#I have to make a custom wrap and what happens?? those morons didn’t pull the flatbreads out of the freezer like they’re supposed to every

[rezzyromance]

Oooo I had an idea- Moreau with a reader who is very cuddly n’ caring as well as very patient, but, once you make them mad, b o o m full angy creature mode. (Maybe someone makes fun of sal while testing the readers patience so they defend sal or something idk- (;^^)

This page is slowly turning into a Moreau fan page and I couldn't be anymore happier!!

You've been waiting patiently in the shack that you and Moreau stayed in together. He was called to another one of Mother Miranda's meetings along with the other Lords. As much as you'd like to join him for the meetings, him and the other Lords agreed that it would be safer for you if Miranda didn't know of your existence. Moreau understood the importance of keeping you a secret from his beloved "mother", but he failed to stay silent about you to the other Lords. He was just too proud and happy that he finally found someone who loved him like the people in the romance movies he watches love each other.

To try and make time pass by, you began to clean slightly. The shack was a bit messy when you first started living with him. Now, you like to help out and sweep from time to time. He also began to pick up after himself better, hoping to impress you. After sweeping for a while, you could hear movement in the distance. You look out the window to see Moreau returning from the meeting, his head hanging lower than usual.

"Hello love!", you call out to him from the window, waving to greet him. He glances at you and lifts his hand as a low effort way to respond. This wasn't usual for him. Usually he would greet you with open arms and a smiling face. Your heart began to sink slightly, worried about what may have caused him to seem so sad. Once he made it through the door of the shack, you walk over to him and place a hand on his cheek. "Is everything okay, Sal?", you ask him. You noticed how his cheeks were wet, streams of tears falling on each side. "Heeyyyy what's wrong?", you ask in a comforting voice, pulling him in for a hug. He doesn't hesitate to throw his arms around you and hugs you tightly. You could hear him sniffle as his crying continued. "Let's calm down for a sec and then you could tell me what happened, okay?", you ask him as you start to lead him to the couch. "..okay", he gives a quit answer as his sniffling continued.

Once you made it to the couch, you threw a large blanket over the both of you. You pulled him closer and wiped away his tears again. His breathing started to grow rapid as he tried to stifle his crying. You began to quietly comfort him, saying things like "I got you." and "You're okay.", as you held him close. His sniffling finally slowed to a stop and he seemed to be calm.

You pulled away from holding him and had your eyes meet with his. "Now.... what caused this?", you asked, wanting him to open up to you. He hesitated and looked away. "It's okay. It doesn't matter", he sighed. "C'mon Sal. It matters to me.", you say. "Well.... Angie called me ugly again..", he seemed embarrassed. "Ugh that piece of plastic? Can she even see with those marble eyes of hers? Obviously she doesn't see what I see.", Angie was a bit well known to be harsh with her words. It wasn't uncommon for her to say something rude about his appearance, but it also wasn't common for Moreau to be upset by her words. He was good at brushing off her harshness, so what else could be bother him. "..and.. Heisenberg laughed... and..", you could see the tears begin to pool in his eyes once more. You started rubbing his arm. "What else?", you push him to open up more. "He called me a moronic freak.... and said he doesn't understand how you.. love me and.. you use me to have a roof over your head..", he admitted.

You had stopped rubbing his arm. Your hand was now balled into a fist as rage began to boil inside of you like a volcano ready to explode. "Is that all?", you ask him, unaware of how aggressive your tone was. "Yes.. Mother split up the meeting after that and he laughed as he left..", he sulked. "You know that none of what he says is true right? You know damn well you deserve love more than his bastard ass. And you know I will not let him bully you like a child." he was caught off guard by your tone. Your jaw was clenched and your brow was furrowed. He was happy that Heisenberg's words weren't true, but he was worried about what his words may cost him.

"Where is he?", you ask as you stand up from the couch. "W-What?", Moreau stood up as well, unsure of what you were planning. "Where is Heisenberg? I need to...talk..to him.", you say. "He said he was going to visit the Duke and buy some stuff...", his hands anxiously began to fiddle with each other. "Take me to him. Lead me to where he is.", you demand. "I don't wanna make him mad!", he panicked. "Don't worry big guy. I'm just gonna talk to him a little bit.", you lie. You knew damn well you were going to do a little more than talk to him. "Okay..", he took a deep breath and began to walk and you followed.

There's never a good way to know exactly where the Duke is. He seems to pop up almost anywhere and always has exactly what you need. He did have a few specific spots that he would set up shop at though, and in one of those places is where you found him. You could see his carriage set up between a few trees on a trail. The Duke was discussing something with Heisenberg. "Ah (Y/N)! What can I offer you today?", the Duke asked once he saw you. Heisenberg looked over and smirked once he saw you with an anxious Moreau following.

"What's this? Did you snitch on me, Moreau?", he said with a cackle that followed. You never stopped walking, nearly marching, towards him. He was still laughing when you stood in front of him with little to no distance between the both of you. His laugh made you sick. So sick that you reeled your arm back and slapped the man across the face as hard as you could. His glasses flew off his face and landed in the snow and his laughing ceased. Moreau covered his mouth to muffle a gasp and the Duke did the same in hopes to muffle his chuckle. "Listen here you pretentious fuck.", you snap as your anger peaked. The man jerked his head to make eye contact with you. His gaze was sharp, but not sharp enough to cut away your rage. "How miserable do you have to be to get a kick out of acting like a bully on the school house playground? You have a lot of fucking guts for a man who dresses like he's living on the streets!" He leans in close to you to try and get you to react or budge. You don't move. "And you have a lot of fucking guts for someone who I can kill within seconds.", he threatens. You respond by slapping off his hat which had been poking your forehead. He grabbed you by the wrist and began to squeeze tightly. "Do you know who you're fucking with?", his breath hit your face. "Yeah, an ugly mother fucker.", you say as you kick him in the ankle. It didn't hurt, but he was shocked by your boldness and the way that you didn't even flinch. He knew you were aware of his powers, yet still you continued to taunt him and stand your ground all at once. You could tell he began to feel overwhelmed as his eyes looked around and his posture began to change. He knew he couldn't break you down. He took a deep breath and walked over to his glasses. When he bent down to pick them, you grabbed him by the back of his coat collar. You leaned in real close to his ear and whispered, "You better fucking believe me when I say I will fucking kill you if you ever make that man cry again. I don't give a damn if you're an oversized magnet. I'll rip you to fucking shreds if you even fucking look at him disrespectfully. Do you understand me?", you nearly spit in his ear. "Yes. I do.", he says as he rises up. You stand up straight as well, handing him his hat that you knocked off earlier. He takes it and looks over at Moreau and the Duke. Both of them had a smile on their faces, obviously enjoying the show they had witnessed. His whole body grew hot with embarrassment as he tried to act cool, putting on his hat and glasses. He gave a nod to the men and walked away.

"My, my, (Y/N). I've never seen anyone stand up to Lord Heisenberg like that. It was quite the sight.", he gave a guttural laugh. "What can I say? I won't stand for slander of any kind when it comes to him.", you motion over to Moreau who began to walk over. "Are you okay, (Y/N)?", he nervously placed his hand on your shoulder. "Absolutely. I made sure Heisenberg won't bother you ever again.", you say before placing a kiss on his forehead. This caused him to smile and wrap his arms around one of yours. "Well now that we're here, Duke do you happen to have any cheeses?", you ask. "I always come prepared for my loyal customers!", he says before handing over some type of exported cheese. You pull out the amount of Lie needed from your pockets and hand it over to the Duke.

The day ended with you both curled up on the couch in each others arms, watching a new romance movie neither one of you have seen, as Moreau enjoyed his new exported cheese. He couldn't stop smiling as he held you close. After today, he truly understood just how willing you were to fight for him.

[onmykneesforhotdilfs]

Oooh i'm gonna with #3 please! And Valtor as a bartender.

He truly loathed his job.

The disgusting smell of cheap drinks spilled on the bar mixed with the stench of sweat and cheap perfume, from grinding bodies on the dancefloor and humping barely-legals in the corner, made him nauseous. The music was loud to the point his heartbeat developed arrhythmia whenever a bass boosted song played through the obnoxious sound system. To make matters worse, one of the speakers was set directly above the bar and Valtor was sick of buying earplugs every week, because if he didn’t use any protection, he’s pretty sure he would go deaf before he hit 40 and he once again cursed himself for forgetting them at home.

A particularly high note came on, and the crowd cheered while Valtor cringed as he felt the microscopic hairs in his ears, sensitive to high notes, shrivel up and die. He rolled his eyes as he spotted a tall blonde dragging taller brunette towards the restroom. Apparently, couples basically dry humping each other on the dancefloor and sucking their faces off in the corners wasn’t enough, so universe also decided to throw in a couple about to commit an indecent act in a public bathroom?

He was just about to call one of the bouncers when it hit him – he doesn’t care. Oh well. What can you do?

A woman, wearing something Valtor could only describe as lingerie, came to the bar and ordered a fruity cocktail and for the umpteenth time, he wondered how his life turned into this? How did he go from graduating on a prestigious college, having a stable job and a fiancée, to wiping down spit from the counter top on a Saturday night.

He used to be a successful attorney, his yearly salary reaching up to five-zero figure, a stable relationships, loving girlfriend and more, and yet, all of that collapsed under the enormous weight couple of words held.

His hands worked on autopilot, mixing the necessary drinks while his thoughts were miles away.

Now, whatever’s left of his past life lives in a small condo across the town and Valtor chuckled at the irony of life giving him lemons while he chopped one to mix it into the cocktail. He squeezed the juice out of the poor fruit, with probably more force than was necessary, getting some of it on his shirt in the process.

“What are you chuckling about?” The woman was leaning over the counter, her chest basically spilling out of her dress as she played with the ends of her dark hair.

Valtor raised an eyebrow as he bent down to retrieve one of the decorative umbrellas. “Nothing that would be of interest to you.” He saw her flinch in surprise at the rather sharp tone he unintentionally used. “Miss.” He added as an afterthought, hoping it would make him look less abrasive. Unhappy customers don’t tip well after all.

“Oh. Well maybe it does interest me. You’ll never know unless you try.” The woman smiled flirtatiously while her fingers continued twirling the strands of her hair. “I’m Mitzi, by the way.” She offered her hand to him.

Valtor only quirked an unamused eyebrow. “I don’t remember asking for your name.” The smile was quick to disappear from her face and she snatched her hand back like it’s been burned.

He closed his eyes as his tongue, once again, proved to be faster than his brain. It’s what got him into trouble a lot of times and this one might’ve just taken a cake because if the girl went to complain to his boss, he’d be in a world of shit. “I was trying to be nice, but it seems to me you’re too much of an asshole to appreciate it.” Mitzi gritted out with obvious false confidence because a fierce blush was very much present on her face. This obviously didn’t happen to her a lot.

First time for everything, Valtor thought.

“What I would really appreciate, Mitzi,” Don’t do it, “is if you could stop your 36C's, that you stuffed into a 34B bra, from spilling all over my counter.” You absolute moron! “I have to wipe it.”

Now you’ve done it.

Mitzi turned even reader, and Valtor wondered if he should start dialing an ambulance just in case, but she only snatched the drink he placed in front of her and threw a 5$ bill in his face. “Jerk!” And just like that, she was gone.

“Have a nice evening!” Drop dead.

He rolled his eyes and took a glass that needed wiping just to occupy his hands for a minute because he felt like a coiled string, just about to snap and burn everything in its path.

“I have to say,” girl’s voice reached him, “you just fixed my evening.” Valtor lowered the glass to the solid surface and turned to face the owner.

His brain short circuited.

Though her body was mostly obstructed by the counter, he could see that the navy blue slip dress she wore draped beautifully across her slender figure. She was also incredibly short that even standing up straight, in what Valtor assumed were ridiculously high heels, she was at least head and a half shorten than him. But the most obvious, and striking thing about her, was her red hair. Valtor never even thought that hair could be as vibrant as hers.

In his almost 35 years of life, Valtor has never seen someone as interesting as the girl standing in front of him.

When he finally shook himself out of his stupor, and when it became painfully obvious he was making her uncomfortable with his gawking (really, there was no other word for it), he smiled and spoke. “Well, I’m pleased to hear that because it will undoubtedly ruin my life.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about her reporting you.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Her ego is too big for her to accept she just got rejected.”

“You know her?”

There was something nostalgic in her smile. “I used to know her… or maybe I just thought I know her.”

Valtor observed the unusual girl in front of him. In his several years as a bartender and even before, he developed quite a knack for reading people. She seemed, to him at least, like one of those lost souls that recently had their world turned upside down but tried despite to appear normal. You and me both. “Would you like something to drink?”

Her head snapped up and her electric blue eyes met his. “Oh! Yes, um,” she fidgeted slightly, her hands wringing together and picking at her nails, “anything with vodka.”

He nodded and turned his back on her to find a bottle of the best vodka the club had to offer. He didn’t know why he suddenly paid so much attention to what he’s mixing into drinks but something pulled him towards this girl like gravity and he was too weak to resist it. “Straight?” He asked without turning around.

“Ummm, that’s a bit personal don’t you think? I mean, I just met you.” Valtor stopped what he was doing and turned his head so she could see the confused frown on his face. “I don’t even know your name. As far as I know you could be a serial killer.”

It downed on Valtor what she was talking about and he chuckled at her adorable rant. “I meant the Vodka.”

Her lips shaped into a silent “O" and he saw how her neck and face turned red from embarrassed. She moaned and buried her face into her hands. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He picked the bottle and turned back around so he was facing her. He extended his unoccupied hand across the counter top. “I’m Valtor.”

She shook his hand, her hand incredibly small in his huge one, blush still present on her cheeks. “Bloom. And yes, straight vodka is fine.”

“I’ve only seen Russians drink vodka by itself.”

“I’m quarter Russian. My mom’s dad is from Russia.” Valtor nodded along as he fixed her a drink.

“Impressive.”

“it’s really not. It only made me the laughing stock of the entire class.” She took the glass filled with clear liquid, their fingers brushing together on accident, and Valtor felt a spark rushing up his nerve endings. “But, I can drink most people under the table so I guess I should be grateful.”

Humor was obviously one of the things she used to deflect the pain and trauma bullying inevitably caused. “Your hair is very… unusual. Natural?”

She nodded. “Yup. This is one of the things I inherited from grandpa.”

“Sorry if that made you uncomfortable, it wasn’t my intention.”

“No no, don’t worry.” Her lips wrapped around the edge of the glass as she took a sip and closed her eyes to savor the feeling of burning liquid sliding down her throat. “It’s actually one of the nicest things someone has said to me about my hair.”

Valtor looked at her with a small smirk on his face. “That bad, huh?”

“You don’t want to know.” Bloom tilted the glass and took a large swing of the drink, only a small amount remaining at the bottom. “What about you?”

Valtor shrugged. “What about me?”

“You have an unusual hair too.”

Indeed. His long strawberry blond hair was tied in a ponytail, but unlike herself, he loved his hair and didn’t particularly give a damn what anybody else thought about it. “I don’t really care about somebody else’s opinion and neither should you.”

“I’ve stopped that long time ago.” Valtor nodded towards her almost empty glass and she slid it towards him for a refill. “But you know, scars remain.”

He nodded. “That I do know.” Valtor saw another guy coming up to the bar so he excused himself. As soon as he moved away from her, the unpleasant sensations that accompany prolonged presence in a loud room came rushing back like a rogue train and Valtor felt the onsets of a headache forming. He served the guy and returned to Bloom who was now nursing her drink instead of knocking it back like the first time.

“So what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

She quirked one eyebrow. “A girl like me?”

“Not to be rude, but this doesn’t seem like your cup of tea.”

She laughed. “It’s my friend’s birthday. She dragged me here against my will while promising she’ll stay with me the entire time. It took me turning around for her to vanish without a trace with her boyfriend.”

“That friend of yours,” he started, “wouldn’t happen to be a tall blonde dragging a brunette with her?”

“That’s her.”

Valtor made a face. “I don’t think you’ll be seeing a lot of her tonight.” His eyes slid to the direction of the restroom.

Bloom followed his gaze and she groaned when she saw where her friend went to. “Not this again.”

“Again? This happens a lot?”

“Unfortunately, it happens more than I would like to.” She rubbed her forehead.

“Right,” he drawled, “because who doesn’t like seeing their friends going at it.” Sarcasm was dripping from his words.

“How long have they been in there?” She asked while looking at her wrist watch.

“Fifteen minutes or so.”

“Damn animals. I’m never coming to the club with her again.”

An amused chuckle escaped him. “That’s not the first time you’ve said that, am I right?”

She smiled and took a sip of vodka. “Nope.”

Just as he opened his mouth to ask her another question, her blonde friend wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Valtor’s eyebrow did a backflip. How she managed to avoid detection while leaving the bathroom was beyond him.

“Damn Bloom, I leave you alone for five minutes and you’re already seducing hot bartenders!”

“Stella! First of all, I am not seducing anybody,” Maybe not intentionally, “secondly, it’s been almost twenty minutes and thirdly, what happened to your promise of not ditching me? And the moment I turn around, you’re already gone?”

Stella, if Valtor heeard correctly, giggled. “Oh live a little Bloom. Besides, it’s not like you were in a bad company.” Her eyes ran over Valtor’s form. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind taking a bite out of that.” She ogled Valtor like a piece of chocolate cake.

“I’m standing right here.”

“Okay, that’s enough for today! We’re going home.” Bloom grabbed her purse and was about to pull out her wallet when Valtor raised his arm to stop her.

“It’s on the house.”

“But Blooooom,” There was really no words to describe the sound that exited blonde’s mouth, “we just got here.”

“The fact that you're talking about having a threesome with a stranger says enough about your state.”

“I’m pretty sure Brandon wouldn’t mind.”

“Okay, time out. Let’s go.” She turned towards Valtor, a small card between her fingers. She leaned over the counter while one of her arms stayed behind, supporting her friend. “Thank you.” She slipped the card into his hand. “Call me if you wanna talk sometimes.” And with that, she spun on her heel and dragged Stella towards the exit.

Valtor stood in shock, not knowing how to react for a few minutes, staring at the business card in his hands.

Bloom Peters MD.

He shook his head, hand safely pocketing the precious cargo before he picked up the glass she’s been drinking from and turning around to wash it. The sound of retching caused him to turn around in time to see some wasted man empty the content of his stomach on an obnoxious red carpet. The stench of vomit mixed with other delightful aromas and Valtor was once again reminded how much he hated his job.

[harryandmolly]

desperado

A/N: a continuation of “she got the moon in her eyes” -- recommend you read that first!

summary: Shawn and Catalina deal with the aftermath of their night together

warnings: Language, NSFW in a big way holy cow (unprotected sex, wrap it before you tap it), dom!Shawn comes out to play

WC: 4.4k

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

The morning is dark and cold when he leaves her bed, her tangled navy hair, her chapped rosy lips. It’s like the day itself is telling him to turn around and get back under her sheets, nicotine stained and perfume scented. The idea of it sets something off in his gut, a sharp tugging leading in the opposite direction of his heavy stride toward his bike.

He slings a leg across and settles in, pulling his helmet on, careful to avoid his still tender black eye. When he checked in her mirror in the early blue light of dawn, it was starting to go a sickly green-ish around the edges. He’s lucky, he guesses, that Catalina took him home last night before this started. He looks a little gross.

He revs the engine, takes one mournful look back at the little craftsman house and sighs, taking off down Greenfield toward his place.

+

You can’t hear the tinkling bell over the door at Plucky’s Pub, the one meant to signal the arrival of more customers. Catalina doesn’t know why it’s there. But as she’s learned, Plucky’s regulars don’t like change. If the bell was gone, they’d surely notice somehow, the way they notice when Bonnie changes anything -- the price of two fingers of whiskey, the ratty-ass curtains over the south window, even the fucking bar polish they use to clean the damn place.

Catalina doesn’t need the bell, anyway. She can feel it when people walk in, even when the line for the bar is five deep and she can’t see the door. She’s been doing this a long time. Plus, when certain people walk in, you can feel it.

Shawn is the last of his crew through the door. He’s the one they turn to look at. Not even just the straight women -- everyone. He’s just eye-catching. Catalina knows. She understands. He caught her eye, too.

She turns on the block heel of her slingbacks. She doesn’t even want to be tempted to look up at him. It’s been three weeks since she took him home and he left without a word. Things like that just… don’t happen to her.

This one stung. For one thing, she’s not usually the one hosting. She prefers it that way. She can control her exit without the fuss of having to kick someone out. It also means she’s never in the position of having someone leave her to wake up alone.

She didn’t have, like, plans or anything. She wasn’t going to wake up and put on his t-shirt and make him pancakes, for fuck’s sake. That’s so not her style.

It’s the principle of it. He left. He left her. Nobody does that.

Why the fuck did he do that?

She knows it was good. Fuck, she knows it was great. It’s never been like that the first time, not with anyone. She thinks of the way his body stuttered, the groan that sounded like it was coming out of his gut when he came inside her. Her toes tingle thinking about it. She grits her teeth and rocks the cocktail shaker harder in her warm hands.

She does finally turn around because she has to to hand off the drink. It’s admittedly not the best martini she’s ever made. She abused the ice in the shaker for too long, which chips it, which makes it melt faster, which makes it watery, which makes her tip smaller. She grits her teeth, accepting the small bills, tucking them into her bra.

The loud glassy clinking of beer bottles being delivered to a table has her looking up before she can remember to stop. Shawn and his friends are starting with Molsons tonight. Shawn isn’t looking at his bottle as he positions the edge of the cap over the end of the table, slapping the heel of his palm down without flinching.

He’s looking straight at her.

It takes all her self control not to sneer before she turns her gaze down to the next customer. She has to blink a few times not to see his face. She also has to have the poor girl repeat her order three times before her fingers know where to reach to make a gin and tonic.

+

She used to be good at ignoring his eyes on her all night.

Well, that’s not strictly true. She just used to enjoy them a lot more.

She’s not sure why they’re on her now. The curiosity has been well and thoroughly satisfied. He had her, he left. Yes, that makes him a fucking moron of catastrophic proportions, Catalina knows. But why is he still looking?

Every time she glances up, he’s already watching her expectantly. What exactly is he anticipating? Does he expect to see her bursting into tears at the sight of him, or panting over the idea of fucking him again until he comes over and takes her?

If that’s what he’s waiting for, it’ll be a while.

She’s busy, anyway. She has a cling-on tonight.

A cling-on is a term Bonnie uses for guys that latch onto a hot female bartender and attempt to woo her. Catalina’s very familiar with them. She got a lot more when she started at Plucky’s, when her take-no-prisoners reputation wasn’t yet known. But every so often, some poor sap will stumble in and think if he’s persistent enough, he’ll get in her pants. She has half a mind to let him if it’ll run Shawn out of her rattled brain.

But this particular guy is aggressive. She stopped serving him fifteen minutes ago after he knocked over the drink of a biker chick Catalina once took home, but he’s still here, trying to talk to her every time she delivers a drink down to his end of the bar.

She drops a rum and coke onto a coaster for the woman next to him, who looks sweetly concerned. Catalina winks at her assuringly and turns to head for a group of college guys that have just made their way to the bar after a wait.

Before she can move, she feels a tug on the thin strap of her dress. She whirls around, eyes skimming past the horrified look on the woman’s face before she settles on the bleary-eyed fuckwit who just laid a hand on her without her permission.

Then something weird happens.

Catalina’s history of chucking assholes out of Plucky’s for different varieties of bad behavior is long and storied. She’s hardly ever needed help to do it. When she has, it’s been because the losers have had back up, so Shawn and his friends, the de facto security team, stepped in to even the count.

Catalina knows the situation calls for her angriest face, for her to bark “OUT!” loud enough to embarrass the fucker and get him stumbling out the door. She can do it. She doesn’t need help.

But she looks up. Shawn is watching her carefully, beer bottle halfway to his perfect, pillowy lips. She swallows and blinks at him, and it’s enough for him to come running.

In a few strides, he’s there, hustling around the crowd to get behind the bar. His eyes are dark and solid, his jaw is tight. He’s squaring up, looking ready to scream in this guy’s face, but it’s not what Catalina wants.

Instead, she grabs him by the wrist, pins herself to the wall and drags him in.

Shawn doesn’t take long to respond. He sinks one hand into the soft, sweaty hair clinging to the back of her neck and wraps the other around her hip, nipping hard at her lower lip to get a moan vibrating his whole body.

Some patrons cheer. Bonnie casts them a confused sidelong glance from the other end of the bar as she dumps bourbon into a lowball glass. Shawn’s friends exchange amused looks.

Shawn and Catalina don’t see any of it.

Shawn tips his head, pressing his tongue between her lips with a deep sigh that makes his shoulders drop for the first time in weeks. The hand on her hip works his thumb into her hipbone, pulling the loose skirt of her little dress up with every purposeful stroke. Catalina holds him close, massaging her long fingers against his scalp to make his eyes flutter.

She’s the one that breaks away to breathe first. Her lips are wet, parted with the heaving effort of her breath. She looks up at Shawn, eyes wide, expression unreadable. While he stares down at her, she angles her head to look over his shoulder. Her cling-on looks vaguely disgusted, pitching himself off the counter to amble heavily toward the door.

He watches her mask slide back on when she looks back up at him, clearing her throat.

“Thanks.”

The muscle in Shawn’s jaw pulses. He eases off to let her slide out from around his hulking form. She doesn’t bother looking back at him again.

+

Catalina’s not the least bit surprised to see him refuse his friends’ invitation to leave with them after closing time while Catalina is refilling bottles and twirling on her toes to “I Wanna Be Your Lover” by Prince -- one of Bonnie’s favorite post closing time clean up jams.

Catalina is dawdling. Bonnie and Shawn have both clocked it. She’s singing along under her breath, rinsing the funnel leisurely as Bonnie locks doors and gathers cash into a bag for the bank.

Wizened Bonnie with her spiky red pixie cut and her toned, tattooed arms shoots Shawn a look before announcing she’s out for the night. Shawn answers it with a nod. Bonnie hits the stereo on the way out.

It’s quiet. The only sounds left in the dark, empty bar are the splashing of booze as Catalina refills handles and the squeaking of her heels on the sticky floor.

Shawn takes a deep, shaky breath. He runs a hand through his hair and drops the last gulp of Johnnie Walker down his throat before standing, shucking off the Dolly Parton leather jacket. He takes his glass and heads for the bar to return it to Catalina.

She looks up briefly from her careful pour of Jim Beam.

“What’re you still doing here?” she murmurs. It’s gentle, not accusatory. It makes Shawn’s lips curl into a smirk.

“Figured I’d stick around in case that creepy fucker comes back.”

Catalina wets her lips and stands, shaking her hair out over her shoulders. She doesn’t look up from her bottle.

“You know I don’t have a problem handling those losers,” she says breezily. Shawn sees right through it.

“Oh, I know. That’s why it was so cute that you used it as a way to get your tongue in my mouth earlier.”

That gets her attention. Her gaze snaps to his. She tilts her chin up defiantly.

“Some guys don’t respond to my pushback unless they think I “belong” to somebody,” she explains unnecessarily, quirking her fingers in air quotes around “belong.”

Shawn nods thoughtfully, twirling his glass in his fingers before he sets it down on the bar and steps around it to hunch beside her.

“But you don’t belong to anybody, baby,” he purrs in her ear, watching with a rush of heat in his veins as goosebumps pour over her sweet, fragrant neck.

“That’s right,” she snarks back, twisting the cap of a bottle. She turns to put the bottle back. On her way to grab another, Shawn hooks an arm around her waist and lifts her to perch on the edge of the bar counter.

He takes his time looking her over as he makes his way between her thighs. With heavy lids, he watches her breathing quicken. He strokes his broad, rough palms down the outsides of her legs. He pauses. Catalina holds her breath, sure she’s getting another bruising kiss. Instead, he steps back and skillfully hooks his fingers under the ankle strap of her slingbacks, slipping them off and dropping them with a clatter.

“Dunno why you wear those to work,” he comments, gently lowering one leg to focus on the other. He plants her foot at the center of his chest and draws his fingertips teasingly up and down the length and breadth of her moonpale leg.

Catalina grips the edge of the bar and stares at him unblinking. He admires the dips and curves and swells and valleys of her well-used leg, slipping his fingers under the sole of her foot to pluck it off his chest and press his thumbs into the sore tendons.

Catalina’s eyes slam shut. The moan that leaves her throat is beyond obscene. It makes Shawn chuckle. He takes his time, working his fingers with varying pressure around the ball of her foot to the arch to her heel and back again. When he’s satisfied, he lifts her other foot and repeats the massage, intricate and detailed and so tender it makes Catalina’s mind swirl.

“I… they make my ass look amazing,” she answers finally, his question almost forgotten.

Shawn looks up from her eggplant-lacquered toes. “Your ass already looks amazing, Leens. You might as well be comfortable while you look so damn good.”

He lowers her foot and stares up at her. Without removing his gaze, he lifts her claw-like hand off the bar and brings it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss over her knuckles.

“You know, you’re allowed to want to be a damsel in distress sometimes. I won’t think any less of you.”

Catalina balks, her insides twisting. “I don’t need you to save me, Shawn.”

Shawn steps closer, dropping her little hand onto his shoulder.

“I know. But it’s ok if you want me to.”

His lips are soft, plump and whiskey-wet. She gasps into them, her knees falling automatically open to welcome him closer. He takes the invitation happily, pulling her hips tight against his torso as he loses himself in the taste of her sweet mouth. She’s immediately needy, dropping her pretense to take as much of him in her hands as she can. She squeezes the bulk of his shoulders, the swell of his biceps, the soft skin of his neck, the curls behind his ears that have him growling into her lips.

She pulls back. He grunts and chases her down, lunging in for another searing kiss. She lets him take it, the wrinkle between her eyes softening as she rocks her hips against his abdomen and gathers him ever closer. Soon, before she can entirely lose her train of thought, she pulls away again, this time to suck on his jaw to pacify him.

Through wet, biting kisses, she pants, “Want to show you… want to thank you…”

Shawn’s intrigued. His stomach flips. He pulls back and holds her face in his hands.

“How are you going to do that?” he coos, cocky and curious.

Catalina inhales and nudges him back enough to slip down to her feet. She turns him, props him up against the bar and lowers to her knees. His head tosses back. He breathes harder in anticipation.

“Remember how hot and tight my throat was for you?” she breathes, her voice already fucked as she unbuckles his belt and skillfully works his jeans open to free his hard cock, “Remember how good and wet I felt when I was sucking you?”

“Jesus, baby,” Shawn hisses. His cock gives a twitch at her words. She smiles and takes it in her soft hand, stroking it firmly. His eyes flutter.

“Want you to fuck my mouth, Shawn,” she tells him, planting a sweet kiss on his tip. His hips shift forward, searching for her.

“Open up then, princess,” he sighs, shooting her a crooked grin that has her squirming.

Catalina, for once in her life, obeys. She lifts her hair over one shoulder and parts her flushed lips, staring up at him. Shawn groans, easing his cock into her willing mouth slowly. He wants her to enjoy this as much as he knows he will, so he doesn’t go shoving in all at once. He rolls his hips gently, letting her adjust, slick him down with her soft tongue. When she gives a short nod, he rocks harder, a little deeper, until he feels her throat restrict around his shaft.

She’s looking up at him like she doesn’t want to miss a second. Her small hands cling to his hips like she’s afraid he’ll bolt if she doesn’t hold on. Fat fucking chance.

Her mouth really is almost as good as her pussy. Or maybe his stupid horny brain just thinks that right now because he hasn’t had her pussy in weeks, even though it’s all he’s been thinking about when he’s alone, his tight fist failing to bring him the same ecstatic feeling. She’s not afraid of what he’s giving her, even when he reaches down to curl his hand around her thick sheet of hair to control the angle of her wet mouth. She seems hungry for him. It makes his toes curl in his boots.

“Your fucking mouth, Jesus fucking Christ,” Shawn pants, shaking his head with a short, overwhelmed burst of laughter. Catalina groans, scooting closer on her knees. The whine that whistles from Shawn’s nose would embarrass him if he weren’t half gone.

“You like this, don’t you, baby? Like the way I fuck your pretty mouth,” he whispers, awed.

She manages to nod, still looking up at him reverently.

Shawn’s fingers curl into his free fist. The hand in her hair eases her back gently until his cock bobs against her bottom lip.

“Don’t wanna come in your mouth,” he grunts, “Need to feel you come on my face first.”

He watches in delight as her thighs tighten under her pretty skirt. He takes her hands, helping her back to her feet.

“How do you want me?” she asks, glancing around like she’s looking for ideas.

Shawn thinks fast on his feet. He grabs a step stool out from under the bar and positions it beside the counter, helping her to stand on top, facing away from him. She looks back over her shoulder when Shawn’s hands lift the skirt of her dress, his thumbs pressing greedily into the smooth skin of her ass.

Catalina’s eyes drift shut. She’s soaked straight through her lacy baby blue thong. Shawn tugs at it teasingly, letting it snap against her lower back.

“C’mon, Shawn,” she hisses impatiently.

Shawn hums from the back of his throat, amused. “Think you’re gonna get what you need by being a brat?”

He pulls at her panties for real now, watching as they hug her close, clinging to her wetness until they drop around her ankles. He steadies her as she steps out of them, kicking them off the stool.

“Maybe if you ask me nicely,” he suggests, lifting one of her legs so her knee rests on the edge of the bar, spreading her open for him, “I’ll give you what you need.”

Catalina’s vision is blurry. Now that he’s got her where he wants her, ready to give it up if she says the words, even her swollen pride can’t stop her.

She keens loud and looks over her shoulder, watching him drop to his knees so he’s level with her slick wetness.

“Please, Shawn. Fuck. Please. Need your tongue.”

Shawn grins wolfishly and lurches forward, using his gigantic hands to anchor her against the bar and press the flat of his tongue to her dripping pussy.

“Fuck, so wet already,” he laughs after his first taste, “Soaked from sucking on my cock.”

She mewls in agreement, wriggling her hips. He lifts a hand to bring it down against the white flesh of her ass, watching her arch, hearing her squeal.

“So pretty,” he groans before nuzzling his lips back where they belong. His tongue plucks at her clit, wanting her as wet as he can get her. She rocks her hips gently against the bar, stretching her arms out to hold tight to the other side of the counter as he starts fucking her in earnest.

Shawn’s tongue is unforgiving. He flicks it hot and fast against her swollen button, his thumbs sweeping in toward her center, flirting with the idea of filling her with his fingers. He concentrates on suckling at her until she’s bucking so hard against the bar that he can’t hold her still.

“Didn’t take long,” he pants, licking his lips, “Gonna come for me already, princess?”

“Please, please, please,” she chants, “Need to fucking come for you.”

Shawn is smug, landing another harsh smack on her ass, a second red handprint to match the first. “Yeah, baby. Come on my tongue.”

He thrusts his stiff tongue in between her pulsing walls, adjusting his hand so his finger can rock tightly against her clit. She can tell by the pressure mounting against his mouth that she’s almost there. He moans in anticipation and it’s the thing that drives her home.

Shawn holds his mouth fast against her, pressing his tongue in and out as she shakes and screams. He lifts his hands up around her hips, letting his palms be the cushion between her hipbones and the bar counter. He revels in it, in just how long it takes for her to even out and bring her crying whimpers down to ragged gasps.

Shawn hesitates, but pulls back when he feels her shivering at his touch. He straightens up behind her, helps her ease her leg down off the bar and climb off the stool to slump in his arms.

Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are unfocused, and Shawn has never felt so accomplished. He cradles her against his chest, smiling as she presses open-mouthed kisses through his t-shirt.

“Want more, honey?” he rasps, nosing at her fragrant hair. She nods eagerly.

Shawn reaches down to scoop her up, her legs lifting to twist around his waist. Her body is weak and soft against his as he carries her around the corner, pressing her back into the walk-in fridge door. She hisses at the cool steel before the sound disappears between his lips.

Catalina lifts her limp hands into his hair, squeezing when she feels his hips pin hers into the door and cant, driving his still hard cock against her pussy. She tastes herself, warm and heady on his lips. She writhes, desperately trying to angle herself in a way that will get him nestled up against her entrance for when the next rock of his hips comes.

“Shhh, I know,” he chuckles brusquely, holding her up with one arm so he can maneuver them together, spanking her clit with the head of his cock while he’s at it. She squirms, whimpering and tossing her head.

“Tell me,” he pants, telling himself he’s not begging, “Tell me you want to feel me.”

“Oh god, Shawn,” she moans, “Yes. Please. You make me feel so good.”

The tips of his ears go hot. With a grunt, he thrusts up into her, feeling a ghost of the memory of last time shrug around him. He’s never felt anything like her before. He thought it would’ve worn off after the first time, after he came so hard inside her he truly saw stars. But it’s here again and it has him by the throat.

His breathing is ragged as his chest presses against hers. She’s not mocking him this time, though. She’s brushing her nose over his, wetting her lips to speak, quiet and sweet.

“Nobody fills me like you do.”

Shawn’s instincts return and any remaining sense goes out the window. He growls again, vibrating her around his dick as he starts to set a rhythm that has her bouncing between his hips and the door. She gasps, eyes flying open as her head slams back into the steel. In the quiet bar, the sounds their bodies make together are viscerally filthy. Shawn squeezes his eyes shut to try to ignore it for fear of ending it all too soon. She feels too good. He’s had her once and now, as he has her again, he knows he’s addicted.

Her hips roll with his in perfect time, giving and receiving. Her hot breath on his face makes him feel like he’s buried in a cloud with her. Maybe they won’t have to come out this time. He doesn’t want to.

He shifts his hips to pulse the head of his cock against her g-spot. As badly as he wants to hold her here against him forever, he’s desperate to feel her come again. He knows how good she can do it.

“Lina,” he hears himself murmur, his lips so close to hers that they brush when he speaks, “I know you’re close. I can feel you.”

She’s sure he can. Her whole body is throbbing for him. She’s been holding on by her fingertips, unwilling to end it. She knows when she comes, he’ll follow. And then what?

She groans and shakes her head. “I… I--”

“I know,” he pants, “It’s ok. Just come for me. Want you to come so hard.”

He plunges his face into the crook of her neck, licking and sucking at the spot that got her so crazy for him last time. She cries his name, thrusting her hips harder just before the dam breaks. She soaks him, her body sputtering and stumbling through a fierce orgasm. She chokes on breath and grips his hair so hard she pulls some strands free in her fingers. The pleasure-pain she gives him sends him off the cliff behind her, pulsing hot and fast into her welcoming cunt until he’s spent and barely able to hold them both up.

Shawn eases back, tucking himself into his jeans. Catalina adjusts her skirt and clears her throat, sore from crying out for him.

She drops her head, unable to look at him. Her chest feels tight. The shame of it is seeping in through every pore.

She was so willing to spread her legs for him again after he left her naked and alone in her own bed. She put her desire for a good fuck over her pride. She let him know she needs him.

She can’t think of anything worse.

With a jolt, she heaves off the door and grabs at her panties and the purse she left on the counter, leaving the shoes behind -- they’d only slow her down. Without another look back, she hurries out the door, taking off at a run, barefoot and crying.

-----------

Part 3 coming very soon! Please support my smutty ass and buy me a Ko-fi (link on main page)!

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[psychedelic-ink]

A dream of a memory(by lunna-star-8)

There was a girl running through the forest in blue shorts and an aqua t-shirt, black hair to the wind and tight grip on an old pipe as her feet took her expertly over the roots, the rocks and dead branches, almost like the wind carried her to the edge of their forest and into the sea of grey.

That girl was me.

“I win!” I call out as I throw my arms up in the air.

My oldest brother arrives soon after “When… Did you get so damn fast?” Ace breathes out as he rests his hands on his knees.

I shrug as I get my breath back “I’m like a ninja!”

He straightened up and chuckled “I’m just happy that Luffy didn’t think of rocketing his way here, that would’ve been a disaster.”

We both laughed and that was when my twin brother appeared winded out “I… Should’ve… Thought of that…” Luffy fell back as soon as he reached us.

“Oh no you don’t!” Ace argued with him “I’d like to not start the afternoon with my body smashed against the City Walls, thank you very much!”

Luffy sat up with a whine “That was one time!”

“I’m pretty sure our silhouettes are still marked on the walls, Luf.” I point out with my free hand on my hip.

“Don’t you pick on me too, Lu!” he complained but then his eyes widened and he pointed at me “Eh, your tail’s out again.”

Both my brothers look at me and I slowly look over my right shoulder to see the tip of my tail there again “Luna…?” Ace’s voice calls softly as I keep my eyes trained on the black and white tail attached to me.

“Oh!” Luffy pipes up in excitement “The ears now!”

“You’re not helping!” And I hear the unmistakeable sound of Ace hitting my twin over the head. I feel a growl climbing up my chest and onto my throat, Ace sighs and he’s pulling the tip of my tiger ear before I notice, pain goes up and down my body “And you, why are you growling at your own tail, you moron?!” I tried to get him to let go of the tip of my very sensitive ear but he wouldn’t have it “I mean, how many times do we have to have this conversation? It’s your tail.”

I pouted as I looked at my tail “It’s weird.”

“I wish I had a tail…” Luffy whined as he now stood leaning on his own pipe “And could turn into a giant raging tiger…”

“No!” me and Ace lectured at the same time but our brother only laughed, he was like that. Maybe he’d have mastered the full tiger form by now while I’m still scared of letting go…

Ace let go of my ear and crossed his arms over his chest “C’mon, weird? Have you met the rest of your family?” we both looked at Luffy that kept grinning and I tilted my head “’Weird’ is also known as ‘casual Tuesday’ with us.”

I laughed at that, it’s not like he was wrong. I took a deep breath and felt my ears shift back to their original human shape, when I looked back, the tail was gone too “Hurray!”

Ace nodded, moving to support his own pipe on his shoulders with his arms hanging from it “Ok, now, we were gonna get ourselves some decent weapons, right? Time to retire the old pipes.”

“I don’t need one.” Luffy spoke up as we all started walking through the Gray Terminal “My punches are like pistols!” he punched the air with the fist he was holding his staff with.

“Yeah? Maybe if you ever manage to hit your target.” Ace mocked and I laughed.

We kept our usually cheerful banter as we crossed the Terminal, things were just the same as they’d always been; with the Bluejam pirates gone, Sly and his ‘gang’ had taken over the position of King of the junkyard; the army never really walked outside the gates unless to dispose of the garbage that the nobles still dumped at the Terminal; the scavengers still raced to the ‘treasures’ hiding in the piles of trash that then in turn, they sell back to the city… I swear, sometimes it feels like we were the only ones that had lived through the fire, the only ones that had lost in the fire…

I shook my head as we reach the Great Gate and feel an arm wrap itself over my shoulders, I look over to see my oldest brother smile at me and I mirror his expression without thinking about it. I wrap my arm around his torso and he kisses my head as we continue on into Edge Town, the same low lives as there had always been, selling things that they wouldn’t dare try to sell in town like drugs and weapons. Like I said, nothing had changed really… Made me think why was it all for…? What was the point?

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet.” Ace pointed out and I looked up at him, I don’t think I ever told him how much I liked his freckles “Get out of your own head, shrimp.”

“I’m not a shrimp!” I argue puffing my cheeks out, he pinches my cheeks “I don swech wike Wuffy, ya no?” I pull my hand from his side and start to lightly brush the tip of my fingers where my hand had rested.

“LUNA!” Ace jumped like a scared cat and me and Luffy laughed to tears until I felt his eyes on me.

“You’re in trouble now.” Luffy said to me but his eyes remained on our brother.

I nod “Eh… Depends.”

“It depends, huh?” Ace glared over at me, he really didn’t like when I tickled him, that never stopped me though.

I grinned “If you catch me.” And turned back to run.

Ace chased me up and down the lower town, until I was laughing too much to be able to run anymore and he caught up with me, drowning me in an attack of tickles. Luffy jumped on us, helping out Ace with tickling me, I could barely breathe between laughs “I… Surrender!!!” I call out between laughs and they end up stopping, both laughing at this point as well. I grab Luffy’s cheek and pull as far as I felt like “And you…” I breathed out “What… eheh What made you think hehehehe he needed help tickling me?”

“I wike hearing you waugh.” He replied and it made me release his cheek that smacked back into his face “You’ve been too serious, Lu.”

I smile at him, ignoring the stares on us from the people that passed by “Sorry, I’ve been thinking—” what had I been thinking about…? Him? Ace leaving? It had been two years since one and it still was five years until the other. Why had I been thinking more about it lately?

“We know.” Ace had simply said in my silence, making me look back at him as he got up and swatted the dirt off his clothes, then held out his hand to me with a smile “We’re here though, Luna. And I promised, didn’t I?” I smiled up at him and took his hand to help myself up “Nothing for you to go all serious about.” Once I was up, he pulled Luffy by the scruff of his neck and we patted the dust off our clothes.

I’ve always felt more intensely than other people, I couldn’t just be happy I had to radiate it and it could happen with the smallest things – I touched my bracelet as I bring it to my chest – I had smiled for a whole month after Sabo got me my bracelet, I could never not smile when Ace braided my hair, smiling came as naturally as breathing when Luffy gave me piggyback rides… It was never hard to make me smile and it lasted for the longest of times. But this also applied for when I felt sad, for I couldn’t just be sad, I’d feel empty and dark and down a hole I could never really climb out of – not by myself at least, fortunately I still had two of my brothers to help me.

I smiled and looped my arms through theirs “Let’s go! I still have to kick both your asses in practice later!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not nice enough to let you beat me, you know?” Luffy pointed out from my left and I grinned at him.

“You don’t have to dear brother, I still win the majority of our duels.”

“You can’t say the same to me though.” I turned to my right to see Ace grinning down at me.

I puff out my cheeks “Logic dictates that I’m bound to beat you even once in our lives, you know?”

He scoffed “You keep telling yourself that, shrimp.”

“I’m beating Ace before you get a chance to, Lu!” Luffy perked up, making me turn to him again.

“You only get to claim that after you’ve beaten me more times than I’ve beaten you!”

His smile opened wider as he looked ahead “Just you wait until I control my powers better! You won’t beat me then!”

“Ha! By then I’ll control all my Zoan forms.” I reply to him, Luffy turns back to me and we both start laughing at each other.

We casually walked through the way too clean streets of Downtown, completely ignoring the stares of the people that thought us too grotesque for their perfect little town, they should know better than to stare at this point.

It doesn’t take us long to get to Zeke’s shop, he had the best weapons to sell in all the Goa Kingdom, it was right between Edge town and Downtown, hidden enough away to not be noticeable to those that didn’t know where it was but there nonetheless to everyone that tried to seek it out. It didn’t seem very big from the outside but Zeke had used the surrounding empty buildings to expand his business without anyone noticing, also the military approved of it, they had to get their weapons from somewhere.

“Oh no!” Zeke’s voice comes from the back of the shop as the three of us scatter through his corridors making me look up at him. The old man comes from behind the counter with his cain waving in the air looking at me, then looking around “Hey, you too!” he points his cain at Luffy that stops himself from grabbing a battle axe and Zeke looks around again as I see Ace walking up behind him.

“Hi old man.”

Zeke jumps in the air before turning to Ace with his cain still in the air “Oh no!” I can’t not smile to myself “No!” the man shakes his head as he keeps saying it “Out of my shop! All of you!”

Ace chuckled “C’mon Zeke, be nice, we’re here as actual customers this time.”

The old man’s eyes widened between me and my brothers “Is that supposed to make me feel better?! It doesn’t!” the old man is forced to put the cain on the floor as he takes a breath “You three—Brat, you touch that axe I’m throwing you over the damn wall!” he warns and I saw Luffy flinch before he whistles away from the weapon, like he’s discreet or something “You three are destructive enough with your little pipes! I’m not giving you anything that could kill someone!”

I shrug “A spoon could kill someone in the right hands.”

The old man turns to me and waves his cain again “That mindset, little witch, is exactly why I’m not selling you three anything!”

“Old man, c’mon.” Ace tried to reason with him as he pulled his backpack off to show the man the contents “It’s good business.” I tried not to laugh at the way Zeke’s old eyes basically jumped at the amount of gold in my brother’s bag “And I promise that we’re not getting Luffy a weapon.”

The man nodded trying to pull himself together as Ace slung the backpack over his shoulder again “That’s a relief…” but then he eyes me and Ace “You two aren’t that much better though!”

“We’re not that bad.” I waved off and the man waved his cain at me again.

“NOT THAT BAD?!” he took a deep breath and pointed his cain at a bit of his shop that had patchworks holding the ceiling together “Do you know, you little pest, who shot my ceiling into the air?”

I scratched the back of my neck as I looked away “Eh? Luna did that.”

I dropped my head at my twin’s voice “Thanks Luf…”

“Put that down!” the man warned Luffy again before rubbing his face “I’m gonna have a heart attack with you three in my shop…”

Ace laughed “Tell you what Zeke.” Both me and the man looked up at my oldest brother as Luffy moved along to another trinket “What about two of us wait outside? Would that make you feel better?”

“Much better!” the old man admitted taking his hand to his back as he walked back to the counter “It’ll also help me forget that I’m selling actual weapons to the three worst delinquents of Grey Terminal.”

“That’s not fair, you sell weapons to the military!” I grumble “And you used to sell to Bluejam and you now sell to Sly. We’re not that bad!”

The man turned to me half way with a chuckle “In my books? They’re small fries compared to you three.” He paused for a moment before continuing walking to the counter “It’s a compliment, little witch.”

I wasn’t sure how I felt about this ‘compliment’ but I shrugged it off as Ace rolled his eyes “Lu, take Luffy and wait outside, will you?”

I whined “But Ace…”

“I promise I’ll get you something cool.” He assured me as I crossed my arms and puffed my cheeks out “Don’t make that face, shrimp.” He pinched my cheek again “Now take Luffy and wait outside, c’mon.”

“Wat’s sho uffair!” I mumble before he releases my cheek and I stare at him as I rub my cheek “You’re cooking tonight then.”

He nodded “Deal. Now go on before the old man throws a mace at us or something.”

I laughed as I walked around to Luffy that was playing with a dagger, casually put it down and grabbed him by the hand “C’mon Luf, Zeke is an asshole.”

Me and Luffy ducked instinctively as an iron mace hit the wall where our heads were meant to me, didn’t faze us as we walked out back out the door. I sat on one of the boxes pilled on the entrance as Luffy kicked a rock “It’s not like we do that much damage.” He grumbled what only made me laugh.

“I destroyed his ceiling but you tend to nearly kill Zeke with whatever you grab.”

He turned to me with a finger over his chin as he seemed to think “I don’t remember that.”

I laughed more “I’m not surprised!”

We weren’t there for that long, I stayed sitting on my wooden box, flipping my pipe to pass the time as Luffy was clearly starting to hit his boredom mark, I didn’t know how to keep him entertained as I also wanted to go back inside and check out the cool weapons.

“He thinks he’s such a fucking hotshot.” My ears perked up as I heard a male voice from the inside the shop accompanied by more than one set of footsteps “Piece of fucking shit thinking he’s somebody around here.” I didn’t notice anyone in Zeke’s shop but it was certainly big enough for me to have missed them, five guys walk out of the shop adjusting clearly new daggers into their belts. I looked at Luffy that pointed at his own head as he tilted his head to me, I lifted my hand to touch my ears, only to notice that they had shifted again. I tried lowering my head to not call attention to myself, when I felt a familiar straw hat softly settling over my head, I looked up to see Luffy now standing by my side smiling at me, making me smile back at him. I touched my back to notice that my tail hadn’t made an appearance this time, breathed of relief and looked over my shoulder to notice that the men hadn’t paid us any attention, placing them almost at the corner of the short street “I’m telling you, someone should teach him a lesson!” despite their distance, I found that I could hear them just the same.

“And that someone’s you?” another one seemed to ask as I tried to shift my ears back into their human shape “Ha! I’d love to see you try to fight the kid.”

“I’m not saying me, but I certainly wouldn’t mind if someone killed him.”

Why can’t I shake their conversation? What does the tiger know that I don’t?

“Him and the other brats, all a fucking pain.”

“Lu, they’re not going away…” Luffy whispered near me and I nodded as I focused harder on making them go away.

“He’s the worst of the lot! I’m telling you, Ace’s a waste of life.”

I snapped my head in the direction the men had left. What the fuck did they just say…? I gave the straw hat back to my twin, gripped my pipe tightly and got off the pile of boxes before I ran off “Luna!”

I didn’t turn back to see Luffy running after me, I was too preoccupied with turning that corner and finding the group of men “Which one of you said that?”

The men turned to face me “It’s one of the brats.” Rushed footsteps stopped behind me and I glanced over my shoulder to see Luffy looking between me and the men “And another one. What do you two want?”

“Right now? Your head on a platter.” I said, keeping my eyes on them.

The men chuckled among themselves while I felt my brother’s hand on my elbow “Lu, what’s wrong?” he knew I wouldn’t just start a fight out of nowhere, I had met Shanks too after all and had learned that lesson as well, but there was no fucking way I was letting them walk away after I had heard what they said. But at the same time, I didn’t want to tell Luffy what I had heard, it’s silly, but it felt wrong to tell him.

“They’re talking shit.” I simply replied, keeping my eyes on them “And they’re losing their teeth for it at least.” There was something that was worrying me though, inside of me there was a roar that was trying to claw out and not quieting down but I couldn’t bring myself to back down “Keep back Luffy, I’ll handle these guys myself.” He let go of my arm and I heard him step back.

The men laughed but I narrowed my eyes on one of them and jumped him, smacking the bent edge of my pipe right on his face, sending him rolling back a couple of times as I turn to the other four that suddenly were taking me very seriously. They reached for their weapons but with their words ringing in my mind they were lucky if they got out of this with their lives, I was seeing red. They were the waste of life! How dare they?! They should wash their mouths before talking about our brother!

I hit one of them so hard with my staff that his blood splashed on my face. It was like a pulsation coursed through me – shit.

I stopped and glanced over at Luffy that had stayed back like I had asked. We didn’t need words, he knew what was happening, his eyes widened and that was it… That’s what I remember.

Everything else was fog. There was rage, a roar, a cry… I wasn’t enough myself to see Ace turning the corner with Luffy, worry evident all over his face. I don’t remember the feeling of my paws on the back of the men I had just beaten, I didn’t hear my brother’s exchange before Luffy took off running around the building, I wasn’t enough there to see Ace put his staff down and take off his backpack. I wasn’t in control when Luffy tangled his rubbery limbs around my body and Ace wrapped his arms around me. I wasn’t the one that struggled as the tiger thrashed against my brothers’ holds but there was only one thing that broke through the fog and the fear and the anger, clear like a bell came my oldest brother’s voice - “It’s alright Lu, we’re safe.”

With Ace’s voice came peace, the feeling of being home and not even the tiger could fight that. I remember being cradled in my brother’s arms as my body started to feel too heavy for me to hold, I remember feeling so small I could be a fairy, I remember the smell of my brother’s skin – warm like the sun, fresh like the wind that blows through the forest, bitter like oranges – I smiled weakly at the smell of home and then I was out.

I wasn’t awake to see my brothers share a sigh of relief, or to see Ace glare down at anybody that wasn’t unconscious – a silent threat to stay back or lose their lives – as he cradled me in his arms. No, when I woke up, I was leaning against a tree and the breeze of the forest caressed my skin, beside me to my left, Luffy was wrapped around me so quiet that you’d think he was asleep but the moment I moved, he looked up at me with bright eyes and a radiant smile “You’re back!”

I couldn’t help but smile too “I’m back.” I held him tight too as I looked around “Where’s Ace?”

“Hunting.” Luffy simply replied “He said he’d promised you that he’d cook tonight.” Then he frowned “I thought it was your turn to cook.”

“Yeah, but then Zeke wouldn’t let all of us be in the shop and Ace wanted to be the one to stay.” I explain “I bargained.”

We both laughed as we looked at each other, I was thankful to be back “I was worried, you know?” I didn’t say anything “What you heard must’ve been really bad, huh?”

“Piece of fucking shit.” “I certainly wouldn’t mind if someone killed him.” “Ace’s a waste of life.”

I nodded “It was worse than when we heard those Mountain Bandits talk about Shanks…”

“Oh…” was all my twin said, I knew he understood where my reaction had come from.

We sat there waiting for Ace to come back, I knew I ha scared Luffy by the way he stayed quietly by my side, arms wrapped twice around me as he pulled me close. I’m sorry Luffy…

Ace didn’t take long, showing up with a giant crocodile dragging behind him, he smiled tenderly at me “Good to see you awake.”

“Sorry…” I sheepishly said but he waved me off.

“Are you two gonna help me with this or am I carrying it and you all the way back to Dadan’s?”

Me and Luffy were quick to get up help our brother carry the beast, as we do this, I notice the dagger hanging from my brother’s belt “You got a blade!”

He looker over his shoulder and grinned “Oh, I got a set for you two.” I grinned so widely that if the tiger wasn’t so drained, it’s ears would’ve made an appearance, he looked back ahead “Hey Lu?” I hummed in acknowledgement “You never did say why you don’t like to shift.”

I didn’t reply, simply looking at his back as we walked “I think it’s cool that you can turn into a tiger.” I heard Luffy pipping up behind me.

“It’s scary…” I admit walking between them and adjusting my grip on the crocodile’s back “It’s always angry and I don’t know why…”

“Don’t you?” Ace’s voice made me look up at the back of his head “I think you do.” I thought about what he was trying to say, maybe I did know? But no, the tiger had always been hard to control, calling it had always been scary.

“Well… It’s still hard to control.”

“You’re not necessarily someone that likes to be controlled yourself.” Ace chuckled but it only made me frown at his back.

“Where are you getting at?”

He shrugged and the whole crocodile moved with his shoulders “I’m just saying, you’ve always referred to the tiger as ‘it’ or as something separate from you, and maybe that’s the problem?” I opened my mouth to speak but he was clearly not done “It’s not an ‘it’, it’s you. I think that the more you try to separate yourself from your tiger self, the harder it gets to control. Maybe, and I’m no expert, but just maybe if you learned to accept that the tiger is a part of you, then you’d control it better.”

“What if you’re wrong?” I spoke up “What if the only reason I’m able to come back is because I fight it? What if I invite it to take over and it turns on both of you and then—”

“I’m not dying!” Ace clearly enunciated the words as he looked over his shoulder at me, almost to drive it home “Didn’t I promise that?” I nodded at him, taken a bit aback by his tone “And, for as long as I’m around, I’m not letting anything hurt you or Luffy! I don’t care if it’s the military, the thugs of Gray Terminal, Sly or even if Bluejam himself showed his piece of shit face! This also goes for you hurting yourself, Luna. So no, your inner tiger can try going on all the rampages it wants, I’ll be there to bring you back, get it?” I nodded again, too stunned to find my voice “Do you get it, Luna?”

“Y-Yeah…” I nodded again, feeling my cheeks warm up, I smile “Thanks big brother.”

I notice Ace’s cheeks turn pink as he looks back ahead “A-ACE!!!” I look over my shoulder to find Luffy crying in what I can guess is happiness “A-ACE’S THE BEST!”

“SHUT UP, LUFFY!” Ace argues from the front making me laugh to myself. As long as I had them, I’d be alright.

I had a bath before going to bed that night, put on my pyjama and went back to our room to do something of my hair. Luffy was already snoring it up and I had to smile at the scene before I went to grab my brush, but a hand reached it before I did “Let me.”

“Go sleep Ace, I’m just giving it a quick brush so it’s not all tangled up tomorrow.” I hold out my hand to him but he doesn’t give it back.

“Sit, shrimp.”

I roll my eyes and puff my cheeks out but do as my brother tells me. With my legs crossed on the floor, I can’t help but remembering the first time that Ace had done my hair for me, it had been about two years before and it was messy and he pulled my hair a few times and it had come out full of knots, but I felt deeply loved… I can’t explain it properly, maybe it’s just silly, but it’s like when Luffy gives me those tight hugs that I never want to let go of, it makes me feel truly loved. I really hope that there’s something that I do that gives them that feeling too.

“Are you gonna tell me why you started that fight?” he asks as he brushes my hair but I don’t reply “You can imagine my scare when Luffy runs into the shop calling my name and saying that you’re shifting. When you passed out, he said you were fine and then you just went after those morons.” I still didn’t say anything “The both of us know that you wouldn’t just randomly start a fight, so I’m curious of what made you lose control so badly that you went full tiger on them.”

I sighed as I fiddled with my bracelet on my lap “They said something – that I’m not going to repeat – but it was bad, like… There was no way I was gonna let them leave with all their teeth, kind of bad.” He chuckled behind me “Nobody talks of my brothers like that…” I only realized I had said it aloud when he stopped brushing my hair, immediately I covered my mouth.

“Luna…” shit, there was the serious voice. He spun me on the floor so that I was facing his rather serious face “I don’t want you getting into fights just because some assholes bad mouth us.”

I crossed my arms over my chest “You’d have done worse if what they said had been about us instead.”

“So, worse, you got in a fight just because they bad mouthed me?” he lectured “C’mon Luna, you know better than that.”

“Just?! Oh…” I tried to keep my temper in check but keeping my eyes on his “Ace, the oceans of the world will run dry before I let anyone bad mouth my brothers. God help the world if your secret ever comes out and I hear anybody make comments I don’t like!” he rubbed his face, covering whatever expression he might be making but I saw his shoulders drop slightly as he breathed out.

“You can’t just fight the world, Lu.” He said, as he dropped his hands to the floor “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

I frowned and waved my finger in the air a bit “Oh, you watch me, brother!”

“I thought your pal Shanks had taught you that it’s stupid to pick fights over stupid things.” He tried again but I found myself standing up, my small height being just enough for him to have to tilt his head back a bit.

“It’s not stupid!” I protest “It’s my family! You’re my family! Luffy’s my family! Dadan is my family! Grandpa’s my family! I will not stand by as some jackass says bad things about any of you! I refuse to! What kind of woman would I be if I just allowed that?” he keeps staring at me and I just cross my arms over my chest again. In retrospective, saying that while wearing an oversized shirt that read ‘sunshine’ in the front, might’ve not been the best of moves, but it was done either way “And after what that guy said? He’s lucky if he’s still breathing.”

“What did he say?”

“I refuse to repeat it.” I reply “It was an absolute lie, like saying that we don’t need the sun in the sky! Like saying we don’t need air to breathe! It was ridiculous and I’ll never let anyone say such things and walk away laughing!”

He sighed but his features softened “You could’ve gotten hurt…”

I shrugged as I sat back down, facing him “It won’t stop me from fighting.”

He spun me back around and continued brushing my hair “What am I gonna do with you, shrimp?” there was silence for a moment as he put the brush down and started to wrap my hair up in a braid. I handed him a rubber band when he was done and he kissed the back of my head “Thank you, Lu.” I couldn’t help the small smile on my face as I traced my fingers through my freshly made braid. When I turned, he was already settling himself to sleep and I did the same, for the first time in a while, not scared to see the tiger in my dreams.

When I opened my eyes, there was no more forest, no more junkyard and I was no longer a child, I was wrapped in bandages in the Heart Pirates’ ship and it hadn’t been the tiger that roamed my dreams, but the past.

[zen3to5]

J/H 6-02: Join Together

On we go with Zen 3 to 5+! Last time, we made a real storyline out of Kelso's giving up his feelings for Jackie, but she and Hyde have yet to speak this season. Time to fix that...

FF.Net AO3

***

SHOW TITLE   INT. FORMAN BASEMENT - NIGHT   The same night as the credits scene from 6-01. HYDE is passed out in his chair, with SCHATZI asleep in his arms. Smoke still lingers in the air.   The basement door opens. JACKIE enters.   JACKIE: Steven?   She shuts the door. Hyde jerks awake, which wakes up Schatzi.   HYDE: It’s oregano!   He shakes off the last of sleep, sees Jackie. They stare across the room at each other until Jackie crosses to the couch and sits at the end near Hyde’s chair.   JACKIE: Okay, Steven, I’m here to tell you, now that summer’s almost over, I’ve made my decision. I choose you.   She leans over the arm of the couch to kiss him. When she recovers, Hyde starts leaning in to follow, but stops himself, sits up straight, and sets Schatzi down on the coffee table.   HYDE: Good to know.   He stands and crosses to the deep freeze.   JACKIE: “Good to know?” That’s all you have to say?   HYDE: I’ll figure out the rest after I spend a summer at the pool.   He turns to smirk Jackie’s way; she pouts.   JACKIE: Ha, ha. You’ve made your point, Steven. Now you sit back down and french me.   HYDE: Jackie, when I said, “choose between me and Kelso,” I meant, “choose me, right then.” Making me sit around and wait it out is immature.   JACKIE: I want what I want when I want it! What is so immature about that?   HYDE: Jackie...   JACKIE: (stands) Don’t you “Jackie” me! Steven, do you remember why I needed time to think about this in the first place?   HYDE: Do you remember you made me compete with a two-timing moron who superglued his own head to his desk two days before graduation?   JACKIE: I still loved you!   HYDE: Then what was there to choose between?   JACKIE: Nothing, I just needed time to think!   HYDE: Why didn’t you tell me that?   JACKIE: Why didn’t you ask me that?   HYDE: Because you haven’t been by here all summer!   JACKIE: I was thinking!   HYDE: I was waiting!   As they stare each other down, Schatzi starts to whimper.   HYDE (cont’d): Great. And now, you’ve upset the dog.   Hyde scoops up Schatzi and retreats to his room. Jackie throws her hands up, “what just happened?”

MAIN CREDITS   BUMPER   INT. FORMAN KITCHEN - DAY   The next morning. Hyde and ERIC sit at the kitchen table, eating cereal.   ERIC: So Jackie turns up, tells you, “I choose you,” and you... said “no.”   Hyde doesn’t answer, avoids looking at Eric.   ERIC (cont’d): Hyde, as someone with experience in holding out for the sake of pride, you really don’t want to wait until she runs away to California. Of course, this is Jackie, so she’d probably run away to, like, Dallas. And I can’t see you getting along well with the Texans when you go out to get her. There’d be a bar fight, you spend the night in jail, your cellmate’s a cowboy with a bad moustache and a “Remember the Alamo” belt buckle who makes you his wife... you know what, go ahead and hold out. That sounds fun.   RED and KITTY enter from the living room. Eric stands and moves to meet them by the stove.   ERIC (cont’d): Hey, Mom, Dad. I have something I want to tell you. I’ve decided not to move away.   RED: What?   ERIC: Yeah. I’m gonna stay and put off college for just for a little while. (to Red) Or, at least until you’re well enough to go back to work.   Kitty sweeps Eric into a huge hug. Hyde snickers from the table.   KITTY: My baby! My baby! My baby!   ERIC: Okay, okay, Mom, this is actually kind of embarrassing. You’re actually really hurting me, yeah.   She lets him go.   RED: (to Eric) You mean I’ve been waiting eighteen years for you to get your butt out of this house, and now you’re staying?   Ignoring that, Eric produces a check from his pocket and hands it to Kitty.   ERIC: Look, Mom, I signed over my paycheck to you. I, uh, I want you to go buy yourself something pretty. Or, I don’t know, electricity.   KITTY: Oh, honey, thank you.   She hugs him again, more gently this time.   KITTY (cont’d): Red, it wouldn’t kill you to thank him.   RED: It might. I just had a heart attack.   Kitty gives him a look, then takes a scrap of paper hidden under the coffee tin. She and Red cross to the table and sit.   KITTY: Speaking of which, I found this in the garbage last night. Why would you throw away the list of all the food the doctor said we couldn’t have in the house?   RED: Kitty, did you look at that list? If I had known what I was coming home to after my heart attack, I would’ve walked straight into that bright light and never looked back.   KITTY: Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad. I’ll do it with you. ‘Cause what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.   ERIC: Actually, Mom, Dad’s the gander. The male goose. So it would be “what’s good for the gander is good for the goose.”   He sits back down, takes the list.   ERIC (cont’d): So, let’s take a gander at what you’re giving up with the gander.   He chuckles, even as Red and Hyde roll their eyes.   ERIC (cont’d): That’s how you do that. Okay... (reading) “Potato chips, other salty snacks...”   KITTY: Good advice. The doctor obviously knows what he’s talking about.   ERIC: (reading) “Butter, heavy cream, cheese...”   KITTY: Gone. Makes a lot of sense.   ERIC: (reading) “Alcoholic beverages...”   KITTY: Okay, that doctor’s a quack.   Kitty snaps up the list and storms into the living room.   BUMPER   INT. DONNA’S BEDROOM - DAY   A short time later. Eric observes as DONNA packs the suitcase on her writing desk with clothes.   DONNA: God, it’s gonna be so hard going off to college without you. But we’ll see each other on the weekends, right?   ERIC: Well, you say that now, but then there’s that weekend when you call home and say you have to “study” but I hear Moose the placekicker in the background asking if you want another shot of tequila, so...   DONNA: Eric, that would never happen. I would never date a placekicker. It’s quarterback or nothing for me.   ERIC: Ah!   They laugh and embrace.   DONNA: The more I think about leaving you, the sadder I get. And the sadder I get, the more I wanna be with you. Right now.   ERIC: (beat) Now? Well, yeah, I mean, I guess –   Donna shoves him down onto the bed, jumps him, and begins unbuttoning his shirt.   ERIC (cont’d): whoa! All right, this is great! It’ll be, like, completely spontaneous! Like, I just -   DONNA: Why are you talking?   ERIC: I’m sorry, I just –   She cuts him off with a deep kiss. He gives into it and pulls her further down onto him, and we cut to:   BUMPER   INT. HUB – DAY   A very slow afternoon; the place is nearly empty. Among the few customers are Jackie, KELSO, and FEZ at the wall table, Jackie in a chair and the boys in the booth seat.   JACKIE: Do you two think I’m immature?   KELSO: No, you’re almost fully grown.   They both give her a look-over, which she chooses to ignore.   JACKIE: Well, Steven thinks so. Apparently, I’m immature. Well, he wants “mature?” He thinks that’s cool? I can be cool. People can change. Olivia Newton-John did it for John Travolta, and that movie was incredibly realistic.   She looks up in thought. A slow zoom in as we cut to:   INT. HUB – DAY   FANTASY SEQUENCE. The Hub, with all the tables conveniently cleared for any impending choreography. Hyde, Eric, Kelso, and Fez are gathered around the Space Invaders game.   Jackie and Donna enter, Jackie in Sandy’s greaser chick outfit from GREASE. They strut across the room until they stand across from the boys. Eric, Kelso, and Fez all whip around to look at them.   ERIC: WOW!   KELSO: Yowza.   FEZ: Yummy.   Hyde looks up last. When he sees Jackie, he rips the sunglasses off his head.   HYDE: Jackie?   JACKIE: Tell me about it, Steve.   The girls move onto their marks, as do the boys. “You’re The One That I Want” from GREASE begins to play as a full-on song and dance number begins.   HYDE (lip-sync): I got chills! They’re multiplying And I’m losing control ‘Cause the power you’re supplying It’s electrifying!   JACKIE (lip-sync): You better shape up ‘cause I need a man And my heart is set on you You better shape up You better understand To my heart I must be true...   HYDE (lip-sync): Nothing left Nothing left for me to do...   JACKIE & HYDE (lip-sync): You’re the one that I want (You are the one I want) Ooh, hoo, hoo, honey! The one that I want (You are the one I want) Ooh, hoo, hoo, honey! The one that I want (You are the one I want) Ooh, hoo, hoo! The one I need Oh, yes indeed...   By the end of the number, Jackie is wrapped around Hyde with arms and legs as he gazes into her eyes.   HYDE: Oh, Jackie, you’re so cool and mature. Please take me back. ‘Cause we belong together like bob-bobba-loo-ba, shawalla shebang-shebang.   In reply, she pulls him into a long, passionate kiss. The others all group together, offering (ad-libbed) congratulations and celebrations. A heart flanked by two unicorns serves as an iris closing on the scene, and we fade back into reality...   INT. HUB – DAY   Jackie sways gently in her seat to the music in her head. Kelso and Fez share a look.   KELSO:  (to Jackie) Are you gonna sing? ‘Cause we’ve heard you sing, and... you’re not gonna sing, are you?   Fez shakes his head, pleading.   JACKIE: No, but I’m gonna get Steven back, whatever it takes. And I’m gonna get me a pair of those black satin pants, ‘cause I look good in those.   And thus, she turns back to daydreaming.   CUT TO:   INT. FORMAN KITCHEN - DAY   A short time later. Hyde snacks at the counter as Red slowly, reluctantly drops an assortment of junk food piled on the stovetop into the trash can.   Eric and Kitty enter, each carrying a cart loaded with liquor bottles.   KITTY: Okay, the doctor wins. Eric and I boxed up all the liquor.   ERIC: (to Hyde) Man, look at all this. It’s like Dean Martin exploded. There were bottles in the liquor cabinet, the dining room hutch, my mom’s nightstand...   He picks up the offending bottle.   KITTY: Oh, no, no. That’s for polishing furniture.   ERIC: Mom, there’s lipstick on it.   HYDE: It’s just your luck, Forman. You’re about to turn eighteen and there’s gonna be no hooch left in the house to steal.   Red and Kitty’s eyes snap to him.   HYDE (cont’d): I mean, avoid. (They stare) Do homework next to. Pray near. (They stare) Come on!   RED: Yeah, it’s gonna be pretty boring around here. (to Eric) You know what you should do? Go to college.   He exits to the basement.   ERIC: Mom, would it be too much to ask for Dad to be grateful that I’m staying?   KITTY: Honey, we’re all going through hard times. You’re giving up your future. I’m giving up my Schnapps. Let’s not compare our pain.   BUMPER   INT. FORMAN BASEMENT - DAY   THE CIRCLE. Open on Eric’s empty seat, which he hurries into.   ERIC: Hey, sorry I’m late. Donna was really upset about leaving, so I had to comfort her in a bedular way. It turns out, if I get her sad, she gives it away like goldfish at a freakin’ carnival.   Pan to Fez.   FEZ: Eric, I think you may have found a secret “open sesame” to sex. Make the lady cry. Perhaps I should try that with my wife. “Laurie, here’s a dead cat. Now, do me.”   Pan to Hyde.   HYDE:  A little history, Fez – I think Laurie has a lot of “open sesames.” Like “hi, Laurie.” That usually does it.   Pan to Kelso.   KELSO: Actually, I only ever got as far as “hi.” Fez, I did it with your wife!   Pan to Eric.   ERIC: God, I have so much power over Donna now. It’s like I know how Obi-Wan Kenobi feels. (doing Obi-Wan) “These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.” (normal voice) Man, I wish I could do it with Donna in a land speeder on Tatooine. That would be so awesome.   BUMPER   MUSIC NOTE: “Hot Child in the City” by Nick Glider.   EXT. FORMAN DRIVEWAY – DAY   Moments later. Jackie, in a tiny bikini and sunglasses, is sprawled out on a lawn chair set up in the driveway. She turns and smiles as the four boys file out from the kitchen. They’re all still coming down from the Circle, but that doesn’t stop them from checking Jackie out – Hyde especially.   JACKIE: Hello, boys.   FEZ: And hello, sun goddess.   If looks could kill, Hyde would’ve just murdered Fez. He looks away from Jackie and inches away from Hyde.   Jackie flips her sunglasses up and stands.   JACKIE: (to Hyde) You know, Steven, a tan’s not the only thing I have now that I didn’t have when we were going out.   She lifts up her right foot, drawing attention to:   FEZ: (gasp) Toe ring.   Hyde, sucking in deep breaths, tries his best not to look. His best isn’t very good.   JACKIE: (to Hyde) Yep. Tan, toe ring – a tattoo.   HYDE: (scoffs) You don’t have a tattoo. You’re bluffing. (beat) You have a tattoo?   He looks her over, tries to see her back.   JACKIE: Well, we’re not going out, so I guess you’ll never know.   She walks past him, brushing him with her shoulder as she does, and heads back into the house. The guys all follow her with their eyes.   Hyde takes a few steps after her before catching himself. Eric, Kelso, and Fez all grin.   KELSO: Look at you watching her. You love her, man. (doing Hyde) “Oh, baby, I love you so much.”   He starts making kissy faces. Fez does the same, and they lean into each other for a bit, just missing the other’s lips.   KELSO: (laughing) Were you doing Jackie?   FEZ: (beat) Yes, yes.   HYDE: Why am I even thinking about her? Man, she’s like Tahiti. It’s warm and it’s beautiful and you wanna go there, but when you do, you get bit by a mosquito and you get malaria and you’re sick for the rest of your life.   KELSO: You know, when me and Jackie were going out, this’d be right around the time that you got us back together after a break-up. It’s too bad you don’t have your own you around.   ERIC: Kelso, would you really want two Hydes around? You’d be getting frogged from the right and the left 24 hours a day.   Unconsciously, Kelso wraps his arms around himself, covering his biceps.   HYDE: (to Kelso) I wasn’t trying to get you back together. I was trying to get her to stop crying.   Each of the boys reacts – Eric amused, Kelso guilty, Fez ready to cry. Hyde stirs uncomfortably under their eyes.   HYDE (cont’d): She was ruining all my shirts.   They keep staring.   HYDE (cont’d): Shut up!   When they keep staring, Hyde delivers an open-palm smack to Fez’s forehead. He falls back against Eric, who falls back against Kelso, and all three of them collapse to the ground. Hyde marches off down the drive.   FADE TO BLACK   COMMERCIAL   BUMPER   INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – DAY   Another day. “Baby Come Back” by Player is on the radio. Eric and Donna read a magazine together on the couch, Jackie sits in the lawn chair, and Kelso paces up and down.   KELSO: Jackie, I’ve noticed you and Hyde are still broken up. As the man who used to pleasure you endlessly, I think it’s only fitting that I take over Hyde’s old job of getting you back together with your fella, ‘cause when I’m a cop, I’m gonna have to deal with domestic cases like this all the time.   DONNA: And the good news is, he’ll have guns.   KELSO: Yeah, this is gonna be a piece of cake. Y’know, they should’ve put me in charge of Vietnam. I would’ve had those people making out in a week.   He exits out the basement door.   ERIC: Wow. Donna, that might be the last time you’ll ever get to see Kelso make an even bigger mess of a problem.   DONNA: Yeah, I’m gonna miss that. And I’m gonna miss you.   She sets the magazine down and leans into Eric.   JACKIE: Well, I’m not gonna miss you two slobbering all over each other like fat girls in a house with free meat.   She stands and exits out the basement door.   ERIC: And that might be the last time that Jackie ever makes fun of us, fat girls, and meat.   DONNA: Yeah...   She throws herself at Eric, and they begin violently making out. Thus begins:   MONTAGE.   A) FORMAN DRIVEWAY. Eric and Donna lean against the Vista Cruiser. Eric heaves a long sigh.   DONNA: What?   ERIC: Nothing. It’s just... this could be the last time that you and I stand by the Vista Cruiser. I just waxed her – she’s all slippy slidy.   Donna whirls around to kiss Eric. The two of them make out, sliding up and down the Vista Cruiser.   B) DONNA’S BEDROOM. Donna sits at her writing desk. Eric stands over her, toothbrush in hand.   ERIC: Donna, this might be the last time I bring you your toothbrush.   DONNA: That’s not my toothbrush.   ERIC: (beat) Might be the last time I bring you the wrong toothbrush.   Donna shoves everything off her desk. Eric lies down across it, she jumps on top of him, and they go at it.   BUMPER   EXT. FORMAN DRIVEWAY - DAY   Later that afternoon. Hyde and Kelso sit in the chairs on the back porch.   KELSO: Okay, Hyde. If I’m gonna get you and Jackie back together, I’m gonna start by doing what you always did for me, which was point out all the stuff I was doing wrong. So let’s start with the fact that you have curly hair.   Hyde gives Kelso a dirty look. It goes right over Kelso’s head.   KELSO (cont’d): That’s cute on girls and little kids, but on a man, that’s just dirty. Plus you don’t wash it and you’ve got those sideburns, so that’s a double ugh. (afterthought) Oh, and you slept with that nurse.   HYDE: That only happened because you hit on Jackie for that whole year, and it led to a misunderstanding. And I owned up to what I did. If Jackie was gonna take me back anyway, she shouldn’t have made me spend all summer waiting on her.   KELSO: Yeah, but Hyde, you should’ve known she wouldn’t just get over that. You never pushed her to just get over it when I slept with Laurie, or made out with Pam Macy, or stole 50 bucks from her, or that mess Fez and I left in her dad’s Lincoln after that night of cow-tipping went wrong.   HYDE: (sighs) Fine. Maybe I was sort of impetuous and maybe a little rash.   KELSO: Now, see, that’s something that Jackie oughta know.   CUT TO:   INT. DONNA’S BEDROOM - DAY   Minutes later. Jackie and Kelso stand in the bedroom, talking.   KELSO: Hyde says that he was sort of infectious and he has a rash.   JACKIE: What?   KELSO: I’m just telling you what he said.   JACKIE: All right, look, Michael, Steven’s the one who messed up the relationship. He thought you and I were together, but he was just wrong. He fabricated the whole mess.   KELSO: Well, somebody ought to make that clear.   CUT TO:   EXT. FORMAN DRIVEWAY – DAY   Minutes later. Kelso and Hyde, basketball under his arm, stand in the driveway, talking.   KELSO: Jackie wants you to know that there was a mess ‘cause she was wearing the wrong fabric.   HYDE: That can’t be what she said.   KELSO: It’s word for word, man.   HYDE: Kelso, would you get out of here?   KELSO: What? I’m helping.   HYDE: You’re making me wanna kick your ass!   KELSO: That better be the rash talking.   Kelso walks off through the garage. Hyde nails him in the back with the basketball before heading into the house.   CUT TO:   INT. FORMAN KITCHEN – DAY   Kitty looks over items on the shelf near the patio door. Red enters from the living room, paper bag in hand. He takes a careful look around the kitchen, but misses Kitty. She watches as he draws a can of beer from the bag and pops it open. He lifts it to his lips to drink...   KITTY: Busted, mister.   Red slams the can down on the stovetop.   RED: You’re like a damn cat. I’m gonna make you wear a bell.   Kitty crosses to him, points at the can.   KITTY: Bad health in a can, that’s what that is. The doctor said he wants nothing like that around here, and I agree. All it takes is a little willpower, Red.   Kitty opens the flour tin and pulls out a bottle of wine. She pours a healthy amount into her water glass.   KITTY (cont’d): Even though you used to do something without thinking, you just – you have to grab a hold of those thoughts.   She downs the wine.   RED: Can I get you a refill there?   Kitty looks from him, to her glass, to her bottle.   KITTY: Well, there’s a lesson for you. You’re welcome.   She exits to the living room, taking bottle and glass with her.   As she leaves, Eric enters.   ERIC: (to Red) Hey.   RED: Oh, hey – listen, son. You know, uh... it means a lot to your mother, you staying here and helping out the family. And as for me, I... well, uh...   He takes a scrap of paper from his pocket and hands it to Eric.   RED (cont’d): There. The doctor said I should write down my feelings.   ERIC: Are you actually thanking me?   He reads the note.   ERIC (cont’d): This is a list of yard work.   RED: Yeah, the lawn thanks you for all that mowing you’re gonna do.   ERIC: You’re welcome, Dad.   RED: Yeah. Well...   Eric steps in for a hug, but Red holds his hand up.   RED (cont’d): All right, we’re both men here.   Eric nods, heads out to the drive.   BUMPER   INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – DAY   Eric and Donna sit on the couch, watching GILLIGAN’S ISLAND.   ERIC: Oh, God.   DONNA: What’s wrong?   ERIC: Nothing. It’s just... this could be the last time that you and I watch Gilligan get hit on the head by the Skipper.   DONNA: Eric, the more we talk about me going away, the sadder you get. And being with you so much lately has been great, but afterwards... well, you always used to look a little bit ashamed, and... I mean, now you just seem depressed.   ERIC: Oh, no, no. I’m not depressed, Donna. You are depressed.   He stands, shoves everything off the coffee table.   ERIC (cont’d): Okay, let’s do this.   DONNA: (stands) Okay, hold on. All this “last time” stuff – have you been saying that just for sex?   ERIC: What? Have I... what? (doing Obi-Wan) “This is not the one you’re angry with.”   He waves his hand in front of her eyes.   DONNA: You’re disgusting.   She storms out the door. Eric sits down. Donna re-enters immediately, and Eric stands back up right away.   DONNA (cont’d): That might be the last time we fight over you trying to get me to have sex with you!   ERIC: I know!   Donna hurries over to him, takes him in an embrace, and they fall back down onto the couch as they kiss.   BUMPER   EXT. FORMAN FRONT PORCH – DAY   Closer to evening than afternoon. Fez and Kelso sit together on the front porch. Kelso has a hand on his temple.   KELSO: This “getting people back together” business is hard. I don’t remember ever throwing a basketball at Hyde’s back when he was doing this, and I don’t think Jackie ever threw an empty hairspray can at his head. (to Fez) Your wife did that to me once.   FEZ: I get it. You had sex with my wife. Stop rubbing it in.   KELSO: Wow. I wasn’t even trying to burn you with that one. It’s just too easy. Just like your wife.   Fez turns away, pouting, while Kelso chuckles.   KELSO: Man, it’s obvious that Hyde and Jackie both wanna be together, and they would be in a second if they just thought that the other one had said “I’m sorry.”   He considers that for a second, then leaps to his feet, Fez following.   KELSO: Eureka, Fez! Eureka!   FEZ: I’m one step ahead of you, my friend!   KELSO: Yeah, I’ll just lie to both of them and tell them the other one said “I’m sorry!”   FEZ: Oh. I thought we were going to try and get my wife to do me.   KELSO: (beat) Good luck with that.   He claps Fez on the shoulder and runs off.   CUT TO:   EXT. FORMAN DRIVEWAY - DAY   Minutes later. Kelso has gathered Jackie and Hyde in front of the Vista Cruiser. He takes them each by the shoulder and pulls them in closer.   KELSO: Okay, here we go. Let’s make up.   JACKIE: All right. Look, Steven, I heard what you said.   HYDE: Yeah, I heard what... wait a minute, you heard what I said?   JACKIE: Yeah, Michael told me. And, just so you know – I’m sorry too.   HYDE: Too? No, you’re not sorry too. You’re sorry one, I’m sorry two.   JACKIE: (beat) Wait, what? No, Michael said -   HYDE: Yeah, he said that...   They both turn to glare at Kelso.   KELSO: Whoa! I did my work. You two gotta clean this mess up yourselves.   HYDE: (to Jackie) So nothing’s changed then?   JACKIE: (shrugs) Guess not.   HYDE: (scoffs) Forget this.   Jackie turns to head down the drive, Hyde turns to go back into the house. Kelso pulls them both back and turns them toward each other.   KELSO: Okay, enough. Look, you guys, who cares who apologized first? (to Hyde) Jackie obviously wants to be with you, and you’re here, which means that you wanna be with her, and I don’t blame you, ‘cause with that rash, you ain’t got a whole lot of choices.   JACKIE: All right, look, Steven, do you wanna be with me?   Hyde gives a very small shrug.   JACKIE (cont’d): No, no, a shrug’s not gonna cut it. Steven, I need you to say something. All right, look – I’ll even go first. Steven, I wanna be with you. And you?   HYDE: I... can you hang on a second?   He turns to Kelso and frogs him in the arm.   HYDE (cont’d): Would you get out of here?   KELSO: If you want me to leave, all you have to do is say “please.”   HYDE: Fine, please!   He frogs Kelso again.   KELSO: That’s better.   He retreats into the house.   HYDE: Jackie, I do wanna be with you.   Coy, Jackie takes a step in.   JACKIE: Because...   She traces a heart in the air with her fingers.   HYDE: (beat) Will you take a shrug for that?   JACKIE: (smiles, shrugs) Eh.   She throws her arms around his neck. His arms wrap around her waist, and they kiss.   FADE TO BLACK   CREDITS   INT. FORMAN KITCHEN – DAY   LAURIE is at the island with a laundry basket. She sorts through her things as Fez comes up from the basement and moves behind her.   FEZ: Hello, darling. I see you are washing your unmentionables.   LAURIE: Yeah. Do you know what gets out grass stains and Kailua?   FEZ: Anyways, I was thinking how sad you must be considering the mess you made of your life. With all that sadness, do you also not get needy?   LAURIE: Y’know, I sort of do.   FEZ: Ali Baba, the treasure is mine!   LAURIE: I’m gonna go see if Carlos is home.   She struts out the door. Fez sighs, smiles, and leans on the laundry basket.   FEZ: That Carlos is one lucky S.O.B. to have a wife like mine.   END.

***

I hope no one's disappointed by how comparatively unaltered this one is to 6-01! If I'm being honest, I don't find the idea that Hyde would be too proud and stubborn to get back together with Jackie right away after making him wait on an answer to be out-of-character; I just don't like the sloppy and cavalier way the show presented that idea, or the lack of a peek behind the curtain as to how he really feels. With these rewrites of 6-01 and 6-02 together, I've tried to do that.

In any event, now that Jackie and Hyde are back together, it's on to the middle of Season 6...

[bnhascribbles]

Competition

Shinso x Teacher!Reader

Fluff & Humor; Just a couple of ridiculously sarcastic teachers figuring out their relationship and navigating an (intentional) misunderstanding

Words: 3.3K

Warnings: Very mild swearing

Sometimes, you really believed that full-time heroes had it easy.  Sure, they had to risk their lives daily, but then again, so did you.  As a teacher at U.A., you were all-too-familiar with the fact that danger was a part of the curriculum.  After all, when a hero-in-training screwed up, it was your job to yank them out of whatever situation they found themselves in.  You had a collection of scars stemming from misfired quirks, shrapnel from training-ground explosions, and the occasional struggle to pull apart brawling students.  That wasn’t even the worst part of teaching.  It was the fact that if you failed your “mission,” if you failed these kids, you weren’t just ruining their lives, you were putting the entire country at risk–it would be like filling barrels with gunpowder and just watching them roll into a burning building.

Naturally, this meant that your workdays seldom actually ended with the ring of the final bell.  There was always stuff to do after classes ended–papers to grade, exercises to plan, troublemakers to scold.  Your most recent project involved planning summer training camp for the second years.  The students this year had a diverse combination of quirks, so it was up to you and the teacher from 2-A to devise a program that would incorporate several different training regimens.  Picking the location, creating individualized plans for each student, recruiting pros to act as stand-ins in the moments where the two of you were off making sure everything ran like clockwork–most of the time, you were swamped, working well past dark.  On those nights, coffee and sugar were your lifelines.  You’d set up shop in a 24-hour donut shop and pray that you’d manage to leave before the 3 AM drunks began to pour in through the doors.  This had been your reality for the past three weeks, four days, and seven hours.

Tonight marked the end of all that–after you double-checked all of the arrangements, you were free.  Knowing that the planning was done and that you could finally relax should’ve been a reason for celebration.  Well, it wasn’t.  Not because you were a sucker for suffering and certainly not because two hours of sleep was the perfect amount you needed in order to teach a class full of hormonal teenagers.  No, it was because, despite the long hours and constant stress of the whole process, you actually enjoyed spending time with the grumpy teacher of 2-A.

Shinso and you weren’t friends in the traditional sense of the word—you only ever interacted at school and in these little meetings.  Even so, your banter was famous at U.A.  In the halls, the classrooms, the training grounds–everywhere you met, the two of you were at each other’s throats.  Sure, it might’ve had something to do with your drastically different teaching styles–he was way more of a disciplinarian than you were–but the truth was, it probably because Shinso was the only person you knew with a wit sharp enough to match your own.

“I thought I saw you crack a smile at the sports festival.  Congratulations, I didn’t know ‘Shinso-sensei’ was capable of experiencing actual human emotion.”

“Clever, clever.  Maybe if you directed a fraction of the energy you spend insulting me into actually teaching your class, then it’d be half-competent.”

However hostile the exchanges seemed, all of it was done in good fun–most of the time, you were snickering before you even got through your next comeback.  Still, it was easy to see why some people might get the wrong idea.  In your first month of teaching, both of you were called in individually for a meeting with the principal.  Apparently, however playful you knew your bickering to be, other teachers had a difficult time grasping the...intricacies of your humor.  They thought that you and Shinso genuinely wanted to murder each other.  Even after explaining the situation to Principal Nezu, however, he was adamant that the two of you put an end to the insults.

So naturally, the two of you acted like the smartasses you were and shot off to the opposite end of the spectrum.  If you were gonna have to be nice, you were gonna do it your way, dammit.

“Wasn’t gonna stop by, but after seeing those class rankings, I just had to.  You should be SO proud.  One student in the top thirty?  Wow, what an improvement.”

“Thanks, Shinso.  I really appreciate you walking all the way to my classroom to tell me that.  God, I’m sorry for getting distracted, but can’t help asking: How much sleep did you get last night?  Because I am LIVING for those dark circles.”

You can’t be sure when exactly you started anticipating your little encounters, when it was that hearing the sound of his voice became the highlight of your day.  You don’t know when realized you liked him–beyond the whole “friendship” or “professional admiration” sort of stuff.  Sure, the man was fatalistic, arrogant, and liked to pretend that he was apathetic towards just about everything, but there was more to him than that.  You saw the way he worried over his students–how he’d spent nearly the entire provisional license exam clenching onto the edge of his seat, his knuckles white.  Then, there was his talent for committing the tiniest things to memory.  Trivial things, like how your favorite color was purple.  After you’d mentioned it offhandedly in one of your little “arguments,” you found that every written reminder from him (“Turn in this form today” or “Midterms happening next month”) came on a distinctive, lilac-tinted sticky-note.  He was paying attention.  Maybe it was wishful thinking on your part, but that was the first sign you noticed that, maybe, he liked you too.  

So as you sat in that cheap old donut shop, wrapping up your last “planning night” together, you decided to take the leap.

“If you aren’t too busy scheming up new ways to crush your students’ spirits, then we should meet up again tomorrow.”

“Why, did we forget something?”  Shinso groans, flipping through his papers.  “Cots?  Food?”  He takes another swig of his coffee.  “The students are old enough to figure it out.  A couple days of roughing it won’t kill them.”

“Harsh.  But no, that’s not it.  I’m completely over work; I was imagining something a little more casual.”  You swallow hard, willing yourself to follow through.  You’ve thought about this for way too long to chicken out now.  “Something more date-like.”

Shinso peeks up at you out of the corner of his eye.  He stares for a moment, then he leans back in his chair, fiddling with the plastic tab on the lid of his drink.  

“I might have to pass on that.  I’ve got a girl waiting up for me back home, and the longer I’m out, the pissier she gets.”

You can feel the red-hot flush as it creeps across your face, coloring every inch of your skin.  God, you probably looked like some sort of overripe tomato.  In a frantic attempt to hide, you take a large gulp from your cup and hold it up against the bottom half of your face, even when you’re done.  Your hot chocolate doesn’t taste sweet anymore–it’s bitter and leaves a chalky, burning feeling in your throat.  Then again, that could be embarrassment setting in.

“Oh.” It’s a struggle to keep your voice level–a struggle that you lose.  Diffusing the situation with humor isn’t even an option–you were smart dammit, but you couldn’t focus for long enough to say something even remotely thought-out.“I had no idea...I didn’t mean–”

“It’s alright.”  Thankfully, he cuts off your stammering before you make an even bigger fool of yourself.  “Not many people know about her; She’s not so good with strangers.”  He places his coffee down on the tabletop.

“That’s awesome.”  You mumble through a pathetic, fake smile.

Stop it, that little voice in your head warns.

“Not the, uh, stranger part.  That’s unfortunate.”

Please shut up.  For God’s sake, you still have to WORK with this dude.

“It’s cool that you’ve got someone.”

Just get up and leave while you still can.  Fake a phone call.  A heart attack.  ANYTHING.

“More than some people can say, haha.”

Awesome.  If he didn’t already think you were desperate, he sure does now.

You finally listen, stopping yourself before any more word-vomit can escape your lips.  The damage has already been done, though.  Men cackle boisterously at a table to your right.  A barista drones through a generic list of house specials for a customer.  The espresso machine hisses and bubbles angrily.  But you and Shinso sit in complete silence.  You pretend to be utterly fascinated by the lip of your cup, folding the edge up and down.  Really, you just needed something to stare at.  Something that wasn’t him.

“Want to meet her?”  

The air gets caught in your throat as you inhale, and you let out an incredibly obvious, choked cough.  “Excuse me?”  Hiding your shock is off the table now.  Then again, you’d already managed to make a fool of yourself–how much worse could it really get?

“Do you want to meet my kitten?”  He speaks slowly, stressing each individual word, but you’re still at a loss.  “I actually think she might like you.”

Things were getting really weird, really fast.  Surely, he had to know that the proposition was absolutely insane.  As it stood, all you wanted to do was go home and curl up on your sofa–pretend you’d never bumped into him and drown your humiliation with a bottle of cheap grocery store wine and a pint of ice cream.  If you were lucky, you’d sleep through your alarm.  At least then you wouldn’t have to see those indigo eyes tomorrow morning, wouldn’t have to pass him in the halls pretend everything was fine.  The two of you would squabble, as always.  He’d leave his sticky notes, as always.  Maybe, if you were lucky, they’d still be purple.  Hell, it wasn’t like the color actually meant anything, after all.

The more you think about it, the more the self-pity festers, becoming something else.  Frustration.  Was the moron possessed?  What on earth would make him even entertain the thought that you’d want to meet his “kitten” (even thinking about the pet-name made you want to gag)?  He’d rejected you.  That should’ve been the end of it; He should’ve just let you skulk off and ponder past sins–the reasons why the universe saw fit punish you with the curse of boldness and bad timing.  

Of course, Shinso hadn’t said no to you outright.  Still, he’d made it very clear that he was taken.  He had a girlfriend.  

...except, he’d never really said that any of that.  You’d just filled in the blanks.  After all, that was the only possible–

“How are you with fur?”  He cuts off your thought with another question.

And it clicks.  The absurd, ridiculous, impossible idea that you hadn’t even noticed percolating at the back of your mind suddenly becomes plausible–logical even.  You forget about your assumption, opting instead to act on what you know.  Verbatim.

His girl.

His kitten.

“Hitoshi Shinso.”  No, it couldn’t be true.  You were just being insane.  Wishful.

“Yes?”  It’s drawn out, teasing.  He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“I know you’re not talking about your actual cat.  Because if you are, so help me god, I will end you.”

He cocks up an eyebrow, smirking.  “Promise?”

The bastard.

You bury your face in your hands, dumbfounded.  You don’t know whether you should get angry or laugh or just breathe.  When you peek through your fingers at Shinso, he at least has the decency to look a little guilty–emphasis on a little.

“In my defense, I thought you’d figure it out quicker than that.”

“In my defense, I’ve never heard a man use his pet as an excuse not to go on a date.”

There’s another silence, but it’s a different sort from the first.  Less uncomfortable–still a bit awkward, but more pensive than before.  Shinso stretches against the back of his chair, staring at the ceiling.  You shift in your seat and peer out the window.

Shinso is the first to speak.  

“I’m free all day Sunday.”

You turn towards him, shaking your head, incredulous.  But when you look up, his expression isn’t mocking or cocky.  He’s using his palm to almost completely cover the bottom half of his face–you can’t even see his mouth behind it.  His other arm is curled tight around his stomach, like he’s trying to protect himself from some imaginary punch to the gut.  The posture was all-too-recognizable.  The man was nervous.  Just like you’d been when you’d asked him.

Part of you was thrilled that everything had managed to work out, even if it’d taken longer than you’d expected to reach this point.  But then, there’s also an ounce of bitterness left in that petty, petty heart of yours.  Not enough to leave Shinso sitting in agony for too long, but certainly enough to draw out his suffering the slightest bit.  You weren’t going to make things easy for him after he’d tortured you with his little joke.

You fold your arms across your chest and let your jaw shift to one side.  “I don’t know, is your cat really gonna be okay with that?  Wouldn’t want her getting jealous or anything.”

“I’ll get her permission tonight.”  A quick response.  Even if the words seem playful, his voice is brittle, on edge.  “So?”

You suck in air over your teeth, resting your elbows on the tabletop and resting your thumbs beneath your chin.  “Well, I’ve never been the best at sharing.”

Shinso catches onto your act, letting the hand fall away from his mouth.  He breathes in a long, deep breath through his nose.  The corner of his lip twitches and twists upward.

“I’m afraid my little girl and I are a package deal.”  He slides his papers to the side and leans forward, mimicking your posture.

“Can I at least know the name of my competition?”  You ask with an upward lilt on the final word.

“Bean.”

You laugh out loud, despite your best efforts to seem serious and seductive.  Bean.  Never in a thousand years would you ever even consider that a little fur-ball named Bean would cause you so much trouble.

“And you’re sure you’re not down to negotiate?”

“No.  This is an all-or-nothing sort of deal.”

“Ouch.  With baggage like that, it’s no wonder you’re still single, Shinso.”  You try not to get distracted by the closeness of your faces.  It’s difficult considering the fact that your forearms are practically pressed against each other.  The tiny size of the café table is beginning to show.  “Do people usually pack up and leave once you’ve stated your terms?”

There’s a pause as his gaze flits between each of your eyes.  “I wouldn’t know, none of them have ever made it this far.”

Oh.  You can’t tell if he’s being serious, or if he’s just that smooth.  Either way, your pulse quickens.  It doesn’t help that your faces are mere inches apart.  You can count each of his eyelashes, smell the coffee on his breath, feel the warmth radiating off his skin.  He has you completely intoxicated by his presence; It makes you reckless.

“So I’m special.”  Not a question–an observation.

He purses his lips, then smiles.  “I guess you are.”

That’s it.  Something about the way he says the words–without a hint of sarcasm or insincerity–shakes you to your very core.  You feel the heat in your neck first, feeling it sear your skin as it creeps up to your cheeks and ears.  Then comes the buzzing in your skull, the frantic thudding of your heart in your chest.  

“So?”  He says it softly, like he’s afraid to actually hear your response.  For all the reluctance in his voice, Shinso himself is bold.  Before you even know what’s happening, he’s reaching across the almost-nonexistent space between the two of you, his hand hovering beside the place where your fingers rest on your cheek.

“ ‘So,’ what?  You didn’t ask a question.”  You’re hyper-aware of everything–the temperature of the air, the subtle tremble in his arm, your own shallow breathing.

“You understood what I meant, though.”

His hand inches in closer, and when finally feel it dust over the side of your palm–experience the jolt of pure electricity that sparks through you where his skin meets yours–you almost forget to draw things draw things out.  Almost.

“If you were hoping I’d agree to go out with you, then prepare for disappointment.”  When his fingers edge in beneath your own, gently coaxing your palm away from your cheek, your breathing hitches involuntarily.  You press on anyway.  “My houseplant doesn’t like it when I spend time with other guys.”

He huffs, and you can tell he’s trying not to smile.  “Come on.  I’m being serious now.”  

He drags your hand down to the table, laying it palm up.  His fingers start at your wrist, tracing over the shallow creases in your palm.  Slowly, deliberately–like he’s trying to commit each line to memory.  When you look up at his face, it really does look like he’s studying; His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, his lips pulled off to one side of his face.  A strand of hair floats down in front of his eyes, but he ignores it.  It’d be easy to believe he thought there was nothing more important at that moment than the shape of your hand beneath his fingers.

Your heart is done being petty.  You cut straight to the part where you stop playing hard-to-get and actually say what you want.

“You are single, right?”  You curl your fingers and catch his hand, putting an end to its exploring.  “I mean, besides the live-in-home cat-girlfriend.”

He lifts his eyes up from the table, laughing.  “Yeah, I am.”

You exhale, relieved.  “Good, I just had to make sure.”  You don’t even consider prying your hand away from his.  Instead, you remove your other one from your cheek and gesture outwards towards Shinso.  “Give me your phone.”

He doesn’t hesitate to obey, reaching into his pocket (notably, with his free hand) and practically tossing his phone into your outstretched palm.  You begin entering your number.

“Seriously, though, the next time you scare me like that, I’ll sic my class on you.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes.  “Right, because I’m absolutely terrified of class 2-B.”

“You should be.”  You check the newly-entered contact and hand him back his device.  “They’re crazy strong, and they actually like me.  Not like those 2-A thralls you train.”

“One of your students was sent to the clinic last week for getting his arm stuck in a locker.  Not even two days later, another one gave herself a concussion because she tried to jump in the conveyer belt for lunch trays.”  He leans forward, going to slide his phone back into his pocket.  “Like I said: I’m terrified.”

You pretend to be annoyed at the jab, but really, you’re too over-the-moon to be even a little convincing.  Really, you could’ve gone back and forth with him all night.  You could’ve insisted that your class was superior–that they were intelligent and creative and street-smart, but Shinso probably already knew that; This was all just another act meant to get a rise out of you.  It might’ve worked any other day, but tonight, you’re too willing to let him get away with more than usual.

When you get home that night, you get a text from an unregistered number.  It’s a photo message–an image of a puny calico kitten lounging on top of a sofa, staring intently into the camera.  The next text comes in about thirty seconds later.  It was less than ten words long, but it made you burst into a fit of giggles all the same.  

As you can see, you’ve got some stiff competition.

[ariadnelives]

Chapter 20 -- The Confessions

[Missed earlier chapters? Go catch up here! Otherwise, welcome back! Oh, and make sure to join our discord server! Chapter can also be found @ ao3”]

“Hey Zee,” Sasha said, “what’s the note say?”

“I’m still trying to load it up,” Sweettalk replied. “I swear I’m this close to breaking this machine, that rat bastard used some kind of old filetype and the computers are taking whole minutes to load it. He did this on purpose, he couldn’t just die without taking one last chance to piss me off.”

Of course, even if Prescott had not intentionally made the document tedious to access, Sweettalk would not have been eager to read it.

When a loved one dies, it is very often painful for their friends and family to read the notes they left behind. Knowing that every word you read is one less new part of them that’s left out there to find makes it incredibly difficult to struggle through an entire letter. This is why, for example, someone who received a wrapped gift from a loved one who tragically died before they were able to unwrap it might leave that gift wrapped on a shelf next to a framed picture of the dear departed, looking wistfully at it every year before deciding they couldn’t bring themselves to unwrap it knowing it would be the last gift they would ever receive from that person.

This was not the situation Sweettalk found herself in. Prescott was not a loved one, not family, not a friend, not even someone whose death Sweettalk was even remotely sad about, and as she would soon find out, the note was not a heartfelt goodbye, but a screed of irritating backpedaling, self-congratulation, and one single horrible truth that made the rest of it seem paltry by comparison.

“I mean, look at this,” Sweettalk said, gesturing at the faintly glowing blue holo-screen before her, “all I ever wanted from him was to leave me alone forever, and not only does he manage to screw that up from beyond the grave, he went out of his way to make it inconvenient for me.”

“I honestly don’t even know what he has left to say to you, like,” Sasha wondered, “it’s not like you were subtle about how little he meant to you.”

There was a small ding from the holo-screen. “I guess we’re about to find out,” Sweettalk said, and the two girls pulled in close to read.

The note read:

“Mingxia:

If you’re reading this, it means I’m dead. The reason I had to use such an archaic filetype is because I needed to know I’d be able to discreetly delete the file before it was discovered if I returned from the mission safely. I did the same thing with the dossier on the Zealot. Hey, sue me, you guys took me prisoner and cut off my fingers, I think I’ve more than earned one little betrayal.

I’m not a perfect person. There’s a lot of things I’ve done that I regret, and I think I’m a big enough person to admit that. You’ve seen a lot of my mistakes, even helped me with a few of them (so, you know, keep in mind that they weren’t completely my fault, you dirty dirty criminal), but there’s one you don’t know about, and I think you’ve got a right to:

Years ago, when we were both living in Xiagu, before the plague hit, I told you that I was an adventurer, which was true. Not all of my adventures were legal, but only one of them had real consequences.

One of my adventures was a smuggling run, importing exotic fruits and vegetables into town. I mean, I was basically just a salad dealer, which is a victimless crime, but that idiot miner needed some fast cash in exchange for a brick of platinum ore he’d swiped. It took me a while to piece it together, but the ore had to be from the asteroid mining company that they traced the plague’s contagion back to. That would explain why he gave me a dose of medicine to take before I handled it, eh? The miner must have forgotten to disinfect it, and the moronic customs agent I gave it to must have forgotten to take proper safety precautions when he opened it, and from there it got into the climate control system and got everybody sick, except you and me.

You don’t see reason and you have no sense of forgiveness whatsoever, so you’ll probably try to find some way to pin the blame on me, but I can’t stress hard enough that this was not my fault. It was the miner’s fault, the customs agent’s fault, and the fault of whatever half-wits were working the climate control system after they got infected.

So, before you go throwing dirt on my memory, I hope you keep this in mind: You’d be dead if not for me. Those idiots exposed everyone to a deadly virus but you survived because I got you out of town in time. I hope you remember that before you and your little friends start disrespecting the dead. I saved your life.

Love,

Prescott Cain”

Sweettalk was shaking. Her knuckles were white and her fingernails had actually managed to draw blood on her palms. There were no tears in her eyes.

“Is he serious?!” Sasha asked, hoping that she was helping by articulating her anger while Sweettalk could not, “He thinks he saved your life?”

Sweettalk let out a very long, angry scream and swung her fist down on the table, cracking the lens of the hologram projector and shattering the image of the note into several faded shadows of the complete piece.

“This… this… MOTHERFUCKER killed my parents… he blamed them for it… and he didn’t even have the decency to let me die with them!!”

“Zee,” Sasha started, but it was no use.

“He kidnaps me and forces me to be his servant because, what, he thinks I owe him?!” Sweettalk slammed her fists again, ripped the drive containing the note out of its port, and hurled it into a nearby wall, where it shattered. She was now screaming herself hoarse. “And to top it all off, he waits until after he’s dead to tell me so I can’t even rip his fucking throat out?!”

“You’re scaring me,” Sasha said as calmly as she could, “please, have some water, or—”

“Where did you put his remains?!” Sweettalk roared. “I need to see that fucker’s lifeless head right the hell now.”

She must have known the answer, and Sasha must have known it would be pointless to try and calm her down, because they both immediately started for the infirmary. Sweettalk immediately saw the stasis jar containing Prescott’s remains and grabbed it, quickly deactivated it, and gripped it by the hair.

She held it up so she could make eye contact with it, then spoke calmly for the first time since she’d read his letter. “You. Got. Off. Easy.”

Next, she got a metal tray off a shelf and dropped the head unceremoniously onto it, then walked over to the biohazard incinerator, slotted the tray inside, and hit the button with the door still open.

The heat made her eyes feel dried out, and the smell was absolutely revolting, but it’s not like she’d be producing many tears anyway. She watched as the flesh boiled and then burnt away from the bone, and then watched as the bone cracked and collapsed until there was nothing left on the tray but a pile of gray ashes. She grabbed a nearby heat-proof glove and removed the tray.

“Can we dump this out the airlock?” She asked Sasha, starting to shake again.

Sasha grabbed another glove and took the tray from her. “I love you, you know. I’m glad you didn’t die in Xiagu.”

“I know,” Sweettalk said meekly, feeling incredibly guilty about regretting her continued life in front of the person who made it worth living more than anyone else, “I’m really sorry. I’m glad I lived to meet you, even if it meant spending a few years under the thumb of this… worthless excuse for a con artist…”

“Don’t be,” Sasha replied, “happens to the best of us. I’m going to go dump these ashes somewhere undignified, you go rest. I’ll see you at dinner, then we can watch a movie after lights-out, okay?”

Sweettalk almost smiled. “Okay,” she said, “I love you too.”

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Sex and Violence- Part 2

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,313

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

Coming in through the front, you and Dean flashed your badges to the bouncer who let you in without any questions. Entering the place, all you could hear were men cheering on women to show off their bodies. It was a very sexist job, and you hated how they had to sell their bodies to make money. It was disgusting how these men would treat these women.

Looking at Dean, you saw him admiring them women who were dancing on poles before you stepped in front of him, placing your hand on his chest which got his attention.

“You want a stripper, I’ll strip for you. Much more intimidate than this, I can promise that. The only difference? You can touch me,” you smirked.

“I am so taking you up on that offer,” he groaned, licking his lips. He looked up to see an older man counting the money he’s made. “However, there is the manager. We need to talk to him.”

“Right,” you nodded as you both made your way over there. Introducing yourself to him, you flashed your badge to get him to open up to you.

“I'm looking for three girls. Jasmine, Aurora, and Ariel,” Dean said.

“You seriously think those names mean anything to me?”

“One's a redhead about 5'9". The other one's Asian, about—”

“You have any idea how many girls I deal with? Fake names, fake hair, fake,” the man motioned to his breasts making you roll your eyes.

“You gotta have some sort of paperwork. Cheque stubs. Some way to keep track of the strippers,” you said, making him look at you, giving you a once over quickly.

“Please, exotic dancers. Independent contractors working for cash. I stay out of their hair, they stay out of what little I have left.”

“Three of your customers murdered their wives. You don't think that that's weird?”

“Yeah. I think that's super-fucking weird. But you know what it ain't? My problem. If you’re interested in a job, call me,” he smiled before handing you his card.

“Leave right now,” Dean growled, making the manager choose wisely.

“What, I’m glad I’m hot enough to get an offer,” you shrugged.

“This is all mine,” he said to you in a jealous tone. It was so hot when he got jealous.

“Then this,” you gently grabbed his cock, “is mine.” Dean closed his eyes as he tried to get control over his thoughts and body when you spotted Sam. “Come on.”

Taking his hand, you walked through the sea of men before reaching the younger brother.

“Any luck?” he asked.

“No. You?”

“A little. I just talked to Bobby, we officially have a theory.”

“What’s that?”

“Siren, but the siren's not actually a myth, it's more of a beautiful creature that preys on men, enticing them with their siren song.”

“Let me guess, 'Welcome to the Jungle?' No, no. Warrant's 'Cherry Pie’,” Dean smirked.

“Their song is more of a metaphor, like... like their call, their allure, you know?”

“So, they shake their thing and the guys zombie out,” you put the pieces together.

“Basically, yeah. Sirens lived on islands, sailors would chase 'em, completely ignoring the rocky shores... and dash themselves to pieces.”

“Sounds like Adam and his buddies.”

“Yeah. If you were a siren in '09 looking to ruin a bunch of morons, where would you set up shop?”

“So, whatever floats the guy's boat, that's what they look like?” you asked.

“Yeah. You see, sirens can read minds. They see what you want most and then they can kind of, like, cloak themselves. You know, like an illusion.”

“So, it could all be the same chick? Morphing into, uh, to different dream girls?” Dean wondered.

“Yeah, actually. Probably. Sirens are usually pretty solitary.”

“Watch out boys, I may have to keep an eye on you more closely. Don’t want you killing me for some other woman,” you teased lightly.

“How do we kill it?” Dean asked after he laughed at your banter.

“Bobby's working on it. Even if we figure that out, how the hell are we gonna find it? It could be anybody.”

“Well, I know I could use some entertainment that isn’t women. As hard as I tried back in the day, I don’t swing that way,” you declared.

“How hard did you try?” Dean asked.

“Not the point,” you quickly said with a smile before leaning into his body, pressing your mouth close to his ear. “Wouldn’t you rather find out what I have under this dress than waste any more time here?” Nibbling on his ear lobe, you pulled away with a sweet smile.

“Sammy don’t come back to the room anytime soon,” Dean said as he slapped his brother’s chest before leaving with you.

“Wait, Dean, what am I supposed to do!” he exclaimed, sighing when he was out of earshot. Looking around the club, he watched some women dance before leaving the joint. He didn’t like strip clubs solely for the purpose of seeing those women degrade themselves. Plus, strippers aren’t his type. Cara Roberts, now she was his type.

“I didn’t know you had that,” Dean chuckled when you put away the lingerie you bought in secret to surprise him. Sam was out looking into yet another man who had killed in the name of love. Last night was full of great sex after Dean found out how good you looked in skimpy panties and heels.

“That was kind of the point,” you chuckled before walking over to him and sitting on his lap. He placed one hand around your waist and another on your upper thigh.

“I love you,” he muttered before kissing you gently. Hearing him say those words were a rush that only he could provide. A slight buzzing sound is what broke you two apart, and you looked at the table to see Sam’s phone that he apparently forgot. Remembering his secret phone call, you picked it up to see a text from an unknown number.

“I wonder who he’s been calling,” you said before going to his recent calls. Redialing the unknown number, you placed the phone between yours and Dean’s ear just as the person on the other line picked up.

“Hey, Sam,” Ruby said, causing your heart to plummet to your stomach. This is who Sam’s been secretly calling? He’s keeping way too many secrets. “Sam?... You there...?” Quickly hanging up, you tossed the phone back on the table.

“I can’t believe him,” Dean sighed right before the door opened. Sam raised his eyebrows at you and Dean just as you got off Dean’s lap.

“We weren’t doing anything.”

“I don’t want to know,” he interrupted you with a hand up. “Lenny Bristol was definitely another siren vic.”

“You get in to see him?” Dean asked as you walked to the sink to get another cup of coffee.

“Yep. He bought home a stripper named Belle. A couple of hours later he offed his mother. Belle, of course, went MIA.”

“Wait, he killed his mom?” you asked.

“The woman he was closest too,” Sam shrugged. His phone started ringing and Dean picked it up with a sarcastic smile.

“Yeah, you, uh, forgot your cell phone,” he said before standing up and tossing his brother the phone. Dean walked over to you before you handed him a cup of coffee which he took.

“Hey, Bobby… Ahhh, no. And, uh, it doesn't seem like she's slowing down any. You got anything?... Hold on a sec, I'll put you on speaker,” he said before doing just that.

“It says you need ‘a bronze dagger, covered in the blood of a sailor, under the spell of the song’.”

“What the hell does that mean?” you asked.

“You got me. We're dealing with 3000 years of the telephone game here.”

“Best guess?”

“Well, the siren's spell ain't got nothing to do with any song. It's most likely some kind of toxin or venom. Something she gets in the vic's blood.”

“Which makes them go all Manchurian Candidate. Uh, what do you think, she infects the men during sex?” Sam asks.

“Maybe.”

“Supernatural STD,” Dean chuckled.

“Well, however it happens, once it's done the siren's gotta watch her back. She gets a dose of her own medicine, it kills her like a snake getting iced by its own venom.”

“So, we just gotta find a way to juice one of the OJs in jail?” Dean asked.

“Not that easy. None of those guys are under the spell anymore. Haven't got a clue where you're going to get the blood you need.”

“I think I might have an idea,” Sam said with a smile.

“Oh, you gonna visit your girlfriend?” you teased, talking about his little doctor. Sam gave you a glare, but your dad spoke.

“Whatever you do, be careful. These things are tricky bitches. Wrap you up in knots before you know what hit ya.”

“Don’t worry, dad, I’ll watch them,” you said before looking at Dean. “Some more than others.”

“Okay, hanging up now,” he said right before the call was cut.

“Come on,” Sam shook his head and grabbed his phone, Dean grabbed his keys, and you poured your coffee in a to-go cup before you all left the room.

“Dr. Roberts,” Sam smiled once he saw the doctor.

“Agent Stiles. Can't stay away, huh?”

“Actually, uh, we're here on business. About the blood samples. The ones with the high... you know... oxytocin?”

“You still have them?” you asked, making her look at you with a nod. “Good, we need them.”

“What for?”

“Excuse me, Dr. Roberts?” a man in a suit asked as he approached her.

“Yeah?” she turned to face him.

“Excuse me, uh, we're a little busy here, buddy,” Dean said as you three flashed him your badges. The scary thing is, he did too.

“Yeah, so am I, pal.”

“Doc, can you give us a sec, please?” Sam said politely, and thankfully she didn’t argue.

“What's your name?” you asked once she was gone.

“Nick Munroe. What's yours?”

“I'm Special Agent Sam Stiles, they are my partners Dean Murdoch and Y/N Barnes. What office are you from?”

“Omaha, Violent Crimes Unit. My SAC sent me down here to see about the murders. You?”

“D.C. Our Assistant Director assigned us,” you answered.

“Oh, which AD?”

“Mike Kaiser.” It was like a quick game of question and answer. You had an answer for everything he asked which made him suspicious.

“What are your badge numbers?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Dean scoffed.

“I'm just following protocol.”

“Look, sir, just call our AD. He’ll sort things out,” you said as you handed him the card that had one of your dad’s numbers on it. He was your go-to for everything if you ever got in trouble. Nick grabbed the card before stepping away to give him a call. When he was away, you looked at the brothers in confusion. “They don’t normally come out here for things like this.”

“I know,” Dean whispered.

“So why send him, and where are his partners? Does this seem fishy to you?” you asked.

“No, but it clearly does to you so be on the lookout,” Dean declared just as Nick came back.

“I'm sorry, guys,” he handed you back the card.

“Just don't let it happen again.”

“Where are you at with this?”

“Where are you at with this?” Dean repeated the question.

“Well, I was just about to run the, uh, perps' bloodwork—”

“I already checked, dead end,” Sam interrupted.

“But get this. I feel like I found something that, uh, connects all the murderers. They were all banging strippers.... from the same club”

“You don’t say!” you said sarcastically which didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“What do you say we, uh, go down there and check it out?”

“Well, here's the thing, Nick. See, we're kind of lone wolves—”

“You know what,” Sam cut off his brother, “that sounds like an excellent idea. Just... just give me a second with my partners and we'll, uh... one sec.”

“Dude, you two gotta stay with him,” Sam said once the three of you were out of earshot.

“What?” you scoffed.

“Keep him out of the way.”

“Why us?”

“'Cause I gotta get the blood samples.”

“You just want time to spend with your doctor,” you scoffed which earned you a bitch face.

“What the hell are we supposed to do with him?” Dean asked.

“Just take him to the strip club... keep an eye out for the siren. Come on, Dean, just... just focus on the naked girls. You'll forget he's even there!”

“He’ll be focusing on me, thank you very much.”

“I'm not doing this for you, I'm doing it for her,” Dean said as he pointed to you. Sam gave him a quick smile before leaving you two.

“Alright, we're taking my ride, no complaining about the tunes,” Dean said, leading you and Nick to the car.

“No way. You drive an Impala?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, looking at Dean.

“It's a '67, right? It's a 327 four barrel?”

“Yeah, actually,” Dean smiled, but you were too weirded out by this. Something wasn’t right with him. Lately, all you’ve been feeling was that emotion. Was Amara doing something to you?

“It's a thing of beauty,” he said as he approached the car. Going to the back like always, Nick stopped you by opening the passenger side door.

“I’ll sit in the back.”

“You sure?” you asked in a surprised tone.

“It would be my pleasure,” he smiled. Shrugging, you got into the front and he shut the door before entering the back.

“How the hell did you talk the Bureau into letting you drive your own wheels?” he asked excitedly, admiring the interior.

“A lot of hard work,” Dean replied before taking off.

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[caffeineivore]

Cheer up emo R/J

For @coppercrane2 specifically because she wanted this scene but also for whoever else wants it and needs some R/J cheer up emo.

**

If JFK is a post-apocalyptic wasteland where manners and dreams went to die, LAX is simply a clusterfuck. Raven Fletcher isn’t stupid enough to mean-mug the smarmy-looking TSA agent at the end of the line, not exactly, but the smile in place on her face is about as gruesome as Heath Ledger’s Joker. She had the whole system down pat by now-- plastic bag of toiletries, no belt, no hat, no jacket, no sunglasses, shoes that could easily be slipped off and on, no electronics and items in the pockets-- but the whole process is a drag, anyway. And of course, they still always gave her crap, and this time is no exception.

“What were you doing in LA?”

“Meeting up with some clients in the industry, catching up, making plans for New York Fashion Week.”

 “So you live in New York, then?”

“Yeah. I thought it says so on my license.” And moreover, she certainly didn’t sound like a Californian, now did she? 

The TSA agent gives her a warning look; her sass is clearly not appreciated, and undoubtedly he’d use it as an excuse to make her suffer in the next five to ten minutes and probably go through every last bit of her bags, down to counting how many tampons she stashed in and probably testing her makeup wipes to ensure that nothing was radioactive. Raven bites her tongue and tries not to roll her eyes as he beckons over a female officer to pat her down even as he paws through all her belongings. He shakes out a Dior dress that’s tucked into her garment bag that’s likely worth more than the X-ray machine that the bag just passed through, and Raven wants to ask that he change his damn gloves first, but at this rate, if he goes any slower, she’d miss her connection. Sunny weather or not, she’d be damned if she got stuck in LA for another day.

Finally, the ordeal comes to an end, which leaves her roughly half an hour to get from one end of the airport to the other on four-inch Louboutins. Raven has no problem with mowing through crowds-- sharp elbows and the aggressive New Yorker walk does wonders-- but to have to do so just to get to her gate in time is aggravating when it was certainly not her fault that the security check took so long. She certainly couldn’t just crumple up the damned Dior and stuff it back into the garment bag-- she had a client dinner right after getting back in town, and on no planet did Raven Fletcher appear at such events anything less than perfectly dressed and groomed. 

There’s the moving walkway up ahead, and she strides on, a woman on a mission, long legs eating up the length of the conveyor. Raven is a petite woman, five-foot-four before the stiletto heels and too short for the modeling work that she immerses herself in dealing with on a daily basis, but she’s leggy, and can walk, jog and possibly do step aerobics in heels with the best of them. She steps off at the end of the moving walkway, leading with her shoulders, and smacks painfully into a solid male chest.

“I’m so sorry. Are you all right, miss?” A pair of big hands wrap around her elbows and pull her up, and had she landed any harder, she probably would have broken a thousand-dollar heel, and perhaps an ankle. Raven looks up from legs clad in casual gray chinos to a torso in blue tweed, with brown elbow patches, up into an almost-unforgivably handsome face, all golden California tan and tousled, sun-bleached blond hair, wearing horn-rimmed glasses over his baby blues. And... headphones. Of course. Because it would certainly be too much to ask for a man to be too perfect, so this particular specimen had to be moseying through the airport deaf to his surroundings like an oblivious moron.

“I would be better if you were watching where you were going, but forget about it.” She bypasses the hand he holds out to help her up, and snags both her garment bag and her briefcase. Her ankle gives her a twinge as she stands up, but she stalks off without a backward glance. If she hurried, she’d have just enough time to pop into the Starbucks by her gate for a quad venti iced macchiato to wash down the Excedrin before getting on the plane. 

The boarding process, after she reaches her gate, and where someone else might have passed their time sleeping or watching a movie or two on the five-hour flight, Raven opens her briefcase after the plane reaches cruising altitude to organize her files for the upcoming client dinner. Not that there is much to do, really, because Morgan Austen, even at age seventeen, didn’t exactly require much of an introduction. Blonde and willowy and charming and self-assured, the girl’s celebrity background might have gotten her in the door, but she’d certainly lived up to all the hype. Only too often were the celebrity actor-model types unforgivably uppity and spoiled, and while a small, petty part of Raven enjoyed putting them in their place as needed, it always came as a pleasant surprise when someone didn’t have to get told off for their own good. 

Her heart gives a pitter-patter, though, when she reaches inside the bag and feels, underneath her manicured fingertips, a bunch of manila folders rather than the sleek leather portfolio that should be contained in that compartment. Cautiously, she draws out the papers, then only barely manages to avoid swearing loudly and noticeably in the airplane cabin. 

“You’ve got to be freaking kidding me. This is a joke. A really bad joke.”

In place of the carefully-curated and prepped collection of headshots and polaroids of Morgan Austen is a collection of lab reports, all with the header of ‘153BH, UCLA/Huntley’. Raven has exactly zero interest in the subject of Nucleotide Metabolism, and the worst part about it is the fact that she has a whole three and a half hours before the plane lands and she can even get on her phone to do something about this mishap. 

It’s the longest three and a half hours of her life, feels like, and she pulls out her cell phone almost before the flight attendants turn off the seatbelt sign, calls the agency to postpone the dinner with the rep from Michael Kors.

“Yeah, there’s been a problem with my bag. Stupid LAX. Can you just... tell them my flight was delayed, or something? They’ll be a-o-fucking-kay because they’re getting Morgan Austen to walk their damn show in a month and it’ll be the biggest thing to happen to them since dude designed Michelle Obama’s official portrait dress. Thanks, Luna. You’re a whole bag of organic non-GMO peaches. And... someone’s calling, and it’s a 310 area code, so I’m going to let you go.”

She recognizes the area code as Los Angeles, of course, and expects that it’s some minion from some customer service desk in LAX reporting that they’d found her bag, but the voice which comes through is male and sounds oddly familiar, with that faint Calfornian drawl. “Am I speaking to Ms. Raven Fletcher?”

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

“My name is Jude Huntley, and we bumped into each other at the airport? I seem to have your work bag rather than mine.” The tone is summery-smooth and apologetic, the cadence quick yet lacking the almost-harsh briskness of Manhattan. “It’s entirely my fault, and I’m going to get your bag back to you, but could you tell me where you’d like to pick it up?”

“Well, if you can’t tell, I’m kinda on the opposite coast to you now, buddy. Elite Models, New York, New York. We’re on 5th Avenue.” He doesn’t seem at all fazed by her slightly snotty tone, which takes the wind out of her sails, just a little. “Look, pal, if you want to send off my bag to New York, that’d be great. I can do the same with yours. UCLA, right? At least it’s summertime. Hopefully school’s out for you. Shitty time for me to lose my bag because summer’s prime time for campaigns, but it’s not like my stuff can just magically appear overnight.” All around her, people are rising up from their seats, and Raven scowls at nothing in particular. “I gotta get off the plane. Look, since you clearly got my number from my card, you can get the address, too. I’ll get your bag back to you as soon as I can.” 

She hangs up, and seethes from the gate all the way to the taxi stand and then all the way to her apartment, before kicking off the heels and unapologetically ordering pizza delivery, to be consumed with wine while soaking in the tub. After the day she’d had, it was the least she deserved.

**

Raven arrives at the agency at eight o’clock sharp the next morning, with the briefcase-that-is-not-hers in one hand, a giant to-go cup of coffee in the other, and spends the first hour of her day making a phone call to the reps at Michael Kors to explain her bag mishap and reschedule the dinner meeting. Thankfully, Morgan Austen’s name is enough to negate any wrath which might have been incurred at the inconvenience, and, crisis averted, she’s just about ready to schedule a conference call-- with a talent scout out in BFE, Cornfields, Small-town USA somewhere-or-another-- when her assistant Phoebe knocks on the door. The diminuitive brunette has a peculiar look in her beady eyes.

“Someone’s here to see you. No appointment. Great face but I doubt he’s a model, unless he’s doing some sort of ad for Geek Chic. Says his name is Jude. Do you know a Jude? I didn’t think you knew a Jude, though this guy’s sort of got the hot younger Jude Law thing going on so...”

Raven’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. She’s only made the acquaintance of one individual by that name, and certainly Phoebe is wrong. There is no freaking way that the man from the airport in Los Angeles was actually in New York at this very second. She waves in a vague manner at Phoebe, who takes it as assent to let him in, and then her jaw drops. It’s the man from the airport, all right. Still wearing his tweed jacket and his horn-rimmed glasses, but now sporting dark-blond five-o’clock shadow like gold dust smudged against his chiseled jaw and deep shadows under those blue eyes. But his lips quirk into a smile when he sees her, and he holds out her bag, like an olive branch.

“You asked for it to be overnighted, didn’t you? I took the red-eye over.”

“But--- but---why?” Flying a red-eye from coast to coast is the worst, and doing so on standby just seemed like her own idea of Hell on Earth. “You could’ve just dropped it off at a FedEx. I...” She had barely been civil to him on the phone, and definitely was on the wrong side of rude when they’d bumped into each other at the airport. Under no circumstance could Raven see a reason for a man-- especially one who looked as though he had a job and a life well on the other side of the country-- to drop everything just to bring her her bag back in person. 

But rather than give her a hard time, the man named Jude smiles, and it’s a great smile, with a dimple in both cheeks and in the chin. Geek chic indeed... “Well, I need those lab reports back, too. Summer class. I have a commitment to my students to get it back to them by Friday, and they’re kind of time consuming to grade. Call it an impulse, I guess.” He’s still holding out her bag, and this time she takes it, and belatedly hands him his own. “Anyway, let’s start over again. My name is Jude Huntley, and I’m an assistant professor at UCLA’s Chemistry department.”

“Raven Fletcher. I’m an agent here at Elite Models. Nice to meet you.” Two almost-identical bags switch hands, just before his fingers close around hers, and the touch is warm and sharp with the brush of static electricity. Raven’s fairly sure that her spine is, metaphorically speaking, stainless steel. And yet a shiver works its way up and down as he holds on for just a moment too long, and a decidedly unfamiliar warmth creeps up into her cheeks as he smiles at her again. 

“The pleasure is definitely all mine.”

[dyaz-stories]

No Happy Ending

For the Sky High fandom, because I just watched it again and Layla and Warren absolutely should have ended together. Layla Williams/Warren Peace, with mentions of Layla Williams/Will Stronghold.

Also available on fanfiction.net and Ao3.

Part two — Part three

Theoretically, Warren shouldn’t have rolled his eyes when he saw Will Stronghold sitting in the Paper Lantern. Respect the customer and all that stuff, y’know? But Warren didn’t hold much respect for that kid. In fact, the only thing he had going for him was that he was Layla’s best friend, for some mysterious reasons, and he couldn’t believe that Layla’s judgement was just that poor.

But then, the girl was pretending to date him, which, if you asked him, was pretty shitty judgement.

Anyway, he would absolutely have turned around the second he laid eyes on the guy, but he was working. So with a more or less discreet sigh, he walked to him, just in time to see him dejectedly closing his phone.

“What are you doing here?”

Will started and looked at him, seeming confused for a second, then gave him a brief, vaguely embarrassed nod.

“I’m, uh, looking for Layla.”

Mouth warm and shy as she softly pressed her lips against his.

“Do you know where she is?”

Fingers hesitantly grabbing his shirt as she pulled him just a little closer, resulting in her back getting pushed against the walls.

Warren shook his head to get the memories instantly triggered by the mere mention of her name. Fuck, he knew he had it bad, but really, now was not the time.

“How should I know?”

That absolutely delicious sound escaping her throat as his hands possessively closed around her waist without even thinking about it and his tongue darted out to explore her mouth.

“You’re taking her to homecoming,” Will replied with a somewhat confused smile, and Warren felt like shit, not for the first time in the past few days.

Dude was a nice guy. Like, a genuinely nice guy. Pretty stupid, sure, as he’d noticed, but he certainly didn’t deserve….

Eyes fluttering close, her fingers gently making their way up his arms into his hair.

“Oh, yeah. Right.”

That was pretty much all he could get out with those fucking thoughts running through his mind. Pretty unenthusiastic, sure, but also pretty harmless. No risk Will would think anything bad about it, except maybe that Layla deserved a guy who’d be a little more happy about going to the dance with her — or actually, deserved a guy who’d be more happy about her even gracing him with her presence, which Warren would totally agree with. The girl deserved the world and more, if you asked him.

And apparently, even if you didn’t ask him, since the thoughts seemed to worm their way in his brain completely unprompted.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about me ruining your night,” Will continued, and Warren wondered what it was about him that made people think they should pour their heart out to him. It was one thing for the broken-hearted girl who he had barely noticed before, but it was one completely different thing for a guy he’d tried to murder. But apparently, he’d completely lost his intimidating aura. He’d have to work on that.

Soon. People needed to stop talking to him.

“And why is that?”

“Because I’m not going.”

He’s the one who pulls away. Not because he isn’t enjoying what’s happening, but because it doesn’t make any sense. The deal is that she’s into Stronghold, not him.

He’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t like it better if it wasn’t like that, but that’s what he knows. She can’t change the rules of the game just now.

“Hang on, hippie. Why are you doing this? Stronghold isn’t even here.”

Indeed, the hallway is completely empty. There isn’t even a chance for the word to get back to him.

Layla blinks, and she looks absolutely innocent, and her cheeks are deliciously pink, her lips parted and her breathing quick and he wants to go back to kissing her right now. He probably doesn’t look much different, or at least he feels pretty much like a mess as well, but he’ll be damned if he admits anything about the emotional turmoil she makes him feel.

He wonders if he makes her want to kiss him again as well.

“Hm. Well, that sucks.”

Warren barely even blinked before continuing his sentence. His shoulders vaguely tensed for an instant as he forced the words to leave his mouth, because they were killing him, but he at least didn’t make it look hard.

“Because we’re only going together to make you jealous.”

“I know,” she says, voice hushed though really, no one can hear them. “It’s… It’s practice. In case we have to, you know?”

Practice. Somehow, in Warren’s brain, it makes sense, though to be honest his brain isn’t at his most performing right now.

“Huh?” That moron’s eyes widened, and Warren resisted the urge to face-palm.

“Dude, you’re so stupid. She’s totally into you.”

She pulls him close again, this time her arms wrapping around his neck.

“We should get a little more,” she whispers, and then her mouth is on his again, and it’s his time to close his eyes.

Sure. Practice. In case they need to make Stronghold jealous. That’s it. That’s really all there is to it.

Warren gritted his teeth. There. He’d said it, his work was done, Layla and Will would live happily ever after and—

“Not after tonight.” Will let out a shaky laugh, and it was only the sadness in his voice that kept Warren rooted in place. Shit. He couldn’t abandon the guy like that. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Layla or any of the other guys never want to talk to me again.”

That really shouldn’t have triggered that little burst of emotions in his chest. Not just because he shouldn’t be having any sort of feelings for the girl he was supposedly dating just to make that guy jealous, but also because it was incredibly shitty of him to be happy, even for a split second, about the thought of Layla never wanting to talk to Will again.

Layla…

Her body arching against him as he gets a little more assertive, using his height to tower over her and pulling her a little closer to him — because if it’s practice to make Will jealous, they have to give some sort of a show, right?

“Yeah. You must have been a real jerk.”

Warren could not believe he was actually doing that. Actually trying to comfort the guy who was no doubt, if he had even half a brain-cell functioning, going to be with the girl he… Well. The girl.

The surprised sound followed by that lovely little giggle of hers as he tilts her backwards slightly, and the way she clings onto him as he does.

“Because no matter what I do, I can’t get ‘em to stop talking to me.”

Or other stuff.

The feeling of her body, surprisingly warm even for him — or maybe he’s the one who’s burning up and communicating it to her.

Will smiled, and gave him a happy nod, and once more, Warren felt like shit. “Thanks.”

He just shrugged it off as he walked away. This was probably for the best, actually. That way, two people could get their happy ending. Not so bad, out of three. After all, he knew, he’d always known how the stories ended.

Bad guys didn’t get the girl.

[elsa-writes]

avengers preference: your birthday

Avengers preference: what they do for your birthday

Steve: "Wake up, (y/n), I have a surprise for you!" On the morning of your birthday you opened your eyes to see Steve standing over your bed, holding a tray with breakfast on it. He knows how much you enjoy eating in bed. He gave up oh the tray, hopped in bed with you, and turned on the tv. You sat up, noticing the large bag at the end of the bed.

"Steve, this is so amazing!! But I just have to know, what's in the bag?" You begged him and wrapped your arms around his waist.

Steve smiled. "I can't tell you that. It's a birthday surprise."

"I mean. It's my birthday now. Can't I open it?" You used your best puppy dog eyes on him.

Steve clenched his jaw. Those puppy eyes were hard to resist. "You know you have to wait for the party tonight." Tony had planned a 'surprise' birthday party for you.

"Aw." You leaned back against your pillow and sighed. Only another 8 hours til you could find out what was in the mystery bag.

Steve turned to you. "I suppose..you can open it. He's probably not comfortable in there, anyways." What??

"what?? What do you mean he?!" You lunged for the bag just as the puppy stuck his head out of the top of the bag. Yup, Steve had gotten you an honest to god puppy for your birthday.

You picked up the puppy and held him to your chest, and the puppy licked your face.

"He's so cute!! I think I'll call you... Tony junior." You giggled. Tony junior squirmed around in your arms, too excited to sit down.

Steve laughed and pet the puppy. "There is no way in hell we are calling him Tony Junior."

"Bucky junior, then?" You suggested.

"(Y/n)! That's not even funny!"

Tony: Despite Tony's love for outrageous parties, for your birthday he planned a quiet night in. You two were sitting on the couch, Tony was telling one of his favorite Iron Man stories. He had already told you it many times over but he got so excited you let him go on.

You were halfway zoning out when something caught your attention.

Tony spoke, "And then the bad guy said, "Will you marry me, (y/n)?"

You turned your head around and looked at him curiously. Tony was already watching you with a small smirk on his face.

"Will you marry me, (y/n)?" Tony asked again. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring. "Of course you can pick out a different ring if you want, I just thought you might like that one-"

"Tony Stark, are you asking me to marry you?" You raised your eyebrows at him. You hadn't been going out that long, this was ridiculous!

Tony couldn't hold his smile back any more. "Yes! Will you marry me? Please?" He added the please on as an afterthought.

"Tony..I mean, was this your idea of romantic? Restraining yourself from throwing me a big birthday party so we could sit on the couch and watch reruns of the Big Bang theory?" You shoved him over. What kind of a moron proposes like that, anyways?!

Tony fell over backwards on the couch. "Come on! I at least put some effort in it!" He rolled his eyes.

"I know you did not just roll your eyes at me! First you give me a crappy proposal and then you roll your eyes at me!" You picked up a throw pillow and hit him with it. You couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"I honestly thought you would like it! It was subtle, it wasn't a big deal. You're always talking about how my parties are lame and how you'd rather be sitting on the couch watching tv!"

To be fair he had a point. "Tony. I will only marry you if you come up with a better proposal. Got it?"

Tony smirked again. "Okay (y/n), you make me the happiest man alive-"

"I'm being serious!!" You hit him with the throw pillow. "I'm talking flowers. Candles. Whole nine yards. That will be my birthday present."

Tony looked up at you from his position on the couch. "Don't worry, babe. I've got a few ideas." Uh oh. What had you gotten yourself into?

Bruce: For your birthday, your friend Natasha had planned a surprise party. Almost everyone knew, except for you and Bruce. No one told Bruce, because they knew he would accidentally tell you. Natasha probably should have thought her plan through.

As you and Bruce rounded the corner to the lab in Stark Towers, you both heard a chorus of "surprise!" Come from all around the room. You shrieked, which made Bruce scream, which made the big green guy come out of nowhere. "Bruce!" You yelled at the green behemoth that was standing where your boyfriend once stood. Everyone in the room was standing as still as possible, their mouths gaping at what they saw before them.

"No Bruce. Me Hulk," Hulk proclaimed. "And Hulk want cake!"

Hulk promptly stomped over to the table where the cake and your presents were laid out. Using one ginormous hand, he picked up the whole cake and shoved it in his mouth.

"Wow. Who planned this? Why didn't anyone tell Bruce?" You said, exasperated. You sat down on the ground. So much for a happy birthday. Now you had a hungry hulk to take care of. At least he wasn't angry.

"(Y/n) sad?" Hulk said, turning around to look at you sitting on the floor.

You didn't really know what to say to him. "Yeah, give me my boyfriend back, you big-" you started to speak but found yourself being lifted up in the air by a mighty Hulk hand.

"My (y/n)!" Hulk hollered and squeezed you gently to his chest. This type of thing had never happened before, but it didn't seem dangerous so you decided to go with it. You cautiously placed a hand on his chest.

"Good hulk," you intoned.

"Good hulk." He replied, staring at you with wonder.

"Hulk, can you put me down so I can celebrate my birthday party?" You asked. Wordlessly, the hulk set you down. He didn't seem to know what to do with himself.

"Um, guys, I know the cake is gone.. But maybe we can still try to get this party going?" You looked around the room to your friends. They all seemed pretty shocked that the hulk was calm.

"We can..we can try," Natasha stepped forward. "Tony, turn on some music!" And that was your birthday party, your boyfriend absent and a giant hulk sulking in the corner for the rest of the night.

Loki: Asgardians celebrate everything. So when Loki discovered that humans celebrate birthdays, he decided to take it one step further by celebrating your whole birth month!

The first day of the month you came home to find your entire apartment decorated with "happy birthday banners" and streamers everywhere. Loki was sitting on the couch, quite pleased with himself.

"Loki, what did you do to my apartment?! My birthday isn't even today!" You threw your hands up in the air. Loki gazed at you for a moment, then clapped his hands together.

"This is because I forgot the cake, isn't it?" He sighed and with a wave of his hand, your favorite type of cake appeared on your coffee table.

You scowled. "You're only supposed to celebrate on the actual birthday. Not for a month!" You sat down on the couch next to him, and picked up the cake. "Hey, can you get me a fork?"

A fork magically appeared in Loki's hand and he gave it to you. "I think the idea of only celebrating you once a year is ridiculous! You're my favorite person, you deserve much more than once a year. If I could I would celebrate your birthday all year long, but clearly, you would get mad at me."

You glanced up at Loki. He was being dead serious for a change. "Fine. I guess I'll accept your month long birthday celebration. You really are too sweet for your own good." You winked at him.

"I'm not sweet, I'm the god of mischief! That's it, birthday canceled!" Loki declared and began to wave his arm.

"Wait no!" You grabbed his wrist before he could magic away all the birthday decorations. "Please leave them. I really do like them, I was only joking." Loki grinned. "I knew you would come around!"

Pietro: "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear (y/n), happy birthday to you!" Pietro sang enthusiastically over the three tier cake he made you. All of your friends had gathered at you and Pietro's shared apartment to celebrate, eat cake, and watch a movie. The only issue was that your apartment was too small to squeeze everyone into.

"Pietro, this is wonder- oh my god!" You shrieked just as Pietro tripped over Wanda's leg, leading him to throw the cake- which landed all over your shirt. Wanda couldn't help herself but to burst out laughing, bending over and clutching her stomach.

Pietro fell on the floor face down. Ah yes, he loved to use his superpowers except for the time when you needed them the most.

After seeing the mess that had been created, all of you decided to abandon the apartment and go out for a birthday dinner at a restaurant instead.

Natasha: Natasha did not celebrate her own birthday, or anyone else's birthday, for that matter. It was just a habit from work. Someone knowing your birthdate can use it to track you down.

Wanting to break that habit, Natasha set out to give you an awesome birthday. She didn't know much besides balloons, streamers, and party games, so she decided to keep it simple.

It was only you and her celebrating the party, but neither of you minded because you could kiss each other freely without Tony yelling "PDA!".

"I really hope you like your gift," Natasha bit her lip as she handed you the small box. "I had it custom made."

You tore open the paper and ripped the lid off the box, excited to see what treasures were inside.

"Oh my god, Natasha..it's beautiful," you gasped. The present was a simple charm bracelet with a stunning collection of charms were attached- your favorite flower, your favorite animal, and even a small black widow spider charm dangled from it.

You didn't even bother to put it on before grabbing Natasha into a tight embrace. "This means so much to me!" You gushed in her ear. In return she kissed your cheek sweetly. "I know it does."

[tomboyneedshercoffee]

Bookworm Race x Reader

Summary: While you're trying to read and walk at the same time, you bump into a newsie who you wouldn't peg as the bookworm type.

Word count: 1.7k

Author's note: this is my first newsie x reader so sorry if it's pretty trash. I'm taking requests though so if you would like to request something, only newsies for now, I'd be happy to hear it!

warning: Nothing really except I do spoil the ending on A Tale of Two Cities so if you are currently reading that book or plan to in the near future, I suggest you don't read this but it's just a fair warning!

"Sadly, sadly, the sun rose, it rose upon no sadder sight than the man of good abilities and good emotions, incapable of their directed exercise, incapable of his own help and his own happiness, sensible of the blight on him, and resigning himself to let it eat him away."

You flipped over to the next page, feeling your heart ache for poor old Sydney Carton as you made your way through the busy town. Sounds were coming from every direction, the shouts of the newsboys, the horns blaring from the street, but all those noises were somehow fading away as you sunk deeper and deeper into the emotional pit known as Tale of Two Cities.

People pushed past you, not enough to knock you off your feet or for you to pry your eyes away from the words on the page. You mutter a soft sorry as you continue to make your way down the sidewalk.

Manhattan in October was your favorite month to stroll the streets, the blazing heat from summer was finally over and it wasn't too cold to the point of discomfort. The walk from the bookstore to your home was insanely long by foot but you didn't care about the blisters on your feet, all you cared about was the book in your hands, this story forming in front of you with your own eyes, something more entertaining than the world around you.

"It was a cool spot, staid but cheerful, a wonderful place for echoes, and a very harbour from the raging streets. There ought to have-"

You make contact with something, someone, as you stumble back and the book falls from your hands and onto the stone sidewalk. You and the victim you bumped into start stammering a few words.

"Sorry! I wasn't-"

"Crap I'm sorry doll-"

"No it's fine I-"

"Here let me-"

You bend down to pick up your book but the young man you bumped into is already picking it up and taking a look at the cover. You take in his appearance as he reads the back of the book, a cigar hanging between his teeth while a smirk plays on his lips. He catches you staring at him as you clear your throat and play with your fingers.

Boy was he attractive. He was a newsboy, that or he carried around newspapers in a cloth bag just for fun and dressed like one because why not. The boys at school never caught your attention, all of your love was towards Charles Dickens, Emily Bronte, and occasionally Shakespeare when you were feeling angsty but this boy. Ohhhhhh this boy was a sight for sore eyes.

"Thanks I uh wasn't paying attention," You admit as you point over to the book that caused you to bump into the cute stranger.

"I get it, lots a' distractions out heres," The boy winks as I take in his very thick, almost fake sounding Manhattan accent.

The wink causes your ears and cheeks to go red but you try, key word try, to brush it off," Y-Yeah lots of distractions. Sorry but... could I possibly get my book back?"

The newsboy lets out a small laugh and nods, handing it over to you," Do yous have a name? I wanna tell my friends about bumping into this smart, beautiful goirl on the street today and a name would be nice."

You blush but again try not to let his words affect you," You assume I'm smart just cause I'm reading a book?"

"No moron woulds be able to get almost halfway through a Dicken's novel. Either yous like the love triangle between Darnay, Carton and Lucie or yous enjoy all the death and destruction."

You're slightly taken aback by his comment since he couldn't have known who the characters are without reading at least a part of the book. Most newsies knew how to read a bit but since Dicken's was kind of a...well... dick about using pretty big words and complicated sentences, it was unlikely that even an average people knew what he was saying.

"You've read this book?"

"My uh friend, he's a big nerd, always reads out loud whenever he can. It's a good book though, says a lot since I hate reading," the boy extends his hand out for me to shake," My friends call me Race."

You shake his hand," Y/N. Nice to meet you."

Race repeats your name and you secretly love the way it sounds with his voice. You try to stall as long as possible so you can keep talking with him but you know you have to go home soon because a) you know your mom is freaking out because of your absence and b) you're starting to get a little anxious because you want to get home as quickly as possible to finish the book.

You rummage in your bag for a dime and hand it to him," One pape please."

Race shakes his head and hands you a newspaper," No please, it's on the house."

You give him a genuine smile, sweet, charming, and good looking? I must be dreaming since all the boys I know are pigs.

"No, after all I've done today, it's the least I can do."

You slip the dime into his shirt pocket and you take the paper from his hands and read the headline, Trolley Strike comes to a Second Week.

"It's boring I know, but maybe yous can come back here tomorrow and I'll give ya a better headline," Race flirts, his lips turning into a small smirk.

Tomorrow you had school but you knew sparing a few minutes during lunch to come down here would be totally worth it as long as you got to see the cute newsboy again.

"I'll see you tomorrow then, until next time Race."

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

You stroll, oh no. Maybe the word stroll seems too happy, you stomped down the street, gripping A Tale Of Two Cities in between your hands, your knuckles almost turning white and your tears are still fresh on your cheeks.

You take your usual route to buy Race's paper, something you've been doing for the past week or so but today was different. Today Charles freakin Dickens ripped your heart out, stomped on it, and stuck it in a guilloutine.

Every day you would visit Race and talk about what part you were on in the book and you both shared an intense love for Carton, a character who deserved so much more in life. Since you two bonded so quickly over the course of a few days, it was no surprise that you had caught feelings for the newsie with a smoke and aftershave smell lingering on his body who also was the biggest dork in the entire city.

It felt stupid, how quickly you fell head over heels for this boy who saw you as just another customer, but being alone with him, sharing embarrassing stories and how much the two of you hated Oscar Delancey, a man who was very close with your father made you realize that you two had more in common than you thought.

You can hear Race's voice, calling out a headline about the yet again, boring trolley strike that just reached week number three and he stops midway when he catches sight of you, looking quite miserable.

Race's friend Davey had read the book to him before, so Race knew exactly why you were so upset and that you were about to go off on a huge rant.

"How could he do that? Seriously? What kind of sicko just kills off a character as pure as Carton and-and his last thoughts were of Luice like- my heart can't handle this emotional distress I-I think you have to take me to a hospital because my heart feels like it's going to explode and not in the good way! I was rooting for Lucie and Carton what kind of bullsh-"

Race places one hand on your cheek and the other on your waist and before you can say anything, he leans in as you two share a long, but innocent kiss.

He pulls apart first as a huge grin dances on his lips and says in a teasing tone," Sorry, what was yous sayin?"

Your mouth is partly open, due to the shock of the kiss and how nonchalant that boy was being. A part of you was slightly annoyed that he just kissed you in the middle of your rant but all the anger and sadness you had just experienced while finishing the book suddenly washed away.

"Y-You can't do that! I was trying...." you lose your train of thought and sigh in desperation, giving up. Now you were just confused and when you were confused, you needed answers as soon as possible before your brain would go wild," what was that for?"

"Sorry but- Yous cute when yous angry and I know yous upset about the book but just know that-"

You pull on the collar of his shirt and kiss him again, not wanting to hear the "oh it's just a book speech" you had received from your fellow classmates and you could've sworn you heard him let out a small gasp before crashing your lips onto his.

You pull away and you two share the same goofy smile.

"What was that for?" He asks as you give him a small shrug.

" Just felt like it...anyway here's a dime, I would love to hear about this boring ol trolley strike again."

Race wraps his hand around your waist and places a kiss on your cheek," Who knows doll, maybe somethin interstin is gonna happen soon that'll make headlines."

[tuxiedjabberwock]

This Was My Lucy - a Fairy Tail one-shot

So this was the other Nalu angst week one-shot I wrote, but it was unfinished. Considering it was half-written, I chugged out a finisher, but judging by how tired it made me, I won’t be finishing the rest of them. :/

» memories

» this was my lucy…

Gray was never a fan of waking up early, not even when Ur would make the most enticing breakfasts and Ultear would shake the hell out of him and pour boiling water over his head, but some odd force brought him out of his daze long enough to catch the doorbell ringing. “Who in hell can that be at…” he peered groggily at his cellphone, “…seven in the morning?”

 He dragged himself from bed and slunk to the front door of his apartment, undoing the lock with a yawn. He barely had his hand around the doorknob before the door slammed open—right in his face. “Ice Princess, you up?”

 “…I am now,” he growled from the floor, a good-morning welt forming on his forehead. Natsu blinked down at him with hands on his jean-clad hips.

 “What’re you doin’ down there?”

 “Just enjoying the view. Why the hell do you think? And why are you here so freaking early, ash-for-brains? Didn’t I tell you not to bug me with your hyperactive ass until past twelve?”

 “You did, but, uh…” He looked awkward, and Natsu almost never looked awkward, nor did he ever try to bury himself in his father’s scarf like right then unless he was feeling especially shamefaced. Gray sighed and got to his feet, dusting himself off.

 “Get in already before all my cold air gets out. I’ll take a shower and be right with you.”

 “You need to let out some of this cold air,” Natsu grumbled as he moved inside and flopped onto his couch. Gray shook his head before heading to the bathroom and starting up the shower. He yawned again as he stepped inside the stall.

 I haven’t seen that idiot so bothered since he moved here, he thought. What could have him so upset? Igneel? Nah, that anniversary’s not until next month. Especially for him to run over here—we don’t talk too much to begin with. If it was anyone else, I’d think it was a girl, but Natsu’s skull is harder than a brick wall when it comes to romance.

 “Okay, what’s the big issue here?” Gray said as he returned to the living room. Natsu was sitting cross-legged on the floor now, and although he was staring at the television—which wasn’t turned on—his eyes were distant. He blinked back to the present at the sound of Gray’s voice.

 “I got some errands to run today,” he said. “And I need help.”

 “And I was the first person that came to mind?”

 “You’re my closest friend,” he responded. Gray raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms.

 “What errands?” Natsu didn’t respond right away, getting to his feet.

 “Shouldn’t take more than a few hours.”

 “You wanna stop being so cryptic and just tell me what we’re doing?”

 “…I want to apologize,” he finally admitted, looking away briefly before meeting Gray’s eyes. Those emerald irises of his were blazing like fire. “To this girl I love.”

 “To a girl…you love?” he echoed, the words not computing. “You love someone?” Natsu nodded without breaking eye contact. “I never thought I’d see the day…”

 “Will you help me or not?” he blurted in frustration. Gray wasn’t really planning on laying around all day, he did have things to do himself, but something about Natsu’s expression was so uncharacteristically desperate that he couldn’t help but pity him. He thought that the pink-haired moron loved two things, fire and food, but from his face and tone alone, Gray could glean how much she meant to him.

 Can’t believe I’m doing this, but… “Where to?”

  “This girl, what’s her name?” Gray asked as they reached a red light. Natsu was slumped in the passenger’s seat while staring blankly through the window.

 “Lucy,” he said, the name rolling off his tongue like a prayer, spoken with reverence. Gray remembered using that same tone to talk about Ur once upon a time.

 “Lucy what?”

 “Just Lucy… She liked it like that. ‘Just Lucy—I’m nothing else,’ she’d tell me all the time.” He chuckled at the memory.

 “She’s in your old town?” Natsu never told Gray where he moved from, just that it was pretty far from Magnolia. He had only even been living in Magnolia for the last six months or so and didn’t talk about himself much at all. Gray could count on one hand the facts he knew about Natsu: his dad’s name was Igneel, he had a brother, and he was probably the smartest-dumbest person he knew.

 “Nah, she’s back in her hometown,” he told him. “Her family wanted her there.”

 “And I’m guessing you haven’t seen her since…whatever happened?” Natsu shook his head. The light changed and they headed towards downtown. Natsu directed him into a plaza full of shady shops, the kind with self-painted names over the canopy, and led him into one with a black Harley Davidson parked out front. Gray was perplexed, but Natsu seemed fairly confident as he pushed inside, a little bell signaling their entrance. The place was a CD shop filled with old ‘80s bands that he barely knew of, and the cashier was a rough-looking man he recognized after a second.

 “Gajeel, you work here?”

 “Own it,” he corrected, regarding first Gray, then Natsu with his sharp red eyes. “What’re you two doin’ here?”

 “Levy’s quill and ink. Can I get it?” Natsu asked, jumping straight to the point. Both Gray and Gajeel gave him a bewildered look.

 “Why the hell?” Gajeel asked.

 “It’s for a girl.”

 “From you, to a girl? And she’s human?”

 “You wanna pick a fight!?”

 “Hey, sure you can have ‘em, but I gotta come along to see her.” Natsu shrugged to show that it was whatever and Gajeel reached under the counter to pull out an unopened bottle of ink and a wrapped quill. “I’m guessin’ your girl’s a writer too?”

 “Yeah, she loves telling stories,” he said, carefully shifting the items into his drawstring bag. “It’s how we met, actually. C’mon, next stop.”

 Natsu and Gajeel had a mini-brawl outside over who would sit in the passenger’s side (since Gajeel cared very little about Natsu’s emotional state, or at least prioritized the seat over Natsu’s emotional state) and since Gajeel was bigger and buffer and able to body Natsu out of the seat, he won the fight. “Where to next?” Gray asked as Natsu sulked in the backseat.

 “The bakery.” Gray raised an eyebrow as he reversed from the parking spot. Natsu went there often to talk to Erza, but not as a customer—he hated sweets with a burning (no pun intended) passion.

 “So, Dragneel,” Gajeel said into the silence, “you gonna spill about this girl of yours?”

 “…She loves writing,” he said after a moment’s thought. “We had English together and she’d always know every little detail about whatever we read. I’m no prick about bookworms or anything like that, but one day I asked her, ‘How come you like reading so much?’

 “And she got all red and nervous and eventually she told me: ‘I…wanna be a journalist. So I study up on others’ writing to better myself.’” He gave a goofy smile unlike his normal manic one and itched the back of his head in embarrassment.

 “I’m not a big reader, but I told her, ‘Well, if you ever need some action shots, call me, cuz I love gettin’ into the thick of things.’ And she laughed, and I realized how much I love that sound. I gave her my phone number so she would, but the first time she called, we talked all night about random things we like, like music and places.”

 Gray pulled into the bakery’s parking lot and they walked inside to see Mirajane and her sister working hard at the counter for the midmorning customers. Erza was near the front at the display window looking over a rack of strawberry coffee cakes before she saw the others through the glass. “I don’t suppose you’ve finally wised up to the delicious wiles of baked goods, Natsu?” she said as they entered.

 “Never!” he cried petulantly, earning an exasperated look from Gray that he returned full-force. “You got an eye problem or something, ice princess?”

 “It’s you with the problem here, you pyrotechnics piss-ant,” he growled in return as they bumped foreheads. Erza easily sliced a hand between them and tossed them apart.

 “There will be no fighting in this safe haven, understood?” she warned, giving them each a look that would peel lead paint.

 “Aye!” Natsu and Gray complied.

 “Now, Natsu, what is it that you need?”

 “Um…” He looked around for a moment before his eyes lit up and, going over to the breads section, took up a bag of blueberry bagels. “These!”

 “Bagels? We couldn’t have gotten them at the grocery store?” Gajeel snorted.

 “Nah, Lucy likes ‘em fresh. It all tastes the same to me though.”

 “Everything tastes the same when you guzzle it without chewing,” Gray pointed out. Natsu ignored that and joined the line, and Gray brought the others back to the car to wait for him.

 “Why is Natsu buying blueberry bagels?” Erza asked him.

 “They’re for a girl, quote-unquote.”

 “A girl, for Natsu?” she asked, an eyebrow cocked. “I know he’s full of surprises, but something of this magnitude…”

 “Yeah, our reaction exactly,” Gajeel smirked. “If ya want, ya can tag along to see her too.”

 “Oh?” She considered the offer for a moment. “Well, I don’t have work until the evening. Why not?”

 Natsu looked less than pleased to see Erza crammed into the car as well, but jumped inside without a word. “Central Park,” he told Gray.

 “So, Natsu, about this girl,” Erza said as silence descended on them through the car ride. Natsu shrugged a shoulder and turned his head to the window, but it didn’t hide the redness creeping over his ears.

 “We met, we talked, we became friends,” he said vaguely.

 “That ain’t what ya said before, pinky,” Gajeel jeered.

 “Okay, okay! We started talking a lot more, and we would always meet up at this park on the weekends. Since it’s not too far from the bakery, she would come with pastries, even when I kept telling her I don’t like sugar. She’d pout, and then one day she was like, ‘I’ll make you like them.’ I didn’t get what she meant until the next morning.” His whole ears and the back of his neck flushed pink and he ducked into his scarf. “She covered her lips in powdered sugar and kissed me.”

 “Aww, look at Dragneel blushing,” Gajeel cooed, making kissy faces at him. Natsu growled and snapped at him while Gray laughed.

 “Was that your first kiss?” Erza was all genial, not patronizing like Gajeel and Gray, and Natsu relaxed a bit.

 “Un… Yeah,” he said after a moment. “It was.” Another pause, then his eyelids lowered. “And it was my last.”

 No one knew what to say as they walked onto the park grounds. It was ten o’clock, so the early morning residents were just filing in. The playground squeaked and rang with children’s laughter, and excited dogs barked into the sky. Natsu ignored it all and moved straight towards an unassuming bench a few paces from the path. Next to it was a barren lemon tree, and tied around the middle of the trunk was a blue hair ribbon. “I’d like to see her, but her hometown’s a four-hour plane ride away,” he said softly, standing right in front of the tree. “But this is the place where I feel closest to her, in all of Magnolia.”

 “Natsu?” Gray asked. Natsu smiled without mirth, then his lips pulled into a frown as he stooped down before the tree, absently tracing patterns on the smooth bark.

 “We sorta dodged each other after the kiss, because we didn’t know what it would mean for us. That was a stupid decision. Anyway, I went to her apartment one day to finally break the ice, and she wasn’t home, but the door was open. I saw her keys lying on her bed, and…she always had these little golden keys, kinda like trinket Keyblades, that she carried with her everywhere. She had nine, but there was another one next to the rest, and it was broken in two. I waited for a couple of hours, but she didn’t come back, and eventually I had to leave.

 “The next day she wasn’t in class, but there was this other girl, Brandish, that she was really close with. Brandish said that Lucy lost her best friend Aquarius that day, and that she didn’t know the details, but she saw how harshly Lucy blamed herself for it. I went looking for Lucy all that day and all the next day, but it was like she disappeared. Then, eventually, I found out where she’d gone.” He reached into the folds of his scarf and produced the cover page of a newspaper, holding it out. The four of them unfolded it and crowded around to read the headline:

 “TWENTY-ONE-YEAR-OLD COLLEGE STUDENT FOUND DEAD IN HARGEON.”

 “She blamed herself,” he whispered. “I didn’t realize how much. I wasn’t there for her, and that’s my biggest regret ever. That’s why I want to apologize.”

 “Natsu…” Gray sighed, but there was nothing he could say. The only one who could give him the reprieve he needed was Lucy, and she couldn’t. Erza knelt down and rested her hands on his shoulders, leaning into his back. Gray joined her on the ground and rested an elbow against Natsu’s side. Gajeel looked uncomfortable for a moment, then crouched awkwardly next to their small gathering.

 “’m sorry, Lucy,” he mumbled, gripping his scarf hard. He sniffed, then repeated it slightly louder as the first tears began to fall. They let him have his moment of silence, trying and failing not to cry, then he regressed into hiccoughs and scrubbed at his face with the tail of his shirt.

 “Here.” Erza offered her handkerchief that Natsu took without a word, wiping his reddened eyes.

 “Thanks, guys…”

 “But yer an idiot,” Gajeel remarked as they stood, leaving their items there at the foot of the tree. Natsu spun on him, equal parts shocked and annoyed, as Gajeel continued impassively. “I mean, the way ya went about describin’ her in brutal detail, I’d say she didn’t hold it against ya. She sounds kinda like the Shrimp, in fact: she probably had some big problem she thought she could solve alone.”

 “She knew she could call me for help then!” he exploded, his eyes flashing, then the energy left him in a rush. “She should’ve known, at least…”

 “She knew,” Erza said with conviction. “I’m sure of that.”

 “Also,” Gray added, causing him to start a bit, “thanks, Natsu.”

 “Whuh?” he said, perplexed.

 “For sharing this with us, I mean. As annoying as you’ve been this past year, you always kept to yourself—today is the first day I’ve seen you, and so I’m thanking you.”

 “Well, uh,” he said gruffly, still flabbergasted. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

 “But this doesn’t change the fact that I’m kicking your ass tomorrow for waking me up so early.”

 “Say that again!” And Natsu tackled him to the ground, starting a muddy wrestling match that was broken apart by the park rangers. And even as they were “peacefully” asked to leave, dirt in their hair and their clothes askew, they all laughed together.

 He didn’t really want Lucy’s forgiveness, Gray realized after a while. He wanted the world to forgive himself, so that he could sit back and think “This was my Lucy,” and not feel guilty about it. It kind of reminds me of Ur, now that I think about it. He threw an arm around Natsu’s shoulders and dug his knuckles into flame-brain’s temple, letting it turn into another shoving match. Well, I guess if the world can forgive an ice-hearted bastard like me, it can find some room for this pink-headed moron too.

[astro-imagines-that-are-bad]

Black and Blue

JinjinxMJ story

Premise: MJ talks a lot. One day, it gets him in trouble.

(I really felt like writing something, but I don’t know if this will be any good.)

It was simply an ordinary day for Jinjin. He had gone to work, spent the day filling prescriptions, and came home, collapsing on the couch in the living room. He worked in a pharmacy, trying his best to get enough money for grad school. Each day was mostly the same. With the exception of Kim Myungjun. Myungjun, or MJ as he was usually known, was an unpredictable and overwhelming force in Jinjin’s otherwise normal life. When he got the appartment, he was in a hurry to get away from his family that didn’t support his future, and he wasn’t aware that he would have a roommate. So that first night, when he carried all of his boxes in and was greeted by an orange blur when he unlocked the door, he was extremely surprised to see this human firecracker in ‘his’ appartment. Despite how energetic and random his roommate is, there is still a schedule. MJ wakes up early, he’s an artist, so he gets an early start on getting to his studio. That allows him to go to the market every other day, starting at noon, and selling his works. He gets home around 6:00, rests for a but before helping Jinjin with dinner, or just ordering takeout. Jinjin usually wakes up much later, and goes into work at about 10, before working until 5 and crashing. Then he makes dinner and does whatever else he has planned for the evening. That’s why, when Jinjin is awakened by his dinner alarm at 6:15 and he doesn’t hear MJ in the house, it’s slightly strange. However, he shrugs it off and starts to work on some stir fry for when his roommate finally comes home. That is, until 6:30 comes, then 6:45. Until Jinjin sends texts and calls that come up with no response, when usually the ball of energy picks up after 1.5 rings and texts back within 30 seconds. Until the night gets darker and Jinjin leaves the stir fry on the counter as it gets cooler and cooler. Jinjin can’t bring himself to eat. Until he hears a forceful knock on the door, and he goes to check it, distracted by the abnormal situation. All of that leaves his head when he opens the door. There is MJ, but not like normal. His thin face is swollen in places, and turning a dark purple. His arms and legs are in a similar shape, and his lip is busted and bleeding intensely. In fact, it took Jinjin a few moments to recognize this person as MJ, and he immediately lets out a gasp.

It is just a normal day for Myungjun. He woke up at dawn, painted until noon, and sold his work until 5:30, before starting to pack up. Just as he was grabbing the last of his paintings, a portrait of his roommate that he had worked on for days, it was snatched from his grasp with immense force. MJ snapped his head in that direction and saw a young man who had stopped by his tent about an hour earlier. He had browsed and inquired about prices before heading out, chatting loudly with a group of friends. Many people would describe MJ as naive, easily trusting, and maybe even ditzy. Sometimes that’s true, but in this moment, he immediately senses danger and proceeds with caution. “I’m sorry. I’ve closed up shop for the day, but I’ll be back on Friday if you want to take another look at that piece.” MJ carefully recants his usual response to late customers, hoping that the normalcy would calm the agitated young man. “I know that, dipshit! I’m not interested in buying your art, but it does fetch a hefty price, so I might just do my own business with it.” The man snickers and appraises the portrait in his hand, painstaking details in the face, down to the tiny mole beneath Jinjin’s mouth. That made the man’s purpose very clear. MJ was being mugged, and everyone had long since cleared the artist’s alley, leaving no chance of witnesses. He assesses the options, and realized that keeping the man busy until someone comes by will likely be the best option. “Your own business? That sounds interesting. What do you mean?” To keep things moving, might as well play the bimbo he thinks I am, MJ reasons. If he thinks I’ll be aggressive, he’ll run and I’ll lose my painting. This plan may have backfired on poor MJ, as the man turns to him, fists trembling. “Man. You are even more of a moron than I thought. In that case, you deserve to be taught some reality.” The man raises his fist to punch through the canvas board, but MJ reaches out and holds his wrist with a death grip. “It would be smarter for you to not try that” MJ growls, pulling a complete 360 from his normal happy demeanor. He glares up at the man, realising just how large the height gap between them is. Despite the sudden influx of fear, MJ stood his ground and attempted to intimidate this man away. Long story short: it didn’t work Only seconds after MJ grabbed this man’s wrist, he was yanked out of his own tent and thrown to the ground outside. That’s when he noticed the nail in his coffin-the group of friends that had been with the man earlier were here, staring daggers into the fallen MJ. Before MJ could even process their faces, a harsh impact hit his side. Then another. One after another this group of people punched and kicked his fallen body, and the one time he tried to get up, one of them who had been standing back stepped forward and brandished a box cutter. Eventually the flurry ended and MJ gingerly sits up and surveys the surroundings. Not only is he black and blue from the beating, his portrait of Jinjin is ripped up and lying on the ground in front of him. MJ grabs it and stands up, wincing from his legs screaming out. Despite the pain, MJ drags himself to his appartment a few blocks away, dodging glances from the few people he passes. And knock on the door, finally looking up at Jinjin and smiling, despite his sorry state.

. After a lot of bandages and ice have been wrapped around MJ’s arms and legs, Jinjin sits down to hear the full story. MJ recounts the tale, trying his best not to talk with his hands like he normally does. During the entire thing, Jinjin’s eyes are intense, his brow is folded with worry, and his hand has somehow ended up drawing circles on the back of MJ’s. “MJ. I know it isn’t your fault that this happened, but shouldn’t you have called the police before you came back to the appartment?” Jinjin queries, internally angry at those who did it. “It didn’t even cross my mind. I was actually worried about you, Jinjin.” MJ gives a lopsided smile, but Jinjin isn’t willing to drop the issue so easily. “Did you get a concussion, Myungjun? You aren’t making sense.” Jinjin playfully interrogates the discombobulated boy, really scared for his health after this. “I don’t think so. I just saw your painting all cut up like that, and it made me worry about you. I care a lot about you, and I didn’t want you to be hurt too.” MJ smiles sloppily across the couch, at a very confused Jinjin. Before anything else happens, MJ leans over and hugs Jinjin unbelievably hard for someone who is injured. “I’m glad you’re safe.” Jinjin just snickers under his breath, smiling at his silly roommate. “I’m glad too, but I’m still calling the hospital.” But even as he did, he wondered how MJ managed to be so cute, even when black and blue.

. Okay, that ended way more poorly than I thought, but I’m glad I wrote something. Hope you guys enjoy it, and please request things so I don’t put out more mediocre content!

Mod MStar

[oxidation-corundum-archive-blog]

A Collection of Loving One-Shots.

Hello.

I originally typed this introduction when I was afraid that I would fall victim to myself…but it’s been a while. I’m stronger, now; I might fear that things’ll never be better, but…even if they don’t, that’s no reason to stop.

These are, as one can read, a collection of loving one-shots, written to distract myself from…myself. From what happens when I stay idle, don’t progress. Of course, they’re written for you guys, too.

Without further ado…I’ll list the couples under the cut, along with the couple names. Just copypaste them, and you’ll zip on over to that oneshot. In addition, I also have the second half of the pairs’ blog (since all these are one of my OCs and another person’s character): just find your blog name, and it’ll be right there.

I hope you enjoy these oneshots. I’ll be updating this page with more pairings, so please, if you want a fiction, let me know.

Ginger Snap (Ginger and Chrom) , Lichtenberg (Yarrow and Rayze [Not a character officially!]) @thatismhgy

Ivory Diatonic (Tentative name for Chrom and Ivory) @elucive

Chrome Silver (Chrom and Mia Winters) @fearlesschalybs

[In the future: Jaunedina and Jaunetania (Jaune/Undina, Jaune/Tittania)

Celestine Maidens (Tittania/Pyrrha), Silver Shield (Chrom/Pyrrha)]

@chainlightniing: Ginger Snap.

“You’re a bit out of practice, aren’t you?“ The Huntsman gripped Ostinato tightly, taking even breaths as Ginger recovered; she seemed to be in even worse shape than he was. His legs were now only pistons instead of Gods that mortals could pray to for safe passage, and while a fresh bun out of the oven was a major contributing factor to Ginger’s now less than peak performance, the lack of exercise (aside from sex and some stretching to alleviate the pain) didn’t do her any favors.

“Shut it, Sharp. You’re just jealous I can still jerk you around after doing nothing for nine months.” A soft laugh escaped his lips, and he gave his wife a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“Ginger, jerking around was all you did for those nine months! To the marketplace, to the sweet shoppe, to the battlefield when you shouldn’t have…” Sharp jabs were traded; strong words for a fist to the side.

“And we’re both alive. So is Russet.” And before Chrom could say anything, Ginger felt something.

Regret? Hesitation? Whatever it was, it was bothering her.

The jab with her left turned into a quick combination; one to the ribs, another to the face.

Chrom was sent reeling back, and he grimaced, holding his side. “Just because you’re still alive doesn’t mean it was a good idea! You can’t gamble like that when you have a child, Ginger!”

“And it never stopped me!” Her voice was as chipper as ever as she slammed her fists together. “If you’re so angry, bring it, old man.”

Chrom let out a high pitched scoff at the startling rebuttal before calming himself, a smirk on his face as he gripped his weapon a little tighter.

…Alright, then. We’ll talk seriously later.

@chainlightniing: Lichtenberg.

The tall man wiped some sweat off his forehead, squinting to look at a familiar, dirt covered, battle scarred blonde through some corn fields: walking down the road less traveled was a blue eyed, muscular woman that he was proud to call his wife, covered in scars and glistening in the sunlight.

Never a dull day…

He sprinted through his crops to the woman, picking her up and spinning her about with a grand old smile on his face; she was sweaty and smelled of strong, strong coffee and spices, and she was home again.

“Miss me, hon?” Her voice was low and warm like the coffee she smelled of; comforting after the days she’d been gone…

He responds with a quick nod, setting her down and gripping onto her hand. “Let’s get you some grub.”

The inside of the rustic looking home was quaint; family photos here and there, a weapon rack above the fireplace, Electric Dust cables to power the insides (thank you, Chrom connections)…t’was only a one story building, but to the Tiera/Astrapios couple, it was more than enough.

The blonde strode into the house, taking off her leather boots before taking a tight hold of her husband’s shoulders: pulling him down to meet her face to face, Yarrow planted a long, passionate kiss before strolling off to the bathroom. “…Have anything for a sandwich?”

Rayze was still standing there, a little dumbstruck.

@elucive Ivory Diatonic

Music is the silence between notes.

Chrom can hear the crackling of fire, the chirping of cicadas. Aura has done him many favors, and retaining his hearing was one he was forever grateful for.

He could hear the light snoring of the white hind faunus just behind him; he was never much for noise as he slept, but he’d grown used to it. At least, he had to: a noisy father, noisy roommates, noisy environment…the sound of silence was a rare thing, indeed.

So much sound was always around.

He stepped back into the tent, taking off his dress sneakers and sliding off his clothes before looking over at his companion: a year his senior, they had only met a month or two ago…yet there they were, sharing a tent without any qualms.

Why? They shouldn’t have been this close, not so soon…he was a gentleman, and while nearly every ounce of his being was dedicated to making sure he didn’t get into a relationship, well…

His heart was arguing with his head. So much noise…so much rabble about what he wanted.

He stared at her sleeping form, gently brushing loose strands of yellow away from her face with a smile, and everything felt silent for a moment as a soft smile made it’s way onto her face in response.

A soft hum escaped his lips, and he slid onto the makeshift bed, shutting his eyes.

Rest well, Ivory.

@fearlesschalybs Chrome Silver

Chrom quietly stands near the airship dock, and as the redhead comes out, he begins to walk away; the rapid sound of footsteps catch up with him, and the Atlesian gives him a flying hug from behind, arms wrapping tightly around his sides and clasping together over his chest. He’s quick to hold his ground though, slamming his right foot down in front of him and letting her weight press down against him. “What, I don’t get a ‘Lady Mia!’ or a ‘I missed you!’?” The well dressed Huntsman in training gives a smile in response, turning around as she started to go.

His right hand moves to the top of her head, lightly patting it; his smile grows as he leans down a little to look her eye to eye. “I missed you, Lady Mia. I figured you would have appreciated a little more subtlety.”

“T—That’s not…!” Her cheeks flare up as she digs into her pocket, pulling out a rather familiar looking skill toy.

“Here! Be glad I took care of it and didn’t toss it away!” Chrom takes a pause, looking at the metal orbs connected by silver cord…that…

“I was going to ask if you saw it; it had gone missing when you had left. You had it…?” Her heart freezes, and her body follows. Her eyes widen, mouth dries up, pupils dilate, hands are sweaty.

She pulls out her rapier, and lunges at the first year: his body goes all the way back to a rather large fountain, slamming into the base.

He’s quick to recuperate; he gets to his feet calmly before lightly dusting himself off, watching as she sprints over in front of him. “If you wanted a begleri, I could have asked Stizza. The two of you seem to be on decent terms.”

“You moron!” Chrom winces at the insult, and he shrinks a bit. Mia can feel something in her chest, something awful, and her tone softens. “I-I didn’t mean to take it, you know! I forgot to give it back to you when you let me borrow it to fiddle with!” She spins it around her index finger with practiced expertise before tossing the fidget device to him…how strange that her hand felt so empty now.

“I…” Chrom catches his custom made gift, eyes shutting. “Right. I’m sorry; I should have remembered.” He’s a bit more quiet as he steps closer to her, placing a small box in her hands. “Welcome back, Mia.”

Inside are two tiny metal orbs, each with a wild orange and green design connected by a cord; the feel was just the same as Chrom’s. How odd then, that it felt like something was missing…

[trendingnewsb]

Why Old People Think Millennials Are Killing The World

I can’t take another article about millennials. Which is ironic, since the title of this article will likely have the word “millennials” in it. Since it’s sort of about … you know, millennials. I say “sort of” because I don’t think the tidal wave of “MILLENNIALS ARE KILLING ____” pieces are really about them. Not at their core.

When you really break them down, these articles are about my generation. And my parents’ generation. And every generation that has ever existed since the dawn of humans. Yes, they’re phrased as “Millennials are killing X industry, and that’s bad,” but what they’re really saying is, “The times, they are a-changin’, and that scares the shit out of me.” I don’t agree with those articles, because I think they’re impressively idiotic. But I think the key to battling moronicism is understanding what makes a moron moronic. I haven’t decided whether my own insight is fortunate or unfortunate, but …

This Generation Is Changing The World In A Way That I’m Not Prepared For, And Therefore It Must Be Stopped

Let’s say you live in some tribal culture a few thousand years before the first guy with a Christ complex comes along. Your basic priorities in life are to eat, fuck, sleep, repeat. But because Walmart hasn’t invented guns and smoker grills yet, most of your time is wrapped up in that whole “prevent death by shoving food in your suck-hole” hobby. During your midlife crisis at age 12, you realize, “Holy crap, I’m actually pretty good at this cooking thing. Life would be so much simpler if people just brought me dead things, and I made the meals for everyone.” It makes sense, right? That gives everyone else a couple more hours per day to sleep and/or fuck. In exchange, maybe they throw you an extra rat or something for your trouble. Boom, the first McDonald’s is born.

Within weeks, very few people in your tribe are making their own meals. Why would they? You have that shit covered. This upsets the 25-year-old elders, who spread warnings of impending disaster. “Ogg Brrrpth has destroyed the vital skill of cooking! What if he dies tomorrow? Who will then make our food?” This is a legitimate problem, but not an unsolvable one. You suggest training a couple of apprentices who can step in and take over when you inevitably get eaten by dragons. But the elders are still terrified. “It’s impossible! You have doomed us all,” they shout through mouthfuls of food that you prepared.

Flash-forward several thousand years, substitute “food” with “economy,” and you get a pretty good idea of how this cycle continues today. For instance, this article from Business Insider talks about how millennials are killing casual restaurants. It’s not preaching doom, but the argument it produces among readers is “What does this do to our economy?” I mean, TGI Fridays alone pulled in $1.57 billion in 2015. In 2013, they employed over 70,000 people. That’s a pretty big chunk of change. Take that away, and we’re losing a massive amount of income, spending, and taxes. But “Millennials are killing casual restaurants” does not mean “Millennials have stopped eating food.” They’re just doing it elsewhere. And spending a metric fuckload of money in the process.

My generation doesn’t see the growth because we’re distracted by watching the current crop of humans destroying the conveniences we built. We don’t see that it’s often in favor of another, way more convenient and profitable system. My parents thought computers were making kids dumber because for some reason words on physical paper … magically made people smart? My grandparents bemoaned fast food because it was destroying home cooking and family meals. Their parents were worried that cars made people lazy. And back in those tribal days, I guarantee there were a bunch of traditionalists complaining that “Kids these days have it way too easy. You can’t truly appreciate a meal unless you’ve felt the warm blood of a fresh kill on your hands.”

My generation created a ton of conveniences with the technology that was available, and we did it by deconstructing and remodeling the ones my parents created. We then got used to those conveniences and couldn’t imagine life without them. And now that we see them being deconstructed by our own kids, we have to adapt to the new stuff. And that’s as scary as a John Holmes anal scene.

And that means …

The Problems Millennials Are Dealing With For The First Time Are Problems We’re Dealing With For The First Time

This is going to sound like a really stupid statement, because it kind of is: Modern problems are modern. But it’s important in understanding why every headline about the current generation sounds like old people screaming “We’re all gonna fuckin’ die!” I’m going to give you a minor example of how this works.

In the late 1980s, my dad somehow found a way to splurge and buy us a Nintendo. I’m assuming he harvested and sold the kidneys of a drifter, because we could barely afford clothes at the time. We lost our shit when we opened that box on Christmas morning, and we couldn’t wait to hook it up and start smashing bricks and stomping turtles … and also play Super Mario Bros. We rushed back to the crappy black-and-white TV in our bedroom, and … spent the next hour trying to figure out why it wasn’t working.

See, the original Nintendo had an RF switch, which looked like this:

Via Museumofplay.org

It’s pretty simple by today’s standards, but remember, home entertainment was just becoming a thing back then. Very few people were versed in hooking up electronics. You had to figure out how to run the cable through the switch, then run the switch through the VCR, which then went into the back of the TV. The TV had to be on a specific channel in order to display what was on the VCR. And the VCR itself had to be on a specific channel in order to display what was on the Nintendo. Get one step wrong, and you’re playing a game of Jack Vs. Shit with your friend Chad Nobody.

This is more important than you might realize. See, if my bicycle broke, Dad could fix it (and teach me how), because he grew up with a bike too. He knew how they work from experience. The design has been the same since 1885, so my bicycle problem had at one point been his bicycle problem.

But this Nintendo thing was brand-new to both of us. He knew as much about fixing that problem as I did, so after an hour, his frustration boiled over into “I have no idea: Learn how to fix it yourself. Why can’t you just go outside and poke roadkill with a stick like we used to do?” In his mind, my generation created this new thing which killed off his familiar means of entertainment. Then when a problem flopped its big ol’ dick across our chins, his reaction was to slap it away and blame me for letting it. “You wanted this, so you deal with the cock-chin.”

Now imagine the same scenario, but you’re the parent, and your teenager’s phone bricks. What the hell do you do? Both you and your kid have come to depend on cellphones, and now you’re both in the same boat — you have a $900 paperweight, and neither of you knows what to do about it. When you’re in that position, it’s extremely easy to resent the modern convenience. “If we still had a land line, this wouldn’t be an issue. But now I have to go back to the cellphone store and fuck around with that for three hours. If the warranty is expired, I’ll have to buy a new one. This is BULLSHIT!”

But at its core, you’re just outright embarrassed. You feel insignificant, and it’s all that goddamn phone’s fault. And when that kid learns to fix it on their own? That means they’re now smarter than you. They don’t need your help anymore. You either learn what they just learned, or you become obsolete.

Understand that even though we often overlook that aspect, we’re not totally unaware of it. The frustration overshadows logic when we’re in the moment, but I think a lot of us do recognize that we’re perpetuating an eons-old cycle. So if we’re self-aware, why do we keep buying into those dumbass blind panic articles? Well …

There’s A Kernel Of Truth In Most Of Those Articles

My middle son is very much like me, in that he prefers most of his communication to happen with a thick wall of internet between himself and his target. I’m not great at meatspace conversations, and I goddamn loathe talking on a phone (which is ironic, since several hours of my day are spent on editorial calls … I’m a very important person). With text, I can take the time to craft what I want to say. If I type something stupid, I can just delete it and start over. Start an actual verbal sentence with “You know the thing that nobody understands about reverse racism,” and that shit is now in the ear holes of your peers, no takebacks.

There is, however, a huge difference between me choosing that form of communication and my teenage son doing it: He’s never been forced to learn the harder skill in the first place.

What I’m about to say is going to make me sound like an old man screaming “GIT OFF-A MAH LAWN,” but bear with me. There’s a reason I’m bringing it up. When I was a kid, we had video games, but even multiplayer required your friends to be in the same room with you. Having food delivered still required you, at a bare minimum, to speak to another human on the phone. A ton of our entertainment required face-to-face interaction … even with people you hated. There’s a Chad in every group, and learning to deal with that douchebag is extremely important.

Have you ever had to deal with a really rude customer service worker? What tone and expression do you use when you get pulled over by a cop? Ever had to make a believable ass-saving excuse on the fly? How can you tell when someone is masking that they’re offended? Can you tell by reading their body language and tone of voice? All of that shit comes from practice, and you only get it by spending a nutload of time around people in the physical world. I didn’t do that by choice. I was forced to do it. The big difference I was referring to is that my son is not. And I’m not going to force him to do it, but I realize there are consequences for that.

I had to teach him that using a certain tone when making a joke — especially dark ones — could be misconstrued. That people could take him seriously if he didn’t know the very subtle cues that let them in on it. That sarcasm in text is a totally different structure than sarcasm coming out of your word hole.

So what does all of that have to do with these kinds of articles? Well, as much as I hate to admit it, a lot of them actually do have a sliver of insight. Just a slight hint of truth. Yes, millennials are a contributing factor to Applebee’s declining sales. Yes, millennials do have more trouble talking on the phone than older generations. And yes, they do in fact start “real world” life later than their parents.

When you mix those kernels of truth with a bunch of dumb outrage bait, like this horseshit article, it gets easier and easier to buy into the fucknuttery. It’s a powerful form of dishonesty that starts as an astute observation and ends as your grandmother saying, “See, I knew those video games were the devil!”

Don’t let it get to you. My grandparents’ generation said the same thing about my parents. My parents’ generation said the same thing about mine (we were called “slackers” — I now own my own house). And now my generation is keeping that shit-ball rolling right onto yours. They want to blame you for Toys R Us going bankrupt? Fine. I’ll reap the rewards of your generation allowing me to buy toys without ever leaving my chair.

That is, until millennials kill the concept of chairs.

John Cheese is a senior editor and the head of columns for Cracked. You can find him on Twitter.

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