#I’m here literally twenty years late but here’s my two cents I guess

[eyeballsoup7310]

Finally got to the end of sh2 and man. I really like that ending cuz not only does it expand Mary, who desperately needed more depth beyond “loving wife who’s dead now” (her flatness early on, I think, was also very intentional as I imagine that’s how James was trying to remember her), but it also retroactively makes James way more interesting to me, too.

By giving Mary these complicated feelings about her illness, she’s no longer Just A Nice Dead Wife, which is annoying trope in of itself, she’s a woman who feels like she’s been torn apart between dealing with an illness she knows won’t go away and being with the man who used to love her. In her final letter she says that she’s scared to go home to James because she knows he’s fallen out of love with her over this, he rarely visits her anymore and when he does he clearly hates it. Hates her. She doesn’t seem to have any other support system, the only people she knows are a small girl in the same hospital and the nurses and doctors. She probably felt broken and alone. And while there’s no way for a human to be broken, she was definitely alone.

And by having James internalize these frustrations, he then has all the thoughts simultaneously running through his head that “I’m not taking care of her as good as a husband as I should be” and “I hate her for this she says she hates being like this” and “I’ll be she’ll be better off for it”. There’s layers to it other than just “aaaaauuhhh I wanna fuck other women :((((“ like yeah, that theme is definitely there, there’s a reason why every enemy Looks Like That, but I personally prefer characters who have multiple reasons—bad as they may be—for doing things. Even the version of Mary that only exists in his memory tries to give him an out, she hated being sick, it’s okay, James, he still has to make the active decision to put that false memory to rest and tell her he did it for wholly selfish reasons.

Mary’s characterization is constantly at war with the real version of her, sick and resentful and scared and full of self hatred, and James’ memories of her, watered down to sick and sweet and forgiving— you only want to remember the ‘good’ parts of people you’ve lost, and if only remembering their best means forgetting why you grew to hate them, then that’s a bonus, right, James?

Mary was expanded from just a motivation for James to being her own person, fucked up and struggling, while simultaneously still being viewed as just a motivation for me in James’ own head, until he actually tries to make efforts to shut down the part of himself that thinks of her this way. I’m speaking in circles now but you get the point I think these are both really interesting characters

[clumsyclifford]

“i just lost the Celebrity X Lookalike Contest (I AM Celebrity X) and threw a tantrum about it, you’re the security guard who escorted me out and doesn’t believe me” au OR “i was scratching my nose, not bidding on the charity auction, but i won a date with you anyway and i don’t have the money but i’m not giving it up” au take your pick

ffghfgjdgsgldja sorry it took me FIVE HUNDRED YEARS and that you actually wrote the entire beginning of this but anyway here is it....three thousand words later. im gonna exhaust my supply of fics to dedicate to you today and then i won’t have any saved for the future when i want to win your favor but alas. such is life (i did the second one since i already did hthe first one i’m too lazy to link it but it exists....u read it....yeah)

“It’s six,” Calum feels the need to remind Luke, for the tenth time. “In the morning.”

“Oh my God, shut up,” Luke says. “It’s literally an opportunity to meet Green Day. If you were awake enough to process that, you’d be the one dragging me out of the house to get it. Anyway, it’s for a good cause.”

“That made no sense,” Calum says, probably because he’s tired and sluggish and it is six. “You know it’s six in the morning, right?”

Luke mutters something irritated and points to two seats next to each other. “We’re here,” he says. “Just sit down and shut up.”

“If all you wanted was for me to sit down and shut up, why the fuck did you make me come?”

“Because,” Luke says, looking like he’s about to whine. He better fucking not. If anyone’s going to whine, it will be Calum, because it is six in the morning. He scans the room, which looks roughly like he’d imagine an auction room to look like. Unsurprisingly, this quickly becomes boring, and when Luke sits down, Calum leans on Luke’s shoulder, yawning.

“So how do you win?” he asks. He’s a good friend, and Luke’s clearly excited. Calum can pretend to be excited, too, for twenty seconds.

“You don’t win,” Luke says. “The auction guy calls out a number, and people raise their hands, and then he keeps calling out numbers until only one person’s got their hand up.”

“Hm,” Calum says, because he doesn’t care. “How much are you spending on this, again?”

“Enough,” Luke says. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You drag me out of bed at six in the morning and now you won’t even tell me how much of a bad life decision you’re making,” Calum grumbles. “I don’t know why I’m friends with you.”

Luke doesn’t dignify this with an answer, just pats his hair and opens up Twitter on his phone.

Calum zones out for awhile after that. He registers the auction starting (mostly because Luke’s put his phone away), and from the angle his head is at, he can just see the front, where they’re displaying each item as it’s auctioned off. Time passes. Calum tries not to flat-out fall asleep, because it would be rude, but he’s really tired and has only gotten about four hours of sleep, and his head hurts. He tries to train his eyes solely on the front, to laser focus on whatever item’s being auctioned. Somebody’s socks, maybe? Some concert tickets? They put up a photo of someone, and Calum squints. He doesn’t recognize the guy, but he must be famous, because his picture’s up there. It’s a shame; the guy in the photo is hot, hot enough that it breaks through Calum’s sleep-deprived haze.

He rubs his hand against his forehead, trying to massage away some of the ache that’s building up. Fuck Luke for dragging him out to this, honestly. As he rakes a hand through his unkempt hair, he vaguely registers somebody going, “SOLD to the gentlemen in the Rolling Stones shirt!”

I’m wearing a Rolling Stones shirt, Calum thinks distantly, and then Luke’s shaking him. “Calum, what the fuck?”

“What?” Calum whispers.

“You — you just bid $2000 on a date with Michael Clifford.”

Calum blinks, a lot, and picks his head up off Luke’s shoulder. “Who the fuck is Michael Clifford?”

Luke points, and Calum looks up at the podium, and of course Michael Clifford is the super hot guy in the photo.

“I can’t have won that,” Calum says. “I don’t have two thousand dollars.”

“Well, you did,” Luke says, sounding like he’s moments from tearing his hair out because of Calum. “So you’ll just have to back out after the auction.”

“Jesus Christ, I don’t have two thousand dollars,” Calum says, beginning to panic. “Luke, what the fuck? I don’t even have two hundred dollars.”

“Okay, relax,” Luke says. “You’ll just tell the auctioneer after. You can forfeit the item to the next highest bidder.”

Calum is tempted to ask how the fuck do you know so much about auctions, but instead he says, “This is your fault for fucking dragging me here.”

Luke shushes him. Apparently the Green Day thing he’d come for is next up. Luke’s a terrible friend and an absolute menace to society.

The auction continues, and Calum keeps his hands tensely folded in his lap, terrified to even move in case this poor excuse for an auctioneer randomly decides to make his life hell again. He spends about an hour trying to work up the nerve to tell the man that he hadn’t intended to bid, he hadn’t even wanted to come to this, and he hasn’t got two thousand dollars anyway, so thanks but no thanks, you can give this particular victory to someone else.

But every time he does, his eyes land on the photo of the alleged Michael Clifford. Calum’s not, like, a shallow guy, but there is something to be said for a man that attractive. Namely that if you get a chance to go on a date with him, even if it costs two thousand dollars, you’d have to be not only stupid but fucking blind to turn it down.

You don’t have two thousand dollars, he firmly reminds himself. And you don’t know this Michael chump at all. He might be a total asshole.

(If someone that hot is an asshole, Calum will lose all faith in humanity, but whatever. It’s fine.)

He manages to steel his resolve enough to turn down the date, but when the auction ends everything is all hustle and bustle. Apparently Luke’s won his thing, which is cool for him. Calum goes up to the line with the auction winners and prepares to tell the lady (assistant?) that there’s been a mistake, but the lady just hands him a piece of paper and says, “Next.”

“No, sorry, there’s —” Calum says, trying to return the paper, and the lady gives him a chilling stare.

“Next,” she repeats. Luke looks desperately between Calum and the lady and then takes what she’s handing him and hurries them off.

“Luke,” Calum hisses.

“Okay, I know, but did you see her face? It’s fine. You can just email the auction company.”

“Just because you’re afraid of social confrontation,” Calum gripes, but it’s far too late. They’re already outside the building. “I hope you’re happy.”

“I am,” Luke says. “Calm down, Cal. Literally just send them an email. They’ll figure out you don’t have two thousand dollars soon enough anyway.”

Calum stares down at the paper in his hand, which has all the details on how to contact this Michael Clifford figure. It’s fine. He can email the auction company, and everything will be fine.

-

Everything is not fine. Calum typed michael clifford into his browser three hours ago, and now he’s fucked. Utterly, irreparably fucked.

He shouldn’t have checked. He shouldn’t have even bothered. If he’d operated under the assumption that Michael Clifford was a jackass who wasn’t worth a second of Calum’s time, much less a cent of his money, everything would have worked out wonderfully. Calum could have sent the email to the auctioneers, subject line: GRAVE MISTAKE, and sorted it out.

Instead he’s an hour deep into Michael Clifford interviews on YouTube, and he’s listened to the man’s entire discography (two albums and an EP). Calum has gone over everything with a fine-toothed comb, but there’s no two ways about it: Michael Clifford is dead sexy and that’s not even the best thing about him. How can someone be this witty and charming and beautiful and sort of awkward and gorgeous all at once and not, like, spontaneously combust?

It doesn’t help that he’s been steadily drinking tequila for the last two hours, also.

(He will easily blame the tequila for what he does next.)

He’d have to be an idiot to let this chance slip through his fingers. A total and complete fucking dumbass. Calum’s a lot of things, but he knows when God is giving him a chance. This is a miracle. An opportunity, Luke had called it. Calum’s not stupid, okay? He’s not.

TO: michaelclifford@hiorheyrecords.co.au 

FROM: calpal1996@gmail.com

SUBJECT: I won something with your guy

Hello,

I’m the winner of the charity auction date thing? With Michael Clifford? So that’s exciting. Write back with the details, I guess.

Calum Hood

-

Calum doesn’t tell Luke when he wakes up, mostly because for a couple hours he himself can’t believe he’s done it, and Luke will just voice every terrible thing Calum is thinking, beginning and ending with you don’t have, have never had, and will probably never have $2000. And Calum already knows that. He knows, okay?

But when he gets a response email, he can’t help but be excited, a little bit. If he’s going to go down (and he definitely is, for this), he may as well go down on a date with a man who looks like a fierce cuddler and a sex god rolled in one.

TO: calpal1996@gmail.com

FROM: michaelclifford@hiorheyrecords.co.au

SUBJECT: Re: I won something with your guy

Hello,

Michael will be in Sydney this weekend. Attached is his availability. Please reply at earliest convenience regarding which time suits you best.

Congratulations,

Michael Clifford's Management (Hi Or Hey Records)

Calum has no plans, ever, and would also easily cancel anything to speak with the absolute treasure that is Michael Clifford, so he replies that any time works for him. He hopes Michael himself isn't as stiff and formal as his management's emails, but Calum's coming off an interview binge, so he wouldn't believe that anyway. He's aware of the disparity between what the public sees of a celebrity and who the celebrity actually is, but a public persona has to be based on something.

Plus, Michael plays Fifa, so he can't be that bad.

He resolutely does not text Luke, and instead spends the day under his duvet, watching more interviews of Michael Clifford and listening to his music on repeat. It's kind of like studying, except the test is a date with a really hot famous bloke. But fuck if Calum's not going to ace it.

-

They decide on Friday night, because that's the universally accepted prime date night, or something, so on Friday night at 7pm, Calum is shifting nervously on his feet and waiting by his door. A car will pick him up, apparently. He just has to sit and wait.

(He's still deliberately not thinking about how this will cost him two thousand dollars. Which he doesn't have.)

Calum's phone buzzes with an email. It's from Michael Clifford's management, but all it says is, I'm outside :D. Tonally, Calum is pretty sure that one wasn't sent by the management.

He takes a deep breath and leaves his house.

The car out front is not a limo, like Calum would have expected. It's a nice Tesla, though, still clearly too expensive for Calum's street and gleaming in the little remaining daylight. Calum makes for it, feeling nervous and excited and mostly just terrified that this is the worst idea he's ever had.

He pulls open the passenger door and slides into the car.

"Hi," says Michael Clifford. Calum fights not to lose his breath. He's prettier in person, so much so that Calum can't actually believe the injustice that pictures and videos do to him. "Calum?"

Oh, that's Calum's name. "Hi, yeah," Calum says. "I'm Calum." He holds out the paper given to him at the auction, just like the management email had instructed him to do.

Michael takes it, looking sheepish. "Cool," he says. Calum can't feel any of his limbs. "Um, get in, I suppose? I know we didn't really decide where we're going, but I figured I'd let you choose."

Calum thinks about everything he's learned about Michael over the past two and a half days of intense studying. Then he checks it against his own appetite. "Pizza?"

Michael's face splits with relief. "Oh, thank fucking God. I've been craving pizza for like a week."

Calum grins in what he hopes is a charming and not-at-all-creepy way. And then he feels creepy anyway.

“So, uh,” Michael continues. “Tell me about yourself.”

Calum drums his fingers against his thigh. “About myself? Okay. Sure. My name’s Calum Hood, I’m on a football scholarship at uni — when I’m at school — and I like long walks on the beach.”

“Oh, we won’t get along,” Michael says. “I hate long walks on the beach. Bad start, Calum.”

“What? How can you hate walking on the beach?”

“The sand,” Michael says defensively. “It gets everywhere, it’s horrible.”

“Alright,” Calum says. “Anakin.”

“I know you did not just call me Anakin.”

“The sand,” Calum mimics. “It’s horrible.”

“I’ll stop this car.” 

“I think you’re contractually not allowed to,” Calum says. “Tell me about you, now.”

Michael looks pleased. Calum tries not to stare. “Alright,” Michael says, smiling crookedly. “Name’s Michael, and I like video games, and I like watching films in the darkness and I hate the beach.”

“Wow,” Calum says. He suddenly thinks that watching films in the darkness wouldn’t be too bad, with the right company. “You’re a right charmer, you are.”

“I’m an introvert,” Michael protests. “Don’t judge me.”

“You’re an introvert? Who auctioned off a date?”

“It wasn’t up to me,” Michael says. He sounds like he’s trying not to be bitter about it, and failing. “It was, like, my management and the auction company conspired against me. But it’s for charity, anyway.” He shoots a look at Calum. “Actually, I think it could’ve gone much worse.”

Calum feels terribly, all of a sudden. He’s lying to Michael, sitting here pretending like he actively chose to come on this auction-mandated date. 

“So, not to be, like, self-obsessed, but I have to ask,” Michael says. “Do you like the new record?”

“Yes,” Calum says immediately, which is true, at least. “Yes, I love it. I’ve listened to it a million times.” In the last three days.

Michael grins happily. “Really?”

Calum nods. “Uh. Yeah. Really.” He wavers, mouth dry. Michael looks delighted, and Calum would be an asshole to let him sit there feeling oblivious about Calum’s whole situation. He sighs. "Um, for the record, I feel like you should know that — well. This is a misunderstanding, kind of."

Michael briefly shoots him a puzzled look before bringing his eyes back to the road. "What is?"

"Well, ah, me, being here." Calum rubs the back of his neck. "I won this by accident. I don't have two thousand dollars — yet, I mean, I promise I'll pay, I just...I honestly didn't know who you were until about three days ago."

Michael snorts, clearly amused. He laughs  "That's great," he says. "Did you look me up?"

"Yes," Calum says. "A bit." He pauses, embarrassed. "Okay, a lot. There's a lot of information about you on the internet, if you were wondering. And I'm sure most of it isn't true, but I didn't want to, like, offend you? But I meant it about the album, it’s really really good, exactly the kind of music I love, and — yeah. So."

Michael still looks amused when Calum finishes word-vomiting all over him. Small mercies. "I'm glad," he says, looking sidelong at Calum for a moment. "Well, I'm sorry you ended up on a date you can't afford with a guy you don't care about."

"No, no," Calum says. "I could have forfeited it, I think? But, well." Whatever, Michael probably gets this all the time, and after all this is a date, so what the fuck does he have to lose? "I thought you were hot, and I was pretty drunk, so I figured, fuck it."

Michael snorts another laugh. "Really," he says. "Well, that's pretty lucky for me."

Calum frowns. "Lucky?"

"Yeah, I mean." Michael gestures. "Sorry if this is forward, but you're pretty good-looking yourself."

Calum has absolutely no idea what to say to that. "Um, thank you? That's — is this, like, scripted? Are there things you have to say to me in some contract? Because I promise not to be offended if you just don't say them."

"There's no contract," Michael says, with an easy smile. "I just think you're kinda hot. Is that allowed?"

"Allowed?" Calum repeats, incredulous. "No, it's not allowed. You need to be checked for delusion. You can't call me hot when I'm in a car with you."

"Well, I am," Michael says. "It's done. Deal with it."

"I want the record to reflect that that compliment was nonconsensual," Calum says. You're kinda hot you're kinda hot you're kinda hot you're kinda hot, his mind sings.

"Should I take it back?" Michael asks, arching a brow. He looks like a fucking sculpture. Calum finally understands why museums exist.

"No," he says. "I took a voice note of you saying it, and I'm going to sell it on eBay. For two thousand dollars. Which I will then use to pay for this date."

Michael shakes his head and pulls into a parking lot. "How about this: you pay for the pizza, and I'll pay the two thousand dollars?"

Calum's heart stops, maybe. He's pretty sure he's supposed to have a heartbeat, but he can't locate it in his body. "What? No."

"Why not?" Michael turns to him in the passenger seat. "I'm having a good time, and a gentleman ought to pay for his date's meal, or some bullshit like that, right? So if you buy me pizza, I'll pay off the auction, and then I can ask you on a real date, and I'll buy you pizza, and we'll be even."

Calum stares, unable to process any of that. "I don't think that math checks out," he says. "What do you mean, a real date?"

Michael chuckles, and sounds a little shy. "One where neither of us is financially obliged to attend. You know. Like a normal one."

"Oh," is what Calum eloquently comes up with. "Uh, you want to do that with me?"

Michael shrugs. "Yes? You kept me smiling for the whole drive, and you called me hot. I'm very insecure, so that's important. Plus, as previously mentioned, you're also hot, so I think we'd make a very attractive pair."

"Maybe I'll say no," Calum says, blood roaring in his ears because there is literally no way this is happening, this is not his real life. This is a dream and he's very witty in his dreams. "Don't push your luck, Clifford."

Michael laughs. "Touch��."

"That was a joke," Calum says. "Just like yours was a joke."

"I wasn't joking," Michael says. "But you can say no. We're both still on this date, we may as well enjoy it."

"Pizza," Calum helpfully remembers.

Michael nods in agreement. "Pizza."

"Ask me again at the end of our auction-mandated charity date," Calum says. "If you're charming enough, I might just let you take me out again."

"Challenge accepted." Michael gets out of the car, and so does Calum, and he gives himself another this isn't real life, for good luck, before coming around the car. Michael holds out an arm, and Calum takes it.

Calum's never had better pizza, or a better date. (Michael asks him again at the end, and Calum says yes, because he's no fucking idiot.)

[nat-roman0ff]

don’t cry about it, baby

don’t cry about it, baby.

---

life changing news before a family picnic makes you reevaluate what “the next step” really means. wc: 2,905 warnings: 10 cents to the swear jar, crying babies, & psychic moms.

---

 This was probably your worst nightmare. 

 You stare down at the third pregnancy test you’ve taken this morning and it’s positive. Fingertips shake as you throw it into the bin and curl into a ball. Your body quivers as you sob and sob and sob. It’s only a matter of time before Shawn starts banging on the door. He knew something was up for a few weeks; when you realized your period was late, when you woke up every morning throwing up, when you would fall asleep early on the couch after dinner. All signs led up to the worst possible outcome:

 You were pregnant. 

“Hey baby, we have to leave for my parent’s house in a few. Are you okay in there?” Shawn asks from the other side of the bathroom door. 

 “Yeah,” you sniff, “I’m fine. Must be food poisoning or something.” 

 “Again?” Shawn sees through the lie, “that’s the third time in the last two weeks. Are you sure you’re not sick?” 

 “I said I’m fine, Shawn!” You reply with poison in your voice.

 He doesn’t say anything, and you hear his footsteps echo away. Panic runs through your veins. How will you tell your family? His? The media? You’re both barely 21, and he’s gone most of the time. Shawn barely had time for you let alone you and a baby. There’s so much running through your head all at once that you don’t notice Shawn picking the lock for the bathroom door. 

 “Baby! What’s wrong?” He rushes over to you and sits beside you on the floor. 

 You can’t help but cry more as he holds you close to him. His hand rubs your back and he shushes you to try and calm down. It doesn’t work, though, and your sobs choke you as they come out. You’re left gasping for breath while Shawn holds your tear soaked face between his palms. 

 There’s a ringing in your ears so loud you feel like you might pass out. The thumping of your heart is so hard it leaves you breathless. You try your damnedest to break out of it but it keeps pulling you back under, leaving your body a shaking mess.

 “Baby - BABY!” He’s literally shouting, “You need to breathe, calm down. You’re going to give yourself a panic attack. Look at me. Take a deep breath.” 

 You close your eyes and take in a shaky breath, “I’m pregnant.” 

 Shawn immediately lets you go, his hands dropping to the floor, “...what?”

 He looks down at the ground, his eyes round, fingers tangling through his curls and tugging at the root.

 You swallow hard as the tears threaten to come down again, “I’m sorry.” 

 He turns his head to look at you, “what - why are you apologizing?” 

 You wipe your wet cheeks with the back of your hand, your eyes stinging and your throat dry, “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I don’t want this to fuck up your life or your career, or -” 

 “Baby,” he lifts your face by your chin, “that’s not going to happen. It takes two to tango. It’s...it’s a lot, but we’ll figure it out. Have to.” 

 “So you’re not worried?” You ask. 

 He shakes his head, “no, I’m fucking terrified. Me? A parent? I can’t even cook myself breakfast, how am I supposed to take care of another human being?” 

 You let out a breathy laugh and drop your head on his shoulder, “I love you.” 

 He rests his cheek on the top of your head, “I love you too.” 

 ---

 “What about Amadeus?”

 You snort, “as in like, Mozart?” 

 “It’s classy!” Shawn defends. 

 “It’s stupid!” You laugh. 

 He intertwines his fingers in yours, keeping a free hand on the steering wheel, “I don’t see you coming up with anything better.” 

 You ponder for a few a second, “what about Dexter?” 

 Now it’s Shawn’s turn to snort, “that’s stupid.” 

 The two of you are driving to his parent’s house. The road is lined neatly with pretty little houses and rows of trees. It’s a beautiful day, the sun is high in the sky and it’s the perfect temperature of not too hot, and not too cold. You drive with the windows down, your hand snaking through the air out the passenger’s side window. There are six left turns to get to Shawn’s neighborhood in Pickering. You close your eyes and count each one and try to concentrate on the feeling of the wind through your fingers instead of the twisting knot in your stomach.

 “Hey -” Shawn pulls you out of your trance, “everything is going to be fine.” 

 You hum, but aren’t so sure. Yeah, he’s got the money, and you know the baby will be loved and taken care of - but are you two ready? Can anyone really be ready for their first child? You weren’t even engaged, or even brought up the next step. The relationship wasn’t exactly new, you’d been dating for about two years now but besides moving in with him after Christmas, there was no talk of what your next step was. 

 Well, I guess this is the next five steps, you think.

 “I know,” you reply, “I just don’t want your parents to hate me.” 

 You play with his fingers in your lap, not looking at him, “my parents could never hate you.” 

 You side eye him, “you’re a twenty year old international rock star. You don’t have time for a baby.” 

 Shawn slams on the breaks, leaving the cars behind you honking and swerving around you, “excuse me?” He pulls his hand from yours. 

 You sigh, you didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did, “I’m just saying I know you have more important things to focus on and I don’t want to be the reason that you can’t focus on those things.” 

 “Are you breaking up with me?” He scoffs. 

 It takes you a second too long to respond. 

 “You can’t just break up with me because you’re pregnant, Baby,” he’s softer now and holds both of your hands in yours, “fuck - we’ll get married tomorrow and tell everyone it was a Honeymoon child.” 

 You pull your hands away and cover your face, “that’s not the point, Shawn. You don’t have time for this - or the energy. I don’t want to be sitting at home all alone with a baby while you’re traveling the world. A child needs a father around.” 

 “So I’ll take time off -” 

 “I can’t ask you to do that, Shawn.” 

 He scoffs, “so what the fuck are you asking me to do then?” 

 “I don’t know,” you mumble. 

 He drops your hands and puts the Jeep back into drive, peeling off down the street. Shawn’s grip on the wheel is so tight you can see the skin around his knuckles turning white. He chews the inside of his cheek, fighting back all the venomous words he wants to say to you. You give him credit for keeping his mouth shut.

 The two of you drive in silence the rest of the way to the Mendes’ household. The party is already in full swing when you arrive. Shawn’s quick to exit the car, not bothering to open the passenger door for you like he always does. You follow behind him to the front door and inside. 

 “Ah, the prodigal son returns,” Aaliyah greets with arms crossed. 

 “Hello sister,” Shawn pulls her into a big hug.

 She groans and wiggles out of his grip to give you a big hug, “missed you!” She squeaks, “him not so much.” 

 Shawn shrugs, “I’ll remember that when your sweet sixteen rolls around and mom and dad won’t buy you a new car.” 

 You watch him walk away into the kitchen to greet the rest of his family. The tears are threatening to spill over again, so you excuse yourself from Aaliyah and practically run for the bathroom. You shut and lock the door, stepping in front of the vanity to give yourself a good once over. Needless to say, you look a mess; eyes are rimmed red from crying, there’s a flush in your face and blotches of red muck up your cheeks.

 “Just breathe, get through today, you can deal with the rest later,” you say to yourself, clutching the countertop. 

 Turning on the faucet, you splash some cold water on your face to try and calm down. It somewhat works, or at the very least gives you enough courage to step back out to the party. Shawn’s in the kitchen talking to his parents, his dad cooking something over the stove and his mom putting together drinks in the blender. You approach slowly and wrap your arms around Shawn from behind. 

 He’s rigid, and doesn’t immediately respond to your touch. You kiss his shoulder through the cotton of his teeshirt and he relaxes a little under you. 

 “Shawn here was just telling us about how you’ve been looking at engagement rings,” Karen winks, “pick something shiny!” She whispers. 

 You laugh it off and Shawn pulls you from behind him and places your body in front of his. His parents go back to busying themselves as hosts and Shawn continues to hold you in his arms and not say anything. 

 He kisses the top of your head, “we still have a lot to talk about, but I don’t want to be pissed off at my parent’s party. I also really want to eat a cheeseburger and you know being pissed off gives me indigestion.” 

 You let out a breathy laugh and turn to bury your face in his neck, kissing his collarbone, “I love you, I’m sorry, I want this to work.” 

 Shawn hugs you tighter swaying you back and forth to the music that floats in from the speakers outside, “yeah, I do too.” 

 ---

 Two hours later you’re sitting at the edge of the pool in the Mendes’ backyard. Music is booming, friends and family are laughing and drinking and swimming. You lean back and welcome the hot sun against your skin. It’s a warm burn, and a welcomed distraction from this morning. You and Shawn decided to keep it a secret, for now. To wait until you two had decided what your next step is going to be. 

 “You know, I’m still not against putting a ring on it,” Shawn sits next to you and dips his bare legs into the pool. 

 You roll your eyes at him, “while I’m not against it in the future, I’d like to be able to drink at my own wedding.” 

 He kisses your forehead, “fair enough,” Shawn kicks your foot underwater, his lips still pressed to your forehead, “stop thinking so much about it. Just relax and try to have fun today, please?” 

 You nod, “yeah, yeah I will.” 

 A ball hits the back of Shawn’s head and you hear the chorus of giggles coming from his little cousins behind you. They can’t be older than maybe two or three. 

 “Come pway, Shawnie!” The little girl demands, she already has a juice stain on the front of her dress and she runs away when Shawn gets up to run after her. 

 You watch as he chases her around the backyard and scoops her up, swinging her around. She laughs and laughs and laughs until tears are running down her face. When Shawn puts her back down again she runs off to the next adult to get attention from. He looks at you and shrugs, your heart feeling so giant it may burst.

 “Want a drink, love?” Karen hands you one of her famous Daiquiris. 

 The reason it’s famous is for the massive amounts of rum she puts into it.

 “Oh no thank you,” you decline, “my stomach isn’t feeling the greatest today.” 

 She hums and places her palm on your forehead to check your temperature, “hmm, alright. I’ll make you a virgin one then.” 

 “You’re seriously the best,” you say, and she pats your head once before walking away. 

 You watch Shawn as he plays with one of his cousin’s babies. He can’t be more than a year old, just learning how to walk. Shawn props him up, offering him a finger to hang onto and they walk slowly across the lawn, the baby waddling beside him, babbling. They have a pretend conversation and you bite your lip to hold back a laugh as Shawn talks to the baby about vintage Fender guitars.

 Shawn lets go to let him walk by himself and he manages for a few steps before falling backwards onto his bum. Immediately, the baby is in tears, screaming. Shawn scoops him up and holds him close, cooing and rubbing his back until he stops.

 “See? You’re fine!” He says wiping away the baby’s tears, and plops him back down on the ground. He watches him crawl back over to his parents.

 Shawn catches your eye from across the yard and starts walking back to you, “you ready to swim yet, Baby?” 

 “Not today,” you respond. 

 “Suit yourself.” 

 Shawn pulls his shirt off and drops it on your lap before diving into the pool, splashing you. He swims up to the edge where you sit and kisses your knees, pulling himself between your legs. Honestly, he looks like a fucking God all wet in front of you.

 “The water is perfect,” he groans, leaning back into the water, “you should really come in.” 

 “I’m not feeling it today, Shawn, really.” 

 “Well - too bad!” 

 Before you can protest he’s pulling you in, fully clothed. 

 “You fucking asshole!” You complain through gritted teeth. 

 Shawn wraps an arm around you, using his other to keep the two of you afloat, “rule number one of parenting: don’t swear with the kids around,” he says before pecking your cheek. 

 He lets you go and swims away, you chase after him, splashing and pushing him under when you get to him. It’s playful and fun, the glimmer in his eyes and the creases in his cheeks when he smiles stops your breath for a moment. He kisses your temple and you almost forget about the pregnancy and the argument on the drive over. For now, it’s just this moment.

 “Everyone out of the pool, it’s time to eat!” Manny yells from the grill. 

 You and Shawn are the last ones out, too caught up in each other and below the surface touches, and sneaked kisses. He’s happily nibbling on your neck when his dad speaks up again, “Shawn, you eat cheeseburgers, not your girlfriend!” 

 Shawn opens his mouth to speak and you slap a palm over it, “I swear to God if you make a pussy eating joke in front of your whole family I’m going to drown you in this pool.” 

 He just grins and helps you out of the pool. Karen is already waiting with warm towels to wrap yourselves in, “here, come with me darling, we’ll find you something dry to change into.” 

 She pulls you into the house and upstairs to Shawn’s old bedroom. It’s the same as it was the day he moved out. You remember it the same as when you were younger but things seemed so much smaller now, and the world is so much bigger. You change into the warm clothes that Karen brought for you. There really is no better feeling than putting on dry clothes after swimming. You revel in that little moment for a second, laying on Shawn’s old bed.

 “Knock knock!” 

 It’s Karen.

 “Just checking to see how you’re doing.” 

 You scrunch your face, “I’m fine.”

 She tilts her head and does that total mom look, “oh honey,” she places her hand on yours, “I know you’re pregnant.” 

 “I cannot believe he told -” 

 “He didn’t have to, sweetie. I can see that stressed look on your face, you were crying in the bathroom when you got here, you didn’t have a drink,” she taps her temple, “pretty easy to put together.” 

 “Fuck,” you sigh, “I’m so sorry.” 

 Karen rubs your back, “why are you saying sorry?” 

 “Because I’m going to fuck everything up that he’s worked so hard for,” you sniff, fighing the tears, “it’s not fair to him.” 

 She sighs, “I know my son, I know he loves you. I also know he loves what he does, but I know he’ll be responsible for this baby with whatever path you decide to take.”

 You rest your head on her shoulder, “thanks, Mama K.” 

 “What’d you do to make her cry?!” Shawn squawks from the doorway.

 He comes and sits on the other side of you.

 “I think this is my cue,” Karen says, giving you a pat on the leg and leaving you and Shawn alone in his bedroom. 

 “She knows,” you mutter.

 “You told my mom?!” 

 You shake your head, “no, she just knew.” 

 “Well cats out of the bag then. Karen can’t keep a secret to save her life. Half the town will know by the time we get back downstairs.”

 You laugh and press your face into his shoulder, “are we making the right decision?” 

 Shawn puts his arm around you and holds you close, “as long as we’re in it together, it’s the right decision.”

[the-dark-swan]

On My Side

“I was under the impression I was an ‘insufferable, territorial bastard’,” he mocked in a terrible impression of her voice. “You can’t have it both ways.”

“No, you can’t have it both ways, Mister Don’t-Touch-Me-Like-That,” Aelin spat at him, crossing her arms protectively over her chest.

the Pandemic AU that literally no one asked for. i wrote the entire thing because of two lines of dialogue that popped into my brain (bonus points if you can guess which ones). 

i’ve never shared anything i’ve written for the TOG fandom on tumblr before so here *chucks story into the void and runs*

(also available on ao3)

“I swear to every god that is listening I will choke you next time I see you, Rowan Whitehorn,” Aelin snarled, leaning her face dangerously close to her computer’s camera.

The speakers emitted a cacophony of howling laughter. She saw Rowan in the little square showing his camera feed, a shit-eating grin on his face. A beat passed, as he waited for a pause in the din of noise. His grin turned feral and he replied, “Do you promise?”  

More laughter shrieked through the speakers, only broken by a choked gagging sound, no doubt from her cousin Aedion. “Could you guys keep it PG for more than 5 minutes at a time? I am begging you,” he groaned.

This all had started as an innocent way for them all to see each other again during their cities’ respective stay-at-home orders. Fenrys, ever the ring leader, had suggested in lieu of their typical March Madness bracket arguments, they could make brackets for other, more mundane things, then argue and vote on them via video chats. The first bracket they had done was MLM power-rankings based on the product and likelihood that Lorcan (the most cynical among them) could be convinced to join. It had taken them two hours before they had reached a conclusion, but for the most part it was goofy and civil.

Today’s debate was more personal: who among them was more likely to start a brawl in a bar. Instead of not wanting to be the one chosen, the group had immediately started vying for the position of most likely to.  The current debate was between Aelin and Lysandra. Rowan had just given his two cents that not only was Lysandra more volatile when drunk, she was also more likely to cause a fight.  Aelin was positively furious.

In the camera, Rowan spread his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “Sorry, love, Lysandra is more likely to start a fight,” he knew she hated when he used pet names on her, “If the question was who is more likely to finish a fight, I would most certainly have picked you.”

“That’s it, Buzzard, I don’t care about social distancing…” Aelin leaped up and out of the screen.

Her friends couldn’t see her, but she stormed out of her apartment, practically ripping the door off its hinges. She took the steps to the third floor two at a time. One right turn and two left turns brought her in front of Unit 343. There was no resistance as she turned the handle and shoved the door open. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the rational part of her puzzled at what reason Rowan could possibly have for having his door unlocked.

Aelin stalked through the long hallway that opened into his loft apartment and found Rowan sitting on the ground, back against his couch, the laptop still open in front of him. Through the speakers, she could make out Fenrys’s voice.

“... twenty dollars says she spits directly into his eyes from Aedion. Lys has an additional five dollars down that Aelin will bring up the incident from New Year’s…”

Rowan reached forward calmly, pressing a button on his laptop, then finally raised his head to look at her. Pine green eyes roved up her body, making Aelin suddenly very aware that she was barefoot and actually wearing a shirt of his that she had stolen months ago.

“Was there something you needed to say?” he asked.

From the computer, someone asked, “Oh my god, Rowan, is she in your apartment?” to which Rowan responded by turning the volume down.

“Technically, you shouldn’t be here,” he added, his voice rumbling in that way that did funny things to Aelin’s heart.

Before she could stop the words, she shot back, “Technically, I thought you were supposed to be on my side, not Lysandra’s.”

“Did he mute them? I can’t hear anything,” a voice complained through the computer speakers.

He cocked his head at her, ignoring the laptop entirely. “You’d sound jealous if I didn’t know better.”

Aelin opened her mouth, but no words came. “Does anyone read lips?” Fenrys asked through the speakers.

“I was under the impression I was an ‘insufferable, territorial bastard ’,” he mocked in a terrible impression of her voice. “You can’t have it both ways.”

“No, you can’t have it both ways, Mister Don’t-Touch-Me-Like-That,” Aelin spat at him, crossing her arms protectively over her chest.

Rowan went still, in that eerie, preternatural way of his. From the computer, someone murmured, “I think she just brought it up.”

The New Years’ Incident. Nausea rolled through her stomach every time she devoted any thoughts to it. The memory of Rowan yanking her hands away from his face, growling “Don’t touch me like that,” while everyone around them counted down the final seconds to midnight, was not a memory she liked to dwell on.

He rose to his full height, unfolding long, muscled limbs from where he sat on the floor, towering tall enough that Aelin swore he had his own gravitational pull. “Are we finally going to talk about it?”

In her chest, Aelin’s heart took off in a nervous gallop. Did she want to have it out with him over it, finally? Three months of carefully maintained distance from Rowan had been painful. Sidestepping him when he went to touch her, letting their inside jokes die on her tongue, sandwiching herself between Fenrys and Aedion at shared meals like they were bodyguards. Now that she thought about it, this was the first time they had been alone together since that night, despite living in the same apartment building.

Across the room, Rowan moved slowly, rounding the coffee table that separated them in measured, calculated steps, as if he was approaching startled prey. Aelin remained rooted to the floor, swaying a bit as he came within arm’s reach. This close, she had to tilt her head back to look him in the face.

“I’m sorry, Aelin.”

She shook her head, swallowing around the lump in her throat. “You don’t really even have anything to be sorry for. It was nothing.” In her head, ‘Don’t touch me like that’ played on a loop.

“It wasn’t nothing, Aelin. You won’t let me within three feet of you. And I miss you. Although, given the pandemic, maybe that has been for the best.” He paused for a beat, raising his hand out towards her. When she didn’t retreat, he moved closer, reaching for her hand and grasping it gently. She offered no resistance as he lifted it towards him and pressed it to the curve of his jaw.

Beneath her hand, his mid-day stubble bit into her palm. “Rowan,” she started, but he shook his head, cutting her off.

“Lately, it feels like the world is ending, and I keep thinking how you might have never known how much I miss you and how sorry I am,” his voice cracked and he swallowed roughly. “I didn’t mean it, what I said. I got… I got scared, Aelin. You mean everything to me. Everything. I thought if I… if we… if we kissed, it would ruin everything. I couldn’t risk messing everything up and losing you, but then I did that anyways.”

Her body rocked into his gravity of its own accord, her other hand automatically bracing against his chest. Talking over the pounding of the blood rushing in her ears, she said, “You didn’t lose me. I trust you, always. And if friendship is all you can give-”

“No,” he interrupted gruffly. “No, Aelin. I’ve had three months to be honest with myself and this has never been just platonic.”

A shuddering breath stuttered through Aelin’s chest at his confession, hope clogging her throat, preventing any more words from escaping. Rowan left her hand on his face, moving his own to cup the back of her neck and tip her face further up. This close, she saw the way his pupils had swallowed most of the green of his irises. She licked her lips and his eyes tracked the movement.

Just as he started to drift towards her mouth with his own, a voice startled them both. “Do you think they’re kissing or fighting? Lorcan had ten dollars on a brawl, Elide had twenty on a make out.”

“Could you excuse me for one moment?” Rowan whispered, his breath ghosting across her face. Removing his hands from her, he marched over to where the laptop sat open on the coffee table, bringing his face back into view and unmuting it.

“If you would kindly stop interrupting us-”

“I’m sure there’s lots of talking-” the unmistakable voice of Lysandra quipped.

“Like I said, there's money down on fighting or fucking pick your-” Fenrys added unhelpfully.

“Shut up ,” Rowan growled, leaning his face nearly all the way into the camera. “If you could shut your traps and stop trying to profit off of your friends’ love lives, that would be great.” Aelin slapped her hands over her face, a blush spreading like wildfire across her face. Love lives? Love? She hadn't dared to acknowledge the way that word rattled around her brain when she looked at Rowan, yet here he was casually throwing it out into the world. Through her fingers, she saw Rowan note her reaction.

“Goodbye, fuckos.” He snapped the laptop shut unceremoniously.

His steps were near silent as he made his way back to her, wasting no time drawing her back into his arms. Aelin brought both her hands up to his face this time, letting her thumbs drag over his cheekbones. His thumb brushed across her lower lip, as if to remind her where this moment was headed.

“Did that word scare you?”

She shook her head. “Nothing about you could ever scare me. Like you said, I don’t think this has been platonic for a long time, if ever.”

He considered her again for a moment, eyes tracking across her features. “What if you deserve better than me?”

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t deserve, Buzzard.”

“Gods, you’re such a brat,” he murmured, and then his lips were on hers.

[arysafics]

Imperfectly Perfect

Summary:  Bellamy knows Clarke is way out of his league, which is why he refuses to tell her how he feels about her. Unfortunately, Murphy knows, and decides to use the information against him.

Prompts filled:

1. best friend-roommates to lovers Bellarke fic involving body insecurity but with Bellamy as the insecure one (I feel like it’s usually Clarke) and Clarke as the one who uplifts him.

2. Bellamy finally gets Clarke to be with him after years of mutual pining but gets crazy jealous because he’s still insecure and thinks she’s too good for him – anon

3. his friends know Bellamy is crushing on Clarke hard but he tells them he would literally rather do anything than tell her, so they (Murphy) keep coming up with ridiculous dares for him to complete instead of telling her. like I'm imagining they start with something easy like painting his nails pink (he could totally rock that) and then it gets more and more elaborate to the point where on Tuesdays he's only allowed to eat foods that start with b or something – anon

Rated T, ~6.6k words

Of all the mistakes Bellamy has made in his life, telling Murphy about his crush on Clarke is probably the most stupid. He could have told anyone else, and he might have been teased, comforted, or pressured to do something about it. But at least with anyone else his secret would be safe. That’s not a given with Murphy.

“Have you told her yet?” Murphy asks as Bellamy lets him into his apartment. It’s Murphy’s new way of greeting Bellamy. The answer is always the same.

“No, and would you shut up?” Bellamy hisses. “She’s home.”

“You know you’re way too old to live with a roommate, right?” Murphy says. He shoves a six pack into Bellamy’s arms, then waltzes past him and into the living room.

“There’s no age limit on having a roommate,” Bellamy scoffs, pulling out a beer as he follows Murphy. He tosses the beer to his friend, now lounging on the couch, and grabs one for himself.

“I don’t know, man,” Murphy says. Bellamy flops down beside him. “By thirty-six I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to have a wife and four kids.”

“So you’ve got, what? Two years to achieve that?”

“At least I live alone.”

“I like having a roommate.” Just as he pronounces this, said roommate walks into the room, all dressed up in a low-cut top that immediately sends Bellamy’s brain into inappropriate territory.

“Me too,” Clarke grins. She walks over behind the couch, and both Bellamy and Murphy strain their necks to look around at her. “What are you guys getting up to tonight?” she asks.

“Watching basketball and drinking,” Bellamy tells her. “You want one?” he nods to the beer on the coffee table in front of them.

“Just let me have a sip of yours, I’m already late.” Bellamy passes her the bottle and she takes a long swig before handing it back. “Okay, I better go. I don’t know what time I’ll be back. I might see you tonight or maybe just in the morning.”  

“Okay, have fun.”

“You too.” She heads for the door, giving the boys a last wave before she’s out of sight.

“She likes you too,” Murphy says.

Bellamy snorts. “No, she doesn’t.”

“I’m telling you she does.”  

“Would you shut up?” Bellamy scowls. “You’re just making me feel worse about it.”

“What? Why?”

“Because she’s obviously way out of my league,” Bellamy says.

“You’re joking, right?” Murphy says. “Since when have you ever thought anyone was out of your league? You used to have girls begging you to take them home with you.”

“Yeah, fucking—ten years ago,” Bellamy rolls his eyes. “I’m not exactly twenty-six anymore, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“You think you’re too old for her? That it?”

Bellamy shrugs. That’s not really it, but he doesn’t feel like he can explain to Murphy what the problem really is. Murphy doesn’t seem to notice Bellamy’s non-committal response.

“She’s twenty-nine, Bellamy, it’s not like she’s nineteen for fucks sake,” Murphy says, exasperated. “Seven years is not a big age gap.”

“It’s not that,” Bellamy huffs.

“Well, what is it then? Because right now you’re just sounding like an idiotic coward.”

Bellamy resists the urge to tell Murphy how rich that is, coming from the guy who moved all of his things out of his last girlfriend’s apartment, then blocked her on all social media, rather than break up with her.

“Come on, Murphy,” Bellamy says. “She’s a fucking doctor who comes from money. She’s gorgeous, and smart, and generous, and selfless. And I’m—what? A cop who barely grew up without a cent to his name, who only became a cop because he lied to a girl once and told her he was one, and she thought it was hot and he didn’t have any better plans?”

“Clarke really isn’t all that,” Murphy says. “You think way too highly of her. The only thing she’s got going for her is that she’s hot.”

“Give it a rest, Murphy,” Bellamy says.

What he doesn’t say is that yeah, Clarke is hot. Which is at least fifty per cent of the reason why she’s out of his league. But Bellamy doesn’t know how to explain that to Murphy. He wouldn’t get it. How could he? Murphy looks exactly the same as he did when he was twenty. Better, even, maybe. But Bellamy—not so much. Ten years ago, he would have asked Clarke out in a heartbeat, with no worry that she’d turn him down. Back then, he had a ridiculous amount of self-confidence that his looks would compensate for his dickish behaviour. The self-confidence was hard won, even then, after years of racist remarks telling him he was ugly. His lean, muscular body was all he had. Now he doesn’t even have that.

He’s probably only slightly less of a dick now, and without the looks or the self-confidence to cover it up. He doesn’t exactly look like he did when he was in his twenties. He doesn’t work out so much now, mostly because he doesn’t get that much free time, and he no longer wants to spend hours at the gym every week, when he could spend that time relaxing. He still enjoys playing sport and being outdoors, but he hasn’t seen his abs since he before he turned thirty. It’s not that he thinks he’s ugly, exactly, but he doesn’t feel proud of his body anymore. Doesn’t like looking in the mirror, or at old pictures, reminding him of what he used to look like.

He barely dates anymore, and it’s only half because he’s in love with his roommate. He’d been struck by a fear of dating apps and sites when he showed up for a date two years ago and seen the look of disappointment on the girl’s face. He didn’t look like his picture. She was polite enough, and quick to cover up her surprise, but it was there, and it was crushing and humiliating. She never responded when he asked if she wanted a second date.

He’s dated maybe three different women since then, all leading nowhere, and all the while pining after Clarke. Just add pathetic to the list of reasons he isn’t good enough for her.

“Whatever,” Murphy says. “I’m getting sick of listening to you pine over her.”

“You’re the one always bringing it up.”

“Because I can see you pining over her with your stupid lovestruck eyes. It’s disgusting.”

“I don’t have lovestruck eyes.”

“You do.”

Bellamy grimaces. “You don’t think she knows, do you?”

“She’s just as fucking stupid as you are. Which is why you have to tell her.”

“I would literally rather do anything other than that.”

Murphy pauses, his beer held to his lips. He raises an eyebrow. “Anything, huh?”

“Anything.”

“Fine,” Murphy says. He takes a swig from his bottle. “How about you… paint your fingernails bright pink instead?”

Bellamy frowns. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

“Because it’s either that or tell Clarke how you feel.”

“You can’t force me to do either of those things.”

“If you don’t tell her, I will. Or you can paint your fingernails. Your choice.”

Bellamy stares at him. “Are you—blackmailing me?”

“Well, when you put it like that—yes.”

Bellamy considers. He knows very well Murphy is likely to make good on his threats. And having bright pink nails isn’t the worst thing.

“I’ll go and see if Clarke has any pink nail polish,” he says.

By the time Clarke gets home, Murphy is gone, and Bellamy is in bed, his nails sloppily painted pink. He’d made Murphy do it for him, since it was his idea.

He’s scrolling on his phone, and his bedroom door opens. Clarke’s silhouette is outlined by the light coming from down the hall. Instantly he thinks something must be wrong, or else why would she be here? Usually she’ll tell him about her dates if he’s still up when she gets home, but she doesn’t normally come and see him if he’s already in bed.  

Bellamy flicks on the lamp beside his bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Clarke says. “Are you awake?”

Bellamy relaxes. “Obviously. How was your date?”

“Turns out it wasn’t a date. She’s painfully straight.” Clarke pads over to the bed, and Bellamy’s heart pounds as she lifts the covers slightly and gets in beside him. She’s already changed out of her date clothes, in her pyjamas now. She rests her head on the pillow, facing him, and Bellamy turns onto his side so they’re face to face. He tries not to think too hard about the fact that she’s in his bed, but his throat is dry and his brain has turned to mush. This is so not something they usually do.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice coming out all husky.

“It was still fun,” Clarke shrugs. “Which I guess was the point of the date anyway.”

“But she’s not the love of your life,” Bellamy jokes. Clarke doesn’t laugh. She bites her lip.

“No,” she agrees. She glances down, reaching for his hand. His heart spasms.

She frowns in confusion. “Why are your fingernails pink?” she asks.

“Oh,” Bellamy says, blushing. He really thought she just wanted to hold his hand for a moment. Idiotic. “Murphy and I got bored. I hope you don’t mind.”

Clarke smiles, amused. “Did he do this?” she asks, holding his hand up in front of her face, studying his nails.

“Yeah.”

“He sucks, you should have let me do them.”

“Next time,” Bellamy promises.

He watches her as she caresses his hand, twice the size of hers. God, she’s so little, and he’s so big. They’d look ridiculous together as a couple. Surely Murphy can see that. Bellamy can see it, and he knows Clarke can see it too. If the thought even crossed her mind, which it probably hasn’t.

Bellamy thinks about it all the time. It’s one of the many things he tells himself, every time he starts entertaining the thought of him and Clarke together. How people would look at them and wonder why the hell someone like her is with someone like him. How embarrassed Clarke would be to be seen with him at one of her mom’s fancy parties. How she’d have to be on top if they had sex, because otherwise he’d crush her.

Suddenly he’s all too aware of how much space he takes up, how he’s shirtless under the covers, how he doesn’t want Clarke to see his flabby stomach. He thinks he can pass for bulky when he has a shirt on, especially considering the size of his arms and shoulders. Without the shirt, there’s no denying it. He’s just fat.

“You should probably get to bed,” Bellamy says hoarsely.  

“Are you kicking me out?” Clarke pouts.

“Well, it’s not like there’s a lot of room in this bed,” Bellamy points out.

“There’s plenty,” Clarke says. “And besides, I’m only little, I don’t need much room.” As if to prove her point, she scoots closer to him, and he can feel her breasts press up against his bare chest. He stiffens, moving away slightly. She notices. “Sorry,” she says, blushing. “I didn’t mean to…” she trails off. To touch him? To get so close to him? Either way, why would she want to?

“It’s fine,” Bellamy says quickly. He doesn’t want her to think she’s offended him, even if it does hurt a little. She thinks his body is as gross as he does. It’s fine.

“I’ll go,” Clarke says, a small waver in her voice. She slips out of bed, looking like she can’t wait to get away from him. “Goodnight,” she says. She doesn’t even wait for him to answer before she leaves, shutting the door firmly behind her.

 -

 Bellamy wakes up for work on Monday morning with a text from Murphy.

Remember when you looked like this?

The next message is a photo of Bellamy from when he was about twenty. Bellamy grimaces at the photo, and not because he’s remembering how much fitter he used to be. See, the thing is, when Bellamy was in his early twenties, he went through this phase of thinking his hair looked really good all gelled back. He was wrong. He still cringes at the memory of it.

He sends Murphy a begrudging response.

What of it?

Either tell Clarke how you feel or wear your hair like this to work today.

I hate you

Bellamy doesn’t even own any hair gel anymore, so he has to leave for work early and grab some on the way. He sits in the car in the parking lot at work, flips down the sun visor and looks up into the mirror as he smears the gel into his hair, then combs it through. It looks revolting. At least Clarke isn’t around to see him looking like this. Like she needs another reason to find him unattractive.

Bellamy grimaces at his reflection before snapping the visor back up and getting out of the car. He walks into the station, already feeling like everyone is staring at him and there’s not even anyone else in the parking lot.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Miller asks him as soon as he walks into the precinct.

“Blame Murphy.” Bellamy heads for his desk and throws his bag down, before slumping in his chair.

“He jizz in your hair or something?”

“He’s blackmailing me.”

“He must have something really good on you to get you to make your hair look like that.”

“Yeah.”

“And he couldn’t blackmail you into doing anything better than gelling your hair?”

“Don’t give him any ideas.”

“I already have a list of ideas,” says Murphy from somewhere behind Bellamy, his voice startling him. Bellamy swivels around. “Have you told her yet?” Murphy asks.

“Oh, this is about Clarke,” Miller realises.

“You told Miller?” Bellamy scowls at Murphy.

Murphy shrugs. “You never said I couldn’t.”

“You are seriously the worst friend of all time.”

“For the record,” Miller says. “You should probably just tell her you like her. There’s a good chance she likes you too.”

“There is no fucking way.”

 -

 The gel is still holding his hair well by the time Bellamy gets home, but by then he’s kind of forgotten about it. No one had even noticed his new hairstyle other than Miller and Murphy, much to Murphy’s annoyance.

Clarke, however, does notice.

He gets home from work, kicks his shoes off by the door (a habit which Clarke is constantly hassling him about), then collapses onto the couch. Clarke gets home a few minutes later, and stops dead when she sees him. She raises an eyebrow.

“What?” Bellamy says. Then he remembers the hair. “Oh.” He runs a hand over his slicked back hair.  

“Trying something new?” Clarke asks delicately. She walks over and joins him on the couch. Of course, Bellamy takes up a large portion of it, large and sprawled out as he is, but Clarke tucks herself into the corner, managing not to touch him at all. Which is fine. He doesn’t want her to touch him if she’s that repulsed by him.

Bellamy snorts. “Murphy dared me to do it. I used to wear my hair like this in my early twenties. Wish someone had punched me in the face for it.”

Clarke laughs, light and tinkly. Bellamy grins. He loves her laugh, and her smile, and that little beauty mark above her lip. He wants to press his lips against it, kiss her smile, swallow her laugh. He pushes down the desire. It’s a ridiculous fantasy.

Clarke reaches out to touch his hair, and he eyes her warily.

“It’s very hard,” she says as she pulls her hand away.

“That would be the gel.”

“I admit, it’s not a great look. I like you much better with your curls. You can’t run your fingers through gelled hair.”

Bellamy flushes, trying not to imagine Clarke running her fingers through his hair. He rubs his hand over his head again. “It’s getting too long,” he says, pretending like her last comment hadn’t affected him in the slightest. “I should get it cut.”

“I could do it,” Clarke says. She sounds almost eager. “I’ll wash your hair and cut it.”

God. Bellamy hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels. Why does the thought of her washing his hair feel so intimate? Too intimate. He can’t let her do that, he’d never recover.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says.

“Come on,” Clarke says with a smirk. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

Bellamy chews his lip. “No.” He swears he sees her flinch. Her smile drops. “Thanks, though,” he says.

“Okay,” Clarke shrugs. “Suit yourself.” She pulls her phone out, holds it up, and snaps a picture of him.

“Hey!”

Clarke grins. “Sorry. I never want to forget this.”

 -

 “Have you told her yet?”

“Fuck off, Murphy.”

The bartender hands Bellamy his drink, and Bellamy takes a long sip. He’s so not drunk enough to deal with Murphy right now. The bartender places a second drink on the bar; a cocktail Bellamy had ordered for Clarke, then turns to Murphy. He’s been relatively free of Murphy’s “dares” since the hair incident four days ago, and he’s starting to hope Murphy has forgotten about the whole thing.

“I’ll have a whiskey and coke,” Murphy says. “But can you also put some pineapple juice in there? And some Midori.”

“What the fuck? That sounds awful,” Bellamy grimaces. The bartender also doesn’t look impressed with the order, but he starts making it anyway.

“It’s not for me, it’s for you,” Murphy smirks. “Your new drink order for tonight. Or else, well, you know what happens.”

Ah. Bellamy should have known it was too good to be true.

“You can’t seriously expect me to drink that.”

Murphy shrugs. He takes the beer from Bellamy’s hand. “I’ll have this. If you don’t want your drink, I guess I’ll just have to tell Clarke—”

“Fine,” Bellamy cuts him off. “But just know that I hate you.”

The bartender puts Bellamy’s new drink in front of him.

“I’m not paying for it, by the way,” Murphy says, and then he stalks off to the booth where the rest of their friends are sitting. Bellamy sighs, picking up his drink and Clarke’s, and following Murphy over to the table.

Murphy has taken the spot next to Raven where Bellamy was sitting before, leaving Bellamy to slide in next to Clarke. He places her drink in front of her, and tries to leave as much room between him and Clarke that he can. Which isn’t much, otherwise he’ll be hanging off the seat. Monty and Jasper round out the table of six.

Bellamy can feel Murphy watching him, so he takes a sip of his drink. He almost chokes on it, but manages to swallow. It’s awful. Safe to say he won’t be getting drunk tonight as planned. Clarke, on the other hand sucks on her straw eagerly, downing almost half her cocktail with the first sip.

Bellamy eyes her with amusement. “Thirsty?”

Clarke shrugs. “I just feel like getting drunk and forgetting about my problems for a while.”

“Your problems?” he repeats, surprised. She hasn’t told him about any problems. Not that they tell each other everything, but she normally doesn’t mind venting to him now and again when she’s frustrated with work or her mom or whatever. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Clarke screws up her mouth. “It’s just—boy problems.”

“Oh. You can still talk to me about that. Unless you prefer to talk about it with your girlfriends or whatever.”

Clarke considers him. “You really want to know?”

Bellamy nods. “’Course.” He can totally listen to her mope over somebody else. He’s mature. He can deal with the girl he’s in love with being in love with someone who’s not him.

“It’s just—I like somebody. Like, a lot. A lot, a lot. For a long time now. And sometimes, lately, I think he might like me too. But every time I try to kind of—make a move, he shuts me down.”

“That sucks.” He’s not jealous. He’s totally not jealous.

“No kidding. Any advice?”

“Have you tried just telling him you like him?”

“No,” Clarke scoffs. “I’d literally rather die.” Bellamy relates to that.

“Sorry,” Bellamy says apologetically. “I guess I’m shitty at relationship advice.”

“It’s okay,” Clarke smiles. “I’m used to suffering in silence by now. What about you? Any romantic prospects on the horizon?”

“Hardly,” Bellamy snorts. “As if anyone would want me.”

“Yeah, right,” Clarke laughs, like she thinks he’s joking. Or maybe she just doesn’t know what to say, because she knows he’s right but doesn’t want to be mean. She downs the rest of her cocktail. “I’m getting another drink, you want something?”

Bellamy glances at his still full drink, then across the table to Murphy, who is deep in conversation with Raven. Still, he can’t take the chance that Murphy won’t notice he’s not drinking his assigned drink and decide to blurt out his feeling for Clarke.

“I’m good.” He gets up so Clarke can get out, then sits back down, allowing himself to relax, and take up as much space as he needs while she’s at the bar. He watches her though. Watches as some tall, thin, stupidly handsome guy comes up to her, and starts obviously flirting with her.

Clarke smiles. Ducks her head as she laughs at whatever this dude is saying to her. Bellamy’s fist clenches under the table, and his jaw locks. Okay, fine, he’s jealous. How could he not be? Clarke likes fit guys, obviously, like the idiot talking to her now. Like how Bellamy used to look, in his glory days. Not how he looks now, with his squishy belly, and the beard he grew to help hide his slight double chin.

The guy leaves Clarke alone, and Bellamy watches as Clarke downs two shots of what looks like vodka, then picks up her new cocktail and brings it back to the table. This guy she likes must be really be doing a number on her. Bellamy hates him.

He gets up again and Clarke slides back into the booth next to Monty. It doesn’t take long for the alcohol to hit her. She finishes her cocktail, then reaches for Bellamy’s drink. He stops listening to Raven’s bragging and turns to Clarke, meaning to stop her from drinking the horrible concoction, but before he can get a word out, she’s downing the whole thing, as if she doesn’t even notice how bad it tastes.

Bellamy eyes her warily, and Clarke grins at him. “You weren’t going to drink that, right?” she asks, as if that’s what his concern is.

“No.” He shakes his head. She gets up, and before Bellamy can move out of her way, she’s climbing over him, her body pressing against his as she squeezes through. Bellamy sucks in his stomach, barely breathing. She heads for the bar again, not bothering to offer him a drink this time. She comes back with another two cocktails.

She gets sloppy drunk after that, and she seems to have lost all sense of personal space. The gap Bellamy had tried to leave between them is gone, and Clarke is leaning on him like she can’t hold herself up. It’s nice, he can’t deny it’s nice. Something he could get used to. But it means nothing.

She babbles a lot when she’s drunk. No one else can get more than a sentence out before Clarke is interrupting to ask a question or go off on a tangent. Raven and Murphy are getting increasingly frustrated with her, but Bellamy just thinks it’s cute. He smirks at Raven’s loud huff when Clarke interrupts her again.

“Clarke, can you shut up for five seconds?” Raven snaps. “I’m in the middle of talking.”

Clarke pokes her tongue out. Mature. “Fine. I’ll just talk to Bellamy. Bellamy wants to talk to me, don’t you, Bell?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Suck up,” Murphy coughs. Bellamy ignores him. He focuses on Clarke, while Raven resumes her story, her voice fading into background noise.

“Why does my head feel so funny?” Clarke whispers.

“I think you’re a little drunk,” Bellamy tells her. She gazes up at him, her eyes trailing across his face.

“You’re so pretty,” she tells him. Bellamy raises an eyebrow.

“I’m pretty?”

“Your eyes. And your freckles.” She reaches out and starts tracing over them. “Like little stars.”

“You really are drunk.”

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“I told you,” Bellamy shrugs. “No one wants me.”

“You’re so stupid,” Clarke says.

“Thanks.”

“I want to go home.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

The other four barely seem to notice as Bellamy helps Clarke to her feet, and the two of them throw out a half-hearted goodbye before heading out to Bellamy’s car. He only got to have one sip of beer and one sip of the god-awful drink, so he’s good to drive.

She’s silent on the drive home, like maybe the buzz from the alcohol is wearing off, and now she’s just tired.

“You okay?” he asks, watching her out the corner of his eye. She shrugs.

“I guess so.”

Bellamy doesn’t push it. He can tell there’s something wrong, but if she doesn’t want to tell him, he can’t make her. She seems dejected as they walk inside, and Clarke heads to her room while Bellamy goes to the bathroom. He intends to go straight to bed after that, but Clarke’s bedroom door is open and the light is on, and he stops in the doorway. She’s in bed, looking at him with her big, sad eyes.

“Everything okay?”

“My bed’s too big and empty. Will you come and hold me?” she croaks out.

Bellamy feels his heart squeeze. He wants to hold her. But he doesn’t want to be some replacement for some other guy. She’s just drunk and lonely. If he were a better friend, he’d be there for her anyway. But whatever she has in her mind won’t be the reality. It won’t make her feel better. It will just be awkward and uncomfortable, the two of them lying there, him probably half smothering her, while she tries to think of a way to tell him she changed her mind without offending him.

“You don’t want that,” Bellamy says.

“Okay,” Clarke says softly. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight, Clarke.”

 -

 Murphy comes barging into the apartment the next morning, his expression all too smug. Clarke is still in bed, probably nursing a hangover, and Bellamy has only just taken his first sip of coffee.

“Do you have a key for this place or something?” Bellamy groans as Murphy strides into the kitchen.

“Hurry up,” Murphy says. “Your appointment is in fifteen minutes.”

“Appointment?”

“Your tattoo appointment.”

“No.”

Murphy’s grin widens. “Yes.”

Bellamy groans. It’s not that he’s opposed to getting a tattoo. He already has a couple. But he just knows that whatever Murphy is going to make him get is going to be either ugly, or embarrassing, or both.

“You’re taking it too far,” Bellamy says.

“Desperate times and all that jazz.”

“I’m not getting a tattoo.”

“You don’t even know what I want you to get.”

“What do you want me to get?”

“A cowboy—”

“No.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“I don’t want to know the rest.”

“Fine,” Murphy says. “Where’s Clarke?”

“She’s in bed, don’t wake her up.”

“You don’t believe I’ll really do it.”

“Not really, no.”

Murphy’s smile borders on maniacal. He turns and walks out of the kitchen. Bellamy’s heart skips a beat, and his cavalier attitude is replaced with panic.

“Murphy!” Bellamy calls after him. Fuck. He races after Murphy and tackles him to the ground, Murphy letting out a surprised yelp as he hits the ground.

“Shit, Bellamy!” Murphy gasps. “Let me go.”

“Promise you won’t tell her.”

“No. What are you going to do, hold me here forever?”

“If I have to.”

Murphy struggles, trying to get free, but he’s no match for Bellamy’s strength. Murphy goes limp again, defeated.

“Do you give in?”

“No.”

“What the hell are you guys doing?” Clarke groans, her voice hoarse. Bellamy and Murphy both look up.

“Practicing,” Bellamy blurts out.

“What the fuck are we practicing?” Murphy says.

“Shut up,” Bellamy growls.

“Clarke,” Murphy says. Bellamy has the strong urge to wrap his hands around Murphy’s throat and choke the life out of him. “Bellamy’s in love with you.”

“I’m not,” Bellamy says quickly, but his face is hot, and he can’t look at her.

“He is,” Murphy says. “He’s in love with you and he won’t tell you because he thinks he’s not good enough for you and I’ve been making him do stupid shit like gel his hair in exchange for not telling you. But I know you love him too.”

Bellamy’s eyes snap to Clarke’s. She’s beet red. She looks away as soon as Bellamy’s eyes meet hers.

“Will you let me go now?” Murphy groans. Bellamy snorts. No point holding Murphy down now that the secret it out. He releases Murphy and gets to his feet.

“Get lost, Murphy,” Bellamy says. He’s got to smooth things over with Clarke, and he can’t do it with Murphy skulking around. Murphy doesn’t say another word, just slinks out of the apartment quietly.

Bellamy looks to Clarke. He’s breathing heavy, though it hadn’t really been much of an effort to hold Murphy down.

“Sorry about him,” Bellamy says as soon as Murphy is gone.

Clarke swallows. “Is it true? What he said?”

“That I’m in love with you, you mean?” Bellamy says, a little bitterly.

“That you don’t think you’re good enough for me.”

“Of course I’m not. Why do you think I never said anything before now? I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I know you could never see me like that.”

“How could you think that?” Clarke says, her voice wavering.

“Please, Clarke,” Bellamy snorts. “Look at you. And look at me. It’s obvious. Why would you want to touch me? Don’t I repulse you?” Bellamy snorts.

“Repulse me? Bellamy, I’ve been trying to get you into bed with me for months.”

Bellamy frowns. “Why?”

“Are you kidding? I’m obviously stupidly in love with you.”

Bellamy’s breath catches, and he stares at her, barely comprehending. “You—what?”

“I’m in love with you.”

Bellamy still doesn’t get it. “No, you’re not.”

Clarke huffs in frustration. “I think I know what I feel, Bellamy. Why are you so sure I don’t?”

“Clarke,” Bellamy pleads with her. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. You could have literally anyone you want.”

“But I want you. I think you’re beautiful too.”

Bellamy scoffs. “You’ve never seen me without a shirt.”

“What, you have Lord Voldemort under there or something?”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’s what it is.”

“Seriously, Bellamy. What is it? You know you’re hot, right? Like, really, really hot.”

“I’m not. Maybe ten years ago I was hot. But now I’m just—”

“What?”

He shrugs. “Fat.”

“Fat?”

Bellamy can’t meet her eye. It’s embarrassing to admit that it matters to him. That he’s insecure about his weight, about his body, his looks. It feels unmanly.

“Bellamy,” Clarke says softly, stepping towards him. “Look at me.” He does, reluctantly. “You’re not fat just because you don’t have a six pack like you did when you were twenty-five. And god, even if you were, do you think that would make me not love you? Do you think I’m that shallow?”

“No, god no,” Bellamy says. “I don’t think you’re shallow. I just—I want you to be with someone you can be proud of. Who won’t make you look bad. If—if we were together, everyone would judge you. They’d wonder why the fuck you’re with me.”

“I am proud of you. I don’t care what anyone else thinks,” Clarke says, her voice even softer now. She stands toe to toe with him, looking up at him with stars in her eyes. Like she thinks he’s worthy of her or something. “And to tell you the truth,” she continues. “I kind of like that you’re not all hard and bony. Who wants to cuddle with someone like that?”

“You want to cuddle me?”

She flushes. “Have I not made that embarrassingly clear?”

“You really love me?” Bellamy whispers, his voice cracking. He’s still in denial.

“I really love you.” She reaches for him, hesitantly, watching him cautiously, like she thinks he’s going to run at any moment. He doesn’t stop her when she puts her hands on his chest. She slowly closes her eyes as she tilts her head up, and presses her lips against his. Bellamy’s eyes snap shut when she makes contact. His heart flutters.

Her lips are so soft it could almost be a dream. But then she fists his hands in his shirt and kisses him harder, and he knows it’s real. He opens his mouth, kissing her back, meeting her tongue with his. His hands grip her waist. Kissing her isn’t like kissing anyone else. It’s overwhelming, and passionate, yet it soothes him at the same time, makes him feel at peace.

She pulls away first, but she keeps her hands on his chest, and she doesn’t try to extricate herself from his arms.

“Do you believe me yet?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Bellamy whispers. “It’s just—even if you think you love me now, even if you do love me now… once you realise how out of my league you are, it will be over. And I couldn’t bear it if that happened.”

Clarke shakes her head. “Bellamy, I couldn’t stand it if I lost you. It’s why I never told you how I felt before, in case it freaked you out and it ruined our friendship. But I want you too much to let this go. You’re kind of it for me, you know?”

“I don’t know, Clarke,” Bellamy groans. “I want you too, believe me I do. But—I’m scared.”

“Let me take you on a date,” she says. “Please.”

Bellamy hesitates. “Okay,” he agrees.

 -

 Clarke organises the date. Bellamy is all nerves the whole day beforehand. They’re just going out for dinner, which they’ve done before, just the two of them. But now it means something.

Clarke knocks on his bedroom door. “Bell?” she calls. “Are you ready to go?”

Bellamy swallows. He’s been ready for hours. His stomach is in knots and his palms are all sweaty. He’s really going on a date with Clarke Griffin. It doesn’t seem real.

“Yeah,” he croaks. He opens the door. Clarke smiles at him. Fuck, she looks so beautiful. He wants to tell her, but the words won’t come out.

“Let’s go,” she says. Bellamy nods, and follows Clarke out of the apartment. “It’s not far, I thought we could walk,” she says.

“Okay,” Bellamy says. He really is stimulating conversation tonight. Not.

It’s a mild night, with a light breeze, the kind of weather that always makes him feel nostalgic about something. Clarke’s hand brushes against his as they walk side by side. Once, then twice. On the third time, she slips her hand into his, without breaking conversation, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. And it does feel natural, and right, but it’s also kind of exhilarating, holding her hand in public. She wants to hold his hand. It’s still kind of unbelievable. But he lets himself enjoy it. He feels himself relaxing with the warm pressure of her hand in his, and her idle chatter as she tells him about her day. They’re friends, and they love each other. What’s more beautiful than that?

His contentment is short lived, however. The waiter that serves them is this movie star handsome, six-foot-something guy with a dazzling smile. Even Bellamy finds him attractive, and he considers himself mostly straight. It’s not really the guy’s looks that bothers Bellamy though, at least, that’s not the only thing. It’s the way he smiles at Clarke as he introduces himself as Gabriel, and leads them to their table. It’s how he addresses all his comments to Clarke, and completely ignores Bellamy, and how everything he says, even the way he tells them the specials, seems to be dripping with flirtation.

Clarke doesn’t seem to notice. Or perhaps she likes the attention. She’s not exactly flirting back, but she’s not discouraging it either. Bellamy clenches his jaw, trying to tell himself it’s nothing. He’s got nothing to be jealous about. Clarke is going home with him tonight.

But he can’t help it. Can’t help thinking how much better Clarke would look with Gabriel. How if she wasn’t here on a date with him, she could go home with Gabriel. Somebody actually in her league.

Bellamy’s mood grows dark, his body tense. Gabriel leaves them to peruse the menus, and Bellamy stares at it steadfastly, the words swimming in front of him. How is this date already a disaster? He’s sure his chance with Clarke is shot to hell already.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asks him.

“Fine,” Bellamy says through gritted teeth.

“You’re not.”

Bellamy flicks his eyes up. “Just think Gabriel should do his job instead of flirting with patrons who are clearly on a date with someone else.”

“You think he’s flirting with me?”

“Obviously.”

“You’re jealous.”

“Sorry,” Bellamy mutters. “I just—”

“Don’t,” Clarke stops him. “We can leave if you want. It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I don’t want to be that guy. I don’t want to be jealous every time you talk to someone hotter than me. I don’t want you feel like you have to placate me.”

“I know you don’t,” Clarke says. “So what do you want? You want to just forget this ever happened? Go back to being friends?”

“Is that what you want?”

“No.”

“Me either,” Bellamy says, breathing a sigh of relief. “I want—”

“Yeah?”

“I want to be your boyfriend,” he says. A smile spreads over Clarke’s face. “And I want to feel like I’m worthy of you. I want to love you like you deserve to be loved.”

“Me too,” Clarke whispers. “I want that too.”

Bellamy gives her a shaky smile. “Okay.”

“Okay. You know I love you, right? Only you. Exactly as you are.”

“I love you too. Exactly as you are.”

Clarke blushes, ducking her head. “That’s, uh, the first time you said that yourself. Out loud.”

“It is?”

Clarke nods. “You know, I don’t think I feel like being out anyway. I don’t like being across the table from you. I want you to kiss me and hold me. Let’s go home.”

Bellamy doesn’t argue this time. They walk back home, hand in hand again, and Bellamy can’t stop smiling. When they arrive home, they order in, and Clarke curls up in his arms on the couch, her head on his chest, and Bellamy doesn’t even worry that she’s thinking he’s too fat. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so content in all his life. He’s still nervous about being naked in front of her. But he knows they can take it slow, and he knows she’ll make him feel safe and wanted. And they can work through his insecurities together.

“I love you,” Bellamy whispers into her hair, before kissing the top of her head. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Ditto,” Clarke says. “I guess you should thank Murphy for helping us get our feelings out in the open.”

“I would literally rather do anything other than that.”

[parabelled]

3, 7, 9, 15, 18

booknet ask game (Apologies for the delay!):

3. what was the last book you rated 1/5? 

Probably this horrific and justifiably priced 0.25 cent paperback I got from the library book sale. I care so little about the title I’m not even going to bother getting up to look at it, but basically it was somehow involving a mystery on a liner heading to New York, and The Kennedys circa 1941 when Joe (’God what a terrible person’) Kennedy was ambassador to England (And casual Nazi supporter/isolationist, lovely).

But the book promises you that it will mostly talk about Rosemary Kennedy as a character. Which I liked, because in case you don’t know, Rosemary Kennedy was JFK’s sister who was considered the ‘prettiest’ of all the Kennedy girls, but also constantly was on a diet because she ‘put on weight easily’ (Poor girl), and because she was seen as ‘simple.’ Supposedly when she was in her early twenties, she had the mental capacities or a naive thirteen year old/ writing level of an eight year old. They kept basically shoving her into boarding schools to try to push her forward in terms of education, but obviously when she most likely had something like a severe case of autism, there weren’t exactly many programs that directly addressed those who were learning disabled, and being a Kennedy, they most likely were like PUSH HER THROUGH IT AND SHE’LL BE FINE (Great, thanks guys).

All this being said, there is proof in terms of letters that basically everyone was afraid, because once she became a teenager, she started running away from these schools or sneaking out late at night, and they were literally worried because of how ‘naive’ she was, that she’d end up getting pregnant by some weirdo guy forcing himself on her/ convincing her to have sex. What most normal people/historians think now, is that she saw her brother being John F. Kennedy, El Primo Playboy of the World 1941, dating movie stars and having a buttload of friends (As my older brother used to say), and she obviously wanted to be involved in this glamorous, fun life with the rest of her family, rather than shoved away at some crappy boarding school with nuns the age of time immemorial (Understandable). (Also, for what it’s worth, JFK basically WAS a great older brother, for what I’ve heard, and wanted his parents to loosen up on her. He involved her in his social groups if she was around and never pushed her into anything that someone with her ‘limitations’ might be hurt by).

So of course the natural thing would be to do is to give her a lobotomy so she doesn’t run away, and of course, it had some horrific side effects and basically killed her personality entirely from all accounts, making her basically a human vegetable with only a shadow of the person she’d been before. After that Joe ‘I’m the Worst’ Kennedy carted his daughter off, and debatably, depending on who you ask, she was basically ignored by most of the family for 60+ years of her living in a care home, or embraced in private (The Kennedy message/propaganda/nice try guys). There’s really only consistent public photos of Ted Kennedy visiting her, because besides the whole ‘I accidentally murdered a woman I was having an affair with’ thing, Ted was the baby and seemed actually like ironically the most ‘Christian’ in the most broadest sense of the word besides Bobby Kennedy (Yes, I know they’re Catholic, it’s an analogy).

So bringing this back to this awful book, the ‘mystery’ on the cruise liner shit basically seemingly revolves around Rosemary pre-lobotomy and how she wants to get married to a ‘coloured jazz man.’ BUT THIS NEVER FACTORS INTO THE PLOT. NONE OF THE HISTORICAL FIGURES ABOARD DO EVEN THOUGH THEY HAVE ‘POV’ CHAPTERS ASIDE ORIGINAL CHARACTERS.

You heard me right. xD I KNOW IT’S THE 1940S IN THE BOOKS AND THERE’S FAR WORSE THAT COULD HAVE BEEN DONE AND THE JAZZ MAN IS NICE AND ALL BUT DAMN IT’S SORT OF THE WORST, BECAUSE THEY BASICALLY MAKE THIS THE ENTIRE REASON FOR HER LOBOTOMY AND WHILE THEORETICALLY IT WOULD FIT IN WITH JOE’S MOTIVATIONS HISTORICALLY, IT JUST CAME OFF AS SUPER SKEEZY AND UGH. Mostly the book A) Actually did a considerable job giving Rosemary a sweet and loving personality that you like, but considering what you know if you’re probably reading this book and how they’re just dropping bread crumbs the entire way through, it’s just incredibly morbid and bleh. 

If you’re going to write historical characters and fiction well, at least have something more to back it up than ‘Racism was more (outwardly) prevalent back then so she was going to be in an interracial relationship so lobotomy.” It just came off as conflating two important issues (The rights of the learning disabled to date and have families of their own, and interracial romances versus status in society), and just came out to justify it for a lobotomy we never even see. (Trust me, I’m making it sound far more interesting than it is).

Plus the mystery on the liner is the main aspect of the story, and I think that’s what makes it the worst: This author just chose to have these random historical figures on BECAUSE, and considering Rosemary’s background and what we know happened to her, it just seemed like a pretty desperate ploy to reel people in (like myself), and have them go, “Wait, this is just a sub-par mystery book, not a historical mystery book: She used that whole actual living person who existed and who was screwed over by her own family as ‘shock value’ and a ‘hook’ for the audience.” Double EW.

7. what was the last book that made you cry? 

Indian Horse by Richard Wagamese, who is unfortunately no longer with us but a BEACON of Canadian Literature, and I'm SO sad he didn’t get to write more books, because his writing style is BEAUTIFUL and poetic.

“Saul Indian Horse is an alcoholic Ojibway man who finds himself the reluctant resident of an alcohol treatment centre after his latest binge. To come to peace with himself, he must tell his story. Richard Wagamese takes readers on the often difficult journey through Saul's life, from his painful forced separation from his family and land when he's sent to a residential school to the brief salvation he finds in playing hockey. The novel is an unflinching portrayal of the harsh reality of life in 1960s Canada, where racism reigns and Saul's spirit is destroyed by the alienating effects of cultural displacement.”

What you also don’t get about the book from this review, is the role hockey plays as being central to the narrative. In that moment, and when Saul is young, inside his own head, he is just what we as the reader see him as: A young boy who loves a sport and finds it freeing. A PERSON. A kid who loves hockey. 

He’s so good that he has a chance to make it to the NHL. He’s good enough to play on the ‘white teams,’ but when he starts beating white players, grown men and women throw things at him, like plastic ‘Indians’ from a ‘Cowboy and Indian’ set. 

He is a skilled player. He has raw talent. But to make it to the next level, and because they won’t let him be on the team in any other role, because a Native man can’t become a skilled star in 1960s Canada, he has to become a ‘goon.’ There’s actually a moment in the book where he snaps, and it’s so well written and heartbreaking, where it’s like this Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde dynamic inside of him, where he literally just goes, “Okay? You want me to be a bloodthirsty ‘Indian’? Then I’ll be that for you.”

There’s also a movie I haven’t had the guts to watch all the way through, because I tried watching it on a plane ride from Australia to Canada without actually having read the book first, and having no idea what the movie was about aside from hockey and Indigenous culture, and Jesus Christ IT KILLED ME. I’m terrible at flying, had been throwing up and thoroughly miserable for about three hours at that point on the plane, tried to turn on a movie to distract myself, and within ten minutes, I was like “No, I think sticking to the vomiting is justified.” (To give you an idea of the directing style, it’s bizarrely produced by uber-Republican yet ‘weirdly-obsessed with Indigenous people’ movie star Clint Eastwood. If you’ve seen his other films and how sparse and depressing they can be, you can only IMAGINE what this material lends itself to. So I’d really stick to reading the book first. Because Wagamese’s voice is so much stronger within the book, and the pain and horror poor Saul is exposed to serves a purpose within the larger narrative much more clearly, and even when he is an alcoholic, he still is able to find hope within himself and returning to his people, and that’s a beautiful thing that I think was lost in the portions of the film I was able to catch.) Check it out: It was only written in 2012, but it’s already being heralded as a ‘classic’ in Canadian Indigenous Literature.

9. do you actually check out books that have been recommended for you?

I do. I might not actually READ them, but I’ll at least check out a snippet on Amazon to see if it’s my cup of tea. So if anyone has any recommendations, go right on ahead <3

15. how do you feel about reading buddies?  

I would love a reading buddy! <3 Feel free to message me if you’re keen. <3

18. what was your favourite book when you were 10?

Probably something by Roald Dahl or The Hobbit, if we’re talking sheer escapism or enjoyment (Or the original run of Harry Potter). My Dad is an English teacher, so I was always reading older books than were probably age-appropriate (I was placed at a college-reading level at twelve on an assessment test), so other than that, a lot of classic literature: Just name it, I’ve probably read it. 

I also was a nerd who decided to read the entire dictionary back to front somewhere around this time and copy down all the words I actually didn’t know on a list, so that was a hobby. xD I guess I could count that as a ‘favourite book.’ (-Insert Homer Simpson “NEEeeeRRRddddd” gif here-).

[huntertales]

Part Three: Where The Wild Things Roam, It’s Home. (Taxi Driver S08E19)

Episode Summary: Sam, Dean and the reader respond to a call from a terrified Kevin who claims to hear Crowley’s voice in his head. Also with the good news that he’s discovered the second trial from the tablet—rescue an innocent soul from hell. The reader has to team up with a reaper named Ajay to complete the task, meanwhile the boys get a visit from the angel Naomi. But when things go awry, Dean must find Benny and ask him for a huge favor. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 6,477.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

You didn't know how many times you repeated the story about how you landed yourself here; knocked up, walking through Purgatory after taking a trip down to Hell. It was all part of the trials you had to complete in order to slam the place that ruined your life before you were even born. Bobby knew about the part where you faked your own death. But you didn't get to go into further detail about how you managed to trick him and the boys. While on the hike back to the spot where Ajay told you to meet him, you told Bobby everything you went through during your time away together. From making a deal with Cas in that hospital room to your life as Y/F/N. And how you found the boys again several months ago. After you literately bumped into Dean. 

You jumped ship right before the wall in Sam's head collapsed and Cas thought he was God 2.0. The aftermath was followed by Sam having hallucinations of Lucifer in his head every single day of the week, twenty four hours a day. Not to mention the torture he experienced in the cage. Cas went on a power trip for a while before coming face to face with the mess he made. Bobby and the boys faced up against a monster old as Eve herself. Not to mention the worst thing of all, Bobby died thinking you were gone. There was never a fear that you might have been stuck as Y/F/N for the rest of your life. Dean and Cas could have been stuck in Purgatory. The only person who might have had a happening ending was Sam...of course nothing lasts forever.

Dean got out of Purgatory after running around this place for a year, Sam was torn away from his happy life with Amelia and they bumped into a familiar face with a different name while they were trying to find a prophet on the loose after escaping the clutches of the king of hell. All it took was a dead husband and a demon for you to remember who you were again. It was like a switch went off in your head. The boys caught you up on things that went down while you were gone. It was your first day back in your own head space was when you heard about Kevin's discovery of how to close the gates of hell for good. However, it took a few more months after that until he discovered the first trial. 

“I’m surprised the boys are even letting you out of their sight in your condition. Dean especially. After all that went down...He was devastated after you died—well, we thought you did. Tried just about everything to get you back. But he was so caught up in helping Sam with this hell business. And Cas being off his rocker. The poor son of a bitch didn’t catch a break.” Bobby said. The glimpse into the grief you left behind made you feel a familiar twinge of guilt at your past choices. “Hell, it was a loss for all of us. You were the glue that kept those boys together.”

“Something like that.” You mumbled back to him, your lips stretching into a faint smile. You didn’t have the heart to tell him about the falling almost falling out the boys had over choices of people they wanted to call friends. Of a past they didn’t want to let go of just yet. All of you were on better terms than in the beginning of the year. 

“You and Dean find out what you’re having yet?” Bobby couldn’t help himself but jump back to the baby talk, there were too many questions of his that he wanted to ask before your time together was cut off again for good. You could see a glint of happiness in his eyes at hearing the news that you and the boys were having an addition to the family. “Or are you too early to figure all that stuff out?”

“We want it to be a surprise. Sounds cliched, but we don’t care. Long as they’re healthy.” You said. You placed a hand on your stomach while you continue your walk through the woods, feeling the bump made your smile slightly grow wider. “If it’s a boy, I want to name him Robert junior. I’m thinking for a girl...Roberta. Hmm? You like that?”

“Sure. If you want the poor kid to get the crap kicked out of her on the playground. Considering it’s you and Dean’s kid, I’m sure they’ll be the ones doing all the fighting. Ooh, they’re gonna be a handful. Especially if it’s a girl.” Bobby said. He chuckled to himself at the shenanigans an elementary school aged child would get themselves into, Dean trying his hardest to lay down the law. “They’re gonna get themselves into plenty of trouble and raise a lot of hell. You and the boys are gonna have your hands full raising them.”

“Oh God. I don’t even want to think about the stuff they’re going to try and pull. They’ve already been making my life hell from every weird symptom coming my way. Morning sickness was a bitch trying. Luckily that's gone, but I can't seem to stomach the smell of meat. Which is a little weird if you think, considering how much Dean loves his burgers.” You said. You softly patted the bump before dropping your hand back down to your side. “I can’t wait for this to be over.” 

Bobby fell silent for a moment while the both of you continued your hike through the woods. You pulled out your phone from your pocket, knowing well enough you weren't checking for reception, but to see how much time you had left until you made it to the finish line. A question lingered in the back of his mind the more you told him about these trials. "Why are you doing this?" You turned your head up from what he asked to give him a confused look as to what he meant by that. "I mean, you must've fought tooth and nail just to keep hunting. Hell, if  were still alive, there'd be no way you would be setting foot out on a hunt.”

"Trust me when I say they were livid. Sam didn't want me anywhere near this. And Dean wanted to be the one who did this. But, I sort of...stole it out from under him." You slightly explained the situation to how you got here to Bobby. "The night of the first trial was a complete mess. I didn't want Dean to do it because everything to him is a suicide mission. And, a part of me felt like this was a chance to right some wrongs. Give our kid a better future.” 

“So, how many more of these trials after this?’ Bobby asked. 

“Just one. We don’t know what it is, though—not yet. Kevin’s still translating.” You said. “The kid’s been under a lot of pressure lately, but I’m hoping he’ll figure it out sooner than later.” 

“Well, you saw back there in hell, I ain’t got a lot of rust. Just feels so good to be back in action again. Might be handy if you had me around to help while you’re on maternity leave” Bobby suggested an idea that sounded like music to your ears. A happy ending that you would have loved to make true. “And you know, having an extra set of hands around never hurt anybody."

“Bobby, I’d love that, believe me. There’s nothing in this world I would give for you to come back with me. The thing is," You told him the truth with a heavy sigh you should have told him back in hell, "for this trial to be completed, your soul has to enter heaven. And besides, if that weren't the case, the boys burned your bones, Bobby. There's nothing to tie your spirit to Earth."

“Yeah. Yeah, well…” The smile that graced Bobby’s face slowly began to fall as the older hunter tried to hide his disappointment at hearing his fate. “You know, I always figured that’d be the end of it. You know, just a hunter’s funeral. Zip. Nothing. And I was okay with that. Imagine my surprise.”  

"Well, I guess if there has to be an eternity, I'd pick Heaven over Hell." You said, giving him your two cents on the matter. “Speaking of personal experience. Upstairs isn’t all that bad.”

"Yeah. 'Cause there's nothing screwy going on up there." Bobby's sarcasm made you chuckle. You wished you made the rules about life and death, but your hands were tied on the matter. The both of you began your way back to the spot where Ajay told you to meet him at with just minutes to spare. "I'll do my part, get to the end of this...I ain't exactly the retiring type. So, you idjits figure out a way to spring me..."

“Yeah. No, of course. That’s, uh—yeah.” You found yourself letting out a jumble of words to try and respond back to Bobby’s request you were half listening to. You found yourself circling around the woods to see if you might have gotten the location wrong, or if you could spot Ajay in the distance of endless looking woods. Maybe you could spot him staring down at his watch with a slightly annoyed look at how you didn't listen to his command about being punctual. But there was nobody around. 

“Oh, well, let’s go topside.” Bobby said, wanting to get a start on things so you could finish this. But you had a feeling that wasn’t going to be possible. You tried your hardest not to panic just yet as you took one more sweep around the woods, hoping you might be able to spot Ajay. But he was nowhere to be seen. “What’s going on, Y/N?”

“This is it. This is the place. I’m sure of it.” You muttered to yourself. You tried somehow reassure your worrying mind that you weren't going crazy. You looked down at the ground to see there was the decapitated head of the monster that attacked you when you were alone after Ajay left. Bobby asked if this was where the reaper was supposed to meet you, you nodded your head and pulled out your phone to watch as the timer you set up began to tick down to the very last second. "Yeah. At exactly...now." 

‘’So, he’s running a little late.” Bobby tried to somehow reassure you. 

“No, see, that’s the thing. He was very specific, Bobby, like to the minute.” You told him. 

“And if he doesn’t show…?” He asked, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer himself. 

You felt yourself trying your hardest not to believe the words that came out of your mouth as the future you were looking towards. “We’ve got no way out.”

+ + +

Hunters weren't supposed to be friends with monsters. And vampires weren't supposed to be buddy-buddy with the human who was raised to kill blood thirty creatures like him. But there was an exception to every rule. People who broke the moral code. And people who learned from past mistakes that no matter how friendly a monster is to your face, they were kind as they lead themselves up to be. Sam didn't like Benny. Despite saving his brother from purgatory and supposedly feeding on blood bags than a live human to curb his hunger. There was something about the southern vamp that Sam couldn't let his guard down. Maybe it was because of his own experience of trusting the thing he was raised to hate. 

It started off with a sweet girl named Madison who was dragged into this lifestyle after she was bitten by a werewolf. Sam found himself falling into feelings he hasn’t experienced in a while, ever since his old girlfriend, and possibly the only love of his life, was tragically killed. He thought he could save her. Much as all of you tried to fight the curse, there was nothing else Sam could do other than to put a bullet in the back of her head to end her suffering. Sam should have learned his lesson, but the true test came in the form of a black eyed demon named Ruby. 

She whispered sweet nothings and empty promises into his ear for over two years about how he could save his brother and best friend from the big, bad demon named Lilith. While he might not have been able to accomplish his first task, Sam got revenge on the demon. And set the Devil himself to go running free. Get burned enough times and you learn stop being soft on people. There was an exception or two over the years. Sam trusted a monster just enough when he knew he could get something back from him. What he was about to agree to was like pushing all of his beliefs and conceptions about him out the window. 

For the longest time Sam thought Benny was like the rest of the vampires he hunted over the years. His brother's judgement was good most of the time. If Dean hadn't gone what he went through back in Purgatory, there would have been no way he would have became friends with something like Benny. But being put in an environment like Purgatory, where there was no hunter or prey, everyone was fighting to survive. And their bond transferred over back on Earth. Sam couldn't wrap his head around it. There was nothing more the younger Winchester wanted than to slice Benny's head off his neck and send him back where he belonged. Because that's what he thought the wrong thing to do was. It'd be only a matter of time until Benny slipped up and attacked some humans. At least, that's what he thought Benny was all about. 

Sam felt himself conflicted on what the right thing to do was in this situation. Ajay was slumped back in the driver’s seat, blood on his shirt. It wasn't hard to connect the dots that someone had killed him. Someone possibly caught wind of the demon you and the boys were interrogating and told their boss. You slipped up while you were in Hell. Whatever it was, this had Crowley's name written all over it. With Ajay dead, it meant you had no way back from purgatory. There was no way the boys had time to find another demon who would be willing to talk to them, it'd take more than just holy water for them to spill the name of another rouge reaper. It almost seemed like you were stuck there. Unless...unless Sam bit the bullet and trusted a vampire. The one he wanted to kill the second he meant him. Now Benny was the only chance at getting Sam's family back to where they belonged.

"How'd you get this one on board?" Benny asked, pointing a thumb casually to the younger man he knew hated his guts more than anything. Both men stood across from one another trying to act civilized as a hunter and vampire could be. 

"I'm not. This was all Dean's idea." Sam replied back to the vampire, his tone as cold as his attitude towards the vampire. "I'm sure he told you about what went down. We're out of options.”

"If you don't want to do this, we understand." Dean spoke up before the conversation could veer off the path he wanted everyone to focus on. The man felt guilt ridden at what he was asking his friend to do, the person who rescued him from that hell hole. Now he wanted him to go back to save the woman he loved. He hadn't quite felt this helpless before in a long, long while. 

"Wow." Benny smiled slightly, in a way that was almost unreadable. The boys weren't sure if the vampire was up for the challenge at what they were asking of him, or it was the audacity of them asking to do such a thing. "When Dean Winchester asks for a favor, he's not screwing around." 

"Benny, sending you back there is the last thing I ever wanted to do." Dean said, stressing the point he wanted to make very clear. Benny nodded his head. Both men created a bond through trauma they would never be able to shake off, no matter how much they tried to bury it down. He never wanted things to end up like this. But he was out of options. Benny might have been his friend, you were the love of his life. The woman he’d do anything for. Nothing in this world compared to what he had with you. His hands were tied. "But Y/N is stuck down there." 

“This would be the same Y/N who’s carrying your kid?” Benny asked, wanting to be sure the details were right on the things he was being told. You had only been about eight weeks along from the last time you saw him. Even back then, were determined nothing was going to get in your way. “Now, how in the hell did she manage to get into this mess?”

“Does it matter? This is the same person who helped your ass out when you needed it the most after you got topside.” Sam reminded the vampire about how you found some sort of good in something like Benny. You put your life on the line twice for him to help get him out of a sticky situation. The least he could do was to return the favor. “You got access to the place.” 

“By ‘access,’ you mean ‘getting beheaded’?” The vampire asked the hunter, wondering if they were on the same page here. 

Dean flinched at the things he was asking of Benny, speaking those words out loud made it seem even worse somehow. It was out of place for his friend to do such a thing for someone he barely knew. “Yeah, yeah you’re right—it’s too much.” He mumbled. “It’s not like I've been there for you lately.”

“What? Oh, come on Dean. You had your hands full lately.” Benny said. “And you know I love a good challenge.”

“Wait,” Sam found the response he was given by the vampire surprising at his willingness. “You’re serious?”

“Hey, she’s your family. And you’re right, Y/N was there for me when I needed a friend. It’s the least I could do.” Benny said. “I say let’s do this.”

Dean felt part relief, and part guilt at the things he was about to put Benny through. “I owe you.” 

“Oh, you don't owe me nothing. Truth is, uh... I could use a break from all this.” Benny admitted how he’d been feeling over the past several months since being back. Dean was taken aback at the confession. He thought the vampire would have been happy to breathe fresh air and not have to go about day to day life without running. It seemed Benny was longing for the familiarity of Purgatory. Much as it was hell, he grew used to it, sort of like a comfortable pain. He knew what to expect. “I'm not a good fit, Dean. Not with vampires and, for sure, not with the humans. I don't belong. And after a while...that starts to wear on you. Right?”

Benny found himself confessing more about the things he’d been feeling. He spent over fifty years in Purgatory, slaughtering and fighting his way to freedom. The portal to Earth was a whispered myth among kind like him. When Dean came along, it seemed this was his chance at getting out. But not everything fit his fantasy of what life was going to be like on the outside. Benny found himself longing for a place he once hated. 

The vampire let out a forced chuckle from how this conversation turned into him telling about his feelings. Sam, the one who had been against him this entire time, found his attitude changing. “Cry me a river. Like you need to listen to this. Guess you were right about me, Sam. It’s hard to walk the straight and narrow.”

“Well, when you get back up here, we're gonna fix all that, okay?” Dean told the vampire, knowing it was the least he could do. Benny found the promise of coming back to the place he just admitted to not fitting in rather odd. “Yeah, you find the portal, and your ride out of Purgatory with Y/N just like you did with me, okay? As soon as I send you back, we’re gonna haul our asses up to Maine, and we’re gonna be waiting there for you when you get topside.”

“Yeah. That sounds like a plan, chief.” Benny lied to the man, smiling at the promise of getting himself back to normal. “Let's get on with it.”

“You sure about this?” Dean asked, wanting to be ready for the final go ahead before he was about to kill his friend and send him back to that wasteland. 

“Not my first rodeo, man.” Benny reassured the hunter for what he was about to do. 

Dean inhaled a deep breath and walked over to the Impala, reaching inside the backseat to pull out a machete; the only thing to do this properly. A clean cut across the neck. It sounded simple enough, but doing it was going to be the most painful part of it. Sam swallowed at what Benny was willingly agreeing to. He stepped forward to the vampire and outstretched his hand. He wanted to show his gratitude at the things Benny was putting himself through for someone he only met twice. And for a friend he had to cut ties with for the sake of his family not being torn apart. Maybe Sam was wrong about Benny. He wasn’t that bad of a guy, after all.

“Thank you.” Sam said, his voice was filled with sincerity. 

“Y/N is your family.” Benny shrugged it off, as if this was going to be a walk in the park for him. At least that’s what it sounded like in his voice. Sam could see the emotion in Benny’s face, but he was doing his best to keep a strong face. Family, a friend that was there for them through the worst of times. The thing the Winchesters didn’t have much of anymore. Benny once had someone he called family. Sam had destroyed that relationship for him. “Besides, she saved my ass a few times. The least I could do.” 

The machete felt heavier in Dean's hand than the other times he held it to this. He couldn't shake off this terrible feeling sitting in the center of his chest. He approached Benny and outstretched his hand for him to shake. Benny grabbed ahold of it, only to pull him into a tight hug as friends do. Dean mumbled what felt to be the hundredth time of him thanking his friend for the selfless act he was doing. Both men pulled away to step back into their respective spots, Sam lingered a safe distance away. For someone who didn't like Benny from the first time he met him, he felt guilty as his brother for asking to do such a thing. 

"Well, come on." Benny spoke up after a few grueling long seconds. He cracked a smile, trying to help ease the hesitation. "You a wimp?"

There was no going back with the plan; Dean inhaled a deep breath, and without thinking twice about it, swung the machete up and sliced right through Benny's neck. The brothers watched as the vampire's head slowly slid off his body and fell to the pavement. It'd be no time until Benny found himself back in Purgatory where the first step of this plan would come into action. The boys wasted no time in cleaning up the mess and getting themselves up to Maine where they nervously hoped to be greeted with two familiar faces and a soul that needed to go where he rightfully belonged.

+ + +

You were doing everything in your power not to freak yourself with the thought that you might be longer than you anticipated here. Forever was what your mind was tricking you into thinking. You nervously swallowed down the anxiety and calm yourself down with the thought that the boys were probably coming up with a way to get you out of this. But how? There were only two ways to get yourself into this place; if you were a monster. And you knew of a rogue reaper who forgot about the strict timeframe he stuck you on. You had a feeling Ajay wasn't going to be picking you up. Which meant you were stranded here in Monsterland until you figured out a way out of here before it was too late. 

"Dean spent a year in this place?" Bobby asked in disbelief. You told him about the repercussions of killing a leviathan and standing too close to him. The consequences left Cas and the older Winchester to be stuck in this monster version of hell. Trying to survive and find their way out, thanks to a friendly vampire. You had a feeling Benny was one of a kind. All the monsters here were too busy killing one another to form an alliance

“Running and fighting, all day, everyday." You said. "It took him a while to come back down to reality. This place messed up pretty badly. Honestly, I can't blame him. It’s only been a day and this place is giving me the creeps.” 

"Must have been hell on Sam for not being able to get him out all that time." Bobby said. You winced slightly at what you heard the older Winchester say, you turned your gaze away from him to hide the disappointing answer you had to give him. Bobby was smart enough to put the pieces together. "Sam did try, didn't he?"

"Look, Bobby," You let out a sigh from how he was going to react at the truth you were going to have to tell him. While you didn't agree with the actions Sam took, you felt it would have been hypocritical from what you did. So you tried to defend him the best you could. "We all have an agreement on when these things happen, okay?"

"I know that agreement. I thought those boys that agreement. That's a non-agreement." Bobby, rightfully so, took the information with anger at the actions Sam had done. He turned his back on his own family. Something none of you had ever done. You gave him a defeated look at how he let his own brother suffer for a year, feeling partially responsible for how things turned out. The few months you came back were rocky, almost the point you feared nothing would be the same again. And while they were talking about it always brought up undelt emotions. "I get the feeling a lot must have happened while I was gone." 

You scoffed at the understatement he had given the situation. It was a complicated mess that ended with both of the brothers having to sever ties with two people they grew closer to over the year of their absence from another. At times you wondered if the situation was fixed after all. You wanted to tell Bobby more about it, but you forgot for a second about where you were currently at the moment. Standing around in Purgatory of all places like a bunch of sitting ducks. This was how you got yourself killed. Bobby managed to warn you about the company approaching you. You let out a frustrated sigh at the sight of three monsters heading towards you. 

Without a moment of hesitation, you quickly swung your weapon and decapitated the monster before he could harm you first. You turned your head in time to see the second one attacked Bobby, and before the older man could be killed for another time, you came to his rescue and killed the monster. While you had managed to take down two of the threats, you had no time at all to figure out the third one was behind you, ready to attack. But before he could lay even a finger on you, someone else joined the fight and grabbed the creature, throwing him down to the ground to take care of it himself.

The commotion didn’t go unnoticed by Bobby, who saw another monster with his teeth ripping into the flesh of the one who tried to attack you. To the older hunter all he could think was how this was survival of the fittest, you and him were just a piece of meat for these monsters to either eat or kill, even if it meant killing others to get his hands on you. But that wasn’t the case for the person who you saw. Right as Bobby was about to take a swing at the creature who saved your life, you managed to stop him. 

“Bobby, no, no, wait! Wait! Wait!” You grabbed ahold of his arm and somehow managed to pin it up in the best as you could, giving the creature a chance to stand back up to his feet. You watched as Benny Lafitte, a vampire you hadn’t seen months, spit out the blood from his mouth, showing off his fangs as he got up to a standing position. You blinked, not sure how you should feel about seeing a familiar face. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Benny’s response made you feel partially relieved at the circumstances at how he got himself a one way ticket to Purgatory. “Dean sent me.”

“Dean?” Bobby repeated the name of the man who would have never done such a thing, being friends with a vampire. You somehow managed to hold him off before he could do something stupid by hurting Benny like he wanted. He was angry, and rightfully so. Hunters weren’t buddy-buddy with monsters. Especially not for someone like a Winchester. “Not my Dean.”

“Well, hate to break even more bad news to you...but he’s a buddy of Dean’s.” You said, growing slightly at how you were the one to give Bobby all the bad news about his boys and all their poor choices after he left. 

“A good buddy.” Benny clarified. You turned your head to give the vampire a glare, his remarks weren’t helping the situation.  

“A freaking vampire?” Bobby asked in disbelief from what he was hearing. He turned his attention towards you, wondering how all of this came about. You shrugged your shoulders at the lack of a proper answer you could give him to explain this mess. “Well, you three really went off the rails while I was gone, didn't you?”

You could only let out a quiet sigh from how the truth was coming out all at once, with familiar faces you didn’t expect to see...well, ever again. It was your idea for the boys to cut out people from the past for good. Amelia and Benny were people you never thought you were going to meet or see. It was for the sake of the family and getting the boys back on what mattered the most; which was the three of you. The family who had always been there for one another through thick and thin. At least that’s what you thought. Since the beginning of the year you had gone through a roller coaster of highs and lows, but never did you expect it was going to end up like 

You had to admit you liked Benny, from his charming southern accent to how he seemed like no creature you met before. Maybe it was because he saved Dean a few times from getting himself stuck here forever and got him free. You only met him twice, and while he seemed innocent enough, you couldn’t form a friendship with him. Because not only was it the wrong thing to do as a hunter, having Benny in your life caused more trouble than it was worth. You weren’t sure how Sam got on board with the idea in the first place. He hated Benny’s guts more than anything. Desperate times call putting his trust in vampires. Benny was the only one who could get you out of Purgatory. 

Your legs were starting to ache from all the walking around and fighting you weren't used to doing in your condition, making it feel almost impossible that you were going to make it towards this escape route. Much as you wanted to lie down and sleep, you pushed yourself to keep walking, knowing you had to do this. There was no way you were going to quit when you were so close to the finish line. While you managed to keep up with Benny, you found a lingering awkward tension between the both of you. Maybe it was just how you were approaching all of this and thinking too much about it.  

“Benny, listen—I think you’re a good guy. Don't get me wrong." You said, breaking the silence that fell between the three of you. “And I know you saved Dean's ass a few times down here, and I respect that." 

"Yeah, and now I'm trying to save yours." Benny replied back to you, stopping you from letting him down easy about how you appreciated his help in all of this. You stopped walking when he did as well, Benny chuckled to himself at how all of this was playing out for him. "You know, I'm a disgrace to my own people."

“No offense, but your people aren’t exactly the friendliest.” You said. Benny shrugged off your remark as he began looking around the place, as if he was trying to find something. “How much more walking are we gonna have to do?”

Benny examined the area once more to make sure it was exactly as he remembered it from the last time he was here. "Yeah, this is the place."

"The seam that gets us back on top?" Bobby asked, the vampire nodded his head. You furrowed your brow slightly, not sure what you were expecting to find that was going to get you back to earth. It seemed the older hunter had better eyes than you had. "Is that it?"

You followed Bobby's gaze over and up towards what was going to be your escape out of here; you swallowed slightly at seeing the portal that was your ticket back home where you belonged. Where your family was eagerly waiting for you. "Yeah, that's it." Benny said. "You two remember what I told you?"

"Yeah. All right, Bobby, here it goes." You said, telling him what the plan was going to be. "When we get to earth and I release you, there's no time for goodbyes."

"Already said my goodbyes to you once, Y/N. Didn't seem to take. No reason I won't be seeing you and that kid again somewhere down the road. But if they give me a rocking chair up there, I’m raising hell.” Bobby said. You felt your lips stretch into a faint smile, hoping it might be true. Stranger things in your life happened. "Take care of yourself and those boys, Y/N. Be the best mother you can be to this kid. And don't ever doubt for a second you can't do this. Because I know you can. You and Dean are gonna make perfect parents.”

You know you didn’t have to tell him once again that you were going to miss him and how you wished things were different. You managed to squeeze in one last hug from Bobby, the both of you shared one last moment together before you had to get started on finishing this second trial. Bobby cut along his forearm with the demon knife before handing it over to you to do the same. You began chanting the words Kevin told you to do in order for this to work and grabbed ahold of Bobby's wrist, him doing the same. You weren't sure how it was going to feel when his soul was transferred into your body. You managed to work through the strange feelings and get yourself to focus long enough to hand over the demon knife to Benny. 

"All right. Come on, Benny. It's your turn." You said, reaching out your arm further for him to grab the knife. Benny responded with a look, the kind that you didn't like. You let out a frustrated sigh from how he was hesitating. "If you're worried about me, don’t. I’m fine. Just hurry up." 

"Benny." You heard a voice coming from behind you, making you turn around to see you had more company. You guessed the three filthy people approaching you were vampires. And they weren’t happy to see their own associating himself with someone like you. 

“Go on. It’s me they want. Go on. You just make sure you tell Dean I said goodbye.” Benny gave you a request that seemed fair enough. Every part of you didn’t want to leave him alone in this place. But he was used to it after spending decades here. It was his home, in a strange sort of way. There was no pretending to be who he was. “I was never good up there anyway.”  

"Benny, wait!" You called out to the vampire, knowing you had something he would need in order to win the fight. You threw the weapon you stole from another monster towards him, hoping it would give him luck to survive in these parts for however long he wanted to stay here. You let out a sigh from how you could nothing else for him, despite all the things he'd done for you and Dean.

Much as you wanted to lend out a helping hand to Benny and change his mind about sticking around here, you weren't going to blow your one chance at getting the hell out of here. You made your way towards the hill and climbed up to the portal that was your ticket out of this joint for good. You were high above now that gave you a better view of Purgatory. You looked ahead to see you might be able to find Benny, and when you did, you felt your heart sink in fear at what you saw. You opened your mouth to call out the vampire's name when one of the other creatures tackled him to the ground. Before any noise came out of your mouth, you were sucked through, and spit straight back to the real world. 

[Next Part]

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[4birds-of-a-feather]

Chapter 26 - Man, it doesn’t show signs of stoppin’ [part 8]

Birds Of a Feather

(In the previous chapters: Sara can’t hold her liquor and is unexpectedly rather friendly with Stone, who is a bit weirded out by her behavior – especially when she mentions how great Jeff’s ass is; the Twister match finally ends with McCready as the unexpected winner, something that the bass player doesn’t tolerate at all: the two guys proceed to fight but a comment by Sara leads Jeff to put an end to it)

Seattle, 24th December 1984

“Papà, see how good I’ve been? I’ve kept my distance from the kitchen so I wouldn’t be in the way-woah, you basically cooked for an entire battalion!” Sara exclaimed, entering the kitchen and finding it literally overflowing with delicacies of every kind. “Nah, just a couple of things here and there… would you please be so kind as to wear something a little more festive than those pajamas? You know I’m a bit nitpicking ‘bout these things…” “Suuuuure, want me to wear some make-up too?” “That wouldn’t be unwise… and a pair of shoes too, don’t think I didn’t see your faithful Donald Duck slippers!” the man exclaimed, running to take the umpteenth dish out of the oven “Phew, saved by the bell!” <The fuck is goin’ on here?> she thought, but did as her father had suggested all the same. The girl came downstairs after twenty minutes, wearing a Rudolph-the-Red-Nosed-Reindeer green sweater, a pair of Converse of the same color and a little bit of eye shadow. When he saw his daughter’s fashion choices, Aldo barely stifled a couple of chuckles, and was saved by the doorbell ringing. “You waitin’ for somebody?” Sara asked him, going toward the front door. “Not that I’m aware of…” Aldo kept on adding the finishing touches to the appetizers in order to keep himself busy and not laugh in his daughter’s face, while she shrugged and proceeded to open the door. “Hi! Hope I’m not late but it was a bit difficult carrying this while riding the bik-” an all wrapped up warm Jeff had greeted her with a huge beam, and she had instinctively slammed the door in his face. She had literally slammed the door in his face. <DIO, FULMINAMI! SONO UNA TESTA DI CAZZO> she internally screamed, then took a deep breath and re-opened the door. “852 Northeast 68th Street… I knew I had the right address…” Jeff spoke up again, and Sara felt extremely mortified. “I’m so, so sorry! I was so shocked to see you standing there that I basically forgot how to properly behave!” she gesticulated wildly, not being able to look him in the eye. “It’s my fault, I broke you” he retorted with a chuckle full of mirth that allowed her to let out a deep breath and finally make eye contact with him – the crinkle lines around his eyes were the clear sign that he was glad to be there and hadn’t taken any offence in her previous behavior. The girl finally digested what he had said and flushed: “But don’t stand there – please, come in!” Jeff followed her inside and hung his coat and scarf, then stopped to look better at her. “Nice sweater” he grinned, and she suddenly remembered what she was wearing – maybe being electrocuted wasn’t enough, maybe a hole deeper than the Mariana Trench she could crawl into and where she could finally die would have worked better. “I-I didn’t know-” she started, but the words died in her throat when the guy dangerously brought his face closer to hers. “... And I like these earrings” he said, studying one of the red dangle earrings she was wearing and then letting his hand linger in her curls. “Jeffrey! Do come in, I’m finishing to prepare the appetizers!” Aldo’s voice came from inside the kitchen, making his daughter move aside from Jeff as if she had just burnt herself. “Good evening, mr. Fancini!” the bass player had retrieved the package he had brought and smiled at the older man “I parked my bike on the porch, hope it’s not a problem” “Not at all, son! How did you manage to ride your bike and bring this along at the same time?” “Errr – good stamina, I guess?” Jeff had scratched his nape, a lil’ bit embarrassed, then handed him the packet “Just a little present to thank you for the invitation” “Oh, you shouldn’t have!” Aldo tore off the wrapping paper and found a bottle of Pinot blanc. “I didn’t know what was in the menu, so I thought that bringin’ some bubbles would do the trick” “Excellent choice! Lemme put it in the refrigerator – Saruccia, would you please let this young man sit down in the living room? I still have to check the tortellini, the abbacchio and-God, I haven’t stuffed the pandoro yet!” the man almost screamed, running again into the kitchen. The two of them ended sitting in front of each other – just the coffee table between them – and, just as Sara was intent on sinking into the armchair and plotting some serious revenge on her father, the guy spoke up. “That’s some massive tree you have out there… what is it?” “Oh, the wisteria… yeah, it’s huge – best part of the whole house, but that’s just my two cents” “Can’t judge, you should give me a tour before I’m allowed to do that” he raised his hands and winked at her, making her blush for the umpteenth time. “Soooo… guess you’re not goin’ home for this Christmas, huh?” Sara changed topic and immediately wished she had bitten her tongue instead “Shit, I swear I-I’m not tryin’ to send you away – it’s just that-” “No worries” he flashed her a little smile “Anyway nope, and when your father found out about it he’s been so kind to invite me for dinner – said I shouldn’t spend Christmas Eve all alone and all that jazz” <… and he casually forgot to mention this brilliant plan to his only daughter… man, am I going to strangle the old man at the end of the evening…> “Yeah, he’s right! Nobody should be alone on Christmas Eve” “Exactly, and that’s why I took the liberty of inviting this young gentleman to join us this evening…” Aldo made again his appearance, carrying a couple of trays full of salmon canapés and every kind of vegetables in oil and putting them in the middle of the table that was standing near the right corner of the room “Dinner’s served, rebels without a cause!” “Jesus, look at all these delicacies…” Jeff sat down, eyeing all the small bowls that Aldo and Sara were arranging on the table. “Do you like vegetables in oil, Jeff? Because in this house we have an entire army of them!” Aldo enthusiastically began to point at all the different bowls “Those are the artichokes, the ones that Sara is putting down right now are the eggplants, and these are the mushrooms… there’s also peppers, zucchini and olives – here, try one of them!” The young man began to taste them and quickly reached the Nirvana, a content expression already painted on his face. “You better not stuff yourself on these things, mr. Ament – my dad has at least another dozen of dishes to parade…” the girl gave him an enigmatic smile but, at the same time, handed him the tray of salmon-and-butter canapés. “I won’t, even if it’s all delicious… you did a great job, mr. Fancini” Jeff nodded, biting a canapé and trying to restrain himself to take another one. “It doesn’t take a lot of ability to put some salmon and curls of butter on slices of bread… and the vegetables in oil are all prepared by my sisters, they send me a huge box full of them every year – they know that on Christmas Eve we like to drown ourselves in these delicacies…” “We sure do, but not only on Christmas Eve…” Sara added in a seraphic way, picking an olive and trying to spit out its pit without looking like a truck driver – hell, after all she still had her crush sitting right in front of her… “That reminds me I have to turn off the oven, the abbacchio must be ready by now” Aldo stood up and went again into the kitchen, coming back after a few minutes with a pot full of tortellini in broth. “Something to warm up your bellies” he gave Jeff a smile and proceeded to put a big portion of tortellini in his dish “If you want seconds or thirds don’t feel shy, understood?” “I won’t, it’s a promise” the young man imitated the scouts’ gesture, then studied the content of his plate “What’s their filling?” “Prosciutto, I guess – that’s enough, papà, thank you… hope you haven’t already put the parmigiano in there” Sara sighed, moving the tortellini with her spoon. “You surely don’t have faith in your old man, huh missy?” her father gave her a flick on the cheek “I didn’t forget – let’s see if our guest would like to have some of it” “Oh, I always put it on my pasta, so I guess it’s a must-do this evening too” “Well, son, you’re lucky I’m not keen on taking offence for this kind of things but, in my shoes, other people would surely do: that unknown substance you keep on calling ‘parmesan’ is not remotely similar to what I’m about to offer you…” “Here we go again with the preacher act...” the girl sighed again, pinching the bridge of her nose “Can we please skip it and go immediately to the most important part – that is eating?” “I get it, I get it, no more bitching” her father raised his hands “But seriously, Jeff: if you’re used to putting alien cheese on pasta, you should totally try the real parmigiano – you won’t regret it” The bass player followed his advice and soon it was already abbacchio’s time – Jeff didn’t know what to expect with that strange name, so finding out that it was lamb chops browned in oil and garlic, spiced with sage and rosemary and served with roast potatoes immensely delighted him – and then also came the stuffed peppers, the fruit salad, the trail mix and the pandoro filled with mascarpone, all served with generous glasses of Sangiovese. “Thank God you didn’t forget I hate mascarpone to death…” “As if I could, with such a petulant daughter…” Aldo pinched his daughter’s cheek “Jeff, want some limoncello to digest this frugal meal? I’d recommend it, and then we can end with a bang – your bottle, how about that?” “Frugal meal?! I’m not going to eat until New Year’s Day, Jesus…” the guy exclaimed, patting his stomach “Anyway, digesting right now sounds like a good plan” “Here, have a sip” the host handed him a shot of yellow liquor – the strong smell of lemons could have resurrected Lazarus without needing any miracle. “Let’s just hope we won’t find him and his bike at the bottom of Green Lake…” Sara snorted, taking in the way Jeff’s cheeks were all rosey – he was all smiles and laughter, apparently genuinely enjoying their company. “Naaah, no problem! I didn’t drink that much” “Yeah, I doubt he’ll ever reach my uncles’ level of intoxication…” “Papà! No need to pester him with our family’s tales of insanity… you want him to run for the hills?” “Insanity… You’re always exaggerating, it’s just some funny anecdote to pass the time” “How much are you willing to bet that, knowing how far our family reunions can go, tomorrow he’ll pretend he doesn’t know us?” “C’mon, I’m dying to know what happened!” “Suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn ya” the girl crossed her arms, already cursing her father’s brilliant idea to tell her crush some freakin’ story about her relatives and their tantrums. “Weeell, first of all: you need to know that I come from a large family – I have four sisters and two brothers – and during the festivities our table was always huge… uncles, aunts, grandfather and grandmother, cousins… everybody was there; festivities are great because you can spend ‘em with your family, your relatives that perhaps are living in other towns, but they can also be a pain in the ass – the organization, the stress, the confusion of having almost thirty people free to roam all over your house… you know how it is” “No, he doesn’t – remember, not all families are insane like ours” “Signorina, lasciami finire!” Aldo scolded his daughter, then resumed his tale “As I was saying, when members of the family are scattered in a few towns, it’s only normal to update each other on what has happened to us during the past year… my uncles Bartolomeo, Ambrogio and Gioacchino used to do the same: they were farmers, so they usually churned out random numbers, for example how much wheat they had produced and things like that… one particular Christmas Eve they took a drop too much and fought about who had produced more wine and oil during the year: they insulted each other, a couple of noses were punched in the process and, in the midst of all that confusion, the roasted cappone – the capon, d’ya know it? The castrated rooster, c’mon! – literally flew on my sister Elvira’s head… she was 15 years old and immediately started to cry because her face was entirely covered with gravy and her new dress had been ruined, while my mother, not caring about the fact that those three troublemakers were still her husband’s brothers, almost killed them with her faithful rolling pin” “… Jesus, what a rollercoaster” Jeff finally spoke up, then burst out laughing “I’d surely pay to attend one of these dinners of yours” “Consider yourself officially invited! We’ll probably spend next Christmas in Florence, so that could be the perfect occasion for you to have a proper Italian holid-” the older man had taken off at top speed, but when his daughter had looked daggers at him, he had coughed a bit embarrassed “Err, I’m going to grab the wine!” and, thus said, he quickly went out the room. “Your grandma seems quite the strong-willed woman – I wonder who has inherited her same temper…” “Hey! It’s not our fault if we have to deal with such a handful on a daily basis” the girl threw a fistful of walnut shells in Jeff’s direction, who resumed to chuckle “Anyway yeah, she’s a true force of nature… I mean, you have to be, if you want to raise seven children without going out of your head” “That sounds like some superhero’s doing, and who could play that part if not moms?” “Yeah, who could do that better than them?” Sara had scrunched up her nose, her mind inevitably running to the woman that, almost seventeen years before, had given birth to her. Luckily for her, the topic was dropped because Aldo had just re-entered the room with the bottle in a hand and a cutting board full of nougat pieces clutched in the other. “I had almost forgotten about the nougat!” he exclaimed, putting the cutting board on the table and then proceeding to uncork the Pinot. Sara partook in their toast with her glass full of Coke – she surely preferred gulping down some nougat instead of drinking wine, whose taste had never pleased her – and, even if it wasn’t midnight yet, they all wished each other a happy Christmas.

************************************************************************************************

The merry people had then installed themselves in the other part of the room, when suddenly Aldo excused himself because he needed to go to the bathroom, only to come back with a basket in his hands. Sara immediately stood up from the rocking chair where she had been sitting, unable to open her mouth. “Saruccia, I’ve been checkin’ on him the whole evening – now it’s your turn” he smiled at her, finally revealing the presence of a scrawny tabby kitten in the basket; needless to say, the girl ran to pick the little animal up and pulled it into a hug. “The cat shelter told me he was the smallest of his litter, they almost feared he wouldn’t be able to-hey! What have I always told you about the rules of this house? No tears are allowed, c’mon!” the man had patted her on the back, but his daughter wasn’t able to stop the sobbing “I think that quite some time has passed ever since Poe’s passing and we needed a new cat roaming this house, don’t ya think?” Sara nodded and, still sniffing, thanked her father and pulled him into a tight hug – obviously paying attention not to suffocate the new-entry of the family. “Isn’t he the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?!” she then approached Jeff, who agreed with her and gently petted the kitten. “Now you just need a name” “The young man’s right, how do you want to call him?” “Hmm” the girl pondered, looking around, when suddenly her gaze fell on a precise point and she lit up “How about Monty?” “… Like Clift! Nice choice, kiddo” Aldo looked at the A Place In The Sun poster that was hanging near the fireplace and smiled satisfied. “And Monty Python too” “That’s true, I hadn’t thought about it! That’s it, we have a name” Sara nodded all jubilant, then addressed the little cat, focused on the caresses Jeff was still giving him “You have a name, Monty! D’ya like it?” The animal looked attentively at her, then started to purr – the bass player clearly saw how she had literally melted for that little gesture and smiled to himself. While she was busy cooing at Monty, Jeff got lost into observing her: the little red spheres of her earrings slowly swaying among her curls, the adorable way she scrunched up her nose while the kitten was trying to catch it with one of its paws, the long eyelashes and the small dent in the middle of her lower lip… he still couldn’t believe how much a person’s presence could change somebody’s life – and yet, there she was: almost seven months had passed ever since their first meeting and he often found himself wondering how the hell his life was before that notorious 31st May. … better stop asking himself that and start embracing that fresh breath of air that was all curls and toothy grins, like the one she was giving him in that exact moment.

************************************************************************************************  

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for the night? We have a guest room, you know” Aldo said, walking Jeff to the entrance of the house just a couple of minutes after midnight. “Nah, mr. Fancini, I’m good – it’s just that I start my shift in seven hours and I really should go… but thanks anyway” “Oh, you didn’t tell me you had to work…” “I had already scheduled it when I was thinking I would have spent this evening doing nothing… Boy, I’m glad I was so wrong” the guy chuckled, finishing to fix his scarf and heading for the front door. Sara’s eyes widened in horror. <THE FUCKIN’ MISTLETOE!> The girl and her dad in fact had an inner joke: being two golden singles, they always found it funny to hang some mistletoe on the doorjamb of the front door – betting on who among the two of them would have enough luck to finally “break the curse”. Right now, it wasn’t funny at all.  “Then I feel obliged to renew my invitation for next year too! You still have to try the panettone, the cappon-” Aldo had resumed his work of persuasion, when his daughter gave him a nudge in the chest, redness all over her cheeks – both for the fear of Jeff finally noticing the mistletoe and the discomfort caused by her father’s umpteenth attempt to drag the guy into their family in a not-so-subtle way. He had stopped talking and looked at her for some explanation but, luckily for them, Jeff hadn’t noticed their strange behavior because he had crouched down to pet Monty. Sara had indicated the mistletoe with a nod and Aldo finally understood – or so she thought. “Err-Saruccia, why don’t you walk Jeff to the gate? I’d better get started with the dishes” “God, I’m such a boor! Lemme help ya, mr. Fancini, it’s the least I can do to thank-” “NONSENSE!” Aldo almost shouted, already sensing his daughter’s killer instincts rise “Nonsense, son: you’re the guest and you don’t have to lift a single finger… but I appreciate it all the same” “That’s fine with me, but it would have only been right: after all, I ate like a bear” “That has only made me happy: my daughter eats like a little bird, sometimes I feel the need to feed someone with a huge appetite... Well, take good care of ya, Jeffrey – it’s been a pleasure, you’re a good kid” the older man patted him on the shoulder and, after grabbing Monty, went to the kitchen. Jeff had looked at the entrance of the kitchen with a little smile on his lips, then resumed to speak. “Wanna go outside?”

************************************************************************************************

The sky was clear and the air promised snow, the perfect ending – beginning? – for that evening; Jeff was pulling his bike down the path while Sara was walking by his side, almost disappearing inside the giant scarf she was wearing. “Sooo, I guess it’s time to give you this” he said all of a sudden, leaning his bicycle against the oak from where an old swing was hanging and taking a small package out of one of the pockets of his coat “A silly little thing I made for ya” “A present… for me?” the girl had gasped, taking it from his hands a bit hesitantly “But I didn’t buy you anything, I didn’t know you-” “Believe me, couldn’t find a better gift than your company” he smiled softly, than gave her a little nudge “C’mon, open it!” Sara turned the packet over in her hands, admiring the blue and silvery wrapping paper he had used, then finally tore it off: she looked in amazement at a sketch in pen of herself, framed by the words ‘always touched by your presence’, that was looking right back at her. “It’s-err, it’s a mixtape – I did the art too, probably too sloppily but I had like zero photos of ya and I had to draw by heart…” the guy had explained like a river in flood, feeling more and more stupid as he went on with his stammering “Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yes; I know I pestered you with my Clash tapes for months, so this is some way to make up for it… I chose some songs that reminded me of you, and-OOMPH” he stopped talking because she had literally thrown her arms round his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. “Thank you-thank you-thank you! This is like the greatest present ever! Well, maybe after Monty… oh, what am I talkin’ about?? You’re the best, thank you!” the girl had squealed while he, after the initial shock, had hugged her back. “You’re welcome, but it’s nothing special…” “Shut up! It is, nobody has ever done something like this for me before, okay? So I’m gonna hang tight on this” she had finally loosened the hug, but his hands still lingered on her back “Can’t wait to see what’s in store for me…” she had started to fumble with the case. “No, please!” the guy had proceeded to stop her “Please… after I’m gone?” “You want me to read it after you’ve left? How come?” “Nothing, it’s just… I want to hear your thoughts about the tape, but not right now; I want you to listen to it in a proper way, gather your opinions and then tell me all about it – right now it would feel too rushed, you understand?” “… Deal; it’s only fair, after you’ve given me such a fine present” “If it takes so little to make you happy, that means I’ll have to give you presents more often” the bass player thought out loud, redness instantly boiling all over his ears. “I-I don’t think that you’d need to spoil me to-to keep me around” Sara had stammered, blushing to the roots of her hair – she immediately gained the brightest grin ever from him. “Yeah… I’m the luckiest guy ever” he gave her a flick on the nose and then retrieved his bike “Now I seriously have to go get some sleep or in a few hours I’m going to fuck up every single order” She quickly nodded and they resumed their brief walk, both of them not daring to speak up for fear of ruining the atmosphere. “Well, thanks again for the gift and your patience – having to deal with both me and my dad can be an exhausting thing” “Are you kiddin’ me? You’re two of the most hilarious people I know, it was a real pleasure hangin’ with ya! I was supposed to get plastered in bed, not stuff myself with delicious things and awesome comp-” The guy’s words had died in his throat because Sara had suddenly stood on the tip of her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, Jeffrey. Be safe on your way back home” “Th-thanks, you-you too – shit! – err-I-I meant ‘merry Christmas’ to you too, not the other thing – you’re already home, you don’t need-” “Seems that now it’s my turn to break ya, huh?” the girl sneered, and all he could do was awkwardly patting her head, saying goodbye, finally hopping on his bike and disappearing out of her sight. She giggled to herself, then fished the tape out of her pocket and, while walking back to the house, started skimming through the tracklist. “Let’s see what we’ve got here: New Dawn Fades by Joy Division… (I’m Always Touched by Your) Presence, Dear by Blondie – oh, it’s where the mixtape title comes from! – Love Song by AC/DC… LOVE SONG???” She almost stumbled on the steps of the porch but quickly recovered at the last second. <Think, think! AC/DC don’t do ballads, so a song called ‘Love Song’ has surely nothing to do with romantic things… yeah, that’s it> “… New Rose by The Damned – I like this one, he remembered! Ever Fallen in Love (With Someone You Shouldn’t’ve)??? I Wanna Be Your Dog???? The World’s a Mess; It’s in My Kiss??????” her voice had become higher and higher, almost sounding like a squeak. <… that doesn’t sound like a random friendly mixtape, right?!?!> “The World’s a Mess; It’s in My Kiss…” she muttered to herself with a big grin spread all over her face, then went inside the house clutching the tape tightly to her chest, where she could clearly feel a deep happiness bubbling like crazy.

************************************************************************************************  

“Soooo… how did it go??” “He gave me this mixtape he’s made just for me! Look at it, isn’t it awesome??” “Yeah, it is… now, how about tellin’ your old man how it really went?” “… what do you mean?” “The whole mistletoe accident, c’mon! Who took the first step?!” “Woah, slow down! Nothing happened” “What do you mean ‘nothing happened’?? You two didn’t kiss under the mistletoe?!” “What made you think we would have done it? Sometimes I really can’t understand you…” “But you pointed out the damned mistletoe to me like you’d been possessed! That’s why I let you escort him to the gate…” “Jesus, papà! I indicated it because I didn’t want Jeff noticing it and I needed your help!” “… you’re seriously tellin’ me you didn’t ask me to let you have some private time with him?” “… you’re impossible” “Good God, you’re the one who’s impossible! Find me another dad who’s totally ok with letting his daughter smooch somebody under the mistletoe, I dare you!” “Holy Vittorio De Sica, cut it out!” “I was so invested in this I even said ‘castrated rooster’ instead of ‘castrated cock’…” “FOR FUCK’S SAKE, DAD! SHUT UUUUP!” “Kids these days… I’ll never understand ‘em…”

[sky-casino]

Take My Hand

Genre: Fluff, Angst, runaway!jaehyun  Pairing: Jaeyun x Reader Word Count: 6,429 Warning/s: Verbal and physical abuse from family

 You were having the worst night of your life when you found a mysterious and cute runaway boy sitting beside you.

Thursday night. You were in your room studying very hard for your college entrance exams next week, the usual. A few minutes later, you started to hear the yells of your heavily drunk and alcoholic father from downstairs. The usual too. This happened every night which caused you to lose focus. But tonight, you had enough of it and stormed down to confront your father.    

"You come home like this every single night. Can't you do anything better than get drunk? I'm so tired of this! I'm studying upstairs and then I hear you yelling non-sense stuff!"

"Shut the fuck up! You're the reason this family has no money! All our money goes to your stupid tuition fee." He retorted.

You stood there frozen and extremely hurt until he continued, "Make sure you get a scholarship from a far away university so we won't have to spend a single cent and see your face anymore. You understand?"

With that, your tears started to fall. Your stepmother just watched the whole scene, didn't even bother to defend you or stop your father from spitting the painful words. Why would she? She didn't like you living with them.

You ran out of the house to go to your favorite pavilion all the way up the street. As you ran, the wind dried your tears but fresh ones kept on falling. 

You never considered your life good or happy. Your biological mother left you and your father early this year for another man. Just like you, she was tired of seeing your dad in a drunken state every night. Your life wasn't improving and so your mom decided to leave. She wrote you a short message that you saw on your desk the next morning: I'm sorry. You were so mad at her for not taking you with her but then again, you were pretty sure that the man didn't want you to live with them, similar to your current stepmother.

The hardships motivated you to study hard in order to get into a good university far from home. You wanted out from this shitty town and dysfunctional family, if you could even call it that. You and your father wanted the same thing but hearing him tell you that he wasn't willing to spend money on you and see your face anymore was literally a stab in the heart.

You arrived at the pavilion panting and crying. It was very quiet and peaceful. It was dimly lit but got a good overlooking view of the city below. The dazzling city lights and silence always calmed you down.

You were so focused on crying that you failed to realize that you were not alone in the pavilion.

"You okay?" A boy asked you. 

You quickly jumped and let out a short scream before focusing your vision on the boy who sat beside you. 

The street light illuminated his face and you could see his wide eyes, probably shocked from your reaction. But you could also see his lips that were trying to hold back from laughing. You realized that you probably looked stupid with the way you jumped and screamed. A strong wave of embarrassment washed over you and you cleared your throat in an attempt to compose yourself. You continued to look at him as you made your way back to the bench and you realized how handsome this stranger was.

He waited for you to be comfortable again before he talked.

"Are you okay? You're crying." He said with a smile and a worried look on his face.

You were surprised to see that someone, a stranger, was genuinely concerned about you. Your own parents couldn't even be bothered about you.

"Honestly? Nope. I'm not." You replied. For some reason, your gut feeling told you to open up to this guy. Maybe because there's a high chance that you wouldn't see him again anyway. You had nothing to lose.

"May I know why?" 

"Well, my mom left me with my alcoholic dad who hates me so fucking much that unlike normal fathers, he despises spending money for his child's education. He also married a whore he just met at some bar out there who, guess what, also hates me." You said non-chalantly with matching hand gestures.

The boy's mouth was slightly open for a few seconds until he let out a chuckle.

"You find my tragic life funny?" 

"No, no. It's not that. Definitely not that. It just amuses me that you told your sad life story in a.. what should I call it.. a chill manner?" He said as he lifted both of his brows at you with a shy smile. He looked totally cute so you decided to forgive him.

"Oh. Okay, if you say so." You replied as you shifted your eyes from him and on to the city lights below. 

There was a moment of awkward silence until you noticed his large and full backpack.

"You just.. moved here?"

"Yep. Temporarily." He replied with a smirk.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm a runaway." He said with the same smirk before yawning and stretching out his arms above him, obviously tired and sleepy.

"A runaway?"

"Yup. I left my hometown and now I move from one city to another and then I stay there for a month. I think this is my fourth city? Yeah, it is." 

"But why?"

"Why what? Why I left my hometown? Because I'd rather learn about the world through travels and encounters with people than staying in four-walled classrooms to listen to boring lectures. " He said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"How do you decide which city to go next?" 

"By feel? Whatever my gut feel says. No detailed plan whatsoever. Wherever my feet take me."

"As simple as that?"

"Mhm."

This guy might be the strangest and most interesting person you've ever met.

"It's super late already. Don't you need to go home?" He asked as he looked at his watch.

"Don't worry. No one's looking for me. But yes, I gotta rest. Have to wake up early tomorrow because I'm a student and I need to place myself in four-walled classrooms to listen to boring lectures." You said the last part with air quotation marks which earned you a laughter from him.

"You're funny."

"You're strange."

He just nodded his head in reply to your statement before picking up his bag and swinging the straps into his shoulders.

"Bye. Good night." You said.

"Good night." He replied with a smile, showing off his lovely dimples once again.

You stood up as he did and slowly turned your back to him and walked out of the pavilion. 

"Jaehyun." He suddenly said, causing you to turn around. "My name is Jaehyun." 

"Y/N." You replied with a smile as shy as his.

It was afternoon of the next day and you were walking home from school. Your mind was filled with the memories from last night's encounter with Jaehyun. How he looked like, the sound of his voice, his smile and dimples, everything he told you. A part of you thought that it might just be a dream. After a terrible fight with your father that brought you to tears, you suddenly met a handsome boy at your favorite pavilion? It sounded too good to be true but it was, after all, true. 

True because it had been exactly twenty-four hours since you headed to the pavilion and you found yourself on your way there again when you saw a head of familiar black hair. You couldn't focus on your homework as you kept asking yourself whether you'd see Jaehyun again or not. In order to put your mind at peace, you went to the pavilion to see if he'd be there. And he was. Prayer answered.

"Hey." You greeted Jaehyun.

"There you are." He replied, giving you a can of soda with the same flavor as the one he's drinking.

"Thanks." He only had two cans all in all which made you wonder whether he really bought one for you.

"I have a proposal for you." He said.

"What?" You asked as you sat down next to him.

"You told me about your family problem last night. I don't think I can 100% help you with that but, I want to at least take your mind off it even just for a while." 

"What? There's no need for that, Jaehyun. I'm fine, don't wo-"

"Let me do this. Please." He told you with pleading eyes. You couldn't refuse.

"Okay. But how?"

"I'll hire you as my personal tour guide! You'll bring me to all the tourist spots here like famous restaurants, malls, coffee shops, museums. Don't worry, you won't have to spend a single cent. All expenses will be on me. I know you're only free during weekends and maybe a few afternoons after school? What do you think?" 

You didn't reply in a timely manner as you just sat there with a blank face and slightly wide eyes. You couldn't believe, once again, that a stranger was genuinely concerned about you and truly wanted to make you feel better.

"Y/N?" 

"Deal!" 

"Great! Tomorrow is a Saturday. We can start tomorrow?"

"Sure. You're lucky I don't have homework." You said with a laugh. The two of you exchanged numbers and agreed to meet at ten in the morning of the next day.

"What did you do today?" You asked.

"Just slept. I was so tired yesterday and slept late. I had to re-energize. You?"

"Damn I envy you so much! I had exams the whole day. But because of that our teachers didn't give us homework for the weekend."

"Do you think you did well?"

"Of course. I always do. I mean, I always have to do well.  I wanna get a scholarship from the number one university." 

"Isn't that far from here?"

"Yes, it is. Which is one of the reasons why I want to study there. I wanna move out of here. I don't care if I would have to live in a dormitory during my entire college life. I just want to leave this place."

"You're just like me. Someone who wants to leave her hometown." He smirked at you before taking a sip from his soda can.

"Yeah. I think I am. I just hope that like you, I'll be able to do it one day."

10:08 AM

That's the time on your lockscreen as you ran all the way up to the pavilion.

"I'm so sorry, I'm late!" You yelled at Jaehyun the moment you arrived.

"It's fine. Take it easy." He chuckled. "So, where can we have breakfast?"

"I know the best place for that." 

You took the bus with him to get into the heart of the city. It was buzzing with people, as expected of a Saturday morning. You lead the way to a medium-sized eatery.

"This restaurant specializes in breakfast meals. Very popular." You informed Jaehyun upon entering.

"Yeah.. obviously." He said as he marveled at the sight of the busy eatery. Plenty of waitresses walking here and there to serve a huge number of tables.

You picked a table and a lady gave you two menu books right away. 

"They all look so yummy." Jaehyun said.

"They are all yummy. My favorite is this one, kimchi-wrapped luncheon meat with eggs and hash browns." You said as you showed him the picture of the said meal.

"That looks so good, Y/N! I wanna try!"

"Okay!" You signaled to the waitress and ordered two sets of the said meal.

"Is today's itinerary planned or spontaneous?" He asked before drinking his orange juice.

"Totally planned. I'm not good at being spontaneous." You replied, laughing embarrassingly as you fiddled with your fork.

"That's fine. We could save more time if it's planned."

Your orders arrived and Jaehyun instantly indulged himself.

"I love this. I love this, Y/N. You have good taste." He said as he dramatically nodded his head.

"Of course, Jaehyun." You replied in a very sassy manner.

You spent around half an hour in the restaurant and now, you were about to ride the bus again.

"Where to next?"

"Vintage bookstore at one of the less populated spots of the city!" You said with much enthusiasm that showed how much you love the place.

"I love it already." Jaehyun replied with wide eyes.

"You love reading too?"

"Yes! I especially love mystery. You?"

"Poetry and slice of life. I love inspirational pieces."

"You're a deep person." Jaehyun said in almost a whisper as he smiled and nodded his head at you, making your heart flutter and your eyes look away shyly.

You got off the bus and walked into these narrow alleys that form something akin to a maze to get to the vintage and mysterious bookstore.

"They sell secondhand, hard-to-find, and vintage books. They also have cute stationery and school supplies, most of which are made with recycled paper." You informed Jaehyun as you walked through the alleys.

"Wow, this store is very unique." 

"It is! I make sure to go there at least twice a month. Oh, here it is!" You said as you stopped right in front of the brick-walled shop.

"Holy shit. It literally looks like it's from Harry Potter." Jaehyun said in amazement.

"Well, the owner is an avid fan. He was inspired. Let's go!"

You went straight to the stationery and supplies section while Jaehyun looked at every shelf, looking for some books to buy.

Later, you heard him yell excitedly which made you snap your neck to his direction.

"Why? Found something good?" You asked as you approached him.

"Great, Y/N. Something great! It's a copy of my favorite author's first novel! Agatha Christie's The Mysterious Affairs at Styles!" He exclaimed. The book looked very old but still readable.

Both of you went to the counter to pay for your respective items. As you were about to hand the cashier your payment, Jaehyun stopped you.

"Remember what I said? You won't spend a single cent. I'll pay for it."

"What? No! I'll use my own mon-"

"Y/N please, just listen to me. Okay?" Jaehyun said with a warm smile.

"Alright. Thank you." 

"I'm hungry again." You said with a pout as you got out of the store.

"Now that you said it, same. I'm starving." Jaehyun replied after he giggled about his book. 

"I know a place and it's just near!"

A few minutes later, the two of you were eating ramyeon and kimbap at the small restaurant around the block.

"Out of all the cities I've been to, this one is the only one that has a vintage bookstore. Lovely." 

"Thank you."

It was already three in the afternoon when you finished eating.

"Now, we'll head to the mall. You can buy some clothes or anything you want? Need?"

"Sure!"

You arrived after an hour of riding the bus.

"Back to the buzzing of people." Jaehyun said with a smirk as you entered the mall.

Jaehyun insisted to buy anything you tried on and so you ended up with a new dress and a pair of shorts. On the other hand, he bought himself new jeans and jackets.

You were surprised to see that it was already dark when you got out of the building, not realizing that a couple of hours have already passed.

"I want to have dinner at the pavilion." Jaehyun said out of the blue.

You got off the bus at the station nearest to your house and went straight to the pizza parlor close to the pavilion where Jaehyun bought take-out pizza for the two of you.

"Damn, we ate so much today!" You said as you continued to munch on a slice of pepperoni pizza.

"Are you on a diet?"

"N-no."

"Do you regret it?"

"Of course not!" You replied as you took an extra large bite, bringing Jaehyun to laughter.

"That was good. So good." He said as he finished his portion.

"Did.. did you enjoy today?" You asked nervously.

"Y/N, is that even a legit question? I absolutely did!" He replied with a hearty laugh. Those dimples would be the death of you.

"Okay, I can finally be relieved. I'm glad you enjoyed." You said as your shoulders slumped down and your breath exhaled. 

"You know, I've always traveled alone. For some reason, I liked that better. So I was a bit worried how today would turn out. But wow, making you my personal tourist guide was a great decision. I don't regret it. You did a good job!" He said as he gave you thumbs up.

You were speechless as you felt your cheeks burning up.

"Th-thanks, Jaehyun." You said as you looked away.

"It's a bit late. Want me to walk you home?"

"I'd love that. But I'd rather not let my father see you." You replied with frustration.

"I understand. Take care, okay? Text me when you get home."

"I will. Take care too."

"Bye! See you! Can't wait for next Saturday!" He yelled as the distance between the two of you got farther and farther.

"Alright!" You laughed.

You cautiously entered your home but fortunately, your dad and stepmom already fell asleep while watching the television.

You sent Jaehyun a goodnight text and he replied with the same greeting. It was a good night indeed as you dozed off with a smile on your face .

Four days after the Saturday adventure with Jaehyun, you were on your way out of the school grounds when you saw him leaning against a tree that stood across your school gate. He was waiting for you. 

"Hey! What are you doing here?" You said after he smiled and waved at you.

"Can we go somewhere? I'm bored." He said with a pout. Undeniably cute.

"Let's go!" 

Ten minutes of walking later, you and Jaehyun were now inside your favorite bubble tea store.

"Me and my friends love this place. It's our stress reliever. Their Vanilla bubble tea is great, my favorite. What do you want?" You said as you were looking at the menu.

"Hmm.. Chocolate. I guess?"

After your orders were handed to you, you went to a table in the corner.

"How's school?"

"Pretty tough lately. Lessons are a bit more complicated. Waiting for the results of the college entrance exams is making me anxious too. They will be out first week of next month, roughly two more weeks to go." You replied before taking a sip. 

"I'm.. I'm not bothering you with this whole tour guide thing, am I?" Jaehyun asked with his brows furrowed, obviously concerned that he might be causing inconvenience.

"What? Not at all! Thanks to you I now have a good school-life balance. Don't worry, you're not distracting me or anything like that. But unfortunately, I'm not available this coming Saturday. Gotta meet with my group mates to work on our project."

"Oh, okay. No problem. By the way, before I forget. I passed by the library earlier after lunch. They organize workshops there?"

"Oh, the workshops. Yes, they have weekend sessions for different stuff like writing, sketching, knitting. I'm not sure what they have for this month-"

"Painting!" Jaehyun exclaimed as he lightly slammed his hand on the table. You were taken aback.

"Geez, what was that for-"

"I'll attend the rest of the painting sessions!" He said excitedly. He was being such a child right at this moment.

"Okay, Mister Runaway. You can do whatever you want."

"Can you please bring me to the library next Saturday morning?"

"Huh? You said you passed by there today, which means you know how to get there. Why do I need to take y-"

"Pretty please, Y/N. You don't have to attend the workshop itself. Just take me there then you can go wherever you want. We'll just meet again in the evening after it's done so we can have dinner together. Deal?" Jaehyun asked with a cheeky smile as he stuck out his hand for you to shake.

"I have a handful of homework to do. I'll work on them at the library while you whisk your paintbrush away, Picasso." You said as you shook his hand.

"Cheers to another fruitful weekend for the both of us." Jaehyun said, raising his glass of bubble tea.

"Cheers!" You played along with his antics.

 On Saturday of the next week, you made sure to arrive early at the pavilion to make up for the fact that you were late during your first meet-up with Jaehyun. When you got there, you were proud of yourself to see that you arrived earlier than him. 

A few seconds after you sat down, you saw him a few meters away, helping an old lady open her shop for the day. 

"Thank you. You're such a handsome young man. I don't think you're a familiar face from here, though?" The old lady told Jaehyun after he helped her.

"No worries, grandma. Yes, I'm not from here."

"Oh, alright. Take care and thank you again!" 

"You're welcome! Take care too!" Jaehyun replied with a bow before running to the pavilion.

"That's so sweet of you." You said with a warm smile.

"That's nothing." He ruffled his bangs as he looked down on the ground, a habit of his when he's embarrassed or shy. 

"Anyway, I arrived earlier than you this time!" You exclaimed as you jumped from your seat.

"Uhmm, actually no, you did not. I've been here since twenty minutes ago. But I had nothing to do while waiting so I decided to help grandma." 

"What?! Geez, why do you arrive so early all the time?" You whined as the two of you walked out of the pavilion.

"I'm an early bird, that's why." He said with a wink as he flashed his dimples on you . You were pretty sure your heart did a little quick flip. You looked away to hide the blush forming on your cheeks.

"What do you do when you're not with me? I'm just curious." You asked in an attempt to change the topic.

"I observe people. I go to different coffee shops, restaurants, or just stay in public parks the whole day to watch people. Sometimes I just walk aimlessly. Also, I've already chatted and had some drinks with a few guys who live in the same apartment. One of them is this Japanese guy, his name is Yuta. He came all the way from Osaka, Japan. He's here to get soccer training, said his dream is to become a professional. Then there's another foreigner, Winwin, he's from China. He's temporarily here with his fellow Chinese traditional dancers. They're here for a Korean tour of their dance recitals. You know, this is what I love about being a free runaway. I get to encounter different people from different walks of life. Don't you find it interesting?" He asked you the question while giving your elbow a little nudge, obviously caused by his excitement. You could see in his eyes that he was so happy and having the time of his life.

"It's really interesting, Jaehyun. I actually envy you because you have all these freedom, courage, the money." You let out a sigh.

"Don't worry, Y/N. At least you have a clear goal for yourself. You know what you want to do and women like that are strong and have a bright future. I believe in you." He said with a smile before holding up his right fist, initiating a fist bump with you. You obliged which caused laughter from both of you.

After half an hour bus ride, the two of you were now in the library, just outside the workshop room Jaehyun would be staying at for the next eight hours.

"Okay. I'll just be in the main library to work on my assignments and papers. You can find me there when you're done. But if you can't, just text me and I'll come back. Got it?"

"Yes, mom." Jaehyun chuckled.

"Ugh, shut up."

"Why? You sounded like a mom back there."

"Whatever. Go inside now."

"See? You sound like-"

"Shut up and just go inside!" You yelled as you playfully smacked his shoulder.

You headed to the main hall and easily found a good seat. Your city's library were never heavily occupied and you were thankful for that, it was spacious and quiet enough for you to concentrate on your tasks. 

You were not even halfway through your paper when your friend, Seulgi, suddenly sat across from you.

"Oh my god, you scared me." 

"Sorry!"

"You're here to study too? I'm working on History paper. We can do it toge-"

"Actually I'm not." Your friend interrupted you.

"Oh."

"I'm just here because I saw you enter the building with a cute guy. I'm so intrigued!" Seulgi squealed.

"Uhm. Okay, Seulgi. Listen, we're not a couple-"

"Tell me about him! You never said you're seeing someone!"

"I just said, we're not a couple. Really. We're not."

"What? Well, that's so disappointing!" Seulgi said with a frown. "But still! Tell me about him! Where and when did you meet?"

"I met at him at the pavilion one night three weeks ago?"

"That is so romantic."

"I swear to god if you don't shut up-"

"Okay, go ahead!"

"That's it. One thing you need to know about him, and he's super proud of this, is that he's a runaway." You said with an amused tone.

"Runaway? Those... misfits who leave their hometowns and just go wherever and do whatever they want?"

"Uhm, he's not a misfit. He's actually nice. But yes, he left his hometown and has been traveling through different cities these past couple of months. He made me his personal tour guide and we've been to the antique bookshop, the mall, and our favorite bubble tea store." You replied excitedly. However, you noticed that Seulgi stayed silent with uncertainty on her face, "What's wrong?"

"Well then, it's actually good that you're not a couple." She said with a blank face.

"What?"

"If he's a runaway, then he'll just suddenly leave and disappear. You said he's been moving from one city to another, right? Then our city is just a name in his itinerary, if he even has one."

It was now your turn to stay silent.

"Y/N, you're my friend and I don't want you to get heartbroken. You know that. But, with this guy? There's a big chance you might. So promise me you won't fall for him." Seulgi said as he raised her pinky finger. You didn't say anything so she went on, "I saw you earlier with him and I could say that you like him. It was obvious. You were trying so hard to hide it but it's obvious."

"What? No, I don't!"

"Don't deny it, Y/N. I've been noticing how happy you were recently and I've always guessed it's because of a guy. I was right. But please, do yourself a favor, Y/N. Don't fall for a guy who's on vacation. You'll just get hurt. But don't worry, it's not yet too late." Seulgi advised with a pitiful smile. 

You thought about it for a few seconds until you raised your own pinky finger and intertwined it with hers, sealing your promise to not fall for the guy who's on vacation, to not fall for Jaehyun.

Seulgi left right after as she had some errands to do, leaving you by yourself. All the papers, books, and work to be done right in front of you on the table long forgotten as your mind has started to get occupied with everything Jaehyun: his handsome face, his bright smile, his cute dimples, his contagious laugh, his caramel-like voice, and the fact that he's a runaway who would leave by the end of the month, next week. Actually, you've already thought about everything Seulgi said. But hearing it from another person made you realize the impact of the impending pain in case you really fall for Jaehyun. The moment you realized that you were starting to have feelings for him was the same moment you started to feel fear. Fear because it's not like he would stay for you, right? He would leave you and the city and move on with his journey.

You retrieved your phone from your bag and texted him.

"Sorry. I can't stay. Dad told me to go home."

Leaving him and lying to him made you feel horrible. Jaehyun has been nothing but kind to you. But you wanted to save yourself from the heartbreak, as Seulgi said, it's not yet too late. You could still dodge the bullet and you had to start as soon as possible, by leaving him in this building.

You got his reply almost an hour after, most likely because cellphones were strictly prohibited during the workshop.

"Aww, too bad! I was so excited to show you my painting while we have dinner :( But it's okay. We have next time. Take care and I hope your dad is not mad :)" 

You felt like crying. He's so genuine and kind. Everything you could ask for. You read "We have next time." again and again because you were uncertain about it. You knew that the more spend time with him, the easier and faster you'd fall. 

You spent the new week as cautiously as you could. It was Jaehyun's last week in your city and you wished that it would pass by smoothly without bumping into him. You avoided going to the pavilion and anywhere else outside your home. Wake up, go to school, study, go home, study, sleep. That was your daily routine.

Until he showed up, of course. As expected from a streetsmart runaway.

"Y/N!" Jaehyun called out to you the moment you stepped down from the bus on your way home.

"J-Jaehyun?" You asked, surprised.

"Yep. That's me. How are you? You haven't answered to any of my calls and texts. I was worried." Concern was so apparent on his face and guilt struck you once again.

"Oh.. Sorry. I was just busy. What were you doing there in the bus station?"

"I was waiting for you." He replied with a sheepish smile, focusing his gaze on his footsteps.

"What? But why-"

"Because you weren't answering to my calls and texts. Couldn't contact you. So I thought maybe I should just show up right in front of you." He giggled.

"Yeah. Like you did that night in the pavilion." You barely whispered but he still heard you.

"Yeah. Like I did that night!" He continued laughing while all you could think about was the huge possibility that he would suddenly disappear just like how he suddenly showed up.

"You said you just stay in a city for a month. That means you're leaving tomorrow, right?"

"Hmm.." Jaehyun hummed as he showed his dimples while thinking. "Nope." He continued.

"What?" You suddenly stopped in your tracks to face him.

"I said nope. I'm not leaving tomorrow. Or anytime soon."

"But why? You decided to break your rule? Don't know which city to visit next?"

"None of the above, Y/N." He said with a mischievous smile.

"Then why?" You were happy and relieved to hear that Jaehyun wouldn't leave yet, but you were also extremely anxious and impatient to know why.

"Nothing complicated for a reason." He declared, putting his hands in the pockets of his sweater as he slightly squirmed on his feet. "I just.. fell in love with the place, with the people, with you." He looked at you as the last word slipped from his lips.

You didn't quite catch on, you were a bit slow. There was a short moment of awkward silence caught between the two of you until you finally understood what he just said.

You took a few steps back. "I.. I don't know what to say, Jaehyun. Should I believe you? You're a runaway who just comes and goes-"

"Not this time, Y/N. Not this time." Jaehyun persuaded you, stepping forward and gently holding your arms to prevent you from moving away further. "I know that based on my routine, yes I'm supposed to leave tomorrow. And yes, I'm a runaway who comes and goes but for some reason, I don't want to now. There's some energy that keeps me here, that makes me want to stay even one more day. Then another day, then another one. And every night as I lay in my bed in the dark, I keep thinking what that energy is. Till I realized that it's you. That energy is you, it's always been you. You're like a strong magnet that attracts me so fucking much." 

By the time Jaehyun ended his confession, his grip on your arms was slightly tighter and his breath was running out. While you on the other hand had your own breath caught up in your lungs, overwhelmed with everything you just heard.

"You're not leaving because of me? Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes, Y/N. I'm not leaving without you." He replied with a cheeky smile as he let go of your arms.

"What do you mean?"

"You said you want to leave, right? We'll leave together!" He said excitedly. A minute ago he was being serious and hot and now he's back to his cute self.

You looked uncertain and so Jaehyun decided to go on.

"Let's wait for the results of the entrance exams and then when we find out that you passed, let's move to the city as soon as we can. Don't worry about where we'll live, I already know a place. I'll take care of everything." 

"What if I don't get accepted to the university?"

"I know you will." He replied confidently with a warm dimpled smile.

"How do you know that.. Wait. You already know a place in the city where we can live?"

"Yup. Actually, I'm from there. I've never told anyone I met on my journey where I came from, but I just told you." He laughed.

"Really? But is it alright for you to return there next month? You might want to travel more."

"Nope. For now I'm good already. I can travel again anyway. But when that time comes, I won't be alone anymore. I'll take you with me, even just for a few weekends when you're not busy with university." 

You were very much amazed by Jaehyun. It seemed that he already had everything planned out for the two of you, even though you have yet to give him a "Yes". You looked down on the ground to avoid his gaze and to process what's happening.

"I understand if you're hesitant or if you want to say no. We've only known each other for a month so maybe I haven't gained your full trust. But I just want you to know that I won't harm you in any way. I'm not even doing this for myself. I'm doing this for you."

"What do you mean by that?" You looked up at him, eyes glistening with tears.

"I want to save you. Save you from your abusive father. Save you from that disastrous home, if you can even call it one. The first time we met that night in the pavilion, we were complete strangers to each other but you opened up to me and after hearing what you said, I knew that I had to do something to help. Do something more than just making you my personal tour guide. Definitely something more than that. I can't just leave you. My conscience wouldn't be able to take it." He delivered the last sentence as he gently turned your left arm around to show the small purple bruise you were hiding.

"How did you know?"

"I saw it as you were going down the bus earlier. Your dad is a fucking horrible person." He hissed, gritting his teeth.

"Calm down. It's nothing. It doesn't hurt anymore." You said as you took back your arm and forced a smile.

"Please come with me. Please? You don't have to continue living like this. I can help you have a better life. A secure life without any form of abuse." He said as he wiped your tears and held your face.

You looked into his eyes and there you saw honesty that showed he meant everything he's been telling you. "You know, I intentionally avoided you this past week. It's not true that I was busy. I ignored your calls and texts on purpose." 

Jaehyun blinked twice and furrowed his brows in confusion, obviously taken aback.

"I told my friend about you and she advised that it would be best for me if I stop myself from completely falling for you so I could save myself from the heartbreak caused by falling for someone who would eventually leave. She told me not to fall for a guy who's on vacation." You said before you pursed your lips tightly in order to stop more tears from falling.

Jaehyun slowly removed his hands from your face but not his gaze and you feared that he would take back all his promises.

"I understand your friend's concern and that you're afraid of getting your heart broken by me. But as I already said, I'm not leaving without you. You don't have to be afraid of anything."

You breathed out a sigh of relief before he continued, "So, will you come with me?" 

"Yes, Jaehyun. I'll go with you." You finally declared.

"Oh my god, really?! Thank you. Thank you so much, Y/N. I'm so happy you have no idea." He said, exhaling the breath he unconsciously held in his throat as he placed his forehead against yours.

"I'm the one who should say thank you, Jaehyun. Really. So, you're now my knight in shining armor?" You giggled as you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you.

"Nope. Not in shining armor. After those months of being a runaway and fending for myself, you think my armor is still shiny? I'm battle-hardened, sweetheart." He said before leaving a kiss on your lips. 

You held hands as the two of you walked, asking each other where to go for dinner. For the first time in ever, love and a sense of security was felt in your heart.

[beepbeeprichiellc]

Rose Thorns (4/11)

Summary: Richie Tozier and his band find themselves in a once and a life time situation but can Richie step out of his comfort zone to skyrocket the bands chances for success? Eddie Kaspbrak works at the famous Bourbon Room Club and is responsible for the nights entertainment, when a group of misfits audition for him and his boss he finds himself questioning everything he had thought he knew about himself, love and rock and roll.

A/N: Part four! Yay, my babies.

Word Count: 1742

Masterlist

Part: (1) (2) (3) 4 (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11)

“Well how much money do you actually have?”

Richie scrunched his nose, digging through his jeans pocket. He pulled out his leather wallet and looked through it meaninglessly, already knowing the exact amount by heart. He looked up to his friend and frowned, shrugging his shoulders and admitting, “Twenty-four dollars and sixty cents.”

Stan groaned, tossing his money onto the coffee table, the change clattering against the cheap wood. He looked up to the other two band members who shook their heads. “Fuck, combined we only have a little over a hundred bucks.” He muttered, leaning back into the couch and rubbing his forehead anxiously.

“Well that’s not so bad.” Richie chimed in, feeling the weight of the room press on his shoulders. “We can totally make that work till we get paid Friday.”

“Yeah, if rent wasn’t due tomorrow.” Beverly muttered, taking a seat beside Stan. “The hotel won’t save the room for us if we keep paying late. They already said if it happens again that they were going to kick us out.”

Richie huffed, leaning back onto the carpeted floor. He looked to the ceiling, inspecting the horrendous stain that was above him. Their small place wasn’t the best, hell it was practically a pigsty, but it was as cheap as they came and the Losers knew that if they didn’t pay up the owners would have the next crackhead who had the cash set up in here by tomorrow. He hummed softly, thinking to himself about all of the crack addicts he had seen over the past few months.

“Well w-what are we g-gonna d-do?” Bill asked, sitting on the red milk carrier that they had dubbed a second chair. “W-we can’t s-stay on the str-streets.”

“Beverly can whore herself out.” Richie joked, interlocking his fingers behind his head. “She can go all pretty woman on this town.”

“Or you can whore yourself out.” Beverly replied, earning a chuckle from her trashmouth friend. “You do have a pretty face since you started using contacts.”

Richie fake gasped, bolting into a sitting position. He covered his heart with his hand and faked an utterly hurt look across his face, “I thought you loved my glasses!” He gushed, “And I think I’d intimate all the men, I’m too gorgeous for prostitution.”

“Right keep telling yourself that.” Stan murmured, sighing heavily. “I seriously think we are going to have to ask Eddie for an advance on our pay.”

There was an audible groan from the rest of the band, including Richie, whose form of protest involved hissing and booing. “Look it’s the only option.” Stan contained, ignoring his friends protests. “If you guys don’t want to live on the streets we are going to have to figure something out that doesn’t involve one of us getting a form of STD’s.”

“How about stripping?” Richie offered, “No sex involved in that.”

“Beep beep Richie.” Beverly muttered, tossing a pillow at her friend’s head, to which Richie caught easily. “I think Stan’s right.” She added, a serious look crossing her face. “No matter how much we hate it, we are going to have to ask for and advance.”

“Well I’m not going to do it.” Richie hissed, feeling his face fluster with a hidden emotion. “That kid already hates me.”

“We w-will do i-it to-together.” Bill replied sternly. “We will just t-talk to him a-after rehearsal. H-he’s been i-in our sh-shoes, he has t-to understand.”

“No.”

“What?”

“I said no, I can’t give you an advance on your pay.” Eddie replied, feeling all four of the band member’s eyes on him. He could see Mike and Ben standing aside, pretending not to listen to the conversation but he ignored his employees and tried to pretend he didn’t care about the Losers problems like he was supposed to do.

“You can’t be serious.” Richie complained, obviously angered by his response. “Why not?”

Eddie sighed, “It’s against the rules.” He answered honestly, feeling his stomach churn at the boy’s gaze.

“You are literally the manager, you make all of the rules.” Richie replied harshly, his face becoming flustered as his voice bit into Eddie’s skin.

“This isn’t my rule.” The small boy explained, taking a moment to compose himself before continuing. “This is Dupree’s, the last time he gave an advance to a band, the lead singer overdosed on heroin.”

The Losers flinched, and Eddie took pride in the fact that they took his explanation seriously. He shrugged and muttered a half-ass apology, desperate for the subject to be dropped. As he took a few steps away from the group, Beverly asked the question that embedded itself under Eddie’s skin. “What are we going to do now?”

“There isn’t anything-“

“You’ve been through this, you’ve lived on the streets. How can you just not care?” Eddie felt his blood run cold at Richie’s tough, true words. He looked at the group, who immediately glared at their lead singer, throwing daggers at his face. Some kind of realization must have hit the trashmouth because a moment later he hissed, cringing at the secret he had just exposed. “Uh, shit.” He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“Who told you that?” Eddie demanded, watching the Losers cower. He noticed his other employees, their bodies becoming half hidden behind the bar. “Who told you?” The boy repeated, feeling embarrassment claw at his chest.

“Uhhh-“Richie stuttered, his gaze darting to his friends, who merely winced. “I guessed?”

“I told them Eddie.” Mike suddenly replied, taking insignificant strides towards the group, Ben cowered as he followed behind him. “They asked and I just-“

“That information was private, Mike.” Eddie scorned, feeling betrayed by one of the only friends he had. He shook his head, fire building behind his eyes, “It’s not your place to-“

“I’m sorry Eddie.” Mike admitted, “I am, I know it’s a sensitive subject with you but Richie is right.”

“Excuse me?” Eddie bit.

“They are homeless now. They are asking for your help, didn’t you wish you had someone to turn to when you were where they are?” Mike asked, causing the scolding anger in Eddie to simmer. “Richie is right, you do know what that’s like and you can’t knowingly cast someone aside and let them suffer like you did.”

“Well what do you want me to do?” Eddie muttered, feeling attacked in his own place of work. He could feel his emotions swirl in his stomach making him feel nauseas. “I can’t over rule Dupree, you of all people know that.”

“You have plenty room in your flat.” Mike replied, motioning to the ceiling. “They could stay up there with you.”

“That’s out of the question.” Eddie nipped, feeling a filth burrow into his pores. “If you’re such good friends with them then let them stay with you.”

Mike scoffed, “There already isn’t enough room for the two of us. It’s just a studio apartment Eddie.”

Eddie groaned, feeling the situation come to a painful solution. He looked at the band, their eyes full of hope and nervousness that for a moment he saw his sixteen year old self, covered in dirt and grim, doing whatever it took to survive. He cringed, knowing that these kids were going to ruin his stuff with their germs. “I hate all of you.” He hissed, turning heel and walking towards the stairs leading to his flat.

The Losers stood in confusion, looking over to Mike who smiled, explaining, “That’s Eddie’s way of saying okay.”

The flat itself was twice the size of their hotel room. Everything was pristine and neat, not even a cushion out of place. Stan grew a large smile, admiring the place. Richie knew he would get along with Eddie just fine, being a neat freak himself but he worried about the rest of the Losers who still argued about who would take out the trash.

Eddie looked nervous, lingering behind them as they each wandered around the large space aimlessly. Richie looked at the pictures that he had on his bookcase, recognizing the smiling faces of the barkeep and stage hand instantly. He then gasped, grabbing hold of the frame at the far end, “You’ve met Red Hot Chili Peppers?” He asked enthusiastically. Eddie shrugged as Richie noticed the next pictures, “And AC/DC? And U2? Oh my god, who are you?”

The group chuckled and Eddie ignored the boy’s admiration. “I have an extra bedroom and a pull out couch so you’ll have to decide who sleeps with who.” The small boy muttered, finally making it past his own threshold.

“Well Stan and Bill are already “sleeping” together so I guess that just leaves me and Bev.” Richie blurted causing the two boys to turn red. Eddie smirked, trying not to comment on the singer’s blunt outing of his friends. “How about it Bevy? Sleep with me on the couch, I promise I’ll be gentle.”  

Beverly scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Like you could bag a prize like me.” She joked, smirking at her friend. Eddie felt a twinge of jealously, frowning as he watched the flawless exchange between the two. He felt Richie’s chuckle, his face lighting up at his friend’s humorous response. There was a twist in Eddie’s chest and he suddenly wished he had his old inhaler.

Bill spoke softly, nearing the small boy. “T-thank you f-for this Eddie. R-really.”

Eddie suddenly felt embarrassed, wishing he was anywhere else. “It’s fine.” He murmured, looking at his feet. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a huge deal.” Beverly replied, “You’re taking us into your home, putting a roof over our heads.”

“Yeah without you, we would be prostituting Richie out by now.” Stan joked, the humor becoming lost as soon as the statement fell into the air making Eddie cringe.

“Well Mike’s right.” Eddie managed, feeling his face become flush. “I do know what’s it is like to be homeless. I came to New York with nothing and I-“He paused, suddenly aware he was sharing apart of himself with people he had only just met. He shook his head, clearing the emotions that were clouding his thoughts. There was a moment before he cleared his throat, finally finding his voice again, “You’re welcome to stay here till Friday, just please pick up after yourself.”

“No promises.” Richie jeered, only receiving a stern look from both Stan and Eddie.

Tags:  @deebaddee / @im-not-psychotic

[luci-is-a-devil-]

Vampire!Vernon

Notes: Thanks for the request!! Hope this is what you wanted, I'm not to into vampires but I hope this was okay,,, requests are open~~ •vampires are a normal part of socitey •humans will donate their blood, and vampires help with what they need •since vampires can turn into bats, most pure blooded vampires can just sprout wings in their human form •if a vampire attacks a human, it is counted as a hate crime, if a human attacks a vampire it's also a hate crime •of course there's people in both species who dislike each other, but they couldn't do much, as they profited off each other •so nothing to be done there! • •you were a vampire, a royal vampire actually •the middle child of Dracula, who was the king •but here's the kicker, you aren't biologically his •you were his second wife's remarriage, so even though you've spent all the years you remember with him, you're not technically his •so according to vampire laws, you could not take the throne •If your older brother could not take the throne for some reason, you're little sister would have to •you weren't outraged over this though, you didn't want to be the ruler of the vampires! •you got to see how tired your father came home, how many cases he'd seen of vampires being murdered •people he knew for centuries, just gone •yeah no thanks •but even if you couldn't take the throne, you were still to be respected •your parents made very sure that everyone treated you just like your siblings •so mornings were the three of you waking up, fighting over the bathroom, yelling over the table to pass the syrup •after the hectic morning, you were shipped to school, not literally, you guys flew there •your little sister, rose had just become able to grow her wings while still human •you on the other hand was special, you had your wings since the day you were born •so you aren't like most vampires, as your wings can't retract your wings •your eyes were also not the same, most vampires had brown, green or red eyes •you had a light purple eye color, you were a sight to be seen, for humans and vampires •at first you were called a monster by your own kind, for your father to laugh and say that you were all monsters •that if they treated their own kind like this what would they treat humans like? •people got over your eye color as you aged, as you would hold your own •spitting your own poison back at them, because papa didn't raise no quitter •your brother was an overachiever, with red eyes, which was the rarest color until you came along •he was named thorn, because his father had proposed to his mother with roses only to get pricked by thorns •you would laugh at your sibling, saying that they had couple name •"if he named me, my name would've been stem or root." •they weren't very amused to say the least •humans were allowed to go to your school, as long as they followed the rules •your school was known for having good grade and students go to anywhere they want for college •ages for humans was simpler when it came to school •vampires were allowed into school at six thousand years old, and then followed the humans curriculum, then would part time vampire school for hundreds of years until they aced the final test •since vampires lived to be over a hundred centuries old, whilst humans usually lived to be in their nineties •it wasn't often that humans made friends with vampires, wanting to make friends with people who went through the same problems as them •once again, you weren't an average vampire •landing on the ground by the school gates, you waved goodbye to rose and Thorne •waiting for seungkwan, your best friend •he was often late as he got distracted, whether on someone's outfit or helping old people •"y/n! Guess what?" •looks like you didn't have to wait to long today •"wow only two minutes, new record Kwan." •you said, smugly smiling as you walked between the gates •"that wasn't a guess but I'll accept it anyway. Vernon is transferring here!!!" •seungkwan practically screamed, hitting you on the shoulder in excitement •"Vernon as in the human you had a crush on for two years before you moved on?" •you asked, rubbing your shoulder where he had hit you •"that's the one!" •apparently this Vernon was something since he had seungkwan so happy •"he's in your class, I'm so excited to introduce you!" •the brunette haired boy dragged you inside the school, getting looks from other teens as he dragged you by the hand •after all, a human was dragging a child of Dracula •flashing a fanged smile at them, they looked away, causing you to laugh •they all thought you were viscous and if the did something wrong you'd tell on them •which was wrong, you weren't a snitch •but that's exactly what Thorne was so you could guess why they might assume that •"Vernon!" •seungkwan's high pitches equal knocked you out of your mind •in the office was a boy with light brown colored hair, with caramel colored eyes •he was wearing jeans and a button down, instead of the human uniforms •watching as seungkwan dragged him out of the office, you waited for the awkward small talk that was sure to come •"Vernon this is y/n, y/n this is vernon!" •seungkwan introduced the two of you, before either of you could attempt to to continue the conversation, the bell rang •"you two are in the same class, y/n show him around!" •seungkwan yelled, running before all of the vampires turned into bats and flew to class •before you could even wave he was gone •sighing and shaking your head the boy, you looked at Vernon who standing in front of you cracking his fingers •"I'm y/n, I met seungkwan when I was eleven, you?" •you asked, sticking your hand out •"Vernon, I was thirteen." •taking your hand in his, the two of you shook hands •"class will be starting soon, so unless you want a bunch of bats and humans hitting you, we should hurry." •smiling at the caramel eyed human, the two of you began to walk to class •there was very little small talk, both of you very aware of the eyes on you •since it was a human and you, you knew you guys would be the talk of the school •vampires and humans had one thing in common •they were both nosey little shits •"why are they watching us?" •Vernon asked, his eyes drawn his sneakers •"because I'm the daughter of Dracula, hanging with a human, but they won't mess with you." •your strides were long, making him walk quickly to keep up •"why would they mess with me?" •Vernon questioned, face morphing into confusion •"humans don't get the most welcoming committee, but you're friends with seungkwan who's friends with me, so you're safe." •you explained, making a quick left, you walked through a doorway and sat in a chair near the back of the room •Vernon sat next to you, dropping his backpack between the metal that held up the wood •the actual bell rang, and within seconds twenty bats were inside of the classroom •four humans came inside the class, holding their head of some part where the mob of bats had hit them •one by one the bats turned back in their human form, their wings retracting back into their body •"hey kid, you're at my desk. Scram!" •a vampire with green eyes glared at Vernon, making the human freeze •"your name ain't on the desk minhyuk." •when he realized you were speaking to him, he smirked •"looks like little vamp got their tongue back." •you rolled your eyes at him, not bothering to say anything else at the fail of a comeback •"Mr. Minhyuk, do we have a problem?" •the teacher asked, her voice making the vampire freeze up and shake his head •sending a glare at you before he sat down, you looked at Vernon who was staring at you with wide eyes •"is it always like this?" •he mouthed when the teacher had turned around •"Welcome to Bloodville Academy" •you mouthed back, turning towards the teacher • •weeks had passed and Vernon was more or less used to vampires now •he got to class early to avoid the students who would turn into bats, he got asked by the nurse if he was willing to donate blood •otherwise it was like any other school he had been to •or so he would say at lunch while he and seungkwan spoke •you on the other hand was mostly silent while lunch happened, since you didn't need to eat •and just because you cared, you didn't drink blood around them •even though seungkwan had insisted it was alright and Vernon had shrugged that it was fine with him •it felt strange drinking in front of them so you didn't •instead choosing to listen to their conversations and add your two cents •like today's conversation was about what an asshole the math teacher was •"he assigns homework every night!" •seungkwan complained in between bites of his pudding •"he's not as bad as our gym teacher." •you said, grabbing a napkin and wiping some of the pudding that hadn't made it into his mouth •"gym teacher?" •Vernon asked after he had fished chewing his sandwich •"yeah, gym is the only class where humans and vampires are separated. And our gym teacher could be Satan himself •you told the caramel eyed boy, after cleaning the rest of seungkwans face •the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch •both boys shoved their garbage inside the trash bin that was near the edge of the table •before you could say goodbye to seungkwan who was trying to get to the library, you saw him bump into minhyuk and his goonies •"little vampire and prince not here to protect you today?" •he questioned seungkwan, his face morphed into a cruel look •storming over to where they were, you stood in front of seungkwan. •"if you're as smart as your daddy wants you to be, you'd better back the fuck up minhyuk." •you warned, because you were not going down without a fight •"be careful little vampie, big brother isn't here to protect you." •minhyuk said, his green eyes darkening with every word •"Thorne doesn't need to be here to watch me kick your ass." •they weren't empty words and he knew that, after all this wasn't the first time he's tried to come after seungkwan •his hand swung at your head, trying to knock you unconscious •catching his wrist with your hand, you squeezed it tightly warning him •when minhyuk decided to rip his wrist out of your hold, and tried to kick you in the stomach •you decided that this could now count as self defense •blocking his kick with your knee, you punched him in the nose, then kicked him in the shin •effectively knocking him down on the floor, when the goonies came at you •you turned to seungkwan who was now standing near to Vernon, both of them looking at you wide eyed •"can one of you go to get a teacher or something?" •you asked while dodging his goonies punching •seungkwan nodded and ran, while Vernon stayed in his spot •one of the three goonies saw him and went to go punch him •getting in the way, you felt his fist make contact with your face, making him stop •he just punched you, the child of Dracula, and he knew he was in deep shit •turning to Vernon, you began to ask him if he was okay •ignoring the pain from your throbbing jaw, you looked him deep in the eyes, wanting to make sure he was okay •"I'm… okay, are you?" •he asked making you giggle, making his cheeks and ears turn a pink that made him look absolutely adorable •"yeah, scum like them can't do shit." •you said turning around to where you heard seungkwan and someone coming close •"y/n! Minhyuk! What the hell is this?" •it was a rhetorical question, but you gave her an answer anyway •"minhyuk cornered seungkwan, I defended him, and then minhyuk decided that he wanted to see if I could kick his ass. Spoiler, I could and did." •you said smirking at the home room teacher, who only sighed and took the seven of you to the office to call your parents •"a fight? Y/n really? Please say you didn't kill them." •your dad was the first on in the room, because of course they couldn't call your mom or anything •"nah, I could've though. I was just protecting those two." •you told your dad, standing up from your uncomfortable chair, you walked over to where your dad was •he nodded, and went to go woo the principal •to lessen the punishment, of course just not to flirt •"hey vern, Kwan, wanna come to my house?" •they had been able to get in contact with their parents but both of them were working and not able to pick up their sons •"sure!" •seungkwan had been to your house before, he had been friends with you for five years •"yeah, why not?" •this was Vernon's first time to your house, and seungkwan was telling him about your house •"dad! Vernon and seungkwan are coming with us!" •you told your dad who just came from the principals office •giving you a thumbs up, he told you that he was waiting for your siblings •doing finger guns at him, you watched as seungkwan used his hands to explain the fountain in front of your house •"it shoots black water! You can drink it too!" •"no you can't, seungkwan just decided he wanted to taste it. That's how you got sick." •"dorks." • •when you got to your house, you were told that you'd get a stern talking too •(honestly it was just going to be your dad telling you that you should have kicked them where it hurt) •taking the two of them to your room, only to then have to drop Vernon off at the bathroom •"hey kwannie?" •you asked him once the two of you were sitting on the bed •"yeah kitten?" •he asked, putting his head in your lap so you could play with his hair •"I think I like Vernon." •you spoke quickly, not looking him in the eyes as you tangled your fingers in his hair •"no duh, have you seen the way you look at each other?" •he said, laughing at your embarrassed expression •"is it okay? You liked him too." •you were defiantly avoiding his eyes now, since you were looking at the ceiling •sitting up he grabbed your hands, looking at you in the eyes, he spoke slowly •"y/n , you like him. I used to like him, he's not an object, he doesn't belong to me. If you ask him, I'm sure he'd say he likes you too." •hugging seungkwan, made you feel warm inside •"looks like it's your chance too!" •stopping the hug from between the two of you, he hopped off your bed and pulled the blushing Vernon inside of your room •winking at the two of you; he escaped, slamming the door behind him •"how much did you hear?" •you spoke softly, not wanting to scare him •"the whole thing?" •he spoke back in the same soft voice •he was standing up, while you were sitting on the bed •"it's okay if you don't like me, like I promise I won't cry, well I mean I might after you leave, but like I won't guilt trip you or any-" •your rambling was cut off by him pressing his lips to yours •once they were separated once again, his forehead rested against yours •"I like you." •pressing your lips together for the second time, you got lost in it •you could feel the heat from his cheeks •pulling away, you looked into his caramel colored eyes, to see that they held little flecks of gold in them •"I HOPE YOUR CLOTHES ARE ON!" •hearing the door slam open, you felt seungkwan jump on the bed •"am I Cupid yet or what?" •laughing at the dark haired brunette boy, you laid next to your best friend and you boyfriend • •"…we could have a threesome right now." •"I love you seungkwan but choke." •"you tell him Vernon, I got your back."

[andrewdburton]

The biggest truth in personal finance

For the past six weeks, I've been hard at work writing my “introduction to financial independence and early retirement” project for Audible and The Great Courses. It's been challenging — and fun — to rework my past material for a new audience in a new format.

Naturally, I'm emphasizing two important points in this project: profit and purpose.

I believe strongly that you need a clear personal mission statement in order to find success with money (and life).

I also believe that the most important number on your path to financial freedom is your personal profit, the difference between your income and your spending. (Most people refer to this number as saving rate. I prefer the term “personal profit” because it's, well, sexier.)

That last point is important.

Too many people want magic bullets. They want quick and easy ways to get out of debt and build wealth. They believe (or hope) that there's some sort of secret they can uncover, that somehow they've missed. Well, there aren't any secrets. Money mastery is a combination of psychology and math. And the math part is so simple a third-grader could understand it. Wealth is the accumulation of what you earn minus what you spend.

There are only two sides to this wealth equation — earning and spending — but a disproportionate amount of financial advice focuses on the one factor, on spending, and that's too bad. Sure, frugality is an important part of personal finance. And if you're in a tight spot and/or have a high income and still struggle, then cutting expenses is an excellent choice. But the reality is, you won't get rich — slowly or otherwise — by pinching pennies alone.

The Biggest Lie in Personal Finance

Recently at his excellent blog, Of Dollars and Data, Nick Maggiulli wrote about the biggest lie in personal finance. What is that lie? He writes:

While there are lots of people who are in financial trouble because of their own actions, there are also lots of people with good financial habits who just don’t have sufficient income to improve their finances.

That’s why the biggest lie in personal finance is that you can be rich if you just cut your spending. And the financial media feeds this lie by telling you to stop spending $5 a day on coffee so that you can become a millionaire.

With charts and graphs and data, Maggiuli demonstrates that the problem facing people with low incomes isn't their spending — it's their earning. If you're living at the poverty line — currently $26,200 per year for an American family of four — you're not going to escape through thrift. Thrift is an emergency measure, a stopgap. It's a bandage on a major wound.

Here's the bottom line:

If you're poor and hope to be not poor, your attention should be focused on increasing income, not on cutting costs. Your expenses are likely already very low.

If you have an average household income — currently $63,179 according to the U.S. Census Bureau — your path to building wealth will probably include both frugality and income enhancement.

If you have a high income but still struggle to make ends meet, your attention should absolutely turn to cutting costs. You need to rein in your lifestyle. But you won't accomplish this with frugality; you'll do this by optimizing the big stuff.

Maggiuli is fed up with the Biggest Lie. It “triggers” him.

“This is the same financial media who write stories about how people save money by living in a trailer, making their own dish soap, or reusing their dental floss,” he writes. “Yes, it’s that ridiculous. But what really gets me is how these examples are provided as ‘proof' of how cutting spending can make you rich.”

From my experience, this sort of stuff is perennially popular because it's easy. It's easy to write and it's easy to read, even if it doesn't offer any real solutions. It's more difficult to write about boosting your income. And, it's more difficult to act on that information because it takes time, effort, and actual sacrifice.

Real-Life Examples of the Biggest Lie in Action

Just this morning, Trent at The Simple Dollar published an article about optimizing dishwashing for money and time. Trent writes:

If I can invest some time and thought and effort into optimizing a routine I do three times a week, and that optimization trims off five minutes of effort and $0.50 in cost, I’m literally saving 13 hours per year and $78 per year for the rest of my life.

Trent isn't wrong. If his math is correct (and his discipline too), he will literally save 13 hours and $78 each year by optimizing how he does dishes. This isn't a lie. In this case, the lie comes from what is implied: Do this and you'll grow rich. You'll reach financial freedom by becoming a smarter dishwasher.

Here's the truth:

You don't reap the thirteen hours and $78 annual benefit as a one-time win. You're saving five minutes and fifty cents per day. This may seem like a niggling point, but it's important. If you gain thirteen hours or $78 at once, that's something real and tangible, something you can work with. But an extra five minutes and fifty cents per day? Not so much.

Trent loves to calculate the dollars per hour he saves through various actions. He didn't do that in this case, and it's easy to see why. If he's saving $78 in 13 hours, that's the equivalent of $6 per hour. I don't know about you, but it's easy for me to brainstorm ways to earn more than $6 per hour with my time.

I'm not saying that you shouldn't optimize your dishwashing routine. Do it! But don't expect it to make you rich. Because it won't.

Here's a bigger example of the lie in action.

Elizabeth Willard Thames writes at Frugalwoods, which is one of my favorite money blogs. Recently, especially, Liz has been publishing lots of amazing stuff. I look forward to each new article. (Those of you who make use of the Spare Change list of links on the GRS front page have probably noticed that I bookmark Frugalwoods frequently.)

As you might guess from the name of her blog, Liz focuses (almost?) exclusively on thrift. She and her husband practice extreme frugality. She wrote a book, Meet the Frugalwoods [my review], that documented their journey from poor college students to achieving financial independence on a 66-acre farm in central Vermont.

Now, there's no doubt that Liz and Nate are thrifty. They practice what they preach. But their frugality is not the reason for their wealth, the reason they were able to retire early. You can't buy a 66-acre farm in Vermont simply by optimizing your dishwashing routine. Or clipping coupons. Or hosting potlucks. To to this, you also need a high income. And that's a part of the story that Liz doesn't share with her readers. She and her husband made a lot of money, and that's how they got rich — not through frugality.

I'm sure Liz doesn't mean to obfuscate the truth, but that's the net effect. She's complicit in “the biggest lie in personal finance”.

To her credit, Liz seems to be incorporating more of the truth in her writing. Today, for instance, the About page at Frugalwoods acknowledges their high incomes. This didn't used to be the case.

Now, I don't mean to dog on Liz and Trent. They're both good people and fine writers. But I think they do their readers a huge disservice by covering just one aspect of the wealth equation, by rarely (if ever) mentioning income. They're active participants in Maggiuli's “biggest lie”.

And I'll confess: For a long time, I was guilty of the same thing. Sometimes, I still am. Hell, I've spilled a lot of words lately about my quest to optimize my food spending, haven't I? I'm not claiming to be any better than Liz or Trent. But I want to at least acknowledge the lie — and the reciprocal truth.

The Biggest Truth in Personal Finance

If frugality isn't the path to riches, what is? The answer is simple: Big Wins. Big Wins are the quickest way to wealth.

You can scrape your dishes and rinse them in cold water every day for the rest of your life, and you still wouldn't match the benefits you'd obtain by purchasing a cheaper home. Or choosing a more fuel-efficient car. Or negotiating your salary.

The best way to spend less is to cut back on the big stuff.

If the average American family were to trim their housing costs by 10%, they'd save roughly $150 per housing payment — more than twenty times the benefit of optimizing your dishwashing routine. Transportation offers similar opportunities. According to the American Automobile Association, the average driver spends just over $9000 per year on her vehicle. Reduce this spending by less than one percent and you've accomplished the same thing as a year of diligent dishwashing.

But, as Maggiuli notes in his article, income is the elephant in the room, the subject that too many writers ignore.

You can only cut costs so far. There's no way to reduce your spending below zero, and most of us can't come close to that. As I mentioned earlier, the U.S. poverty line for a family of four is currently $26,200. (For two people, it's $17,240.) Not counting his business, Mr. Money Mustache (a famously frugal fellow) spent $13,068 in 2019.

If you're living like this and want to escape, your shouldn't look for ways to cut costs. That stuff is useless to you. If somebody tells you otherwise, they're lying. In these circumstances, you should be trying to increase your income. And even if you have a standard middle-class salary, boosting income is usually the best way to meet your goals.

There are three primary ways to earn more money.

First, become better educated. Despite the dire details in the gloomy mass media, this is undeniable: The more you learn, the more you earn. In the U.S., education has a greater impact on lifetime earnings than any other demographic factor. It's more important than your race, your religion, your gender, your location. (In fact, the Census Bureau says education has five times the impact of gender on annual earnings.) That's great news because while you can't control your age or race, you have total control over your education.

Second, become a better employee. I read a lot on Reddit (and other places) where people piss on their employers, complaining about how their boss (or company) is out to screw them. This stuff is counter-productive. Sure, there are some shitty employers out there, but most are happy to promote and reward their best workers. If you want to earn more, work longer and harder than others will. If you're in a situation where hard work goes unrewarded, switch jobs.

Finally — and most importantly — learn to negotiate your salary. Study after study shows the same thing: Failing to negotiate your salary can cost you over half a million dollars during the course of a typical career. Half a million dollars! For over a decade, I've been pushing Jack Chapman's book, Negotiating Your Salary: How to Make $1000 a Minute. Let me do so again.

“You can't frugalize income you don't earn,” Liz writes in Meet the Frugalwoods. She speaks the truth! The biggest truth.

I'm no enemy of thrift. Yes, absolutely, pinch your pennies, if that makes you happy. Frugality is an excellent way to build good habits. Over the long run, many frugal habits combined can make a big difference to your financial situation.

But if you have a low income, do not focus on thrift. It's a red herring. Instead, turn your attention to Big Wins. And, especially, to increasing your income. Because this is the biggest truth in personal finance: You can't get rich through frugality alone.

The post The biggest truth in personal finance appeared first on Get Rich Slowly.

from Finance https://www.getrichslowly.org/the-biggest-truth-in-personal-finance/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

[ourgreatconcavity]

My One-Act Play

Written for my Playwriting class during my senior year of college, fall semester.

                                                          Have it Your Way

                                               (Lights rise on a  deserted café. MICKEY is sitting at a table alone, taking occasional sips of his coffee. He is dressed in khakis and a  sweater with a dress shirt underneath. His demeanor is calm. LOUIS then enters the café, and sees MICKEY sitting. LOUIS, wearing jeans and a sweater with a hat, rushes over to the table and  takes the chair across from MICKEY.)

                                                                       LOUIS

Hey, Mickey.

                                                                         MICKEY

Morning, Louis.

                                                                         LOUIS

I flew out to see you as fast as I could.

                                                                         MICKEY

I see that.

                                                                       LOUIS

How have you been? Sometimes I still don't believe that Dad is gone.

                                                                         MICKEY

                                                           (A beat.)

I’ve been better. 

                                                                         LOUIS

You should try keeping busy, keeps your mind off things. 

                                                                         MICKEY

Yeah... 

(MICKEY looks immensely uncomfortable, while LOUIS  looks somber, staring into nothingness.)  

                                                                         LOUIS

I haven’t seen you in forever.

                                                                       MICKEY

Yeah, it’s been a while.

                                                                          LOUIS

What have you been up to?

                                                                         MICKEY

                                                           (Agitated.)

I don’t know. Nothing?

                                                                         LOUIS

Come on, you have to be up to something. You can’t be doing nothing for twenty years, and don’t say you’re doing nothing now; I can see your shoulders going up and down; you’re breathing, for one. Blinking, too, for another.

                                                                         MICKEY

I mean, I've been depressed lately, but there isn't much to talk about. It's been hard.

                                                 (There is a real struggle for conversation. MICKEY is constantly touching his face and running his fingers through his hair, anxious.  LOUIS fidgets in his seat and keeps itching the back of his head. MICKEY looks at LOUIS and his outfit, eyeing him up and down.)

                                                                         MICKEY

People are becoming more top-heavy it seems. Large sizes on top, and like, chicken legs or poles on the bottom. It’s like those huts built over water in the east; those skinny poles holding up so much weight, the tide teasing its power and destruction. 

                                                                         LOUIS

Bro, have you looked in the mirror? Better yet, have you looked down? Everything on you is slim-fit when really, you need Slim-Fast.

                                                                         MICKEY

I make it work. I do just enough exercise to fit in these outfits. I have it all worked out measurement wise. Like, if I have a medium fry at McDonald’s, I’ll have to do one hundred and fifty crunches to work out the fat. 

                                                                         LOUIS

I’m guessing you’re the type of guy who only eats the top half of a Big Mac, too. 

                                                                         MICKEY

...You’re not wrong. 

                                                                         LOUIS

Do you eat all the scraps of lettuce that fall out too? 

                                                                         MICKEY

Alright, now you’re going too far. I’m not going to tell you if you’re right or wrong; I’ll leave it ambiguous. Let’s just say I count every little sliver.

                                                                         LOUIS

Lettuce is the most nutritionally devoid vegetable besides celery. It’s like the Styrofoam you get in a package, just fluffs it up but has no singular, meaningful purpose. It's just texture… set decoration. Yet everyone always gets it on their sandwich! You know one time, when I was a kid, I saw a giant head of lettuce in the fridge. I told Mom to make me a sandwich with just lettuce, like literally, white bread and lettuce. I cried after a few bites because I thought my taste buds died. 

                                                                         MICKEY

Well, um… that's good to hear?

                                                                                     (A beat.)

                                                                       LOUIS

So, how's Diane doing with the loss? I know her and Dad were close, conjoined at the hip almost. She blocked my number awhile ago; haven't been able to get in contact.

                                                                         MICKEY

Did you say something?

                                                                         LOUIS

Yeah, about the family.

                                                                         MICKEY

Have you ever tried a Big Mac with tomato? You remember the jingle, right? Imagine the jingle with three extra syllables in the Big Mac melody; it would not fit. You might as well use an actual leaf of lettuce if you’re going to do that. And then if you use a leaf of lettuce, you’ll have to add those syllables into the melody, and then you get like an extra bar of music, and then McDonald's would have to pay the studio musicians more because of that extra bar, and then if they did have that extra bar, then everyone remembers the jingle with that extra bar, and it’s a whole calamity, like an alternate timeline. The question itself of a Big Mac with tomato makes no sense. 

                                                                         LOUIS

Extra, extra, extra. So much extra, you really are. Well, since we're on the topic of extra, what about extra sauce?

                                                                         MICKEY

The sauce is already on there, no need to add that to the jingle. Besides, the ‘correct amount of sauce’ is at the cook's discretion. For the very brief yet painful three months I worked there, each Big Mac I made had a specific number of fluid ounces of Mac Sauce.

                                                                         LOUIS

What's the magic number?

                                                                         MICKEY

Ain't important. You don't need to know.

                                                                         LOUIS

                                               (Feigned frustration.)

Well that's some bullshit. 

                                                                                   (A beat.)

                                                                         LOUIS

I haven't been able to get a hold of Mom yet. I don't know if she has gotten the will yet or --

                                                                       MICKEY

                                                           (Slams fist on the table, screaming.)

Don't change the subject!

                                                                         LOUIS

                                                           (Exasperated.)

Oh, um… I just wanted to know---

                                                                         MICKEY

The bun... give me your opinion on the bun.

                                                                       LOUIS

But what about the famil-

                                                                         MICKEY

                                                           (Slams fist on table.)

No! Now tell me…

                                                           (A beat.) What do you think about the bun…?

                                                                       LOUIS

                                                           (Confused.)

I don't know… I think it's fine?

                                                                       MICKEY

Well, which bun are you talking about? For their 'Artisan Sandwiches' they use different buns than for their Quarter Pounders, and the buns for their Quarter Pounders are different than the buns they use for their Big Macs.

                                                                         LOUIS

                                                           (A beat.)

Big Mac. I think it works well for the sandwich?

                                                                          MICKEY

Well, it’s just a sesame seed bun. Notice the alliteration there: sesame seed. It’s like Mr. McDonald himself named that bun sesame seed so he could have some alliteration in his jingle. A true literary great. Even Joyce wouldn’t have that thought. 

                                                                       LOUIS

I’m sure Joyce would be a Burger King guy; he’s the type to have it his way. Pynchon, too. Faulkner would be Subway, Steinbeck: In-n-Out Burger, or maybe a winery in Silas. 

                                                                         MICKEY

What about Kafka? 

                                                                         LOUIS                                                                        

Hmmm. He’s a burger guy, but I don’t know where in particular. I feel no matter where he goes, the place would close due to an insect infestation. Or it would be a madhouse in there, like the DMV. 

                                                                         MICKEY                                

Who else?

                                                                         LOUIS

Maybe Cormac McCarthy... I could see him ordering a burger here, asking for it prepared like ‘the evening redness in the burger’, and he would probably get mad because the cashier taking his order only reads postmodern literature, and has no idea what Southern Gothic is, like he probably thinks it’s like a category at Party City for Halloween costumes. And when Mr. McCarthy gets his burger, the same as it's cooked for everyone else, McCarthy would complain fiercely in poetic anger, and the employee would tell McCarthy to hit the road, which is ironic because that’s a book by McCarthy, and also a popular phrase, AND also funny because the cashier wouldn’t know he’s making a literary reference to a book he knows nothing about.

                                                                         MICKEY

I think you're talking out of your ass.

                                                                         LOUIS                                                                          

What about a McDonald’s McCarthy Mac’n’Milkshake? 

                                                                         MICKEY        

That’s wrong on two levels.

                                                                         LOUIS            

Care to elaborate?

                                                                         MICKEY

I know for a fact McCarthy would not order a Mac and a shake – it would be a Mac and a Sprite, no ice. Second, McDonald's cannot call their shakes ‘milkshakes’ - they don’t have any actual milk in it. Haven’t you seen the commercials or the posters? No suspicion on why they don’t use MILK in the typical phrase that comes to mind, MILKSHAKE? 

                                                                         LOUIS

I guess you’re right. You’re a whiz when it comes to McDonald’s.

                                                                       MICKEY

They always bitched at me because I ate all the food that fell on the ground. They were really against that, like, reallllllly against it.

                                                                         LOUIS

Yeah, I bet. Listen, have you been in contact with any of the family at all?

                                                                         MICKEY

There was one time I almost bit my manager’s hand off. It was bad. It was the end of the night, and we were closing. We had some extra food, and I had been craving some nuggets, like really intense cravings, pregnancy style, like -- I wanted to mix sauce with sauce and apply it to the meat. Well, my manager takes all the nuggets, and all the sauces, and locks himself in the office, and it wasn’t even his office, it was the actual store managers office, and starts chompin’ away. Some people eat in their offices; well he was masticating heavily and aggressively in that office. I barge in and break the lock, hungry and angry, and I see a nugget in his hand, a golden fried literal nugget of recently introduced one hundred percent all white meat chicken. I go for the bite, and end up getting some arm, seasoned lightly with hair. I can even taste the dried tattoo ink. He’s screaming, and in that second, I knew I was fired. All my hard work gone for one leftover ten piece. 

                                                                         LOUIS

Mickey, we need to talk about--

                                                                         MICKEY

Ask me how it was.

                                                                         LOUIS

                                                           (Sighs loudly.)

 Did it at least taste good? 

                                                                         MICKEY

I’m not a cannibal, the arm was terrible. 

                                                                         LOUIS

No, the nugget. 

                                                                         MICKEY

Oh, it was okay. Could have used more seasoning. It looked good enough, but when I ate it, it was just alright. 

                                                                         LOUIS

What a shame.

                                                                         MICKEY

I didn’t even get any sauce! No honey mustard, no buffalo, no sweet and sour!

                                                                         LOUIS

Did they ever charge you for extra sauce? 

                                                                          MICKEY

No, that was one of the benefits. They let you have two sauces instead of one. It really adds up when you order a twenty piece during your break every shift. Those fifty cents for the sauce came in handy for the bus fare. Now all it’s good for is lottery tickets. I swear I’m winning one of these days. I can feel it!

                                                                                     (A beat.)

                                                                       LOUIS

So, now that you've dodged the bullet long enough, when are we gonna start talking about the burial plans for Dad? Or the will?

                                                                         MICKEY

When you were younger, which Kids Meal toy was your favorite? I always liked the Hot Wheels ones.

                                                                       LOUIS

Stop! We have to talk about the family. Dad left us in a serious hole.

                                                                         MICKEY

I was always pissed when they wouldn't offer me the Mighty Kids meal when we would go in. I mean, they could see that I was pretty grown--

                                                                         LOUIS

Will you shut the fuck up and listen? I'm tired of beating around the bush. This is a serious subject!

                                                                         MICKEY

Well yeah, the toys for the Mighty Kids meals were different than for the regular Kid's Meals--

                                                                         LOUIS

You're in denial.

                                                                         MICKEY

No, I'm not.

                                                                          LOUIS

Don't you care about Dad? Don't you care about anything regarding this family? It's easier for you to talk about McDonald's than about our family?

                                                                         MICKEY

Are you serious right now?

                                                                         LOUIS

Yes, I'm serious! Now, you can either tell me if you've talked to the family, or you can just leave.

  (MICKEY gets up from his chair and pushes it in. LOUIS looks at him in astonishment.)

                                                                       LOUIS

Are you serious? Seriously, Mickey?

 (MICKEY walks off the set, and LOUIS sits at the table, dumbfounded.)

                                                                       LOUIS

Fine, Mickey. Have it your way.

                                                                       Blackout.

[roflope]

Experiences from working retail

In case you didn’t know, working with the public is a strange experience. After two years of working at a thrift store, I’ve decided that the crowd we attract may be the strangest I’ve seen yet. Here are some of my favorite examples. ---

*customer is checking out* “Would you like a bag with that?” “No” *a few moments later* “So where’s my bag?”

---

*is first Tuesday of the month at 10:00 AM* *school is testing tornado sirens* *lady frantically enters store* “Good morn--” “*LITERALLY JUST SCREAMS WHILE HOLDING HER EARS SHUT*” --- *man walks into store, immediately goes to big box of Beanie Babies* *several minutes pass, another coworker has approached strange man and looks concerned* *I step over to talk to strange man* Me: “Is there anything I can help you with?” Strange man: *seems to be high off his bum, proceeds to take several minutes to explain that he wishes to buy every Beanie Baby we have for a total price of twenty-five cents* Me: “Let me, uh, talk to my manager real quick.”

*manager talks to strange man, strange man proceeds to fill entire cart with Beanie Babies while manager stands and observes*

*strange man mutters something about going to his house to get his money* *strange man never returns* --- *customer pays for items and begins to leave* Me: “Have a good one!” Customer: *slowly turns around* “Have a good what?” Me: “Uh... day, I guess?” Customer: “Hm...” *leaves store*

--- *customer brings up dollar item to register* Me: *rings up item on register* “That’ll be $1.09, sir!” Customer: *eyes go so wide you would have thought he’d been shot* “WHAT DO YOU MEAN I THOUGHT IT WAS A DOLLAR WHY ARE YOU CHARGING ME MORE THAN THAT THIS IS A RIP OFF” Me: “The state makes us charge sales tax, sir. Sorry about that.” Customer: *STOMPS OUT OF STORE SCREAMING ABOUT HOW WE’RE NOT LEGALLY REQUIRED TO CHARGE SALES TAX BECAUSE HE KNOWS THESE THINGS AND WE CAN LOOK THEM UP LIKE HE HAD* *a few minutes later another person walks in, apologizes for his friend, pays for the item and then leaves* --- *is five minutes until closing time, walks up to last person in store to inform him of this in case he hadn’t seen the time* Customer: “I’ll leave when I fucking want to.” Me: *just kinda stands there and stares, it’s too late in the day for this* Customer: “Nah, just kidding. Seeya.” *straight up just leaves* --- *customer is checking out* Me: That’ll be $X.XX, ma’am. Customer: *hands me I think it was a ten or something, no biggie* Me: *cashes bill in at register, reads off change to customer and starts to hand it to her* Customer: *stands there for a minute, then suddenly looks me dead in the eyes* “No, you’re a dime off.” Me: “What? No, you handed me $X.XX, and the item was $X.XX, so you get $X.XX back.” Customer: “GIVE ME MY DIME” *STARTS FREAKING OUT AND LITERALLY REACHING OVER THE COUNTER TRYING TO GET INTO THE REGISTER DRAWER WHILE SCREAMING ABOUT HER DIME* Customer about five seconds later: “Wait... Oh, I’m sorry about that! You were right, I just did my math wrong. Really sorry about that - have a great night!” *smiles at me and exits peacefully*