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sweeter-innocence-fics · 1 year ago

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Summer Fic Week 2023 - Day 5: Tracing Every Part of You

Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Work Summary:

No powers, college AU.

Spending a day at the lake with the Avengers.

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3727

Read on AO3.

Masterlists.

Summer Fics Masterlist.

Taglist: @mrs-kai-anderson @ang3l1te @missryerye @mcximffs @noz4a2 @rottenstyx @starmansirius @xlucyintheskywithdiamondsx @lanemarvels @marrigold-2002 @kathrinchek @alternativeprincess @annocaprosmaloka @thrutheburnout

Taglist info.

Notes:

Sorry it's slightly late (it's past midnight here). I haven't had as much time to edit as usual so I hope it's good.

Everyone is in college.

Warnings for overprotective/jealous/possessive Pietro, FWB to lovers, mentions of drowning, alcohol, tickling, a lot of bickering, mentions of a car accident, mentions of casual sex, these bitches suck at communicating, background Stucky and Wanda x Vision

---

Wanda and Pietro were bickering in the front seat of Wanda’s battered station wagon. She wouldn’t let him drive, since he totalled her last car, and he was sulking about it.

“It’s been three years,” he muttered, “when are you going to get over it?”

“Oh, so you’re reckless and rusty, and you want me to let you drive?” Wanda rolled her eyes.

“I took a refresher course,” he said, slapping the dashboard. “I’m a better driver now! I won’t crash!”

“That’s nice. Get your own car.”

It had been like this for the entire drive. At least they weren’t speaking in Sokovian. They only did that when the arguments got serious.

You sat forward, leaning between their two seats. “Wow, you guys sure know how to make a girl regret riding with you.”

“There was no room in Steve’s car. You had no choice,” said Pietro.

“I’m sure Bucky would’ve let me ride on the back of his bike,” you said, a hint of suggestion in your tone.

Pietro frowned. “And end up splattered all along the sidewalk, I’d bet,” he huffed.

There was a not insignificant part of you that liked to get Pietro riled up. He wasn’t your boyfriend, not by any stretch of the imagination, but you’d been hooking up with him since the beginning of the school year.

Since summer break had started, you had spent almost every day over at his and Wanda’s place. Sometimes, he’d put his arm around you, or lend you his hoody, or sit a little too close to you while you played video games on the couch. But he wasn’t your boyfriend.

He was your friend that you sometimes kissed on the porch when his sister had gone to bed early. A friend who drew patterns on your back with his fingertip whenever he got bored. A friend who had seen you naked.

He never said anything, but he always got a little grumpy whenever you talked about spending time with Bucky or Steve. You couldn’t think of a single reason that he would have to dislike Steve, so you assumed – or hoped – that it was jealousy.

You encouraged it. Maybe if you kept pushing his buttons, he’d get his head out of ass and ask you on a date. A real date, not just you blowing him in the deserted laundrette after midnight, or him going down on you in the backseat of your car.

“Don’t worry, P, you’re still my favourite,” you said, lightly punching his arm. His lips twitched.

Wanda rolled her eyes. “Don’t make you leave you two by the side of the road.”

“We aren’t doing anything,” you said, raising your hands.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”

The first time you’d hooked up with Pietro was on the first night you’d met. You shared a psychology class with Wanda, and you’d struck up a friendship with her. She’d invited you to her birthday party, and you’d ended up chatting with an extremely pretty, very cocky boy with bleached blond hair.

When she’d stumbled in on the two of you in Pietro’s bed later that evening, she’d practically screeched, “What are you doing with my brother?”

You hadn’t known that Pietro was her brother, but it made a lot of things make sense. The fact that it had also been his birthday should’ve clued you in, since she’d told you she had a twin.

Your friends were already waiting for you at the lake when you pulled up. Tony had brought a portable stereo, and there was a large cooler full of ice-cold beers.

You were pondering the drinks selection, but Pietro had other ideas.

“Come on,” he said, grabbing your hand. “Come swim with me.”

You wrinkled your nose. “In the gross lake water?”

He let a laugh. It was a sweet, musical thing that made you feel warm inside. “Why do you come to the lake if not to swim?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Ambience?”

He snorted. “What about to cool down?”

He had a point there. It was blisteringly hot in the sun, and only mildly more bearable in the shade. You were already wearing a bikini under your clothes, so it wasn’t like you weren’t prepared.

“Alright, fine.”

A grin spread across his face. “Last one in’s a rotten egg!” he shouted, and then bolted towards the lake.

“Pietro!” you shrieked, but you were already following him. He kicked off his t-shirt and flip flops as he ran. You were having more trouble with your denim shorts. You had just reached the edge of the water when he took a running jump into it.

You swore. You shed your clothes, leaving them in a haphazard pile, and waded in.

Despite the hot air, the water was very cold. You got to knee depth, and then hesitated. Your reluctance wasn’t missed by Pietro.

“Come onnnn,” he whined. “Come play with me.”

“You’re a child.”

“If I was a child, I would be splashing you right now. What I actually am is a gentleman.”

You put your hand on your heart sarcastically. “Wow. My hero.” You waded in a little deeper, and his eyes lit up. You kept going until the water was just under your boobs.

This was the hard part. “Come on, dragă. If you get it over with, I’ll come warm you up.” There was a prickle of warmth across your skin.

You took a deep breath and then plunged under the water. Even under the water you could hear Pietro whoop. When you resurfaced, his eyes were on you, a wide grin on his face. He held out a hand to you and you took it, letting him pull you into the deeper water.

“Much better,” he murmured, pulling you close. “You want me to warm you up?”

His fingers played with the string of your bikini. “Everyone is right over there,” you said, nodding towards the shore.

“Who cares about everyone? Let me take you somewhere quiet and make you feel good.”

The offer was tempting, but you had a new resolution. No more casual sex with Pietro. If he wanted you, he was going to have to work for it.

“No, thanks,” you said brightly, and turned to swim in the opposite direction.

Nat was wading in up to her thighs. As you swam up to her, she put her hands on her hips.

“Pietro is watching you like a hawk right now,” she said, a half-smile on her face. You had already filled her in on your resolution.

“Good.”

Other people were getting into the water now. You watched as Victor (although everyone called him Vision) paddled in the shallows. He had come with Tony, although you knew he and Wanda were friends, and you were starting to realise why. Pietro was the worst cockblock in the world.

Wanda was watching Vision with a fond smile on her face. Their eyes met, and she gave him a little wave. He waved back, flushing bright red.

“What do you think?” asked Nat. “Are they already boning, or are they about to?”

“There’s no way they’re already boning. He’s way too shy and I don’t think Wanda is in the headspace to make the first move.”

“What are you talking about?”

You spun to see Pietro standing behind you. The water was waist-deep for him, and he had his hands on his hips, mirroring Nat.

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop,” you said, and he huffed.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping. You’re loud.”

You looked back over to the shore. Wanda was wading into the water now, wincing with every step. You knew there were some sharp stones around there. Vision offered her a hand, which she gratefully took.

When you turned back to Pietro, his jaw was very tight. “I’m gonna-” he started, but you put both hands on his chest, pushing him into the water.

He flailed around, grabbing at you, and managed to pull you down with him.

“Gross,” said Nat. She swam off to go and talk to Clint.

“What did you do that for?” Pietro growled, but he still had his arms around you.

“I’m not letting you cockblock my friend,” you said, pushing him deeper.

“She’s my sister.”

“And she’s an adult. If she wants to get dicked down by literally the dweebiest guy I’ve ever met, that’s her choice.”

He groaned. “Don’t say ‘dicked down’.” You smiled at him, innocently. His hands came to rest on your hips. “Come swim with me? Watching her talk to him makes my skin crawl.”

“He’s nice. She could do a lot worse.” You also thought she could do better, but Pietro didn’t need to know that. Besides, you were sure that no one would be good enough in his eyes for his beloved sister.

“Come on.” He tried to pull you out into the deeper water, but you stopped him.

“Nuh-uh. We’re staying right here where everyone can see us.”

His eyes glinted dangerously. “Kinky.”

You lightly slapped his shoulder. “Not like that. We’re not fucking, Pietro.”

“We’re not?”

“I know you’re used to getting what you want right away, but delayed gratification can feel so good. You should try it sometime.”

“Well, you should try being less of a tease.” His hands went straight to your armpits, tickling you. You screeched, grabbing onto his shoulders so that you wouldn’t go under.

“Pietro!” you squealed. “You’re… gonna… drown me.” It was a struggle to get the words out. You were breathless from laughter.

“I won’t let you drown, pretty girl.” He stopped tickling you. His arms wrapped around you again, holding you in place.

In spite of yourself, it felt good. Pietro’s arms felt safe.

“I can’t say the same,” you said, and then you pushed down on his head, dunking him under the water.

He came up a few seconds later, spluttering, wet hair plastered over his eyes. You were laughing. You couldn’t help yourself. As soon as he’d managed to swipe his hair out of his eyes, he splashed you.

“Demon woman,” he growled. “Trying to kill me.”

The two of you play-wrestled, tickling and splashing each other until Tony’s voice cut through the air.

“Hey! Lovebirds! If you want some of this barbecue, you’re gonna have to hurry up.”

You looked at Pietro. “I’m pretty hungry.”

“Me too.”

The two of you swam back to the shore. You were the last ones out. Most other people already had their food on paper plates, sitting on beach chairs or towels.

Wanda and Vision were sharing a picnic blanket. You could see Pietro eyeing them, weighing up whether he should go sit down with them to break up whatever was happening.

Too busy watching him watching them, you didn’t see the empty bottle until your foot rolled over it. The ground was flat here, so it slipped out from under you, and you fell forward, letting out an undignified yelp.

Bucky, who had been manning the barbecue, grabbed your arms before you could go all the way over.

“Fuck.”

“You okay, doll?” asked Bucky. He pulled you upright. “You nearly took a tumble there.”

“I’m okay. Thank you.”

“You want something to eat?”

“Yes please.”

As Bucky served some food onto your plate, you snuck a glance back at Pietro, and found that he was staring right at you. His lips were pressed into a hard line.

“What?”

“N-nothing.” He tried to modulate his expression, but he still looked upset. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Bucky handed you your plate. “Pietro? You want some?” he asked.

“Uhh…” Pietro glanced at you, and then back at Bucky. “Sure.”

While Pietro was getting his food, you decided to sit as far away with Wanda as possible. You were pretty sure Pietro was more interested in being with you than cockblocking his sister, but with Pietro, who could say?

Sure enough, as you dug into your burger, Pietro sidled up to you. You were sitting on a stump that was definitely only large enough for one person, but that didn’t stop him from trying.

“Pietro.”

“Sorry, dragă. Not enough seats.”

You looked over at the empty beach chair next to where Steve and Bucky were sitting, and rolled your eyes. “Right.”

“We can share, right? You don’t mind sharing with me?”

“God, you’re so fucking clingy today.”

Pietro’s face fell. He shifted off the stump so that he was sitting on the floor. He didn’t look at you as he picked at his food.

You grimaced. You hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. It was in line with the kind of playful banter that you and Pietro usually had, but maybe you’d hit on a sore spot.

The two of you ate your food in silence, and it was strange. You weren’t used to him being quiet. Once you were both done eating, you took his paper plate wordlessly, stacked it on top of yours and then put a rock on them so that they wouldn’t blow away.

You could feel Pietro watching you curiously. You stood up, brushed yourself off, and then said, “Come here.”

Bemused, he got to his feet. As he stepped closer to you, you put your hands on his shoulders, manoeuvring him down onto the stump. Once he realised what you were doing, he sat.

You sat down in his lap, sideways on, so that you could put your arms around his neck.

When he gave you a questioningly look, you said, “Not enough seats, right?”

He smiled at you then. “Right.” His hand rested against your hip, thumbing against your skin there.

You had to suppress a shiver. You looked at Pietro, expecting him to look cocky or turned on, but instead, he just smiled at you affectionately.

“You know…” he said slowly. “I hear there’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight.”

“Uh-huh?”

“I was thinking maybe we could… stay out here?”

“How would we get home?”

“Uh… walk?”

“What if it rains?”

“It’s not going to rain!”

“Pietro!”

“Fine, it’s fine if you don’t want to.” He closed his mouth, looking away from you, and you felt a pang of longing. You wanted to watch the stars with Pietro.

You glanced over at where Wanda was sitting. Her and Vision were side by side, looking very comfortable with each other.

“Give me a sec,” you said to Pietro. He looked confused as you walked over to where Wanda was sitting, but didn’t try to follow.

“Wanda,” you said, flopping down onto the edge of her picnic blanket. Vision pulled away from her quickly, glancing nervously around to see if Pietro was with you.

Wanda glared at you. “What do you want?”

“I was thinking that you could do me a favour, and then I could do you a favour.”

She brought her eyebrows together in confusion. “Explain.”

“You let me borrow your car-” She groaned. “Let me finish! Pietro wants to stay here tonight. If you ride with Tony and let me use your car, you can have the house to yourself.”

You glanced at Vision, who, taking your meaning, flushed again.

Wanda gave you a hard stare. She pulled her car keys out of her pocket. You reached for them, but she pulled them back.

“Two conditions. One: Pietro doesn’t drive.”

“Fine.” You’d been expecting that one.

“Two: no sex in my car.”

“I wasn’t gonna-”

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem, right?” She dangled the keys in front of you.

“Right.” You took them from her. “Thanks, Wands. You’re a lifesaver.”

The rest of the group had begun packing up. The light was starting to fade.

“Hey,” said Bucky, stopping you on your way back over to Pietro. “You coming for the afterparty? Think we’re gonna get some beers in and watch movies at Steve’s place.”

You glanced over at Pietro. Although he couldn’t hear what Bucky was saying, he was giving him a hard stare.

“No thanks, Buck. Me and Pietro are gonna stargaze.”

Bucky gave you a knowing look. “Alright, doll. Have fun.”

You walked back over to Pietro and plonked yourself down in his lap. He hesitated for a second, and then put his arms around you again.

“Don’t look so sour,” you said. “Look what I got.” You dangled Wanda’s car keys in his face. His eyes lit up, and he made a grab for them, but you held them out of reach. “No way. Wanda will kill me if I let you drive her car.”

“But-”

You put your finger over his lips. “You wanna sleep here tonight or not?”

Slowly, begrudgingly, he nodded.

As your friends packed up their cars and made to leave, you said your goodbyes, and then the two of you were alone.

They had left you few a couple of beers, a bag of chips and some of the leftover barbecue. You still had Wanda’s picnic blanket, which you laid out on the dirt riverbank. Steve had even had a pillow in his car, which he was happy to lend you.

When you were finally alone, you put your clothes back on – shorts and a t-shirt and a hoody – and Pietro gave you a funny look. He was already lounging on the blanket, but he tugged on the fabric of your hoody as soon as you were in reach.

“Kind of counter-productive, don’t you think, dragă?”

“I thought we were here to watch the stars.” Ignoring his searching hands, you opened the bag of chips and offered him one. He didn’t take it.

Instead, he slid his hand under your t-shirt. “Among other things.”

“I meant what I said, P.” You grabbed his wrist. “We’re not fucking.”

He drew his eyebrows together in an expression that reminded you of Wanda. He leant up on his elbow. “Why not?”

You rolled onto your back, stealing the pillow from where it had been lying between you. “Maybe because it’s all we ever do?”

Pietro went quiet. You could feel his gaze, hot and prickly on the side of your face, but you refused to look at him. You wondered if he was angry at you.

He took a deep breath, and you braced yourself, but his words came out very soft. “What’s wrong? You’ve been acting weird all day.”

You huffed out a mirthless laugh, staring up at the sky. It wasn’t quite dark enough to see the stars yet, but it was getting there.

“Has it never occurred to you that maybe I want something real?”

“What do you mean real? This is real.”

He touched your thigh, not sexually, but creating a bridge between you. You didn’t shake him off.

Finally, you turned to look at him. His lips were parted in confusion, eyes fixed firmly on your face.

“Well, maybe I’d like the kind of relationship where you go on dates. The kind where kissing doesn’t always lead to sex. The kind where I know you’re not gonna be off with other girls the second I’m too busy to hang out.”

His face grew red. “That was one time! And we’d only slept together like, twice at that point! It was casual! We were casual!”

You sat up so that your face was level with his. “I don’t want casual.”

He frowned. “So you think Bucky can give you that? The kind of relationship you want?”

You drew back, brow furrowing. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s cool. If you’re seeing him too. I guess we never said we were exclusive or anything.”

“I’m not seeing Bucky. He’s a friend.” You wondered if your efforts to make Pietro jealous had gone too far. He looked hurt, one hand pressed against his chest.

“Right, but you have, yeah?”

You shook your head. “No. Not with Bucky. And I haven’t slept with anyone but you since winter break.”

He stared at you, disbelieving. “Me neither.”

“Pietro… are we dating?”

“… Maybe?”

“Do you wanna be?”

He exhaled sharply. You scooted in closer, nose almost touching his. The longer he went without speaking, the more this felt like a rejection. Still, you held your breath.

“I’ve done this all wrong, dragă,” he murmured. “Do you want to go out with me? On a date?”

Your nose brushed against his as you nodded, and then he grabbed you by the waist, pulling you in.

You were in his lap again, kissing him fervently and feeling the hot skin of his neck under your hands. It felt like he was everywhere at once, his tongue between your lips, his hands in your hair, his firm body under yours.

He rolled you over onto your back, and you felt a little breathless as he went straight for your neck. He already knew exactly how you liked it. He knew how to find and suck on that spot that would make you keen.

This time, though, when you gasped, it was for a different reason. Pietro didn’t notice. He was too busy biting your neck.

“Pietro,” you gasped, slapping his shoulders. “I saw a shooting star!”

He pulled back so that he was hovering over you. “What?”

“A shooting star. Look!”

He rolled over onto his back, but it was obviously long gone by the time he was in position. “I don’t see one.”

“You have to wait. Be patient.”

He groaned. You both knew patience wasn’t his strong suit. After about five minutes, his hand started creeping up your thigh. You put your hand on his, stopping him.

“You’re gonna miss the meteor shower,” you said.

“You’re prettier,” he said smoothly, but you rolled your eyes.

“We’re dating now, remember? You can see me whenever. You can only see the shooting stars tonight.”

He huffed, but turned back to the sky. “This is rigged, they never happen when I- Ohhh.” He gasped. “I saw one!”

His childlike glee warmed you. You rested your head on his shoulder, but he barely seemed to notice. He was too busy staring at the sky.

“They’re pretty, right?” you murmured.

“Beautiful,” he agreed.

“More beautiful than me?”

“Ehh, it’s close.”

You giggled and rolled over so that you could look at his face.

“And another thing,” you said, “you know Bucky wasn’t flirting with me, right? He and Steve have been banging since, like, the first week of college.”

“… No. I did not know that.”

---

Notes:

Preview of tomorrow's fic: Getting railed in a sundress by your dad's friend, Dmitri Antonov. Hopper!Reader.

#pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff x you #pietro maximoff x y/n #pietro maximoff fanfiction #summer fic week 2023

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 4 years ago

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“Wilcox Killed; Partner Captured,” The Province (Vancouver). March 13, 1931. Page 1 ---- Bandits Are Shot Down By Burnaby Police Chief; McDougall Taken Prisoner ---- Pitched Battle in the Bush North Of Central Park Ends Reign Of Terror by Men. --- DEVITT LED ATTACK ON DESPERADOES ===== Wilcox Started Shooting When He Was Ordered to Surrender. --- Interviewed in his cell at Burnaby police station. Fraser McDougall, Wilcox's accomplice in the jailbreak and subsequent holdups, revealed that the revolvers used in their escape were hidden in the police van.

"The break was arranged beforehand and everything went smoothly," he said.

"What day is this?" he asked when answering questions about his activities since the escape.

"Friday, the thirteenth," was the response.

"O God!" he exclaimed. ---- ELLIS WILCOX, who, at the point of a gun, broke out of Oakalla Jail on March 5, was shot dead by Chief of Police W. J. Devitt of Burnaby in the bush at Smith avenue and Nineteenth, not far from Grandview Highway, near the Vancouver-Burnaby boundary, about 1:15 o'clock this afternoon.

Fraser McDougall, companion of Wilcox in the escape, surrendered after he fired several shots and fled into the bush. He is now held at Burnaby police station.

Wilcox was shot in the stomach after he had ignored the chief's order to surrender. The jail-breaker had drawn a revolver and fired first. Devitt was armed with a rifle.

McDougall surrendered after his companion had been shot. He attempted to escape, and, hiding behind their stolen car, drew aim on the chief with his revolver. When Devitt fired another shot, which struck the car, McDougall threw up his hands.

"All right." he said, "I've got 'em up."

Shortly after 1 o'clock, Chief Devitt was notified that two men in a small sedan were in the bush near Smith and Nineteenth. Accompanied by Constables Smedley and Pennington, the chief hurried to the scene in a police car. Two motorcycle men were sent to the spot in a different direction to cut off possible escape.

When officers reached the place where the men were reported, Chief Devitt sent his motorcycle officers to different spots to guard possible exits, thus cutting off any chance of the men's flight.

Chief Devitt then pushed his way into the bush. He saw the two men, and, with his rifle in readiness, approached them.

When he got within speaking dis tance, the chief shouted to the jail- breakers that he was a police of ficer, and he ordered them to surrender.

Wilcox, however, did not make any reply, but drew his revolver. Devitt fired, and the bullet struck Wilcox in the stomach.

Seeing his companion prostrate, MeDougall ran around the front of the automobile, and using it as a barricade, drew his revolver and prepared to battle his way to freedom. Devitt fired again, and the bullet struck the front of the automobile. McDougall, cowed by the shot, dropped his revolver, raised his hands above his head and surrendered.

HISTORY OF MANHUNT. Wilcox, son of Vancouver parents, who came to British Columbia from Regina in 1919, and his companion, gave police a chase from the time he escaped from Oakalla jail early Thursday evening, March 5.

Their escape was cleverly arranged and boldly carried out. Friends apparently hid revolvers in the police wagon which was to convey them from the Vancouver Courthouse, where they were on trial at the spring assizes.

When the bandits were in the office at Oakalla before being led back to their cells they suddenly produced the revolvers and overpowered two guards.

As they were preparing to escape, a provincial police constable from Victoria appeared with a prisoner, Wilcox calmly walked to the door to admit them, covering them with his gun.

The bandit promptly relieved the constable of his revolver and ordered him to lie down on the floor beside the guards. He and McDougall forced the taxi driver who had brought the constable from Vancouver to drive them into the city,

Accosted on Kingsway by a Burnaby policeman, who saw their car speeding along. Wilcox and McDougall kept the driver under threat of their revolvers and reached Vancouver.

After they had driven around the east end of the city for a time, one of the bandits left the tax and stole a car parked at the curb. He took the taxi and was joined by his companion. No trace of the jail-breakers was found despite a strict police search until Wednesday morning when Constable R. J. Holliday of the provincial police was held up in the University lands district.

Wilcox and his companion had apparently been hiding out to the woods of the University area and Constable Holiday walked into their camp accompanied by two men who had seen a fire burning there.

FLED IN SEDAN AFTER CITY HOLDUPS Wilcox and his companion. who did not resemble McDougall, disarmed the constable and shoved his motorcycle into a ditch so that he could not pursue them when they escaped in their sedan.

Early Thursday morning the bandits perpetrated a series of holdups of Vancouver milkmen, no fewer than five being held up in the East End of the city within a few hours.

Apparently the men fed in their stolen sedan to the bush lands of Burnaby where they finally encountered police.

#oakalla prison #1931 oakalla escape #police shooting #shoot out with police #shoot out #escaped prisoners #shot while escaping #wanted fugitives #armed bandits #vancouver #burnaby #great depression in canada #crime and punishment in canada #history of crime and punishment in canada #prison break

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oldsalempost-blog · 2 years ago

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The Old Salem Post

Our Local Tamassee-Salem SC Area News each Monday except holidays Contact: [email protected] Distributed to local businesses, town hall, library. Volume 7 Issue 6 Week of January 9,2023 https://www.tumblr.com/settings/blog/oldsalempost-blog Lynne Martin Publishing

EDITOR: This is our first issue of The Old Salem Post in the 2023 New Year, and there is news to share. The two week holiday break was a nice chance to work on my to do list. There is always work waiting. I have a saying, “ When I die, I will still have a long list of things.” I suppose that is where generations who follow us need to be prepared to pick up the slack when all of us with a good work ethic have passed on. Start now teaching your younger ones the value and satisfaction that comes from the ability to use their minds and learn new skills. We don’t have time to waste. LRMartin

NEW FOOD TRUCK DOWN TOWN SALEM! Salem has a food truck, Palmetto Spoon, located this week across from the Fire Department. Stop by and check out their breakfast and lunch menu!

TOWN OF SALEM: *Downtown Market every Sat. 8am-12pm. Council Meets Jan 17, 5pm. BLOOD DRIVE: Monday January 9, 2023 from 1pm-6pm. Downtown Salem across from the Fire Department. $20 in e-gift cards plus and an additional Bonus $50 in e-gift cards

. ASHTON RECALLS By Ashton Hester COMMUNITY WELL SERVED RURAL SALEM RESIDENTS - - (The following is the second half of a story that began in the last issue of The Post. It was in the January 12, 1977 issue of the Keowee Courier and was written by Doris Rogers, who wrote feature stories for the Courier during that era. Incidentally, she is a native of Salem and was raised at the Tamassee DAR School. The Bennets who are featured in this story were kin to her). . .The oldest and youngest Bennett men have died and the middle one moved away. Now, there are four families drawing water by hand and a fifth one--you guessed it--who gets theirs by way of an electric pump. . .I remember playing games and eating picnic lunches under the trees near the well. The central gathering place for the community, birthday and communion dinners were given there. Boys played ball and we girls played jacks--and told the well our secrets. . .The well was a landmark, and small children weren't allowed near it without an adult. . .Once in 1970, a station wagon filled with children came to a stop beside the clean, neat well box. The old windlass brought back memories for the North Carolina man, and held a fascinating curiosity for the children. The group came from the car and asked questions. . .Mr. Vondiver Bennett drew up a bucket of the always cold liquid and everyone had a cup. The man said he had never tasted cleaner, sweeter water since he was a boy. He took a jug home for his wife, and Mr. Bennett walked home smiling. . .(Footnote written in 2023: A photo of the well accompanied this story in the January 12, 1977 Keowee Courier).

JOCASSEE VALLEY BREWING COMPANY,(JVBC)& COFFEE SHOP 13412 N Hwy 11 Open Wed-Sat 8am-9pm. Sunday 2pm-7pm. Events this week: THURS: Old Time Jam 6:00pm. Fri– FOOD: Pat’s Hot Dogs. Music: JR Williams at 6:30pm. Sat– Music: Tim McWilliams 6:30pm Food: ALAZAN Food Truck. Call 864-873-0048 Book Club Meeting at JVBC: Wednesday, Jan 25 at 10:00am. We will be discussing Desert Flower by Warris Dirie. Landscape Art Class, Thurs, Jan 26, 6pm-8pm $25 Preregister.

Tamassee DAR: Tamassee is now taking reservations for the next Bride-to-Be Tea Party on Feb. 18th at 10 a.m. in historical South Carolina Cottage Whether you are planning a romantic garden wedding for a small group of close friends, or a chapel ceremony with all the traditions, Tamassee DAR School can make your wedding dreams come true. From engagement tea, rehearsal, ceremony, to reception – Tamassee DAR School is a one-stop-venue experience for all your wedding needs . Tour our beautiful indoor and outdoor venue options, visit with preferred vendors, enjoy refreshments, and learn more about our affordable wedding packages. Cost for the Tea Party is $10 for the bride and one guest. To register for this event, call us at 864.944.1390 or email us at [email protected].

Tamassee DAR Thrift Store open Tues-Sat, 10am-6pm. Located 9695, Hwy 11. Treasures, furniture, and more! Also, the kitchen area features delicious sandwiches by Bake It To the Limit, on Fri and Sat.

Happy New Year to You! Prepare for the JCS It's Coming! The January Cold Snap. According to my 20 years' research, The "JCS" most likely occurs around January 15th. If the storm travels up from Atlanta, we might be snowed in for a week or more. To that end, I have prepared a shopping list for you JUST IN CASE: ___Shop for the January Snows_______ Bread, Milk, Hot Cocoa Mix, Marshmallows, Canned Soups, Pop Corn, Orange Juice,Cold Medicine Baking Supplies:Choc Chips, Oats, Flour, Pie Crusts, Canned Goods: tomatoes, beans, tuna, salmon, peaches --------Cut this out and put it on the Refrigerator---------- I love you, Oconee County! I picture you safe and warm by the fireplace ogling A SEED CATOLOG!!!MIZ JEANNIE

EAGLES NEST ART CENTER , 501c3, 4 Eagle Lane, Salem ENAC REGULAR meeting Monday, February 6, 2023 at 5pm. ENAC TREASURE STORE: Open every first Saturday of each month 9am-12pm. We need more volunteers. UPCOMING PERFORMANCES IN 2023: MOUNTAIN FAITH BAND: Family Bluegrass/Gospel band from Sylvia, N.C. JAN.14 at 7 PM TICKETS $20 presale. Available at the Town of Salem, Ticketleap, or call 864-280-1258. Doors open at 6pm. OCONEE MOUNTAIN OPRY: Local Roots Music and comedy. JAN. 21 TICKETS $10. Doors open 6pm. Show at 7pm.

Folk Mountain Gospel: Don and Donna Mohl play mountain and hammered dulcimer, bowed psaltry, zither and more. Save the Feb 11 evening for this unique event. More Details to come. Website: folkmountaingospel.com WOMEN ECOURAGING WOMEN: FEB. 18 1PM-4PM A Love Offering will be taken. * This is a wonderful event for our local churches to help sponsor. *

ARE YOU IN NEED OF A COAT OR SOCKS? Call Missy at 864-944-8732 Community Food Bank through local churches. No one should be hungry for food or love: Contact Teresa and James Barker at 944-0258

GOLDEN CORNER FOOD PANTRY: Tamassee-Salem mobile food pantry. Pick up at Salem First Baptist Church second Saturday each month. 10am-12pm . Anyone on EBT ( food stamps) will automatically qualify. For more information, call the Golden Corner Food Pantry 864-882-3610. Share with others, and tell them to share with others who might know of someone who has a need.

Thought for the week: Great Relationships are made when you are building one another up– Not tearing one another down— Prayer: Heavenly Father, Open and eyes, ears, and heart to do good for all mankind. Help us lend a hand where one is needed. Help us to share your message of hope and love everywhere we go, through Jesus Christ, Your Son. Amen

*No Paper next week. *Martin Luther King Jr. Holiday. LRMartin

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punk-in-docs · 2 years ago

Text

🕷Your web,I’m caught🕷

Eddie Munson x Pencils (OC) slow burn series, Part I

7.6k words

Summary: Snorting laughter at the disappearing Jocks back. Marlboro red clamped between his lips. Smoke slithering out his smile. Between the cracks of his straight teeth.

When you saw who it belonged too. The laugh. The cigarette smoke.You weren’t even suprised.

Who else could it be-Who else would be doing a drug deal on the outskirts of a high school party, in the woods, at almost eleven at night, but Eddie “the freak” Munson.

Authors note; So, I wrote this because I probably have Eddie Munson brain rot, and because I just love this funky lil freak ok? It’s kinda long. No smut (yet) I might do more parts. We shall see. ~ (any feedback or comments are very much welcome folks)

It was through Hawkins like wildfire on bone dry kindling. One spark of friction and the whole thing soared to churning flames in a hot second.

No survivors.

Kyle Rothman’s parents were going to visit family in Elwood for some big fancy party.

Anniversary, you’d heard. Funeral, someone else had bemoaned.

Eight o’clock Friday night. Kyle’s House on 1280 Abalone Drive. Bring your own beer.

This is how you found yourself bundled unwillingly into the plump passenger seat of your friend Linda’s station wagon come Friday night.

Bouncing along on the safe suburbia streets to a godawful party, peppered with the usual dumb jocks and poisonous cheerleaders. The freaks and nerds tended to stay in their own lanes. Keep well away.

Lucky fucks.

Two six pack of Coor’s sat rattling at your feet. She’d spent half an hour teasing your kinked hair all big, and persuading you to slick on some blue eyeliner and glitter. You drew the line when she approached you with this tube of waxy fuschia lipstick.

You batted her hand away with contempt and let her slip huge plastic blue earrings in your ears instead. It goes with your top. She’d chirped.

Technically, her top. It was a loaner.

Really, you’d tried so goddamned hard to weasel out of it.

You considered pulling an all nighter as an excuse. A painting you’d forgotten to do for art class. A Chem lab final. The fact you didn’t take Chem non-withstanding. Or a sudden very fast acting sick spell to dodge the draft.

Mom’s away. It’s me and Charlie. And she’s on nights now. I can’t leave the house, Linda.

Your door has locks, now doesn’t it? Don’t be square. We’re seniors. One little party to take the edge off.

I’m good with my edges the way they are, thanks.

She wore down your stubbornness with the sugary sweet relentless attitude. Harder than grainy sandpaper against your onerous mood. She won. Softened you into submission. Ground you down and drowned the fight out of you with her strong army of ‘pretty pretty pleases’.

With a heap of maraschino cherries dumped on top for good measure, she wrapped you round her little finger like a silk ribbon with promises of movie nights and lots of beer. Pizza too. And her eternal love and devotion. She promised to buy you some weed. Give you her Soul. Her first born.

She really really wanted you to go with her to this fucking party. God knows why. She’ll spend the night with her jock. Not you.

She sat next to you in the drivers seat. In her hot pink tiered skirt and skinny white high heels. Blond curls all frizzy and piled half up on her head with a pink scrunchie.

Her little lilac purse with a long strap sat perched on your hip. Containing four condoms, gloss, and a pack of lifesavers zipped securely inside.

Told you right away what kinda night she was expecting to have.

She’s brimming with energy cause her meathead is going tonight too. On the basketball team and practically a clone to High School royalty, Jason Carver. And her new squeeze is persona-non-grata with her strict parents for bringing her home once past curfew, and half cut. So this is one of the only chances they get to make out and do hand stuff in the guest bedroom.

Atleast someone’s excited for tonight. And thank god it’s her. You want to stay festering in the land of piss and vinegar with a scowl slapped on your face. Razor slashes of your glaring eyes landing on all those preppy idiots.

Because you liked to sit at an easel, armed with your mad array of bold paints and a brush. And you actually liked and were good at it. That instantly afforded you some hatred from the athlete crowd.

Linda reaches over and nudges you with a bony elbow. Knocking you out your self imposed funk. You side eye her for being a pest. She sing-songs cheery cooing words at you over husky Joan Jett on the radio. Words all prim and sickly like butter wouldn’t even melt.

“C’mmooon. There’ll be drink. I heard that Jason is bringing some of his dads liquor.” She trills away like tweetie pie.

“There’ll be a lot of jocks too. Lot of jocks on a lot of drink. They won’t know the difference between a viable mate and a wet hole in the ground.” You pointed out. Scuffing the door with the tip of your shoe. Black. Faux leather kitten heel boots.

She’d shoved those at you too. The boots. You wore the same size. Annoyingly. Instead of clinging to the comfort of your usual paint spattered reeboks. She wrinkled her nose up and tore your sneakers away from your grip. Turned away to dust more neon pink blush on her cheekbones.

“You’re gross.” She grimaced at you as she turns a corner. The bracelets on her arms slap and click together as she shuffled the wheel.

“Gross but right.” You poured back. Flicking hair out your eyes. It felt stiff and dry with all the stuff she rubbed and sprayed on it. The noxious chemical stink of too much hairspray and her candy-like Revlon perfume choked the interior of her car. You usually kept your hair back with a scrunchie. Possibly with a pencil or a paintbrush tucked into the bun.

“Just try and not be a catty bitch. Get a drink. Have a dance. Take that iron rod out your ass for once.”

“Its good for my posture.” You sniped at her as she smacked her glossy lips together in the rear view - not checking the car behind her or anything important like that.

“Pretty bad for your sex life though. Yours is particularly tragic right now.” She shot back dryly. Dry as sand and that dig was below the belt.

“Volume series tragedy is what I was actually aiming for.” You grinned at her. Layering the charm on thick.

Not letting her blows have anywhere to land. You scooped up her words and threw them back at her before the typical Linda shrapnel got it’s chance to pierce your skin.

It had been a while, sure. But that didn’t mean you were going to a kegger, to get blackout wasted, and end up dry humping the nearest small dicked athlete in a letterman two tone jacket. You liked to think you had taste. And a little modicum of class.

“You know I don’t get to see Jonny very often. Not since he made the team. I’d look like a loser turning up tonight all by myself.” She whines. Bitching. Stomping her foot on the gas pedal like a brat.

“Next thing I’ll have to start having to sit with the freaks at lunch. Christ, can you imagine?” She scoffs. “Me at the losers table with freak Munson and the rest of his social rejects.”

You gave her a look for that. Blasted her your chilly side eye for her small mindedness.

They were nerds, sure. Into D&D, metal music or band.

They weren’t lepers.

God forbid you ever said this aloud. But, you actually admired the way that some people didn’t conform to the mind numbing rules of popular or preppy. You liked that they cared enough to be themselves. Fuck what others say or think. The punk attitude clinging deep in you found it ballsy and brave.

Maybe they were all braver than you were- hiding yourself away in art class or the Library day after day instead of having to decide what table you’d be sorted onto. Or welcomed at. Chained too.

You weren’t entirely sure Linda would save you a space at the table with the royalty. You didn’t belong there. Your clothes weren’t preppy and cute. You didn’t wear bubblegum neon colours. Or trade gossip. You knew who Siouxsie and the Banshees were. That most likely tipped you into nerd territory. Loser crowd recruit.

You’re sure there’d be a place carved out, so where, for one the arty type, like you. Eternally graphite smudged hands, or flecks of paint dried gummy in your hair. Leafing through your sketchbook and scribbling away. Eyes down, plugged into your Walkman and latest Talking Heads or Smiths cassette.

“Could you be more of a stuck up snob?” You asked with rising hilarity in your voice.

“Yeah.” She preened. Slowing down to make the dreaded turn onto Kyles. Bounces the huge clunky thing onto the nearly busy, paved driveway.

“I am dating a jock now, you know.” She hums. Pleased with herself.

Your eye roll was almost audible.

“Don’t forget to wash your hands after and check for crabs.“ You bat your mascara thick lashes all sickly as you coo the words at her.

You grab the beers and grumpily make your feet leave the car. It’s a trudge but you manage it. You slam the car door because you needed to direct your still seething annoyance somewhere.

She bumps her door shut with her hip and properly wiggles her feet into her heels. Long tanned legs of hers bare and peeping out her pink skirt. A gauzy white top and swingy pink earrings stood neon out her bouffant blonde perm. You weren’t flashing nearly as much.

You wore your white leather jacket with the squeezing black and gold belt she nipped around your middle. Made your tits look awesome, and bigger, her words not yours. Her bright blue top that hangs off one shoulder. Soft black jeans and her back heeled pirate boots which click as you walk. She’d been obsessed with Adam Ant for a while.

Onto your wrists she’d threaded yet more bright jewellery. And the plastic hoops dangling from your ears, you kept on having to untangle it from your hair every four seconds. Your wavy fringe kept on flicking in your eyes.

You stand with the beer and look up at the split ranch style house in front of you. Cicadas humming already. The lawn is green and fuzzy short and the street lights cast a dozy orange thrown into pools everywhere. The house is set back and stood alone. Well spaced out from the neighbours. It backed into the tall dark woods. No risk of noise complaints.

Brown wood and overhanging eaves. It’s a big place. Each window lit up a drowsy yellow. And crowds of voices roils. The tell tale whump-whump of whatever lame ass pop music is blasting along and pulsing at the walls and shaking the windows from the inside.

You step towards the front door. Linda actually scurries along in her heels. Jason’s jeep parked right upfront means the cavemen had already descended. She fluffs her hair and grips the door handle. Slowly jerking it open. It was too loud to hear knocks anyway. The party was in full swing already.

The first thing you do when you come inside? Wince.

Club Tropicana is bellowing loudly through the house on what is very clearly very deafening speakers. The drum beats drown your ears. The thrum of the base plucks the air. You feel the thud of it through the thick squashing carpet.

Someone’s made a vain attempt to party up the place. Twinkle lights glimmer in the living room where many bodies are dancing and throwing hands in the air. Fierce chilli red. Neon green. Sapphire sea blue, spots of light dotted and swimming around the dark ceiling where the lights were poorly tacked. Last minute attempt you’re guessing.

Red cups sloshing drink everywhere. Half drunk beer cans and bottles stood on every flat surface. Some toppled over and leaking dark dribbled spots into the carpet. The dank smell of cigarettes and some musty weed clouds the air.

High schoolers are strewn across the couch. Some making out. Two seconds from dry humping right in the open. Some were chatting. Laughing at their own drunkness. Crowding the narrow hallways.

Linda scans around the crowds. Flirtily shimmying her fingers in a wave when she sees her Jock. She almost bounces on the spot. Giddy smile splitting her lipstick.

Her boyfriend lumbers across and you’re quickly forgotten on the doormat. She takes her purse off you. And one of the six packs.

“Bye?” You state to her with a frown as she preened and laughed as they joined hands.

“Find you later.” She breezed. Her smile was so wide. Cheeks full of blush. Fake and real.

“Wrap it before you tap it.” You growl at her. Narrowing your eyes to pin slits. She flips you the bird when she totters off after her gorilla in basketball threads.

Not four seconds later they’re wrapped around each other like leeches. Tongues down throats. Waxy glossy lipstick all over their chins. He whispers something in her ear when they break apart and they wind through crowds headed for the stairs. Beer forgotten. She’s giggling he’s got a shit eating grin on.

That had taken all of eight seconds past your feet crossing the doormat before your abandonment.

When Four Tops starts blasting. You’ve decided; you must seek out some liquor. You can’t be forced to suffer this indignity of a night in any kind of sobriety.

You growl to yourself. Your mood just plummeted so way far down it could be in the South Pole by now. A pit of acid and spiky nails and broken glass was your stomach. Mood went from foul to fouler.

Armed with one six pack, you heft your way to the kitchen. Pushing past dancers and athletes that line the doorways. Elbow past a couple very loudly making out. They don’t even notice your shouldering byYour reward for basically commando busting your way through crowds is the sight of the kitchen. For some reason the lights are off and purple lights are drowning the room. The colour of Lilac and moody nightshade bruises. A huge bowl of ruby red punch half gone sits on the island. Spiked no doubt. Fine by you.

Liquor bottles stand with tops ripped off, cheap whiskey and vodka. Beer kegs on rosy towels on the floor in the far corner. Red solo cups are scattered everywhere. Crushed, used and not. Chips are half eaten in a messy bowl. Popcorn too. Spilled all over the place. You didn’t envy the cleanup.

You grab a clean one and dunk it into the punch. It spills down your fingers and you suck the drips away. Sip some. The terrific cheap sugar of something that tasted like it was trying to be fruity, combined with the bitchy bite of vodka. Perfect.

You lean against the counter and nurse a cup. You dive back for another. The first slipped down way too easily. Cherry red staining your tongue. Vodka seeping into your legs and arms with its lazy sluggish heat.

You wrap one arm around yourself and stand leaning against the counter. The granite dug into the back of your hips painfully.

Some Basketball jocks who barely lift their eyes to regard you as a form of life, bustle rudely past and knock into you. Sloshing your cup to spill down your top. Drink rolls in drips off your chin.

“Watch it loser.” One of them drunkenly snickers at you. Tossed the words carelessly over his shoulder as they go to draw more shitty beer from the keg. His friend laughed at his crass remark to you.

Fuckin meatheads.

You scoff under your breath. Mood sour you slam your hand down on a can of beer and take your still somewhat full cup out the back door you can see left wide open the other side of the island.

You mumble a curse word at them loud enough to hear as you slip past. “Pricks.” You catch one of their hands with their cups so they drop it by surprise.

“Bite me, babe.” One slurs. Leaning over and holding the handle. Opening his arms at you like some twisted invitation. His gruff words didn’t threaten you.

You turn your head and spit words at them. Eyes narrow under your frizzy fringe. The drink helping get your tongue bold.

“Go find some balls to play with. Idiots” you snipe as you feel the delightful sensation of stepping out the house and into the dark back yard.

You brandish the V’s at them with your fingers and your chipped blue nail polish as you slip out the door and into the mild night. Shoes clicking down the steps. You hear their sneers as you leave.

“Stupid bitch.”

You walk around the perimeter of the pool. You don’t want to know why there’s floating beer cans and a bikini top strewn at the bottom.

You keep walking. Your feet only just unsteady. Out towards the very far back of the yard. The dark border of the trees seemed threatening. Huge towering trunks and dark leafy tips barely grazed by the starlight. Silent sentinels of night. No light snuck back here. Barely any orange light from the street or the rooms of Kyles house reaches all the way out here.

There’s ratty lawn chairs and a couple of empty cans rattling around on the lawn. Evidence that some people were partying here before you. But went back inside to dance or drink. Or went into the huge woods looming just behind you for some clandestine privacy. Or to try and scope out a bedroom.

You take your jacket off and spread it beneath you before you settle down on the end of a blue lounger. The plastic creaks with your weight. Sinks just a bit into the spongy grass. You sit yourself down and take your first deep breath.

You look at that busy house down the slope of the garden. The trash floating in the blue square sear of the pool. The windows limned in yellow. Crowds jump and burst within. Many voices and thudding party pop carry out to you. It’s a Madonna song now. Drifting up the grass that freckled, speckled with slithers of ochre light from the street. The other half carved in dark linear shadows.

You were drunk. Slightly. Not wanting to be here. Definitely. On the peripheral like a distant planet in orbit. Trying to find the place you could belong too. You didn’t know if you ever would. For some people it seemed damn easy. The need to fit. To be.

You had your art. Your drawings. Your craving for your Walkman and the solace of your music and what that bought you. Your job at the record store which you live love loved. Even though your boss, Sal, who was mercurial and was all cynical-moody as anything. But underneath that crusty exterior he was good to you. You still loved it.

You had a sad set of dreams pushed back, way back, nesting under your skin.

One day maybe if you were very lucky, you’d be far outta this town living them dreams. You sure as shit hoped so.

It wasn’t so bad. When all was said and done, at the very least, you didn’t just melt into an easy personality to please other people. Slap on a fake persona to get others to like you. Paste it on every morning. Beam a smile and wear things falsely. You couldn’t bear being that shallow just to have girlfriends to chit chat with at lunch. You couldn’t live that way.

When you tip your head back. You find yourself all of a sudden laying back. Body dizzy. Mind swirling. That punch was strong. You suspect it wasn’t just vodka. Maybe some tequila thrown in there too. You drank it too quick to decipher.

You don’t fight the movement. Spreading back. You can see stars. The majesty of the heavens. All those endless scattered white pearls that wink and shimmer in the endless blue between spots of murky smeared cloud.

After a long minute, you sit up to keep on knocking back your drinks.

You toss back more red vodka punch and don’t stop until the cup is empty. Red dregs. The wonderful snap of vodka makes you hiss through the sting as you finish it.

Nothing is stopping you tonight. One down, then you’re cracking open the cold beer. The satisfying hiss and the hoppy cheap mist spurts over your fingers.

“Here’s to edges.” You toast your beer up to no one. “Mine in particular.”

Your head felt fuzzy. Your tongue loose. You welcomed the sensation. Let it bleed through you and unwind the taut bowstring of your tension. You could really use a smoke right about now. You have to hide them at home. Charlie wouldn’t approve.

You swig the beer. It’ll have to do. It’s definitely cheap and tasted like it. But it’s cold and you just need to unwind your tightening steel wire spool of anger.

Fucking Linda. Fucking Jocks. Dragging you here only to ditch you in favour of sucking face and now probably busy right now sucking other body parts with her gorilla of a boyfriend.

You kick one of the crumpled cans on the lawn with your pirate booted foot. The resounding crunch and rattle comes off far far louder than you’d thought. Knocking off into the trees. Bouncing back like a slap, off the house.

It’s then you hear that maybe you didn’t have as much privacy as you had previously thought.

An odd sort of whispered hissing starts growing louder. The steady crunch of a twig being broken underfoot. Rustling of brittle paper leaves under a sneakered foot. The distant tang of Marlboro smoke curling around the trees.

Someone. Or more than one someone, was in the woods behind you.

The voice comes again. Deep enough to be a guys. Pitchy enough to still be a whisper. “The fuck was that?”

Another voice answers. Louder. Confident. Whispers not tamping down his volume. His tone is mocking.

“Look man, I don’t have all night. Quit wasting my time. 25 for a half ounce. Or I walk away right now and take the sweet stuff with me.”

Your drunk head strains to hear more. You lean further back. Like that will make one scrap of difference. You slosh down more beer and listen through the breeze ruffling the imposing wall of trees.

You hear some more rustling. The unsteady shuffling of feet. A sighed huff. The slap of something into an open palm.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” The sarrcy confidence voice answers. There’s a soft rustling of a plastic baggie.

“Whatever, freak.” Comes the grumble.

“My, my, Such manners. You kiss your mommy with that mouth.” Sneers back the voice. Lilt of humour and sarcasm composing his words.

You turn your head back to see someone break out the shadow swallow of the tree line. A guy in a letter man jacket breaks away and stalks drunkenly through the garden on wobbling legs. Shoving something like a crinkly plastic bag down deep into his pocket. Green and white baseball cap backwards on his head.

He doesn’t seem to notice you sat in your spot. When you raise your beer to take another sip your movement catches his eye. He almost trips over his own feet. Frowns at you.

“What you staring at, loser?” He barks grumpily at you. Bit his teeth around the insult.

You don’t offer a response. You swallow your retort down.

Something about pot making you lose brain cells, him not being so stupid as to take the risk. Needs all the help he can get.

You kinda hate yourself for staying silent But you let it go. You chug more beer. And just try and sit here and not feel.

He turns back and lumbers his stupid way back towards the house. Feet stomping over empty beer cans. You swallow down more beer and watch the party continue on without you.

Apparently, so was someone else.

A sudden flick coming from behind you makes you startle. Twisting back. A lighter being struck to life as this amazingly noiseless person behind you finally came out the tree line.

“That was one hell of a charming duuude.” Mocked the voice. Snorting laughter at the disappearing Jocks back. Marlboro red clamped between his lips. Smoke slithering out his smile. Between the cracks of his straight teeth.

When you saw who it belonged too. You weren’t even suprised. Who else could it be-

Who else would be doing a drug deal on the outskirts of a high school party, in the woods, at almost eleven at night, but Eddie “the freak” Munson.

The undisputed ruler of the geeks table in the cafeteria. Adored by his crowd of younger freshmen. His followers. His little band of devoted lost sheep. Recruited to the dark side to play his sadistic D&D campaigns. This older senior who was always gilded in chunky metal rings, chain bracelets, and rock and roll.

Something about him from afar shrieked messy danger; whether it was the careless swagger he walked with, or the unpredictability of when he’d burst into something crazy or unstable.

Climb on tables, throw food, shout at the top of his lungs with his hands cupped beside his mouth. Antagonise Jason and his pack of Jocks every chance he got. Spray paint ‘Hail Satan’ in glaring neon red across Principal Higgins door like he did last semester.

That last one was technically a rumour that it was him who did it, but you still kinda believed it to be dead true. It seemed his style.

He saw how you’d sprang around to look at him. Heart kicking in your chest as he made you jump.

“Sorry. Shit. Didn’t mean to startle you there.” He held his hands up. Skull bandana in his back pocket flapping against his ripped jeans. Orange tip of the cigarette burned bright like an evil eye in the dark. Lighting up his face and his pillowy lips.

His earlier cocky confidence seemed to have been flipped away, perhaps as a sign of how genuinely he meant his words.

You watch him slowly saunter across to where you’re sat. Nimble footsteps on the soft grass in his sneakers. The only noise coming from how the chain on his jeans swung into his legs. The zips and some of the metal badges on his jacket shining dully in the night air.

The deep tar pit of those black eyes tugged you in. The frizzy rockstar mane curling down to his shoulders. Sticky Ink black, echoing the shade of his eyes. The messy cut of his Jean jacket draped over leather. That blood red demon blazoned on his white raglan Hellfire Club t-shirt - you’d never seen him wear anything else.

“You’re the least scary thing I’ve come across tonight. Trust me.” You tell him. Sipping more beer. Hearing it slick around against the sides of the can.

You weren’t sure why but him being here had you on edge. You didn’t get nervous walking through a whole house of preppy morons. But here, now, you notice nervousness crunching down on your stomach.

Why nervous?

Not because you were scared of him. You felt safer alone with him out here than any of those knuckle-heads inside.

You think in some warped kinda way you wanted to impress him-

Ok, where in the cursed fucking pits of hell had that proclivity bloomed from?

He stops a decent distance away from you. You couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. He was looking at you warily.

You stared at the grass below your borrowed pointy leather shoes and the half empty warm beer in your hands.

“Are you, uhm. Alright?” He seeks. Gone was the earlier plucky confidence. His voice is fully tender.

“Oh I’m just peachy, thanks.” You smite nicely at him. Voice dripping dark sarcasm.

Those wild black eyes narrow with more concern.

“Sure about that?” He checks. Voice tipping up. Smoke exhaling from his mouth.

You summon the courage to look over at him. Bewildered.

He explains by tapping his finger twice under his eye. Still looking intrigued.

You shrink in self consciously. Folding in. Wipe under your eyes. When you bring back your hand, mascara sits weepy and smeared on your finger. Probably running under your eyes a little in your annoyed frustration. You hadn’t realised.

You sniff and wipe your eyes. Who cares anyway. No one was looking at your makeup. They weren’t bothered with you. That stung. But it was true.

Eddie was the first person to actually acknowledge you as a fully fleshed human being. To actually speak to you.

“It’s nothing. Really.” You assure him. Smiling mildly. Unable to believe the guy who had the words loser and freak tossed at him like bullets every damn day is asking you if you’re okay.

“Don’t worry I’m not so wasted that I’m out here sobbing by myself. You don’t have to deal with an emotional girl.” You consider your mood. “Maybe a pissed off one though-“ You added softly.

You loosened your grip on your beer. Flicking your fringe out your eyes again.

“Hey-“ He starts. And it’s so sweetly tender it makes your lungs skip. His voice seems to deepen a little from that anarchistic shriek and shout you often hear from him.

You peer over under your kinked fringe. He thinks how freakin adorable it looks on you. Hits him like a freakin clap of lightning.

Your hair all wild and teased, back combed to hell, and then those eyes. Doe, bambi, sparkling eyes shining in the dark. Side of your face caught all caramel smooth in the peachy-orange light from the street. Despite the smudged eye makeup blacking under your eyes, actually, he kinda likes that dark smouldering look.

You’re fucking pretty.

Fancy that. Eddie Freak Munson talking to a real pretty girl at a High School party. What’s becoming of him?

“You’re out here drinking alone, sweetheart. I just put two and two together is all. My mistake.” He admits sheepishly. Meshing his fingers together as he spoke. Animated. You watched the way his rings glinted in the darkness. Cig wobbling on his lips as he spoke.

“Well. It’s coming out four. Munson.” You admitted gently.

Your very girlish instincts did a little elated hop with the way he called you sweetheart. Those idiots inside had called you a bitch and loser. He had called you sweetheart-

“You know my name.” He grinned all boyish. Hands on his hips, clasping onto a belt that had a handcuff buckle.

“Colour me impressed.” He flits a wink at you. “I didn’t know we were on a surname basis.”

“You’re the local troublemaker and weed dealer. Of course I know your name.” You answer. You didn’t live under a rock.

“Mommy and Daddy have my picture pinned on the dart board at home, huh sweetie?” He tilts his head again and grins all wide and playful. Framing his face with his thumbs and hands like a mock photograph. Smoking cig trickling lazily up to the sky.

He walks a slow circle around you on the lounger. He can’t keep still evidently. Kicking beer cans out the way. Kicks one down the slope of the lawn. Comes back around you like he’s assessing you coolly. Casually. Grey smoke trails in his wake.

Something tells you he’s almost proud of the accomplishment of being considered near infamous. Anything but the poisonous fucking trap of being considered ‘normal.’

“Yeah. They show me a picture of you every morning. Your face slapped over wanted posters serve as a warning to parents all over Hawkins county.” You joked with fake gravity. “I might be indoctrinated into your dangerous devil D&D cult if I don’t watch out.”

“I relish the chance to corrupt more innocent souls. Especially pretty ones.” He says in a mock gravelly devil voice. Sticking his tongue out at you. Widening his eyes to look scary. It makes you almost spit out a mouthful of beer for laughing.

He’s a goof under all that threatening metal persona. You suspect a soft warm heart of gold lurks under that denim and leather chest too.

You offer out the can of beer to him. “Sorry. It’s a little warm but-“

He smiles and stands for a moment. Assessing you. Eyes growing almost warm.

“Poisoned, Snow White?” He jokes.

“I don’t need that on my conscience. Not to mention the stoners in school would flay me alive for taking you out.” You comment. Waving the can out at him between two fingers.

“Sold.” He says.

He drifts in just close enough to take it from you. His rings clack against the thin metal. Crosses and skulls and all things bad bad bad and demonic adorn his hands.

“Sharing beer and we’re not even on a first name basis.” He says as he takes it and pulls back a swig.

You absolutely kick yourself for the way you watch his neck elongate from tipping his head back to drink. Hair down his back. Wavy over his shoulders.

You give him your name. First and last. It tumbled out your mouth before you could stop it. Your drunkenness sliding you right on into trouble.

He raised the can at you in a salute. Repeated your surname at you. Rolled it around his mouth. As if he was tasting it like he was the beer.

“Pleasure to meet you.” He smirked as he did a mock bow and dipped his head at you. Swigging the beer once more.

You bite your lip and wipe your clammy hands on your soft jeans as you turn away and force yourself to look at something much less- distracting. Dangerous?

You settle on looking at the house. Music still bouncing out the place. Voices spilling out boisterous. You watched a guy stumble out the back door to puke into the bushes by the kitchen window. Maybe a newbie.

Eddie saw it but ignored it. Kept his dark gaze stuck on you instead.

“How’s it you ended up out here?” He asked. Passing the can back to into your hand. You take it and cold silver rings brush your hand. Sparks skip over your skin.

“Well. Firstly the music-” You grimaced.

He chuckled archly.

“Fuckkkk I know right? This party could totally use some Motörhead.” He proclaimed.

“Or some Talking Heads.” You agreed.

His eyes lit up. “Stop making sense.” He said approvingly. You smiled at the inside joke.

“I did actually come with someone. But they ditched me before we were even in the front door. They’re upstairs right now, and probably having sex on the pile of coats in the guest room.” You estimate.

You watched Eddie’s brows raise up a little. Ballsy.

“That’s real shitty.” He states without hesitation. But that smile is creeping back.

“Tell me to get lost if it is none of my business. Sweetie. But uh, did you come here with a… boy. A boy who is maybe a friend. A boyfriend?” He seeks slowly. His head tilting. Rolling his hands as he talked. Manic sprinkled on manic.

Leaning to one side as he asked. That floppy hair leaning over his shoulder. Coming closer and making an unsure grimace as he slowly chewed over that last word. Cig at his side between two fingers.

You shake your head for no. His eyes glint a little.

No boyfriend. Knows who Talking Heads are. Goddamn it, he may have to start turning up the dial to flirt with you some point soon.

His smile turns up at the corners. How have you never noticed that under that manic rock n roll energy it’s actually such a great smile.

He takes another drag and spun away for a second to toss away his cig before it burned out. You hear the way the chains on his arms hit the leather jacket across his chest.

You clarify as to why you were here. How you were dragged along here by your teeth.

“My party friend, Linda, dragged me here. Blonde perm. No braincells, lots of leg and hormones. Idiot Jock strap for a boyfriend.” You explain.

“Alright for some.” Eddie grins at you. His eyes look sharp as black ice in the dark.

“I guess.” You smile. Stretching your feet out. “Maybe not for her though.” You snark in dirty insinuation. It makes him smile across at you.

You both laugh at your joke and it softens him a little to see it.

He spins away and suddenly hops up onto the lawn chair near to you. Flurry of energy. Standing on it and trying to keep his balance. You looked up at him where he stood. Dirty sneakers balancing on the plastic slats.

“I swear I do know you from some place.” He says. A calculative look on his face. He repeats your surname again. Tasting it in his mouth. Arms now crossed over his chest. He leans towards you so slightly. Bending down.

“Uh, School?” You state obviously.

He clicks his tongue. Looks mischievous. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

That figures, actually.

“Big building. Students. Teachers. Classrooms. Finals.” You explain.

He’s walking up the lounger. Testing precarious steps on the cracking plastic. “It’s vaguely familiar to me.” The chain on his leg swings again with his steps.

“We had a history together in middle school. Mrs Grey’s class.” You offer. Though he’d looked different then, his mannerisms weren’t dissimilar to now.

Just now he had the demon tats and rocker hair to back it up.

“We did?” He questions. Or states. He’s unsure. Or testing the waters. You can’t tell. His mystery is his charm. Unreadable expression.

You remember some of his antics. You doubt he’d ever turned his eyes toward the classroom board even once the whole semester.

On the days he deigned to turn up, he usually spent more time scribbling his own little lyrics or campaign ideas over the assignment paper he’d been given on his desk. Or drawing devils, monsters and skulls with leering forked tongues, in a thick stubby sharpie. He took tormenting your teacher as a personal mission.

Any time he was called on, he answered with bite, with wit and a - deeply buried disguised - degree of intelligence that meant he could walk this class - if he really, really wanted too. You found it almost admirable. It was almost enough to make you develop a crush on him.

His dislike for conformity and following the establishment rules had him cemented as this jagged little pill of a troubled guy who couldn’t care less about school. Or grades. People looked at him and saw no more than trailer trash trouble. The rebel Munson kid who lives in the trailer park off Kerley.

“I’m memorable from all the way back then?” He asks. Doubting he was even worth remembering from last week. Let alone going back years.

“Yeah. You made me laugh.” You tell him bravely.

Whether it was the way he snuck in late, or asked to borrow a pencil. Threw balled up pieces of paper at the popular crowd to antagonise. Made stupid distorted faces behind Mrs Grey’s back. Contradicted her til she was red in the face.

“I sat behind you, didn’t I?” He remembered. Then he snaps his fingers. His chain leather bracelet jangles. “Pencil girl.”

You nod. “Nice nickname.”

He drops suddenly in a jump to the ground. Burst of energy. Sits himself facing you on the end of the lounger. Knees spread. Holds out a flat hand to you to shake.

“Nice to properly meet you again. Pencil girl.” He grins at you.

You blush. You actually feel your blush crawl it’s molten way up your cheeks. Eddie Munson is offering his ring clad hand out for you to shake.

You meet his eyes as you look over and take it. Slip you palm into his warm one. Clutch of metal surrounding your fingers as you shake. The brackets on your arms clack together as you jerk your arm.

“Nice to properly meet you too, Eddie.” You grin.

His eyes look warm as he beams at you. Those dark eyes all melting and dark liquid chocolate in their gaze. Your knees almost brush his ripped jean kneecaps where you’re leant over to shake his hand.

He seems awfully unconcerned about letting go of your hand any time soon.

Because he’s come closer to you, you can smell the beer on his breath and the the sharp acrid of cigarettes woven into his clothes. Along with some faintly tangy scent of weed, powdery laundry detergent.

Up close he’s even more terrifying. Those wild eyes bordered in shade by that even wilder tangle of hair.

“How come I rarely see you around. Pencil girl.” He asks genuinely. Sliding his hand out of yours at last. When you break away to look at his hand sliding off yours, you only realise then you’d been staring.

“Well I do actually go to my classes.” You tease.

He clutched over his heart like he’d been pierced with a mortal wound. Choked, Gasped your name.

“Mean.” He grins. Those melting eyes turn all puppyish. Holding the space over his heart like it hurt.

“I guess I mostly live in the Art classroom at school. Or the library. That’s where I am most days. Most lunches and my free periods.” You tell him.

He smirks. You can’t tell what that means.

“You’re telling me you’re secretly one of us.” He lowers his voice to a whisper.

You frown. Oh it’s a good look on you. It bunches up little wrinkles between your brows.

“One of us?”

“A freak.” Eddie grins. His grin slowly grows.

“Is that an official diagnosis? Dungeon master?” You ask him.

Twisting to fully face him where you sit on the lounger. You feel Linda’s top slide down your shoulder. Your bra strap is showing. Eddies eyes flick to it for the barest second.

“Totally. I hereby brand thee. Fellow freak. Pencil girl. Welcome to the club.” He puts his hands over his hair, mimes placing a crown on your head. Arms outstretched around your head. Surrounding your puffed up hair.

You smile. The scent of warm old leather and cigarettes smacks you in the nose. He waved his fingers either sides of your temples. Your stomach squirms. Butterflies kicked to life.

He’s a freak. And a goof. And so are you.

And, oh christ, you think you might like him-

“Great. So when’s my swearing in ceremony. What do we do? Sacrifice virgins or goats, what?” You play around.

“Friday nights. I’m afraid the sacrificing of virgins is messy. But necessary.” He waggles his brows. Trying to look serious. You doubt he ever looked serious in his life.

You snort. You can’t help it. You cover your mouth. He shakes with laughter too. Chest bouncing with it.

Your head is swimming drunk and you can only just believe you’re sat out here shooting the shit with Eddie Munson of all people.

And for once in your life, you’re enjoying one of these terrible shitty parties.

The new music dancing across the lawn catches Eddies ears. The mellow base and chirpy singing.

He rolls his eyes over to the house in disgust. ‘Just the two of us’ is crooning across the lawn. Tacky. Saxaphone riff, and Bill Withers smooth whiskey-dulcet voice.

“I’m gonna be puking in the bushes soon if they carry on with that shit.” He nudged his head across to the open door. The golden rectangle of the kitchen door that glowed in the night. Spilling light up the slanted yard.

“I think, my friend isn’t going to be surfacing any time soon.” You wince at the thoughts and all that could possibly entail. Whether or not she’d bother to come find you. Skirt twisted around her waist. Lipstick all smeared around her puffy mouth. Hair mushed. Cheeks glowing.

You should go and find her. But- you really don’t want too. Nothing could move you from this lounger.

“I should go back inside.” You say out loud. You stay stock still.

Eddie shoots you a look. Disbelieving.

“Listen. Anyone who sits on the outskirts of this fuckin idiotic makeout party and listens to Talking Heads is plenty alright with me. You’re better off.” He points a thumb into his Hellfire clad chest when he says ‘me’.

Where his t-shirt was disturbed, you see a dark triangle of a guitar pick on a necklace around his neck. Some ink on his skin. You want to see just exactly where those tats end and begin.

Your gaze is drawn to the house as a gang of jocks come out to the back yard. Some to stand and chat with their friends. Some to smoke. They seem to have clocked you both. Eddies mood changes.

“Let me give you a ride home, pencils.” Eddie says suddenly out of nowhere. His voice took on a deeper tone. Duller.

You aren’t sure you heard him right. What?

You turn back and see a very sincere look stained across that anarchistic expression. His eyes almost deepen.

“Are you serious?” You ask him.

“Not often. But just then? Yeah. I wouldn’t feel right walking away, leaving a pretty girl like you alone and vulnerable out here. Not with that crowd of assholes circling.” Eddie says as he scans along the row of them with, clearly, no love lost in his tone.

“Uhm.” You churn over your thoughts. Fragments of choppy sense returning to your tipsy head. “Yeah ok, Sure. Thanks.”

Eddie smiles. That palm of his is offered to you once again. And you take it.

You wobble on your feet on the soft grass.

He smiles. Steadies your elbows with his hands. Both hands clutching on for your safety. He draws you close. Just a little. His dark eyes dart with slight starlight.

“Us freaks gotta stick together. Man.” And then comes that rock n roll mischief smirk. Your belly melts.

You think you like being a freak after all.

🕷 Fancy a sneak at the next part? 🕷

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monstercollection · 2 years ago

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Let me tell you the story of a very dumb 90s kid (and the not-so-bright adult that kid grew into).

I, like a lot of 90s kids in US, read The Boxcar Children in 3rd grade. I got supper excited when I found out it was a series and probably spent more on them at Scholastic Book Fairs than my parents did on my braces.

But there was something that always confused me about the first book. In the original Boxcar Children book, the kids are given a ride by a couple who drive a horse and buggy. And there are frequent references to water fountains for horses and generally that horse-drawn transportation was a mainstay.

And then at the end of the book, the rich grandfather shows up and he’s driving a station wagon.

Now, you would think that even if 8-year-old me was confused about this, adult me would have assumed the book took place in a time where automobiles were only just coming into use. The couple at the beginning were poor bakers who had to use a cart and rich Mr. Alden could afford a fancy car.

And on a certain level, I understood that was probably the case.

But here’s the thing. The edition I grew up reading looked like this:

What about this entire cover even remotely says “this book is set in 1924”?

I’m furious. Because if someone had handed me an edition that looked like this:

Then obviously my 8-year-old brain (and subsequent adult thembo one) would know this book was set MORE THAN 70 YEARS PRIOR.

I do think they used some of the original illustrations on the inside. And maybe that should have provided context, but honestly I think it just made me more confused.

But also, they were still coming out with new Boxcar Children Mysteries and I was regularly blowing all my Scholastic Book Fair money on these:

Which again, all 90s looks for the kids on the covers and all illustrations on the inside were also super 90s.

I also think that something that contributed to my initial confusion was the fact that I didn’t think station wagons were that old.

I was picturing this:

Not this:

I do now know that most of those old kids mystery series were rebooted and rebranded every generation. Nancy Drew books even got regular rewrites to make her closer to whatever that decade would think a cool, stylish, liberated teenage girl look like. But when I was just a kid, I came up with my own explanation:

I decided they must be Amish. Think about it— we never knew what happened that drove the wedge between Old Mr. Alden and his son. What if the kids’ dad fell in love with an Amish girl, renounced his claim to the family fortune and ran away to marry her? Then they died and the children found the society too harsh and repressive and ran away to escape!

But also… I am more than a bit embarrassed because it took me 25 YEARS to wrap my head around something from a book they teach 3rd graders.

#the boxcar children #1990s #90s kid #I am an idiot actually #I thought they took place in the 1960s at the earliest #I mean look at Jessie’s jumpsuit!!!!

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ready-the-sails · 2 years ago

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Nace Appreciation Week | Day Five: Childhood/High School

Title: The Memory of the Hidden Photograph (AKA - Florence’s origin story)

SUMMARY

Ace is in love with his new car. From the worn-in green upholstery to the classic wood panelling, she's a masterpiece in his eyes. Unfortunately, most of his peers at Horseshoe Bay High don't see her that way. All except one -- a certain redheaded teen sleuth with an antique car of her own.

Author Note: I love how Nancy and Ace's cars are an extension to their personalities, and I've often wondered what their origins stories might be like. How did they come to own these cars? And where did the name Florence come from? I thought it would be fun to explore some of these questions through the lens of Ace's first drive to school in his new car. I hope you enjoy (:

She was perfect in every way. There wasn’t a single part of Ace’s new car that he didn’t love, from the forest green upholstery to the shiny wood paneling that ran down her sides. Sure, maybe she was technically older than he was, but that only made her more classy in his eyes.

When his parents had taken him to the used car dealership over the weekend, the station wagon seemed to glow from across the lot, charming him with her unique personality. His dad had certainly liked the low price tag too, so it was a match made in heaven.

For as long as he could remember, Ace had dreamed of having his own car and the freedom to drive anywhere and never look back. It wasn’t that he actually wanted to leave Horseshoe Bay, but there was something about knowing it was now an option that was comforting to him.

Another perk of owning a car was not having to take the bus to school anymore. Ace hated taking the bus, and had since the second grade when he’d been pantsed by Tony Morano while trying to find a seat. Not only had his crush at the time seen the whole thing, but Tony and his terrible friends had also called him “tighty whitey” until middle school. Thankfully, once he hit 7th grade, they had moved on to torment another poor unfortunate soul.

The driver side door creaked open and Ace tossed his backpack over to the passenger seat as he slid in. It was a beautiful sunny morning, so he flipped down the visor to keep the sun from blinding him. Apparently, he had yet to do so since acquiring the car, because something tumbled from behind the visor and landed on his lap.

It was an old black and white polaroid. In the picture, a middle-aged woman sat atop the hood of what appeared to be the same station wagon Ace sat in, smiling brightly at the camera. Ace flipped the picture over to see if there was a date for when it had been taken, but all that he found was the name “Florence” etched in pencil.

Ace was excited to discover the little piece of the car’s history, and decided to tuck it in the glove box for safe keeping. Then he stuck the keys in the ignition and the wagon came to life with a thunderous roar.

It took less than 10 minutes to drive to Horseshoe Bay High School, and Ace went straight to the back of the parking lot when he got there, easing into the second-to-last spot in the row. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed of his car and wanted to hide in the back — it was the opposite in fact. Ace had seen how horrible some of his peers were at driving, and he was already so attached to his car that he didn’t want to risk her getting dinged on their first real outing together.

When Ace got out of his car however, it became pretty clear that he was just about the only one who thought his car was actually cool. The other students who drove to school in their Civics and Corollas snickered as they walked by.

He placed a hand affectionately on the hood, and spoke quietly to the car, “Don’t you listen to them, you hear me? They’ve got no taste.”

A pleasant, low rumble filled the parking lot as a little blue Sunbeam drove past Ace to pull into the spot next to him. He had been drooling over the car since the first day Nancy Drew had rolled up to school in it. The sky-blue paint seemed to jump off the car’s rounded edges, making it look cartoonish. The car was in pristine condition too, like it had come straight out of a time machine, and Ace suspected it was likely thanks to Nancy’s proclivity for also parking far away from their peers.

Ace was admiring the Sunbeam when Nancy stepped out. Next to the vibrant blue car, Nancy’s red hair looked like it was on fire. Ace didn’t know her very well, but they shared a class in first semester and she had been nice to him. Not to mention she was a certified genius. What kind of kid solves FBI-caliber mysteries at the age of 13? A kid like Nancy Drew, apparently.

“Hey! Ace, right?” Nancy asked while shouldering her messenger bag.

“Hi, yeah, we had Medieval Lit together last semester.”

“Oh god, right… I hated that class, but only because Mr. Mota’s voice would always make me sleepy” She said with a laugh.

“Yes! The way he read those Canterbury Tales was so soothing.” They both laughed again at the shared memory.

“New car?” Nancy asked, pointing toward the station wagon.

“New to me, at least. Drove her off the lot this weekend.”

Nancy walked over to stroke the wood panelling of the passenger side. “She’s got a lot of personality,” she said.

Ace liked the way she was looking at his car, like she genuinely appreciated her quirkiness. “I thought so too,” He agreed with a smile.

The sound of the bell rang across the lot, signalling students to begin heading to their homerooms. Nancy started walking in the direction of the school, and Ace made himself look busy by checking that all of his doors were locked. Oh the woes of manual locks.

Just as she was walking past him, she turned. “Does she have a name yet?” She asked, facing him as she walked backwards toward the school.

The question caught Ace by surprise, but he didn’t need to think too long before the memory of the polaroid came to mind. “I was thinking Florence.”

Nancy nodded slowly, mulling the name over in her head. “Florence,” She tried it out for herself before meeting his gaze with a warm smile. “It’s perfect.”

Then she turned toward the school and left Ace to watch the silky flames of her hair sway with the beat of her strides. He leaned back against the hood, placing his palms face-down on it to support himself.

With a smile, he looked down at his car. At Florence. “Did you hear that, Florence? Nancy Drew thinks you’re perfect.”

Fin.

(Read on Ao3)

#nace #naceweek #nace week 2022 #nancy drew #nancy x ace #ace x nancy #ace x florence #nace fanfic #nancy drew fanfiction #nancy drew cw

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sharperthewriter · 3 years ago

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The 16th Annual Kim Possible Fannies Awards - Chapter 1

The 16th Annual Kim Possible Fannie Awards

From the Desk of Sharper

With contributions from F86Sabre53, Gothicthundra, and bcbdrums

Greetings, everyone, and welcome to another installment of the Fannie Awards! Things have been a bit different in the past two years with the pandemic, but the show must go on! So, sit back and relax, and revel in the festivities of the 16th Annual KP Fannie Awards!

Kim Possible characters and settings were created by Schooley and McCorkle and are (c) to Disney.

Dr. Saira Bellum and VILE are all from Carmen Sandiego (2019) created by Broderbund.

Locations, character relationships, and the overall setting used in the Fannies are primarily out of my (Sharper's) headcanon, but also incorporate ideas from other members of the Kimmunity. The Fannies exist in their own universe that grows and develops over the years, and are a semi-continuing story with multiple references to Fannies past and other well-known fanfics in the Kimmunity.

Justin Possible-Stoppable (Hotrod2001) and Alexa Possible-Stoppable (KPRS4ever) are the OC's of two wonderful KP fans and good friends of mine. All OC's mentioned are the full property of their creators and are used with permission.

This fanfic is rated T for language, an obscene gesture, thematic material involving a pandemic, some crude humor, some action violence, and some suggestive material including innuendo.

______________________________________________________________

Chapter 1 – The Invite

(August 27, 2020, 4:30pm, Middleton, CO)

It had been twelve days since the chaotic 15th Fannie Awards co-hosted by Gothicthundra and BCBDrums.

Kim and Ron Possible-Stoppable, now thirty-one years and eight months old, were driving home from work at Global Justice, which was their usual routine. They pulled their Sloth 5.0 hyper-advanced SUV, complete with GJ's logo on the doors, into the driveway and Kim activated the garage door opener to their four-car garage, which included an SUV for family use and two station wagons from the 1960s that Ron had restored from his late grandfathers. Thankfully, the Stoppable-mobile (the infamous pea-green 90s minivan that they once had) was not there, due to the infamous South Dakota vacation during which they legally changed their names.*

Kim pulled into the vacant space and turned off the work SUV.

"Well...there goes another workday in the books, KPS," Ron said as he got out of the car. Rufus followed behind on his shoulder. He too wore a small GJ uniform.

"Just one more day to go until the weekend, Ron," Kim replied expectantly.

Also coming out of the car were their two kids: Justin, now seven years old and in the second grade and Alexa who was four-and-a-half and in kindergarten. Both were still in their booster seats.

"I was good for Miss Carter today!" Alexa said, clapping her hands and waving a picture drawn with crayons as Kim picked her up out of the car. "I drew a picture of a house today!"

"That's good, sweetie!" Kim replied with a smile. "I'm glad you did not get into any trouble today!"

"And I got an A+ on my math test!" Justin added, holding up a test of multiplication tables bearing a bold 100%.

"See, sport! Told ya practicing the tables would work!" Ron added while getting Justin out of his booster seat. He grabbed his backpack as well.

Kim then locked the car with its state-of-the-art security system. She turned to her husband and added, "Ron, can you check the mail?"

"I can surely do that, Kim!" Ron replied. He added to Kim's armful by passing Justin over and headed to the mailbox.

"Let's see..." he said, going through the mail. "Bill...bill...oh, the latest CB Monthly magazine for the wonderful woman that I love!"

"Why thank you, Ron!" Kim smiled as she received the magazine. "I'll go through the rest of the mail."

Kim then continued with the Possible-Stoppable mail call.

"...Bill...junk...invite to Professor Dementor's retirement party...bill...junk..."

Ron interrupted her. "Wait, KPS! Go back two!"

Kim pulled out the invitation.

"Let's see what it says here..." Kim said with suspicion. The invite was written in German.

RUHESTAND FÜR PROF. DEMENTOR

Sie sind hiermit eingeladen, im Namen von VILE (Villain's International League of Evil) die böse, teuflische und schurkische Karriere von Professor Heinrich von Dementor und seinen Übergang in den Ruhestand zu feiern. Sie findet am Samstag, den 19. September 2020 um 19:00 Uhr Ortszeit im Berliner Congress Center statt.

Für Abendessen und Getränke ist gesorgt.

Formelle Kleidung (Smoking für Männer, lange Abendkleider für Frauen) ist erforderlich.

Niemand unter 13 Jahren ist erlaubt (da es einen Toast und Braten für Dementor mit einigen unangemessenen Witzen für ihn geben wird).

Antwort an Dr. Bellum bis zum 4. September 2020

"Can you translate that, Kim?" Ron asked, "Because I took the basic level of German in high school... Flunked the class. Barkin gave me extra homework."

Kim giggled a bit and said, "Ron, I took four years of German in college, so it'll be no big for me!"

She then read through the invitation and gave the English translation to Ron.

RETIREMENT PARTY FOR PROF. DEMENTOR

You are hereby invited, on behalf of VILE (Villain's International League of Evil) to celebrate Professor Heinrich von Dementor's evil, diabolical, and villainous career and his transition to retirement. It will be held at the Berlin Congress Center on Saturday, the 19th of September, 2020 at 7:00pm local time.

Dinner and drinks will be provided.

Formal attire (tuxedo for men, long evening gowns for women) is required.

No one under the age of 13 is permitted (as there will be a toast and roast for Dementor with some inappropriate jokes for him).

RSVP to Dr. Bellum by the 4th of September, 2020

"So, do you think Dementor is really retiring from the villain game?" Ron asked. "I don't know if it's legit or not... Could be a trap set by VILE..."

"Ron, if it were a trap, we would be entangled in cables, chains, or ropes. Which do you see on us or the kids? No," Kim deduced. "But still, we'll get Wade on this."

Kim activated her Kimmunicator 5.0 wristwatch and Wade came on.

"Wade! Got a sitch for you," Kim said.

"Anything I can do for the GJ team!" Wade replied.

"We received an invite to Dementor's retirement party..." Kim replied, "but we don't know if it's legit or not."

"Interesting that you say that Kim, because I got the same thing in the mail just now," Wade said, holding up the invite.

"Can you put it in the GJ-issue document scanner?" Kim asked.

"Scanning right now," Wade replied. He put the invitation in the scanner. After a few minutes, the results came through. "The paper has a fine gradient to it, laced with red and black fibers," he explained. "It is the same paper used for all of VILE's documentation."

"So, VILE is for real this time. The longest-running villain, and the last one in my original rogues' gallery is hanging up the helmet," Kim replied in surprise.

"It took him almost seventeen years to the day we first encountered him," Ron recalled.

"Ah yes, the Pan-Dimensional Vortex Inducer!" Kim sighed. "Good memories!"

"Um...Daddy? Are you going to open the door?"

"Huh? Oh right, sport!" Ron exclaimed, snapping out of his trance. They bid goodbye to Wade as he opened the door to the Possible-Stoppable house. The family entered and Ron put the keys into the dish with a clink.

"So Ron, how does a trip to Germany sound to you?" Kim asked.

"KPS, I am all for it. But what are we going to do about the kids?" Ron questioned. "We can't leave them home alone!"

"I know! But I already have a babysitter in mind to keep them company while we're out of the country!" Kim replied.

"Who...?" Ron asked.

_______________________________________________________________

* Stoppable Family Vacation (M), by Sharper the Writer

#kim possible #fanfiction #KP Fanfiction #16KPFA #16th KP Fannies #chapter 1 #1356 words #kim x ron #drakken x shego #drakgo #dementor #drakken #shego #ron stoppable

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last-standing-byers · 2 years ago

Text

Jonathan’s Interrogation Transcript

WHATS YOUR NAME AND BIRTH DATE?

“Jonathan.” He slumped back in the chair, peering down at his slightly burnt thumb, “Jonathan Byeeers,” drawing out his last name felt natural, “My birthday is coming up, actually - it’s on November 3rd every year.”

“Okay …. What year were you born?“

“Oh - uh, the year Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club came out … 1967.”

IS THIS YOUR FIRST TIME ON GEM?

Jonathan reached for the lighter and carton of cigarettes in his pocket, placing them down on the table as if smoking cancelled out any gem in his system. “I’ve never done gem - I only smoke.” He held in a smile until it cracked into a long airy laugh. “You can’t … you can’t smoke gem.” He really didn’t know if this was true but it was making sense in his own head.

“I’d never smoke pot, though.” He added, stifling chuckles in pursuit of looking completely sober. “You’ll never catch a bong between theeese lips.” The joke teetered him over the edge.

WHERE DID YOU GET THE GEM?

“Ask Keith.” He shook his head, trying to pull himself together. “If you find his basement, let him know I sent you guys.”

DID YOU GET IT FROM AN INDIVIDUAL RETURNED FROM THE COMMUNE?

“What? - No.” His laughter finally started dying, struggling to understand why he was being asked so many questions. “Barbara Holland doesn’t do back-alley gem deals, alright? That’s all I can say.”

WHAT ARE YOUR CONNECTIONS TO THE COMMUNE?

“I didn’t go to the commune.” He said, opening and closing his eyes to wake himself up, “No one showed up at my door with a pamphlet or anything, if that’s what you’re asking.”

HOW ARE YOU CONNECTED TO MR.HARGROVE?

Jonathan squinted, crossing his arms to consider the question. Memories from long ago came to mind. “Do you have a pen and paper?” He asked Powell, feeling the need to provide visual support. Someone eventually passed him a napkin and pen.

He flopped forward on the table and started sketching the scene. “I dealt with Billy a few years ago, I guess. We were … leaving Starcourt mall but the car wouldn’t start and he showed up out of nowhere.” He jumped into the story without context and drew Starcourt mall from memory, incapable of remembering exactly what it looked like. He settled on drawing the outline of a generic house with Starcourt mall written on the front and took his time adding a star, connecting each crooked line.

“My girlfriend-” He paused, backtracking for accuracy, “my ex-girlfriend told me to get in the car, so I did – and the dude starts revving his engine like a maniac and I’m sitting there trying to start the station wagon,” he explained, drawing Lucas and Will in the backseat, “and I’ve got these kids in the back who are yelling at me and she’s out there like…” He scrambled to find a comparison, “she’s out there like Sigourney Weaver in Alien, man - like ready to take down Billy with her bare hands, gun pointed right at him, and she starts pulling the trigger as he’s driving towards us-”

Jonathan paused as he heard a cough (or a laugh ) from one of the officers. He wasn’t sure but he looked up to meet eyes with Powell.

“Right – and who’s your ex-girlfriend?”

“Yeah, she’s my ex-girlfriend. We’ve been separated for- uh, a little over two years now”

“No, kid. Who is your ex-girlfriend? The chick with the gun – Sigourney Weaver?”

“Oh, that’s Nancy. Nancy Wheeler.” He pointed at the stick figure on his drawing. “Nancy Weaver.” A stupid smile curled at the corners of his mouth, fighting to stay composed.

“Okay … So - Nancy … she’s pointing a gun at Billy Hargrove … who is driving a vehicle towards your vehicle?”

Jonathan’s face was starting to ache from all the grinning. He reached a hand upwards to pull at his smile, forcing it to recede, “The station wagon - Yeah, and then Steve showed up and side-swiped the shit out of Billy’s car.”

“Who is Steve? Steve Harrington?”

“My ex-girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend.” He clarified, slouching back in his chair again as he bobbed his head absentmindedly, “they were together … but then, I dunno, you know? I guess … I guess Nancy and I kinda became a thing … and everything was chill - everything was good but I moved to California and Steve-” a laugh started bubbling up his throat and he couldn’t contain it this time, “Well, Steve always shows up at the right time.”

Jonathan was wheezing now, coughing to regain composure.

“Jonathan … can you explain why this was all occurring? … Is is this relevant?”

“We were running from this thing called the Mind Flayer.” He admitted honestly, dragging his finger over the napkin. “It’s like a spider but on steroids and it controls your mind, bro.”

He nodded to himself for a quiet moment, trying to remember the relevance of this entire story. “So - yeah, that’s my connection with Billy.”

HOW ARE YOU CONNECTED TO MR.MUNSON?

“I don’t really know him.” He swallowed, trying to produce moisture in his mouth, staring at Eddie’s mugshot on the wall, “the dude’s basically an Eddie Van Halen reincarnate.”

WAS THIS AN ORGANIZED PROTEST?

“Ooooh cool, I’ve never been to one,” his gaze wandered to Callahan, “What were we protesting?”

DO YOU BELIEVE THE ACCUSED ARE INNOCENT?

Jonathan misheard the question again. “Our client is innocent.” He stated blankly, brows furrowing as he thought back to the courthouse ordeal, “am I … am I here to meet my client or something?”

ANYTHING ELSE?

“I think it’s time for a smoke break,” he grabbed his cigarette carton from the table and fumbled to pull one out, lazily pointing the stick at the big glass wall in the interrogation room, “unless you’ve got my tambourine somewhere back there.”

#This may or may not be BTH Canon #Forgive him

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fivelakesinwriting · 3 years ago

Note

Omagod but I can just imagine Drew driving the car on the family road trip and singing like John Denver obnoxiously loud and his young kids giggling and acting all embarrassed and going “dadddd” and he just looks at them in the rear view mirror and smiles and sings even louder and you’re sitting next to him just smiling fondly 😭

Baby, you can't say things like this to me. Because I'm going to want them.

Like...give me the station wagon from Christmas Vacation - wood panel and all. Fill'em with Starkey babies, and let's hit the road y'all.

Bless that man.

#ask #answered #sodasback #my babies #sunshiney folk

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redcreekstudios · 3 years ago

Text

Red Creek chapter 3: As i said

Warning: this story contains, violence, weapons, death, suicide, gore, horror aspects, and other forms of death and horror, talk of spirits religion and the underworld and things manifested in between. if not prepared do not read i wouldn't want anyone to get triggered

The man at the bar looked twords clark and laughed "long time ago i had met the man they called mountain man, it was an unlikely greet but shit it was better than getting lost as for the night well things changed" Clark rose his brow and narrowed his eyes "the legend whats the connection?" he asked just wanting answers and the old man smirked "as i said this town is more than a town...its history living" he said laughing "but as for the legend it uh jeez give me a moment oh oh yes i remember now a man had moved into this town when it was just a hotel a bar and a couple businesses strung on the road" he sipped from his shot glass and he looked at the wall "no one knew his name just a random stranger his wagon had holes and looked old and burned but was carrying his wife and two kids" Clark tapped the counter "and the point is?" the old man looked at him quickly "its a story give me a moment" he said as he looked around "now where was i? oh yes the man had dirty hands and cloths everyone was bothered by him he was eerie and as winter closed in it had taken the lives of his wife and two kids and well he wasn't happy, in a fit of grief the man came to this very bar and killed three men bam just like that and sat on one of these seats and was arrested drinking as the bodies layed at his feet so he was banished seeing how it would be cruel to leave a prisoner in a cold hard prison cell and he was in the woods never to be seen again people soon went missing by night and were found in...weird ways and i believe you saw him" Clark got up "i aint got time for this shit..." he said taking his hat and looked outside "you know son thats what i said and then i saw him again...take care now deputy and pray he dont find you astray off the road" he said laughing as the band played "sure thing" the old man huffed as victor looked at him "you didnt need to do that Otis" he said cleaning a glass "it has its meaning any who ya have a good one two vic see ya tomorrow its poker night!" he said laughing. down the road clark wandered to the edge of town where the sidewalk ends and he took a deep breath as he looked out seeing a lamppost the mist highlighted by the light as it shifted almost dancing under the light in a current like motion as he blinked for a moment and there stood a shadowy figure holding a lantern and hatchet with the yellow eyes and cloak and his old boots "what in the..." the man slowly shifted his way to him as with every blink he drew closer and closer and the words in his head would repeat "mountain man....mountain man" and as he got closer it got louder "mountain man! mountain man!" his blood would race as did his heart beat fast, his hands shaking as his hairs stood on end as the man stood at Clark's feet, he smelled of death and wet trees as he could vividly see a wooden mask with the yellow lights as his eyes and the man whispered "i...am...good" he said and took Clark's hand and left a burn mark on it "i...will...see...you...soon" the being said as Clark was frozen in fear feeling the burn of on his hand, he looked down at his hand as he listend to the man whisper, he could barely hear the mans raspy voice and looked back up and he was gone "what the hell" his vision blurred and he passed out on the side of the road.

he opened his eyes and he was in a clearing in the woods and there was a cabin with a dead tree standing next to it and he would look around as confused as he was he moved closer to the cabin slowly opening the door to a skeleton laid halfway on a table and chair with a knife in his hand as there was an old shelf oven and seats. the place smelled of moss and smoke as there was a hum in the other room as he walked closer the humming got louder his heart began to pace and his hairs would stand on end as the cryptic humming got louder and he made a stop as he put his hand on the doorknob and he waited and made his way to the room and walked in, there was no one there and he looked at his foot as a drop of blood fell from the ceiling and onto his boot, he held his breath hearing his heartbeat as something grabbed him snapped his neck. he woke up in his bed in a sweat breathing heavily looking around himself making sure he wasn't dead. he looked at his hand and there was a burn mark looked like a skull in a way and he wrapped his hand in bandages as he looked in the mirror seeing a shadow man and its eyes were cut out with light along with its big smile and he turned around fast seeing nothing and he looked back to the mirror and it wasn't there "what in the hell..." he spoke to himself and washed his face getting ready for work and went by the bar and looked around "oi deputy mornin how ya doin?" clark kept silent as he walked to the bar "victor you know any hunters or anyone that spends time out in the woods alot?" he seemed distressed as he clenched his bandaged hand, vic put his hand on his chin and looked at him "no sorry...oh wait wait Otis is always talking about this one guy, ahh his name his name.. oh yeah Marcus he can help ya dep" victor glanced at his hand and rose a brow "what happened there?" Clark wrote down the name and looked up fixing his hat "nothing just tired and had an accident" he said looking up at a framed newsletter and it said three dead in bar bar burns down after bodies not recovered, he focused his sight and he saw three shadow men again and they were moving close to him and Clark looked behind him "hey vic when...when did you get that" he said looking at the framed piece again not seeing the figures "oh that? Otis gave it to me yesterday after your little legend talk haha why do ya ask" he said smiling leaning on the counter "you dont buy it do ya?" he said laughing as Clark looked at victor and shook his head "no i, i dont i gotta go" he said leaving the building and walked to Otis's and knocked on the door "Otis its deputy henslin may i ask you a question?" he said putting the paper away as the door slowly opened and he smiled "oh hey dep whaddya need?" he said kindly as Clark took his sunglasses off and shook his head "vic told me you know a Marcus? guy knows the woods right basically spends all his time out there like hank?" Otis smiled and nodded "yeah me and Marcus knew hank all to well sad to hear he aint alive...but as for Marcus hes probably getting ready to leave you might catch him hes just down the lot here over in uh...oh C17" Clark smiled and nodded "thank you thank you thank you Otis your first drink is on me i gotta go" he said running back to his car and got in and drove to where it was and there was an old muscle car and the garage open as the man had a trucker hat and a vest he was young surprisingly any relation to Otis or hank it was hard to tell, Clark got out of the cruiser and walked onto the driveway "Marcus?" the man loading the trunk would stand up "yeah what...i have all the permits and my rent is in was it Martha she always complains" Clark put his hands in his pockets "no Marcus im deputy Henslin and i need you for a little investigation" Marcus rose a brow and closed the trunk "what for dep?" he ask leaning on the back of the car "well i heard there was a cabin in the woods somewhere im looking for it...might be connected to the hank situation i got going on and i know you two where close" Marcus looked off to the side and scoffed a bit "the trapper cabin? no sir

i aint going there" Clark took his glasses off and looked at Marcus in the eye "so youve seen it?" Marcus nodded as he crossed his arms "yeah i have, it aint fun place is creepy has the smell of death coming off it" he said as Clark nodded "i just need you to show me it thats all i need" Marcus thought for a moment and nodded "get in ill take ya" he said opening the door of the car and Clark got in the passenger seat, he started the car and slowly started off the way as he looked out the window "so tell me Marcus how long do you spend out here" Marcus turned the radio down a bit and took his shades and adjusted them "i spend enough time to know the layout and help lost people if thats what your asking" he said smiling a bit "but that cabin you wanna see it...its ominous place looks like its seen something bad" he continued driving down the road as Clark looked out the window. After a while they made it to a gate and pulled in on the side "this is where we go on foot deputy" he said getting out and opening the trunk and grabbed a shotgun as Clark watched him "nice piece" Marcus looked at him "it was hanks he gave it to me after our first hunt...guy was great" he said sounding down "alright lets go to this creepy ass cabin" he said walking through the woods. the trees towering them as the green clashed with the brown and grey rocks some weird trenches here and there but it was sure a sight to see from clarks angle as he slowly followed. the sun had itself center in the sky by the time the trees ended into grass "deputy eyes up we got your cabin" he said pointing and Clark rose up next to Marcus and looked forward and in his eyes the sky flashed a blood red like a static tv fighting for a station, he stood wide eyed watching the cabin as it went silent and it was almost like it was just him in the center of the universe

#redcreek:darkrealm #my writing #writers #original story #story #myth #mystery #fiction #horror #ghost and spirits #my work #fun #its0ctober

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justamadgirlinabox · 4 years ago

Conversation

The West Wing 1x1: Pilot

President Josiah Bartlet: May I have some coffee, Mr. Louis? Al, how many times have I asked you to denounce the practices of a fringe group that calls itself the Lambs of God?

Rev. Al Caldwell: Sir, that's not up to me.

President Josiah Bartlet: Crap! It is up to you, Al. You know, my wife Abby, she never wants me to do anything when I'm upset. Thank you, Mr. Louis. Twenty-eight years ago, I came home from a very bad day at the statehouse, I tell Abby I'm going out for a drive. I get in the station wagon, put it in reverse, and pulled out of the garage full speed. Except, I forgot to open the garage door! Abby told me not to drive while I was upset, and she was right. She was right yesterday when she told me not to get on that damned bicycle while I was upset, but I did it anyway. And I guess I was just about as angry as I've ever been in my life. Seems my granddaughter Annie had given an interview to one of those teen magazines, and somewhere between movie stars and make-up tips, she talked about her feelings on a woman's right to choose. Now Annie, all of twelve, has always had a good head on her shoulders, and I like it when she uses it. So I couldn't understand it when her mother called me in tears yesterday. I said "Elizabeth, what's wrong?" She said "It's Annie." Now, I love my family, and I've read my Bible from cover to cover, so I want you to tell me, from what part of Holy Scripture do you suppose the Lambs of God drew their divine inspiration when they sent my twelve-year-old granddaughter a Raggedy Anne Doll with a knife stuck through its throat? You'll denounce these people, Al, you'll do it publicly, and until you do, you can all get your fat asses out of my White House. C.J., show these people out.

Mary Marsh: I believe we can find the door.

President Josiah Bartlet: Find it now.

#The West Wing #josiah bartlet #Martin Sheen #Pilot

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agentsofsupernaturalmarvel · 5 years ago

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Waves On A Beach // Joshua Bassett

IN WHICH: Josh listens to the story of a woman healing from a deep loss and beautiful love story unaware of how his listening would affect his life. It all started on a beach taking a chance on a forlorn girl holding a guitar.

Characters: Joshua Bassett x Reader, OMC!Peter Everett, HSMTMTS Cast (mentioned)

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: Swearing, cancer, death, love, angst and fluff. (it’s a doozy)

A/N: I watched I Still Believe and all I could think about was writing a fic about it but I couldn’t decide between Josh or Tom Holland. I decided to write without thinking and Josh was picked subconsciously. But there are tiny easter eggs to Tom Holland, two infact if you can name them.

YOU CAN REQUEST FROM ME AS WELL!

Masterlist

Every year without fail, you managed to find yourself on the beach staring out into the vast unknown looking for something. Something that would confirm that somewhere Peter Everett was okay and not in pain anymore. Life had a way of ripping something sweet and perfect from people’s hands at the very moment they need it most. Often you found yourself in a pew in a church struggling to understand how you had the honour of meeting Peter and then losing him within two years.

A foot behind you was an unopened guitar case that had been hidden in a closet for months now. Untouched from hands that had once itched to pluck the strings. Fingers that had learned chords to countless songs for Peter’s entertainment since you worked up the courage to approach him after working as a stagehand for an infamous local band.

For the first time in two years, you had dragged the guitar to the beach trying to build up the courage to play. Without a second thought, your hands found the familiar vegan leather guitar case holding something so beautiful. Breath taken away from the beautifully designed acoustic guitar with a quote by Peter inscribed on the back. He knew rage would claim the previous guitar that ended in pieces mere days after your parents had to come to Peter’s hospital room to remove you.

Sitting cross-legged on the cold sand just out of the ocean’s reach you strummed a familiar song that Peter had adored since he first heard it.

THEN

The local park the university built was often filled with students trying to relax, but you often found inspiration on lyrics. Your eyes were closed as you sang under your breath to a tune you had discovered early this morning over your cereal.

“You’re really good.”

The deep voice spoke from above to the side of you. Your eyes snapped open to see a male with a kind smile and blue eyes staring down. Your lips opened in a gasp at the newcomer you had made eye contact with and briefly spoken to at that concert.

“Uh, thank you.” You smiled feeling nerves build-up, but you shouldn’t take your eyes off of him, “I’m not overly good.”

“No, you are really good.” He spoke, “I’m Peter.”

“Y/N.” You replied, clenching the neck of the light brown guitar tight. It wasn’t every day some guy you embarrassed yourself in front of willingly starts a conversation.

“Are you busy tonight?” Peter asked, glancing over his shoulder to wear his best friend was scanning his phone.

“No.”

“Meet at the side of the pier. Bring the guitar.” Peter was gone as quick as he had appeared in your sight. A tiny smile tugged at your lips, leaving you to know that this had to be a date.

Oh, how wrong you were. At the pier it was a small group collected around a small fire, at Peter’s side was a brunette girl. Little inquiry brought you that Peter had a problem disappointing people and included the girl hanging onto his every word.

NOW

So, wrapped up in the memories of your love, you had no clue that someone had sat beside you with a friendly smile.

“Hi.” The voice made you jump in surprise, bringing your attention to the side where a curly-haired brunette was sitting. His eyes went to the guitar with a broad smile, “You play?”

“Yeah.” You kept quiet surprised at the zing of attraction you felt at the newcomer. Your solemn expression bringing the boys attention.

“Am I intruding?”

“No. Just stuck in some memories.” You replied, continuing to strum returning your gaze to the horizon, “I keep looking at the beautiful sky and wonder how someone can create something so otherworldly but cause suffering as well.”

“Nothing would be beautiful if there wasn’t anything ugly. Vice versa.” The stranger spoke, “I’m Joshua Bassett.”

“Y/N Everett.” Your smile dipped at the last name before your eyes fell to the simple band encircling your finger.

Josh’s eyes followed, feeling a ping of disappointment, seeing that this subtle beauty was taken.

“Married?”

“Was.” You sighed, stopping your fingers from delicately moving on the strings, “A sad story belonging in a novel.”

Josh’s brown eyes blinked at the sad words bumping his shoulder against yours with words sending you back into a memory, “Would it be too forward to ask what happened?”

THEN

So maybe kissing Peter after singing an impromptu song simply stating you loved him was too much especially when Paige saw it. The girl from the bonfire Peter struggled to let down. That led to whatever between you and Peter shattering. Fall turned into winter and with winter came the holidays where you retreated to.

Your dreams were indescribable, and it didn’t matter when your father, Gary, roused you from sleep in your childhood bed. Bleary eyes grasped at the phone mumbling a greeting of some kind at 2am.

“Y/N? It’s Jacob.” The unmistakable voice of Peter’s best friend was confusing to hear, “Peter’s in the hospital. His sister called me, and it’s bad.”

Time didn’t matter as you scooped up every item into the duffle bag and half-assed brushing your teeth or hair. Gary handed over his station wagon keys to his eldest child receiving shock while his partner was demanding a text when you arrived back in the city.

“Drive safe. It’s a long drive.”

You nodded before you spent the night number of hours on the road only stopping to refuel and use the bathroom. Empty snack bags on the passenger held you over as you arrived at the hospital address sent from Jacob.

A power nap in the waiting room before visiting hours was spent restlessly just before a hand nudged you awake.

“Hey Y/N.” Standing in the flesh was Peter’s sister Heather who you had briefly met on Skype in the early ages of the relationship.

“Hi, Heather.” You sighed blinking, “How is he?”

Heather hesitated debating if it was her place to answer the specifics on why the Everett family was at the hospital. In a moment of clarity, Heather decided to bring you to her brother’s room where their parents had congregated. Sitting up against the pillows in a gown was the handsome honey blonde man.

“Y/N.” Peter breathed surprised to see someone he had hurt with simple words on not wanting to hurt Paige. Now facing the unthinkable Peter wanted to hold your hand forever and proudly declare his love.

“Hey, Pete.” You half-smiled sitting on the edge of his bed while the room emptied, “You gave me a scare.”

“You were at your parents? Isn’t that hours away?” Peter questioned taking in the pale blue bruises under your eyes. You nodded in response, but it sent a warmth brought Peter’s body. His fingers grasped yours tightly.

“You’re worth the drive.” You simply replied, squeezing his fingers.

“Jacob was crashing at my dorm. He called for an ambulance when I was wrenching myself around my bed. Indescribable pain that ended with the surgeons removing a tumour the size of a plum from my stomach. The docs found it spread to my liver. Odds aren’t in my favour.” Peter revealed still holding that smile that drew you in initially.

“You aren’t getting rid of me.” You breathed.

NOW

“So, he has cancer?” Josh asked, turning to give you his full attention as you delved into the story that you had spoken about since that first appointment with the therapist.

“It was first in his stomach and then the liver. The last masses were found in a testicle.” You spoke tapping your fingers reliving the proposal in the hospital chapel and response from your parents, “He did chemo, radiation and finally the last resort was surgery. It was upsetting because Peter wouldn’t be able to have children.”

“It was only one right?”

“The chemo and radiation would deplete the chances of conception.” You medically recounted the words from the doctor, “Peter grew up active in church, and everyone prayed for him. From the people at the gigs I did to the listeners to the radio shows I appeared on.”

“Famous?” Josh questioned, but he only received a shrug in response. He kept quiet as you continued on with your story.

THEN

Heather and you held steadfast in Peter’s hospital room, you had walked holding his hand to the point where you couldn’t continue. He went into the operation room, and you returned to his empty bedside. Heather was your confidant and vice versa. Sleep was pulling when the screams of Mrs. Everett broke the silence.

“Heather! Y/N!”

The two girls scrambled to where a shaking couple stood blinking shocked at having heard the news. Right in the OR despite scans showing a mass when the surgeon opened up their son, there was not a speck of anything not meant to be there.

“It’s gone. There’s no cancer.” Mrs. Everett had no clue, but at that moment, all the hopes and dreams of Peter and you rebuilt themselves, “A miracle.”

A miracle that ended with Peter standing firm at the end of the aisle on the beach you swore you fell in love with him. Your dress was as simple as the wedding where you left to spend your honeymoon at the Everett’s family cabin for the weekend.

“I love you.” Peter breathed, pressing his nose against the edge of where your hairline started. The words flooded your system with love so deep you knew you had a lifetime to feel.

You chuckled seeing a mirage of the wedding party just up the beach from where you were sitting.

“We had a good weekend, but Monday came and so did seeing the oncologist. Peter refused to tell me if he had felt off at the wedding or the honeymoon. He was re-diagnosed, and we spent the week learning how to inject medications, the dosages and the times to do it. It was fine until the end.

You stared out the window of the full hospital room where Peter slept soundly with the IV of pain medication. A slight grimace moved over his face every once in a while, but you couldn’t sleep. Not with the news that Peter’s cancer had returned with a vengeance not even a few weeks after your wedding. Your dress still hung up in your apartment closet next to his tux that you hadn’t been able to return after renting.

“Hey. Mrs. Everett.” The groggy voice brought your attention to the dimly lit hall. Standing in the entry was Dr. Johnson with a solemn expression. You left Peter with a napping Heather as you slipped out of the room.

“Dr. Johnson.” You replied, clasping your hands on your arms, “How is he?”

“Peter’s scans gave me insight. The cancer spread throughout his body.”

“Okay, so are we starting chemo?” The doctor’s expression brought you to the answer is that it wasn’t an option, “Radiation?”

“No.”

“Surgery?” You got more frantic unaware that Peter had woken to see you struggling to take the news. The slight shake of Dr. Johnson’s head, “There has to be something!”

“We can make him as comfortable as we can, but I’m sorry to say we’ve done everything we can.” Dr. Johnson wasn’t surprised as you hugged him out of Peter’s view. This often happened when Dr. Johnson broke the news to people.

NOW

“The rest of Peter’s life was spent at our home until he was rushed to the ER vomiting blood. It was short. Maybe a week at most before he passed away without pain, but I believe his pain was shifted to me.” You finished deciding not to go into the grief that almost drowned you. The apartment had sold after a month as you fled to your childhood home.

“I’m sorry that happened.”

“I’m not.” You replied, smiling, “I got the honour of loving a wonderful man for two years of my life. I married him and lived with him. Do I wish he was still here? Sometimes but he was in too much pain. He always told me that the pain was worth it, he was able to touch the lives of people. He made his mark on the world.”

Josh was quiet as you strummed the guitar into the song that Peter had adored and asked to be played countlessly. The song was created by a Christian musician after losing his wife to cancer at an early age. Their story and your story had been so similar that the man was happy to help you move passed the loss into music.

The beach hadn’t changed in the time you had been away, but something sure did. Behind you was the sound of a small group, you had become close with overtime. The breeze was combated when a blanket was wrapped around you.

“You looked cold.”

The corners of your mouth curved at the concern in words coming from Josh. His arms wrapped around you next taking in the beautiful view. A view you only saw on the same day every year, but instead of being alone, Josh was always there.

Another change was your name. At age twenty-three you had had three last names, first the one you were born with Y/L/N, then Everett and now Bassett. Peter and Josh were physically the opposite of each other but both gentle souls.

“Did you think this would happen? That we would meet and fall in love?” Josh asked, pressing a lingering kiss above your ear as he took in the sunset.

“No, but I have a feeling someone knew I needed you.” You softly replied, “Didn’t think it would be an actor, though.”

“Are you coming? We want to hear you sing!” Heather called from the bonfire where your family, the Bassett family, the High School Musical: The Musical: The Series cast and even the Everett clan were stationed.

Was it weird your first husband’s family was spending time with your current husband’s family? Maybe, but cancer and loss created a bond indestructible. Besides, it was the Everett’s that pushed you into a date with Josh, and it ended perfectly. How beautiful was it to have the joyful ability to fall in love twice?

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benjimirthursby · 4 years ago

Text

“Alliances Tempered.” The Book of Thursby: Scions of Numenor [SB]

*Intended originally to publish as one work under the FFXIV Write event. But I couldn’t get past the half-way mark before the deadline. So I trimmed the post to the epigraph. The full work is posted now as a non-entry. “Truth is a sacrament of lies, proffered by ministers of fear. It is an exercise in asserting control, not the betterment of the soul or wisdom. People seek truth to gain comfort and in doing so drive away fear from uncertainty. Control gives comfort of an insidious sort. Control breeds a craving to flee the fear of losing control which comes with it. Those who hold sway over one will seek many and ever greater comfort to sate this fear.”

~Loxonica Omber, “Observations through the Dark Crystal.”

A mechanical lift in Ul’Dah seemed almost out of place to Benjimir. It was one of many things that seemed utterly in contradiction to each other. An ancient citadel illuminated by flame and wick with lifts such as this. Airships hoisted aloft by bags of gas docked alongside others of high craft using forces of nature to defy gravity. Winged beasts of burdon toting people and goods hither and yon along roads traveled by flying mounts of metal and technocraft. No singular craft held sway over these lands. There was a seamless, unlikely harmony to all of it however.

From the Dapper Mainer these details were rendered unnoticeable by the height the dinning room held above the lower levels of the city. Brightly decorated with white painted alls and tapestries of airships, it evoked the theme of travel by the vessels which docked and departed from the port a few levels above it. Even as Benjimir and his brothers were taken to their table from the matre’d station a rotund airship, slung under great beige bags of Ceruleum infused gas descended across the view of the main bay of windows. The ship cast a shadow which for a moment left the room to the light of candles and lamps already lit about the tables and walls. For this moment the room shifted from the light orange hue of the setting sun to white. The trim from black to a rich green hue. Even the tapestries seemed to change as if they were created in matching palettes. As the ship continued on and unsheathed the sunsets light again the room resumed the richer color scheme.

“Brilliant.” Benjimir said as he took his seat.

Tinifalas looked about and smiled. “Unique in Ul’Dah, pity it is not open to all.” he said as he picked up the single panel menu.

“Whom has access?” Benjimir asked.

“Select passengers aboard airships, officers of Grand Companies, select Free Companies and those with ties to airship industry and trade.” Bondermir said and looked about the room. As yet it was early for the dinner hour, no passengers vessels were docked, and their guests were only now debarking the large airship-of-the-line which they arrived aboard. As such the room was unoccupied as yet. Soft orchestral music played over a device near the kitchen door. “So you’ve both met our guest before, tell me something of what to expect.” Benjimir asked towards his brothers as the lift’s works stirred to life.

“The admiral is no diplomat but has a practical and even handed approach. She has a seafarers eloquence but speaks plainly as a rule.” Bondermir offered. Tinifalas agreed. “She and T’subaki are surely kindred spirits, if cut from different cloth.”

“Not much of Aubreen’s sort of cloth to cut from anymore.” Benjimir lamented. The lift’s works paused their action. Aubreen T’subaki was of the long lived races and the most trusted source of council to the House of Thursby since time out of memory. She had taught generations of Thursby’s and fleet officers over ages as the eldest authority on nautical traditions and warfare. She was Benjimir’s oldest friend and mentor “up well.” Her race bore time well, scarcely suggesting their age in appearance. Her sharp sloping ears suggested she was of the Elezan race native to Eorzea, though she was well shorter and femininely curved than any example to be found.

Aubreen had gone “down well” at Benjimir’s behest after the first reports from Tinifalas arrived five years earlier. Bondermir was sent to take on the role of master of spies and business, it became clear freedom of movement and commerce across Hydalen would require more than wagons. Her task was to lay roots for a merchant marine, along with protection for ships, crewing needs, and at sea, a means to guard against threats on it.

Maelstrom being as near to a formal authority at sea as could be found, had common interests with the Thursby Company. These were in restoring commerce, checking raiders at sea and shore, and an economy of scale of having common services made an effective partnership. Aubreen parlayed a single ship’s service into friendly relations and eventually alliance between Maelstrom and the Thursby Company. Much had been bore of that relationship.

Aubreen took brought with her a cadre of promising officers to her task. Now, most were commanding their own ships or stations. Training Maelstrom officers had itself become a means to furthering favors and relations with the Grand Company.

The previous years saw Aubreen lead Maelstrom and Thursby ships alike in combat and to victory. With victory came trust. Old tonnage bought and leased from the Grand Company, a concept new to them. Calamity wrecked ship yards were negotiated into the fold of the Thursby Company. Much of this was guided by Benjimir from afar. His name and seal near even as he was years from Ul'dah.

The lift’s works stirred again and soon stopped. The doors parted and out of it emerged a pair of crimson uniformed guards who took posts on either side the doors. Next came forth a tall, stately, fetching woman, with silver hair and porcelain hued skin. Her red epaulets displayed her rank insignia on a pitch black uniform jacket which bore a modest sum of chest and cleavage. Knee high polished leather boots and twin pistols left no question of her identity. Admiral Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn of Maelstrom.

From behind Bloefhiswyn emerged Aubreen, clad in a deep navy blue uniform jacket akin to the admirals. This, to Benjimir’s surprise, shared the display of cleavage new to any who knew her before coming to these shores. The jacket skirted higher on her legs however, exposing traditional white slacks tucked into matt black cavalier style boots. Her skin bore a traditional hue of flesh that did not reflect the suns hours on it. Her snow white hair made and few slight lines on her face gave the only hints of age.

“A most striking couple.” Benjimir thought aloud and unintentionally. Bondermir suppressed a grin. “Strikely surely, but not a couple. The commodore has taken up with another.” he said to Benjimir as Aubreen led the admiral across the room.

“Eh?” Benjimir said. Tinifalas tipped his head toward his brother and whispered. “Captain Vaunter.” Benjimir’s eyes flared and head turned involuntarily.

“No...really?” he said, extending the last syllabi, almost unable to contain his voice. He smiled and shook his head. “Wouldn’t have thought it, but these are new days we live in.” Aubreen had not taken a partner in anybody's lifetime and Katryn Vaunter was an unlikely pairing, especially being an officer under her and as Benjimir's protege. But these were not past days.

Aubreen and Bloefhiswyn stood before the Thursby brothers. As a flag officer here at Aubreen's invitation Benjimir greeted the admiral first and offered seats to them.

Orders place and drinks in hand it was Bloefhiswyn who opened the discussion. “Five years, much blood and gil, what brings you to shore now?” she asked.

“I row slow,” Benjimir replied prompting a smile from Bloehiswyn. “More an inspection tour I think it is best described as. I think it is becoming prudent council to take-up a presence in the flesh, guide our families works nearer than at sea.” He concluded.

Bloefhiswyn nodded slowly in acknowledgement and sipped the wine she ordered. “And of matters our mutual concern and the future? What comes next?” she asked.

Benjimir sat back in his chair and drank. “It is our way to ply our trade and seek the betterment of those whom we can aid. And the safe keep of our people and interests, that means having an eye on the future, preparing for dangers unseen. For now, we will see through to the completion our joint work” He explained to Bloefhiswyn. She absorbed it all.

“But what comes next and what dangers do you foresee? The sea lanes are soon to be secure, the fighting at large has abated for now. Do you have plans for the fleet you have assembled, men you are training?” Bloefhiswyn pressed.

“We’ve no ambitious to statehood or governance if that weighs on you mind. Not our way as I know the Commodore and master Exidines have made clear.” Benjimir remained relaxed in his chair, sipped his drink again. “There are answers important to me, to our people, which we must divine. As well as our mandate to stand against shadows where ever they show themselves. As it happens, they’ve shown themselves here. As to future dangers?” Benjimir started, unconsciously slipping his hand to the Dagger of Warding on his belt. “They’ll make themselves apparent in due course. I believe our victories aside they’ve not abated since before the fall of Dalamud and their greatest challenge has yet to present itself.”

Bloefhiswyn assumed a relaxed posture in her own chair, listening intently and nodding as Benjimir spoke. “You suggest we are only seeing the start of troubles then?” She said, lending forward. Benjimir nodded. “What course shall we set them mister Thursby?” She asked.

Benjimir sipped once more. “Prepare in what ways we can to oppose what we are able too. For now, you and I alike can only speculate what that might be.” With that all at the table drew themselves up as the meal arrived.

Aubreen looked on silently. Her gift of foresight was of no use to her on these shores. She could only sense an approaching destiny with no shape or hue and a need to make peace with it. In such times her thoughts turned to the young captain aboard the Andustar.

*******

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dragonnan · 4 years ago

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16, 17 and 19 for the most recent ask thingy, should you feel the mood sway you. 😁

The mood will ALWAYS sway me lol!

16. Describe your WIP that currently has the highest word count.

Simon and Simon and Psych (Psych/Simon & Simon) Word count: 24,323

So this one, in spite of not being updated in YEARS, is a story I’m still absolutely on fire to resume because I’m just thrilled af about the concept. It’s a crossover between 2 series I love - Psych and Simon & Simon (an 80s Private Detective series). What excites me most about it was the reimagining of Simon & Simon for the modern era while still retaining all of the things that made the characters what they were.

A little back story on Simon & Simon as I feel more people will be less familiar with that series of the two. The series is about 2 brothers who decided to open a detective agency together after the younger brother, AJ (Andrew Jackson), left the larger detective agency where he had been working for several years.

AJ is blond, surfed a great deal as a younger man, attended law school, and was considered the “golden child” growing up somewhat sheltered and cherished and maybe a tad innocent of the world. When his brother went to Viet Nam, AJ took part in the peace protests - primarily because he was terrified for his brother and wanted to do anything he could to make the fighting stop. AJ tends to be the more mature of the brothers - nearly always wearing a suit and usually takes lead in dealing with clients (assuming Rick doesn’t interrupt him).

Rick, the older brother, left home after they father died and bounced around from various interests, including being a biker for a time, before going to Viet Nam. He would come back from the war with a boatload of PTSD and a very fierce drive to protect his younger brother (probably far more so than he’d even felt prior to Viet Nam but to be clear - Rick is VERY protective of AJ). All of that, however, might take the casual observer by surprise as Rick is incredibly irresponsible (on the surface) and nearly always in a good mood or quick with a joke. Just don’t threaten baby bro other their mother. Really, just do not.��

So that’s a bit of backstory so I can mention my changes for the modern era. Instead of Viet Nam, Rick is now a veteran of Desert Storm. They now both carry cell phones instead of relying on pay phones or other land lines. They have a website. I’ve updated their cars. Before, AJ drove a red Camaro T Top so I changed that to a 2008 Chevy Corvette. Rick, in the series, drove a 1979 Dodge Power Wagon so that one... did not change lol! I seriously cannot picture Rick in any other vehicle.

So after ALL OF THAT there’s actually a story in progress...

The plot thus far is that the Simon brothers are in Santa Barbara because AJ is running in the annual Half Marathon (an actual one cause I do like to blend some real events with my fiction lol). While in town, Rick goes to run an errand - picking up an item his buddy Carlos had shipped but wasn’t able to pick up himself because Carlos is... sketchy (an actual character from the series that we hear about anecdotally from Rick). Meanwhile, Juliet and Lassiter are at the shipyards as well, having set up a sting on suspicion of drug activity. So, of course, when Rick goes to collect this item for Carlos, he ends up being stopped by the cops who confiscate the item after finding it filled with drugs and they arrest Rick. THIS, then, is how the crossover comes into play as Shawn, of course, horns in on the investigation and immediately suspects that Rick is being setup so he volunteers to help out the Simons. Various things happen which ultimately leads Shawn, Gus, and AJ back to the shipyards and a suspicious warehouse (aren’t ALL warehouses suspicious?) where suspicious men are rapidly emptying it of product. The 3 men get caught and are bundled off in the back of a suspicious vehicle to a suspicious location. At about this time Rick is let out on bail (thanks moooom....) and in a panic as he hasn’t heard from his brother. When he realizes AJ must be in trouble, he ends up tentatively joining up with Juliet and Lassiter who are trying to find Shawn. Nobody is entirely thrilled with being teamed up in either group...

And this is roughly where things stand after the last update!

So after I’ve subjected you to all of the above, how about a snippet from chapter 1?

___

Shawn Spencer spun slowly in his father's chair – maintaining just enough speed to make a full revolution before kicking himself into another circuit. Typically he enjoyed his time at the station, provided he wasn't behind bars or being subjected to an interrogation. Okay, scratch that. He did enjoy an interrogation provided his hot pants girlfriend with a personal pair of handcuffs was the one dressing him down. He leered. He didn't even have to try to make that sound dirty.

Right. Back on the subject at hand. Naughty cop Jules would, sadly, have to wait until they could have some private time.

If they could have some private time. Of course, the way things were going lately...

And that brought him back full circle to his original beef.

Dad was being cagey. Like, Nick Cagey complete with diminished mane and sneaky covertness. Sure, he pretended he wasn't being covert but his dad sucked almost as bad as Lassie when he tried to fake acting casual. He was way too sour in the shorts to pull off that level of none chalice.

Like now, the old man was going for coffee. Like anybody with half a badge couldn't see right through that act. Shawn pulled together a mild sneer as his dad returned to his desk.

“Really? You put sugar in that too?”

His dad didn't look at him as he set his coffee on the desk. “Stop glaring at me. And get the hell out of my chair!”

Shawn didn't budge. “I am on to you.” He enunciated with immaculate exaggeration.

“The only thing you're on is my chair. And too many Pop Rocks; I thought Gus had cut you back to one pack a day.”

“I'm allowed two packs on the weekend.”

“It's Wednesday, kiddo. Maybe it's time you invested in a calendar.”

“Well maybe it's time you invested in hair plugs!” Shawn paused as his father crossed his arms. The pointing hand dropping back to his lap. “Too Terence Stamp? Sorry, I was caught up in the moment.”

“What do you want, Shawn?” Giving up on patience, Henry opted for shoving his son until he toppled out of the chair. Ignoring the yelp when Shawn flopped to the tile, he scooted closer to the desk so he could pull up the report he'd been working on. Fingers just coming to rest on his keyboard, he scowled at the active game of Pitfall taking up his screen. He tapped a button but rather than taking him back to the SBPD mainframe, it caused the character to jump into the green shapes he assumed were meant to be alligators. Behind him, Shawn gasped.

“You just killed my last guy!”

“Be grateful that's all I've killed.” Slapping a few more keys he finally found the right combination to get back to his report.

Still sitting on the floor, Shawn drew up his knees up and propped his chin on both fists. Not even managing to type a single word, Henry sighed and swiveled towards his moping son.

“What, Shawn?”

Now that he had the desired attention, Shawn pushed his lower lip out the tiniest bit. “Jules is busy and she said I can't help with the stakeout cause it's “super stupid important, Shawn” and Gus won't let me borrow the blueberry so I can follow her cause deep down inside I know she wants me to help cause, please, like I don't always make a stakeout better – I mean, who else is going to remember to bring an extra container of cheese dip for the nachos because one cup is just never enough and believe you me you do not want to short cheese a guy packing tear gas...”

Henry held up a hand to cut off the ramble that could easily go on another five minutes. With his other hand he rubbed at his aching eyes. Of course Shawn would find out about the sting. However, Chief Vick had been adamant about keeping him out of it. Henry had actually lobbied for including his son on the details – the memory of the last big operation that had temporarily cost him his job was not an easily healing wound. Rather than even attempt reconstructing the word barrage of bitching, Henry latched on to the least pointless detail.

“Where is Gus anyhow? I thought you two left an hour ago for dinner.”

Shawn shrugged. “I don't know for certain... I mean, by now he could be anywhere. He's always expressed an interest in touring with Alicia Keys...”

“Shawn.”

“We went to Taco Louie's and he insisted on the deep fried beef and bean mini burrito...”

Henry raised his hand again. Enough said.

“Well whatever you were thinking, I'm still not talking the Chief out of her decision. You're bored? How about you work on the burglary case I gave you.”

“Daaaad... the Redbox robberies?” Groaning, Shawn flopped on his back and sprawled dramatically. Officers passing back and forth shot glances at the display and Henry rubbed his face in embarrassment.

“Dammit, Shawn, get off the floor! You look like an idiot!”

Shawn sat up but didn't stand. Nor was he ready to let go of his latest complaint.

“Come on! Dad, Redbox? That is so... not sexy!”

17. Describe a fic that is still in the ‘ideas’ stage.

This one is an Iron Man character exploration regarding Tony’s relationship with Obie and that, with hindsight, he realizes Obie had been grooming him. It will never cross that crucial line but the potential leaves Tony reeling. This will be in the same universe as another short fic titled “Simple Math”. Here’s the bit of writing I’d put together so far:

_____

He'd thought it was bonding; at the time. His dad had never been one for just hanging out; shooting the shit; telling tales out of school. No, Pops, when he bothered to interact, led with questions. “You keeping your grades up?” “You still seeing that floozy?” “When are you going to pull your head out of your ass and grow the hell up?” “You do realize it's my name you're disgracing every time you go on a bender?”

With Obie it was just, easy. Obie might ask about school but it was always with approval and pride. He would discuss Tony's conquests as though Tony had climbed Kilimanjaro wearing nothing but underwear and a cape.

Obie was there when his father wasn't. Which meant that Obie was always there. The first time he got astoundingly drunk on his father's scotch, Obie was the one to help him hunch over the toilet and vomit expensive, aged booze into the toilet. Obie was also the one to replace the depleted bottle to keep Howard in the dark. For a fourteen year old kid still trying to gain his dad's favor, that had meant everything.

He saw his first porn with Obie; sex education ala Traci Lords, three months shy of his fifteenth birthday. That was the same time he was introduced to weed. Obie had cautioned him to use it sparingly; didn't want to fry that genius brain, he'd say, and ruffle his hair. The porn had made him uncomfortable. Obie had turned it off and told him they could watch whatever Tony wanted. They'd ended up changing the station to Knight Rider; smoking and munching Cheetos and laughing over their orange fingers.

It was Obie who was there, arm around his shoulders, after his parents died. He desperately didn't want to sob in front of the man. Things were so complicated with his dad that all he felt was blinding guilt... as though some part of him had caused this. But Obie had filled him with bourbon until the emotions got soft around the edges and he'd sat beside the older man, head tipping gradually to the right until he was held up by Obie's bicep. Obie had just slung and arm around him and let Tony pass out while he rubbed a broad hand up and down his arm.

It was strange, now, looking back with adult perspective. A perspective that included Afghanistan and his intended execution and Obie's arm around his shoulders while he talked about legacy and responsibility while Tony's lungs slowly seized. He'd taken the time to sit there – arm around Tony's shoulders while one broad hand traveled up and down Tony's bicep – just like when he was a kid and Obie was the whole world.

He'd tried to remember if it had felt so tainted... at the time. Or if he'd always believed it was love.

Obie had never quite crossed that line. Though hindsight offered a peek into that possibility with enough clarity Tony had fought with his cramping gut for nearly thirty minutes. He'd staved off vomiting though he was fairly certain his dignity had still been in tatters what with Bruce wandering in on his misery.

19. What’s your favorite character headcanon?

Gosh... It’s funny that when asked the question the first thing that I ponder is “what head canons?? what are characters??? Do I even watch tv???” So I needed to ponder a bit.

As far as it goes my favorite head canons are not typically ones that I myself have come up with. And going with that maybe the best one I know is for the series, and character, Sherlock.

I’m am 100% all in on Sherlock being on the autism spectrum. Yes, I know this is attributed to MANY characters but consider the fact that those reasons have a ton of validity. Sherlock has very strong indications of being on the spectrum and having read quite a number of essays on the subject, many of which were written by people who are also on the spectrum, I’m completely convinced. It’s to the point I don’t even like calling it a “head canon” as that implies it’s only a fan concept and therefore has less likelihood. It just feels so deliberate with that character.

So going off from that I would say, in a more general sense, my favorite head canons are they type where we can discover neurologically atypical traits in characters - especially heroes. Too long anyone neurologically divergent is portrayed either as a victim or, FAR FAR worse, as the “crazed villain” and frankly that is disgusting. So it is beyond refreshing to suddenly have this amazing, brilliant, layered person who also displays autistic traits. In going back over characters that I’ve loved most there are many who have traits of this sort that, only in hindsight, do I recognize. Just a few off the top of my head; Malcolm Bright, Shawn Spencer (100% ADHD), Rapunzel, Rick Simon (remember him? lol), Adrien Monk (his OCD was very deliberate), as well as characters who’ve developed trauma after horrific events such as, well, most MCU characters but particularly Tony Stark and Stephen Strange. Malcolm Bright also very much was built from trauma but I also am convinced there are neurologically atypical traits at play.

Thank you so much for the great ask!!

#disappearinginq

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