#FIRST CHAPTER BABEY

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Total $hit$how: An Array of Unanswered Questions

in which Kaius maybe embraces friendship a little bit

cw: referenced/fear of torture, manhandling

previous // masterlist // next

×~×~×

The air was thick with the promise of rain when Kaius stepped out of the compound. Ruebin trailed a few steps behind, his usual uncertainty plain on his face. They hadn't exchanged many words since receiving their assignment; Ruebin spent the rest of the evening in his room with the door closed, and Kaius had taken the opportunity to pore over the files they'd already acquired.

Vic's sudden decision to drop Finley didn't surprise him. Their handler had seemed opposed to the idea of speaking with her from the start. Investigation of the supposed drop-site, however, seemed as though it would be just as fruitless. Was Vic just trying to keep them occupied while the others worked on more crucial tasks? Perhaps. 

A sleek black car with darkened windows, identical to the vehicle that had brought him here, pulled up within a few minutes of their exit, and Kaius climbed inside, Ruebin once again trailing behind. The other man's nerves were palpable. He hoped they wouldn't interfere with their task. It would already be difficult enough as it was. The odds of running into Finley's customers and gleaning anything from them were minimal, and the site itself would likely be barren. With all his distaste for wasting another day, Vic certainly seemed intent on a wild goose chase.

Unless he had some ulterior motive; another thing that would not surprise Kaius. He knew very little about Vic. Normally, he'd expect as much from an employer—it wasn't as if he cared what the other man got up to after business hours—but lately it seemed ignorance was a dangerous game. The man was an enigma, leaving little to be picked up on, even with careful observance. 

A few things could be gathered. Vic was in his fifties, and had been in this game for decades. Desensitized to violence, lacking empathy, dangerous. He seemed to report to a federal or governmental agency on some level, as suggested by the drivers and nondescript vehicles he had at his disposal, but Kaius didn't know if he was an asset or merely an errand boy, paid off to do the bidding of those in power.

If the latter was the case, he remained perplexed as to why Vic would delegate the task to them. He'd made it abundantly clear that he outshone their skills and experience in this area, and even if they held certain skills he did not possess, the gap didn't seem large enough to warrant hiring proxies. He'd spent time, money, and energy on getting them to the minimum level of preparation required for the mission when he could've already enacted it himself. Something wasn't adding up, but Kaius couldn't figure out what. 

Vic had saved them, or so he said, but he didn't do such a thing from the goodness of his heart. It was a simple exchanging of favors. He hadn't heard the circumstances that brought the others into the compound, but Kaius had been in hot water, pursued by a pair of strangers, cornered, saved at the last minute. His rescuer had acted on Vic's orders, delivering him from a fate he didn't want to dwell on and right into Vic’s hands. His freedom for the elimination of a threat. It seemed fair.

But how far would their handler go to see this mission completed the way he wanted?

Kaius was content to sit and think on everything for the duration of the car ride, but beside him, Ruebin seemed twitchy and nervous. Hardly optimal. He didn't want to deal with the man's anxieties on top of watching for danger and effectively searching the scene. Better to nip it in the bud.

“You seem on edge,” he said in a low voice, and Ruebin’s eyes darted to meet his.

“Yeah,” he said. “I just… the drop site. Seems like the scary one, y'know?”

Kaius raised an eyebrow. “The scary one?”

Ruebin gestured vaguely. “Crime drop-site? What if we run into a criminal?”

“Are you not a criminal?”

“I am, but I'm not dangerous. Vic outright said Finley’s customers are dangerous. I’d just… I wish he would've picked you and Jericho. Or you and Joy.”

“Anyone other than you,” Kaius mused. It seemed a pointless thing to wish for when they were already en route.

“Anyone bigger than me,” Ruebin said. “What will we do if we run into trouble? I mean, you’ve seen me fight. I can’t do anything.”

“I’ll plan an escape route once we arrive,” Kaius said. “If we come across trouble, we run.”

“Okay,” Ruebin said, not sounding entirely convinced. He rubbed his forehead. “Fuck, jail is almost sounding like the preferred alternative.”

Kaius huffed. “Do you honestly believe that?” Ruebin had been a thief before he was picked up. Didn't his whole job revolve around risk and reward? Why couldn't he apply the same principles here?

Ruebin's shoulders slumped. “I mean… not really, I guess. I just don't wanna get jumped or something. And I don't have the best feeling about this.”

Neither did Kaius, but he elected to keep that to himself. Someone needed to be the voice of reason.

Ruebin continued. “I just… I don't think I'm cut out for something like this. This isn't stealing from some too-rich dipshit. This is real.”

Kaius sighed, pressing his back into the leather seat. “And what you did before, was that not real?”

The other man shrugged. “You know what I mean “

“I don't.”

“Well…” He blew out a puff of air, pushing a wave of thick black hair over his shoulder. “I guess it always felt more like a game? Well, mostly. There were other days, days where it got real, but those weren’t exactly frequent.” He fiddled with the collar of his shirt. “We just had our task. One job, no bigger picture. No ‘thousands of people will die if you fail’, y'know?”

Kaius wanted to point out that it was a possibility, not a certainty, but he got the feeling it wasn't what Ruebin wanted to hear. Instead, he nodded. Pressure. It made sense.

“I don't think I'm ready for that to be on me,” Ruebin said. “Not for this job, and definitely not for the whole thing. I think… I think you all could do this without me.”

Was that what this was? Not cowardice, but feeling useless? Kaius knew Ruebin wasn't the boldest of the group, but a life of crime required some degree of bravado. The man hadn't run from the task Vic had given them in the labyrinth, but he had seemed somewhat dejected after the fact.

“Do you not think your skills are adequate?” Kaius asked. “Necessary?”

“I’m a lockpick,” Ruebin said with a short laugh. “I’m a couple steps above a street magician. We’re a dime a dozen.”

Maybe that was it. “Regardless of how common your skillset is, it will be needed here,” he countered. “You’re a thief. I’m an investigator. Right now, we need to pull critical information from a delicate location. Both our talents are required.” 

“Yeah,” Ruebin said, not quite sounding convinced. Kaius tried again.

“I know your record isn’t spotless, seeing as you’ve wound up here, but you avoided being caught up until this point, did you not?”

Ruebin shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, I guess I did, but—”

“Then you’re essential here,” Kaius said, leaving no room in his tone for argument. “Your chosen lifestyle has given you an edge when it comes to escaping notice and fleeing the scene. If we do wish to avoid trouble, we’ll need your instincts to make it happen. Do you agree?”

Ruebin’s expression was twitchy, his face flushing a few shades brighter, as if from a sunburn. “I mean— I, yeah. Yeah, guess so.” He rubbed his neck “Jeez, alright.”

His eyes were on the carpeted floor of the car, but there was a slight smile on his face. Despite knowing the argument was necessary for Ruebin’s confidence, and therefore necessary for today's mission, Kaius felt an odd pleasantness at the sight of it.

Perhaps it was the familiar satisfaction that came with winning an argument. Perhaps not

After approximately an hour and a half of driving, the car came to a stop, and the driver gestured for them to get out. Kaius obliged, Ruebin on his heels. They were parked adjacent to a moneylender, on a street with an unfamiliar name. The driver, silent up until this point, rolled down her window and extended a gloved hand towards Kaius. There was something in her palm; a little metal capsule, silver buttons shielded by a clear plastic lid.

“What's this?” he asked, taking it from her.

“A way to tell me you're done,” the driver replied. 

“You're not staying?” Ruebin squeaked, clearly not enthused with the idea of being left there alone.

“It's policy,” she replied simply. It seemed sensible. If there was a risk of interception, it was better to have as few people involved as possible.

“Is the site nearby?” Kaius asked.

“I don't know about any site. This is where I was told to go.” 

Before he could ask any further questions, she rolled the window up. Kaius tried to keep himself from scowling. He understood the mission specifics were likely revealed on a need-to-know basis, but that didn't make the exchange less aggravating.

So it was on them to find the exact location. Fortunately, Kaius had been the one to identify its existence in the first place, and had a vague idea of where it would be. He watched the car pull away, feeling Ruebin deflate beside him as it disappeared into the sunrise.

“Let's move,” he said. “Keep your eyes sharp.”

“Sharp.” His voice lacked enthusiasm. “Got it.”

The sun wasn't quite high enough to light up the block, and the surrounding buildings were painted in a blue wash. Scanning the area, Kaius saw no one out and about, but given that these streets seemed to be made up of businesses and it was just shy of seven in the morning, he wasn't overly surprised. Kaius led the way, searching for anything familiar from what he'd read. Within a quarter of an hour, he’d found it: A wide gap between a bar and a bodega, more of a loading area for a semi truck than the usual alleyway. A sensible spot; if Finley met her customers at night they could easily be taken for bar patrons. It still made little sense why they were there. At this hour, the bar was closed, so it wasn't even as if Kaius could question the staff.

Pointless. But if Vic wanted a futile search, that was what he'd get. He gestured towards the open area.

“There,” he said. “This was the listed location.”

Ruebin nodded, taking in the blank pavement ahead; plain brick walls with smatterings of graffiti here and there, a singular rubbish bin sitting against the bar’s exterior.

It would be a quick search. Kaius directed Ruebin to the bodega side, not wanting the man to get his fishnets in a twist combing over the bin, and began scouring his own area. He fell into step rather quickly, beginning a methodical search for anything that seemed out of place. Useless as their task may be, it felt almost relaxing to get back into groundwork. Relying on his senses to find details others had missed, applying the tiniest clues to the bigger picture.

Just a few more days, and he could go back to work; moving in solitude, solving small mysteries or collecting information. It meant working long days, constantly looking over his shoulder, but Kaius could never get enough. Once a question was posed, he had to find its answer. If unsolvable, he had to find out why.

Much like the question of Vic. His mannerisms and motivations could boil down to personality and lifestyle, but Kaius couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something. He knew he should put it to rest and focus on the mission ahead, but his thoughts kept trailing back to it.

It doesn't matter, he tried to tell himself. In a matter of days, you'll be gone, and you'll never see him again. Or the rest of them.

The thought wasn't as neutral as Kaius had imagined it would be. He found himself wondering what the others would do with their own freedoms. Would they return to their individual crimes? Jericho had a family, he knew. Did Harbor? Ruebin?

He knelt beside the rubbish bin, checking its exterior for tampering.

It wasn't as if he were going to do anything about it if they didn't. They were all adults with their own lives, and a few scant weeks wouldn't change that. Kaius would certainly be fine. He enjoyed being alone. Still, as irritating as the rest of the group could be at times, he had to admit it was nice not being lonely. 

After a handful of minutes, Kaius was satisfied with his own search. He cast a glance back at Ruebin, and found him standing still, eyes on the bodega’s wall. Kaius frowned. What was he doing? Attempting to read the jagged scrawl of some vandal?

“Hey, Kaius? What exactly did the thing you read say? About this spot?”

“Not much,” Kaius replied. “A vague description and some coordinates.”

“Nothing about like… a secret cubby or anything?”

His frown deepened. “What?” In two strides, he was at Ruebin's side, staring in the same spot. After a moment, he spotted it; a clear seam cutting through the bricks.

Odd. He certainly hadn't expected a physical drop site, much less something so concealed. 

“Good eye,” he murmured, stepping closer to the wall and tracing the seam with his eyes. The area it surrounded was quite small, only amounting to two bricks, stacked directly on top of each other. Easily missed if you weren't looking for it. Perhaps there was something useful to be found here after all.

Kaius reached for it, hesitating when he remembered he didn't have any gloves. Damn it. Lacking a better option, he tugged the sleeve of his jumper over his fingertips. The brick would likely snag the material, but it was better than nothing.

“Keep watch,” he said to Ruebin as he dug his knit-covered fingers into the seam and worked the cover off. A little upwards force, and the brick panel slid right into his hands, allowing Kaius to peer into the gap.

At a glance, it seemed empty. No papers or boxes. Then, his eyes landed on the thin wire, running through the upper corner of the compartment and down to a small metallic shape. He squinted at it, and the object flashed green. Slowly, his gaze dropped to the panel in his hands.

There was a sensor there.

“Damn it,” he whispered through clenched teeth, slipping the brick panel back into place as quick as he could.

“What's wrong?” Ruebin asked, but Kaius shook his head, rolling his sleeves back.

“It's monitored.”

“What?”

“They know someone's been here.”

Ruebin's eyes widened. “Oh shit. Shit… they'll take some time to get here, won't they? We have time to run?”

“Some.” Kaius scanned the street ahead. “There. Cafe. Let's get breakfast.”

Ruebin gave a too-sharp nod. “Right. Hiding. Blending in.”

“Walk, don't run,” Kaius said. “Try not to look like you've done anything wrong.” To his surprise, an expression of friendly ease crossed Ruebin's face. Just like that. His disbelief must've shown, because the look quickly changed to a frown.

“What? Too calm?”

Kaius blinked. “No. No, it's perfect. Carry on.” 

Side by side, they strolled through the alley, casual as Kaius could muster. It was still early morning, and the streets ahead were still empty. Both a good and a bad sign; no one to see them and grow suspicious, but no witnesses either. 

“I've heard this spot makes a mean macchiato,” Ruebin said, and Kaius turned his head abruptly to look at him, his brows drawing down. Ruebin sighed as he did, seemingly exasperated.

“What?” he whispered. “Do you want me calm or not?”

Kaius faced forward again, rubbing his eyes. “We're not… I didn't realize you were an actor.”

“Maybe you should take some classes. You're tense.”

“I'm not—” Kaius froze mid sentence at the sound of an engine. Behind them. Framing it as stretching his neck, he cast a glance back and saw a van pulling around the corner. White. Well-used, no front license plate.

“Kaius—”

“Keep walking.”

Ruebin let out a nervous sound, but obeyed, his steps falling a little quicker.

“We’ll be fine,” Kaius assured him under his breath, though his own heart was thumping. That could be a lie. The two of them stood out in the empty streets; the only plausible culprits. He scanned the block ahead, spotting two possible paths down alleys too narrow to fit a van.

“Between the cafe and the comic shop,” he murmured. “As soon as we hit the sidewalk, dash for the alley and lose them. Just stay with me. We'll be—”

The engine behind them suddenly let out a roar, pealing forward, hooking at the end of the alley to cut them off. The rear door slid open, and Kaius locked eyes with a tall figure in a hockey mask.

“Fuck!” Ruebin yelped.

“Run!” Kaius snapped.

The alley met the road not three meters ahead. The van took up most of the path, but there was a two meter gap on either side. He could see the silhouette of the driver, and no one else. One person at the ready for chasing them, not prepared to pursue two targets.

“Left,” Kaius said, giving Ruebin a shove. “Take the path. I'll find you.” Thankfully, Ruebin was quick to respond, breaking out into a sprint towards the rear of the vehicle as Kaius made a break for the front.

It had the intended effect, stopping the masked figure short as they decided which target to run after. The heavy footfall on his tail told Kaius he was the lucky pick. He did not slow. He'd run for his life enough times to be rather good at it, and if he could only make it to the next alley—

The van cut him off, and Kaius stopped short to avoid impacting its side. He nearly tripped over himself trying to change directions, but the masked figure was on him, crushing him in a bearhug. It took a split second to accept that his arms were pinned and he'd need to find another avenue of escape. He kicked his legs, driving his heel upwards to try and catch his captor in the groin, but the figure barely stumbled at the contact, letting out a curse. The door slid open, and he was flung into the cab. The masked figure wrestled his arms behind him, and someone else, also masked, darted forward to zip tie his wrists. The door was already slamming closed, the van already pealing away. 

Kaius clenched his jaw, trying to get a look around. Battered interior, smelled like old chips, seats taken out to make the rear compartment flat and open—

Before he could take in much more, a bag was thrown over his head and cinched tight.

Damn it all.

“Fuckin’ hell this one's quick,” a masculine voice complained, breathless. He could assume this was his pursuer. Loud voice, English accent with a lilt bordering on cockney. 

“What about the other one?” his companion replied. American. Smooth voice, annoyed.

“Only need one, eh?”

Despite the hood obscuring his vision, Kaius squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe deeply. Focus. He was caught, there was no changing that. The next step was to anticipate what exactly they wanted with him, decide how much he was willing to comply, and search for a way out.

There were three assailants in the vehicle with him, unless a fourth was making an effort to hide. With the ski masks and battered van, he could assume they were thugs for hire, lacking organization and proper funding. But who had hired them? The supposed drop site had been a come-along, but was it meant to target anyone who came looking for Finley, or only Vic? In the case of the former, he could perhaps talk his way out. He had no quarrel with the woman, no desire to steal her customers or blackmail her. On the other hand, if they were targeting Vic, he could be in trouble. What if they were with Rotorworx?

His mind went to the video, Sahota's brush with the Rotorworx hires, and he suppressed a shudder. It wasn't like that, was it? Would they torture him in an effort to reach Vic or uncover the team's plot? He wouldn't do well maintaining silence; he needed to brew up a convincing lie. Damn it, unless he was meant to be used as bait. Screaming for the camera in an effort to draw out his comrades.

He was all too familiar with the ways a person could be made to feel pain. Though he'd never seen his mother or father at work, he'd seen the remains they'd left behind; the tools carefully organized, shining against a bloodstained backdrop.

Kaius bit down on his tongue, trying to use the pain to anchor his thoughts. He didn't know that was his fate. He didn't know anything yet, and until he did, his best chance was to be still and silent.

“Is he alive back there?” A third voice, the driver. Feminine with an accent he couldn't quite place. Spanish, perhaps?

“He's fine,” said the loud one. “Sometimes they stop moving, y'know?”

“You know?”

“Well I read about it. It's the fight or flight reflex.”

“He does not seem to be doing either.”

“There's more than just those.”

The trio seemed to be fairly stupid, which could either work for or against Kaius. Easier to trick, easier to outwit and escape. Harder if they decided he had to know something about Vic's operation and decided to drag it out of him. Again, he suppressed a shudder, realizing for the first time just how badly his hands were shaking.

Enough. Enough, there's still time, it won't come to that. None of them had been unnecessarily rough or intentionally hurt him. He wouldn't panic for no reason. …At least that's what he ordered himself to do. His body failed to obey, feeling so rigid he wasn't sure he could move quickly if he tried.

Breathe deeply, stop it. Stop.

Even his breaths became stilted when the van made a sharp turn and shortly came to a stop. No matter how he tried to correct himself, no matter how illogical he knew he was being, Kaius was physically afraid. He managed to retain his silence as the van’s door was pulled open. A big pair of hands wrapped around his shoulders, propping him up into a seated position.

“Would you look at that? We actually caught one.” A new voice. Feminine, somewhat rougher than the driver's, American accent. Kaius clamped his teeth down on his tongue, trying to ignore the turning of his stomach. 

“You're one of Shepard's bodies, huh?”

The question caught him off-guard, and for a moment, he forgot his resolve not to speak. “Who?”

A short laugh above him. “Right. It's Vic to his friends, isn't it?”

Damnit, the group was after Vic then. They couldn't prove he worked for him. He just had to stay quiet.

“You don't have to answer that. I already know. Why else would you be snooping around where you were?”

They couldn't prove anything.

“Look, I'm not here to grill you on that asshole’s comings and goings. I brought you here as a favor.”

“A favor?” Again, his silence was forgotten at the sheer incredulity.

“Yeah. You… fucking shit, I can't keep doing this with the bag. Jazz, be a gentleman will ya?”

There was a tug at his neck, and then the bag slid off his head, pulling at his hair. Kaius squinted up at the newest speaker. 

He came face to face with a lean woman, her hair an offensively bright shade of yellow, cut into a jagged mullet. Her face and shoulders were covered in freckles, and her eyes seemed to glitter as she looked down at him.

“Damn, where'd Vic pull you from? Juvie?”

He couldn't tell if it was meant to be an insult, or just a misplaced observation. This time, he remembered his silence, but the woman was unbothered by his lack of response.

“So tell me about your little group. How many of you are there?”

The query was more along the lines of what Kaius expected, and he set his jaw, staring back without a word. The woman sighed.

“Come on babyface, I'm not your enemy. I want the same thing as you. Wrecking the Reality Cage, yeah?”

Less expected. Kaius frowned. “If that's what you want, then why are you impeding my progress?”

“Impeding? You came looking for me, didn't you?” She spread her arms. “I'd say I made your life easier.”

He'd figured as much, but hadn't wanted to assume outright. “Finley.”

“In the flesh.” She cast a look behind him then, tossing her head in a gesture to the loud one.

“Bring him inside.”

The hands were around his torso again, hauling him up and setting him on the ground, large fingers remaining behind to encircle his upper arm. Scanning his surroundings seemed a better use of his focus than getting frustrated at the unwanted contact, so Kaius turned his attention past Finley, into the room beyond. 

They were in a large bay, the sort a fire brigade might use to park their vehicles, though it was empty save the van and a few scattered shelves. A singular office was inlaid in white cinderblock, and Finley seemed to be making her way for it.

“Don't drag your feet, I won't bite,” the woman said, flashing a grin over her shoulder. Kaius did not return it. His thoughts were in a whirlwind.

She knew about Vic, that shouldn't be a surprise. Knowing about the Cage was to be expected considering she'd had a hand in it, but she wanted to destroy it? Why then was Vic so set on keeping away from her? On killing her if they had to meet?

He needed answers. But maybe this was the person who could give them to him. Ahead, Finley pushed the office door open, leaning on its frame.

“I think it's high time we had a chat.”

×~×~×

tag list:

@theonewithallthefixations , @violets-whumperflies , @whump-me ,

@pirefyrelight , @soheavyaburden , @snakebites-and-ink , @whumpsday , @kixngiggles ,

@echo-goes-aaa , @whumpcateyes , @clickerflight , @sodacreampuff , @starfields08000

[every-sanji]

[souji-upseta]

honestly andrew hussie is an absolutely brilliant visual storyteller. and just a brilliant artist overall. psycholonials is inspiring me to get back on the horse and draw again and go apeshit and experiment with color and composition and environment. just knowing what to use and when and how to balance what assets takes a lot of skill. people really don't give them enough credit. they're also amazing at transitions and animation.

keep in mind, this is a game where the characters often look like this:

and that most of the backgrounds are pixellated jpgs of either google earth satellite images of nantucket island, or the finest that google images has to offer. trust me—it works. and i stand by their philosophy about quick turnover 100%, because this game still manages to be god. damn. STUNNING. when it needs to be.

and appropriately crude and inscrutable when, say, what's being depicted is a pot full of boozy vomit on top of week-old leftover kraft mac and cheese, pfffft.

what's also brilliant is how unafraid they are to create visuals that are really fucking stupid. is that brilliant, or is it also just stupid? idk. i love it, either way.

[seraphimankh]

THE CLIFFHANGER OMG??? Do you know how many days/weeks it might be until the next chapter?

Tomorrow ;)

[july-19th-club]

forced myself to finish this book even though by the last hundred pages or so all i was doing was picking apart the post-catholicism of it all. bc i feel like it's important to read shit you don't gel with . just because. even though the whole way through i was like they HAVE to prove it's not real. they HAVE to. so not the point of any of it but i was desperate for them to Find The Body etc. and of course instead they have mystical time travel experiences and all that because that is the kind of book the actual star is but i was desperate for them to realize that the star you see is the actual star. and then it wasn't

[bi-bats]

Jason barely hears Dick. Whatever sleep he was hoping to get is obviously out the fucking window, just like he’s about to be. He abandons his bed, snatching up the armor of the suit he stripped out of less than ten minutes ago.

Fuck the time. Fuck the sunlight. Tim is out there.

“Maybe we can find it,” Jason says, half to Dick and half to himself. “We need to figure out what it was, at least. Meet me at the cave.”

“The cave?” he hears Dick ask, just as he presses end.

Jason is equally surprised to find that he doesn’t care about going there. Normally he has to be dragged.

Then again, the only person who ever managed to drag him there has been dead for four months.

Presumed dead, he corrects in his head as he yanks his boots on and slams the window open.

He’s going to fix this.

-

Jaytimweek day 6 is up!! Prompt: time shenanigans

[fiepige]

Heyo chapter 2 is here!

Summary:

“HOLY SH-” Miles and Gwen simultaneously turned to cover Pav’s mouth so as to not alert the creature in the middle of the carnage below them. The creature either didn’t hear him or it was too preoccupied with whatever it was doing. To his regret Miles soon realized what that was, as another wet snapping noise broke the silence once more. The creature was crouched down on all fours over what Miles assumed was the body of an officer, though it was so mutilated that it was hard to tell for sure. Its head was buried into the chest of the body beneath it, another wet snapping noise emerging as it pulled out a couple of ribs between its bloodied jaws... Or The Spider-Gang goes looking for Hobie. They don’t like what they find.

We finally get to meet the dude that gave me the motivation to write this fic in the first place!

[duck-newton]

New chapter!!! Ned’s turn

[aza-trash-can]

Hehe

Hehehe

A fic idea has grown

[draftingtides]

kind of nuts how sometimes i'll write more in a week than i have in an entire month

[loganhowlettshousewife]

animal - masterlist

logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: a man with no memories and the instincts of an animal finds his place in your home, and in your heart (it’s feral!logan)

warnings: non-sexual nudity, swearing, some sexual thoughts and mentions of sex, mentions of blood, angst, drinking/alcohol, violence, killing, smoking cigars, smut (in chapter 6), oral (fem!receiving), unprotected piv, pregnancy (in the epilogue) warnings will be added along with chapters

not all facts about reader may apply to you. i tried to keep it vague enough so you can insert yourself into the story, but writing a character requires knowing their personality, so it is impossible for this to fit everyone.

chapter 1: in which you meet logan

chapter 2: in which your relationship deepens and he speaks to you for the first time

chapter 2.5: an interlude in logan’s pov

chapter 3: in which you and logan share your first kiss

chapter 4: in which logan starts to regain his memories

chapter 5: in which you and logan start to patch things up

chapter 5.5: an introspection in logan’s pov

chapter 6: in which you and logan go all the way for the first time (smut)

epilogue: in which you’re pregnant and logan’s obsessed

bonus headcanons!

lazy mornings and the proposal

taking control

drabbles

feral!logan: the original drabble that started it all

feral!reader: what if reader also had feral traits?

more chapters and drabbles may be added… feel free to send requests!

taglist: @mystiquesvendetta @raeinyourdreams @babey-fruit-bat @meetmypointlessaddiction @kneelforloki @deaky-with-a-c @hypermarvellove @littlepeanut03 @the-ruler-of-death @aliengutzstuff @misscrissfemmefatale @mynamesstevenwithav @teaganthemorningstar @blackkatzz @leryg0 @fries11 @forksloree @i5uckersblog @dragovegogrimborn @quillycrow @melday0105 @just-a-little-cellist @scorpiosaintt @akasha157-blog @insanesosciopath @eridektbh @trickstergabriel69 @lord-bingus666 @a-leg-without-fear

[infamous-if]

Dec ✮ 12 ✮ 2024 – update

Part of me hates doing these mostly because it's a whole lotta nothing and me just repeating everything I said the last update (lol) but I do like doing it because I like keeping people updated, even if it's a non-update. I may sound like a broken record (pun not intended) but I know a lot of people don't catch my updates every time so it's nice to just keep people informed yk yk

✮ — Part 2 + rewrite

Fun fact: I had written an entire essay about my excitement for the rewrite and chapter 3 and beyond but it got too long!

It boiled down to me wondering why I'm so excited for this rewrite and realizing it's because I feel comfortable enough to approach it with complete creative freedom. I wrote the first iteration of the demo with the constant worries swimming in my head like "I hope people understand what I'm trying to say here" and "I hope this situation is being read the way I intended for it to be read." And I think I sort of had those thoughts tenfold while writing Part 2. If you paid attention, you can probably see where I was trying to shut down certain discussions in the narrative lmao

Recently I had a tiny epiphany and reminded myself that it's not always about what I intend to write, but what is being understood by each reader. And yes this is basic writing 101 but let me have this moment of clarity okay. Embracing that means I can proceed with Infamous without holding back and sticking to my guns in regards to what I want for this story aka I'm just going to write what I write and like....not worry about the rest you feel (while of course integrating the common critiques and suggestions and improving on the things Infamous falls short in—I am not Shakespeare lmao)

ANYWAY my point is that I'm excited to fix up the demo !!! and just go back to it with complete confidence in myself and write whatever the heck feels right to me (and write the rest of the story lolol) and return with a better story than I have now for everyone!!

✮ — December will be for

planning what I'm going to improve and squeezing that in a reworked outline so it can flow much better narratively.

Outlining Chapter 3 and hopefully have the bare bones first draft drafted up which is mostly just be writing blocks of descriptions

I'm not sure I'll have anything substantial to justify looking for beta testers so soon yet but maybe!

work on my spice writing babey writing/reading spice makes me actually physically recoil but im determined to get better! which reminds me to finish the 6k follower gifts!

And also take a small breather because I am moving!

✮ — Patreon

I've already mentioned this on Patreon and a few times on here, but I do want to reiterate that Patreon content is coming out in bulk this month, in case anyone was wondering why I'm not posting as frequently. The content is still the same in terms of the quantity, it just won't be released every few days! thank you guys for being understanding of that <3

✮ —

My activity has is decreasing little by little due to my move but I do read every question and try to at least answer one question a day. I get quite a few mentions lately so I have to sort through those since I do get tagged in things, but I miss them due to my notifications. Usually I hope for the best and hope tracking the tag puts it on my dashboard <3 im not ignoring anyone!

That's all for now! Hope everyone has a happy December and Happy Holidays!

[ailishmaurafiction]

Escaping the dungeon is their clear goal, but first Thesa (the ex-paladin Witch) and her girlfriend? lover? domme? demoness will need to cross through a floor with an out-of-place theme: Candy! Will they make it through in tact or are they going to need a trip to the dentist when this is all done?

The next chapter of Paladin to Witch is the highest production value yet!

3 new monsters with art by Botjira!

A map I made in Dungeon Scrawl!

And the start of some silly nonsense!

Goes live: Tuesday, December 17 @ 11:00am PDT

Story summary and publishing details under the cut:

Indebted to the very demoness she was sent to kill, Thesa questions everything she’s ever known, bonds with the sexy [High Devil] Merijest, and practices her interpersonal skills. Can she help Merijest rebuild her army before it's too late?

Includes:

- Slow-ish burn GL romance

- [System]-lite LitRPG about two characters accustomed to life in a video-gamey world

- Steamy tension (no explicit sex scenes, mostly implications and tension)

- A reverse dungeon-crawl from the bottom of a kaiju-sized mimic

- An ex-Paladin trying her best not to stare at a casually nude demoness

- Weird monsters from the mind of a maniac author

- Very infrequent curse words. I counted 8 times in the first volume (45k+ words).

- Religious trauma. This one is especially going to appeal to the Catholic and Ex-Catholic girlies out there. Nobody does angst like we do, babey! (Nothing inside is strictly allegorical of any religion, but the sensibilities are definitely informed by a Catholic milieu.)

Updates Tuesdays at 11:00am PDT

Chapters hover around 1-2k words each

Cover and monster art by botjira

[siilvan]

EATING THIS FIC UP EVEN THO I’VE ALREADY READ IT TWICE

*cracks knuckles* totally not giving this a full review because it includes my oc…

She will recognise those eyes anywhere. Bright blue innocent puppy eyes that she sees almost everyday.

The way to identify a MacTavish: 🧿🧿

Petra wonders if she is by any chance related to Sergeant Johnny “Soap” MacTavish. The resemblance is way too strong to be just sharing the same surname.

*gaslighting my own oc* no yeah petra you’re crazy, totally no relation there, it’s just a coincidence 🤨

Cryptic smile creeped onto Price’s face.

you 🤝 me -> cryptic price LMAO

Price stood proudly on the side, looking on like a father who is attending his daughter’s prize giving ceremony.

Price: So, this is Freya, my youngest daughter… and this is Mylène, my oldest daughter… you two already know Farah, my middle daughter…

Petra slowly warms up to the shy Scottish girl.

Big sis mode: activated. 💪

My previous hand… I mean superior.” Startled, Mini’s eyes looked everywhere but Petra’s eyes as she tried to find an explanation of her inability.

Petra’s just “🤨” for the rest of the day

Petra still couldn’t stop worrying about the shy medic she had come to care for like a little sister.

*sobbing into pillow* so true…

“Are you sure?” Petra questioned again as she narrowed her eyes, noticing a visible strain on Mini’s face every time she tried to extend her left arm.

Petra’s spider sense going off… except her spider sense is specifically for stubborn prone-to-injury medics assigned to her care 🫡

She is quite sure Mini could stand up for herself,but if any of the soldiers dares to lie a finger on the medic

—she’ll be framing their severed heads on her wall. Big sis doesn’t mess around 😤

“That is the fate she has to bear.”

Petra’s about to pull a Kratos and kill fate lmao

“When the fortune rises high, it will have to be lowered. When someone takes all the good fortune, someone has to bear the leftover misfortune.” Mini commented, not giving any more explanation.

She’s adding this to her list of reasons to fight God for Mini’s sake 😭

the full meaning of it comes hitting Petra hard after a twist of fate event.

oh surely it can’t be THAT bad—

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY SHE HAS GONE MISSING?!!”

—GODDAMN IT MINI

"Hmmm? You? I see you everyday." Mini blinked a few times as she turned her attention back towards Petra.

this still made me giggle 😭

“She ducked behind the wall as I was trying to cover her, I swear! And.. I lost track of her afterwards…” the soldier’s voice trailed off

this dude is gonna end up on petra’s (and soap… ghost… price… gaz…) hit list

Soap spoke up, “Would we need to notify the agency…”

fuck mi6, me and my homies (petra) hate mi6…

“I remember they have placed a tracker on her

tracking her like a dog 😭😭

“Lady Fortuna has gone missing. And we need your help.”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

also love that you included the silly little story that i wrote as a joke at the end LMAO

Lady Fortuna

Summary : Story of how Lieutenant Mylène Scholten de Ridder. a.k.a call sign "Petra" comes to know a strange new medic, Freya "Mini" MacTavish and her strange ability.

Pairing : None at moment.

NOTE: This is pretty much a self indulgent, crossover fic with @siilvan's OC Petra/Mylène Scholten de Ridder. we been chatting away for awhile how much fun it will be mushing these two in the same universe. so we decided to write a fic each of their adventures and daily life with taskforce 141 :)

Warning: Minors/Under 18s Do not interact. M rated. Talks of violence.

Petra stares at the photo in front of her. 

She will recognise those eyes anywhere. Bright blue innocent puppy eyes that she sees almost everyday. 

Petra quickly glanced at the name on the recruit file. Freya MacTavish?  Petra wonders if she is by any chance related to Sergeant Johnny “Soap” MacTavish. The resemblance is way too strong to be just sharing the same surname. 

Only difference is she can sense the innocence behind determined round orbs, no traces of hardlines on her face, untainted by the massacre and killing of the battlefield. 

Not the face of a soldier. 

“Who’s this?”

“Your new medical officer. Combat medic to be precise.” Price replied as he sat on the couch, cup of coffee in hand. “You were requesting for additional medical officers aren’t you? I have found you the best candidate.” 

Petra frowned. Quickly flipping through the fitness and weapon training scores. “She is just a Corporal! She barely passed the minimum requirement! How did she even get selected?”

Flipping through more pages, most of them have a large print of “confidential” or “top secret” word strike through the pages, with half of the pages censored, making it unreadable. 

Who is this woman? 

Cryptic smile creeped onto Price’s face. “There was a lot of bureaucratic bullshit I had to overhaul and pull a lot of favours to get her in.” Price sighed as lean back in the chair. “Trust me on this. You would not be disappointed with her ability.” Price commented. “Comes with MI6 and  CIA’s validation.”  

Why would the Americans be involved with a low rank British soldier? But Price has no intention of explaining it any further. Draining the rest of this coffee, he left the room, but not  without dropping more mysterious words;

“Do not underestimate the power of Fortuna Victrix.”

“Corporal Freya MacTavish, reporting for duty, ma’am.”  The bright-eyed corporal saluted Petra as Price stood proudly on the side, looking on like a father who is attending his daughter’s prize giving ceremony. 

“So this is the newbie you want me to take in Captain?” Petra’s eyebrow raised as she observed the nervous corporal, who is currently trying hard not to fidget under her scrutinising glance. Price nodded. 

“Well Corporal..”

“Please. Call me Mini.” Freya smiled shyly. “I know I am not much of a soldier…” 

“So you are the Mini that Soap always goes on about.” Petra mused.  

“I hope he hasn’t mentioned any embarrassing childhood story. My brother has also told me a lot of stories about you.” Mini commented sheepishly. 

“ Oh? Stories about how I always give him an earful when he always somehow injures himself with the simplest task??” 

“That too. But that’s him, he is always running into troubles ever since he was young.” Mini laughed, “I always ended up being the one playing nurse to him.” 

“Sounds like he hasn’t changed a bit for the last twenty plus years then.” Petra chuckled. 

“Not a bit. I am still the one chasing his butt looking after him. My duty as his little sister.” 

Despite her initial doubt, Petra slowly warms up to the shy Scottish girl. 

The fierce determination and ability to focus on the task at hand was one of her virtues. She was gentle and the infinite patience with her patient, the smile that would brighten up even the most miserable person in the room ( aka grumpy Captain Price ) never ceases to amaze her. 

The first time she realise what the true meaning behind Price’s cryptic words was when 

Mini was sent along with the squad as the solo combat medic for a black op. . 

“You know we do not have any other medics we can deploy, Mini is the only one available for duty. Everyone else who is experienced has been sent out. And you,” Price explained as he pointed at Petra, ”We cannot let you out on the field this time round, you have to stay back and command the infirmary.”  

Petra was about to protest again when Mini closed the last box of the supply and gave her a gentle nudge on the shoulder. 

“We will be ok, L.T, don’t you worry. I have Soap for that.” Mini reassured her, as Petra fretted over the rookie’s ability to look after a whole squad all by herself. “I have packed extra supplies, but, if all goes well, I shouldn't have to open it.”

Despite the confidence behind her words, Petras was agitated for days. What if something happens? What if she dies during the op? How would Soap react? 

“She will be Ok. just as long as she isn’t left alone by herself.” Soap replied as Petra relayed her concern one day as they sat down for a meal together. “This isn’t the first time she has been in this situation. She knows how to handle herself.”

Well, if Soap isn’t too worried, she shouldn’t be stressed so much right? Plus, Petra tried to improve her basic survival skills by dragging her onto the shooting range and the dojo for sparring practices, the poor girl just doesn’t seem to be able to improve her abilities any further. 

“They said I should survive if I can hit the target….”  Mini mumbled as she lowered her gun, inspecting her result. It seemed to hit everywhere on the board but the bullseyes. 

“Who’s ‘they’?” Petra frowned, overheard Mini’s muttering. 

“Um. My previous hand… I mean superior.” Startled, Mini’s eyes looked everywhere but Petra’s eyes as she tried to find an explanation of her inability. 

“Well, that might be sufficient for a civilian, but not quite good enough as a soldier. Especially one in the special task force! Come on, again!”  Petra childed. 

Petra still couldn’t stop worrying about the shy medic she had come to care for like a little sister. 

The surprise she got when she walked into the infirmary one morning, finding Mini unpacking all the gears.  

“Any casualties to report?”

“None, L.T. the troop returned without sustaining any injuries.”  Mini reported in a light tone as she finished putting away the last of the unused supply. 

“Are you sure?” Petra questioned again as she narrowed her eyes, noticing a visible strain on Mini’s face every time she tried to extend her left arm. 

“The troops are fine. L.T.” Mini took a deep breath in, not looking at her in the eyes. Petra marched forward, took the box away from her hand, and pulled the left sleeve up. She gave Mini a pointed look. 

“... apart from me.” Mini sighed, finally giving up attempting to conceal her injuries. “It’s nothing major. Just a bruise.”

“ A very large bruise, and possible tear to your ligament. Come on, how did you do this?” Petra frowned. Mini grabbed the box back as she turned away from Petra, replied in a resigned tone, “Blame my own stupidity, I should have watched where I was talking when I got out from the helo.” 

“Why does that sound like a very strange lie, the troops treated you alright?” Petra asked again, trying to chase the truth. She is quite sure Mini could stand up for herself,but if any of the soldiers dares to lie a finger on the medic, the one that is supposed to save their life on the battlefield, they would not only have to face her anger, but the wrath of Captain Price and Sergeant Soap. 

“L.T, I am Ok, they are treating me like a princess. One even tried to ask me out on a date.” Mini smiled but immediately turned into a grimace as she pulled her arm again. “This is normal. I am used to it. It will happen again regardless of what I do.” 

And it happens again, and again. 

Every team she gets sent out, will return with minimal injuries. And the one that sustains the most injuries seems to be the medic herself. Petra is absolutely baffled by the weird occurrences. Raising her concern to Price, all Petra gets as a head shake, and another puzzling response.

“That is the fate she has to bear.” 

Mini becomes a hot favourite amongst the troops. Everyone wants her to be their medic for the duration of their deployment. Not only will they guarantee a high success rate of completing the mission without injuries, and the chance of tasting her famous chocolate cookies that Sergeant Soap always ramble on about so much. 

But Price tried to hold onto Mini tight. At Soap’s request. Keeping her close and safe. 

They all know Mini is too soft for the world of Chaos and bloodshed. 

How and why did she get herself into this world?

“Johnny was never pleased that I tried to follow in his footsteps.” Mini complained one day as they sat in Petra’s room, sharing a bottle of whisky she snuck in and some of her freshly baked chocolate cookies. “He never expected me to worm my way into the special forces with my ability.” 

“You seem to have a knack of luck with keeping the soldiers alive and bringing them back home in one piece. Can’t say so for yourself though.” Petra took a sip of the drink , carefully probing Mini. “ I still don’t know how you can dislocate your shoulder when you were trying to put a bandage on a simple knife wound on Gaz’s arm last time you were deployed with him.” 

“ When the fortune rises high, it will have to be lowered. When someone takes all the good fortune, someone has to bear the leftover misfortune.” Mini commented, not giving any more explanation. A phrase that ingrained into Petra’s mind, and the full meaning of it comes hitting Petra hard after a twist of fate event. 

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY SHE HAS GONE MISSING?!!” Ghost roared into the comm, demanding answer from the other side of the line. 

Petra never saw Ghost showing so much emotion before, letting along losing his cool. 

If not for the gravity of the situation, Petra would have laughed out loud and teased Ghost for finally showing signs of feeling towards Freya. 

"So, I have seen you eyeing a certain lieutenant a bit lately?" Petra teases Mini as she stares at Ghost who is currently sitting on the other end of the table, who is listening in at a conversation between Soap and Gaz. 

"Hmmm? You? I see you everyday." Mini blinked a few times as she turned her attention back towards Petra. 

"Not me!” Petra rolled her eyes as she let out an exasperated sigh.  "Tall..well built.. brooding.. masked lieutenant. Sounds familiar?" 

Mini diverted her eyes, looking away, " I don't know who you are talking about. "  she mumbled, blushing furiously. 

Petra snorted. It baffled her now oblivious that this young woman can be. And also the aforementioned masked Lieutenant. 

There's countless times she has seen  both of them sneaking a glance at each other, thinking there was no one looking. But Petra always catches them. Drives her crazy that both of them are behaving like teenagers, neither of them are willing to make the first move, to take the relationship a step further. And both will furiously deny it when probed and asked. 

Pair of delayed teenagers.

Back to the present. Mini was separated from the group during the chaos and gunfire when they were suddenly ambushed during a routine patrol. The last person that spotted her was the soldier that was assigned to be her escort under the command of the captain. 

“She ducked behind the wall as I was trying to cover her, I swear! And.. I lost track of her afterwards…” the soldier’s voice trailed off, not daring to comment any further, afraid to incite anymore fury from the masked Lieutenant. 

“She cannot be separate from the group. At least ONE person has to be around her at all time” Price warned during one of the pre-mission briefing. “If you value your own life, protect her at all cost.”  

Price grabbed Ghost’s shoulder as he was about to launch into another tirade down the comm.

“Ghost. Enough. Now it’s not the time.” Price reminded Ghost, “ you can reprimand them as much as you can later. But we need to start searching for Mini, before we run out of time.” 

“Captain…” Soap spoke up, “Would we need to notify the agency…” 

“I would rather not get them involved if we can solve the problems ourselves.” Price growled, displeased with the idea with another agency or group coming in to complicate the situation. “I remember they have placed a tracker on her, I still have the code in the encrypted tracker somewhere… back at the base.” Price slammed his fist on the table, angry at his own negligence of not thinking of bringing the code with him. They were too complacent about their situation. Always expecting the mission will be successful, as long as Mini is with them. 

Soap took a breath in as he looked his captain in the eyes. “We have no choice then.” Silence fell in the room. 

Petra looks around the four men in the room. Gaz frowning, you can almost see the gears turning in his brain, Ghost with his skull balaclava still on, expression unreadable, but from the visible rising and falling of his shoulder, Petra could tell he is tense, and trying hard to keep his own emotion in check. 

Price closed his eyes for a moment, before letting out a sigh. Pulling out the laptop, ready to make a call through the secure line. 

“Get me C. matter of great importance.” Price’s low voice echoes in the room. “Tell him it’s regarding one of the agency’s assets.”

The voice on the other side of the line replied, too low for Petra to catch. Price nodded his head, as he leaned back on his heels, waiting for the otherside to reply again.

“Hello, Captain Price. Long time no see. To what do I owe this pleasure?” the male voice on the other line jeered. Petra’s eyebrow twisted slightly at the remark. There must be a bad history between these two. She thought. 

“Lady Fortuna has gone missing. And we need your help.” 

The story that Soap ended up telling Mini about Petra :

“So Ghost was waiting at the church for us, but here’s the thing— I’d just been shot, and Petra had been stabbed. Sounds bad, right?? It gets worse! I found a stim and Petra managed to patch herself up, but the Shadows were everywhere. I managed to find the church, but before I could reach it, one of those eejits knocked me down and tried to kill me! She ended up shooting him and saving my arse, but isn’t that crazy?!” "…you always seem to be getting into trouble…"

[thetomorrowshow]

febuwhump 17 - power instability

EMPIRES SUPERPOWERS AU IS BACK

title: vision, visage, gentile, genteel

fandom: empires smp

this is the first chapter of the esh au sequel. it's back babey

~

It began, as many things do, with a bang.

Nobody knew what it meant. There were people outside, getting ready to head to work, who jumped and cursed and spun around. The noise was considered by some, likely, a firework, or a gunshot, or perhaps some new super on the scene. Perhaps a car malfunctioning, or a tire popping. Whatever it was, it was none of most people's concern, and after a moment of fright, those unsuspecting souls continued on with their days and forgot that it had even happened.

When looked back on, there was no way to know that it was the beginning of the end.

The end of Major, Primary Protector of Empires City.

Or, not the end, exactly.

But with Xornoth dead, and most other villains minor enough to be more of a nuisance than anything (and some, like Mythics, often more friendly with the heroes than with the villains), the city had settled into complacency. The defeat of Xornoth by three very powerful heroes, Major, the Mad King, and the Ocean Queen—and the disappearance of another dangerous super, Solidarity—had led many to believe that the city was going to be safe for quite some time going forward. After all, those three heroes (and the other heroes of the city, such as the Wizard Gem and Pearl) had no plans to leave, and any challengers of their authority were quickly dispatched.

And the end started with a bang.

Or, more precisely, the end started in a small house on a quiet street on the East Side of Empires City, early in the morning, as the once-feared Solidarity whistled a little tune while scrambling eggs, and the Primary Protector of the city stretched his muscles and smiled fondly at his partner.

-

"Eggs are done!" Jimmy, once known as Solidarity, declares as he clicks off the stove.

Scott, also known as Major, Primary Protector of Empires City, finishes the final stretch of his routine before groaning his way to his feet and padding into the kitchen.

"I'm getting too old for this," grumbles Scott, who isn't even thirty, as he pulls a couple of plates out of the cabinet. "Why'd I choose to be a superhero? I could've been an architect, Jimmy. Instead of getting ready to save the world, I could be designing buildings to replace the ones that Mythics destroys."

"Yeah, right," Jimmy scoffs, scooping some eggs onto the plates. "Gays can't do math, there's no way you would've been able to design buildings."

"I literally passed my senior trig class with a C, thank you very much, and Cs get degrees."

Jimmy laughs, handing Scott the plates. Scott sets them down on the counter beside the toaster, into which he slots four pieces of toast.

It's domestic and warm in the kitchen—the stove has just been clicked off, still radiating a gentle heat, which is nice when there's ice in the air and snow on the ground.

Not that Scott minds either of those things. Despite his complaints, he's eager to patrol today. He always feels more energetic when surrounded by the make of his power. And maybe he feels a bit more . . . in control, he supposes. Bigger. More powerful. Almost like he can command the skies—a thought best left for his dreams, far beyond the reach of his power as it is.

It’s a lovely day. Crisp and cold, warm and homey, and Scott can’t fight a smile as he moves toward the table and clicks on the overhead light.

"Nope—" Jimmy cries out behind him, and Scott turns just in time to see the oven window shatter, pieces of tinted glass scattering across the kitchen tiles.

"Sorry, sorry, burned my finger on the stove," Jimmy explains, holding said finger in his other hand. "Took me by surprise, sorry."

"Hand under cold water," Scott instructs, pointing to the sink. As Jimmy hurries over, he continues, "and what's another oven window? Don't cut yourself on the glass, honey, let me get you your shoes—"

Scott heads back into the living room, kicking his yoga mat aside, to find Jimmy's velcro tennis shoes sticking out from under the couch. They have a tray for shoes by the front door, but Jimmy, for some reason, just leaves his shoes strewn about the living room carpet.

"Think the landlord is going to get concerned? This is, like, the fifth oven door we need replaced," Jimmy calls from the kitchen. Scott laughs.

"Well, if you'd stop burning yourself, we wouldn't need five oven doors, would we?"

"At least one of those times I cut my finger, so I'm not sure that the burning is the problem," Jimmy jokes back. "And remember when we had to replace the whole oven because you froze it and it broke? That's arguably worse."

"We really should have been kicked out by now," Scott comments as he reenters the kitchen, shoes in hand.

"Good thing you're rich."

"Good thing you're a gold digger."

The toast pops at the exact same time as Jimmy turns off the sink. Scott hands him his shoes, then steps around him to wash his hands before getting the toast.

"Have you got work today?" Scott asks. Jimmy shakes his head.

"Nah, it's still not doing well," he says. "Jerry has us working fewer hours, trying to make ends meet. He's hoping for a bit of a boom in business with this weather."

"I guess we'll see," Scott says. He sets the plates down on the table with the butter, one right in front of where Jimmy is sitting in his chair, strapping on his shoes, and the other in front of the chair beside it. He sits there, scraping a bit of butter across his toast before tossing back his antidepressants with a bit of water.

Jimmy does the same when he's done with his shoes, then spreads jam onto his toast before loading it up with eggs and shoving it into his mouth. Scott makes a pointed expression of disgust before resolutely ignoring the sin before him.

He's got an hour before his patrol shift properly begins, so that's probably enough time to sweep up the kitchen or wash the dishes. Not that either of those activities take him an hour to complete, but who can blame him for wanting to head out early? He's just itching to get out in the cold, in what is literally his element. It's the first snow of the season, and he's expected to stay inside?

Jimmy, as always, notices. He lays his free hand on Scott's knee (his touch always so gentle) and gives him a smile somehow made cuter by the crumbs on his lips. "You can head out early, if you want. I can—"

BANG!

The whole house rattles. Jimmy's hand tightens on Scott's knee, and for a second Scott feels a hum of power thrum through the air—more intense in his partner than in anyone else that he's ever known—before there's a high-pitched whining and all the lights in the house shut down, the refrigerator's hum whirring to a stop.

They sit there, for a moment, in silence, Jimmy's hand still on Scott's knee, the aftershocks of his power still pulsing from him.

Scott forgets, sometimes, that Jimmy has such magnitudes of power, that he isn't just shattered oven doors and broken dishes. That without even lifting a finger, Jimmy could collapse a building or take the life right out of a person's body.

Then he'll get a wake-up call like this, a reminder that Scott isn't the only (or even the most) dangerous person in the house.

Scott glances over to the microwave to check—never mind, the microwave is dead, no green numbers lit up to tell the time.

The time isn't really important, though.

What on earth could've caused that sound?

Scott's first thought is a gunshot, and he knows Jimmy's is too, by the apprehensive shine of fear in his eyes that Scott can see even through the darkness of their house. A gunshot that loud would have to have come from nearby, of course. . . .

Quickly, quietly, Scott steals to his feet and creeps to the front window in the living room, peering out carefully without disturbing the blinds.

Nothing. No signs of trouble, no screams, no bodies in the street. Just various neighbors poking their heads out their doors, looking around and calling greetings to each other.

Through the window (Scott had cracked it open while stretching to let in the frosty breeze), Scott hears one of them faintly call.

"Did you lot lose power, too?"

Scott grimaces. Jimmy's not going to like that. Sure, Scott can keep their fridge and freezer going until the power gets back on, and Jimmy can bundle up until then, but everyone else is without electricity while their freezers melt and there's nothing they can do about it. As far as he can tell, none of the houses along the street have power—and if the whole street is down, that means the neighborhood is too.

Unfortunately, it is Jimmy's fault, and he's going to want to do what he can to fix it.

Which, as far as Scott can tell, is nothing. So maybe he can just not tell him about it. Maybe he won't notice that the entire grid is out.

"All clear," Scott calls back to the dining room. "Any idea what that was?"

Silence from the dining room. After a moment, Jimmy calls, voice shaking,

"Sorry. Um, no."

Scott frowns. "Jimmy? You okay?"

Another moment of silence, followed by a shuddering sigh. "Yeah," Jimmy says unconvincingly. "I'm good."

Scott pulls the window shut, blinds clanking against the glass, then returns to the dining table.

Jimmy's still sitting where he left him, hands clenched around his trouser legs. He's staring resolutely at a spot on the table, eyes just the slightest bit wet.

"Jimmy? Baby?" Scott tries, sitting down beside him and taking his hand. Jimmy looks over at him, face pale, eyes resolute.

"I'm good," Jimmy says again, squeezing his hand. "Thank you."

He's not good, that's easy to see. But he's okay, and some days, that's all Scott can ask for.

It's been over two years since Xornoth was killed, and Jimmy will never be entirely better. He'll likely always need his hip brace or cane, he'll always need his medication, he'll always have trauma responses. But Scott isn't ever going to judge him for any of it.

That's who Jimmy is. And Scott loves him for it.

And as he sits there, holding Jimmy's left hand, he finds his mind wandering to where it so often does as he gazes at the fourth finger on Jimmy's hand.

Scott doesn't even have a ring yet, so he pushes the thought out of his mind with a little reluctance. First he has to discuss the idea of marriage with Jimmy, then he has to follow up with Lizzie, and then he has to subtly get Jimmy's ring size. . . .

Well. Baby steps, and all that.

They finish eating like that, Jimmy leaning just slightly into Scott's shoulder. Right as they finish, the refrigerator starts humming and the lights flick back on, suddenly enough that Scott has to blink a couple of times to clear the floating clouds of color in front of his vision. The various clocks in the kitchen appliances flash a bright 12:00.

"Power's back," Scott says, less as an actual observation and more as just something to say, and gets up to carry their dishes to the sink, skirting around the glass on the floor. "Okay for me to head out?"

"Yeah, I've got Norman. Don't worry about me," Jimmy says, standing as well. He retrieves the broom from where it leans in the corner of the kitchen. "Speaking of Norman, I'd better get this glass cleaned up before he runs his little feet through it. Have a good day at work!"

"I'll save the world as usual," says Scott. He kisses Jimmy on his way by (Jimmy hums contentedly, all signs of his prior distress gone but for a wrinkle between his eyebrows), grabs his backpack at the door, and heads out into the frigid air of the first snow of the season.

Where the loud noise originated from is not far from where Scott exits his home, just two streets away. Not that he even thinks to go over there, instead heading for the main section of the city, assuming it would be at the hub of most activity. That's where most unidentified sounds originate from, after all.

And as Scott's day continues, he forgets about the sound, just as most others do.

Two streets away from Major's house, popular villain Mythics flees, eyes wild and breath gasping, a swirling portal crackling behind him.

-

It's possibly the best day of the year so far, weather-wise. The snow is actively falling, the streets are sparkling with ice, and Scott has never felt better.

Well, he's probably felt better. It snows every winter, after all.

But it feels so good after summer to finally return to what he is. This is the stuff Scott's made of, this is what gives him life.

It's glorious.

Scott lets out a little whoop as he slides part-way up the side of a building, the ice that already frosts its windows spreading spontaneously to the walls to give him the slipperiness he needs.

The people love it, too. Lizzie takes particular delight in sending him video compilations of his greatest tricks and most impressive fights, and the comments are always full of adoration for his skills and admiration of his power and creations.

So maybe, as he skates down a frozen sidewalk of his own creation (which he unfreezes behind him, because he knows not everyone has the skill to navigate such a path and would probably prefer a normal sidewalk), he adds a couple of flourishes to his act.

There's a group of kids at recess by Empires North Elementary School, and Scott stops to start a snowball fight before continuing on, frosting the windows of every classroom with beautiful little fractals.

He signs his name in frost as intricately as possible on the hood of someone's car, gives them a cheery wave when they run out of the store to take a picture.

He makes tiny snowmen to line the bus stop with just a couple of waves of his hand, then can't stop laughing when a little girl at the stop with her father cheers for 'Elsa'.

Maybe all of the villains of the city took one look out their windows and decided no, thank you, because there’s zero disturbances all morning. Scott doesn’t mind. He doesn’t think he could ever get bored in weather like this.

By the time it hits lunchtime, Scott's cheeks are red from the wind and hurt from smiling. He slides into a small deli and picks out a sandwich and a drink, the latter of which freezes over in his hands quite nicely.

"Major!" the deliman (and owner of the deli, if his nametag is true) exclaims, adding lettuce to his sandwich. "Keeping us all safe?"

"As best I can," Scott smiles. "How are you doing, Felix?"

Felix, the owner, chuckles, going a bit red in the face. "Never better, Major. You can have this free, all right?"

Scott chuckles as well, setting the drink on the counter and digging out his wallet. "I want to pay, don't even worry about it."

"No, no, nothing for you!"

"Come on, Felix, I'm—"

BANG!

Scott follows his first instinct—protection. Within milliseconds, there's an ice wall surrounding Felix, and another one shoots up in front of the large deli windows and door. It's instant, and Scott's never moved so fast in his life but the ice is there and time itself seems to freeze.

Everything is still for a timeless moment, snowflakes slowly swirling around Scott's masked face.

And somehow, he's the ice that lines the streets and the pipes below that travel all the way through the city and the icicles hanging from every roof and the frost paving windshields, and Scott knows that something has gone very wrong.

He's never felt this powerful in his life—nor this overwhelmed. There's so much stimulus, so many far away nerves jangling and he can't focus on the snowflake in front of him when he can see every fractal of it—

"Major!"

With a herculean effort, Scott manages to pull himself back into his body from where the tendrils of his mind have reached all the way across the city. He blinks, looks around.

The entire deli is frozen over.

Two customers are frantically trying to scrape some ice off the shelves, another is kicking at ice on the door, and Felix—

Scott can't even see Felix, a thick wall of ice surrounding him.

Scott panics. He can’t help it—his breathing quickens, his mind races, he starts feeling distantly dizzy at the idea that he might've hurt people, he might've broken something—and he notices, as his frozen fingers shake, that the frost is growing with every moment, slowly spreading to the floor and up the walls.

He hasn't been this out of control since—since he was a teenager, since before he was trained, even, since before he was a hero—

He can fix this. He knows how to fix it. Scott shuts the panic and fear out of his head as best he can and thinks back to his early days of training, back to when Aeor had taught him how to properly channel his emotions for incidents like this.

He hasn't had to consciously control himself in years.

He's never felt like this before.

He takes a slow, deep breath, letting the frenetic energy travel from his brain and heart and out through his finger tips, where frost grows into icicles. Then, with all the control and might that he can muster, Scott pulls, reeling it all back with a steady grip.

Slower than he would've liked, the ice and frost recede, all pulled back into thin air bit by bit. Scott breathes with it, in and out, until the ice walls crack and slide apart and the frost is entirely gone.

He breathes, and with it, his mind begins to settle. He’s all right. Everything’s all right.

Each of the other customers thanks Scott, casting glances both confused and a little fearful in his direction. Felix, luckily, is fine, if a little shocked. Scott subtly slides more than triple the worth of the sandwich into his hand, apologizes for the disruption, and heads out, slightly soggy lunch under his arm.

And again, he can't find the source of such a loud sound—because he remembers, suddenly, that the reason he'd headed out from his house so early this morning wasn't to see the snow, but to find the source of that first sound.

There's almost nobody out on the street, no gun or powered individual or blown transformer that could've caused it. In fact, the only other people outside are people who have stepped out of offices and shops to look around.

Scott gives them a cheery wave when they turn to him, one woman shouting a question in Spanish. "Nothing to worry about," he calls, assuming she'd asked about the sound. "Have a good one!"

"Hey, Major!" a young man waves. "How's your day been?"

"It’s been great!" Scott smiles his best winning smile. "Gotta go—heard about something on the other side of town!"

He didn't hear about anything, and he usually feels pretty good about talking to citizens, but he does feel kind of awkward standing in front of a place he just froze, like a guilty child fleeing the scene of a mess. And he doesn't even have a dog to blame it on.

What had even happened back there?

Scott had—he'd been scared. He'd thrown up normal protections, in case someone was trying to shoot up the deli and had somehow missed the bright blue superhero standing there, and then—

Then he'd felt so much.

Scott's not entirely sure what happened—one moment he'd been fine, totally in control of himself and his actions, and the next he was frost crunching under a pedestrian's foot and an icicle dripping from a gutter and the tiniest snowflake blown about by the wind.

It was nothing like he'd ever felt before.

It was terrifying.

It was exhilarating.

It was—oh, look, there's Joel!

"King!"

Scott spots Joel from across the intersection that he's currently sliding through, and pulls up a ridge of ice to give himself a sharp turn. He slides up to where Joel is leaning against the walk sign pole, waiting to cross the road.

Joel nods to him, eyes looking somewhat preoccupied behind his mask. "Hey, Major. When's your shift end?"

Scott shrugs, pulling his sandwich from where it's tucked under his arm. He ought to eat it sooner rather than later. "Dunno. I was hoping to stay out all day, if possible."

Joel raises a brow. "In the doghouse?"

"Of course not, the weather's just nice."

Joel chuckles. "Yeah, I'd guess so. You and Jimmy never fight, do you?"

"Well, do you and Lizzie?" asks Scott.

"Nope," Joel says proudly. "That's why we got married. We never fight."

Which is a lie, of course. Just last week, when he and Jimmy went over to Lizzie and Joel's apartment for dinner, Lizzie had thrown rolls at Joel all evening and Joel had implied some rather unkind things about her pet rabbit.

Scott doesn't bother calling him out on the lie. Joel's right about one thing—he and Jimmy almost never fight, and when they do, they resolve it quickly and schedule a couple's therapy appointment to make sure there are no lingering issues.

They're perfect for each other.

And once again, Scott's mind turns to the rather pleasant idea of a gold band around Jimmy's finger.

"You two really ought to tie the knot soon," Joel says casually, and Scott can't help but sputter.

"I—were you reading my mind?" he accuses.

"No?" Joel says, voice turning from confused to gleeful in that one syllable. "I—ooooh! You're thinking about it, that means it's practically official! So—are you thinking something big, whole city invited, those nice ice sculpture things like in movies—"

"Sorry, Major? Mad King? Can we get a picture?"

Joel shuts up—thankfully, otherwise Scott would've frozen his tongue in his mouth—and gestures for the two women to stand between him and Scott.

Scott smiles into the phone, and can't help but notice that there's frost on his own cheeks.

That's . . . that's a little odd. He isn't usually radiating cold, not unless he's angry. Maybe it's the high spirits he's in from the weather. That explains it, doesn't it?

Still, when the women leave, Scott scrubs at his face, hoping to warm his cheeks up enough that none of his frigidity can find a home there.

"Yeah, noticed you looked a little chillier than normal," Joel comments. "All good?"

Well, he did sort of lose control during some strange out of body experience earlier. But that's kind of embarrassing, and it was a one-off, so Scott doesn't mention it. He doesn't need Joel to tease him about it, nor tell every hero who'll listen.

He just nods, shrugs, and takes a bite of his sandwich.

-

Jimmy's alone in the house when it happens again, curled up on the couch with his blanket over his shoulders and his LinkedIn profile pulled up on his phone.

He doesn't really know what happens.

All he knows is that there's a loud noise and he doesn’t do well with loud noises, but luckily he manages to keep a hold on his powers this time.

Or, he thinks he does.

Because in the same moment as the BANG, Jimmy feels so much.

And it feels good.

[abswrites]

sweat, chapter two - spencer reid

summary: (musician!spencer) spencer reid is living the life he always planned. studying music at his dream college, playing shows at the local dive bar, and coming home to his childhood friend-turned-lover every night. could all of that really begin to crumble under the weight of a few harsh words?

✧˖° author's note: hehehe part two babey!! thank you all for the love on chapter one - it means the world! please enjoy this slow dip into the world of angst and shitty communication between reader and spencer. spoiler alert: it's going to get worse!

✧˖° contents/tw: drinking, smoking, allusions of smut, insecure reader who isn't great at communicating (bc who is at 18?), fem!reader, college!reader, college!spencer, avery being a douchebag (what else is new), lightly proofread

✧˖° words: 3.9k

read chapter one here!!

September 12th, 2009 - Los Angeles, California

It’d been a month since Spencer and I loaded up our cars, completely filling the small, dingy interiors with boxes of books and blankets and minifridges and memories.

It was only a four-hour drive, but we’d decided to make a whole weekend of it. We stopped at gas stations, cheersing our slushies and churros. We picnicked at Death Valley, nibbling on turkey sandwiches as the sun went down over the sandy hills and valleys, the sky turning a miraculous purpley-pink as we not-so-subtly scooted closer to one another. We spent the night in a shitty motel room with less-than desirable stains on the futon. But we didn’t sleep much. 

Looking back, it was all a blur. A sweaty, awkward, endearing blur. 

Fiery and possessive kisses, flushed foreheads bumping against headboards, long and bony fingers beneath waistbands, goosebumps on bare skin, wide eyes and spread legs. 

Neither of us quite knew what we were doing, but with Spencer, it all felt good. Right. Safe. 

That first month on campus flew by. 

Every weekday was a blur full of textbooks and tea, laughing with new friends and holding back homesickness. So little time had passed, but so much had changed.

Weekends, on the other hand, stayed fresh in my mind. 

I don’t know how he did it - especially so quickly - but Spencer managed to find a group of other music students to play with him. Even more unexpectedly, he managed to sweet talk the owner of a local dive bar, The Fizz, into letting them play every other Saturday.

Everytime I stepped into the bar, it was as if it was my first time there. The smell of sweat and spilled beer attacked my nostrils first, but the soft twinkle of multicolored Christmas lights above the bar made it a little less intense. Crowds of all sorts shuffled through the doors at 9 without fail. Hipsters, underage sorority girls, emos, frat boys that reminded me a little too much of Avery, even a few professors from time to time. 

But it seemed with every show Spencer and his gaggle of musicians played, more and more people would show up.

“That was amazing!” I squealed, pressing a kiss to Spencer’s cheek as he made his way off of the stage. His skin was sweaty, salty. But I didn’t mind the taste when his smile was so big.

“That was our best show by far.” He smiled, wrapping an arm around my shoulder as his eyes widened like an excited schoolboy who’d just been gifted a puppy.

I loved seeing him like this. His eyes full of joy and contentment, his fingers calloused and red from picking each guitar string. He looked the most like himself.

“You were great, Spence.” I smiled as the rest of the band made their way off stage. All in all,  I liked them.

Well, most of them.

Of course, in true Avery fashion, he just had to “move closer to the LA music scene” shortly after Spencer and I did. When I first heard the news, it took every ounce of self-control to keep from rolling my eyes. Even now, Spencer idolized him. And even now, Avery continued to be a complete fucking tool. 

“God, five seconds offstage and you’re already sucking face? Get a room.” He scoffed.

My eyes narrowed, locking onto Avery’s. I pressed another kiss to Spencer’s lips.

Avery rolled his eyes. 

“You enjoy the show, (y/n)?” He asked one of his brows twitching upward as a cocky smile spread across his face. He was trying to get a rise out of me. 

“I liked Spencer’s part.” I said, my voice flat and devoid of any enthusiasm. Ever since Spencer and I had gotten together, Avery was even more insufferable than before. Constant remarks about us holding hands, cuddling in our apartment,  kissing goodbye. It was exhausting. 

But what infuriated me the most was his quips about our relationship “ruining Spencer’s street-cred.”

“The best bands ooze sex appeal. You can’t be a player onstage and a total lover-boy off it.” He’d say, eyeing Spencer with a know-it-all look. 

Spencer would always laugh it off, shaking his head as he took a sip from his beer.

At first, it didn’t bother me.

But as the weeks went on, as the shows grew more and more popular, I couldn’t stop myself from doing what I do best: overthinking.

Why doesn’t he ever say anything?

Although the thought was popping up more regularly, I never let it linger. 

“Why don’t we get some drinks?” Spencer asked  eager to end the tension between Avery and I. 

“Atta boy,” Avery smirked, sloppily throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Who knew Spencer was fun?”

I’ll admit, Spencer was fun when he drank. He’d dance, he’d crack stupid jokes, he’d slyly squeeze my ass under the table. He was like something out of an 80s coming-of-age-movie; the shy, uptight nerd finally letting loose.

But it was rare Spencer actually got like that. Normally, he’d have a beer -  maybe two -  if he was feeling wild. 

“Just water, please.” He gestured to the bartender.  “You want anything, babe?”

I wasn’t sure if it was the secondhand excitement from Spencer or the crowd full of other rowdy college kids, but I wanted to have some fun. More fun than water would provide, anyway. 

“I don’t know what to get.” I admitted.

Spencer smiled down at me.

“You like Shirley Temples, right?” 

I nodded.

“Just ask for a Dirty Shirley. You’ll like it, I promise.” Spencer said, gesturing to the bartender again. 

“A dirty Shirley, please.” I said, setting a few dollar bills on the bar. 

While Spencer and I usually only went out on nights that he was performing, it’s not like either of us were completely opposed to drinking. We were college freshmen, after all.

Granted, my complete and utter lack of drinking and partying in high school meant that one drink did a lot more to me than it did to Spencer. He never seemed to suffer from the side effects of overdoing it. Sure, maybe he’d have to take a tylenol and a long shower the next morning. But after that, it was as if nothing happened.

“I guess I’m just a heavyweight.” He’d say with a chuckle, stepping out of the shower,  a towel wrapped loosely around his waist as I’d be dry heaving into the empty porcelain bowl of the toilet. 

A  gruff countryman that clearly wasn’t happy to be serving these loud, overexcited college kids - handed us our drinks in plastic cups. 

After all, it was the classiest dive bar near campus. 

“Salud.” He raised his glass, tapping the plastic rim against mine. 

“To us.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The next three hours were a blur. A fruity, fizzy, red, ice cold blur. Drops of sweat slid delicately off the side of the cup and onto my fingers each time I raised it to my lips. 

“Hey, baby.”  I said, drawing out the “y” as I stumbled  into the booth next to him, spilling some of my drink on the cheap vinyl seat. 

“Hey, baby,” He chuckled, clearly a little surprised by my demeanor. “Having fun, I see.”

Normally, I was always a little hesitant when it came to PDA. But tonight, I wanted nothing more than to cling onto him the way a koala holds onto a eucalyptus branch. 

“Mmmmhmmmm,” I purred, my lips pursed and words slurred and slow. “But my drink is almost gone.” 

His eyes darted down to the plastic cup full of ice and the tiniest bit of red liquid at the bottom.

“I think it’s gone.”

I looked down at the cup, my face falling dramatically. 

“Aw, man.”

He laughed. 

“You want another one?”

Normally, this would be the hour I’d start to grow sleepy, my eyelids drooping as I eyed the clock atop the bar shelves. 

But tonight, I felt electrified.

I wanted to dance. I wanted to sing. 

I wanted to drag Spencer by the belt loop into the bathroom, get on my knees, unzip his jeans and–

“Did you hear me?” He chuckled, tucking a loose strand of my hair behind my ear.

“What’d you say?” I asked loudly, my lips mere inches from his ear. The music just seemed so loud as the bass sent subtle vibrations through my body. I didn’t notice the fact that one of the straps of my tank top had slid off my shoulder until Spencer’s nimble fingers put it back in place. 

“I said do you want another one?”

My eyes lit up as if it was the first time he asked the question. 

“Yes, pleeeaase.”

“Alright baby, I’ll be back.” He said, pressing a chaste kiss to my cheek as he slid out of the booth.

Avery sat across from us, a perky blonde whose name I didn’t know leaning against his shoulder. A cigarette hung from his lips, the smoke adding to the hazy atmosphere of the bar. He wasn’t supposed to smoke inside. But it was Avery, after all. What else did I expect?

“Hey, Spence,” He called. Spencer turned around.

“Buy us a round of shots, too.” 

Spencer nodded, making his way through the crowd to the bar.

“We’re doing shots?” I interjected, my eyes lighting up in excitement. Yay! Drinks! 

As soon as Spencer stepped out of earshot, pushing politely through the crowd, Avery’s smirk fell and his eyes narrowed.

“Not you, You’re a mess and it’s only midnight.”

“I am not!” My brows furrowed defensively. Sure, was I a little sloppy? Maybe. But I was still upright. I was still competent. I didn’t feel sick. 

Plus, I wasn’t driving. That had to count for something. 

This time, both Avery and the blonde laughed.

“You’re wasted.” He said, eyeing me contemptuously. “And you’re ruining any chance Spencer has to let loose.”

For a second, I fell silent, only the sound of the overwhelming music filling the air. 

“What?”

“He’s too worried about making sure you don’t get too wasted to have any fun.”

Normally, I’d shake my head or roll my eyes, completely ignoring whatever snide comment he hurled my way. But this time was different. I felt my palms start to sweat. All I wanted to do was hide. Or be sober. Or both. 

Was he being serious?

“You’re so full of shit.” I said, the words coming out with more of a slur than I would have liked. 

The blonde laughed as Avery shook his head in annoyance, grabbing the cigarette from his lips.

“Babes,” She said in a thick valley girl accent as she took a long drag, blowing smoke in my face. She must be from here. The glowing tan, blonde extensions, and Playboy bunny belly ring should have given it away. “You’re wasted.” 

I looked into her bright, aqua-blue eyes. Who the hell is she?

My cheeks grew as red as the drink in Spencer’s hand as he approached, delicately balancing my cocktail and three shot glasses between his bony fingers as he slid back into the booth. 

“Alright,” He sighed. “A sweet drink for my sweet lady, and some vodka for the rest of these animals.” He set the red, fizzy drink down in front of me. 

Then, he set the first shot in front of Avery.

The second in front of the blonde.

The third in front of me.

There was nothing but a napkin and an empty coaster in front of him.

I flicked my eyes up to Avery’s. 

“Told you.” He mouthed. 

All at once, I felt sick, and not from the booze. At least, I didn’t think it was from the booze. 

Was I the burdensome girlfriend? The one that forced everyone else to sacrifice their fun for? The one that kept Spencer from riding the high of a great show? 

From an outsider’s perspective, I might look pretty tipsy, but nowhere near drunk enough to be causing a scene. If anything, I looked like every other girl in the joint; smiley, flushed, and excited. 

But Avery’s tone made me feel like I was a complete disaster; sloppy, unkempt, and embarrassing. And for whatever reason - maybe it was the fact that the random blond decided to chime in - I believed him. 

I was humiliated. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The next twenty minutes felt like an eternity. 

Spencer, Avery, and the blonde all chatted nonchalantly, talking about some new album or music video that I hadn’t gotten around to checking out yet. I tried to maintain interest in the conversation, but my body language was obvious: I was uncomfortable. My shoulders slumped forward and my fingers fiddled mindlessly with the small ring on my middle finger. The red fizzy drink sat untouched on the scratched wood of the table. 

At this point, I just wanted to go home. 

Well, I didn’t want to go home. I was actually having a pretty good time before Avery had to open his big mouth. 

I knew I could get a bit over-excited. A bit loud. A bit clingy. But before tonight, none of those things seemed bad. At least, not until Avery opened his big mouth. 

But could I really blame him? He was right. Everything about myself was too much. Too obnoxious, too sloppy, too intoxicated, too embarrassing to tolerate. 

I did my best to hide my shame, stirring the drink with a straw I’d done nothing but chew on. 

“Hey,” Spencer whispered to me, his lips only a few inches from my ear. “You okay?”

Instinctively, I nodded, forcing as genuine of a smile as I could.

I could feel the burning glare of Avery’s eyes as the blond whispered sweet nothings in his ear. 

A part of me wanted to tell Spencer what Avery said. I wanted him to know that his best friend (and whatever the blond’s name was) made me feel like I was a complete disaster for enjoying three, maybe four drinks on a Saturday night with my friends. Well, my boyfriend and his friends. 

But what would that accomplish? Avery would still be an asshole. I’d still be tipsy. Spencer would still miss out on a night of debauchery with his friends. Debauchery that, quite frankly, he was entitled to. He’d been working as hard as he could to get the band off the ground, and even harder to secure his spot on the Dean’s List. He deserved a night of carefree fun. And I was the only thing in the way of it.

“Honestly, I’m kinda tired.” I yawned to Spencer, though my eyes flicked up to Avery’s. A subtle smirk appeared on his face. My cheeks burned in anger and embarrassment.

God, I hate him.

“You want me to walk you home?” Spencer responded, his round brown eyes full of care and comfort. I wanted nothing more than to stare into them for an eternity. That always made me feel better. 

“No, don’t worry about it, I’ll just call Allie. She should be getting off work now anyways.” I lied. Allie was probably dead asleep in her own apartment, a rerun of Jersey Shore playing softly in the background. “All else fails, I can take a cab.”

Spencer’s eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips. I knew that look. He was feeling protective. 

“All by yourself?” 

“I’ll be fine.” I reassured him. He still didn’t seem convinced.

“I can call Danielle. She’ll pick her up.” Avery chimed in, almost a little too eager. His tone made it seem like he was just trying to be helpful, but I knew that he just wanted me gone so he could finally do what he came here to do: get drunk with Spencer. 

“That’d be great. Thanks.” I said, forcing a smile.

“Don’t mention it.” Avery smirked, pulling out his phone. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

As Avery walked through the crowd to step outside, I could still feel Spencer’s eyes on me.

“You sure you’re alright?” He pressed.

“Promise.” I said, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “I just wanna get in my PJs.”

He laughed, seeming to relax a little bit. I let out a soft sigh of relief. 

“The ones with the little fish on them?” 

“Maybe. I was thinking the cheetah print ones.”

“Ooh, I love those on you.” Spencer purred into my ear. “Maybe I should ask Danielle if she’d drive me back to your place, too.”

“No,” I said before he could get the last word out. “You stay and have fun with Avery. You earned it.” I brought my hand up to cup his cheek. He brought his hand to rest it atop mine before pressing a gentle kiss to my fingertips.

“Alright. Maybe just one drink.” He smiled.

I mimicked his expression as Avery returned to the table.

“Danielle’s outside.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The drive back was quiet, aside from the 80s rock song wafting gently from the car speakers. All I could focus on was the sight of other girls and their boyfriends walking between bars, their fingers interlocked and smiles wide. I wished that was me. 

“This it?” The sound of Danielle's voice cut through the silence, stirring me from my self-pity party as she pulled up alongside the quaint brick building I called home.

“Yeah, thanks again, D.”

She nodded, pressing the unlock button as I scooted out of her backseat and into the cool night air. She didn’t even wait for me to get to my front door before driving off. Maybe I’d annoyed her, too.

It took a little longer than normal for me to get ready for bed, the Dirty Shirleys making everything feel slow and a little fuzzy. 

I didn’t bother to put on a pair of the matching pajamas Spencer got me for my birthday. Part of me felt like I didn’t deserve them. Instead, I threw on an oversized shirt and a pair of cotton underwear before crawling into bed, hiding beneath the covers like a scared kid in a thunderstorm.

I just wanted the night to be over.

I don’t know when I fell asleep, but I remember Spencer coming home. The sound of the key unlocking the front door followed shortly by the sound of them clattering against the floor and a soft giggle. As his footsteps approached, I rolled over, pretending to be asleep, hoping the pitch darkness of our bedroom was enough to camouflage my squinty eyes.

The first thing I noticed were his clothes. The buttons on his flannel were undone a little more than normal, and his curls looked wild and untamed. 

Upon turning the bathroom light on, I caught a quick glimpse of his face. His cheeks were pink and flushed and the bridge of his nose was shiny with sweat. Most notable was the toothy grin plastered across his face as he sloppily tried to put some toothpaste on his toothbrush. 

A part of me was relieved. He had a good night with his friends after all.

But another part of me felt validated in my self-doubt.

He only had fun once I left. 

I rolled over again, forcing myself to go back to sleep. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Hey, baby.”

The words sounded fuzzy and far away, almost like I was underwater. 

“Baby?” The same voice repeated, a little louder and clearer.

I groaned, pulling the comforter over my eyes to block out the sunlight.

“Good morning.” Spencer chuckled, pulling the blankets down just enough so that my eyes poked out. I groaned, my eyes straining to adjust to the light streaming through the window. 

“Mmm.” I grumbled. The bed was so soft, so warm, so cozy. I didn’t want to move.

“You gotta get up, baby. It’s almost 11.” 

“A-M?”

Spencer nodded.

“Ugh, God.” I groaned, sitting up as I brushed some hair out of my face. “I slept like shit.”

As I sat up, the memories of last night flooded my mind. The sweet taste of the Dirty Shirleys, the headache-inducing smell of smoke in the air, and the gut wrenching embarrassment of feeling like a burden. I rubbed my eyes, trying to push those thoughts to the back of my mind. 

Spencer, completely oblivious to my shame, pressed a chaste kiss to my forehead before standing up and walking to the closet, pulling out two of his hoodies – one for him and one for me.

“I’m just glad you made it home safe,” He said, throwing the ratty Spring Valley High sweatshirt over his lanky chest. “I didn’t get back until almost 4.”

My eyes widened under the hoodie as the words left his lips. 4 a.m.? What could he possibly be doing out so late? This was the same boy that played chess on his computer until 10 o’clock, when he’d inevitably get sleepy and pass out on the couch, a soft snore escaping from his parted lips. 

“Oh,” I said, as nonchalantly as I could. “Did you have a good time?” My head popped out of the hole in the hoodie as I stuck my arms in the sleeves.

“I had a blast.” Spencer smiled, his eyes wide and energetic. 

It was a weird mixture of emotions. Part of me was happy he’d had such a good night letting loose, doing exactly what a normal college freshman does on a Saturday night. But my heart ached all the same. He’d had the most fun when I wasn’t there. 

“What’d you do?” 

“What didn’t we do,” Spencer chuckled, plopping back down on the bed, his arms stretched out to invite me against him. I obliged, leaning my back against his chest as he pulled the covers up once again. “We had a few drinks at The Fizz, then that blond girl Avery was with – I still don’t know her name – took us to this weird club off of Westwood. It was awesome.” 

“That’s so great,” I said instinctively. Thank god he couldn’t see my face. There was no doubt I looked like a kicked puppy.

“Yeah, it was.” He said, pulling me closer against him, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Did you have fun?”

I did. Until your piece of shit best friend made me feel like a complete loser.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Good. Maybe you can come with us after our next show? I definitely wanna go back.”

It took everything in me to hold back a grimace. 

I wanted to go. I wanted to dance and sing and party with Spencer like a couple of young and dumb kids in love. But the idea of intruding on his fun made me feel wrong. 

“Actually,” I started, turning to face him. “I can’t. I already have plans with Allie during your next show.” 

It was a complete and total lie. Allie had to work Saturdays, just like always. 

“Oh,” Spencer’s face fell a little, but he quickly composed himself. “Well, that’ll be good. You haven’t seen her in a bit, huh?”

Hallelujah. He bought it.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “I think we’re gonna have a movie night at her place. But you should still go! Have your fun.” I pressed my lips gently to his cheek, my fingers running through his curly bedhead.

“You sure?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. 

“I’m sure.” 

Spencer nodded before pulling me back against his chest, his hands lazily playing with the string of my hoodie. Once his eyes were off of me, it felt like I could breathe again. I hated lying to Spencer. But I hated ruining his fun even more. 

As his fingers fiddled with the TV remote, flipping through various channels, I snuggled against him, my body letting him think I didn’t have a care in the world.

All the while, I started thinking of excuses to miss his next shows.

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thanks for reading! i'm taking requests, so please feel free to send me whatever ideas you've got. also, i'm hoping to establish a weekly posting schedule (pending anything blowing up), so expect chapter three sometime next sunday. hope you enjoyed <333