#WELL HAVE GIRLS BIG A CARS AND A POOL FULL OF CASH

[idekwtf-is-happening]

HAPPY TEN YEARS

[sabraeal]

Climb to the Rooftops

[Read on AO3]

Written for @another-miracle; a birthday fic that is COMING OUT ON TIME would you look at that (though I am definitely doing some fancy footwork to make it work out in both time zones 😂 Yixin asked for the Post-Rescue Tanbarun Tree Scene for WFB, and then I said, I could give you that, but what if I told you about a secret scene instead...

And then Yixin told me to write whichever one was Obi POV

He knows her.

That’s what keeps running through his head’s hamster wheel as he clomps up the student center steps. He knows her; he’s always known her. If he reached out on that park bench, if he’d grabbed her with both hands and just said, don’t leave me--

He would have been laid flat on his ass, courtesy of that mean right hook her dad taught her before he bounced. And there’d be another demerit on his record to boot, one more instance of anti-social behavior to make him even more unadoptable than he already was. Doc was always destined to go to a loving home, complete with cozy hideaways and towers of books, with warm firesides and even warmer grandparents, and he...

Well, he wasn’t meant for anything like that, no matter who he clung to. Sometimes shit just happens, and no wishing on stars thirteen years gone can change that.

It’s good to see her though. He’d always wondered what happened to his muppet girl, whether she’d gone off and had her happy ending just like she said she would. And now he knows she did.

He glances down at the peanut butter canister in his hand. Well, at least for a little while. That’s the thing about happy endings; they don’t really stick.

Obi hesitates, one foot poised over a step up, his hand wrapped around a ruddy safety rail. “Um, Doc.”

It takes her three steps to bounce to a stop, just enough to let her look down instead of up or across. He’s got double vision for a moment: Doc in the here and now looking at him with so much hope and anxiety that he’s half-afraid she’ll shake apart like a Hot Wheel in a blender; superimposed over the little girl in his memory, round face beaming up at him and her worries far behind her.

She’s got more freckles now, though most of them are hidden beneath her coat, fading without the direct application of summer sun. More inches too, though not as many as he’d given her in his head; for once he’d given more benefit of the doubt than nature could provide. And her hair-- well, that’s the same. Red. Fluffy. Muppety, too, if it’s the morning.

“Obi?”

He should really be paying attention to this conversation he fucking started, instead of just staring at her like a creep. “I just wanted to check in.”

“Oh.” She goes rosy under the freckles he can see, shifting the urn from her hands to her elbow. “I’m-- I’m fine. I’m glad that we could find--” one arm juts out, trying to encompass both them and the containers-- “everyone.”

“Yeah, I got you, but I meant...” He angles a pointed look over her shoulder. “Why are we going up?”

Doc’s jaw drops, and he sees it, the way panic crests right behind her eyes.

“Not that I’m suggesting we don’t.” He takes the next step slow, just enough to put them on equal standing. Except it doesn’t, it puts him a little above her; the beginning of really looking down. His heart flutters in the exact way it shouldn’t when he’s carrying human remains. “I’m just saying, if we’re going to carry geriatrics up a few flights, the elevator’s better for their hips.”

He expects her to laugh at that one, or maybe even roll her eyes, but instead Doc breaks out into a full-body Chihuahua tremble.

“Obi.” Her eyes are so big in her face they might swallow him whole. “We can’t take the elevator.”

“We...can’t?”

Her head jerks in the scarcest side-to-side. With one long, steeling breath, she informs him, “We’re going to do something a little illegal.”

His brows raise. “Illegal?”

The urn bobbles treacherously as her hands fly up between them. “Only a little!”

“You cashed in your favor with me,” he repeats slowly, savoring the thrill that zips through him with every syllable. “To do something illegal.”

Doc deflates with all the gravitas of a popped kiddie pool. “I’m sorry, I should have asked if that would be okay. Especially with, um...”

She’s far too polite to say, your presumed preexisting criminal record, Doc just hasn’t realized it yet. Not when she doesn’t know for sure whether it does exist or not. It’d be easy to help her along, but it’s kinda satisfying to watch her flounder, fishing for the pieces of him she does know.

“If it’s a problem,” she says finally, lifting her eyes to his. “You don’t have to--”

“The only problem is how hot that is, Doc.” He wraps a hand around the rail beside her, leaning in close enough that her eyes nearly cross watching him. “Are you gonna get into your old field hockey kit and punch a girl up there too?”

She blinks, heels clunking into the concrete rise. “I don’t think it would fit. The skirt would be too short, at least.”

Are you sure, he wants to say, stretching every last inch over her, but instead he rumbles, “Honey, you’re saying all the right things to me--”

“Hey.” A finger presses into his nose, hauling his words up short like a pileup. “No call list.”

“Ahh.” Her mouth twitches as he pulls back, rubbing at his nose. “Haah. You know I hate that.”

“Then stick to the list,” she informs him pleasantly. “Besides, are you really trying to flirt with a girl in front of her grandpa?”

“Well.” He holds up the tin, giving it an experimental shake. “You think they’d mind?”

There’s a quality to the silence in the stairwell that clues him in to the fact that he’s cocked up real good this time. First with the tomb joke, now asking if grandma might be watching from beyond the grave, objecting to his game. At least he knows he never had a chance; otherwise he’d have to go take his hopes out behind the woodshed--

“No,” she hums, confident. “They’d like you.”

It’s a good thing she doesn’t get it in her head to try the nose trick again; it’d push him right over. He can survive a lot, but four flights is pushing it. “Doc,” he huffs, scratching the bristle at the back of his head, “I don’t think--”

“Well...” She’s thoughtful when she puts her back to him, bouncing up the next couple of stairs. “Opa would. Oma would think you needed to be fattened up.”

He laughs, but even to his own ears it sounds busted up, wings broken. “Sounds like my kind of lady.”

“Ugh,” Doc sighs from one landing up. “She’d love that you said that.”

“That just makes her even more--”

“Don’t.”

RESTRICTED ACCESS, the doors says, bright red letters fading against the plastic sign. ALARM WILL SOUND.

Doc’s been bullish these last few flights, pushing a pace that makes him want to remind her he’s a hitter, not a runner, but now--

Now she shuffles on the stairs, daunted. “Do you think it will really...?”

Obi thinks this might be a private university, funded by mommy and daddy’s pockets to keep their babies safe, but alarms go off all the time. Unless this building has a rent-a-cop watching daytime TV down in the atrium right now, it could take hours for someone to answer the call, especially mid-afternoon on a Saturday.

“Who knows.” He’s not sure what she’s got up her sleeve that involves two dead people and a rooftop-- especially when even Doc is quick to admit it’s got at least a toe on the wrong side of legal-- but it probably won’t look good if they’re interrupted, even by the Diet Coke of the law enforcement vending machine. “Maybe you should plan to keep the fancy speeches to a minimum.”

“Eulogies.” Her thin fingers flex over ceramic, white where they press in. “You mean a eulogy.”

“Gesundheit.”

Doc turns her head, real slow, letting him soak in every drop of her disapproval. Well, that’s one pigtail successfully pulled.

With a breath so deep it makes her pea coat really earn the name, Doc nods. “Right. Okay. I think...”

Obi expects some dithering, some real soul-searching doubts being dragged out for airing right here in the stairwell. Doc likes that sort of thing, taking everything out of her head so she can fold it all up real nice again, but instead--

Instead she barrels across the landing, plowing right through the metal door, a whole stretch of gray winter sky stretching out before her. There’s one blink, two, and then-- well, the sign wasn’t kidding. The alarm does, in fact, sound.

He catches the door with a hand; it’s weighted, ready to swing right back into place and-- if he knows his doors-- lock right behind her. Not that it’d be a problem if he meant to stand around on the stairwell and act as look out; a role he’d be happy to play if that’s how Doc wanted this whole show to run. But right now she’s slumped at the ledge, every last ounce of her usual moxie wrung out.

Maybe she might tell him to stand back, that this is something she’s got to take on alone, but Obi knows every aching line of that pose by heart. A car can keep going for fifty miles once it hits empty, but that just means you’ll never know when the tank runs dry. That’s where she is right now, stalling out at her limit.

And that’s what he’s here for, to push her that last inch over the finish line. Besides, he can’t just stand back, not when he’s grandpa’s ride.

“So.” There’s a shim in a corner-- a naughty thing to have around an emergency door like this, but Obi’s not about to tattle. He’s perfectly happy to wedge someone else’s problem right where the paint’s flaked off the door. “What’s the problem?”

Doc blinks, one hand trembling on grandma’s lid. “W-what?”

He settles grandpa on the ledge, arms folded around him, taking in the sprawl of buildings below. Clarines isn’t as big as one of those state universities, but it makes Tanbarun look like a college playset instead of a campus. Both of them have those stuffy brick and marble buildings they like up here, the kind that say academic and too good for you loud and clear, but whereas Obi’s walked across Clarines for thirty minutes and still never hit the edge, it looks like he could lap this place in twenty. No wonder Doc was miserable here; the real mystery is how she managed an entire year in this fancy rat cage.

“There’s got to be one.” He knows better than to look at her; if he’s going to make her talking about feelings, the least he can do is give her the privacy to have them. “You were all gung-ho a minute ago, ready to do your thing even if you had to punch out a cop to do it--”

“--I didn’t say that,” she murmurs--

“--but now you’re just standing here.” He shrugs, chancing a glance from the corner of his eyes. “Looking lost.”

“I just...” She shifts, head twisting toward him, he doesn’t need to meet her gaze to know it’s wild, desperate. “It doesn’t feel right that they don’t go together.”

It’s his turn to stare now, lost. “O...kay.”

“What if...” Her teeth fold over her lip, worrying at places already worn. “What if I left them go, and they don’t find each other?”

“Ah...?” It seems like a bit of an oversight now, not asking what the plan is, but he ventures, “You mean...the ashes?”

Her mouth twists up, annoyance in every wrinkle. “It sounds weird when you say it like that.”

“No, no, I’m just...” He glances down at the tin between his arms. “I’m just putting things together. There’s nothing wrong about how you feel, Doc. Not like anyone’s really written a book about how this works.”

She looks up at him, so guileless. “Of course they have, Obi. There’s a whole section in the bookstore for it. It’s just that they’re all written by charlatans and quacks.”

Whatever the conversational version of whiplash is, Obi’s experiencing it now. For a minute all he can do is stare, taking in the abject disapproval rumpling her face, and then he-- he--

He laughs. Because this is what he’s into. The sort of person who pumps the breaks and spins the conversation 360 without even a courtesy ‘buckle up.’

“Listen, I’ve been thinking...” He taps the top of the tin, the metallic ting drowned out by the blare of the siren. “What if we just...mixed them? Then when you release them--”

“--They’re already together.” Doc blinks up at him, eye shining like he’s her savior, the center of her world, the answer to her cosmic question--

The way she really shouldn’t, when she already belongs to someone a hundred times better than he’ll ever be. Not when she’d never mean to get his hopes up.

“Thank you, Obi,” she breathes, a smile dawning on her lips. “That’s exactly what we need to do.”

Like all his good ideas, it’s easier said than done. On the ground, it’d been breezy, the sort of gentle push he’d come to expect from New England right before it got its first good snow, but up here--

“Here, take this.” Obi shrugs off his jacket, hurriedly pushing it into Doc’s boneless hands, but it’s too late-- they’ve already lost a bit of grandma. “Hold it up.”

She stares down at it, thumbs rubbing over the leather in a way that makes his shoulders itch. “Hold...?”

He swings out one arm-- the one not holding a geriatric-- yanking it wide. “Like a wind screen. I don’t want to lose Oma’s pinky toe or something.”

Doc blinks, stretching the coat between her hands. “Pinky toe?”

“Wouldn’t that make you cranky in the afterlife?” he asks, shaking more of Oma loose in a lull. “Losing a toe? Or a finger. Like just the last knuckle. A bit of your nose.”

The leather starts to ripple as the wind spins back up, and Doc stomps a foot down on the end of it to keep it from smacking up into his face. He appreciates the effort; it’s hard enough trying to pour from a large container to a small one without his zipper clocking him over the eyebrow. “Would that really matter?”

He shrugs. “To some people, probably. I got plenty of nose to spare.”

Doc mouth curves shyly, hunching down to hide behind his coat. “I think it’s fine just as it is.”

“Haah.” It’d be nice if she could give him a heads up when she plans to make his heart pound like that. “Think you might be the first to think that.”

“I don’t know,” she hums, eyes electric with some mischievous spark in their depths. “Maybe I’m the first to say so, but you certainly weren’t getting any complaints a few nights ago--”

He huffs. “Drunk college girls aren’t exactly arbiters of taste, Doc.”

She fixes him with that steady stare of hers, the one that’s so earnest it makes his heart make a bid for freedom through his throat. “I think,” she says, each word weighed before she lets it free, just like a good scientist, “that they did just fine.”

He smothers a whimper into a sigh. “Maybe your grandparents don’t mind me flirting,” he mutters, hunched over that stupid peanut butter tin, “but I’m sure they wouldn’t like you returning the favor.”

She blinks, head cocked. “Did you say something Obi?”

“No,” he says, just a little louder. “Just talking to myself.”

“You know--” he sets down the urn, wiping the sweat off his forehead-- “this would have been a lot easier going the other way.”

“We can’t.” Doc’s mouth twists up into that troublesome knot. “Opa always said he never wanted to be in one of those big fancy vases. And even if he would never know, I...”

Obi sighs, hanging his head. “Yeah, I know, I get it, just...complaining to complain. You know how it is.”

She stares down at him like he’s a fish on a dock telling her about the dangers of air. He shakes his head, stifling a laugh. Of course Doc wouldn’t get it; she could lose a limb and she’d still be thankful for the other three. Probably point out how much better things were now that she didn’t need to keep track of all of them. He might complain like it was as easy as breathing, but Doc-- Doc would take every last uncharitable thought to the grave.

Haah, give her some time. A few more months around him, and she’d discover some things to complain about. People always did.

“So,” he says, picking grandma back up. “Why here?”

Doc blinks. “Huh?”

“You know, on top of the roof of the campus center at one of the prestigious universities on the East Coast?” He raises a brow. “I know you used to go here, but most people just settle for leaving dog shit on the stoop when they want to send a ‘fuck you,’ you know.”

Doc unleashes a sound that can only be termed a squawk. “What? What do you mean most people--?” She shakes her head. “No, I don’t-- I mean, it’s not supposed to be a, um...”

“Fuck you?”

“Ah...yes. That.” She grimaces. “They met here. And when I tried to think of places they might want to be...”

Her words drift to a stop, but it’s gentle. They don’t abandon her, leaving her high and dry, but she just...stops saying them, letting the wind carry them away.

“I couldn’t think of any place else,” she admits, fingers tightening in the leather. “They always talked about Tanbarun so fondly, and I...I always thought it sounded like paradise.”

“But the roof?” Obi asks, incredulous. “Is it just easier to scatter the ashes, or...?”

“It’s where they met,” she repeats, like that makes any sense at all. “They used to have movie nights up here, played on one of those reel projectors,”

Her gaze swings out over the concrete like she could see it; all the hippy bean bags piled up, big screen pulled down and movie hardly able to be heard over the wind. Not a bad picture, he’ll admit. Wholesome, just like he’d expect out of the people who raised this Precious Moments doll of a person. Doesn’t really explain Mukaze, but well, shit happens. Half the people who raised him don’t deserve the person he’s become either. “Nice story.”

She’s hardly here with him, eyes hazy and distant, stuck in a past only she can see. “That’s what I always thought. I always wanted...” Her voice trails off again, but this time her smile falters, topping like china from a wobbling shelf. “I always wanted to have a story like that too. But it, um, didn’t really work out that way.”

He shouldn’t say anything. He’s not some neutral party, here to give her that impartial, unbiased pick-me-up she wants to hear, like telling her won’t rips a strip right off his back, so-- he should keep his big mouth shut.

But he’s never been good at any of that being smart shit. “It’s not like you didn’t have your own meet cute, it just wasn’t here. It was, er...”

Huh, now would you look at that. He’s never actually asked.

“At a record store,” she supplies slowly, like she has to think on it too. “Between the aisles after I missed my bus. No--” she laughs, more bitter than he’s ever heard her-- “after I chose to miss it.”

“See?” he hums, vibrating the knife deeper. “That’s already a good start.”

Her lips press thin. “I suppose...”

“No supposing about it.” He taps grandpa so the ashes sit flat before he starts another pour. “If I know anything about your Oma and your Opa-- and I don’t know nothing besides what you told me--” and what he saw a decade ago, sitting on that park bench-- “I don’t think they care whether you met your person at a rooftop movie or in a Walmart--”

“Record store.”

“They have CDs too,” he informs her, just as prim as Doc gets with him when she indulged the one pedantic bone in her body. “But the point is, they wouldn’t care where it happened, they just wanted you to find what they had.”

“I...” She deflates, the leather bowing over her legs. “I know. I think they used to worry that I wouldn’t, especially since I wasn’t really, ah...”

“Looking for it?” he offers.

She nods, relieved. “Yes, that. After my parents, I think they expected a much more, um, active interest in...anything. And I wasn’t.”

He doesn’t need to hear her say it to know that there’s more to it than that, that what she means to say is, and I don’t think they understood.

“Well, nothing for them to worry about anymore, is there?” She blinks up at him, alarmed, and he adds, “You and chief are kind of a done deal right?”

“Ah!” It’s hard to tell with the wind slapping both their cheeks red, but he could swear Doc’s blushing. “I don’t-- it’s not-- we haven’t really talked about--” she heaves a heavy, resigned sigh-- “I mean, I...I guess?”

“As done as it can be without getting PR involved.” He gives her the sort of eyebrow Kiki might. “I’m sure that if they’re out there floating on clouds or whatever, or, i don’t know, free energy in the universe, molecules just bumping around...they’re happy for you.”

“Right.” Her reply’s so faint he nearly misses it, but the wind that snatches it away carries it right by his ear. “Yeah.”

“All right, I think I’ve done as much as I can do.” Obi levers himself to his feet, brushing off his lap before handing her the tin. “You ready for this?”

Doc stares down at the canister, jaw set, the same way he’s sure it looked right before she threw herself out a window. Certainly looks the same way it did when she tried to bean Itoya with her purse.

“Yeah,” she breathes, fingers tightening around the metal. “I think I am.”

The wall’s not tall, but neither is Doc; she has to go up on tip-toe to throw an arm over it, the wind already pulling at the ashes laying loose at the top. Her brow furrows, mouth working for a good minute before she manages, “It’s time to say goodbye, I think.”

Obi stares. Sure, he’d said to keep it short and sweet, but if it’s taken this long for the rent-a-cop to hustle up, maybe she can spare the people who raised her more than--

“Thank you.” He’d thought it might be hard to hear her over both the alarm and the wind, but somehow all her words fly true, brightening the air. “For...everything. I don’t really know how you...”

Her breath catches, but her eyes are clear, no tears streaking down her face. “But that doesn’t matter, does it? You did everything and more. But I think...” She sniffs, taking a moment. “I think I can take it from here. I’ll miss you, Oma. And Opa...”

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I forgive you. For whatever still needs forgiving. Rest well.”

Her hand tips, just the barest degree, and the ashes scatter, wind whipping them past, twisting high over the quad.

“Hey.” Obi steps up beside her, shrugging his coat on over his shoulders. If it’s a little gritty-- well, good thing Doc thing thinks Oma would like him so much, because part of her might linger until the next wash. “I’m pretty sure it’s super illegal to scatter human remains like this.”

“Oh,” Doc hums, shoulder bushing his arm. “It absolutely is without a permit. I was not joking about the slightly illegal thing.”

Obi grins. “Well good thing that no one ever came to check on the--”

As if summoned by the mere mention of potentially having something approaching good luck, the door bar rattles, accompanied by some creative cursing.

“Who the fuck is leaving this open?” A gruff yet feminine voice demands, as if she might be able to shake down the universe and pick up the answers from what fell out of its pockets if she just rattled it hard enough. “Bill, is it you? God, what did I say about using the roof for your smoke breaks--?”

The door swings all the way open, and there she is, a security guard with shoulders that could have dropped straight from the Lowen family tree. Obi would take a picture if he wasn’t sure that would get him thrown in the campus drunk tank.

She takes one glance at them, then another angrier one. “Who the fuck are you?” 

“UM,” Doc shrills informatively.

“No, wait.” One broad hand waves in front of her. “I don’t care. What are you doing up here?”

Doc flounders in the face of authoritarian disappointment-- which is fine by Obi. This is his wheelhouse, after all. It’s nothing to reach out, cinching Doc’s waist against him, grin wide. “Sex, obviously.”

If it were possible for a body to choose the time and place of its expiration from this earthly dairy aisle, Doc’s mortified stare suggests she might curdle on the spot. “Obi.”

The guard’s glare is a study in skepticism, taking in the both of them, and then the concrete wasteland around them. “Here? With your clothes on?”

“It’s our kink.”

“Please,” Doc mutters against his shirt. “Don’t talk.”

The guard spares them one last weary look and sighs. “You know what? I don’t care. Just get out.”

Doc certainly doesn’t need to be told twice. Obi’s got his mouth open, what can’t you let us finish first about to spill right out, but her small hand clamps around his, and she drags him right off the roof.

“SORRY,” she yelps as they pass. “WON’T LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN.”

“Yeah,” Obi agrees with a grin. “Next time we’ll fuck on some other roo--”

Doc pauses for one moment, just long enough to raise a finger and inform him “DON’T.”

This time he lets her drag him off, grinning.

They’re halfway down the stairs when Doc finally slows, her cheeks reaching a shade of red that looks more lipstick than lobster dinner. Her hand wraps tight around the rail, and it’s not until he saunters down the last couple steps to stand beside her that he realizes-- her eyes are screw tight, breath coming in ragged bursts.

“Hey,” he murmurs, trying to ignore the spark of alarm zipping under his skin. “Did you just realize we could have used the elevator?”

Her fingers, already wrapped tight around his palm, squeeze. “Obi...”

The muscles in his arm lock, the way he’s sure lizard tails do, right before they drop them off and run. “Doc?”

Her head turns toward him, and when her eyes flutter open, they’re bright, clear. “Thanks. For being there.”

“No. No, no,” he murmurs, his fingers spasming against hers. “You’ve got it all wrong. I should be the one thank you for letting me. No one...”

No one has ever asked me to be there, he doesn’t say. No one but you.

It’s too much when she’s looking at him like this, like he’s not just a stand-in but her first choice. Like there’s more to how he feels than some one-sided over-investment. It brings him so close to feeling like someone, like the kind of guy who might be her person--

And maybe he could have been, if he hadn’t let some asshole rip her right out her arms in the middle of the night. If he had a record of being something other than a professional disappointment.

The grin doesn’t sit right on his face when he says, “No one’s ever asked me to get rid of a dead body before.”

Doc blinks, then rolls her eyes. “Come on,” she sighs, tugging his hand. “Let’s go.”

“Back to the hotel?”

“Well,” she wheedles. “That. And I dropped the tin when the guard surprised us...”

“Ah I see.” He slips his hand from hers, grin finally sitting the way it should. “So we’re adding evidence removal and obstruction of justice to our list of crimes.”

She tips a dubious look back at him. “Are you complaining?”

“Doc,” he breathes, pressing a hand to his chest. “I would never. I’m touched that you would even think that I could--”

“Come on, Obi,” she laughs, hopping down the steps in front of him. “I’d like to do this sometime today.”

His mouth curls as he watches her back. “Your wish is my command.”

[unmaskedagain]

Raise yourselves up (We’re done)

Two prompts in one; let’s do this. I tweaked the ideas a bit though.

 It was Bustier who broke the news to Marinette and Chloe, and she did it once again the most inappropriate fashion, “-And so the class feels it would be best if both of you were excluded from the class trip at the end of the year.” She finished. The class was just about to let out and she told the two girls in front of them all.

There were mean snickers and smug looks from the other students. The ones who just avoid the girls’ gazes; Adrien, Juleka, and Rose. The three had decided to stay out of it and just side with the majority. Marinette and Chloe had become best friends after Lila had gotten her hooks into class the year before. She turned all of Marinette’s dearest friends to ex-friends and turned them into bullies. That was fine with Marinette. She was done with two-faced people; done with turn-coats, and cowards. Marinette didn’t need them. Or want them. Chloe at least had the guts to stand on her own two feet and for what she believed in. It was a new year and a new Marinette.

Neither blond nor bluenette blinked.

“That’s fine,” Marinette shrugged. “It will be a relief not to have to fundraise for the trip.”

Chloe smirked, “Ditto. A trip to New York City, completely unfunded by the school, is going to be a lot to pay for.”

“They’ll have plenty of time though,” Marinette hummed. “A little less than a year.” The two girls cast them cool looks, “Good luck!” They chimed as the bell rang.

No one understood why they didn’t react the way they thought. Alya had expected tears from Marinette. Rage from Chloe. Then apologies and promises to do better. In fact, they all did. But they didn’t get it. Instead, they were left wondering why the two girls laughed their way out of the classroom.

It would take them months to realize.

Both girls knew though. Chloe always managed to convince her parents to fund thirty percent of whatever grand trip the class took every year. Marinette managed to put together enough amazing fundraisers to raise sixty percent of the funds needed. Everyone else in class only ever managed to pull together the last ten percent. Barely.

The next day the brand new World Travelers’ Club announced their formation and invited anyone to join. A few members of the class perked up until they heard Marinette and Chloe were the presidents. Instead, the class bashed the club and joked it was the girls’ lame attempt at making friends.

That was the last they heard of the club.

To the rest of the students of Bustier’s class’s credit, they attempted right away to start fundraising plans. However, no one in the class knew just when they should start and no one had any unique ideas; they only had a car cash fundraiser, the usual bake sale, maybe a raffle. Standard stuff they were sure would work. After Marinette, the former class president, and resident bully as far as they were concerned, always started off with those. Never realizing that she only started out with them at the very beginning of the year, and never stopped there. Nor did they realize just how much planning went into each event.

 The class's first event was a car wash in November. It was a poor idea, as the weather had begun to take a turn for the worst and barely any cars showed up. They hosted it at the school figuring people would want to help out school children. Nino played music. And all the friends had a blast. But the kids made a total of 143 dollars a days’ worth of work. They vowed their next fundraiser would be better.

During the two months, Marinette and Chloe and the rest of the World Travelers’ club; Kagami, Claude, Aurore, Marc, Luka, Ondine, and a bunch of other students who always wanted to see the world fundraised like crazy. They decided that their class trip would be to six different places; Los Angeles, Star City, Central City, Metropolis, Gotham, and finally New York City. It would be a tour.  They would spend two weeks in each city, touring and visiting, before moving on to the next. Each city had its own highlights and hotels that need to be arranged and paid for. Marinette did the math; they would need to raise a little less than $35,000 to pay for everything. She made it an even $40,000 to be safe.

Marinette set up a go fund me page an hour later. It wouldn’t be easy but Marinette knew they could do it if they worked hard and fast. (She only half-heartedly glared at Chloe when two grand mysteriously was donated to the club’s go-fund-me five minutes after she announced it the class. She did glare when Jagged and Clara both gave five grand each to their favorite designer and faux-niece. But stopped when Kagami said her mother was also donating $3,000 to the club.)

A week after the club’s formation, they had their first fundraiser. A car wash. Marinette knew it was best to get that one done as soon as possible while the summer heat was still around. It went great. They had it at a local park. Chloe played music off her phone. During the event, they sold ice cream and other cold sweets. Ondine had the great idea of selling full water balloons to children so they could run around. Marc sold quick funny Caricatures of customers. They raised a total of $2752, minus the two hundred for expenses that Chloe and Mariette fronted themselves.

The second fundraiser Bustier’s class held was a bake sale. It was in the middle of December and more or less a last-minute idea. Alya spearheaded the event, remembering how much money they pulled in from the last bake sale. She had the smart idea of doing it during a pep rally. Only to remember at the last minute that Marinette usually supplied all the best goods freely given from the bakery. Or made them herself. It didn’t take a genius to know that Alya nor any of the class would be welcome in the bakery based on the cold looks Tom and Sabine had given Alya last time she went in with her mother. So Alya declared all the kids would make their own goods.

…Four people got food poisoning; one of them was Kim. Most of the baked goods were dry and hard and virtually unappealing. Rose’s sugar cookies sold well but mostly because they were one of the few things that tasted and looked good. The class made a total of 128 bucks. They were lucky they weren’t sued.

The World Travelers’ club’s second fundraiser was actually a pool party at Chloe’s. She had led the entire event. The weather was still hot. They got Luka and his new band My Shadow’s Wonderland to play; Kitty section had sadly broken up due to Lila’s schemes months before. The club members sold tickets to get in. They also sold food: hot dogs, hamburgers, veggie burgers, ice cream, and funnel cakes. Kagami sold Balloon which caused her friends to do double-takes. Because Kagami knew how to make balloon animals, what in the world? Marinette and Marc did face paint and temp tattoos. Nearly everyone from school showed up. Even Bustier’s class, though they hadn’t seemed to realize The World travelers’ club was hosting. They earned a total of $3101. Marinette had long since learned the greatest trick of the fundraiser; don’t let make it obvious it’s a fundraiser. Make it fun and people would come.

Their third fundraiser happened two weeks later just at the beginning of October. It was Claude’s idea and he called it; “Can you Arcade it?” No laughed but he thought it was hilarious. They had got permission to use the gym to set up a video Gamers’ paradise. He got this idea when he heard the old arcade had finally shut down after Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone had opted to retire. He got the couple to donate the old game machine for a day to help them out. Claude only had to babysit their pet Parakeet for two weeks while they were out of town. Old arcade games line the walls. New games with TV borrowed from the club members were set up with the new game systems. They sold food and anything they thought a gamer would want. Aurore somehow got the local Taco Bell to sponsor the event so ever twenty minutes or so they had a deal with commercial playing in the background. This fundraiser attracted most parents with younger children; though a good percent was just nostalgic dads who ended up playing the games as much as the kids. $1700 was earned; most of it in quarters.

 Their next fundraiser happened at the end of October and it was a haunted house; or rather a haunted school. They teamed up with a few other clubs to put the event together. They didn’t earn that much money; $300 after it was split between the clubs. However, all the kids had a ton of fun.

When November hit, and the weather turned cold, and everyone wanted everything pumpkin spice. (And Bustier’s class first fundraiser was about to happen) Marinette held did her bake sale. She with the help of the other members of the club made all the sweets; for once she didn’t have to get her parents to donate the baked goods. In additional, Marinette and the gang sold handmade little dolls of Ladybug and Chat Noir and the new miraculous heroes that had replaced the last team. The dolls were a big hit. Such a hit that Chloe got the idea of marketing them online for a much better price. The fundraiser earned about $600 bucks which weren’t bad.

Chloe and Marinette started selling the dolls for $10 bucks each plus shipping and handling. Chloe and Marinette made the dolls. The others took care of the shipping part. The

dolls only cost 2 bucks to make, as they were mostly yarn, so they profited 8. Chloe said that was how the business made money.

By the time December hit, they were had raised more half of their overall target goal.

During the fundraisers, each kid used their own influence via social media to get people to go their Go-Fund-me page. Luka and his band, all of who members of the club anyway, used Youtube and Instagram to promote their bands also asked fans to make a donation. Aurore used her Ladybug site Bugout to ask her fans. Ondine did swim training videos did the same. Marc who did drawing tutorial asked too. They didn’t get a lot from; a dollar here, three there, maybe a five if they were lucky but every bit count.

Their next fundraiser was a raffle in one of the empty unsure ballrooms of Chloe’s hotel, and it happened not long before Christmas break. This was spearheaded by Aurore. The strategy was sound; most people were still rushing to get presents. All they have to do was bid on the item they want. She got local businesses to donate. A fancy dinner from one restaurant, a bouquet of roses, expensive perfumes, a massage chair; a bunch of gift cards of various stores. Chloe got her dad to donate two items a spa day and a luxury Spa weekend. Marc offered art lessons. He also auctioned off some of his portraits. Ondine offered swim lessons. Aurore got offered a meet-and-greet with Ladybug, who even showed up to make an appearance. Kagami offered sword fighting lessons. Luka offers guitar lessons. His bandmate, Naomi, offered drum lessons. Another girl, Bridgette offered piano lessons. Marinette offered her usually big-ticket item; a custom design by MDC. The night was a hit. Once again, Marinette’s item was one of the highest bid items of the night. All in all, the kids brought in a total of $4728.

January came and Bustier’s class decided it was time for another fundraiser. Just as the World’s traveler’s club decided it was time for a break. Though they still sold the dolls; which had brought in $1800 since they had started selling them; Ladybug and her crew apparent had fans all over the world. This meant by the time February hit, they had just over $10,000 left to raise and five months to do it. They would leave at the beginning of June. They already paid for all of their plane tickets and paid for their hotel rooms. All their tours booked and paid for. All reservations made. And then reconfirmed by a rather stern Chloe. Passports were bought.

Bustier’s fundraiser idea was once again headed by Alya, the new class president after Lila decline the role as she would be far too busy. Alya decided a raffle would be perfect. The one they did the year before had been amazing. Again, Alya forgot that Marinette and Chloe handled nearly everything which was why it was such a big hit. Alya had to use the school gym.

“It’s not like I’d ask Chloe,” Alya huffed to her boyfriend. “I’m just glad I won’t have to deal with her or Marinette on our trip.”

“You said it, babe,” Nino leaned back in his desk. “No need for that kind of drama.”

The raffle was their most successful fundraiser so far much to Alya smug face when Marinette and Chloe walked into class on Monday.  All the kids in the class participated and offered their own talents for use; offering lessons or gift cards from their parents' businesses. Their biggest hit was a picture and an autograph from Adrien Agreste.

“We raised over a thousand dollars,” Alya crossed her arms. A satisfied look on her face. She had worked hard. They had all worked hard. “Beat that!”

Marinette and Chloe shared a look before they literally fell to the ground laughing. “I can’t!” Chloe gasped for air. “I can’t breathe!”

Marinette struggled to contain herself, “This! I!” She couldn’t even get out the words. She was laughing so hard.

They didn’t even bother to pay the glares they received any attention. It was just too funny.

For the rest of the week, it was the running joke between them. Every now and then, the other students in the class would “Beat that!” And laughter from the back of the room.

February came and the kids decided in anticipation for Valentine ’s Day. They would do a Date Auction. It was Ondine’s idea and it was a huge success. Surprising considering it, it was supposed to be simple and easy and something to get them back into the fundraiser's mood after a month's breath. Most of the kids now had a strong online following and become popular among the youth of Paris for their awesome parties. So when word spread that the World Travelers’ Club was doing a date auction; a lot of students from school showed up. A lot of students from other schools showed up. One girl traveled from England specifically for Luka.

Marinette, followed by Chloe, Then Luka, then Kagami, then Aurore was the highest auctioned date of the night. Claude and Felix were both a little put out. Marc didn’t mind. Mostly because of the best looking guy at the auction bid on him.

All in all, they raised $2100.

The next fundraiser was in March. The spring warm weather had hit in full. Flowers were blooming. The fundraiser was a carnival Luka planned. Everyone set up carnival booths and games and fun prizes. Live music. They had it in on the school soccer field. A lot of parents with their kids showed up, looking for a family-friendly event to enjoy. Total they raised $2421.

Marinette’s dolls brought in an additional $900. Then it was official they only needed 5,000 more.

Bustier’s class tried another fundraiser; a dance party in the school gymnasium; hosted by Nino. They sold tickets to get in, snacks and drinks. They put off filers everywhere and did everything they could to promote the event. They made $750 dollars. And were proud.

 In April, the World travelers’ club did another bake sale and another car wash and a ping pong tournament was a really big hit for some reason. By the end of April, they had met their goals. All loose ends tied up. All the tickets bought. Permissions slip signed.  Four teachers, who were more than excited to volunteer to spend near all-expense-paid vacation in the most popular cities in the world, would be chaperoning. They were done.

By the first Monday of May, Chloe and Marinette breathed a sigh a relief as the stress had finally left their shoulders. The only thing they had to worry about was packing, and they had a month to do it.

The two girls once again arrived to see the smug grins of the classmates' faces. Bustier’s class had been fundraisers like crazy so much so that even the teacher was looking over her students proudly.

“We’ve raised $5,829,” Lila announced. The Italian girl looked smug as she had done al the work. “Fundraising was hard but we did what we had to.”

“Way better then we did under the last class president,” Alya hissed.

Marinette and Chloe looked at each other again. It was Chloe who spoke, “So you’re not going to New York?”

The question caught everyone off guard.

“What?” Alya hissed. “Of course we’re going to New York!”

Marinette sighed, “No, WE” She pointed between her and Chloe, “And the World Traveler’s club is going to New York and a bunch of other places. We raised over $40,000.” Most of the students turned green.

“$40- $40,000,” Nino stuttered. “What? how?”

“We worked hard, like we always,” Chloe flipped her hair. “That was our goal since September. Its how much it would cost to pay for the entire trip. For every member and required chaperones to go. Why? What was your goal?”

It went quiet. Alya spoke next, “Goal?”

           Again, Chloe and Marinette

“Goal,” Marinette nodded. “The amount you needed to fund the entire trip to New York?”

“We didn’t have a goal,” Rose answered.

The two girls stared at them.

“What airline are you using?” Chloe asked. “How much do the tickets cost?”

No answer.

“What hotel are you staying at?”

No answer.

“Did you get your passports yet?”

Nothing.

“Have you made any reservations?” Marinette asked. “Any down payments?” No answered. Just pale faces.

           Chloe just shook her head, “Did you at least get approval from the school board to clear the trip?”

“We need them to approve it?” Kim asked. “Why it’s our trip?”

“Safety and legal concerns,” Marinette said slowly. “It takes weeks to get approved. Permissions slips have to be signed and turned in. Chaperones found.”

“Miss Bustier’s our chaperone,” Mylene said brightly, and the teacher nodded eagerly.

           Marinette fought the urge to scoff. Bustier couldn’t chaperone a ping pong tournament. “Fine but with a class this size, you need at least two more. Maybe three.”

           Chloe crossed her arms, “How were you getting to New York? What were your plans? Did you book any tours? What were you going to do in New York?”

           No one said a word.

           Marinette smirked, “Good on you, I guess. You must have some killer fundraising ideas with only a month and a half until summer break.” She sighed. “I couldn’t do it myself. Way too much stress. The World Traveler’s club was killing ourselves since September to get everything done.”

“September,” Rose gasped. “Really.” She deflated. “We didn’t start till November, and the car wash was pretty bad.” There were nods.

“Yep,” Chloe said. “I think we did about fifteen or more fundraisers. Little ones and big ones. How many did you guys do?”

           Nino frowned, “Five.”

“We worked really hard, though!” Alix slammed her fist on the desk. “Nothing worked.”

           Marinette and Chloe shared another look.

“Shame,” Marinette said as they glided to their seats.

“Last year, the class did so well,” Chloe smirked. “Wonder what changed?”

“Nothing!” Alya shouted. “We did the same thing we do every year. Bake Sale, car wash, Raffle, Dance Party; everything!

           There were nods.

“It’s not fair!”

“We didn’t do anything wrong.”

           There more shouts and complaints.

           Bustier calmed everyone down, “Now class, let’s not give up hope. Our trip last year was a success. And I know we can pull it off again. What did we do then that we aren’t doing now?”

           The class went silent as they thought up what they were doing wrong. Surprisingly, it was Juleka who answered, “Marinette did most of the organizing,” She whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear; one of the few brave things she did all year. “Her and Chloe come up with all the fundraiser ideas and they plan them out too. They always did; every year.”

“This year they didn’t,” Rose frowned.

           And just like that, it was like that, it was like a balloon burst inside the students.

“They always plan the best fundraisers,” Kim frowned. “And we always met our goals.”

           Lila glared. She didn’t think that when she convinced the class to kick the girls off the trip that they’d be getting rid of anyone who did any real work. However, the glare quickly turned into a frown with a few crocodile tears, “Then we didn’t they help us? We needed them obviously.”

           Before any of the other students could direct their anger to the girls at their betrayal, Nino shrugged, “Because we told them they couldn’t come with us, remember? So they didn’t help out. They told us they wouldn’t. Why should they? It wasn’t their trip.”

           Frustration and rage built inside Alya. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. The class should’ve been headed to a glamorous trip to New York, with Marinette and Chloe left to suffer alone in Paris wishing they had been invited. Where was justice?

“I bet you're happy!” Alya growled at her ex-friend. “Our trip is ruined thanks to you.”

           Marinette smirked, “No. I didn’t do anything. I was and am in no way involved with your class trip. Just like you wanted.”

“You could’ve helped us!” Alix yelled.

“Why?” Chloe asked.

           Silence.

“You made it clear we couldn’t go to New York with you,” Chloe said. “Why would we help you? It’s not like we’re friends with you.”

           Angry eyes and red faces filled the classroom. No one wanted to admit that they got themselves into trouble.

           Alya had to be held back in her chair by Nino, “You could’ve warned me how hard being class president was. Or what we needed to do to go on the trip. But you didn’t care about us. You don’t think about us at all.”

           Marinette leaned back in her seat, an easy smile on her face, with frost in her eyes, “Sweetie, I haven’t thought any of you for months.”

           Before anyone could say anything else. Bustier decided to try to take control again, “Marinette, Chloe; there must be something you can do. Maybe the class can tag along on your trip.”

           Hopeful expressions overtook the students' faces.

           Both girls looked at the teacher like she was stupid.

“Even if that was possible,” Chloe narrowed her eyes. “And it’s not. We had everything booked for months, reservations made. How will they pay for it? We only raised enough for the World Travelers’ Club.”

           It was Adrien who answered, “Can’t you do something?” He said with hopeful eyes. “Our friends are really looking forward to it.”

“No.” Marinette snapped. “They are not my friends. And even if they were, it would take another 40 grand to get everyone in class on the trip. There’s no time to get that type of cash. Even if there was, it would still be weeks to get School board approval. The World Travelers’ leave on the first. There’s nothing to do.”

“We’re not risking our trip for yours,” Chloe and Marinette chimed together, looking very much like the Ice Queens the students had called them behind their backs.

           That was that. Alya and the other students would shoot glares at the two girls, and make mean comments for the next month; mostly about them being selfish. The girls didn’t pay them any mind. Lila tried to join the World Travelers’ club at the last minute, only to be unanimously told to come back in September. Damocles, at the urgency of Lila and Alya, tried to intervene and stop the trip the ground, it wouldn’t be safe. Boy, was he surprised when the school board called him into a meet to speak about his future employment and the rampant bullying and oversight that had been going on in the school.

           Bustier’s class ended up going to Disney World Paris for the weekend, before the end of May. And posted tons of videos, most of which had comments about getting away from bullies and the drama of the class.

           The World Travelers’ Club left on schedule on June 1st. They would return for two months.

           The pictures they posted was the talk of the school. Which was saying something since the school wasn’t even in session. The first pictures were of the grand hotels they stayed at, the amazing strange American food they ate. Carne Asada fries, yum!

           In Los Angelus, the club toured Warner Brothers studios and ran into the cast of the new Star Trek movies. They attended the world premiere of the Joss Weadon Superhero movie. They got all the classic tourist pictures of Los Angeles. Though Marinette and Chloe, when they had explored by themselves, ended up running into the Rock and had a picture of themselves hanging from his biceps as he posed.

           Their next stop was Star City. They toured the local museum, toured Queen Industries, met Oliver Queen himself. Then they even got to meet the Green Arrow.

           Alya nearly broke her phone when she saw Aurore and the superhero.

           After that, the Club went to Central city where they visited Star Labs.  It was Aurore’s idea. It was the most meta-filled city in the world; known for the most outrageous heroes and rogues in the world.

           It didn’t take long for the club to run into the flash, in this case, he was fighting against Captain Cold, Heatwave, and the rest of the rogues.

           The fight wasn’t favoring either side. But the class watched eagerly from where they stood on the sidewalk.

           They had to duck quickly when Captain cold was blasted into the wall next to them.

           Leonard Snart was surprised when a young girl helped him up. He looked and saw a bunch of kids standing there, torn between watching him and watching the fight.

“Are you okay, Mr. Cold?” She asked, with a heavy French accent, her blue eyes big with worry.

“…Fine, kid,” He answered. “Shouldn’t you lot being running off.”

           The bluenette and the blond girl next to her shared a look.

“Can we get a picture?” The Bluenette asked.

           Leonard Snart paused, “…Sure.” There was, in fact, a first time for everything.

           The kids cheered. And each one started scrambled with their phones to get their picture. It wasn’t long before Heatwave showed up to see what was wrong, only to be pulled in by a push blond to take pictures as well.

           That was when the flash Showed up but Aurore quickly pulled him into an interview. Slowly but surely, the rogues and the team flash found themselves entertaining and signing autographs for a bunch of French kids; answering all their questions and telling stories.

           Later when Aurore and the rest posted their pictures, and the interview with the Flash and his rogues, Alya did break her phone. As far as she was concerned life was fair.

           In metropolis, They met Superman, Supergirl, Krypton (the former superboy), and the new Superboy. Superman had heard from the other league members of the French class touring different cities and how great they were.

           They toured the Daily Planet and Aurore got one on one time with Lois Lane. They got to see LexCorp and had a tour given by Lex Luthor himself. Lex had heard about the class from Queen and Wells, the CEOs of Star Labs and Queen industries, and decided one-up his competition in any way he could

           Then the kids' wen to Gotham. The pictures from that trip made half the kids in Bustiers’ class cry. The best pictures were of Marinette sitting in the Batmobile; Batman looking stern next to her. The ones of the club with Bruce Wayne and his kids were pretty epic too.

           Finally, their lasts destination was New York City. And the kids saw everything. They did the entire tourist thing; The statue of liberty, times Square, New York Times. Everything. However, the highlight was the tour of Stark Tower/Industries; led by Tony Stark, with Pepper to manage him.  Because Tony Stark didn’t get one-upped by Lex Luthor or Bruce Wayne. Then the kids took a surprise trip to the Avengers compound.

           Marinette and Chloe decided walking into the training room only to see Captain America, Thor, and Bucky Barnes working out with their shirts off was the best part of the entire trip.

           Pictures and videos were taken of each member of the club holding various Avenger weapons. Chloe refused to admit her hand trembled when she was given over Captain America’s shield.

           The funniest video was supposed to be each member of the World Travels’ club struggling to pick up Thor’s hammer. It was pretty funny. Until Marinette lift it like it weighed nothing. Mouths dropped. The Avengers were stunned. Who was this small bluenette worthy of Thor’s hammer?

Then Thor shouted that Marinette would come to Asgard with him.

           Then Tony had to tell Thor that he couldn’t kidnap kids.

           To which Thor said, “What about Peter? Where did he come from?”

“I’m his mentor,” Tony groaned.

           Thor nodded, “Then I shall be the girl’s mentor. The Captain shall train young Chloe. Natasha will have Kagami as they are suited for each other; mostly because they strike fear in hearts everyone. Pepper will get Aurore; as they were meant to rule. Hawkeye will get Claude. The Soldier of Winter will get young Luka. You shall have Peter. The rest will be divided among the rest of the avengers. There. All done.”

           A moment of silence, and then Tony yelled, “That’s not how this works.”

           It was all on video.

           It went viral in an hour.

           Marinette had to portal back to Paris to deal with several different Akumas several different times; most were just about jealousy.

           When the kids returned to Paris. They wasted no time relaying the stories of their adventures.

           When September came and school started. Marinette and Chloe once again walked into class together, with smiles on their faces, only to meet glum looks on the students' faces. They paid no mind as they headed back to their seats in the back.

           Before class could begin, Rose approached them, a hopeful smile on her face, “Marinette, Chloe; we were hoping you’d come with us on your next trip.” Her smile widened “And Marinette, maybe you’d like to be class president again.”

           None of the other students looked happy at the idea but all of them could admit that the World Travelers’ club had been amazing. And if they ever wanted another great trip, they had no choice but to deal with the Ice Queens.

           Marinette and Chloe shared a look and then shot the class cold smirks, “No!”

“We’ll be far too busy,” Chloe smiled, coolness in her tone. “We decided we can no longer want to go on any more class trips. With you.”

“The World Travelers’ club takes a lot of work,” Marinette added.

“Good Luck though,” The two girls chimed together. “You have plenty of time to fundraise though.”

“A little less than a year,” Chloe said. “Our club starts planning in about two weeks. We’ll start fundraising right after. We’re thinking about Japan. Luckily this trip won’t be as expensive as our last.”

“Good luck with your trip though,” Marinette leaned back in her seat. “Who knows? If your lucky, it’ll be as fun as your last one. We know you worked so hard. Earned over $5,000 right?”

“Beat that!” Chloe added.

Then both girls burst into laughter.

Marinette wiped her eyes, “Besides you don’t want us there on your trip.”

“Too much Drama, right?” Chloe offered.

           The bell rang. And the class’ resident ice queens sat in back with smiles on their faces and ice in their eyes.

[subarubi]

Last Dance

Pairing: 40s!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: It was a broken deal from the start, just one dance and Bucky Barnes will leave you. 

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: 18+. Angst. This is sad. I’m sad, sorry bout it. Fluff. Light smut. I think I wrote ‘ass’ once. 

--

He’s on a date with a sweet dame at the soda fountain when he first sees you looking like an absolute vision. Scowl and all. And when you smack the boy leaning over you from behind, he’s certain you must be some angel fell from heaven. An angry one sure, but an angel still. With downy feathers and doused in golden light. His heart, big and red and beating strong, trembles at the sight. He’s felt flutters in his stomach before and let out uncontrollable smiles when pretty lips press kisses to his cheek, but never has his heart stuttered like that.

Tip to tail, Bucky Barnes trembles, tingles as you walk towards him with fire in your eyes and dark lead drawing your lips into a frown.

Him! You’re walking towards him, kitten heels pounding into the checkered floor and Bucky’s mouth falls slack mid-flirt. His date protests, face twisted sour, but he can’t bring himself to do more than stutter over an apology. Jeez, he sounds like Steve, jaw falling open and offering her nothing but a strangled gurgle.

Ten feet feels still too far as you tie your coat closed tight, spitting venom over your shoulder at the disgruntled man with a red handprint across his cheek that trails after you.

In front of him, right there before him you stand a heavenly storm and he can’t help the breathless “Hi...” that escapes his lips.

You fix Bucky with a strange look, narrowed eyes flitting across the handsome planes of his dazed face. It doesn’t matter how you’re looking at him though, at least not to Bucky. No, all that matters is that you’re looking at him, damn the residual anger still dragging your brow down. He feels fuzzy all over, lights fading into twinkling stars and chatter softening into a low hum like all the cheesy pictures Steve sees. 

What feels like an eternity to the Brooklyn boy only really lasts about fifteen seconds before you’re glossing over him and focusing instead on his date, Rita. “Can we get outta here, Reets? I think I’ve had my fill of drugstore cowboys,” you ask, curiously side-eyeing her date that seems to have a few screws loose. 

Rita sighs, lifting her hand from where she’d placed it on Bucky’s bicep, “But-”

“I can walk you home!”

Bucky cringes as the both of you stare at him following his outburst, a little too loud and a touch too eager. He can feel Rita glaring daggers into him and while Bucky does feel guilty for being a complete jerk, he can’t help himself to stop staring at you with that hazy look in his baby blues.

Your friend coughs loudly, interrupting the drawn out eye contact as you scrutinize this strange man she had chosen to spend the night with. You’re almost thankful for it, the reprieve from those deep pools that seem to shine with your reflection in them. 

“Ya know what, you two-”

“Bucky,” he supplies with a lazy smile stretching across his pink lips, even if you didn’t really ask. Your face scrunches up and really, he has never seen a woman so beautiful. 

“Right... Reets, you and Bucky enjoy your night. I’ll find my way home just fine,” you smile tightly, already making leave. Anything to get away from the starry-eyed man who didn’t seem to concern himself with anything else but you-- not even his date, your friend.

The swinging door and the soft ting of the shop bell accompanies the fleeting image of your skirt flaring behind you and Bucky’s suddenly cold. You’ve taken all warmth from him, any semblance of the burning giddiness that’s seemed to overpower him in the short time since he first saw you. Steve teased him before of a similar feeling. Those infatuations that burnt too bright, too fast and then, in the blink of an eye fizzle out pathetically. 

This doesn’t feel like that. This feels like if he lets you go without getting your name and some hope of seeing you again, he might never be able to breathe again. 

Really, what is happening to him? 

“Listen, Rita...” he sheepishly mumbles, gathering his own coat.

Rita glares at him with enough force to level Brooklyn, eyes ablaze in disbelief, “Bucky Barnes, I swear if you leave me right now...”

Bucky straightens, his whole body buzzing with the need to run after you. His eyes may be glued to your figure floating past the shop windows, but he has at least enough in him to guiltily offer, “I am so so sorry. Will you get home alright?”

“Will I-” Rita’s rising volume starts to draw eyes, “Are you serious? You’re going after her? My friend?!”

“I really am sorry,” he fumbles in his pocket for some cash, slapping it down on the counter. Barely glancing at the shop owner Bucky asks, “Make sure she gets home alright, Tommy?” 

His feet start moving on their own volition, worn brown soles headed for the door before he even has the chance to hear a reply. He knows Tommy is a good man and that Rita will be fine. But him? Well, doused in the cool November air and whirling around left and right trying to find you, Bucky can feel the tightness in his face, a deep frown threatening to settle over him. 

Bucky hears you first, clicking heels-- those robin’s egg blue Mary Janes with the daisy eyelets that he’s surprised he even noticed-- mixed in somewhere between an errant car horn and distant music. You’re a flurry of wild hair, tawny peacoat waving in the wind as you chase down a yellow cab. His lips pull into a grin as it leaves you in the dust, cursing colorfully under your breath. 

“Hey!” Bucky shouts to get your attention.

“Oh,” your lips fall slack at the sight of him briskly walking to close the distance between you. There’s cute little lines on your scrunched up nose that Bucky just wants to kiss away. “Everything alright? Is Rita okay?”

Bucky nods eagerly, unable to calm that wide smile that makes his cheeks ache or his racing heart that unconsciously sends his chest into a soft heave, “She’s fine, jus’ wanna make sure you get home alright. ‘Specially after that handsy jerk back there.”

It might’ve been cute, a nice gesture that would’ve soothed over the harsh sting left by some other man earlier in the night. It could’ve made you smile and set butterflies loose in your stomach and all of the other feelings that your girlfriends talked about. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date right now?”

You expect a lightbulb to flick on over his head, for him to head right back into the shop at the reminder, to break out of whatever odd stupor had kept him from rational thought. But it never comes, he just nods softly and sways on his feet, hands stuffed into his pockets looking relaxed and very much unbothered by your question.

“Well, Billy, don’t suppose it’s proper date etiquette to leave your girl to walk home her friend, is it?”

He tries not to let the misnomer hurt too bad, settles instead for a brief grimace to relieve the pang in his heart. Bucky kicks himself for not properly introducing himself before. Maybe if you hadn’t been so absolutely disarming, he would’ve been able to offer more than a quiet whisper of his name. Maybe then it would’ve stuck and he would’ve gotten yours in return. 

“It’s Bucky. Bucky Barnes. And if it’s all the same to you, Angel, can’t we just pretend I’m just walking my girl home?” 

You snort, honest-to-god snort and it only endears you to him more. He thinks at this point he’s half in love with you and any more he might just propose on the sidewalk. It’s crazy, he realizes. But his mother always said sane is boring. 

“Are you thick in the head or just a plain jerk, Bucky Barnes?”

“Huh?” Bucky’s eyes bug out of his head.

You roll your eyes and that’s it for him. His knees scream at him to bend down on one of them and beg you to be his forever. “You do realize Rita’s my friend, right? The girl you left to do whatever it is you’re doing right now?”

He’d thought he was flirting, being cute, the right side of cheeky. Apparently not. Bucky clears his throat, smile falling just a bit into something softer, shy if you’d believe it, “I ain’t ever met a dame like you, Angel. What’s your name? Please, I gotta know.”

Quiet, less full-on than before, you can appreciate how handsome he is. That bashful blush across rose petal lips, stirs you up inside. You vaguely remember Rita gushing about meeting him the 'most beautiful man across all five boroughs’ and laughing at her hyperbolic tendencies. Dark chestnut quaff, chiseled jaw with a dimple at his chin, frosted blue irises-- ‘most beautiful’ may not be something you can say for certain, but he is a downright dish. Too bad he’s apparently a perfect mix of thick in the head and jerk. 

“What’ll it take to get you to leave me alone, fat head?”

Truthfully, Bucky will go if you really want him to. He’s not so arrogant to overstay his welcome with women who want nothing to do with him. He won’t try and change their mind about him because normally, they’re right. 

“A dance?” He can’t help himself. 

His heart, the big and red and beating strong one, feels like it blooms flowers out of his chest when you seem to actually ponder the idea. You've lost a lot of your initial fire, eyes cast downwards, brows pulled together in thought, hands fiddling with a button on your coat. Another flash of you that Bucky just catches a glimpse of that makes him feel like a little boy. 

“So if I dance with you, you’ll never talk to me again?”

“One dance and I’ll disappear, if that’s what you want,” Bucky reluctantly replies. He’s pretty sure the one dance is gonna make him want a million, but he’ll honor your wishes. 

You spare a glance up at him, and god dammit he looks like a puppy. A puppy you’ve kicked and you just want to wrap him up in your arms and tell him you’re sorry for whatever it is you’ve done and- what?

“You’ll keep your hands chaste?”

“Scouts honor.”

“Right here?”

“Right here,” Bucky smiles, the soft one that you like a lot more than the too big one you saw him flash Rita earlier in the night. Rita! You’d almost forgotten that the next morning Rita will have that sour look on her face and be cursing his name. And you’re supposed to tell her just how much of a jerk he is and how she deserves better than men like him. 

“But there’s no music...”

“Sure there is, Angel.” 

Bucky gestures to the shop behind you as he already sways gently to the faint sounds of Louis Armstrong’s trumpet from the windows emanating warm light that paints everything rose. 

“You’ll stop calling me Angel?”

“But you are.”

The words catch in your throat and you can only manage a flustered “um” in response. You’ve not exactly shown Bucky Barnes your best side tonight. He’s witnessed you slap a man and storm out of the soda fountain dramatically with the ugliest angry face you could muster. You’ve called him the wrong name and then fat head and you’ve rather rudely told him to ‘bug off’ in no uncertain terms. And you’re an angel for it? He really is crazy.

You ignore it, shaking your head and holding a hand out to notarize the agreement. 

“Okay, deal.”

It’s a broken deal from the start. Bucky knew it, you knew it. 

As you sway back and forth in your apartment, bodies desperately clinging to one another, some part of Bucky, the unselfish part of his love that only wants to see you happy, wishes you’d never said yes. That you left him in the rear window of a taxi or even gave him a good wallop for pestering you so much because you’re breaking his heart-- because he’s breaking yours. 

“Angel, I-”

“Can we just dance, Buck? Please, just let me hold you.”

Your tears are warm and wet in the hollow of his neck, eyelashes drawing small streaks of mascara over his pulse. Every time your trembling lips brush over his throat, peppering it with soft kisses like bolts trying to anchor him to you and Brooklyn, Bucky feels like his heart-- the one that trembles just for you-- just might shatter. 

One of the fingers clutching tight balls of his fresh green uniform, he’d hoped to be wrapped in a gold band some day. He imagined a matching one of his own, gleaming proudly in the sun for all to see that he is yours and you, his. He tells you all of this because he thinks it might make you feel better. Give you hope and something special to plan for when he gets back. Steve will have to hold on to the rings, of course, because Bucky can’t be trusted to not lose anything important. 

He bites his tongue thinking that the sentiment might include even you. 

You’ll get married at the courthouse because once he’s back home, he won’t want to spend another night not being your husband. It’ll have to be in secret because his and your Ma’s will murder you both for not having it in a house of god. That’s okay, though, because Steve will be there with the rings and Rita, who never fails to shoot him scathing glares, can reluctantly hold your flowers. It’ll be perfect. He can’t wait. 

“Bucky, please...” you sob, not really sure what you’re asking for. 

Please let’s just dance. Please hold me tight and never let go. Kiss me, touch me, give me something, everything. Please stop making promises you can’t keep. Please stay.

His answer is to softly cup your jaw and brush his thumb over your chin tenderly. To duck down and press his lips to yours lightly, sweet and slow with a saltiness that you can recognize as tears. Yours, his, the world’s. 

It’s quiet, only the static of a finished record that still twirls around the gramophone and your soft sniffles filling the dark room. You’re still swaying as Bucky holds you tighter to him, the hand over your jaw slipping into the back of your hair, the other gliding from hip to the small of your back.  

He hasn’t stopped touching you since he got his orders. At dinner he kept your left hand tightly grasped in his across the table, wouldn’t let go, even when you needed it. At the Stark Expo, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and littered your face with kisses when he could, sometimes drifting a hand on the curve of your ass. He wanted to go dancing, to get to hold you close for a couple more hours and see you smile-- touch up the image of it etched in memory so that he won’t forget on the nights he’s surely going to need it. 

You end up at home instead, not really dancing like he’d wanted, but better still. Just wrapped around each other with pale moonlight lighting the high points of your faces, the rest in shadows. There’s some semblance of dancing. Your hands began on the tops of his shoulders and his respectably on your hips. 

On the bed, Bucky’s shivering weight pressing you into the mattress, your shaking hands curl around his back and dimple the hot expanse of skin there. He’s whispering all those hopes and dreams into your skin, marking it as a promise with a kiss and lave from his warm tongue. Bucky’s sweet on you, he’s made sure all of Brooklyn knows it, so he’s always sweet with you. You feel grotesque, eyes puffy with snot dripping from your nose, but he calls you the most beautiful things, stares at you like you’re an angel. 

He marvels quietly at the sight of you beneath him, skirt rucked up and the top half of your dress pulled down so his lips could find familiar ardent trails. Bucky’s fingers trek the path from your bobbing throat that’s still half sobbing down the center of your chest, curving around you to slot themselves between your ribs. He’s unusually sloth-like in every movement, eyes lazily tracing your familiar curves, hands palming your flesh that vibrates with need unhurriedly, drinking up all of the soft sounds of pleasure that spill from your lips. You know what he’s doing and you can’t keep the tears at bay when he meets your eyes again. He’s committing every part of you to memory, looking at you like it’s the last time. 

Bucky thinks perhaps the worst and best thing he’s ever done was dare to look at you long enough to fall in love. 

He’s crying too when he finally takes you, muttering ‘I love you’ so many times that it starts to sound like ‘I’m sorry’. Punctuating every thrust with a desperate kiss that makes him love you more and more and himself less and less. He never deserved you and you loved him anyway and now he’s off to war unable to fight the deep upset at the idea of you at home waiting for him. Wondering if he might die before he ever gets the chance to do the decent thing and marry you, make an honest woman out of the love of his life. 

“Bucky, I-” you choke out, legs locked around his undulating hips, feet pressed into the backs of his thighs.

He smiles the soft one you love so much, but it wavers as he balances himself on one trembling arm, bringing the other up to brush damp hair from your face and hushes you soothingly as he picks up pace. 

Bucky ruts into you with his forehead pressed against yours, eyes locked so close and all you can see is blue and a reflection of yourself that is more beautiful than you see in the mirror. 

This is how Bucky sees you and your heart burns at the realization. 

You moan in the small distance between your lips, as you feel it bubbling up inside; all that Bucky has always tried so desperately to show you, he’s pushing into the warmest parts of you and begging you to understand. Love and adoration and something so strong you don’t think there’s even a word for. It mounts in your tensed gut, cresting with a hard thrust that has you wailing and clutching him so tightly you think you’ve melted into him. You’re sure of it. He’s taking every part of you with him. 

After he’s finished simultaneously filling you with all of his love and ripping your heart out of your chest, there’s not much else to say. No more tears, no more declarations of love and apology. Just this emptiness as the two of you lay a tangled mess of numb limbs, waiting for the sun to come up and take him off to war. 

Bucky kisses your forehead softly, and manages to push a whisper out of his throat raw from sobbing and crying out your name, “I’ll come back to you or I’ll die trying.” 

[naomixhill]

“Aren’t you the one who got expelled from DeSales?” These were the first words that you said to me as you approached me at David’s bonfire in 2011. We were seventeen years old. A group of us came here after a Friday night football game. There were a handful of neighborhoods in our village, perhaps five important ones, but the one we were in that night was the best – the one where sophistication meets elegance meets English-inspired architecture. There was a twenty-seven Jack Nicklaus golf course in front of David’s home. Inside the house was a grand reception room, medium sized ballroom, martini parlor, two dueling libraries, a small art gallery, and a wine cellar. Throughout the home, opulence of the tenth degree: marble floors and 18’ high ceilings and two servants. Just beyond where I was sitting, there was a heated pool, veranda, and small tennis court. Jews get everything. This whole village was Jews, new money snobs, and plastic surgery. But I never minded.

 You repeated the question, “Hellooooo, Naomi, right?” I looked up at you with red, glossy eyes. I was stoned, and David’s two servants had been serving Cabernet since we got there. I smirked, raised my head at you, and said, “Who’s asking?” You extended your hand and introduced yourself with the charismatic, all consuming smile that I would one day become familiar. I did not return the warm reception; I had a magical sadness about me that year that began with the death of my rapist and ended with my name being the topic of more than one scandal. I hardly remember much of the year at all, but I remember meeting you there that night. In That Place.

 You acted like you were meeting a celebrity. You mentioned a few of the rumors that spread around DeSales about me, most of which were incredibly true, and I told you that night, “It doesn’t matter what people say about you unless you believe it.” You told me that you had just transferred to the village school and that you were incredibly lucky: You lived in a modest home on the edge of town that had not been seized by Wexner for further construction of his brick empire. I was completely awestricken by you. You were so bold, so empowered to speak truth, so nonchalant in the way you spoke, and had this magnetic flowerchild persona. If it hadn’t been for you that night, I would have drank alone at the firepit of David’s home. It was true that I was still frequently invited to events that year and next, but I was never really one of these people and I always remained on the outskirts of parties and social gatherings. When the night ended, I told you not to talk to me again. You needed a fighting chance to assimilate in this odd, wealthy village school that was more reminiscent of an episode of Gossip Girl than a place in Ohio. You were never going to get that if you associated with me.

                                                       ~

We reconnected in February 2014. It was a historically brutal winter in Ohio, frequently closing down the university, and I was frailer at 106 lbs, more contemplative, and battling an autoimmune disorder that was so severe that I was sure it would have killed me. Looking back on it now, there is no doubt in my mind that your antithesis to everything that I was saved me. From the moment we reconnected, there was rarely a moment that we were apart. Every morning, you held back my hair as I spent the morning vomiting into a dormitory toilet. When I would try to crawl back into bed, you would force me into a warm bath, lay out clothes for me, and often blow-dry my hair when I was too weak to do so myself. Without fail, and for the entire semester, you would walk me to the cafeteria, watch me eat breakfast, and we would undoubtedly end up back on the bathroom floor for several more hours. But you’d still make sure that I attended my afternoon classes, even if that meant sitting on the business halls’ floors in effort to see that I didn’t leave. You were the only person who knew how bad my health had gotten that year.

 Because to everyone else, I was confident and had accomplished in my studies precisely what I had in my social circle of business students—complete mastery, complete command. I was fastidious, wearing almost exclusively Brooks Brothers button downs that tucked into dark colored slacks or designer jeans, and carried myself with an air of superiority that few ever questioned. In school and in the finance society, I was the best. I maintained a portfolio of investments that had achieved a 56% return that year, and when I shared my opinion on what our club should be investing in, I was rarely wrong. It awed some, and frustrated many male egos that couldn’t understand it. I was an excellent financial analyst to be, interviewing at several bulge bracket investment banks in New York and Chicago that year. And when anyone questioned me or alluded that I couldn’t possibly being doing as well as I was, I would raise my prominent nose nostrils at them and say nothing at all.

 I didn’t dress, walk, talk, or play like other college students did. I was incredibly aloof and malicious, whereas you were a never-ending ray of sunshine. You were bohemian and buoyant and wise all wrapped into a blonde package of beauty. My persona was much more overpowering and chilling. Yet, you liked me, and you held my secret, and no one ever questioned why you—the special education major—were in the business hall at 2 pm, 4 pm, 8 pm, and 10 pm everyday. In fact, most of my companions that year really preferred you to me and it was often a relief to have you there as a shield.

 In the summer of 2015, we moved into an off campus apartment in what would be considered the Chinatown of Columbus, Ohio. With my full-time job in financial services and lucrative investments from the prior year, I had tried to convince you to live downtown in a high-rise apartment, but you wouldn’t have it. You always wanted to pay your own way, and Chinatown was what you could afford. So we lived there with Ethan Allen furniture, your bohemian nonsensical decorations, including a plethora of crystals, bags of cannabis, and music posters. By the end of the summer, I was showing signs of recovery, though the months of medical bills had put me in a tougher spot financially than before. I was still able to casually pay our rent and fixed expenses, afford food, and pay my own tuition without much concern. Though it was in September that everything changed.

 You worked at a Bob Evan’s right behind the university that summer to save for college, but you had racked up $17,000 on a credit card that was accruing monthly interest. You wanted to save, but you were forced to pay that down and there was never an expense that you met that you didn’t like. It has always been who you are: you spend too much on others, too much on holiday decorations, too much on latest clothing styles, too much online, too much on fast food, just too much. So even though you worked your sixty hours a week until that political bill made everyone like you work thirty-seven and a half hours and not a moment more, you couldn’t make tuition. And I couldn’t help you.

 I remember one night we were in Cincinnati for a Cal Scruby concert when the idea came to me. I said, “There are a lot of girls in Pi Phi that I know that use this escort site to make fast cash, and you are much prettier and have a much better personality.” So while we waited for the concert to begin, we turned the Marriott hotel room into a glamorous studio for photos, and wrote you a descriptive, alluring profile on that website. Looking back on this now, I am not sure what I was thinking except that it seemed like a perfectly sensible thing to do, and everyone else was doing it. An older, established Cleveland man solicited you within the hour. You planned to meet him later that week. A thousand dollars just like that.

 But that fateful morning, you confessed that you couldn’t do it. And I knew then that if you didn’t return to school that semester, you might never. And I thought about your credit card debt, your newly broken down car, and your ambitions slipping away from you. And I couldn’t let you, the brilliant bohemian with so much to offer to the world, possibly lose it all that easily. So I knew what this all meant for me, but the way I saw it, and still see it, is that it was the least I could do for the person who likely saved my life. So I became you: I went to a hair salon that day and dyed my harsh, almost black hair, to bleach blonde; I bought extensions; I bought baby blue eye contacts; I used makeup to manipulate a small mole on my cheek; I contoured my face, used drugstore eyelashes, and it was convincing enough. That night, I wore a pink kimono with ripped jeans and pale high heels. I wasn’t nearly as tall as you, but I hoped our Cleveland man wouldn’t notice. And he didn’t. And that was that.

 These visits continued twelve times, and we never spoke about them. It was our next big secret, and one I never planned to mention them to a soul. Your fall tuition was paid and I was relatively healthy, and we had our oasis in Chinatown. Everything was finally alright, it seemed, until December.

 There was only one problem: That Piece of Shit Heroin Addict. Back in the summer before the school year began, you had met Josiah. Perhaps it was my jealously of losing part of you, but I never took to him. You could have had any of my friends majoring in finance – we both know that they all loved you, and could have given you the life you wanted – but you chose him. I am certain that your biggest flaw has always been loving flawed people and thinking that you could positively influence the outcome of their lives’ through love and belief alone. Josiah was everything that I loathed about a person: he was uncouth to a fault, sported a horribly unkempt appearance with long, blonde, greasy and tangled hair, had terribly patchy facial hair, had lightly yellowed teeth from years of smoking and drug abuse. Best of all, he drove a sports car. His family was from the neighboring county, and in Ohio, if you don’t live in the capital county, you might as well live in the middle of a fucking farm wasteland infested with heroin, blue-collar jobs, and Mountain Dew.

 I tolerated this boy in the summer because you loved him. But it worried me when you would come home at 3 a.m. with him and his cronies, and they would all end up sprawled out on the floor of our apartment. These people were not good enough for you, and they brought you down with them. I would have done anything to better myself that year—I associated myself with the most elite people our university could offer, all of whom today ended up becoming prominent investment bankers and private equity directors, some traveling internationally, some making over half a million dollars annually – but you always found yourself attracted to the bottom.

 He manipulated you. He told you lies about me, and made you think differently about me. He fed you drugs. He sedated your sunshine and stole your youth. And then in December, he convinced you that I was nothing more than a haughty, arrogant, self-serving person, which perhaps was right to some degree, but never with you, and that you needed to leave. So one night in December, when I was traveling, you stole everything out of our apartment – right down to the kitchen table and bath curtains – and left me to come home to nothing. You never returned my calls or texts, and it was more than a year before I ever got an explanation.

You went from my fascination to my friend to my caregiver to my roommate and best friend to my deepest regret.

 In fact, for the next six years, you tried to contact me sporadically, pleading for forgiveness, but there was nothing that I could offer you. At times, you would comment on my life events that you could see through social media. You told me how happy I looked in my wedding photos, but little did you know for those four years that I was getting beaten, evens sometimes being held at gunpoint, literally; you told me how successful I had become from my work, but little did you know that I was facing more than one harassment suit; you would tell me you were happy that my life had become so wonderful, but you had no idea that at the very time you sent that, that I was sitting in a hospital waiting to be radiated for cervix cancer. And through all of it, I thought of you frequently, sometimes spitefully, sometimes with more regret than a person can carry, sometimes with fondness.

                                                        ~

But I never returned any of your correspondence until last week. And now, here we are at a Panera in a rundown suburb, and I am staring right at you. The passage of time has not been your friend: you wear bold framed glasses that remind me of Buddy Holly. Pregnancy has turned your beautiful blonde hair into an ashy brown shade and your long, cascading curls have been cut into curly short strands. You have gained perhaps thirty or forty pounds, hidden under a large, flowing hippy blouse – so that has remained, your style.

 When I approach you, you throw your arms around me for what feels like an eternity. I had planned to dig into you; I had wanted you to feel the internal war that has been raging inside of me since your departure. But I can’t do it. As you pull away from our embrace, you try to speak but your lower lip trembles. Your eyes are red and strained and you weep as you grab for my hand. People around us begin to stare, but my sole focus is on you. I suppose it always has been. You begin a long soliloquy of apology, that at times is so incoherent and sincere, I can only help but think that this has eaten away at you for as long as it has me. So I don’t chide you for abandoning me, I simply smile and say, “I Forgive You.”

 As we catch up, it seems our friendship is a marker in time for you much like it is for me. There was before you, you, and after you. Your “after you” is dark – things have been much harder for you for the past six years than they have for me. One unplanned pregnancy, another planned pregnancy, multiple lost jobs, government assistance, an alcoholic partner, and death threats galore. It is hard to imagine the young bohemian that I once knew has achieved such a disappointing life. You never finished college and you work as a PSA in a hospital. You mentioned repeatedly how tired you are, and I see you: it’s a spiritual exhaustion that knows no bounds. It is the type of exhaustion that one can only feel when they have done nothing that they set out to do in life. I am familiar.

 I often take your hand in mine. We talk until the Panera closes, and then promise to meet again soon.

[a-winchester-fairytale]

What Would You Wish For?

Summary:  A stranger gives the gift of one wish, but all magic comes with a price.

Word Count: 4798       

Warnings:  little angst maybe, some fluff - none really

A/N:  This was written for @covered-byroses​ Myths and Magic Challenge.  My prompt was Three Wishes. Thank you for a really fun idea.  It ended up being lighter than I first imagined, but I hope you like it. 

Thank you for reading and please feel free to let me know what you think :)  

“We are almost to the intersection with I95.”  You said from the back seat as the impala continued down the dirt road.  “After that, it looks like about 7 hours to the bunker.”

You heard Dean groan and you knew he was looking forward to being back in the bunker after several days in the dollar motel.   It seemed like since the brothers had found the bunker, those motels just weren’t as comfortable as they used to be.

“What’s that up there?” Sam muttered.  As the car got closer you could see that it was an older model pickup sitting on the side of the road with the hood up.  An man who appeared to be in his 70s was anxiously standing next to it with his hands on his sides.

“Maybe we should stop and help him, or give him a ride to town.”  You said sympathetically.

“Come on, Y/N.  We still have so far to go before we make it home.”  Dean argued.

“Dean!  He’s an old man.  We can’t just leave him out here.”  You argued. “Sam?”  You added, glancing to his younger brother for help.

“It may not take that long.” He added, hopefully.  Dean grumbled the word fine and slowed down the impala.

You watched as Dean took a look at the man’s truck.  You had always enjoyed watching him work on cars.  The concentration and care he showed made you adore him more than you secretly already did.  With a few adjustments, he was able to fix the truck without much time lost.

“There you go.  Should be good now, but I’d have somebody take a look once you get where you are going.  You may need to replace that part altogether.’  Dean said to him, shaking his hand when he offered it.

“You have done me a kind service today.  Allow me to repay you.”  The stranger said, holding out a large gold coin to you.  

“You don’t have to pay us anything.  It was nothing.”  You told him, but he held it out further.

“This is not a monetary payment.”  He started to explain.  “It is a wish coin.  I am offering a single wish to each of you.”

“A wish coin?”  Sam asked, unsure if he heard him correctly. The stranger nodded.

“Please take it.”  He begged, offering it to Sam and Dean when you didn’t move.  “Just hold it tightly and say your wish and it will come.  There are very few exceptions.”

“You’re telling me that if I hold this coin in my hand and say I wish, then whatever follows will just magically appear?”  Dean asked, taking the coin from him and turning it suspiciously over in his hand.

“Yes, that is exactly what I’m saying.  But be careful what you wish for Dean.  It may not turn out exactly the way you think, and you will have to deal with the consequences of that wish.”  The old man told him, raising a finger for emphasis.

“I think the cheese has slid a little far off your cracker man.”

“Dean!!”  Sam shouted.

“What?  This is ridiculous, even for us.”  He said, turning to face Sam impatiently.

“You believe in all manner of supernatural beings, but you refuse to believe that I could grant you a small token of appreciation?”  He challenged.  

“Yes.”  Dean insisted.  You glanced between them, the old man grinning slightly at his certainty.

“May I ask why?”

“Because….I’ve spent my whole life scraping by, fighting for everything we had – and everything we didn’t. Now - you expect me to believe that it is as simple as saying….”

“Dean…don’t!”  Sam shouted, but it was too late.

“I wish for 10 million dollars.”  The words flew past Dean’s lips before either of you could stop him.

“Well,” the stranger began, a sly grin on his face.  “If you won’t take my word for it, just open the trunk of your car.”

At the mention of his precious baby, Dean’s eyes narrowed and he glared at him.  Sam glanced to you, but you only shrugged and watched as he carefully made his way to the impala.  When he popped open the truck, he found several bags laying on top of the false bottom.  He unzipped the first one and saw that it was full of money.

Dean finally broke his stare when he heard you gasp.  His face lit up and the stranger was momentarily forgotten as the three of you opened the remaining bags to find more strapped cash.  Although you didn’t count it, there was no reason to believe it was anything other than 10 million dollars.

“How did you…?”  You began, but stopped when you turned around to an empty street.

“Where did he go?” Sam asked, but there was no trace of him ever being there.  Dean glanced down at the coin still sitting in the palm of his hand and then back up at the two of you.

“We’re rich.  We really are rich!”  He exclaimed, laughing in disbelief.

“Dean, where did this even come from?  I mean, we can’t just take this money like that.  I’m telling you, something terrible is going to come out of all this wish nonsense.”

“Oh yes, we can.  Is it selfish? maybe.  Will it come back to bite me tomorrow?  Probably.  But just for one night, I want to know what it’s like.”

“What what’s like?”  You couldn’t help but ask.  Dean had never really struck you as someone fixated on money.

“To not have to worry about whether or not the credit card will work, or if we will have enough for dinner and a motel room, or if the guys I’m playing pool against are too stupid to realize we are scamming them for gas money, or whether I’m going to get caught stealing peanut butter and sent back to a boys home.”  He answered you.

“I guess I never really thought about it like that.”  Sam said, looking down.

“That was the point, Sammy. You weren’t supposed to worry about stuff like that.”  Dean said, his voice softer.  “I don’t regret any of it.  I did what I had to, and I’d do it again.”  He added, patting Sam’s face gently with his hand to reassure him.

“Okay.”  You reluctantly agreed.  You hadn’t been with them when they were children, but you had heard stories. You knew enough to be able to picture John leaving them alone for days to fend for themselves.  

“Look, if I had known it wasn’t a crock, I would have wished for something different - Making the monsters of the world go away or world peace or something meaningful.”  Dean said.  “But I can’t change that.”

“It’s not what you wished for that worries me.”  You admitted. “It’s more about the ‘consequences’ he mentioned.”  

“I know.”  Dean said, flipping the coin over a couple of times and then handing it to Sam.  “Here, take this thing.  Let’s just get going.  We can figure all of this out later.”

Dean paused when he finally got the interstate until you both raised an eyebrow at him.  “What’s wrong?”  You asked, worried.

“What if we stopped in that big city for tonight?”  He asked, turning in the seat so he could face you both.

“I thought you were in a hurry to get back to the bunker.”  Sam told him. Dean shrugged.

“I was, but come on man. We could use a vacation.  When was the last time we did anything that wasn’t about hunting and was just fun?”

“It has been a while.” Sam admitted.

“Okay, let’s do it.” You encouraged.

“That’s my girl.” Dean exclaimed, making your heart skip a beat as he put his arm around your shoulders and hugged you against him. Sam just laughed.

Dean drove into the city and the three of you spent the evening doing whatever you all felt like doing. At the end of the evening, Dean spotted a high class hotel and you could almost see the light bulb flash in his eyes.

“No way are we staying in another ratty motel tonight.”  He said, pulling into the driveway.

Dean pulled a handful of cash from the bags, setting on the counter in defiance when the front desk clerk pompously told him the price of the penthouse suite he requested.  It was hard not to laugh when the clerk almost choked on his own words while Dean causally asked, “Does that about cover it?”

After that, it was all “yes sir, let me help you with your things sir”.  Although you could tell that Sam felt awkward about all of the extra attention, he kept quiet and just let Dean enjoy it.

It had three bedrooms, two oversized luxury bathrooms, heated floors, waterfall shower, swimming pool, game room, private bar, floor to ceiling windows with the most beautiful view of the city below.  There were marble floors, private elevator, two living areas.

You spent extra time in the bathroom, knowing that for once it was all your own.  Afterwards, you slipped on the cozy soft bathrobe and slippers, stepping out into the bedroom and jumping up onto the feather bed.  At first it was fun, but after a while it was too quiet and you couldn’t relax enough to feel sleepy.

You wandered around the penthouse suite, looking out at the city and wondering about the people living in the houses below.  You heard a car horn and tires squeal below, grabbing your attention.  You thought you saw a shadow crossing the road below, but when you looked again it had disappeared into the night and traffic had resumed.  You told yourself that you would never get used to being in a large city, thankful no one appeared to have been hurt.   You turned away from the window and could see the light coming from Dean’s bedroom, the door slightly ajar.  

You snickered under your breath to see the fearless hunter chilling on the king size bed in his bathrobe, a large pizza and beer sitting next to him.  

“All that money, and you are still eating pizza and beer.”  You teased.  Dean just shrugged, but you could see the color come to his cheeks briefly.

“24 hour room service.” He replied.  “You want something?  They have everything you could possibly think of.”  He told you, picking up the leather bound menu and holding it out toward you.

“No thanks.”  You replied, stepping into the room and stealing a piece of pizza from the box.  Dean laughed and moved the box so you could climb onto the bed next to him. “Where’s Sam?”  

“Oh, he went to his room. He is determined to find something about that coin.”  Dean replied. “Hey, check this out…”  He exclaimed, pushing a button on the remote to make a huge flat screen TV lower itself from the ceiling.  You couldn’t help but get a kick out of seeing him act like a little kid at Christmas.

He flipped through the channels, raving about how many there were to choose from.  “Wait…”  You told him. “Go back a couple.”

Dean did as you asked, stopping on The Princess Bride, just as they were about to enter the home of Mad Max.

“I love this movie.” You said, laughing at Max and his wife argue over what Wesley had said.

“So do I.”  Dean admitted, setting the remote aside and the two of you watched the rest of the movie, occasionally quoting the lines together.

You were so engrossed in the scenes on the TV, that you didn’t notice that Dean had stopped watching the screen and started watching you until it was almost over. “What?”  You asked, blushing as soon as you caught him.

“You know, you really are beautiful.”  Dean said, watching you intensely.

You looked at him, shocked to hear those words and unable to look away from his gaze.  For a moment, you wondered if it the wish coin could hear wishes inside your head, but then you remembered that you had yet to hold the coin in your hand.  No, this couldn’t be the thoughts you constantly had running through your mind.

Dean leaned forward and kissed you.  The instant his lips touched yours, all of your thoughts went silent.  You could hear the end of the movie and the words written about the greatest kiss of all time as you leaned into his kiss and returned it eagerly.  

“Hey Dean…”  Sam said as he entered Dean’s room and the two of you flew apart like shrapnel.  “Y/N, good, you’re here too.”  He added, not noticing.

“Yeah, Dean was just showing off the big screen tv.”  You lied, glancing over at Dean.  

“Did you find something about the coin?”  Dean asked.

“Not exactly, but I think there is something weird going on not far from here.”  He began.  “Now where did I see that?”  he muttered, flipping through the book he was carrying in his hands.

Dean leaned close to your ear while Sam was searching for the page and whispered, “next time we will have to remember to close and lock the door.”

You simply nodded, biting down on your lip to try and keep calm.  Your body still felt warm where he had touched you and you felt a tingle when he said ‘next time’, excited at the idea that he wanted to do that again.

“Here it is.”  Sam said, flipping the page and laying the book down on the end of the bed so you could both see it.  

“Says there is a myth about a creature that lures small children from their homes.”  You read out loud.  “says she is usually seen along the Interstate 95 corridor during the month of September.”

“Right.  And it’s September, and that is the I95 running right outside.”  Sam pointed out.

“Okay, but that also runs over 1100 miles either way, Sam.  What makes you think that this myth is real and that she is near here?”  Dean asked.

“Because, I just heard on the news that there are 3 kids missing in Rawlee all within the last 24 hours.”  He replied.

“That sounds familiar.” You said, thinking back to the map you had been studying in the car.  “Wait, that’s only about 100 miles further north.”

“Exactly.”

“We’ve certainly looked into cases with less to go on.”  Dean sighed, looking around the room.  “Guess this vacation will have to wait.”

The three of you packed up and headed down the road to start in Rawlee.  By the time you arrived and got settled, it was early morning and you split up to interview the families and the police.  Sam was able to determine that you were hunting a Splinterwaif that would have to keep the children alive for several days before killing them and feeding on their spirits.  That meant that the three of you had almost a week to find them.

Although it was good news that no more kids went missing, it also didn’t give any of you much to go on. It had been a long week, with little sleep, and lots of ideas that didn’t pan out.

“We’ve been at it for days, man.  We officially have less than 2 hours to find those kids and we are still nowhere close to figuring this out.  There has to be something we can do.”  Dean said, slamming the book closed.

“Well there is one thing…” Sam said, reaching in his pocket and pulling out the coin.

“I thought you didn’t want to use any more wishes.”

“I don’t, but I don’t see any other way, and I can’t just let this happen.  Besides, maybe this is only a gift.  I mean, we have had that money for a week and nothing has happened.” He said, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself.

“Let’s do it.”  Dean encouraged.  You thought about for a second and then nodded in agreement.

“I wish we could save those kids before the time is up.”  Sam said, squeezing the coin tightly in the palm of his hand.

Just like it had done the first time, the wish came true immediately.  The three of you were standing in front of the impala outside of a cellar door several hours away.  Dean broke the lock on the doors and pulled one side open so the three of you could climb down to the bottom.

You immediately saw the three kids and breathed a sigh of relief when they began crying for help. Even though the legend said she would keep them for a week to prepare before killing them, you were terrified that you would be too late.  

“Shh…”  You warned the children.  “It’s going to be ok.  We are going to get you out of here and back home.”

You began working on the lock the keep them caged when the door opened again and a woman descended.

“it’s you….”  She hissed when she saw the three of you in the cellar.  “I thought I got rid of you when I left you back at that motel.”

“Motel?”  Sam asked, his brow scrunched.

“Yeah.  Everyone knows to stay clear when you see that car of yours. It startled me so much I froze. Good thing too, I would have been hit by a truck if I had kept walking.  Guess I should thank you for that.”  She added, sounding anything but grateful.

“So you get a few days and this is what you do with it?  Take a bunch of little kids?”  Dean growled. She glared at him.

“Well, a girl’s gotta eat.” She replied, arrogantly.

Dean lunged forward, swinging the angel blade in his hand as he did.  “Damn it, I can’t get a shot.”  Sam mumbled, not wanting to hit Dean accidentally with the way the two of them were dancing around each other.  

“Keep trying.”  You yelled, working the lock on their cage loose. When it finally broke, Sam insisted that you take the kids outside and rushed forward to help Dean fight her.  

You led the children out of the cellar and into the impala, giving them water and snacks from the cooler in the back seat.  Sam and Dean rushed out of the cellar a few moments later and jumped into the impala where you were waiting with the kids.  

The children, although a little shaken, were fine.  You waited with them at the local sheriff’s office until their parents arrived to pick them up and then you returned to the motel room with Sam and Dean.

“We are only a few hours from the bunker.  Let’s just go home.”  Dean was saying when you walked in the door.

“Are you okay?”  You asked immediately, noticing the way he was shielding his eyes from the light and holding his head.

“It’s just a headache. I’ve had worse.”  He answered, but one glance at Sam’s face told you it was more than he was letting on.  

“He got thrown across that cellar and hit the wall pretty hard earlier.”  Sam explained.

“Come on, Sam.  Stop worrying.”  Dean begged.  “I just want to go home to my own bed and if it isn’t gone in the morning I’ll call Cas to come heal me.  Okay?”

“Fine.”  Sam agreed reluctantly.  

Sam drove the impala back to the bunker while Dean stretched out in the back seat, his arm covering his face.  You kept him talking to be sure he stayed awake in case of a concussion.  He was coherent and you could see Sam start to relax, convincing himself that Dean was right about it just being a headache.

When you pulled into the garage, however, Dean was unsteady getting out of the car and before either of you could ask him if he was alright, he collapsed.  Sam took him inside to his room and you immediately called Castiel.  

You watched nervously beside Sam as Cas studied Dean with his angelic powers.  Finally he took his hand away and shook his head, letting out a deep sigh.

“I don’t believe he is suffering from the fight with the Splinterwaif.”  Cas began. “There is no physical damage for me to heal.  This feels more……magical.”

“Magical?”  Sam asked him in disbelief.  “How is that even possible?  We haven’t been anywhere near a witch for months.  Not since we stopped that coven in Washington.”

“I don’t know, Sam.  I just can’t find anything that I can fix in his head.”  Cas admitted.

“Well, if it’s magical, then we call Rowena.  She can fix him.”  You told him, reaching out to squeeze his hand for reassurance.

“I’ll find her.” Cas volunteered, happy to be able to do something and he disappeared.

“Do you think it has anything to do with that coin?”  You couldn’t stop yourself from asking.  Sam shrugged.

“I don’t know.  I never could find anything out about it. Maybe Rowena will know something.” He answered.

It didn’t take long for Cas to return with Rowena.  “Samuel, you could just pick up the phone.  You know I don’t like to be summoned here like this.”  She complained, straightening her dress and pushing her hair back from her face.  

“Well, it was no picnic for me either.”  Cas replied sarcastically before turning to face Sam again.  “I’m going to talk to a few angels in Heaven and see if I can find out anything that might be helpful.”

“Look, I’m sorry but we are desperate.”  Sam began as soon as Cas disappeared.  “Dean collapsed and Cas says it has to be something magic keeping him from waking up.”

“Well, if the angel says it is magical it probably is, but without knowing what happened I don’t know how much help I can be.”  She replied.

“What about this thing? Do you know anything about it?” Sam asked, pulling the coin from his pocket and holding it up where she could see it.  Rowena gasped.

“What is….that’s a leprechaun’s wish coin.  Where did you get that?”  She asked, her voice both wary and curious.

“Well, that explains the disappearing act.”  You mumbled.

“That is dangerous magic you are playing with.  You best be careful.”  Rowena warned.

“It’s a little late for that, but thanks.”  Sam replied, rolling his eyes.  “I just don’t understand why it happened to him.  I’m the one that made the wish.”

“Can you fix Dean – wake him up?”  You pleaded. Rowena started to respond, but stopped herself.  She went to pick up the book of the damned that Sam had laid out for her and started flipping through the pages frantically.

“I can try dearie, but I don’t think so.”  She mumbled.

You pushed away the tears of frustration pooling in your eyes.  In all the years you had known them, in all the fights they had been backed against the wall, and now the man you loved would be beaten by what – your good heart?  It was more than you could take.  You glared at the coin in Sam’s outstretched hand, hating it and yourself for feeling sorry for the man standing on the side of the road that day.

You angrily yanked the coin from Sam’s hand.  “I wish we had never seen that stupid man in the first place.”  You yelled as you reared back and threw the coin across the room in frustration.

The coin hit the wall with a pang and a shock wave shot out from it, the current throwing all of you several feet as it ran through the room.  You rubbed your head as you struggled to stand up.

“Are you okay?”  You asked Sam, who squeezed his eyes shut tightly and groaned as he pulled himself back to his feet.

“I think so.”  He replied.  He glanced to his left and then back to you, concerned.  “Where’s Rowena?”

The two of you scanned the room, but there was no sign of her.  Sam pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed her number as you moved to the corner of the room to see if you could spot the coin.

“Rowena, where are you?” You heard him exclaim when he picked up.

“Why Samuel…good to hear from you too.  I don’t really have time for a chat though.  I’m in the middle of some very intensive, shall we say physical therapy?” She replied and Sam made a disgusted face at the implication.  “Gotta go. Talk to you later.”  She added cheerily before hanging up the phone.

“She acted like she didn’t know anything about today.”  Sam answered. “Do you think…?”  He stuttered, pointing to the wall where the coin had landed.

You were stunned, letting his question sink in.  It would explain why the coin was gone.  Suddenly the two of you locked eyes as the same thought occurred both of you.

“Dean.”  You said simultaneously, turning and racing down the hall to the bedroom.

You burst in the door and saw him sitting against the headboard with the laptop on his legs. You leaped onto the bed, throwing your arms around him and Sam released the breath he had been holding for what felt like hours.

“Dean!  You’re ok!”

“Well, yeah I’m ok. Except that the two of you about gave me a heart attack.  What’s going on?”  He asked, his eyes flickering worriedly between you and his brother.

“My wish backfired, and I didn’t know if we were ever going to be able to wake you up, but then Rowena…” Sam started explaining, but Dean cut him off.

“Rowena?  Your wish?  What the hell are you talking about?”  He asked.  You pulled back from him to look him in the eyes, glancing over your shoulder to Sam who stood frozen in the doorway.

“You don’t remember any of it?”  You asked.

“All I know is that we got home from hunting a vamp nest in Mississippi last night and I spent most of the morning watching this trilogy that Charlie said was ‘a must watch’”  He explained, lovingly mimicking her voice. “I thought you two were just going on a supply run to town since we were out of stuff in the kitchen, but by the look on your face, I think I’m missing a lot.”

You looked at Sam and he shrugged.  He walked into the room and the two of you relayed the things that had happened over the last few days to Dean.  He listened intently, smiling a bit at the idea of a penthouse suite.  

“I wonder why the two of you remember and me and Rowena have no memories of it at all.”  He mused out loud.  

“I don’t know.  I’m just glad it’s over.”  Sam said, standing up and heading out of the room.  You stood up to follow, but Dean reached out and grabbed your wrist to stop you.

“Why do I get the feeling there is something else?”  He asked you. You turned away, trying to hide the blush on your face.  “tell me.” He insisted.

“Nothing.”  You lied, standing up once more and walked to the door.

It stung that he didn’t remember what had happened that night in the suite, but if giving that up was what you had to do to make sure he was safe then you would be grateful that you got to keep that memory.

“Y/N?”  Dean asked.  You paused, turning to see him set the laptop down on the bed next to him and stand up to move toward you until he was standing only inches away.

“What is it?”  You asked, concerned that maybe the three of you had been too hasty to think it was over.

Dean smiled then, reaching up and taking your face gently in his hands, and he leaned down to kiss you. It shocked you, and for a moment you froze.  Finally, you began to relax and kiss him back, your hands running along his sides and up around his back.

“Was that it?”  He whispered when he pulled back.

“Hm-mm”  You nodded, still feeling a little dizzy.  You slowly opened your eyes to find him watching you and you blushed again.  “Did you remember?”

“No”  he smirked.  “I’d been wanting to do that for a while though, and the way you hugged me, and the way you blushed when I asked.  I just took a chance and hoped I was right.”

“It was the first night, in the penthouse.”  You admitted. He leaned down and kissed you again, softer this time.

“Would you want to spend the night refreshing my memory?”  He whispered against your lips.

You smiled, pulling him closer and kissing him deeper.  With one hand, you reached out and pushed his bedroom door closed, locking it in response.

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[angrylizardjacket]

you wrote ‘don’t forget’ on your arm // 2 // charlotte&lola (penny&jupiter)

Summary: The Dirt.

A/N: @misscharlottelee and @local-troubled-writer . warnings for attempted suicide, overdoses, drugs, alcohol, swearing, angst, and everything else in The Dirt movie. Very Long.

Part 2 of 2

----

Lola’s holding Nikki’s hand. Jupiter’s sitting behind them in the theatre, with Seo on one side and Penny on the other, with their siblings, and various band members’ children filling the row beside them; the band themselves, and the cast, sitting in the row in front.

And Lola’s holding Nikki’s hand in her white-knuckled grip, nervous. She doesn’t speak. The lights go dark. Jupiter doesn’t know quite why they do it, but they take Penny and Seo’s hands too.

“The 1980s. The worst fucking decade in human history...”

Jupiter’s never gone out of their way to learn much about their family history; it’s never done them any favours, and they don’t wanna read about how debauched their family was. Nikki, technically their stepdad, was a base player, and that’s all they cared to know. Love of their mom’s life. Whatever.

“That’s Tommy, our drummer. He makes a lot of bad choices.”

It’s with a huff of amused resignation that both Jupiter and Penny make a noise of agreement, trying to detach themselves from watching Colson as Tommy go down on a girl on the big screen in front of them. After hearing them, Lola casts a quick glance over her shoulder, giving an amused smile.

The first thirty seconds gives Jupiter more information than they’d ever wanted to know about their extended band-family, though they knew Mick was their favourite for a reason.

So it comes as a shock to see Nikki’s life laid bare in the first few minutes, so quickly after that. About shitty boyfriends his mom had had, how he’d framed her for abuse, how he’d been put into the system, how he’d met Lola.

“And then there was her, the only person I’d met who could top my psycho mom origin story.” The film crash-cuts through two second clips of a young Lola arguing with her mother, and her mother shoving her into a candle, followed by young Lola screaming in a hospital bed, her in court, and finally her glaring down at a young Nikki in a group home. She kicks him hard in the shin while he’s asleep on a sofa, contrasting the voice over. “The only person in the world who seemed to give half a shit about me.”

And Jupiter finds theirself with a strange, hollow feeling in their chest; five minutes and they know more about their stepdad than they’d ever bothered to learn in the before.

“Dude! Fuck yeah! Finally my turn!” Tommy’s voice rings out, and the scene shifts.

Jupiter knows Tommy’s story almost too well, but Penny’s grip on Jupiter’s hand turns suddenly painful.

“If I knew you were gonna make me late, I wouldn’t have invited you at all!” Tommy groans as he steps into the kitchen, and the camera whip-pans around to show Charlotte, all dressed up, looking as ready to go out as Tommy, contrasting the rest of the family.

“I’m never going to say no to your mom’s cooking,” Charlotte tells him with half a bread roll in her mouth, before smiling sweetly at Tommy’s mother, thanking her.

“Just keep him out of trouble,” his mother tells her with an amused smile, and Charlotte stands, taking another bread roll and heading to Tommy.

“She can try.” Tommy snorts, clapping her on the back, “come on, I don’t wanna miss them!”

Charlotte, as portrayed by Josie, is bright and cheerful, sarcastic and more earnest than the rest of the band put together, and Penny’s hand in Jupiter’s is trembling as Tommy’s voiceover explains that Charlotte’s his cousin, and the only person in the family who ‘wasn’t a square’.

Nikki and Lola meet Charlotte and Tommy that night in the diner, and Lola’s bleeding, same as Tommy, and Charlotte asks if she’s dead. 

“Charlie’s the only person I’ve known who could talk Lola out of a bad idea,” Tommy’s voice over explains, just as Lola, in the diner, grimaces and spits a mouthful of blood.

“Fuck you,” Lola glowers at Charlotte.

“And Lola’s one of the few who could lead her into one.” Tommy adds candidly in hindsight.

But then Tommy’s twirling his drumsticks, and Lola goes from looking murderous to intrigued; she and Nikki share an impressed look, and the scene cuts to the one of Mick’s introduction.

Surprisingly enough, Jupiter wasn’t shocked by any of Mick’s story, they’d spent a lot of time with him in their early 20s, he’d taught them guitar.

But then there’s Vince’s introduction, his first jam session with the band, and the naming of the band. In the background, there’s Lola, always there, always unexplained, just around, just like Charlotte, the two chatting, forming a fast friendship in the background.

And then the first gig rolls around, the scene starting with Lola kicking in the greenroom door.

“We had only three things that gave us an edge that night;” the voice over of Nikki informed the audience, “our look, our killer sound, and the best roadie on The Strip.”

“House is looking pretty full,” Lola told them, making a beeline for the bottle of JD sitting next to Nikki, who was applying his makeup. Tommy pauses his drumstick twirling to fist pump. “Nice pants,” she tells Vince, who was stretching in a pair of white leather pants, grinning.

“They cost my girlfriend like eight hundred bucks.”

At the end of the scene, she gives Vince a kiss, for luck, followed by a wink, and Jupiter, who knew this part of their mother’s story, still feels a sense of discomfort. This wasn’t just gossip anymore; their mother’s history is public knowledge, now more than it’s ever been.

The fight that ensues during the band’s first gig shows Lola get punched in the face by someone in the crowd, and later, once everyone’s been tended to, Charlotte and Lola can be seen by the bar at the back of the crowd, and Charlotte’s checking if Lola’s nose is broken, both women laughing at the situation. It’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment, but neither Jupiter nor Penny does, and later letting out a gentle, fond ‘oh’.

A montage follows, of the band getting their act together, writing music, playing at pubs, their names on the marquee, making a backdrop, always with Lola and Charlotte somewhere in the background.

But then Vince’s girlfriend catches him with Lola, and all she does is laugh, while Vince chases after his girlfriend, butt naked. Charlotte takes the photos of the band with the giant hot dog, and she and Lola help dye Tommy’s hair, and generally indulge in the band’s bastard antics.

It’s clear from their body language that the women are close by the time Zutaut is introduced and the band is playing the Troubadour. Charlotte’s given his business card while Lola pack’s up the band’s gear after a gig, while the rest of the band debauch themselves in the crowd.

A record deal comes, then the introduction of Doc McGee, though Mick pauses the film for a moment after Doc is introduced by punching out an unruly guest at a house party.

“This didn’t actually happen. Doc never came to this filthy shithole. That guy? That happened, but it wasn’t Doc.” The scene rewinds to show Lola knocking out the guy, throwing him out of the party. “When she wasn’t fucking or sucking the rest of the band, she did a pretty good job as our security detail, and now, we had the cash to pay her for her,” he cleared his throat pointedly, “services.”

The scene shifts, however, to show Doc McGee and Doug Thaler outside a door labeled ‘STAGE STAFF ONLY’.

“Doc we met at the Santa Monica Civic Center after a show...”

But when we come back, it’s to the version of the story where Doc is the hero in the apartment party, being introduced by Zutaut.

Charlotte is there for their first stadium show, giving them all a pep talk while Lola's nowhere to be found. Tommy makes a point of hugging her tight enough to lift her off the ground.

“You keep me sane, Charlie.”

“Get off me you grub; wash the vomit out of your fuckin’ mouth!” Charlotte exclaims in protest.

Which is a sharp contrast to the reveal a few moments later, after following Zutaut asking after his girlfriend, to reveal Vince and Lola tag teaming said girlfriend. When they emerge, the rest of the band admonishes the pair of them, but Lola just rolls her eyes. When she steps away, Charlotte punches her in the shoulder and Lola blows a kiss to her.

“I found out many years later, and it hurt. Really bad.” Zutaut tells the audience in an aside, “bottom line is, don’t ever leave your girlfriend alone with Motley Crue, ever! Because they will fuck her.”

Another montage, of band rising in fame, posing for magazines, of meeting a then-relatively unknown Guns ‘n’ Roses, including shots heavily implying Charlotte’s burgeoning romance with Duff McKagan, and Lola’s equal parts mocking and supportive.

“How many chicks have you fucked so far?” Nikki asks, reclining, fully clothed, by the pool, enjoying a day off during their tour with Ozzy Osbourne.

“Three,” Vince tells him, eyes still glued to the ass of the girl who had just passed them all.

“No, not today, on the tour,” Nikki enthuses, and Vince’s expression lights up.

“Oh man,” he laughed in a dazed, high sort of way, “I lost count after that gangbang in Salt Lake City.” He chuckled, and by Tommy, Charlotte makes a noise of disgust, “prude.” Vince rolls his eyes at her where she’s sitting at the back of a chair with Lola on the end.

“She’s just mad ‘cos she left her own piece of ass in LA,” Lola snorted, and Charlotte shoves her from the chair.

“Did you ever stop to think that the slobs who fuck you guys probably fuck every other band who comes through town?” Mick cuts in with his characteristic monotone.

Charlotte sticks her tongue pointedly out at Lola, still sitting on the ground.

“I’m a one-band slob!” Lola turns her nose in the air as the rest of the band laughs.

“We’re like pussy brothers with the whole scene!” Tommy exclaims.

Ozzy Osbourne imparts his words of wisdom, snorts ants, and it’s followed by a montage of the band absolutely raising hell, setting fires, smashing up hotel rooms and throwing entire hotel rooms worth of furniture out of windows. There’s cocaine and nudity in abundance, intercut with a remake of the Looks That Kill music video, which featured both Lola and Charlotte.

Then, with the song rising in intensity, it cuts from Vince meeting Sharise, to Charlotte catching Duff cheating on her, and smash-cuts to Charlotte wielding a baseball bat.

“Sucks to suck!” She yells from where she’s standing on top of his car, and smashes his window.

“Fore!” Lola yells, delighting in the mayhem, and takes out his side mirror with a golf club.

And then they’re introducing Razzle; Penny, beside Jupiter, goes still.

His introduction is tongue in cheek and fond as he receives a blowjob under a table when he first meets the Crue.

“I fucking -” the shot cuts mid sentence and his eyes follow a brunette who passes in front of the camera, “ - love America.” And the camera pans out to reveal it’s Charlotte, with freshly died hair and a bloodthirsty expression. He stands, away from his band on the sofa in Vince’s house in the middle of a party.

He follows her to the bar, which Lola’s behind, eating cocktail onions and talking with Charlotte, who’s still mad about Duff.

“Hello, Miss Lee,” he says with a hint of nervousness. Lola watches the interaction with wide, amused eyes, and Charlotte turns, about ready to kill, but she sees Razzle’s earnest smile and unique look, and lets herself relax a little; he’s not Motley Crue or Guns ‘n’ Roses coming to bug her, but she knows him, if only because of Tommy.

“You’re always this proper, Hanoi boy?”

“The rock and roll scene in the eighties has never been known for being a breeding ground for soulmates as much as it had been for various venereal diseases,” Tommy’s voice over cuts in, “but fuck if Charlotte and Razzle weren’t the exception.”

There’s tabloids upon tabloids telling the audience about the hottest new couple, about Hanoi Rocks drummer and Motley Crue’s... well, they always call her something different, never anything nice. 

“Every day blurred into the next back then,” Nikki told the audience over the visuals of a montage of various concerts, of Lola walking in on Charlotte and Razzle getting busy in a dressing room, of drinking and debauched parties in mansions, of Tommy meeting Roxie, “and yeah, maybe we started to loose ourselves, but fuck it, we’d never been happier.”

“Move in with me,” Vince tells Sharise. And the film smash cuts to -

“Marry me,” Roxie tells Tommy, and again, a smash cut -

“I’m fucking pregnant.” Charlotte whispers to herself in a dirty bathroom stall.

“Well,” Nikki’s voice over mused, before it cut to a shot of Lola and Nikki furiously tearing at each other’s clothes in the back of a tour bus, “we’d never been happier.”

After that, they’re on tour; Tommy’s parents meet Roxie, and subsequently Roxie calls Tommy’s mother a cunt since she’d said ‘Roxie’s like Lola; a groupie’. 

The next scene has a tonal shift, a moment of levity as it’s the band meeting Charlotte’s baby, and in the theatre, all grown up, that baby finds herself with tears in her eyes. The band in the film loves her, as does Hanoi Rocks, who also get to meet her, and Charlotte and Razzle look so fucking proud.

They play God Bless The Children Of The Beast over a montage of baby Penelope growing up, of Charlotte finding herself at home while her various families - blood and not - had to go away on tour. She and Razzle call on the phone but there’s a party happening at his end, and she tries to call Tommy but he doesn’t pick up.

Razzle falls asleep in the studio, looking at a photo of Charlotte and Penny from his wallet, clearly still thinking about them, but he’s in Finland, writing music, and Charlotte just can’t leave the life she’s created. He wants to go back to her but he’s under contract. 

Charlotte goes to visit Lola and Nikki, only to find their house trashed from a house party that she clearly hadn’t been invited to. Lola’s asleep on the lawn. Charlotte leaves without waking her.

When Charlotte calls Razzle again, his bandmate, Sami Yaffa picks up, and Charlotte starts crying, starts venting. Sami talks to Razzle about how he should see Charlotte more often, and Razzle, sleep deprived and missing Charlotte like a physical ache, asks why he cares so much.

Razzle flies to see Charlotte and they argue, Charlotte crying, Razzle desperate, both under pressure and acting irrational after not having seen each other for far too long. Penny, all of two years old, hovers in the doorway, watching as Charlotte pulls the engagement ring from her finger and tells Razzle she needs some space if he’s really going to accuse her of things after one phonecall with his bandmate.

“Have you heard from Charlotte?” Tommy’s speaking to Lola over the phone, and when she tells him she hasn’t, asks why, he hesitates. The audience doesn’t hear the rest of what he says, but Lola’s reaction says it all.

“In the years that have passed since this moment, I have become a much different woman, have learned to let go of my anger, have made peace with my past,” Lola’s first and only voice over segment is delivered with a soft, sad tone, “but I don’t think I’ll ever forgive the universe for taking Charlotte from us.”

“What did you do? What did you fucking do?!” Lola’s bawling as she confronts Razzle, who seems clueless, bewildered. Lola punches him in the face. “I know she left because you fought; what the fuck did you say to her to make her leave?” Lola shoves him, and he stumbles back, apologises even though he doesn’t quite know what he’s apologizing for. Lola grabs him by his collar, hollering, “she’s gone! They can’t fucking find her, and now she’s fucking gone!” 

It hits him, the expression on his face changing to devastation, and Lola dissolves into tears, the fight leaving her as she cries against his shoulder.

“Charlotte?” His voice breaks, tears tracking down his cheeks, expression blank and shocked.

“It was never his fault.” Lola’s voice over murmurs.

Lola’s high at Charlotte’s funeral, clinging to Tommy and swaying, and Razzle’s holding baby Penny, who’s asking after Charlotte.

Penny’s full-on crying in the theatre, her face against Jupiter’s shoulder, who’s shocked and shaking beside her. Seo squeezes their hand, and then extracts his hand from theirs to pet Penny’s head. 

Charlotte’s off her fucking face in the next scene, the party at Vince’s house, almost catatonic against Nikki as he snorts another line of coke. Tommy sees Heather Locklear and somehow she’s the most beautiful, most stable girl at the party, and she’s mean to him, and doesn’t say sorry for his loss, and he might be in love. 

Razzle, who’s melancholy drunk, even though it’s been months since Charlotte’s death, goes with Vince to get more booze, even though they’re both drunk, and it all happens so fast, the car crash, making Penny an orphan all within five minutes of screen time. 

“You can’t take her! You can’t fucking take her from me!” Tommy’s drunk and hollering at the older couple who’s picking up Penny; Razzle’s parents.

“Get your shit together, Thomas; if she stays with you people, what happened to- to Nicholas will happen to her, I know it will,” Razzle’s mother says with tears in her eyes, “we can’t let that happen.”

“She’s my niece! She’s Charlotte’s kid! She’s all I have left of her!”

They show Vince’s trial, and Penny’s baby photos from her time back in Finland, while Nikki narrated how he and Lola hadn’t even visited Vince in prison, as they’d discovered the wonders of heroin. Together, the drug had made their love invincible, as long as they never touched the outside world. But they bring Tommy in, and Mick’s tired of them all, and by the time Vince gets out of prison, newly sober, their lives had gone to shit. 

Doc tries to fire Lola, but she laughs hazily and tells him he doesn’t have the authority, so Vince tries to fire her because she’s on heroin, and Lola takes a swing at him, but she misses and topples to the ground.

He calls her a mess and he’s right.

Lola and Nikki get better at acting like they’re not out of it, and Tommy gets his shit together with Heather, and by the time they’re working on their stage show for the Theatre of Pain tour, they’re in some sort of haphazard order. There’s something sad in Lola’s eyes when she tells Tommy that he and Heather are cute together, but they cut away to Vince and Skylar before it can linger too long.

Tommy mentions how he misses Penny when he sees Skylar, how she should be with him, with family, how he’s finally gotten his shit together. 

But then they’re on tour, as narrated by Tommy over Girls, Girls, Girls, his debauched days away from Heather, despite their engagement. He mentions fucking Lola as:

“Two am, renew my mile high club membership by falling back into bad habits... and again at three am, and again at five in the bathroom of the strip club... I’m so fucking weak.”

Nikki sees his mother again after years, and even Lola can’t even bring him out of how hard he’s spiraling this time, self isolating, overdosing after Tommy’s wedding to Heather. Lola’s not at the wedding, but Penny is; she’s a flower girl and Tommy looks ecstatic. 

Instead, we see Nikki flatline in the back of the ambulance, we see Vince watch the news reporting on his apparent death, and cut to a shot of Lola finishing a bottle of JD and letting herself fall into the pool on her and Nikki’s property.

Cutting back, Vince tells his daughter that he loves her, and he holds her tight, before a realization comes over him, and he tells her gently to go back to sleep.

The paramedics revive Nikki with enthusiasm, and then we see Vince running barefoot across Lola and Nikki’s lawn, before seeing her illuminated and floating in the pool. He dives in after her, and pulls her out, performs CPR while crying, telling her that he can’t lose her too. Spluttering to life, Lola, soaking wet and still undeniably drunk, tells him he should have left her in there. The scene fades to black as Vince cradles her to his chest.

Nikki tells the audience that he’s hit rock bottom, that he’d start to make a change to his life... right after he goes back to heroin again.

The band, and Lola, go to rehab, and little by little things start to get better. More than anything, they’re trying, Nikki’s trying to enjoy feelings again, but Lola’s uncomfortable, and everyone’s on each other’s nerves; without the drugs and alcohol, it seems like the music isn’t sounding right. 

“I forget what happened,” Mick tells the audience in an aside, “it’s all a blur. But with Dr Feelgood we got our first number one album,” and the visuals change to that of their various concerts over The Same Ol’ Situation, “and I think we played something like a billion shows to a billion people in a billion cities all over the world, and it was our first tour without Lola, as she was off being having another kid -”

“First kid, you senile fuck,” Lola’s voice over interrupts with annoyance.

Tommy tries to call Heather, but she doesn’t pick up. Vince tries to call Sharise but she won’t let him talk to his daughter. They’re all getting burnt out, it’s clear to see.

“Guys, I really fucked up,” Tommy sits down with the band at an after party, looking conflicted, “Heather’s been all weird and distant, and...” he hesitated, “I’m pretty sure Lola’s kid’s mine.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Nikki snaps, leaning forward, teeth bared, “no fucking wonder Heather’s been weird, Lola’s only -”

“Ten weeks along, I know -” and Vince looks almost physically ill.

“How the fuck do you know the kid’s yours?”

“Because,” Tommy hesitated, “it was right before Nikki OD’ed.”

“Right before your fucking wedding,” Mick spat, and Tommy at least had the decency to look guilty. Nikki looks genuinely hurt.

“Fuck you, man, you’ve already got the wife and fucking kid -” Nikki growled.

“Look, I’m not fucking proud of myself!”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Vince ends the argument by announcing bitterly that he needs a fucking drink, that he’s sick of not having any fucking fun, and the whole band deteriorates from there.

They get back to LA; Sharise has left Vince, Heather leaves Tommy, Nikki comes home to a heavily pregnant Lola, but looks at her like he can’t believe she’d betray him.

“What if we gave this a shot,” Tommy asks Lola when she comes to him in tears, and she sniffles, blinks in confusion, “us, me and you and Penny, and baby Lee, what if we gave it a real shot?”

When Jupiter is born, it’s just Lola and Tommy in the aftermath, looking happier than they have in a very long while. Looking hopeful.

They call the baby Jupiter, and in the theatre, Jupiter themselves is shocked.

“You didn’t... deadname me.” They muttered quietly over their shoulder, and Lola gives a small, sad smile, shaking her head. Of course not.

The hope they feel in the film is shortlived, as Nikki and Tommy get into a fight, over Vince, but the tension is more than just his absence. Vince leaves the band, and the world feels fractured. They get a new lead singer, but it doesn’t feel the same, and when Tommy gets home to see her making dinner with Penny helping out, and Jupiter in a bassinet on the kitchen island, his smile is a little sad, a little forlorn. Lola smiles at him, but something about it isn’t quite right. 

Vince sees the band do an interview without him, and while it’s disheartening, it’s overshadowed by his daughter in hospital. He tries to tell her it’ll be okay, but it’s not working, she’s terrified and teary and young, and it’s breaking Vince’s heart.

When the band’s not together, they’re falling apart.

Skylar is dying, Mick’s in pain, reminiscing about the band’s early years, and Nikki gets the rights back to their music as their record label drops them.

“This is what you wanted,” Zutaut tells him, “are you happy?”

Nikki doesn’t answer.

Tommy asks Lola if she loves him. She answers; of course, but there’s something sad about it.

“And Nikki?”

“I’ve always loved him,” her voice is quiet, and Tommy gives her a sad smile.

“I know, Lols.”

The scene cuts, and Nikki’s sitting alone in his backyard, drinking a beer.

“I had our music back, but Zutaut was right; we were better before. Now I just had to get the band back,” he paused in his voice over, and there was a knock on a window near where he’d been sitting. Looking up suddenly, wildly, the camera reveals Lola, looking both nervous and hopeful, “but first I needed her back. The first person I’d given half a shit about.”

“Lola.” He says in the scene, getting out of his chair, voice disbelieving. Lola nods, steps forward, smiles.

“I’ve missed you.”

Then Vince loses Skylar, his whole world falling apart as Sharise sobs, and Nikki goes to visit his father’s. Frank Ferrana is dead, died on Christmas day, and so he leaves, goes back to where Lola’s waiting. 

He needs the band back, and he goes to Tommy first.

“Hey man,” Tommy opens the door, exhaling a lung full of smoke.

“What I did at your wedding,” Nikki starts, swallowing hard, “I didn’t...” he fumbles through his words while Tommy stares him down, waits for an apology, “and... and with the whole thing with Lola, I -”

“What’s up, Nikki?” Tommy grumbles, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“I was really fucking selfish, and I shit on something that was important to you, both times, and I am really sorry.” He explains, sincerity clear in his words.

“I know you pretty well, Sixx, so I kind of get it,” Tommy sighs, before adding, “and it’s okay.” He pauses, before grinning, “but could you say that last part one more time for me?” He snickers.

“Don’t fucking push it, T-bone.” Nikki rolls his eyes with a grin as Tommy laughs, and invites him inside.

“I’m really sorry about... about Lola.” Nikki adds, a little guilty as he steps inside.

“Yeah,” Tommy puts on a show of being a little disappointed, “I’m pretty sure she’s gonna end up the one that got away.” He muses, and Nikki apologises, again, much to Tommy’s delight, “nah, man, it’s all cool, you fuckers have been in love since you were sixteen; I know she loves me, but it’s never gonna be the same.” He gives Nikki a good-natured shove.

There’s no hard feelings, and Jupiter meets Nikki - Uncle Nikki - with delight. 

Tommy and Nikki find Mick after his surgery, pick him up to go find Vince, and with gentle words they get the blonde back. Nikki’s got a speech, because he’s always got a speech, about how they’re brothers in arms, about how their friendship means more than any fucking band, and when he apologises about what happened to Skylar, Vince breaks down. No-one can blame him.

The last shot starts with Lola, a few months pregnant and holding a clipboard, knocking on a door that says Nikki Sixx, calling his name.

He opens the door, smiles at her, and gives her a kiss before she goes to get the rest of the band, one by one, as Home Sweet Home plays. They walk to the stage, the four of them, grinning, back in action, back at home. They walk onto stage, and Nikki gives a smile to the camera.

In loving memory of Charlotte Lee and Nicholas “Razzle” Dingley.

The credits rolls, and the theater bursts into applause, Jupiter and Penny clinging to each other and bawling. 

“You did good, Penny, you did so fucking good,” Jupiter tells her, before moving back, and turning to see their mother, with tear-stained cheeks, watching the pair with pride in her eyes. Without hesitation, Jupiter leans forward to hug their mother tightly, both sobbing.

“I love you, Jupiter,” Lola murmurs against her shoulder.

“I love you too, mom.”

[melbee]

Electric Love

Chapter 3 

A David Lee Roth Fanfiction

I'd be safe and warm If I was in L.A.  California dreamin' 

On such a winter's day

- california dreamin’ 

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

“Okay.. final checks!” Holly sounded out as she put the last box into the Ford pickup truck, (kindly borrowed from her father).

I huffed as I put my bag into the front seat, as I made my way to the back where Holly was. “I think that’s it Holly.”

She sighed as she finally looked at me. “Holy shit, we’re actually doing this.”

“Pretty sure I’m the one who’s moving?” I said as I laughed, making my way to the front, sitting shotgun.

“It takes two, and we’re basically joined at the hip Rose.” She said laughing, climbing into the front seat, and shutting the door.

“Right forgot how obsessed you are about me.” I said as we started onto the road.

“Yeah well...” Holly began to say, as I looked out the window.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be leaving this place.” I whispered as I watched the car go by. I gazed up at the corner store me and Holly used to ride our bikes to as kids, the large Museum full of tacky antiques, and of course the beautiful desert scenery that accompanied every corner of Arizona.

“Believe me, it’s for the best. From the day I met you in first grade, you were never destined to stay in this dry place.” Holly said as she stayed glued to the road ahead.

I gave her small smile, as she flicked her eyes toward me before focusing back on the road. “That means a lot. I never thought I would get out of here.”

“Rose, if there was a spot in the yearbook for the person who is most likely for success, it was always you.” 

I just sighed as I continued looking out the window. How did she know that? I was always quiet, reserved, and never one to go out much. I felt as if I should be doing more, or being more fun and energetic. I figured I would live in Arizona all my life, settle down, maybe get married and have kids.

I guess life has a funny way of changing things.

“So what are you going to do?” I asked as I whipped my head around to Holly. I’ve known her for a long time, but I never quite knew what she wanted to do as a career. She was a good swimmer and competed, but I wasn’t sure if that’s what she wanted to be all her life.

Holly sighed, “I’m sure I’ll work at the diner a bit longer, at least until I punch that sucker like a balloon anyways...” I laughed as I shook my head.

Holly looked at me and smiled, “Maybe I’ll talk to Ralph at the pool and see if I could pick up a job as a swim coach or something.”

I smiled, “Holly, that sounds wonderful!”

“Yeah maybe I’ll do that for a bit, maybe meet a cute European, move to Spain, oh.. and cheer on my best friend as she earns millions as the best fashion designer in the entire country.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I said as I fidgeted with my fingers.

I put my eyes back out the window, as I heard the familiar click of the radio turn on, and the familiar melodies of California Dreamin’ by the Mamas and the Papas turned on.

I heard the tap of the wheel, I assumed Holly had begun to listen to the music, and it must've been lulling, because I soon began to drift off into a deep sleep, the sense of surroundings filling me, and the curiosity of the future in store for me.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Approximately 12 hours later, two cheeseburgers, and taking turns driving the truck, we made it to the City of angels.

“Wow! It’s just like in the movies, but better!” Holly said as she gazed out of the windows at the looming palm tress, and the big buildings.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful.” I said as I gazed at the people in fancy and cheap cars alike, the big signs filled with ads for strip clubs, tours, and perfume commercials.

“I wonder how many celebrities you’re going to see.” Holly said, as she turned down another street, toward a sign that was directing us to northeast Los Angeles, and eventually into Pasadena.

We had stopped at a local convenience store and grabbed a map, which I now had facing adjacent to a long a piece of paper which I had copied down the street address. I was fixing my eyes now toward the map, chewing my bottom lip in concentration. “Okay so go straight for about 15 miles, then you’re going to take a right, then a left, go straight-”

“Okay, calm down I’m not a mind memorizer.” Holly said, as I saw her tongue peak out of her bottom lip, as she continued on. “I need a smoke soon.”

“Okay, do you want me to get one for you?” I said as I glanced back at the map.

“Nah, my Dad will kill me if he smells smoke in here. Something about it ruining the interior or something..”

“Oh okay..” As I concentrated on the map. This was so confusing, how did anyone get anywhere in this state? Arizona was pretty easy as it was mainly desert. This city had almost every type of business across every corner of land. If you wanted to go to a strip club, McDonald's, or get your drivers license, you were lucky to have all three within walking distance.

“Wow so cool! Look!’ Holly said as she pointed up at a billboard we were passing by, I looked just briefly to see a glimpse of large letters, and bright colors.

VAN HALEN TWO NIGHTS AT THE ROSE BOWL! GET YOUR TICKETS NOW!

“So cool! I wonder if Lewis could hook you up with tickets, I wouldn’t mind staying a couple extra days.” Holly said as she laughed.

I shrugged going back to the map. “Yeah maybe..”

“Oh come on! Don’t you want to see Van Halen! They’re so hot and so rock n’ roll.”

“Yeah, I like a couple of their songs..” I muttered.

Holly gave me a pointed look. “Okay, so you wouldn’t do anything to get backstage and meet them?”

I put my map down, as I gave her a look. “Holly, me and 50 other girls trying to hook up with them.”

“Woah! So you admit you would want to hook up with them.” Holly giggled.

“Uh.. no. I mean.. I would be mixed in with every other girl trying to get their eyes set on them. What makes me stand out from the rest of the other greedy, fame grabbers?” I said as I shook my head.

“Oh I don’t know.. maybe getting pregnant and having to get married by guilt, and collecting millions in cash as a rock star wife?” Holly said, without a stutter.

My eyes bugged. “Holly, you are fucking insane.”

“I know, you love me anyway.” She winked.

“Focus on the road, we’re getting close to Pasadena.”

“alright.. alright..” Holly said as she maintained her eyes on the road.

Almost an hour later we had finally made it to Pasadena.

It was a lot more prosperous then LA. It showcased lot’s of expensive architecture and Spanish styled roofing, and busy landscapes. I could tell it was a town where the rich encompassed much of the population. 

How much does Lewis make? From the couple phone calls I had received from him, I had not gotten the chance to ask about how prosperous his job was.

“Wow, there must be some rich ass kids in this place.” She said as she looked around at the architecture. 

I snorted, “Yeah no kidding. Pretty sure you’re turning right at this intersection.” Holly jerked the wheel into the turn lane, and stopped before giving me a mean look.

“You know you have to give me at least a bit more time to safely move myself, before you give me directions.”

I slapped my hand down on the map, “You were complaining I was going too fast!”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure a turtle could say directions faster then you could.” Holly said as we began turning onto another road.

The buildings began to space out,  as we began to drive pass large mansions, guarded by strong gates and dangly trees, that reminded me of the streets showcased in Hollywood movies. Does that mean they were fake? There was something so oddly picturesque of Pasadena, that made me believe it was something far different then what it appeared to be.

“Wow, I wonder who lives in those places.” Holly said as we peered to the side to ogle at the gorgeous architecture.

Just as we were driving, we all but slammed on our brakes as we saw a 50′s Mercury all but zoom past one of the accompanying large, expansive  gates, along with a chorus of loud hollers and laughs.

I scoffed as I looked over to Holly who sat there in awe. “Wow.”

“Are you okay?” I asked looking concerned, this must’ve snapped her out of her daze because she began driving once again, as she shook her head.

“Yeah sorry, I just... who the hell was that? Do you think they could’ve been a celebrity?” She said.

I laughed. “They almost hit us, and you’re worried about if they were famous?”

“How cool if they did, and I could’ve met whoever was in that car. It looked like a guy and a couple chicks. Or maybe they were all guys...”

I laughed as I shrugged, “Could very well be the latter.”

“So fucking cool.” She said as she shook her head smiling, as we continued down the road.

I couldn’t help but begin to get curious who was in there as well. Didn’t they have any decency to watch where they were going? Why were they driving so erratically in such a beautiful car? Where they drunk? Where were they going?

I simply just let it go, and sighed hoping that would’ve been the end of those encounters in California.

Oh, how I wish that would've been true.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Sunset Strip, 1982

“Dave you are so funny!” I heard the obnoxious giggle come from the blonde to my right.

I grinned, as I handed the keys to a chauffeur, grabbing her hand and kissing her neck all the way into the club, a troupe of others who had hitched a ride following behind closely.

“Great to see you Mr. Roth, your booth is right this way.” As a waiter, I presumed new as he had no recognizable face to him, lead me the way. It was routine to hit Hollywood’s best clubs on the Sunset Strip, and it was always a good time to reminisce about Van Halen’s early days.

We certainly had come a long way now.

“Call me Dave, or Diamond, or put them together. It doesn’t matter.” I said as I laughed, cueing the chorus of giggles from the other girls who had stumbled their way to the side.

I had checked and now they had seemingly multiplied, lots of brunettes, and bleach blonde hair, and legs. To say it was normal, would be an understatement. They were all the same. But it got me laid, and gave me a good time.

“David...” I heard a whisper come from the side, it sounded like Michael Jackson, and over-tuned whistles. Nonetheless, I turned my way to see a brunette with big eyes, gazing at me with a strange look.

“Yes, sugar?” I said in my best sweet saccharine voice, and a grin. 

She began to rub down my thigh, her spindly fingers grazing up and down like cat claws. God damn how did she pick stuff up with them... “Could you get me a drink?”

I smiled, as I stood a little taller motioning for a waiter to come. “She’ll have a jack and coke.”

She huffed, “No, I want a whiskey sour.” I shrugged as I motioned for the waiter to listen to her, and he simply nodded his head and left.

She continued her incessant clawing on my thighs, that I’m sure would leave marks by morning, as girls began toppling over one another to try to join in on whatever they thought was happening.

“So David, are we going back to your house?” I heard a blonde say to my right, as she twirled her hair, biting her lip as if her life depended on it. 

“I don’t know sugar, I got rehearsal tomorrow.”

She pouted as she latched on to my arm like a leech. “Please, can we come stay, I’ll make it worth your while.” I began hearing the sounds of bird like chirps as other girls nearby began chiming in on the plead.

I laughed as I smacked the blonde’s thigh, grabbing a swig of my Jack before shrugging. “Oh fuck it.”

I heard a loud cheer, before one by one girls began crawling towards me, kissing up and down my legs and arms.

This was going to be a long night.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

[ubernoxa]

The Sip: A modern GNR FanFic

Chapter 1: A Boring Party

Our limo stopped and the two of us immediately made eye contact. At least we were here, one step closer to getting this night over with. Out of the two of us neither had wanted to be her here. Mark wanted to be at home with his actual girlfriend, and I would much rather be home watching Netflix.

Mark opened the door for me and helped me out of the limo, another part of our little show we were putting on for the press or whoever the hall was watching.

As we walked in, I immediately made eye contact with a face I had seen countless times in the tabloids and magazines, Duff McKagan. He stood no more than 100 feet from me smiling and laughing with his band mates as some people took photos of them. It was clear they were having a good time. I felt butterflies grow in my stomach the longer we kept eye contact. Jesus he was hot.

“Earth to Alanah,” Mark jerked me forward as we posed for a quick set of photos before going inside. If there weren’t people around us I would have made a comment about how surprised I was that he could fit through the doorway with such a big ego, but I didn’t want to start something. I was in no mood to deal with the backlash from my publicist who recommended that I ‘play nice’ tonight. Jesus Christ, my eyes hurt from how hard I rolled them when I read her text.

I felt like I was having the same conversation over and over again. It was like we were all rehearsing for a play. Don’t get me wrong, people were being very nice. It was just...repetitive.

Ohh I love your dress.

Are you working on any new projects?

How are you two doing?

Wow you’ve been dating for nine months?

Congratulations!

Are there wedding bells in your future?

“Excuse me, I am a bit thirsty. I need to get something to drink,” I smiled as a exited the conversation with one of Mark’s friends. He either played football or soccer, I honestly couldn’t remember. I also didn’t care.

“Hi,” I said to the bartender as I sat at one of the chairs. God it felt amazing to sit down. I regretted wearing my heals the second I left my apartment.

“What can I get ya?” He cleaned a glass as he spoke. To be honest I wasn’t a drinker. I probably drank once every couple months, if that at all.

“Vodka cranberry please,” I replied as the man nodded as he went to make my drink. Hopefully a drink would take the edge off, maybe even make the night enjoyable.

“How has your night been?”

“Would I sound like a bitch if I said it was boring,” I couldn’t help but laugh when I spoke.

“Not a huge fan of these parties?” The bartender handed me my drink.

“I used to like than a lot more. I don’t know anyone here, so I feel incredibly awkward. When I agreed to come I thought I knew others who would be here...but now...now if I have to talk about sports for 10 more minutes my head is going to explode,” I replied while placing some cash in his tips jar.

“Well if you need a break, some people are in the basement. Maybe a change of scenery would help?” I offered the bartender a smile as he spoke and pointed me in the direction of the basement.

Part of me felt bad for heading downstairs, but I didn’t care. The basement was probably half the size of the room upstairs, but I felt less claustrophobic as I walked around.

“Alanah,” I smiled as I saw an old friend at the pool table.

“Adam, long time no see! How are you?” I now stood next to him joining the small circle of people.

“I’m good. It feels good to be in the states again,” I smiled back to him. While the Netherlands were beautiful, there was nothing quite like home.

“Hey Adam, you down for pool? Alanah? When did you get here? Where is Mark?” Mira asked as she pulled Adam and I into the second room for pool.

I had met Mira twice before tonight. Long story short she was Adam’s girlfriend and an absolute sweetheart.

“Fuck Mark, he is busy bragging about how he is the greatest athlete on the planet,” it came out more blunt than I hoped, but there was no taking my words back.

“Great you found some people,” I looked over to see a the room full of recognizable faces. Mira quickly explained to me that they were going to play a game of pool something I have never played.

“You ready to lose,” I looked to my left to see a definitely not sober Duff McKagan. Was he actually talking to me? Did he notice me staring earlier?

fuck

Fuck

FUCK.

I took a quick second to collect myself by taking a sip of my drink. Dear god of alcohol, whoever you are, Please please please keep me from making a complete and utter fool of myself.

“I’d be worried if you weren’t drunk,” I smiled back finishing off my drink. I could feel his eyes on me as I finished it. He must have been wondering what I was drinking. I didn’t take him as the judge type, but who cared.

“Well I am worried that you are sober. Here have some of mine,” he offered me his glass and I quickly declined it.

“Why not a vodka fan?”

“No I got a vodka crab here,” I shook my empty cup as I spoke.

“I don’t like the idea of it mixed with sprite. Kinda sounds nasty...no offense,” I immediately regretted not only speaking but existing once I finished talking.

I could tell he was trying to hide a smirk. At least he was being nice?

“This is just straight vodka,” I froze in place as he spoke. I must have sounded like such a child.

“Oh, I’ve just never drank it straight,” I feel like a child admitting it. I wanted to kick myself as I spoke. I expected him to wander off and go find someone else to talk to, but he stayed. Maybe he was curious about what train wreck I would lead myself to.

“Well there is a first time for everything,” he shrugged as he passed me his glass. I looked over towards Adam who was already preoccupied with his girlfriend and her friends.

I felt a sharp burn shoot down my throat as I took a sip. I tried to conceal my cough, but I failed.

“Trust me it gets better the more you drink it. Come on let’s get you a glass,” he motioned for me to follow him, and I did like a lost puppy. The way I saw it was that I had three options.

1. Decline his offer and go talk with Adam

2. Decline his offer and go find Mark

3. Accept it and see what would happen.

I gave Adam a quick goodby wave as I followed Duff towards wherever he was going.

“Isn’t the bar upstairs?” I asked as we wondered through the halls.

“Yeah, but there is another one down her. No bartender, but we can make our own drinks. Plus we don’t have to deal with the annoying shits upstairs,” I was shocked at how clear his thoughts were after drinking straight vodka. Was this a regular night for him?

I handed him my cup and he filled it with vodka.

“Is vodka your go to?” I watched as he effortlessly drank the rest of his cup and poured himself another glass.

“Yep, and she hasn’t betrayed me yet. Come on let’s go upstairs,” He grabbed the bottle and the two of us snuck to the second floor of the venue. I don’t know why, but I felt a rush of excitement flow through my veins.

“How did you know this was up here?” I spun around looking at the small room we walked into. The soft carpet was begging for me to take off my heals and throw them in the trash. There was a table with chairs in one corner and a couch with a TV across from it.

“I was at another party here a few months back and I needed to get some air. Too many people,” I couldn’t have said it better myself.

As he went to open a window I sent Mark a quick text saying that I didn’t feel well and went home. He wouldn’t mind, he would actually prefer it. He would get to spend the rest of the night with a girl he actually likes.

“Understandable, sometimes it’s all too much,” I replied taking a seat on the couch.

“I’m assuming you know how to play go fish?” I turned my head towards his direction as he spoke.

“The children’s game?” I hadn’t meant for my tone to sound harsh, but it was. This was Duff McKagan the bassist of Guns N’ Roses, go fish was the last game I expected him to suggest.

“Judge all you want, but it’s a fast and fun way to get drunk,” I almost cringed as he spoke. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Could I really trust him?

I felt my phone vibrate and read the text from Mark, “absolute shocker”. God I wanted to slap him. At least I will have a better night now. I sneered, what a pair Mark and I were. An absolute match made in heaven.

“Alright, Duff explain the rules,” I threw my hands up in defense as I spoke.

I was beyond thankful that the rules were simple. If the other person doesn’t have the card, you drink. This, this was a game I could play.

“So where is your boyfriend?”

His question pulled me from my thoughts of trying to think of what cars to ask for.

“Gloating about himself downstairs, will probably be fucking some other chick tonight. where’s your girlfriend?” I quickly asked back. I wanted to kick myself as I spoke. I probably sounded like a complete bitch.

“Nonexistent,” why was I happy about that?

“Well between you and me, the same could be said about my soon to be ex,” I added in hopes to make him feel better.

He offered me a soft smile before taking a sip.

[southernbell91]

Some Secrets are better left Dead Chapter 1

AN: This Story is Cross posted on Ao3, I had it on my Fic Account on here but deleted it when I deleted the account. If you are tagged and wish to be removed just message me and I will remove you. If you want to be added to my Tag list message me and I will add you. Keep an eye on the warnings it will be updated as needed with Chapters.

Warnings: Dark!Bucky Dark!Steve Death Depression Mentions of Suicide and Illness. Smut, implied smut, Voyeurism, drug use

Pairings: Bucky/Layla/Steve (Eventually Maybe)

This is an Avengers AU with a little dribble of other fandoms mixed in.

Summary: Being Clint Barton's adopted sister wasn’t easy, finding out your brother is not only involved in organized Crime but part of the Worlds deadliest crime organization, The Avengers, well that makes things even more difficult. What happens when they find out you know too much? How do you hide, where do you run from The Avengers? Especially once a certain pair of Super Soldiers take a particular interest in you?

   Life growing up wasn’t easy from an early age. My dad was incarcerated when I was 6 years old, sentenced to life in prison for Vehicular Manslaughter and drunk driving. He and my mom got into a fight one night, he, like always, drank away his problems and decided to get behind the wheel of a car killing the 16 year old he hit head on when the whiskey finally knocked him out.       After that accident life got harder for mom and I, everyone seemed to blame her for dads actions and being in a small town where everyone likes to talk it seemed to make the town smaller. We moved out of state when i was almost 8, the whispers and staring becoming too much for her. Roughly 6 months later the stress and guilt became too much, I came home from school one afternoon to find my mom “asleep” laying next to an empty bottle of pills and a note addressed to me.  Although I remember it like it was yesterday that whole day after that was a blur.

    I didn’t have any other known family, you can’t exactly raise a kid in prison, so I was placed in a children’s home and became a ward of the state. For 2 and a half years I bounced in and out of State homes and foster homes, given what I had went through I shut down, closing everyone off I visited more counselors and therapists than I can remember I also found myself in fights around every corner, that typically being the reason I got kicked from most foster homes. Right around my 11th birthday I found myself in a state home with only a few other kids, most of the children just ignored me and I preferred it that way. No one wanted to talk to the crazy girl who didn’t speak and doodled in a journal all day, that is until my life changed forever.  

    I was sitting under the big oak tree out in front of the old church that had been converted into a children’s home. One of the older boys, Daniel,  who had just arrived in the home a week or so ago walked up to me a small group lingering behind him. He started taunting me about my notebook like everyone liked to do, trying to get me to say something, anything, but I wouldn’t budge. After maybe 10 minutes of ignoring him my journal was snatched from my hand, I jumped to my feet ready to charge the jerk when something flew threw the air crashing into the side of his head, Daniel dropped my journal grabbing his head in pain in an instant. Everyone started looking around to see where the object came from, finally looking up to the tree behind me they saw him, perched like a bird about half way up was a sandy blonde haired boy I came to know as Clint armed with a simple slingshot. The group quickly dispersed once the realized clint had a pocket full of rocks and an aim that shouldn’t be tested, he jumped from the tree picked up my journal and handed it back to me. I didn’t know it then, but that moment was the beginning of a new life for me. For weeks after that clint continued to come around, he didn’t try to talk to me like everyone else did, he just sat perched in the tree while I doodled always on alert, just watching me like a hawk. 3 months after my first interaction with clint I was jumped on my way to the tree out front, Daniel didn’t take too kindly to Clints actions apparently, just as I thought I was about to get my ass handed to me, one of the guys who jumped me was pulled off and thrown into the others, I looked up and there he was again saving my tail. That was the day I broke my silence, thanking clint for his rescue yet again. From that moment on I talked, only to him at first, but then slowly over the months I started speaking to others my social worker was floored, the fighting also slowed down that day too, most kids were too wary of clint to pick a fight with me. I didn’t know it at that moment but I had found a brother in Clint Barton, one that would stick with me no matter where we went.     

     For two and a half years clint and I became inseparable, Clint was a few years older than me though and was aging out of the home and that scared both of us. In all of my silent brooding, I managed to test up in school and was eligible to graduate early, my social worker advised against it citing I needed more social interaction, but ultimately the choice was mine and I took it. Clint tried community college for a couple of semesters but we both knew this town wasn’t big enough for him, after a lot of talking, tears, and a few stolen bottles of beer later he decided to join the military and try to see the world. Telling him to go was a tough decision but I promised him I wouldn’t be far behind him. 6 months after he left for basic I ran away from the home, and never looked back.   

    Clint had taught me how to drive in a beat up pickup he bought, so when I ran I stole a car or two to put some distance between me and that place. I found jobs in diners where people didn’t really care to ask my age as long as I showed up and did my job, I hustled pool to earn extra cash when things were slow, I didn’t tend to stay in one town long usually 6 months at best. Somewhere between my 19th and 20th birthday I found myself in New York City, I had enough saved to rent a room from someone I found in an ad in the paper, I got a job at a Coffee shop part time.  Money got tight a few months in and I was scared I would have to move again, until one day a co-worker mentioned she wrote freelance articles for a local paper and suggested I try it. This was another one of those moments I had no idea would change my life, a few articles here and there somehow lead to a part time job at the Midtown Journal. I started off in the mail room still submitting my freelance articles and worked my way up, a year and a half later Im one of the top Investigative Journalists in New York City. Chasing stories no one else wanted, showing the world parts of the city no one wanted to believe existed, and maybe even making a few enemies along the way. This career path is exactly what lead me to the predicament I am in now, my name is Layla James and this is my story.

Masterlist

Tags:  @lancetuckershairgel  @stuck-y-together   @buckmesideways22                 @eurynome827  @book-dragon-13   @marvelous-meggi       @spacemansam @cametobuyplums  @loricameback   @collinsstanharbour​  @marvelgirl7 @jewelofwinter  @jobean12-blog @sebastiansloserclub​ 

[darkling-er]

Piety Knob || Chapter 2

Parts: Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 coming soon

Even though I fell asleep rather quickly thanks to being awfully tired after the car ride, I wake up and the odd feeling of a new place hits me in the head.

No traffic sounds, no loud neighbours from upstairs or the sound of a construction site. Just plain silence, the brief sound of wind between the leaves and birds chirping around.

"God damn it!" I hear Perry shout from downstairs and I smile to myself, not everything changed at least.

I get up and ready for the day, not making much effort on the clothing part and I go downstairs to check up on my aunt.

"Everything good?" I ask with a teasing smile and Perry turns around.

I should ask what happened, but the look on Perry's face, the cat food all over the floor and Church eating up the mess peacefully makes everything clear.

"Yeah, yeah... Just Church acting like an asshole, as usual."

I chuckle then I open up the cereal and pour it in a bowl. Before I can even get to the fridge Perry says.

"There's no milk, I slept in, thanks to the jet leg so I didn't have time to buy anything yet."

I make a pout, but sit down to eat.

"Shame..."

Perry rolls her eyes at me.

"Don't start! I'm stressed as it is already. We have to go to the store, then go to the animal hospital, then we have to visit your school..."

She starts to list everything and I say with a full mouth of cereal.

"We have a whole month before school! And we just arrived!"

She waves me off.

"Yeah, but I have to make a good impression, June." she sighs and only now I notice how tired she is, she looks a lot more than her real age.

"It's a new town, we have to try and make the best out of it. If we make the wrong impression, it can mark our life here..."

"You're being dramatic." I try to tease, and she cracks a smile after another sigh.

"You're one to talk, Miss Drama Queen."

I grin and shrug.

"I don't know what you mean..."

Now she puts her hands on her waist, readying the "mama pose".

"Oh reaaally?"

I nod and try not to laugh.

"Yeah, really."

She acts like she is thinking very hard.

"Then who might have been that made an hour rant about her favourite pirate dying and how it was not supposed to happen."

"Hey, he was a real gem and it was horrible to watch!"

She lets out a long laugh and honestly I'm glad to not see her too worried about things.

"Honey it was a tv show."

"Blackbeard deserved better." I add grumpily, then look towards Church, who is cleaning himself after his breakfast.

"Defend me, Church!" I say dramatically, and I see Perry's point now.

The tabby just stops his cleaning process, with wide eyes and tongue out he leaves the scene.

"You coward!!!" I shout after him and me and Perry burst out in a laugh.

In the morning the city looks a lot different, but not much more lively. It's weird to see so few people on the streets. I guess for them it's normal or even a crowd, but compared to Chicago for me it's a lot different.

One thing I can see clearly though. Higher in the city, near the forest are the more expensive looking houses, I can even see some backyards with pools. But further down towards the lake it's reminds me more of the hoods back in Chicago. It has a certain charm to it, and I can clearly see the two sides of the tracks in town. Most of the people that I see outside can be chategorized as well.

The north siders are more suburbian looking, everyone smiling and greeting each other. It feels like an episode from black mirror. Perry doesn't seem to mind them, she even stops a lot to introduce us to the random families. Housewives with 60s dresses, limonade in hand, meanwhile husband and son mowing the grass. As I said, creepy.

Down in the 'hood' feels more like my world. No one's smiling randomly at each other, just people minding their own business.

We get to the part of town where most of the stores and small family businesses are. It doesn't take that long to get their, it is a small town after all.

As Perry leads the way I stay behind a bit looking at the store signs. No world-wide known franchise names, like Subway or McDonalds, more like Brenda's Flower shop or Granny's diner. Even the only cinema in town promotes a movie that came out about 20 years ago.

I almost bump into Perry as I'm lost in my thoughts when she suddenly stops.

"We're here, I'm already late, shit." She says looking at her clock.

She turns to me, then points to across the street to a 24/7 store, as she gives me a piece of paper and her credit card.

"Would you please buy these while I make arrangements at work?"

I see no point in arguing, I didn't really want to join her to the animal hospital anyway.

"Sure."

She goes in the door and I look at the small store and head there. I cross the street without looking around, there are almost no cars anyway.

The door rings as I set foot into the local store and the cashier, who is around the same age as I am looks at me up and down and continues until I disappear in the isles.

I pick up the stuff that Perry wrote down, not making a rush of it, because I know she will take forever with small talk with her new boss anyway.

After I look at every shelf and almost every product I get bored so I stand in front of the cashier. She slowly checks in every item, meanwhile looking at me.

"You're new here?" she asks and I nod.

"Yupp."

I don't really like small talk so I don't try to encourage him into a conversation, he does it anyway.

"Cool... I'm Polly! Polly Ambers, I live down at the docks. You're one of the Blackwoods right?"

Okay how does everyone know that, did auntie Primprose put out a sing or what?

"Yeah, how did you-?"

She cuts me off with a smirk.

"This is Detroit, babe, everyone knows everything here. The only action that ever happens in this town is when someone leaves or someone new comes here. People talk a lot."

"Great." I huff, and she laughs.

"Yeah, so pretty much brace yourself for being stared at for at least a month."

She finishes with the products:

"That will be 34.29!"

I reach out with the credit card and she shakes her head pointing at the sign behind the counter.

"Cash only? Seriously?"

I ask dumbstruck and she nods.

"I know. This town is lame."

"Tell me about it..." I say then search in my pockets for any cash.

"Where are you from?" Polly asks as I lay down the money I scraped from my pockets along with some pocket dirt.

"Here, actually. We moved to Chicago when I was 4."

"Chicago." Polly says as she looks into the distance. "I bet it's a big city."

"I mean yeah, but if you've seen one before you've seen all already."

Polly shakes her head.

"Not me, I was born here and I never went anywhere before. I want to, once I get my degree, I will go and travel the world."

She gives me my bag full of food with a smile.

"I can show you around after work if you'd like." she offers.

"Really?" I ask, again dumbstruck.

"Don't act all surprised." She chuckles, her dark hair falling into her face. "Everyone's so fuckin' boring in this town, except for me, obviously. You won't get a better offer and anyway. Aaaand I can show you all the cool places. There aren't a lot, but still."

My smile is genuine as I nod.

"Alright, when do you finish?"

She steps out from behind the counter and rushes me towards the door.

"Now, let's get out of here."

"Wait, what? You're not gonna get in trouble?" I ask as she hurries me out.

"I don't work here." she answers and I laugh as I think it's a joke but we hear a toilet flush from behind a door and then the actual cashier, wearing a name tag of 'Rick'. As he sees Polly he points an accusing finger.

"AMBERS I SWEAR TO FUCK, IF YOU COME HERE AGAIN I'LL CALL THE COPS, I'M SERIOUS. YOU ARE BANNED!"

Polly takes my arm and pushes me out the door as she shouts.

"Whatever, Dick!"

We laugh as we run out the store and take a few blocks. As no danger comes our way we stop to catch our breath.

"Do you usually pretend to work at places?" I ask with a chuckle and she shrugs.

"I mean, yes, don't you?" She asks teasingly then turns to walk towards the docks. "Come on, I'm gonna introduce to some of my gang."

"Gang? Like a street gang?" I ask with doubt and she rolls her eyes.

"No, big city, not like a street gang. It's just a phrase."

"Okay, small town!" I tease back and she smiles at me.

"I think you're gonna like the docks. It's the least suburbian looking place in town. Have you seen some of the northside? They are aliens, I'm telling you. Or a cult. Definitely a sex cult."

I chuckle nervously.

"We moved there actually."

She stops in her tracks and turns to look at me.

"Why must you fail me so often?" she asks in the most serious voice. "But really, until you go and dress like people in Mad Men and talk like a woman from the victorian ages, you're fine."

She leads me to the lake and I have to admit it's a pretty sight. Polly asks me about Chicago and about the places I've been before until we reach a boat called 'Harker'. She climbs aboard and looks at me.

"You coming?"

I look at her suspiciously.

"Is a guy going to come out of the bathroom asking why you're on his boat?"

She folds her hands.

"Do you not trust me?"

I laugh and I shake my head.

"Nope, we just met."

"Wise choice, but no, I own this boat. Well, actually my dads are, but still."

I look surprised for a second then join her aboard.

"Yeah, I am adopted with two gay dads before you ask."

"I wasn't going to. I kind of figured after you said 'dads'." I smile at her, then I put down my bag on the boardfloor.

I pull out my phone and text Perry a short message. 'Met a girl in town, she's showing me around. Bought everything, I'll go home later.'

"Are you texting your boyfriend?" Polly asks as she picks up a jacket and puts it on.

"My aunt, so she doesn't freak out where I am."

"Cute, let's go." she says and turns back to walk to town.

"Did we seriously get here just to pick up your jacket?" I ask with a laugh, but still follow her.

"Yeah, I was cold, now come on."

We walk about ten minutes when we reach a gas station/mechanic shop.

"Why are we here?" I ask and tease Polly. "I'm starting to doubt you, oh knower of cool places."

"Have faith, my young apprentice."

She walks toward the garage part of the shop and she greets the people in there. There's a guy about our age, lot taller with brown hair, who meets Polly with a fist bump.

"Whattup Toby?" Polly greets him and nods towards me. "This is the new girl everyone talked about."

"Hey, I'm Juniper" I say awkwardly, I really am socially awkward, huh?

"Hi, Toby Jameson." He says and holds out his hand so I shake it.

"Toby is gay." Polly says and we both look at her suprised. "What?"

"Nice icebreaker, Polls." Toby says with a laugh. "But yeah, it's true."

"Look I was only saying that because Juniper doesn't have a boyfriend and it's better before she falls in love with you, after you act like a straight dude then have her heart broken."

"This isn't a romcom Polly." Toby says then looks at me apologetically.

"Who says I don't have a boyfriend anyway? " I ask with a nervous laugh.

"I asked you and you said you were texting your aunt."

I would start to argue with her logic, but a voice interrupts.

"That doesn't count out anything."

I didn't notice the guy working under the car right until now as he rolls out from under there, all oily and sweaty. He tries to clean his hands as much with a rag, but it's already dirty as it is. He doesn't seem to mind, as he gets up from the floor.

"Well she didn't say anything about having one either." Polly answers to the mechanic.

He looks at me and I try hard to act normal and not stare at his sweaty once white tank top. Cause damn he is hot. Not like yesterday night. He seems to recognise me as well as he says.

"Nice to see you in pants for a change. For a second there I thought you didn't own any."

Polly and Toby looks between the two of us confused and then the girl looks at Mr. Asshole.

"Marcus tell me you didn't fuck the new girl."

"What?!" I look at her offended, and Marcus waves Polly off.

"No, and I wasn't planning to don't worry."

"Well good." Polly says and then looks at me. "Why did he saw you without your pants then?"

I roll my eyes very annoyed by the subject.

"I answered the door in my pajamas, it was after 10. And he was there with nutjob mayor, I can't remember his name."

Polly and Toby looks at Marcus accusingly.

"Why the fuck were you with Forrester?"

Marcus sighs as he gets some tools to continue his work.

"I fixed up his car and he told me he would pay me if I drove him there."

"Why?" Polly asks and Marcus sighs again.

"I don't know Polly! I don't care now can you leave me to work, I'm not gonna babysit you all, and if you're not working you are wasting my time."

Polly shrugs and takes my arm to go back to town.

"You are being rude, Marcus."

"And you are annoying, bye now!"

When I get home it' already after dark. I hanged out with Polly and Toby for the rest of the day. Turns out they are really fun to talk to and as I return home I feel a lot better about living in Oregon. Polly promised me to take out on the lake before summer is over and Toby said he would drive us to Salem to go and watch a movie.

But my mood is killed as I step into the house and I hear Perry slamming the fridge door.

"Juniper Billie Blackwood!" she says angrily as she comes out, her hands on her hips and her face all angry.

Oh oh. I think as I smile at her apologetically.

"I'm sorry I'm late."

She disregards my apology.

"You skipped the meeting with the principal, you are lucky that I talked your way out and that Eli was nice enough to understand your behaviour."

Eli? I think. Since when is she on first name terms with my principal.

"Shit. I forgot."

"You for..." She breaths heavily. "You forgot? After I told you a million times over an over again how important it was?" She raises her voice and I look at my shoes nervously.

"I'm sorry we lost track of time and..."

She doesn't let me finish as she continues.

"Are you trying to sabotage us?" I look up at her at that.

"No!" I say offended at her accusation.

"Don't lie to me! You were not happy to come here in the first place, you were not happy with the house and my job. And that you have to attend school. You didn't even tell the mayor came to visit yesterday night. Juniper you were so rude you have no excuse for your behaviour other than sabotaging our stay here on purpose!"

"Well excuse me I don't like being dragged away from my home and friends to a place in nowhere. And I was having fun with two possible new friends and yeah, I forgot about the stupid mayor but that doesn't mean I am doing this because I wanted to sabotage you! "

Perry shakes her head and looks at my hand.

"Where are the grocieres?"

Shit. I facepalm, already exhausted from this fight.

"I left it on the boat I think. I'm sorry."

"Well go down and bring them here."

I look at her serious face and roll my eyes.

"Whatever."

I leave the house and slam the door behind me. I can still hear her arguing but I'm already on my way to the docks. I'm grumpy to walk in the cold breeze, I should have at least put on a jacket, but I still don't plan on hurrying until Perry calms down a bit.

I admit I should have been a bit more catious with the time and joined her at the school but I honestly forgot about that when Polly and Toby was making me feel somewhat at home.

I look for the boat on the docks, but in the dim light I can barely make out the names. As I search between the boats I don't really notice the footsteps behind me. In Chicago I was used to walking in a crowd so I don't think much of it now as well. That's why I don't notice in time the stranger in the hood, until I get hit in the head.

I don't lose concious at first I just kind of stumble down on the ground with the sudden pain in my head. I look up but my view is blurry so I can't see a clear picture of the person standing over me. I can only embrace another hit in the head as I now lose conciousness and everything turns to black.

tags: @onl-you

[strawberriestyles]

Chapter 1: First Impressions

(Banner made by the savior herself @tiostyles)

Harry X OFC (AU)

In which Blue, a perpetual wanderer, finds herself drawn to the mystery of Wolver Valley, and to a certain motorcycle-riding mechanic named Harry.

Read previous part here.

Author’s note: WELCOME TO WOLVER VALLEY. I hope y’all get the same vibe as I do from this place and these characters. Please like, reblog, and LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK. Enjoy. Xx

Thank you to my lovely betas: @biteharrysthigh // @lilacobscure // @metinthehallway // @belle-ofthe-sea // @nofoookingway // @lyllibug // @justsaying20

Blue traveled back into town, balancing on the edge of the curb all the way. She hadn’t been in Wolver Valley for more than an hour before she’d seen everything Main Street had to offer: an old-school movie theater, some little boutiques, a diner, a florist, a bookstore, a record shop, a tattoo parlor, and something that looked suspiciously like a strip joint. Not even a cafe.

Deciding that she’d lugged her bag around for long enough, and finding that her strawberries were diminishing at an alarming rate, she made her way to the next block, where she’d caught sight of the Red Roof sign. She checked herself into a room, threw her duffel on the double bed, and stuck the rest of her fruit in the mini fridge. She left before she’d even noticed the pattern on the wallpaper.

As Harry said, The Five and Jive really was just around the corner. A little brick structure with a pot-holed parking lot and dying neon signs lighting up the front windows. Even at six in the evening, it was loud. Music and shouting filtered out through a wood-framed screen door.

Blue pushed her way inside and glanced around. A couple of pool tables, both of which were crowded around. Scratched up booths and a rather empty bar top. Blue swung herself up onto a stool and checked her pockets for cash.

“Oh, new face,” said a woman who appeared on the opposite side of the counter, bronze skin and full lips and cheerful dark eyes. “How exciting."

“Are you Leya?”

The woman looked taken aback. She raised an eyebrow as she leaned backward, toward the lines of bottles arranged on the glowing shelves behind her. “Who’s been talking about me?”

“Harry says hi.”

A wide, white smile spread over Leya’s face. “Well, in that case, first drink’s on the house. What’ll you have?”

“Vodka tonic,” Blue ordered. “You serve fries?”

“Wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” said a man, passing behind Leya and laying a hand on her hip as he worked his way to the end of the bar. “Jack likes to add so much salt, you’ll dry your tongue right out.”

“Actually, he’s right,” said Leya. “Onion rings are probably a better option, if you like those.”

Blue sighed. “I guess I’ll take an order, then.”

“Zayn?” Leya cued.

Zayn sipped a glass of water that he’d pulled out from beneath the bar and rolled his eyes before making his way back around her and into the kitchen. Leya returned her attention to Blue and began mixing up her drink.

“So, what’s your name? Where are you from?”

“Blue. And I’m not really from anywhere.”

“Blue. Like the color?”

She nodded shortly. If she was going to have to keep introducing herself to these strangers, she might just stay in her motel room for the rest of her time here. She’d only done it twice so far and she was already finding it tiresome.

“Not from anywhere?” Leya reached beneath the bar and stuck a lime wedge on the rim of Blue’s glass, pushing it across the counter toward her. “You’ve gotta be from somewhere. You didn’t just appear.”

“I was born in California.”

“Oh. Cali girl, huh?”

“Not really,” Blue deadpanned, sipping from the little yellow straw that Leya had stuck in her glass.

“Mysterious, then.”

“You’re not from around here either,” Blue commented, noticing the way that Leya framed her syllables.

“No,” Leya agreed with a short nod. “Jamaica."

Blue glanced around the bar, at the older men tucked away in a corner, dressed all in black and brown leather. There were a few kids who certainly weren’t of drinking age practicing shots at the pool table closest to her, and another of their friends messing with the old jukebox against the far wall. The girl stepped back to the pool table when she’d made a decision and the twang of a country blues song sounded through the room.

“So,” Blue began, spinning back around on her stool, "who would I have to talk to about getting a job here? Just for about a week or so.”

“You have experience bartending?” Leya asked, just as Zayn returned with a basket full of greasy onion rings. He set them down in front of Blue and looked between her and Leya.

“You’re hiring her?” he asked. “Some stranger? What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Her name is Blue,” Leya told him with an irritated look. “And I will hire whoever I’d like.”

Zayn scoffed. “It took me two weeks to convince you to hire me, and we’ve known each other since second grade.”

“Because we’ve known each other since second grade, Zayn. And you’ve been a pain in my ass ever since.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Zayn muttered. He leaned in and pressed a rough kiss to her cheek and then flitted off down the bar to serve another customer.

Blue watched him leave and then raised a brow at Leya. “I should be talking to you, then? Do I have to sleep with you to get a job, too?”

Leya let out a chiming laugh. “Wouldn’t hurt,” she said. “This is my uncle's place. You never answered my question. Do you have experience?”

“I have experience drinking,” Blue offered, sipping at her vodka tonic again. “But I’m a quick learner.”

Leya took a deep breath, leaning back and crossing her arms. “Could be interesting. Where are you staying? Red Roof?”

Blue nodded.

“I’m guessing you don’t have a resume or something for me, huh?”

“No, ma’am.”

A large group of men burst through the screen door. Middle-aged, dads probably, wearing cut-off t-shirts with numbers on the back. Leya tipped her head to them. “All right. I’ve gotta get back to work, Blue. How about you come back tomorrow evening. It’s pretty slow on Sundays. We’ll get you a little training.”

“Sounds like a plan, boss,” Blue responded.

***

The strip-joint-looking place really was a strip joint. Blue knew when she walked past it for a second time, when the blazing sun was beginning to fall at the end of the valley, and a wide-set bouncer newly positioned at the entrance hit her with “You looking for a job, honey?”

“If only you’d asked me a few hours ago,” Blue responded, stuffing her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and continuing on down the street.

She poked her head into a couple of boutiques. In one she bought herself a new pair of sunglasses, just before the store was about to close, to replace the ones whose frames she’d bent just a few days ago. She slid them into her hair on the top of her head as she stepped back out onto the sidewalk. The sun still wasn’t down, but it was falling, and somehow she was already growing hungry again. Probably because she never finished her onion rings.

Blue trailed up the strip to the neon-lit diner that read “Shelly’s.” She stepped through the door to find it filled with teenagers. Some on dates, some groups crowded into booths too small for the lot of them. There were only two tables left. Blue picked the one closest and threw herself down into the chair facing the windows. She drew out the notebook and pen that were tucked inside her leather jacket—all of which she’d collected from her motel room after she left The Five and Jive.

“What can I get you?”

Blue glanced up to find a waitress standing over her. She had big eyes framed by dark glasses, black, sharp bangs, and bright red lips that she licked at when she had Blue’s attention.

“Do you guys happen to have blueberry pie?”

The waitress—Ava, her name tag read—glanced toward the counter across the room and squinted her eyes. “I think we might just have one slice left. À la mode?”

“No, just the pie, please. Oh, and a black coffee.”

“Sure thing."

Blue opened up the faux leather cover of her notebook as she was left alone again and began to flip through the used pages until she found a blank one. Then she removed the cap of her pen with her teeth and scribbled, in fluid black ink, the date at the top left of the paper: Saturday, July 27, 2019.

She’d only jotted a few words down before Ava returned with a plate of warmed pie. The waitress set a mug on the table, beside the plate, and filled it from a pot of what Blue hoped was fresh coffee.

“Enjoy,” Ava said, withdrawing to fill more emptying mugs at the other tables.

Blue forked a bite of pie into her mouth and studied the diner’s floor as she chewed. The tiles were all different colors, arranged in patterns at some points and completely randomized at others, probably replaced and patched in countless times since this place opened. The pie was mediocre, just like The Five and Jive’s onion rings.

She blew over the lip of her mug, hoping to cool her steaming coffee just enough to take a short sip. The liquid still scalded the tip of her tongue. She teethed the spot, already growing sore, as she began to recount the day’s events, the people she’d met, the words that had been spoken.

Blue thought that perhaps Ava would stick out to her. A pretty, red-lipped waitress, the only person who hadn’t asked for her name all day, the one she’d spoken to most recently. Or even Leya, who was to be her new boss. And she did journal about both of them, along with Zayn. But she was surprised to find it was Harry who held most of her pen’s attention.

Blue didn’t even like him, she didn’t think. He’d been rather rude, acted like she’d inconvenienced him, as if her car’s decision to break down wasn’t an inconvenience to her. But there was something about the short clip of his words and the way that his eyes moved that she must have found interesting.

It was nearly an hour later when she finished writing down her thoughts of the day. Ava refilled her coffee twice. Now Blue’s mug sat half empty and the crust of her blueberry pie still sat on its plate, but she shelled out some cash for the food, along with a few dollars for a tip, and left the money on her table. She placed the chewed-up cap back on her pen and tucked it into her pocket, fitting her notebook under her arm, and left Shelly’s. Despite all the coffee, the day’s events had tired her out, and she craved the stiff sheets of an unfamiliar motel bed.

***

Blue slept late into Sunday afternoon. She awoke to the low glare of sunlight through the thin yellow motel curtains. She turned over, away from the windows, as she stretched against the day.

She was unsurprised by how late it was. The previous night she had driven straight through hoping to make it into the Carolinas before she needed to stop. But here she was stuck on the western end of Missouri, pointlessly deprived of sleep, bunkering down in the musty, scratchy sheets of Wolver Valley’s Red Roof.

Blue forced herself out of bed when she saw the red numbers on the side table’s digital clock. Leya hadn’t given her a time to be at The Five and Jive, but Blue wasn’t going to burn her bridges on the first full day in town. She showered to rinse of the scent of long car rides—the inevitable scent of a traveler. She slipped into a pair of jeans, a thin t-shirt, her worn-in boots, and pulled the front of her hair out of her face, still damp. She clicked the door to her motel room shut behind her and headed off, munching on the rest of her farm market strawberries on the way.

The sun, even from the far end of the valley, was hot on Blue’s back until she reached the corner of the street and turned right. The crowds at the bar really were thinned out tonight, although she was sure they would pick up at least a little before the evening was through. But for now the parking lot was nearly empty. Just a few cars, and on the bit of pavement just in front of the windows, a bike that struck a familiar chord in Blue’s mind.

Her footsteps slowed as she approached the screen door, puffing on the last dregs of her cigarette. She scanned the motorcycle, glinting in the sunlight that seeped through the town’s shadows. She knew whose it was. That familiarity, after only being in town for less than a full day, made Blue uncomfortable, like there was something crawling just below the top layer of her skin. She crushed the sparks of her cigarette out into the pavement just in front of the rubber tire of the motorcycle before slipping into The Five and Jive.

The inside of the bar reflected its barren parking lot. A couple of old-timers were seated at the bar. Leya was wiping down the wood. And Harry was there, as Blue knew he would be, bent over the edge of the left-hand pool table, hair spilling around his face. Another man stood at the table’s corner, hands twisting around the stick clasped between them. A short blond sat on a stool that had been pulled across the room. She twisted the seat beneath her, apparently bored and impatient with the game being played out in front of her. Harry flashed a quick grin as she muttered something to him, revealing a deep dimple in one of his cheeks.

“Oh, good,” Leya said by way of greeting. “Perfect timing.”

Blue offered her a thin smile as she worked her way around to the other side of the bar, crushing the empty pulp basket that had once held her strawberries. She tossed the container into the trash can as she passed it and came to stop beside Leya.

“I’m gonna show you how to mix up some basic things,” said Leya. “But first, can you take these over to them?” She nodded toward the pool table as she pulled out a couple bottles of beer and began pouring tequila up to the rim of a shot glass. “You’ve already met Harry, right?”

Blue sighed as she took the beer bottles in one hand and carefully balanced the shot glass between her other fingers, trying to keep the alcohol from spilling. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Leya went back to wiping down the bar top. Blue took that as her cue. She spun on her heel and trailed across the room. Only the blond noticed her approach, eyeing the tequila shot in Blue’s hand and leaving her doubtless it was meant for her. Blue passed the shot over and was taken aback by how easily this tiny girl downed the alcohol without any type of chaser.

“Thank you,” the woman said.

Harry glanced up at the sound of her voice. The other man with them was still tilted forward, eye squinted as he lined up a shot and sent the cue ball across the table. It bounced off of the eight ball and then rolled into the corner pocket closest to Blue. He swore beneath his breath and then he was looking up, too.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Harry asked.

Blue chuckled drily and held out the beers in his direction. “Again with the rude greetings.”

He scratched the back of his neck and leaned forward to take one of the bottles. The other man traveled around the table to take the other, tipping his head toward her as he took a sip of beer.

“Right. Blue, this is Niall and Boston,” Harry introduced, gesturing respectively to the man beside him and the woman still perched atop her stool. “They work with me.”

Blue raised her eyes to Boston, barely more than five feet tall, eyes glazed over with the effects of alcohol and feet tapping to the rock drumbeat playing through the bar. Blue couldn’t picture her covered in grease and pulling apart the pieces of a car, but it was fun trying to conjure up the image.

“Ah, Blue,” said Niall after he’d swallowed his drink. "The one that tried to set the garage on fire. You know, we’ve already had our fill of arson in this town."

Blue raised her brows. “Is that so?"

"What’re yeh doin’ here?” Harry repeated, cutting Niall off before he could even reply. His bottle was hanging unsipped at his side.

Blue took the glass from Boston’s hand and rounded the table to collect the empty beers that Harry and Niall had already finished from a wooden shelf against the far wall. “I work here.”

“Leya hired you? Thought yeh weren’ stayin’.”

“Just for a week or so.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Boston spoke up from behind her. “You’ll miss the party.”

“Oh, yeah,” Niall echoed. “You should stay another week. Wolver Valley’s bicentennial is coming up. Boston’ll probably be drunk off her ass, but we can take you to the fair and—”

“No,” Harry interrupted again. The other three all turned to stare at him. He finally swallowed a mouthful of his beer and then shrugged. “She’s a traveler. Wants to get outta town. Rushin’ me to get a new exhaust pipe in and—”

“Actually, take your time,” Blue told him. She waved the empty beer bottles in her hand. “I might just stay a few more weeks. Could use the money.”

Harry slipped a hand through his hair as he surveyed her. He didn’t look pleased about the news. Niall, however, nodded in approval. Boston clicked her heels together before hopping down from her stool at last. She really was short, especially beside the two boys.

“Perfect,” she said. “Could you get me one more shot, Blue? It’s my turn to kick Harry’s ass.” She peeled the stick from Niall’s fingers and began re-racking for a new game. “And also, if I could bum a cigarette when you go out for a smoke, I would really appreciate it."

Blue nodded and turned back toward the bar. She dropped the empty bottles in the receptacle that Leya directed her to and then poured out another glass of tequila for Boston. She felt Harry’s eyes on the side of her face, even as she trailed back over to the pool table, where Boston was breaking. And on her back as she returned with the empty shot glass. Hot like fire. The heat only faded as Harry lined up his own shot, and it didn’t return for the rest of Blue’s shift.

[amazingmsme]

A Loyal Companion Part 5

Trigger Warning: This chapter has minor depictions of animal abuse. Nothing too graphic, but enough for me to mention it. If you wish to skip these parts they are marked between this * symbol. Other than that, there are no warnings for this chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Jasper had died pretty young. He was only 35(in dog years) before his life came to its end. He had lived with a small family while he was still a puppy and grew under their care. His favorite human was the young girl, Maddie. The two of them did just about everything together. They'd play fetch and tug of war, and run around outside until the sun went down. They'd spent many hours sitting out by the sandbox on nice summer days, and taking dips in the pool to cool off. His name was Lance then.

Then they all packed up their things to go and loaded Jasper in the back of the pickup. Jasper loved car rides, especially when the wind blows through his fur. Suddenly a deer jumped in front of them, and they swerved off the road, tumbling over. Jasper was thrown from the truck, rolling down the steep hill hidden through trees. Everything was confusing and he didn't know where his people were, but it was getting dark, and he needed to find shelter. He found a rock outcropping and curled underneath for shelter that night.

He traveled back up in search of his family, but no one remained. He lingered at the spot where Maddie's scent was strongest, and chose to stay there. He stayed their all day until night fell upon him once again. The next morning, he knew he needed to find water and food. He walked along the road until he found a gas station and started rooting around the trash. He found half a corndog and a donut. As he ate, a man slowly approached him. He offered him some jerky which Jasper gladly took. 

"You look thirsty," he said and grabbed a plastic bowl from the trash and poured some water in it. He gratefully lapped it up, and the man took his collar off, inspecting it. Good! That meant he could take him home! * He coaxed Jasper into his car, and they began their long journey. Jasper was excited, and moved about the cabin.

"Fuckin' sit still!" the man yelled and shoved him into the backseat over the center console. Jasper landed on his back at an awkwardly twisted angle and cried out. He ignored him and Jasper sat in the seat as far away as he could. He curled in on himself to try and appear smaller. This man was not like his family, and he had a feeling he wouldn't see them again.

He was right. He brought him to his house, if it could even be called that. It was a shabby little shack near the edge of town. Everything was falling apart; it was a miracle it was even still standing.

"Let's see what you can do, mutt," he said and drug him by the heavy chain he had placed around his neck. Jasper tried to resist, but that earned him a harsh slap across the face, and Jasper lashed out to defend himself. He bit his hand hard. He cried out and held the bleeding appendage, swearing as he kicked him in the stomach. Jasper whined and backed up.

"I think you're gonna do nicely. Earn me some cash," he said to himself with a sickeningly evil smile.

Twice a week he would drag Jasper to go fight. When he won he would get small treats like a raw steak, but if he lost, he'd only endure more abuse atop whatever injuries he might've received in the dog fight. This continued for a few years before that final fight. That last fateful night.

He had already endured three fights, and Rick was pushing for another. It was hard for Jasper to stand, and he was so, so tired. He didn't want to fight anymore. Still, he was pushed into the ring, where a man stood with a large Doberman and Rottweiler pulling at their restraints. But Jasper had made a name for himself around here. He was fierce, and his size was enough to evoke fear just by looking at him. He had a constant sneer and fire in his eyes. He always pulled through. He was The Beast. That's why the opponent had challenged Rick that he should take on two dogs for double the money. Greed consumed him and he agreed. Everyone placed their bets.

But now, that spark in his eyes was dim. His large intimidating stance was curled inward, as he was trying to protect his already injured body. The fight started, and they both lunged at once. Jasper went on autopilot and pounced at the Rottweiler, biting his face repeatedly. But the other dog rammed him in the side, sending him tumbling to the floor. He tried to scramble to his feet, yet they were on him in an instant. Powerful jaws clamped on his throat and tore through the flesh, and just like that, it was over. Everything was gone, and Jasper woke to find himself in a large field. * It was quiet. Peaceful. It reminded him of when he would go to the park with his family and fly kites. He wanted nothing more than to run through the stretching expanse of gray grass with his girl by his side. In the distance, he thought he could see her. He ran until he reached her, but stopped just short. This wasn't his little girl. Something about her was off. He could sense her otherworldly power, and stayed back.

"I know you won't understand this too well, but you're not finished yet. I'm afraid I can't send you back in your body though, it's too late for that. You have no place here yet, you need to go back," she pointed back in the direction he came. And so he started trotting back, until the gray field and sky melted into the city. The pavement was wet beneath his paws, and he walked far away from everyone on the street. No one paid attention to him, and when one snuck up on him from behind, he phased right through him.

He roamed the streets day in and day out for years. When you're dead, you don't have to worry about the necessities of food and water, even if it's a nice luxury. He would try to eat whatever he could, but it was a 50/50 chance on whether he could actually eat it or if it would phase through when he took a bite. Jasper wondered aimlessly throughout the town, stopping for shelter when he needed.

He didn't like the rain. It was cold when it would pass through him, leaving him chilled to the core. His fur would mat down to his body causing him to shiver. He hated this life, but there was no other option. He closed his eyes and longed for the days when he would curl up next to his girl by the fireplace. That was a lifetime ago.

When he saw three men walking down the street, he thought nothing of it. Underneath the bench was one of his favorite places to be, and he hardly left the spot anymore. He had no reason to, and therefore, no incentive to leave. His ears perked up when the scrawnier of the bunch stopped in front of the bench. He curled into a tighter ball when the man crouched down to look under the bench.

Jasper knew he was dead. Death just feels different than life. You breathe when you're alive, but now his chest just carried out with the familiar motion. He didn't need to eat or drink, even though food would be nice. And people couldn't see you. Only, this strange man crouched on the sidewalk was looking right at him. Jasper could tell from the look in his eyes: he could see him. Actually see him instead of seeing through him. He reached a hand out to him and Jasper bared his teeth, a low growl escaping his throat, only the man wasn't deterred.

"This is not the time to stop and smell the roses, c'mon!" the man in front called.

He turned around and placed a finger to his lips, "Shh! You'll scare him!" The other man got impatient and left, leaving the other two with him. Then Jasper realized that the other one was dead like him. And he was talking to the dead man.

"So you're a ghost, huh? Well lucky for you I can see ghosts. I can touch them too. I bet you miss getting pet." He did. He really did. But the last man he had followed home had beat him until he became a monster. For years he fought in that ring, scarring and killing other dogs who were frightened and only wanted to live, just like him. Of course he was hesitant.

But he could tell this man was different. His eyes shown with a gentle kindness that he hadn't seen in years. The same kind of eyes Maddie had. With a little more coaxing, he inched himself closer, slowly working his way out from underneath his bench for the first time in weeks. He stretched out to his full height, towering over the scrawny human who looked up at him in awe. The ghost man took a step back, and Jasper didn't blame him. He couldn't see himself, but he knew his body was covered in scars and marks. But it wasn't the worst reaction he's gotten, just one of genuine shock.

Though one eye had been blinded in life, after he died he regained his sight, even if it was cloudier than the other eye. His limp had also gotten better, but was still present, yet it didn't cause him any pain.

The two men took him in, taking him to a store before going back to their home. It was one of the biggest houses Jasper had ever seen, and he knew he would have a fun time getting to explore it.

He was less than excited when they tried to give him a bath. By now he had learned their names: Klaus and Ben. They were both able to touch him, and he was grateful for the affection, but now he wished they couldn't. He focused all his energy on staying put, but they eventually got him in the tub and scrubbed off all the grime. He had to admit, it felt good to be clean again.

He should've expected that a house this big would hold more people, but he was still overwhelmed when faced with the rest of the family. He recognized Diego as the one who had left when Klaus found him, but the rest were completely foreign. At first he was terrified, then only a little skittish. Five seemed to be in a constant sour mood and would say things that evoked a reaction from the siblings, and Jasper always hated the racket and at times he wanted to bite him to get him to stop, just stop! But Jasper knew that was wrong, not that he could bite him anyway. It was the result of years of abuse and brainwashing. He was once a sweet and loving dog, and he wanted to be that again. Allison was kind but stern and kept them all in line. Vanya was his favorite aside from Klaus and Ben. She was soft spoken and gentle, and a nice contrast from his old life. She looked like Maddie, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in her side and have her stroke through his fur. Diego was scarier. He usually had a stern look on his face, and bad anger issues. Jasper wasn't stupid, he knew what knives looked like, and this guy had a lot. He had seen him use them, and no matter which way he threw, they always hit the target. Luther was huge, and had a nasty superiority complex that he was trying hard to fix. That didn't mean he did a good job, and it was clear he had done something that caused tension among their family. Out of all of them, Diego and Luther were his least favorite. They reminded him too much of the men who would scream and bet on him in fights, the ones who'd strike him and force him into the ring. But Klaus seemed to trust them despite their flaws, and Jasper trusted his judgement. And so, he put up with it, and eventually they grew on him.  He did his best to hold back, even when they all fought and yelled and got overexcited.

He's slipped up a few times, but hey no one's perfect. They can't see or feel him, so who cares if he lashed out at Luther? He stepped on him while he was sleeping! And he knows he was in the wrong for trying to nip Allison when she accidentally dropped those pans that phased through his body. And he was sorry for trying to attack Diego when he was playing with Klaus. But in his defense, he thought the man was genuinely hurting him, if he were to believe his owner's words of protest. But all of that was in the past, and he knew better now. None of them meant them any harm.

Still, it made him upset when they would pick on or try to discredit Klaus. All he had kept hearing was how they thought he was lying about finding him. Clearly he's telling the truth, but there's no way for them to know for sure. Vanya believed him. Of course she did, that's why Jasper liked her. And he hoped that in time, he could learn to like the rest too.

And he did.

[alrightinbed-betterwithapen]

i always tell the truth, even when i lie

{chapter one}

Dark Mob Boss!David x Reader

•••••

“What the actual FUCK, David?! This wasn’t even suppose to require protection, and now we’re in a fucking firefight!” Heath is screaming from behind the black SUV they'd grabbed before going out to meet a few lackeys from a rival gang to talk terms of an upcoming merger and how it would affect the street level men both sides had employed. The bearded man was leaning out from behind the cover of the car every couple of minutes, returning gunfire, when the assholes across the abandoned parking building stop shooting to reload.

David is livid. It really wasn’t suppose to be a big deal, he’d been assured personally of the low key, safe environment that was being set up. But, that was an obvious fucking lie. Now, the leader is crouched behind an Escalade, taking fire from some asshole punks that think they know what they’re doing.

They don’t, or they wouldn’t have tried to take David out. You don’t lie to David, and you definitely don’t try to double cross him. It doesn’t end well for anybody. David’s already coming up with a plan that ends with him torturing the leader of this pathetic operation and taking all the resources they once used. The gunshots are like a soundtrack of future pain for the dark headed boss as he plots, ruining his new Gucci track pants in the gravel where he’s huddled.

Alex is on his right, hastily reloading his signature platinum long barreled hand gun, cussing up a storm and, yelling back at Heath over the deafening sounds, “Yeah, obviously things have been amped up a couple notches, bud! Let’s just take these guys out and get home. We’ll figure out how to fucking end them later!”

David’s on his phone, looking up the easiest exits that aren’t covered by the angered men. It was looking grim. They were going to have to fight these guys off, or jump off the sixth floor of the abandoned parking garage. Both seem unlikely with the calculations David was mentally doing. 

“Yeah, Alex! For sure, it’s not like we’re outnumbered five to one! And David doesn’t even have a fucking gun!” Heath is hollering back, punching the side of the black vehicle when his SMG runs out of ammo. 

“Shut the fuck up. Both of you. I know what we need to do-,” David’s starting to explain as a giant explosion goes off directly across from the way from the SUV they’re using as a barrier. The Infinity crossover SUV that had been the blockade for the main exit was blow sky high, the men around the vehicle killed and thrown outwards and away from the decimated luxury car. The vehicles blocking the two additional exits come to life mere moments after the explosion and are burning out in their haste to leave the building, fleeing as if they’re the ones who are out gunned. 

David looks frantically to Alex and Heath who are as shocked as he is, the source of the game changing grenade not coming from either of them. David slowly peeks his head up, looking through the blasted out drivers side window to inspect the flaming wreckage and dead bodies littered around the concrete floor. Standing and moving around their now bullet hole riddled SUV, the man’s eyes flutter around the room, trying to find the source of their savior.

“You know,” a sweet, feminine voice starts, making David’s head snap to the stairwell adjacent to the central exit that had been previously cut off, “Tomas told me you guys were hot shit. I didn’t expect to find you being led into a trap by the idiots that run the Irvine Kings. Good thing I was following you, or Tomas would have had to find another group of YouTubers to run coke to Insta models.” 

The woman reveals her self, stalking up the stairs and crossing the distance to the three remaining men. She’s in head to toe tactical leather and has a wicked grin etched on her full lips as she reprimands the men. Heath is shaking his head angrily and going to inspect the wreckage, ignoring the woman to let his boss take care of.

They let her approach, Alex’s grip still tight on his gun, ready to put a bullet in the woman at the first wrong move. David isn’t worried though. If she wanted to kill them, they would already be dead. Alex implores,

“You know Tomas?” 

“I work for Tomas. Well, I’m contracted by Tomas. He wanted me to make sure this meeting went smoothly. And, well...” she laughs, spreading her arms out and doing a little sway to point out that the gathering had in fact not gone well.

“Yeah, no. It fucking went south,” Alex says through gritted teeth, seething at her accurate but annoying point. He’s begrudging when he admits, “Thanks for the save.”

“No problem,” she replies, moving along the hood of the car closer to them and fingering the bullet holes. She turns her full attention to David at this point, lecturing, “You guys are impressive. On paper. But, I guess it’s going to take some first hand experience to realize even the smallest, dumbest of gangs aren’t anything to look down your nose at. That’s how you get killed.”

“Yeah, we fucking know now!” Heath hollers from behind the woman, crossing the distance to rejoin the conversation, scowling at the woman before joining David’s side. 

She looks at them like they’re nothing and it should piss David off. It doesn’t, it makes him want to know more about her. It makes him wonder why she isn’t impressed with his age and the accomplishments Tomas has had to have bragged about. He’s intrigued by the woman.

“Well,” she breathes out a faked sigh of worry, acting as if she cares about their fate at all, “Tomas isn’t going to be happy-,” she’s starting to explain, but David cuts her off, making hands that tell his men to get in the car as he rounds the woman at the hood and stalks his way to the drivers seat.

“Tomas is going to be fucking thrilled. Because now I have an excuse to tear the Kings apart. I’m going to take everything they’ve amassed and make it ours. Go tell Tomas that! And tell him not to send his little spies after me, or next time they won’t return to him in one piece,” David grand stands to the girl from the car, who doesn’t react in the slightest as he starts the vehicle and revs the engine as she stands in front of it. 

She doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch. She just smiles at the man whose cheeks had gone red from their interaction but not almost being killed. 

(It’s the first power struggle the two will have, but not the last.) 

She side steps out of the way, arms crossed and still grinning when David pulls up so that he can speak to her one last time through the busted window. 

“What’s your name?”

“That’s not important.”

“It is to me. I’d like to know the name of the person that could have watched us die, but didn’t.”

“Well, in that case, I guess you could call me Angel.”

“That’s not your real name.”

“No. It isn’t. Have a good night, Dobrik. And stop fucking up. I don’t like cleaning up after boys with big egos and lack of foresight.”

And then she’s turning to walk away and down the steps she’d taken to reveal herself. David can only stare, intrigued more than he should be for the amount of planning he needs to do in that moment. It takes Alex, punching his arm and telling him now’s not the time to worry about pussy for David to actually drive away.

His best friend is right. 

He’s got work to do.

•••••

“Daaavid,” Tomas is scolding through the phone, the vlogger pacing in his home as Alex has blueprints laid out on his pool table, planning tactical entrances to the Irvine Kings hide out with their friends, “You were suppose to get this simple merger done for me. And now you’re going to try to take them out completely?”

“Yeah, it’ll work out for all of us in the end,” David says, trying to keep his voice placating for the man he works for, “You know I can do this.”

“I do, but your lack of insight has me worried. You were ambushed by a small time operation. What if I hadn’t sent someone to-”

“Yeah, that won’t happen again, ever,” David interrupts, confident truth apparent in his words. David always learns from his mistakes and then never makes them again. Like with Gabbie.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it. And I’m glad you understand you won’t be receiving any more help from me in this endeavor.”

“Of course, but,” David says, trailing off to concoct his words in the way he needs to, to manipulate the man, “The amount of men will out weigh mine heavily. And your girl you sent to spy on us, she has tactical experience, huh?”

“Yes, David,” Tomas relents, exasperation clear in his voice.

“Well, I just assume you’d want the Kings assets in tact when we eliminate them. We can take them out guns blazing, but I don’t know how much will be left or how much we’ll be able to extract from the dead bodies. Like where their cash is hidden and which warehouse they store their goods at. It might be nice to have her-,”

“Yes, yes, alright. You can have her for this. I’ll send her over and she’ll help you this once. But David?”

“Yeah?” 

“You fail me again, and I’ll have her ruin everything you’ve built. Do you understand?”

“Of course, Tomas,” David says through gritted teeth as the line dies.

Alex turns from the chattering men, eye brow cocked in question, “You’re really gonna let her help us? Especially with our long term plan?”

“Yeah, she has explosives we don’t. Which means she had access to other weapons we wouldn’t have otherwise.”

Alex is walking outside, following the leader and leaving the boys to finish the research themselves. The door is closed and they’re alone in the backyard before David continues speaking.

“She’d be a good insider to have.”

“Yeah,” Alex begins wearily, “But she works for him. How are we suppose to guarantee any kind of loyalty? You want another weekend of torture in your basement that may not even work because she obviously has hands on experience with upper leadership? She’s a fucking wildcard, man.”

“She is. But not for us. Didn’t you hear her? She’s contracted by Tomas. She doesn’t work for him, she made that clear by correcting herself. She works for the money he gives her.”

“And what about power? People who only work for money, and not status, will always give up their employers for a better opportunity. What makes you think she won’t do the same to us?”

“Because, Alex, we’re not blind. We’re not dumb. We’re observant. And, she doesn’t work for just money. She works for the thrill. I can give her thrill. I can give her the time of her fucking life,” David monologues, hands playing with his Cartier rings. He has big plans for the girl, he just needs to get Alex on board.

“Okay, Dave. Fine. What do you want her doing in this? Are we just getting weapons from her?”

“Yeah, weapons, but also planning. I want you to take her under your wing. I’m going to have very little time to figure her out, so I need you to do it. I trust your eyes more than anyone else’s. I’m gonna work with the Corinna and Erin to set up some insiders in the Kings before we start. You and the boys plan out the tactical aspects of the attack. And while you’re doing it, you decide whether we can make her into what we need to,” David tells the man, who only nods in agreement. Alex’s opinion is vital to David (who understands he’s currently under the mysterious woman’s charm). 

David’s opinion on her would be biased. And no decision involving Kova could be biased, especially by him. He’s not just brainwashing some dainty, city girl into being a gang member. He would actively be stealing an asset from the most powerful man in Los Angeles. He needed to be careful and he needed to know the venture was even worth the hassle in the first place.

Alex would give him a straight answer before he invests any more future plans into the girl.

(She’s the key though. To taking down Tomas. She just needs to prove herself.)

•••••

And she fucking does.

She spends the next day and half by Alex’s side, planning three different avenues of attack and several contingency plans in case everything goes to shit.

Alex spends the time subtly picking her brain and is impressed. This girl knows what she wants and how to get it, she isn’t worried by the bodies left in her wake. She lives for thrill and adrenaline and being the best at what she does.

Which she is.

She leads the surprise attack with Alex, calling out orders and leading their men like she’s been doing it all her life. She goes out of her way to save the lives of Zane and Scotty, which seals the deal for Alex. Her only real order from Tomas was to get the job done and not let David or Alex die. But here she was, watching out for Kova like she belonged.

Which, by the end of the attack, she really did seem to belong. Alex wanted her forever on their side. She was dangerous and cunning and everything that Alex saw in himself and his best friend, but with tits.

The only injury that Kova took was Liza’s ear that had been grazed by a stray bullet.

(Angel’s bullet in fact, and it wasn’t that stray, but Alex would never tell. He already liked the new girl better than the one-time saint his best friend was currently fucking.)

The woman also leaves the Irvine King’s leader, Robert, alive. Only a bullet to the kneecap, so that the leaders of Kova could have their fun with him.

The rest of the group are heading out to rest or celebrate the success of the night, when David and Alex settle down to torture the man that had deceived them. Alex calls Angel over, asks her if she wants to stay and watch, maybe participate.

David can only give Alex a knowing, amused look. His best friend would only offer that to someone he trusts, someone who is Kova. And that gesture is Alex’s answer to David regarding the new girl.

A simple invitation that let the leader know that yes, Angel could be trusted and that she had potential to be part of their fucked up family.

David doesn’t know what makes him happier; the screams Robert makes when he cuts out his eyes or the air of belonging Angel gives off as she sits on Alex’s lap and watches.

She’s perfect.

(He watches her rip Robert’s fingernails off with a giggle and David vows to give her the world.

But, only after he’s carved out his own spot with a bloodied knife.)

•••••

Mob Boss Au Masterlist

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, KAT! You’ve been accepted for the role of PUCK. Admin Rosey: There's nothing that thrives more in Verona than chaos and Kat, that's exactly what you brought us - a character that exudes nothing but pure and utter chaos. Your para sample highlights perfectly the best and worst of our beloved Puck and his unapologetic satisfaction in being the best at being the absolute worst. Verona has endured many things but it has yet to endure Puck - and honestly I'm not entirely sure it will. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Kat Age | 24 Preferred Pronouns | She/her Activity Level | I think I’ll be able to get on quite a bit! At least two or three times a week, but likely more! Ya girl dropped a whole job ya YEET Timezone | EST How did you find the rp? | I originally came across it in the lsrpg tag, also I miss y’all :( Current/Past RP Accounts | These are links to inactive past accounts! https://neosy.tumblr.com/ https://grchcmisms.tumblr.com/ https://99gael.tumblr.com/ https://halogenq.tumblr.com/ https://odinbellc.tumblr.com/ ;)

In Character

Character | Puck, Pavel Lam

What drew you to this character? | beautiful chaos and twisted humor, a spring in the step of a child-like demon, all soft face and sharp features. they live life as if there are a lack of consequences, laughing in the face of harbored restrictions and societal rules. they swindle, steal, and slice, color the world with trickery and a wicked grin. they’re absolutely flavorful, chocolate cake with bitter, poison icing, long sticks of candy cane that are licked too sharply pointed.

similar to the likeness of peter pan, of trickster gods, and all devil-may-care figures. he is forever a boy, but parading as a man, selfish and big-headed. i see potential dripping from the deepest of crevices, his heart burrowed in armoured steel, tasteless victory.

what draws me to pavel lam? sweet, sweet chaos fed to me like grapes from adonis himself. let me unleash the beast of my writing in all its absolute, unruly nature. let me shatter glasses of whiskey by chucking them towards my fireplace as i express all the ways he can shred plans like priceless documents. i crave blood-stained teeth and busted knuckles, the dance of a jester as he makes away with all the kings gold. the clanking of chains and countless rings adorning fingers, gluttony and swallowed sanity. dear god, what doesn’t draw me to this character?

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

i. pride he shrugs, his silhouette not at all coy nor a picture of interest, but on the other side of a turned back there are gritted teeth and balled fists. he supposes it’s the curse of a person forced to work for their success, scramble and claw for riches. nothing tears him apart like a lack of respect, ironic and hypocritical from someone who can’t recall the definition of the word most days. he cannot stand being discounted, or ignored, more likely to smile at a drink thrown in his face than a turned back. his pride will eat him alive if he lets it, will consume him whole without mercy, and he cannot let them know how much it bothers him. he keeps secrets and lets blood pool his mouth from having his teeth sunk too harshly into his tongue. he can only clench his jaw so tight before something begins to splinter, a comment or a jest just an inch too far, just a little too close to home and something is bound to snap; an aging dam that still struggles against the weight of its burden.

tread lightly, or beware of the snakes in the long grass.

ii. greed it’s never enough, not all the riches in the world, not the most dangerous task nor highest penthouse. they can’t be sated by grandiose or any price tag, though such things are very well accepted and stolen. he will take all that is offered and more, refusing to reject any task that seems of interest, anything that feels as if others would turn it down out of fear or otherwise. these are the things that get people killed, and still he only laughs, the sight of his own blood lighting mirth and distaste. he feels no pity for himself, no self-preservation active in his mind or body. it’s only a matter of time before he finds himself in a situation that he even his wit and silver tongue cannot get him out of. danger signs do not flash so brightly to him, the dense fog filling the road in a blind search for glory and gore, his fingers grasp in the darkness and he plays it all as a game.

once and awhile, headlights cut through the mist in a warning.

iii. shame at night his muscles twitch and ache in sync with the pain in his chest, stood in his bathroom mirror with smudged glamour and horrid eyes – hurt, and disdain for his hurt. who is this person in the reflection? weak, and caked with dirt, hideous, with weighted skin under dull eyes that look pitifully vengeful? at night he stays out to avoid the man he shares his apartment with, the one who glares at him through the framed glass in his bathroom, the sleepless monster that feels everything he ignores, drunk and full of nightmares so that the pavel who works and the pavel who socializes can laugh and spit and jeer. the man who cowers under sheets and stares at blinking clocks is human, disgustingly so, and he rots and rots until he pulls his arms through decadent sleeves embroidered by gods. he does not cry, but seethes, and then he pulls himself together, all intoxicated and wild, the character, the jester, the mercenary.

he plants his hands on the cold porcelain edges of his sink, locks eyes with the reflection he sees, and laughs as if mad.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | you know me, the more pain, the more suffering, the more gain. bring it y’all.

In Depth

In-Character Para Sample:

he sits in the backseat of a parked stretch hummer with his legs spread in a dramatic fashion, leaned back in his seat with aloof expressions, careless posture. it’s not his car, but he dominates the atmosphere, the perfect center of attention, the other man’s eyes steadily on him, as it should be, as he intends for it to be. silvers drip from him, a newfound love of chains and jewelry, pretty and powerful. he looks unimpressed, perhaps playing his version of coy as he says, “okay, you have me here, now what on earth are you going to do with me?” all sharp teeth and glinting eyes, a modern day dionysus filled with lies and mirth, devilish words with a darkened tone, he leans forward, his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand. pavel smells of fortunes, far from the street rat in rags, far from desperate but perpetually greedy, his grin so sharp it practically glows in the dark, could easily be imagined floating in midair, hovering above the leather seats.

they’re only here to play games, fingers gleaming with rings and itching to touch, to sully, to disrupt.

in instances like this they feel perhaps immortal, catching the light of the car overheads, the glare and tinted windows blocking the blackness of the late night outside. yes, mother, a child not designed but merely thrown together, a sloppy collection of limbs and blood becomes something beautiful, something frightening, so very terrible. a boy who had to struggle for money now carries himself as if he has had it his whole life, so comfortable in luxury, shrugging at expensive things and putting his shoes on the interior of italian leather.

“you know what you’re here for.”

pavel’s lips pull back in a wicked smile. the knife digs into the bottom of his calf in his boot.

it’s all too easy to play a part; pursed lips, crossed arms, sunglasses perched on the end of his nose. he appears petulant, perhaps wanton, poorly postured at a gala. expensive clothes but in an under dressed manner. he caught the targets attention immediately, an old married man with a high price on his head, a chunk of gold hidden in his chest, a new rolex behind his temples, and that’s all he sees now, not blood beneath flesh or rolling veins. if he is inhuman, then so is the man, objects for objective purpose, paid for in cash and carnage, a handsome face with chilling features.

he whispers lies and gets pretty words in response.

he likes it this way, business perceived as business, no fluttering eyelashes and personal questions, just the words of ‘roll over’ and a ringing, gawky laugh in response.

this is what war looks like to him now, red tinted club lighting and soaked underfoot, sleight of hand and golden letter openers, expensive bottles of wine and chandelier shards etched into skin. he suits this as well as he did sloppy street crimes, officers never minding the homeless man on homicide scenes; now they turn their backs to boys with expensive things, petty and spoiled, they assume, not worth their time. he climbs into the other man’s seat easily, a swing of legs over hips, knees fitted and he leans forward. it’s then that the feeling inside the car changes, near imperceptible to the eye but distinguishable by the way the man suddenly squirms, feeling less in control still, suddenly trapped. pavel gets close, faces nearly touching, eyes all humor. “what’s wrong? you wanna be on top?” he laughs, and the man pushes his chest, trying to get him off but pavel tightens his grip, fingers pressed tightly to the top of the seat on either side of the man’s head. “this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he feels the panic, the surge in energy, and it’s then, in one quick motion, that he unsheathes the knife and plunges it into ribcage.

he still does his best work with messy murder, pulling the knife out and slamming it into the man’s chest a second time, the leak of blood getting on his clothes, pants and undershirt black for good reason.

blood runs red yet appears inky in the under-lit vehicle, seeping out of wounds like tar, a monster escaping a body first in slow motion and then all too quickly. bodies get cold fast to him, his interest only spanning how long it takes for the light to leave your eyes before it’s on to the next. not a minute to waste, unopened bottles of champagne lay waiting to pop, showers of wine and new gadgets and shiny things to replace the new gaping void he feels in the cars interior. it doesn’t make him quite nauseous, but something inside him rolls. disgusting. boring.

he removes his long white over shirt now tainted with red and discards it on the floor of the vehicle carelessly, leaving a black wife beater on his person and opening the door, one leg sliding out in front of the other. he stills just a moment outside the gaudy vehicle, allowing only a moment to pass before the dull click of a lighter.

Extras:

playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6BpLUvLJ5B0AShSPXzf4sT?si=xZj_nNlVTWOQqzk3K2S_Ig hc: owns gucci slides unironically

[downstvged]

s u r v e y  :    p e y t o n    p e l l e g r i n o.

what’s this? there’s something paper clipped to the page... a stick of juicy fruit. how thoughtful.

basic information

FULL NAME: jamie claverton  peyton pellegrino PRONUNCIATION: PAY-ton pell-eh-GREEN-oh MEANING: noble, royal REASONING: his kidnapper father said he always looked like a peyton. strong, wise, dignified. NICKNAME(S): pey, pellegrino, pillsbury ( monty ), sparkles ( tess ), etc. PREFERRED NAME(S): peyton BIRTH DATE: july 24, 2000 AGE: 18 ZODIAC: leo GENDER: cismale PRONOUNS:  he/him ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:  heteroromantic SEXUAL ORIENTATION: heterosexual NATIONALITY:  american. ETHNICITY: italian-american. his father’s got pellegrino pride.

background

BIRTH PLACE: milton, delaware  HOMETOWN:  milton, delaware.  his dad said he was born in ohio. everyone thinks he’s from cali, when they meet him. SOCIAL CLASS:  upper-middle. FATHER: presley claverton. matthew pellegrino. fire chief. 52. west ham’s most eligible and charming single father. and peyton’s best friend. faceclaim. MOTHER: theresa claverton.  francesca milluzzo. peyton never knew her. his dad said she deserted them shortly before his first birthday. SIBLING(S): none. BIRTH ORDER: first of three. the clavertons needed to fill the void. first and only. PET(S): none. but he adores anything fluffy. OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIVES:  n/a PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS: n/a. he’s always been too scared of his own shadow to ask a girl out. ARRESTS?: squeaky clean. PRISON TIME?: not unless you count double-shifts delivering pizzas.

occupation & income

SOURCE OF INCOME: works part-time as a pizza delivery boy at one of west ham’s most beloved pizza joints. CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB (OR LACK THERE OF)?: very content, usually! people tip well and peyton enjoys the small talk. PAST JOB(S): assistant life guarding at the local pool in middle school, but that quickly ended after he had a panic attack on duty. SPENDING HABITS: peyton’s pretty frugal! his idea of a fun time is boarding around town with monty, or grabbing a scoop of ice cream at one of the local places. he’s not too big on driving, if he doesn’t have to. longboards almost everywhere. his dad’s job gets them ample cash, being fire chief, but they live modestly. pellegrino men are humble. MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: his longboard. unfortunately, his anti-anxiety meds.

skills & abilities

TALENTS: deduction, longboarding, mock trial, stage lighting, studying, making people smile. he’s mario kart champion and he’ll never live that down. SHORTCOMINGS: overthinker. often, he limits himself just by thinking in circles. he... finds the good in people. assumes the best. LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: english, and enough italian to get friendly with the kitchen staff. DRIVE?:  yes. JUMP-STAR A CAR?: yes. CHANGE A FLAT TIRE?: yes. RIDE A BICYCLE?: yes, but longboards are way better. SWIM?: yes. PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?: he has a guitar and plays it decently well. sometimes he’ll hum a little tune and strum a few chords, but it’s nothing too major. PLAY CHESS?: yeah. BRAID HAIR?: ha! him? able to braid hair? he wishes. TIE A TIE?: he can double-knot his shoes. PICK A LOCK?: no.

physical appearance & characteristics

FACE CLAIM: noah centineo. EYE COLOR: deep hazel, primarily chocolate with pools of mossy green. HAIR COLOR: dark brown. HAIR TYPE/STYLE: wavy/curly. it does what it wants, and he rarely styles it, unless it’s for a mock trial competition or a student gov event. reference. GLASSES/CONTACTS?: he has a glasses prescription but always wears his contacts. DOMINANT HAND: right. HEIGHT: 6′1. WEIGHT: 165 lbs. BUILD: lean, trim, athletic. EXERCISE HABITS: he’s co-captain of the lacrosse team with monty, so they have daily team workouts. he goes for runs a lot, and likes HIIT training. does longboarding count? it should. he’s boarded all over this town countless times ( it’s also how he chooses to deliver pizzas, when the weather’s alright. ) SKIN TONE: tanned, smooth. reference. TATTOOS: none. he can’t handle needles. PEIRCINGS: none. MARKS/SCARS: a few on his arms and legs from nasty longboarding falls. NOTABLE FEATURES: his wild hair. million-watt smile. USUAL EXPRESSION: peaceful, welcoming. CLOTHING STYLE: reference.  leather bracelets, cuffed jeans, lots of solid colored and colorblocked tees. when he dresses up for mock trial, the girls kinda swoon. boy looks dashing in a suit. has a glasses prescription but always wears contacts. his dad says he looks sharper that way ( but it’s actually because, with glasses, he looks too similar to the claverton family. )  beat up chuck taylors, kind of untied on purpose. he’s got that whole loosely kept together, sleep deprived look down pat. JEWELRY: leather bracelets. sometimes he’ll wear a thin chain. ALLERGIES: n/a. BODY TEMPERATURE: the standard. he runs a little warmer than most. DIET: lots of pizza. mountain dew. juicy fruit gum’s basically a whole other food group. PHYSICAL AILMENTS: n/a. he can be a bit jumpy, sometimes, if he’s feeling on edge. his left pinky kind of clicks funny when he makes a fist, from when he broke his hand his freshman year.

psychology

MORAL ALIGNMENT: lawful good. TEMPERAMENT: phlegmatic. ELEMENT: earth. MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: anxiety disorder. SOCIABILITY: very approachable. warm. kindhearted. there’s a reason he’s the one tasked with getting class dues, as class treasurer. there’s a reason why he leads the lacrosse team. EMOTIONAL STABILITY:  typically very levelheaded. his anxiety can make that fluctuate, though. PHOBIA(S): having another panic attack in public. he hasn’t had one in front of anyone besides monty in a year. ADDICTION(S): does juicy fruit qualify? DRUG USE: none. very straight-edge.  ALCOHOL USE:  occasional, as much as you’d expect. PRONE TO VIOLENCE?: not at all.

mannerisms

QUIRKS: peyton shoves his hands into his pockets when he’s nervous. he always looks for monty or tess in a crowded room, to get grounded. whenever he wears a flannel or a sweatshirt, he always pushes the sleeves up midway to his elbows. HOBBIES: lacrosse, longboarding, mock trial, reading, parkour ( a phase in freshman year ). watching football games with his dad. trying out weird recipes. HABITS: biting the edge of pens. turning his head to the side when he’s listening. offering people pieces of his lunch until he realizes there’s nothing left for him. NERVOUS TICKS: not knowing what to do with his hands. trailing off. looking at the ground. laughing. counting his own fingers. biting the tip of his tongue. DRIVES/MOTIVATIONS: he genuinely wants to see people happy. he wants everything to run smoothly and willingly along.  FEARS: his meds will stop working. he’ll have a panic attack in front of his classmates, who are supposed to see him as calm, collected, put together. he’ll never get to know more about his mom. it bugs him. POSITIVE TRAITS: benevolent, bona fide, conscientious, suave, tenderhearted. NEGATIVE TRAITS: anxious, critical, restless, self-limiting, yielding. SENSE OF HUMOR: puns. wit. a lot of inside jokes with tess and monty. DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: not really! he’s more likely to say frick or flipping than anything bad. CATCHPHRASE(S): “ oh shit ! ” & “ dude ! ” & “ what’s good ? ”

favorites

ACTIVITY: longboarding, hands down. ANIMAL: he’s got a super soft spot for rabbits. BEVERAGE: mountain dew or 7-up. BOOK: growing up, he loved the percy jackson series. CELEBRITY: stephen hawking. COLOR: green. DESIGNER: designer? he guesses, like... is gucci the right answer? he’s not really plugged in to that. FOOD: does juicy fruit count? FLOWER: he’s learning more about flowers, but he thinks sunflowers are pretty nice. kelly’s teaching him more about those. GEM: tiger’s eye. HOLIDAY: christmas. that’s when the famous pellegrino slutty brownies surface. MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: longboarding !! MOVIE: original star trek. MUSICAL ARTIST: saint motel. QUOTE/SAYING: “ we’re dead !  we survived but we’re dead ! ” – dash, the incredibles. SCENERY: rolling hills. sunset. SCENT: cinnamon. SPORT: lacrosse. SPORTS TEAM: in connecticut, he’s surprised he hasn’t been vilified for being a chicago bears fan. but he and his dad spent some time there, and going to those games became a weekly tradition. they watch them now, and it’s like a little piece of their story. TELEVISION SHOW: saturday night live, honestly. WEATHER: that golden-hour sunshine, just before sunset. lukewarm. mid-60′s. VACATION DESTINATION: hawaii. he’s always wanted to longboard down those colossal volcano-side roads.

attitudes

GREATEST DREAM: go into tech/lighting design for broadway. ask cassandra pressman out, for real. GREATEST FEAR: his dad won’t be able to function without him in west ham next fall. he’ll panic in front of people when he needs to seem strong. MOST AT EASE WHEN: he’s with his squad, the belugas. LEAST AT EASE WHEN: he’s allowed the time to overthink. when his dad doesn’t come home from his fire shift on time. when things don’t feel right. BIGGEST ACHIEVEMENT: the west ham mock trial team won the state championship this spring. BIGGEST REGRET: he never pressured his dad more about finding his mother. MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENT: he had a panic attack in the middle of his treasurer speech freshman year. someone pulled the fire alarm right as he couldn’t breathe. to this day, peyton has no idea who that was, but he’s so friggin’ thankful. BIGGEST SECRET: his biggest secret’s not even known to him yet. matthew pellegrino isn’t his father; he’s his kidnapper. peyton pellegrino’s fake. doesn’t exist. TOP PRIORITIES: having monty and tess’s backs. taking care of his dad, since he’s still reeling from peyton’s mom leaving almost 17 years ago. bringing the lacrosse team to the state championships. making sure every single thing he does for west ham high’s theatre department is flawless: making art on that stage. finding out how to... conquer this anxiety. finding out how to muster up enough courage to make a move before it’s too late.