#they’re the band that had the heavy metal parking lot shirt

[sofarsogoodsowhat]

AUUUUGHHHHH MY HEAD HURTS SO BAD

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 19

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 19

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 4274

Summary: Life settles into routine as summer comes in Wisconsin.

Warnings: FLUFF, swearing, some smut

           You’d never been so aware of the date after that, somehow feeling like you’d reset your circadian rhythm to know precisely how long two weeks was. Mercifully on the part of the universe, Dean had been right about the lack of reset function as long as you stayed within the same mind; once, just to try, you had entered Sam’s dream and found that Sam Barbie and Sam Mike hadn’t met Dean yet.

           At Dean’s request Sam put a huge amount of effort toward ‘being normal,’ integrating into the community in a more purposeful way. You became friendly with a couple cheerful hairdressers from the salon in the next town over when they started coming to the bar for after work drinks and Sam began getting invited to the poker games Steve hosted. One of your favorite of these new habits was going to the farmer’s market dutifully every week. It reminded you every time of how simple this new life was, where you had spare mental capacity to think about whether you wanted nectarines or peaches because there was no terror dangling just overhead. It also helped distract you from all-consuming thoughts of seeing Dean on alternate Sunday nights, the way your body felt like it vibrated with anticipation for the few days before.

           The two of you had been going for months by the first market in July, long enough to know all the first names of the regular vendors and greet them as you went. You were feeling somehow even more acutely anxious-excited at the upcoming Sunday, Dean having told you both last time that he had a surprise planned. It encouraged you to give more of a concerted effort to linger at every single booth, extend every single moment of killed time you could get from the outing. Sam let you lead the way, ring and pinky finger loosely linked into yours as you walked up and down the aisles of tents and tables in the overgrown gravel parking lot. He had a canvas bag half-filled with beets, green beans, some local honey, and a small carton of apricots. You paused to lean into his chest, waiting for Sam to bend down and kiss you in front of a table of essential oils decorated with macrame. The next one caught your eye, some hand-hewn jewelry, and you pulled him gently along.

           “What do you think?” you asked, holding up some earrings clearly too gaudy to match your style with an exaggeratedly fashionable face.

           “I think those really capture your essence, yeah,” Sam smiled.

           “Or maybe this?” You slipped your hand into a heavy bangle absolutely covered in turquoise that felt like wearing an ankle weight.

           He hitched the bag up on his shoulder and watched the show you put on for him, sweeping some hair back from your neck to let you see a set of earrings in the tiny mirror on the table. His gaze flicked over the wares and he gingerly picked up a small gold band from a tray. It was probably the most understated piece on the table, and definitely the one most likely to fit with the no-nonsense jewelry you tended to wear—the things you were drawn to being more sentimental reminders than ostentatious presentation, intended to be put on once and never taken off.

           “I think this one looks the most like you,” Sam hummed, offering it up for you to try on. The band was medium-thick with rounded comfort edges and when you slipped it on it fit perfectly, just barely tight enough to feel exactly secure on your finger. He was right; it looked good on your hand like you had re-found an old piece that you’d lost, and you considered it for a second before you realized Sam was talking to the woman behind the table as she finished a transaction with a trio of teenaged girls getting matching woven bracelets.

           “That one’s part of a set,” she cooed over to him, her hands resting in a homemade apron covered in embroidered flowers. “They should really go to the same home.”

           You were impressed at Sam’s ability to keep himself from rolling his eyes at that kind of faux sentimental bullshit, but she had already turned her back to you, rifling in another box under the plastic table. She turned around with a larger copy of the ring and darted out, grabbing Sam’s hand quickly enough that he almost stumbled forward as she started to slip it onto his finger.

           “Oh, I don’t really wear jewelr—” he started helplessly.

           “See? Meant to be, it fits perfectly.” She clasped her hands in front of her chin excitedly, beaming over the table at you and Sam. You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing at the expression on his face as he tried inconspicuously to get the ring off.

           “Um—wow, that’s really on there—how much for that one?” Sam asked, awkwardly pointing to the ring on your finger with his pinky as he kept working to try to get his off.

           “$50 for the both of them.”

           “Even the one has gotta be more than that,” he insisted, based on the displayed prices of the gaudy jewelry you’d played around with.

           “I’d feel better knowing they were being appreciated together than I would with the money.”

           You looked up at Sam with the kind of melting cotton candy look you felt like had been plastered to your face for weeks, soft and gooey and something you would’ve made fun of a stranger for. He abandoned trying to get the ring off and tongued a molar before pulling out his wallet and dropping 5 $20 bills on the table, pushing them across with the customer service smile he used at the bar. “Thank you, they’re, uh, they’re beautiful.”

           She only unclasped her hands to stuff the bills in the apron, mouthing a “thank you” at the extra money and winking at Sam as the two of you walked away from the booth.

           “Should we get you a big chain? Or I could pierce your ears with an ice cube and an apple back at the cabin,” you teased, getting used to the way the ring felt on your hand.

           Sam couldn’t keep from rolling his eyes over a smirk. “I really can’t get it off.”

           “I think maybe you just wanted to match me.”

           He stopped walking and you spun around to face him, gazing up into his hazel eyes. “Matching you isn’t so bad.”

           “Oh yeah?” You watched as a slow smirk spread across his face and he looked down at his feet between you. “Thank you, by the way. I really love it.”

           “Just think you, um, deserve nice things.” A little color rose in his cheeks, and there was something so unbelievably sweet about it, being shy with you of all people. You had to press up to your tiptoes and pull Sam’s neck down to kiss him, but it was perfect, the light northern chill that sometimes drifted through the air even in July reminding you of your first kiss on that sledding hill except now it was your hand on Sam’s neck, blood seeping warm and loose through every capillary rather than the cold throb of anxiety you’d had then. With his lips on yours, delicate metal on your finger, and the earthy smell of the fresh produce in the air, you tried to commit to memory how unequivocally good the moment was, how completely outside the realm of possibility this would’ve seemed a year ago. Sam’s hand slipped to your lower back and pressed you to him. “Wanna get out of here?” he murmured into your ear, and it was all you could do not to jump him right there as you wound your fingers in his and wove through the booths to get back to the Impala.

           “Baby—you’ve gotta—fuck, I’m driving,” Sam laugh-moaned, shifting his hips just a little up into the hand you danced along the fly of his jeans.

           You leaned across the bench seat and licked the faintest trail up his jugular vein. “Then pull over.”

           His eyes closed deeply for a beat and hard swallow as he took a deep breath and took a right turn into what was likely a private driveway. It was a calculated move; probably not visible from the rural highway but if the people living here—the place sure to be occupied on a July weekend even if it wasn’t year-round—decided to leave they’d catch an eyeful of graphic roadblock. Knowing he was willing to take the risk made your heart race even faster, and Sam had barely thrown the car into park before he was on top of you, hand in your hair and tugging back roughly to bite-suck at your neck so hard and delicious you gasped before even realizing.

           He grinned into your skin as he kissed you. “Gonna—tease me—like—that? After looking so good—being so sweet—all morning?” You slid your hands in his hair and pulled back, crashing into his mouth and tasting the honey he’d sampled with you at the farmer’s market. You hooked your leg around his hips and rolled up into him, almost salivating at the firm length of him against you and the friction of the denim. He pressed you flat to the bench seat and started working the buttons of your shirt, so lightning-fast he ripped one of the last ones clean off, sending it skittering across the dashboard as it flew. “Sorry,” he smiled as you bit his lip, not looking very sorry at all.

           When your top was finally open Sam tugged at your bra, bypassing the clasp altogether in favor of exposing your nipples above it, somehow grazing his teeth and breathing cool air over them at once to send goosebumps flushing all over your body. You tried to undo the buttons of his shirt somewhat unsuccessfully for a moment before Sam leaned back and yanked at the back of his collar, tossing it in the backseat without looking as you flicked open his belt buckle and jeans. You grabbed either side of the open belt and tugged, making Sam’s chest press against yours and giggling into his lips at his tiny “oof,” when he fell forward onto the seat, throwing his arm out to avoid landing on you with his full weight.  

           With his torso against yours, he kissed you like he was gorging himself on candy; hungry and playful as you pushed and pulled against each other until you guided his cock out of his boxers and circled the tip with your thumb. Sam whimpered softly, just once and softly enough you might’ve thought it was a sharp inhale, but the broken concentration was enough for you to catch him off guard and shove him back on the seat across from you. He stretched back against the leather and door, pleasantly surprised behind widened pupils as you quickly got out of your shirt/bra tangle and kicked off your boots. It could’ve been some kind of pseudo-pornographic ad, Sam with tousled hair and undone jeans up against the door of the Impala, taut skin and muscles of his abs on full display as his arms spanned an impossible amount of the windowsill and seatback. If you’d had the self-restraint, you might’ve taken an extra second to soak it in, but as it was you pounced on him the moment the fabric of your clothes left your hands, slipping your fingers under his waistband enough to expose his cock and immediately sliding it into your mouth, hands still working to get him further out of his jeans.

           Anyone else making the sound he did would never have had the same effect, but the gravelly moan your tongue forced out of him dissolved you into jello and you wanted nothing more than to hear it again. Rhythmically working the spit-slick between your mouth and hands, you dragged your head up to look Sam in the eyes, heavy tip of him weighing down your bottom lip as you spoke. “Hold my hair?”

           Sam’s eyes went fuzzy and dark as his eyebrows raised into a dazed smile, gathering your hair in a huge palm and making that amazing noise again as you slid all the way down him, nose grazing the dark hair on Sam’s abdomen. After a few minutes his hips bucked a little under you, Sam beginning to writhe on the leather. “Fuck, that feels so goo—hold on, wait,” Sam stammered with sex-frayed vocal cords, using your hair to tug you to his mouth and suck your tongue. The sensation stunned you for a moment but you could’ve stayed there forever, held up in his palm and flayed open for Sam to take.

           He trailed down your jaw and pulled firm when you tried to turn into his kiss. “Out of your jeans. Now.” You could feel the smirk against you and immediately started shimmying them off, loving this new edge to Sam, able to fully appreciate the grit knowing how soft he would be if you showed even the slightest hesitation. When you’d gotten the denim about halfway down your thighs he put a strong hand on your hip and flipped you over in the seat, your cheek flush against the glass of the window where he draped over your back like a predator. “Don’t. Move.”

           The shudder was involuntary but it was covered by Sam practically ripping the jeans the rest of the way off your legs and subsequent hoisting your hips into the air as he shifted your knees up to the leather, your chest pressed against the door of the Impala as you looked back at him. You didn’t have any warning when Sam slipped his tongue inside you, shooting your arm out to grab for anything to stabilize yourself and ending up with a handful of seatbelt. Your calf curled up as he worked those sensitive nerves, swirling a thumb into your clit as he went. Sam locked the freed ankle with an iron grip. “I said don’t move.”

           You whimpered and whispered dirty nothings you wouldn’t have been able to remember with a gun to your head until he smacked your ass hard enough you knew there’d be a red facsimile of his hand on you, and then you completely fell apart, shuddering and melting into the door. Sam crawled up behind you, chest flush to your back, and bit your earlobe. “I. Said. Don’t. Move.” You could hear the playful challenge in it and that made you even more crazy for him, wiggling under his weight a little involuntarily. He didn’t make you wait too long, pushing into you until his thighs pressed to yours, holding you in place so you couldn’t squirm forward.

           “Holy shit, Sam,” you breathed. You could feel your muscles flex and relax experimentally around him.

           His tongue flicked around your ear as he pounded into you. “You’re so fucking hot, baby—can’t believe you’re my girl. Are you my girl?”

           The sounds you made were vaguely affirmative but to be honest, Sam’s rocking into you was pretty effectively scrubbing your mind clean of coherent thought.

           “Tell me. Say my name,” Sam murmured, voice low with sin against your spine.  

           “I’m your girl, Sam—your girl, I’m your girl Sam, I—holy shit—” you moaned as he picked up the pace and circled a sucked-wet finger around your clit and then you hit that sweet, sticky spasm, hand splaying out wide on the window. Sam covered it with his, interlacing long fingers into yours and something about the way the metal of the two new rings clinked against each other was so tender even as you were being rammed into the door. A couple moments later he drew back with a tense groan, dressing your lower back with hot spurts of himself while his breath started to return with ragged shudders.

           “Jesus,” he sighed as he eased off of you, suddenly gentle again. “Oh—uh, here, sorry.” Sam extended a veined arm over the front seat to snatch his shirt from where it had landed and gently wiped off your back. You let the cool glass settle your racing heartbeat for a beat before sliding back to the seat and the small pile of clothes Sam had retrieved for you. It made you smirk a little to watch Sam’s internal struggle over what to do with the dirty shirt, deciding to toss it on the floor before refastening his belt shirtless like he was in some Country Hotties calendar—Mr. July indeed.

           You opted not to tie your boots as you’d only be walking from the car to the door and looked over at Sam once your feet were inside the loose laces. He opened and closed his mouth but couldn’t come up with any words, smoothing his hair nervously back into place and chuckling against a bitten lip.

           “Yeah, I agree,” you giggled, leaning over to kiss his cheek before lacing your fingers together. “Do you want anything specific for dinner? We have a bunch of chickpeas, I thought maybe we could try making our own falafel.”

           He gazed back at you for a reverent second before turning the key in the Impala’s ignition. “I love you,” he smiled, throwing an arm over the back of your seat to reverse out of the woods.

           Tracing the angles of his face in the sunlight as he drove, you picked your joined hands up to kiss his knuckles. “I love you too.”

           After a few minutes of endorphin-filled silence, Sam turned to you. “So do you know what this surprise is Dean has planned for tomorrow night? I figured he’d have to tell you what it was going to be if you’re the one whose head it’ll be in.”

           “No clue. I thought at first maybe it was like, the Grand Canyon or something but ran into the same issue. Unless Cas’s taught him some new trick, he’s only ever been able to pull up places or things I already know—pick my brain for it, or whatever.”

           “Yeah, me too.”

           The air in the car held the content pensiveness for a few minutes of sunny road. There was no real heat behind it, just like there was no real heat in choosing between different rattan baskets of produce at the farmer’s market, and that same appreciation of the serenity itself washed over you. A surprise was just a surprise, not a potential threat, a date with Dean was just a date with Dean, no longer a finite, losable resource that had to be clawed at and fought for. You didn’t miss the heat. There was more than enough warmth in the sun streaming through the windows and Sam’s palm in yours.

           As it did frequently, Dean’s face in your driveway flashed in your mind, the memory somehow simultaneously old-picture washed out yet vibrant—could dreams even be memories? aren’t all memories dreams, in a way?—collar of his jacket flicked up against the cold as he said “you have to get good with this,” the flit of tongue you could see as he shaped ‘th’ enough to shape a painting class around, send a dozen art students into psychosis for inability to capture it. It had been so hard to figure out how the fuck he expected you to, how cruel it felt for him to ask it, and the only way you’d gotten your head around it was that same Dean Winchester Denial & Self Sacrifice Special and accepted it at face value. When he’d died you hadn’t felt like so many movies and books about tragic loss, where the strong but sensitive woman you’re supposed to relate to spent a few months in poetic sadness growing waifish and crying picturesque tears in solitude until she realized she could carry on.

           You couldn’t carry on.

           You couldn’t carry anything—were dragging yourself along in the most generous of descriptions, some half-dead, half-smashed zombie version of yourself clinging to any will to live like a barnacle out of devotion and need for Sam. Getting Dean back felt like life raft thrown into the water. You really had wanted to spend the rest of your life asleep and were more than content to ingest as much dream root as it would take to decompose into the cabin’s mattress next to Sam, let your landlord find your skeletonized bodies after a few months of unpaid rent. Fuck him, kind as he’d been to two strangers who’d needed help, and fuck hunters’ funerals for you and Sam if it meant you didn’t have to keep drowning.  Fuck Dean’s wishes especially, let him bend to someone else’s will for once.

           At first, maybe the first month after the dream root, only logistical reasons kept you from following through. What you wanted—needed, would’ve ruined the world for—was Sam and Dean together, and you couldn’t find a way to get Sam to agree no matter how obliquely or obviously you asked. He was unbelievably patient with you during this period of near-psychosis, and you suspected that a lot of the new habits he constructed, maybe including your beloved farmer’s market, were designed to keep you away from the greenhouse for as many hours a day as possible. You knew what he was doing, but the bright glare of panic in his eyes whenever you ‘joked’ about growing bigger patches of those little white flowers slowed down your singular focus enough to humor him, telling yourself it was just stalling until you could make your move.

           But damn if it hadn’t worked. Not that it stopped that tick-tick-tick in your brain counting down to Dean, but it made the days bearable. Just bearable, at first, the newness of your surroundings and the newness of Sam, all the things you hadn’t known about him after years of sitting inches away from each other in the Impala. And then it stopped being so much about fuck you Dean fuck getting good with you being gone and a little more about getting good with the way Sam’s hair dried if he went to bed right after showering, floppy, glossy loops and easy curls at the base of his neck; getting good with racing him down the rickety pier on the cabin’s shoreline, knowing he was letting you win and squealing all the way down anyway, jumping into the lake at dusk on Memorial Day with all your clothes on together as Sam cannonballed in behind you. Getting good with Sam’s arms around you as you both shuddered in the water, shrieking with laughter and a smile on his face of genuine, unbridled joy. Getting good with waiting for every other Sunday, because sometimes waiting was Sam bringing you a root beer float in your favorite mug while you read, and sometimes it was feeling him fall asleep against you while you scratched his back.

            Then getting good with the way it became less taboo to talk about him, being able to casually repeat old jokes of Dean’s without feeling like you were being stabbed in the chest or being terrified of sending Sam into a spiral. Getting good with memories of your old life together, your old friends, truly able to appreciate them. Because Dean was right, you had been ‘upset because you wanted something that didn’t exist.’ You could stay upset about it, stay so fucking mad about the unfairness of it all, that after all Dean had done—for you, for the world—that he was fucking gone, didn’t get to live in a cabin or have a couple daughters to braid Uncle Sammy’s hair—God, Dean saying that had haunted you maybe more than anything—and let it necrotize you from the inside out. Or you could let the ways he had permeated your very being serve as more commemoration than most people ever dream of, appreciate that the Impala still felt like an extension of him, see glimmers of the way he and Sam were still connected every day.

           And, of course, visit him at night to take the edge off, love him and kiss him and scream until you laughed. Annoying as it was to admit it, all that getting good slowly let you see what he’d been trying to open your eyes to in that driveway. You had so much more than anyone in the world. How stupid, how greedy, to have all of that and cut yourself off from anything else because it wasn’t exactly the way you wanted it to be. Looking back at it felt like watching a home video of yourself as a kid throwing a tantrum, but for ages, and you almost couldn’t believe Sam had stuck right by your side through it all, guided you gently and patiently even through his own battle. Sweet, beautiful, loyal Sam.

           As if on cue, he looked over at you. The sun poured through the windshield and shone off his hair like a halo, sparkled like glitter in his eyes. Someone who’d had a normal life would’ve said he looked angelic. But you had so much more than that, got to see both that golden hour was giving you a bit of a heavy-handed metaphor and that Sam was not only more than angelic, he was the whole world. He was the life raft all along, Dean’s Herculean return to you the lighthouse that let you see what had been there from the start, what had never left. His fingers tightened around yours a fraction. “Thanks for coming with me today.”

           The smile splitting your face felt like the first delicious stretch after sleeping in on a rainy morning. “Wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without you.”

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 20

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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[starrysupercell]

How on earth do Buzz & Stu fit the Bad Randoms into their strict schedules, with Buzz being a lifeguard and Stu being... something? More importantly, how did they become a band if they've got nothing in common? Are they off-screen friends?

One Band Origin Story coming right up!

🥁🎙🎸

So Buzz, I like to think that he got a littttllee bit of flak from a few other Brawlers about how "ineffective" he is and how he's "just making things worse" as a lifeguard. (like Jacky, Carl, Frank and Bull.)

Some of his friends (Shelly, Jessie and the Junker Line) defended him, but the Dino was like "eh, I'm fine guys, really. Who needs them anyway?" Then proceeded to wallow with pity for a few days because he loved that sense of accomplishment that came with being a lifeguard but apparently not everyone felt that way so whatdoesitmattereventrying--

But, since he has to work somewhere in the Park to stay, he opts for a different job, at least for the time being.

So he looks around for a bit, and lands a job with the Entertainers Trio! Amber, Primo and Poco welcome him with open arms because they're arguably the friendliest Trio in the Park and they've already got the place mostly Amber-Proof so it's all good!!

It's been shown that Buzz does like the beat of music, as shown when he started grooving after saving Sunny the Duck Turret and being hugged by Jessie. So for sure he would have a strong appreciation for Poco's shows.

Though he would quickly catch on, Poco plays a lot, but he doesn't....sing?

Poco: well, it's because skeletons don't have vocal chords, and can't sing.

Buzz: But then how can you talk?

Poco: :) *strums his guitar nonchalantly* so anyway--

Poco absolutely loves collaborations and partnering up for different musical bits, (playing at Barley's, collaborating with Frank, Sandy and Piper, etc.) so it wasn't long until he and Buzz decided to work together on a piece, but first they had to find a good genre of music.

Enter the #1 most difficult robot in all of Starr Park...

I couldn't answer where Poco and Buzz were practicing different instruments to see what kind of music genre they could collaborate on, but it was cacophonous.

Buzz tried his whistle, his trombone, a harmonica and other wind instruments because as a life guard, you would just be silly to not use anything involving your lungs (in his mind.)

Poco's a very patient skeleton and didn't mind the discordant start of this collab at all. Thankfully, as that's what Buzz needed. Encouragement and patience!

However it did bother someone passing by. Stu, who's a little rude and mean because it's cool to be tough and you always have to show you're on top of it, drops in and asks what all the ruckus was.

"Terrible. Really t-t-terrible! Can't anybody go-o-o around without being f-forced to listen to a couple o-of noisemakers?" Looking around, he notices that there's countless instruments. "What's e-e-even going on here?"

Poco, ever the peacemaker, is about to say "Hey, no problem! My friend and I can just go if we're really bothering you that much."

But Buzz is Not going to stand that. One insult that hit too close to home leads to another and, surprise, surprise! A Brawl is how The Bad Randoms formed.

After the wreckage that ended in a weird kind of draw, because Poco healed the both of them to get them to stop, they finally talked like civilized Dinos/Robots/Skeleton.

It was explained to Stu that Poco and Buzz were planning a collab, and honestly that sounded pretty cool to Stu--

He asked what they had so far, and they sheepishly said that what he heard was what they had.

"Oh." He doesnt know how to go about saying it so he just takes the dive. "....would you. Maybe consider a third person."

Poco is delighted, because anybody interested in music is a big treat for him. "Do you know how to play anything?"

Buzz is a little reluctant because of the, oh I don't know, the Brawl they just had? Poco manages to convince him to glaze over that-- at least for now. If Stu chooses not to try and play nice, then he just won't play in the band at all.

I'm pretty sure Stu came up with the idea for heavy metal as their focus, and Poco was all for it again.

Everything actually clicked into place after that! Buzz decided that a wind instrument would not be heard over electric guitar or drums at all. Singing was the way to go, since he's great at yelling and making noise

Stu and Buzz do eventually get over their first bad meeting, and find out they have several things in common. Like the crippling need to be adored/needed by others staying active, similar movie tastes, humor, and socializing. :)

The only thing I'm drawing a blank on is if they're a recently public band how did Edgar have a t-shirt of their logo since last December?

So, that's how the Bad Randoms came to be!

~

Did Edgar make the shirt + design himself and the Bad Randoms liked it and paid to license it? Does he get royalties?? (between the Gift Shop, Goldarm Gang, and this, I wonder if he's actually well off in Gems and Coins now after that really rough patch. He shares with Colette but she blows it on Merch anyway.)

~

(And, just as a little bit of character detail for Stu.)

He doesn't like being told what to do. The Mechanics, Arcade Players, Max + Surge and other robots around the park who care about him are no exception. He just sees them as trying to cramp his style when they try to get him help though.

That's why I think Stu's friendship with Poco and Buzz is so important. It's not that they don't/didn't care about him to "improve" him, it's because they gave him a different outlet without bringing up his depression or self-destructive tendencies. Stu simply isn't a robot who likes talking about things like feelings because he thinks they're flaws.

So, to wrap things up, The Bad Randoms bring out the best in each other even though they now all spin in Showdown, go AFK in matches, and choose level two Brawlers in Power League. :)

[katymacsupernatural]

The Proposal  Chapter 6

Jensen Ackles x Reader

Story Summary: Jensen needs help keeping his life in order. To keep the media off his back. In order to do so, he comes up with a plan. Y/N, just a producer’s assistant, is pulled in to play a part she never thought she would have. Jensen’s fiancee. Only will it stay as a part to play, or will she start to want more?

Catch Up Here: Masterpost

While shopping with Ruth a couple of days ago, you had picked out some other items as well, knowing that you might need them in the future. And you were so grateful you had. You really didn't think jeans and one of your favorite band t-shirts would be appropriate. Ruth had great taste and had piled clothes up on the counter for you to take home.

Including this beautiful black dress that you were currently struggling to zip up. It was knee-length, with a high neckline. It fit snug around your chest, but slightly flared at the hips. You had paired it with your only thing left from your Mom, her sapphire necklace and earring set.

Frustrated, you left the zipper down, picking up your purse and slipping on your black flats. No way were you going to spend the evening in heels.

Jensen was sitting on his couch, scrolling through his phone when you came down the stairs. Without looking at you, he placed his phone in his pocket and stood up. "Ready?" He asked.

"Not yet," you answered. "I just need a little help with the zipper."

Finally, he glanced over at you, his jaw clenching slightly as he made no move forward. "I hope this dress is okay. I wasn't sure...,"

"It will do," he answered gruffly, moving around you. His fingers were warm against your skin as he slowly drew the metal zipper up. Your breath caught with the feel of his skin against yours, and you quickly chastised yourself.

"It's strictly business," you repeated over and over again in your head. However, his hand lingered before he brushed the top of your dress.

"There, um," he cleared his throat. "All ready to go."

He brushed past you, his cologne wafting past your lips. Musky, with the scent of fresh pine trees. It was refreshing and alluring. He held the door to the garage open for you, and you finally got a good look at his outfit. He was wearing form-fitting dark jeans that accentuated his thighs and hips. A simple black button-down pulled tight across his shoulders. "You look nice," You told him, passing by to head to the passenger side of his car.

"Thanks," he answered gruffly, your comment throwing him off-kilter. "So do you."

You had already learned that it was a twenty-minute car ride to his brewery, and he talked the entire drive over while you tried to catch glimpses of the scenery. He talked a lot about his family. Of his parents. He had a smile on his face, his love for his parents obvious.

"Y/N, I know this is a lot to put on you," he started to say just as he pulled into the parking lot of his brewery. "I don't expect you to get everyone's names right, or anything like that. But I do need you to pretend you're madly in love with me, and I'll do my best also. I know it's a lot to ask, but I know I couldn't have asked anyone better."

"I promise I'll do my best," you assured him, climbing out of the car to view the impressive set up in front of you. "And please, let me know if I'm not doing it right."

"Ready to get proposed to?" He chuckled, holding his hand out, and you took it, your heart racing.

Only a couple of workers were in the brewery, getting tables set up, food placed in the warmers. Picnic booths were set up along the porch while tall bar tables filled the lobby. "Nice," you said, mainly to yourself. Old fashioned lights were strung up along the heavy beams, casting a nice glow. A stage was on the far side, a bar across from it. It was beautifully decorated, a place you could find yourself spending a lot of time.

"It is, isn't it?" Jensen answered proudly. "It's been a lot of work, but it's come along nicely."

"I bet it see's a lot of business," you continued. "I'd love to come here with friends. To sit on that porch and drink a beer with the warm Texas breeze blowing around us. You serve food?"

His hand rested proudly on the heavy wooden countertop. "Not in here. But we have food trucks that park out front. That way we can work with other local, small businesses as well."

It was a great idea. For a second you let yourself imagine coming here during the evenings, helping serve beer and talk to the customers. It felt like a place you could belong. "I think it's a great idea," you answered softly.

"Come," he insisted. "People will be arriving soon, and there are still things to be done."

You followed him around, listening as he talked to the workers, seeing a new side to Jensen. Sure, you were used to seeing him as Dean, the character he played, but here? He was kind, but firm, and knew exactly what he wanted. He was lit up with a passion, and you could tell he loved this place dearly. It was fun, watching him as he moved around, getting things ready for the proposal dinner.

That had your smile faltering. So much weighed on tonight. His family not only had to like you, but they had to believe you had secretly been dating Jensen for quite some time. That you were madly in love. And while you admired the man, and were definitely attracted, it seemed a little too much.

"Hey, what's up?" He asked, noticing the frown on your face. "If you don't want to put out the flower displays, that's okay."

He was so nice, it made you feel even worse about this evening. "Are you sure you want to go through with it?" You asked him. "It's not too late to back out. Your family doesn't know I'm here, and...,"

"Y/N, everything's going to be okay," he assured you, reaching out and grasping your arms, trying to comfort you.

But you couldn't get the nagging thought out of your head that everything wasn't going to be okay. "But you're you! And I'm..well, who's to say they won't take one look at me, and realize this is all a scam! I'm not a good actress, and this is huge!"

"We all get cold feet," he tried again. "But it will be fine. My family will love you, and they'll just be so happy that I brought a girl home. It's been so long, and well, that was a train wreck. They're going to be thrilled. It will all work out, I promise."

You took a deep breath. And before Jensen could assure you any more, the door was pushed open, and an older lady made her way inside. "Jensen! Come give your Mom a hug. It's been weeks!"

Read Chapter 7

Dean/Jensen Tags: @acortez82​​ @acreativelydifferentlove​​ @adoptdontshoppets​​ @a-girl-who-loves-disney​​ @akshi8278​​   @bi-danvers0​​  @cap-just-said-language​​ @colette2537​​   @deansgirl215​​  @flamencodiva​​ @hamiltrash1411​​ @its-not-a-tulpa​​ @jerkbitchidjitassbutt​​ @justanotherwinchester​​ @just-another-winchester​​ @karouwinchester​​ @keikoraventeller​​  @krys198478​​ @librarygeekery​​ @magssteenkamp​​ @misspygmypie​​ @mlovesstories​​ @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk​​  @mrspeacem1nusone​​ @nothinbuttrouble2​​ @ria132love​​ @ruprecht0420​​  @screechingartisancashbailiff​   @sortaathief​​ @superseejay721517​​ @squirrelnotsam​​ @team-free-will-you-idjiot​​ @thing-you-do-with-that-thing​​ @torn-and-frayed​​ @tricksterdean​​ @wonderfulworldofwinchester​​ @woodworthti666​​

The Proposal Tags: @supraveng​ @vicmc624​ @lottieellz101 @impala-dreamer​ @maddiepants​ @emilyshurley​ @tonystark-makes-me-cry​ @starryeyeseunbyul​  @rach-12​ @spnfamily-j2​ @ima-be-a-mongoose​ @flamencodiva​ @compresshischest09​ @parinarain​  @stoneyggirl​  @tftumblin​ @massivelycreepypineapple​ @posiemax​

Forever Tags:  @aditimukul​​ @alexwinchester23​​ @algud​​ @amanda-teaches​​ @andreaaalove​​   @artisticpoet​​ @atc74​​ @be-amaziing​​ @camelotandastronauts​​ @caswinchester2000​​ @cpag7​​ @chelsea072498​​  @closetspngirl​​ @deanwanddamons​​ @docharleythegeekqueen​​ @emoryhemsworth​​ @ericaprice2008​​  @esoltis280​​   @foxyjwls007​​ @gh0stgurl​​ @goldenolaf25​​ @growningupgeek​​  @heartislubbingdubbing​​ @heyitscam99​​ @hobby27​​ @horsegirly99​​ @imsuperawkward​​ @internationalmusicteacher​​ @iwriteaboutdean​​  @jayankles​​ @jensen-gal​​ @justsomedreaming​​ @just-another-busyfangirl @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son​​ @linki-locks11​​ @littleblue5mcdork​​  @lowlyapprentice​​   @mersuperwholocked-lowlife​​ @mogaruke​​ @monkeymcpoopoo​​ @musiclovinchic93​​  @nanie5​​   @percussiongirl2017​​ @plaid-lover-bay25​​   @roonyxx​​ @ronja-uebrick​​ @roxyspearing​​  @samanddeanmyheroes​​ @sandlee44​​ @shamelesslydean​​ @simonsbluee​​ @sillesworldofwriting​​ @sgarrett49​​ @spnbaby-67​​ @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester​​ @spnwoman​​   @superbadassnatural​​ @thatcrazybookwormgeek​​   @thewinchesterchronicles​​ @vvinch3st3r​​  @whimsicalrobots​​ @winchester-writes​​ @zombiewerewolfqueen​​

[adultswim2021]

The Venture Bros. #12: “Past Tense” | October 16, 2004 - 11:30 PM | S01E11

Past Tense is another lore-heavy episode what with it’s flashback reveal that basically everyone we know on the show used to be friends in college and they all sucked each other off and shit. Okay, nobody sucks each other off in this episode, but if you look in the background of various scenes there are subtle clues that that’s really what’s going on.

This is the one where the Venture family go the funeral of Rusty’s classmate Mike Sorayama, voiced by Steve Park. He’s named Mike after Steve Park’s other role in Fargo, you know, that scene people keep writing clickbait articles about. Sorayama is the name of the artist in which the line “I had that issue of Heavy Metal” is actually derived. FUN FACT: this actually caused a little legal hiccup which caused the show to be taken out of the rotation briefly on television. When it reappeared, there was a special thanks credit for Hajime Sorayama and a URL to his website.

There are episodes of Venture Bros. where backstory takes takes precedence over the humor, and I sorta filed this one away as being that. There’s actually a number of terrifically funny things in it. This is the one where Hank and Dean attempt to bring the old Team Venture out of retirement, and those are pretty great characters (though it does wade uncomfortably in Captain Sturdy territory). One of of my favorite jokes of all time comes during these scenes: Hank and Dean talking to Otto Aquarius about his apparent longevity (he’s a half-Atlantian, fish person owing to his longer life-span). Aquarius teases that he has the secret to eternal life, exciting the boys. When Aquarius hands them a couple of Jehovah’s Witness pamphlets, they’re understandably disappointed. I honestly think about this joke A LOT!

There are other good lines, but I don’t want this to devolve into me just listing good parts. I don’t want to be doing this at all. I want this to be over.

MAIL BAG

London Arbuckle is here to tell me stuff about VH1:

They rated the shows RED LIGHT or GREEN LIGHT, please respect VH1 canon. Also: I think I mentioned being mad that the VH1 crew reviewed this episode because I hated it at the time. I'm not sure why I hated it now but I THINK the reason was that having Santa be angry and use internet-esque slurs and get badly burned struck me as a little too, like, let's call it HOT TOPIC. Like I think I irrationally worried that ATHF would start catering to the Happy Tree Friends crowd? Seems silly now.

Aqua Teen Hunger Force was in danger of being taken off the air and debuting exclusively on Spike & Mike’s Sick & Twisted Toons DVD compilations where you have to watch some weird short Danny Antonucci made about eating boogers or something and it won’t let you skip it because it’s encoded like a menu for some reason. So you were right to be worried. Thank you for clearing all that other stuff up because I sincerely tried to find it again and couldn’t!

I honestly don't think meatwad fits in that t-shirt. Just my two cents.

Meatwad is just poured into that thing. It works for me

You know, a moderator on some message board no one cares dies and you pay it the uptmost reverence but when 9/11 rolls around all there is from you is mockery and bile. I get it. You don't like the US or our politicians. But everyone who died that day didn't choose to be here and they all died senselessly for some bullshit God those greaseballs won't meet in the nether. And while not everyone who was at the World Trade Center died on 9/11, the ones that survived went on to start a band. Rock on.

This guy and his grease. I don’t recall lampooning 9/11 on this blog, and I think you’re being unfair by using my twitter or my syndicated radio talk show as some kind of evidence. Lodge your complaints there, big bitch. May all the survivors of 9/11 die soon.

[sinceileftyoublog]

Riot Fest 2021: 9/16-9/19, Douglass Park

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Much like Pitchfork Music Festival earlier this month, this past weekend’s Riot Fest felt relatively normal. Arriving at Douglas Park every day, you were greeted by the usual deluge of attendees in Misfits t-shirts and dyed hair, the sound of faint screams and breakneck guitars and drums emanating from nearby stages. The abnormal aspects of the fest, at least as compared to previous incarnations, we’re already used to by now from 2021 shows: To get in, you had to show proof of vaccination and/or a negative test no older than 48 hours, which means that unvaxxed 4-day attendees had to get multiple tests. Props to the always awesome staff at Riot Fest for actually checking the cards against the names on government-issued IDs.

For a festival that dealt with a plethora of last-minute changes due to bands dropping out because of COVID-19 caution (Nine Inch Nails, Pixies, Dinosaur Jr.) or other reasons (Faith No More/Mr. Bungle because of concerns around Mike Patton’s well-being), there were very few bumps in the road. Whether Riot Fest had bands like Slipknot, Anthrax, or Rise Against in their back pocket as replacements or not, it very much felt like who we saw Thursday-Sunday was always supposed to be the lineup, even when laying your eyes on countless “Death to the Pixies” shirts. Sure, one of the fest’s main gimmicks--peeling back the label on Goose Island’s Riot Fest Sucks Pale Ale to reveal the schedule--was out of date with inaccurate set times and bands, and it still would have been so had Faith No More and Mr. Bungle stayed, since Fucked Up had to drop out last minute due to border issues. But the festival, as always, rolled with the punches.

The sets themselves offered the circle pit and crowdsurfing-inducing punk and metal you’re used to, with a few genre outliers. For so many bands of all styles, Riot Fest represented their first live show in years, and a few acts knew the exact number of days since their last show. For every single set, the catharsis in the crowd and on stage was palpable, not exactly anger, or elation, but pure release.

Here were our favorite sets of the festival, in chronological order.

WDRL

Last October, WDRL (which, amazingly, stands for We Don’t Ride Llamas) announced themselves with a Tweet: “y’all been looking for an alt black band,, well here you go”. A band of Gen Z siblings, Chase (lead guitar), Max (lead vocals), Blake (drums), and Kit Mitchell (bass guitar), WDRL is aware, much like Meet Me @ The Altar (who, despite my hyping, I couldn’t make it in time to see) that they’re one of too few bands of POCs in the Riot Fest-adjacent scene. Their set, one of the very first of the weekend during Thursday’s pre-party, showed them leading by example, the type of band to inspire potentially discouraged Black and brown folks to start punk bands. Max is a terrific vocalist, able to scream over post-punk, scat over funk, and coo over slow, soulful R&B swayers with the same ease. The rest of the band was equally versatile, able to pivot on a dime from scuzzy rock to hip hop to twinkling dream pop. Bonus points for covering Splendora’s “You’re Standing On My Neck”, aka the Daria theme song.

Joyce Manor

Joyce Manor’s self-titled debut is classic. The best part of it as an album play-through at a festival? It’s so short that you can hear it and you’ll still have half a set for other favorites. So while the bouncy “Orange Julius”", “Ashtray Petting Zoo”, and ultimate singalong “Constant Headache” were set highlights, the Torrance, CA band was able to burn through lots from Never Hungover Again, Cody, Million Dollars to Kill Me, and their rarities collection Songs From Northern Torrance. Apart from not playing anything from Of All Things I Will Soon Grow Tired (seriously, am I the only one who loves that record?), Joyce Manor were stellar, from the undeniable hooks of “Heart Tattoo” to the churning power chords of “Catalina Fight Song”. After playing “Christmas Card”, Johnson and company gave one final nod to the original fest cancellation, My Chemical Romance, who were slated to headline 2020, then 2021, and now 2022. If you ever wondered what it would sound like hearing a concise punk band like Joyce Manor take on the bombast of “Helena”, you found out. Hey, it was actually pretty good!

Patti Smith

Behold: a full Patti Smith set! After being shafted by the weather last time around, a sunglasses-laden Smith decided not to fuck around, leading with the inspiring “People Have The Power”, her voice as powerful as I’ve ever heard it. Maybe it was the influence of Riot Fest, but she dropped as many f-bombs as Corey Taylor did during Slipknot’s Sunday night headlining set. After reluctantly signing an adoring crowd member’s copy of Horses, she quipped, “I feel bad for you have to cart that fucking thing around.” It wasn’t just the filthy banter: This was Smith at her most enraptured and incendiary, belting during “Because The Night” and spitting during a “Land/Gloria” medley, reciting stream-of-consciousness hallucinogenic lyrics about the power of escape in the greatest display of stamina the festival had to offer.

Circa Survive

“It feels good to dance,” declared Circa Survive lead singer Anthony Green. The heart and soul of the Philadelphia rock band, who cover ground from prog rock to post-hardcore and emo, Green was in full form during the band’s early Friday set, his falsetto carrying the rolling “The Difference Between Medicine and Poising Is in the Dose” and the chugging “Rites of Investiture”. While the band, too, can throw down, they’re equally interesting when softer and more melodic, Brendan Ekstrom‘s twinkling guitars lifting “Child of the Desert” and “Suitcase”. Ending with the one-two punch of debut Juturna’s introspective “Act Appalled” and Blue Sky Noise’s skyward “Get Out”, Green announced the band would have a new record coming soon, one you hope will cover the sonic and thematic ground of even just those two tracks.

Thrice

Thrice played their first show since February 2020 the same day they’d release their 11th studio album, Horizons/East (Epitaph). To a crowd of fans that came to hear their favorite songs, though, the Irvine, California band knew better than to play a lot of the new record, instead favoring tracks like The Artist in the Ambulance’s spritely title cut and Vheissu standout “The Earth Will Shake”. Yeah, they led with a Horizons/East song making its live debut, the dreamy, almost Deftones-esque “Scavengers”, and later in the set they’d reveal the impassioned “Summer Set Fire to the Rain”. But the set more prominently served to emphasize lead vocalist Dustin Kensrue’s gruff delivery, on “All the World Is Mad” and “in Exile”, the rhythm section’s propulsive playing buoying his fervency. And how about Teppei Teranishi’s finger tapping on “Black Honey”?!? Thrice often favor the slow build-up, but they offered plenty of individually awesome moments.

Smashing Pumpkins

William Patrick Corgan entered the stage to dramatic strings, dressed in a robe, with white face paint except for red hearts under his eyes. He looked like a ghost. That’s pretty much where the semi-serious theatricality ended. The Smashing Pumpkins’ first Chicago festival headlining set in recent memory was the rawest they’ve sounded in a while, counting when they played an original lineup-only set at the United Center a few years back. It was also the most fun I’ve ever seen Corgan have on stage. Though they certainly selected and debuted from their latest electropop turn Cyr, Corgan, guitarist James Iha, drummer Jimmy Chamberlin, guitarist Jeff Schroeder, and company more notably dug deep into the vault, playing Gish’s “Crush” for the first time since 2008, Adore’s “Shame” for the first time since 2010, and Siamese Dream barnburner “Quiet” for the first time since 1994 (!). Best, every leftfield disco jam like set opener “The Colour Of Love”, “Cyr”, and “Ramona” was quickly followed by something heavy and/or recognizable, Chamberlin’s limber drum solos elevating even latter-day material like “Solara”. At one point, Corgan, a self-described “arty fuck,” admitted that years ago he would have opted for more experimental material, but he knew the crowd wanted to hear classics, the band then delving into a gorgeous acoustic version of “Tonight, Tonight”. And while Kate Bush coverer Meg Myers came out to sing Lost Highway soundtrack industrial ditty “Eye”, it was none other than legendary local shredder Michael Angelo Batio who stole the show, joining for the set closer, a pummeling version of Zeitgeist highlight “United States”. Leaning into the cheese looks good on you, Billy.

The Bronx

Credit to L.A. punk rock band The Bronx, playing early on a decidedly cooler Saturday early afternoon, for making me put in my earplugs outside of the photo pit. Dedicating “Shitty Future” to Fucked Up (who, as we mentioned, had to drop out), the entire band channeled Damian Abraham’s energy on piercing versions of “Heart Attack American” as well as “Superbloom” and “Curb Feelers” from their latest album Bronx VI (Cooking Vinyl). Joby J. Ford and Ken Horne’s guitars stood out, providing choppy rhythms on “Knifeman” and swirling solos on “Six Days A Week”.

Big Freedia

The New Orleans bounce artist has Big Diva Energy, for the most part. After her DJ pumped up the crowd to contemporary Southern rap staple “Ayy Ladies” by Travis Porter, Big Freedia walked out and showed that “BDE”, firing through singles like “Platinum” and “N.O. Bounce” as her on-stage dancers’ moves ranged from delicate to earth-shaking. At this point, Freedia can pretty much do whatever she wants, effortlessly segueing between a cover of Drake’s “Nice For What” to “Strut”, her single with electropop DJ Elohim, to a cover of Beyone’s “Formation”. Of course, the set highlight was when she had volunteers from the crowd come up and shake and twerk--two at a time to keep it COVID-safe--all while egging them on to go harder. Towards the end of the set, after performing the milquetoast “Goin’ Looney” from the even-worse-than-expected Space Jam: A New Legacy soundtrack, she pulled out the beloved “Gin in my System”. “I got that gin in my system,” she sang, the crowd singing back, “Somebody gonna be my victim,” a refrain that compositionally not only leaves plenty of room for the thundering bass but is thematically a statement of total power--over sexism, racism, the patriarchy--even in the face of control-altering substances.

Les Savy Fav

During Les Savy Fav’s set, lead singer Tim Harrington at various points--*big breath*--went into the crowd, deepthroated an audience member’s mohawk spike, found a discarded manikin head with a wig on it, revealed the words “deep” and “dish” painted on his thighs and a drawing of a Red Hot on his back, rode a crowd member like a horse, made a headband out of pink tape, donned ski goggles, surfed on top of a door carried by the crowd, squeezed his belly while the camera was on it to make it look like his belly button was singing, and referred to himself as a “slippery eel.” Indeed, the legend of Les Savy Fav’s live show starts and ends with Harrington’s ridiculous antics, as he’s all but out of breath when actually singing dance-punk classics like “Hold On To Your Genre”, “The Sweat Descends”, and “Rome (Written Upside Down)”. We haven’t heard much in terms of new music from Les Savy Fav in over 10 years--their most recent album was 2010′s Root For Ruin--but I could see them and the extremely Aughts genre in general become staples of Riot Fest as albums like Inches, The Rapture’s Echoes, and !!!’s Louden Up Now reach the 20-year mark. Dynamic vocalists, tight bands, and killer grooves: What’s not to love?

State Champs

This set likely wins the award for “most immediate crowd surfers,” which I guess is to be expected when you begin your set with a classic track 1--album 1 combination. “Elevated” is the State Champs number that will cause passers-by to stop and watch a couple songs, the type of song that can pretty much only open or close a set. And because they opened with it, the crowd immediately ramped up the energy. It’s been three years since the last State Champs full-length, Living Proof, so they were in prime position to play some new songs. As such, they performed their bubblegummy “Outta My Head” and “Just Sound” and faithfully covered Fall Out Boy’s “Chicago Is So Two Years Ago” (releasing a studio version earlier this week). But the tracks from The Finer Things and Around the World and Back were, as usual, the highlights, like “All You Are Is History”, “Remedy”, “Slow Burn”, and set closer “Secrets”. At the end of the day, it didn’t entirely matter: The crowd knew every word of every song.

Bayside

Putting State Champs and Bayside back-to-back on the same stage made an easy decision for the many pop-punk bands at Riot Fest. Bayside’s been at it for twice as long, so the breadth of their setlist across their discography is more variable. Moreover, they’ve thrice revisited their discography with acoustic albums of old songs, so even their staples are subject to change. They provided solid versions of Killing Time standouts “Already Gone” and “Sick, Sick, Sick”, Cult’s “Pigsty”, and older songs like their self-titled’s “Montauk” and Sirens and Condolences’ “Masterpiece”. For “Don’t Call Me Peanut”, though, they brought out--*gasp*--an acoustic guitar! It was a rare moment not just for one of the most popular pop punk sets but the festival in general, a breather before Vacancy shout-along “Mary”.

Rancid

“Rancid has always been anti-fascist and anti-racist,” said Tim Armstrong before the band played “Hooligans”. It was nice to hear an explicit declaration of solidarity from the street punks, reminding the crowd what really matters and why we come together to scream and mosh. The band expectedly favored ...And Out Come The Wolves, playing almost half of it, and they perfectly balanced their harder edges with more celebratory ska songs like “Where I’m Going” from their most recent album Trouble Maker (Hellcat/Epitaph). My two favorite moments? The breezy, keyboard-laden “Fall Back Down” from their supremely underrated 2001 album Indestructable, and when they asked the crowd whether they wanted the set to end with “Time Bomb” or “Ruby Soho”. “We have 4 minutes left, and it’s disrespectful to play over your set time,” said Armstrong. It’s easy to see why Rancid continues to make an impression--instrumental and moral--on touring bands new and old.

Run the Jewels

The brilliant hip hop duo are masters of balancing social consciousness with the desire to fuck shit up for fun. Live, the former tends to come in between-song banter, the latter with their actual charismatic, tit-for-tat performances of the songs. However, Run the Jewels also are probably the clearest live performers in hip hop today, Killer Mike and El-P’s words, hypersexual and woke alike, ringing in the ears of audience members who don’t even know the songs. (Looking around, I could see people smiling and laughing at every dick joke, nodding at each righteous proclamation.) Some of the best songs on their most recent album RTJ4 (Jewel Runners/BMG) are perfect for these multitudes. Hearing both RTJ MCs and the backing track of Pharrell Williams and Zack de la Rocha chanting “Look at all these slave masters posin’ on yo’ dollar” on “JU$T” as the rowdy crowd bounced up and down was the ultimate festival moment. For those who had never seen RTJ, it was clear from the get-go, as Killer Mike and EL-P traded bars on “yankee and the brave (ep. 4)” that they’re a unique hip hop act. For the rest of us, it was clear that Run the Jewels keep getting better.

The Gories

It felt a little weird that legendary Detroit trio The Gories were given the first set of the final day--I’d have thought they’d have more draw than that. No matter what, they provided one of the more satisfying and stylistically varied sets of the festival, showcasing their trademark balance of garage punk and blues. Mick Collins and Dan Kroha’s guitar and vocal harmonies were the perfect jangly balance to Peggy O’Neill’s meat and potatoes drumming on “Sister Ann” and “Charm Bag”, while folks less familiar with The Gories were treated to their fantastic covers of Suicide’s “Ghost Rider” and The Keggs’ “To Find Out”. Smells like time for the first Gories album in 20 years!

FACS

I thought it would be ill-fitting to watch a band like FACS in the hot sun, early in the day. Their monochrome brand of post-punk seems better suited for a dimly lit club. But the hypnotic nature of Brian Case’s swirling guitar and Alianna Kalaba’s slinky bass was oddly perfect in a sweltering, faint-inducing heat. Just when you thought you might fade, squalls of feedback and Noah Leger’s odd time signatures picked you back up. Songs from their new album Present Tense (Trouble In Mind) such as “Strawberry Cough” and “XOUT” were emblematic of this push-pull. And everything from the band’s red, white, and black color palate to their lack of stage banter suggested a cool minimalism that was rare at a festival that tends to book more outwardly emotional bands.

Alex G

On one hand, Alex G’s unique combination of twangy alt country and earnest indie rock makes him an outlier at Riot Fest, or at the very least a mostly Pitchfork/occasional Riot Fest type of booking. On the other hand, like a lot of bands at the festival, he has a rabid fanbase, one that knows his back catalog hits, like “Kute”, “Kicker”, and “Bug”, as much as if not more than hyped Rocket and House of Sugar singles, like “Bobby” and “Gretel”. Backed by a band that knows when to be loose and when to tighten up--and the instrumental chops to do so--Alex G was better than he was a Pitchfork three years ago. He still sings through his teeth, making it especially hard to hear him on louder tunes such as “Brick”. But when the honesty of his vocals combines with the dreamy guitars of “Southern Sky” and circular melodies of “Near”, it’s pure bliss. 

HEALTH

The formula for the LA industrial noise band has pretty much always been Jake Duzsik’s soft vocals contrasting John Famiglietti’s screeching bass and pedals and BJ Miller’s mammoth drums. Both in 2018 and Sunday at Riot Fest, the heat affected Famiglietti’s pedals, which were nonetheless obscured by tarp. Or so HEALTH claimed: You wouldn’t know the difference given how much their sound envelops your whole body during one of their live sets. Since their previous appearance at the festival, the prolific band has released two new records on Loma Vista, Vol. 4: Slaves of Fear and collaboration record Disco4: Part 1. Songs from those records occupied half of their excellent set, including battering opener “GOD BOTHERER”, “BODY/PRISON”, and “THE MESSAGE”. It was so wonderfully loud it drowned out K.Flay’s sound check drummer, thank the lord.

Thursday

Last time Thursday played Riot Fest, Geoff Rickly was battling heroin addiction, something he talked about during the band’s triumphant late afternoon set on Sunday. He mentioned the kindness of the late, great Riley Gale of Power Trip in extending a helping hand when he was down and extended his love to anybody in the crowd or even the world at large going through something similar. To say that this set was life-affirming would be an understatement; after 636 days of no shows, Rickly was at his most passionate. He introduced “Signals Over The Air” as a song the band “wrote about men beating up on women in the pit,” that a record exec at the time told them that it wouldn’t age well because he thought--no kidding--sexism would eventually end. Rickly’s voice, suffering from sound issues last time around, simply soared during Full Collapse’s “Cross Out The Eyes”, No Devolucion’s “Fast to the End”, and two inspired covers: Bruce Springsteen’s “Dancing in the Dark” and Texas Is The Reason’s “If It's Here When We Get Back It's Ours”. The latter the band played because TITR guitarist Norman Brannon’s actually on tour with them, though Rickly emphasized the influence the NYC post-hardcore greats had on Thursday when they first started. Never forgetting where they’ve come from, with self-deprecating humor and radical empathy, Thursday are once again a force.

Devo

Much like the B-52′s in 2019, Devo was the set this year of a 70′s/80′s absurd punk band with some radio hits that everybody knows but with a swath of die-hard fans, too. It’s safe to say both groups were satisfied. You walked around the fest all day wondering whether the folks wearing Devo hats were actual fans or doing it for the novelty. By the time the band actually took the stage after a career-spanning video of their many phases, it didn’t really matter, because it was clear the band still had it, Mark and Bob Mothersbaugh and Gerald Casale’s vocals booming throughout a massive crowd. They ripped through “Peek-a-Boo”, “Going Under”, “That’s Good”, “Girl U Want”, and “Whip It”, which caused the fans waiting for Slipknot (and presumably some Devo heads) to form a circle pit. And that was all before the first costume change. Mark passed out hats to the crowd, fully embracing converts who might have only known “Whip It”. The feverish chants of “Uncontrollable Urge” and synth freakouts of “Jocko Homo” whipped everyone into a frenzy. And the band performed the “Freedom Of Choice” theme song for the first time since the early 80′s! I had seen Devo before, opening for Arcade Fire and Dan Deacon at the United Center, but the atmosphere at Riot Fest was more appropriately ludicrous.

Flaming Lips

“The Flaming Lips are the most COVID-safe band in the world,” went the ongoing joke, as throughout the pandemic they’d give audience members bubbles for their bubbles to be able to play shows. The normally goofy and interactive band scaled back for Riot Fest. Before launching into their traditional opener “Race For The Prize”, Wayne Coyne explained that while the band is normally proud of where they come from--Oklahoma City--they’re saddened by the local government’s ignorant pandemic response and wouldn’t risk launching balloons or walking into the crowd because they might be virus spreaders coming from such an under-vaccinated area. To his and the band’s credit, they wore masks during the performance, even when singing; Coyne removed his only when outside of his bubble that had to be deflated and inflated many times and that sometimes muffled his singing voice even more than a mask. Ever the innovative band, they still put on a stellar show. Coyne autotuned his voice on “Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, Pt. 1″, making it another instrument filling the song’s glorious pop melodies. Less heavy on props, the band favored a glitchy, psychedelic setlist that alternated between beauty (”Flowers Of Neptune 6″, “Feeling Yourself Disintegrate”, “All We Have Is Now”) and two-drummed cacophony (“Silver Trembling Hands”, “The W.A.N.D.”). They’ll give a proper Lips show soon enough, but in the meantime, it was nice to see them not run through the motions.

Slipknot

Apart from maybe moments of Slayer, I’ve never witnessed a headliner at Riot Fest as heavy as Slipknot was. Even the minor ethereal elements present on their most recent and very good album We Are Not Your Kind, like the chorus of voices during “Unsainted”, were all but abandoned live in favor of straight up brutality. Sure, there were moments of theatricality--Corey Taylor’s menacing laugh on “Disasterpiece” and pyrotechnics in sequence with the instrumentation on “Before I Forget” and “All Out Life”--but for the most part, Slipknot was the ultimate exorcism. Taylor’s new mask, with unnaturally circular eyes, seemed like it came from a particularly uncomfortable skit from I Think You Should Leave. They bashed a baseball bat to a barrel during the pre-encore performance of “Duality”. And the songs played from tape, like the gasping-for-breath “(515)”, were designed to contrast Slipknot’s alien appearance with qualities that were uncannily human. For a band whose performances and instrumental dexterity are otherworldly--who else can pull off tempo changes over a hissing, Aphex Twin-like shuffling electronic beat on “Eyeless”--the pure seething emotion on songs like “Psychosocial” and “Wait and Bleed” shone through. Like Smashing Pumpkins, and like so many other successful Riot Fest headliners, Slipknot abandoned drama for pure, unadulterated dirt.

[idkanymoreaboutlife]

Soo I’ve never written for anything but anime and some tv shows, but I wanted to try my hand at writing some Dewey Finn fanfiction. He’s definitely out of character and I think I’ve definitely could’ve done better but I think with writing him more it’ll get better. Sorry for the ranting, anyways here’s what I wrote. Also, I’m on mobile so I can’t do the whole ‘read more’, I apologize for that.

Goth girl next door

Dewey couldn’t stand his neighbor. Every Friday-Sunday night at 10 o’clock loud, heavy metal music come from the thin walls next door. He absolutely hated them, granted he never met the person before, but, from the lack of sleep every weekend for the past 2 months and the constant bass thumping into his head at 12 am, he has a right to hold hatred to his neighbor. Don’t get him wrong, at first he enjoyed the music coming from the apartment. But it became apparent that this neighbor only listened to same genre; heavy metal. Dewey didn’t mind at first, he recognized a few artists like Alice In Chains ana Godsmack, but then the screaming came. God, he couldn’t nt stand hearing those deep, growling songs piercing his ears at midnight. Yes, he’s a lover of music and a self proclaimed rock god, but..it became annoying to hear the same music every weekend.

Monday morning came and Dewey sat at his desk, nursing his 3rd cup of coffee in the past 2 hours. As the kids filed into the room they passed concerned glances at Dewey. Sure, they’re used to seeing him tired and out of it on some mornings but today he looked more haggard than ever. His usually messy hair was in more of disarray, heavy bags weighed underneath his eyes and yawns kept escaping his mouth every few minutes. The kids sat in their seats and talked amongst themselves about the shell of their normally upbeat teacher. Summer took charge of the discussion, asking the others what could possibly have their teacher become like this.

“Maybe he got kicked out of his apartment?” Katie mused.

“No, he would be stressed but he still would’ve been active.” Summer commented back

“Girl troubles?” Zack spouted out, almost everyone gave a soft giggle.

“Oh definitely not that.” Summer replied.

“The last girl trouble he had was with Ms. Mullins and we all know how that went.” Alicia said, rolling her eyes.

“Well I don’t know what it could be, he never acted like this.” Summer huffed out, falling back into her seat, crossing her arms.

“Why don’t we ask him?” Tomika spoke up, her soft voice filling the silence that fell upon the students. They agreed and the students piled up to Dewey’s desk. Summer taking the lead at the front. He looked up from his notes for the day, giving a small tired smile at them.

“What’s up guys? You just gotta give me like 5 minutes and then we’ll start.” Summer put her hands on the desk, leaning forward.

“You’re acting strange, what’s wrong?” She asked, a stern lay over her voice. He gave her an odd look.

“What? Nothings wrong” ,he gave a weak chuckle, “ I had a long night with papers.”

“You’re terrible at lying Mr. Finn.” Summer said, rolling her eyes. He gave a sigh and rubbed his eyes, giving a yawn before speaking.

“My neighbor plays heavy metal every weekend all night long and I can’t sleep because of it.”

“Why don’t you just talk with them? Communication is key!” Katie said.

“Yeah! Whenever my parents get into an argument, they talk it out.” Billy chimes in. Dewey chuckled and leaned back in his chair.

“I never spoke with them before, ever since they moved in they’ve been doing this. No one else has compliments so.”

“You still have to talk with them or else it’s never going to be resolved.” Summer interjected. Dewey nodded and gave them a tired smile.

“Well I guess after class I’ll have a chat with them.” The students being satisfied with his answer, went back to their seats.

When school ended Dewey headed back to his van, getting into the drivers side and putting his messenger bag on the cluttered passenger seat. Sighing he started the van, turning on the radio to the classic rock channel and pulling out of he parking lot, back to his apartment. He drove slower than he normally would, not excited about heading home and confronting his neighbor about their music habits. He went over in his head how he’ll talk to them.

“Hey I’m your next door neighbor, your music is shit..no that sounds harsh. Hey I’m Dewey Finn, your neighbor, could you like..not play metal at ungodly hours?..no, no that’s too forward.” He sighed to himself, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove, trying to come up with a good starter.

“Maybe just start a conversation? And lead into it? Yeah that sounds good Dewey, wing it man.” He gave himself a quick affirmation nod and pulled into his parking space at the front of the building. Turning the ignition off he grabbed his bag and left the car, heading up to his apartment.

He stood at the door to his neighbors, amping himself up to knock at the dark wood door. Shaking the nervous jitters out in his hand he raises his fist, rapping on the door a few soft times. He hears footsteps drawing near the door, the chain unhooking from the lock and the door opening some. He went to speak but his words got caught in his throat. There stood a girl, mid 20s with knotted hair tied up in a bun on the top of her head, black smudged eyeshadow and eyeliner, smeared from not being taken off the night before. She wore an off the shoulder long sleeved shirt, some metal band plastered on the front, the hint of pajama shorts peeking out from underneath it. She stared blankly at Dewey.

“Can I help you?” She asked, her voice carrying into the hallway. He snapped himself out of his daze and closed his mouth, offering a quick smile.

“Hey um, im your neighbor uh Dewey, Dewey Finn..” he said, giving a small wave. She gave him a once over of his long sleeved yellow dress shirt and way too snug vest. She sighed.

“Okay, I’m y/n. What do you want.”

“Um oh you play your music uh really loud on the weekends and uh I’m a teacher, and I would really appreciate it if you didn’t play it..so loud..or as much.” She blinked at him.

“I don’t think so.” She went to close the door but he caught it with his foot, she gave him a glare of annoyance.

“We-well why not? I think it’s pretty reasonable thing to ask somebody.”

“Listen, I have work in a few hours, you’re more than welcome to go to the landlord and file your complaint. But I don’t have time for this.” She huffed and moved to kick his foot away, he stopped her by talking again.

“I get it, I do but I need my sleep but I can’t get any if you’re playing your music, horrible taste by the way, at 3 am!” His voice rose uncharacteristically, becoming annoyed by this woman being immature.

“I’m so sorry for that, let me just throw out my guitar and speaker. God forbid I have a hobby.” Her eyes rolled and she let out a dry chuckle. He stared at her, guitar?

“You play the guitar?” He spoke near a whisper.

“Yeah? That’s what I just said. Listen, can you leave now?”

“Oh um yeah, but uh can I see your setup?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Seems like a second date question.” Chuckling to herself she opened her door up more. Before he could walk in, she stopped him.

“Five minutes, that’s it.” He nodded and followed her into the small space, closing the door behind him. Walking more into the apartment, he saw a black guitar with stickers covering it, on a stand near the window. An amp next to it with as many stickers at the guitar. Her apartment was relatively clean, save for the coffee table being littered with takeout boxes and beer bottles. He walked over to the guitar and brushed his hand over the neck.

“Is this a Fender Stratocaster?” He looked at her in amazement. She nodded and leaned herself on the couch arm.

“Yep, my dad got it for me a couple years back.”

“Wow, I’m amazed.” He looked back at the guitar, looking at all the stickers that covered the once mahogany body.

“Do you play?” She asked him, coming over to stand on the other side of him. He nodded.

“I was in a band before, now I teach kids about rock theory and how to play classic.”

“Do you wanna try it out?” He looked at her like a kid in a candy store.

“Really?”

“Yeah, knock yourself out.” She pulled the amp in and connected the cord to the body of the guitar, messing with the dials on the amp.

“Go ahead.” He picked up he guitar and out the strap over his shoulders, strumming out a few cords to test, smiling at the sound that resounded from it. He plucked out a few more strings before strumming into the opening cords to Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeppelin. She watched him with a smile, arms crossed as she watched him getting into the zone. His body started swaying to the music, heading the vocals in his head as he played on. As he finished the first 3 minutes of it, he stopped, putting the guitar back on the stand.

“You’re good, I’ll give you that.” She smiled at him. He gave a small blush and scratched the back of his head.

“Oh you know, I dabble here and there.” They gave a soft laugh together. “Sooo, you think you can tone down the music on the weekends?” He asked, puppy dog eyes in play. She gave a roll of her eyes and sighed.

“I can definitely try and tone it down, no promises.” She walked him back to the front door, opening it for him as he stepped back out of the apartment.

“Great! Um..I mean thanks, I appreciate that.” He smiled and turned to walk away but paused, turning to look at her.

“What time do you finish your shift tonight?” She gave him an odd look.

“We close at 12, I’ll be home at 1.”

“Cool, you wanna grab a drink afterwards? I know a great place.” He smiled at her as she stared at him. Giving a nod.

“Sounds good, it’s a date.” She said her goodbyes and closed the door. He broke out into a grin, giving a small fist bump to the air as he went down the hall back to his apartment. Definitely worth the sleepless nights he thought.

[themissingmarvel]

Kind Regards, Detective [Part 5] -Prelude to Deepest Sympathies

(I don’t usually trigger warn or content warn, but this might be a triggering chapter. I’m including the Reader’s Drabble I wrote a little while back as recommended reading prior to this, [Drabble 2] but if it’s hard to read about family death then maybe avoid it. This chapter was hard, but important. And I think sets up a truly important dynamic. I’m a slow-burn romantic kind of lady, and I wanted their relationship to be powerful and important, not just one of lust. Or even basic attraction. I needed it to be human. Anyway I liked writing it, and feedback is always appreciated and loved and treasured ((i seriously reread any feedback and comments)) and as always, ask to be tagged or removed from tagging.

Pairing: Detective Loki x fbi!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Death, emotional anguish, PTSD flashbacks, language)

Catch up: [Part 1] // [Part 2] // [Drabble] // [Part 3] // [Part 4] // [Drabble2]

She didn’t sleep last night, which was no surprise. She had spent much of the night awake and poring over documents and cataloged pieces. Her own theories had been spun and while some might have felt outlandish in her head, she understood that this was an outlandish case. It had been hard enough to put on those headphones and let herself fall into a trance. Remember her sister. But not directly. She remembered remembering. Buying that damn CD she would play over and over. Peter Gabriel was her sister’s favorite, not that she’d ever tell anyone. Neither would. Her sister touted her love for System of a Down and Trust Company back when those bands made you cool.

For years after her sister passed she had found the only thing that felt vaguely satisfying was leaving that CD on her sister’s grave. And when CDs started becoming scarce, she had spent a few hundred dollars on Amazon buying all of the CDs she could find with that song on it. She’d be damned if she ever missed a single anniversary. Never went on the day of her passing, though. No. That felt sacrilegious. She went on her sister’s birthday, played the song on her headphones, along with a few others, but Heroes was the one that she played most. It was the one she’d leave behind after telling her how her parents had finally divorced, or how her dad had been ‘thinking’ about retiring again. For the hundredth time. Or how she’d been accepted as an Agent and two weeks ago, about how she was feeling so fucking lost.

But memories of memories are easier to put away, and much like her locker that held Detective Loki, her sister’s, much more ornate and much larger, she put those memories of memories away.

Her bag was hanging off her form lazily and her hair was done just enough to be presentable. By no means was she falling apart, but she was working. Working hard meant she lost focus on other parts of herself. It meant she had zeroed in on certain aspects of the case. Like how all of the individuals abducted had been on the same phone carrier, Radius, or how the TV was a model made by the company Source that had been discontinued three years ago, but at the time had been beyond revolutionary. Even now it was considered brilliant. She had found no traces of the nerve agent were discovered at the scene which meant they were probably injected with the pure form. Which meant someone had a lot of it.

Her theories meant that this man was not just dangerous but he had resources. He had access to things that people shouldn’t have access to and maybe he worked with Radius? Had access to their systems? The generator powering the church had been a Source item as well, meaning both were connected. Who used Source and Radius?

The precinct was still somewhat quiet, at 8am, slightly later than yesterday. Shift change had taken place and the detectives were still filtering in. Except for Detective Loki who was hunched at his desk, a long sleeved, form fitting black shirt on his form and black pants hanging off his hips. He looked sleek. Dangerous, even. She could see how someone might fall for someone like him.

Placing her bag down in the conference room, having actually remembered her coffee traveler this time, she glanced up as one of the cops walked in with a box, “Agent Y/L/N, this was left here about an hour ago for you. UPS dropped it off.”

The 2-PAM. She smiled and took it, “Thanks. Kind of nice when things work out like they’re supposed to for once,” she chuckled, curious why the box was so damn light.

The officer left and Y/N looked down, noticing that the label wasn’t stamped ‘FBI’ and in fact the sender name was absent, save for an address in Pennsylvania that didn’t look familiar. Maybe not the FBI?

Her heart suddenly began to race, carefully putting the box down as she looked to the side, seeing Detective Loki still hunched over. The man was on a mission.

Reaching behind herself she withdrew the small switchblade she kept tucked into her waist line, the one that no one ever saw. That was small. Cold and awkward at times but useful. Like now.

Why did this feel like defusing a bomb?

The blade clicked and she carefully began to open the box. She was aware it didn’t matter anymore who touched it, or if she damaged it. She knew whatever was inside the box was key. And with a final tug, the lid opened and she peered inside.

Time stopping had always felt like kind of an exaggeration to Y/N. How does time even ‘stop’? What, does the world freeze? Well, it did.

Staring inside the box she could see the face of a man she knew well, a man who cradled her soul and her heart and sang brilliant love songs to her, who had kept her connected to her sister, even in death. The black CD cover with two red forms on it, her sister claimed them red blood cells but said they looked like rose petals.

Her hand was surprisingly steady as she picked up the note inside, reading the immaculate cursive written on some kind of specialty papyrus paper, “My deepest sympathies, Agent. Your triumph through tragedy only enhances your beauty.”

And with that, she ran for the plastic trash bin nearby and fell to it, retching hard as she threw up the entire contents of her breakfast, causing the box, the note, and the Peter Gabriel CD with Heroes on it to tumble to the floor.

Immediately David heard the noise and jumped, running inside the room as the precinct suddenly jumped to life, turning to take in the scene. The note, CD, and box were on the floor and Y/N was kneeling by the small, cheap plastic trash bin puking.

“What the fu-” David was almost able to spit the words out before a strangely animalistic sound came from her lips, screaming into the bin that she had already emptied the contents of her stomach into.

The world grew quiet as the scream died down, leaving Y/N on her knees with her eyes closed, knuckles white as she gripped the bin as though it were the only thing keeping her alive right now. Stable. Present. Here.

“Get me gloves and bags for the items, now!” David yelled out, to no one in particular as he knelt by the woman in a kind of distress he didn’t know a person could experience from a simple box, “Hey, talk to me, what happened? Are you OK?”

Her face snapped, wiping her lips as she glared, “Do I look OK to you, Detective? Do I fucking look OK?” Her voice was raised, though not yelling.

Snapping back David glared, “Do we need to decontaminate the room? Is there anything infectious?” He looked at her seriously.

Taking a breath her eyes pulled away, “No. No chemicals. But it’s toxic none the less.”

Her voice was quiet as she spoke the words, closing her eyes and trying to forget what she had just seen. Experienced. Felt in her gut. Her soul had been torn forth in that moment and the timing of the CD was so tragically horrifying. For a brief moment of paranoia she wondered if perhaps someone had been able to access her personal phone, heard what she was listening to. The artist. The song.

Getting up rather quickly, Y/N stumbled slightly as she made her way through the people that had clustered, watching as two other detectives came rushing forward with evidence collecting items. Forensics would get it. They’d dust it for fingerprints and they would come up with hers, the delivery driver’s, the handlers at the warehouse… maybe a dozen people. And none would be the culprits. David would direct people to track the package and they would. They’d track it to some nondescript location where cameras weren’t installed and it’d been paid for with cash. She knew it like she knew the songlist on that CD.

Heading for the door of the precinct her head felt light, woozy, and she was struggling for something stable. Something to keep her grounded. Even as she threw open the doors of the building, those glass doors lined with metal, solid as hell, heavy as fuck, she ran out into the bitter air, feeling the cold devour her skin.

More.

She didn’t realize it but she was running now, into the parking lot, David not far behind, though he didn’t exist right now. Her sister’s smile was there, a true memory in its purest form, the smile she had wanted to see last night but didn’t want tainted and tied to this psychopath now.

Unthinking and perhaps uncaring, her hands grabbed at the hem of her sweater, pulling it up and over her head, tossing it to the ground of the parking lot filled only with cars, otherwise without a soul. The air was frigid as it enveloped her and tore her from reality. She gasped as the item fell, leaving her in her form-fitted white t-shirt and jeans alone, able to see her breath as she felt it stopping her from hyperventilating, the cold burning her skin, tearing at her and pulling her out of this other reality.

Once, during training, she had been shot. Not with a real bullet, of course, but shot none the less. A rubber bullet the academy insisted they feel the impact of to know what they might use in certain circumstances. And, perhaps, be prepared for since it’d be similar to a bullet hitting a bulletproof vest. The bullet had been fired by some complete and utter asshole Thomas Engleson, a man who didn’t think women could hack it. He shot her in the ribcage, instead of the stomach. He hit her directly. Not indirectly. And of course he was excused for it.

The pain of the shot had been incredible but she had gritted her teeth and taken it in. A cracked rib meant she was out for a bit, but it didn’t actually stop her. She kept training. Moving. Not exacerbating the damage but doing just enough to keep going. But the pain of that moment had been etched into her body’s memory.

This hurt worse.

Her skin was covered in goosebumps from the cold, beginning to shiver as she stood, perhaps for ten minutes, David standing behind her as he looked at her. This woman unshaken by so much, who had taken in twelve dead bodies and kept going, who took information meant to terrify and had kept pushing. Whatever had been in that note, in that box, had been meant just for her on a level those notes for David never touched.

It felt like an ache, standing in the cold as he watched the woman he had found himself so fond of suddenly pushing out the entire world as though it might infect her. He wanted to grab her sweater, wrap her in it, and pull her close. He’d swear to god he’d get the guy. And he would, even if he didn’t tell her that. He swore as he watched her, that finding this man would be his only task. He wouldn’t sleep. Wouldn’t eat. This was Dover and Birch, but now he was the onve involved. His own life was on the line.

“Do you ever wonder what it feels like to die, David?” The words were loud enough for him to hear, the wind suddenly picking up as she stared ahead to the road leading into the precinct, fairly empty though cars scattered about, the day cloudy and bitter.

He took a moment to consider it. He had. He had wondered once, when the kid in his backseat was frothing at the mouth, if maybe he prayed hard enough her poison would go into his body. He could take it, he thought. Better let the child live. He had seen enough, “Yes.” He answered simply. Now was not the time for banter.

A sort of dark chuckle left her lips, “I used to wonder what it might be like to die. After my sister was killed, I thought it was the only thing left that could actually scare me. The world couldn’t hurt me any more than it did when I was seventeen. I didn’t want to die, I still don’t, but I knew I could face that fear.

“But now? God, David… I wish I was fucking dead.” She fell to her knees so suddenly it caught David by surprise, running to her as he grabbed her sweater, saying ‘fuck it’ to the world as he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her body to his as he tried to finagle a way to keep her sweater on her as well.

No sobs or cries escaped her lips as her body went lax, falling against him as she wondered, perhaps, if maybe just giving in to this would be best. This felt so goddamn dramatic, and maybe it was, but for good reason. This man had found out one of her most intimate details of her life and sent it to her in a box. He had delivered to her a piece of her, and what scared her most was the fact that this man, this murderer, thought he was showing some sort of deranged compassion.

Time seemed to stop and David was grateful for the fact that they were far enough away, and behind most of the cars in the lot, that the world wouldn’t see them like this. He could smell the free, nondescript shampoo offered by the hotel, unsurprised that she wasn’t doused in perfume. But she did smell of something. Her own personal brand of herself. Pushing back some of her hair he spoke, “You can’t go anywhere yet. You can’t possibly trust me to finish this case by myself,” he grinned, stopping himself from pressing his lips against her head.

Chuckling, despite her desire not to, she shook her head, “I sure as hell don’t expect you to solve this alone. You need my theories, Detective Loki. I came up with a bunch last night.” It was tragic in a way, how fast she was working to compartmentalize. Whoever it was that had sent her the letter had done a bang-up job scaring the shit out of her. He had opened the locker that held her sister and emptied the contents without permission. But Y/N was cleaning it up. She was fixing it. In her mind she was already putting herself and all those pieces back together.

Looking confused David pulled away slightly, “Don’t you think you should go get coffee or something? Take a- Ah, fuck, who am I kidding. You’re not listening to me, are you?”

The ghost of a smile crept onto her lips as she raised an eyebrow, looking at David now, “Not really. And I mean, what’s stopping going to do? We both know I’m invested. He… he may have targeted you and those other detectives, and honed onto you, but with me… I’m a happy accident. He picked me. I don’t want to be another body in a church, David,” her eyes changed as she looked at him, suddenly fragile and vulnerable, opening her heart to this man. Detective. The one holding her in the parking lot of the precinct while both tried to put together what they just went through.

Stroking her cheek lightly David whispered, “And you won’t be. You’re gonna get up, put your sweater on, and go back inside. And when everyone looks at you, or asks if you’re OK, you’re not gonna smile or fake it, you stare at them. Through them. None of them matter now. Not a single soul inside. We’re gonna find this asshole, and we’re gonna stop him. Now get up.”

He pulled away, nothing truly romantic in the gesture but one that broke her just the same. They were words that felt charged with something more than a pep talk, but instead felt like a true demand. David understood she wasn’t some person who just fell over because they were pushed. She’d stumble. She’d fall. And he knew she could get right back up and go back to bat. And as she stood, David doing the same, he watched her eyes as she put the sweater on. Something had changed, briefly, something else. Something oddly dark that he couldn’t put his finger on, but understood she perhaps needed. The same thing he had needed in his time.

Turning her back to him, Y/N made her way back towards the precinct, her feet marching with purpose, her eyes focused, laser focused, as she understood what this was. This man chose people. Always. He had a reason and a purpose and it was never an accident. He had found the CD she brought to her sister’s grave (though she suspected it wasn’t the same one), he had written a detailed note, and he had found the one thing in this world she was still so very vulnerable to.

Now she was going to find him.

( @escapingthoughtsandsecrets @is-it-madness @detecellie @oscarflysaac @peccobagnaia @fgtakbrjbdl​ @doritosandavocados​ @miss-missing-patd​

[sugarfreecapsicle]

i saw the light

moodboard by the incomparable @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan

moodboard by the lovely @sebashtiansatan 

A/N: first of all, big congrats to @marquiswrites on her milestone! She’s a wonderful and creative writer who deserves every ounce of recognition she can be given. I’m thrilled for her and even more honored to be able to participate in this challenge for her. second of all, thanks for putting up with my crazy and this series - here’s hoping I can somehow keep this going!

warnings: religious ceremony (christian), mentions of deity, prayer, hymns, ANGST

pairing: bucky x reader, southern usa au

country mile masterlist

Molten dread seeps from your chest to your toes and piles, feet to knees. Hallowed ground, from both childhood memories and divine merit shackle you to the gravel. Weathered steps precede the equally aged white doors. Music hums from the other side, choir warming up, some attendees mingling and chatting about their week prior to the balmy Sunday morning.

“Well, look at you!” You pivot and grin at the decades-old Buick Sam assists his mother out of - this morning her suit matches the car in alabaster white, accented by a pink ribbon tied on her hat and a coordinating purse. Sam loops her arm in his, grinning proud. The Wilsons, in your experience, mirror the same smile: bright, joyful, genuine.

“Look at you!” A laugh as you tuck some hair behind your ear. Mrs. Wilson hobbles along by a patient Sam to meet you where you stand. “You look so pretty today, Mrs. Wilson. You tryin’ to impress somebody?”

She laughs heartily and swats at you with her well loved leather Bible. “Honey, I’m just here to make sure Jesus knows I’m tryin’ to behave myself and keep Sammy in line.”

“Mama, you know I don’t make trouble,” Sam retorts, feigning some minor offense. Of course his mother pays him no mind.

“It sure finds you easy, son,” she murmurs and jabs his side with her elbow. “Let’s get in there before the reverend thinks I’m not comin’ today.”

Another common quality in the Wilsons: they quietly sneak through your safeguards and guide you in the right direction. You flank the elderly woman and find solace in the whine of the stairs underfoot. Power in faith, Mrs. Wilson would’ve called it had she known your entrapment in the parking lot.

The three of you make it up the stairs carefully, balancing Sam’s mother between as her knees aren’t what they used to be. The comfort of her habit to sit on the right, in the third pew from the front where she can feel the sun beam through the stained glass depiction of Jesus in the garden of Gesthemane settles in your chest.

Before you can scurry away to one of the back pews, she gently pats the seat to her left with a coy grin. “You always have a place with my family, baby.”

So you sit and feel a bit more prim as the townsfolk make their way in, Coulson mingling with the present congregation. In the seersucker suit and tie, a small cross pinned to his lapel, a cracked and worn leather Bible in his hand that now wore a golden wedding band. Light gleams off it from the hanging metal-work lights so out of date you marveled at their resilience.

Even the pillars in the church are the same - a fresh coat of white paint to match the exterior, stained glass windows depicting the life of Christ only a little dirty from recent rain, low pile green carpet from the door at the back up into the choir loft. 

“Good to see you this morning,” Coulson greets jovially, hand extended to you for an always firm shake. He passes onto Mrs. Wilson and Sam quickly who both answer him with pearly white smiles. You grin, a knot in your chest. “It’s been a long while since you’ve been in town - we’ve missed having you here.”

“It’s..” you clear your throat and hold a hand to your chest, still politely grinning, “it’s good to be back, Reverend.”

Coulson nods, hands folded over the Bible in front of him as he chats with the Wilsons about the restaurant, the family band and if Sam wouldn’t mind helping tune the guitar this morning when you notice a barely put together attendee enter from the side door.

“Well if it ain’t the Barnes boy,” Mrs. Wilson mutters in your ear. Coulson quietly shifts along to the far aisle and walks to meet with more of the flock.

Bucky smiles and nods with one of the deacons, hands clasped between them in welcoming. As expected, the young farmer traded in his plaid shirt and red dirt mottled denim for black chinos and a clean tattersall button down. Tucked in, of course, similar to the small knot of hair just above the collar of his shirt.

He moves to the left side of the pulpit and makes himself comfortable at the piano. Since when had this developed? The Bucky you remembered couldn’t sit still long enough for anything like a piano lesson. For all the nostalgia, parts of this little world shifted out of place, a memory disjointed.

Steve appears in your periphery looking spick-and-span as ever with Peggy not far behind in a pretty blue pencil dress. Both greet you warmly with hugs and jump into the conversation as your now full pew inventories the goings on ahead of you.

“Bucky’s been playing for a few months now. It’s the only way we could get him to show up anymore,” Steve answers your unasked question. Apparently you’d been caught ogling.

Your Bucky - if you could even call him that anymore - loved being social at church. He could do without the sermon and the singing, but the congregational greetings just after the reverend’s first song fit into his heart lock and key. He beamed, shaking hands with anyone he could reach, even crossing the aisle to visit with as many as he could. Age never mattered to him then - he’d shake hands as heartily with an elder as a baby. 

This new Bucky fusses with his sleeves at the piano bench alone. Not frowning, but not smiling. 

“Y’all are comin’ by for supper after the service today?” Mrs. Wilson leans over to address both Steve and Peggy, expectant eyes and a nodding head.

“You couldn’t pay me to be anywhere else but your kitchen, ma’am,” Steve answers kindly, giving Peggy’s manicured hand a squeeze. Another new development. Warmth radiated from the couple, a new love realized. 

“Well, good,” the elderly woman settles back and gathers her Bible and sermon outline in her lap. “Lord knows I need an army to eat all the food I make.”

You sense the roll of Sam’s eyes - always a few steps behind his mother’s innocent manipulation. The din of the room swells briefly, and Reverend Coulson makes his way up the steps to his matching white podium. A full congregation, choir in attendance, musicians tuned. And an eager preacher with the Good Word for his flock.

“Good morning,” Coulson calls into the microphone.

Your religion hadn’t survived your departure from town either, but the enthusiasm of the room was contagious. The music starts, and you find your gaze drifting to the piano as you sing. Sleepy blue eyes meet yours in the moment before a blink, then they’re gone, reading the sheet music in front of him. Probably just his eyes finding a place to rest as he plays, a subconscious thing, not intentional in the least.

The muscle memory of the opening prayer followed by a short hymn - I Saw the Light sung by the reverend himself -  and then choral worship awakens a dormant longing in your bones. Routine, peace, an odd juxtaposition to your inner turmoil. 

Coulson opens his Bible at the song’s end with echoing applause, resting it against his little wooden podium. He has more crows’ feet now, but the smile is all the same. 

“Isn’t it a wonderful day the Lord has made for us?” 

Amen’s scatter around the chapel, and suddenly you realize you’re without a Bible and a small copy of the outline for the sermon. Might as well be considered naked and foolish in the church. Without prompting from you, Steve passes you  a heavy and scribbled old copy of the Word, with him since high school. Peggy follows suit and shares her Scripture with him and sets the outline nearby.

A note on the edges of his outline reads: He stares at you every time you look away.

It’s heavy in your lap, a foreign and old thing, while a shiver pricks at the back of your neck. The feeling of being watched. You dare not look away from Coulson as he emphatically tells the story of Jesus’ miracle of feeding five thousand people with only five loaves and two fish. God provides for us in the same way, he says, creating blessings out of what some would consider table scraps. 

“The Lord abides and he provides!” Coulson laughs heartily and the congregation returns his excitement.

He casts his usual glance at the clock - he’s ready for lunch, ready to wrap up his sermon. One more song to call those who feel compelled to kneel at the altar or prayer benches to entreat God’s mercy - Bucky and the Wilsons play Softly and Tenderly in slowed tempo.

Coulson steps down from the pulpit to the altars and benches, offering to pray with some of those who appear moved to tears, a few weeping as if to mourn a death. He places a hand at their backs, each and every one in their own turn, and murmurs quiet prayers, beseeching God’s intervention to those families. 

Your heart twists in your chest, a rag being wrung out of its heavy laden burden of moisture. Fingers grip the Old Book in your hands just along the edges. Steve doesn’t notice. Your lips work between teeth carefully when you brave a glance to the piano.

Bucky - eyes watery and tender - stares at you like you’re breaking his heart. The song ends, prayers complete, and Coulson dismisses the congregation to flood the parking lot. Sam offers you a ride to his mother’s house, and you accept in a voice distant and foreign. 

The little yellow house teems with friends and family alike, and you manage to weave a path to the living room’s sofa. Faint magnolia wafts about once you plop down, memories of nights spent whispering and giggling in pillow forts made from the cushions bubbling into mind. Then it’s all cheers when the first round of biscuits emerge from the oven.

Steve and Peggy find you soon after and try to maneuver the bottled hallway to get a plate for themselves, portioned by either the matron of the family or her ever faithful son. The process runs like her diner with servings then seating then conversation over a home cooked meal.

Your table with the new couple allows for one more, and you expect the seat to remain empty until Sam manages to make a plate of his own. 

And then Bucky finds his way over and sits unceremoniously next to you, arms brushing against each other and flinching away as quickly. Steve says hello to his friend who responds with a shoveled bite into his mouth and a nod.

Some things clearly remain the same.

Sunday lunch continues like this, bumping elbows and hands with Bucky more often than either of you would prefer. Peggy tries her best to keep your attention; Steve and Bucky share clipped sentences and have their own implied conversation. With only his green beans and some gravy left on his plate, Bucky uses the napkin draped over his knee and moves to depart.

“You need a ride home?” 

The trio wear expectant looks you don’t notice until you look up from your own scant plate. Your cheeks warm under the awkward silence, you quickly wipe away any remnant of food from your lips and mumble out your acceptance.

A flurry of goodbyes, and then it’s just you and Bucky in his truck thundering down the road to your house. He’s quiet, hand resting over his mouth while the other minds the steering wheel. 

“What was up with your staring this morning at the service?”

The engine roars in the tension between you.

“What staring?”

Lazy mid-afternoon air tangles your hair. Your jaw sets tightly. 

“The staring at me, Barnes.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” he scoffs, hand scratching against his unshaven cheek. “Good to know you left all this to go get yourself an ego, though, that’s good for you.”

Subconsciously your right foot shifts left in the dirtied floorboard to pump an invisible brake pedal. The truck pushes onward.

“An ego?” Raised  voice and adrenaline. “Bucky, if someone told you a snake bit your ass, you’d say it was a damn bee even if you saw the thing slither under your feet.”

Your pushing against the floorboard suddenly pays off when Bucky diverts the truck to the side of the road and squeals to a stop. After shutting the engine off, he angles toward you, thin blue against wide black pupils. 

“What’d’ya want me to say? D’you want me to roll out some red carpet for you because the princess returned?” Veins in his neck emerge under sun-tanned skin that fades paler by the white collar of his undershirt. Your throat dries when his silver chain catches sunlight. “You were just gone one day. No goodbye, no nothing. Just gone. You didn’t give a shit about any of us, how we’d feel.”

How I’d feel remains unspoken.

“When have you ever known me to live my life for other people, Bucky?” 

The silence of Bucky’s heart plummeting through the undercarriage carries on as  a coin in a well. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and for a moment, you regret your reply.

“Sorry I thought my feelings mattered to you.”

And what can you say to that? The finality in his own answer keeps your lips shut for the remainder of your ride home. An apology hangs in your throat, in your heart, but finds nowhere to surface. Too little too late.

You don’t even say goodbye when you exit his truck and shut the door behind you. Neither does he.

[random-imagines-blog]

Makeshift Wings {Davey Havok x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2020 (Yikes) Summary: Sometimes, tour brings you to a cold city, and you have to find ways to warm up.

Huffing and puffing, you attempted to follow behind the band, but it was difficult. Your legs were laden with heavy boots, while the parka that you wore made you feel like a Tim Burton character; very top heavy. From beneath the scarf, the hat and the hood, your eyes could barely be made out, and because of those obstructions, it was hard to see where you were going. The sidewalks were packed with snow and your steps were very wobbly. There were a couple of times that you lost your footing, but luckily there were large snow banks on either side of the walkway. You had become very accustomed to the California climate, and being in upper Canada for a show was a total shock to the system. Snow blustered everywhere, making your very skin hurt. The concert might be postponed, you weren’t sure yet, but either way, you were stuck here because travel conditions are awful. You grew obsessed with the idea of going back home to the beaches, the sun, the palm trees. Everything that this city didn’t have. “Can anyone even see the hotel?” You asked, your breath steaming through the scarf. It was hard to see anything. This apparently wasn’t a blizzard but it seemed like one.

“We’re getting close,” Davey said, reaching behind him to take hold of your gloved hand in his own. It sounded more like mumbles due to his own scarf covering the lower half of his face, but you managed to make out what he had said. You took it gratefully, because at least if you went down again, you wouldn’t be alone. But you did manage to make it to the lobby of the hotel without any more incidents. Save that Hunter had fallen on his behind and  had to quickly request an ice pack from the reception desk. You groaned at the idea of more ice; at least that hadn’t occurred yet.

“Are you okay?” Davey stood near you and helped to unwrap the scarf from your face. Due to the moisture from the snow droplets, and your own body, it nearly fused itself onto the inside of your coat.

You nodded though you were still shivering. It had been a ten minute walk from the parking lot to the hotel, though on a nice day it might only have taken half that time. There hadn’t been room for the tour bus anywhere in the actual parking lot, so the driver had to make some quick decisions, which meant stashing it in an expensive lot. But it was the closest you could get, so it had to be done. “I just want to get into a hot bath,” You said, lowering your hood. Adam and Hunter had offered to get the room keys, so they were doing that though it should have been your job. You took on the role of tour manager, just to be closer to your boyfriend while he toured North America to promote the newest AFI album. So far, you dropped the ball with picking the hotel, but at least the rooms should be nice. “But I have to make some phone calls first.”

“Take your bath first,” He said, removing his own striped scarf and bundled it into a ball with yours. “I can handle a couple of the phone calls.” He looked at your face and winced, which made you immediately nervous.

“What is it?” You asked, trying to stay calm. “Please tell me that part of my scarf didn’t actually get frozen to my face. Oh God.”

“No, thankfully no,” He said. “You just look nearly frozen to death. I’ve never seen your nose that ... red  before.”

“Yikes,” Hunter said, coming up to you. He also was staring directly at your nose. You brought your hands up to cover your face, and could literally feel the cold radiating off of your own skin. You snatched the key out of his grip with one hand, still covering your face with the other.

“I’m going to get sick, I can feel it,” You moaned, checking the room number that was listed on the key. “I wonder if room service comes with cold medicine.”

“Let’s just worry about getting up to the room first,” Adam said, looking over at Hunter, who he was paired with. Jade had to share a room with his brother, who also worked as a part of the tour, and was always a welcome addition to the team. You agreed with that, still shivering beneath your oversized parka. You waddled more than walked to the elevator, feeling like the Marshmallow Man from GhostBusters.

The room had the heating on, keeping it at a comfortable temperature, but it still was barely enough. The first thing you did was set your bags on, and the second was run into the bathroom and turn on the taps so hot water would begin to spew. It didn’t take long for the steam to fill the room, and make it’s way into the main area. It was becoming muggy; and yet, you were still cold. You were a definite amateur when it came to the cold. Sunny California was where you wanted to stay.

You unzipped your coat with unsteady hands, then released your fingers from the gloves. The tips of your fingers were nearly red with the cold, and you needed some place warm to put them, stat.

That’s when you looked at your boyfriend, who had just gotten out of his coat and was lying on the bed in his hoodie and jeans. A small amount of skin was showing between the shirt and his bottoms and it looked oh so appealing.

You unzipped your own sweater, and threw it beside him on the bed to get his attention. You would soon be naked and heading to the bath anyway, so now was as good a time as any to begin to get undressed. He looked over at you with an amused look. “What are you doing?”

“I thought of a good way to warm up while I wait for the bath,” You said, in your most sultry voice. You swayed your hips in a dramatic fashion while making your way over to him, crawling from the end of the bed up towards his waiting lips.

Of course you were going to kiss him, anyone would be crazy not to. His lip ring slightly digging into your lower lip, the stubble of his beard. It was all wonderful, but that was not what you had come onto the bed for. While he attempted to deepen it, you lightly brought up his shirt, pulling it up so that it rested right above his belly button. You then slid your hands under the fabric -

- and gave him a huge shock as your cold fingers rested on top of his abdomen, sending a chill down his body. He squealed, an actual squeal much like the way that teenage girls did over him, and wiggled his way out from under your grip.

“Too much,” He said, pulling the blanket over himself so that you couldn’t do it again. You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, but you pulled back from him and sat down next to him.

“Couldn’t help myself. My hands are still freezing,” You held out your hands, fingers splayed, so he could see the redness. After a couple more seconds, he took pity on you, and rubbed your hands between his. It definitely helped.

“When we leave, I’ll go out myself and get the bus driver to pick us up out front,” He said, breathing warm air onto your tender fingers. “Not letting you walk through all that again.”

“Hey, I took on the job of tour manager. I should be able to handle a little snow, shouldn’t I?” You scoffed, looking towards the window which looked out at the Canadian city. As if planned by the almighty, a sturdy wind blew against it, knocking over a chair that was on the balcony. Just seeing that made you feel cold again, but you managed to resist the urge to curl up under the blankets with your man.

But you had a bath that was probably just about full that you were excited to get into. “Come bathe with me,” You said, attempting to entice him. “It’ll be nice and warm.”

“Well now that I’m cold thanks to you,” Davey got to his feet, and started to take off his clothes. He didn’t make it into a show for you, but he never had to. Just the act of slipping a plain henley shirt off of his head was enough to make you nearly start gasping for air. The way that his skin glided over his muscles, you were salivating. He tossed the shirt onto the bed, unbuttoned his pants, then paused, staring at you. “Are you so cold that you’re going in fully dressed?”

“No, of course not,” You said, snapping back into yourself. You went a little faster than Davey did, but you were also more eager for the hot water. That was a wonderful thing about hotels, they usually had a good sized bathtub. And this one looked like it was made for two. You walked back into the bathroom, Davey behind you. The mirror was already steamed up, and the water was a few inches from the top of the porcelain tub. You turned off the water, then noticed there were other setting. You pressed on a button at random and jets started to rumble through the water. “Ooh!” You pushed another button, and some sort of soap came out of a spout. It mixed with the water, and fueled by the jets, became frothy. “We gotta get one of these.”

“Why not just an outdoor hot tub?” Davey questioned, sticking his foot into the water. You nodded in agreement, since your home was so much warmer than this place. Having it outside was a pleasant idea.

Once Davey got settled, you got in yourself. You relaxed against one side of the tub, while Davey was at the other. The spout was against the wall, toward the middle of the tub, so you could both stretch out a bit without worrying about knocking your head off of metal. It felt like pure heaven.

Davey turned to get one of the washcloths from the towel rack, heated thank the Lord, and you caught sight once more of the large tattooed wings that were on his back. You sunk a little lower, your feet at Davey’s hips, and rubbed up against his skin. “Hmmm...” You said outloud. He turned around and soaked the cloth under the water. “If only we could use those wings of yours to go somewhere warm for the night.”

“Unfortunately, they’re only makeshift,” He said, alluding to one of his older songs. You smiled at the reference, then that smile got even bigger as he pulled your feet closer to him and started to rub them beneath the water. “It won’t be too long until we’re back in California.”

“I miss home but I was thinking something like Hawaii,” You said, relishing the feeling of his hands on your skin. “And something that isn’t work. Though I do love this job ... shit, I still have to make those calls.”

“They can wait. You need to relax.” He hit a tender spot on your foot, and you winced. He was more gentle after that, more loving, making his way up your ankles and your calves.

“You got it, boss,” You said with a grin. Technically, you worked for the record label, and not for the band themselves. But you were supposed to take care of their needs. And if Davey needed you to relax, and to let him massage you in this very warm and bubbly bath, well, it was your job.

Best job in the whole world, you had to say.

[hellfirenacht]

Can't Be Unseen Chapter 1

Fandom: Sally Face

Pairing: Sal x Reader

Summary: Flirting is fun, but flirting with Sal Fisher is the most fun of all. 

Ao3

It wasn’t exactly a secret that you were a huge flirt; everyone in your friend group got a taste of it, no matter their gender or sexuality. Larry gets a new shirt? Double pistols and a wink. Todd comes to school wearing contacts? Compliment him on his eye color as he rolls his eyes and reminds you that he’s gay. Ash tries out some new makeup look? She’s once again made a masterpiece of her flawless canvas of a face. 

Flirting was almost second nature to you, but there was one boy whom you liked flirting with the most; your friend Sal “Sally Face” Fisher. You could hardly help yourself around him. Something about his cute short stature, blue pigtails, kind attitude, and sweet guitar skills had you swooning. He was almost like a porcelain doll, though his prosthetic was actually made out of a more sturdy plastic. 

Still though, you never missed a chance to compliment him or flirt with him or even just talk with him. You had known him for 2 years and in that time he’d become someone who you’d felt totally comfortable and happy with. Developing a crush on the boy wasn’t exactly in your plans, but it happened anyway. Despite his obvious feelings for Ashley, you were content just spending time with him. Besides, covering up your crush with the endless flirting made it much more easy. 

It was early September when you two were walking home together with Larry. The crisp fall air wasn’t too cold yet, but comfortable enough for flannel and t-shirt combinations. 

“So Ashley’s seeing someone from another school now, huh?” Larry said, looking over at Sal. 

“Yeah, she seems really nice.” Sal said, “I hope we get to meet her sometime.”

“Aren’t you bummed though?” Larry replied. “I mean, I know you liked her and all.”

“That was last year.” Sal shrugged. “I still think she’s pretty, but I don’t think I’ve liked her like that for a while now. I’m happy that we’re friends, that’s all.“ 

You couldn’t help but look up from your phone that you’d been distracted by to listen in on their conversation. Sal didn’t like Ash anymore? Why was this news to you? 

"You’re a mature dude, Sally Face.” Larry nodded as all three of you wandered down into the basement of Addison Apartments. 

It had become a habit by this point- come home from school, go to the basement to do homework, listen to music and hang out, then go home. You all had tried to do homework while listening to music, but it turned out to be more of a distraction than a help. Larry would end up on a tangent about the song, Sal would be listening while his hands would start faking an air guitar, and you just couldn’t handle that much noise when trying to study. 

As you all settled into Larry’s room, a small beeping sound emitted from Sal’s bag. His phone’s alarm went off, reminding him to take some of his many medications. 

“Be right back!” he said, scurrying into the bathroom. You and Larry both had assumed a while ago that some of the medicine involved taking off his face. Though you had both seen it- well you had captured a split second glance on accident once- it was agreed upon that you give him privacy when it came to his face. 

You looked over at Larry who was digging through his bag, pulling out loose pieces of paper, trying to figure out which ones he needed to start his homework. 

“Dude, just get a binder. Or a folder!” you said, watching him. “Hell, I’ll give you one of mine. Your school organization is seriously stressing me out." 

"It’s fine, it’s fine.” Larry replied, as you heard a paper rip. “Woops." 

"Was that the math worksheet?" 

"I think so?” he handed over the paper to you. 

“Larry, this was last week’s homework! We even did this one together!”

“Hahaha, good thing they didn’t check it." 

"They did.”

“Oh… shit.”

You looked over at the bathroom door for a sec, hesitating a moment and lowered your voice. “I think I’m gonna ask him on a date.” you said, pulling out your own homework. 

“Who? Sally Face?” Larry asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“No, your mom. I’m gonna date your mom and you will be my new step-son.” You replied dead-pan, but then smirked. “Then we can add to the ever growing list of the not-related category on porn hub.”

Larry laughed. “If that wasn’t so messed up I’d almost be down. But seriously, you finally gonna do it?”

You nodded. “I’ve been thinking about this seriously ever since he admitted that he doesn’t like Ash anymore.”

“So, fifteen minutes.”

“Yes.”

“Good luck. I don’t think he’s ever been on a date in his life." 

"Then I’ll just have to make it special. If he agrees that is.” you shrugged. 

“If who agrees to what?” Sal asked, walking out of the bathroom. 

“I’m asking Lisa on a date.” you replied back quickly. “Gonna sweep that sweet lady off her feet, then Larry’s gonna have to call me ‘mommy’ too." 

Sal laughed, "Good luck with that. She’s been spending a lot of time with my dad lately, I think they’re going on a date this week.”

“Is that all that’s standing in my way? Then I’ll just have to date your dad too. Then you’ll both have to call me ‘mommy’." 

"Whatever you say.” Sal laughed, plopping down next to Larry. 

…

Despite it all though, it took you at least a month to work up the nerve to actually ask Sal out. Deciding that you wanted to was easy, but planning a date was becoming a little more difficult than you anticipated. You were sure he’d be happy with anything that you took him to do- but this was if he agreed to the date in the first place. 

Larry suggested taking him to the Sanity Falls concert that was coming up, but you declined that. Sanity Falls was very much Larry and Sals’ thing- not something that you’d ever want to take away from them. Plus, if you were being honest- Sanity Falls and heavy metal wasn’t fully your thing either. Sure you knew more about that band than anything else, but that was because of all the time you spent around the boys. 

In any case, a concert in general didn’t seem like the best idea for a first date. You’d have to get the tickets in advance and even with your part-time job, that was still a bit of money for an evening where you couldn’t even talk to him. You already had a bit of a job listening to his slightly muffled voice, you didn’t want to put loud music and screaming teens on top of that. 

You found a similar dilemma with dinner and a movie. It seemed too cliche, really, and not that personal. Besides, you all had done that a million times before. You weren’t just getting to know Sal at this point- you wanted to woo him! You wanted to make him feel special! You also wanted your feelings to reach him. 

The mall was a no-go. Sal didn’t really like shopping that much, and he usually got harassed by mall security for “wearing a mask”. 

It was too cold for the water park.

Walking around town just seemed like you hadn’t tried at all to plan anything. 

Nothing was coming together at all. 

You groaned and scribbled out what you were working on in art class for the tenth time. Your hands were covered in charcoal, and it was getting everywhere at this point. 

“What’s wrong?” Ash asked, next to you. “That one wasn’t so bad.”

“It’s not the assignment.” you admitted. “I… okay so I’m gonna just tell you. I wanna ask Sally on a date but I have no idea where to take him assuming that he’ll agree." 

"You like Sally?” She asked, a bit surprised. You nodded. “Oh, that does make sense. I thought you flirted with him a bit more than anyone else." 

"He’s sweet.” you said, looking down at your paper again, flipping to a clean page and scribbling to give you something to look at. “And he’s more kind than anyone I’ve met. He talked to Travis once and since then he’s stopped using those words. He’s… got this quiet confidence you know? He turned a cruel nickname into something he wore with pride. He stands up for himself. Sal… even with his self-esteem issues with his face, he… how do I put this? We’re all afraid of rejection, he is too. But he also knows that if someone rejects him, then that’s not the end of it. He always gives people a chance to actually know him. He’s stronger and more brave than anyone else I know.”

“Wow, you’re serious about this, huh?” Ashley said approvingly. 

“Plus did you see his butt when he was wearing that dress at the last Homecoming dance?” you asked, doodling said butt. 

Ashley laughed. “He did look great.” she agreed. 

“I just don’t know what to do.” you admitted. “I like Sal, I really really like him and I want him to give me a chance. To see me as more than just a flirt, you know? But if I can’t even think of a good date to take him on…" 

"He’d love whatever you plan.” Ash replied. “But I understand what you mean. Do you have any ideas at all?" 

You handed over the list, complete with commentary from you and Larry in the margins about why it wouldn’t work or was too expensive, or too not-Sal or too not-you. 

"Prom’s out?” she asked. 

“Prom’s next spring.” you explained. “I mean, I know there’s no time limit on asking him out, but that’s a bit far off. Also just feels like too much for a first date, you know?" 

She nodded and continued down the list. "Yeah, I see what you mean.” she said. “You need something that you can do together that doesn’t lean more towards one person’s interest, that still gives you a chance to talk and get to know each other, and that isn’t super expensive." 

"First dates are stupid if you already know someone.” you grumble. 

“…Oh! I have an idea!” Ashley suddenly grabbed a paper towel in an attempt to wipe off the charcoal on her hands. I got this flier in the mail the other day, I think this would work perfectly!“

You took the flier from her hands carefully as to not make a mess of it. "Fall Festival…?” you read. “Ash, this is perfect!" 

"It’s every weekend until mid-November.” she said, pointing. “Plus there’s a Halloween weekend as well! I think that he’d really like that." 

"Ash, have I mentioned that you are the most amazing and beautiful person I’ve ever met?” you asked. She just laughed. 

“Save it for Sal.”

…

“So you really gonna do it today?” Larry asked, leaning next to your locker. “I’m gonna miss your constant flirting when you and Sally Face get married.”

You snorted. “It’s okay, you can still call me 'mommy’ if you want, but you’ll have to call Sal 'daddy’.”

“Thanks, I hate it."Larry laughed. "Besides, he’s basically like my brother. He can’t be my brother and my dad at the same time.”

“Not with that attitude!” You closed your locker and pulled your backpack over your shoulders. 

“But seriously,” Larry said. “I hope it works out for you. I think you two would be good for each other.”

“Thanks.” you said quietly. “I’m honestly really nervous but I know that even if he says no today, he’ll still be my friend.”

“That’s just the kind of guy he is.” Larry agreed. “And for what it’s worth, he thinks your pretty.”

“…What?” you snapped your head to look at his shit-eating grin. 

“Oh yeah, I may have done some slight digging and wing-manning for you. Got him to tell me some things.”

“What things?!” you demanded. “Tell me everything word for word exactly what he said." 

"I’d love to, but he’s right behind you and as I recall you’ve got an important question to ask him." 

You whipped around behind you and saw the tell-tale pigtails bobbing along down the hall towards the two of you. 

"Larry, I’m gonna kill you one day.”

“You’re welcome." 

"Hey guys.” Sal said as he finally approached you two. “Ready to head home?" 

"Actually, I gotta go pick up some stuff for my mom today.” Larry said casually, lying through his teeth. 

“Oh, well we can come along and help out if you want.” Sal replied, but Larry shook his head. 

“No worries, I got it. You two go on ahead and we’ll catch up later, mk?" 

"Alright then.” Sal nodded, turning to you. “So are you ready?”

You smiled down at him, at 5'2 he was a good 4 inches shorter than you, but it hardly mattered. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” you replied. 

The late-October sky was a bit dark and gloomy with the threat of rain. You zipped up your jacket and hugged yourself for warmth as the wind blew around you. You were starting to regret choosing to look cute over warm today. 

It was quieter walking with Sal without Larry there, but not uncomfortably so. Sal could be both chatty and quiet and it suited him either way. Though normally you wouldn’t mind the quiet, you needed to think of some sort of topic that you could use to segue into asking him out. 

“It’s too damn cold.” you said, blurting out the first thing that came into your mind. 

“It’s only 58 degrees.” Sal replied. 

“Yes, that’s borderline freezing where I’m from." 

"I can keep warm perfectly fine.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re so hot.” you replied with a wink. That was better, now you were starting to find your groove. 

The boy let out a small laugh beside you. “It’s the prosthetic, isn’t it? Girls love the look on Halloween.”

“Mike Meyers chic is very sexy.” you agreed. “Jason’s got nothing on you." 

"Except maybe a foot and a half.” he admitted. 

“Speaking of Halloween.” You said, bracing yourself. “There’s a fall festival coming up this weekend. Actually it’s been going on since last weekend but it’s still happening this weekend.” Shit, you were starting to ramble a bit. You took a deep breath to keep your cool. 

“Yeah? That sounds like it could be fun.”

You stopped walking and turned to him and gave him your trademark smirk to hide your nerves. “Then go on a date with me tomorrow. I’d love to go with you." 

The two seconds it took for Sal to answer felt like an eternity. Everything seemed to slow down as he stopped walking and glanced up at you. 

"Uh, sure!” He replied and you could hear it in his voice that he was smiling at you. Your heart seemed to stop for a moment at his words, and for a second you almost faltered and looked surprised. 

“Awesome!” you replied. “Okay, so meet me at 1 in front of the apartments, mk? I’m gonna show you a great time!" 

…

BlankFace: HE SAID YES! 

You texted Ashley excitedly. You managed to keep calm and collected until you made your way back home, but you immediately jumped on the bed and started giggling like mad. After all that planning, you had not only managed to ask out your crush, but you had managed to plan an amazing date as well. 

AshleyFace: Aww, that’s great! I hope you two have fun!

BlankFace: And also get this, Larry said that he thinks I’m pretty apperenly??

AshleyFace: Well yeah, you are. 

BlankFace: Well I know that but I didn’t think Sal did! 

You couldn’t stop smiling to yourself. In less than 24 hours you’d be on your first date with Sally Face. With Ashley’s help, you had already picked out what you were going to wear and how you were gonna do your make up. In fact, you didn’t really have anything to do except wait. You sat up and grabbed your laptop again, pulling up the page for the festival for the hundredth time. Yup, it was still the same schedule, no changes in the weather reports, and no cancellations. 

You kinda regretted being too prepared. 

Behind you, your phone buzzed, and buzzed…. and buzzed. Your group chat seemed to be exploding. 

SallyFace changed the group name to Scooby Doo Minus the Dog

LarryFace changed the group name to Scooby Doo but Good

BlankFace: You take that back, Larry. Scooby Doo is the shit. 

BlankFace changed the group name to Scooby Doo Appreciation Fan Club

SallyFace changed the name of the group to No Dogs Allowed

LarryFace: Oops. 

BlankFace. oh shit sorry dude

SallyFace: It’s okay!

LarryFace changed the name of the group to The Putting Your Foot In Your Mouth Club

AshleyFace changed the name of the group to Bologna Fan Club

Everyone in the group chat is typing…

Next Chapter

[unpack-my-heart]

IT Fandom Prompt Week - Day 7 - Famous / Band AU

@constantreaderfool​ @xandertheundead​ @tinyarmedtrex​

Final Prompt for IT Prompt week 2019. 

Read on AO3 HERE

Like many people, the first metal band that Eddie listened to was Metallica. He was 16, and had spent the day at Bev’s house, the balmy evening sun hanging heavy and bloated in the sky. They’d sat at the bottom of her garden, legs bare and grass between their toes. Bev’s old cassette tape player was balanced precariously on a rickety wooden chair, the tapes lay scattered around the grass, like plastic flowers. Eye’s half-closed, Eddie was listening to Bev tell him about the book she’d been reading, and how he should read it before they start their college degrees in the fall. Bev’s voice, pitchy and animated, fought with Morrissey’s crooning voice, and Eddie let himself swim in the noise. That was, until Bev changed the tape, and an unrelenting guitar riff came booming out of the tinny speakers. Eddie’s eyes snapped open.

“Who’s this?” Eddie asked, shifting so he was propped up against the fence.

“Huh? Oh, Metallica. They’re pretty good, right!”

“Yeah,” Eddie mused, bobbing his head slightly along with the rhythmic chugging of the guitar, “yeah they’re pretty good”

That night, Eddie had practically skipped home, fanny-pack stuffed with as many cassette tapes as Bev could wedge in there without breaking the zip. The bands are those he has never heard of before, Black Sabbath, Judas Priest, Nine Inch Nails. Bev promised that he’ll love them, and he trusted her.

A few days later, Eddie escaped the stifling confines of his mother’s house to join Bev on a trip to the local record store. Bev immediately tugged him over to the ‘rock and metal’ section, where they spent ages flicking through the tapes, Bev filling Eddie’s hands with tapes in a matter of minutes. Eddie, who had felt out of place in a dingy record store in his pressed khakis and pastel yellow polo shirt, had immediately struck up a conversation with the friendly guy behind the counter, who couldn’t have been any older than he was.

“First time?” The guy asked, picking through the tapes that Eddie had dumped on the counter, looking for the price stickers.

“Pardon?”  

“First time somewhere like this? You have the first time kinda look, like you’re afraid the tapes will bite you or something”

“Oh,” Eddie replied, scuffing his feet on the floor, “Yeah, it’s my first time. Bev said she’d been in here loads and it’s cheaper than the store downtown, so…”

The guy laughed, a warm laugh that rang in the quiet store like a bell.

“Yeah, Bev’s in here a lot. Doesn’t spend much money, though !”

“Bite me, Hanlon”

“Ever the charmer, Miss Marsh,” The guy turned back to Eddie, “As rude as she is, Bev has good taste. You’re definitely in safe hands, but you can always come in here and I can help you, if you get sick of her forcing you to listen to Trent Reznor’s entire discography over and over and over again”

“I’m warning you, Michael!” Bev hollered, brandishing a vinyl record like a weapon.

– X –

Soon enough, Eddie fell into a routine. He’d wait until his mother fell into a deep, sleeping-pill induced sleep in front of her soap operas, and shut the lounge room door, painfully slowly to stop it creaking. Then, he’d charge upstairs as fast as his legs would carry him. Whilst Eddie looked everything the picture-perfect poster-boy for “good boys” everywhere, from his perfectly coiffed hair, his crisp, 100% cotton polo shirts, and even down to his sensible, chalk-white sketchers,  he had a secret hiding under his bed.

Under his bed, behind the stacks of biology and chemistry textbooks and old shoes that don’t fit him anymore, lurks a small metal box, and a rusty cassette player. The metal box is home to his ever expanding collection of tapes, and he’d take great pleasure in passing his fingers over the spines of the cases, like he was choosing the biggest, most decadent chocolate in the box. His fingers almost always landed on Metallica first, his gate-way drug. He’d disrobe the tape, and place it into the cassette player, but not before he’d plugged his monstrously large headphones into the jack. Cranking up the volume, Eddie would place the cassette player next to him on the bed, and lie back, and drift.

Master of puppets I'm pulling your strings Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams Blinded by me, you can't see a thing

Eddie would spend hours listening to Rob Halford’s demonic screaming if his mother had been particularly taxing that evening, or if his day had been slow and lazy, Ozzy Osborne would sing him to sleep, regaling him with tales of faeries dancing with dwarves. Soon enough, and without any real effort, Eddie became a secret, but die-hard, metal-head.

– X –

A note hit the back of Eddie’s head in chemistry.

Anthrax are playing at oil slick in Bangor! We gotta go. B x

Eddie tries to protest, he really does. He sits under the bleachers with Bev at lunch, and tries to convince her that he’d never be allowed to go to a show in Bangor, that his mother would never let him, that he can’t lie to her, really Bev, I’ve tried, I’m a terrible liar.

She doesn’t take no for an answer, and sure enough, when the night of the show arrives, Eddie is sat in his bedroom at half past six, practically vibrating with nerves. He knew that his mother would be dead to the world in a few minutes, passed out for a whole twelve hours. Eddie thanked the God of Nyquil and prescription medicine. When the familiar rumble of his mother’s snores starts to seep through his floorboards, Eddie throws open his window, takes a deep breath, and leaps like a frog onto the branch of the big tree that stands dormant outside his window.

He runs straight to Bev’s aunts house, and they both clamber in her rickety Sedan, Bev, who had recently turned 17 and was now trusted with her Aunt’s car, at the wheel. Eddie was wearing the black straight-leg jeans he’d begged his mother to buy him, and Beverly Marsh, his lord and saviour, had lent him one of her old leather jackets and her Iron Maiden tour shirt that fit him like a glove. Together with Bev clad in enough leather to upholster a couch, they drove to Bangor.

Eddie had the best night of his life, and crawled back in through his bedroom window at four am the next morning, sweaty and disgusting, but happier than he’d been in years.

– X –

When Bev’s aunt gets a PR job at Iron Horns, the best heavy metal festival this side of the Atlantic, Eddie almost squeezes the life out of Bev when she invites him to go with them. He was eighteen, and on the precipice of adulthood. He’s staring down the crevasse of responsibility, college degrees, mortgages and student loan repayments, and the void is staring straight back at him. He toyed with the idea of telling his mother that her little Eddie-Bear spends his weekends lurking in dive bars listening to boys with longer hair than most girls scream into the microphone, and he plans on getting dirty in a field for a weekend with his best friend.

He, of course, doesn’t do this, and instead told his mother that Bill and Ben have invited him to go camping with them, and he wanted to go. Predictably, she wasn’t happy, and bleated on at him about bears and poison ivy until she was blue in the face and panting, but she couldn’t catch Eddie as he sprinted down the path, backpack bulging on his back, pop-up tent in hand.

Iron Horn’s was huge. The site was a sprawling sea of grass, tents and stages, and as they drove down the make-shift drive-way to the staff car-park, Eddie could feel himself begin to panic. His hand instinctively tried to find the inhaler he has stashed in his fanny-pack, but Bev’s hand caught his hand in hers and squeezed. They held hands until they got out of the car.

Bev’s Aunt Lucy was ‘head of logistics’ for the entire festival, something that makes Eddie gawp with awe, and because she was such an important cog in the machine of the festival, they had arrived one day before the music started. Lucy was also able to throw her weight around a bit and swing them a camping plot in the staff and VIP section of the festival, something that calmed Eddie’s nervous jitters. The staff camping had a regular block of toilets, so he wouldn’t have to venture into alien territory … the dreaded porta-loo.

The staff camping ground is made up of plots of grass for people to pitch tents, but it also had porta-cabins for the musicians. Eddie scanned the names on the doors, finding that he recognises all but one of the bands.

“Bev, who are Crimson Nightmare?” Eddie asked Bev, trying to help her pitch their tent, but mostly just getting in her way.

“Huh. I have no idea, but they’re headlining the second day so I guess they’re probably pretty good”  Bev huffed, trying to bash the tent-pegs into the firm ground with the heel of her boot.

Once they (or rather, Bev) had finished pitching their tent, they both clambered inside with their bags, and proceeded to get changed out of their travelling clothes. Most of the clothes that Eddie has brought with him are Bev’s hand-me-downs, or things that she’s bought him for Christmas, or just because. Eddie changes into one of Bev’s ripped Judas Priest shirts, and a pair of her tightest black skinny jeans that just about fit him if he doesn’t breathe too deeply. Luckily, because Bev’s feet are the size of common shrews, Eddie has his own boots that he’d saved up for with money from various birthday’s. Obviously he can’t keep the boots at home because his mother would find them and burn them in a sacrifice to the God’s of easy listening music, so they live in the trunk of Bev’s Aunt’s car for him to change into when they go to shows. They’re beaten up old black Docs that he bought in a thrift shop. He swapped out the characteristic yellow laces for rainbow ones, and he let Bill draw dancing skeletons on them in white sharpie. Eddie treasured those damn boots.

Once they’re changed, Eddie and Bev head over to the VIP tent where they grab some food. The VIP tent was home to a catering service, and a small bar for the staff and the musicians to wind down in the evening. Upon walking through the entrance flap, Eddie was immediately star-struck. There are people from his favourite bands milling around, talking to each other, laughing, shouting, existing. As he looked around, Eddie realised that no-one else looked quite as starstruck as he did, which made him feel all sorts of ridiculous, but he couldn’t help it. He continued to stare at Layne Staley.

Once Eddie and Bev had finished their food, and Eddie was trying not to stare at the lead singer from Steel Martyr too much, he caught the eye of a tall guy with intense dark eyes and a wicked smile leaning nonchalantly against the bar. Eddie doesn’t recognise him, so he assumed that he must be a light tech, or an audio engineer, or maybe even a roadie. He also looks very young, perhaps no older than nineteen. This, accompanied with the fact that he’s wearing sweatpants with an old hoodie, suggested to Eddie that he couldn’t be a member of a metal band. The guy held Eddie’s gaze for a beat too long, and before he glanced back to the bartender, the stranger winked at Eddie.

Against his will, Eddie felt the all too familiar heat in his cheeks – an unfortunate indication that his face was blooming a violent scarlet red. Eddie snapped his head away, eliciting an loud bark of laughter from the stranger at the bar. Bev, who had been too busy trying to surreptitiously roll a joint under the table, looks up when she heard the laugh.

“Eddie, why is that guy over there staring at you?”

“…Wuh-What?,” Eddie stutters, fertilizing the glint in Bev’s eye, “What guy? There’s no guy”

“Uh… Yeah there is, that one” Bev snorts, and turned in her seat to point directly at the stranger, who waved at her.

“Him? What about him? I don’t even know him” Eddie mumbled, staring very intently at an interesting speck of dirt on the floor.

“Well, he’s been staring at you since we got here, he laughed at you about thirty seconds ago, and now he’s coming over here”

“WHAT!”

“Yeah, he’s totally coming over here!” Bev squealed, looking positively gleeful.

Eddie snapped his head up, and sure enough, the stranger in the sweatpants was striding over purposefully, his eyes glued on Eddie.

Eddie stared back at him, eyes owlish and ridiculous.

“I guess I’m gonna have to make the first move, then?” was the first thing the sweatpants-stranger said, as he plonked himself down in the empty seat to Eddie’s right.

“Um” was all Eddie said in response.

Bev was thirty seconds away from howling with laughter judging by the look on her face, and Eddie prayed that embarrassment was a painless way to die.

“Hi! I’m Bev, and this beetroot looking thing here is Eddie”

“Nice to meetcha, Red. The name’s Richie. D’ya have a voice, short-stack?”

“I do as it happens” Eddie replied, snottily.

“Oof. I like ‘em spicy. Come here often?”

“Do you speak only in pick-up lines or are you capable of stringing a coherent sentence together?”

“Get yer coat love, you’ve pulled”

Eddie rolled his eyes, and angled his body away from Richie’s.

He knew what this game was, and he intended to play to win.

“Hey now, I’m just playing with you” Richie cooed, taking Eddie’s bait, “In all seriousness, whatcha doing here? You performing this weekend?”

“Naw, my Aunt is the head of logistics for the fest so we came along for the ride. Couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see Tool for the fifth time!” Bev responded, speaking for Eddie, who raised his eyebrows at her gratefully.

“Ah, of course. Gotta admit, I’m pretty heartbroken I’m not gonna get to see little Eddie Spaghetti losing his shit on that big stage, though. I bet that’s a real pretty sight”

“And what are you doing here, then? Light tech, or something?” Eddie interjected, a feeble attempt to steer the conversation away from himself.

“Something like that. A bitta’ this, a bitta’ that. Jack of all trades, me”

Eddie wasn’t entirely satisfied with that answer, but he didn’t push it any further.

“Can I get you both a drink?” Richie asked, drawing Eddie out of his introspection.

“Are you over twenty-one?” Eddie affirmed, sceptical.

“Nah, but I’ve known Jonsey for a few years now. He’s not worried about silly little things like legal drinking ages”

“Uh ..,” Eddie looked at Bev for confirmation, and much to his chagrin Bev gave him the most ridiculous, and most unsubtle thumbs up ever.

“Okay, sure,” Eddie relents, “just get me whatever you’re having”

“Are you sure you can handle that?” Richard said with a wink. Eddie stared at the floor again, eyes wandering over Richie’s boots. The laces were not proper laces at all, and were instead blue string, frayed and threadbare.

“I’ll have a jack and coke, if you’d be so kind. Lotta Jack, not so much coke” Bev asks, smiling up at Richie.

“That’s a lot of booze for a young lady like yourself” Richie drawled in something Eddie supposed was supposed to be a southern accent.

“Bite me”

“If you’re sure”

Eddie sort of expected Bev to tell Richie to fuck off, but she doesn’t. She did something much more surprising.

“Hey Eddie, why don’t you go and help Richie carry the drinks? I’m just gonna –“ she gestures to the opening of the tent and waggles the spliff between her fingers.

“Aw, man. I’m hitting on the wrong person here. Any chance of a do-over, Red?”

“Not a fuckin’ chance, Trashmouth. I’ll be back in a few, Eddie, go help with the drinks!” Bev says again, a little bit more insistent this time.

“What a marvellous idea! Come on, Spaghetti” Richie announced, sending a look towards Bev that Eddie didn’t understand.

Eddie stood up, wordless, and followed Richie towards the bar, but not before sending a silent “what the fuck?!” Bev’s way. She just smiled at him, stuck her thumbs up, and disappeared out of the tent.

Eddie waited at the bar with Richie, who was drumming out the beat of a song that Eddie doesn’t recognise on the polished wood.

“Bev has a girlfriend, you know,” Eddie blurted out before he could stop himself, “just so you, y’know … know”

“Does she? That’s nice. Now, do you have a boytoy, Mr Eds?”

“but … aren’t you trying to hit on her?”

“Uh, I’m definitely trying to hit on someone, but it ain’t Red”

“Then … who …”

Richie looked at Eddie square in the face with epitome of are you shitting me written across his face.

“…oh”

“Yeah, Oh” Richie mocked, laughing. Eddie couldn’t help but notice that his eyes were glittering despite the low light of the tent.

Unsure of what to say, Eddie remained silent for a few beats too long, but he was saved when the bartender came over to take their order. Richie orders Bev’s drink, before also ordering two pints of hard cider, one of which he passes to Eddie.

“So, to return to our previous conversation, is there a Mrs Eddie Spaghetti waiting for you at home?”

“Okay, you gotta stop with all this spaghetti stuff. It’s just Eddie”

“Sure. Is there a Mrs Just-Eddie waiting for you at home?”

“Wait – hang on. How did you even know I like men?”

“Lucky guess” Richie boasted, waggling his eyebrows.

Eddie stared at him until Richie burst out laughing.

“No, Seriously! It was a lucky guess. I was fully prepared for you to tell me that Red was your girl and that I’d have to slink off with my tail in between my legs”

“Bev will find that hilarious when I tell her that”

“C’mon, S’getti you’re killing me,” Richie groaned, “should I persist in my pathetic attempts to woo you or am I wasting my time?”

Eddie pretended to think, and rubbed his chin with the hand that wasn’t holding his cider.

“I’m not sure I wanna tell you, yet. I’m quite enjoying watching you squirm”

“You sadist” Richie shot back immediately.

Eddie stood up on his tiptoes and whispered, “you don’t know the half of it” directly into the shell of Richie’s ear, before he swiftly turned on his heel and slinked back to the table.

“I’m taking that as a ‘Yes, Richie, please continue trying to get into my pants!’” Richie yelled after him.

Eddie threw his head back, and laughed.

– X –

When they got back to their tent that evening after staggering back across the field, Bev and Eddie collapsed onto the same tiny air mattress and curled around each other like inebriated kittens.

“Sooooo?” Bev drawled, as she tried to pull her boots off without unlacing them first.

“Whazzit? What?”

“Richie? D’ya like him? Because I’m pretty sure he’s gone all kissy-kissy-mushy-mushy over a certain little spaghetttiiiiii”

“oh m’god, shut’p,” Eddie slurred, and he tried to hit Bev on the arm but missed by a good six inches, “he’s just … uh … flirtatious”

“Naw, Eddie, he’s desperate to, y’know, get in there!” Bev laughed hysterically, as she pointed at Eddie’s crotch.

Eddie rolled his eyes, at least he thought he did, he’s definitely too drunk to tell.

“C’mere, tiny, I wanna spooooon” Bev moaned, grabbing Eddie.

They both fell asleep almost instantly after that, Bev’s arm wrapped snugly around Eddie’s waist.

– X –

The next morning Eddie woke up with a mouth that tasted like he’d gargled with white spirit, and, surprisingly, no headache and a stomach that only felt a tiny bit like a whirlpool.

Bev, on the other hand, wailed like a banshee when Eddie shifted on the air mattress to open the tent flap, letting a stream of cool air into the tent.

“Edward, I will cut off you bollocks if you let any more light in”

Eddie slipped out of the tent, leaving Bev to her hangover. The sun was already high in the sky, and Eddie guessed it couldn’t have been earlier than eleven or midday. His mother would definitely never have let him sleep in this late. The music started today, the first band taking to the main stage at 3pm. There seemed to be more people than Eddie had ever seen in his life charging around the staff camping grounds, carrying various bits of rigging, instruments and electrical equipment. Eddie sat on the grass outside his tent, trying to psyche himself up enough to make the long, arduous 500 metre walk to the bathrooms to brush his teeth, when a large hand clamped on his shoulder. Eddie barely managed to suppress his scream.

“Howdy, neighbour!”

“Oh my God, it’s you”

“That isn’t a very nice way to greet your beloved now is it, Eddie?”

“I thought I’d dreamt you up in an alcohol-induced fever dream” Eddie deadpanned as Richie all but threw himself down on the grass next to him.

“Naw,” was all Richie said, closing his eyes against the light of the sun. Eddie swore he could see the freckles scattered across the bridge of Richie’s nose multiply in front of his eyes.

They sat without talking for a while, listening to the hustle and bustle of the campsite. Richie looked exhausted, and Eddie wanted to let Richie rest his head in his lap while he stroked Richie’s wild hair until he was snoring.

“So … plan on seeing any good bands today?” Eddie asked awkwardly, consciously aware of the fact that the Dutch courage previously coursing through his veins had evaporated overnight.

“I dunno, yet. Who are you going to see?”

“Bev wants to see Def Leppard, who I’m not majorly fussed about, but I have to go see ‘em if she’ll even think about coming with me to see Kiss”

“Where is Red this morning, anyway? Is that … is that tent of yours empty?”

“She’s still asleep”

“Cockblock” Richie cursed under his breath, just loud enough for Eddie to hear it.

“You’re very presumptuous, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t make a habit of this” Richie replied, with a serious edge to his voice.

Eddie blinked.

“Make a habit of what?” Eddie asked, dumbly.

“This,” Richie gestured to Eddie and then back to himself and repeated the action, “I’m not … I don’t do this stuff”

“Richie, I’m confused”

“Never mind, sugar. I’ll explain it to you when you’re older”

Before Eddie could protest that he wanted Richie to explain his cryptic message now and not later, a rather dishevelled and grumpy looking Bev poked her head out of the tent.

“Okay. One, Eddie, I love you but you are so dense that light bends around you. Two, can you guys go flirt somewhere else please, it’s making my stomach churn”

“Top o’the mornin’ to ya, lassie!” Richie bellowed in an awful Irish accent, shuffling closer to Eddie to allow Bev more space to clamber out of the tent.

Bev collapsed on the grass next to them, rubbing her head.

“Do you have any painkillers in that magic fanny-pack of yours?” She asked Eddie, a pitiful twang to her voice.

Eddie nodded, and climbed back into the tent to search for the fanny-pack. When he’d grabbed it and climbed back out of the tent, Bev and Richie were sitting close, heads together, whispering frantically about something that Eddie couldn’t hear. Bev’s face was stern, like she was scolding a small child who had broken her favourite mug, and Richie’s eyebrows looked very insistent, but also vaguely scared. They sprang apart when Eddie climbed back out of the tent, painkillers in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. He passed both items to Bev, who hoovered up two painkillers quicker than Eddie could blink.

“I gotta skedaddle now, my love. Promise you’ll stay faithful as you wait for me,” Richie announced as he stood up, and brushed stray blades of grass off his jeans.

“I won’t make a promise I can’t keep, Rich,” Eddie tried to joke, but it fell flat as Richie’s smile, only for the briefest of seconds, was replaced by a mask of hurt.

“I guess I’ll see you around then,” and with that, Richie sauntered off, hands shoved deep in his pockets, head hanging uncharacteristically low.

“Eddie, what I need you to do right now, is go after him and apologise for being a dick”

“What did I do?!”

“You know exactly what you did”

Eddie did know.

The truth was, Eddie was harbouring a crush on Richie that was growing exponentially. He’d spotted him immediately as they’d walked into the VIP tent the day before. His heart had thumped wildly the entire time they sat close together, drinking cider and laughing, and he’d almost vomited every time Richie’s arm brushed his. Eddie had it bad. He knew this. But, try as he might, something kept him from entirely letting go. Something about the fact they’d met at a festival, miles and miles away from Eddie’s home town, and they’d probably never see each other again. He’d never experimented with casual sex, a nice fuck and a see you never! arrangement. He’d never given it much thought. Maybe he should.

Without another word, Eddie sprung up and chased after Richie, who was now rounding the corner by the toilet block.

“Rich!” Eddie called out, panting.

Richie turned around, and beamed at Eddie.

Eddie felt lighter.

“I’m sorry I’m a dick”

“You’re not a dick”

“I am, and I’m sorry. Do you … I dunno, do you wanna come see Def Leppard with us later, maybe? I mean – you don’t have to, I just meant if you have nothing better to –”

“I’d love to”

– X –

“POUR SOME SUGAR ON ME!” Eddie screamed along with Joe Elliott, thousands of other people, and Richie.

Bev had disappeared a few songs ago, pushing her way to the front barrier, but Eddie had hung back. He was stood directly in front of Richie, who had been whispering (or, more accurately, shouting) into his ear occasionally, and even in one delicious, ridiculous moment, picked Eddie up and stuck him on his shoulders. That didn’t last long because Eddie was terrified he’d fall off, but having his thighs wrapped around Richie’s neck was exhilarating for the four minutes it lasted.

“Eds, this might be the best day of my life,” Richie shouted, hot, moist breath tickling Eddie’s ear.

“I think me too!” Eddie shouted back, and the Richie did something that made Eddie’s brain shortcircuit.

Richie wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist, crossing them over his stomach, and placed a large, wet-sounding kiss on the top of Eddie’s head.

Eddie didn’t dare blink, breathe, move or think.

“Thank you for inviting me” Richie whispered, and it was a real whisper this time, spoken directly into Eddie’s heart.

“it’s uh – no problem”

The band ripped into a cover of The Who’s ‘My Generation’, and much to Eddie’s annoyance, Richie released Eddie from his cobra-hold and tugged him forward, forward, forward until they ran into Bev at the barrier. Bev’s long orange hair was piled on top of her head, her face was sweaty and pink, and she looked absolutely radiant.

“This is our fucking song now!” Richie bellowed, hoisting Bev up on his shoulders like he had done to Eddie a few songs earlier.

Eddie grabbed Bev’s ankle and squeezed it. She smiled down at him, all teeth and tongue and happy, happy, happy.

– X –

The sun had fully set behind the massive stage, and Def Leppard had just finished their encore. The mass of people that had been surrounding Eddie, a coagulated mass of shadows and sharp elbows, parted like red sea as people slowly started to trickle out of the main arena and back towards the campsites. As they walked, shoulders bumping together occasionally, Eddie noticed several people staring at Richie, or pointing at him and whispering. Eddie glanced up at Richie to see if he’d noticed, only to find Richie looking down at him with soft eyes and a small, but genuine, smile.

“You okay, Eds?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fucking great, Rich. I wasn’t expecting to enjoy it as much as I did”

“Ah, that’s because I was there, obviously” Richie boasted.

Eddie could tell that he was joking, that he was just playing the game they’d been playing for the past twenty-four hours, but that didn’t stop Eddie from saying “yeah, it probably was”, as honest as the day is long.

Eddie’s honesty seemed to hit Richie in the stomach like a sucker punch, because he made this weird spluttering noise.

“Fucking hell, Sugar, you can’t just say stuff like that”

“Why?”

“Because – Never mind, I’m gonna walk you back to your tent, c’mon”

Eddie stopped walking, and tugged on Richie’s arm to get him to stop too. Richie swung around so he was facing Eddie, boot toe to boot toe.

“Richie, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t think I can do this anymore, Eddie”

“Do what?”

“I can’t just keep this up. I can’t keep fucking – fucking dancing with you, laughing with you, letting you smile at me like that, and then when you cuddled with me during the show I was like, ‘oh my God, this is it, he does feel the same’  but then … then you go all cold on me or you glare at me or …” Richie trailed off, his eyes flickered between Eddie’s eyes and mouth.

“Richie, I – ”

“Please don’t, please don’t pity me or say you’re sorry, or anything like that. God, I’ll drop down dead if you say you’re sorry, Eds. It isn’t your fault, it’s mine. I wasn’t joking about walking you back, though, c’mon, Bev will kill me if we’re back much later than – ”

Richie stopped talking because Eddie had kissed him.

Eddie curled his hand around Richie’s neck and dragged his face down, before he smashed his lips to Richie’s in a kiss that started off almost violent in its awkwardness but soon became soft and hesitant. Richie didn’t move at first, and Eddie almost pulled away, ready to sprint off to the campsite fuelled on nothing but mortal embarrassment, but just as Eddie had pulled his lips a millimetre away from Richie’s, Richie opened his mouth slightly, just barely, and kissed Eddie back.

They kissed, Richie’s hands cradling Eddie’s face, until someone came careening into Eddie’s back, sending him flying forwards into Richie’s chest, arms flailing wildly.

“Sorry, mate!”

“No problem, bro” Richie responded, voice low and gruff, and from his position squished up against Richie’s chest, Eddie laughed, poking at the soft flesh of Richie’s tummy with his index finger.

“Bro?” Eddie mocked.

“What?”

“You’re ridiculous”

“And yet, you kissed me”

“I did”

“So that makes you ridiculous as well”

“It does”

“Wanna do it again?”

“Yes”

This time, Richie kissed Eddie.

– X –

By the time they’d gotten back to the tent, Eddie wasn’t done with Richie. Not even close. They’d stopped a few times on the way back, mostly Richie cutting Eddie off with his tongue, or one time that Eddie got so frustrated with Richie doing that he shoved him up against a tree and kissed him until Richie couldn’t breathe. It still wasn’t enough. However, Eddie didn’t know how to ask for more, how to ask Richie to climb into his tent with him.

Bev wasn’t in the tent when Eddie poked his head in, but there was a note lying on the air mattress.

With my mom tonight, wanted to give you some space WINK WINK

Love you be safe I’ll kick his ass if he hurts you

Don’t show his this note

Or you can if you want

Richard I’ll kill you if you hurt him okay

Love you love you love you

Eddie loved Beverly so much he could scream.

“Uh… are you tired yet?” Eddie asked, trying to remain inconspicuous, but subtlety was never his strong point.

“Nope” Richie responded, popping the ‘P’.

“Do you wanna, come in? I can’t offer you coffee because … well, I don’t have any way of making any but I can offer you … lukewarm water?”

“Eds?”

“Yeah?”

“Cut the shit”

Richie all but threw himself through the entrance of the tent, pouncing on Eddie with a loud ‘oof’. They both sprawled backwards, and Richie hovered over Eddie, his eyes dark.

“Are you sure?”

“More sure than I’ve been of anything for a very long time”

“Do you have … the necessarily equipment?”

“Are you talking about whether or not I have a dick? Because …” Eddie gestured to his crotch where, yes, it was very obvious that he was packing heat, thank you very much.

“No, you goof, I meant lube and stuff”

“Oh… yeah I do, hang on”

“You’re very … prepared”

“Jealous?”

“I would be if it wasn’t me in this tent with you right now”

“Well it is, so shut up and kiss me”

– X –

The next morning, Eddie had woken up with a crick in his neck. Richie had gone. What lay on the pillow where Richie’s head should have been, was Bev’s note. Or, rather, another note, scrawled on the back of Bev’s note.

Please get as close to the barrier as possible during Crimson Nightmare’s set

Please please please please

You fuckin’ rocked my world last night Eds

R x

– X –

Eddie looked behind him at the pulsing mass of people, blurring into one lacquered mass in the darkness of the night, random faces illuminated by the spotlights. Raucous chants surrounded him, a war cry, “CRIMSON NIGHTMARE! CRIMSON NIGHTMARE! CRIMSON NIGHTMARE!”. It was cultish, and Eddie could feel himself becoming indoctrinated.

Without warning, the huge fluttering black cloth that had been obscuring the stage was sucked through a gap in the ceiling, and revealed the stage. The entire set was decked out to look like an industrial hellscape, all juddering fans, sharp looking pieces of metal jutting every which way and large metal platforms. Several huge industrial fans were stood in the centre of the stage, acting as a podium for an obscenely large drumkit. Eddie hardly noticed the stage, though, as he was preoccupied with looking at the elaborate venetian masks the band were wearing. They obscured almost their entire faces, and looked like they were made of a buttery-soft leather with horns curling skywards. The bassist was stood on a large piece of scaffolding stage right, and the lead guitarist was standing on the floor surrounded by shards of metal poking out of the floor stage left. The screams and hollers of the crowd grew deafening, and the guitarist ripped straight into a blistering riff that sounded like it’d been spat from the mouth of the devil himself. A scream tore its way out of Eddie’s body, and he began jumping up and down with the crowd, coagulating until he had become One with the throbbing mass of people.

Like Richie’s note had said, Eddie was right at the barrier. His ribs were being crushed against the hard metal every time he leapt up and down, but he hardly noticed it once the vocalist walked out onto stage. The vocalist walked with a swagger that punched Eddie straight in the gut, and before they had even managed to spit out a single syllable, Eddie almost collapsed on the floor. He was held up by Bev, who shot him a questioning look. Eddie didn’t dare speak, move, breath, blink.

“Aw man, look at you see of sexy bitches come all this way to see little old me?” the vocalist brayed, stamping his feet in time with the rhythmic booming of the bass drum.

The crowd roared back in response. Eddie couldn’t breathe.

The vocalist was wearing the same mask as the rest of his bandmates, but that didn’t matter.

“All this noise for me? Too fuckin’ bad I’m gonna make your ears fucking bleeeeeed. This one’s called ‘You’ll Float Too’ and you’re gonna fucking love it” Richie yelled, before screaming like a banshee and launching into the first song.

It was Richie.

It was Richie’s voice.

It was Richie’s voice, Richie’s raspy growl, Richie’s beaten up old boots.

The frontman of the last headliner of Iron Horns was the guy that Eddie had ridden on his shitty little air mattress in his shitty little tent the night before.

Eddie tapped Bev on the shoulder, and soon the taps became almighty whacks when she wouldn’t turn around, but when she did, Eddie knew that she knew.

“IS THAT?!”

“IT IS!”

“FUCKING HELL”

“I KNOW”

Richie paraded up and down the stage, the big black coat he was wearing flapping in the breeze of the industrial fans. Eddie was mesmerised by the way Richie made screaming into the microphone with such tenacity look easy, and the way that Richie leapt around the stage effortlessly. The crowd were screaming, and a pit opened up directly behind Eddie, who clung to the barrier, knuckles bright white, to avoid getting sucked into its depths. Bev, as she always did, disappeared into the centre of the hurricane, and was spat out again several minutes later, eyes gleaming, hair tousled.

– X –

Half way through their last song, Richie locked eyes with Eddie.

Eddie hadn’t been sure that Richie had seen him there, a fleck of sand on the beach, faceless amongst the crowd. But, half way through ‘No Dread, No Desire’, Richie’s eyes locked with his. Of course, Eddie initially thought that Richie could have just so happened to have been staring in his general direction, but when Richie practically ran to the spot directly in front of where Eddie was standing, all doubts dissolved. Richie dropped to his knees and belted the rest of the song directly at Eddie, who needed Bev to hold him up once more.

– X –

Even after Richie had sung the last note of the encore, and bid the crowd farewell, Eddie couldn’t move. He was glued to the spot, practically growing roots. Bev stood next to him, saying nothing, just breathing, loud and heavy breaths curling into the black sky like smoke.

“So”

“So”

“Richie’s in a band”

“Richie’s in … a fucking good band”

“You slept with him”

“I did”

“You slept with a guy in a band”

“I did”

“Are you a groupie now?”

“Fuck off”

A figure appeared on stage, and shuffled towards them. A figure wearing sweatpants and boots with laces that weren’t real laces, but were instead blue, frayed string.  

The figure crouched in front of them.

“Did you like the set?”

“You’re fucking famous” Eddie blurted out, tongue thick and fat in his mouth.

“M’not, not really. The vocalist of Crimson Nightmare is kinda famous, but he’s … he’s not really me. M’just Richie”

“But … Aren’t you the vocalist?”

“Well, yes, I mean technically, but I wear that mask n’ all so… It’s also sort of, not me?”

“Richie I have no idea what to say, I’m like … I’m fucking shaking”

“Good shaking? Bad shaking? Did you hate it? That growl in the third song came out so fucking janky, and I know that I sounded kinda flat in a few of the songs but –“

“You were … spectacular” Eddie breathed, and stared up at Richie with wide, earnest eyes.

“Aw, shit. You’re gonna make me blush, Eddie Spaghetti”

Richie hopped down off the stage, crowding into Eddie’s space. They were separated by a thin metal fence. It was too much distance.

“Beverly, if you don’t want to watch me shove my tongue down Eddie’s throat, I suggest that you avert your eyes, otherwise, enjoy the fuckin’ show”

Bev’s indignant squawk was drowned out by the all-consuming taste on Eddie’s tongue.

– X –

From: Sugar Daddy:

[youtube link]

From: Sugar Daddy:

Last night in Denver. I think you’ll like it <3

Eddie opened the link. It was a video of Crimson Nightmare headlining a spot at Denver arena. The camera was shaky, and the audio screechy, but it was clear enough so Eddie could hear everything Richie was saying.

“Alright, alright, now, I know this is gonna come as a fuckin’ surprise to some of you, or maybe it won’t, but I dedicate this next song to the boy who inspired it. Eddie Spaghetti, this one’s for you, my love, my one, my only”

Screeching guitar and guttural screams filtered out of the shitty speakers of Eddie’s phone. Eddie lay back on his bed, closed his eyes, and drifted.

To: Sugar Daddy:

I love you

[lovelylanden]

Hitman

Where Elliot is a hitman and gets himself into a sticky situation. 

Note: This was a lot of fun to write !! I wish the Mr. Robot fandom wasn’t so small. The show is very underrated when it reality it’s woke as hell and deserves more recognition. Plus Rami is in it, of course. That’s always a plus. Much love and enjoy x 

Word count: 2.8k

---

Mud soaked through the dark canvas of his shoes and Elliot grits his teeth but keeps moving, hood masking his sharp features, the tension of his jaw and redness rimming his eyes. The gun felt heavy on his belt, easily concealed as he treks forward, faster now but still several paces behind his target, close enough to keep him in view but far enough away not to attract attention. Killing Terry Colby would be easy. Being the CTO at E-Corp meant his ego was bloated, he knew that he was important, blinded by the fact but unaware that he had a target on his back. 

If Elliot managed to kill Colby--which he knew with great confidence that he would--he would get paid handsomely. This wasn’t his first time working for Tyrell Wellick and knew the man would hold up his end of the deal. He had a lot to lose; a wife and child, his reputation, all of which Elliot could destroy without as much as a second thought. Elliot had made sure Tyrell was aware of this; if Tyrell tried any funny business at all, Elliot would expose him, would make it impossible for him to recover. 

The air was cold as it bit at his skin but Elliot blocks out the numbness of his face, the stiffness of his fingers. The sun wouldn’t rise for hours yet and the fact that Colby was combing the empty streets of New York alone was an unexpected treat. It would without a doubt make his job easier. Elliot picks up his pace, sliding slightly on the mud that had begun to congeal with the chilling autumn weather. It was on the cusp of winter now, stuck in the sort of in between that Elliot despised. 

Terry continues at a slow pace, lax as he sips on a coffee and whistles without a care in the world. Despite the fact that he had a highly trained assassin trailing him. 

The alleyway they’re about to pass seemed almost too perfect but Elliot doesn’t question it as he follows close behind him and pulls him into the darkness, pressing him up against the brick with a forearm to his throat. The man screams with surprise but Elliot is quick to muffle the sound with his palm, hissing with pain when Colby bites into his flesh, harsh and desperate. There’s an unpleasant, pungent smell that fills the air and when Elliot looks down, he finds Terry had pissed himself, overcome with fear. 

Elliot cocks his gun, the cool metal heavy in his palm and presses the gun to Colby’s forehead before pulling the trigger. There’s only a faint buzzing noise, the shock of the bullet muffled by the silencer he had attached earlier that morning but Elliot’s own blood roars in his ears, quieting it further. He feels the warmth of blood splatter on his neck and cringes but otherwise doesn’t move. He can only take him in when he’s sure he had stopped breathing.

An eerie sort of silence washes over him and Elliot grimaces, hiding the body the best he can before going two blocks down to the car Wellick had promised to leave. When Elliot makes it back to the site, he pulls the car as close into the alley as he could dare and throws Colby’s body into the trunk before wiping his blood stained hands on his pants and makes his way to the arcade. Wellick would be waiting there and Elliot was eager to rid the body and get his pay. 

He’s glad the sun was yet to rise as he pulls into a parking space and carries Colby’s body through the entrance. Elliot finds Tyrell sitting beside the skeeball lanes, looking anxious and watches his face go paper white when he takes in Terry’s body. “What?” Elliot mutters, dropping the body like a sack of potatoes, the thud loud in the empty silence. “Take a good look before I burn his body,” He continues, prying the dried blood from beneath his fingernails. 

Tyrell stumbles forward, a green tint taking over the stark white and Elliot merely grimaces once he turns and gets sick a few feet away. “He’s...” Tyrell trails off and Elliot rolls his eyes now, quickly becoming irritated. 

“Dead? Yes, that’s what happens when you hire a hitman,” Elliot says with a sort of venom that has Tyrell flinching back. “Now hand over my pay. I need to get rid of this body and would like to do so before the sun rises,” 

Tyrell swallows loudly, eyes wide and hands over a wad of cash, watching as Elliot undoes the band and counts it before him. If Tyrell had shorted him, things wouldn’t end well. After counting it twice, Tyrell sighs with relief when Elliot nods with approval. “Alright,” Elliot says, shrugging as he pockets the money. “Get out of here, unless you want to watch,” He holds a grim smile that has Tyrell shuddering with unease and he says nothing as he backs away from him. 

Tyrell didn’t want to witness Elliot burning Terry Colby’s body, didn’t want to smell the bitter tang of melting flesh. The sight alone was enough to haunt him for weeks so he leaves Elliot to it. He had Elliot’s contact information, the number of a burner phone Elliot would undoubtedly trash within the next few days. If Tyrell didn’t see him again before then, he knew the chances of coming in contact with him was unlikely and that bothers him more than he’d like to admit. 

***

“Shit,” Elliot grits his teeth, waves of pain washing over his abdomen and limps over to the arcade, thankfully not far off with his hands pressed to his stomach as black dots dance across his vision. He takes his phone out, that shitty burner he had bought three days before and calls the one person he can think of as he tries to steady his breathing. 

“Elliot?” Tyrell murmurs with surprise. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Elliot chokes. “Where are you right now?” 

“At home,” Tyrell says instantly but his voice is hushed, still heavy with sleep. “What’s wrong?” 

“I need you to meet me at the arcade. Bring rubbing alcohol, gauze, a lighter, a pair of needle nose pliers and a metal butter knife,” He instructs, words muddled. 

“What—“ 

“Just do it,” Elliot snaps. “And hurry up,” He hangs up the phone then, applying more pressure to his stomach and tries to ignore the warmth of his own blood on his hands. It bothered him more than anyone else’s blood did; the blood of his enemies was of his own cause but the sight of his own, injured by an outsider caused nausea to rise up in his throat. Elliot had been trailing his next client, a younger, lower ranked associate at E-Corp who had managed to turn the tables on Elliot, bringing out a gun of his own and shooting him with barely a glance. 

Adrenaline ran like acid through his veins and Elliot fights hard to steady his breathing. Panicking wouldn’t solve anything but the fact that his vision had begun to tunnel only worsened his anxiety. 

The door to the arcade opens with a squeal and Elliot takes Tyrell in; he was holding all that he had asked, looking confused but goes paper white at the sight of his blood soaked shirt. “Elliot what the fuck,” He hisses, coming to his side.

He didn’t have time to explain, only rids himself of his shirt and takes the knife, lighter, pliers and alcohol from him. Tyrell watches as Elliot disinfects the tools, then his wound and grits his teeth to keep from gagging as he watches Elliot dig into the wound before pulling out the bullet he had been hunting for. “Fuck me,” Elliot whispers with a grimace before disinfecting his wound once again. 

When Elliot begins to heat the knife with the lighter, tinged with black but not quite red hot, Tyrell’s eyes widen. “What’re you doing?” He yelps.

“I have to cauterize the wound,” Elliot mutters, not looking up at him. “It’s too deep for it to clot on its own and I’d probably need stitches but there’s no way in hell I’m going to the hospital so this is my best bet,”

Tyrell looked close to passing out himself and he has to steady himself on the pinball machine, not sure he could believe his eyes as he watches Elliot press the knife to the injury in short bursts, as if he had done it dozens of times before and maybe he had. “Holy shit,” He mutters but can’t help but gag this time at the smell of burning flesh. It was the exact thing he had avoided days before when Elliot had killed Terry Colby and yet Tyrell found this so much worse.

“Hand me the gauze,” Elliot chokes and Tyrell does, barely managing to look in his direction as he takes it, hands soaked dark with drying blood. Once Elliot had wrapped up the wound, he sighs, relieved but winces at the pain that still remained. He limps over to the popcorn machine, opening up the popper and Tyrell’s eyes widen with surprise when Elliot pulls out a small baggy of off white powder. He had a hunch that Elliot had been on some sort of drug but opiates? That would’ve been his last guess. 

“Thank you,” Elliot mutters after doing two lines for good measure. 

Tyrell can’t help but shake himself out with confusion. What in the ever living fuck was happening right now? “Are you going to be okay?” He asks, the only thing he can come up with and watches Elliot nod sluggishly.

“I’ll be fine,” He promises, running a hand through his hair before shrugging his shirt back on. 

Tyrell was relieved to see colour was beginning to return to Elliot’s face. He looks down at the shirt he wore, a medium grey stained crimson and grimaces before shrugging off the hoodie he wore, a last minute decision when he rushed out the door to meet him and says, “Take this. It wouldn’t be very smart to walk around Queens in a bloody shirt,” The sarcasm is thick in his tone and Elliot rolls his eyes but takes it nonetheless.

“See you around, Wellick,” Elliot says simply, as if they had just been discussing the weather and Tyrell’s eyebrows furrow with confusion. 

“That’s it?” He whispers, eyes wide as he watches Elliot pull the hood over his face, looking nearly unbothered. “You’re just going to go?”

“Did you... need anything else from me?” Elliot asks, sounding just as confused. 

“No, I just—“ 

“Then I need to get going,” Elliot shrugs. “My client is going to be pissed I let him go and I need to find him before shit can hit the fan,” 

“Shit hasn’t already hit the fan?” Tyrell asks incredulously and Elliot shakes his head with the slightest smile. 

“Shit would hit the fan if I were dead,” Elliot says, zipping up his hoodie and turning his back to him. 

“Are you sure you should be going out to find that guy after you just got shot?” Tyrell whispers, uncertain. 

Elliot sighs and when he turns toward Tyrell again, he finds him frowning deeply. “If I don’t, the consequences of letting him free will be worse off,” He says simply and doesn’t give Tyrell the chance to respond before he leaves the arcade.

Tyrell stands there, buzzing with confusion as he watches Elliot limp out before the door screeches behind him and he disappears. He knew he shouldn’t leave Elliot to fend for himself but wouldn’t be much help in any case. He didn’t know the first thing about killing anyone and the sight of blood made him queasy and yet... he couldn’t bare to leave him alone. 

Tyrell leaves the arcade after making what could be the most foolish decision of his life. He finds Elliot barely outside of the parking lot and trails him, a few feet back. Tyrell knew Elliot was still on cloud nine, morphine settling deep in his blood so he would be the last thing on Elliot’s mind. 

They’re walking for hours and Tyrell couldn’t help but be the slightest bit impressed at Elliot’s stamina given the fact that he had been shot earlier that night. They stop in front of a shitty motel 6 and Elliot strides in confident as ever. The front desk is abandoned so Elliot walks behind it, looking through the clientele sheet and finds his target’s room and makes his way there. Tyrell is barely able to trail him without giving himself away but manages, sighing with relief when Elliot stops in front of one of the first few rooms, crouching down to pick the lock. Once it clicks, a muffled sound in the silence, Elliot physically relaxes, looking relieved. 

He walks into the hotel room, gun raised and painted with his own blood but he pays it little mind as he walks further into the room. He finds the man asleep on the pull out couch, hand over his eyes and Elliot grins, taking aim before pulling the trigger. 

His death was quick and Elliot grits his teeth, bitter. He wished that the man would’ve suffered, given what he had done to him but knew this was for the best. He takes his phone out and calls the agency he worked with, a secret government corporation who often took care of the bodies and gives them a run down as quickly as he can. “And hurry,” Elliot snaps into the receiver, holding his side which had begun to ache all over again. “It’s been a long night and I don’t feel like waiting,”

Elliot moves toward the doorway, frowning at the door which was left ajar. He had closed it when he had come in. Tyrell doesn’t have the chance to hide before Elliot spots him, heart racing with fear. “Damn it,” He hisses, eyes narrowed. “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

Tyrell watches as Elliot puts his gun in his belt, hiding it under the hoodie he still wore and tries to work his tongue to form any sort of explanation but comes up empty. “I—“ 

“You wanted to snoop,” Elliot cuts in, voice sharp. “What was the point in that? Wanted to watch me kill someone, did you?” 

“No, I just... I wanted to make sure you were okay,” 

“I told you I would be,” Elliot snaps, moving forward and pushing him out of the way, locking the door before pulling Tyrell toward the hotel exit. “We need to get out of here before they show up,” He mutters. 

“Who?” Tyrell asks, confused and Elliot rolls his eyes with irritation. 

“The corporation I work with. They take care of the bodies so the murder doesn’t get traced back to me. My boss would’ve had my head if I hadn’t gone through with this mission, that’s why I was so desperate to make sure I got it done,” He explains as they walk back out into the cool night air. 

“But I’m the one who contacted you,” Tyrell says with furrowed eyebrows. “I didn’t contact any sort of corporation to get to you,” 

“I take cases like yours into my own hands,” Elliot says simply. “I like the pay people like you give and I know how to get rid of bodies myself. I just don’t like to,” His voice was even as he spoke, sounding calm as they walk across the hotel parking lot. A black Escalade pulls up beside them and Elliot nods at the man who rolls down a tinted window. “A17,” He says before he and Tyrell continue on. 

“Where are we going?” He asks softly and Elliot sighs, pulling the hood up over his face. 

“I’m going home. I don’t give a shit where you go,” He shoves his hands into the pockets and sighs with frustration when Tyrell continues walking at his side. “What?” He snaps, finally losing his temper. 

“I... I don’t want to be left alone,” Tyrell murmurs, looking down at his hands. 

“You have a wife and kid. Go back to them,” 

“They’re not home,” Tyrell lies quickly, unsure why he was doing so. Maybe it was the fact that it wasn’t exactly him who wanted company. He had a feeling it was Elliot who didn’t want to be alone. 

“I know a good barbecue place not far from here,” Elliot says eventually. “Want to get something to eat?” 

The smallest of smiles makes its way onto Tyrell’s face and he nods, finally looking up at him. “I’d like that,” He admits and the silence that falls over them not long after is more comforting than not. Tyrell finds a sort of beauty in it.

[logicheartsoul]

All in all, the concert with Hyde was pretty good in terms of music acts and the atmosphere. It sucks that the camera I brought wasn’t allowed (even though the list on their website on prohibited items didn’t clarify what kind of cameras weren’t allowed -- it should have been more clearer) but staff was understanding.

Trying to find parking was a hassle but we ended up right across the street (and found where all the bands’ trailers were as a result) so that was good, even though it took 20 minutes (because it’s a maze near the venue where he was performing). Luckily, the first band wasn’t Hyde, and even though we missed them, we came in when they were setting up and Hyde’s setup was nice -- definitely fits the aesthetics of all the videos of his latest album, which I got for 10 bucks. I really wanted a shirt but I didn’t want to shell out 40 for the one. (I already have a VAMPS shirt from 2 years ago, so really don’t need another shirt.)

I get the crowd was mostly American and they were for the headlining band that has a different vibe from Hyde but while there were a few of us trying to get it pumped up and screaming, and a couple of times we got them to do rhythmic clapping, it was just...I dunno what was with this crowd. There wasn’t a lot of moving around, or arm waving, or screaming except from certain fans or when the bands were trying to amp up for participation. The only time I saw real active activity was when the headliner showed up, and even then it was mostly like...screaming and some singing along, though some headbanging or moving bodies happened around us, it wasn’t a lot. 

I dunno, for a band with some really heavy metal/bass/screaming, there wasn’t...a lot of activity, surprisingly.

My last concert I went to (which actually is also when Hyde performed too lmao) even for the openers, people were really active: screaming, lots of jumping or head bopping, bodies moving, getting along with like clapping on beat or stuff like that. You really felt people were actually trying to revel in the vibe of the concert. I mean, they’re rock groups, it’s kinda par the course.

But musically though, I did enjoy the groups tonight that I did hear. One of them did a pretty damn good Led Zepplin cover.

We did find Hyde’s trailer and kinda chilled outside and found fans. My cousin’s friend apparently passed him once going to the bathroom. The other fans that hung out with us (and told us all sorts of new interesting info about him) said someone pointed out he was behind her at one point after the concert was over but yeah. 

Pretty much, when my cousin and I were hanging outside, saw him in an hoodie too big for him, a black baseball cap, and a white shirt, and black baggy pants, and it’s just...so him. A silent mood, and I guess he was just tired that he just went into the bus. It was fine -- I wish we could’ve interacted with him again, coz he likes doing that and he’s always been nice, but you know. Not really going to bang on the bus and ask for attention, ya know? We didn’t know if he was going to get out of the bus later but we waited for an hour and I guess he and the others called it quits so.

Still an interesting night for sure. Wish I had brought my other camera so I could’ve at least had some nice visuals but I got an album and free stickers, so yay?? And I got to see him pretty close too again, and I’m pretty sure he saw me screaming, headbanging and fist pumping too, so there’s that.

[tuxiedjabberwock]

Ft Big Bang - Smoke Always Follows Fire (Fairy Tail fan-fiction)

My piece for the @ft-bb Fairy Tail Big Bang event! Partnered with @h-eartfilias as my artist!

This is actually a part of the full story - I plan on making it multichaptered after all. It’s Rated M w/lime and features Edo!Nalu so read at your discretion

Mini fires from all over the school, of which he’s taken blame for, leads Natsu to the real source: Lucy Ashley. She counter-threatens him to reveal his underage circuit driving, and the game continues when they find more and more secrets to hold over the other. Soon enough, they’re in deeper waters than expected.

Although completely unintentional, fire always seemed to follow Natsu, and so as he ran down the school’s green with his bag bouncing on one shoulder, heavy textbooks in the other, he was distracted by the sight of it curling from a small building’s open window. So distracted, in fact, that he skidded to a stop, his sneakers scuffing against the wet crosshatched stone of the path as he spun around and warily stalked towards the source. For once, there was a fire and he wasn’t at the source—he had to look, even as his heart pounded out of his chest and his cowardice screamed for him to turn back and get to class before he was late.

 The building wasn’t marked, but it was in the vicinity of the Art and Design section, so he believed it was one of those classrooms. And as he peered through the window, he spotted several literature-based posters pinned on the wall. English Composition, probably, he thought, daring to lean closer. And what a dare it was, as a slender but strong hand snapped out from inside and seized the color of his white polo shirt. He shrieked in alarm, eyes bugging out from his head. The owner of said hand quickly pulled into his peripheral, but all he could see were eyes like smoldering coals.

 “—Oh,” said his accoster shortly, and a moment later he was released to the ground. His possessions scattered over the grass and he stared on with open-mouthed gasps as she met his gaze, arms crossed over her ample chest. Very short blonde hair pulled into a side ponytail adorned her head, and her face, while beautiful, was marred with a scowl. Pinched between two of her black-painted nails was a lit cigarette, the source of the smoke. “I thought you were someone else,” she said as means of an explanation, taking a drag. She never broke eye contact.

 “I—uh—you—” Natsu stammered, but he couldn’t get any sensible words out.

 “You’re that Natsu Dragion kid, aren’t you?” One hand curled into her cheek. “I’d recognize that dye job anywhere.”

 It was on his tongue to say that no, that was actually his natural newborn hair color, but his tongue didn’t want to move to form the words.

 “Don’t talk much, do you?” She raked her eyes over his frayed stonewashed jeans and long-sleeved polo. “Great. Makes this easier.” Removing the cig and pinching the tip between her nails, she tossed the butt into the trash and leaned close to him, close enough for him to count each golden-brown lash. “Say a word to anyone about this, you’ll be ashed faster than one of my fags. Well?” she said when he didn’t respond, baring her teeth.

 “A-Affirmative!” Natsu said in a voice far too high-pitched to be his own. She snorted and turned her nose up.

 “Who fuckin’ says affirmative?” She dusted off her black sweater and smoothed the folds of her far-below-regulation pleated skirt. “Whatever. Scurry away. I don’t want people to walk by and think we’re having a tryst.”

 And as Natsu beat his hasty retreat—without scurrying, he might’ve added with a smidge more courage—he wondered how a top ditcher like her knew the word tryst.

 ——————

 He saw her again the next week, and this time he discovered her name was Lucy Ashley. He knew because at the start of his mid-semester class, she loudly responded to the call of her name.

 “I’m here, as you can see, Four Eyes,” she told the poor professor.

 When Natsu’s name was called, he meekly responded upon feeling her eyes burning into the side of his face.

 Like her, he was hoping never to have a second confrontation. Luck, on the other hand, would speak otherwise.

 After class, he was alarmed to see her standing a way’s away in the hall beckoning him with a finger and a sugary smile. Fitting considered her insides were corroded and rotten. He stalked after her, still balking, and into another empty classroom, where she promptly locked the door and barred it with her body.

 (Granted, she was a whole foot shorter and probably thirty pounds lighter, but he did not want to make a joke of the situation.)

 “Are you stalking me or something?” she said, a nasty skew to the corner of her mouth. Her lipstick was the color of blackberries, and Natsu couldn’t help noting it matched her nails, but stood out stark as death against her pale and blonde complexion.

 “N-No! Of course not!” Why would I be a glutton for punishment? “I just, uh—it’s, err, coincidence?”

 “Coincidence,” she repeated. “Events which act in synergy by nothing but a casual connection.” He balked a little more openly as she set her hand on her cocked hip. She wore a denim skirt this time with ripped leather tights that certainly didn’t come that way, and a cut-up band t-shirt with a grey sweater hanging unbuttoned over her slim frame. “Although, since we never so much as breathed the same air before, I doubt this is a coincidence, Pinky.”

 “W-Well…” Natsu’s words failed him and he took a step back. Lucy’s eyes narrowed and like a predator, she matched his step with two. They continued towards the other end of the room when (expectedly, since he wasn’t quite looking where he was going) Natsu pitched over a desk, overturning it and hitting the ground with a loud noise. He opened his mouth for a pained shout when Lucy’s hand suddenly clapped over his lips.

 “Quiet,” she said under her breath. Natsu’s heart didn’t take the advice, pounding like a war drum, but he didn’t speak, and soon he detected the sound of footsteps. They passed after a moment, but Lucy remained unpleased. “They’re bringing security,” she said in a low voice. Her next action was hauling him up by the elbow and nearly dislocating his shoulder. God, she had a good right arm. “You drive?”

 No, nonono. “Um, that’s not—it isn’t—I don’t r-really—” She released him and was next to the window in a few quick steps, hoisting it open and swinging through. The doorknob clicked and in a fit of nerves Natsu followed.

 “Lookie there, Pinky’s playing truant,” Lucy said as he caught up with her. She moved quick for someone in platform boots.

 “P-People will start thinking I’m a d-delinquent,” he said anxiously as they approached the parking lot.

 “Maybe they’ll think you finally got that stick in your ass surgically removed.”

 Natsu, amid going towards his car and pulling out his keys, gave her a scandalized look. Lucy was unrepentant as she circled the vehicle. “Uh-huh. ’02 Mustang. Wouldn’t have taken ya for a speed demon.”

 You’d be surprised. “I, uh, I’m not.”

 “Well anyway, in exchange for my not kicking your ass and letting you get off scot-free, you’re giving me a ride home. I guess you’re a notch above the shitty people on the train.”

 “I-I-I’m sorry, b-but I—I j-just can’t—” The side of her fist hitting the roof startled him up, and he looked to see her dark expression.

 “Drive, or else.” Natsu complied faster than he would like to admit, and quickly unlocked the car. Lucy slid in first, crossing her arms and legs and glaring at the dash. Gulping, Natsu took the driver’s seat. He was in his right mind up until the door clicked shut. “Well?” Lucy said, looking at him with a raised brow. “Are we going anywhere soon?”

 “You didn’t say the magic word.”

 “What?” Her brow arched further when Fireball Natsu gave her a flat look, hands locked behind his head.

 “Let’s see… You threatened me over your folly, then dragged me into a classroom, and hijack my car for a ride. You got a nice face, Sugar Tits, but that ain’t a payment.”

 “—Excuse me?” Lucy let out a little incredulous laugh before her hand snapped out to fist in his collar. “I don’t know where you’ve been hiding your pair this whole time, but it better get back in hiding if you know what’s good for you.”

 “How about you listen?” In one move, Natsu grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her forward over the center console, bringing them face to face. He held her tight enough to bruise and said in a dangerously low voice, “You’re in my car. You don’t get to give orders to me in my car. Get that through your blonde skull.”

 Lucy stared him down just the same, but her breath was coming a little quicker. Anticipation, or fear?  Either way, he liked a fight.

 “And you don’t make things happen snapping at me. The magic word’s a place to start.” He tossed her back and her back hit the door with a light thump. Lucy braced her hands against the seat and dash and made to move forward again.

 “Quit fuckin’ with me, Dragion!”

 “Another word of advice.” He turned the car on, threw it in drive, and laid on the pedal. The Mustang lurched forward and he made a sharp turn into an emptier section of the parking lot, throwing her back against the door again. “Always wear a seatbelt, eh?”

 “So, what do you call all that?” Lucy said once she regained her bearings, giving him a murderous look. “An act? You’re damn near professional.”

 “No, not an act. I wish it was.” He barely slowed before entering the main road and weaved through the early afternoon traffic with old experience. “It’s more than I want to explain to you anyway, Sugar Tits.”

 “Okay, fine. You’ve made your stupid point, Dragion. Stop the car.” He ignored her and turned onto the highway where he really put the pedal to the metal. Lucy went flat against the seat with a surprised breath.

 “Fireball. Call me that.”

 “Fireball…” She scrutinized his face with narrowed eyes and the corner of his mouth quirked. He never disguised himself on the circuit, only wearing a pair of goggles that just about every other racer did, but he didn’t need to: people naturally saw no connection between the wimp-ass Natsu and the fastest man on four wheels, Fireball. “So, you race. Illegally, I should add. Didn’t think you had it in ya.”

 “Looks can be deceiving. I, for instance, thought you shitted rainbows, and look at us now,” he said very dryly. Lucy snorted.

 “Well, Fireball, I don’t think you’re in a spot to talk about my smoking. You’re no law-abiding citizen either.”

 “Then we have an agreement: neither of us blab.”

 “For now,” she said darkly. “But for this, you can bet your ass I’ll find something else to dangle over you.”

 “How about those tits?” He could hear her teeth grinding and grinned at the sound. “The main girl in my life’s my car, but I don’t mind making room for another.”

 “Shove it up your ass.”

 “It’s not my ass that’ll be on the receiving end, sweetheart.” Instead of responding, she whipped her head around to the window, but not fast enough for him to miss her blush. Well, well, it seemed like he found the trick to shutting her up. He was in a much more pleasant mood as he took the next exit to a rest stop. The overly large parking lot only had a couple worn buildings, a gas station and convenience store, before falling away to forestry on all sides. He hit the brakes where the little dirt road turned to asphalt. “And here’s your stop.”

 “You’re shitting me. This is on the other side of town from my stop.”

 “Heh. You must think I care.” He unlocked the doors and gave her a grin. “See ya, Sugar Tits.”

 He continued grinning until five minutes later, she realized he wasn’t budging and grudgingly exited the vehicle. “I’ll get you back,” she said again before slamming his door shut. Then she strode off with her head high and Natsu leaned out the window to watch her retreating behind.

 “And a good fucking day to you too!”

 ——————

 For the next week Natsu fought to not even breathe the same air as Lucy Ashley. He was mortified over how he treated her as Fireball and terrified she would find another thing to blackmail him with on top of the unsolved fires around the school. So, he buried his head in his books during class and beat a hasty retreat as soon as the professor dismissed them. It worked until he was confronted by a thoroughly pissed-off Lucy (which, to be fair, might have been her default state, but this time she was extraordinary beyond normal standards).

 “Boys’ bathroom, now.” She had cut him off in the cafeteria’s line almost literally breathing fire. Natsu’s fingers tightened around the plastic tray.

 “I, I haven’t p-paid yet—”

 THUNK!

 Natsu had a bit of a memory lapse, and next thing he knew he was on the ground with his cup of Jell-O staining his blue shirt and the blood rushing to his left cheek. Lucy’s fist was still raised as she said in a very tight voice, “Move your ass, Dragion.” And she spun on her heel and swept past the curious onlookers.

 “H-Hey, Natsu?” Someone came from behind and pulled him back to his feet. Natsu turned to see Gray offering him a glass of iced water.

 “Thanks…” He pressed the glass to his swelling cheek.

 “Who was that? And why is she so upset at you?”

 “I…we…well, she met F-Fireball,” he said, averting his eyes. It was mostly true anyway. Gray’s eyes widened.

 “Ooh. Yeah. Makes sense.” He looked at the cold Jell-O seeping through Natsu’s shirt. “Want one of mine?” Not particularly, since Gray’s shirts were super thick and (to normal people) it was ninety degrees outside, but it was somewhat better. “I have to meet her in the restroom.”

 “So she can get the other side of your face?” Gray gave a dubious squinty-eyed look.

 “Well, if I don’t go, she’ll do it for sure. If I do…w-well…it’s unlikely.”

 Lucy was leaning against the wall with arms crossed when he entered the restroom. She wore a baggy tunic shirt over denim shorts and combat boots, one of which immediately planting itself in his stomach. Natsu’s back hit the door behind him, then his skull when Lucy grabbed him by the neck.

 “You should know,” she said, her breath coming heavy, “I don’t like being made an ass of.”

 Instinct was a funny thing: there was no cowardice involved in it, just knee-jerk reactions honed by years of environmental factors. Natsu’s hands went out and tangled in her loose hair, and he used his elbows to push against the insides of hers, breaking her grip and pulling her head forward and into his at the same time. He headbutted her hard and she stumbled backwards when he released his grip in shock. The blood drained from his face at the sight of her startled expression. This was nothing he could blame on Fireball.

 “L-Lucy, so-sorry, I’m sorry, I just—”

 The lights abruptly cut out, bathing the windowless room in darkness. Natsu heard Lucy’s footsteps retreat from him before she let out a yelp on the other side of the room.

 “L-Lucy?”

 “Stay back th-there!” He started. Did she just…stutter?

 “Lucy, I’m r-really sorry about—”

 “I said s-stay back there, Dragion!” So it wasn’t his imagination. Certainly, his actions didn’t have her so terrified—if so, she wouldn’t have retaliated for what Fireball did to her. But the only other factor in that situation was…the power went out. So…?”

 “U-Um…sorry, I’m overstepping boundaries, but, err, are you…scared of the—”

 “Not another word!” she interrupted in a shrieking voice. Immediately after, the lights returned. He blinked until his eyes adjusted and saw Lucy pressed against the far wall and crouched under a sink, her hands clasped over her head. She was trembling, he could see that even from a distance, and her eyes were red. “Just…shut up,” she said in a shaky voice. He pressed his lips together and moved forward.

 “I…I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t make fun of you like this…if that’s what you mean…”

 “Yes, you would, because you’re a shitty person.”  She rolled her eyes and added, “Well, everyone is. Just know, if you so much as breathe word of this to anybody—”

 “I won’t.” She gave him a hard look and he returned it with a placatory one. He had incentive to do so—disregarding the Fireball thing, he was still at fault for the brushfires around the school—but there was just something so inherently dirty about exploiting her weakness. That was more up Igneel’s alley to do, and Natsu had long since sworn to do the opposite of his late father in everything. “U-Um…it’s gotta be wet under there, so don’t you wanna, uh…” He offered a hand and she slapped it away hard.

 “Move.” He gave her a wide berth to crawl from under the sink and get to her feet. She didn’t spare him another glance when she stomped through the door and slammed it shut behind her.

 Well, Natsu thought, hand still out in front of him, now she really hates my guts.

 ——————

 Ironically, Lucy was the one to ignore Natsu the following few days. He didn’t like leaving things as they were, but he also didn’t like setting his ass up for a good kicking. As it were, faith was determined to keep bringing them together in the unruliest circumstances.

 “One part of the project requires you to pair up,” Professor Gryder said once the last of the information sheets were passed around. “And you’ve already been paired by a random algorithm. I’ve already posted the sheet on the bulletin board outside.”

 “Well that really sucks the fun from a group project, don’t you think?” Levy Ström said in the most derisive voice possible. Natsu heard Lucy click her teeth.

 “Each of you will spend a day with the other and analyze their interactions and habits. By the end of the week, you should have a reflection prepared: does this person act based on societal influences, or by their own free will? With that, class is dismissed.”

 Natsu watched Lucy from the corner of his eye as she grabbed her binder and dodged past him on her way to the door. He never really thought about it, but he began to wonder what she was doing in a Sociology class as he packed his notebooks away.

 “Fuck no!”

 It said something that Natsu didn’t even flinch at the sound, quietly slipping his backpack on and making to creep past the crowd around the bulletin board outside. Once he heard Lucy scream again and burst into the classroom, he dared sneak a peek at the groups.

 —

NATSU DRAGION & LUCY ASHLEY

—

 Okay, hmm, yeah, that made sense. Hearing Lucy’s muffled vitriol from the closed classroom, Natsu decided to air his grievances later. If Professor Mine even possessed a head after today.

 “Natsu, will you be alright with such an uncouth young…lady?” Cana Domènech was entirely the opposite of Lucy: conservative, refined, and thought “oh my gosh” to be her swearing quota for the day. She looked at him with concern when he let out a little nervous laugh.

 “Y-Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’ll, uh, I’ll survive.”

 “Well, I do wish you the best of luck.” Cana gave him one more sympathetic look before leaving. Natsu heard the door open behind him and looked to see Lucy in noticeably lower spirits than before. She met his eyes and clicked her teeth, tossing her head to the side.

 “I’m not big on the idea—” Obviously, “—but I have to pass. So, let’s go.”

 “L-let’s g-go?”

 “Did you not read the stupid paper?” She fluttered said paper in front of his face. “Analyze each other’s societal interactions. I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather get this done sooner than later. I don’t want to spend a second more with you than I have to.”

 “B-B-But, me, I don’t think th-that’s a, that that’s a g-good—” His words died off at her look. He let out a shaky breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’ll have to deal with…you know…Fireball.”

 “Sooner than later.” She raised an expectant eyebrow and he sighed again, gripping the straps of his bag.

 “Al…Alright.” She followed him to the parking lot and stood aside a bit awkwardly as he anxiously slid inside.

 “Well, Sugar Tits, you coming in or what?” Fireball asked, raising an eyebrow at her. Lucy rolled her eyes to the sky and practically threw herself into the seat. “Glad to see you’re eager,” he said as he put the car in drive. Lucy barely flinched this time when he laid on the gas and cut onto the street at speed. “So, what’s a respectable young lady like yourself doing in a Sociology class?”

 “It’s a stupid elective that I’m regretting more and more by the second.” She folded her arms and fell back into the seat with a frustrated sigh. Natsu looked at her from the corner of his eye.

 “Any particular reason we’re not doing your part first?”

 “Because I don’t want to.”

 “Sugar Tits, that reasoning’s not gonna fly with me.”

 “Stop with the Sugar Tits shit already, limp dick.”

 “My mouth, my tongue, my car, my rules. Don’t blame me if those jugs are the most appealing parts of you. I can look at them and still feel some semblance of hope for womankind.” Said jugs were encased in a thin black tube top that did nothing to hide their volume or save them from Fireball’s roving eyes.

 “Seriously, do you take improv classes? I don’t get how you can be such a pushover normally and then cart around a record-sized pair when you get behind a wheel.”

 “I’m an enigma, Sugar Tits. Get used to it.”

 There was a slight itch of trepidation as Fireball headed onto the row of dark side streets he called home. But at the end of the block was a building that shone a little brighter than the boarded-up adult stores and bail bond places surrounding it. A place built upon legends of the past and which would continue creating legends well into the future.

 “Aren’t you a little young to be going to a bar?” Lucy said derisively as he pulled into the parking lot behind the place.

 “Not a bar. Home.” He put the car in park and turned it off. She recoiled a bit at his somber tone.

 “This run-down old place?”

 “That’s what you call it.” He let out a sigh and smiled a bit. “Well, Lucy, time to head into the belly of the beast.”

 Lucy’s burning gaze followed him out of the car as he shrugged his things higher on his shoulders. This was the only place he felt as in-control as when he was in his car—not that he thought it’d last with Lucy breathing down his neck. Lucy fell in step behind him as he walked around to the front entrance. “B-Be ready,” he said under his breath as he pushed the door open.

 “What?” Natsu sensed something flying and ducked in time for a beer bottle to miss his head and fly over Lucy’s. She spun around to watch it hit the street with comically wide eyes. “What in the flying fu—”

 “Move it or lose it, Dragion!” Jet shouted. Natsu shrunk backwards.

 “S-Sorry, I was just—”

 “Still apologizing? I don’t know who’s more of an eyesore, you or Elfman!”

 “Jet, stop bothering my brother,” Lisanna Stonestrider said, resting a hand on the crying Elfman’s shoulder and shooting Jet a glare. It didn’t affect him too much, and she turned to give Natsu a warm smile. “Welcome back.”

 “H-Hi, Lisanna.”

 “Ooh, Natsu, you’ve brought a girl.” Mirajane said it very casually but it had heads turning anyway. Natsu turned a deep red and did his best turtle impression when someone let out a loud laugh-whistle.

 “I’m Lucy,” she said, startling him a bit with the sound of her voice. She had her hands on her hips and was standing with her feet apart and chin raised just high enough to squint down at all of them. “And know that next time a bottle comes flying at my head, it’s going up somebody’s ass.”

 “It’s going to be your ass this time, Max,” Warren said. Someone whistled again, then the previous conversations bubbled back into the silence. Natsu went to sit at the bar and Lucy followed him, perching herself with crossed legs on the stool.

 “I’m Mira,” the barmaid introduced, smiling at Lucy. Lucy, as per her dignified nature, snorted.

 “Do you shit rainbows or something?”

 “P-Please don’t,” Natsu muttered, folding his hands atop the clean wood countertop.

 “I’m used to worse coming from these people’s mouths.” Mira, that’s not a thing to happily admit to. “Would you like something to eat or drink?”

 Lucy slid her hands across the bar and her eyes narrowed as she peered around the clientele. “Is there an undercover cop here…?”

 “No, no,” she said with a laugh. “Whatever happens in Fairy Tail stays in Fairy Tail.”

 She still seemed incredibly dubious, so Natsu slowly raised a finger. “Can I get a fireball cinnamon whiskey?” Mira hummed softly as she took a glass from under the bar and filled it halfway before sliding it over. Lucy still looked as if she expected cameras to pop out at any moment, but she slowly slid back in the seat. Natsu didn’t get to the glass before Lucy snatched it and downed it all in one go. “Can I get another?” she said, ignoring Natsu’s indignant yelp.

 “For a friend of Natsu’s, of course. He doesn’t have many, outside of us,” she said as she refilled the glass. Natsu flushed under Lucy’s subsequent scrutiny.

 “For how much of a turtle he is, doesn’t surprise me.”

 “Well what about you? You’re hiding behind a lot of vulgarity.” Natsu jumped when Lucy slammed the glass down mid-drink, splashing the whiskey all over the countertop.

 “Don’t act like you know me!” she said in a voice that bordered a growl. Mirajane held Lucy’s gaze for a long moment, and Lucy was the one to back down in the end.

 “It’s none of my business anyway,” she said breezily, retrieving another glass and pouring Natsu’s share, along with refilling Lucy’s and swabbing the mess she made.

 “Damn right it ain’t, Princess.” Lucy knocked back the glass with marked aggression before slamming it down yet again. Wisely, Natsu retained a Sugar Tits-related comment as he slowly sipped his drink.

 “Sup, idiots?” The door banged open and Levy sauntered in, flanked by Gray and Cana behind her. Sitting down with Jet and Droy created a new course of ruckus in the place and Natsu almost missed Wendy and Romeo sneaking in. She caught his wave and responded with a half-smile and a hair flip; Romeo turned away and hunched a bit more, but Natsu caught a bit of a smile before he did. He’s getting better.

 “You bring little kids in here too?” Lucy nodded at Romeo as Wendy led him to a booth seat. He squared his shoulders and gripped his glass with both hands.

 “W-W-Well, it’s, err—he’s, I-I’m—all of u-us, actually…we, uh, we…” His stammering peaked with his anxiety and Lucy let out a loud groan of frustration. Mira rested a hand atop his.

 “The upper level has a few bedrooms; he stays in one alongside Natsu.”

 “You guys…live here?” Lucy’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked between them. Mira’s smile hadn’t dimmed, but her eyes darkened with a bit of grief.

 “It may seem like a dingy bar to most people, but to us, it’s our only home.” Lucy’s lips parted and she craned her head back to take another long look at the people of Fairy Tail. Young, old; grizzled, bright-eyed; weak, strong; happy and joking, depressed and silent… Her eyes returned to Natsu, but there was no outright malice this time.

 “Your only home?” she asked in a voice so soft it was nothing but earnest. He tipped his head in a nod. She put her hand to her mouth and stared, seemingly at a loss for words. Natsu gave a little sheepish smile and shrugged a shoulder. She blinked a few times to clear a suspicious sheen from her eyes, then pushed away from the bar. “We’ll do this another day,” she said quietly, and took a deep breath before rushing past the tables to the door.

 “Natsu?” Mira asked quietly, bringing his eyes back to hers. She regarded him with a concerned look and he laughed a bit, though not with humor.

 “W…We have a funny relationship,” he said, finishing the last of his whiskey. “Unintentionally exchanging secrets. This time, though…I think this was too much this time. I don’t know, Mira.” He sunk forward until he could rest his head in his arms, and Mira’s hand gently combed through his hair. Well, she got her payback for last time, plus change…

 ——————

 The next day was a Saturday, which meant no class and no Lucy. He just almost pushed yesterday’s happenings from his mind as he came to Aicha’s Autos for his usual weekend shift. He was supposed to open, but when he arrived the garage door was already rolled up and a sports car was waiting with an open hood. He peeked around the corner to see Metallicana reclining in a folding chair, the top of his coveralls loosened around his faded Guns ‘N Roses t-shirt. He was drinking a bottle of Guinness and grinned when he saw Natsu, waving him over.

 “I thought I opened?”

 “Yeah, well, I had a little extra time. Wanna drink?” He nodded at the small cooler next to him. He had about as many qualms as Fairy Tail with underage drinking—not that Natsu minded. It was the “drinking on the job” part that made him uneasy.

 “I-Isn’t this a job here?” He gestured to the sports car. Metallicana shrugged.

 “’s all done save for the test drive, and anyway client’s not comin’ ‘til tomorrow.” Grinning, he pulled the driver’s key from his chest pocket and let it dangle from his fingertip. “Just up and down the block so’s I can make sure the frame’s right an’ straight.”

 “Just up and down the block…” His fingers twitched and he realized he was leaning forward towards the key. Metallicana laughed not unkindly.

 “Haven’t been racin’ in a while? Don’t usually see ya so antsy.”

 “The police got some sort of tip and have been swarming around the usual spots, so the people in charge have to find a new…venue…” He was distracted as his phone received a notification. To his utter surprise, it was a text from Lucy.

 Finished the report. Come check it out.

 Below that was an address not too far from the auto shop. Natsu knew the area: a lot of open road and torn-down homes, leaving plenty of unpurchased lot space. It also was a wonderful place for festering crime, since it lay far from any police station. He might’ve been looking too deeply into matters, but the locale sounded a little too coincidental for his liking.

 “Natsu?”

 “E-Err, yeah, test drive.” He took the keys and pocketed his phone. “Up and down the street. Got it.” He excused himself and locked the hood before sliding into the driver’s seat. He turned the key in the ignition and heard the engine turn, heard the gears in his mind whir to life as he reversed from the garage.

 She ran away, he mused, stopping in the street and heading straight down. Beats me as to why, but she ran. I don’t know what she wrote, but it somehow leaves a pit in my stomach anyway.

 He rounded the corner despite his promise to move up and down the street and cruised along the quiet suburb. Whatever she has to say, I can take it in stride. I don’t regret joining with the Fairy Tail gang—they’re a hell of a lot more my family than that old prick. His hands tightened around the wheel. And as pleasant company as Sugar Tits is, she’ll be in for a heck of a time trying to pull me from my family.

 He lost track of time circling the neighborhood and caught himself as he drove past a gas station. Glancing at the meter, he realized he used up a few gallons in his reverie. He stopped to fill the tank and bought himself a root beer at the convenience store. Well, regardless, he thought as he popped the cap, taking a long gulp. I won’t know until I go there…and I can only hope it’s good news. W-Well, as good as it can get considering Lucy.

 By the time he returned to the garage, Metallicana was working on an SUV. Natsu parked the car on the dirt lot outside and honked once to catch his attention. As he approached, he spotted a suited man about his age sitting against the wall. He had dark curly hair and red eyes that sized Natsu up as he came over.

 “Pink hair. Mr. Dragion?”

 “Um…y-yes?” Metallicana slid out from under the car with a sigh, dropping a wrench and pulling his long auburn hair from his grease-stained face.

 “That’s Gajeel, my son,” he said without delay. “And this is his shitshow he calls a car.” The SUV was old for sure, but Natsu couldn’t see the big deal with it.

 “Nice to m-meet you, Mr. Aicha.” He offered a hand and Gajeel again appeared to size him up before shaking it. His hand was calloused and his grip was firm.

 “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

 “Don’t say nothin’ too incriminatin’ ‘round him…it’ll be all over the headlines come daylight.”

 “I don’t, um, I don’t understand.”

 “I’m a reporter for Magnolia Times,” Gajeel said. Natsu nodded slowly.

 “That makes sense…”

 “My father has also told me much about you, Mr. Dragion. That you’re his most reliable assistant, and that you’re the most pleasant young man he’s met.” Natsu let out a nervous laugh and ducked his head to hide his blush.

 “Mi…Mister Metallicana gives me too much c-credit.”

 “Nah, yer just too deprecative,” Metallicana said airily, leaning his back against the car. “Anyway, Natsu, met any girls lately?”

 It was something he asked fairly often because Natsu was “that age” according to him—whatever that meant—and now the question made him flush a deeper scarlet and trip over his tongue. “I, err, I don’t, I h-haven’t—”

 “Ooh!” He grinned and his wine-colored eyes glittered. “She got big tits?”

 Natsu choked on his spit while Gajeel face-palmed. “That’s not…socially acceptable to say.”

 “Well, I said it. Does she?”

 “She—she—yes,” he admitted in a mutter.

 “Congrats!” Gajeel sighed.

 “S-S-She’s not, she’s not m-my girlf-friend or anything…!”

 “She single?”

 “Father, act your age,” Gajeel said once Natsu covered his red face with shaky hands. Metallicana let out a hearty laugh.

 “Alright, alright… Let’s finish up his car so’s real customers can have their turn.”

 Despite his words, it was a pretty quiet day once Gajeel left with his repaired SUV (and some choice words on Metallicana’s part; seriously, the old man had a mouth to make a sailor blush, yet there was nothing but endearment behind the coarse profanities). By two o’clock, Natsu’s shift was over, and it was time to face Lucy yet again.

 “I’m leaving, Mr. Metallicana…”

 “Right, see ya Mo—two beers?” Metallicana raised a pierced eyebrow as Natsu shut the cooler, cradling the bottles in his other hand.

 “I need the support… See you Monday.”

 “Yeah, see ya.”

 The tension coiled and formed a pit in his stomach as he headed towards the indicated address. He had already knocked back the first beer at the halfway point, and he was nursing the second one when he realized he was close. It wasn’t enough to impair his driving, not by a longshot, but it fooled him into thinking this was maybe a good idea.

 Lucy’s house was entirely average with two stories, a garage, and a tree out front. It looked too innocent for someone determined to give him hell. He parked in the empty driveway and went up to ring the bell. He stood awkwardly on the porch for several minutes, shifting from one foot to another and feeling like some kind of trespasser, before the door swung open. She stood there and blinked at him dazedly, not saying a word, and the silence melted Natsu’s anxiety a bit.

 “Good…afternoon,” he said. Lucy inclined her head to one side.

 “Yeah,” she replied softly. She wore an extra-large grey hoodie and tights underneath, a surprisingly simple and unassuming outfit choice, but if she was at home, what did he expect? “Come on.” She turned inside and left the door open for him. He self-consciously removed his sneakers before entering, making sure to drop them beside the door after shutting it behind him.

 “You, err, y-you finished it early. The report,” he said lamely as he followed her past the unused-looking living room to the stairs.

 “I thought it’d be harder than it was. Turns out I was wrong.” She shrugged and Natsu balked internally at how sedated she appeared. The stairs led up to a carpeted hallway and she took him to the door at the very end. Opening it, Natsu was bombarded repeatedly with the thought of Lucy’s room Lucy’s room Lucy’s room. Band posters, gun show ads, and social propaganda posters covered every square inch of the wall to where he didn’t know its color, and while the rectangular room could barely fit a work desk and a twin bed, a record player and small bookshelf made the place fit to burst.

 “Cramped,” he said without really thinking, and immediately clamped his mouth shut after.

 “But lived in, unlike the rest of this dump.” She took the comment in stride as she slid past everything with practiced ease to sit cross-legged on her bedspread. Natsu awkwardly stood in the doorway until she gave him an expectant look. “You gonna start sprouting leaves there or what?”

 “N-N-No, I, uh...nothing.” He bowed his head and sat at her desk, which was crammed with untouched journals, bent and dog-eared poetry books, and mismatched puzzle pieces. Lucy picked up her notebook from the bed and flipped to a random page.

 “Listen up,” she said, then started to read: “Natsu is a weak-ass who couldn’t take candy from a baby. Hell, he’d probably be jacked by the baby. Point is, he’s a noodle.” Already he felt like going home. “He’s spinelessly compliant for the most part, and when he’s not he’s an insufferable prick. But not as insufferable as his family. He’s gutless, but he wouldn’t speak out against another person, or hurt them anyhow. All of Natsu Dragion is a good person, and that’s free will.” She dropped the notebook in her laugh and looked at him with a huff. “Well?”

 Natsu gave her a gentle smile. “Lucy, I think you’ve missed the point of Fairy Tail.”

 “What?” She looked at him crossly, which he took in stride.

 “They’re not burdens I have to bear, they’re my family. We’re all family.”

 “Pretty rude-ass family you got there.” He winced; he couldn’t argue for the most part.

 “They’re not…well…they’re not the most optimistic people, not anymore, but we have this…this…” He tried and failed to find the word and gave up. “You don’t really understand us past the surface.”

 “Dragion, I know shitty adults when I see ‘em.” He could only smile again, which she didn’t take as pleasantly. “You’re makin’ fun of the wrong person,” she said, getting to her feet and cracking her knuckles. Natsu instantly went on the defensive.

 “N-N—I didn’t m-mean it like that, no!” The door opened downstairs and Lucy straightened as if by an electrical shock. Her expression changed and she marched purposely from the room and down the hall. She didn’t tell Natsu to follow, but he felt at a loss and trailed behind like a stray puppy anyway.

 She returned to the living room where Natsu was surprised to see an older woman strewn on the sofa like she simply didn’t have the energy to go further. Her blond hair was long and silky and streaked with grey, and when Natsu went around, he saw her in an unkempt server’s uniform. Lucy walked past, combing her fingers through the woman’s hair as she went to the kitchen. The woman didn’t respond.

 “U-Um, L-Lucy, it’s not my place to ask, I know, b-but is she…?”

 “It isn’t your place,” she said tonelessly, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it from the tap. She set the glass down on the coffee table still with no response. Natsu swallowed.

 “M…Maybe she should go to a h-hospi—”

 “This ain’t anything new, okay? Come morning, she’ll be perfectly okay and ready to do it all again.” She pushed her fringe up and Natsu frowned at how exhausted she sounded. She glanced at him over her shoulder, then looked at the wall. He followed her gaze to a photo featuring the woman with less grey hairs and a blond, mustached man holding a laughing little girl. “Sorry if I insulted your family or whatever, but as you can see, I don’t have a splendid example of a stable one. Not anymore.”

 “Lucy…” She opened her mouth, then abruptly shut it and walked out the front door. She sat hard on the porch and pulled a cigarette from her pocket. Natsu glanced at her mother again, who still had her face buried in the cushions with no sign of life, and slowly walked out to join her. He grimaced a little at the smell of smoke as she took a long drag but didn’t complain. “Is she…ah…drugs?” he asked, fully expecting a tirade in response.

 “More like drunk off her ass,” she said without looking at him. “She’s been doing it for six years now. Can’t hold down a job, can’t hold down a conversation… If not for our relatives, we would’ve lost Papa’s house a long time ago.”

 “Why don’t you get help?”

 “She’s the one who has to get help. It ain’t for my lack of trying, me and the rest of our family.” She threw the half-finished cigarette to the concrete walkway and ground it under her sneaker.

 “I’m sorry.”

 “You didn’t make Papa sick, you didn’t turn Mama into a chicken, what do you have to be sorry for?”

 He looked her right in the eyes. “I’m sorry we both have broken families.”

 “I thought you love the people over at that bar.”

 “I’m not talking about them.” She gave him a curious look and he fidgeted with his fingers. “My father…wasn’t the n…nicest person. Not to my mom or me. He wanted her to ‘listen like a wife should.’ He wanted me to ‘grow up an’ be a fuckin’ man.’” He laughed even though nothing about it was funny. “He was… Igneel was a mean, manipulative, and secretly cowardly sunovabitch. And now he’s dead.” He choked on the word dead and almost suffocated at the memories it brought. He doubled over and saw Lucy reaching for him from the corner of his eye, and he bolted to his feet to throw up in the grass. “S…Sorry,” he muttered when he was done, dragging his hand across his mouth. Lucy was on her feet and staring at him with wide eyes.

 “He was killed?” she asked. The word hit Natsu like a blow and he had to fight to not vomit again.

 “Y…Yes, he was killed.” He sat on the grass and pulled his knees to his chest, gripping them and failing to stop his trembling. Warm, he felt warm then and he felt warm now—feverishly, dizzily warm. And his mother’s quick words in his ear; he didn’t understand then, but in the aftermath, they engraved themselves in his soul. The warmth persisted; it was years before he could sleep without twisted nightmares of that day forming.

 Lucy came up behind him and her hand rested in his hair, gently tangling in the strands. Her hand was warm too, but it didn’t make him feel faint and anxious; it was grounding, pleasant, and it made him feel a bit stronger.

 “I’m sorry.”

 “You’re not the reason he’s dead, are you? What do you have to be sorry for?” He laughed bitterly until Lucy’s hand moved to his shoulder and she crouched behind him. Her words dragged him to a pensive stop.

 “I’m sorry we’re both broken people.”

 ——————

 “This is a cruel world. You have to be crueler to survive.”

 “Spend the rest of the week sleeping outside. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

 “I’m the father! It’s my job to make sure things are in order, that my son becomes a man and my wife keeps in line. That’s the father’s job.”

 “If you don’t like me, get out. Life’s gonna fuck you in your little pussy and you’ll come running back anyway.”

 “If you don’t like fighting, you’re gonna get mauled. That’s the rule of thumb.”

 “If you don’t like me, do something about it.”

 …Do something about it? To his father? To the “head of the house?” It was a pipe dream at best, a dangerous fantasy at worst. But…but…

 “Mom!”

 Like a dream, like a fantasy, he made it reality.

 ——————

  Natsu had a headache when he woke up the next morning, and the sunlight streaming through only made it worse. He groaned and turned into his pillow.

 “Natsu…” He peeked one eye at Romeo as he struggled to climb on the bed. Natsu sat up and helped him the rest of the way. “Who’s the girl?” he asked with a little tilt to his head. Natsu rubbed his neck and yawned.

 “Lucy— Huh? Why are you asking now?”

 “Well, she’s here now.” Natsu stared dumbly for a few seconds until Romeo repeated himself.

 “She’s what?” He pushed Romeo aside and jumped to his feet. “D-Did she say why?” He was about to leave before remembering he was in his boxers. He ran to the dresser and rapidly sorted between their clothes (ugh, he had to organize that thing one day).

 “Nope.” Romeo was sitting cross-legged on Natsu’s bedspread rocking back and forth. “But she told me I’m perspicacious. I think it means cute.”

 Natsu was too engrossed in getting dressed to argue no, it did not mean cute, it meant he was probably being a know-it-all little shit to her. He picked a blue collared shirt and a pair of jeans. “Does this look fine?” he asked before remembering he was talking to a seven-year-old.

 “Why does it matter?”

 “N…No, well, I guess it doesn’t.” He smoothed his shirt automatically and Romeo inclined his head.

 “You’re acting weird, Big Brother.”

 “Me? Weird? No, nonono. I’m neurotic all the time. Typical Natsu, right? Aha!” He did an uncomfortable smile that made Romeo grimace.

 “Maybe you should lie down again.”

 “I’m fine.” Despite his words, Romeo followed at his ankles as he went to clean up in the restroom and then marched purposefully downstairs. It was still early on the weekend so many of the adults were asleep; only Mirajane, Gray, Cana, Wendy, and Juvia remained in the bar, lounging around or helping clean up from the busy night. Lucy was on a barstool turning side to side with her head lolling onto one shoulder. She wore a school sweatshirt cut to just below her breasts and high-waisted jeans. Her hair was loose and wet from a shower.

 “Natsu, your friend is back,” Mira said as way of greeting, giving him a not-so-subtle wink and grin. Natsu flushed and tried to hide in his shirt.

 “Yo.” Lucy sat up at the sight of him and smiled. It wasn’t huge and blinding by no means, but it was genuine, and it got Natsu smiling in return.

 “H…Hi.”

 “Slow burn-ass romance,” Juvia said quite loudly, deepening Natsu’s flush and getting a glare from Lucy. Then her face changed to a sinister smirk.

 “Yeah, you know what? I’m totally in love with Pinky. So, like, you should let me in on you guys’ secrets, considering I’m gonna be stickin’ around.”

 “Yeah? Kiss him.” Juvia again, and her smirk was ten times more sinister. Natsu felt Romeo tugging on the back of his shirt but ignored it in favor of some wild-eyed boggling. Seriously? She isn’t going for that. She’s not. She isn’t going for that for real is she? She wouldn’t just—oh—oh yeah nope she’s totally kissing me.

 Lucy had grabbed his face with both hands and pressed her body flush against his to snatch his lips. He could taste her green apple lip gloss and the mint toothpaste on her breath. And…and…shit. He thought only four wheels and an engine could do it, but the kiss, whatever the circumstances and reasoning behind it, stoked the fire in his belly to a roar. He grabbed her forearms, backed her against the bar until she was almost bowing into it, and deepened the kiss. In response to his heat, she melted in his grip, and Fireball relished the little mewls she made as he explored her mouth with his tongue. He wondered what sounds she would make when he explored her body, when he explored her—

 “Eww,” Romeo said before Wendy shushed him. Natsu pulled away in a rush, his face sporting a shade of red not even on the spectrum. Lucy was still leaning against the bar and supporting her body with her hands, staring off into space.

 “It’s not nice to interrupt people when they’re snogging,” Wendy told him. Romeo didn’t respond and directed his attention to Lucy.

 “Big Sister, wasn’t that gross?”

 Lucy snapped out of her fugue and turned to face him. “Uh, well— Big Sister?” She began weirdly fidgety, but suddenly looked at Romeo with wide eyes. Romeo nodded from where he sat on Wendy’s lap and Lucy broke into a wide grin. “Big Sister knows how to handle herself in the face of creeps,” she said, putting extra emphasis on her new title.

 “I…I’m a creep?”

 “Well, you’re trying to get with Big Sister,” Romeo said quite matter-of-factly. Wendy patted his head.

 “Lucy’s not our sister.”

 “Not yet,” he said, “but she likes Big Brother.”

 He was only a kid and his words left Natsu mortified all the same. He ducked his head and asked Mira for a couple glasses of fire whiskey. “You’ve a very adorable wingman.” Lucy grinned at Natsu and he slid a glass her way, sitting next to her.

 “I don’t mean it offensively, but why did you come?”

 “No offense taken. Well, I want to know more about you. And, well, you kinda fled the other day.”

 “Yeah. Um. Sorry that I…fled. It was…” scary, terrifying, horrifying, traumatizing, “…I’m sorry.”

 “It’s another thing we have in common: we’re excellent runners.” She took a sip of whiskey and set the glass down quietly. “Not really a good thing.”

 “No, it’s not.” He took a sip as well and sighed. Mira, who had disappeared for a moment, returned with a plate starring a mushroom omelet for Lucy.

 “I didn’t pay for this,” she said. Mira winked.

 “Breakfast is on the house today.” Natsu gave her a squinty look knowing it was bullshit and she giggled before going back to the kitchen. Lucy pushed it around a bit before cutting in and taking a bite.

 “Wow. This is, like, orgasmic.” She proceeded to stuff her face with it and make very unladylike noises at the flavor, making Natsu warm for an entirely different, not so unpleasant reason.

 “U-Um, Lucy, m-maybe you should…not…should not make those…s-sounds.”

 “Shove it.” And she was back to the Lucy he knew. Honestly, he was a little relieved for it.

 “A-Anyway…there’s not much more to learn about me. You can talk to my friends here?”

 “Seriously.”

 “Ooh, yes, I am very curious to meet the girl Natsu’s making out with.” Natsu started when he realized how close Wendy had gotten, leaning over the counter with her cleavage in his face. “Nice to meet you, Big Sister. My name’s Wendy.”

 “Hmm? Yeah, pleasure’s mine or something.” Lucy looked at Wendy’s tits, then her own, then noticed Wendy was holding Romeo’s hand. “Little brother,” she said, then smiled. Romeo turned his face into Wendy’s legs and she ruffled his hair.

 “He’s a little uncomfortable around people.” She jerked her chin at Gray and Cana’s table. “Gray is the human cocoon over there. Nice guy, but he wears too many layers. And Cana is—”

 “Oh, yes, I know Cana,” Lucy said with a not-so-pleasant tone of voice. “I’ve seen Gray around. Hard to miss.”

 “Well then, you’re already partway there.” She tugged a lock of Lucy’s hair and stopped to gawk. “Your hair is really soft. How do you get it like this?”

 “Don’t really know.” She let Wendy play with the strands and Natsu wished he could as well without it being too weird.

 “Wakaba and Macao are a couple of the oldest regulars. We don’t know what they do when they’re not here though. Mira’s the barmaid and chef; she and Levy room together. Jet and Droy, Juvia, Cana, Laki, Warren, Nab, and Max are the early-birds around here; they start early and you usually don’t see them until the evening.”

 “So who’s the owner?” It was an innocent question that instantly dimmed the bar’s mood. Wendy bit her lip, Natsu averted his eyes, Gray stared at his hands, Juvia clenched her fists, and Cana’s eyes turned glassy. Romeo was the one who answered.

 “He was um, he was extra-diction.”

 “Extradited to Russia some years ago. He’s been imprisoned ever since.” Lucy turned to where Mira was standing, her head lowered and eyes distant. “We never found out what he did.”

 “If he did anything,” Juvia said.

 “Gramps had the kindest heart of anyone around. We can’t imagine him committing a crime so serious they’d drag him transnationally,” Gray said softly.

 “Because he wouldn’t,” Wendy said with finality. “And we’ve never stopped fighting it.”

 Lucy looked between them all before her eyes landed on Natsu. He nodded. “And we won’t ever stop."

 “Family…” She shook her head and straightened, throwing her hands in the air. “So, what do you guys do for fun around here?”

 Wendy smirked. “Ever play King’s Cup?”

 Lucy did not in fact play King’s Cup, and Natsu, while not speaking up, loathed the aftermath. Since Romeo and Cana couldn’t participate, they sat on the side as Mira set one table with six glasses, filling five of them with Guinness, and set a deck of cards next to the empty one. They took their seats and Natsu was the first to pick up.

 “Queen,” he muttered, turning it towards everyone. Juvia, Lucy, and Wendy grabbed their glasses and drank.

 “Okay, okay.” Wendy set the emptied glass down and took a card, flipping it out. “Seven.” Gray was the last to put his arm up since he had so many layers to work with, so he drank.

 “My turn.” Juvia had a wicked smile as she took her card and flashed the 5. “When Lucy drinks, Natsu drinks twice as much.”

 “Seriously?” Natsu cried. It went unnoticed as Gray drew.

 “Nine.” He thought for a moment, shivered, then said, “Cold.”

 “Sold,” Lucy said.

 “Uh…gold,” Natsu said.

 “Mold.”

 “Told.”

 “Bold,” Gray said. Lucy hesitated for a second and Wendy grinned.

 “Let’s go, Big Sister.”

 “Hey, sometimes you hafta know when you take a loss gracefully, as women do.” Natsu gave her a look as she gulped her beer and slammed the glass down. Graceful, my a—

 “Natsu, aren’t you forgetting something?” Juvia said. Natsu drank down his glass and the following glass when Mira refilled it. On Wendy’s turn, she drew 3, so she drank three. Juvia drew a King and the guys drank. Gray drew an Ace and everyone raised their glasses. Lucy choked before Natsu was done, and she had to take another glass as punishment; duly, Natsu drank two glasses after. He was racking up five total, and on an empty stomach, he was past his limit.

 “Alright, Bimbo-gami, take this.” Lucy held up her card, a 2, and Juvia gulped her glass. “Geddit? Bimbo with those tits, and a binbōgami is bad luck.” For how drunk she sounded, her intelligence was still impeccable.

 “M’kay, my turn.” Natsu grabbed a bunch of cards by accident and let them flutter back to the table until he was left with one. “That’s a 4. Gray, yer gonna take two, an’ I take two.” They did their drinks and Gray, at the end of it, started peeling away some jackets.

 “It’s hot as hell in here,” he said with a grimace, tossing his topmost layers to the ground and leaving himself in a black turtleneck. The game continued until there were two dozen empty beer bottles clanging around, Gray was down to his skivvies, Wendy was passed out cold and the warmth was reaching new heights in the pit of Natsu’s gut.

 “Okay, okay, so’s I gotta 10,” Juvia slurred, holding up the card. “I say you guys gotta name your top pick fer hot an’ heavy sex. F’me, a kiddie pool.”

 “Chocolate parfait.” Lucy gave a crooked smile and swirled the last dregs of beer around in her glass. Her shirt had ridden up the last time they raised their hands and she wasn’t in a state to notice; the hem sat at the crest of her black lacy bra.

 “Natsu, ‘s on you.”

 “Sugar Tits,” he said without missing a beat. She looked at him with a confused murmur and he grabbed her wrist, getting to his feet and pulling her up as well. “Let’s go fer a ride.”

 “Too drunk,” she said, stumbling along behind him as he went to the backdoor. “Yer too drunk off yer ass, Dragion.”

 “I know.”

 “Then don’t drive, stoo-pid.”

 “Who said ‘nythin’ ‘bout driving?” He slammed the door open and burst into the sunlight where he pulled her along to his car. It took a moment of fumbling with the keys before he got the passenger door open, and he forced the seat forward and pushed her into the back. He shut the door and settled between her raised knees, kneeling between her legs.

 “Natsu—” she said, then was cut off when he devoured her lips in a searing kiss.

 “M’mouth tastes like ass,” he said once he pulled away, pinning her wrists against the seat. “Let me taste something better.” He kissed the junction of shoulder and neck before sucking the same spot, earning a long and delicious groan from her in response. Her body proved enjoyably receptive as he continued showering her neck and jaw with attention. She trembled like a purring engine, spurring to life when he handled her just so.

 “N-Naat…suuu…” Her breath hitched when he gave the back of her ear a long, slow lick, then she cried out as her body bowed outwards. He grinned at the sight and straightened, releasing her wrists to fumble drunkenly with the buttons of her jeans.

 “Mm. One part I haven’t tasted yet…”

 ——————

 Often times Fireball wondered Laki’s story. He only saw her in the dead of the night in a fishnet top and denim shorts, and she never spoke to him; her presence began with a swing of her arm and ended as he crossed the finish line. His eyes narrowed against the glare of the streetlamps to catch the swing now.

 Three…two…and go.

 He hit the gas and sped off in time with his two opponents. There was nothing else, nothing but the moonlight shining from the leaves surrounding the thin roads at the city limit, the sound of the engine, the night air crisp and clean in his throat—

 “Mm…smells like sex in here.”

 “Wonder why?”

 “You’re a coy asshole.”

 He gritted his teeth and clenched the steering wheel a bit tighter. He walked himself into deep shit with Lucy, he knew that well. The problem was finding his way out again while loathing every step he took away from her. He couldn’t…he could stand her knowing his petty problems, but the big secret… No, she couldn’t learn of that. forget the consequences involved, he didn’t want her to walk from his life as she surely would.

 His reverie made him fall behind a driver and he laid on the gas to regain his head start. Regardless of his activities with a certain blonde, he had to win. Not so much for the money, which he earned a fair bit of from Metallicana, but the peace of mind a simple victory brought. Without that, he’d probably be as self-destructive as his old man.

 They finished a lap as they circled past Laki and the cheers of the onlookers chased Natsu along the track. The adrenaline fueled the fire in his belly and he depressed the pedal as far as it could go, gaining a burst of speed on the straightaway. The next road led into a sharp curve and he caught it at a slow drift that carried him too close into the opponent’s BMW. The cars ground against each other as the road straightened and the BMW, with better positioning, shoved Natsu towards the grass on the side. He lost his traction and speed and lost a lot of ground in the race.

 Dammit, dammit! Get your head out of your ass!

 He got back on the road but finished the lap in last place. The third lap, too, he was a couple cars’ length from the others. His jaw was clenched so tightly it hurt. I have to get ahead. Push, push, nothing matters but the race, the wind, the sound of the engine, the taste of the night…Lucy’s lips taste sweeter than the night—

 Police sirens weren’t a foreign sound in the neighborhood, but they came so close Natsu immediately hit the brakes, skidding to a stop on the dirt alongside the other two. Cop cars materialized from the night and everyone in the vicinity disappeared save for the drivers. Natsu watched the closest car as the doors opened, revealing a striking figure with short hair the color of fresh blood. Nightwalker.

 “Make this easier on yourselves and exit the vehicles now,” she said, making no effort to hide the pistol strapped to her hips. The three of them stood up from their seats and put their hands in the air, none happily. Corporal Nightwalker’s eyes raked over them, sharp as blades. “Reitei Lyon, Sorano, and—” Her eyes narrowed on Natsu. “Natsu Dragion.”

 “A-Ah…” He flinched back at the fiery intensity of her gaze, falling back into the driver’s seat. Nightwalker’s officers advanced on the other two while her sights remained on him.

 “Don’t try to run. There’s no corner of Edolas you can run to now.” Her boots kicked up dust as she walked towards him, purposefully but at a moderate pace, knowing she had him on lock. He stared with wide eyes and his heart feeling like it would jump out any second. “Your street racing has reached its climax.”

 Street racing. Street racing. Despite himself, relief flooded his veins and he put up no fight as she cuffed him. She mentioned his car would be impounded and the cost of bail, but it was small change. His most serious offense had yet to come collect, and he was relieved. After all, what would Lucy think of him knowing he killed his own father?

[roses-art-corner]

Okay kiddos! The Outcasts now have names, ages, sexualities, and gender identities! (Each “team” has 2 males, 1 female and 1 enby and I did not plan that at all)

Blue Team: Damian, Lucus, Luna and Neil

Red Team: Jaidyn, Lucien, Dominique, Rose

Info about the outcasts:

Damian- he/him, dating Jaidyn, “leader” of the group, average emo boy, likes anime, the nicest boy, sweetheart, loves teasing Jaidyn, computer science nerd, makes own video games with the help of Rose (art), loves alternative fashion, obsessed with high heeled boots (tries to become taller than Jaidyn but fails), black clothing only, loves bands like MCR, FOB, Black Veil Brides, P!ATD, etc...

Lucus- he/him, dating Rose and Neil, Polyamory little shit, started dating Neil first then he began having a crush on Rose which soon had Lu and Neil asking them to be in a polyamorous relationship, idolizes Damian, black and blue are his favorite colors, guitarist, pianist, one hell of a romantic, forces Rose and Neil to watch romantic movies, loves cuddling his partners, adores when Rose and Neil are being cute together, loves cooking (but isn’t the best cook ever), likes borrowing Rose’s necklace.

Luna- she/her, dating Lucien, shy, enjoys baking, poetry, loves gothic clothing, doesn’t like dresses though, makes own clothing, dislikes Jaidyn for some reason (none of the group knows why), might be shy but will kick ass if someone is rude to her baby girl (Lucien), knows 3 languages and loves writing love poems in Spanish for Lucien. Treats Rose like a sister. Jokes about Lucien and Lucus having very similar first names and likes thinking they are long lost siblings (which they are not).

Neil- he/him they/them, dating Rose and Lucus, demiboy, freaked out when Rose said they were a demigirl, likes pointing out that they are the tallest in they’re poly relationship, Rose secretly adores that they aren’t the tallest for once but thinks Neil saying that is rude and upsets Lu, Neil constantly picks up Lu, Lu hates it, Rose gets jealous, Neil enjoys video games, action movies, has watched Love, Simon more times than humanly possible, tries to draw with Rose but gets upset because they are 10 times better, Rose tries teaching Neil how to draw, Lu watches the two idiots draw and laughs when Neil starts drawing *not so family friendly* drawings and Rose hits him with a pillow, They all sleep in one bed, Neil is a bed hog, loves kissing Rose w/ they’re lip rings (Rose shivers because the rings are always cold, they don’t know how), loves teasing Lu to death, probably owns a motorcycle

Jaidyn- he/him, dating Damian, THE BIGGEST TEASE IN THE WORLD, kinda a dick, loves makeup, red lipstick is a must, lives for androgyny, probably has watched Queer Eye 100 times, tried drag once, has what seems like 100 button up shirts, definitely has a motorcycle, tallest b*stard ever, sometimes wears 5 inch heels and becomes like 6’7, self care sl*t, is probably insane but nobody knows that for a fact, loves heavy metal and punk music, probably has crashed millions of parties, probably has actually crashed into a party with his motors through a window or door, was definitely drunk.

Lucien- she/her, dating Luna, loves Luna to death, hella outgoing, adores when Luna makes her a dress, loves looking waaay different from everyone else, probably obsessed with Japanese street fashion and alternative fashion, theater kid, is in any play, movie, or class films that she can be, clingy, definitely keeps a tazer in her bag, bullied a lot for looks but refuses to stop, wants to make Luna do a romantic play with her but Luna refuses (shy), knows Shakespeare by heart.

Dominique- he/him, Single and happy about it, smol, loves pastel goth, can be bitchy, loves being single, might be aro/ace, questioning everything, science nerd, loves space, not very open about feelings, really good a card games (it’s scary), will cut a bitch, gets misgendered a lot, he just loves dresses.

Rose- (my oc/mascot who is based off myself, they’re emo so they joined the crew) they/them she/her, dating Lucus and Neil, is extremely happy that 2 people love them (thought they were going to be forever alone), depressed stressed and anxious 24/7, art nerd, loves alternative/emo fashion, sometimes wears super feminine things but only on rare occasions (or Neil asked them, Neil loves Rose in little black dresses, Lu loves Rose in suits), hates being referred to as a Woman/Female/Male (fine with girl and enby), gender is confusing, demigirl, tries being androgynous takes tips from Jaidyn, Loves Lu and Neil so much, literally cannot stop drawing the three together, loves art, drawing, writing, adores it when Lu and Neil are romantic, sappy, clingy, loves SPN, P!atd, FOB, Linkin Park, Evanescence, forces Lu and Neil to go on mini adventures (road trips, going out to walk around town), love it when Neil drives them around on they’re motorcycle, loves drawing gifts for Lu (Lu has a wall dedicated to Rose’s art), loves knifes (has one hanging on their bedroom wall), vintage toys galore... refuses to admit they have a problem, can’t remember childhood, isn’t the brightest but is very kind and sweet (unless angered, then you should probably run), has had art in museums and cafes, Lu and Neil are very proud of their baby(girl).

They all go to the same school and plan on going to the same college (the “pack” must stick together- Lucien). They all are LGBTQ+, they hangout almost every single day, they all love chilling at Lucus’ home (it’s the biggest and has plenty of extra rooms for sleepovers), they all are pretty good at video games and have a mini campionship for games like Mario kart or super smash bros. Average teenager crap. They all run a blog together called the “Outsiders” (hence why I, the author/artist of these idiots call them the outcasts/outsiders).

I might start an actual blog with them, where you can ask them things, talk, or whatever you want... have them “document” their adventures...