#also works pretty well on pointe shoes when the floor is too slippery but you cant use rosin and duct tape is too sticky

[daily-uquiz]

[dancingamongstdust]

MHA Scenarios - First Meeting (Part 1)

Cellophane

Despite the U.A.’s insistence that the hero course wasn’t a spectacle for the rest of the world to watch, often when there was some free time, many students flocked to areas where the classes were training. They would lean against trees or pretend to be doing homework while watching the show of fire, explosions, and acid.

You were one of those observers. With a textbook in your lap, you sat beneath a tree with your friends, and watched 1A train their quirks.

The grass tickled at your legs and the sun warmed your skin. It was such a beautiful day despite the sounds of fighting. Occasionally a wash of warmth would flood over you as a large attack went off but you mostly ignored it.

“I think the green-haired one is the cutest,” one of the girls with you said. “He’s super sweet and clearly he’s really strong.”

“Have you seen the Todoroki boy though?” another responded. “Cute and brooding.”

You laughed, making a comment to more agree with the latter though you wouldn’t be interested in anybody as cold as that. Rumours floated around that he never spoke, not even to his own classmates. Many also believed his temper was as bad as his father’s given his massive attacks during the sports festival.

But you didn’t listen all too much to gossip about the hero course. Instead, you just enjoyed watching them in action and running away when their teacher spotted you all.

Luckily, today Eraserhead seemed preoccupied at the end of their class so most of the other students could hang around longer. While he was busy lecturing two of his students, the rest began making their way to the change rooms.

Almost instantly, everybody took advantage of being spared his glare and watched the heroes-in-training.

Some seemed uncomfortable with the rest of the school’s presence while others relished in it. You watched as the shortest of the group winked at every girl, he made eye contact with, including yourself and laughed as a girl from general studies attempted to confess to the most explosive hero of the class.

But it was a specific member who caught your eye and she waved excitedly when she saw you, hurrying over. “Hey!” she greeted. “Were you guys watching us train?”

You stood, brushing grass off your clothing, and smiling. “Yeah, we were. Couldn’t see much of you though, you were almost completely hidden.”

Mina sighed. “It’s so sad how these things happen. My acid doesn’t stand out too much amongst this group.”

You hadn’t known Mina for very long but your friendship was pretty strong. She had attached herself to you due to your talent with making her photos perfect (something of a challenge thanks to her skin tone often contrasting with everything).

Your other friends slipped away, clearly wanting better looks at whomever was being lectured. That kind of gossip went for a high price.

Somebody called for Mina and she gestured them over. “These are the best people in the hero course aside from yours truly,” she said. “Kirishima, Kaminari, and Sero.” She gave them your name as well and you politely greeted them each.

“Your electricity is really impressive,” you told Kaminari. “Everybody talks about it when we’re watching the training.”

He smiled widely at that but Mina just groaned. “Of course, everybody notices the flashy quirk. Do you know how many people still think that my quirk is being pink?”

“It’s because they get distracted with bright lights and don’t notice the actual talent,” Sero told her playfully. “Don’t worry about it.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s not true.”

He chuckled. “It so is.”

“I mean, I notice your quirk all the time,” you said. “And it doesn’t have any lights. You’re just extremely smooth while fighting so you draw the eye.”

He seemed doubtful about that, acting as though you were complimenting him just for the sake of it. “Sure, sure. But when Bakugou unleashes a couple explosions, I bet your attention moves directly to him.”

“It doesn’t. I can prove it also.”

“How so?”

You gestured to the tree. “I’m always sitting right here. Keep an eye out for me next time – you’ll see whose fighting I favour watching.”

Chargebolt

It was a good day for there to be a pipe burst just outside of school.

The sun was shining, there was almost no wind, and there weren’t any large assignments due for almost a week. Overall, everything surrounding the day made it perfect for some rest and relaxation.

Your friend group finally made it up to the crest of the hill and stared around at the beautiful landscape. The view was magnificent. Almost as awe-inspiring as the school that you now stood across from. Every person knew about the hero school U.A. and now you had seen it in person.

“Imagine what it must be like to train to be a hero,” you mused. “I’m sure I would absolutely despise every second of it.”

Everybody laughed, jokes spreading about how they would be too lazy for constant workouts or how their hero names would just be too embarrassing. One girl whose quirk allowed her to pop her eyeballs out made a joke about how her entire career would surround traumatizing children.

“Why hello,” a very high-pitched voice greeted.

You startled, looking down at the small boy. He had bright purple hair and a cocky smirk on his face that just screamed trouble.

Luckily for you, his attention was more focused on others.

“I’m guessing you ladies are here to admire the toughest heroes in the country, right?” he said. “Well, luckily for you, you’re looking at one of the best in the entire school.”

You snorted. “Are you even old enough to be walking around without your parent?”

“Nobody was asking you,” he retorted. “I was speaking to the absolute beauties before me.”

Yourself and two girls that he was ignoring took steps away. They seemed interested in fighting however while you just enjoyed the show. It wasn’t the first time that your group had been annoyed by pervs and you each had different ways of dealing with it.

While he was busy screaming in shock as two eyeballs fell from a girl’s skull, somebody approached you, looking rather embarrassed.

“I’m sorry about him,” the blond said. He kept a confident smile on but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “He’s not well-versed in speaking to beautiful woman.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, willing to play along with somebody who made eye contact before staring at your boobs. Unlike his friend. “And I’m guessing that you’re much better at that?”

“Oh definitely,” he said, stretching. He wore his U.A. uniform still but carried little of the arrogance you had come to expect from the school.

“Well, show me your best line then,” you said, turning to face him properly.

He startled at that. For a second, he eyed you cautiously as though your response was some kind of prank. Then he cleared his throat and said, “You owe me a drink.”

You smiled at the cheesiness. “And why is that?”

“Because you spilled it – wait, no, because you’re so beautiful that you made me spill it.”

You brought your hand to your mouth, laughing at the world’s most common pickup line that still managed to fail somehow. “Points for trying,” you said. “Though, I’ll give you a hint. When you go and hit on your next target, you can start with your name. Makes you seem a little less forward.”

He blushed at that but pointed to himself regardless. “I’m Denki Kaminari,” he introduced himself.

You offered your name. “And you’re a U.A. student?”

“Yeah, I’m in the hero course.”

“Oh that’s why you look so familiar,” you said. “I’ve seen you in the news before. You’re the electricity guy, right?”

He clicked his fingers and a spark jumped between them. Unfortunately, you were standing close enough that it then moved to you. It wasn’t powerful enough to hurt but you still jumped at the unexpected jolt.

“Shit, sorry,” he said.

“No problem,” you replied with a smile. “It was nice meeting you Kaminari. I’m going to go and save your friend from being beaten up though. See you around!”

Creati

The rain was pouring down outside, whipping the trees around. It seemed to be desperate to reach where you stood beneath a roof outcropping. A few splashes landed on your shoes and you shuffled back further still.

Just one short run.

Holding your bag against your chest, you lowered your head and ran for it. The ground was slippery beneath your feet but you managed to keep your balance pretty well. At least, you did until somebody collided with you. Given how everybody was holding their heads down, it was inevitable.

You went down with a squelch into the mud, a sharp pain shooting through both knees and one arm. There was a yelp as the other person fell also.

Rain pounded on your heads. You glanced up to find another student sitting on her ass. She had been carrying her bag on her chest also which had saved it from the mud.

Your own was less lucky.

Cursing under your breath, you dragged yourself to your feet and held out a hand to her. You had to use your weaker one because it was the only part of you that wasn’t covered in mud.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologised.

“No, I am,” she said. “That was entirely my fault! I wasn’t looking where I was going and –“

A flash of lightning illuminated the sky and you both froze. Thinking at the same time, you put your apologies on hold to rush to the closest shelter, thankfully the entrance of the school that you were both heading into either way.

You looked down at your ruined uniform and groaned. It was going to be really difficult to clean and certainly wouldn’t be alright before class.

The girl was mud-splattered also. Flecks covered her face and the back of her high pony was dripping with the stuff.

“We’re making an awful mess…” you said, looking down at the floor.

Other students rushed past you guys, a few giving you curious looks.

“We can get slightly cleaned up in the bathroom,” she urged. “Come on.”

You followed her into the nearest bathroom and quickly went to work dropping your ruined bag in the corner and cleaning off your arms and legs. “I really am sorry,” you said when she let her hair down. “I didn’t mean to bump into you.”

She shook her head. “No, that really was my fault. I’m so sorry.”

“We’re both going to get into trouble with uniforms now though,” you said. “That’s not great. I was really hoping to fly under the radar today… what are you doing?”

She had lifted up the bottom of her shirt and her skin seemed to be glowing brightly. After a second, a perfectly folded skirt emerged. She took it and placed it in front of her before turning to you, “What size do you wear?”

“What?”

“I’ll make you some replacements quickly if you let me know what size you are.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You can do that?”

She nodded. “I’m going to make you another bag also so you can start taking all your stuff out.”

You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly. “I really appreciate this but you don’t have to –“

“It doesn’t cost me anything,” she said with a smile.

Soon, you left the bathroom with a new uniform and bag. The only signs that you had even slipped was the occasional bit of mud that you had missed. She followed you out and the two of you soon came to a split in the corridors.

You reached out and rubbed some mud from her arm. “I should have known you were hero course,” you joked. “Thanks for everything and I really am sorry for running into you. Perhaps you can tell me your name? That way I can brag when you’re a famous hero one day.”

She blushed but held out her hand. “I’m Momo Yaoyorozu. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Deku

It all began in the early hours of the morning when the sun had just made its way over the horizon. Having arrived sooner than anticipated, you were standing outside with your friends and talking about various aspects of life. A topic that, inevitably, brought up quirks.

Everybody began messing around with their own. Some levitated their bags while others changed their hair colour – simple things that weren’t all too impressive but remained entertaining.

You played around with your own a little, relishing in the freedom that came with using it.

Something that always irritated you was the inability to use your quirk in public settings. Especially when it was something benign. For this reason, you adored your school more than most other locations. U.A. inspired a sense of relief due to its casual acceptance of pretty much anybody. No matter their size, quirk, or appearance.

By the time you had finished your conversation, you all had begun heading into the main building. You reached into your pocket to quickly realise that your phone was missing.

“See you guys in class,” you said to your friends, darting out to grab it again.

You exited the main door, scanning the area when somebody tapped your arm.

“Sorry, you left this outside.”

“Oh!” you said, taking your phone. “Thank you! I was just coming to look for this.”

The person who had helped you offered a cheery smile. He was recognisable in the way that all hero-course students were. They carried their personalities in their walks. Yet, his name completely escaped you.

“No problem,” he said. “I was really hoping I could find you instead of turning it in.”

The two of you walked back into the building alongside one another. “At least at a hero school, I don’t have to worry about it going missing,” you joked. “I feel like I should know your name but it’s just slipping from my mind, sorry.”

“Izuku Midoriya,” he said. “Why should you know my name?”

“Oh, come on. Like you don’t know that 1A are basically local celebrities.”

He blushed at that, coughing as he scrambled to regain his composure. “I don’t… well, I don’t know about being famous or anything. We’re just regular students, really.”

“Except you’re attacked by villains constantly.”

“Except for that, yes.”

You laughed, drawing unneeded attention from other students in the hall. They were all staring and trying to figure out if they could spread any kind of gossip about this interaction. The local soap opera that was class 1A had many students involved in the happenings of others’ lives.

“So, I noticed you were using your quirk earlier,” Midoriya said, bringing your attention back to him. His hair helped him to stand out with its fluffy, green nature but his voice remained soft. “Do you have any pro-heroes in your family?”

“One of my aunts,” you said. “She inspired me to come to U.A. in the first place.”

He surprised you by immediately saying her hero name. When you didn’t initially respond, he gave you a quizzical look.

“Yes, how did you know?”

“Your quirks are similar but not enough for immediate family,” he said. “Do you have the same limitations with your own? I know she has a weakness with it that many villains like to exploit which could be the reason why she’s never risen higher in the rankings… not that she isn’t a great hero, of course, but it’s a well-known flaw in her quirk.”

You chuckled at that. “I mean, well-known for a very small level hero,” you said. “The types of villains that she deals with hardly have the brain cells to remember their own names.”

“It doesn’t make her work any less important.”

You smiled at that, appreciative of the notion. “I don’t actually know much about her quirk,” you admitted. “My own is pretty lack-luster. I can experiment with it and let you know what I find out, if you really want to know.”

“Yeah! That would be great! I could – oh, wait, no that’s probably an odd thing to say…” he trailed off, looking lost in thought. “Well, just let me know?”

“Of course,” you said. “Bye! Have a great day.”

Your own classroom felt surprisingly uninteresting without him there. You looked around at all the familiar faces and smiled. It wasn’t like you wouldn’t see him again.

Dynamight

“What are you, a coward?”

You glanced up from your phone, the challenge lighting a spark in your eyes. “No,” you said. “I just don’t take bets that I know I’m going to lose.”

Sighing dramatically, your friend slumped back in her chair and toyed with the food in front of her. She huffed a stray strand of hair from her face. “You used to be fun,” she groaned. “What happened to the person who would take any dare, no matter how high the odds?”

“I just don’t see the point in wagering my daifuku, one of my favourite snacks by the way, on something pointless.”

“It’s not like you have to land a date, just talk to him for like a minimum of a minute.”

You glanced down at your dessert and contemplated her offer. The cafeteria was busy, as always, and you could hear almost four conversations going on at once. Most were unrelated to schoolwork but quite a few mentioned the infamous class 1A who were sitting on the opposite side of the room.

From where you were, you could make out a few of the more recognisable members, including the reason that everybody was discussing the class right now.

“I feel like you’re setting me up for failure,” you said. “He’s clearly in a bad mood already.”

“When is he not?”

Groaning, you stood up from the table and stretched a little. “If I come back uninjured, you have to double the payment, alright?”

Perhaps you had too much of a reputation already – or maybe people were just shameless eavesdroppers – but several perked up as you made your way toward the hero course’s regular tables. They were all prepared for some kind of show, be it from you or from the subject of your attention.

Class 1A’s personal explosive, Katsuki Bakugo had made a scene not too long ago, prompting the very dare that had you making you way over there.

His table hosted five people and you chose the pink girl’s seat to lean over once you arrived.

“Sorry to interrupt,” you greeted with a smile though your eyes held Bakugo’s.

He was agitated, that much was obvious, but you weren’t sure if it was the normal level or not. Your appearance definitely wasn’t a positive though.

“Who are you?” he snapped.

“An admirer,” you responded, allowing your attention to now rove over the other confused students. “Not just of you but of the entire hero course. I always wanted to apply but never quite got the marks so I was curious what its like. And you seem to be, by far, the most approachable of the lot.”

The girl you were standing beside snorted with laughter. “Good one,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m Mina.”

You introduced yourself with a smile, keeping the majority of your attention on Bakugo. “I do know most of your names,” you said. “Though that’s not saying too much. You’re all over the school and the news most weeks.”

“Ugh, tell me about it,” she complained. “Do you want to sit with us?”

“I would love to,” you said, gladly taking a seat beside her and flashing Bakugo a bright smile. “Has anybody told you that your hair is adorable? Like it suits your whole aesthetic so well.”

“Fuck off.”

One of the other boys chuckled a little awkwardly but still responded with a shark-toothed grin. “Sorry, Bakugo doesn’t like compliments too much.”

“I don’t like them when they’re so clearly fake,” he scoffed, eyeing you up. “I know you morons struggle to understand but people don’t just come over to make friends. This is a dare of some kind, isn’t it?”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t make friends while winning some extra dessert,” you said.

“People dare each other to come say hi to us?” the blond electricity guy asked. He had a charger hanging from his mouth.

“Not all of you.”

Bakugo scoffed, standing up from his chair sharply. “Hope you lose,” he said, storming away from the table and disappearing into the crowd.

Earphone Jack

The words ‘joint class’ had seemed fun when it was first mentioned. It wasn’t often that you interacted with students outside of your course and many had presumed that it would be a simple way to split Present Mic’s focus between more people.

Unfortunately, you should have all seen the group project part coming.

“Working in the pro-hero industry will often have you alongside complete strangers,” it had been explained. “Whether on the battlefield or behind the scenes, you’re going to have some great times meeting new people and learning about your own limitations. I’ve chosen who I think you’ll get along with but I could be very wrong. We’ll have to see.”

You all groaned, already anticipating the lengthy assignment that would be coming up. It probably wouldn’t be as bad for the hero course students.

For the pairs, it was pretty expected. Nobody from the same course was working together and the majority of the pairs stuck to the same gender.

You understood why when you heard the small purple one start complaining about it being discriminatory or something.

Present Mic stood in front of your desk before you even knew it, a grin on his face.

Often, you thought that you were one of his favourites. You focused on his class and always actively engaged. Sometimes you would even see him outside of class and he would give you a great wave.

You really hoped that those kind sentiments carried over.

“You’re going to be working with Kyoka Jiro,” he announced. Then, leaning forward, he added, “The one with the purple hair and the audio jacks on her ears.”

Thankful that he hadn’t left you floundering, you stood up and took a deep breath. Going over and speaking to a new person shouldn’t be that hard but you really didn’t want to… still, it wasn’t optional.

“Hi,” you said when she looked up at your approach. “I believe we’re in a team. You’re Jiro, right?”

She rubbed the back of her head awkwardly but still smiled. “Yeah, that’s me. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You sat down in the chair in front of her desk – vacant thanks to its occupant speaking to their own group member. “Present Mic said that he paired us up with people he thinks we’d get along with. Aside from my adoration of your hair, what else do we have in common?”

She reached up and touched her hair, laughing a little awkwardly. “Thank you. Maybe we both listen to the same music?”

“That could be it, what kind of things do you listen to?”

Jiro opened up at that question, immediately launching into a detailed conversation about her favourite and least favourite genres. You had heard of some of the bands that she mentioned but most were a little too obscure.

Then, you made a connection.

“Wait, your dad isn’t Kyotoku Jiro, is he?” you asked. “I used to listen to some of his old songs all the time.”

Jiro’s eyes lit up. “Really? He’s not extremely well-known so most people don’t know he even has songs but I’m super proud of my dad’s music. How did you find out about him?”

You were going to answer when Present Mic cleared his throat and you all turned your attention back to him.

“I’ll tell you about it later,” you whispered to Jiro.

The group project was actually far simpler than you had anticipated and probably could be done in the dedicated time you were provided with. Unfortunately, it seemed that Jiro and you were abysmally slow workers when together and so, you just had to spend more time together outside of class.

Even after it was handed in.

Froppy

Generally, you found that if you visited the pools just before lunch, there would be absolutely nobody there. It would be the perfect time to get some swimming done without worrying about interrupting anybody or feeling bad because you weren’t as fast as some of the hero course students.

You didn’t go every day but, when you had some spare time, you happily made your way to the pool.

About twenty minutes into your swimming though, you popped your head up to head up to hear somebody in the changing rooms. You knew that you shouldn’t get nervous. The pool was for everybody in the school and it was more than large enough that you could avoid social situations.

But still, your stomach churned.

You continued swimming, though now you were keeping your head up to watch for whoever came through the door. After what felt like forever, a small girl emerged with dark green hair.

She smiled when she saw you had noticed her and gave a friendly wave. “Hello.”

“Hi,” was your eloquent response.

She got in on the other side of the pool and you continued swimming your laps. For a while, you waited for her to start so that you could see how fast she swam but she just sat in the water with her eyes closed and her face turned to the sun.

You pulled yourself out of the pool to sit on the side, taking a brief break in your exercise. There was no need to be in pain tomorrow.

She opened her eyes and smiled at you. “You swim really well.”

“Oh,” you said, a blush igniting behind your cheeks. “Thank you. I’ve been doing it for a long time.”

Her voice was croaky but not in an awkward way. You actually really enjoyed the sound of it – enough that you willingly engaged in the conversation in order to hear her speak.

“Are you sunbathing?” you asked.

“Soaking,” she responded. “My skin is more amphibian-like so I really need to keep it hydrated. I’m Tsu, by the way.”

You smiled and told her your name. She repeated it and you quickly found out that you really liked the way she said it. “Which course are you in?” you asked, wanting to keep the conversation going.

“I’m in the hero course,” she said. “It’s fun but it gets quite dangerous from time to time.”

“I would guess so… hopefully nothing too bad though.”

She shrugged. “I’ve nearly died once because a villain with a disintegration quirk tried to grab my face. That was terrifying.”

Your eyes went wide. “What?”

“Thankfully our teacher can take quirks away if he looks at you,” she said. “And then All Might arrived so everything ended well. I’m lucky that my quirk doesn’t hurt me or anything because lots of my other classmates have those kinds of issues. It’s just a little inconvenient to have to lounge in the pool every now and then.”

“I would pay good money to have that kind of quirk,” you said with a sigh. “I would use it to get here during super boring classes.”

“That’s what I’m doing right now.”

You both laughed.

“I only managed to get here early due to being given some time to do an assignment. Because I got it done last night, I’m just relaxing a little before lunch,” you explained. You checked the time on the large clock. “Actually, it looks like I may need to go and get changed.”

Time had slipped by faster than you realised and you quickly changed back into your school uniform after giving Tsu a wave. You were actually a little disappointed to think that you had to go back to class instead of swimming.

But you weren’t expecting to see Tsu standing outside when you exited, already changed into her uniform.

“I thought you may want to sit with me and my friends today,” she offered. “They’ve got pretty cool quirks and experiences in the hero course.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why not? I can already tell that we’re going to be good friends so we may as well start now.”

You chuckled, covering your mouth to hide your slight blush. “Alright then. I’d love to.”

Ingenium

U.A. was a massive building with many corridors and even more classrooms. You had waited outside for half an hour before giving up and heading in by yourself. It hadn’t seemed like too bad of an idea at the time.

Perhaps you should have waited for your guide a little longer.

You walked the first and second floors twice, constantly looking for anybody who you recognised. The day before, you had been introduced to your class and the elected class president who promised to show you around. Except now you were wondering the corridors alone and hoping that you got to your main room on time.

When it didn’t look like that was going to happen though, you had to bite the bullet and ask somebody for help. Something you had been hoping to avoid.

Many students surrounding you looked extremely intimidating. They were all in their own groups and it would be extremely uncomfortable to approach anybody. So you chose the sweetest-looking girl that you could and made your way to her.

“Hi,” you greeted. “I’m so sorry to bother you but could you possibly tell me how to get to my class. I just transferred over and I’m completely lost.”

She was adorable with bright eyes and rosy cheeks. A massive smile appeared on her face. “Of course!” she said. “Where do you need to go?”

The other members of her small group were looking at you but none seemed too unfriendly so you relaxed a little. “I’m in 1G, the support department? My class president was meant to help me around but she just never showed up.”

At that, the tallest of the group – a guy with glasses and an extremely fancy look to his face – said, “That is unacceptable. They just left you waiting?”

You startled at the question and stared up at him. “Uh… yeah? It isn’t too bad –“

“It’s ridiculous for your class president to leave you standing alone! Their very job is to ensure that every member of the class is comfortable and knowledgeable about various aspects of the school. As class 1A’s president, I shall take you to your homeroom and discuss this with whoever is failing in their duties.”

You blinked, trying desperately to keep up with him. “If it’s not interrupting anything, then I’d definitely appreciate a guide.”

“Of course,” he said. “Follow me, I’ll take you directly there.”

You bid goodbye to the adorable girl and hurried to catch up with the guy who was practically marching his way down the hall. From behind, you could see that large pipes came from his calves. You wondered how his quirk worked.

“Thank you for this,” you said, speed walking to keep up. You gave him your name and asked for his own.

“I’m Tenya Iida,” he introduced himself. “And I’m sorry that you have been let down by your class.”

“I’m sure they were just busy.”

“Did they say that they would help show you around?”

“Well, yes.”

“Then they should have kept that in mind while planning the rest of their engagements,” he said. “There’s no excuse to cancel plans without even notifying the other person. You could have gotten in trouble for arriving to class late or not being able to show up at all.”

That was something you had been worried about. It was never a great way to start at a new school and you would have undoubtedly broken some record for getting a detention.

“Thank you for helping,” you said. “I really appreciate it. Are you in the hero course or something?”

He pushed his glasses up and nodded proudly. “I am indeed. Though I would have given you assistance without my hero training because it’s simply the right thing to do.”

Once around the next corner, he stopped so suddenly that you nearly walked into his back. “This is your classroom.”

A large ‘G’ covered a massive door. Relief washed over you and you opened your mouth to thank him but he was marching into the classroom, heading directly for your class president.

Lemillion

In all honesty, your stress was climbing to new heights. With a test looming and work taking a great deal out of you, it was like walking through tar to try and get things done. Plus there was the ever-present threat of forgetting something and causing trouble for everybody around you.

So you made your way to the library most days and found a comfortable chair to sit in. Once there, you would page through whatever book was needed and work to get as much done as possible.

It was a boring routine but it needed to be done.

Most of the people around you were ignorable, though you didn’t mean it in a cruel way. It was just that you didn’t have enough brain power to focus on them at the moment.

But eventually, you had to take a break when your mind was swimming from studies. You closed the book and took a deep breath.

“Alright, so I’m going to pop in just after she starts class, right? I’ll come through the whiteboard so she doesn’t see me at first, then I’ll hold up the egg and say ‘Wow, this class is really egg-sausting’.”

“Won’t Miss Midnight take offense to that?”

“It’s about her quirk though, not her class.”

“But what if she takes it the wrong way?”

You laughed as softly as you dared, a small snort escaping before you caught it. The group that were speaking sat at the table next to your own. They were a group of three although the one guy wasn’t really involved in the conversation – rather, a blue haired girl discussed the blond guy’s planned jokes.

“I think Midnight has a good sense of humour,” the guy was reasoning. “She’ll laugh at it. Most of the teachers understand my jokes.”

“Don’t you remember when you told Ectoplasm that he was a freak in the sheets?”

That one got a proper chuckle out of you but you managed to keep it quiet enough that they didn’t notice your eavesdropping. Their discussion was certainly lightening the mood.

The guy blushed bright red. “I didn’t think of the other ways that could have been taken,” he admitted. “I was just speaking about those ghost costumes that everybody wears during Halloween, you know… Probably should have just made the boo-berry pie joke and left it there.”

You decided against taking a sip of water, focusing on trying not to laugh at the awful puns you were hearing. Maybe the guy’s quirk was related to telling bad jokes or something.

Or maybe he just had the best worse sense of humour.

They continued speaking for some time and you found yourself giggling at almost every joke that was made. It was hard to concentrate on your work anymore but you surprisingly still got some done and enjoyed every second of it.

You were actually rather disappointed when the group stood up to leave. Two of them headed out of the main door but the blond didn’t follow. You considered glancing around to find him but decided you didn’t want to seem creepy.

And then his face appeared in the middle of your homework.

You yelped in fright and stumbled backwards, nearly falling out of your chair. The guy was half-melded with the table but he laughed and you couldn’t help but smile. His excitement was contagious.

“Hello,” he greeted, standing up and no longer phasing through any solid items. “I’m Mirio. I just wanted to say hi before we left.”

“Oh,” you said. “Um… hi.” You gave him your name and blushed, realising that your eavesdropping hadn’t gone completely unnoticed. Still, he didn’t seem to mind it so you didn’t worry too much.

“I’ll see you around,” he said as he left, waving enthusiastically the entire time.

Phantom Thief

Most days, you relished in the opportunities to speak to new heroes about support items and what they needed to better their quirks. You enjoyed discussing with them and learning about their abilities, and you knew that many in your class had similar sentiments.

After all, that was the very reason that you were studying.

These reason were why you remained confused when your classmates were busy drawing straws when you walked in. None of them bothered to even tell you what was happening, just gesturing for you to take your straw.

You grabbed the closest one in confusion and pulled it out, revealing that luck wasn’t on your side that day.

“Congratulations,” one of the girls said. “You get to talk to Monoma. All the rest of us will be able to choose whoever we want within class 1B once they arrive.”

That was when you realised.

You hadn’t ever had the opportunity to work with the loudest member of the class before and you didn’t envy many that had. The stories they shared about hinted at a mild insanity or, at the very least, obnoxiousness that went unmatched. You definitely weren’t looking forward to that for a good part of your day.

But alas, when 1B entered the room to discuss their options for support items, you made your way over to the blond and gave him your best smile. “Would you mind if I asked you about some support items that you may need?”

His grin was massive as he turned to you. “Ah, I see you’re extremely excited for the opportunity to work with such an amazing quirk, right?”

You smiled. “Of course.”

That clearly wasn’t the answer he anticipated and he faltered a little at it. “I’m sorry to burst your bubble but I don’t think there’s anything here that would suit me. My quirk works brilliantly on its own.”

“I wouldn’t say its your quirk that does it all,” you said. “Obviously it requires a talented wielder in order to use it properly.”

His eyes narrowed at the compliment and he began looking over your shoulders, clearly thinking that this was a setup of some kind. After making sure nobody was watching, he very carefully said, “I suppose you’re right. Anyway, as I was saying, I don’t need any support items right now.”

“I get that but, if you ever need something in the future, just let me know,” you said. “In the meantime, I can brainstorm some general stuff based off your quirk. You can copy things, right?”

“Obviously,” he chuckled.

You nodded and began walking away, happy that your unorthodox plan had worked in mellowing him out. It was a guess that he wouldn’t be used to praise but it worked like an absolute charm.

“Wait!” he said, suddenly appearing next to you. “How am I meant to tell you my ideas if I don’t even know your name?”

You chuckled nervously, not having expected him to care about that part of your conversation. Before you had even thought about it though, you told him your name and he smiled even wider at that, if it was even possible.

“I’ve been looking for somebody who understands how good of a quirk I have,” he said, throwing an arm over your shoulders unexpectedly. “And you seem to like it quite a bit.”

“Well, yes,” you said. “It’s nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

He stepped in front of you then and you watched as your own quirk manifested itself. “I like yours also,” he said. “It suits you.” For a split second, he smiled warmly.

You smiled at that, unable to help it as his expression became considerably more normal while he was using it. “Thank you. It’s not entirely impressive when you look at all the hero course’s quirks but I like it well enough.”

The quirk disappeared and his over-the-top smile reappeared. “Obviously it isn’t as good as mine,” he scoffed. “But don’t beat yourself up about that. Almost nobody can top me.”

For a second, the change confused you but then the class 1B president made her presence behind you known. She apologised and lectured Monoma on showing off instead of focusing but you didn’t entirely hear her. Your curiosity surrounding the blond had been piqued. How much of that arrogance was just a show for his class?

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝑀𝑦 𝐺𝑖𝑟𝑙 𝑃𝑡.2 (𝑆𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑤𝑎×𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟)

Part One/ Part Three / Part Four

Pairing: Badboy! Park Seonghwa (Ateez)/ Reader (Female)

Genre: Angst, Fluff, College Au.

Summary: Y/N has no idea what to make of the mysterious Park Seonghwa. Does he really like her or is he simply playing with her?

✿❯────「✿」───❮✿❯──「✿」────❮✿

Flipping the light switches off, Y/N typed in the security code into the pin pad before closing the door behind her, the faint beeping from inside letting her know that the alarm was functioning properly. She honestly wondered at times about if anyone would ever think about robbing a coffee shop. Granted it made a lot of money during certain seasons, but unless you actually work in one, you probably wouldn't think so. Yet it was surprising to know it could make as much money as any famous fast food restaurant. Well.....with those sky high prices, it made sense.

She stopped and checked to make sure she had everything in her bag, not wanting to risk having left her keys inside and find out until she reached her apartment. Satisfied by the confirmation, she began her walk home. If it had been fall or winter, she would have seriously considered taking a bus, even though it wasn't that far away. But it was summer and thankfully there was still an hour left before the sun finally set. She truly believed she was lucky to have found a place to live that was close not only to her workplace, but also her school, even if it was a tiny studio apartment. She felt proud to say it was hers.

Feeling something tug on her sneaker, she looked down and realized one of her shoes was untied. She bent down and began tying it up again, carelessly placing her bag right next to her on the street. She was so focused on her task in front of her, she failed to notice the looming figure in front of her.

"You know anybody could just whisk away your bag and run at this moment?"

She snapped her head back up and saw Seonghwa standing in front of her, an amused smile on his face. He bent down and picked up her bag, dusting off the dirt that had gotten on the bottom part of it in the process.

"Tsk. Tsk. And here I thought you were a more.... what's the word? Meticulous person."

Y/N gave him a questioning gaze before standing up, quickly grabbing her bag from him.

"Not even a thank you?" Seonghwa shook his head.

"What are you still doing here? I thought you went home." Y/N said, clearly confused as to why he'd be there still.

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow at her.

"I thought I told you back in the shop that I'd see you later?"

Y/N recalled the moment, it did seem weird to her that he'd say that.

"Well doll, it's later......and I wanted to see you." He explained, a slight smirk tugging on the corners of his lips.

Y/N let out a tiny scoff.

"Why?"

Seonghwa blinked at her response.

"I thought I made myself clear the other day Y/N. I like you."

Y/N blushed slightly at the memory of him confronting her back in school. She was hoping the shadow from the building in front of her casted enough to hide it from him.

"And I said there would be plenty of time to get to know each other.....well I'm free right now and obviously so are you. So why don't we get something to eat? My treat."

He grinned at her, obviously not expecting her to turn down his offer. Any other girl wouldn't say no to Seonghwa. But Y/N wasn't any girl, and she wasn't about to say yes to someone she hardly knew. Especially not when he acted so strange for her liking.

"No thank you."

She quickly responded and took a step to walk away from him, but his hand reached out and stopped her from moving any further.

"Why not?" He asked.

Y/N tried to think of an excuse, any quick excuse to get out of this.

"I'm not hungry." Was the best thing she could think of.

The loud grumbling of her stomach was a dead giveaway of her fat lie. After working 8 hours straight with only a bowl of cereal for breakfast and a muffin on her only break, of course she was borderline starving and needed something in her stomach before it began eating itself. Her hands clutched her stomach, hoping to silence the obnoxious noise, but ultimately just making it more obvious.

Seonghwa looked down at her figure and snorted softly.

"Seriously, I know a really good place here that sells burgers and shakes. Are you really going to say no to free food?"

At this point she could either tell him to fuck off and stomp away home, but ultimately she'd leave even more hungry and would still have to whip up something on the stove that would take approximately half an hour or more. Or she could accept his offer, but it'd mean interacting with him, not that it was necessarily a bad thing, but she honestly didn't know what to make of him. He's been straightforward with her all this time, but how was she to know he was being serious? For all she knew, he could just be playing with her. After all, isn't that what all bad boys are known for?

Guess there was only one way to find out.

✿❯────「✿」───❮✿❯──「✿」────❮✿

Y/N looked around at the 50's themed diner she was in:

Black and white tiled floor that was so clean it almost looked slippery. Cherry red leather seats, either in the form of booths, tables or chairs on the front white counter that stretched at least 40 feet. An array of old records hanged on the wall, whether or not you could actually play them on a record player or if they were just flimsy decorations would forever be a secret. An old juke box was stationed in one of the corners of the counter currently playing The Beatles, its color combination of yellow and blue not quite appealing to the eyes. And of course, a pinball machine was placed near the entrance for kids to waste their quarters on. They even had a light blue 1955 convertible Chevrolet Bel Air for people to go take pictures of or with. At this point it wouldn't have surprised Y/N if waitresses came out of the kitchen in roller skates and started singing songs from Grease or Hairspray.

It became an even more ironic thought when she saw Seonghwa walk back to her with their food. Dressed in a white shirt, distressed jeans, black combat boots and black leather jacket with his hair slicked back, he could almost be a modern day Danny Zuko and for some reason, that thought made her bust a tiny giggle.

"What's so funny?" Seonghwa asked as he sat the tray down in front of her.

"Oh....nothing." She was not about to get caught.

Seonghwa looked at her funny, but ultimately decided not to pry.

"Here you go."

He slipped her food in front of her: a burger the size of her two hands and a 32 ounce chocolate shake with whipped chocolate and a cherry on the top. A well sized platter with regular fries and curly fries made it obvious that they were going to share them. She didn't mind though, the portions were so big she doubted she'd even finish half of it.

She dug into the food, her stomach thanking her for finally putting something in her body. She was so hungry that she didn't care if she was eating like how she usually ate when she was at home, messy and slobbish. She was halfway through her burger, when she caught Seonghwa just staring at her. That's when she started to feel self conscious. She quickly swallowed what was currently in her mouth and grabbed a napkin to wipe the corners of her mouth.

Seonghwa giggled at her.

"Don't worry about it. It's pretty refreshing to see a girl not care about how she looks like when she eats, and to actually eat. You have no idea how many girls I've brought here who only get salads and nothing else."

He cringed slightly at past memories of awful dates that make him wanna kick himself for even thinking they were attractive. He blamed himself though. He tended to only look at pretty faces and end up regretting it when he found out they were all self-centered, shallow, and prissy girls that just made his blood boil.

"Maybe that's why I like you. You're different."

He didn't even realize he said that out loud until she whipped her head up at him. He was stunned that he accidentally let that slip, but he was able to play it off coolly.

"How......how can you..... we've never even..?" Y/N couldn't even completely form her question but Seonghwa knew what she was referring to.

Sighing softly, he began:

"Well I'm going to sound like a total creep now but that's inevitable. It was a few months back, when you had changed majors and had to be transferred to our class..."

Seonghwa ignored the usual reprimand of the professor, telling him he was late again. As if he didn't do it on purpose. He just hated this class. It was undoubtedly one of the most boring subjects one could possibly take. He began to stare off into space, not even bothering to listen to what was being said.

He looked around at the familiar faces he saw in class, the same people from last year. Until a head of (insert hair color) hair caught his eye. She was definitely not there before. Seonghwa tried to think if he had ever seen her around before, but couldn't quite remember.

Unknowingly, he found himself staring at her more and more each time they had class together. He found out she had a habit of tapping her pen against her cheek when she was trying to concentrate, she kept everything in her bag organized and hardly socialized with anybody.

One time he followed her to her locker, just to briefly see what was inside of it. You can always tell a lot about a person based on how they decorate their locker. But Seonghwa only saw a few pictures of what he assumed was her family, few friends and a lot of sticky notes with motivational quotes written on them in various sharpie colors, with either stars or diamonds as decorations.

That just peeked his curiosity even more in trying to decipher who the mysterious girl was, and his curiosity turned to fondness for the girl, so he had no choice but to admit that he was attracted to her and wanted to get close to her.

"Wait. Is that why you were staring at me in class the other day?" Y/N asked after he told her all that.

"Took you long enough to notice too. You were so oblivious to it that it was kinda funny." He chuckled.

Y/N looked back at that moment and realized she still had so many questions left.

"But then why did you look angry after I looked away?"

Seonghwa shifted his position, sitting up straighter so he could look at her.

"Why? Cause you looked at me with such a bitch face and even rolled your eyes at me. I was kinda angry and hurt that you did that given how I feel about you." He explained.

Y/N looked at him confused.

"I did not roll my eyes at you."

"Uh....yeah. You did. You looked at me as if I was a bug or something." He corrected her.

"Well..... I was tired and hungry! I'm not in control of my actions or emotions when I'm in that state." She tried defending herself, feeling somewhat embarrassed that she had no control over her facial expressions.

"Yeah, I've noticed. You weren't all that happy 25 minutes ago when I asked you out on this date." Now it was Seonghwa's turn to roll his eyes at her previous behavior.

"This....this isn't a date!" Y/N exclaimed.

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"Oh no? Do enlighten me then. What is this?"

Y/N thought about it for a moment.

"We are just 2 individuals, having a meal together and conversing." She stated.

"Why are we conversing though?" Seonghwa continued to pry.

Y/N hummed.

"Because you said you wanted to get to know me better?"

Seonghwa smiled at that.

"Sounds to me like a date then."

Y/N mentally face palmed. She practically walked into that one herself. She sighed as she picked up one of the fries and dipped it into her milkshake before eating it.

"And now I've learnt one more thing about you: we have similar tastes in eating."

Y/N watched as he mirrored her actions and dipped his fries in his strawberry milkshake. Y/N decided to just finish eating as soon as possible so she could go home early. The sun was starting to set and she didn't like walking home in the dark, even if rarely any crime happened in this neighborhood. She was planning on not saying anything else, but then something popped in her mind that made her ask:

"Wait a minute! The day after the.....incident." She began.

"You mean when you were a total bitch?" Seonghwa teased.

"Haha, funny." She threw a fry at him, causing Seonghwa to laugh even harder.

She had to admit though, he had a cute laugh.

"Anyways, the day afterwards, I heard 2 girls talking in the bathroom about you. They said that you were pissed off at me-"

"I kinda was." He interrupted her again.

"Let me finish!" She cried out rather annoyed.

Seonghwa bit his lip as he stifled another laugh. He found it adorable when Y/N got agitated.

"They made it sound like you were going to beat me up. Something about 'giving it to me'" She held up her fingers in quoting signals.

Seonghwa furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, trying to decipher what she meant. Then it hit him.

"Oh! No. Trust me, I wasn't going to beat you up. As for 'giving it to you' "

He mimicked her quotation signs, causing Y/N to glare at him for teasing her again.

"I was referring to the notepad you dropped. Remember? I gave it back to you?"

Now she face palmed literally as she realized she hadn't thought about that. And here she thought she was dead meat for sure.

"Was that why you were avoiding me the rest of the week? You actually believed I was going to fight you?"

Y/N swirled her milkshake with her straw, unable to look at Seonghwa in the eyes anymore.

"Y/N? I'm talking to you. You really believed that?"

The authority in his voice made her look up at him, his expression showing offense and indignation at the thought that she actually believed him capable of such a thing.

"Why would you think that?" He continued his interrogation.

"Well..... I don't know! Ok? Maybe cause I've heard so many rumors about you. You don't exactly have the best of reputations at school. Everyone says how you're...."

Her voice trailed off, afraid to finish her sentence, afraid to offend or hurt him in anyway .

"That I'm a delinquent? A criminal?"

Y/N blinked when he said that, as if he could read her mind.

"I know what people say about me, I'm not blind nor deaf to their gossip." He stated, not at all unfazed by what he often heard.

"So does that mean none of it is true?" She couldn't help but want the answer to her question.

"Well depends. Have I gotten into a lot of fights with other guys? Yes. Do I have a temper at times that gets me in trouble? Yes. Have I fucked a bunch of girls just for fun? Definitely. Do I smoke or drink often? I'm not denying it."

Seonghwa reached into his pocket and took out his lighter, twirling it around in his hand a few times so Y/N could get a glance at it before putting it back in his pants.

"But have I ever vandalized, stolen or done anything remotely illegal? No. Have I beaten someone up for no good reason? No."

Y/N listened to his words very carefully. She was amazed how he was calmly telling her all of this.

"And I most certainly have never even thought about lifting a finger against a woman. Especially not one I'm interested in." He confessed abruptly, causing Y/N to gulp her drink a little fast, nearly making her choke.

"I'm sorry." She apologized.

Seonghwa chuckled softly.

"Don't be. I get why you'd be scared. I just wish you'd get to know the real me......"

He reached his hand out and lightly brushed his finger on the top of her knuckles.

"Kinda like how I want to know you..."

The physical contact sent a weird feeling down her body. It was chilly, yet warm at the same time. She wanted to reach out and lace her fingers in his, and she would have, until a high pitched voice interrupted them.

"Seonghwa! Is that you?!"

They looked over to see a purple haired boy waving his hand in the air, as if his loud voice didn't make his presence already known. A pink haired boy was standing next to him, looking embarrassed as his friend jumped up and down. Having had enough of that, he pulled the boy by his arm and ran over to Seonghwa and Y/N's table.

"Hi! What a coincidence to see you here! Why didn't you tell us you would be here? You could have joined Yeosang and I. He promised to take me out to eat." He pulled whom Y/N assumed to be Yeosang closer to him.

The purple haired boy spoke so loud and fast Y/N had a hard time understand what he was saying.

"Promised? I was threatened." Yeosang replied, causing the other boy to let out a loud laugh, making Y/N think of a hyena.

"Hyung, where are your manners? Aren't you going to introduce us to your girlfriend?"

Seonghwa blushed and cleared his throat. It was the first time Y/N saw him get flustered and it was definitely funny.

"Y/N isn't my girlfriend-"

"Oh really? Great! Cause she's cute."

The boy wasted no time and held his hand out to her.

"My name is Wooyoung, I'm single, Bi, and I have a driver's license." He winked at her.

"For a moped." Yeosang corrected him.

Wooyoung sent a glare towards his friend.

"Y/N, these are my friends: Wooyoung and Yeosang. They go to our school, but you've probably never seen them cause they're a grade below us."

Y/N nodded and waved awkwardly at them.

"Yeosang, Wooyoung, this is Y/N. She's not my girlfriend, but she's off limits. Ok?" Seonghwa made sure to lock eyes with Wooyoung, silently warning him not to step any further into his territory.

"So if she's not your girlfriend, does that mean she's a fuck bud-"

Yeosang stepped on Wooyoung's foot, causing him to bend over in pain. Yeosang however smiled sweetly as if nothing happened.

"Anyways, it was nice seeing you Hyung. We wouldn't want to take up more of your time. Besides, we'll be seeing you tomorrow at Hongjoong's party. Right?"

Seonghwa nodded.

"You know I never pass up an opportunity to party."

"Will you bring Y/N with you?" Wooyoung asked, hoping she'd come.

Seonghwa looked over to Y/N, who tried to think of an answer.

"Uh... no thanks. I wasn't invited so-"

"Who cares? No one needs an invitation these days. It's a frat party anyways, a bunch of strangers end up coming in the end." Wooyoung insisted.

"I'll....think about it." Y/N knew she wouldn't.

"Ok! I'll take it as a yes. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

Taking a hold of Yeosang's hand, Wooyoung made his way over to another table, the pink haired boy already looking exhausted at the thought of spending at least 2 more hours with his highly energetic friend.

Y/N smiled softly at them. They were definitely an odd pairing, but they seemed to compliment each other.

"It's getting late. Want me to take you home?" Seonghwa asked her.

"It's fine. I can walk. It's not that far." She refused.

"I insist. I want to make sure you get there safely." He insisted.

Y/N smirked at him.

"Are you really concerned for my safety or do you just wanna find out where I live?"

Seonghwa's mouth dropped at her insinuation.

"I don't..... ok you got me there."

She chuckled at his reaction, but ultimately got up.

"Ok. Fine. Take me home. The worst you can possibly do is murder me and throw my body in a lake."

Seonghwa shook his head and picked up his jacket. He made sure to hold the door open for her when they went out. Y/N didn't even notice he had stopped walking until she heard him whistle behind her. Turning around, she saw him standing next to a black Harley-Davidson motorcycle. She raised her hands and gestured him to explain.

"I told you I was taking you home."

He tapped the seat.

"So come on. Hop on doll."

He began taking out the spare helmet for her to put on. She walked back to him and placed her hands on her hips.

"You kept it parked here the entire time?" She asked him.

"Uh huh." He responded.

Her face was full of shock.

"Did you know that I would say yes to coming here with you?"

"Well not exactly 'knew'.......more like....hoped."

He winked at her before placing the helmet above her head, making sure to strap it tightly.

"Safety first."

After putting on his own helmet, he got on the motorcycle and waited for her to get on. She awkwardly threw her leg over the seat and hesitated to wrap her arms around him. Seonghwa huffed and simply grabbed her wrists to put them on his stomach.

As soon as he started revving up the motorcycle, Y/N tightened her grip around him. Even through his shirt, she could feel rock solid abs underneath it. It made her wonder what he looked like without a shirt. The thought temporarily distracted her from the worry of actually riding in a motorcycle for the first time.

Sensing her fear, Seonghwa grabbed one of her hands and gave it a light squeeze.

"Don't worry doll. I'll keep you safe."

✿❯────「✿」───❮✿❯──「✿」────❮✿

*part 3 coming soon*

[filthficdump]

Good Thing This Job Has Benefits.

AN: I wrote this in one day, I’ve developed a hyperfixation on The Walten Files, so you get to enjoy this absolute mess I’ve made.

You can also read it here on AO3. There’s no romance, it’s a gender neutral, nameless reader fict. There’s no death, because I am NOT about to write angst about a happy family :(

When I had you to myself, I didn't want you around. Those pretty faces always made you stand out in a crowd.

The gravel under my tires crunched as I drove through the night, bopping and tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the song, singing along. It was late, most likely near or after nine PM, but I wasn’t about to take my eyes off the road to check. That’s just asking for trouble.

But someone picked you from the bunch, one glance was all it took. Now it's much too late for me to take a second look.

New job, it’s been going great! I wouldn’t have thought I’d get to use my programming degree so soon, but I’m so happy I got this job. Sure, it’s for a kid’s burger joint, but there’s animatronics and other stuff, plus that finance minor rocketed me straight to an assistant manager position!

Oh, baby, give me one more chance, to show you that I love you. Won't you please let me, Back in your heart.

In the distance I could see a pair of headlights and slowed my car a bit and moved a bit to the side to provide them more room. These roads were narrow and I really didn’t think I wanted to get into a car crash and have to deal with that with what’s left of my savings and likely my first check.

Oh, darlin', I was blind to let you go (Let you go, baby) But now since I see you in his arms (I want you back)

The thought ‘That car looks like it’s moving really fast- too fast’ is the last thought in my head as the car got close, too close to stop the car or move away, there’s a ditch and trees on my side of the road. My hand hit the horn hard, blaring, but they served and-

CRASH!!!

Yes, I do now, I want you back. Ooh, ooh, baby, I want you back.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, I want you back. Na, na, na, na.

When I come back to, I’m upside down, held up by my seat belt. Ho-ly-shit. I got into a fucking car crash.

Oh shit! I got into a car crash- The other car! I struggle to turn to look out the window and I see the other car against the guard rail. It’s hard to get a good look at the other car, seeing how I’m upside down and in the goddamn ditch, but I need to get out of the car.

I instinctually went for the pocket at the door, looking for my seatbelt cutter, but it had fallen out. Thanks, gravity. Thankfully, it’s on the roof of the car and I grabbed it before grabbing the handle of the door, pushing it open before I pressed my free arm against the roof of the car and-

“ FUCK! ” I yell, feeling the pain shooting up my arm and shoulder. Holy fuck, why did it hurt so bad?! We’re in the middle of the woods and I can’t remember the last home I passed and my car is upside down.

Either someone comes or I’ve got a long walk. I grit my teeth and cut the seat belt, falling head first into the ceiling and then out the door, tumbling until my butt hit grass. I flung the seatbelt cutter to the side and struggled up, using my door as support before I had to climb up the slippery slope of the ditch and onto the road.

My more useful arm held the other to my chest as I limped. Just about everything hurts. My chest, my shoulder, my leg, my face. Why did this have to happen? I was having such a good night, and now I’m in a wreck and about to give this jackass a piece of my mind. If he’s not dead.

I got closer to the car and looked inside. The man was unconscious, leaning against the steering wheel. I looked to the back instinctually, not expecting to see two terrified children! Oh god, wait- No, they’re alive. They’re looking at me.

I pulled open the driver door, still looking back at the kids, “Uh… Hey. Are you kids okay?” I asked, leaning down to look at them better. A boy and a girl, clearly siblings. They were sniffling and crying, but nodded, “Is this your dad?” I asked, pointing at the unconscious man. The car reeks of booze.

“N-No…” The boy sniffled, “He’s our uncle!”

“Okay, okay… Well, I’m gonna get us to help.” I said and went over to the passenger side, opening it up. The paint was scratched and the panels dented, but the car was still running. It would be shorter to keep going the way I came from, the city and a hospital is that way.

I reached over and wrapped my arm around the unconscious man’s chest, dragging him over into the passenger seat where there were beer bottles on the floor. Not even a seatbelt? He’s lucky he didn’t die.

I buckled him in and shut the door, walking back around to the driver’s seat before getting in and shutting the door. I tested my foot on the gas and hand on the wheel, my other arm resting in my lap.

Thank god the car still worked! I just started driving, the car feeling quite literally fucked as it went over the road, but it’s a working car!

It was perhaps ten or fifteen minutes down the road, “Um… So, what’s your guys’ names?” I asked, looking back at them through the crooked rear view mirror. They must have been so terrified. They were just in a car crash, and now their jackass drunk uncle was unconscious and a stranger was in the car with them.

“I’m Edd… She’s Molly…” Edd said, his sister was holding a grey bunny toy. Looked like one of those prize stuffed animals we keep at Bon’s Burgers prize counter, but it wasn’t blue or purple, and the restaurant hasn’t been opened yet.

I introduced myself and really focused on the road, “That’s a really cool bunny. It’s like the ones we have at my work.” I said, smiling, “Ever heard of Bon’s Burgers?”

The girl looked confused, “Y-Yes? Our dad works there.” She said. Oh no, were they my co-worker’s kids? Which co-worker?

“O-Oh? What’s your dad’s name?” I asked, glancing over at the man in the passenger seat. I couldn’t see him very well in the dark car, but I could hear his deep breathing and slight snoring.

“His name is Jack Walten. Our mom is Rosie!” Edd said, and for a moment I thought I was going to get into another accident. Jack… Walten…?

My boss's kids?!

“Ha-Ha, oh wow… Small work. I started working there. Today was my first day, actually…” I said, muttering a few swears under my breath, “I met Jack! Um… Do either of you know his phone number…? We’re gonna need it when we get to the hospital.”

The boy nods and I sighed- Wait, if these are Jack’s kids, then the man...

Another glance. We’re getting to the part of the road with street lights. I recognize those glasses. This was my other boss, wasn’t it? Please don’t say it is, I just crashed into my bosses’ car. Wait, no, he crashed into me! This wasn’t my fault!

The bastard is too drunk and irresponsible. He could have killed himself, the two kids, or even myself! For god sakes my car is in a ditch!

“Let’s just… Listen to some music, okay?” I offered and put on the radio, driving with my knee for the moment since my injured arm was starting to go numb. It better not be broken, I swear to god.

Once we got into the city I went straight to the hospital, parking in the emergency parking lot. “Okay, can you guys walk?” I asked, unbuckling my belt to look at both of them. They opened their doors and the girl winced.

“My ankle hurts!” She cried. Edd thankfully didn’t seem too injured, but he had a burn from the seat belt.

“Okay, okay. Hold on, I’ll carry you.” I said and got out. My leg felt like it was covered with biting fire ants, but I wasn’t about to leave her alone for them to just get a wheelchair.

I bent down and she reached up, one hand clutching the stuffed bunny as she wrapped her arm around my neck and I held her up on my hip, my only good arm holding her up, “Okay, okay, okay.” I mumbled softly and the boy was by my side, “Okay, grab my hand.” I said, offering my injured hand. I didn’t care that it hurt, I knew he was putting on a brave face.

He took my hand and I walked them both in. The tired nurse at the desk looked up at us and looked terrified before she quickly called for help, “We have another in the car. The black one out front.” I said, “We were just in a car crash.”

“Oh my god!” She said as more nurses came, one that had a gurney and I put the girl up on top and the boy got to sit in a wheelchair, “Are you their mother?” The nurse asked as one of the other nurses tried to sit me down in a wheelchair as well.

“No… I’m the one their uncle crashed into.” I said and reluctantly sat down. I didn’t realize how fast my heart was beating, it must explain all of the wandering thoughts that clouded my mind.

I was brought to the same room that they were, but curtains separated me from them. Doctors and nurses came shortly and my vision grew quite spotty. Information was exchanged, my nearest relative was an hour away and it was late, so it’s a toss up if they got the call.

One of the children gave a nurse the phone number to their home, and already my head was coming up with the worst thoughts of what would happen. Will I be fired? Is he going to sue me? I’m probably just as guilty as Felix in his eyes.

Speaking of Felix, if Jack doesn’t fire me he will! If he doesn’t get arrested.

“Pardon me…” One of the nurses said, drawing my attention, “We need to cut off your shirt. Your arm is likely dislocated and we don’t want to move it.”

Oh god, if they cut off this shirt I’ll have to pay 25 dollars to get another. “Um… No, it’s my only uniform.” I said and with my one good arm undid the buttons before another nurse pulled from my uninjured side and I pulled it the rest of the way off, letting the nurse take it.

Unfortunately, pants and shoes too, but I got a nifty gown and now they could resume looking me over. What I didn’t appreciate was them having to pop my arm back into place, that was awful.

They had to bandage up my cuts and test me for brain damage (just a mild concussion) and put my arm in a sling, my ribs were also likely fractured. Molly's ankle had to be splinted as it was strained and Edd had a slight concussion.

At least I got to change back into a spare set of plain clothes that they happened to have, but that required a nurse's help with the newly relocated arm that ached and hurt when I moved it.

Felix hadn’t been brought to our same room, and an officer came to question us. I told the whole story, and just to be sure they breathalyzed me. Unlike a certain driver I blew a 0.0 BAC.

Our stories matched up and they pulled back the curtains to allow us to see each other and talk. They were still shaken up, but they were told their mom and dad were on their way a while ago. Great. I’m just glad their parents were still awake and were on their way, even though I knew there was going to be so much to talk about and I was going to have to justify myself to both of the worried and likely angry parents.

I talked to them about school and what they liked to do, how they just came from a school party. Molly was excited to have her friends sign her ‘cast’ and Edd thought he would be the coolest kid in school for surviving a car crash.

I remembered being their age and smiled and nodded along as I was put on a low grade painkiller and we were given water to drink. After about 20 minutes I could hear a commotion and a man and two women calling out for the two children. They called back and moments later a frazzled looking man, my boss Jack Walten and his wife Rosemary, along with his worried looking teen daughter Sophie rounded the corner of the doorway and in that moment I had never seen anyone look so relieved.

The reunion was toothrottingly sweet, all five hugging and just overjoyed to see their children okay and alive. I couldn’t help but smile, even though it felt like I was intruding on something that should have been private.

Edd brought me up and Molly joined in, the both of them talking at once and practically over each other as they tried to explain everything that happened. I’m not sure if their parents or sister fully understood, but what was grasped was that Felix crashed into me, and I drove them to the hospital.

Both Jack and Rosemary looked at me and I awkwardly waved. He looked confused, like he recognized me but unsure from where, “Hi, boss…” I said, introducing myself for the second time that day.

We only met for ten minutes earlier today, but his eyes widened in surprise. “You… Felix crashed into you?” He asked, “And you got my children to safety?”

I timidly nodded. Please, please don’t be angry.

The officer presented himself and cleared his throat, “Your employee here was driving home when Mr. Kraken, who was intoxicated, who was driving the other way crashed into them and knocked them from the road into the ditch while Mr. Kraken’s car hit the guardrail.” The officer explained.

“I um… I was upside down but cut myself free and climbed out to check on the other car, and I saw that he had Molly and Edd in the back and my car wasn’t about to get out of the ditch any time soon so I just… drove them here.” I finished, punctuating the end by nervously drinking the rest of my water.

“He was drunk?!” Rosemary said, stunned and clearly angry. The officer nodded while Jack’s fist clenched, clearly enraged. I would be just as shocked and angry if I had children and they were put in danger by someone who’s supposed to be their friend.

I should probably be just as angry that some drunk asshole- who is my boss no less- nearly killed me, but I was just glad that we were all still alive. Sure, my car is fucked, and so is about 50% of my body (exaggerating), but my bones will heal and I’ll repair my car or get a new one. I mean, that’s what insurance is for, right?

What I didn’t expect out of all of this was to be hugged by Rosemary. Oh yeah, it fucking hurt but I just kept that to myself. She sniffled and I awkwardly patted her back with my one good arm, “Thank you for keeping them safe…” She said quietly.

“I-It was nothing, really.” I said timidly, “I wasn’t about to leave them alone.”

“Nothing? You saved them!” Jack said and shook my hand when his wife pulled away to dry her eyes and hug all of her children once more, “I can’t ever thank you enough for what you did for my family. I… I couldn’t stomach the thought if…”

I gave him a reassuring squeeze of his hand and he clasped my good shoulder, “It sucks that this happened in the first place but… I’m just glad everyone is alive…” I said, giving a nervous smile.

“Is he alive?” Jack asked, looking at the officer as he let go of my hand and shoulder.

“Yes, he is. We will be pressing charges, he blew above a 0.3.” The officer responded and Jack nodded, seemingly ‘pleased’ with that.

After exchanging contact information and addresses with both Jack and myself he departed, leaving the family to resume their reunion. I smiled awkwardly and looked away awkwardly, scratching my neck.

I haven’t heard anything about my relative having called or if they were coming, so I could only assume I wouldn’t be getting a ride from them. Or a ride tonight at all.

For a moment I was lost in my head, feeling a bit too sorry for myself. I moved all the way out here because there were jobs and rent was cheap, but I was so far from my family and friends, and even though I helped their children would I even still have a job?

I refilled my paper cup and sipped on the cold water before a nurse came to let us all know that after a final check over, we would be set to go home in an hour or so. Great, I better start making calls or something.

For a moment I didn’t realize that Rosemary was talking to me. I looked up as she repeated my name, “U-Uh yeah?” I said, looking a little confused.

“Do you have a ride home…?” She asked. Ah, oh no. I’m not about to ask these clearly exhausted parents for a ride home, I could only imagine they just wanted to get home and be with their children.

“No… But I can get one, don’t worry.” I said, but Jack shook his head.

“Nonsense, it’s the least we could do. You look like you need some sleep.” He said, making me chuckle.

“So do you two.” I laugh, “Really, you don’t need to. I’ll get a hold of someone eventually. Really!”

Rosemary shook her head, “No way, sincerely it wouldn’t be a bother. Where do you live?” She asked, and I reluctantly gave my street address, “Oh, you live just a bit down the way from us!” She said. Looks like it’s out of the question.

The doctor came and checked us all over one last time before giving me a prescription slip for painkillers for the next week and a half and we were permitted to leave. Jack carried his daughter while Rosemary held her son’s hand and I followed behind them.

I won’t lie, I’m pretty damn nervous. Checking out of the hospital took a little while as well, but soon we were free to go. That will be a fun bill to pay.

Rosemary sat in the back with the children, not giving me any chance to protest as I had to sit in the passenger seat next to Jack. Edd and Molly were clearly tired, cuddling up to their mother as Jack turned on the car and carefully pulled out.

It was incredibly clear that Jack was very, very focused on the road, not wanting to get his family into a car accident as well. I couldn’t imagine what he was thinking, but I was just so glad that this didn’t end in tears.

The car ride to their home was mostly quiet, only some light conversation made. Jack was interested to know how I enjoyed my first day on the job.

“It’s been exciting…” I chuckled and he laughed softly, but I wasn’t all that comfortable or any less nervous. I did just want to get home and rest, because tomorrow morning I likely had to call my insurance and figure out how I’ll be getting to and from work.

If there even was a job anymore. With one half of the business owners likely going to jail I didn’t know if Jack would take on the massive workload, or if he would even want me to work there anymore.

“We’re here.” Jack let them know.

We pulled into their driveway and Sophie was the first to get out to help her mother take her siblings into the house with Jack telling them that he would be right back after he dropped me off.

“Have a good night, everyone…” I smiled and waved at them. Edd and Molly sleepily waved back before they went inside and shut the door.

It was surreal, everything that had happened. And now I was alone with my boss as he started to drive towards my home.

“I can’t believe he happened to crash into you…” Jack said and I nodded silently, “I could never thank you enough… You… I just can’t believe…” His voice cracked and he brought his hand up to wipe his cheeks.

“I’m sorry this happened… I’m just glad your children are safe…” I said, fidgeting with a stray string on my pants, unsure if I should pat his back or would that be too far? “You have a beautiful family, Jack, I’m sorry that you’re having to drive me home…”

“Don’t be sorry, you drove them to the hospital with a dislocated arm! I couldn’t imagine what it was like, being run off the road and into a ditch, upside down!” He said and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“To be honest, it was like a dream. One moment he’s coming towards me and I move aside since the road is pretty narrow, the next I see that he’s a bit too close over to my side and then finally I’m upside down in the ditch.”

“And- It was you! Who would have thought that my new employee would be the one to get hit.” He said, smiling softly, “Oh and don’t you worry about rushing back into work! I will be paying you your wages, you helped my family out, I’m going to help you too.”

“You-You really don’t have to do that. I’ll be okay!” I insisted, but he shook his head. He wasn’t having it.

“I want to, you don’t understand how stressed and worried we were…” He said, “I called Felix over 20 times, I thought the worst had happened and I… I started to lose hope I would ever see them again.”

“He’s going to jail for this, no doubt…” I said, “Will you be taking over the business…?”

“Yeah… It’ll be a lot but I think I have someone who I can rely on to help.” He said, smiling.

“Oh, good! I’ll try my best to pull my own weight.” I said, smiling, “I know you guys took a big risk hiring me fresh out of college but-”

“I- It’s you!” He said, “I know you just started, but your finance and programming degree is going to be a massive help!”

“Wha…?” I gaped at him. Me? Did I get a promotion? “I would be honored to help!” I smiled. I think I just became a manager or something, I’ll figure that out when I go back to work.

I pointed out my house and he pulled up in front, “I won’t let you down, I promise.” I gleamed and he smiled, holding his hand out for me to shake.

I did, not expecting him to pull me in for a hug. Looks like this was a really huggy family, it was pretty similar to my own family. “I know you won’t. Would you mind if you gave me your number so we can speak tomorrow? I imagine Edward and Molly would like to hear that you’re okay.” He asked.

I nodded and waited until he got a pen and a small black book to put my number in it before I opened the door, “I’ll speak to you soon, then… Have a good night, boss.” I smiled and he laughed.

“Just call me Jack. Really.” He said, “Have a good night.” I nodded and got out before shutting the door, walking to the front door. I grabbed the spare key from the mail box and gave one last wave after I unlocked the door. He flicked his high beams at me before he started to back up and I opened the door, shutting and locking it behind me.

It’s been a really strange night.

[hecticcheer]

Abyss of Possibilities (T/M/A fic)

Finished the platonic Jon&Daisy sickfic thing!! This was based on an emeto prompt,* but I’m posting it here instead of on shiftytracts because. Frankly it comes out a lot better when considered as h/c or whump than as emeto/kink fic. As usual w/ me, I set out to write the latter and instead got? 4.6k of Daisy character study whose external plot happens to be that Jon throws up? Ft. also a little Melanie&Helen friendship. It’s not bad as a story though so I’m posting it anyway.

--

Basira was out on another mysterious errand, which Daisy figured put her and Jon in about the same wretched position. Scratching and baying at the doors of their owners’ empty houses. Commiserating with him seemed a better use of her time. What was more, Jon had spent all day wobbly and coughing—fingertips leaving trails of slime on everything he touched like a snail—and she still couldn’t stand to see that in a person she’d made one of her own. (Monster she’d made one of her own. Whichever.) So after one of his more pathetic fits of coughing she’d decided to make them both tea. It started out as an excuse to leave the room; in fact she’d told him she’d had to pee. But when she’d come to the fork in the hallway her legs had taken her several steps past the turning for the bathroom before she’d noticed her mistake, and, yeah, well. Steps were a limited resource these days. So she’d talked herself into going to the break room for tea instead, and figured if she made Jon some too then.

Well—it was just?—she felt like a hypocrite, alright. She’d told Jon in the coffin that she didn’t want to hobble around like wounded prey any more than she wanted to become a hunter again, but, since he’d pulled her out she’d pretty clearly picked the prey side? Complete with literal hobbling, especially those first few weeks. And he was good to her about it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to despise weak people anymore. It troubled her to know that was her—that she’d still felt it in the coffin where her thoughts were all her own.

Daisy managed to stay upright unsupported while the kettle boiled—hadn’t even had to take a break to sit before turning it on. But while waiting for their teas to steep she leant her palms on the low, cool countertop, even though shifting her weight to them at once made her upper arms ache a little. The muscles of her calves dully throbbed, and her ankles itched. She swore she could feel them swelling. Could picture the mottled pattern of orange and purple her legs must be turning, like the wallpaper at one of those cafés that haven’t been redone since before she was born. They’d told her at PT that the muscle atrophy would take a long time to repair, but that these other issues should go away on their own after a few weeks. It had seemed to improve, at first. Getting worse again now though.

When she got back to his office she found Jon frozen halfway through peeling himself back off his desk, elbows wobbling, like an old dog on a slippery floor. Must’ve Seen her coming back, she figured. He did a little smile, but that didn’t last long. “Here,” she informed him, setting the worse of two novelty mugs in front of him. “Tea.”

“Oh!” Jon’s eyes went wide; he didn’t smile again, but looked almost frightened. Like she’d opened an abyss of possibilities. The mug said #1 Pervert, with the 1 wearing an evil smile and a trench coat held wide open. This seemed to faze Jon not at all.

“It’s just tea. No need to look like that.”

“R-right. Thanks?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Now drink up, it’ll help with your.”

“Oh,” Jon said again. “Yes.”

He picked up the mug, looked inside, then set it back down without drinking any. Daisy got halfway through a sigh before worrying this counted as despising him, then made herself laugh instead and pat the back of his hand: “That’s the spirit.” Jon flinched, but seemed to want to own that no more than she wanted to own her sigh. He closed his eyes, and his hand relaxed under hers. Breath seemed to whistle and crunch on its way out his nose.

“You ill?”

“Wha—?”

“I said are you ill.”

Another half second of smile. “Maybe.”

“Hm. Good sign, right?” Jon blinked at her. “A point in the still-human column.”

“R…ight,” he said. The way his eyes changed made her suspect he had more to say on that, but for once in his life Jon seemed not to feel like talking.

“Take a break. Archers’ll be on soon.”

Usually when she mentioned The Archers Jon would do a whole big dramatic show of disgust, a long sigh or a snarl or a choking noise or at least an eye-roll. He exhaled, now, but shortly; it flared his nostrils a little, but that seemed all the drama he could muster. “Thought you heard it last night.”

“You didn’t, though,” Daisy grinned. “Get confused if you don’t keep up.”

They’d had this conversation before; he knew his next line. But his voice caught on something about three words in: “You seemed to”—swallow; another deep, crunchy exhale—“you seemed to do alright after eight months under a rock.”

“You’ll have unanswered questions. Can’t compel the radio.”

Another swallow, then a throat clearing. “Fine.”

Daisy stood and waded toward the couch in the opposite corner of his office, where he’d slept since he woke up after the Unknowing. By the time she took her seat and looked back, Jon had stood from his desk chair but not yet moved. Just stood there with his hands on the chair’s back, staring off into nothing. Typical. But she knew he did no better than her with standing still for long periods, lately. She thumped on the arm of the couch to snap him out of his trance. “Come here, Jon.” It worked; he blinked to life, gave her a disorganized smile, and slunk over to join her. When he sat his legs shook the whole couch. He sat down at the far end, as often, but, no more unusually, when she scooted closer so their legs and shoulders touched he leant his head toward hers til his hair crunched against the outside of her ear. Daisy patted his leg with one hand, and reached for his clock radio with the other. (This was one of few non-clothing items he’d bothered to replace when he lost his flat. Apparently its alarm made the only noise he trusted himself to take seriously as a wake-up call; every other one he had tried he would sleep through, either accidentally or out of spite.) She set it on her knee so she could monitor the time, but kept the radio muted for now. Only 1:43.

By 1:49 she noticed Jon starting to nod off; by 1:54 his chin seemed stuck to his chest for good. At 2:02 she turned up the volume dial on his radio, and, sure enough, heard the Archers theme song. Considered just turning it up loud enough to wake Jon, but figured he’d be certain to sleep through that out of spite. So she shook him by the shoulder instead. “Oi! Ceaseless watcher!”

“Mmmnnnwha? Oh,” Jon said, straightening. Then he bent forward to cough again. Daisy channeled her urge to snarl into a laugh, telling herself she felt sorry rather than annoyed.

His cough seemed stuck, just like it had all day but more so. It was almost all voice—none of that other, less personal noise a satisfying cough makes. She wondered if he was trying to keep quiet for her benefit. “Come on, let it out,” she told him, thumping the back of his shoulder—and he did.

Almost as soon as she touched him, he made another noise more like—well, more like the sounds they’d both made underground. Or like when she’d cut him, back before.

Anyway, and then a splash. And then a stench. Daisy yelped and flung her legs out of the way; the radio went silent as the clock’s plug flew out of the wall.

“Oh shit!”

Between dry heaves and gasps for breath Jon croaked, “Not technically.”

She barked a laugh—through her mouth, not her nose—but held back the impulse to elbow him. Learnt that lesson, thanks. Just kept her hand on his shoulder instead, fanning her fingers back and forth in a semi-circle like windshield wipers. Meanwhile she surveyed the damage he’d made. The clock itself seemed miraculously unharmed, dangling by its cord between her knees. Only a little of the cord had fallen into the puddle—unfortunately including the plug. That’d be a bitch to clean up. Should she try to get the smell out or just buy him a new one, she wondered.

Her shoes had fared pretty well, too. Only one fat droplet on the right one’s toe, where it’d come off easy. His might be ruined though—and the socks. Poor bastard picked a hell of a day for white socks. The trousers might survive; vomit washed out easier than blood.

Beside her, Jon seemed to have quit dry heaving. Now he just panted, and said, “Ugh.”

“Done?”

“Think so,” he said in his hoarsest voice; “sorry.”

He set his palm down on the arm of the couch, apparently plotting how to stand without slipping in puke. Daisy moved her hand from his shoulder inward, to the place where his neckbones turned into backbones, and pressed him gently downward. “Never mind; I’ll clean it up. You stay here.”

Jon said nothing, but didn’t move either. Not even a flinch. Daisy slid to the end of the couch farthest from him and his puddle, stood, and crept past it on the balls of her feet, careful to avoid all the puddle’s little splattery fingers.

This was the first Archives mess Daisy’d ever volunteered to clean; only after she’d closed the door of Jon’s office behind her did she realize she should’ve asked him where they kept the mops and buckets. Probably outside the Archives proper, near the boiler and all that crap. Her stomach dropped—settling halfway down her legs, like all her innards did these days when she stood up. Melanie’s desk was empty, but Daisy shouted for her just in case.

The first door Daisy encountered whose destination she didn’t already know led to… a long corridor full of more doors. “Hi, Helen. Melanie in here with you?”

Melanie emerged, not from any of the doors Daisy could see, but from what looked to Daisy like the blank wall in between them. Just the perspective, part of Daisy’s mind rushed in to inform her. She closed her eyes so she could roll them at this part unseen.

“Daisy, hi,” said Melanie. “What’re you doing here, I didn’t think….”

“I invited her in.” Daisy heard the words a full second before she saw Helen emerge from a picture frame in the corridor’s opposite wall. “She was looking for an unfamiliar door. It seemed only polite to offer one of mine.” Helen said this with her head cocked to one side, coiled hands facing the other. Her left elbow disappeared into the wall.

Daisy made herself look into a framed mirror on the opposite wall instead of at Helen herself. Except the mirror didn’t show Daisy or Melanie or Helen—just the floor and other wall of this same corridor. Except also that in what passed here for real life the wall was a dark, 70s yellow, while, in the mirror or picture or whatever, it was more like highlighter yellow. What she saw in the frame still moved like a reflection though, not like a painting.

It was hard for Daisy, still, to be around… beings like the Distortion. Monsters used to be so simple. See someone glitching through the wall? Great; that means they need to die. Not like she’d never cooperated with an enemy before, just. Helen maybe wasn’t an enemy? And Jon was the only non-enemy monster she knew how to interact with. Jon was one of hers, now; he was a friend, the opposite of an enemy. But Helen, God, who knew. Stranded in the middle somewhere. Around Helen Daisy felt like the last person standing in musical chairs.

She shifted on her feet; her ankles still itched, but her toes had gone numb and cold. “I was looking for a mop,” she corrected.

When she looked back over at Melanie and Helen she found them sat on an invisible bench. She glanced back at the mirror. A wooden bench with green velour cushions. Made sense enough. Melanie still had her cane, after Jon and Basira’s whole surgery debacle; she wouldn’t come in here so often if it had nowhere to sit. If Daisy squatted down would another bench appear beneath her?

“Oh,” said Melanie; “yeah, there should be one in the broom cupboard. You remember how to get to Artefact Storage, right?” Daisy nodded. “Well it’s the last door on the left before you get there.”

“Right. Thanks.”

“No problem. What do you need the mop for?—is it—do you need some help?”

Daisy said, too quickly, “No I’ve got it.” Then worried Melanie might think she was hiding something of hers or Jon’s more sinister than dignity. She let out a long breath through her nose, lifted her foot and pointed at the circle of puke on her shoe. “Nothing big. Jon just threw up all over his office.”

“Statements gone moldy?” asked Helen, in that voice of hers like a doorbell.

“Oh, god, yeah—did he finally find that Corruption statement covered in actual mold?”

“Thought Martin burned that one?”

Melanie sighed. “No. Said he didn’t want to stink up Jon’s office.”

“Yeah, well,” Daisy scoffed.

“Probably just didn’t want to burn any that weren’t already on tape,” muttered Melanie. “Got him to burn the first one I ever recorded, though. That one about the stupid blanket.” She scuffed the carpet with her foot, crossed her arms, and leant the back of her head against the wall. “So. What’s wrong with Jon this time.”

“Don’t know,” said Daisy, shrugging; “think he’s just ill.”

“Huh. Wait—human ill or monster ill?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t ask.”

“It can be hard to tell,” allowed Helen. “They look remarkably similar. The first time Michael lost his lunch after he became me he thought his sick would have comic-book stink lines curling up off it. Terrible disappointment.”

Don’t ask what “lunch” means, Daisy told herself, scratching lightly at the pad of her thumb with her middle fingernail. Not your business, not anymore.

Meanwhile Melanie cackled and stamped her foot. “What about Helen?”

“She hoped she could click our fingers and make it disappear.”

Now Daisy smiled too. “Have to try that with Jon’s.”

(“Or turn to gold,” mused Helen, chin resting in the palm of a hand so long she could still click its fingers without their nails poking her face.)

“So you’re cleaning it up for him?”

“Apparently.”

“Typical,” growled Melanie; Daisy could see another I-hate-the-Archives rant on the horizon.

“I chose to do it; it’s not like he made me.”

“That’s what people always say about him!” Melanie squawked, her fingers curled like claws. Her voice had begun to climb not only in volume, but pitch too, the way it did when she hoped to pass off real anger as jokey anger. “He’s a grown man—why can’t he keep his messes to himself?”

“Yeah, well, he’s cleaned up enough of mine,” shrugged Daisy. “You all have,” she added, remembering her first week out of the coffin, when Melanie and Basira had had to follow her and Jon around the Archives with brooms. Every morning Basira had shaken her cot and pillow cases and sleeping bags over a bin to tease out clods of dirt. And Daisy herself had never even learnt where the broom cupboard was. “I don’t mind returning the favor.”

“You don’t owe him anything,” Melanie pleaded. “You’re talking about the coffin, right? But it’s his fault you got trapped in there in the first place!”

Daisy had no reply to this; she remembered asking herself whose fault it was she had died (as she’d thought of it then), while trapped in the Buried, but couldn’t remember what conclusion she had come to. Since she’d got out she’d rather enjoyed not having to think about it. Maybe she could put questions of blame off to one side, in the Hunt pile, and focus her energy on the Daisy pile.

“Last door on the left before you hit Artefact Storage, right?”

“Yup!” she heard Helen chime on her way out.

Of course, the second she stepped out of the corridors she thought of a good comeback: Guess he did clean that one up then.

To revenge herself for that detour she let herself sit on Melanie���s desk a minute before continuing. Good thing, too: carrying even a dry mop and bucket back to Jon’s office took more out of her than she’d remembered to anticipate. When already dizzy and aching she found the smell of his puke overwhelming. If he notices, blame it on the Hunt, she told herself. It took constant effort to remember to breathe through her mouth rather than just holding it.

Jon looked up when she came in, and smiled a glum thank you, but then returned to the position he must have taken up while she was out: head on his knees, arms crossed between torso and legs. So when she’d mopped up everywhere else, she had to tell him, “Shoes.”

He lifted his head and looked up at her through the gap between curtains of hair. “Wh…what do you want me to do with them.”

She pointed upward; his brows crumpled.

“Lift them up so I can clean around them, Jon.”

“Oh.”

Jon looked slowly down at his feet, bared his teeth in disgust. Then he sat up enough to free one arm, whose hand he planted beside him on the couch. Gingerly lifted the opposite foot. Daisy nodded; he was doing his best, she told herself. “Thanks,” she said aloud. He nodded back, but did not smile or speak. His mouth remained a washed-out line of effort.

Daisy’s mop slurped up the part of the mess Jon’s foot had blocked off; then she used it to dab at the sole of his shoe itself. “Put it back down now and I’ll get the top.” He yelped when the mop wet his sock. Daisy tried not to smile. “That feel weird? Sorry. Just figured those socks were done for anyway.”

“No, you’re right. It’s just. Unpleasant,” he concluded, beginning his final sentence at the same time Daisy started her own.

She said, “I’ll help you off with them when I’m done here.”

“I can get it,” Jon said, but did not move.

This time Daisy did smile, before she could think better of it. “Other foot?”

“Right.”

After finishing with that shoe, Daisy told Jon to hang his feet off the arm of the couch while she corralled as much as she could of this vaguely puke-flavored water off the floor and back into the bucket. She expected him to stretch the rest of himself out on the couch, but instead he bent double—as before, but with one side leant against the couch’s back cushion. Chin on bent forearms on bent knees on arm of couch.

“Do you think it’s safe to clean the plug off with the mop?”

His head snapped around to face her. “What?”

Daisy sighed, trying to rearrange her shapeless panting mouth into a smile. “The plug at the end of the cord—not the one in the wall.”

“Oh. Maybe? It’s not plugged in, right.”

“‘Course not.”

“Then I don’t think you’ll be electrocuted.”

“But do you think it’ll ruin the clock?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“Can’t you ask the Eye or something?”

Jon shook his head, which he then set in his hand as though to keep it out of danger. “Maybe it’s like a phone.”

“Come again?”

“Like when you drop your phone in the toilet.”

“Yeah? What happens then.”

“You leave it in rice for 48 hours.”

“In rice?”

“Dry rice. Uncooked rice.”

Again she sighed. “Right.”

“Wait, no”—his eyes went wide—“the rice thing is a myth.”

“What?”

“Silica packets might work though.”

“What are those.”

“Like you get with a new pair of shoes.”

“Huh.”

“They say ‘Do Not Eat’ on them. Usually in inverted commas, for some reason.”

“Oh. Yeah. What happens if you do eat those?”

“No idea. They’re a drying agent, so, they dehydrate you I guess?”

“To death?”

“Possibly.”

“Weird.”

“Nope—scratch that. Turns out they’re just a choking hazard.”

“Oh.”

“A-and we can’t digest them, so if you eat a lot of them they could cause intestinal blockage.”

“Bleugh,” pronounced Daisy.

“Oh, and. Sorry we missed The Archers, by the way.”

“It’s fine, Jon. I heard it last night. I’ll catch you up on it later.”

There was his usual snarl. When Daisy looked smilingly up at him, though, meaning to add, Feeling better, are we? she saw him flinch like he’d been nodding off to sleep again. “So should I mop off the plug or not?”

“Oh. Yeah, seems worth a try.”

By the time Daisy got the floor as un-wet and -soapy as she knew how, she figured neither one of them had the energy to deal with Jon’s shoes. Nor had she the strength to drag the bucket away just yet. Instead she nudged it toward Jon, in case he had to puke again. Then she sat down next to him, so the side of her bum touched the back of his—though from this angle that was a lot less cushy. Mostly tailbone, in fact.

To free her feet from the suffocating heat that made them itch and buzz Daisy yanked off her own shoes (the right one now sick-free but soggy), without untying them, and plopped them down on the couch’s unused other arm. Rested the back of her head on the back of the couch, and closed her eyes. Her whole body throbbed and itched instead of sweating. It was new; maybe a coffin thing, maybe a Hunt-withdrawal thing. Probably the latter. (Oh—I have that too, Jon had said once, when she’d had to explain why her face and hands were red.) Never thought she’d miss feeling slimy.

When she found the strength to speak again she asked, “You comfortable like that?”

“Er,” said Jon. Then, after a pause, in a hoarser voice, “My legs are asleep.”

Daisy smiled, and then, when she remembered he wouldn’t see that, huffed a single syllable of laughter. “No wonder, smooshed up like that. Stretch out, if you like; you won’t be in my way.”

He complied at once, but said, “But then your legs will fall asleep.”

“Probably. I’ll let you know.”

He laid down across her now, or at least his torso did. His head spilled off one side of her lap, legs off the other. Daisy helped him shove the couch’s one throw pillow (now the one he slept with, when he slept) under his head.

“You don’t find this—claustrophobic?” Jon asked, after going to all the trouble to get himself comfortable.

“No.” Daisy blinked, trying not to show how much questions like this irritated her. She wouldn’t break like a china doll if you touched her, Basira. Human weight wasn’t like the Buried. Humans were warm and squishy, and they smelled like life; even vomit smelled better than grave dirt. But at least Basira had a good excuse not to understand that? Coming from Jon it didn’t make any sense. When he’d reached her down there, the first thing he did was take her hand and squeeze. She didn’t know if he’d done that to reassure her or himself or both, but—it shouldn’t matter, right? If he’d known to do that then, why didn’t he know now?

At last she went on, “You said it’s called Too Close I Cannot Breathe. Don’t breathe through my legs, do I?”

“N—?—no. No, I guess not.”

He closed his eyes. Daisy could feel his flesh deflate and ooze outward as the muscles relaxed. This felt like a lot, coming from someone she’d first known as a paranoid little freak. How could he trust her so much, when—? It made her smile, even though she knew only Elias would see. Could muscle atrophy make it hurt to smile?

“Hey Jon?” she waited for his answering Hm. “What’s with the #1 Pervert mug?”

“Oh. Er—Tim.”

“Uh huh…?”

“There was, uh—a statement? Wh-when we first came to the Archives, we looked into a statement given by a man who found a Leitner in a charity shop.”

“Aaand you sent Tim to check out the shop’s records.”

Jon nodded, to the extent that was possible in his position, but his Yeah came out inaudible. “Martin had recently broke one of the mugs that came with—that Gertrude and her assistants left. So, Tim, in a, uh, perhaps a slight overreaction, bought every novelty mug in the establishment.”

“Every mug? I only saw six in there.”

“Or so he told me.”

“Doubt it. That collection looks curated. I didn’t see a single teddy bear, or. Souvenir from a breast-cancer walk.”

“I didn’t press him on it.”

“Right,” Daisy scoffed.

“Sasha used”—a trumpetty nose-laugh interrupted Jon’s sentence—“Sasha used to joke they should be in Artefact Storage.”

“Well she’d know best. Didn’t you say she used to work there?”

“Yes!” Jon squeaked, in a delighted whisper-shout. One hand covered his face; the other fist shook in the air. “She had literal horror stories about that place. The way she talked about those mugs was like—hearing a nun say there should be a circle in hell for people who order the wrong kind of donuts.”

When they’d both quit laughing Daisy said, “You sound like you’re starting to feel better.” She poked him in the stomach, though so lightly for fear he’d throw up on her that she doubted he could even feel it through his cardigan and shirt. “Gonna puke again, you think?”

Jon breathed out through his nose and looked at the ceiling. Apparently she had poked him hard enough to tickle: he batted her hand away like a fly, then left his own where hers had been. “Probably not. Don’t think so. Not sure how much I have left to.”

“Yeah.” After a pause to put the words in a convincing order, Daisy said, “Surprised you had that much—I’ve barely seen you eat today. How long were you feeling sick?”

Guilty smile. “Sorry, Daisy, I uh. Thought I had it under control.”

“Not what I asked.”

“Oh. Uh… few hours, maybe?”

“Why’ve you been coughing and sniffing all day then. Thought you had a cold at first.”

“Yeah—so did I, til.”

“Huh.”

Jon propped the back of his head on his folded elbows. “Maybe it’s a monster thing,” he said, with the cynical sigh of someone pretending to be okay with this.

“Could be,” Daisy agreed. She could feel his eyes on her, but looked at the opposite wall instead of answering his gaze. Meanwhile she patted his knee. When he’d been quiet long enough she was sure he didn’t mean to say more about the monster thing, Daisy said, “Let’s get you out of those wet shoes.”

--

*Whose OP I can’t find, though I know I’ve seen it before, but. It’s the prompt referenced here:

person has been involuntarily letting out nauseously [sic] coughs intermittently all day, and their friend thinks they just have a cold or something, but surprise! they are about to puke everywhere

ETA 6/16 fixed a few Americanisms, whoops! If I’ve missed any more of those please point them out to me

[forasecondtherewedwon]

can you please do prompt #24? i also wanna say that i love all of your work and you’re an amazing writer !

Thanks very much to both of you for two great prompts, which, as @spiderman-homecomeme pointed out to me, make so much sense to combine!!

12. We dated in high school but then you moved away but now you’re back in town

24. You’re my ex but I think I still have feelings for you

our love is a bagel

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E Word count: 6395

Summary:

Thanks to a (mortifying) freak accident, Peter Parker comes back into Michelle's life, nine years after their high-school breakup. And this encounter isn't a one-time thing; it looks like she'll be seeing more of him. He's already seen way too much of her.

The windows are painted shut. Even if MJ wanted to open them, the semi-historic status of her walk-up forbids it. She might’ve given them a testing press when she moved in two years ago, but she hasn’t fucked with them since and assumes they’re basically immovable.

She discovers they aren’t when Sadie thrusts into her so hard that the damn thing swings open with a pop! to leave MJ dangling over the sill, four floors above street level.

Naturally, she screams.

So she’s screaming and naked and falling out a window and because the situation’s so dire, Sadie’s trying to hug her closer to pull her back in. Of course, she’s still wearing the damn strap-on, meaning MJ’s screams are alternating in tone a little as the other woman’s hips slam into hers. They’re both slick with sweat and the only rational thought that manages to enter MJ’s mind is that she never should’ve given in to Sadie’s slight kink for exhibitionism and braced her hands against that fucking windowpane.

Her heart’s pounding and everything’s slanting from embarrassing to urgent and, of course, in this city, that’s when Spider-Man usually shows up. Which he does. But he doesn’t come swinging across the skyline or climbing up the wall on his fingertips. The window next door bangs open and he scrambles out, darts sideways, maybe hesitates a split-second in shock (she’s too panicked to be sure), then catches MJ around the waist. The only fortunate thing is that, in the moment of rescue where he tussles against gravity, Sadie’s dildo slips out of her, meaning there’s less to be mortified about. There’s just her total nudity, the visible slipperiness on her thighs, and, of course, her fuck-buddy standing there with a sex toy coated in MJ’s arousal. Besides those things, it’s a completely comfortable situation in which to run into an ex-boyfriend after nine years of silence.

Only she can’t acknowledge that she knows him. Not as Peter Parker. She and Sadie hook up in a way that’s casual but also somewhat regular―enough that Sadie knows to bring the dildo with the circular grooves and MJ preps by filling both of her ice cube trays, but not nearly enough to ever warrant giving away Peter’s secret. She wouldn’t. She lacks the motivation. Things didn’t end badly so much as abruptly when they realized they’d be attending colleges in two different states and that neither of them was really mature enough to commit to long distance at the start of such a monumentally new stage of their lives. So Peter’s just the neighbourhood hero (when did he move back?) and Sadie’s the blonde in the grey cotton bra (they haven’t gotten to the part where MJ runs ice cubes over her nipples yet) and the gooey strap-on. Two strangers. And MJ standing between them trying to think of a way to play this off as not strange at all.

Luckily, Peter’s still more awkward than she’ll ever be; he goes, “Oh, um, ok. Ma’am,” salutes, and climbs hastily back out her window. MJ sees him go up, towards the roof, and feels the familiar gratitude that he’s taking just enough care of himself to recognize that he shouldn’t return next door while Sadie’s a witness. Then her legs become broken stilts beneath her and she wobbles to the floor.

“What the fuck!” Sadie erupts.

She unfastens and hurls the strap-on aside (right onto MJ’s clean sheets―she’s asked Sadie not to do that), then rushes to the window, trying to make it close the way it did before. It shuts, at least. MJ plans to do whatever it takes to fake that the historic painted-shut window was never disturbed. Double-sided tape maybe. Or that cheese sauce she makes by hand. That always turns out pretty gluey. Her worry over both the window and her bedding fades when Sadie crouches in front of her and smooths the hair back from her face. She does like Sadie after all. Sadie’s Sadie, but she’s also Sadie: undeniably and reassuringly present as well as freakishly aware of MJ’s moods. MJ can feel her own dazed expression.

“That was nuts. Are you alright?”

“As long as I am actually alive and not lying naked on the sidewalk with my head cracked open,” MJ says, her sarcasm quiet but present.

“I’m sure there’s not a scratch on you. That masked bastard is pretty quick.”

This is a compliment.

“Yeah, he… must’ve been close by,” she agrees carefully.

“Must’ve.”

Ok, so Sadie can’t have seen Peter spring out of the neighbour’s window like a jack-in-the-box. Either the angle was wrong or she was a little caught up in her own attempts to haul MJ to safety. Whichever it was, MJ’s relieved.

“Can I get you a drink of water?” Sadie asks, touching MJ’s cheek in a way that’s more practiced than tender. She’s an ultrasound technician. “I’m gonna get you a drink of water.”

On her way out of the bedroom, she picks up her underwear and sweatpants, lines them up, and steps into both layers at the same time, like a firefighter. Well. That confirms the suspicion she created with the way she felt MJ’s face―they won’t be getting to the ice. Their current rendezvous is over. Something about near-death or the intrusion of a strange man has blown Sadie’s lust away like a cloud past the sun. Which sucks because MJ was super horny when she texted her faithful booty call and was anticipating good results from the pressure and speed of Sadie’s thrusts before historic New York vibe-checked MJ in the present.

The water is presented and Sadie has the good grace (or just tactful bedside manner) to pull MJ up to sit on the mattress before she reminds her that she’s about to take off by throwing on her t-shirt. Sadie shrugs as MJ gulps (wow, she is thirsty―hanging out an open window will really take it outta you), then MJ shrugs as she wipes her mouth. It’s not a big deal. The mood’s past and they aren’t and have never been a couple. Sadie won’t ask to stick around so they can make dinner together and MJ won’t invite her to. Still, she’s not going yet, which must mean MJ looks pretty scared. How to tell her it wasn’t the window but the guy who came through it? This is not the kind of conversation they have. Sadie reaches across the bed to grab the strap-on and pulls the sheet over in the same motion, trying to put it around MJ’s shoulders, but it’s twisted and stiff from being lately washed and doesn’t want to go higher than her waist.

“I’m not in shock,” MJ promises. Sadie gives her a look. “I’m not.”

“Well, you look… not like yourself.”

“How do I normally look?”

“After this?” she asks, waving the sex toy. “Sweaty and radiant.”

“So then it’s your fault for stopping just because of a minor issue with the window.”

Sadie snorts at this nonsense.

“You still sound like yourself anyway. Snarky and demanding.”

“Only in bed.”

“I only know you in bed,” Sadie jokes back in a more intimate tone. It’s only mostly true. She cares. They’ve been doing this a while.

A minute goes by as MJ tucks the sheet around herself and Sadie watches her like she might pass out.

“I didn’t mean demanding,” Sadie belatedly corrects. “Confident. Powerful. A good feminist who knows what she wan―”

“Shut up. It always makes me uncomfortable when you start being nice to me. With your mouth,” MJ corrects when her hook-up raises an eyebrow. “With your mouth when you’re speaking complimentary words,” she says, mock-irritated after Sadie lifts the other eyebrow too.

“Will you be alright?”

“I’m already fine. Shitty windows and Spider-Man are just part of the NYC experience,” she says to Sadie, an out-of-towner. MJ can’t remember where she’s from originally and they don’t do much small talk these days.

“I actually didn’t think he was anymore. Hasn’t he, like, not been around here for a while?”

“Hasn’t he?” MJ stares at the wall and tries to sound disinterested.

“It’s cool that he’s back, but if I see him again, I hope it’s under different circumstances.”

“Because you don’t want me to have an untimely death, right?”

“Oh, is that what you thought I meant? No, I was just wishing I’d been dressed.” But Sadie kisses MJ’s forehead to counteract her harsh reply. It’s different from the way she usually says goodbye―with a quick swat on the ass. She stands, finds her shoes and phone, and turns to go.

“Put that thing in a plastic bag or something,” MJ instructs, rubbing her forehead at the way Sadie just lets the unwashed strap-on swing at her side.

“‘That thing,’” Sadie echoes, offended, as she grabs a grocery bag from the back of MJ’s door. “As if Huge Jackman’s never done anything for you.”

“Stop calling it that.”

“Huge Jackman.”

“You’re fucked up,” MJ informs her lightly.

“Maybe so.” Sadie salutes in the style of Spider-Man. (MJ flinches on the inside from the deeper feelings trying to surface while outwardly rolling her eyes.) “Take ‘er easy.”

“Get home safe.”

With a wave exchanged, Sadie leaves the room. MJ hears her close the main door of the apartment behind her. She wriggles into an enormous crewneck sweatshirt and makes herself get up to lock it. Then, she rattles around in her bedside drawer for her vibrator and goes back to bed, determined to drive Peter Parker out of her head and back into her past.

―

It doesn’t take long to determine that her ex-boyfriend didn’t just happen to be next door when Sadie’s hips launched her through a window, nor was he visiting a friend. He lives there. The wall that encloses MJ’s bedroom on one side encloses one of the rooms of his apartment on the other. As for details on what’s brought him back to the city after his years in Denver (as she heard through Ned a few times before they drifted without having their closeness to Peter in common anymore), she’s both burningly curious and dedicated to appearing like she couldn’t care less.

It gives her mixed feelings that she and Peter run into each other a lot. The first time, they meet on the stairs in their building and he’s carrying a cardboard box. They don’t speak beyond an awkward greeting and Peter blurting out the obvious: “I just moved in!” He could probably stand there holding the box all day without his arms getting tired―MJ can’t help that her eye is drawn to the way his biceps stuffed into his sleeves look like cats do in pictures where they’ve wriggled into the sleeves of their owners’ sweaters―but they don’t prolong the encounter. The second time, MJ’s coming home when she sees Peter step out his door and hastily fishes her phone from her purse, pretending to be on a call. They nod to each other and he looks like he might try to say something to her, phone call or not, but he never does. Once she’s in her apartment, she wonders if she threw him off by addressing her fake call to the first name that popped into her head: May. Which, of course, is the name of Peter’s beloved aunt. MJ’s really excelling at convincing Peter that his proximity has no effect on her. If he’s wondering.

She would be, in his position, she thinks. Were she the one who’d been gone such a long time and suddenly presented with a former acquaintance as a next-door neighbour, she would wonder what the other person thought of her moving in. It should be a gift, in a city this size. Their particular history shouldn’t matter more than the value of having a neighbour you can trust to turn down their music to a respectful decibel, or keep their place clean so they don’t attract roaches to your shared part of the building, or not snitch to the landlord when you pop a historic window like bubble wrap. For fuck’s sake, they’ve been strangers to the events of each other’s daily lives longer than they were ever friends! Way longer than they were dating. What would make the most sense would be to slip back into an easy friendship now, make an effort before too many weeks go by and the habit of avoiding his eye when they pass each other in the hall or on the stairs becomes irreversible. So what if he saw her totally naked? Being Spider-Man has to be sorta like being a doctor―you see so much shit, including naked people, that it barely even registers. Just part of the job. It’s not as though her front door was unlocked and he walked in as Peter Parker to see Sadie screwing her. Anything he sees as Spider-Man shouldn’t count.

He never saw her naked as Peter. The fact that they didn’t get to anything beyond over-the-clothes touching was something she was glad of when they broke up. In her mind, it made them less connected. It was supposed to make him easier to forget. That worked pretty well for a lot of years, all that time MJ spent keeping distance between them, assuming it was what they would both want, because distance was enough to split them up. As long as she maintained the distance, it proved that breaking up was the right thing. They wanted to be separate and not together, so that’s how they would be. But now he’s living next door.

She doesn’t know if there’s a way to be distant and sharing a wall. The friends thing seems like the best plan. She’ll start them on the right path. Now. Tonight. Putting her hair down, then up again, then back down with only her uneasy reflection for guidance, she finally makes herself walk out of her apartment.

Peter’s at his door, just coming home by the looks of it. Perfect. He has his back to her and it’s a fairly broad back these days, broad enough to hide the petite woman MJ sees when she’s close. Peter has one hand on the key he’s turning in the lock and the other in the woman’s back pocket, presumably squeezing her ass. MJ doesn’t look long enough to know. Her eyes catch Peter’s when she passes and he glances up at the sound of footsteps. It’s likely that her expression of determination has writhed into panic. Of course, she can’t speak to him now, in front of his girlfriend or whatever this woman is to him, so MJ continues straight down the hall like she never intended to stop at his door. Ask how he’s doing. His aunt. Ned. Laugh about the circumstances of him rescuing her. About old times. Old feelings.

Old? Those feelings are ancient. MJ works harder to convince herself with every minute she spends standing alone in the stairwell, waiting to creep back to her apartment.

―

MJ texts Sadie to hook up more frequently, then not at all when she worries about being needy, which just makes Sadie tell her that there’s spontaneous and then there’s erratic, and Sadie does not need erratic in her life right now. Sobered by this assertion, MJ steadies herself and they go back to fucking once every week or two. While Sadie’s eating her out, MJ remembers Peter’s hand in that woman’s pocket and squeezes her eyes shut tightly.

She continues to see him. More than she sees any of their other neighbours. Lucky them, having such compatible schedules. It’s officially been long enough that she’s weird now―weirder than fake calls and hiding in stairwells―and he’s weird too. She doesn’t get it. Her stumbling across him bringing a guest back to his apartment is not on par with him finding her and her guest right in the middle of the act. How to make friends with Peter the neighbour when the silent crush she nurtured in high school miraculously bloomed into four months of dating, when she blushed as he linked his fingers with hers, and when, now, he brings five different women to his apartment in a span of three weeks? She learns that the room on the other side of the wall is Peter’s bedroom. Not knowing was preferable to the thumps, the high-pitched sounds. He’s either a talented lay or goes to bed with a lot of liars.

The next time Sadie comes over, MJ yanks the door open to meet her and folds around her, right there in the hallway, as they make out. Sadie rolls with it. That only makes MJ feel guiltier; the longer they’re in the hall, the greater the chance that Peter will see them. He’ll bear witness to her not being alone either. Her motives are shameful and she does secret penance, using up her ice, concentrating hard when she fingers Sadie and feels her uncomplicated panting on her neck.

But MJ’s never ahead of it, this weird feeling of lagging as she tries to reposition herself, Peter, the distance that belongs to them. One morning, she gets up at five to buy fresh bread from a farmer’s market instead of a grocery store and returns to their building, their floor, to find Peter receiving early-morning neck kisses in his open doorway from a short, black-haired man (a departing one-night stand, by the intimacy, by the fact of Peter’s pajamas) who mumbles in quiet, passionate Italian against MJ’s neighbour’s skin while she tries to get into her apartment as quickly as possible. She bites into a loaf without cutting it, then tears a messy chuck away to slather the still-warm interior with butter. Bread is possibly her only true friend on this earth.

Is she funny or is she just sad? Her brain seems faster, practicing how quickly it can distract itself whenever she sees Peter. She’s never not thought about him so much. Not sleeping together in high school begins to feel like a mistake. There’s a pain in her foot that she goes to her doctor about, only to be more or less told that she’s imagining it, that stress is manifesting as this random bastard foot pain. It could be true. She could need a new doctor. The compromise is to quit wearing this particular pair of flats she hates anyway and only owns for work. MJ next leaves her apartment in old high-tops, feeling tired and distrustful and therefore sure to make someone laugh today with some quip. Peter laughs before she says a word.

“Sorry, they just gave me such a flashback,” he tells her, slowing his steps to climb the stairs, putting his head level with her face instead of her shoes. “They look like the ones you used to wear.”

“Same ones.”

“Really?”

“I like how they’re broken in.”

“Where’s the line between ‘broken in’ and ‘worn out’?” Peter wonders with a smile.

My forehead, probably, MJ thinks. She shrugs. How strange that he’s here, standing on the same step she is. She’s gotten so used to not interacting that he started to seem like a ghost. The kind where they tolerate each other in their space, an understanding between realms. The kind that only really forces acknowledgement certain nights. A banging comes through the wall.

“You wanna grab a bagel or something? What are you doing right now?”

“Nothing,” she tells him, though she’s the one heading out and he’s the one heading home. “Let’s get a bagel.”

What’s amazing is how flat Peter’s been in her head―dimensionless enough to slip between a pair of receipts she kept for tax purposes and then forgot to throw away. The roundness of him over bagels is startling. He’s a rotating bookshelf, revolving and packed with stories she’s never heard. While he’s talking about mountains, a poppyseed stuck between his front teeth, MJ understands that she’s going to text Sadie after this and end things. She plants her elbows on the table, feeling as much on home turf as though she grew up in this little breakfast dive. The elbow’s in something sticky; MJ tips coffee onto a paper napkin and cleans herself with that, always watching Peter. He’s a new person with the original guy still inside. He’s sweet. Maybe their distance is like the center of this bagel she’s finishing slowly: not a gulf, just a hole in the middle of a circle. They don’t need to bridge two parts, just quit being numb to their connection. But all those women. That man, with his Romance language. When it’s over and she walks out ahead of him, she feels like he’s leaving for Colorado all over again, even as he’s right at her back, catching the door so it doesn’t bang into him because she let go too soon. It was heavy.

Sadie’s Sadie. MJ calls instead of texting and finds that she’s crying on a park bench, thankful for the hot sun on the back of her neck and the silence of her plentiful tears. Sadie will miss her, no more or less. Only at the end is MJ realizing that this will be a loss. Feelings aren’t simple. Someone has cared about her and been happy to see her name appear on their phone. Her vagina is the sole part of her that didn’t struggle with the ‘casual’ half of ‘casual sex,’ but her vagina is also not interested in taking the call. She rides the bus home and a man wheels a suitcase over her foot.

That night, MJ cooks to jazz, shrimp sticking in the pan, noodles soft. The smoke alarm sings back at her for her attempts to make garlic bread in the toaster oven. There’s a rapid knock at her door. She eyes the smoke detector, then leaves it. It’s Peter at the door.

“I heard the alarm. Do you need help?”

“I…”

The collar of his t-shirt is oddly limp, like it’s been stretched aside. There’s a smear of lipstick low on his neck. MJ angles out of her doorway and looks sideways. Huh. There’s a woman poking her head out of Peter’s doorway too.

“Sensitive smoke detector,” she tells him with a tight, apologetic smile. “Not exactly a disaster.”

“Oh, did you burn something? Do you wanna come over and eat with… us?”

He seems to remember about the woman then and looks uncomfortable. MJ lets him feel that for a minute. She allows him to look at her while that uncomfortable feeling surges inside him like a rising tide. Why should he be uncomfortable?

“No,” MJ says bluntly. “I don’t.”

Peter nods and backs away.

―

Over the next two weeks, he still has guests in his apartment. She doesn’t always see the moment of arrival or departure, but she’ll hear him put music on―something, as a teenager, he only ever did to be attentive to other people―or have to plug her ears to the thudding against the wall. What changes is the shifty way he looks at her when they see each other. He looks like he expects to get in trouble. Does he think she’s angry at him? She isn’t, honestly, just a keen observer.

MJ’s been bringing herself under the lens, witnessing her own reactions. Her relationship with love is better than she thought. Specifically, when she stayed and Peter left, she thought love was something she didn’t need. She was younger and now she’s older and ready to accept some silly things she scorned at eighteen. That love isn’t one shot, but sometimes many, many chances. That the same love can come around again like a merry-go-round horse. That you can fall in love young and never really forget it, even if you didn’t say it out loud, at the time or ever. Though love is closeness, love is also absence. Distance. Yes, love can live in distance, with a little air and a little sun. What’s time to truth? What’s geography?

Waiting for Peter makes MJ feel sure of herself. There’s nothing to be angry about.

On a Sunday morning, she’s putting actual effort into trying to get the window to close properly when she hears a familiar pop. Gingerly, she presses her window open and looks over to see Peter resting his forearms on the sill of his formerly-sealed window. He’s drinking a coffee. Fully aware of her presence, he turns to look at her and smiles, raising his mug in greeting. She puts down the wood glue and leaves the window wide open. Traffic sounds follow her to the kitchen, where she grabs a slice of banana bread before returning, pulling up a chair so she can have breakfast at her window too. The two of them could be a couple stools apart at a diner. They don’t speak. MJ feels so close to him she could cry. The crumbs from her food have four stories to fall, where they’ll eventually be found by pigeons.

“You wanna come over later?” he asks her eventually.

They’re unlocking the doors to their respective apartments after bumping into each other on the sidewalk, approaching the same building from opposite directions. They spoke on the way inside, all the way up the stairs. They walked slower down the hallway to say more words and swap more smiles. But they said goodbye already, before Peter’s question. MJ looks at him. Her heart swells up big in her chest, bigger than it feels like there’s room for. There’s been nobody over there with him in a long while. She studies his face, which looks more than friendly, like any answer but the one he wants to hear would wound him. That’s something she’s never wanted to do.

“Ten minutes?” MJ asks.

“Five,” he challenges.

“I can do five.”

It’s her first time knocking at his door. She changed her jeans, her bra, took off her earrings, brushed her teeth, soaked her neck in perfume that smells richly of late-summer flowers. The odour of his body―the wondering about it―has her tense as she waits to be let in. The wait is short.

His hands grab her, hold her tight, but his lips tremble with their first experimental kiss. MJ presses the door shut without looking back. Lets her keys fall. She pushes her hips against his and he’s already turned on, so hard it must be killing him. The second time their mouths brush, she fears this may actually be bad. His mouth is too slack, his jaw too clenched. Fortunately, Peter shows her that he’s just holding back severely because when he stops holding back… well. He’s added an island on locking wheels to his kitchen, with a low shelf underneath for storage space. They stagger into it, legs knocking the protruding handles of pots and pans to send them all clanging to the floor. When she lifts a foot high to step over a metal colander, Peter’s hand darts out and grabs her thigh; suddenly, her ass is pressed to the island and he’s rolling his hips hard into hers, palm hot through her jeans. MJ squeezes her hands between their bodies to unbuckle his belt and unfasten his pants; she palms the head of his dick through his boxers. It’s not enough, not close enough.

They make a breakaway from the clutter and she laughs―as bright and bursting as a torn-open orange―when Peter hauls her into his arms, impatient with her cautious tread around his spill of cookware. He practically tosses her onto his modest kitchen table and she grabs his face in both hands, kissing him deeply with tongue, as she wiggles her ass to the edge, thighs wide to accommodate his. The force of his return kisses makes her tilt backward. His fingers are on the button of her jeans, the fly, stroking the soft material of her underwear with his thumb. MJ plants a hand and lifts herself up quickly and they pry her jeans out from under her. Her shoes go too. The table legs bang loudly off the floor with this shifting of her weight, making Peter grin. He looks young and delirious after whipping his t-shirt off. He looks happy. Her hands clutch greedily at his bare skin.

She chokes on a wet breath when he hooks a finger around the crotch of her underwear to tug them off, knuckle pushing fleetingly against her, dipped in her wetness like an apple in candy coating. It’s lucky that Peter thinks about getting a condom because MJ flushes to find it hasn’t crossed her mind. He sprints away and comes back before she has her cropped cardigan fully unbuttoned. Does it happen too fast? No, it seems like it’s right on time when Peter whips his jeans and boxers down his legs and tucks his chin to watch himself roll the condom down his dick, MJ’s gaze going from his hands to his expression of harried concentration like flipping pages of a magazine. Ready, he bends his knees. She angles her hips.

They’re seventeen, turning eighteen soon, and she’s on top of the world the first time he holds her hand.

The stretch of him inside her would be killer if she weren’t this wet for him. The table scrapes the floor and Peter breathes heavily into her hair, sounding like he needs a moment to cool off. She doesn’t want a moment. MJ lays flat on her back and he follows her down with the lightest touch to the back of his neck. There’s barely enough room for her, the top of her head skimming the wall if she really straightens her spine, but she braces her hands on either side of her head and stares Peter in the eye to let him know she’s serious. It can be fast. The night is young and they’re not too old for miracles like second chances and short refractory periods. He groans because they’ve scarcely begun and already the thought of another round has her reactively seizing around his cock.

“My bad,” she says with a smirk.

“You’re good,” he counters, diving for a kiss. “You’re so fucking good.”

His hands wrap around her from underneath, gripping the back of her sweater, grasping her shoulders from behind. All the time, he bucks, jubilantly, honestly, like he’s not afraid of hurting her. This is what she wants. When he caresses up her bent arms to learn the shape of her wrists with his fingertips, then place his palms over the back of her hands, MJ’s eyes roll back and closed. Her back bows slightly as she tilts to make sure he drags across her clit when he thrusts. What will they do if his table collapses under her full weight and most of his, with him bent over her body? Continue on the floor, probably.

Peter’s mouth leaves hers and she moans loudly without interference―mmming and uhhhing and Jesus, fuck, Peter, right thereing. He acquaints himself with her neck in quick, sharp nips before dipping further to burrow his nose against her sternum, inhaling and exhaling hard as he hunches over her like a question mark and pounds his hips forward like he’s dying and her cunt’ll give him five more minutes of life. If he’s still running on that power and responsibility mantra, the motherfucker’s responsibility must be through the roof because his power is immense. He noses her partially undone cardigan aside to suck her nipple through the scant peekaboo lace of her bra. MJ’s legs urge his hips to slow, her arms almost worn out from stopping her head bumping the wall. Grinding her clit hard into his pubic bone, she comes with a shaky sob, eyes open to a ceiling identical to hers in the next apartment over. How many months late can you welcome somebody to the building?

He’s noisy in the buildup to his release, both from his mouth and in the sloppy sounds of his dick navigating her flooded, spasming channel post-climax, but quiet when he finally lets go inside her. Peter turns his face up to MJ. It’s kind of beautiful, the dishevelled hair, the ascending look in his eyes. She grips him reassuringly with her thighs and hangs on even when tough-guy’s knees almost give out, though she’d never be able to keep him on his feet if he dropped. How she feels is as if she could walk through fire carrying him on her back.

The fear, when they break apart, seems to be mutual. But for the way she throbs for what he removed, it could have simply not happened. Peter runs a hand over his face. MJ stays put, breathing hard. He throws out the condom that is more evidence; the sensation between her legs will fade, but latex has gotta last a lifetime in a landfill. Sweetly, he collects her jeans and underwear from the floor and sets them on a chair at the table before standing there like the uncertain teenage boy she knew.

“You’re good,” she notes, catching him off guard. He laughs, pleased, self-conscious, back to pleased, and turns freshly pink. “I can see what all your guests have been screaming about.”

The contentment leaves his expression.

“Oh, M, I―”

“It couldn’t bother me less,” MJ tells him truthfully. She sits up and wonders if her legs will refuse to stand when she tries. Better hold off another minute. “You had to get that good with somebody. And I’m glad I won’t be lowering my expectations after Sadie showed me how much I deserve in bed.”

“Sadie? The blonde woman with the��” Peter motions between his legs at the homegrown organic penis that hangs in place of the purple facsimile Sadie was sporting when the two of them met.

“Yep.”

She gets off the table and has to stop him from shadowing her into the bathroom with a hand to his tautly muscled chest. Down, boy. Let her pee in peace.

They lie in bed together after that, on clean sheets that are pretty poorly secured. So that’s how Peter spent his five minutes before she came over. In appreciation and the comfort she already feels around him, she finishes unbuttoning her cardigan and takes it off. The bra follows―after he swiftly but lightly grabs her arm to take a good long look at her wearing it. There’s a twitch from his lap as she wriggles fully naked under the sheet with him.

They talk school for a while, friends, dates that went nowhere, student loans. Then he asks, “Did you eat?” and the question compels MJ onto her knees with a sly smile. She bypasses the hopeful tent he’s pitching down south to ease her weight onto his chest, tucking her legs around his arms. The look she gives him says, I just know you’re good at oral. Don’t make me wait any longer. Maintaining eye contact, Peter rubs her lower back, then guides her forward. Again, she has her palm slapped to one of his goddamn walls when orgasm hits, riding the hot, mutable surface of his tongue. The other hand reached behind her a few minutes ago to pump what she could of his cock, giving him his while she got hers. Soon after calling her neighbour’s name at the wall he shares with her empty apartment, she shuffles backwards to line him up and take him deep. The visual of jerking him off by hand appeals to her, but the craving to mount him is too strong to ignore.

They argue passionately about who’s madder when he has to make her get off so he can put a condom on again.

Quick and hot in the kitchen was good; slow and smoldering in his bed is better. MJ’s sure Peter would flip her and chase bliss at a single nod of her head, but he seems to be enjoying her on top too much to suggest a return to that fucking-where-he-eats-breakfast haste. She rocks to her own rhythm―it’s self-serving and irregular, but the friction is heating her nicely. Her g-spot could be a lottery scratch ticket. The head of his cock, a lucky coin. While she swirls her hips, fingers in her own hair, his hands move worshipfully over her ass and thighs. She traces a pinky down the center of his chest and leans forward to kiss him. The smells of her and him are in her nose when she has to inhale a harsh breath because he won’t break the kiss. His hands knead the back of her thighs and MJ grips his hair, slamming her hips back. Peter releases a high gasp into her mouth. She sucks at his lower lip, his tongue, teasing him with shallowness now, working the head of his cock until he’s squirming and moaning and taking actions that say to hell with you and softer things besides, keeping her legs still and driving up into her. She catches his lip in her teeth when she grins.

So he doesn’t think he has all the control, MJ pushes up and sits tall astride him, legs straining to sustain the sudden speed of her bounce. He frames her breast with his index finger and thumb. Only when Peter has his other hand between her legs, scrubbing at her clit, does he close his grip and pinch down on her nipple. Her third orgasm is the least special, because it feels like they’ve been doing this for years. Wait, then maybe it’s the most special. MJ folds and rolls compliantly after her body quits singing and settles into a well-tuned hum; Peter hikes her leg, somehow getting his shoulder into the moist crook of her knee, and finishes with a half-dozen deep thrusts, grinding her name out through his teeth. His scent is sweat and cherries, wet and sweet. Behind her closed eyelids, she pictures a wave crashing on a breakwater.

They’re above the sheets now, cotton in mobile wrinkles as they breathe and sigh. His fingers delicately map her bones through the back of her hand. He tries to hold her like he could press her right through his skin, but, body lax, MJ tells him to leave space. She won’t erase their distance. She just can’t bear it.

more clichéd tropes and prompts

[princessjungeun]

Ballerina: Ryujin x Reader

Request: Y/N is a ballerina and Ryujin is her girlfriend

You started ballet when you were 18 months old in a mommy and me class. Since then you haven’t stopped dancing. Ballet was your entire life, everything you did revolves around dance.

When you moved to Seoul it was so that you could attend a performing arts high school. You joined a company that would set you up to attend a prestigious arts college. Your dream was Julliard, it had been since you were six years old.

However being a ballerina wasnt always as pretty as it was made out to be. You were constantly breaking in new pointe shoes which was one of the most painstaking processes ever. Even though you were used to the feeling of a new pointe shoe, it still sucked.

You lived in housing provided by your school because your actual home was 250 miles away. You shuffled through roommates almost as much as you went through pointe shoes. The constant banging of the shoes on the floors, as well as you always practicing irked the nerves of everyone you lived with.

Until you met Ryujin, who was once your best friend. But she is now your girlfriend.

Ryujin has no problem with you practicing nonstop, unless you’re overworking yourself. She is always more than happy to help you with whatever you need too.

“Hey you have to finish your English homework remember?” She poked at your foot that was resting on her lap. You put your new pointe shoe down and said “I have an audition tomorrow. I have to finish sewing on my ribbons and then I have to smush the box. Plus beat the sound out of them. And I have to color them in and I have to-” Ryujin cut you off “I’ll do it for you, I know how.”

You hesitated but you knew she was right, she’s helped you do it before. You handed her your shoes and she quickly got to work.

As you completed your work you watched her every so often. She sewed your ribbons exactly where you liked them. She pressed on the box until she heard the loud pop you loved hearing. She banged the shoes against the floor like you always did. She used a toothbrush and painted your foundation on them because she knew they had to match your skin tone, and it was hard finding pointe shoes that were the right color. She rubbed rosin on the toes knowing that’s your way of making sure they aren’t slippery. And she raked the bottom of the shoe so you didn’t slip when you were to dance. 

•

•

•

You attended your audition and you are pretty sure you did amazing. The judges seemed very impressed with your skill which was typical for you but it still surprised you when it happened. However due to nonstop practicing for it you knew your feet were blistered and bleeding before removing your shoes.

When you got home Ryujin was already at home waiting for you. She greeted you with a smile “Hi baby how was your audition?” You gave her a thumbs up with a smile but she could see right through it. Your feet were throbbing, your achilles ached badly, and you knew you had at least two new blisters.

You walked into her arms and whined “my feet are killing me.” She quickly sat you down and removed your warm up booties. At times like this you never look at your feet after taking off your pointe shoe. Your big toes were still wrapped in tape with a second skin on them.

She peeled them off watching you wince in pain. She quickly noticed you did in fact have new blisters but thankfully this round you didn’t loose any nails...it’s happened a lot before. She got up and got you a bag of ice for one foot while she softly massaged the other. You let your body sink into the couch beneath you letting out a deep sigh.

Ryujin was always there to take care of you when she wasn’t promoting. The two of you both had crazy schedules but you didn’t allow that to get in the way of your relationship. You attended many of her events and she was always in the front row at every single on of your performances.

She was also the first one to help you when you came home struggling to walk. Very quickly she learned how to massage and care for you and you did the same for her.

“Jagi come on wake up you need to shower and go to sleep.” Ryujin lightly shook you awake. You slowly made your way to the bathroom. The warm water against your tired muscles was exactly what you needed at a time like this. When you got out of the bathroom Ryujin already had your bed ready for you two to sleep.

You laid down next to her and immediately she pulled you into her. You whispered “Thank you jagiya.” She smiled and said “no need to thank me, you know I’ll always be here for you.”

[subtextread]

My mama, and I, are so set in our ways. My mom can’t help but say triggering things - I perhaps can’t help by being triggered by maybe mundane things. It’s work (Work™) not Reacting, and I’m working very hard at it because we are in a scary pandemic and my dad already died this year.

But after washing dishes and saying a goodbye which felt loaded for me and probably/hopefully just flew over her head, I think it was natural to find myself thinking about my dad. My dad had such little access to me - even when circumstances changed and I grew up. He was just grateful to spend time with me and see me. There were times he wanted influence over my life, what parent doesn’t, but it wasn’t the entirety or even a majority of our relationship. I don’t say this as a critique of my mama - she and her side of the family had to do the raising and all the actual work of caregiving, so it’s natural that she also wants a heavy hand in transforming me into what she thinks is right. I’m just saying that there was a balance there. Maybe in safe, well-adjusted families that balance exists with both parents as a unit. With mine it was polarized between them. All that to say, I felt that balance palpably growing up and I wonder if I ever conveyed outwardly to my dad or even to myself in recognition that I appreciated the unconditional nature of his love.

The one year anniversary of my father’s death is in about three weeks. It feels like it was just yesterday. I was writing on tumblr the day it happened because pen to paper was too hard (it’s still kind of hard).

I have hit many roadblocks with processing his death. No death of this magnitude can be easy, but the isolation is unbearable. I will never be able to see my father’s final resting place. When I think of him, there is so little tangible to hold or places to go.

After seeing my mom I ended up driving to the last place he lived when he was here. It was hard. Trying to hold vigil, trying to manifest ritual in these circumstances feels like grasping at vapor, at punishing myself and trying to discipline out memories of places and images that must be somewhere in my mind. It’s also hard because my father lived a life of such transience. His last home in the city was an affordable housing unit, but it’s in a glitzy part of Old Town in Chicago with super commercial streets all around. The building is gated and secured because it is, by its nature, a place people try to access for sanctuary. I was only there for a few minutes. It didn’t feel right to be there, seeing its gentle and cheery Christmas-light bedecked lobby several feet behind the fence while people in need of sanctuary waited outside.

I remember my dad’s unit. If any of you have read the screenplay to Brokeback Mountain, when Alma Jr, Ennis’s daughter, comes to visit him at the end of the book, she’s saddened by the utilitarian nature of his dwellings. That’s how my dad lived too. Is it how all divorced, working class dads with adult daughters live? He had his inflatable mattress on the ground, a hearty and healthily stocked fridge, a TV that only kind of worked, a dial radio, a small closet of pretty chic dad clothes and fancy leather shoes, a lot of magazines and library books. That was it.

I drove around Old Town a little. I could see him walking around there. I could see where he’d post his mail and where he’d board the red line, and where he’d go get groceries.

I went to our old apartment. It was the apartment I was born in, and where my father probably last lived a full 20 years ago. When my parents were together, our family occupied several of the units in the building. This apartment was the backdrop of all of my baby videos and photos. After my parent’s divorced, my dad stayed there still. It was super shitty, to be honest, and at the time, mice-infested haha, but I didn’t know any better. It was home. Its crappiness kind of made it a place of some level of abandon. Once it was just my dad (but even before then), he - and I guess the whole family - had given up on me not drawing on the walls so at some point everything under three feet was just Scribbles, for example.

During that period where it was just my dad in that apartment, I remember a few things - my dad had hung up his target practice headshot sheets (from... work? he was a security guard) on the walls, lol #art. He once made a makeshift swing which hurt my butt and broke a lot but was fun anyway.

One time - ha - I found a tube of bright pink lipstick in the bathroom and subsequently used it to adorn the scribbly walls with a pop of color. I distinctly remember as a kid being like this is weird, but okay. And now, as an adult, I wish I had a camera on me when the implications of my lone, always alone, dad having a random singular tube of hot pink lipstick in his bathroom dawned on me l o l. I was driving down the highway to my childhood home and after being the lady calculating numbers meme for a hot second started cackling hysterically Through The Tears™. My father was just a person, after all. We are all just people. Full, complete, independent people with lives that are always somewhat secret from our loved ones.

I got to our old apartment and there are these two big rocks that have just been there decoratively on this Chicago corner for 30 years at this point. One of them used to be a white/light gray, smooth stone and the other one was a rugged rock with one fully geode encrusted face. I distinctly remember being little enough to climb on them (the white one was slippery, the geode one had purchase making it easy to climb). They’re still there, although now I could literally just climb from one to the other like they were steps on a set of stairs lmao, and the white one has been darkened thanks to city grime ✨. That was the strongest memory of this particular vantage point of our home that I have. All other memories are from the window looking outward, like waiting for my dad’s taxi (like all immigrant south asian dads, mine too was a taxi driver at one point) while listening to the sounds of traffic on wet pavement after the rain.

I texted my brother to ask if he remembered which floor we lived on. He said “wow, weird”. He had just had a dream of our apartment last night. My brother is currently about a half a day ahead of me time-wise, so I think he was both very surprised by our connected subconscious and also perhaps a little concerned that I was visiting no longer familiar neighborhoods at 1 in the morning. But my brother is gentle about this. He didn’t have much of a relationship with my father, his stepfather. He was the first person I called when I was told of his death and he soothed me in all the perfect ways as I drove the 15 minutes it took to get to my mom’s from work. He told me I had been a good daughter, that my father had loved me with the entirety of his being and had lived solely for me, and that I had made him proud and that he had known I had loved him. I wept and wept apologizing that he had to comfort me over someone he had a difficult relationship with, over a stepfather who hadn’t treated him the best, and I could hear him shrug over the phone. He said my father had been a simple man who was constrained by a difficult life and that he had not any ill will towards him. May God protect my brother always, inshAllah.

It’s funny attempting to create ritual, chasing some sort of catharsis or relief in places that felt loaded with meaning, but on physical approach, are devoid of it. My father’s most recent place does not hold his spirit, my birthplace apartment is now occupied by another family and probably furnished up to code. I arrived back to my place having had a stilted cry, a period of smug laughter, a nice conversation with my brother, and now a headache. I’m still stuck in some ways. I’m still figuring out how to process a grief that has elusive, elusive memories attached to it and nothing physical to represent it. But I tried, and my earlier hurt from my mom doesn’t feel all that present anymore. We will keep on trying.

[michael-langdon-baby]

Crave

Pairing: Michael Langdon x Original Character

Word count: 4k~

Warnings: ALOT, alpha/omega dynamics, knotting, mating, possessive michael langdon, tit play, smutty goodness ya’ll

Masterlist

Enjoy!

You would think that a shelter with enough supplies to last well over 18 months would have stocked up on mounds upon mounds of suppressants. It would be only logical to assume that whoever was in charge of the Outposts would know that there would be at least one Omega of the bunch.

But it seemed the Cooperative was full of a bunch of Alpha knot heads that didn’t think suppressants were of value; but there must have been one Omega in the meeting room, seeing as there were exactly 18 months of supply.

Which is exactly how Julie March found herself here, sitting in her ugly purple dress with her old timey spanx like panties covered in slick. She was entering her first heat since 9th grade; Billy Carlisle had cornered her in the girl’s bathroom and begged to smell her panties before the coach had come and thrown him out.

She could barely remember what it was like to have a heat, only the flushes of warmth and pain wrung through her mind, but they weren’t precise. It was like relearning a language that had become foreign, except she’d give anything to not have to relearn this.

Her thighs squeezed together as she tried to force the slick back inside but it was useless, she was probably stinking up the Outpost. And it was 6:26, which meant a drink in the parlor room was fast approaching. But last night there had been a perimeter breach, so she expected someone new would be joining them. Hopefully it was a Beta.

A knock at the door had her standing, “I’m coming.” And smoothing down the wrinkles in her dress; even is she smelt like a whorehouse, she would look damn good.

The Grey at the door smiled at her first, eyes widening at her smell before shooting to the floor, noticeable bulge forming in his pants. But she smiled and ignored it, quickly following behind his fast pace steps. Her wet thighs rubbed against each other with each step, even feeling it slide down her leg.

It was mortifying, walking into the parlor and having all eyes on her. Almost all were Beta’s and weren’t affected by her stench, but they could sure as hell smell it.

“Oh-kay, I don’t wanna be rude-“

“I don’t think that’s in your nature.” Andre interjected with an eye roll and Coco fake laughed before turning back to Julie.

“Oh grow a heart Coco, poor thing must be in so much pain.” Julie nodded at Gallant’s claim, smiling at his effort to be kind to her.

“You do know that you smell like a brothel right? Those fumes could deflate my hair.” Evie chuckled at the insult before sipping her mineral water, the rest of the group going back to their own business.

At least until Ms. Venable’s cane echoed through the room, everyone effectively shutting up when she entered. She stood at the head of the room, not even acknowledging the stink of Omega that permeated the room, which made Julie furrow her sweaty brow.

Everyone knew Venable was an Alpha through and through, yet she seemed unaffected by the heat that was so close to her. It was very strange but Julie threw that thought to the back of her mind as a pair of precise yet ominous footsteps lingered in the air, and with it a scent that made her pussy even wetter.

This must have been the person who cause breached the perimeter; she hoped it wasn’t someone who’d been affected by the radiation or anything.

A bead of sweat skimmed down the side of her skull as the footsteps grew closer, precise in step and sound. She watched Venable with a hazy gaze, wishing she were back in her room with her dress back in the closet and something filling her up.

The footsteps stopped and she felt a new pair of eyes watching her, burning holes into her side with a look so intense her heart dropped to her stomach. She was frozen, unable to turn and look.

It was nearly impossible to breath a breathe of fresh air as those footsteps came behind the couch, a soft hand sliding along the back of her neck, then gone again. Her knee shook with a pressure of want in her core that was unfulfilled, and she wanted to explode.

Julie was able to turn her head enough to gaze at Venable and the tall man who made her want to fall to her knees and present her dripping wet pussy, allowing him to either drink his fill or stuff her full of his cock.

He stood where Venable had before, watching them all, “My name is Langdon and I represent the Cooperative.” He took a deep inhale and cleared his throat. “I wont sugarcoat the situation. Humanity is on the brink of failure.”

Julie watched Langdon and he reused to meet her eye, “My arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth. The other three compounds—an all Alpha compound in Syracuse, New York, an all Beta in Beckley, West Virginia, and-“

This time he met Julie’s eyes, “And all Omega in San Angelo, Texas have all been overrun and destroyed.” He looked away as Timothy asked, “And the people inside?”

Langdon gave him a stony look, “Amongst other things, massacred. And I’m shocked to see that the only compound housing all three forms of life hasn’t torn each other to shreds. But I will say that the same fate will befall almost all of you.”

Mallory piped up in a meek voice, “Almost?” to which Langdon let out a small laugh. “In the knowledge that this very moment might occur, we built a failsafe—the sanctuary.”

Coco couldn’t have looked more confused when she said aloud, “The Sanctuary?”

To which Langdon responded, “The Sanctuary is unique. It has certain security measures that will prevent overrun. And amongst other things, a way from three forms of life to happily coexist, Alpha, Beta, Omega, all as one.” His hands met before him, fingertips touching in perfect sync.

But Ms. Mead cut in “What measures? Why weren’t we given these?” And Langdon’s perfect hands split and one hand lifted to his right, displaying those lovely rings. “That’s classified.”

“All that matters is that the Sanctuary will… survive, so the people populating it will survive so humanity will survive.”

Andre asked what they were all thinking, “Who are the people populating it?” but Langdon merely said, “Also classified.”

Langdon’s eyes drifted to the Omega in the room and he smiled, “However, I have been sent to determine if any of you are worthy and fit to join us. The Cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous questioning technique called ‘Cooperating’.

Julie was drifting in and out as he explained how he would decide who went with him, and who stayed. Emily placed her hand on the drowsy Omega’s knee, immediately retracting when Langdon shot her a dark look.

“What is this, The Hunger Games? I paid my way in here and that is the only cooperating I plan on doing. And if you think I’m stupid enough to believe that you’re gonna take a single Beta with you and leave the horny Omega then you must think I’m dumb as a bag of rocks.”

Langdon smirked at the outburst, “As if your knowledge could be compared to that of Mother Earth's gifts. I daresay a bag of rocks has a higher chance of joining the Sanctuary than you do.” Gallant held her back from leaping at Langdon and tearing his pretty locks out.

He pulled out a vial from his pocket a displayed it, like a teacher among students, “But fret not, if you feel as though you are too good or just not good enough, then when feral cannibals come knocking, just down one of these. A minute later you will fall asleep and never wake up.”

He took one step closer, breathing so deeply his lungs hurt, “I look forward to meeting each and ever one of you.”

He sauntered out of the room, brushing his hand across the Omega’s back, rubbing her sweat between his fingers, waiting until he was out of sight to taste it on his tongue. She tasted like heaven, the unattainable for a sinner such as himself, but oh—he would have her. Tonight.

“Emily, help her to her room. Make sure she stays there.” Emily nodded at Venable’s command and cringed when she helped Julie up, the heat her body was giving off was that akin to a burner on high.

It was a treacherous few minutes, Julie trying her best to coordinate herself with Emily’s help, eventually shooing the girl away when needing to take off her dress. Julie worked like a madwoman when the door clicked shut, slippery fingers reaching back to unzip her dress, toeing off the pointed shoes sliding down the spanx like covering, standing just a bra and underwear.

There were no locks on the door, so nudity was off the table for now. Her body flung itself on the bed, relishing in the feel of the cool sheets against her warm skin. It like ice against fire and it never needed to stop.

Two knocks at the door had her stopping; eagerly pulling the covers over herself, weakly telling whomever it was to come in.

It as Venable wearing a smirk on her face with a bottle of pills in her hand- she knew exactly what those were. Her legs tangled in the sheets as she tried to rise, wanting to kiss Venable for bringing her suppressants. “Are those for me? Please Ms. Venable, I thought we’d run out.”

Her attempt came to a halt when Venable chuckled and pocketed the pills, “Oh we have run out—for you at least.” Julie was confused and Venable walked a little closer with a smirk, “The Cooperative supplied us with 36 months of suppressants, and you’ve gone and wasted half. But then again, no one ever told you that cutting them in half with a little bit of this and that made them more effective and gave you twice as much.”

“You-you-“ oh my god. Venable’s an omega.

“You’re an omega-“ the words became a screech as the older omega’s hand slapped her so hard she flew off the bed and collapsed on the ground, a trickle of blood leaving her nose and staining her teeth. Venable looked down on her with a cruel sneer.

“Look at you. Pathetic. Weak. Omega.” She pressed the base of the cane against Julie’s throat, “If you tell a soul, I’ll drag your body, kicking and screaming, outside and let the cannibals have you. Understood?”

Julie felt tears creep into her eyes but nodded as Venable moved the cane away, “But I have a feeling you won’t survive the night. With an Alpha like Langdon here, your weak body will crave for him in a way so desperate that the heat will consume you.”

She walked to the door, “I look forward to taking your cold dead corpse outside.” The door shut with a slam.

It took Julie more than ten minutes to stand on shaky legs, wetness sliding down her thighs like a waterfall. As much as she wanted to think it wasn’t true, it was fact that Omega’s died from Heat Stroke all the time, and unless Langdon somehow wanted her… this was her last night in Outpost 3.

It was a miracle that she made it on her bed, that her jerky breathing and stuttered movements allowed her to do nothing but curl up n a ball and cry. It would hurt to feel the heart beat so fast it felt as though the chest would erupt.

She wanted so bad to be filled, to be held, to be kissed by sweet lips that only craved hers for now and always. But humanity as they knew it was gone; for all she knew, there were no more Alpha’s out there. There was only Langdon.

It was hard to know when she fell asleep, but her eyes fluttered at the feeling of hands lifting her from the cold bed. They were gentle and soft, moving her like gentle doll, placing her against a chest that was warm, almost as warm as her own body, but the sweet scent that surrounded her made it all the better than any cold bed.

“Wha-“ Her words drifted off into a murmur when a soft kiss graced her forehead, lulling her back into a dreamless sleep.

~

The first thing she noticed when she woke up was that, well, she wasn’t dead- in fact, she’d survived the night. There was never any way to tell how many how many hours had passed; yes there were clocks but with no sunlight from outside or moon shine from night, the body had no way of knowing if days had passed or not.

Julie stretched, wiggling her toes and lifting her arms above her head, small noises echoing through the room. The covers fell down, bare breasts becoming an eyesore to the empty room.

“I wasn’t expecting such a show but I can’t say I’m complaining.” A terror filled screech left her mouth when Langdon’s voice echoed to her left, turning with fear to watch the man who sat at his desk, laptop open with light shining on his face.

But those deep cerulean eyes weren’t focused on the screen, but instead were watching her supple breasts, smiling when her hands scrambled to cover them.

Her mind and body were at ends; Her mind telling her to flee away from the Alpha that had, upon further inspection, taken her from he room and brought her to his own abode. Her body on the other hand, wanted him to force her to present for him, have him take from her all she had.

Langdon shut the laptop and leaned back in his swirly chair, “I haven’t smelt an Omega like you before. Even before the Armageddon, none of them held a candle.”

He stood and took graceful steps closer to her form on the bed; “I’d assume at first that you and that Stevens witch were using your body to ensnare me in a trap. But I would be able to smell out that stupid voodoo nonsense. No… you’re just at it seems; a pure little thing, desperate to be split open on the nearest knot.”

She completely ignored the part about voodoo magic and Dinah Stevens, promising herself she’d bring it up later, and instead asked, “Is that why you brought me here?”

He was closer now and his scent was making him soak his sheets, “Well, that depends.” And she inquired, “On?”

Langdon towered over her, watching her begin to squirm, “On whether or not you want this, and if you do, if you can be a good girl for me.” His ringed hand reached forward and ran along the pudge of her cheek, “I’ve waited a long time for you Julie March, and I intend to have you.”

It happened so fast; one moment he was caressing her cheek and the next he was looming over her, knees on either side as his hair fell around them like a curtain, hiding them from the world. His scent was making her dizzy but she wanted more.

“I don’t even know you Langdon.” He leaned down like a pup and nosed her cheek, “You will.” His nose found the curve of her brow and sniffed against her forehead and murmured “And please, call me Michael.”

He kissed her with an urgency that had her seeing stars, clammy fingers grasping his black silky clothes to pull him closer, wanting to feel him in every pore of her body. Those jeweled hands roughly gripped her bare skin, harshly sliding down to her nipples and giving a strong tug.

Julie let out a sweet cry that had him smirking and mouthing at the crease of her neck, “You’re perfect sweetheart.” Those fingers tugged even harder, wanting her to scream for him. He wanted the whole Outpost to know that this Omega, that Julie was his.

When her beautiful brown eyes filled with water did he show mercy on the dusty nipples, moving down and taking one into the warm cavern of his mouth, sucking with strength that had her arching her back. His hands wound under her back and lifted her up, wanting to feel her even closer but he needed to get rid of his clothes first.

They were gone with a snap of his fingers and her eyes widened in shock; what kind of wizard was this guy. And as if he could read her thought he released her tit with a ‘pop’ and smirked, “At a time like this I was hoping to turn your brain to mush but instead you call me a wizard. How very Julie of you.”

Michael finally pulled her forward and met her lips in the middle, tasting the sweet Omega that would finally be his. Her mouth was a heaven he would never see and he wanted to have it always. She gave him control, wanting him to have all the control.

He smirked into the kiss when she started to buck her hips into him; wanting his cock to stuff her so full she felt it for days. But he was a cruel Alpha; “I’m not going to fuck you Julie, not until I’ve had a taste.”

A shocked squeak echoed when he at up and tore the covers off the bed, leaving her bare to his eyes, his cock growing harder by the second. Her shy nature caused her to try and cover up her fuzzy skinned pussy, but a deep growl from Michael stopped her. Those rings were cold as they drifted across the peach fuzz of her thick thighs, thumb running over her slit and making her moan.

After effectively coating his fingers in her fresh slick, he brought them up to his mouth, moaning at the slightly sweet taste. “Oh my Jewel, you are divine.” He slithered like a snake down her body, lips resting at her pussy.

It was one long swipe of his entire tongue that had her screeching like a cat, his strong hands gripping her thighs and holding her down as so he could feast with ease. It was akin to the fountain of youth, or that of a drink of the Gods; she tasted of perfection.

Julie’s nails tore into the sheets, internal muscles trying to grip onto him but failed again and again. He was sucking her dry; those pink lips covered in her juices, some of it spilling down his chin. She was breathing deeply when she looked down her body at him, those blue eyes meeting hers as he moved to nibbled on her clit, loving the moan he received in return.

He was evil- his mouth moved between her throbbing clit and sopping hole, not knowing which one was better. The heat of her skin was burning her alive, and she needed to be fucked. Now.

It took a moment for her to lift one of her hands and place into on Michael’s blonde head of locks, smiling when he moved away from her pussy and sat up, bare chest on display as his hands stroke her trembling thighs.

“Is there something wrong, my pet? Something you need?” He shook his head at her needy moans, “Oh no, no my sweet.” One of those sweet hands reached for her warm throat and lightly squeezed, “I want to tell me what you want.”

A look between desperation and pain crossed her face, biting her lip until warm rivulets of blood trailed down her chin, moaning when Michael surged forward to lick it up. “Please Michael, please, please.”

He chuckled, “Please what?” The fingers on her throat tightened just a smidge. “Be specific.”

She let out a high-pitched whine that made him even harder- if being harder was even possible, “F-Fuck me please please knot me please please Michael.” He cooed at her desperate plea, kissing away the shy tears that slid down the side of her skull. His poor omega needed his cock so much it was hurting her.

While foreplay was always fun and all, the smell of her heat was causing a desire to knot, to mate, to breed, and who was he to deny himself of anything? Especially when he had his Queen spread before him; he would have all of her.

It was a mere matter of positioning himself over her- he wanted to look into her eyes as he fucked and mated her, maybe even pupped her- and lining himself up with her slippery entrance. He rubbed his cockhead through her folds, “My needy little Jewel.” It was a deep thrust that had him fully inside her, wincing at the pain she showed in her yelp; he may have liked to cause pain to some people, but never his Julie.

He shushed her and kissed her wet cheeks, trying not to start his thrusts before she was comfortable and fully stretched from his cock. Their deep breaths echoed through the room, the only sound amongst the crackling fire. He wished he could kiss away her pain.

Julie felt the burning pain slowly morph into pleasure that wracked her lower half in a way she’d never know. Masturbating wasn’t really her thing, and dating was hard when Alpha’s liked Omega’s who were either forward or wore short skirts, Julie was neither. But here, during the goddam Apocalypse, she’d found a mate in a mysterious man she barely knew with his cock in her virgin hole; how sweet it is.

He smiled at her when she murmured ‘move’ and set a pace that shook the bed against the wall. Michael felt only pleasure in this moment; no pain for memories of Ms. Mead, no hatred for Cordelia Foxx- there was just he and Julie.

It was a short fuck; He felt her squeeze around his cock and let her bite his neck, marking him as her mate. And when he felt his knot swell, he simply turned her head to the side and exposed the expanse of her neck, sinking his teeth in and feeling the bond form.

It was a feeling neither thought they would ever experience, but it was real and true and forever. Michael would hold onto her for the rest of his immortal life and he would summon his father in the pits of the hell that was Outpost 3 and ask for her immortality. He would not take no for an answer.

Julie was in bliss; the heat was subsiding and the knot currently pumping cum in her- which would no doubt end in a pregnancy that she was nowhere near ready for- made all her worries fade. She took a moment to watch Michael, who in turn watched her.

“Have I met you before? Somewhere up there…” Her lazy hand waved to the ceiling, not knowing if she meant above the ground and into the world or in the stars and heaven above. It was something inside her that made her trust him.

Michael carefully leaned forward- watchful of his knot- and brought the fingers to his mouth to kiss. “My jewel, no matter where we are, or were we go, you’ll always be mine.” He took her hand and placed it on his chest. “And I’ll always be yours.”

Hope you Enjoyed!

[changingthelights]

A Familiar

Waylon stared skeptically into the dusty walk-in closet tucked into the back room of Leon's shop. Books, tomes, bottles, and random cleaning supplies dangled haphazardly off of various shelves, and what Waylon thought was a desk and matching chair were buried beneath a piled of... towels? Clothes? Waylon couldn't tell, and it made him a little nervous. There was something to the right of the desk that looked like it might be a broom, but it in front of it were stacked unused shelves for the bookcase beside it, and on top of those- a stack of actual books. Why the shelf hadn't been put together to hold them- Waylon wasn't about to ask.

“Leon hasn't touched this room in years,” Rudi said from behind him, and Waylon turned to glare at the immaculately dressed familiar. Compared to Rudi's playful smirk, Waylon was clearly not amused. Rudi always looked out of place in Leon's homey little shop, dressed in a tailored three-piece suit with his long hair perfectly quaffed and tucked neatly behind his ears. Despite his time here, Waylon still hadn't grown used to the contrast in his appearance compared to his humble, earthy surroundings, and Rudi spending most of his time with Waylon did not help with that.

“It's a room?” Waylon asked, and he glanced back through the doorway, his skepticism increasing.

“Yes,” Rudi huffed, and his brow twitched in a way that signaled to the witch he'd said something to annoy the taller man. Unfortunately for Rudi, Waylon had made it a secret pass-time of his to irritate the fruit bat as often as possible, and he was always extra pleased with himself when he managed to do so without trying.

“Well, it looks like a closet.”

“Alright then,” Rudi let out a long-suffering sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, “then should I tell Leon you don't want it as a personal workspace? That's why he's having you clean it out.”

That caused the crease in Waylon's brow to disappear, and excitement lit up his honey brown eyes. Having a workplace of his own in the shop meant he'd have full access to all the books and supplies here at his disposal, which Leon had already granted him, but to have a workspace within arms reach of said items would be more convenient. Plus, it meant more complicated spells could be worked on with Leon nearby, and there were certain things he was instructed to wait for assistance with before practicing. Now he had a space in which to practice those specific spells, and the elated swell of excitement in his chest caused him to look at the closet in a completely different way.

“No- no! Sorry, I definitely want the space...”

It was cute, in Rudi's opinion (which he would rather die than admit to), how easily excited Waylon became with even the simplest magick. There was a passion to learn in the witch that he admired.

He knew his suggestion to give this little space to Waylon was the right one. (Also, something he would rather die than admit). In time, Waylon would be able to expand the little room on his own using magick, but this was a perfect place to start. Leon had agreed.

Rudi tilted his head as he watched the young witch enter the room and start to poke around.

“What does he want me to do with what's in here?”

“Toss it, unless you want to keep it yourself. There shouldn't be anything of real importance in there, from what Leon was saying. Just- don't open any unlabeled bottles. If there are any in there, we should have Leon look at them. Also, anything that looks odd- don't touch- and if it looks out of place just- you're smart, Waylon. If you're unsure, just ask.” Rudi shrugged, and with a soft rustle of leather and the blink of an eye, Rudi disappeared. He reappeared in his fruit bat form, hanging upside down from the rafter above the desk leading into the shop.

Taking that as a signal, Waylon set to work.

Waylon wasn't the type to waste anything if he could help it, so first, he tackled the shelves. Once those were cleaned and clear, and the pile of shelves beside the desk returned to the pegs, he could use them. That made room for any of the other miscellaneous items he knew he'd decide to keep, including the pile of cloths that, when cleaned, would have a place to rest. Books were moved to shelves to be read and sorted later, bottles were separated into piles of filled and empty, labeled and not, and the cloth was separated into different bins depending on the type and it's potential use.

It wasn't long after the top of the desk was clear that Waylon noticed the sheen of sweat formed on his brow. He reached up to wipe it away with the back of his wrist, but based on the texture of his wrist across his forehead, that was a mistake. He was pretty sure he just smeared dust across his forehead, and that was when Waylon noticed the dust particles floating through the air.

“Time for a break I guess,” he hummed to himself, to let some of it settle. If he tried to continue now he'd he kick more up, and Waylon was surprised that he hadn't started coughing or sneezing already.

Waylon sank into the seat of the newly cleared chair with a satisfied sigh. As he did, his foot knocked against the inside of the desk, and with a soft 'click' a tiny seam appeared in the wood next to his shoe.

At first Waylon didn't move, as he wasn't sure of what he was seeing, but after a moment his curiosity won him over, and he leaned down to run his fingers along the seam. With a little pull, a small door swung open, revealing a secret compartment. Rudi's words echoed through his mind, warning him about anything weird, and Waylon quietly debated with himself. This wasn't really... “weird”- by itself. Secret compartments were a pretty non-magical thing, and it wasn't an unlabeled bottle, so...

Waylon glanced at the door and listened for any sound from Rudi, or the shop. When there was none, he dropped on all fours so he could peer inside. It was dark inside, but Waylon could make out something small and flat. He reached inside, and after gently tracing one of the edges, he recognized what it was.

“Huh...”

The witch leaned back so he could sit cross-legged on the floor, and out of the compartment he pulled a maroon, pocked-sized, leather-bound book. Waylon turned it over to inspect the spine, and when he saw no title a crease formed between his eyebrows. What kind of a book had no title, or no inscription of any kind on the outside? Journals perhaps, but why would Leon keep a journal tucked away inside an abandoned desk? It must not be that important if he forgot about-

It was then Waylon noticed a shape pressed into the bottom right corner of the cover, and he squinted at the small shape. A weasel? A ferret? An oddly shaped rat? Waylon wasn't positive, but before he could think about his actions, or heed the warning Rudi had given him barely an hour and a half before, Waylon opened the little book.

“Ah!” Waylon shouted and slammed his eyes shut as a blinding white light flashed outwards from the book. The sound of rushing wind filled his ears, and a gust swept up around him, knocking the books, bottles, and shelves- all of his hard work- onto the floor. Waylon covered his head with his arms to shield himself from the falling debris, and in his surprise, the book slipped from his hand. As soon as it hit the floor between his feet the light faded, and the wind stopped, leaving the young witch surrounded by silence that felt almost painful.

Hello Master!

A tiny voice echoed through Waylon's mind, surprising him, and his eyes snapped open. Between his feet, where the book had fallen, perched a tiny white ferret with his little paws spread over the open, blank, pages.

You are the one who freed me from the book, yes?

The voice again, as Waylon stared, mouth agape, at the tiny little creature. It tilted it's head, and it's little white ears twitched towards Waylon.

Hello? Do you talk?

The ferret bumped its head against Waylons ankle, as if trying to get his attention. It was timed weirdly well with the voice...

I've been waiting for so long for someone to free me! That cranky 'ole bat couldn't take a joke- and I-

The ferret started to approach Waylon, head tilting in time with each inflection of the voice in his head-

“YOU.”

Rudi's voice, filled with a furry that made Waylon cringe, interrupted their little interaction.

The ferret let out a terrified squeak, and before Waylon could stop it, the furry creature had scrambled up his thigh and under the hem of his shirt.

“H-hey- hey!” Waylon balked as little claws scratched at his skin, but the animal was surprisingly slippery in Waylon's attempts to catch it. Once it reached Waylon's chest, it's furry little head poked up through the neck of Waylon's shirt, and it glared tiny daggers at the man fuming in the doorway.

Please Master- please don't let him get me! Rudi just can't take a joke and didn't like competition! I didn't do anything wrong-

“You lie, you little beast!” Rudi hissed, apparently he could hear that little voice too, “Leon was kind enough to take you in until you could find your own witch, and then you tried to take him away from me! Not that you had a chance- but then you fucking cursed my hair purple! It took Leon weeks to figure out how to get it out-”

Well I could'a removed it if you hadn't locked me in a book!

The ferret hissed in return, barring it's little teeth up at Rudi. That earned a glare from the fruit bat familiar, and he took an aggressive lunge towards Waylon and the ferret that made the smaller creature squeak and disappear under Waylon's shirt.

“Hey- HEY!” Waylon shouted, drawing attention to himself between the two fighting creatures. “Do ou think you two could set aside whatever beef you had so you explain to me what's going on? Like, who are you- and why do you keep calling me 'Master'?” Waylon pointed to the ferret, whose ears perked up as he was addressed, and he moved to scramble up out of Waylon's shirt through the neck.

Rudi's fury faltered at Waylon's question, and he narrowed his eyes as the little ferret crawled back down Waylons chest so he could perch on the top of Waylon's bent knee.

Waylon seemed a little apprehensive, he was still reeling from the shock of opening the book, but that didn't stop him from helping the ferret when there was a moment he seemed like he might slip. Once he was settled Waylon's hands folded across his lap, and he leveled an expectant stare at the little creature.

I'm sorry!

The ferret's head tilted and dipped in an apologetic nod.

My name is Valens! I'm a familiar- and that mean 'ole Rudi over there-

Valens' tail flicked in Rudi's direction, making the other familiar twitch.

-locked me in a book cause I played a little prank on him. I was staying here with Leon, and before that, I'd been searching for a witch to make a contract with for some time!

Tiny, little red eyes sparkled at Waylon, and the young witch suddenly felt like a bug under a microscope. He was a witch, and he didn't have a familiar, but- he wasn't a witch of any talent! This- Valens- couldn't be serious.

Silence rolled between the three, and the longer it stretched, the more pressured Waylon felt to respond. He looked over at Rudi expectantly, hoping for some sort of add-on to the conversation. Surely, Rudi had more to explain, or a denial of the Valens accusations, but it seemed both familiars had forgotten about their feud. Both had their eyes trained on him, looking expectantly in return.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Waylon asked as his cheeks warmed. There was no way a familiar would consider him for their witch. He didn't consider himself a witch of any note, and from what he'd read, both familiar and witch benefit from a contract. Why would any familiar want to lend themselves to his lackluster abilities? He'd only just learned how to make that ball of light with ease- and that was a fairly simple spell from what he could tell. “You can't- you can't be asking to make a contract with me, right?”

Valens' pure white head tilted to the side, and Waylon was sure he could see the familiar smiling. Did ferrets have the type of muscles needed to smile?

I don't see any other witch in here. Do you?

Waylon stared, and Valens stared back as his fluffy tail swished idly over Waylon's shin.

“This is uh... a little much. Don't you like- shouldn't we like, think about it? Get to know each other?” Waylon asked, which earned a curious tilt of Valens head.

Nope! I know you're the witch for me! I just feel it in my bones. Plus, if you're Leon's apprentice, you must have some skill. So, it's a win for me either way, really. As much as I was interested in a man with Leon's abilities, contracting with a younger witch has its own benefits that we both can enjoy! I like fostering the abilities of witches, and in the long run it helps my abilities grow as well.

Waylon stared for a few more seconds before he looked to Rudi.

“Is that normal? To just- want a contract out of no where?”

“For him, yes,” Rudi chuckled, although the look in his eyes indicated that fact annoyed him. “All of us are a little different. Some of us, like him- apparently- forge contracts based on instinct. Sometimes, you simply click with a witch. Leon and I clicked when we first met. It felt natural to contract with him. Valens is an impulsive little rat, but the desire to contract like this with you is not out of the ordinary.”

“If that's true, then why were you searching so long for a witch? It seems unlikely to me that you would just.... pick me.”

Valen eased backwards off of  Waylon's knee, using his little claws to scoot himself down Waylon's pant leg and onto the ground. He took a seat between Waylon's feet, and his curious expression returned.

Why wouldn't I want to pick you? Plus, it's not like I follow every impulse I have. I just follow the ones my gut says are the right ones, and you, Waylon, feel like a right one!

“I didn't tell you my name.”

I can hear it silly! In your head. Now come on, it's not every day you can make a contract with a familiar!

Waylon glanced warily up at Rudi, who shrugged.

“It's up to you, little witch. He's not a bad guy, for as much as I wish to wring his neck. He's just a prankster. He's not even that strong, so he's fairly harmless. He could be a benefit to you, and that's all I will say. If you don't want to be bound together, there are rituals that can be performed to remove him.”

Valens' ears flattened against his head as he turned to narrow his eyes at Rudi, and they perked up when he turned back to Waylon. When he turned back, Waylon was /sure/ he was smiling, and he realized Valens' adorableness was... dangerous. Those little red eyes were very hard to resist.

“Alright...” Waylon answered after a pause, and he eyed the little animal thoughtfully.  “I wouldn't mind some help in my practice, so I'm down for a trial run as long as you promise to behave yourself when we return to where I spend most of my time.

I live with my boyfriend in his aunt's home. They're both vampires, and I'm fairly sure neither of them have the type of personality that would appreciate any sort of shenanigans or pranks. Anything like that could get me kicked out, both of us killed, or... I don't know. Something horrible. My boyfriend's aunt... she doesn't like me already, so I'm serious when I say you can do nothing that would put you on her bad side. Alright?”

Waylon gave Valens a hard stare.

“I'll have to clear it first with my boyfriend, to make sure you can stay there when I'm there, regardless. But, if not, I have a motor home you can stay in on a separate property. Can you agree to behave appropriately when in spaces that don't belong to me?”

Valens nodded eagerly. The adorable twitch of his round little ears made it hard for Waylon to hold his stare.

Yes! I can behave! I only played pranks because they amused Leon! I can be good, I promise.

Waylon wondered quietly why he was agreeing to this all so quickly. Maybe it was the rush of adrenaline from their encounter, coupled with the excitement of getting his own workspace? The curiosity that came with having a familiar of his own? The excitement that he could further his abilities with a little extra boost? The same desire to know the unknown, the same desire that had driven him to reach into a hidden compartment, immediately after Rudi warned him to be cautious?

Waylon could hear a voice in his head reminding him of his low impulse control, it was part of why he had spent so much time traveling, but in most cases it had rarely steered him wrong. Obviously, practicing magic wasn't nearly the same thing as choosing a random place to travel. Lack of control could be dangerous, but he trusted Rudi to stop him if this was truly unwise. Nothing about Valens said 'malicious' or 'dangerous'- and Waylon usually had a keen sense of a person's character upon a first meeting.

A soft sigh escaped Waylon's lips. At least, if this ended up not working out, the contract was breakable.

“How do we do this, then?” Waylon asked, and he watched with gentle alarm as Valens' body started to vibrate with excitement.

A loud 'pop' ripped through the air, and Waylon winced. In a single blink, Waylon went from watching a ferret shudder, to being face to face with a man with a well defined jaw, eerily beautiful red eyes, and short, tousled hair nearly as white as the fur he'd sported in his much smaller form. It didn't help that their position was rather compromising, with Valens kneeling between his thighs, trapping Waylon against the wall as his taller form towered over the witch.

“What-” but Waylon's question was cut off as Valen's lips pressed against his own. Waylon squeaked and froze, startled once again by... everyhing. Waylon remained perfectly still, frozen in shock as he tried to process what was happening. Only as Valens' lips moved against his own, as if to try and deepen the kiss, did he snap back to the present.

“Hey!” Waylon twisted his head away from Valens and thrust his arms out to put some distance between them. “I said I had a boyfriend, what the hell are you trying to do?!”

Valens pouted as he was pushed, but he relented, and he shimmied back so he could kneel a few feet away from Waylon.

“That's how you seal the contract,” Valens grumbled sheepishly, but he offered no further explanation.

Waylon was struck with the thought that this was, already, a mistake, but by the look in Valens eyes and his downcast gaze, Waylon could see there was some sort of remorse there. The familiar tugged idly at the hem of his tight black t-shirt, and as Waylon followed the motion of his hand, he was surprised to notice rips in the knees of Valens jeans. Compared to Rudi, this outfit was painfully simple. Rudi almost always wore some variation of formal wear, often suits, and Waylon didn't realize he'd come to just expect familiars to dress the same way.

“Well I highly doubt you needed to keep kissing me,” Waylon rose to his feet and swatted at his pants to dust himself off. It gave him a moment to calm the blush burning in his cheeks, and to find his words.

When he did look at Valens, he scowled as if he were trying to scold the other, but the look in his eyes said he wasn't truly upset. “Don't do that again. I don't appreciate it, and I don't think my boyfriend would much appreciate it either. I'd prefer if he liked you, at least a little. Also- no more calling me 'master'- just call me Waylon.” He reached up to give Valens' head a gentle pat, to show he'd been forgiven, and the familiar's expression brightened considerably. It was almost blinding, the smile that followed, and Waylon was again surprised, this time by how quickly Valens' mood transitioned.

A second later, Valens scrambled to his feet, and Waylon was surprised to find himself looking up at the familiar. He was tall!

“Understood, Master!” Valens chimed in a voice fitting for his size, deeper than the voice he had in ferret form. Waylon wondered if he should be shielding his eyes from the brightness of that smile.

“Waylon.”

“Oh- right- Waylon!” A gust of wind followed, and in a blink Valens was gone. Waylon felt something small press over his shoulders, and when he looked, a little white ferret perched there, head cocked and little red eyes sparkling. Valens was smiling again in his ferret form, and Waylon reached up to give Valens chin a scratch. He nuzzled into Waylon's finger, and that worry that this had been a mistake, faded a little.

Are you gonna introduce me to your boyfriend now? Valens voice asked in Waylon's head, and he looked over at Rudi.

“What time is it?” Waylon asked, and Rudi waved his hand towards the door of the shop.

“Go on, I can watch the shop for the rest of the day. Just don't try any magic until we can do some tests to gauge how your abilities have changed.”

“Changed?”

Yes! Now that the contract is made, you'll be stronger, and the type of magic and spells you have an affinity for might become more apparent, Valens chimed in, it's probably best to wait to do any spell work in a controlled setting- with someone else to help out. I could, but its safer with someone not tied to our contract.

Waylon nodded.

“Alright, see you tomorrow, Rudi!”

At the parting sound of the familiar bell above the shop door, Waylon stepped into the cool afternoon air and headed for home.

[theentiregdtime]

If you are still taking fic requests, maybe some inebriated overly-cuddly CharMac? (Bonus points if it includes them trying to pick each other up amd falling into a giggling pile.)

“Uno!”

Charlie cackles triumphantly and waves a single card infront of Mac’s face, reveling in his victory.

“Wait… How do you only have one card?”

Granted, Mac is pretty slammed on tequila, but he reallydoesn’t think that’s right…

He glimpses down to the cards flayed out in his hand andsquints in careful contemplation at the cartoon goldfish on them.

“That’s the game, Mac!” is Charlie’s rebuttal. “You don’thave to be mad because I’m, like, way better than you, it’s okay to be aloser...”

Mac has at least three matches spread out in front of him onthe floor, and Charlie has none. In fact, it looks like he’s been stacking hiscards on top of each other for a while. How long have they been playing this? Howlong have they been on the floor of the office? What time is it?

“Dude, I… I think we’re playing Go Fish.”

Charlie raises a judgmental eyebrow. “Yeah, so are you gonnatake your turn or not, man?” He flops his last card back and forth. “’Cause I amabout to destroy you, and- and I think you’re just scared.”

“You’re supposed to have the most cards, Charlie.”Normally, Mac would argue with him, but he’s too drunk- they’re both toodrunk- to care. He snorts with laughter instead, tossing his cards onto thefloor. “You know what? Fine. You win.”

Charlie slams his last one down and throws his hands up, eithergiggling or hiccupping- Mac’s not sure- until he stops gloating and topplesbackwards onto the floor.

At first, Mac assumes he’s browning out, until he pats thefloor beside him and mumbles something incoherent. He takes it as an invitationand flops down beside Charlie like a drunken fish out of water.

Charlie points at the ceiling with a wobbly hand, as if it’staking all the strength left in his body to hold his noodle arm up without it collapsing.“Show me the pictures… like we used to do in your room.”

“It’s not a popcorn ceiling, Charlie.”

He seems confused by that, and Mac isn’t sure he has theenergy to explain to him that he doesn’t mean literal popcorn. Luckily, that’snot the response he gets.

“Well, then… use the stains.”

There are a surprising number of stains on the ceilingtiles. They should probably clean up there more often- well, Charlie should,that’s Charlie work for sure- but they have a habit of doing the bare minimumand hoping all the deep cleaning shit will work itself out when the placefinally burns down.

Mac gestures to a particularly nasty one in the corner thatsort of resembles the yuck puddle in the bathroom.

“What is that, dude?” he asks, more of an accusationthan a question.

Charlie clicks his tongue. “One of us has to dealwith the roaches, okay?”

The shudder that creeps up Mac’s spine and down hisshoulders is visceral. He’s surprised Charlie even bothers- he’s basicallynamed all the critters at he and Frank’s apartment. The way he lives is… Whatwas that word Dennis used? He can’t remember, but it’s gross, and that’sa good enough description.

“So, what is the stain?”

“Honey, dude, but that’s not-”

“Honey?”

“That’s what they say! You know, you catch more roaches withhoney-”

“None of what you’re saying is right!”

“Just- Just show me the pictures, Mac!”

Mac resigns himself with a long, dramatic sigh. His breathfeels syrupy and reeks of agave. He rolls his teeth over his bottom lip andswallows the rock of sea salt he finds there. Fighting with Charlie is usuallyuseless, and he’s too sloppy drunk to put up a fight, anyways.

He scoots closer, making sure his hand is in Charlie’sfield of vision, so he can see clearly as he traces an outline around the splotch.How much honey does it take to make a stain like that, anyways? Thatthing is a monster.

“Looks like a squid…” -he points to a smudge in the cornerof it- “holding a samurai sword.”

Charlie snickers to himself like it’s the funniest thing he’sever heard, shuffling and burying his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “Hecould hold way more than one sword, though,” he remarks, but doesn’t disputethe idea otherwise.

They used to do this all the time, when they were kids. Forsome reason, Charlie always had trouble picking the images out of the ceilingpopcorn- it didn’t come naturally to him. They’d lay in Mac’s bed and he’d tellCharlie that looks like an alien eating a pineapple or that lookslike a cat on a sailboat and he’d have to take his word for it. To him, itwas all just white blobs, but he liked the stories Mac made up for him, anyways.

They stay like that, side by side on the floor, Mac paintingpictures on the ceiling by ghosting his finger over them, and Charlie chiming inhere and there to comment on his storytelling. It’s surprisingly disgusting upthere, and it’s probably even worse on the floor, but they’re both too plasteredto give a shit. When Mac comes up with a whole plot about a smear that looks like a skeleton being in love with the particularly feminine stainin the corner, but getting cucked by the squid because he has more skin,Charlie laughs so hard he snorts and falls into Mac’s shoulder. His breath islike the spit bucket at a wine tasting, but instead, it’s a nasty mix of cheapbeer, tequila, and Bloody Mary mixer. Mac doesn’t complain, though.

“What time you think it’s, man?” Charlie asks, and the wordsaren’t exactly right, but he gets the point across.

Mac lifts his arm in front of his face and stares at hiswrist. He’s not wearing a watch- he’s not sure he’s ever worn a watch,actually.

“Pro’lly late.” He hoists himself up and his stomach churnslike a washing machine full of tequila and salt and lime juice and corn chips. “Oof.”

Mac tugs at Charlie’s shoulder, but he doesn’t budge.

“C’mon, you should go home,” he insists, “or Frank’s gonnathink you’re dead and replace you with a Build-a-Bear or some weird shit.”

Charlie squints at him like he’s an offensively bright light.

“What’cha gonna do, drive me?” he chuckles. “Dennis tookyour car, like, hours ago.”

Oh, yeah… Mac was supposed to text him. He’s probably asleepby now. Whatever, it’s fine, he’ll figure it out. They just have to get off ofthe floor first.

He wraps his arms around Charlie’s shoulders and tries to lifthim to his feet, but his muscles feel like jelly and Charlie’s all slippery anduncontrollable like a feral cat.

“Come on, dude,” he groans. “Get up, bitch.”

Mac gets him a couple feet up, but he loses grip, andsomehow, they both end up rolling back down onto the floor together. His headslams onto Charlie’s chest and Charlie’s arm wraps around Mac’s neck and,before they know it, they’re both laughing so hard they can barely breathe.

“You’re not strong enough, dude,” Charlie teases, pattingMac’s deltoid. “S’all for show.”

“Hey, I could so lift you!” he retorts childishly. “I’mjust too tired right now! Also I’m, like, real drunk.”

“Sure, whatever yousay, Mac…”

The laughter diesdown and they make themselves comfortable, ignoring the cobwebs and the dustand the mysterious stickiness on the floor. It’s actually kind of cozy, onceyou get used to it. It’s cold and hard and smells like gym shoes, but overall…not bad, as far as beds go.

“This is fun,”Charlie mumbles, eyelids fluttering as he scoots into the curve of Mac’s arm. “Justyou an’ me.”

Mac realizes, yeah,it’s been a long time since they hung out- only the two of them. Sometimes Macforgets that, before all of this, before the twins and the bar and Frank- itwas just Mac and Charlie against the world. They’ll always have each other’sbacks, though, and they’ll always have their totally-not-white-trash fun- nomatter how much things change, no matter how old they get, no matter how theirlives end up. They get each other. They’re like family.

“Yeah, it is,” Macchuckles and thumps him on the shoulder. “Night, Charlie.”

Charlie’s alreadysnoring, and it isn’t long before Mac follows. His last thought, before hedrifts off to sleep (or possibly a drunken blackout), is that they definitely need to clean the ceiling in the morning.

[glorious-spoon]

one of those new wave boys

Title: one of those new wave boys Link: On AO3 Fandom: Stranger Things Pairing: Gen; Steve & Robin friendship Warnings: None Other tags: Platonic cuddling, Bed-sharing, Nightmares, Insomnia, Mild hurt/comfort, Friendship Summary:  Steve and Robin go on a road-trip, drink, listen to music, and look after each other. And yeah, maybe there's some cuddling involved too. 

Written as part of the Fandom Supporting Migrants fic exchange for @alessandriana, who donated to Border Angels.

*

Steve lets the strap of his duffel bag slither through his hands to land with an ominous thud on the puke-green carpet.

“So, uh,” he says as brightly as he can. “This is nice.”

On the upside: there are in fact two beds. The broad wink the clerk tipped him when he asked for two queens instead of a king had him a little worried on that count. The bedspreads are the same puke-green as the carpet and bear ominous stains, like maybe they’ve been used at some point to roll up a body in the trunk of somebody’s car, but there are two of them. Robin ducks her head into the bathroom, makes a quietly horrified exclamation, then crosses the room to drop herself and her suitcase onto the bed closest to the window, then flops backward with a sigh.

“I don’t even care,” she mumbles. “Oh my god. Why are we doing this again?”

“Hey,” Steve says, tossing his duffel bag in the general direction of the other bed. The walkie-talkie clanks again when it hits the headboard, and he winces. If he breaks that, Dustin is going to actually murder him in his sleep. “This is your roadtrip of self-discovery. I’m just, like. The chauffeur, or whatever.”

“I regret everything, let’s just sleep in the car.”

“The room’s not that bad, come on.”

“I think someone died in this bed,” Robin says, pushing herself upright, shoving her hair behind her ears. A worn-down road-trip sleepiness around the corners of her eyes. She dozed most of the way through central Indiana, but it was around dawn when they headed out and exhaustion is settled into their bones. Steve can feel it dragging at him, a dull lassitude.

“I’m sure they clean them,” he yawns. “What time is your campus tour?”

“Three? Or, wait.” She flops forward to pull her bag to her and dig through it, finally coming up with a sheaf of papers bearing the University of Chicago logo. “Three-thirty.”

“That’s like two hours from now, plenty of time to nap,” Steve decides, kicking off his shoes and falling backward against the mattress. It creaks ominously beneath him, but the bedspread doesn't smell like anything worse than bleach and stale cigarettes. He shoves his hair out of his face, closes his eyes, hears Robin snort out loud. “Wake me up when it’s time to go.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Robin sighs, but it sounds amused. Possibly even fond.

Steve sticks his thumb up without opening his eyes. “I think you mean charming and generous, and oh, also, thank you, Steve, for giving me a ride at ass o’clock in the morning, something like that.”

“Thank you, Steve, you’re so charming and generous,” she parrots in the snidest tone possible, and he can’t help grinning. There’s a suspiciously giggly-sounding snort, and then the other mattress creaks as she stands up. “I’m going to go find something to eat. You want anything?”

“I’m good,” Steve yawns, and waves her off, listens to the sound of her footsteps on the carpet, the creak of the door. Peels his eyes open just long enough to make sure that it’s locked, then lets them slip shut.

He doesn’t actually mean to doze off, but sleep has been proving elusive in the past few months.

Oh, who the hell is he kidding? He hasn’t been able to sleep reliably or well since Christmas of 1983, when a horror from another dimension slithered out of Jonathan Byers’ ceiling and tried to eat his face. Nightmares are par for the course these days, and getting his face pounded in by Russian intelligence officers was really just the icing on that particular shit cake.

Anyway, no nightmares this time, or at least not any that he can remember. He comes awake, groggy and disoriented, when the door to the room creaks shut, and then there are footsteps on the floor and Robin leans down to press something cold to his belly where his shirt has ridden up. Steve yelps, flails, opens his eyes. His cheek is sticky with drool, the comforter beneath his face damp. He tugs a hand through his hair to find it flattened and disheveled.

It’s probably just as well that Robin was never going to consider sleeping with him no matter how appealing he is. Or isn’t. His mojo seems to have taken a permanent hike since high school.

Point is, one of the many nice things about Robin is that she doesn’t give a shit. It takes the pressure off. She waits for him to clamor upright, then holds out a can of Coke. “Time to go. I got you a pop.” She eyes him for a moment, then adds, “Pretty sure I could score some cocaine if that’d work better. You look like shit.”

“Very fucking funny,” Steve sighs, taking the can. It’s icy cold and beading condensation against his palm, and he cracks it open, chugs half of it in one go, burps. “Thanks.”

“It’s a complete mystery to me how you’ve ever gotten anybody to sleep with you,” Robin says. Steve thinks about pointing out that he’s still pretty sure he’s doing better on that count than she is, but that seems kinda mean, all things considered.

“I’m a man of many talents,” he says instead, raising his eyebrows significantly. She snorts and rolls her eyes, and he finishes the pop, slides off the bed, and goes to see about making himself more or less presentable.

*

He drops Robin off at the edge of campus near the admissions office, where all the wide-eyed future college students are congregating. Most of them have parents in tow, heavy backpacks slung over their shoulders, bright, hopeful expressions on their faces.

Robin offers to let him tag along for the tour to see if he can manage to pick up college girls who haven’t seen him slinging ice cream in a sailor suit, but he waves her off. Lately he’s been in a state of what Dustin likes to call persistent ennui—it’s like an exhaustion of the soul, Steve, stop laughing at me, I’m serious.

Anyway, tagging along with all the smart nerds like Robin who are heading into their bright new futures seems like a depressing way to spend an afternoon, and they passed by a record store on their way in. He has his boombox with him, and browsing for new tapes sounds infinitely more appealing. Especially with the prospect of the horrified faces Robin is probably going to make at whatever he ends up getting.

The shop is small and dusty and smells like patchouli and pot. Nothing seems to be organized in any particular kind of way, and Steve passes a pleasant couple of hours there, wandering under the tacked-up posters of Bob Marley blowing smoke at the camera and Bruce Springsteen’s denim-clad ass in front of the American flag, Aretha Franklin pinned up next to him as regal and elegant as a queen. Nobody else comes in while he’s there, and the wizened old hippie at the counter ignores him completely until he comes up to the counter with a stack of tapes, and for a while after that, too.

“Hey,” Steve says eventually. “Can I buy these?”

“Sure, I guess, if you want,” the guy says, rusty and so indifferent that Steve can’t even be offended. Just gawks at him, half-amused, while he rings it all up on an old-fashioned register and accepts the cash Steve hands him in knotted hands, nails yellowed with nicotine.

*

Robin does make an appalled face back at the hotel, sitting on the floor with their heads tilted back against the mattress and passing a bottle of illicitly-acquired vodka back and forth between them. “Oh, my god, you actually bought these?”

“What’s wrong with Mr. Mister?” Steve asks, not even bothering to hide his grin.

“I don’t have time to give that question the kind of answer it deserves,” she says, reaching for the next cassette. Then she pauses. “Okay, David Bowie, that’s surprising. You’re forgiven.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, digging a cigarette out of the crumpled pack at the bottom of his bag. He lights it aod offers it to Robin, who takes a drag and then hands it back. Smoke curls up in the yellow lamplight. “Why’s that surprising?”

Robin hesitates, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth like she’s thinking, then she shrugs and pops the cassette into the tape deck. “No reason. I’m just always surprised when you have good taste. In anything.”

He kind of feels like that wasn’t everything she meant to say, but the speakers are crackling through the intro to It’s No Game, and instead of asking he tilts the bottle to his lips and passes it back to Robin, takes a slow drag on the cigarette and blows smoke out into the hazy dusk of the room.

Maybe, just maybe, he’ll actually be able to sleep tonight.

*

Lights flash above him and there’s the wet stink of rot all around, growling in the distance as his feet pound the forest floor, the nail bat slippery in his hands. Something catches at his ankle and he goes down hard, and the monster is springing onto him, slamming him to the ground, its face opening up like some sick toothy flower.

Someone screams his name. Dustin, Dustin is screaming his name, and it’s Billy Hargrove above him suddenly, straddling him and laughing and his fists are wet with blood, and Nancy says, “Bullshit, it’s all bullshit,” and the floor is falling away beneath him and he’s in freefall—

Hands on his shoulders, warmth and the sudden jolt of it, and the room is flooded with light. “Steve. Steve!”

He shoves himself away, scrambles backward, heart pounding and hands grasping for a weapon, and hits the headboard. It rattles with the impact of his shoulders, and he finally opens his eyes.

The lamp is on, the motel room filled with dusty yellow light. Robin is sitting on the edge of his bed in cut-off sweats and a baggy Hawkins Marching Band t-shirt, messy hair, wide eyes. Her hands are up, palm out.

Steve lets his head fall back against the headboard with a groan and closes his eyes. “Shit,” he sighs. And then, “Sorry.”

“Nightmare?” Robin asks cautiously.

“What gave you that idea?” he says, but it doesn’t come out as light as he means it to. His heart is speeding, and he can feel his hands start to shake as the adrenaline rush leaches out of him. His voice is shaky too.

So much for a quiet fucking night of sleep.

He opens his eyes in time to see Robin lift one shoulder. “You were yelling.”

Steve grimaces, scrubs a hand through his hair. “I uh. I don’t get them that often anymore. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s fine,” Robin says. He opens his mouth, and she says, “Steve, it’s fine. You think I don’t get them? The Mind Flayer, or that fucking elevator, or—”

“Yeah, yeah, more than enough trauma to go around, I get it,” Steve grumbles, but he actually feels a little better. “Still. I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“Shut up,” Robin says gently. “Look, do you want to just—watch TV for a little while, or something?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, because there’s no way he’s going to sleep anytime soon and that sounds a hell of a lot better than talking about it. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

He expects her to go back to her own bed after turning the TV on, fiddling with the rabbit ears until a grainy rerun of M*A*S*H comes in, but she doesn’t. She drops onto the mattress next to him, flips the lamp off, and elbows him in the side. “Move over, dingus.”

“What?”

“Move over.” Robin’s chin is up, and there’s something challenging in her eyes, like she’s just daring him to say something. Steve knows better than to pick a fight with Robin when she looks like that, though, so he just shifts over until she has room to settle against the headboard next to him, the press of her body a comforting line of heat against his side. He can smell her drug-store shampoo and the lingering hint of menthol smoke and he breathes in as she settles her cheek against his shoulder, lets the scent fill his nose and drown out the memory of that tunnel, the rotting stink of animate vines. “Klinger was always my favorite.”

“Huh?”

“Klinger,” Robin repeats. Her breath is warm against his neck, and he can feel the shape of her jaw against his collarbone as it moves. It probably should feel weirder than it actually does. Like, yearning, or something, some kind of heartbroken synonym from Nancy’s thesaurus. It’s been months since he’s let himself think about Robin like that, though, and that crush seems to have died a quiet, peaceful death while he wasn’t paying attention. It’s just—nice, having someone here, a warm human point of contact. He can feel his muscles start to unwind, that shaky adrenaline feeling dissipating. “I always liked him.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. On the TV, Klinger is plopped down in front of Col. Blake’s desk in a tall hat and lacy gloves. The image warps for a moment, then settles as Blake says, ‘Uh, Klinger, the rifle makes me nervous. Actually, the purse does too’. “Yeah, me too.”

“I knew there was good taste buried in there somewhere,” Robin murmurs, and Steve laughs against her hair, finally allows himself to relax.

He dozes off to the sound of a staticky laugh track from the TV and wakes to the thin gray light of dawn coming in through the blinds and the sound of snoring. The TV is dark; Robin must have gotten up and turned it off at some point after he fell asleep, but she’s not back in her own bed. She’s pressed up against Steve’s side instead, curled in a ball with her knees digging into the outside of his thigh. Her hair is loose across her face, moving slightly with her soft snores.

It should probably be weird. Steve’s never slept with anybody that he wasn’t, well, sleeping with. It isn’t, though. He feels warm and comfortable, pleasantly drowsy in a way he hasn’t in a while, no lingering nightmares fading from his mind. He shifts slightly until Robin’s knee isn’t digging a hole in his leg, and she snorts, rolls away, and opens her eyes.

“Whazza?” she mumbles, and then, “Shit, sorry,” and starts to sit up.

“Go back to sleep,” Steve yawns, burying his face in the pillow. It’s early. If they’re going to be awkward about this, it can wait.

Robin makes a soft sound like a snort, or maybe a laugh, and then the mattress shifts as she lays back down. She pats him clumsily on the shoulder with one hand, then leaves it there, a warm point of contact as he slips back down into sleep.

[bitchintozier]

Only Told The Moon: A Reddie Fanfiction Chapter Three

Eddie smiled as he foolishly danced around his house while listening to music. His mother had gone out to run errands leaving Eddie all by himself, but he didn’t mind. Whenever Eddie was alone he’d blast his music and sing and dance as it played. Eddie loved music, he listened to almost everything. From The 1975 to Carrie Underwood to Beyoncé, Eddie loved it all. He loved music he could dance to, if he liked the song enough he’d learn the choreography to it. He really needed some feel good music after the nightmare he had last night. So he blasted all of his favourite happy songs by his favourite artist. This was his happy place.

it’s you, babe and I’m a sucker for the way that you move, babe and I could try to run, but it would be useless you’re to blame just one hit of you, I knew I’ll never ever, ever be the same

Never Be The Same, one of Eddie’s all time favourite songs. It made him think of Richie, the boy who made him realize his sexuality. After he met Richie he knew that he’d never be the same. Every time Eddie heard the song it made him a bit sad knowing that the feelings he had for Richie were pointless. But the song had such a good beat and Camila’s vocals were astonishing so he couldn’t help but enjoy it all at the same time. But the song was over so he would just have to enjoy the next song that played.

don’t call it a fight when you know it’s a war

Eddie was still dressed in his pyjamas so he went over to his closet to pick out something to wear. He slid open his closet door showcasing all of his shirts to himself. His eyes traveled along the row of shirts and contemplated which one he should wear. His gaze stopped on a plain white shirt with a breast pocket on the left side. Eddie took it out of the closet and laid it down on his bed. Now he had to choose what pants to wear. Eddie walked over to his dresser and slid open the first drawer that held his pants. Although it was summer vacation it wasn’t that hot outside, so Eddie decided that a fine pair of jeans would be perfect for today. Eddie grabbed a simple pair of blue jeans from his drawer and closed it when he was finished. He threw the jeans onto his bed next to his shirt. Eddie removed his shirt to start to get changed. He stared down at his body, he was a skinny boy. Eddie was in shape for someone his age, although he isn’t anywhere close to the average height he was in good shape. He didn’t have abs or anything like that but that kind of stuff didn’t really matter, Eddie’s body was fine and needed no changes. Eddie grabbed the white shirt pulled it over his head, then he went down to remove his pyjama bottoms and realized that his window was wide open. Technically it wasn’t open, but the shade was up, allowing anyone in view of Eddie’s window see him get shirtless and almost pant less. Eddie grew sweaty with panic, he felt like the whole neighbourhood saw him naked. Yet Eddie had only changed his shirt and only the house across from him, which the last time he’d checked had no one living with it, could see through the window clearly. But that didn’t stop him from worrying. Eddie ran over to his window and pulled down the shade, blocking out the bright sunlight that filled his room before. Although his room was darker it wasn’t pitch black. He slid off his bottoms and his undergarments. He quickly grabbed a replacement pair for the pair of undergarments that he just removed and slid them on. Then he grabbed his jeans and stepped into them and pulled them up the length of his legs. He zipped up the zipper and buttoned up the button. After he was all done with that he walked over to the body length mirror in the corner of his room and stared at his reflection. Ripped jeans? Eddie didn’t notice that the jeans he picked were his ripped. He liked the way the ripped jeans looked with his outfit however. The jeans were tight in the ankles but loosened up as they got closer to the waist. Eddie placed his hand on his back and turned around so he could see his backside in the mirror. He smiled, he was happy. He went over to his dresser and pulled out a pair of plain white ankle socks. As he was pulling them on he heard the sound of his door bell ringing throughout his house. Richie was here.

I ain’t worried ‘bout nothin’ I ain’t wearin’ na nada

Eddie quickly finished putting his socks on and ran to the front door. He nearly fell a few times because his socks made the floor more slippery than they actually were. He realized that he wasn’t finished getting ready because his hair was a mess and he had no idea what he was supposed to bring. Eddie arrived at the and flattened his shirt, he Richie could careless about how wrinkly his shirt was this was for Eddie’s peace of mind. Eddie opened the door to see a smiling Richie. Richie was dressed in an ugly Hawaiian shirt that wasn’t buttoned up with a plain white tee underneath. He also had a pair of black jeans on with black converse. This was very different from what Eddie had seen Richie wearing yesterday. The only thing that remained a bit similar was the hair, it wasn’t as well done as it was yesterday but it still remained slightly tamed. It looked like he didn’t bother to do anything with it yesterday, and sleep took its toll. That and his glasses of course, the big thick rimmed dorky glasses that just completed his aesthetic.

“Hey Ed’s, I like your music.” Richie commented as he danced around to the rather dirty song, but it was catchy as hell and an overall good song. And both of them knew it.

you ain’t gotta go to work, work, work, work, work, work, work

Richie sang along to the song continuing his stupid dance moves. He was trying to embarrass Eddie and he was doing a hella good job at it. Eddie covered his red face with his hand and slightly shook his head. Richie laughed at his friend and continued dancing, his dance moves progressively worsened as he continued dancing to the song. “I fucking hate you sometimes.”

“Lighten up, are you ready?” Richie said with his big goofy smile plastered on his face, he looked like he slept with a hanger in his mouth.

“Not yet,” Eddie said as he signalled to his hair showing Richie the reason as to why he wasn’t quite ready just yet “come in.”

Richie stepped into the home of the Kaspbrak family. It was much neater and tidier than his own, but he blamed that on his sister. Eddie started walking upstairs and Richie went to follow him when Eddie stopped him in his tracks. Eddie simply pointed down to Richie’s converses, signalling that if Richie wanted to go upstairs he would have to take them off. Richie groaned and rolled his eyes as he knelt down and started to untie his shoes. When Richie was done untying his shoes he kicked them off and put them near the front door. Finally Richie followed Eddie upstairs and went into Eddie’s room. Eddie walked over to his speaker and turned it off so he could have a clear conversation with Richie.

“What do you think of my outfit?” Eddie asked as he walked into his bathroom to do his hair.

“How am I supposed to have an opinion on your outfit when you walk away right after you ask me that question?” Richie asked with a snarky attitude causing Eddie to sassily walk back into his room showing Richie his outfit and walk right back into the bathroom after he was finished. Eddie looked fucking adorable. Richie turned a light shade of pink at the sight of Eddie, he had no idea why but he couldn’t help it. “You look cute Ed’s.”

“Thanks,” Eddie said in return as he finished up doing his hair. He grabbed his phone and strolled back into his bedroom and back into Richie’s focal point. “What should I bring?”

“Nothing you’re fine,” Richie said as he looked at the time on his phone, 1:47, they were supposed to meet at 1:30. Richie got up from where he was sitting and grabbed Eddie’s hand. “Common were almost 20 minuets late.”

“Okay.” Eddie said as Richie pulled Eddie out of his room and downstairs to the front door. Both of the boys started to put on their shoes which both happened to be converse. Richie’s were a dark black and Eddie’s were a bright yellow. Eddie grabbed his house key and lead Richie outside, when they were both outside Eddie turned around to locked the door as Richie made his way towards his car. When Eddie was finished locking the door he made his way towards Richie’s car when something caught his eye and almost broke his heart.

Richie was across the street flirting with a very pretty girl. Eddie had never seen this girl before in his life, at least not that he could remember at the moment. But Eddie could only see her side profile. She had dark brown hair which could easily be confused with a black that went down to her mid back. Her skin was practically kissed by the sun with a light tan and it was as incredibly smooth. She had beautiful big brown eyes with luscious eyelashes that extended from her face and slightly brushed against her cheeks whenever she blinked. Her nose was small and the perfect size for her face. Her lips also soft a plump, naturally big, this was the kind of girl every girl wanted to look like, the kind of girl girls paid to look like. Her ass was huge in a good way, she was short but probably taller than Eddie. She was definitely Richie’s type, every straight mans type. Eddie watched the two talk from afar. Eddie hadn’t even noticed that someone was moving into the house across the street. With exams and school he was probably too distracted to notice anything. Richie waved goodbye to the mysterious girl as he walked away from her. She turned her body so her whole front was in view, Eddie definitely knew her from somewhere. Her face was beautiful and kind, but it didn’t make Eddie feel safe. He knew her from somewhere, he definitely knew her.

“Ready to go?” Richie asked as he made his way back over to his car and opened the drivers door and crawled in. Eddie just simply nodded and crawled into the passenger side next to Richie.

“Who was that?” Eddie asked as he did his seatbelt up and got comfortable in the seat.

“Karla, she’s your new neighbour.” Richie said as he started the car up. Eddie didn’t know a Karla, her name was foreign to him. But he knew her face and he didn’t like the feeling he felt when he saw her smile.

…

Where is Karla from???? Who knows? I thought I would add the names of the songs Eddie was listening to as well just because… 1. Never Be The Same by Camila Cabello 2. The City by The 1975 3. Work From Home by Fifth Harmony …Reblog and tell me which song is your favourite out of the three Eddie listened to and don’t forget to like (and vote on Wattpad @/bitchintozier)!!

~ Lampire 💜

[ritebeforeyoureyes]

The Jewel

This is one of the longest, smutty-ish pieces I’ve written in a while, I hope you guys like it x

Masterlist – Plot: A stripper and her boss.

The Jewel (One-Shot)

Zendaya parked her car and glanced sideward at the purposefully run down looking building. She thought back at how she’d ended up here, because, of course, a lifestyle of stripping had never been her first choice. But, as life had shown her, fate tended to throw a curve ball at you from time to time.

And, in terms of curve balls, Zendaya’s wasn’t that bad. Her life was actually a pretty good one. She had been the star dancer and athlete in high school and the world was her oyster, no storms in the horizon. She was a shoe in for the best scholarships and grants to the top institutions in the country. But despite her brains and her dancer’s talent, Zendaya’s real selling point was her body. She had that classic hourglass shape that men seemed to fawn over, but her ass seemed completely proportion to her other assets. She was curvaceous and slim and oh boy, did the men notice. They had been noticing her since her early teens, when she’d peeked through the beauties of woman hood, and since then, the attention hadn’t stopped.

But, Zendaya was always quite awkward and nervous with men. At the tender age of twenty, she’d been only been with two. The first having been her long-term boyfriend from high school, Trevor Jackson. Admittedly, their first time had been pretty terrible. But to his credit, he got better over time and so did she. She began to spread her wings a little and venture into sexual experiences that eventually became more fun. The second guy had been completely different to Trevor. He was well travelled and cultured, comfortable and established in his own sexuality. He was also always aware of his masculinity and spent more time tending to Zendaya’s orgasm’s rather than his own. Their affair was short-lived, however, as he grew tired of her after a semester and half or so.

Then, the accident happened. It wasn’t at dance or at training like anybody expected; she was running to a lecture and she’d tripped. Honestly, everybody thought it was a little stumble that should have meant nothing. But doctor’s confirmed Zendaya’s worst nightmare, she’d torn up her ankle on the way down. Her parents moved closer to campus to help with her recovery but after a year passed, Zendaya knew her chances of keeping her dance scholarship were little to nothing. So, her parents scrounged for the money to keep her in college. They maxed out student loans and their credit – it wasn’t enough. With two more years of college left, Zendaya knew she would have to pay her own way through school.

Her first resort had been a retail job. They didn’t require much experience and she fell into the easily accessible death trap of minimum wage. Her extensive shifts paired with her creepily perverted manager wasn’t enough to make her stay; she was barely making room and board, let alone tuition. She later moved onto waitressing at some local bars. It was easily more money, Zendaya hiked up her skirt and popped the buttons on her blouse and soon the tips were rolling in. She was pretty, obviously, and the frat boys and older men, alike, were smitten by her. She called them ‘honey’ and ‘tiger’ and they were stuffing the dollar bills into her waistband without a second to blink. On the surface, it was the perfect job for Zendaya’s unfortunate situation following the accident but there were moments in the dark where she felt degraded. She got a lot of slaps on the ass and cat calls, and sometimes she’d go home ashamed.

She felt low, the lowest she had ever felt in her life, until she saw him. She always served him his drink (or drinks, should she say) He came in every Friday and Saturday night and ordered the same thing, a beer and a tequila shot. He’d sit by himself, lose himself in his thoughts, and then he’d leave. It was a little odd but Zendaya couldn’t find herself looking away from him. He was shorter than some of the usual jock-type guys that populated the bar, but it didn’t matter. He made up for the height in his mysterious stature. He was always dressed in black, his eyes deep and broody. She’d serve him his drink and he’d recognise her every time; they’d even exchanged pleasantries one time.

It was a routine that Zendaya surprisingly grew used to. She grew excited by the possibility of him grumbling a ‘thank you’ in his thick British accent. And as she walked into work that one time, she found him already sitting there, at the table in the back. Her heart raced in her chest and she smiled as she knowingly prepared his order. After flashing him a wink and him handing her a wade of cash that accounted to way more than his order, Zendaya made her way to a new group that had entered the establishment. They threw their orders at her and as she readily bounced around the back of the bar, she noticed that her tips from the brooding British boy were missing. The sudden loss of the money that she so desperately needed made tears spring to Zendaya’s eyes. Once her shift was over, she was speeding out of the back door, her eyes and her chest heavy with responsibility. It was then that she spotted him again. He immediately saw a woman in distress and offered her a shoulder to cry on. They talked for a while, him listening to her troubles about rent and tuition fees due and before either of them knew it, she found herself in his bed.

She’d thought it had just been a one-night stand but no, this was the curve ball. It was how she had ended up where she was now, the Jewel, as they called her. She was the star of the ‘Brother’s Gentleman Club.’ A business founded by Thomas, as she had later found out his name, and his brothers. On the outside it looked like a scrappy building but on the inside, it was an establishment worth millions of dollars; the establishment that had saved her from the claws of bad fate. Tom had been adamant to hire Zendaya, claiming he’d been scoping her out for months. She was the perfect kind of woman for his business; classy yet still able to wrack in the customers.

She’d been scared at first, scared of a world of drugs and sex trafficking. She’d seen too many documentaries to know how this was going to end. Nobody would come looking for her, her body just lying in a ditch somewhere after a sleazy rich guy was done with her as his play thing.

But Tom had been successful in convincing her otherwise. He let his fingers wonder down her sinful body until they were deeply buried in her, his raspy voice seducing her into the belief that she wouldn’t have to do anything that she didn’t want to. He kissed up her body before nestling against her lips, the accent that she adored so much, reassuring her of her beauty and her social skills. And as he pumped into her with a fury like no other, suddenly, Zendaya wasn’t at her lowest of lows anymore.

She was the independent girl that was just making a buck.

And tonight, was like any other, her eyes took their time to adjust to the dim lighting in the room as she made her way inside. The club space was slowly being prepared for, yet another wild night and the place was bustling with bar tenders and dancers alike. Past the front desk was a set of double doors and with a grin on her face, Zendaya stuck her head around it. Tom was sat behind his desk, with his partner, Harrison, sat directly in front of him. His head snapped upwards and there was a frown imprinted against his lips. Tom was ready to throw ‘fuck off’ at the intruder until he saw that it was Zendaya. There was just something about her that softened his hard exterior. His face lit up and Harrison just winced knowingly. It was a slippery slope, falling for a girl like Zendaya. She was their employee and their field of work wasn’t exactly the most orthodox.

“Reportin’ for duty, Captain.” Zendaya mock-saluted and Tom chuckled before instructing her of her role for the night. Usually she was just like a waitress, just in more revealing clothes. Her uniform consisted of some daisy dukes and a crop top, nothing too crazy. She’d dance around the club floor as she handed out drinks and took orders. If she was feeling oddly confident, she’d toy with her cleavage a little; pucker her lips and kiss customer’s cheeks. It was never more than that.  She wasn’t the type that did private shows or strip-teased – Tom wouldn’t allow it. She was the jewel that people came to see, not to touch. And like every other night at work, Tom told her about how she needed to tend to some particularly important guests and she willingly obliged before heading to the back.  

‘The back’ was just another term for the dancers’ dressing rooms in the Holland establishment. It was a large room adorned with mirrors and an endless clothing rack. Girls of all shapes and sizes stood around, checking their hair and makeup in preparation for yet another night at work. Zendaya spotted one of her closest friends, Laura, on the other side of the room and made her way over. Many of the others were wary of the two pals. They received the most attention and seemingly were favourites of the boss. Jealousy and envy were common tricks of the trade and Zendaya had learnt to ignore it, she was just lucky she had Laura by her side. The two dusted each other’s faces with powder and checked for lipstick on their teeth before heading out onto the floor.

The room was thumping already, suddenly transformed by fluorescent lights and endless chart music. Zendaya could feel the floor move underneath her heels and she made her way to the bar to start passing out drinks. But on her way there, she was stopped by Harrison, the junior partner in the business. She knew he wasn’t the man who called the shots – that was Tom – but she was aware of the power that he still possessed.

“Those are the guys you need to make sure have drinks on them always.” Harrison slyly ushered towards a group of men that sat in the corner. “We’re meant to be doing serious business with them and it seems Mr Chmerkovskiy over there has his eyes on you.” Zendaya glanced over and noticed the older man eyeing her up and down hungrily. She gulped audibly, a jittery sensation filling her, before Harrison grumbled lowly in her ear. “Do not disappoint tonight, Zendaya. Do whatever it takes to make him happy-“

“But Tom-“ Harrison’s strange emphasis on do made Zendaya’s skin crawl. Tom had told her she shouldn’t do anything she wasn’t comfortable with and frankly, even from a distance, this guy was giving her the wrong vibe.

“I don’t care what Tom thinks, it’s finally time for you to do start doing your job.” Zendaya couldn’t stop herself from nodding helplessly; not wanting to anger one of the men who paid for her survival. With a small (and scared) smile in his direction, Zendaya grabbed at a tray of drinks and made her way over to the older men.

They were laughing when she was in their proximity, but it died down quickly once they spotted the leggy beauty. Val’s eyes trailed her body leisurely, pausing momentarily on the jut of her hips and the hint of cleavage that her shirt exposed.

“Hey, darlin’” He got up slowly, meeting her as she stood, his hands instinctively gravitating towards her body. “Aren’t you a looker.” Val smirked and the men around him laughed. Uneasily, Zendaya joined them too – this was her job, she had to play along as best as she could.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” Zendaya tried her hand at acting, her voice dripping with a sweetness that was so far from what she truly felt. But, regardless of how she felt, she knew this guy was putty in her hands. Complimenting him had made him happy and she inwardly smiled at herself for helping further Tom’s business.

“Why don’t you give us a little dance, huh, hun?” Val motioned towards the pole that stood loud and proud in the middle of their table. Zendaya looked up at it cautiously, her eyes widening. Sure, she worked at a strip joint, but she’d never actually done anything. Before she could think twice about fighting Val, she felt his hand dip into her shorts, his fingers now pressed against her bare backside. Zendaya tried to playfully take a step back but Val’s free hand pulled at her shirt, tearing it through the middle. The men around them encouraged his behaviour, their eyes boring into Zendaya���s lacily adorned chest.

Harrison watched the encounter from a distance. He noticed the rigidness of Zendaya’s body and his eyes stayed trained upon her as she tried to relax under a façade. Good girl, she was doing as he asked; getting them the business they needed. A fake smile was plastered across her face as she let Val trail his hands across her, his touch on dangerously intimate places. There was a triumphant grin on his face as he watched Zendaya - this is what she had been hired for.

But, as soon as Harrison’s grin appeared, it was snatched away as he noticed Tom storm to the table. Harrison flinched, scared that his dipshit of a best friend was going to screw up the business deal of a century. Val Chmerkovskiy was a big man with a big wallet and a reputation to match and it seemed, right now, Tom couldn’t care less.

Tom took one glance at a scantily clad Zendaya, threw his smart jacket at her before pummelling Val in the face. She willingly wrapped the jacket around her now cold body and before she could register anything, Tom was throwing punches in all directions. Val’s men tried to jump in, but they were outnumbered; they were in a Holland establishment after all. Within seconds, Tom had an extensive amount of security at his defence.

“Get out.” Tom’s lip was being gnawed at by his teeth and his body was heaving aggressively. His security was holding him back from causing Chmerkovskiy anymore damage. His lips were profoundly bleeding, and his knuckles were ripped; if Tom touched him again he’d be in the hospital for weeks.

“You fighting me cus’ of some whore?” Val dared to look over at Zendaya again and Tom began to shake, his fists yearning to feel the crack of his bones under them.  

“Get the fuck out.” This time, it wasn’t a request. After ensuring that he had his temper in check, Chmerkovskiy and his men were being pushed out of the club by security. And, Tom didn’t even have to watch them do it successfully, he trusted his men and as soon as they were out of his sight of vision, all he could focus on was Zendaya.

She wasn’t much of a panicked person, never had been, but there was a fear in her eyes that Tom had only witnessed a handful of times. With no utterance between them, he swiftly pulled her body into his own, clinging to her for dear life. He was aware that she hadn’t been this close to naked in front of him since their first (and last) night together but he didn’t mind. He could feel every curve of her body against his own and strangely, it made him feel better. “Why’d you let him do that?” Tom muttered into her ear, his lips peppering kisses against the side of her face and her neck.

Tom had only really hired Zendaya because he knew she wasn’t the type of girl to be a trophy girlfriend. When he’d seen her that first night in the bar, she was captivating, and he’d wanted to know her immediately. He was a rich man, who always got what he wanted, and instantaneously, he knew Zendaya wouldn’t fall for that. She was a hard worker who took a certain pride in earning for herself. So, he went back every weekend until he’d convinced himself that hiring her was the perfect solution. He would be able to watch her and look out for her and simulatenously pay her the money that she deserved without working her to the bone. It was why he never got her dealing with private clients or stripper poles; anything that made her step out of her comfort zone.

“Harrison said-“

“Harrison said what?” Tom pulled away from Zendaya suddenly, his hands resting upon her shoulders. She looked scared by his outburst and he leaned forward to kiss her gently before speaking again. “Come ‘ere.” He wrapped his jacket round her slim frame before directing her back towards the bar where his best friend and partner sat.

“You know you just cost us thousands-“ Before Haz could continue, Tom was a ramming a fist into his face. Tom and his brothers, Sam, Harry and Paddy, were the majority share holders in the business. It had only been a few years since Harrison had joined the team and regardless, his authority acquainted to virtually nothing in comparison to the Holland brothers’. Haz was a part of the family, yes, and they’d decided that he needed some responsibility in the business but Tom had made one thing absolutely clear, Zendaya was off limits.

“I told you, you don’t give me or, her, orders.” Tom jabbed a finger at his friend and then at Zendaya.

“What the fuck, bro, are you seriously doing this right now?”

Tom just ignored Harrison as he continued to yell after him. With his hand tightly secured around Zendaya’s wrist, he was tugging her towards his office. She wordlessly followed, her heels tapping rhythmically to the beat that was still emanating throughout the club floor.

“Tom, what are you-“ As soon as he had her in his office, he was pushing her up against the door. His jacket fell to the floor, exposing her body to him openly. He leant in to kiss her and their mouths clashed in a pent-up aggression. As Tom’s tongue entered her awaiting mouth, his hands trailed up her leg. Zendaya forgot the touch of Val and relished in that of Tom’s, her legs parting slightly as his hands ventured further up. He felt around at the material of her shorts before plunging his hands down to grip at her panty clad crotch. “Tom.” His name left her lips in a sigh that was both a warning and a plea.

“You can’t work here anymore.” Once the words left his lips, her hand shot down to Tom’s and pulled it away from her.

“What?”

“I don’t want you to be my employee anymore.” Tom rested his forehead against hers, his nose brushing hers in such a tenderly intimate gesture. This was what he wanted from day one. He wanted her to be the girl who helped control his business, who helped keep him grounded. “Be my girl, Z. Let me take care of you.”

“Wh .. what?” It seemed Zendaya couldn’t form anything of coherence.

“Be mine.” Tom didn’t wait for her to mutter another ‘what’. His lips descended back on hers and for moments there was just a blur of kissing and biting each other’s lips and necks. It was frantic and messy as Zendaya tried to get herself through the war that was raging in her mind.

She had always presumed that sex with Tom was meaningless, something he’d done with half of the women he hired. Nevertheless, she wasn’t oblivious, she knew her encounters with Tom were more than just employee-employer but this, she didn’t expect.

He was staring at her, desire in his eyes and that was it.

She traced the collar of his shirt with her index finger lightly before glancing at him through her long eyelashes. He just watched her curiously, intrigued and waiting patiently. She was taking her time, just contemplating the thoughts in her head before she made her decision.

There was definitely some reluctance, but the lust overpowered it - this time, it was her capturing his lips. As soon as he felt the supple plumpness of her mouth on his own, he fingered the strap of her bra, sliding it down her shoulder. He gently pulled the bra off her before letting his lips travel a little south. Her breasts were firm and perky and as his lips latched onto her, her head fell back in pleasure. She smacked the back of her head against the door and Tom’s hands drifted to her ass, hiking her body up against his own. Her legs wound around his waist and he directed them towards his desk.

He’d dreamt of taking her on this table many a time and it was finally becoming a reality. She hopped onto the table readily, her legs stretching so that he could nestle himself between them. “Does that mean you’ll say yes?”

“Yes.” She moaned softly as his body rocked against her own. His evident erection was pressed up against her stomach and she felt herself dampen quickly. But, Zendaya wasn’t the only one, the sound of her breathlessness was making Tom’s cock bulge aggressively in his trousers.

Unlike the first time that they had had sex, this time wasn’t gentle. Zendaya hadn’t been crying about her financial situations and Tom wasn’t trying to be the caring, good guy. Within seconds, Zendaya was laying flat on her back, her ass on the edge of the table and Tom was out of his clothes. She was spread open wide and ready for him and he was ready to take. His thickness pushed into her slowly, letting her grow accustomed to him before he was thrusting back into her. He took out the rage from earlier on her body in the most sinfully, blissful manner and Zendaya had given it her all, orgasming hard with him.  

“God, I’ve missed being in you.”

If you enjoyed this piece and would like to help further me and my work, please support me whilst I get through university. The money you donate will go towards assisting me in my student fees. It is one hundred per cent a voluntary pursuit and greatly appreciated, however, your lovely comments and votes are always welcomed too. Thank you for being the greatest: https://ko-fi.com/D1D072V0

[ainchaseseiker]

Letter

When Ishtar is flustered

When Ishtar, or "Ishy" as Timoria fondly called her, was flustered, there would always be a tint of red rising to her cheeks along with her hands balling into fists as she averted eye contact. And if she was embarassed enough you might get a soul spear thrown at you too.

Timoria found this cute. Such a stark contrast from Blesse who despite being younger was more regal and graceful than her older self. Perhaps the reason Ishtar was like this was because of her stronger contract with Chevalier, which caused her to experience a wider range of emotions as well as expressing them.

Either way, her opinion doesn't change. Ishy was absolutely adorable when she was flustered. So she tries doing the things her younger self does to Noblesse.

Honestly, it was a surprise sweet, cheerful Chiliarch got together with stiff, serious Noblesse after Glave quite literally dumped them all together in Ishtar's territory a few months ago.

One morning, Timoria decided it was a grandoise idea to do exactly what Chiliarch did to Noblesse yesterday. She walked straight up to Ishtar who's back was facing her, careful not to jolt Ishtar's wings, Timoria grinned and wrapped her arms around her, nuzzling her counterpart.

The reaction was priceless! Not that Timoria would ever say it out loud unless she wants a death wish. Ishtar's head turned oh so slowly as if it took a lot of effort to move, shoulders tensing, and when she saw who was hugging her, that blush flared up to her cheeks as Ishtar absolutely lost her shit and shrieked, shoving her off.

Chevalier came bounding into the room with his arm only occupying one sleeve of his coat and marbas in his hand, the overgrown blaster knocking everything off its places. Once he saw the scene, Ciel merely sighed and ushered her out of the door and closing it behind them.

Chevalier looked so much like a parent preparing to scold his child that Timoria can't bring herself to pout, fidgeting under the man's gaze.

"Why do keep doing that?" He asks exasperatedly, running a hand through his hair. Timoria blinks innocently, rocking on her heels.

"Doing what?" She feigned, hoping her cuteness would bail her out. Chevalier sighs for the second time that morning and straightens up to wear his coat properly.

"You keep trying to make Ishtar flustered and embarrased." He points out bluntly, rubbing his temples. Timoria just shrugs and gives an honest answer.

"She looks adorable when she blushes. And besides," she stares up at the servant with a devious grin." Ishy needs to lighten up."

Chevalier raises an eyebrow at her answer. Timoria being childish was one thing, her being honest about the reason was another. Out of exasperation he muttered a statement that was meant to be a joke.

"If you like her that much then stop teasing her, Ishtar won't like you that way."

Unfortunately for Timoria, this just caused her confusion and realization on why she was attracted to her graceful counterpart.

Timoria turned red." W-what do you mean I like her?!" Hands flew up to her hair and clutched it in embarrasment." Sure Ishtar is graceful and pretty! She's nice and she just looks so tired that I want to see her smi-"

Timoria blinked, eye twitching and hands balled to fist in her hair, slowly looking up at Chevalier who had an incredulous expression on his face.

"E-e-EEEHHHHHHHH!!!!!??????" Timoria yelled and not knowing what else to do, started hitting Chevalier with her fists with a red face,

"Chevalier you meanie!"

Chevalier just sighs and blocks her fists." In all honesty, do you actually like Ishtar?" He asks, kneeling down to her eye level.

Timoria pauses on hitting him, face still red. Does she really like Ishtar? Timoria finds her beautiful yes, but she also wanted to see her smile genuinely too, wanted to make her rest and not see Ishtar tired anymore.

The thoughts make her redden even more as she hid her face in her hands. Chevalier sighs for, how many times it was? He lost count, whatever.

"Well that confirms it." He says, patting the poor flustered demon queen. How Timoria can be even more dense than her younger counterpart is beyond her knowledge. Hell, Chiliarch was actually the one who came to terms with her feelings and made the first move!

Chevalier sighs for the what? Fourth? Fifth? He didn”t know, he lost track.  He gives Timoria a small amused smile.

“Go and confess before it becomes too complex.”

Timoria turns red even more and runs the away in embarrassment. Chiliarch laughs when she tells her what happened and appointed herself as Timoria’s official unofficial wingloli- wingwoman.

So here they were, after three days of persuading and denial, Timoria finally resorted to writing a love letter and leaving it on Ishtar’s table.

Only the plan seemed to blow into smoke now that she stood in front of said person’s door, gripping the letter with white knuckles as her face paled.

And now, Chiliarch was trying her goddamned best to make her give the letter to the demon on the other side of the door.

“Come on.” Chiliarch huffed, pushing her frozen older self and failing to move her. Why was he shoes so damn slippery, they just slid on the floor when she tried pushing Timoria.

Speaking off the terror lady, she seemed to back out off the plan now, clutching the letter to her chest and starting to turn away from the door with wide eyes and a red face.

“Fuck this!’ She yelled, voice squeaking at the sheer highness off her voice. Chiliarch would have laughed had she not been trying to pull  her older self back as she yanked on her jacket, damn her shoes again.

They did not help as she was only dragged by Timoria as her shoes slid against the floor. 

“ You can’t back out now!” She yells desperately, Timoria stops and for a fleeting moment, Chiliarch feels a sliver of hope but id blew to bits when she saw Timoria’s face.

She groaned.” Come on, give it to me, I’ll give it to her for you.” She tries to offer.

Timoria nearly said yes, but the thought of Ishtar reading what she spent countless hours on, erasing, racking her head for the right words and thowing crumpled paper at the  trash can made her change her mind.

“I’m not giving it to her!” She yells hotly, hugging the envelope to her chest. Chiliarch pouts and lunges, arms hooking around her shoulder and hip as her younger self starts to literally drag her back in front of Ishtar’s room.

“What’s the point of writing a letter if you’re not going to send it?!” She manages to yell over Timoria trying to push her off by shoving a hand against her cheek and pushing.

Timoria glares over the hot blush on her cheeks, cap becoming askew.” I’m not giving it to Ishtar and that’s final!”

“Give me what?” A new. yet all too familiar voice questioned cooly. Timoria freezed from where she was shoving Chiliarch off her with a hand whereas the latter was trying to drag her back by hooking her arms around her older self’s shoulder and torso.

A wide, happy grin formed on Chiliarch’s face.” Perfect timing~” She coos.” Ria has something important to give you.”

Ishtar looks expectantly at her, she had work to do after all. Timoria stammered then shoved the letter in front of her.

“I-I, here!”

Ishtar blinks and opens the envelope, pulling the letter out. Hey eyes seemed to be boring a hole through the paper and Timoria prepares herself for the upcoming rejection.

“Alright.”

She blinks.” What?’ Ishtar tilts her head at her.” I said alright, just let me finish signing papers the you can take me to wherever you want.” She bows her head at them and gives a small smile.

“I’ll be going now.”

When her wings disappeared around the bend of the hallway. Timoria stares at her hands, then to Chiliarch.

“I can’t fucking believe it...”

She earns a slap and a grin from Chiliarch.” Trust in me a little more no?” She smirks.

Timoria opens her mouth then closed it, finally she speaks.” Thanks Lili.”

Chiliarch grins and takes her by hand.” No prob, now. Let’s get cookies!”

As the duo walks to the kitchen, Chiliarch decides not to mention that she had been plotting with Chevalier, nor did she say that Chevalier told Ishtar, or that she knew Ishtar liked Timoria in the first place.

Unneeded details, she decides with a grin.

[cookiedoughmeagain]

Haven DVD commentaries; 2.09 Lockdown

Writers’ commentary with Lilla & Nora Zuckerman:

Points made include:

Turned out to be a big episode, kicks off the race to the end of the season

The concept of a bottle episode, as something useful around ¾ the way through the season when you’re starting to run low on budget and need to save plenty for the important final episode, and when also people are tired out and so having something simple and cheap to film by being all mostly in the same set (“something that takes place within your standing sets”), is helpful and so that’s the bottle episode concept. And it makes a fun challenge for the writers in terms of can you make the plot work within those constraints. 

Season one’s bottle episode (“As You Were”) as being a great episode, so they had “big shoes to fill” in writing this season’s bottle.

They remember when they first heard about this wrestler guy (Adam Copeland aka Edge aka Dwight) that was going to be joining the cast and so they looked him up and found “this cool-looking dude - almost too cool to be in Haven” and describe him as “very giant but a wonderful guy”.

The special effects for the disease/trouble as being “really cool”

They started from the point of a quarantine in the station and Lilla [I think] mentions one of her favourite movies called Wreck (which apparently became an American moved named Quarantine), as one of the inspirations for this episode in terms of locking down an outbreak.

Audrey and Nathan being back in the same office again now that the new Chief is here. Nathan moving his stuff back in at the beginning of the episode.

As Duke arrives they talk about the challenge of having to get all the relevant characters into the one place. “Before we bottle up the bottle we’ve got to get everyone in.” So Duke brings Evi to the police station and they thought that Duke would be smart enough to realise if they were to confront her about the Rev. in any other place “she would bolt”. So he’s “roping Nathan into this because he knows it’s the only way the two of them are going to get answers.”

“And I do believe Duke probably has a sizeable number of parking tickets.” / “It may be the only thing that’s keeping him and Nathan friends, that Nathan will fix these parking tickets.”

They comment approvingly on how “gross” the blood on the floor in the corridor looks

And also approve of the return of Chris Brody, looking sharp in his suit, and note that Jason Priestley directed this episode and what a great job he did. They remember finding out that he would be directing episode 9 and being really excited “as girls our age who fondly remember 90210 was so important for us as teenagers, so we were pretty geeked out.” And also being excited to bring back Chris Brody as a character because they wrote the episode where he left town so was nice to write him coming back.

As they unlock the door to find the dead officer Stark, they point out how the blood only flows directly out of the door “It’s not going anywhere else, it just wants to get out so bad”

Re Chris Brody; “We always in the writers room envisaged that when he came back from London he would have indulged a little bit more than he should have in his curse. So he’s got a swagger now, he’s used to getting what he wants, and he’s definitely taken advantage of his trouble.” But how he’s also at least a little bit aware of that himself and sees Audrey as his salvation a little bit. But he also doesn’t remember the detail of how they parted the same way she does and so he’s expecting that they can just jump right back into a relationship, but she’s not.

Lots of amusement at Duke’s reaction to meeting the new police chief.

One of the things they tried to do with this episode was to put up as many obstacles as they could for Audrey and Nathan in solving the trouble, because they’re stuck in this one place and so the new Chief is useful as someone they can butt heads with; someone who doesn’t know about the Troubles and wants to do things by the book.

And they talk about this as setting up the potential for something that Audrey and Nathan might have to deal with throughout the rest of the season; trying to do what they do while hiding it from a by-the-book Chief; although of course he doesn’t last that long. And they compare the rate that Haven goes through Chiefs of Police as being like on Buffy where they went through a lot of Principles at the school because you just never know what’s going to happen to these people.

Liking the opportunity to use Dwight and imply that he worked for Garland as a fixer and a cleanup guy, but Nathan isn’t sure if he can trust him or to what extent he can use Dwight, so this was a good episode to explore that.

They compare Dwight to Bill Johnson in the Die Hard movies “except he isn’t outside eating twinkies; he’s a little more badass”

Vinessa Antoine as doing a wonderful job playing Evi.

Describing the new Chief as not understanding what he’s dealing with and so just following procedure; not realising that the Troubles do not.

How the casting for this episode came together really quickly, and how maybe Jason Priestley had something to do with that, because they were people that he knew and had worked with.

The new Chief as being not very friendly to Nathan, including with how he’s moved right into the office and made himself at home.

Having to be careful with a bottle episode to give a reason why they can’t just leave or call in reinforcements [when the Chief confiscates everyone’s cell phones etc.]

How they had a lot of conversation about where to put the bodies; is there a morgue in the station? And concluding that they’ll leave them in the bathroom in an ad hoc solution, but that that is how it would be.

Adding the threat of someone working against them [ie whoever called off the CDC] as another way to further isolate the characters in their bottle

Approving of the “creepy” and “gross” nature of the effects as the Chief dies.

This as the first episode where they really got to show much of the outside of the police station [the building in Lunenberg]; more than just initial establishing shots. And how it’s a nice looking building to get to film.

“If I was in a jam, I’d call Edge to come rescue me. Edge is a guy you wanna have on speed dial at all times.”

And so once the Chief is dead Audrey and Nathan have to make a decision because potentially they can leave now, but should they?

Describing Evi as smart, sneaky and slippery as she swipes Nathan’s keycard

And as Nathan questions her they talk how this plotline sets up the rest of the season, and is a launching point to drive Nathan against the Rev. and this growing conspiracy, as well as setting Duke off on his own path

General approval of how the episode was put together and shot; how it didn’t feel stagnant despite being all in the same location, which can be a danger with a bottle episode. You never want a bottle episode to actually feel like a bottle episode and that worked for this one.

As Duke and Evi talk [“Everything that’s happened between us was controlled by them?”] they say that this is the first time Duke and Evi have really been honest with each other since she came back to Haven

“You very rarely see Duke Crocker lose his cool, so that’s kinda fun to see.” And Evi as having gotten under his skin and him as really caring about her. And so she decides to help him. “She believes that she’s helping Duke in these moments.” As she makes the decision to go outside they describe it as a “desperate move but maybe for the first time since she’s gotten to Haven her motives are pure. She’s trying to help him.”

The thing with Nikki picking at the coffee cup is based on a habit of one of Nora’s friends from college. And Lilla was glad of it because “sometimes you’re up at 2am writing and you’re like; I just need a clue” and so that was a good clue for Audrey to find.

As Evi leaves the building she doesn’t believe she’s going to get shot. She thinks she’s doing the right thing and she’s not aware of quite how dangerous the situation is. “We wanted to make this a heroic moment. She’s doing something brave, she’s doing the right thing.”

“This was really difficult because we’re basically killing one of our main characters. You want it to ripple through the rest of the episode, you want it to feel very real.” “If you’re going to kill a main character you want to see the rest of the characters reacting to it, but it can’t be what the rest of the episode is about.” So that was a difficult balance in writing the second half of the episode. Because they have to react to Evi’s death, but they still have the same original problem to deal with as well. “In the writers room when we were talking about how Duke would react to this [Evi’s death], I think we were all in agreement that he would want to go kick some ass.”

But Nathan can’t let him because “we’re looking at someone who just went outside and got shot, there’s no way he’s going to let his friend go outside no matter how angry he is”

And as they fight and Nathan knocks Duke out, they say that “while it’s for his own good, this is maybe the worst possible thing Nathan could do to Duke in this moment”

As Audrey talks to Nikki again they say how they always try to weave together the Trouble with whatever’s going on in the character’s emtional life.

And Nikki’s Trouble as how the abuse she was put through built up inside her like a poison until she couldn’t hold onto it any more and it leaked out into those around her. So you’re not going to solve the Trouble unless you solve the core issue of what’s causing it.

Liking the scenes with Audrey and Chris and how their relationship has evolved, but also how he is getting in the way of her having the conversation with Nikki that she needs to have. He is a different man since he went away to London and Audrey is realising that pretty quickly; that he’s changed.

They raise the question of whether it is actually Nikki who is Troubled or if it’s the two of them together as a couple that is Troubled.

When we learn who Hugh is they compare it to “that moment when you learn that the monster is in the house with you.”

The challenges of writing Chris Brody scenes to make sure everyone’s reactions are consistent with his Trouble, and specifically when Hugh Underwood is talking to him because you have this “abusive, horrible man” who is still going to be affected by Chris’s Trouble.

Originally they had wanted to have a scene where Hugh was talking to Chris about how his wife just won’t listen to him and ‘you know how it is man, sometimes you’ve just got to put them in their place’ and so Chris’s Trouble would effectively create this really dark creepy scene where Hugh confesses all of his abuse as he wants to talk to Chris. But unfortunately the pace of the script meant that they couldn’t put that in there. But that would have been a cool twist, because if you’re the guy that everybody likes, then you’re the guy that everybody feels like ‘this guy understands me and I can tell him anything, all my secrets’ but some people you don’t want to see inside their heads.

Description of Audrey as she talks to Nikki again as “curse whispering”

And now Hugh has a gun because Audrey has been betrayed by Chris. “He thought maybe he was helping but, he is not.” “There’s probably nothing worse for a cop than to see your own gun pointing at you.”

They mention that they had to cast the extras here because although they don’t have lines they’re in multiple scenes and they have to be the same people and so they needed to be specific about who they were.

They talking about having always liked “really creepy stalker movies” like Sleeping with the Enemy, so this was fun to write such a “vicious evil dude”

As we see Duke locked in the prison cell; “These scenes are really setting Duke and Nathan against each other for the first time I think in this season really; we had them working together, they were really close and now this incident is starting to shatter that and the fact that Nathan has got Duke locked up in this cell now; Duke is not going to forgive this easily.”

And they talk about how after this Duke is going to be changed forever.

As Hugh has the gun to Audrey’s head they say that they didn’t write that he is grabbing her by the hair, but they approve because it “makes it even creepier” and describe it as very “caveman and disturbing”

And as Audrey talks to Nikki again they point out that with less time pressure Audrey might have about it a bit more softly but as it is she really needs to go for it; she is “curse whispering for her life”

And how Audrey is basically encouraging Nikki to turn her affliction on her husband “which is a little unorthodox; we don’t generally condone murder”  but sometimes people are “very bad” and it’s one of the reasons it’s fun to write for Haven because sometimes you get to make these strange and “morally questionable” choices. “If you look at most Stephen King books, by the time the bad guys get it, they’ve been very very bad.” and how they try to live by the Stephen King model a little bit, “he sets up some good rules for us.”

And how Stephen King also has a lot of characters who are abusive men and how they can be scarier than his monsters “they are real-life monsters”

“So we’ve basically used murder to solve our problems here but, I don’t feel that bad about it.” “I think it was the best solution for all involved.”

Where Nathan and Dwight are getting shot they talk about how this scene was really difficult to plan and how they didn’t have the time to shoot a whole assault sequence so they had to try to be clever and economical about how they showed this

And Nora [I think] remembers being on twitter when this was airing and seeing everyone freaking out that they had killed Dwight. And they acknowledge Dwight as a “real fan favourite.”

And they also like this scene for the fact that it illuminates Nathan’s curse in the sense that he could have been shot half a dozen times but wouldn’t have known unless he checks himself.

For a while they considered having the Rev. in the station for the whole episode, but there were already a lot of characters involved and they couldn’t see any way to do it without it being too crowded. Also same for Vince and Dave. And that it worked well having the Rev. come in at the end because it means he could have been pulling strings from the outside during the episode.

As the Rev leaves, they comment how they “like this look and the way that Eric plays this” because we’re not quite sure what he’s thinking or whose side he’s planning on being on. (Adding “usually his own”)

And re the Rev. “Stephen McHattie just has to stand there and he looks kind of evil.”

And then as Audrey and Nathan talk to Dwight, they talk about how we’re seeing how Audrey and Nathan are going to work with Dwight more and how they’re going to use him and bring him into the fold in terms of the Haven team. And seeing Nathan react to Audrey suggesting that they cover up a murder. How they are pushing these characters into a place they haven’t been before in realising that Haven can’t play by the same rules as the rest of law enforcement. And this launches them into episode 10 and the morally questionable choices that Audrey will make.

The final scene with Audrey and Chris was Jason’s suggestion to film this outside and they say how well it worked.

They joke how they specialise in writing Audrey/Chris breakup scenes by the water (following the first one in episode 6) and how they had to explain to some of the male writers they work with about how to have a male character apologise. They describe this moment when Chris apologises to Audrey as something that was very controversial, though they are very firm that Chris was clearly wrong and it makes sense for him to apologise.

But this was a tricky scene to write because Audrey liked being with Chris because she liked her for who she is, not because she’s immune. She can’t be the one who’s going to keep him honest, she can’t be his sober buddy. And how he realises that she’s right.

They both agree that the last line of the episode is a favourite.

They say that they’ve left it open so that maybe we’ll see Chris Brody again; they both like the character. They acknowledge it’s controversial online, but that they like these two characters together. But that Chris is doing the right thing by walking away.

And about liking the composition of the final shot “Jason is a hell of a director; we were really lucky to work with him”

[btw there is no guarantee that the parts I’ve quoted are all 100% word-for-word accurate]