#her little wheel just hanging there lmao | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wastemanjohn · 8 months

Note

You KNEW my prompt was gonna include pregnancy lmao but I’m gonna say samdean accidental pregnancy — your choice if Dean or Deanna, your choice which season but I wanna see Dean(na) confessing to Sam that s/he’s knocked up!

here you go mate <3 (sorry for sneaking my deanna and david bowie headcanon in here but i had reason to believe you wouldn't mind xD - and exploring this pushed me nicely out of my comfort zone so thank you for the prompt!)

The skies over the salvage yard are pink with shepherd's delight clouds. The evening breeze has a little bite, and the air smells like rotting oil and dead leaves. The latter scent is one Sam associates with shoplifting school supplies, with the good coffee shops opening up on campus again. It's an awkward nostalgia, but it comes to him anyway as he buttons up his shirt for warmth and makes a start on staking out the boulevard of broken cars, armed with two bottles of El Sol and a mental note of all the phrases he's learned not to say. Deanna's gotta be out here somewhere.

The thing is, Sam thinks as he passes the nearly restored Impala, it had seemed like his sister was doing a little better. She's still sharp tongued and irritable, but she's not been spending 12 hours a day doing god knows what under that hood. She's been hanging out with Sam and Bobby more in the evenings, not really saying much, but sometimes she smiles with her whole face at something someone says, and Sam's always a little surprised at the force of his relief. She's even been talking a bit about getting out on the road again, even if she never directly mentions Dad; but Sam's caught her quietly leafing through his journal now and then lately. Not that he's said anything about it, because that's just asking for trouble; and anyway, regardless of any improvement, Sam still has no idea what's going on in Deanna's head, really. She feels very far away.

She went out this afternoon. For hours. Didn't say where she was going; but it's got to be the first time she's left Bobby's place in weeks. She left her phone behind on the nightstand, in this way that Sam couldn't help but suspect was intentional, because there had to be something about that; had to be something in the way Deanna caught Sam's eye through the window as she was coming back, coming all slow down the path with Dad's jacket over her shoulders and this tight expression on her face. Something in the way Deanna had sharply changed direction at the sight of him, veering off until she faded into the salvage yard and Sam couldn't see her anymore. And it's not that Sam meant to be hovering near the front of the house at the exact moment of her return like a worried parent, but shit happens.

Let her be, son, Bobby had said, without looking up from his scotch and that leatherbound demonology book he'd been annotating all day. Harder you push, the more she's gonna clam up.

It bothers Sam when Bobby talks like that, like he knows Deanna better than Sam does or something. As for letting her be - well, if Bobby knows Sam at all, he's got a strange way of showing it.

As Sam goes deeper into the yard, he can hear music. Tinny, faint; but Sam recognizes David Bowie. He spent enough time being subjected to every single tape the guy ever made, even the really out there ones, over and over again as a kid to know that voice anywhere. That had been one of Deanna's more intense phases. Sam thinks she finds him comforting now, maybe; familiar, well worn, like an old blanket. She'd deny that, of course, the way she always denies shit that she thinks sounds girly, or maybe just vulnerable - but it hadn't been lost on Sam over the past year, how Deanna would play those tapes during nearly every overnight drive they took. Her hands always a little too tight on the steering wheel, Dad's unknown whereabouts breathing down the backs of their neck like a spirit.

Sam follows that bustling piano, ch-ch-changes, until he finds his sister. She's sitting on the floor, leaning against the dented door of an eighties truck with a mangled hood. The windows are down. The music is coming from inside.

Dad's jacket is so big over Deanna's shoulders. It practically drowns her, looks kind of ridiculous, if Sam were to be mean about it; still smells like Dad's cigarettes. Deanna doesn't look up, when Sam approaches, but she doesn't hide her face or snipe at him to fuck off either. Which means this is already going well.

"Hey." Sam says it cautiously. "What are you doing out here?"

Her eyes roll up at him. "Making bacon and eggs, jackass. What's it look like I'm doing?"

Sam doesn't know, actually. Still, he takes the sarcasm on the chin. He holds one of the beer bottles out to Deanna; she glances at it, then shakes her head.

It surprises Sam, but he doesn't push. "You look like crap," he offers.

Deanna snorts. "Well. Don't you know how to make a girl feel special."

There's no bite in it. That tells Sam they're okay. She does, though; look like crap, that is. Tired; washed out. She's been sleeping in the day a lot. Bobby says it's the grief, that she needs it. Sam could believe that. He wonders, though, if Bobby's heard Deanna throwing up in the night lately. Not just one of her tactical upchucks to stave off a hangover, because she's not been drinking all that much lately; but these real hacking puke sessions that jolt Sam out of sleep in the early hours of the morning. She never comes back to her bed afterwards. And Sam has his suspicions about that too, like with the left behind phone; it's Deanna's way of not giving him a chance to pry. She knows how thin the wall between the bathroom and the spare bedroom is.

"Can I sit?" Sam asks.

Deanna shrugs. It's as good as permission.

Sam lowers himself down beside her, gets comfy on the rough gravel. He puts down the beers; doesn't feel much like drinking by himself.

They sit in silence for a while. Puts Sam on edge; but it's hard to know what to say to Deanna most of the time these days, which isn't a position he's ever been in before. Then again, they've never been in the position of losing their father before, so there's that. It still doesn't feel real. It probably never will.

"Keys were still in the ignition," Deanna says, nodding up towards the truck. "Tapedeck works. Engine's salvageable. Bobby's way too quick to junk these babies. Upsets me."

Sam smiles. "Dare you to say that to his face."

"Hey, maybe I will. If he gave me half a day with this death trap I'd get her purring again. Turn her into a whole new woman."

She folds her arms, tilts her head back against that dented door. Her eyes are kinda pink and bleary.

"You should see the tapes in the glove compartment," she adds. "'S a fucking goldmine.

"Is this Hunky Dory?" Sam asks.

Deanna raises an eyebrow. "Wow. And there I was thinking you weren't paying attention all this time."

"You didn't exactly give me a choice. You only played this album every day for like ten years."

Deanna grins. "I'm proud of you, Sammy. I knew you'd learn to love it eventually."

"Love is a strong word," Sam replies.

Deanna snorts again. Something like affection passes over her face. Sam hasn't seen that in a while.

"I lost this album years ago," Deanna says. "Think it ended up with Dad, maybe. You know how our stuff used to always get mixed up."

Sam's a little stunned. And maybe it shows, because Deanna narrows her eyes at him. "What?"

"Nothing." He swallows - "Just that you, uh, mentioned Dad."

"Yeah. So?"

It's quick, defensive enough for Sam to know to shut up. He's getting good at that kind of thing.

Deanna's scowl fades; she grins, lightly punches his thigh. "You creep. Quit staring at me."

Sam didn't realize he was. But if they were a different kind of people, maybe Sam would tell Deanna how pretty she looks under the dying sunlight, under those pink, glowy clouds; but he wouldn't really know how to put something like that, and Deanna would never let him live it down if he said it aloud anyway. So he keeps it to himself. Instead, he watches Deanna pull at a spooling thread from her shirt sleeve peeking out from beneath Dad's jacket.

"You know," Deanna says, "being out here always reminds me of us being kids. Bobby letting us play in the yard until the sun went down. Bringing us lemonade. Do you remember?"

Sam smiles. "Yeah, Dee. Of course I remember."

Deanna carries on like she wasn't expecting an actual response. "We'd never had homemade lemonade. Remember how I used to try to make it for you when we got back on the road? Mine always kinda sucked, though."

Sam feels a little on edge, hyper aware of everything his body is doing, like he's trying not to spook a wild gazelle. This is the most Deanna has spoken in weeks. "You tried," he offers, because she did, Deanna always tried so hard with stuff like that. He hasn't thought about Deanna's crappy lemonade in years. With Bowie warbling about life on mars on the stereo, and the memory of Deanna's sticky too-bitter attempt alive on his tongue, it feels like it's 1992 again.

Deanna keeps pulling at that thread. "You know, back when I used to watch you - I was, I dunno, maybe ten or eleven. And you were so - you were so damn innocent, you know? Just really cute, I guess."

"Cute?" Sam echoes.

"Yeah." There's this tight, half-smile on her mouth that Sam can't quite read. "You were so curious about shit all the time. Always wanting me to tell you stories. Always getting yourself scraped and bruised because you couldn't stop fucking climbing stuff."

Sam isn't sure what to say. There's something about remembering himself as a child that makes him uncomfortable. Maybe it's the idea of being so small and so helpless; or maybe it's the memory of that hard-to-place unease that lived inside of him like blood from the moment he was fully sentient, that gut-deep sense that something about his life - his family, his barely present Daddy - just wasn't right.

"You were a pain in the ass," Deanna continues, with this fond chuckle. "Asking me questions all the time. Wanting to know how every little thing in the world worked. If I didn't know the answers, I'd just make 'em up. You believed everything I said." She clicks her tongue. "Man, do I miss that."

Why are we talking about this? Sam nearly asks. But that runs the risk that Deanna will snap shut like an oyster, and Sam will never get the answer at all. So he keeps his mouth closed. He lets Deanna carry on.

"Sammy, I used to -" She trails off, looking weirdly sheepish. "This is so so fucking weird, but like - when I was watching you, I used to wish you were actually my kid. And you - you kinda were, you know? Felt like you were mine... mine just as much as you were Dad's."

Dad, again. Sounds so unfamiliar in Deanna's voice now that it takes Sam a moment to process the revelation that came before it. "You did? Seriously?" is all he manages.

"Yeah." She's looking at her lap. Still that tight half-smile. "Seriously."

And Sam struggles to know what to do with that, what it means. Because it's hard, lately, for Sam to be angry with his father about much; makes him feel almost empty, actually, after a lifetime of nursing this near-addictive resentment over things he never fully understood. And of those things, Deanna - getting her stuff mixed up with Dad's, being so intertwined with him, resembling her martyred mother so much Dad could never stop commenting on it - Deanna seeing Sam as her own, apparently - well, he doesn't know. Sometimes Deanna just says shit. He probably isn't meant to read into it.

And besides, Sam doesn't know anything for sure. Always felt like he never really wanted to. And as he's already made his choice to love his father, he needs to keep it that way.

Deanna shuts her eyes, then. They're puffy under her lashlines, kissed with gray. "I mean," she says, "Don't get me wrong. You annoyed the crap outta me sometimes." She shrugs, hard, like a defence to an attack Sam hasn't made. "I - I do know that, Sammy. I know there was times I coulda been nicer to you." She looks a little pained.

"We were just kids Dee," Sam offers. "Not like either of us were exactly saints."

"I keep remembering," Deanna continues, in that way, like Sam hadn't spoken again, "There was this time Dad kind of - got caught up in something. Still don't know what. But he wasn't home when he said he'd be. We were running out of everything. Food, money. No one was answering the phone. And you - you were driving me insane, Sammy."

Deanna says the last part a little too quietly; her head bows, hair covering her face. And Sam thinks he knows where this is going. He's getting a little uneasy.

"You just - you kept on and on with your damn questions. 'Where's Dad? What does he do while he's away? When's he coming back?' Then you - you asked about Mom."

"Deanna-"

She shakes her head, cutting him off. Something bitter on her lips, not quite a smile. "Who punches a five year old in the face, Sammy? I can't believe I -"

"You were only nine, Dee." Sam reminds her, when she doesn't finish the sentence. "You didn't know any better."

And it's true; Dad made sure of that, with his shoot first, ask questions later manifesto. But Deanna would never see it that way. She just laughs, colorless, bitter. "Yeah. I did. I shoulda, at least. I just -" She huffs. "Sometimes it feels like I just - I couldn't stop screwing up."

"You were doing it all by yourself." As the words leave his mouth, Sam registers how they sound. Like something you'd say about a single mom, some divorced thirty something with three kids, working two jobs to keep everyone fed and clothed. Not a nine year old.

"I guess -" Deanna sucks in a breath. "I just think about that a lot. That's all."

There's this dread growing inside of Sam as he watches Deanna's mouth twist up; she blinks, angrily. "Are you - crying?"

"Shut up," she mumbles.

She turns her face away a little. Draws her knees up to her chest. And it's strange and unsettling for Sam to see, like a horse walking on its hind legs or something; because Deanna doesn't cry, crying is for girls, and anatomy aside, she doesn't much like being seen as one of those. Even before Dad's pyre she stood, solemn and silent, breathing slow, composed. A hell of a lot more composed than Sam was, anyway.

"What's going on, Dee?"

She shrugs. That's very different to I'm fine.

And if things had been in any way close to normal over the last couple of months, Sam might touch Deanna's hand right about now. Lace their fingers; cup her face. Kiss her, maybe, the way she hasn't let him kiss her in a long time. Not since - well - not since the night they let Dad go. Sam can still remember the heat from the fire on his face, the way Deanna's hair felt grainy with ash; how her lips had tasted earthy and swollen, how she felt so small and fragile in his arms, more than she ever had. Still his big sister. Still the person he wants when he's scared and spiralling and doesn't know what to do but grab onto her, and hold on and on and on.

Deanna sniffs, loudly. "I just - I had so much on my shoulders, you know? Dealin' with you... dealin' with Dad..."

Her voice cracks a little. Sam says, "It was - it was a lot. I know."

A lot. So much summed up in those two words, but it's not like Sam's had a lot of practise in talking about this.

Deanna laughs down at her folded knees, all thick. "You don't know, Sammy. You don't know at all. And I'm - I'm really glad you don't."

Sam isn't sure what to say to that. Partly because he can't gauge Deanna's tone, and partly because that feels like one of the most honest things Deanna's ever said to him. And now he's really worried.

"I just - I always wished I had another chance, you know? A chance to do over all those screw ups I made."

Tentatively, Sam reaches out to put a hand on her shoulder. It tenses a little beneath his fingers; but she doesn't pull away. That's good.

"I don't know where all this is coming from, Dee," Sam admits.

There's a pause, and Deanna seems to blink for a little too long. "It's - Sammy, I just keep on thinking. Dad's - Dad's gone."

It's the first time she's actually said it. Sam swallows; throat feels a little thick. "Yeah. I know."

"And I was just getting - you get used to things being one way, you know?" She runs a hand through her hair, shiny with grease like oil slicks. "It's always like that. You start getting used to things, and then - then some other shit happens. And suddenly things are a whole new way. Before you can even fucking -"

"What do you mean?"

"Sammy, I knew something was wrong. I - I think I knew all along. But - today..."

Sam does everything in his power to keep his growing anxiety out of his voice. "Where did you go today, Deanna?"

Her lips press together. She's still looking at her lap.

That dread expands, curdles, in Sam's gut. "Tell me."

Her hands are shaking against her thighs. "I - I went to the doctor."

That's absolutely the last thing Sam expected. "Since when do you go to the doctor?"

"I kinda had to."

Sam watches the little quiver of her fingers; and with that, he thinks back to the puking, the tiredness, how not right his sister looks. He thinks about Jess, how they were talking about what color to paint the living room 24 hours before she went up in flames on the ceiling. He thinks about Dad calmly sending him off for coffee before he…

Things are one way. Then suddenly they're another. Before you can blink, before you even remember your own name.

"Are you - are you sick?" Sam tries to keep his voice even.

Deanna isn't looking at him. "Kinda."

Sam thinks about Deanna hooked up to wires and machines. The miracle; how miracles don't happen. He's been harboring a little fear that there has to still be something wrong. A lacerated organ. A foreign object. Something they must have missed. But he thought - hoped - it was just that - a fear.

Sam sucks in a breath. "Okay. So - so what..."

Deanna smiles grimly. "Turns out I've got a parasite."

He watches Deanna shift. Her hand move towards one of the pockets of Dad's jacket. She keeps her eyes on her lap as she passes a small slip of paper to Sam. Small, rectangular. He takes it.

It's a moment or so before he realizes what he's seeing. Kind of like a photograph; a fuzzy sepia. Odd shapes that slowly begin to make sense.

"Ten weeks," Deanna says, her voice a little hoarse with disbelief. "I'm - I'm ten fucking weeks pregnant, Sammy."

Sam stares numbly at that ultrasound still. At the shapes, like two beans stacked on top of each other. Faint, fuzzy lines. Tiny arms. Tiny legs. He stares at them until they blur.

Ten weeks. Ten weeks since -

"So it's - " Sam can't finish the sentence.

"Yeah, Sammy. It's yours."

Her voice sounds very far away. And Sam can smell ash and fumes, traces of hospital grade body wash on Deanna's skin, skin that was bruised all over from cannulae and wires; and Sam couldn't catch his breath because Dad was gone, the last of him was just yards away on that burnt out pyre, gone; and Deanna's hands were on his face, tangled up in his hair, forehead pressed against his, and she was straddling his lap in the Impala's backseat, her eyes shut, muttering ssh, ssh over and over, maybe to Sam, or maybe to herself, but she kept saying it, even through the long kisses she kept pressing to his mouth; and Sam remembers he could barely see, he felt like he was choking on that ashy air, but he had Deanna, and he needed Deanna, he'd never needed her so much in his entire life. And Deanna understood, the way she's always understood things like that; and Deanna had kept on with her kissing and ssh-ing as she moved on top of him, fast, desperate, and Sam had clung onto her waist and met each roll of her hips, fast, anguished, because he couldn't get close enough, deep enough; and Deanna had been making these pitchy, breathless sounds like she was in pain, but she didn't stop Sam, and the whole time her eyes were wide and fixed on his face; and Sam remembers tangling her hair around his fingers like rope, he remembers arching up against her as he came, his body going through the motions, his senses numb to it. That numbness hasn't really left him since.

"Sammy, say something."

Deanna's voice, strained, cuts through the memory. Hauls Sam back to the present; Bowie, rotten oil, dead leaves. That autumnal breeze. His sister's face, tight and worried. Sam recognizes that pallor a little more now: shock.

It's passing through Sam as well. Of all the things he expected - this was nowhere on the list. Nowhere close.

"Alright," he manages eventually. Amazed at how calm he sounds. "What do you wanna do?" Because that's the thing to ask, right?

Deanna's lips twist again. "I mean - like, right away, I thought about just - you know - going off and taking care of it. Not even telling you. Just - "

"You wouldn't have told me?"

"I said I thought about it, Sam." She clicks her tongue; another rough wipe of her eyes. "I'm telling you now, aren't I?"

Sam keeps staring. Staring, at that image. That tiny, tiny baby.

"Is that what you want?" he manages, eventually. Hoarse as Deanna. "To - take care of it?"

Deanna's pause seems to roll around the length of the yard. Then, her eyes stray to her lap again. "You know, Dad used to lecture me about this shit. Made it very clear how disappointed he'd be if I ever accidentally got myself knocked up."

Sam says, "Really?"

"Yeah. All the time." There's something acidic in Deanna's voice. "And you know why he harped on about it so much?"

"Why?"

"Because he said it wouldn't be fair to bring a kid into all this. Into the life." Deanna laughs, this flat, one-note thing. Something sharp flashes through her eyes; something gone too quick for Sam to fully identify. "Can you believe he said that to me? After everything he..."

She stops. And Sam watches Deanna's face reset, as if she hadn't expressed something like anger towards Dad for the first time ever. Something like what Sam has been saying, feeling, thinking, ever since he was old enough to understand. Everything Deanna always denied.

"It wouldn't have to be the same." It comes out of Sam's mouth before he can catch up with it. "You know. The same as we had it."

Deanna keeps on looking at her lap.

"You -" Sam takes a breath. "You know that, right?"

Deanna sighs. More like the breath whipping out of her body. "I'm not gonna stop looking for the demon, Sammy."

She says it like she expected Sam to insist on it. He clarifies: "I'm not saying we do. I'm saying we make it work."

He has no idea how. No fucking idea. His brain hasn't quite absorbed what's in front of him yet, the news undigested; but he's certain, somehow, of that.

Deanna gives that odd laugh again. Sam isn't sure what it means, this time. "It's also..." She picks at that thread on her shirt again. "I mean, the doctor said it looked healthy. But what if it comes out and it's like, a cyclops or something?"

"Why would it be -"

Deanna's shoulders rise. "You've seen Deliverance, right?"

Oh.

Sam swallows. His eyes stray back to the picture. Not that he can see much; not that there's much to see. But there's enough there for Sam to think it looks absolutely perfect.

"There are risks," is all he can think to say. "But it's - you know. It's not completely inevitable."

Deanna narrows her eyes. "You've already looked this stuff up, haven't you?"

She says it in this accusatory way. Sam runs his thumb delicately across the grainy image. "There was always a chance this could happen, Dee."

Always a chance. They've never done much to mitigate it, really. There's not enough space in Sam's brain right now, to wonder why that is.

Deanna skips over it too. Runs a hand through that greasy hair. Her lips twist.

"I just think," she says, after a while, "even if it comes out with three heads, playing a fucking banjo... would I care? You know?"

She's still not quite meeting Sam's eyes. Sam prompts, "Would you?"

"I mean. It's not like it'd be the only freak in this family, right?" A smile spreads across her mouth. "Sammy, you know I wouldn't care. I'd -I'd love it no matter what."

"Me too." It comes out thick; Sam's never been more sure of anything in his life.

He hands Deanna back the picture; takes her hand, deceptively delicate and cold in his, as he watches her eyes fog up with tears again. She doesn't hide this time; leans in to press her forehead against Sam's, just like that night ten weeks ago, just like they've come full circle. And fuck, it feels like forever since Sam's been touched like this, touched by anyone; he's just wondering if leaning in for a kiss would be pushing it, when he feels Deanna's plump, dried out lips brushing his. They feel a little sticky, and there's this malodor to her breath, but Sam barely registers it. It's like coming home.

I missed you, he doesn't say; can't, when Deanna's mouth would smother it anyway. When Deanna would only screw her face up and call him a big girl, and he'd rattle with guilt about feeling a little humiliated by that, but he'd feel it anyway.

Deanna pulls away first. She's a little flushed, and Sam can faintly see the capillaries in her face, like pink lines on a map under her skin; she squeezes his hand, laces their fingers. Moves them together until Sam's palm is flat against her stomach, the warmth of her body underneath that worn flannel.

"I keep thinking I can feel it," she whispers. "Now I know it's there."

Sam watches their interlaced hands dumbly. Overwhelmed. He can too.

"I kinda hope it's a girl." Deanna's voice has that hoarse quality again. "So I can - so she can have a Mom. So she can have what I didn't have."

She says it at the exact moment Sam finds himself hoping it's a boy. His reasons are similar. But for someone who doesn't like to talk, Deanna's always been way better at articulating stuff like that.

"You'll be a great Mom, Dee," he says, firmly. You were to me.

"Alright. You don't need to kiss my ass." Deanna ruffles his hair, like she did when she kissed him goodnight as a kid.

It takes Sam a moment to find his voice again. "I mean it, Dee. We'll make it work." He says it with this conviction that rises up from somewhere deep. "And I'm gonna be here for you, alright? Every step of the way."

Deanna groans. "Jesus Christ. I knew you'd be like this."

But she's smiling. And Sam allows himself to as well.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

“You know Dad would kill us, right? But man, do I wish he was here right now.”

She says it with a laugh in her voice, her face all twisted up; and Sam can't help but remember how he and Jess had talked about kids, vaguely, sometimes, kind of like a concept, a distant dream. How Sam had thought to himself about Dad a lot then, too, the way he never really stopped thinking about Dad and Deanna. He remembers wondering to himself whether Dad would be proud. Whether he'd even want a grandkid; if he'd want to know at all. Back then, Sam genuinely toyed with the idea that Dad wouldn't even care. Never come back, Sam.

It's not the same, now. Holy fuck, this is not the same, and it can probably only be a good thing that Dad's not here to know about this; so Sam pushes away the thought. He puts his arms around Deanna's waist and pulls her as close as he dares.

"It'll be okay," he says again, because he can't think of anything else. Because it has to be.

Deanna's looking at him kinda intently. "Sam, do you think this is Dad's way of like - you know - coming back?"

"Uh - what?"

Deanna shrugs. "Dunno. Just - hormones talking, I guess." She squeezes Sam's hand against her stomach. "Forget I said anything."

Sam's not sure he can. They don't say anything after that.

#asks #prompts #samdeanna #johndeanna if u squint #my writing #yes I know I literally always play in this part of the Canon sandbox #but whatever i invite you to sue me #cw discussions of abortion #cw childhood trauma #cw intergenerational trauma #cw incest #this came out very soft by my standards lol #well apart from all the incest and trauma #it's so heavy on the incest lol

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magniloquent-raven · 2 years

Text

@ihni your idea got lodged in my brain lmao

Billy spends the month of November trying to ditch the phantom sensation of ceramic shattering under his fingers, jarring impact up his forearm, the briefest brush with soft brown hair.

He tries everything he can think of. All his usual methods are distractions at best, keeping his hands occupied just to feel something else, anything else. A cold steel barbell, the peeling leather of his steering wheel, rough denim, scratch, scratch, scratching the knee of his jeans while he sits in class and tries to ignore his nerves all lit up on instant replay. He drinks himself blind and smokes his way through every penny of his savings. None of it stops him from laying awake at night with trembling hands, biting his nails bloody.

Doesn’t help that he has to see Steve every fucking day. When he’s not at school, at basketball practice—shooting hoops is one of the things that almost helps, concentrating on the dimpled rubber in his hands, scrubbing his palms pink in the shower afterwards—he’s always hanging around Max for some goddamn reason. Driving her and her dumb friends places. Coming by the house like he isn’t walking into a lion’s den, cool as a fucking cucumber when he tells Susan he’s here to pick up her daughter.

And Billy can’t do shit about it. Any of it.

Some time in the beginning of December Neil hands Billy a cardboard box full of household junk and tells him to drop it off at Goodwill. They’re making space for all the shit that hasn’t been unpacked yet, and the holidays are a time to be charitable or whatever the fuck. Contributing to the community, blah, blah.

Billy makes an earnest effort to sound genuine when he promises to drop it off, and then tosses the shit in his backseat, where it sits for three days, staring at him in the rearview mirror.

There’s a tacky macramé owl draped over the shitty wooden bowl they used to keep keys in. A leggy ballerina figurine with half the paint chipped off. It’s useless crap that no one would want, he’s not in a hurry.

But after Max tossed a cassette on the floor yesterday it slid under her seat. He has to clamber into the back to fish it out, and ends up sitting next to the stupid box. Looking into it. And pausing.

It’s stupid. It’s stupid. But there’s a couple plates hidden under a folded up sweater they found laying around that didn’t fit anyone. Plain off-white ceramic plates. Innocently nestled amongst the junk.

He’s seen fucking plates since the fight at the Byers, he’s not, like, traumatized by dishware. He can eat dinner just fine and everything. Or at least, he could after the first couple tries—

The fucking point is, these just look…uncannily simliar to the one he smashed over Steve Harrington’s head. At least, what he saw of it before it broke. And what he saw of the shards when he woke up.

Or maybe agonizing over the fight all month has just gotten to him. Or he’s just a little too buzzed on a bad batch. Maybe.

Whatever the reason, he’s sitting in the backseat of his own car, shaking like a leaf in a storm, fingers clenched, tendons tense and knuckles white, the feeling of breaking, shattering, destroying everything he touches needling under his skin.

It’s Saturday. He doesn’t have anywhere to be.

He drives to the Byers’ first.

There’s a car in the driveway, he notes with a sinking feeling in his stomach. All he can do is hope no one’s feeling like checking out the conspicuous sound of a car engine outside.

He hasn’t felt like this since he was a kid, so unsure and off-kilter. Knowing he isn’t welcome somewhere and actually caring. It makes him feel small and he hates it. He clutches the plate in front of him, in both hands walking slowly up to the porch. The crunch of frozen gravel under his boots is deafening. There’s no sound coming from inside the house.

Maybe he’ll get lucky, and—

The door creaks open a crack.

Apparently not.

A small, pale face peeks out at him, stares at him with less hostility than is probably warranted. “Hi?” The kid stays mostly behind the door, at the very least a tiny bit wary.

Billy’s fingers itch. He needs a goddamn cigarette.

“Your mom home?”

“Um.” The kid’s wide, dark eyes narrow a little, looking him up and down, flicking over to his car, and back at him. There’s wheels turning in his head, but Billy’s not sure where they’re taking him. “...Yyeees? Yeah. She’s just. Uh. Busy.”

“Can anyone in this town lie, or is it just something about this fucking house.”

The kid blinks at him. “I’m not lying.”

Billy blows out a breath, rolling his eyes skyward. “Whatever, shitbird. I don’t actually care, I’m just—” he grits his teeth. What is he doing. He doesn’t even know, how is he supposed to explain it to this random fucking kid.

“You’re Max’s brother, right?”

He bites the inside of his cheek. Swallows the bitter retort on the tip of his tongue. It doesn’t matter anymore, if it ever did. “Yeah.”

The kid shuffles a little. His shoulders go stiff. It’s subtle, like he’s trying to hide it, but he’s inching back into the house. Afraid.

Right, this kid must be friends with Max’s little pack of brats. The ones that saw him beat the shit out of their babysitter. He wonders if he’s gonna have Max on his case after this. If this counts as harassing her friends.

The plate feels fragile, all of a sudden. Like if he tightened his grip it would crack, explode into dust and debris in his hands. His palms are sweating.

He takes the last couple steps across the porch—ignoring the way the kid flinches at the sound of his boots against splintering wood—and, as gently as he can, puts the plate on the rickety table next to the door.

“To replace the one I broke,” he mutters, gesturing at it as he backs away.

He doesn’t wait for a response. He’s not sure he wants one.

The cigarette he smokes in the car does nothing to calm his nerves. Harrington’s place is barely a three minute drive from the Byers’ and he has no fucking clue what he’s gonna say.

He wipes his hand on his jeans. It does nothing for the pins and needles tingling up and down his fingers, the ghost of ceramic dust crunching in his nail beds, in every line of his palm.

Feels like he’s barely had time to blink before he’s standing on Steve’s front step, ringing the doorbell and gnawing a hole through his bottom lip.

The second plate is cold from sitting in his car. There’s a chip on the underside of it that he keeps scraping a bitten-down fingernail over, tracing in circles around it.

He is still wholly unprepared when Steve opens the door. And stands there, in a soft green sweater, staring at Billy like he’s a mildly difficult math problem. His gaze shifts from Billy’s face to the plate in his hands and twists into something even more confused.

“Am I gonna get a second concussion for Christmas?”

Billy grimaces. “No.” He shoves it at Steve, and prods him in the chest a couple times before he actually takes it.

“Dude, what the hell.”

“Just…” Billy flexes his fingers, restless at his side. He puts his hands in his jacket pockets when Steve starts to eye him suspiciously. “I’m giving you a free shot, Harrington. Payback. Get even with me.”

Steve takes a step back, his eyebrows creeping up his forehead. “I’m not breaking a plate over your head, you fucking weirdo.”

“C’mon, King Steve, give me what I deserve!”

“Are you actually insane? Take your plate and go, man.” He holds it out, gingerly, apprehensive.

“I can’t. I can’t fucking deal with this anymore, and this was the only thing I could think of.”

Neil might’ve punished him the night he came home battered and alone, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t for the right reasons. So maybe Steve…

“Wait, is this, like.” Steve squints at him. “An…apology? A really fucked up one.”

“No!”

“Are you sure?”

“...No.”

“Wow, thanks for clearing that up. Look, man, it’s freezing out here, and you’re freaking me out, so why don’t you come inside and, I dunno, sit down. Calm down a little.”

“What?”

“Seriously, were you dropped on your head as a child? Come. Sit. Be calm. Simple, right?”

If only.

But he goes. He sits. And miraculously, he calms. A little.

It takes him two weeks of a tentative truce—that he hesitates to call the beginnings of a friendship for fear of getting his heart broken—for him to actually apologize. He gets drunk off his ass and slurs out an explanation, the guilt, the nightmares, feeling bone and cartilage crunch under his knuckles for weeks after it happened. He doesn’t remember exactly how Steve responded, it’s all a little fuzzy, but he woke up on the Harringtons’ couch the next morning and wasn’t immediately thrown out, so it must’ve gone okay.

And from there it goes more than okay. Terrifyingly good, actually. They’re honest to god friends after that.

But every time Billy eats at Steve’s house, Steve gives him the goddamn plate to eat off of. Billy’s not sure what to make of that. He probably shouldn’t make anything of it, it’s just a stupid plate, but it’s the same one every fucking time and it’s starting to get weird.

He doesn’t bring it up for months. On his 18th birthday Steve puts a cupcake in front of him with a candle sticking out of it. Served, of course, on The Plate.

It’s the little twitch of a suppressed smile, like Steve’s sharing an inside joke with himself, that makes Billy crack and finally ask what the deal is.

Steve grins. “I’m giving you what you deserve.”

“I—" Billy blinks at him. "You're a corny bastard, you know that.”

"You love it."

"...Yeah."

~~~tag list @growup-thatbeautiful @spreckle

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove x steve harrington #stranger things #a raven's writing desk

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soclonely · 8 months

Note

Hope you feel better soon! If you're still doing The Clones As prompts, maybe The Clones as People You'd See at a Roller-Skating Rink?

Oh ABSOLUTELY. I missed these so much. Lets seeeeeee... Rex-"Wait, i thought you said we were going ice skating! I can't rollerskate!"

Echo- spends entire time in the arcade area wearing skates but not touching the wood ONCE

Fives- middle school boys who skate around and play tag

Jesse- *deathgrips the wall while legs go in about 80 different directions at once*

Kix- the group of girls who think its okay to link arms and skate in a line

Tup- messy bun girl who has to fix her hair at every turn because it keeps falling out but shes too nervous to stop because she JUST got the hang of it and if she stops she wont get to the pace shes at again

Dogma- the jackass who brings inline skates

Hardcase- kid constantly running up to the counter slamming cokes and pixie sticks

Coric- the dj all the middle schoolers are bugging to play Yeah by usher 8 more times

Bly- the couple who rented skates to take a couple quick instagram photos at the entrance of the rink, before quickly removing them and leaving lmao.

99- The oldtimer. amazing skate skills. probably did a lot of light drugs at that same rink in the 70s. Dresses up for disco night in his flashy 70s outfit

Cody- the dweeb who skates backwards around like he's hot stuff. Dude you are 26, at a roller rink on a saturday night by yourself because your DnD session got cancelled. calm down

Waxer/Boil- picture it, 2005-2006. its students night for your elementary/middle school at the local rink! You are in 5th grade. Your mom drops you off with money for rentals and an extra $15 for a slice of pizza, some popcorn, and a jones soda. You and your friends spend a majority of the time sitting in a booth in the concession area, giggling and running your skates casually under the table while you gossip about 6th grade and what its going to be like in real middle school next year, one of your friends looks around, jerks her head back around real quick, and squeals because your crush jacob has just come over to the concession area to but some nachos and made eye contact with the same cashier you had made eye contact with 5 minutes previous so it was practically him looking into your eyes on a beach sunset. You all giggle and chatter, staring at him until he awkwardly waves while shoving his change into his pocket as he shuffles back to his group of friends. it didn't matter that in 4 years he would be coming out of the closet to your whole school and taking the lead singing spot in the show choir. All that mattered was that small concession area. Life was good.

Wolffe- moms with annoying toddlers running around in shitty cheap plastic skates that clip onto their shoes

Boost/Sinker- asshat who doesn't watch surroundings and crosses over, bumps into everyone, and doesn't apologize

Hunter- Rockabilly dressed ladies witht heir hot pink skates. god i wish that were me.

Wrecker- the beefy dad guy there for his kids party. The dude can't skate, but you bet your sweet ass he strapped on this badboys and skated right out the rink and flat on his ass because his little princess BEGGED him to. He terrible at it but he's got spirit!

Tech- parent that sanitizes EVERYTHING

Crosshair- the person who cant skate, or is a newer skater who decides they are too cool to go around the edge and try to skate in the middle and inner lanes instead. GET TF OVER

Omega- the parent who is WALKING in the main rink holding their little kids hands. Usually they have the tiny corner one for them TAKE THEM OVER THERE SO I CAN GO NYOOM

Howzer- The obnoxious skaters who are def advanced, but try to show off in ways that can get people hurt

Fox- the poor skate rental counter guy in his 30s who looks like he just hates his life because his manager is a 16 year old girl.

Gregor-LIGHT UP WHEEL GUY

#khai come get ya juice #star wars #the clone wars #the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #captain rex #commander cody #arc trooper echo

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iikkeee · 2 years

Text

Driving || s. harrington smut

Steve Harrington x reader smut!

Warnings: unsafe driving (?), unprotected, dirty talk, slight hand kink, oral male receiving, fingering, overall just very much horny lmao

y/f/m= your favorite movie

A/n: I have like two more episodes of season 4 but I cannot wait to make some Steve content so enjoy this, I’ll probably be making more of him and possibly Eddie this week or so!! Also I apologize for any spelling errors and I’m sorry it’s a little shorter

_________________________________________________

You leaned on the counter of the Hawkins video store your face resting on your hands as you waited for customers. “You bored without me?” You heard Robin ask behind you as she jumped next to you, her arm wrapping around your shoulders “never” I replied laughing as she squeezed me. “Don’t have too much fun without me” Steve said looking down at the tapes in his hands swiftly placing them on the shelf’s “as if we could ever, dear mr Harrington” Robin replied doing a bow his way making him roll his eyes

“Ugh, why is nobody coming in?” you groaned “I thought you’d be happy with the lack of customers” Robin said her back leaning against the counter, her eyebrow raised “for the first time I’m surprisingly not” you replied sighing “for our busiest day this is way too calm” Steve said coming next your side “it’s almost closing time” Robin sang her hands up in jazz hands “speaking of which…y/n why don’t we hang out…. maybe watch a movie at my place?” Steve asked holding up your favorite movie in his hand, you scoffed snatching the tape from his hand “why should I?” you said leaning close to his face your noses touching “we can have some alone time, some peace quiet” he whispered hands resting on your waist “of course Steve” You said smiling “as if you could resist me” he teased giving you a quick peck, you giggled your arms resting on his shoulders

“Yuck! You guys are gross it physically pains me” Robin said covering her eyes “you’re just jealous” Steve said turning to her and sticking his tongue out “what of you shoving your tongue down y/n’s throat? No thanks!” She exclaimed as she grabbed her keys “anyways I’m going to head out, you guys should too” she said winking and shooting finger guns before walking through the doors. “Wow, she totally just made us close up by ourselves” you said chuckling “to be fair we did do that in front of her” Steve said sighing before grabbing his keys. We closed up quickly and went to his car, you slipped in the passenger seat “wow! Am I dreaming or am I sitting shotgun in Steve Harrington’s car!” You teased “haha, very funny.” He said rolling his eyes as he turned the key in the hole starting up the car.

You sighed as you heard the familiar music playing on the radio, glancing at him as he reversed in the parking lot. He looked perfect with his hair tossed and his shirt slightly raised, his slender fingers bouncing on the wheel. you gulped, your stomach starting to feel warm as you wondered how his fingers would feel in you needy hole “what are you looking?” He asked chuckling as he focused on the road “n-nothing” you replied stuttering before turning to look ahead, you tried to calm down you felt his hand come to rest on your thigh. You cursed internally hoping he wouldn’t feel the wet patch forming between your thighs, usually you would have no problem asking Steve to satisfy your needs or anything like that but knowing that you were in his car made you nervous.

His fingers caressed you thigh causing your legs to open and your skirt to rise up, your panties slightly visible, you shrunk in your seat slightly. He noticed and looked over to you curiously seeing your flushed face as he moved his hand closer to your cunt. “You could have just asked you know?” He said his hand gliding on your clothed cunt “shut up” you said hitting his shoulder. He laughed before moving your panties aside his finger running across your folds making you whimper slightly “you’re so wet and haven’t even touched you” he teased causing you to pout. He found your clit, rubbing circles on it mindlessly as he payed attention to the road. You moaned as you felt his finger slip between your folds into your hole. He moved his finger slowly causing you to whimper once more craving more, he placed another finger in, his slender fingers working skillfully as he started to go faster. You closed your eyes as you felt your stomach get warmer each time he thrusted his digits into you. You gasped as he moved his thumb on your swollen clit “shit Steve” you moaned, you hand coming to hold his in place forcing him to keep thrusting into you. You moaned loudly as you came, your walls clenching against his fingers.

“Shit” you cursed chuckling slightly, he moved his hand back onto his lap. You glanced to his pants seeing them get tighter, you moved in your seat slightly as you unbuttoned his jeans “y/n-“ he said glancing down at you “just returning the favor” you said before moving his briefs seeing his large member spring out, you leaned over more so that your head was right over his member. You licked from the base to the tip, before swirling your tongue on the tip tasting the precum on it. His breath hitched as he tried to focus on the road, you smirked before taking him fully gagging slightly from his size. You moved your head up and down using your hands to help get the rest of his member that you couldn’t get in fully. He groaned as you went faster, your head bobbing up and down as you felt him shift in his seat “fuck…” he cursed as his member twitched in your mouth, his white seed filling your mouth. You swallowed it as you moved back to your seat.

“Well shit…I’m surprised we didn’t crash” he said breathing heavily “tell me about it” you replied laughing. “We’re here though” you said looking outside the window to see his house “don’t think I’ll let you off easy” he said winking as he stepped outside of the car you followed behind him. He opened the front door hurriedly letting you in the house first before slamming the door shut. You turned around and before you knew it his lips were pressed against yours, his tongue moving into your mouth eagerly. You moved your hands into his hair moaning against his mouth, he held you firmly as your legs cradled his waist. He pulled away from your mouth before placing kisses down your neck biting and sucking on some parts before moving to your chest. You both quickly threw away your clothes, he moved to your boobs needing one of them as he sucked on the other. You moaned as he swirled his tongue around your sensitive buds, he moved to the other one giving it the same treatment.

His touch was intoxicating as he finally positioned himself to your hole, he looked at you for confirmation. You quickly nodded and moaned as he entered you roughly “fuck you’re so tight” he groaned as he moved quickly his mouth close to yours. Each of his thrusts were a powerful as the others causing him to get deep inside your cunt, his thrusts going to your g spot “Steve” you moaned as your boobs bounced up and down from the movement, your fingernails raked against his skin giving him scratch marks. He moaned as he felt it against his skin, “Steve…I’m close” you managed to breath out as you moaned countless times “me too” he said his head buried in your neck his lips moving to give you gentle kisses. “Steve!” “Y/n!” You both moaned out as you felt each other climax, you both breathed heavily.

He pulled out of you and your walls still clenched against nothing, “Well…that was nice” You breathed out “that’s an understatement” he replied before placing you down giving you a passionate kiss you returned it back and rested your arms on his shoulders “I love you” he said as he moved away “I love you too” you replied giving him a peck. “Can we watch y/f/m now?” He said his eyebrow raised “of course we can” you chuckled. You both cleaned up and you ended up putting on one of Steve’s shirts as you both cuddled up on the couch watching the movie with blankets surrounding you.

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class-1b-bull · 18 days

Note

OMG SO GLAD YOURE BACK!! <333

Could we get their fav carnival rides or what would they do there?

Not proofread we die like men

Awase - eat all the food and ride all the rides as quickly as possible only to inevitably get sick from the sugar and spinning rides mixed together.

Sen - he probably goes just to take aesthetic pictures like the ferris wheel at sunset and the neon lights of the games lighting up the street. He does spend a lot of time just hanging around the his friends and doing what they are though.

Kamakiri - hes only there because he was forced to by a friend. He refuses to ride any of the rides so he just akwardly waits for his friend(s) at the ride exits with a single corndog.

Kuroiro - most carnivals have that one ride thats haunted house themed or kinda scary (at least for kids its scary) and those are always going to be his favorite. He dosent care that they're kinda boring he loves them anyways

Kendo - i dont think shes very picky about what she does or likes at the carnival yk? As long as shes with people she likes hanging out with shes having fun. (She cant deny that she loves the food though)

Kodai - she probably prefers the cute little carnival games over the big rides. Not to mention shes surprisingly good at the games (even though theyre rigged)

Komori - she also prefers the games at carnivals over the rides but its mostly just because she wants to win the prizes. Shes not that good at the games though.

Shiozaki - she prefers the slower rides or the games over the really fast rides because she has a lot of hair that gets tangled really easily. Even the slow rides will get her hair pretty tangled if she dosent tie it up.

Shishida - Shishida stays as far from the carnivals food as possible simply because its all sticky or messy and gets stuck in his fur(hair?) And it takes forever to get out. He does prefer the fast rides over anything else at the fair btw.

Shoda - he'll say that the games are scams so he doesn't like them but the second he actually plays one of the games his classmates find out that he practically cant lose. He ends up getting asked to win prizes for his classmates but he dosent mind (he likes being helpful)

Pony - she is trying every food in sight. She constantly has her arms filled with different sweet treats and shes eating it all as quickly as possible in the ride lines because no food is allowed on the rides.

Tsubaraba - he likes the teacups. Ik its a ride made for kids but he forces all of the common sense kings to get in one of the teacups together so they can see how fast they can make it spin. (Yes they all get dizzy and sick afterwards)

Tetsutetsu - any ride that hes guarenteed to get sick on is his favorite. If it moves fast and has little to no safety measures in place he loves it lmao.

Tokage - shes tries to play as many games and ride as many rides as she can before the carnival closes for the day. She dosent really have a preference she just wants to do as much as possible

Manga - he dosent really have a favorite ride but he does prefer the rides over the games. He takes a little sketch book into the lines so he can doodle the things around him while waiting.

Honenuki - hes the type to not enjoy things as much on his own rather than with people. He dosent care what hes doing at the carnival as long as hes with someone he enjoys being around hes having fun. He will just do what the person hes with wants to do.

Bondo - he likes the ferris wheel. Something about the calmness of that one ride despite the chaos all around the rest of the carnival and the way it always gives the most beautiful views is just very nice in his opinion.

Monoma - hes going to act all smug about how the carnival games are a scam but hes so good that he will win anyways and then he loses so badly that its kinda embarrassing for him.

Reiko - Reiko dosent seem like the carnival type to me. So if she were to go it was because shes the bag girl. While people go on rides and whatnot she holds and guards their things until their done. She does like the food at carnivals in moderation.

Rin - he spends his whole time there silently looking at the weld jobs on the support poles for the rides and stuff and deciding to ride if its done well or not. He does like to freak out kosei by nerding out about how a bad weld job can cause the rides structure to fail (and awase obviously finds it hilarious while sen is a bit indifferent.)

Gif anime - dungeon meshi

#class 1b #bnha headcannons #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #kosei tsuburaba #rin hiryu #sen kaibara #awase yousetsu #juzo honenuki #shihai kuroiro #my balls itch #i have no balls #:(#i live rin hes such a nerd

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ecoamerica · 25 days

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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drabbles-mc · 2 months

Text

Once in Twenty Lifetimes

Takeshi Kovacs x Kristin Ortega

Written for the 2024 Candy Hearts Exchange!

Warnings: 18+, language, smoking/alcohol, light angst, slight steam

Summary: She had spent so much of her life making sure that she blended in, and she'd been successful at it the way she'd been taught. Now, though, it was all going to hang in the balance when the one other person left that knew who she really was, was getting spun back up. And of course he was getting spun up into the sleeve of her partner. (Envoy!Kristin AU)

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: i sat down thinking i was just gonna write a little something something for this au idea as a treat for the exchange but then i got super into it and fuckin carried away lmao. oh well! i had a good time! 😂

Altered Carbon Taglist: @garbinge @destinedtobeloved @justreblogginfics (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

“Takeshi Kovacs. Look me up,” he offered the statement to her with a smirk. It didn’t quite pass for charming, per se, although it probably wasn’t his intention anyway. From what she remembered, which was everything of their stint running parallel to each other thanks to Envoy’s total recall, that hadn’t ever really been his strong suit.

Plus she wasn’t in any mood to be charmed in that moment.

There were a million and one reasons that she shouldn’t have gone to seek him out. There were endless layers to the problems it could potentially cause. Bancroft selling out Ryker’s sleeve like a hand-me-down from an older sibling was bad enough, but putting Takeshi Kovacs into it? It brought the situation out of the realm of infuriating and into one of being unbelievable. Bancroft wheeling and dealing Ryker’s suit was a personal vendetta. Tak’s stack being put into it felt like a cosmic one. He should’ve been dead by now anyway. Same way she should’ve been, but a lot goes on in two hundred and fifty years, and clearly real death didn’t want anything to do with either of them just yet.

He said it, though. He confirmed it. She’d heard the rumors beforehand and there was an intuitive twist in her gut that told her there was some substance to them, but she didn’t want to believe it. He was looking her in the eyes and telling her his name and she still didn’t want to believe it.

“You can’t be who you say you are,” she said, partially to keep playing her assigned role but partially because she simply didn’t want to believe that it was really him. “All the Envoys died.” A lie. One that she would be living proof of even if Tak wasn’t.

“All except one,” he retorted easily.

Asshole. Another thing about him that had apparently stayed consistent across the centuries. What was it that he said to her back then? Every sleeve, every time? He wasn’t wrong about that at least. He was wrong about everything else, though. All except one? He’d been out of storage for five minutes and already felt comfortable making sweeping, definitive statements like that. Sleeve-jumping was a skillset they’d all developed, but still. That was a long time to stay down. And to turn up on a planet you’d never been to before? All that and over two centuries down and maybe she would’ve come off ice making the same grave mistakes. Maybe she could make his work in her favor. She just had to make sure that she could keep Takeshi and Elias separate.

She was so busy thinking about all of that, memories going in a relentless playback against the inside of her skull, that she almost didn’t realize that she was still talking with Miriam Bancroft. That part of her was on auto-pilot, or at least it was until she had to get herself the fuck out of there before she landed herself in even deeper hot water.

“Yeah, there’s your kid, there’s your car, and there’s your…” she thought on it for a moment, trying to pick something that felt honest to her feelings in the moment but would still feel like something Police Officer Kristin Ortega would say, not the woman she was back when Takeshi really knew her, “new pet terrorist. You’re welcome,” she added, mostly for good measure, but it also felt good to say it.

“The terrorist can hear you,” he spoke, just barely turning his head to follow her as she continued to walk, but not committing enough to the act to turn his whole body. “I’m standing right here.”

“Yeah, good,” she stared up at him, waiting for him to meet her eyeline, “’cause we’re not done, you and me.”

There was a moment when he was looking down into her eyes that she thought maybe he saw it. Maybe he saw the flicker of the person that he knew once, the person that she was back then. Dozens of sleeves ago but it was still her in most of the ways that mattered. Most, not all. He looked back and forth between her eyes and she waited to see recognition flicker in them. He’d always had that edge to him, after all. It got drilled into all of them during their training but there was something about the way that Takeshi was wired before he even became part of the Envoy core that made him take to it faster and better than most. She envied him for it back then, but maybe now they were more on the same playing field. Or they would be until he got his full footing.

Everyone thought they knew why it bothered her, but still they asked. They were probably hoping for some other nuggets of information, more vitriol about Bancroft and the rest of the meths maybe since she had such an outspoken issue with the lot of them. The rest of the precinct saw her anger and they assumed that it was all because of Ryker. Like she was a woman so simple as that. Elias was part of her frustration with this scenario of course, but the puzzle was so much more complicated than that. It was difficult in ways that she simply couldn’t risk trying to explain to any of them. All of the reasons that she feared Tak and the potential fall-out of him being taken off-stack, were all the same reasons that the rest of the precinct would no longer trust her if they found out the truth about her past.

She’d been born at just the right time, in her opinion. Born late enough to reap all the benefits of a stack, but early enough so that she could manipulate it easily to her benefit when she had needed to most. Data infiltration and manipulation was still easy when you knew the right people and had the right tools, but back then it had been so much easier. It also didn’t hurt that Envoys learned to be on the cusp of it all anyway. All of that was why she was able to wipe her entire past off the record, rewrite it the way that she had wanted to. She created someone who was just enough of a force that she wouldn’t have to water herself down too much, but it was dialed back enough to not get her put on a fucking watchlist. Or even worse, get her thrown into storage off the principle off it. They were all supposed to be masters of disguise, and it had served her well in the aftermath.

She sat in the precinct trying to play over every possible scenario in her head. She wanted to be able to see every possible outcome. If the two of them spent enough time running circles around each other, he was bound to figure it out, right? Figure her out? Eventually the fog would dissipate and he would see her. He’d see past the sleeve. There was no certainty for her in what she thought his reaction to it was going to be if and when that happened. Maybe she could get him thrown back in storage before she had to worry about it. Get Ryker back in his own sleeve. He was so much less of a problem on that front—all that time spent being partners and he still hadn’t even skated close to the chasm of truths that separated them. She hoped it stayed that way—it kept life simpler for the both of them.

Although if Takeshi got his sleeve torn to shreds in the midst of whatever this new deal with Bancroft was, she supposed that none of it would really matter for Elias anyway. What a mess.

She wasn’t surprised, to say the least, when she found him later, strung out and stumbling through the streets. It seemed pretty on-par for Tak—that specific brand of recklessness. For so many years she watched him equate the word Envoy with invincible even though they all knew that it wasn’t the case. It didn’t help that he wasn’t exactly known for his drive for self-preservation. Regardless, the drugs fell in alignment with the Tak she once knew, and she also knew that Ryker’s sleeve would soak them up like a sponge put into a pot of water. A disaster of a marriage.

“Bancroft spent all that money on a nice sleeve for you, and this is what you’re doing with it?” she asked sarcastically as she walked up behind him.

He turned around to face her, a stumble in his step that he was too far gone to even try and hide. “Didn’t think you’d give a fuck about me wasting Bancroft’s money.” He paused, eyes narrowing as his delayed processing caught up with the situation. “You’re following me.”

“Yeah,” she said with a shrug. “That’s what police do to psycho-terrorists.”

“Come on, you cannot call me that.”

He was stoned out of his mind on, well, it could’ve been just about anything. Or a combination of things. The longer that Kristin looked at him, the more she was certain that she could throw a dart at a board and it would probably land on something that he’d ingested since the last time she saw him. That wasn’t the point. The point was that he was stoned out of his mind and the reason that he was telling her that she couldn’t call him that was because he was being a petulant child, not because by calling him that she would be lumping herself into the exact same group. She knew that it wasn’t nearly that deep and yet she still found herself fighting the urge to flinch at the layers to the comment. Even if she hadn’t caught the physical reaction in time, she wondered if he would’ve even caught it with the state that he was in.

He wasn’t really paying her any mind as he tried to continue on his way. It was hard for him to come off as determined when he couldn’t think straight and he was in a place that he hadn’t ever been before. With each step she took to keep her stride with him, she was trying to separate out all the files in her head. She was trying to keep two neat piles, or even two messy piles if she was being honest with herself: one pile for Elias, and one pile for Takeshi.

She was just as much Envoy as Takeshi was—she could compartmentalize just fine for the most part. But it wasn’t often that she ran into the issue that she was currently facing, one that had so much overlap between sleeve and stack. She’d burned through so many sleeves back then, and continued to go through them albeit at a much slower rate even when she got out of the core. She’d watched others do it too, Envoys and civilians alike. But this wasn’t just putting someone’s stack into a new sleeve and needing to adjust to the new face. This was a face that she knew, the stack that belonged to it still fully intact somewhere in storage, and someone completely different occupying the real estate in the meantime. Someone else that she knew. And it wasn’t as though either of the men who made up the Venn diagram in her head were known for being uncomplicated individuals on their own let alone when they were tethered to each other.

She tried to toe the line with him, anything to get more information out of him. The pendulum swung back and forth between banter and sniping comments. It wasn’t as though either of them had any lasting impact on him. The comments rolled right off—either because of the drugs or the Envoy conditioning, she wasn’t sure.

“What was the other one?” she asked rhetorically as she downed her drink. “Oh, yeah. Icepick. I liked that one.”

“Yeah, that was a good one.” He looked over at her, a hoodedness to his eyes that would’ve almost come off as flirtatious if he’d been sober. “You should call me Icepick.”

She rolled her eyes, using it as a tactic to avert her gaze. “I never called you that,” she muttered, half under her breath.

“What was that?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as if to get a better look at her.

She looked him square in the eyes. “I said I’m not fucking calling you that.” She said it with enough conviction to sell it.

Another smirk, paired with hazy, drug-addled eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

The more that they fired back and forth, the more she wondered if it was possible that she had really changed that much. Apparent assimilation was supposed to be one of the key tools in their toolbox as Envoys, sure. But it was also hard to believe that she had done it so effectively that she was flying completely under Takeshi’s radar. It wasn’t humility—that was never her strong suit the way that charm hadn’t ever been Tak’s. It just didn’t seem to fit. There were so many things that seemed off about the entire situation, but she couldn’t quite name them no matter how much information she tried to pull out of Takeshi about Bancroft, about anything he was willing to give her.

Then there was a sharp sting in the back of her mind as the thought reared its ugly head. He should remember me. Her face scrunched, action unmitigated as she tried to beat the impending spiral of thoughts into submission—she couldn’t afford to lose herself to that right now.

He was already up and making his way towards the door. “I’m going back to my hotel.”

His voice snapped her back to attention. Shooting up out of her seat, she followed him. “You can’t really be staying in that fucking AI hotel.” She shook her head. “They’re like crazy ex-girlfriends, you know.”

He looked down at her as he adjusted the backpack on his shoulder. There was a smirk on his face, one that seemed slightly more intentional this time. “You know a lot about crazy ex-girlfriends, Ortega?”

She scoffed. “Probably not as much as you but—”

He cut her off, a shift in his tone, a seriousness that she could pick up on. “Give it a rest.”

She followed him clean out the door onto the sidewalk, trying not to let herself get discouraged by him ignoring her attempts to walk alongside him or, ideally, get in front of him to stop him. “Kovacs!” she called after him.

Without turning around, he waved at her over his shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll see you around, Officer Ortega.”

She huffed, allowing herself to stop. She whispered loudly to no one other than herself, “Fuck me.”

Takeshi didn’t hide the surprise on his face when she showed up to the hotel later before anyone else in the police department managed to get there. He didn’t get the feeling that she had just been lurking outside the door. If that had been the case, the scenario wouldn’t have played out the way it did, gotten as out of hand as it did. Or maybe it would have—he had no idea how she operated. But she strode in confidently, despite the worry and frustration on her face. She looked around and took in the state of the mess and Takeshi had no choice but to sit there and watch her do so.

“Couldn’t even make it twenty-four hours out of storage without killing someone?” she asked as she walked over to him, gun still clutched tightly in her hand even though it was pointed at the floor.

Poe tried to intervene on Takeshi’s behalf. “If it weren’t for—”

He didn’t want anyone coming to his defense, even when he could do with a little bit of assistance. “Waiting down the block for this to happen?”

She shook her head at him, finally holstering her gun once she was standing in front of him. “Might as well have been.” She looked around the destroyed lobby once more. “Had a feeling trouble was going to follow you.”

“Any trouble that would be following me,” he paused briefly as the red and blue lights of other responding police vehicles started to filter through the front windows and door of the hotel, “should’ve stopped being trouble a few centuries ago.”

She reached out and turned his face to get a better look at the damage, not hesitating to touch him, fingertips still drawn to his chin and cheek like it was still Ryker knocking around inside that sleeve. The tension that resulted from her touch, the momentary fighting against it, reminded her that it wasn’t, but it was too late to take it back.

“Seems like you might be enough of an asshole for it to follow you around for a couple hundred years, Kovacs.”

He grunted, pulling away from her touch, hating the way his sleeve wanted to lean into it despite how badly he was trying to recoil away. “Maybe.”

“Are you going to tell me what the fuck this was all about?”

“Thought you just told me,” he said, rising to his feet so he was towering over her once more.

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“Can’t help it. Every sleeve, every—”

“Every time, yeah. Your consistency is admirable,” she snapped.

His eyes narrowed, chin dipping down so that he could study her face. “What—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish his question. The other police officers came storming into the building, guns at the ready despite the fact that there was no more commotion coming out of the hotel. After all, it wasn’t as though there were other guests that were being disturbed. Once they all started taking stock of the situation, their guns disappeared back into their holsters as well. A few of them started peppering Takeshi with questions, although they didn’t seem as enraged about it all as Kristin had been. They stole his attention just long enough for Kristin to glean what she thought she needed from the scene and slip out without him noticing or being able to stop her.

Not only were Tak’s plans for the night effectively ruined by the men who stormed the hotel with every intention to kill him, now he also had Kristin’s words rattling around the inside of his skull like pinballs. She finished his sentence with no hesitation and what was bothering him the most was that he couldn’t say with absolute certainty if he said something while he was high out of his mind or not. He must’ve. There was no other way she would’ve known, no other reason. Or, at least, there would’ve been no other reason that felt at all feasible. The thought crossed his mind, but, no, there was no way that was possible. He’d had too many things happen to him too quickly after getting spun up again, that was all. Morning would come around and he’d had a perfectly good reason for all of it, one that didn’t make him feel insane.

The next time he saw her, she had the same air of confidence about her that she always did. He kept his expression neutral, not wanting her to know that he’d been turning her words over in his head ever since she’d spoken them. He tried to come off as impassive but he could feel the anticipation tightening in his chest, questions that he couldn’t ask and answers that he was in no position to get. He managed to keep his curiosity tamped down until he was dismissed by Bancroft’s lawyer, another situation that had more questions than answers.

He trailed Kristin out, taking no time at all to catch up to her. He was walking alongside her but he wasn’t looking at her. “Gonna need a couple minutes of your time, Lieutenant.”

She forced herself not to look at him either. “As much as I would love to give you a couple minutes of my time, Kovacs, I need to keep looking into who tried to kill you. You know, the thing that you asked me to do about two fucking minutes ago.”

He grabbed the side of her arm and pushed her into the next alleyway that they came across. She started to protest until she felt her back hit the brick wall behind her. He purposely invaded her space, bodies close but not quite touching. He looked down at her, not letting the anger in her eyes unnerve him.

She glared up at him. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“Who are you?” he asked, voice low.

“What?”

“Who—”

“I fucking heard you.” She pushed him away and he gave in, not that she pushed with that much force but he figured maybe it would help get some answers. “You know who I am, Kovacs.”

“No, I don’t. But you seem to know an awful fucking lot about who I am.”

She could see it in his eyes that he was skirting dangerously close to the truth. He would’ve already gotten there if he hadn’t allowed himself to put up a barrier of thinking that there was such a thing as an impossible outcome. Apparently being on ice for a couple centuries dulled the don’t expect anything so that you’re prepared for everything part of their training. Too bad Quell wasn’t around to chastise him for it—he’d undoubtedly enjoy it a lot more coming from her.

“That’s because it’s my fucking job.” She side-stepped, glad that he didn’t make any move to stop her. “Which, I’m trying to go do so that maybe you won’t have another group of mercenaries coming after you.”

“Not gonna keep following me around just in case?” He followed her. “What if—”

“Just call the precinct like everyone else in Bay City,” she told him dismissively.

“Right,” he replied with a chuckle.

Even though he couldn’t see the annoyed look on her face, Kristin was certain that he knew it’s how she looked anyway. “You work your case, if that’s what you want to call it. And I’ll work mine.”

She felt the distance between them growing as he stopped but she kept walking on. He called after her, a smart remark about seeing her soon. He was right, of course. Until they put Takeshi back in storage there was no way that she was going to be able to just keep avoiding him, not with Ryker’s sleeve on the line.

While she knew that there was no getting out of seeing him again, she certainly didn’t expect to see him before the day was out. She definitely didn’t expect him to show up at her apartment door, banging on the dense metal of it like he was a cop with a warrant.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Kovacs?” she asked, too tired to even sound properly annoyed.

“Found out some interesting news today,” he said, brushing past her and into the apartment without waiting for an invitation. He strode down the stairs, taking stock of the place as he went. “Some things that made the picture a whole lot fucking clearer on who you are and what the fuck you’ve been doing.”

Her blood ran cold for a moment. She went down the stairs slower than necessary, thinking maybe it was going to buy her some time. Tak was standing in the middle of the kitchen, palms flat against the top of the island as he leaned against it. His eyes kept darting around the room, taking as much of it in as possible, but they always came back to Kristin.

“I knew it,” he said with a shake of his head once she finally crossed the threshold into the kitchen. “I knew there had to be a reason you were so interested in all of this. And I was right.”

“Were you?” she asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as she could.

“Yeah.” He let himself return to a fully upright position, taking the few small steps to collapse the distance between them. He stared down at her. “When were you gonna tell me that they spun me up into your boyfriend?”

“Ryker is not my boyf—”

“What the fuck, Ortega?”

“What would it have mattered, hm? What would it have changed?”

“Well it would sure fuckin’ explain why so many extra people have it out for me. Can’t imagine cops with records like Ryker’s are exactly known for having a lot of friends.”

“Like I said,” she grit out, “it didn’t matter—wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Bullshit. You wouldn’t have cared about an Envoy running loose in your city if he wasn’t running around wearing your partner.”

He still hadn’t put those pieces of the puzzle together. Maybe finding out who his sleeve was, the relationship to her, maybe all of that was enough to sate his curiosity about why she was so invested in him. And sure, that was definitely a large part of it. The other part of it was going to make itself reckoned with sooner rather than later—Kristin could feel it deep in her gut. She could chalk it up to Envoy intuition but really at that point it was just common sense.

She paused those thoughts when remembered that she was in the middle of an argument. “That’s not true.”

“Wouldn’t be a priority of yours, though.”

“You don’t know that.”

He retreated farther back into the kitchen, rooting around to get his hands on something, anything that had alcohol in it. “So, what’s Ryker’s deal?” he asked, his head practically shoved into her fridge. “What makes him so special that you’ll run around the city to—”

“He’s my partner,” she said sharply. “It’s what you do for your partner.” She stepped so that she could lean back against the island. “Not that I’d expect you to understand that.”

“Why’s that?” he asked when he found a bottle of clear liquor on the counter. He opened it while he waited for her to answer, pulling a face when he wafted the scent of the alcohol. It’d still do the trick.

She couldn’t give her honest answer, one born from information about the people they were before. She watched him helplessly look through cupboards in an attempt to find a glass. She could’ve made it easier but she was getting a mildly twisted joy out of watching him go through the small struggle. “Being worried for someone else doesn’t seem like it’s your strong suit. Envoy compartmentalization, right?”

He finally found a glass, setting it down on the countertop with a surprising amount of care considering how tired and annoyed he was. He didn’t say anything as he proceeded to pour a hefty serving into it. Bringing the glass to his lips, he downed almost all of it in one go before setting the glass back down with a clatter, a scant amount of liquor still swirling at the bottom.

He let out a sharp exhale as the lingering burn from the alcohol in his throat subsided. “You don’t know anything.”

She wished she knew how to tell him just how wrong he was. Since she didn’t know just how to do that, she settled for, “You’re not as special as you think.”

He finished off what little was left in his glass, leaving it empty on the counter beside the bottle as he went back so that he was standing next to her. She was leaning with her back pressed against the island but he came and stood so that he was facing it again. Instead of placing his hands on top of it, he leaned so that his forearms rested there instead. He clasped his hands, staring at them instead of the countertop as he felt Kristin’s eyes studying him.

“Bet you didn’t talk like that to Ryker.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re not him, so I guess it doesn’t matter, right?”

He turned and looked at her. “Make it sound like it’s so easy to separate it out.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t say that.”

“Right.”

Despite the instinctive urge to make another snarky comment, he stayed silent. He unclasped his hands, letting his fingertips drum against the smooth surface of the island. It wasn’t a habit that was his own, just the sleeve’s reaction to nicotine withdrawal. He never personally cared for smoking, and if he thought that his stint in this sleeve was going to be a long-term one he would’ve thought about putting in the effort to quit. That just seemed like too much work for too little payoff at the moment.

Kristin heard the familiar tapping of his fingers before she turned to see it. She hated that Elias smoked, always chided him about it. And she knew that Tak’s draw to the nicotine was because of the sleeve, not because of any intrinsic desire. Because of that she was perfectly aware of the fact that she shouldn’t encourage him, but it almost felt like a freebie given the circumstances. She wouldn’t have to tell Elias—he’d never know if she didn’t say anything.

Without a word, she pulled a pack of cigarettes from the back of the top drawer of the island. Elias didn’t think she knew about it, not that it was any great hiding spot.

Takeshi looked quizzically back and forth between her and the pack of smokes. From the second he got spun up all she and everyone else had been doing was chastising him for smoking. It felt like a trick.

She gave the pack a slight shake. “If it’s offered, take it,” she said passively.

His eyes narrowed instantly, his entire body tensing. “What?”

“Take it,” she repeated, “before I change my mind.”

She watched the conflict on his face and chose not to say anything. If he had a question he could ask it, if he had a thought he could share it. But she was done trying to pull information out of him—Tak and Ryker. He was the one who showed up on her doorstep, after all.

“So when you said that I knew you,” he said as he reached and took the pack from her, fingers curling around it and the lighter pinned to the back of it, “you meant that the guy riding my sleeve before me knew you. That any reaction, pull or push, I felt about you had nothing to do with me and everything to do with Ryker.”

She watched him put a cigarette between his lips and spark it to life. She raised her eyebrows, partially because she was surprised by how much she enjoyed watching him do it, but also because she was surprised at how much work he was putting into finding the wrong answer.

Finally, she shrugged when his gaze landed back on her. She watched the smoke curl out from between his lips. “Something like that.”

“What was he like?”

Kristin ignored how he referred to Ryker in the past tense as she chuckled, wondering if he really had any interest in Elias at all or if he just wanted to try and glean something more about her by watching how she spoke about him. Regardless, she decided that she would indulge him in the smallest way possible. “You two would hate each other.” She knew what the follow-up question was going to be so she answered it before he could really ask. “You have the wrong things in common.”

He had an urge to try and get her to elaborate, but he stopped himself. Tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette, he tried to figure out what it was exactly that he really wanted to say to her. He could feel the energy rolling off her in waves. It wasn’t tension, not in the traditional sense. He could feel that there were layers of depth that he hadn’t worked his way into. She was keeping him out. He was stopping himself. He wondered how much of the blame could be put on her, how much of it on him, and how much of it was simply old sleeve memory complicating things for him.

“You must’ve really pissed off Bancroft to get him to do this,” he finally said, gesturing to himself with the hand that was holding the cigarette.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Suddenly the empty glass and nearly full bottle of liquor were looking much more inviting than they had been. “You don’t have a monopoly on pissing people off, Kovacs.”

“Stiff competition,” the rebuttal rolled off his tongue easily before he pulled another drag off his smoke.

“Enough years doing anything and you become a professional, right?”

“How many years is that?” he asked outright, forgoing subtlety because there didn’t seem to be much point to it anymore.

She looked over at him. “Enough.”

“Ortega…” he started and then trailed off. He was scratching at the walls of the truth, could hear it rattling around on the other side. He ground out the butt of his cigarette, funneling his frustration into the action before letting it drop from his fingertips.

“Takeshi.” It was only when she said his full name that she realized how long it’d been since she called him that. Using it to talk about him when he wasn’t around was much different than using it while talking to him. Centuries had passed since the last time she used it so casually with him.

He read it all over her face, too. He could see the way that it felt foreign and familiar all at once. It sounded familiar, too. There was something in the tones of the word, undercurrents in his own name that he recognized even if the voice was different. He stared at her intently, head tilting slightly in thought as he tried to look past what he could physically see. He heard her voice from the alley. “You know who I am.”

His eyes widened just slightly as the realization finally began to crash over him. When he spoke again, there was a certainty to his tone that hadn’t been there before. “Kristin.”

She’d been doing nothing but agonizing over what would happen when he realized who she really was, but now that she could see that he had, all she felt was relief. Her shoulders dropped with the lessening of the weight on them.

“That took you a little too long.” She peeled herself away from him, crossing to the counter where Takeshi had left his glass. She refilled it and drank from it herself. “Still got tunnel vision.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” His voice was tight, but there was still a lingering sense of bewilderment to it.

“Well for one thing I didn’t think it was going to take you so fucking long to figure it out.” She poured more liquor into the glass. She let out a quick, quiet wince as the liquor burned down her throat again. “They don’t know.”

He didn’t need to ask her who they were, or what exactly it was they didn’t know. His time off-stack might have been limited this time around but he knew the danger that being known as an Envoy would put her in. “None of them?”

She shook her head, contemplating a third pour. “None of them.”

“Not even—”

“I said none of them.” The relief was starting to disappear, dread slowly starting to take its place, and she poured herself a third helping to cope.

“You think I’ll say something.” It wasn’t a question.

“I think that there are very few things that you have ever cared about, Tak. I know that Bancroft definitely isn’t on that fucking shortlist.” She paused. “I know that I’m not either—never was.”

She looked over at him and she saw the way that there was a flicker of hope in his eyes when she said that last part. He knew she was right, that even back then she was never someone he paid much mind to. His concern had always been Reileen, and then Quell. Apparently a couple hundred years on ice hadn’t dulled his devotion to the latter. Kristin had a feeling that she knew what he wanted to ask, but she was content to make him actually say it.

To her surprise, he didn’t ask anything. “You haven’t heard anything,” he stated.

She shook her head. “No. But I’ve never gone looking.” She could feel the tension in the room thicken at that. “It was a miracle that I made it out. I wasn’t going to waste that by—”

“It wouldn’t have been a waste.”

“Not to you,” she snapped. “You were Quell’s favorite—of fucking course you would’ve gone looking for her. I was just another Envoy. Dispensable. Part of what was offered.” She sighed, forcing herself not to pour another drink. “I managed to survive so I did what we do best. I blended in.”

“Kristin Ortega,” he said her name in its totality, exploring each letter of it with fresh eyes and ears now that he knew who she was.

“Not a far cry from before, no?”

He shook his head. “No.” There were so many things that he could have, and probably should have, asked her, but in that moment he didn’t care about any of it. He easily collapsed the distance so that he was beside her again. He looked at the way her hands were wrapped tightly around the edge of the counter. He copied her position, only his grip wasn’t vice-like the way that hers was. Their pinkies nearly touched. “If we’d been better friends back then, would you have said something?”

That got a scoff out of her that dissolved into a laugh. “There’s no lifetime where the two of us are friends, Kovacs.”

“Not even in this sleeve?” It was teasing, but not cruel.

She turned her head, still having to look up slightly to meet his eyes even though he was leaning onto the counter. “The sleeve was never the problem.”

“This is probably my best shot though, right?”

She smiled and it was genuine even through the exhaustion. Maybe all the liquor was catching up to her. “Probably.”

Neither of them moved. In the thick silence of the apartment, they could each hear the other breathing. They knew enough to know where it could so easily go. It wouldn’t be anywhere good, at least not long-term. But what did long-term even mean for them anymore? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. There was that unspoken mutual understanding, after all, that they were each looking for someone in the other that they weren’t ever going to find. He might’ve been wearing his sleeve but Takeshi was never going to be Elias. And Kristin might’ve lived through the same hardships and lived to tell the tale, she might’ve known the history and the fight, but she wasn’t ever going to be Quell. They looked at each other and saw the truth, but they were both still pining after delusions.

Tak’s hand moved a fraction of an inch, the movement smooth as it caused his hand to brush against hers. She let out a short breath and he could smell the alcohol on it. Her lips parted slightly, like she was going to say something. Maybe she was going to say it was a bad idea, maybe she was going to send him home. Whatever she had been planning to say, he saw it in real time as it fell by the wayside.

She pulled her hand away from his only to reach and place it on the back of his head instead, pulling him closer. His body moved of its own accord. Some of it was just the natural motions of things, but there was also the familiarity of his sleeve and hers, chemical reactions that were innate that he had no control over. For a moment he fought it on the principle of it all, but then he felt the hunger in her, every movement of her lips and tongue against his a taunt to get him to reciprocate in kind.

So he did, grabbing her and placing her up on the counter with ease. She looped her legs around his waist as his grip tightened on her sides. He leaned into her, bodies pressed as tightly together as they could be with the barrier of their clothes still between them. If he wanted to, he could chalk his eagerness up to too many years on ice, an abundance of hormones in a sleeve that had been in the tank, body mechanics operating outside of his control. He could’ve said any and all of those things and none of them would’ve been a lie, per se. But as his hand slid towards the button of her jeans, he knew that the full truth was much, much simpler than that—they were both just taking what was offered.

#altered carbon #altered carbon fanfiction #takeshi kovacs #kristin ortega #takeshi kovacs x kristin ortega #kristin ortega x takeshi kovacs #candyhearts exchange #candy hearts exchange 2024 #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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delopsia · 5 months

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how much of the truck do you think Rhett has replaced over the years? (maybe the better question is what hasnt been replaced at this point) like do you think hes completely rebuilt the transmission and engine? is there a point that he will give up on it? or do you think hes the person that will say that as long as the seat is the same one its the same truck? cuz it isnt going to last forever because that truck is how old and its also been a farm truck all its life. regardless of what state we are all living in now its safe to say that the Wyoming winters have taken a toll on the truck in the form of rust and wear and tear. if he rusts through the frame (a death sentence for vehicles) will he buy the same make in model that has had an easier life and just take his transmission and engine (he just put those in less than 80,000 miles ago god danmit!!) out and put it into the one with the good frame. i think if he ever does throw the towel in on the truck hes going to keep the seat and put it in his room in the house because theres too many memories on that seat for the thruple

I am so happy that someone is asking me about the trucks because I have put so much unnecessary thought and work into them. But Rhett's truck... Jesus Christ, it is the bane of my existence. I cannot figure out what year it is, and it's been driving me up the wall, but I'll admit I've been using this sale listing as a reference.

I'm in trouble if this truck ever sells.

That old truck has close to 225,000 miles on it at this point; it's practically gone everywhere, and for some damn reason, it's still alive and kicking. Had about 100,000 miles when Rhett bought it, and he's driven it to all hell ever since.

He's replaced the front and rear wheel hubs three times now. Had to put in new ball joints, and rust essentially forced him to replace the transmission, fuel, and brake lines after a couple of years. Shortly after that, the transmission failed and forced Rhett to gather a few buddies to help him rebuild it. But it's been a lot of small fixes here and there, the forgettable things that take an afternoon, and that's it.

The old truck was built to last, and even though nobody is 100% sure where it spent its early years, it's been well taken care of. If there's an odd noise or it starts to act out of character, the problem is located and found within the week. It's always best to fix the issue when its small, rather than wait until it gets worse.

Trucks last on the Abbott ranch. Royal's vehicle is older than Rhett's, and it's still alive and kicking! I haven't done a ton of research into what Royal drives, but I think it's an '80s GMC C/K Sierra Classic.

Honorary comparisons.

Nifty how Rhett and his Dad both seem to have Sierra's, lmao.

Regardless, it's an old truck. If Royal's truck can make it, so can Rhett's

Unless it becomes a money pit that can't stand to run for more than a few hours at a time, then Rhett's going to be hanging onto it. He could replace the whole vehicle over the course of time and still believe it's the exact same truck. But if it does fail, he'd likely go with another older-model truck with a bench seat. Maybe not the same make and model, but he'd be happy to bring home another in a different color.

As of the "current time" in the story, the Sierra is living herself a nice little life in the garage. Her Pavement Princess era, if you want me to start sounding cripplingly Gen-Z. Rhett's new work requires a lot of trailer pulling and things that the Sierra just couldn't keep up with, which means a new truck!

In Whispers In The Dark, I vaguely hinted that Rhett left the Sierra in Wyoming for a period of time because he'd bought a new truck after moving out.

This was the truck!

A 2019 Ford F-350 that I picked out back in February and simply never mentioned to anyone 😭 it never made sense to mention the exact make and model, so it got reduced to "Rhett's other truck."

After the Sierra comes home, she gets to become the official date night vehicle, alongside Bob's. It's her only job now!

I haven't mentioned a ton about Bob's truck, but since we're already on the topic, he's got a 2021 Toyota Tundra in the color Midnight Black Metallic. I exclusively picked this truck for him because some models come with a front-row bench seat.

Who would have thought that I'd have so much truck lore 🧍‍♂️

#rhett abbott #bob floyd x reader x rhett abbott #hawthorn au #bob floyd

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fluffalpenguin · 6 months

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⬅[Prev] Day 3: Decks

@ygoc-week Day 4: Relationships

Like Day 2, some character introductions are included for context! (Image heavy post as usual)

relationship chart at the end of the post!

1. Fleur & Jackie (VS Hamelin)

The dazzling, dangerous duo of a heiress and a hitman-for-hire! Fleur was the one that gave Jackie her name, Jacqueline, from a romance novel she had been reading at the time.

Though they look like they share a standard master and servant relationship, the two are more like equals with a directional hierarchy. Partners-in-crime, if you will...

As a research student who's always struggling to get the Tops at her school to assist her in her thesis, Hamelin hates rich people for hoarding the very historical artefacts she needs for her research. With her Magikey deck and homemade gadgets, even state-of-the-art security systems don't stand a chance!

The next day after a failed heist at Fleur (after being foiled by Jackie), she bumps into him at the college. To her horror, Jackie learns her name, and from that day on seems to have decided that the two of them are now friends.

Jackie has no clue that Hamelin and the phantom thief are the same person, but somehow he constantly makes cryptic remarks that allude to such knowledge. It always sets off the wheel in Hammy’s head.

“Inviting me out for an outing after nightfall? Is she trying to get proof that I am the phantom thief by proving that the two of us can never be at the same place at the same time? But if I say no, then she has even more reason to suspect me! If I say yes, I’m playing right into her hands… Curses! A moth? More like a spider!” “(... She’s been thinking for a while now… Is she trying to think up a way to gently let me down? I feel a little bad… But I’m not giving up!)” <- innocently just wants to be friends

(The girl at the back is Jackie's childhood friend and unrequited-but-actually-requited crush, Eliza*)

2. Violentshipping Fuschia/Viol

In their clash during the war, Fuschia learnt the cruel reality of the dimensional war he was so happily participating in. He was to get a taste of his own medicine, but escaped his cardboard fate when Viol heard his desperate pleas about his siblings.

I'm slowly working on the specifics of their encounter but anyway here are bingo charts for the both of them filled by each other:

3. RGB trio (Fuschia & Abel* & Viol)

Fuschia thought he'd just have to avoid Viol for the rest of life as long as he worked at LDS, but little did he know meeting up with his old schoolmate, Abel, had a surprise in store for him... Their theme song is guy.exe by superfruit

4. Abel & Viol

After Abel defected to Xyz, the two ended up being in the same refugee camp. While they knew of each other's existence, they never spoke a word to each other for the entire war, only ever enjoying each other's silent company as they ate their meals in companiable silence. It was only after the war ended when they both returned to their 'spot' as a last hurrah of sorts that they finally exchanged names.

The two look stunning no matter the state they're in, and are often mistaken to be models. While they can be found hanging out at the most fashionable cafes in Maiami on the weekend, they'll also do the strangest things together, such as going fishing in the middle of a heavy storm.

arteeeeee omggggggggggg🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟👍👍 c079x BIG CATCH ‼️🎣🐟💯yall cray crayfish fr lmao!!! aluberenjoyer who took this photo

5. Fusion Mean Girls (Fuschia + Auvria* + Abel +α)

At any given day during a school day, Fuschia and Auvria can be seen sitting at the back of the classroom doing anything but paying attention, such as painting their nails. Despite that, if you were to call on them, they'd be able to answer the question with ease. This catches the eye of a certain Obelisk Force member...

On the battlefield, the pink-headed pair often play a game to see who can collect more resistance scarves in a given time limit.

6. Arte & Alcidis

In school, the two quickly became friends over a shared interest in the field of design. While Alcie would hesitate calling Arte a friend then, the loss of her comforting presence during the war made him realise how reliant he had been on her company. During the invasion, he writes many letters (diary entries) to her, knowing that she would want to know everything that happened. He doesn't actually give them to her when she's revived, because he's let himself be very vulnerable in them.

A handy dandy chart for an overview... (Not exhaustive because it only includes my own+1 ocs)

Things I wanted to draw but didn't have the time:

sillies trio meeting and their antennas reacting to each other

jackie vs hamelin rooftop duel

hamelin conducting a field study as jackie watches

post-canon alcie and arte hanging out

fuschia jackie vibing together

and a bunch of other combinations with my friends' ocs!! keels over

➞[Next] Day 5: Swap (Coming soon!)

(Note: * = OCs owned by @shinrei017)

#yugioh oc week 23 #pasu makes ocs #no prizes for guessing who my favourite child is #just kidding they're all my favourite #i have the pre-duel dialogue written down i just need to cook the mid/post one..............

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cloveroctobers · 1 year

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🌬️DECEMBER DRABBLES — 7. Johnny Coco Cruz

A/N: Merry Christmas Eve if you celebrate! & happy holidays to you and yours 🤍 This one might even be a short one 😱! I still plan on doing the whole 12 days of promptmas although Christmas is tomorrow but—you Christmas lovers celebrate until the new years right? Anyways here’s a little something for coco that’ll hopefully make you smile.

S/N: this was supposed to be queued until early tomorrow afternoon and I thought this got accidentally deleted and I was really about to throw a fit lmao! Just to realize it wanted to be posted today so this is brought to you guys early! Hope you enjoy this little thing 😬🫣 + GIF BELONGS TO: @thesewickedhands

PROMPT: #25. “I don’t care that you’re hanging up lights, get off the roof!”

WARNINGS: mentions of religion, drug addiction, & coco being hardheaded af.

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Why was the gravel ashy if Santo Padre hardly got any snow?

That was the main thing on her mind on her drive back to the house. Surely it would make sense if they lived in a climate where snow was common. Honestly it was a little aggravating witnessing this as the wheels rode over the pavement; she wished they were experiencing rain on this winter day to bring in some damn moisture for once.

As she approached the house, her large round eyes formed into slits as she noticed something on the roof of her home. She stopped chewing as she creeped the car along the sidewalk, getting closer to the cream-colored home.

Just to her suspicion she took in the frame of the long haired man crouched on the roof. Immediately her window went down as she leaned over the passenger side yelling, “Coco, what do you think you’re doing?”

He silently cursed to himself as he sniffed, flicking the buds of his cigarette, watching the embers float downwards before he proposed a question himself, “you’re back home early. Something go wrong at church?”

The woman snickered to herself, knowing that Coco took the opportunity of her heading out to church to do—whatever it is that he’s doing on top of the house. Church was something that called her every so often (she came from a religious background so it was not a foreign idea to her but after living on her own, she didn’t find a true place of worship like back home) and even brought coco with her a couple of times. He enjoyed the singing portion and often felt anointed by the soulful voices after his struggles with drug addiction, yet he did not enjoy the long sermons.

She was climbing out of the emerald green Volkswagen Beetle then, boots on her feet as they clacked against the sidewalk to stand a great distance from the house but directly in Coco’s line of vision. His ink eyes scanned over her frame, a black leather jacket he bought for her last Christmas, tossed over a v-neck cut bodysuit…but most importantly the aluminum pan she was eating from, right in front of his face.

“I lied,” she answered around the shredded beef quesadilla with a lift of her shoulders, “I didn’t go to church.”

Coco blew his smoke to the side as a small frown appeared in between his brows, “where you go then? Aye…Don’t they say lying is a sin?”

She fought against the wind chill that surrounded her body, flicking her hair back from her shoulders as she fired back, “and isn’t waiting for you girlfriend to leave to do whatever it is that you’re doing, sneaky?”

“What’s sneaky about hanging up lights for the house?” Coco suddenly dragged the line of lights from behind him, holding them up in the air for her to see.

She blinked, “uh…maybe waiting until no one is around to help you?”

“I don’t need any help, I got it.” Coco stubbornly replied, “just like you didn’t need any help, lying about your whereabouts dressed like that and coming back eating that shit right in front of my face.”

The woman’s plump lips scrunched up at the slight attitude she was receiving right now. It was evident that Coco felt like he was being nagged but all she asked was a simple question.

Only for his well-being.

Taking a deep inhale and exhaling she took a different approach, “Pilates. I was at Pilates, okay? Yes, I’m following the latest trend, I fear, and I don’t wanna hear nothing about it. I Wanted to try something new and it was cool for like thirty minutes until I learned each session is a hour and sometimes a hour or more.”

Coco scratched at his hair with the hand that held his cigarette. “The hell is that?”

“What?”

“Pilates, you said?”

“Oh, it’s a strength training exercise.”

Coco pushed out his lips and shrugged, figuring he would just look it up later online. He had work to do but at least she was being honest…until another thought occurred to him.

“If you were out exercising…why you eating something so oily?”

Now why would he say that?

Was Coco a nutritionist instead of a Mayan?

Coco could see from on top of the house that she didn’t care for that response. The flare of her tinted button nose almost made him regret saying it. He wasn’t trying to knock his girl for her eating habits, it was only a question, but it was clear the holiday season was giving unnecessary stress to them both.

He watched as she stomped back over to her car, snatched her cotton tote bag from the backseat and slammed the door shut. With her head held high up the air, she began strutting down the rest of the sidewalk to head up the path that led to the house. She halted as she realized she dropped her dusty pink leg warmers, bent down to shove them back into the bag, not without giving Coco her full ass to kiss and knew he would be watching, as she held up her middle finger in between her legs and up at her blunt boyfriend.

Just as she turned around he said:

“My bad—

He started, knowing that he pissed her off.

“I don’t care that you’re hanging up lights, get off the roof!” Was all she shouted throughout the neighborhood, he was sure if anyone was around, especially that nosy old man, Hector from across the street, he would probably be on Coco’s head about this.

The glare in her large round eyes and the pointing was all Coco needed to know they were in argument right now. However he didn’t have any words to argue with, so he stood up from the roof, cigarette back in his mouth as he now held the lights in both hands, silently stamping his claim. This motion was enough for her to get that Coco wasn’t going anywhere, he was going to do whatever he set his mind to.

“Okay, Johnny.” Was all she said, sending him a sweet smile that was anything but, before entering the house with a slam of the door.

Coco laughed to himself, peeking back over at his lady’s car noticing that she didn’t bother to roll the windows up, (it was supposed to rain tonight) she was so annoyed with him. He knew he’d do it later just in case the automatic windows decided they wanted to get stuck again but his focus were on these Christmas lights.

Coco wanted to decorate the outside, that’s all he cared about; since he never got the chance to do it growing up with the kind of mother he had…however he was slowly building a family and felt like this was something he should do.

So he did.

Hours passed to the point she forgot Coco was even outside as she got wrapped up in other things around the house. From showering, to putting Christmas tunes on while tidying the house some more, to switching on the Christmas trees lights and faux poinsettias over the mantle, she was finally sitting down on the couch, finishing her leftover lunch when Letty entered the house, searching for her.

“Hey, do you know coco’s hanging from the side of the house?” Letty questioned, “he told me not to say anything but—when do I ever listen to what he says?”

A smirk appeared on her lips then, which made confusion wash over Letty’s face as she watched her take her time slipping on her jacket and Uggs. The teen just raised her hands, not wanting to be bothered with what those two had going on as she began making her way to the kitchen. The girl halted in the hallway, backtracking, doe-eyes scanning the doorway to make sure that she was in fact out of the house, as Letty plucked up the last quesadilla, running to her bedroom.

A sigh left her lips as she stood into the much cooler evening air. Her arms folded against each other as she watched coco dangle from the side of the home by the lights that held him hostage by his ankle.

“Hey there stranger,” she started, to get his attention, “how’s it hanging? Any blood rushing to your head yet?”

“Fucking Leticia,” Coco muttered not wanting her to see him like this, “Can you get me down, mamita?”

“Oh, so now you want my help?”

“I don’t exactly have my gun to shoot this shit off. So yeah.” He lightly spun, hanging upside down like a bat in its cave.

She was positive he would have done something exactly like that if no one was around. It was just humorous to her that he was not only in his predicament over some lights, but he was the one giving her attitude for not wanting him to injure himself up there in the first place and now look at him.

The nerve of this man.

“Maybe I should leave you here until midnight.”

“I’ll probably be dead by then.”

“I hope not.”

“Mamita! Stop fucking around, please! I’m starting to lose feeling in my neck.”

She would be lying if she said that didn’t spark her heart rate a bit. However she still took her time walking fully over to him, one hand in her pocket as she slipped out her knife and swiped it around his ankle. Quickly stepping back she watched at the lights unraveled the man, sending him head-first right into the grass.

Coco laid there for a bit on his stomach, before he lifted his head some, long hair in his eyes as she watched him. “Thanks.”

“Mhm,” she kicked the grass before holding her hand to help the man to his feet. Her hands went to his skull next, fingertips pressing into the scalp beneath his shiny hair.

Coco melted into her hands then, as she gave him a massage in a attempt to help the headache he was probably facing now. His hands went to her waist, mainly to steady himself before he completely pressed his head to her chest.

“My bad,” He whispered into the orange frosted sky, “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings earlier.”

This she knew.

Yet coco didn’t receive a vocal response from her, she just held onto him like he wanted. They were both trying their best to heal from their own inner demons, so the couple knew they couldn’t take what was said personally.

So they’d blame it on the holidays for now.

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Continue along with my December anthology prompts here.

#mayans mc #mayans mc fx #mayans mc x reader #coco cruz x black! reader #johnny coco cruz x reader #johnny coco cruz #richard cabral #leticia cruz #Letty cruz #Spotify #coco cruz

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