#the cent sign sign ¢ stops looking real if you look at it too long

[necklesslapras]

today's pickup from the discount store: a deltarune birthday party decoration kit, comprising entirely of stolen fanart and some sticks

it cost a whole 50¢

[therecordchanger62279]

WAYBACK RECORDS

“Where are you?”

“I just left Sidney, and I’m headed up to Wapak, and then I’ll take 33 to Dublin. I should be back there by closing time.”

“Well make sure you are. A.J.’s not about to put up with any more excuses from you about getting lost now that there’s a GPS in your truck.”

“I know, I know. I won’t get lost. I’ll have everything delivered, and be back by closing. I swear.”

“Alright. See that you are.”

******

Meet Ronnie Dawson, a delivery driver for a small roofing co. in a small town in Ohio. Mr. Dawson walks a fine line between the real world and a world of dreams. When this day began, he was living reality. Before the day ends, he’ll be living a dream in a place we like to call…... The Twilight Zone.

******

I can’t get back late again today or my boss will fire me. This job isn’t really suited to me, but I collect records, and it gives me a chance to drive all over the state to different towns where I can check out any record stores that are still in business and maybe a thrift store or garage sales or flea markets now and again. The store I worked for was the last one in my town, and I just have to get my record fix. I don’t like shopping online. I don’t trust people. Anyway, I needed a job, and figured this job might feed me, and my habit. So when I’m in these different towns delivering roofing materials for jobs we’ve got coming up, sometimes I take a few detours just to see what I can find. Just last week I scored a Percy Mayfield record on Ray Charles’ Tangerine label for 50 cents at a thrift store in Hamilton. And last month I found a 45 of my favorite record by The Coasters, Shoppin’ For Clothes on Atco for a quarter at a garage sale up in Lima. You never know what you’ll come across. I’m probably pushing my luck with my boss. But I can’t help it.

Just then the cell phone rang.

“Hi, baby. What’s up?”

“Damn you, Ronnie!”

It was his wife, Rita.

“What’s wrong? What’d I do?”

“You know damn good and well what you did. Did you think I’d never find them?”

“Okay. Calm down. I know what this is about. You found the box of records in the closet in the guest room. I only put them in there until-“

“I don’t care. That’s not a guest room anymore. It’s supposed to be a nursery. Remember? If you think you’re going to keep buying records and storing them where the baby’s going to sleep, you’re daydreaming, buddy. I swear. I’ve had just about enough of this. There are records in every room in this house. I want a family, and the way you’re going we’ll never have the space or the money for either. You think I don’t know you’re buying records when you’re supposed to be working? You’re going to lose that job. Stella from the office called here last week looking for you. She said A.J. was having a fit you were getting back so late, and using too much gasoline to make the deliveries. How long do you think you can get away with it?”

“I know. I know. I promise-“

“I don’t want to hear it. Get your ass home in time for dinner tonight or you’ll need a divorce lawyer – and a good one. Because if I divorce you, I swear I’ll take every last one of those records in the settlement, and I'll burn 'em.”

And she hung up.

She knew when she married me that I had a habit. She doesn’t understand it. I settled back for the drive to Wapak, and listened to an oldies station on the truck radio.

_____

The drive to Wapak was uneventful. There’s not much to see or do in a town that small except for the Armstrong Air & Space Museum. But I never had any luck finding records in Wapak, so I made short order of lunch at Wendy’s and got back on the highway to Dublin – my last stop for the day before heading home. At least it was supposed to be my last. About midway between Wapak and Dublin, not long after I passed the exit to Indian Lake, I noticed a road sign that read Exit 6 Phillips 24 miles. Phillips? I’d never heard of Phillips, Ohio. Curious, I decided to talk to my new GPS.

“Reroute to Phillips, Ohio. Confirm, please?”

There was silence from the GPS. So I spoke the instructions again.

“There is no Phillips, Ohio in the database.”

“There must be. I saw a road sign.”

I tried once more, and again got the same response.

Worthless piece of crap. Who needs a GPS anyway? That’s what road signs are for. I’ll just turn off when I reach the exit. I’ve been making good time. I can still have a look around and get to Dublin and then home in plenty of time. I turned the radio up, and sang along with Get Off My Cloud by The Stones, and tapped the wheel to Draggin’ the Line by Tommy James.

     _____

There’s the exit. Phillips, Ohio. Probably named after the great Sam Phillips of Sun Records fame. There’s got to be some great vinyl finds in a town named after Sam Phillips. There was nothing except open roads and empty fields after I took the exit. I must have driven a good dozen miles or so before I saw a sign that read: Welcome to Phillips, Ohio. Population 570.

Wow! This town is really small. No wonder the GPS never heard of it. I wonder how much further the town is? Just then, on the horizon, I saw what looked to be a main street with buildings lining both sides, and a stop light ahead. The place looked pretty clean, and there was parking up and down either side of the street. I pulled into an open space, and put the truck into park and looked at the sign directly in front of me. Wayback Records. Well, I’ll be damned. They’ve got a record shop. And it looks like it’s open, too.

Sure enough, it was open for business. But nothing prepared me for what I saw when I stepped inside. The place was enormous. It seemed to go on for miles in every direction. And there were racks, and racks, and racks filled with records as far back as the eye could see. The walls were covered with posters advertising Rock ‘n’ Roll shows. There was a ticket window to the left that must have sold concert tickets to shows in the area. Next to that was a long counter filled with buttons, and belt buckles, and scarves, and countless other things embossed with band names and logos. To my right was a magazine stand overflowing with Rock magazines. I’d never seen so many in one place in my entire life. Rolling Stone, Creem, Crawdaddy, Circus, Circus Raves, NY Rocker, Hit Parader, Melody Maker, Zig Zag, Sounds, NME, Who Put the Bomp, Kicks, Mojo Navigator, The Record, Goldmine, Billboard, Cashbox, Record Collector, Trouser Press, and too many more to mention. On the floor next to the stand were stacks and stacks of back issues of nearly every title. I couldn’t believe my eyes. On the overhead sound system I heard – no, it couldn’t be. But it was! They were listening to Trout Mask Replica by Captain Beefheart and His Magic Band. And it slowly dawned on me that I wasn’t going to make it home on time that night. I wasn’t going to make the delivery to Dublin either. I was going to need an alibi, and fast! I ran back out to my truck, opened the glove box, and found my cell phone, and dialed A.J.’s.

“A.J. Construction. May I help you?”

“Stella. It’s Ronnie. I’ve got a problem.”

“Oh for god’s sake. What now?”

“The truck broke down, and I had to have it towed for service.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m in Phillips, Ohio off 33 about halfway between Wapakoneta and Dublin.”

“Hang on. I’ll get A.J.”

A few moments later I was listening to my boss, and he wasn’t happy.

“Goddammit Ronnie! What the hell happened?”

“The truck broke down A.J. I had to get it towed to a service station. They’re working on it right now.”

I almost had myself convinced.

“I just had that truck serviced a month ago. What happened?”

“I don’t know. Everything was fine, and then out of the blue, the thing just died. I think it’s the electrical system. I couldn’t get it started, and I didn’t have any lights or radio or anything.”

“Well, those supplies need to be in Dublin by tomorrow morning or we’ll lose that contract. I guess I’ll have to send another truck and we’ll have to reload them.”

“No, A.J. That won’t be necessary.”

I was trying not to panic.

“Well, what do you suggest? I don’t want to lose that job.”

“Maybe they can get it started. It’s still early enough. I can probably get them to Dublin by tonight. But I’ll be real late getting back.”

“Did the mechanic think he could fix it today?”

“He hasn’t said anything yet. He’s still doing a diagnostic on it.”

“Well, when you find something out, call me back.”

“Right, A.J. I sure will.”

And with that I hung up. But that wasn’t the worst of it. I still had to call my wife and tell her I wouldn’t make dinner. After giving some thought to it, I decided that call could wait. And I headed back inside the shop.

I began wandering around and I saw several glass booths set up throughout the store, and there were people inside them with headphones on sitting in chairs, listening to records on the turntables. As far as I could see, it was mostly records. But on one of the walls near the cash register there were 8 tracks, and a smaller selection of cassette tapes. There wasn’t a CD anywhere in the place. The aisles were long, and every fixture was jammed with records. I’d never seen anything like it – except in my dreams. As I browsed the aisles looking through the records, I overheard other customers arguing with one another about what they liked and didn’t like. I heard some recommending records to friends or strangers who were nearby. There was a lot of conversation while the music on the overhead sound system now played Dave Edmunds’ Tracks On Wax 4. This was a very strange place indeed.

The selection was also astonishing. The place seemed to stock everything I’d ever heard of. Every artist I could think of seemed to be here, and every record seemed to be stocked. I couldn’t imagine where it had all come from or how they managed to restock it all.

In the middle of the store, dividing two huge sections of LPs were several aisles of tables with wooden boxes on top filled to the brim with 45s. I noticed that the 45s all seemed to be in factory sleeves, and were original label as well. But, how could that be? And how would you ever restock them once you’d sold them? I moved over to a section labeled “R&B/Soul” and began browsing the selection there. What stopped me dead in my tracks was a copy of Frank Wilson’s Do I Love You on the Soul label. That record is highly sought after by Northern Soul collectors, and sells for a fortune online whenever it’s offered for sale. And here it was, just sitting in the rack alongside thousands more original Soul singles – most from England, and all with original sleeves on the original labels.

I picked up the Wilson single and walked to the front counter. There was a big guy working the counter, smoking a cigar. He was wearing a striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and when I approached him, he turned and glared at me.

“Got a question, kid?”

“Yeah. Several, I think. Are you the owner?”

“Yeah. Call me Fats. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering about this record,” and I handed it to Fats across the counter.

“What about it?”

“Well, it’s extremely rare, and you stock it, and….”

“We stock everything kid. That’s what we do.”

“But there’s no price on it, and I –“

“See that sign above the 45s?

 “You mean that one?” I asked pointing at one hanging from the ceiling.

“Yeah. What’s it say?”

“All 45s 99cents.”

“Okay, then.”

“You mean I can buy this record for 99 cents?”

“Jesus! Yes! You got a learning disability?”

“No, but it’s really rare, and – “

“It ain’t rare. We just restocked it from the distributor last week. We sell out, we order more.”

“How late are you open?”

“We’re open ‘til midnight every night. We open at 10 a.m., and we’re closed on Sundays.”

“Why aren’t you open Sundays?”

“Stores should be closed on Sundays. People need to cool out once in awhile, and Sunday used to be the day they did that. Not anymore. But this place closes on Sunday because that’s how I want it. I tell my customers to buy some Sam Cooke and The Soul Stirrers or Sister Rosetta Tharpe to get their Sunday music fix. And we don’t do holidays either. Holidays are for families to gather round the record player, or the upright piano or the radio. When you need that communal music experience, we’re here the rest of the time.”

Looking at my watch, I said, “Man, no wonder I’m hungry. It’s after 5. Is there some place in town to get a bite?”

“Sure thing. Go out the door to your right. About a block up the street you’ll see Roy’s Diner. Best burgers anywhere.”

“Thanks a lot. I’ll be back.”

“We’ll be here, kid. What’d you say your name was?”

“Ronnie. Ronnie Dawson.”

“Your folks name you after Ronnie Hawkins?”

“Nah, I wish.”

Fats chuckled as I headed for the door.

_____

I had a problem. I needed to get that truck full of roofing materials to Dublin by tomorrow morning. I needed to sort out the lie I told my boss. I needed to talk to my wife. And I needed to find a job in Phillips so I could live there the rest of my life. Before I started my walk to Roy’s, I got into my truck and grabbed my cell phone. The first call I made was to A.J.

“A.J.! It’s Ronnie. The truck is fixed, and I’ll have it in Dublin by morning.”

“Well, that’s a relief. What the hell was wrong with it?”

“Uh, there was a wire in the electrical system that sparked, and shorted everything out. Once they fixed that, it started right up.”

“Well, the site will be closed tonight. You won’t be there in time to deliver the materials.”

“I know. I’m gonna drive down tonight, and I’ll sleep in the truck and be there when they open in the morning.”

“Alright, Ronnie. Then get your butt back here because we got two more runs tomorrow.”

“Sure thing, A.J.,” I replied, knowing full well that after tomorrow morning I’d no longer be working for A.J. Construction Co.

I thought it best not to call Rita until I’d had something to eat, so I took the walk to the diner. Roy’s Diner had one of those rusted neon signs on the outside – half-burned out like neon signs always seemed to be. But there was a pair of sunglasses wrapped around the word “diner” and they were lit. The inside of the place had about a dozen small booths along the walls, and a half dozen tables on a red and white tiled floor with tablecloths on each. The booths had those old fashioned jukeboxes on the table. A girl behind the counter called out to me, “Have a seat anywhere, darlin’ I’ll be right with you.”

I took a seat in one of the booths and pulled a menu from between the salt & pepper shakers. It looked as if this restaurant had a theme. And the theme was Roy Orbison. That explained the name and the sunglasses on the sign outside, not to mention the early 60’s décor. And the menu featured a variety of grilled sandwiches with names like The Ooby Dooby, Chicken Hearted, Rock House Chops, Blue Bayou Cajun Fish, and so on. There was even a Candy Man dessert – ice cream with chocolate topping. I ordered The Ooby Dooby burger, a Coke and a side of fries from the waitress whose name tag read “Leah” and who peppered her sentences with the word “Sugar”. You want fries with that, Sugar? Small Coke or large, Sugar? Ketchup and pickle, Sugar? It’d been a while since a woman called me Darlin’ and even longer since one called me Sugar. Leah is in for a generous tip.”

While I waited, I browsed the selection on the jukebox. The titles were familiar: Oh, Pretty Woman, In Dreams, Blue Angel, Runnin’ Scared, Crying, It’s Over, Claudette, and many more – every one of them a Roy Orbison classic. I put a quarter in and chose three of my favorites.

The burger was even tastier than the song it was named after, and when Leah brought the bill, I couldn’t believe it - fifty-seven cents for dinner? That couldn’t be right. I called Leah back over to the table.

“Change your mind about dessert, Sugar?”

“No, but I think you miscalculated the check. Fifty-seven cents sounds a little light, doesn’t it?”

“No, Sugar, that’s right. The burger was 30 cents, the fries were 15, and the Coke was a dime. And two cents for tax.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. But I wasn’t about to argue. I could definitely afford to live in Phillips. I left Leah a generous 2-dollar tip, and made my way back to my truck. For the first time, I began to notice the other businesses on the street. Now that it was getting dark, all the shop signs were lit up like Christmas trees. There was Bo’s Billiards, Buddy’s Market, The Killer’s Bar & Grill, Presley Pharmacy, Everly Cleaners, Penniman’s, which looked like a men’s clothing store, Wanda’s Sweets - a candy store, Brenda’s Nail Salon, a movie theatre called Connie’s Majestic (which happened to be playing a double feature of The Girl Can’t Help It, and Where The Boys Are), Berry Motors on the corner, Vincent’s Texaco, and Cochran’s Body Shop. It was all starting to make some sense to me. But before I could return to Wayback, I needed to call my wife.

“Where the hell are you, you sonuvabitch?”

“I’m in Phillips, Ohio. My truck broke down, and I’ve been here all afternoon waiting for it to be fixed.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Look, Rita. Give me a break, will you? I know I should’ve called earlier, but – “

She hung up. I hoped she wasn’t serious about a lawyer, but I figured I’d find out when I got back home. In the meantime, I had to talk to Fats.

When I walked back inside Wayback, Fats asked me, “How was the burger, kid?”

“Oh, it was great. You were right about that place.”

“Isn’t Leah a doll? I went to school with her mother.”

“Yeah, she was something else. But I have to ask you a few more questions.”

“I figured you might once you’d had a look around town. So, go ahead and ask.”

“What is this place? Where is this place? According to the new GPS in my truck, it doesn’t exist. It’s not on the map. And every business on the main drag – including this one – seems to have a history and a name connected to Rock ‘N’ Roll. Where am I?”

“You’re in Phillips, Ohio, Ronnie. This place is the best-kept secret in the state. We don’t want it spoiled by outsiders. We want to keep it as pure as the music it represents. I built Wayback, and the rest of the businesses followed – one by one. But it’s my town. I incorporated it, and I’m the mayor, the city council, the police, the fire dept., and the post office, too. I named the town after Sam Phillips that founded Sun Records. And I only grant citizenship to people who are as devoted and dedicated to the music as I am. Everybody that came to town and wanted to stay and start a business had to agree to name it after one of the founders or leading lights of Rock ‘N’ Roll. This place is named Wayback because it’s the entry portal."

“The portal? What’s that mean?”

“It means to really see the town, ya’ gotta come through the portal – the front door of Wayback.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Trust me. It’s not important. Anyway, I get the feeling you might be staying. Am I right?”

“If I can find a job. Is anybody in town hiring?”

“I could use some help here, but you’d have to work your way up.”

“I’ll take it.”

“I haven’t even told you what you’d be doing or how much I can pay you?”

“Details. I’ll take it.”

“When do you want to start?”

“Well, I have some loose ends to tie up, and I’ll have to find a place to live.”

“You head over to Lymon Avenue. There’s a boarding house there - Perkins Boarding House. There’s a sign out front. Tell them I sent you.”

“Fats, can I ask you one more thing?”

“Sure, kid. What is it?”

“You don’t know me at all. How come you offered me a job and a place to live and we just met? You said you don’t let just anybody live here.”

“You collect records, don’t you?”

“Of course. But how’d you know?”

“I can spot a serious record collector a thousand yards away. They’re all going to come here eventually because it’ll be the only place they can be truly happy in the world we live in now. I figure we’ve all gotta stick together. Kindred spirits. You know what I mean?”

“Yes sir. I sure do. Thanks, Fats.” And I shook his hand, and called back as I turned to leave, “I’ll be back with my things next week. Don’t give my job away.”

“Don’t worry, kid. It’ll be waiting for you.”

******

All of Ronnie Dawson’s dreams were about to come true. He was leaving behind reality for a new job, and a new address in a new town. Phillips, Ohio. Take the exit 6 offramp, and drive 24 miles……to The Twilight Zone.

© 2023

[icarusthelunarguard]

This Week’s Horrible-Scopes

It’s time for this week’s Horrible-Scopes! So for those of you that know your Astrological Signs, cool! If not, just pick one, roll a D12, or just make it up as you go along. It really doesn’t matter. Better yet! Check out “Heart of the Game, Fredonia” - they can sell you those D12’s with the symbols on them! Get in contact with them on Facebook, shipping to the U.S. only, and tell them “Shujin Tribble” sentcha. “Hail, Hail, Fredonia!” Home of the Blue Devil!

We could have used various named hurricanes to give you something to think about, seeing as how it’s still hurricane season. But we’re having WAY too much fun teaching you things while warning you how to live your lives at the same time. So, see? It’s a WIN-WIN for us all! So get ready to calibrate your coconuts as we elevate your educated… ness. Sure! “Educatedness”! Don’t care if it’s a real word or not. It is now!

Aries 

We now know why that radio career you wanted never materialized: It’s because you don't like the sound of your own voice. Now, sure, a lot of people don’t like how they sound on recordings, but that’s only because of the bones in our heads. Sound travels through different mediums at different rates, and especially different frequencies. The bones in your head make your voice sound deeper than it actually is. So This Week… There are ways to train your voice to sound deeper. Might we suggest Primal Scream Therapy? It’s not the best by a long shot, but it might just work. OH, and… never take medical advice from a podcast!

Taurus 

Remember all those gene permutation boxes you had to draw in biology classes as a kid? Well, here’s one to add to that experience. There are roughly three ginger male cats to one ginger female because the ginger gene is found on the X chromosome! Meaning… female cats would require two copies of the gene to become ginger and males only need one. So This Week… If you see a Black Cat on Friday the Thirteenth, PET IT! No, there’s no cosmic reason for it! It’s a CAT! Be nice to it and stop questioning why you should be nice, for crying out loud! 

Gemini 

We’re not going to sugarcoat this for you. Wind turbines kill between 10,000 and 100,000 birds each year in the UK. Yes, it’s a LARGE range to pick from, but it’s not easy to quantify the number, seeing as how “carrion critters” will be all, “OOH! FOOD! OHM, NOM, NOM!” faster than the statisticions can go, “Oops! Got another one!” Interestingly enough, painting one of the blades black can reduce bird deaths by 70 per cent. So This Week… we know what you’re planning to do! Do NOT paint a spiral across all three blades in the hopes of hypnotizing the human population so you can take over. It doesn’t work that wALL GLORY TO THE HYPNO-TURBINE!

Cancer Moon-Child 

You’ve got some serious Universe-Wide Assumptions going on in your head, there. Be a shame if someone came along and screwed with them, huh? Well that’s JUST what we’re about to do. Listen closely… There’s no such thing as a straight line. It’s true! Zoom in close enough to anything and you’ll spot irregularities. Buy the best calligraphy pen, the most precise straight edge, the flattest tabletop, and the smoothest paper and draw a line. The closer you look the more frustrating it’ll be for you. So This Week… You think a beam of Laser Light will break this rule? Oh, you CAD! Even photons of light are bent by gravity! Nice try, though. A for effort.

Leo 

You’re thinking you have an actual Get Out Of Jail Free card because you have an Identical Twin? Have we got bad news for you. Yes, genetically, you might be the same person since, you know, the same DNA. But sorry to say identical twins don’t have the same fingerprints. So This Week… You’ve got two choices here, and we’re going to suggest the better option; DON’T DO A CRIME!

Virgo 

Land-Based Animals on Earth have developed a lot of methods for communication - most centered around generating and detection of pressure waves in the atmosphere. You know… SOUND! But what if we told you that humans not only have developed a chemical-based method of communicating, but that it’s already hard-wired into you! There is a theory that suggests we've evolved to sweat with a different chemical makeup when anxious. This alerts other nearby humans so they are primed for whatever it is that's making us anxious. So This Week… You should still take a shower before bed every night. You spend 6 hours a night wrapped in cloth, you should keep it as clean as possible. 

Libra

What do we say about doggos when we see them? They’re Good Girls! (I mean, yeah.. Could be Good Boys too. That’s cool, too. ANYWAY!) You think it’s cute the way they tilt their head when you talk to them, right? Almost like they’re really paying attention to you. Well, they sort of are! Dogs tilt their heads to better pinpoint familiar words and help them to better understand the tone of your voice. Because there’s a difference between, “Wanna go for walkies?” and “Wanna go to the vet for a neutering?” So This Week… Let’s be fair. You’d probably be more inclined to actively listen to questions posed to you if you ended up having a kidney removed because you missed someone asking if it was alright to do. Go watch the Llamas With Hats collection on YouTube again.

Scorpio 

What would last longer: the average marriage or the life expectancy of a cat? Well, considering the longest-lived cat made it to 38 years three days old, it’s not going to be easy to pick on that one, huh? Considering a housecat’s expected life is about 14 years, that’s pretty damned impressive. So This Week… Buy a little cake in celebration of “Creme Puff - the oldest cat to ever live”. And remember, you earned that cake.

Sagittarius 

You want to learn something totally mind-blowing? You know how some people talk in their sleep? Guess what deaf people do. That’s right, they talk too! But not via vocalizations. A case study of a 71-year-old man with rapid eye movement disorder and a severe hearing impairment showed him using fluent sign language in his sleep! So This Week… There’s only one sure-fire way to keep THEM from learning what you’re dreaming about, man! You gotta wrap your fingers in duct tape before you go to sleep. No, it’s not a kink-thing. It’s a conspiracy thing! But only use the super-cheap stuff at the dollar store. They can’t track you if you pay with cash. 

Capricorn 

Yes fish are weird, We think they have low attention and poor memory retention, but they can work together surprisingly well. When evacuating through narrow spaces in sketchy situations, schools of neon tetra fish queue so that they don’t collide or clog up the line they’re traveling through. Which means either they don’t panic like we do, or they value their personal space more than their safety. So This Week… You’re not responsible enough to own a fish tank. You wouldn’t even know how to drive it. Stick to feeding the pigeons in the park with Tom Lehrer. 

Aquarius 

You know how the old question is, “What came first: the Chicken or the Egg”? Well, Plants came before Seeds. The earliest plants were, basically, single-celled moss, reproducing by cloning themselves. Multicellular seeds didn’t evolve for another 150 million years after that. So This Week… We could make a “You’re Not Gettin’ Sex” this week joke, but really, we’re bigger than that. (Meaning bigger than you! OOOHHH!!!!!!) 

Pisces  

We’re not above using that joke to tell another Wood-Based Something-or-Other. You could buy yourself a Weather Rock and see what it’s doing to judge the weather, or you could just plant a Pine Tree. “How” you ask? Well! Pine trees can tell if it's about to rain. Next time you see a pine cone, take a close look; if it’s closed, that’s because the air is humid, which can indicate rain is on its way. So This Week… There’s another use for pine trees: using the sap as a firestarter ingredient. OR as a way to piss off That One Guy by letting it drip on their car. Ain’t No Way it’s commin’ off at a car wash.  

And THOSE are your Horrible-Scopes for this week! Remember if you liked what you got, we’re obviously not working hard enough at these. BUT! If you want a better or nastier one for your own sign or someone else’s, all you need to do to bribe me is just Let Me Know - or check out the Ko-Fi page ( https://ko-fi.com/icarusthelunarguard )! These will be posted online at the end of each week via Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook, Discord, and BLUESKY.

[nel-world]

hi- set

It's been three days since I lost the pool key, and now my mom is mad at me. It feels like she has a superpower that keeps her angry without a break whenever I mess up, which is why I try my best to never do anything wrong.

It's like there's a flashing neon sign on my forehead: "HORRIBLE, TERRIBLE, GOOD-FOR-NOTHING KID WHO LOST THE POOL KEY. $50 DOWN THE DRAIN!"

I try to explain to her that Cindy and I put up twenty flyers all over, and I understand that fifty dollars is equivalent to three hundred and fifty tomans in Iran, which is a lot of money to flush down the toilet. That's what it'll feel like if we have to pay the landlady.

"Why don't you check the clothes dryer and all your pockets?" my dad suggests, im filled with hope. I search through all my clothes, inspecting the washer and dryer, even go through the vacuum cleaner bag. I c heck between the sofa cushions and manage to find twelve cents.

But still, no pool key. The following day, my dad suggests praying to Saint Anthony, claiming it always works. "Saint Anthony, you mean?" I ask.

My mom , suggests we ask Saint Anthony to come over and look for the key instead. "He's a saint, so he's been dead for a long time," I tell her. "If you think a dead man is going to help you find the key, good luck," she retorts.

but I decide to pray, and, my prayers are answered when a neighbor finds the key gives it to the apartment office.

//

When I was a kid, I had this bright yellow Yamaha YZ80 dirt bike. It was super fast, and I loved riding it around. But my mom hated it.

"Josep, you ride that thing, and I swear to God you’re going to die!" she'd yell at me. And I'd be like, "Mom, it's fine. I'm totally safe." But she wasn't having it.

"What, do you want to die? Is that it? Ha?" she'd say. And I'd respond, "No, Mom, I don't want to die." But then she'd hit me with, "Or maybe you want to kill me from worrying. Yes, that’s it—you want to kill me." And I'd just stand there like, "No, Mom, I don’t want to kill you."

But she wasn't done. "No, no, maybe it’s better if I die anyway. I go to heaven, at least I don’t have to worry anymore. Go ahead, keep riding the motorcycle." And I'd be like, "Fine. Fine! I won’t ride the motorcycle anymore!" But let's be real, I kept riding that motorcycle.

One time, a cop caught me riding the bike without headlights. He was really mad and told me to leave the bike and get in his car. I thought I was in big trouble, preparing myself for the worst—prison, electric chair, death by firing squad—whatever it was. I'm practically begging to go to jail at this point, but no dice.he took me home.

take me to jail.. dont take me to my mom .. 

When we got to my house, my mom was freaking out because she thought I was missing. She was yelling at my sisters, too. The cop could hear everything, but he didn't seem to care. He walked me up to the door, and my mom answered, acting all polite.

But as soon as she saw me, she flipped out. She dragged me inside and slammed the door in the cop's face. That was the only time my mom ever hit me, but it wasn't physical. It was all the yelling and arguing that really hurt.

//

My mom supported me when I was in Starmites, she cheered me when I lost my voice and got it back again, and she never, ever suggested I stop messing around with theater and focus on something more practical. There were a few times she didn’t back my dreams, though. Back in freshman year of high school I’d asked her if I could be in the color guard, spinning flags and doing dance routines out on the field. I figured it would be fun. I figured she’d support me. “Mommy, I want to do color guard.” “The what? No.” “Why not?” “You’re an actor, you don’t have time to be twirling flags.”

I was supposed to spend my gas money driving you around so you could twirl a flag? There’s no future in that! You can’t get a job twirling a flag!” “What?” “What kind of job were you gonna get from twirling a damn flag? Huh? Were you gonna go from office building to office building raising their flag every morning? That’s not a salary position.”

Yellow highlight | Location: 595

She went on a fifteen-minute rant about the color guard, I swear to God. It may have even been twenty minutes. She was still livid. “What I look like wasting my gas for you to twirl a damn flag?” She did hate wasting gas. Color guard wasn’t my life dream, and I wasn’t devastated that she wouldn’t let me do it, but still. Some parents might say the same things about acting: there’s no future in it and it’s a waste of gas money. Not my mom. She saw a future in acting for me! Or I thought so. A few years after college, when I was working odd jobs and doing some local theater, my mom decided to lay this one on me, out of nowhere: “Dulcé, maybe you should have double-majored in business….”

[heymrstargazer]

im here to put in my two cents, and, frankly, im not here to be nice about it

i will be honest, ive avoided writing this for a while because im absolutely pissed about it. ive been alive plenty long enough to know people are pieces of shit sometimes, but this is too much. 

all for the game, being a mostly lgbtq+ fandom, has become beyond disappointing as of late. not because of the books themselves, or sudden realizations we’ve made regarding the series’ morals, but because of the pure amount of entitled shitty people who have come to find it. im not stupid; i know this is a book series, not real life. but, the issue is more than words on paper. 

a lot of my mutuals have said beautiful, genius things on the matter. im not as eloquent as them, or even as dedicated, but i will say it matters a whole damn lot to me. 

neil josten is demisexual. demisexual. how many of you didnt even know what that term was? how many people still have no clue was asexual is? how many people, even after hearing that neil is demisexual, were too fucking lazy to look it up? 

as an aro-ace person, i knew exactly what that was. and i was fucking ecstatic. not once before that had i ever seen any type ace representation, much less the main character of a book series i love. yes, i picked up the signs, and yes, the thought crossed my mind more than once. but to have it actually confirmed??? HOLY SHIT. do you know how exciting that is???

AND THEN i come to the fandom to see so many other people on the ace spectrum?????? it was like giving a child a lifetime supply of candy bars.

but, outside of this safe little space, you see people saying bullshit like “i think he’s better as gay. him being demi just doesnt sit right with me.” you know what doesn’t sit right with me? the fact that its those same people saying “im queer and i support others who are, too” but the second a sexuality doesnt fit into the range of an already-conceived fetish, they completely ignore and/or invalidate it. that is not supporting other queer people. that is being an absolute piece of shit person who cannot see past things they already understand. 

oh, not to fucking mention there are already two other gay men in the books. why cant you write their characters, hm? you have the time and effort to rewrite the main characters’ entire identity, feminizing him to an sickly unrecognizable point, but you cant write one chapter where andrew minyard wears a skirt? what kind of acephobic, homophobic bullshit is that???

im so done with people saying they support the others in this fandom, but then refuse to recognize the one, singular sliver of representation we have. if you cant put yourself out of an overused stereotype and actually encourage a relationship that isn’t perfectly molded to your standards, then i think you’re lying. you aren’t supporting jack shit, and you certainly aren’t supporting essential representation.

neil josten is demisexual, and that is an actual, unarguable fact. so stop making a fucking fool of yourself trying to say he isn’t. it’s pathetic. 

[poisonedapples]

Patton’s Home For Traumatized Kids - Chapter Five

Bad Memories Don’t Erase

Chapter Summary: Roman tags along with Logan and Virgil to hang out at their friend’s house.

First Chapter Previous Chapter Story Masterlist

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, stealing, and one inappropriate joke

Word Count: 4,008

Taglist: @shade-romeo, @grayson-22, @pixelated-pineapple, @acrobaticcatfeline, @astrozei, @edupunkn00b, @princey-7258, @eternalmoonlight19, @remy-the-lemon-berry, @look-ma-im-on-tv, @mariniacipher, @bigwendymonster, @nonbinary-octopus

Notes: This chapter’s a little short, but the next one is gonna be really long, so hopefully that makes up for it

On Sunday the next day, Patton finally took Roman to buy his gym clothes. Roman was trying to hide a goofy smile while sitting in the back seat, desperate to not get his hopes up while also ecstatic his plan was working so far. He was going to have Patton stay in the car while Roman shopped for clothes! This had never worked on his dad before!

By the time Patton finally parked the car in the parking lot of the store, Roman’s chest felt weighted from his anxiety, waiting to see Patton’s final verdict. So long as he didn’t change his mind now, then Roman was in the clear. He hoped to be in the clear.

“Alright, kiddo,” Roman’s heart stopped as Patton pulled out his wallet and gave him some money. “Forty dollars should be more than enough for some pairs of gym pants and shirts. Give me back all the change when you come back, okay?”

“I will! Promise!” Roman wanted to jump for joy. It was working!

“Text me when you’re checking out so you don’t surprise me, and if you see something else you might want, just text me before you buy it so I know. Tell me if you have any issues, okay?”

“Okay!”

Patton smiled. “Go on then, kiddo.”

Roman practically leaped out the door to skip his way to the front entrance of the clothing store, two twenty dollar bills crumbled in his pocket. He got away with it! No parents staring him down while he changed outfits!

Roman walked into the store and tried to hide the skip in his step. With no parents to watch him, he could buy what he actually wanted to wear, no tight pants and scoop neck shirts. No, Roman wanted to look like his real goal. His goal of being a blob of cloth that vaguely resembled a human.

Granted, he’d mostly gotten there. His aunt replaced all of his wardrobe, so his current clothes were a lot more comfortable to wear even if they weren’t very fashionable. Mostly bright colored t-shirts and pants, maybe some shorts if they were able to reach down far enough. Maybe once he was more comfortable with himself he could actually test out more styles, but for now, oversized clothes were all he could handle.

Roman’s walk sped up slightly when his eyes landed on the men’s athletic section. He had to be quick with this, he didn’t want Patton getting impatient and coming in to check on him. Roman looked through the shorts and shirt sizes, easily finding a size up for a couple shirts while heavily struggling on the shorts. Roman groaned. It was always the shorts that caused the issue, they were always too high up. What if he was sitting down and the pant leg rode up too far? No, Roman refused to get something like that willingly.

Roman took all the athletic shorts that could fit him and held them up in front of his legs. Most of them only made it to his lower thigh, but he managed to find two shorts that made it to right below his knee. Roman smiled and bounced on his toes, grabbed his items and rushed to find a dressing room. Once he did, he rushed into the first empty area he saw and locked the door. The mirrors on the walls and gaps in the door made it hard for him to change comfortably, so instead Roman tried to press himself against the very corner of the room when he was changing.

Between the six shirts and two pants Roman found, he was pretty happy with most of his choices. Thankfully, the long shorts looked fine, so Roman hung them up on a hook with a sign over it saying I’m buying this! and considered it a success. However, when it got time to look at the shirts, only three of them were good enough for purchase. The white one he grabbed was practically see-through, and the other two had a scratchy inside material that Roman couldn’t stand, so they got put on the reject hook while the other three passed the test. 

For a rushed shopping visit, Roman was pretty pleased with his choices. Two shorts might not be enough for five days worth of classes, but maybe Roman could keep one pair in his locker until it started to stink. Which might be a little gross, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Roman exited the dressing room and put his rejected shirts on a rack outside, carrying his other items to the checkout area. Before he got in line, he looked at all the price tags and added them up in his head best he could. The shirts were about six dollars each, and the shorts were a little over five after tax. Which means, adding up the extra cents, he’d have to pay twenty nine dollars for the clothes in total. Considering Patton gave him forty dollars, this was plenty.

Roman hesitated for a second. He stuffed his hand into his pocket to feel the money in the palm of his hand while he thought about his options. If he told Patton the truth, Roman would give him eleven dollars and there would be no issues. Patton might let him do this again next time they go shopping, too. But also…Roman had no backup plan. He was stuck with Patton with nowhere to go if things went wrong.

His aunt told him that Roman could always go back to her house if a guardian was abusing him, and he had every intention to take her up on that offer the second the opportunity arose. But even if Roman walked to her house on foot, he had no money for food during that trip. She lived so far away from him now, there was no way to get to safety without a dollar to his name. But if he stole some from Patton, then Roman could have a serious issue on his hands.

Roman slowly walked up to the check out area and handed the teenage worker the clothes. As she scanned all the items with a satisfying beep, Roman felt himself getting antsy. There’s no guarantee Patton will let me do this again. I’ve already gotten away with so much, and the more time I spend around him, the more danger I’m in. But if Patton notices I stole from him, he could be furious. Is there even a right answer here?

“Twenty nine dollars and thirty two cents.” The cashier said cheerfully. Roman handed her the money and she put it in the register, then handed Roman a bunch of coins, two five dollar bills, and a one dollar. She smiled. “Would you like a receipt?”

“Uh, no thank you.”

When the receipt printed, the cashier tore it out and threw it in the trash behind her. “Have a nice day.”

“You too.” Roman squeaked, rushing away from the register to stare at the money. Apparently they ran out of ten dollar bills, because the money was split perfectly for taking without it being obvious. Roman considered this a sign to take his chance. He put a five dollar bill and a quarter in his left pocket and shoved the rest in his right. It wasn’t much, but he could build it up. This was only the beginning.

Roman walked out of the store and tried to act normal instead of anxious. Worst case scenario, he’d say he forgot to bring out the rest and give Patton the other bills. Giving away the quarter also would be too obvious, but he could get away with stealing that at least. When he made it to Patton's car, Roman opened the back seat and tossed his clothes next to him.

“Hey, kiddo!” Patton greeted, “Got any extra cash to give me?”

“Uh, yeah, here.” Roman dug into his right pocket to grab half the money and handed it to him. Patton put the coins in his pocket and put the two bills in his wallet. He didn’t seem to consider how much Roman gave him, instead he started backing out of the driveway and got distracted while reversing. Roman let out a quiet sigh of relief.

He felt the five dollars still stored in his pocket. He got away with it. For now.

***

“We’re home!” Patton announced as he and Roman stepped inside. Logan and Virgil were both lying on the couch, and Logan perked up from his spot.

“Wonderful. We wanted to ask both of you a question.” Logan said.

Patton seemed intrigued. “What question?”

“Can we go to Janus’ house, Pat?” Virgil asked.

“Oh, of course, kiddos! Do you know when you might be back?”

Virgil thought about it. “Probably at six before dinner.”

“Perfect! Just text me if that changes so I don’t worry, okay?”

“We will.” Logan reassured, “And Roman, would you like to come with us?”

Roman tilted his head to the side. “Me? I don’t even know who Janice is.”

Virgil sunk into the couch more. “Friend of ours. Has a snake, talks a lot about philosophy and books. Acts like a tired underaged wine aunt.”

“Right, well, still. Isn’t it a little strange for me to tag along to a stranger's house?” Roman pointed out.

“Janus wouldn’t mind, I’m sure.” Logan said. “Of course, you don’t have to, we simply figured you would like the invitation so you’re not the only one left out.”

Roman’s eyes widened when Logan said that. Wait, shit, if Logan and Virgil are going to this girl’s house, then Roman will be here. Alone. With Patton. Until six in the afternoon.

Roman’s mood change was almost instant. “Well then, perhaps I should go! Make new friends and establish bonds, or whatever!”

Virgil smirked. “Sweet. It’s a short walk, just a block away. Just let us grab our shoes and we can head out.”

“I’ll tell Janus we’ll be bringing a third party.”

Roman let out a breath of relief. As Virgil and Logan grabbed whatever they needed, Roman set his new bag of clothes in his room next to his backpack. He’d have to remember to put some boxers in there before tomorrow morning, too.

Roman felt the five dollars in his pocket again. He took the money and hid it deep in his backpack in a hidden pocket he hoped wasn’t too easy to find. Satisfied with that for now, Roman stepped back outside of his room and waited for the others.

Once everyone was situated, Virgil called out to let Patton know they were leaving the house and then closed the door. Logan and Virgil did most of the talking as they walked while Roman just listened, following behind them and letting the two lead the way.

“Oh, and Roman,” Logan suddenly said during a point of silence, “Another one of our friends may also show up later at Janus’ house. He said he might be coming, so we’ll see.”

Roman shrugged. “Sounds fine to me.”

“Alright.”

No one said anything else after that on the walk. After a while, Virgil and Logan stopped in front of a house and started walking up the driveway to the front door. As Virgil knocked on the door, Roman stood awkwardly off to the side until someone answered.

It wasn’t long before the door swung open, showing a teenage kid with a large birthmark under his left eye. He rested his elbow on the top of the black and yellow cane next to him and smirked. Was he the brother, perhaps?

“I’ve been expecting you.” He said menacingly.

“‘Sup, fucker.” Virgil greeted.

“Hello, Janus.”

Wait, what? Against his better judgment, Roman forced himself to stand in front of Logan to face Janus. “Wait, your name is Janice?” He asked.

Janus put his hand on his face. “Janus. It’s Janus. J-a-n-u-s, not the old lady name Janice.”

Roman felt his face grow hot. “…Oh. Well, uh…”

Janus rolled his eyes and held the door open wider. “Just come inside.”

Virgil was the first to step in, with Logan following after while Roman hesitated. He made an awful first impression, maybe he should just walk around the block for a while instead-

“Come on, my arm is tired.” Janus coaxed. Roman felt too awkward to walk away, so he instead sucked it up and stepped inside the house with everyone else.

The house was quite nice. The walls were painted dark and the carpet was red, but it looked nice in a Victorian era kind of way. On the living room coffee table were piles of fabric and a sewing machine, seemingly making something that looked like a suit. Janus took the cane he was holding and threw it onto the couch. Well, apparently it was just a part of the outfit.

Virgil motioned to all the fabric on the table. “Fuck are you making now, dude?”

“I’m making the refined villain look of my dreams.”

“Nice. When do you think you’ll finish it?”

“Possibly tomorrow. I’ll start on it again after school.”

“Do you make your own clothes?” Roman asked, hoping to distract himself from his previous embarrassment.

Janus smiled slightly. “Less clothes, more costumes. Mostly for myself, but sometimes I make them for the high school’s theater when I’m feeling generous.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!”

“Wanna see Janus’ costume closet?” Virgil asked.

Roman shrugged. “If he wants me to.”

“Oh yeah, just talk about me like I’m not here.” Janus rolled his eyes and motioned for everyone to follow him. He had a downstairs family room with a closet off to the side. Once everyone was downstairs, Janus opened it and let Roman look inside.

“…Woah.” Roman looked at all the costumes, astonished and full of wonder. A lot of them were very extravagant, like they were specifically designed for a dramatic person, so Roman felt a calling toward them. He took a few of them off their hangers to look at; roaring twenties inspired suits and a black dresses with fancy gold finishes. Roman ran his hand on the fabric like they were fancy relics.

“They are quite high-quality.” Logan said, “Costume design is certainly one of Janus’ greatest skills.”

“I can see that.” Roman whispered.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Don’t make his ego bigger than it already is.”

“Oh no, please do continue, I’m designed to be the center of attention.” Janus smirked.

Roman laughed and put the costumes back on the rack. It seemed like him and Janus were pretty similar in personality, just on opposite ends of the spectrum. Both dramatic artists, except one likes to add that with tons of sarcasm. He could see them getting along quite easily.

“Also, Janus,” Virgil said while looking at his phone, “Rat bastard says he’s coming over. He’ll be here in ten.”

“Ugh, fine. I was getting used to the silence.” Janus sighed.

“…Who’s rat bastard?” Roman asked.

“Friend of ours.” Virgil replied, “You’ll meet him in a bit. He’s a rat bastard. Smells vaguely of cheese.”

“…Attractive.”

“You get used to it.” Janus shrugged. He then smirked at Roman like he got an idea. “Would you like to see my snake?”

Roman’s eyes lit up. “Yes!”

Janus led them all upstairs to his bedroom, Roman following last in the line so he could keep Janus’ door cracked open. As he stepped inside, he noticed a very large cage on the wall to his right. It was very long with lots of wood decorations spread across the container, with a fluorescent lightbulb above it. Roman looked around in the enclosure to try and spot the snake.

Before he could find it, Janus opened the top and stuck his hand in the cage. The snake climbed up his hand onto his arm, and as Janus stuck him out for Roman to see, Roman jumped back.

Janus rolled his eyes. “He’s a corn snake, he’s not known for hurting people.”

Roman still looked at it from a distance. The snake was large enough that Janus had to hold him with both hands, as well as being a mesmerizing yellow color. Roman never had a friend with a pet snake before. “…What’s his name?”

“Lawrence.”

“Nerd.” Virgil called out.

Logan smiled. “I think it is a wonderful name. Lawrence Kohlberg developed the theory on moral development, the very basis for ethical behavior.”

“Nerds.”

“You’re very mature, Virgil.”

Roman ignored them. “I think he’s cool. How old is he?”

“About five. I’ve had him for a while now.”

A buzz came from Virgil’s phone, making him check it and read the message. “Rat bastard says he’s outside your door.” He announced.

Janus didn’t seem rushed. “He can get in on his own.”

Roman laughed, and Janus set Lawrence back in his enclosure so he could bask underneath the heat lamp. Roman still watched his movements from inside the cage. “I wish I had a pet.”

“Patton would get you a dog in seconds if you asked.” Logan suggested.

Roman shook his head. “It’s fine, I won’t ask.” He didn’t really know what kind of pet he even wanted, and besides, it’s not like he’d be able to keep it once he leaves Patton’s house. There was no point.

Suddenly, a loud stomping came from the stairs outside Janus’ bedroom. Roman yelped and ran to hide behind Janus in the corner of the room, but the others didn’t react. 

Roman sputtered. “What the-”

Before Roman could finish, a large bang came as someone kicked open the door and let it smack into the wall.

“I’m back by unpopular demand!”

“Hello, Remus.”

Roman completely froze up at the sound of that name. He turned around to look at the person that just busted down Janus’ bedroom door, a kid with messy hair and peach fuzz for a mustache, ripped jeans in the summer with a cast boot on his right foot.

Roman felt himself choke on air as he processed what was in front of him.

“Slugs are goopy like jello! So jello is made of slugs, duh!”

“Remus, that’s gross! No one would make food out of slugs!”

“What’s up, fuckers!” Remus announced. “I’m back from the pits of hell! Also known as the emergency room.”

Roman didn’t say anything, only stared at him in disbelief. Remus’ voice was a lot different now. He’d hit puberty, so the pitch had dropped a lot from what Roman was used to. A tuft of his hair was white, also. Roman couldn’t tell if it was dye or a condition.

That piece of hair and Remus’ mustache were the only things that made them both look apart now.

“What actually happened?” Logan asked. “You never told us specifics.”

“I broke my foot sucking too much-”

“Remus.” Janus warned.

“Fine, fine. I tripped trying to run up some steps and my fall didn’t look badass at all. Don’t tell people that though. If anyone asks, I broke it running from the cops.”

Janus nodded and smirked. “Noted.”

“We brought a third foster brother, also.” Virgil noted. Roman stopped breathing.

“Oh, really? Shit, I fuckin missed everything!” Roman looked in the corner trying to avoid Remus noticing him, but it was never that easy. “Why hello, welcome to our humble- …Oh, fuck.”

Remus tilted his head to make eye contact with Roman, and the surprise on Remus’ face was something Roman would never forget. He seemed genuinely baffled, like nothing in the world would have prepared him for what he saw. Roman wanted to cry.

I wanted to leave behind these people.

“…Roman?” Remus finally said, “Dude, holy fuck, I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“Wait,” Virgil staggered, “You know each other already?”

“He’s my fucking cousin!” Remus exclaimed. “Come on, look at us, we’re only a little related but we look like twins!”

Logan turned to Roman. “Is this true?”

Roman could feel the tears ready to burst. His throat was scratchy, but he tried to talk anyway. “…I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Come on, Princey, don’t be shy!” Remus teased. “We used to be best friends, let everyone believe we were twins until our moms called our shit out. Absolute bastard children- …wait. Wait a fucking second.”

“What is it?” Janus asked.

Remus turned to Virgil and Logan with a shocked and confused face. “…You said he’s your foster brother?”

Logan nodded. “That is correct.”

Remus turned to Roman, seemingly at a loss for words. “…Dude, the fuck? What happened?”

Roman looked at the floor, gripping onto his arm so hard it’d be a miracle if there weren’t marks later. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I mean, I know I haven’t seen you since your mom fucked off to Neverland, but what happened to your dad? He’s still alive and shit isn’t he? The hell happened?”

“I said I don’t want to fucking talk about it!” Roman seethed, grinding his teeth together as he practically growled out that sentence.

Virgil flinched violently. “Roman-”

“Whatever!” Roman pushed Remus off to the side and kicked the door fully open, storming his way down the stairs despite the sounds of people yelling for him to come back. Roman stomped out the front door and took a sprint for it down the block, not caring if he had to be alone with Patton, so long as he wasn’t here.

“I bet you would eat a slug!”

“No I wouldn’t! Liar!”

“Boys, boys!” Roman’s mother laughed, crouching down to meet their eye level from their place sitting in the grass. “No eating slugs. Be nice to the bugs or we’ll go back inside.”

“Yeah, Remus!”

Remus huffed. “I’m not doing anything!”

“Not yet!”

Roman’s mother laughed again. “I’m going to help Uncle André with dinner. But I better not hear a fight, okay?”

“Okay!” Roman promised, watching as his mom went back inside his uncle’s house into the kitchen. Roman and Remus continued to play in the grass by looking at bugs and telling stories to each other, making Roman smile more than he has in a long time. He always loved going to Remus’ house. His dad never came with them, so he and his mom were always happier.

“How come we never go to your house?” Remus eventually asked after a few minutes of playing. Roman stuck his tongue out.

“‘Cause our house is tiny and the backyard isn’t as cool.”

“Still! When you come over, you never bring Uncle Theo!”

“Good!” Roman defended, “Dad’s boring so he doesn't getta come!”

“I like him! He’s fun and nice and always brings chocolate!”

“He’s awful!” Roman covered his mouth after he blurted that out. Remus gave him a look.

“He’s not awful!”

Roman looked over to the glass sliding door. His mom was in there, he could see her, but she couldn’t hear him. Maybe he could get away with it. He could tell Remus a secret and his mom would never find out.

Roman hesitantly took his hands away from his mouth. His tone grew to be a lot softer. “…He is, though.”

Remus tilted his head to the side like a dog. “What makes him awful?”

“…Promise not to tell anyone?”

Remus leaned in closer. “Uh huh!”

“No one at all, ever?”

“Triple quadruple promise!”

Roman looked back at his mom. She wasn’t paying attention to him, seemingly talking to his uncle and pouring juice into cups. Roman hesitated for a moment. “…My dad-”

“Boys! Dinner’s ready!” Roman’s mom called out, making Roman jump almost a foot in the air. Both of them got off of the grass to walk inside, but before they did, Remus turned to Roman again.

“Your dad what?”

“…Nevermind.” He missed his chance. Remus would never find out, and Roman never told anyone for another five years.

Roman ran faster down the street at the memory, fighting back the tears in his eyes. It was fine. Roman was fine.

He never wanted to talk to Remus again.

[wheelsup]

coffee is the sixth love language | part two

Summary: Over three cups of coffee, Spencer realized his feelings for you. And over three cups of coffee, he acts on them. gn!Reader.

A/N: the italicized this time indicates Spencer’s thoughts, not reader’s. part of this story is inspired directly from these comments made by @doctorthreephds on the reblog! thanks for letting me incorporate them :)

category: fluff, sfw

warnings: technically none, but the “profiling” part is kind of a reach.

word count: 3k

     Once Spencer was firmly resolute on asking you out, he knew he wanted it to be special in a way that only the two of you could appreciate. He realized that he had yet to be the one bringing you coffee, and so it felt only right that it should be how he makes his first move. He woke up extra early on a weekday morning to stop by your favorite coffee shop on his way to work because he knew you loved their banana nut muffins and double-brewed coffee. It was an extra twenty-five minutes out of the way for work each way, so you only got to go there on the rare occasion that you had a day off and were not out of town on a case. It might have been ridiculous to drive fifty minutes for a single damn muffin, but Spencer wanted to make this perfect for you by any means necessary. This was one of the special times that Spencer drove his car, needing the extra speed in order to complete his mission.

     He picked up your regular drink order and the muffin and was anxiously on his way back to Quantico. As per his plan he arrived at the office before you did, though not too much earlier because he wanted to make sure your coffee was still hot by the time you got it. If Spencer’s calculations were correct - which they almost always were - you would arrive within a two to four and a half minute window from when he did. Spencer took out a sharpie from his desk drawer and delicately scrawled a message onto the top corner of the pastry bag holding your muffin. He thought it felt like something out of a cheesy romance novel, the kind of novels that you could find in the fifty cent clearance bins, but dammit if Spencer didn’t deserve a little cheesy romance in his life. The other benefit of this was that he thought he would almost certainly choke on his words if he had to ask you himself. He set the two items on your desk and returned to his own to sit and observe. Spencer hoped it would be the first of many coffees he could buy you.

It wasn’t until you had already walked into the bullpen and were halfway to your desk that Spencer realized he had forgotten to sign his name to the bag. How were you supposed to react to him asking you out if you didn’t actually know it was him? And oh God, he left unsealed food on the desk of an FBI agent, with no indication of who had put it there. That is infinitely more suspicious than it is romantic. He wouldn’t be surprised if she took it straight to the trash can. So long for cheesy romance, Dr. Reid.

     But Spencer was absolutely elated when your first reaction was to peek into the bag and gasp out of joy at what was inside. He watched you break off a piece of your beloved banana nut muffin and chew it gleefully, and all he could think of was how cute you looked when you were happy. Shortly followed by concern that a federal agent would so readily eat unmarked food that could have been tampered with. That’s something I should bring up to her on the date. 

     Spencer’s stomach was in knots not knowing if you would pick up on the message. You swallowed that chunk of the muffin and turned the bag over to find an almost illegible black script that you had nearly missed: Would you like to have coffee with me? It just felt like all of the air had been knocked out of your body. 

     It didn’t even take you half a second to know who this was from; there were so many tells it was Spencer. Before you even noticed the note, you knew it was from him when you saw what was inside the bag. The whole team knew what your favorite coffee shop was because you had talked about it enough times. Hell, you even owned a oversized tee with their name on it that you kept in your go bag as a sleep shirt. But nobody knew what your favorite muffin was because you never mentioned it. In fact, if you thought about it there were maybe only a handful of times over the six months you’d been at the BAU that you even elected to eat this pastry in lieu of a real breakfast. But if anyone was going to detect a pattern, it would have been Dr. Reid. Of course he would pick up on the fact that you only picked those out at cafes when you felt like having a sweet treat, or that when Penelope brought in baked goods for the office you would only indulge if you saw your favorite item in the lineup. 

     You already knew it, but in case you had any doubt, the note itself confirmed your theory twice. One indicator was the phrasing choice would you as opposed to will you. Use of would posits a hypothetical, as in hypothetically, would you have an interest in drinking coffee together, rather than a hard, come with me to get coffee. The hesitance in the tone came off as if the sender were testing the waters, wanting to put the idea out there without coming off as too strong. Because it was reserved, it gave you room to think if you would genuinely enjoy doing so as opposed to making you feel like you should oblige. That level of respect screamed Spencer to you. And though it was so glaringly obvious, if you needed some concrete evidence it was the fact that nobody else had such endearingly atrocious handwriting like Dr. Reid. It was something you always found hilariously ironic for a man who often analyzes other people’s writing styles for work. You wondered what his way of scribbling said about him, and hoped he could tell you on that date of yours. 

     You looked straight at him, finding that his eyes were already fixed on you.

     “Yes.” 

     One word was all you had to say to make the lump in Spencer’s throat disappear, replaced by the sensation that his heart was leaping out of his chest. He was going to keep that memory stored in his brain forever, just to replay the moment when the future of your relationship changed with a simple word. Little did he know that when you finished that muffin, you neatly folded the pastry bag and tucked it into your desk drawer, saving it for the exact same purpose. 

_____

     Spencer had gotten to see your favorite coffee spot already, so for your date you requested that he take you to his to make it even. It was small, but incredibly cozy under the soft ambiance provided by string lights and charm of their mismatched furniture. There was one exposed brick wall adjacent to another that was a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf; it housed copies that loyal patrons left behind for others to pick up. All of those books had different colors of post-its peeking out from the pages. It was almost too eclectic and disorganized for what you would expect Dr. Reid to be into, but at the same time it made perfect sense to you.

     “You know, I think I just learned something about you.” You leaned gently into his side to tell him, both hands wrapped around your coffee cup because you were too nervous to know what else to do with them. Spencer was the kind of guy to sit adjacent to you at a table, rather than across, and you loved that about him. You loved having him as close to you as possible. 

     Spencer’s lips pulled at the edges to form a perfect, lazy smile. “What did you learn about me?” The team had an agreement not to profile each other, but under your gaze, Spencer never felt the kind of scrutiny that came with picking people apart. He trusted that whatever you had to say was going to be kind.

     “I think this place says so much about you. Something about how all those books are donations passed on from locals, and that people feel comfortable taking a book off the shelf and opening it up to read what others recommend. The fact that they leave little notes in it for the next reader to share what those stories meant to each of them. Nobody asked those people to do that, but they all chose to take part in these small actions that ended up creating an entire community.” It was one of the most beautifully human things you’d ever witnessed. A group of people engaging in understated and innocent gestures of love between perfect strangers, completely unprompted. “I think you value simple acts, the kind that can take on profound meaning without even intending to. Like when silence feels so comfortable when you’re with the right person.” You paused to take in his reaction as a gauge for how right or wrong you may be. He gave no objection to what you had posited, eyes simply glued to you in intense focus. Spencer was hanging on everything you said, wordlessly encouraging you to divulge more theories you’d developed on him.

     “And, visually, this furniture reminds me of a family home. The kind where some items were handed down for generations, some bought new, and others gifted by a distant relative who has no idea what the family likes.” Spencer’s soft laughter mirrored your own at your very accurate description of the shop’s decor. The room truly could not be more disjointed in its aesthetic, but that was entirely its charm. “It probably reflects that there are some aspects of your life that just don’t make sense to you, that almost seem to conflict with each other. For a guy so smart, I’m sure it’s scary to feel like you don’t understand something, and there are probably dark spots in that brain of yours that you try to hide from the world. But in this room, these things that don’t seem like they work together actually amount to something so lovely. And just like the charmingly hideous suede couch and the oddly fur-covered armchairs, every facet of you deserves appreciation because without them you wouldn’t make up to be the beautiful person you are overall.” 

     Neither of you could pinpoint the moment which your hands had drifted together, fingers loosely intertwined in gentle embrace. There was too much to unpack in what you had said for Spencer to know where to begin. The only thing he could say for sure was that he was astounded by how deeply you understood him without him ever saying any of those things. He considered that maybe you understood him better than he did himself and wished that he could spend his whole life observing the world through the same rose-tinted lenses with which you viewed him. At a loss for words, Spencer chose not to say any right then. The silence I have with you is the most comfortable I’ve ever had. 

_____

     After each of you consumed one too many caffeinated beverages, you still were not prepared to let the date end. You were willing to sit there and have as many espresso drinks as you could to keep talking to Spencer. 

     The universe must have been in support of your romance as the overcast skies broke and began to rain just minutes after the two of you had left the shop. Spencer was walking you back to your apartment, clearly forcing his long legs to slow down their naturally fast stride so to extend how long it took to get there. He could get an extra thirteen minutes with you this way. Spencer was given his perfect excuse to keep the date going in the form of heavy downpour; his apartment was far closer than yours, and he proposed you two should seek shelter together until it stopped. I hope it never stops. 

     Spencer held tightly onto your hand as he ran with you through the rain, giggling all the way to his apartment. He may not like wet, cold climates, but he sure did like holding your hand. Being next to you made him feel incredibly warm somehow when the temperature outside was very much not. And you felt completely at peace sitting on Spencer’s couch wearing one of his sweaters that he lent you. Truthfully, your own clothes weren’t so wet from the rain that it was necessary, but you both pretended it absolutely was just to be able to experience this. 

     It was clear that the rain would be going for a while and all you wanted to do to pass the time was continue listening to Spencer talk. You discovered that when he’s not interrupted, he loves to go on runaway tangents, often bouncing between different trains of thought as one idea sparked him to remember another. It was almost a sport to keep up with him, but it was perhaps the only one you’ve ever enjoyed. It was so easy when everything he said interested you. You loved that Spencer taught you something new every day, but no matter how niche a piece of trivia or shocking an unknown fact was, it could not beat the things that he taught you about himself. He was letting you in on so many unseen dimensions of himself whether he knew it or not, the explicit ones revealing implicit ones. 

     You had happily stayed in his home for hours, absorbing every word he spoke. What entertained you the most was the ability of your conversation to jump from deep, serious places to lighthearted stories filled with jokes and teasing and back again in a way that felt completely natural. Your favorite anecdote of his was the story of how he got addicted to coffee. It was the BAU’s favorite inside-joke that Spencer liked his coffee sickeningly sweet and you always wondered how he could tolerate it. Just looking at it made your teeth ache. When he told you why, you thought that the backstory was even sweeter than the coffee.

     As a twelve year old college student, Spencer found himself experiencing sleep deprivation for the first time in his life. The course load was more rigorous than he had in high school and even the boy genius needed to readjust to the new expectations of college. More importantly, he needed to cope with pulling late nights at the library if he wanted his first degree by the time he was eligible for a driver’s license. The Red Bulls that the other kids seem to gravitate to seemed far too aggressive for Spencer, their potent smell of chemicals a huge turn off. They were definitely not for him. 

     He remembered how often his mom used to drink coffee, always in the morning while Spencer got ready for school. Being at CalTech and away from his mother, who remained in Las Vegas most of the time due to her condition, made him so homesick that he took up a coffee habit as a reminder of her. He loved the way it smelled like every comfort he had ever known. 

     Though he appreciated its smell, Spencer, of course, was not ready back then to love the way it tasted. He was still after all a twelve year old boy who had a sweet tooth like any other kid. The bitter drink was almost offensive to him, so he always made his coffee with extra, extra sugar. He was a menace to the baristas at the campus coffee cart because they would have to refill the shaker every time he stopped by. As it turned out, Spencer was actually a little troublemaker in his youth. 

     You utterly adored this story and the way it humanized Spencer in a way that other people did not consider often enough. Yes, he was the genius in incredibly advanced classes for his age, but he was also a little kid who behaved as all little kids did. He also experienced struggle and had to cope with it just like everyone else. He was not, as some chose to believe, a complete anomaly beyond understanding. Those many misunderstood idiosyncrasies Spencer had started to feel grounded as you learned more about him and could appreciate how and why they came to be.  

     But the night was dwindling down and two of you had gone through many stories since the start of your day together. Hitting a caffeine crash, you found yourself unable to keep some rogue yawns at bay. It was only eight o’clock in the evening, not an unreasonable time for you to ask Spencer to drive you back home. The rain was letting up to a mellow drizzle. Spencer was running out of excuses to keep you here.

     But you thought about how still hadn’t heard about his first pet lizard, which he caught in his backyard, and you didn’t yet know what kind of music he listened to when he was fourteen. And you no longer thought you needed to make excuses to stay with him longer, so you told him honestly that all you really wanted was to stay the night with him and keep hearing his stories. So you asked him if he would set on a fresh pot of coffee, just so you both could sip at it, staying awake all night together.

     He happily did so, and while he set the large coffee pot on and took out two cups from his cabinet, he thought, this is the first of many wishes of yours that I’d like to make come true.

______

PART THREE

Tag list: @rexorangecounty @rachel-voychuk @snitchthewitch @spencer-blake-supremacy @happyreid187 @rainsong01 @librarymagic 

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

Wrong Number, Asshole - A Bakugou Katsuki Soulmate AU

All Parts 

Part 22:

You closed your phone, rolling your eyes at his words. 

You were a floor down from Bakugou’s hospital room, currently stood in front of the vending machine. After your collective screaming match, you’d quickly realized just how hungry you were. Apparently, arguing and yelling so much works up one hell of an appetite- who knew? So now here you were, standing in front of the machine, holding a wad of horribly crinkled money Bakugou had insistently and unwaveringly shoved at you on your way out.

Originally, you had fully intended to pay for your own snacks. You’d even sneakily tried to grab your wallet as you left, but apparently that didn’t work. He saw you, because of course he did. So, waffling over it for just barely another second, you put your own money away. You knew Bakugou wasn’t bluffing- or probably wasn’t. It wouldn’t surprise you at all if he truly did know how expensive the vending machine was, down to the very last cent of each item. He was weird like that.

You shrugged, if he wanted you to use his money so badly than you weren’t gonna pick at fight over it. You selected a bag of chips for yourself, and the gross-looking health bar Bakugou had requested- because apparently, even while already uncomfortable and injured, Bakugou didn’t have an easy time giving himself a break. 

When you walked back, entering the hospital room once more, Bakugou wasn’t alone. You couldn’t tell what surprised you more- the three police officers crowding his bed, or the man standing off to the side. A man with hair so obviously fake and stop-sign red that it nearly nauseated you.

You weren’t sure how to proceed, whether or not you were even supposed to be hearing this conversation, but you didn’t have to flounder for long. The red-haired man saw you almost immediately and began making his way over. 

“Hey! How’s it going? I’m so sorry, but Dynamite’s actually not taking visitors right now!” He says, says brightly. Then he’s spinning you around and pushing at your shoulders lightly to get you moving out the door. “My name’s Kirishima though, and I can totally, totally, help you back downstairs to wait with the other civilians!”

“No, but I-” You start, your feet barely able to move as fast as Kirishima is dragging you along. “I have to-”

“Yeah, I get it! And that’s so totally nice of you to want to thank him, super, super nice,” Kirishima interrupts you, leading you down the hallway. “But he’s real busy talking to the police right now so-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! I’m his soulmate!” You pull your wrist out of his light grip, halting. “My name’s Y/n L/n.”

“Wait-” Kirishima stops in his tracks, suddenly spinning around to face you. “How do you know that name?”

“Oh my god-” You huff in frustration, shaking Kirishima’s hands off you. “You sound just like Bakugou. It’s- that’s my name- like, my actual name, okay! How else would I know it if it wasn’t me?” 

A beat of silence as you watch his eyes widen.

“So you’re really her?” He says in disbelief.

“Yes! Obviously,” You pinch the bridge of your nose, breathing through your irritation. “Now would you knock it off and let me go back to his room? I get it- you’re like, security, or whatever, but I’m not a civilian and I-”

“He’s gonna kill me.” Kirishima pales in front of you, suddenly grabbing your wrist again and pulling you fast in the direction of Bakugou’s room. “Oh god, he’s gonna kill me.” 

“W-what? Why?” You stumble, nearly falling into his back. “Hey! Slow down!” 

“Because I totally manhandled you out the door- god, that was so not manly of me!” He breathes out quickly, but he listens and drops your wrist, slowing down to a pace you could keep up with. “I’m sorry, it’s just- I thought you were a civilian, you know? They’ve been crawling all over the waiting room since I got here, sneakin’ up and trying to thank him, and I thought you were one of ‘em.”

“Thank him? For what?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Um- no?”

It’s hits you then that you didn’t really know why Bakugou was in the hospital in the first place. Only that he was ‘held up’ and then hurt and had been absent for the last two weeks. You wanted to smack yourself in the face. You’d spent the entire afternoon yelling and arguing with him and absolutely not asking the important questions. Well- you did ask some questions, but not enough. Apparently.

“Wow, figures. You know, that’s just like our guy Bakugou! Always talkin’ so much but still never bragging about all the actual cool shit he pulls off.” Kirishima rubs the back of his neck awkwardly for a moment. “C’mon, lets hurry back. I really don’t think he’d be too happy if I was the one who told ya everything.” 

You have a million and one questions sitting on your tongue but quickly decide you’d much rather ask Bakugou than the man standing in front of you. You pick up your pace, finally once again in front of Room 427. When you enter, the police are leaving, all three of them walking past you on their way out. 

“Hey! Shitty Hair!” Bakugou seems to ignore you, instead choosing to yell, loudly, at Kirishima. “Who the fuck gave you permission to go around draggin’ her like that? I fuckin’ saw you, you imbecile!”

“Hey!” The red-head whines, hands out and placating. “How was I supposed to know? You didn’t say anything, man! I didn’t know, okay?”

“It doesn’t fuckin’ matter, you dumbass, I’m not gonna let you just fuckin-” Bakugou starts, but then he whips his head around toward you, eyes catching yours. “Oi- Idiot. What the hell are you standin’ around in the doorway like that for, hah? Look stupid as shit.” 

“Bakugou!” Kirishima seems appalled, grabbing at his chest dramatically. “You can’t talk to her like that! She’s-”

“Perfectly fucking capable of defending herself, thank you very much.” You snark, walking towards Bakugou and tossing the health bar at him lightly. He doesn’t expect it and you watch as it hits him squarely in the chest. You smile. “Real nice catch, angry man.” 

“Woulda fuckin’ caught it if I was in top shape.” He grumbles, but then he’s smirking and opening the snack just the same. “Anyways- yeah, that’s Shitty Hair. Sorry he fuckin’ sucks.” 

You clasp a hand over your as a laugh escapes. Kirishima doesn’t seem to think it’s nearly as funny as you do, and you watch as his face seizes.

“Hey, man! What the hell!” 

“You deserve it, bitch! Shouldn’t a fuckin’ grabbed her like that and dragged her wherever the fuck.” Bakugou shrugs. “If you don’t wanna be told you suck, then don’t fuckin’ suck! It’s easy as shit- even for a clown like you.”

Kirishima just groans, hands beginning to wave emphatically. “Do you even know how many people I stopped from walking in here? I did it for you, man!” 

“Yeah. Whatever.” Bakugou barks, taking a bite of the health bar. He chews for all of a second, before talking through a mouthful of food. “You should fuckin’ leave.” 

“What? Why do I-” Kirishima pauses a second, blinks, looks at you, and then a smirk begins to tug at his lips. “Oh, I get it! Totally manly, Bakugou! It’s because of h-”

“No!” Bakugou defends, his cheeks reddening slightly. “It’s- fuckin’ police, shitty hair! Told ‘em to wait outside. They wanna talk to your dumbass- They have more idiotic fuckin’ questions about after I passed out.” 

“Oh. Yeah. Okay.” Kirishima nods, moving towards the door. “You want me to come back later?”

“No.” Bakugou growls.

That, you notice, strangely doesn’t seem to make Kirishima upset? He instead smiles brightly at Bakugou, giving him a thumbs up, and leaves, pulling the door shut behind him.

It’s suddenly quiet in the room, but you don’t let it last long. You’ve got answers to pry out of your soulmate.

“So- heard you passed out, angry man.” You state simply, dropping once again in the chair next to his bedside. “When’d that happen?”

“Few days ago. Been here since then.”

You roll your eyes at his short answer. Leave it up to Bakugou to tell you only what you literally asked for and absolutely nothing else.

“Okay. But how? Where?” You ask. “What about before then?”

Bakugou huffs at all your questions, but then he’d nodding and answering all the same.

“Had to fuckin’ save this man from hittin’ the ground real hard so I took all the impact. Hit my head or something, when I hit the ground, and I broke a bunch of shitty bones. Guess I was out a few days, and then I woke up here. Then I fuckin’ called you or whatever.”

“You- you took a fall? That knocked you out? For days?” You gasped. “How goddamn far was the fall? Jesus!” 

“Four stories.” Bakugou says, and the uneffected, factual way he says it makes your blood go cold. “My fault. Shoulda been faster but I was already fuckin’ weak from bein’ captured.” 

  “Captured?”

“Yeah. Went undercover and tried to infiltrate this villian lair, and the fuckin’ stupid group of villians lumped me in with a bunch of other hostages.” He grunted. “I tried to blow ‘em all the fuck up, once I realized, but they had this absolute bitch, with a stupid fuckin’ siren quirk! Sang a bunch of shitty, annoying, fuckin’ songs that paralyzed me. Couldn’t do a damn thing! For over a week!”

“O-okay.” You nodded shakily. “Then what happened? How’d you get out?”

“Fuckin’ didnt. Just sat there, stuck on my ass, kept barely alive by that stupid bitch and her henchman!” Bakugou barked, hands clenching into fists. “Then shitty hair and a few other fuckers came and knocked her out- they stayed to fight the rest of the other villians or whatever but I was still too fuckin’ weak to fight so I rounded up the other hostages.”

“So you fell saving one of them?”

“Yeah. Stupid kid stayed to watch the fight, like a complete fuckin’ idiot, and got blasted by a villian out the window.” Bakugou flushes, averting his eyes. “I jumped out after him. To save him or whatever.”

You nod, very minutely smiling as you looked at his flushing face.

You were proud of him.

He might’ve been bad- had done bad in the past, but it seemed like that wasn’t all Bakugou was. He had good in him. A lot of good. He nearly finished himself off saving an innocent after all- that had to a least make him some sort of a hero.

“Well- okay....That all- that all sounds fucking horrifying, but I get it. It’s your job, right?” You sigh. “I’m just glad you made it out alive. I was really scared, you know?”

“Hah? Scared? Now why the fuck would ya go and do something stupid like that?”

“Because you weren’t answering me!”

“I told you I’d be gone!” Bakugou defends, before pulling out his phone. “Look! Fuckin’ sent ya the texts and everything!”

“You said a few days! Not 2 fucking we-“ You paused. “Wait. Why did you say a few days in the first place?”

“Knew it was gonna be fuckin’ dangerous when I left, so, you know,” He averted his eyes, voice coming out low and guilty. “Was supposed to be incase I got hurt. And was fuckin’ out or something. So you wouldn’t wor-“

“Worry?” You groaned, running a frustrated hand through your hair. “It didn’t- I was worried! I thought something happened! Or worse I thought that-“

“Worse? Fuck you mean, shitty woman? What the fuck stupid conclusion did you come to that’s worse than dyin’?”

“Bakugou,” You huffed, your shoulders sagging. “I thought maybe, that maybe you wouldn’t tell me anything because you were a bad guy- a bad villian.”

Bakugou’s face crumples. His angry eyebrows fall and his puffed out cheeks deflate, and his mouth closes tip-lipped and tense over sharp teeth. He looks devastated. “It- I didn’t-“ He struggles and you’ve never heard his voice sound so small before. “Y-you don’t think that, right? Now?”

“No!” You try to recover, hands out and assuring. “It’s- after the video, maybe? I did, b-but not now! Not now.”

He doesn’t say anything- won’t meet your eyes.

“Look, Bakugou,” You clear your throat. “I only know you as you are now, not who you were before. And I think- I think that maybe, now you’re almost a different person than before. So that’s why it was a shock. To see you like that. To see you so hateful.”

You duck your head, just barely catching his eyes before he averts them again.

“But that’s not you anymore? Right? You’re not that guy. So it’s okay. We’re okay.” You sigh. “Will you look at me? Please?”

He doesn’t, just continues fiddling with the thin blankets trapped between his shaking fingers.

“Why wouldn’t you just tell me?” You ask, tone pleading. “I feel like, maybe, if I didn’t have to find out like tha-“

“Woulda been the same. ‘S always the same.” He interrupts, voice barely there. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t- because it would’ve- there would’ve- you fuckin’ wouldn’t-“

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and sitting still for a few moments.

“You wouldn’ta kept fuckin’ talking to me.” He admits. He looks so small in that moment that it nearly breaks you. “Didn’t wanna- I didn’t wanna wait all my life, have this fuckin’ tattoo for so long and still have nothing because I was stupid.”

You pause, the breath knocked out of your chest.

“What- I- how long have you had your tattoo?”

Bakugou lifts his head, finally looking at you. He looks bewildered. Scared, even.

“My whole fuckin’ life- didn’t you?”

“No!” You cried desperately. “I told you, remember? Over text, the first time I talked to you! The day my tattoo appeared!”

“You were serious about that shit?” His voice is utter disbelief, eyebrows creasing together. “I thought- I thought-“

“What?”

“It’s- it’s not the first time somebody has gotten my number and told me they’re my fuckin’ soulmate. So I didn’t think it was real- thought you were jokin’ or somethi-“

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not- don’t,” He stutters, blushing just a bit. “Being a pro-hero, people always say weird shit to me for fame. So I’ve gotten that before- a fuckin’ random text saying they’re my soulmate.”

“What?” You ask, voice offended. “Who- why- I don’t get it-“

“Every hero gets ‘em- even one’s that don’t even have a fuckin’ soulmate.” Bakugou says. “I guess maybe they just text everybody or some shit- I don’t know? Didn’t matter to me I always jus’ blocked ‘em.”

You could hardly believe your ears, feeling winded as you brought a hand to your chest.

Bakugou had a tattoo- your name for his entire life.

He’d know about you his entire life.

Had been waiting on you for his entire life.

“Why- why’d you believe me?” You ask quietly. “If you didn’t believe the others, why me?”

“Ya told me your name.” He pulls aside his hospital gown, exposing the writing on his ribcage. “It’s- if ya didn’t, I wouldn’ta believed you.”

On his side, just under the last rib, is your name. It’s a simple tattoo- small, but it’s there, and in your handwriting.

“That’s my name.” You say dumbly.

“Obviously, sunshine.” He sort of laughs, something a little sad but a little happy too. “Only been waitin’ my entire life for your dumb ass.”

“Why didn’t you look for me?” You can’t help but ask, pressing your against against your suddenly stinging eyes. “If you knew- why?”

Bakugou goes quiet again, dropping his hospital gown back down. His tattoo is covered, but that doesn’t matter to you, you couldn’t forget the look of it if you tried.

It’s a long few moments before Bakugou speaks again.

“It wouldn’t- I wasn’t ready-“ His voice is low, quiet, the most vulnerable you’ve ever heard it be. “Before now- I wouldn’t have been good. For you.”

He sighs, shifting uncomfortably in the hospital bed.

“Think- I think maybe that’s why yours didn’t come in ‘till now. Wouldn’t of fuckin’ worked before.”

When you pull your palms away from your eyes, it’s like you’re seeing him again for the very first time.

It’s strange- the way your heart seems to be breaking entirely and rebuilding itself completely all at the same time. It’s a wave crashing against your ribs- pushing and pulling and tumbling and pushing and pulling and turning and twisting and- calming when you look at his face. When you look at the way his hair sits and the way his jaw slopes and the way his eyes meet yours. It’s death and completetion and rebirth and red, red wildfire.

It’s your old life scorching and curling and burning up. And it’s your new, better, warmer life rising from the ashes.

“God, I’m so fucking glad I said my name.” You gasp, tears freely falling from your eyes.

Bakugou smiles, so soft and warm and fond. “I know idiot.”

You just laugh at the name, choking on tears and snot and emotion, but you’re smiling. You’re smiling and smiling and it feels like you’re never gonna stop smiling. Will never have to again.

Because he’s him and you’re you and finally- finally, you’re together.

It takes a long while for you to calm down, for your tears to stop falling. But when you finally do, when you finally feel okay, Bakugou’s already looking at you.

So how long are ya plannin’ to fuckin’ stay, idiot?”

“Huh?” You shook your head, tears still drying on your cheeks. “I literally- but- but no- I- D-do you want me to leave?”

“No!” Bakugou groans in frustration. “That’s not- can’t ya just listen to the words I say without fuckin’ readin’ into them all the time?”

“Yes?” You say unsurely, but then your shoulders drop and you sigh. “Actually no. Probably not, sorry I-”

“I told you not to fuckin’ apologize, remember?”

“Yeah,” You say sadly. “But it’s not exactly that easy.”

The room is quiet again, and Bakugou is smoothing out his hospital gown, fidgeting with the tie on the side. He looks nervous, his cheeks red, and his voice comes out quiet and strained when he speaks.

“If- if I gotta work on me not screamin’ and bein’ angry all the time then you gotta stop apologizin’ and worryin’ so goddamn much.” He takes a deep breath, finally turning to look at you but only to just barely make eye contact. “It-we can fuckin’ do it together or whatever. Idiot.” 

You blink, almost shaking your head in disbelief. Bakugou was sitting in front of you, blushing and grimacing and had just said something borderline sweet? Out loud? To you? You huff half a laugh when you look at him once more, at his intense eyebrows and his red cheeks and his pinched expression. He looked constipated. Like saying the words physically pained him.

You soulmate was an utter drama queen, a certifiable child- and you just found it adorable.

“Okay,” You wiped your final tears away, leaned forward on your elbows. Your chest hits the side of his hospital bed, and, extending your hand, you meet his eyes. “Pinky swear on it, then?”

“What? No! You makin’ fun of me? That’s- that’s-” Bakugou growls, but then he sees the hopeful look in your eyes. You watch as his irritated expression melts away and he grumbles as he extends his own hand. “Fine. Whatever.”

When you loop your pinky around his, pulling his arm until it lies flush against yours, you think it feels right. To be that close to him. To be touching him at all, really. You wonder if it’ll always feel like that- if the completeness you feel will ever fade.

 You hope it doesn’t. 

You think Bakugou must feel it too, his eyes focused on the way your skin meets. Something guarded in his gaze softens, almost minutely, but you don’t miss it. 

“Happy?” He suddenly says. He waves your connected hands in the air, but makes no move to shake free from your grip. “Feel all fuckin’ better now, idiot?”

“Much.” You smile something small and tender. “Thanks, Katsuki.”

Pop.

You yank your hand back in surprise, jumping slightly at the tiny zap you’d just felt on your pinky. It didn’t hurt, didn’t feel like much really- If you had to compare it, it was very similar to tiny, electro-static shocks you’d felt before when touching carpet.

“Did- did you?”

“No!” He yells, hand still left in the air. “I didn’t so fuckin’ shut up about it- it was nothing! You didn’t feel anything! Nothing happened! It didn’t happen! I-”

Mid way through his rant, Bakugou grabs at you hand, awkwardly jabbing his fingers into your palm before he finally just laces then through yours. He continues like he didn’t, though, not taking a single breath between his words.

“-And even if I did- which I didn’t- it’s your fuckin fault! So just- so just shut up about it already!” He huffs, absolutely red in the face as he averts his eyes. He grumbles. “Idiot.”

You just smile, giving his hand a squeeze. 

Bakugou won’t look at you, his eyes trained on quite literally anything else, but you think you seem him smile too. Something small, and unsure, and barely there- just the tiniest hint of his lip curling up. 

He squeezes back. 

--//--

hope u all enjoy,, luv u!!

[mcyt-imagines]

TommyInnit Confession HCs

This is a combination of an imagine and some headcanons, this is a new way of writing for me so let me know if you enjoyed this format! 

- Tommy realising he loves the reader and how he’d confess to them - 

Tommy definitely would deny being interested in the reader in the beginning.

It would probably be a natural progression of feelings but tommy just wouldn’t realise it until WAY too late.

Like he just catches himself thinking about them when he’s just doing schoolwork and chores. And then he’s aware of just how much his mind wanders to them. Far too often in his humble opinion.

He lays hints about his crush when talking with Tubbo. He’s real defensive about it though. “You much of a ladies man Tubbo?” Trying to discretely get advice without actually asking for any. And Tubbo being Tubbo means he completely missed all the hints Tommy was dropping. (Not that Tommy’s hints were any good)

His stream for sure notices a change in his behavior, more scatterbrained showing visible signs of stress maybe a little more irritable too. Tubbo definitely notices the changes too and asks him about it. 

Tubbo would probably ask tommy on stream or in private something along the lines of. “What’s up Tommy, you’ve been kinda uh, distracted lately…”

Tommy for suuuuuure blushes and stutters out a response that even Tubbo doesn’t buy. (So instead he talks to Tubbo about it off stream, doesn’t mention his crushes name, but he keeps Tubbo in the loop. Tubbo finds the whole thing very funny because of how defensive Tommy gets in response, however he offers his support to Tommy, obviously. “Even though I have no experience with romance Tommy. I’ll do my best to be the best wingman ever!” With a salute to Tommy on his webcam. Tubbo quickly leaves the call saying he needs to do some ‘research’ (he puts the word in quotation marks with a wink)

Tommy would be a stubborn flustered MESS if stream ever figured out that he was crushing on someone.

And of course they find out because Tubbo slips up and mentions Tommy having a crush.

By that point he is absolutely CONSUMED by his thoughts about the reader as the more he tries to not think about them the more he wishes he was with them.

He also would 10000% be ignoring or avoiding his crush for as long as possible because he knows he wouldn’t be able to utter a single word to their face. His usual ‘big man’ façade would be in absolute shambles if he were around the reader during this time.

There would be a lot of internal and external swearing from Tommy when he finally realises and accepts that he likes you though.

However, this acceptance doesn’t make him any less stressed because now he needs to figure out whether he is even going to tell you!

But he knows he can’t keep living like this as he can’t keep avoiding his crush forever. And he knows the next time he sees you he knows his heart is going to literally burst out of his chest. And he won’t be able to stop himself. So, he devises a plan.

He gets a pep talk from Tubbo in which they help brainstorm his confession plan but he finds himself messaging Wilbur one late night after his stream. “Hey, can I get some advice?” Wilbur is shocked. “Tommyinnit asking ME for advice? Never thought I’d see the day.”

Wilbur teases him for a short while surely. But when Tommy finally puts his pride aside and tells Wilbur about his crush he sobers up quick and dishes out some solid advice and support for Tommy. “In exchange for my services I better be meeting this crush of yours Tommy.” “You got it big man.”

After speaking with Wilbur Tommy feels as if he can finally breathe for the first time in weeks since he first started to realise his feelings for the reader.

CONFESSION DAY!

Tommy sends the reader a text in the mid-morning asking if they wanted to hang out sometime later today. Also apologizing for how ‘busy’ he’s been the last few weeks using schoolwork or chores as his excuse.

He’s furiously texting Tubbo the WHOLE time he’s waiting for a reply from them. Tubbo pulls Tommy onto Minecraft to try and take his mind off the situation. Offline of course, Tommy would not be able to handle streaming right now.

Even Wilbur sends him a few messages to check in, jumping on discord to give his ear for Tommy to chew off. Which he most definitely does.

Eventually his phone dings and Tommy DIVES for it. “THEY SAID YES!” Both Wilbur and Tubbo groan from Tommy’s mic peaking with his screech.

Tommy waits for a few minutes before replying per Tubbo’s request. “I read it online! You don’t want to seem too into them.” He proclaims with false authority as Wilbur chuckles in the background of the call.

The rest of the afternoon blurs for Tommy as he stays on call with Wilbur and Tubbo as they do their best to distract his overactive mind.

However, as the clock ticks on he knows he needs to start getting ready or he’s going to be late.

Wilbur demands that he choose Tommy’s outfit. So for the next half hour Tommy proceeds to perform a free fashion show for the two, only for Phil to join for a short while to give his two cents before going back to his stream.

Eventually Wilbur settles on what he dubbed “-a classic Tommyinnit look-” one of his favourite red shirts paired with one of his nicer black jackets and the dark charcoal pants his mum had made him get a few months ago for a wedding. They are very uncomfortable.

Tommy heaves a sigh as he thanks Wilbur and Tubbo for sticking around with him today. They both send him away, “Good luck Tommy!” “Go get ‘em big man.”

Tommy had agreed to meet the reader at the park, he thought dinner would have been a bit much. Wilbur and Tubbo both agreed on that front. This park was right near the water, so it had a great view of the sunset. He was still pretty chuffed about that fact, his chat was sooo wrong, he could be romantic if he wanted to after all.

Of course, he was a little late. He repeatedly told his mum to speed. She refused of course. His mother of course had noticed exactly what this ‘hang out’ was and had quizzed him about his crush the night prior.

“Don’t leave the car mum.” Tommy was quick to warn her, he did not want her to be anywhere near them. She didn’t need any more dirt on him to embarrass him with. She could end his whole streaming career in an instant if she wanted. A truly terrifying thought.

Tommy was quick to move near the waterfront puffing slightly, nose a tinge pink with the oncoming chilly wind from the lake. “Hey Tommy.” Tommy would freeze instantly before quickly turning with a forced smile, a little too big for his face. “Hey!”

His crush would lead Tommy over to the nearby bench they had been sitting on before he arrived. And they would definitely sit closer to Tommy than he would have wanted.

Tommy would be so obvious. Stuttering over his words, a LOT of frantic hand movements whenever he’s speaking to them.

Mid-conversation his crush starts to laugh. “Tommy I think I’ve figure out why you have been ‘busy’ recently.” Tommy stills immediately, sweat dripping off of him in POOLS. “H-Huh!?” He makes a noise in the back of his throat that he has NEVER made before.

This seems to only make his crush laugh more, they turn fully to him and take one of his clammy hands. He quickly goes to yank it from their grip knowing how sweaty it is. But their grip is strong, and surprisingly calm in contrast to his shaking hands. He gulps simply staring at the spot where their hands are touching. “Tommy.” His gaze snaps up to their smiling face hiding slight worry. “Breathe.” And he finally does. His tense shoulders drop, and their hand leaves his. And suddenly he’s laughing harder than he ever has before realizing how ridiculous he’s being right now. And when he looks over, so is his crush.

The conversation from that point on flows naturally as the two finally begin to catch up after not seeing each other for a few weeks.

Tommy finally realises how comfortable they make him feel. He simply stares at them as they speak. Awed that it took him this damn long to figure out he liked them.

His crush stops talking, noticing him staring. He jumps out of his thoughts, “Hey Tommy, take a picture it’ll last longer.” And suddenly he’s sweating all over again as they laugh.

His crush is having the time of their life watching ‘big man’ Tommy squirm beside them. Trying his best to scrounge up the courage to say something, anything to them.

They open their mouth to speak when suddenly Tommy yells, “I LIKE YOU!”

Tommy isn’t even looking at them, he has his eyes squeezed shut and he thrusts his arm outwards holding something which promptly shoves into his crush’s chest. Effectively winding them.

They wheeze in response, “Me too. Don’t know why though goD!” They push out through gasps of air, pressing a hand to their chest. Pain beginning to subside as Tommy realises he literally just punched his crush.

His jaw drops and his silence continues as they take what was in his hands. A small book.

A scrapbook.

His crush’s face softens as they flip through the photos, memories flooding back to them of days long gone by.

Tommy stayed up all night yesterday just to finish the final details on the scrapbook, it isn’t the most aesthetically pleasing thing. (Even he knows that) But he put his heart and soul into it.

“Very sweet of you Tommy. But I didn’t bring anything for you…” They end up mumbling in response. Tommy only grins. “So you like it?” They scoff and finally pull Tommy in for a hug. He stills for a moment, then melts into their hold.

Tommy mumbles his apology for literally punching them into his crush’s hair. They giggle into his chest in response, letting him know that it’s fine, they’re okay. Tommy mumbles something incoherent into their hair and presses a cautionary kiss to the top of their head.

“AWWWWW!” A loud noise comes from behind their bench. Tommy and his crush dive apart only to see Tommy’s mum hidden behind a nearby tree.

“MUUUUUUUUUM!” Tommy screeches as his crush cackles out a laugh.

Tommy’s mum ends up driving his crush home as well, they sit in the back seat of the car holding hands.

“This didn’t go at all how I’d planned…” Tommy complains with a deep pout. “Oh really? Your plan didn’t involve punching me? Huh?” Their crush sniggers at him.

“Oh! His real plan-“ His mother starts and in order to cut her off Tommy just starts yelling at the top of his lungs “Nononono!!”. Causing his crush to burst into laughter as the two try to increase their volumes to drown out the other.

His crush shakes their head with a grin and wonders what the hell they’ve just gotten themselves into.

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Fresh Starts

Leah (Stardew) x Selectively Mute She/Her Reader

A/N: Thought I’d try something different with this one. Sorry if I didn’t detail the instances of sign language very well, or if they are a little off, I did try. Also Kel is an asshol in this when they show up so get ready for that. Robin is cool mom and Abigail is the friend who is always ready to fight at the drop of a hat. Also, time is so weird in Stardew? There are four season in a year but each season is like a month so a year is like four months. Time is scary. I hope you like it! Word Count: 8,943

~

“So, someone has finally taken up that old farmland,” Leah heard Gus say to Harvey as he fixed the good doctor a drink at the bar, “‘Heard Lewis and Robin talking about it outside of Pierre’s yesterday.”

“Is that so?” Harvey was tired from a long day at the clinic, but being ever polite, he humored Gus and rested fully against the bar stool.

“Mhmm, looks like the old man’s kin is finally gonna make something of it. A few years late though I must say, that place is well overgrown. It’s gonna take a lot more than a little elbow grease to spruce up that dump,” Gus chuckled good naturedly and handed Harvey his beer, “I wish them luck, whoever they are.”

“Bah!” Leah jumped in her seat tucked away in the corner. Pam must have been listening in too. “If they’re smart they’ll just sell the heap of trash to Joja. M’sure they’d get a pretty penny for it.” Pam spoke bitterly. Shane, who was also quite drunk at this point in the night, took the opportunity to add his two cents in and yell across the bar.

“Why would they get your daughter for selling out to Joja?”

“That’s not what I meant, dumbass!” Pam roared back, slamming her beer on the table with a loud thump.

Leah decided she’d call it a night then. Without Elliott to crack jokes with, the saloon could get real depressing real fast with Shane and Pam racing each other to see who would get alcohol poisoning first. Even Clint was just sad to watch. The poor man sitting hopefully, waiting for Emily to even just turn in his direction. Leah finished the rest of her beer and paid Gus, giving the man a sympathetic smile as he left to cut Shane off.

Leah shivered in the cool spring breeze as she walked along the river bank to her cottage and her thoughts wandered back to what Gus had been gossiping about.

“A new face around Stardew Valley, hm?” Leah mused, kicking a stray pebble in her path, watching it skip across the cobbled stone. “I guess I won’t be the town newbie anymore.” She smiled and turned to look in the direction of Marnie’s home, knowing that the farm was somewhere just beyond. As Leah turned the key to unlock the door of her small cottage, she wondered what changes this new resident might bring.

***

“Have you met our new resident farmer yet?” Leah heard Caroline ask Jodi as she walked across the town square.

“I suppose you could call it that,” Jodi laughed, “It was a very brief meeting to say the least.”

“I’m glad I wasn’t the only one then,” Caroline sighed, putting a hand to her chest in relief, “I thought I had offended the girl somehow, she never said a word. She just walked into the shop and pointed to a few seeds she wanted to buy, then she handed Abigail, Pierre and I daffodils and went on her way. Not so much as a sound.” Caroline explained, still bewildered by the interaction.

“Sounds about right,” Jodi nodded, “She knocked on the front door and handed me a single clam. Which was nice I suppose, but so very odd. She gave Vincent a daffodil too,” Jodi smiled, “He was very pleased. I’m sure she would have given Sam something as well if he could wake up at a more reasonable time.”

“Oh, Leah! Good morning!” Caroline had caught her. Leah put on her most sociable smile and walked forward, greeting the two women.

“Good morning Caroline, Jodi.”

“Have you been visited by the farm fairy yet?” Jodi asked, chuckling along with Caroline.

“I’m afraid not.” Leah admitted. “Although Elliott says I am a bit difficult to track down at the best of times.” She laughed good naturedly.

“Well, I’m sure she’ll get you sooner or later. She seems to be on a mission to greet the whole town. If you can call it a greeting I suppose. I don’t even know her name.” Caroline realized.

“It’s (Y/n).”

The three women jumped and turned to a grinning Robin, walking up to them with her yoga mat swaddled under her arm.

“Her name is (Y/n). She’s quite the character, huh?”

“Robin, you helped Mayor Lewis move her in didn’t you? What can you tell us?” Jodi asked, looking for any crumb of information she could get on the mysterious girl.

“Not much to tell,” Robin shrugged, “Just a sweet kid wanting to get away from the pressures of the big city,” she sent a knowing look at Leah, “Sounds like someone else I know.”

Leah laughed politely, twisting a finger around the tail end of her braid as blush settled in her cheeks faintly.

“But why is she so... you know, quiet?” Caroline asked.

“Hm, well, she did give me her blessing to explain should it come up.” Robin took a moment to think of how to proceed, absently tapping her fingers against her mat. “(Y/n) is selectively mute. She has the ability to speak, but she’s just not comfortable enough to do so at this time. This move was a big decision for her, and she’s excited, but it’s just gonna take some time before she feels secure enough to communicate orally.”

“And how did you get all this information out of her?” Caroline wondered.

Robin secured her yoga mat between her thighs and presented both hands, pointing her index fingers outward and drew a couple large circles in the air with the tips of her extended fingers. “Sign language!” Robin grinned, before taking a hold of her mat once more.

“Oh how clever!” Jodi praised. “I wish I understood sign language.”

“I’d be happy to show you a few of the basics sometime. If you really need to ask (Y/n) something though she will have no problem writing out answers for you.” Robin informed. “Now, are we working out today or...”

“I completely forgot!” Caroline smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand, “Yes, let’s go. Poor Marnie is probably wondering where we are. Are you going to join us Leah?”

“I’ll pass, thanks. I’m heading to the beach to do some painting,” Leah explained, motioning to her bag.

“Alright, see you around!” Caroline, Jodi and Robin bid Leah goodbye and hurried to the general store.

Leah sighed, as much as she liked the people in this town they were so chatty. She could have been at the beach forever ago! Once she arrived, she saw Haley sunbathing. Not unusual, but as she kept walking closer to shore she saw Elliott splayed out over the sand laying on his stomach.

Leah rolled her eyes and walked over, playfully kicking the man’s arm, causing him to squint up at her.

“Is there some kind of new writing exercise I should know about?” She asked, playfully.

“I wish, this is simply writer’s block at its finest.” Elliott groaned. “That, and I don’t know what I’m going to do with this,” he sat up and produced a wild horseradish from his jacket pocket.

“Why do you have a horseradish in your pocket?”

“A girl I’ve never seen before in my life gave it to me. Then she took off before I could refuse. Didn’t even say a word.”

“She’s totally weird, but she did give me a daffodil so I guess she’s not that bad.” Haley called from her own spot in the sand.

“Has everyone met the new girl except me?” Leah wondered aloud.

“She’s been making rounds. I’m sure she’ll find you eventually.” Elliott said, resting his chin over his arms.

“You make her sound so ominous.” Leah laughed, lowering herself to the sand and taking out a sketch pad.

“A silent specter. A harbinger of-“

“Oh can it, drama queen,” Leah smirked, “so she gave you a horseradish, it’s not the end of the world. She was just trying to be nice.”

Elliott pursed his lips, propping his head up with one hand he turned the horseradish in the other offering it to Leah. “Do you want it? You’re all about foraging.”

“I mean, if you’re not going to use it sure. Put it in my bag.” Leah relented easily. Her eyes only leaving her paper to study the horizon for a moment, then continue to sketch.

Leah stayed on the beach with Elliott for a couple of hours, talking  sketching, and painting. Finally she stood and stretched, patting the sand off the back of her jeans. “I should get going. See you around.”

“See you.” Elliott nodded, splitting off from Leah to head over to his shack.

Leah hummed to herself as she walked through town, making her way past Jodi’s house and entered the Cindersnap Forest. As she rounded the corner of her cottage, she paused in her tracks. Observing a young woman staring at her door with dandelions in one hand and her other poised to knock on the weathered wood.

Leah flinched slightly, she had stepped on a twig, snapping it and alerting her visitor of her presence.

Startled eyes met Leah’s own and the farmer straightened from her previous position, stepping back from Leah’s door.

She smiled shyly, giving Leah a short, jaunty wave before gesturing between Leah and the cottage a moment. Then she stood still. An expectant look on her face.

Leah simply stared back, blinking before she registered the silent question. “Oh! Yes, I live here. That’s my house. You’re (Y/n), right? Robin told me about you, I’m Leah.” She smiled kindly, coming forward to offer (Y/n) her hand to shake.

Instead of grasping Leah’s hand, (Y/n) cupped it with her gloved hands, turning Leah’s hand palm up and placing the dandelions inside.

“Ah, thank you.” Leah chuckled, “These will make a great salad.”

(Y/n) nodded vigorously, then moved to make her exit. Leah wasn’t sure what possessed her, but she called out to (Y/n) before she could get too far.

“Wait, I um, it’s not much but I did take an intro to ASL course my freshman year of college so, I’m a bit limited but if you ever want to talk, you know...” Leah wished she could stop talking right now. Why had no one told her that the farmer was cute!? “So, yeah, you know,” Leah fumbled with her free hand, her fingers sat just underneath her chin before she sent them forward, “Thanks again.” She smiled nervously.

(Y/n) stared at her, dumbfounded. Then she released a short, sharp exhalation of air that was reminiscent of stuttered laughter and turned back to stand before Leah. (Y/n) made a timid approach and gingerly took Leah’s wrist, still hovering midair, and guided the hand back to rest on Leah’s chin, just below her lip. Leah stood still as stone as (Y/n) held it there for a second then extended the hand forward. She repeated the motion twice more before backing away and releasing Leah from her gloved grasp. The smell of earth and grass still clung to Leah’s nose even after (Y/n) had stepped back.

“Oh, I did it wrong, didn’t I?” Leah blushed, “Is there a big difference between the two?”

(Y/n) blew out a large breath of air and nodded. One of her gloved hands came up to cover the amused smile fighting against her lips.

“What did I say? Was is embarrassing? Yoba, I need to know,” Leah carefully set the dandelions at her feet and rummaged through her bag. Taking out her sketch pad and a pencil, she flipped to a clean page and presented the materials into the rough fabric of (Y/n)’s gloved hands, “Please, tell me.”

(Y/n) shot Leah a sympathetic smile, then she looked down at the paper and wrote quickly and concisely. She looked over her work, nodded to herself, then she handed the sketch book and pencil back to Leah before jogging of in the direction of her farm.

“Eh- Hey! Wait a minute!” Leah took a few strides after the farmer but quickly gave up, electing to look at the paper in her hand instead. “Maybe I’ll tell you some other time. Nice meeting you Leah, smiley face.” Leah read aloud to herself. She scoffed, but couldn’t stop the smile that had conquered her lips. She couldn’t wait to see (Y/n) again.

***

“Hey, Maru-“

“I think I have a feeling about what this is about, but just in case, please proceed.”

The next morning, Leah had made her way to the clinic to visit Maru and perhaps get the answers she was looking for. She had made the trek to (Y/n)’s farm first, but she wasn’t there. A little note hastily taped to the farmer’s door revealed that she was spending the day fishing in the mountains and wouldn’t be back until late at night.

“Maru, you know sign language like your mom, right?” Leah asked.

“Sure do. Seb and dad do too.” Maru nodded, leaning over the clinic counter. “But I’ve got to tell you that if you’re looking for the meaning of what you accidentally signed to (Y/n) last night, we were sworn to silence earlier this morning before (Y/n) went fishing. Sorry.” Maru smiled.

“Ugh,” Leah sighed, leaning her forehead against the counter. “Can I at least have a hint?”

“Well, it’s really funny. Especially considering how chill you normally are and your kind disposition.”

“Yoba, I really need to know!” Leah groaned against the counter.

“Well my family can’t tell you. You’ll just have to wait to hear it from (Y/n),” Maru grinned and pushed away from the counter, “I have to prepare for Evelyn’s check up now so I’ll see you around Leah.”

“Yeah, bye.” Leah grumbled, watching Maru disappear into the back offices. “Well, there goes that plan.” She mumbled under her breath as she left the clinic.

Leah spent the rest of the day sculpting in her cottage. She spent hours getting lost in the chipping of the wood before finally going to bed.

***

It had been days since Leah last saw (Y/n) and if the farming life wasn’t so demanding, Leah would have been worried that she had deeply offended the farmer to the point that she was purposely avoiding her. Leah decided not to waste the time she had been presented with.

She approached Robin about sign language lessons, enough to get some basic phrases and words. She practiced the motions herself, perfecting them to allow for no mistakes. Although she knew (Y/n) could hear her just fine, she found it easier to retain the lessons this way. Not to mention that it was just a useful language to know.

“I’ve hardly seen you around. I was worried you stabbed yourself with your woodworking tools.” Elliott said as Leah came up to sit next to him in the saloon.

“And you didn’t think to come to check on me?” Leah looked at the writer incredulously.

“Nope.”

Leah punched Elliott’s arm and he laughed. Before long, Emily came by with their food and they ate comfortably.

“Would you look at that.” Elliot spoke, pointing in direction of the door as he swallowed another bite.

Leah turned to look, purple irises sparkling at the sight of (Y/n) lugging a large bag up to the bar. She watched Emily talk (Y/n)’s ear off, the poor farmer smiled uncomfortably while trying to divide her attention between her and Gus who had apparently requested a variety of fish.

“Wow, Robin said you were in trouble but you really are,” Elliott chuckled behind his beer, “You really lit up just now.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Leah scoffed, still watching (Y/n) hand Gus fish after fish. It was almost comical how such an objectively small bag could hold so much.

“You can’t keep your eyes off her. I realize the dating pool in Stardew is small, but the girl just got here.”

“Elliott, stop!” Leah blushed, looking back down at her plate to stab at her salad.

“I’m just saying, you’re already taking sign language lessons for her you might want to dial it back a little bit. You wouldn’t want to come off as the obsessive type.”

“Oh! She’s leaving, should I offer to walk her home? I’m going to offer to walk her home.” Leah dug in her pocket and pulled out some gold, pushing it over to Elliott.

“What did I just say?” Elliott called after Leah, as she eagerly jogged to the exit to catch (Y/n) walking in the direction of the Cindersaps, perfect!

“(Y/n), good evening!” Leah called jogging up to the farmer only to have the farmer gasp and take several steps away from Leah, holding her hands out as a warning to not come any closer. “I’m sorry, I’m didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable!” Leah gasped, maybe Elliott was right.

(Y/n) shook her head, slowly taking a step back towards Leah, presenting her slightly soggy bag and waving her hand in front of her nose, scrunching her face as she did so.

Leah was sure the movement wasn’t an official ASL sign, but it did help get the point across and she giggled.

“What? Do you think you smell?”

Another nod and a look that seemed to say that she didn’t just think so, she knew so. She had been in the mines all morning and fishing at the beach all afternoon. She couldn’t wait to take a shower.

“It’s alright, I won’t judge you,” Leah smiled, “Are you heading home for the night? I’d be happy to walk with you since it’s so dark.”

(Y/n) took a moment to think about it before nodding shyly and motioning Leah closer. Leah happily obliged walking alongside the farmer into the Cindersap Forest. The walk was mostly silent, but that was to be expected nonetheless, Leah was having a great time. They had even found a couple of leeks along the way which (Y/n) had insisted Leah keep. All too soon, they reached the porch of the old farmhouse.

“You’re crops look great,” Leah complimented, looking for an excuse to stay even just a few minutes more, “really healthy. What all have you been growing? Are those potatoes and turnips?”

(Y/n) looked over her shoulder as she unlocked her door. Her eyes focused on where Leah was pointing and nodded affirmingly.

“Yeah, I’m no farmer but I love foraging. I’ve got a few really good books about wild foods and where to find them and when. It’s kind of like a scavenger hunt.” Leah grinned.

“Mhmm.”

It was quiet, a little strained, but the small hum of agreement almost sent Leah into cardiac arrest. She sounded so sweet! Leah’s cheeks were starting to hurt from how widely she was smiling.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then. So, I’ll see you around?”

(Y/n) looked like she wanted to say something, but settled for a simple nod, fiddling with the gardening gloves she had taken off. Leah smiled softly, watching how the farmer intently eyed the fabric twisting in her hands.

“Feel free to drop by the cottage whenever it suits you. I’ll leave the door open!” Leah added, waving over her shoulder as she turned to walk away. (Y/n) beamed, looking a bit more lively as she waved back.

Leah turned her back on the house and walked back to her cottage in the Cindersaps with a skip in her step and a painfully large smile on her face. Although it was already late, she prepared a new block of wood for sculpting. Her new muse had granted her a vision for a grand project and had the potential to be one of her greatest works yet.

***

“Kel, I told you to stop calling me. I’m not coming back to the city, we are through.” Leah frowned, her hand gripped the phone receiver so tightly that she could hear the plastic giving slightly under the pressure.

She was so focused on combating Kel’s useless bargains that she hadn’t noticed the timid farmer show herself in, looking at Leah’s tense shoulders and back with concern. (Y/n) flinched as Leah cut off Kel to speak again, her voice low and stern.

“There is nothing you could say, nothing you could offer me, that would make me come back. Move on, and please, for the last time, do not call me again.” Leah slammed the phone down on its perch. Pressing her palms into her eyes she let out a frustrated groan, slowly positioning her hands to rub at her temples to combat the headache she felt coming on.

Then she heard the door creak.

Leah quickly turned around just in time to see (Y/n) looking back at her with wide eyes and lips pursed thin as if she had been caught witnessing an event she had no business seeing. Which was partially true, but Leah had told her a week beforehand that she could drop by anytime.

“(Y/n), what a pleasant surprise!” Leah grimaced, watching (Y/n) flinch and look down sheepishly at her feet. One had managed to retreat back out the door before being caught and it was slowly joined by the intruding foot, so (Y/n) was fully outside again. Leah shook her head and calmly approached the farmer.

“Please don’t leave, I’m the one who told you to come let yourself in whenever. I’m sorry you had to hear all of that.” Leah was worried, watching (Y/n) linger in the doorway. Her shoulders relaxed when (Y/n) cautiously came back inside and closed the door behind her.

(Y/n) stood in the entryway and looked over Leah, her eyes filled heavily with concern. She raised a hand, pointing to Leah before signing the letters ‘o’ and ‘k’.

“I’m okay. I’m just,” Leah fumbled for the right words, “mad, sad? Exhausted.”

(Y/n) made another gesture, shaping her fingers into a ‘hang loose’-esque sign. Her curled fingers meeting her chin. She lowered the hand momentarily to give it a controlled shake before bringing it back up into the starting position.

“What’s wrong?” Leah mumbled, making sure she understood. (Y/n) nodded. “I just got a phone call from someone I didn’t want to talk to is all,” Leah sighed, “They’re an ex of mine. The person who called.” Leah disclosed, rubbing the back of her neck, agitated.

(Y/n) signed again, but Leah didn’t quite catch it that time so she motioned (Y/n) over to her dining nook and sat her down with some paper and a pencil. The farmer seemed a bit unwilling to write it out, feeling like it was more insensitive somehow but with a little prodding from Leah, she gave in.

“Was it a bad break up...” Leah read aloud. She sat back in her chair and carefully chose her words. “Sometimes it feels like we’re still breaking up,” Leah chuckled wryly, “Kel, my ex, didn’t like me perusing art. They didn’t think I could make a living out of it and wanted me to waste away at some office job and well, I didn’t want that. They weren’t respectful or supportive of my dreams, so I left. They call me a lot though, to try to convince me to come back to the city... that I won’t make it as an artist. That I can’t be happy without them. It really is exhausting and the worst part is, I worry that they’re right.” Leah released a shuddering breath, “I haven’t sold a single piece. I don’t really even know how to start. I can sustain myself on what I have in my savings account for only so long.”

(Y/n) covered Leah’s hand with her own, squeezing it. Leah marveled at how soft it was in comparison to her own, especially since it was the hand of a farmer. Perhaps the gloves (Y/n) always wore had more practical uses rather than simply being worn for aesthetic’s sake. Leah chanced a look at (Y/n)’s face and was caught off guard by the determined fire blazing in her eyes. Then Leah’s attention was brought back to the table as (Y/n) furiously scratched the pencil against the paper and forcefully pushed her newly composed message in front of the sculptor, her other hand still rooted over Leah’s.

Leah read over the note and felt her heart ache with appreciative warmth. ‘You were brave enough to know what you wanted and even though it wasn’t easy, you went for it. That in itself is an amazing accomplishment that you should not take lightly. Your dream is not unfounded either, I’ve seen some of your sketches and paintings and I think you are very talented. Once you figure out how to put yourself out there you’ll have people begging you to take their money.’

Leah sniffed and smiled at (Y/n) appreciatively, turning her hand to reciprocate (Y/n)’s strong, yet gentle hold on her. “Thank you, (Y/n). I just wish I knew how to start.”

(Y/n) tapped her chin with the pencil as she thought. When she had an idea, she pulled the paper back to herself and wrote a suggestion.

“An art show? Oh, I don’t know (Y/n). It hardly seems possible.”

(Y/n) shook her head in disagreement and wrote more.

“You really think the town would want to help? Are you sure you want to help? You’ve got enough on your plate already with how busy the farm keeps you. I don’t want to impose.”

(Y/n) looked as if she had something to say, her throat bobbed and her lips twitched, but in the end she settled for the paper again, still too anxious to speak. After Leah had read the reply, she felt (Y/n)’s thumb rub against her knuckles and looked up. (Y/n) nodded, her expression serious. She wanted to help Leah with this.

“Thank you, (Y/n)!” Leah sniffled, holding back tears. She launched herself into (Y/n)’s arms and hugged the surprised farmer close. “Thank you so much!”

(Y/n) slowly returned the hug, smoothing one of her hands over Leah’s back in comforting motions. It was a bit of an awkward position with (Y/n) still sitting at the table and Leah hovering over her, but it felt nice.

“Sorry,” Leah chuckled after a moment, leaning back and wiping a stray tear from her eye, “I kind of caught you off guard with that didn’t I?”

(Y/n) shrugged and smiled good naturedly. A look came over her face as if she just remembered something and she stood up to grab her bag from the cottage entryway. She grinned when she found what she was looking for and made her way back to Leah, holding out a brown paper package to her.

“For me?” Leah asked. (Y/n) nodded and gestured for her to take it. Leah carefully unwrapped it and gasped. “(Y/n), is this goat cheese? I love this, how did you know?”

(Y/n) raised her hand, signing the letters ‘E’ ‘L’ ‘L’ ‘I’ ‘O’ ‘T’ ‘T’.

“Elliott hm?” Leah laughed, “I’m glad you two are getting along after the horseradish debacle.”

(Y/n) crossed her arms and stuck her nose up. She wasn’t looking back on the memory fondly.

“Hey, I’m with you on this one. He was being an ass. How could you have known he hated horseradish.”

(Y/n) nodded in agreement, one of her hands reaching out as if to say, ‘exactly’. She then noticed the time on Leah’s clock and signed that she had to go.

“I see.” Leah smiled sadly, trying not to let her disappointment shine through. “Good bye then, and (Y/n),” Leah signed ‘thank you’, very mindful of the position of her hands this time around, “seriously thank you for everything.”

(Y/n) beamed, giving Leah a thumbs up before heading out the door.

***

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Leah kept mumbling to herself while watching her fellow Pelican Townies set up her creations in the town square. There were already some tourists looking around and Leah felt her nerves fraying.

“Hang in there, kid. Everything looks great. Don’t worry so much.” Robin snuck up on Leah, making her jump. “It’s a beautiful summer day, don’t forget to enjoy it.”

“I’m trying, Robin. It’s just so much.” Leah said, nervously playing with her sleeve. Robin noticed Elliott walking up and motioned him to help deal with the artist while she went to help Demetrius move a heavy wooden sculpture.

“Come on now, Leah. Too late to back out now.” Elliott grinned, thumping her back. “(Y/n) seems especially excited by how things are progressing.”

Leah chanced a glance at (Y/n) and Maru putting up paintings between signing each other excitedly. The scene warmed her heart and her shoulders relaxed a bit.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll try.”

“Great, now let’s go woo some tourists.” Elliott said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“What? Elliott, no!” Leah shook her head.

“Not like that,” Elliott laughed, “I know your heart belongs to someone else. I just meant,” he looks around before whispering in Leah’s ear, “woo them out of their money.”

Leah laughed and pushed Elliott away. “Alright, you focus on the wooing and I’ll focus on explaining my thought processes.”

“That doesn’t sound as fun, but okay, this is your day.”

As Elliot and Leah made their way across the square, an unwelcome guest watched them from afar. Their blood boiled as they saw Leah pause at the makeshift painting gallery to give the farmer’s hand an affectionate squeeze.

***

“I can’t believe we sold so many!” Leah spoke in ecstatic disbelief as she waved at the last car she and (Y/n) had just loaded a heavy wooden sculpture into before it drove away. “This is crazy!”

(Y/n) wore a smile that matched Leah’s, happy to watch the sculptor bouncing in place. When Leah finally stilled, still giddy, she took both of (Y/n)’s hands in hers. Once again free of the gloves, the hands were pleasantly soft against her own and she relished in the feeling.

“(Y/n) I know it’s kind of late, but I have something I want to give to you. I left it at my house so I’m going to go get it. I’ll meet you at the farm, is that alright?”

(Y/n) stared at Leah, her curiosity piqued. She nodded, easily giving Leah the answer she was hoping for.

“Great! I’ll be there soon!” With one last squeeze of the farmer’s hands, she was off. (Y/n) heard the crack of a twig, but when she turned to investigate, nothing stood out so she made her way back to her farm to wait for Leah.

When Leah came up to the porch, (Y/n) had to do a double take at the big wooden statue she was lugging along. With one last huff of air, Leah placed the statue at the base of the steps and grinned up at (Y/n), wiping a bit of sweat from her brow.

“Thanks for waiting. It was a little more ah, heavy, than I expected.” Leah laughed sheepishly. “Come take a look.”

(Y/n) stepped off the porch and circled the piece, taking in every detail. Leah felt nervous butterflies fluttering in her stomach while she watched the farmer scrutinize the work and cleared her throat.

“I started working on it in the spring. I also incorporated some of that driftwood you gave me a few weeks ago. Anyway, I made it with you in mind. It’s called, ‘How I Feel about (Y/n)’ and I’d be honored if you would accept it as a gift for everything you’ve done for me.” Leah stared at her feet as she spoke, too embarrassed to keep her eyes on (Y/n) while she spoke. Then a pair of boots joined, hands came up to clasp her own, pulling the conjoined grasp into her line of vision and coaxing her to look up into (Y/n)’s eyes.

“It’s wonderful.”

At that moment, Leah thought her heart must have been beating so hard that it was affecting her hearing.

“Hh... huh?” Leah asked, rather dumbly.

(Y/n) swallowed thickly, took a deep breath, and whispered, “It’s wonderful, Leah. Thank you.”

Leah looked absolutely awestruck, purple irises shone with excitement and she laughed, pulling (Y/n) into a tight embrace.

“I’m glad you like it.” Leah sniffled, resting her face in (Y/n)’s shoulder.

“Leah?” (Y/n) wrapped her arms around the artist, it was only one word, her name, but Leah heard the concern in the farmer’s tone.

“I’m okay. I’m just happy,” Leah sniffled again, “I’m happy you felt comfortable enough with me to speak to me.”

“Me too.” (Y/n) whispered, holding Leah tighter.

The pair found it difficult when they had to part ways for the night, but they were equally excited over how their relationship was developing, looking forward to spending more time together over the summer.

***

“Come on, just a little further...” Leah coached herself. She was reaching for a piece of fruit hanging from a branch just out of her reach.

She had planned a picnic with (Y/n) for this afternoon. She had already set up under the big old tree near the pond and as she waited for (Y/n) to finish up with her crops and animals for the morning, when she spotted the unusual fruit. Now she was jumping and stretching for the fruit just out of reach.

“Almost— Ah!” Leah struggled to balance herself in the air, swiveling her head to peak over her shoulder, she saw (Y/n) looking up at her with a mischievous grin. Leah rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at the side of her lips. She turned back to the task at hand and grabbed the fruit, motioning (Y/n) to put her back down.

“Show off.” Leah scoffed, lightly punching (Y/n)’s shoulder. “You wanna try a bite?”

“Yes, please.” (Y/n)’s cheeks heated when Leah pressed the fruit to her lips. She took a bite of the offering, savoring the taste. “It’s so sweet.” She said, amazed.

“Right?” Leah smiled, “It’s rare to get fruit from this tree. Usually all the animals snap it all up as soon as they’re ripe, but it seems they miss some from time to time. How is everything with the farm this morning?”

“All is well,” (Y/n) nodded as the pair made themselves comfortable on the blanket Leah had set up, “I would have been here sooner but the goats kept standing in front of my cheese and mayo machines, the chicken coup too. Made it a little difficult.” (Y/n) disclosed. “Which reminds me,” she rummaged through her bag, “goat cheese salads.”

“Mmm, this looks heavenly. Thank you for making these.” Leah said, eagerly stirring in some vinaigrette into the generous fresh salad.

“No problem. Selling my harvest is nice, but it feels so much more rewarding enjoying it like this.” (Y/n) informed, mixing her own salad.

“I can imagine,” Leah hummed and leaned her back fully against the trunk of the tree, “Ah, it’s such a lovely day for this.”

“Mhmm.”

They ate the rest of their meal in peaceful silence, listening to the birds sing and the fish leap, the breeze rustling the trees and grass around them. It was tranquil, it was perfect.

“Hey, Leah,” (Y/n) spoke, breaking the silence.

“Yes?” Leah asked, turning her gaze away from the sketch pad she had brought out.

“It’s almost Fall you know, we’ve known each other for nearly two whole seasons. Half a year, it’s crazy, right?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t seem like it’s been that long, doesn’t it?” Leah giggled, “What made you think of that?”

“Well, I wanted to ask you something. Don’t feel like you have to answer one way or the other, but...” (Y/n) paused, trying to gather her thoughts.

“Hey, it’s okay (Y/n). You can tell me anything. Sign it out if you want to.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m just nervous,” (Y/n) turned to her bag and pulled out a lovely bouquet of flowers, “Leah, would you maybe consider being my girlfriend?“

“Yes!” Leah enveloped (Y/n) in a tackle like hug that sent them both to fully meet the ground, accidentally crushing the flowers between their bodies, “Oops, sorry,” Leah wiggled the flowers out from under her to look at them more closely, “these are lovely, (Y/n). I didn’t know Pierre had these in yet.”

“He didn’t, I planted them.” (Y/n) clarified, smiling up at Leah who still hovered over her, giggling.

“Of course you did, you’re so sweet.”

“I try.”

“Are you kidding me!”

Leah and (Y/n) quickly turned to face the disturbance, scrambling to sit up from their compromising position. Leah felt her stomach twist with discomfort seeing Kel of all people marching up to them, absolutely fuming.

“Seriously, what the hell, Leah?” Kel yelled, their hands clenched into tight fists as they closed in, making yard after yard disappear between them.

“No, more like what the hell, Kel? I broke up with you seasons ago. What are you even doing in Pelican Town?” Leah retorted angrily, as (Y/n) helped her to her feet. Kel watched the motion and ground their teeth.

They were already dangerously close to crossing the threshold of the blanket and that small display was enough to send them stomping over the edge.

“I came for you, obviously! I’ve been slumming it in that dusty old saloon since your art show, waiting to talk to you! Now I find you sucking face with some country bumpkin nobody!” They seethed, stepping even closer into Leah’s personal space until (Y/n) pulled Leah back behind her, making Kel even more incensed. “You stay out of this. I’m talking to Leah!”

(Y/n) held strong, stuck between the harsh obscenities attacking her from the front and the loving affirmations defending her from behind. She held her arm out, willing Kel to stay back as she slowly started to guide Leah back in the direction of town for help. Kel ignored the warning and followed after them.

“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself? You think you’re being some kind of hero right now?” Kel seethed.

(Y/n) stayed silent, she had gone mute again and who would blame her in the face of such a tense situation? She was so very uncomfortable, scared even, but she continued on passed Marnie’s since she knew the woman wasn’t home at this time and she sure wasn’t going to expose Jas to this. Jodi’s house was their next best bet.

“Hey, you obviously want to start something here. You’ve got something to say to me?” Kel continued forward.

“Kel, leave us alone!” Leah commanded, “It’s over, it’s been over, go home!”

“You think you’re too good to talk to me?” Kel yelled, ignoring Leah. “She’s just a whore. She just latched onto the first warm body she could find after her little meltdown. You’re not special.”

(Y/n) froze stiffly in place, Leah felt the muscles on her shoulders tense so she tried to pull on her arm to keep her moving.

“Ignore them, (Y/n). Let’s focus on getting to town, okay?” Leah pleaded. But (Y/n) gently pushed off Leah’s hands and took a step towards Kel with a cold glare. Leah stepped to stand beside (Y/n)’s side, nervous that a more serious confrontation was about to unfold.

“Well?” Kel spat.

(Y/n) crossed her arms, turning her head to look at Leah. The look on her face was all the communication Leah needed to understand. It was definitely a, ‘they better back off or I’m going to knock them off their block’ face. Leah had never known (Y/n) to be particularly violent, but with all the time she spent in the mines, she had no doubt that she could take care of herself.

Leah gasped when Kel suddenly roared, lunging forward. Apparently they had not liked how (Y/n) and Leah had been paying attention to each other rather than themself. Kel had rocketed forward and aimed to punch (Y/n) hard over her cheek, however, at the last moment, Leah pushed her aside and took the blow for her.

(Y/n) inhaled sharply and caught Leah as she stumbled back, noticing how blood immediately began gushing from Leah’s now broken nose.

“Ow- AH!” Leah cried, her hands muffled her voice since she had covered her nose and mouth.

It only took a second for (Y/n) to return the favor to Kel’s stunned face. She punched them fast and hard over their cheek, but Kel was quick to fight back and now it was a full out brawl.

“What’s going on, we heard yelling— holy shit!”

Leah turned away from the fight to see Sam, Seb, and Abigail running up on the scene.

“(Y/n)’s throwing hands!” Abigail yelled, sounding way more excited than worried.

“Leah are you okay? What’s going on?” Sebastian asked, noting the concerning amount of blood running down Leah’s arms and the front of her shirt.

“Don’t worry about me, stop them!” Leah winced, taking one hand away from her face to motion to her ex and her new girlfriend still going at each other.

“Damn, Abi! Go get your dad and Harvey too by the looks of it!” Sam yelled, he seemed to be looking for an opening to push the fighters apart.

“Are you kidding? You get my dad, I’m getting in on this!” Abigail cheered and ran up to jump on Kel’s back like she was at a rodeo while (Y/n) landed a good hit on Kel’s stomach. “Nice punch, (Y/n)!”

“Oh Yoba, Sam, start running.” Seb suggested, trying to help Leah with her nose. He was no Maru, but even he knew how to set a broken nose. Especially within the first couple weeks of Sam taking up skateboarding.

“Right!” Sam ran off back into town screaming. A few tense minutes later and Pierre, Caroline, Robin, Elliott, Maru and Harvey came running behind Sam to break up the fight.

“Abigail, stop!” Pierre huffed, pulling off his daughter and passing her off to his wife, “I taught you what I did to defend yourself, not to lash out like a wild animal!” He grunted, pulling Kel into his grasp and trapping their arms behind their back with Elliott coming up to assist.

“Come on dad, I was helping a friend! What’s the big deal?” Abi groaned, while her mom fretted over her, looking for injuries.

“Easy there kid, it’s over.” Robin coaxed (Y/n), pulling her back. The farmer slumped over in the carpenter’s hold, breathing heavily.

“Is (Y/n) okay? Ah!” Leah hissed as Harvey touched up her nose, giving her a nasal spray before wedging a couple wads of tissue up her nostrils.

“Sorry, Leah.” Harvey sympathized, “Maru is going to check up on her now.”

“What about me?” Kel hissed. Pierre had them resting on their knees. They looked really roughed up. A black eye was already forming and scratches and bruises littered their skin, they were also holding their stomach rather tightly.

“You’ll just have to wait a minute.” Elliott frowned, staring down at the stranger with contempt.

“Don’t you have any police officers in this backwater town? I’ll sue every one of you for withholding care to someone who is obviously hurt!” Kel threatened, grinding their teeth.

“Oh, the police are coming alright!”  Caroline spoke indignantly. “You are in no position to be asking for anything right now, bringing violence to our community, you should be ashamed!”

“(Y/n) can you look up for me, please.” Maru asked, carefully tilting (Y/n)’s chin up. (Y/n) sucked in a breath when Maru touched her bruised jaw a tad to hard. “Sorry, Your jaw is bruised pretty badly. Your bottom lip split too. How is your vision?”

(Y/n) shook her head and winced, cradling her head in her hands.

“Okay, possible concussion. We’ll need to observe her at the clinic.” Maru said.

“Alright, come on bruiser,” Robin grunted, heaving (Y/n) to her feet, “Sebbie, help me walk her into town please.”

“Sure mom.” Seb took (Y/n)’s other side.

(Y/n) patted Robin’s arm, motioning her to wait. She slowly turned to Kel and leaned more heavily against Seb as she freed her other arm from Robin to snap her fingers aggressively, looking for Kel’s attention. Once Kel looked up at her, sneering from their spot in the dirt, (Y/n) turned briefly to make sure Leah was watching. When she saw that she was, she smiled as if to say, ‘watch this,’ and turned back to Kel. (Y/n) brought her flat, angled hand below her chin and sent it forward in the direction of Kel’s confused, but no less, pissed face.

“Oh ho! (Y/n) is such a badass!” Abigail laughed.

“Abi, since when do you know sign language?” Sam asked, clearly confused.

“I don’t, but I’ve spent enough time searching curses in different languages to know that was totally a ‘fuck you’. Personally I think a middle finger approach would have been an appropriate classic myself but whatever.” Abigail shrugged.

“Abigail, language!” Caroline scolded.

“Sorry mom.”

“Alright, you’ve had your fun. Clinic, now.” Robin tried to hold in a laugh as she repositioned (Y/n)’s arm over her shoulder. Then she and Seb began walking (Y/n) back into town.

Leah made to follow, but as they were leaving, the police from the the next town over had arrived and they needed her statements as a witness. Never mind that she was covered in her own blood and her girlfriend was being dragged away to the clinic with a concussion. Once the officers were satisfied, they took Kel away with promises to be back for (Y/n)’s statement and to see if any charges would be made. For now they were just going to take Kel back to a hospital in Zuzu City since they may have broken a rib or two in the fight. After that, they were going to be free to go.

Leah wasn’t too worried. She didn’t think Kel would come back after the beating (Y/n) and Abigail gave them. She watched the police car drive out of Cindersaps, taking her disgruntled ex away.

“Leah, I’m sure you want to get to the clinic but you should really clean up first.” Caroline had said patting the younger woman’s back. “(Y/n) will be fine.”

“Yeah, Harvey and Maru got her. Take some time to process.” Elliott smiled.

Leah could only nod tiredly. She trudged over to her cottage to shower and change. She still couldn’t believe how quickly things got out of hand. She looked at her bandaged nose in the mirror, hissing when she gingerly touched the bridge of it. She was wary of Seb setting it himself, but Harvey said he had gone a great job. Once she was physically put back together, Leah quickly made her way to the clinic.

“Where is she?” She asked immediately upon arriving. She sounded a little congested thanks to her clogged nose, but she was easily understood. Robin was still in the waiting room and filled her in.

“Harvey and Maru are talking her through concussion care. She’s okay, but I don’t think she’ll be allowed to work for awhile.”

“Oh no,” Leah sat down, resting her elbows on her knees and covered her eyes with her hands, “This is all my fault.”

“Aw, don’t say that sweetheart. You know that’s not true.” Robin frowned, taking a seat beside her, “(Y/n) would hate to hear you think like that.”

“(Y/n) loves her farm! If she can’t maintain the upkeep...” Leah continued, teary eyed, only to be silenced by Robin.

“I’m going to stop you right there. Nothing is going to happen to the farm. Abi, Sam, and even Seb already told (Y/n) in no uncertain terms that they were going to pitch in while she recovers. Everything is going to be taken care of.” Robin assured.

“Still none of this would have happened if-“

“If you hadn’t broken up with your ex? Moved to Pelican Town? Got a crush? Leah, you can’t punish yourself for moving on with your life. You’re allowed to be happy.” Robin chided gently. “It was hard for me and Sebastian’s father to see eye to eye at the best of times. Now I have Demetrius and although he can be a bit annoying sometimes with his tomato bullshit, not a day goes by that I’m not grateful I took that first step because I love him.” Robin smiled.

Leah’s nose hurt like hell as she tried to carefully wipe the tears from her eyes and Robin rubbed her back affectionately. Once Leah had calmed down, Robin stood and stretched.

“She’s been wondering where you are. The doc is keeping her for overnight observation, but your welcome to stay with her. I on the other hand, am apparently too old for this much excitement and need to go home.”

“Thank you Robin, for talking to me.”

“Anytime,” Robin grinned, “now go get her.”

Leah made her way into the back area of the clinic and nearly ran up to Harvey, Maru, and (Y/n). (Y/n) was signing to Maru while she relayed the information to Harvey as he examined (Y/n)’s well being.

(Y/n) was relieved to see Leah and eagerly motioned her to come sit on the edge of the bed she was sitting in which Leah did happily.

“Leah, how’s the nose?” Harvey asked while he finished up (Y/n)’s chart.

“It’s fine. Just, really sore and tingly.”

“So not fine.” Maru chuckled. “I’ll get you some pain meds.”

“Ah, thanks Maru.” Leah smiled sheepishly.

“Well, Ms. (Y/n),” Harvey sighed, turning his attention back to the farmer, “you and I are in for a long night. I’ll be waking you up every hour to check your pupils to see if your condition changes at all.” Harvey stood and stretched, “Ms. Leah, feel welcome to stay as long as you like. It can’t hurt to keep an extra pair of eyes on her.”

“I could stay overtime, Harvey.” Maru said as she came back with two pills and a glass of water for Leah.

“I seem to recall you talking about a time sensitive experiment this morning.” Harvey recalled, making Maru smack the side of her head. “You’re right! I got to go now! Good night everyone!” Maru called behind her as she rushed out to the waiting room then out of the building.

“I’m going to take the first of my many naps lined up for tonight. I’ll see you ladies in about an hour. Try to get some rest.” Harvey said before leaving to walk up the stairs to his apartment.

Finally Leah and (Y/n) were alone again. (Y/n) sunk down into the covers and sighed deeply. She turned to face Leah, concerning the sculptor by how small she looked.

“You’re not too upset with me, are you?” (Y/n) asked, surprising Leah.

“I’m not upset with you. Why would I be upset with you?”

“I just beat the crap out a person. Sure they are your ex, but you cared about them at some point so it must have been hard to watch. I can’t imagine what you must think of me now.” (Y/n) whispered, she was so quiet Leah had to lean closer and even then she was straining to hear.

“(Y/n), I like you. Nothing that happened today changed how much I like you. It certainly didn’t make me like you any less,” Leah rested her hand over (Y/n)’s cheek, “Kel made their choice when they decided to come to Pelican Town and confront us. I wish it hadn’t gone down the way it did, but that’s not our fault. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I’m glad you’re okay too. I was worried.”

“I wish we could start this day all over,” Leah moaned, “First day as official girlfriends and we get into a fist fight.”

(Y/n) laughed lightly, closing her eyes to combat the pain that came from her jostling. “Abigail thought it was a pretty great date activity.”

“She would think that.” Leah rolled her eyes, “she also eats rocks.”

“Well, think about it this way. Until I’m allowed to take up all my farming duties again, you can do whatever you want with me.”

“Whatever I want, hmm?” Leah tapped her lips with her index finger, “would it be to forward if me to ask for a kiss?”

“You may, just be careful with my split lip. I won’t be able to explain what happened to Harvey if you make it worse.” (Y/n) said.

“One gentle kiss, coming right up.” Leah wiggled on the bed’s stiff hospital sheets until she laid face to face with (Y/n). Their lips met in a soft brushing that was almost ghost like, but rather than leaving them with a chill, warmth bloomed between them.

“Wow.” (Y/n) grinned.

“If you thought that was good, wait until I can get more involved with it.”

“So confident. I like it.” (Y/n) squinted, “could you turn the light off? It’s really starting to hurt my eyes.”

“Of course.” Leah got up and switched off the half the lights to keep their side of the room in darkness but allow Harvey to still be able to see when he came back.

“Now come cuddle, please.” (Y/n) asked sleepily reaching her arms out.

“Nothing would make me happier.”

Leah kicked off her boots and shimmied under the sheets to join (Y/n) and wrapped her arms around her. Leah let the exhaustion of the day roll over her and she had nearly let sleep claim her before her eyes shot open and she propped herself up on her elbow to lean over (Y/n).

“Did I really sign a ‘fuck you’ when we first met?!” She asked, appalled.

(Y/n)’s response was to laugh sleepily into Leah’s chest.

[axwalker]

Creep 2: I don’t care if it hurts

HIGH SCHOOL AU

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC  (Lexie O’Brien) Book TRR

MASTERLIST HERE

Synopsis: Drake and Lexie are star-crossed lovers. Her father hates him and forces Lexie to stop any contact with Drake. Lost and heartbroken, he “bullies” her for two years until he discovers the truth of Lexie’s behavior.

A/N 1 This came up to me after I got an ask from @nestledonthaveone​ to write a fic based on the song CREEP.

I used to hear this song when I was a teenager, so when I read this ask, I immediately wanted to write something angsty but situated in high school.

A/N 2: Because they’re younger than usual, I decided to change my  FC. 

Words: 4,110 

WARNINGS: Parental abuse, domestic violence, toxic love.

THIS IS NOT YOUR USUAL MARSHMALLOW DRAKE. He was abandoned as a boy, he’s tortured and he doesn’t know how to express his love. His behavior is not excusable.

This is a dark love story. If you’re not comfortable with it, PLEASE do not read it.  

ALL MY FICS ARE 18+

TAGS ON THE COMMENTS

As this is darker than usual; I’m only tagging the people who commented in the previous chapter. If you want to get on or off the list for this fic, please do not hesitate to ask!! 

DRAKE

Even if she never looks at me or speaks to me again, she’s mine. Even if I’ve been a horrible jerk to her for two years and she pales every time I pull into the parking lot on my motorcycle, she is mine. Just seeing her with him enrages me, so I walk straight toward my usual seat, directly behind Lexie, and slam my textbook down onto the desk.

Startled, Rys looks up at me, “Hey, Walker. What’s up?” 

It’s not the first time he tries to make a move on Lexie. Last time –two years ago, we almost killed each other. Pretty boy might be an entitled ass, but he knows how to fight. Maybe he thinks Lexie is game again after all this time. He couldn’t be more wrong. 

 “Don’t you have a class this period?” I ask him. Liam cocks his left eyebrow, adjusting the straps of his backpack. 

“I fail to see why that concerns you, Creep.”  

My smile is murderous. “Get the fuck out of here before I break your face, pretty boy.”

I think he has a death wish because he looks at Lexie when he talks, “See you after class, Alexis, when your watchdog will be busy mowing my lawn.” Finally, he just shakes his head and gets out of the classroom. I resume my daily routine. Staring at the back of Lexie’s head, tracing the curve of her perfect neck, my cock getting hard over her perfect cherry scent. 

“So that’s what you like,” I say, leaning forward to speak an inch from her ears. “You like them with blond hair and pink polo shirts. Prospects for Cambridge or shit. A huge trust fund. Don’t you? A brat like you needs someone who can spoil her. I bet you’d introduce him to daddy, wouldn’t you?” 

She doesn’t respond. She never does. Her eyes stay stubbornly on the front of the class where the teacher has started writing today’s lesson on the board—my hands fist in desperation. I’m dying for her to talk to me. To look at me. Anything. “Too bad, Lexie. I’ll scare every single one of those fucking entitled boys off. You’re going to sit alone in your house on prom night, crying into your designer sheets like a baby. And I’m going to enjoy it.” 

The only sign that she hears me at all is the quickening rise and fall of her shoulders. Even that tiny display that I’ve upset her is agonizing, floods me with self-loathing, but I can never stop. She ripped out my fucking heart, and I can’t deal with the consequences of that alone. I can’t let her go. I’ll never let her go. This toxic feeling is the only thing left between us. My hands shake with the urge to take her in my arms, to stop the trembling I caused. To protect her from everything. Even myself. I’d love to move my fingers up into the silky, brown hair that reaches the middle of her graceful neck. I don’t have a lot of money; most of the cash I earn as a handyman goes to food and fixing my dad’s cabin, but I’d give every last cent for her to turn and lock those soft brown eyes on me, just one last time. Sometimes when I jerk off, all it takes is fantasizing about Lexie looking at me, giving me one of those shy smiles, and I lose it. One stroke. Maybe two. Done. I can’t breathe without having her close. And I can’t breathe with her close. It’s a strange condition, this obsession, but she’s an addiction that I just can’t give up. 

How could I? She’s intelligent, strong, and so damned gorgeous. Once upon a time, I thought she had a good heart too. But that was before she broke my pathetic heart only because I’m poor. I’ve been hurting since then, and I need her to hurt too. To know what it feels.

“Do you actually think that dumb rich boy would be a good choice for your first time, Lexie?” I grip my desk so tight it nearly breaks down, just thinking about her being kissed –touched by someone else. “At least that’s one thing us poor motherfuckers have going for us. We know how to fuck. If you went out with Rys for a while, you’d eventually give in and come slumming it one night, wouldn’t you? Knock on my rundown cabin door, begging me to fuck you as we both know you’d like.”

A pretty blush is starting to climb her neck. I have to take a deep breath to keep from kiss her pink cheeks. But I think if I got to touch her skin, my wall of bullshit would crumble. I’ve only fucked one girl. Since seeing Lexie for the first time freshman year, there’s been no one but her. I want no one else. She owns my cock as sure as she owns my heart. How easily she’s forgotten about both leaving me in agony. 

“Stop,” she breathes. I freeze. Did she just speak to me? It’s the first time in two years that she’s even remotely acknowledged my existence. 

“Lexie,” I managed to say. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. That’s all it took. One pleading word out of her mouth, and I’m done. 

“Just stop,” she says again, turning her head slightly. “Please.” 

I fall back in my chair, my heart thundering on my chest. If we weren’t in the middle of class, if I didn’t feel like a monster, I would pull her into my arms right now. I’d hug her until she stopped struggling, then beg her to hit me, bruise me, make me pay for every shitty thing I’ve ever said to her. But before long, the class is over, and she’s leaving the classroom to get out of here. To put distance between us as quickly as possible—and I have no choice but to watch her because I feel physically ill. Still, I manage to get out into the student-packed hallway, my plan to apologize for being crude and a jerk and torturing her for so long. 

My head is telling me not to apologize, though. It’s telling me she deserved it for being such a snob, for breaking me, for valuing money and status like everyone else. My damned heart is telling an entirely different story. It’s insisting there is an explanation for her behavior. Am I going to apologize or not? The decision is taken out of my hands when Lexie opens her locker, and the little gift I left before class falls down. It’s a picture I cut out from our last yearbook. In the photo is a gorgeous smiling Lexie above the caption Most Likely to Succeed. Except I’ve crossed out the caption and added my own. Most Likely to Be a Trophy Wife. Watching her read it, I almost get sick right there in the hallway. Usually, she’s perfectly composed, not betraying a trace of emotion where I’m concerned—a real Ice queen. I’ve always thought she honestly didn’t care. Today, though… she’s not pulling it off. Something is not okay with her, and I don’t like it. She has to bite down on her bottom lip to stop it from quivering as she puts the photo back into her locker, out of sight, her bright eyes finding me briefly, massacring me where I stand. Betraying with one single look how much she has been affected by my actions. Christ. She hasn’t been indifferent at all.

Before I can react, before I can call her name, she’s gone, vanished into the crowd of wild students excited to be leaving for the day. And I know what I have to do. I have to see her. To apologize. To get an explanation for everything. Tonight. I’ll return to her house for the first time in two years.

LEXIE

I’ve known this was coming all day. Sitting on the couch in my living room, trying to make myself as small as possible, I watch my father pace. He rants, gesticulating noisily. This isn’t new, my father’s rage threatening me. But it’s going to be worse than usual. Business has declined for him and it’s put his temper on a trigger. Dad’s new wife, Nancy, hates to be on a budget, and she’s been spending his money like crazy all over Paris --where she’s now. When dad gets home from the office, he’s rarely in anything but a horrible mood. A tornado eating up everything in its path. Completely terrifying. At least dad’s temper makes me forget what Drake told me today, the ugly words he said to me, the boiling anger in his eyes when he looks at me. 

“Are you even listening?” The slap across the face comes as a shock because I’d momentarily disappeared into my thoughts, but the sting quickly brings me back to reality. 

“Yes, sir,” I say, my ears ringing. “I’m listening.” 

“This C on your algebra test is going to drag your whole average down.” He’s waving the test in my face. “What a disappointment you are, Alexis. Your teacher shared my disgust.” I nod solemnly, but I’m listening for the rain outside. “I guess you’re your daughter’s mother after all. A poor Mexican girl who could barely count.” It’s not true. My mom learned English and Greek by herself, and she was a great Spanish teacher in Portavira, but my father would rather die than acknowledge how smart she was. 

“Don’t talk like that about her,” I retort.

My father snorts. “I beg your pardon?” He takes a step towards me, and I can see the threat in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” I hate to be such a coward, but I know what he can do to me.” I’ll do extra credit. Something to bring my grade back up to an A.” I wet my lips. “Even if I can’t manage to raise the grade, it’s not going to show up on the college transcripts I sent off with my applications.” That’s the reason I let my focus slip a little in algebra. The finish line is in sight for everyone, and we’re just waiting to find out where we’ll be accepted for college. It’s a wonder I’ve been able to maintain my focus this long in any class, considering Walker sits behind me in every period, brooding making me feel … something. At the reminder of him, I want to close my eyes and dream about him. I replay that night in my garden when he kissed me two years ago, so tenderly and passionately, when he spoke to me so sweetly and honestly before he became the second villain in my story. Someone I dread, as much as I crave the sight of him.  

At least that’s one thing us poor motherfuckers have going for us. We know how to fuck. If you went out with that punk for a while, you’d eventually give in and come slumming it one night, wouldn’t you? Knock on my trailer door, begging me to ride you right. 

Should I be ashamed of the way my body reacted to those words? I grew uncomfortably damp in the hard plastic chair, the center of my body clenching, seeming to beat like a heart. His breath on my neck made me shiver, head to toe. Even the way he scared off Liam Rys did something to me. Aroused me. Deeply. It got so bad that I broke the rules and asked him to stop. I can still hear him saying my name in that tortured way after. That shocked, uneven sound. Lexie. And whether I’m ashamed of myself for it or not, I know I’ll think of it when I touch myself tonight. His voice, his hands, his eyes obsess me. 

“College?” My father snorts, tearing the test in half. “You’re not going to college.” 

This grabs my attention. A horrible feeling is making me cold. “I’m…what? What do you mean? I applied to nine different schools. I have a four-point five GPA.” 

For the first time, I notice his red face is about more than just rage. There’s…humiliation. I’ve never seen him display that emotion. 

“None of the American colleges that accepted you offered scholarships.” 

“I’ve been accepted?” I gasp, sitting forward, heart pounding in my chest. “Where? I didn’t see the letters—” 

“All the mail in this house goes through me, Alexis. I read them. And you failed to get academic scholarships. You failed. Not that I’m surprised.”

 I don’t point out that his refusal to let me participate in any extracurricular activities is more than likely to blame for that. I’m too worried about what he’s saying, what this means. The blood is draining from my head, making the room spin around me. 

“Okay, I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry. But…we have money. We can pay tuition, can’t we? Or colleges in Cordonia are almost for free. I can go to any of them; I don’t have to go to NYU.” I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here. This is my way out. College is the escape route. I counted on going back to New York, but I can stay here and go to college in Cordonia City. 

“Listen to you, so quick to spend my hard-earned money—spoiled brat. And of course, you can’t go to college in Cordonia. What for? To end up being a schoolteacher like your mom? A housewife as Nancy?” He laughs bitterly. “No, you’ll stay here, and I’ll help you find someone suitable to marry.” 

I shake my head. “There’s financial aid, then. Loans or I can get a job and go to college in Portavira…” 

“You want to leave, just like her, don’t you? You’re all the same.”

 I don’t even flinch when he yanks me to my feet, shoving me into the wall. In fact, for the first time, I took him right into his eyes. And I can see the violence burning on them has nothing to do with me. It never had anything to do with how I behave, my choices, how hard I worked in school. How welcome I made Nancy feel or cooked a roast. It’s about him and his self-loathing. It’s his sickness. Not mine. I can also see that he was never going to send me to college. Because he wouldn’t be able to control me from a distance or stop me from sharing what I’ve been subjected to since my mother died. Not like he does now. He wasn’t physically abusive all the time. Especially not when his new wife is around. But she traveled often, and then he’d push me. Shove me. Slapped me several times. I’ll graduate at the top of my class for nothing. He knew I would all along. 

That’s when I realize I’m free. I don’t have money, but college is free in Cordonia. I can work, save a little and go to college in one or two years. I’ll be a writer; it’ll just take more time than I thought. “Go to hell,” I whisper. 

He steps back, giving me the momentary satisfaction of his shock. “What did you say?”

Liberated, I scream it this time. “Go to hell!” From the moment I sat down to have this conversation, I knew tonight would be worse than usual, but I’ve just bought myself a ticket to hell. Usually, I can retreat to the untouchable place inside of me as he unleashes his rage, but not tonight. He doesn’t stop at one or two slaps. He punches and kicks, and I’m present for every punch and kick. Every yelled insult. Finally, I start to get scared. I’m crawling across the carpet on my hands and knees, searching for a weapon I can use in my defense when I glance out the window and see Drake staring back at me, his face a mask of horror.

 Drake

 What I’m seeing just isn’t possible. It can’t be real. My head won’t accept it. Not until her terror-filled eyes meet mine through the window and the truth pounds on my chest, leaves no doubt that this is real life. Lexie’s father is beating her. Her mouth is bloody, one of her eyes beginning to swell, arms and legs visibly weakened. I can barely fucking process it before my body is springing into action, desperate to protect her. To put a stop to the worst thing I have ever seen. What the fuck. Scorching hot rage takes over. I kick in the front door and throw myself between Lexie and her father. His fist is raised, but it pauses when he sees me, his momentary confusion giving me the time I need to knock him out cold. It only takes one right uppercut from someone his own size, and he goes down, his blank, glassy eyes staring at nothing, mouth opened. It’s not satisfying enough.

Nothing will ever be satisfying enough. I want to kill him, destroy him, but my Lexie is struggling for breath behind me, and she’s all I can think about. Turning, I approach her, my heart threatening to jump off my chest. As gently as I can, I catalog all of the cuts and purpling skin. No. No. Who could do this to her? Who could lay a finger on her in anything but reverence? Get her out of here. Calling her name, I reach down to pick her up, but she flinches and hurries back, bringing her body up against the wall. 

“Don’t touch me!” Those words filled with fear rip the soul clean out of my body. My hands drop limply to my sides and two years come rushing back, hitting me in the chest like a hammer. Every word, every action. Everything I did to make her life harder when this is what she’s been dealing with at home? Fuck me. 

“Lexie…” My voice is as kind as I can. I feel broken. “I’m sorry. I came here to apologize. For everything.” 

She puffs a humorless laugh, testing her cut lip with the tip of her tongue. “Bet you weren’t expecting to see this.” 

“If I knew this was happening, I would have been here a long time ago. I would have stopped it. I swear Lex.” 

Her expression can only be described as stunned. Maybe even a little pissed. “You are not my savior, Drake. You are my enemy. You’ve been for two years, and I want nothing else from you now.”

 “I am not your enemy.” Those words barely make it out of me, my chest hurts so fucking bad. “Don’t say that.” 

Unsteadily, she uses the wall to try and stand. I try to help her, but she recoils, and it’s a dagger straight into the center of my throat. Nothing less than I deserve, though, isn’t it? Her distrust of me is entirely my fault. I’ve made her hate me. There has to be some way to fix what I’ve done. Please God, let there be away. But right now, my main concern is her physical safety. Knowing she’s been in danger all along is unbearable. I only decided to come here tonight a few hours ago. What if I didn’t? What if I arrived an hour later? The possibilities are going to haunt me for the rest of my life. From the floor, her father groans, shifting slightly. 

“We need to get you out of here,” I say, anxious to get her free of this place. “Now, Lexie. I need to get you somewhere safe.” 

She’s standing now. Leaning against the wall and cradling one arm to her stomach, regarding me warily. “How do I know I’m safe with you?” It’s so much worse that her question is honest. Not meant to hurt me. She honestly doesn’t know if I pose a threat. It guts me where I stand. 

“You are the safest with me,” I say thickly, cursing myself. Wanting to erase the last two years so badly, my hands shake. “Please believe me. I’d die before hurting you. I’d never, Lexie. I’d never do something like that.” 

Her father rolls over onto his back and slurs a few words before losing consciousness again. Still, the sound of the older man’s voice seems to scare Lexie, “I…maybe you can just give me a ride to…a motel maybe?” She pushes off the wall, her step uneven as she walks toward the stairs. “I need some things from my room.” 

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her we don’t have time, but I’m just grateful she’s trusting me enough to leave with me, so I don’t argue. I just wait until she’s halfway up the stairs, then tie her father’s hands behind his back with my belt in case he wakes up before we leave. I have no problem knocking him out a second time, but Lexie has seen enough violence for one night. Cautiously, I walk up the stairs toward the light coming from a room halfway down the hall. This place is a far cry from my home. It’s elegant and clean, and tasteful, but it lacks any warmth whatsoever. It’s cold, like a museum. Turning the corner into Lexie’s room, it’s time to hate myself all over again. There is nothing on the walls, none of the expensive furnishings. Just four white walls, a bed, and a dresser that doubles as a desk. Several textbooks. She looks back at me over her shoulder as if judging my reaction, and I keep my features impassive, though I’m dying on the inside. 

“What can I do?” I ask. 

“How long do we have?” 

“As long as you need.” It’s physically painful not to pull her into my arms when I’m standing this close, and she’s hurt. Sad. Yet full of more inner strength than I’ve ever witnessed in another human being. I’m lucky just to be in her presence. I fucked up royally. And if she allows me back in, I’ll never do it again. It’s probably, definitely, too much to hope for. Being allowed back in. She doesn’t even look sure about having me in her room. Let alone her heart. I was trying to protect my own heart, but I lost it instead. 

 “Um…” She closes her eyes to focus, a familiar trait I’ve seen in class countless times. “There is a black bag in the hallway closet. Can you just stuff anything into it from the bathroom that looks useful?” 

Ask me to bring you a unicorn. I’ll find a way to do it. “Sure.” We work in silence, Lexie taking things out of drawers and adding them to the bag, which I’ve left open on the floor. I add toiletries from the bathroom, and once it’s zipped, I wait, watching her hesitate in the doorway. 

“Lexie?” Conflicted chocolate eyes meet mine. 

“I can’t just leave, can I?” 

“You’re not safe here, baby,” I say softly, trying to keep the residual rage at bay because it’s the last thing she needs. Not to mention she’s had her fill with negativity from me. No more. “How long…how long?” 

She shrugs, the saddest expression in her eyes. “My mom died five years ago. Ever since then, it’s gotten worse and worse. Although I never had a chance to talk to anyone about what happened behind closed doors, you know? I don’t think a person can evolve into a monster. It’s inside him.”

 “I don’t know,” I say. “I became one, didn’t I?” 

That gives her pause, forms a line between her delicate brows. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.” 

She starts to walk past me, stops, standing close enough to fill my nose with cherry. “He told me if I ever spoke to you ever again, he would hurt me. Ruin you, have you evicted. Make sure you never got hired again. I didn’t mean to…hurt you. Or hurt your feelings, if that’s what happened.” 

That revelation destroys me, sets me on fire. “Jesus, Lexie. You were protecting me? And I…I tortured you for it?” I twist the neck of my T-shirt, trying to calm down, but it doesn’t work. I’ll never be calm again “I’m so fucking sorry.” 

She glances at the doorway, then back at me, eyes closed again in that way that says she’s thinking. “All I want from you now is a ride out of here, okay? And on Monday morning, you’ll stop.” She opens her shining eyes again. “No more bullying, Drake. If you’re really sorry, you’ll do that for me.” 

Fuck. I couldn’t say one more single shitty thing to her if my life depended on it. Put me at gunpoint, and I’d rather get shot at than torture this girl for one more second. But I’m highly, painfully aware that with an end to the bullying comes an end to the possessiveness. No more scaring off guys who show interest in her. No more getting close enough in class to count the hairs on her head, to smell her sweet fragrance. And to tell the truth, I’m pretty fucking worried I don’t know how to give those things up completely. I don’t think I can physically do it. This addiction with Lexie isn’t something I can cut off. A leg would be easier to sever. But my hesitation is causing her eyes to worry. If I don’t agree to, essentially, let her go… she’s not going anywhere with me. And that means her safety won’t be guaranteed. I need it to be. More than anything. 

“No more bullying,” I say, finally. A moment later, I follow her out of the room and down the stairs, trying desperately to count the hairs on her head before I no longer have the chance.

[rebel666]

Confessions of  a Joann Employee

UPDATE: If you want to send more confessions and/or report what’s happening at your Joann anonymously, there’s EmployeeJoann on Twitter that is responding to messages. They are constantly sharing and updating more as it becomes available to them!

A confession from a Joann employee that is in one of the Covid-19 effected areas and has so much to say about it:

-We are staying open until told by the state otherwise. Even though they declared a State of Emergency and all non-essential businesses must be shut down by 5pm on Saturday 3/21, our company is refusing to. Because Joann themselves is trying to deem Joann as an "essential" store. They even put it all over their website that we are here for the people making masks and small businesses who need fabric to continue. They quote that we are here for the customers and that we as United States Americans have a responsibility to fill this need. They aren’t looking at curbside only as an option, they aren’t looking at offering more benefits for shopping online, they want us open and people in stores. They are sending us emails with pieces of paper (unofficial, not state made) to print out and put in our cars to say we are on the way to work at an "essential retailer." Anything to make it so we can remain open.

-This sucks for employees and here’s why: The way Joann is set up is if we get sick, if we have to leave to take care of someone who is sick, if we want to self-quarantine (because of our health or the health of our loved ones), we either quit or ask to be put on Leave of Absence and cannot return without medical clearance. If we come into contact with someone who has Covid-19 (even if they came into the store), they request we stay home while the rest of us have to work even if we were standing right next to them. As long as we don’t display symptoms, we are expected to show up or we can request LoA. LoA does not pay us. The only way we as employees will be taken care of is if the store closes AND if we have two weeks of schedules set up. I was hoping the company was on the path to this when they had us cancel all the classes until May and then limited hours but all that went out the window today. Right now Joann is doing everything to prevent us from closing and in turn take care of their employees. Every single time I bring up our well-being, I get reminded that we need to think about the customer first.

-Our store is step up to have daily conference calls to talk about the current status and to express any concerns we have. I brought up the status about my county (our major has declared everyone be shut down as of 5pm tomorrow or the police will be involved) and that I am deeply concerned for us and they told me that we have a responsibility as a leader to keep everyone calm and to keep working through this. ***When I asked what if everyone in my store requests a Leave of Absence because we are all very much concerned about our health, they said, "We will replace you with team members from other stores. There are service industry people and travel workers looking for jobs and we will fill your positions with people who will work it."*** They straight up told me that we are replaceable/expendable because they value their "customers/money." It doesn’t matter how long we’ve been with the company. It all means nothing to them.

-They are sending out emails about what Joann is doing as a whole for Covid-19. Saying we are cleaning every hour and whatnot. What they fail to mention is we are a fabric store with no means of washing fabric. I see people on a daily basis cough into, wipe their snot on, kids place in their mouth, and all sorts of other nasty things into these bolts of fabric (seriously, wash the fabric you buy from Joann before doing anything). We have the basic cleaning supplies to wash floors and wipe counters with but that’s pretty much it. They are telling us as employees to bring in our own supplies if we can. An employee brought in gloves long ago just so we can use them to clean the bathrooms. Today I provided face masks for my fellow coworkers. Our store may look clean but we know its dirty little secrets.

-We are supposed to follow the whole 10 people rule but they do nothing to stop or limit people at the door and won’t do anything to enforce it. All while wanting us to cut hours to which is barely 2 people running the whole store for smaller Joann locations. It’s not safe for us to be on a bare-bones crew especially if they want us to remain an essential store.

-Joann before this was a great place to work. At least for my store. I love my store, I love the people I work with. Other stores I have heard horror stories from but mine was one of the good ones. I see them being bombarded on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram to close. Not just by employees and families of employees but by concerned customers. And this pleases me because they need to take this seriously. What they do in the next 3 days will speak volumes on how much they listen to and care about us. This is a serious issue and we as employees are suffering.

As they report more, I will continue to add to this.

UPDATE 3/21: They emailed and made copies of this for employees to carry with them in their cars:

Now the CEO of Joann is also a piece of work. All you have to do is google his name and you’ll see the Walgreen’s lawsuit, his DUIs (yes, plural), and his impact on Joann since joining - which includes increasing prices because of the tariffs. One employee confirms that when tariff thing went into effect, the entire store was repriced. Some markups were a few cents but some were a few dollars. Since then the prices continue to fluctuate.

There is also a petition going on Change.org asking for Joann to Close Their Stores And Pay Employees

If you get a chance, read some of the comments people are putting in support of this:

I no longer feel safe in my workplace. The greed is sickening.

My employees deserve to be treated like people and make a livable wage and have benefits! Our health over their profit!

Staff at my local store have been asked to bring in their own gloves for cleaning. Hand sanitizer expired in 2012. Employees are reporting little to know cleaning supplies in a store that targets the elderly as a primary demographic. The material used in the masks is not medical grade. This company is shamelessly profiteering from the pandemic.

As a former employee and manager I know the company does not follow any real cleaning guidelines. They understaff their stores, overwork their employees and frown upon time off. Fabrics and crafts are not essential items at this time and since the majority of the clientele there are elderly i think they are creating more risk. Finally do something good for your employees and send gem home with pay

As a previous manager, I'm sad to say that this company does not value its workers. To see that they are putting their workers, and others who visit, at a continued risk is unbelievable and is extremely selfish. Now is the time to act and stop the spread of COVID-19 and to keep Joann's open does not help stop the spread in anyway shape or form.

Over the last two days, my local store decided to carry on with inventory. They brought in an inventory team from the area of our state with the vast majority of cases. It's one thing to not close and continue to expose the public to the risk, but decisions like these show that Jo-Anns has a blatant disregard for the wellbeing of its employees and customers. Even more telling is the fact that we know that you are seeing our pleas to do the right thing, but continue to ignore us on social media. There is only one reason that you are pushing to categorize Jo-Anns as an essential business, and that is greed. In fact, I had to spend my own money on gas to drive all over the city looking for more cleaning supplies after my manager ordered me to. Your employees do so much for you, and we are compensated very little. I have been at Jo-Anns long enough to know that you would never compensate us for our time off, but at least join the other non-essential business and shut down for the time being.

joann’s customer base is primarily elderly or otherwise at risk people, and many employees are also older or immunocompromised. employees are overwhelmed as we can’t keep up with the cleaning guidelines while also taking care of customers, not to mention we’re severely lacking in cleaning supplies in the first place. joann is encouraging people to come in for supplies to make face masks, yet these masks aren’t sterile since people touch and breathe on the fabric all day, and it’s then laid on the counter to be measured and cut. employees themselves aren’t even allowed to wear masks or gloves. joann cares more about profit than the safety of both their team members and customers.

There are so many comments I want to share. These are just a few. This is Joann. They care more about their image and their financial gains than the backbone of their stores. The people who put up with their ridiculous requests day in and day out are now at risk and putting others at risk. Places like Hot Topic closed down and took care of their employees, places like Joanns should too!

But also lets not forget, Hobby Lobby is also not taking Covid-19 seriously.

UPDATE 3/22: “We have signs saying we're cleaning more but found out Friday that we're out of supplies in the distribution center. They claim they will send them out once they receive any but I found out today from a truck driver the company that supplies everything for Joann (from inventory to store use items) is closed for 2 weeks... because of this they're telling us to use the bathroom cleaner as a substitute.”

From Joann Employee Confessions on Twitter:

Confession 17 - Our Joann was closed! We received a C&D from the Chief of Police! We were so ecstatic as employees when they came in and told us to cease all business operations! Not even curbside! BUT then we had to tell our District Manager... and everything changed.

Our DM told us to come back to work tomorrow because he was going to have Joann's lawyers work on it. My heart sank. Them being open was more important. So I went into work and it was so nice not being open to the public. We finally caught up on recovery and cleaning! All things we have neglected the past week because it's been too busy for us to keep up! All of us were in great spirits and it was the best day ever. Until our DM called... and he told us to section off all the "non-essential" parts of the store.

Fabric and sewing notions were deemed essential and we would be open to the public the next day. No curbside only. Nope. People were to come right back in and nothing about limitations. Nothing about cleaning our disgusting fabric. Just to section off half the store so the public could come in and buy all the fabric and sewing supplies they could want. And to add to that... they are doing a remnant promotion where all the spare pieces are free to the customer now! Another thing for our already spare crew to do when we don't have time!

I am honestly so shattered over how the Chief of Police who seemed so interested in our well-being backed out of this. We are exposed once again. 3 of us tonight took Leave of Absence papers tonight because we don't feel safe. This was the final nail in the coffin.

UPDATE - My coworker messaged me, “Got up at 10:00 to get ready for work. A text came in saying the store is closed and I don't have to come to work. Seems there was a conference call. It appears the state is involved and overrode the mayor!” But Joann is still fighting it. This is a day by day thing. They are telling us if we want hours we have to go to another store. If not, we have to put in our leave of absence. 

More articles coming through right now: 

These Retailers Refused To Close During The Pandemic, So An Illinois City Shut Them Down

Joann Fabrics' mask-making promotion raises questions

Gregory said the masks were being donated to Rush Oak Park Hospital in Oak Park and to Northwestern Medicine Delnor Hospital in Geneva – but spokespeople for both those hospitals said it was not true.“Due to infection control measures, Northwestern Medicine cannot accept donations of handmade masks, gowns and other medical supplies,” according to an email from Kimberly Waterman, spokeswoman for Northwestern Medicine Delnor. “Only factory-made, hospital-quality supplies, including N95 masks, face shields, gloves, gowns, sanitizers and swabs can be donated.”

“There is no barrier,” White said. “Once [handmade cloth masks] get wet, I don’t think they’re that effective.” (I can confirm. A RN confirmed with me that cloth masks collect moisture which acts as a magnet for infections.)

[archivedbyebye]

I watched all of the Ninjago leaks because I stopped giving fucks like 5 years ago, and this season is looking real weird.

Spoilers under the cut.

Since Ninjago has no self-control AT ALL when it comes to keeping characters dead, it looks like Nya's coming back in the flesh! I think this is what people are talking about when they say they're mad about the leaks? I'm not entirely sure because I'm not phased at the kinds of stuff they pull in these most recent seasons.

But anyways, I don't think I'm ever going to take a character death seriously again. You can't resuscitate every character! At least it looks like we'll get a bit of the aftermath before Nya comes back, Jay is showing signs of depression and Zane just gave up. I don't know what the deal is with Kai, he seems a bit delusional if you ask me.

Of course I could be just misreading it all. I don't know French.

The whole Ninja going to prison thing is a little weird, but it has potential. I don't mind if they reuse ideas as long as they put a twist on it (ie. Garmadon in season 8) like when they did the whole jail thing in season 6. At least this time it looks like there's a legitimate reason behind it where the Ninja are in the wrong and get actual consequences for it.

I'm kind of worried they'll spend a little too much time on this arc of the season. Supposedly we're twelve episodes in and the Ninja are just making a run for it, and their only goal seems to be to find some sort of vengestone buyer and maybe bring Nya back.

So yeah, this season looks weird. It also does not match up with the sets at all. I wonder if this season will be a lot like season 11, where the two arcs were split up by chapters.

I'm not going to talk about teletoon's hand in possibly the worst leak in Ninjago history, since I'm sure we unanimously feel annoyed by that, but yeah, those are my two cents on that.

[kkshowtunes]

Dial 9

A little Mac-centric angst about Dennis moving to North Dakota. This is a songfic! The beginning of every paragraph is a lyric from the song Baby Hotline by Jack Stauber. This could be read as platonic or ship, I kinda wrote it as both.

Words: 1,624

TW: Alchohol (Canon typical) and anxiety

Anyway, this is my third fic ever, so lmk what you think!

Baby hotline

Mac planned to wait a month after Dennis left to call him. A month to let him cool off, and then they could catch up. He lasted a week.

--

Please hold me close to you

Only a week passed, and his best friend/roommate/colleague's glow began to leave their apartment. Mac and Dennis's apartment that is now solely Mac's. In those long three days, he played a voice recording he had of him raging about how the guy at the store had given him umber hair dye instead of sienna. He never thought he'd miss it.

--

Baby flatline

He punches in the first 7 of the number that was left for him on a crumpled baby blue post-it. He's too busy noticing that the ink has already faded a little bit that he doesn't even notice the shake in his hands. At least he knows he's not dead because a dead man's heart doesn't beat like that. 

--

Still time to do it too (ha-ha-ha!)

The whole gang is feeling the impact of the departure. Frank even posted a friend-wanted ad. The only person who signed up was this chick named Mindy, or Wendy, or something. Whatever her name was, it certainly wasn't Dennis.

--

Baby snack time, chow down to earth

His life has become an out-of-order routine. Wake up. Eat. Go to work. Work ends. Work out. Sleep. Much like in the suburbs, but this time he's getting muscles. And this time, Dennis isn't there. 

--

But in your head she's a hoarder of quarters

Mac pushes the 0 button before halting. He can't tell why he can't just call the number. It's just nine numbers. He rolls a quarter across his knuckles mindlessly, a trick he learned when he was nine and a habit he gained when he was ten. He started collecting quarters. Only the special edition North Dakota ones that came out over a decade ago. He only has two so far, but he thinks he'll soon have a small fortune in 25-cent North Dakotas.

--

And no boundary boredom, boundary boredom

It's so boring. So boring to not call him. So boring to wait for Ellie or whatever the new Dennis's name is. It's so boring to go to work, especially when Charlie's off trying to woo the waitress and Dee's buying a new car because he crashed the last one. It's boring to go home to only his exercise bike and beer.

--

I contend that your drinking eye has never opened

He types a 1. Then stops. Again. He takes a sip from his beer and wishes he hadn't. The beer didn't pair well with the taste of anxiety brewing in his stomach. Anyway, he'd been trying to cut down on alcohol.

--

I insist somebody will die, and I hate hoping

He quickly dials another 3 digits. Then stops. Goddammit. That's when the thoughts poured in. Dennis is dead. Just like the thoughts that started getting worse when he was 12. Just like the ones he got when his dad got arrested. He's dead.

--

Wishing that the pills let you cry, and I hate coping

He looks at the coffee table. Dennis didn't take his Borderline Personality pills with him. He always insisted he was fine and didn't need to get medicated. But he always took them anyway. He hopes the other man is okay. He hopes a lot.

--

Someday I will go back outside and see her okay

He doesn't want to be selfish. He knows Dennis is off being a dad, being a partner for Mandy, being Brian LeFevre. He still wants to look out the window or go to Paddy's and have him there. In his dreams, he's there, and he's okay, and he's real.

--

Hung up and put it on hold! My line is getting cold! 

He types in the additional numbers and hears the dial-up noise. The phone rings. He breathes. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Just like how Mandy taught Dennis to do. He still hangs up before anyone can answer.

--

Hung up and put it on hold! (Oh, uh, I'll try again though)

Goddammit. Coward. He begins to dial again.

--

Baby Hotline, please dial nine to get out!

He stares at the post-it and its 15 million creases. He stares as if he hadn't memorized it 15 million times over. He pretends to forget it again, just to see his handwriting and the number scrawled. He takes a second to pretend to memorize it, then he types it in. The last digit is a nine, Dennis's unlucky number. Why? His favorite family member, his aunt, died when he was nine. The license of his first car, which he wrecked, ended with a 9. He met Charlie and Mac on September 9th. Nothing good happens with nines and Dennis. Mac knows this because Mac always remembers stuff like this. Stuff that isn't important but stuff that matters.

--

No flatline, what were you scared about? 

The number rings through! It's a valid number! There's a voice at the other end! Dennis is fine. A feminine voice? Mac knows Dennis's voice. That isn't it. Maybe it's Mandy's. Dennis is fine.

--

Baby sat by and felt the wind

Mac is so busy fixating on the voice's sound that he doesn't realize what it's saying. "Could you repeat that?" he asks, his voice excited and a bit rough from not talking for a bit. The room is cold, but the excitement brings a comforting breeze of warmth. "Dial 3 if you are dealing with suicidal ideation," the voice buzzes, stiff and robotic. The room freezes, cold as the voice that just spoke.

--

Numb, feel burning with haste

It takes a second to piece it together, but this isn't anything to do with Dennis. It's a mental health hotline. Anger wells in Mac's chest as he lets out a frustrated yelp. Anger turns into fear. He hangs up hastily and drops the phone to the ground.

--

And I'm realizing now it's a terrible waste

"Dennis cared about me enough to leave the number! What if Dennis isn't safe? I can't contact him? He didn't want to talk to me anyways… but-"He goes through this train of thought a few too many times as he paces around the room. Scratching his beard and mussing up his hair, getting gel under his fingernails as he does.

--

I feel numb, what a waste

Another two weeks pass, and Mac continues his routine. The phone incident (as he recently dubbed it) is now nothing but a dull pain in the back of his mind. Cindy (that was her name!) joins the gang. They're back to scheming. To being happy enough. To guarding the bar and being evil and badass and all of that.

--

Sunbathe 'til morning time and your eyes will open wide

He sits in the sunniest patch of his apartment, right next to the window where Dennis used to perch and sulk when his D.E.N.N.I.S-ing didn't work. It's always sunny in Philly. Except when it's not.

--

Oh baby, never mind

He has muscles now. Sort of. He's working on getting ripped all the way. He'll have them by the time Dennis comes back... if he comes back. "Never mind," he thinks, "I don't need to measure my life in terms of Dennis. I'm just as badass by myself."

--

And my sight, oh run and hide

Scheming with the gang, the new gang, is more effective without Dennis's rage. It doesn't mean he doesn't miss him like hell, though. He shakes his head to clear his mind. He tells himself not to obsess.

--

I can say, "Oh, wrap it in with cinnamon"

It's Dennis's birthday. Dee's too, but no one cares about that. Mac's train thought spirals are remedied only by buying a drink and adding something sweet and spicy. Not thinking too hard about anything. There's nothing to do about any of it.

--

I've been dead

Mac writes a letter:

Dear Dennis,

I don't know where you live, so I'm just sending it to North Dakota. God will find a way to give it to you. I hope you're alive! It was your birthday yesterday! I know that you know that, though. I wouldn't want to undermine your intelligence. Haha. It was Sweet Dee's birthday too. Duh. No one cares about her. That goddamn bird! Haha. Anyways, please reach out sometime. I'm still at the apartment. Love and care and stuff like that, not in a gay way. Even though I am gay. But like not necessarily for you.

Your best friend,

Mac

--

Oh, wrap the trouble now, I feel so good. Ring won't bend, thinking bent.

Dee always said they were like a married couple. Now Mac feels like a widow. But he's moved on. Moving on feels good. He would have preferred to not have had to move on from anything, but this will have to do.

--

I won't stay more anymore, oh I don't even think about it

He rearranged the apartment already. Gym room. His room. No room for Dennis. Why would there be a room for Dennis? Cindy says he has a Dennis-shaped hole he needs to fill. She's probably right. He buys a doll that looks like him.

--

Oh, you know I don't

Cindy hates the doll. Even though she's the one who suggested it. She insists she never did. The whole gang hates it. Obviously, they do. It's disgusting. Mac knows it too. Mac hates it, but he hates himself without it more than he hates the doll. So whatever. It stays. Mac prays because it's like hoping, but god's there.

--

I hate hoping

and he really, really, really does hate hoping

[cnowy]

RANT. (It’s a long one, sorry, I’m a bit of a rambler. Also happy to be proven wrong if that’s the case or to discuss what u think about it. My opinion is not a fact and opinions are never facts)

RPF is peculiar thing in todays fandoms. All the fighting and bickering who’s right or has “the real scoop” about personal lives makes me livid. And I mean those ppl who bring that kind of shit to Twitter or Instagram tagging the actors in question/commenting on their posts. It’s basically harassment. Tumblr, as a social media platform, where fans can interact with each other without directly attacking the actors, is different tho. Here we can safely speculate, share fun theories, video clips and be crazy about it all we want.

My two cents on J2 and Cockles truthing.

Do I ship J2? – No, there’s just no romantic/sexual chemistry between them (I don’t get that vibe). Jared is the straightest man out there and Jensen can only tolerate him at cons or other PR events. (see, I can say this and not attack others, cause IT’S MY OPINION)

Do I ship Cockles? Yes and no. Would consider myself somewhere in the middle when shipping Misha and Jensen. I’m rather fond of their close friendship. Is there anything more to it? Maybe… who knows. There are signs saying perhaps that was the case some time ago. Others believe in polyamory theory while being respectful to their wives. Could they still be together? again, WHO KNOWS? As fans, we can discuss this and not directly shove those speculations in actor’s faces.

A bit of a tangent on shipping real ppl from other fandoms, but it will make sense in the end (I think)

I was never a big 1D fan (knew few popular songs and basic info about them as individuals). Only found out about Larry ship being a thing through my ex who adored the band, especially Harry. We talked for quite awhile and she mentioned how there were less and less public interaction between Harry and Louis. Fans kept annoyingly pushing this narrative about them being together over and over on their social media accounts, so they stopped posting all together. Every single little interaction with each other were seen as codes or subliminal messages that they “are secretly together”. They were basically harassed and bullied over it. It’s crazy if u ask me. Even if it’s true or not ppl have no right to make other to come out.

Another example great example of fans sometimes taking it too far is Septiplier (Markiplier and Jacksepticeye). Knew of Jack and enjoyed his content back in good ol’ Youtube days. I was unfamiliar with this ship until recently. Jack was a guest few years back on a podcast and was asked about this shipping phenomenon. What made me listen up was his view of it. Bromance is fun and the fanart was spectacular according to him. However he was uncomfortable when the insistent shoving reached harassment territory. Jack mentions starting to become more and more weary of any platonic interactions between him and Mark. Cause every time fans would just say “see!, they are definitely fucking each other when so and so hugs one another or looks for more than 2 seconds”. Every public exchange were under scrutiny. So, I’ll ask, how would you feel if someone watched your friendship that closely and made invasive comments about it? Not good, right?

Misha once talked about this too. Cockles ship specifically. Not every single sentence they shutter to each other or joke online is code for “we secretly fuck”. Men, women and every other gender under the sun can be just friends. It’s that simple.

So stop. If you go and harass the actors about real people shipping (or celebrities in general) on their social media – fuck u. Do you want to chase off your idols of social media? I don’t. They give us content, so we can continue speculate more in this safe lil’ corner of Tumblr. If u fight with others – sit down, and take a breather. Attacking various opinions (and mind u, those opinions are speculative at best) is not a way to go. Constructive discussion while being civil IS A WAY TO GO.

And lastly why why why ppl get so offended over opinions as if they’re being attacked personally? Does your (not u specifically, but to those few who take it to another level entirely) whole personality revolve around a ship? All I’m saying it’s not worth of a hill to die on.

Mic’s out.

[thran-duils]

I Crave Annihilation

Title: I Crave Annihilation Summary:  Fem!Reader x Mafia!Dark Tony Stark. Tony works for the reader’s very influential politician father moving guns and drugs. She starts flirting with him and he is returning the vibes. She moves into her own place out of her parent’s house and texts him to come save her from a house party. Smut ensues. Words: 3,310 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Smut, HUGE age difference, angst, violence, infidelity, possessive behavior Author’s Note: You know when things just pour out of you and you go with it? Yeah. Me too. This is that. I’m thinking this might just be a one shot like my Petal Castiel fic. Song inspo for this.

Part Two || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Are you busy?

You pressed send on the text to Tony, leaning on the wall. Your eyes moved across the kitchen, wandering over everyone taking shots, playing beer pong. You spotted someone bringing in the pizza that had been ordered and you jumped to acting, coming right up to them. The girl smiled and put it on the counter. She was cute – her name was Rihanna, you thought -- but you knew she had a girlfriend here; you had talked to them earlier briefly out on the patio while you shared a cigarette.

“Preference?”

“Veggie?”

“No, sorry,” she shook her head. “There’s cheese, pepperoni, and meat lovers. So, the complete opposite of what you’re looking for. Are you vegetarian?”

“No, I just was craving it. I’ll take pepperoni.”

She dug through the boxes, the crowd around the pair of you growing at all the other drunk party goers. She made an aha sound, finding it on the bottom and pushed the box towards you. You grabbed a piece and sunk your teeth into it.

You snuck your way through the group and leaned back against the counter, pulling out your phone. He had already texted back, much to your amusement.

Not particularly. Why?

So, he had saved your number. That was a great sign. Your heart was starting to beat faster with anticipation. Taking another big bite, you savored it and swallowed. You wanted something in your stomach instead of the jungle juice and multiple types of potato chips you had been ingesting for the last couple hours. You ate the piece quickly, eyeing the group, thinking you should have grabbed a second piece. But maybe you could convince Tony to stop somewhere if he could come get you. You had had a ride home, but she had started rifling shots when her crush showed up.

My DD isn’t a DD anymore.

You hoped he would show up with that invitation.

<><><>

Tony and you had been flirting for a long while, playfully at first and had gotten more bold as time went on. But it had to be kept under wraps, nothing real or physical, since he worked for your dad. He had patched over from another part of the mafia when they had merged a years ago, coming closer to your city to work with the crew here.

The first time the new guys showed up at your dad’s house with the veterans of the area, it was relatively late at night. Your father was a politician, a powerful one. You had been swimming in the pool and they had come through the gate to go towards the guest house to have a meeting. You surfaced hearing voices as you did laps.

“Don’t mind us, keep going, sweetie,” your father had told you as he walked by.

“Hey, Y/N,” Christian, the president of their faction said as he passed you.

“Hi,” you told him in response, coming to the edge of the pool. “You still owe me that $10!”

He stopped and turned around, a wide smile on his face. You had challenged him to pool last weekend and he had been so drunk he had forgotten to pay you when you won. He walked back towards you as the other mafia walked in, pulling out his wallet.

“You’re just like your father. Won’t forget a cent.” You shrugged as he pulled out a ten. “Want me to leave it on your towel?”

“That works,” you said just as you caught sight of new faces following in.

They all were looking at you and you knew if they knew you were your father’s daughter, they would not be staring so abashedly to not offend him. You were only 19, your 20th coming up soon. One in particular though, he was not taking his eyes off of you as he walked by. You locked eyes with him, a small smirk playing on your lips. He was handsome, terribly so. You did not back away from his lascivious look, meeting him in intensity.

“Hey!” Christian snapped his fingers at the guys, noticing them all staring. “Show my niece some respect! You bunch of lechers!” He was not really your uncle, but he might as well be. He tossed the ten onto your towel and said, “Watch out for these assholes. They’re a bunch of pricks.”

“Will do,” you vowed, crossing your heart. “I’ve got you to protect me anyhow.”

“You’re damn right,” Christian responded, laughing before turning and walking off with the group.

The same man though looked back, finding you still looking. You blushed despite yourself before averting your eyes and moving back away from the wall to continue your laps.

After that, he had come to the house a handful of times and every time the two of you had shared flirtatious looks, sharing sparse words to introduce yourselves. He was far older than you, early forties. At least twice your age but you did not care. He was dangerous and you liked that. And he was single as far as you could tell.

At a late-night soiree, you had come home, finding them all drunk in the back yard, which was a risk for your father, but he was not one known to always heed caution by being tied to this mafia openly. Especially when he got a few drinks in him. There were card games going on, some of the mafia swimming in the pool.

Tony had looked up from the patio, sitting at one of the tables, seeing you inside speaking to one of his guys, Thor. Thor was a flirt, but he was harmless, holding out a shot to you. You had spotted Tony noticing you moments before and you shrugged, taking the shot from him. You were still underage, but your dad let you indulge, especially if it was at home. And around people he could trust, his mafia. No harm would come to you here, so you were not worried about him catching you.

The two of you took the shot and you did your best to not grimace because it was scotch.

“Took it like a champ,” Thor complimented, a wide smile on his face.

“You mind finding me a chaser?” you choked out.

He laughed in response and said, “Sure.”

Thor left you and you took a deep breath, trying to swallow the taste of the scotch. It really was nasty stuff. You turned your head and found Tony blatantly staring at you from outside on the porch.

You moved outside and came up to him, eyeing the cigarette in his hand, hanging by his side. He breathed out some smoke and you held out your hand expectantly.

His lips twitched in amusement and he held it up to you. You took it from him, wrapping your lips around it sensually, keeping eye contact. You took a deep breath in before pulling it out. Your lipstick was lining the cigarette. You exhaled slowly; eyes still locked. He looked damn good in the white button up he was wearing, tight black jeans.

“Does your dad know you smoke?” Tony inquired.

You shrugged, “It’s a social habit.”

Tony did smirk then, and you took another drag before handing it back to him. He wrapped his lips around it, and you smiled seeing your lipstick mark disappear into his mouth.

“And I’m sure you can keep it a secret,” you added, putting your hands behind your back, exposing your breasts more in your small tank top. He did not refrain from looking down briefly.

“Sure, precious,” he responded, and your stomach fluttered at the pet name. You loved his attention far too much for your own good.

You held out your hand and he went to hand you the cigarette again and you shook your head, causing him to stall. He narrowed his eyes curiously and you said, “Your phone.” He rose a brow now and you explained, “If I’m having a secret keeper, I might need to call them for help sometime, right?”

Tony ground his teeth for a moment, giving you a scrutinizing look. He looked hesitant; no doubt thinking about what your father would do if he knew how much the two of you were flirting. You flexed your fingers quickly, gesturing for him to hand it over. That broke him.

He sucked his bottom lip in, reaching into his pocket and handing his phone over to you. You flipped through it, finding his messages and sending yourself a text with a winky face.

“That’s naughty of you. What if your dad saw that?” Tony asked the moment he saw the text you had sent.

“Well, do what you just promised me. Keep secrets,” you responded, giving him a wink before turning away from him and walking back into the house, leaving him on the patio.

<><><>

Things had not progressed far from then because you had moved out of the house after getting accepted into a nearby university quickly afterward. You just wanted to be away from the house, have some independence, and you were willing to take on the money needed to live in an apartment. You had not seen him because of this, you had roommates and how could you explain a forty some year-old man coming over. But you found yourself thinking about him a lot recently in the months since you had moved out. He had not texted you and you thought maybe he thought you were silly and had just been a small distraction for him. That hurt and you hated thinking about that. When your friends went for hookups, you turned down guys who had come onto you, not interested.

You wanted him. There was something about him that drew you like a moth to flame.

You need a ride?

Yes, please.

What’s the address?

He was being cordial, probably in case someone happened to see the text conversation. You hoped that would stop the moment you got in the car. You managed to swipe another piece of pizza – no stopping on the way home now – but also got pressured into drinking another cup of jungle juice., Thankfully, you were able to toss half of the cup into the sink and you left the empty cup on the counter. You were not going to risk leaving a half cup where any of the frat boys could come by and drug it, waiting for a poor girl to come pick it up.

When he texted he was outside, you told your friend you had a ride and she had protested, wanting you to stay. You told her she was too drunk and that your other roommate was going to hang out with her. She asked who was picking you up and you said a friend before pulling away from her.

You got into his Lexus, collapsing back into the seat. He was watching you closely and you turned your head to look at him, smiling. “Thank you so much. It was so loud in there.”

“You’re telling me,” he said eyeing the house. “I’ll be surprised if the cops don’t stop by before 11pm. You can hear it out here.”

Trying to pretend like you could not see him running his eyes over your body – you had worn a black lace top over a black bra and a burgundy bandage skirt – you sat up straighter, giving an even clearer view of your tits.

“Yeah, well, good thing I’m dipping out then. Don’t need an MIP on my record. Not right before my 21st birthday.”

Tony snorted as he pulled away from the curb, taking off down the street.

“Seriously, it’s next month.”

“I know,” Tony chuckled.

You smiled and giggled, “You know my birthday?”

It was his turn to smile over at you. “Of course. How could I forget that 20th birthday? You looked perfect in that dress. I couldn’t stop looking at those photos.”

Your stomach was in knots hearing that. He had been looking at your social media. And for how long? Apparently for a long while. You wondered how often he was looking at the photos… and what he had been doing while he was looking at them. You could not help your mind going to dirty places, thinking of his hand wrapped around his cock, jerking himself off to you. That is sure as hell what he was insinuating. Maybe this was not such a good idea…

Tony’s hand slid across over to your thigh, gripping, erasing any doubt about where the night was heading. You let him, relaxing into the seat as best as you could, listening to the music.

You had instigated this, what was happening right now. So, why did you feel so nervous? You tried to fight off the feelings of doubt that were incoming hard the closer the two of you got to your apartment – you had not given him the address. But he knew where to go. That was a huge red flag, only compounding your nervousness.

His phone rang and he looked down at the middle console where it was resting. You saw Steve’s name popping up and you asked, “Should you answer that?”

“No,” Tony shook his head.

The call went to voicemail.

A few minutes later, the phone started ringing again. This time it was Thor. You narrowed your eyes, shooting him a look. You saw he saw the phone and you were wondering why he was not reacting.

“Maybe they need to talk to you?” you said carefully.

Maybe distracting him with work would stop what was coming at you like a freight train. You had dreamed about this for months but now that it was happening, you were just teetering on panic. He was so much older than you and he worked for your dad. What would happen if it ever came to light the two of you had sex? And what happened past this?

“He can get anyone to help them. Not everyone gets to be here with you, precious. You actually wanna turn it off for me?” He asked, nodding at the phone that had gone silent now.

“Are you sure?” you asked, staring at him.

“Yes,” Tony said more firmly. You reached down, picking the phone up and turning it off against your better judgment. Maybe you should have pressed it more but that was passed now. You placed it back down in the middle console and he winked, “Thanks, doll.”

He was at your back as you walked into the dark apartment, and you flipped on the kitchen light before kicking your shoes off and then walked to the freezer. “Do you want a drink?”

When you turned around he was right there, ready to pounce. His lips were on yours immediately and he pressed you up against the counter, his hands roaming and digging in to hold you close.

“I’ll take that as a no,” you breathed out when he gave you the space to breathe.

“Where’s your room?” he husked, still kissing you, cupping your ass.

You were still having second thoughts about this, but it was already happening, him riled up. You guided him to your bedroom, his hands barely leaving you. Your clothes were stripped from you and he wasted no time undressing himself too in the process. You laid back down on the bed, him weighing you down. You kissed him back, matching his fervor. You had wanted this for so long and it was happening. You fell into that memory, thinking of how much he desired you. This powerful, handsome man wanted you. Yeah, you wanted that. You wanted his attention. You spread your legs for him, holding onto him as he entered.

His guttural moans as he pounded you into the mattress caused you to dig your nails into his back, trying to match the shallow pain he was inflicting on you to even the score. Tony was relentless, even as he slowed his thrusts, his teeth were digging in at the base of your neck, sucking roughly. His hand came down in between the two of you and he began circling your clit.

“Come for me, precious. Come on,” he encouraged roughly, leaving bruising kisses along your jaw.

You whimpered feeling the coil in your stomach tightening as he massaged you towards release. That was new; no boy you had been with had even given a shit about you getting off. But he did. You were enjoying this, his regard for your orgasm.

He was skilled that was for damn sure and sooner rather than later, your legs shook, sharp, broken cries leaving your lips. He groaned loudly, his hand leaving your clit and he resumed a brutal pace as you clenched around him.

He let go in warm spurts, coating your walls. You were limp there, letting him use you like a doll as he finished himself. His head fell limp as well, his breath hot on your neck.

Tony laid a soft kiss at the base of your neck and you flinched slightly at the contact. It was where there was sure going to be a hickey tomorrow. He chuckled lightly and laid another soft kiss on your jaw before meeting your lips, pulling you towards him.

“Sorry about that,” he whispered. “Got a little caught up.”

Licking your lips, you asked timidly, “It was okay?”

Tony pulled away, looking down at you, his brow stitched, taking in your bashful face.

“’Okay’? You did perfect. So good,” Tony purred, and you felt warmth at his praise. He leaned back down, kissing you again, harder this time. “So fucking good, precious. You are a marvel.”

Maybe it had not been a mistake, you thought to yourself. He was holding you close, pinning you against him protectively.

<><><>

Tony got back in his car, pulling his phone out and turning it back on. He saw there were a lot of missed calls from Steve and Thor. Rolling his eyes, he pressed call back to Steve.

“What the fuck? Why weren’t you answering your phone?” Steve answered his phone, pissed off.

“I was busy,” Tony told him dryly.

“’Busy’. What the fuck are you playing at?”

Only hesitating for a moment before deciding eh could trust Steve, since Steve knew about their games, Tony answered, “Y/N. Picked her up from a party and gave her a ride home.”

Steve was quiet for a moment and Tony leaned back in the seat as he let that information settle in with him.

Steve finally scoffed, “Man, you better have been getting your dick sucked.”

“I got one better. If I could describe to you how tight she was, I would,” Tony said lewdly, looking back up at her dark bedroom window. He had left her in bed. She had been so cute, worried she had not done well. If he was not worried about all the phone calls he had been receiving before he turned his phone off to make sure he got to bury his dick in her tonight, he would have waited to go for round two. That would have to wait though. He was certainly coming back to collect on that. He could already tell he had her wrapped around his finger.

That actually drew a laugh from Steve, and he said more quietly, “You’re forgiven, you prick. But you’re gonna need to make up an excuse because Damien is going to want an answer. We had a shipment come in and you weren’t here.”

“You mean I can’t just tell him I was busy banging his daughter?” Tony asked sarcastically.

“I wouldn’t and I would advise you not to because I need your dumbass,” Steve retorted but Tony could tell he was smiling.

“Duly noted. I’ll think of something,” Tony said before hanging up the phone.

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld