Chris began commiserating amongst themselves about the performer, who was apparently less than a joy to work with. Biting on the inside of her cheek, Ella tried to suppress her smile. Too much joy made her nervous. It meant always waiting for the other shoe to drop. She’d had the odd mixture of anxiety and anticipation brewing in her stomach since opening Jess’s package. It was too much of a coincidence for her to be going to a school five minutes away from where Jess worked. Too perfect. She didn’t trust it.

Beside her, Jess was trying equally hard to hold in his emotions. She would be in Philly. Right down the road. She hadn’t been right down the road from him in what felt like forever. There were still so many unknowns. But he couldn’t help the swell of his heart. What were the chances? Plastering on a smug smirk, a mask to hide his exhilaration at her news, he nudged her gently with his elbow.

“So, you’re Philly bound?”

“Seems that way,” she said, nodding.

He hummed in acknowledgement, pausing to gaze at her for a moment. Freckles and Bette Davis eyes and a deep, raspy voice. So different but so familiar. She offered him a tiny smile, caught up in the moment. A swarm of pleasant butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and again, she wished they could kiss. Inside their private world, as they once had been.

“Y’know, I think it was fate,” Jess said, smirk growing. “Us both ending up here.”

She snorted a laugh and shook her head slightly. “Not all that idealist bullshit again, Mariano.”

“Hey, not everything changes,” Jess shrugged, taking another sip.

“Guess not,” she said quietly, a fond sparkle in her hazel eyes. “But I’d expect nothing less from a Hemingway fetishist.”

Jess rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Stevie Nicks.”

Instead of retorting, Ella snatched the beer sitting before Jess and took a long sip. Setting it down in front of him again, she winked and then began to hum along to Julian Casablancas’s lyrics.

.   .   .

“I’m serious. I was really planning on just getting a motel,” Ella insisted.

Shushing her, a finger on his lips, Chris shook his head. He stood in the tiny kitchen, rummaging through the rusty fridge for some drunk food. Matthew was tipsy, and had already retreated to his room. Chris, however, had managed to get absolutely wasted. They’d practically dragged him up the stairs in Truncheon to the apartment above, while he babbled loudly, complaining about his boyfriend being out of town for the open house. Now, as Jess and Ella argued about her sleeping in the apartment, he offered slurred interjections and cackles off to the side.

Jess, having only drunk two beers over the course of the day, rolled his eyes at his friend. “Go to bed, man.”

“Make me, Jess,” Chris replied jovially, retrieving a box of fried chicken from behind the half-and-half. Straightening up, he shot them both a smug grin and made for the bedroom he shared with Matthew. “Have fun, kids.”

“Good luck fighting that sweater off your head,” Ella quipped, not able to stop the words before they left her mouth. Chris, for all his exuberance, was wearing deceptively stuffy clothes. A button-up with a patterned sweater over it, khakis.

Again, Chris only laughed. “She’s feisty. Let’s keep her forever.”

Smiling thinly, Ella gave him the finger. He blew her a kiss before entering the dark room and shutting the door loudly behind him. Ella winced slightly. She knew Matthew was probably already asleep in one of the room’s twin beds.

Jess ran a hand down his face, standing amid the cluttered mess of their living room.

Ella turned back to Jess, crossing her arms over her chest as an amused crease formed between her brows. “How’d you end up living with them again?”

“Long story.”

“I would imagine.”

“He’s usually not quite so intolerable, but it’s been a big day,” Jess said apologetically. “And he’s still super pissed his boyfriend had to go outta town for work.”

Ella shrugged. “Hey, no problem. I like them. But, yes, it has been a big day. And I don’t want to keep you up any longer. So, why don’t I just stay at a motel?”

Shaking his head, Jess gestured for her to follow him and led the way to his bedroom. “Yeah, right. It’s past midnight. You can just crash with me. Not like we haven’t shared a bed before.”

A heavy sigh escaped her lips. “Are you sure? At least let me take the couch. I’ve been sleeping on one for two years, anyway.”

“At Lane’s?” Jess asked, switching on the ceiling light as they entered.

Surveying the bedroom, a smile immediately came to Ella’s lips. The living room was an absolute mess, but he’d managed to keep his own room decently clean. In the small space, he had only a queen-sized bed, pushed against the wall with the windows, and a dresser, on top of which his boombox sat. Piles of books and CDs littered the scratched wood floor, mostly in the free corners. A framed poster of Nietzche hung above his bed, and she burst out laughing when she saw it, before she could help herself.

“What?” Jess asked, brows furrowed.

She pointed to the poster, then bit down on her thumb nail to stifle her giggles. “Nothing, I’m just glad you’re becoming self-aware.”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “Already overstaying your welcome, Stevens. The bathroom’s the first door on the left when you walk into the apartment. You can get changed, brush your teeth, whatever.”

Nodding, Ella slipped off her shoes near the door and put down her heavy shoulder bag. It only took a minute of rifling through before she found the pajamas and toothbrush she’d packed for the short trip. Since she was little, she couldn’t fall asleep before brushing her teeth first. Clutching the supplies in her arms, she turned back to Jess. He’d taken off his suit jacket and tossed it down on the bed, was unclasping his watch and setting it down on the dresser. He looked so grown up in the yellowish overhead light, bright against the dark green walls.

“This is really okay with you, Jess?” she asked, sounding shyer than he’d ever heard.

“Yeah,” he replied, flashing her a reassuring smile. “What kind of host would I be otherwise?”

Smiling back, Ella nodded again. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

As she left the room, Jess let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in and ran a hand over his mouth. He thought back to the night she’d let him sleep over, dragged him from the freezing back seat of his old car into her warm bedroom. It was the least he could do. Truly. But anxiety squeezed his insides tightly. He tried to shake it off. Ella herself had said he didn’t need to be nervous. He changed into some sweatpants and a t-shirt quickly, running his hands through his neat hair and turning it messy. When she returned, face washed and teeth brushed, he was just flicking on his bedside lamp and pulling back the blue comforter. He recognized the Bowie t-shirt she wore from some vague memory.

“No KISS shirt?” he asked.

She chuckled as she stuffed her dress and toothbrush into her bag near the door. “Oh, I never travel with that. Couldn’t bear for it to get lost.”

“Oh, right, my mistake,” Jess said. “You can turn out that switch, if you want.”

Ella turned off the overhead light, left only in the glow of his nightstand lamp. Before the nausea could overtake her, she powered through the shakiness of her hands and came to sit across from him. It didn’t need to be strange. She’d just gotten her best friend back. And they could sleep in the same bed as they had so many times before.

“Since I’m already taking advantage of your hospitality,” she began, eyeing the half-empty pack of Marlboros on the floor by the bed, “could I maybe borrow a cigarette?”

Smirking fondly, Jess nodded, reaching down to grab the pack and the lighter. He lit hers for her as she held it between her lips, and then his own. He cracked open the window and flicked ash out into the May midnight.

“What’s got you smoking?” he asked.

She sighed through her nose in white streams. “My interview with the Dean tomorrow. I mean, I’m already in. And they contacted me because of my portfolio. But, I don’t know. Anything could happen.”

“But it won’t,” Jess said. “It’ll be fine. You’re Lily Briscoe, remember?”

A weak smile crossed her face and she gave an unconvincing nod. Then, she looked back up at him curiously. “What about you? Still smoke as much as you did in high school?”

Jess shook his head. “No. Almost never. But I may have panicked about this whole open house thing last night.”

“Looked like it went great,” she said, tapping ash out the window, sitting cross-legged.

Shrugging, Jess leaned back against the wall behind his bed. “We’ll see what that lady from the paper writes.”

“Who cares what she thinks?” Ella asked.

“People who could spend their money here,” Jess answered, chuckling breathily.

Waving a dismissive hand, Ella took a final drag of her cigarette. She crushed it out on the windowsill, where she saw the small, circular remnants of smokes past, before throwing butt out the window into the dumpster below. “Maybe. Seems like you’ve got a pretty decent underground following already.”

“And you call me the idealist,” he said, shaking his head and tossing out his own cigarette.

She laughed lightly, following Jess’s lead as he closed his window again and got under the covers. Soon, they faced each other with their heads against Jess’s pillows. They smelled like him. After shutting off his lamp, Jess regarded Ella in the dim light. He felt like he’d stepped through a door into a memory or a dream.

“Speaking of Truncheon, tell me about the book,” she said quietly.

“Which book?”

“Your book, Sherlock,” she teased.

He sighed, swallowing dryly. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” she replied. “I mean, when did you write it? How did you write it? Did ever end up getting a computer, or-”

“Woah, Stevens,” he interrupted, snickering at her rapid-fire questions. “I started writing it when I was still in Stars Hollow.”

She furrowed her brows. “What?”

“Yeah. That notebook I came back for when I picked up my car? I sort of...started before I left. I took a break in California. But I started taking advantage of the library computers when I got back to New York.”

“So, it really was an On The Road thing.”

“Not quite so ambitious,” he said. “But, once I read that Stephen King book you got me...I just got started.”

“And you never told me?” she asked.

He only shrugged in response.

Ella shook her head slightly, watching him with furrowed brows. “Curiouser and curiouser, Mariano.”

“I wanted to surprise you with it.”

“Well, you did.” She thought she saw a flush rise to his cheeks, but couldn’t quite tell in the low light. Something indecipherable flashed across his eyes as he hesitated. She took the lead instead. “Hey Jess?”

“Hm?”

“I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Jess rolled his eyes, really blushing now. His face went scarlet, and he uttered a nervous chuckle. “Thanks, Daria.”

“Anytime, James Dean.”

Ignoring the flip of his stomach, Jess let the compliment roll off him like water and faced her earnestly. “Did you say you were still livin’ with Lane?”

She nodded. “Yeah. It was just...easier than getting my own place. A smaller chunk of the rent to pay. Especially with how many classes I was taking, and it was right across the street from Luke’s. At some point, we upgraded to a futon, so it was a little easier to sleep.”

Jess snorted. “I’m pretty sure you could fall asleep in the middle of a tornado, get transported to Oz, then back to Kansas, and wouldn’t wake up the whole time.”

“Be that as it may,” she said pointedly, “it was pretty okay. But Lane and Zach are getting married in a couple weeks. It would be time to move out even if it wasn’t for grad school.”

“Lane and Zach?” Jess asked, brows furrowed in surprise. “What about that Dave guy?”

Ella sighed softly. “He went to California for college. Eventually, they broke up. And she was on and off with Zach and...I don’t know. He’s not the worst guy. And I know there’s no talking her out of it, anyway.”

“People are gonna do what they’re gonna do,” Jess agreed, thinking back to his own mother’s last wedding.

“I’ll miss her, though. Without Lane, I would probably still have majored in history. Ended up teaching at Stars Hollow High.”

“No way.”

“I’m not so sure. But just seeing Lane play with the band all the time...she looked so happy. Even though she had no money and her mom was pissed at her. I thought maybe actually trying to do what you love wasn’t such a crazy idea,” she explained, voice husky and tired, but so lively.  

It made Jess smile. “That’s great, Eleanor.”

She shrugged again and cleared her throat, wincing slightly. “Ugh, Jesus. Smoking is never worth it. I don’t think I’ve smoked since...since the last time we saw each other. The morning after you left.”

His face fell. There it was. Finally. “I’m sorry, Elle.”

“For what?” she asked dismissively. The past was past.

“For that night. Everything. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It’s okay, Jess.”

“Luke gave me this stupid self-help book and I read it and we kinda went to the wedding together and I got...mixed up.”

Smiling softly, Ella shifted in her spot to move a little closer to him. “I’m gonna need more details on that self-help book later.”

He uttered a self-conscious scoff.

“But, really Jess, it’s okay. I understand. And...I just...I wasn’t ready,” she said finally, struggling for her words. “After I moved out of my dad’s house...I still needed Lane. And Lorelai. And Luke. I always thought getting away would fix everything. But...I wasn’t ready for you.”

A sad smile tugged at his lips. “I don’t think I was ready for you, either.”

Breathing deeply, Ella let the moment pass between them. Forgiveness, maybe? On both sides? She wasn’t quite sure what it was, but she knew it made her feel calmer. Maybe ripping old wounds open was worth it if it meant they would finally get the chance to heal.

“I bet you started breaking hearts when you got here though. What with the starry-eyed starving artist thing you’ve got going on,” she said. She knew it was a flimsy attempt at being sly, but she just couldn’t bring herself to ask him outright. And he was letting her sleep in his bed. That was a positive sign. But she needed to know for sure.

He chuckled slightly and shook his head. “Not really. Turns out, people don’t flock to the guy with nothing but a shitty final draft and a duffel bag to his name.” Then, after a beat of silence, sirens blaring from somewhere off in the distance of the city, he spoke again. “What about you?”

The inquisitive, almost hopeful, tone in his voice made her heart skip a beat. “Nothing extraordinary. A couple dates. Guys. Girls. Never got anything to stick.”

“Hm.” Jess paused, watching Ella watch him.

The sound of the singing crickets mixed strangely with the murmur of the city, even in the early Monday morning hours. Ella tried to remember each detail of the present moment. Lying beside Jess in Philadelphia, preparing to go to grad school, finally out from under the thumbs of her father and Stars Hollow. And in love. She decided on it finally. Nothing had changed. She loved Jess as she had for so long, even if she had never truly realized it. Maybe she had, but was too scared to admit it. She thought back to the day he took her to the Met, riding back home in his car, nothing but the dark, empty highway around them. She’d almost said it then. But she hadn’t. Even then, though, she’d been completely his. All or nothing. Do or die.

Slowly, she brought her hand out from under the covers and placed it on his cheek. She stroked his stubbly skin with her thumb. The boy who’d turned into a man all on his own, who had always been so guarded and so kind. Who gave her a bed when she was drunk and bought her charcoals on Valentine’s Day and took her to museums and wrote books for her and hung her drawings on his wall. Who she had taken to a private movie and driven to the emergency room and kissed as an Interpol song played and brought in from the cold. The give and take which had always been there, making her feel safe. Easy. Home.

Taking a moment to close his eyes, Jess quieted all the thoughts screaming in his head.

“I missed you,” she whispered.

“I missed you too,” he replied, too overwhelmed to say much of anything else. He remembered the night on the bridge when they’d decided to try together. How the nerves had made his stomach churn. But she’d taken his hand in hers. She’d made the first move. And made his whole being feel calm. She had cared for him when he couldn’t care for himself. It made him feel like a teenager again. Her touch. Her voice. Her mind.

He wound his arm around her waist and brought her closer, hugging her tightly. They were silent and comfortable. Eventually, Ella’s breathing deepened and Jess felt her muscles relax, holding her. Outside, he could see the full moon reflecting light against a clear night sky. And he felt so content he could barely shut his eyes for a second, fearful of missing anything.

[v0n-butch]

sixteen

Billy Hargrove x fem reader

“A fic where you and billy are exes, you've not seen him for a while bc you go to different schools. Billy sees you with a guy all over each other in town and goes to a party that night to blow off steam but you're there with your new bf. You and the boyfriend break up at the party because he was being a dick. You go off with billy and spend the night with him” requested by anonymous.

word count: 4,147

warning(s): swearing

a/n: was gonna split this into two chapters bc of how long it is, but I figured why not. this turned out lighter and funnier than I originally thought. oh and I made the reader and Billy nineteen going on twenty. love the idea anon, thank you! tell me in my asks if you guys like longer fics cause I can stretch all mine out. I personally love long ones. let me know! also left the reader’s asshole bf nameless on purpose, you can put in any douchey name you want.

—

If anybody were to tell Billy what he would’ve seen when he went on an innocent trip to the supermarket to pick up his favorite frozen burritos, he would’ve ditched the frozen food and just order in a pizza for himself instead. Nothing could’ve prepared him for the shock, then the disappointment, and not to mention the utter fucking disgust of seeing you play Happy Housewife picking up groceries with a boy holding onto you by your hip. You were laughing with the tall handsome stranger, pointing at the sprinkled donuts as if there was something hilarious or entertaining about them.

Billy had originally been strolling through the aisles at ease, happy to get out of the house and go do something besides work, class, or going to the gym. Becoming a young adult for Billy meant chores like grocery shopping, and attending community college as a fresh start, also working at the car place down the street from town. He’d been doing good for a change, and it was a different feeling for him. Usually something (or in this case someone) would have him kicking and screaming his way back to his old self. Back when he was never anything but angry, sat around and blamed the world and refused to properly deal with his feelings, or think over his actions. However, college started and he met new people, strived to better himself not just physically but mentally. He even ditched his regular tough guy workout diet, replacing the protein shakes once in awhile and grabbing a case of colorful mouth-watering mini cupcakes for himself instead. He was hoping to treat himself because he deserved it, but this is what the world would rather graciously gift him: his ex girlfriend pawing at some douchey delinquent right in front of his face.

Billy reacted quick, almost embarrassingly quick, hiding himself behind the nearest corner with his back to the wall, his treats still sitting in the grocery basket as he cautiously peeked around to see if you were coming closer in his direction. Seeing as though you weren’t there anymore, he thanked his lucky stars and at last minute grabbed a bucket of vanilla ice cream from the nearest freezer section, because he fucking can, thank you very much. That’s what seeing “the one that got away” sucking face with somebody else at the store had done to the poor boy. The blonde anxiously tiptoed around the perimeter of the store, looking for your hair or that guy’s ugly face. After his target seemed to have vanished in thin air, thankfully, Billy sighed in deep relief and ran a hand over his suddenly warm face, coming down from the mini panic attack that you just unknowingly put him through. He thought you’d ditch Hawkins like you always said you would, find a better home to break more boys’ hearts and get a degree somewhere fancy. But then again, Billy remembers that there’s a lot of things you said you would do and ended up not doing.

“Hi, thank you for shopping with us. Would this be all for you today?” The kind middle aged woman behind the cash register asked. Billy scratched his head before forgetting if Max asked for anything or not, then decided whatever munchies she wanted could wait for next time. But first Billy needed to find another fucking store to shop at now, feeling like this place made Hell look like a playground with you and lover boy waltzing around, having a jolly time.

“Um, d’you think we could get this over with? ‘M kinda in a hurry here,” Billy laughs out of his anxiety, seeing the cashier woman take her time ringing him up. He squeamishly reached into his back pocket for his wallet and pulled out a few bucks then handed them over. She took the bills and slided them into the register one by one after scanning all of his items.

“Of course, sir. Would you like your receipt in the bag, or —?” Billy nodded his head and rushed to grab his bagged goodies before his name got called by a voice he never wanted to hear again.

“Billy?”

Holy mother of God.

Billy slowly turned around as if he were a kid getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and there you were. He didn’t want to make it obvious that he was checking you out, seeing if you’ve changed a lot or just a little since three and a half years ago. And you did. You matured quite a bit, got a new hairstyle that suits you, and you have a cute outfit on with your usual style that hasn’t changed drastically since you were sixteen. Billy remembers all your adorable band tees you’d wear, and he also remembers yanking them off of you when he took you to his room. But he probably shouldn’t think about that right now, not with you and your new boyfriend right in front of him.

“Uh... hey,” he breathes out, clearing his throat and straightening out his jacket, even smoothing out his hair like an idiot as if it wasn’t too late to already. As if he still cared what you think of him and his appearance. You raised your brows at him and grinned like it was fucking amusing to see him get so worked up and uncomfortable, still a bitch, then grabbed a hold of the man’s coat and gave it a tug to signal him for his attention. The tall, dark handsome man looks over at Billy as you greet him.

“Hey there, stranger. It’s been a few,” you greet him as if he were an old colleague or some bullshit, not at all like an ex who’s heart you smashed to pieces. It’s unsettling to Billy, and he knows something is up, like you’re not completely being real, not acting like yourself. Even if it’s been a few years, there’s no way in hell you could have tossed your whole personality out the window. “Babe, this is Billy. He’s an old family friend of mine,” you introduce the two boys and they shake hands, your boyfriend’s grip much tighter and Billy’s more hesitant. What the fuck is happening?

“What’re you up to these days?” You inquire, probably faking interest in how he turned out after high school. Billy knows he doesn’t have it in him to stand another second of this conversation, and when shit hits the fan, he bolts.

“You know, sorry but I really gotta go. This was great, uh. Nice seeing you Y/N, and nice meeting you Amigo, ” he snatches his groceries before all but running out of the store, nearly knocking his head into the automatic opening door on the way out, recovering quickly. Leaving your boyfriend confused and you feeling somewhat lonely, suddenly wishing to be sixteen and by his side again.

—

“Family friend? What the fuck was that!” Billy punched the steering wheel before he strapped on his seatbelt and threw his comfort food in the backseat. He can’t believe you, that you’d call him a family friend after all you two had been through. You were the first girl he ever actually found himself liking, and after you transferred to another school and dropped him like trash, you had since been the last girl he ever trusted, too. It was early 1983 when Billy was finally getting the attention from girls he wanted and having the time of his life in his second year of high school. You came around and made the first move asking him out, even calling the shots on what to do when you first started messing around, like the drunk on sex and hormones teenagers you were. You stood out amongst the other girls, he noticed it immediately and thought it would be fun to have a partner he could try out all the stuff he’d wanted to do. Practice was what he had called it, for when the time comes that his performance in bed actually mattered, since he was just a kid that went no further than second base before in his short life.

Things took a turn, and looking back now Billy should’ve seen it coming. Catching feelings and spending an awful lot of time together made him weak, made him more vulnerable than he’d ever been before. You fell for him too, or maybe you just said that to appease him, Billy doesn’t know anymore and gets a headache when he tries putting the puzzle together. Always missing what the point of it all was. Meeting him, smiling at him and making the boy feel special, feel like a real man even at the tender age of sixteen. Teaching him how to fuck, how to make love, how to give head that could make a girl scream and beg for more, more, more. More importantly teaching him that it’s healthy to talk to people about how he feels, listening to others in return. Then out of nowhere, dropping Billy like a fly when you moved and never calling him back after you promised him you would. Like it meant nothing to you.

He had so much he wanted to say to you but you were untouchable. He didn’t know your new address to write you, couldn’t for the life of him look your family up in the phone book either. He’d never felt so hopeless, so alone. And it was a stab in the back that you never lived up to your word, promising you’d keep in contact with him and never forget about him. The then sixteen-year-old cried hard in his pillow every night for weeks wondering what went wrong to have you not even try to keep in contact. And to do that, to shove him away in a drawer labeled nothing by calling him a family friend... fuck.

Billy snaps out of the painful flashback and refuses to let any tears out. If he didn’t deserve an explanation or some type of closure, then you didn’t deserve any of his tears. He rubbed his eyes as he sped home, then almost forgets the bags of frozen food in the back with how distracted he had gotten. When he made it into the house, he heated up two of his favorite frozen burritos in the microwave and ate all his sorrow away.

As Billy finished up his greasy deliciousness, he wiped his hands off on his already dirty jeans and answered the telephone attached to the wall that obnoxiously rang. It was Tommy on the line, saying something about some banger being thrown tonight. Just like that, a lightbulb lit up in Billy’s head.

Hell yeah.

Getting drunk, dancing drunk, burying all his feelings in some college girl’s pussy and chugging vodka sounded heavenly. Anything to forget the feelings and thoughts he had that slowly but surely started coming back up to the surface about Y/N.

—

Pretending to have a good time when you’d rather be home asleep is exhausting. The day dragged on with your boyfriend taking you place after place, spending penny after penny on you in hopes to buy your love, your affection, and your time. You sighed and ran your fingers through your hair in distress as lover boy decided to take you to another party you weren’t too keen on attending. Drinking sucked and made you sick, your boyfriend hated when you got stoned, so that ruled out all the fun of these get togethers. You tried to protest but he was insistent on going, it was no use; he had to have everything he wanted, and damn anything or anyone that got in his way.

“I’m serious. Give me the keys. You’ve had your fun, now I can drive you back to yours and you get your car from mine in the morning, alright?” you tried to ask nicely twice already, but he either ignored or refused you. He was passed tipsy already, slurring as he called you names and kept whining about how you never want to have any fun. When you try to take the keys from his back pocket he shoved you away then poured the remainder of his beer in your face. Absolutely humiliated with all eyes on you, you grabbed the nearest full drink not giving a shit who it belonged to and did the same, drenching his face in whatever sticky contents were in the solo cup and gave him the finger, running upstairs. Knowing lover boy he probably won’t even remember what happened tonight, beg for forgiveness, try to buy you back to him. Not happening this time.

Finding the nearest empty room upstairs to cry by yourself then clean off the stench of beer from your face and your clothes, you weren’t quite expecting your ex from three and a half years ago to come stumbling out of the restroom, the toilet flushing behind him as he still struggled to zip himself. He had a cigarette dangling from his mouth too, looking about as “put together” as he did at the store. You laughed at the sight, classic Billy, and he snapped his head over to the sound and his cigarette nearly fell out of his mouth.

“You following me or something?” He asks, giving up on his belt and leaving it undone.

“Oh, actually I am. You caught me,” you replied, sarcasm blatant in your tone. You pulled the knobs to turn the sink on and cupped you’re hands to gather up a pool of water to wash your face that was still drenched in beer. Billy saw how disheveled you looked and wondered if it was because you were having a great time or a horrible time. Based on your attitude, he had to guess it wasn’t the ladder. “Is there anywhere you don’t smoke?” you ask, seeing as though he still smoked like a chimney even while taking a piss.

Billy chooses to ignore that, knowing you already had the answer to that question. Instead, he chooses to comment on your wet hair and beer stinking up your clothes. “Trouble in paradise?” He asks conversationally. You looked up at him and scoffed, giving him a glimpse of your ruined mascara now running down your cheeks.

“I’m not in paradise,” you answer vaguely, not wanting to bother him with the details. You just knew he wanted an I Told You So, but you were stubborn enough not give it to him.

“Sure seems like it,” he responds. You want to roll your eyes at the signature attitude he’s giving, but can’t help feeling odd by the fact that you two were alone in a room together and he still hadn’t put his belt on properly.

“You look like an idiot. Come here,” you beckon him with your finger and he doesn’t move a muscle, just staring at you with his sultry blue eyes. “Alright, have it your way. I’ll come to you, prick,” after taking four steps to meet him you yank his belt then strap it on the tightest hole possible, finishing up by lacing the strap through the belt loops. While pulling away, Billy meets your eyes and holds your stare, not even blinking before he snaps out of it and goes back to brat mode.

“Thanks, but I’m not a goddamn child anymore. And you stink like PBR.”

“Oooh, sick burn, dude. It was a Budlight, by the way. That all you have left in you?”

“No, I have more. You got time to hear ‘em?”

“Got all night.”

—

You and Billy stayed upstairs and got to catching up, also throwing immature insults like “you peaked at sixteen” and “at least I don’t smoke on the toilet.” When you both finally let up and started laughing at your past mistakes and not holding grudges because of them, that’s when the energy in the room took a turn and you now remember that this is the Billy you knew. The doofus in the supermarket that ran into the door. Now you both lay on the bed, the blonde boy propped up by the headboard still chainsmoking, and you on the other end of the bed with your feet in his lap. Billy’s heart sings with how much he missed this, missed talking and just fucking around with eachother. Not taking anything serious. It was one of the many favorite qualities he had about you.

“Shit, I can’t even believe you’re really here. Never thought I’d see you again,” he murmurs while looking down at you, playfully tickling your feet that were in front of him. You reacted by almost kicking him in the face with laughter, then demanded he knock it off to which he surrendered.

“Well, same goes for me I guess. I can’t believe you don’t even try buttoning your shirts,” you say as he laughs and hides his face in his hands, adorably self conscious. “It’s hot though, don’t get me wrong. I can forgive you for that,” you sit up and reach to tug on the collar of his red button up, before you suddenly remember how you got here in the first place. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Billy snaps his head up at the change in conversation, seeing as though you’re both getting to that point of the night. When you really start to talk about everything.

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

You keep your eyes trained on him and scoot further up the bed right next to him before taking his cigarette from his mouth and giving it a drag yourself.

“Can you take me home?”

Billy turns his body towards yours and wraps one arm over your shoulder, as if protecting you. “I don’t know where you live anymore,” he rubs your back and let’s you lean your head in his exposed chest.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” you whisper as he nods in understanding, taking his keys from his pocket and opening the bedroom door and opening it for you.

—

Billy drove you to his apartment and led you up to his room, which he kept much neater than he did back in the day. He even had a bookcase that was filled with the classics as well as a variety of horror novels. Posters of naked playboy women were removed and instead he now had his class schedule hung up along with metal bands and movie posters decorating the walls. His bed was unmade, but what made you laugh out loud was seeing three rolls of tissue that were crumbled up on his bedside table.

“What? I’m getting over a cold, you asshole.” He defended himself as he took off his shirt, not caring to tell you to leave as he changed. You had to double take when you saw the ink on his upper arm, where a cheesy old fashioned skull tattoo lay.

“You can’t be serious — this isn’t real. That cannot be real,” your eyes wide with disbelief and not asking for permission before trying to rub it off, expecting it to smudge.

“Nope. It’s totally real,” he goes on to tell you his experience going in and getting it on his eighteenth birthday after feeling extra rebellious. After his story was finished he realizes he forgot to ask if you’d even eaten dinner yet. “You hungry at all? Got these kickass frozen burritos, plenty to share,” he wiggles his eyebrows at you, and you agree that they sound fantastic right about now. Billy leads you back downstairs to the kitchen and plopping a couple of them on a plate and heating them up in the microwave.

“Billy, can I tell you something?”

“Uh, sure. If you wanna ruin our meal then go for it,” Billy answers, burning his fingers on the hot plate when he tries taking it out. The boy hissed and cursed, holding his sensitive hand as if it were a wounded animal. Still sitting at the kitchen table, you roll your eyes at his stupidity and impatience then grab the oven mittens from a drawer and grab the plate for you two.

“It’s hot,” you say obviously, stopping him from taking a bite of the sizzling meal.

“Yeah, thanks for the heads up.”

“I’m serious. We’ve been avoiding it all night, but I know I hurt you when I didn’t keep in touch like I said—“

“Y/N, stop.”

“No. You need to understand-“

“I said stop.” he snaps, quickly transitioning to defense mode, vastly uncomfortable with the change in subject. It was silent for too long, and Billy didn’t want to wait any longer for the food to cool, taking a bite and spilling beans down his shirt. “Goddammit,” he grumbled before you took the lead and grabbed a napkin to clean his tank top.

“You need a bib,” you advise.

“You’re not my fucking mom, alright! You ask me to to take you back here, make me feel like a child. You’re the child. You are! Go back to your snobby little boy toy, why don’t you? Christ.” he rubs his eyes after finishing his tangent, talking more under his breath about how “unbelievable” you are, and taking another sloppy bite from the burrito but nevertheless passing the plate to you and offering you some.

“I’m not hungry anymore, and I dumped my ‘boy toy’ right when he dumped his Budlight on me.” you quote Billy’s nickname for your new ex, then your stomach interrupts you by rumbling. He looks at you and then the plate knowingly. With a sigh, you grab the burrito and take a few nibbles before wiping your hands. Billy starts to stomp back up to his room before calling your name, pausing at the top of the stairs.

“I’m going to the gym tomorrow, Max is sleeping over at her friend El’s. You don’t have to stay.”

—

Billy doesn’t know what made him clam up so fast. Maybe it was how you still treated him like he was stupid, or that you wouldn’t drop it and bring up the breakup when he thought he was actually having a nice night. As soon as he enters his room he throws a pillow across the room and pouts before laying on his bed staring up at the ceiling. He surges for his back up pack of smokes and lights one up, the nicotine relieving him of his anxiety. Eventually he had to get up again to take a piss and when he exited the bathroom, there you were, waiting for him.

“Can’t get rid of me, William.”

“Who got rid of who last time, huh?” He blows smoke in your face with a smirk, happy about the cleverness of his comeback. “I already forgave you. Don’t bother.” He told you, strolling back to his room with his smoke trailing behind him.

“I’m sorry for referring to you as a family friend. Honestly, if he were to hear anything different he would’ve hurt me and then he would’ve killed you.” Billy stopped and turned around to where you stand, seeing your eyes brimmed with tears as you held your chest, trying your hardest not to fall apart.

Tugging on his heart strings since he was sixteen, Billy can’t help but give in.

“Come here.”

You fall into his warm embrace, with “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” I’m repeat and he shushes you while petting your hair, holding you tight.

“Y/N, baby, don’t cry. Please don’t cry,” he pleads, not standing it when you’re sad and especially when he was the cause of it.

“I left you and I didn’t talk to you ever again because I’m replaceable. You could’ve found any other girl or... or anybody to keep you company the rest of high school. But you spent it moping about losing me like the fucking idiot you are!” you laugh out loud, and it wasn’t humorous. Billy leads you in his room and ashes his cigarette without taking his hands off you.

“Listen. No, listen to me. Shut the fuck up. I didn’t mope about just any girl, and I don’t ever cry and bitch about her leaving me unless she meant the fucking world to me,” he takes your head in his hands, wanting to make you understand.

“I still love you. Even if you smoke on the toilet and do all the other weird shit you do,” you smile as you sniffle, embaressed about getting his shirt wet. Billy assured you that it didn’t matter then pulls you close to his lips.

“And I love you, even if you still reek like PBR.”

“It was a Budlight that was thrown at me, actually.”

“Shut up.”

And now Billy can say he’s never been more grateful he went to the supermarket for his favorite frozen burritos that morning.

—

sorry this sooo long but the idea was just too cute for it to be a small basic one shot!!

[peterthepark]

crush culture - [two]

call it fate, call it caffeine

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: coffee can help with a lot of things - and one of them entails becoming closer to your crush.

warnings: strong language, caffeine, FLUFF, uses of social media and brief mentions of cheating

A/N: loved writing this chapter a lot. hope u enjoy everyone! :)

Drumming your fingers against the counter, you began to adjust the obnoxious green hat on your head, frowning at the long line of customers before you. It wasn’t that you hated your job - you just... preferred not doing it (which in your opinion, was completely valid, despite how ridiculous it sounded). However, you did like caffeine and the perks that came with being an employee at your favorite shop. You’d see cute guys sometimes - they’d order the most blasphemous things off the menu - and sometimes you’d gain the courage to ask them out after your shift. Most of the times, they’d say yes, recognizing you from their classes or in the hallways on campus. Exchange numbers, plan the first date, show up, and let it all unfold naturally - yet nothing progresses.

Your love life was bitter, unlike how you liked your coffee.

You squeal excitedly when Nate Mendoza walks through the double doors, calling out your name with a sing-song voice. Of course, you cherished your dear friendship with your roommates, but Nate was just that one friend you couldn’t shake off or forget - no matter the circumstances.

He was also undoubtedly attractive: his blue eyes, a stark contrast to his dark hair. But despite the many rumors and claims that the two of you have been dating, he had a girlfriend back home; you had a strictly platonic relationship with the boy, who was almost like a brother to you.

“What’s up, Y/L/N?” He high fives you over the counter, attempting the handshake that you had developed over the course of your friendship. “Can I get, uh...”

“One chocolate chip cookie with a vanilla latte?” You smirk proudly, having memorized his order as well. He nods with a wide grin, handing you his credit card. “Coming right up, Mendoza.”

Conveniently, you were nearing your break. So after you had gotten Nate’s order sorted, you approached him with his pastry and mug, setting it down on the little corner table that he loved to sit by. You complimented his outfit, and cooed at how long his hair had gotten. Living in Chicago made it difficult for you to hang out with Nate, but he mostly would drive down for the holidays to visit.

“Has it been that long?” You nod your head, counting the amount of months that he’s been M.I.A. “That’s crazy! Alright, tell me about college. Give me the whole experience.”

“Okay, well. It’s not too great. Lots of coffee and studying - a lot of them being for pointless shit that I’m pretty sure I won’t need when I get my actual job. Uh, parties. I literally went to a party like yesterday! You should’ve told me you were in town! I would’ve brought you along.” You nudge his hand from across the table, smiling when he offers you a piece of his cookie.

“Fuck, man. I’m too tired for parties.” He smacks his lips together, wagging his index finger at you as he waited for the right words to come to him. “Ah! Have you gotten a boyfriend yet? Or - or a girlfriend for that matter?” You shake your head with disappointment. “It’s probably cause your game is weak.”

“Okay, okay!” You laugh at him, covering your mouth as you chew on his food. “I’m not - I don’t know, Nate. I guess I just haven’t been looking for anyone? M’too busy for that shit.”

“That’s because you aren’t supposed to look.” Nate scoffs, causing you to glance up at him in interest. “That - that special person is supposed to come to you. Trust me, when the-“

“Time is right, it’ll happen.” You give him a small smile. “Hopefully I won’t have too wait that long.”

Sadly, your break is over after talking to Nate for what felt like ages. You retreat to the register once again after washing your hands, putting on a cheery front for customers. Nate insists that he’ll stay for the rest of your shift, wanting to spend more time with you afterwards.

Collecting your things, you sling your purse over your shoulder, nodding your head towards the door so that Nate follows. The frigid air bites at your skin, and you curse yourself for not bringing a jacket.

“Here, take mine.” Nate shrugs his off, draping it over your smaller frame.

“God, have you even washed this shit?” You joke, tugging it tighter around yourself for warmth.

“Yeah, I have. Like maybe four months ago.”

“You disgust me.” You chuckle, shoving his arm.

You’re rounding the corner of the sidewalk when you see a familiar face approach: brown fluffy hair, denim jacket, and a red bike - yeah, that’s definitely Steve Harrington.

“Oh, we should go back,” You’re about to turn around until Nate glares at you, narrowing his eyes at you suspiciously.

“Alrighty, then. I’m not gonna question it.” He shrugs, following you once again.

The universe is a fucking bitch. You take it all back.

“Y/N?”

You and Nate pause in your steps, and you have no choice but to face him.

“Oh, hey, Steve. Funny, uh, funny seeing you here.” You grin, ignoring the dirty look that Nate was sending him.

“Hey, yeah. Um, what are you up to? I was just - just gonna go get coffee at Fran’s.” His eyes flicker to Nate, visibly eyeing him up and down.

This was the guy who was in the picture with you.

Steve masks the scowl on his face with a easy smile, pulling his earbuds out of his ears.

“I actually just finished my shift there.” You sway from one foot to the other, hands tucked beneath Nate’s jacket. “Sucks we didn’t get to see each other.”

“Well, good thing I ran into you then.” You dip your head at the remark, and before you can continue again, Nate is holding his hand out for Steve to shake.

“Don’t think we’ve ever met. I’m Nathan.” There was a tone in your friend’s voice that you couldn’t place, and suddenly, he seemed intimidating. Poor Steve seemed uneasy. You don’t miss the tiny twitch in his eye when Nate squeezes a bit too hard. “And you are?”

C’mon, Nate. Why do you have to be such a fucking asshole to him?

“Steve. Uh, you guys are... friends?”

You nearly jump when Nate’s arm snakes around your waist, pulling you into his side. “Something like that. Yeah.”

Oh, this dickhead. This overprotective, complete, idiotic dickhead.

You glance away from Steve, trying to avoid his questioning gaze as it bounces from you to Nate, then back again.

“Um, well - well, it was nice running into you, Y/N... and, uh, you too, Nathan.” Steve clears his throat, rubbing at the nape of his neck. “Hopefully I’ll catch you at work one day. Maybe hang out or something.” He chuckles, running a hand through his hair.

He wanted to hang out?

You exchange an excited grin with him. “Yeah, of course. Have a good day, Steve.”

“Right. Bye, again.” He hops back on his bike, pedaling away. You don’t hesitate to look back at him as he rides off - maybe your eyes are playing tricks on you, but he looks back as well. And you smile.

That is until Nate starts interrogating you, causing you to get a bit pissed.

“Dude, what is your deal?” You huff at him, shaking your head with irritation.

“That’s Steve Harrington.”

“Okay, and?” You cross your arms against your chest, protesting when Nate pulls you closer to him as he frowns at the people who decide to walk right through your conversation. “Nate, what about him?”

“He’s an asshole.”

“And so are you.“ You gesture at him, letting your hand fall lazily against your thigh. Nate raises his eyebrows at you, patiently waiting for you to quit talking. “Fine, then. What do you mean?”

“I’ve heard some shit from - from a few people. He cheated on Olivia with that sorority girl.”

Cheated? He was a cheater?

“Those were rumors. And besides, why are you telling me this? It’s not like I care.”

Oh, but you do care. You care immensely.

“Really? Because the way you were looking at each other said otherwise.” You’re about to interject, but Nate holds a hand up, shushing you. “I’m just lookin’ out for you, kiddo. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t have a crush on him-“

“I do not have a crush on him.”

Liar.

“You sure?” You nod confidently, squaring your shoulders. “Just don’t come crying to me if he decides to break your heart, Y/N.”

“You’re a very mean person. And I’m suddenly not cold anymore.” You shrug his jacket off, handing it to him with a dramatic pout.

“I’m only mean because I‘m trying to protect you.” You nod gratefully at his words, but the thoughts at the back of your head don’t stop swarming you.

You didn’t want to believe Nate’s claims of Steve being a cheater, but then again, who’s to say that they aren’t actually true?

-

“Do you guys know anything about Steve and Olivia?” You turn the sink on, soap roaming around your hands as you scrub delicately at the dirty dishes.

“Steve and Olivia? Girl, that’s ancient history.” Kate cackles, throwing her head back against the sofa to give you a look of attitude. “Why are you asking?”

“Heard some stuff about them. Just wondering.”

“All that crap is bullshit.” Robin pipes up through a mouthful of cereal, chewing obnoxiously as she gestures at you. “His ex-girlfriend started those rumors to get back at him. It’s stupid. Reminds me too much of high school drama.” She scoffs, shaking her head.

“Speaking of Steve, have you texted him?” Kate cocks her brow at you, smirking mischievously.

Robin nearly spits out her Lucky Charms at the question.

“You have Steve’s number?!” She squeaks, holding the back of her hand to her mouth with shock. “Oh, my god. I see it now.”

“Right?” Kate turns to her. “I saw it from the beginning.”

“What the fuck are we seeing? What is there to see?You shut the sink off, placing your hands on your hips as you move to stand in front of the TV. “Am I supposed to be seeing something? Because if you don’t know, I’m actually fucking blind.”

“You like Steve!” Robin says in a sing-song voice, pointing her spoon at you. Giggles fill the room as your face turns red, and you begin to pace back and forth.

“I do not like him! Why is everyone thinking that I like him?”

“You’re being-“

“I’m not defensive!” Your chest heaves as Robin and Kate exchange knowing look, both sharing identical smiles as they look you up and down. Clearing your throat awkwardly, you ruffle at your hair, bunching it up into a mess. “Okay, maybe I do. Just a little.”

You wince when a ear-piercing scream escapes from Kate, who runs up to tackle you in a jumping embrace. Robin makes kissing noises in the background, squishing her cheeks together.

“You have to text him, Y/N.” Kate lets go of you, grabbing your hand in support.

“No, no, no way.” You toss your hands up, waving the idea away as you plop down onto the beanbag in the corner. “I’m surely not gonna text him.”

“What are you so afraid of? You have nothing to lose!” She points out as Robin hums in agreement. You bite down on your thumb, training your eyes onto the grey carpet.

“What if he doesn’t like me? What if - what if when he gets to know me, he’ll be disappointed?” You ramble.

“Okay, well, how are you gonna answer that question if you haven’t given him a try?” Robin shrugs at you, standing up to hand you your phone. “Take a risk. Fuck everything.”

Yeah.

Fuck everything, right?

“I’m doing this alone.” You chuckle, taking your phone into your bedroom.

“Don’t send nudes, please!”

“And no sexting in this apartment!”

You huff at the wolf whistles of your two roommates, teasing you from the living room. Switching on the lamp on your nightstand, you slide under your covers as you pull up Steve’s contact. You groan aloud, feeling a build-up in your nerves as you stare at the string of numbers.

Texting seemed too formal. You curse at yourself for backing out, resorting to the confines of pointless Instagram stories to free your mind. Almost as if the universe had heard your cry for help, a colored ring appears around Steve’s profile picture, and without hesitation, you excitedly tap on it.

Based on the photo, Steve seemed to be in one of the campus’ libraries, pulling a late-night study session by himself. You pause for a minute, before you slowly swipe up on the screen, which brought you the option to send him a message.

need a coffee refill? ☺️

Sent.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You instantly lock your phone after it sends, holding a pillow to your face as you let out a muffled scream. You kick at your sheets with heart-pounding anticipation, trying your hardest not to peek at your phone for another five minutes in fear of getting no reply.

Then, a notification pops onto your lockscreen, and your hands fumble to open it.

i would love one

Typing...

from you specifically :)

With a dreamy smile, your limbs shift with giddiness as you move to lay on your stomach, legs swinging mindlessly in the air.

want me to come over? 😂

Maybe you shouldn’t have said that.

ur serious?

Fuck. Was that appropriate? Did you force him into a situation that he’d have to awkwardly say no to?

i don’t mind

i could rlly use the company then 😁

so what’s your drink of choice?

hmmmm

surprise me 😩

You chuckle, shaking your head at the suggestion.

just don’t be mad if i get u something terrible

on my way 😇

With a sigh of relief, you hastily move to slip on a sweatshirt, grabbing your phone and car keys as you tiptoe out of the bedroom.

Robin lays on the sofa, snoring lightly as you try to quietly unlock the front door.

“Mmm... where you going?”

Ah, shit.

“Gonna go for a walk.” You reply casually.

She turns onto her side, peering at you with droopy eyes. “It’s midnight.”

“I’ll be back. Don’t worry.”

Okay, you do like Steve.

You like him a lot.

That‘s pretty fucking obvious enough... because who the hell gets out of bed at twelve in the morning to go buy coffee for some boy they’ve just started talking to?

You hiss when your palms come in contact with the steaming hot coffee, one carried in each hand. There aren’t many students left in the library - most of them cramming for exams or either falling under the cursed spell of sleep. You double check Steve’s message, searching for him towards the back of the building. Your heart beats faster when you catch sight of his profile, nearly walking right past him from how nervous you were making yourself. His earbuds are in, obviously unaware of your arrival as he rapidly types at his laptop.

You set the two coffees down, laughing softly at how Steve jumps in genuine surprise. He looks up at you, mouth agape. He suddenly realizes how much of a mess he looks, and he quickly runs his hands through his hair to fix it.

“Y/N, what - you actually came.” A smile tugs at his lips, and he pulls out the chair beside him for you to sit in.

“You wanna get rid of me already?” You joke, finding amusement in Steve’s distraught expression.

“No!” He says a little too loudly. “No, no, s’nothing like that. I just didn’t think you’d go out of your way to see me. Especially at...” He checks his watch. “...one in the morning.”

“Well, how else are you gonna make it through this night? Or morning, technically?” You hand him his coffee, warning him that it’s a bit hot. “I hope you like white chocolate.”

He takes a sip from the lidded drink, nodding his head at the sugary flavor. “Shit’s good.”

“Seriously?” You chuckle.

“You got taste, Y/N.” He gestures, subconsciously bumping his knee against your thigh as he returns to working, yet still taking the time to hold a conversation with you.

“Okay, so fill me in. What’s going on here?”

Steve explains that he’s got a big essay to work on for one of his minor subjects, and at the same time, he’s stuck with studying for a huge test from his criminal justice course. You listen attentively, trying your best to understand the complex terms he uses in his rambling state.

“Sorry if I went overboard. I just really, really like my major, even if it stresses the fuck out of me.” He scoffs nervously, running his hand through his hair.

“No, it’s great to hear someone so passionate about their studies. It’s super inspiring. I think it’s cute.”

Oh, hell.

You did not just say that he was cute. Sure, you said it in a completely indirect way, but you still fucking called him cute.

Steve blushes, dipping his head down to avert his eyes from you. “Uh, y-you wanna listen to music with me?”

You nod with enthusiasm (slightly embarrassed on the inside), before putting the left earbud into your ear as Steve hits the play button on his playlist. You smile when you recognize the song, it being from one of your favorite artists.

“No way! I love this one!” You sway in your seat, chuckling as Steve mimics your movements. You whisper-shout the lyrics to one another, creating microphones with your fists as you hold it to your mouths. You ignore the weird stares from the other students in the room, only having eyes on Steve as you reach the ending of the impromptu duet.

“Oh, my god, that was - that was great.” He doubles over onto the desk with laughter, feeling himself already perk up from the caffeine. “I didn’t know you had such amazing taste in music. First, coffee, now this? You’re the best.” He points his pen at you, raising his eyebrows with clear satisfaction as you continue discussing your favorite songs.

The best.

He called you the best.

“Thanks, Steve.”

After another hour of conversation and studying, you both begin to wrap things up. Steve tosses the empty cups of coffee into the nearest bin, thanking you as you help him pack up his textbooks and laptop.

He kindly holds open the door for you on your way out, letting it swing shut behind him as the windy air nips at his ears. He walks you to the parking lot, driving his bike with his hands as he comes to a stop by your van.

“W-would you like a ride back to your place?” You offer, rubbing at the sleeves of your sweatshirt. “It’s really cold and dark outside, so...”

Steve smiles. “Yeah, thank you, Y/N.”

“No problem.”

The turn signal ticks loudly as you round the street towards Steve’s apartment. His bike rattles in the backseat, folded over to fit the van.

“I hope your, uh, your boyfriend is okay with this.” Steve sniffles from the heater, scratching the underside of his jaw.

“My boyfriend?”

“Yeah, that Nathan guy from earlier today? He’s your boyfriend, right?”

Well, shit.

“Oh, jesus. He totally isn’t. Trust me.” Steve sends you a questioning look, doubt written all over his features. “I’m serious, Steve. He’s just my best friend, and he’s protective over me, kinda like a brother.”

“That’s good.”

Why was that good? Good that Nate wasn’t your boyfriend? Good that you weren’t dating anybody?Steve couldn’t have possibly liked you back.

Unless... he did?

You shut the engine off when you arrive at his place, walking with him into the lobby. The elevator ride is mostly silent, but there’s an unrecognizable tension that wavers in the air.

He stops you for a second before he unlocks the door to his apartment, twirling his keys between his fingers.

“Uh, I wanted to say thank you for keeping me company. I had lots of fun with you earlier.” He smiles down at you.

“Me too, Steve. You’re a really sweet guy.” You chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“And you’re a sweet girl.”

Oh, woah.

Wow. Wow. Wow.

Steve clears his throat, continuing with a casual tone of voice. “Listen, I was wondering if I could... if I could get your number? Maybe we can hang out again or something, if you’re like available, you know.”

Holy fuck.

Say something. Say anything.

“Yeah, I would like that.”

Steve nods happily, taking his phone out from his pocket. He pretends as if he didn’t have your number in the first place, re-entering it into your already saved contact.

“Okay, great! Thanks. Uh, thank you for... for walking me here. And earlier, which I already mentioned - okay! I’m gonna go now.” He points at his door, cringing at himself with a disappointing sigh.

Confidently, you pull him into an embrace, making the butterflies in your stomach rejoice when he returns the hug with a tighter squeeze.

“Good night, Y/N.” He mumbles into your hair before stepping away.

“You as well, Steve.”

A smirk forms on his lips. “I’ll text you, yeah?”

“I’ll be waiting.” You lightly bounce on your heels, biting your lip as you finally lock eyes with him.

Suddenly, Steve’s hand reaches around behind you, causing your eyes to widen with surprise. He pulls the hood of your sweatshirt over your head, letting it cover your ears and parts of your hair.

His fingers trail down the uneven drawstrings, gently tugging on them.

“It’s cold outside.”

“I know.”

“Don’t want you to get sick.” You can’t fight the grin on your face, watching carefully as Steve turns open the door to his apartment. “Well, get home safe, Y/N.”

Flustered, you start to stutter over your words, forgetting all the right things to say. “You too!”

Idiot.

With one final smile and a sweet gaze in your direction, Steve slowly shuts the door, leaving you in the hallway. You slap at your reddened face when you hear the lock click, scolding yourself for saying something completely idiotic at the last minute.

Meanwhile, Steve leans on the other side of the door, resting his head against the smooth surface as he stares up at the ceiling in an enchanted state of mind. Silently, he begins to jump joyously before he victoriously pumps his fists into the air.

Who ever thought that coffee could draw two souls closer together?

TAGLIST

@aphrodites-perfume @itsametaphorbriansblog @delicrieux @ultrunning @l0ve-0f-my-life @novaddictx @liakgs @loulouloueh @charming-fan-girl

[drtenebrisxii]

Lost Traveler - Chapter 8 - Prudence

(more chapters here: deviantart.com/arcadian123/art/Lost-Traveler-8-Story-Prudence-863333735 )

The meditation chambers were empty rooms that were completely white. they were also possessed by an empathetic spirit. This meant that the room would take different forms, show different images and provide different sounds and other items to help the one inside to focus and meditate. For Flare, it became an exact replica of her bedroom at her palace, with a sunset visible through her window and the sound of the mutterings of the many conversations that took place in there… nostalgia immediately hit her and she cried silently for a few minutes before she could regain control of her feelings and could start to meditate.

She alway knew that being a heroine would not be easy, but she expected that she’d always knew what the right course of action was: Go and beat the bad guys as quickly as possible, the longer one takes, the more damage they can make. Now she has like 4 guys telling her that that’s not the right thing to do, two are powerful wizards, the other two are scientific “geniuses”. And all of them say the same thing: let’s get the help of bigger and slower authorities to minimize chances of failure. Prudence. Her Mother wouldn’t like that very much, but then again, she was the highest authority of the Sky Kingdom, so she could do whatever she wanted. Her Father would have told her… probably, something similar to what those 4 said. Her father was the one that requested her to forget her dreams and do her duties as a princess since sacrificing her dreams of adventuring for the betterment of the kingdom would be the really heroic thing to do and was the most prudent course of action.

-Why is Prudence needed in this situation, though?- she wondered out loud- All I need to do is go there and destroy the evil clone… undoing all the stuff she’d done in my place. Is not that hard!-. Why were they all doing this? Why were they trying so hard to stop her from solving things directly? Were they so confident in her failure without their help? That annoyed her. How dare them. And especially Nyepu! He had seen first hand what she could do! yeah, he had to help her a little but she could slaughter an army of savage Daemons all by herself! How is he not confident that she could just defeat a damn copy of herself?!

She huffed in annoyance at her thoughts, that damn Celio making her promise stupid things. She shouldn’t have allowed that guy to intimidate her… well, ok, she is not disrespecting a venerable Necromancer, he is the kind of guy that can just go and put her soul out of her body if he so wishes… which means that he can help her solve things quickly!

-He talked about a shadow coming, though… well, maybe we could just beat that shadow to it instead of waiting...- She sighed in frustration. She already gave them her word. -I’ll wait… I just… need to focus and then put things in perspective to those four idiots… I don’t know why they all think I’ll fail, I don’t know why they are being so careful about this, but they need to know that we all do things differently- she sighed again, trying to relax and control her feelings. Her thoughts had led her to the truth: the guys didn’t trust in her skills, they were being very prudent with her for this, obviously… wait, that meant that her fathers were like that with her mother because they didn’t trust her skills?! No… that couldn’t be, The Queen would never allow anyone question her capabilities, not even her lovers, but, on the other side, they were her helpers, so of course she had to hear them out. Still, she was the Queen, so she could ignore their advice and suggestions to go on with her own choices… yeah, no one questions the Queen, she, in her great majesty and wisdom, can hear others out but would always be the one taking the choices... -I’ll put those four in their place- she would do that after getting a better hold of her emotions, indignation and frustration were still high in her being.

Nyepu was not a happy dragon.

Just as Giorgio had anticipated, the Admin was very annoyed with this whole ordeal. The equipment Nyepu required for the tests was expensive, therefore, there were not many devices available and bringing them to the Temple of the Holy Darkness meant that a lot of projects would be delayed. The Dragon researcher had to weather a lot of angry looks and annoyed glares, he also had to give many an explanation and apology. And of course, traverse the damn dessert. Again. Twice.

-Meow… you guys really needed a lot of stuff…- would comment Amcel as the researchers and some extra helpers they brought with them put all the stuff together. Amcel and a few of his students would look from a distance, almost as if...

-Just so you know, scientific equipment rarely explodes… and we are all professionals here, don’t worry about anything- comments the dragon as he was testing one of his biological devices. They had taken a fraction of the Temple’s Hall to install their equipment.

-I can’t believe we are doing this here… this is stupid- comments Giorgio, while checking the computer they just finished installing- we could have started with the tests sooner but nooooo, we had to worry about some random shadow…- many of the students shudered or flinched at the mention of the shadow.

-Look on the bright side, with so many wizards, at least one should be able to help us quicken things…- comments the dragon.

-if you need to accelerate a process, we can do it, but you’d need to give us precise indications- comments the felyxin Adeptus, sounding very civil. - Master Celio wants us to collaborate for the wellbeing of Lady Flare, the sooner we help her the least time for her to develop crazy ideas- Nyepu would sigh at that as he went to help with the installation of another device that looked like a shower.

-I doubt so, she is a heroine and a good girl… Celio made her promise something and she will keep her word- comments him. Giorgio would approach to the same device and help as well with some connections.

-Wow… now I’m feeling jellous… since when do you have such a high image of her?- asks him with a blush and an annoyed look. Nyepu and Amcel chuckled and Giorgio pouts.

-I do have you in high regards as well, Giorgio, you are just annoying- says the dragon with a grin before focusing on making some other connections in the device.

-I-idiot…- says Giorgio, crossing his arms and blushing more.

-I agree with Nyepu, you don’t need to know her for long to know she is someone with strong values- says Ancelm as his students begin to leave to do their own things.-Why are you helping her, though? Still under the influence of the blood magic?- the feline grins and Giorgio gives the Adeptus a look before looking at Nyepu. The dragon was still working, close to finish with his part of the work and finally start the tests when he says:

-This is Giorgio’s fault- said him simply.

-NO IT IS NOT!- yelled Giorgio and Ancelm laughed. - I didn’t brought that stupid bird with me! and who was the PSYCHO who decided to pursue her despite the FUCKING SAVAGE DAEMONS!?- Ancelm laughed even more, Nyepu chuckled a little as well.

-I’d say someone lost his fear to those monsters after his little adventure in the ocean…- says Ancelm and Nyepu rolls his eyes.

-I should have brought you with me, wizard…- the dragon finishes checking the device and sighs - Well, I think that we are ready to go…-

-You hadn’t answered my question: why are you doing this? what do you gain?- presses Ancelm.

-A little reputation and probably a nice business partner in the Sky Kingdom- says Giorgio.- and well, Nyepu’s heart finally warmed up for someone so I’m protecting that- said him, giving a sly look to Nyepu, the dragon just huffed with a slight blush in his white face, Ancelm snickered.

-Shut up...-he said before clearing his throat -but yes, that’s why we are helping her, she doesn’t deserve to be sent to the Sky Kingdom to die without knowing what’s going on, and since we can get some extra benefits in the process, all the better- he shrugs, he then remembers something, a strange and warm thought he had yesterday, right after he discovered the incredibly crazy aspect of Flare’s lack of love life. Every female estirge, at certain age, gets this impulse of getting boyfriends for love, affection, support and sexual intercourse… it was in her blood, and yet, she had managed to fight this impulse to pursue her dream of heroism… not unlike how he constantly fights the call of the sea, or has this lack of heroic or altruistic blood his kin seems to have and be renowned for… “I thought we were unique” but he hadn’t reflected much on that at all recently, mainly because of other urgencies. “Maybe I just thought that under her influence” that idea, though, saddened him and that ultimately bothered the draconic researcher. -Just bring her and let’s get done with this- said him and Ancelm raised a brow before nodding.

-You want some tea and cookies as well, sir?- asked Ancelm jokingly, starting to wander towards the meditation rooms.

-I know you are joking, but… if you do have tea, it would be appreciated- said the dragon,as he, Giorgio and the others took their stations in their improvised scientific cell.

Flare was having a rather unusual experience. Seeing her blood out of her body felt weird for some reason, maybe because  she’d seldom seen it? Also, it definitely was making her hungry as well. Her hunger was only aimed at Nyepu, though. For some reason, the taste of the dragon scientist’s blood was the only thing she was craving right now. “Must be that… bullshit of the blood magic… or my damn biology...” thought her, annoyed at how just seeing at his blue eyes was making her feel flustered. Also, being pierced by a needle was also a funny experience, as in, it didn’t hurt, on the contrary, it felt strangely nice. Yep, all these new experiences made her forget that she was going to “put those four in their place”.

-We have all the blood we needed to run our tests… now, with the help of the wizards, we should have the results in a few hours- announced Nyepu before taking a sip from a cup of tea, seemingly ignoring the way she kept looking at him. “I can control it, I don’t need his damn blood… also… he’d most  probably deny it, no matter what” -If you are feeling hungry, you may take some of my blood- he offered looking at her and Flare almost falls in surprise, quickly regaining her flying, Giorgio made a face and Ancelm grinned.

-I… I’m ok! - declared her trying to sound offended by the offering and Nyepu shrugged.

-I recommend you at least have some fruit to recover your energies- said him -tha…ngh!- She couldn’t help herself and pierced his arm with her beak “What am I doing?” thought her as she drank his blood.

-s-sorry…- she said quietly, the gem in her neck sending the message to the dragon as she sucked his delicious blood - I… was hungrier than I expected- Nyepu shook his head.

-I understand- the princess noticed him looking at Amcel, who immediately nodded.

-Fascinating- she felt the aura of the feline, that feel of quietness- It is happening…-

-What is happening? - asked her confused after forcing herself to stop… if it were for her, she’d drink even more, but she didn’t want to abuse.

-The Blood magic- said the felixin and she frowned - Your aura is enveloping his, is fascinating since, as you say, I don’t feel emotions from you making it happen, it just happens automatically… that’s impressive and something I’ve hadn’t seen before- Seems that the scientists weren’t the only ones making experiments, she gave an accusing look to Nyepu who just smiled and said:

-I was going to offer you just fruits to recover, but he came up with the idea of making a little experiment… since I’m conscious of what’s going on now, this will help me to train in fighting external influences- said him and she huffed annoyed.

-So I’m just an experiment to you two?!-

-No one said that, lady Flare, we are just… getting as much done with as possible- explains Ancelm - not to mention that this is a great time for you to train on your blood magic-

-NO!- declared her angrily, but Ancelm raised his hands placatingly as the scientists began to work.

-I mean, in getting a hold of it, madame! I won’t insist on you learning to influence others but, maybe you could learn how to… not to?- he offered quickly and this did grab her attention- As I told you, your Aura quickly enveloped Nyepu’s the instant you drank his blood… maybe you can… learn how to dispel it?-

-I’d appreciate that if you did- commented Nyepu, working on injecting some stuff into her blood samples- and I’m sure you’d feel better knowing you can control your own power better-

-You can’t tell how I’d feel over anything- declared her and he shrugged. She couldn’t deny he had a point, though. Considering how delicious was the dragon’s blood, the idea of never sucking blood to not influence others magically sounded… depressing. She sighed and looked at Ancelm - I guess you are right, Adeptus- Ancelm seemed to relax and smiled.

-I’m glad you agree, lady Flare! Let’s begin, then!-

-Look it on the brighter side, miss Flare, now you and Nyepu have something in common: both are test subjects!- would comment Giorgio giving the dragon and bird a toothy grin, both returned him an annoyed glare.

It was clear that while Flare was a master in combat magic, she just sucked at controlling her aura. She knew the basics and knew them very well, that’s why she could start a clash of wills with Ancelm back in the day they met, but that was, actually, the limit of her control of Aura. After a few broken vials, one harmed estirge adjudant and more than a few uncomfortable pictures, Ancelm had to stop with his tests with Flare so Nyepu could get a hold of his emotions and continue working on the tests… and on convincing Giorgio to erase the pictures. The dragon had never thought that having his emotions being influenced, would be so nasty, or how little he’d be able to control himself even knowing he was being controlled… In the short span of Ancelm’s experiments, Flare, in her attempts to NOT influence him, managed to make the dragon feel sad for her, angry at the idea of her being made fun of, then sad for failing her, then happier and eager to do anything she asked, then so angry he just had to punch one of his workers. Giorgio would take lot’s of pictures with his Aux and laugh so hard at the last one that he ruined one of their experiments. Yeah, the two of them were the epitome of professionalism. He did managed to control himself enough to not murder everyone in the room with his bio-canon so he considered that a win, though.

-I’m very sorry- would say Flare, looking tired, slightly dizzy and very embarrassed as she sat on Nyepu’s shoulder, drinking more of his blood, they had taken more of her own to replace the lost samples.

-Is ok… experiments rarely go well in the first try- he replies still evening his breath, using the tentacles of his back to keep working.

-This day ended up being more interesting than I expected, hehe!- said Giorgi in a very good mood.

-Shut up- would say Flare and Nyepu at the same time.

-And now you are doing that?! Oh by the Gods! Just marry already- said Giorgio annoyed. They just glared at him. Ancelm on the other hand had a thoughtful look in his eyes. After Flare was done drinking she just stood on Nyrpus shoulder for a little longer, staring at nothingness with a blank expression in her face, she must be tired. Nyepu decided to work as soon as possible, all while thinking that he’d need more anti influence training.

After that, time went on. Ancelm would lead a small team of wizards to help accelerate things, Flare would end up falling asleep on him and then be gently laid on a working table. Apparently, se was more tired than even her expected. The researching team would begin to get their first results. And the more results they get, the more worried Nyepu and Giorgio felt. Ancelm would notice this right away but didn’t comment since he really didn’t know what they were seeing in the results. Three hours later, Flare awakens, yawning quietly and chirping a little, and just in time for the scientists to finish their last analysis on the last result.

-Rise and shine, Lady Flare- would say Ancelm with a smile - I hope your little nap had been reinvigorating. Nyepu was beginning to think that the guy was being a little too gentlemanly.

-Greetings…- she said yawning again, her eyes were still closed, then she shook her body, puffing up her red feathers before seemingly waking up entirely, opening her pretty sky blue eyes. Nyepu felt a slight blush in his face at that thought, she did have pretty eyes. -Are you guys done with your tests?- right to business, as expected of the impatient princess.

-We have very weird news - said Nyepu, giving now a look to Giorgio who nodded at him, then back to Flare and Ancelm, both of whom looked intrigue, her even tilting her head in curiosity:

-Weird news?- asks her.

-yes… we hadn’t found any trace of the known cloning and aging methods in you… but… your body’s age is… illogical…-This grabbed the complete attention of the two magicians.

-Please elaborate- said Ancelm. Nyepu sighed.

-Flare’s body seems to be missing a year- he says. Silence.

-Missing a year? how…- she was saying but Giorgio interrupted her:

-Considering your birth date, your body should have a specific age… and yet, it does not, your body’s age is one year younger than it should-

-And while usually that would mean that you are the clone, here comes the really weird part… there is no doubt that you were born in the date of your birth, but it’s like… the last year didn’t affected your body in the slightest…- says Nyepu looking bewildered.

-This usually means that we messed up, but, I can assure you we didn’t… since, we checked everything like thrice- explains Giorgio, looking as bewildered as the dragon.

-What could that mean?- asks Ancelm, but Nyepu and Flare looked at each other’s eyes. She had basically been gone for a whole year, that’s what they discovered after checking the news yesterday, at least, that had been their suspicion, back then. Was this the confirmation they needed?

-That means, that someone had kept princess Flare in a stasis of sorts, keeping her even from aging, for a whole year- explains Giorgio- that or she rejuvenated herself somehow-

An hour later, they were having a very late lunch at the Temple’s food court. Nyepu and Giorgio finished their report and sent it to Argenta. Ancelm and Flare stood with them, mainly to keep company. The little princess had forgotten completely what she wanted to say to the guys in face of the news: so it was true, she had been gone for a whole year but… how? where? by whom?! Neither Nyepu nor Giorgio could think of a technology capable of rejuvenating someone’s body like that, at least, not without leaving some trace, and stasis technology capable of stopping age like that was non-existant, at most, it would make processes slow a lot but not outright stop it. Ancelm thought that it was very hard and impractical for a wizard, or a team of them, to cast a stasis spell for a whole year. Had they needed to learn aspects of her personality, there were easier ways to do so. And while the guys tried to think in how could this be possible, Flare was more worried about other things.

“A whole year. That usurper had been with my family for a whole year, and had married a lot of people that she’d never even consider marrying… What else had the clone been doing in all that time? How is it possible that no one had noticed that the clone was not the real Flare in such a long time?!” thought her in increasing despair.

Intent on  what have been the clone up to for so long, she started to investigate old news, Ancelm quickly joined her and the researchers helped her after finishing their report… so there they were, eating while facing the maddening reality of what the news had for them:

-None of this makes sense- comments Ancelm.- If what the scientists say is true, someone had taken the incredibly hard effort of keeping you away for a whole year for a copy of you to replace you and do… nothing- said the felixin Adeptus, checking old news regarding the sky Kingdom while idly eating some synth-beef.

-She got married and in general had only been behaving like a normal princess... - comments Giorgio, also reading old news while eating mashed potatoes with fried fish.

-You can sort of see some political strategies but… well… that’s it… - comments Nyepu, eating fried rice with a mix of fried seafood and algae.

Flare couldn’t deny that she was impressed with how quickly these guys processed information. Of course, she was a trained princess, she could see political ploys, and would understand easily how the imposter’s weddings had strengthened the influence of her mother on the city-states of the Sky Kingdom, all while making their governors feel like they were the ones gaining power. Also, a whole rebellion was avoided by one of said marriages. “Is like… everything was just fine, but… but why?” Wasn’t it supposed to all be a huge and hellish chaos? isn’t that the point of making evil clones? Why was everything sounding so… ok?

Suddenly her urgency to go ‘save’ her kingdom seemed a lot more silly. Her copy not only was doing a lot of good, she was following her mother’s wishes perfectly and everything seemed to be fine in general… Of course, this was what she gathered with a quick research of less than an hour, but it was undeniable that all the news had to say about her usurper seemed to be good things. She agreed with Ancelm: this made no sense.

-The only thing I can think…- said her suddenly, stopping from sucking juices from fruits, as the trio of males looked at her- is that I’m not the only one being replaced… maybe… maybe they are replacing everyone slowly? get the power of my kingdom for… for some… for evil generic reasons...- even her felt stupid saying that.

-Is… a possibility- says Nyepu, shrugging, he didn’t had the heart to tell her his own theory- honestly, at this point, anything could be happening there- says the dragon.

-But… a whole year of that? sounds unlikely, absurd, even- says Ancelm, then shakes his head -I think we really did good in take this with caution-

-I agree- Giorgio nods - this is very definitely a very weird situation, with the help of Argenta and, what the Church of Darkness can provide, we should be able to uncover whatever is going on-

-I wanted… to suggest to go and face this quickly- says her suddenly, remembering what she had thought in the meditation chamber - go beat the shadow of the prophecy before they could come to bother us but… but this is… this doesn’t make sense…- had she gone to her kingdom right now, and challenge her copy, she’d probably just been thrown to jail or executed in place… a whole year of memories that she doesn’t have, a whole year of working together and doing good for the kingdom… no one would dare to doubt that the usurper was the real deal, and most probably, a very loved one at that. It wouldn’t matter if she was the real princess… the usurper had a year of advantage over her. -if it weren’t for the tests... would my parents have recognized me? would have seen in me their real daughter when they had one for a whole year that was so… so... perfect?- There was a deep silence after she said that. Nyepu immediately understood what she meant, since she’d told him about her conflicts with her mother. Ancelm was a very clever wizard and figured something along those lines. Giorgio didn’t understand, but noticed the mood and decided to keep going towards a more posstive note.

-The clone needs to be tested as well- comments the goat researcher, grabbing the attention of Flare- no matter what, every clone leaves some trail, the most common being the age or some chemical agents in their blood… it has to be a clone created by technological methods since a magical one would require an aetheric flux that your family would have detected immediately… as soon as she takes the same tests and she is proven to be younger than you, your parents won’t have a choice but to accept you as their daughter- the goat researcher smiles at her softly. Flare nods at him with a little smile.

-That’s true… I guess… you guys were right on this of… making tests…- says her feeling like it wasn’t very easy to say that. Thankfully for her, the geneticists only nodded and smiled.- but how long will it take before Argenta decides to help us?- Suddenly, Nyepu received a message in his Aux and checked it, his eyes opened widely at what was

-Apparently, only a few minutes… Argenta wants to hold a meeting with us and the Adeptus Primus- explains him and Flare opens her beak in surprise “That… that was fast!”.

-I’ll get him right away- said Ancelm, closing his eyes for a moment. It wouldn’t take much before the Lich descents to them, passing through the ceiling and floating at the side of Ancelm.

-Good afternoon, everyone. I hope you are feeling better and your meditation had been mind opening, lady Flare- says Celio.

-Good afternoon, Adeptus Primos Celio, it… was- she did get ideas, but the recent discoveries changed things. Suddenly, Nyepu’s Aux projected a very silly and big image of an emote face.

-Heeeeello, everyone!! how are my dear citizen and one wanted criminal today? () - greeted the Goddess of Science, Technology, Truth and the Day with a synthetic female voice. “Argenta had always had a terrible sense of humor… and her face is disappointing” words of Flare’s master that rang in her head as she flinched at being called a wanted criminal, she had to agree with the comment on her face, though… seriously? just an emote?!.

-Greetings, Argenta- said Nyepu drily- We need you to convince the other princess to go through the tests… is the only way to determine that the Flare with us is the real one and the other is a clone created for unknown reasons… unless, you can tell us something we don’t know about what had been going on in the Sky Kingdom-

-You guys are forgetting to thank me for being so fast, giving you lot part of my time and for having been keeping in secret the location of the Flare with you (¬u¬) - Nyepu and Giorgio rolled their eyes.

-Thanks- said suddenly Flare, grabbing everyone’s attention- thanks for your time, and quick response, and for keeping my location a secret, Lady Argenta- said her, bowing to the technological goddess.

-AWWW!!! (^^) you are such a cute little birb! unlike my scientists... (¬_¬) you guys could learn to be a lot more grateful and sweet like miss Flare (uwu) - the felixin mages chuckled while Giorgio and Nyepu just huffed in annoyance, even Flare couldn’t help but crack a smile. -anyway! (owo) you guys had certainly discovered an anomaly ( >:T)  the results of your tests tell me so: no traces of known cloning methods and a very strange age test result… there is no technology or magic capable of doing that: a WHOLE year of rejuvenation is just absurd… (:/) And, well, I’ve noticed slight changes in the court of the Royal Kingdom (u_u) -

-What do you mean?- asks Flare, suddenly having a horrible feeling.

-Nothing very particular, but, honestly, they seem a little too perfect, if you ask me…() I’m good at making psychological profiles of people uwu the royal family was perfect in its imperfection... (:3) but… (o_o) they began to be a little too perfect… (>_>) while that’s usually a good thing (._.) they were not the only ones (DX) The Sky Kingdom has grown in power considerably, the people from the court becoming a little more efficient and capable in general, of course, is not a big improvement, but is noticeable since, to me, seems a little too sudden and focalized (u_u) I’ve been proud of them, but the test results, and the attitude of Queen Mistana to try and solve this in secret had worried me (>:T) I’ll demand her daughter to take the tests… but I need you two to go do it (:3) - says her looking at the geneticists.

-Ahm… why don’t you ask that from members of the Machine Cult of the Sky Kingdom?- asks Giorgio- we have work here, going to there would be problematic-

-I have the suspicion that the Queen has a strong influence even between my own clergy in that city, so is a possibility the tests results will be compromised (=_= ) … I want to minimize risks… (X_X) take your equipment there and make the tests… (uwu) and just to be sure, I’ll send two other groups of my geneticists with Guard escorts from other cities to run the same tests… (ouo) if everyone has the same results, than it would be a given that there were no mistakes (uwu) and we’d be closer to uncover the truth… (>_>) - Giorgio and Nyepu exchanged an intrigued look.

-Maybe the other teams can meet here first so they can run their tests- suggest Celio - unless you expect the Queen to suspect a complot of sorts-

-She definitely will (-_-) -

-I agree with her there… my mother can be very distrustful, especially from things that are too convenient or too inconvenient- adds Flare.

-That’s why I’m suggesting to do everything in front of her, with different teams of experts, so there are no suspicions, she can bring any scientific team of her choice to verify the proceedings, as well (uwu) i’d also require the assistance of your wizards, Adeptus Primus (x3)-

-I’d be more than happy to offer my assistance in running the tests and providing magical support in case things turn out… problematic- says the felixin lich.

-Perfect! prepare yourselves!! () I should have an answer from Queen Mistana by tomorrow, so be ready to depart to the Sky Kingdom’s capital city! (X3) - Nyepu and Giorgio would sigh while Ancelm and Celio nod, Flare couldn’t believe it: she finally was going home. And with the support of Argenta and the Church of the Holy Darkness! She looked at the guys “their prudence… made this happen...”.

Later that day, night was falling. Ancelm and Celio went to the meditation chambers to try and enter in contact with the Dark God to seek guidance and make sure if Flare was the one in their prophecies. Nyepu and Giorgio had been busy packing up and talking with the Administrator of their research facility, there was a lot of yelling involved and Argenta had to interfere. And Flare? She had been exploring the Temple to take her mind off things. She had gotten what she wanted: she was going home to finally unravel this mystery and saved her people… but, the clone hadn’t done anything but good for her people. She probably did a way better job than her as a princess… so… was it worth it? “Truth is good on its own… that’s what a heroine would say… but a princess would admit that sometimes, is necessary to keep a few secrets and hold a few lies… for the greater good… and that’s also… heroic?” Flare would sigh. She had transformed into her Battle Form: she was way bigger than usual, her wings had become arms, and her figure was more anthropomorthic and slender… she did so because she always trains in this form at least a once a day but, she couldn’t bear herself to train when there was so much in her head, as such, she was in the training room, looking blankly at nothing in particular.

-You don’t look very happy- said a familiar voice, Flare almost jumped as she quickly turned to face the big white dragon who was entering to the training room, levitating.

-Nyepu… what are you doing here?-

-I came to check on you- he said simply, she felt a little disappointed he wasn’t walking on his legs… she shook her head to bury those silly thoughts - We are done with packaging our devices, so is happening, we are going to your kingdom- he says, smiling a bit, apparently, trying to sound nice. His pretty voice was still slightly cool but there was the sincere intention there, and there was an honesty in his smile she really liked and made her feel… something, she wasn’t sure what it was but she liked it and felt herself smiling a little as well.

-Yeah...soon, we’ll solve this mystery… is just…well...- she began to say looking thoughtful again.

Nyepu couldn’t believe he was here. While working on putting everything on crates and arranging for transportation of his devices, he couldn’t stop thinking in her: she had look shaken after discovering the clone had basically been being a “perfect princess” and just felt that she’d need some company, even if it was his. “Is this… blood magic influencing me? well, even if it is, I don’t care...”.

He was a bit surprised when he saw her transformed in her combat form again and the memories of their rather hectic encounter came back to his mind: she had been strong, bold, confident, energetic… she looked the most alive back he’d seen her then: fighting head-on abominations that made him empty his bowels in fear. He hadn’t gotten a great look at her in the frenzy of fighting and running for his life, but, now that he got a better look at her? She is…

-I don’t know…- she says finally, snapping him out of his thoughts, he immediately scratched his muzzle so she didn’t notice he was blushing. -None of this makes sense and I’m worried… I’m worried me going there will only cause more harm than good-

-How so?- he asks.

-I’ve been thinking: my clone apparently… is the Flare my mother had always wanted… so… if I go… I… I may ruin everything- her face looked more haunted now -all those marriages would be nulled and impose on me… and I won’t… I’m not sure I’m up to take for husbands…not to mention that, for a whole year, the people of my kingdom had developed an idea of how is ‘Princess Flare’ and… will I have to act like she did? Would I have to be the fake one? Will I...- but she stopped as Nyepu put a hand on her shoulder, well, more like half his hand since even in her bigger form he was still way bigger. She looked at him and he returned her a soft expression.

-Is going to be ok- he’d say -It will take a while but people will accept you for who you are… and I’m sure that some arrangement can be made so you don’t have to...you know, deal with four unknown guys at the same time… also, I’ll help you, somehow… I know you are a capable and strong girl- he smiles at her leaning closer to her- The princess that can murder hordes of Savage daemons can take a marriage… especially with some help- he adds trying to smile more. She looks at his eyes with her pretty sky blue ones, her golden beak slightly opened and stays like that for what seem ages. For a moment there, Nyepu felt he spoke out place but then she suddenly hugs him and he feels his face getting hotter before hug her awkwardly… not only because she was smaller, but also because he wasn’t sure if he should… and yet…

-You helped me today as you promised… we are going to my homeland… as you said… I… I can trust that you will be with me… thanks…- said her.

-Y-you are welcomed- he said, not sure what else to say.

He still wasn’t sure how much of this was the blood magic and how much was himself, but he felt that this was the best thing to do for the princess. For another unique soul.

She wasn’t sure if he was acting on his own or under the influence of her powers, but a part of her felt he was being genuine and she couldn’t feel happier. She wasn’t alone in this mess.

And while they were like this, hugging each other. The entrance to the Training Room suddenly disappeared...

[carryonmywaywardwriters]

Love How You Hate Me - Sam x Reader

A/N: Work, work, work. And finally write. I SHOULD have time this coming weekend to post the next chapter, as well. So, the wait won’t be quite as long this time. If you want tagged, please send an ask or message so I am sure to see it. And, I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Sexual Tension. Porn descriptions. Pre-smut. Upcoming smut.

Word Count: Roughly 3,300

“Sam!” You shrieked. The high pitched rage echoed through the empty walls as you stormed forward. Out for blood.

You'd finally broke. It took three weeks. Three long weeks. But, he finally did it. Ripped away the self control you'd fought so hard to hold in place.

He'd put the snake in the toilet first. Using the ammo you'd unintentionally offered up on a silver platter. Although, Sam put his predecessors to shame. Ensuring not to injure the poor creature while torturing you. Seran-wrap held it away from the germ-filled bowl. A note warning the toilet was out of order left you to pick up the lid. Only to have the slithering beast come at you.

A large spider under your pillow. Crickets all over your room. Both came with notes to ensure their safety. But, didn't lessen the frustration.

Your favorite pair of shoes weren't safe. Nothing was sacred in the younger Winchester's eyes. He glued them to the floor. Leaving you with two possibilities. To fall. Or to go without until you could get them unstuck. You'd face planted.

Shampoo, conditioner, and body wash were filled with food coloring. You had purple tints to your skin even after scrubbing until the water turned to ice. Trying to focus on the fact that you were the better person got you nowhere.

And that wasn't the end to his tricks. He'd taken notes from the biggest trickster he'd- and the planet- had ever known. But, it was something ridiculously simple that made you lose that final shred of sanity.

He'd simply taken your favorite coffee creamer. Using the final bit himself. Then, he'd replaced it with water. The mildest trick in his little black note book.

Five minutes. That's all it took to level the playing field. A deep, roar of fury echoed down the hall. Without flinching, you leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Waiting next to the water main. It took mere seconds for him to locate you.

“Give me one- damn good- reason why I shouldn't strangle you.” He hissed out, stalking your way. Still dripping. Goosebumps raised along his flesh as he held his towel in place around his hips.

“You'd end up naked, and Dean would assume it was some kinky sex thing gone wrong. Then, you'd get all the blame.” You answered, letting your eyes skim over his soaked chest hair that trailed down to somewhere more promising. Your voice dropped even lower at the sight. “Breath play is making a come back, though...”

His skin was golden, taunt over the muscles. His anti-possession tattoo had recently been touched up, and stood out darkly across the wet flesh. His hair was slicked back, emphasizing that he'd run his hand through it from the frustration you caused.

The total package only served to raise your ire. He was stunning. The man even smelled amazing over the distance between you two.

“Not good enough,” Sam moved forward. Intent on murder after the briefest moment of thought. Too clear on what he planned for you to stand. “Dean's out.”

“You know what else wasn't good enough?” Came the question. All husky and filled with promise. Hazel eyes deepened at that. Nostrils flared. It was your turn to take a step his way. Stopping just as your shirt absorbed some of the water off of his body. “The water trick.”

Your hand came out and snatched the towel away from his waist. Bolting, you didn't wait for him to catch on. Using surprise to give yourself half a chance.

“Y/N!” His bellowing nearly shattered your ear drums.

You didn't turn back. The wet plod of his footsteps was too close. But, it wasn't good enough. You found your escape. A small zig zag bought you a single, crucial second. His hand missed the back of your shirt as you turned. Right into his room.

The door was slammed and locked before Sam could process what had happened. Breathing hard, you leaned against the wood. Laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation you'd found yourself in.

“When you get out, we're settling this!” He yelled out. His fists slamming into the wood; shaking your body in the process. You weren't completely sure what he intended by that comment, but surely it couldn't get worse than being chased by a naked, pissed off Sasquatch.

“Oh, what's this?” You asked loudly, seeing his open laptop resting on his covers. A rookie move if you'd ever seen one. “What's your password to your laptop?”

As you slid over to his bed, you made an ever better discovery. He hadn't locked it. “I swear to God, Y/N-”

“Oh god,” You wrinkled your nose. Realizing what was on the screen. A press of the mouse set the moaning off loud and hard. It didn't take long to find fault over the renewed slamming. “Dude, you need better porn! This chick's tits look like they're going to explode from all of the silicone!” You titled your head as you watched it switch perspectives. “Plus, the dude really needs to learn how to use his tongue better. I hope you weren't taking notes, Sammy!” You didn't get anything in response. Instead, the slamming ended. A heart attack was your logical response. Sure that even the healthiest of the healthy men couldn't handle the blood pressure you were certain he carried. “Sammy, Sammy.” You shook your head as the first moan left the too largely busted woman. She'd climbed over sir-can't-eat-a-woman-out's lap to begin riding him. “You naughty, naughty boy.” It was an impressive collection you'd discovered as you snooped. His folder held a number of suggestive names. The thumbnails were even more racy. Nothing compared to what you'd accidentally stumbled across when using Dean's laptop. However, still large enough to make you lift your brows. “Looks like I'm not the only sex deprived one...”

“That could have been fixed a long time ago.” The sudden proximity of his voice made you fly away from the porn in a hurry. Ready to flee for the second time. Sure your very life depended on it.

Only, there was a problem. Nearly six and a half foot of muscle blocked your exit. Slowly, you lowered yourself back to the bed. Keeping your eyes on him as you moved. Hoping the location would give you another chance to distract the beast.

A white t-shirt stuck to damp skin. Highlighting just how broad he was beneath the fabric. His hair  still dripped. The jeans clung to his legs. But, he didn't seem to care. Too set on his hunt.

“Oh, yes.” You huffed, leaning your head onto your one hand as you looked up at him. Making yourself appear comfortable, despite being eager to flee. “Let me just agree to sleep with the very man that has done his best to either ignore my presence, or just torture me. The entire time I’ve known him. That couldn't possibly end bad for me.” Your sass was going to be the death of you if his flushed cheeks and narrowed, darkened eyes were any indication.

“Y...You preach about how I...I don't know a thing about you...While you kn...know everything there is to know about me,” He leaned his hip against his desk. Attempting to settle down. Watching for any sign you were about to bolt. Almost immediately, his composure was back. “But, then you go and say something ridiculous like that.” Don't look at the biceps, you chanted internally as he crossed his arms. You definitely peeked before forcing your eyes away.

“You wouldn't take advantage of that?” You snorted, growing defensive. He simply gave you a small, toned down, bitch face. Not bothering to dignify the question with any other response. “Okay, fine. Say I believe you.” Your tone let him know that wasn't remotely close to being the case. “What would I get from it?”

“Fantastic sex-”

“Arguable.”

“No more pranks.”

“Now, we're getting somewhere.” The mocking tone only earned an eye roll.

“Alright, then... What would your terms be?” He raised a brow. Daring you to give him something to work with. Your response was simply a raised brow of your own. Not buying into his bullshit all the way. “Theoretically, of course.”

“Of course.” The amendment was shit, and you both knew it. Pursing your lips, you thought it over. With a sigh, you decided to give him a little something. “First off? No strings attached. No emotions. Ever.” A brief pause settled between you two before you continued, “Not that it's a problem with you.” A wry grin graced that sinful mouth of his. Pleased with the turn of events. You turned away from the dimples to zero in on the hypothetical rules. “Second? Privacy. Dean, Bane, and Alice? They wouldn't have a clue. Ever.” The horror at just the thought of them finding out how low you'd fallen curdled your stomach. It was the ultimate deal breaker. “Third? No sleeping together or cuddling. Sex only.” It was surprisingly easy to list once you got going. “Fourth, minor pranking is allowed. They'd know something was up if it just stopped.” He nodded at that point. Seeing the wisdom in it. “Fifth-”

“You...You've made a whole list, and you're going to try saying that you haven't really considered it?” Sam cut in with a heavy snort. “You're something else. I don't even think stubborn covers it, anymore.”

“No freaky stuff.” You continued as if he'd never spoken up. Focusing in on the list. If you stopped, he'd take advantage of it. And you weren't prepared for that. “No blood. No choking. Nothing going in areas where they don't belong.” Your fingers ticked off each point. It wasn't that you were opposed to everything you'd listed. Simply that you were opposed to it with Sam. There was no pre-established trust. No grounds for safety. You wouldn't risk it. “I couldn't possibly trust you to tie me up, either, so that's out.” At the sigh of disappointment, Sam's shoulders seemed to widen. Noting how close he was to his mark. “No marks in visible locations. Too much of a give away. Definitely no recording. There's always the trope of a leaked sex tape, and I just am not about to let anyone see me getting down and dirty with you.”

“D...down and dirty? You cut out all the dirt,” He grinned, letting out a soft breath that doubled as a chuckle. Almost soft in nature, when you knew him to be anything but. “You wanna tell me what we can do, then?”

“This is all theoretical.” You reminded him. Falling short at being stern. Unable to even muster up a glare.

Truth was, you were losing your damn mind when it came to Sam Winchester. And were far too close to giving into the danger. You both knew it, even if you were struggling to keep it at bay. Too distrustful.

“Of course.” He waved for you to get on with it. More confident at that point than he'd been before. “Go on.”

The sass was ignored as the list came back to focus, “Sixth, condoms are an absolute must. It breaks? I get the morning after pill. Immediately.”

“You aren't getting an argument from me there.” Sam's eyes were a rich honey as they watched you hungrily. Taking in the way you shifted on his bed. Next to his porn. And at his mercy.

“Seventh-”

“Y/N...” The impatience took hold. His chest rose and fell harshly at the peak of your breasts. So close...and yet, so untouchable.

“Yes, Samuel?” You mocked, not letting your eyes meet his directly. Instead, you zeroed in on the light curl his hair carried at the ends.

“Are you done? 'Cause I've got a few ideas...” Sam moved forward, then. Slapping his palms down on his mattress. Forcing you to stare into the multicolored facets right in front of your face.

“Where's Dean?” Sitting up, the power shifted. Giving you some control over the situation, again. You weren't beneath him. Under his spell.

“He won't be back until late tomorrow.” Oh so carefully, he stalked your way. Not willing to let you dodge him. Delaying the inevitable for a second time.

“What's he doing?” The question was another stall tactic, but the Winchester was prepared. As your back brushed against the wall, he blocked the exit beside the bed.

“I'm betting that he's doing what you're putting off...” Hot gaze trailing over you, Sam took a step forward. But, it was too late. The damage had been done.

“Oh, that is not helping your case.” Thinking of your best friend banging a stranger broke the spell completely. Sam blocked your path. However, he didn't block the bed itself. You hopped up and over the mattress. Making your way to freedom. “Go back to your crap porn.”

“I'd rather go down on you.” That caught your attention in a hurry. Your head whipped around. Only to see him cross his arms. Daring you to take what he'd so blatantly offered.

“Hate sex never ends well.” You warned. Feeling your resolve crumbling. The Winchester had won. “You think we're bad now...wait until this is done.” Your fingers moved to grab your shirt and whip it off. Jaw clenched in frustration. The war between mind and body lost for the moment.

“So,” Sam's voice made you jerk your head up. Waiting to see his offer. “We don't do it.”

“Wait, what?” You weren't following. You'd just given in. He should have been pouncing like a wild animal. Not retreating.

But, Sam did, “Guess it's just you and me...” He pulled the laptop back his way. Without looking at you, he simply uttered one last order. “You can go, now.”

“You are the world's biggest dick!” An indignant squeal left you as you slammed out of the room. So sure that you'd been played.

“Right now, I wish that was true...” The hunter sighed, pushing the device from his side. If he was? He would've taken you right then and there. Instead, he'd signed himself up for an indefinite length of celibacy.  

–

“I figured it out,” Your voice broke through the world of Harry Potter as you entered the room later that night. Without missing a beat, the strip tease began. The pajama shirt you'd donned was tossed away. Leaving you in a frilly, lace thong that hardly covered what lay beneath it.

“Yeah?” He focused on the book instead of you. Or, rather, pretended to be. All of his senses were latched onto you.

“You wanted me to do the work.” You huffed out theatrically as you moved to the edge of his bed. But, that wasn't good enough. Oh no. That was only the beginning. Crawling onto his bed, you moved his way. Not stopping until you'd completed your goal: Straddling him.

“Oh really?” His book was dropped off to the side. Good ole Harry fighting the good fight simply didn't compare to an almost completely naked woman settled over his dick.

“Well, you probably wanted me to beg.” You shrugged, moving your hands to rub along his chest. So confident that it was criminal. A totally different woman than he'd had in his grasp earlier. “But, that just won't happen.”

It was more than just that. He'd wanted you to make the move. To make sure he wasn't just manipulating you into it. Ensuring you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

Sam needed you to know that it was going to be entirely consensual. Something you hadn't quite realized you'd needed until that moment. And damn if it didn't make your heart squeeze just a little bit.

“Is that a challenge, Y/N?” He grinned, flashing those too big dimples your way. Simply pleased rather than his usual arrogance.

“If you think you can last...” You trailed off pointedly. Eyes meeting his directly. Making sure he knew that you hadn't forgotten that very first moment of pining.

Your finger lightly traced a pattern on his shirt- just over where his tattoo was etched. Two similar patterns had been needled into your own flesh. One on your hip, and one under your breast. The second hidden after a demon had thought to scrape away at the first.

“I...I...I know I can.” Came the breathy promise. Slightly nervy. He let his gun calloused hands rub along your bare thighs. Noting the way you arched into his touch that time rather than away.

“Glad you don’t doubt it.” Bending forward, you pressed your lips into his neck so gently it was criminal. The action letting your bare breasts brush against his t-shirt. Causing a shiver to travel through his body. “But, I'm going to need a little more convincing.” Your lips pressed against his throat again. Firmer this time. Sam's fingers dug into the meat of your legs. Grounding himself as best as he could to sanity.

“You're sure about this?” The question came through gritted teeth. Needing to hear you say the words. Not just imply it.

“Right now?” Again, your gaze came up to meet his. Letting him see the lingering doubts that hid behind the E/C. “This makes no sense...” A small moment of hesitation appeared. Leaving you almost vulnerable as you dipped your forehead to his. Still warring with the idea in that too full head of yours.

“Which is why it's so alluring.” Came his soft answer. Sam's hands left the skin of your legs to gently hold your cheeks. Tilting his head up, his nose brushed against the tip of your own. “Tell me you don't wanna, and this ends. Alright? But...if you do? It'll be alright. Promise...”

After a moment of silence, Sam finally got his answer, “Okay.” Nodding, you closed your eyes. Taking a second. Simply letting your breath mingle with his. When they opened? Sam knew you made your final choice. Slowly, your hands ran back over the thin material of his shirt. Biting your lip, you looked him over. Your hands reached back up to hold his face still. Giving yourself a moment to breathe before he could lunge. Back to the girl who'd walked in his door and knocked him off his feet. “I don't even know where to start with you, Winchester.”

“Y...yeah?” Another nod was all he got as you pondered over it. “Luckily for you?” Sam's husky voice captured your attention away from his thick chest. “I do.” With that, he tugged your body against his. Rolling you with a well practiced spin until you were pinned beneath him.

“You sure I won't suffocate down here?” Came the breathless whisper. Needing to have that final piece of confirmation that you'd be safe.

“Y/N...” The too large hand moved surprisingly gentle as it pushed a piece of hair away from your eye. Dimples in full swing. “Shut up.”

“Make me?” For once, Sam had no problems following your order...

Part Ten

Tag: @burningmusicmachine​ @missmarrinette​ @sherlockedtash88​ @rathersuspiciousbumblebee​ @sasbb23​ @nothinbuttrouble2​ @baby-bunker-pie​ @neii3n​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @malfoysqueen14

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @supernaturalginger​

[crossbows-and-moonshine]

Let The Flames Begin (Chapter 15)

Another long one lovelies.

So, a word about locations and such. I have no idea about American geography. I’m from the UK, and I literally spent hours staring at the map trying to figure shit out.

I don't plan, you guys know this by now. I free write my shit. But some things I do plan, like places, and I research a lot of shit extensively.

We don't get specific details in the show about Daryl and Merle before the group, but in the game Survival Instinct, the brothers lived in the mountains in North Georgia. So I was trying to pick a place and figure out routes to Atlanta and to where they are now and all of this and my brain was melting.

In the end, after talking to a friend of mine, I decided to just pick a place around the areas because its a fucking fictional story and I don't have to make things so complicated for myself. So if you know these areas and they seem weird or off or not realistic, please know I’m making shit up as I go along, I’m taking creative license :’)

You’ll also probably realise why I picked the place they are now when you read it. I won't even need to explain myself, it was like divine intervention loooooool

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A week seemed to fly by and the three of them were getting pretty comfortable with the set up they had. The high walls gave them a sense of security, as well as sleeping up in the treehouse at night. Both Daryl and Charlene had noticed a change in Merle since Daryl's talk to him, but neither mentioned it. Merle had been using a little less but that meant he was more snappy. They would deal with it though because in the long run, it would be better. They feared if they brought it up, it would all just turn to shit, but they both noticed.

It was morning and the air felt stale. Daryl was munching on some canned meat on the couch in the treehouse. He had left Charlene asleep. He never wanted to wake her, not when she looked so peaceful. It was strange to him how comfortable he was sleeping next to her now. He almost felt like if she didn't sleep next to him he wouldn't be able to sleep. He always kept some distance between them, like if he touched her she might fucking explode or something. But she was there and the sound of her breathing would lull him to sleep every night, knowing she was safe. She had been practising with both him and Merle with her knife skills everyday and she was getting better. Next, he wanted to teach her how to use a gun, but with the noise it would draw, it would always be a last resort.

Merle flopped down next to him with a huff and Daryl eyed him carefully. He knew his brother was getting antsy, not just from his need to use. Both Daryl and his brother were used to being free spirits, doing as they pleased. And as much as they felt somewhat safe here, they both hated the feeling of being cooped up behind these damn walls. They were both itching to get out there, hunt, do fucking something. But that wasn't the way life was anymore. Merle was about to open his mouth to complain when a loud piercing noise filled the air.

“The fuck?” Daryl frowned, jumping up and glancing out of the window with his brother hot on his heels. The noise was loud, so loud it felt like his eardrums might burst.

“What's that noise?!” Charlene asked panicked as she ran into the room. Daryl might have thought she was adorable with her messy hair and sleepy face if it wasn't for that fucking noise ringing in his damn head.

“Sounds like some kinda alarm, maybe one of the houses,” Merle muttered tensely. They were waiting for it to stop but it didn't. Charlene covered her ears with a wince as she padded over to them both.

“How is it working without electricity?” she asked with a furrowed brow.

“Batteries probably,” Daryl shrugged as he wiped his hands on his jeans and tossed the can carelessly onto the floor. He watched as the girl went into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, his eyes not able to look away from her as he tried to drown out the noise.

“Oh fuck,” Merle whispered, tearing Daryls away from Charlene as he looked back out of the window. His heart stilled in his chest when he saw them. Of course the noise would draw the dead, it was just how it worked. But they could see right down the street from how high up they were and it was like a sea of the dead coming right their way. The walls were high and sturdy, but that many of them, the brothers both knew it was risky. They didn't know if the walls could withstand that many of them, or if they would pile up and climb over each other. It was like time stopped for a moment as they both stood there in horror, watching what was coming there way. As if they had been slapped with reality, they both came to their senses.

“Grab the packs!” Merle yelled, running off to his room as Daryl ran over to Charlene, grabbing her wrist. She squeaked not having a clue what was going on as he hauled her ass into their bedroom.

“What's going on?” she frowned, watching him grab their packs that they kept ready on the off chance something happened.

“Shit...a herd, more than the store. They're comin’ this way ‘cause of the noise,” Daryl muttered, grabbing the girls boots she hadn't put on yet and tossing them to her. Her face paled at his words and she just blinked at him as the fear ran through her body. Daryl tossed his bow over his shoulder, grabbing her knife and putting it into her hands. He didn't have time to deal with her being scared or in shock. He just grabbed her wrist firmly as he ran back out of the room. Merle was waiting by the door already and when Daryl glanced out of the window, the dead were much closer than he would have liked.

“C’mon, let's go!” Merle barked, climbing down the ladder first. Daryl shoved Charlene gently near the ladder, watching as she came back to reality. She tossed her boots over the side to grab when she was down there and clambered down after Merle, Daryl after her. They all ran over to the main house. Daryl had put the truck in the garage to keep it out of sight and they all ran to the garage, climbing into the truck. Charlene was in the middle seat as Daryl got in the driver's side. They both watched, fear racing through their bodies as Merle opened the door. There were some dead roaming the street but the sea of them were still heading their way. Merle hopped in beside Charlene as Daryl tore out of the garage and down the street, weaving through the few that were already at the house.

The drive was silent and tense, they had a good thing and now it was fucking gone. Daryl wasn't sure how long he had been driving for and Merle fell asleep leaning against the window. When Daryl glanced at the girl, she looked so sad as she just stared out of the window. He knew she would take this harder than he or his brother. After everything she had been through, they finally had a roof over their heads and a sense of normal. And with a blink of an eye, it was gone. He wanted to say something, anything to make her feel better but he had nothing. Feeling eyes on her, Charlene glanced to him with her big sad eyes, making his heart squeeze painfully in his chest. He glanced back out to the road. He hated how he felt like he had failed her yet again. Failed to keep a roof over her head, failed to keep her fucking happy. He tensed a little when he felt her lean her head on his shoulder. He looked down at her before back away as he swallowed thickly, starting to relax a little. He liked the fact she found some comfort in him.

They continued to drive and eventually, Daryl and Merle switched so Daryl could get some rest. He found himself unable to sleep though. Last time he let Merle drive and he fell asleep, they ended up fucking lost. They were still lost but he didn't feel too comfortable letting Merle just drive them wherever, so he just sat with his head leaning against the window as Charlene stirred beside him as she woke. The loss of the treehouse was looming over them all and the air in the truck was bitter from it. They were back on the road once more with nowhere safe to rest and a food supply that would run out. They left in such a hurry they weren't able to take more than what they already had packed with them.

“Fuckin’ Murphy?! Are ya kiddin’ me?!” Daryl growled exasperated as Merle slowed the truck to a stop in front of a sign.

“Murphy? As in North Carolina, Murphy?” Merle frowned, glaring at the sign in front of them like it might suddenly change.

“Isn't that like...the opposite way of Atlanta?” Charlene asked warily, glancing to Daryl who was still glaring at his brother.

“Yeah it is, good goin’ asshole,” he huffed, mad his brother had gotten them so lost they ended up in the wrong fucking direction completely. Merle wiped a hand over his face with a sigh before he started the truck again and started driving.

“Well look, it ain’t such a bad thing alright. Jacksons store’s up this way so we can go grab some shit,” Merle muttered.

“Jackson? Shit Merle all that stuff’s gonna be gone now!” Daryl scoffed, shaking his head as he clenched his jaw.

“What stuff?” Charlene asked hesitantly, worrying for a moment Merle was on about drugs, but she knew Daryl would have more to say if that was the case.

“My buddy Jackson owns a huntin’ store up here. Used to come here all the time with my buddies from the motorcycle club,” Merle replied, hitting the gas a little harder so they could get there before dark.

“Ya think people won't have looted the damn place by now?” Daryl scowled at him over the girls head, he just wanted them to go around and back to where they had planned. Back to potential safety for them and Charlene.

“I know they would have, but they don't know about his secret stash of goodies, little brother. Trust me, I know what I’m doin’,” Merle grinned, suddenly looking more upbeat about the whole being fucking lost bullshit.

“Yeah, heard that before,” Daryl muttered, glaring out of the window, watching as they flew by some of the dead stumbling around. Why should he get his hopes up? Every time he did he got shot down.

They arrived soon enough and Merle pulled up beside the little store. The windows were all broke and it looked a mess.

“Told ya, ain't gonna be shit in there,” Daryl sighed, glancing at his brother.

“Shut up and come the fuck on.” Merle huffed impatiently, making sure he had his gun on him.

“Do we have to do this?” Charlene asked, making both brothers look at her. She sounded terrified and she glanced from one to another with her wide eyes.

“Yeah we do. C’mon girlie, ya’ve been doin’ well with those knife skills of yours, it’ll be fine,” Merle stated firmly before he hopped out of the truck, leaving no room for discussion. Daryl shook his head, trying to ignore the growing agitation at his brother as he got out, keeping the girl by his side as they made their way over to the store.

As he thought, all the shit was gone. Daryl had his bow at the ready as he went to check the back room, checking there weren't any stragglers to creep up and bite them in the ass. Charlene stood and watched Merle as he looked at the floor, tapping his foot on it. She didn't know if he was looking for something or if he had lost his mind. She heard a noise from behind her and whirled around, coming face to face with a biter that seemed to have ambled its way into the store. It felt like the air left her lungs and she stumbled backwards.

“Merle!” she cried out frantically, as she backed up.

“Use ya knife Charlene!” Merle barked at her, making her glance to him with wide eyes that he wasn’t even going to help her.

“I can’t! Merle do something!” she panicked, her back hitting the shelves as the dead one walked slowly over to her, its eyes on the prize.

“It’s gonna bite ya if ya don't fuckin’ get him girl, just get him in the eye!” Merle glared, making no move to go to her.

Her chest felt tight and she felt the tears pricking her eyes. The fear was coursing through her veins as the thing got within arms reach of her, but she couldn't bring her hand to move as it gripped the handle of the knife tightly. Despite all the training, she hadn't killed one yet and as gross as it was, it still looked like a fucking person. The fear seemed to paralyse her and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for it to just fucking bite her. She heard a whoosh and thud and when she opened her eyes, there was an arrow through the biter's temple as it lay on the floor.

Daryl stood there, chest heaving as he glared at his brother who was now squinting at him with disdain.

“The fuck was that?!” Daryl roared as he stormed over, shoving his brother with his free hand. Merle just set his jaw and glared at him.

“That was supposed to be the girl earnin’ her stripes! She needs to fuckin’ kill ‘em sometime Daryl!” he growled, annoyed that his brother had to swoop in. How was she ever gonna learn if they just kept her wrapped in a bubble?

“Earnin’ her stripes?! She was about to get fuckin’ bit!” Daryl yelled. His heart was racing inside of his ribcage. Walking in when he heard shouting to see that fucking thing about to take a chunk out of her. Watching as she closed her eyes like she was just going to let it happen. And his brother was just stood there making no move to help. He felt ready to fucking explode.

“Can we just hurry up and get out of here?!” Charlene pleaded in a mere whisper. Daryl looked at her then, watching as she sniffled and wiped her eyes with shaky hands. He would have some fucking serious words with his brother when they got out of here, he would be lucky if he didn't tear his damn limbs off for this. Merle continued looking for a second before he crouched, he picked at a tile on the floor until it came away and Daryl squinted. It revealed some kind of handle and Merle yanked it open as he stood. It was like some kind of hidden basement and Daryl rolled his eyes. Lord only knew what else was down there that needed to be hidden away, he wasn't surprised that his brother knew about something shady like this.

Merle went down first, gun drawn just in case and then Daryl looked at Charlene. She was still shaking a little and he chewed the inside of his cheek, trying to calm himself until they got out of here.

“C’mon,” he said softly, making her look at him. She nodded jerkily before she trotted off down the steps after Merle and he went behind her. Shutting the door after him as he drew his bow if he needed it. It was pitch black down there and Daryl narrowed his eyes, it was too dark for them to even adjust properly and he flinched when something touched his arm. He relaxed instantly though when he heard the girl gasp from next to him, making it obvious it was her.

“Daryl?!” she whispered panicked, stood tense as her heart thumped away. She sounded so much like a frightened child.

“It's me, ya fine,” he soothed, reaching his free hand out blindly and grasping her wrist. She was trembling and she stepped even closer to him, practically pressing her side against his. He could feel her pulse under his fingertips on her wrist and it was erratic and wild. Once again he felt bad for this whole shit show, that she was scared.

“Shit, I know it's around here somewhere,” Merle grumped as he fumbled around in the dark looking for the generator. He knew it was here and once he found it he could rub it in his brothers face that he was right and coming here was a damn good idea.

Daryl stood tense with the girl as he waited. He’d been here before to the store but he had no idea about this room. It unnerved him how fucking dark it was and the only good thing was the lack of noise down here. It would have been a fucking pain in the ass to fight off the dead without the gift of sight. Suddenly the lights came on and Daryl groaned, screwing his eyes shut as he was fucking blind for a moment.

“Shit,” he grumbled, cracking his eyes open to let them adjust and hoping his eyeballs weren't about to fucking fall out. When his eyes adjusted he shook his head with a snort. The room had all kinds of weapons all over the place. On the walls, on shelves. Ammo, guns, knives, all sorts of shit. Fancy shit too, not like the standard bullshit from upstairs. And when he turned his eyes to his brother, he was grinning at him from ear to ear. Merle didn't even need to tell him that he told him so, it was written all over that fucking face of his and Daryl threw his hands up in defeat.

“Fine, ya came through. Ya happy?” he asked, looking at Merle amused. Merle let out a booming laugh as he walked over to the guns.

“Damn right I am. Now let's grab as much as we can and haul ass out of here,” he said, grabbing a gun and looking it over. Daryl glanced down to the girl. She was squinting as she blinked around, the sudden light still hurting her eyes it seemed.

“Look around and grab some shit alright?”  he asked quietly, causing her to look up at him. She nodded, still looking spooked from Merle's bullshit not long ago as she walked over to the knives. She took her pack off and started stuffing as much as she could into it. Daryl got to work then, walking over and looking at shit. His face actually lit up when he saw a shit tonne of bolts and he smirked, picking them up to look at them.

“What's this?” Charlene asked, making both he and his brother turn to look at her. Merle chuckled and Daryl's lips quirked into a smile seeing her holding the weapon.

“That there's a tactical tomahawk girlie, ya should take it,” Merle grinned. Daryl was still looking at her, he had no idea how she managed to look cute holding the damn thing but she did. He walked over to her, taking the other identical tomahawk and inspecting it. It was good quality.

“How do you use it?” she asked softly, turning her big eyes up to him. All his anger from before seemed to melt from him as he just looked down at her adoringly. How bright the green was in her eyes, how the specks of orange seemed to glow. Thankfully she was looking back down at the weapon so she didn't fucking notice. Shit, I make myself sick...

“Well ya got both ends, but this side is perfect for gettin’ the biters. Just like ya knife, get the soft spots or through the eye. Hit ‘em like it’s a hammer. Can throw ‘em too,” he explained, watching as she nodded and gave him a little smile.

“Here,” he said as he grabbed the belt next to them. He clipped it around her hips, trying not to think about how he was fucking touching her. He attached the tomahawks, one on each hip and swallowed thickly. Why in the ever loving fuck did seeing her with weapons strapped to her turn him on? Was this really the time or place? No, it wasn't. There wouldn't ever be a time or place where it was acceptable. He took a step back trying to create some distance since his body had decided to act like a hormonal teenager all over again, and he lowered his gaze.

“Thanks, Daryl,” she smiled softly.

The three of them carried on taking what they could. Ammo, spare weapons, bolts and knives. Their packs were heavy by the time they were done and Charlene was struggling as they walked back to the truck. She tried not to let it show though, she hated feeling like she couldn't keep up with them.

“I got it,” Daryl muttered from beside her as they neared the truck. Grabbing the pack off her shoulder. She turned and squinted at him, causing him to still his motions, pack in hand. He wasn't sure what the fuck he did to earn that look.

“I had it, it was fine,” she huffed, furrowing her brow a little. That's what it was then.

“Look, ain’t nothin’ wrong with it bein’ fuckin’ heavy. You’re small Charlene, this things heavy even to me. No sense in hurtin’ yaself just to get it to the damn truck,” he chided, giving her a stern look. She pulled a face at him before trudging back to the truck, making him snort a little as he followed her.

“What now?” Charlene asked, sat between them as usual as Daryl started the truck. He was still seething with rage from his brother being a fucking idiot earlier, but he was bottling it up. He would store it away for it to come out some point later. He knew a screaming match in the truck in front of her was the last thing she needed and he was trying to think rationally for once, for her. So he would squirrel that rage away and when they had somewhere safer, he would let it all out. And he had a sneaking feeling he might just break his brother's fucking face.

“Still think we should head to Atlanta. Lord knows we keep gettin’ chased outta places, but we know where we are now. Head on back down and see what happens,” Merle suggested as he glanced at Daryl over her head, looking like he had seemingly forgotten what he had done. Like it wasn't a big fucking deal. Daryl's hands clenched around the steering wheel as he glared at him, letting him know he was still pissed.

“Might as well,” he bit out, starting the truck and driving.

After a little while, Merle had fallen asleep leaning against the window and Daryl kept glancing to Charlene. She always slept a lot in the tuck, no doubt from being so small and having to keep up with them both. But now she wasn't asleep, she was fidgety and it was driving him insane. He knew it was bothering her, what had happened, and he couldn't say he blamed her.

“M’sorry...bout Merle,” he huffed, clenching his jaw at the rage that flooded him as the image resurfaced in his mind. He had been so fucking scared she was about to get bit and Merle was just stood there like a fucking jackass.

“I hate it when you do that,” she scowled, shocking him for a minute. He was that stunned by her tone that he stopped the truck and looked at her bewildered.

“How many times have you apologized for your brother since we met Daryl? None of it is your fault. You are not your brother. You don’t have to apologise for him every time he fucks up. That’s on him. Stop fucking shouldering the blame every time he does something wrong,” she ranted angrily. Daryl just blinked at her for a moment. He hadn't ever really realised he did that, but when he thought about it, he felt like he was always saying sorry to her for things Merle did.

“Alright,” he muttered, not really knowing what else to say. Things were getting a little too deep for his liking, he was fighting the urge to jump out of the window and run.

“It's fine. Just think about it next time. If he fucks up, it's not your fault and you have no need to say sorry. You saved my life back there Daryl,” she whispered, making him look at her. Why did she have to be the prettiest damn girl he had ever laid his eyes on? Now sat so close to him, her big shiny eyes boring holes into him. It made his heart beat all funny and his throat closed up. Fuck, how he’d love to kiss her. What the fuck would that be like? To feel those soft-looking lips on his. It would never be something he would get to experience. Not only because he never had enough confidence to make such a move unless he was drunk as fuck. But because girls like Charlene would never even look at him twice, so even if he did somehow find some confidence in him, she would probably break his damn nose.

He had to look away, it was all getting a little too much and he felt ready to crawl out of his fucking skin. He didn't say a word as he started driving again, fishing out his smokes from his pocket and lighting up with the window down. His hands were trembling a little and he greedily inhaled the nicotine, hoping it would ease his shot nerves. The fuck was she doing to him? It was bad enough before the turn. How he would seek her out at her places of work just to catch a glimpse of her, so she could give him that pretty kind smile she always did. The one that always made him feel like not such a piece of shit. She was the only person to ever really make him feel like that. So he would go to the store to buy things he didn't need when he knew she was there, because he was selfish and sometimes that smile was all he fucking had to look forward to. And now here he was, sat next to the girl with the pretty smile, keeping her alive.

“We should go back through Blue Ridge on the way. Need to go out and hunt somethin’,” he said gruffly, his hand twitching at the need to use his bow. To kill something, to feel the thrill of the hunt. She blinked at him and nodded, a little smile working its way onto her lips.

“Can I come with you?” she asked hopefully. But he could see it in her eyes, the slither of fear no doubt from being left with Merle. The pair had been getting on really well but she was still shaken up from him not coming to help her.

Daryl knew deep down his brother didn't do it because he wanted her to get hurt. Merle always did this kind of shit to him growing up, making him harden up, be a real man. And now it seemed Merle thought Charlene needed to toughen up. He wasn't wrong really. She did need to learn to kill the dead at some point. What the fuck would she do if she got separated from them? The thought made his heart ache and he rubbed his chest absentmindedly as he inhaled his smoke again. They needed to teach her shit, but before Merle threw her to the fucking wolves, they needed to make sure she was ready. In a weird twisted way, what Merle did was a testament to how much he liked the girl. That he wanted her to toughen up and learn to look after herself. Just how he had taught Daryl. But that shit wasn't gonna fly with Daryl at all, because Daryl had lived it first hand and he knew just how traumatic some of that bullshit was that Merle would pull. If they were gonna teach her, they’d do it right and they’d do it his way. Especially with his brother having his head up his ass since he was using less, he was clearly not as compassionate when his body was screaming for drugs.

“Yeah. Just make sure ya stick by me and do what I say,” he replied, trying not to look at her, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

“I will. I promise,” she smiled, relaxing a little next to him. They were silent then, and he was grateful when the girl fell asleep leaning against him. He really didn't know why she did that. Always gravitating towards him, especially when she slept. He supposed it was because he kept her safe. Still, he enjoyed having her so comfortable around him, being able to sleep in the same bed as him or sleep like this. The silence was peaceful for him as he drove. Both the girl and Merle fast asleep. He tried to relish in the quiet knowing it wouldn't last for too long. It never fucking did these days. If ya can hear me God...yer a fuckin’ asshole…

Taglist; @risingphoenix761 @daryldixonandfrogs @arlaina28 @divadinag @keeperofwonderlandus @jodiereedus22 @easnuppa @fand0m-fiend @txladyj-blog @walkingdead-dixon

[wykart]

Fix Her

It’s been a while but I’ve decided to commit (??) to finishing this Five and Vanya fic! Sorry if you’ve been waiting :// 

Summary: Five was Vanya's only friend at the academy, once he left, everything changed. A.K.A It’s a fic about Vanya and Five's friendship growing up, and how that friendship kept them hopeful in all the years they spent apart.

Chapter 6 (read on ao3, or read chapter 1) 

28 days before

“Five, what’s wrong?” He seemed moody, even more than usual. He was huddled over the book he was reading, hunchbacked and staring down the page with an unnatural intensity. He wasn’t even reading it, just staring at the same block of text until his eyes grew raw and watery. He pulled out a notebook and pen and began scribbling feverishly onto the page, pressing so hard against the paper that she was sure it would break.

She’d stopped playing her violin to question him, but he didn’t seem to notice that the music had stopped. She’d only had the instrument for about a year and a half now, but already she loved it more than anything. She'd been playing here in the library alone since early that morning, whilst the other’s had trained. Five had stomped in looking distraught, and sat himself down with one of those dense theoretical physics books he somehow found solace in reading.

He slammed the book shut abruptly, snapping up to look at her with wild eyes. “I can’t believe him!” He snapped. It wasn’t hard to guess that he was talking about their father.

“What has he done now?” she sighed, sympathetic.

“He still won’t let me time travel,” he threw his hands up, exasperated. “I’ve been practising my spatial jumps like crazy – you know I did five of them in seven seconds and I didn’t even pass out! I thought he’d be proud or something, after all those times I’d faint after two or three in row, but no, nothing.” He paused for a moment, but started rattling off again before Vanya could get a calming word in. Sometimes it was best to just let him vent. “I mean, I don’t know what I expected, even when we do what the old bastard says it’s never enough. He doesn’t think I’m strong enough, he thinks I’m just some stupid kid like the rest.”

Vanya let him stew for a moment before speaking up, cautious. She wasn’t sure that she wanted him to try something that was apparently so dangerous. Their father was always forcing the others to push the limits of their powers – but he was quite firm on the subject; time travel was a step too far. It was uncharacteristic, for sure, but perhaps only because it was an ability that Reginald couldn’t control, that couldn’t serve the purpose of the academy. She began slowly, “Well, he says it’s dangerous, what if you got hurt or lost or–“

He interrupted her. “I’m not scared, Vanya,” he scoffed, “and I know what I’m doing.”

She sighed, setting down her violin and sitting down on the couch beside him. ”I know you do, Five.”

“Sorry,” he said, a moment later, calmer now. “It’s just that, I put so much effort into showing him I could be what he wanted, that I could be an important part of the academy, but now he tells me I can’t even explore the full range of my power. All that talk about our ‘gifts’ and our obligation to reach our full potential – it’s all just inspiring bullshit to get us to do what he says, isn’t it?”

“That’s his game, he makes all of us care so much about making him proud, but I don’t think he really loves any of us –“ she paused before adding, with a smirk, “maybe Luther, a little bit.”

Five rolled his eyes, “Oh god, he pisses me off so much.” She smiled back, and they sat together quietly for a time before he spoke again. His tone was purposeful, almost whimsical. When he looked up at the warm light of the chandelier overhead, he was staring out into a place she couldn’t see, his mind, his master plan. “We could escape, you know, and not just out of the city, we could go to a different time, somewhere that dad could never find us.”

“You really think so?” She was willing to play his game, it was fun to fantasise about such things, even if she considered it all too good to be true. Hopes were best kept low, She’d learnt as much in her short life already. ”Where could we go?”

Anywhere,” he said, throwing his arms out wide, as if to indicate that the world was their’s for he taking “Or, anywhen,” he winked. She giggled at the smug look on his face, as if he’d just made the cleverest of jokes. Suddenly he was all seriousness again, brows arched in concentration. “I think we should go to the future, wouldn’t that be incredible?” It was hard to wrap her head around, moving through time, but she trusted him. “We should wait though, until we’re a little older and until I’ve practised time travelling enough that I’ll get it right.” Vanya watched him, he was going through the process in his mind, weighing their options, building the scenario in his head. “Just think about it Vanya!” He leant forwards and placed an over-enthusiastic hand on her shoulder. “Dad would never find us, and there’d be all sort of cool stuff there - like robots, even smarter than mom, and teleporters and spaceships that can go anywhere in the whole universe!”

It sounded so wonderful, she found it harder than ever to rule out the possibility. “You’d really take me with you?” She asked. Even after all these years, it was hard to imagine why he would. He gave her a sad smile and sat down beside her again, taking her hand in his and giving it an encouraging squeeze.

“Of course I will Vanya,” he said, searching for her eyes beneath her fringe. “Once I learn how, and I get lots of practise, it’ll be no trouble at all. We can take a suitcase and your violin, and we’ll never have to come back here again.”

“That’s sounds,” she grinned, “extraordinary.” He returned the gesture, and the secret plan sat unspoken between them throughout most of the coming weeks, save those precious moments they spent alone here in the library or hidden away in the old, forgotten places that the other’s barely visited. It was a safety net, a promise kept that, if things got bad, they would have each other, they would have an a way out.

He opened his notebook again and began writing. His calm, light scrawling struck a contrast against the dark jagged symbols from earlier, as if he’d been trying to take his anger out on the very page. More sums, he never seemed to tire of them. He was still flustered, though, and he’d made a mistake.

She pointed to the bottommost line, reminding him, “remember to carry the four.”

…

14235 days after

Remember to carry the four.

“Honestly, you think I’d forget something like that?”

Well you did, just yesterday, and it took you hours to figure out what you’d done wrong.

“Yes, alright but I’m paying attention this time.”

You mean you’re not pass-out drunk this time.

Five rolled his eyes, she was always on his case about the drinking. There weren’t any other depressants laying around forty years into the end of the world. It was numbing, sometimes it even created an illusion of contentedness. “Hey, now that’s not fair, it was my fortieth anniversary of being stuck here with you, I was celebrating an occasion of utter hopelessness.”

You love me, she chided.

“Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m not sick of eating four-decade-old tinned beans does it?”

I thought you’d given up on going back to your family.

“Of course I have, there’s nothing left for me there. I still have a world to save - if I can, or at the very least, I want to see for myself what did this, and why my powers are useless here.” He sighed, stepping back from the wall at the chalk scratches he hoped would unlock the secrets of time and space. He’d spent the morning reinforcing the canvas shelter overhead. You could never be too careful, especially after that time it rained suddenly a few ears ago, and washed away half his work. “How many times have I told you this, Delores?”

Far too many. Sometimes you need to remind yourself what you’re fighting for. Of course she was right, it was rare that she wasn’t. He was the one who needed reminding of the world he’d lost. He was the one that needed to keep motivated enough not to drink himself into a hole and forget about it all. It was Delores that stopped him from doing just that, almost every day. She was always smiling, so positive and hopeful despite the crushingly poor odds. They’d overcome everything the end could throw at them so far. He couldn’t give up now.

Some decades earlier, he’d stopped searching for survivors. Everywhere he went, he saw more of the same: ashes, ruin, and corpses in various states of decay. He wasn’t about to try and cross the seas, he’d only get himself killed. He remembered huddling under piles of fallen stone, or holing up in an underground bunker that hadn’t completely caved in, just to hide from the blizzards that raged for years on end. The winter was long, but the fire was worse, and surviving the radiation it brought had been a miracle in of itself, though he wasn’t optimistic about his life expectancy. He remembered reading somewhere about what happened to the world after a nuclear strike, or a high-impact meteor. He’d found it fascinating to consider the hypothetical; what an interesting feat of science, of nature. Living it was something else entirely.

First ash, then ice, fire, and now, the world was finally starting to look that way that it used to. Plants had begun to grow again, sprouts of green between the gravelled roads, roots snaking up through rusted metal, leaves splayed out towards the sun, fighting through crumbling stone. It was beautiful, in a way, that life in some form kept on struggling. The weather was becoming more and more stable, the sun beating down pleasantly on his back, and the dark, moonless nights were no longer frigid, bone-chilling affairs. With a fire going, they were pleasant too. If he found a bed of newly-blossomed flowers, struggling to life in this unforgiving wasteland, he thought that it might be a pleasant place to die too. He tried not to think about that, not yet anyway.

Not today, and keep telling it to yourself everyday until you’ve finished the job, or until the job is finished with you.

“I know,” he muttered in reluctant agreement. He realised he’d been slacking, losing himself in his thoughts again. He lifted the chalk back up to the wall and tried to grasp at loose strings of thought. When he was concentrating on his equations, the one great problem of his life, he could block out the rest of it. There was no room to think about anything else. “I’m so close, I can feel it.” How many times had he said that? When had he run out of creative ways to lie to himself?

I know you are. You can do this, you can stop it. This is what the academy was meant for.

That sentiment had made so much sense when he was a child, when he’d been riding on promises from his father that they’d save the world. Of course, nothing about him made sense anymore – I mean, just look at Delores… When everyone else was gone, and your own head was the only place left, sense didn’t count for anything, you made your own.

This goal was all he had, because all this time – his whole life – it couldn’t all be for nothing. He wouldn’t let it be for nothing.

[katecarteir]

semi charmed life | chapter six |  2.2k | teen |

“You guys have kept in contact this whole time?” Bill asked, brow disappearing underneath hair line as he looked like his old friends in amazement. “And you guys are.. what? Room mates?”

Eddie avoided looking at Richie as he answered. “Yeah, uh… room mates. Something like that.”

[or: the adult!losers reunion, done 2000s sit-com style, just like we all deserve.]

PREVIOUSLY ON SEMI CHARMED LIFE: “ At the start of next week, Richie would be switching over to the late show at his radio station. It was going to mean many more late nights, working until 2 or 3 in the morning depending. | “Why are you sitting on the side of the road?”“I’m considering quitting my job and moving here,” Ben said, only half joking. “But it’s not very comfortable.” |  You made it through a day with Spencer Pearsons, which is more than can be said about the mass majority of new hires. So what’s it’s going to be? Are you going to sink… or are you going to swim?” “They’re right,” Stan interrupted. “You’ll either get the hang of it or quit. So, Mike Hanlon, I guess you gotta chose. Are you going to at least try to stick it out or are you going to go back to Derry with your tail between your legs?” |  We’re going to have to change things. You know I love your writing, Bill, but hopes and dreams won’t pay for a baby.”

Goooddd evening New York! According to my time, we’re settling into a deep dark night here in our great city of large apples. So, my dear listeners, I know why I’m here, awake, at midnight on a Wednesday? It’s my job to be awake and annoying at midnight- so what’s your excuse?

Stanley Uris reached out and clicked off his desktop radio. Dead silence in the middle of the night was better than being tormented by Richie Tozier’s voice all night.  Sighing, Stan marvelled once again at how there was no reason for their branch to be open this late at night. In what world would a person be needed financial advice in the dead of the night?

Proving once again that Stanley Uris didn’t seem to know anything, there was a knock at his office door. Startled, Stan looked up at the pretty dark haired girl who seemed as surprised to find herself standing there as Stanley was to see her. “Hi…” she said slowly. “I was told you might be a good person to help me.”

“That might an matter of opinion,” Stan said back with a soft, tired smile. “Most people seem to mis-understand what it is I do.”

“I just wanted to talk to somebody who understands money,” she said lightly. “Because I don’t. At all. I never had to…” The woman came into the room and sat down in the comfy chairs. This office was one of the nicer ones in the branch, Stanley was only allowed to use when he was working the night shift. More often than not, he was stuck in one of the overflow rooms and spent the day playing Solitaire on the computer. Which, yeah, was also what he did when on the night shift but… at least he got to sit in the nice office and do it.

The woman rubbed her hands together awkwardly, giving a forced smile. “But now I… I’m pregnant and I guess I could just go to my dad’s accountant and bankers- they took care of my money my whole life, but…” She pressed her hands over her stomach. “This is the start of my own life, you know? I should do this myself.”

Stan nodded. “There’s nothing wrong with keeping the same accountant and bank as your parents, you should know. You don’t have to do it completely alone, but we can look at some of your options.”

“I just…” the woman shrugged. “My boyfriend… the father… I’m not sure if he’s the smartest. He’s an amazing boyfriend, I love him so much. But I’m sure if I can rely on him, when it comes to money. I have some stuff from my father, inheritance and whatnot. I guess I’m just wondering if it’s a good idea to maybe have my own bank account, and keep it separate from him.”

“It’s always a good idea to have your own account,” Stan said, nodding. “Especially considering you’re not even married. You’re not obligated to share anything with your boyfriend, no matter how pregnant you are. If you’re looking to open up an account, then you’ll need to go into your bank during operating hours. At least to make an appointment, we don’t do that kind of stuff here. We can advise, of course, but I do believe that having your own account is a very good idea if you don’t already.”

The woman nodded. “I’d like to come back and talk to you. You’re pretty much the first person who hasn’t told me to just marry my boyfriend because I’m pregnant.”

Stan smiled blandly at her. “How about this? I’ll take down your name and put you into our system as a taxes client? Then you can come back and request to talk to me whenever you’re struggling with your financial decisions? Can I have your name?”

The woman nodded excitedly. “Yeah, yes! That’s perfect. It’s Audra Philips.”

→  →  →

As night falls over this not-so-great city, you really do have to wonder. What am I doing awake when I could be asleep? I know I am, even for 12 hours an hour, wondering why I’m not just at home, instead of sitting awake in a 4 by 4 booth, more likely than anything talking to myself. Because really- unless something has gone terribly wrong in your life, you’re asleep at quarter to one in the morning.

“Man,” Kay laughed as she walked into the staff room.  Mike Hanlon was seated on the floor, surrounded by half finished plans for the new Ancient Greece exhibit, with Richie’s voice filling his ears. “That guy doesn’t hold back, does he?”

“It’s not exactly in his fashion, no.” Mike chuckled. “Richie has always been that way.”

“Richie? As in, Kaspbrak?” Kay asked, looking at the radio as though it had personally offended her. Mike blinked up at her, mouth opening slightly. “His husband’s a dick. They got a cute kid, though.”

Mike simply blinked at her. There was a lot to unpack there- possibly Kay thinking Eddie was an asshole being the oddest part of what she’d just said- and Mike knew he didn’t have the time or willpower to do it just now. “I… Pearsons told me that I’m not allowed to leave until I figure out the how to run the new Greek exhibit”.

Kay raised her eyebrows. “Spence is letting you take lead on the Greek exhibit? He must really like you.”

“Like me?” Mike burst out laughing. “I’m half convinced he’s trying to work me to death.”

Kay shook her head, sitting down crossed legged in front of him. “No, Spencer has literally never willing given up the lead on anything ever,” Kay took several of the printed pages and pulled them towards her. “If he gave you this exhibit in particular, he really fucking likes you. Ancient Greece is Spencer Pearsons’ passion.”

Mike groaned. “You’re just making me more nervous that I’m going to fuck this up.” Mike shook his head. “I have a million ideas and each one is probably worse than the others.”

“You have too many ideas,” Kay said with a soft laugh. “Why are you making it so complicated? It’s easy. If you want to impress Spence, make it simple. Give the information, give an easy layout and get rid of the extravagant bullshit. It doesn’t need to be fancy, it needs to be factual.”

Mike huffed out an annoyed breath, and clicked Richie off.

→  →  →

Nearing on 2 am, I’m still here. You’re still here too, if you were ever here at all. I could probably say anything right now, nobody would be any wiser. The earth is flat, all cats are aliens, men in suits make me nervous… whos’ even listening?

Ben Hanscom chuckled as the radio stopped as he turned off his rental car. He opened the door and walked out, looking at the three story houses at the edge and shaking his head. They all looked the same, of course, as the style grew throughout the world. He tucked his hands into the back pocket of his jeans and walked over to the fenced in area. Beverly Marsh was leaning up against the door, and Ben’s heart raced in his chest in a way it hadn’t since he was a teenager sneaking out.

“Ben Handsome,” Beverly called happily as she moved towards him, becoming more and more visible through the dark air. “And here I thought you’d lost my contact.”

Ben smiled to himself, remembering throwing her email into the trash… and remembering stumbling into his apartment drunk after hanging out with Bill and finding it stuck to the bottom of his shoe when he woke up in the morning. “I was just picking the right time to reach out.”

Beverly hummed. “We always have had the worst timing, haven’t we?”

Ben nodded in her direction and walked into the fancy living area. Beverly was looking at the houses with an air of familiarity that he felt in his bones. “You’ve been here before?”

“Yeah, Tom and I looked into this houses when they started going up,” Beverly said. “But we figured out pretty quickly that there was no way we could afford to live in them.”

“No average person could afford to live in them,” Ben said wisely. “That was the point. I should know- I designed them.”

Beverly slowed to a stop and looked at Ben with wide eyes. “You… I thought you said you were just an intern?”

Ben pursed his lips. “I am. One of my first tasks was to come up with a design for some high end townhouses. Next big meeting, my higher up was displaying my design and taking full credit. Told me to suck it up, and that I’d understand when I got higher up that the idea of the many was the idea of the one. I’m still not sure what that means besides fuck you.”

Beverly took to look at the houses. “They… they are beautiful.”

“They’re…” Ben exhaled hard. “Yeah. But all I want to do is burn them down. You know?”

“Destroying things won’t make you feel better,” Beverly said. “Trust me. I destroyed my whole marriage then walked out of it without a word. And I don’t feel even close to better.”

Ben scratched at his cheek, annoyed at the hair beginning to grow as it always was between his beard days and post-shaving. “I’m not sure that’s exactly the same thing here, Bev.”

“Sure it is,” Bev said simply, beginning to walk once more. “Discontent with your life is discontent with your life. Whether it’s your job, your relationship, it’s the same. You can’t just push away the thing making you discontent… you’ve got to find something that makes you happy to replace it.”

Ben sighed softly, nodding. “You’re right. I know you are… but I worked so hard to even get the internship I have. If I leave then what do I have to show for my whole life?”

Beverly nodded. “Yeah I get that. After I left Tom I sort of realized that I put everything into the marriage? I let being Tom’s wife be my everything but sometimes you’ve got to start everything. Find a new you.”

“I still want to design buildings,” Ben said, looking back at the fancy houses he didn’t think he’d ever be able to afford. “And even though I think I resent these stupid houses, they still make me proud? Like that’s mine, I created that, no matter who tries to take that away from me. And if I stick out these internship, I���ll move high and I’ll never take credit for something else does. I can make the system better for somebody else.”

“But is it really worth it if you’re miserable the whole time you’re getting there?” Beverly said lightly. “Maybe the reason all your higher ups are such dicks is because they were miserable, too. A brutal cycle.”

“I can break that cycle.” Ben said firmly and Beverly smiled at him sadly.

“If anybody can do that, it’s you Ben Hanscom.” She said softly.

Ben turned to her and brought out maybe the first genuine smile he’d had sober in weeks. “You know I liked you too, right? In high school, and… before that. Pretty much the whole time I lived in Derry.”

“I suspected but I don’t think I ever knew for sure,” Beverly said. “Richie was always saying you did- but I never really listened, you know? Because you were my best friend, so if you liked me then I don’t know what I would’ve done. High school me was an idiot, and if I’d ever done anything about you liking me then… we probably wouldn’t be standing here together now.”

Ben took Beverly’s hand in his and looked deeply at her. “Beverly…”

“I just left my husband,” she said almost brokeningly. “I’m living in Eddie and Richie’s spare bedroom and I don’t even have a job. I’m a mess, you don’t want me like this, Ben.”

“I’ve always wanted you.” Ben said openly. “and I will always want you.”

Beverly cupped the side of his face and brought their lips together.

Our time is coming to a close as we near 3 am. The sun is preparing to rise, and we’ve yet to set. You know? I think we all need to take a chance to think through our life choses. What has gone so wrong for us that we’re all sitting awake at three in the morning? Where did we go wrong? But if you’re still out there in the world, I have some advice for you: No good decision is ever made after 2am.

Bill Denbrough was debating lighting up his first cigarette in seven years when the man slid into the booth across from him. The man leaned forward and raised his brow at Bill. “I hear you’re looking for work.”

Bill cleared his throat awkwardly and praying he didn’t stutter. “I… I’m a writer, b-b-b-but my girlfriend-“

“She pregnant?” The man chuckled. “You’d be surprised how often that what we hear ‘round here. So, let’s make it pretty clear right now. I don’t care about your pregnant girlfriend, and I don’t care ‘bout why you’re here. I just care that you’re here and what we’re going to do about it.”

Bill nodded quickly.

“So tell me, good pal,” the man smiled, giving him a golden toothed grin. “You wanna pack or deliver?”

This is Rich Records signing off saying:  Go home. Find somebody you love and be with them. That’s what I’m going to do.

[alittledizzy]

in the strangest locations rating: pg word count: 3k Summary: Dan's first week on the job. (A prequel to Celebration.) Notes: Written for @waveydnp for my thirty minute fics for charity fundraiser to benefit PhandomGives. 

[read on ao3]

The basement office smells of stale air and weirdly sweet, like the smell of Dan's grandmother's car when he'd leave a bag of sweets open in the summertime and they'd all melt together into a sticky sugar lump.

"Hello?" Dan calls out. His heart is tap-tap-tapping fast in his chest, the queasy beat of anxiety he can't shake in situations like this. His whole life so far has been about pushing past and working around this feeling, trying not to let it defeat him. It's the voice in the back of his mind and the sweat underneath his collar and the butterflies in his stomach. He's wondering if maybe this is the wrong office after all, or maybe it's the right office but his new partner isn't around, or maybe he-

"Oh, hi! You must be Dan!" A person pops out from behind a closed doorway. He's wearing a suit but there's a stain on his tie and one leg of his pants are rucked up enough that Dan can see a bright green sock, definitely not bureau standard. "Howell, I mean. Dan Howell?"

"Yeah," Dan says, holding out a hand. "And you're Lester?"

"Call me Phil," his new partner says, and closes Dan's fingers in the grip of his own. "It's nice to finally meet you."

*

Phil Lester is also British.

Dan had known that going in. He'd read Lester's - Phil's - file and then done what any millennial worth his salt does, and googled the fuck out of him. He knows where he's from and that he's got dual citizenship and that he likes leaving sometimes scathing hotel reviews.

He knows that Phil's last partner requested a transfer away from him, but the part of the file that listed why had been redacted. He's intensely curious; was being stuck with someone fresh out of Quantico a punishment for Phil?

Or was it a test for Dan?

If it was, he's not really sure what it's mean to accomplish because he's known Phil Lester for all of a day and all he has to show for it is a full belly - Phil values his lunch break and also values company while he takes it - and a growing sense of admiration for a man who seems to have been given the total shit end of the stick in terms of bureau assignments and still seems happy as a fucking clam about it.

*

It only takes two days for reality to settle in, consequently the same amount of time it takes for them to be given their first assignment as partners.

"We got a case!" Phil seems elated. "And I think this one got sent down to us especially for you?"

He slides Dan a folder. Dan picks it up and flips through it. "Phishing? We're investigating... an email fraud scam?"

"Yep." Phil still looks far too delighted. Dan doesn't get it. "Pacific Northwest. Oregon, I think?"

"Yeah," Dan mutters a confirmation, still skimming the file. "I don't get it. Shouldn't this be easy to shut down? This looks like your average Nigerian prince bullshit."

Phil shakes his head. "Keep reading."

Dan can feel his own brow wrinkling in confusing the more he gets into the file. "What?" He mutters, then a few seconds later more loudly, "What?"

"Yep." Phil grins. "It's fun, isn't it?"

"I mean, not if you're one of the people getting ripped off, but... how are they doing this?" Dan flips back to the start to see if he missed anything. "How did manage to phish seventeen high ranking cyber crimes assigned agents?"

Phil shrugs. "That's what we're supposed to figure out."

*

"So why us?" Dan asks, clipping the buckle of the airplane seatbelt together.

They're in economy. He's not sure why he's disappointed. When Phil said they were flying out that evening he'd pictured in his head some kind of Mission Impossible scene where they donned full suits and strode into business class wearing their sunglasses.

Instead Phil's in jeans and a hoodie and Dan feels overdressed in the button up and the same trousers he wore to the office.

"Because we won't be targets," Phil says. "I've not had any cyber crimes cases, and you're brand new so no one's going to have heard of you. The last three agents they put on the case of this guy all had their security breached before they checked into the motel in Oregon. They think we'll be able to go undetected. We're not technically undercover. We're just - not... overcover? Either? So... you might want to dress a bit less..."

Phil seems to flounder for a word.

"No worries," Dan says, face going hot as he feels every bit of his comparative youth and inexperience. "I brought some stuff."

*

He didn't actually bring some stuff.

He sits on the edge of his motel bed, staring at a stain on the carpet.

("Not much of a budget of us, I'm afraid," Phil had said, standing in the lobby area. It's an open plan, two long flat buildings parallel with doors all facing open air.

Everything about it feels seedy and cheap. It's not even properly in town, it's on the fringes where things begin to look a bit worn down.)

He's not sure what the protocol is now. Phil said goodbye to him in the car park, but - what happens next?

It's only half six. Does he get dinner on his own?

Does he meet back up with Phil tomorrow?

Is he meant to be doing something with the case file?

Why hadn't he fucking asked?

He has the strange urge to ring his mum just to hear a familiar voice, but he refuses to be the person who needs his mum to tell him that it's alright on his first week of being an actual employed theoretically functional career adult.

He could go get some clothes so he doesn't look like an idiot when he and Phil meet back up. He's got the keys to the rental car - which Phil, for some reason, put entire trust and faith in Dan to drive even though Dan's only six months past being old enough to legally hire a car to begin with. But what if Phil looks outside and sees the car gone? Should he just take an Uber instead, or call for a taxi? But then what if Phil came to his room and Dan wasn't there but the car was? What if Phil saw him being picked up, or dropped back off? What if-

He stands and starts to pace around the room. His heart is hammering too fast and he's got that queasy-sweaty feeling that he gets when everything starts to become just a bit too much.

He jumps at the knock on his door. When he opens it, Phil's standing there - still in the same soft looking hoodie with his hair pushed back off his forehead and glasses on, and fuzzy pajama pants from the waist down. "I can't believe it but we forgot to exchange mobile numbers. Also, do you fancy a pizza?"

"Pizza?" Dan asks.

Phil's smile falters a bit. "Unless you just wanted to do dinner on your own. I just thought-"

"No, pizza's good," Dan quickly says. "We could... talk about the case, too?"

They hadn't on the plane, of course. Sensitive, classified material.

Dan assumes.

"Great!" Phil says, shooting Dan one of those bright smiles. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

*

Dan changes into his own pajamas quickly before Phil comes back.

He can't be sure, having never actually had a partner before, but he's fairly sure pajama pizza parties aren't standard operating protocol on assignments.

But then Phil is sat cross-legged on the full sized bed chewing on what appears to be half a slice of pizza he just shoved into his mouth in one bite. "Sorry," he says, looking sheepish when he sees Dan staring. "I was really hungry, and this pizza's good."

It is good, actually, and if Dan can just relax for five goddamn seconds he might enjoy it. Instead his body feels full of jittery energy still. He folds one foot underneath him while the other rests on the floor, foot tap-tap-tapping away.

Phil pulls out the case files after a few minutes. There's not that much to talk about; they're here to monitor the situation and close in on the suspect once the bureau can get a lock on him.

"They wanted you," Phil says again, sounding almost proud.

Dan's not sure why that makes him feel so nice. "Why?"

"Your computer background," Phil says. "You specialized in profiling hackers, didn't you?"

"I specialized in whatever meant I got to spend most of my time alone," Dan says.

It's a bit of unintentional honesty, but it makes Phil laugh so he doesn't think it's that bad.

"What about you?" Dan asks, taking a bold step forward into casual conversation territory. "What's your specialty?"

"Linguistics," Phil says. "But I don't do much with it. Translations sometimes, but I'm sort of... I get the cases no one else wants."

"Like what?" Dan asks, settling back against the headboard.

"I had to investigate a comedian last year," Phil says. "Because someone reported one of his stand up bits. I had to track him for six months."

"Was he funny?" Dan asks.

Phil shakes his head. "Dead boring. All his jobs were about like, sleeping with women and disappointing his mum and sport."

"Not a fan of sport?" Dan asks.

"Or disappointing my mum," Phil says. "She gave birth to me, why would I want to call her stupid in front of people? Also she's not stupid. She probably heard me say that, using her mum senses. I wouldn't call you stupid, mum.."

Dan laughs. "I don't think she can hear you, but I believe you."

He thinks about the third thing Phil said the comedian talked about, and how Phil hadn't mentioned that at all.

But Phil's probably into women. Most guys are into women. Dan's really got to learn how to stop trying to project non-straightness on every man that talks to him for more than three seconds.

Especially his new partner at this job that, if all goes well, he'll be at for a very long time.

*

The rain starts around midnight.

Phil's been gone for an hour, the pizza demolished and the case discussed and almost another hour of random conversation layered on top of and in between the two.

It was nice. Like - proper nice, in a way Dan hadn't expected.

Phil's funny, and kind, and talking to him already makes Dan feel less scared.

The rain can fuck off, though. It's pounding against the windows, only drowned out every few minutes by massive cracks of thunder.

He can't take his eyes off the silhouette of trees across the way when the lightning strikes to accompany it. Framed by tall trees and threatening clouds, it looks like the setting of a horror movie out.

He hates storms at night. He won't sleep much, he already knows. He keeps the light turned on and his laptop up, distracting himself with music until he can't focus anymore and then watching youtube videos of fluffy animals.

It's fine - it's working. He'll be exhausted the next day, but he lives half his life deprived of adequate sleep. Adrenaline will save the day. It's fine, he's fine.

And then the power goes out.

*

He's shivering in front of Phil's hotel room, soaking wet from the dash across the half-full parking lot.

He doesn't even know what he's going to say when Phil answers.

That he's a fucking child and he's afraid of the dark?

He should just pack his shit up right now, go back home and tell everyone he couldn't do it. None of them thought he'd really be able to anyway. Even his nana, his biggest supporter and fan, made sure to tell him at least twice a year that failure's not the end.

They won't be surprised that he couldn't even hack it a week.

He feels sick and scared and ridiculous but self preservation kicks in two seconds after he knocks. His stomach lurches and he takes a step back, then another, and starts to walk away. He wishes there were a corner to turn, some way to hide.

Phil catches him before he gets too far. "Dan?"

He sounds sleepy. Of course he was asleep. It's fucking one in the morning.

"Uh." Dan turns around. "The power's out."

"Oh - wow." Phil frowns and looks behind him. "You're right. I slept through it."

"Sorry," Dan mumbles. "I'll just-"

He waves a hand, but just as he starts to walk away again thunder crashes. It's chased by lightning only seconds later, shockingly close.

Dan shrieks and drops his phone. "Fuck. Fuck!"

Phil steps out into the rain and grabs Dan's phone for him. There's naked concern in his eyes. "Come inside."

*

Dan stands dripping in front of Phil's door until Phil comes over with a towel.

What a fucking mess. He's a fucking mess.

"Here," Phil says, handing him a bundle of dry clothes. "You can change in the toilet. I always bring extras, anyway."

Dan slinks into the toilet. Every bit of him is drenched, hair and shirt and pants and socks. He leaves them in a soggy pile on Phil's floor, only keeping his pants on. He can live with that level of dampness.

When he steps back out, he's got apologies on his tongue but Phil speaks for he even has the chance.

"It's awful out there." Phil peers out the window. "It's probably good you came over here. My phone's almost dead, I'd only just plugged it in before I slept. Here's yours, by the way. You've got a bit of a scratch in the corner but I tried to clean the mud off."

"Oh," Dan says. He'd forgotten he'd even dropped it. He takes it from Phil. "Thanks."

"Did you-" Phil starts to ask something, then stops. "Are you alright?"

His face looks so, so kind. It's almost enough to break Dan.

"I'm okay," Dan says, nodding more to himself than Phil. "It's just a lot."

"It is," Phil agrees. He sits down on the bed and pats the spot beside him. "Come on, have a seat. Keep me company until the power comes back.

Phil wants Dan to keep him company. Phil, who surely can see the state that Dan is in, who can surely see how much Dan is struggling, is asking Dan to keep him company.

There's not much in the world that he's got any faith in, but in that moment he suddenly finds he has faith that Phil Lester is not going to make him feel as awful as most of the people he suffered through his Academy years with always did.

*

Dan wakes up with an ache in his neck from sleeping half propped up against the pillow. He's cold - body on top of the blankets of Phil's bed, still wearing Phil's pajamas.

He looks over. Phil's properly in bed, having apparently gotten under the bedding some time after Dan fell asleep.

He can't remember how many hours they stayed up talking, but by the time Dan's body did wear itself out the storm had faded off into a light patter of rain and the sun was threatening to come out. They didn't even talk about anything important - their respective childhoods in England, Quantico stories, Phil's seemingly endless recollections of strange and esoteric cases that have been given to him. The last thing he recalls if Phil grilling him on what his mum's dog Colin is like.

Apparently Phil really, really likes dogs.

Dan gives him one more look then gingerly gets out of bed and walks into the bathroom, collects his wet clothes, and retreats back to his own motel room.

*

He gets another three hours of sleep in his own bed before Phil's knocking wakes him up.

He's prepared for some kind of awkwardness, but instead Phil's fully dressed and smiling brightly. "I hope you've enjoyed our fantastic stay in Oregon."

"What?" Dan's confused.

Phil just shrugs. "They got him. They want us back home today."

*

"I can't believe we didn't even have to do anything," Dan says.

Local police made the arrest, and higher ranking field agents descended to take him in. Now he and Phil are sat on a plane back to DC.

Dan's full of restless energy, but in a different way than before in the motel room. Now he's just sort of disappointed that this was his first real case and the actual case part was... non-existent. All that hype and nothing to show for it. He wants a refund on the amount of emotional energy he's spent anticipating this.

Phil shrugs. "Sometimes assignments are just like that. It's not really like it is on television. Sometimes the agent who saves the day is behind a computer on the other side of the country. Is that... what you wanted, though? Excitement and like, guns and stuff?"

"Not really," Dan admits. "The guns freak me out."

He's still wearing Phil's extra hoodie from the night before. It's cozy, and he firmly pushes away that faintly giddy feeling inside that comes with wearing the clothes of an attractive man that he is rapidly realizing he mind find himself liking quite a lot.

He also pushes away the memory of Phil asleep in bed beside him. He's probably straight, Dan thinks. He probably thinks Dan is straight too. He's only got room in his head for one crisis, and not being an embarrassment as a special agent has to take precedence right now.

Phil is giving him one of those pleasantly surprised looks. "Me too," he says. "I'm also really bad at them. I'm a horrible shot. My last partner - he requested off me. Thought I was, I believe the exact words were, a fucking weirdo who has no place in the bureau."

Dan looks at Phil. He can see right away that Phil's struggling a bit with what he's saying.

"Jesus," Dan says.

Phil shrugs a bit, just a lift of one shoulder. "I don't try to be, but I suppose maybe I am. So if you want... if it doesn't end up... working out. It's alright. You do have options, they won't - they wouldn't question it, I think, if you wanted to transfer away."

"No." The pang of emotion Dan feels is as solid as a punch. He meets Phil's gaze directly and says, with almost a note of defiance in his voice, "I think this is going to work out just fine."

[ifridiot]

Punchable

Naia gets some help from Cable. Takes place about six months or so before the last fic I posted, History. Plot suggested by @byfe​

Naia knew who Cable was, had seen him in the news, heard Wade talk about him way more than they honestly ever wanted to, but he was one of those sort of… distant people, like a celebrity or a politician. He was a step above a myth, confirmed real but certainly not someone Naia ever expected to meet.

Or, as the case may be, almost punch in the face.

One minute, Naia’s alone on a dark rooftop, watching a small caravan of cars pull up to the warehouse where the Giuliani family was set to have some kind of meetup to discuss a weapon they’d acquired. Naia needed to figure out what the weapon actually was, and why Vincenzo, who previously had stuck to the drug trade with a healthy side of racketeering, had decided his family should dip into the weapons trade at all. If it came to it, they were prepared to kill a few mafiosos, but at a small sit down like this, they hoped to be able to keep casualties to a minimum.

They’re alone, mentally running through the blueprints they’d memorized of the warehouse interior, deciding the best way to sneak in without being noticed -- recon was the most important part of the night -- and then their danger-sense was going haywire.

Nothing sounds wrong, at first, but thirteen years have taught them to trust that when the danger-sense said ‘something dangerous is behind you’, something dangerous was probably behind them.

And so, before they’ve even gotten a chance to see the man up close, they spun and tried to punch him in the face.

The blow, aimed for someone closer to their height, should have hit the man in the neck, too low for a clean strike to the mouth, but still devastating. Naia could lift railcars; a punch provoked by fear was bound to be devastating.

Except, they manage to get through the spin, leaning into the punch, but then they seem to freeze, their whole body seized by some kind of paralysis.

Gives them plenty of time to recognize the dour face of the time travelling mutant soldier. His head tilts just slightly to the side, as if, when they’d turned, he’d started to sway out of the line of fire before remembering he could do this telekinetic freeze bullshit.

Let me go, fuckhead, they badly want to shout, but Spider-man is generally less ragey than Naia, and would give a guy with a reputation like Cable at least a little respect. So they just think it, loudly, before remembering that the asshole can read minds, too.

All four arms are starting to feel stiff and sore -- honestly, this is worse than trying to hide their secondary arms -- and they register that even if they could figure out something appropriate to say, they can’t move their jaw to speak.

Okay, that’s a little scary.

“Spider-man,” Cable says, measured, calm. Like he’s trying to be soothing, but is also impatient. “I need you to come with me.”

Just like that, the force holding them drops, and they stumble, catching themselves and glaring at Cable. The mask won’t translate the look, but they indulge in it anyway. Judging by the way his lips press thin together, he’s picking the sentiment up just fine.

“You realize I’m at work, right,” they hiss, two hands gesturing toward the warehouse, outside of which men are drifting, casing the area, creating their security net. It was still a few hours before Vincenzo and his guests were scheduled to show up, time Naia needed to see how the goons were going to arrange themselves so they could figure out the attack plan. “Would you show up at like, the hospital while a surgeon is scrubbing up before surgery to demand help?”

“If it were necessary. If the future depended on it,” Cable says, all cool and collected like he’s making an effort to be patient. Naia groans, sagging backwards with their face angled at the overcast sky. It’s July, and the weather seems dead set on raining. So much the better for stealth; the sound of the rain would mask any noise they might make sneaking around.

Now Naia was wasting time talking to this busybody asshole with his distracting metal arm and vaguely disapproving frown. Okay, yeah, they could maybe see where Wade was coming from, maybe, but he was still an busybody asshole.

When he smiles, the expression mostly just a deepening of the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, barely a quirk of the lips, Naia scowls. He even makes smug look good, wearing self-satisfaction with the ease of one who fully knew that he’d earned the right to feel it. Absolutely obnoxious, ugh.

“Look,” Naia says evenly, the voice modulator evening out the little bit of anxiety that would otherwise have managed to leak into their tone, “this is a one-night-only high stakes event. Whatever you want, I’ll help you tomorrow. Or next week. Or whenever you need, just not tonight, thank you for the offer, goodbye.”

Cable sighs, the resignation in his posture enough to communicate that he’d expected this to be difficult but had hoped it wouldn’t be and now he was disappointed. “Wade was right. He told me you were funny. And stubborn.”

“Yeah well, fair’s fair, Wade was absolutely wrong, ‘cause he told me I’d think you were cool and you’re actually just a bit of a prick,” Naia throws back, turning to gesture sharply, all four arms rigidly extended toward the warehouse. “I have a job to do. Stop giving me the guilt-trip Dad-Eyes and go save the future somewhere else.”

Silver eye brows hitch pretty high for a moment, lips pressing thin again. “Saving the future involves you leaving with me. Now.”

Naia turns toward him again, arms dropping. “If I don’t figure out what the fuck those men have and what they’re planning to do with it, they’re going to start killing people. People will die. I know you’re all about the ‘big picture’ and a couple dead mobsters here, a dozen dead civvies there, they ain’t nothin’ to you, but see, they are a big deal to me.”

“If you go in there tonight, you will die. I can’t let that happen.”

A beat of silence before Naia groans, turning away and staking toward the edge of the rooftop where they’d set up their little stake-out nest. “If you expect me to believe that I’m somehow important enough that the time and place of my death affects anything in the grand scheme of things, you’re way, way dumber than Wade’s led me to believe.”

“You need to know what they’ve got? They’ve got two things, Spider-man. A very powerful telepath and a lot of guns. You’ve been fed information to lead you here tonight, and they’ve done a good job, because you absolutely believe you can sneak in there and listen in on a meeting that’s not even going to happen.”

Cable talks like Naia is being obtuse, and frankly, the tone is kind of ticking them off. They get the distinct impression that he’s trying to pull strings here, and they don’t like being led. “Vincenzo Giuliani is a small time crook, he’s got no scores to settle with me outside whatever grander bullshit the Italians might be thinking. There’s been no word of a raise in the reward for my death, no incentive for him to suddenly set up some elaborate trap to reel me in.”

“The Italians have all kinds of reasons to want you in the ground. In fact, most of the criminals in New York would like to see Spider-man dead. You’re walking into a trap that was specifically designed for you, and I’m trying to help you.”

And the worst of it is, guided down that path of logic, Naia can kind of see what he means. Naia would never have gotten wrapped up in this if it was one of the bigger families, the ones with more consistent megalomaniacal bends; they would have tipped off one of the big guys, because they were great at handling small time stuff, okay with a few supervillains now and again, but they really didn’t do the flashy stuff.

Friendly neighbourhood Spider-man. A small mob family looking to dip their fingers into the weapons trade? Just their speed, something that could become a big problem but that could be taken care of before it became too much of one.

It really was sort of a tailor-made situation for them to have spent time on (and oh god, what kind of shit might have been going on while they were putting this case together) and put their focus on, and it would be, in an enclosed warehouse in an industrial park with no witnesses around, exactly the right environment for them to be outnumbered and overwhelmed. Pulled off right, it was the perfect setup to catch them, because the danger wouldn’t be direct enough for the danger-sense to warn them until it was too late. Telepaths were never fooled by their cloaking ability, and they might have a thicker skin than most, but they were definitely not bulletproof.

They couldn’t think of a reason why Cable would lie about this, but it was also… troubling… to try and figure out why it would matter enough for him to intervene. People died all day every day. Someone was probably being murdered right now, someone who could have changed the world somehow but never got their chance. What in the hell could be so important that Time Cop Jesus would decide to step in?

“Things are going to get very dark in the next few months,” Cable says, gravely, like that clarifies anything. “People will need you, your strength, your kindness. Not just the memories.”

“If this is all some kind of plot, aren’t they just going to double down on getting me dead?”

Broad shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “You know there’s a plot now. I imagine you’ll figure out how to deal with the Italians without getting killed.”

Naia squints at Cable, head tilting to one side, assessing him. “You got a real big gun there. And I’d guess you’re better at telepathic shielding than me with your, y’know,” they wiggle the fingers of one hand by their temple. “Bet together we could really fuck Giuliani’s shit up.”

This time the smile is a little more present, crooked like he’s trying to keep a straight face. “I’m not going to do that.”

“Okay, fuck, so you’re Tuxedo Mask, show up, flip your cape, you’re done here.” Naia scoffs, throwing all four hands up. “What good are you?”

“I just saved your life.”

“Yeah? You want praise and accolades? Christ.”

They can feel him staring at them as they gather up their equipment. “Wade told me you had an… interesting sense of humor.”

“Wade tell you I don’t like nights off? Fuck, I wasted so much time on this shit and I can’t even punch anyone over it.”

Cable is smiling openly when they look at him again. It’s still a rather subtle expression, a curl of his lip, the deepening of the wrinkles around his eyes. No business making smug look hot, but there he stands, the absolute bastard.

“Well,” he says, “I could use a hand with something.”

They perk up a little. “Would I be allowed to punch people?”

“It was implied, yes.”

Thunder rumbles, and the first few drops of rain splatter against the mask as they drag their jacket back on and move toward Cable. Down below, Naia can hear Giuliani’s men shouting orders at one another, still setting up security. Part of them quite badly wants to go down there and hurt some people, and they’re willing to bet that, whatever Cable said about them being important in the near future, he’d let them go if they went, even if it got them killed. He’s got that powerful Good Guy energy, the kind that says he can’t fault free will.

But why die when you can live to kill the assholes another day, when they’re not expecting it?

“Alright. Let’s go punch some assholes.”

[mikeshanlon]

he’s all that: chapter two

fandom: it

pairing: reddie (richie tozier/eddie kaspbrak)

word count: 5k

one | on ao3

summary:

Richie smiled smugly, “You’ve got spunk Kaspbrak. I like that.”

“Why don’t you try shutting the fuck up Tozier,” Eddie retorted as the line moved forward, “So what is this, if not some ploy to get me to tutor you? Some sort of dork outreach program? Because I’m not interested.”

—

Or: The one where Richie Tozier has six weeks to get into a relationship and make someone fall for him. Only problem? That someone is the anxiety ridden, goody two shoes Eddie Kaspbrak, and he can’t even stand to be in the same room as Richie.

warnings: there is drug use in that bev/mike/richie are HUGE stoners. also this chapter there is mentions to maggie being an alcoholic. 

a/n: hey! decided to post two weeks in a row just to get the ball rolling (which is why i still dont have all the chapters figured out as promised, my apologies). i'll probably start the every other week thing for next update (so chapter three should be up by march 4th). i would try to do every week but im a college student who has Stuff to do and also makes gifs and im horrible at finishing my writing so, giving myself a realistic deadline that will still hopefully produce quality work. anyways, richie and eddie finally interact this chapter! it's.......................  a bit messy though. and we get to see the rest of the losers club in this one too. 

tag list:  @richietoaster, @wintersember, @howellhxlic, @ed-txzier, @clara-farl3y

After standing in the hallway arguing with Bev for ten minutes, (“I mean really Bevs, fuck!” “You said anyone.” “How do we even know he’s gay?!” “Richie, please.”) Richie resigned himself to the fact that he was going to find some way to charm Eddie. Maybe Beverly would let him borrow that spellbook she bought junior year when she had become obsessed with witchcraft and hexing the patriarchy.

Once school was finally over, Richie dropped off Mike at his farm per usual, ranting about the bet the whole ride over. The farm boy nodded along, but he knew the words ‘told you so’ sat on the tip of his tongue.  

They pulled up to his house, the engine idling so he wouldn’t have to spend time getting it to start again, “Don’t wait up for me tonight if you wanna smoke. Got lotsa research in store,” Richie said as Mike grabbed his backpack and got out of the car.

Mike raised a brow, leaning into the passenger window (which in its broken state always stayed down), “I’m surprised Rich. You never do your homework.”

“Homework shmomwork,” he tapped the end of his cigarette out the window before taking another drag, “Gotta figure out what little ol’ Edward likes. Time for some deep dark internet exploration.”

“Ah, you’re gonna stalk him. Wasting time on social media does sound much more in character,” Mike smiled.

“It’s not a waste Mikey darlin’, a shit ton of preemo dank is on the line.”

The other boy laughed and shook his head, “Godspeed Tozier.”

Richie saluted Mike as he reversed out back to the main road, Bigmouth Strikes Again blasting on the old car radio.

He weaved through the streets filled with kids walking home or trying to find something to do in this shit-hole town. Long afternoons spent at The Aladdin watching the newest releases or aggressively slamming his fingers down on his favorite game at the arcade came to mind; along with going out of his way to bother just about everyone in his path. Richie never really had many friends when he was younger, spending most of his time alone. He was grateful he crossed paths with Bev and Mike, to fate, luck, God if it existed. The universe was rarely kind to him, but finding them was the best thing that ever happened to him.

Plus, the first time he had smoked weed, but that was with them too.

Turning onto his street, Richie pulled up to the unsuspecting two-story white house. It was straight out of a handbook on the American Dream; but the closer one looked, the imperfections started to appear.

The box overflowing with bottles once filled with alcohol next to the recycling bin, which was already too full with more empty bottles. A crooked ‘Home Sweet Home’ sign by the front door. Dying grass, overgrown and conquered with the little weeds Richie used to make wishes on before blowing the seeds into the summer air (I wish for friends. I wish for better parents. I wish to be loved).

He parked the station wagon on the curb, saving the space next to his Mom’s car for his father.

Maggie’s car hadn’t been driven in months (years?), and Richie absently wondered if it would even work anymore. It was nice, a decent heater and it drove well, at least it did when she had bothered to drop him off at school as a kid. Despite her general lack of care for the wellbeing of others, Mrs. Tozier did not drink and drive. Meaning, she didn’t drive at all, as she was drunk off her ass most of the time.

Richie grabbed his books from the backseat and clambered out, fumbling to find his house key among the mess of weird keychains he bought while high.

He didn’t bother stating his presence, even as a pretense, giving up the habit long ago.

Maggie Tozier sat outside, her back facing the screen door in the kitchen. A cigarette rested from her fingertips, and Richie wasn’t sure if she was actually smoking it or just watching it burn. Of course, her other hand gripped a bottle of beer, and a wine cooler sat at her feet.

Richie scoffed and bounded up the stairs to his room, a ‘KEEP OUT’ sign and band posters adorning the door.

It was often said that one’s room reflected who they were as a person, and Richie was no exception. That is, to say, his room was an absolute fucking mess. His bed was never made, and clothes and knick knacks littered the floor (he had already tripped over some beat up sneakers as he walked in). Old mugs, comics, a lava lamp, lotion, and an ashtray Bev had made him in ceramics sat on his bedside table (read: an old wooden apple carton). The only thing that he kept clear was his record player and vinyls at the edge of the bed, which were meticulously organized.

He tossed his notebooks on his desk, alongside stolen pens, his laptop, and his bong. If his parents actually fucking talked to him he would bother to hide his shit, but it didn’t really matter.

Picking up his laptop and its charger, Richie was on his way out again. He could stay home to conduct his research, but he hated the stuffiness and how lifeless the house felt. It wasn’t really even a home, at least not his. Plus, coffee. It was a necessity, especially for the amount of bullshit he’d have to go through just for the tiny brat.

Richie drove to the Starbucks on Main and Belmont, strolling up to barista and ordering his usual: venti quadruple-shot, black. While he often gorged himself on sweets, his need for caffeine could only be sated by the purest form the coffeeshop could offer.

Per usual, the barista gave him a look, “You sure?”

“Listen, I’ve already made a shit ton of horrible decisions today. Trust me, this is not the worst of them,” Richie answered, sliding the cash across the counter

She raised her brows but said nothing else, handing him the change.

He set up shop at a table by the window in the back, away enough from the other patrons. Most of the time Richie threw caution to the wind, but he figured it would suspicious if someone saw him furiously stalking someone who looked like they hadn’t even graduated from middle school.

After retrieving his coffee, opening his MacBook, and plugging his headphones in, Richie scoured Instagram first. ‘Eddie.k’ didn’t post much, mostly some artsy photos, including ones of Bill and Stanley Uris (their other best friend). There were only one or two selfies, much to Richie’s disappointment. Eddie wasn’t actually too bad looking if you ignored his clothes, his hair, his… everything. Freckles dusted his face, concentrated around his little nose, a few on his lips. Cute lips. Cute cheeks. He had the urge to pinch them. But Jesus, that combover. What was he, a balding man in the 80’s?

Other than those pictures, Eddie hadn’t really posted to Instagram in months. He moved onto  his tagged photos. They had some more substance, although Eddie had pretty much only been tagged in pictures by Bill and Stan. It wasn’t like Richie wasn’t in the same boat of having only a few close friends, but at least he hung out with other people.

For the most part, the pictures were pretty normal, the three of them hanging out. Richie couldn’t help but snort at a picture of the three, presumably after a sleepover. They looked exhausted, hair messy, and were brushing their teeth. Pretty mundane, but Eddie had pulled a ridiculous face in the mirror. It was silly, but Richie hadn’t even thought Eddie was capable of making jokes or doing weird shit. The fucker was always uptight, serious even when they had a substitute. Unsurprisingly, Eddie did not appreciate the post.

eddie.k: literally stan delete this!!!!!!

stantheman: @eddie.k, sorry sweatie (:

Richie grinned and continued to scroll, stopping at a picture of Eddie lying down on the grass, laughing. He wore a red tracksuit, the one students wore to P.E. when the bitter chill of autumn came to Derry. His hair must’ve been a little sweaty, because it was curling up into a messy halo around his grinning face. Richie wanted to know this Eddie, see him curl up laughing, but he knew that would never happen.

He perused their profiles for a while before growing bored, downing a third of his coffee before moving on. Except Eddie didn’t seem to have a Twitter, or a Snapchat. A quick google search of his name only came up with a few images and… a Facebook profile?

Richie prayed that it was an old one Eddie had never deleted, but after the page loaded he saw that the most recent status was made last night.

“Oh my fucking god,” he whispered to himself.

Eddie’s profile picture made him look particularly child-like, a weird picture of him pointing to the camera like he was cool, even though the same hand had a clunky old watch wrapped around it. His header picture displayed the quote ‘there is bravery in being soft’.

Richie snorted, “Yeah, a soft fucking dick!”

Another patron scoffed at his fowl mouth, and he shot her a smug grin.

Eddie only had 40 friends on the site, which consisted of Bill, Stan, some of the other nerds at Derry High, and his mother and her friends. It wasn’t like someone’s Facebook friends actually mattered, especially because only middle aged mothers who posted minion memes about their alcoholism used it anymore, but it was still kinda pitiful.

His posts were generally uninteresting, stuff like ‘super nervous for the math test’, or ‘soooooooooooo bored ://///’. Otherwise, he mostly just shared pictures of cute dogs and DIY videos.

It was hard to find any useful information on Eddie, since he obviously lied a lot. Not in the way of bragging, or saying that he did things he didn’t (like Richie did). But there were comments from Mrs. Kaspbrak’s friends calling him a lady killer, or a few posts calling Carly Rae Jepsen cute (please, Run Away With Me is the one of gayest songs of all time). Eddie was closeted, and Richie knew from experience that someone could never really be themselves around others if they weren’t out.

What his profile lacked in useable information, it more than made up with blackmail material.

Take, for instance, little Eddie in possibly the gayest fucking hat imaginable.

He screeched as he saw the picture of the eleven year old, a white fedora-bucket hat hybrid sitting atop his tiny head, before breaking out into a full on wheeze. Richie was laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe, and then he thought about Eddie using his inhaler in that gay ass hat and laughed even harder.

The other customers began to stare, some concerned, and others pissed off at the disturbance.

Once he had collected himself somewhat, Richie sent a screenshot to the group chat.

the losers

bev: oh my fucking G O D

richie: I CANT FUCKIN BREATHE ELRNKKLNERG

richie: LIKE F U C K !!! KLJKLGRJKLLEJK

richie: LOOK AT HIS GAY HAT

richie: LIKE, IT’S GAYER THAN WEARING NOTHING BUT A PRIDE FLAG AND GLITTER

richie: HE LOOKS LIKE A TWINKY SKIPPER

richie: HOW IS THAT HAT MORE GAY THAN EVERY SINGLE ONE RYAN EVANS WORE IN THE ENTIRE HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL FRANCHISE COMBINED

bev: i’m muting you

mike: me too

mike: also that hat isn’t that bad

“‘Not that bad?!’” Richie squawked, not that he’d be able to hear him.

(Really, Richie had no authority on the subject. He still donned the occasional Hawaiian shirt over his tees).

He refreshed Eddie’s profile, seeing that he had made a new status.

Eddie Kaspbrak: big night friday, nervous but excited !!!!

Richie raised his brows in intrigue, seeing that Bill and a handful of other people liked the status. What was going on Friday?

He checked to see if Bill had posted anything, if Eddie was going somewhere, chances were Bill was too.

Bill Denbrough: almost the weekend, finally ready to let loose

Seriously, it would’ve been so much easier if Bill was the guy Richie had to woo. Kid was probably fucking nervous for a party, a place where you threw caution to the wind and had a good time. Still, he made a mental note about finding out what their Friday plans were.

Richie sighed, taking another swig of his coffee, “God, what a fucking loser.”

Suddenly, his headphones were being tugged out of his ear by an angry middle-aged woman with short-layered hair and eye bags.

“Hey, what the fuck?” Richie glared, snatching back his headphones.

The woman returned the look, putting her hands on her hips, “Don’t you have respect for the other customers?!”

“Sweetheart, I don’t have respect for myself, let alone some PTA moms-- like the post-divorce haircut by the way.”

Apparently, his finger guns did not soften the blow, because the lady started to scream at him.

And, apparently, this lady was also the manager, and was pushing him out the door.

So great, Eddie and his dumb gay hat got him banned from Starbucks.

Even though he was wounded from Eddie’s betrayal, (because Richie getting kicked out was definitely not his fault-- it was Eddie’s homosexual headwear. An anthropomorphic device of chaos, that Eddie owned, so, yeah, it was Kaspbrak’s fucking fault.) Richie still skipped smoking on Thursday to spend his lunch with the tiny fuck.

Obviously, they hadn’t made plans to do so, but Richie had, and he really couldn’t delay starting the bet. There was a lot on the line.

So, after getting out of econ (turning in an unstudied for but probably aced quiz), and throwing his shit in his locker, Richie detoured to the cafeteria.

The place was a fucking mess, and it reminded Richie just why he avoided the place. It was pure chaos, loud and overwhelming, a million things to get distracted by. Freshman with their stupid rolling backpacks kept whizzing by, making Richie trip or get his feet ran over. The tables were already filled, the honor roll kids, the partiers, Gretta and her gang. Fucking cliches.

He got in line, picking up a tray and proceeding to fiddle with the buttons at the cuff of his black and white flannel; trying to tune out the buzz of conversation. It was weird, at parties he thrived on the noise and disorder, but here all it was doing was fucking with his ADHD.

Richie drummed a beat onto his tray as the line moved forward and picked the most edible looking slop from the menu. The lunch lady glowered at him as he reached for his money only to realize he had put it in the other pocket, fumbling to put the bills and coins on the counter.  

As she put the money in the register, Richie looked around the room, checking to see where Eddie was sitting. He was sat near one of the exits, carefully taking out his lunch and swinging his legs. And he was alone. Perfect.

“Kid, do you want a receipt or not?” the lunch lady snapped from across from him.

Richie blinked back into focus, “Uh, sure, sorry.”

She sighed and printed out the receipt, slamming it down on the tray, “Next!”

Grabbing his tray, Richie plucked up some plastic cutlery and made his way through the sea of students to Eddie Kaspbrak. He had to twist and lift his tray a bit, but eventually the crowds started to part a bit. A chorus of whispers started to erupt. Stupid small town.

“Is that Richie Tozier?”

“I think, but doesn’t he always get high with his stoner friends?”

“What is he doing here?”

“God, he’s so hot.”

Richie smirked, sending a wink at the girl’s praise before sitting across from Eddie. He watched for a moment as the boy continued to focus on on unpacking his utensils and napkins before clearing his throat.

Eddie’s eyes snapped up from his lunchbox, widening when he saw Richie.

“What the fuck?” It was meant to be a whisper to himself, but Eddie’s voice was louder than expected.

Richie grinned at the blushing boy, “Well, hello to you to Eds.”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie snapped, returning to his food.

Richie waited for him to say something else, at least fucking look at him, but the little fuck kept his eyes glued to his grapes, nails aggressively ripping the fruit from their stems.

“Okay,” he started, taking a sip of his apple juice, “So, you may be wondering why I’m sitting with you—“

Eddie interrupted, annoyance apparent in every fiber of his being, “Is this gonna be quick or not?”

“I’m hoping it’s not quick, although given how hot I am it’s difficult for people to control themselves.”

A long, deep sigh came from Eddie’s (cute, soft) lips. Eddie grabbed at Richie’s hands, flipping them over so that the palms faced upwards.

“Wow, a bit forward, but I’m liking your style Kaspbrak,” Richie winked.

Eddie rolled his eyes and proceed to take out hand sanitizer from his fanny pack, squirting the floral scented product into Richie’s hands.

Honestly, what the fuck?

He must’ve sent the same message to Eddie with his face, because Eddie said, “You obviously aren’t gonna leave me the fuck alone, and if you’re gonna be in my space, you need to be clean.”

Richie raised a brow at this but rubbed the hand sanitizer into his hands anyways.

Jesus Christ, what a weird, defensive little bitch.

Eddie watched with focused eyes, and only spoke when Richie was finished.

“Continue.”

It took a moment for Richie to gain his bearings once more. This mission seemed dead on arrival, but he had to keep trying anyways.

“So, Eddie…” Richie trailed off, twirling the pasta on his plate before his eyes lit up, “Eddie Spaghetti, Eduardo, what’s up?”

Eddie scowled, “That’s not my fucking name!” he squeaked, “And ‘what’s up?’ I mean, we’ve barely even talked before. You think I’m just gonna put up with this because you’re Richie Tozier? I swear to god, if this is some fucking bullying thing...”

Around them, people began to stare and eavesdrop at the sound of Eddie yelling. Fucking perfect.

Richie blinked back at the boy across from him, now red in the face for a different reason, “Calm down, I’m just trying to get to know you.”

“Fat fucking chance.”

Okay, wow. Richie had more work cut out for him than expected. He thought of what to say next as he watched Eddie finish his grapes.

“This isn’t, like, a joke,” (it wasn’t real either), “I just wanna hang out.”

“Hang out?” Eddie’s chocolate brown eyes met Richie’s, his tone mocking.

Richie nodded, “Yeah, ya know, kick it with the homies. Make out a little if you’re down. Friend stuff.”

Eddie’s jaw clenched, “You’re unbelievable. Just fucking unbe— you know, how can you even say any of that shit? How can we be ‘homies’ if we’ve never ‘hung out’ before? And don’t want to-- I’m not-- you don’t know me!”

There was something underlying in Eddie’s voice as he snapped, wavering at the end. Richie, like most things in life, was completely and utterly fucking up.

“Well then, how about we fix that?” Richie leaned forward, “I was wondering if maybe you’d wanna—“

Abruptly, Eddie stood up, grabbing his food and walked off, making his way towards the cafeteria line where Bill and Stan were paying for their lunch.

Richie looked around at all the watching faces, some snickering and others as shocked as he was.

“...Embarrass me horribly in front of all these people.”

He took a deep breath, and shoved some spaghetti in his mouth, his frown growing larger at the disgusting taste. Richie was often considered a wild card, but this was when routine was a good thing. He should’ve just avoided this and sparked up with Bev and Mike.

Actually, he was going to do just that. There was still some left in lunch, and no reason for him to stay in the cafeteria if Eddie was giving him the cold shoulder. More like a giant fucking iceberg but still, pointless. Besides, he really needed to get high now. Eddie ruined his whole mood and pissed him the fuck off.

Richie got up and tossed out the inedible garbage before going to the usual spot, finger itching for a joint.

He used his foot to push open the door, which would’ve been cool, except with his clumsiness and horrible luck he tripped forward, narrowly avoiding falling down the steps and face planting by grabbing the railing.

As Richie caught his breath and stabilized himself, he could hear his friends laughing.

“Back so soon?” Bev smirked knowingly, taking a drag.

Richie huffed, “Ha ha. Let’s yuck it up for my misfortune,” he grabbed her joint and took a long hit, “This fucking kid, Bev. I don’t think I can do this!”

“As in, you’re morally incapable of leading him on?” Mike asked hopefully.

“Please, let’s be realistic here Mikey. No, that kid is like, the fuckin devil incarnate. Shithead is fucking crazy!” Richie paced, smoking from the joint.

Bev laughed, “What makes you say that?”

“Why don’t ya ask the whole fucking school?” Richie snapped, though the anger wasn’t directed at her, “They were watching it all go down. If that wheezy asshole ruins my reputation—“

“What reputation?” Mike interjected.

Richie rolled his eyes and flipped him off.

Another voice spoke up, “I dunno, Richie’s pretty well known. I like him well enough.”

Richie whirled around, just noticing a new face among the usual group, Ben Hanscom.

The eternal new kid, since no one ever moved to ass backwards Derry, was not someone he’d expect to be behind the art building. Maybe reciting poetry or some shit, but not blazing. Ben was sweet and genuine, albeit a little shy. He was no longer the chubby kid he once was, more stocky and muscular now. They weren’t too close, as the tawny haired boy spent more time with Mike and Bev, and if not them, the other dorks (like Eddie and his friends). But either way, dude was pretty chill. Richie just didn’t really want him there mid-meltdown.

“Haystack?! You smoke?!” he whistled, “Ho-ly shit, who woulda thought!”

Ben shook his head, “Uh, no I don’t. Mike and I just had to study for history next block.”

His deep brown eyes flitted to Beverly, who had now stolen back her joint and was playing with the key that hung from her neck. Yeah, studying was the only reason. Not Ben’s excruciatingly obvious crush on the red head.

“We would’ve just gone to the library, but Bev and I made a bet about if you’d be successful or not today,” Mike said.

Richie gasped, “Betting on my failure? Fuck you guys, Benny Boy is my new best friend.”

“I didn’t sign up for that.”

“Hey, I bet on you succeeding,” Mike put his hands up in surrender, “She’s the one who thought you’d screw it up.”

“And I was right. Pay up,” Bev smiled, holding out her palm.

Mike dropped a candy bar in it with a deep sigh. She tore open the wrapping, taking a savage bite of the chocolatey sweet.

“I think you have a gambling problem,” Mike quipped.

Bev shrugged, “Not a problem if I keep winning.”

She grinned, her teeth covered in chocolate and spit. Gross. Ben still looked enraptured. Double gross.

“Anyways, can we focus on the important bet, and the fact that this fuck is impossible! Seriously, Bev, babygirl, pick anyone else!” Richie whined, plopping his bony ass on the cement.

“First off, don’t call me ‘babygirl’,” she flicked the ash off the end of the joint at him, “Second, the deal was anyone. You either woo him or you don’t.”

Richie opened his mouth to complain again but Ben beat him to it.

“I’m sorry, but what are we talking about?”

The other three looked at each other in panic. Ben was friends with Eddie, there was no way he could find out what was going on. The whole thing would be ruined before it started.

“Nothin!” Richie squeaked, “Just uh… bet that I couldn’t ace a group project. I usually just bullshit a lot of that stuff and leave it up to the others if I can. Partner’s just a little… high strung.”

Bev groaned and Mike sighed. A horrible fucking lie. Richie was already trying to formulate a better one in his head.

Ben smiled, “That’s nice, a wholesome, supportive bet. But you really should just communicate with your partner. They might be nervous because of your history is all.”

Richie let out a sound of relief before realizing Ben’s advice could actually be helpful.

“Sure, but I already tried to talk to him and it didn’t go well,” he explained.

Bev and Mike raised their brows, catching on.

“Well, how did you talk to him?” Ben asked, “Was it an ambush or a friendly conversation?

Bev snorted, “Ambush, knowing Richie. He doesn’t do friendly conversations.”

“Maybe with you, because you’re on my ass all the time,” Richie shot back, “But uh, she’s right. Shouldn’t matter though, everyone knows that’s how Tough Guy Tozier does his business.”

Mike groaned, “Please don’t call yourself that ever again.”

“You’re just coming on too strong. You have to consider what he likes, what he wants. A good partnership comes with compromise and communication,” Ben nodded sagely.

Richie ruffled his hair, putting on his trusty British voice, “Thank you Advisor Hanscom. Your wisdom is greatly appreciated.”

Ben smiled awkwardly, his eyes going to Bev once again, “Course.”

He took the joint from Bev, inhaling the musty smoke and blowing it out his nostrils, the burning sensation familiar and welcome.

“And maybe, you should talk to him sober next time,” Mike suggested.

Richie laughed, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

By the time the final bell rang, he was still feeling defeated and unsure of his next move. Sure, he’d have to dial back his trashmouth charm, try to seem actually invested in Eddie but… that wasn’t going to happen if the brat never talked to him again. Richie had to find a way to break the tension between them, start fresh.

He sulked to his locker, pulling out his shit from the looming mess. Loose binder paper and pencils fell onto the ground, and Richie just wanted to bang his head against the wall of metal. Also, go home and smoke while playing video games but, mostly, hit his head repeatedly. Maybe he’d lose enough brain cells to forget the entire day.

After a few moments of excessive cursing, Richie grabbed what he needed and got everything that fell back into the locker. He noticed a new post it on the door just before he closed it.

Don’t give up :) <3 - mike

Richie smiled, and slammed the locker shut with a resounding clang. With a little stretch and a fix of his glasses, he strolled through the halls, making his way to the parking lot to wait for Mike.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bill and Stan loitering around the halls as well, engaged in (an undoubtedly boring) conversation.

He remembered Bill and Eddie’s facebook status’ about exciting plans for tomorrow night and decided he should investigate.

“Billiam! Staniel!” Richie called as he approached them, “What’s up?”

The two stopped talking and looked up, Bill smiling while Stan rolled his eyes.

“H-hey, Richie,” Bill waved.  Richie noted that his stutter had gotten a lot better just over the past year. The two of them had shared a few classes when they were juniors and were pretty friendly with one another. At least compared to his relationship with Eddie and Stan, who also seemed to hate him for no reason.

Speaking of, the prim and proper boy was glaring at him, “Didn’t get enough of being a nuisance at lunch?”

Richie raised a brow, “Whatever do you mean?”

Stan scoffed, and opened his mouth to respond, but Bill put a hand on his shoulder, “N-nothing. Stan’s just… on edge. What’s up w-with you?”

“Not much, just trying to figure out what my plans are for tomorrow,” Richie shrugged, “Got any suggestions?”

“The only thing on your mind is where to party? Not surprised,” Stan quipped.

Richie shoved his hands in his pockets, biting his tongue. Snapping at Eddie was what caused his whole operation to go south, and he couldn’t mess up this second chance.

Bill ignored the tension between them, “Well, usually w-we don’t do t-t-too m-much, but it’s s-senior year. Probably going to Peter Gordon's party.”

“That kid’s an ass.”

“Coming from you, that’s rich,” Stan commented, his arms crossed.

His grinned, “Well, yeah, I am Rich.”

Stan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, he is, but he’s also s-super wealthy,” Bill avoided another ‘rich’ pun, “Meaning he’ll h-h-ave q-q-quality shit.”

Richie beamed, “Ah, I get it. You’re Robin Hood-ing that fuck. I like your style Billy Boy.”

He clapped Bill on the shoulder, and the other boy blushed slightly, “W-well, it wasn’t j-just my idea. Eddie and Stan helped.”

“Eddie? He’s coming with you guys?”

Bill shook his head, “N-no. He was supposed to, b-b-but that art thing came up so he h-had to cancel.”

“Art thing?” Richie asked, suddenly intrigued. This was the information he wanted.

“Yeah,” Bill nodded, “It’s this show that happens every month. At Jester Theatre. He always goes.”

Stan not so subtly elbowed Bill in the ribs, hissing at him to shut up.

“W-what?!”

“Yeah, what’s got your steamed panties in a twist Uris?” Richie smirked.

Stan sent him a scowl, “You know very well Tozier. Eddie told us all about what you did at lunch. Back the fuck off.”

“S-stan, I don’t think he meant--”

“No, Bill, he did,” Stan interrupted, “I don’t know what your game is, but if you hurt him…”

Richie put his hands up in surrender, “Hey, I’m not going to hurt him. He seems pretty strong anyways. I mean no harm.”

Stan didn’t look convinced at all. Fair enough.

The air between the two was tense, but Bill broke it by clearing his throat, “So, uh, will w-we see you at the p-p-party?”

Richie shook his head ‘no’, “Probably not. I have some more sophisticated plans lined up.”

a/n: hope you liked it! next chapter is p much all richie and eddie so get excited. if you enjoyed i would love hearing your feedback

oh and this is eddie’s gay hat if you were curious

[juicehoee]

All Along the Watchtower {Chapter 6: Catnip} (Juice Ortiz)

One/Two/Three/Four/Five/Six

Chapter Six: Catnip

“Isn’t she a beauty?”

Juice’s newly bought Jeep sat proudly in his driveway, shiny and modern in all of it’s camouflage glory. He almost second guessed the camo pattern, but ultimately decided that the whole thing just reflected his personality too much to turn down.

It was a sunny afternoon built for cruising around the neighborhood on their bikes, but Juice was much more interested in taking his new Jeep for a joyride with the doors off. He decided he needed something to go back and forth from Nevada with that would be a bit easier on his back and could carry a bit more stuff with him. It was hard to pack all his shit in a little mesh backpack that barely had room for a toothbrush and he was sure Uncle Lenny was wary about his precious niece being on the back of his bike all the time (even though Uncle Lenny had his own hog in the backyard in pristine condition).

Juice and Opie stood around the back of the Jeep, Juice admiring the exterior while Opie stared part in shock and part in disbelief of the younger man’s purchase. Jax was around the front, checking out the engine. In truth, Opie thought it looked like something out of that Kardashian show (not that he had ever watched it, or would admit that he’d seen it) and those girls just had bad taste, in his public opinion.

“Well,” Opie’s eyebrows furrowed, not quite sure of what to say to Juice. “Sure. If that’s your kind thing, then it’s perfect.”

“You really mean that?” Juice asked, touched in his heart by Opie’s words.

“Yup. Meant every word of it.” Opie pat Juice on the back. “You did good, Juicy.”

Jax came around to meet them at the trunk of the Jeep. “Kinda looks like something you’d see Kylie Jenner driving around Calabasas.”

Juice took a step back with wide brown eyes. “You know about Kylie Jenner?”

“Yeah,” Jax shot back, defensive. “Anyone with an internet connection has heard of Kylie Jenner. She’s everywhere, you can’t really miss her. Right, Ope?”

Opie shook his head side to side and put his hands up, trying to stay out of it. “Nah, brother. Don’t know who that is.”

Opie gave Juice a knowing glance while Jax was looking the other way and Juice shot him a thumbs up behind his back. Jax was none the wiser. It was so easy to get him riled up over random shit, so Juice and Opie made a game out of it to see who could get him to lose his shit the fastest.

“You really good with all that camo, Juicy?” Jax asked, inspecting the car with a judgmental scrutiny that he could have only learned from his mother. “You’re sure you’ll be able to find it in the parking lot?”

“Jeez, you’re funny.” Juice clapped Jax on the shoulder. “Stop with the humor, funny man. There’s a stitch in my side.”

“I’m just saying, man.” Jax said. “You didn’t want black or blue or something like that?”

Jax’s nose was two centimeters away from the Jeep’s bumper and Juice entertained the thought of kicking the back of his knees in to get him to trip, but refrained from it. He didn’t answer the question (he didn’t think he needed to, it was his truck for God’s sake and he really liked it).

“I like the camo.” Juice said, shrugging. “It’s not like I can show up with a receipt and get store credit for the thing anyway.”

“Can you get me a water or something from inside?” Opie turned to Juice. “My throat’s a little scratchy.”

As Juice jogged up the driveway and into his front door, Opie grabbed Jax by the collar and shoved him forward. Opie slugged him in the kidney real quick, glancing at the door to see if Juice had come back yet. He hadn’t.

“What the hell was that for?” Jax yelled. “Kidney hits fuckin’ hurt.”

“Stop being a dickhead about the damn Jeep, Jax.” Opie grumbled. “The kid’s excited about it and my truck’s a piece of crap but I’d knock around anyone who gave me shit for it. Give Juice a break, he’s pussy-whipped and he just bought a camo Jeep. Let him live a little without makin’ him feel bad about it.”

“Fine, fine.” Jax agreed. “I’ll let up on him a little bit.”

Inside, Juice was grabbing them all a few waters when Dolly and Shiloh came rubbing against his legs. They were being suspiciously nice which, in Juice’s experience, usually meant they wanted something. The food bowl was full. So was the water dish. There had to be something else.

“You sneaky bastards want catnip, don’t you?” Juice said, scratching them both behind the ears. “Well, alright. You know I spoil you.”

They just stared at him, but the meows started going when he opened the cabinet he kept the catnip in. Sometimes, they were smarter than he gave them credit for. They were a lot like him in that way, he figured. Underestimated.

Dolly and Shiloh were practically jumping to reach his hands as he sprinkled it on the floor for them to roll around in for a good fifteen minutes. It must be nice to have such a simple life where fifteen minutes of catnip could keep them happy for the next week. That, and the fact these spoiled cats get to sleep in his comfortable king size bed gave them a pretty content life. He envied it.

“Jesus, Juicy! Get back out here!” Jax yelled through the front window. “You can jack off later after we leave!”

With a dramatic sense of gusto, Juice fled out the front door, grabbing the three water bottles from the counter on the way out. He tried not to look too flustered. Hopefully, his face didn’t look too red to his friends when he emerged from the house.

“What were you doing in there?” Opie asked, catching the water bottle Juice tossed to him.

“Shut up.” Juice mumbled. “I was feeding my cats.”

“You have cats?” Opie raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah!” Jax smiled, a malicious grin taking over his face. “You didn’t know that? He’s got two of ‘em. What are their names again?”

“Dolly and Shiloh.” Juice answered. “I’m not ashamed of my cats. Actually pretty proud of them. They’re self sufficient.”

“Dolly?” Opie asked. “As in Dolly Parton?”

“Yeah,” Juice shrunk into his boots. “Not so proud of that though. I had a weird country phase the week I got them.”

“You sure it wasn’t about the fake tits?” Jax smirked.

Juice considered this for a second. “Yeah, it might have been a little bit about the fake tits.”

Hanging around with Jax and Opie like buddies was a rare occurrence for Juice. Only a couple months ago, he had been a prospect and everyone looked down on him (quite literally since he spent most of his time cleaning out the toilets). Even now, most of the guys treated him like a prospect, and technically, he was still a new guy. Jax and Opie got down off their high horses once in a while to treat him like a brother, like an equal, and those times were like beer that Juice could guzzle down a gallon of on a hot summer Sunday. He liked having buddies. He liked having brothers.

“You wanna go for a joyride in this thing?” Juice asked, dangling the shiny new keys to his shiny new Jeep. “Might as well break it in to go grocery shopping. Super exciting stuff.”

“Take it to Nevada. Impress that pretty little thing you’ve been daydreaming about.” Opie laughed. “She better be worth all the shit you’re putting into this.”

“She is.” Juice said. “She really fucking is.”

“She better be,” Jax chimed in. “You’re worth it, Juicy. Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise. And if they do, punch ‘em in the nuts.”

“And if it’s a woman who tries to bring you down, just send ‘em to Gemma.” Opie hugged Juice for a moment. “She’ll take care of that issue real quick, believe me.”

“Thanks, guys.” Juice fought the emotional tears welling behind his eyes. He meant it.

Damn, it was fucking good to have brothers.

{***}

“Hey, stranger. Need a ride?”

Juice pulled up beside Lana on the sidewalk as she was walking down the street. He knew he’d have to talk to her sooner or later and it would take the pressure off of his shoulders. The idea of cutting this whole thing off was like a fat rock pressing down on his chest and it was starting to put a damper on him. Better do it now when Clay and Tig were out of sight. Tig gave him a good beating that had left him with a solid bruise under his left eye and a cut on his lip that hurt like a bitch every time he tried to eat anything hot. Buffalo chicken was out of the question until at least next week, and Juice knew he needed this pain to fuel the conversation with Lana that was about to ensue. He hoped they could still be friends.

“Juice?” Lana furrowed her brows. “Is this- did you just buy this?”

“Yeah.” he twiddled his thumbs against the steering wheel. “Get in, I need to talk to you without Tig beating my face in.”

“Are you trying to lure me into your car, Mr. Ortiz?” Lana asked. “I’ve watched To Catch a Predator. Can’t trust anyone. Chris Hansen taught me that.”

“I’m serious, Svetlana.” He was surprised he used her full name. “I don’t have time for this right now.”

It killed him to put on such a cold front, but Gemma was the wisest person he knew when it came to women, what they wanted, what they needed. He felt so lost and naive when it came to relationships and Gemma seemed so happy with Clay. He just wanted a girl who would ride on the back of his bike in thirty years and not get tired of him. He wanted what Clay and Gemma had. Might as well follow her advice seeing as he was swirling down a dark path with Lana and he needed to stop it before things got worse for him.

“Okay.” She looked hurt as she climbed into the car. “I like the camo.”

“I don’t want to lead you on anymore.” Juice said, trying his best to be blunt but gentlemanly. “I shouldn’t have kissed you and I shouldn’t have taken you home that night. You’re nineteen, you need a nice college boy who will take you to parties and make sure you get home okay. You don’t need me.”

“But I like you, Juice.” Lana said. “I mean, if you don’t want to be with me, I understand that, but if you’re gonna pull some angsty Hollywood movie bullshit about how you’re not good for me, then I’ll tuck and roll out of this Jeep right now.”

Lana’s voice had an aggression in it (she must have learned it from Gemma, it sounded very Gemma-like) but she wouldn’t look at him. Instead, her eyes were glued in her lap and her dainty fingers played with the fringe of the ripped denim shorts she wore. There was an instablility in her hands that made him shake and he prayed his hands wouldn’t shake that bad or he’d have to pull over the car (and he really needed to get to the damn grocery store before it closed, he was running out of chocolate-covered raisins).

“I’m seeing someone.” Juice said. “A girl in Nevada. I really like her and she’s been really good for me. If things keep going well, I might ask her to move in with me.”

“In Charming?” she asked quietly.

“Yes,” Juice said. “Considering that I currently live in Charming.”

“You really gotta be a smartass with me right now?�� Lana snapped. “Were you seeing her before you kissed me?”

Juice froze. He didn’t think about it like that. His brain stopped working and he ran through a red light, much to the chagrin of the beeping drivers around him.

“Yeah.” he said. “Nothing official, but I was going to Nevada to see her a bunch.”

Her hands clenched into fists, leaving little red crescents in the soft flesh of her palms. She didn’t care. How could he have been so fucking selfish? It was humiliating to be played by him in front of the whole club. In front of Clay. In front of Tig. In front of Jax. They all knew about it and they would al know that she was rejected. She was just some little kid trying to put on her big girl pants and be part of the club when they all wished she would move away to paint shit and go to class.

“What the fuck, Juice?” her voice was low, but strong, on the verge of her breaking point. “How could you lead me on like that? How could you do that to me?”

“Did you really think there was ever a chance for us, Lana? I mean, it didn’t seem ridiculous for us to be together?” Juice rose his voice. “You really think we would have survived with Clay and Tig trying to beat the shit out of me for even looking at you?”

“Don’t fucking yell at me, Juan.”

“Why the hell shouldn’t I?” Juice yelled louder. “Thanks to you, I’ve got two black eyes and a split lip and Clay’s gonna bury me somewhere in the woods before I even get anywhere with the Sons! This club means everything to me and I put that in jeopardy because I knew you needed a friend.”

“So you were just my friend for five minutes because you pitied me? You kissed me and took me home with you because you pitied me?” Lana threw her hands up, incredulous. She was no longer quiet. “That’s fucked up, Juice.”

“That’s not-”

“You think I’m just some pathetic little kid who can’t handle her own. Who’s stupid and helpless and needs someone to hold her fucking hand while she cries.” Lana fumed. “I don’t need your pity.”

“Yeah? You don’t need my pity?” Juice said, looking over at her. “Then stop fucking going around feeling sorry for yourself like a damn puppy with her tail between her legs and then you won’t look so damn pathetic-”

Juice’s words were cut off by Lana reaching for the steering wheel and jerking it to the right, forcing the car to swerve to the side of the road. His stomach lurched and sank like a rock as they went flying. He couldn’t breath. His lungs were dead. (If there’s a fucking scratch on my new car, she’s fucking dead.)

Juice’s arm jutted out to his right and slammed Lana’s back against the passenger seat to prevent her from flying through the windshield. Gunshots rang out on all sides, bullets embedding themselves into the interior. He can see the silver rip the leather all around him in slow motion. His heart doesn’t speed up as he goes delves into his instinct, grabbing Lana by the neck and shoving her down.

“Don’t get up!” he screamed and floored the gas, speeding away from whoever was shooting at them.

In the chaos, Juice didn’t pick up much of whatever was going on outside; he was too focused on making sure neither him nor Lana bit the dust in his brand fucking new Jeep (he couldn’t return it with bullets lodged in the sides. Damn.) However, he did see that shiny motorcycles surrounded him on all sides, and that’s where the bullets must have been coming from. Some guy was on the ground, sprawled out and covered in blood, next to his bike closest to the side of the road. The bike was smashed and so was the guy’s skull; brain matter covered the ground in a death sentence Juice would have nightmares about for weeks. These must be the Roman Skulls MC Clay was worried about.

They must be new. A daylight drive-by reeked of amateurs trying to nudge their way into outlaw territory.

Shots still fired as he burned rubber to get the hell out of there. His tires marked the ground and the car groaned under the pressure of the accelerator. What a big hunk of metal.

The shots slowed the farther he got, but a bullet caught him in the arm at the last second, right above his elbow. Juice screamed in agony, but focused on the road before him and put the pedal to the floor, hightailing it to the SAMCRO clubhouse. Blood poured out of his arm and Lana tried to get up to fix the wound.

“Stay down!” he barked. “Don’t get out of the car until Clay or someone comes and gets you!”

Juice tore his neck around to see if they followed. They didn’t. Maybe these guys weren’t complete numbskulls. If they had any sense, they’d be hightailing back to wherever the hell they came from.

{***}

Chibs and Bobby were in the office talking to Gemma when an obnoxious camouflage Jeep shredded the concrete in the parking lot. Chibs immediately stormed out of there, ready to put the idiot in his place when he saw Juice in the front seat of the car. Next, he noticed the bullet holes in the side of the car.

Juice grabbed a sweatshirt from the backseat and used it to quell the bleeding of his arm until Chibs could stitch him up in their makeshift hospital. It stung, but it looked like a through-and-through: two clean bullet holes with no slug lodged inside him. Count him lucky, but it still hurt like a bitch.

“Don’t get out until someone gets you. I don’t think they followed us, but you’re not getting a bullet in your head on my watch.” Juice ordered.

Juice climbed out of the car, holding his arm tight. Chibs rushed over, holding the half-assed tourniquet and leading him inside to where he could assess the damage. It didn’t look like Juice was gonna bleed out, but he was getting woozy from blood loss. There was just so much fucking blood.

He never did well with blood. When he was ten years old, he tripped and fell off of his skateboard, smashing his face into the side of a telephone pole. Seeing the blood on his hands, Juice had passed out and his sister found him a few minutes later. Things had gotten better, but Juice still hadn’t shaken the queasy feeling he always felt at the sight of blood. He was a Son now; he’d have to toughen up.

“Lana’s in the passenger seat. Not hit. Someone go get her.” Juice struggled out between labored breaths. “She’s fine.”

“BOBBY!” Chibs yelled. “GET LANA IN THE FRONT SEAT!”

Juice leaned against Chibs heavily, feeling his head grow lighter than a balloon. At any moment, he could float away through the clouds, away from Charming, and away from the Sons. He pictured flying all the way to Nevada down in Priscilla’s backyard so he could catch a last glimpse of her before he came crashing down, probably getting caught in a tree or something dumb like that.

“Juicy boy, are ya-”