#i took one look at this shitty sweater and knew David needed to be in it

[scrumpylikesthings]

David in a horrid alien sweater :3

Drawn by @momosweetpeach from their Patreon doodle requests. Absolutely recommend 83

[antique-teacups]

sunshine in L.A.

A/N: kind of an original character piece but also not entirely.  i just was having a great time writing! hope you folks enjoy!

word count: 3k

There was something about her twenties that never felt quite right, worn like a sweater a size to large. She watched as her friends floated from relationships and friendships seamlessly, while she felt caught. In what exactly, she wasn’t sure. Part of her hoped with time that feeling would fade, become background static instead of pumping along with her heartbeat. Going with the current, she did exactly what was expected of her. Attended college, albeit a community college, but college none the less. Part time work covered what financial aid wouldn’t, even scraping enough together to buy a beater car.

Time drifted on and the feeling stayed, haunting and hollow. Avoiding the problem didn’t lessen its size but it never grew. In the back of her mind constantly. Social media was the worst part, watching her friends flourish and flower, while it took everything in her to remain sane and present. Two years flew by in the blink of an eye and she were left with a tiny degree she was not sure she really wanted. When the opportunity did present itself, she knew it was one she could not possibly pass up.

She knew that even in L.A these demons could surface but maybe the constant sun could choke them out. Packing her meager belongings into the back of her car, she pointed it in the direction of L.A. Whether she actually ended up in the sunshine state wasn’t the point, but rather, it was to get out. Stop the cycle before it became the only focal point of her life. It took longer than it should’ve, she passed the days slowly. Each spent behind the wheel simply heading west.

L.A. was a zoo. She worked your way through the city with fascination and hopefulness. She was certain of one thing and uncertain of many. She hoped to write but was willing to do just about anything to make money. Well, just about anything, she still harbored some self-respect.

L.A. had of a way of worming its way into your heart, no matter how shitty people made it seem. Each self-respecting L.A citizen hated the city as much as they loved it. She found a decent studio apartment, managed to get a job as a barista quickly, and spent the first month slinging caffeine in the daytime and writing into the wee hours of the morning. Cash was always tight, considering she did live in one of the most expensive cities, but there was semblance of happiness. It was clawing it’s way in on the edges of her life.

The customers were not particularly strange, at least not always. There were a couple of memorable moments, but most days passed by in monotony. She knew customers by their orders, not names. These small moments between the register and picking up their coffee offered she a small window into their world. These hints they dropped left her wondering about their lives outside their order and these four walls. Who were these people who flocked to the shop like cattle to slaughter?

She certainly played favorites, every barista did, with both customers and coworkers. There were those who made the days a little brighter. The first was her coworker James. Somewhere in his twenties like her but an old soul. He came to work in sweaters, cooper rimmed circular glasses, and disheveled hair on the daily. He was welcoming and warm and chased away some of the darkness.

The two of them became instant friends. He would wait after work to hang out, get drinks on the weekend, and spend Sunday brunch complaining about his hangover. At first, she was confronted with the concern that maybe he was worming into her life in hopes of it ending in a relationship, but as soon as she met his boyfriend Scott, that fear was put to rest. In a way, she chose the two of them as family. She spent countless hours with them, at ease with the way things were.

In James, she confided most of her fears and a lot of her guilt. The backstory of her life surprising him but explaining the front she put up. Tragedy often bores the strongest soldiers. In the year she had been in L.A, James helped her pick up the pieces and put herself together, an unrepayable favor. Thanksgiving was right around the corner and she were destined to spend it with James and Scott.

“James, I’m running to the grocery store after work and if you play your cards right there might just be a bottle of Prosecco with your name on it.” she joked over the espresso machine, a sly smile on her lips. James and her always bantered at work, often to the amusement of the customers and other coworkers.

James matches her smile, “Oh honey, you act like I would actually need to play my cards to get it, I’ve got you wrapped around my finger.” He chuckles and turns back to the drawer. The day was getting late, closing time just mere hours away. She was practically counting down the hours till she could curl up on his couch and binge “New Girl”, the new obsession for the two of them.

“I like to pretend it’s the other way around, but I would admit you are right, James. But besides that, anything else?” she asked, hardly looking at him. There was unspoken communication between you two most days, a glance could tell a story. “I was thinking pizza this fine Wednesday night. But I’m certainly open to suggestions.”

“And break the Wednesday night pizza tradition, how absurd!” James feigns hurt, a hand over his heart and concerned expression painting his face. “The table is already set, we can’t go making changes now, silly girl.”

“Then pizza and prosecco it is. Perfect.” She giggled and sent a curt nod in his direction. The entire conversation was an open invitation for him to change the plans, but he never did. Wednesday night was always reserved for the two of them. They devoured pizza and whatever show they were working on. It was sacred to them both.

The rest of the day passed quickly, the sun just barely setting when she and James locked the shop doors. A brief hug and a quick exchange of words and the two of them were off in opposite directions. A pit stop at the grocery store and then to James’ place. He would order the pizza in, as per tradition. Tasked with grabbing the drinks and whatever bits she needed, she would be to his place shortly.

Her car sat tucked in the back lot, warm from sitting in the sun. Cranking the window open once she had climbed inside, turning on the radio, she set off to the grocery store. It was smaller than most that scattered around L.A, which is why it was her favorite. She did not have to fight the yoga obsessed mothers to get through the aisles or hope the hipsters didn’t pick through the all the good stuff before she got a chance to be there. The old man, who she assumed owned it, knew her by name. Often, he would gift products just a day out of date to her. He did save your ass more than once.

“Charles, what’s the good word for today?” She asked, swinging the door open and nabbing a basket.

Smiling, he gushed, “I beat the finalist in Jeopardy today, but I’m here and he’s there,” shrugging he went on, “I put some of those cookies you like in the back, they went out of date yesterday, Dandelion.” Charles had been using the nickname since she had started coming here. She was totally convinced he had to be her guardian angel. When she asked him where it came from, his response surprised her. “Like the weed, you always come back. You are full of fire and strong. I can see it.” She felt partial to this grocery store. She ended up here for a reason.

“Great, I was craving something sweet all day. Remind me, I have got something for you in my bag before I go. Don’t worry, nothing poisonous.” Jokingly she added.

Charles had a love for Jim Harrison. Often when she was browsing at old bookstores or garage sale’s she would stumble across one for him. He probably owned nearly every single book published by Harrison, but always acted thankful and surprised when she presented him with another. She wanted to make sure he knew how much she appreciated him in a way of more than just saying thank you.

She scanned the aisles looking for the familiar packaging of her favorites. She hardly noticed the boy till she had practically run into his back.

“Another one in Charles good graces, a rare species.” He teased.

Chuckling, “That must mean there are people on Charles bad side, which I highly doubt.” He was home strung, as far as she could tell. Clean cut and not looking for a lot of attention, judging by his all black attire. “I’m assuming you’re one of the lucky ones, too.” She implored.

“Thankfully, I have managed to make my way into one of his chosen few. Even without it, I would still come here. This is the only grocery store where I don’t have to cross my fingers and hope all the good stuff isn’t picked over. Charles seems to have a force field to keep this place hidden. Certainly, the best kept secret of L.A.,” he pauses, searching your face, “you work at the coffee shop on Sunset, Eight-Fold Coffee, right?”

“Guiltily is charged, Mr. iced latte with almond milk,” tapping your temple, “steel trap. I only know people’s drinks, not their names, sorry. I was wondering if you looked familiar or if it was just the lighting.”

Extending a hand, cheekily responding, “David. The name’s David Dobrik, or iced latte if you please.”  His smile was easy and charming, you couldn’t help but stare. His entire posture oozed ease, you couldn’t quite decide if he was trying to flirt or simply be friendly. Of course, that wonderful friend called self-doubt started to crawl its way into your chest, so it was time to go.

Flashing him what you hoped was a friendly parting smile, “Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N. It was nice finally meeting in more than just an ‘iced latte with almond milk’ kind of way. I’ll see you around. I have promised the roommate a night in and if I don’t come through, the world might stop turning.” Turning on her heel, tossing David a small wave, she headed for the register. All the things she needed forgotten.

She set the single bottle on the counter and wait for Charles to ring it up. Silence elapses, you lost entirely in your own thoughts.

“Dandelion?”

“Huh, what?” she missed what he asked, cheeks flushing at him catching her in dreamland.

“Lots on your mind today?” Charles inquired, a knowing look on his face.

Smiling and rolling her eyes, “I respect the fishing for a morsel of mind but maybe when inquiring minds aren’t near.” she winks. Digging in your bag, she pulls the book for him, Returning to Earth, out. “I found it at a garage sale this weekend and thought you could add to your collection. But this one, is to expand your horizons.” She pulls The Pleasures of the Damned by Charles Bukowski out. “I’ll need it back but keep it as long as you need, I know where to find you. See you around Charles.” She pays and get ready to go, sneaking one last glance in David’s direction. Grabbing onto her bag with the prosecco and cookies tucked in, she heads for the doors. One last look to the aisles and she can see David still tucked amongst them, scouring for something in the sea. A shake of her head and she is out the doors.

Tossing the bag in the passenger seat, she meanders down the streets towards James. A stampede of thoughts about David comes and goes. It was just mutual acknowledgement that the two of them did in fact kind of know each other. Yet, she found herself wondering if she should tell James about him, see if he had any insight on the guy. The thought felt foolish considering it was just a run in at the grocery store, nothing more.

Charles knew more about her then he let on. He knew her heart was kind but had been through a lot, he knew you were loyal and strong, but he knew also knew when her heart would tell you who to let in. David did not need much from that grocery store, mostly some alone time. His inquiring mind also wanted some more information on the barista who stole his breath away. As he left that day, Charles told him something he would carry with him for a while. “People like her, they guard their hearts, but hers is golden. It won’t always be shut.”

Opening the door to James and Scott’s apartment, she could smell the pizza. Her mouth was already watering. James rounded the corner into view between the small kitchen and living.

“I was beginning to wonder if you bailed.” He poked.

“On you, never.” Rolling her eyes.

“I am almost flattered.” He made for the bag in her hand, noticing the cookies right away. “Charles treats you like your one of his own grand kids. One of the people placed on that golden list.”

“About Charles coveted list, I ran into a guy from the coffee shop. David? Iced latte with almond milk, dresses like an unemployed ninja. Do you know anything about him?” She asked trying to keep the hopeful tone from her voice.

James searches her face before continuing. “A sudden interest in a customer, more like prominent interest. I’ve noticed the favorites you play with him.” He flashes you a joking grin. “I don’t know much about him honestly. I’ve heard whisperings from the other baristas that he has some youtube channel, not much else. He seems nice.” Bumping his shoulder with hers, “It wouldn’t hurt if you tried to be friends with him. It’s not a crime to branch out. I would not be insulted if you did. I worry that maybe you don’t because I take up a lot of your time.”

“Certainly not, you take up a perfect amount of my time. I just, remember how hard it is for me to be friends with people, I guess. I am a lifelong hermit. Plus, if he’s doing that whole ‘social media career’, he might not be the kind of friend I want.” Socializing was never her strong suit and if David’s preferred choice was blasting his life across the platforms, maybe she would take a pass.

The two of you vegged out on the couch way past what was a reasonable time, both scheduled to open tomorrow. He was on her mind all night, the little she knew about him had her mind doing circles. He seemed innocent enough, a good guy if Charles liked him.

 The sun shown through the windows all morning, bringing a warming light to the coffee shop. All day you hoped he would pop in, yet, it went unanswered. Clocking out, she nabbed her notebook and a mug of coffee, making her way to the bank of windows along the window. She tried to keep her mind from wandering, yet it seemed impossible. Perhaps she scared him off.

“I figured you were a writer. Nobody suggests poetry books, Bukowski especially, unless they are a writer. Or terribly sad, but judging by the notebook, I’d say the first.” David said, standing next to you bathed in the afternoon sun. He looked as though he just woke up but in a delicious way. His hair was messy and his eyes warm. She could not help but bath in the light emanating from him.

A small smile spread on her lips, “You’re a fan?”

“I saw it on Charles counter on my out yesterday. A simple Google Search did the trick. Guy seems kind of dark for you.” A blush plays on David’s cheeks. “I was hoping to run into you today. Listen, me and my friends are going to this party tonight, would you be interested?”

“Uh,” glancing behind the counter you see James shaking his yes vigorous, “sure, why not?” It seemed in David’s presence, the hole in her chest seemed to lessen some.

[captcas]

Worth Fighting For

WORTH FIGHTING FOR by capthamm

Killian “Hook” Jones is a dominate up and comer in the UFC while Emma “The Savior” Swan’s career was cut short. When Hook’s manager moves up and the office brings in UFC’s youngest legend to keep him in check, will either of them be able to handle it?

read on ao3 // tumblr: ch 1/ ch 2

[CHAPTER 3/?]

Saturday night brings their monthly movie/game night and Emma has never been more grateful for a distraction. Ruby and the Nolans will come over around 6 o’clock and Henry is practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. Tonight’s theme is Star Wars and this will be Henry’s official introduction to the series; at David’s insistence they’re starting with A New Hope and going release order from there. They’re also going to play Star Wars trivia which Henry will undoubtedly suck at.

Should be a fun night all around.

And it was, until Henry went to bed and the “adults” got to talking.

Ruby cracks another beer and turns to Emma, “So, Emma, you’ve got probably the coolest new job in the world and you haven’t said jack shit.”

She shoots Ruby an icy glare as David and MM stop bickering over whether or not Kylo Ren deserved a redemption arc to hear what Emma has to say.

Emma sighs, “It’s going alright. All the onboarding is underway and between the perks, benefits, and pay, Henry should be set for life.” She’s been fortunate to live off her winnings for the past nine years, being mindful of money and not giving into the lifestyle of frivolous spending many fighters take on, but -even her friends know- she doesn’t have a money tree.

The looks on their faces when she mentions Henry being set for life could melt 1000 Olafs. When she arrived at Ruth Nolan’s home at the age of 16, she never expected to find a family. Hardened by a life too lived for anyone her age, Emma assumed they’d be like every other foster home and use her for the money. To this day, she’s never been so happy to be wrong.

Emma’s not sure what twist of fate landed an orphan with such a great support system, but she’ll be forever grateful. David took to the “protective brother” role immediately. Soon after Emma moved in, he met Mary Margaret (fireworks and butterflies and all that mumbo jumbo) who introduced them to Ruby. They’re small, and maybe a bit scrappy, but they’re family.

She breaks out of her thoughts and returns to the present, “I will need some babysitting though; I’m required to attend each of my client’s Fight Nights. But overall it’s great, really!”

She hopes she squeaked away without having to mention Jones at all but the glint in Ruby’s eye tells her otherwise. “Ok that’s all fine and dandy,” Mary Margaret shoots Ruby an incredulous look, warning her to tread carefully, but Ruby ignores her and continues, “but who’s the client?”

David is giving her a protective father vibe, Ms is practically vibrating, and she's pretty sure Ruby is salivating. Emma sighs realizing she shouldn’t postpone the inevitable, “Killian Jones.”

Ruby practically drops her drink and Mary Margaret squeals, David rolls his eyes and turns back to the TV where SportsCenter has been playing in the background. Mary Margaret beats Ruby to the punch, “THE Killian Jones?! As in Killian “Hook” Jones?!”

Emma nods, standing up to refill the only slightly empty chip bowl in front of her. She knew this was going to happen and she wasn’t exactly looking forward to her friends thirsting over her client– client… right.

Ruby speaks next, “Well that is probably the best case scenario. Do you think he can get us tickets? Have you met him? Is he as gorgeous in person as he is on TV? Can we meet him?”

Emma, now glad she’s in the kitchen with space to breathe, is starting to feel a bit overwhelmed. She knows Ms can sense it and is unsurprised when she speaks next,“For Christ’s sake Ruby let her breathe. She’s probably only had her initial meeting with him.”

Ruby seems to get the hint and it doesn’t take long before Ms is in the kitchen helping Emma pick up the leftover pizza, “We’re happy for you, Emma. He’s a huge client for them, they obviously trust you to do a good job.” Emma nods in thanks and they both head back into the living room. Her sister-in-law’s warmth always calms her (and Ruby) down which allows David to jump in and change the subject to the coverage of some football player’s arrest on SportsCenter. Emma finally catches a breath and realizes just how lucky she is for the friend dynamic they have before settling in to debate if this James Spencer kid should still be eligible for the draft.

As she lays in bed that night, Ms’ words ring through her head. Despite the rollercoaster of emotions she’s been feeling, Killian is a huge client, one that was formerly represented by a namesake for the company. This re energizes her a bit and helps her fall asleep, actually excited for what's to come.

She wakes up Sunday morning and makes Henry some pancakes and declares it a lazy Sunday. Henry happily obliged, cuddling up on the couch with The Deathly Hallows while Emma threw on some shitty reality TV.

. . .

When her alarm rings Monday morning, Emma pulls her pillow over her head like some teenager from one of those Disney Channel movies.

It takes her a second to remember what day it is and why she’s up at this godforsaken hour.

Killian Jones. Right.

She audibly groans before rolling out of bed and getting ready for the day. Between her shower and breakfast she gets Henry up. School starts at 8 so he’s technically running a bit behind but he’ll make it on the bus in time… hopefully.

She’s pouring him a bowl of cereal when he comes out of his room zipping up his sweater and rubbing his eyes.

“Hey, kid. Coco Puffs or Fruit Loops?” He mumbles some semblance of what she thinks is Fruit Loops so she pours the bowl and slides it across the kitchen island. He smiles in thanks as she pours her own bowl and sits beside him.

“So today’s the big day?”

She didn’t tell Henry about her new client and when she spoke to the Nolan’s and Ruby, he was definitely supposed to be sleeping. “How could you possibly know that?”

“You’re not as quiet as you think you are and I’m not as tired as you think I am.” He yawns as if to punctuate his point.

“Uh huh, sure, kid.” He gives her a knowing glance and she realizes she’s not getting out of this. She runs her hands over her face and sighs, “Yes, today is the first meeting and I’m only slightly nervous to fu— screw this whole thing up.”

Henry chuckles at her attempted censorship (she never said she was a perfect parent), “You’ll be great, Mom, and Hook seems like a decent enough guy. I’m sure he won’t give you too much trouble.”

She stares at Henry a bit dumbfounded. It shocks her everyday how old he’s getting– nine going on nineteen for sure.  “Are you hiding some Weasley’s Extendable Ears in your room or something? Are you a wizard? Should you be at Hogwarts?” Emma is very obviously trying to derail this conversation but it works, setting Henry off about how he’s finally on the sixth book and explaining the concept of a horcrux.

Oh, her sweet summer child.

God, maybe he is old enough for UFC.

When did that happen?

She ushers Henry to the bus, promising him they’ll watch the sixth movie tonight if he finishes the book today and is to school on time. It’s only September and he can’t be late three times in the first month of school. She kisses his forehead and he wishes her good luck.

Sometimes she wonders how such a screw up ended up with the perfect kid.

After cleaning up the kitchen, Emma finishes getting ready. She jumps on the subway and finds herself at the office with a half hour to spare. She’s never early so she chalks it up to nerves and uses the time to prep for this meeting.

Over the weekend she received multiple emails from Gold’s team surrounding a possible spot for Killian on the card for the pay-per-view Fight Night in November.

A pay-per-view card. She did enough research about Killian this weekend to know that would be his first.

Emma feels like she’s been thrown into the deep end before being taught how to swim.

Go big or go home.

She did a lot of research about Killian and learned practically nothing. She knows he came here from London almost ten years ago and that his team includes his head trainer Robin (husband of now former manager Regina Mills), and three other men named Will Scarlett, August Booth, and William Smee (he’s really selling it with that whole Hook theme). Other than that all she found was his record and highlights. He’s 6-0 which is insane for only being in the circuit for a year and a half– fighters are usually limited to three, maybe four fights a year.

4 of his 6 are knockouts.

He’s good… really good.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a light tapping on the edge of her cubicle. She glances up to find none other than the man himself. She can’t help but double take.

Real professional, Emma.

She's only ever seen him in the ring, at the gym, or dressed up for a business meeting. She’s not sure what she expected, but a leather jacket and pants that fit him like his own skin definitely weren’t it.

He looks good… really good.

Emma snaps herself out of it, “Hi, Mr. Jones, just give me a moment and we can head to the conference room.”

“It’s Killian, love, please.” She notices he winces at the seemingly habitual pet name. Emma ignores the ring of disappointment that runs through her gut at the realization that it may not be reserved for her. “A conference room’s a bit formal, don’t you think? Let’s get out of here, Swan.”

He grabs her hand before she can answer. “Mr.— Killian. Is this allowed?”

He chuckles. “We can plan the meetings at our leisure,” he says the last bit in an almost scary imitation of Regina, “but even still, Regina and I never met in office. A bit silly for two people to take up an entire conference room, yeah? Come on, lass, try something new. It’s called trust.”

Emma rolls her eyes but follows along anyway. The elevator ride should’ve been awkward but Killian kept the conversation flowing by asking her preferred drink. “Coffee, tea, or smoothies?”

Despite the risk of sounding like a child, Emma finds herself being honest with him, “Uhh, I actually prefer hot chocolate… with cinnamon.”

He smiles brightly at her, as though her drink order was the most brilliant discovery this century, “Perfect, Swan. I know just the place.”

She was so swept up in his ambush, she doesn’t realize that this isn’t the cocky, asshat Killian Jones she sees on tv or at the gym until he’s practically dragging her across the street to a small cafe. This Killian seems genuine and carries this almost childlike excitement.

Emma tells herself she has no interest in learning more about this Killian.

(Emma doesn’t have to tell herself that that is complete bullshit.)

. . .

He can’t stop himself from beaming when she offers up her drink order without hesitation. Killian feels like a bloody teenager around her. He promised himself he wouldn’t feel this way again, but something about Emma Swan has completely entranced him.

He finds himself fascinated with every part of her, including the small things, like the fact she takes cinnamon on her hot chocolate.

Once they get to the cafe across the street, Killian forces himself to dial it back. He can tell she’s guarded and as much as he’d like to be friends (more than friends) with the lass, he knows business has to come first.

It wouldn’t exactly be a good look for him if he ran “The Savior” out of the office on her second day.

Somehow he thinks he doesn’t have that power.

He’d like to. (Obviously not to run her out of the office, but he’d like his existence to mean that much to her.)

Bloody hell, he's being ridiculous.

They sit down across from each other at a small table by the window. He expects to start the conversation but before he can form a coherent thought she’s speaking.

“So, Killian. I’ve already received some correspondence from Gold’s team. I’m not sure how much time you usually take between fights and I know it’s already the end of September but…”

She’s rambling and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anybody so adorable when they’re nervous.

Adorable is not a professional descriptor.

Killian Jones doesn’t want “professional” with Emma Swan.

Fuck.

“...Gold is hoping to get you on the main card for November 14th.”

Did she just say main card?

He chokes on his coffee.

“Main card, Swan? I’ve never been on the main card. Strictly early prelims…”

She eyes him suspiciously, “Usually that’s a good thing. Upward momentum and all that. His team is clearly impressed by your dominant record.”

“Is his team the only one impressed?” The flirt escapes him before he can stop it.  

Bloody idiot.

She doesn’t even bat an eye, “The entire league seems to be impressed, Jones.” Her tone tells him she knows what just happened but she shut it down immediately.

He likes a challenge.

Emma Swan may be his favorite challenge yet.

Emma Swan is off limits, but Killian will be damned if he cares.

. . .

Emma is surprised when Killian pays for their drinks despite her insistence that she can charge it to Mills Management. She’s also surprised by how nice he is.

She keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She’s still waiting.

He’s definitely flirtatious, every other sentence being easily twisted into some sort of innuendo, but she can tell it’s a front. The little things he does like tipping the barista an extra fifty cents or holding the door for her, let on to the man behind the persona.

Well, and the fact he practically chokes when she tells him they want him for the main card.

He seems genuinely shocked that anyone would be impressed by him. His mask comes out almost immediately, another innuendo laced into his question. She doesn’t let him go there, shutting it down as quickly as it started. For this to work, she needs him the real him. Not the cocky MMA fighter who he used to catch the eye of UFC execs. She compliments him, and it’s beyond genuine. That seems to calm his nerves a bit as they move into social media management and he shifts into a professionalism she’s not entirely prepared for.

She’s not sure she wants professional Killian Jones.

Whoa, Emma, pump the breaks.

She shakes it off as she watches him take notes on what she’s saying about the importance of a lead up on Twitter and how it can set the tone for the entire fight. His tongue runs along the inside of his lower lip as he concentrates and she can’t help the overwhelming wave of attraction that hits her.

Like lightning.

It’s not just the tongue, (but that’s not helping) it’s his dedication to this sport and how he actually gives a fuck about what she’s saying. Killian never displayed even a hint of the deeply rooted misogyny that runs rampant throughout the industry. He actually seems almost humbled by her presence. The words escape her mouth before she can’t stop them, “Why are you actually taking anything I say seriously?”

Very professional, Emma. Way to instill confidence in your client. Smooth.

His head snaps up at her abrupt question and he looks confused. “I know you don’t like being called a legend, Swan, but you were a damn good fighter. If I walk out of this partnership with half the following and success you had, I’d call that a win.”

She’s stunned by his sincerity.

Brick. Wall. (She thinks she hears Pink Floyd somewhere in the distance.)

“And I suppose you think you know all about me from our, what, three conversations now?” She knows it’s snippy, that’s the point.

He stops typing and puts his phone down. “Pardon me, love, but you’re a bit of an open book.”

Emma scoffs, “Anyone with the internet knows I prefer people don’t call me a legend.”

“Aye, but do they know it’s because you feel too young with a career too short to have made an impact? That you feel choosing yourself, a life, over MMA removes all glory from your name?”

Emma is entirely shaken by his apparent ability to read her like a fucking picture book. (Does that even make sense? Do you read picture books?) Emma never had a formal retirement ceremony; gloves in the middle of the ring and all that. She had asked Gold to be taken off the roster and for a quiet exit and that’s what he’d given her. The public doesn’t know the real reason she left MMA, her attempt at keeping Henry’s life as normal as possible, but somehow Killian–

Brick. Brick. Brick.

“Let’s talk about Instagram.” She sees the disappointment sweep across his face, realizing she can read him pretty well too. That’s terrifying.

Way more terrifying than social media plans.

They keep it strictly business for the rest of the meeting. She’s startled when her stomach rumbles and she checks the time.

12:00. They’ve been strategizing for three hours.

She’s not sure where the time went, and when Killian asks her if she wants to grab a bite to eat together, she’s startled again by her initial gut reaction to say yes.

Obviously, she says no and makes up some lie about needing to get back to the office. He knows it’s a lie, she can see it all over his face. He doesn’t push her though, and she’s grateful. They set their next meeting and Emma’s heart speeds up, seemingly unaware that this is a business meeting and not a date. She shakes his hand and promises to have a full plan ready for Thursday before practically sprinting out of the cafe.

In three conversations Killian Jones has gone from asshat to… who knows. One thing Emma does know is that Killian Jones is off limits to the highest of ethical degrees. But what scares her most, is that she’s not entirely sure she cares.

. . .

As soon as he asks her to lunch he knows he’s pushed too far.

Actually, he perhaps pushed too far by letting on just how easy it was for him to read her, but lunch, well that was just asking for a brick wall. He runs his hands across his face, completely taken with someone he has no right to. She’s witty, smart, and could probably kick his ass— scratch that, could definitely kick his ass— but she also has demons, he can see them swimming behind her eyes. Demons that seem scarily similar to his, maybe not on the surface but definitely in their damage. Emma is raw and unapologetic; a real human being who is, for all intents and purposes, unimpressed by the suave persona of Killian “Hook” Jones.

She’s bloody perfect.

He’s fucking fucked.

Eloquent.

Killian decides to grab a quick lunch from the cafe and head to the gym. He has a lot of pent up frustration and really feels the need to punch something. Thank god that’s his job. He scarfs down his sandwich, not realizing how hungry he was and jumps on the subway to the training center. He miraculously finds a seat and is able to scroll through his phone a bit. As he pokes around Twitter he finds an article announcing Emma “The Savior” Swan’s comeback to the UFC. He clicks on it, curiosity getting the better of him despite probably knowing the gist of the article.

He didn’t expect a timeline of her very impressive career:

2008: Swan joins the UFC with her Boston gym. Her debut match against Aurora Rose ended in a TKO. She’s back in action six months later fighting Ella Tremaine. She wins again, this time after three rounds by split decision.

2009: A dominant start to the year for The Savior with a first round submission against Tiana Dampier in January. She rounded out her year with another first round submission against El Oldenburg in May, and a third round knockout against Esmerelda Gringoire in October.

2010: Swan goes three rounds with Merida Baer and wins by unanimous decision. Swan wins again after three rounds by split decision against Megara Alcmene. The Savior’s final match is a KO against Mulan Fa rounding out her record to 8-0. Her next match, meant to be for the women’s title, was declined with no comment from The Savior.

2020: Swan joins Mills Management as a talent manager assigned to Killian “Hook” Jones.

Killian knew Swan was good, an early legend in her own right, but he had no idea she was this dominant. He also had no idea she left without so much as a wave goodbye. He figured he’d just missed the announcement seeing as it came well before his introduction into the sport. Against his typical moral code, he tries to google why she left but finds nothing. She knocks out Mulan Fa and then just stops being added to cards and fades away as new fighters take her place.

He knows there’s a reason for her secrecy and he’d be lying if he said curiosity was the only driving force behind his attempt to learn more. He finds himself wanting to know everything there is to know about Emma Swan; a deeper part of him aches for her to be the one who tells him.

He’s positive he can only dream of gaining that level of trust from her, but he has to try. Liam's words ring heavy in his ears, "A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets."

He gets off at the stop closest to the training center and walks through the front doors, waving to Belle at the front desk before heading into the locker room. He’s fortunate to be on the UFC roster, allowing him to keep his training gear at the center and not have to worry about lugging it around with him. It also gives him the freedom to come here whenever he needs to let off some steam. He changes quickly and finds a treadmill to warm up. He jogs a mile and a half before picking up the pace. Killian’s in the midst of his runner’s high when someone steps into the machine next to him. He turns his head to offer them a small smile in hello, it’s not that big of a gym, exclusive to the UFC industry and a few friends of friends, so chances are he knows the person at least in passing.

Oh, Killian knows them alright, and he practically falls off the treadmill when he sees her green eyes blown wide.

[voldemorthatesnose96]

Robbe IJzermans’ Log

Robbe’s short journal entry of his trip around Asia and his meeting with Sander. Enjoy❤️❤️❤️

It got yeeted so I have to repost it! Sorry!

Memory is a strange thing. Even the smallest part of it sometimes can take the biggest place in our mind, making us speechless by its beauty and sadness altogether.

But put it this way. Let’s imagine that memory is like a box of chocolate; once you eat it, you can’t stop taking it again until it’s done. It’s so decadent, bittersweet at times, a true guilty pleasure but utterly satisfying. Sound almost like memories, right?

For me, I still remember this one particular moment in life where I’ve finally falling in love with someone. No, it’s not a woman, but a man—a carefree soul, unapologetic for having such big dreams of traveling around the world, a bit selfish but have a heart as gentle as a lamb. His name is Sander Driesen.

We were practically strangers who accidentally met on 3 weeks trip around Asia. There were about 20-25 people who participated, almost all of them already knew each other. Sander even brought 3 high school friends with him. And guess what? I’m the only weirdo among this travel group. Surprise surprise.

It was genuinely frustrating for me back then. I’m the only child in the family. My parents wanted me to be a doctor someday, because both of them are surgeons. In short, my whole life is already planned. I couldn’t even take a break on Sunday because I’m always too busy to study and they were still nagging. When other boys like me playing outside blablabla, I could only dream about it. So at that point in life, I decided to take a chance, to became a rebel for some time and joined the trip. Didn’t even care that I have to emptied my saving because of it. I only got one thing in mind : “I NEED TO BE FREE!” and that was exactly what I had later. In short, I ran away from home and only left a goodbye note which said “mum, dad, I’m going to Asia for 3 weeks. Sorry and see you later”.

Anyway, meeting Sander Driesen was both endearing and strange for me. When I almost tripped while climbed up the stairs on the plane, he swiftly held my back with his palm. I turned around and caught the most alluring dark green eyes I’ve ever seen. Later, he asked me if I’m alright and my shitty brain couldn’t made the simplest word such as “yes” or “thanks”, so I just gave him an awkward nod instead and continued to climbed up without saying another word. Why the fuck did I do that??? I should’ve at least said something! Lord!

And I think fate was hating on me so much back then. Sander was actually my seatmate during the entire fly. He was also kind enough to asked me if I’m truly alright or not, and ONCE FUCKING AGAIN, I just gave him a nod, still tongue tied to say anything at all. From the corner of my eye, I saw him smirking while looking at me—didn’t know what’s that for.

There’s so many things I want to pour but sadly, I don’t have that much time to write the entire journey of my marvelous trip because I have to be at the hospital in 2 hours. But I’ll try to summarize it. Especially about Sander.

He’s also an only child, with a remarried father. He said he doesn’t hate his step-mother but if he could choose, he’d rather not be in the same room with her. His dad was actually half-begged him to not going, but Sander insisted; he wanted to see the world, needed to make the most of it and this trip was one of the best offer. He told me all this when we were at the airport in Shenzhen while waiting for our flight because it was delayed for an hour.

During our trip in Shibuya, Sander gave me a small Gudetama plushie that make could make a sound if you press it. He won it from a skill-crane and thought I’d like it because it has the same color as my sweater. And I do like it, very much and I still keep it safe inside my desk at home.

He was also introduced me to his other friends and we got along quickly. They were loud and didn’t understand the meaning of personal space, but I didn’t mind that at all. Being around them gave a brand new energy that I didn’t know exist within me.

Sander even introduced me to David Bowie’s music. That guy loves him too much, until one evening, when he was too drunk at this bar in Gangnam, he got into a small karaoke stage and started singing Rebel Rebel loudly. The others were too busy laughing and cheering, I was the only one who could convinced him to get down from the stage before he nearly took off his t-shirt. It was a rather wild night, but I enjoyed it. Every seconds of it.

Our last destination stopped in Bangkok. There was this hilarious experience where we tried this dangerous-looking fruit called “DURIAN” and boy, the smell was FUCKING HORRIBLE! Sander even had to excused himself once his nose caught the smell, and he wasn’t coming back until half an hour later. For the first time ever, I laughed at him, hard. I remembered how his expression was more amused than offended. He asked, “where’s this side of you since day one, Robbe?” and I answered in between my laugh, “I had no idea either.”

It was also Valentine’s Day. All of us were invited to a party at this club. But I got too dizzy because of the sound and everything. Not long after, Sander took me outside and we went for a walk together. It was almost 5 AM. I still remembered the night breeze across my neck, the thrill when I accidentally got too close to Sander—maybe you can call me weird but in 3 weeks only, I already fell in love with him. I fell in love with how he spoke about the world, the universe through his eyes, how his eyes always crinkled whenever he smiled, how his nose scrunched whenever he cackled, the gentleness of his voice even when he was drunk; Sander Driesen was captivated and mesmerized me in a way that no one ever could. And that time, I needed to confess, about everything that I felt. Though I couldn’t.

When we were talking about our future plan, Sander pulled out an acceptance letter at one of the most prestigious university in US. Full scholarship too.

But then, I saw doubts flashed in his eyes.

“I’m scared, Robbe.” He admitted, genuinely.

“You? Scared?”

“Because life’s never gonna be the same anymore.”

I still held my ground, kept my voice as steady as possible, “so?”

“I’ll leave my friends behind and they...”

“Secretly aren’t too thrilled about it.” I continued.

His dark green eyes were almost black now, even under the street lights.

“What will my Dad’s say? I haven’t told him yet.”

I considered it for a moment, “yeah, America is very far. When will you be going?”

“In 2 weeks, more or less.”

“Okay.”

Sander took a step closer to me, “I’ll be alone there, Robbe.”

I smiled softly at him, “and here? What about here?”

“Here feels nice. Too nice but...”

“But you want to fly,” I continued calmly. “You want madness. You want adventure. You also want to fall. I remember everything, Sander.”

“And this scholarship...”

“Will bring you a lot closer to your dreams.”

For few moments that felt like eternity, both of us just stood there and stared at each other. It was comfortable, it was needed, it was enough.

“Will you miss me?”

I grinned, “of course not.”

Biggest lie ever.

But from his face, I could tell that Sander only took that as a joke because he was simply gave me his usual dazzling smirk to me.

“Were you about to say something earlier?”

“It’s just... just wanna say that night is ended.”

Just like I thought, I couldn’t say it. Just... couldn’t say it. Because no matter how much I loved him, his love for his dream was bigger than mine and I wouldn’t want to stopped him.

I was hurt but also grateful. Every single memory that I take with me is always gonna be the part of who I am today and in the far future. I can never forget the madness, the sadness, the laughter, the thrills in those days and those nights.

Sander Driesen chased his dream so hard that he was gone in a blink of an eye. It’s almost 7 years now, he never turns back and I’m not waiting for him.

[uh-velkommen]

Alright I have a lot to say so let's dissect this clip

Let's start with the soundtracks. Visions of Gideon: I already freaking love that song because of CMBYN. I loved the book so much and from the movie I now associate that song with sadness, sorrow, and longing. So I'm heading into this clip already in my feelings. Skipping to the end, Take Me to Church: the way the song booms in as they kiss has such a powerful effect. Comparing it to the first time we hear it, where David is pulling away because he thinks that what he and Matteo have couldnt actually happen, it's like this clip was giving the middle finger to that first clip. Instead of singing about how their lives are wrong, it is now singing about how meant to be, it actually is. Not to mention that Druck has given that song an underlying purpose. Whenever Matteo is thinking about David, or is sad or worried because of David, we hear that song. That song to us, means David. So playing it in a time of rejoice and happiness throws off our senses because we should be feeling sad but we want to be feeling happy.

The confrontation: When Matteo first marched up to David I thought we were gonna get a longing hug similar to the way he and his mom did. But then he stopped in front of him in a confrontational manner. I'll admit that I completely forgot about everything Matteo had been feeling and said, "why are you being so mean? Cant you see David's in pain?" But I got it eventually. With all the close up shots of Matteo dealing with anxiety, the nail biting, the hand crunching, the pacing. All his words were coming from a place of concern.

The trans experience: Now I dont have much to say about this because I've never experienced it but the way David described his experience at his old school really made me feel like shit. For no real reason other than the immediate lack of faith in humanity. I feel so bad for him but I dont wanna feel bad for trans people in general, I wanna be mad at the people who make trans kids' lives shitty, ya know? The teachers using deadnames and the whole not letting people use the right bathroom debate it's so just so annoying and disappointing.

The arguement: the yelling, the voice crack, matteos anger, "let's get out of here," the physicality and the immediately followed gentleness... People have already mentioned the yelling, the echoes, the raw emotions. But there was this one part that really got me when I watched it even without having translations, I heard "oder Sex haben" and I immediately knew. The fact that that was something that other people felt the need to ask about is just so ridiculous. However, when David brought it up I couldnt help but wonder, has this been something that he has pondered over after meeting Matteo? Or has he felt that Matteo might've thought that same question that he was tired of hearing? Next, the voice crack. Normally voice cracks dont humor me, it's a thing that just happens so its whatever. But in that moment of the yelling and crying, that crack just made my heart break. Whether it was on purpose or accidental on Lukas's part, it was still a great addition to the scene and it ampt up the realness of it. Matteo's frustrations all came to surface there. We have literally never seen him this angry before. But I definately dont think it was a hateful type of anger. I just think that after having unreliable people in his life, David's constant flakiness was just an added layer of disappointment. Matteo felt like he was not really being heard no matter how many he told David that he was still there for him so he had to shout. And when David once again mentioned leaving, Matteo was like No! Stop! No more leaving, I'm here, I'm not going anywhere and you're staying here with me! Albiet, it was really cute when David said, Let's get out of here. Just like the gif he made, Let's run off to Detroit together... And then Matteo gripped up David's sweater. I was like woah hold up this isnt #Gallavich now lmao. But I saw it as Matteo making sure David didnt run off right then and there. He grabbed him because he wanted to keep him there with him, to knock some sense into him. But then he calmed down. It was the cutest transition actually. When Matteo poked him and told him he was so cool. David really needs to know that he is a wonderful, lovable person and that not everyone is out to get him.

I love you: this one's a given. I dont have much to say, it was adorable. My only question is that when Matteo said it for a second time, why did David look so offended lol. Like he was confused. Did he think it was a joke? Does he really think he's so unlovable? Or did he finally realize that Matteo wasnt just saying things to be nice and that everything he was saying was actually coming from the heart...

Anyway this is posted late now because it literally took me a whole day to process my emotions

[hunnywrites]

Arcade Dreams: Chapter Twelve

Summary: There’s a new girl working at the Palace Arcade and Hawkins’ Family Video. Billy can’t stand her, and the feeling is mutual. No matter what everyone else seems to think.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove/OFC

A/N: Don’t worry everyone, no one’s gonna be getting flayed at the steel mill. Well, not yet anyways.

 Sneaking out of the house had at one point been Teddi’s specialty. Back in New York she had snuck out to go to parties, go on dates or just to get out of the house so often that climbing out of her bedroom window had basically become a muscle memory. It was different now that she was in Hawkins. Her parents were more miserable and focused in on whatever it was that she was up to. But tonight would be different. Tonight would be like the old days. The Harringtons had invited her parents to their New Year’s Eve party, and Teddi knew that her mom and dad would be the last ones to leave sometime around dawn if the party really ended up to be as wild as Steve had described. “Last year Carol’s mom got so wasted she threw up in the pool and then locked herself in my parent’s bathroom for like...three hours.” he had said. 

Steve Harrington had the same knack for sneaking out (and technically in when it came to sneaking into Nancy Wheeler’s bedroom while they had been together) that Teddi had. When Teddi had called the next morning to tell him the very cleaned up version of what had happened between her and her parents the night before he had gone into super sneak mode. Technically speaking it hadn’t been their best plan. After her shift was over for the night Teddi would drive home, Steve would follow her and park across the street until her parents left for their party and they would be off. They had decided that they would ditch their bonfire at one in order to get Teddi home well before her parents and they would be none the wiser to what she had been up to. 

Teddi had put on an entire act. She came home, mumbled a hello to her parents, and headed to her room to remove her makeup and change into pjs to help with the illusion that she’d be staying in for the night. When her parents left completely dressed to the nines, Teddi was planted on the couch with a can of Coke and a bowl of popcorn. “We’ll be home late.” was all her father said before shutting the front door loudly behind him. Teddi sprung into action. She ran back to her bedroom, quickly changing out of her pjs and into her outfit for the night. The cold had finally caught up to her. Instead of the usual mini skirt or pair of cut off shorts, Teddi pulled on a pair of high waisted, black jeans and a bright, yellow chenille sweater. She kicked on her boots and grabbed her puffy jacket and was out the front door and rushing over to Steve’s car. 

“Come on, come on, come on,” Steve said, hitting his hand against the steering wheel. Teddi slid into the passenger’s seat and the pair shared a high five. “That was like record time, Larsson!” he said as he took off down the street. The way that Steve called Teddi by her last time was much more...soft than the way Billy did. 

“Not my first rodeo,” she laughed out as she tried to catch her breath. She was a little rusty, but she had still been impressed with how quickly she’d gotten ready. “So this isn’t gonna be a problem with the party? ‘Cause my parents are hoping for a rager.” 

“Oh, totally. My mom looks forward to it every year. It’s the biggest party in Hawkins...according to her at least.” Teddi had never met Steve’s parents, but from the way Steve spoke about them she was sure that they would be great friends with her parents. And if that meant they’d be out of the house more often then Teddi was more than fine with it. 

“So, where’s this steel mill at?” 

“It’s like maybe twenty minutes out of town. It’s been abandoned for a few years. Tommy usually has parties there when nobody has folks that are out of town.” and by twenty minutes out of Hawkins, Steve may as well have said the steel mill was in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing around. He mentioned there was a sort of shitty motel that had been turned into apartments a few miles up the road, but that was about it until you got to the next town over. Teddi was sure that Hawkins was quite possibly the most boring town in America. 

When they arrived at the steel mill, Teddi noticed that there weren’t nearly as many cars as there had been at David’s Christmas party. The steel mill was also pretty creepy. Scratch that; very creepy. It definitely looked abandoned. The “Brimborn Steel Works” sign was so old and faded that Teddi could barely read it in the dark. She could hear the party and see a faint glow from the bonfire coming from inside, but the way that the music and voices echoed off of the old building gave Teddi a bad feeling. At least there was a payphone nearby in case some Jason Voorhees character tried to kill them all. 

“Is this safe?” she asked, carefully following Steve across the gravel. 

“Uhhh...sure. I mean no one’s died yet.” she wasn’t really sure if he was teasing her or not. Once they made their way inside, Teddi was immediately met with the smell of the bonfire and beer. There were a few empty and broken bottles strewn around, as well as a group of three kegs all sitting in a frothy pile of spilled beer next to a cooler. The music was coming from a boombox that was sitting up safely on an abandoned machine.

She recognized more people at this party. Heather, Freddy and Katie were all there and waved at Teddi when they saw her. Robin Buckley, a girl that Teddi was sort of friendly with and shared three classes with, was with a group of her friends. Tommy H and Carol were being the loud, obnoxious hosts of the party. They were entertaining a large group of people closest to the fire with some sort of drinking game. 

And then there was Billy. He was by Tommy and Carol’s group, but somehow still off on his own. He was leaning up against a railing with a beer bottle hanging between his fingers and a cigarette between his lips. The cold must have finally gotten to him like it had Teddi; he had traded in his usual button up shirt and leather jacket for a very tight white henley and a denim shirt layered under his jean jacket. He also looked very, very bored. 

As if he knew that Teddi was watching him, Billy’s eyes met hers. He watched her cooly for a moment as she moved across the large room and over to the coolers, taking a swig of his beer before his eyes drifted over to Steve who was beside her. If he felt any sort of way about the two arriving together he didn’t show it. 

“Want a beer?” Steve asked, holding up two bottles. Teddi nodded enthusiastically before grabbing the beer and taking a large swig. Why had she come to this party? Of course Billy was going to show up. And while the last couple of weeks had been filled with nothing but trying to avoid Billy, that almost felt wrong now. There was this big, screaming secret between the both of them that was impossible for her to ignore. But it seemed like Billy was going to try his damndest to pretend it wasn’t there. 

“Well, well!” Teddi nearly groaned at the sound of Tommy’s voice. “Look what we have here!” Tommy and Carol had turned towards Teddi and Steve, the pair looking at them with nearly identical evil grins. “Billy wasn’t enough for ya, huh, Teddi? Moving on to Harrington? You’ve been a busy girl!” 

Teddi wasn’t scared of Tommy or Carol. It was obvious to her that they were both extremely insecure with the way that they both dropped Steve for Billy the moment he showed up in Hawkins. At one point back in New York Teddi had been Tommy and Carol. The big bad popular girl at school that looked down her nose at people. But now she pitied the both of them if anything. “Gee Tommy, if you were this worried about your own sex life as you are mine then Carol wouldn’t always be hitting on your friends.” she said with a slight nod to Billy. It was no secret how badly Carol wanted Billy. As soon as Tommy was out of sight, without fail, she would shamelessly flirt with Billy even though he’d never shown even the slightest interest. 

Carol shifted uncomfortably beside Tommy, who was watching Teddi with narrowed eyes. Finally he smirked. “Oh yeah? And what’s after Steve then, Teddi? You gonna want a round with me too?”

Teddi rolled her eyes. “No thanks. I have enough disappointment in my life.” Tommy glared at her as a few of their friends tried to hide their laughter. 

Steve held a hand up. “Alright, Tommy. I think that’s enough, huh? We’re all just trying to have a good time.”

Tommy quickly turned his attention from Teddi to Steve. “No one’s stopping you, Harrington. How’s it feel to settle for someone else’s scraps? Is she the best you can do after that prude Nancy left you for Byers? God, I hope you’re putting out, Teddi. Stevie boy’s gotta be real hard up after putting up with that priss-”

“Tommy, how about you shut the fuck up for once, huh?” heads turned at the sound of Billy’s voice. He didn’t say anything else, only flicked the butt of his cigarette away and took another drink. Tommy looked like Billy had slapped him. 

Tommy looked between Billy and Teddi a few times. “Are you going soft, Hargrove? Over some lousy lay? What, are you and Steve double teaming her?” he laughed.

“Pretty sure Carol’s the one that’s into that sorta thing.” Billy said evenly.

“You piece of shit-“ Tommy spat, moving quickly towards Billy. But of course Billy didn’t back down. He matched Tommy’s strides, but Teddi stepped in before anything more could happen.

“Billy, stop. I don’t need your help.” her tone was a little pleading. She really didn’t want to see Billy do the same thing to Tommy that he had done to Steve a few months back. Especially with so many people around to witness it. That wasn’t something Billy would ever be able to come back from. Teddi could practically hear Billy’s ego shatter at her words.

“C’mon, Tommy,” Carol said with an over dramatic eye roll. She grabbed Tommy by the arm and gave him a tug.  “It’s your turn on the keg. Let them have their little lovers quarrel.” she said with a pointed look towards Steve and Teddi. This was enough to appease an already drunk Tommy much to Teddi’s relief. 

“What the fuck was that?” Billy spat. 

“Hey, hey. Back off, dude.” Steve took a step in front of Teddi, holding a hand out to stop Billy from coming any further. 

“Get your hand off me, Harrington. Unless you want a replay of that beating I already gave you.” Billy took a step towards Steve, his shoulders held high.

Teddi wiggled her way around Steve and placed herself between the two. “What are you, cavemen? Steve, it’s fine okay? Just give me five minutes,” Steve eyed Teddi for a moment before shooting Billy a warning look and walking off. “What was what, Billy?” she asked with a tired sigh.

“I don’t get you, Larsson. You’re always telling me what an asshole I am, and I try and stick up for you and you embarrass me.” 

“Because I don’t need you to stick up for me!” Teddi threw her hands up. “And frankly I’m a little surprised you give a shit after how you acted at the arcade.” she crossed her arms. 

“How I acted?” Billy asked with a dry laugh. “Teddi, you’re such a goddamn pain in the ass sometimes-”

“Likewise!” she snapped. Teddi couldn’t believe how stupid she felt to think she could go out for the night and have fun. “You’re just so...ugh.” she spun around and stomped off. She had had more than enough of Billy Hargrove for the night. 

Steve caught up to her as she continued to put distance between herself and Billy. “Teddi, are you okay? If you wanna get out of here-”

Teddi shook her head. “I’m fine, Steve. I’m just gonna step outside for a sec, okay?” she lied, sidestepping Steve and heading outside into the cold night air. She wanted to go home. It of course occurred to her that walking home was possibly the dumbest thing that she could do, but she’d had more than enough testosterone for the night. She had been walking for about ten minutes before she heard the rumble of the Camaro’s engine. 

Billy pulled up beside her, leaning forward to get a better look at her. “The hell are you doing, Larsson?” he asked.

“I’m walking home.” she said, wrapping her arms around her in an attempt to keep warm. Billy coasted along beside her as she continued on down the road.

“You’re gonna freeze to death!” he argued. Teddi ignored him. “Teddi, get in the car.” 

“No.” 

“Larsson, I will pull over and put you in the car,” and Teddi definitely believed that. He’d picked her up like a ragdoll enough times for her to know better than to keep arguing. With a loud huff Teddi yanked the door open and got into the Camaro. They were both silent for a few very long and awkward moments. “Does Harrington know you ran off?” he finally asked.

Teddi crossed her arms. “...He thinks I’m getting some fresh air.” she muttered. She felt bad now for lying to Steve, but she was sure that if she called him the next morning and explained he wouldn’t be too upset with her. 

Billy let out a short chuckle before going silent for another few moments. “...So, what, are you pissed at me for last night?” while Teddi was known to give him the cold shoulder after one of his outbursts, she usually got over it pretty quickly. Billy figured that he must have hit a nerve. It didn’t make him feel good to know he had upset her so much by confronting Teddi with the truth. At least it was all out in the open now. He wouldn’t need to dance around the subject anymore. It made things awkward in a different way than it had been before, but somehow this was better.

“No...I don’t know,” Teddi sighed. Her steely exterior was now gone and replaced with a glimpse of her usual bubbly self. “I think I’m more embarrassed now that you know about it if anything. I’ve been keeping it a secret for so long I didn’t expect anyone to ever know…”

Billy shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, well, I guess it’s hard to keep a secret from someone who’s dealing with the same shit.” more silence followed. 

Teddi was chewing on her bottom lip as she looked over at Billy carefully. “...Does he hurt Max?”

“No. There’s been a few times where it’s come close…” those times were starting to become more frequent. Billy wasn’t entirely sure what happened that night at the Byers’ place. After Max jammed that needle in his neck he had blacked out and had somehow managed to make it back into his own room a few hours later. Max didn’t talk about it, but Billy knew that she and her friends had run into something that made her see Neil as an insignificant threat. “She doesn’t get it. You know, one day I’m not gonna be there....Susan’s too afraid of him to do anything.” Billy was gripping onto the steering wheel tightly. 

Teddi supposed she could understand how Billy could rationalize the way he was with Max. “Tough Love”. But it was much heavier on the tough part than the love. And things needed to change. Fast. “You can’t keep treating her like this, Billy,” Teddi said shaking her head. “This whole scared straight thing you have going on. It’s not any better than what our dads do to us, even if the intention is different. You have to show her that you actually give a shit about her.”

She expected him to flip out on her. To start screaming at her and telling her that she didn’t know anything about him or what went on at home. Instead he just looked over at her cooly. “And why’s that?” he asked. 

“Because otherwise she’ll end up like you.” Billy knew that Teddi wasn’t trying to insult him. He wouldn’t admit that she was right though either. But she was. Neil had ruled over their household with an iron fist, and it had done nothing but turn Billy into an angry and violent guy that no one wanted to be around. And yeah, Billy’s intentions with Max were different. He didn’t want her to grow up afraid like he had. He wanted her to grow a thick skin. But his approach was the same as Neil’s. He guessed it was a good thing that Max seemed to be a hell of a lot more brave than he had ever been. 

“...I’m sorry about Tommy.” he said instead. 

Teddi raised her eyebrows at the comment. “I’m sorry” was a phrase she didn’t think was in his vocabulary. “Tommy’s an insecure idiot with a tiny dick. I don’t really care about what he has to say,” she cracked a smile when Billy laughed. “Besides, it’s not anything I didn’t hear back home in school or from my dad.” she shrugged.

Billy quirked an eyebrow. “Your dad?”

“He used to call me the town bicycle,” Teddi rolled her eyes. “I used to be a lot...friendlier, and we lived in this snobby, tiny neighborhood where everyone gossiped.”

Billy nearly slammed down on the breaks. “You?” he asked with a laugh. “No way, Larsson.”

Teddi sunk in her seat a little and scrunched her nose. “Oooh yeah. I was like...the worst. I was always out partying, getting in trouble, sleeping with like...anyone that was interested. I’m pretty sure that’s why I keep putting up with your shit so often. I used to be like you.” she teased.

This wasn’t the first time Teddi had given Billy a glimpse into her wild past. Even still, he had a hard time imagining it. Teddi was this bubbly, talkative, nice girl. She wasn’t anything like him. “I’m not so sure I can picture something like that, Weird Girl.”

“And why not? Even Max says that I’m super cool.” she joked. 

Billy grinned and shrugged. “You’re...you know. A nice person or whatever.”

Teddi’s jaw dropped as she turned to face Billy. “Was that a genuine compliment I just heard from you, Billy Hargrove?”

He groaned. “Don’t make such a big deal out of it. I can have my moments.”

Teddi smiled, tilting her head as she watched him squirm uncomfortably in his seat. “...Do you think you’re not a nice person?” she asked.

“I don’t exactly hear it very often.”

“True...but you could be. Anything’s possible. You could try like...taking a nap or something.” she joked. But she meant what she said. If Billy was willing to put in the work he could be a guy that everyone liked. Max had said that she’d seen a change in her brother. Teddi even saw a change every once and awhile when Billy would let his guard down. Especially after tonight when he stood up for her. 

Billy let out a soft snort. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” the Camaro turned onto Teddi’s street. “Jesus, Larsson, you could walk to my place from here.” 

“Does that mean you’re gonna want to hang out more? You wanna finally play Dungeons and Dragons?” she asked, perking up.

“I’d rather be locked in a closet with Carol.” he deadpanned. Teddi rolled her eyes. Billy pulled into Teddi’s driveway and put the Camaro in park. “Well, there you go Cinderella. Back home before midnight.”

Teddi let out a small laugh and groan. “God, Hawkins is lame...thanks for the ride, Billy.” 

Billy grinned widely. “Oh, you know I’m always down to give you a ride, Larsson.” he definitely didn’t miss the way she blushed at the comment before she let out a loud scoff.

“Oh my god. Goodnight, Billy.” she muttered quickly before sliding out of the car and rushing to the front door. Billy watched as she fished her keys out of one of her jacket’s pockets and slipping inside before he started to slowly pulled out of the driveway. He could probably go back to the party. He had about an hour left before he had to pick up Max from the Wheeler’s place. And he definitely didn’t want to sit out in the driveway like some kind of lame asshole. 

But the door swung open and Teddi poked her head out. “Yo, Hargrove! You wanna come watch some New Year’s Rockin’ Eve?” 

Billy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel for a few moments while he thought it over. His curfew was at one (thanks to Susan convincing Neil to go to the Harrington’s party) and he had nowhere else to be. So he pulled back into the driveway, shut the Camaro off and got out. He shoved his hands into his pockets and awkwardly made his way up to Teddi. “Don’t try and get fresh with me, Larsson.” he said, cracking a grin. Teddi laughed and rolled her eyes before stepping aside to let him in. 

“In your dreams, Hargrove.” 

[floramodus]

Flora => Finish What You Started

To say you were awake was the understatement of the century.

You spent most of last night tossing and turning, with no human or fuzzy companions to fixate your whizzing thoughts on. All your babies were sent to babysitters- even David himself was spending time in New York with Artemis you assume. You boyfriends themselves know as much as they need to- would you regret not dumping your heart out on the floor instead of the curt, passive explanation you gave them? Perhaps, but you were already brimming with regrets.

Part of you didn't want to do this, knowing without the risk you have multitudes of people to live for now, and risking your life wasn't just risking your life. You were risking the peace of mind of numerous people. Lord knows what your parents were gonna say when they found out. Really, you were expecting a lot of metaphysical waps when you came out the other side. But the other part of you knew you wouldn't have rest for the rest of your immortal days unless you did this.

Thats what you had to focus on right now, the actively completing this part. The chips would fall where they may once you succeed, Thats a fact of life. You finally pull yourself out of bed, pulling off the hoodie and pukka shell necklace you had slept in, giving them a long, pained look before you teleport them into the back of the closet, out of mind. Instead you dressed for comfort in more ways than one, putting on trinkets that reminded you of your loved ones. The necklace Windi gave you, with a piece of his hair tucked inside, the bracelet made of Davesprite's feathers. A sweater Nessa gave you, the day you were adopted. Little, tiny fragments of where your heart belonged, like the planets on your ears. By the time you spent ruminating in that particular mental hole, you bucked up and texted Roxy.

They didn't long to show up, carrying what they needed to do what you asked of them. Your reaction was to hug them, though you know it was just the lack of words sticking in your throat that made you so nervous. Well, a lot of things were making you nervous, but the lack of how to go about being somewhat normal in greeting was certainly one of them. Thankfully they got the memo years ago that you were a complete and utter disaster. The guilt trickled back in, the sensation of knowing they probably don't want you to do this either, but knowing they couldn't stop it. After a few quiet moments you sighed, giving them your best smile as you offered to show them to the lab. They'd seen it, practice with the tech, but agreed nonetheless, letting you have some semblance of control.

For once the lab was fairly clean, free of scattered projects and garbage even if the main event was a lone tower desktop in a side room. You probably should have better protection for the thing considering it hosted all your brain files, but now wasn't the time, ironically, considering Roxy immediately got to work in setting up what they needed in the tiny space. You could eventually feel them in the back of your skull, poking the files and asking questions to make sure they had proper connection.

When it was all said and done the silence returned, saved for the low humming of electronic fans. You shuffled back and forth on your toes until they spoke up again.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Absolutely not, you wanted to say, but instead you nod, putting on your ishades. “I don't have any other choice.”

They one hundred percent didn't believe that, but relented, offering their hand. You two had discussed fray-motifs and all that confusing game play junk, and even if you didn't have to have contact to initiate it, you guessed it was a much appreciated gesture of comfort. You both focused your powers until eventually, for all intents and purposes, you ceased to exist. You could still feel you had a form, but even your spacial awareness was thrown through a loop as you also had, no atomic structure to speak of. For all intents and purposes, you were invisible to the multiverse. The plan was to use it long enough to be able to search and skim the universe and the bubbles undetected until you found them. A head-start, if you will. Roxy of course, under the same shield for the time being, was just as aware. That didn't stop you from pulling the potato you had put in your sylladex the night before and giving it a gentle toss at them. They caught it with a fumble, laughing for the first time since they arrived. It gave you the resolve you needed, even as the potato got hurled back over your shoulder. You knew you'd be in good hands. You just had to remember this wasn't the end. A well placed kiss on the top of Roxy's head, and you were off.

When you warped into the universe, specifically the main system, you could absolutely see the theory was correct. Derse and Prospit- at least the skeleton of them, were no longer revolving around your moon. Instead, long strings of bubble like masses wrapped around the Earth and the Moon like some strange, wet spider web, pulsing and shifting with iridescent light. You took a deep breath, not feeling any sort of code grabbing or clawing at you. That was a good sign, and you texted Roxy just that. Encouraged, you took the headfirst plunge into the masses.

You've seen dream bubbles from other universes, and despite the tang in the air that gave away the fact something was wrong, it was an unstable memory, it looked no different. You waded through memory after memory, some your own, some you recall from your teammates, some copies of the places you have firmly in your sylladex, until you managed to pick up a scent once you broke through a fuzzy representation of the Land of Light and Rain. You followed the trail under the heat of a fake skyline, till you saw them. Sitting, almost casual, on the beaches sands. Like they never left at all. You were pretty sure underneath the veil of void you could feel every atom in your body bristle. Was it happiness? Fear? Agony? You were never the best at pinpointing these things. You were happy to see Rose and John at least, watching them skip stones across the acid sea. David hung back naturally under a comical umbrella, smoking. You were disgusted at the pang in your heart at that fact, the rage you knew well you harbored in there threatening to boil over before you showed yourself. Which, you still had to do.

The cloak served well to buy you and Roxy time away from the corruption, but would be useless in helping you do what you came here for. You walked closer, still a fair enough distance away that David wouldn't startle and probably gut you, and texted Roxy to drop her side of the motif. Like the sand under your feet the facade dissolved, leaving you open and vulnerable as the metaphorical clock begin to tick. Even before anything latched you could feel Roxy inside your skull, scanning. Watching.

To say they were surprised was a massive understatement. Even David, who you knew had breached into your own realm of the living on unfortunate occasion, seemed agape at you being here.

“Jaaaaade!” The name made you wince, even now, but coming from John as he practically tackled you, you tolerated it. He was warm and small- visually not a day over 13. You suppose then the bubbles hadn't existed long enough for them to get their bearings on what an afterlife meant. Rose wasn't far behind, though she was much taller than John, wrapping you both up in a crushing grip. She was crying- you could hear it in her voice. You were too, you just couldn't process the fact you were sobbing as you held these two in your arms. It had been so long, and even the ache you've been sure to bury deep clawed its way out of your chest. David made sure not to join in, and you're thankful. Wouldn't want to give anything away to the others. You wanted them happy. Thats why you were here, shaking off corruption from your core like the dog you were to be here.  

You were here to apologize, to make things right, and well at best you did what you could. You explained what happened, and what happened after, and they explained, well, how they didn't even realize they had died until the bubbles appeared. How they thought you were permadead just like they had been. You shared a look with David, who lit up another cigarette in return. He had knew you were alive, and resented you. At least he had the decency to play along with the act.

You were pretty sure even with him here, you could spend forever catching up. Listening to John make Rose laugh was healing. Seeing her happy after all the years of sorrow that had been etched into her skin was healing. Even with the sensation of Roxy in your head pulling code like needles in haystacks, the bitter regret you felt coming here diminished. Even so, you couldn't stay here forever. Roxy was your only lifeline and you couldn't make them strain themselves keeping you afloat in safety. So you made your choices. You told the others you needed to talk to David alone, and obviously they relented. For all John remembers, you two were lovebirds. Rose was a bit more wise to it, but you could feel she was confident in the fact you could take care of yourself. She always was- but now, in the wake of seeing you and hearing your stories, you could feel the pride behind that sensation. It was comforting, considering what you had planned.

You led him till you two were far out of sight, far from any sort of hearing range or at least, enough your space powers, still being debugged, would cover the rest. Far enough he ripped his arm from you in disgust, that same arm trying to cock back for a hit.

It wouldn't reach its target.

In an instant your own fist was at his jaw, knuckles cut on teeth and soon to be glass as the other hit his nose. He pulled out his katana in true Strider fashion, trying to run you through like he had done a million times before, only to have it sizzle and melt, viscous and boiling onto himself as you super-heated the stupid shitty thing once it cut your skin. He staggered, opening himself up to get kicked over, one foot on his cracking and straining rib cage and the other on his throat. He spit out your dead-name between broken teeth, trying to reel in some sort of manipulative pity like he had in the past. It's how you became his fiancee, despite the obvious. It's how you became his girlfriend, without a single comforting touch. It's how he had you under his thumb once the boy he use to be died in the wake of what happened. Did you blame him? Not at all. Would you make excuses for how he treated you even with all he had dealt with? Not anymore. Not ever again.

You ground your heel into his throat, growling. “Do not call me that. I'm not Jade Harley. I'm Flora Rhevtal and you won't forget it I'm sure. Not that you'll have to remember it long, darling.”

You took your foot off his throat, but kept him pinned with the other as you shifted to get down on his level, your knees crushing his bones instead.

“Bitch,” he spat, his vitriol coming up blood. You smiled still, watching his bravado make no ground now. You weren't afraid of him. Your hand found his battered throat, and claws tore the flesh clean from bone. You sure he would have had something to say about that, if he had the chance.

“Stay in hell where you belong, David Strider.”

Not long after a loud gurgle did his ghost evaporate into double death, dissapearing from this plane once more. For good. For the better. You knew Roxy having a front row seat was probably blowing up your phone, but you took your time to wash the blood off your hands and switch into your god tier pj's. They were the only clothes you could switch at will, and well, they were clean! You had to act quickly- the longer you stayed here now that your cover was blown to the terrors, the harder they'd try to reap your body again.

You made your way back to the others, explaining David had to go find something and he'd catch up later. That you also had to go sadly and take care of some universe things, but you'd see them again. Lying through your teeth was not a skill you wanted to have, but you did just enough to get the job done. You hugged them tightly, kissed them both, and told them how much you loved them. How much you wish things had been different. How proud you were of them. Them echoing it back in sincerity made you really feel the meaning in your statements. You do wish things were different, but you have one choice now. They would suffer worse than you without it, and you weren't a Life player.

Goodbyes trailed off in the vacuum of space as you popped out of the bubbles. You checked your phone long enough to see if Roxy was in trouble, but all that greeted you was stuff you'd unpack later. Because you were certain there would be a later now. After all, they did their job well. Skirting just outside of the corrupted universe in an instant, even without the cover of Void anymore the horrors couldn't reach you here. They wouldn't, ever again anyway, once you swirl your hands just enough to completely, absolutely, destroy your universe. Your birth place, your birth right, your prize, no longer a presence in the vastness of space, with nary a supernova to announce its departure. Just the deep, yawning void of space left in its wake as you traveled back home. Your home. The home you had truly made for yourself.

Roxy didn't say much, even when you arrived, just worked quietly for awhile to make sure you were truly, clean of viruses. You were thankful for both, considering not long after they stepped away from the machinery, you crumpled in on yourself, passing out once the tension had left. You made it, you stupid, successful bastard. You're safe. You're home! Forever!

[nekojitachan]

Okay, I just felt like writing something Halloween-inspired. This is the start of something new (I KNOW, FINISH SOME OTHER STUFF).  I’m getting back to RP, I promise, but I wanted to post something since I haven’t lately, so here’s this.

Warnings for Mary (so yes, abusive relationship), and mentions of child abuse, mentions of the abusive pasts of our boys.

The Ghost in You

*******

Andrew gave what passed as a glare from him at Wymack as he stalked into the man’s office. “How the hell am I supposed to help Peter Minkin if I can’t understand him, hmm?” he asked in a deceptively mild tone of voice as he slapped his latest case file onto his boss’ desk and narrowly missed sending a pile of paperwork toppling over as a result.

Used to him by that point, Wymack didn’t even flinch or pause in drinking his coffee, merely gave Andrew the finger as if gesturing for ‘one minute’ while he finished his needed influx of caffeine before speaking. “Because that’s why I hired a damn translator last month? Which a shitty little maggot like you would know if you’d attended the supposedly mandatory staff meetings.” Wymack glowered as he folded his tattooed arms on top of his messy desk.

Andrew waved aside the usual gripe as he snatched up the abandoned file, partially mollified that he’d have a way to communicate with the kid. “That’s what Kevin’s ten page summary emails are for,” and ignored – he relied upon Renee to fill him in on any necessary details, but she was currently on sabbatical, off helping out some old Peace Corps friends with a project for a couple of months. Hmm, he had to wonder if the new translator had anything to do with the ‘hot piece of ass’ Nicky had been going on about lately, which was even more reason for Andrew to ignore his cousin. “I’m scheduled for a preliminary meeting with Peter in half an hour, the translator better be there,” Andrew said as he turned to leave the cluttered office.

“It’s already on Josten’s schedule,” Wymack called out. “You’d know that, too, if you read your damn emails!”

That was another familiar complaint which was waved aside as Andrew left, intent on having some more caffeine himself while he checked for any important updates to Peter’s files before the appointment; on the way to the kitchen and then to his own office (a lot less cluttered and disorganized than Wymack’s), he ran into Nicky and Robin, yet managed to fend them off by waving the thick folder in the air. Nicky grimaced, clearly in the mood to talk and unhappy to be denied, while Robin, finally cleared to work on cases of her own after shadowing Andrew for the past few months, smiled and wished him a good day.

It was such a hopeful thought, but highly unrealistic; the children brought to Palmetto Services (nicknamed the Foxhole because of all the stuffed foxes scattered around the place and the playful versions painted on the walls in an effort to soothe and cheer up the kids) were abused and/or traumatized, were the ones who’d been fucked over by the ‘official’ child services system in one way or another and so it had been decided that they needed more specialized attention (that they’d be someone else’s problem).

It meant that Andrew was working with kids who often suffered through the same thing he’d gone through as a child, the same pain and abuse and neglect… and he got to end the horror for them. He got to make it better, but it took a lot of work, a lot of patience and digging and effort, and he knew firsthand the nightmares would still continue even though the monsters had been vanquished at last (at least those monsters).

At least, he did everything he could to help the children assigned to him, so the new translator – Neil Josten – better not fuck things up with Peter Minkin. From what the files said about the boy, he’d been taken into custody from a violent father up on various charges with no sign of the mother, and could barely speak any English. The boy was malnourished and bore repeated signs of abuse (Aaron had done a thorough physical on Peter, and Andrew could tell from the sloppiness of the handwritten notes attached to the copies of x-rays and bloodwork that his brother was furious about the results).

He skimmed the newly added details from his brother and what Seth had been able to unearth about the boy’s father, everything committed to memory, then went to the one prepared play room where Peter would be brought for their first session. It only took a minute for Andrew to reach it since it was right down the hall, and he was surprised to find someone there already.

The person was a young man around his age, perhaps a little younger, and had a couple of inches on Andrew’s five feet. The dark grey sweater he wore hung on his lean frame, the sleeves falling past his hands, and dark brown hair fell onto a handsome face bearing a faded scar down the right side, obscuring what seemed to be brown eyes. “Andrew Minyard?” the young man asked, his voice a quiet tenor and accent bland, lacking in any regional indicators.

“Neil Josten,” Andrew said by way of an answer, and noticed that Josten didn’t offer a handshake nor seem offended when Andrew didn’t do the same. “How’s your Russian?”

“Good,” Josten said then fell silent as he took a step back to lean against one of the bookshelves containing a multitude of stuffed animals.

Not a talker, which seemed odd for a translator, but that was fine with Andrew, who wasn’t much of a talker himself. He checked his phone to see that Abby was bringing Peter, along with a surreptitious glance at his associate; despite the shaggy haircut and baggy clothes, Nicky wasn’t too far off about Josten.

It was just a casual observation while he waited for the kid.

“And here we are,” Abby said as she arrived with Peter Minkin, a bright smile on her face and ash-blonde hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Even though she was the head nurse practitioner for Palmetto Services and helped run the medical offices where Aaron and Katelyn interned, she often escorted the new or more skittish children around (her or Renee) since she projected ‘safe’ so well with her friendly smile, the colorful scrubs she wore and her genuine kindness.

As for Peter, he appeared small for his seven years (probably the malnutrition), his dark brown eyes huge in his face and his light brown hair cropped close to his skull. He was dressed in a Winnie the Pooh t-shirt and jeans that were a little too long for him, and was obviously reluctant to come near two strange men.

Before Andrew could do anything, Josten moved away from the bookshelf with a stuffed Pooh in his hands and knelt a safe distance from the boy while he spoke softly in Russian. After a couple of seconds, Peter’s face broke into a smile and he gave a shy smile as he reached for the bear; Andrew noticed that Josten was mindful to hand it over slowly and without touching the child.

Josten spoke for about another minute, and then Peter joined in as well. That went on for another minute or two while Andrew’s annoyance grew, until he heard his name be brought up. Peter’s eyes flickered toward Andrew and whatever it was that Josten said seemed to put the boy at ease, to the point that he gave Andrew a slight wave with his right hand.

Soon after that, Josten nodded once and slowly stood up as if mindful not to startle Peter. “All right, I told him that you’re going to talk to him for a while, perhaps ask him some questions but that you’re here to help him and it’s going to be all right, that you won’t touch him.” Something made Josten’s jaw clench for a moment before he went back to the one bookshelf. “No one here will.”

Interesting, that Josten said ‘not touch’ and ‘not hurt’, not that either would happen while Andrew was around. “He’s right,” Andrew told Peter even though the boy might not understand him. “As he said, I’m Andrew, now shall we play a couple of games?” He motioned toward the one table that was already set up with the various coloring books and simple games he used to help him know the children assigned to him better as well as work toward gaining their trust while Josten translated.

The session went by quickly despite Andrew’s inability to talk directly Peter, with Josten only speaking to translate and staying quiet otherwise. Peter seemed to enjoy being able to play with crayons and to draw what were probably meant to be animal shapes, but drew into himself whenever Andrew brought up his father or the one coloring book had images of a man and a woman with a child or children in it.

Probably not a good idea to have Wymack attend any sessions with the boy in the near future.

The session ended with Andrew certain about Peter’s abuse and forming a plan on how to move forward with his treatment, but aware that it would take numerous more sessions. He remained seated when Abby returned for Peter, intent on retaining the slight bit of trust he’d earned with the boy so far.

It was difficult to tell with the overlarge sweater, but when Josten left the room first, Andrew thought Nicky might be on to something about the man’s ass. Also, he’d have to talk to Wymack about having the door looked into since something was wrong with its hinges – the damn thing would have slammed shut in his face if he hadn’t stopped it in time. He also felt a blast of cold, so the air conditioning was acting up.

He stopped by Bee’s office to share his initial observations with her about the boy and go over his reactions to the new case, as well as his workload in general. After about half an hour, they moved on to more ‘safe’ topics (the latest books they were reading, a new bakery), and he brought up Josten. “What’s his story?”

“Neil?” Bee handed over a fresh mug of hot chocolate before she returned to her desk. “David felt that we needed an official translator on site rather than request one on demand all the time. We can’t keep limping along with the various languages everyone on the staff knows, so he brought in a heavy-hitter,” she said with a smile.

Andrew thought about that for a moment, about Josten’s quiet voice and professional behavior. “What does he know besides Russian?”

“That I know about? Chinese, Spanish, French, German and Arabic.” Her smile strengthened when Andrew’s brows drew together. “Yes, I know, impressive.”

“Why’s he working here, then?” One didn’t go into a social service related job for the money, and it seemed to Andrew that someone with Josten’s skills could be working for the government or some big corporation.

Bee was quiet while she sipped her own hot chocolate as if debating what to say. “I’ve only met him a couple of times and David’s been quiet about how he found Neil… but I’m willing to bet that Neil works here for much the same reason that most of us do,” she admitted. “It’s personal for him.”

Andrew thought about that after he left to continue with the rest of his current cases (Isabel and Ryan and Cory), while he worked with Laila on the upcoming court trial for Cory’s prick of a father and spent some time with Robin on one of her own cases. He had just enough time to meet with Aaron for lunch and was satisfied to have an excuse to turn down meeting up with Kevin later that evening to watch some stupid game in a bar, even if it had been too long since he’d gone out drinking or had any ‘fun’.

Josten showed up each day to translate for Peter, a quiet, unobtrusive presence who stood off to the side and relayed what Andrew and Peter spoke as Andrew worked hard to earn the boy’s trust, to slowly try to pry the truth out of him about what his father had done to him and his missing mother. Each day Josten would show up in thick sweaters despite the fall weather still being warm for that time of year, covered from lower neck to hands and feet, his hair barely combed and falling onto his rarely expressive face. He would translate and then leave, and Andrew wouldn’t see him in the break room or the small cafeteria or anywhere else around the Foxhole.

It wasn’t that huge of a building.

“What do you think of him?” Nicky asked during lunch one day, about two weeks after Peter had arrived at the Foxhole. “You’re so lucky you get to work with him – all of my kids speak English or Spanish,” he said with a slight grimace, as if he didn’t adore his cases; he worked with kids facing difficulties due to them coming out or transitioning, often because of their home life or the situations at school.

“He translates, which is good,” Andrew said as he broke apart his cheese sandwich.

“Oh come on.” Nicky rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner as he leaned back in his chair. “I’ll admit that Neil needs a major wardrobe overhaul and makeover, but he’s still hot. How can you stand being in a room with him every day and not notice that hotness?”

Andrew greatly regretted his cousin finding out about him and Roland, even if it was just a casual thing. “Because I’m working and we’ve said like five things to each other?”

Nicky frowned at that. “Yeah, he’s not very outgoing, is he? Matt’s tried a few times to invite him out to some of our group events but always gets interrupted by something. “ He grinned as he leaned forward with his elbows on his table. “I wish I had my phone out the one time the coffee maker just started shooting water out all over him! It was the weirdest thing but funny as hell! Another time he leaned against the fridge wrong and somehow hit the ice button and the cubes started just falling out onto the floor! I think Neil’s terrified of being around him because of what’ll happen next, the poor guy.”

Well, Boyd was a bit of an eager puppy when he decided to go after something, though not as bad as Knox – there was a reason the men helped Kevin with the sports therapy programs. “Nothing’s going to happen,” Andrew told his cousin. “Drop it.”

“But-“

“No.” Andrew grabbed the rest of his sandwich with the intent of finishing it in his office and ignored his cousin’s crestfallen expression with ease as he walked away.

Still, something about the conversation stuck with him, as did Bee’s. It made him study Josten even more, made him pay close attention to the way the younger man was so patient with Peter, would soften his voice or offer up a new stuffed animal at just the right time (when Andrew had to ask more details about the bastard of a sperm donor). How there seemed to be a darkness in Josten’s eyes when Peter began to give up halting details, when he drew angry red marks on the child images (and the mom images as well).

“Who is he?” Andrew asked Wymack when they met the day before Cory’s trial would begin. “Where did he come from?”

“That’s confidential information,” Wymack said with a stubborn set to his jaw. “Just know that he had great recommendations and leave it at that.”

No, not quite, but the old bastard had installed a better lock on the personnel file drawers after he’d realized that Andrew had gone through them to check up on the last few hires, so Andrew would have to bide his time to read Josten’s file (that or get enough dirt on Seth to have him hack the online version, which might be easier).

His part in Cory’s trial lasted two days, two days of mental exhaustion and barely constrained anger while he was questioned and cross-examined and had to push down the urge to get up out of a damn uncomfortable wooden seat and bash in the brains of some fucking prick who’d dared to harm a defenseless child. Two nights of the memories rushing back to the fore worse than usual, of the demons riding him harder than usual… but it was worth it for Cory to be free, for the prick to receive a guilty verdict, according to the text he received from Laila as he worked on his daily tasks once back in the office.

Perhaps it was that text, or perhaps it was the way that Peter smiled at him when the boy saw him, the sense of progress during their session, but after Peter was gone and Josten went to leave as usual, Andrew spoke up. “Soon I’ll start working in new elements, have him sit in with Bee and try some sessions with Kevin as well. He’s going to need to learn English and get back in classes once he’s stable.”

Josten paused by the door to look back at him. “Yes, I’ve been asked to do a language evaluation of him in the next week or so, and to sit in with Dr. Dobson.”

Still so distant and polite, as always. Andrew shoved aside a thought on if he was like that with other things. “No other cases you’re assisting with right now?”

“A couple.” Josten cocked his head to the side. “It’s fine, I can manage.”

“Is that what keeps you so busy? I don’t see you around here at all.”

Josten tugged the cuffs of his light grey sweater (he always wore grey or light blue, wore such boring colors and clothes) even farther over his hands; Andrew thought he caught sight of faded scars on the long, slim fingers before they disappeared. “I have things to do.”

That wasn’t much of an answer, was it? “What do you think of Peter’s progress so far? Perhaps we can discuss it over a cup of coffee?” Andrew didn’t usually do the whole ‘social’ thing, but there was something interesting about the translator, something that drew his attention the more that Josten tried to hide away.

For a moment he thought that the man was going to say ‘yes’, and then Josten drew in a quick breath as he wrapped his arms around his middle. “No, I have paperwork I need to do. I’ll send you an email with my thoughts,” he said in a rush before he spun around and almost ran from the room.

Surprised by the reaction which seemed almost fearful, Andrew stepped forward to follow Josten and find out what had provoked that response. He shivered as he encountered a spot underneath the air conditioning vent (hadn’t Wymack fixed that yet?) and cursed when the door slammed into him with unexpected force, enough to knock him aside and leave his left arm throbbing with pain; it would have been his head if he hadn’t thrown his arm up in time.

Apparently Wymack hadn’t fixed that, either.

Josten forgotten for the moment, Andrew cradled his sore arm against his chest as he stalked down the hallway to go have a ‘nice’ chat with his boss.

*******

Neil frowned when he noticed that the grapefruit weren’t on sale anymore, but perked up when the green apples and pomegranates were instead, both of which he stocked up on until he felt a harsh tug on his hair. He grabbed some radishes and yams since they were cheap enough to pass without complaint (and the few vegetables he didn’t mind), then left the produce section with some regret.

Chicken thighs were on sale as well, so he grabbed a couple of packages with a whispered ‘I’ll freeze some’, then checked to see what cheese was marked down and got some decent cheddar. He managed not to sigh over the ramen packages he added to the cart, and at least would have the chicken, radishes and yams to make a proper meal out of it, and got a loaf of not quite the cheapest white bread along with a jar of peanut butter.

He grabbed some more shampoo, laundry soap and toilet paper, then saved the first aid aisle for last where he stocked up on bandages and antibacterial ointment. At least he didn’t need hair dye for a few more weeks, he thought to himself as he headed to pay for everything, mindful to pick a different cashier than last time.

The young woman smiled at him while she rang up his purchases, talking all the while about how she loved ramen, too, and wanted to try making an apple pie that weekend. He busied himself bagging up the items as they came down the conveyer belt, uncertain as to why she had to talk so much and not just focus on doing her job, and shook his head when she asked him questions along the lines of if he baked (he didn’t like sweets) or if he liked Japanese food (he did enjoy sushi, but it was rare when he allowed himself the treat).

She kept smiling at him despite the lack of answers, and brushed his fingers with her own when she handed him the receipt after he used his debit card to pay for everything. Aware of Mary’s cold presence behind him, he was quick to grab the bags so he could leave, and didn’t flinch when he heard what sounded to be a drawer slamming shut and the woman cry out in pain.

He didn’t know why people couldn’t leave him alone, couldn’t ignore him like he wanted. Why did they have to smile and talk to him? He wasn’t worth their attention, their attempts at friendship… or worse.

Mary tugged on his hair several times during the drive back to the apartment, hard enough to make his scalp burn but not enough to distract him from the road ahead. She waited to ‘speak’ until they were inside with the door locked and deadbolted for the night.

/Did you have to encourage that slut?/ Mary accused as she yanked on his hair again, that time hard enough to bring tears to his eyes.

“How did I do that?” Neil asked as he forced himself to carry the bags into the kitchen, the British accent slipping back into his voice since they were alone. “I didn’t even talk to her and I barely looked at her. Next time I’ll avoid her register,” he promised.

There was another tug to his hair, but that time it was almost gentle. /Good. What have I told you about her kind?/

His head hurting and arms aching from the scratches from earlier which still throbbed, Neil set the bags on the counter and took a deep breath before he recited the words he knew by heart. “That relationships are evil and will only harm me. That people who try to trick me into one aren’t ever to be trusted, that they only want to hurt and use me.”

/Yes./ That time Mary when stroked frigid fingers through his hair, he shivered from both the chill and the gentleness of the touch, from the rare show of affection. /You need me to watch after you, to keep you from falling for their tricks, Abram./

“I know, Mum. You’re always looking after me.” He gave her partially see-through form as grateful a smile as he could summon before he started on the groceries. “How about some tea?”

/Yes./

Once the chicken was put away (most of it in the freezer, as he’d promised), he filled the kettle with fresh water and started it heating up on the stove, then decided that he wasn’t in the mood to cook that night and settled on a peanut butter sandwich with an apple for dinner. He’d just finished making the sandwich, the kitchen orderly once again with the groceries tucked into their places (it wasn’t hard to keep neat considering how little food he bought) when the kettle whistled, so he rinsed out the two mugs to warm them up before he dropped teabags in them.

Mary hovered over the steeping mug set out for her, a pleased expression on her incorporeal face, her long hair drifting about much like the tendrils of steam rising from the mug. Neil allowed his to steep a little longer while he ate the sandwich, the large apple saved for ‘dessert’.

His mother was quiet for about an hour or so, during which he cleaned up after his dinner and took to reading a book in Chinese in the living room’s only chair. /How much longer are we going to stay here?/ she asked as she floated around the bare room, her expression one of displeasure.

Neil marked his place in the book then hugged his knees up to his chest. “I told you, this is a good place for us and there’s no need to run anymore. The money’s enough for all my bills, no one’s questioning my past and I like what I do.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly when she drifted closer. “He’s dead, Mum. No one’s looking for us anymore.” No matter how many times he tried to convince her of that, it never ‘took’ for long; he didn’t know if it was because of all those horrible years of living with a monster, of the harsh time on the run or her terrible death, but she couldn’t move on from the past.

But wasn’t that what made a ghost a ghost?

(And who was he to throw stones at glass houses, when he lived with said ghost?)

There was a blast of freezing air, Mary’s displeasure made evident as she whirled around the chair and tugged on his hair once more as a furious, sparkling silver blur. /Nowhere’s good, Abram. Everywhere is full of liars and betrayers and murderers, did he teach you nothing? How many times did we think we were safe, only to run away in pain? How many?/

“Everywhere and always,” he gritted out as he forced himself to not lift his arms to protect his head, to try to shove her away (as if that would work). “But he’s dead, Uncle Stuart killed him years ago. That doesn’t make anywhere safe, but… but that’s why I have you, yes?”

The whirling blast of cold eased up and the tugging stopped, right before Mary coalesced in front of him, her head downcast and wisps of hair floating in front of her face. /Yes, that’s why I’m here, Abram. I have to watch after you, have to protect you./

“I know, Mum,” he told her with a trembling smile. “You’ve always looked after me.” She taught him French and encouraged him to keep learning new languages when they were trapped in that nightmare of a home back in Baltimore as a means of distraction, to keep him busy and out of his father’s sight (as much as possible). When the abuse had finally gotten to be too much, she’d stolen money and run away with him, had managed to keep them out of his father’s reach until that awful night in Seattle.

Even after Nathan had nearly caught them, had left them bloody and beaten, Mary fatally so, she hadn’t given up. Her spirit had lingered on after Neil (Nathaniel) had burned her body, had kept him going long enough to reach out to the Hatfords for help (at last).

Neil thought that Stuart suspected that Mary hadn’t entirely ‘moved on’ after her death, that he’d picked up on her presence around him. After all, Neil had to get the whole ‘I see dead people’ from somewhere, not that many other ghosts came around him with Mary constantly there, for which he was grateful. There had to be something special about the Hatford bloodline which allowed Mary to be so powerful as a ghost.

Or maybe it was just more of their lives (and afterlives) being fucked up and cursed.

The debate about him leaving his new life behind settled for the time being, Neil made some more tea and read a little longer, then went to take a shower before bed. He sighed at the sight of the long, red scratches along his arms and even a couple of across his chest, but none of them were deep enough to require any bandages.

That time.

He took care not to scrub them too hard while washing clean, and only looked into the mirror to check his roots (they would be fine for a few more days) before he removed the contacts and brushed his teeth for the night.

Once he was tucked beneath the heavy blankets, Mary took up position by the bed, a familiar sentinel which never tired, never wavered in her duty to watch over him. He missed how she used to sleep in the same bed as him, her back pressed to his, but knew that when he’d wake up from the nightmares that she’d be there to brush cold fingers along his sweaty brow to calm him down, to reassure him that she was there and all was safe.

He was Neil Josten (now), he had a home to call his own, one with a deadbolt and a comfortable bed (even with the gun under the pillow), with no ghosts of people cruelly murdered by his father (save Mary), no monsters in human flesh eager to hurt him lurking about to cause harm. He had a job where he got to help children, something that paid the bills (even if Uncle Stuart had set up an account for him) and allowed him to do something he enjoyed.

He had Mary to watch over him, ever and ever.

It was enough.

*******

okay, pretend i know what i’m writing about here (in general).

[yerbamansa]

I am depressed and the other day I felt like writing about it through a fictional character instead of my own shitty thoughts, but it’s not, like, a complete thought, and I don’t feel like putting it on AO3, so it’s just gonna live here, where basically no one will ever look at it.

It was maybe the lowest he'd ever been.

Realizing the one thing he thought he had under his belt, the success he could claim as his own, wasn't any such thing. Like everything else in his life, it was bought and paid for by his parents.

It gutted him.

"I think they meant well," Stevie had said. Well.

And Stevie would know, after what he'd done to her, too. How she didn't hate him after he ran away when she confessed her feelings for him, feelings he didn't and couldn't return. He'd meant well, too.

All he wanted was to get the fuck out of this purgatory of a small town--it was a joke, after all, that they had it in the first place--and bring along the one thing that had made it worthwhile, and he'd fucked that up too. It was ages ago and he'd let himself start to trust that they were in a good place, finally, as human beings with feelings. Feelings they'd rather not discuss. Feelings that had evolved. Feelings that were this close to being comfortable.

There wasn't any regret. But his brain could trick him into guilt over it anyway.

They say you have to make mistakes in life and learn from them. If every choice he'd made had been propped up by someone else, how could he know which things were mistakes? What was the lesson?

And would there be a test? David shuddered at the thought of a test.

There was no hiding out, not really. He comforted himself with his coziest handmade black cashmere sweater, turned off the lights, drew the shades, crawled in bed, and distracted himself with his phone. It wasn't a great choice. In this state, no amount of cute animal Instagram accounts can stem the tide of self-loathing bullshit.

Eventually, he pulled out his notebook--the leather-bound diary he kept within arm's reach at all times--and with only the heavily filtered sunlight coming through well-worn motel curtains to guide him, lay face-down in bed with a pen poised over an empty page. He could feel the thoughts starting to form. Like vomit rumbling toward the esophagus. He wanted to be ready.

"I don't know what the fuck to do now," was all he could put down. Get that one out of his head and maybe the rest will come.

What he didn't want to think about was all the things he'd failed at. The things he wasn't good at. The skills he didn't have; the opportunities he'd missed. They were swirling furiously as a storm, taunting him: "You always knew you'd never amount of anything. Deep down. Be honest."

But the first step to making those thoughts leave was to put them somewhere else. So he wrote them down.

God, if anyone were ever to read this. They probably wouldn't be too surprised.

How could a person with the world handed to him on a fucking platter be this full of doubt? It didn't start when they lost everything.

(Really, he should be in therapy, but you try finding a therapist who doesn't make your whole body cringe in this town.)

His face was starting to feel sweaty from being smushed on the pillow. He turned over and sat upright and fussed with his rings. Maybe the fog was lifting a smidge. He decided to take a shower and go sit in the front office with Stevie.

There was time, he guessed, for him to figure out his next move.

---

For whatever manufactured reasons, he'd ended up with the opportunity he wanted. Next came the hard part.

Right, right, a business plan, getting it all together, sure, but also: finding the inner well of confidence to follow the fuck through. It was emotional whiplash: knowing you had the thing you wanted, but with the fresh knowledge that the success you'd experience before wasn't legit.

David took a long, thready breath and pulled out his notebook. Earlier he'd attempted to exorcise the words of self-doubt that held him back, but there was real work to do. It was time to make a list of what he was good at, and what he needed to do to make his idea a reality. Because it was a good idea. It was! Right?

The page sat blank. Fuck.