#I RENDERED his stupid tacky JACKET

[bison-bo]

Baby, getting outplayed and getting cheated ain't the same thing.

[albontology]

erm. yippee!

fucking hell, alex thinks, god-given right of kings and they can't keep a spam filter up?

the text, at face value, is innocuous in its obscenity. "hey ALVIN," it reads, "i just turned 18 and an in Your Area! want 2 meet up? 🏎️🥵" on any other day, alex would block the number immediately. today, incandesced by rage and a fear he won't speak to, he allows the message to last for a few more seconds of its stupid, futile life in tiny, grey pixels.

he traces his thumb over his phone's power button and clamps his lower lip between his teeth. around him, people buzz in droves, on phones of their own, bluetooth headsets, walkie-talkies. probably wiring direct messages to mars, for all it'll help. alex has long passed the point where he held his breath for a call to come back with an all clear; still, his mind thrums trying to keep track of the volume in the room.

alex wishes logan were here-- for a myriad of reasons, to see his face, know he's safe, watch him stand, unharmed, and smiling again. alex knows he'd be guaranteed a snort, not a laugh, just something raw, when he'd show logan this bullshit spam message, point out the tacky emojis. logan's eyes would quirk up with little creases radiating at the corners, alex can see it, logan would quip back "a racecar? mate, they know what you like a little too well--"

alex bolts upright in his chair. in the commotion, no one notices he's gone ramrod-straight, perfectly still but for his eyes reading, re-reading the message on his phone.

a racecar. 18. your area. alex thinks back to.

two years ago, a stupidly hot summer, and logan had just come out of the shower and changed into a fittingly bright ensemble for a diplomat's dinner later that evening. he'd draped himself over the chaise, idly browsing on his phone, and alex had been perched at the adjacent armchair, scrubbing over potential talking points. just as alex had opened his mouth to snip at his getting his suit jacket creased, logan had looked up to match his eyes with a mischievous grin.

"alex, look at this," he said, like he didn't have his phone screen shoved under alex's nose already. alex took in the headline-- buzzfeed, that's perfect for a rising noble.

"'mom makes her daughter come home after receiving cryptic text?'"

"no, like, scroll down some more." logan retracted his phone, scrolling down the page himself, before shutting the phone off, seemingly over it. "it's basically... i think we should make a secret code, for if either of us gets in trouble. it would be like, if i sent you an... eggplant emoji, you would know, 'oh, logan needs a ride back to the hotel' or something."

"logan." sometimes, he renders alex at a loss. "i don't know if that's what eggplant emojis mean, mate."

logan had spluttered, "i know that!"

"sure you do," alex said, patronizing more than placating. "anyways. i think our messages are already tapped forward and backwards." he dangled his work phone between two fingers, and logan had tracked the movement. "i don't know if you could say anything that wouldn't get caught and acted on the second after you sent it."

logan seemed put out, but he didn't relent. "c'mon, alex. for fun, even if we never have to use it? i want mine to be the racecar."

alex did as he's wont to do, and said yes.

racecar. 18. your area.

long shot of all long shots: logan is alive.

logan is somewhere nearby, close enough to be in alex's area. and alex could bet his life, is going to bet his life, that he's at the motorsport track just two hours out of the city limits: it's where they celebrated his 18th birthday.

alex might be able to find logan. he shoves his phone into his coat pocket, and he doesn't hesitate.

--

on the road, alex prays and prays that his gut is right, that logan is there waiting for him. slipping out to the service garage and into his car had been almost too easy with the flurry of activity around him, but crossing the border would be impossible given the current state of the house. if logan's at the track-- since logan's at the track, things can stay simple, easy to fix.

alex's glance darts down for a split second at the phone in his lap. he'd tried texting the number back, a simple "who is this?," and gotten the first message again in return. alex tries to find some consolation in that: logan has someone's phone, and is able to receive and send messages, though the content has to be monitored.

he allows his conviction to grow as the miles tick by. he received the messages on his personal phone, not his business phone, he knows logan has both numbers memorized. if something truly bad had happened, if he was in imminent danger, logan could have very well pulled the same stunt but to his business number, and alex would have gotten it flagged right away. instead, he got it on his personal phone, using their secret code they swore not to tell anyone else. the number 2 was logan's karting number, during that birthday stint. logan is fine. alex is going to be fine, when he finds logan.

by the time alex begins up the winding drive to the track, his palms are no longer sweating as they grip the wheel. his lip is a bloodied mess, and he swears he's gone at least half grey, but he feels a sense of deadened calm as he follows the signs to the parking lot.

there's one other car, already stopped in the nearest place to the track entrance. it's a gaudy powder blue, something out of an old movie. what the fuck is my life. alex allows himself the incredulity.

they're up on the side of a forested hill, and the air is oppressive, made soupy with fog. still, alex can clearly see a man, leaning up against the side of the car. he's taller than logan should be, and as alex inches his car through the lot, he can make out dark shades and a black overcoat. it's stupid, theatrical. alex appreciates it, in a morbid way.

he parks his car a few spaces over, taking a moment before turning it off to stare at his palms in his lap. what am i doing. why did i come here alone? it had felt right at the time, spurred by adrenaline, but now he very well may be alone on a mountainside with either a complete stranger in a cartoons detective's getup or someone who kills royals for fun. he's not sure which is worse.

alex hears a noise from the adjacent car. it's a voice-- two voices. one of them, he could swear he knows it anywhere, it sounds like logan. the other is familiar in a way that itches his brain, dissatisfactory. he looks out to see the man in the overcoat has turned his back on alex's car, is coming around to open up the backseat.

alex knows it's his best chance: he unlocks the door swiftly, lunges out and slams the door shut behind him. he goes to charge at the car ahead but stops short as a familiar blonde head pokes out from behind the man's overcoat-clad shoulder.

the man has held out his hand to logan, who grasps it without hesitation. the man steps aside for logan, who clambers out of the back seat. the man turns to face alex, raises his other hand, takes his sunglasses off.

the man is george russell. alex's first rival, alex's first love, alex's last and latest big regret before he woke up this morning to find logan's spot in the bed empty beside him.

logan, who's wearing the same pajamas as he was wearing last night. logan, who's standing, unharmed, next to george. logan, who's still holding george's hand.

fucking hell.

in a rarepair logalex state of mind.

long-suffering and long-repressed prince's retainer alex to charming but slightly neurotic secondborn prince logan. in a day of national unrest due to a suspected plot against the royal family, alex rushes to logan's suite to find the golden boy has fled the nest-- kidnapped, perhaps? by none other than-- god help him-- alex's one-time karting rival, two-time fuckbuddy, thrice-over contact deleted ex george. the three of them have to get through a week on the lam without anyone getting arrested, getting killed, or getting their heart broken. feat monarchy kink!george, competency kink!logan, and alex in the role of "i'm going to project every repressed desire i've ever had onto you in the form of jokes and counsel"

[screensirenfic]

Black Leather - Chapter 18

Billy kept good on his word on waiting for me, sitting silently in his Camaro smoking cigarettes out his window and listening to Metallica tapes on his radio.

It was actually kind of sweet; the man’s newfound patience an endearing personality trait so many guys our age were lacking.

I’d finished stripping out Marty’s brake pads with minimal ribbing from Johnny; his focus too fixated on Billy to tease me about my inadequate arm length.

He’d tried teasing me about Billy, until I’d reminded him that despite him measuring near seven feet; he was a beanpole, and my so called “boyfriend” could break both his arms like toothpicks.

That shut him up, and the twenty minutes of blissful silence that followed was perhaps the most peaceful moments of my short career.

Clocking out of Charlie’s at just past five thirty; the stench of gasoline and oil on me was riper than an oil tanker. I could probably use a shower, but I’d promised Billy a conversation, and I didn’t need to smell good to talk.

I pulled on my leather jacket, thankful the lingering scent of my perfume at least partially masked the scent of chemicals, then made my way out to Billy.

He sat there waiting; engine off, but keys in the ignition, ready to leave on my say so.

I opened the side door and climbed into the passenger seat, not minding too much that I’d probably leave grease stains on his seats.

��Sorry I’m late. Charlie said I couldn’t finish till I stripped the break pedals.” I apologised, slamming the door shut behind me.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not in a hurry.” Billy shrugged, turning the engine over, before starting up the car and pulling away.

——————————————————-

Twenty minutes had passed and me and Billy hadn’t said so much as a word to each other, and I was beginning to wonder if his plan was just to drive in circles around Hawkins until I had no choice but to forgive him.

Thank God for radio; though I had to admit the rather sexually suggestive lyrics of Black Leather did little to put my mind at ease.

I pulled out my cigarettes and sparked up, cranking open the window a crack, because even though Billy’s car stunk of smoke and he probably wouldn’t care; I could use the air.

Inhaling a breath, before holding it for a sec, then letting out a stream of smoke; I kept my eyes on my window, not wanting to check if he was watching me or not.

“So does this little road trip have a destination, or...” I began, finally breaking the silence, because it was damn clear he had no intention to.

“Patience...” Tutted Billy; a smile stretching across white teeth as he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road.

“All will be revealed soon enough.” He teased with a far too eager smile; his stick hand leaving the shift to reach across to my bare thigh, giving it the slightest squeeze.

“You know; Billy, if this is some kind of trick so you can drag me off to the woods and have your way with me, you have another thing coming.” I threatened, though I still decided to ignore his hand on my thigh; the warm weight almost reassuring against my skin.

“Relax sweetheart...” He purred; blue eyes meeting mine in the rear view mirror as his fingers began massaging circles on my thigh.

“If I wanted to have my way with you; I would’ve jumped you in the parking lot.” He continued to tease with a wide smile; his fingers slipping further up my thigh with very clear intent.

I acted on instinct, bringing my still smouldering cigarette down to his hand and pressing the end into his skin.

“Shit!” He hissed, whipping his hand away from thigh and shaking it in the air.

I grinned as he inspected the fresh burn; a pretty pink against his sun kissed skin.

“What the fuck was that for?” He asked, looking between me and the burn as if he couldn’t quite believe I’d caused it.

“I said no hands.” I stated; giving him a wicked smirk, because he wasn’t the only one who could play dirty.

To my surprise; he shot me back a dry grin, hand resettling on the steering wheel.

“Promises, promises...” He muttered; one side of his grin quirking up higher than the other, before he revved the engine, kicking it up another couple of gears in a loud display of dominance.

————————————

Contrary to Billy’s little mind games in the car; he did have a destination in mind, slowing to a stop in front of a humble looking two story.

He put the car in park and turned off the engine, making it clear we’d arrived.

“Where are we?” I asked, taking in the elongated porch and whitewash exterior, whilst Billy sparked up a cigarette.

“My house.” He stated, taking a drag of his cigarette before getting out of the car.

All my nerves suddenly jumped me at once, because why the hell was Billy bringing me to his house? What the fuck was his endgame here?

The implication didn’t seem to phase him as he casually swung his door shut, making his way towards the front of his house.

I followed suit, climbing out of the car, because no way he could just drop something like that on me, then expect me to be fine with it.

“Yeah; I can see that. Why are we here, Billy?” I asked, incredulousness clear in my voice as I refused to leave my safe space by the car.

“I told you I wanted us to go somewhere and talk...” He explained casually, taking his keys from his jacket pocket and unlocking the door.

“So here we are.” He said, swinging the door open with theatrical finesse, and I couldn’t stop myself from rolling my eyes, because of course; he’d find this funny.

Still; he waited patiently for me on the porch, staring expectantly at me until I eventually relented, slamming closed his car door and marching over to him.

“Ladies first...” He teased, and I could hear the smirk in his voice as I crossed the threshold, taking in the inside of his house for the first time.

“Nice place...” I complimented as I shoved off my jacket, and I meant it; whoever Billy’s parents were, they clearly had decent interior decorating skills.

“You serious?” Billy asked incredulously as he took of his own jacket, slamming the front door with the heel of his boot.

“Yeah... “ I nodded, taking in the myriad of pastel blues, and was that sea shells?

“Very kitschy.”

“Isn’t that another word for tacky?” He asked, crossing the room to toss both our shed jackets onto the couch.

“No; more like quirky.” I disagreed, letting my fingers linger on the freshly painted fireplace.

“I like it.” I admitted, watching as Billy made a beeline for what must’ve been the kitchen.

“Well; someone has to.” He muttered, making his way to the fridge and opening the door to look inside.

“Can I get you a beer?” He asked, already routing through the contents for the drink in question.

“I thought we were meant to be talking; not drinking?” I drawled, leaning against the doorway, because although I liked Billy’s house; we were alone, and I didn’t trust him quite that much.

Billy just shrugged, beer in hand as he slammed the fridge door.

“Can’t we do both?” He asked, making his way across the kitchen towards me, and even despite his offer; there was still only one beer in his hand.

“Okay then; talk.” I stated, as he popped the cap off with his thumb, taking a long swig of the beer; a thin bead escaping down his chin and along his neck.

“Okay then...” He began, pausing to catch the drop with his thumb and then sucking it into his mouth with an obscene pop; and did he really have to be so damn provocative all the time?

“I’m sorry.” He apologised, settling opposite me in the doorframe with his beer in hand, and maybe he really was.

He did look pretty cut up at the autoshop, and maybe I’d been a little harsh on him.

“I acted like a dick and that was wrong. Is there something I can do to make forgive me?” He added with a sly smirk, and all my sympathies died along with his second chance.

“Wow...” I almost laughed, because I honestly couldn’t believe I was beginning to feel sympathy for Billy Hargrove..

“You really are a dick.” I stated, pushing up from the doorframe and heading straight for the front door, because I’d already learned more than enough from this situation.

“Come on, Lola! I apologised.” He whined as I made my way to the couch, already pulling on my jacket.

“And that suddenly makes everything so much better.” I clipped, staring daggers at the man who kept playing me so easily.

“Well; what the hell do you want me to say? I can’t control what people say about us!” He argued, already following me into the living room with that stupid wronged expression on his face.

I laughed dryly, because of course; he’d try to play the blame game.

Billy Hargrove could do no wrong. Billy Hargrove was a verified angel and I had no right to toss around accusations like that.

“You know what; Billy. I have been dealing with rumours about my sex life long before you showed up, and I will continue to deal with them long after you’re gone.” I stated, pulling on my jacket, because I was leaving; just let him try and stop me.

“If it’s not Tina and Ally claiming I’ve been fucking Harrington since the eighth grade; it’s Tommy and Carol saying I’m a dyke.” I continued to rant, untucking my hair from my jacket as I made my way to the front door.

“Lola; come on...” Billy whined, following behind me as I attempted to leave.

“No; Billy!” I yelled, spinning to face him, because just once I’d like to finish what I was saying without him interrupting me.

“I’m fucking sick and tired of you and everybody else thinking you know me, when you really fucking don’t.” I drilled; my eyes boring holes into Billy’s skull and rendering him speechless for once.

I took the opportunity to try and leave, opening the latch on the door and pulling it open.

“Lola; please...” Billy whined, reaching over my head to block the door from opening.

“Billy; let me go...” I demanded; having had it up to here with him using force to get what he wanted with me.

“Lola; come on...” He continued to plead; his voice a soft contrast to his firm grip on the door.

“Billy; I swear to God, if you don’t let go of this door right now, I’ll...” I began to threaten; patience already run out.

“You’ll what? Throw another hissy fit?” He snapped; clearly having abandoned the pleading tactic in favour of something a little more solid.

“Threaten to choke me with my own entrails?” He continued; and I just crossed my arms across my chest, my posture telling him exactly how effective his new approach was.

“You’re an asshole.” I snarled, hating this prick more than ever, because he really thought I wouldn’t do it; that I was all bark and no bite.

“Oh; I’m the asshole? I’m the asshole?” He snorted incredulously, eyes near comically wide in indignation.

“I’m the one who apologised, yet I’m still the asshole; tell me how that works?” He retorted; his posture turning tenser by the second.

“That wasn’t even a proper apology!” I bit back; honestly in disbelief that he could make out he was the wronged party in all this.

“Oh; you want a proper apology?! Well; where do I start?! Let me see...” He ridiculed, stepping back so he could lean against the coffee table pondering dramatically in mock thought.

“Billy...” I sighed, rubbing my forehead, because this was really getting out of control; and since when had this turned into a shouting match?

“No, no, no. I’ll give you your damn apology.” Billy spat, already having chosen his hill to die on and had begun building trebuchets whilst we spoke.

“I’m sorry everyone at school thinks I slept with you...” He began, sounding the furthest thing from it as he stared me down with outraged blue eyes.

“Billy...” I tried to calm him, knowing that the more he spoke; the tighter he’d get wound, and I really didn’t want to be in the blast zone when he exploded.

“No. I’m sorry that Carol and Tina and Tommy H and whoever the fuck else are complete and total dicks...” He ranted, and I had to agree that one was true; not that I was going to say it to him mid-rant.

“Billy; please...” I petitioned once again, trying to stop this battle from turning into an all out war zone.

“Oh wait; I’ve got it! I’m sorry that Steve jackass Harrington is too much of a pussy and hasn’t manned up and fucked you yet...” He spat; venom colouring every word.

“Billy, stop.” I warned; he’d really gone too far this time, and I wasn’t sure I could continue to stand here whilst he dragged me backwards over hot coals.

“So please tell me, Lola, because I’m not exactly sure which one of these I’m meant to be sorry f...”

[saramck]

25 Days He’d Rather Forget (Preview)

Okay so since I’m chomping at the bit to show you guys that I AM INDEED WORKING ON THIS, here’s the first few pages of @mryddinwilt‘s Christmas prompt: you’re the person in the apartment next door who VERY LOUDLY blasts holiday music starting in NOVEMBER and i hate christmas au

Killian Jones had never formally met his neighbor in A12, but she had a broom that smelled like fucking cinnamon hanging on her front door so she was clearly delusional.

She’d just moved in at the end of August, and up until now, had been a much better neighbor than the previous tenants. She kept to herself, didn’t have loud parties at all hours of the day and night, and didn’t make the entire apartment block smell like weed.

But then she started with the singing. And not just any singing, but horrifically bad singing. Like tone-deaf and not aware of it horrifically bad singing. And if she’d been singing anything other than holiday related music, he could’ve overlooked it.

But A12 sang nothing but loud and completely off-key Christmas music. And it grated on Killian’s nerves. A lot.

And if the concept of advent calendars hadn’t already been tainted, he would’ve made an alcohol fueled version with a new bottle of rum for every torturous day he had to suffer through.

(Now that was a warped tradition he could get behind.)

It was quite literally the nightmare before Christmas - and then some.

(Because, you see, bad stuff happens regardless of the date on the calendar. Tragedy knows no holiday.)

Killian Jones vs. Christmas - it was a battle he’d won for the past few years. And he certainly wasn’t going to let his obnoxious neighbor ruin his hot streak now.

On this particular Saturday, she’d caught him in an extremely bad mood. So he did what any friendly neighbor would do: he banged on the wall with his prosthetic hook and shouted “It’s not Christmas, it’s barely December!” through the thin drywall separating their kitchens.

Alright - so maybe that wasn’t exactly friendly. But it did get his point across and it felt damn good to boot.

And when A12 pounded right back, twice as hard and twice as long, Killian’s frown turned into something resembling an amused grimace.

That kook next door did wonders to improve his mood.

Well, the rum helped too.

Day 1

Killian paused outside of his doorway and watched with satisfaction as A12 struggled with a malfunctioning string of lights. From his vantage point it looked as if only half of the string was working - surely this was karmic payback for the torture she’d put him through over the weekend.

“I think your lights are broken,” Killian noted smugly as he tucked his left hand, or rather his multi-functional hook, into his leather jacket. He wasn’t really in the mood for the lingering, pitiful looks his hook was sure to draw.

“I think your spirit is broken,” his neighbor fired off as she kept her back turned away from him. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a long ponytail and, even from behind, he could tell she was wearing a sweater associated with that holiday.

Killian tried to deflect from her (very accurate) comment by doing what he did best - antagonizing. “So you can speak! And here I thought the only way you communicated was through a series of shrill shrieks put to music.”

A12 made a noise of disgruntled annoyance and rose from her crouched position, abandoning the string of lights in the process. Killian could practically feel her silently counting to ten.

He wasn’t quite done messing with her yet, so he quickly added, “My cat is a huge fan of yours, by the way. The wailing coming through the wall really drives him mad with lust. I’m surprised you can’t hear him howling in response.”

His neighbor turned around, her face a delightful mixture of embarrassment and carefully calculated rage. Her sweater was truly horrendous - it had a tacky clump of Christmas trees on it. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Killian Jones,” he replied with a satisfied smile. Who knew pissing off his devastatingly attractive neighbor could bring him so much joy? “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Oh, it’s Killian, is it?” A12 laughed bitterly as she crossed her arms. “And here I thought your name was Ebenezer Scrooge.”

"You wound me, love."

"If you want a wound," she challenged as she took a step closer to Killian, "I'd be more than happy to give you one."

"Oh really?" Killian challenged, his mood lightening considerably. "You gonna sing me to death or something?"

Her eyes flashed as she threatened, "I know karate."

"Having once seen the film Karate Kid doesn't count, I'm afraid."

“Do you always harass your neighbors like this? Or am I just a special case?”

“Oh, you’re special alright,” Killian grinned as his eyes focused on the angry vein emerging on her forehead.

A12 eyed the bottle of rum tucked under his arm as she took another step closer. Killian was starting to get a little nervous.

“You know what else is special?” she asked as she grabbed the unopened bottle from Killian’s loose grasp and stepped back. “Generosity. I accept your apology and this peace offering.”

No one had rendered him speechless in quite a long while. Who was this woman?

More importantly, when could they do this again?

"Well, this has been really nice and all," she smiled as she turned towards her partially open front door and reached down to unplug the lights from an outdoor electrical outlet, "but I've got better things to do."

Killian watched in silence as A12 kicked her discarded lights through her doorway and stepped inside. He managed to find his voice right before she slammed the door and called out, “I don’t even know your name!”

“Emma,” she responded as she stuck her head through the crack in the doorway. “Now kindly fuck off.”

Killian had never been more turned on in his entire life.

Hope you guys enjoyed this little preview!