#I do have a local friend that could probably hook me up with some fry bread though

[fanficimagery]

Hell Takes Riverdale pt. I

Imagine moving to Riverdale while your father has some business to attend to. While there, you meet some people you find yourself growing attached to.

Words: 8.8K Author’s Note: Riverdale AU where FP didn’t go to prison for his crimes and Jughead joined the Serpents because he wanted to. This isn’t exactly Northsider friendly and I’ll be focusing more so on the Serpents, so I won’t go into detail about all the drama the Northside gang constantly puts themselves into the middle of, nor will Jughead be a part of it. I will mention a certain family who lives nearby from another show, but I will NOT be bringing those characters in here. The most you’ll get is what I explain about them in the imagine.

Jughead Jones was notorious for laying low and staying out of the spotlight. At least he was until a murder rocked his small town, Veronica Lodge- along with her criminal family- moved in, and his best friends Betty Cooper and Archie Andrews put together their very own crime solving Scooby Gang. He liked a good mystery every now and then, but the murder of Jason Blossom pointed towards his father's gang and he didn't know how to cope with that.

When FP Jones- Jughead's dad- eventually confessed to the murder, Jughead didn't know what to think. All he knew for sure was that his dad was innocent. So he and his friends did their best to prove Mr. Jones of his innocence, which they eventually did, but given FP's past the police decided to keep him a bit longer.

Jughead Jones was a powder keg waiting to explode, so in a move no one expected, he channeled his anger from the crookedness of their small town Sheriff to the local high school jocks when they decided to target the new girl for laughs. Y/N Y/L/N was a meek little thing, small smiles and small voice whenever called upon. She didn't dress like someone who had money, but then again she didn't dress like she didn't have any either. She presented herself as someone from the middle class which is probably why Jughead felt at ease coming to her defense one day out of the blue.

You're at your locker, putting away your books before you head over to the cafeteria for lunch, when someone shoves their shoulder into your back. You grunt as you collide with the metal in front of you, a few notebooks falling to the floor, and you turn to frown at the culprits. Reggie Mantle and his merry band of jocks laugh at you. "Seriously?" You mumble.

Reggie smirks, shrugging. "I gotta find my entertainment somewhere and what better entertainment is there than the new girl with no voice?" You roll your eyes and bend over to pick up your belongings, only for a sneaker clad foot to kick one of your notebooks away.

"Hey!"

The sound of someone being shoved into the lockers next to you has you looking up, a beanie-wearing, plaid shirt tied around the waist, boy coming to your aide. "What the hell is your problem, Mantle?" Hands fist into the material of Reggie's letterman jacket, slamming him twice against the lockers. "Haven't you ever heard the phrase pick on someone your own size?"

Reggie shoves him back. "Cool it, Jones, less you wanna end up in a cell next to your pops."

He scoffs. "You look real tough picking on a girl. Keep walking, jackass."

Your gaze darts between the two boys, chest to chest with one another, and you practically hold your breath. You can see the other jocks just itching for a fight, but the longer Reggie and your savior stare at one another, the less Reggie seems to be amped up for a fight. He eventually scoffs, smiling. "Whatever. The little mouse isn't much fun anyway."

Reggie goes to walk away, but not before kicking another one of your notebooks further down the hall. You sigh and start collecting your things closest to you once more.

"Hey, I'm really sorry about him. Reggie's a total dick."

You glance at the boy collecting one of your notebooks for you and flash him a small smile. "It's fine. Every school has a bully. I didn't expect this place to be any different."

"Yeah, well.." He trails off, placing the stuff he collected in your locker. "I'm Jughead."

"That's an unusual name," you say. "I'm Y/N."

"Well, Y/N, would you care to join me outside for lunch? I'm kind of alone today and I noticed you don't really sit with anyone either. I'll help keep Reggie off your back," he muses as if his protection would somewhat sweeten the deal.

"Sure. Why not?" You shrug.

Once everything is situated in your locker, you grab the lunch bag that had been hanging from a hook on the inside. Side by side, you walk with Jughead outside and towards one of the concrete picnic tables. He sits down and only then do you realize he had a brown sack clutched in his hand. Immediately he pulls out two smashed sandwiches wrapped in plastic wrap, and unwraps them to start eating.

"So as a token of my thanks," you say while taking a seat across from him and unzipping your lunch bag, "have a fruit cup." You toss him a cool cup of mixed fruit and he happily catches it.

"Thanks." From the corner of your eye, you watch as he stares at you until you start eating your own sandwich and chips. "So Riverdale," he says. "Why here of all places?"

You huff a quiet laugh. Of course you'd heard the whispers about you, curious about your move, but you never spoke to anyone and no one dared to ask you before now. "My half sister lives in Greendale, and she and her aunts were having some personal issues. My dad moved us here so he could help them out, but he wasn't fond of the housing situations Greendale had to offer so we ended up here."

"Oh. I guess that makes sense." He takes a bite of his food. "So are you and your sister close?"

"Not really." Your nose wrinkles. You eat a bit of your own food before explaining. "She kind of hates our dad because he slept with her mom when she was married, but instead of villainizing them both for their mutual decision, she puts all the blame on him."

Jughead shakes his head. "Well that sucks."

"Yep. But she obviously doesn't have a problem calling on him when she's in trouble." You roll your eyes, opening your water and taking a sip. "It's whatever. Riverdale is.. interesting."

"Yeah. It is," he huffs a brief laugh.

Over the next month or so, you and Jughead become actual friends. He attempts to introduce you to his group of friends, but the only one you can actually stomach being around is Archie. Veronica is too nosy, Betty too suspicious, and Kevin rarely hangs out with everyone less it involves a good gossip session. So more often than not, after realizing his group of friends wasn't just your cup of tea, you and Jughead hung out at Pop's Chock'lit-Shoppe.

The retro diner quickly became one of your favorite places in all of Riverdale, but upon entering one Sunday evening and seeing Jughead's expression you know you're not going to enjoy your dinner.

"Uh oh. What's going on with your face?" You ask as you slide in across from Jughead. "You look like you have some bad news."

He grins, shaking his head. "It's not bad. I'm just not sure how well you're going to take what I have to tell you."

"Mhm. Tell me after I've gotten my food." Almost as soon as the words leave your mouth, Pop Tate himself is dropping off your and Jughead's usual order. "Thanks, Pop."

The old man chuckles. "Don't mention it, Y/N. Enjoy your meal."

"Always do." Before any other words can be spoken, you and Jughead squirt ketchup on your respective plates. He steals the cherry from your milkshake and you plop a straw into his Coke to take a sip. The both of you take a bite out of your burgers, chuckling at each other and how at ease the two of you have become with one another. "So what's up?"

"I'm leaving Riverdale High." You pause in chewing and Jughead refuses to meet your gaze. "I'll be starting at Southside High tomorrow morning."

"Oh."

"It's just- my dad's getting out." When he looks up, the excitement in his eyes at the prospect of his dad coming home makes your exterior soften and you start to feel happy for your friend. "He, uh, he's been doing good. Jail forced him to get sober and he's talking about starting over. I'm going to move back in with him."

"That's good news, Jug. I'm really happy for you."

"Are you?" He grabs a fry and quickly dips it into your vanilla milkshake. You chuckle at him.

"Yeah. I mean we mostly hang out here anyway. That won't change, I hope." He's quick to shake his head, letting you know your weekly hang outs at Pop's would still be on. "I'll just have to toughen up and learn how to throw a punch. Reggie and his goons need a nice swift punch to the throat every now and then, I think."

Jughead exhales with relief. "Please let Kevin know beforehand so he can catch it on video for me."

"No promises."

The two of you go on to finish your food, making small talk and promises to keep in touch. Eventually you have to leave, so before you go your separate ways you decide to give Jughead a ride home. And since he's no longer embarrassed to have you over after the first time you'd been over, he accepts the ride with a shrug.

FP Jones has been out of jail for three days and in those three days Jughead has noticed his dad has been a little paranoid. So one day after school, he's had enough and decides to sit down and talk with him.

"What's going on?"

FP glances away from the paper in his hand. "Nothing. Why?"

"Because you're acting weird! Ever since you got out of jail it's like you're constantly looking over your shoulder."

Jughead and FP stare at one another before FP sets the paper down, running a hand through his hair. "Someone's coming to town," he says. "Someone you don't ever want to cross."

"Okay. And?"

"It's worrisome," FP says. "Mr. Morningstar, he's the real deal, Jughead. Expensive suits, expensive cars, posh accent.. this man can be very dangerous."

"Well then round up the Serpents. I'm sure they'll enjoy running this guy out of town."

"Nah." Jughead scoffs, confused as to what his dad's deal is. "Mr. Morningstar is the one who sent one of his lawyers to get me released."

"..oh."

"But Mr. Morningstar doesn't hand out favors without wanting something in return. I don't like being in debt, Jug. Especially to someone like him."

"We'll figure it out, dad. He reached out to you, not the other way around. He can't want something too bad if he came to you first. Right?"

"I don't know, son." FP falls silent, tapping his fingers along the tabletop. "And there's something else you should know."

"What?"

"Mr. Morningstar isn't exactly.. human." Jughead scoffs, but FP shoots him a warning look. "I'm serious. This man is capable of things you wouldn't believe unless you see it in person, but I'm hoping it doesn't come to that. If he comes around, you do as I say. I'll settle my debt with him as quickly as possible and hopefully Riverdale will be in his rearview mirror sooner rather than later."

Jughead doesn't know how to feel at seeing his dad- the Serpent King himself- looking so on edge. He's never seen him so rattled, so it leaves Jughead himself feeling the dread start to seep in.

Every single Serpent inside the Whyte Wyrm was well aware of who Mr. Morningstar was and to be on the lookout for anyone fitting his description. For a week there was no sight or word about him, the same week which Jughead finally decided to throw in with the Serpents and officially become one of the gang. He had texted his friends, some more supportive than others, but he only found comfort in his decision after hearing back from Y/N who held no ill will towards him for wanting to be a Southside Serpent officially.

Jughead is still healing, everyone at the Whyte Wyrm celebrating him completing his initiation.

"Toni," FP calls out, "serve us up some shots!" The petite, pink haired girl behind the bar laughs, she readily grabbing up shot glasses and lining them up along the bar. She fills every shot glass, smiling as her fellow Serpents grab one to await the impending toast. As FP grabs one, he raises it up while staring at his son across the room who's hanging out with a few younger Serpents. "Jughead, while this wasn't the life I wanted for you, it is your decision and you don't know how proud it makes me to have you ride by side. To Jughead!"

"To Jughead!"

The Serpents all whoop and holler, downing their shots in one go.

"Hear, hear," an out of place accent muses. Those closest to the man who seemingly appeared out of nowhere all tense and FP's smile slowly vanishes as he stares at the man who hasn't aged a single year since he last saw him over fifteen years ago. "Well, well. Freedom seems to suit you well, FP."

FP schools his expression. "Mr. Morningstar."

"Call me Lucifer. No need to be so formal."

The Serpents seem to fall silent as FP and Lucifer Morningstar stare at one another. Jughead, seeing the way everyone is holding themselves as the tension amps up, pushes his way through the crowd until he's just behind his dad. "Lucifer," FP says, "why don't you follow me. We'll go somewhere a bit more private."

Lucifer gestures for FP to lead the way. "After you."

FP glances at Jughead over his shoulder, but he doesn't give him any sort of cue to follow. Instead, Jughead follows after them to a table that's not surrounded by any others over by the stage. Once seated, FP stares Mr. Morningstar in the face. "So what brings you to Riverdale? It's been a while since you were last here."

"Ah, yes," he says. Lucifer leans back in seat, smiling. "I originally came to watch a client of mine wreak havoc on your precious little town," at this, FP and Jughead tense, "but someone very important to me made attachments here and I've had to rethink my plans of letting your town burn to the ground."

"A client of yours?" FP's eyes narrow. "Who?"

"I think you know who," Lucifer says. "Annoying little bugger. But as I said before, attachments were made and I had to keep watch over said attachment to see whether or not I approved. And let me tell you, Mr. Jones, I quite liked what I saw."

"Okay?" He drawls. "So what does that have to do with why you're here? Or are you calling in a favor for getting me out?"

Lucifer laughs. "Oh no, FP. You getting out was not my doing." FP freezes. "You see, this someone important to me is my daughter. She's the one who requested you be freed."

"You have a daughter?" FP shifts in his seat. "Why would she want me out?"

"I do. And because one of your little snakelings made quite the impression on her after showing her kindness when he didn't have to." Lucifer raises an eyebrow at FP's completely flabbergasted expression. "This person was and continues to be genuine with my daughter, so I figured I'd step in and help clean up your beloved little town instead of letting it be turned inside out by Hiram Lodge. After all, it seems we're going to be in Riverdale for quite some time now."

FP glances around, but he can't see any of the Serpents being this person in question. Eventually, he asks, "Who?"

Lucifer's gaze darts up over FP's shoulder and lands on Jughead. Jughead's eyes widen. "Me? Who have I-"

"Me, of course." You choose that exact moment to walk out from the back room, ignoring everyone's stare save for Jughead's. You're a bit self-conscious of the black crystallized crown on your head and the skin tight, all black outfit your dad's minions had chosen for you, but you don't show it. The way you're dressed now, Jughead's never seen you this way. "What's wrong, Juggie? Cat got your tongue?"

Your friend gulps as he eyes you up and down. "Y/N?"

"Surprise!" You muse. At his slack expression, your smile diminishes. "It's still me, JJ. No need to be weird now."

FP glances between you and his son as Jughead asks, "Was our friendship even real?"

Your eyes widen. "Of course it was! I was never meant to make friends here," you quickly explain, "but you just couldn't leave me be when Reggie set his sights on me and you- you befriended me for me." Jughead loses some of the tension in his frame. "You didn't talk to me because of who my dad was and what he could do for you. You talked to me because you felt bad for me and then you continued to talk to me because we actually got along."

A beat passes and Jughead eventually sighs. "Don't kid yourself. I only talk to you because you let me steal the cherry from your milkshake." It takes a moment for his words to sink in and when they do you snort. Lucifer chuckles and poor FP has no idea what's going on.

"This is quite fitting, is it not?" Lucifer grins.

FP frowns. "What do you mean?"

"The Serpent Prince and the Queen of Hell. Royalty always seeks out royalty."

You freeze, Jughead's brow furrows, and FP seems to blanch as he comes to a sudden realization. Quick as a snake's strike, you slap the back of your dad's shoulder. "Not here." Then you glance at FP. "Can we continue this talk in a back room?"

He slowly blinks before he snaps out of his thoughts. "Yeah. Let's go."

FP stands and leads the way, and you grin over at Jughead. "Come on. We have some more stuff to talk about."

In a back office, FP and Lucifer have already taken their seats as you and Jughead join them. Instead of sitting, the two of you stand side by side after the door is shut behind you.

"So what exactly is going on here?" FP wonders.

Lucifer glances at you, smirking, and you sigh. You had a feeling he was going to make you explain yourself. "So I noticed instead of scoffing at the queen of hell comment, you blanched." FP hesitantly nods. "So that means you understand my dad is quite.. different."

Lucifer huffs. "I'm the devil, darling. No need to tiptoe around it."

You cringe as he so bluntly puts it out there and nervously gauge the Jones' reactions. Both seem more than a little intimidated and your heart starts to sink. "I'm still me, Jughead. Just a little.. more."

Jughead glances at you. "You're really the daughter of Satan?" You nod. "And this isn't some joke?"

"No. My sister, the one who lives in Greendale, was meant to take the throne," you admit. "But she really does hate my dad and refused it, so it passed on to the next heir. Hell got a little bit stuffy and some of my dad's more important minions were trying to marry me off, so I left with my dad as he dealt with business here. I was supposed to keep my head down until we moved on, but well.." you trail off, smiling softly. "I found that having a friend was quite nice." When Jughead has nothing else to say, you look towards FP. "You've raised a kind son, Mr. Jones. And for that, I'm going to offer you a favor." He seems to straighten up then, glancing worriedly at your dad. "And don't worry, this is a favor from me. I don't do contracts or cut deals like dad does. My favor is a no strings attached type of situation. This is a favor for a friend."

FP and Jughead glance at each other, and you notice FP subtly shake his head. Jughead sighs and looks at you. "Do you promise that me or my dad won't owe you?"

"Jughead," FP warns.

But you only have eyes for your friend as you step towards him and take up his hands within your own. "I swear. You're my friend, JJ. You got Reggie off my back and offered genuine companionship, so let me do something for you."

"You mean like getting my dad out of jail?"

You grin, releasing his hands and shoving at his shoulder. "Oh whatever. I was bored and you seemed like you missed him. Bite me, Jones." Lucifer chuckles and FP looks like he has no idea what's going on. "So come on. Whose life needs ruining?"

Jughead stares at you before shaking his head in amusement. "You're a little too excited to be ruining someone."

"I am my father's daughter."

Jughead stares at you, as if trying to conclude whether you're being genuine or not, and then has a silent conversation with his dad. Eventually FP sighs, cradling his head in his hands as Jughead looks back to you. "I messed up bad, Y/N. When my dad first got put into jail, someone suggested I visit this lawyer- who is also a Serpent- so that she'll guide me on how to get my dad released."

"And the snake double crossed you. Shocking," your dad chuckles.

"Shut up." Lucifer continues to chuckle, mime zipping his lips shut. You look back to your friend. "Go on."

"She gave me advice as a favor and said I'd owe her one someday in the future. I didn't think it through."

"The snake charmer is notorious for collecting favors and blackmailing you into continuing owing her favors," FP says. "She's turning the Serpents into drug runners and using video of my son delivering a crate of drugs as leverage so we don't tell her no."

Lucifer tuts. "That just won't do. Last I recalled, the Serpents were against drug dealing."

"We are," FP says, "but we can't deny her since she has that damn video. It'll be his word against hers."

Expression tightening, you glance between the two Serpents. "Give me a name."

"Penny Peabody."

Immediately you and your dad glance at one another, and you're the first to shout, "Dibs!" At his pout, you grin victoriously. "It's been awhile since I've seen any action. I'll call auntie Maze to collect the guest of honor."

You and Jughead are sitting at Pop's, waiting for your order to be brought out. It's your usual weekend hangout session, as well as a mini celebration for getting the Snake Charmer out of Serpent territory. FP had been a little hesitant around you and your father, but the more he watched you and his son, and you and your dad, he came to the realization that neither he or Jughead would be in harm's way. No one would be less they actually crossed the devil himself, so you were a bit surprised when FP had actually hugged you when you told him Penny would no longer be an issue. Afterwards, he was eager to talk to your dad and figure out a way to get the Southside cleaned up and fix the Serpents' reputation.

Seeing Jug's beanie laying on the table, you grin as you swipe it and quickly put it atop your head. "What do you say, Jones, wanna switch crowns for a day?"

He chuckles as he shakes his head. "I don't think I can pull off your crown." Your nose wrinkles at him as you laugh. "And speaking of crowns, are you going to tell anyone else anytime soon?"

You shrug. "I only talk to you and your dad, and at that your dad already knew about my dad."

"I didn't know anything about you or your dad and you told me."

"You were my friend before you found out about me being Hell royalty. I don't want to just tell anyone and then have them kissing up because of things I could possibly do for them."

Jughead nods in understanding. "I take it, it's happened before."

You touch the tip of your nose. "Bingo, JJ. Demons of Hell are shady assholes. But don't worry, if I befriend more Serpents they'll find out when the time is right."

"Well I think you're going to get your chance now because here come some friends of mine."

"What?"

"Whoa, Jughead, is that you? You've certainly changed from the last time I saw you earlier."

You smile sheepishly as three Serpents come up to your table, the one who spoke sitting next to Jughead while the tall one climbs in between you and the window, and the female sits on your free side. You pull off Jug's beanie and hand it back to him just in time for your food to be delivered. Immediately, Jughead steals the cherry from your milkshake and you take a sip of his soda. Once that's done, you squirt ketchup on your plates before you take a bite of your burgers.

"Well that was freakishly adorable." You glance at the pink haired cutie next to you and she grins. "Toni Topaz."

"Y/N Y/L/N. Well Y/N Morningstar now. I don't have to hide who I am anymore."

"Nice." She then points to the guy beside Jughead. "That's Fangs and the one on your other side is Sweet Pea." You nod at each boy in greeting, bite down on a few fries and steal from Jughead's plate every time he dips a fry into your milkshake. "So how did you and our snake prince become so close?"

Toni steals a fry from your plate and you grin at her. "First of all, I really hope you're not insinuating anything there. Don't get me wrong, Jughead's a cutie but I'd totally seduce Papa Jones before I went after baby Jones."

Jughead groans in disgust, Fangs and Sweet Pea snort, and Toni laughs out loud. "I like you."

"Maybe the sentiment will be returned soon," you say. "And to honestly answer your question, Jug came to my rescue when a few jerks decided I was an easy target at Riverdale High."

Sweet Pea scoffs. "Ugh. How do you put up with those mangy mutts?" It's his turn to steal from your plate, but you merely raise an eyebrow at his audacity before you glance at Jughead as he smothers a laugh.

"By avoiding them at all cost," you say. "Is food stealing a thing with you guys or..?"

"If you're really hungry, I'd hold onto that burger of yours. Fangs is notorious for stealing any and all food left unattended." Toni chuckles as you pull your plate towards you, but that only makes it easier for her and Sweet Pea to continue eating off your plate.

"You're all heathens," you deadpan. "At least Jughead waited a few days before he started eating off my plate."

The Serpents chuckle all around you and you find yourself relaxing in your seat. You knew the Southside Serpents had a bad reputation, but the more time you spent with them the more you realize just how wrong everyone is. The Serpents are some of the most loyal, drama free individuals you'd met and they're only riled up when someone attacks one of their own. And that- that you can respect.

During your lunch break, you're sitting alone and texting back and forth with Toni. Apparently word has gotten out that the Mayor is looking to shut down Southside High because it's unsafe for children, and the plan is to divide every Southside High student between several other high schools. Needless to say, every Southsider is pissed.

You send a text to your dad, asking if he knew what was going on, and he assures you he and Mr. Jones are looking into it.

Your can of Cola gets snatched up and you snap to attention, ready to argue back for your drink. But the sight of a grinning Jughead sitting across from you makes you relax and Sweet Pea straddling the bench right next to you makes you shake your head at them. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Southside High is in chaos," Jughead says. He takes a sip of your soda before setting it back next to your books. "We were at the Wyrm when your dad asked us to collect you."

"Toni's been filling me in," you admit. "Does anyone know if the Mayor is for sure going through with this plan of hers?"

"It's such bullshit," Sweet Pea grumbles. "Yeah the school is shit ever since the Ghoulies started pushing Jingle Jangle on everyone, but it's ours."

"Don't worry, Sweets. Dad's on it. He'll figure something out."

He huffs. "Against Mayor McCoy? Doubt it."

You and Jughead share a knowing glance, and you bite back a grin. "My dad can be very.. persuasive."

"And scary," Jughead mumbles.

"Yes, let's not forget scary," you muse.

"What the hell is this?" The stern question is barked from somewhere behind you and you turn towards the voice. "Cooper dropped your sorry ass and now you're trying to lure in Y/N, Jones? I don't think so, you goddamn snake."

You roll your eyes at Reggie and his friends, and at the fact that the others sitting outside are now staring.

"Watch your mouth, you mangy mutt." Sweet Pea moves to stand, but you place a hand on his knee in order to silently tell him to stay put. He doesn't glance at you, but he does remain sitting.

Instead, you stand and step away from the bench in Reggie's direction. "What's your problem, Mantle? I know for a fact you don't care about me, so what is it about the Southsiders that has you so insecure?"

Reggie seems surprised that you've spoken back and it takes him a moment to school his expression back into one of anger. "Who the hell says I'm insecure?"

"Come on, Reggie," you grin. "You obviously have a hate boner going on for them." Jughead and Sweet Pea snort, and Reggie glares at them over your head. "So what is it? Is it because they're cooler than you? That they're so much more hotter than you and you know for a fact us Northside girls would willingly get on the back of their bikes than in the car mommy and daddy bought for you?"

Reggie sneers down at you. "Of course you'd be a Southside slut."

Jughead and Sweet Pea shout in your defense, rushing to their feet as you blink in surprise at the venom in his tone. But then anger quickly takes over and no one sees as your hand forms a fist at your side. When Reggie smirks at your silence, quick as lightning you change your stance so you can send your fist flying into his throat.

As Reggie stumbles back and gasps for air, Sweet Pea grabs you by the arm and then you're running. Sweet Pea and Jughead are laughing as they run for their bikes and you readily climb on behind Sweet Pea since he still had a hold of you. Two engines rumble to life simultaneously and you wrap your arms around Sweet Pea's waist, ducking your face behind his back so the wind doesn't sting your eyes.

When the three of you finally come to a stop, you're not in the Southside yet but you are well away from Riverdale High. The engines cut off and you finally pick up your head, and it's quiet for a few moments before Jughead starts to laugh once more.

"You actually punched Reggie in the throat." He shakes his head in amusement at you. "I did not think you were capable of ever hitting someone."

Sweet Pea chuckles. "You do know you left behind all your belongings. It's gonna be trashed by the time you go back for it."

You shrug. "The only thing worth saving was my phone and it's in my back pocket. A backpack can be replaced, and besides I think it's time Riverdale High and I take a break from one another."

Jughead and Sweet Pea's amusement slowly fades. "Wait. What?" Jughead asks. "You're dropping out?"

"No." You huff a laugh. "Transferring."

"Transferring to where?"

"Southside, you dimwits." You squeeze Sweet Pea when he scoffs at you calling him a name, letting him know you didn't actually think he was a dimwit. "I'm so over the drama of Riverdale High. I need a change. And if I want to go to Southside to be with my favorite people, do you really think my dad will let the school be closed down?"

"You really have that much faith in your old man, huh?" Sweet Pea asks.

"I do. And you should too." Jughead glances at you when you say that and you subtly shake your head at him. Soon, you mouth at him. "Now come on. Let's go see what my dad wants. I feel like going out tonight so I need to finish whatever task he has for me and make sure Toni is free."

The small gang of friends find themselves at Pop's diner once again, you being squished between Sweet Pea and Toni while Jughead and Fangs sit across from you. You and Toni share a plate of cheese fries, half of your burger having been stolen by Fangs and you steal sips of Cola from both Jughead and Sweet Pea since Sweets had finished your milkshake. When eating with them, you quickly learned extra food had to be ordered because once a plate was set down it was basically a free for all.

You're laughing at Fangs' affronted expression, from when he tried stealing cheese fries from you and Toni and you both had slapped his hand, when the bell above the door jingles. Your gaze is drawn to the group that enters, your mood souring just a tad when Archie, Betty, and Veronica enter. They glance around the diner for a booth and upon setting sights on your group, Archie chooses a booth not far from yours.

Toni nudges you to show you a message on her phone, lightening up the mood right away. But every now and then your attention is brought back to the Riverdale High group, and you can't help but notice the longing looks Betty keeps throwing at Jughead. And the fact that Jughead keeps glancing over his shoulder until he finally gets up, Betty following him seconds later to join him at a different booth.

"Did I miss something?" You ask when your friend is out of earshot.

Toni huffs. "They're doing that whole on again, off again thing. It's tiring," she says.

You frown as Jughead and Betty start talking, heads ducked close to one another, but then quickly avert your attention back to those sitting with you. You don't really have anything against Betty, but that girl attracts drama like crazy and you would rather not see her drag Jughead into it again.

The four of you left in the booth amuse yourselves while finishing off the remainder of your food, and you make sure that all your plates are stacked with the trash compiled on top so the busboy has little to no cleanup after you leave. But while you're still sitting there and waiting to see what Jughead is going to do, you can't help but overhear Veronica's obnoxious voice filling in her boyfriend Archie about all the great changes supposedly coming to Riverdale soon.

"I mean it's no longer a secret mommy and daddy are buying up property, Archiekins, but can you blame them?" Toni, Sweet Pea, and Fangs all tense, Fangs trying his hardest not to look in their direction. "The Northside is flourishing under their management and soon the Southside will too. We just have a few more hoops to jump through before we can start tearing down and rebuilding."

Having heard enough, you tap Sweet Pea's arm. "Move." Fangs widens his eyes at you and Toni giggles, she loving your more aggressive behavior. Sweet Pea stares at you for a moment before he grins, sliding out of his seat so you can follow right after him. Then taking a few steps towards Veronica and Archie's both, you stop and address the entitled teen. "Consider those hoops everlasting," you say. "Lodge Industries will no longer be buying up any property in Riverdale."

Veronica scoffs, smirking a second later. "And who the hell do you think you are to have any say so in my family's dealings?"

This time you smirk and you mentally cheer when you see her own falter. "Tell daddy dearest the Morningstars say hello. Lucifer will be in touch soon." You reach forward as Veronica's expression completely falls, stealing the cherry from her milkshake and catching the red, plump flesh behind your teeth and plucking the stem free. Letting the stem drop onto the table, you glance over your shoulder and gesture for your friends to follow. They do, chuckling all the while you walk towards the door. But before you walk out, you look over at Jughead and catch his attention. "Hey, JJ, we're heading out. Call me if you need a ride."

"Oh, uh, I'll come with." Betty quickly glances at him and for a split second you feel bad for her. "We're done here anyway." He slides out of the booth, ignoring Betty's frown as he makes his way towards you and his fellow Serpents.

Sweet Pea jostles Jughead, the two boys shoving each other lightly and laughing as the five of your exit. Everyone piles into your small SUV and it's not until Toni is comfortably seated in the passenger seat does she ask, "How serious were you with that threat back there? Can your dad really stop Lodge Industries?"

You slowly start to grin as you back out of your parking space. "Hiram Lodge is one of my dad's clients," you admit. "They have a.. contract of sorts, and Mr. Lodge is rich because of that. But my dad is starting to cut ties with some old clients of his and I'm pretty sure the Lodge's time up on that little pedestal of theirs is coming to an end."

"Sweet," Sweet Pea says from the back seat. "Hey, if your dad buys the school do you think you can ask him to put doors back on the bathroom stalls?"

You and Toni both snort, and you nod your head. "Sure, Sweets. I'll see what I can do."

          - - - - - - - - - - 

At the Whyte Wyrm, Sweet Pea and Fangs make a beeline for the pool table. Toni heads for the bar, her shift about twenty minutes from starting, and Jughead gets pulled into a conversation by some elder Serpents. Glancing around the bar, you don't see either man you want to speak with so you head for the hallway near the back wall where you know it leads to an office. A couple Serpents guarding the hall nod at you and let you pass without a word.

When you come upon the shut door to FP's office, you knock a couple of times and wait for confirmation to enter. A moment passes before his gruff voice is calling out that exact confirmation.

Opening the door, you walk right in and aren't surprised to see your dad in there as well. You smirk, happy to know he found a mortal he felt comfortable enough to share his identity with and that said mortal didn't go running for the hills. "FP. Dad," you greet. "Just the men I was looking for."

FP leans back in his chair as you take a seat across from him. "What can I do for you, Y/N?"

"Well first, I need to know your opinion about Sweet Pea, Toni, and Fangs." You then turn to look at your dad. "And depending on FP's answer, I need to know-"

"Your first orgy," your dad coos. "I approve. Especially the tall one. He'd make an excellent consort."

"I'm sorry, what?" FP glances between you and your dad, disbelief in his features.

You sigh, closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose. "Dad, no. Just no," you say. When your eyes flutter back open, you say, "What did I tell you about speaking of orgies so freely in front of mortals? It's weird. Especially since you're my dad. You're not supposed to approve of these things."

"Well fine. Have it your way." Lucifer leans back in his seat, resting his right ankle atop his left knee and taking a sip of his drink. "Probably for the best anyway. Naamah will be upset if you deny her the chance to plan your first orgy."

"Oh my god."

FP finally laughs, shaking his head as if he can't believe what he's hearing. Your dad pouts and you give your attention to FP once more. "The baby snakes are a loyal bunch," he says. "I've had some older Serpents question you and your father's presence here within the Wyrm, but Jug and the others were quick to defend you. Why do you ask?"

Here you look back to your dad. "I want to come clean to them. Jughead knows about me and it's getting tough to censor what I say in front of the others when we all hang out."

Lucifer salutes you with his glass tumbler. "You're the Queen of Hell, darling. You can tell whoever you want."

"Good to know." You push up from your chair, smiling at both men. "Oh and I want Southside High. Veronica Lodge and her family are trying to tear the Southside down and rebuild, but I feel like throwing a wrench into their plans."

Lucifer raises an eyebrow at you. "And how do you suggest going about that?"

"By befriending Mayor McCoy, of course." FP snorts, but you continue on as if you didn't hear him. "She seems like a decent lady when the Lodge's aren't blackmailing her into doing their bidding. Give her a little taste of power, no strings attached and without letting her know your true identity, and show her you're an ally. I have a feeling she'll drop the Lodge's in a heartbeat."

FP grins, shaking his head. "You really are your father's daughter."

You glance at him and smirk. "Duh. Now carry on. I'm going to be with Toni behind the bar."

          - - - - - - - - - - 

The Whyte Wyrm is as busy as always and you happily find your place behind the bar with Toni. She serves up the drinks as you walk around, cleaning glasses and/or wiping down the bar top. Every now and then you catch your dad or FP's eye, and they signal for a round of drinks that Toni readily makes before walking a tray over to them. You then watch your boys from afar, laughing when Jughead catches your eye and purposefully makes Sweet Pea miss his shot while playing pool. Sweet Pea is apparently a very sore loser, but you can't help to think that he makes a really cute sore loser.

When Toni returns and sees where you're looking, she sidles up to your side while cleaning a glass in her hand. "So, uh, I think I should apologize."

You look at her. "For what?"

"Earlier at Pop's, when I told you Jughead and the Cooper girl were on again/off again, you looked like someone kicked your puppy for a moment there."

"Did I?" You chuckle, shrugging her words off. "It's fine. Jughead has become a really good friend to me and I'm not exactly Betty's biggest fan. They say southsiders are nothing but trouble, but those northsiders have caused a lot more trouble than any of you have. I don't want to see him be dragged into their messes again."

"Oh," she drawls. "Okay. I just thought that you were upset because she and Jughead were together again and you had missed your shot or something."

"No." You laugh. "And besides, I kind of have my eye on another Serpent, but I don't think he likes me that way."

Toni rolls her eyes. "I don't think FP is into jailbait. Sorry."

You snort, shaking your head in amusement. "A girl can dream."

Over the next couple of weeks, you get well acquainted with the power struggle between the Ghoulies and the Southside Serpents within the high school. The school is practically run down, there's no privacy within the graffitied walls of the bathrooms, and a little less than half the student population have no issue taking drugs out in the open while standing in the hallways. Not a single one of your favorite Serpents lets you out of their sight, and though you don't need their protection you welcome it. And their loyalty towards you is what leads you to take that final step in finally telling your other three friends the truth.

Walking up to the Jones' trailer, you stomp up the steps and pound on the door. A few seconds later the door opens and FP raises his eyebrows at you as he's pulling on a leather jacket.

"Y/N?"

"Hey, FP. Is JJ home?"

"Yeah. Come in." He opens the door wider and you step in, heading for the couch. "Is everything okay?"

"Peachy." You grin. You plop down in the corner of a couch, crossing one knee over the other. "I just finally decided to tell the others the truth and I wanted to see if Jughead would be there for me in case things go south."

A look of understanding passes over FP's features and he smiles kindly at you when he notices your bit of nerves. "It'll go fine. If Jug and I didn't run, neither will these three little shits." You grin at him. "Now I should get going. Will your dad and I be seeing you later?"

"Depends on how well my little bombshell is taken."

"Alright." FP heads towards the kitchen, calling down the only hallway in his trailer. "Hey Jug, Y/N is here so put some clothes on before you come out."

FP smiles at you one last time before he exits his trailer and it's not until his bike's engine outside roars to life does Jughead exit his bedroom from the back. "What's going on?"

"It's time to tell the other baby snakes about my heritage."

He blinks. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." You nod, momentarily second guessing yourself. "Yeah," you then say more confidently. "I think the longer I wait now, the higher the chance of them being pissed at the fact that I kept something like this from them."

"Okay. Where are we doing this?"

"Quarry?" You wonder. "We need privacy, but not too private that they feel trapped should they not take the news well."

Jughead exhales quietly. "Quarry it is. My bike or your car?"

"Your bike. Text Toni and the guys. I just need to grab my bag from my car."

Jughead is pulling on his jacket as he gestures for you to join him by the door, then pulling on his infamous crown beanie before pulling out his phone to text the others. He heads to his bike while you head for your car, opening the passenger door and pulling out your messenger bag. Draping the bag strap over your head and across your chest, you close the door and lock up before pocketing the keys.

When you sidle up to Jughead, he hands you his only helmet and you readily pull it on before climbing on behind him. He's not normally a crazy driver, so you loosely wrap your arms around his waist and enjoy the short ride to the quarry.

You and Jughead are the first to arrive, walking towards a spot that seems to have frequent visitors. Seats torn out from vehicles and a few crates form a half circle around an unlit barrel just off to the side of the water, and Jughead wastes no time in lighting up the barrel since it's a little chilly out.

Placing your bag on one of the seats, you walk towards the fire and hold your hands over it to warm up. Then about five minutes later, the rest of your friends show up.

"What's going on?" Sweet Pea asks as his gaze darts between you and Jug. As he sees you warming up, he stops by your side and wraps an arm around your shoulders to offer some of his warmth. Toni and Fangs stand on the other side of the barrel, warming themselves up briefly before taking a seat.

"I, uh, I have something I need to tell you guys. It's going to sound incredibly insane, but I need you to trust me when I say I am no threat to you." Sweet Pea frowns down at you and he only takes a seat when you nudge him towards the others. Jughead grabs your bag and hands it to you, and you smile faintly in thanks. Then opening the flap, you remove your crown and let your bag fall before hesitantly putting the crown on. Clearing your throat, you say, "When you guys first saw me, I was wearing this."

Fangs grins. "We thought you were just another spoiled little daddy's girl."

You grin back. "I mean I am," you shrug, "but the crown actually means something."

"Are you trying to tell us you're royalty or something?" Toni chuckles. At your neutral expression, her smile falters. "Y/N?"

You inhale shakily, glancing at Jughead who gives you an encouraging nod. "Whenever people meet my dad, I'm well aware that they think his given name is rather unfortunate." Sweet Pea snorts, grinning. A couple older Serpents at the Wyrm made it no secret when making fun of your dad's name. "But what if I told you that my dad really is the Lucifer Morningstar?" Your serious, yet nervous, expression makes the other three go still. "That I'm literally the daughter of the devil?"

The only sounds you can hear are the chirping crickets and crackling fire until, "You really buying this, man?" Sweet Pea scoffs. You briefly glance at him to see he's staring at Jughead who's still by your side.

Jughead nods, his arms crossed over his chest. "I am. My dad knew something was up with Lucifer before they outright told us the truth. He's known for years, but Lucifer wasn't a threat to him then or now so he didn't make a fuss about it."

Sweet Pea frowns. He doesn't look scared or pissed, but he doesn't look impressed either. "Why are you telling us this now?"

"That first night, my dad let FP and Jughead in on our secret because he saw how I trusted Jug and wasn't planning to leave Riverdale anytime soon. We trusted the Jones' and they now trust us. The circle of people in the know was meant to stay as small as possible, but then you three," you pause, huffing and smiling sadly as you meet each of their gazes, "wormed your way under my skin and I knew I couldn't keep a secret this big from you anymore."

"So your dad really is the devil?" Fangs asks. His gaze is set on the flames just barely dancing over the rim of the barrel, an expression on his face you can't quite decipher.

Sighing, you let your left hand wave back and forth over the flames. "My dad really is Lucifer Morningstar." You hold your hand still then, the flames engulfing your hand. Someone gasps, but you don't look up until you say, "And I'm the Queen of Hell."

"Oh fuck."

Fangs immediately shoots up, stumbling behind his seat. Sweet Pea's expression has completely shut down and Toni stares with wide eyes. Without having to look in a mirror, you already know your eyes have gone pure white and the picture you paint with the crown atop your head can look quite daunting.

"I'm still me- the same girl you've been hanging out with for a while now." You swallow down the hurt you feel at their speechlessness. "But.. I will understand if this is too much. All I ask is that this little revelation doesn't leave the circle." Still your friends say nothing and fight against the burn behind your eyes. "I'm sorry."

As quickly as you can, you bend over to pick up your bag. Shouldering the strap, you turn to walk away when Jughead calls out. "Y/N.."

"It's fine," you say and cast him a small smile. "I'll pick up my car later. I'm going home."

"Let me give you a ride home at least."

You shake your head. "I'll manage." And with that, you turn and walk away, letting a swirl of flames whisk you away.

Maybe you should have waited, dropping hints here and there to ease them in. But as you appear in your room, you drop onto your bed and let the sadness swallow you whole. What's done is done. All you can do is hope for the best now.

[amor-immortalem]

Can I Stay Up Here With You Forever ch. 3

Previous

Warnings: Implied sex

“So, what were ya gonna make for dinner?”

“Stir fry... unless you’d rather have something different,” Her green eyes peer at Mammon over the other side of the refrigerator door. “I don’t mind if you want something different. We can always have it tomorrow.”

“No that’s fine,” The demon nods. “Ya want me to help?”

“Sure,” Arella started placing the ingredients on the counter. “You can start by slicing up the mushrooms, the peppers and the scallions.” She started to get out the pans she’d need before going to wash her hands. “I’ll start with the meat.”

He nodded as he washed his hands and began with the task given to him.

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“So how did you enjoy it?” The pair were cleaning up after their meal.

“It was good. I think I didn’t cut the peppers thin enough though,” The demon answers as he dries up one of pans that were used.

“They were still good though,” Arella shut the water off and drained the sink. “They weren’t undercooked so it all turned out fine.”

“Coulda been crunchier though... Either way, ‘snot like it was bad...” Mammon started putting away the dry dishes into their proper places.

“Yeah, you’re not wrong there. I probably could have fried all the veggies a little longer, but this is the first time I’ve ever made stir fry on my own so I didn’t want to burn them. Anyway, you want to watch a movie after this?”

“Sure, although...” The demon trailed off, “Never mind. A movie is perfect.”

“Was there something else you wanted to do instead?”

“Yeah, a little...”

“What did you want to do then?” She moves to cage him against the counter, her hands placed over his. “I think we’re far past the point of you being shy about what you really want, baby boy...”

“I...” the demon closes his eyes and inhales as she presses against him just right almost as if she was trying to tease him, “Don’t tease.” Mammon pushes the smaller human back against the island behind her, looming over her.

“Is that what I’m doing?” She asks playfully, winding her arms around his neck. “I couldn’t tell... What are you going to do to me if I don’t?” The human bites her lip at the growl he lets out, hooking a leg around his hips to pull him closer while she continued to tease him with quick, soft touches over his body. He’s so easy to rile up.

The Avatar of Greed’s response is only a rush of hungry kisses that leave his human breathless by time he pulls away. They stare into each other’s eyes as they catch their breath for a short while before Arella pulls him toward the bedroom.

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She scrolled through her human world social media the next morning as she ran a hand through her boyfriend’s hair while he slept with his head on her chest. He’d probably be out for another hour or two at least, but Arella was more than content to just lay here and snuggle. She flipped through both local news and news from England after she’d caught up on all her socials, receiving a text from her childhood friend, Aubrie.

Aubrie: Reeeeeeeeelllllllssssss

Aubrie: How’s REDACTED?

Arella: REDACTED? Lmao

Arella: Aubrie you make it sound like my address is the location of one of those SCP files you love to read about online.

Aubrie: Well you won’t tell me where you moved to so...

Aubrie: Anywho

Aubrie: how was the move? Is your new house set up yet? Can I come visit you at some point? When are you going back to the Devildom?

Arella: The move went fine and yeah, if youre that dead set on visiting then fine you can come under the condition that the address doesn’t get back to Lucifer in anyway shape or form.

Arella: And I don’t know when or if I’m even going back at this point

Aubrie: Why can’t I tell Lucifer? Did you do something the last time you were down there?

Arella: No, nothing of the sort

Arella: Its just... I told you about how Lucifer and his brothers treat Mammon right? Like he’s the scum of the devildom and they’re always degrading him or accusing him of things he didn’t do with no proof. How Lucifer gives him punishments that sometimes aren’t deserved

Aubrie: Yeah but I thought you’d had a talk with his brothers about that?

Arella: I did but after a month everything reverted back to how it used to be...

Arella: to make matters worse Mammon ended up breaking his elbow after he and Lucifer got into scuffle over a bloody credit card bill yesterday.

Aubrie: wut

Aubrie: Is he alright?

Arella: He’s fine now.

Arella: Solomon was able to heal his arm and then I summoned him up here with me. Honestly the way he talks sometimes he sounds like a dv victim whose too afraid to leave his abusers. Either that or he’s apologizing it away and I can’t stand seeing him like that.

Arella: So I hope that without his brothers around, he’ll be able to decide if he’s truly happy with them or not. I know he loves them more than anything but... idk you can love someone without sacrificing your own happiness you know? And when his brothers talk to or treat him the way they do, he just looks so hurt after.

Aubrie: Yeah I understand. I hope you guys get that all sorted out then. I’ll talk to you later. I have start getting ready for work.

Aubrie: Bye Rells

Arella: good bye Aubrie.

Arella set her phone on the nightstand as the demon resting on her chest began to stir.

“Well, good morning, Sleepyhead. How did you sleep last night?” The human chuckles as Mammon on buries his face into her chest.

“I slept pretty good- better than I have in the last few days. Thanks.” He reply was only slightly muffled before sitting up and stretching. “What about you?”

“I slept great. You certainly did enough to tire me out last night.”

“Who were ya texting?”

“It was just Aubrie. Sorry, did the sound of the vibrations wake you?” She sits up as he shakes his head.

“No I was just waking up while you started texting. I just wanted to lay there a bit longer... I’m hungry, you want breakfast?”

“Yeah, breakfast sounds great,” She moves to grab his shirt from last night off the floor but the soreness in her thighs and hips stop her as she lets out a soft groan.

“I can make it don’t worry. Just stay in bed and rest for now. Yer gonna have to settle for eggs though...”

“Eggs are perfect, Dear.” Arella sighs as she flops over onto her side and Mammon kisses her cheek.

He climbs off the bed and slips on his boxers from the previous night. He’d have time to get his suitcase from the front room and put the clothes away later, but now is time for food.

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Next

Find more on my masterlist

[loftec]

Hi! in this prompt, could we know about Mickey's ex boyfriend or something? I think his name was Matt?

thank you for participating + pre NTW - Mickey's POV 👀

Anon: tell us about Matt

Yevgeny: his name was Mark

Mickey, pinching the bridge of his nose: Martin, and no. I’m not gonna tell you about Martin.

Narrator: little did Mickey know that he had zero say on the matter, let’s goooo.

April 13, 2013. Saturday.

Mickey is just off the L when his phone rings. For a moment, he considers ignoring the buzzing in his pocket as he lights up a cigarette and bounds down the metal steps. The list of people likely to call him is very limited, and most of that list is very welcome to fuck off to voicemail on a Saturday evening. Work can fuck off, telemarketers can doubly fuck off. On this particular Saturday, even his extended family can fuck off. It might be Martin, wondering where he is, but he can quite frankly also fuck off, seeing as Mickey is no more than five minutes away from their agreed rendezvous.

That only leaves one, and the thought alone is enough for Mickey to step out of the flow of people rushing to and from the platform, and check the damned call. Seeing the ID, he quickly picks up, pressing the phone to his ear.

”What the fuck?” he asks, unsure if he should be annoyed or alarmed and figuring this would best cover a bit of both.

”Hey dad,” his son says, unexpectedly.

”Yev?” Mickey says, inching towards annoyed. At least his son is unharmed enough to dial a phone, so it can’t be too bad. ”What’s wrong? Where’s Sonya?”

”She’s right here,” Yevgeny says, he sounds fine, normal, good, ”we can’t find the cake poking thing.”

Staring at the empty space in front of him, Mickey feels the rest of his mood swan dive head-first into annoyed. ”The what?”

”The thing we use to poke cakes, to check if they’re done? We can’t find it and we need it, the cake is almost done.”

Taking the forgotten cigarette from his lips, Mickey angles the burning end away from his face as he rubs at the deep line between his eyebrows.

”Kid,” he says, trying to sound calm, ”give the phone to Sonya.”

There are some muffled noises over the line, and then Mickey can hear his son’s distant voice. ”He wants to talk to you.”

”Hey Mickey,” Sonya comes on, breezy as anything. ”Is it supposed to be in the cutlery drawer? Been rifling through that thing for a good minute already.”

”Are you fucking kidding me?”

”What? It’s not such a weird guess, is it? I’d say it’s cutlery adjacent at least.”

”I’ve been outta the fucking house for less than forty minutes!” Mickey says, calmly. He is absolutely not screeching loud enough to have people on the street give him concerned looks. ”And you call me about some fucking–, I don’t have anything like that! Who has a thing specifically for poking cakes?!”

”Oh please,” Sonya scoffs. ”Plenty people do, you being one of them!”

He wants to point out that this is categorically not what he meant when he said ’call me if there’s an emergency’, but he’s got a feeling that this is only going to get him into an argument about the definition of ’emergency’ that he’s not going to win, and besides, he’s got bigger fish to fry right now.

”I absolutely do fucking not!” he splutters, glaring at a couple throwing him side-eye as they rush past him. ”Are you outta your mind?”

”I know you have one, because I gave it to you,” Sonya says, clanking sounds in the background from where she’s still presumably rifling through Mickey’s shit. ”Remember? When you moved in? I got it in Sweden when I was visiting for my cousin’s wedding. It was hand crafted, Mickey, you better not have thrown it out!”

”That thing?” Mickey balks, smoothly electing to not point out that they both know Sonya came home from her trip with like ten of those in her luggage and then spent the next two years giving them to all her friends and family whenever she’d forgot about getting gifts for an occasion. ”I stuck it in Merida.”

The silence on the other end of the line is palpable, and it takes a second for Mickey to hear what he just said.

”Who is Merida, and do I want to know why you stuck my hand-carved Swedish cake poker in her?”

Mickey sighs, and decides that he doesn’t have to answer that. He can try, at least. ”Tell Yev it’s in Merida.”

”I most certainly will not tell your sweet summer child that you’ve stuck the cake poker in–,” her increasingly high pitched voice abruptly falls to a hiss, ”–Merida, who is Merida?”

Luckily, Mickey can hear his son in the background, saving him from having to explain. ”It’s this thing?”

There’s another silence, Mickey takes the opportunity to smoke and accept the inevitable.

”Two questions,” Sonya says, her usual good humor back in her voice. ”One, you stuck my hand-carved Swedish souvenir in a potted plant? And two, you named the plant Merida?”

”It’s cartoon character–,” Mickey starts, before realizing what he’s saying and cutting himself off, ”I didn’t name it, obviously.”

”But you still call it by its name.”

”Whatever,” Mickey blows out a puff of smoke and can’t help smiling. Sometimes he just has to stop and take stock of how fucking ridiculous his life has turned out. And how much he fucking likes it, despite himself. ”Congratulations, you found it. Any other emergency you needed me for, or can I get back to my–”

He swallows, catching himself mid-sentence, suddenly unsure of how he intended to end it.

”–thing.”

”You’re there already?” Sonya asks, sounding genuinely remorseful now. ”Sorry, you left so late I thought for sure you’d missed the train and would still be en route, or I wouldn’t have told Yev to call. How’s the date going?”

Mickey swallows again, throat dry. He starts walking down the street in the direction of the bar.

”It’s fine, still on the way,” he says, ”and it’s not a date.”

”Like heck it isn’t,” Sonya tuts, ”you’re out on a Yev weekend for the first time since I’ve known you, and I saw that shirt you’re wearing.”

He runs a hand self-consciously along his belt, his button-down still tucked in and in place. He refuses to worry about it.

”You looked good, Mickey, I meant to tell you,” Sonya continues, and she doesn’t even sound like she’s teasing anymore which Mickey knows even less how to handle. ”And you’re undeniably on a date.”

”Shut up,” Mickey mutters and smiles to himself when Sonya laughs. Feeling a little more himself, he chucks his cigarette to the curb and stops to look across the road at his destination. ”Maybe.”

He hadn’t really considered the possibility, before Martin asked him. But the sex was always good, they got along really well, and when Martin looked up at him from his bed as Mickey was pulling on his jeans, his hair rumpled and lips still shiny, and asked if he wanted to go to some kind of hipster showcase gig together, Mickey had barely even hesitated.

”About time, too,” Sonya says. ”Was starting to think the guy wasn’t all there, taking his sweet time. Maybe he was waiting for you to ask.”

”Ey,” Mickey shakes his head, ”it’s only been a couple of months.”

”Try six! That’s half of a whole year.”

”Try minding your own fucking business,” Mickey says and frowns. Maybe it has been that long since the first time they hooked up, but it’s not like they’ve been fucking on the regular the whole time since then.

”Just happy for you, Mickey,” Sonya says, like it’s an easy thing for her to say. ”You like him, right?”

He doesn’t say yes, but he doesn’t outright deny it either, which probably tells Sonya everything she needs to know.

”Gotta go,” he says instead, ”and don’t call me again unless it’s an actual fucking emergency. See you tomorrow.”

Not waiting to see if she’s got something to say to that, he hangs up and shoves the phone back into his pocket. Staring at the unassuming building across the street, he allows himself a moment to take it all in. He’s just casing the joint before he enters, it’s normal fucking behavior. He isn’t stalling.

It doesn’t look too busy from the outside, there’s no line, and no bouncer or guard by the propped open double doors. The walls of the building are littered with layers of posters, on both sides of the doors and across the covered windows. Not much can be seen through the doors from his vantage point, but he assumes that it’s a front room leading to whatever’s going on inside the building.

There’s a guy standing off to the side of the doors, smoking. He’s got a lanyard shoved down his back pocket, ID badge dangling in clear sight. Most likely someone working at the bar, out on a break. His shoulders are hunched and he’s got a phone clutched to his ear, head bent and lips pressed together in a thin line. He nods at whatever is being said to him over the phone. Mickey looks up at the worn sign above the door.

”Fuck it,” Mickey mutters and, pushing aside the last of his niggling doubt, makes his way across the street and through the doors. It’s dark enough inside that his eyes need a second to adjust, before he quickly orients himself and heads toward the noise and lights leaking out from behind a set of swing doors beyond the coat check.

”Excuse me!” someone pipes up behind him, and he turns back to raise his eyebrows at the girl standing behind a counter by the entrance. ”We’ve got a showcase tonight, you need to buy a ticket.”

She makes an apologetic face as Mickey gets closer and pulls out his wallet.

”25,” she says when he gives her a questioning look.

”Christ,” he mutters, but forks over the money. ”This better be good.”

”We’ve got a really exciting lineup tonight, all local acts,” she says, obviously relieved now that he’s payed and she can tuck away his hard earned cash in her little lock box. ”I’m hoping I can take a break soon so I can sneak a peak of the headliner.”

She winks at him as she hands over a ticket, and he has zero fucking clue what he’s supposed to do with any of that.

”Okay?” he says and accepts the ticket. ”What’s this for? I’m already here.”

”In case you want to go in and out,” she says, and then tacks on when she seems to remember something she’s supposed to say; ”there’s no smoking in the venue.”

Mickey shrugs and pockets the ticket, biting back the urge to tell her that there’s no fucking smoking anywhere these days, thank you very much. The girl is still smiling at him when he turns his back on her and heads for the bar.

”Have fun!”

Finally inside, the place seems to be a collection of smaller rooms with some walls knocked down to make a larger, oddly shaped space. The bar is crowded, three bartenders moving around each other and pouring drinks in the narrow space behind it, and all the tables tucked away in the dark half-room next to it seem occupied. In the main room, Mickey finds the small, raised stage with a bigger crowd gathered in front of it. There’s a guy on stage, talking about something and looking like he’s about to cry while getting thoroughly ignored by a majority of his audience.

Mickey included, when he spots Martin a bit to the left of the stage. He’s talking to a couple of people he must have met in the crowd, smiling in that carefree way of his, eyes squeezed together and head tossed back when he laughs. He seems to do that a lot, laugh and talk and make friends wherever he goes. Open about himself in casual throw-away lines as he lets Mickey into his apartment, takes his clothes off, catching his breath, seeing Mickey off again. It’s nice seeing him out here, in the real world.

Maybe this could work. Mickey really should have tried harder to be on time, leaving your date to make new friends while he waits for you to show up seems like a bad move, now that he thinks about it.

Shit. Here goes nothing.

”Hey!” Martin exclaims, face lighting up with a wide smile when Mickey walks into his line of sight. He doesn’t sound upset, really doesn’t look it either when he pulls Mickey in for a quick kiss. It’s over before Mickey’s had the chance to do much else than blink in surprise.

”I’m late,” he acknowledges and hopes Martin will take the attempt at an apology for what it is.

”It’s fine,” Martin gins at him, tilting his head in the direction of the stage, ”you haven’t missed anything good.”

”– have you ever noticed that?” the guy on stage mutters into the microphone, ”I mean–, uh, I’ve noticed, that–, sometimes–”

Tuning the guy out again, Mickey looks past his date at the two people still standing on his other side, regarding them curiously.

”We got a problem?” he asks them, raising his eyebrows further when the woman just smiles at him.

”Oh,” Martin says, angling himself so the four of them make a little semi-circle in the crowd. ”My friends, Nora, Ethan, this is Mickey.”

Mickey stares at the side of Martin’s face for a moment, before he notices Ethan’s outstretched hand. He feels confused enough to grab it in a quick handshake. The woman, Nora, just keeps smiling.

”Nice to meet you, Mickey,” she says, clearly hiding something. People generally aren’t this smiley without an agenda, in Mickey’s experience.

”Sure,” Mickey says, glancing at Martin for some clue as to what he’s supposed to do now.

”You wanna go get yourself a drink?” Martin asks, pointing in the direction of the bar. ”This comedy train wreck should be over soon, hopefully.”

”Sure,” Mickey says again, wrong-footed by the whole odd situation and frustrated with himself for not being able to shake the feeling that he’s made a huge mistake.

”Go with him!” Nora says, making Martin take a half-step closer to Mickey by shoving lightly at his shoulder. ”We’ll save the spot.”

She gives Martin a pointed look and some kind of silent communication seems to happen between them, ending with her looking victorious and Martin dropping his head back with an exaggerated sigh. Then he turns to Mickey and playfully gestures for him to lead the way.

”Sorry about her,” he says once they’ve reached the bar, leaning in closer to speak directly into Mickey’s ear. The warmth of his breath makes the hairs on his neck stand on end. ”I keep telling her to back off, but she’s got it in her head that we’re doing something we’re not.”

Mickey swallows and turns his head to look at Martin when he leans back.

”And what are we doing?” he asks, and he doesn’t realize how it sounds until he sees Martin’s gobsmacked expression.

He lets out a startled laugh. ”Are we really gonna talk about this now? Here?”

And technically, Mickey agrees with him. He really doesn’t want to have the ’what are we’ conversation, and he definitely doesn’t want to have it now, here. But he’s already said it, and now he needs to know.

”Maybe,” he says and frowns when Martin just stares at him for a moment.

”I don’t know?” Martin eventually says. ”We have fun, right? I didn’t think you wanted it to be more than that?”

Mickey can barely hear his own thoughts over the noise from the bar, but he can practically feel his heartbeat in his throat. ”Do you?”

Martin makes a pained face, like it’s an involuntary reaction to the mere idea, before he shrugs helplessly and gives Mickey an uncertain smile.

”We don’t really have anything in common, Mickey,” he says. ”I don’t know, I just don’t see it going anywhere.”

”Thank you for participating,” the guy on stage says, his voice louder and verging on hysterical. It gives Mickey a reason to look away from Martin’s face for a second, hating the sympathetic twist to his lips. He feels like a fool.

”You suck!” someone yells in the audience.

”Yeah? Right back at you buddy!”

”Get off the stage!”

”Sure,” Mickey says, and nods. ”No, sure. You’re right.”

”Sorry?” Martin says and grins when Mickey rolls his eyes. ”And we can still have fun, right? Hey, I’ll buy you a drink! What do you want?”

”Anything, a beer,” Mickey tries to focus on Martin, on the list of prices pinned to the wall behind the bar, but there is suddenly too much noise, too many people, too much… stuff. ”I just gotta–”

He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, so he stops. He doesn’t know what he wants, but getting out of this room would be a good start.

Martin looks confused, and then tuts reproachfully when Mickey pulls out his pack of smokes and gestures in the direction of the doors. He hates it when Mickey smokes, always makes him brush his teeth before they do anything. Guess that’s another thing they don’t have in common. Mickey hadn’t given it much thought.

He leaves Martin by the bar to fend for the bartender’s attention on his own and goes back outside, ignoring the surprised look on the girl by the door when he strides past her. Once outside, he’d hoped the fresh air and relative silence would knock him back on track, but it doesn’t. Everything is exactly the same, only now he can add ’running away like a pussy’ to the list of tonight’s embarrassments. He hates this, this isn’t him.

He should go back inside, show Martin and his friends that he doesn’t give a shit. Have a couple of beers, get through the night, make that asshole suck his dick until he can’t feel anything but a warm mouth and his own pleasure. But he’s not repaying any favors, not tonight, let that shithead take care of himself, since he can’t see it going anywhere. Fuck that. It’s fine.

”I know–, no, I know…”

Wrapped up in his own bullshit, Mickey hadn’t noticed he wasn’t alone. The same man from before is still on the phone, and he looks if possible even more miserable than he did when Mickey first arrived.

”That isn’t–, no, I know you didn’t… listen–”

Mickey ignores him, taking out a cigarette putting it to his lips. Might as well, he’s already out here. He lights it up. He, lights it up… come the fuck on, he lights it up. His lighter is out. Fucking great.

”Ey,” he says and turns to the guy on the phone, ”you got a light?”

The guy stares at him, and Mickey absently thinks he looks even worse up close. Like, disturbingly hot and built enough to properly toss a guy around if he wanted, but absolutely worn down by whatever it is he’s doing with whoever’s on the phone with him. Whatever, not Mickey’s problem. He shakes his empty lighter when the guy doesn’t immediately react.

”Oh,” the guy blinks, his eyes are red. He digs out a lighter from somewhere and hands it over. ”Here.”

”Thanks,” Mickey steps close enough so he can reach out and take it, and consequently hear the distant sound of a man’s voice on the other end of the line. He can’t make out any words, but the tone is unmistakable. The guy frowns and turns away slightly.

”Jesus, Jace, what the fuck?” he says, voice low and sharp. ”Are you serious right now? I’m not–, you know what?”

Mickey lights up and takes a couple of steps away to give the guy some privacy, but might still watch him out of the corner of his eye and hear pretty much everything he says. Call him a nosy bitch, but he really needs the distraction right now.

”I can’t do this right now,” the guy sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. ”We’re on in like ten minutes and I can’t–, I can’t do this with you right now. I asked you for time.”

He listens, and whatever it is that’s being said to him seems to hit a nerve. The general air around him of annoyed resolve slowly shifts into something more resigned.

”Yeah, I know… I’m sorry,” he says, and Mickey doesn’t know him or his situation, but he knows this can’t be right. ”Tomorrow, we’ll talk. I promise. Yeah, thanks… I will. Love you, too.”

Mickey shouldn’t be listening to this, he should finish his cigarette and go back inside. Find Martin and enjoy the night, have some fucking fun. Maybe he should, but he doesn’t want to.

He wants to go home, put on some fucking comfortable clothes and watch a movie with his kid.

”Heads up,” he says and waits until the phone guy looks up before he lobs the lighter back at him. He fumbles, but catches it. ”Fuck him, you deserve better.”

The guy stares at him, and rightly so. Mickey doesn’t know why he said that, he doesn’t know anything about it. But the guy looks… he looks a bit like Mickey’s feeling, deep down and buried many times over.

He looks lost.

”You deserve better,” Mickey repeats, because he already said it and he’s nothing if not all in. The guy opens his mouth on a shaky exhale, but he doesn’t say anything. Probably thinking of ways to get away from the freak accosting him on the street with unsolicited affirmation bullshit. Which, fair enough. Guess that’s Mickey’s cue to fuck off. If the guy would just stop staring at him like that.

A hand-holding couple suddenly walks right through their intense moment, heading for the doors. Mickey comes back to himself and, thinking quick, he takes out his ticket and waves it at the couple to get their attention.

”No thanks,” the man said, probably thinking he’s trying to sell it.

”Just fucking take it,” Mickey grumbles, shoving the ticket at them.

”Uh, thanks?”

Mickey waves a dismissive hand at them, already on his way.

”Thank you!” someone shouts after him.

He can’t wait to get home. Kick off his shoes, wash out the gel in his hair. Untuck his fucking shirt. Investigate whatever that cake poking business was about, hopefully cake. Watch his kid watch a movie, see his little face light up and mouth along with the words. Absolutely ignore Sonya’s inevitable attempts to get him to ’talk about it’.

His life is fucking fine the way it is, he doesn’t know why he got it in his head to try and make it something it isn’t.

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

Homeward Bound or Meeting The Family

Quick Tag List: @kuruumiya @spacelizardtrashboys @stupidbluegirl @enigmaticandunstable @nattinngrst

This Passage contains potentially: swearing, violence, blood, angst, whump, fluff and smutty content.

Summary: Rod pushes forward the flight back to Kirby's homeland by a day and meets her parents, her Mam takes an instant liking to him, her Da not so much.

Kirby's POV:

Rod shook me awake early in the morning of the Twenty-Seventh.

"Kirbs, we gotta pack."

"No we don't the flight back ain't 'till tomorrow."

"I called the airport, they let me push the trip forward by a day."

I shot up, giving him a worried look, "You pushed the flight forward to today?"

"Yeah."

I rushed to pack everything I had into my bags, mumbling incoherently under my breath.

"When do we leave?"

Rod picked up my suitcase, walking to the door, "In about half an hour."

I threw my gym bag over my shoulder and rushed to get into the D200, waiting for Roddy to check us out of the hotel and join me.

The flight back was uneventful and we got a taxi to my parent's home, with me ringing the doorbell and waiting for the door to open, hearing my parents muffled voices from inside.

"Ya didn't order anything, Heaven?"

"No, Eric. I'll go see who it is."

I shot Rod a reassuring look and waited for my Mam to open the door.

The door swung open.

"fy mhlentyn melys." She put her hands up to cover her mouth.

"Hi Mammy." I dropped my bags and hugged her.

"Come in, come in." She guided us into the living room, my Da on the recliner chair next to the sofa in front of the TV, "We weren't expectin' ya back today. How long are ya staying?"

"About three weeks, ma'am." Rod explained.

"'three weeks'?" I whispered, he nodded in return.

My Da looked up and immediately got up to hug me, "Aw, my baby has come home. Who's your friend?"

"Well, Mam, Da, this is Roddy Piper. He's a co-worker and a close friend." I sheepishly explained.

"I'm ya daughter's boyfriend." He butted in.

"Oh, Really, Is that so?" My Da started, having decided to quiz Roddy, "If you're her boyfriend, what's her favourite food?"

"Da, question him later, please."

"Alright, you're off the hook for now, boyo."

"If you're home for the next week then you can come with us on Sunday to the family get together."

"Which is on Sunday because you expected me back tomorrow?"

"Aye. Your new man can come with us if he likes."

I shot my Mam my best look of 'shuddup Mam you're embarrassing me'.

"I'd love to join you and meet more of your beautiful daughter's family."

We sat on the sofa, with me between Rod and my Da in his recliner chair, my Mam stayed on her feet and the straggler, my old cat came striding into the room and jumped up onto my lap, quickly curling up and letting me pet him.

"Do any of ya want a coffee, or tea?"

"A coffee would be nice." my Da mumbled, focusing again on the TV.

"Yes, a coffee please, Mam."

"A, uh, a cup of tea please, Missus Trevor."

"Ya got yourself a polite one there, Kirby."

"Mam." I chided her as she walked out of the room.

"Who's ya little buddy?"

"This, Rod, is 'The Straggler', he's my cat, and he's a cute little fat blob of a ginger fluffball. Sometimes I think I'm the reason he's fat, other times I think it's him sneaking out at night and eating things he shouldn't, like grass."

"So, his name's 'The Straggler'?"

"No, his actual name is 'Tiger' but we call him 'Fat Man' or 'The Straggler'."

"So, where do we put our bags?"

I lifted the straggler off my lap and got up, placing him back on my seat, he quickly curled up again, happy to be in a place that I had been in seconds before, "Come on, I'll show ya." I grabbed my bags and led Roddy to my bedroom upstairs, putting down my gym bag and opening the door as far as it would go.

My bedroom isn't the biggest but it's big enough to comfortably fit myself and at least one other person. The wall facing the door was covered by a big gothic graveyard tapestry, my sofa bed in front of it, large enough to fit two people or one giant.

The wall to the right was covered by posters of varying designs and sizes, all being rather dark or darkly comedic in nature. In front of that was my desk, completely covered with small trinkets and tiny states as well as a small radio.

Next to that was a bedside cabinet with a makeup caddy on top and my Mam had seemingly gone out to a local shop, buying some fudge and chocolate which she had placed on the cabinet-top.

The wall to the left had a window and a radiator underneath, the curtains, a deep red tartan, were parted, allowing the somewhat bright light of the afternoon into the room.

We walked in and Rod sat down on the bed, bouncing slightly on the mattress and letting out a deep sigh. I walked around to the chest of drawers behind the door and placed my bags on top of it.

"So, your parents aren't as tall as I'd thought they'd be?"

"My Da's five-foot-nine, my Mam's five-foot-four. I have gigantism."

"I know that, but, I just, I guess I wasn't expecting them to be so," He seemed to be fumbling with his words, unsure of how to explain himself, he huffed and then continued, "I wasn't expecting them to be so nice."

"Well, they were kinda forced to be both protective and kind as I grew up. Kind to others who want to be in my life while protecting me from a potentially very harsh world."

"'Cause you're a giant."

"Yeah."

"How old are your parents?"

"My Da's fifty-nine and my mam is sixty."

"They look a lot fucking younger."

"Roderick."

"Kirby, coffee!" My Mam yelled up from downstairs, "You're Uncle David's here!"

"Oh wow, didn't hear my Da call him."

"You expected to hear a phone call from up here?"

"No, they live down the street. Trust me if my family wanted to, we could fill a small town."

"Big family."

"Big but loving family, mostly."

We walked downstairs, getting our drinks from the kitchen, as per the usual my Mam had put them in 'relevant' graphic mugs, mine reading 'Head in the clouds. Feet on the ground.' and Roddy's reading 'Scots know best'. We walked into the living room and Rod got a look at my Uncle David.

A Chubby man with a darker tan than my Da but only slightly shorter despite being older than my Da, as if that has any holding in height.

"Well now, who's this bright young spark hanging out with our Kirby?"

"Uncle David, this is Roddy Piper. Rod, this is my Uncle David."

"Hello, Sir, nice to meet ya."

Hours passed by like minutes just talking and laughing, when we noticed it getting darker, we said our goodbyes and then the conversation over dinner started.

"Take-out or are we cooking?" My Da quizzed

"Well, what've we got in the fridge?" I inquired, quizzing him back

"Enough for a fry up."

"Then I'll make us all a fry up."

"Ya sure?"

"Yeah, unless you're dead-set on having take-out."

"Well if we go down now, we can get a big pizza that'll last today and tomorrow and we won't have to cook."

"Good point, Da. Let's go then."

My Da quickly put his boots on and we headed down the street, bought a big square 32" pizza, walking home with a smaller box of garlic bread slices atop the massive pizza box. We ate and finished our drinks before going to bed for the night, my parents in their room, the straggler in a bucket on the landing and Rod sleeping next to me, or at least we should have been sleeping.

"Kirby?"

"Yes, Rod."

"I love ya, ya know that, right?"

"Yes, I love you too, what's wrong?"

"Part of me wants to be part of your family and another part of me wants to say it's somehow all a lie."

"Well, why do you feel that way?"

"I guess, ugh, no I can't talk about it. But, I've got to say this, just to make sure you understand me. I left home when I was thirteen because I hated how my parents treated me and I needed to get out of that situation. I think I'm just expecting your family to be the same deep down."

"Rod, I love you, I truly do, but, my parents are the way they seem, they're nice but we do get angry, me and my Da have had so many shouting matches I can't count how many times I wanted to run away when I was growing up, but we moved past it. We grew and changed because we knew how badly it would screw the three of us up. My Da's easily angered, my Mam is easily upset, I'm easily anxious."

"Am I going to be stared at on Sunday, baby?"

"Probably. But then again, no one's really used to me having a partner because they never met Erik, and he was never my boy-"

Rod cut me off with a rough kiss, quickly silencing me.

"I thought I said, don't bring him up."

"Roderick Piper. My parents are down the hall and I thought we agreed to only da that when we want to have kids."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean we can't make out."

"You bring up a good point, come here."

I pulled him into a kiss, intertwining my fingers with his short locks, feeling his hands under my shirt, skin against skin. Somehow the only person I want near me at any point from now onwards in a any way is him, it's like I've forgotten the feeling of anyone else's touch against my skin. He makes me feel sane, and understood, like he is truly 'the one' but only time will tell, I guess.

When we awoke the next morning, Rod's forehead was lightly touching mine.

"Roddy," I whispered, "Roddy, honey."

"What is it babe?"

"Wake up hon."

"Five more minutes, you elven beauty."

I let Rod go back to sleep and got up, dressing myself in some casual clothes (black overalls and a black graphic T-shirt with a skull on it) and headed to the garage/gym space my dad had built.

I didn't realise that half an hour had passed until a knock at the door broke my concentration on my current workout.

"Come in, door's open."

"Hey Sweetheart."

"Hi, Rod, whaddya want?" I asked, breathless.

"Ya Mam sent me to talk to ya, said ya didn't get any breakfast, wanted me to give ya this," He chucked over a sealed bottle of chocolate milk, "Ya alright baby girl?"

"I'm fine, I just missed being able to just come in here and work out."

"So, this is how ya trained when ya were younger?"

"Yeah, I started wrestling when I was sixteen and before that I did kick-boxing, gymnastics, rugby, football, anything really," I took a swig of the milk, "One day, my uncle Tony, took me and my cousins to see a wrestling show, when I was about fourteen, and I decided that's what I wanted to do."

"So you focused on wrestling from that point onwards, ya never wanted to do anything different?"

I took another swig of the milk, letting out a vague 'mmn' before putting it down so I could answer him, "Wasn't until I was, twenty-five that I started thinking, about what the rest of my life holds for me, I would like a house of my own, and someone to share it with. Potentially a small but traditional wedding, a couple of kids, maybe a pet or tw-"

Rod pulled me into a rough but loving kiss, cupping my cheek with one hand and wrapping his opposite arm around my waist. A couple seconds later he pulled away, kissing my neck and whispering out the words, "Mo chridhe, I promise you I'll do whatever I can to give you everything you need in life. A family. A home. A traditional wedding. Kids. Anything, you name it and I will try my hardest to give it to you, and even if I don't succeed, you'll still have my love. Forever and ever, mo chridhe, I mean it."

"Roddy, I … I have no words good enough to describe how safe and happy, and sane you make me feel."

"I don't need words. Actions speak a million times louder."

"C'mere you," I pulled him into another kiss, intertwining my left hand with his hair and wrapping my right arm around his waist, feeling his arms around my waist slowly pull me as close as he could get me, letting the quiet calm of the morning slowly turn into a small amount of chaos as he pulled away with that devilish grin on his face. It's shocking how that grin can make me feel intrigued but scared at the same time. ​

END OF HOMEWARD BOUND or MEETING THE FAMILY

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

I want to tell you... (Part 9.)

Description: Nathan Drake is not the exact definition of an unhappy man. His job is steady, his friends still see him from time to time, he plays football, but his marriage is his main problem. Many things will change when a special person comes to his life.

Part Summary: Nathan and Sully had talked you down to join them for a family dinner, at which a set of unfortunate misunderstandings was started

A/N: This shit was hillarous to write, I tell you that. 

Word counter: 2.9K

Tagging: @missdictatorme​, @peakymarvels​, @nemodoren​, @flavorishy​

Series master list: H E R E

Nathan’s car sing-along playlist: H E R E

GIF SOURCE

"Oh no, no, no, crap, what the hell did you manage to do with it?" - Nathan yelled with a horrified expression, running to you with a tea towel swing over his shoulder. He looked at the cut in your finger, inspecting it in its entirety as if you should die any minute because of fatal blood loss. You were kind of snickering at his reaction because Nathan was really cute when he was worried about you.

The man ran away for one minute. One minute to look at some gig Sully was thinking of accepting. And when he got back, you were suddenly bleeding. Jesus fucking Christ, you were kinda hard to wrap the head around. But you were still fun, so Nathan was only half-terrified.

"Shove it into your mouth and suck the blood out, come on." - Nathan instructed you with a serious face. A giggle sounded through the room, which made Nate turn at you from searching for a sticking-plaster for your severely wounded finger. Some mumbo-jumbo left your mouth when you sucked on the blood, watching the man in front of you. - "Come again?" - Nate asked you to repeat yourself while cut off a small portion of the plaster so you wouldn't have it on your whole finger.

"I asked if this is how you acted around in the kitchen when someone hurts themselves. I mean, look at you, you're a drama queen. You will wrap me in a bubble foil to prevent me from getting hurt again." - You stated, having a bit of evil, mean expression in your face. But the smile told Nate that you're just testing him and his patience. Performing you a pitiful 'ha-ha', the man came closer and made the small cut is covered. - "Is this even hygienic, Nate? Will my finger just rot and fall off now? You can start calling me fingerless Y/N by now." - With that, Nate chuckled at the sight of you pretending to be a pirate, making a hook out of your finger. When those theatrics were over, you turned back to cutting the peppers for his masterpiece.

"Human saliva has some healing properties, for your information. But if you'd like me to drench that cut in alcohol disinfection, shove it underwater or different stuff, just tell me." - Nate looked at you knowingly, swinging around with his knife, explaining to you why is licking the cut something he learned that helps a long time ago. When he and his brother were younger, they didn't have enough money to buy proper first-aid kids, which made a lot of things harder. But saliva could do magic in some instances.

"Nah, I think I'm fine, Drake. My finger got the best treatment it could get, so I'm fine." - You chuckled back and heard the front door of Sully's apartment close. Sully himself was sitting in his workroom, going through another possible gig offers - so this must've been his girlfriend Nate and he told you about. And your eyebrows arched when you saw a very young woman dressed up in formal clothes letting her hair out of the bun she had it in as she kicked off her high-heels. You've expected someone... Older. A lot older. This girl didn't have a single wrinkle on her skin - she was gorgeous in every sense of the word. And she was also very eye-catching.

But she stopped at the same as you did, looking at you with her eyes widened. Slowly, she licked her lips, leaning her elbow to the wall next to her while eyeing you up and down. - "Okay, miss, who are you, and what are you doing in my flat?" - The woman asked, making sure you feel cornered by her. And dear lord, she was great in intimidating the living shit out of you.

"I'm... On... A visit?" - You peeped and at that moment, Drake saved your ass by peeking from behind you, sending Florence a casual smile. The anger suddenly disappeared into the thin air. The woman walked to you excitedly, offering you a palm to shake.

"Name's Florence Carter. Nice to meet you." - She told you with pure joy, which dropped a bit when you told her your name. Oh. Sully told you that his and his girlfriend's situation is pretty fresh, so she must've concluded that you're Elena, since she hadn't the chance to meet her yet. But her bright smile was on again in no time at all, as she greeted Nate by a bear hug, leaving to greet Sully as well.

You've heard her talking about some sort of Drake exposition in some institute, which sparked another conversation between you and Nate.

"Listen. Drake... That kinda does ring a bell inside my head." - You turned at him, watching the man preparing homemade tortillas. He turned back to you as well, arching his eyebrows in surprise.

"You're into history?" - He asked before working with the dish-to-be once again. You didn't know the slightest shit about history. Honestly, you could barely remember your homeland's history and that, for you, was the absolute maximum. But you made an agreeing hum nonetheless. - "Go on, who was Francis Drake? You have me shook now."

Fuck. Fuck. Nathan's voice was hinting that he was aware of you knowing an absolute shit about some Francis Drake. Who was he? Well, your time to shine was there, and you didn't want to leave Nate hanging. - "Francis Drake, you asking me, huh?" - "Yea, I am." - "Well, there was this certain craze about marine biology, as you surely know. It was some time after Columbus had discovered the continent and he noticed some big sea animal in the water and he was in awe, to quote him 'I will be exploring the sea life from now on'. Yea, don't look at me like that, Jesus, Nate, everyone knows this shit. And Francis Drake was a man who was watching the dolphins for some time now and he agreed to help Columbus with his research." - You told Nathan, having the man laughing in the half of your on-the-spot-made story. Your confidence was what made him almost weeping tears away from his cheeks. - "Come on, I was at least in the ballpark." - You snickered at the sound of his laughter, which made you secretly smile too.

"You were in a ballpark... Of a completely different era, explorers and scientists. He liked the sea, that's something you guessed correctly, and for all I know, sir Francis Drake could be a marine biologist, but... I don't know if he'd find time to watch sea animals and fish during his thrilling privateer and many believed pirate career." - Nate smiled at you while leaning over your shoulder for a bottle of olive oil. Well, damn you, Nate was clearly very educated in the subject and you just made a total dud out of yourself. But the damage was already done, and you just had to accept the utter defeat.

"And... Is it some coincidence that you have the same surname, or..?" - You asked and added the pepper to the burrito filling. You were already hungry as hell and the meat blend Nate had finished about half an hour ago was smelling so delicious that you thought about eating all of it by yourself before the burritos will be even finished.

"Not entirely. It's..." - Suddenly, the joy had run out of Nate within seconds. He looked in front of himself, dropping the wooden spoon out of his fingers, having a lost gaze and expression on his face. The man licked his lips and tried to ignore the tightening feeling inside his chest. - "It is a long story. I'll maybe tell you one day, huh? Just not right now, okay?" - He tried to talk through the empty silence you had going on.

You felt bad suddenly. You had just bumped into some sensitive topic. And you didn't want to hurt the man who was just starting to be your friend. - "Can I tell you a pirate joke? To make you feel better?" - You asked, standing next to him as he was working on the first burritos.

"Now we're talking. You have my full attention." - Nate turned his head at you as you watched the tortillas frying. You smiled with a slick grin, straightening up to deliver the joke perfectly. - "Why is pirating so addictive?" - You asked and took the first tortilla from him, filling it up skillfully. You couldn't cook for shit, but this wasn't so hard, and you wanted to help him at least somehow. - "No idea." - Nate giggled, already knowing it's going to be one of the worst jokes anyone had ever tell him. And that was almost unreachable primacy because his brother had singlehandedly told him the worst jokes he ever heard.

"Well, they say once ye lose yer first hand, ye get hooked!" - You said with a nasty grin, pretending that your wounded finger is a hook again. The man rolled his eyes, but he laughed nonetheless, saying something along the lines 'this is so bad, Jesus'. Soon enough, you prepared enough burritos for all of you to eat. The rest of the fresh vegetables, of which you took care as well, was for Nate to cook from at his home. Florence had changed into more comfortable clothes and Sully looked strangely contained. You had an idea of what was going on, but Sully most probably had just some good nap to your letdown.

The woman was energetically jolting around the table with a big smile, serving everyone the wine she caught for the occasion, humming one of the summer bops that was playing inside her head. When she sat down next to Sully, the older man chuckled and looked at Nathan. - "She wants to tell you somethin', boyo." - Sully smugged and motioned his hand for her to continue in the news she had to say. Nathan arched his eyebrows, excited about the unknown information Florence had for him.

"The local national museum will have... A wirble, please." - Her elbow nudged Sully's side. The man rolled his eyes because he was just shoving a burrito down his throat, but did as she asked for, drumming his fingers on the desk of the table. - "A permanent sir Francis Drake exhibition thanks to you, Sully and Sam providing me with so many Drake exhibits. We're now talking about the next pirates we would like to include in the exhibition. I will be forever grateful for that, because, now we're in business, baby and I am the project's main curator." - Florence said joyfully, having Sully proudly smoothing the upper part of her thigh while he still shoved the rest of his food down.

Nathan breathed out in shock and leaned his back into the chair, looking into the table with fascination. But that certainly wasn't enough. Florence had more to say. - "And because I am a big animal in the museum, I proposed the idea of us including some most famous legends, myth, and theories surrounding the pirated... I have pulled some strings and your mom's work will be included. If you'd agree, that is." - Florence said quickly so Nathan would know she isn't taking it as a sure thing. Which put tears into the man's eyes.

You couldn't know about Nate's past and his mom, so you were kind of an intruder in the situation. But the revelation and joy radiating out of your friend was handing in the air and it was so clear, that it made you feel good as well. The whole dinner, understandingly, was rotating around the topic of Nate's mother and the whole exhibition.

At the end of the evening, you had to say that Sully and Florence were a true power couple. Sully was a famous Irish pub owner, of which most of the people in the town knew and you had it on your wish-list as well by the time, and Florence seemed to be pulling the strings in the national museum despite her young age. And to be honest, you were kind of having respect for both of them, which was surely applying to Nathan as well, because he was their best friend. Were these guys in a fucking gang or something? The more they talked about their day-to-day life, the more convinced you were about it.

Holy fuck. You just had to have fucking bad luck with people, hadn't you?

And naturally, Nathan noticed your bad mental state as he drove you home around ten p.m. You were awkwardly silent throughout the whole ride that it made him worried. And being the upfront man he was, he just asked you what's wrong. Ever since you told him your theory about Sully and Florence, possibly even him, being leaders of some gang, Nathan couldn't stop laughing about your assumption.

"What's so funny about that? Huh? I'm fucking scared for my life and you're just laughing at me, man." - You exclaimed when you stopped at a red light to wait before continue on your small journey to your home. Nathan gave you such a sweet smile that it made you feel like a total idiot for a moment - but then, you gathered your confidence back, reminding yourself about these two.

"We're not some... Gang. I assure you of that, okay? It's way wilder than some boring gang." - Nate rolled his eyes playfully and stepped on the gas pedal again, moving the car forward. This statement, no matter if it was a joke or not, made your eyes widen. Was Nathan about to abduct you? Just drive off with you into the night? Was Elena even real in the first place? Jesus fucking Christ, you were on the verge of crying at the moment. - "Please, no, no, no." - The man panicked suddenly at seeing you so distressed at some another dumb joke he made. - "We're not bad people, I swear on my life, okay? I am just a normal guy who works as a cook. That's who I am. I have no dark secrets or past." - He was making it worse and worse with each passing second he was talking.

"What if... Crap, listen to me. I'll tell you what we're doing as a side job. And it's nothing bad-people related, but... It sure as hell breaks a lot of laws and you have to stay silent about everything I would possibly tell you." - Nathan burst out in his full-on panic mode. The man wanted to bitch-slap himself so badly. With every word he told you, he just made the whole deal seem more and more serious. - "I am an archeologist. I do search for... Stuff you hear legends about. But I would have to explain to you deeper for you to stop thinking I am some sort of a sociopath. Would you... Listen to it? Please?" - Nathan breathed out, having an uncomfortable expression himself. Quickly, you glanced over to him. And it left you surprised.

His breath was shallow as he fell deeper and deeper into one of his anxiety-panic attacks. He had tears in his eyes while his palms crushed the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white almost instantly. Nathan was just trying to be the goofy guy around the girl he liked and all it had accomplished was that now she thought that he was a criminal of sorts. And he couldn't take any of it back.

"Okay." - You whispered after a moment. It was probably just your brain jumping to conclusions too fast as it always did. Maybe Sully was really just a pub owner who was just a good businessman. Maybe his young girlfriend Florence was an extremely talented historian. And most likely, Nate was just a guy who loved to cook for other people. The man slowly faced you again, trembling almost unnoticeable. - "Okay. You can tell me about this side job you have. But if it just comes across as human trafficking or..." - "No! No. I would never... Never. No." - The man disagreed immediately, letting you know that this reaction was as authentical as it could be.

"Would you like to come to my place to tell me about it?" - You whispered, slowly gaining the initial trust you had for your new-found friend in the strange city you were an outsider in.

"I have a lot of things to prove my storied at my place and I would have to pack them up and move them to my car. Would you mind..?" - Nate asked nervously. It was weird as fuck to ask you to hang out at his place after the full-blown conspiracy theory about him being a criminal who probably kills people, but really - all of the artifacts, books, maps, and other shit Nate hoarded throughout the years were too fragile to just take to your place.

You were silent for a moment as you tried to contain the nerves inside you, but you nodded in the end. You trusted Nathan. And he felt redeemed at the exact same moment.

[memesiders]

Part 4

Death x OC Office AU

(This one's kinda short so i hope that's okay!)

“So, you’re gonna go to some super schmancy party with your boss, huh? Sounds like the perfect setup for a romance if you ask me,” Safiya said, munching on some stale crackers. I rolled my eyes at her and kicked off my shoes, having just arrived home from work. Death had not only had Amber order me a burger, but a large fry, a salad, and a Sprite. I didn’t have to heart to tell him I preferred 7-Up, I’d just taken the drink and thanked him. I had a feeling he wouldn’t have cared if I voiced my displeasure anyway. I fell into the recliner and fished the remainder of my burger out of my bag, offering it to her.

She took it greedily and immediately started shoving it into her mouth. “Where the hell did you get this?”

“Death ordered it for me after I nearly passed out in his office,” I said. She gave me a look, brow arched, and I frowned. “What?”

“You’re telling me this man just ordered you food? Weren’t there some office muffins or something you could’ve gotten?” I shrugged, scratching my arm.

“He also got me fries and stuff.” Her eyes widened slightly. “I- I mean, there aren’t really any muffins laying around, and I wasn’t about to ask someone to share their lunch with me; I’m not that pathetic.”

“Still, he could’ve just gotten you the burger, but instead he gets you a whole ass meal? Do you have any fries left, by the way?” I pulled out the fry box and took a handful, handing the rest to Safiya. She snatched them up and started shoveling those in too. “Be careful, ZiZi, I think your boss wants to sleep with you.” I scoffed, laughing at her words. I laughed so hard my belly started to ache and tears were building in my eyes.

“Yeah right,” I wheezed, shaking my head. “If you knew him like I did, you’d know that that’s impossible.” She rolled her eyes and me and set the food down, rubbing her hands clean on her sweats.

“You barely know him. Who’s to say he’s not thinking of ways to seduce you right now?” I snorted again, shoving a few fries into my mouth. “I’m serious! Who buys their employee a whole lunch?”

“A good boss, that’s who.” It was her turn to snort. I waved her reaction away. “Death wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole!” My words were probably true, but I couldn’t help but wonder; what would it be like to be in bed with a Nephilim? With Death? The people I talked to who hooked up with demons and angels said that they had seemingly unlimited stamina, and no one walked straight after a night with one of the two.

That had to be true for him then, right? Did Nephilim even like sex? After Safiya reminded me of Death’s species, she’d also drilled into me that, according to a rumor she'd heard, Nephilim were bloodthirsty, so much so that only four remained. If it was true, did he have the same bloodthirst? Did he suppress it? How did he suppress it?

Drinking? Sex? Surely, he couldn’t have put all of his time and energy into work, right? If he did… I didn’t want to think of how backed up he must be. Unless he mas-

“Earth to Aziza? Hello?” I flinched as Saf waved her hands in front of me, pulling me from my inappropriate thoughts.

“Huh?” I mumbled. She rolled her eyes and sat back down, polishing off the burger.

“I was saying, I want you to be careful. Getting involved with your boss won’t end well for you, and you need this job; we need you to have this job.” I frowned again and nodded, noticing the dark circles under her eyes.

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” She gave me an unsure look but nodded anyways. “Where’s Neema, by the way?” I wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible.

“She’s spending the night at some friend’s house. I want her to be able to eat a nice meal, so I let her go.” That wasn’t surprising; Neema always had at least three sleepovers a month so she could eat when we were running low on food.

“More ramen for us,” I joked. Safiya laughed and agreed, both of us settling down to watch a random crime show she put on. I couldn’t focus on it though. My thoughts kept drifting back to Death and Safiya’s suggestion. Did he really want to have sex with me? Why? I mean, I wasn’t a bad looking person at all, but I was just a human.

Not only that, but we’d barely known each other; he didn’t seem like the kind of man to just sleep with anyone. What if he did want me? What if he tried something at the party? Would it be okay to turn him down? Would I even want to turn him down? I thought back to his ass and felt my face warm; I didn’t need to be thinking of my boss’s butt. Nor did I need to be thinking of shredding his tidy suit off of him to get a nice look at what was underneath.

I wasn’t thinking of that, nope. I was watching TV with my big sister, that was all.

****

Somehow, I ended up falling asleep in the recliner. When I woke up later that night, my back was aching. As was my neck, my hips, and my legs. Not the best place to fall asleep. I twisted myself out of the chair and shuffled to my room, hearing light snores coming from Safiya’s. What a bitch, not waking me up so I could sleep in my own bed comfortably. I cracked a small smile and slipped into my room, crawling into bed. I pulled my phone out of my pajama bottoms pocket and unlocked my phone, seeing one new email.

Please send me your measurements -Amber

I exhaled deeply and shot off a reply, dropping the device onto my nightstand. I pulled the covers up over my head and fell back asleep, fiery eyes invading my dreams.

The next day was not any better. I woke up five minutes late and rushed to get to work. I changed my shirt and swept a mascara wand through my lashes, makeup still caked on from the previous day, and ran out the door. I missed my bus and had to run through the crowded streets, ducking and weaving through and under angels, demons, humans, and giant wings. I bumped into a few random pedestrians and nearly got coffee spilled on me. I felt like I’d ran a marathon by the time I got into work, my purse hanging by my wrist. Nora was soon right next to me with a fresh cup of coffee from the local vendor down the street. I took a sip, tasting chocolate, caramel, and coffee, and moaned happily.

“You’re a godsend,” I told her, falling into my chair. She laughed and took her seat, drinking from her own cup.

“I figured when I saw you running for the office that I should grab you a cup,” she said.

“Marry me.” She laughed and I smiled, sipping from my little cup of heaven.

“You’re lucky Death isn’t here yet; otherwise he might have thrown you out on sight.” I choked back a laugh and my smile widened.

“I tried my best, okay?” I gestured to my outfit. “I only had time for a shirt change and a quick comb through the hair.”

“Honey, it looks like a rat got caught all up in there.” My hands flew to my hair and I groaned, feeling the dark curls sticking out everywhere. I cursed and Nora laughed, pulling a pack of scrunchies out of her bag. “I always keep some on me, in case of emergency.” She pulled off a purple one that matched my top and handed it to me. I thanked her and quickly grabbed my hair up, twisting it into some kind of presentable bun. I looked to her for approval and she gave me two thumbs up, settling my nerves a little. She looked to the side and her smile slowly fell, her lips forming a thin line. I followed her gaze and sighed when I saw who she was looking at. Strife had just walked in, dusty rose colored suit jacket slung over his shoulder and sunglasses sitting atop his head. He sauntered over to the desk and looked at Nora, his smile widening.

“Hey, Nora,” he said. She shrunk slightly in her seat and smiled politely.

“Hello, Sir,” she replied, her voice as sweet as ever. “How may I help you today?”

“We’re here to see our brother, is he in?” We? I finally noticed the behemoth behind him, my eyes widening. He was tall, taller than both brothers, white hair longer than Death’s pulled back into a bun with strands spilling out. His eyes reminded me of an angel, a strange blue tint to them, and there was a peculiar marking on his face that almost glowed orange. He was like a modern-day Hercules.

“I’m afraid not.” Strife frowned and finally noticed me, the smile immediately coming back.

“Hey, Death’s side piece,” he teased. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from throwing an insult his way. “You got the job, huh? Good on you; my brother usually doesn’t change his mind. He must love you.” I felt my face grow warm, thinking back to last night, and rolled my eyes.

“A pleasure to see you again, Strife,” I said, greeting him with an unamused smile. “You can wait for your brother in the lobby or I can find an empty office for you if you’d like.”

“Hmm… I think we’ll wait in his office.” Strife pushed away from the desk and started to take a step towards the elevator when Hercules put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“We can wait in the lobby,” he said, an annoyed tone to his voice. “I’m sure he won’t be long.” Strife groaned and looked back at his brother.

“C’mon, War, just this once? I want to snoop through his things. Maybe we can get past Amber with two of us-”

“I said you can either wait in the lobby or I can find an empty office for you to wait in,” I spoke up, gritting my teeth. Strife and War both ignored me.

“We wait.” Strife shook off his brother and sighed, slumping.

“You never want to have any fun. That’s why I’m the favorite brother, you know.” War and I both scoffed and Strife looked between us, pouting slightly. He puffed his chest up and threw his hands in the air. “Screw it, I’m waiting in his office.” He started towards the elevator again and I stood quickly, running after him.

“You can’t! Stop!” I ran in front of him and put my hand on his chest, halting him. He looked from my hand to my face, a smirk forming on his lips. He looked more amused than anything.

“Listen, girlie-”

“It’s Aziza.”

“Listen, Aziza, you’re cute, alright? But I need to get up there and do some snooping, so if you’ll excuse me…” He brushed me aside with ease and patted my head, continuing towards the elevators. Alright, I’ve had it with this guy! I ran and jumped up, wrapping my arms around Strife’s neck. He yelped and stumbled back, shouting curses. “What the-?”

“You’ll wait in the lobby or I can find you an empty office,” I grunted, gripping tighter as he tried to shake me off.

“War, help!” I heard no movement, but did hear a chuckle. Strife reached around, trying to grab at me. “How can a tiny human be so strong?” He stumbled into a wall, my side connecting with it, and I slid down slightly. My hands were gripping the collar of his shirt which had been pulled back and was now choking him. We were like that for a minute before I heard a loud, tired, familiar sigh.

“I just walked in,” Death said. I tipped my head back to see the Nephilim standing next to his brother, a cup of coffee in his hands. “Five seconds; I couldn’t even make it five seconds.”

“Sir!” I exclaimed. He smirked in amusement and turned his head a little.

“Miss Banks, what are you doing?”

“Uh, well…” I felt my face grow warm, the sound of Strife’s choking filling the silence. He managed to grab a hold of my shirt and yanked me off, stumbling forward and gasping for breath. I hit the ground hard and looked up at my boss, my face burning. “Your brother was trying to go into your office while you weren’t there. So, I, uh, I stopped him.”

“She did more than that,” Strife gasped, leaning against the wall. “She nearly killed me!” Death rolled his eyes at his brother and walked over to me, offering me a hand. I took it and he pulled me up with ease, like I was nothing more than a doll.

“Good.” Death patted my shoulder and moved past me, heading to the elevator. “You might yet become a permanent addition after all, Miss Banks.” I smiled after him. I looked away and saw that War was staring at me, a suspicious look on his face. I gave him an anxious smile and nodded, scurrying back to my chair. He followed after his brothers without giving me a second glance.

I fell into my seat with a grunt, kicking my heels off. “That was amazing,” Nora giggled. I smiled at her and shook my head, rubbing my temples.

“What an idiot I am,” I laughed, sitting up.

“Well, at least you aren’t in trouble.”

“True.”

[anamurielveron]

Snow

A Short Story

Right when the meteorologists predicted it, the media went crazy. It was the headline of every news station and the front page of every newspaper. Some were excited that a new and extraordinary thing is finally happening to spice up their otherwise humble and boring lives. Some were skeptical and did not believe that such a thing would actually occur. Some were fearful and repentant, claiming that this was yet another sign of the end of the world.

However, one person in particular found this incredible phenomenon truly irritating…

 Manuel did not care much for technology, but one aspect of it that he was truly thankful for was the ability to order things online and get them delivered directly to his house. Today, the delivery man brought him a new garden trowel. His current one was rusty after years of use and the handle was starting to bend.

“Sign here, please,” the boy, quite a few years younger than Manuel, said. The boy handed him a pen and clipboard, “The snow’s coming soon, huh? It’s so crazy. I can’t believe it’s actually happening. They say it might even hit this area in a couple weeks!”

“Mhm...” Manuel deadpanned, furrowing his gray eyebrows. After validating that he did, in fact, receive his package, he handed the forms back to the boy, grabbed the box, and hastily shut the front door.

Walking into his dim living room, where only the early morning light shone through the windows, Manuel set the parcel down on the coffee table. He sat on the couch where his dog, Dobo, was lying asleep. He noticed that the dark-furred little puppy was shivering, so he, who felt pretty chilly himself, stood to take a blanket from the lone bedroom upstairs. Once his animal friend was snuggled into the plush fabric, his attention returned to his recently purchased merchandise. Smiling, he began to open the box.

 Manuel liked to do his gardening early in the day before too many people had come outside. The sun was shining bright and the smell of the morning air was energizing, but it was even colder outside than it was inside.

In his somewhat spacious backyard, everything he grew bore produce. He had fruit trees that grew papayas, mangoes, calamansi, and saba. He grew plants that yielded string beans, kalabasa, pechay, onions, tomatoes, and lots of other fruits, vegetables, and herbs. The only plant that didn’t flourish in the garden was the rose bush that Manuel had much trouble growing in the tropical climate of Bulacan, but he was persistent in trying to keep the foreign plant alive. It was exciting to use the new trowel, although Manuel felt sad having to throw away the old one.

Today he was transferring the herbs from their mug-sized pots into bigger ones. They were outgrowing their containers and the roots needed more room. Of course, it won’t matter if this absurd snow business is just going to freeze them up anyway.

By the time Manuel finished re-potting the basil, Dobo had woken up. The small beagle was already scampering around the backyard, swiftly avoiding running over any of the plants. He skidded to a stop and sniffed the droopy rose bush.

“Yeah, I know…” Manuel, now cleaning up the too-small pots, sighed, “Still doing terrible, those ones.”

Dobo plainly barked at him.

Manuel knew the little ball of energy was yearning for a walk, so the gray-haired man took off the dirty latex gloves he’d been using and put his new trowel away in the tiny shed in the corner of the backyard. He went into the kitchen to wash his hands then took Dobo’s leash from its assigned hook on the coat hanger beside the front door.

“Dobo!” Manuel called from the living room. The puppy instantly burst through the dog door that opened from the kitchen to the backyard.

With his leash attached, Dobo dragged his human companion out the door into the cold, quiet streets of San Rafael. It may have seemed that he was walking around willy-nilly, sniffing random things on the sidewalk, but Dobo knew exactly where he was going.

 Aling Rosa was the lovely lady who ran the local sari-sari store. Whatever Manuel couldn’t grow in his garden, he’d buy from Aling Rosa. Of course, unlike all the younglings, Manuel simply called her Rosa, as he was about the same age as her if not older.

“Dobo!” The cheerful woman waved through the counter as a familiar-looking dog pulled his familiar-looking human towards her storefront.

The dog yapped happily at her.

“Hello, Manuel. What’ll it be today?”

Ahem “G-good morning, Rosa,” Manuel said quietly, not making eye contact. He lifted up Dobo and sat him onto the counter; he knew Rosa loved to pet him.

“Aw, what a sweetheart,” Rosa cooed as she lightly scratched the little dog’s head.

“Just some soy sauce, p-please.”

Rosa turned to the shelf behind her to reach for the condiment. Manuel could see her still dark hair that was twisted into a little bun near the nape of her neck. It had only a few strands of white. She was wearing a red dress today, the kind that most older women wear. Loose, long, and frumpy. (Rosa wasn’t very fashionable.) Manuel found it delightful anyway.

“Here you are,” Rosa smiled, handing him a small bottle.

“Oh, right, yes.” Manuel snapped out of it, “Thank you,” carefully, he counted out some money to place on the counter.

“Yes, yes. You’re welcome. By the way, you’ve heard about the snow haven’t you?” Rosa started as she placed the bill and coins in her cashbox, “You do still get the news in that hermit hole of yours, right?”

“Ahaha…” he strained a laugh, “Yes, I-I do. I’ve heard. You could feel it getting colder already. I-I’m not too happy about it, to tell you the truth… It-it’ll ruin my garden.”

“Oh, you shush,” Rosa swatted at him, “That garden of yours is all you fuss over. Snow sounds wonderful! I’ve never seen real snow before. I can’t wait. In fact, I’ve bought myself a thick new coat, just in case it gets really cold. The children are going to love it, don’t you think?”

“Oh, uh yes. I- I suppose they will.”

“Yes, and it’ll be a nice change. It’s about time something happened in this sleepy, old town. It’ll be exciting.”

Manuel sighed, “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

He didn’t really think she was right. Not that he was actually going to say it to her though.

 In the following days, the whole province – the whole region, really – got colder and colder. Dobo started to feel less energetic. He and Manuel had been using more and more layers of blankets. Air-conditioning and even electric fans became obsolete. Layers of clothing people had to wear were multiplying. In the news, the government had been advising people on how to stay warm. Experts were assuring the public that it would not last long but it’s been predicted that lots of people were going to get sick; pneumonia, hypothermia. It’d become a real predicament.

But there was something Manuel was more concerned about. The leaves of his plants were slowly drooping. Some had been turned white or tinted red and yellow. The fruits were shriveling up. It was a nightmare.

Manuel had been stressing out about trying to keep his plants alive. He’d looked up solutions online, but it was no use. He hadn’t prepared early enough and most of the smaller plants had already withered down. Some of the plants and most of the trees were still holding up though, which is good. Of course, this is still just the cold. The snow hadn’t even fallen yet.

When it did, Manuel harvested what he could and resorted to stress-cooking. He’d made quite a few dishes already. Certainly too much food for just him and his dog. Today, he was making Adobo. As he was frying the chicken, Manuel looked at the window above the kitchen sink. He would’ve looked through it and seen his garden, but he was trying to keep the house warm. (He was already wearing full-length pants and a jacket over his sweater. Filipino houses aren’t insulated for this kind of cold.) Manuel imagined the white snow he’d seen earlier. It wasn’t much, and it wasn’t even all snow. Some of it was just cold, sludge-y water. A tear streamed down his cheek. He wiped it away before it fell into the hot oil.

Manuel prefers to cook his own food. He didn’t like going out to restaurants. Over time, he’d gotten quite good at it. At least, the food tasted good to him. Dobo seemed to like his food as well. (Dobo was probably the most well-fed dog in town.) Other than the two of them, no one else had really tasted Manuel’s cooking.

At least no one else who was still alive. When he was a teenager, Manuel would cook for his father, learning from his mother’s recipes, yellowing index cards filled with lists of ingredients and steps. His dad seemed to like Manuel’s food too.

Of course his parents were both dead now. Dead of old age. Manuel was old enough to have grandchildren of his own. He doesn’t, of course.

Manuel was starting to mix the sauce for the adobo when the doorbell rang. His heart sunk. He turned off the stove and was on his way to the door when it rang again. And again. By the time he got there, the door must’ve rung 5 times.

When he opened the door, the cold air immediately burst into the house.

“Manuel!” greeted Rosa, “Where’s Dobo?” She was wrapped in her new coat and a scarf around her neck.

You could see the long, colorful, flower-patterned socks underneath her boots. Behind her, there were piles of snow scattered around the streets. White dots landing wherever they pleased. The ground was cold and wet.

Manuel noticed that Rosa was smiling. He didn’t understand why. There was nothing to smile about.

“He’s uhm…” Manuel was surprised. Rosa never visits him. He didn’t even know she knew where he lived. “He’s upstairs. He’s not used to the cold.”

“None of us are! Tell him to get down here.” Rosa was rubbing her arms, trying to keep warm, “And let me in, will you?”

“R-right! Of course.” Manuel moved to let Rosa in, “Come in, come in.”

Once Rosa was inside, he quickly shut the cold air out. “Wh-what brings you here? Can I, can I get you anything? Would you like some, uhm, coffee?”

“Yes, that’d be nice. Thank you, Manuel.” Keeping her coat on, she made her way to the stairs, “Do you mind if I go up to see Dobo?”

“Hm? Uhm, n-no… I suppose not. Go ahead.” Rosa hadn’t answered his question about why she was here. Probably because he asked her another question after that, which is what she did answer. Stupid. He wasn’t going to ask again though. He made his way to the kitchen and heated up some water. Rosa still hadn’t come down yet, so he continued to cook the adobo, placing the chicken into the sauce. He was glad he had already been cooking so much food. He had a guest now. He took out two packets of Nescafe from a cabinet and two mugs.

“Milk and sugar for me, please!” Rosa shouted as she was making her way down the stairs, carrying Dobo who was bundled up in a thick blanket.

Manuel complied and added a spoonful of powdered milk and sugar to one of the mugs. He heated up some rice and began to set the table in the dining room. As he did, he chuckled to himself. He and Rosa were going to have lunch together. Not that it was a date or anything. He still didn’t know why she was here.

He peeked through the doorway to the living room. Rosa was playing with Dobo, who was suddenly a lot livelier than he’d been in the last few days. He was also wearing a green crocheted sweater.

“Do you like it?” Rosa said, “I made it myself. It’s a little loose, but I wanted to make sure he’d fit in it.”

Manuel didn’t really know what to think. Rosa was thoughtful for making it. It wasn’t bad and Dobo didn’t seem to mind it, “It’s nice. Thank you. Uhm, I finished making the coffee. Would you uhm... also like to have lunch? I made adobo…”

“Oh yes, please! I haven’t eaten yet. That’s so nice of you.”

Once they were all sat down at the small dining table and Dobo had his food bowl filled with adobo (no rice), Rosa and Manuel ate quietly. Occasionally, smiling at each other.

And in the forgotten garden, in the dark green leaves of the bush in the corner, the roses were blanketed in white snow and were blooming in the cold.

[alivingfire]

Ohmygod I love podcasts!!! Can you rec me some? It's hard to find good ones sometimes.

YES! I CAN! 

i’ve been knee deep in podcasts for about three months now, and i have, apparently, wide and varying interests, so i’ll put a little descriptor of each. also, i listen to podcasts on the Stitcher app, but i think all of these are on itunes if you prefer that, and i linked the websites if you want more info. 

DARK STUFF

my favorite murder - this is 100% my favorite podcast now, but the first time i listened to it, i had to switch it off. start from the newest episodes, get a feel for it, and then you can go back and start at episode one, which is still interesting but before the hosts really find their footing. basically, karen and georgia are two friends who love true crime, so they talk about their favorite weird murders and mysteries. it’s dark, but it’s also really funny (they’re both comedians) and i think they learned to really strike a balance between jokes and the serious stuff. they’re also super feminist – their sign-off at the end of each episode is “stay sexy, don’t get murdered.” 

someone knows something - canadian investigative journalist david ridgen tackles unsolved mysteries, one story per season. if you like documentaries, you’ll like how this podcast is set up. ridgen interviews witnesses, friends, families, police officers – basically everyone around the cases he’s looking into. it unfolds like a story and you really feel like you’re right in the middle of it. you don’t have to start at season one, but definitely start at episode one of whichever season you pick, because these are episodic and won’t make sense if you go backwards. 

lore - this podcast is SO GOOD, and it’s actually just been turned into a short miniseries on amazon prime that is incredibly creepy and well done. lore is written by a horror author, aaron mahnke, who takes you through the scariest stories and legends, and how they came to be part of our world. the first episode is about vampires, and it legitimately has such a twist ending that i screamed. if you like spooky, mythology and legend and history-based stuff, this is the best. 

LEARN STUFF

literature and history - think about your favorite dorky teacher who makes ridiculous jokes and is so. genuine about learning and teaching that you get interested in the subject because he’s so interested in the subject. now imagine that guy was a harvard professor who totally knows his shit and he starts a podcast. starting from the beginning of history, this guy takes you through the pieces of writing that have changed the world. he’s super soothing and i’ve already read a couple of books he recommended. definitely start at episode one for this one, chronology is important and he builds on each episode. 

no such thing as a fish - if you like dry british humor and trivia, this is the one you’ll want. the writers of the super famous british panel show QI (the show stephen fry hosted) talk about their favorite random facts that they discovered and researched that week. super funny, and you’re still learning. 

good night stories for rebel girls - if you are a strong woman or love strong women or want to someday be a strong woman, listen to this podcast. this is still relatively new, but the format is amazing: the writers and hosts turned the stories of real women throughout history into fairytales. incredibly inspiring, and you get to learn about awesome women you might have only vaguely heard of. 

nancy - the best lgbtq podcast you could ask for. lgbtq people, stories, histories, pop culture, and interviews that will absolutely have you bawling. this is an NPR podcast, so it’s interview-heavy, but the subjects are handled well and there’s no queer tragedy here, it’s all very hopeful and realistic without being pessimistic. 

ENTERTAINMENT STUFF

ID10T - this used to be called nerdist, and it’s hosted by chris hardwick, the guy who used to host @midnight on comedy central. basically, hardwick and either his cohosts or a famous person – as of this post, the last guest was antonio banderas – talk about ~~nerd things of the week: movies, comics, video games, tv shows, etc. etc. it’s basically just pop culture, at this point (because video games aren’t just for nerds anymore, kiddos), but what’s fun about it is that hardwick is incredibly unapologetic about absolutely loving the things he loves. it’s more fun to listen to this guy geek out about stuff than listening to other people find ways to criticize the things you love, i promise.  

gilmore guys - pretty much what it says on the tin - two guys watch gilmore girls and talk about each episode. you’re probably wondering why you would want to listen to some random guys talking about a show you (presumably) love, but they’re really careful to stay away from anything mansplain-y or judgmental. one of the guys, kevin, is a huge gilmore girls fan, and the other host, demi, is watching for the first time, so it’s interesting to hear their discussions, especially regarding race, homophobia, and a lot of other issues that the the show writers tiptoe around. definitely don’t start at season one for this show – it’s super rough and there’s even a little minute-long intro on the very first episode that says so. start at about season three, there’s not a lot you’ll miss and they’ve got a rhythm down by that point. 

STRAIGHT UP STORIES 

welcome to night vale - if you’ve been anywhere near podcasts or, tbh, tumblr, for the last few years, you’re probably at least slightly aware of WTNV. in all honesty, it lives up to the hype. it’s not scary so much as unsettling, very southwest gothic and supernatural. WNTV is the story of a strange town in the middle of the desert, told to you by cecil, the town’s local radio broadcaster. cecil tells you all about what’s going on in night vale, from the shadowy city council who sends monsters after people they disagree with, to the radio station’s cat floating in the bathroom, to old woman josie’s angels that hang out in her house. it’s interesting because, underneath all the unsettling creepiness, it’s super feminist, super pro-lgbtq rights, and super anti-authority/anti-establishment. if nothing else, cecil’s voice is one of the most soothing of all the podcast voices, and the quality of the writing and acting is superb from episode one. 

wooden overcoats - hands down one of the funniest dramedies i’ve ever seen or listened to. wooden overcoats is the story of a tiny british island, where brother and sister rudyard and antigone funn run the island’s only funeral home, at least until a guy named eric chapman moves his own funeral home in right across the street and ruins everything for them. everyone, from the mayor down to antigone herself, falls head over heels for chapman, and rudyard has to find a way to keep the family business running even though he’s not very good at his job and would prefer to do as little as possible. the voice acting is SUPERB, and i genuinely mean it’s hilarious, with lots of gallows humor and funny timing. 

the penumbra podcast - the penumbra is a hotel in the middle of nowhere, and every person staying there has a story. some of the stories are one-offs, and some of them, like the story of juno steel, space private eye, are recurring. it’s very old-timey radio style, lots of noir monologues and humphrey bogart-esque one-liners. some of the early episodes are rough, but they’ve actually gone back and re-recorded the juno steel ones, so they’ll be the best to start with. 

the bright sessions - do you like superheroes? do you like the dark side of superhero stories, where people with powers have to deal with being different and strange and emotional all while trying not to accidentally time travel or read someone else’s mind? this one’s for you. the bright sessions are therapy sessions between dr. bright and her patients, who are atypicals, or, basically, superheroes without the spandex. dr. bright helps her patients work on controlling their powers, all while a shady secret government organization watches overhead. you’ll want to start from episode one on this story, but you’ll probably immediately have a favorite patient. 

the bridge - another not so creepy, but more unsettling podcast. set in a slightly-different alternate universe where there’s a hundreds-of-miles-long bridge that stretches across the atlantic ocean from the united states to europe, you join a bored traffic reporter as she tells stories from other watch towers and stations along the bridge, which, after decades of use, is mostly abandoned. all the while, creepy stuff starts happening on her watch, and she and the other bridge employees have to figure out if they’re really in danger, or if they’ve been at sea too long. 

the truth - a lot like the penumbra podcast, the truth is a collection of short stories, acted out like actual movies. the first one caught and hooked me – what would’ve happened if apollo 11 didn’t land on the moon, and instead became the first space tragedy? the stories are (again, i have a pattern) dark but funny, and they’re incredibly creative. 

PODCASTS I HAVEN’T STARTED, BUT THAT ARE ON MY LIST: 

you must remember this - classic stories from the classic hollywood era, from marilyn monroe to charles manson and a lot more early stars we’ve completely forgotten about. 

wolf 359 - stories set in a space station floating out in the middle of nowhere, the crew of wolf 359 search for alien life and try not to die lightyears away from home. 

alice isn’t dead - made by the creators of welcome to night vale, so i’m sure this is good. alice is a truck driver who has to road trip around the country (and beyond) to find her missing wife.

the podcast history of our world - a lot like literature & history, this guy is just so excited to teach that he makes you excited to learn. he’s also really good about covering underrepresented people, which is more interesting than learning yet again about history from the side of colonizers.

EOS 10 - i have at least listed to the first episode of this, so i can confirm what everyone says: this is basically the show scrubs, set in space. a lot of doctors who think they know what they’re doing but are really on their own with no clue what to do.

heaven’s gate - more true crime! heaven’s gate was a cult that committed mass suicide in 1997. the host dives into the lives of the cult members to prove that anyone could’ve been caught up in the story.

if anyone has any recs, i’m happy to add to my list!

[countryole]

Happy Thanksgiving

AN: just some light hearted, fun Eclaris prequel fluff for Thanksgiving! I hope everyone got to stuff their faces today!! Even mutants have to eat turkey, right? Read it here at Archive Of Our Own or at Fanfic.net!

It’s almost funny, seeing Lorna in the kitchen.

In the six months he’s been here he’s not sure he’s ever see her cook anything. The most he’s ever seen her do is demand that he fix breakfast tacos while she watches and taste tests “for quality purposes”. Yet somehow she’s managed to prepare an entire feast, with a little help, for the entire Mutant Underground here in Atlanta.

Marcos watches her bustle around the humble HQ kitchen arrangements with Sonia, the two of them chattering back and forth, occasionally laughing about something Marcos can’t quite make out. From where he sits at the bar he’s got a pretty entertaining view. They’re giddy like two school girls, poking fun at one another and passing a bottle of wine between them. At one point Sonia almost drops a tin of rolls, and Lorna manages to save the day and safely float them to the bar top where he’s sitting with a flick of her wrist.

He picks one up off the plate, and takes a bite, meeting Lorna’s eyes from across the kitchen with a full mouth and a crooked smile. She shakes her head, but grins back.

“If you eat all of those, you’re going to ruin your appetite,” Lorna scolds, a knife points at him, floating in the air beside her, before it goes back to cutting the vegetables on the cutting board.

“I thought the point of Thanksgiving was to eat as much as possible,” Marcos stuffed the rest of the roll in his mouth, unapologetic.

“For some people yes,” Lorna raises an eyebrow, “but you do that all the time.”

He feigns an injured look of disbelief at her callus accusation, but they’re both laughing under their breath.

“Bring the rolls out to the dining hall please,” Sonia sings as she walks by with another serving of dressing in one hand, and a bowl of gravy in the other. She disappears through the swinging double doors, calling behind her, “and we need to go ask Johnny if the Turkey is ready!”

Marcos does as he’s told, but instead of immediately following Sonia out the doors, he walks over to Lorna instead. She’s poised over her cutting board, preparing the assortment of vegetables to be roasted for their meal, the knife slicing through them as if a ghost were in control of it. She watches him as he sets the rolls down on the counter top, and the knife comes to a stop and falls still.

“I do know the real point of Thanksgiving,” Marcos adds, sidling up to her, their arms brushing.

“Oh really?” Lorna peers up at him, green strands of hair falling from where she’s got it tied up at the top of her head, “and what’s that exactly?”

“Being thankful for what I have,” Marcos ducks his head, and without warning, steals a kiss from her, “which is you.”

Lorna’s taken by surprise, her face flushes, her pale cheeks red with warmth. When he tries to pull away, she reaches up and grabs the collar of his shirt, pulling him back for one more. If it weren’t for the fact that half of headquarters were on the other side of the doors just a few feet away, he would have kept kissing her for as long as she would allow it.

They’ve only been dating for a few weeks, and they agreed, for now, that it would be best to keep it to themselves until they found a good way to explain it to John and the rest of the team. It’s not an ideal situation, with Lorna being a station leader, but he’s almost certain most everyone knows anyways. They’ll figure it out when the time is right.

“Maybe later tonight,” Lorna smooths the front of his ruffled shirt with her hands, “I’ll reciprocate the thanks.”

“Mmm, maybe so.”

Marcos is trying to determine if he can get one last kiss, and he almost does, but the kitchen door swings open, and they both freeze.

“Good news, I already found Johnny and the Turkey is almost done. Marcos, I thought you were—” Sonia comes to an abrupt stop, her mouth hanging open as she observes the scene in front of her; which is her best friend and the man she doesn’t particularly like past pleasantries hanging all over her.

Lorna and Marcos separate, Lorna grinning from ear to ear, while he clears his throat awkwardly and retrieves the rolls from the counter top. He can feel Sonia’s eyes boring holes of fire into him far stronger than any he could conjure himself.

“I was just coming out,” Marcos offers, approaching her carefully, like one might approach a rabid animal.

“I see that,” Sonia’s eyes narrow, and she steps aside, holding the door open for him. She glances back at Lorna, some silent language passing between them, and it appears to dissuade the dreamer from committing any extreme acts of violence against him—for now.

“I’ll be out in just a minute,” Lorna goes back to chopping and quartering the vegetables as if nothing has happened, “will you make sure Shatter and Fade have the tables all set up? And Sonia…”

“Yes?”

“I’d be eternally grateful if Marcos didn’t go missing between now and then.”

Marcos chokes on air, eyes wide, stuck between the two women who’ve probably had too much wine in the last two hours, his hands full of rolls and no way to protect himself. The two friends fall into another silent conversation of intense staring that he can’t quite understand, and finally, resigned, Sonia sighs.

“Only because you’re my best friend,” Sonia waves a pointed finger in Marcos direction, turning to him, “but I don’t owe you any favors.”

Without further harassment, Sonia spins on her heals and heads back out the kitchen doors, and Marcos casts a forlorn glance over his shoulder to where Lorna still stands, bemused, waving at him to go. He does, but not willingly, unconvinced and with little faith that Sonia would hold true to her promise and leave him unscathed before the day was over.

When he makes it to the hodgepodge of tables all lined up in the HQ’s makeshift dining hall, even Marcos can’t help but be impressed by the spread lined out in front of him. The local stations all pitched in, gathering together here in Atlanta for those that could make it, and for once Marcos thinks they won’t run short on rations for a few weeks simply due to the massive amount of food they’d have left over from this feast.

“Over here,” Sonia calls, the red head waving to him insistently.

Marcos sets the rolls down where she gestures, listening to her ask Shatter and his crew if they can find more chairs. Marcos stands beside her, feeling out of place as he often does here, and he does his very best not to run screaming in the opposite direction when the others walk away, and they’re the only two left in the room. 

Once Sonia is sure they’re alone, her eyes narrow, and she turns back to Marcos with her arms crossed over her chest, fingers tapping in agitation along her arm.

“I’m not going to blame Lorna for not telling me,” Sonia tilts her head, “I’m going to blame you.”

“Sonia, I’m sorry, we just figured it would be better if—”

“Ah, no, no, we’ve had this conversation before, Marcos. Don’t apologize if you don’t really mean it.”

“Sonia, please, I know you don’t like me, but I swear—”

Sonia holds up her hand, holding it over his mouth, causing Marcos to move backwards, but there’s no where for him to go except into an exposed brick wall.

“Don’t put words in my mouth, I never said I didn’t like you,” Sonia corrects him, letting her hand drop, her arms no longer crossed, her eyes slightly less livid.

“Well, I could have guessed otherwise,” Marcos rubs the back of his head, trying to ignore the fact that he feels like a caged animal stuck between a hard place and the worst possible other thing; Lorna’s best friend on the verge of a rampage.

“I knew something was up, that she was doing something,” Sonia laughs, and then smirks, “I just didn’t know it was you.”

Marcos can feel the heat rise to his face, and he shifts uncomfortably, which just amuses Sonia even more.

“Listen,” Sonia pats his shoulder, “I’m not going to do anything to you—”

“Yet,” Marcos adds, always prepared for the worst.

“Smart boy, you’re right,” Sonia grins, “I won’t do anything to you, yet, and while I have no doubt that Lorna is perfectly capable of handling you, just remember this; if you hurt her, I will make sure you spend the rest of your life regretting it.”

“Customary best friend threats aside,” Sonia adds, her voice and eyes softening, suddenly warm, “she has been smiling a lot more lately, so I guess I need to thank you for that. Take are of her, ok? She never lets anyone, but maybe she’ll let you.” Sonia squeezes his shoulder, offering him a first, genuine smile. He’s completely taken aback by the gesture, by the fact that she’s no longer glaring daggers at him. Still stunned, he nods, and Sonia rolls her eyes in exasperation.

“Don’t act so surprised, ok? I’m going to go help Johnny finish up the Turkey,” Sonia hooks a finger to the far window, where John and some of the other mutants were down in the yard frying a turkey, since the oven here wasn’t big enough, “I’m sure Lorna could still use some help in the kitchen.”

“Is this supposed to be your blessing?” Marcos asks. “Can I stop sleeping with one eye open?”

“Don’t get too far ahead of yourself, hot hands,” Sonia winks as she backs towards the door, “and Marcos?”

“Yeah?”

“Happy Thanksgiving.”

[thesecretheadteacher]

Bullying

I make no apology for the length of this entry as the topic of bullying is a very emotive one. Where it occurs, it can be such a damaging and destructive set of actions, leaving the victims upset, hurt or, in a few cases, contemplating or going through with attempts at suicide. It is probably one of the biggest fears parents have for their child whilst at school and also something they feel unable to help with.

The scale of bullying: Once again, for those of us who were raised in the 70s and 80s, we are likely to have witnessed or experienced bullying on an industrial scale. These were the days before there was any awareness or acceptance of difference: the closest anyone got to neurodiversity back then would be if it was the name of a new wave pop group. Anyone with autism, ADHD or any other, fairly common, condition, was just seen as a ‘weirdo’, anyone who was slightly effeminate, or merely kind was ‘gay’ and anyone whose skin colour was darker than you would expect from a 2 week holiday in Skegness, was a N word or the Asian P word. These were just the verbal bullying, of course there was also the physical bullying, I think I was lucky to get through these years with both testicles intact, as they were treated like mosquitos – someone always looking to swat, flick, kick, stamp, punch or knee them, and the resulting excruciating pain provided the watching group with the highest form of hilarity. I guess it was probably different for girls. Fortunately, such sustained and ongoing bullying is very rare and, though parents should be vigilant, in the vast majority of cases, it is something that can be dealt with very easily and effectively by the school.

What is Bullying?: The key starting point for tackling bullying is knowing what bullying is. Most parents will be using their own experiences, possibly from school, but more likely form the media: whether that was watching Gripper Stebson with his 1950s teddy boy style, grabbing various Grange Hill characters by the throat as part of his dinner money pyramid scheme, through to Nelson Muntz giving Bart a wedgie on the Simpsons. Or maybe from stories or videos, some truly horrific, of young people being set upon and beaten up by groups of kids. None of these, however, help to clarify what bullying is.

There is no legal definition of bullying in the UK but, in a school context most would view it as ‘repeated behaviour which is intended to hurt someone either emotionally or physically, and is often aimed at certain people because of their race, religion, gender or sexual orientation or any other aspect such as appearance or disability.’

As well as knowing what it is, it is important to know what it isn’t, because there are many things that rather than having a negative impact upon our children, are actually valuable and important learning episodes (I can hear myself morphing into Oprah here):

-        Falling out with each other – this happens and is an important part of their development into adulthood to deal with conflict with others. Unfortunately, far too many parents see this as bullying because their child might be upset as a result of it.

-        Day to day rough and tumble – this particularly applies to boys as they grow up. There is some good science around the importance of ‘horseplay’ (Fry, D. P. (2005). Rough and tumble social play in humans / Pellis, S. M., & Pellis, V. C. (2012). Rough-and-tumble play: Training and using the social brain). Think of it like young animals that jump and climb and wrestle and fight. Having done thousands of break and lunch duties, I am very familiar with what is horse play and what is a bit more serious – the basic guide being are they all having fun, it is very easy to see if someone isn’t or if one individual is being targeted – that is where we step in.

-        A one-off omission: for example not being invited to something outside of school.

-        Not liking someone: we cannot make pupils like each other. This is another important learning point to help in growing up. I am sure we all have people in our own lives that we don’t like, but through our adolescent development, we have learned how to deal with that.

-        Arguments: these happen all the time, as anyone who has been married will testify.

-        A single act of telling a joke about someone. We have all been the butt of a joke at some point - usually funny for others, less so for us.

Of course if any of these things become repeated or several of them happen towards the same child, then yes this would then constitute bullying.

How to deal with bullying: this is what most parents want to know and is the point at which some parents go horribly wrong. So here is my step by step guide:

1.      The most important thing is that the child tells someone. Staff in school are usually excellent at spotting things going on – I have lost count of the number of times I have been on duty and, amidst the mass of humanity that makes up lunch time, spotted a child looking a bit down, on their own or upset.

2.      Watch out for changes in your child: mood swings, sudden aggression, withdrawal from family life (though take care as these are also the default setting for most teenagers.)

3.      If your child can’t talk about it, get them to write it down.

4.      If it involves social media, which increasingly it does, switch it off – delete the apps and don’t engage.

5.      NOW CONTACT THE SCHOOL. I have put this in caps because this is the most important thing. Having discovered you think your child is being bullied, you will be feeling angry, shocked, protective, aggressive and maybe even feel you have failed your child. This heady concoction of feelings is not a good place from which to start to address the issue.

6.      Work with the school: the vast majority of schools deal with these things on an almost daily basis. They know the other children, they see the interactions, they know the parents of the other child or children. They care deeply about your child and the other children and they will do what they feel is best.

7.      If things don’t get any better, then escalate the matter within the school – schools are hierarchical and above a form tutor is a head of year, above them a member of the Senior Leadership Team and above them the headteacher.

How not to deal with bullying: the steps above should lead to the matter being resolved and your child returning to their usual happy, or at least apathetic, experience of school. However, I have had plenty of first-hand experience of parents who decide to handle the matter differently – none of these led to a better outcome than following my advice, and some led to far more serious outcomes for them.

-        Don’t start the discussion off by being abusive or threatening the school for ‘failing your child’. Venting your anger on a poor receptionist won’t make the wheels move faster.

-        Don’t start at the top. I have had many examples of parents contacting me directly, as headteacher, to deal with a falling out between two pupils. Though I have decades of pastoral experience, there are far more appropriate people to look into the matter. It isn’t that I don’t care, but the school and education system wouldn’t really be getting its money’s worth out of me if I spend 6 hours a day in ‘circle time’ with Year 7 girls who have fallen out.

-        Don’t go above the top. On a number of occasions I have had parents decide that, rather than inform the school, they think the matter would be resolved quicker by going above the school to the Local Authority, Ofsted, The Diocese, local MP, Parish Priest, the press, the Pope or anyone else they could think of. Needless to say, none of these people are really in a good position to unravel the reasoning behind why Sally didn’t invite your Bethany to Cineworld last week.

-        Don’t encourage your child to take matters into their own hands. “I’m sorry Sir but I have told him, if anyone says anything to you, you just punch them” or “You can’t tell me that you wouldn’t tell your son to hit them if they say anything.” Well-meaning as this advice from some parents is, it isn’t really great preparation for the world of work. For that day when little Billy grows up, gets his job in middle management and has a falling out with Steve from accounts and decides a good right hook might progress things. So unless you have grand plans for your child to move into the gangland underworld, it really isn’t good advice.

-        Don’t take matters into your own hands with the parents. Often when parents raise a concern about another child bullying their own child, they will want to meet with the other parents. Nearly all schools will avoid doing this, not because we are being obstructive, but because a) the parents (usually) aren’t the people who have fallen out and b) both sets of parents will have only heard their own child’s version of events and will be overly protective. It doesn’t work. Likewise contacting the other parents by text, social media or be going round to the house – all of these are like trying to put a fire out armed with aerosols and petrol. I have witnessed parents going for each other outside the school gate, or picked up the pieces afterwards when one or more parents have been charged with assault.

-        Don’t take matters into your own hands with the child. No matter what you have been told about the other child, they are still that, a child. I have known many occasions where a parent has approached a child directly to ‘warn them off’ like some sort of mafia enforcer. Now I don’t know how they have thought it would play out in real life, but the reality is usually that the child is with some friends, feels like they can’t lose face and so rather than say “Yes of course Mrs T, it was wring of me to behave like that towards your little Mickey, it won’t happen again, take care.” It ends up more “Who are you talking to? Get away you Pedo. I didn’t do anything. F*&k Off, I am going to get my dad on to you.” To be fair this approach does often end the initial bullying and is replaced by family warfare, police action and lawyer involvement.

Don’t arrange a ‘settler’. This is where both sets of parents arrange for the children to meet up and have a settler (a fight to resolve things). For many of you reading this, the very thought would be horrific, but for some of the communities I have worked in, this is the ‘honourable’ way to do things. I have known parents set up times / places for the fight, have rules around not jumping in and even drive their children to the event, like an evening at a Justin Bieber concert. This is not just for boys, I have known it happen with girls too and heard a child describe how her dad had watched her get knocked all over the place then afterwards suggest that the matter was no closed.

[crispychrissy]

Shrink - Chapter 7

Summary: When patients of a psychiatrist that caters exclusively to hunters start going crazy and dying, Sam and Dean Winchester investigate what might be causing these bizarre episodes. Pairing: None yet Word Count: 2366 (whoops) Warnings: None A/N: My first fanfic! This is going to be a series, probably over 30 chapters total. Any feedback is appreciated, I am a newbie!

“Thanks Bill. I’ll let you know what we turn up.” Sam said, holding his cellphone to his ear with his left shoulder while writing in the note pad he had balancing on his knee. He slid the phone down his chest and caught it, hitting the end call button. “What did he say?” Dean asked, still looking at the map on his phone to navigate. “He said that they caught Adrian’s plate on a traffic cam right outside Tulsa, so that’s probably where he was coming from.” Sam said, capping his pen and flipping his notebook closed. “Makes sense, he was heading south toward his motel.” Dean said, as his phone told him he was arriving at his destination. Pulling into the parking lot, both brothers looked out their windows to study the motel that Adrian had called home for the past three weeks. The Pilot Motel followed the industry standard design for a usual run-down decrepit motel. There was peeling paint, faded colors, and a few suspicious looking women in short dresses and stilettos sitting on the steps leading to the second floor. Sam and Dean have called so many motel rooms home throughout their entire lives, this was business as usual for them. Dean pulled into an empty spot under the rusted metal sign for the motel. The sign, once blue and red in color, had a large picture of an airplane with a man standing on top of it. The sign creaked back and forth with the wind as Dean opened his door and stepped outside, followed shortly after by Sam opening his door and stepping outside, too. Dean walked around to the back of the car and opened the trunk. He grabbed Sam’s bag and tossed it to him before grabbing his own bag and shutting the trunk.

“Ten bucks says Adrian was taking advantage of the local wildlife,” Dean said, motioning to the two ladies sitting on the steps.

“I don’t know, man.” Sam said. “It seems like Marah and Adrian really loved each other, despite their problems.” “Well, I always say…distance does not make the heart grow fonder. Distance makes the heart want to fondle other people.” Dean said as he opened the door to the office at the motel. Sam slid through the door and into the room before him causing Dean to let out a sigh as his brother cut in front of him. Sam reached the counter first, looking around to see if there was someone working the desk. Not seeing anyone, he gently tapped the bell sitting on the side of the counter and waited. After a few seconds, a young man appeared in the doorway behind the counter; covered in piercings and tattoos, he couldn’t have been over twenty years old. He stepped out from the darkness of the doorway and put his hands on the counter. “Yeah?” he said, studying Sam and Dean as he scratched at the tangled mess of brown hair on his head. “We need a room for the next few nights, possibly longer...” Dean said, reading the name tag on the man’s shirt, “…Eric.” Dean smiled and pushed his credit card across the counter toward Eric. “Alright, it’s $65 a night. You guys want the honeymoon room or something?” Eric said as he swiped the card. “Uhh…no. No…we’re not…” Sam stammered. “We need a room with two twins.” “Whatever. We don’t offer hookers, and I don’t think we have any twins living in the neighborhood.” Eric said, putting Dean’s card back on the counter. “Beds. Twin b- never mind.” Sam cut himself off as he shook his head and gave a half smile at Eric. Eric raised an eyebrow at Sam before he turned around and grabbed a key off the top row of hooks behind him. “You’re in room four. Enjoy your stay, I guess.” “Thanks.” Dean said. “Oh, by the way. A friend of ours was staying here. He’s middle aged, black hair, and probably been here around 3 weeks. Sound like anyone you know?” “Sounds like the guy in two. Kinda frumpy looking old dude checked in about a month ago.” Eric said. “Came in and out at all hours. Really shady dude...didn’t want the maid in there. I don’t wanna know the stuff he was getting into.” “Thanks, man.” Dean said as he started to turn around. “Also, we don’t want maid service either.” He said with a smile and a wink. Eric looked up at Dean with a disgusted look on his face. “Ugh…whatever man.” He said as he turned around and disappeared back into the dark doorway. Dean and Sam both exited through the front of the office and started walking toward their room. The doors were bright pink, bleached from red by constant sunlight. The walls were light blue with white cloud designs, broken up sporadically by large chunks of paint that were missing the entire length of the building. “So Adrian was in room two.” Sam said as they passed room two on their way to room four. “Settle in and let’s head over there around midnight. Sound like a plan?” “You got your pick on you?” Dean asked as he slid the key into the lock on room four and opened the door. “Always.” Sam said, patting the right side of his suit jacket. Greeted by the familiar smell of cleaning products and stale food, both brothers walked into the motel room and tossed their respective bags on each bed; Dean on the right, closest to the door, Sam on the left, closest to the bathroom. Deep crimson sheets covered in bleach stains under white blankets, each bed looked like it’s seen its fair share of use. The room itself was a tad bigger than either brother had expected; but coming from spacious size of the bunker, it was nice to get some extra room. The usual motel decor cluttered the room…a table with a lamp on it right inside the front door, an old TV on a much older wooden dresser, and a bathroom with tile from the sixties. Sam smiled to himself as he felt the familiar motel comfort he used to know back before they moved into the bunker. “This really brings back the memories, doesn’t it?” Sam said, looking around the room at the decor. “Oh yeah, hooker sheets and weird stains. How could you not miss this?” Dean said sarcastically. “Not that, Dean. I mean you and me, hunting stuff…being on the road all the time…jumping from motel to motel.” Sam replied. “Back in the good old days when we played Motel Roulette.” “Yeah, I guess. It does make me a little nostalgic. I think the bunker has ruined our appreciation of motels.” Dean said, smiling. Sam sat down at the table in the front of the room and opened his laptop. “I’m going to look over Adrian’s case file again. Do you want to run out for food?” Dean, who was already laying down on his bed watching TV, glanced over at Sam. “I thought it was your turn.” “No, I have gas this week…you’re on food.” Sam said, typing away on his laptop. Dean groaned, rolled on his side, and stood up next to his bed. “Whatever. You want your usual salad, brontosaurus?” Dean said, putting his jacket back on. “Yeah, thanks.” Sam said, letting out a light chuckle. Dean grabbed the room key off the table and quickly exited out the door to the parking lot. Sam continued to click around and type on his laptop, deaf to the world around him. He had hacked into the local PD’s database and was cross referencing details about Adrian’s case with other cases for the last year. So far, nothing. Still vigilant as always, he expanded the search to include all nationwide databases for cases that were similar to Adrian’s - a regular person who snapped and killed or seriously injured a stranger. The search was taking longer than expected, so Sam got up and walked over to the bathroom to get a drink of water. As he was filling one of the individually wrapped plastic cups, his laptop emitted three dings. “Never get tired of hearing that sound.” Sam said with a smile as he set the cup down on the sink and returned to his spot at the table. He clicked on the box that had appeared on his screen. “32 possible matches. This is going to take a while.” He said, running his fingers through his hair and exhaling sharply. Not deterred by the task, Sam dove right in, opening each case file and reviewing the details of each attack. Almost twenty minutes later, Sam was reading a case file from Memphis PD from about three months ago about a woman who had drove up on a sidewalk and hit several pedestrians, killing two. He kept reading the woman’s name over and over again, feeling a familiar tingle in his brain. Ignoring the sensation, he kept reading the file. The woman claimed to have heard her daughter’s voice coming from the stereo in her car, filling her with rage. So much rage that she was compelled to kill as many people around her as possible. The cops that investigated the case thought she was nuts, as they usually do, and locked her in a psych ward. Finding his eyes drifting back onto the woman’s name, Sam started muttering it out loud to himself. “Alicia Branch….Alicia…Branch…” Sam closed his eyes, trying to figure out where he had heard that name before. Before Sam had a chance to think any harder, he was startled by Dean slamming the motel room door closed. “Jesus, Dean. You scared the crap out of me. I didn’t even hear you open the door.” Sam said, heart still beating rapidly. “Why you all jumpy, Sammy? You looking at porn?” Dean said, looking over Sam’s shoulder at his laptop. “Ah, nevermind. Nerd porn. Those case files?” he said as he set a white paper bag on the table next to Sam and started digging through it. “Yeah. I did a nationwide search to see if there were any other cases of people going crazy and killing strangers. Found over thirty, been going through them.” Sam said as he reached into the paper bag, pulling out the container with his salad in it. Dean nodded and put a french fry in his mouth. “So? Anything interesting yet?” He said as he began to unwrap the aluminum foil surrounding his burger. “Maybe.” Sam said, clicking back over to the Alicia Branch case file. “Get this…a woman drove her car up on the sidewalk and ran a bunch of people over…killed two…because she heard her daughter’s voice coming through her stereo. Apparently it made her so angry, she had to kill.” “Someone’s been playing too much Grand Theft Auto.” Dean mumbled through his full mouth. “That’s not the weird part…do you recognize the name Alicia Branch? She was the driver of the car.” Sam asked as he poured dressing on his salad. Dean narrowed his eyes before closing them completely. “Alicia…Branch…yeah. That does sound familiar.” Dean opened his eyes and wiped his hands on his napkin before getting up and walking over to his bag laying on his bed. After digging around for a few moments, Dean pulled out his father’s hunting journal. John Winchester, Sam and Dean’s father, raised them in the hunter lifestyle and kept detailed notes on all monsters and cases he worked, including those cases that involved other hunters. Dean walked back over to the table and sat down. Moving his burger off to the side, he opened up the journal and began flipping the pages. Still flipping, Dean reached over, grabbed a handful of fries, and shoved them into his mouth. “Don’t get grease all over dad’s journal, dude.” Sam said, trying to pull the journal away from Dean. “Shhh.” Dean said as he swatted Sam’s hand away. He flipped once more and then rested his finger on the page about halfway down. “Jackpot.” “Eagle River, Wisconsin. Worked Wendigo case with Alicia Branch. She broke her leg, needed stitches.” Dean read, his finger following each word he was reading off the page. “Another hunter?” Sam said in disbelief, putting down his fork and clicking on his laptop again. “If it’s the same Alicia Branch, looks like it.” Dean said, sliding the journal off to the side and pulling his burger close to him again before taking a huge bite of it. “Two hunters go crazy and kill people within a three month period? I’m not sure that can be a coincidence. I’m gonna keep going through these cases.” Sam said, sliding his salad to the side and pulling his laptop close to him. “Don’t forget, we have to sneak over to Adrian’s room after midnight. Might be able to shed some light on what’s going on, too.” Dean said, his mouth full again. Sam checked the time on his laptop, 10:42pm. “I’ll keep at this until then. I hope they weren’t hunting something that got them first.” “Me, too.” Dean said, taking another bite of his burger, closing his eyes and letting out a soft moan of pleasure while he chewed. Sam looked up, noticing a large gob of ketchup on Dean’s chin, mixed in with the beard that was now forming and growing on his face. “Dean.” Sam said, motioning to his chin. “You got…uhh…” Dean opened his eyes, confused. “Huh?” “Wipe your chin.” Sam sighed and handed him a napkin. “And shave it, too! You look ridiculous. Are you going for a record or something?” “Maybe...” Dean said as he snatched the napkin and began rubbing his chin. “Get back to work. Faster you get through those, sooner we can go to Adrian’s room.” He said, motioning to Sam’s laptop. “It would go faster if you helped me.” Sam said, starting to get annoyed. “Nah, you got this. I’m in burger town and not leaving anytime soon.” Dean said as he took a giant bite out of his burger and smiled at Sam. Giving Dean a stern look, Sam returned his attention back to his laptop.

[sunshinemiranda]

King of the Lost Boys - Anthony Ramos x Reader (Chapter 3)

Summary: There are some new encounters with the other members of the Lost Boys, as well as an introduction to the local villainous gang. Noses are broken. 

Warnings: Quite a bit of swearing, blood and bruising mention. 

Words: 7,176 (can you tell that i’ve just stopped trying)

A/N: It’s really late where I am but I’m so excited for this?? What the heck. Anyway, just a little reminder that @alexanderhamllton and I have made matching aesthetics and playlists for the Lost Boys...coming soon to a tumblr near you...anyway, enjoy. Tags: @daveedsbra @myself-and-the-madman @clamilton @robotic-space @attackonmikaelson @pearltheartist @itsjaynebird

askbox | masterlist

The Pirates were a venomous crew of reptilian proportions, who didn’t play by the rules. They were of the privileged class, people who didn’t bother to think about their repercussions or the damage caused. Boredom is their motivation. Lives where everything is given to you, where money is not an issue, are lives that are awfully mundane. With a craving for possibility and the fire of resources at their fingertips, the Pirates seem to think themselves wonderfully immortal. They are the good ones gone wrong, a budding flower bitten at the stem by a poison with no antidote. In their blind want for something of substance, they chose to take as a method of getting what they want, but do not need. The local gas station cowers after a history of hold-ups. The department stores have lists of clients who are not allowed in; the Pirates are at the top.

They terrorize, gracelessly and unregretfully. Their constant search for distraction ended when they were met with a sort of resistance: the Lost Boys. There is an animosity between the two groups, older than the public can even remember. The Pirates all wear letterman’s jackets, not unlike the leather that graces the shoulders of Lost Boys. The back is illustrated with two symbols: a ship cutting through the waves, and a jolly roger flag. It is altogether a childish drawing, but it is somehow realized as something new and ultimately frightening on the backs of delinquents.

Jasmine Cephas Jones, known oddly as Smee is a cold, regal woman with a glint in her eyes that makes steel knives appear dull. She is second in command, but heaven help you if she ever decides to come after you. Do not reduce her to a second best of any sort. Dark hair, black as obsidian, is always tucked into a neat braid that curves over her shoulder. Jasmine is the subject of endless legend. It is said that she is the one pulling the strings behind the corrupt group, and her aloofness has done nothing to put those rumours to rest. Of all the whispers about her, the speculations that she carries a knife constantly, the fear that she has a history of arrest and delinquency, the one thing about Jasmine that cannot be argued as untrue, is the story of her manipulating touch. To tell that, however, we must address the leader first.

Hook, or James Oleander, is head of The Pirates. His notorious nickname stems from the silver hook that dangles from a chain around his neck. It seems to be important to him, but no one is privy to the real meaning. James is perpetually the antagonist to Pan and all that he stands for. The two are oddly designed to be the other’s specific problem; one cannot exist while the other survives. All Hook is built up to be depends on Pan. Pan defines Hook with his very existence. James cannot ever forget his obsession and perpetual concern with establishing himself over the Lost Boys. Golden hair constantly combed to perfection, James even appears as the visual opposite of Pan. One is dark, kissed by the night, with curled ringlets and constellations made of freckles. The other is gleaming, almost painfully, with thin, straight hair and a pale, ghost-like build. It is difficult to judge James based on fact. The entire town perpetuates rumours and speculations, but it is safe to say that the only person who knows Hook past every layer of his dark deeds is Pan.

And thus, we have the villains to our story. We have already established our Lost Boys. That gang of unlikely heroes and contradictorily beautiful villains must clash, at some point, because that’s how the story goes, right? And then a happy ending. It’s just a matter of time.

Tink had started sitting with you at lunch. It wasn’t exactly clear why, but ever since your short conversation at the outskirts of the deserted drive-in, she had sidled in next to Nat, without food, and stayed there all lunch period without an explanation.

“So, is she like, our friend now?” Nat mumbled around a mouthful of cafeteria fries.

It was the start of lunch, and Pippa hadn’t arrived yet. You pushed at your sandwich, a little put off already. School food wasn’t ideal. It was barely food.

“I don’t know.” You sighed, resting your chin in your hand.

“Man, I hope so. She’s badass. She’d probably beat Pan up for the shit he pulled with you.”

The mention of his name made a bad taste find it’s way into your mouth and you visibly grimaced, pushing your sandwich to the side in official abandonment. Before you could reply with something scathing about the boy, the scent of cigarettes and daisies entered the vicinity and Tink slid in next to you, scooping up your sandwich as she sat down and taking a bite, all in one smooth action.

“Not probably. I would.” Pippa grinned, glancing at you with a nonchalant shrug.

You shot her a smile, unbothered by your newfound lack of a sandwich. Tink didn’t bring lunches. It was possible she didn’t eat until the end of the school day, and this was good for her.

“You and me both, girl.” Nat huffed, making a show of cracking her knuckles.

“Pan’s different,” Pippa shrugged, mouth full of sandwich. “It was his way of showing that he cared for (Y/N).”

“He doesn’t care about me,” you stated, voice hardened. “Even if he did, that’s a real shitty way to show it. I’m done with that. I refuse to keep embarrassing myself.”

A silent look passed between Nat and Tink. A moment passed, then they both stood up, delivering the most enthusiastic standing ovation you’d ever seen. A half-smile on your face, you reached to grab both their sleeves and tugged them back into their seats.

“Bravo,” Nat laughed. “It’s about goddamn time.”

“I agree.” Tink’s eyes were twinkling, and despite your attempt to remain standoffish, you laughed anyway.

“I just wish there was somewhere I could get away from it all.” You hummed, reaching over to steal a fry from Nat. “I need some peace and quiet to finish some homework, think things over, just get distracted.”

Tink raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. “You already have somewhere.”

“And where would that be?”

“Neverland.”

Rolling your eyes, you sighed out a scoff. “Are you kidding me? That’s like his freaking home. Why would I go there to avoid him?”

“Oh, get over it. Pan barely ever actually comes to Neverland. He’s always off being all broody and lonely. Neverland is the home of the Lost Boys. Pan isn’t part of us. It’s a great place to go to when you need to clear your head, I swear.”

Biting your lip, you sat back to weigh the options. Avoiding Pan and all that he touched could only last so long; the boy’s touch was everywhere, practically palpable. If there was any chance that you could slip into Neverland and just have ten minutes to decompress without his presence, you had to take it.

“Okay. Fine. I’ll meet you in the parking lot at the bell. Nat, you wanna come?”

She shook her head, throwing the rest of her fries in her mouth. “Nah, I got work to do. Pippa, you promise me that (Y/N) comes back less pouty and depressed, okay?”

Tink smiled. “Promise.”

Neverland was just how you had remembered it. It was perpetually at rest, and yet poised for action. It was a place settled on an “in between”, something that existed in vivid colour and yet disappeared when you grasped too hard. The sky was clear as Tink and you trekked down the bushy path toward the drive-in, and within the space of five minutes, the tension that had stuck to your ribcage for days seemed to dissipate.

Pippa led the way towards the projection room, and the moment she opened it, a head of long dark hair pulled into a badly made bun caught your eye. So it seemed you weren’t alone.

“For the last time,” Slightly sighed, not even bothering to look up from the notebook he was furiously filling with words. “I’m not going to test drive your car, Curly, it doesn’t have brakes.”

“Where’s the fun in that, Lin?” Pippa grinned, and at the sound of his name, he looked up, eyes a bit wide.

“Oh, hi Tink.” He caught a glimpse of you behind her, and raised an eyebrow. “And…company.”

“This is (Y/N).” Tink gestured at you lazily before flopping onto the couch with a contented sigh.

“I remember,” Lin murmured, eyes assessing you with a certain guarded look. “You’re Pan’s (Y/N), right?”

“If there’s anything I’m not, it’s that. He doesn’t own me.” You snapped, hands curling into fists.

He visibly cringed, nodding as he looked down at his messy notes. “Right. Sorry, that wasn’t what I meant.” He stood, reaching out to offer you his hand. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced, at least properly. I’m Slightly.”

Warily, you shook his hand. “The same Slightly who blocked my exit from last time?”

He chuckled nervously, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. Sorry, I just…sorry.”

“He has Spontaneous Asshole Syndrome.” Tink quipped from the couch, grinning. “Not unlike our dear, dear Pan himself.”

Slightly rolled his eyes, turning around so he could flip her off with a good-natured grin. “I just…I try to be cool around people I respect. It can make for some bad choices, but any friend of Tink’s is a friend of mine.”

“It’s fine,” you chuckled, tapping at Tink’s legs so you could get some room to sit down on the couch.

“What brings you to our humble drive-in?” He smiled, pushing his notebook away and propping his legs up on the wooden chair adjacent to his own seat.

“Just…trying to find a place to think clearly.” You murmured, letting out a long breath.

“Neverland’s the perfect place for that. I’m always the most productive in this projection room.”

“Really? And what are you working on?”

“I write.”

“Write what?”

“A bit of everything,” he smiled, looking down as he flipped through pages and pages of words. “Poetry, couple songs…they make me feel at ease.”

“That’s really cool.” You smiled, a flow of conversation making you feel as if Neverland was soon becoming a place to belong too. A warmth opened in your chest.

“Yeah, yeah, anyway,” Tink started, reaching over to give Lin’s leg a poke. “Where are the rest of the boys?”

“Curly’s at the mechanic shop on shift, Tootles is studying, as always, the Twins are…no one ever knows where they are, and I think Nibs is on a date?”

“God, another poor female submitted to an entire meal with Nibs. True torture.” Tink groaned.

With a grin, you stood, looking down briefly to zip up your jacket against the fall cold outside. “I should go. Thanks for bringing me, Pippa. And thanks for not being a spontaneous asshole, Slightly.”

Tink sent you a thumbs up, and Lin grinned. “Come back anytime. It’ll be a better opportunity for me to redeem myself.”

“I just might.” You smiled, and by the time you left, all remnants of misery that had been circulating in your veins had all but disappeared.

The next time you went to Neverland, you had the privilege to meet Tootles. It crossed your mind that most of what you knew about the Lost Boys was found in whispers from the grapevine. Other than Tink and Pan, you had no connection or interaction with the rest of the group.

Binder in hand and homework on your mind, you pushed through the screen door and encountered Oak, sitting at the table in a mess of papers and binders. It was infinite. Three separate textbooks lay open on the table, marked excessively with post-it notes. A handful of different pens, highlighters and markers were distributed haphazardly around the table, and Oak already had two tucked behind one ear and a third perched between his teeth. He looked up with wide, vulnerable eyes.

“Oh, shit, sorry, I didn’t meant to…I’ll-I’ll go, sorry.” You backpedaled as quickly as possible, but before you could hurry away, he called out.

“Wait,” he mumbled around the pen, reaching up to take it from his mouth. “It’s fine, you can stay.”  

Breathing out, you nodded and, albeit nervously, sat down across from him at the table and spread out your own work. Hastily, he reached out and bulldozed you some room, sweeping away his papers.

“What brings you to Neverland, (Y/N)?” He said.

“You know my name?” Your eyes widened at his liberal mention.

“Well, you’re Pippa’s friend, aren’t you? And, of course, Pan has mentioned you.” His voice grew careful and a warm feeling of gratitude at his respectful way to know boundaries washed over you.

“Right. Yes. I was just looking for a quiet place to do my homework.” You let out a nervous laugh, drumming your pencil against the blank paper in front of you.

“This place is perfect for that.” He leaned forward, face open and serious, with just a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What are you working on?”

“Biology essay about vaccinations. You?”

“AP Law is kicking my ass. I’ve got a lot of work to do.” He shrugged, gesturing to the textbooks in front of them.

“AP Law?” You repeated incredulously. “Damn, I’ve heard that class is hell on earth.”

“Oh, it is.” He smiled for the first time, and it was a very calming, fitting look. “However, it’s obligatory for my future career.”

“And what would that be?”

“A degree in law and criminology at Florida State University.”

His confidence and comfortable way with vulnerability astounded you, and you found yourself leaning in to listen to him speak. Oak’s voice had a heavy, logical side that seemed to quell all fears that had ever existed in any part of your brain. It was a therapeutic sound.

“You’ll get it.” You murmured, sending him a quick smile as you opened your textbook to get to work. “I know you will.”

“Thank you, (Y/N).” His voice was all courtesy and manners, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw another small smile find a place on his face as he returned to his work.

Up until this point, the only contact you had had with Nibs was an unpleasant encounter that lasted all of two seconds under low blue lights as he was tugged away from kissing your best friend. The added comment you had made about him disgusting you didn’t make for a smooth segue into any interaction.

After a busy day of exams, you had slipped away from the stream of people and drove down the highway to find the turn off to a pathway you had become quite acquainted with. The air was purer in Neverland, it seemed, as if it had been imbued with a sort of magic.

At the sight of Daveed lounging on the couch watching the Twins blow smoke rings, you almost balked, but a tenacious feeling of entitlement to be in this space too rose up and you stalked through the doorway and plunked down in one of the wooden chairs, refusing to look at him.

“Well, well! It’s-“ Daveed was grinning, already moving to sit up when the Twins interrupted.

“(Y/N).” They said it in perfect unison.

“Guys, I was going to say that. We don’t have to go full-out Disney villain plus corrupt sidekicks.” Nibs rolled his eyes and turned back to you, eyes shining. “What brings a lovely girl like you to our humble shack?”

“Well, first of all, I had hoped I would be able to avoid you. And secondly, nothing in particular.” You replied, setting your shoulders back as you picked, disinterestedly, at your cracking nail polish.

“I can’t believe you still hate me.” He sighed, a visible pout coming to his face. “All I did was talk up your friend, Pan is the one you should be mad a-“

“Daveed.” Leslie spoke up, his voice soft and commanding. “Don’t be tasteless.”

“Don’t be an asshole is really what he means.” Jordan shrugs, sitting down next to you.

Nibs rolled his eyes, and lay back down on the couch, reverting back to his moody posture in a second. Jordan tapped the ashes off his cigarette and sent you a half smile.

“Don’t mind him. It’s nice to have another girl in here besides Tink. She’s great and everything, but half the time-“

“I feel like she might kick my ass any minute.” Leslie finished for his brother, grinning as he took the seat across from yours.

You laughed, relaxing a bit as the atmosphere warmed. “It’s fine. Pippa is a firecracker, I agree. It’s hard not to love her, though.”

“Oh, absolutely.” They both chimed, giving an approving nod.

“Can you guys please stop the talking at the same time? You have been told repeatedly that it’s pretty fucking creepy.” Daveed snapped from his end of the room.

Rolling his eyes, Jordan stood. “Oh, suck it up, crybaby. We’re leaving anyway.” 

“Nice to meet you again, (Y/N).” Leslie smiled, pulling his leather jacket on, cigarette still perched at his lips. “I hope Daveed doesn’t put you off Neverland. Come back whenever you like.”

With that, they swept out the door, closing it with a satisfying click, and yet, ultimately, leaving you alone with your least favourite of the group. Silence ruled the room, the kind that made you want to fidget and fill the space with un-necessary babble.

“Look, Nibs, it’s-“

“I’m sorry.”

You stopped short at that and turned to him, eyes wide with disbelief. His arm was thrown over his face, hiding his expression, but the sincerity in those two words had struck a chord in you that was still ringing loudly.

“What did you say?” You whispered, unconvinced that you had heard him correctly.

“I said I’m sorry.” He sighed, moving so he could sit up and occupying his gaze by looking down to light a cigarette. “I shouldn’t have tried to use Pan against you, it was a dick move.”

A pause flowed, and after a moment, you smiled, something you never thought you’d do in his presence. “It’s okay.”

“I’m also sorry for…you know, making out with your friend, and all that. Though I don’t regret it, she’s so ho-“

“Daveed, you’re ruining the moment.”

“Okay, sorry.” He chuckled, then paused, tilting his head as he looked at you, letting a breath of smoke out.

“What?” You challenged, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing. It’s just…that’s the first time you called me by my real name.” He grinned and stood, reaching for his leather jacket. “Looks like you’re getting real comfortable with the Lost Boys, (Y/N).”

“Is that a bad thing?” You questioned, a little miffed by the statement.

“Not at all,” he smiled, half way out the door. “I think you’d fit in quite nicely.”

His words echoed in your head for a week.

Curly is not a social kind of person. He spends time with cars because those are easy; the parts fit together, there are instruction manuals, nothing is unexpected. With social encounters, none of these things exist. He leans on Slightly for that exact reason. Lin thrives on being around other people. Chris does not.

You poked your head into the projection room after a busy day at work, feet aching and searching for some respite. Slightly caught sight of you immediately, but there was someone else sitting at the table, turned away from you.

“(Y/N)! Come in, this place is always open.” He beckoned you forward, smiling.

“Hey, sorry to intrude, I didn’t know you guys would be here.” You offered a smile of your own, moving to sit on the couch.

“Oh, it’s fine. Have you met Chris? I don’t know, probably.” Lin shrugged, moving to return to his notebook scribblings.

“Hi,” you reached out and offered your hand for Chris to shake but he only stared at you, moving to offer you nothing but a nod of recognition.

“Anyway, Slightly, so we’ve got this Shelby 427 Cobra engine in the shop, right? And we’re going to see if we can rebuild-“

Refusing to be ignored, you cut in mercilessly against his words. “The Cobra, or the Cobra Super Snake?”

He froze and turned to you, frowning as he took a thoughtful drag of his cigarette. “Just a Cobra. Made in-“

“1966, yeah, I know.”

He paused momentarily, and you registered the delighted look on Slightly’s face out of the corner of your eye. “Didn’t know you liked cars.”

“I don’t, but I have an aunt who does. She taught me everything I know.” Letting out a breath, you stood. “I should leave you guys to it, this is your space after all. See you.”

Just before you could reach for the doorknob, Chris called your name. He had stood from his chair and he approached, hand outstretched. “I think I owe you a handshake.”

A half smile appeared on your face and you reached out, shaking his hand, a triumphant pride blooming in your chest. “Nice to meet you, Curly.”

“See you around, (Y/N).” He gave you a nod, which was more physicality than Chris ever exhibited around the general public over a week.

You left feeling, more than ever, like you belonged.

It wasn’t until a week later that you witnessed the Lost Boys as a group. The sun was just setting as you walked underneath the steel sign, a plethora of colours blooming from behind the wall of pines. Oranges and pinks calmed the stress from that day and you found yourself, once again, at ease in Neverland.

Tink, Tootles and Slightly were already in the projection room when you entered. There was intensity in their conversation that suggested paramount importance, but the moment they saw you, all words stopped.

“Hi, (Y/N),” Slightly managed a smile but it wavered.

“Hey,” you moved forward, a little warily. “What’s going on, guys?”

“Oh nothing, it’s-“

“Lin.” Oak’s voice stopped him with a word. “It’s fine, we can tell her.”

“Tell me what?” Your brow furrowed in confusion.

“(Y/N), I’ve told you of my plan to go to FSU and study law.” Oak started, beckoning you with an open hand as he sat down at the table. You took a seat adjacent to his.

“Yeah.”

“Well…I was planning on finding my way there through a scholarship that would pay for everything I could ever need; textbooks, food, housing.”

“Yeah, sounds great.”

“It does. But I didn’t get it.”

The entire room tensed at that, gauging your reaction in looks, silent prayers; it was a hundred different feelings mixed into a single mess. You let out a long breath, hands squeezing into tight fists.

“Oak, I am so sorry.” You reached out and placed your hand on his, looking up with pleading eyes. “You were born for that. I can’t fucking believe this.”

“That makes two of us, girl,” Tink huffed, a breath of smoke drifting from her lips. “It’s bullshit.”

Oak’s lips tilted into a small smile. It was a pleasing sight to see, he’d been curled over in stress for too long. “Thank you both, but this is just how it has to be. It was a long shot already, I can’t-“

“No.” You interrupted him, standing abruptly from the couch. “I can’t accept that, Oak. You deserve this more than any one of their students. We’re getting you to that goddamn university, okay?”

“I want him there more than anyone, honest to God,” Slightly added, hands raised in explanation. “But how?”

You bit your lip, mind working into a flurry of ideas and possibilities. “We’ll make money.”

“Off what?” Tink quipped. “I don’t know how many of you guys would be into pole-dancing as a side job.”

“We’ll use Neverland.” You murmured, eyes widening as a concrete idea started to take place in your mind. “This place is a drive-in, right?”

“A deserted drive-in, yeah.” Slightly said.

“It doesn’t have to be. Let’s revive it. We’ll show movies, sell concession. You guys know how to bake; there are old movies everywhere. This projection room has some useful equipment.”

“This could actually work,” Oak mumbled disbelievingly, standing as he glanced around the room. “This could actually work. I have some money saved up. I can apply for grants. This can work, you guys, holy shit.”

The screen door rattled and lo and behold, the golden feeling of triumph settling into your heart was suddenly stamped out in a second as Pan made his way, casual as anything, into the room, followed by Curly, Nibs and the Twins.

“Yo, guys, what are you all serious abou-“ He choked on his words the moment he realized you were in the vicinity. His vulnerable look of disbelief didn’t last long; it quickly converted to distaste. “What is she doing here?”

An anger washed over you, the blood roaring in your ears as you opened your mouth to just rip him apart but you were too slow; Tink got there first.

“Oh, get the fuck over it, Pan. (Y/N) knows where Neverland is, something that was, I may remind you, an idea you had. Suck it up, she comes here now.” She said this all from her lazy position on the couch and accompanied it with a scathing roll of her eyes.

A fast grin spread across your face and you mouthed a quiet thank you at her from your end of the room. She winked.

“Yeah, (Y/N)’s cool.” Slightly smiled, giving you a nudge with his elbow. “You guys wanna hear our plan to get Tootles to college, or what?”

“Always,” Nibs grinned, following the Twins to the table to find seats.

Before Oak could outline the new plan, a clatter of the door announced that Pan had disappeared just as fast as he had arrived. You stared at the door, teeth on edge as the spark of anger smoldered in your veins, but turned away and addressed the group.

“First line of thought: Neverland is making a comeback. Second line of thought: Casablanca is our first option.”

Neverland needed some intense cleaning up. It was the product of an entire weekend, and every one had their own part. At least, everyone but Pan. He hadn’t appeared yet, and, according to the Lost Boys, avoided Neverland as much as possible now that he knew you were there. It seemed you weren’t the only one wanting a place to get away.

“If I have to pick up one more pile of pinecones, I’m shoving them all down Nibs’ throat.” Tink groaned, flopping onto the couch during a break you had called.

“Kinky,” Slightly snickered, taking a swig from a cold bottle of water from the tiny fridge.

Nibs stuck out his tongue, all childish, as the rest of the group laughed. The sound died down as the screen door creaked open and a familiar head of curls peeked through, shyer than before.

“Pan.” Oak spoke up, after a moment of silence. “Nice to see you.”

“I…I thought I’d help.” He attempted a smile, glancing around the room.

 “Thank you.” Oak smiled, reaching over to pull him into a one-armed hug of sorts. “Let’s get on this.”

As Nibs, Curly and the Twins cleared the yard of unwanted weeds and car parts, you had been assigned to sweep all remaining dust out of the projection room and check out the equipment. By some divine intervention, set out to ruin every good thing in your life, Pan had been assigned the same task. The silence was so loud it almost deafened you.

“(Y/N), I-“

“Don’t, Pan. Just don’t.” You breathed out, shaking your head as you concentrated on mopping the creaky wooden boards.

He paused at that, looking down at his hands that had just been sweeping dust off the shelves. “I want to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Just leave it. I get it, you’re Pan. It wasn’t ever supposed to work out.”

A breath pulled from his chest and he paused before speaking. “You used to call me Anthony.”

You stopped at that, the mop handle stilling in your hands as you sighed. “Yeah. I used to do a lot of things.”

He didn’t say anything else.

The day was bleeding into star-perforated night as you finished up. The group of nine was gathered in a group, some turning in a slow, awed circle as they took a look at a new, reborn Neverland in all its revived glory.

“We did it.” Oak breathed, a huge grin filled with pride gleaming on his face.

“Yeah. We did.” You laughed. “Our date is set for next Saturday night. There are some posters up already, we just need to get on filling our concession menu. Let’s get on that. Oh, and Nibs?”

“What?” He turned, raising an eyebrow.

“Weed brownies don’t count.” You grinned, propping your hands on your hips.

“Well, fuck! There goes my only idea.” He returned the grin.

“Thanks for helping out, (Y/N).” Oak smiled.

“Oh, of course. Good luck on Saturday.” You stepped backwards, starting to get some headway on the path back to the highway.

“Wait, are you not coming?” Slightly frowned, and you could see Pan turn to face you at his words.

“Well, I…I wasn’t sure if it would be…like, weird? I don’t really-“

“(Y/N), Neverland is your place too.” Oak offered you a grin.

“Yeah,” Curly mumbled.

“You’re as much of a Lost Boy as we are.” Tink nodded.

Her statement made an immortal feeling of delight rise up in your chest, and all of a sudden you were grinning harder than you ever had in your life.

“Holy shit. I love you guys.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nibs chuckled. “Get out of here.”

Casablanca seemed a million years away, and even in your excitement to see Humphrey Boggart delivering those iconic lines, Pan’s attempts to smooth things over stayed with you just as long. It seemed you were never far enough from that boy to ever forget about him.

Casablanca went well. So did The Maltese Falcon. It wasn’t until you decided to show Rebel With a Cause that things truly, completely went to shit. It could have been the influence of an insurgent James Dean in the role of a rebellious teen, but Neverland became the backdrop for a split lip, a couple bruised knuckles and a bloody nose.

The idea had been going better than ever. People’s newfound love for anything vintage fit in well with the drive-in location and crowds of people were arriving every night to find an excuse to make out with someone in the back of a truck, or just to bring a couple friends to witness Mary Astor as an iconic femme fatale. Rebel With a Cause was just entering it’s opening sequence when the purr of motorcycles caught your ear and Oak stood up abruptly, searching to find Pan’s gaze and keep it.

He only uttered one word. “Pirates.”

Immediately, Anthony sprang from his seat, Nibs, Curly, and Tink following him without hesitation.

“Pirates? What the hell does that mean?” You turned to Jordan and Leslie for an explanation.

They paused for a moment, sharing a look before turning to address you. “You better come and see.” Jordan beckoned you out the door of the projection room.

It was dark out and the hushed murmur of teenagers cuddled into blankets and entwined with their dates dissipated easily in between the pines. Everything seemed to be at peace. Through the dark, you could make out Pan’s form as he led the way to the pathway. Several figures were approaching to meet them. The Twins at your side, you warily made your way to join the group. Oak sent you a silent, but comforting look. The air tingled with crackling electricity; everyone was on edge.

As you approached, Pan caught a glance of you out of the corner of his eye and instantly stepped just an edge closer in front of you, not completely obstructing your vision but making it a clear, protective stance.

A boy approached, shaking his blonde, windswept hair back into a neat style. He had a sly grin that was more unsettling than clever. There was a glint in his blue eyes that made your heart churn uncomfortably.  He was dangerous. That much was clear.

“Pan!” The boy laughed, and the sound sent a chilling shiver down your spine. It was so hollow. “Good to see you again, buddy.”

“Hook.” Anthony replied, but there was not even an attempt at civility in his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I heard that you were planning on sending your dear old Poverty King here, off to college! Jasmine mentioned the fundraiser, blah, blah, long story short, I came to visit!” His grin only grew and he propped his hands on his hips.

The female who had been hovering at his shoulder came forward, and her beauty astounded you. She had dark hair braided together, and it settled nicely against her shoulder. Her eyes, however, were void of any emotion. She was just as cold as this Hook character, if not more.

“You didn’t even invite us,” she pouted, leaning her head against Hook’s shoulder.

Slightly stepped forward, rolling his eyes. “We had no reason to, you were unwanted, Smee. God, I can’t actually say your name without laughing. Where the fuck do you get something like-“

“What Slightly means to say,” Oak cut in, shooting him a glance. “Is that what we’re doing is up to us. We’d appreciate it if this ended right here and now.”

Hook pouted, stepping forward. “That’s not nice, my dear, broke, friend. No need to be unsociable now.”

Pan made his way forward from the group, abandoning his protective stance in front of you. The leaders of both groups met in the middle. “James, my patience is running out. I can only say “please” so many times before it evolves into a simple, “fuck you”.”

Hook narrowed his eyes, assessing his options. “Yeah? Well I don’t play nice.” As he took note of your presence, his gaze transferred almost immediately, away from Anthony. “Oh, and who do we have here?”

He moved forward, coming dangerously close as his eyes raked, unashamedly, up and down your body. The distance between you was closing, and fast, until Tink appeared at your side.

“Don’t even fucking think about it.” She murmured. Her voice was soft but it trembled with fury. You felt a swell of gratitude for her.

“Hey, I’m just acquainting myself with this…lovely thing.” He smiled, an act that looked unnatural on his gaunt face. Just as his hand brushed against your cheek, a blurred movement came out of nowhere, and suddenly James was on the ground. You stumbled backward, heart tumbling in your chest.

“You do not fucking touch her, ever again.” Anthony stepped forward, leaning over James’ crumpled body. “Hear me? Not ever, you fucking-“ He was halfway through a kick when Hook hurled himself forward and landed a punch that made you cringe. As Anthony wound up to punch him again, you hurried towards him, reaching a hand out to grasp his shoulder and stabilize him.

“Anthony,” you breathed, turning to face him, eyes imploring with every ounce of energy you had. His nose was bleeding, bad. “Please, don’t. He’s not worth it.”

James’ voice made you turn. “Listen, babe, I know you’re trying to help and everything, but maybe just let the men settle this, yeah?”

Jaw clenching, you turned to him with a sweet smile. “Oh, anything for you. Just one thing.” You opened your palm and jabbed up, the heel of your hand crushing his nose up with a satisfying sound. He tumbled backward, only stopping when Jasmine hurried to help him up.

A pause echoed in the space. Every eye in the place was turned to you. Then, Tink spoke.

“(Y/N), that was fucking awesome, holy shit!” She let out a disbelieving laugh.

In your moment of glory, you forgot the presence of the Pirates, and it wasn’t until the sound of Curly punching someone made you realize the situation, that you actually turned to see what was happening.

There was movement everywhere. Curly had managed to grab one of Hook’s men and they were in a merciless grapple. Every time the Pirate seemed to get the advantage, Slightly was there to even out the odds with a vicious uppercut. Pan seemed to be right in the centre of it, strands of hair floating about his angelic face, blood bright red in the darkness, every one of his movements the epitome of beautiful. You dimly registered that Jordan was shaking you, imploring you to get the attention of the group. Oak was busy trying to shake off another one of Hook’s men, who Tink had swarmed to annihilate. Everything was happening at once.

“Stop,” you mumbled, but your voice disappeared in the endless sounds. “Stop, you guys…stop!”

The sharpness of your voice made an impact, and the sound echoed all the way down the path. The fighting slowed to a stop and you stepped forward, heading right into the middle of the fray to address Hook and Pan.

“This ends now. Hook, this is our home. You do not have the right to enter and do as you please. Get the fuck out right now, before I break your nose again, I swear to God.” Your voice was strong and level.

James’ jaw clenched in frustration, but he pushed away from Pan and beckoned the rest of his men with an open palm. Within the space of three minutes, they were halfway back down the path, heading back to their motorcycles.

All of the Lost Boys seemed to release a breath, all at the same time. You took a look around, assessing. Curly had a split lip. Anthony’s nose was still bleeding. Slightly’s knuckles were black and blue. And you had never seen anything more beautiful.

A slow but bright smile came to your face. “I hope that’s the last time we ever see them again.”

All tension seemed to bleed from the group in an instant. It started with Slightly’s laughter, then the Twins, then Oak, and pretty soon, everyone was laughing. It felt cathartic, like this was what people meant by high school being the best years of your life. It was the people that made it so good.

“We should probably get back to James Dean,” Oak grinned.

“Yeah,” Leslie agreed, chuckling. “Let’s go.”

You stayed back, checking on members of the group who had gotten injured, but you were met mostly with triumphant smiles. The Lost Boys were, after all, adrenaline seekers of sorts, and this was a perfect fix.

Though you had tried to avoid Anthony for as long as possible, you fell into step beside him, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

“Are you okay?”  

“M’fine.” He was looking down, words muffled.

“No. Anthony, you’re not. Hey, wait up. Look at me.” You reached a hand out to stop his steps and turned him to face you.

The blood hadn’t quite stopped, and it looked quite bad. You huffed, a little miffed at his stubbornness, and reached into your pocket to receive a cloth from the projection room. As you pressed it to his nose, an attempt to stop the bleeding, you noticed a grin on his face.

“What are you smiling about?” You raised a cryptic eyebrow.

“You called me Anthony again.” He chuckled a bit, trying hard not to jostle you with the movement.

His words made you stop, and you bit down on your chapped lips, deep in thought.

“Yeah.”

“(Y/N).”

“Mhm?”

“I’m sorry.” He sighed the words out.

His words meant much more than the surface suggested. It was an apology for everything: the fight, the lies, and the heartbreak. In an instant, you recognized the soft side of the boy you were very quickly coming to care for.  

“It’s okay.” You attempted a smile, and it was smile, but still there.

He stared down at you, a sort of awe opening in his expression as you smiled up at him. Reaching up, he cradled your jaw with hands still sore from throwing punches, a thumb brushing against your cheek. You leaned into his touch, eyes closing briefly as two conflicting sides of thought warred viciously in your mind.

All indulgence had to end at some point. Quickly, you pulled away, taking a deep breath.

“We should catch up with the others.”

Surprisingly, the rest of the night went along without a hitch. After the movie ended, the rest of the group stayed for an extra hour, spending the time joking around and, slowly but surely, cleaning up the projection room and the lot. At this point, night had fallen completely, but the golden light spilling from the three thrift store lamps in the shack seemed just right. Pan had left early, mumbling something about being busy. No one had believed it, but then again, no one had questioned it.

“I am exhausted,” you breathed out, collapsing back onto the couch.

“Breaking someone’s nose’ll do that,” Nibs grinned.

Tink let out a laugh, cigarette ember glowing in the dusky light. “I still can’t believe you did that.”

You cringed. “It was bad, wasn’t it.”

“Badass, yeah,” Slightly added, sending you a thumbs up from the side of the room.

Laughing, you heaved yourself off the couch and headed toward the door. “Badass or not, I gotta get some sleep. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Wait a minute, (Y/N),” Oak called out, turned to fish in his backpack for something. “We have a present for you, since this was all your idea.”

You stopped, eyes widening. “Oak, it was nothing, really, I-“

“We insist.” Slightly grinned.

As Oak stood, you recognized the colour and texture of the fabric in his hands, even from the opposite side of the room. It was a leather jacket, just like all of theirs, but it was more than that. It was a symbol. Oak tossed it to you with a grin.

“Your initiation is complete. You deserve that.” He crossed his arms, cracking his knuckles absent-mindedly.

“I…thank you.” You murmured, running your fingertips over the jacket.

“Don’t thank us,” Tink turned to you with a twinkle in your eyes. “It was Pan’s idea.”

It seemed that that boy was always taking you by surprise. With a delighted laugh, you smiled. “I’ll wear it with pride. For now, though, I really do have to go.”

Curly was the one who spoke up. It was such a rare occurrence that everyone turned to witness his words.

“Welcome to the Lost Boys, (Y/N).”

You sent him a smile from the doorway. “It’s an honour.”

[pitz182]

Microdosing Marijuana at 9 Years Sober

Microdosing. All the cool kids in Silicon Valley are doing it, and anyone who got sober before 2015 has been left out of the fun. At least, anyone with an all-or-nothing recovery plan, which is most people, but definitely not yours truly. Anecdotally, it looks like it’s better to have Silicon Valley hooked on low doses of LSD and psilocybin than abusing Adderall, but more empirical data on the therapeutic benefits of this trend is needed. Though I’m not going near psychedelics without a doctor’s note, I have dabbled in some microdosing on weed, and I still consider myself 100% sober.Alcohol was my problem. It was a gnarly problem. I put the kibosh on that problem in 2009 and haven’t looked back.Google piqued my interest in microdosing on weed by feeding me a headline that claimed one puff of it could blast away depression. I double-clicked. Since I deal with bipolar disorder and have benefited from using CBD (the non-psychoactive component in marijuana), the article seemed relevant.According to the study, one drag of low-THC and high-CBD dose of weed can knock out depression immediately, unlike traditional antidepressants that often take a few weeks to kick in. But, there’s a catch: Continual use of THC could worsen depression, so this had to be an every-now-and-again smoke. I stored that information in my brain for future reference, noting that if I ever experienced an intense depression that didn’t abate I could give it a try since I’m fortunate enough to live in Los Angeles (pot shops on nearly every major street).About two months after I read about the study, I got stuck in a morass of negativity and self-deprecation and self-doubt for about a week. Everything was out of alignment, and no matter how much meditation I did, I just couldn’t snap out of it. Sure, I have bipolar II, but because I take meds, 90% of the time the symptoms are manageable. Still, there are those days when stress or neurochemistry or hormones or a bad fight with a boyfriend can throw me off.Sometimes I find relief in jogging or dancing, calling my therapist or going to a meeting, but there are times where I don’t have the energy or ability to do the very things I know will help (Depression 101). Since I’ve dealt with the condition for so long, I know when I’m dealing with a chemical imbalance and when I’m dealing with a psychological imbalance.This time it felt like both.I was curious to see how the weed would work, especially since I’d heard so much about the benefits of microdosing on psychedelics from friends. Because the CBD succeeded in quieting my anxiety and smoothing out my thoughts, I figured why not try something with a bit of THC.Anyone who smokes pot can tell you that it triggers euphoria, thereby alleviating depression; you don’t need a study to tell you that. But I’ve never been a huge fan of weed, for several reasons.For starters, my sister smoked way too much of it when she was 18, and she wound up with a permanent case of acute paranoid schizophrenia right after a three-month-long binge. Her doctor said the weed probably triggered a dormant case of the illness inherited from my schizophrenic grandfather, one that would have emerged with or without the pot, it was just a matter of time. So, that instilled in me a well-warranted dose of fear.After staying far away from weed until my early 20s, I started smoking it every now and then, but not very often, and I certainly never purchased any or had it around. You’re probably wondering why I’d even risk smoking pot at all given my sister’s condition. Well, the doc also pointed out that she displayed many early signs of the disorder from childhood, and that my emotional and expressive--albeit mood-disordered--personality was opposite of what you’d typically see in a child predisposed for schizophrenia.I also had passed adolescence by the time I started smoking, and the science says adolescents are the ones most at risk. Strength and frequency also play a huge role, and my sister admitted that she holed herself up in her dorm room smoking bowl after bowl after bowl all day long for months until she literally couldn’t think anymore. I had no intention of smoking more than a hit or two off a blunt.My highs were a total mixed bag: Sometimes they relaxed me, sometimes they brought on unstoppable fits of giggles; one time I had waking dreams about dancing tortilla chips, and a few times I found myself in the midst of very uncomfortable paranoia. The one and only time I smoked way more than two hits, I wound up with full-blown psychosis that ruined an entire Halloween for multiple people. Even when smoking did bring on an enjoyable high, I still had to endure those moments of not remembering the last word I spoke, which I found, and still find, utterly horrifying. Plus my head felt like it weighed 100 pounds and my face felt like it was going to burn off.Pot just didn’t provide an alluring buzz. I never developed a craving for or addiction to it.If the weed I smoked had had even a small percentage of CBD, those episodes of paranoia would likely have not occurred since CBD actually curbs the anxiety-inducing effects of THC. In fact, in a bizarre twist of irony, studies have shown CBD effectively treats schizophrenia.Sadly, whoever bred weed in the 90s and early 2000s grew strains that had little or no CBD because it decreases the psychoactive effect. (Remember chronic?) Now, CBD is making a comeback among health-conscious, microdosing millennials who are sensible enough to want a more balanced high. This is good news for a paranoid Gen Xer.Now, you can walk into the local dispensary and see a smorgasbord of pot goodies that include CBD, from all-CBD vanilla bean cookies to 1:1 taffies to 100% CBD oil cartridges. There are salves and gums and pre-rolls and mints and a white CBD dust that looks just like cocaine, and all of them are labeled with the milligrams and the percentages of THC and CBD. This is heaven for someone like me who might want to try some pot without getting paranoid or stoned.I have to say, I love budtenders. Mitch, who manned the shop by my house, was extremely sympathetic to my terror of coming down with pot-induced paranoia. He emphasized that dosing, strain, and CBD content made a world of difference when trying to avoid it and pointed me in the direction of 1:1 taffies. Each taffy had 5 mg of CBD and THC, which sounds low, but it’s no microdose for someone like me. According to Mitch, 5 mg of CBD and THC can lead to a strong high for someone with zero pot tolerance, and I wasn’t looking to get stoned — I just wanted that mild euphoria, for the bell jar to lift.I ended up buying the taffies and slicing them into thirds, which Mitch suggested. In the end, I was ingesting about 1.5 mg of THC and 1.5 mg of CBD, which a lot of doctors would consider an ineffective dose, but not for me! My brain is super sensitive. After two hours, I ended up feeling a very small effect, but of course it grew.Ultimately, the high — if you’d call it that — was a powerful feeling of ease and positivity. My thoughts quieted, and yes, a mild euphoria fell over me. It was, without a doubt, a nice buzz, but a buzz no more intense than a glass of wine sipped slowly and on a reasonably full stomach. Despite this buzz, I had no craving for more pot. I was so pleased to not be paranoid or forgetting my thoughts as they spilled out of my head, the last thing I wanted was more. More might have induced those adverse effects. (Oh, the benefits of legalization!)I am not ashamed of that pot buzz nor do I think it nulls my sobriety in any way. My sobriety is just that — my sobriety, and it’s not some stringent moral code that demands I never feel any psychoactive pleasure whatsoever just because I used to drink myself into rages, sobs, and blackouts. If the pot buzz was harmless and actually beneficial for my mental health, why not embrace it? One of the main reasons I got off the booze is because how seriously destabilizing it is for my mood given my bipolar diagnosis. When I drank too much, it sent me crashing down into suicidal depressions.Normal drinkers get a slight buzz — if not a big buzz — from their drinks, and they’ll admit it. It’s a social lubricant and a relaxant that well-adjusted and healthy folks leverage all the time to take the edge off and have fun. When they manage to leverage these positive aspects of alcohol without destroying their lives, we tip our hats to them.Being out of AA for nearly three years no doubt helped me take the microdosing plunge with zero guilt.Now, if I wanted to gorge myself on those taffies after this experience, that would be problematic, at least for me. Someone else might not care if they engage that behavior, but I’m not in the mood to pick up any new addictions.I’m still very wary of using weed on the regular given my familial history of schizophrenia, though at this age my chances of developing the illness are low. Some studies have shown that heavy and regular use can fry your short-term memory, and I’m not down for that either: I need all the synapses I can get as I push 40. So, I don’t plan on using it very often.After having the weed, the positive mood lasted for a few days without ingesting any more taffies. I basically just returned to baseline. I didn’t eat any for weeks after that episode. Since then, I’ve probably had two or three, each time cutting them in thirds or halves. After a while, the package just sat there in the fridge, and eventually I ended up tossing them when I moved out of the apartment.So, now I have no taffies, and I could frankly care less. If I feel like one might help me in the future, I’ll take it. If I go out to the desert, maybe I’ll take some for recreational use. Either way, I know my limitations, and I know I don’t want to do it often. Because I don’t experience a craving, I doubt this will be a problem. I experienced a craving for alcohol from Day One. From the very beginning, I needed more.“Marijuana maintenance,” or smoking pot in recovery, is generally frowned upon by your standard AA member. Historically referred to (incorrectly) as “the gateway drug,” 12-step philosophy looks at it in the same way, cautioning that if you start smoking it in recovery it will open up the floodgates toward drinking again.The problem with this thinking is that it doesn’t take into account the vast differences that exist between all of us, be they physiological or psychological, or, hell, even spiritual. After reading much about recovery, from Lance Dodes to Marc Lewis to Gabrielle Glaser to Bill Wilson and all the stories in the rest of the Big Book, I feel that it's unconscionable to argue that we are not unique, as so many people do in 12-step programs. We are highly unique, and observing this and tailoring treatment plans for each individual will increase success at recovery. One-size-fits-all recovery modalities are, according to my research, quite dangerous.Imagine if a woman with breast cancer walked into a doctor’s office and the doctor said, “Well, there’s no reason to take any additional imaging because all breast cancer patients are the same. You’re not unique. Mastectomy it is!”Even in the dark ages medicine was probably more sophisticated than this. So why are we in the dark ages when it comes to addiction treatment? If our bodies are this unique, then so are our minds. The field of psychiatry also takes our differences into account, with medication and other treatment prescribed according to individual circumstances.I am not encouraging anyone to microdose, but I am trying to encourage the sober community to keep an open mind about new psychotherapeutic treatments and to accept the fact that some people can stay away from their drug of choice while indulging in a substance that wasn’t and isn’t problematic. Studies have shown that marijuana can benefit our mental health; let’s continue to study this promising medicine instead of closing ourselves off to it out of fear.Microdosing on anything while in recovery is a very nuanced topic, and drawing blanket conclusions won’t do anyone a bit of good. But in order to make room for these conversations, we have to be open and accepting. We have to be willing to say, “Okay, she can take a little THC every now and then and enjoy it. I know it’s not a good idea for me since I smoked too much pot in the past, so I won’t do it.” We all need to be in touch with our own limits and accept them while not imposing them on others; otherwise, we resort to reductive fear-mongering that has no basis in reality.

[alexdmorgan30]

Microdosing Marijuana at 9 Years Sober

Microdosing. All the cool kids in Silicon Valley are doing it, and anyone who got sober before 2015 has been left out of the fun. At least, anyone with an all-or-nothing recovery plan, which is most people, but definitely not yours truly. Anecdotally, it looks like it’s better to have Silicon Valley hooked on low doses of LSD and psilocybin than abusing Adderall, but more empirical data on the therapeutic benefits of this trend is needed. Though I’m not going near psychedelics without a doctor’s note, I have dabbled in some microdosing on weed, and I still consider myself 100% sober.Alcohol was my problem. It was a gnarly problem. I put the kibosh on that problem in 2009 and haven’t looked back.Google piqued my interest in microdosing on weed by feeding me a headline that claimed one puff of it could blast away depression. I double-clicked. Since I deal with bipolar disorder and have benefited from using CBD (the non-psychoactive component in marijuana), the article seemed relevant.According to the study, one drag of low-THC and high-CBD dose of weed can knock out depression immediately, unlike traditional antidepressants that often take a few weeks to kick in. But, there’s a catch: Continual use of THC could worsen depression, so this had to be an every-now-and-again smoke. I stored that information in my brain for future reference, noting that if I ever experienced an intense depression that didn’t abate I could give it a try since I’m fortunate enough to live in Los Angeles (pot shops on nearly every major street).About two months after I read about the study, I got stuck in a morass of negativity and self-deprecation and self-doubt for about a week. Everything was out of alignment, and no matter how much meditation I did, I just couldn’t snap out of it. Sure, I have bipolar II, but because I take meds, 90% of the time the symptoms are manageable. Still, there are those days when stress or neurochemistry or hormones or a bad fight with a boyfriend can throw me off.Sometimes I find relief in jogging or dancing, calling my therapist or going to a meeting, but there are times where I don’t have the energy or ability to do the very things I know will help (Depression 101). Since I’ve dealt with the condition for so long, I know when I’m dealing with a chemical imbalance and when I’m dealing with a psychological imbalance.This time it felt like both.I was curious to see how the weed would work, especially since I’d heard so much about the benefits of microdosing on psychedelics from friends. Because the CBD succeeded in quieting my anxiety and smoothing out my thoughts, I figured why not try something with a bit of THC.Anyone who smokes pot can tell you that it triggers euphoria, thereby alleviating depression; you don’t need a study to tell you that. But I’ve never been a huge fan of weed, for several reasons.For starters, my sister smoked way too much of it when she was 18, and she wound up with a permanent case of acute paranoid schizophrenia right after a three-month-long binge. Her doctor said the weed probably triggered a dormant case of the illness inherited from my schizophrenic grandfather, one that would have emerged with or without the pot, it was just a matter of time. So, that instilled in me a well-warranted dose of fear.After staying far away from weed until my early 20s, I started smoking it every now and then, but not very often, and I certainly never purchased any or had it around. You’re probably wondering why I’d even risk smoking pot at all given my sister’s condition. Well, the doc also pointed out that she displayed many early signs of the disorder from childhood, and that my emotional and expressive--albeit mood-disordered--personality was opposite of what you’d typically see in a child predisposed for schizophrenia.I also had passed adolescence by the time I started smoking, and the science says adolescents are the ones most at risk. Strength and frequency also play a huge role, and my sister admitted that she holed herself up in her dorm room smoking bowl after bowl after bowl all day long for months until she literally couldn’t think anymore. I had no intention of smoking more than a hit or two off a blunt.My highs were a total mixed bag: Sometimes they relaxed me, sometimes they brought on unstoppable fits of giggles; one time I had waking dreams about dancing tortilla chips, and a few times I found myself in the midst of very uncomfortable paranoia. The one and only time I smoked way more than two hits, I wound up with full-blown psychosis that ruined an entire Halloween for multiple people. Even when smoking did bring on an enjoyable high, I still had to endure those moments of not remembering the last word I spoke, which I found, and still find, utterly horrifying. Plus my head felt like it weighed 100 pounds and my face felt like it was going to burn off.Pot just didn’t provide an alluring buzz. I never developed a craving for or addiction to it.If the weed I smoked had had even a small percentage of CBD, those episodes of paranoia would likely have not occurred since CBD actually curbs the anxiety-inducing effects of THC. In fact, in a bizarre twist of irony, studies have shown CBD effectively treats schizophrenia.Sadly, whoever bred weed in the 90s and early 2000s grew strains that had little or no CBD because it decreases the psychoactive effect. (Remember chronic?) Now, CBD is making a comeback among health-conscious, microdosing millennials who are sensible enough to want a more balanced high. This is good news for a paranoid Gen Xer.Now, you can walk into the local dispensary and see a smorgasbord of pot goodies that include CBD, from all-CBD vanilla bean cookies to 1:1 taffies to 100% CBD oil cartridges. There are salves and gums and pre-rolls and mints and a white CBD dust that looks just like cocaine, and all of them are labeled with the milligrams and the percentages of THC and CBD. This is heaven for someone like me who might want to try some pot without getting paranoid or stoned.I have to say, I love budtenders. Mitch, who manned the shop by my house, was extremely sympathetic to my terror of coming down with pot-induced paranoia. He emphasized that dosing, strain, and CBD content made a world of difference when trying to avoid it and pointed me in the direction of 1:1 taffies. Each taffy had 5 mg of CBD and THC, which sounds low, but it’s no microdose for someone like me. According to Mitch, 5 mg of CBD and THC can lead to a strong high for someone with zero pot tolerance, and I wasn’t looking to get stoned — I just wanted that mild euphoria, for the bell jar to lift.I ended up buying the taffies and slicing them into thirds, which Mitch suggested. In the end, I was ingesting about 1.5 mg of THC and 1.5 mg of CBD, which a lot of doctors would consider an ineffective dose, but not for me! My brain is super sensitive. After two hours, I ended up feeling a very small effect, but of course it grew.Ultimately, the high — if you’d call it that — was a powerful feeling of ease and positivity. My thoughts quieted, and yes, a mild euphoria fell over me. It was, without a doubt, a nice buzz, but a buzz no more intense than a glass of wine sipped slowly and on a reasonably full stomach. Despite this buzz, I had no craving for more pot. I was so pleased to not be paranoid or forgetting my thoughts as they spilled out of my head, the last thing I wanted was more. More might have induced those adverse effects. (Oh, the benefits of legalization!)I am not ashamed of that pot buzz nor do I think it nulls my sobriety in any way. My sobriety is just that — my sobriety, and it’s not some stringent moral code that demands I never feel any psychoactive pleasure whatsoever just because I used to drink myself into rages, sobs, and blackouts. If the pot buzz was harmless and actually beneficial for my mental health, why not embrace it? One of the main reasons I got off the booze is because how seriously destabilizing it is for my mood given my bipolar diagnosis. When I drank too much, it sent me crashing down into suicidal depressions.Normal drinkers get a slight buzz — if not a big buzz — from their drinks, and they’ll admit it. It’s a social lubricant and a relaxant that well-adjusted and healthy folks leverage all the time to take the edge off and have fun. When they manage to leverage these positive aspects of alcohol without destroying their lives, we tip our hats to them.Being out of AA for nearly three years no doubt helped me take the microdosing plunge with zero guilt.Now, if I wanted to gorge myself on those taffies after this experience, that would be problematic, at least for me. Someone else might not care if they engage that behavior, but I’m not in the mood to pick up any new addictions.I’m still very wary of using weed on the regular given my familial history of schizophrenia, though at this age my chances of developing the illness are low. Some studies have shown that heavy and regular use can fry your short-term memory, and I’m not down for that either: I need all the synapses I can get as I push 40. So, I don’t plan on using it very often.After having the weed, the positive mood lasted for a few days without ingesting any more taffies. I basically just returned to baseline. I didn’t eat any for weeks after that episode. Since then, I’ve probably had two or three, each time cutting them in thirds or halves. After a while, the package just sat there in the fridge, and eventually I ended up tossing them when I moved out of the apartment.So, now I have no taffies, and I could frankly care less. If I feel like one might help me in the future, I’ll take it. If I go out to the desert, maybe I’ll take some for recreational use. Either way, I know my limitations, and I know I don’t want to do it often. Because I don’t experience a craving, I doubt this will be a problem. I experienced a craving for alcohol from Day One. From the very beginning, I needed more.“Marijuana maintenance,” or smoking pot in recovery, is generally frowned upon by your standard AA member. Historically referred to (incorrectly) as “the gateway drug,” 12-step philosophy looks at it in the same way, cautioning that if you start smoking it in recovery it will open up the floodgates toward drinking again.The problem with this thinking is that it doesn’t take into account the vast differences that exist between all of us, be they physiological or psychological, or, hell, even spiritual. After reading much about recovery, from Lance Dodes to Marc Lewis to Gabrielle Glaser to Bill Wilson and all the stories in the rest of the Big Book, I feel that it's unconscionable to argue that we are not unique, as so many people do in 12-step programs. We are highly unique, and observing this and tailoring treatment plans for each individual will increase success at recovery. One-size-fits-all recovery modalities are, according to my research, quite dangerous.Imagine if a woman with breast cancer walked into a doctor’s office and the doctor said, “Well, there’s no reason to take any additional imaging because all breast cancer patients are the same. You’re not unique. Mastectomy it is!”Even in the dark ages medicine was probably more sophisticated than this. So why are we in the dark ages when it comes to addiction treatment? If our bodies are this unique, then so are our minds. The field of psychiatry also takes our differences into account, with medication and other treatment prescribed according to individual circumstances.I am not encouraging anyone to microdose, but I am trying to encourage the sober community to keep an open mind about new psychotherapeutic treatments and to accept the fact that some people can stay away from their drug of choice while indulging in a substance that wasn’t and isn’t problematic. Studies have shown that marijuana can benefit our mental health; let’s continue to study this promising medicine instead of closing ourselves off to it out of fear.Microdosing on anything while in recovery is a very nuanced topic, and drawing blanket conclusions won’t do anyone a bit of good. But in order to make room for these conversations, we have to be open and accepting. We have to be willing to say, “Okay, she can take a little THC every now and then and enjoy it. I know it’s not a good idea for me since I smoked too much pot in the past, so I won’t do it.” We all need to be in touch with our own limits and accept them while not imposing them on others; otherwise, we resort to reductive fear-mongering that has no basis in reality.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241841 http://bit.ly/2AF1Qjc

[emlydunstan]

Microdosing Marijuana at 9 Years Sober

Microdosing. All the cool kids in Silicon Valley are doing it, and anyone who got sober before 2015 has been left out of the fun. At least, anyone with an all-or-nothing recovery plan, which is most people, but definitely not yours truly. Anecdotally, it looks like it’s better to have Silicon Valley hooked on low doses of LSD and psilocybin than abusing Adderall, but more empirical data on the therapeutic benefits of this trend is needed. Though I’m not going near psychedelics without a doctor’s note, I have dabbled in some microdosing on weed, and I still consider myself 100% sober.Alcohol was my problem. It was a gnarly problem. I put the kibosh on that problem in 2009 and haven’t looked back.Google piqued my interest in microdosing on weed by feeding me a headline that claimed one puff of it could blast away depression. I double-clicked. Since I deal with bipolar disorder and have benefited from using CBD (the non-psychoactive component in marijuana), the article seemed relevant.According to the study, one drag of low-THC and high-CBD dose of weed can knock out depression immediately, unlike traditional antidepressants that often take a few weeks to kick in. But, there’s a catch: Continual use of THC could worsen depression, so this had to be an every-now-and-again smoke. I stored that information in my brain for future reference, noting that if I ever experienced an intense depression that didn’t abate I could give it a try since I’m fortunate enough to live in Los Angeles (pot shops on nearly every major street).About two months after I read about the study, I got stuck in a morass of negativity and self-deprecation and self-doubt for about a week. Everything was out of alignment, and no matter how much meditation I did, I just couldn’t snap out of it. Sure, I have bipolar II, but because I take meds, 90% of the time the symptoms are manageable. Still, there are those days when stress or neurochemistry or hormones or a bad fight with a boyfriend can throw me off.Sometimes I find relief in jogging or dancing, calling my therapist or going to a meeting, but there are times where I don’t have the energy or ability to do the very things I know will help (Depression 101). Since I’ve dealt with the condition for so long, I know when I’m dealing with a chemical imbalance and when I’m dealing with a psychological imbalance.This time it felt like both.I was curious to see how the weed would work, especially since I’d heard so much about the benefits of microdosing on psychedelics from friends. Because the CBD succeeded in quieting my anxiety and smoothing out my thoughts, I figured why not try something with a bit of THC.Anyone who smokes pot can tell you that it triggers euphoria, thereby alleviating depression; you don’t need a study to tell you that. But I’ve never been a huge fan of weed, for several reasons.For starters, my sister smoked way too much of it when she was 18, and she wound up with a permanent case of acute paranoid schizophrenia right after a three-month-long binge. Her doctor said the weed probably triggered a dormant case of the illness inherited from my schizophrenic grandfather, one that would have emerged with or without the pot, it was just a matter of time. So, that instilled in me a well-warranted dose of fear.After staying far away from weed until my early 20s, I started smoking it every now and then, but not very often, and I certainly never purchased any or had it around. You’re probably wondering why I’d even risk smoking pot at all given my sister’s condition. Well, the doc also pointed out that she displayed many early signs of the disorder from childhood, and that my emotional and expressive--albeit mood-disordered--personality was opposite of what you’d typically see in a child predisposed for schizophrenia.I also had passed adolescence by the time I started smoking, and the science says adolescents are the ones most at risk. Strength and frequency also play a huge role, and my sister admitted that she holed herself up in her dorm room smoking bowl after bowl after bowl all day long for months until she literally couldn’t think anymore. I had no intention of smoking more than a hit or two off a blunt.My highs were a total mixed bag: Sometimes they relaxed me, sometimes they brought on unstoppable fits of giggles; one time I had waking dreams about dancing tortilla chips, and a few times I found myself in the midst of very uncomfortable paranoia. The one and only time I smoked way more than two hits, I wound up with full-blown psychosis that ruined an entire Halloween for multiple people. Even when smoking did bring on an enjoyable high, I still had to endure those moments of not remembering the last word I spoke, which I found, and still find, utterly horrifying. Plus my head felt like it weighed 100 pounds and my face felt like it was going to burn off.Pot just didn’t provide an alluring buzz. I never developed a craving for or addiction to it.If the weed I smoked had had even a small percentage of CBD, those episodes of paranoia would likely have not occurred since CBD actually curbs the anxiety-inducing effects of THC. In fact, in a bizarre twist of irony, studies have shown CBD effectively treats schizophrenia.Sadly, whoever bred weed in the 90s and early 2000s grew strains that had little or no CBD because it decreases the psychoactive effect. (Remember chronic?) Now, CBD is making a comeback among health-conscious, microdosing millennials who are sensible enough to want a more balanced high. This is good news for a paranoid Gen Xer.Now, you can walk into the local dispensary and see a smorgasbord of pot goodies that include CBD, from all-CBD vanilla bean cookies to 1:1 taffies to 100% CBD oil cartridges. There are salves and gums and pre-rolls and mints and a white CBD dust that looks just like cocaine, and all of them are labeled with the milligrams and the percentages of THC and CBD. This is heaven for someone like me who might want to try some pot without getting paranoid or stoned.I have to say, I love budtenders. Mitch, who manned the shop by my house, was extremely sympathetic to my terror of coming down with pot-induced paranoia. He emphasized that dosing, strain, and CBD content made a world of difference when trying to avoid it and pointed me in the direction of 1:1 taffies. Each taffy had 5 mg of CBD and THC, which sounds low, but it’s no microdose for someone like me. According to Mitch, 5 mg of CBD and THC can lead to a strong high for someone with zero pot tolerance, and I wasn’t looking to get stoned — I just wanted that mild euphoria, for the bell jar to lift.I ended up buying the taffies and slicing them into thirds, which Mitch suggested. In the end, I was ingesting about 1.5 mg of THC and 1.5 mg of CBD, which a lot of doctors would consider an ineffective dose, but not for me! My brain is super sensitive. After two hours, I ended up feeling a very small effect, but of course it grew.Ultimately, the high — if you’d call it that — was a powerful feeling of ease and positivity. My thoughts quieted, and yes, a mild euphoria fell over me. It was, without a doubt, a nice buzz, but a buzz no more intense than a glass of wine sipped slowly and on a reasonably full stomach. Despite this buzz, I had no craving for more pot. I was so pleased to not be paranoid or forgetting my thoughts as they spilled out of my head, the last thing I wanted was more. More might have induced those adverse effects. (Oh, the benefits of legalization!)I am not ashamed of that pot buzz nor do I think it nulls my sobriety in any way. My sobriety is just that — my sobriety, and it’s not some stringent moral code that demands I never feel any psychoactive pleasure whatsoever just because I used to drink myself into rages, sobs, and blackouts. If the pot buzz was harmless and actually beneficial for my mental health, why not embrace it? One of the main reasons I got off the booze is because how seriously destabilizing it is for my mood given my bipolar diagnosis. When I drank too much, it sent me crashing down into suicidal depressions.Normal drinkers get a slight buzz — if not a big buzz — from their drinks, and they’ll admit it. It’s a social lubricant and a relaxant that well-adjusted and healthy folks leverage all the time to take the edge off and have fun. When they manage to leverage these positive aspects of alcohol without destroying their lives, we tip our hats to them.Being out of AA for nearly three years no doubt helped me take the microdosing plunge with zero guilt.Now, if I wanted to gorge myself on those taffies after this experience, that would be problematic, at least for me. Someone else might not care if they engage that behavior, but I’m not in the mood to pick up any new addictions.I’m still very wary of using weed on the regular given my familial history of schizophrenia, though at this age my chances of developing the illness are low. Some studies have shown that heavy and regular use can fry your short-term memory, and I’m not down for that either: I need all the synapses I can get as I push 40. So, I don’t plan on using it very often.After having the weed, the positive mood lasted for a few days without ingesting any more taffies. I basically just returned to baseline. I didn’t eat any for weeks after that episode. Since then, I’ve probably had two or three, each time cutting them in thirds or halves. After a while, the package just sat there in the fridge, and eventually I ended up tossing them when I moved out of the apartment.So, now I have no taffies, and I could frankly care less. If I feel like one might help me in the future, I’ll take it. If I go out to the desert, maybe I’ll take some for recreational use. Either way, I know my limitations, and I know I don’t want to do it often. Because I don’t experience a craving, I doubt this will be a problem. I experienced a craving for alcohol from Day One. From the very beginning, I needed more.“Marijuana maintenance,” or smoking pot in recovery, is generally frowned upon by your standard AA member. Historically referred to (incorrectly) as “the gateway drug,” 12-step philosophy looks at it in the same way, cautioning that if you start smoking it in recovery it will open up the floodgates toward drinking again.The problem with this thinking is that it doesn’t take into account the vast differences that exist between all of us, be they physiological or psychological, or, hell, even spiritual. After reading much about recovery, from Lance Dodes to Marc Lewis to Gabrielle Glaser to Bill Wilson and all the stories in the rest of the Big Book, I feel that it's unconscionable to argue that we are not unique, as so many people do in 12-step programs. We are highly unique, and observing this and tailoring treatment plans for each individual will increase success at recovery. One-size-fits-all recovery modalities are, according to my research, quite dangerous.Imagine if a woman with breast cancer walked into a doctor’s office and the doctor said, “Well, there’s no reason to take any additional imaging because all breast cancer patients are the same. You’re not unique. Mastectomy it is!”Even in the dark ages medicine was probably more sophisticated than this. So why are we in the dark ages when it comes to addiction treatment? If our bodies are this unique, then so are our minds. The field of psychiatry also takes our differences into account, with medication and other treatment prescribed according to individual circumstances.I am not encouraging anyone to microdose, but I am trying to encourage the sober community to keep an open mind about new psychotherapeutic treatments and to accept the fact that some people can stay away from their drug of choice while indulging in a substance that wasn’t and isn’t problematic. Studies have shown that marijuana can benefit our mental health; let’s continue to study this promising medicine instead of closing ourselves off to it out of fear.Microdosing on anything while in recovery is a very nuanced topic, and drawing blanket conclusions won’t do anyone a bit of good. But in order to make room for these conversations, we have to be open and accepting. We have to be willing to say, “Okay, she can take a little THC every now and then and enjoy it. I know it’s not a good idea for me since I smoked too much pot in the past, so I won’t do it.” We all need to be in touch with our own limits and accept them while not imposing them on others; otherwise, we resort to reductive fear-mongering that has no basis in reality.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241841 https://www.thefix.com/microdosing-marijuana-9-years-sober

[dorothyd89]

How Kenney the Tabletop Gamer Lost 120 Pounds and Found His Voice (Literally).

“There’s no way that’s the same person, right?”

Admittedly, that’s what I first thought when I saw Kenney’s before and after photos. There was just NO way that this Tony Stark looking dude on the right was the same person as the man in the other photo, right?

And then I saw his other photos. And then I heard his story.

And then I teared up.

Shut up I’m not crying, you’re crying.

Today, we’re going to be talking about Ironma—-Kenney Frazier, an IT systems administrator from Alabama, a gamer, and an opera singer who has had one of the most dramatic transformations I’ve ever seen. It’s no exaggeration to say that Kenney clearly saved his own life. Not just in terms of life expectancy, but also quality of his life.

Kenney is a proud member of the Nerd Fitness Academy who made some key changes in his life that helped him succeed. We’re going to dig deep into those major and minor changes Kenney made and how you can be like him!

After years of struggle, starting and stopping, a switch flipped and he has lost over 120 pounds in the past 15 months.

Here’s his origin story.

Get your Nerd Fitness Starter Kit

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I identify as a:

Woman

Man

Meet Kenney

STEVE: Kenney! My man. When I first saw your post in the Academy Facebook group, and it had hundreds and hundreds of likes and comments, my jaw dropped. Let’s hear your background:

KENNEY: I’ve pretty much always been overweight. Even in Kindergarten I was pudgy! I attribute this to my love of Reese Cups (I’m a recovering addict; there should really be a Reese Cup Lovers Anonymous Group). I steadily put on the pounds, and by high school I easily tipped the scales at 250lbs+.

By the age of 25 I was over 300lbs and miserable.

I would go on a diet, have some success, then expand to new heights in short order. My addiction to Everquest and World of Warcraft definitely did not help. I lived an extremely sedentary life and I was depressed. I would use these virtual worlds as an escape from my self-imposed dungeon. I was finally able to break out of this addiction and decided to start living in the real world. I joined the workforce and did my best to become an adult.

STEVE: I hear ya brother – I too played Everquest (and Everquest 2) for over a decade and did it for the same reasons you did – to escape a crappy reality. What was a typical day like for you then?

KENNEY: I would wake up around 8:30am during the week and drag myself into work. On the way to work I’d stop by Chick-fil-a and grab 2 chicken biscuits and a large lemonade because breakfast is the most important meal of the day, right?

Ha. Of course being a southerner you can’t have breakfast without biscuits!

Lunch, would roll around and I’d run to Burger King and order 2 double cheeseburgers and a large fry and Coke to wash it down with.

I’d probably grab a candy bar or chips from the snack machine mid afternoon.

On the way home I’d stop by and grab more food for dinner: a large chicken finger plate from Zaxby’s because who don’t love fried chicken? I had to have another large Coke to wash it down.

After I finished my food I’d plop down in front of the TV or my computer or go take a nap for a few hours. I’d normally heading to bed around midnight or 1am after playing a few games of Dota2 with some friends.

STEVE: So let’s talk about what happened that brought about actual changes:

KENNEY: I was 35, tired all the time and unhappy with my life. Obesity, diabetes, thyroid issues, and high blood pressure are also all prevalent in my family history.

I finally had enough and made an appointment to get a physical. When I saw my lab results I knew I was in trouble. My blood pressure was high, my blood sugar was high and my A1C was in the diabetic range! My cholesterol was sky high and I weighed 334 lbs! Despite these sobering results it still wasn’t enough to wake me up.

As a card carrying super nerd – I’ve always enjoyed table top RPG – I was a member of a Dungeons and Dragons campaign with some friends from High School. One of the players started talking about Nerd Fitness and it piqued my interest.

I decided to check it out and joined the NF Academy in January of 2016. I read the starter quests, but keep putting off actually starting.

STEVE: That’s interesting – so you joined the program, but couldn’t get yourself to commit or take action beyond just reading the missions. Sounds like a classic case of not having a big enough reason WHY yet! Your doctor said you had bad health signals, but deep down you weren’t ready to change yet.

So what happened next?

KENNEY: Music has always been my main passion. I was a vocal major in college before switching to something more “practical.” I decided to restart my vocal studies at a local music school in my early 30’s.

As if being a typical DnD/MMORPG nerd wasn’t enough, my musical endeavors are in the Classical/Opera genre. The school where I study has spring and winter productions each year. I was cast in my first show and I was hooked. I was continually cast in smaller roles but I had larger ambitions. In September of 2016, I had just finished a production and felt I had performed well but I wanted more. I reached out to the teacher in charge of casting.

I told her that I was committed to landing a leading role, and her response? My weight was a showstopper.

STEVE: And there it is…your ACTUAL “Big Why” – the reason that deep down made you want to change. It must have been brutal to hear that you were too big to be considered for more important musical roles. But it appears to also have been a big turning point for you.

KENNEY: October 2016 I started my fitness journey first by cutting out sodas and cutting my portion sizes. I started logging everything in a Fitness App.

I knew from reading the articles on Nerd Fitness that making small changes at first worked best. I tried doing some of the free home workouts but I knew my motivation would suffer and I would stop unless I had some “skin” in the game. So I called up my local gym and set up a free training session on Columbus Day.

The first workout was so horrible and I was so out of shape that I almost tossed my cookies – it just reinforced how far I had to go…but I was inspired. I signed up and started working with a trainer 3 times a week.

Strength training with some occasional cardio has the name of the game since then.

At that first session, I weighed in at 320 lbs and by Nov 16th I was down to 297lbs. I couldn’t remember the last time I was under 300lbs and my motivation never faltered. I started incorporating cardio 3 or 4 times a week into strength-training routines.

STEVE: Hmmm, so what you’re saying is…this whole diet and exercise thing might actually work! Hahaha – so talk to me what other changes you made along the way.

KENNEY: I started doing intermittent fasting along with a low carb, high protein diet. As my weight went down I started feeling better and was continually amazed at what I could do. By January 4th, 2017 I was down to 281lbs.

STEVE: And that’s when you discovered the power of a supportive community, right?

KENNEY: Later that month I saw that there was a Facebook group for Academy members, which I had somehow missed when I signed up the year before. When I joined the group I was amazed at the community. The posts were uplifting and informative.

The progress posts served as motivation for me! By February, I had lost 50lbs and decided to make my first post on the Facebook group (which you can see below):

This was a huge step for me due to self-esteem issues but the support and uplifting comments were great. I used the Academy community to help keep me motivated.

Whenever I’d feel like quitting I’d log in and read the new posts and fortify my resolve. By May I was down 75 lbs and I was doing things I never thought I’d be able to do. I went from being winded by walking up stairs to doing Burpees, Squats, and bear crawls. I even started taking tennis lessons!

By the end of summer I was down 100lbs.

And just a few weeks ago, I weighed in at 198 lbs, meaning I’ve lost 120lbs! I can’t even remember the last time I was under 200! I recently went to the doctor again and had a fresh set of labs. My results were night and day! My A1C was normal, my blood sugar was normal, and my cholesterol was greatly reduced.

STEVE: AMAZING. So let’s hear about the New Kenney. What’s a typical day like now?

KENNEY: I wake up around 6:30 and 6:45am and try to get to work before 8:00am. I do intermittent fasting so I actually skip breakfast. My “feasting” window runs from 11am til 8pm.

My typical lunch is a salad minus croutons with chicken (I have a slight addiction to Caesar salads) If I need a snack I’ll eat some tuna or even some beef jerky (can’t have enough protein). Normally, I’ll head home and get ready to go to the gym! I work out 3 times a week with the trainer so I’ll do 40 minutes of cardio after those sessions or on a non-lifting day I’ll do an hour of cardio.

Lately, I’ve been on an elliptical kick as I can zone out and watch Netflix while I’m doing it. I also play Racquetball once a week with friends and I joined a basketball league (I’m really bad!).

After I work out, I’ll grab dinner with chicken or beef, with some brown rice, and broccoli (I love broccoli!) or a mixture of other veggies.

I also have a bit of a sweet tooth so I’ll treat myself with some halo ice cream (within reason) or some fruit or Siggi’s Icelandic style skyr. I’m a simple guy so I can eat the same things a few times a week and it doesn’t bother me. I guess I look at food differently now. It’s fuel for me to reach my goals before I used it to make me feel better.

STEVE: That mentality change is amazing, and I love hearing it. You changed physically. What else changed about you along the way?

KENNEY: Looking back over the journey so far I’ve learned so much more about myself. I’ve discovered that I can reach goals and that I am capable of doing anything if I put my mind to it. While I haven’t reached my goal weight, I am well on my way. I have the tools to complete my journey.

I was a soloist in a community Sing-a-long Messiah tonight and I got to rock a tux, so I thought it would make a good after!

When I went to try on my “rent-a-tux” I was fitted in a 46S jacket and when I got home I looked at my old suit jacket and it was a 56R! It’s just amazing to me! I really appreciate the community that you have built. I wouldn’t have come this far without it!

STEVE: Everybody assumes that they’ll be happy once they lose weight. And you clearly seem like a completely different, more content, and proud person. Is there anything you still struggle with?

KENNEY: Losing this weight has really forced me to face my self-esteem issues and the mental aspects are a struggle. I feel so much better physically but I still struggle mentally with being the “fat” guy.

STEVE: Thanks for sharing that honestly with us, man. We’re all works in progress, both inside and out! And these battles take time. 

It’s a good reminder to know that even if you build the body you want, you still have to level up on the inside too and that can take time! Luckily you have an amazing community of weirdos cheering you on, and others who have struggled with those same self-esteem issues and can help you get through it! 

How Kenney finally succeeded and lost 120 pounds

I wanted to highlight the key points to his transformation that allowed him to finally find success, and hopefully you can implement these types of changes into your life too.

KEY POINT #1: Kenney kept trying.

Kenney spent over a year reading Nerd Fitness articles before working up the courage to even get started. After that, he joined the NF Academy and read the content but couldn’t get himself to do much more past that.

And yet, something kept him around. He kept getting Nerd Fitness emails in his inbox, even if he wasn’t ready to take action yet. And EVENTUALLY, the right combinations of words on a page, life experiences, and things clicked for him to finally take action.

If you’re somebody that has started and stopped or lost 20 pounds only to put on 30, you’re not alone.

If you woke up this January and said “I said the same thing last year about getting healthy, but here I am still overweight,” you’re not alone.

If you beat yourself up when you fail and think you’re doomed to stay fat, you’re not alone.

Give yourself credit – you’re still here reading this, and that counts for something! Keep trying. Keep reading. Keep attempting different methods until you find one that works for you – though I’d consider these 10 changes before making another attempt).

The important thing is that you take action – more information is usually not the answer.

Here at Nerd Fitness we refer to the perpetual activity of collecting information as “collecting underpants!“

Don’t get stuck on Phase 1 – you’ll never get to “profit” (healthy) without taking action (that’s phase 2).

Now, there’s a powerful psychological element to Kenney’s journey that I wanted to highlight as well.

KEY POINT #2: Kenney finally found his “Big Why.”

Just saying “I want to get in shape” wasn’t enough for him. Being overweight wasn’t enough. Having his doctor tell him that he was at risk for a all kinds of preventable diseases wasn’t enough.

Sure, he “wanted to get in shape,” but it wasn’t enough to make him actually change. After all, Chick-Fil-A, Zaxby’s, Coca Cola, and Burger King is SOOOO damn good, it takes a really powerful reason to want to give up those things and delay gratification until the future.

And then he finally found his “Big Why.”

Kenney was told that his weight was holding him back from landing bigger roles while performing on stage (something he truly loved). And that’s when he decided to finally take this next attempt at getting fit seriously and actually took steps to change.

If you are somebody that thinks you “should get in shape,” you’re not digging deep enough for your reasons. However, if you are trying to get in shape because:

You’re tired of being unhappy with the person you see in the mirror.

If you want to build confidence to finally go on a date for the first time.

If you want your wife to look at you with love/admiration the way she used to.

Your dad died at a young age and you want to live to see your grandkids.

A reason like this, written somewhere that you can see daily, will help you stay on track when life gets busy.

Key Point #3: Kenney changed his relationship with food.

This quote from Kenney perfectly encapsulates why Kenney was successful in his transformation:

“I look at food differently now. It’s fuel for me to reach my goals, whereas before I used it to make me feel better.”

This is a guy who ate fast food 3-4 times per day, every day. Who grew up in the South, home of “comfort food.” A self-described Reese’s Cup and Ice cream aficionado.

THAT guy now views food as fuel for his fitness goals!

How did it happen? Slowly with small changes over a long period of time. Kenney knew that going on a crash diet wasn’t going to work (he had tried that in the past), so as we discuss here on Nerd Fitness he focused on small actionable changes he could make that didn’t scare him.

He kept things simple like cutting back on soda and tracking his food intake.

Only after he started to see some progress did he start playing this “healthy eating” game on a harder difficulty setting:

He moved his diet over to a more low carb, Paleo-ish nutritional strategy

He cut out breakfast and followed an Intermittent fasting plan

He consistently ate healthy options and go-to “default” meals.

Thanks to this dramatic change in his mentality, Kenney no longer needed food as an escape, but rather saw it as fuel, with occasional indulgences – like his favorite ice cream or candy – but in moderation without fear or guilt.

Download our free weight loss guide

THE NERD FITNESS DIET: 10 Levels to Change Your Life

Follow our 10-level nutrition system at your own pace

What you need to know about weight loss and healthy eating

3 Simple rules we follow every day to stay on target

I identify as a:

Woman

Man

Key Point #4: Kenney STOPPED relying on himself.

Believe it or not, Kenney giving up on himself might be the most important mindset shift he could have made.

When most people decide to get in shape, they all do the same thing: “I am going to get in shape. I’m gonna get motivated and hit the gym consistently!” Two weeks later, they’ve already given up but now they ALSO have shame: “I am ashamed that I couldn’t stick with my goals, something must be wrong with me!”

Conversely, people that succeed know themselves better than that, so they plan for it. They stop expecting themselves to magically become a motivation powerhouse and instead start asking better questions. “Okay if Motivation ALWAYS leaves me, rather than beating myself up how can I stack the deck so that I no longer need motivation in the first place?”

Kenney stopped relying on himself in two key ways:

He invested in himself so that he had “skin in the game”

He had OTHER people keep him accountable other than just himself.

We’re going to dig into both of these specific issues in the next two points, but I want to return to the above:

If you rely on yourself to be motivated, and you think you need to be motivated to get in shape, you’ve already lost.

STOP relying on motivation. Instead, build systems, recruit allies, and structure your environment in ways that support your goals.

Try this: recruit a friend who will cheer you on. Give him $50 of your money and tell him you’ll check in with him every day. If you don’t check in to let him know that you went for a walk and ate a veggie, he will donate that money to a cause you HATE.

Speaking of recruiting allies…

Key Point #5: Kenney surrounded himself with the right people

I’m proud to say that Nerd FItness played a communal role in helping Kenney Reach his goals. Our Academy doesn’t a super secret proprietary workout plan – its fun compound strength training. Our nutritional strategy isn’t anything proprietary – its less junk and more vegetables. Sure, it digs deep on the mindset stuff, and it’s got a fun leveling system and nutritional strategy that gamifies getting in shape.

But that’s not what made it such a big help in Kenney’s journey: it was the community of people who are aligned with the same goal, struggling with the same problems, that were cheering him on.

Or in another Academy member’s words, when asked why he loves the community:

Human connection and supportive people can be the biggest help in transforming, and Kenney had both: a coach who pushed him, and a community that supported him.

Did you know that you are the average of the 5 people you associate most with?

Show me the weight, health, net worth, and happiness level of the 5 people you spend the most time with, and I bet I can guess a lot about you with startling accuracy – it’s because those people influence you every day without you realizing it with their words, decisions, and choices.

So then I ask you: Are your five people making you want to be better? Or are they people who make fun of you for skipping game night to exercise or goad you into skipping the salad and ordering a cheeseburger to “live a little.”

Kenney has been a major contributor to our community, sharing his struggles and his progress. Unsurprisingly, he’s also one of our BEST successes, and an inspiration to the men of the Academy group – and now the galaxy.

If you are serious about getting in shape, interact with people that make you want to be better:

Join a running club at work. Or start one!

Find an accountability buddy that you check in with daily.

Create a guild and introduce positive peer pressure!

Have somebody you can ask embarrassing questions to and share your struggles with.

I love that Kenney found the NF community to be super supportive while he also leveled up his life with in person connections too, and I want the same for you.

I don’t care where you find these people, I just want you to have these people in your life! Now, I might be slightly biased, but I believe our online crew is the best community on the planet!

Key Point #6: Kenney invested in himself

Kenney tried to follow along with free workouts at home. He read free articles on Nerd Fitness for over a year. And he couldn’t get himself to take his attempt at getting in shape seriously.

As he was still in search of his big WHY, he realized that he’d never stick with an attempt until he had some “skin in the game” (invested in himself). So he called up his local gym and set up a free training session.

And that lead to him realizing that hiring a trainer that knows him better than he knows himself was going to be a game changer:

“My trainer is perfect for me! He keeps me motivated and honest without being the cliched TV trainer who berates their clients! He’s never yelled or made me feel like a failure. Honestly, If had a trainer like that I would have quit after the first session. He’s a self described nerd so we often talk about the next big superhero movie or I crack jokes about his addiction to big Kit Kat bars!”

Whether it’s an online coach or a course, there’s so much psychology at stake beyond just the information you learn in these situations. We all know what we need to do (eat less, move more), but we can’t get ourselves to do those things.

Investing in a course or hiring a coach can be the biggest difference between success and failure for many people. When you spend money on a quality fitness product or service:

You spend time with other people who are investing in themselves.

You get to outsource your decision making and just focus on following directions.

You get the peace of mind that you are doing the right thing because its been prescribed by somebody farther along than you.

You get guaranteed accountability, because you’re paying somebody for something which means you’ll value it more!

Sure, there are MILLIONS of free resources out there about how to get healthy. There are millions of free fitness articles (you’re reading one of them!).

And yes, many people can get motivated and go build their own workout and go to the gym and figure things out and LOVE spending that time doing so.

For the rest of us though, we don’t have the time or ability to sort through the junk to find the best information, or we just want the peace of mind knowing we’re learning from somebody that gets us.

And lastly, maybe we know ourselves well enough that if we spend money on something, we’ll actually use it!

Personally, I pay money to go to a gym 2 blocks away instead of using the free gym in my apartment building, because I never go to the free one! I also pay hundreds every month to work with an online fitness coach, and it’s the best money I spend each month.

I’m not telling you to spend your money on fitness. Instead, I’m saying that what you spend your money (and your time) on says a lot about your priorities.

Kenney looked at his spending habits and despite what he was told himself he cared about, he was really prioritizing fast food, no sleep, and video games.

So he changed his priorities by eliminating unhealthy, expensive food and instead, spent that money on investing in himself (a coach, the NF Academy, healthy food).

Of COURSE you don’t need to spend money on your health and wellness – but it can be like powerleveling yourself in a video game! If you think you can’t afford a gym membership, or a trainer, or a course…track your spending and measure what you have been spending your money on instead (TV, Netflix, game subscriptions, etc).

If you reallllly want something, you can find a way to save elsewhere to invest on what’s important:

If you have chosen to prioritize your health and wellness, I’d suggest investing in:

A gym membership (or home gym) if you’re serious about changing your physique.

A comprehensive online course/community if you can’t learn in person. (like the Academy).

A personal trainer or an online coach (we have a 1-on-1 online coaching program too).

Notice I didn’t say anything about supplements or ab coasters or whatever – get your mentality in order, work with people who have succeeded in the way you want to succeed, and get started!

Download our free weight loss guide

THE NERD FITNESS DIET: 10 Levels to Change Your Life

Follow our 10-level nutrition system at your own pace

What you need to know about weight loss and healthy eating

3 Simple rules we follow every day to stay on target

I identify as a:

Woman

Man

be Less like Old Kenney. Be more like new Kenney.

I’m so thankful Kenney let me share this story with you today! Here are the most important things he did to transform into Tony Stark:

Even though he wasn’t ready to transform, he kept reading about health and fitness for years until something clicked.

He finally had a big enough reason why to overcome his love of fast food. He dug deep and really addressed his motivations.

He stopped relying on himself, and instead outsourced his motivation and accountability to a community and a coach.

He invested in himself, which made him take the opportunity more clearly

He fixed his relationship with food – instead of comfort, it became fuel for his goals.

Regardless of how involved you want to be with Nerd Fitness, I’m just glad that you’re here and reading this. I hope you can see Kenney’s transformation above and decide “Hey, I want to do that! maybe I should do what he did.” And put his words into your practice!

And then go see Kenney perform!

Look for the guy center stage….

-Steve 

PS: I’m glad that Kenney is a really active and encouraging part of our community in the Nerd Fitness Academy, and I hope you consider checking it out too!

It’s the most supportive group on the internet, and you’ll also get workout plans, a 10-level nutritional system, an entire mindset module, and character leveling system with real-life quests and boss battles. It comes with a 60-day guarantee to give you a chance to try it out and see if it can help you level up your life!

See you in there!

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