#and i ended up in the quick checkout line behind some stupid fuck on his phone who could not scan a box of garlic bread

[actual-corpse]

Me, slowly getting angry *it's hot, I'm thirsty, I'm covered in sweat, and something bonked me on the head*: omfg I'm gonna fucking *remembers the post about not saying kms and putting on a talent show* I'm gonna..... do a backfilp!!

[after-witch]

Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve broken up with Ransom Drysdale, and you mean it this time. But the freedom that comes with the breakup leads to a series of unexpected coincidences that leave you wondering: was it worth the price?

Word Count: 8955

notes: yandere, mentions of physical abuse, financial abuse, comfort sweaters

Nothing lasts forever. Not even relationships--and certainly not love. What might start off as an intense, passionate relationship can (and did, in your case) eventually fizzle; things that you were willing to overlook when you were absolutely besotted would wear down with time, and eventually they became too much to ignore.

That’s what you tell yourself, what you remind yourself, in the moment after you tell him:

“It’s over, Ransom. We’re done. I’m leaving.”

It couldn’t last forever. Not with his inability to stay sober, not with his tendency to cheat on you with meaningless flings that somehow hurt more than any steamy single-minded affair. Not with his flare-ups of controlling tendencies that left you in tears on the bathroom floor as he asked you to please stop dressing like a slut in front of his family, is that too hard to ask?

You’d asked him to change. He swore he would; he never did. You forgave him, more than once, more times than you could count. But enough was enough. Maybe he thought you were too weak to leave him, especially three years into your relationship, when your lives were becoming so integrated, pushing you towards a potential permanent future. It was a future that left you feeling numb and anxious. Stuck in a marriage with someone who wanted to stay with you but treated you horribly, all the same. And that wasn’t even getting into the family dynamics that left your head spinning.

He stares at you now, and his mouth opens just a little bit in what you know is going to be a barrage of questions, insults, maybe even threats spurred on by your words. But instead he closes his mouth and shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter chuckle.

“Well, damn. This sucks.” You can see the indent of his tongue in his cheek before he clicks and shrugs. “Guess that’s it then. Need help packing your shit or what?”

His response is so blasé that you’re genuinely shocked and, you must admit, a little hurt. He didn’t even ask for a second chance or beg you to stay or argue with you about your terrible timing because our-vacation-to-Hawaii-is-coming-up. So it’s your turn to look surprised, and you shake your head.

“No, I… already took care of it. It’s at a storage locker.” You didn’t have family left, and your close friends had pulled away from you one by one once you stayed with Ransom time and time again--so you’d had to pay movers to help you pack and transport everything to storage over the weekend, while Ransom was away and you were free to make a clean breakup.

He nods, sticks his hand inside his jacket pockets. He’s looking around the room, avoiding direct eye contact in a clear show of his discomfort. It’s weird seeing Ransom like this--the normally self-assured, cocky Ransom, looking for any excuse not to look at you.

“So… see ya around?” His tone is sincere, if still confused. The idea of you leaving must have really never crossed his mind. The look on his face when he finally faces you again appears genuinely puzzled.

He sticks out his hand and it feels almost comical for things to end this way, particularly considering the nights you’d spent imagining some big blow up, some big fight with Ransom screaming and you firing off the many reasons why it had to end no matter what he said.

But it didn’t go the way you expected at all. It was calm. Easy. A clean break-up.

So you shake his hand and grab your purse and the small roller-suitcase and give a half-hearted wave as you walk out the door; the taxi you’d hired to pick you up is waiting, car running, meter going. You would be staying at a hotel for two weeks, which would hopefully be enough time to find a semi-decent apartment; your credit score had improved so much since Ransom added you to his cards, to a shared checking account, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to get approved.

A new life, one where you could focus on yourself for once, was just around the corner.

**

"I'm sorry, miss, but it's definitely not the reader. The card is declined."

You've had this nightmare before. No, you've lived this nightmare before--years ago when your credit was shit and you ran up your cards and had to face the music in a publicly humiliating display with the longest checkout line you'd ever seen behind you. Only that was years ago, in a little grocery store, and since getting together with Ransom you never had to worry about problems like this. You never had to worry about the shame of not having enough, not being enough.

But this? This was happening now. In an upscale hotel. With your nice purse (a Christmas present) and designer clothes (casual, comfortable) and your cheeks flushed undeniably warm.

The hotel clerk has a tight, sympathetic smile on her face. A coworker who walks behind her glances at you, judging, and you just know he's going to head into some break room and tell everyone but yet another piece of discarded army candy with a declined credit card. You wish you'd kept your sunglasses on.

"Did it, um, say why? I don't--" you plaster a smile on your face, hating the way this all feels familiar, like a part of your past coming back to haunt you. "I don't understand, the card is good."

The clerk's smile flickers, just a bit.

"It says there's a fraud alert on this card. Perhaps you'd better call the company. Or would you like me to call them?"

Fucking. Ransom.

"Oh, oh no, don’t worry about it. I’ll call them myself. I'm so sorry about this." You turn away from the clerk as quickly as possible and step away from the counter, away from the person waiting behind you who will surely have no trouble with their card, away from the clerks giving you a passive side-eye. You lean against a cool cement pillar in the lobby and you know what you have to do.

You have to call Ransom.

You haven't deleted his number yet--you'd planned on calling him today or tomorrow to figure out how to split up your shared finances--so it's easy enough to find the number. It's not so easy to tap his contact, but you have to, so you force yourself to do it and stare at his photo as the call rings. And rings. And rings. “Hello?” Your breath catches but in an instant, when the message continues, you feel stupid. It’s his voicemail. Fuck.

You text him, instead. Emergency. Call right away. And of course: He leaves you on read. Fuck.

You call him again. And again. He picks up on the sixth call, but your heart is racing too hard and sweat is beading down your forehead and it takes you a moment to confirm that the "Hello?" wasn't part of the voicemail message this time. Fuck.

"Um. Hey," you say, keeping your voice as un-royally-pissed-off as possible, because if he did put in a fraud alert then you don't want to risk any additional asshole moves. "So there's something wrong with the card? The one that ends in 8921? The hotel said there was a fraud alert and--"

"Did you really think I'm going to keep paying for your shit if we're over?"

His voice is quick, biting--exactly what you'd expected from him earlier. Somehow it stings even harsher over the phone, where you feel more helpless, unable to avoid his words.

"I thought..." you wet your lips, trying to maintain your cool. "Look, my name is on them, so I thought send you my part of the payments until I can get cards in my own name."

He chuckles, low and short. "Yeah? What, you want to create a payment schedule or something?"

You fight back the annoyance in your tone. You hate having to be the bigger person, but your finances--your life--is on the line. "Yeah, actually, that'd be perfect. It wouldn't be for long. You know I'll pay them on time, I'm not looking to screw you over."

"You're going too pay me on time? For all the stuff you've bought, the stuff I’ve bought for you, this hotel room and god knows what else? How are you going to afford all that?"

He knows you recently earned a promotion at your work. He knows this, because you were so excited about it, and his half-assed congratulations over lukewarm leftovers left you feeling bitter and sad and useless. So you can't help it when bitterness seeps into your voice with your answer. "You know I just got a promotion."

"Did you?" It's said in such a casual tone that it gives you pause, but a moment later he simply hangs up on you.

Fucking. Ransom.

You shove your phone back into your purse, and the clerks at the counter are staring at you. Sweat has trickled down your back and your shirt sticks to your skin ever-so-slightly as you pull away from the pillar and approach the counter, awkward smile and cheeks hot.

"There is an issue with the card, they're working on it, so I’ll just call for a new reservation when it's fixed. I'm so sorry for the mix up!" Your voice is so peppy and high-pitched and fake and you feel like you’re back at your old job, feet aching with falling apart shoes, forced to deal with people returning old toasters laden with crumbs, calming they’d “just bought it the day before and it didn’t work.”

"Of course," the clerk says, and you know this is hotel clerk code for "You're a shitty liar."

You roll your suitcase out of the lobby with tears in your eyes and you shove your sunglasses on as soon as you've cleared the building. You feel exhausted, drained--so you use what little energy you have left to start googling for cheap motels.

**

The room smells musty. You pin the plastic sheet you’d snagged at a dollar store over the comforter and pray it will be enough to protect you from whatever is on the likely unwashed fabric. The TV is broken, there’s no WIFi, and there’s a few suspicious stains on the floor that make you wonder if this hotel has ever been featured in a porno, true crime show, or both.

But it’s all you could afford with the cash in your wallet. You only had enough cash on hand for 2 nights at a ragtag hotel that offers nightly and hourly rates. You didn’t dare use your debit card or any credit cards with Ransom’s name or information on them.

You just need some sleep. A good night’s sleep to feel renewed and ready to tackle retaking your life, bit by bit. In the morning, you need to go to the bank and withdraw your money from the joint bank account. Then you can reopen an account in your name, get a new debit card, and apply for a few credit cards afterwards.

Sure, it would have been nicer to do this without Ransom being an asshole. But deep down, you suspected he wouldn’t let you have a clean, lets-still-be-friends type of break. Not after all the times he’d pressured you into staying, manipulating you with words and gifts and promises, promises. Promises that were worth shit. 

The sheet crinkles underneath you as you scroll through your messages. You’d texted a few formerly close friends about the breakup earlier, hoping that they’d maybe want to reconnect. So far, you’d been left on read, blocked, and received only one response: “New number, who is this?”

So much for that. Not that you can blame them. There are only so many times they can rush over for a late night intervention in which you tell them every horrible thing Ransom does (he’s controlling, he doesn’t want me to meet with friends without permission, he tells me what I can and can’t wear, he cheats, he lies, he pushed me--)--before they get tired of you returning to him, again and again and again.

The only one who’d been texting you recently--okay, for the past year--had been Ransom. Mostly dick pics. And demands for you to send him something back, which you always did after a while, because you didn’t want to deal annoyed texts or voice messages accusing you of clearly cheating on him or hating him because why else wouldn’t you be willing to send him so much as a sexy selfie to your boyfriend? 

But in between those, there were conversations. Sometimes sweet ones, sometimes thoughtful ones that always made you remember why you fell hard for him in the first place. Late night conversations from when he was off on trips. You try not to wonder if he was fucking someone on each of these trips, if while you were sending him a late night ramble about a TV show and he was humoring you with jokes and quips, he was actually snuggled up with someone else. Laying in bed, naked, laughing at your dumb ass waiting at home.

The not-so-sweet conversations were ones that you had screenshotted and sent to your friends more than once, before they pulled themselves away. Texts asking where you were. Asking who you ate lunch with, and whether or not you were fucking them. Asking why your new office was connected to a certain co-worker’s, and how many blowjobs you had to give to get said new office because you didn’t tell him about the new office until after you were moved in, so you were clearly hiding him. Asking you to send him outfit pics so he could approve them or make you change if they were too slutty or not slutty enough or if you were only clearly wearing that halter dress to try to get with the bartender.

Yet your mind had always returned to the nice Ransom, the Ransom who made you laugh and squeezed you hard when had a shitty day of work and let you bury your face in his sweater as you snuggled on the couch. Maybe that’s why it took so long to leave.  You were waiting for him to stop being Ransom and start being the fantasy of Ransom you’d conjured in your head.

Your eyes feel heavy so you plug in your phone, turn the sound off, and lay down on the uncomfortable plastic sheet that crinkled over the pillows. It feels strange to lay on a lumpy mattress covered in plastic, after years of custom-made beds and memory foam pillows and all the other luxuries that Ransom was able to provide.

You try not to think about it too much. While you won’t exactly be indulging in all the luxuries you had with Ransom, but your job pays you well, and you won’t ever have to go back to living hand-to-mouth like you did before. You won’t have to worry about late bills and debt collectors and landlords who come late at night and demand inspections while you’re in your pajamas.

You have work in the morning. You have to get to the bank in the morning. Your thoughts are still buzzing with anxiety as you fall into an uneasy slumber.

**

“I’m sorry, but the account has been closed.”

You feel years of customer service training cracking underneath your skin. You can’t freak out. If you freak out, they won’t feel inclined to go the extra mile. You know this, from firsthand experience.

So you take a shaky breath. “Um, this just--it isn’t possible. It’s a joint account. I’m on the account. There was money in there, you can check--”

“I’m sorry, but the funds were transferred and account has been closed by the other account holder. There’s nothing I can do. I suggest contacting the other party in the account.”

You swallow and nod and walk away, this time having been smart enough to keep your sunglasses on to hide your humiliated expression. Why didn’t you insist on having your own account? Ransom said it was better to keep it joint, so you could just buy stuff whenever you wanted. You’d agreed because it was so generous, something you’d never thought possible at the time, when you were used to having to pay overdraft fees and cringing whenever you checked your balance.

Your fingers tremble as you bring up his contact on your phone. You tap. No answer.

You don’t have time to call him two, three, ten times--you have to get to work. So you steady your nerves. You breathe in, you breathe out. You get in your car and plug your phone in and decide to contact your lawyer. Fuck--your lawyer was Ransom's lawyer. But the anxiety eases when you remember that you’d paid him a retainer fee months ago, and Ransom couldn’t do anything about that. You could at least get a basic consult out of the retainer.

The call ringing sounds muffled through your car’s speaker but it isn’t long before someone answers, and you’re transferred to the lawyer Ransom insisted you have--gotta have a lawyer when you have money, babe--and that you hadn’t spoken to in ages.

“Hi,” you say, voice artificially bright, “this is--”

You don’t get a chance to finish.

“I know who this is.” The lawyer sounds tired, and his tone is curt and clipped. “I’m sorry. I’m no longer able to provide you with any legal counsel.”

You almost miss a red light and regret calling the office while you were driving.

“Is this about the debit card? Because I paid the retainer months ago--”

“The retainer has been refunded into the connected checking account.”

Your voice looses its artificial cheeriness and you stumble over your words in frustration. “That’s--it’s--it was a joint account, which is why I called, Ransom drained it and took everything. Isn’t there something we can do, because that was my money too and--”

“I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel.”

You want to cry. You hate crying, as an adult. It makes you feel weak. Especially on the phone.

“I don’t understand. Why was the retainer refunded? Did--did someone call you?”

He clears his throat into the phone. “I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel. Goodbye.”

He hangs up. Your hands shake.

You pull into the parking lot of your work and park the car and as soon as you do, you hunch yourself over the steering wheel and simply shake in frustration.

You have no bank account. Ransom drained it. You have no credit cards. Ransom blocked them. You couldn’t even talk to a lawyer, because--shock--Ransom made sure you couldn’t. Everything was in Ransom’s name. He insisted on adding you to his accounts, closing out your own paltry ones; insisted that he pay off your credit card debt, and making you close those, too, instead adding you to his cards. It was all to help you out, he said, at the time.

Wasn’t it? He was shockingly not judgmental about the state of your finances, and while you’d put up some protest, you didn’t exactly argue with him when he suggested wiping your debts clean and getting your credit back up. And considering that he wasn’t immune to needing a bail-out now and then (late night calls to his grandfather, snarky comments at his parent’s dinner table, come to mind) maybe he could sympathize with being in over your head. Even if your issues were rooted in poverty and shitty jobs and his were rooted in a total lack of financial discipline and, as you’d later found out, a drug addiction.

Still. He helped you before. He would help you now, once he realized how serious it was. For now he was just--reacting like an asshole, acting childish and ridiculous. He was an asshole. You know this. You’ve known this. You need to call him and meet with him and make him realize how ridiculous he’s being, and he’ll sigh and snark but he’ll agree to stop acting like such an ass.

But first you have to work. Life goes on. Even without Ransom--even with Ransom, screwing you over out of pettiness.

The air conditioning in the lobby is on blast, and the familiar smell of clean furniture and floor cleaner from the late-night cleaning crew is surprisingly comforting. Here, you can forget about Ransom--forget about the cards and the lawyer and the fact that your life has been upended in mere hours. If only until your lunch break, at least.

Anthony is working the front desk and you give him a a soft, if strained smile. There’s something in the smile that he gives you in return that reminds you of the hotel clerk. Sympathetic and judgmental.

Ah. You probably look like--well, less than your best, you realize. You did pack some toiletries in your suitcase but the water in the motel had streaks of brown and you didn’t shower, opting instead to rinse your face with what was left of a water bottle you’d bought earlier and layering on more deodorant to make up for the lack of a proper scrub. You probably looked a bit tired, haggard, not unlike some of the employees who got stuck with big clients the night before their paperwork was due.

Still. Nothing that freshening up in your private bathroom--thank god for the new office--can’t help. So you hit the button on the elevator and take deep breaths as you ride up, intent on working as productively as possible. The doors open and you navigate the familiar maze of open-plan desks for the lower-tier workers, desks surrounded by half-walls that always kept you staring straight ahead, lest you accidentally glance over and see a co-worker picking their nose.

Yet as you weave in-and-out of the familiar rows, heading towards the back of the room where the real offices, the ones with full walls and doors and privacy glass lay, you can’t help but feel that something is… off. 

No one calls out to greet you, though that can be easily attributed to the jealousy over your promotion. You’d been working there for far less than most of the lower level workers--Ransom got you the job, with his connections and a hefty revision of your resume and, you assume, some personal phone calls--and you’d already been promoted to senior management. That wasn’t technically Ransom’s work, though. That was all your own effort, your own blood, sweat, tears and intense devotion to each project that came your way. Sure, the connections he helped you make, the dinner parties, all that helped--but if it weren’t for your skills, the connections wouldn’t have made a difference. Right? 

Still, whatever bitterness existed in the people hunch in open-air cubicles, the receptionists always greeted you. But today they caught your eye then awkwardly glanced down, or pretended to be looking for something in their drawers. It was odd. Did you look that bad? That out of sorts?

You shake off the heavy feeling in your stomach and for once, you shut the door to your office instead of keeping it open for passers-by or people needing approval for this-and-that. It feels good to lean against the solid wood door and take a breath, a deep one, invigorating and calming.

A quick trip to the bathroom has you staring at yourself from all angles. You don’t look that bad, you reason. Just tired. But who wouldn’t be, sleeping on a plastic sheet in the shittiest motel in the area? You take a quick sniff under your arms but even that reveals nothing much but a faint hint of sweat and powdery deodorant.

There’s a firm knock at your office door and you glance at the mirror for a final once over before opening it up. It’s your boss. Did you have a meeting? You try to do a mental scan of something you’ve missed, but nothing comes to mind.

“Hi,” you say, wavering with uncertainty at the threshold. Should you invite him in? “What can I do for you? We didn’t have a meeting, did we?” You let yourself chuckle, dry and quick. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit scattered this morning.”

Your boss doesn’t return your chuckle, which immediately raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Something was wrong. Shit--you were working on a major project for a seriously important client. The type of client that could genuinely make or break a company, if you got on their bad side. You press your lips together and make a silent vow to keep it serious.

“I’d like to keep this conversation private.” His tone is low and serious and you invite him in without a second thought, shutting the thick door behind you, trying to ignore the way everyone was shooting glances as it closed. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your thoughts race--no wonder everyone was giving you the stink eye. Something was wrong with the client, and you were the one making primary contact with them.

Your boss takes a seat on the leather sofa pushed up against the wall and you immediately set yourself down behind your desk.

He sighs. Short. Frustrated. Annoyed.

“We have to let you go.”

The words don’t register.

“Go where?”

It’s only after you say it that you realize what he said, what it meant, and you feel like a colossal moron in every respect.

“It’s not working out,” he continues, staring at your desk and not at your face. “Since you’ve only been in this position for a month, you don’t quality for senior severance. The best we can do is to pay you what you’ve earned this week.”

Your mouth is so dry that you don’t know if you can talk. Your hand fumbles on your desk for a water bottle you’d left overnight, and that’s when you see it--the photo frame. You keep a photo of yourself and Ransom, cuddled together for a selfie, on your desk. The photo was lying on your desk, frameless, ripped in half--leaving only your vacantly smiling face staring up at you.

Ransom was here.

“Did he put you up to this?” You whisper. “Did Ransom tell you to fire me?”

You know he won’t answer. But you stare at him so fervently that he can’t help but look up at you, and you see it all in his eyes, in the subtle, embarrassed expression of his face.

You can imagine Ransom strolling in--maybe he called first--and settling in for a private audience with your boss in his office. He’d probably pull the chair up to the desk and put his feet on it, just to be an ass. Then he’d bring up… you. And why you had to be let go. Did he give a reason, did he tell your boss why a respected employee who he once secured a position for, who shot up the ranks through intense effort and work, needed to be fired? Did he even need to give a reason?

“This is absolute bullshit,” you say, finally, voice dry and hoarse and bitter. You want to say you’ll be contacting a lawyer. That this won’t stand. But you know--and he knows--that there’s nothing you can do.

Your boss stands, slow, and sighs again. “I’m sorry it had to end this way. Pack up your things as quickly as possible.”

He leaves, and you keep your eyes trained on the ripped photograph to avoid seeing the expressions of the people in the doorway before your boss mercifully shuts the door.

It takes all of your effort not to cry.

You don’t have much effort left.

**

Your things consisted of a handful of personal items, little touches you’d brought in to make your office feel more like “you.” A nice picture print. A pastel afghan to drape over the couch. A stapler with a floral design. You have the strong urge to dump them in a trash can, but that’s quickly quelled by the realization that you can’t afford to buy new things, or any things, at this point.

You don’t care if wearing your sunglasses as you power walk to the elevators makes you look stupid. You know someone, somewhere in this office is filming you and probably captioning it with something stupid to post to their Reels or TikTok, and it just makes you leave faster. A few people murmur comments your way, sympathetic in tone, but you’re not really listening. None of their platitudes matter, because Ransom was here, in your workplace, in your office, and he stole the thing you were most proud of from under your feet.

To his credit, when you reach the bottom floor, Anthony practically fumbles out from behind his desk and holds the door open for you. He mouths a “Sorry” and he probably is, but he’s probably used to dealing with rich assholes like Ransom who get what they want, when they want it; even when what they want is to fire a good employee on demand for very personal reasons.

The sun is beating down hard, even for the morning, and the stress of your situation makes you blast the air conditioning as soon as you get in the car. God, the car--how are you going to afford the payments? You wish you could call your mom. You wish your friends--are they even your friends, anymore?--would call you back.

You grab your phone from your purse and stare at the black screen. Maybe you should call the friend who didn’t block you. She would answer, if you called, because she knew you didn’t make calls unless it was serious. She might not rush to your side, but maybe she can offer you a place to stay, a couch, some advice. A kind word would do, right now, with how much anxiety and frustration has been packed into the last 12 hours.

But when you unlock your screen, your gut sinks. Five missed calls. From the storage company. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You tap their number and bring the phone to your ear and pretend that your hands aren’t shaking.

The man who answers is the same one you talked to on the phone before, when setting up your move. “Hello, Move’nSecure Storage Company. This is Steve speaking. How many I help you?”

“Hi Steve!” You hate how chipper you sound. “I actually just got a few missed calls from you guys, I’m sorry, I was in the office and--”

“Oh.” His voice is surprisingly flat, suddenly flat, losing its customer service inflection in an instant before picking it back up. “Yes. We’ve been trying to reach you. For confirmation, the storage locker your purchased is A443, correct?”

You fumble in your purse for the receipt and confirm the little numbers printed neatly on the paper. “Yes, A443. Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” You’re grateful that you didn’t have much for breakfast because you know it would be clawing its way back up at this point. “The card you gave us for the storage fee was declined.”

The debit card. You’d paid in cash for the move, and paid for 1 month of storage with the card. The card that was now useless, connected to an empty and closed bank account.

“Is there another card you can give us?”

“No, but...” You say, because no, there is not. There is not a card. There is not a job. There is nothing. “But if you could just hold my stuff, I’ll be there in less than a hour to get it.”

“We don’t hold items,” Steve tells you, a rehearsed banality to his tone. “Your items are currently outside the unit.”

You instinctively want to yell at Steve but, fuck fuck fuck, you’ve been there, behind the counter, dealing with people who couldn’t pay for shit and then had the nerve to get upset with you. “All of it?” You ask, your voice cracking slightly.

“Yes.”

You hang up, and toss your phone onto the passenger seat. The quicker you get there, the less chance that something will get broken or stolen or who knows what else.

The trip to the storage unit seems to take forever, and when you arrive you don’t even take a second to lock your car doors. Instead you sprint inside, startling Steve--looking at his phone, then at you, then at the sign plastered up on the wall leading to the storage locker floors. He points. Row A, separated into 100s, 200s, 300s, and--your number--400s.

You don’t remember if you say ‘thank you,’ because you’re speed-walking down the hallway and following the signs and it isn’t long before you see it: a storage locker with tons of stuff piled up, dumped, outside the now-empty unit where it was supposed to be safe and sound. Waiting for you to get an apartment and pick it back up and rearrange it into your new life, your new “you.”

The problem is immediate: You can’t fit all this in your car. You don’t know anyone who could take the stuff for you. You mind reels for options and the only thing you can come up with is ferrying your belongings to and from the hotel. You can pay for a few more days once you cash your partial paycheck. After that… you don’t know.

Pawn your things? Yeah. That might work. You can get enough cash by pawning most of your stuff, the good stuff. Enough money to get you into a shitty apartment with leaks and a bad landlord. Then you can a job that barely pays rent and you’ll be right back where you started, before you met Ransom. Before you thought leaking ceilings and $20 paychecks after taxes were a thing of the past.

You ignore the humiliation that makes your stomach curl as you take your things out to the car, handful by handful. Steve doesn’t bother holding the door open for you. You mention that you’re going to be back on your way out, and he offers a non-committal hum.

At least when you get to the hotel, the owner sees you fumbling with boxes and offers to help you out. It takes less time with two hands to get everything in the room, and once it’s locked up you head back out to the storage units.

You keep your sunglasses on for the second trip into the storage unit, even though you don’t know Steve or care what he thinks. He doesn’t look up when you walk in and it’s just as well, since you’re only heading back to the A-400s and don’t need his non-existent help.

But the sight that greets you when you round the corner to your unpaid-for storage locker makes your blood run cold.

Your stuff is gone. All of it.

You rush back to the desk, where Steve does look up, startled by your urgency.

“My stuff,” you spit out, “My stuff is gone! Someone took it!”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry.” He points to a sign behind him: “We are not responsible for the loss of items inside or outside storage lockers.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” You can’t the anger in your voice this time. “You just watched someone walk off with my stuff and didn’t say anything?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “If it was that important, you shouldn’t have left it here. Or you should have given us another card.”

You feel like throwing your hands up but you just clench your fist and storm out the door, huffing as you reach your car. The anger melts into the sense of loss, the realization that you only have a few meager items that you’d managed to collect; you picked the lightest stuff, first. And in retrospect it was things that didn’t matter much at all. Clothes. Hair supplies. Makeup. You should have grabbed the box with your USB sticks, your memory cards, your photo albums; your personal mementos and sentimental shit. Instead you grabbed the box with your shampoo.

At least the clothes might get something in a pawnshop. The makeup, too, on Facebook or Depop or Instagram. But it wouldn’t be enough to put you up in an apartment. You’ll have to live in your car. Until they repossess it for lack of payment.

You don’t have your bank account, your credit cards, your job, a place to stay, or your personal possessions. And soon, you won’t have your car.

You have no friends. No boyfriend. No family.

All you have $20 left in your wallet and well, fuck it. You grab some McDonalds on the way home because, fuck it, and eat all the fries before you make it to the motel. The thought of eating in your dirty room makes your stomach turn and you decide to eat everything else you bought, the burger and the shake and the chicken nuggets too, tossing the wrappers on the floor. It feels like deja vu--getting cheap fast food to make you feel full, tossing trash on the floor of the passenger seat, all bringing back the way you used to when you’d grab something from the dollar menu on your way to work at the call center.

You almost wish you could stay at this hotel, brown water and all. The owner is decently nice. He smiles at you when you enter and doesn’t bring up that you didn’t come back with more boxes, like you said you would.  

You’re surprised at how grateful you feel for the dingy hotel room now that you won’t be able to stay here more than another day. Now that the alternative is sleeping in your car, then sleeping on the street, if you were lucky.

Your phone feels heavy when you set it on the table and stare at the home screen. Another photo of you and Ransom stares back up at you. You haven’t had time to change it up yet. He’s grinning. You’re smiling. It’s a good photo. You try to place it in your memory, try to remember what beach that was, but your trips blur together and you can’t.

Should you call him? If it was just the cards, just him being petty over credit and finances, it was one thing. You could try to placate him with returning gifts, just asking him to give you what you put in from your own paychecks. But making you lose your job? It was too far, too fucking far. And there was no going back from that. Fuck, someone was probably moving into your office as you sat in this dimly lit room mourning the loss of your entire life.

For a brief, very fleeting moment, you consider calling Harlan. You weren’t exceptionally close, but he seemed to like you well enough. He’d even asked you once, puling you aside at a tension-filled family party, if Ransom treated you right, told you to tell him if he ever got to be too much. Harlan felt like Ransom’s keeper--in more ways than one. You could never tell Harlan about the shouts or the occasional bruises from when Ransom really, really lost his temper--it’s not like you could prove them, anyway, as Ransom made sure to keep you away from his family when he lost control like that. No need for excuses about running into doors when he made sure you looked your best at family functions.

But the thought of breaking the uneasy stasis that Ransom had with the most significant member of his family made you want to vomit. There would be no coming back from that, and you knew better than to cross any line involving the great Harlan Thrombey.

You could call your friend--ex-friend? The one who didn’t block you or forget your number. You should. No, you will. Because what else do you have to lose.

But before you can bring up her number, you get a text--Ransom. It’s a photo and your curiosity gets the better of you as you click the notification.

“What the fuck?”

He’s sent you a photo of his car, trunk open. It’s filled with boxes, odds-and-ends. It’s filled with your stuff.

You text him: What??

He texts back: Hey. I’m in front of the hotel. Come out? Bring your suitcase. :P

It’s your stuff. It’s his car. He’s here. All reason is thrown aside as you grab your suitcase and purse and rush down the hallway, ignoring the owner’s confused response from behind his desk as you push open the front doors and look around the parking lot.

His car is parked to the side, not in front of the hotel’s glass double doors. He’s standing outside his car, leaning against it. He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them in his pocket when he sees you approaching, face confused and fuming all at once.

“What the fuck, Ransom, what the fuck is your problem--”

“Hey, hey,” he says, hands up in defense, “You’re not even going to thank me for picking up your stuff?”

You feel suddenly, impossibly rooted to the spot.

“What do you--what? You took my stuff?”

He shrugs. “C’mon, did you really think I’d just leave your stuff in some shitty storage unit? Someone would’ve taken it if I didn’t get there first.”

You swallow. “Why?” You ask, because Ransom never does anything for no reason. Or so you’ve learned.

His expression loses a bit of its cocky casualness. He tilts his head a bit, looking at you as if you’ve asked a particularly offensive question.

“Why do you think?”

To lord it over you? To make you think your stuff was gone and make you worried, sick, crazy?

“I don’t know,” is what you settle for in the end. “I really, really don’t. You--” You lick your lips, and try to calm down, calm the pitter-patter of your heart, and think before you speak. “You’ve done some pretty messed up stuff today. My job?” The last question comes out soft and pained, and you know your eyes are starting to tear up.

“Hey.” His voice is soft and placating and it makes your stomach flip as he approaches you, standing there on the sidewalk with your purse and suitcase. “Hey, c’mon. Don’t cry on me.”

You know this Ransom. The Ransom that holds you and pets your hair and offers to get Thai food delivered even though he doesn’t like it just to make you happy.

He puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk it away. “Don’t.” That Ransom is a fantasy. Or an incomplete version, the version that pretends he doesn’t lie and cheat and hurt you in more ways than one. “Don’t you fucking dare, especially not after what you pulled today. My job? My job, Ransom? You’re a--a fucking asshole.”

He puts his hands up again, defensive, and takes a step back. But he doesn’t return to his car, and stays just a few steps in front of you.

“Look. Call me an asshole. Sure, fine, I can admit that. But do you know what else I am?”

He waits a beat, waits for you to look at him, before he continues. “I’m a realist. I like facts. And the fact is? You aren’t much without me. No job, no credit cards, no bank account. Without me, you’re just some broke chick scrambling to get an apartment in the shittiest part of town, working a dead-end job that don’t pay shit. With me though…. “

He leaves the words unfinished, but you know what he means. Flashes of your life, cocktails and smart business outfits and dinners at restaurants you didn’t even dream about attending before you met him. Phone calls with shakers in the industry and social media requests from people you’d never dream you’d meet. Connections that meant something, a career path, dinner parties with people who could offer tangible benefits to your career and your life.

It wasn’t that he spoiled you. He wasn’t a sugar daddy. You weren’t getting gifts for blowjobs. It was that his presence in your life boosted you, socially, financially, mentally, physically, in every which way possible.

His presence got you a job that you loved, which meant you weren’t burnt out when you came home, which meant that you had the time and energy to spend hours catching up on books or redecorating the house or watching movies. Good money meant you could order in whenever you felt like it, meant you didn’t have to worry if you burned dinner because you could just buy new steaks or order-in or go out, last minute, and still get a great table. It meant you had all the clothes you wanted, stylish and personally tailored; it meant you had easy access to a gym and exercise equipment and an indoor pool to keep you healthy. It meant you had a life that provided comfort in every way possible.

Being with Ransom Drysdale was like… like a little shot of privilege directly into your arm.

Privilege that he took away just as easily as he gave it. Just as easily as you took it. Just as easily as you took it and eagerly ignored the dark side underneath. Or maybe you didn’t ignore it. Maybe you liked it, maybe it reminded you of who you were underneath the designer clothes and expensive dinners.

Maybe you wanted to fix him, like he fixed you? He wasn’t totally bad, after all, he did make sure no one took your belongings. Maybe it was your presence that gave him the idea for that touch of sympathy, maybe with Ransom change was slow and muddled, not picture-perfect sweeping changes like the kind in movies.

“So?” Ransom’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Are you going to come home or,” he waves his hands around dismissively, at the hotel, at you.

You feel very, very less-than right now. You look awful, your hair mussy and your makeup mostly melted off with sweat and sun. You probably smell more than you normally do, thanks to the lack of a shower. Your muscles, sore from the motel bed, ache for the large spa bathtub that Ransom had installed in the master bathroom just for you, stocked with bubbles and salts and overpriced bath bombs that were $10 a pop.

But your muscles had hurt before, when he pushed you against the dresser.

You have nothing, and no one. Except Ransom. Ransom who didn’t judge you when you instinctively saved plastic bottles and boxes, but merely nudged you towards recycling and took you out to splurge on a reusable water bottle and proper storage containers the next day. Ransom who asked you what sort of job you wanted, really wanted, and made it happen for you. Ransom who shrugged and wiped away your credit card debt without making you feel like shit.

Ransom who didn’t let you leave the house if your wrists were sporting fingerprint shaped bruises. Ransom who argued with you about talking to men, even men at work. Ransom who held you tight at night and said he never wanted to let you go, and wouldn’t you just make a fine-ass addition his crazy family. Ransom who took care of you, now that you had no one else.

“What do you want me to do?” The words feel slow, sluggish. Like they wanted to stick to the roof of your mouth and it took everything in you to get them out.

His voice turns low and serious as he stares at you with an characteristic expression. “Well, the first thing is to get down on your knees…”

You feel your eyes practically bugging out.

“What the fuck, Ransom?”

He laughs. He always did have a nice laugh.

“I’m just messing with you, Jesus. Take a chi-I-il pill. Just grab your purse and come sit your sweet ass in the front seat. Let’s go get some burgers, I’m starving.”

Your legs feel like jelly when you take that first step, and the sound of your roller suitcase as you pull it along seems louder than ever. Ransom pops the truck and you just manage to fit it inside with the handle closed, jamming it in between some boxes at an odd angle. The handle of the passenger side is familiar, warm from the sun.

You open the door and practically shove yourself into the seat, closing the door as fast as possible. You can’t do more than glance at him as humiliation and anxiety and just the smallest bit of relief washes over you. It’s been less than 24 hours since you broke up, and here you are--again.

He’s staring at you quietly, his expression difficult to place. He looks relieved. He looks annoyed. He looks like he wants to kiss you. He looks like he wants to slap you. Maybe he wants to do it all at once and can’t decide which to pick.

Instead, he puts his hand on your thigh. Gives it a squeeze. Hard, bordering on painful.  He’s staring straight ahead, at the worn-out sign on the hotel’s front door, one hand gripping the flesh of your thigh. He looks good in profile. “Don’t ever try to pull something like that again. I mean it. I really mean it.”

You turn, glance out the window, familiar tears at the edge of your eyes.

“I won’t,” you whisper, dreaming of the tub and bubbles and how good a warm soak will feel on your back, on your thighs, on your soul.

“Good girl,” he says, patting your thigh firmly. He plucks his sunglasses out of pocket and puts them on in a smooth motion. The car starts smoothly, its fine-tuned and expensive engine a familiar sound, and your hands feel robotic as you pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it tight.

“Let’s get dinner and get home. You have some unpacking to do.”

[nightowlfandom]

Eren Yeager- The Right Type Of Wrong (Part 2/2)

CHECKOUT MY MASTERLIST HERE!

2/2 LEGGO BITCH

Like I said this is half AU/Half Not Really

Leggo!

...

(FLASHBACK)

“What do you think is outside the wall?” you asked innocently. You and Eren had snuck out after curfew (before you were granted immunity to go/do whatever you want). You two snuck out to the tallest building and sat on the roof, staring into the night. “When this whole Titan thing is taken care of...if it ever get’s taken care of, what do you think is out there?”

“Who knows.” Eren said. “I do know this though...freedom is one hell of a drug. We’re not gonna know what to do with ourselves.” he lazily drew lines onto your hand with his fingertips. “I mean I do what I want anyways, but knowing I can do what I want without worrying about being chased around all day, it’s gonna be nice.”

“We’re gonna travel one day.” you giggled. “We’re gonna pack up everything and camp in the mountains for a few days.” you said determined. “You hear that universe! Make it happen!” you playfully threatened the night sky.

You had noticed Eren was quiet. “Hey...everything good?”

“Hm? Oh...Yeah I’m fine...just thinking...Come here.” He wrapped his arms around you and took you in a warm hug.

“Hey look!” you pointed at the sky, pointing out the brightest star. “That can be our star!” you clapped excitedly.

“Yeah...our star”

(Flashback end)

...

You tapped against the counter filled with boredom. It was 7:57 already. Three more minutes and you were out of there. You were ready to leave already. You silently hoped Eren was at least a second late so you could up and leave. 

You had no idea why you decided to dress up for this. You weren’t even the least bit excited for this. This wasn’t worth ditching your uniform, not by a longshot. Whatever Eren had to say, he had better make it quick. You hadn’t even bothered ordering a drink, you were sure your stomach couldn’t handle it in the first place. 

7:58

“Two more minutes.” you mumbled to yourself. “Ugh, I’m wasting my time.” you leaned against the counter, looking around the cozy looking pub. Why did you even agree to this!? Were you stupid?

Yes, yes you were.

7:59...

“Alright, I’m out of here.” you scoffed. “Wasting my god-damn time.”

“I believe I still had one minute left.” a voice startled you. “How rude.”

“We’ll you and timing aren’t exactly the best of friends, you can’t blame me for thinking the worst.” you replied, turning towards Eren. 

“Sorry, darling. Car needed gas but I’m here now, aren’t I?” He winked, taking a seat next to you. “Hey Barkeep! Get me my usual! Hope you can still hold your liquor.” 

“What do you think.” you yawned. “We’re here to talk...”

“Can’t we catch up first?” he feigned hurt. “Damn Y/N, I haven’t even been back a day and you’re already eager to get rid of me...how you been?”

“Busy.” you huffed. “Training, teaching, and fighting.” you replied. “Not in that particular order.”

“Hm...any boyfriend to speak of?”

“No.” you cut him off. “I haven’t had time for dating...”

“Oh, really?” he smirked. “Wonder why that would be.”

“You know why...” you snapped. “No guy that knows you has even tried to come near me, and incase you haven’t noticed, is pretty much everyone.”

“Oh baby, I’m just messing with you.” he threw an arm around your waist. “I know you could never be with anyone else.” he kissed the side of your head. 

“Where were you?” you narrowed your eyes. 

“...I had to leave.” Eren replied, suddenly glowering. “I had some thinking to do...I had to get myself together.” he took his arm back, leaning on the counter. “I wanted to tell you-”

“This one’s on me Eren, welcome back.” the bartender came back with two glasses and stalked off. He gave you a short look, almost asking with his own eyes, ‘Are you sure about this guy?”

“Yet you didn’t, you didn’t tell me.” you ignored him and rolled your eyes focusing back on Eren. “So what is it, then?” you raised an eyebrow. “You left, so why did you come back? Care to enlighten me on why you didn’t stay gone? You left every single one of your peers behind and for what? Why didn’t you stay in the hole you crawled into!” you got louder and louder, not caring if the other patrons could hear. “Care to explain?”

“I came back because of you, Y/N.” he replied. “I wanted to better myself...for you...I just hope it isn’t too late.”

“Bullshit.” you laughed harshly, taking the glass off the counter. “If you wanted to escape the corps, just say that.” you boredly drank. “You don’t have to tell me some dumbass story.”

“I didn’t want to escape the corps.” he denied the idea. “I’m being honest, Y/N.”

“If there’s one thing I know about you...it’s that when you say you’re being honest, I have to assume the opposite.” you sighed.

“You have to believe me.” he raised his hand to caress your cheek. “You know I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Trust me, I believe a lot of things about you and I definitely don’t know what you would and wouldn’t do to me.” you huffed, placing the glass back on the counter. “I believe that you’re a selfish little-”

You didn’t have time to finish your insult because Eren swooped in and kissed you. Like he used to, he rested his palm on the base of your neck while he slithered his other arm around your waist. You practically melted into his touch, ignoring the disapproving glares of the other patrons. They’d never try to pull you apart though. Eren pulled away, still holding you. 

“That’s not fair.” you pouted, feeling your old self reach the surface. “You can’t do that.”

“You missed me.” he ignored your complaints. “You so fucking missed me.”

“Maybe a little...” you gave in. “Maybe a lot.”

“Good...good girl.”

“You left me.” you clenched your jaw, trying not to let your emotions show. “With a fucking note, Eren.”

“Yet you’re still wearing the dog-tags I left with said note.” he smirked at the chain that was peeking out from your jacket. You were sure you managed to hide them well. 

Eren found the necklace when he was out battling a titan once, it had burped out the necklace and he didn’t see the point in leaving it...so he took it, polished it and kept it. (Yo if this is offensive I am soooo sorry dude.)

He would up getting it engraved before he left it for you, like that would help.

Then again you wore them everywhere you went...so who was the moron?

“S-shut up...” you felt your face heat up violently.

... (NSFW themes ahead)

Your back hit the seat with a thud as Eren crawled over you, slamming the car door behind him. 

You were used to being acquainted with the backseat of Eren’s cars (whether they were his or not.) Your lips crashed together as he pinned your arms above your head. 

“Eren, we’re still in public!” you moaned as he trailed his mouth down your jawline. “I’m pretty sure people know what we’re doing here.” you whimpered.

“So? They sure as fuck won’t try and stop us.” he laughed. “Fuck I missed you, I missed you too much.” he groaned. “I thought about you every fucking day I was gone.” He ghosted his fingers under your shirt. “The only thing keeping me going was coming back for you.” he kissed up your exposed stomach, trailing his tongue along your scorching hot skin. “All our memories.” He bit his lip.

“Memories?”

“Remember when we used to fuck on that asshole Ackerman’s desk when he wasn’t there?”

“Yeah?” you trailed off. “Then we almost got caught -”

“Remember when you sucked my dick under the tables at our meetings and no one suspected a thing?”

“Eren, that’s so dirty.” you shyly covered your face with your hands.

“Remember when we’d fuck in the alleyways when we were supposed to be on guard, or all times we’d sneak out after curfew to do what we’re doing right now?” he bought up all the memories. He laced his fingertips into yours. “I don’t think that pussy of yours forgot...” he laughed darkly. “If I recall you convinced me a few times.” 

Eren kissed you again as he lifted your shirt over your head. “I stared at our star every night, wishing I could be closer to you.” he spoke in hushed tones. “Fuck Y/N, I missed you.” he groaned. 

You frantically unbuttoned his shirt, feeling his warm body collide with yours. The small space in the back seat only forced your two to get closer.

...

You laid on his check, basking in the afterglow of this moment. His chest rose and fell gracefully. His heart was racing...yours was too. 

Your clothes are thrown in the front seat with the exception of his jacket which was being used as a mini blanket to cover your back. 

“ We shook the car.” Eren commented with a laugh. “I’m sure people know what we’ve been up to.” 

“So what happens now?” you breathlessly asked.

“Well...I’m gonna get yelled at by Ackerman...probably get my ass kicked by our friends. Rejoin the corps...” he listed. 

“So you’re staying permanently?” You looked up at him, a glint of hope in your eye. 

“Of course.” he winked. “Course I gotta stay. Show these losers who the best titan killer is...and I don’t want you to think I don’t care about you.” he tightened his arms around you.

“Good...because if you leave me again...we’re done for good.”

“Ouch...what happened to my innocent Y/N?” he scoffed with laughter.

“I took a page out of your book.” you giggled before giving out a long yawn. 

You soon fell asleep to the sound of Eren breathing. 

[angelswatchingover]

Because we need the story of how Dean got those Scooby-Doo boxers. Enjoy 😍

ao3 link

They’re lost in another goddamned big box store when it happens. It was supposed to be a quick supply run; straight to the back of the store where they keep the ammo, car wax, wooden stakes (well, technically gardening supplies but no one has to know that those things end up broken down, sharpened, soaked in whatever nasty blood kills the monster of the week, and stabbed straight through something’s chest), and of course salt and lots of it. Why the hell are all these stores arranged differently? And seriously, there’s nothing “super” about this fluorescent lit suburban hellscape.

They’ve just navigated their way through the kitchen supplies (where Dean may or may not have thrown a few pickle patterned pot holders into the cart) then crafts (where Cas seemed to linger a weirdly long time at the wall full of a rainbow of soft yarn) when Dean remembers they need more socks. For too many years he lived with monster-gut stains and holes in the toes but now that they have a real home and Charlie’s magic credit cards of infinity, he’s never going to back to that. In fact, he’s even let himself indulge a little. Christ, he now owns tailored suits, clothing that doesn’t have that purchased-at-Goodwill smell, and a growing collection of novelty sleep pants (it wasn’t so long ago that he never had clothes specifically for sleeping and half the time didn’t even get his boots off before crashing, fully clothed, onto some gross, creaky motel bed). How times have changed.

He makes a bee-line for men’s clothing, Cas following closely behind pushing the overflowing cart (Cas has super-human strength and doesn’t get tired, so sue him for taking a little advantage of that and letting him push the cart and pick up the 40 pound bags of salt – not to mention that part might be a little hot but he’s keeping that to himself). He finds the giant sized bags of socks and turns around to do a 3 pointer toss into the cart but is surprised to see Cas not right behind him. He looks around for his friend but no luck so decides to retrace his steps. Not two aisles over is where he finds Cas, frozen, staring so intently at a display he wouldn’t be surprised to see it burst into flames.

“Uh, Cas… what-“ he starts before his eyes follow Cas’ to the underwear wall.

“Its,” Cas begins before looking up and making eye contact with Dean, “my friends.”

And sure enough, right there is a 3-pack of cotton boxer briefs with the faces of Scooby-Doo and Shaggy smiling up at them. Cas said they were his “friends” and Dean can’t help the grin that begins to take over his face. Fuck yeah! They are literally friends with his childhood heroes, the Scooby gang and he remembers how Cas bonded with Shag and Scoob and hugged them with one of the biggest smiles he’d ever seen on the guy’s face. Yeah, he may have killed Hitler, but his best friend saved Shaggy’s life (he guesses – that is if he can really be considered alive in the first place since he is, in fact, a cartoon). That’s pretty freaking awesome!

“You want ‘em?” Dean asks Cas, raising his eyebrows encouragingly.

“I don’t…” he answers slowly. “I don’t change clothing.”

Dean rolls his eyes, “Don’t doesn’t mean can’t. You wanna have a little fun and change it up, go ahead. I won’t tell anyone,” he chuckles.

Cas tilts his head, thinking, “Like you with your lace and satin panties?”

Dean nearly chokes and hisses, “Fucking hell! Yes. Could you maybe announce that a little louder? Christ!”

Nodding slowly, Cas answers, “My apologies, although there is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Jesus, we’re getting them. OK? You don’t wear ‘em I will.”  Dean grumbles and grabs that bag of Scooby-Doo underwear and the bag of baby Yoda ones beside it for good measure. Go big or go home, right? Thank god Sam isn’t here for this. He ran across the street to grab takeout while Dean and Cas did the supply run. Dean wouldn’t be able to stand the earnest heart-eyes his brother gets when he looks between Cas and himself when shit like this happens.

Cas watches him shove the bags in the cart just behind the premium motor oil (because Baby deserves some pampering too) and slowly brings his eyes up to Dean’s as a sincere smile paints over his face. And Dean really hopes the heat in his own face isn’t making it as red as it feels (that always makes his damn freckles stand out and he hates it).

“I’d like to see you in them,” Cas answers and dammit, he can’t just say shit like that when they are in public!

Dean rolls his eyes and shakes his head affectionately, “You’re a fucking freak, you know that? C’mon, you weirdo.” And he turns and heads towards the checkout, not looking back, but he can feel Cas behind him smiling, the cocky bastard.

But when they get home that night, of course, Dean puts them on before bed and freaking revels in the look on Cas’ face as he craws across the bed and straddles his lap and the soft snort he gets from Cas is worth all the awkward embarrassment from the store earlier. And when Cas flips them both over and he wraps his long legs around his waist, both devolving into a fit of laughter, he never imagined that a stupid pair of cartoon boxer briefs would somehow be just as fun as the pink lace panties hidden in the far corner of his dresser.

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Not Your Type

Steve Harrington x Reader

Read part 2 HERE

Word Count: 6,669

Warnings: Swearing, Smoking, Drinking, Sexual Assault mention

Tag List: @carolimedanvers @moonstruckhargrove @denimjacketkisses @hotstuffhargrove @thechickvic @alex--awesome--22 @hipsmcgee @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @so-not-hotmess @balladblood @ashescilev 

“You’re not her type, Steve.” 

“You can’t say that till she meets me.”

The two had been arguing for days on the subject, without a clear answer in sight. Robin had promised, after weeks of watching Steve fail at getting girls, first at Scoops Ahoy and now at Family Video, to introduce him to a girl. Not just any girl, a girl like her. Steve had finally admitted that Dustin was right and he needed to go after girls who could make him genuinely happy, not just a girl who fit his popular mindset. He had tried his luck with Robin, and easily accepted the loss due to her own sexuality, and now he was set to try again. And Robin had been hyping up this friend of hers for weeks. She was cool and funny and smart like her and she was straight. That was all he was looking for. Whoever she was, she sounded perfect. 

But Robin was holding out on him.

His turned halfway to look at her, leaning his elbows on the counter to watch her shelf VHS tapes of music videos by the checkout line. She kept her back to him, rolling her eyes at his last comment. He was so pig headed most of the time, it was honestly annoying.

“Robin, you made this big deal about her, you said she was perfect, that I’d want to marry her on sight, and now you’re holding out. You gonna tell me what the deal is or not?” he asked with a brutal sigh. 

Robin didn’t turn around “Look, I might have...overhyped her a bit...like she’s amazing but she might...not be interested.” she said, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, turning to look at him with an embarrassed grimace.

“What?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Look...she likes Billy Idol types. She probably would’ve gotten along with Billy Hargrove if...well, you know.” Robin said, trailing off at the end. Both nodded softly, Robin swallowing as if her throat was dry. Maybe it was, the memory was certainly hard to swallow and even harder to forget.

“Right...so?” 

Robin scoffed “You’re too squeaky clean for her.” 

Steve slapped his hand on the counter, his hair bouncing excitedly with the quick movement “Oh come on! Do you remember me? I’m Steve ‘Hair’ Harrington! I was the coolest guy at Hawkins High.” he puffed up his chest proudly, like a peacock.

“And the most modest.” Robin stood up, dusting off her knees from grim from the carpets sticking to her bare skin. The only perk of working at Family Video was the lax dress code. The store’s air conditioning had broken in June and had turned the place into an oven with its big windows that couldn’t be shaded to hide the marquees and cardboard cutouts in the windows. Keeping the front door open and wearing as little as possible helped. 

“But seriously, Steve, I don’t want you to get your hopes up about her. She might not be interested.” Robin replied, planting her hands on her hips.

“I got it, now when can I meet her?” Steve asked.

Luckily for him, you were already on your way.

You had no idea why Robin had been so insistent on you visiting her at work. She never had been before, she’d made you promise not to visit her at Scoops, which was strange since you only worked a floor above at Claire’s, piercing children’s ears with ugly silver butterflies and flowers, only for them to buy big plastic hoops and balls to shove into the unprepared holes and get them totally infected. It was fun, you got to use a piercing gun. You’d almost gotten fired for trying to pierce your nose with the gun. You were glad that you didn’t, it would’ve totally ruined your nostril, but you wouldn’t pretend that it wasn’t totally worth it to see the look on your fat manager, Marge’s face. She was such a bitch, you were glad when that damn mall burned down. The one in Carmel was better anyway.

When Robin insisted on you coming to Family Video to meet her for her lunch break, you weren’t insanely apprehensive about it. It wasn’t until her tone changed when she mentioned meeting her coworker and friend that you started getting that sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach. She was trying to set you up with someone. Again. She always did this when she wanted something. Last time she did it, it was with that awful Keith to try to get him to give her his poster from The Godfather, which he’d nicked from the back storage at The Hawke while it was still open. Whatever she wanted, you weren’t going to be used to get it. 

Still, you showed up. You promised that you would after all, and you were a person of your word. Parking your car in front of the store, you saw the almost empty parking lot and the wide open door signaling the open store. You sighed softly to yourself, grabbing your purse off the seat next to you and stringing it over your shoulder, popping the door and climbing out.

“Robin? You here?” you called as you walked in.” the store was empty and far too quiet for your liking.

“Welcome to Family Video, where we bring movie magic to you! Can I help you with anything today?” Steve asked from the counter, startling you. You practically jumped out of your skin, your hand coming to clutch at your heart as you whipped around to meet the soft expression of Steve Harrington. He looked slightly bemused, clearly trying to not laugh at your over the top reaction. You rolled your eyes, walking up to the desk.

“Is Robin here? Robin Walker.” you asked, looking him over with a calculating eye.

“Yeah, she’s just in the back, wait here.” Steve stepped out from behind the desk, pulling at his stiff, polyester golf shirt. The shirt was so white and blindingly bright that it hurt to look at, but the large black logo for the store broke it up enough to make it easier to watch Steve leave as it was to watch him walk away. 

Steve didn’t even make it all the way to the stockroom before Robin emerged, already changed out of her uniform and was grinning like an idiot. “Hey! You made it just in time!” she said, tossing you her purse and sweater. You caught them easily, relieved to see your friend and get out of there. 

“Steve, this is my friend Y/N. Y/N, you know Steve, right?” Robin said, gesturing between them with her now free hands. 

“What up, Harrington?” you asked boredly, crossing your arms over your chest.

Robin gritted her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut and pulling her lips into a straight line. This is exactly what she thought would happen. Every time she’d introduced you to someone, no matter how genuine she was being, you turned into a brick fortress, completely impenetrable. Gone was your bubbly, snarky personality and quick wit, replaced by sneers and eye rolls and sarcasm. You weren’t nice or warm or open when you met the boys Robin decided you’d like. You weren’t yourself.

This wasn’t you. Robin knew it, she was certain that deep down you knew it. But Steve didn’t know it. Robin was certain that he had no idea who you were. And that made it worse. He had no background to you other than her own descriptions. And that wasn’t enough. This was not going to end well.

“You ready to grab food?” you asked, drawing Robin out of her mind.

“Huh? Oh yeah definitely. Burger in a Basket cool?” she replied, her eyes darting strangely between the pair of you.

“Sure, I’m not vegetarian this month. Accidently ate a fish stick last weekend while babysitting Todd Carther again. Total shit head but his parents pay me so much money to do it.” you replied, handing Robin’s things back to her. 

“Hasn’t he scared you off yet?” Robin asked, tying her grey sweatshirt around her hips.

“Nope, almost got me by dumping a whole jar of electric blue paint on my head. But the stuff is non-toxic so it didn’t mess up my eyes or skin and it let me know that dying my whole head blue isn’t going to be a good look for me.” you replied with a giggle, flashing a strand of faded blue hair to her. “The stupid paint did dye some of the bleach though, which totally sucks.”

“You babysit Todd Carther?” Steve asked, drawing your attention back to him and indented a hard frown onto your face. Robin caught the look and wrapped an arm tightly around your shoulders, squeezing them too hard. 

“Oh yeah, Y/N is utterly fearless.” Robin announced with a grin.

“I know his older brother Matt; wicked dude, total party animal. He threw the best parties at the end of the basketball season. Totally rad…” he trailed off with a doofy grin, clearly imagining the fun times he’d had at some shitty house party.

“I know Matt too. He groped Sylvia Newman in the middle of freshman English for a stripe of Fruit Stripe gum. He assaulted her and didn’t even get detention for it.” you replied stonily, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Oh… bummer.” Steve tried. You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “No, I’m serious. I didn’t know about that, that’s really fucked up. I don’t hang out with him anymore, but if I did I’d stop.”Steve said more confidently this time, running a hand through his overstyled hair. 

That...wasn’t the answer you were expecting. It knocked you out of your senses and you took a moment to respond. “Yeah...well I take money from his parents so I mean nobody’s perfect. And that whole family’s fucked up anyway.” Steve smiled slightly and you tried not to notice it. He just looked so proud of himself. It was almost endearing. But not enough to make you want to care.

“So, anyway, Steve? You go on break yet?” Robin asked.

Steve furrowed his brow, looking at Robin as though she’d grown a third head. Robin nodded her head towards you strangely and suddenly Steve blurted “That’s the girl? Really?”

You whipped around to look at Robin, utterly appalled. You had a sinking feeling that the whole reason you’d been invited out today was to be introduced to some guy, but you had no idea it would be so quick and for the guy to be Steve motherfucking Harrington. You couldn’t believe it. I mean he was the dumbest, more generic guy at Hawkins High. You swore he’d won the metal for stupidest questions in your Home Economics class in freshman year. He was just…such a dork! How he’d gotten so popular, you had no idea. Maybe this town was such so void of charm and charisma that even the most empty, callus boy could become a god with a wink and a smile.

“What does he mean that’s the girl?” you asked, your face pulling into a look of sheer anger that could stop a man in his tracks.

“Oh great work, Harrington, now you’ve done it.” Robin sighed, pulling her purse across her chest, smacking his arm roughly.

“Robin, what does he mean? What did you do?” you snapped, forcing her to look at you. Her face pulled into a look that you knew too well. Regret, embarrassment, and just a little bit of fear.

“I might have promised Steve that I’d introduce you to him.” You groaned loudly, your head falling back to look at the white tiled ceiling. Robin pressed on, her face turning into a look of sympathy, her smile made of rubber. “Because you’re so great! He doesn’t have many friends his own age anymore and I just thought-”

“Oh I know what you thought.” You bit out.

“Well, are you coming or not?” Robin turned to Steve, completely ignoring you.

Steve’s face turned sour and surprised and he looked between the two of you and then to the clock above you. “I mean…I kind of have some stuff to finish up here and I should really wait until Keith gets here before I go on my break…don’t want Mr. Mueller mad at me again.” He scratched the back of his neck, shrugging awkwardly.

Robin clicked her tongue “Since when do you care?” Steve simply shrugged again. “Y/N, can you wait for me outside?”

You nodded, turning on your heel and heading out just far enough to be out of sight. You wanted to hear whatever they had to say.

“Dude what the fuck? You wanted this!” Robin whispered violently.

“Yeah but I didn’t want her!” Steve replied. You didn’t see the smack, but you sure heard the sound of skin hitting skin and the embarrassing yelp Steve let out.

“Yeah well, you’re going to come with us and you’re going to be nice. Because I did this for you. And now you have to accept it.” Steve didn’t respond, which must have been a good sign for Robin.

“Remind me to never do anything nice for you ever again…” Robin muttered as their footsteps charged closer to you and you scurried out the open door, choosing to lean against the burning hot glass, crossing your arms over your chest and knocking the sunglasses from the top of your head to your face again.

“You ready to head out?” You asked, standing up straight, smiling at Robin.

“Yeah, just waiting for Harrington to put the sign.” Behind her, Steve was hanging the tiny clock shaped sign on the door, trying to figure out what time it would be when they got back.

“Just put four fifteen, Steve, Keith will be back by then and your shift will be over like immediately anyway. You clocked out, right?” Robin said quickly, turning to you to add “Keith is a menace; he doesn’t like to work with anyone and kicks everyone off the floor whenever he can.” You nodded boredly, you’d heard this when she worked with him at the arcade; she quit whereas he got fired, it was a point of bragging for her.

“Yes, Robin. I did what you said. I don’t like this idea, I need this job more than you do.” He muttered bitterly. You raised an eyebrow curiously. Bitter looked decent on him.

“Oh, will you relax? Let your hair down a bit, dingus.” Robin grinned, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. The three of you headed down the street to the cheesy diner Burger in a Basket. The whole place was themed after a fifties diner, complete with neon and pastel colours and fifties nostalgia on the walls. Bikes, hoola hoops, records, pictures of dead icons like Elvis and Marilyn Monroe, movie posters-the whole shebang. You didn’t go there for atmosphere, no, you went for the food. Robin insisted that it was the best burger she’d ever had and you’d be hard pressed to find one better in Hawkins. You didn’t know if Steve had been initiated into the burger ritual yet, but you didn’t really care.

Entering the teal and pink dining room, you nodded to the poor young thing in the giant black beehive wig and roller skates, you and Robin heading towards your normal booth. Steve followed behind, wide eyed and a little bit horror struck. You slid into the booth and grabbed the menus out of the rack at the table, handing them out wordlessly. Robin pushed Steve towards your side of the booth and he begrudgingly slid in, much to your dismay.

“You dragged me out of work…to go to a cheesy themed diner?” Steve asked incredulously.

“Just wait till you try it, Steve, it’ll change your life.” Robin said with a grin, flipping open the menu. You knew that she always ordered something different each time you came. You always ordered the same thing so you didn’t bother to open yours. Steve cautiously followed Robin’s example, flipping around with a wide eyed, innocent expression.

“Alright, welcome to Burger in a Basket, I’m Sylvia, how are you guys doing today?” the voice above you asked. You grinned as you saw Sylvia standing there in the stupid uniform. It was a comfort to know that her life was a little worse than yours. After all, she was such a bitch to you most of the time. That Matt Carther thing gave her plenty of room to get away with being a complete bitch, and it gave you something to use as a tester with guys in town. If they didn’t know who she was or they laughed, then they weren’t worth your time. Sure, you felt bad for her, but she treated you like dog shit for a year before dumping your ass to hang out with Macy Clarke and Nancy Wheeler.

“Hey Sylvia, we’re doing alright.” You said with a slight smirk, resting your head on your palms. Sylvia cringed slightly, but her eyes landed on Steve’s and her whole expression changed.

“Hey, Steve…” she murmured, pulling her lip into her teeth, grinning slightly.

“Hey, Sylvia, how’s it going?” he replied. Of course he’d go for her, you thought to yourself, she’s exactly his type. Just dumb enough to be cute but just pretty enough to hold your attention, with the slightest stink of desperation. You wanted so desperately to roll your eyes, but Robin was watching you with the knowing look, so you maintained your composure.

“I’m good! Can I get you a drink? Or are you ready to order? Do you need a minute?” you wanted to laugh; this was the best service you’d ever gotten at the restaurant. And it was all thanks to Steve.

“I mean…are you guys ready? I think I’ve got it figured out.” Steve said, gesturing to Robin with a nervous expression.

“Yeah, I’ll get the Fourth of July burger with mushrooms and can I get no mustard? Oh, and a diet coke.” Robin said, smiling confidently at Sylvia, who took down the order boredly.

“Sure, and for you, Steve?” she asked sweetly, fluttering her lashes.

“Um…I need a second more, Y/N can you order?” he muttered, leaning over to you. You nodded, surprised that him being closer to you didn’t upset you. It was almost…nice.

“Yeah sure…I’ll get the double hula burger with extra cheese, no pickles, no ketchup, and a triple thick chocolate shake.” You rattled off quickly, enjoying watching her struggle to get everything down.

“Alright, you ready, Stevie?” Sylvia asked and you noted the distinctive blush forming on his cheeks. Sylvia seemed too proud of her work and you wanted to wipe that look off her face. Pride was a bad look for her.

“Can I just get classic burger with mayo and extra tomato? And a coke?” he asked awkwardly, still clearly very unsure of himself.

Sylvia nodded “Perfect! I’ll be back with your drinks in a moment.” She said, turning and skating off, waving coyly to Steve as she headed back into the kitchen. You and Robin snickered, Robin rolling her eyes as soon as Sylvia disappeared.

“Oh my god we should have been bringing you since day one, they never give us that much attention!” you cried with a loud laugh.

“Dude, she wants you so bad oh my god!” Robin added, reaching out to slap his shoulder. Steve lowered his head, shaking his head.

“I totally remember her now…she had a thing for me in junior year, covered my locker in paper hearts. I wasn’t supposed to find out but I did. It was very uncool.” He muttered, shaking his head. You remembered that too, how she’d planned it for weeks, forcing you to help cut out pink, purple, and red hearts. You thought the whole thing was so cringy and weird, but she was dead set that he’d be intrigued by the mystery and sweetness of the action. She thought it was so cute. Barbra Holland unintentionally started the rumor that it was her, but you wished it was you to tell the world. Watching her slink home was worth the afternoons in the library with her calling you stupid for not cutting the heart out perfectly.

“She was just trying to put her feelings out there!” Robin replied incredulously.

“No, Rob, she was being weird. She could’ve shoved a note in his locker, send him a candy gram and Valentine, they do that every year for lacrosse team. She did something unnecessary and creepy to get attention. You’re just a hopeless romantic.” You grinned, reaching out to touch the bright red heart drawn in permanent marker on her wrist. You knew she had a thing for Jennifer Buffet, who worked at the now defunct Starcourt movie theatre. She always drew that little heart on everything whenever she had a crush, it was like she was trying to get caught, you didn’t get that; you always wanted to hide your crushes until the other person showed any interest in you. You wouldn’t usually agree or defend Steve Harrington, but he was right for once. You didn’t mind agreeing if he was correct for once.

“I am not!” Robin cried, crossing her arms over her chest.

You leaned in to whisper to her “Tell that to Tammy Turner.” Robin turned bright red and she leaned back into the vinyl seat, looking away from you.

“Oh was it bad?” Steve asked with a wide, doofy grin. You were surprised to know that he knew about Tammy, but you didn’t question it. Asking questions could reveal something that Robin didn’t want known. You were used to being careful with her.

“Ohhhh yeah, it was a rough year with her pine after that muppet.” Watching Robin pine after Tammy Turner was so embarrassing, since the girl was so straight. I mean the Steve thing was one thing, but the girl dated Tommy H for two weeks between his forty-second break-up with Carol. That’s the epitome of straight bullshit: finding Tommy H’ s awful, crass, and downright sexist attitude and sense of humor attractive and desirable. How Robin didn’t see that was beyond you.

“That’s what I said! She sounds like a damn muppet! Like Kermit the frog or something!” Steve cried, smacking the vinyl and turning to look at you fully. When he wasn’t trying so hard, he was actually pretty cute. His eyes blew wide and his smile reached its fullest capacity, straining to not split his face in half.

“I thought more Ms. Piggy, like when she sang with Elton John. She always like pinching up her mouth at the end of her words, she looks like a wrinkly old apple.” You said, giggling slightly. “Don’t go breaking my heart…” you imitated, pursing and squeezing your lips together, making a tiny ‘O’ with your lips. Steve’s eyes grew impossibly wider and he laughed far too loudly, his head tossing back. You turned to Robin, who was blushing crimson, fully turned away from the scene you were making. Sylvia skated over with your food and drinks, smiling far too much. She placed each order in front of you, angling herself so her chest landed in Steve’s face when she handed his order over to him. He didn’t seem to notice, he was too busy laughing.

“What’re you guys talking about?” she asked, tossing your order in front of you.

“That time you made Steve’s locker look like the Valentine’s Day massacre.” You grinned back spitefully.

Sylvia paled significantly and she reached up to adjust her wig, looking away. “That…that wasn’t me…” she replied softly.

“Yeah…yeah it was…” Steve said between breathes, wiping tears away from his eyes. Sylvia opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out. She turned away quickly, skating out fast. You laughed hard when she ran off, hunching over in your seat.

“That was so mean!” Robin cried, looking between the pair of you with a stern look.

“She…she deserved it! After everything I dealt with from her, I get to have one!” you replied, shrugging softly as you recovered. Steve offered you a high five, which you took happily. You never thought in your life that you’d be laughing with Steve Harrington. Today was a weird day.

“Eat, both of you.” Robin snapped and you complied equally happily. You loved this place-everything was fresh and made to order. Sure, it was greasy and unhealthy, but you deserved a bit of comfort food once and awhile. Steve took his first bite and let out a very loud moan. You giggled, it was so stupid. And a little cute, you wouldn’t pretend that it wasn’t. And maybe a little hot. But you wouldn’t admit that.

“This is so good!” he said, muffled by his mouthful of food.

“It’s even better when you’re high.” You whispered, nudging his arm. Steve nodded in approval, clearly into the idea.

The three of you ate in silence, wolfing down your burgers without much of a hum save for the sounds of ice clinking in glasses and small slurps from straws. Burger in a Basket still had glass bottle of coke, the rumor was that they filled them up with every drink and washed them after, since they didn’t really make glass bottles of soda for retail sale anymore.

With only their fries left, the group returned to each other’s attention. To your surprise, Steve spoke first.

“Can I be like honest here?” he said, turning to face you once again. You nodded shortly, shoving a fry into your mouth. “I have like, no idea who you are. I really don’t.” you raised an eyebrow at him, unsure of how you were supposed to react to that news. You swallowed your mouthful, nodding to yourself.

“Yeah, I figured as much.” You replied “I remember you though.”

“Oh yeah, what for?” Steve leaned back in the booth, putting his arms over the seat. He looked to be ready to take in praise.

“I remember how shit you were on the basketball team. How shit that whole team was.” You replied with a chuckle, watching Steve deflate immediately.

“I was, like, the best player on the team!” he replied indignantly.

“That’s not saying much.” That line made Robin laugh and Steve curl further into himself.

“You really should’ve joined the track and field team. You were much better at that anyway.” You added softly.

“On what planet? I’ve never even done track and field.” Steve cracked bitterly.

“Yes you have, we all had to do it in middle school.” You said. Both Robin and Steve looked at you like you were crazy, so without any remaining shame, you pressed on.

“At the end of the year, every year of middle school, we had the grade-wide track and field meet. We all trained on basic stuff-long jump, cross country, shot put for the older kids, and high jump. Then, each grade would compete and the best of those kids would go onto the main competition. We all got a day off to watch and there were free freezies. It was one of the best days of the year.” You explained.

“Yeah, so what? I never competed.” Steve replied, watching you closely.

“Yes, you did.” Steve raised an eyebrow at you. You rolled your eyes and continued.

“You were in eighth grade and I was in seventh. You had won the long jump in your grade level because Jude Armstrong broke his ankle and I had won the high jump. So we both competed. I remember three things about that day: one; that I won the high jump against all the older kids and Tina tried to push me into the mud after I got my medal; that you and Tommy snuck off to smoke cigarettes during the high jump. You both pretended that you’d done it before, and maybe you had, but Tommy was coughing so hard even after that it was so obvious that he’d never even touch a cigarette before.  And three, that that was the year we were all forced to run the cross country race. Nobody had wanted to compete in the race, so they forced us to do it to set an example. I didn’t want to run it, I’m not a distance runner, but you were so confident. You didn’t look nervous at all. And when the whistle blew and everyone bolted, you held back. You came in third in the cross country race and second at long jump, against the odds on both. It was the coolest thing I’d ever seen.”

Steve nodded. You looked so pretty when you explained the memory, your whole face lit up and your smiled so softly. You looked angelic, it was truly a sight. But the memory itself turned his stomach.

“I remember that…” he muttered “What I remember about that day was my dad telling me that no other place matter except first and that I was absolute shit.”

You felt so bad, bringing it up at all. He looked so sad now, you regretting even commenting on it. “Oh…I’m sorry…” you said softly. Steve shrugged as if it meant nothing, as if he felt nothing. “God, what a dick and you were good too!” you cried.

“Nah, I kind of sucked.” Steve replied, pushing away the compliment with his hands.

“No seriously! We could have used you on the team, Jude Armstrong sucked ass after like freshman year! You showed real aptitude. And you’re built for it, strong legs and a good core. Let guys like Chuck Bronson stomp around the court, you should’ve came and competed with us, you would’ve won something.” You joked, kicking his shoe with your own.

Steve huffed “We got into the county semi-finals last year…”

“Yeah? We won country finals and got fifth in state. Half my team got into state colleges on scholarship based on that alone.” You replied haughtily.

“You gonna get one?” he asked.

“I might, I got a scout watching me. Don’t know if I’m gonna take it.”

“Oh yeah, why not?”

You grinned proudly “I’m hoping to follow in Emma Lancaster’s footsteps.”

“What she do?” Robin rolled her eyes at that comment.

“She got a full ride to NYU for fashion design.”

“You sew?”

You rolled your eyes “I’m the head of the costume department for the drama club.”

“It’s how we met.” Robin added proudly.

“Emma Lancaster founded and headed up the fashion club at Hawkins High and ran the sewing club. She wants to work for designer labels and head up her own one day. I just want to make costumes for plays. I’d work anywhere that paid and go to any school that offered money.” You explained.

“That’s cool, I hope you get it.” Steve said and you noted the slightest hint of sadness in his tone.

“How’s your planning going, Steve, got any ideas yet?” Robin asked, clearly catching onto the tone Steve had in his voice.

“Well…” he looked a little embarrassed as he spoke, but did so anyway “I was thinking about applying to the police academy in Carmel…it’s not a clear shot, but I’d like it more than working for my dad.”

“My uncle works there, I can put in a good word with him if you want.” Robin said cheerily.

“That would be cool. I just don’t know if I’d be any good.” Steve muttered to himself.

“I’d think you’d be pretty good, I mean you’ve got strong morals.” You turned to Robin “Remember when he broke freak Byers camera? He deserved that fucking shit.” Robin nodded in agreement.

“I mean yeah, Steve, you care about people. Like you take care of Dustin like he’s your brother. It takes guts to be genuine and unafraid about hanging out with literal children.” Robin added.

“You hang out with Dustin Henderson?” you asked curiously.

“You know Dustin?” Steve asked, equally confused.

“Yeah, my sister Stacy made fun of him for like a week last year after the snow ball for asking her to dance. I wanted to smack the shit out of her for it, it takes guts to ask somebody out, especially at that age.” You explained, slamming your tall milkshake glass on the table, having just slurped up the last drops of chocolate milk and whipped cream.

“Yeah well he’s got a girlfriend now named Suzie.” Robin said. Steve’s attention had turned to the window and you heard a small gasp.

“Shit, Keith’s here, I gotta run.” He pulled out his wallet and slapped a twenty dollar bill on the table before sliding out of the booth.

“Don’t get in shit, dingus!” Robin called after him.

He spun around quickly, jogging backwards “If you get me fired, I’ll kill you.” He looked you over slowly, a lopsided grin pulling at the corner of his mouth “I’ll see you around, Y/N?”

“Yeah, sure.” You smiled. Steve nodded happily and his back slammed into the poor dish boy, stumbling slightly before scampering off.

As soon as he was gone, Robin turned to you with a devilish grin “He likes you.” She giggled, reaching out to poke your shoulder.

“Good for him.” You replied, trying to seem confident and uncaring about the whole situation. Internally, you were utterly rocked. He’d gotten to you. You’d drunk the Steve Harrington kool-aid. He was deeper, more genuine, honest, and cooler than you’d ever expected him to be. You were utterly intrigued and now you had to know more. But you weren’t going to admit it now, not when Robin was being so cocky about it.

“I think you like him toooo!” she said in a sing-song tone.

You scoffed “No, not really.”

Robin saw right through you. But there was no sense in arguing when you were like this. You had too much pride to admit it now, especially with Sylvia floating around, looking for any excuse to rip the rug out from under you. But she had an idea.

“So, listen, I’m not working tomorrow and we haven’t hung out in forever. Wanna have a sleepover tonight?” Robin asked, pulling out cash from her wallet to cover herself and you, since she owed you money from the last time you’d gone out to eat.

“Sure, I’m not babysitting the brat tomorrow.”

“Great! You want to rent a movie or something? I get a discount at Family Video.”

You knew what she was doing, but you went along with it. No sense in calling her out now when she had a plan, it wouldn’t stop her anyway.

“Eh, whatever. I’m good either way.” You replied breezily.

“I wanna rewatch Carrie so let’s head over. Maybe grabbed some snacks too, I want some sour belts.” Robin said, climbing out of the booth and grabbing your hand, pulling you out. You didn’t really like horror movies and you really hated sour belts, they weren’t even sour, so you knew Robin was milking your ambivalence for all it was worth. What she didn’t know is that you actually kind of liked Carrie and you had a new dress that needed fitting and Robin would be the perfect model for it. Karma was a bitch.

Robin dragged you all the way to Family Video and inside, grinning at Keith and watching him blush as you passed by. He’d told you that he loved you the first and only time you hung out. You never called him back and Robin had to explain to him that saying I love you on a date that wasn’t even a date is the wrong move. Now, he wouldn’t even speak to you, which you didn’t mind.

“Y/N! Go gather as many packs of sour belts as you can get your hands on! I’m gonna find Carrie in the back!” Robin instructed.

“Get something fun too! Like the Princess Bride or something! Something I’ll actually watch!” you called after her. Robin flashed you a thumbs up and you sighed, turning on your heel and heading to the checkout line, grabbing lime green packs of rainbow striped, sugar coated candies off the rack and clutching them to your chest.

Robin found Steve in the back and, with very little pushing, sent him out onto the floor to talk to you. It only took two tries from him to get the courage to go and talk to you.

And again, he scared the shit out of you. He tapped you on the shoulder and you jumped a foot in the air, dropping all the sugary treats.

“Shit sorry!” Steve cried, dropping to his knees to clean up the mess.

“It’s okay!” you replied quickly, following suit. He shouldn’t have to clean up your mess after all. Your hands both rushed to grab the packages and when they brushed one another over the last packet, you couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t nice. The briefest chance of touch set your heart aflutter. You felt like you were ten years old again. He handed the packages over quickly, standing up just as fast. He offered you a hand up, which you took, if only to hold his hand for the briefest of moments. God, who even were you? You pulled it away fast.

“So…what’s with all the sour strips?” he asked, looking over the armful of candy you had.

“They’re Robin’s favourite. She told me to grab a shit ton, so I did. She’s grabbing the movies for tonight.” You explained.

“What movies?”

“Robin wants to watch Carrie. I’m hoping she gets something fun too, like Fast Times at Ridgemount High or The Princess Bride. Something funny.” You replied. You’d never smiled so much in a day, your face was starting to hurt but with Steve you couldn’t help it!

“Oh yeah? Having a sleepover or something?” that cocky Steve Harrington attitude was coming out, but it wasn’t making you as nauseous as it usually would, which was very odd.

“Yeah kind of. Which means Robin’s gonna wanna watch horror movies, eat so many of these until she pukes, and sneak malt whiskey from her father’s liquor cabinet.” You said, not hiding the slight disdain in your voice.

“Yeah? What’re you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna hem the dress I made for the Roenke County theatre’s production of Romeo and Juliet, sip vodka from my flask, and take away the sour belts when Robin gets sick.”

“Sounds fun?” Steve questioned.

“It probably won’t be,” you chuckled “But it’s not the worst way to spend a night.”

“How’d you think an evening with me would chalk up? In comparison I mean.” Steve asked, his hand coming to the top of the low black shelf to lean into you.

“Well I guess it would depend, what’s your plan?” you asked with a grin.

“Whatever you want.” He murmured softly, smirking far too confidently. You didn’t mind though, you knew what was underneath it all.

“Well, I’d have to think about it…how about you call me sometimes and we’ll talk about it.” You replied slowly, looking him up and down.

“Anytime, you got a pen?” Steve said. You nodded, pulling one out of your purse and grabbing his arm. You scribbled out your number on his palm, trying to make it as legible as possible and ignore how big and warm his hands were.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, that cool?” he said as you watched Robin saunter up too confidently, too proud of herself and of what she’d done.

“Sounds good.” You smiled, ignoring Robin’s cocky leer. “You ready to pay for this shit?” you asked as she walked up, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Gimme the belts, I got this.” Robin said, eyeing up Keith like she was going to beat him up. Maybe she was. “Wait in the car, okay? I didn’t bring mine, so you’re driving me home.”

You nodded “Got it.” You turned to Steve, smiling softly “I’ll see you around, Harrington.”

“Definitely.”

[creativeskullcreations]

Outside chapter 17: Dinner at Home

New chapter, new plot. Plus got to see a little bit of Danny in this 'verse. :D

And plans are in motion now. What's gonna happen? Stick around to find out.

Stacy sighed as she got into the truck, undoing the professional looking bun her hair was in. Scout popped out of her bag when she set it in the passenger seat, gasping over-dramatically.

"Oh stop that. You're fine." Stacy told her, buckling herself in. She started the car, and got ready to back out of the parking spot.

"Says you! You aren't spending eight hours a day in a fucking bubble!" The puppet flopped out of the bag. "Are we going home yet?"

"No, we've gotta go grocery shopping." Scout groaned and threw one arm over her eyes.

"Aw man. I hate Walmart." She grumbled. "There's always too many kids staring at me."

"It'll be fine. We can go look at movies again before we get the food."

"Okay fine." Scout climbed up the door to look out the window. "But I want Pop Tarts this time! Real ones!"

"I think I can do that." Stacy agreed as she pulled into the parking lot. She reached over and grabbed her wallet before grabbing Scout, letting her settle into the hood of her jacket as they entered the store.

They checked movies, though there was nothing new out yet that they hadn't seen, and then went on to collect the items on Stacy's list. A quick checkout later and they were finally on their way home. It could not have come soon enough for Scout.

The way home from Walmart wasn't too long, maybe a ten minute drive on a bad day. So they got home quick enough, and Scout watched as Stacy started to juggle the many bags. She ended up having to sting them onto her prosthetic in order to get them all into the house, but did succeed in getting all the bags to the kitchen.

Will was downstairs, as he usually was at this time of day. Though, whether he was working on computers or his... hobby, was anyone's guess. Scout certainly wasn't going to go down there to check, either way. Instead she Jumped to her room, which was almost more of a closet with how small it was. But, it held a bed(in her own size!), a charging station for the Switch, and sometimes Stacy's laptop when she could be bothered to drag it in there. The walls were lined with multiple shelves  with rope ladders connecting them, giving her a lot of storage space. Most of it was still empty, but she had collected a few things over the past several months.

Including clothes, apparently. Stacy had expressed concern with Scout running around with Mortimer's face on her shirt, and had enlisted Lisa to make her some new ones. Not that Scout could take her "shirt" off, of course, but she could wear other ones over it. Her favorite so far was a green one that said "eat dick and die". It was the best one, no contest, but Stacy wouldn't let her wear it outside the house.

"It's crude, and while I know you love that stuff it's not a good idea to wear that to my job. Someone could go to HR about it." Her Host had told her. Scout thought that was just stupid, but had agreed not to wear it to the workplace.

Stacy, meanwhile, worked on putting groceries away. It was good practice for her arm, especially in not crushing the groceries. She managed to mangle to bread only a little bit this time,  and figured she was probably doing better than she usually did. Scout reappeared a moment later, wearing the green shirt Lisa had made her. She handed over the Pop Tarts to the puppet, who immediately tore into the box to grab one of the foil packets.

"It's almost suppertime, so don't eat too many of those." Stacy warned her, only to be met by a muffled grunt in response. She sighed, and just collected the stuff she needed; Kraft macs n cheese, premade burger patties, and some green beans for a vegetable. Maybe not the best dinner, but Will was still working and they needed some food.

As she got the stove going, a pan of water for the mac set up, and the pan for the burgers got oiled. She selected three patties and put the rest back in the freezer for another day while things heated up. The beans she dumped in a  third pan on the back of the stove, adding a bit of salt for taste.

Scout watched all of this while softly crunching on the Pop Tarts. Months in the Host World, and she still didn't understand why Stacy wanted to cook. It was much easier and quicker to just grab one of the snacks laying around. Then again, maybe it had to do with that "nutrition" shit Will had told her about once.

As Stacy cooked she started typing out a message to Will on her phone, mostly to let him know dinner was done. He may have been just right in the basement, but she didn't want to go down there if she didn't have to. But as things finished cooking and she started to set the table, Will still hadn't come upstairs or even answered her text. And so, with a sigh, she covered the food and made her way downstairs.

"Will? It's time for dinner." She called as she reached the bottom of the stairs. No answer, but the muffled beat of heavy metal and the high pitched whine of a buzz-saw. She went through the door and was greeted with a mess. A wooden doll was stretched on the exam table in the middle, and Will was standing over it with the buzz-saw, shouting over the pounding music and whining noise.

"Hey, bitch! Make your boyfriend turn it down!" A red haired doll in a welded shut dog crate yelled over the music. She ignored it and instead punched a nearby gong with her metal fist. The resulting metal bang startled Will enough that he almost dropped the saw. He looked over and, once he spotted her, rushed to shut everything down.

"Yeah babe?" He asked, like he hadn't been threatening a sentient doll. The puppet in question was gagged, but sending a quite fierce death-glare at him.

"It's dinner time. Finish up here and come up, I made burgers." She told him, smiling a little as his face lit up.

"Score!" He quickly shoved the saw away before turning to take the doll off the table and put it into a cage. It swapped it's glare to her as he shoved it inside the crate, but Stacy just stared stonily back at it.

"Yeah, you keep trying that buddy. Nothing stops these two assholes. Ow!" The red headed doll sent Stacy his own death glare as she kicked his cage, knocking him over.

"Keep quiet." She growled out, not even looking at him. "Be thankful you're not tied up too."

"Yeah yeah. Go back to your favorite toy, Bitch." He huffed out. "Can't believe you keep that thing living up there with ya. If you had any kind of integrity, she'd be down here, in a cage, with the rest of us. Ow! Fuckin' shit would you stop that?!"

"Chucky, be quiet." A nearby doll in a ripped wedding dress scolded. "You know better than to antagonize her."

"What, it's true! That thing up there is just like us, but she gets to live in the lap of luxury! Hey!"

Stacy propped a foot up on the cage, tipping it onto it's edge and leaning down to glare at the toy inside. "You wanna stop talking now? Or do you want me to come back down here after dinner, Mr. Ray?"

The dolls said nothing more and Stacy righted the cage as Will finished up. The went back upstairs, locking the door behind them.

On the table was Scout, with half a burger patty in her mouth. She froze when the two Hosts walked into the room.

"Scout, seriously?" Stacy asked. "You're supposed to wait for us before you start eating."

Scout spat out the half eaten patty. "You were taking too long. I wanted to eat."

"You still should have waited. We only took a couple of minutes."

"But I didn't want to wait."

Stacy just sighed, and grabbed a bun out of the bag to squirt some ketchup onto. This was a fight just not worth getting into, especially when it wouldn't change anything.

Instead they made up their buns and sides, and were sat down to eat. Will prayed, and Stacy waited for him to be done before digging in. Scout didn't even wait, and just finished off her meat patty before digging into the macs and cheese.

The trio ate in silence, too hungry to talk at first. But eventually Stacy swallowed a bit, and decided she was sick of the quiet.

"So, you make any progress with the Gardner job?" She asked Will. Doll torturer or not, he did still have a "real" job, same as her.

"Eh, a little. Gotta ask who usually uses the computer, though. It's full of viruses from porn sites."

"Ew. Do they have a kid, or just a really stupid adult?"

"They've got a twelve year old girl, so she's the most likely suspect." Will swallowed another bite. "Miss Gardner is always away and working, like, three jobs so it's gotta be the kid or a friend she has."

"Who would go on a porn site? It's just naked sweaty Hosts, they're gross."

"Uh..." Stacy wondered how to handle this. And then wondered if Scout had ever gone on one of those sites, to know about that part. "It's... just a thing. Some people like to look at." She coughed. "Don't question it."

"Sure." Scout comped down on a green bean, and Stacy gave a soft sigh of relief. Scout was bad enough with her language already, and Stacy didn't want to risk her learning more words and terms.

Dinner ended soon after that, with Will loading the new dishwasher when everyone was done eating. He went back downstairs to finish up what he'd been doing. Stacy and Scout meanwhile went to play video-games. Well, Stacy played, while Scout watched her do quests from her lap.

"Go down that tunnel! Go! The left!" Scout pointed forcefully, waving her arms when she was ignored.

"No, that's where we came from." Stacy sighed, annoyed yet also a little amused. "Would you rather be the one playing?"

"No. I can't hold the controller." The Puppet waved her off before suddenly yelling. "You're not looting the bodies!"

"And you won't shut up." The Host muttered, looting a single body before going back to chasing the objective. "Are you sure you don't want to play?"

"How would I even fucking do that? Don't answer that."

"Okay." Stacy fought a few more Drauger. She thought about mentioning that she wouldn't really mind it, if Scout wanted to play, but decided against it. The body swap was still a sore subject, and she didn't want to ruin the good mood.

A ping from her phone, and she paused the game to answer a text from her brother. Being the nosy Puppet that she is, Scout tried to see what she was typing. "Who's that? I thought you didn't have friends."

"It's my younger brother, Danny. Doc wanted me to talk to him more, so I am."

Scout blinked. "You have a brother?" She thought back, tried to think if she'd ever seen any pictures of Stacy's family, but couldn't remember. Will she knew had a picture of his mother, but other than that neither Host talked about their families that much.

"Yeah." A couple of swipes, and she lowered the phone to show the Puppet a photo of a younger boy. He had the same reddish hair she did, but with much paler skin and brighter blue eyes. He was also wearing an absolutely atrocious looking sweater. "He's about eight or nine years younger than me, depending on who's had a birthday at that point."

"Oh..." Scout stared at the picture. "Why is he wearing headphones?"

"Those are part of his cochlear implants. He's deaf." She swiped back over to messaging to finish her text. "But he got the surgery at a young enough age that you pretty much can't tell. He's just got a little bit of a weird sounding accent."

"Oh, cool." Stacy finished her text and went back to the game, Scout watching quietly this time. "I have a brother."

Stacy fumbled an attack, but recovered quickly enough that she didn't die. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Yeah. And three sisters." She squirmed a little, playing with the hem of her shirt. "... They probably all have Hosts by now. They were a lot better at... fitting in, than I was."

"Oh." Stacy paused the game, considering. "I'm... uh, do you you wanna talk about it?"

"Nah. I just thought you should know about them." She settled back, and Stacy unpaused the game. "I doubt I'm ever going to see them again, anyways. They were all assholes."

"Sounds like it, if they were able to "fit in" over there."

-------

Canon huffed, doing her best to try and suck in air. This was the... she didn't know how many times she'd been almost torn apart by the spells Mortimer was working on. Not really, of course, but it certainly felt like it. Like there was a scalpel carefully slicing into each stitch, cutting the small threads one by one.

"Hmm, looks like things are going well. I think I'm just about done with this spell." The magician commented, ignoring how the smaller Puppet lay limply on the floor. "Yes this plan has come together splendidly! Soon your sister will be right where she ought to be."

"... Great..." She groaned, trying to force herself upright. She failed, falling back to the floor with a soft thump. "I... can't... wait..." She had to finish the rhyme, at least, no matter how much it hurt.

"Indeed." He smirked, then grabbed a phone off the wall. "Oh Riley, we're just about ready to start! All we're missing now is the star! So gather your tools and a henchman, and go warm up the car."

"Preparations have already begun!" She relayed with an excited giggle. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun!"

[morningstarships]

am i a monster? - bnha s/i oneshot

this is a self shipping fic so if u self ship w/ dabi and ur uncomfortable with sharing him, heres ur warning!! ;w;

i’m vv proud of this!! pls consider rbing it !!

TW!! Death, Eye trauma, mentions of killing, and trauma.

word count - 2.2k

summary - apollo gets a blast from the past.

ships: dabi x apollo, dadzawa

Ever since they were a kid, Apollo knew they’d never live up to expectations of their peers. And of course, they always heard the basic, ‘Oh, you have such a strong quirk! I’m sure you’ll make a perfect hero one day!’

But they genuinely never expected to be standing on a building, purple and blue fire spread across the horizon, hand linked with a villain. Their eyes were sparkling with delight. The sight of fire made them giddy, their heart beating a mile a minute.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself.” Dabi’s rough voice made their heart skip a beat. “I’m glad you are, doll. It’s nice to see that pretty face light up.”

“Don’t be so cheesy.” Apollo nudged him, but that only made him chuckle.

“C’mon, darlin’, let’s get going.” His hand linked with theirs, eyes trained on them. Apollo glanced down at the flames once again, eyebrows furrowed.

Any negative thoughts were pushed down by a gentle kiss to their temple, Dabi’s voice coming out in a hum of amusement. The two walked off, entering the warp gate that Kurogiri had left open for them.

“Took you long enough.” Tomura’s voice was a soft grumble, the male sitting at the bar. Dabi rolled his eyes, but bit his tongue.

“Sorry, Shiggy. It was my fault.” Apollo smiled gently at Tomura, who just huffed. “I wanted to watch the fire.”

“Whatever.” Tomura scratched at his neck. “We’re running low on food.”

“I’ll go pick some stuff up.” Apollo tied up their hair with a grin. “Anything specific you want?”

“Just don’t get those shitty TV dinners. I’m sick of those.” Dabi spoke from the couch. Apollo raised an eyebrow, but shrugged.

“Alright, King Tut.” A teasing smile tugged at their lips. He snickered at their taunts, kicking back to relax. Apollo went to their shared room, changing into a baggy hoodie and sweatpants. Usually they would just ask Tomura for the money to feed everyone, but…

With how down in the dumps everyone was feeling, Apollo wasn’t gonna ask Tomura for his money. He needed it. Besides, their last job, they had gotten paid like they could get an entire grocery store. Paid for killing a well known pro hero...

A soft sigh left their parted lips, their boots thumping lightly once they left the room.

“Be careful, kitten.” Dabi called out.

“You’re telling me to be careful?” Apollo’s grin was mischievous, arms crossed.

“Oh, my bad. Maybe I should tell the cashier at the store to be careful.” Dabi snickered. Apollo’s boots thumped as they walked towards the male. They ruffled up his hair, snickering at the frustrated groan he let out. Before he could even snap at them, Apollo peppered kisses onto his face. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Oh yeah?” Apollo pinched his cheek. “What would happen if you didn’t?”

“I’ll keep that to myself.” Dabi flashed them a lazy grin. “Now go get food before I starve to death.”

“Whatever you say, stinky man.”

“Hey! I smell fine!”

“Uh-huh.” Apollo snickered. They fixed their sleeves, then walked out of the hideout. Their mood was lifted, a small smile resting on their pale face.

God, they had it bad for him. Every time he spoke… Every time he looked at them with those eyes… Fuck. They cracked their knuckles, heart beating quick.

The walk to the store was leisurely. Thankfully they lived close to one. Their eyes were focused on their phone, replying to a stupid text that Dabi sent. They weren’t paying attention to their general surroundings when the small villain bumped into someone.

“Shit!” Apollo’s eyes snapped up to look at the person, eyes widening when they saw who it was. “S-Sorry.”

“It’s no problem. Just watch where you’re going next time.” Aizawa’s dull voice filled their heart with dread. When was the last time they actually ran into him? The training camp incident? No, Dabi took care of him in that…

“Y...Yeah.” There was no doubt that he recognized them. But if he would say anything…

Apollo pushed the feelings down, choosing to grab a cart and rush away. They didn’t want to stick around to find out. Knowing him, he wouldn’t make a scene in public. Unless he changed…

No. He hadn’t seemed to follow them at all, which made them let out a sigh of relief. They were going to leave him a present again. Since he saw them, however…

Apollo’s fingers twitched lightly, eyes narrowed. They needed to make this quick. They went down each aisle, making sure to get stuff that would actually fill the others up. Pre-made, but still good. They made sure there was some stuff for themselves. Sweets, mostly, that would probably be consumed within days. They’d have to hide that stuff, since Toga had an affinity for stealing their snacks.

Apollo refused to get seafood. Dabi and them both despised the crap. It stunk up the entire hideout and nobody ate the garbage in time. They added up everything in their head, eyebrows scrunched up. Their cart was already almost full, but…

Their multicolored eyes landed on an intricately decorated cake, different fruits lining the top and side. They swiped it from the shelf, balancing it on top of everything else. Toga and Twice would be ecstatic.

Apollo was quick to checkout and pay. Aizawa was nowhere in sight, forcing Apollo to let out a sigh of relief. They weren’t ready.

The cold nipped at their skin, the moon gleaming. The bags they held were digging into their arms, but they pushed through.

Apollo stopped at the corner of the road, pointed ears twitching.

“You might as well come out.” Apollo spoke softly, eyes narrowed into slits. “Eraser.”

“I knew it was you.” Aizawa stepped out with a sigh, staring at the smaller person. Apollo turned to face him, fangs bared.

“No shit. You’re not stupid.” Apollo’s voice was filled with malice. They weren’t angry with him. It wasn’t his fault they decided to go AWOL. “What do you want?”

“I just want to talk.”

“I have to get home. The ice cream will melt.” Apollo sighed. “Just say what you wanna say.”

“I’ve seen your crimes on TV. Is that really what you want to be doing for the rest of your life?”

“It’s better than being housepets for the police. Spending your life fighting against people who were deemed ‘evil’ by society.”

“That’s because you are evil. Or at least misguided.” Aizawa sighed softly. “I don’t want to fight you.”

“...Neither do I. But you’ll just follow me if I walk away.” Apollo sneered. Their heart was beating in their ears, eyes narrowed. “What do you want me to say?”

“...I don’t know.”

“You have to understand. I couldn’t just...become a soldier in some stupid war. That’s all hero work is. UA too. You claim to help children become heroes, but it was just training children to be soldiers for the police.” Aizawa hadn’t spoken, so they continued. “What would’ve happened if I stayed? Become some sidekick to a big agency? Hero work is so stifling.”

“So, instead, you chose to leave your life behind. And what? Live a life of thievery?” At those words, Apollo scoffed. “Just like the men that came into your home that night…”

“Don’t you DARE talk about that. You weren’t there!”

“I raised you. If anything, I know you better than anyone ever could.”

“Why do you act like heroes are so much better than us?!”

“Because they are.” That pissed them off. They snarled lowly, eyes narrowed into slits.

“Then WHY are they so easy to KILL?!” Their teeth were bared, eyes wide with rage. Aizawa widened his eyes, hands curling into fists. “Everyone has a hit out for them.”

“You’re the one who killed him?”

“Yeah. I was.” Apollo felt the adrenaline rush through their veins, a vicious grin spreading across their face. “I watched the life drain from his eyes. He called out for his wife and children. It was pathetic.”

“I raised you to b-”

Aizawa’s words were cut off when Apollo placed the bags down.

“You raised me to be a bootlicking pussy. I carved my own path and I’m doing great!”

“You call ‘living in squalor’ great?” Aizawa sneered. “I don’t want to fight you. And we both know I can end this in an instant.”

“Maybe you could when I was younger. But I’m stronger now.”

The streets were almost empty, which was good for them. Not so much for him. He wouldn’t even get a chance to use his quirk.

Their fingers snapped, purple flames shooting from the tips within seconds. Maybe they wouldn’t have to fight him…

Nope.

His scarf came barreling towards them, the cloth wrapping around their arms and waist. He had already erased their quirk. Shit.

“Piece of fucking shit…” Apollo’s voice was a loud snarl. He was pulling them towards him… That was good.

“If you stand down now, I’ll go easy on you.” The two came face to face, his eyes wide. Apollo’s expression softened. They just needed him to loosen the grip on their arms.

“Do you think I can change?” Their voice quivered. Crocodile tears. They felt the grip loosen. “You really are an idiot.”

A knife was pulled from their pocket as quick as possible, the stench of blood filling their senses.

“Oh, what a shame.” Apollo mused. Aizawa’s grunt made them grin. How much of an awful child were they? “You can’t use your quirk with only one eye, now, can you? Poor Eraserhead.”

“You’re a damn monster…” His words did sting. Instead of crying like a little bitch about it, Apollo just let out a mocking laugh.

“It’s been fun.”

Apollo walked back to the corner of the street, lifting the bags from the ground. Ugh. The ice cream was melting. They placed a palm on the concrete with a gentle sigh.

“Maybe we’ll meet again, Eraser.”

Crimson liquid had fallen to the ground in front of them, Aizawa standing over them with grit teeth. They raised an eyebrow.

He was persistent. How annoying.

Apollo could’ve done more to harm him. But honestly? What was the point? They created a tall cement wall between the two. It was just to keep him from seeing where they went.

Well…

At least the rest of their walk home was calm.

They had left the hideout in a great mood.

Apollo’s face was emotionless when they entered the hideout. It was hard to tell that they were even upset. To the naked eye, at least.

Dabi could tell otherwise.

The bags were dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, Apollo letting out a quiet sigh.

“You guys can put this shit away.” Two bags remained looped on their arm, which were the copious amounts of sweets they had grabbed for their mouth only.  

“Why the hell sh-” A sharp glare made Tomura shut his mouth.

“I’m going to bed.” Apollo’s voice was dull, eyes focused on the ground. “Don’t be too loud.”

Dabi sat up from the couch with a frown etched into his features. The heavy thump of their boots faded as they entered the bedroom.

“Hey, doll.” Dabi’s voice made them sigh. Not now. He couldn’t see them like this… So damn vulnerable. They had busied their hands with stashing away the snacks, back facing him. He could tell. Damn him. “Rough trip?”

“...Am I a monster?” Apollo’s voice was barely a whisper. They knew the answer. For fucks sake, they killed people for money. Of course they knew what the answer was.

“No.” That wasn’t what they were expecting. “Sure, the heroes might label us as that, but babe. Look at me.” Tears were brimming in their eyes. “Let me see that pretty face, darlin’.”

Apollo turned to face him, hot tears rolling down their cheeks. Pathetic. He must’ve been thinking that. How could a villain like them be crying over a simple word?

“What happened?” Dabi cupped their face in his hands, eyebrows furrowing up in concern. “C’mon, kitten, you can tell me.”

“I-I…” Apollo hesitated. Would he get angry? “...I ran into Eraser at the store. He recognized me. He called me a monster.”

“That fuckin’ asshole…” Dabi’s eyes narrowed into slits, but he put aside his anger towards the hero and pulled the smaller villain into his chest. “You’re not a monster. Trust me. I’ve seen monsters. It’s the ones the Hero Commission are protecting, not us.”

His hands, warm to the touch, rubbed circles into their back. They felt their body slowly melt into the touch, hands gripping the front of his shirt.

“Besides, with the amount of blood on you, that bastard will be out of commission for a while.” His laugh was breathy and light, which made Apollo smile. He was right. “Now.” Dabi tilted their head up with a finger under their chin. “You know what we’re gonna do?”

“What?”

“We’re gonna go cut into that cake you got, drink, and be so sickeningly sweet, just to annoy the boss.” It was their turn to laugh. It was loud, a fanged grin spreading across their face.

“That sounds like a plan.”

“Good.” Dabi caught their lips in a gentle kiss. “I love ya, sunspot.”

“Love ya too, Cremation boy.” Their first nickname for him had stuck like glue. He didn’t mind. He pulled his jacket off, wrapping it around their body and pressing a soft kiss on their temple.

“Let’s go.”

[ahtohallan-calling]

chapter 3  of true north is here!

[kristanna / t / the actual fic version of my single dad au at long last]

ch. 1 / 2

“Can we see the penguins?”

“That’s the only reason to go to the zoo, isn’t it?” Sven asks, leaning back to tickle his goddaughter’s ankle. 

She squeals and kicks at his hand. “No! We go for ice cream!”

“We have ice cream at home,” Kristoff says, hiding a smile, because it’s his job to be the grouchy one so that Uncle Sven seems even cooler.

“But it’s my birthday,” she whines, and Kristoff glances up in the rearview mirror to see a pair of puppy dog eyes that match the set coming at him from the passenger seat.

“I’ll consider it,” he lies, knowing damn well he’ll be putting down ten bucks for two firecracker pops and a frozen lemonade and watch his melt while he keeps a napkin pressed to Alice’s chubby wrist before it drips onto her dress, and then inevitably more of it will end up on the ground than in her mouth.

He wonders if Bailey would say he’s spoiling her, that she doesn’t need a popsicle and special pancakes and her pink birthday cake.

But Bailey’s not here, and that’s why he’ll do it.

“Hey Al, do you see what I see?” Sven says with exaggerated enthusiasm, pointing to the green road sign that says “Zoo Next Exit”, and Alice scrunches up her face.

“A tree?” she asks, confused, and Kristoff can’t help but laugh.

---

“Nah, man, I’ve got it,” Kristoff says gruffly as Sven pulls out his wallet.

“Let it be my birthday present to Al,” Sven argues, even though he’s already putting it away again; it’s a familiar routine for both of them, helps both of them keep their pride intact even if it means they get weird looks from waiters sometimes when Sven’s excuses err on the ridiculous side.

“I’m sure you already got her something else,” Kristoff says, sliding his debit card across the counter, and by the other man’s grin he knows that’s a yes.

The teenage boy managing the cash register makes that face, the one with narrowed eyes that say don’t I know you from somewhere? Mercifully, Alice saves them by proclaiming very loudly, “It’s my birthday. I’m four.”

The teenager slides an “it’s my birthday!” sticker over the counter. “There you go, kiddo. Happy birthday. And, uh,” he adds, eyeing Sven a little shyly, “go Tigers.”

Sven grins and gives him a fist bump. “Thanks, man.”

They’re saved from getting asked for an autograph by a school bus of preschoolers rolling up. Kristoff pulls Alice out of the way and kneels down to put the sticker on her shirt, but she shrieks and pushes his hand away. “Not there, Daddy,” she whines. 

“Okay, where?”

She points to the same spot he just went for, and he follows her orders. “Better?”

Alice nods and takes hold of his hand. “We can go now,” she says, imperious as a queen, and Sven doesn’t bother to hide his snort of laughter.

---

The arctic section, thankfully, is in the middle of the zoo, so in only a few minutes Alice has her nose pressed up against the glass as she watches them dive for their breakfast. Sven’s right beside her, ooh-ing and ahh-ing with all the kids even though he’s as tall as five of them stacked together. 

Kristoff hangs back and takes a surreptitious picture on his phone; they’ve learned the hard way if they try and take pictures together, someone inevitably notices and gasps, “Sven Peters?” and asks for a picture of their own, and then they lose half an hour to football fans who don’t give a shit that they have a limited amount of time before Alice has an “I-need-a-nap” meltdown.

Eventually, the penguins disappear in the recesses of the enclosure, and Alice bounds back over to him, holding her arms up. He does her one better and sets her on his shoulders. “Where to now, Ally Pally?”

“Seals!” she proclaims, and off they go, just in time to see the show with the trainers and the red ball. 

The birthday sticker nets Alice a chance to ask the trainer a question. “Do seals have mommies?” she asks, and though everyone else laughs at how cute it is, Kristoff feels queasy for a second, worried that she’s still not over last night’s meltdown.

They move pretty quick after that, knowing there’s only a finite amount of time before she starts asking for ice cream; Asian animals are next, first the elephants-- “stinky,” Alice says, wrinkling her nose as they watch one relieve itself, and then the tigers-- “take a picture of me with them quick, Bjorgman,” Sven insists, and somehow they manage to pull it off without anyone seeing, and then the pandas, which are Kristoff’s favorite because they know the secret to happiness is being left the hell alone to eat as much as you please.

The other bears are next, and Alice takes great delight in watching Sven look between Kristoff and the grizzly enclosure and ask if she sees a difference. “I’m telling you, Bjorgman,” he says, clicking his tongue and shaking his head sadly, “the beard’s gotta go, or they’re gonna put you behind glass, too.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles, earning a snort and an elbow to the ribs.

They’re only halfway through the monkey section when Alice starts whining about a popsicle. “We’re not coming back through here if we leave now, Al,” Kristoff warns her, but she’s unmoved.

She switches to holding Sven’s hand while Kristoff pays for the popsicles and finds a bench big enough for the three of them; Alice sits in the middle, red popsicle juice already dripping onto her t-shirt, and leans back with a happy sigh.

“Good birthday so far, Ally Pally?” Sven asks as he slurps at his own firecracker pop.

“Uh-huh,” she mumbles, trying and failing to catch a drip running down her arm.

Kristoff sets his frozen lemonade aside to swipe at it, cursing himself for leaving the wet wipes in the car. “Guess what? Uncle Sven’s going to Nana’s house for your party tonight.”

“Why?” Alice asks, frowning.

“Because he’s your family,” Kristoff says.

“Why won’t Mommy be there?”

Shit. He walked right into that one. “She’s busy,” Kristoff says, wondering if she actually is.

Some days, that line works. Today, it doesn’t. A moment later, the popsicle is on the sidewalk, Alice is screeching, and he and Sven come to the silent agreement that it’s time to go.

If he wasn’t so busy wrangling a sobbing four-year-old, Kristoff would have time to be amused that, just like when they played together in college, Sven’s the one clearing a path for him through the horde. He’s damn lucky to have a friend like that, and he knows it, but it still doesn’t sit right, sometimes, all the shit Sven does without asking for anything back. He won’t even take Kristoff buying the tickets and ice cream; there’s going to be a twenty shoved in the glove compartment or the fridge or one of Alice’s little plastic purses by the end of the day, and neither of them will say anything about it.

---

One mile in the car is enough to knock Alice out, and they’ve still got fourteen to go. Sven chuckles at the sight of her slumped over in the carseat. “Damn. Guess chasing the seals up and down the glass wore her out.”

“She didn’t sleep well last night,” Kristoff admits, and they’re both quiet for a minute; they’ve been best friends, tight as real brothers, for going on nine years now, but it’s still hard sometimes, talking about shit like this. It only ever happens in the car when they don’t really have to look at each other.

“Asking about the wicked witch of the west again?”

Petty as it is, the stupid nickname still gives Kristoff a twinge of satisfaction when he hears it. “Yeah. Apparently Lily’s mommy was at her birthday party, so now Al wants hers. As if she’s a fucking clown for hire or something.”

“What’d you tell her?”

“That Mommy’s busy. I’ve told her before that Mommy’s not coming back, but it doesn’t really get through to her. I don’t think she gets ‘never’ yet, you know?”

Sven mutters something under his breath that’s so vulgar Kristoff checks the rearview mirror to make sure Alice didn’t wake up to hear it. “Well, at least she’s got the world’s coolest uncle. And her dad’s alright, too, when he’s not being a grumpy bastard.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

That’s enough male bonding for one day. They’re quiet for another moment, and then Sven plugs the aux cable into his phone, and they listen to Journey at half volume the rest of the way back to the house, Sven headbanging and playing a wicked air guitar until Kristoff cracks a rare smile and plays the drums on the steering wheel at a red light.

---

Sven heads right to practice once they’re back at the house; he claps Kristoff on the shoulder and says “see you tonight” before loping off to his car and leaving him to carry Alice upstairs to her bed.

He’s got forty minutes of naptime left if he’s lucky. He sniffs at his shirt and cringes; between the meltdown last night and how tired he was afterward, a shower hasn’t happened yet. Neither has mopping the kitchen where it’s still sticky after an apple juice incident, nor washing his sheets; he hasn’t even finished double checking the books for the café like his mom asked. 

But that shit’s a hell of a lot easier to do when Alice is awake than this is, so Kristoff hops in the shower without waiting for the water to warm and grabs his bottle of three-in-one soap. He hums a little to himself as he lathers his hair, one of the songs they jammed out to in the car, and lets the warm water do what it can to relieve the tension that’s always sitting in his shoulders even on the days when no one calls out at work and Alice doesn’t scream in the grocery store. 

He winces at his reflection when he gets out of the shower. Sven had a point today about the beard; combined with his overgrown hair and the shadows under his eyes, he looks less like a twenty something ex-football player than a grizzled old mountain man. No fucking wonder people keep their distance from him. 

He likes it that way, though, really; no probing questions in the checkout line, no well-meaning advice from strangers, nobody interrupting the routine they’ve got down. 

But sometimes, he has to admit, it would be nice if—

“Daddy?” comes a sleepy, petulant voice from down the hall, and he’s been wasting time wanting things when he’s not even dressed yet. 

—-

As usual, his mom’s gone all out for the party; Kristoff’s her only child, so she spoils Alice with the focus and enthusiasm of an entire competitive cheer squad. There’s a massive pink cake— way too much for the two of them, his parents, and Sven and his new girlfriend, who’s an unexpected but highly welcome addition to the crew, considering how quickly she and Alice bond over their love of Mulan and orange juice.

 It’s not a break, exactly, to have this many adults around, but it’s breathing room, at least; Alice is in the living room on her grandfather’s lap performing all her favorite songs from Poppy’s Garden Tales while Sven’s girlfriend-- Marissa or Maisie or something-- claps along and Sven takes pictures of them both. Kristoff’s in the kitchen working on clearing the table and washing the dishes, enjoying the relative peace of the moment, until suddenly his mom appears at his elbow with a knowing glint in her eye.

“You’re not eating enough,” she says without preamble.

“What? I ate two plates of spaghetti.”

She jabs him in the side, and he yelps. “What else have you eaten today?”

“A pancake,” he says defensively. “And some frozen lemonade and a PB&J.”

He didn’t realize how little it was until he lists it all off. He used to eat four thousand calories a day, track all his macros weigh all his proteins; now he just eats whatever he’s making for Alice. 

“Baby,” his mother says gently, “you gotta take care of yourself, too.”

He’s heard this lecture a thousand times over the last four years. “I know,” he mumbles; arguing only prolongs the inevitable. 

“Maybe Sven can help you find a nice--”

“No, Ma,” he says, and it comes out harsher than he means it to. He pauses his scrubbing, remorseful, and she sets a hand on his forearm in silent understanding.

He leans down and kisses her cheek. “You and Al are the only girls I need,” he says, keeping his voice light, and she laughs.

The singing’s ended by now, and Alice is on her uncle’s lap reciting all the animals they saw that morning. “We’re gonna go back,” she announces. “You can come next time, Mary.”

Mary-- shit, how’d he forget an easy name like that? He really is getting old.

“What’d you wish for when you blew out the candles, Ally Pally?” she asks, and now Kristoff really likes her for catching on to that so quick.

“I want every day like this,” Alice announces decisively.

Sven chuckles at that. “If every day’s your birthday, then it’s not special anymore.”

“Nooo,” Alice giggles, “I wanna have fun with Daddy every day.”

Well, shit. He fucking wants that too, but how the hell do you tell a four year old it’s not that easy, that he only got today off with her because both his parents worked at the cafe today despite his dad’s knee replacement and his mom’s arthritis?

He’s glad Ma’s turned away from him when Alice says it so he doesn’t have to see the all-too familiar sympathy in her eyes. He gets that look from her and the rest of the world every damn day. He doesn’t want pity, doesn’t even want help. Him and Alice, they’re a team, and they don’t need anyone else. 

“Baby,” his mom starts, and he knows it’s going to be something too compassionate to stomach right now, and so he walks into the living room, pretending not to hear.

[pettybkang]

I’M FINE

Group: Victon

Pairing: Y/N + Seungwoo.

Genre: Secret dating!AU 

Word count: 2k+

Description: Seungwoo isn’t perfect. He likes spicy food way too much and turns the AC on too high at night. He also works as a dance teacher, which doesn’t pay that well and happens to scream too loud whenever he gets excited. He works out too early in the morning and likes to video call Y/N right after - waking her up earlier than she would like. But the thing is… She loves him. She loves his sleepy voice in the morning, even though it’s early. She loves his weird fashion sense and sometimes even his bucket hats and the hair that falls on his eyes. She loves his voice and it doesn’t really matter how loud it gets. She loves every single thing about him.

Bella’s boyfriend is perfect. And Y/N hates him for it. 

Sejun has a very stable job - that pays really really well -, he doesn’t steal Bella from her best friend on the weekends and he dresses pretty much like a celebrity. He also doesn’t look that bad. He drives them both to cities nearby whenever they want to and he gives Bella pretty expensive wine - which she always shares with Y/N. He also introduced Bella to what became Y/N’s favorite restaurant. 

There’s not a single thing wrong with the man. He has money, good taste and makes her friend happy. 

And maybe that’s the reason Y/N has been hiding her own boyfriend from Bella for months. 

The girls met when they were teenagers and have been friends ever since. Now older than their early twenties, with their own places to live and jobs to work at, they are best friends. Bella has always been the one that would date - she has had more girlfriends and boyfriends that one can count in a hand and she’s not ashamed of it - so it wasn’t a surprise when Bella introduced Sejun to Y/N - did the older one think this relationship wouldn’t last and Bella would be tired of him in three months? Maybe. Sejun is a Taurus, stubborn, aesthetic pleasing and has a great taste for food. He likes to sleep and cuddle a lot more than he lets out and is great at everything he sets his mind on. Maybe it was their stubbornness that kept them together, but when Y/N realized they had been together for two years. 

And that’s when she met Seungwoo. 

Seungwoo isn’t perfect. He likes spicy food way too much and turns the AC on too high at night. He also works as a dance teacher, which doesn’t pay that well and happens to scream too loud whenever he gets excited. He works out too early in the morning and likes to video call Y/N right after - waking her up earlier than she would like. But the thing is… She loves him. She loves his sleepy voice in the morning, even though it’s early. She loves his weird fashion sense and sometimes even his bucket hats and the hair that falls on his eyes. She loves his voice and it doesn’t really matter how loud it gets. She loves every single thing about him. 

But he isn’t perfect. And she has known Sejun for years now. 

It’s hard not to compare them. 

So in a desperate need to overthink every single one of her decisions, she asked Seungwoo to keep them a secret from now. She has told Bella she’s taking culinary classes on Fridays and that’s the reason they can’t meet anymore… Her friend bought the excuse right away. At first, it was supposed to be a month only thing and then she would tell her. But then Sejun got promoted. And then Sejun bought her a bottle of Moët. And then Sejun took her to Paris… It was impossible to compete. And a month turned into five. 

It was getting harder and harder to hide her boyfriend from her best friend. 

Bella would invite her to her place on the weekend and Y/N would have to come up with crazy excuses because Seungwoo was supposed to spend the weekend over at her place. Or Bella would invite her for dinner and she would have to come up with a last-minute excuse to work late. 

It was even harder because Bella and Seungwoo lived in the same neighborhood. Two streets away from each other. She would always pray Bella wouldn’t see her on the street, walking to Seungwoo’s place and not hers on a Saturday afternoon. 

But one day what Y/N feared the most happened. 

“You won’t believe what I heard at the supermarket today!” Bella said the moment she walked into Y/N’s apartment. 

It had been a while since the last time they spent time together, so Bella had brought a whole arsenal of wine bottles and chicken nuggets to Y/N’s place that night in hopes they would manage to stay awake and catch up. 

“Mn? What was it?” Y/N said, mindlessly helping her friend with the shopping bags. She was putting the sparkling wine into the fridge and almost dropped a bottle when she heard Bella telling the story. 

“So, I was at the checkout line okay… Holding all this wine and whatever. Then a tall guy stops behind me.. That’s fine, you know. He looked a little tired, hair on his face, a bit wet and everything. And then I noticed he was talking on the phone, so I took a step further in order to give him a little privacy but then! Listen, I’m not even joking, he started giggling so hard I had to pay attention to what he was saying,” whenever Bella started talking she just would never stop so it did take her a while to tell Y/N the whole story indeed. “And he was calling a girl a jealous baby all lovey-dovey, all giggles and stuff. It was so funny. And then he said my jealous baby and I wanted to laugh so fucking bad, you have no idea,” Y/N was starting to recognize those words and was starting to panic a little, already looking for a bottle of wine to uncork and maybe drink half of it. “He kept going for a while with the whole my jealous baby thing and then told the girl we should make this mine and yours thing official, don’t you think? and I swear… I wanted to turn around and tell him to just I don’t know. I don’t even know.” 

Bella was laughing as they clinked their glasses and then drank from them. She sipped but Y/N finished half of it.

Why? Well. Because that was the exact conversation she had had with Seungwoo on the phone earlier that day. He had just left his last class and had gone to the supermarket to get some bread and a few beers, had teased her about calling a few of his girl friends over since Bella was going over to her place and she had insisted it was different. She had pouted and he said he could hear it through the phone… And called her a jealous baby. And the rest… well, Bella had heard the rest and even made fun of it. 

She had no idea how she would tell her about Seungwoo now. It’s hard for Bella to forget a face and Y/N knows. And she would never let Seungwoo go if she recognizes him. Also, she would never let Y/N hear the end of it… She has been telling Bella for years now that she doesn’t need to date, that she hates romance and cheesy things and that she’s fine alone. The fact that she has a clingy boyfriend that likes to be stupid over the phone? Bella would have a field day. 

After finishing her glass in two goes and answering Bella’s “Is everything okay?” with a very quick and nervous “I’m fine!” Y/N excused herself to the bathroom and took her phone with her. She texted Seungwoo and asked him if maybe… Just maybe… He noticed a curly-haired girl at the checkout line… If maybe, just maybe, her hair happened to be pink and she was maybe, just maybe, wearing black pants and a striped orange and white shirt.  

The reply came right away.

Uh, yes. Why? Is everything okay? -SH 

Oh… That’s Bella. She might have heard us on the phone. -Y/N 

Oh, shit. -SH 

Oh shit, indeed, Y/N wanted to say. 

Good thing he hadn’t called her name and Bella hadn’t paid attention to more of that conversation because they had been talking about maybe… letting people know they were together. 

Y/N got out of the bathroom a good five minutes later and Bella had already made herself comfortable in the kitchen - getting the nuggets ready in the oven. 

The one hiding the boyfriend felt nervous like never before. It was impossible for Bella to know, right? She hadn’t heard much and she has never seen Seungwoo before. She doesn’t even know Y/N has met him, she never even mentioned him before. There was a weekend months ago that Sejun had taken Bella to a nearby city to celebrate an anniversary of sorts - the first kiss, he likes to celebrate that one for some reason - and Y/N decided to try something new and go to a dance recital. A colleague of hers would dance so, why not? That’s where she met Seungwoo. A said colleague introduced them and maybe... Just maybe… They have been inseparable ever since. 

All the wine was helping ease Y/N’s mind so when they sat down on her couch and started to browse Netflix for something to watch, she had almost forgotten about the incident already. Bella hadn’t mentioned it again and Y/N couldn’t thank her friend enough for never shutting up because now she was complaining about a new coworker who was making her life difficult and it had nothing to do with the guy at the checkout line. 

A movie was chosen, another bottle of wine was opened and the nuggets were done. And Bella was now talking about Sejun. 

Dangerous territory again. Y/N downed another glass of wine. 

Bella came back with the nuggets, placing the bowl on the couch and settling down again, waiting for Y/N to press play. 

Only then she shut up. 

For ten minutes maybe. 

Maybe Y/N shouldn’t have let her choose a romcom movie. Whose idea was it to watch Set It Up anyway? Two people who try to set their bosses up so they can have free time from work? Is this even a nice movie? 

It is. It’s a great movie. Especially because Y/N is a fan of sports and so is Seungwoo. And she wants to talk about him and boasts about him and tell her best friend that her boyfriend bought them tickets to the Lakers game next week, but she can’t… Because Bella doesn’t even know he exists. And because Sejun might have taken Bella to the Superbowl a month ago. 

So she holds it in and watched the movie quietly. Bella has a comment here and there, sips from her wine, eats her nuggets, all while Y/N downs glass after glass of wine. 

Until she’s a little too drunk to hold it in. 

To be quite honest, Y/N is a little tired of hiding it. If Bella is really her best friend, why would she have to? Maybe Sejun has a better job and sounds way more cool than her silly man, but she has seen the way he drools over her best friend. And she has seen him in the morning and Sejun’s sleepy face looks grumpy and confused while Seungwoo’s looks soft and well-rested. Her boyfriend has his own perfectness too. 

So while the characters are finding out that maybe they have been set up together and Bella is ranting about how they should just ignore it and have fun because they enjoyed each other’s companies… Y/N decides to cut her off with a simple and direct “I have a boyfriend.” 

There’s a long pause. Silence from Bella. She downs her wine, pauses the TV and looks at her best friend. 

“You have a what now?” 

“A boyfriend.” 

“Are you… sure? Y/N, you’re drunk.” 

“Drunk and taken.” 

“Is it that Hwa guy again? I told you he’s not a very ni-” 

“No! No Hwa guy.” 

Bella eyed the bottle and noticed it was empty. Y/N, on the other hand, had shoved a nugget on her mouth to maybe shut her own thoughts too. With a sigh, Bella nodded and clapped her hand - getting into work mode maybe. 

“What’s his name?” she asked and Y/N pointed at her mouth, showing her best friend that she was taking her time chewing that nugget. “You don’t get to tell me you’re dating and then not tell me about the guy!” 

Y/N rolled her eyes and kept chewing. Maybe Bella could forget about the boyfriend thing? She wasn’t proud of all the decisions she took while drunk. 

“Wait…” Bella said when she was almost done. “Wait!” she sounded more excited now, which was a bit dangerous. “So Sejun wasn’t mistaken!” Y/N had a confused face on as Bella continued. “A few weeks ago he told me he saw you kiss a guy at the park near my place. He was 100% super it was you, but you had told me you were going to that culinary course of yours or whatever. Tall guy, he said, a bit strong and whatever. I didn’t believe him but oh my god! You’ve been hiding this from me for how long now???” 

Y/N wanted to stuff one of those nuggets into Bella’s mouth. 

So it turns out perfect Sejun was a snitch. And Bella trusted her above else. 

Good to know. 

After opening another bottle of wine and downing another glass, Y/N told her everything. How she met Seungwoo, how they started dating, how he proposed, where he lived, who is he and what does he do. Bella asked what his favorite food is because that’s the kind of person that she is and was very pleased to know it’s not some weird vegan recipe. She asked for photos and for stories, not mentioning Sejun once. She fired question after question about Seungwoo. What is he like in the morning? Does he dress well? Does he drive? Can he ride a bike? What’s his favorite color? Is he a Leo? What’s his Instagram name? 

The movie was obviously forgotten and another bottle of wine was over. 

When Y/N mentioned that the reason she hasn’t told her yet was because of Sejun, Bella might have given her a face and rolled her eyes. And then shit talked Sejun for another half an hour. Because he eats avocado with sugar and always steals the blanket. And he annoys her whenever he drinks too much coffee and likes to send a lot of emojis to tell her he loves her. 

Mr. Perfect wasn’t as perfect as Y/N thought. 

And maybe telling her best friend about her boyfriend wasn’t as bad as expected. 

They did arrange for the boyfriend to meet the next weekend. Bella did recognize him as the guy from the supermarket and they had a nice laugh about the jealous baby thing. Sejun and Seungwoo got along. Bella and Y/N would stare at them with hearts on their eyes. 

Now they could plan double dates. Travel to Paris in couples. And even share dinners at their favorite restaurants together. All of them happy, laughing and definitely not single. 

What did you think of I’M FINE? Let me know!

[writtenbybigoceans]

The Witching Hour Ch 4

Several months later and she finally finished writing the next part... 

Massive thank you to everyone who has supported this series, especially @imstuckinafictionaluniverse @shessoparticular99, and @tnhmblive. Your feedback and support on the last part really meant the world to me!

Earlier parts here.

***

Snap.

You jerk awake with a violent jolt that shakes your whole bed. Bed. Home.

You glance around the dark room, eyes searching out the familiar silhouettes of your furniture against the walls. Yes, this was definitely your room. The clock on your bedside table announces that it is 12:01am, the soft red glow of the figures spilling over your pillows.

But how did you get here? The last thing you remembered was Sylvana’s cold stare and Shawn’s hand on your lower back as he steered you from the clearing under the tree.

As soon as you strained your mind for the memory it appeared, floating to the surface of your mind like an image through murky water.

No, you had dinner with your family, watched a movie and climbed into bed a little after 11pm. Just like any other night.

What a strange dream, you muse as you settle your head back on the pillows and pull the blankets up to your chin. The only thing more impossible than a sanctuary in the narrow, scrubby drainage creek outside your house is Shawn appearing outside your window. You hadn’t heard anything from him in the week since your conversation in the truck, and that silence had been enough to convince you that his promise had been nothing but empty words.

When you woke again the sky outside the window was as white and flat as paper. The trees behind your fence-line were a stark tangle of shadows against it as they swayed ever slightly in an unfelt breeze.

Slowly, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, blinking a few times as the world rematerialized around you. Cold nipped at your feet as you walked through the house, following the same route you took every morning, the promise of coffee at the end.

“Good morning, darling girl,” your mother greets you and you don’t need to look to know she’s in her standard skirt suit, a cup clasped between her hands. “There’s coffee left in the pot.”

You grunt in affirmation and trudge towards the pot, sitting right next to the kettle. The first sip seems to touch your soul, awakening it from the lingering fogginess of slumber and you audibly groan.

“What time are you working?”

“Ten to three, just a short shift today,” you mumble, gulping down a little more of the bitter black elixir.

“Ok, well I have to go but I’ll see you when I get home. Love you,” she stands, pushing her cup towards the sink and giving you a quick peck on the head before rushing out the door, her heavy heels clopping on the hardwood floors.

Mornings like this with your mother made it almost possible to forget about the enormous chasm that had opened between you a week ago. For a moment, you could pretend that your life hadn’t been built on lies and secrets.

The thought nearly made you tear up, but you swallowed the burning lump in your throat with the last of your coffee and shoved the mug towards the sink. You needed to get ready.

 Something is wrong. You don’t know what, but something is. Ringing up and bagging people’s groceries isn’t exactly the most exciting job but you’d never gotten bored enough to start hallucinating. So, why then did you keep catching glimpses of impossible things out of the corner of your eye.

The woman you’d just served had completely normal ears when you’d handed her receipt to her, so why did your eyes think they were pointed when she walked away? And there’s absolutely nothing strange about the man in the line for the checkout opposite yours now you’re looking again, but for a second you’d sworn there was something distinctly wolf-ish about his yellow eyes.

This supermarket was closer to the west of town than your home or school, so perhaps there were more Mythics who shopped here. But to only notice them all today? No, that was odd.

You give yourself a mental shake. The dream last night had set you on edge, that’s all. Your mind has to be playing tricks on you.

The thought does little to soothe you.

You finish your shift and feel as though you can finally breathe a sigh of relief knowing you would be leaving the strangeness behind. As you exit the store though, you feel an inexplicable push to turn right, in the opposite direction of your house. It was so deep and internal you almost felt as if you’d conjured it yourself. Somehow you just knew you needed to go that way.

Without giving it another thought you turned left and began walking home. You only made it a few streets before you found yourself on a side road walking west, following that almost intangible tug.

Almost impossibly quickly the unfamiliar surroundings morphed into house and streets you vaguely remembered travelling down. You take a right turn, still following the internal navigation, and at the end of the street spotted a very familiar truck parked on the curb. You come to a stop.

How had you known how to find this house? Good as your memory was, it wasn’t good enough to remember the whole route across town when you’d only followed it in daylight once before.

The street was dead silent and still as a graveyard, despite the warm day and brilliant sunshine that bathed the overgrown front yards. An old children’s bike lay discarded in the yard of the house closest to you, and as you scanned it for whoever had dumped it, you realised that all of the blinds were pulled.

It was the same for all of the houses around you; it was as if all of them were empty. Not even a breeze dared stir the hair on the back of your neck. A cold dread crept up your spin, raising goosebumps on your skin. You begin walking, hurrying towards Shawn’s house as fast as your legs could carry you. You race across their lawn and up their stairs and just as you raise your fist to knock on the door a screech of tires pierced the still afternoon air.

A series of black and white vans wheel around the corner at the opposite end of the street at an alarming speed. You reel back a step in shock and nearly trip over your own foot until a hand closes around your bicep and yanks you roughly backwards, sending you sprawling through the doorway. You slam into something hard and an arm comes around your shoulders to steady you. You shove out against it, kicking your legs and squirming hard until someone hisses in your ear,

“Be quiet, for fuck's sake.”

Startled, you twist your neck to meet Roman’s eyes, cold and sharp as chips of ice. His nostrils are flaring as he breathes hard, and his jaw is clenched so hard he looks like he might be about to break a tooth.

“Give her to me, I’ll hide her quickly.” Roman shoves you away, towards the voice that just spoke. Shawn takes your wrist and pushes you gently in the direction of the stairs and down the hallway into his room.

Through the window you spy the vans parked down the street at angles that block the road and numerous people in black uniforms holding machine guns. Several other people in jackets with FLE splashed across their backs milled around, pointing at the houses up and down the street. A chill goes down your spine. Federal Law Enforcement only dealt with serious, big crimes. What would they be doing running a raid like this here? What had happened?

“Get away from the window before someone sees you,” Shawn hisses from behind you. You spin to find him shifting some hanging clothes at the back of his small wardrobe. “You have to hide in here until they leave and pray they don’t find you.”

“What’s going on?” you ask, shuffling into the space he’s made. He glances down at you with an expression you can’t quite read but it ties your stomach in knots.

“They’re raiding the street because there were rumours that a house of werewolves was sheltering a witch.”

“What?” you exclaim, knees buckling beneath you. Concealing an unregistered Mythic was a serious crime. “But you’re not-“

“We weren’t, until you showed up right as they were about to get here.” His jaw clenches and his eyes are fiery. “What were you thinking coming back here?”

“I-I don’t know, I don’t know why I came,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

“Just stay hidden, don’t even breathe until they’re gone.” He lets the clothes swing back in front of you, concealing you from sight, and closes the wardrobe door. You here his footsteps pad lightly away before a tremendous bang rings through the house.

“Federal Law Enforcement, open up!” a woman’s voice barks. You think you hear the door open and some lower voices conversing before footsteps echo through the lower floor.

“We have information that an unregistered and dangerous witch is being concealed on these premises,” the woman’s voice speaks says faintly.

“Well, your information is incorrect then. Why would we be hiding a witch?” spits Roman, disdain evident in his tone.

“We will be conducting a search of the premises with dogs in order to ensure that the information is indeed incorrect,” she replies coolly. You shrink back against the wall, cursing silently. Dogs would sniff you out in a moment, you were as good as caught. Despair swamps you. What would happen to Shawn because of your stupidity? What would happen to the others?

People caught concealing unregistered Mythics could be imprisoned. It would be all your fault. You let out a shaky breath as heavy footsteps clunk up the stairs, each one ringing through you like the beat of a war-drum. You can hear the more rapid patter of paws on the hardwood and the heavy sniffing of a dog drawing closer.

Something in your pocket suddenly grows warm, radiating through your pants. You couldn’t remember having anything in there but you shove your hand into your pocket and close your fist around the smooth, oblong shapes. You couldn’t see them in the dark but you ran your thumb over the surfaces and a sudden memory swims to the front of your mind.

The image of the sprite from your dream flickers to the front of your mind as her voice echoes in your ear.  

“These leaves, should you eat them, will give you unimaginable power and knowledge for a short time. Have your wolf bring you back here in one week and if you have all of them intact, I will consider helping you.”

Unimaginable powers might be able to convince the dog you weren’t here, and have the troops leaving immediately. Without hesitating for a second more you bite down on the leaves, swallowing them after only a few chews.

It takes only a few seconds before you feel the change, like something deep and slumbering you had never noticed within you awakening. You could sense the people in the house, the wolves and the people, and just outside the door, the dog and its handler.

You stretch out a mental hand, breathing every ounce of energy you had in you into it. Go away, there’s nothing hidden here, you urge it. There’s no one to find here, you’ve checked. The information was incorrect. There’s no one here.

The dog’s heavy breathing reaches right up to the crack of the door and pauses, and you throw all of your concentration into repeating those words, throwing them out to the dog and the person. For a heart-stopping moment nothing happens, then the footsteps retreat. They pass through the rest of the house and then stomp down the stairs.

“There’s no one here, the information was incorrect,” the handler’s voice reports somewhat dazedly.

“You’re sure?” barks the woman.

“We’ve checked, there’s nothing hidden here,” he tells her, echoing your exact words. You throw your mind out to her, feeling her hesitation.

They must know, they checked. We were wrong, we must leave. You whisper the thoughts into her mind in her own harsh voice.

“Very well, we’re done here.” The front door slams behind them and you hear a barked order to the people on the street to move out. The relief that crashes over you is so massive that your knees actually give out and you slump back against the wall.

They were safe, everyone is safe.

Snap.

***

Thoughts? Feelings? Feedback? let me know what you thought!

[itad]

Tonight’s the Night!(part5)

TheDirt!TommyLeeXReader

Summary: You have been on tour for almost a year, event after event, mile after mile. Your uncle was Doc the manager of Mötley Crüe, one of your favorite bands. He pulled a few strings and got you on this tour for a late birthday present and for making up the lost time from when you didn’t see him much as a child. As he was one of the only ‘father’ figures you had. Recently found yourself thinking more and more of Tommy. Could you possibly be falling in love with the hopeless romantic? If you were could he possibly feel the same?

~you caught a little smile on his lips.~

Note: This is a long part but I appreciate y’all so much.

Word count: 1655

The next day you and the Mötley Circus loaded the bus. Taking all of their normal stops, Mick in the recliner chair, Vince in the same chair just diagonal from Mick. Tommy lay on the long couch on the side of the room, Nikki sitting at the kitchen doing lines and think about rad shit to do at concerts. You usually lay either in the back of the bus or upfront with the driver normally, but today you sat on couch same as Tommy him laying his feet on your legs. For someone to be called a terror twin, he really is just a gentle giant to so much energy. You smiled and place your arm gently over his crossed ankles, the buckles cold to the touch. Tommy covered his eyes with his arm so no day-light seeped through. You’re uncle called you and the circus for a little meeting, why you needed to be where you didn’t know. Doc McGee has managed other bands that you also loved, but this right here sitting beside and in front of you, somehow became a reality. Doc finally torpedoed into the bus closing the door and sitting on the couch opposite from me and Tommy.

“MTV has invited Mötley Crüe to their annual awards show, to of course have a chance to win an award, you’ll be walking the red carpet, so the night before I don’t want any of you to be drinking including you Tommy, I want you guys on your best behavior. Y/N I want you to accompany Tommy, see if you can get a hold of the ropes in front of the camera instead of behind, if you do well I’ll pull the string and see if I can’t get you a shot. We will be getting suits and a dress, of course, the day of, less of a chance for you guys to fuck it up. Next stop Miami.”

“Fuck Doc, I want to actually enjoy myself at this dumbass award show,” Nikki yelled getting everyone’s attention on the bus.

“Deal with it Nik, it’s what famous people do dumbass.” You shot back in your uncle's defense.

“Still pretty stupid.”

You got up, knocking Tommys feet to the floor and stormed off into the back lounge shutting the door. if anyone got on your temper it would be Nikki. You looked up to him in a musical way but as a person, fuck it was hard. Picking up the keyboard you started playing a tune, that will later become ‘Home Sweet Home’. You were multi-instrumental, playing guitar thanks to Mick, and you were taught piano at a relatively young age. But being on the tour with the boys, you decided that modeling was your best option. You could hear murmurs about who was going to be brave enough to disturb you and your little jam session. You eventually heard a knock on the door and then the door opened and there Tommy stood looking as beautiful as ever. He walked over and sat down next to you, listening to you play for a little while.

“That’s good, did you just come up with it?” Tommy’s eyes were now laying on you

“Uh yeah.” You looked back at him. Then quickly looked down at the guitar, you could get lost in his blue eyes, but you didn’t want to make it obvious that you held feelings for the drummer, as he would be on the carpet with his new girlfriend tomorrow night.

“Are you okay Y/N?” He scratched at the back of his neck

“Yeah, why wouldn’t we?”

“We just haven’t talked in a while.”

“There nothing to talk about Tommy.” You looked him in the eyes. Honestly, you wanted to talk about everything, tell him how you felt. Obviously, he didn’t feel the same.

“Okay. Okay. Okay.” He raised his hands in defense.

“Sorry, Tommy I’m just frustrated.”

“Shoot.” He motioned you to tell him what is troubling you.

“So I figured out that I liked this guy. But he has a gorgeous girlfriend, and he’ll never see me the way I see him.” You looked down at your hand. “Fuck. I want him to be happy I do but I want it to be me, Tommy.”

——

It was the day of the award show, you and the boys with your uncle went to a nice shop so you and the boys could find something, your uncle quickly sent you to get your dress as soon as you walked in. you went over by the women’s section searching for a dress. Some were bright pink others was green, you searched through the black dresses but couldn’t find one that looked decent, you strolled looking through more dresses. You looked up for a quick second. On another rack was a beautiful navy blue dress, quickly you grab it. Holding it up as it was a long dress you smiled

“Would you like to try it on?” The woman from the counter snapped her gum.

“Yeah.”

The women from the counter grabbed the keys from under the counter and began walking to the dressing rooms. When you got into one, your clothes came off. Getting the dress on, it looked like it was made for you. It hugged your hips perfectly, gave your cleavage the perfect amount to show off but be completely hidden. You loved it, it looked like something you would wear too. You shimmed out of the dress you put your clothes back on grabbing the dress you walk out and thank the cashier and went to go find the boys. They still are picking out their suits. “You guys need help?” You started looking through the rack, finding a plaid suit with a red tie holding it up for Nikki.

“Fucking sickening.” He snatched the suit out of your hand and walked into the fitting room.

You started looking again. A bright pick jacket caught your eye-grabbing the hanger you could just picture Vince actually living in this suit, you held it up and called Vince. It was almost like he was driven to it almost instantly, you’d always said that Vince was the barbie of this band, the other boys would wear black but he, of course, wanted to stand out and what another way could he do that? he’d wear pink. Vince grabbed it out of your hands and smiled sweetly.

“Thank you, Y/N Docs options sucked ass.” His smile melted your heart. You didn’t get to talk or exchange words with Vince a lot, but the interaction was sweet when it did.

You started searching the racks again, looking for a simple all-black suit to of course match the alien himself. Finally finding one and handing it to him, he slipped into another dressing room. All that was left was Tommy. Tucking the dress under your arm you searched carefully through the rack.

“I want to match the color of your dress with my suit since were going together.”

“You don’t have to.” you smiled to yourself as you continued to search for something he would wear, it’s been a knock out for the other boys but Tommy was gonna be difficult.

“But I want to, Y/N.” He looked at you with soft eyes and a light smile.

Your heart melted. “Uhh yeah.” you searched for a navy blue colored suit. You’re hand skimmed through a velvet feeling suit jacket in which it was navy blue, you held it up to show him.

“That’s it!” He quickly snatched it from your hand, running to the fitting room.

You heard your name coming from Nikki’s fitting room, you walked over to the door knocking on it, he opened the door his tie was undone. you squeezed through the small opening he gave you to come in. you stood on the seat as he was taller than you. you did his tie. Even if you were pissed off you would do anything thing for this man.

“I’m sorry Y/N.”

You hummed in response “Its fine Nikki.” Looking at Nikki in the eyes you smiled and hopped down stepping away from him to look at his appearance. “Hot.”

“I know.” He winked causing you to smile. Moments like this you felt like this was surreal. You heard one of the boys call you to name so you excused yourself from Nikki. You heard your name from Tommy’s dressing room you went over and knocked on the door. He quickly opened the door

“I can’t.”

You pushed through the door closing it behind you. “What’s wrong?”

Tommy looked at you holding out the tie. You took it and stood upon the seats wrapping it around his neck and tied the tie. You looked at him and smiled. This man was effortlessly beautiful. Tommy grabbed your hand and helped you down.

“Thank you.” With that, you and Tommy left the fitting rooms and seen that everyone was out and look handsome as ever. Smiling you picked up your dress Doc and the 4 idiots plus you went to the checkout and bought all of your clothes.

——

“Y/N in a dress? Come on, guys.” Nikki was one of the more excited, Tommy was nervous and Mick and Vince didn’t really care. You went into the tour bus bathroom slipping out of your day clothes and into the gorgeous dress, looking your self into the mirror, you could say you looked pretty good. You slipped into some black heals you knew by the end of the night you would chuck out the window. You quickly did your hair (making it more voluminous) you did your make up a quick as you could and then took a step back and smiled at your appearance. You agreed to yourself that you looked the best you could and with that, you walked out.

[awkwardshanandagins]

Costco+Lupron=One Very Stabby Shanda

You read that right, STABBY. As in I'm on the brink of stabbing someone or something.  Anyone else ever feel this way? Oh..no?  Are you telling me it's not normal to feel like stabbing someone?  Well, shit, I've been feeling stabby so hard since about 5:00 p.m. yesterday, just in time for my husband to get home.  Lucky him!  I got my sixth and final Lupron injection yesterday and this one stays in my system for three months as opposed to the one month injections I've been getting.  I don't know if you're supposed to feel much of a difference between the two but dear Lord this one has been a doozy!  I have had to try way harder than one should ever have to try to not elbow someone in the face today.  That should just be easy, right?  We don't elbow people in the face, it's not socially acceptable, therefore we do not have to consciously make an effort not to do so, we just don't do it.  Not me.  Not today.  I've had to make a very conscious decision not to elbow several stupid faces.  They're lucky I have some self-control.

At this point, you may be thinking I am a very violent person. As much as I talk about it (and yes, sometimes daydream about it), I would NEVER actually do anything to hurt anyone.  I'm a big ol' pussy and I "care" too much about my fellow man or whatever.  But, if there was ever something strong enough to make me actually throat chop someone, it would be this damn Lupron.  This shit is not for the weak!  I know better than to go out in public the first couple days after my injection but I ignored my better judgement, something I do too often.

I decided to run by Costco on my way home from work.  Going to Costco while practically roid-raging on Lupron is a terrible idea.  Going to Costco in general is usually a terrible idea.  I have such a strong love-hate relationship with Costco.  It is literally my favorite store while also being the place I hate most in this world.  It's not so much the store I despise, but the people inside of it.  There seems to be a common theme with me lately, I just really can't stand people.  Anyways, after spending almost a full week laid up on the couch I figured running some errands would be good for me.  I have to do things while I feel most human and today was one of those days, or so I thought.  Hormonally, I don't think it was my wisest decision.

Parking was the first red flag.  This dickhead woman stole my spot and I about had a total meltdown.  A screaming, crying, ramming my car into the back of hers kind of meltdown.  I think she knew how annoyed I was, one because I stared her down real hard and two because she did not get out of the car until I exited mine and walked inside.  Another spot opened up two spots away and at this point a normal person would have let it go but Lupron said "NO! YOU WILL HATE THIS WOMAN FOR THE REST OF ETERNITY.  SHOW HER YOUR HATRED!" I glared through her window as I got out of my car.  I went as slow as possible so I could see how long she'd stay in there.  Part of me was hoping she'd get out but the other part of me, the more rational part of me, was like "why? what would you do if she did get out?"  I'd give her a good ol' fashion scream cry in the face, that's what I'd do!  I always seem to think if I stare at someone long and hard enough, they'll feel my rage burning into the side of their face and they'll know they did something stupid.  Man, I sure showed her!  In reality, she probably had no idea any of this was even happening.

While walking in, I somehow got behind the slowest couple that has ever existed.  They were barely moving but did an excellent job of taking up the entire entry way so there was no way for me to go around.  They continued their slow, sprawled out moseying the whole way in, pointing and stopping at every single item; again making it nearly impossible to pass them.  My hormone fueled rage did not let me give up however.  I got way too close for comfort, did a few NFL approved spin moves and somehow slipped by.  What I don't understand is how at the end of my shopping trip in hell, I ended up behind them again!  They had to have walked in and straight to the check-out lane.  There is no way, with their speed, that they could have made it anywhere else in the store and still ended up in front of me in the short amount of time it took me to sprint around the place.  Damn them.  Damn them real hard.  Slow walkers are literally the worst.

Next, I ended up right in front of a real fun older gentleman.  He turned out to be a super douchebag, but by the end of our interaction I made sure to really give him the look of hate and shame so he knew how annoyed I was.  To start, he about ran me over with his cart.  I was eating a sample as most of us do during our shopping trips to Costco.  Let's be real, it's pretty much a given that at least 75% of us are there during lunch time to indulge on these samples instead of eating a normal lunch.  Anyways, I do what I do best and accidentally dropped it down the front of me.  It had ranch on it and it spilled all over me and splatted on the floor.  Trying to be a decent human being, I bent over to pick it up and this mother-effer was so close behind me that he had to abruptly pull his cart backwards or he would have knocked me straight onto my face.  I let him go around, loudly said "jeeeeeeeeez," picked up my stuff and walked slowly behind him so he could get way ahead.  I was trying to spare his life.  About three aisles down, all of a sudden I can feel a cart right behind me but before I could turn around, someone threw a giant heavy box of something into it making a huge crash which about made me wet myself.  I turned around and it was the same toolbag who nearly booty bumped me onto my damn face.  At this point, I was beyond annoyed, almost to a place of murder, so I decided to follow very closely behind him so he could feel my wrath glaring a hole into the back of his head.  He walked comically fast, which I take as a compliment because I obviously scared him enough for him to practically run away.

I decided to skip the rest of the samples and leave before I lashed out and hurt someone, or most likely myself.  It was obvious I was in no state of mind to be around other human beings so I made a straight shot for the aisle I needed which luckily was right by the check-out.

You know what people drive me the most crazy?  The ones who act like they take precedence over everyone else on this earth.  Luckily, one of them was right in the main aisle trying samples with her child while her cart sat in the middle of the busiest aisle there is.  It was obvious it was in the way as people were lined up to get around it and were taking turns to pass her.  The polite thing would be to move your cart but no, she just stood there shoving her stupid face with quinoa not giving one shit that she was making it difficult for literally every other person there to get around her.  If anyone were to get a punch to the throat today, it would have been her.  I wanted to slap her quinoa out of her hand and high-kick her cart.  Move your shit, lady!

Whoever is in charge of deciding what items go on which shelves is either incredibly smart or terribly evil, or both I guess.  All I wanted was the protein powder I use for my morning shakes.  It is usually always by the vitamins but you know where they moved it?  On the fucking candy aisle!  Good God, why?  I AM A WEAK PERSON, COSTCO!  They know.  They know we are all weak and if they put the healthy crap by the delicious and unhealthy crap, we will buy both.  What a bunch of assholes.  Smart assholes though.

By the time I got up to the checkout lane, my arms were so full of stuff I did not go there for in the first place, that I was walking with an awkward limp, attempting to use one of my legs as a weird third arm to try to keep it all from falling.  I was hot and super sweaty at this point, which I'm sure made me look incredibly sane, and the rage had hit an all-time high.  What's worse than a menopausal woman?  A HOT menopausal woman!  A nice man came to my rescue as he clearly saw they had a liability on their hands with me.  I left as quickly as possible and tried not to look at anyone for fear if they gave me the wrong face, I might throw my box of items right at their head.

This was not even one of my worst trips to Costco.  I usually take Paul with me which honestly just makes it all worse.  He is not good in crowds and has a quick temper at times.  We are quite the pair right now!  One of us usually tries to remain level headed to keep the other one from completely losing their mind and rampaging through the store.  He absolutely loathes Costco so I tend to be the one remaining level headed.  Hard to imagine, I know.  The sample areas are breeding grounds for assholes.  It never fails, every time either he or I walk up to grab one, some jerkoff steps in front of us and grabs the last one.  I will wait patiently but Paul will boil over and have to walk away while cursing quietly.  Actually it's not quiet at all.  He does it so loud it usually draws attention.  I try to quickly corral him out of there while telling him to talk quieter which usually leads to us bickering until one of us walks ahead of the other one and remains five steps in front for the rest of the excursion.  It's obvious there is a marital spat taking place at this point.  Any time you see a woman walking five steps in front of a man, you can guarantee a fight just took place.  I really should just leave him at home.  It never turns out well.  Paul can't help but have an angry scowl on his face the entire time.  My family now calls Paul's angry face his "Costco face."

My next stop was PetSmart.  I should have just gone home but why stop there?  Maybe for the safety of myself and others?  Probably, but I live life dangerously.  There was this bird, or possibly baby pterodactyl, inside PetSmart that screeched non-stop the entire time I was there.  Normally, I would be able to block that out but my Lupron brain would not allow me to and instead made it sound like it was inside my skull.  I asked the cashier if the bird did this all the time and he said yes while looking like he had been seriously considering murder.  I would lose my mind working there with that bird.  That damn thing would "mysteriously" disappear one day.  Whoa, calm down, I wouldn't kill it, I'd obviously just let it go.  Right as I walked out of the parking lot, a car alarm continued the screeching's of that fucking bird.  Again, it usually wouldn't bother me but since it was happening inside my skull, I seriously considered running inside and screaming similar sounds until someone shut the stupid thing off.  Instead, I got in my car and drove my ass home.  I will hide out here until the effects of Satan's saliva wears off and I am a more normal, functioning person.

I cannot even begin to tell you how excited I am that this will be my last shot!  This stuff is no joke.  It honestly has been both a blessing and a curse.  I truly do think it's made me feel better in many aspects but it has also made me into a complete lunatic.  Seriously, if my marriage can withstand this, it can withstand anything!

To those who are considering this medication, please do not let my stories turn you away from it.  The side effects I've had really have not been anything compared to the constant pain and bleeding us girls/women with endometriosis suffer from.  I've heard people have both amazing and terrible experiences with it.  I really urge you to think for yourself on this one and not take others' experiences into account since each one of us reacts so differently to this drug.  If you do decide to take it, good luck and God speed!  I joke.  Seriously though, I am here to listen to you throughout your own Lupron journey if you just need someone to vent to.  It helps having someone to talk to who completely gets it.  If you decide to give Lupron a try, just a word of advice...DON'T GO TO COSTCO!

[jeanplaisance]

The Goon Squad 2

For your listening enjoyment while reading this short story about the audacious endeavors of a select group of dysfunctional individuals, please use the following playlist for your selection of background music:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U-WzMovyzUA&list=PLWhQLCK89W8BDlgoZ-Rcp75q2WSjKRhGn

In the middle of a wasteland, the squad had set up a small encampment under the umbrella of an acacia tree’s foliage complete with a campfire pit and a tent large enough for the three of them, excluding the Gimp who preferred to endure the elements. It was here they had settled just outside of the ruins of a large city, a brief distance away from the shattered remnants of a highway.

“Leslie!! The Gimp is acting weird!” called out the Kid.

Leslie, without stopping his knitting, mocked, “Oh if I had a dong for every time I heard that…” With some pull and strain, the Kid managed to drag the Gimp out from behind the tent and into Leslie’s line of sight. He had equipped himself with a harness and was harassing the kid in a dog-like manner as if he wanted to be walked.

“Oh! Go find Fred! The Gimp wants to go somewhere. Why didn’t you just say so?” The Kid grimaced, as if to suggest that this question somehow stupid. Meanwhile, the gimp was nodding furiously to indicate that Leslie’s interpretation was correct. The kid groaned, bracing himself for the humiliation that was the cart.

The Goon Squad may be lacking in most classical faculties that one would consider necessary to proper human conduct, but they well understood energy preservation when it came to long distance travel in the wastes of society… Needless to say, fighting dudes on the beach was not conservative in any capacity. And thus, the gang all squeezed into a shopping cart hooked to the Gimp via harness and they began their uncomfortable, bumpy journey into the city. The Gimp gave no consideration to pot holes, believing them to build character, especially for a vehicle with no cushioning or shock support. Bumps were no factor in Leslie’s knitting abilities, and he proceeded unhindered.

You might picture that this group was recklessly barreling down the highways, speeding recklessly on the downward slope of overpasses, blazing through intersections and doing wheelies in parking lots. However, the Gimp is an obedient creature at heart. He obeys traffic laws. He stays in his lane, signals when appropriate, yields to oncoming traffic, and comes to a full stop at stop signs. He is fully concerned with the safety of his passengers, understanding that while he likes abuse, he should not assert that on others. He would obey the speed limit as well, but he will never reach speeds that mattered. Not with that attitude, at least.

Most of the city was desolate. Stores had been stripped of any and all supplies long ago, becoming operational bases to local bandits. Yet, one stood unphased by the catastrophe that struck. Sitting under an exceptionally high overpass, there was the Mega Mini Mart. Like a mini mart, it had only simple supplies, but unlike a mini mart, those supplies were in abundance. Where a mini mart might have cough drops, deodorant, band-aids, and cat food, the Mega Mini Mart had cough drops, deodorant, band-aids, cat food, deodorant, cat food, cough drops, band-aids, band-aids, band-aids, deodorant, cat food, cough drops, and deodorant.You see the difference? This is not to be confused with the Mini Mega Mart, which was a miniature scale model of the mega mart next door which has excellent variety in the products it offers. Its primary customers were ants and was run by fruit flies. Yet, everybody knew that the fruit flies were a front and the store was actually operated by yellow jackets in an effort to oppress ants through price gouging conventional living goods. At any rate, I digress.

True to its name, most everything about the store was plus sized. The sliding glass doors were at least three stories high, and centered above them read:

M E G A

M  I  N  I

M A R T

Which took up the next few floors worth of advertising space. The Goon Squad approached the doors, and like any other mart, the doors automatically opened and welcomed them in.

The inside was no different in concept and was truly a civil engineering masterpiece. The aisles towered far above, lined with countless shelves of the same product in abundance, but all neatly faced on the shelves for the image of a perfect consistency. Classic supermarket stocking technique. It was as if no warehouse supplied this store and the store was the warehouse itself, but trust me: you don’t want to know about the Mega Mini Mart warehouse.

Accompanying the squad’s fruitless effort of following the aimless Gimp around was the constant, overbearing presence of terrible, easy listening grocery store music belonging to a long lost period of humanity. It played unrelentingly, adding an uncanny feeling to the mysterious absence of anybody else in the store. And so, they wandered.

After about 30 minutes though of walking up and down aisles, and even going in circles, the Kid had to put his foot down on the Gimp, figuratively. “Okay guys. That’s enough. Stop.” They listened for once. “What are we doing? Where is the Gimp taking us?”

Fred shrugged. “I don’t know. He just kinda figures it out. It’s hard for a guy who can’t read, but he finds what he’s looking for.” The Kid leaned in, surprised. “He can’t read?” Looking over to the Gimp, he could see it plainly spelled out on the Gimp’s face that he couldn’t read. Not because he looked like an idiot, but because there was nowhere on his mask for him to see out of. The Kid startled at this revelation. Turning back to Fred and Leslie, he pointed back at the Gimp in shock, “Wait, how does he get around like that? He brought us here! He stopped at stop signs!”

Leslie and Fred shrugged. “The Gimp works in mysterious ways.”

Putting their faith in the Gimp, they finally came conveniently to a shelf of baby powder on the first floor of Aisle 147. There is pain, and then there’s inconvenience and the Gimp was starting to chafe. How he had come to find this went unquestioned, quelling all disbelief from the Kid. From here though, it was simply about navigating to the front of the store and checking out. A simple task. Straightforward.

Yet, the mysterious absence of people was finally answered. With half a hundred check out lines, they were all closed except for Register 1. All the people were waiting in line to checkout. Their arms tired from their groceries, as they so boldly skipped out on a basket like so many fools before, underestimating just how many items they would find they truly needed. It was horrific as they shifted their weight, trying to relieve their sore arms from carrying these groceries. And the line. The merciless line! It extended all the way from the front of the register to the tabloids at the end of the checkout. Rather than seeking alternatives, the squad resolved to endure this test of patience.

Oddly enough, the checkout was normally sized, meaning there was roughly four people in line besides the squad. By this time, Leslie had finished his knitting, producing a nice blue woolen cap for the Kid who accepted it graciously, but was embarrassed to be wearing it in public.

There they stood, waiting in line, with their single container of baby powder inching its way forward slowly across the conveyor belt to the register. Past the register was the exit, guarded by two large men in berets and sunglasses, armed with assault rifles. They stood like statues at attention.

Beep. The attendant placed the baby powder over by the bags at the end of the checkout.

“That’ll be 37 dong, sir,” said the register attendant.

Fred leaned over the counter, incredulously. “37 dong? For some baby powder? You can’t be serious.”

“Have you tried the Mini Mega Mart next door instead?” repeated the attendant.

“Have you tried an asskicking?” Fred was his wit’s end, but conceded. Fred stuffed his hand in his pocket, but followed up with a quick pat down when he realized he’d forgotten something. “Oh shit, I forgot my wallet.” They all met eyes, except the Gimp who can’t fucking see. “Quick, Kid, give me some dong from your purse.”

“What?!” He exclaimed defensively. “Also, it’s a satchel!”

“Purse, satchel, whatever. I know you’re holding out on us.” He gestured to fork it over.

“Awww, c’mon, Fred! I found it! Why do I have to spend it on the Gimp?”

Fred sighed exasperatedly, rolling his eyes with great vigor. “How many times do I have to tell you, THE GIMP IS A VALUED MEMBER OF THIS FAMILY AND GOD HELP ME IF YOU-”

Fishing out some bills from his purse, the Kid forked over a handful of bills to Fred, clearly displeased. “FINE! TAKE THE STUPID DONG!”

The register attendant was completely unphased by this display.

“Let’s see... “ Fred flipped through the dong. He paused at the end, and then thumbed through it again. He stared off into space for a moment nodding, before he thumbed through it again. Leslie leaned over his shoulder and whispered into his ear. “You have 35 dong.”

Fred turned to him, “I knew that. I was getting there. I was just…  making sure.”

“That means we’re two dong short,” Leslie continued.

Again, they were at a crossroads, waiting each other out. Fred eventually caved, and took off his shoe, pulling two additional bills out of it, crumpled from being stuffed into the tip. The flustered Fred tossed the money carelessly across the counter to the register attendant who proceeded as if this was merely an everyday situation. Yet for some reason, Fred made no move to pick up the baby powder, simply staring at the attendant instead.

“Uhh… can I help you, sir? There are other customers waiting.” The attendant pointed down the checkout, where a short, balding man with curly hair was standing with some box mac and cheese.

Fred sat there bouncing his leg, now giving stink eye to the attendant. Leslie approached him, gently placing his hand on his shoulder, “Fred, is there a problem?”

After a moment of strained silence, Fred finally spoke. “You son of a bitch.”

“Sir, is there a problem?” asked the attendant.

“Look, just bag the fucking baby powder.”

“Sir, that’s not in my job description. The customers typically-”

“I did not just pay 37 dong to bag my own baby powder. Are you fucking with me?”

“Sir, that’s not in my-”

“Yeah, you said that already. I heard you. Just bag the powder kid.”

The pair of armed guards had abandoned their post and were now approaching the register in light of the scene that Fred was making. Leslie and the Kid were growing anxious now, pleading with Fred to abandon his pride. He didn’t even need a bag. Just pick it up and take it with him.

“It’s about the principle of the matter now! Just because the vietnamese took over the world, this guy thinks good ol’ human decency is now out the window and we’re living in some kind of post-apocalyptic nightmare where a guy has to bag his own groceries!”

The attendant was picking up his phone and getting ready to dial. “Sir, I am going to have to call my manager if you continue making a scene. Sir, just-”

It was too late. Fred had jumped into the counter, and was trying to grab the phone from the attendant from the other side. “You let me speak to your manager!” One of the guard’s aimed down his sights… and fired.

Everybody flinched from the shot, and when they opened their eyes… they found a man dying on the floor. He coughed and sputtered, but through his pain, uttered his dying words. “Daryl, I know things between us never could have worked out, but…” He turned over and looked up at Fred, whom he had taken the bullet for. It was the balding man from behind them in line. Upon seeing Fred’s face, he collapsed back into the floor. “Oh for fuck’s sake…  I thought you were my ex Daryl from behind. Who the fuck else would wear shorts with juicy written on the back… ?” He trailed off as he passed away.

The squad stared in horror at the armed guards, anticipating the worst.

“Hey bro, toss me some more ammo,” whispered one guard to another.

“What do you mean toss you some more? You only fired one shot!” The other was whisper yelling back.

“Yeah, but that was all I had. Now c’mon!”

“... I don’t got any.”

“What the fuck do you mean you don’t got any?!”

“I thought you had us covered.”

“What?!”

“I didn’t wanna sound dumb, but I didn’t find none.”

“Al, we’re guards!”

However, their argument was cut short because a fight broke out immediately. The Gimp, Leslie, and Fred had taken the opportunity during their arguing to rush the guards, taking them by surprise! With a single devastating back handed bitch slap, the Gimp felled one of the guards, devolving their squabble into a wrestling match on the ground. Fred assisted by kicking and stomping, hitting friend and foe alike. Leslie and his guard were pulling each other around the floor by each other’s shirt collar, scratching at one another’s face and pulling hair.

The Kid took no part in the abuse of the store staff, beet red with embarrassment at the display before him.

The fight was swinging ever further into the Goon Squad’s favor when it was interrupted by the flash of lights turning on somewhere in the darkness above near the monolithic store’s ceiling. The fight ceased and everybody turned to find the silhouette of a man standing proudly on the railing of a cat walk far above. In a graceful sweep, he leapt from the catwalks and in perfect form, dropped the entirety of six stories to deliver a single devastating elbow drop onto the Gimp, defeating him immediately. Rising was a man in laced boots and trunks with wrist cuffs on and a luchadore mask. Along his trunks read, “THE MAN-AGER” and countless tick marks designating numerous customers defeated.

He called out in a booming voice of showmanship, “Who dares to harass my staff?! Speak now, for I have arrived!”

Fred answered his call with a weak right hook, to which the manager dodged. Grabbing Fred by the shoulder and hip, he lifted him above, threw him on the floor, and defeated him instantly with another flying elbow drop. He rose once more.

Leslie came in with one of his famous flying drop kicks, “YEET, B-” But he was cut short! The Man-ager side stepped Leslie as he dropped helplessly to the floor, opening himself up to yet another devastating flying elbow drop. Yet to The Man-ager’s surprise, Leslie had blocked the blow to his ribs with his arm.

Standing once more, The Man-ager was grinning. “Hoho! A worthy foe! A mere elbow drop isn’t sufficient for the likes of you, but we’ll see how you feel about my Muay Thai Body Obliterator.”

I apologize for the interruption, but I cannot describe this move to you. So far, these stories have been rather tame and I would not want to pain any readers with the details the likes of which are involved with the Muay Thai Body Obliterator. I assure you though, that the Muay Thai Body Obliterator is a devastating move that has been banned in all forms of martial arts contests for its lethality and striking disregard for the sanctity of human life. I regret to inform you, that Leslie is the one who must endure such a technique, but fret not! Leslie’s a tough ol’ bird with plenty to live for. He has no time for dying.

The exit was now thoroughly demolished and the setting sun’s light was now pouring onto the shattered tile floor of the Mega Mini Mart. The Squad had been defeated, save for the Kid, who refused to participate in the fight with the staff. Though unconscious, nobody paid with their life. The Man-ager was now wandering from one to another checking up on each person. He straightened himself and turned his focus to the Kid.

“Hey, I sure do appreciate your staying outta cahoots with these here hooligans. Doesn’t do my heart much good to have to hurt folks like this.”

“Oh, no problem! I’m sorry you had to do this. I can take it from here and get them out of your hair,” offered the Kid.

But The Man-ager just laughed and shook his head. “Oh no, that’s not quite how this works I’m afraid.”

The Kid froze. “What do you mean? Surely you want to get rid of us.”

“These fellas have caused me a bit of property damage and I do believe I am in my right to be seeking reparations. I have been in need of some overnight stockers to help me out with runnin’ this operation...”

This was not part of his plan. In his mind, by staying out of the fight, he was demonstrating good will, he was going to apologize on behalf of the others, and everybody would be on their way. This wasn’t the first time things had gotten a little out of hand. Suddenly, however, he was the only one going on his way from this fiasco.

“I don’t need to remind you, but we are closing in 15 minutes.” With that, The Man-ager tossed up the unconscious Gimp over his shoulder, and began making his way over to Fred as well.

“Wait-”

“Unless you would like to join them, I would suggest you take your groceries and see yourself out.”

The Kid was left standing out in front of the Mega Mini Mart, a wool cap on his head and baby powder in his hand, and the sun was now setting.

[samanthasroberts]

8 Software Features That Would Make Real Life Awesome

If you’re anything like me, you spend most of your time on the computer because it’s way easier than real life. Literally everything in a computer is easier than its analog counterpart. Email is better than snail mail, YouTube lets us watch people get hit in the balls without having to endure whatever asshole is currently hosting America’s Funniest Home Videos, and word processing programs let us type without revealing what grammatically inept morons we are.

Wouldn’t it be great if we had the same conveniences of a computer in reality? Here are the features I think we could use the most.

#8. Copy/Cut/Paste

I’ve worked exclusively with computers for well over a decade, because I’m clumsy and therefore a danger to myself when doing real-people jobs, and I get frustrated easily with repetitious tasks. Whether it’s flipping burgers or making a brick wall, the act of repeatedly picking things up and moving them is a pain in the ass.

In The Real World …

You could select an object and then just copy, paste, repeat. A job at Taco Bell would be a lot more bearable if you made one taco before lunch and just pasted it, hot and fully wrapped, over and over again for every customer.

“Or you could give me a Ctrl+Z to undo working here …”

Stores would save a bundle simply reusing the same product over and over, and you could save even more buying one of those build-your-own six packs and just pasting the good ones forever. Even more practically, you could make copies of your more valuable organs for when you inevitably destroy them with all of the cigarettes, Big Macs, and vodka you copied over the years.

The cut function might be even better. You’d never have to do any heavy lifting again. You could just cut and later paste things wherever you want them to go. Imagine a world in which strained backs are a thing of the past. Carrying loads of laundry up and down the stairs would be as easy as walking up and down the stairs — which is a challenge for me because I’m terribly out of shape, but you get the general idea.

Though carrying a complete bedroom set on a clipboard might prove to be tricky.

Destroying evidence would be as easy as cutting an object, then cutting another. Just like the joke that was originally here but accidentally copied over, it would never be seen again. Those hundreds of beer bottles from that binge you pasted over the weekend? Cut and then lost seconds later when you copied that McNugget into the full 20 you now need to fight the hangover.

#7. Saving Progress

Do you have any regrets? I do. I’m divorced, I’ve gotten speeding tickets, and I once got hit in the junk by a piece of wood that flew out of a table saw. So I have some experience with looking back on moments and reflecting on how it would be super to have not done that, because I still cry when I pee sometimes. (Divorce is rough, folks)

On the other hand, I have zero regrets with any video game I play, because I save as often as possible, whether it allows quick saves or has save points. For example, there is no regret for your character in Alien: Isolation when you accidentally attract the creature with your running and it kills you, because you saved the game and can go back and not do that this time. Unfortunately for your underwear, that doesn’t undo the racing stripe you just forged in terror turds.

A better bowel loosener than Metamucil or a draft notice for Ted Nugent.

In The Real World …

Wouldn’t it be great if we could save the day when we get up in the morning? Or just before a big interview? Or before asking the custodian if he was propositioning you with his eyes or just has a weird tic? All that regret could be undone with a reload. It would be like Edge Of Tomorrow, except you don’t have to get shot in the face or run over to undo your most recent screwup.

“Shit …”

Had an awesome relationship, but fucked it up over a stupid misunderstanding? Reload. Blow through a red light? Reload. Got drunk and put peanut butter on your genitals to make friends with the dog? Reload, but gross. You can reboot your life, but you can’t scrub a soul clean, pervert.

#6. Piracy

Before anyone screams, I know, piracy is bad. It can and has murdered the careers of indie developers and writers, because rather than paying for their product, people just shared it for free, and free doesn’t buy food and WiFi. On that note, a lot of people are A-OK pirating things from big companies. Raise your hand if you paid $7,000 for that copy of Photoshop you use to replace celebrities’ heads with dicks. I thought so.

Fact: Only two legitimate copies were ever made, both in 1997.

In The Real World …

Now that we’ve cleared that up, think about a world in which the poor and downtrodden could have lobster mac and cheese because someone made some at a fancy (possibly schmancy) restaurant, then made a bunch of free copies to share. That wouldn’t even impact the restaurant, because it’s not like Ol’ Hobo Gus was going to eat at the Four Seasons but “fuck it, free lobster mac.” And what if simple things that add up in life could just be duplicated from what the Haves have to make life less shitty for the hardworking Have Nots? Trips to the food bank would be a snap, and you could drop off Costco-sized boxes of Q-tips or actual fresh food instead of that canned garbage that people who can’t afford a can opener are always offered.

True, but would we really want to have to sit through this PSA before every meal?

Granted, some people would take advantage of this and use it for Teslas, Blu-ray players, and 96-inch TVs that would go perfectly in my living room. Now, these pirated copies will probably have some built-in problems just to fuck with the thieves, but honestly, that’s an extra layer of hilarious I think the real world could use right now.

#5. Bookmarks And Shortcuts

Bookmarks are already a thing. Remember those pieces of poster board you shoved into your pre-Kindle so that when you went back you didn’t have to remember what page you were on? That’s actually exactly how we came to use the term “bookmark” for webpages.

In The Real World …

Condescending history lessons aside, the basic idea behind bookmarks and shortcuts would be amazing in the real world. Imagine being able to snap right back to where you were in line after running to the bathroom, regardless of how many dick nerds stole your place for the new Star Wars movie.

Although autocomplete will lead to awkward questions as to why you went to the strip mall while your husband ended up at “Mammary Lane.”

More practically, you could make a shortcut to the responsible groceries you always “forget” when shopping. A shortcut to where you parked at a mall or concert could save valuable hours of your life that could have been spent doing something other than wandering and crying quietly.

#4. “Invisible” Setting

One of the main reasons socially inept people like myself evolve into Howard-Hughes-like hermits who collect cats and cereal boxes until A&E has to intervene is the fact that it’s hard to go anywhere in society without socializing. Leaving the house almost always means someone is going to say “hello” or make eye contact, and that is just too damn much human interaction for some of us.

Even if you’re not a shut-in, there are some people you’d rather not interact with who can’t seem to read the “get fucked” look in your eyes and insist on speaking to you.

This is why chat programs have an “invisible” setting. Because sometimes you have shit to do and don’t want to be bugged by employees, former friends, or that mall Santa who’s been following you for years.

In The Real World …

Just think, you no longer have to feel guilty as you try to avoid eye contact with a homeless person despite the wad of cash in your pocket. You could get that cucumber and variety box of condoms through the self-checkout without feeling watched. Go on, I won’t judge.

That virgin olive oil isn’t going to stay that way for long …

It would also make life much more bearable for the self-conscious in the world. I’m someone who can trip over nothing on a linoleum floor, so walking down a concrete sidewalk with seams has caused more than a few completely unnecessary stumbles when people were looking. There’s nothing I can do about that, because there’s no therapy for clumsiness, but it would be awesome to fall because your feet are stupid and not have witnesses.

On the downside, shoplifting would be super easy. But come on people, don’t be assholes.

Pirate that shit.

#3. Pausing

If anything on this list is a superpower I would bathe myself in toxic chemicals to get, this is it. The best part of watching a movie, listening to a song, or playing a video game on a computer is the ability to pause it at any time for any reason.

Like that much needed change of underwear and vodka shot after this.

In The Real World …

The ability to pause life would make time management meaningless, since procrastinating would only consume non-time that you’d essentially have an endless supply of. Impromptu naps could happen at any time with no repercussions. No matter how crazy/important/fast-paced your job, you could just drop everything and run to the can at any time (but still wash your hands, stinky).

Work in fast food? You could spit in some asshole’s food for being rude, and literally no one would be able to tell. Not that I endorse that kind of thing. You could also rob a bank just by waiting for someone to open the vault and walking in. But I recommend just using it for napping and meeting deadlines at the last minute, unless you’re a terrible person.

There’s a reason we called this the greatest superpower of all time.

#2. Search Engines

Search engines are more than just a convenience in the modern world. They’re necessary to find a job, a cookie recipe, or personal information about that person you have a crush on and can’t seem to get a lock of their hair to sniff. But in the real world, it would become the single most indispensable tool anyone ever devised.

Way more than whatever the fuck this is.

In The Real World …

You’d never lose another set of keys, or your phone. You wouldn’t have to ask anyone where the condoms were at the store (see: invisibility, self checkout), and you could “image” search that person you kinda recognize and knows your name so you don’t look like a dick when they say hi. Combine it with the bookmark feature and you could dominate on Jeopardy or emotionally brutalize the stupid on Wheel Of Fortune.

Otherwise known as the University of Phoenix of game shows.

If you were ever lost in the wilderness, you could look up which mushrooms you could eat for fun, and which ones you could eat for food. Or maybe search where you are and not get lost in the first place.

You could also become the world’s most hated “um, actually” guy by immediately debunking the bullshit everyone around you spouts. But hey, self-righteousness is it’s own reward, right? It’s what fuels Facebook.

#1. Muting/Blocking

If you’ve ever used Twitter, these are indispensable tools for not being bothered by people who insist on “debating” you by spamming up your timeline with endless tweets, blowing off those “See Why I faved You” religious accounts, and, most importantly, keeping unruly dicks from so called “movements” from sea-lioning you with bullshit questions because you happened to share an opinion they disagreed with.

The new universal symbol for “asshole.”

In The Real World …

Wouldn’t it be great to never again have to hear those annoying people working the kiosks in the middle of the mall?

No! No one wants your stupid copper head-octopus thing, and you smell like a cologne ad from the 1970s.

You could permanently avoid people you’ve had a falling out with. Or you could block or mute other things, like tabloids in the checkout line or anything on daytime TV that isn’t Twilight Zone reruns.

Even better, women could mute or block catcallers. Imagine a world in which cutting shitty people out of your life was as easy as clicking a button. Of everything in this list, this is the one that would allow people to take back their lives from assholes and do some real good. Hell, how much heartache and pain could we all have avoided in the ’90s if we could just block Columbia House?

“You can buy 15 puppies for just a penny!” “Must … ignore …

As with blocking on the Internet, people will call you a coward and claim that they won life if you block them. And just like blocking on the Internet, they’re dead fucking wrong, because your life now contains one less annoying cow pie of a human. And we could all use fewer human cow pies.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/8-software-features-that-would-make-real-life-awesome/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2018/04/08/8-software-features-that-would-make-real-life-awesome/

[adambstingus]

8 Software Features That Would Make Real Life Awesome

If you’re anything like me, you spend most of your time on the computer because it’s way easier than real life. Literally everything in a computer is easier than its analog counterpart. Email is better than snail mail, YouTube lets us watch people get hit in the balls without having to endure whatever asshole is currently hosting America’s Funniest Home Videos, and word processing programs let us type without revealing what grammatically inept morons we are.

Wouldn’t it be great if we had the same conveniences of a computer in reality? Here are the features I think we could use the most.

#8. Copy/Cut/Paste

I’ve worked exclusively with computers for well over a decade, because I’m clumsy and therefore a danger to myself when doing real-people jobs, and I get frustrated easily with repetitious tasks. Whether it’s flipping burgers or making a brick wall, the act of repeatedly picking things up and moving them is a pain in the ass.

In The Real World …

You could select an object and then just copy, paste, repeat. A job at Taco Bell would be a lot more bearable if you made one taco before lunch and just pasted it, hot and fully wrapped, over and over again for every customer.

“Or you could give me a Ctrl+Z to undo working here …”

Stores would save a bundle simply reusing the same product over and over, and you could save even more buying one of those build-your-own six packs and just pasting the good ones forever. Even more practically, you could make copies of your more valuable organs for when you inevitably destroy them with all of the cigarettes, Big Macs, and vodka you copied over the years.

The cut function might be even better. You’d never have to do any heavy lifting again. You could just cut and later paste things wherever you want them to go. Imagine a world in which strained backs are a thing of the past. Carrying loads of laundry up and down the stairs would be as easy as walking up and down the stairs — which is a challenge for me because I’m terribly out of shape, but you get the general idea.

Though carrying a complete bedroom set on a clipboard might prove to be tricky.

Destroying evidence would be as easy as cutting an object, then cutting another. Just like the joke that was originally here but accidentally copied over, it would never be seen again. Those hundreds of beer bottles from that binge you pasted over the weekend? Cut and then lost seconds later when you copied that McNugget into the full 20 you now need to fight the hangover.

#7. Saving Progress

Do you have any regrets? I do. I’m divorced, I’ve gotten speeding tickets, and I once got hit in the junk by a piece of wood that flew out of a table saw. So I have some experience with looking back on moments and reflecting on how it would be super to have not done that, because I still cry when I pee sometimes. (Divorce is rough, folks)

On the other hand, I have zero regrets with any video game I play, because I save as often as possible, whether it allows quick saves or has save points. For example, there is no regret for your character in Alien: Isolation when you accidentally attract the creature with your running and it kills you, because you saved the game and can go back and not do that this time. Unfortunately for your underwear, that doesn’t undo the racing stripe you just forged in terror turds.

A better bowel loosener than Metamucil or a draft notice for Ted Nugent.

In The Real World …

Wouldn’t it be great if we could save the day when we get up in the morning? Or just before a big interview? Or before asking the custodian if he was propositioning you with his eyes or just has a weird tic? All that regret could be undone with a reload. It would be like Edge Of Tomorrow, except you don’t have to get shot in the face or run over to undo your most recent screwup.

“Shit …”

Had an awesome relationship, but fucked it up over a stupid misunderstanding? Reload. Blow through a red light? Reload. Got drunk and put peanut butter on your genitals to make friends with the dog? Reload, but gross. You can reboot your life, but you can’t scrub a soul clean, pervert.

#6. Piracy

Before anyone screams, I know, piracy is bad. It can and has murdered the careers of indie developers and writers, because rather than paying for their product, people just shared it for free, and free doesn’t buy food and WiFi. On that note, a lot of people are A-OK pirating things from big companies. Raise your hand if you paid $7,000 for that copy of Photoshop you use to replace celebrities’ heads with dicks. I thought so.

Fact: Only two legitimate copies were ever made, both in 1997.

In The Real World …

Now that we’ve cleared that up, think about a world in which the poor and downtrodden could have lobster mac and cheese because someone made some at a fancy (possibly schmancy) restaurant, then made a bunch of free copies to share. That wouldn’t even impact the restaurant, because it’s not like Ol’ Hobo Gus was going to eat at the Four Seasons but “fuck it, free lobster mac.” And what if simple things that add up in life could just be duplicated from what the Haves have to make life less shitty for the hardworking Have Nots? Trips to the food bank would be a snap, and you could drop off Costco-sized boxes of Q-tips or actual fresh food instead of that canned garbage that people who can’t afford a can opener are always offered.

True, but would we really want to have to sit through this PSA before every meal?

Granted, some people would take advantage of this and use it for Teslas, Blu-ray players, and 96-inch TVs that would go perfectly in my living room. Now, these pirated copies will probably have some built-in problems just to fuck with the thieves, but honestly, that’s an extra layer of hilarious I think the real world could use right now.

#5. Bookmarks And Shortcuts

Bookmarks are already a thing. Remember those pieces of poster board you shoved into your pre-Kindle so that when you went back you didn’t have to remember what page you were on? That’s actually exactly how we came to use the term “bookmark” for webpages.

In The Real World …

Condescending history lessons aside, the basic idea behind bookmarks and shortcuts would be amazing in the real world. Imagine being able to snap right back to where you were in line after running to the bathroom, regardless of how many dick nerds stole your place for the new Star Wars movie.

Although autocomplete will lead to awkward questions as to why you went to the strip mall while your husband ended up at “Mammary Lane.”

More practically, you could make a shortcut to the responsible groceries you always “forget” when shopping. A shortcut to where you parked at a mall or concert could save valuable hours of your life that could have been spent doing something other than wandering and crying quietly.

#4. “Invisible” Setting

One of the main reasons socially inept people like myself evolve into Howard-Hughes-like hermits who collect cats and cereal boxes until A&E has to intervene is the fact that it’s hard to go anywhere in society without socializing. Leaving the house almost always means someone is going to say “hello” or make eye contact, and that is just too damn much human interaction for some of us.

Even if you’re not a shut-in, there are some people you’d rather not interact with who can’t seem to read the “get fucked” look in your eyes and insist on speaking to you.

This is why chat programs have an “invisible” setting. Because sometimes you have shit to do and don’t want to be bugged by employees, former friends, or that mall Santa who’s been following you for years.

In The Real World …

Just think, you no longer have to feel guilty as you try to avoid eye contact with a homeless person despite the wad of cash in your pocket. You could get that cucumber and variety box of condoms through the self-checkout without feeling watched. Go on, I won’t judge.

That virgin olive oil isn’t going to stay that way for long …

It would also make life much more bearable for the self-conscious in the world. I’m someone who can trip over nothing on a linoleum floor, so walking down a concrete sidewalk with seams has caused more than a few completely unnecessary stumbles when people were looking. There’s nothing I can do about that, because there’s no therapy for clumsiness, but it would be awesome to fall because your feet are stupid and not have witnesses.

On the downside, shoplifting would be super easy. But come on people, don’t be assholes.

Pirate that shit.

#3. Pausing

If anything on this list is a superpower I would bathe myself in toxic chemicals to get, this is it. The best part of watching a movie, listening to a song, or playing a video game on a computer is the ability to pause it at any time for any reason.

Like that much needed change of underwear and vodka shot after this.

In The Real World …

The ability to pause life would make time management meaningless, since procrastinating would only consume non-time that you’d essentially have an endless supply of. Impromptu naps could happen at any time with no repercussions. No matter how crazy/important/fast-paced your job, you could just drop everything and run to the can at any time (but still wash your hands, stinky).

Work in fast food? You could spit in some asshole’s food for being rude, and literally no one would be able to tell. Not that I endorse that kind of thing. You could also rob a bank just by waiting for someone to open the vault and walking in. But I recommend just using it for napping and meeting deadlines at the last minute, unless you’re a terrible person.

There’s a reason we called this the greatest superpower of all time.

#2. Search Engines

Search engines are more than just a convenience in the modern world. They’re necessary to find a job, a cookie recipe, or personal information about that person you have a crush on and can’t seem to get a lock of their hair to sniff. But in the real world, it would become the single most indispensable tool anyone ever devised.

Way more than whatever the fuck this is.

In The Real World …

You’d never lose another set of keys, or your phone. You wouldn’t have to ask anyone where the condoms were at the store (see: invisibility, self checkout), and you could “image” search that person you kinda recognize and knows your name so you don’t look like a dick when they say hi. Combine it with the bookmark feature and you could dominate on Jeopardy or emotionally brutalize the stupid on Wheel Of Fortune.

Otherwise known as the University of Phoenix of game shows.

If you were ever lost in the wilderness, you could look up which mushrooms you could eat for fun, and which ones you could eat for food. Or maybe search where you are and not get lost in the first place.

You could also become the world’s most hated “um, actually” guy by immediately debunking the bullshit everyone around you spouts. But hey, self-righteousness is it’s own reward, right? It’s what fuels Facebook.

#1. Muting/Blocking

If you’ve ever used Twitter, these are indispensable tools for not being bothered by people who insist on “debating” you by spamming up your timeline with endless tweets, blowing off those “See Why I faved You” religious accounts, and, most importantly, keeping unruly dicks from so called “movements” from sea-lioning you with bullshit questions because you happened to share an opinion they disagreed with.

The new universal symbol for “asshole.”

In The Real World …

Wouldn’t it be great to never again have to hear those annoying people working the kiosks in the middle of the mall?

No! No one wants your stupid copper head-octopus thing, and you smell like a cologne ad from the 1970s.

You could permanently avoid people you’ve had a falling out with. Or you could block or mute other things, like tabloids in the checkout line or anything on daytime TV that isn’t Twilight Zone reruns.

Even better, women could mute or block catcallers. Imagine a world in which cutting shitty people out of your life was as easy as clicking a button. Of everything in this list, this is the one that would allow people to take back their lives from assholes and do some real good. Hell, how much heartache and pain could we all have avoided in the ’90s if we could just block Columbia House?

“You can buy 15 puppies for just a penny!” “Must … ignore …

As with blocking on the Internet, people will call you a coward and claim that they won life if you block them. And just like blocking on the Internet, they’re dead fucking wrong, because your life now contains one less annoying cow pie of a human. And we could all use fewer human cow pies.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/8-software-features-that-would-make-real-life-awesome/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/172738198392