#there's probably some more stuff rattling around my brain about the second topic but

[eva-cybele]

a rare personal post appears, cut for emotional barf

today is my 14th wedding anniversary, and I'm still kind of grappling with my emotions around my wedding. not my marriage - love my husband, he's still great. I feel bad calling my memories of our wedding bittersweet, because it was absolutely nothing to do with him.

but I wanted a few things for my wedding. to wear a medieval dress/be in the closest thing I could find to a castle, to have a 3 tier cake, to have it on our dating anniversary of April 11th, and to have the traditional bride/bridesmaid experience with female friends around me. I would have been fine compromising on some, but I got literally none of these.

problem was, my husband's brother was in the military, so I ended up caving and getting married two days after christmas so my MIL could have her kids home for the holidays. the dresses and venue and cake I wanted were too expensive. we had the wedding at a church, with a pastor. a religious ceremony, which I also didn't want, because to do otherwise would be to invite a ton of fighting from both our families.

and this was my second year of university, when I was in the worst possible years of my life re: friendship. I hadn't made any friends at college, my high school best friend stopped talking to me the second we graduated. of the two HS friends I reached out to about being bridesmaids, one lied and told me she was moving to another country. another said yes and then ghosted me. I ended up with my cousin and two childhood friends I had barely hung out with in recent years that probably felt too bad to say no.

my bachelorette party was me, my photographer (wife of one of my husband's friends), and my mom. it was one of the loneliest nights of my life.

then after the wedding, my husband's friends covered our new car in shaving cream, which will eat through paint if you leave it. and put powdered coffee creamer in our vents, which blew out all over our recently-detailed interior. we didn't get all of that stuff out of the nooks and crannies by the time we sold the car last year. and we were at the car wash trying to rinse off our car in freezing temperatures long enough that we missed our paid-for fancy dinner at the hotel we were staying at for our wedding night. which was the only honeymoon we got.

everything just added up to something that was for everyone else, not for me. and I keep bouncing between "so what, it doesn't actually matter" and "but it mattered to me for some reason, and now I feel stupid that it mattered."

and a huge part of it is that at least in part, I bought into the 90s girl power ideal of close female friendship, and I have never had that. have rarely had more than one or two girl friends at a time at all, much less the tightknit group I always wanted. I've never been asked to be in anyone else's wedding either, so it's like...idk. growing up I was always on the fringes of every friend group I had, the one who they let hang around but wasn't really included. so it's hard to shake that feeling even now, when I have honestly more friends than I ever have. sometimes I still doubt if they actually like me or just put up with me being there because I run the discords they use to hang out with their real friends.

I don't know where I'm going with this and honestly it's at least 90% fueled by me being PMSy, recovering from a stomach bug that hit me like a truck on Christmas day, and having honestly an absolutely terrible year in most respects.

[gisachi]

Hi ^^ I know that your requests are now closed but I was thinking that, given you have written jealous Shinichi, I would very much enjoy some jealous Ran! Maybe you can mix it with one of the prompts? Just throwing the idea out there, no pressure. Delete this if you don't feel like it, it's okay really. Thank you for writing these amazing fics, the shinran fandom is in your debt. ❤️

So this is the last (!!!) and longest (!!!) of the kiss prompts, and I dedicate it to multiple-requests Anon and to this Anon. I hope both of you still see this. It took me a while. ^^;;

P.S. Special thanks to @artycreaty for keeping this in check. You are awesome. 🥰

41. Kisses shared under an umbrella. 46. A lingering kiss before a long trip apart. (6,489 words)

.

.

.

Ran keeps telling herself she has no right to be jealous.

She has hundreds of reasons not to. They’re merely childhood best friends. Life would be much easier if she didn’t involve herself in his business twenty-four seven. Shinichi absolutely doesn’t look at her that way. And so forth.

She wonders why they’re even friends in the first place. If their parents hadn’t enrolled them in the same kindergarten, she was certain they wouldn’t even be on speaking terms. He lives in a world of grisly books and crimes, she in a world of martial and visual arts. Their hobbies don’t overlap. They excel in different fields. They enter the same university with completely unrelated majors. The only bond they have in common is their shared history. Literally bonded since they were four, until now at nineteen.

So when she sees him all jolly around his newfound circle who hold the same interest in Holmes or detective work, it shouldn’t surprise her as much. It’s part of university life, it’s normal, they expand their horizons, and Ran understands that it hits much differently when they bond with people who like the same stuff they do. Something she’s aware they cannot share a hundred percent.

She’s proud of him, and she absolutely has no right to feel jealous, especially when she sees him around taller, prettier, more interesting women from his course block. There is no reason for her to look away with a heavy weight in her chest everytime the women get giggly and touchy while he’s absorbed in narrating his stories.

Everytime she does, she reminds herself of how he didn’t seem to mind when she was casted as the protagonist of their high school play and the leading man was the handsome Araide-sensei. Or how he simply shrugged when she fawned over the brother of a classmate because he looked so much like the karate senpai she was crushing on. Or when she secretly caught Sonoko dragging the detective behind gym after P.E. to confront him about his opinion regarding an upperclassman courting Ran and his only response was, ‘She can like whoever she likes, Sonoko. I’m not her boyfriend.’

He never showed her any sign of jealousy, therefore he must not be into her. Simple as that. So it’s unfair for her to be treating him differently. Getting snarky just because he received sixteen new fan mails again, more now that they’re in uni, and two even coming from the popular criminology seniors he is often teased to? Or ignoring him unprecedentedly just because his eyes followed the back of a woman with long chestnut hair and voluptuous curves? There are plenty of fish in the sea, and he’s bound to be attracted to someone else. This is a pill she ought to learn to swallow eventually.

Eventually.

“Shinichi-kun, you never told us about your scariest case yet, tell us about it?”

Kaori closes her notes and so do the other two girls across her, and Shinichi’s eyes twinkle. He truly seems to enjoy study sessions with the little group they made consisting of some of his and Ran’s coursemates because they love listening to his stories.

“At the top of my head is this murderer disguised as a bandaged man, and he targeted us one by one…” and so the detective drones. Ran pauses typing and reminisces quietly. Ah, that one from summer three years ago. I was almost injured by that crazy man during my sleep but Shinichi woke me up in time.

“Ran-san,” Shun, her friend and coursemate, mutters beside her, also stopping his typing to listen to the detective’s story. “It’s ridiculous how popular Kudou-kun is with the girls. He’s full of wild adventures.”

“Yes, he is,” Ran says, smiling. “He’s been a girl magnet ever since high school.”

She watches as Kaori inches closer to Shinichi, listening attentively, chin on her palm and flirtatious smile on her lips as the detective rants on and on.

For the third time that afternoon, Ran looks away.

.

.

Ran keeps telling herself she has no right to be jealous.

She does, everyday, but it’s hard when he smiles at her, cares for her, holds her in a way she’s never seen him do for anyone else. It gives her hope every time the girls cling to him but he never touches them back, whereas he automatically slings his arm over her shoulder because she’s afraid or cold or he simply feels like it.

Then again, maybe she’s giving herself too much credit. Perhaps it’s a free pass for being around him for too long. She even gets to spend time with him during weekends and holidays. It isn’t special because it’s normal.

And that’s all she’ll ever be, a normal girl in his eyes.

“Ran? She’s pretty special.”

Ran reacts to the mention of her name and catches Shinichi looking at her. “She appears quiet but she can kick anyone’s ass without breaking a sweat. It’s bad if you cross her,” Shinichi gloats with a grin.

“Oh my god, really? We can bring her with us then!” Kaori claps her hands in excitement.

“Ah... But she won’t like that,” he follows up, wary. Ran has missed the topic they were talking about and now she’s curious.

“But ghosts aren’t real and Mouri-san can give them a good beating!”

“Gh-Ghosts?” The color in her cheeks drains, eyes freezing at Shinichi who has probably already expected that reaction, for he sports that same look of concern as those times he had expressed whenever she joined him in his way-past-bedtime elementary school adventures.

“We’ll investigate an abandoned house I always pass by walking home,” Kaori explains. “Last night I saw a faint cigarette light at the second floor window. It might be a fugitive or a homeless person or a ghost, who knows?”

“You don’t need to come if you don’t want to, Ran,” Shinichi assures.

Gulping, Ran contemplates whether going with them will do her any good. It’s a nice change, it’s been a while since she last tagged with Shinichi in his cases. But she isn’t exactly proud of shrieking like a little kid in front of serious criminology majors who may feel like she’ll drag their covert investigation down if she joins.

“...I’ll pass,” she answers meekly, and his coursemates sulk except Shinichi, who offers her a smile of understanding.

“Man, I thought we’ll be able to see Mouri-san in action!”

“That’s ok, maybe next time. We still have Shinichi-kun!”

“Shinichi-kun will protect us, ne?”

“Hah. Right. Invite Hakuba too, use him.”

“Oh c’mooon, Shinichi-kun!”

Ran closes her eyes, struggling to zone their voices out.

In her silence, Ran ponders if she has made a wrong choice.

.

.

Ran has no right to be jealous. So it’s unfair for her to be treating him this way.

The following weekend, Shinichi narrates what happened in their late-night investigation. Hakuba wasn’t there so Shinichi was the only available guy as usual. Ran refuses to hear any more details, both of the haunted house and secretly of the girls chancing onto him during the investigation. Shinichi is puzzled.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Nah, just swamped with work.”

“On a Sunday?”

“Yes.”

“Want me to assist?”

“No.”

Her replies are curt from the couch of his house, not looking at Shinichi on the other end as she mindlessly cleans up her digital sketches. She hates how snappy she sounds but her brain is too absorbed with conjuring spiteful imaginations to even think of masking her annoyance.

“Ran, hey. Look at me.”

His low voice freezes her from drawing, and she slowly looks up to meet Shinichi’s serious eyes.

When this happens, she knows he’s reading her. She inwardly chants a prayer because now isn’t a good time. Whatever time isn’t a good time. She doesn’t know what to say when she’s aware everything she’s been feeling is irrational and unfair. She’s being selfish.

“You’re… stressed.”

“No, I’m… Eh?”

He scoots closer, an arm’s length away. “Your dark circles are more prominent now, you need a break.” His eyes turn a soft blue. “Let’s have dinner out? My treat.”

Ran is surprised, to say the least. The last time he invited her out was two weeks ago. She’s become so used to seeing him around others that any initiative from him sounds too good to be true.

“But I need to finish this project by tonight.”

“Let’s have food delivery then!” Shinichi announces, not rattled by Ran’s indirect refusal. “I know exactly what you want. Ramen and shaved ice.”

Her eyes thin at the absurdly goofy expression she knows he makes when he’s being mischievous. “Clearly you’re ordering that ramen for yourself. I only like shaved ice.”

“Damn! Miss Detective gets it.” A mile-wide grin stretches across his face, earning an eye roll from the half-smiling woman. “Let’s eat together on your short break, please?”

He leans within a respectful distance and she sees his smile better, pair of kind eyes locking with her overworked ones. “It’s been a while.”

Her heart throbs for him. So much.

She caves - of course she does - and breathes her acquiescence.

After two long weeks, they have dinner together, just them and Shinichi’s ramen and Ran’s donburi and shaved ice, Shinichi taking a spoonful of dessert from the cup when she isn’t looking and Ran snatching a slurp from his take-out bowl and laughing when he catches her.

With how heartfelt his laughter is in her presence devoid of any mysteries, Ran knows she’s probably giving herself too much credit, but for once she wants to believe she is the cause of why Shinichi’s happy.

Just for that night, she gives it to herself.

She’ll change the dark colors of her digital artwork to brighter ones after they eat.

.

.

Despite everything, Ran finds it difficult to contain her recurring jealousy.

The more she shares precious time with him, the more it gets harder to suppress the selfish emotions. What is so unsatisfying about being the best friend is that she is only the best friend. No more no less. At the end of the day, she isn’t the one he gets to cuddle with, to tease then kiss, to tell ‘I love you’ to, romantically.

“I love you.”

Ran feels her heart about to leap out of her chest.

“But please. Stop. Tearing. The. Cushions!”

The little furball he has scooped underneath a throw pillow wiggle from his grasp. The kitten and detective engage in a brief staring showdown before it jumps away to hide under a farther couch.

Snapping out of reverie, Ran watches her childhood friend slink dejectedly onto the partly scratched furniture. He’s fortunate enough that his mother isn’t around to give him a long lecture on Why Pets Aren’t Allowed in the House 101. She can always take Yukiko-san’s role and reprimand him for it, but as for this and the cat, she finds herself not wanting to intervene.

“Kaori-san sure is taking her time with her parent’s permission. By the time she does, Momo would’ve shredded all the pillows in this house.”

“You named the cat?” Ran asks, amused.

“She did.” He thinks for a moment, then sniggers. “Actually I did. I suggested a random name. She took it.”

Ran merely hums. What can she say? They’re getting close. Close enough to team up as parents to an adopted kitten.

“I’m surprised you also agreed to keep Momo when you never took in animals before.”

“Kaori said she’ll treat me to the latest Detective Samonji movie this weekend if I do. Can’t resist that.”

“Just you two?”

“Yeah.”

A beat. Then he turns to her.

“Wanna join? I can ask her to count you in since you’re kinda helpi—”

“N-no need,” Ran quips, “It’s—It’s fine.”

“No really,” Shinichi insists, “Kaori-san has a lot of money, she—”

“I’m going to Tokyo Metropolitan Art Museum with Shun-san this weekend... so... I can’t.”

“Ah.”

Silence.

“It’s, um, for a project,” she bolsters.

“I know.” The faintest smile graces his lips. “It’s your thing. Both of you.”

“Mm.”

He doesn’t say anything else after that.

“Shinichi, you’re a detective, right?” she blurts out of the blue.

“Yeah...and?”

Then deduce what I feel. Here and now.

“Then you’re going to enjoy that movie!” Ran forces a beam, giving Shinichi a thumb of approval. “And you can discuss it with Kaori-san over dinner. I’m sure you two have a lot to say about it.”

Shinichi’s eyes linger on her, reading her like a book, and Ran has her mind reeling again, afraid to be read.

“Yeah, we do,” he finally says, ending the conversation.

Only a few words are uttered the rest of the afternoon.

Momo resurfaces and curls beside Shinichi.

Momo’s purring is loud, but Ran’s shattering heart is louder.

.

.

Ran must not feel jealous. She is not a girlfriend.

Because she isn’t a girlfriend, he’s free to fall for and date anyone else. Who is she to gatekeep him? There are plenty of fish in the sea, and he’s one big catch. Ran believes she’s a big catch, too. With the way she loves dearly, her future boyfriend is going to be very lucky.

Her future boyfriend is not going to be him.

“...mber the required fieldwork in one of my majors I told you? We actually go by batches. The first batch did theirs last month. The second batch was last week… and I— Ran, are you listening?”

“Ah! Yes,” Ran notices they have already reached her station and are now walking two blocks to her apartment. “Your fieldwork, right?”

“...Yeah,” he carries on. “I’m in the last batch... This whole winter break.”

“I see, I understand.” She smiles, getting what he means. No Christmas or New Year’s Eve together. The first time since they’re four. It’s fine, honestly. If it’s a required activity, then there’s really no way to go about it. She isn’t going to lash out just because she can’t be with him in her most favorite time of the year.

“And Hattori-kun and Hakuba-kun will be with you?”

“Hattori did his last month. Hakuba is in the previous batch. I’ll be stuck with the girls.”

Ran’s heart momentarily squeezes. “Where will your fieldwork be?”

“In Akita.”

Her pupils constrict. “That far?”

“Yes... so to cut on expenses, Kaori-san offered her house for me and the others to stay while we’re there—”

Kaori. Again with the tall, beautiful, intelligent Kaori. She bets it’s amazing to spend the holidays doing what he loves and with Kaori beside her, snuggling with him by the fireplace in a romantic snowy night and she might even confess, and it’ll be a great catch for Shinichi, and he’ll return with a girlfriend, and—

“Kaori-san is lucky.” The words flow out of her mouth, unbridled.

Shinichi looks at her. “Lucky?”

Ran remains quiet and keeps walking. It’s dangerous to say anything. She only has one thing in her mind and she doesn’t want to say it out loud. She has no right.

“Ran, hey.”

She doesn’t stop walking.

“Ran.”

She ignores his call.

“Ran… you’re jealous.”

She stops walking.

“Excuse me?”

“...You’re jealous…” Shinichi repeats quietly.

A contrast to his calm tone, his irises beset hers in the cold twilight and Ran attempts to shield herself but her bag and umbrella are in the way. She thinks of turning away but her feet are frigid like icicles, and Shinichi steps closer.

For the third time, he declares, “You’re jealous.”

Hearing her thoughts echo through his words renders her speechless.

It seems to take a moment before Shinichi’s brow arches, lips curl up as his eyes refuse to stray, and she hears a faint exhale even, like he’s exasperated, and suddenly he’s smiling - or is he smirking? sneering? - and...and...

It stings, is her immediate reaction.

For the longest time, she’d wanted him to take a hint. But if she had known this was how he’d react, she’d rather live a life having him oblivious of her emotional struggle. Dealing with that is more tolerable than witnessing him gaze her down in blatant mockery. He sneers as though he’s about to crack a joke and move on and forget such a laughable matter. That’s the last form of acknowledgment she wants for her honest feelings.

Heartbreak and shame and pain build up in her chest like a volcano closing eruption. Water begins to cloud her vision. She clenches her fist tight on her umbrella and Shinichi notices, and he takes another step forward.

“Ran…?”

“I am not, and you’re a fool.”

In a span of a breath, she’s sprinting in the opposite direction, tracing the path where they have walked, ignoring the distant yells of her name behind her. She runs and runs, and as she runs farther, with her thoughts muddy and breath short and dry, she wonders if she may have overreacted.

If he’s done that on purpose, screw him. If not, screw her.

After all, they are merely friends and she has no logical reason to act this way.

“Stop... running... will you!”

She hears heavy footsteps close in. It takes all the energy Ran has to prevent herself from turning her body around but his strong grip overpowers her.

“Let me go!”

“Why are you running?!”

“I can’t...deal with you!”

“Why? Was I right?”

“Right or wrong, it doesn’t matter!”

“Why doesn’t it matter?”

“Because I am your best friend!”

On another occasion, she would’ve successfully jilted away and run farther, but Ran is floored when he yanks her into a one-armed hug, so floored she drops her umbrella to the snowy ground.

“Stop saying that!” he hisses in her ear, frustration apparent.

“What are you— Let me go!”

He hugs her tighter.

“If you don’t let go in three seconds, I will screa—”

“I am happy!”

Ran stops struggling, eyes widening in shock.

Icy huffs tickle her neck as he half shouts, “I’m happy you feel that way!”

“You’re...You’re happy because I’m suffering?”

“What? No! I—”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? How?” The hurt in her tone is impeccable, prattling muffled against his chest as she spares him no moment to butt in. “You think I wanted to feel this? That I enjoy griping in helpless jealousy? And you’re rejoicing that I am? How full of yourself can you be?!”

“That’s not...You don’t underst—”

“I do understand! I understand that I am so incredibly stupid for catching this disgusting heap of emotions for an obnoxious, stuck-up deduction maniac that is my best friend and maybe it’s better after all that he never, ever sees me the way I see him!”

“Stop saying that, Ran!”

She thinks he has broken away, but he drags her back with an insistent tug, crashing his lips onto hers as she stumbles into his arms.

All willpower rippling through her disintegrates quickly like snow in high heat.

An impatient pop resonates as he separates, eyes slowly opening, breath thick and ragged.

“I know that is not how we explain things, but does that explain anything?”

She hears it. The madness. But more than madness, yearning bleeds through his voice so much that her frustration turns into physical pain. Blinded by an all-consuming ache, she tips her chin and presses her lips back against his, demanding for cure in the wrong place. Shinichi freezes, then relaxes. He moves his hand to her nape, four fingers in her hair, thumb treading her jaw.

They look like a scene in a movie.

Under his umbrella and hidden from view, they communicate through brushing lips and tilting heads. His mouth closing over hers with gentle force, her hands splaying across his chest, heavy with something that makes his heart pound under them.

She is so lost in the chase and his tender embrace that for a second she forgets she is kissing her best friend.

Best friend.

This doesn’t explain anything. It worsens it.

She pulls back, ending what she has so recklessly started. “N-no, I’m— No.”

She pushes him away, gathers the stuff she drops, and runs without looking back.

“Ran!”

He shouts her name. Twice.

On the third call, his footfalls die down. On the fourth, he stops running.

She doesn’t.

.

.

Thirty minutes before midnight, Ran stands outside his gate, boots buried half foot under the snow as she rings his intercom for the second time, thinking to herself how foolish she must be to cut communications with him for a week and then show up his doorstep looking miserable like a stood-up date.

It’s the start of winter break.

He’ll leave for Akita in ten hours.

She needs to give his Christmas present before his departure.

She’s crazy, pathetic, still frustrated, and hurtfully in love.

“Oi. You better have a good explanation for why you’re buzzing at goddamn midnig—”

“Shinichi.”

His surprised gasp is apparent even through the intercom. A rustle follows and with a croaky voice, he responds. “...Ran.”

Surely he isn’t expecting this. Not after the tantrum she threw days ago. He probably thinks she hates him more than ever. But what she truly feels is more overwhelming than all negative emotions combined, and may god grant her all the strength to address it all, tonight.

“May I come in?”

“The house is—The house is a mess I, um. I’m packing my stuff for...”

“I’ll help you.”

“...”

She’ll understand if he decides to turn her down. But the answer that follows the deafening pause is a low and quiet ‘Okay’.

Despite psyching herself hours before she came, courage wanes when he opens the front door and gate in his pullovers. She is welcomed in, and the trip up his room is wordless. Shinichi only talks when he points out that he’s already packed clothes for two days and will need help for two weeks’ worth. He lamely laughs when he instructs her to pick the tops and layers, and he’ll take care of the pants and underwear.

On a normal instance, she would’ve humored him and they would’ve been talking right after. Now she simply pulls an empty smile and then they fall back into silence.

She supposes he’s trying to act unbothered, to treat what happened a week ago as a one-and-done glitch in their friendship, never to be discussed again. She cannot fault him when she’s trying to do the same. But it’s not easy when in the stillness of the night the echo of their altercation howls, raging persistently in their ears.

What has he been thinking of for the past week?

Has he been kept up all night by the words she said and the words he left unspoken?

Are they still friends? Will they still be friends after this?

The kiss... What about the kiss?

So many questions. So little words. So little time.

Ran is seated on the floor, folding shirts and stuffing them neatly in his duffel bag. Her back faces Shinichi who is sorting out bottoms in his cabinet. She senses him sit on the floor, back against her but not touching. Neither dares to speak first.

A ringing phone cuts the silence.

“Mm, still awake. Good for two weeks right? Gotcha. No, I’ll meet you girls at the station, no need to fetch me. Pfft. I can walk. Ok, see you tomorrow.”

If Ran wasn’t so hyperaware of where she is and what she’s done, her mood would’ve shifted to the one she’d been trying to avoid. Now isn’t the time to think about that. Midnight sneaking out to go to his house is something she wouldn’t do even on good days. She scans her bag on the far couch, deliberately bringing a bigger one to hide his gift. Maybe she can just sneak it in his bag and leave once she’s done and he’ll discover it only when he’s prefectures away. Brown has always suited him, and he’ll definitely find the overcoat useful as spare protective gear.

That’s right. She always cares for him like this. She is his best friend first, and... and nothing second.

“Don’t just leave after putting your present in my bag. At this hour, I can’t let you walk home alone,” he says swiftly.

Ran’s eyes fly wide.

“How did you…”

He doesn’t say anything and continues with his business.

Again with the throat-drying silence.

Something in Ran’s gut compels her to speak, but she is surprised when he does first.

“I... I don’t like Kaori-san. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

Ran stiffens, pausing mid-motion from folding. “I’m not…”

He leans his back completely against her and she shudders, voice reverberating through her skin. “Ran, if you could just hear me out.”

Unable to talk and move, she does.

“Kaori-san and the rest... They know I love mysteries. They know I want to build my own private detective agency. They know my favorite Holmes’ story is The Sign of Four. They know how many crimes I solved in Tokyo. All the information about me which anyone can read from the internet and newspaper and from what I told them when they ask, they know. Ran, you know all that. All that and more.”

He angles his head to the ceiling as if he’s talking to someone there. Ran supports his weight, curling to her knees as she silently listens.

“You know of my first ever deduction because Christ, my first deduction was about you. You know of the two cases which haunt me until this day because I watched the culprit die in front of my very eyes. You were with me the nights I locked myself in here thinking about them. You know of the interesting, the boring, the absurd cases, everything, because I told you or you were there. You know of the odd way I play the violin while I ponder over a case. You know I forget to eat when swamped with new books to read. I have three copies of The Sign of Four but the one I keep beside my bed and read almost weekly is the one you gave me on my tenth birthday and that is all I need. You know me for me, Ran. Everything about me that is off the record, the good and the bad, you know all of those. Only you. The same way I do... about you.”

She feels him crane slightly to the side, addressing her.

“Ran.”

“Mm.”

“I love you.”

Ran’s heart almost completely stops beating.

“I love you,” he whispers, “more than I am even supposed to.”

All words seem to have fizzled out of her vocabulary as she sits still, stunned at what she’s hearing.

“I’m happy growing up with you, studying with you, bickering with you, acting stupid with you, investigating with you, eating with you, napping with you, hugging you, holding you, taking care of you, simply... being with you. Before I know it, it’s not the cases or Holmes or mysteries that complete my days, it’s you.

“For you to keep repeating that ‘best friend’ phrase, I…” He lowers his head.

“For who knows how long, I’ve loved you as that and more.”

Someone pinch her because in no way can this be real.

“I was happy thinking you’re jealous because it meant a sliver of chance you feel the same way. We could’ve remedied the misunderstanding easily, Ran. We could’ve talked it over like we always do. But I was stupid and emotions were high and in the end I… kissed you…” he takes another deep breath, “But—but you kissed me back, and my heart couldn’t stay still...”

Pulse drumming loud, Ran tilts her head on the side where he leans, wanting to see the slightest expression he makes as he continues.

“If my deductions are wrong and you’re mad for a different reason, and—and you returned that for a different reason...” she hears the pang of remorse in his tone, “then please forget I ever said anything and I’ll leave myself to die in humiliation once I’m out of your sight.”

He lays one palm flat on the floor and she notices.

“But if my deductions are right and you were indeed jealous, I...” She feels his head swivel enough to feel his warm breath fan across her cheek, before shifting back front and releasing a slow, guttural exhale he’s kept contained within.

“I’ll wait... until you accept it. Accept me.”

Ran may have choked on her throat for how long she’s held her breath.

In spite of herself, she knows she doesn’t need to think of what to say. She had it all in her head before coming here. Yet expressing it out loud is a different matter.

She isn’t ready, but when will she ever be ready? Shinichi undoubtedly isn’t too. Yet here he is, laying the groundwork for her, no holds barred and a stuttering mess at that. How she plans to build from it is the question she asks herself next.

Inhaling as though bracing herself, she places a hand beside him, pinky slightly grazing his.

“I didn’t... You never showed any signs.”

Careful and calm, he extends his little finger over hers. She doesn’t flinch, and both hands crawl closer until two fingers overlap.

“Either I’m a great pretender or you’re incredibly dense.”

“I’m...I’m not dense.”

“I’m a bad actor, then.” He slides his hand further.

“I was trying so hard to be a supportive best friend for you.”

“I sensed that but ignored it because I didn’t want to assume anything.”

“You did though. Now we’re here.”

“Would you rather we aren’t?”

“I would rather we spend the last weeks of this year talking like normal than being stupid idiots before you leave.”

“It’s just two weeks, Ran.”

“Two special weeks I would’ve wanted to spend with my best frien-... with you.”

Without knowing it, his hand has completely nestled atop hers, four fingers curled between her thumb and index finger.

“Ran... You must really hate the idea of falling in love with me.”

“Eh?”

“You’re so wrapped with the thought that we’re simply best friends that you hold your love in chains as though it isn’t permitted to grow.”

“I… I didn’t want to ruin the only connection we have-”

“Two friends falling in love are still friends… They are also more. You cannot ruin an indefeasible connection. Friendship and love may be the only bond we have, but they’re the most important bond of all.”

Ran falls quiet.

“Geez…”

He releases a thick sigh, brushes his thumb across her splayed fingers.

“I have shit art appreciation skills, but I can take you to museums too... as a friend and as a date.” A beat, and a mumble. “Even to better museums than Tokyo Metropolitan Art Museum.”

She darts her head sideways, realizing something.

“Were you also…?”

“No.”

Ran doesn’t suppress the heartfelt giggle that bubbles out.

“Shun-san has a boyfriend, Shinichi.”

“I—” he pauses. “I wasn’t asking.” Ran giggles more.

“Shinichi.”

“Yes.”

“I love you too.”

The hand above squishes hers all too suddenly like he’s been blown away and is needing something to hold onto.

“I came here to give your present and to apologize for being so shallow and for acting without thinking and for a lot of things actually... but now I feel there’s no need, because then I wouldn’t have...” She looks down at their intertwined hands.

Before she can return his squeeze, he recoils.

“Oh, y-you do apologize. Running away like that.” He coughs, and she can practically hear the tripping in his tone.

“Aren’t you already used to it? I’ve done it many times,” she chides.

“No. Apologize,” he insists. “And look at me while you do.”

Ran’s stomach twists, heart kicking up a step.

It’s easy to talk without eye contact, but to be requested so after confessions are exchanged—

“Face me, Ran.”

The familiar voice of yearning strums her heartstrings, tone sounding a lot like a plea than an order and Ran finds her head instinctively craning at an angle, hand coiling on the floor trying to calm her nervous beating heart. She feels him shift behind as well.

She takes all her time to face him, partly unsure what to do, partly knowing exactly what she wants to do. Despite the deliberate slowness of their movements, it is when they lock eyes that time truly seems to stop.

Shinichi appears so different, so soulful. His blue irises glimmering, fixated on nothing but her as she reveres him with matching intensity. The same guy she treats as her best friend looks at her with tender love in his eyes, darting down her lips and up like no best friend ever would.

“I love you,” he says, breathless. “Make me your boyfriend.”

A wave of emotion sweeps over her, heartbeat fluttering in overdrive as they huddle on the floor, bags and clothes and time forgotten.

“From best friend to... such a shift-”

“Nothing will be different.” He rests his forehead on hers, gaze of soft blue patient though more intimate now, knowing what they share is mutual. “We’ll still do what we do... With exclusive romantic commitment and sweet nothings that translate to ‘I love you’ in more ways than one.”

She attempts a jab on his chest but he catches her fist, soft but jesting beam all too apparent and she does but play along.

“What about when we fight?” she asks.

“Same. But...” he slides a thumb over her quiet lips, parting them slightly, “I can do this once we make up.”

“...Like right now?”

“Like right now.”

A genuine smile is the last thing she sees before delicate pair of lips lands on hers, capping their one-week fight and their last night of the year together in the best and most unexpected way imaginable.

.

.

Ran keeps telling herself she shouldn’t be jealous.

Not because they are simply best friends, because they aren’t. Not because life would be easier if she didn’t involve herself in his business twenty-four seven, because it wouldn’t.

Not because Shinichi doesn’t look at her that way, because he does.

She shouldn’t be jealous because she absolutely has no reason to, is all.

“I haven’t forgotten about your present. I was planning to buy yours in Akita.”

“Stop lying, you totally forgot it.”

“I didn’t. Stop that.” Half-mast eyes rake her side profile, and Ran covers a mirthful grin with her mitted hand holding the umbrella, then yawns. Hours of packing and talking and laughing left them with roughly four hours of sleep. It isn’t like she slept the whole period because while sleeping in his room isn’t new, cuddling while they sleep is. Ran couldn’t simply shut her eyes and heart to that.

“I believe though,” he wraps a hand around her free one, pocketing both of them in his brand new overcoat, “I gave half of my present already.”

“Hnn. That doesn’t count as a gift.” Her hand shifted, coddling his own to a warm fit.

“Really?” A smug smirk pulls up his face. “I believe I am a nice present, Ran. That’s why they—”

“Screw this. You are unbelievable. A humbug. Why do people like you.”

“I know. Why do you like me?” Shinichi laughs as he avoids the swing of her umbrella.

From afar, they see Kaori and the girls at the meet-up point outside Tokyo Station, though they seem unaware of their presence yet. Suddenly feeling conscious, Ran feels the urge to disentangle her hand, but Shinichi holds on, firm.

“Why?” He asks in a low voice.

“I dunno… maybe this isn’t the best time…”

“Isn’t now the best time?” His smile is proud and natural, not one ounce of reluctance visible.

Although she gets what he means, that doesn’t free her of shyness and guilt. Somehow she feels like apologizing to Kaori for… she doesn’t know. She just wants to. Letting her see them like this makes her think that she’s giving her an indirect slap on the face. Shinichi certainly won’t agree because ‘What’s with women and their logic?’, but still, whether or not it’s all in her head, Ran needs more time to prepare for this.

But to her surprise, Shinichi lets go of her hand. They are still a few feet from view when he steps in front of her and turns around. “Maah, fine, I get it,” he huffs, then smiles. “Then, just give me your umbrella.”

The moment she does, Shinichi closes their distance and dips his face onto hers. Ran is given no leeway to gasp as loving lips seal her quiet. It isn’t as long as what they shared a week ago, but the emotions are loaded and full, speaking fond thanks and temporary farewell.

She doesn’t realize she has closed her eyes until he separates, and she’s met with the most tender, most angelic expression he wears only on the rarest occasions. He’s saying without telling that her feelings are valid, she doesn’t have to worry,  and he doesn’t have eyes for anyone but her. Somehow, the snow is the sea and fish are swarming around but neither cares because they have already caught each other.

“You don’t have to, silly.” Three layers of pink blanket Ran’s puffy cheeks.

“But I want to.” Grinning, Shinichi hands her back the umbrella. “You don’t like hand-holding. You don’t like being seen. Don’t you think that’s a great compromise?”

“Idiot, many people saw...”

“No, they didn’t!” Upping the duffel bag slung on his shoulder, he steps back and gives her one last goofy beam. “I’ll see you next year, Ran. I’ll call as often as I can.”

Wordlessly, Ran watches Shinichi’s back as he jogs to his waiting companions, who by then have already had their eyes pinned on the approaching figure.

“That is Shinichi-kun! ...And Mouri-san!”

“Ehhh!!?! You’re a thing!”

So much for being subtle, Ran flushes inwardly as she returns the wave the other girls are giving her. At that moment she really does feel immature for her past conduct. All of them are sweet. Even Kaori.

“I knew it Shinichi-kun! Mouri-san is sooo lucky, I’m so jealous!” Ran hears their banter and sees her jab his bicep before acknowledging her. “We’ll take care of him, Mouri-san!”

The Ran from one week ago would’ve had her heart crushed by such declaration, but now she’s nothing but pleased and the smile that forms across her lips is nothing but honest. “Make sure he doesn’t drag your group into a random dead body, Kaori-san!”

“Hey!” surfaces Shinichi’s shout amidst the mincing laughter of the group and the onlooking passers-by, and Ran bids her last wave before they enter the station.

Smiling to herself, Ran returns home, the lingering promise of his kiss committed to memory, knowing that she doesn’t have to get jealous because she has no reason to. Their indefeasible bond is all the assurance she needs.

.

.

.

[ellohcee]

Call Me

Okay so I want to throw this little bit out into the universe of one of my favorite instances of Jasper I've written. Context: He's a host for a dinky late night radio show and he has like... 10-15 listeners max and David is one of them, a college student who Can’t Sleep even between classes and his job, so he’s up late late listening to Jasper’s show. He calls in sometimes because Jasper is always offering advice and encouraging people to call in and chat, specifically about LGBTQ topics and David finds comfort and encouragement in their chats. They’ve been talking for a while but he still goes by the name Red. 

- - - -

“Alright you night owls, this next one goes out to my long lost buddy, Red.”

David looked up at the radio in surprise, his pencil stilling on the page.

“It’s been a while since we’ve heard from ya and we miss you dude. And I’m gonna get hella gay up in here, but that’s on brand for me, I miss you.”

David’s breath caught in his throat painfully, his heart hammering.

“So I hope you catch this, give us a call, let me know how you’re doing buddy I’m dyin’ here, don’t leave me hanging. Cause I’ve got a question for you and you wont know what until you gimme a ring. Yes I’m gonna be that guy. So call. Please.”

The music picked back up, and true to Jasper’s word, Blondie’s Call Me started playing.

The pencil had slipped from his fingers without realizing as David tried to decipher all of that, especially that last, sincere please. Jasper missed his calls? Maybe he was just worried because David had dropped off so suddenly. It had just been too nerve wracking once he realized he was crushing on the radio host. But what could Jasper possibly want to ask him? Was it good or bad?

He was still nervous and the idea of calling in downright terrified him now, but… he at least owed it to Jasper to let him know he was alive. It must have looked bad, for him to be consistently calling about once a week and then suddenly stop with no warning, going on nearly two months of silence now. Jasper was always so nice and seemingly happy to talk to him, he must be worried. Gosh, now he had to call, he felt terrible.

David had to take several steadying breaths and about twenty good minutes to work up the nerve, but he managed to eventually press call, hands shaking as he listened to the phone ring.

“What’s up caller you’re live, how’s it hangin?”

“Um, hi...” he said quietly.

He heard a soft intake of air and a shuffle. “That you Red?” Jasper asked, sounding hopeful, the excited smile evident in his voice.

“Y-yes, it’s me,” David replied.

“Aw, buddy, good to hear your voice again man, I was gettin’ worried bout you.”

“I’m so sorry I- just- life, you know?” David hedged, feeling even more guilty because he couldn’t give an honest explanation.

“I feel that, it’s cool dude, it’s just good to hear from ya. I assume you heard my call out?”

David’s heart started beating faster, so, so antsy. If it weren’t for the guilt of worrying Jasper he probably wouldn’t have had the guts to call, but he could still be a wreck about it, easily. “Yes, I did. You... had a question?”

“Yeah! You don’t mind me askin’ live?”

“Um, sure, that’s fine,” David said nervously. It couldn’t be too bad if it was something Jasper could ask on air. Right?

“Sweet. So. Last we talked your rough waves from the coming out thing were settling. You found a boyfriend yet?” the radio host asked casually.

David eyebrows shot up in surprise, his face going so very red and he was so very grateful this was a phone call, not in person because that would make it ten times worse. “Um- n-no, I- I haven’t… um, no,” he stammered uselessly. Why was this the topic??

“Awesome!” Jasper said in delight, leading to an awkward pause. “Wow fuck that sounded hella mean I am so sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Cheese and crackers, foot in mouth Jasp, good one. Anyway! I just meant because- like, stop me if this is too weird, or hang up on me, but I was wondering if I could like… take ya on a date?”

David’s heart stopped in surprise, the blush that had just started receding coming back full force. His stomach whirled in a mix of dread and excitement, trying to go one way or the other as his brain stalled for a good long moment-

“Red?”

David sucked in a breath. “Is- are you- are you serious?” he asked softly, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

“Course dude!! I wouldn’t fuck around with you like that, hell no! I’m for super serious!”

“But… we’ve- you- you don’t even know what I look like,” David stammered, trying to find reason to turn him down, but so, so desperately wanting to say yes. He felt stupid for saying it the second it left his mouth, Jasper didn’t seem at all the type to place a lot of importance on appearances.

“I don’t need to! I’m sure you’re rad as hell, but I’m not a looks guy, okay? I like your personality, and I love shootin the shit with you, and you’re super nice. That’s the kinda stuff I’m into, and if you’re hella cute, which I’m sure you are, that’s a bonus!”

David stared down at his desk for a long moment, his thoughts a mess, one hand over his mouth as he took this all in. He had to take a moment to pinch the soft skin on the inside of his arm to decide that this was really happening and he hadn’t passed out at his desk into some dream where his crush happened to reciprocate-

“Reeeddd?” Jasper teased softly after another long pause, bringing him out of his panic spiral. “No pressure my dude, you can say no.”

“Yes,” David blurted shakily.

“Yeah??” Jasper asked, his voice picking up in obvious excitement and relief, despite his apparent brace for a rejection. “For real?”

“Y-yes, I’d… I’d like to,” David said softly, his face still red.

“Aw man, awesome, shit. Okay uh- no PI on air so uh- I go off air at 3, you’re usually up pretty late, yeah? Think you’ll be around?”

“Yes, I should be.”

“Supes, call back when you hear me sign off and we’ll hash stuff out, okay? Or at least do personal numbers to talk during the day.”

“O-okay,” David stammered, his mind whirling. “I’ll do that.”

“Sweet. Okay man, you sound a little wigged out so I’ll let you get back, and I will be counting the minutes til sign off,” Jasper teased.

“Okay, um, talk to you later? Bye.”

“Ta-ta for now!” Jasper sung.

David disconnected the call, his pulse still racing as he listened to Jasper on the radio once more, turning the volume back up just in time to hear.

“Oh my god, wack, holy shit you guys he said yes- fuck he’s probably listening and I sound like a giant goober- hi Red! Okay, anymore callers before we go back to music? Holy shitballs.”

A quick, incredulous laugh escaped his mouth before David could stifle it, his chest swirling with fear and elation. Jasper- Jasper had asked him on a date- and he sounded just as rattled as David felt. That helped a little to know it wasn’t just him- Jasper had just been loads better keeping a cap on his nerves while they were talking.

“You’re up caller!”

David came back from his thoughts when he heard a familiar voice, one of Jasper’s other regular callers.

“Oooooh Jasper asked a boy on a daaatteee~” she teased in delight.

“I know oh my god dude I’m still weak from it, I didn’t wanna mess up with Red but I like… really want to meet him and take him out, especially once he stopped calling? And no offense Red if you’re still there it’s TOTALLY cool cause that woke my ass up! Holy shit I still can’t believe he said yes.”

David listened all throughout the rest of Jasper’s show, all thoughts of homework lost as he leaned his elbows on the desk, hands clasped in front of his mouth. Anticipation made his nerves spike again while sitting through Jasper’s familiar sign off, where he bid goodnight to his listeners and started the after hours playlist. David waited a minute before taking a deep, deep breath and pressing the call button.

It rang only once before the line picked up, and a hopeful voice answered. “Red?”

“H-hi Jasper,” he replied.

“Hey dude! Hey, sorry to put you on the spot like that but- y’know, I figured it would be less creepy to everyone to just be upfront and ask you, instead of being like ‘hey call me after hours hoohoo wink wink,’ ya dig?”

David stifled a giggle, smiling. “I understand. It probably would’ve made me more nervous to have to wait that long, wondering what your question was,” he admitted.

“That too! I wanted to just… put it out there, figured it’d be best. So! You’re really cool with going on a date?”

“Yes, I… I’d like that. To meet you,” he added softly, flushed.

“Rad, okay, nice. So let’s just exchange numbers for tonight? I know you might not sleep anyway but it’s friggen late and I don’t want to keep either of us up too long.”

“That sounds good, I don’t want to keep you up either,” David replied. He gave his number first when Jasper gave the go-ahead, listening to the other man hum as he typed it into his phone, and a few moments later David heard a buzz near his ear.

“I just shot you a text so you have my number and can add me.”

“Got it,” David replied, pulling the phone away briefly to see a text notification at the top of the screen, a short string of peace sign emojis that made him smile.

“Awesome sauce. Well- shit, I’m really excited but again, we can talk later. Try to get some sleep, okay dude?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned and losing his usual casual tone. “I worry bout you.”

David smiled, touched by the thought. “I’ll try.”

“Okay, I’ll text you sometime tomorrow- today, whatever, much later. Give you a chance to snooze. Night Red, and thanks for- you know. Thanks. Night!”

“Goodnight Jasper, and thank you too,” he replied softly.

“No prob, catch ya later.”

David pulled the phone away and ended the call, his heart still hammering as he tried to comprehend everything. But he decided to pack it away for later, turning off the radio and closing the long abandoned textbook. Hopefully he could get a few hours of sleep and be a tiny bit more composed when he next spoke with Jasper.

Doubtful, but it was a nice thought.

[snarkwrites]

01 | gangsta | sweetpea

Notes:

I’d say I’m sorry for starting a 3rd multi chapter series but I’m honestly not. I haven’t written a whole lot for Riverdale, but this idea just kinda came to me and I rolled with it? Anyway, yeah.. If people really like this, I might be tempted to keep this going beyond just the few parts I already kind of have halfway planned.

Huge hug to @twistnet​ because their writing about Sweetpea kind of awakened and fuelled this and if you’re not reading their fics, you really should tbh. 

Summary:

They clearly don’t mix. But sometimes, opposites attract. The only question is will these two’s sparks cause an inferno or go down in flames?

Ugh.. I hate my summaries, thanks.

Pairing:

Andrews!OFC, Alyssa x Sweetpea. Yep. She’s Archie’s sister. I couldn’t resist.

Warnings:

Uhh... teen angst, relationship drama, sexual tension, possible fights / violence here and there and.. That’s pretty much it. Oh yeah and eventually, filth.

Also, this is probably not going to follow seasons 2 through present to the letter. Actually, I’ll venture to warn now, it definitely will not. Because there’s some things in it that I’ve seen so far that make zero actual sense. And there’s probably not going to be a whole lot of Archie,Betty,Jugs and Veronica in here too, because this is me, kind of writing all the side characters into things a little more?

Tagging:

@brithedemonspawn​ 

Other Stuff:

[ faq - tag list doc - soundtrack ] 

                                                  ONE.

“Sweet Pea, you’ll be working with Alyssa Andrews.”

I didn’t dare turn to look back at the guy. He was probably one of the most intimidating guys in Riverdale High. He hardly spoke to anyone unless it was one of the two friends he happened to have. Neither of them were in this class period.

The teacher, seeming impressed with himself, gave a nod to Sweet Pea and Sweet Pea grumbled, stalking up the aisle and flopping lazily into the empty seat next to mine. Our sides brushed a little when he moved his desk closer after getting a look from our teacher. I tried not to tense up.

Sweet Pea seemed to notice. He smirked at me.

Leaned in a little.

“Relax, cherry. I don’t bite unless I’m asked.” he muttered against my ear. My breath caught in my throat and I was promptly thrown into the mother of all internal uproars. I shoved the book between us wordlessly, not even daring to glance over at him.

I was not about to let him take pride in the fact that he made me blush or rattled me, not even a little.

Our sides brushed again and I pursed my lips, taking a deep breath. Across the classroom, Reggie was already working with one of the other girls on my squad. I watched them laughing and flirting back and forth and I shook my head, rolling my eyes.

“I’m supposed to be his girl and  yet.. It’s as if I don’t even exist.” I muttered, mostly to myself. Annoyed at myself for being hurt over it because it shouldn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. Reggie was a flirt. I’d known that going into things. I’d tried not to let it get to me. Tried to remind myself that nine times out of ten, he wasn’t doing it intentionally.

But tell that to Mandy. Mandy automatically thinks that any guy who flirts with her is in love with her, my brain weighed in on the matter and I sighed, drumming my nails against the desktop, glancing over my shoulder at the two and rolling my eyes all over again. I just knew I was going to have to hear about this all afternoon at practice.

“So you’re a River Vixen, huh, cherry?” he muttered after a few seconds, nodding to the cheerleading uniform I was wearing. I could feel him staring at me and sure enough, when I bothered to tear my eyes off of Reggie across the room and in full flirt mode with Mandy, he was looking me up and down. He repeated his question.

Just something about the tone he took when asking it both times that he’d done so had me jumpy. Defensive. He said it with this air of disdain. Making it obvious for the thousandth time since our school merged that he hated Riverdale High.

“Mhm.” I kept my best calm and neutral tone, despite the fact that I knew he was probably being judgemental. Or that he was being a tease. Maybe even both. “I have a name, by the way.”

“I know. But you also have bright red hair.” Sweet Pea shrugged, barely containing the smirk the second he realized that maybe he was getting to me.

“Yes. I realize this. But my name is Alyssa.” I muttered, my voice dropping lower. Trying my best not to let the giant of a Serpent intimidate me because that wasn’t who I was. He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Relax… Cherry.” Sweet Pea smirked at me.

“You just had to do that.” I grumbled quietly, shaking my head. I tried to focus more on the reading part of our assignment for today, but I couldn’t. Between Sweet Pea and the fact that I couldn’t tell whether he was teasing me, being an ass overall or a little of both and knowing that my own boyfriend couldn’t be bothered to butt in on my behalf and offer to switch with the guy because ‘his stupid pride’ and his thing against any and all Southsiders, my mind was already too full.

I finished my worksheet and glanced over at Sweet Pea, watching his eyes move over the page. Watching the way his tongue rolled over his lips as he wrote out his answers on the worksheet in front of him.

I jumped when without even looking at me, he muttered calmly, “See somethin you want, cherry?”

“No, I was actually just making sure you were actually doing the work.” I retorted, biting my lip when the words came a little harsher than I meant. He stopped writing and laid down his pencil, glancing up at me.

“Aw. Is somebody mad because her so-called boyfriend ditched her with a Serpent to go work with one of her little Valley girl clone besties?”

“Eat shit.” I snapped, tensing. Holding his gaze defiantly.

“You kiss your boyfriend with that mouth, cherry?”

My cheeks burned hot. Kissing was about all I did to Reggie Mantle with my mouth. And I never seemed to hear the end of it with most of the other girls on my squad, either. It was as if my sex life, or lack thereof, was the main topic of discussion pretty much any given moment.

,, And probably why he’s working with Mandy instead of you right now. You know he’s getting tired of getting stopped at second base.” my mind taunted me. I took a few deep breaths to really keep from losing my temper and I shrugged, not bothering to answer Sweet Pea. 

I don’t think I’ve ever made a faster retreat than the one I made the second the bell to end class rang. I grabbed my stuff up in a hurry, flustered and a little annoyed. Definitely angry.

Reggie caught up to me in the hallway, holding out his letterman’s jacket.

The one I’d been in such a rush to leave class that I’d left behind. I was beyond tempted to shove the jacket back at him and tell him maybe he needed to give it to Mandy. Or Veronica. Or any of the other girls he’s constantly talking to. But I bit my tongue and took it.

I didn’t feel like speaking up, telling him it bothered me when he went into charmer mode only to have him promise not to anymore and then turn to do it all over again not even an hour later. The whole thing was infuriating, more than a little redundant by now.

“You okay, princess?”

Reggie eyed me as he asked the question and again, I heavily debated telling him exactly what was wrong with me, but again I chose not to.

It wasn’t worth the argument.

It hurt, but it wasn’t worth the hassle.

I plastered on what I hoped was my best convincing smile and leaned against his side, letting his arm wrap around my waist. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

I tensed when Reggie spoke up, mentioning the fact that I’d gotten paired to work with Sweet Pea for the semester. “Ya know, you could’ve said somethin, princess.”

“You know how Mr. Keaton is, Reg. It wouldn’t have mattered.” I muttered, my jaw clenching just a little because it irritated me. Did he not see that it went both ways and stop to think that maybe, just maybe… If he didn’t feel like it was important to do on my behalf, maybe I didn’t see the sense in making waves for him?

He chuckled, rubbing his chin as he leaned against the locker next to mine when we stopped at mine so I could switch out my books. I stopped digging through my books and notebooks to gaze up at him. “It’s not a big deal.” I shrugged it off.

Honestly? It wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t see any difference between the jerk of a Serpent I’d been paired to work with and Reggie at this particular point in time. ,,I just had an easier time telling one of the two where they could shove it.” my brain saw fit to point this out and I quickly shoved out the intrusive thought.

Reggie wasn’t a bad guy. He just had a few glaring flaws.

At least he wasn’t out late at bars or getting arrested. Or whatever it was that Sweetpea called himself doing as a member of an actual gang.

All I had to go on, of course, were my brother Archie’s interactions with the gang thus far. Outside of Jughead Jones, of course. But to put it technically, Jughead couldn’t really be considered an actual Serpent. Merely one by association.

Reggie seemed content with my answer, pulling me closer as we walked past the section of the hallway where Sweetpea and his friends' lockers were. Glaring at Sweetpea as if he had some kind of point to prove. 

What Sweetpea did was petty. And if I were in a better mood and the guy hadn’t spent all morning making his mission to drive me up the wall, I’d have laughed. 

“Hey Cherry?”

I stopped and turned back, my hand on my hip. “Again. My name is Alyssa.” I reminded him firmly. We locked eyes and I bit my lip, squirming a little under the intense once over he gave me before meeting my gaze again a few seconds later. I dropped my gaze quickly.

Wait, was I blushing right now?

Why was I blushing right now?

“Leather would look better on you.” Sweetpea rubbed his chin thoughtfully, locking eyes with me again for a few seconds when I dared to look up, thinking the whole staredown was over. What surprised me was that as he was letting his eyes roam over me, sizing me up, I actually felt my stomach flipping and flopping lazily. My breath even caught in my throat a little and despite everything, I felt my cheeks burning just slightly at his words and that look in his eyes when they met mine all over again.

I eyed him with a raised brow. When Reggie practically growled from beside me and I had to throw my arm out to stop him from storming over and Sweetpea smirked, I gave him a dirty look.

“ You think you’re slick, Serpent? Talkin to my girl like that?” Reggie was seconds away from storming over. Starting a fight. A fight that I knew would get him benched during the game tonight. I cleared my throat, tensing in front of him. “Reggie, don’t.”

“Why the hell not, huh? Did you hear what he said to you?” Reggie looked down at me. It was clear he was wound up, the fuse was lit. All I could do was roll my eyes. Keep quiet. Because if I opened my mouth right now, I was going to wind up arguing with Reggie. And it was over something stupid. Pointless. I knew what Sweetpea was up to right now. If Reggie didn’t, that wasn’t exactly my problem.

Yes, I was still very bitter about his lack of a solution in class earlier. That was it. That was the entire reason I wasn’t about to step up and defend my relationship with Reggie after Sweetpea’s remark called it to question.

,, now he says something. It only took Sweetpea being an ass. Questioning Reggie’s role as my boyfriend. Oh no, he couldn’t stop me from being paired with Sweetpea earlier, when he knew it made me uncomfortable. He wanted to make it into my fault that I said nothing, too.”  the thought came, making me even more irritable, especially when I couldn’t shove it out.

Sweetpea smirked when our eyes met again and I bit my lip, quickly dropping my gaze. God forbid I stir things up even further…

,, why does it feel like I’m gonna come undone when he looks at me like that? He’s clearly doing it just to get under Reggie’s skin, there’s no way in hell he actually wants me.” I found myself thinking, only to get annoyed by the fact that yes, it did bother me to know that.

XXX

“The guy spent the whole period hitting on another girl. Right in front of her. I mean, it’s her fault if she’s too stupid to take that as a huge hint.” Sweetpea finished his tangent and promptly raised his brows, swallowing the food he’d shoveled in as he’d been ranting to Toni and Fangs.

Toni and Fangs shared a look.

“I knew he liked her. I called it.” Toni teased triumphantly, high fiving Fangs.

“What the fuck? No!” Sweetpea practically growled the words. Glaring at both Toni and Fangs when they gave him a look as if to say ‘Riiiight. Sure ya don’t.’ but said nothing. “I’m just pointing out she’s obviously too stupid to see what’s obvious.”

“And that little dig in the hallway was what?” Toni questioned, laughing when all Pea could do was open and close his mouth and then finally take a very aggressive bite of his burger. “It was me, stirring her up. Look, she’s hot. That’s it.” Sweetpea insisted firmly.

“If that were it, you wouldn’t always be glancing over at her. Getting that angry look whenever you see her around with that prick Mantle.” Fangs pointed out, earning him a glare from Sweetpea. Fangs continued, despite it. “And the whole reason you moved the fight from Andrews house to that vacant lot after you saw her in the upstairs window.. Why did you do that, again?” smirking when Sweetpea clenched his fists and grumbled at him, answering quietly, “I didn’t think it’d be right for her to have to watch her brother getting his ass handed to him. That’s it.”

A throat clearing had the three looking up.

Alyssa stood there, a hand on her hip. Glaring down at Sweetpea who flashed her a smirk.

“See something you want, cherry?” Sweetpea teased, taking a handful of fries from his plate, biting into them. Holding her gaze steady. A little annoyed with himself at the way his heart fluttered and sped up just the slightest as he did this.

“It’s.. You know what? Nevermind. Call me whatever, I don’t care. But no. I don’t. I did come over here to tell you whatever it is you're up to, I don’t appreciate being dragged into the middle of it. I know you’re only doing this in the first place to wind Reggie up. I’m not stupid.” Alyssa said the words with a jaw clenched tight. Glaring at Sweetpea.

Until he licked his lips and Toni happened to see the way her eyes followed the movement helplessly and began to really sit there and quietly assess the situation. Smiling to herself as her own suspicions formed exactly as to why Sweetpea’s actions as of late bothered Alyssa Andrews so much.

She kept it to herself.

Sweetpea chuckled and shrugged. “Don’t know why it bothers you. The guy’s an asshole. Do better, Cherry.” he waved his hand dismissively at her as if he were shooing her from the spot she stood in at the end of the table. Alyssa glared and folded her arms, tapping her foot as her mouth opened and closed for a minute or two.

Then she turned sharp and stormed off. Finding her own table with Reggie and the rest of the football players and cheerleaders.

Sweetpea found himself staring at her, shaking his head. Clenching his fists. “I don’t get it. How does she not see her whole thing with that asshole is one sided, huh?”

“The more important question to ask, Pea, is why in the hell it bothers you so much? They’re Northsiders man, leave ‘em to whatever it is.” Fangs shrugged everything off, taking a sip of the soda in front of him as he leaned back in the chair lazily.

Sweetpea ignored his friend and found himself watching the table Alyssa sat at again. Watching her. The way she threw her head back to laugh. The bright little smile that gave him the distinct feeling that yes, she could certainly be a handful if she really wanted to and she were really being her truest self. He  glared at Reggie when the two locked eyes after a few minutes.

And while the advice his best friend Fangs gave him was a good idea in theory, it was not an idea good enough to stop Sweetpea. Even though Sweetpea knew good and well that it probably should’ve been.

He needed to just let go.

He’d die before admitting it, but knowing he’d never have a chance with her only made him want her so much more. Enough that maybe the thought took root.. Maybe he could keep stirring things up. At the very least, Reggie wouldn’t have her all to himself anymore after it all played out. ,, and anybody is better than that fucking prick Mantle.” Sweetpea shoved the thought out of his head as soon as it came, because he knew deep down it was a lie.

He wanted her. All to himself.

[hannahcoursey]

Jealous Minds Part 2

Author: Hannahc56

Word Count: 3,391

Request: Hi! Can I put in a request for a dean x reader? Dean and the reader are friends with benefits and neither want a relationship because they’re too much pressure for both of them being hunters. But then during a case, YN runs into an old boyfriend and they actually had a great relationship and broke up because he had to move for work and they both got out to catch up and Dean is super jealous because he wants that same type of relationship with her. (Sorry if it’s too much. LOVE YOUR WORK!!!)                

PART ONE                                                                     

A few hours had passed and you found yourself eagerly waiting for Daryn to pull into the gravel parking lot of the motel. You had put on a nice pair of jeans, without blood or holes, and a nice black tank top. You’d popped in a pair of earrings you always had sitting in the bottom of your bag that you never got to wear. With a few quick swipes of mascara, you were as dolled up as you were going to get. It wasn’t much, but you felt alright and put together for once and a small part of yourself wish you could do this more often. It was nice to feel pretty every now and then, but your lifestyle didn’t call for a nice manicure or decent clothes. Loud pounding on the door pulled you out of your thoughts, as you took one more look at yourself in the mirror before running to open it. The smile fell off your lips when the door revealed Dean. His face was hard, it was obvious he was in deep thought. When he looked up and saw you, his expression softened. The two of you stood there while he took every inch of you in. A heat rose to your cheeks and you cleared your throat. 

“Can I help you with something?” You asked, leaning your arm on the door. Dean’s eyes shot up to yours and he slightly shook his head. 

“I-I just wanted to come and,” he hesitated, licking his lips, “Wish you good luck on your date.” He finished. You rolled your eyes and sighed. 

 “Funny, Dean. See ya.” You turned to shut the door, but his hand sprawled across it. 

“No, I mean it,” He nodded, “I know how much you cared about Daryn, I-I hope that it goes alright.” He said, letting his hand fall away from the door. You stared at him, your brows crunched in confusion of what sort of scheme he was playing at. His eyes darted back and forth between yours as your brain searched for words to string together to respond. When you didn’t say anything, his eyes fell to the ground and he nodded slow. “You look nice.” He said, his lips in a tight smile, “Anyways, have fun.” He finished, before turning and walking away, leaving you standing in the doorway. You blinked, trying to process the words that’d just come from his lips. Your heart felt like a cinder block in your chest. You let your hand fall to the door knob and slowly pushed the door shut. You leaned against it, your mind running a million miles a minute. Across the room from you was a dusty mirror, only your reflection stared back at you. Why was your heart pounding in your chest? Why were you even going on this date? Was this even to be considered a date? Before you could answer any of the questions that rattled around in your mind, a loud knock from behind the door you were leaning against shook you out of the deep consciousness you’d fallen into with a jump. Maybe Dean was back - maybe he was going to tell you not to go, that the two of you would spend the rest of the night tangled up in the scratchy motel sheets, whispering throughout the night, stealing kisses on exposed skin. The thought alone had you ready to bolt out of your room to find him. You turned and opened the door, Dean’s name about to fall off your tongue, when your eyes fell on Daryn. 

His eyes shimmered when he saw you, a smile lighting up his face. Your expression dropped for a moment, before you forced a smile. He pulled a small bouquet of roses from behind his back and flashed his picture perfect grin at you. 

“Daryn, these are beautiful,” You shook your head and accepted the gesture, “You shouldn’t have.” You turned and set them down on the table beside you. He threw a hand up and waved. 

“Hey, it’s the least I could do,” He laughed, as you pulled the door shut, locking it behind you. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at you as if he was memorizing every detail of your face. Color rose to your cheeks and you looked down. “You ready?” He asked, your eyes floating up to meet his again. You nodded and followed him as he walked over to his car, a new sporty car that surely was meant to be impressive. He walked with you to the passenger side and held open the door for you as you got in. Right as you sat down, you heard someone call your name from down the motel strip. You looked around, scanning for someone underneath the overhead flicking lights of the walkway until your gaze fell on Dean. He waved a hand at Daryn, who hesitantly waved in return.

“Have her back by midnight alright? Trust me, you don’t wanna see what she looks like when the fairy godmother’s spell wears off.” He laughed, throwing a wink in your direction sarcastically before turning towards the motel room door and walking in. Daryn pulled open the driver side door and slide in the low-riding seat. His eyebrows were crunched in confusion as he looked over at you.

“So, do you guys usually share rooms or?” He trailed off, the awkward tension in the air filling the small cabin quickly. You felt embarrassment rise to your face as you shook your head, trying to laugh it off.

“No, no, most definitely not, he just was probably grabbing something from the room, I guess,” You struggled to string together a sentence and rubbed your hands against your thighs nervously. Daryn let out a strangled laugh and started the car without saying anything more. You looked out your window, silently cursing the older Winchester as your heart fluttered at the thought of the things the two of you did behind locked motel room doors. 

The ride to the bar was mostly quiet, the sound of the radio filling the spaces where neither of you could manage the right words to say. When you pulled up, Daryn escorted you to a booth in the corner. The place was packed. It was loud, lights strobing every second, making it hard for you to make out where you were walking, and you struggled to imagine how fun it would be to actually get drunk in this type of atmosphere. The bass music of the loud rap made your chest rumble and you found yourself yearning for a biker bar, squeezed between the boys at the bar while classic rock played from a jukebox.

“Y/N? Y/N/N?” Daryn said your name and you shook yourself out of your daydream.

“I-I am so sorry, was I spacing out?” You ran a hand through your hair and took a breath, letting out a light laugh, “Long day, you know how it goes.” You gave him a grin. He nodded and waved down the bartender before turning his attention back to you.

“I was just saying how great you looked tonight,” He said, his tone genuine and inviting. You couldn’t fight the smile that rose to your face thinking of the memories the two of you shared.

“Well thank you Daryn,” You tucked the hair behind your ears and leaned forward on the table, “You don’t look half bad yourself.” You beamed at him. Before he could answer, the bartender stepped up and asked for your orders.

“I’ll take a-” You began, but Daryn reached out and laid his hand on top of yours, effectively stopping you in your tracks. 

“I’ll take a beer and the beautiful lady will have a Vodka Cranberry please, extra cranberry.” He told the bartender as she nodded and walked off. A feeling you couldn’t put a name to filled your chest. Was it nostalgia? Or was it disappointment? You flashed him a quick smile. “Not too bad for not seeing you for this long, I still remember your favorite drink.” He laughed, reaching over and grabbing your other hand with his other hand, focusing entirely on you. 

“No, I’m impressed, that was pretty good. I gotta tell you though, I’m more of a whiskey bourbon kinda gal these past few years.” You said, trying not to visibly shiver as the thought of a Long Island Iced Tea hangover. His eyes grew wide for a moment before he let out a breath.

“Wow, you?” He shook his head, “Now that surprises me. You could hardly keep it down when we were younger.” He chuckled, bringing back memories of your high school days, sneaking around drinking your parents alcohol. 

“Well yeah,” You snorted, “We were drinking rubbing alcohol it seemed like, we had the nastiest stuff.” You felt yourself thinking of all the times you’d use a fake ID to get the cheapest vodka you could find, only for it to taste twice as bad the second time later on in the night. 

“Yeah, yeah, that led to some pretty rough nights,” He agreed, squeezing your hands softly, “But also some of the best nights too, you know?” He finished, his voice softening as his expression did. And there it was - that same pang in your chest. The more it happened, the more it began to feel like disappointment seeping through your lungs. He stared at you, his iri’s moving from your E/C eyes to your lips. You nodded and pulled your hands out of his, pretending to scratch the back of your neck. He leaned back in the booth, your mind grasping for things to talk about.

“So, what have you been up to? You were at State College for half the first year then disappeared off the face of the earth, no one knew where you went.” He pried, your heart sinking to the bottom of your chest. God, anything but that question. You cleared your throat and tried to force eye contact, but the topic proved too difficult. 

“T-That’s a very fair question,” You let out a laugh that came out more like a sigh, “I-I just needed some time off, I traveled for a while,” You said slowly, which wasn;t necessarily a lie, “And just needed to figure out what I wanted to do with my life.” You finished, trying to tell him as much of the half truth that was possible without getting too much into the nitty-gritty. It was true, technically. You did travel while hunting monsters with the brothers and you did struggle with what you wanted to do for awhile; keep fighting the good fight or take a stab at the apple pie life. He nodded slow, as if he was ingesting what you were telling him and you prayed he wasn’t overanalyzing it too much. The holes in your story would be too large for him not to notice how it didn’t add up. “Anyways,” You scrambled to try to change the subject, “What made you want to become a ranger? I never would have pegged you for the type.” You asked right as the bartender brought over your drinks. He smiled while looking down the neck of his beer, thinking of his answer. Before he had the chance, you phone rang in your pocket. You struggled to get it out of the small compartment of your tight jeans and threw a hand up to him and he nodded. The phone vibrated as Dean’s name flashed across the screen. Throwing your legs off the side of the booth, you made your way outside to answer. 

“Dean?” You tried, holding the phone to one ear while you pressed a hand over the other. Mumbles came through the other end that sounded like gibberish. “Dean, I can’t hear you, gimme a second.” You said, hoping he could make out your words better than you could of his. As soon as your reached the parlor doors to the outside, you called his name again through the phone. “Okay, sorry about that, what’s up?” You asked, shoving your hand in your pocket.

“Y/N,” Dean said, his voice raw, causing your heart to plummet, “Something’s wrong, you need to get back here,” He coughed, hardly audible on the other end. 

“Dean, talk to me, what’s going on?” You asked, panic rising in your tone.

“J-Just come home,” He wheezed before the line went dead. Your hands shook slightly, the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You turned on your heel and ran through the crowd, bumping into people and elbowing your way through them. When you reached Daryn, his soft expression had turned to a look of confusion.

“Daryn, I have to get back, something’s wrong.” You shook your head, trying to settle your hands as Daryn quickly got up from his seat and threw a few bills down next to your untouched drinks. Without making sure he was following, you raced back to the front doors, beelining to his car. When the both of your reached it, you strapped yourself in and he drove off, leaving dust in the rearview. The drive back to the motel felt like it took hours. When you pulled up to the strip, you noticed the Impala still sitting outside and your feet were on the ground before the car was in park. Your heartbeat thumped in your ears, your eyes scanning the surroundings. You noticed your motel room light was on. You turned to Daryn.

“Listen, I really appreciate you taking me out tonight and I-I’m sorry it had to be cut short, but I need to make sure everythings alright.” You rushed through your words while you managed to throw him a smile over your shoulder.

“Y/N, I can stay and make sure- '' He bega, but the thought of what unnatural force could be inflicting pain onto Dean was enough to make you cut his speech off short.

“No, no, I got it under control - I can call you, you still have the same number?” You spoke fast, trying to politely get to your motel room as quickly as possible. Daryn looked at a loss for words. To see him scrambling to try to spend another minute with you made your chest heavy with guilt, but this was Dean at stake. You turned before he could answer and opened the door so quick, you almost hit the wall behind it yourself. You were in fight mode, ready to rip apart whatever was wreaking havoc, ready to patch up Dean if he needed it, a million thoughts going through your head. Taking in the scene in front of you, the breath you had in your lungs slipped from your lips.

The room was dimly lit by dozens of small candles of all different colors and heights. On the table next to you was the beautiful bouquet from Daryn and a simple rose sitting next to it. Dean sat on the edge of the bed, nervously rubbing his hands down his thighs. Your hand fell to your chest as you took a deep breath in.

“Dean,” Your eyes filled with tears that you begged not to slip down your face, “You scared the shit outta me.” You shook your head, running a hand through your hair. Dean looked down at his hands.

“I-I know, I didn’t know how else to get you to come back,” He said, his voice low. You couldn’t believe the sight before you and you stood still, taking it all in. “Y/N, I should’ve done this a long time ago, but seeing you with Daryn” He said, shaking his head as he looked up at you, “ I couldn’t take it, watching you leave with him.” He stood up and crossed the small room to you, his hands picking up yours and rubbing his thumb on the back of your hand. “I don’t have the fast car and the big bouquet and all that crap - but the way I feel about you,” He struggled to find the words and you knew that all of the effort he’d already put into this gesture was big for him, “What I can offer you is to always be there for you, to always stitch you up, to make sure you’re not alone when you wake up in the mornings - We don’t have to do this stuff alone Y/N and we’re crazy for thinking we had to.” He shook his head and his warm hand cupped your cheek. “I wanna do this with you, I mean it.” He finished, his eyes anxiously looking into yours, waiting for your response. Even in this lighting, his eyes were bright and lively, his nose peppered with the freckles you’ve loved since you noticed them the day you met him. Bringing your hand up to his other cheek, you pulled him in, your lips colliding together as if it were the first time. His other hand found its way to the side of your head and his fingers tangled in your hair as he pulled you in, passion filling your every movement. You pulled away, a few tears making their way down your flush cheeks.

“I would love to Dean,” You leaned forward and pressed your forehead against his, “I’ve been in love with you since I laid eyes on you.” You smiled, your heart beating loudly at the confessions the two of you were sharing. He leaned back and pressed a kiss onto your forehead.

“God, me too sweetheart.” He mumbled into the kiss, before pulling away and taking in every inch of your face before letting go of your hands and moving to the bed. Out of a small plastic bag, he pulled out a few styrofoam containers. “Got you your favorite,” He spoke as he opened the containers, spreading them around the bed. Two burgers sat in their separate containers with fries, and a few slices of pie in the other. You walked over and sat on the bed with him as he laid the food out and sat next to you. 

“Mhhh, bacon cheeseburger.” You took a deep breath in, the aroma of the greasy food filling the room. He rubbed your back, smiling.

“Extra bacon, the usual.” He laughed, still looking at you. You turned to him and kissed him once more, the feeling of his lips against yours making your heart drop to your toes. When you pulled away, his eyes were still shut, savoring every kiss the two of you shared.

“I am so in love with you, I hope you know.” You whispered, still close to his face. He blinked slow and a lazy grin crossed his features.

“I know.” He replied, his sarcasm causing you to throw your head back and let out a laugh. 

“Good, I’m glad.” You replied, smacking his shoulder. He took a deep breath and looked at the candles around you.

“Now can I blow these out? It’s starting to smell like a friggin’ hallmark movie in here it’s nauseating.” He grumbled, your laugh filling the room as you shook your head at him.You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing as he went around to each of the candles and huffed them out.

You put on the tv and played the first movie that popped up and thought about all of the choices you’ve made in your life that got you to this exact moment. Life with the Winchester boys isn't for everyone. The life you lived was fast and dangerous, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. With Dean’s arms around you, shitty take out food in front of you and a whole life to share with him ahead, you found yourself filled with the sort of peace you didn’t think you’d ever get your hands on. 

----

Hope you guys liked it! My requests are always open!

[fazbear-security]

Secret Tunnels & Surprise Visits

Mike hadn’t had a week off in nearly two years, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

He’d slept as late as he could, but that had only taken him to 1pm, and most of his siblings had extra curricular activities that would keep them out until at least 6pm. His mother was working until at least then, when she picked up the kids, and Sasha’s curfew wasn’t until 11pm (and boy, did she wring it for every minute she could get). He’d tried cleaning up around the house, but that had only taken up part of his Thursday, and as much as his mother had appreciated his hard work, it hadn’t been enough to satisfy the itch in his idle hands.

The pizzeria was being renovated that weekend, and was closed from Thursday to the following Wednesday, so Mike had a good full six or seven days all to himself. Already out of things to do around the house after day one, he’d decided to tackle the one task he (and everyone else in the house) had been putting off for years.

Organizing the basement.

“You have a lot of stuff down here.” Puppet commented as he climbed up on top of an old gear locker shoved against the stairs. A pair of old workout gloves and a rolled up mat were still stuffed in it, along with a set of resistance bands. Mike made a point not to look at it. “Like, a LOT a lot.” The slender animatronic that had taken up residence under his bed poked at the curling edge of an old sticker on the side of the locker. “Don’t you guys throw anything out?”

“Does it look like it?” Mike asked rhetorically as he surveyed the mess. Where was the best place to start? Christmas ‘91? His old college stuff? That box of yearbooks that stretched all the way back to Tara’s freshman year of high school? “That’s what we’re down here to do today - pare down all this junk and get rid of the stuff we really don’t need.”

“That’s easier said than done…” Puppet eyed the mess from his perch up on the locker before jumping down, and curiously opening the nearest box. “You’ve got more stuff down here than the old location had in storage….oh!” The little animatronic leaned over the edge of the large box - almost falling in - before scrambling back out with a little box clutched in his striped fingers, and a wide smile on his mask.

“Hey! I remember these!!” He popped open the lid and ran a cloth fingertip over the enamel pins on the board inside while Mike picked another box in a stack across the room, and started to dig through it. “These are the commemorative pins from 1987! They had me give these to employees as a gift at a big party!” Puppet tilted his head curiously. “How’d they get down here?”

“The night shift isn’t the first time I’ve worked for Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, you know.” Mike made a face at the musty books inside the box he’d chosen, and closed it back up. His mother still might want to donate these to the library - best to just set these aside, for now. “I spent a few months making pizzas for the other location across town before I went to college. I was out sick when that party happened, but management gave me those pins the next day.”

“You mean...we could’ve met sooner?” Puppet looked down at the old pins - at the cutesy, cartoony faces of Freddy, Chica, Bonnie, Foxy, and the pizzeria’s logo - and some of his smile faded. Mike looked up from the box of old clothes he was sorting through at the heavy silence, and frowned.

“Don’t...don’t think too much about it, Puppet.” He advised, folding an old shirt that had stopped fitting a decade ago and setting it aside. “You wouldn’t have liked me when I was eighteen, anyway. I was kind of an as-...uh...kind of a jerk.” He quickly amended. Puppet frowned, and put the lid back on the box before jumping up and sliding it on top of the locker. He was absolutely keeping that.

“So?” The animatronic moved to Mike’s side, and stood as high as he could to try and  see into the clothing box. “I’ve dealt with sulky teenagers before.”

“I was a lot more than just ‘sulky’...” Mike winced. He’d been a jerk with a capital ‘J’ before he’d gone to college and gotten knocked off his pedestal. It was a miracle his parents had been able to put up with him for an entire year, honestly. “Be glad we met after I got my head on straight. It was for the best for both of us.” Puppet’s mask twisted into a frown, but Mike was determined for that to be the end of the topic, and moved the clothing box to get at the yearbooks beneath it.

“...huh?” Mike paused in the middle of opening the last box in the stack, and closed the flaps again to tilt it back, and get a better look at what had caught his attention. Puppet quickly perked up as the young man shifted the box across the floor, and off of a mysterious, rectangular shape still half-buried by all the clutter.

“Oh, cool! A secret door!” Puppet grabbed another stack of boxes and tried to push it off the shape, while Mike scratched his head in confusion.

“I...don’t remember this.” The human frowned, even as he helped Puppet to move the stack that weighed more than him. “I wonder if Mom or Dad knew about this?” He frowned as he cleared the last of the boxes off of what was now obviously some kind of old trapdoor. “Kind of seems like they tried to bury it.”

“Maybe it leads to a secret tunnel!” Puppet suggested eagerly. “Just like in that cartoon with the dog Pippa likes!” He started to bounce on his heels, and started to reach for the seam in the floor. “Let’s open it and see where it goes!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down, Puppet!” Mike snatched the little animatronic up under one arm, and stepped back before he could get his striped fingers into the crack. “We can’t just open it!” He argued. “We have no idea what might be down there - there could be rats, or spiders, or-”

THUNK.

“......” Both Mike and Puppet froze at the sound, and looked down at the trapdoor. “.....that’s a big rat.” Puppet whispered. Mike slowly - quietly - stepped back from the trapdoor, and the sound came again, only louder. He dropped Puppet back to his feet, and the little animatronic quickly hid behind the human, and dug his striped fingers into Mike’s red jacket as they both nervously watched the trapdoor.

THUNK. THUNK.

Something pounded on the trapdoor from below - something big - and a small puff of dust was kicked up from the space. Mike looked around frantically for something he could use as a weapon, and snatched up a baseball bat from another pile of junk. Luis hadn’t used it since his high school days. Surely, he wouldn’t mind?

THUNK THUNK THUNK.

The trapdoor began to rattle, and Mike swung the bat up over his shoulder as the rusty lock creaked and bent. Finally, the old metal snapped, and the trapdoor was thrown open by-....by Chica?

Mike’s brain ground to a halt as the animatronic chicken mascot from his workplace popped up through his floor, looking around with a curious hum at the cluttered basement before she laid optics on him, and broke out into a wide, toothy smile.

“Hi, Mr. Schmidt!! How’d you get here?”

“.......” The baseball bat fell out of Mike’s limp hands, and clattered to the floor. Puppet flinched at the loud sound, but Chica didn’t seem to register the human’s obvious shock, and came up the rest of the stairs and into the basement.

“Guys!” She shouted back down the stairs. “Mike’s here!” Behind her, Bonnie’s ears appeared before the rest of him, and Foxy’s hook scratched at the edge of the trapdoor hole as he hauled himself up out of the tunnel that yawned beneath the basement floor. Mike sucked in a breath through his teeth as the pirate fox - and other figures that, in no way, should have ever been in his house - rose up from beneath the floor, and stretched his limbs.

“Aaarrr, ‘tis about time!” Foxy grumbled, leaning back as if to stretch out a kink in his spine. “We’ve been walkin’ fer hours! I thought we’d be ‘alfway t’ Tortuga by now!”

“We were only down there for twenty minutes, at best.” Bonnie argued as he climbed out. “Your internal clock must be broken!”

“Jus’ like th’ rest o’ me, ey?” Foxy turned an irritable glare upon the rabbit, but his expression immediately softened when he noticed the audience Bonnie had not. “Oh! Mike! How ye’ be, lad? Ain’t seen ye’ since Wednesday eve’!” Puppet looked up at the human he hid behind with wide eyes, and Mike found the presence of mind to lower his hands from their raised position.

“....you’re in my house.” He said eloquently. Bonnie and Foxy both tipped their ears forward, and looked around the basement.

“This be your house?” Foxy flipped up his eyepatch for a better look. “It be….uh….cozy?” Bonnie shook his head and smacked the fox on the arm.

“This isn’t the whole place, buckethead.” He scoffed. “There’s an upstairs, see?” He pointed to the basement stairs, and Mike looked over just in time to see Chica’s tailfeathers disappearing at the top. His heart skipped a beat or two.“This is just a basement!” The rabbit hopped over a box on the floor, and headed up the stairs himself. “Chica, wait for me!”

“I knew that!” Foxy huffed back with a lash of his tail. The basement started to feel a little small, and Mike pulled another breath in through his teeth. Oh, god. He’d had nightmares just like this, back when he’d first started on the night shift...except he wasn’t sleeping now. He was awake, and this was real-

“I, ah, don’t suppose I could get a hand?” Mike froze, and slowly looked back down at the trapdoor to see Freddy himself seemingly wedged in the stairway opening. Behind him, he could also see the glow from Sam’s LED hat band, somewhere back within the tunnel. “I’m not as slim as the rest of you, you know!” The bear admitted.

“Aye, let’s get’che out o’ there.” Foxy reached out with his good hand to grab Freddy’s and started to pull, with Sam - presumably - pushing from behind. After a few more seconds of staring, Puppet edged out from behind Mike to help. Mike, however, remained frozen in place, and a few shades paler than he probably should have been as he tried to comprehend how one of his darkest nightmares was becoming reality right before his eyes-

“Oh, wow!” Chica’s voice echoed from somewhere upstairs - somewhere on the second floor. “It looks like Parts & Services up here, only better lit! Bonnie, you have to come see this!”

“That’s my-! Oh no.” Mike’s eyes popped wide, and he finally broke out of his frozen stupor to bolt for the stairs, leaving Puppet, Foxy, and Sam alone to try and pry the pizzeria star out through the too-small trapdoor in the floor. “That’s my room! Don’t touch anything!”

He passed Bonnie in the living room, seemingly enamoured by the many framed photos hung up behind the couch, and nearly tripped running up the stairs before he caught himself on the banister. It wasn’t until he’d made it up to the landing and thrown open his bedroom door that Mike realized that he...had no real plan for confronting the animatronic inside. He froze again in the doorway, panting, and struggling for words as Chica ‘ooh’ed and ‘ahh’ed over the variety of drawings and unfinished projects strewn about his desk.

“Whoa!!!” Chica picked up a pipe-and-wire hand model that he’d given up on three months ago, and cradled it in her hands with the reverence of a child holding a coveted toy for the first time. “This is just like our endoskeletons! Mr. Schmidt, I didn’t know you could build things!”

“I-. Uh. Um.” The unexpected praise made it even harder for Mike to find his words, and he stumbled for an embarrassingly long time before he heard the creaking of the stairs, and felt a towering presence at his back.

“Oh, neat!” Bonnie pushed his way into the room, causing Mike to stumble forward, as well, and gleefully batted at the punching bag still hanging from the ceiling next to his bed. “Heheh, what’s this thing? Does it make noise?”

“No, it-. It doesn’t make noise.” Mike reached out a hand to stop the bag from swinging, and hoped the feeling of the synthetic leather against his hand would help snap him back to reality. It didn’t do much. “It’s for hitting.”

“Oh.” Bonnie seemed to lose interest at this answer, and turned to face Chica, who had moved on to looking at the posters and pictures hanging on the wall. “Oh!” Bonnie zeroed in on one in particular, and Mike winced internally. “Who’s this kid? I haven’t seen them at the pizzeria before.”

“Yeah, you have. That’s, uh.” Mike found himself wishing he’d never framed that dumb childhood photo. “That’s me.”

“That’s you?!” Bonnie and Chica both crowded around the frame, now, and Mike prayed to any deity listening that his floor would hold under them. “Aww! You used to be so cute!”

“Bonnie!” Chica gasped, and tweaked one of the rabbit’s ears. “That’s so rude! He’s still cute!”

“......” Mike pressed both hands over his face, and leaned back until he was sitting on his bed as the two animatronics began to squabble.

Maybe, if he just sat here for long enough, his brain would get tired of this nightmare, and he’d wake up?

[artificialqueens]

Level Up, Chapter Six (Branjie) - Holtzmanns

Asia shoots her a look that is all too knowing. “Sure it ain’t. But if Brooke already had a girlfriend, wouldn’t you be pissed?”

“Why would I care?” Vanessa takes a sip of her coke, because really, why would she? It wouldn’t matter. Not at all.

“Here’s a weird thought,” Monique lets out a little snicker as she leans forward, elbows on the table, “imagine if Brooke and Kameron were dating each other.”

“The fuck-”

“No way-”

“Aren’t they sisters?”

“They have different last names, dumbass-”

AN: Chapter six has arrived! I appreciate all of you for being so patient with this fic, especially with the updates taking more time than they used to. Thank you all for the kind words and reviews too, they make me so happy. Tell me what you think of this one after you read it, too. And as always, Writ is the bestest beta and I love them.

“I vote ramen, ‘cause it’s been way too long since I’ve had my ramen fix.”

“Not ramen, we gotta get burritos. They’ll hit the spot right now.”

“Y’know, sometimes you make real questionable decisions.”

Monet and Monique volleying back and forth with one another is incredibly entertaining to watch, though Vanessa’s too wiped from their class to attempt to contribute to the dinner plans herself. Their weekly Monday night dinners had been Asia’s idea a few months back, brought up after class one night when they’d all been sweaty and thirsty and absolutely starving. Vanessa likes it, because it’s a chance to get closer to the three of them outside of class, learning about them past their hatred for cardio and their preferred colour of athleisure wear.

The sushi place a couple of blocks down from the gym is one that all four of them can agree on, as Asia holds the door open for Monet and Monique with a look at Vanessa.

“Ten bucks says they’re gonna order together and share their sushi.” Asia cocks her head towards Monique and Monet as the four of them sit down in a booth.

Vanessa watches the way that Monet and Monique nudge each other’s elbows, trying to take up more space on the table. “Nah. They’re gonna fight over each other’s pieces and make it a whole thing.”

“You’re on.” Asia holds out her hand for Vanessa to shake. “It’s kinda cute though, not gonna lie. In an idiotic way.”

Vanessa holds back a snicker. “Do you think they’re ever gonna realize?”

“I dunno about that.” Asia shrugs. “It seems like they’re so caught up in trying to get each other’s attention that they’re completely missing it.”

“Ah. Modern romance.” Vanessa lets out a fake sigh and dodges Asia’s elbow towards her rib cage.

“They’re blind to each other, not deaf to us,” Asia mutters, “so shut that foghorn.”

“Bitch-”

“Hi, my name is Simone, what can I get for you?”

The conversation doesn’t stray far after the four of them order, though the focus does shift - and Vanessa is glad that it does, from the way Asia folds her arms and scowls at the mention of a certain redheaded instructor, the slightest hint of pink on her cheeks.

“Fuck off, all of you. There’s nothing going on between me and Kameron.”

“Uh, let me correct you. Nothing yet.” Monique points at Asia with a flourish, looking unbothered when Asia sticks her tongue out at her. “Why don’t you ask her out? She’s clearly into you.”

“What? No she’s not.” Asia scoffs, her eyes darting around the table. “Is she?”

Vanessa snorts. “Please. As if it isn’t obvious to the entire class by the way that she flirts with you. And the way that you always flirt back.”

“I don’t flirt back. I don’t flirt in the first place.” Asia stuffs a piece of sushi in her mouth, though it doesn’t do much to stall the conversation the way she probably wants it to.

“Oh, Kameron, your muscles are so strong and your tattoos are so hot, can I lick them?” Monique’s high pitched, breathy imitation makes Vanessa nearly spit out her coke, even when Asia kicks her under the table.

“Come here, Asia, let me just bench press you real quick.” Monet flexes her guns for good measure when imitating Kameron, and puckers her lips towards Monique, who comes closer and closer with a pout of her own before pulling back at the last second, batting her eyelashes towards Asia.

“Hateful, unbelievable, I cannot believe my own friends are slandering me like this when all I do is support y’all and put food on the table-” Asia’s words are cut off when Vanessa holds up a roll to her mouth.

“Here, this dynamite roll will help you embrace the truth.” Vanessa snickers when Asia throws her the evil eye as she chews. “‘Kay, think of it this way. If Kameron had a girlfriend right this second, would you be mad about it?”

“She doesn’t have a girlfriend.” Asia’s matter of fact tone makes Vanessa raise her eyebrows, while Monet and Monique throw looks at each other. “What? She doesn’t.”

“Now is there any way that you know that, or is that just wishful thinking on your part?” Monet asks, ignoring the way Asia lets out a huff.

Vanessa pats Asia’s shoulder. “She better not have a girlfriend, just so you can get some puss and unwind a little, you know what I’m saying?”

“See, now you’re one to talk, Vanj.” Asia turns towards Vanessa, brandishing a roll in her chopsticks and using it to point. “As if you and Brooke aren’t circling each other like hawks.”

“What?” Vanessa squeaks the word out because hey, she’s having fun roasting Asia.

But it’s too late, because Monique and Monet have matching grins on their faces and Asia looks entirely too happy to have the conversation diverted away from her.

“Now that I think about it, you do spend a lot of time in her office. Does she push you up against the desk that much?” Monet wiggles her eyebrows and Vanessa lets out a scoff.

“It ain’t like that.”

It’s not. Brooke is…her friend. Someone who Vanessa enjoys talking to and learning more about, someone whose smile lights up the room she’s in when she’s really happy. Someone who, for being muscles stacked on a pair of legs, is really clumsy on a set of wheels.

Someone who Vanessa wants to keep spending more time with, that’s all. It doesn’t matter if Vanessa thinks about kissing her sometimes, anyway. Her friends don’t need to know that.

Asia shoots her a look that is all too knowing. “Sure it ain’t. But if Brooke already had a girlfriend, wouldn’t you be pissed?”

“Why would I care?” Vanessa takes a sip of her coke, because really, why would she? It wouldn’t matter. Not at all.

“Here’s a weird thought,” Monique lets out a little snicker as she leans forward, elbows on the table, “imagine if Brooke and Kameron were dating each other.”

“The fuck-”

“No way-”

“Aren’t they sisters?”

“They have different last names, dumbass-”

But the idea is enough for the four of them to burst into laughter, move on to other topics. And Vanessa’s glad for it, because she can take a step away from thoughts of Brooke for a little while.

Except that they filter back into her stream of consciousness as she sips on her soda, twirling her chopsticks between her fingers. Vanessa would be lying if she ever says that she hasn’t…y’know. Thought about Brooke like that. Because Vanessa’s not blind, Brooke is hot and tall and her legs go on forever and maybe the way she smiles makes Vanessa’s heart do a flip, but-

Brooke is so much deeper than that. Their friendship is. Because Vanessa’s told her shit that she doesn’t really talk about with anyone else, and sure, she’s kept it vague, but it’s more than she lets anyone else be privy to. And Brooke’s beginning to open up to her too and it’s nice to see what makes Brooke tick. What thoughts lie behind her fists and the subtle lift of her eyebrow and power her brain. It feels like Brooke’s trusting her, and thinking of her as more than just an athlete at her gym. Hell, Brooke had let Vanessa take her skating, something out of her comfort zone and had just rolled with it.

Vanessa likes it. And it’s hard not to smile as she finishes her sushi, watching Monique down glass after glass of water because she’s had too much wasabi, thinking about hanging out with Brooke even more.

Plumbers are expensive. Brooke can fix a simple leak.

At least, that’s what she had told herself two hours ago, before being splattered with water and who knows what else and feeling a squelch in her shoes and rattling off every curse word under the sun, as she twists the wrench in her hand because the stupid thing still won’t stop leaking, damnit.

But the bathroom is going to be unusable if Brooke can’t fix it. She’d looked up a tutorial on Youtube and everything, and the guy on the screen had made it look so easy, just with a few tools that she already has lying around in the storage closet. Who needs to shell out a couple hundred bucks for a plumber when Youtube exists?

Brooke, apparently. Because the leak is continuing to drip, drip onto the bathroom floor and is nearly filling up the bucket underneath it.

Maybe Brooke just has to watch the video again. Maybe she’d missed something the first time around, a crucial step that has to be done in order to stop the leak. She reaches her hand up to pat the counter above her, grabbing her phone when she feels it under her hand, and-

“What’re you doing under the bathroom sink?”

“What - ow!” Brooke winces at the ache forming at the crown of her head, lifting a hand to her still speeding heart. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” Vanessa’s voice sounds sheepish from above her, before she squats down beside Brooke and shrugs her shoulders. “You having an 80’s movie moment or something?”

“What does that even mean?”

“I dunno. Sitting in the bathroom by yourself seems deep.”

Brooke snorts, lifting the wrench in her hand the point at the pipe in front of them. “No movie scene. Just fixing a leak. Well, attempting to fix a leak,” Brooke groans, rolling out her neck, “because it’s refusing to cooperate with me.”

“Scoot over.” Vanessa elbows Brooke’s side, fitting herself in the small space beside her. “Gimme the wrench.”

“Why, you wouldn’t happen to have a hidden career in plumbing, would you?”

But Vanessa’s barely listening, leaning forward to look at the pipes. “Broken seal right under the sink. Get some sealant from Home Depot and it’ll be good as new.”

Well. Maybe Vanessa does.

“You think as a kid my mom was gonna, in her words, ‘let a crook rip us off and break everything more so that we have to pay extra ‘cause it’s all part of a money making scheme?’ Nah. I can find my way around some tools.” Vanessa hands the wrench back to Brooke before nudging her shoulder. “Now that’ll be two hundred dollars, please.”

“Nice try.” Brooke snorts. “But thank you. Let me grab you lunch or something?”

“Well…there is something I wanted to ask you about anyway.” Vanessa’s shifting in place, her eyes suddenly flickering back along the pipes. “And no pressure to say yes at all, ‘cause I was just wondering, but it would be real great…”

The way Vanessa trails off makes Brooke raise an eyebrow, turn towards her because she has no idea what Vanessa’s talking about, but maybe it’s because Vanessa doesn’t really want her to stick around for extra training anymore, or maybe Vanessa’s tired of spending time with her, or something else that’s going to make Brooke want to hide away for a little. But Brooke swallows, ignores the way that she feels her lungs filling up, and pushes on. “What? What would be great?”

“So hear me out first, don’t get mad…” Vanessa trails off, and the way she’s fiddling with the ends of her hair makes Brooke want to shift in place herself. “There’s another tournament coming up. Kameron mentioned it during class yesterday. And I know that’s not your thing, and that’s cool, but I wanted to sign up for it at a higher level than last time and maybe…you can help train me for it?”

Brooke’s about to open her mouth but doesn’t really know what to say, because Vanessa’s right that it’s not her thing, but Vanessa holds up a hand before she does. “Don’t say anything. Just think about it. I’d pay you and everything, though with the rate that all these classes are taking my money I’m about to be broke as hell. But still. Think it over?”

Vanessa’s getting up onto her feet, slinging her bag over her shoulder before Brooke can even think of something to say. “So. Sealant. Home Depot. Maybe training me? I can be your padawan or something. You into Star Wars? ‘Cause I was, as a kid. Anyway, I gotta bounce, but think about it!”

Vanessa shouts the last bit as she exits through the door and Brooke can’t help but let out a breath, resting her cheek on one of her palms as she watches the slow and steady drip of the water from the pipe.

She really does have a lot to think about. But that’s what Brooke is good at doing, after all–thinking, and thinking, and overthinking. Mulling over scenario after scenario until they all blur together and it becomes too difficult, really, to discern what is actually real and going to happen. Not that Brooke even knows.

Vanessa’s question stays in her mind once she’s home that evening, curled up on the couch with Henry and Apollo on either side of her, the episode of Parks and Recreation on the television one that she’s seen a dozen times already. Brooke can hear Yvie clanging her pots and pans in the kitchen, letting out a string of curse words when the oven begins to beep, but the noises of her roommate and from the television aren’t enough to distract her mind from what it really wants to think about.

Vanessa wants Brooke to coach her. Actually, properly, coach her. It’s not as if Brooke doesn’t do it right now, anyway - spending time with her in the gym behind a punching bag and giving Vanessa tips here and there. But it’s never for an actual purpose, to reach a goal. It’s just for Vanessa to get better, to motivate her and sue Brooke, she enjoys the time with her, too.

But coaching towards something, like the tournament that Vanessa wants to sign up for?

It feels too…close. Boxing in the gym is safe, because punching bags and controlled matches leave some room for error but not too much, not the way a competition does. The athletes at Brooke’s gym don’t go home with broken noses or goose eggs on their heads, because they’re not fighting to win at all costs. They’re there to get better and work out and work on technique and if they sign up for tournaments? It’s on their individual coaches, such as Kameron. It’s not on Brooke if something bad happens, she’s not the one leading someone towards injury or…worse.

If Brooke coaches Vanessa more, if she works on drills and plans workouts and and trains her, properly trains her, then it’s on her. If anything happens to Vanessa, it’s Brooke’s fault. Brooke’s going to be the one left to pick up the pieces, the one who’s going to have to tell Vanessa’s sister and mom when things inevitably go wrong. She’ll be responsible.

Brooke can’t do that to Vanessa. She can’t be the one to ruin everything for her, the one to mess things up in a way that can’t be fixed anymore.

“Scoot over.” Yvie plops herself down on the couch beside Brooke, pulling the blanket on Brooke’s lap to cover her own legs, too. “Want some? Latest kitchen experiment. It’s supposed to be jambalaya but I strayed a little from the recipe. Well, I strayed a lot. But still.”

“It’s 10 p.m. You’re having dinner this late?” Brooke raises an eyebrow but reaches for a spoon nonetheless, taking a bite. “This isn’t half bad.”

“Scarlet facetimed me in the middle and I got distracted.” Yvie shrugs, taking a bite of her own. “But we got here in the end.”

“What, did she hypnotize you with her boobs or something to make you forget about your dinner?” Brooke ducks out of the way when Yvie shrieks, whacking her with a pillow.

“One day, your lonely ass is gonna get a girlfriend, and I can’t wait to tease you about it, you old hag.” Yvie cackles as she says it and Brooke can’t help but snort, too.

“You share this old hag apartment with me. We’re both old hags.”

“Speak for yourself, grandma.” Yvie lifts up her bowl when Henry climbs into her lap, reaching his nose up towards the food. “Speaking of the apartment, I’m thinking of doing a Target run Sunday morning for a cast iron skillet. Wanna come with?”

“Can’t. Gonna be at the gym with Vanessa on Sunday morning.” Just like Brooke does every Sunday, and many other days during the week, but she can feel the way her heart turns in her chest, the way it feels like there’s a current running through her fingertips because…

Well, Brooke still doesn’t know what to do.

“Hello? Did you hear anything I just said?” Yvie’s snapping her fingers in front of her face and Brooke jumps, causing Apollo to let out an annoyed meow.

“Maybe? Not really. Sorry.” Brooke mumbles, shifting Apollo on her lap. “Repeat that?”

“I was gonna say we can go Saturday instead. But let’s backtrack, why do you look like you just swallowed a bag of nails or something?” Yvie tilts her head slightly, and Brooke can’t help but make a face at her description.

“Nails? Jesus.” The mental image is a little too strong in Brooke’s brain for her liking, but Yvie is unperturbed.

“What’s up?”

Brooke sighs, her hand scratching Apollo’s chin the way that he likes it. “Vanessa asked me to coach her.”

“And? You’re already doing that.” Yvie raises an eyebrow.

Brooke shuffles on the couch, turning more towards her. “Yeah, but I’m not officially coaching her right now, I’m just there to hold the punching bag and sometimes throw her pointers, it’s not like I’m her personal coach and responsible if things happen to her and it ends up being my fault.”

“Alright, hold up.” Yvie covers her mouth as she chews, though she still gets her words out. “Your fault? And who says anything is going to happen to her?”

“I’m not saying it will, but if it did.” Brooke sinks herself further into the couch cushions. “Boxing competitively is a lot, y’know? It’s not just easy matches and punches, it’s hits to the head and occasional tears and stitches. It’s shit going down that you don’t feel until after the match is over.”

“And? Vanessa’s a grown woman. And from what you’ve told me about her, it seems like she can handle herself just fine.”

It’s true that Yvie’s heard a lot of stories from Brooke about Vanessa. About the hilarious things that she says, the way she cheers anytime there’s a water break during her classes, the way she brought Brooke some timbits that one time. But the way Yvie’s looking at Brooke with eyes that are too knowing makes her want to shift in place, pull a cushion on top of herself.

“But what if something happens and she can’t?”

“Here’s the thing. Bad things happen all the time. When you step onto the street, you can be hit by a car. Hell, a vending machine can fall on you. You can get attacked by a vulture or something-”

“I’m not so sure about that last one-”

“-and honestly, there’s no stopping any of it. Shit happens. And knowing Vanessa, she seems like the type to want to train more and more and compete more too. She’s going to do it regardless of whether you’re there or not. Wouldn’t you rather be the one training her and making sure that she’s as prepared as she can be? That she’s ready? Isn’t it better that she learn from the best in the first place?” Yvie’s eyes are sympathetic, though the effect is slightly ruined as she takes a bite of her jambalaya.

“Who’s saying I’m the best?” Brooke has to hold back a laugh at the way Yvie’s rolling her eyes.

“Don’t start fishing for compliments with me, you know what I mean. If she’s competing anyway, support her. Be there for her. Beat up anyone that she loses against.”

“Not very sportsmanlike.”

“Regardless, maybe you being there can help prevent any chance of something shitty happening, because you can catch things. And you actually care for her as a person rather than just an athlete, which is more than can be said for many coaching relationships.” Yvie shrugs.

“I don’t do coaching, though. I never have before, not properly.” It’s another reminder that takes over Brooke’s thought process, because she doesn’t know how to refine someone else’s skills, not really. “What if I’m shit at it and it makes her crash and burn in a competition?”

Yvie shoots her a look. “Do you really think that’ll happen?”

“It could.”

“You take what you already know about boxing and what you’ve learned from your own coaches in the past, and you pass it on. That’s all it’s gonna take. You two can learn the rest together.” Yvie’s hopeful smile makes her words sound like the easiest thing to do in the world, but it’s not that simple. It can’t be.

“This isn’t an elementary school group project.”

“Yeah, it is. Gym class.” Yvie snickers, before reaching out to squeeze her hand. “Honestly? I feel like it could be good for both of you. You get to spend more time with her, don’t you?”

Brooke raises an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“As if you don’t absolutely love it and come home from each practice session with her with a million stories about her.” Yvie’s knowing look is paired with a snicker, and it makes Brooke scowl.

“I’m just telling you about my day, Yvette.”

“Not the full name, Brooke Lynn. But either way, you know you’d enjoy coaching her. You’re telling me you wouldn’t be jealous if someone else started coaching her one on one?”

“What? No, I wouldn’t care. She can do what she wants.” Brooke scoffs, because it wouldn’t matter. None of Brooke’s business what Vanessa does, anyway.

“You’re as convincing as fifteen year old me was while trying to convince my parents that no, I didn’t have a hickey on my neck from my chem lab partner. Spoiler alert, didn’t work.” Yvie has a shit-eating grin on her face that makes Brooke roll her eyes, nudge her side.

“Shut up.”

“Do it. Coach her. You know you want to.”

Yvie’s right, which is a problem in itself. Brooke really does want to. And when the clock on her bedside table passes one in the morning because she’s unable to fall asleep, she finds herself reaching for her phone.

BLH: Fine, I’ll train you.

The three dots at the bottom of their conversation pop up immediately, and Brooke rubs her eyes as she waits for Vanessa’s reply. It’s not a text that comes through, but rather an audio message that Brooke eagerly presses play on.

“BIIIIIITCH! Are you serious?! Yesss! This is gonna be so good, you won’t regret it I swear. Question, can we play Eye of the Tiger the first time we train? I feel like it’s gonna set the mood real well. Also, why you still awake? Go to sleep. NIGHT!”

Brooke has to stifle a laugh as she shuts off her phone, placing it back on her bedside table. She’s not sure how it’s going to work - coaching Vanessa, trying to recall her days of training under her dad and what she’d do day in, day out, to refine her skills. But it’ll be interesting to try and get back into that mindset.

Maybe Brooke can start now. She’s not going to fall asleep anytime soon, anyway.

It feels strange turning on her laptop and going to the boxing folder, then the subfolder of training videos organized by year, with the most recent being five years prior. The folder is a time capsule filled with videos taken at the gym of Brooke training with her dad to watch and observe her own techniques, all of her tells as a boxer. She remembers watching them during practices back then, her dad pointing out moments where she’d left herself vulnerable to attacks, others where she would have been able to strike more efficiently.

Now, when Brooke clicks on a video, she’s not watching for herself, not anymore. Now? She’s watching for her dad.

He’s in the blue t-shirt that he always used to wear, the watch with the cracked screen on his wrist as he holds up punching mitts in front of Brooke’s face on the screen. A Brooke five years ago with less worry lines on her face, less bags underneath her eyes. One with muscles that flexed as she moved, with an expression of steely determination that’s almost surprising to see now, so many years later.

“Don’t drop those arms. Even if you’re taking a second to breathe, keep them up.”  

Shit.

The sound of her dad’s voice is like a cold gust of air to Brooke because she hasn’t heard it in so long, and the familiarity of his intonation, his rhythm pulls her right back. It’s as if he could still be here, as if she could wake up tomorrow and go to the gym and practice like nothing has happened, like it hasn’t been five years of trying to cope and heal and not necessarily succeeding.

“Good one. Try that combo again.”

Brooke still has the tank she’s wearing in the video, she’s sure of it. Another item that she hasn’t let go of.

“Step sideways, not always backwards. You know that. Don’t get cornered in the ring.”

She can keep watching these videos and try to relive the moments, the practices with her dad and give into the longing that clings to her heart like debris, that she’s never truly been able to shake off. It does provide that short term relief, the feeling of seeing her dad happy, breathing, alive. Seeing how good he was.

“That’s what I’m talking about! Let’s take five, grab some water. Then we’re gonna keep going.”

But it also shows Brooke a past that isn’t here anymore. A time that she’s not going to get back no matter how hard she tries to manifest it, because she can’t step into her computer screen into a simpler time that she used to take for granted. It’s a fact that she knows well, one that’s been repeated to her by friends and family members and therapists and one that her brain ignores on default, despite the way that doing so can make the knife twist in a little deeper.  

“Get your gloves back on, we’ll-”

Brooke shuts her laptop, pushing it to the other side of the bed before her brain can protest. Apollo lets out a mrrp at the movement on the bed, and Brooke reaches out and scratches his chin, trying to ignore the silence in the room that feels deafening with her screen off.

She tends to get sucked in. It’s a fact that Brooke knows well. That when she finds something, she clings to it until it loses all meaning, until the sentimental value is diminished.

But Brooke isn’t going to now, with the old videos. Because sure, it’s her dad in shitty old iPhone video quality and it’s more of him than she’s had in ages, but…

It’s not helpful. Not right now.

Not that any of Brooke’s coping methods are, but she’s trying. Or at least, she’s going to start.

Brooke can almost hear the faint cheer of her old therapist in her ears, thrilled that she’s finally being listened to. Sure, it’s something insignificant, something small, and maybe part of Brooke really does want to open up her computer again, rifle through the videos, but she wont. Her hands are buried in Apollo’s fur, anyway, and why would she want the purring to stop?

Her cat is a big enough reason for now to avoid watching them, falling back into the memories. He’s a start. And maybe that’s all Brooke has to do, find more reasons to keep herself grounded and in the present.

But first, she has to find another way to prepare herself to properly coach, though that’s a problem she can save for the morning.

[itsybitsyspiderling]

don’t touch my stuff

find it here on ao3 !

Summary: Peter decides to take an old Iron Man suit out for a spin. Naturally, Tony finds out.

Words Count: 2.8k

“Mister Stark?” Peter calls, walking into––what seems to be––an empty workshop. He’s light on his feet, careful not to make too much noise while the older man recovers from a nasty cold that has riddled him useless. So far, he’s been out for three days and counting. A lousy three days.

Oddly enough, Peter’s been going out of his way just to contract the damn thing. His textbook immune system makes it impossible to miss a single day of school, and he’s tired. He just wants to sleep on the couch and eat nothing but toast while he watches Cartoon Network for several hours. Sure, he knows he could lie and pretend he has a sore tummy, but his unrelenting guilt would eat him up within the first hour. He would easily come clean before May could leave the house.

The workshop is a perfect reflection of how his mentor handles having an illness. A coffee stain the size of New York sits idle on his desk, and half-used boxes of tissues are littered across the room. DUM-E is currently in the process of cleaning up the discarded, crumpled-up tissues that have been there since the first wretched day.

One thing Peter wouldn’t have guessed about Tony is that he’s a complainer when he’s sick. Peter doesn’t understand why he––a sixteen-year-old with bigger problems like homework and acne––is left to take care of him. The man can’t go twenty minutes without groaning and moaning about his stuffed sinuses. Peter can’t stand it.

“Hello, Peter,” FRIDAY greets. “Boss is upstairs sleeping. Would you like me to alert him that you’ve arrived? I’ll be careful not to wake him too abruptly. We both know how he gets.”

Peter laughs and fidgets with a few stray tools on a nearby workbench. A lot of their old work has been left untouched since they last got together. Since they were both healthy and able to talk like normal people. Now, Tony’s been hopped up on NyQuil for three days straight.

“Um––nah, I’ll just hang out here for a while,” Peter says and smiles over at DUM-E. The robotic arm whirs back gleefully. “What’s his temp today, Fri?”

“99.8 degrees Fahrenheit,” she answers.

“Oh, good.” Peter crosses the room. “That just means he can finally get off his ass soon and help me for once.

“He’ll probably still be congested for about another week or two.”

Peter groans, head falling back as he trudges the floor. “I don’t think I can last another day,” he says. “Please don’t tell him I said this––it’s gonna sound really mean––but, God, he’s such a baby. I used to think I was bad when I got sick.”

“Believe me, Peter, no one can be as bad as him,” the AI affirms.

Peter settles down at Tony’s desk and shuffles through the stray papers on top. Letters, fan art, more letters, more fan art… Peter pouts. He wishes he could get fan art.

“He’d just tell me to suck it up, probably,” he mumbles, brain still on the topic of his mentor’s ailments. “I’d have t’suck it up and 'spidey up'––as he calls it, and then I’d pass out on the job, and he’d be all ‘Why are you on the floor? Why didn’t you just tell me you were sick, Peter?’ and ‘Why didn’t you stay home and have your lovely aunt make you a nice pot of soup?’ And then I’d be forced into saying that he told me so, when really, he didn’t. Like, at all.”

“Sounds like something he would do.”

Peter’s lips quirk into a small smile. He likes FRIDAY––he likes her sassy moments, and as much as he loves Karen, sometimes he needs that shift back down to earth. He also needs someone else that will poke fun at Tony when everyone else is afraid to.

“It is something he would do,” says Peter. “I twisted my ankle once, and he was like, ‘Well, that’s dumb, why would you do that?’—like I had a choice in the matter. Sometimes he just really—”

Before Peter can finish his thought, one of the monitors above Tony’s desk flashes. The word “Complete” blinks in bright green.

“Complete?” Peter sits forward. “What did I complete? Did I win something? I didn’t touch anything, did I?”

“You didn’t,” says FRIDAY. “The Mark Forty-Five has just received a new paint job.”

“Oh, cool.” Peter nods and, a beat later, states, “wait, but he doesn’t use that one anymore.”

“Boss likes to maintain a certain… look.”

Peter’s brows knot together as he thinks. Long and hard. And what he eventually thinks up turns out to be a terrible, terrible idea. A good terrible idea. “Interesting. Is—is that suit here?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think Mister Stark would notice if I took it out for a little spin?”

“I don’t even think the Boss can touch his toes," the AI replies. There’s hardly an inflection in her tone.

Peter hums. A familiar excitement bubbles in his chest. Sure, he’s thought about asking to wear the suit a million and one different times, but the idea of doing without Tony even knowing––Peter has never jumped out of his seat so fast. If Tony ever finds out, Peter is toast. But he won’t. Just a brief flight. Nothing could go wrong.

“You won’t tattle on me, right, Fri?” he asks.

“Of course not.”

“Knew I could count on you.” Peter smiles, but it falters as he stops in his tracks. “Wait––this is stupid. I’m stupid. Aren’t the suits coded to him?”

“Yes, but he has them coded to you, too.”

“What? Really?”

“He has them coded to all of his loved ones.”

Peter blinks. He blinks again. “S-say that again?”

“Boss has given his loved ones access to his suits in the case of immediate mortal danger,” she says. “That includes you.”

“Quit pullin’ my leg, Fri,” Peter half-chuckles, scratching the back of his head. “Just tell me I can’t use the suit.”

“I’m not pulling your leg.”

He rubs at his forehead and lets out a breath.

“Your body language suggests that you’re nervous.”

“Yeah, yeah, well––” Peter squints his eyes shut. “I mean, it’s Mister Stark. What if––what if he finds out? My head’ll be served for breakfast. A-and then he’ll take away Spider-Man, and Fri, I don’t know if I can––”

“Are you going to let fear dictate your life, Peter?”

His eyebrows raise at the question. Holy shit. He’s never heard FRIDAY speak so philosophically before. And she called him scared. He’s not scared––he’s just spending a little extra time making sure it’s the right decision, of course.

“No,” he mumbles, biting as his lip. “I don’t wanna do that.” Around him, provocative prototypes and unfinished creations await his final verdict. The bare bones of a gauntlet scream his name on a table to his right. Peter nods. “Okay. Okay. I’m doing it. Fri––oh shit, I’ve always wanted to say this––all right, let’s take this outside.”

Tony is in the middle of dreaming about fighting an army of robot dogs when FRIDAY’s voice intervenes. He awakes in a daze, torso slumped to the floor while his bottom half remains comfortably on the couch. There’s a tissue stuck to his hand, another flat on his t-shirt, and the pressure in his sinuses goes right back up to his head once he sits up.

“Oh, Jesus,” he groans out, clutching his forehead as he leans over his knees. “Wh-what is it? I was just fighting robotic French Bulldogs––and losing.”

“Peter Parker has asked me not to tell you that he’s taken the Mark Forty-Five out for a flight,” the AI replies.

Tony winces. Mark XLV. Gosh, he hasn’t used that one since Sokovia. It did a helluva fine job, but the memory makes him shudder. He’s successfully not thought about that battle since at least last week, and while it’s not as fresh as some of the others, the reminder still leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Mister Parker doesn’t even know the half of what––wait a minute.

“Hold up. Say that again.”

“I’ve been told not to tell you that Peter Parker is out in the Mark Forty-Five suit.”

Tony sits up, and his sinuses flare once again. He doesn’t even react. “M-my Peter? Peter Parker?”

“Yes, boss.”

It takes a few seconds for Tony to stand, meanwhile, he clutches the sides of the couch to keep from passing out. He’s not sure if it’s possible, but he thinks he might have an iron deficiency. And, somehow, Peter Parker has everything to do with it. The stacks of homework, the near-death situations, the constant stress he’s put the poor billionaire under… there’s no question about it.

“And he asked you not to tell me?”

“Yes, boss.”

Tony lets out a breath. “Not sure where exactly your loyalty lies, but I’ll take it. What’s he––why is he––? Oh, I’m gonna kill him. Run me the live audio. Where is he?”

FRIDAY doesn’t answer. Instead, the Mark XVL’s live feed is fed through her operating system. The living space of the compound fills with static, wind, and the familiar, all-too-cheery, soon-to-be-dead-as-a-doornail voice of Peter Parker.

“All righty then, Fri––”

Tony furrows his eyebrows. That’s his nickname for FRIDAY. Son of a bitch.

“––let’s see what this baby can do––oh, shit!”

As the harsh sound of rattling, crackling, and somehow, buzzing, echo throughout the room, Tony rolls his eyes. He’s never been given the chance to forget how young the kid is.

“Okay, okay, I didn’t like that,” Peter says. “Let’s not do that again. Jesus, how does Mister Stark not get motion sick?”

“Cut the feed,” Tony urges. He isn’t sure how to handle his anger. He keeps it contained in his chest while his fingers claw at the couch cushions below him. The rest of his anger resides in his jaw. “I’m gonna kill him. I’m literally gonna kill him. Get me a suit.”

“Boss, your temperature has climbed to––”

“I don’t care,” he says. “Don’t fuckin’ care. I need a suit. I need t’keep my kid from killing himself before I kill him.”

“Incoming call from Tony Stark.”

“W-what?” Peter sputters. “No, no! Fri, don’t answer.”

“Declining call from Tony Stark.”

“Holy shit, thank you.”

Peter has learned three things since he left the compound as Iron Man nearly ten minutes ago. One, he’s not great with changes in altitude. Like, at all. Two, the suit is massively uncomfortable. He’s not sure how Tony can manage more than a half-hour without feeling claustrophobic. And three, Peter has never felt so cool in his entire life.

Ever since he can remember, he’s looked up to Iron Man. The hero has always been untouchable––almost unreal––prior to Germany back in ‘16. Granted, Peter has been a kid for that entire time, and kids think everything that breathes is awesome and larger than life. But with Iron Man, it’s been different. Iron Man has been an emotional crutch, something he could always trust. And now, he’s in the suit.

Peter can’t wait to tell Ned.

But––why did Tony call him?

“I think we’ve had enough fun for today,” Peter says, chuckling nervously as he figures out how to stop flying.

“Setting a course back to the compound,” FRIDAY states. “Do you want me to alert Tony that you’re on your way back?”

“What? No!” Peter’s heart jumps while he takes off soaring in the opposite direction. He’s tired, and he’s flown into too many trees. And he thinks he might have knocked a bird out of its nest earlier in the flight. “Shit, wait––does that mean he knows? Is that why he called me?”

“Your personal phone is not connected to the Mark Forty-Five’s heads-up display,” she replies.

“Oh,” Peter whispers. After that, he finally registers what she meant. “Oh. Oh no. Th-that means he called himself. He called the suit. I’m dead. I’m dead meat.”

“Incoming call from––”

“Don’t answer.”

“Override.”

“Parker.” It’s Tony.

Peter flinches, eyes screwing shut as he holds in a breath. “Hey, Mister Stark.” He exhales shakily.

“Hey, Mister Stark, yeah, okay––” Tony chuckles, but it’s not genuine. Not in the slightest. Even the soundwaves in the HUD look menacing. “Where have you been?”

“I’m out,” Peter answers, "on a stroll.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

He’s dead. He’s literally dead. He doesn’t know how he can lie his way through this, but hell, he’s going to try. “Honest. I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

Tony laughs again. It’s frighteningly evil. And congested. “Kid, if you’re somehow not dead by the time you get back, I may just kill you myself.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, just watch me.”

Peter’s skin crawls at the sound of Tony’s voice. He’s dead. “Mister Stark, I’m––”

“Get your ass back here,” Tony says. “Now. We’ll talk then. FRIDAY, take him home. Turn off manual control.”

“Yes, boss.”

Before Peter can interject, the call cuts off and the heads-up display returns back to normal. His eyes well up, and his throat clenches as he tries to breathe through––what feels like––a straw. Under his breath, he mutters, “traitor,” but FRIDAY doesn’t answer.

Peter’s landing is rough, and it’s almost comical for Tony to watch. But nothing is funny to him, not right now. It was one thing when Rhodey took the suit some-odd years ago––it was Rhodey, a full-grown adult––yet Tony’s stomach twists at the sight of Peter under that faceplate. There’s anger, and then there’s something that many people know as heartbreak. Tony just doesn’t want to admit he is possible of feeling that type of thing. Peter has broken his heart more times than he can count.

“Mister Stark, I’m so––” Peter tries, eyes wide as the suit peels away from around him. He’s startled by the action.

“Nah, I don’t think you get the chance to speak first,” Tony says. He adorns a suit himself––spanking new nanotech that, surprisingly, feels comfortable. Like a second skin. “Did you even think about your actions, or did you just assume that it was a good idea?”

Peter shakes his head a few times. “No, no. I-I did think. I––”

“Yeah, clearly, you didn’t!” Tony waves his arms, and they drop back down to his sides. “Newsflash, kid. That suit costs more than yours tripled. If you had even scratched a finger––”

“I would’ve fixed it, Mister Stark,” Peter replies without a beat. “I would have repaired it myself. You taught me how. I wouldn’t have––”

“How did you expect me to react to this?”

Peter’s shoulders slump. “I didn’t think you’d find out,” he mutters.

Tony wants to laugh again. So this is what being a parent feels like. May deserves more credit than he’s given her. “If you think you’re such an ‘Iron Man’ expert, then you should’ve just made your own damn suit.”

Peter’s gaze drops. He accepts blow after blow without question.

But Tony, well, he just gave himself an idea.

“Why didn’t you just tell me you wanted your own suit, kiddo?” he asks, feeling his anger slowly diminish by the second. And meanwhile, ideas of a possible “Iron Spider” fill his head.

“I-I––” Peter hugs his arms. “I dunno.”

Tony ponders. His excitement to tinker suddenly outweighs any irritation he once had. Of course, he’s still mad, but seeing the kid look so discouraged and defeated makes Tony’s heart do something weird. Maybe he does see the kid as his kid.

“All right, well,” he begins, lips twisting while he nods toward the compound, “get inside. Maybe we’ll brainstorm while we talk about how grounded you’re gonna be for the next ten years.”

Relief floods over Peter, and he chuckles. Together, they make their way back inside. The Mark XLV follows.

“Why are you in a suit?” Peter asks after a few seconds.

“Oh, yeah, forgot about that,” Tony mumbles, tapping at the unit on his chest before the nanites trickle back into it. He sniffs, and suddenly he can feel the ache of his sinuses once again. “Yeah, well, I didn’t know if I was gonna have to chase after you or scrape you out of some crater you created because you fell five-hundred feet.”

“I actually think I did pretty okay.”

“Kid,” Tony says, laughing, “I saw you fly in. You definitely almost killed someone.”

Peter huffs and folds his arms. “Well, Fri said I was doing great for a first-timer.”

“Fri––since you insist on calling her that now––is a liar,” Tony replies. “And she definitely likes you too much. I think you’ve become her favorite.”

When he looks over, Peter is smiling.

“What?” asks Tony.

“Nothing.” Peter shrugs. “Just that you made her, and somehow, I managed to become her favorite. S’all.”

“Shut up.” Tony elbows the kid, and it pushes him back a few feet.

“Hey!”

“That’s what you get,” Tony mocks. “Next time, don’t touch my stuff.”

[ladyruina]

First story on this site

    Three weeks. It had been three weeks since promotion day and to be honest, I had no freaking clue what Promotion Day even was. Apparently once every month the facility selects someone to be “promoted”, the problem is that the people who don’t make the promotion selection get bare minimum notification. Turns out my sector was just informed that I was transferred to a new sector...no one even knew where I went ...explains what happened to Silica. Today, after three weeks, I woke up to a waiting room. Empty seats on every side and beneath my...tush. The same metal box I lived in for the past seventeen years after “recruitment” and would probably die in. The room had the same aesthetic as everywhere else in the facility, stainless steel walls and flooring with well lit bulbs. Couldn’t tell which type of lightbulb though I’d have to gamble fluorescent bulbs with UV integration, cheap, effective and keeps us alive for a little bit longer. Just how the facility likes it. As per my regular protocol when in an unfamiliar space without a commanding officer I entered a status I have titled, “eyes down, nose out of others business”. It’s embarrassing to say that it took a rough fifteen seconds before realizing that the marks of claws against the floor were EVERYWHERE. You adjust to this kind of thing in the facility, there’s always something clawing up the floors, crawling up the walls or eating your friends upper lobe… rest in peace Franklin. My mind defaulted to entity containment training, signs of anomalous activity identified, analyze the signs: three toed claws, they appear to be dexterous and agile similar to species of avians and raptors. Stage four determine if anomalous being has moved from the ar-, that’s when I finally looked up. Three seats down from me stood a humanoid figure, full combat armor with the exact raptorian legs and feet that produced the scratch marks but the entity was calm almost seemed like it was waiting, same as me save for a bit of an impatient air. It swiftly and repetitively tapped its talons against the ground. Naturally my first thought occurred. “Oh god, is promotion just code word for feeding me to an entity.” I scanned the room only to discover many more entities, some looked very similar to the raptorian entity, others were vastly different. Entities with helmets resembling felines moving from one individual to another, entities with creepy masks that were standing on the walls and ceilings to avoid the clutter on the ground, entities that had no eye holes but spikes at the back on the helmet that vaguely reminded me of bats. All were equipped with combat armor and....facility issue weaponry? Aside from that there were few other schmucks in the room that looked a lot like me, scared, panicked and confused. I looked over to the impatient one only to see it staring at me.

“Shit!” it said in a surprisingly human voice “I-uh, sorry about starin’. It’s always just so weird to see one of you in here.”

“One of...me?” I implored.

“Y’know, an unaugmented.” it gestured at all of me. “So… weird after you’ve gone through the process. So, y’know which one you’ll be?”

I hesitated. “What?” 

“Y’know. Like a raptor, a bat, a cat. That sorta thing.” it seemed to be naming things off the top of its head. “I’m a raptor so you could learn the ropes with me if you end up a part of the pack.”

This fascinated me, I had never been allowed to examine or interview an entity that I had no knowledge of. So a part of me was excited despite realizing that at any moment this entity could unhinge it’s non apparent jaws and rip into my throat with it’s horrific unseen maw. Yet the pioneer sense of exploring the unknown just...overcame me.

“So what are raptors?” I asked.

“Well, you’re lookin at one.” it said in a smug tone. “We’re faster and more dexterous than the others. Only downside is that itchy to move sensation you get due to the energy boost they hook you up with and that these masks keep you alive.”

“I’m sorry what?”

“Heh. yeah, that’s what I said. Apparently The Fixer said that our oxygen has been made “inefficient” by the pollution of the modern world so we’re hooked up with some sorta super oxygen. Apparently it’s the kinda stuff dinosaurs used to breath so that’s pretty badass.”

“And that helps?”

“Gives us the energy to bounce off walls, literally.”

“Fascinating… are the other entities safe to converse with?”

“Ent-? Oh, them? Yeah most of em are chill, might get an extreme one or two but they should be reasonable.”

“Right, thank you.”

“Eh, no prob dude.”

I stood up and began to wander over to one of the “bats” who was standing in a group of its own kin. I began to raise my hand to greet it as I approached, a quick “hey” to get it’s attention only to be interrupted.

“Yes?” it said in a high pitched tone, turning to face me before it even should have known I was on my way. Apparently my shock was apparent as it recoiled quickly. “Right, sorry. I forgot unaugmented wouldn’t know about that. I heard you coming, you’d be surprised how easily you are to hear coming.”

“Echolocation?” 

“Indeed! Along with some other traits.” It said “I’m basically omniscient with these mods! I can tell you anything about this room without even looking at it.”

“Hm.” I smirked. “How about this? What color is my shirt?”

It stared at me for a second before giving a light punch. “Cheating asshole.”

“Just wanted to see if you’re capable of processing color.”

“You could’ve asked.” 

the amusement faded from my expression as I began to realize that what I said was quite apparently a sore topic.

“Oh...sorry.” 

“Whatever.”

I began to awkwardly leave the company of the bats before slumping back into my chair. A few minutes go by and I’m bored out of my goddamn mind. Wish they left me a phone to check, or a magazine to read or a pistol to shoot myself with. Between the embarrassment of my slip-up and the boredom I think the lead would be preferable.

“Excuse me.” said a familiar voice. “I couldn’t help but notice multiple strains in your face aligning with stress that may be caused by the process of transferring to a new region. Is it possible that I may alleviate some of your stress through a formal discussion?”

I looked up, it was goddamn impossible. I heard she was transferred and she just never responded to any message from then on, I thought she either ditched me or… the far more likely scenario, eviscerated or incinerated.

 “Silica?” the name of my best friend. “Silica is that you?”

The entity looked confused. “Curious. You have information on my title but records state that you were only stationed here today.” 

“Silica. It’s me.” I said in a shaken tone. “Devin.”

“Devin…” she stared at me blankly, moments passed by. “Ah yes. We used to be close friends, is this information correct?”

“Yes. so you’ve been here this whole time?”

“Affirmative, Devin.”

“What happened? Why didn’t you respond to any messages I sent?”

Another brief silence. “I just checked my message log, I received none of them under the name of “Devin” or any related pseudonym.” 

“Really?” this was...a bit heartbreaking to say the very least. “You had to keep in touch with Evelyn! I remember the day you got Evelyn’s contact address and you were a goddamn mess. Head over heels! Please tell me you kept in touch.”

Another goddamn pause. “Oh yes, Evelyn. I suppose she was very nice and pretty wasn’t she?”

“What are you talking about?!” the other entity’s started staring at me. I was getting loud. “You sound like you don’t care! You goddamn loved her and now she’s an afterthought?!”

“Please calm yourself. You’re becoming exacerbated and it may draw negative connotations towards you in future conversations with the other people residing in this room.”

I began to look over, the entities around me seemed...concerned. “S-sorry. I’m just hurt is all. It feels like you don’t remember...anything from back at Mind’s Edge.”

“Oh! That I can answer! I don’t!” she said so simply. My heart goddamn sank into the Mariana Trench and she said it so easily.

“You..forgot?”

“Don’t take it personally. Cat units have an AI planted into their brain in order to give them in depth data banks of medical procedures as well as a list of information that may be useful. This unfortunately has to replace long term memories which our AI assistants must remind us of. This also can lead to stunted emotional development. Fortunately though the emotional stagnation only caused depression in earlier Cat units. It also allows us to be proper care takers without having to worry about emotional errors such as becoming overly attached to the patient in therapy settings or panicking in active combat treatment scenarios.”

“I...need some time to process all of this.”

“Acknowledged. Please contact me or another Cat unit if you require any further psychological or physiological aid.”

“Y-yeah, got it. You got it.” That’s probably what I said. Can’t remember if it was actually what I said or not, I was in a haze. Every entity in this room was...a person? My best friend had forgotten about me. The whole world around me just faded. My greatest fear though was...what came next. My thoughts were cut short by the distant sound of heavy claws scraping against the cold metal rang out. As it approached, I could hear the sound of cloth being dragged across the ground. A voice spoke, both high and low pitched with a sort of rattle in its tone.

“Routine Procedures completed. Additional Augmentation scheduled.”

The door on the farside of the room opened.

“Devin.” The creature spoke “Devin Hale. Augmentation scheduled. Follow for Augmentation.”

[mldrgrl]

Do you take prompts? I have this idea rattling around in my brain and you are one of my favorite fanfic writers so here goes. Its a season 8 finale AU where Mulder and Scully raise William. William is going to his senior prom and Scully teaches him how to dance. Mulder watches from a distance, they don't know he's watching them, and then after a while Mulder comes over to "cut in".

Yes, I do take prompts.  My vision went a little differently from yours, but I hope it’s still what you want!  I set it in my Little Will universe because it could slide in there pretty easily after They Grow Up So Fast.  (And, in all honestly, will probably make more sense if you read that first)

Title: How’s About a DanceAuthor: mldrgrlRating: PGSummary: see above :D

One of the most exasperating ways that Will was like his mother, Mulder decided, was his habit of not saying anything when there was a lot to say.  Like Scully, he had this habit of evading topics and trying to make his poor father guess at what he was thinking.  But, after eleven years of being the kid’s father, and almost twenty at being Scully’s partner, he’d finally picked up a few tricks.

Number one, neither of them could stand being ignored.  When they said “I’m fine,” needling or arguing about it got him nowhere.  Shrugging his shoulders and feigning disinterest could open the floodgates.

Number two, do not ask direct questions.  Don’t ever ask what’s wrong, don’t ever ask for more information.  Wait for them to start, pepper the conversation with things like “oh?” or “yeah?”  Simple, one-word responses kept things going.

Number three, and this one was tricky, do not offer advice without being asked.  Nothing could shut down a conversation faster than a well-meaning “maybe you should…”

And so, Mulder was pretty well-prepared when Will came poking around in his office, pretending to quietly browse the books on the shelves while casting less-than-furtive glances in his dad’s direction.  Mulder continued working on his article and ignored his son.  He wasn’t really ignoring him though.  In fact, he’d typed the same sentence more than once because he couldn’t really focus knowing something was wrong and not knowing what it was.

“Whatcha workin’ on?” Will asked.

“New article on the myths of the Salem witch trials,” Mulder answered.

“Cool.”  Will nodded and ran his index finger along the side edge of Mulder’s desk.  “Can we go to Salem one day?”

“Sure.”

“Cool.  Oh hey, I got a 95 on my vocab test.”

“What’d you miss?”

“Utmost versus upmost.”

“Thought you knew that one.”

“I did, until both sentences made total sense.

“You can’t ace ‘em all, pal.”

Will sighed.  “Ruined my streak though, which really pi…ticks me off.”

“Yeah, I hear ya.”

Will turned and ran his finger the opposite way along Mulder’s desk.  Missing a question or two on a test always annoyed Will, but Mulder knew that wasn’t the problem.  He typed some more and then studied his scribblings on one of his notepads.  

“So, um,” Will said.  “Sixth grade is kinda different.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you know, the different classes and stuff.  All the different teachers.”

“Sure.”  Mulder nodded, glanced at Will, and then flipped the page over on his notepad.  Now, they were getting somewhere.  Something to do with school, maybe a teacher, maybe a bully, but definitely school.

“And they do stuff, you know, like dances and stuff.”

Aha!  “Yeah, I remember those.”

“Do you?”

Mulder looked at Will over the top of his glasses.  “I’m not that old, son.”

“I mean, I didn’t know you had dances in school.  You never said.”

“Guess I didn’t think about it.”

“Oh.”  Will chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, the same way his mother did when she was trying to formulate a thought.

Mulder itched to ask him to elaborate.  He missed the days when he could pull the boy onto his lap and tickle the trouble away.  Growing up was a bittersweet thing.  As much as he loved seeing his son mature, he also missed the silly, cuddly little toddler he once was.  And the days where the most complicated problem to solve was a broken crayon.

The conversation stalled, so Mulder took a chance.  “When is it?” he asked.

“When is what?”

“The dance.”

“Oh.  Um, next Friday.”

“Well, if you need me to sign a permission slip to attend, I’ll sign it.  As long as your homework’s done.”

“Da-ad.”  Will rolled his eyes a little.

“What?”

“I always do my homework.”

“I know you do.”

There was a lull in the conversation again, but Mulder felt more confident there was more to come and he wouldn’t have to prompt Will any further.  Sure enough, the silence that followed was short-lived.

“I’m gonna ask Lexi to go with me,” Will blurted out, his voice a little higher than normal.  

All things considered, Mulder’s first thought was that he deserved an award for keeping the expression on his face so neutral.  He was both laughing and crying inside, but he couldn’t let it show.  He bobbed his head a little awkwardly for a few moments and had to clear his throat before his voice would work.

“That’s great, buddy.”

“I mean, you know…”  Will dropped his eyes and scratched at the corner of Mulder’s desk.  “Some of the guys think it’s kind of lame.”

Cody Prescott, probably, Mulder thought.  With his fucking bowtie.  “Well, what do you think?” he asked.

Will chewed his lip again and Scully’s look of distress came over his face.  “It’s just that, I don’t know how to dance, you know?  I don’t want to look stupid and I don’t want Lexi to think I’m lame.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t go.”

“Come on, come with me.”  

Mulder pulled his glasses off, threw his notepad down on his desk and stood.  He put his hand on Will’s shoulder and steered him out the door towards the living room.  When he’d gone into his office that morning, Scully had been engrossed with something on her tablet as she lounged on the couch.  She was still there, still engrossed, but she looked up when Mulder and Will shuffled in.

“We need you,” Mulder said, holding his hand out to his wife and beckoning her up from the couch.

“I told you,” she said, batting his hand away.  “You’re on your own for lunch, I’ll broil the salmon for dinner.”

“It’s not about lunch.”

“Is this a trick?”  She shot a skeptical eyebrow up and looked from Mulder to Will.

Mulder grabbed her hand and gave it a tug.  “Get over here, Scully.”

Scully let Mulder pull her to her feet.  He locked their fingers together and held her hand up high by her shoulder before he set his other hand on her hip and walked her backwards, away from the couch.

“First lesson, Will,” Mulder said.  “Never look at your feet.  You look at your feet, it’s over.”

“What are we doing?” Scully asked.

“The boy wonder over there is in need of some dance lessons.”

“Why is he in need of dance lessons?”

“He has a dance to go to.”

“A dance?”  Scully tried to break free from Mulder, but he squeezed her hand and pulled her closer, shaking his head a little.

“Watch and learn, junior.”

Mulder swayed Scully slowly.  She was distracted, trying to look past him at Will, but he would purposefully shift and block her view.  Finally, he took his hand off her hip and brushed a curled finger under her chin to get her attention.

“Don’t look at your feet,” Mulder reiterated.  “Keep your eyes on your partner.  It’ll help you not to get tripped up and the view is much nicer.”

Scully rolled her eyes, but fortunately her back was to Will.  Mulder winked at him and danced them back away from the couch, then forward again.

“Your job is to lead and trust her to follow,” Mulder said, dancing them closer to Will.

Will had his bottom lip caught between his teeth, the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he watched his father’s feet.  His arm was slightly up, wrist tipped back and fingers spread and curved like he was holding an invisible hand.  He shuffled back and forth with small steps next to the couch, moving without going anywhere.  Mulder let go of Scully’s hip and turned her away from him.  When his arm cleared her head and she was facing Will, he released her hand and stepped away.

“Your turn, buddy,” Mulder said.

“What?” Will asked, blinking up at Mulder.

“Can’t learn without trying.  Dance with your mom.”

“Da-ad.”  Will’s cheeks darkened with embarrassment.

“Hey,” Scully said, putting her hand up for Will to take.  “I happen to be an excellent partner.”

“She is,” Mulder agreed.  “The best of the best.  How can you dance with Lexi if you can’t even dance with mom?”

“Lexi!”  Scully smiled broadly as Will ducked his head.  “Did you ask Lexi to the dance?”

“Yeah,” Will mumbled.  “You don’t have to make a big deal about it.”

“No one’s making a big deal about anything,” Mulder said, shaking his head at Scully in warning.  He took Will’s hand and put it on Scully’s hip and brought Scully’s hand to Will’s shoulder.  The boy was still slightly smaller than Scully by about two inches, but he had Mulder’s lankiness which implied he was going to shoot up soon.

“Now what?”  Will’s arms were stiff and straight.  He was standing too far from Scully, but he looked wary of moving closer.

“Relax,” Mulder said, shaking Will’s arms from behind him to loosen him up.  When that didn’t work, he tickled his sides, which caused him to break apart and laugh.  He drew his arms into his sides to protect himself from the assault and Mulder hugged him from behind for a brief moment and patted his arms.

Scully cleared her throat, arms still in a dance frame.  “I believe I’m owed a dance here.”

Will put his hand back on Scully’s hip and laced his fingers with hers.  He was much more relaxed the second time around and not so stiff.

“Do I have to get all close and stuff?” Will asked.

“No,” Mulder said.  “You can dance closer when you’re…taller.”

Scully chuckled.  

“Do I step forward or backward?” Will asked.

“Try forward to start with,” Mulder answered.  “Remember, look at your partner, not at your feet.  Lead with your eyes.  Be confident.”

Will hesitantly moved his feet, second-guessing every step he took.  Scully tried to follow his lead, but it didn’t work so well when he didn’t know where he was going.  They stepped on each other’s feet several times and Will kept apologizing, his cheeks growing pinker by the second.  

“I suck at this,” Will declared.

“It’s your first dance,” Mulder said.  “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“You’re doing great,” Scully added, laughing when Will tripped into her before she even finished the compliment.

Will laughed along with Scully, giving up on letting his stumbles bother him.  They more they both laughed, the less he messed up.  He finally grinned when a full minute passed without him stepping on one of Scully’s feet.

“I think I can do it!” Will cried.

Mulder tapped on his son’s shoulder.  “May I cut in?” he asked.

“That means you want to dance with mom too, right?”

“Sure does.”

Wil stopped, but his brows came together as he let Scully’s hand go.  “If some guy asks if he can cut in and you don’t want him to, what do you say?”

“Depends on how good your aim is,” Mulder answered.

“Mulder!” Scully scolded, smacking him on the arm as he wrapped them around her waist.  She turned to Will even as she swayed in Mulder’s arms.  “The best thing to do would be to ask your partner if she minds.  Leave it up to her.”

“What if she says okay?”

“Cut back in on the next one,” Mulder said.  “Pray that the other guy has two left feet.”

“I’m gonna go practice.”  Will put his arms up and danced his way out of the room.

“Lexi?” Scully asked when Will was out of earshot.  “He asked her?  She said yes?”

“Seems so.”

“Hm.”  

“Something wrong?”

“Well, you know, I don’t want it to ruin their friendship.”

Mulder groaned.  “Where have I heard that argument before?”

“It’s important to think about.”

“It’s a school dance.  Besides, you know, Mulder men like the slow burn.  We only make moves every seven years.”

Scully tipped her head back and her brows lifted.  “Are you insinuating that you made the first move?”

“You were just picking up on all the signals I was sending.”

“Sure.”

“How are you feeling?”

Scully moved a hand down to her abdomen and splayed her fingers over the small bump low on her belly that had only recently begun to show.  “Not as queasy as I was this morning.  The crackers helped.”

“Mm.”  Mulder put his hand over Scully’s and leaned down to rest his forehead against hers.

“I think we should tell Will after the next appointment.”

“That’s the ultrasound?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t wait until this one’s ready for his or her first school dance to do this again, okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s been awhile since we’ve done this.”

Mulder curled his fingers through Scully’s and brought her hand up to kiss the underside of her wrist.  She laid her head against his chest and closed her eyes as they continued to dance.

The End

[wwe-fluff-fic]

Chris Jericho - American Dream

Chris Jericho - Prompt #30 - “Yes”

Requested by - Anon

Warnings - Swearing

Word Count - 1992 Words.

(this gif is fucking great)

“Chris pleaseeeeeeeeee” you whined for probably the fiftieth time that night, tilting your head up from your laying position on Chris’ lap, your incessant cries finally averting his attention away from the Guns n Roses documentary playing on the TV in your bedroom. As his eyes met your Chris rolled his eyes a little before leaning down and placing a passionate kiss along your lip, his skilled tongue tracing along your bottom lip as one of his hands trailed down the curve of your hip. As soon as he was satisfied with his distraction he pulled away, flashing you a smile with his pearly whites before he turned his attention back to the television.

You frowned the second he pulled away, knowing that he’d pulled his usual trick of distraction, like he always did whenever your brought up a topic he didn’t want to discuss. “Chris!” you scolded, the frown on your face setting deeper into your features as you sat up from your laying position to look your husband in the eyes. “You can’t just kiss me and hope that it permanently shuts me up and makes me forget about the stuff I was saying!” you spoke with an exasperated tone to your voice , your arms rapidly flailing about to accentuate your point. “I mean, seriously Chris! You said that we would start thinking about really completing our lives together after we got married. Yet here we are nearly two years later, in the exact same position we were in before we were married but in a slightly bigger house!” you practically screamed in your husbands face, tears brimming in your eyes as pent up emotion over took you.

The smile that was once plastered onto Chris’ face slowly dropped as he saw your light frustration turn into something a lot more serious, you could tell by his expression that he was shocked at your sudden out burst. “Sweetheart, I didn’t realise this was such a big deal for you.. I guess, I guess I’ve been so absorbed with quite literally eating, breathing and sleeping Fozzy and WWE to notice that I wasn’t making you happy, let alone to notice I was being a shit Husband.” Chris spoke, sadness lacing his voice as he cupped your face in his calloused hands. His thumbs softly wiping away the tears tumbling down your face. You looked up at him, a sense of guilt over taking you when your eyes met with his which were filled with hurt.

“You’re not a shit Husband Chris” you sniffled wiping your tear stained face with the tissue he held out for you. “You’re busy and I know that, and I knew that when I married you. But since I was a little girl I’d dreamed of having the perfect ‘American Dream’. You know, a husband, kids, a dog and even the stupid white picket fence and now as I look at all of my friends they’re the ones living the life I always dreamt of” you turned you head away for Chris so he couldn’t see any more tears roll down your face.

“Y/N baby look at me” Chris tilted your chin to look directly at him, his thumbs once again wiping the tears from your face. “I promise; and by promise I truly do mean it, more than I’ve ever meant anything, that when I come back off this Fozzy tour i’ll ring Hunter and tell him I want time off”. Chris smiled a little as your eyes brightened at the prospect of your husbands promise. “Then when I get that time off we’ll work on your ‘American Dream. Three kids and two dogs, right?” he questioned, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your face lit up with joy as he recited the way you’d pictured your life since you were a little girl.

“You remembered it all! Oh my gosh Chris that sounds perfect! You promise we can get the dogs?!” you squealed excitedly, wrapping your arms around a chuckling Jericho.

“Dog. Just one at first, also as long as it’s no bigger than your sisters beagle” he replied with a stern look on his face.

“Deal!” you shouted, practically spearing Chris in a hug whilst peppering his face with kisses as you both fell back onto the bed, into a position that somehow seemed pretty comfortable for the two of you. You both adjusted to the new position with blissful smiles upon both your your faces, your husband place some light kisses along your jawline.

“We should sleep Darling, it’s our last night together for a few months and I’ll be gone before you wake up” he whispered gruffly as he flicked of the bedside lamp. You nodded your head, snuggling back into the protective frame of your husband, your eyes fluttering shut as he placed a sweet kiss on the top of your head before drifting off into a sleep of his own.

The harsh early morning rays streaked there way through your beige coloured curtains that adorned the windows of your bedroom , the blinding shimmer of the sun burning your sleep filled eyes as they struggled to adjust to the vast change in light. Your arms one by one stretched out from underneath your plush; and now rather lonely duvet, your joints all cracking simultaneously as they awoke from their own rest.

A meek smile of both sadness and happiness spread across your lips as your hand lightly skimmed the crinkled fabric where Chris laid for the last time in two months last night. The thought of his prolonged absence caused tears to gather across your waterline, yet the plan you had devised for the time your Husband was gone restored the sense of happiness you so desparately needed during one of the longest tours he’d done in years. As you laid in bed urging your brain to wake up, the prospect of what today had in store for you, meant you just couldn’t stay in bed a second longer; and had you quite literally jumping out of your bed to get ready for the day ahead of you.

After 2 hours of painful paperwork at the animal adoption centre and three hours of pet store shopping you and your brand new bulldog puppy; Axl were finally home. In the back of your mind you knew that you shouldn't have brought a dog without Chris being there to give you his opinion but on the other hand he practically agreed to a dog which was no bigger than a beagle which you kept to by getting by getting a bulldog. You pushed the thought to the back of your head as the puppy yapped from within the carrier you’d brought him home in, a laugh bubbled from your rouged lips as the dog nibbled at the bars of the carrier whist making playful growling noises. You bent down and opened the small door, allowing the wagging tailed puppy to bound out into the centre of your living room. Your new pet curiously pattered his way around your home throughout the day, investigating every square inch of your home, whilst you sorted some of your paperwork (that admittedly should’ve been completed months ago.) 

When night time came you decided against your original plan of putting Axl to bed in his own doggy bed that you had situated in your living room and opted to have him sleep in your room with you. You tried to convince yourself that you were just doing it so he wouldn���t be scared, but you knew that really you were doing it to stop yourself feeling alone. You placed the whining puppy on Chris’ pillow and laid down right beside, you hand lazily stroked over Axl’s soft yet course fur as he snuggled his small body into the feather pillow. “I just know Chris is going to adore you” you whispered softly to no-one but yourself and Axl.

The weeks, and eventually months went by at snails pace, each day your yearning to be back in your husband’s arms grew a little stronger. But the day of his return and you couldn’t be happier...yet still nervous about he would react to your now 4 month old puppy. You had woken up extra early in order to bake his favourite cookies; peanut butter and chocolate chip, ya know to sweeten him up a little before you revealed your little for legged surprise to him. 

It was around 7:30pm when Chris messaged you saying he was little under 5 minutes from your shared home, you chucked your phone back down onto the kitchen counter and quickly ushered Axl into the other room with a toy and treats to keep him quiet. You sat down on the sofa nervously hoping that Axl would stay quiet just until you could reveal him, just as the clock hit 7:34pm you heard the sound of keys rattling in the door. 

Your tired looking husband practically fell through the front door, his many bags dropping around him, immediately he walked towards and wrapped his muscular arms around you as he smothered your whole face and neck in what felt like hundreds of kisses.

“I’ve missed you so fucking much” he grunted into your hair as he picked you up and carried you to the sofa, you squealed as dropped down onto the seats with you still in his arms. You wriggled out of his arms and stood up, walking over towards the dining room door. To which his face twisted in confusion as he sat up slightly.

“We can cuddle in literally two seconds babe! But I have a surprise for you, close your eyes” he groaned in displeasure to which you giggled, knowing he pretty much despised surprises. You walked into the dining room where Axl was happily chewing on a few treats, you placed a finger to your lips the signal which he knew mean’t he had to be quiet (God teaching him that was a pain in the ass.) You grabbed the tray of cookies off the side and headed out of the room leaving the door slightly ajar for your plan.

You re-entered the living room and placed the cookies on Chris’ lap, he opened his eyes and a big grin immediately formed on his face. “Chocolate chip and Peanut butter?” he questioned with a grin and raised eyebrow. You nodded and bit your lip. “My favourite, is that what your surprise was ‘cos it was the best surprise i’ve had in a while” he laughed, already tucking into the cookies.

“Well...kinda, there’s another half to the surprise” you pursed your lips together and made a sharp whistle noise to which the stocky puppy came bounding out of his temporary hiding place and right into your awaiting arms. You turned around to face Chris who looked beyond shocked, “Chris meet Axl” you announced excitedly, sitting down next to your husband and placing the puppy between you two. “Don’t you love him Chris, look at his little face! Admit it you love him” you babbled, trying to read his emotions through his blue/grey eyes, which even you could see a glint of adoration in. Your husband gently reached his hand out to pet Axl to which the dog barked happily and began wagging his tail at a million miles per hour. “See...he loves you. Admit it you love him” you pressed again waggling your eyebrows.

“Yes! Y/N, I admit he’s pretty fucking adorable and you chose a fucking cool name” Chris spoke happily as Axl jumped all over him, desperately trying to reach the cookies. “I guess you were right about the dog...but the other half of your ‘american dream’ is on my mind” Chris winked, eliciting a giggle from your lips, he placed the cookies down and scooped you up from the sofa.

And lets just say, the completion of your perfect life was definitely underway.

Tag Friends: @m-a-t-91 @dionnemaria @rainbow-unicorn-pony @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @yalikejazzzzz @jadebloodlust13 @rainbow-unicorn-pony

A/N: Hey guys, so i have no excuse for being ridiculously inactivr other than the fact that I was being lazy af with a huge writers block so I’m v v sorry! But enjoy this Jericho imagine!! ~ Moxxii

[builder051]

Titan A.E. SickFic

So, it would probably be sufficient to just say here’s the movie/fandom I’m writing for and the scene I’m expanding on, but I’m way more verbose than that.  This is a story for Titan A.E., and the scene is the one where Akima gets shot during the escape from the Valkyrie, then gets patched up on the New Bangkok drifter colony, right up to the Over My Head sequence.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with the movie, I highly recommend watching it.  It’s fantastic.  (Matt Damon and Drew Barrymore do the voices.)  But, because I’m anxious nobody’s going to understand this, here’s a (hopefully) brief summary:

In the future (year 3000-ish), Earth is threatened by aliens (called the Drej [pronounced dredge]).  The planet is blown up, and people live on these drifter colonies in space.  A guy named Cale (approx. age 20) has a map left behind by his father that shows the location of the Titan, a spaceship/project that can be used to create a new Earth.  Joseph Korso and his crew, including a young woman named Akima (aboutCale’s age), are mentoring Cale and helping him find the Titan.  Cale and Akima have a bit of a budding romance.  Things go south when there’s suspicion Korso is actually out to sell the Titan, and Cale and Akima try to escape Korso’s ship.  Akima’s shot in the shoulder, and she and Cale end up on a drifter colony to get medical help.  (That’s just the plot up to where this story starts up; there’s a lot more movie left.  I won’t spoil it for you.)

Warnings for existence/discussion of violence, wounded people, slight medical talk, possible underage drinking that doesn’t actually happen, and emeto.  I’m also going to paraphrase/mess up/rearrange dialogue from the movie, plus add swearing because I can’t resist the opportunity.

***

Cale doesn’t have time to look down.  He needs to get her to safety, to someone who can help.  He can’t stand here, gazing into her deathly pale face and anxiously searching out life behind her closed eyes.

Akima’s alive.  He knows it with the same surety that he now knows Korso was never a friend.  Like he knows the Titan is doomed to be chopped up and sold as scrounge.  But there’s no time to think about that either. Akima’s alive.  She’s tense in his arms, wrapping her willowy body around itself to protect the injured shoulder that’s currently jammed into Cale’s chest.

“Come on, bring her over here.”  Someone’s inserting cold fingers under his elbow and guiding him away from the bridge, further onto the drifter colony.

Cale suddenly struggles to keep pace with the brisk walk.  Adrenaline still courses through is veins, but with the lack of an obvious opponent to punch in the face, it’s all hitching breath and heart palpitations.  Cale does his best not to jostle Akima as he carries her.  He feels his heartbeat throbbing through his chest and into hers, then reverberating through her precipitously frail form.

“Ok, yeah,” Cale mutters, somewhat to the growing crowd of helpful and curious drifters, but mostly toAkima.

There’s an explosion of English and Thai chatter all around.  Cale’s brain feels like it’s fogging up from the inside, and he’s not sure who to focus on, or who’s even addressing him.  “Lay her down here.”

An older woman in a straw hat seems to be taking charge, pointing people in various directions.  Her wizened hand pushes Cale to bow forward and hover Akima over a bench.  “Whoah, hold on,” Cale says. Akima’s groaning in his arms, and he’s not ready to release her onto the hard surface.

“Get blankets,” The woman is barking out.  “And cold liquor.”

“Wait, what’s that for?” Cale asks in a mixture of confusion and panic.  He thinks of ancient, stinging wound-washes, and Akima’s pain-streaked voice replays in his ears.  Drifter colonies aren’t known for holding the latest tech, but they have to have medical staff, healing instruments, probes at the very least.

He keeps a sturdy grip around Akima’s torso and under her knees until the older woman shakes open a dingy grey blanket and directs a couple of men in coveralls to manhandle the wounded girl down onto it.

“Not for her,” the woman says.  The peak of the woman’s pointed hat comes up a few inches below Cale’schin as she reaches for his hands.  It’s only now that Cale realizes they’re shaking badly.  “For you, boy.”

“No, no, I don’t need…”  He feels drunk already.  Without Akima’s weight holding him to the ground, gravity seems to be losing hold on Cale.  His brain is floating untethered in his skull, and his stomach is edging upward toward his chest.

More people are bending over Akima.  One of them is dressed in a white coat.  A human doctor.  Calebreathes a sigh of relief, then blinks hard.  Two doctors.  No, four doctors.  He blinks again and sees only one.  Cale shakes his head, releasing a wave of pent up vertigo cascading down from his hairline.

Akima’s being lifted again, then carried down a hallway.  Just before she turns a corner and disappears, she locks eyes with Cale across the drifter colony’s cavernous room.  Her lips part, and she might be trying to whisper something, but she’s more than too far away for Cale to hear.

“Hey,” he murmurs, taking one step in the direction Akima’s going and stretching out his hand as if to grasp hers across the yards between them.  But then she’s gone.

Cale’s dizzy enough to fall over.  His heart’s still pounding, his breath won’t settle, the smell of rust fills his nose.  He stumbles back a few feet to the colony’s dented, dirty wall and braces his arm against it.  With his forehead in his elbow, Cale examines the toes of his boots, then the swash of dark stickiness across his black shirt.  Akima’s blood.

Unexpected squeamishness sends a river of spit up under Cale’s tongue.  He swallows it frantically, but bile joins the surge, and all there’s time to do is lean forward and hold desperately to the wall as he retches.

It only takes a few heaves to empty his stomach, but fruitless gags keep rising.  “Fuck,” Cale mutters under his breath.  He lightly bounces his forehead against the cold, hard wall.  Heat prickles in from his hands and feet, and the next wave of disgustingness moves in.  He’s going to pass out.

“Oh, fucking Christ,” Cale whispers.  He slides down the wall lets his tailbone hit the floor.  He drops his forehead to his knees and folds his arms over his head.  Cale sighs through the urge to throw up again and wills the sparkles around the edge of his vision to dissipate.

“You sick?”  Cale looks up and almost falls over despite the fact that he’s sitting down.  The woman with the straw hat is back, peering at him from the other side of the puddle of vomit.  She’s clutching a bottle of beer in each hand.

“Um,” Cale says, then swallows hard to force down the urge to spill his nonexistent guts.

“Here.”  She sets the beers on the dusty floor with a clunk that reverberates in Cale’s head, then scampers away again.

A second later, she rematerializes with a mop, and Cale tries not to inhale the scent of stomach acid mixing with bleach as she cleans up after him.  “You don’t have to,” he tries to tell her, but the woman shushes him.

“Just relax a minute,” she says.  Once the floor is cleared, she bends to pat Cale on the back and reclaim one of the beers.  “She’ll be ok.  You’ll be ok,” she whispers with the sort of maternal comfort and understanding Cale hasn’t felt in well over 15 years.

“Yeah,” he breathes back.  “Yeah.”  Cale’s still sighing to himself long after the woman is gone.

He thinks he might be finally finding relaxation when something hits him in the back of the head and bounces off the wall behind him.  The thing comes to stop beside the rattling beer bottle that, by some miracle, hasn’t spilled yet.  The thing hasn’t hit him hard enough to cause any damage, but Cale’s already aching head smarts from the impact.

“Hey,” he snaps hoarsely, scooping up the black-and-white patterned ball and sloppily chucking it back at the embarrassed-looking kid that apparently lobbed it at him in the first place. The kid catches the ball, then cowers behind a tall girl in work coveralls.

“Sorry,” the girl says.  “It’s his favorite thing, you know?”

“Sure,” Cale utters.

“It was our dad’s.  Whenever he’s playing with it, he imagines he’s in a big grass field.  Even though all that’s around here are rusty spaceship parts.”

“Yeah, well.  Gotta…have stuff to keep you going,” Cale replies.  His mind flicks back to Akima.  She has to live.  To be alright.  Because then, even without the Titan, he’ll have…something.  But losing the Titan…

The kids retreat away from him, and Cale tips his head back against the wall and shuts his eyes.  Time passes, though he’s not sure how much because the dull hum of the drifter colony’s engines is beginning to lull him into a sleepy daze.

There’s a soft shuffling, and someone slides down the wall beside him.  Cale peels his eyes open to seeAkima, wrapped in a blanket and perched tiredly at his shoulder.

“How long was I out?” she asks.

“Not long.  Couple hours,” Cale responds, making his best guess.

She eyes the still-untouched bottle of beer sitting on the floor and poses, “You drinking?”

“Naw, more like not drinking,” Cale says with chuckle of distaste for the beverage.  He turns the topic away from himself.  “How are you feeling?”

“I’m ok,” Akima says.  “How are you?  You don’t really look that good.”

“I’m ok,” Cale replies.  His body has calmed down considerably.  There’s just the lingering headache and tremor of exhaustion to contend with now, and it’s truly nothing, at least in comparison to being shot through the shoulder.

“So that rumor about you barfing all over the floor is total falsehood?” Akima raises her eyebrows.  “And you’re ready to help me hunt down a microwave burrito?  I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

Cale does feel like he should eat, but just the mention of heavy, greasy food has him shoving down nausea again.  He manages a weak, guilty smile.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Akima says, returning the smile.  She gracefully steps up to her feet and extends a hand down to Cale.  They stroll down to a bank of windows and fall back into silence.  ThenAkima murmurs, “I’m really sorry.  About the Titan.”

Cale doesn’t look at her.  “I think we still have a chance to find it.”

“How?” Akima asks, attitude edging back into her voice.  “Korso’s got the map.  We have no ship…”

“Oh, we’ve got a ship,” Cale says, his eyes glued to an ancient Phoenix model balanced on top of a trash heap just outside the window.  “Bit of a fixer-upper, but you can fly it, right?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I can fly it,” Akima says with a laugh of bravado.

“Good.  ‘Cause we launch yesterday.”

[arabellaflynn]

Apparently the only interesting thing I have to write about right now is the ongoing saga of some random dude I know. I still have no idea why other people are interested in ye ballroom dance instructor and what I think about him. I try to justify the existence of this blog by using stuff in my life to launch into actual important thoughts about people and experiences and how social interactions work, so I hope you all get something out of this. The important part, so far as I'm concerned, shook out several months ago. I was assistant stage manager on a show that ye ballroom instructor was arranging, liasing, producing, and performing in, because sometimes the really talented ones are also slightly insane. It was about 85% brilliantly orchestrated, but we kept running into things that should have been done but weren't, or information we should have had but didn't. The stage manager and I both finally popped a sprocket at him when he remembered to tell one of us (me) that he wanted to tip over a water bottle at some point during his performance. Our theater is also a studio, and has vinyl dance floor. Water is almost impossible to mop up completely, it'll get into the underflooring (which is wood, because the building is ancient), and it's a terrible slip hazard. We could not figure out what on Earth made him think that was a good idea. He's not normally bad to work with on stage; he's good at logistics and a surprisingly good mechanical engineer, which dancers for some reason normally aren't. I finally broke down and asked him. "You've never been on a tech crew, have you?" And he said no. And I thought about that for a while. He's apparently been a performer since always, and I know he has some management experience. All of the things he had been remembering to do were things he either could have figured out from handling events, or from watching from the wings of whatever show he was in. He got a lot of it -- he's terrifyingly observant, especially when he cares to try -- but he was missing a lot of the internal tech documents, that crew would have had up in the booth or taped to the back of the props table. I'd already figured out that if I'd ever said something to him, or even just said it within earshot, it was probably still rattling around in his brain somewhere. If he didn't know we needed this stuff, it could only have been because no one had ever told him. At this point, I went from being annoyed that I didn't have things I needed to run a show to being kind of outraged on his behalf. This happens a lot when you're painfully smart, especially if you're also self-taught. People mistake "learns best by cramming stuff into their head without distractions," for "pulls information magically out of the ether when needed". One of these things makes them think it's a good idea to leave you alone in a quiet room full of books, and the other one makes them think it's a good idea to maroon you in the middle of a random project with no resources. Ye ballroom instructor is more than intelligent enough to trigger this kind of magical thinking, even in people who would normally be much saner. I could give you a logical rationale for what I did next, but it would be bullshit. I just felt, very strongly, that he needed to know that this was not fair and he was not a failure more than I needed him to not start politely avoiding me at work. If I have to choose between improving someone's life and getting someone to like me, I'll go for the first one every time. It sucks when someone you care about doesn't care about you back, but the feeling that nothing I do has any impact or makes the world any better is a thing that keeps me up at night. I caught him on his way out after strike and told him very bluntly what I thought about all this. Mostly that if this was the job he did with no instructions whatsoever, he was clearly fucking brilliant; that it was not okay for them to have hung him out to dry like that; and that all he had to do was ask and I would be happy to tell him everything I knew about anything he needed. He looked at me very quietly for a moment, and said: "We could fix this." And he was right. It took a couple of months, but between my loud goddamn opinions and probably a lot of his diplomacy, we more or less turned the department upside down and shook it until it quit being a chaotic mess and started being an actual theater. I don't know all of what he's been up to, on the office end, but I've very nearly convinced them to use the computer correctly, too. You could argue that by 'we' he meant the organization we work for. I wouldn't. Mainly because I was there, and I saw the look on his face. My guess is that he was feeling rather alone and out of his depth at that point, and I was probably the first person who offered any kind of constructive help. I'm infamous for telling people, "Yes, I know you can do it all yourself, but you shouldn't have to." He is quite clearly capable of learning how to do all of the jobs, and eventually will, but things run a lot less frantically when there is a second person, ideally who also knows all the jobs, to pick things up when you run out of hands. I got a very big hug for that. Not the first one I got that weekend, but that happens when you're helping someone extract something important from their brain and put it on stage. [I figured out later that when I really hit a button, he just quits answering verbally, especially when there aren't any other witnesses about. Have no idea if he does this with everyone -- I dunno what he's like when he's alone with other people, because I'm, you know, not there -- or if he just figures that I read subtitles well enough that he doesn't have to talk. For all of you out there muttering, "Use your words!" -- I do. A lot. One of my missions in life is voicing all the useful feedback people need but rarely get, especially if it's nice. I say all kinds of weird shit. But, for better or worse, a lot of things are much clearer to me and feel much more 'real' when I get them off of body language. Either this is just coincidentally how he works, or he's doing it/letting himself do it on purpose because it seems to be more effective on me. Doesn't really matter; the end result is the same.]

I'm not going to pretend I haven't had random freakouts over all this. I've had random freakouts over everything. Probably the most impressive one was over Independence Day weekend. Narratively speaking, it roamed over five or six different topics, including 'oh god I am an irritating pest and nothing I've ever done has ever helped anybody at all'; on a practical level, it was mostly because I ran out of sedatives before the neighbors ran out of motherfucking bottle rockets. It happens when my overall stress levels climb too high, and starvation is really really good at making you feel like everything is awful and you might die. 

I am also aware that whatever part of my brain does that is stupid and flaily for no real reason most of the time. It's pretty impervious to logic, but even it doesn't really have much of a response to the rest of my brain pointing out that nobody ever asks if you're dating someone who looked unhappy about that hug he just got, so. Uninterested third parties often (accidentally) provide the best evidence for making shit like that shut up.

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[djbimbu-blog]

The Adolescents - The Blue Album

This time let’s take a step away from late 70’s New Jersey and into early 80’s southern California with the 1981 album from The Adolescents, which I still don’t really know the name of. Is it just Adolescents, is it The Blue Album, does it have a title? Who the fuck knows. It’s really good, and that’s all that is important.

Sometimes an album comes into your life at the right time, and completely changes the direction of your musical taste for a few years. This album is one of those for me, and led to me spending a lot of my late teens, into my early 20’s, watching punk bands in Elks lodges, garages, and basements. There’s maybe 7 or 8 albums in my life that have made me think “what the fuck was that?” and really influenced my taste or opinions from that point on, and this makes the cut in that department. I wouldn’t consider myself “punk,” I think anyone my age still claiming allegiance to a sub culture needs to do some deep self reflection, but at this point I’ve been vegetarian/vegan for about half my life, and have definite opinions on consumerism, the environment, and I vote very left. I think apparently somewhere along the line the music must have influenced me, but I also listen to a lot of country, and have some white trash tendencies, so who the fuck knows. It’s the chicken and the egg.

Going into high school I was already becoming a music nerd on a pretty base level, I knew a lot about Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Sabbath, AC/DC Nirvana, Motorhead, etc. I was starting to branch into punk territory by the end of 8th grade, with Rage Against The Machine, the Sex Pistols, Ramones, but nothing really deeper than that. Freshman year of high school one of my friends (who knew about a lot of punk I didn’t, and over the next four years would introduce me to a lot of my defining music from that era) was trying to get me into 80’s hardcore, and trying to get me to start a band with him. He was big into The Adolescents, and showed me their first album one day, I don’t really remember exactly when, but that’s not really important. I recognized that one song from Tony Hawk, thought it was kind of good, and didn’t think much else about it. After a few listens though, it really grew on me. It wasn’t like the punk I’d been into before, it was angrier, faster, had wild guitar solos and great riffs (something the Ramones had been lacking for me, coming from a kid who loved Angus Young). It set me down a path into more 1980’s hardcore, into Black Flag (who I would claim to be my favorite band until into my early 20’s), Circle Jerks, Minor Threat, Bad Brains, into the late 80s, with Youth of Today, Judge, Cro-Mags, Agnostic Front, Gorilla Biscuits, Fugazi, then into more current stuff with Ceremony, Have Heart, Righteous Jams, Rival Mob, Limp Wrist, No Warning, back to the early stuff with the MC5, Stooges, New York Dolls, and branches off all these and so on and so on. I don’t have the biggest record collection, maybe 300 with a big stack of 7” records to go with, but probably a solid 1/3 of it is punk related, not to mention the cds that ended up in my car, or slow as hell circa 2006 downloads. This album was the fuse that set off a lot of my musical journey, to steal a phrase from Rattle and Hum. And yes, you can listen to punk and still like U2.

I remember buying this record at an Adolescents show in 2006. 80’s hardcore revisionism was at it’s peak. American Hardcore had, or was just about to, come out, along with a handful of other documentaries. You could find Minor Threat shirts at hot topic. A lot of bands were on tour. Henry Rollins was on IFC. It was a good time to get into all this stuff. Me and a few of my friends got a ride from one of our parents (very punk) about 2 hours away to the city, and went to my first punk show that had over 30 people. They were fucking great, the openers not so much. The band was lacking in original members, but we didn't care. I guess the record is some 25th anniversary edition, in a swirly silver vinyl. I made the mistake of buying it at the start of the show so I had to shlep it around the whole time. The last track of the album has some sort of a pressing mistake, and sounds kind of muffled and fuzzy, but I still played the crap out of it. I still have the flyer from that show framed, and like the Boss, hangs above my stereo.

Times change, you grow up, friends grow apart, life happens. My friend who showed me this album went from being my band mate and close friend, to an old friend I see around town maybe once a year. We went to different colleges, changed a little, got different friend groups, everyone has this story. I don’t listen to as much punk as I used to, I had the opportunity to see the Adolescents last year, and figured I’d catch them next time, I had to work the next day, it was kind of far away, etc. A few days later one of the last original members, Steve Soto, passed away. In 2014 (I think? Maybe 2015) I got a chance to see Rikk Agnew, and he was really good, but I still regret skipping that show.

The Adolescents were founded in 1980, in Fullerton, California. I know Tony Cadena (singer) was only 16 when this album was recorded, Rikk Agnew would have been early 20’s, not sure about the rest, but they’re still a young band. Some of the songs reflect this, some of it hasn’t aged well (“I cannot live in a world this gay” for example), but the musicianship is still top notch. This isn’t The Germs, these guys are tight, fast, and can play well (maybe a bad example since the Germs guitarist would later replace Agnew). They would soon break up, and get back together for a few years in the late 80’s, but this album is their peak. It’s one of a kind, no other punk album really sounds like it. The guitars have a lot of treble, not Minutemen/JFA treble, but it’s definitely part of the vibe. The vocals have a small amount of reverb on them, which really adds something when Cadena pushes himself a little harder. It’s not a surf punk record, but you can tell there’s some so-cal influence there. It’s hard to describe what is so great about this record. It’s just straight up punk rock, nothing ground breaking. It’s like Johnny Thunders, but a little poppier, tighter, and a little angrier. So what? A lot of punk is like that. They just did it that much better than everyone else was.

There’s like 13 songs on this album, so I’m not going to review all of them, just the highlights.

“Who Is Who” is the second track on the album. The first song “I Hate Children” is okay, but a little immature and simple. The second song cranks up the reverb, and really gets the album going. It’s quick, angry, and has a quick Johnny Thundersy guitar solo.

“Kids Of The Black Hole” is the 5th song on the album, and is an epic (by 80’s punk standards) five and a half minute long ode to a party house. It starts off slow, the tempo ramps right up, and stays there for 5 minutes. There a siren sounding lead guitar line over the verse, it doesn’t ft fit with anything else on the album, but it sounds great. There’s a great bridge section that goes into another fantastic Agnew solo. I don’t know if he invented the octave chord (I don’t know what the technical name for it is, basically you play a power chord and mute the middle string to make an octave), but it’s all over this record, unlike any punk record I can think of before, and it appears on a lot of records after. If you can’t tell, Rikk Agnew is one of my favorite guitar players ever, probably in my top 5, and I think criminally underrated as far as punk guitarists go.

“No Way” is the 6th song. I don’t know why it’s so good, there’s like 20 words to the song, they’re immature as hell, haven’t aged well, but the music is really fucking good. The intro guitar solo sounds like an outtake from “Search and Destroy.” It’s a quick 2 minute song, but packs in the energy and music of a song twice as long. Sometimes you can’t explain why something is good, it just is. How exactly does the sun set? How exactly does the posi-trac rear end on a Plymouth work? It just does.

“Amoeba” is the 7th song. Now, while this is a great album, some of the songs on it are just okay compared the the rest. They’re still as good as any other punk from the era, but it’s this three song, ten minute stretch that sets it apart. I can't think of any other punk record with a three song run this solid. “Amoeba” goes right into full speed, has more great Rikk Agnew solos and riffs, tells the story of a scientists looking at some sort of a strange amoeba. Who the hell knows what it means? Everyone thought they were singing “Tony Haaaawk” in the background. It fast, tight, a little silly, and probably the best song on the album.

“Creatures” the last song, is just a quick angry sub 2 minute rant about not fitting in and jerking off. It’s really catchy, frantic, and one of the simplest songs on the album. It has a solo of just octaves, he’s not even playing single notes for solo’s anymore, just rubbing it in that “yeah I’m coming up with this thing punk bands are going to rip off for 20 years.”

Final thoughts:

Favorite song: “No Way.” I know I said “Amoeba” is the best song on the album, and it is, but “No way” is a sentimental favorite. I’ve spent way too much time playing guitar along to this album, I still run through it occasionally (and yes it is kind sad for someone who is almost 30 to still play guitar along to punk records), and I’ve never been able to get the solo right. It’s just a really fun song.

Least favorite song: “Democracy.” There’s nothing political on this record really, so one political song is kind of out of place. They would go into it more with their next album Brats In Battalions  but it just doesn’t really fit with the other songs about scientists, girls, drinking, or jerking white tears.

[1947journal]

the day runs away by weasel

he wraps his arms around me. hair spreading while my hands ruffle white fur. we fall onto our overused mattress—springs scraping my back but i say nothing as i remove his shirt and toss it to the floor.

  the fox pulls away, nuzzles my cheek and asks, “do you love me?”

  i smile faintly, “more than these cigs i puff for life.” i kiss his neck. he emits a low giggle while his fingers slide the zipper down my jeans. before he could pull my cock out, the phone rings. it was his phone. my heart beats heavy on my chest as his phone remains mostly silent unless something was wrong with his folks. sendo hops off to answer. he goes through the general hellos and just listens. his ears perk up, his eyes lose color. the news was not something i wanted to hear. i leaned over and took a swig of jack from the bottle. it sat perfectly on the nightstand with my cigs, the best poison to cope with. “fuck!” he exclaims. his thumb swipes across his phone as he slams it down to the top of the dresser. “iz, that was the dealership. they’re repo’ing the car. I thought you were caught up! What the fuck happened?” and thus any chance of me getting lade tonight was crushed by the will of threatening/non-threatening bill collectors. “this is the second repo, and the fifth time we could lose the lights. i can’t keep doing this, iz. i need you to get it the fuck together!”

  i leave it all unanswered and swallow another gulp of whiskey, followed by a long drag from my cig. he stood there by the door, tapping his toe furiously, as if i would answer to his anger. after a moment of waiting, he sighs in defeat, “fuck it. i’m going to bed. you just sort this shit out.” and with that, the lights flush off.

  i burn the cig on my forearm. i feel nothing. i close my eyes and try to drift to sleep.

  ***

  the alarm screeches 4am—it rattles me out of sleep with its constant screeching and vibrating. my tail flips off the last of the cover as i try to swim off the bed to shut it the fuck off. fuck christ! it’s monday morning and i gotta get ready for work, and teh start of my day is this loud mouthed little shit squawkin’ all up in my ear.

  when my feet reach the floor, i slam my fist into the glowing screen of my phone. one day, it’ll crack. i dunno when, but when it does, i won’t be pissed enough to care. i pull open the drawer and pop a tablet of junk, then light a cig to start the day. my body was cold. the pain of being off the stuff was pummelin’ my sides. unfinished floors send ice up my legs, makin’ my fur stand harder than an erect cock. i should probably finish them one day.

  i go without the coffee. never touch the shit. it wakes you up, but it tastes like piss.

  our comforter shifts as my boyfriend rolls over. his hair tangles over the white fur of his face. i could smack his ass awake, but i let the fox rest. he’s not in the mood to talk with me now. i meander through my home to the bathroom in the nude. the windows are open, but it don’t matter. not a goddamn soul to look at me.

  i flush the lights on and the roaches scatter. little bastards. i’ll figure out where their nest is eventually, but now i gotta get the fuck outta hear. the green of my fur looks paler each day. my eyes sag heavy. too many body bags are weighin’ them down. i suppose the stress is turnin’ me white. the fox calls me old. i suppose early thirties is old enough. my hands run through my face to shake the grogginess off, but it’s only momentary relief. as a weasel, i’ve learned to be a cynical as possible. don’t hope for nothin’ ‘cause there’s nothin’ out there. you’r e born. you fuck. you die. and what’s in the afterlife? i dunno. maybe you’re reborn. maybe it’s just empty fuckin’ space. who knows. it doesn’t matter. none of this matters.

  i get dressed for work. jeans. sneakers and a button down shirt. the office don’t care and i’m not jumpin’ for promotions. i get my keys, and twist the door knob when my phone rings. “yea?”

  “um...hi, this is angela. i’m looking for izzy. is he available?”

  “it’s five o’clock in the mornin’. da fuck do you want?” these goddamn bill collectors man. you can’t be off your fuckin’ guard for a second, otherwise they pounce on you.

  “i’m calling from ace credit in regards to a delinquent account. is izzy available or are...”

  “no i’m not available!” i hang up the phone and drop it in my pocket. where the fuck do these assholes get off. i’m in a bad enough spot tryin’ to pay my current bills, but these fuckwads want me to pay whatever’s past due. i slam the door, pop another junk tablet and head to work.

  the junk works sometimes. mellows me out. takes the aches away. sometimes i can feel it dissolve in my system as my flu symptoms leave. it helps me coast. helps me forget that life is comin’ at me so goddamn fast right now.

  i start my car. work calls and i only got a few cigarettes left to burn before i get to the gas station. my radio emits a blast of hardcore punk rock. i use it to piss off my neighbor, a wannabe satan. this mothafuckin’ bulldog sits in his wheelchair and judges anyone who passes by his yard. the hope was lost in his eyes. i wonder if he hates us because he’s lost so much.

  they’re singin’ about neddin’ a smoke and a good set of tits on the radio. when i get to the gas stop i toss the last cig in my mouth and finish the song. the last of the butt pounded in the car’s ashtray/cup holder.

  when i get to the counter, the guy looks at me strange. like i’m gonna jump him. fuckin’ skunks are always paranoid about somethin’. i guess runnin’ a gas stop does that to you too. i throw a twenty on the counter, “pack of the damned and put the rest on five.”

  i fill up with whatever’s left and speed out. more tits on the radio screeches from my speakers.

  ***

  i get to the office. meredith is right at the fuckin’ door with her coffee polluting the air. i hate the person who built this shithole. they put the big boss’ office right at the front of all the action. anyone knows you put them in the back so they don’t have to hear shit about the lower employees. if it don’t concern them, they don’t need to know. the bitch smiles at me with the steam of coffee rising into her nostrils. i wondered if she liked it just for the smell or if she really drank the filth. i’ve never seen her take a drop, but i could be wrong. meredith was of average height for most folks. the usual 5.5, but for an otter she was fuckin’ tall. meredith stood there talkin’ to the boss about how hard it is to find a house with more than one garage. her purple blouse ruffled as she stomped her foot and sighed heavily. she was already defeated.

  “who needs more than one garage?” i asked, knowing i’d get a long answer that wouldn’t care to hear.

  “it’s absolutely necessary!” do you know what you can do with a garage?”

  i roll my eyes as i fiddle with my keys to open the my door. “i don’t know, meredith, start a damn fine meth lab?” the boss started to cackle from his chair. the overworked piece of equipment rolling back over tough carpet as the large bear shot out with laughter. his chair squealed with movement as if it were ready to die. as if it could not go on much longer.

  “izzy, i just need two garage’s. it’s cultural. it’s society, and i must be part of the society. otherwise the people i frequent will simply ban me from their social gatherings. so this is a dire emergency for me. i would prefer it if you took my feelings seriously!” pieces of black fur flew around in the boss’ office as he slowly finished cackling like a mad woman.

  i thought of asking her what culture she’s talkin’ about but i gave a defeated sigh instead and set my smokes on the desk of my office. “how’s your husband?” i changed quick. there was no reason to stay on something that will only cause havoc later. i’d get too agitated for the rest of the office’s comfort zone and i don’t need that. i’ve been to hr too many times in the past, don’t wanna see the bastards again. apparently, having the attitude of a grumpy old fart is not fashionable to an office coked up on antidepressants and sugar.

  “still screwing around. he’s overseas now with some broad whose name i can’t pronounce. i probably won’t give it the time of day. in the end, he is my husband. he’ll come back to my sweet ass when he’s ready. plus, i can’t divorce him, i have the girls to think of. kids therapy isn’t cheap and i’m already spending too much money.”

  “so decided against the divorce? i remember that was a hot topic last year.”

  she sighed as if some relief was lifted off her, “well when you have kids and a couple houses together, it’s not an easy thing to talk about. in the end, this was easier. we feel, at least. plus, we’re still paying on those houses.”

  i didn’t answer after that. i watched her stain her teeth with the coffee and walk away, her hips swaying down the hall to another office.

  “i don’t give a fuck who she is. she’s a goddamn bitch. i can’t have her in the office anymore; just get her the fuck out.” a bear is not so quiet. the boss’ voice roared from his office and down to the other end of the hall. this wasn’t the first time the fucker caused problems on the phone, and when he got goin’ it was an interestin’ thing to listen in on.

  emails piled on. i took a tab of more junk and let them gather dust. most of them were reply-alls from assholes who couldn’t use a computer properly. fuckwads. what a life, to be so fuckin’ oblivious, three garages. i’d be happy for a house that wasn’t fallin’ apart, but that’s too much to ask from god, so fuck the bastard up his tight ass!

  it was a quiet morning. generally office folks typing at computers and small chit chat in the kitchen. nothing too fuckin’ special. i stared at my pc screen for a bit, just coasting until the end of the day. i used to be productive until i figured out there’s not much you can do to get fired. state jobs keep you til your dead. the junk kept me calm. no weird visions, just kept my brain off the current situation. it traveled beyond the ether and into days forgotten long ago. it’s odd how drugs bring back good times, but feeds off the bad ones to keep you goin’. you just want to forget and drug x does that for you. cocain, alcohol, what the fuck ever, they’re all the same.

  i thought of him. the foxy piece of ass at home. he hates it when i call him that. i’m an asshole, guess i should learn. i love the guy though, but we’re wearin’ thin. my fingers play with my office window and open it to gather some fresh air, instead of the stale office shit. i light my cig and look outside, thinking of what else would crumble after the fox would leave. i want reach out to him, he’s not so far away, but i’m not worthy of his time. just a fuck up who can’t pay the bills on time, but he loves me for some ungodly reason. last night i dreamt of him walking away. i called out to him but there was no answer. his hair flowed outward as he disappeared into the large abyss. when he got far away, i could only see a spec of him, like a white light at the end of the tunnel, getting dimmer, and dimmer. just fading out of all the problems we’re facin’. or i’m facin’ who the fuck knows anymore, man. my nimble fingers drop the remainder of my cig to the floor. i watch as the ashes scatter away from the body and think of my blood being the ashes; my body, the stick. somehow, there’d be dignity in the death.

  “yo, iz—got a sec?” this slender, lizzard fuck slides through my door and places his skinny ass in my chair. “you got that report we talked about? need to see where the accounts are at.” fuck! this asshole’s askin’ for a goddamn project now?

  “jeff, they’re almost done. i’ll get em to you by tomorrow, alright?” i reply in a stern tone. the kind of tone that says “don’t fuck with me,” it ain’t the kind of morning where i want to work. it’s more the morning where i want to just exist and do nothing more.

  “dude, supposed to have it to me by last week. kinda disappointed you don’t have it yet.” as if his disappointment means shit. “you know i’m the guy that monitors performance and reports to the boss, right? i can’t save you if you fuck it up.” it’s always the assistant who’s the snitch. fuckin’ cunt.

  “got it. you’ll have it.” i leave it at that, keeping my face out the window to refrain from showing him how pissed off i am. he doesn’t say anything further. his feed slink to the door and he disappears into another office.

  i light up another cig and just coast for a little while. i run with time, without regard for time. it moves forward and i slink along with it, not knowing where i’ll go off to next. i’m just here. just here until death—

  ***

  did nothin’ at work today. no reports. no programs. not a goddamn thing. they can’t fire me though, so what’s the deal with bustin’ your ass if they’re gonna hold some promotion job that has to go through all the hr channels and official hiring process? the clock says six and i gotta get goin’. the office is closin’ up and i grab my keys to leave. avoiding eye contact with the lizzard bastard, i make it to the exit and bolt to my car. my progress is not a conversation i need to have. jeff’s a hard-ass anyway.

  i start my car, pop a tablet of junk and light up. the sun is murderin’ my eyes as i fly eighty miles an hour down a thirty five. the news is talkin’ about the issues of politicians sending dick pics and the promiscuity of every other famous fuck. who cares? we all fuck. there’s not an person in this world who don’t fuck somebody at some point in their life. we’re sexual creatures trying to fight off our desires through church and god, well fuck god, man. just fuck if you wanna fuck. but the news has to report on our royalty since we don’t have an actual king and queen. these celebrities are our royalty. what’s the new movie star doing now? how many kids did she adopt? what nude pics got leaked? it goes on and on. it’s all bullshit.

  the sun is a belligerent prick. somedays i wish i shelled out cash for prescrip. sunglasses so i could see on the drive home, but i forget and don’t bother with it by the time i remember. i drop my cig out the window and watch it fly back in the mirror. the cops don’t monitor this road. it’s easy to slide through to get home, otherwise i’d have to explain to some snot-nosed cop about why i was speeding in the neighborhood. why i was endangerin’ the children. like the cops are holy.

  after an hour of cruzin’, i fly into the driveway, get outta my car and walk into my home. there’s an eerieness to the silence surroundin’ me. i flip the light switch on. nothin’. i hit the power on the tv remote. nothin’. the bastards finally came for the lights.

  the door closes softly. i shuffle around in the dark until i find the couch. i could open a window as the sun sets, but it don’t matter. none of this matters. i push my hand against the cushion to see if there’s any roaches there, but i only feel paper. my heart falls crooked as i pick it up and read the contents. the fox isn’t around here now. normally he’s here. normally he’d be able to save me, but i am abandoned. as my heart empties, i read, “ izzy, i’ve gone home. i love you, but i can’t handle all the uncertainty. the lights are off, love. i can’t keep doing this anymore with you. i need...don’t hate me, but i need stability and you haven’t given that to me in a long time. i’m sorry.”

  i crumple the note and toss it away. his scent is still here in the house, but without him here, i’m nothing more than a shell. i light a cig. i think i hear the repo guys for the car, but i can’t be bothered with their bullshit. the smoke twirls around my face as i remember the dream of the fox leaving, only now, i can’t see anything anymore. there is only the abyss and my cig. the sun will rise tomorrow. it will rise and i’ll walk along with time again. my body grows tired under the setting sun. my cig still burning, still active enough for a few good puffs. my hand rests on my legs as my eyes fall heavy on my face. my body clenches with the burn of the stick on my clothes, but i do nothing. it’ll die out soon, like all flames do.