#I know punk thing is something way more serious and deep than just a teenager being cool and rock music...

[celibibratty]

sean is kinda lame, the dude is called a punk, but the motherfucker don't listen to not even ONE! punk/rock song, sean you're lame😒

[aellynera]

The Best Years of Your Life (Reeves x Reader)

THE BEST YEARS OF YOUR LIFE

(hey hey, this is my other submission for @wasicskosgirl and her 800 follower celebration! and yes, you read that right - it’s REEVES. i had a lot of fun writing it and i hope you enjoy reading it! CONGRATS Amanda!!)

Word Count: um like 6200ish oops it was supposed to be a blurb

Summary: They say the best years of your life happen in high school, but what do they know?

Warnings: Some language. Female reader implied but no pronouns/description. Teenage angst. Adult wistfulness. Mostly fluffy tho. No promises about proofreading. Frog murder. 

with the prompt - “Like what you see?”

It all started back in high school. Sometimes you wonder how often people say that, and if it’s really true or they’re just falsely remembering how things happened because high school is supposed to be the best four years of your life.

But in this case, it’s true. Because high school is when you met Reeves.

Sophomore Year. High School. A Friday. 

It was the third day of sophomore year, fourth period on a Friday morning, your last before the lunch break. Biology class was maybe the one you were least looking forward to, not exclusively because of the required frog dissection, but pretty damn close. Gross. And you never understood why the school year didn’t just start on a Monday, but you were new here in San Diego. Maybe they just did things differently.

It was bad enough being the new kid. It was worse when you walked into class halfway through the lecture, even if it wasn’t your fault. The timing of the move was weird, and you’d spent most of the first two days, and this morning, doing placement tests and talking to your counselor. 

And now you were being called out in front of the entire class.

“Ah, there you are,” your teacher announced as you walked in the door. “Everyone, this is our new student, please make them feel welcome. You can sit over there.”

Your eyes followed as she motioned to the empty seat at the lab table in the back of the room. Suddenly you weren’t sure if your face felt hot because of embarrassment or because of the boy in the other chair.

Dark, curly hair cut close on the sides but longer on the top. Deep brown eyes framed by long, long lashes. Full, plush lips curling up into his cheek on one side. A nose that, okay, maybe might be a bit oversized but for some reason worked on his handsome face and--

Well, shit. Definitely not the embarrassment.

You shuffled your way to your seat and slid into it with your head down. A few students watched you curiously but soon turned their attention back to the lesson. You tried your best to focus on what was going on, to not look to your left at the distraction next to you.

You weren’t very successful.

By now you thought you’d sneaked enough covert glances to know that we was wearing a leather jacket, had a small diamond stud earring in his left ear, a bunch of silver-studded brown suede wrap bracelets around both wrists, a silver ring on his right index finger, and oddly precise handwriting as he took notes. In between relevant facts the teacher was sharing, he was doodling tiny music notes in the margins of his notebook.

And he totally caught you looking.

“Like what you see?” he leaned over and whispered.

Your mouth felt drier than the Sahara but also somehow so moist you were afraid you might have actually drooled on yourself. You should have opened your mouth to respond but your brain refused to make the connection. Probably for the best.

At least, at first. When it finally caught up to you, the only response your brain could provide was, “Maybe?”

Now would be the perfect time for the floor to swallow you whole.

He just winked at you and his attention went back to the doodles around his notes.

You shifted your gaze back to your own notebook, but you don’t know if anything else of importance was said, and don’t remember writing anything down. The bell ringing sharply pulled you back to reality and you hastily shoved your books in your backpack, ready to escape.

Just as you were about to leave, a voice called out. “Hey, sorry about earlier. If I freaked you out or anything.”

You looked up. He was smiling at you, a little shyly. You bit your lip, your brain and mouth still refusing to connect.

He stuck his hand out. “I’m Reeves. You’re new here?”

“Um…” you smacked yourself internally. This was ridiculous, you weren’t really shy, you knew how to have a conversation, he was just introducing himself. You were going to have a serious conversation with your brain later about proper communication techniques.

It felt like hours had passed, but you finally pulled yourself together enough to respond. “Yeah. My- my dad got transferred for work, we moved here like a week ago. He literally dragged the family across the country. I’m originally from New York City.”

His eyes lit up. “Oh, cool! I always wanted to go to New York City!”

You found yourself smiling back.

“Do you...wanna sit with me at lunch?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. “Maybe you could tell me a little about the city? And...about you, since we’re gonna have to commit heinous acts of violence on an amphibian together? I’d like to know who’s wielding a scalpel next to me.”

The giggle that escaped your throat could not be contained. This boy - Reeves - was adorable. “Oh. Okay, yeah. I’d really like that.”

The Present.

Poor Lenny the Frog never stood a chance. Then again, neither did you.

To be fair, Lenny was already dead when you and Reeves got your hands on him. Well, when you got your hands on him, because for the full first half of that specific class period, Reeves refused to touch him and nearly turned as green as Lenny once was. That’s when he insisted on naming your cadaver, because somehow giving it a name made it easier to deal with.

You were pretty sure Reeves was nuts.

By the middle of sophomore year, you were dead too, but not for the same reasons.

By the middle of sophomore year, you weren’t sure how you were still alive, because every time he looked over at you and gave you a sly smile during class, gave you that look, you felt your heart go taut and you forgot how to breathe and certainly, rightfully, should have been dead.

Your friend Alexis stuck her head into your bathroom. “Hey, we’re just waiting on Vanessa, and then we’re good to go. Drinks first? The show doesn’t start until 8 so we have time.”

You glanced up from your makeup and nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Alexis grinned. “Aaaaaah I’m so glad you agreed to go out tonight! It’s gonna be so much fun!”

“Oh, it’s gonna be something,” you muttered, going back to your eyeliner.

Alexis had been the first one to see the concert announcement about a week ago. A benefit show at one of the clubs down in Greenwich Village, some punk revival thing (for charity) with a bunch of different singers and musicians. Not normally your scene, but Alexis scanned through the names and suddenly remembered you’d known Reeves in high school. You said yes, he was in your class, and you’d been lab partners once. Vanessa squealed in excitement and Alexis announced you were going to the show. There was never any actual agreement.

Because of course Reeves was going to be there. And of course, you had to be too.

Junior Year. The Parking Lot. A Tuesday.

“I’m just saying, it was a ridiculous foul, and it should never have been called,” Reeves groused as you walked out of the gym.

“We also should have made like twenty more of our own foul shots,” you pointed out.

The Lake Howell Silverhawks had fallen to their arch-rivals in a somewhat glorious fashion. You didn’t even like basketball that much. But that didn’t really matter. The games were just an excuse to go out for burgers before and hang out with your friends during.

It was definitely an excuse to hang out with Reeves.

Junior year, you were both disappointed to find you didn’t have any classes together, but you still almost always ate lunch together. He’d come over to your house to study during the week and sometimes just to chill out on the weekends. Over the past year, he’d shown you all around the city and taken you to his favorite places. You told him all about New York, how you missed it and one day you’d go back, and all the famous sites and which ones were tourist traps that he was only allowed to visit the very first time and then never again.

You spent so much time together, even your mother liked to tease you about why he wasn’t your boyfriend.

It took a while for you to find the words to tell her it was because he was someone else’s.

As much as you liked to pretend she didn’t change anything, Randie Rustenberg changed everything. It was gradual, like a creeping vine of ivy, and she slowly took him over. There was no malice; it was just one of those things that happened. Reeves spent less time with you, his best friend, and more time with Randie, his girlfriend.

The girlfriend you desperately wished was you, because ever since that first biology class you’d had the biggest, stupidest crush on him.

Eventually you had a boyfriend of your own. Theo was a nice guy, he really was. Polite, friendly, had a good sense of humor, liked your family. And your family loved him. Your mother was so happy that you had a boyfriend, she seemed to forget to ask how Reeves was and if you’d seen him lately.

Of course you saw him. You saw him every day, in the cafeteria, at his locker, passing by in the halls. Sometimes you could find him playing the grand piano on the stage in the empty auditorium. Yes, if your mother bothered to ask, you saw Reeves all the time. Now it was just always with her.

Except this week. It was a break of sorts, no classes, just some sports and other school activities. Randie was on some trip with her parents for some kind of church function, and Theo was fishing with his dad on some lake up north. He’d told you where, but you honestly couldn’t be bothered to recall. So when a bunch of your friends and a bunch of his friends all said everyone was going to the basketball game, there was no debate.

As if there was any way you’d say no.

Sometime during the game, your friends wandered off to the snack bar and never ventured back. His friends started a game of hacky-sack under the bleachers. And you found yourself pretending to understand all the finer points about hoops strategy, cheering and yelling along with Reeves and having a great time, just like you used to.

“Where’d you park?” he asked as you left the gym and headed out into the sea of cars. You vaguely pointed in the direction of yours and he grinned. “Oh, good, I’m that way too. Come on, I’ll walk you.”

The faint glow emitted by the lampposts in the parking lot bounced off his curls and his eyes, when you could catch a glimpse, were bright beneath them.

As if there was any way you’d say no.

The walk wasn’t very far, but it felt like it was over in a second. You hadn’t said anything on the way, just soaked in the comfort of walking next to him as he kept commenting on the game.

He was waving his hands everywhere, looking at them as he talked as if his hand motions would make things make any more sense to you, in the middle of saying something about your center and how they needed to get better about blocking out when you finally spoke.

“Oh, shit.”

Reeves looked up at you. “What, you don’t agree?”

You dropped your bag on the ground and rolled your eyes. “No, my car is locked and I left my keys inside.” You pointed to the passenger seat. Your keys stared back at you derisively.

You both stared back at them for a moment, then he grinned. “Hang on, I got you.” He held up one finger and trotted off to his car, coming back a minute later with something in his hand. “This should take care of it.”

You took a step back. “Reeves? Um. Okay, why do you have a coat hanger in your car.”

He rolled his eyes back at you. “For emergencies, duh.” He quickly twisted the hanger into a hook shape and went to your passenger side window.

“And why do you know how to break into a car with said coat hanger?”

“Like I told you,” his tongue poked out between his teeth as he worked, “for emergencies. You think I haven’t locked my own keys in my car once or six times?”

“Did Randie teach you how to do this?” The words were out of your mouth before you could think. She probably had. She might have been churchy when required, but she was also responsible for about half of Reeves’s stints in detention (the other half just being him making the wrong joke at the wrong time and pissing a teacher off.)

Thank god he didn’t seem to hear you as he kept working at the lock. Finally you heard a *click* and he pumped a fist into the air with a little “yessss!”

And then you’re not really sure what happened. You bent down to pick up your bag and then you were standing up and Reeves’s face was literally about three inches away from yours and for the eight thousandth time since you’d know him, you forgot how to breathe.

Neither of you said anything for what felt like days. You just stared at each other under the dim halo of the parking lot lights.

“Here you go.” He took your hand and dropped your keys into it.

“Thanks,” you whispered.

“Like what you see?” the corners of his mouth quirked up, just the slightest little bit.

“...Maybe.”

And the staring recommenced. Were you two getting closer? Physically closer, you meant, of course you were close, you’d always been close. Well, at one time you were really close but then Randie Restenberg happened and it wasn’t fair that she got to know what those lips felt like and did he always smell this good or--

“Yo, Reeves!” A pickup truck full of guys skidded to a stop behind your car and one of his friends - Jake? Jack? you barely remembered your own name right now - stuck his head out the window. “Fight to the death ping pong tourney at Matt’s house! You in?”

Reeves bit his lip and closed his eyes for a second before he pulled back with a soft “I’m sorry” before turning to his friends. “Um, yeah, sure. Sounds brutal. I’ll meet you there.” 

The pickup sped off, tires screeching out of the parking lot. Reeves turned back to you, but you’d already gotten into your now unlocked car and started the engine.

You rolled down the window a fraction and gave him a weak smile. “Hey, um. Thanks for saving my butt. Now go kick theirs at ping pong, yeah?” Your face felt so hot, and for once you were grateful for the dim lights in the lot.

“You could, um, come along if- if you want.”

“Nah, I’m...I’m tired, I’m just gonna...um, head home. But I’ll see you tomorrow maybe?”

Reeves looked like he was about to say something else, but he didn’t. He just stepped onto the curb in front of your car, smiled, and raised his hand in a little wave as he watched you drive off.

The Present.

A series of shrieks and the slamming of the door told you Vanessa had finally arrived. It sounded like they were jumping up and down on the tile just inside your front door, which was ridiculous since you’d all just seen each other the day before. But typical.

You smoothed a pinkie under your eye, checked your makeup one final time, and went into the living room.

“Oh, you look hot,” Vanessa gushed. She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and plopped down on your couch. “Who are you trying to impress tonight?”

“Reeves, of course,” Alexis laughed, leaning on the kitchen counter. She sorted anything she might need from her big purse into a little evening bag as she talked. “You know we go to all his shows. And you know they went to high school together.”

You snorted. “That was a long time ago. I’m not even sure he’d remember me.”

Vanessa waggled her eyebrows. “You’re probably right, No offense, honey, but no one was that hot back in high school.”

He was, your brain supplied. Very helpful. You smiled wanly.

Vanessa continued. “But you were friends, right? You’ve never really talked about it. God, it must be so cool now to think that you were friends with Reeves back when he was an awkward high school teenager.”

“Reeves was never awkward,” you laugh. “It was kind of unfair.”

“But you totally had a crush on him,” Alexis offered.

Had? What do you mean, had? Oh my god, shut up, brain.

A pillow flew in your direction and you ducked as Vanessa giggled and Alexis rolled her eyes. “Come on, tell us something about him,” Vanessa goaded. “Wait. Was he, like, your prom date? That’s your secret! You totally went to prom with Reeves and you never told us!”

Senior Year. Prom. A Saturday.

The night was not supposed to go this way.

It was supposed to be limousines and corsages and dinner with dates and friends. It was supposed to be endless pictures while your mother told you how gorgeous you looked and how handsome he was and your father gave a thinly-veiled shovel talk about how he knew what happens on prom night and what would really happen if that actually happened. It was supposed to be punch and cookies and balloons. It was supposed to be dancing closer than the chaperones were comfortable with and kissing with tongue when they weren’t looking.

It was supposed to be the best night of your life. It was supposed to be fun.

Nowhere in your weeks of dreaming of this night did it involve sitting on a bench in the girls’ locker room, knees pulled up to your chest, while the party carried on in the gym just beyond.

It definitely didn’t involve crying.

The bass beats of the deejay and the harmony of laughter temporarily got louder as the locker room door opened, and then faded back into a muted thumping as the door closed again a second later. You could hear footsteps headed in your direction but before you could unfold yourself and wipe your tears away, a familiar voice called out.

“Hey, there you are!”

Being able to find the words to describe how he looked in his tux, his curls slightly tamed by some gel, the blue rose (of course it would be an off color, why would he pick something standard?) pinned to his lapel, his lopsided grin… Finding the words was nearly impossible.

Of course he would show up now. Because your night wasn’t already crappy enough and half the reason you were sitting there weeping instead of out there dancing was standing right in front of you.

You realized that wasn���t fair. It was probably more like, twenty-five percent of the reason, and it wasn’t his fault. But that didn’t make it any better.

“Why are you in the girls’ locker room, Reeves?” you sniffled.

He furrowed his eyebrows and his nose scrunched up in concern as he took in your mascara-streaked cheeks and puffy red eyes. “One of your friends said you came in here like half an hour ago and nobody’s seen you since. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Clearly not.” He sat down next to you. “Wanna talk about it?”

A deep, shaky sign left your chest. You didn’t really want to talk about how, earlier in the evening, you’d excused yourself to use the restroom and come back to the gym to find Theo dancing with...you didn’t remember her name, nor did you care. You didn’t mind that he was dancing with another girl, in theory, but it was another matter entirely when his hands were on her ass and she was sucking a deep purple mark into his neck. And he was laughing. 

A short, vicious argument ensued in the coat room after you’d cut in and dragged him off by the elbow. And it turned out that he’d been seeing whats-her-name for months, somehow, behind your back while pretending that everything was perfect with you. When he was supposedly visiting his grandparents? He was with her. When he had to work an extra shift? He was with her. When he got off the phone with you, saying he needed to get to bed early? He was calling her.

Prom wasn’t supposed to involve a very public break-up.

And things didn’t get any better when, deciding you needed something to drink, you went back into the gym and immediately saw Reeves and Randie, dancing cheek to cheek, arms snugly wrapped around each other as a soft, romantic song wafted through the air. Because of course he was with her. She was his girlfriend and Reeves wasn’t a detestable cheating asshole.

There was always another her.

You couldn’t handle it.

So you took off to somewhere almost guaranteed to be empty. You figured the locker room wasn’t really the kind of place kids would want to make out, and you were right. It was blessedly empty. Until now.

But you couldn’t tell him the second part, so you just went with the first. His eyes got wide as you blubbered through the sordid details of Theo being a complete and utter twat. Another quivery sob half-burst from you and Reeves got up. He grabbed a few paper towels from the dispenser and handed them to you as he sat back down.

“Thanks,” you hiccuped.

“I never liked him,” Reeves announced.

You found yourself choking on a huff of air. “What? Yes you did! Everybody loved him. That’s what makes it extra shitty.”

“Did you?”

“What?”

Reeves cocked his head and looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. “Did you love him?”

Your mouth opened and closed but nothing came out. Why did you always seem to forget how to make words when Reeves asked you questions?

“What?”

He shrugged. “Everyone else loved him. Did you?”

You used every last ounce of willpower you had to not jump up on that bench and shout that of course you didn’t love Theo, you idiot, because I love you.

That would not make this night any easier.

The next thing you knew, Reeves put an arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his chest, hugging you soundly. He rested his cheek on the top of your head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re better off without him.”

You dabbed at your eyes. Nope, still couldn’t make words.

Minutes, hours, days. You had no idea how long you stayed like that, pressed to him and feeling him breathe beneath you. You no longer had any idea how long it had even been since everything crashed around you and he’d come to try and help you pick up the pieces. You just listened to his heartbeat, strong and steady, as the muffled music and joyful shouts of classmates went on past the closed door.

Finally he spoke again. “Hey, you wanna get one of those complimentary pictures?”

“What?” Oh, great. You were finally able to answer his question but you could still only come up with that one word? Stupid brain.

“Well, I…” he sat up straight and, after the briefest look into your eyes, he glanced away. Was he blushing? You weren’t sure. “I always kind of...I kind of thought we’d have a prom picture together. I mean, I just figured, y’know, we’d go with a bunch of friends, but I always hoped I’d get a picture with my best friend.”

The sniffles were back in an instant. Damn him. “Reeves, I...you really want to get a picture now? I look horrible, I can’t get a picture taken like this!”

He took the paper towel from your hand and gently dabbed at your cheeks. “You couldn’t look horrible if you tried. Come on, it’ll be fun. And just think how excited your mom will be when she gets a copy of it.”

Despite your best efforts, you had to laugh. “Okay.”

You headed to the photo area after you washed your face, Reeves helped you wipe off the stray streaks of mascara, and you reapplied just a bit of makeup to make yourself feel better. You were never sure what Reeves said to the photographer before the shots, but he seemed quite happy to take multiples. Reeves stayed pressed against your back with his arms down around your waist, hands clasped together in front of you, for each and every one.

At some point between the second and third shot, he leaned just a little closer into you and you suddenly felt his breath against your ear. “Like what you see?”

For maybe the first time that entire night, your face broke into a genuine smile. “Maybe.”

For a few minutes, your night was absolutely perfect.

The Present.

It was the greatest date that never was.

“No, Reeves was not my prom date,” you told your friends with a shake of your head.

You left out most of the other details, partly because you didn’t want to answer eight hundred questions from Vanessa and partly because, well, you just wanted those moments for yourself.

After the pictures, Reeves had asked if you would like to dance. Until then you didn’t realize it was possible for eyebrows to shoot that far up a person’s forehead, but yours were up for the challenge. You’d mumbled something about if Randie would mind, because you were sure she absolutely would, but he brushed it off. Randie had gone off with her friends when he came to find you, and he really wanted to dance with you, just one dance with his frog murder accomplice. And he said that with a straight face and a twinkle in his eye and there was no way you could refuse.

As if there was any way you’d say no.

One dance turned into two, and then several, until the girlfriend in question finally did show back up and Reeves was pulled away, leaving you with a soft smile and a mouthed “sorry”.

Definitely the greatest never-date.

After prom, life returned to what vaguely resembled normal. Your love life sucked and Reeves still had a girlfriend that wasn’t you, and you didn’t see him much. To be fair, the end of senior year and graduation did creep up pretty fast so there wasn’t a lot of time anyway. Graduation was there before you knew it; he cheered for you and you cheered for him as you each walked across the stage. You made brief appearances at each others’ graduation parties and talked a bit and then, once again before you knew what happened next, it was time to leave for college.

You went back to New York. Reeves stayed on the west coast.

And over the years, like so many other people before you and after you, you just fell out of touch.

“And anyway,” you asserted, “we were just kind of friends. Yeah, like I told Alexis before, we were lab partners sophomore year, and we hung out sometimes, but that was it. Really.”

Alexis snorted and Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “Mmmhmm.”

You threw the pillow back at her. “Mmmhmm.”

“All right, you two,” Alexis chided. “Come on, let’s get going.”

Somehow, you managed to get down to Greenwich Village without further interrogation and minimal shenanigans.

The Present. One Hour Later. Another Saturday Night.

The bar inside the club was pretty packed. Granted, it was a Saturday night down in The Village, so it wasn’t too uncommon, but you were honestly surprised that this many people showed up for a punk retrospective.

There were a few other relatively big-name acts you recognized on the bill, and a fair number of people were wearing t-shirts with Reeves’s most recent album cover on the front. There were even a few that had shirts with his face on it, which was frankly kind of weird.

“Looks like you’re not his only number one fan,” Vanessa smirked.

“I just enjoy his music,” you said off-handedly as you tried to flag down a bartender. “But anyway, tonight isn’t even about him. We’re just here to support charity, right?”

Alexis pretended to agree with you. “Right.”

You glared at both of them before turning your attention back to the bar. Yes, you came to every one of his shows in the area. When you had time. When you could take the night off. When you could rearrange your schedule and switch shifts at the last minute and promise favors to be able to attend them. When you maybe once or twice just called out sick because nothing else worked. So what.

They were really starting to get on your nerves. 

The bartender finally noticed you and took your order, and you looked around the club again while you waited.

Lots of people, ranging from just-allowed-to-buy-booze to mid-sixties businessmen. A few folks that looked to currently be in their golden years but were clearly once punks in their prime. Many people in black and chains and mohawks and neon hair and piercings, to the point where you honestly couldn’t tell who was a performer and who was a patron.

The one person you were looking for was the one that you couldn’t pick out of the crowd.

“He’s gotta be here somewhere!” Vanessa’s voice shouted from somewhere behind your shoulder.

“Vanessa, you’re getting a little weird about this,” you called back as you grabbed your drink and turned around.

“Like what you see?”

Eyes wide and mouth slightly hanging open, you almost dropped your full glass.

Vaguely, nearby, you heard the sound of glass shattering and shot a glance to your left. Alexis really had dropped her drink, and Vanessa was clutching onto her arm for dear life. She was holding her glass at a slightly odd angle and the contents were dripping onto one of her shoes.

The crowd silently pulsed backwards as one, clearing out around the four of you for a respectable distance. Several people watched curiously; surprisingly, they just stood back and stared instead of trying to get involved.

Reason Number One why you really couldn’t blame them: Reeves stood there, right in front of you. Literally less than two feet away, looking right at you. His mouth pulled up into his familiar lopsided grin, his hair still dark but shot through with strands of silver, curly on the top and shorter on the sides. His nose with the little dent, perfect on his face under those dark, luminous brown eyes and...holy shit, was he wearing eyeliner? He was wearing eyeliner.

Reason Number Two why you really couldn’t blame them: Leather pants. Under his old, faded t-shirt and black leather jacket (you were used to seeing him in brown, but you had to admit the black looked good) he was wearing leather pants.

Reason Number Three why you really couldn’t blame them: Quite simply, Reeves was standing in the middle of a bar in New York City and he was talking to you.

You blinked once, then twice. You may have blinked more times but all you could think about was the fact that, after all these years, your brain still couldn’t make words when Reeves asked you a question.

That same old question.

Suddenly you were grinning back, completely ignoring your friends and their dumbfounded squawking and sputtering next to you. You were smiling because even though your brain couldn’t make full sentences of words, it could pull one particular word out of the void and let it come out past your lips.

“Maybe.”

Reeves grinned fully now, his eyes lighting up and the crinkles at the corners deepening.

Someone - maybe Vanessa, maybe a total stranger, you couldn’t be sure - might have swooned from the sidelines.

“Always told you I wanted to come to New York,” he said.

“Always told you I’d go back.”

And the next thing you knew, the next thing that made any sense anywhere in your mind, was that Reeves had stepped forward, wrapped his arms around you, and placed the softest, sweetest, most heart-achingly gentle kiss on your lips.

You pulled away in a daze, felt the heat rising in your cheeks, as you heard a muffled choking sound halfway behind you. Definitely Vanessa.

Alexis and Vanessa’s eyes, already bugging out of their faces, nearly fell out of their sockets when Reeves turned to address them.

“Hey, ladies. I’ll come talk to you after the show, but for now, I just need to borrow your friend for a few minutes, okay?”

There were somehow still more bizarre, mostly inhuman noises that came out of your friends and even later, when they’d deny ever acting like that in front of a famous rock star (and rolled their eyes at you when you corrected them that he was a musician, not a rock star), it wouldn’t matter because you weren’t paying a single bit of attention to them them anyway.

You only had eyes for one person.

He took your hand and pulled you past the bar, into a little room in the back; the office, presumably. The second you were both inside, he wrapped his arms around your waist and looked you in the eyes. He just stared for a few minutes, or maybe hours, you weren’t sure.

It really didn’t matter.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do that?” he whispered.

“Third day of school, fourth period biology class, sophomore year?”

Reeves smiled softly. “The second you walked in that door.”

“Why didn’t you?” you tilted your head to look at him. Okay, to gaze into his eyes. You tilted your head to gaze into his eyes and your subconscious hoped to any gods that would listen that you did not have actual hearts or stars in your pupils.

Not that it really mattered.

His arms never left you but he gave a little shrug. “Never seemed to be the right time. And then I had a girlfriend.”

“Yeah,” you laughed. “And I ended up with that lame excuse for a boyfriend. But do you know how long I’ve wanted you to do that?”

“When you couldn’t stop staring at me when you sat down at the lab table next to me?”

“Hmmm, maybe. But definitely when you told the teacher we had to have a funeral for Lenny.”

“Hey, Lenny was a fuckin’ hero,” Reeves batted his eyes at you innocently. “He performed a brave and great service to his country.”

“I am oddly happy you’re still an idiot,” you giggled.

“I’m ecstatic that you kept coming to all my shows in the city.”

You pulled back slightly and looked at the ceiling. “You noticed?”

Reeves gave you that look. That look he always gave you, when you were teenagers, when you said something either completely ridiculous or completely profound. That look he gave you when he thought you might not be looking, even though you were always looking. That look that said he always had your back and you were his best friend. That look that you thought you’d be lucky to see one more time but probably never would.

That look.

“Of course I noticed. I thought about having security make you stay back, but that’s just...no. You always looked happy, and I don’t know...I just didn’t want to intrude, I guess? Just always wondered why you never stuck around after the shows, never stayed to talk to me, never came knocking on the dressing room door.”

You thought about that for a minute. You really did try, but you couldn’t come up with a decent answer. You were happy. Just seeing him was enough, you told yourself. Just hearing him sing was enough, just being in the same room with him, just being near. Just like it was back in high school.

Only it wasn’t high school anymore, and now that he’d finally, finally - after years of would’ve and should’ve and maybes - kissed you, you knew enough wasn’t going to be, well, enough.

So that’s what you told him.

And Reeves pulled you close, leaned in closer, and kissed you again.

You pulled apart, breathless again, and rested your foreheads together.

After minutes, or maybe days, or maybe hours, and definitely years - it didn’t really matter - Reeves was there. You were there. And for once, you were really there together.

“Like what you see?”

“...definitely.”

The Future. Any Day. Every Day.

You always thought, and your friends always said, that the best years of your life happened in high school. And to a certain extent, that was true and you believed in that notion for a very long time.

But ever since that night, that one glorious night in a Manhattan bar, you realized you were wrong.

The best years of your life were still happening.

~end~

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[passivenovember]

Reach Out and Touch Faith.

Harringrove April, Day Sixteen : Nostalgia.

--

Steve knows he’s got a stick up his ass about the whole thing. 

Feels it wiggle around, amused, when he comes home early from work to find Dawn and Billy dancing around in their PJs to the opening chords of Personal Jesus. 

They don’t see him.

Too preoccupied with the music, Dave Gahan’s voice pushing through windows and bursting through walls until Billy’s hips are moving in a way Steve hasn’t seen them do in years. 

And Steve isn’t a betting man, but. 

He knows that if Billy turned and zeroed in, hips moving like that with Dawn headbanging to dark wave like some sort of hybrid, the perfect combination of the two of them, Steve would be unable to rain on their parade.

His first reaction is to unplug the stereo.

And it’s a crime. To cut the Gretsch short like that, right in the middle of such an iconic riff.

Billy turns, out of breath from doing the limbo under Dawn’s black feather boa. “Oh, here we go.” He says fondly.

Steve ignores him, strictly business. “What the hell are you doing to my living room?”

Dawn’s still going. Arms win milling as she hop-scotches her way across the room toward Steve, forehead slick with sweat. 

“I like that song!” She hollers. Right in his ear when she climbs into Steve’s arms like a twelve year old monkey. He sets her down immediately, trying to play it cool.

Dawn and Billy start jumping up and down together, obviously high on adrenaline and Steve feels like shit. For having to be the bad guy all the time. 

He sits gingerly on the couch. Tries to tack on his best let’s have a serious discussion face, even as Dawn and Billy continue humming the chorus together. 

Billy breaks away, pumping his arm. “How sick is that synth track, kiddo?”

“So sick.” Dawn says. She collapses onto the floor, exhausted. “I think I like that better than the one on Dangerous.”

Steve gapes. “That’s hardly appropriate.”

Billy scowls, indignant. “You’re the one who let Aunt Robin sneak in the first album we ever fu--”

"Bill.”

He shuts up, sighing. “Babe. You’re gonna be cool about this, right?”

“I’m cool!” Steve insists, leaning back on the couch. “I’m the coolest, ask anyone.”

Billy grins, cheeks flushing pink. “Really? ‘Cause you’re acting pretty uncool.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup,” Billy teases. “Coming in and unplugging the stereo like that. Right in the middle of the riff, too.” Billy whistles low, shaking his head. “Gotta be one of the seven sins.”

“What, cutting a Depeche Mode song in half?” Steve deadpans. “I just would’ve preferred she start out with. Like. Speak and Spell. or something.” 

Dawn beams. “What’s that? Can we listen to that one next?”

Billy ignores her, honed in. “Dawn’s twelve now, that’s like. Practically a teenager.”

“Yeah, Dad.” She says smugly. “I’m practically a teenager.”

“Exactly.” Billy triumphs, pasting himself to Steve’s side. “And as a practically-almost-teenager, it’s about time she hears some good music.” 

“Hey, you said good music is whatever makes me feel something,” Dawn accuses, sitting bolt upright. “Good music makes your skin all tingly and your tummy do backflips and your heart--”

“I said real music makes you feel something. I never specified what makes it good.” Billy says smugly. “Everything you’ve heard before today is real music but it’s not good music.”

Steve lets Billy fuse their bodies together, wincing as his arm touches miles of sticky skin. 

Dawn shrugs her shoulders. 

Unbothered.

Unapologetic. 

“What you said before, kiddo, about your heart and your tummy. Does this record make you feel like that?” Steve wonders, and Dawn’s nodding her head before he’s even finished. 

He sighs. “Go get my cassette case, then. We’ve got some work to do.”

--

With her Walkman turned up as high as it will go, muttering along to the words as if in prayer, Dawn grows up before their eyes. 

Two new copies of Violator are purchased before the year is out. Once because it’s played so much the wheels fall off, and again because Joey steals the new one.

Billy gets a phone call from Max the day after it goes missing. “The World Wide Web is an evil, disgusting place.”

Billy snorts. “Pretty sure kids are calling it the Net these days, grandma. Keep up.”

“I don’t want to keep up.” She snaps. “Four years. A whole kindergarten age child ago I force Joey to sit down and listen to my cassettes--”

“Your cassettes?” Billy mumbles, alarmed. “No wonder the kid’s purging himself on Steve’s shit.”

“Oh fuck off. That’s where he heard them?”

Billy plays dumb. 

Max catches on instantly. “He’s been locked in his room, listening to Policy of Truth all day. I just don’t understand what’s so appealing about a bunch of sad boys--”

“Be nice.”

“Do you really think the kids are old enough to listen to that shit, man?” Max sounds like she’s coming apart at the edges. Scattered to the wind. “I mean. He left his room twice. Once to make a sandwich and again to borrow one of my skirts.”

Billy grins. “Ah. So he got his hands on some pictures of Martin Gore, that was fast--”

“He tore the thing to shreds, Billy.”

And Billy doesn’t get what the problem is, many of Joyce’s tattered Sunday skirts hanging in his closet even now. 

He shrugs. “’S more punk that way.”

“God. Name the kid after his freaky uncle and the kid will deliver.” Max retorts miserably. She takes a deep breath. “What the fuck am I gonna do?”

“Dunno. Remove the stick from your ass?”

“Ha-ha.” Max spits, but. It sounds like she’s smiling. “Speaking of sticks up asses. Did Steve have a cow?”

Billy shrugs again, wrapping the phone chord around his wrist. “Whole barn, more like. But I think I convinced him.”

“Of what? That the perversion of our youth is okay?”

“No, that the kids are getting older.” Billy says. He doesn’t get it, why he’s the only one in touch with reality. “Joey’s Fifteen, Dawn’ll be thirteen in a couple months. They’re not little kids anymore, Max, they’re teenagers.”

She sighs. “So we’re supposed to let them listen to whatever they want.”

“Within reason. Susan and Neil would’ve bought the barn at full price if we hadn’t snuck around.”

Max makes a noise. “I never listened to--”

“N.W.A?”

“Fuck you, they have an incredible social commentary on the issues faced by disenfranchised people in the--”

“Check mate.”

Max falls silent. And then, glumly, “I hate you for always being right.”

Billy leans against the wall, chuckling. “I’m your big brother. Comes with the territory.”

--

When they get Dawn’s birthday list, only one thing is circled in red. 

Joey and I want to see Depeche Mode live.

Steve wonders if he can make that happen.

[heyyy-hey-babyyy]

When We Were Young (Part IV)

Dean x Fem!Reader; Sam x Fem!Reader (platonic)

Read part I here ; Read part II here ; Read part III here

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of trauma/abuse, brief moments of self-harm, mentions of anxiety attack, a little dirty (not quite smut, but a bit steamy). 

Summary: Dean, Sam, and Y/N grew up together, but when she’s taken away for over 10 years, the boys have no idea what she’s been through. Will asking her to move into the bunker with them reveal more than she’s ready for?

2359 words

You tensed, anticipating the conclusion of the story and suddenly afraid of how Dean would react to what you were about to say. You took a deep breath before speaking.

“And when Greg opened the closet door and pulled back the blanket, I emptied the clip into his chest.”

It was deafening in the bedroom as you let the words you had never spoken out loud ring out and coat the empty spaces around you, never to be forgotten again. Dean hadn’t spoken, and you suddenly felt exhausted, reliving the darkest moment of your life. He still held you tight in his arms, but he was no longer comforting you, merely laying still as you pressed against his chest breathing him in. You couldn’t decide if you were worried for his reaction, or if you were relishing in the silence and warmth of his hold, but either way you were becoming anxious the longer he didn’t speak. 

Dean cleared his throat lightly, and you chanced glancing up at him. He wasn’t looking directly at you, but seemed to be lost in a memory for the moment. You curled back into his chest, and he tightened his hold, before you heard his voice, gruff from not being used. 

“When I was maybe, I don’t know, thirteen, fourteen, I killed my first vampire. She was young and dad decided I was old enough to go head to head with her because we were roughly the same size.” He huffed out a brief laugh. “Looking back it seems really messed up, but I was itching to get more into the hunt and this became the only way for me to prove it to my father.” He stopped, and it was your turn to try to comfort him, reaching up to run your fingers across his shoulders and you felt him relax a bit, letting out a deep breath he must have been holding. 

“Anyway, I took out the vamp no problem, and remember dad clapping me on the back, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of the vamp’s head. She hadn’t even barred fangs, and honestly looked just like a normal teenage girl, but one that I had just beheaded.” You continued lightly massaging his shoulders as you took comfort in the rumble of his voice against your cheek. “The image haunted me for weeks and after I woke dad up one night screaming in my sleep he sat down with me and instead of giving me the ‘she’s a monster, get over it’ talk he said something that I think about often.” Dean seemed to be completely lost in thought, and though you weren’t sure why he was telling you this, you listened intently, like he had just done for you. 

“He told me, ‘Dean, she was doing bad things. Yes, she was young, but sometimes people can’t come back from tasting a little bit of the darkness.’” 

You stopped moving your hands and he pulled you softly away from his chest and you looked into bright green eyes that seemed to glow in the dark. 

“Y/N.” He began, his tone growing serious. You shrunk back a little against his hold, afraid of what he was about to say. “Hey,” he softened, pulling you closer again so he could rub his hands up and down your arms. “Look at me.” You glanced back into his eyes as he continued speaking. “Some people can’t come back from the darkness.” 

Dean made everything seem so easy, and for a second you believed him. Perhaps you really could stop drowning in the guilt of what you did. But you shook your head at him with finality breaking your eye contact. You could never be forgiven for taking another human’s life. And you had too many secrets to ever live life like a normal person. Way too many skeletons in the closet. In that moment you felt profound guilt and sadness at the direction of your life. Sure, you were now in the arms of the man you had been in love with since before you even knew what love was, but he didn’t know anything about your life now. 

Dean saw the way you were reacting to his words. The way your mind was taking you from hope to guilt to sadness to absolute dread. He knew you thought you could hide from him, but he spent the better part of his childhood learning how to read the nerdy short girl who sometimes hung out with him at Bobby’s. And he could still read you like a book. 

“Hey, stop avoiding me, and look at me.” He said it with the tone that didn’t leave room for argument and you glanced up slowly. “You did what you had to do to protect yourself. That’s what your dad, my dad, and Bobby always taught us. Remember, ‘shoot first and ask questions later.’“ He smiled at you softly and you couldn’t help but smile back, feeling the memory pull at you. 

When you found yourself alone with Dean on endless nights when you were younger, waiting for your dad’s to return, you used to come up with outrageous situations that you both could maybe find yourselves in and the other would respond simply with ‘shoot first. Ask questions later.’ It was stupid and bordering on morbid, but it always made you laugh, and Dean would stare at you until your fits of giggles stopped. In those moments, you always felt like maybe Dean felt for you just as much as you felt for him. But you were just his friend who he would hang out with at Bobby’s. Not girlfriend material. And you were taken from the boys young anyway, shattering any hope of what could have been. And Greg successfully shattered any hope of you being comfortable with another human being. 

Dean saw it happening again. The way you went from joy to guilt to sadness to dread. It broke his heart to not know what was happening in your head. Whatever you were telling yourself to give you such a hopeless look. He wanted more than anything to take away your pain, but he had no idea where to even start. 

You coughed lightly, pulling away from his arms. “Uh, can we just go to bed, Dean? I’m tired and,” you stopped glancing at his bedside clock, “it’s nearly 4:00am.” He nodded softly, and you turned away in the opposite direction, pulling the comforter up to your chin, though you weren’t even remotely tired. You were too stuck in your own head, imagining what could have been if you hadn’t been taken away all those years ago. You were never one for coulda woulda shoulda, but laying this close to Dean had you feeling all kinds of ways and it was hard not to want so much of what you couldn’t have. You had been laying silent for a few moments, when you felt Dean shift slightly. 

“Hey,” he whispered, gauging if you were asleep. You turned your head back toward him, glancing into his eyes. “Uh,” he looked awkward and it made you smile. “Would it be okay, if I held you, Y/N? Just for tonight.” You were a bit shocked by his question, being that you had just been thinking about him, but you nodded, realizing quickly how much you wanted him close again. You turned back to your side away from him, and felt one arm snake under your head laying against the pillow, and the other crawl across your waist pulling you flush against him. He sighed contentedly, and you allowed yourself to breath normally, even though your body was trembling slightly and your breathing was a little erratic. 

Being this close to him, it was impossible to hide the way your body was reacting, and you felt him pull away from you a bit, but you grabbed his arm and placed it on your hip again. This is what you wanted. It’s Dean. He would never hurt you. You told yourself over and over to calm you racing heart. Besides, Greg never cuddled with you. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, baby?” Dean whispered, his breath tickling the hair by your ear, making your body tense up again. But you nodded placing your hand on his on your hip, and moving it further down your stomach. Dean let you guide his hand and when it landed in a comfortable place, you proceeded to run your fingers up and down his arm. A memory of Dean flashed across your eyes as you did this. 

You were playing some racing game that you were horrible at and he knew it, so of course he wanted to place a bet. You were no punk, so you agreed, sitting up a bit straighter as the cars raced around the tracks for their practice run before you pressed the start button. 

“If I win,” you started, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth in thought. “I get to ride in the front seat of the Impala the next time John takes us into town!” You didn’t really care about riding up front, but you knew it drove Dean insane to be in the back, and if you were up front you could play Dixie Chicks and Dean would have to shut up about it. 

He sighed dramatically, but agreed. “Okay, then if I win...” He trailed off trying to look deep in thought, but you knew him better than that. He was embarrassed, and you got serious thinking ‘what could he possibly be embarrassed to ask for?’

“If I win, I want you to do that arm scratching thing you do when you’re nervous, to distract yourself... I love that.” You stared at him stupidly in response, but nodded anyway. You always thought he thought that was annoying when you’d be watching a horror movie and you’d grab his arm and move your fingers up and down the smooth skin as a distraction. You hated the feeling yourself, but he never stopped you, so you figured he was just humoring you. 

Dean shrugged like it was no big deal and nodded back, looking toward the game, knowing he was going to win, and smiling to himself. 

You kept moving up and down his arm and Dean sighed into your hair. “I love this.” He whispered softly, almost as if he didn’t mean to. You smiled nodding that you knew. Dean leaned his head down to rest on your shoulder and he lightly kissed the open patch of skin on your collar bone, losing himself for a moment. You breathed out a little in surprise, and he felt you tense, moving his head back. “Sorry.” He whispered quickly, but you shook your head in response. 

“I liked it...” You whispered back, moving your hand to entangle your fingers with his on your waist, and he pulled you closer gripping you to him. His head returned and he placed another chaste kiss against your neck making goosebumps appear across your skin. He nuzzled into your neck lightly and you giggled involuntarily, nervous suddenly and he placed another kiss against your collarbone before speaking. 

“It broke my heart to let you leave...” He trailed off, lost in thought as you took in his words. “I begged my dad for months to take you back, but we couldn’t find you. It was like the system ate you up. I’m so sorry, baby. I should have saved you.” You shook your head at his last words, not wanting any of this to be his fault. Besides, after Greg, you didn’t want to be found. You wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault and that you had disappeared for years after the shooting, but he released your hand suddenly, moving his hand back over your stomach. Your shirt had rode up a bit and you felt the pads of Dean’s fingers glide smoothly across your exposed skin. You had never been touched so gently, and though it brought up feelings you hadn’t felt in years, you knew Dean wasn’t pressuring you into anything, but rather comforting you and letting you know you are wanted. The thought made you choke up, and Dean held you close to him. 

“Lets sleep. We can talk more tomorrow.” You nodded, and snuggled closer, relaxing as Dean’s fingers danced across your skin, and the sound of him humming “Let it Be” lightly into your ear soothed you into a dreamless sleep. 

---------------------------

It was well after noon and you were still fast asleep. Dean had pulled away from you gently around 9:00am and was returning now to check on you. He pulled the door closed, leaving it open a crack so he could hear if you called for him, when Sam came up next to him. 

“Hey,” He whispered. “How is she? How did last night go?” 

Dean put a finger to his lips and motioned for his brother to follow him into the bathroom across the hall. He closed the door and sat down with a huff on the toilet seat, Sam perching on the side of the bathtub. 

It took a few seconds for Dean to decide what he wanted to tell Sam, but his brother was ever patient waiting for Dean to say what he needed to. 

“Some awful stuff happened to her when she was taken into foster care after her dad died, Sammy...” Sam nodded looking up at his brother, remembering how chaotic things were after the social worker barged into Bobby’s house and took you out screaming for Dean along the way. Dean refused to stop looking for you and it was almost a year later when he finally resigned to returning to hunt with his dad and taking care of Sam again. 

Dean slammed his hand down loudly on the sink, and pulled it back quickly, straining to hear if he woke you. He didn’t hear anything so he turned back to Sam confessing what was weighing deep on his soul. 

“I don’t know what to do.” He stated simply.

Sam narrowed his eyes in confusion. “What do you mean?” Dean looked up at him with sorrow in his eyes.

“I love her, Sammy.”

Read part V here.

When We Were Young Tag list: @vicmc624​ 

[girlsbtrs]

How Being a Woman in Hardcore Helped Me Learn to Love Myself

Written by Jen Moglia. Graphic by Laura Cross. 

Since this is my first piece written for Girls Behind the Rock Show, I figured that I should introduce myself; hi, my name is Jennifer, but most people call me Jen. I live on Long Island in New York, and my favorite things include my cats, the color pink, giving gifts to my Animal Crossing villagers, and watching sports. Above all else, however, I love music.

I frequently refer to music as the love of my life. It somehow plays a role in everything that I do. I got my first iPod when I was five years old, stacked with everything from Miranda Cosgrove and Avril Lavigne to Tool and Deftones. Some of my favorite memories growing up are sitting in my pink and purple bedroom singing and dancing along to Paramore’s crushcrushcrush and Fall Out Boy’s Thnks Fr Th Mmrs on the local alternative radio station. I danced for 12 years, played cello for seven, and am currently a wannabe ukulele rockstar after buying one on impulse and starting to teach myself how to play four years ago. Even on the simplest, barely noticeable levels, music has been everywhere in my life for as long as I can remember; even now, I can’t complete a basic task without a song playing in my headphones.

Music became an even bigger part of my life when I started attending live shows. I went to my first concerts at age 10, seeing my two favorite artists - Nickelodeon boy band Big Time Rush and classic progressive rock band Rush - within one month of each other. By the time I was 15, I had been to my fair share of arena/seated shows with one or both of my parents, from Fifth Harmony to Fitz and the Tantrums to Alice in Chains. My first general admission show was seeing the Foo Fighters at Citi Field with both my mom and dad when I was 12, but my first pop-punk general admission show (yes, they’re different) came a few years later. I had the typical list of favorite bands that you would expect from a young teenager getting into alternative music: Neck Deep, Knuckle Puck, Real Friends, and State Champs. 

In late 2018, I was able to see all four of these bands for the first time, and I am a firm believer that it changed the course of my life. I met, cried-during, and eventually got the setlist for Neck Deep at Stereo Garden on Long Island in September. I sang all of “Untitled” at the barricade for Knuckle Puck at SI Hall at the Fairgrounds in Syracuse in October. I had my first minor concussion scare (yay!) before Real Friends’ set at Irving Plaza in New York City in November. Finally, I crowd surfed for the first time during State Champs’ anniversary show for The Finer Things at House of Independents in Asbury Park in December. After just a few shows, I had fallen in love with this new brand of live music that I had just been introduced too. There was something so magical to me about skin covered in sweat and Sharpie marks, feet hurting from dancing in the pit all night, and meeting strangers on line outside the venue who would become your best friends and know your deepest secrets by the end of the night.

After making some friends at all of the pop-punk shows I was going to, they started to tell me that I should get into hardcore music. I was hesitant at first - the heaviest thing I had listened to at that point was nowhere near the snippets of hardcore that my friends had played for me - but, eventually, I decided to give it a chance. I was bored and home alone with nothing to do one night over the summer of 2019 when I listened to my first hardcore album, Laugh Tracks by Knocked Loose. Immediately, I got that gut feeling that you have when you know you’ve heard one of your favorite bands for the first time. I knew that this was something special that I was meant to find at this point in my life. For the rest of the summer, I worked my way through the rest of my friends’ hardcore and hardcore-adjacent recommendations, with Cost of Living by Incendiary, Stage Four by Touche Amore, You’re Not You Anymore by Counterparts, Time & Space by Turnstile, Springtime and Blind by Fiddlehead, Smile! Aren’t You Happy by Absence of Mine, Bad to my World by Backtrack, and Reality Approaches by Harms Way being some of my favorites. By the time the next school year started, I was hooked, and I already had tickets to my first few hardcore shows in the fall.

My first hardcore show was in November 2019, seeing Knocked Loose at Webster Hall in New York City - fitting, right? They were on tour supporting their new record A Different Shade of Blue, which I had become obsessed with the minute I heard it for the first time. Although I was ridiculously scared of getting stepped on and breaking all my bones (yes, that was an actual fear of mine), I had the time of my life at that show. There was something about this newer kind of live music that prompted a cathartic release, one that I hadn’t found anywhere else before. As soon as the show was over, I was counting the days until my next one.

My love for live hardcore music (and live music and hardcore music in general) has only grown since then, and that story sort of ends there. However, I want to go back to that first hardcore band that I listened to, Knocked Loose, and the album they put out that first summer that stole my heart. I was taken by storm as soon as the first notes of A Different Shade of Blue rang through my headphones, but something was different about the third track, A Serpent’s Touch, particularly the ending; I heard a voice that sounded a little bit more like my own.

This song features Emma Boster, who does vocals for one of my favorite hardcore bands right now, Dying Wish. When I heard A Serpent’s Touch for the first time, though, I had no idea who she was. I was used to the aggressive vocal delivery of frontmen in hardcore, particularly that of Knocked Loose’s Bryan Garris, but hearing it come from her changed my perspective on a lot of things. It’s not like the song was super angry and changed its tune to be lighter once the token girl came along; in her verse, Boster sings, “I watched the venom / Overcome your spirit / Jealousy holds you now / Distorting your appearance / Bleed out.” These were lyrics that held the same intensity that the lines screamed by the men held, and they sounded just as cool coming out of her mouth. As cheesy as it sounds, it had never even occurred to me that women had a place in this new world that I had discovered. The audiences in the live videos I watched (and eventually at the shows I attended) were made up of mostly men who looked bigger and older than me. When I did start going to shows, most of the non-man population consisted of my friends and I. Emma Boster, along with so many others, began to open my eyes to the fact that a place for people like me existed in this community. It didn’t matter that I had bright red hair or liked butterflies or wore pink - I was just as much a part of this magic as the men multiple feet taller than me with tattoo-covered arms, and I belonged there just as much as they did.

As time went on and I got more involved in the genre’s music and community, I discovered more bands with women in them, and it only fueled this fire of empowerment inside of me. When I felt insecure, I’d watch live sets from Krimewatch, a hardcore band from New York City, just half an hour away from my hometown. They have multiple women as members, including their energetic badass of a vocalist, Rhylli Ogiura. Year of the Knife became one of my all-time favorites, and their bassist Madison Watkins became a serious inspiration to me; the way that she can balance killing it on stage and running the cutest, most pink apparel brand I’ve ever seen (aptly titled Candy Corpse) amazes me. Even some of the bands I’ve found more recently have had an impact on me. I started listening to Initiate last year when their EP Lavender came out, and their beautifully colorful cover art caught my eye before I had heard any of their songs. Their vocalist, Crystal Pak, is also a woman, and she’s insanely talented. Discovering this kind of representation in this new universe that I had come to feel so at home in introduced me to a world of confidence and determination that I had never known before.

When people ask me why I love hardcore so much, I often give the easy answer; “the music sounds good.” If the person allows me to ramble on for a little longer, the answer becomes much more emotional and cheesy. Hardcore taught me that speaking up for what I believe in is important, and if there’s something I’m passionate about, it’s worth shouting about. I became familiar with this when listening to one of my favorite bands ever, Incendiary (the second hardcore band I ever checked out), before quickly realizing that politics are a pretty common topic within the genre - it’s what this music was practically built on. The first time I heard their vocalist Brendan Garrone singing about police brutality and injustice on songs like Force of Neglect and Sell Your Cause, I realized that there is so much more to music than just sounding good.

However, at its core, the thing I love so much about hardcore is what it taught me about being a woman. Growing up, I was the loud girl with the personality bigger than the room who always had something to say and had a never ending supply of excitement about just about everything. As I got older, I was taught that this was not okay. People didn’t like how enthusiastic I was about everything, or that I constantly had new ideas and new discoveries I wanted to talk about. As cliche as it sounds, I felt like everyone around me was trying to dull my sparkle, especially some of the men that I was encountering on a day-to-day basis. Even when I started to come to terms with my big and bright personality, in turn also coming to terms with my own femininity, I was told that this wasn’t how girls acted. I had to pick one - I could watch Disney princess movies and wear Hello Kitty hair clips, or I could be outspoken about my beliefs; but never both. The women that I mentioned earlier, along with so, so many more, helped me unlearn these toxic mindsets. Seeing someone like Emma Boster take the stage and scream ferociously for a full set helped me see that I could be a girl and still be a powerhouse. Following Madi Watkins around on social media showed me that I could love bands like Year of the Knife and also love heart-shaped purses and wear pink from head to toe. My aggression and passion didn’t make me any less of a woman, and my femininity didn’t make me any less of a force to be reckoned with. 

So, at the end of this love letter to hardcore and the women who run it, I say this; thank you for teaching me that I don’t have to shrink myself anymore. It has made a world of a difference.

[effeminateboyninja]

OC: Mimori 💚

Pronoun: She/her

Personality: Really sweet and kind, very shy and stutter sometimes

Zodiac: Probably a pisces (i didn’t decide her birthday 😂)

S/O: Baki Sensei! 🥰 Really like how he gives off a military sergeant vibes but when he’s around her he’s a big softie

sweet on you - baki + mimori ♡

Temari is the first one to notice that something is up, suddenly her severe and demanding sensei is going just a little easier on her and her siblings during training… and is that a smile?! on Baki’s serious face? that’s as much of his softer side they’ll see though, only you can bring out the tenderness that’s so surprisingly abundant underneath his hard exterior

he knows that’s sometimes you’re overlooked because of your shy demeanour but he’ll never let anyone step over you or take advantage of your kind nature. one time a man cut in front of you in the line at the one of the market stalls and was not having it. “excuse me, punk, I believe the lady was next in line,” in that deep, commanding voice that no one could ignore and never failed to make you blush as he shot the stranger a warning glare

he thinks your introverted personality is so endearing, he’s so used to the harsh shinobi world and then you come along, so soft and innocent and naturally kind… it’s perfect to him. he loves complimenting you just to hear you adorably stutter out a flustered “thank you”. that precious blush rises to your cheeks as you try to look away, and surprisingly it’s matched on his own battle-worn face

the two of you will often take romantic walks around Suna as the sun goes down and sets the dunes ablaze, but while you’re admiring the view his dark eyes are trained on you, taking in each gentle curve and angle of your face, and the way your golden hair falls perfectly across your shoulders. you’ll catch him staring and when you smile back at him, well he just can’t help it, he has to kiss you

kisses with Baki seem like they would be rough, he’s a intimidating guy after all, but the way he holds you in his arms while he kisses you it’s like your the most fragile thing in the world. his large, strong hands hold either side of your face, just firm enough to ground the floating feeling in you head as he leans down and captures your lips in his

“You think that’s going to cut in on the battlefield?” Baki barked out, his voice heavy with authority as he scolded his team. “Run the formation again!”

The three siblings were panting in front of him, sweaty and red-faced from their training in the harsh, desert heat. He’d been working them like dogs ever since he left the house this morning, bidding you goodbye with a kiss as he rushed out the door.

Kankuro collapsed down on the hard sand and groaned, “C’mon old man, we’ve been running that formation all day. If it’s not up to your standards by now it never will be.”

The elder man’s features knit into an intimidating scowl and he marched forward about to pull the mouthy teenager up by the collar when a familiar voice stopped him short.

“Um, B-baki? I brought you some lunch.”

The nervous stutter that you often displayed was all it took to take him from the intense hard-ass that everyone knew him as to nothing more than a gentle giant. He turned around, his scowl softening into an adoring smile as he saw you standing there sheepishly with a bento box in hand.

“Mimori, you didn’t have to do that sweetheart,” he told you, wrapping a strong arm around your waist and leading you away from his students.

Over his shoulder you could see Kankuro turn to his sister and mouth “sweetheart?” incredulously, confusion twisting his painted face. You blushed a little at the attention before turning yours back to the tall man at your side.

“I know, but you’ve been working so hard lately. You deserve a nice homemade lunch,” you assured him, pressing the lunchbox into his large hands gently.

When you went to pull your hands away he caught one of them in his own and brought it to his lips for a soft kiss. He wasn’t usually so affectionate in public, and never in front of his students — he was a private man who saved his feelings for the privacy of your shared home, but he couldn’t resist it with you showing up like this so sweetly.

He let go of your hand and stood up straight, “Well thank you, love. It looks delicious.”

“I-it’s nothing really,” you waved him off with a small smile and brushed a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’ll see you at home soon?”

“Of course. As soon as I have these sorry ninjas whipped into shape,” he nodded back to the three siblings who were taking the opportunity to rest, “I’m all yours.”

He lowered his voice on the part and his deep, gravelly tone sent your stomach doing flips. You let out a nervous squeak and nodded, which caused him to let out a low chuckle, he had always loved how shy you were. He gave you a quick peck on the lips and you turned around and rushed away before his team could see the deep red on your cheeks.

He watched as you scurried away, the smile that you’d brought him still plastered on his face. That’s my girl, he thought to himself and looked down at the small box in his hand.

Then, he rearranged his lighthearted expression back into its normal resting position, severe and commanding, and cleared his throat before turning around and booming out the command,

“Time to break for lunch!”

//

EVENT REQUESTS ARE OPEN 💚

[flying-nightwing]

The Three Words to Remember in Dealing with the End

I’m trying something new y’all, this is a third person POV because I want you to unveil the actions at the same pace as Jason and not MC/reader. I absolutely loved writing this, so hopefully I did it right and you will enjoy this adventure like I did!

ps: this isn’t something fun or light hearted, it might be triggering for some people. if you are in a fragile mindset right now (especially with everything that’s happening right now), maybe it would be best to save it for later. Please take care of yourselves xx

Masterlist in bio/pinned

Pairing: Jason Todd x reader (ish) 

Word count: 5060 

Warnings: death (major theme), language

Summary: Jason finds something deeply unsettling during a not so typical night in Gotham (I’m not saying more y’all, read and find out).

It had been a strange night for Jason. Things had been quiet, not too quiet to become suspicious, but enough to underwhelm him at an unsettling level. Everything from the gloomy, yellow-ish night sky above him to his tensed muscles screamed trouble--and his instincts were rarely wrong--but there was nothing big happening. He was almost tempted to pick a fight with the wrong person just for the sake of it, just to shake off this nagging feeling that serious shit was about to blow in his face. Although starting beef again with Sionis would be quite entertaining, he wasn’t sure he had the energy to deal with another tantrum from the eccentric man on the longer term. 

So instead, he kicked the door from the building’s roof on which he was hanging around and half heartedly climbed down the stairs. Plastic tarps were flapping around in his face like badly designed Halloween ghosts, and the wind in the half constructed walls were whispering unintelligible songs in his ears. That specific construction site had been abandoned as the recurrent vandalism had weighed the construction costs into the negative, making the company leaving it behind completely as a rotting proof the poorer Gotham neighborhoods were no longer a concern to city hall. Jason thought about the community center that had been bulldozed down to make room for the apartment complex, leaving dozens if not hundreds of children and teenagers without an after school hangout place, and it made him sigh. Now the cheap carcass served to shelter squatters, or well, him when he needed a hideout in between safe houses. 

The building in itself wasn’t very high like the skyscrapers one could find in the diamond district, it was rather on par with the rest of the apartment complexes around. From a distance, you couldn’t even differentiate it from the rest. Cheap, smog stained concrete looked the same whether or not it was a finished product. The aesthetics wasn’t something developers around here were aiming for, nor were the resident seeking lodging. Low income neighborhoods didn’t get to benefit from trendy landscaping. But the city didn’t really care about that, they claimed nobody really came around here anyway, like poor people weren’t people in the first place. But Jason knew, and every day he resented those officials on the city council a little bit more. 

A thud coming from the floor he had just passed made him halt his descent, his ears strained to try and catch some more noise. He waited a few seconds, and concluded it must have been a squatter tripping and falling on the floor when no other sound followed. But he hadn’t taken a full step down that a loud and clear cry for help bounced on the unfinished plaster on the walls. Without much more thinking, he turned around and climbed back up the five steps he had already taken, going straight for the origin of the sound. He was about to round the corner of a threshold when he bumped into a frantic young woman, her eyes wide and terrified.

“Please help!” She cried, gripping the sleeves of his leather jacket like it was a lifeline. She had an angry, scabbed rope mark on her neck and bruises the size of fingerprints around. “Somebody’s after me, he tried to strangle me!”

Well, that was a new one. Usually, there would be little punks making graffiti or trying to steal material from the structure, petty non-violent crimes like that, but he had never seen homicide, especially not since he started coming around. Nevertheless, he gently pushed the woman aside and pulled out his gun, ready to investigate.

“Stay close” He said, and she nodded vigorously. He carefully walked inside the room, analysing his surroundings for any thread or hostile individual. The floor creaked lightly under his boots, making the woman jump every other second. However, his search eventually came up empty, so he clicked the safety of his gun back on and slid it back in his thigh holster. He faced the girl and shrugged. “If there was anyone here, he’s long gone”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah” He replied. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m not sure” She flinched, still visibly. “To either questions, to be honest. All I remember was seeing this blurred figure grab my head and slam it on the floor, then his hands were around my neck… And I woke up, and there we are” 

“Do you have any idea who did this?”

“No really” She rubbed her temples. “I was grabbed on my way back from work and dragged in here. I know it was a man, but he was masked”

“Damn” He muttered, looking around. There wasn’t much left to do now, beside making sure that woman got home safely. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Do you have somewhere safe to go?” 

“Yeah, I have an apartment a few blocks away” She nodded timidly.

They climbed down the stairs, Jason following a pace behind her. She was recoiled on herself, her eyes darting from one place to another like she was expecting to be jumped at any time now. She was shivering from the harsh wind, clearly not dressed for one of Gotham’s cold September nights. He thought she was lucky to have fallen onto him and not someone with ill intentions. The people coming here usually left each other alone, but with the lady’s assailant on the loose, he wouldn’t be so trusting of everyone’s intentions around here. 

“Here, we’re almost out” He said as the front door came into view. She sighed in relief as she took the last step down and closed the distance with the door. She reached for the handle, pulled, but nothing moved. She then tried to push, but it didn’t move any more. 

“I-It’s like it’s locked” She stuttered in disbelief. 

“Let me try” Jason stepped forward, pushing and pulling the door like she did before. Strange, that door was never, ever locked. He then tried to pick it, even break it, to no avail. The door simply wouldn’t open. He huffed and took a step back, thinking. “Let’s try the backdoor”

The pair moved through the ground floor, passing in front of a few empty sleeping bags on the way. Jason went straight for the small door, only to be met with the same problem. 

“Alright, you wanna play this game?” He muttered harshly, pulling out his gun and aiming at the handle. He fired a shot, but the bullet bounced right back on his red helmet. “Son of a bitch!”

He muttered a few more curses before kicking the stubborn door in frustration, then turned to the woman. 

“Well, somebody doesn’t want us to leave '' He stated with bitter humour. “Maybe your wannabe killer is still around, after all”

“Oh god” She gasped, her chest suddenly heaving quickly. She was having a panic attack. “We’re trapped. We’re gonna die, aren’t we?”

“Hey, hey” He tried to reassure her, an uncertain hand on her shoulder. “I won’t let him get near you. He certainly didn’t plan on having me around, so he’ll stay away if he knows what’s good for him. We’ll find a way out”

She bent over, hands on her knees, and shut her eyes tight, focusing on her breathing until it somewhat calmed down. She then nodded slowly, standing straighter again. “O-okay”

“You sure?”

She took a deep breath and nodded again.

“Alright…” He drawled out, looking at her for a second more to be sure she was actually okay. “Let’s go around and see if there’s anyone in here tonight, and if they have seen anything”

“Are you sure it’s safe?” She eyed him with uncertainty. “...He could be out there”

“Then it’s his mistake” He shrugged. “Come on”

Like earlier, she followed closely behind him as he checked each floor in detail. He came across a few homeless people he had seen around before, none of which could ever commit murder, or attempt to for that matter. He saw it in their eyes, they were harmless. They had been on the second floor, the only one which seemed inhabited at all that night. The third floor came up empty as well, so Jason didn’t waste time there either. However, he was a little more careful on the fourth. It was where he had found the girl, so there was a slight chance the assaulter might still be hanging around there. He began with the first apartment on the left, then the one on the right he initially searched. He paid specific attention to any detail he might find; hair, cloth, blood splatter, anything. He was crouched over a suspicious stain when he heard it.

A deafening scream.

In less than a second, he was on his feet and through the threshold of an adjacent room, only to come face to face with a decaying corpse. The woman was staring with horror like she was in a trance, a hand covering her mouth to either hold back any more screams or her own vomit. Probably both, Jason thought. 

“That definitely complicates things now” He hummed. 

“How can you be so calm?” She was freaking out again. “There’s a body! A dead body!”

“Yeah, I know” He replied, unbothered, taking a step closer to observe. The nauseous smell of decomposition was starting to get through his helmet, and he genuinely wondered how she hadn’t barfed her guts up already. Her state of shock perhaps helped to keep her together, at least for now. “Looks like it’s a woman. Probably has been there for two weeks or--fuck this is nasty”

He backed up and gently pulled her out of the room, away from the corpse. She didn’t need to see anymore of it. 

“Well, there’s good news and bad news” He sighed. “Bad news is your guy and this poor woman’s killer are most likely the same person. Good news is that you, unlike her, escaped him”

“Oh god” She gagged, but dry heaved on air. “This can’t be happening”

“Okay, listen” He sighed, “I’m sure this is a lot for you, and you didn’t ask for any of this. But the killer is potentially here keeping us trapped, and I need you to hold it together a little bit longer until I figure this out, kay?”

She gave him a wild look like he was crazy. “How can you expect me to hold it together?”

“Is there anything you can focus on?” He tried, getting a bit impatient. Things weren’t adding up in his head and he needed to concentrate, but he couldn’t if his new unwilling investigation partner started freaking out every other minute. Then, he noticed her fingers fidgeting with a necklace around her neck, a small ring with a azur gem hanging from it. “What does that ring mean?”

She looked down at it, like she was surprised she had subconsciously showed it up. “Uh, it was my mother’s. Family heirloom, y’know. She gave it to me when I graduated college”

“It’s very pretty” He said. “Look at it and think about your mother, okay?”

She nodded, and he took a step away to pace around in peace. So there was a killer who managed to trap them into the building, or intended to trap only her, which was why he was hiding away now that Jason was here too. But then again, Marty on the second floor didn’t see or hear anything all night, and that guy had a sharper ear than a cat. Then came the question of why he didn’t see or smell the body on his first general scouting of the place. Surely, a decaying body would have ticked him off way sooner. Maybe the killer dragged the body from a higher floor? It would make no sense as to why he would have done that, but there was no other logical explanation. 

He went to rub the bridge of his nose, only to be met with his helmet. He let out another muffled curse and looked at the ceiling in exasperation. “This is the one time I could use one of my stupid brothers”

“Why?”

He let out a dry chuckle. “They’re idiots and annoying as fuck, but they’re better detectives than I could ever be. Solving this nonsense puzzle would be an easy game for them”

“Then what’s stopping you from calling them?”

Jason paused, staring at the woman for a moment. No, it wasn’t that simple. “Last time we spoke, I… We fought pretty bad. I don’t think they ever want to see me again”

“I’m sure--” 

“We’re on our own for this, trust me” He interrupted, his tone dry enough to make her recoil. He coughed and relaxed his tense posture, taking a deep breath. “I can solve this, I don’t need them. I’ll go check the body again, stay here”

“Wait!” She called before he could turn around. “What if he comes back?”

He blinked a few times, then began patting his side and pockets. He wouldn’t leave her a gun, or she’d hurt herself in the state she was in, or accidently shoot him for that matter. Nervous firing rarely even found their intended target anyway. A knife was also out of the question for the same reasons. Besides, she didn’t seem skilled enough to hold her own with a blade, and he had no idea what weapons the killer carried. The knife would basically be useless, if not more dangerous for her. He finally felt a small lump in his pant pocket, then fished for it. He pulled a small taser that definitely wasn’t his, remembering he had disarmed it from a goon earlier that night. He had no idea he had kept it, but it would do. 

“Here” He held it up to eye level, pressing the button. A blue-ish current was formed, crackling and fizzling. “You hold it out and press the side button to turn it on. Don’t point it at me or yourself. Got it?”

“Uh-- I guess--”

“Great” He pushed the device in her hand and turned on his heels without more ceremonies. 

He inhaled deeply and held his breath as he returned to the corpse, thinking about a thousand better ways he could have been spending his Friday night. He crouched next to it, grimacing at the decaying skin that made the victim’s identity barely recognizable. He noticed the dried out hair first, it was the same color as the poor girl on the other side of the wall. The exact same, he could have sworn. The killer must have a very specific m.o. he stuck to. There had been a couple of girls going missing in the last weeks, it must have been one of them. Nobody would think to check here, or rather nobody would bother. He turned his head to the side, coughing as he worked to catch his breath despite the putrid smell. He forced himself to return to his half assed detective work, scanning for any trace of struggle or aggression. The rope the killer used to choke her was still around her neck, but that was nothing Jason could work with as he already knew about the obvious neck fetish that was in play here. He poked the rotten skin with the end of his gun, pushing hair and clothes away to try and find something he could have missed with a first glance. No viable piece of information could be found in the teeth or under the nail since he was about two weeks too late, and he could not make the distinction between decomposition marks and actual contusion marks. Dammit. He had nothing.

He was about to give up when something shiny got his attention on the victim’s chest. There was a chain plunging into the neckline of her shirt, and with his gun he carefully pulled it up. He was certain his brain physically broke in two when he came face to face with a stained, yet recognizable ring with an azur stone. 

“What…” He trailed off softly. “... The Fuck”

Thinking about it, the victim’s clothes were awfully similar to what the lady on the other side was wearing, beside the obvious dirtiness difference. He looked over his shoulder, to where she was pacing nervously, then back to the corpse. Same hair, same clothes, same ring. Same approximate size, same bone structure, rope position coinciding with her strangling mark. Jason did not want to be thinking what he was thinking, because only crazy people were seeing ghosts. But was he totally sane? That was debatable. It would explain why they were locked in the building for no goddamn reason, or why Marty didn’t hear anything, or why he did not notice the corpse or the smell during his initial search, or why that lady did not stop once to rethink asking an armed stranger in a red mask for help, or why… 

Besides, ghosts would not even make the list of the weirdest things he’s seen. He himself came back from the dead, so the idea wasn’t actually that far fetched. But now, the question he faced was, how do you tell someone they’re dead, when they’re convinced they’re alive? Bruce’s training did not prepare him for that, and honestly neither did Ra’s. 

He slowly stood up, trying to scour his brain for a gentle way to break it to her. He couldn't just rip the bandaid off, that would be insensitive. And if she really did control who could get in and out of the building, would sending her into ghost shock--if that was even a thing--risk trapping him here forever as well? How does one even deal with a bloody ghost? Reluctantly, he returned to the other room, where the woman looked at him with hopeful eyes. Jason felt a pinch in his heart, knowing he would be the one to break the news to her.

“Anything?” She asked, her arms wrapping around herself. He gave a sad nod, and she sighed in relief. “Good, I just wanna go home”

“I…” He struggled to find the words. “What’s your name?”

“(Y/N)” She said, uncertain. 

Jason was glad his mask hid his expression. His eyes closed as his suspicions were officially confirmed; she had disappeared a little less than three weeks ago without a trace. She had been presumed dead by the GCPD, apparently rightfully so, he found out. 

“(Y/N), I have good news and bad news”

She kept staring at him to let him speak. She didn’t seem to grasp the undertone of his words, or how he somehow said it completely differently than the previous time. She really wasn’t aware of her situation. 

“Good news is that I found who the victim is” He began, his voice heavy. He wasn’t the type to just get emotional for strangers like this, but this one especially struck a chord in him. “Bad news is… You’re--you’re not going home, (Y/N)”

Her face fell. “W-What?”

“The… Body, on the other side” He half heartedly pointed behind him. “It’s you. You went missing three weeks ago, and you’re...”

“That’s crazy!” She shrieked. “That’s impossible! I’m here, I’m right here, I’m real…”

Her voice faltered at the end, like she was starting to doubt herself. Jason softly jerked his head to the other room, silently making his way back to the corpse with her carefully following behind. He stopped and crouched like he had done minutes ago, and in the same way, lifted the ring. Something clicked in her face, a newfound horror etching on her features. This time, it wasn’t because she found a corpse, but because she found out the corpse was hers. 

“No…” She stumbled back, and Jason hurried to steady her. He didn’t know if it was necessary, since she probably couldn’t even feel physical pain anymore, but it seemed like the right thing to do. He escorted her out of the room once again and waited beside her as her entire reality came crashing down. It felt surreal for him, he couldn’t even imagine what it was like for her. He let her slide down the wall and rest her head in her hands as she processed all of this.  “I can’t be… My family, they must be worried sick”

“I’m sorry, (Y/N)” He sighed, sliding down next to her.

“But I’m--” She tried to argue, then a tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m not ready to go”

He took off his mask for the first time, ruffling his hair in the process. The least he could do was to give her a human face as the last she would ever see. “Take all the time you need, I’ve got nowhere else to be”

She eyed him with confusion, at both the removal of his mask and his words. “Why?”

He smiled sadly at her. “I don’t think you should be alone right now. I’m Jason, nice to formally meet you”

“I don’t think it matters now” She mumbled, casting her glance downward. She handed him back the small taser, realizing she wouldn't need it anymore. “I’m dead. I don’t even know how I’m even still here, or where I’m even going. I don’t understand anything--”

“You don’t have to,” He interrupted softly. “It’s okay not to understand. And it’s okay to be afraid. But death is a part of life, and despite how scary it might be when it rings at your door, sometimes it’s better not to fight it”

“Easy to say for someone who is still alive” She said, making his lips subtly curl up. At least she was calming down now.

“I died years ago” He admitted, and her eyes widened comically. “No, I’m not a ghost if that’s what you’re wondering. I was resurrected through magic… But I know what it feels like”

“How did you die?” Her voice was barely a whisper. 

Jason hesitated. He wasn’t used to talking about this, but he figured he could at least vent to a ghost. It might even make her feel better about the circumstances of her death, he thought. “I died in an explosion” He finally revealed as he looked away. “I realized I was dead when the countdown reached two seconds and nobody came for me. Two seconds isn’t a long time to come to term with the end of your own existence, and everything that comes after”

“I suppose not” She sighed. “I guess I’m lucky I have time to figure it out. What’s it like, on the other side?”

“I honestly can’t really remember” He shook his head. “My memory from the moment I closed my eyes to when I reopened them is scrambled. And even if I did recall, it might be different from you”

“You think so?”

“I hope so”

He did not elaborate on that, and she did not ask. Jason wasn’t sure whether his visions of hell were from his time in the grave, or if the pit messed with his perspective, but he certainly hoped this girl wouldn’t have to go through something similar as well. They waited in silence for a moment as neither felt the need to speak up. He respected her need to have a moment to herself to absorb all this like he had wished he could have had. He had never felt as vulnerable as when he waited, helpless and unable to move, for the bomb to go off. He had been terrified, clinging to a last hope it was just a nightmare, or that help would have swept in at the last second like it always happened in the movies. He had been truly alone then. Perhaps it was why she had found him earlier, she felt his connection to death and his ability to relate. She seeked one last ray of warmth before disappearing, one last attempt not to be forgotten by reaching out to someone with the best chance to understand her. He doubted it was a coincidence he was the one she let help her.

“You didn’t have to stay with me…” She spoke up. It could have been ten minutes or more, Jason couldn’t tell. He had been in his head the whole time. “But you did, for what it’s worth. Thank you, Jason”

“You’re welcome, I guess” He half shrugged. “It’s… It’s just things I wish had been said to me in my last moments, comfort I wish had been brought to me when it was time to go. I’m glad it helped ease this transition for you”

She gave him a small smile and placed a hand on his shoulder. He could feel her unnatural cold radiating on him, see the bleakness of her skin and the absence or a steady rise and fall of her chest now that he was up close.

“Well, I’m glad you found me” She muttered, letting her hand fall back down to her side. “I… I think I’m ready to go. But before, could you do me a last favor?

“Sure” He nodded.

“Could you bring back my necklace to my mother?” She asked, staring straight into his eyes. And probably his soul, by the looks of it. “This case might never be solved, I don’t want it to be lost in an evidence bag”

He was initially surprised by the request, but it made sense. This would be the last thing her mother would have of her daughter, and it didn’t belong in a locker kept away forever. He nodded. “I can do that”

“Thank you” She gave him the first real smile he had seen on her face. Her eyes had lost the life in them, that was obvious, but there was this peacefulness that hadn’t been there before. Her resolve to accept her faith showed more and more in her expression, and it was steadily becoming clearer she did not belong to this plane of existence anymore. Two weeks trapped in between life and death without being heard or seen must have been so exhausting, and now she was ready to let go. “Just one more thing”

Jason furrowed his eyebrows at her sudden knowing expression. He could see it clearly despite her image slowly fading away. Was she even aware of it? He didn’t know, but it didn’t seem painful. He hoped it wasn’t, she deserved an undisturbed rest for what had been done to her in this life.

“A piece of unwanted advice from a dead girl?” Her tone was a bit playful. He let out a quiet chuckle, his shoulders barely raising. “Call your brothers”

She became serious, and so did he.

“The worst thing about this, is that I left this life without even being able to say proper goodbyes to my family” She explained. “I wish more than anything I could just see them one more time to tell them I love them, but I can’t. Don’t take for granted there will always be a later for it, because there might not be”

“I…” 

“Please, for me” She said, almost entirely faded now. “I hope I see you again one day, Jason. Thank you for everything”

And then she was gone. Jason stared at the empty space beside him, like there had never been anyone there. The cold spot was gone, and with it the last image of her smiling face. The smell of the corpse returned at full strength now that she wasn’t there to manipulate the surroundings, but he couldn’t be bothered by it as much as he was before. He found himself unable to tear his eyes away from where she had been seconds ago, struggling to tell whether or not it had actually happened. But it must have, the entire experience had felt way too real to be a product of his imagination, and the dead body served as a material proof his head didn’t conjure it all up. Slowly, he stood up and went back to the body for one last time. He’d have to place an anonymous call to the police to tip them to the body tomorrow, after giving a heads up to the squatters to steer clear of the building until the situation died down. He bent down and only took the necklace without disturbing anything else, slipping it in a pocket for safe keeping. He’d also have to find a way to give it back to her mother without making it seem like he had killed the girl…

With one last silent goodbye to a new found yet ephemeral friend, Jason made his way down to the first floor, his step a little slower and heavier than last time. The first light of the morning peeked shyly through the sky of Gotham as the clouds appeared clear up, like it was their way of reflecting the peaceful passing of a soul on the other side. He never believed in symbolism in nature, but this once, just this once, he could make an exception. He reached the bottom of the stairs and carefully made his way to the main doors, pausing in front of it. The birds in the walls didn’t seem to mind him as they sang the arrival of the morning, and he put back his mask to face the outside once again. He gripped the door handle, pushing even so slightly.

It opened with a groan.

Sighing, he stepped outside and fished for his phone in his back pocket. He went to his contacts, scrolling down until he found the name he was looking for. Reluctantly, he pressed it and came face to face with the taunting call icon. Surely he would still be awake, his patrol would have ended not too long ago. Or he’d be asleep, and then he’d disturb him. Hesitating, his thumb hovered above the lock screen button, then over the call one, then again, the lock screen. He let out a frustrated huff, looking at the sky. There might not be a later… Or perhaps there will. But was he ready to take that chance? He looked at his phone again, taking a deep breath and making his decision.

As the first sun ray reflected his helmet, he called Dick Grayson for the first time in years.

[dearest-alexander]

Hither and Thither- 365 DNI fanfic

Summary: She saved him, in so many ways a man could be saved. Massimo x Laura. 

Author’s Notes: I’ve uploaded this on AO3 & FF. I’m more active there, than here. Please check the sites for updates. 

Read it here:

Archive of our Own

Fanfiction

CHAPTER 1

The Don was talking about something.

The gentle, raspy voice was contrary to the cunning, dangerous man his father could be.

"Molto bene, molto bene, Mario." His father exclaimed in that giddy tone and slapped the man's shoulder, sitting in the front passenger seat. The man gave his father's hand a reassuring squeeze.

He couldn't help but wonder if his father's animateness was a good or bad thing. Being in the family business, the terms are sometimes... interchanged, by certain and normal people anyway.

"What would we do without him?" His father, the Don Torricelli, continued, looking at him for acknowledgment.

"A couple of fun things, for a start." He jested, earning a chuckle from his father and Mario.

Mario was his father's most loyal friend and confidant. He was there ever since he can remember. He was practically family, almost like a second father to him. But he was the strictest man he knew, even stricter than his father. Though, not more dangerous.

He gave a deep sigh and settled in his seat, switching his attention to the familiar scenery of Cefalú.

The familiar streets and alleys blurred as they passed. Locals and tourists alike flooded the white sandy beach. Their big umbrellas providing color to the already-rich scenery. Food carts swarmed the shore, providing refreshments in the scorching Italian summer heat. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the heat.

Everyone one except him.

It was the heat. If there was one thing he hated more than disloyalty and disobedience, it was the fucking heat. He almost didn't want to come today because of it.

But he had to.

"It's part of learning the trade." Mario reminded him this morning— just as he had done on more than one occasion.

Not that he wasn't interested in what his father does—which he was, a hundred percent. But there was this, sort of, defiance. Knowing that the choices he wanted to make have already been made for him, gives him a compelling urge to rebel. To break free and try his own luck in the business.

He wanted to step in, take over, show his father what he's capable of. Show him, without words, that his son was ready to take over. He wanted to see the notorious Victorio Torricelli actually grow old.

He wanted his father to finally surrender his gun in exchange for a quiet life. Because, he was aware that a lot of people in their way of life don't and won't have the same option.

But, like a young cub, he's shunted of his efforts.

"Learn how to walk first before you can run, figlio."

Despite his personal afflictions in anything that involved emotions, he loved his father. He revered him more than anyone else. His father might be the only thing in this world he truly cared about.

And money, of course.

The car stopped at their destination; a restaurant in the middle of a marketplace, right at the heart of the town. He exchanged a disapproving look with Mario through the rearview mirror. It was unusual for the Don to pick such a public venue for a meeting.

He was not hiding his objection and tried persuading his father to change location since the day he knew.

"Pa, it's too public. You can't be serious."

"Ah, figlio. Always worrying about me."

And why shouldn't he?

When your father's the most feared, most dangerous man in Europe, you learn to sleep with a gun in your hand.

As accustomed, they waited for a few minutes for their detail to secure and check the place. He usually assisted them, but under this weather?

No fucking way.

Mario and his father fell into a quick conversation about when they were teenagers. His dad had retold countless stories about his and Mario's prime. Just two privileged Italian legacies, against the world.

"You remember those girls at the beach?"

"Ey! Didn't you sleep with one of them?" his dad chirped.

"No, I didn't!"

"You did! You son of a bitch!"

"I slept with two!" Mario carolled, making him think of something gross.

They laughed, that good-natured laugh, he could aways expect from them.

He only half listened and continued to ogle at the mundane events happening before him.

The crowd was a river of people from all walks of life. A riot of colorful clothes under a huge tent of different loots and merchandise.

Everyone seemed to move from all different directions. The cacophony of blabber outside reverberated even on his tinted windows. Heat radiated their jolly faces. He could easily spot the tourists by their awful hats and big ass cameras hanging around their neck. And the locals, with their loud and rude gesticulation.

There was music coming from the makeshift stage on the beach. A few sunburnt, drunk, and barely clad guests were swaying to the bass. If everything went as planned today, they could stay the night here and he could slip to the rave.

His eyes fell on the bookstand a few feet west from where their car was. A couple of skateboard punks wheezed through the stand. One of them nudged the corner of the table and mountains of books toppled on the sandy pavement. He could hear the owner screaming at the kids, who didn't even turn back. His face was crimson with anger, a book threatening to fly from his hairy hand.

A petite woman with dark hair scrunched under a floppy hat, approached him. Her light skin was a fair contrast to the blue summer ensemble she's donning. She squatted down to help the poor man.

It startled him for a second.

Kindness has always been a mystery to him.

To him, kindness was the coercive reaction and result to fear.

Nothing in this world has been ever genuine—he realized that from a very young age.

Must be a foreigner. He thought. No local could be that generous.

He watched as the man, who appeared flushed all of a sudden, stood up, books recovered under his arms. The lady, who still had her back to the car, offered her gathered books back to the vendor. She must have said something because the man was nodding in a very vigorous manner. She then proceeded to slide her fingers on the display of books.

The merchant was still staring at her with a stupid smile on his wrinkled face. The woman picked up a book. She showed it to the man who nodded and grabbed a bag from under the table.

He observed, with an amused and curious expression as the people passing by the tent all did a double take at the woman. Some women narrowed their eyes, as if envious while all men have sheepish grins on their faces.

He sat straighter in his seat.

Turn around, baby girl.

The woman was and completely in her own element. He found himself transfixed by the way she's skimming her slender fingers on the book stacks

He caught himself and frowned.

What the fuck?

"Cosa pensi, Massimo?" His father asked.

He whipped his head back to his father, and tried to look anything but distracted.

A knock rapped Mario's window, saving him from his father's inquisitive brow. Outside, Domenico, his half-brother, gave them an assuring nod.

Mario got out first, before him and his father. Perspiration trickled down his neck in an instant. His hair clung in clusters on his nape.

He cursed.

He couldn't understand how anyone could enjoy themselves when the weather was dry and as hot as a desert. He could feel the gravel smoldering beneath his shoes. He might as well ask one of his guards to fry an egg on the sidewalk to prove the point to his father.

His father knew how much he hated the Italian summer heat.

"Whoa! Hot! Hot" His dad smirked at him, a teasing glint in his eyes. He was fanning his hands with an exaggerated flair before an umbrella came to his aid.

He groaned and rolled his eyes at his father. Taking pride in himself that he was the only person allowed to do so.

Six men from the entourage, stood beside them as they walked towards the restaurant.

Upon entry, they're welcomed by the loud blabbers and aroma of Mediterranean dishes.

"Buon pomeriggio."

A tall, lean, olive-skinned woman greeted them, her dark eyes lingering on him the most. He removed his sunglasses and tucked in on his dress shirt.

He heard the woman's breath hitched.

He couldn't help the smug smirk that formed on his lips.

Mario stepped in. And the woman bowed her head, as if finally recognizing the dangerous men before her. In an instant, she cast her eyes down and moved out of the way.

May be I'll have my fun with her later.

Domenico lead them to a wooden staircase and outside the balcony. A couple of diners were there, seated under their own umbrellas. Cocktails, appetizers on hand.

Great. More parching heat.

He walked to a secluded tent in the corner, away from the impertinent eyes and ears of civilians.

Two men were already sitting under the canopy, waiting, looking angst.

As they should be.

They're negotiators for a new venture his dad was looking into.

They lowered their eyes as they shook his father's hand. Their adoration was plain on their faces.

But were they real though?

He learned that love and fear, like good and bad, have interchangeable terms.

In this lifestyle, anyway.

Their men spread out and around the perimeter. Their authoritative presence was alarming some of the guests, who didn't hesitate to up and left.

His father and Mario sat down across the two men. While he maintained his distance.

This particular time, he wasn't allowed to join them. Considering what happened last week, he's banned from all negotiations until further notice.

He stood over the railings to past the time and asked for the binoculars from his guard. He occupied himself with the arid and suburban landscape of Cefalu. The heat was emanating from all surfaces and buildings. It's making him even more thirsty than he was

"Get me a bottle of beer. Ice cold. Have that beautiful lady receptionist bring it up to me."

Alek, his guard ever since he was sixteen, nodded and left.

He was looking out into the water when he heard the heightened pitch of his dad. He put the equipment away and observed.

From the pronounced scowl on his father's face, he could assume that it won't be getting any better. His future plans to sneak out later this evening was automatically canceled.

His father stood up and raised his hand in a dismissive wave.

That was the end of the discussion.

He looked pissed.

But as soon as the Don met his gaze, the old man smiled, the corner of his eyes shining with mischief.

"Fucking opportunists." His father cussed, clapping him on the back.

"You want me to talk to them?"

The Don shook his head and glanced back. "Mario's handling it." He gestured to the binoculars. "We don't want you threatening them away again, do we, son?"

He simpered, "But it's so much fun."

"Figlio, sometimes, you have to compromise. We have to make sure that we have certain people on our side exactly when we need them to be."

"I don't think you need anything or anyone else anymore."

His father laughed, removing the binocs from his face. "Have I thought you nothing?"

That's when he realized what how he must have sounded.

"Non accontentarti mai, anche se hai tutto, Massimo." His dad reiterated, forcing another smile from him. "Don't ever-"

"Don't ever settle. Even if you have everything." he repeated. "I know Pa, I know. My bad."

His father grabbed his shoulders so he was facing him. "And you do your best not to forget it."

He beamed down at him. "Sì."

His father cupped his face, like when he was a kid. The dark eyes, feared by many, gleamed with a raw and familiar with emotion.

And he knew why; he has his mother's eyes. His father often told him that he could still see her stubbornness alight in them every time they talk. He placed a hand on his father's forearm.

"You're-" He heard a sharp whoosh of wind and his father's sentence abruptly stopped. The paternal smile faded and a shocked expression replaced it.

His mind and body went numb.

Behind them, someone shouted. And chaos breaks.

He held his father. One hand on his shoulder, the other on the gushing wound staining his chest.

What's happening?

He was trying to keep them upright, but he felt weak, like someone's, something, was sucking the life out of him. His father slipped from his hands and dropped on his back.

His world went into a complete standstill.

A tight, burning pressure permeated from his torso and he fell down. Arms splayed out, the bright, yellow sun, blinding him.

The men were running, their guns poised in the air. The guests on the balcony scrambled down the staircase, screaming their heads off. He saw a flash of blue before he heard Mario shouted different orders to the men.

He closed his eyes and tasted the rust on his tongue. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound ever came. A pain shoot from his side, like a thousand hot electric needles pricking him. His muscles were tense. He was sweating, but at the same time felt like someone poured a bucket of ice cold water on him. He coughed and thick, warm liquid spurted out of his mouth.

No.

He became aware of his heartbeat slowing down, its weak thumps vibrating in his ears. The excruciating pain doubled, paralyzing him even more. His breathing became shallow, fast, gasps. He heard his name shouted over the dry wind.

Domenico.

Domenico crouched down and shook him. He slapped his face, his expression livid.

He and Domenico loved wrestling and kick-boxing, since they were kids. Being older and bigger than Nico, gave him a huge disadvantage; he always wins. Nico doesn't have a chance.

He almost wanted to taunt his brother and point out that this is the first time he couldn't get up to beat his ass.

"Wake up!" He grabbed the lapels of his shirt, pulling him up. "Don't you dare die on me!"

He winced, both from the pain, shaking his entire body and his little brother's trembling voice.

Idiot.

Leave me alone, Nico.

He never felt so exhausted.

Papa, Go to Papa.

He wanted to sleep.

Leave me be.

He just wanted to fucking sleep.

Domenico stopped shaking him. Somebody from behind grabbed his brother away. Domenico cried out, struggling to get back.

Get him out of here. Get both them out of here.

He closed his eyes and swallowed. He heard voices, so many voices. But they're muffled, like someone put cotton in his ears, drowning him out. He could feel each footfall vibrating on the ground. Somehow, he couldn't feel the heat he felt from it earlier.

He only felt the cold.

Good. I hate the fucking summer.

Everybody seemed to have abandoned him.

Finally.

He wanted to rest.

Time to rest.

But then, a shadow fell above his closed eyes, blocking out the blistering sun. A warm, soft hand touched his, raised it and pressed it on his chest. He felt it ran over his face, leaving tingling, warm impression.

It surprised him.

Without warning whatsoever, the warm, comforting sensation pulled him back. Away from the cold, drab void sucking him.

Then, the warmth left him, as swiftly as it came.

No.

Come back.

It was a struggle to open his eyes. But he did.

He blinked and sees someone, a woman, hovering over him.

Why does she look so familiar?

Then it hit him.

The woman in the bookshop.

The moment his eyes focused on her, she seemed relieved.

He felt it resonate through him.

Somehow, she appeared brighter, more unbearable to look at than the fucking sun above them.

She removed her floppy hat, placed it behind his head and used it as a cushion. She smiled down at him. Her mouth was moving, but he couldn't hear what she was saying.

He concentrated on her dark eyes, and even darker, almost, raven hair, flowing freely over the wind. Her lips were pink and soft as a carnation in full bloom. Her nose, tall and prominent. Her jaws, chiseled to look at but felt so delicate to touch.

He felt the remaining air knocked out of him.

He wanted to reach up and caress her beautiful face, but his body wasn't cooperating with him at the moment. Because everything hurts.

Everything fucking hurts.

The woman worked above him. He couldn't tell what she was doing. But his eyes bulged out of its sockets when he felt her, pressing her hand, hard, on his side.

He looked down and saw her holding a blood-soaked napkin on his torso. A sharp pain lanced through him, making him bite on his tongue. He closed his fist around hers.

Please, stop.

The woman cradled his head, soothing him. Her sweet, but firm voice, muffled by the pain. "We have to keep applying pressure. You're alright. You're okay."

The discomfort from his side was making it harder to think. He saw colorful spots flashed before his eyes, merging and splitting into thousand circular patterns. He let out a strangled scream and held the woman's wrist.

Make it stop.

"I'm sorry, I know it hurts. But I have to, okay?"

Her face swam back into focus again, clearer than everything and everyone else.

Her hair was falling around her face. He wondered what her hair would feel like wrapped around his finger. He wanted to tuck it behind her ear and see her blush.

He wanted to see it more than anything else.

"It's okay, you're gonna be okay." He heard her cooed through the haze before then she roared, "You work for him?!" Her voice as sharp as her face.

"Ye-yes." He recognized Alek's voice, the only one in his men who can speak English.

"Okay!... Bring me a flat surface... No… I don't care! Break the table, if you have to! He needs to be lying down!"

He never heard someone yelled at his men like that, not even his father, not even him. This tiny woman was barking orders to his people like she fucking owns them.

Atta, girl.

He felt his body spasm out of control; he was trembling again. This time, it's more unnerving than the last. The consciousness, he was trying his best to hold on to was slipping.

He was falling through the empty, dark space again; the space he knew was reserved for people like him.

"Hey! Hey! I'm here! I'm here!" she shouted at him, raking her fingers through his hair.

That felt good.

"Look at me."

And he did.

Her eyes were enthralling, it felt like they were the only thing keeping him here. It felt like it would hurt more to look away.

What color are they? He mused.

A flashback appeared before his eyes- a forgotten memory. He's eight again. He's baking. His mom was laughing beside him. He missed her laugh. She was letting him whisk the melted dark chocolate for the cake. She dipped her fingers in the bowl and bopped him on the nose.

Mamma.

"No, no no." he heard the raven-haired woman again. Her voice, disembodied like she's talking from behind a veil.

The wonderful slender fingers stroke his jaw again, like she did those books. "Stay with me." she said. Her tone was the borderline between a plead and a direct order.

He wanted to laugh. Nobody orders him around. But he did as he's told.

"That's it. Eyes on me." She uttered with her big, penetrating eyes.

Gray. Her eyes were gray, like the color of a giant sea storm.

"Where's that table?!" she howled again.

He kept his gaze on her, trying to name and decipher all the grays in her eyes.

If his life wasn't ebbing away, he would've found the situation ludicrous. The great Massimo Torricelli was finally taking his time gazing at someone else's eyes for the very first time.

And the last time.

How fucking twisted is that?

"Stay with me. Stay with me. They're coming." She whispered. One hand was holding his head up, the other was still in the gnashing bullet wound, applying pressure. The blood spilling from him was staining the blue romper she's wearing. He felt sorry. Why does he always have to destroy beautiful things?

I'm sorry. He almost wanted to say.

Dying really does bring the firsts out of people.

"Hurry up!"

He stared at her beautiful, angelic face, committing everything in his memory.

"Stay with me." she murmured again, flicking her eyes to his face and wound every now and then.

His dry lips cracked into an agonized smile. He wanted to comfort her, tell her it's alright.

But he knew.

He'd always known.

From the very first time he pulled the trigger.

Nobody's coming to save the devil.

He stopped believing in God decades ago. But in these few moments of limbo, he realized that this- seeing her for the first and last time- was the cruelest punishment he could ever have.

He clutched her hand with his shaky ones, rallied the remaining power in his body and choked, "Mio Angelo."

And the darkness welcomed him, like the prodigal son that he was.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

5 years later.

Warsaw, Poland

-I'm so sorry. I'll come over tomorrow. I promise, B.

She received the reply a few seconds later:

-Girl, it's okay. I have my wine and a half naked Paul Wesley on tv. It's fine, I'm not thinking about whatishface.

She texted back, guilt shrouding her:

-Are you sure it's okay?

Again, she didn't wait a second for her response.

-I am! Go and kick their ass, Laura. x

The text elicited a smile from her. She shoved her phone in her bag and storms the elevator.

Furious was an understatement.

She's supposed to have dinner with one of her best friends tonight. But because David Sawicki can't do his job properly, she's stuck here for the next hour. She heard the echoes of her most prized heels on the floor tile. Her fists clenched beside her, her lips pursed in a straight line. She felt the anger emitting like, from her skin.

The employees on either side of her parted and flattened themselves on the walls. She made her way to the board room, avoiding anyone's judgmental gaze.

They don't know what happened. Let them look.

She reached the heavy wooden door of the conference room and pushed. There were only four people in the room.

"Good evening, Miss Biel." Oskar, the PR manager greeted. She returned his warm smile and sat on the empty swivel chair next to him.

James, the head of their security sat in the nearest chair by the door. Marissa, the senior head's secretary was eyeing up the bastard sitting across her. But Sawicki was ignoring her. He was ignoring everyone in the room, except her.

She met his belittling gaze.

"Have you packed your shit already, Miss Biel?"

She sneered back at him. "Shouldn't you be asking yourself that question?"

Before he could make a comeback, the doors opened and the senior head entered.

"Good evening." Hayden Marek addressed the room, his eyes glued on the stack of folder he's holding.

Without further ado, he took his seat at the center of the table. "Now, can anyone please explain to me what the hell happened yesterday-"

The room was quiet. Her eyes remained on Sawicki, challenging and unfaltering.

Marek raised his voice. "-And how the fuck did it happen?!"

Sawicki was quick to point fingers—as the child that he always has been. "Why should we ask Miss Biel? Excuse my language, but one needs to have balls to have this job."

The room turned to her.

"Miss Biel?"

"First of all, it's not my fault." She started, cool, calm, and collected.

"Listen, Ma'am-" Sawicki butted in.

"I haven't finished yet." She hissed at Sawicki. "As I was saying Mr. Marek, it's not my fault. I'm in charge of bookings and reservations. It has never been my job to temper rowdy customers."

She narrowed her eyes at Sawecki. "And I think you should explain to us, why in the entire building there are only two security guards in the building? I remember explicitly suggesting that we need more. Since the band is Beatles level famous. I remember telling you that at our briefing, Mr. Sawecki."

Beside her, she could feel her friend trying to hide his smile.

"I booked the band at our hotel on purpose. They're at the top of their game and we need the publicity. We gave them and their team the best rooms. We even closed down the bar and buffet room to give them their privacy. Me and my team went to them ourselves and asked for anything they might need. Even if it's not part of our job."

She continued, holding everyone's attention. "Everything was going smoothly, until a roadie got past security and caused a scene. One of the members got mad because we promised them privacy."

Sawicki was speechless. He knew the story himself, having happened before his eyes.

"The roadie sent messages, bragging how she got in. And before we knew it, a legion of slutty teenagers bombarded the lobby. The band barely got out. If it weren't for the efforts of my team. I dealt with the press and strategized a new approach so we wouldn't lose our loyal customers and patrons. I'm proud to say that we are now booked for the next four weekends." She slid the reports to Marek, whose eyes widened at the numbers at the bottom part of the paper.

Yes, keep the ugly, greedy man fat with money.

Marek averted his annoyance to Sawecki. "You, in my office. Right away." And he stood to leave, James and Marissa followed him.

She leaned forward, elbows flat on the table. "This is exactly you need balls for."

Sawecki glowered at her before turning his leave.

Oskar clapped a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Good job, girl." And he too left, leaving her alone in the big, cold conference room.

She gave him another amiable smile, hoping it'll ease the tension in her chest.

Unlike many, Oskar is different. She felt at ease with the old man. Oskar was probably her only friend in this building. Most of them either feared her or wished her out.

They were unsuccessful with that last part.

But she has to admit, she's tired of this. Men constantly disparaging her and her achievements.

Because of what? Her gender?

Unlike those dumbasses she met in med school, she presumed that men in the hospitality sector would be more... non-discriminatory. But no. All men appear to be the same sensitive, egotistical and easily threatened rats she experienced them to be.

Yes. Even her boyfriend fit the bill, sometimes.

Men always tell society that they need strong, intelligent, independent women. But what they really want were cheerleaders. Someone to boost and feed their ego.

She exhaled the deep breath she was holding.

Calm down, Laura.

To distract herself, she checked her phone for the very first time since lunch.

Still no messages from Martin.

"How surprising." she scoffed.

She has never been the clingy type, but a simple short text after a long day at work would ease her stress.

She and Martin had been dating for four years already.

He came up to her at a hotel event and made an actual fool of himself to get her attention. She thought it was cute. Two years into the relationship, she sold her apartment and moved in with him. One year of living together, he proposed. And to this day, she didn't know what came over her to say yes.

For the past few months, they've been having more arguments. His reason? She's spending way too much hours with her work and no time for him at all. And she felt guilty, because it's true.

Thus, she's been trying to redeem herself. She tried to come home early, prepare his food and do other stereotypical duties of a good fiancé. But still felt... insufficient. Like something was missing.

Olga was having none of it. She hated the man. Unlike Bianka, she has never warmed up to Martin, even after all theses years. "You fool, don't settle for that lazy, bald freak. You're not his maid. Let him wash his own smelly gartered underwear." and she added, for good measure,

"Passion is essential to every relationship, as important as love."

Olga was always the voice of reason- whenever she wanted to be,

But she loves Martin.

She felt passionate about him.

She loves him.

Right?

If that wasn't love, why did she buy their tickets to Sicily for her birthday weekend? Why did she booked those romantic getaways? Martin was pretty excited about it.

That's love.

"I love him." she convinced herself. "You love Martin, Laura. Stop overthinking it."

The door creaked open again and the maintenance guy went in, pushing his mop cart. The man stopped and apologized.

"Przepraszam, Miss Laura. I thought it's empty."

"No, no. It's fine. I was just leaving" She smiled and gather her things. "Have a good night."

"You too, miss."

The floor was now empty, except for the cleaners who waved in her direction. She waved back, sincere and friendly.

As she was about to press the elevator button, when Oskar called her from the doorway of his office.

"Laura?"

She turned. "Mmm?"

"Marek told me that he wants to meet with you tomorrow. His office at 4."

"What?" She couldn't help but the thrill in ringing in her voice. But she toned it down. "Why?"

Her friend jiggled his eyebrows at her. "I don't know. Marek called me to say that Sawecki no longer works here. The General Manager position is open."

Laura squealed and hugged the man. She has not been working her ass off for four years to settle for the beta position. She knew she deserved so much more than what they're already giving her.

"Thank you, thank you!"

"Hey, all you sweetheart." Oskar kissed both her cheeks. "As an early gift, I have my driver take you home."

"What, no-"

"No buts. Besides, I have a date. A very hot date."

"Oh! Where'd you meet him?" She teased.

"Now you know that I don't kiss and tell, Laura sweetie."

"Kinky! I love it."

"Now get your ass out of here, Conrad is already in the lobby."

"Thank you so much." She enveloped him another tight hug before hurrying down the elevator.

Her mind was still reeling from, the possibilities of her promotion. She went over her mental list of the changes she could make to the management. This was probably the best birthday present she's ever had in years.

As he promised, Oskar's driver was waiting for her. Conrad has always been shy around her. He was standing by the passenger door and opened it as she approached.

"Dziękuję Ci." She smiled.

The man turned pink and nodded.

She didn't need to tell him the directions since Oskar has offered to take her home countless of times. Most of those times were, when Martin forgets to pick her up.

It wasn't a long ride, only a good thirty minutes—including the traffic. She could take the cab, if they weren't too damn expensive this time of year. If the bus fumes wouldn't kill her, she would literally take the bus every single day.

She was in her third year of MED school when her grandmother fell ill and died. Due to debt and budget constrictions, she's forced to quit the one thing she cared about the most.

She loved medicine, she loved studying it. The lengthy explanations, crucial step by step procedures, the jargons appealed to her.

With the death of her grandmama and her quitting medicine, she had a relapse and fell into a mild depression.

That's when her body developed it.

She was out with Olga that day she first fainted. She thought it was only panic attacks but it became more frequent. She consulted her doctor and found out she has Supraventricular Tachycardia. In simpler terms, she has a heart palpitations. That meant that her heart was beating more than it normally should. Her condition causes her to, sometimes, pass out and hyperventilate. This prevented her from engaging in strenuous exercises, smoking, stressful situations and caffeine.

She hated it. Everyone who knew has treated her like she's something fragile, like, she'll break at the tiniest push. It was disconcerting. So, she decided to keep it a secret, that even her parents didn't know.

She had no plans to tell Martin because it might affect their relationship—which it did. He accidentally found out a few months after they moved in together.

She couldn't tell anyone at work, except of course, the HR manager. She couldn't let assholes like David Sawicki get the slightest indication that there's a chink within her armor.

The only persons who do know were her college best friends, Bianka and Olga, and her doctor.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Martin.

Finally.

Hey honey, I'm coming late from work. Don't wait up for me.

Wanting to prove to herself that what she felt for him was still valid, Laura smiled deviously. She glanced in the rear view mirror to make sure Conrad wasn't looking where wasn't supposed to.

She unbuttoned her blouse, down to the last three buttons. She recorded a video and captioned it with:

Aww. But they miss you.

When he didn't reply in the first three minutes, she sent him another. She hiked her skirt to her upper thighs, widened her thighs and snapped a picture.

I miss you.

She was feeling hot that she slid her fingers on her inner thighs. She kept her moans to herself.

She waited for his reply, but it didn't come. Not even when she reached their apartment.

The frustration was twisting her abdomen, evil and needy. Martin's coming off late ever since... she couldn't remember.

A few weeks ago, he's required to put extra hours for the insurance firm he's working for. It was a slap to her face; she's finally having a taste of her own medicine. But she didn't pressure him on it. Nor complain to him about it. She loved a hard-working man. Besides, that way, he could finally get off her back for doing the same.

But as a consequence, she's left… dry and unsatisfied. With only her toys and fingers for company.

She sighed and threw her bag on the hook, and shook her hair out of her bun.

She took a quick look around.

At least, he left the apartment clean before he left this morning.

Martin was the messiest person she knew. Seriously, how hard is it to throw your wet towel in the dryer? Or put the scissors back where he got it from?

The knot in her abdomen tightened and she bit her lip. She went to check on her phone.

Still nothing from Martin.

She called him, but it went straight to voicemail.

"Oh, fuck it."

She poured herself a glass of wine before going to their bedroom. Even though she's alone in the apartment, she closed the door as a form of habit.

Martin doesn't like it when she pleasured herself.

She pulled out her special drawer and grabbed the black toy hidden among her sweat pants. The sight of it alone made her insides clenched in excitement. She took s huge gulp of wine and began to undress herself.

Her fingers traced her curves, slowly. The pads of her thumbs brushed over her nipples. She let out the loud moan she's been holding in the car before she switched the vibrator on.

The buzzing filled her ears, making the fire in her belly burn even more. She grazed it over her bra. Her nipples erected in their lacey confine. She removesd the clasp of her bra, to her own slow pace, and shimmied out her drenched undies. She lay on the bed.

There were certain advantages of studying medicine. Aside from treating other people part, this was one of them.

Shew was gasping now. Her hand was rolling the toy over the sensitive spot. Just the right amount of roughness, if not, more. Something Martin could never do, no matter how many times she told him how.

Her moans rocked their stilled apartment. She arched her back as she pumped against her own palm, using her legs and feet to meet her strokes.

She bit the back of her hand as she felt the white heat dripping from her. Her back landed back on the mattress and she waited for her heart to slow down.

But she knew she could take more.

God.

She could take so much more.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[leechonspeeddial]

Midnight Shift: Party On Chuck E. Cheese   

word count: 1,757 Read on ao3

The sunset gave the – for lack of a better word – restaurant an ethereal glow. The sticky layer that covered the tables shimmered and the soda puddles on the tiles reflected the pissiest of yellows as the sun rays hit at the perfect angle. The quiet hum of the appliances and the sizzling of hot oil complimented the soft rock that played from the ancient speakers.

This was as peaceful a moment could get here.

I took out my iPhone and ignored the combined 37 messages from Bedward – it was worth noting, only two of them were from my mother. Instead, I took a picture of one of the puddles for my Insta-story and then scrolled through my contacts; there was a birthday boy that needed to accept my face time request. I waited patiently as the phone rang.

In the meanwhile, I dipped two of my French toast sticks into the sweet golden syrup and shoved them in my mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, I watched as Gay Kevin swept the floor and Straight Kevin wiped down the counters. Jeremiah had been gone all week; a friend of his had roped him into offering ice fishing lessons across town.

“Hey, Nessie,” the warmth in his voice made me smile, as did the tiny messy braids in his long dark hair.

“Happy birthday, Jake!” His eyes twinkled when he mirrored my smile. He looked older, which I knew logically was a thing that happened – people grew older as time passed, duh. I knew that, but I rarely knew anyone long enough to see any meaningful results from aging.

“Here I thought you had forgotten. Nice hair by the way – distressingly orange,” I scoffed but he had a point. It was excessively orange, almost violently so. When Alice saw it on me for the first time, she told me she wished she were physically capable of crying.

“Nah, I’m too pretty to forget anything. I was on my shift and couldn’t call earlier”

“Shift? Wait a second, is that…Burger King?” There was more than a hint of incredulousness in his tone.

“Yup. Dropped out and got a job here” he laughed so hard that both Kevins stopped their cleaning and stared at me. I waved them off. Straight Kevin went back to work, but I could tell Gay Kevin was trying to eavesdrop.

“You’re kidding. This is a prank”

“Nope. Dead serious,” I smirked and ate more of my French toast sticks.

“There is no way Edward ‘chronic boundary stomper’ Cullen would let that happen”

“Hey, Kevin?” When both responded, I amended, “Assistant Manager Kevin”

He approached my table and tried to appear aloof, but I could tell he was invested. Despite how hard he tried to project a strictly professional persona; the man was a still a journalism major living in a town with a population of about three thousand. He was starved for anything that could be interpreted as remotely interesting – nearly had an aneurism when he found out he missed the incest baby scandal.

“Could you confirm that I work at this Burger King?” Jake looked amused and I assumed he waited to see how this would play out.

“If by work you mean eat a ridiculous amount of our inventory and consistently insult our few customers, then yes. You work here,” it was blatantly obvious how much he wanted to figure out the story.

“And I’ll be glad to return to my duties once my break is done in 15 minutes”

“Ten, but nice try”

We waited in silence until Gay Kevin took the hint and walked away from my table. He was still within hearing range, which he knew that I knew, but it was the thought that counted. Living with mind reader – and owning a smartphone – meant acknowledging there was no such thing as privacy, simply the illusion of it.

“I can’t say I fully believe this,” I simply shrugged. “But the mental images of how your parasitic relatives are dealing with this, makes me not care about silly things like the truth”

I grimaced. The damn family meeting that was called because of this had been a fucking nightmare. There had been so much yelling, and I had to promise Alice I would let her throw a shitty ‘Congrats on the new job’ party in order to get her on my side. In the end, Esme was the deciding vote, and I was sure she voted in my favour only because she wanted to feed my new coworkers.

“Enough about the leeches. How are you?” I used my French toast to gesture vaguely at the braids “Is sweet Sarah around?”

“Just put her down for a nap, she was getting cranky,” I pouted. Not only was Sarah the cutest kid ever, she also said the most insane things – once she talked to me for over 45 minutes about how you shouldn’t feed rocks dry grass because it makes the moon princess very mad, and that’s bad because then the moon princess has to bury you in sugar dirt.

I still didn’t know if I should be worried about the sugar dirt.

“Tell her aunt Nessie says hi,” he rolled his eyes.

An idea suddenly hit me.

“Hey! Let me give you a tour of the place. You’ll love it,” Gay Kevin snorted a bit too loudly for someone pretending not to listen.

“You sure?” I nodded eagerly and shoved the remaining toast into my mouth, drinking up the syrup to wash it down. Definitely ignored the looks of disgust being thrown my way.

“Ok, so this is where our customers, if we had any, would sit. And that table over there –” I pointed to the table near the heater “– is where Jeremiah sets up camp. He’s not here today though,” I hoped he was ok, it had been a cold week for humans.  

Jake listened as I showed him all over the establishment, making sure not to miss the weirdest and grossest parts.

“Ok, but why do the stalls have no doors?” it was a common question.

“We were tired of teenagers hooking up in there –”

“In there!?!” I shrugged. While gross, it was far from the grossest or most unhygienic thing that happened in there. I could still remember how shell-shocked Straight Kevin looked while he recounted the tale of the Red Tuesday.

“So, we decided to take them down for a bit”

“How haven’t you gotten shut down”

“I’m pretty sure there is this whole conspiracy going on with health inspectors and the franchise owner”

Almost as if on cue, a giant fucking rat sped past me and into the kitchen.

“Holy F –” Straight Kevin’s screech cut me off, and the sounds of things being thrown could be heard.

“Jake, you just missed like the biggest rat I’ve ever seen”

“Seriously, how are you not shut down”

“Let me see if we can catch it. God, I wish I could livestream it right now”

The kitchen was a mess, Straight Kevin was scrambling on top of the counters and Gay Kevin was waving the broom in the general direction of the rat. I made sure to point my phone in a way so that Jake could see the chaos.

“Don’t just stand there!” Gay Kevin yelled, his voice a few octaves higher than usual.

“I’m still on a break though,” Gay Kevin spluttered while Straight Kevin threw whatever was available to him at the rat – in this case, it was napkins.

“Ugh fine, I’ll help with the little rat” I groaned and propped up my phone on the deep fryer ledge. No way I was going to deprive Jake of this.

I tried looking for something to catch the rat with and then spotted our big carry out bags, they looked like they could fit the fat rodent. I went to reach for one, but ended up knocking down a big tower of cups. Straight Kevin and I had made it while waiting for customers to arrive for the non-existent rush hour.

“Dude! That’s not a normal rat. It’s frigging huge,” Straight Kevin squeaked and continued his assault, now having moved on to cups.

“Calm down Kevin, stop wasting our resources!”

One Kevin glared a the other, and soon the Kevins got into an argument about what was the appropriate response for dealing with a rat of this size. I ignored them and grabbed a patty and threw it into a carry out bag, I approached the rat’s hiding place and presented my offering. I knelt down to wait and I could see its beady little eyes staring back at me.

“I don’t want to interrupt, but I think there is another rat by the back door”

All three of us Burger King employees turned to look at Jake. He tried to point to where he meant, and all three of us looked back.

Indeed, almost as if it knew we were watching, the rat stopped mid-step and stared back.

“Fuck! Me!” Gay Kevin moaned. As assistant manager, this was definitely a him problem. His outburst seemed to snap the rat out of its trance, and it scurried somewhere deeper into the kitchen.

“I want to go home!” Straight Kevin cried; he was not having a very punk rock time right now.

I looked back at phone!Jake and he looked deeply concerned.

Me? Well, I sort of wanted to take a picture of the rat and send it to the Cullen group chat. I could tell them I was bringing home a snack.

“Nessie, Watch out!” Jake’s voice made me aware of my surroundings again. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a blur and quickly snapped my head to the side. It was yet another rat – one that was jumping directly at my face. My eyes widened and I swatted at the rodent…maybe a little too hard because it went flying across the kitchen. It hit the fryer ledge with a crack and I gasped.

Thankfully, the rodent didn’t fall into the hot oil, though I don’t think it survived the trip. Un-thankfully, my phone did fall into the hot oil and I was certain it didn’t survive the swim.

Fucking Fuck. Now, I wasn’t having a good time.

And this is how None of Your Fucking Business Kevin found us; A 22-year-old crying on a counter and praying, an assistant manager desperately flipping through the phone book trying to find an exterminator, and a high school drop out fishing a phone from an industrial fryer.

[rosesmith18]

(PnF) Headcanon #11 Thomarie Nitpicks #2 Pt.1 Clothing

This is sort of a sister post to post #6 & #7, it mentions characters from post #6, and is connected to my current series of post about the problems I have with the MnT(Marie and Thomas) Universe. I want to make it clear that I like these characters...to an extent, but to another extent I don't. I want the best for them as they were a big part of my childhood, and so in this post I want to make some tweaks to their clothing and personalities, as I find them currently sporadic and dated.

*Disclaimer: The MnT Universe is centered around (OC)Maria Flynn & (OC)Thomas Fletcher. Marie belongs to angelus19 & sam-ely-ember deviantart. Thomas Belongs to Melty64.

Maria's Child Clothing: Okay, so a lot of people have made the claim that Maria's design is generic which I will not deny. It's a blatant ripe off of her mothers clothes with a change of color palette, and while I enjoy the idea of Phineas designing her clothes to be that way, it's a waste of potential(as are most things I will mention in this post). Maria canonically adores France, and in my headcanon was born there, so I think some Parisian style could be added to this design. I'd draw instead of writing about this, but I have no artistic talent. For starters, based on my research(as I myself am not French)puffed sleeves are a common occurrence in French clothing culture, so giving Marie puffed sleeves in place of her mothers regular ones would be nice. Instead of basic shoes, ankle boots are also a common item in French clothing followed by white and/or black tights. Now, ironically enough the style of belt Isabella has on her clothes is similar to a French Skinny belt called a Maison Boinet, so just change it from being one color to a light brown with a metal clip, and it can stay-as can the main outfit. Lastly, to quote https://leoncechenal.com/french-girl-style-guide/ 'And I think the ultimate goal of all French girls is to find their own style (what they like and what they don’t) and to stick to it.', so in summary this doesn't need to look perfect or fancy it just needs to look natural.

Maria's Teen Clothing: Okay, this one is even worse in my opinion, but the whole one color thing is killing me! So, for this I did a COMPLETE recall and came up with this; A purple beret, orange bow wrapped around her neck mimicking a Parisian scarf, dressed in an orange & purple horizontal striped sweater dress that hangs off her shoulders, and a pair of black single buckle ballet flats. She would have a gold chain-link belt to replace her Maison Boinet one, a cameo necklace of the Virgin Mary, and a gold choker with small bells. Based on my research actual Beret's aren't that common in French culture anymore, though ironically striped shirts and dresses are, but Marie's is canonically the one her mother wore in the episode 'Summer Belongs to You' and familial connection is super important to Maria-so I decided to keep it. I kept her Garcia-Shapiro bow as I am appalled they tried to get rid of Isabella's in AYA(Act your Age)! Vivian clearly still has her from when she was young, and I believe every Garcia-Shapiro who wants one should keep them to some extent throughout their life! Off shoulder tops and dresses are pretty common in France as are sweaters, so I gave Maria an off shoulder sweater dress. And, ballet flats are some of the most common footwear for woman in  France, they have many styles like the single buckle that don't actually look like ballet flats we American's would usually associate with ballet. The jewelry wore by French woman is wore all the time, and is rarely below the quality of 10-carrot gold. Layering necklaces of different sizes such as a cameo necklaces and a choker is normal, and chain-link belts are considered appropriate for any and every outfit. Chokers are a bit longer than some might expect them to be, and I went with a cameo necklace of the Virgin Mary as I headcanon Maria to be a serious Jew. Lastly, make-up in the French world is some of the most neutral in color and shade, so I gave Maria a soft pink lip and nose bridge blush at best.

Thomas' Child Clothing: I heavily dislike Thomas' child design. It lacks any personality in my opinion when compared to Ferbs or Vanessa's. I appreciate that it isn't a ripe off like Marie's, but that doesn't make it good or interesting. Also, this ties into my biggest problem with Thomas, but he's too...boyish. There is nothing wrong with having a practically boyish character, but that kind of personality and style is better used on a character intended to be boyish, and not characters who happen to be boys. I mean Thomas is the son of one of the most headcanon'd nonbinary characters in the whole show, and one of the most headcanon'd bisexual's in the whole show. This is why I mentioned these characters being a bit dated. They definitely came out before LGBTQ+ representation became popular in the fandom-at least compared to the extent of today. So, for Thomas I want to propose a few heavy changes to his child design, starting with...SKIRTS. I petition Thomas to have an either black & white(or purple and green), plaid skirt that reaches his knees. This style of skirt is popular in both British and German(Drusselstein) clothing culture, and is something his family would so support! I mean the potential Thomas has for normalizing clothing as gender neutral is being completely wasted! A white polo shirt inspired by his fathers and his original design underneath. A tweed blazer-of the same color scheme-which is considered always in style in Britain, and the Haferlschuh which are the most popular type of shoe found in Germany-and suit any outfit. Add some tracht socks in white and you have the perfect style!

Thomas' Teen Clothing: This design wasn't horrible, I actually quite like the overall vibe it was going for, but it's not specific enough. I don't find this design to be more than a vibe; It doesn't go deeper than that when it could. So, I summarized it into this; Ripped up, leather pants, sleeveless, white turtleneck, high-heeled, black boots, and to top it all off a trench coat and leather satchel. Considering Thomas is the lead singer and bass guitarist for a classic/heavy rock band I think some ripped leather pants with a bell bottom are perfect. I kept the sleeveless, white classic turtleneck that came from his original design as I do think it's appropriate. I also wanted to pay homage to his mothers almost iconic heels by giving Thomas a similar pair himself; A pair of black, over the knee boots, with a stiletto heel. The trench coat MADE his original design, and the traditional leather satchel is a perfect accent to it, both are British classics in the world of fashion.

Thomas' Rock Outfit: I'm added a subsection for Thomas' clothes as we NEED to talk about his band outfit. I want to say this first, I don't like the original name for the band. Clair is a generic name that doesn't sound too rock-ish in my opinion. It's supposed to represent Maria as it is a French girls name, but it's too simple for someone like Thomas. So, I changed it to Église des Gémeaux which represents Maria in more ways. The name literally translate to Church of Gemini from French to English. It represents Maria's French heritage, her connection to her Jewish Religious roots, and contains a reference to her birth month of June-her birth sign Gemini. The band in itself is canonically represented by The Spill Canvas which is an American Alternative rock band which I also changed. I gave the band a more Eisbrecher/Queen style as Thomas is German(Drusselstein)/British. Eisbrecher is a German Neue Deutsche Härte rock band(translating to New German Hardness aka Industrial Rock), and most of us know Queen the British rock band known for helping to start the rock genre making them a Classic rock band. Major headcanon to this band I want to add, Thomas primarily sings in German(Drusselstein) as he himself has a heavy German(Drusselstein)/British accent. His canonical outfit is a leather top similar to his mothers teenage attire, some basic jeans, and some black boots. I have rewritten this design as such; Ripped up, bell bottom, leather pants, long-sleeve, purple, deep V-neck top, covered by a studded, leather jacket, and keeping his pair of black, over the knee boots, with a stiletto heel. Accent this outfit with some studded, leather cuff bracelets, silver chain choker, and industrial piercing as well as some crescent moon 2nd/Upper lobe piercings. Now, the style of rock/punk is highly personal and changes heavily from generation to generation, but as someone whose family is highly involved in the antique business; It can be expected that Thomas would have a classic rock style inspired by the band he loves such as Eisbrecher, Queen, The Rolling Stones, Mozart L'Opéra rock, Amon Düül II, etc. Some of the elements of his outfit repeat such as his pants and heels, though his deep V-neck is inspired by a picture of Queen. His studded jacket is inspired by MANY rockers of the past. And, his jewelry has a very punk aesthetic. His make-up can be expected to be heavy with intense eyeliner, mascaras, and aided with a plum lip to match his V-neck. While I do enjoy the Grunge style take for Fred & Xavier; I personally find it underwhelming for someone such as Thomas.

I'll end the post here for now as it's getting pretty long. I'll make a post about personality changes at a later point(likely my next post). If you have any questions, comments, etc about what changes I've made feel free to share them! If you have any expertise with French, German, British, or Rock attire and believe I've been misinformed than please tell me! I remind you I am not an expert on fashion, character design, and am only aware of American trends. These changes are entire based on what knowledge is available to me, and my own personal feelings about clothes and characters, but I'm open to learning! I apologize if my opinions come off as harsh, I am merely opinionated about things I enjoy, but I hold no ill-will towards anyone who thinks differently. At the end of the day, I don't own Marie or Thomas or Phineas and Ferb, and am merely expressing my freedom to make or suggest changes. I encourage anyone reading this post to do the same, and be has intense as you feel, of course WITHOUT being insulting of the people you disagree with. Thank you!

[passionate-reply]

Do you “fucking love” science? Have you ever been blinded by it? Well, it doesn’t really matter, because that goofy little number isn’t really supposed to be on Thomas Dolby’s debut album in the first place. Find out about all the awesome OTHER stuff that’s actually meant to be here, in this new installment of Great Albums! Transcript below the break.

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Today, I’ll be talking about a stellar album by one of those artists who have gone down in history as “one hit wonders,” despite producing a deep catalogue that’s often more impressive than that one song they end up known for: it’s The Golden Age of Wireless, the debut LP of Thomas Dolby. Chances are pretty good you’ve heard his big hit, “She Blinded Me With Science,” before...at least, if you’re American.

Music: “She Blinded Me With Science”

Like I said, if you’re American, you’ve heard this one before. If anything, it’s oversaturated! But if you’re from elsewhere in the world, you might not know it. Growing up in the US, I went through the whole gauntlet of alleged “one hit wonders” of 80s synth-pop, and a great many of them turned out to be British artists who had perfectly respectable careers in their native UK: Gary Numan, Soft Cell, and OMD, for example. Thomas Dolby is also British, but he’s apparently more famous here than he is across the pond--which is still not that famous.

He really ought to be, though, because The Golden Age of Wireless is a true masterpiece. Or, at least it WAS, in its original form. It’s actually a tough album to talk about, insofar as it’s hard to pin down what exactly constitutes “The Golden Age of Wireless.” It’s had quite a few different pressings, and a variety of different track listings. And the original version of it does NOT include “She Blinded Me With Science.” While I’d never argue that it’s a bad song, since it is insanely fun, and catchy to the point of being irresistible, it really does not belong on this album. I’m sure it helped them move copies of it, but its inclusion kind of ruins the vibe, to be honest. Its in-your-face and flamboyant hooks make it feel like a very unwarranted intrusion on an otherwise fairly serious and contemplative LP, which seems to have been intended as a fairly tight and thoughtful concept album.

Aside from that glaring issue, there are a few other tracks that have appeared on later versions of the album that weren’t there from the start, namely, the two tracks from Dolby’s first ever-release, a double A-side of “Urges” and “Leipzig,” as well as “One of Our Submarines,” the B-side of some versions of “She Blinded Me With Science.” All of these tracks are excellent, and mesh with the thematic and sonic character of the album quite well. “One of Our Submarines” in particular is often considered one of the best tracks of Dolby’s career--melancholy, claustrophobic, and stinging in its poignant sense of tragedy. It captures the misery and futility of modern war, as well as the sunset of the British Empire after the Second World War...and there’s a sample of a dolphin, too. It’s easily the track that I most wish had been included from the very start.

Music: “One of Our Submarines”

But now that that’s over with, I’d like to drill down and talk about how the album operates in its original form, as the artist intended. Like I said earlier, The Golden Age of Wireless is best understood as a concept album, and I think of it in a similar league as classics like the Buggles’ The Age of Plastic, OMD’s Dazzle Ships, or even Kate Bush’s Hounds of Love. The original track listing opens with “Flying North,” a stellar introduction to one of the most prominent themes of the album: freedom!

Music: “Flying North”

“Flying North” is an exultant anthem of self-determination, and one clearly mediated by “metal birds”--aeroplanes, that is. It’s a celebration of the independence allowed by technology, and a rather winsome one, in which this almost macho image of a heroic pilot takes center stage. The final track of the album, “Cloudburst At Shingle Street,” is a bit more esoteric, but seems to be aiming for a pretty similar idea overall, and I’d argue that the two of them form thematic “bookends.”

Music: “Cloudburst At Shingle Street”

“Cloudburst At Shingle Street” leads us through the technological evolution of mankind, from swinging from trees to paving concrete beaches--but the spacey synth warbles beneath those lines give them an ominous bent. The assertion that we might be heading into a cloudburst “mindless,” “naked,” or “blindly” is unnervingly cynical, but, we’re told, “there’s no escaping it.” Despite all of these signs that our better judgment should be resisting the temptation of this miraculous cloudburst...this triumphant, rising coda, with its powerful choir encouraging us onwards, seems to muddle the whole thing. The untethered, free-roaming nature of modern life isn’t always this sexy and exuberant, though--consider the track “Weightless,” as a counterpoint.

Music: “Weightless”

“Weightless” certainly seems to be about modern transients of some sort--in this case, traveling by car--but never lionizes them or makes them too terribly enviable. Instead, the focus is on the image of the draining fuel tank: the constant emptiness and craving for meaning, validation, and genuine love. No matter the allure of this very American, Route 66-like setting, the gas stations, cinemas, and decadent diner meals along the way are never any real substitute for an emotionally authentic life. That setting is, of course, a wistfully backward-looking Midcentury one. Nostalgia and childhood naivete are also among the album’s major themes, and are expressed the most clearly on “Europa and the Pirate Twins.”

Music: “Europa and the Pirate Twins”

Narratively, “Europa and the Pirate Twins” is a bittersweet story of childhood playmates who never quite re-unite, despite promising to be together again someday. The really interesting wrinkle is the fact that the narrator’s beloved Europa has become a famous celebrity as an adult, and the narrator is essentially a fan of her despite their real-world relationship. It’s an uncanny, confused parasocial relationship dynamic that feels extremely contemporary, despite the fact that it’s ultimately more of a commentary on the rise of teenager-oriented marketing during the Midcentury than anything else. The strange, often unhealthy relationships between young people and mass media, particularly radio, are another one of the major sources of tension on The Golden Age of Wireless. “Europa and the Pirate Twins” is also one of the more interesting tracks, instrumentally, featuring a prominent harmonica part, performed by Andy Partridge of XTC. Given how much the album strives to be about the future and past simultaneously, steeped in nostalgia and utopian visions alike, it makes sense to hear Dolby blend elements of traditional folk or popular music with forward-thinking synth-pop sensibilities. Listen also for a flute on “Windpower,” and a substantial amount of guitar on “Commercial Breakup,” a song that proves Dolby certainly can rock, if he feels like it.

Music: “Commercial Breakup”

The cover art for The Golden Age of Wireless isn’t exactly the most iconic, but I’ve always thought it was very beautiful. You’ve got this very eye-catching, lurid, pulp magazine style illustration of Dolby as a diligent, yet glamourous engineer, radiating with the complementary colour palette of orange and blue, the perfect picture of retro cool. But it’s framed and inset, to give us a conscious sense of observing something that’s coming to us from another time, an artifact preserved. That patina and sense of the antique is amplified by this dull-coloured background, which actually shows a marble sculpture gallery in a museum, though that’s tough to make out unless you have it right in front of you. The numerous shades of irony operating here are another thing that make the album feel strikingly contemporary.

I’m also a huge fan of the album’s title. “Wireless,” if you weren’t aware, is an old-fashioned term for radio. Radio itself is a strong theme on the album, most obviously on the track “Radio Silence,” but the use of the term “wireless” isn’t just another piece of retro nostalgia--I think it’s also evocative of that sense of free-flying, untethered independence I talked about earlier. The first half, i.e., “golden age,” is perhaps even more important. “Golden age” is an extremely loaded term that brings a number of rich associations to the table. “Golden ages” are simultaneously longed for, but not fully believed in. They’re bygone eras that usually felt like nothing special to the people who actually lived through them, despite their greatness being palpable to anyone reflecting on them in hindsight. In every golden age, there’s a poetic tragedy.

I think that even if someone did buy this record just to get their hands on “She Blinded Me With Science,” they’d probably be at least a little bit disappointed in what they got. The album does have some decent pop singles, chiefly “Radio Silence” and “Europa and the Pirate Twins,” but they’re still humming with nostalgia and unease, and not without some substantial experimental DNA.

Music: “Radio Silence”

While they cut the single weirdest track on the album, “The Wreck of the Fairchild,” they still retained some fairly ambitious tracks, such as “Windpower”--clearly an ode to Kraftwerk’s “Radioactivity.” It’s hard to be angry with an electronic musician for trying to rip off Kraftwerk, since they all do it one way or another, and in this case it invites a natural comparison between two great concept albums focused on the theme of radio.

Music: “Windpower”

Overall, though, The Golden Age of Wireless is still a reasonably accessible album on the whole. Possibly not what you expected, and certainly, a work that’s more sentimental and affecting than good for the dance floor, but as far as poignant, ballady, diesel-punk odes to the tragic techno-optimism of the Midcentury go, I’d say it’s not all that hard to get into! Dolby does have a pop core, as an artist, that he’s quite capable of selling to us if he chooses to. For proof of that point, look no further than the single “Hyperactive!” which he followed this up with a few years later:

Music: “Hyperactive!”

When discussing an ostensible one-hit wonder, there’s a distinct temptation to resort to “they deserved better” style rhetoric. On one hand, yes, I do think more people should hear Thomas Dolby’s music, and that it has a lot to say to us. I’m all about obscure music finding new life and being appreciated. That said, in the case of Dolby, I think he basically got what he wanted, in the end. He’s always been more keenly interested in music’s many behind-the-scenes roles than he has in chasing pop stardom himself--he’s produced music, and scored a number of films and video games over the decades. It feels kind of wrong to tell someone who’s successful at one thing that they “deserve” to be successful at something different, just because we may want to hear him do it, or because we esteem one skillset more highly than the other. Ultimately, The Golden Age of Wireless is a Great Album on its own terms, whether Dolby ever decides to grace us with another synth-pop release under his own name again--which he did in 2011, with A Map of the Floating City. But it’s his decision, as an artist, and the fact that he can choose to or not is a luxury that allows him integrity. I think that’s the way it ought to be.

My overall top track on this album has got to be “Airwaves,” a song in which the narrator dies, tragically and suddenly, in an automobile accident. It’s not the sexy, “Warm Leatherette” sort of car accident, but rather a dismally realistic one, that shows quite frankly how undignified death can be. Sometimes, we aren’t so much doomed heroes as we are frightened, sickly children, defeated by our own fickle bodies. The last thought our narrator gets is “I itch all over, let me sleep”; their honour perishes just moments before they do. Meanwhile, the radio is a constant presence throughout, and serves as both something to anchor the scene in the droll and quotidian, as well as ultimately becoming something transcendent. The promise of “airwaves” is not only the human interconnectedness made possible by technology, but also a hint at the ultimate destiny of human souls, a kind of ethereal afterlife in the sky. The meandering lulls of the verses contrast sharply with the song’s eerily soaring refrain, which enhances that feeling that those “airwaves” occupy some sort of higher plane. On that surprisingly heavy note, that’s all I’ve got for today, so thanks for listening!

Music: “Airwaves”

[you-can-call-me-wanda]

The Night Is Ours

Pairing: Razzle Dingley x Reader (Requested)

Author’s Note: You and Razzle are both teenagers here. Also, please note that the reader is still gender neutral (as per usual with me) but it was requested that they dress more feminine in this story!

“Hey darling, you sure you’re in the right place?”

“Piss off,” you muttered, brushing past the rude drunkard and flipping him off. You were used to the occasional snarky comments you received when you went out to places like this, but it still made you kind of mad. You didn’t care if other people liked the way you dressed and couldn’t be damned if they had a problem with it.

You see, your style was more feminine and girly than most of the other people who frequented the punk gigs you liked to attend. While most of the people around you were dressed in distressed denim and leather, accented with studs and chains, you liked to wear dresses and skirts in all sorts of fun colors. You weren’t a stereotypical punk fan and some people just didn’t seem to understand that.

You walked to the front of the club, closer to the stage. You were excited to see this band and wanted to have the best view as possible of the performance. You were aware of people’s eyes trailing after you as you walked past, but you just ignored them. You were here to have a good time listening to music not argue with close-minded people that yes, you do actually like punk music despite how preppy you may appear.

“Um, hi,” someone said next to you.

You turned to find the source of the voice and found yourself face to face with a boy who appeared to be around your age.

“Are you talking to me?” you asked, pointing a finger at your own chest.

The boy gave you a nervous lopsided smile and nodded in return.

“Oh. Well, hi,” you said, not quite sure as to why he would be talking to you.

“Have you seen them before?” he said, continuing the conversation. He gestured to the stage.

You nodded silently and finally looked the stranger up and down. You took note of his disheveled dark hair and his striking blue eyes. He wore tight black trousers and his eyes were rimmed with kohl.

Meeting his eyes, you felt yourself flush. It had been quite obvious you were checking him out.

“Um, yeah,” you stammered, trying to regain some of your composure. “I saw them a little while ago and they kicked ass.”

“That’s awesome. Do you mind if I stand and watch with you?” he asked somewhat eagerly.

You grinned at the idea of getting to spend more time with him. He was pretty cute. “Not at all. I could use the company.”

“Great! I’m Razzle by the way.”

“Razzle?” you questioned. It was an interesting name to say the least.

He shrugged. “It’s a nickname.”

You smiled up at him. “I like it.”

 ****

The show was amazing. The music was loud and the energy was high. You loved every second of their set and spent the night jumping and dancing along with Razzle and the rest of the crowd. In between songs, you and Razzle conversed animatedly about the performance and the songs you liked. You were having the time of your life listening to the gritty music and getting to know Razzle. Unfortunately, it was over all too soon for your liking. You would have stayed there all night if you could have, but it was late and the club would be closing soon.

“That was amazing!” you cheered, turning to Razzle once the band had left the stage.

“I know!” Razzle agreed, his excitement radiating off of him. “That was so much fun.”

The two of you caught your breath and made your way out of the venue together with the rest of the concert goers. Outside, some people still lingered about and you stalled your walking so you and Razzle could talk some more.

“Thanks,” he said, stopping next to you and leaning back against the brick wall of the building.

“For what?” you asked, leaning against the wall in a similar fashion.

“For letting me dance with you,” he answered. “It was a real honor.” He looked directly into your eyes as he spoke, and you could feel your heartbeat speed up.

You stared at him, trying to make out if he was joking around with you or not. He seemed serious though. You stared deeply into his eyes, unable to find a response.

“Sorry, was that weird to say?” he asked, now looking a little abashed. “I always mess these things up.”

“What things?” You had no idea what he was referring to.

“Huh?”

“What things do you always mess up?” you clarified.

“Oh, I- um, flirting,” he said, his cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink. You found it adorable.

“Flirting?” you asked. You were somewhat baffled at the idea that someone as cute and sweet as Razzle would want to flirt with you.

“Well, yeah. I mean, I think you’re really beautiful y’know?” he said.

“You do?” He looked sincere, but you were just having a tough time believing him.

“Of course. You looked like an angel standing in there. I just knew I had to go talk to you,” he gushed, smiling lightly.

You looked down at your outfit. “Well, I do always stick out at these kinds of shows,” you joked.

He joined you in looking at your dress-clad form. “I like it. You’re not afraid to stand out.”

“Thanks,” you said, genuinely appreciating the compliment. “I think you’re really beautiful too,” you said, finding the courage to try your hand at flirting back with him.

He ducked his head shyly and scuffed his shoes on the ground. “So, it would be okay if I asked for your number? Cause I’d really like to do this again sometime.”

“What? Go to a show?” you asked.

He picked up his head. “Well, sure, but I was thinking more of a date.”

A wide grin broke out over your face. “I’d love that.” You pulled your purse off of your arm and dug around for a pen. Finding one and an old receipt, you scribbled your number down hastily for him. “Here,” you said, thrusting the paper into his hands. “Here’s my number. Call me, okay?”

He nodded and tucked your number safely into his pocket. “I will,” he promised.

For a moment you both just stood there, not knowing what else to say or how to bid each other goodnight.

“Even knowing I’ll see you again, I still don’t want to say goodbye just yet,” you finally murmured.

He nodded his head, feeling the same way. “Do you have a curfew?” he asked.

“Not one that I can’t break,” you replied, understanding what he was hinting at.

“Well, come on then!” he cheered, reaching down and grabbing ahold of your hand. He pulled you down the sidewalk excitedly, leading you to god-knows-where.

“Where are we going?” you laughed, skipping along the pavement with him.

“Anywhere!” he shouted over his shoulder at you. “The night is ours (Y/N)!”

You threw your head back and let out a carefree laugh. Gripping his hand tightly, you ran down the street with him, feeling deep inside that this was the start of something wonderful.

[mysterioh]

The Ignorant Beauty and The Beast of New York - Ch. 9 

PAIRING: MOB!STEVE ROGERS X READER

Synopsis: Y/N is an exhausted bio major. Steve is danger with a capital DANGER. She thinks he’s a sarcastic prick with an impressive knowledge in art history. He thinks she’s cute even if she’s only running on one brain cell. All he wants is a single date, but she’s adamant upon denying.

Masterlist

We Meet Again My Dearest Mobster

“You guys know each other?” May asked with a smile.

“Nope,” Peter quickly replied. “I’ve never met her in my life.”  

You looked at him. Yup, you’ve definitely seen this guy somewhere. May’s phone goes off and she reaches into her pocket to check.

“Oh, it’s the supplier,” she said aloud. She looked over to Peter with a frown. “Mind if I take this, it’s really important.”

Peter shook his head with a sweet smile. “It’s okay, I can wait.”

“You’re the sweetest,” she said with a chuckle, ruffling his hair as she walked by.

You waited until May closed the door to her office behind her to speak.

“Alright, punk, who are you?” you questioned. “I know we’ve met before?”

“What? Honest, Miss!” he said. “I’ve never seen you in my life!”

“Cut the crap and play straight with me,” you deadpanned, crossing your arms.

“Now I understand why the boss likes you so much,” he chuckled.

You dropped the spoon in your hand. "Wait what?"

Peter cupped his mouth. "N-nothing!" Peter exclaimed. "I said nothing!"

"No, no, no," you hurried towards him. "You just said something. Say it again."

"I just remembered I have to go somewhere. Bye, Aunt May!" He took a dash for the door, but you caught him by the collar of his shirt.

"Not so fast, pipsqueak," you said, yanking him towards you. "Who the hell is your boss and how does he know me?"

"Well, uh - um - you see," Peter stuttered, not knowing what was worse. Outing his boss or your wrath.

"Spit it out already!" You exclaimed, pulling him closer.

"His name is Steve! Steve Rogers!" Peter confessed. "The King of Brooklyn!"

Your grip on his collar loosens at the blonde's name. "Steve?" You said in shock.

"Yeah," Peter fixed his collar with a sigh.

"The freak from the museum's gotta crush on me?" you murmured to yourself in disbelief.

"I think it's time I go," Peter slipped by you.

"Not so fast," you said flatly and he froze in his steps. "You've got a lot of explaining to do."

“Let me wallow in my misery, Nat,” Steve groaned from his office chair.

Nat rolled her eyes at the sight of him. He was leaned back in his seat with a book on his face.

“Listen here, Romeo, enough’s enough,” Nat crossed her arms. “I’m sick and tired of you acting like this.”

“It’s a free country,” he replied from underneath his book.

“Free country my ass,” Bucky deadpanned. “We’re worried about you man,” he said. “You’ve been acting weird for the past two weeks.”

“Listen, I’m fine,” Steve stated, “And what the hell are you three doing here anyway? Don’t you have work to do?”

“Don’t change the topic,” Sam warned, leaning toward him on the desk. “You gotta talk to us, man, ‘cause you’re messing up everything.”

“You gonna tell me how to do my job, Sammy?” Steve sits up, making his book fall onto the floor. His tone quickly shifting from tired to serious. “Cause I’d really love some pointers.”

“Maybe I’ll have to cause you’re acting like a dumbass!” Sam said. “What made you think nuking the Gambino brothers was a good idea? Are you trying to start a war here?”

“They lied to my face,” Steve snapped back. “You saw it with your own eyes. They’re working with Hydra behind my back.”

“You know they got a brother out in Chicago,” Bucky reminded. “You think he’s just gonna let you do that?”

“You think I’m afraid of some punk from puny Chicago?” Steve retorted, standing up with blood rushing to his head. “I’m the fucking mob king and I do what I want. I’m sending a message. Anyone who even thinks to go against me is gonna regret it. I’m maintaining the order. ”

“By creating more chaos?” Sam asked. Steve’s eyes cut to him sharply, but it’d take more than that to scare Sam off. “This wasn’t the way to do it, Steve, and you know it.”

Steve’s lips pursed into a scowl. He was stubborn to admit it.

“Stevie,” Nat called him, “You sure this isn’t about something else?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You sure this isn’t about the girl?”

Steve’s heart dropped. “No,” he stated, if they really listened they could hear his voice shake.

“Yeah?” Bucky said, disbelief written in his eyes.  

“Y-yeah,” he affirmed. The three look at him with blank expressions. "It isn't okay?" he stated firmly. "So quit bringing her up in every damn conversation," he brushes past Sam and Bucky and walks towards the door.

"Steve, don't you think you're just repeating the same steps you did with Peggy?" Nat said boldly.

Bucky and Sam look at her, scared out of their minds. Steve freezes at the door, his grip on the metal knob was tight. He turns towards them with sharp, icy eyes.

Red Alert. Red Alert.

"Why can't you just let us help?" She asked. "You'll end up hurting yourself more. Just like you did with-"

"Don't say her name," he interjected, his tone dipped in venom. "And I can handle things on my own. I don't need anyone's help." He said.

With that, he opens the door and leaves with a loud slam. The three winced at the sound of the door then slump in their defeat.

"He's gonna make it worse," Sam prophesied, "and he's gonna drag us with him."

"Till death do us part, y'know?" Bucky chuckled sadly.

"Bro, don't say it like that," Sam snarled.

"Can you two shut up for once?" Nat hissed.

"What's with you?" Bucky asked, placing his hands on his hips.

"Shut up, I'm thinking," she snapped at him.

"Oh great," Bucky huffed. "Steve's being an ass and now you're thinking." Nat shoots a glare his way. "What's becoming of this world?" He cried.

She elbows him hard in the gut and he bends over with a whimper.

"What are you thinking, Nat?" Sam asked nicely but cautiously.

"Thinking how we can help, Steve."

"He just said he didn't want help," Bucky wheezed.

Nat clicked her tongue. "You know how stubborn he is! He won't ask for help because he's too damn proud of himself!"

"So what do you have in mind, Romanoff?" Sam asked with a smirk, leaning against Steve's desk.

"We find the girl and talk to her," Nat said.

"Yeah, and how do we do that?" Sam questioned. "I mean, what would we even say?"

“Hold on, I haven’t thought that far yet,” she grumbled. Her lips pursed into a pout and she furrowed her brows in rumination. C’mon Nat, think, think.

And like a blessing in disguise, her answer comes through the door in the form of a ruffled brunette.

“You guys won’t believe who I just met!” Peter beamed.

A few moments ago…

“You know he really likes you,” said Peter, sitting across from you in the empty restaurant. He took another bite of his banana bread. “Like a lot,” he said with his mouth stuffed with bread.

“Yeah?” you said nonchalantly, propping your chin upon your hand.

Although your exterior was calm and collected, your insides were going wild. Yeah, you knew he had some sort of interest in you. But you always thought he just wanted to get in your pants. Isn’t that what all guys like him wanted to do? You weren’t so sure anymore.

“Yeah,” he took a sip of his milk, “when he found out about your boyfriend he was totally bummed out.” Your stone face crumbled and you frowned. Oh, this is bad.

How ya been?

Good.

He lied.

“Well, that’s his fault, not mine,” you pointed out in denial.

“It is,” Peter agreed, “but I kinda feel bad for the guy.” You raised a brow. “I heard he got his heart broken before. Like torn into shreds. I don’t know much about it cause I’m still new.”

Something deep in that little grinch heart of yours stung badly. Why you felt bad, you didn’t know, but you did. Sure, he came off a bit hard, but he was a nice guy overall. Minus the whole mob thing, that is.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” you sympathized, awkwardly shifting in your seat.

Peter’s phone lit up on the table and he looks over to see who it is. He picked it up and replied quickly. He shoved the rest of his bread in his mouth and you looked at him slightly disgusted.

“Sorry, I gotta go pick up my girlfriend from her yoga class,” he said, slipping his phone in his pocket and getting up.

“No problem,” you stood up with a smile, “thanks for answering my questions and sorry about being so — uh rough.”

Peter chortled in reply. “Nah, it’s fine. Y’know you’d make a great mobster the way you hold yourself. You interested in a job? The pay’s real nice.”

“No,” you smiled sheepishly, “I’m fine.”

Peter shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he walked over to the door before turning again. “Oh, can you tell Aunt May I had to leave?”

“Yeah, no problem,” you replied, following him.

Peter waved before opening the door, letting in a gust of cold winter air. You wrap your arms around you while standing, trying to figure out what to say.

“Uh, Peter,” you called after him, making him turn back. You sighed, hot breath vaporizing in the cold air. “Tell your boss I said hi,” you said with a sweet smile.

He nodded with a grin. “Sure thing!”

The place was packed to the corners.

Steve looked around at the busy tables. An old couple eating side by side studiously bent over their meals. A group of women around their thirties collapsing in fits of laughter over old memories while a lonely woman not too far off looked on with a frown. A family with exasperated teenagers and businessmen negotiating over a glass of wine and steak. It's like the colors of the rainbow and Steve can't help but hate being squished in the middle of it all.

"Why did you bring me here?" he asked pointedly.

Nat smirks. "Peter recommended this place to me so I thought we could check it out," she told him.

"But why me specifically?" Steve questioned. "Why not Sam or that one chick you're always fighting with?"

"Because," Nat said with an exaggerated sigh, "I felt like it. Besides we have to talk."

"I already told you I'm not-"

"Shut your face, it's not about the girl. It's about Lucky."

Steve grumbles and glares. "You know I'm the boss right?" He warns.

Natasha laughs from her stomach. "Stevie, you know better than anyone," she said, shifting her weight onto one hand. "I work under no man. I'm here because I want to be."

"Sure it's not because of Bucky?" He snickered making her groan.

Nat kicked him hard in the shin and he yelps in pain. He leans down and rubs his leg. "You jerk."

"I'll kill you, Steve," she hissed through gritted teeth.

"I'd like to see you try," he said before taking a sip of his soda as the waitress sauntered down the aisle.

"Hi, my name is Y/N, I'll be your waitress for today," you greeted. Steve's drink almost goes through his nose at the sound of your voice. He coughed and patted his chest while Nat smirked at him.

Why Why Why Why

He's afraid to look up cause he knows you're going to be there and in all honesty, he didn't want to see you right now.

"You okay, Stevie?" Nat asked with an amused grin.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he wheezed, shooting her an evil glare. He looks up to see you giving him a sweet lopsided smile paired with a small chuckle from his reaction.

"Hey, dude, how's it been?"

There's an indescribable warmth behind that smile. As if you're happy to see him again. It could be skin deep but he refused to see it that way. He'd stay blind if you kept on looking at him like that. He'd be Pygmalion as long as you were his Galatea.

TAG LIST: @ashwarren32​ @rootcrop​ @siriusement​ @savedbystark​ @great-goddess-of-sin​ @boxofteenageideas​ @little-dark-empress​ @imsonick​ @scuzmunkie​ @achishisha​ @chuckennuggets1213​ @captainchrisstan 

[only-here-for-jatp]

The Secret Chord pt 3

I am very thrilled with my poetic serious title and my chaotic mess of chapter titles that don’t do the title justice.

Anyway this entire chapter is Nick-centric and contains some negative self-talk so if you have difficulty with that (like I do) proceed with caution and stay safe and okay pretty please.

Also, we stan Carrie in this house thanks.

Read it on Ao3 here

And also below! ~2100 words

Nick was pretty sure this was a terrible idea.

It’d seemed like a great idea last night when he was watching Julie and the Phantoms at the Orpheum. The music was loud, and the crowd was electric. The bass kept up a steady rhythm pounding in sync with his heartbeat and it joined the audience into one body perfectly in sync. He’d felt so alive as if all of his nerve endings were firing at once. His joy came out as an endless ache while he watched Julie perform her heart out, her own enthusiasm evident in every note and movement.

She shone so bright on that stage, more so than anyone he’d ever seen. He’d long since known of her grit and determination, the perks of being in school together since elementary school. Over the years he watched as the little girl with the big voice and no fear stood up to bullies, teachers, and during what came to be known as Fallout 2016 her (ex)friend Carrie.

Julie held her head up so high as she walked through the hallways and he was in awe of her even then. There were still some things he was still working out about himself and she was so unapologetically herself. He’d often wished for her bravery to be that strong.

At the same time, he watched Carrie struggle to keep her head above water. Her dad loved her, but he was absentminded and often off on the road or some tour or party or something, leaving Carrie alone in that big empty house. Before there’d been the joy and laughter of Julie and Flynn echoing in the hallways, but now she sat alone in her thoughts.

It was almost imperceptible to anyone who didn’t know Carrie, after all she’d always been a little rough around the edges, but Nick watched her harsh mask develop. He watched her use deflection and bravado to hide her fraying internal state. Nobody seemed to notice her growing intensity and focus on Dirty Candi, but it seemed like someone needed to do something.

Admittedly his feelings crept up on him. At first, he’d started small interactions as a friendly gesture. Little things like a smile or a wave so he could try to communicate somebody saw her. While she seemed a little confused at first, she soon started flashing him a smirk and a friendly sarcastic comment. Rather quickly their friendship grew, it turned into long conversations at lunch or studying together in the library. What started out as concern turned to pride and warmth as he watched this girl who hurt so much use her unwavering force of will (and a little pink glitter) to get up and meet each day with a take no prisoners attitude.

Once he saw her perform for the first time, he was a goner. That little smirk just did something to his insides. He asked her out and he was happy. They were happy.

Until Julie’s mom died. Whatever fallout might have happened between her and Julie, Carrie loved Rose. She’d been the closest thing Carrie ever had to a mother, and the loss hit her hard. Nick knew Julie would’ve granted her a temporary truce and welcomed Carrie with open arms to grieve. He was even pretty sure Carrie knew deep inside herself somewhere too, but the walls she’d built were too high and too wide to bring them down.

Nick did his best to be there for Carrie, but he knew he wasn’t what she needed. She needed Julie and the Molinas, but it wasn’t going to happen. Not yet. Instead her unresolved feelings ate at her morphing into jealousy and anger and acid. He watched this beautiful typhoon of a girl let the acid and anger consume her. Defenses and walls started going up against him too, until she treated him as little more than an accessory or a chess piece in her one-sided match against Julie Molina.

Beautiful burning Julie Molina who after a year of retreating into a cocoon, hiding from the world and her pain burst onto the stage like a firework. She maintained her grace and inner fortitude whatever the world, or Carrie, threw her way. Above all else though, she was kind. After months of being treated like a doormat, he craved the kindness and gentle protective ferocity that was Julie Molina.

He knew he followed her around like a lost puppy, but even if he couldn’t be with her just being around her made him feel like he could do anything. Be anything, even himself. Her music lived and breathed inside him, the words filling him up and offering him a lifeline when he didn’t even know how close he was to drowning.

He ached to return the favor of her steady reassurance and unconditional acceptance and support. She was incredible and she deserved to know. If he could emulate her even just a little bit, he wanted to try, wanted to practice being like Julie Molina.

Of course, this was how he found himself pacing the sidewalk for twenty minutes, gathering the courage to bring her these flowers. It shouldn’t be this hard. Flowers were a regular post-performance kind of gift. I mean, he did have a crush on her, but she seemed to be into her guitarist? Would she think he was creepy or weird or persistent? He didn’t want to scare her off. Maybe this was a bad idea. He probably didn’t have a shot with someone as incredible as her anyway. He’d like to think he stood a chance since her guitarist was a hologram, but the way they looked at each other….

What did it matter? These flowers were not crush flowers. He would’ve gotten her Dahlias for that. These were simply good job flowers. They’d performed at the Orpheum! That was a big deal. This is fine. This is normal.

A small burst of confidence propelled him forward while he gave himself a mental pep talk in his head. Later he would kick himself for not being more aware of his surroundings, but to be fair no one really expects a tall, mysterious demon man to sneak up behind them.

Yet here he was staring at this man in some steam punk adjacent costume, a smug plastic grin on his face and a mildly threatening atmosphere. He’d rang the doorbell, but he hoped Julie didn’t walk out here while this creep was still around.

“How sweet. The brokenhearted teenager fighting for his girl.”

Nick was taken aback. For one thing, brokenhearted was not the right word. He was hopeful. For another- “Do I know you?”

“No, but you will.”

Nick didn’t even have a chance to react before Caleb’s hands were around his neck. It felt like fire was racing through his veins, consuming him. He couldn’t move, his arms spread wide, but his insides struggled against the invasion. Thrashing and shrieking he screamed inside his mind.

It started in his fingertips and toes, his body feeling like it was too crowded. Like something was growing and pushing him out. He fought so hard trying to stretch and stand up to the purple smoke that was blinding and dividing him. Yet he was losing the battle with every moment. Feeling himself getting shoved and squeezed until he couldn’t feel his arms or his legs or the breaths he took or the beating of his own heart. Until he couldn’t feel the weight of his own tongue.

The world went quiet first. Then it went dark.

Nick came to in a room of boundless dark. He thought about being afraid, but it wasn’t a place where things lurked. He could tell it was just empty. A brief glance showed that he could see himself, slightly translucent maybe, but still there. The space seemed to go on forever and the longer he looked the more anxious he became. His eyes darted from space to space, but it was a never-ending sea of nothingness.

A voice echoed around him, making the world rumble and shake. “Now now, Nicholas. My name is Caleb and it’s nice to meet you.”

“Who are you!? What do you want!? Where am I!?” Nick shouted at the disembodied voice, hearing the fear and trembling in his tone and wishing desperately for the confidence and bravado typically attributed to jocks. What he wasn’t prepared for was the jolt that through him.

The pain stabbed in his gut and it felt like it was ripping him open, piece by piece. He fell to his knees with a scream, doing his best not to sob as the feeling lingered. Caleb laughed before continuing. “tsk tsk tsk. I am speaking, you just need to listen. I am… borrowing your body for the time being. This little lifer girl and her trio of ghostly boy band made a fool of me. And NOBODY defies my will and gets away with it.”

“What does that have to do with- aghhhh” Nick couldn’t hide the sobs as another jolt shot through him.

“Yeah, I’m going to need you to be a fast learner Nicky-poo. I’m in charge and there’s literally nothing you can do about it. Just sit there and be quiet and maybe I’ll return your body back in one piece. Besides you may not know what I’m talking about, but you’re close with that lifer brat Julie. Her ghosties would never let me get close, you on the other hand, well they can’t stop you.”

Nick felt icy terror roll through him. Julie? This madman demon was after Julie? “No” he wheezed. He kept repeating the word as if it would give him power as he progressively got louder until he was standing and screaming it into the void, damn the consequences. “NO. I won’t let you hurt her.”

Another jolt ripped through him as an invisible force knocked him back. The laughter seemed to echo around the space reverberating into an endless mocking loop. “You? You won’t let me? What exactly are you going to do Nicholas? After all, you couldn’t even defend yourself against me. What makes you think you’re capable of doing anything at this point to stop my plans?”

Nick sagged against the ground. There wasn’t anything he could do. His insides felt hollowed out as hopelessness descended upon him. Useless. He was absolutely useless.

“There you go! Now you’re getting it. Anyway, this is the inside of your head and it can be manipulated into whatever I want. Behave and I’ll make sure it’s somewhat comfortable, continue to fight and defy me and I’ll make sure you relive your worst nightmares. Got it?”

Nick nodded, curling up on himself in defeat. If only he’d stayed home today.

“Good, now I just need to borrow your memories real quick and we can get this show on the road. After all, I have a fight too.”

It felt like someone was slicing his brain into pages and flipping through it like you would a book or a deck of cards. He’d grabbed his head at the pain and briefly resisted before giving into the feeling. It was almost like he could feel the fingers turning through the pages. Flipping through his life as if it were nothing. As if he were nothing. He hoped Caleb got a cosmic papercut.

And then for a brief shining moment there was nothing. No Caleb, no jolts, no rummaging through his psyche, no noise. No world. Unfortunately, what looked like a big screen popped up in front of him. Was that the Molina’s house? Were these his eyes? He almost couldn’t watch as Julie opened the door. Then there he was again. Alone in the dark vastness of nothing. He let out an empty laugh. Of course, he was. That was him, always alone. Always hiding. Unable to make any true impact on the lives of the people around him. He’d failed to help Carrie battle her darkness and Julie certainly never needed him.

He wondered briefly if anyone would even notice if he was gone. If anyone would even realize this thing that occupied his body was using him like a puppet. He doubted it. No one ever managed to make it past his walls. No one ever viewed him as more than as that blonde lacrosse player, or Carrie’s boyfriend.

He was as unseen and unheard in here as he was for every other moment of his life.

The disembodied voice never said anything, but Nick was sure he could feel Caleb roll his eyes and mutter “teenagers”. Suddenly a couch poofed into existence and Nick settled into it, finding it oddly comforting. He curled himself around a pillow that he’d dragged into his lap, ready to watch his life spin out of his control.

[s1cparvism4gna]

PuNK

WARNINGS: SMUUUUT, cursing

Pairings: Rafe Adler x OC

Tags: @desertvvitch , @courtenbae , @tiecladartist

Author’s Note: I’m now going to be posting my fic chapters on this blog instead of the other. As always, let me know if you’d like to be tagged 💕 enjoy! 😉

Chapter 6

Lyric’s POV

The next week at work was… strange to say the least. First of all, I’d never been so well rested. Second, I had gotten a call from the dive bar that some fancy guy came in and bought all the Floral and Fading tee shirts. All of them. ‘Who needs 150 band tees? That are the same….’ I thought. I tried not to think much of it but we made a lot of money from it. Enough to get groceries and laundry done and enough to splurge on getting my nails done for Italy (which I still couldn’t believe I was even going!). The third reason, which was the strangest of them all, was Rafe. He was acting weird. And by weird, I mean he’d been smiling more and saying his morning greetings pleasantly. Instead of yelling bloody murder when he asked things of me, he’d temporarily step out of his office to physically look at me and pose his questions. And he’d say things like “please” or “would you mind”.... I was almost convinced he’d been abducted by aliens and replaced with a clone. He would let me go home early, he would extend my lunch breaks, and he even invited me to join him at lunch. On more than one occasion. To which I immediately but politely declined. It was too much too soon. It felt like a trap.

By the time Thursday rolled around, I had everything packed to go. The air in the office was as normal as always. Everyone was tired and complained about how shitty their morning was. Everyone but my coworker Winter who was solely interested in Rafe and I’s upcoming trip to Italy. But for all the wrong reasons…

“I just think he might have a little crush on you is all.” She said, scribbling in her journal and typing up something in her computer. I snorted rather loudly as I sipped on my coffee.

“That’s bullshit if I ever heard it—”

“Just hear me out!” She exclaimed, low enough for only the two of us to hear. She stood from her desk and scuttled over to sit on the edge of mine. I leaned back into my seat, legs crossed and lips pursed to keep myself from bursting into laughter.

“Please. I would love to hear your reasoning.” I said, awaiting her answer as if I was waiting for the punchline of a joke to kick in. She pushed her blonde hair behind her ears and leaned towards me.

“First of all, it’s really not that far off. He relies on you to get shit done around here. If you weren’t here, he’d be a wreck, this office would be a mess, and half of us would lose our jobs. Two! You haven’t even seen how he’s been looking at you lately—”

“He doesn’t see me—” I interrupted briefly, tugging on the collar of my light pink turtleneck and sipping my coffee.

“Bullshit. The other day when you two were in a meeting, you got up to do something for Mr. Ackles and I looked up for a split second, glanced in the conference room…. I swear to God, he could not stop staring at you. I mean everywhere you moved in the room, his eyes were on you.” She said to me. I crinkled my brows and opened my mouth to refute but truthfully I didn’t know what to say.

“I’m his assistant! He’s probably making sure that I don’t fuck up—” She made a face for me to shut up. So I tilted my head as she continued.

“And let's be real about this: we can not act like he’s not the most attractive man in the building.” She winked at me, looking around to make sure he wasn’t around. She wasn’t wrong. Rafe was very attractive. I just never stared long enough to be under his thrall. And I never would. He was much too uptight for me. “Ricki, look. You’re 32. You’re not gonna get any younger. And that punk act you’ve got going on isn't gonna last forever.” I scoffed, trying my best not to be offended. I put blood, sweat, tears, money, and sleep loss into my musical career.

“Wow…” I laughed, blinking at her a bit.

“Not saying that you won’t make it but… isn’t that type of music generally for the younger crowd?” She asked me. She wasn’t really helping herself.

“Keep on callin’ me old, Winter….” I warned her in a half joking tone.

“I just think that if it turns out that he really does like you, you’d be stupid to not at least try it out—”

“Okay, you know what? I don’t care how he looks at me. The man dramatically spits out coffee if it’s not the right temperature. Why do I need that kinda stress in my life?”

“Because he’s rich.”

“I don’t care about that. He’s a shitty person.” I said simply, ending the conversation as I grabbed a file from behind her and opened it to read. She gave a frustrated sigh and crossed her arms, looking at me in disappointment. I glanced up from the file and she was still standing there. “Was that all?” I asked in a slightly bitchy tone. She shook her head.

“You’re unbelievable.” She said, smacking the back of my head playfully and sitting at her desk.

“Unbelievably SICK!” I retorted, flipping her off momentarily and she chuckled. Just then, Rafe came stalking into the office.

“Good morning, Mr. Adler!” Winter greeted, like the kiss ass she tended to be. But he ignored her.

“Ms. Lewis, could you meet me in my office please?” He asked as he quickly walked by.

“Yes s-” Before I could even finish my answer, his door slammed shut. I blinked, unsure of what to even think. He was happy all week… ‘I hope he’s still happy…’ I thought as I stood. Winter and I exchanged glances and I entered his office. He was scarily quiet, his hands gripping onto the edge of his desk until his knuckles were white. His briefcase laid sprawled out on the floor; I assumed he tossed at the couch and it didn’t make it. I carefully closed the door behind me and walked towards his desk. Once again, I couldn’t help but ask. I rested my hands on one of the seats in front of his desk and crossed my ankles, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“Are you okay?” I asked. He gave a deep sigh before curling his fingers into fists and punched the desk for a second. I jumped at the sudden noise as he sat down.

“No, Lyric. I’m not okay. I was but not anymore.” He answered through gritted teeth.

“What happened?” I sat down in the seat I was leaning on, smoothing out my skirt as he paced behind his desk. He began with a huff, already seeming more irritable the more he dwelled on it.

“Tell me… have you been keeping up with Samuel by any chance?”He asked as calmly as possible. I gave a nervous chuckle.

“What- do you think we keep tabs on each other like teenagers?” I answered. Truthfully, I hadn’t seen him in a very long time. I was almost disappointed. Almost. Rafe’s cheeks seemed to turn a faint pink for a moment as his poker face faltered a bit.

“No, no- I just…. I figured since you two were so close in the office that maybe you kept in touch...” he replied in a boyish tone.

“Are you jealous?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood a bit clearly he wasn’t feeling it.

“Lyric, please… This is serious.” His tired green eyes locked with mine and I could immediately see that whatever the problem was was truly stressing him out. So I gave him a break.

“No. I haven’t heard from him.” I told him. He hummed at my answer and scratched at the stubble that attempted to appear on his chin. “Rafe, what’s going on?” I asked, beginning to feel concerned. He seemed to be doing a few breathing exercises before he answered.

“It seems that some of my research has gone missing.” He said, holding onto the back of his seat for dear life.

“And you think Sam took it?” I asked.

“Well he is a thief, after all… I wouldn’t put it past him.” he grumbled, putting his head in his hands. My eyes widened.

“No shit.”

“Yes shit. He didn’t just magically come out of thin air. I…” he paused to carefully choose his words. “I bailed him out.”

“Oh. Shit…. How long was he in for?” I asked. I couldn’t believe it.

“14 years…” he replied, running his fingers through his hair.

“For stealing?! What did he steal?! The Hope Diamond?!”

“Oh no he uh…. he killed a guard on the inside.” He mumbled.

“HE WHA- he what?!” I snapped.

“Yeah. Congratulations. You were flirting with a murderer.” He said in a sassy tone. I chuckled and denied it.

“No… I wasn’t...flirting-”

“You were just being friendly?” He said. I smirked at him.

“Oh piss off!” I said, playfully hitting his forearm. I half expected him to look at me like I was crazy but he just smiled small and huffed in frustration, resting his forehead on his desk.

“Ugh this is the fucking worst…” he said. “I bet he’s on his way to Italy for that cross now.”

“Okay cool- but it’s an auction. Last I checked he was broke as hell and the security will be so tight…. So don’t worry about it, okay?” I said, calmly. He searched my eyes for a moment and nodded. His shoulders dropped and he seemed a bit more at ease. I put a comforting hand over his and ran my thumb over his knuckles. “It’ll be fine. We are going to go to Italy, sip some wine, eat some pizza, and get all dressed up for this auction. And you’re going to walk out of the estate with this cross. I’m manifesting it. I am putting it into the ether.” I said as positively as possible. His eyes never left mine and his grip had tightened a little in my hand.

“Of all the fine cuisine that Rome has to offer, you still want... pizza?” He chuckled in amusement.

“Of course! I want real Italian pizza, okay? With melted mozzarella and fresh tomato sauce and all the seasonings! Not one from down the street...or a frozen box.” I said and the look he gave me shocked me. His eyes seemed to trace over every feature of my face and his cheeks faintly blushed again. For a second I began to wonder if this is what Winter saw. This look that he was giving me right now. That shy look of longing. He smiled and retrieved his briefcase, sitting it on his desk as he avoided my gaze.

“Very well. I’m sure there’s a decent pizzeria around.” He said, taking a seat.

“Yes!” I exclaimed as I stood to leave. “So remember! Don’t worry. You’ve got this all under control.” I said, backing out of the office. And with that, I went back to my own desk. I sat down with a sigh. I couldn’t shake the look he’d given me. I suddenly hated Winter for making me notice it. Something about him was no doubt changing and I was interested to see what. I sipped on my coffee and continued to work until the day was out.

Finally, it was time to go. I pulled my suitcase from under my desk and dragged it to sit next to me. The office had gone home for the day and my last order of business was to leave Winter instructions on what to do in our absence. I was literally shaking with excitement. I’d never been anywhere outside the country before. I couldn’t wait for a bit of warm weather. I was freezing my ass off here. Rafe seemed to keep his cool since I talked to him last and to be completely honest, I was glad about it. The last thing we needed was his temper on a whole 9 hour flight. After a while, he appeared from his office and closed his door behind him with a tired smile.

“You ready?” He asked me. I shot up from my seat and threw on my trench coat, making sure I had everything together.

“Absolutely!” I grinned.

“Allow me.” He said, lifting the handle of my suitcase and dragging it along behind him. I was surprised at him. I always knew he was a gentleman but I’d never been on the receiving end of it before.

We walked to the elevator that took us to the rooftop and waiting for us, on and ready, was the big white company plane. I stopped for a second as I watched Rafe board the plane to just appreciate the experience I was about to have. “Are you coming or are you just gonna stand there?!” I suddenly heard Rafe shout to me above the deafening engines, tearing me from my thoughts. I nodded and ran towards the plane, trying not to twist my ankles in the tall heels on my feet. He stretched out a hand to me and helped me up the small flight of stairs. We were greeted by the pilot and a stewardess and shown to what was pretty much a lounge on this plane. The interior of it all was absolutely gorgeous. There were lavish beige recliner seats and a couch to match. Portable desks were made cherry oak with golden cup holders and the carpets were a deep wine red with gold accents. Red curtains covered the windows and there were even decorative pillows and blankets— everything was made to match. When I sat down, the stewardess came in and immediately began asking us if we wanted food or drinks… or alcoholic beverages.

“We’ll take dinner here.” Rafe answered before I could even open my mouth. “I’m sure you’re starving by now, right?”

“Uh… yeah.” I whispered, shedding my jacket and sitting on the couch.

“What do you want?”

“What would you recommend?” I asked, truly unsure of what I wanted.

“Jack back there makes this roasted garlic chicken with vegetables that’s just… magic.” He chef’s kissed the air and I widened my eyes with a giggle, sitting back in my seat. I’d never seen Rafe so expressive.

“Well then I’ll have that!” I smiled. I watched him grin as he began loosening his tie, undoing a few buttons and rolling up the sleeves of his collared shirt, putting in an order for a seasoned fish and potatoes.

“Very good, sir. May I get the two of you started on drinks?”the stewardess asked.

“Chateau Margaux Red, in a chilled glass please.” He answered, opening and reaching into his briefcase to pull out a few folders and a pen. Then she turned to me.

“And for you, miss?” She asked with a kind smile.

“Um…. whiskey?” I answered vaguely.

“Is there a brand you prefer?”

“Um….. no. I usually just order whiskey and I get... whiskey.” I giggled nervously, scratching my head. In the corner of my eye, I could see Rafe smile a little, his shoulders bouncing from a light chuckle.

“Get her a glass of Glenfiddich.”He said and the two nodded at each other in agreement.

“Two glasses…. maybe three.” I corrected him and he laughed again.

“Yes,ma’am. I’ll be back shortly. We should be in the air in about 10 minutes.” She told us as she gave me a smile. I returned it and sat back on the couch, my fingers tapping on the arm. I was nervous about flying, I’d never flown before. But I couldn’t let him know that.

“You okay?” He asked suddenly.

“Yeah…. just… really want a cigarette…”

“Hmph. I didn’t know you smoked.” He said casually.

“Uh yeah…. I’m tryin’ to quit.” I mumbled.

“Well good. That shit does fuck all for your lungs anyway.” He said and I nodded with a smile. He just kept on surprising me. Ever since we left the office, it was like he’d become a different person. I’d never heard him swear so much leisurely. “So um, I still have a bit of work to do before we touchdown in Italy. I’m gonna have my earpiece in so—”

“Of course! I can be quiet.” I chimed. He just chuckled.

“After dinner, Lyric.” He smiled.

“I knew that.” I mumbled in embarrassment.

Just as the stewardess said, we were in the air in no time and starting our flight to Rome. We held a light conversation over dinner, sort of like an ice breaker. Contrary to what I originally thought, he was actually kind of funny. Or “punny” rather. We talked about work, people in the office, how he couldn’t stand his meetings with certain people and we had a list of them that we both agreed were the absolute worst people; for similar reasons too. Afterwards, he delved into his work and I curled up on the couch, playing a few games on my phone as I listened to music, continuously drinking glasses of whiskey until I couldn’t feel my face. I couldn’t help but take a few glances at him as he worked though. The veins in his forearms that bulged as he scribbled on papers and the sharp angle of his jaw as he threw his head back when he was exhausted or frustrated was hypnotizing to say the least. The muscles in his chest making themselves present beneath his collared shirt and vest, the few strands of hair that tended to fall out of place by the end of the workday, his striking green eyes… ‘Stop it, Ricki. It’s Rafe. It’s your boss. You shouldn’t look at him that way…. Why are you even looking at him that way?!’ I thought suddenly. I scoffed and turned my phone off to close my eyes; maybe I could get a nap in somewhere on this flight. Before I knew it, the warmth of the food in my stomach, the low vibrations of the plane, and the comfort of the couch paired with the multiple drinks I had seemed to be enough to send me to sleep. Then I began dreaming…

I was in the office. It was after hours by the looks of things. When I turned in my seat, the workroom was empty, all the desk lamps were on and I was the only one there. Looking down, I was dressed in a simple white collared shirt and a pencil skirt that seemed to be a tad shorter and tighter than normal. But it didn’t phase me one bit. Hard rock music played off of my speaker rather loudly and there was an unfinished email typed up on the computer before me. I sighed and turned around to continue working when I heard Rafe’s voice calling me. “Ms. Lewis, I need your assistance please!” He yelled. Like always, I groaned loudly and went stomping towards his office. When I walked in, he was sitting behind his desk with his legs kicked up on the edge. His hair was disheveled as I secretly realized I liked, the buttons on his vest undone and his tie loosened, the cuffs of his sleeves rolled off of his wrists displaying a fancy watch. I leaned into the doorway and placed a hand on my hip with a touch of attitude.

“What do you want, Rafe?” I asked, completely out of character. If I ever answered him like that for real, I would probably be fired. But instead of yelling, he just let his eyes run over my body, biting his lip with intrigue. I cocked my brow and crossed my arms, tapping my foot impatiently as a devious smile flashed across his face. My heart skipped a beat as he took his feet off the desk and turned his attention to his computer.

“I’m having a bit of trouble getting this PDF to open. Would you mind…?” He asked me. I blinked at him a moment and sighed.

“Yeah. Seeing as I have to do everything else for you.” I replied in annoyance. I started over to his desk and he moved out of the way. Not necessarily standing up, more like just rolled his chair away from the computer. I leaned over as he rested his head in his hand on the desk, so obviously gawking at me as I typed away. Suddenly, he reached out and pushed a lock of hair over my ear, his finger stroking my jaw and his hand running over my shoulder then down my back. His touch caused a stir in me and I let out a shaky sigh but I continued to work. The file wouldn’t open. It didn’t make any sense. I did what I would’ve done on my own computer. I opted to try again.

“What is it that Samuel has that I don’t?” He asked me suddenly, his hand rubbing circles at the small of my back. I was taken aback and snapped my head to stare at him. The look on his eyes was something hungry and needy; like he was trying to hold back from doing something.

“I… um—”

“What can he give you… that I can’t?” He asked, his hand slipping past my hips and over the rounds of my ass. My heart began to race as his fingers traced down the back of my leg. I almost went weak when he graced over the sensitive spot just above the back of my knee. His touch was so electrifying that I could barely think. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he watched my reactions carefully.

“He… I don’t—”

“You don’t even know do you?” He seemed to smirk as his fingers ghosted over my inner thigh, slipping by the split in my skirt a bit. He gripped onto my thigh tightly and as he stood, his fingers brushed over my clothed clit. “Do you even want him? Hm?” He breathed into my ear, pulling my hair off of my neck and letting his nose trace my jawline. I had forgotten what I was even doing in his office to begin with since he started touching me. I took a slow and deep breath as his cold lips pressed against the warm skin of my neck. I closed my eyes with a shiver as he began massaging my through my panties. “Answer me, Lyric.” He demanded, slapping my ass rather harshly. I gasped from the contact and my hands began to shake in excitement.

“Rafe, I—”

“Mr. Adler…” he corrected me.

“Mr. Adler, I don’t know what you mean…” I sighed.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way you look at him… Why don’t you look at me that way, huh?” He asked, lifting my skirt as he stood behind me, running his hands over my ass gently. “Do you have any idea what you do to me, Ms. Lewis?” He groaned as he pressed himself against me, his hands now firm on my hips as he pulled me close to feel his growing hard-on. As he ran his hand up my spine, I felt my back arch for him. He continued to spank me until my cheeks turned red and the cool touch of his fingertips eased the pain. His fingers hooked around the hem of my panties and yanked them down my legs. He used his foot to kick my legs apart and carefully scooped up and handful of my hair, pulling on it a bit. He ran a chilling finger up my slick cunt and licked his fingers for a taste. He moaned in my ear as I let out shallow breaths.

“Just as I thought. You taste delicious…” He said and he continued to stroke my wetness until I was all worked up and began to finger me roughly. I was left groaning in need.

“Mr. Adler… please…” I whimpered, his fingers diving in and out of me.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” He asked in a deep alluring tone.

“Please fuck me—”

“Please fuck me, who?”

“Mr. Adler! Please fuck me, please!” I cried out. With a frustrated grunt, he pushed everything off of his desk, not caring about the mess and laid me down. He undid my blouse and cupped my breasts, leaving sloppy kisses all over my chest and he undid his belt. I didn’t see it but boy could I feel it as he entered me. He sucked on my nipples a while as I got used to his size and his hand travelled up to my neck, squeezing lightly as he began to move. He kept it slow, drawing out the feeling of my clit dragging along his length. I couldn’t keep myself from whining as he rolled into me.

“Fuck me harder.” I said suddenly. “Please fuck me harder, Mr. Adler.” I moaned, staring him right in the eyes. He gave an almost evil chuckle as he removed his tie from his neck and wrapped it around my wrists tightly, pushing my arms above my head. He hiked up my legs to wrap them around his waist and he began to drive into me. He hovered over me, staring into my eyes with so much lust and want as I squealed and moaned beneath him. He alternated between slow and fast paced, ramming into me until I felt myself beginning to come undone.

“Keep it up and you’re going to make me cum, Lyric.” He growled through his teeth, resting his forehead against mine with a satisfied lightly dimpled smile. And it was a damn gorgeous one at that.

“Cum in me. I want you to…” I shuddered. He laughed tiredly, cupping my cheeks with his surprisingly soft hands and kissing me deeply.

“Whatever you want…” He said darkly, his hand dragging from my cheek to my neck again. And this time he used both hands to choke me gently. He snapped his hips into me repeatedly, tears beginning to well in my eyes as I started to see stars.

“I’m gonna… I—” Just as I was about to release—

I felt a hand run down my shoulder, gently shaking me awake. When I opened my eyes, I was met with those striking greens and I gasped in embarrassment, moving away. Rafe has woken me up, sitting on the edge of the couch with a tired smile.

“Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you.” He said kindly as I sat up, a thick fabric falling off of my shoulders. He’d covered me with his jacket. My heart raced under his touch and I could feel my face burning as I looked into his eyes. “We’re about to land. I figured maybe you’d want to see the sky view.” He told me, pointing to the window behind my head. I turned my head to see a beautiful sunrise over what looked to be the Colosseum. I gasped and rose to my knees like a child to get a better look. All of the beautifully sculpted buildings and the bluest waters…

“This is amazing…” I said unknowingly.

“Wait until we actually get into the city.” He said in a soft tone of wonder similar to mine. I looked over at him and we shared a smile. This weekend was going to be an adventure for sure...

Full story on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26598127/chapters/64850665

[brokenbuttonsmusic]

Eleni Mandell: L.A. Singer-Songwriter with Smoky Chrissie Hynde Vocals and a flair for Tom Waits’ Influenced Experimentation

This post is a near- transcript of the Broken Buttons: Buried Treasure Music podcast (episode 5, side A). Here you’ll find the narration from the segment featuring the L.A. singer-songwriter, Eleni Mandell, along with links, videos, photos and references for the episode.

Listen to the full episode on Spotify, Apple, Anchor or Mixcloud.

Have you ever bought the wrong record? Like, you intended to buy something that sounded like one thing and you accidentally grab something that sounds very different. 

I don’t know if this happens anymore, but I believe it was quite common years ago. Imagine hearing an artist on the radio and being blown away. You go to the record store, find the plastic divider with the name of whom you’re looking for, but you can’t remember the name of the album, or even the song. Remember, you don’t have a tiny computer in your pocket. You’re too nervous to ask the store clerk for fear of looking stupid. So you roll the dice. 

“I know it was someone called Neil Young, but there are a thousand Neil Young records here.”

“Hey, this pink one looks cool.”

That exact scenario didn’t happen to me, but that album, Neil Young’s Everybody’s Rockin’, happened to be the most played Neil Young album in my house growing up, so for years I thought Neil Young was a rockabilly revival act. In reality, that was one of several oddball records Young released during a tumultuous period with his record label to fulfill his contract demands. I still love that record. 

Eleni Mandell did live out the scenario of buying the wrong record though. She shared the story during a segment of the show Bullseye with Jessie Thorn, where she describes seeing Tom Waits on MTV late at night—back when MTV still cared about music. It was either 120 minutes or IRS’ The Cutting Edge. This would have been around 1984 or 1985, so right around the time of Wait’s masterpiece Rain Dogs. When she went to the record store though, she picked up the 1976 Tom Waits’ Asylum release, Small Change instead. Now Small Change is still a great Tom Waits album, but it sounds nothing like the drastically reimagined sound and musical approach he had begun to employ starting with 1983’s Swordfishtrombones. Something Tom Waits called his “junkyard orchestral deviation.” The spare, off-kilter percussion. Moaning trombones and muted trumpets. Marimba. Plenty of marimba. Experimental instruments mixed in everywhere. Megaphones and CB radios. Trash can lids. 

This is the sound Eleni was looking for. 

Instead she got lush strings. Delicate piano. Cinematic swells and a melancholy wail. 

She got this.

Still awesome, but not the same. She credits the experience with changing her life. She grew to love both sides of the Tom Waits coin. The jazzy piano man in the smoky, whiskey-drenched nightclub and the eclectic, experimental carnival barker that she had her first encounter with on late night MTV. 

You can hear that deep appreciation and influence for the full Tom Waits spectrum injected and swirling through Eleni Mandell’s own spectacular catalog that spans more than 20 years now. 

She’s got plenty of experimental Waits, especially in her early catalog. 

And quite a bit of the jazzy nightclub vibe.

There’s also plenty of folk-y Eleni mixed in, and even some country.

You’ll notice that Eleni’s voice doesn’t sound like Tom Waits though. Did you notice that? It’s less of a deep, gravelly howl and more of rich Chrissie Hynde croon. Spin compared her to Chrissie Hynde and PJ Harvey. Rolling Stone compared her captivating melodies and witty lyricism to early Elvis Costello. 

While she doesn’t have the Tom Waits’ wail, she does specialize in his particular brand of character song-study. Like this first song we’re going to hear. The first track off of Eleni Mandell’s second album Thrill. Released in the year 2000. This is Pauline. 

Pauline, from Eleni Mandell’s second record, Thrill. So how did this remarkably unique singer-songwriter get her start and pull together so many interesting influences to create the sound we just heard.

Eleni grew up in the Sherman Oaks region of the San Fernando Valley, Los Angeles. She started playing music when she was just 5, beginning with the violin and then piano. Eleni didn’t love playing either, but continued to take lessons until she was thirteen. She remembers wanting to learn to write songs early on, but didn’t have the first idea of how to approach it, especially on violin. She jumped from violin and piano to guitar as a teenager. Her parents exposed her to a variety of musical styles. Her mom would take her to musicals and her dad, a serious record collector, played her Hoagy Carmichael and plenty of jazz standards. She loved the Beatles and remembers Diana Ross making an early impression. 

Another early life changing moment came when she discovered the Los Angeles punk band X.

X were huge in LA, and their first album (called Los Angeles) was the first record Eleni ever owned. Or maybe the first she asked to own. The first record she was ever given was Shaun Cassidy’s greatest hits for her 4th birthday. The first she ever purchased with her own money was X’s third release, Under the Big Black Sun. She tells a story of when she was out record shopping at a place called Aron’s Records, located on Melrose, and to her utter befuddlement came face to face with John Doe, lead singer of X. He was shopping for records too. She quickly snapped up a copy of the band’s third album and asked John to sign it. He did. She still has the signed album, which reads “Yours” complete with a big X “-John Doe.” That was the last autograph she ever asked for. It was not, however, the last time her path would cross with that of the band X. 

When she was a little bit older, she met Chuck E. Weiss, songwriter, rock n’ roller, beat poet and peculiar Tom Waits associate. Also the subject of the song, Chuck E.’s in Love.

Yes, that Chuck E. Weiss. Waits was in a relationship with Rickie Lee Jones. Waits, Jones and Weiss all lived at the seedy Tropicana Motel in Los Angeles. One day Weiss up and left out of nowhere. Some time later Chuck E. called the apartment where Jones and Waits were living. He explained to Waits that he had moved to Denver because he had fallen in love with a cousin there. Waits hung up the phone and announced to Jones, “Check E.’s in love. Rickie Lee Jones liked that so much that she it turned it into the song we just heard. 

Who is this episode about again? Oh, right. Eleni Mandell. Anyway, Eleni Mandell met THAT Chuck E. Weiss when she was not yet 21. Still, she had a friend who was able to get her into The Central, a Sunset Strip club that would later become The Viper Room. This would’ve been around 1990. Weiss was playing there every Monday. 

Here’s how the write up on Eleni’s original website describes her first encounter with Weiss.

“The first time she ever saw Chuck E. Weiss perform, he walked right up to her and smiled like a cross between The Cheshire Cat and an escaped mental patient. She met him a month later at Musso and Frank’s.”

Eleni says she was at the famous Hollywood restaurant and recognized Weiss. She worked up the courage to approach him and told him how much she loved his show. He asked if she wanted to accompany him to meet up with a friend at Canter’s Deli. She agreed. When they settled into one of the landmark eaterys iconic red, vinyl booths in walked her hero. Tom Waits. What a night. Tom asked Chuck how he and Eleni had met. 

“Hebrew school,” he declared. 

Here’s a tune from Eleni’s debut album, Wishbone, released in 1999. This is Sylvia. 

From Eleni Mandell’s first album, Wishbone, that was Sylvia. 

Under Chuck E. Weiss’ mentorship, produced by Jon Brion and self-financed by Mandell, Wishbone, as well as her next several records, received strong reviews and drew comparisons to Waits and PJ Harvey in style. 

Before Weiss mentored Mandell, he hired her as a door person at his club. She said he would test her to see how tough a door person she was by trying to grab money out of her hand. Weiss would continue to mentor Eleni over the years and they’re still friends to this day. 

For her fourth album, Mandell shook things up by diving into traditional country. A mix of covers and originals, 2003’s Country For True Lovers is an exciting update to her sound. And one of her life changing moments came full circle. Weiss introduced her to former X guitarist Tony Gilkyson, who produced the project. She also stacked the sessions with all star players, including Nels Cline from Wilco, and another X hero, drummer D.J. Bonebreak. 

Eleni continued to mix and mesh genres on her next release, 2004’s Afternoon. 

From the No Depression review of that album:

“Last years Country For True Lovers found Los Angeles chanteuse Eleni Mandell turning her sights on twang rather than her previous more PJ Harvey-oriented material, and she received plenty of critical acclaim in the process, sharing the LA Weekly 2003 songwriter of the year award with the late Elliot Smith.”

“On Afternoon, her fifth album, Mandell combines her love of various genres, including country, pop, jazz and rock, to stunning effect. Produced by Joshua Grange, who also lends his considerable talents on guitar, pedal steel, Hammond organ and piano, Afternoon mostly takes the slow and sexy approach. I’ve Been Fooled and Can’t You See Im Soulful give Mandell the chance to show off her breathy but passionate alto, which can devastate in a heartbeat.”

“Mandell does rock out from time to time, as on Easy On Your Way Out, which has a grungy Elvis Costello-gets-on-with-Liz Phair feel to it. I wanna be your afternoon/I want you coming back for more, Mandell sings on the sorta fun/sorta sad title song.”

She can also write catchy singles. Like this song from Afternoon, “Let’s Drive Away.”

That was Let’s Drive Away from Eleni Mandell’s fifth album, Afternoon, released in 2004. That song was also featured on the TV show, Weeds.

And here comes the challenging part of covering an artist like Eleni Mandell, who’s put out consistently solid albums for over two decades. There’s not enough time to feature all the good stuff she’s produced, but trust me, over her eleven albums, she always delivers. From the diverse shifting sounds of Artificial Fire [play clip] to the smooth and breezy Dark Lights Up [play clip], Eleni whirls a magical combination of jazz, folk, pop, country and rock, with just enough experimental twists to keep everything fresh. 

She’s also branched out from her solo artist gig to release two albums with her band The Grabs. The Grabs allows her to exercise more of her pop side and features Eleni on vocals, Blondie bassist Nigel Harrison, and Silversun Pickups’ drummer Elvira Gonzalez. 

And, she’s also released records with the Andrews Sisters inspired supergroup, The Living Sisters, with Inara George, Alex Lilly and Becky Stark.

I’d recommend checking out all of this. 

So now that we’ve established that the Eleni Mandell road is paved with the goods, let’s skip ahead to focus on her most recent album: 2019’s Wake Up Again.

Here’s what Eleni and her website have to say about the latest release: 

“For two years or thereabouts,” Mandell says, “I taught songwriting at two colleges and a women’s prison.”

The prison gig came about via Jail Guitar Doors, the organization founded by Wayne Kramer, guitarist of the vaunted Detroit band MC5, in partnership with English musician Billy Bragg. “I don’t know why exactly I was drawn to that work,” Mandell says. “But I had a family member who had been in prison in the 1940s. He wasn’t around when I was growing up, but that sort of fascinated me and I was always curious about what kind of person disappears and what kind of person commits crimes — what are they thinking?”

Working with the inmates also provided many epiphanies for her as a person, and proved fertile for her as an artist, as captured in the 11 songs on this album, her 11th studio release. In many ways it’s the culmination and fulfillment of all the strengths as a writer and performer going back to her start under the tutelage of Chuck E. Weiss, Tom Waits and other top chroniclers of people in the shadows.

“I really enjoyed it,” she says. “I was inspired by the stories, and surprised by the laughter I heard there. And I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was, by how many different kinds of people were there: teachers, lawyers, nurses, and also people who grew up in poverty.”

Here’s a song about one of the woman she met during those songwriting classes she taught. This is Evelyn.

Evelyn from Eleni Mandell’s most recent album, Wake Up Again. Another great addition to her expansive, impressive catalog. The album is filled with rich character studies and deeply personal self-examinations.

Her early Tom Waits inspiration continues to ignite and propel her, even after 11 albums. Only now she can call Tom a longtime friend. 

And she went from obsessive punk rock X fan to counting a member of X as a member of her own band. What a cool, thrilling ride she’s had so far. Eleni Mandell. 

References and other stuff:

Eleni interview with Luxury Wagers

Eleni interview with Mr. Bonzai

Eleni interview with Tyler Pollard on Timeline

The bio from Eleni’s current website has a great write up on her most recent album and I quote from it in the episode.

No Depression review of Afternoon that I quote in the episode

Here is the original bio from Eleni’s old website that is now archived. I also quote from this

Eleni has been featured on NPR segments over the years. I did not use anything directly from these, but they are good and informative

Pop Matter review of Dark Lights Up

Good L.A. Times article about Eleni teaching songwriting to female inmates and her latest album