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[cherrygorilla]

The Mixtape Mysteries: Chapter 1 (Part 2)

Crazy Train - Ozzy Osbourne - 4:53

Yes, it is a ridiculous amount of time since I last posted anything to do with this (or anything at all really), but I've been dying to write for this story again, so I thought it would be a good way to help me get my groove back. Plus, I wanted to wait until Camp Wanamaker was done before I went back to working on Acting School Drop Out (because I feel like I might be able to use some stuff that's been mentioned in the next part lol). So, after months and months of uni stress that's kept me away from my google doc, here's the next installment of the story that's kept me going through it all.

Listen along with the gang here. Enjoy!

Heavy eyelids dropped over a pair of umber eyes trying, and failing, to focus on the computer screen in front of them. Whilst the radio often felt like Butchy's only co-worker, today it just seemed to be functioning as a lullaby machine - and the smooth, fade-out ending of Electric Light Orchestra's 'Evil Woman' just proved the point further. One second he was staring blankly at a page of pixelated text on a fuzzy screen, and then the next thing he knew he was drooling into the palm of his hand and almost falling off his chair at the sound of a car racing past his window. 

It's not even that he was tired - it was barely even 11am for Christ's sake - he was just so bored his brain was shutting down from lack of stimulation. And considering the latest turn of events, his body wasn't far behind. The roaring engine disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, leaving the incessant ticking of the plastic wall clock in its place. It didn't matter what kind of car it was, or where the hell it was going; all Butchy knew was that he wanted to be in it. Hopefully travelling far, far away from this crappy, dead-end town, and this shoe box of an office, that was more dust than desk, and smelled like a wet rat. 

Begrudgingly, he gathered himself together and finished typing out the latest file he'd been working on - something about trespassing in the old steel mill, he didn't care enough to look into the details. Tipping his head back, he rubbed his palms across his eyes, trying to press as hard as he could to draw some sort of alertness to the forefront of his mind. If anything, it just made him more tired.

One glance across his desk let his gaze settle on the dorky Star Wars mug Royce and Bentley had gifted him on his last birthday, and for the first time since he'd slumped in the splitting leather swivel-chair that morning, a ghost of a smile graced his features. He took a swig and drained the mug of the last of its contents: bitter, room-temperature coffee. Wincing at the taste, he picked up the next file to work on, but swiftly dropped it in favour of refilling his mug. After all, the walk to the coffee pot in the main office was the only change of scenery he got all day. Sometimes he watered the dying yucca plant beside him with the rancid liquid just so that he had an excuse to get away from his desk.

The tapping of keyboards and mumblings of the same, tedious phone calls he overheard every day met Butchy's ears as he lumbered down the hall and pushed open the office door. Lurking behind the frosted panel, caked in as much dust as the rest of the building, was the rag-tag reception team, consisting of three women Butchy had absolutely no intention of even looking at, let alone speaking to. He'd given up trying to make conversation with his co-workers pretty quickly after every meagre attempt on his end had been ignored. Most shifts passed without him uttering a single word. However, Lela ditching his ride that morning must have thrown him off more than he realised, because this shift was about to become an anomaly. 

"So I said to him: If you know so much about the damn sausages, why don't you cook 'em yourself?" 

"I bet he knows a lot about one kind of sausage."

"Oh Jen, pull your mind out of the gutter, you sound like a teenager."

"She practically still is one."

"I'm right though, aren't I?"

A strained sigh slipped past Butchy's lips before he could stop it. The nasal drones from the women behind him were enough to make his eye twitch at the best of times, but the added scraping of Jennifer's nail file made it inevitable. Before he could short-circuit altogether though, one of the adjoining doors to the main office was pushed open, and the conversation unfolding behind it immediately caught his attention. 

Heaving a sigh that put the young trainee's to shame, the fourth, and final receptionist, led the charge into the room - two officers hot on her heels. "Well, you'll just have to go alone then, won't you, gentlemen?" 

"We can't just 'go alone', the chief's the only one that goes on solo investigations. What if it's dangerous? What if we need back-up?"

"And what, pray tell, Officer Reynolds, is so 'dangerous' about a broken store window?"

"Well from the sounds of things it's a pretty clear-cut robbery. What if the culprit's still on the scene? What if he's armed?"

"Why are you assumin' it's a 'he'?" Jennifer piped up with a smirk, punctuating her question by blowing the acrylic dust from the tip of her nail. 

As expected, neither officer batted an eyelid at her interruption. 

"We got the call last night. You've got a higher chance of him sticking the damn window back together."

"But what if it's like that time when Old Man McRoberts'-"

"Enough, boys. I don't want to hear it," she finally snapped, slamming the stack of paperwork down on her desk so hard it even made her glasses chain quiver. Turning to the pair with her hands planted firmly on her hips, she continued. "Callahan, you're on patrol with Officer Powell; Reynolds, you're investigating that store window. Alone."

"But Fran, that never-"

"No, I don't want to hear another word. You're going solo, Reynolds, and that's that." 

"...Uh, I could go with you."

The whole office fell silent. Even Jennifer's nail file seemed to pause for thought. But all too soon, six pairs of eyes fell on Butchy, whose grip on his mug instinctively tightened under their bemused glares. He couldn't exactly blame them; even he couldn't believe that he'd dared to speak - let alone suggest such a thing. But then again, this was a perfect opportunity - perhaps the only opportunity he'd get (at least for the foreseeable future) to prove himself a worthy member of the team. Being stuck behind a computer screen all day was getting him nowhere - in fact, he was pretty sure he had even less respect now than when he'd first set foot through the door over a month ago. But working on a case, a real case, meant he could put all the skills he'd learnt in his training to the test - show everyone that potential he'd promised in his interview. This could be the making of Officer Bandoni. This could be his ticket out of that godawful, stuffy office. This could be-

"Oh my god, look at his face; he's serious."

God, he hated Jennifer. But he hated that cackling laugh of hers even more. 

"Jennifer," Linda, the crotchety receptionist to her left, scolded. If Butchy hadn't known better, with her brusque, hushed tone and sharp glare from over the top of her tortoise shell glasses, he'd have thought the woman was her mother. 

"Yeah right," Officer Callahan snorted. But a pause, followed by a brief glance in the new recruit's direction soon had his confidence faltering. "I- Oh…" 

"Hey, cut him some slack, Jen; the kid's still learning the ropes," Officer Reynolds piped up, ignoring Officer Callahan's attempts to hide his smirk by smoothing out his moustache, and instead sending the smarmy receptionist a blasé, yet stern frown. "Of course he wasn't being serious."

"Actually, I was," Butchy corrected. He set his mug down and stood his ground opposite the two officers, gently nudging his chin up and puffing out his chest in an attempt to outwardly show some of the confidence he was so desperately trying to scrounge together. At least that would help to mask the stubborn rage bubbling away in the pit of his stomach. The staff's dismissiveness was frustrating enough on its own, but being reduced to a 'kid' was downright infuriating. 'Kids' did not single-handedly raise their little sister. 'Kids' did not give up their weekends to go and work in a shitty garage for two bucks an hour all throughout high school just so they could have food on the table. 'Kids' did not shoulder the responsibility of four adults after stepping up to parent, not only his own sister, but the three boys next door too. Butchy hadn't felt like a 'kid' in years. He had always been the oldest - the most mature, the most dependable, the most capable… So for these six adults, who had barely given him the time of day in the month he'd been working with them, to stand there and tell him he was nothing more than a 'kid'...it was insulting. And he was determined to prove them wrong. "If you need another officer for back-up, and no one else is free, then why can't I go with you?" 

"Well, for one, you're not an officer-"

All Reynolds had to do was hold up a hand for Callahan to snuff out his snickers. "Because you haven't finished your training yet, son," he plainly explained. At least his withering look was softened by a bored tone. 

"But I've aced every part of the course I've completed so far," Butchy argued. "And this could be a chance for me to learn on the job, out in the field-"

"Son, let it go."

"You said, yourself, that I've got potential. Why can't I just show you-?"

"Look, kid, you're not ready - you won't be for a long time. I admire the optimism but we've gotta look at the facts here. And truth is: the dirt on Callahan's shoe's got more experience walkin' 'round a crime scene than you do. I know you want to get out of the office and get a taste of the action, but I can't work the case and babysit you at the same time. It's just not realistic."

'Babysit'? Butchy could feel the word in the palm of his hand as he clenched his fingers into a fist around it, crushing it, along with all its juvenile connotations. "I'm not a 'kid', I'm eighteen years old," he insisted, choosing his words and tone very carefully as he fought not to lose his cool. 

"Yeah, and I'm not a chainsmoker neither," Jennifer sniggered, appearing to have swapped her nail file for a cigarette during the confrontation. She took a long drag as her, deep, carob eyes latched onto his, lashes sprawling across a rough sea of streaky kohl, before letting the smoke leak out through her crimson-painted smirk. 

Butchy didn't know what was more nauseating: her attitude or the stench of tobacco hanging in the air. 

Officer Reynolds let out an exasperated sigh that soon stole back the trainee's glare though. "That's all well and good, but it's not gonna change my mind. You need more experience before you go out in the field, Bandoni," he explained, with an expression that told Butchy he was well-weary of the conversation now. "You can't learn to run before you learn to walk. It's just not realistic - if anything, it's naïve."

"But how am I supposed to get more experience when I'm stuck behind a desk all day?" 

Butchy's question was shot down though as the pair of officers crossed the room to the office's main door, back to their usual routine of barely acknowledging his existence. "If I'm not back by two for your CPR training, Officer Powell will handle it, okay?" Reynolds said as he plucked his hat from the coat stand in the corner and secured it atop his head of thinning, taupe hair. Knowing the new recruit wouldn't be satisfied with any answer he could give him, he'd just decided to brush the question aside altogether. 

And knowing that defiance, and further provoking, would get him nowhere, Butchy finally relaxed his hand, and gave a stiff nod. He silently watched the officers announce their departure to the room and felt his shoulders slump in defeat, his chest aching with betrayal. Officer Reynolds was supposed to be his mentor, the one who would take him under his wing as he learned the ropes - and yet he'd kicked him to the curb and spat in his face the one time he'd tried to do the right thing. At least that's how it felt to him anyway. 

"Bye boys," Jennifer trilled with a flirty giggle as the office door closed behind them. Tapping the ash from the end of her cigarette, she turned her vampish smirk to Butchy. "Nice little show there, Bandoni. And there I was thinking today was gonna be boring." 

Butchy's frown deepened as her scornful laughter battered his ears. The thick-headed she-devil wasn't worth his breath though - even the sickened huff that escaped his throat felt like a waste. His fingers once again closed, although this time they at least found the warm ceramic of his mug beneath them. Letting the heat seep into his skin, he took a deep breath in through his nose and tried to focus on anything else other than the anger boiling in his chest. At least the Star Wars mug, and the memory of receiving it, gave him something to anchor himself to: a way to discharge all the bitter resentment that had been steadily building for weeks, but had finally come to an ugly head. One more snarky comment from Jennifer and he'd have hurled the coffee at her sloppy up-do, he knew it - he could feel himself teetering on the brink. 

And yet, a friendly hand in the centre of his back was all it took to draw him back from the edge. "I should be thanking you," Fran said with a sympathetic chuckle, and roll of her eyes at the officers' expense. "I thought they'd never leave."

Managing a weak, but grateful smile to the receptionist, Butchy finally picked his mug up from the drink station and took his leave before he could draw any more unwanted attention to himself. Jennifer's squawking voice still rang in his ears as his footsteps pounded down the hall, desperate (for once) to shut himself away in his office. At least in there he knew he was safe from further embarrassment, even if the only thing waiting for him was a stack of files on petty traffic crimes. Apparently reading about speeding fines and parking tickets was all the excitement his life could afford him for the time being. But, for once, he actually found some comfort in that. 

"Well, Wuthering Heights, you were fun while you lasted, but I am not going to miss you," Vivien snorted, holding the worn paperback out in front of her, as if to address it like an old friend. 

The gentle chuckles that bounced the soft, chocolate brown curls beside her set her innocent little middle-school heart aflutter, and she caught herself clamping her lips shut in case it tried to escape. Craving the thrill of that sensation again, she snatched a shy glance in his direction before plastering the jovial grin back on her face. "Thank you for the 'A' though, Emily." 

"What are you thanking her for? We did all the hard work," Royce scoffed. "I wrote so many notes on the moors I'm pretty sure I almost gave myself Carpal Tunnel."

A snicker crinkled the brunette's nose. "Well you do have the neater handwriting."

"And you have all the good ideas," Royce chuckled, praying desperately that the prickling he felt across his cheeks wasn't what he thought it was. 

Stopping in front of a set of painted metal doors, Vivien turned to him with a disapproving frown. "Not all the good ideas." 

"Fine… most then."

Whilst Royce may have been able to keep his blush at bay, Vivien felt hers raging like a wildfire as she downplayed his compliment with an affectionate eye-roll and pushed her way out into the crisp autumn air of the Hawkins Middle parking lot. Hopefully a bracing breeze like the one that smacked her across the face the second she set foot onto the asphalt would help her systems stop running on overdrive, because right now she felt like a live wire about to catch light. One wrong move from Royce and he'd be fried to a crisp. 

Wrapping her free hand around the forearm that flanked him, protecting his arm from being barbecued should he decide to fondly bump her as they fell into stride once more, Vivien, composure regained, offered him a smile. "I guess that makes us a pretty good team then, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess it does," he agreed, holding her gaze for a beat and letting the sincerity of the moment swell alongside the tingly, warm feeling spreading through his chest. "...And we've got the A to prove it." Terrified by the sensation, he snorted out a laugh that shattered the tenderness of the moment just as awkwardly as how he almost tripped over his own feet because he was spending more time looking at Vivien and her freaking dimples than where he was walking. Damn his stupid hand-me-down sneakers from Miles and their stupidly long laces.

More awkward, cheerful chuckles tumbled from the middle schoolers' lips as Royce steadied himself again and they made their way over to the cluster of trees by the soccer field. It didn't take Vivien long to break the comfortable silence that had fallen over them though. "I don't know what we're going to do with ourselves now that project's finished; it completely took over our lives for like two whole weeks there."

"I'm sure we'll find something."

But Royce's laidback grin was the complete antithesis of Vivien's tense shoulders and skittish gaze. Then again, he had no idea what she was planning, or what her skating friends had been begging her to do for weeks. 

It couldn't be that hard, right? It was just one little question. She asked him questions all the time, this one didn't need to be any different. And besides, there wasn't really anything Vivien felt as though she couldn't talk to Royce about; he was her best friend, he was always her first port of call for anything that was bothering her - well, unless it was about something like her period; that was strictly for her mom…

But this was just a question: one that could very well have been asked without another thought had she not attached all the extra weight to it in her mind. And yet here she was, fighting her own tongue, trying to persuade it to recite the script she'd meticulously planned out in her head the night before, because for some reason it wasn't convinced by her promised ability to brush the sentiment off as 'just a friend thing' should Royce take it badly. And neither was her mind, really. 

Realistically though, what was the worst thing that could happen if he had a weird reaction? It's not like a meteor would crash out of the sky and strike them both down or anything, no matter how much she may want it to in the moment - she knew; she'd checked and it wasn't the right time of year for it. The worst that could happen is things might be a little awkward between them for a couple days, right? He wouldn't- 

-Actually, scratch that. Vivien didn't want to think about it. 

"Well, actually…" she began, before she could talk herself out of it any further. 

Vivien felt Royce's gaze land on her the second she stopped to clear her throat, which had become inexplicably scratchy ever since those last words had left it, clearly so reluctant to be said they'd dug their heels in the entire journey out into the cool, October air. And as soon as it did, it felt as though all her sweat glands released at once, adding a glistening sheen to her already crimson skin. Horrified, Vivien kept her gaze on the ground a few paces ahead of her to avoid having to find out if Royce had realised, and pushed her round, silver-rimmed glasses further up the bridge of her nose in an attempt to shield herself from further embarrassment as a result of her thirteen-year-old hormones wreaking havoc in her own body. 

Fearing that the longer she dragged this on, the more her subconscious would betray her, she swallowed her nerves and ploughed ahead. "Do you remember how you missed out on going to watch The NeverEnding Story this summer because you had to spend your ticket money on a new wheel for your bike?"

In her periphery, Vivien saw Royce's hand shift up to play with the fraying fabric of his backpack strap. He only ever did that when he felt uncomfortable. She didn't even have to look at him to confirm it either, the pause before he responded told her almost as much as his tone of voice did. 

"...Yeah, but what does that-?"

"Hey nerds!" 

Despite their disdain for the term, both Vivien and Royce's heads whipped around to try to locate the source of the voice, mentally cursing themselves for even acknowledging that the phrase could have been used to refer to them, let alone responding to it. But as green and brown eyes scanned a sparse sea of middle schoolers, searching for signs of anyone with ill-intent, they came up short. 

"Over here!"

The voice, carried on the wind, drew the pair's gazes to a figure, practically standing on the bench of a rotting, wooden picnic table to try to grab their attention and their disgruntled grumblings fell from their lips within seconds of one another, replaced by fond sighs. 

Bentley waved the duo towards him so spectacularly that, for all they knew, he could have been directing a plane to land. And whilst Vivien couldn't help but smile at the blond's boundless energy, she also couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment with how easily Royce shelved their conversation by letting out an almost relieved: "Duty calls."

"Yeah," Vivien agreed with a forced smile and a breathy, awkward laugh to match his. Although it dropped from her face the second he turned his back to head over to the shaded seating area. 

Once he was a good few paces ahead of her, and she was sure he was out of earshot, Vivien let out a frustrated huff, so hot she was surprised it didn't steam up her glasses. "Goddammit, Bentley," she muttered, shoving her library copy of Wuthering Heights into her backpack as she started trudging along behind Royce. "I almost got through it all that time."

But Bentley was none the wiser to Vivien's grand plans; too excited by his own news to consider that the pair may have been busy. And besides, the easygoing grin his older brother shot him as he approached made him none the wiser. 

"You've gotta come up with something better to call us, Benny," Royce said, fondly shaking his head as he climbed the last few steps of the hill leading up to the picnic table, adorned by Bentley's friends, the contents of at least three up-turned pencil cases, and enough sheets of paper to paper mache a small child. Thankfully, the table was sheltered from the worst of the breeze, so the most that a stray gust could do was flutter the edges beneath the various, makeshift paperweights (dog-eared textbooks and unopened juice boxes) strewn across the splintering surface.

"Why? You are 'nerds'," the boy laughed as he bounced back down into his spot on the bench seat beside August. 

"We are not," Royce protested.

"It got you to come over here, didn't it?" Bentley replied with a cheesy smirk. 

Royce let out a slightly bitter sigh as he fumbled through a response. "Well- yeah, but it's… demeaning." 

"Then why'd you respond to it?" Kona snorted, apparently more focused on selecting the right shade of crayon than bothering to look Royce in the eye as she insulted him. 

The bluntness of the eleven-year-old's comment drew a snort of laughter from him before he could stop it, whether it was in amusement or incredulity though he'd never know. But the smile that threatened to envelop his disapproving frown stayed firmly in place as he said, "Because I'm so used to everyone else calling us it, that's why. And you shouldn't be contributing to the problem anyway; I thought we were all on the same side here."

"You calling us nerds, RJ?" Zack piped up with a challenging quirk of his eyebrow. 

"Pot calls the kettle black," Royce smirked.

"White boy says what now?" Zack retorted with a confused frown that soon gave way to a mischievous grin the second that Royce rolled his eyes and playfully ruffled his hair, insisting through shared laughter that the boy knew what he meant. 

"What are you guys doing up here?" Vivien asked with a breathy laugh of her own as she arrived at the picnic table and caught the end of the boys' friendly roughhousing.

"Having fun until you nerds showed up," Zack scoffed as he shoved Royce's chest in an attempt to get the older boy away from him. But the bubbling giggles that tumbled from his lips as Royce expressed his disdain for the name once more told everyone all they needed to know about how much he enjoyed the brunet's company - proved even further when he resorted to wrapping his arms around his torso and tackling him into a hug from his spot on the bench. 

"Looks like it," Vivien noted with a bemused chuckle. "What's all this then? You writing out your own comic book or something?" she continued, gesturing to the vast collection of paper spread out before the quartet. 

"We're designing our characters for this cool new game Gus brought in," Bentley raved, holding up his sheet of paper for Vivien to see. "Look at my guy, he's got a wand that's disguised as a paintbrush and this magic flute that lets him talk to animals." 

"Damn, Benny, that's so cool," she grinned, marvelling at the artwork with almost as much care as the blond put into creating it. 

"And look, here's the one I'm doing for Gus," Bentley continued, shuffling the papers around until he selected the right one. 

"You didn't want to draw out your own?" Vivien asked the boy, whose sandy blond eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. 

"Nah; Ben's better at art," August admitted, only glancing up from his work to shoot his oblivious friend a shy smile. "And I enjoy the planning part of it more anyway," he went on to explain. "So he's doing the drawing, and I'm filling out his character sheet for him." 

"Yeah, 'cause there was no way I was gonna be able to deal with all that," Bentley snorted.

"This looks like a lot of work for just one game," Vivien noted, inching another piece of paper towards her and finding it covered from top to bottom in meticulously written words, numbers, and the occasional, scribbled doodle. 

"Tell me about it," Kona scoffed. "I feel like we got extra math homework with this stupid number system we've got to work off of," she added with a huff that blew a straw strand of hair away from her eyes. Begrudgingly tapping the open, yellowing pages of an intricately illustrated book with the end of a pencil, she brought the thirteen-year-old's gaze to the table she was drawing from. 

"You guys are willingly doing math over lunch and you're calling us nerds?" Royce asked with a teasing incredulity that earned him further, playful bickering from Zack. 

"So what do you do with all this when you've created your characters then?" Vivien continued, feeling a fond smile tugging at her lips as Royce's unbridled laughter tickled her ears. Fighting the urge to swat the imagined sensation away, she focused her attention on the other children at the table. "What's this dorky wizard math game called?" 

"Dungeons and Dragons," Bentley explained.

Vivien’s ears perked up. “Dungeons and Dragons? That weird roleplaying game Riven plays with his sweaty high school friends?” 

“Who’s Riven?” Kona asked.

“My skating partner,” Vivien said, throwing the explanation away like a used napkin so that she could get back to the main point at hand. 

“Ew, so is he like your boyfriend then?” Kona teased with a devilish wiggle of her eyebrows. 

“No!” Vivien blurted, maybe a little too quickly if everyone turning to look at her was anything to go by. "No, not like… It's just- He's like my brother, ok?" she hurriedly tried to explain, trying to ignore the bile now creeping at the back of her throat the very thought alone had placed there. 

"Ok," Kona snorted, smirking to herself as she caught Royce's shoulders slump in relief in her periphery. Making the ninth-graders squirm was a favourite pastime of hers, and lately, all this girlfriend-boyfriend talk around them, despite making her want to hurl, had been a homerun every time. 

"I didn’t know Riven played DnD,” Bentley piped up, earning himself a grateful smile from Vivien for taking some of the heat off her. 

“Neither did I until he made us switch our practice days so that he could go play pretend with a bunch of dorks out the back of Eddie 'the freak' Munson's trailer."

"Riven's in that weird Hellraiser club?" Royce asked, bushy eyebrow raised in disbelief. 

"My sister says they're all devil worshippers," Zack mumbled.

"It's Hellfire," Vivien corrected. "And they're not devil worshippers - well, Riven's not anyway. As far as I know they're just losers in matching shirts who play make believe like they're still in first grade."

"It's more than just playing make believe," August dared to pipe up with a somewhat defensive frown, immediately toying with the corner of Bentley's character sheet the second the group's attention landed on him. A sideways glance in the blond's direction earned him a reassuring smile that breathed some much needed confidence into his lungs, and as he released it, he said, "There's this whole world you can build your own stories around with all these super detailed characters and a bunch of lore you can discover. I spent my whole weekend reading through the books my cousin gave me and that doesn't even cover half of it. It's like one big choose-your-own adventure story, but everyone gets a say in what happens, and gets to feel like they're a part of it."

A beaming grin and steel blue eyes, sparkling with excitement, found Royce with startling ease. "Doesn't that sound cool?!" Bentley enthused.

"...It actually does," Royce admitted, even surprising himself with his answer. 

"Hear that, Auggie? You didn't even have to mention dragons to convince someone that time," Kona snickered, firing the curly haired boy beside her a smirk. 

"Whatever," Zack scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You thought they sounded cool too," he added with an accusatory nudge of the blonde's elbow that had her cursing him under her breath for making her pencil skim across the page. 

Ignoring his friends' sibling-like arguing, so used to it by now that it honestly would have been stranger to acknowledge it, Bentley kept his attention, and his toothy grin, focused on his older brother. "I knew you'd like it! You're always borrowing those old fantasy books from the library and writing your own versions of them."

"Well- yeah, ok, but what does that have to do with this?" Royce stuttered, cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment despite Vivien's small, amused smile. 

"Well this is just like that! Gus wrote out our first campaign all by himself," Bentley gushed before leaning into the shying blond beside him. "That's like the story, right?" he checked in a hushed tone. And after receiving a confirmatory nod, he turned back to Royce with renewed enthusiasm. "The plot, the monsters, the bonus quests - he came up with it all!" 

Bentley pushed a stack of papers towards his brother, bound by treasury tags and bearing enough ink to have drained an entire pack of ballpoint pens. "Holy shit," Royce breathed as he picked it up and began flipping through the makeshift book, becoming more and more stunned with every turn of a page. "You wrote this whole thing by yourself?" he asked August, who timidly nodded. "In one weekend?" Again, the boy nodded, this time a little more eagerly. And Royce could see why. "...Wow," he marvelled, smiling as he watched the younger boy swell with pride. "This is really impressive, August."

"You put some serious work into this, huh?" Vivien noted.

"Yeah, I guess," August admitted as his steadily reddening cheeks were pulled aside by an appreciative grin. "It's not like I minded though," he went on to hurriedly explain. "It all came together pretty quickly once I got into it. Plus it gave me an excuse to shut myself up in my room away from my stuffy aunt and that stupid dog she carries around in her purse," he added, earning himself a bright laugh from Bentley that completely stalled his train of thought. Luckily, it was nothing that clearing his throat and refocusing his gaze on the blond's character sheet couldn't fix though. "I guess I just thought it would be something fun for us all to do together, you know?"

"Yeah, it sure sounds like it," Vivien said with a warm smile. But there was still a little, nagging thought hammering away at the back of her head, and she feared that if she didn't use this opportunity of an out as her last-ditch attempt at getting Royce alone before the end of the school day then that nagging thought would break right through her skull and puncture her brain with its pesky little pickaxe. And she needed all the brainpower she could muster to get through this, so she did not want to take any risks. "Anyway," she continued, snagging the attention of the table of eleven-year-olds as she clapped her hands together. "We'd better let you guys get back to planning. We wouldn't want to be the reason for you guys delaying your first adventure now, would we?" she asked rhetorically, firing a knowing look across at Royce that was not-so-subtly hidden behind a theatrical grin.

If Royce picked up on the intensity behind Vivien's gaze though, he didn't show it, instead remaining as blissfully oblivious as he always seemed to be when it came to her intentions as he took his turn to offer a fond smile to the table of his brother's friends. "You'll have to let us know how it goes," he said, before adding with a chuckle: "I'm invested now; it sounds awesome."

Breathing out a sigh of relief between her teeth as Royce rounded the picnic table to join her, Vivien kept her almost clown-like smile plastered to her face as she thanked whatever great powers were at work for making Royce ever so slightly more perceptive than the other, gormless teenage boys in their class. But just as she was inching her way back down the hill, and readying her opening line for the brunet once they were out of earshot of the eager little gremlins, one of them piped up with a perfectly pointed pin to burst her bubble. 

"Why don't you just play with us then?" 

Bentley's wide-eyed, hopeful grin was the only thing keeping Vivien from snatching up Kona's muddy jump rope and strangling him with it. Besides the years upon years of sibling-like friendship, obviously.

Forcing out a strained laugh, she managed a tight, "It's alright, Benny, we don't want to crash your fun." 

"You're not crashing anything; we want you to join in. Right, guys?" 

Ok, so Bentley can't read social cues… Good to know. 

It would have made things a hell of a lot easier if Vivien could have known about that before she set the wheels of her master plan into motion though, because right now she felt like they were so out of sync they were about to derail the handcar she'd strapped this grand idea of hers to. But even if she could have brought herself to get mad at Bentley, Zack jumped to the blond's defence before she even had the chance. 

"Yeah, we're gonna need all the help we can get because Kona can't add up for shit and I'm not about to let my guy Omar Scale Crusher die after I've spent all this time working out his stats."

"I can't add up for shit?! What the hell are you talking about? You're the one who got put in Math 2!"

"Only for a week! And I totally got a better grade than you on that test last week."

"No you didn't!"

"Did too!"

"Bite me!" 

As the pair energetically bickered about Zack's accusations, which Kona steadfastly claimed were built on entirely false foundations, Vivien found her frustration with the picnic table occupants crumbling away. After all, they weren't to know that she'd been practising for this lunchtime conversation with Royce for weeks. How could they? The only others she'd confided in were her three skating friends and the balding Big Bird stuffed animal from the end of her bed that had taken on the role of Royce during her many rehearsals. And she couldn't blame them for their excitement over the game either; even she had to admit that it sounded pretty cool. Plus, after hearing Riven rhapsodise about Hellfire's epic campaigns for weeks now, she was starting to get a little curious about the game and how it was played. 

"Omar Scale Crusher, huh?" she eventually chuckled, raising a quizzical eyebrow at Zack that soon ground his and Kona's squabbling to a halt. "How'd you come up with that?" 

"Isn't it sick? Auggie had this big list of names with cool meanings to help us decide."

After shuffling through the endless sheets of paper around him, August found the right one and went on to explain for a very enthusiastic Zack: "Omar means 'one who has a long life'."

"Yeah, so he'd better live up to his damn name! I'm not planning this whole thing out to have him die in the first round," he declared with a hearty laugh, before tagging on: "Plus my uncle's called Omar and he's awesome."

Vivien couldn't help her snort of laughter at the blunt innocence. "Very creative," she noted. "What is he then? Like a viking or something?"

"No, he's a wizard," Zack stated matter-of-factly. "'Cause why would I bother using a sword when I could just kill an enemy with magic?" 

"How come your guy's holding a sword then?" 

Royce's frank delivery, from over the younger boy's shoulder, had a laugh spurting from between Vivien's lips before she could stop it. And Bentley, August, and Kona were all quick to follow suit. 

However, as to be expected, the brash brunet soon scrambled a retaliation. "Well I'd still want one for backup."

"No duh," Kona chuckled as she finished shading in the metallic sheath of the dagger her character clutched in a leather clad fist. "Magic or not, you still need a weapon."

"Is your character a wizard too then?" Vivien asked Kona, but the incredulous snort the blonde let out could have told her all she needed to know on its own.

"No, Andromeda doesn't need to rely on magic to keep herself out of danger; her dexterity's off the charts." 

Before another argument could break out between Zack and Kona as a result of her roundabout dig at him, August decided to speak for the table. "Zack’s our mage, Kona's our thief, Ben's our Bard and my guy's a ranger."

"But you're the dungeon master too, right?" Bentley checked, mischievous blue eyes peeking out from beneath furrowed bows. 

August's own eyes were drawn to Bentley's the second that he'd opened his mouth, but the smirk tugging at his friend's lips was what captured his attention. "What's so funny?" he challenged through a chuckle that coaxed one out of Bentley too. "You don't think I could be a dungeon master?"

"I never said that," Bentley laughed. But the look the boys shared meant they both knew that's what his tone had implied.

"You didn't have to."

"Well can you blame me? It just sounds so menacing and scary. I know you read all those horror books and stuff, but come on, you're about as intimidating as Winnie the Pooh - who, last time I checked, was still tucked under your comforter next to your pillow and your old baby blanket."

Jaw dropped in incredulity, August lightly elbowed Bentley in the ribs. "I can so be intimidating," he retorted. But if he was pretending to be mad at the boy, his true feelings were soon revealed by the smile he couldn't seem to keep off his face.

"Yeah, well, we've yet to see it," Kona bluntly noted, which once again set Royce and Vivien off giggling at the sixth graders. 

"You sound like you've got a pretty well-rounded group then," Royce carried on, drawing the conversation back to August's point from earlier. "Are there even any roles left for us? Or are we going to have to start doubling up?"

"You can double up if you want, but there's still a bunch of classes that haven't been picked yet," August explained, flipping through the large book spread out before him until he got to the right page. "We've not got a druid, a cleric, or a fighter."

"What does a fighter do?" Royce asked.

"Fighters are weapons-oriented warriors, who fight using skill, strategy, and tactics," August recited from his handbook, bringing the group's attention to the detailed illustration of an armoured swordsman, wielding what looked to be an incredibly heavy shield with almost no effort at all.

The second Vivien's eyes met the page she knew it was game over; her imagination kicked into overdrive and tossed all other thoughts about how she could have been spending this lunchtime to the curb. Racing at a million miles an hour, her brain plucked ideas from seemingly thin air and began piecing together a muscular young woman, strong enough to knock an ox clean off its feet in one quick shove, although you'd never know it since her frame was cleverly disguised in roughened leather padding, tarnished silver armour, and rich, violet robes fashioned into a sort of cape. Her face was weathered, but kind, and her vibrant, emerald eyes sparkled with determination, and the promise of adventure. Like the picture in August's book, the woman carried a large, battle-scarred sword by its ornate handle, and kept a hefty shield vigilantly by her side, painted in, again, deep shades of indigo, violet, and the blood of her enemies, naturally. She also had a quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder though, nestled beside a crossbow, just peeking out from behind a head of flowing, chestnut locks. The heroine had no time for preening, so her hair was tousled with grease and grime from combatting the elements on her journeys, but as it fluttered in the wind, it was kept away from her face by intricate braids, weighed down by silver rings and stolen jewels of amethyst and topaz. She smiled at Vivien from the forefront of her mind, as if marking her territory there, and Vivien felt her heart skip a beat as she breathed out a quiet, and hopefully nonchalant: "Hmm…cool."

"That sounds like a good one for you, Viv. Strategy and tactics? You're great with planning stuff out," Royce noted. But one glance in her direction and his face broke into a knowing smile the second he clocked her eyes, glazed over in thought, and lips, parted in awe. 

"Yeah, and look, you'd make a great cleric," Bentley continued, pulling Royce's gaze away from Vivien, albeit reluctantly. Flipping the page of August's handbook, he excitedly tapped at a drawing of a tall man, draped in heavy, fur pelts and bronzed chainmail. A glowing staff was held in one hand, and a massive axe was thrown over his shoulder as though it weighed no more than a sack of flour. 

"Clerics are versatile figures, both capable in combat and skilled in the use of divine magic," August recited from the page after a light, nudge from Bentley. "They're also powerful healers."

"See? That's perfect for you! You're always helping patch us up if we fall off our bikes," Bentley enthused, undeterred by the amused chuckles that his brother unleashed as a result of what he thought was an adorably innocent explanation. 

"Yeah, and we could use a healer on our team, especially with those two and their lack of impulse control," August snorted as he gestured to Kona and Zack, who jumped at the chance to express their indignation. 

As the group of friends returned to jovially bickering amongst themselves, Royce and Vivien's minds were quietly whirring with ideas. Ideas which, upon glancing at one another, they soon realised were all too perfectly aligned. 

"What do you say then, losers?" Kona finally asked once she'd finished fighting her ground against the boys, snapping the eighth-graders out of their heads and bringing them back to reality with a knowing smirk. "Are you playing with us or not?"

Royce, as always, left the decision to Vivien. But the hopeful glimmer in his caramel eyes, paired with her own, itching curiosity made that decision all too easy. And besides, even if she wasn't spending time alone with Royce, she was still spending time with him. And that was good enough for her.

…For now. 

"Well… I guess one game couldn't hurt, right?" she said with a smirk that soon broke out into a grin as Bentley's face lit up like a firework display. And it only grew when she glanced across at Royce for one last confirmation that she'd made the right decision, only to find him beaming with almost as much enthusiasm as his brother. 

If this nerdy little game brought Royce this much joy, and was even half as much fun as it sounded, then Vivien knew it would be worth another few hours of crippling anxiety. Besides, she hoped that she could immerse herself in the story so much that she'd forget all about her predicament with the brunet anyway. But as they took their places at the picnic table, and Royce's sneaker brushing against her shin shot a jolt of adrenaline up her leg with such a force that she almost jumped straight back out of her seat, she knew that that was just wishful thinking. Covering up the brief waver in her cool, confident exterior with a quiet cough, she tried to refocus her mind on the endless streams of information August was unleashing on the pair of them.

"-and so the group our characters all belong to is called The Circle of the Emerald Torches, but part of the first campaign is about how we get our name, so I'll explain more about that later. Before you start, and before I give you your character sheets though, if you want to be in our party then you'll need to recite the Oath of Noble Heroes so that we know you're serious about this."

"Don't worry, we had to do it too. But it's so cool, you'll love it! And then there's a declaration of loyalty for you to sign somewhere too," Bentley tagged on before the boys started animatedly babbling amongst themselves about the ins and outs of their party's rules again. 

Shaking his head at the pair, Royce took the opportunity of them being distracted to lean over to Vivien and teasingly chuckle, "What the hell have you just gotten us into?"

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes at the boy, knowing that his enthusiasm for the game was a major driving factor in her decision to play, and that he was also well-aware of that fact, she looked him square in the face and hid her smirk behind a deadly serious, blank expression, "I'm pretty sure we just joined a cult." 

American History, Volume 2, lay open on page 38. And it had laid there like that for the past 45 minutes, having been abandoned by its current owner almost as soon as it had been removed from their backpack. Because instead of completing the assigned history homework, the desk's occupant was using their study hall period much more wisely: by shredding a solo, courtesy of Ozzy Osbourne, on possibly the most prestigious instrument of all: the air guitar.

Ethan's eyes slid shut, and a blissful smile curled his lips as he mashed the volume button on his Walkman with practised ease. Bar after bar of 'Crazy Train' pounded through his skull at a staggering volume, rattling what little of his brain was left in the mostly vacant space between his ears, helped along by the bopping of his head in time with the song's beat. When his fingers weren't plucking out riffs on imaginary strings, they were banging out the drumline on a drum kit that was just as real as his Gibson SG. And all the while, he was passionately miming the lyrics for his audience of the pencil shavings and dust mites that hugged the wall beside his desk. 

He felt the music in his bones. The bass line pumped through his veins. Every note that was played resonated through the chambers of his heart until it felt like the song was as much a part of him as his left arm. And the deeper he let himself sink into the music, the less aware of his surroundings he became - or the less he cared to remember them anyway. Until a sharp elbow to the ribs shattered his rockstar illusions, that is. 

Bleary brown eyes met earnest, steel blue, and held nothing but confusion for the several seconds it took him to realise that Miles’ mouth was moving without making a sound. 

“What?” Ethan bellowed, prying a wailing headphone speaker away from his ears as he leaned closer to the exasperated brunet. 

“Jesus, man!” Miles exclaimed under his breath as he reached across to his friend’s Walkman to frantically turn the volume down. “Are you trying to blow your eardrums out or something?” 

“That would be pretty metal, so maybe,” Ethan chuckled, entirely unphased. But Miles’ disapproving frown soon had him rolling out an explanation. “You’ve got a front row seat for my biggest show yet and you’re choosing to lecture me about volume control? I can care about my hearing when I’m in the retirement home.”

“You’ll be lucky if you make it to a retirement home," Miles snorted. "You've got the survival skills of a two dollar house plant."

Instead of arguing back, or even rolling his eyes at his best friend's dig, Ethan just continued chuckling along in agreement as he slid his headphones down to rest around his neck - still blaring out Ozzy Osbourne's vocals, although they were only just audible over the hubbub of chatter and laughter that filled the rest of the classroom. "What were you saying before anyway?" he went on to ask. "Did you want something?"

"Yeah, the answer to number four."

"Pfft, you think I've even made it past one?" Ethan guffawed, astonished and highly amused that Miles thought highly enough of him to assume he hadn't been shirking his responsibilities all afternoon. "I've got no fucking clue. What chapter are we on again? Abraham Lincoln?"

The mix of despair and disbelief Ethan was faced with when he glanced back across at Miles told him his guess might not have been as accurate as he'd pitched it to be. "...Are we not on Abraham Lincoln?"

"We haven't done Abraham Lincoln since freshman year," Miles deadpanned before letting out a chuckle of his own. "When was the last time you actually paid attention in one of Mr Bishop's classes?"

"Probably freshman year," Ethan noted with a laugh, slumping back in his seat and starting to rock on the back two legs of the flimsy, plastic chair. "I think the only chance I've got at retaining any of the information in that textbook for this month's pop quiz is if I eat it."

The look of reproach Miles shot the carefree stoner could have fooled any passerby into thinking that he was the boy's father, but he blamed that on the past however many years of having to act as a sole parental figure for two young boys - who, on several occasions, had actually proved to be far more mature than the lank-haired brunet before him. More often than not, Ethan felt like a third child he had to keep alive. And somehow, his lack of height was not one of the driving factors behind that reasoning.

"Oh come on, don't give me that look," Ethan groaned, ever the resentful teenager in their relationship. "You've not exactly been Mr Studious yourself today."

"What are you talking about?" 

"Well you've been stuck on that same question for the last twenty minutes 'cause you keep making goo-goo eyes at you know who," Ethan smirked as Miles' eyes widened in horror and his forehead started to prickle with sweat. 

"No I don't," he indignantly tried.

"I thought you said you were over her," Ethan teased.

"I am! It's not like that anyway," Miles muttered, then added. "And it's not been twenty minutes."

"It totally has."

"How the hell would you know? You've been listening to Motorhead since we sat down."

"Yeah but my fuckin' eyes still work," Ethan snorted, hitting Miles with a loving grin that had him rolling his eyes before Ethan had even finished his sentence. And yet, the boy's frustration did nothing to deter him from probing further. "What's the stalking for this time then? You know, if you're not trying to get in her pants anymore." 

Miles was at as much of a loss as Ethan. His eyes found the head of bouncing, blonde curls with almost no effort at all (likely a result of an entire study hall period of practice), searching for some sort of answer. But all he found was a dull, fluttering in his chest. 

Even the giddy, lovestruck butterfly that had been trapped in there for months seemed to have admitted defeat. 

Still, his gaze never wavered. He watched airy laughter spill from her glossy lips, and her nose crinkle beneath brilliantly blue eyes, framed by thick, black lashes and copious amounts of mascara. Whilst before, Miles could have eaten through a movie theatre's entire popcorn supply and still want to look just a little longer, in that moment he just felt empty. And that’s when he realised it wasn't actually Carrie herself that was occupying his mind, it was everyone else around her, and how she was treating them. Plucking a proudly presented flyer for a house party from one, impishly teasing another, waving at Sharon Frye on her way out the door, firing a flirty wink in jest at Steve Harrington after giggling at one of his jokes…

Miles was certain she'd looked at every other person in that room at least once since their study hall period had begun, and yet the closest her eyes had ventured over to him was when she glanced at the clock on the wall. Every thought in his head was plagued by her smile, or her voice, or her laugh… Had he ever even crossed her mind? 

"Do you think she actually cares about us?"

Miles hadn't been able to bring himself to tear his forlorn gaze from the blonde in question, but that didn't stop Ethan from snorting out an answer. "Well yeah, I'd hope so; we spend enough time with her." 

"Not by choice," Miles huffed. 

“Well she talks to us now, and that’s more than we could have said before we worked with her, so that’s got to count for something,” Ethan chuckled. “But if this is about what I think it’s about, then she absolutely cares about you, dude. Like way more than the rest of us.”

“You really think so?” 

“Dude, it’s like you two are glued at the hip. I can’t get you away from each other for shit once we close every night,” Ethan replied. And when Miles still looked unsure, he added, “Why else do you think I always get stuck cleaning the kitchen with Mick? She hates my guts!”

“No she does not,” Miles softly chuckled.

“Well I definitely don’t think she likes me, not like Carrie likes you anyway,” he retorted with a smirk and a wiggle of his eyebrows. “I’m telling you, man. There’s something there. There’s no way she’d laugh at your crappy jokes like she does if she didn’t at least have a little interest in you - I don’t care if Mick thinks it’s bullshit, I know I’m right.”

Miles just rolled his eyes, but a hopeful smile desperately pulled at his lips, no matter how many times he tried to dismiss it. “I don’t know, I think she probably just does it to be nice,” he mused, watching as Carrie animatedly responded to Rachel Price before turning back to resume her conversation with the girl sat beside her - the very girl that Miles still had an irrepressible urge to swap lives with: Juliet Harmon. Now faced with nothing but the back of her head, he quickly lost interest in the view. “…She seems to act like that with most people.”

“She definitely does not, man. Why do you think the entire marching band is scared to look her in the eye? She’s like one of the biggest bitches in school,” Ethan scoffed. But he paused when he realised Miles wasn’t laughing along with him. “Why does it matter how she acts around other people anyway?” 

“It doesn’t,” Miles huffed. “…Not really.” 

But the second he dared to make eye contact with his oldest friend, the floodgates opened and the truth came tumbling out. 

“I just…feel stupid for letting her get in my head, and for actually thinking that we had something special - that I was somehow different to all the other idiots who throw themselves at her to get a second of her attention. But here I am, thinking about her constantly, hanging onto every interaction we have like my fucking life depends on it, only for her to… Ugh, I don't know. I just…don't want it all to not mean anything to her, when it means so much to me - no matter how much I try to convince myself it doesn't. I mean, yeah, she's nice to me at work - really nice - but she barely even acknowledges me outside of All Skate… It's like I don't even exist, like she doesn't even realise I'm there. And it makes me feel like shit."

"She barely acknowledges anyone," Ethan absentmindedly mused. "I wouldn't take it personally."

"That's a lot easier said than done," Miles huffed dejectedly. There was something freeing about Ethan's nonchalance over Miles' feelings though; it made them feel less suffocating. And whilst he still felt entirely hopeless about the situation, he did feel a little bit of the pressure ease off as he rested his chin on his hand and let his mind start to wander. "...You think she actually considers us friends?"

"Sure; she calls us her work friends all the time."

"No but like her actual friends," Miles clarified. 

"Dude, I don't fucking know; the female mind is a mystery to me at the best of times, but hers is on a whole other level," Ethan scoffed in incredulity. "Do you not remember that like thirty minute debate I had with her about diet sodas? Actual insanity.”

Miles' quiet chuckling as he reminisced about what had started as an innocent question, yet progressed to a full-blown screaming match, with each participant equally as confused and frustrated as the other, was soon silenced by Ethan's next prompt though. "I know a way you can find out though…"

"...No!" 

"Oh come on, man. Don't be a sissy. It'll be so easy. And then you can stop getting hung up on all these bogus hypotheticals."

Miles' initial horror slowly dissipated as Ethan's reasoning started to lure out a far greater force from its hiding place in the corner of his brain: his curiosity. "...You really think I can just go up and talk to her? In class?" he asked, as his eyes once again found that jumble of golden curls. 

"Sure, why not? It's only study hall." 

Again, Ethan's nonchalance, which was only heightened by the fact that he was trying to balance a pen on his curled upper lip as he responded, did far more for Miles' confidence than any pep talk of his own could have. And besides, maybe he was onto something - maybe it really was that simple; it always was in his world. 

"It wouldn't be weird?" Miles double-checked. 

"Why would it be weird? All you're gonna do is talk to her. And we already established you two are friends, so what could go wrong?" 

Miles shuddered at the very thought. "So much."

Ethan glanced across at him, ready to fire out further encouragement like a sixth grader with a penchant for making spitballs, but when he clocked his friend's nervous fidgeting, he reconsidered his situation and gained a little clarity. "Ok…yeah, fine, stuff could go wrong. But are you gonna die?" he proposed.

"No," Miles begrudgingly mumbled.

"Are you gonna break something?"

"No, but-"

"Then how bad can it be?" Ethan cut in with a lopsided, optimistic grin before Miles could tie himself up in any more self-conscious knots. "Just get over there and scratch that itch that's been bugging you for weeks; it's not gonna stop until you do. And you'll feel so much better after."

It took Miles by surprise every time it happened, but yet again, it seemed as though Ethan might actually be…right. This question of Carrie's loyalty had been eating away at him for weeks now. And, as he'd stressed earlier, it was making him feel shittier and shittier with every day he let it drag on. Asking her outright was a definite way to get his answer… It was just going to require him growing some balls, as anything to do with All Skate's resident disc jockey apparently made his own shrink to the size of peas.

"...Just walk over and talk to her?" Miles checked. Although, between us, he was just stalling to give himself more time to muster some courage.

"Yeah, as a friend," Ethan confirmed. 

"You really think I can pull that off?" Miles asked with a dubious, but hopeful quirk of his eyebrow that had Ethan melting like a bomb pop that had been left out in the 4th of July sun.

"Absolutely," he grinned, totally enamoured by his friend's giddy trepidation, and the promise of a relationship he so steadfastly defended. "She's got a major soft spot for you, man. I see it like every night," he went on to reassure. "There's no way she's gonna blow you off. You'll be fine."

And as a result of that dopey grin, complemented by the ratty, chestnut locks, and vacant, dark chocolate eyes… Miles believed him. 

"...Ok, I'm going in," he breathed through a determined smile. 

"Atta boy," Ethan chuckled, fist-bumping Miles before tipping his chair back onto all four of its legs again, as though to signal the resolution of their predicament. "Go scratch that itch," he added, finishing their little handshake with a bolstering point before lifting his headphones back over his ears and disappearing back into his wildest rock star fantasies - totally oblivious to the disaster about to unfold right behind him as Miles took a deep breath and waded into the wild, uncharted waters of the female mindset. 

"So now that we know that y=7, we plug that into this side of the function, that we've already simplified, to give us this…which then means that we can carry this over here, giving us x=3." 

…Silence.

"Right?" Juliet checked, although the satisfied smile that had settled on her carnation pink lips as soon as she finished the sum was beginning to falter into one of desperation as she turned to her tutee. "Did you follow along ok that time?"

But all Juliet was met with was a glassy stare and an infatuated grin, smushed between two fists as its owner rested their chin on their palms. "You're so smart, Julie," Carrie breathed. 

Juliet just rolled her eyes, although she did little to hide the bashful blush tickling her cheeks. “Never mind that, did you understand how I worked it out that time?” 

"...Kind of?" Carrie tried, offering a lopsided, hopeful grin to try to lessen the blow.

If Juliet's exasperated huff was anything to go by though: it didn't work. But her frustration dissolved the second that she met Carrie's gaze. "Where did I lose you?" she asked with a gentle, patient sigh. 

"The whole reversing the function bit," Carrie admitted as she bit her lip and braced herself for Juliet's reaction. Although the blonde's expression never wavered, the dismay that flashed in her eyes soon had Carrie barrelling through an explanation. "I swear I was getting it before that this time, but then it all started to sound like you were talking in another language, and then I got distracted by that pretty way you write out the 'x' again, and then I just…"

"...Stopped listening all together?" Juliet teasingly offered with a fond smirk.

Carrie scoffed in mock-defence. "No, I listened the whole time, I just stopped taking it in," she went on to clarify. But as soon as she drew a giggle from Juliet's lips she melted into that same infatuated grin from earlier as she admitted, "I'd never stop listening to you. You know I could listen to you talk for hours."

"Even about algebra?" Juliet teasingly tested with an affectionate smile of her own. 

"Of course about algebra," Carrie gushed with a glittering honesty that soon had Juliet giggling again. "Believe it or not, this is the most I've ever understood a math module," she carried on, straightening up in her seat to help give her point a little more credibility, before tagging on a jovial, "And it's all thanks to you, smarty pants."

"Would you stop calling me that? It's so lame," Juliet protested, hiding her smile behind a frank eye roll. "And besides, I'm not that smart." 

"You so are; you're like the smartest person I know," Carrie gushed, never one to let her friends downplay their successes, much to Juliet's disgruntlement. The blonde's frown didn't deter Carrie from continuing to lovingly babble straight through her stream of consciousness though. "That brain of yours has to be huge - no wonder you get headaches all the time, it's because it doesn't have enough space in there."

Carrie's knack for making herself giggle never failed to make Juliet smile, but yet again she found herself trying to cover it up with a bashful roll of her hazel irises as she let out a sigh and attempted to get their conversation back on track. "You wanna try another question then?" 

"Don't try to change the subject," Carrie fired back with a mischievous grin. 

"I'm not, you are!" Juliet retorted, biting back an incredulous laugh. "We're supposed to be doing algebra, not Juliet 101."

Carrie's mischievous grin only broadened. "Now that's a class I might actually get an A in."

Rolling her eyes for the third time at her best friend's antics, Juliet teasingly tried, "What? Not an A+?"

"Maybe," Carrie smirked. "But then again, I might get distracted by my teacher." Her wiggling eyebrows soon had Juliet reprimanding her and attempting to draw her focus back to her school work, but Carrie's mind was already wandering off too far down a different path altogether. "...Do you think you'd ever wanna be a doctor, Julie?" 

The comment, that fell slap-bang in the middle of Juliet's offer to rewrite the steps of the previous algebra equation, baffled her into silence - so taken aback by the suggestion that she almost thought she'd misheard the golden-haired girl. "What? No," she spluttered, looking at Carrie as though she'd just sprouted a third nose. "Where did that come from?"

Juliet's confusion didn't seem to faze Carrie though, because her dreamy smile stuck it out through her whole, rambling explanation. "I don't know, I just figured you should use your big brain for a job one day. You know, like one that actually actually makes you think instead of just like a working a cash register, or stacking books or something. And you need to be super smart to be a doctor, so…"

Juliet was quick to shoot down Carrie's optimistic grin. "I do not have what it takes to be a doctor, trust me."

"Sure you do," Carrie defended. "I'd let you be my doctor."

"Oh well then hand me my diploma," Juliet sarcastically replied, once more fondly rolling her eyes and chuckling at her best friend's enamoured stare and incessant bolstering. 

"I'm serious," Carrie pressed on though, determined to get through to Juliet despite her doubtful smirk. "I'd trust you with my life, you know I would. I'd let you save my life any day of the week," she grinned. But, after giggling to herself and absentmindedly twirling her pencil between her fingers, when she finally latched onto Juliet's hazel gaze again, only to find it significantly less jovial, it was her turn to express her confusion. "What? You don't believe me?" she teasingly challenged, with a quirk of an eyebrow. 

But Juliet still didn't seem to be in the mood to joke back, as her lips fell in line with the horizon and her gaze darted to Carrie's right before finding her again. 

Ok, now Carrie was really confused. 

"Huh?" she murmured, clearly not as in tune with her best friend's thoughts as she assumed she was. 

However, this time, Juliet flicked her eyes to Carrie's right with a touch more resolve, and paired it with a slight, but very purposeful nod of her head in the same direction. And finally, Carrie seemed to get the message. 

Following Juliet's line of sight, Carrie turned to look over her shoulder, only to find herself face to face with a person that almost caught her off guard as much as Juliet's sudden shift in dynamic had. "Oh," was the first word to jump from her lips, startling her back into what Juliet lovingly dubbed as 'show-mode' as she rolled her shoulders back and fixed a brilliant smile to her face. "Hey, Miles."

The second that Carrie acknowledged Miles, any confidence he'd managed to trick himself into conjuring fled. And whilst he had a Herculean urge to do the same, he too plastered what he hoped was a convincing smile to his face as he finished his approach to the blondes' shared desk. "Hey, Carrie," he said, breathing a sigh of relief for even managing to get the words out. And yet, he still pushed a little further to add, with a nod of acknowledgement too, "Juliet." 

The entertained smirk that started pulling at the corner of Juliet's lips in response caught him off guard, and he felt his stomach gently clench in defence. But he chose to ignore it, returning his gaze to Carrie's bright smile - its familiarity putting him back at ease and igniting that usual fire in his chest that sent warmth spreading throughout his- 

Wait, why was she turning back around? 

"Right, where were we?" Carrie said, dazzling Juliet with a grin as she readied her pencil on the page. "I've got a good feeling about this next one; I think if you just take it slow-."

"Ahem," Juliet interrupted. Her gaze caught Carrie's once again and held onto it for a beat before she tilted her head forwards, signalling with her eyes that there was still something - or rather, someone - behind her. The confusion, almost disbelief, swimming in Carrie's eyes made Juliet have to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing, and locking onto Miles' look of bewildered dismay just made it even harder. But luckily, Carrie was quickly able to decipher her visual message once again, with little prompting this time.

Turning around to find that, to her surprise, Miles hadn't just been greeting her as he passed by her desk, he was, in fact, standing there - well, expectantly shuffling from foot to foot anyway - Carrie remounted her smile. Although now, Miles realised, it wasn't so welcoming. It felt almost…uncomfortable.  

"Oh, sorry. Did you want something?" she offered. 

He did - desperately so. And yet, he felt as though the sudden shift in tone had already started to write out his answer. 

The hairs on the back of his neck started to twitch as the walls of his stomach steadily closed in tighter. But, determined to stand by his heart, and prove to himself (and Mick) that his feelings weren't all built on fantasies he'd created in his head, he brushed the unease away and stood his ground. "No, not really. I just thought I'd…stop by…see how it's going."

Carrie's smile faltered again, giving way to further confusion. "...See how what's going?"

"...Study hall?" Miles said. But the response came out as more of a question than an answer, which he supposed was down to the fact that he wasn't even sure of it himself. And despite his hopeful grin, which he feared was now looking more like a grimace, he couldn't seem to stop trying to rub the growing discomfort from the back of his neck. 

God, he hoped that he didn't have any sweat stains. 

"Oh, uh, it's going fine," Carrie politely replied. Although her awkward fidgeting with her pencil's eraser told a different story. "We're just going through the algebra homework."

It was weird; it wasn't as though the conversation was making her seem 'off', it was like…the very fact he was talking to her was so distracting she couldn't settle. She was the centre of Miles' universe. And apparently he was just an asteroid in hers: a misshapen hunk of space rock, hurtling past in the blink of an eye, and completely blindsiding her with his very insignificant existence. 

A fellow asteroid must have collided with him at some point, because he could feel this weird twinge in his chest, by his heart, almost as though the impact had chipped a corner off. He swallowed thickly, pushing the creeping discomfort away. "The one for Mr Moreno's class?" 

"Mhm," Carrie confirmed with a nod. 

"Oh, nice…" Miles trailed off with an awkward chuckle and what he feared was now looking like a rather desperate smile. And he was sure his expression only got worse when his gaze was pulled off-course by Juliet, who gave him a look that made him want to give up altogether. How her hazel irises had managed to harness the ability to hiss 'you are totally blowing this' in his ear, he had no idea. And yet, the urge to prove her (and everyone else) wrong gave him the motivation to plough on. "Well, if you still need any help with it later, I don't mind going through some of the answers with you at wo-"

"It's alright," Carrie bluntly cut in, slicing out a chunk of Miles' self-esteem as she did so. "Julie's got it covered," she added, turning to dazzle the blonde with a brilliant grin. 

By the time that grin made its way around to Miles though, it felt cold. And it seemed suppressed, like she hadn't really wanted him to see it. What he feared was the beginnings of a smirk were tugging at the corners of her lips too. And whilst he wanted to believe that it wasn't at his expense - some cruel inside joke the pair of blondes had whispered with their oh-so talkative eyes in the second that Carrie's back was turned - something in the pit of his stomach told him otherwise. 

"Thanks though," Carrie lazily tacked on, with a brightness in her tone that just felt hollow to Miles now. 

"No problem," he breathed. But there was a problem, and he was staring right at her.

Miles tried to find it in him to mean the smile he sent her, but he just couldn't. Somehow, what was supposed to have been a simple conversation between 'friends' had left him feeling more insecure than ever. Why was she so difficult to talk to? And was she making it so difficult? If they'd been at All Skate, cleaning the rink after their shift, he'd have had no trouble talking to her - their conversations flowed like the Mississippi River when it was just the two of them. And yet here, he felt like he was trying to coax water out of a rusty garden tap in the peak of a summer drought. 

He couldn't find the words to piece together what he wanted to ask - he didn't think such a sentence existed, not one that he could construct anyway. Carrie seemed hellbent on getting rid of him, which did nothing for his creeping fear that she was only nice to him at work because she had no other option for company. And the damn heat radiating from Juliet's pitying smirk had so much sweat running down his back he contemplated running to the nearest bathroom to wring out his underwear. 

And somehow, those glittering, sky blue eyes of hers still threw him a line - a glimmer of hope to cling to. After all, she'd surprised him before - countless times - maybe she'd be able to do it again.

Just as Miles was moving to open his mouth to try one last time though, he was beaten to it. 

"Was there anything else you wanted? Or was that it?" 

Any hopes of a redemption for the blonde were snatched from Miles' grasp, and the reality of it felt like a punch to the gut. Thoroughly deflated, he accepted his fate with a heavy sigh. It may not have been the outcome he wanted, but at least he had an answer now, and there was a silver lining to that, he supposed. 

"...No," he breathed through a forlorn, but relieved smile. "That was…that was all."

Miles felt he must have imagined the concern that flickered in Carrie's gaze - wishful thinking, he supposed - because the airy giggle and laidback grin she flashed him certainly didn't marry up with it. "Oh, alright then. See you later!" she chirped with a wave as he started the walk of shame back to his desk. Again, just as he was turning back to offer a farewell of his own though, she managed to get her words in first. "Don't forget your thick socks."

Miles stopped in his tracks. Now he was more confused than ever. The cheeky glint in her eyes, the knowing smile, the reference to a throwaway joke from their closing shift last night… Everything he'd just come to terms with about her vehement disinterest in him had been called into question with those five, simple words, and a wink that just about made his heart stop.

…Maybe she did really care after all. 

With his heart leaping up from its dejected slumber, Miles shot her a grateful smile and chuckled an earnest, "I won't." Breathing out a contented sigh, mind already racing with ways to talk to her about this more that evening, Miles finally felt his shoulders relax as he raised the hand that had been rubbing the back of his neck his whole time. "See you la-"

Nevermind, she'd already turned around to talk to Juliet again. 

Again the brunet was flummoxed. The only thing he felt truly confident about as he slunk back to his desk was the very thing he'd been warned of before wading into that mess: the female mind was a mystery. And he had never felt further from figuring it out.

Turning back to Juliet, Carrie couldn't help but shake her head and chuckle under her breath. "That was weird," she noted, tilting her head in the direction of her retreating co-worker.

But Juliet's eyes had never left the bumbling brunet. "Mmm… He's kind of cute," she mused. Although her prompting smirk was lost on her tutee, since her sapphire gaze was immediately pulled to the back of Miles' head.  

"Yeah." Carrie's breathed response fell from her lips with startling ease, so much so that it even surprised herself. Hoping to catch it before it slipped into Juliet's ears though, she shook the starry-eyed gaze from her head and scrambled together a cover-up. "Uh, yeah? I can try to set the two of you up if you want. You know, put in a good word at work and stuff." 

If she expected Juliet to accept her optimistic offer with open arms though, she was soon proved wrong.

"Yeah something tells me he's not interested in me," she snorted.

Carrie looked at her, perplexed. "What are you talking about? Why wouldn't he be? You're like a total babe."

"Oh come on, Carrie. Please tell me you know that he's got a major crush on you," Juliet said with an almost disapproving frown. "Like major major."

Carrie scoffed at the accusation. "It's not major," she tried, rolling her eyes in a further attempt to downplay the gravity of what Juliet was implying. 

"Carrie," Juliet pressed as she knitted her brows. "The guy could barely speak."

Caving under the blonde's hardened gaze, Carrie let out a resentful huff. "Ok fine, so he's got a little crush," she finally conceded. "What's so bad about that? It's not like anything's gonna happen; he knows I've got a boyfriend."

"Mhm… And what does Eric have to say about Miles?"

Carrie rolled her eyes so hard Juliet thought for a second that they might never come back down again. "Why does it matter?" she groaned, her skin prickling with irritation. 

"Well he's not exactly got the best track record when it comes to being understanding about you hanging out with other guys," Juliet sighed, with a sneaking suspicion that her tutee's frustration had been triggered by the mention of her boyfriend's name alone: a welcome sign that their relationship was as healthy as ever. Not.

Carrie scoffed as a bitter scowl settled into place. "It's not like I'm 'hanging out with him', we just work together. I barely talk to him during my shift anyway, only when we're clearing stuff up at the end."

"Oh yeah?" Juliet started, curiosity piqued. "And what happens then?"

"Nothing!" Carrie insisted. "We just talk - you know me, I can't keep my mouth shut even when I want to, so of course I'm gonna talk to the guy." Letting out a sigh to try to blow off some steam, she softened under Juliet's gaze and allowed the blonde to lead her through her haze of thoughts. And if Juliet's gentle nudge in the right direction wasn't already enough to do the trick, one glance at Miles' retreating form completely burst the dam. "We've been talking for like the whole last hour of every shift since I started - about school, movies, whatever really - it's like the only thing in that dump that's worth sticking around for. I kind of just did it because I was bored out of my mind at the start, but turns out he's actually really fun, and sweet too - you wouldn't believe some of the stuff he does for his little brothers, Julie; I've literally gone and cried in the break room before after he was telling me about it. It's that cute." 

"You cry at everything," Juliet countered with a fond, teasing chuckle. 

"Oh come on, not everything," Carrie retorted. Naively hoping that their conversation on the matter had ended there, she let her eyes settle on Juliet's again, only for them to inch open the floodgates once more with a simple bat of her lashes and a tilt of her head. "We just talk and…goof around," she tentatively began - defensive, despite her nonchalance. "You know, make each other laugh about weird things customers have said, or stupid things we did. It's not like we're fooling around or anything. And before you say it, because I know that face: no, I am not leading him on. It's all totally platonic, I swear."

"Ok…" Juliet softly trailed off, taking a moment to choose her words before raising her next point. "Does Miles know it's all 'totally platonic'?"

Carrie let out a groan of despair, as she always did when her best friend lovingly lectured her. "I don't know, Jules. I'm not a mindreader. He's not grabbed my ass or spiked my water bottle, if that's what you're getting at," she grumbled, before promising, "I've got it all under control, I swear."

Somehow, Juliet didn't seem to be buying it; as impervious to Carrie's confident charm as ever. 

"So Eric's totally chill about this whole thing with Miles?" she tested, arching a perfectly plucked eyebrow.  

"He knows I work with him…" Carrie mumbled.

Juliet nodded understandingly - almost too understandingly - in Carrie's periphery. 

"...And does he know how he makes you feel?"

Daring to challenge Juliet's calculated point with ignorant defiance, Carrie whirled around to meet the blonde's smug expression with a gasp of indignation, and an argument that fell away the second she realised that she didn't have a single word in her head to back it up with. Admitting defeat, she sighed and let her body slump, along with her hopes of her vindication in her best friend's hazel eyes. "Ok, yeah, fine. I know Miles has a crush on me," she confessed. Although the guilt laced into her words steadily morphed into hurt the more she tried to defend herself. "And yeah, I do lean into it sometimes because it makes me feel good about myself. Is that really so bad? Is it such a bad thing to want someone to be extra nice to you for once? Or to give you some positive attention?" 

"No, of course not," Juliet assured, assuming a fierce determination of her own. "I just think your boyfriend should be able to do all those things and more, and clearly he's not."

Carrie sighed, exhausted by the very thought of him. "This isn't about Eric."

Juliet sighed back, exasperated by her best friend's submissiveness, especially when she was usually so domineering. "How can you still want to defend him, Carrie?"

"Because, I love him, Julie," Carrie replied, finally finding the contented smile the thought of him should have immediately slapped on her face. "And because he's a good guy."

"Really? Because he's been nothing but a dick to you lately," Juliet flatly countered, hoping that with a little pushing her friend would see sense. 

"We've just had a couple of arguments, it's not a big deal," Carrie casually defended. "And they're all resolved now, so I don't know what you still have to complain about."

"Just because you had make-up sex does not mean that the problems were resolved," Juliet rolled her eyes before fixing the golden-haired girl with a more earnest look. "Did he actually apologise this time?"

"We talked it out first-"

"Did he apologise?"

Carrie squirmed under Juliet's gaze before muttering a reluctant, "No."

"Ugh," Juliet groaned, rolling her eyes again as she wound up to unleash a rant she'd been working up to for weeks. But, to her dismay, Carrie's defences beat her to it.

"Neither of us did, really. We just agreed to forget it and move on."

"How is that resolving anything?" Juliet asked with an annoyed frown that Carrie was starting to take personally. 

"Well I hadn't thought about it until now, so it must have at least kind of worked," she attempted to justify. 

But Juliet's nettled scoff told her that her stance on the matter wasn't budging. "You and Eric might as well speak two different languages; I've seen a pig and a fly communicate better than you two." 

The comment drew a giggle from Carrie's lips before she could stop it. "Don't try to distract me with your cute, Southern lingo," she said as the amused smile settled on her face and she affectionately bumped her friend's arm - the act bringing both their tempers back down to Earth. Before Juliet could launch into another lecture though, Carrie hoped to diffuse the situation once and for all. "Anyway, we worked it all out and everything's back to normal," she said. Although Juliet's questioning glance made her correct herself, "Better than normal. In fact, we're going to go look for Halloween costumes together this weekend," she finished with an optimistic grin. 

Now that was an improvement. For the first time since they'd sat down, Juliet found herself pleasantly surprised. "The Barbie and Ken costume's back on? I'm impressed. You two really must be getting along." Knowing how excited Carrie had been about the idea, she couldn't help but smile at the prospect of it finally coming into fruition. 

"Oh no, the Ken idea's long gone. I think he's going as a firefighter or something now."

Juliet's optimism shattered in a split second, and yet she stayed frozen in place, mouth hanging open in disbelief. "...You're kidding, right?"

"No, but I don't really mind. I'll just find something else to go as," Carrie sighed through a small, indifferent smile. If she'd spotted the disgust hidden in Juliet's eyes after her last revelation, she chose to ignore it. "It'll be fun getting to plan out my own costume anyway; I've got so many more options now. And plus, the Barbie one was only gonna be a pain in the ass to-"

"You're not even doing a couples one?" Juliet asked, far too concerned with what she was learning to care about hearing out Carrie's excuses. 

"He thinks couples costumes are lame," she explained with a huff. "Or at least that's what Adam told him anyway. He said he wanted to just do his own thing."

"But Carrie, you've been excited about doing a joint costume with him for like a whole year."

"So?" Carrie asked, with an eyebrow quirk of her own, shoving the accusation aside as though she was kicking an ice cube under the refrigerator. "It's just a dumb Halloween party, it doesn't matter what we wear; everyone will probably be too drunk to even pay attention anyway."

"Yeah, but it matters that he doesn't care about stuff that's important to you. He never has, and it's selfish, Carrie - super selfish…" Juliet trailed off with a frustrated sigh, praying that she might finally get the ditzy DJ to see sense. "You need to stop defending his shitty behaviour."

"And do what?" Carrie mumbled, unknowingly giving Juliet just what she wanted: a chance to unleash her anger with the infantile blond bozo and the mockery of a relationship he had roped her best friend into.

"Hold him accountable," she urged, hazel eyes blazing with passion. "Relationships should not have to revolve around making excuses and placating your partner with blow jobs - it's a fucking joke. I don't care about all the 'good times' you guys have, or all the memories you've made; the way you've been treating each other lately is appalling, and you deserve way better," she said, pausing to let Carrie absorb everything she'd just thrown at her before delivering the finishing blow. "And I know you know that too, because you're already looking for it in someone else."

Carrie's blood stilled in her veins. Sometimes it scared her how deeply Juliet understood her, and other times it felt comforting. This was not one of those times. 

She took in a slow, shuddering breath as Juliet's words seeped into her skin, carrying a deep sense of guilt with them. As much as she wanted to denounce Juliet's observations and stand by her own, joyously declaring her undying love for her boyfriend at the top of her lungs…her mouth made no attempt to move from its crestfallen frown. It couldn't, because she knew she was wrong. 

The despondency in the blonde's vacant, blue eyes soon drew Juliet down from her soap box though. This time she approached with a gentle, almost apologetic, smile as she entwined their fingers and began rubbing circles into the back of her tanned hand with the pad of her thumb. "I just want what's best for you, Car," she quietly promised. 

"I know," Carrie murmured, mustering a grateful smile as she squeezed her hand back, as though to say a 'thank you' her mouth wasn't quite ready to commit to yet. "I'm fine, Julie, I swear," she went on to profess. But when she started to get a sneaking suspicion that the statement wasn't all that convincing, she decided to switch up her tactic. "Now can we please get back to algebra?" 

The genuine laughter that tumbled from Juliet's lips was music to Carrie's ears. "There's a sentence I never thought I'd hear you say," Juliet chuckled as she picked up her pencil again. 

"I'll do anything to get us talking about something else," Carrie admitted with a woeful chuckle of her own. "And besides, I think I've got a better chance of wrapping my head around this than anything to do with my love life at the moment."

"Boyfriends suck, huh?" Juliet snorted with a knowing smirk.

"Try all boys suck," Carrie countered with a smirk of her own, at last feeling as though some of her signature confidence was leaching back into her frame. Although the pair's giggles took a few seconds to die back down, a mischievous glint remained in Carrie's eyes before she let them glaze over in thought. Mind idly wandering down untrodden paths, a wistful sigh escaped alongside a rogue proposal. "Wouldn't it make life so much easier if we could take them out of the equation altogether?"

Carrie was too lost in thought to notice, but the words that left her mouth forced an entire systems reboot in Juliet's brain. She had to do a double take, certain that she must have misheard her, or had at least missed the joking undertone. But no, the glassy, pensive blue irises held nothing but sincerity. And that confused Juliet more than ever. Her mind whirred with possible explanations for the brainless musings that definitely didn't sound as though they came from a girl in a committed, heterosexual relationship, but before she dared to question her on any, a tanned hand, the size of a frying pan, pulled her prospective interview subject right out of her seat. 

Carrie's eyes widened as she was whisked into a pair of cotton-clad arms the size of tree trunks, hardly able to catch her breath before it was being exchanged for someone else's. A faintly stubbled smile pressed into hers several times before she fully regained her bearings and was able to catch the frying pan hand from travelling too far south of her waist. "Eric," she giggled once she finally managed to inch their lips far enough apart to mumble a greeting against his skin. A subsequent flurry of kisses kept her from elaborating any further though. It was a wonder they didn't pass out from lack of air. 

"Hi, beautiful," he eventually greeted with a smitten grin. But their lips didn't stay apart for long as the dopey quarterback seemed hellbent on keeping his coated in his girlfriend's saliva. "You have a good study hall?" he mumbled, nuzzling his nose against hers. His roaming fingers shattered any hope of his interest in her life being genuine though.

Even if Carrie had wanted to answer Eric's question, his tongue was shoved so far down her throat she couldn't get her words out. "Eric," she finally gasped, jerking her head back from his with a breathy laugh as she felt his thumb start to lift the hem of her cheerleading skirt. "You're gonna get us both detention." 

"I can't help it," he chuckled, pulling her back towards him for another seemingly endless stream of kisses. "I missed you." And whilst a stupefied grin played at his constantly interlocking lips, something didn't feel quite right with Carrie. Her kisses were lazy, almost reluctant, and whilst her body normally felt like putty between his palms, today it felt…stiff. She seemed distracted. And because Eric's head was only ever swimming with thoughts of her, this worried him. "Hey," he gently prompted, nudging her chin with his knuckle to bring her gaze up to meet his. "Everything ok?"

Carrie's breath stuck in her throat, too scared of getting caught in the crossfire of two sets of brown eyes to dare to leave. Eric's sat beneath a pair of thick, furrowed brows, marred with insecure concern, and she could feel Juliet's boring holes into the back of her skull, begging her to remember everything they’d just spoken about. Tensions were high in her usually spacious brain - thoughts flying back and forth too quickly for her to make sense of as she tried to let her conscience guide her in the right direction. And although she felt herself inching towards a blonde ponytail-bolstered confession, her conscience's valiant efforts were all for naught. Carrie's fingers found purchase in the bristly blond hairs at the nape of Eric's neck, her cheeks were dusted in the scent of spearmint and the sweaty must from his football helmet. The profound warmth of his embrace seeped into her bones, and she curled up into it like a cat in the glow of fireplace embers - helpless to resist. "Everything's great," she promised, drawn in by the comfort of familiarity. "I just missed you too."

Disappointed, but not surprised by her best friend's decision, Juliet sighed as she tore her gaze away from the stomach-churning couple and began gathering together her and Carrie's things. She'd get through to her eventually, she had faith in the pit of her steadily grumbling gut. She just needed to be patient…or to find something that could drive a wedge between them once and for all.

"Ethan!" 

The pint-size pothead almost jumped out of his skin at the barked greeting, which actually felt more like an accusation than a 'hello'. He didn't know what was more offensive, the girl's tone or the fact that she'd interrupted his concert-for-one. 

"Jesus, Mick! You scared the shit outta me!" he cried. 

Rolling her eyes, Mick let go of the headphone speaker she'd had to pry away from Ethan's ear after he'd blatantly ignored her fifth call of his name, letting it thwack the side of his head. The look on his face as he recoiled in bewilderment did have a faint smile tugging at her lips though. But it soon disappeared when he slumped back in his seat and readied himself to tune her out again. 

Moving to stand in front of his desk, Mick didn't give him a chance. "Where's Miles?" 

"What?" Ethan squeaked.

"Where's Miles?" she reiterated, crossing her arms across her chest and nodding at the empty seat beside him.

"He's talking to Carrie," he revealed with a blasé wave of his hand in the vague direction of the pair.

Even with AC/DC blasting through his headphones, Ethan swore he heard Mick's face crack.

"He's doing what now?" she demanded, flames roaring in the mahogany logs that made up her irises. 

"He's just asking her something, it's no big deal," Ethan said - although his attempts to reassure the brunette were ham-handed at best given his lazy grin and total lack of concern. 

This was further backed up by Mick's growing urge to strangle him. "Can I not trust you to do anything?" she hissed. 

"What did I do?" Ethan squawked in indignation.

"Nothing - that's the problem! All you had to do was keep his mind off her-" 

"I don't know what fucking mind-control powers you think I've got, Mick, but that was a bogus plan in the first place."

"Oh so what? You just weren't gonna go along with it at all?" Mick scoffed. "I just said to try to keep him distracted."

"And I tried, so I don't know what you're getting all pissy at me for," Ethan retorted. "What's so wrong with him talking to her anyway? I thought 'working through your feelings' was supposed to be a good thing."

Scowling at him for using her own advice against her, she snapped, "Talking to her is not helping him distance himself from her." But when her eyes scanned the room for that familiar mop of coffee brown hair, the sight it settled on made her heart drop to her collegiate green Campuses. "And neither is a run-in with Eric Brennan."

Trailing back to his seat, muttering to himself about the mystifying female mindset and what the hell all of that could have meant, Miles soon realised he wasn't looking where he was going when he collided with what felt like a wall of meat. 

"Shit, sorry," he muttered.

When he looked up and saw who it was that had almost knocked him off his feet though, he realised his assumption hadn't been too far off.

"Woah, watch it, man," Eric guffawed.

The amused twinkle in his eye, and the smirk that blossomed as soon as his gaze landed on him, made Miles' stomach twist. Something told him that this interaction wasn't going to be nearly as quick as he'd hoped. 

"Miles, right?" Eric went on to ask, eyebrow cocked in recognition. 

"Uh, yeah," Miles stammered, although he was more confused than concerned at this point. 

"Why you in such a hurry, bud? You got somewhere to be?" he continued, a charming smirk still sitting proudly on his chiselled jaw. 

"I'm just going back to my seat."

"Oh yeah?" Eric probed, steadily turning up the pressure. "And why were you out of it?"

Miles immediately regretted the exasperated huff that fell from his lips, but he couldn't help his frustration. "Why does it matter?" 

To Miles' surprise, the jock didn't snap back at his remark - there was no sign of meat-headed defensiveness at all. Instead, the guy just laughed. "It doesn't," he reassured with a jovial smile. "I just thought I'd ask 'cause, you know, from here it kind of looked like you were going over there to talk to my girlfriend." 

Any relief that jovial smile had filled Miles with steadily leaked out as Eric's words sunk in. "I was just asking her about our work schedule," he explained with a careful, albeit tight smile of his own. 

"Yeah?" Eric tested.

"...Yeah," Miles confirmed. Although he could feel his bravery slowly shrinking under the hulking weight of Eric's arched eyebrow, he stood his ground, hoping that a nonchalant tone and a set of squared shoulders was enough to convince the dopey blond.

"Oh well, that's a relief," he said with another booming guffaw. Miles' wishes were seemingly granted as the warning smirk slipped from Eric's face, replaced with a laidback grin. "There I was thinking you might have been trying to make a move on her or something."

Miles managed to eke out a chuckle, more at his own expense than anything. "I wouldn't do that, man," he promised through a freshly starched smile. "I know you're both very happy together."

Eric's shit-eating grin must have been powered by at least three AAs with the way it lit up his face. "That we are, my man," he proudly proclaimed. "And that's good to hear 'cause I know you spend a lot of time with her at the end of your shifts, and she says you two get along super well, so I'd hate to think that you were getting the wrong idea or-"

"Not at all," Miles assured, cutting the blond off before he could drive the knife any further into his chest. Fixing a plastic smile to his face to cover up the wistful sigh that escaped between his teeth, he delivered an admittedly painful, "We're just friends."

Eric's rich brown eyes seemed to scan every inch of Miles for any sign of a lie before he proceeded, and the brunet's lack of acting skills left him squirming like a worm on a hook as a result. But the satisfied grin that soon surfaced, dropping the tensed shoulders to help it rise, told Miles the quarterback probably needed an eye test. 

"Good," Eric said with a contented sigh. "'Cause you and I both know that it'd be stupid to think anything else, right?" he went on to cockily taunt. "Like, no offence, but she'd have to be fucking insane to choose you over me… Right, Miles?" 

Although his ego was severely bruised, to save his face from meeting the same fate, Miles forced himself to maintain a smile, albeit reluctantly. "Right," he confirmed.

"That's what I thought," Eric smirked, finally satisfied that Miles had taken enough of an emotional pounding if his lazy grin and affectionate arm bump was anything to go by. "Alright, nice talk, bro. I might catch you tonight if I drop by to see her, ok?"

"I'll be there," Miles verified with a strained sigh. Finally daring to drop his gaze from the sturdy blond, he made his escape without so much as a goodbye.  

Apparently Eric thought he could take a little advice on the road with him though. 

"Remember, watch yourself, Murphy," he hollered.

But the words didn't even register with Miles, because the swift shove between his shoulder blades was so jarring his entire focus was dragged to keeping himself upright. 

Miles kept his eyes trained on the scuffed linoleum as he hastily lumbered back over to his desk, cheeks burning with self-hatred as he tried to push Eric’s no doubt smirking face out of his mind. It wasn’t until he heard a familiar voice that he finally dared to lift his head again. 

“Are you ok?” Mick asked, expression overrun with an almost frantic concern. “What was that about?”

“I’m fine,” Miles brushed off, retrieving his threadbare backpack from its spot, slumped on the floor in one swoop. Haphazardly shoving the books from his desk into the main compartment, he mumbled a quick, “Can we just go?” 

But Ethan’s glassy-eyed intrigue held him firmly in place. “Yo, what happened, man? Did he bust you for flirting with her?” 

“No,” Miles sighed, wearily shaking his head at the stoner’s excitement. 

“Did you flirt with her?” he pressed. 

"No, I just- ugh," Miles huffed, quickly giving up on trying to explain the situation he didn't even fully understand himself. "It doesn't matter. Let's just go."

"I told you to just forget about her," Mick sighed. 

"Yeah, well, that's a lot easier said than done, Mick," Miles retorted, returning her disapproving frown with a defensive one of his own. 

"Did you at least get some closure?" Ethan offered as he rose from his desk - partly from curiosity, partly to try to prove a point to Mick. 

Whilst Miles' tongue instinctively prepared to shoot Ethan's optimism down, his brain jumped in to tell it to hold fire. And after a few, brief seconds recalling the interaction, his answer soon changed. "Actually, I kind of did," he admitted with a chuckle of incredulity. 

"You gonna try to talk about it more with her tonight then?" Ethan asked, smirking to himself at Mick's look of disbelief. 

"Fuck no," Miles snorted with a nonchalance that took both of his friends by surprise. "I just want to forget it ever happened- just…move on."

"From her?" Mick asked, trying to hide the hopeful edge in her tone with a gentle smile.

Sparing the blonde in question one last glance over his shoulder, only to catch the tail end of her and Eric getting pulled up for their excessive PDA by their (up until now) entirely uninterested study hall supervisor, he let out a wistful sigh. A chorus of voices swelled in his head - Mick's, Ethan's, Carrie's, Eric's - each one telling a different side to the same story. He couldn't have picked one to listen to if he'd tried. So, in the end, his own took over, steering his heart down a path that promised the least damage in the long term, and that Carrie's indifferent dismissal of him had already forged in his mind. "...That's the goal."

[chaiisms]

BALDURS GATE 3 PARTY BANTER PROMPTS LIST.

all of the following prompts are taken from party banter between the companions in larian studios' baldurs gate 3 (2023). there should be no spoilers! also, a disproportionate amount of these are from astarion and karlach. i'm not sorry.

I am enjoying our walks together, aren't you, [ name ]?

You'll be as depraved as the rest of us in no time.

Friend of yours?

Were you always so sneaky?

If there's hope for me there's hope for anyone.

How are we not there yet? My feet are killing me.

This is what I get for trying to strike up conversation.

We're not going to have trouble, are we?

If we continue this way, we may get too close for comfort.

Don't get too comfortable. We shouldn't overstay our welcome in such a place.

Do you have pet names for each other yet?

[ name ]! Was that a joke?

You know what - that is not the easiest of questions for me to answer.

Given your own nature, are you really the one to judge?

You can read?!

I'm surprised - I expected you to turn your back once you got what you wanted.

I wouldn't know a flirtation if you whacked me alongside the head with it.

Why stay somewhere safe and comfortable when we could be in mortal peril?

Can't say I love what they've done with the place.

I'm learning to enjoy the taste of chaos. Count me in.

At least you didn't tell me to 'be myself'.

You have so much to learn. Repeat after me: honey muffin, sweetie pie, sugarplum.

Nice to be in a crowd of normal people for once.

So [ name ], how is your sad, hopeless pining going?

You seemed a million miles away just then.

I fear I've been rather hasty to judge you, [ name ].

Ready to enter the belly of the beast?

Step one of starting a conversation: think before you speak.

I hear your relationship has taken on a new aspect recently…

All right, just keep it down. We're conspicuous enough without your hyena call.

Not one for roughing it, I see.

Why not have a little fun?

You're right, of course. Forgive me.

My money's on you, [ name ].

The echoes - listen! They're coming from three directions!

Want me to carry you?

Feeling at home?

Treat them right, or you'll have me to answer to.

Oh, darling, would you?

No doubt they found me too intimidating.

A girl could get used to this.

Now I don't know what to believe.

Well - yes, it was a joke.

I know that, too. It just wasn't funny.

And here I thought I rubbed you the wrong way.

Man, it's good to be home. First round on who?

Oh, I wouldn't actually leave. After all, where would you be without me?

You've quite the knack for finding the bright side of things, haven't you?

Well what would impress you, then?

Let's just stop this conversation right here, shall we?

Must've been an awful day for the people who lived here

You've clearly thought this through a great deal. I'm impressed and appalled in equal measure.

Sure, but think of the stories you'll be able to tell.

I never was scared of the shadows.

I know you're not really as heartless as all that.

I judged you wrongly. I'm sorry.

Are you charging for this sage advice, or is sticking your nose into my business just a hobby?

Pragmatism, thy name is [ name ].

That's ironic, coming from you.

We're either very clever or very lucky.

You do not need luck to survive, [ name ]. Not when you have me.

That will make getting word to my mother rather tricky.

Stop gawking at the decor. This place is dangerous.

I can't tell if you're joking.

So, what's it like caring for someone other than yourself, [ name ]?

You think I'm beautiful?

I feel it too. Here if you need a pick-me-up.

Yet another thing we have in common. We're two peas in a pod.

Is it so unbelievable that they would simply like me?

Use your words.

You gonna catch me if I eat a brick?

[ name ], I've heard you talking in your sleep.

Let's never speak of this again.

You can take a day off once in a while, [ name ]

Hey! Something bit me.

Cheer up. It might be all downhill from here.

I love a nice secret hideaway, don't you?

Think the bar is open?

[at0michips]

interviews and intimacy — mike faist

summary: the press tour of challengers was coming to an end, and even though Mike liked promoting his new movie all around the world, he was tired and even annoyed of the same old questions, so it did surprise him when a younger woman changed the pattern.

author note: just wanted to say that this is based off my deepest thoughts and hallucinations that this is going to happen to me someday and I just really needed to elaborate it further than in my brain. I have a lot more like this to work on so maybe it becomes a sort of series, who knows!! feel free to request

It was a full day, Mike has been patient and tried to be as social as possible with the press but he couldn't help the bad mood that came with those clueless questions that could totally put him and his coworkers in an uncomfortable situation, especially with both of them openly having a significant other. So when he heard that this would be the last interview of the press he felt relieved, he could go straight back into his house in New York, spend some days in there and go back to Ohio so he could see his family for a bit and then see what was his next step.

Everything seemed like it was going to work out nicely, and then it didn't looked like it anymore. After the new interview crew arrived he could hear some whispering between them.

"W-why does it have to be me?" one of the girls said a little loud only to be shushed by an older woman who was attaching a mic in her clothing

"Because you have a degree, because you have been helping Rose write the last interviews questions, because you're good!" she answered "Calm down, they're just people, ok? I spoke to her on the phone and she promised to pay you dinner next friday, keep that in mind." and then it hit him, that a girl who looked barely out of college was about to lead this interview.

The studio buzzed with the controlled chaos of a film set winding down for the day. Mike Faist sat across from you, a young journalist who had been unexpectedly thrust into the role of interviewer. Initially skeptical of her ability to handle the job, Mike found himself pleasantly surprised as the interview progressed.

"You know, for someone who's filling in last minute, you're doing pretty damn well," Mike remarked, a hint of admiration in his voice.

You felt your shoulders relax a fraction, the tension from earlier slowly dissipating. "Thank you. I'm glad I could hold my own."

Mike nodded thoughtfully, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "More than holding your own, actually. You're asking some really insightful questions."

You couldn't help but smile back, a mixture of relief and pride washing over her. "I've been a writer for a while, just not usually about movies."

"Well, maybe you've found a new calling," he teased lightly, his gaze lingering on her face. "You've definitely got a knack for it."

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his compliment. "I think I'll stick to writing," you replied, matching his playful tone. "But who knows? Maybe I'll make an exception."

Mike leaned in a bit closer, the studio lights casting a soft glow around the both of you. "I hope you do," he said sincerely. "Because I'd really like to see you again. Maybe over a drink, not in a studio."

You could feel your heart skip a beat at the invitation. "I'd like that too."

As they exchanged smiles, the noise of the studio faded into the background, leaving only the promise of a new connection blossoming between them.

The bar was buzzing with soft chatter and the clinking of glasses, casting a warm glow over you and Mike as you sat across from each other. After the earlier meeting for the interview, something had shifted, probably the intimate ambiance of the place helped it too.

"So, what's it really like being on stage every night?" you asked, with the voice laced with genuine curiosity.

Mike leaned forward, his eyes sparkling as he recounted stories from his time on Broadway. His passion for his craft was evident, and you found yourself captivated not just by his words but by the sincerity in his gaze.

As the evening wore on, the conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving between laughter and moments of shared insight. Mike found himself drawn to your intelligence and wit, and he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something special about you.

The drinks arrived, and Mike hesitated for a moment before reaching out to lightly touch your hand. You looked up, meeting his gaze with a hint of surprise that quickly melted into a warm smile.

"I'm really glad we could do this," Mike admitted, his voice soft but earnest.

You could feel your heart skip a beat. "Me too," you replied, the voice tinged with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

In that moment, the air between you both seemed to crackle with unspoken tension. Without another word, Mike leaned in, closing the gap remaining between the two of you. Your lips met in a gentle, tentative kiss that spoke volumes of the attraction simmering beneath the surface.

It was a kiss filled with promise, a silent agreement of mutual interest and the beginning of something new.

The world around you seemed to fade away as they kissed, your hand finding its way to Mike's cheek as if to anchor yourself in the moment. Mike's heart raced, his mind momentarily forgetting the crowded bar and focusing solely on the warmth of your lips against his.

When you finally pulled back, your breaths mingling in the space between them, Mike searched for your eyes, his own filled with a mixture of wonder and longing.

"Wow," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the soft background music.

"Yeah," Mike murmured, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "That was... unexpected."

You chuckled nervously, feeling a warmth spread around your face. "Unexpected, but definitely not unwelcome."

You sat in comfortable silence for a moment, basking in the afterglow of their kiss. The tension that had built up between you and Mike earlier seemed to dissipate, replaced now by a quiet understanding.

"I should probably walk you home," Mike suggested softly, his thumb gently tracing circles on the back of your hand.

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "I'd like that."

As you guys left the bar and stepped out into the cool night air, Mike offered you his arm, and you gladly linked hers through his. You walked side by side, with the shoulders brushing occasionally, each lost in their own thoughts yet connected by the spark that had ignited that evening.

[sweet-and-sour-bites]

Hello, hope you’re doing well!

Is it ok if you do romance with an NPC? Basically the Scovillia Headmaster with a Reader who used to go to school with him. The Reader used to be a pretty wild student but as they grew up, they became decently calmer read: sorta..

And then they meet each other again when the reader goes to work at Scovillia!

Headcannons or a story is fine, whichever you prefer, thanks you very much in advance!

☁️Scovillia Headmaster x Professor Gn!Reader

*So before we begin, since the Scovillia Headmaster doesn't have a canon name, I don't think he does, though correct me if I'm wrong, I'm gonna call him Spicey Buffalo Cookie.*

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

The academy halls of the ever hot Scovillia leave you feeling nostalgic. You used to walk these halls as a student, right alongside your best friends, but now you walk them as a teacher. Not much has changed about them either; still adorned with hues of red, orange, and black.

You make your way to the courtyard and sit down on a bench. You breathe in, and the smell of burning wood fills your senses. It's a nice scent. Calming and familiar. "Welcome back, (Y/n) Cookie."

You jump a little, startled by the gruff voice. Looking behind you, you see the headmaster himself walking over to you. He takes a seat beside you, and the two of you sit in silence for a little. "It's been a while since we've seen one another, no?"

"It certainly has. Three, no, four years?"

"Six years, actually." You pause, hardly believing it's been that long since you've seen your dear old friend.

"I'm so sorry."

"What ever for?" The headmaster looks over at you in surprise. You have your head hanging low as you look at the cobbled path below.

"We were so close during our time here as students. We laughed and cried together, fought, and made up; it seemed like nothing could pull us apart. After graduating, though, we hardly spoke to each other until we just stopped altogether. I feel, have felt, guilty about it." You feel a few tears fall from your eyes. Reminiscing about your time together really makes you sappy.

A warm hand is placed on your cheek, tilting your head to the side. The headmaster and yourself have gotten closer, you note, as he wipes away your tears. "Don't fret over the past, as the blame is not entirely on you. We both were so wrapped up in our own lives that we let the bond that held us together fade. I regret such a thing dearly."

"As do I." The two of you sit in silence, basking in the others presence.

"(Y/n) Cookie, there is something I must confess." Your focus is now only on him. "I have regretted not telling you sooner, but I....I am in love with you." Your eyes widen, and your jaw drops. "Back then, you were a wild spitfire. Always running around, causing chaos wherever you went. You stole my heart the first time I saw you deck another student who was bullying a junior." He chuckles as he remembers that moment.

"As we grew, I tried to keep an eye on you, worried how your fighting spirit would guide you. I am glad to know that, while still wild at times, you've become calmer. It is a different side of you that has made me fall in love with you all over again." Removing his hand from you, he reaches up to his helmet and pulls it off. Underneath the headgear is a cookie whose hair seems to be made of flames and eyes of amber. His red horns shine brightly underneath the sun.

He looks back over at you with baited breath, hoping he hears you return his affection.

And you do.

Grabbing his hands, you gently squeeze them. "Oh, Buffalo Cookie, I'm so happy you feel the same." Your words send a wave of relief and love all throughout him. "I admit, I've also been in love with you since we fist met. You radiated such a fiery passion, how could I not fall for you. You've always had my back and were always the one I needed to calm down. I've loved you since then and still do."

His heart feels as if though it's doing back flips. He laughs and picks you up with his strong arms, spinning you around. You join in on his contagious laughter. Setting you down, he looks at you with love in his eyes. The two of you share a single look before meeting the other for a sweet kiss. For a moment, it feels as if though the two of you are the only ones I'm the world, though that's proven incorrect by the sound of cheering.

Pulling apart the two of you, see a bunch of Scovillia students cheering at the doors to the courtyard and above in the open corridors. Front and center is Capsaicin Cookie cheering loudly. "Alright! Way to go, Headmaster and Professor!" The two for you look at each other before bursting out laughing. He picks his helmet up and puts it back on before taking your hand and walking back to he school.

"Seems like the others were just waiting for us to confess. Do you think they had a bet going?"

"I wouldn't be surprised, hun, not at all."

"Haha, you might be right, my dear."

[kararisa]

marigold promises

— 31. "just" the lab report [☕︎ = 0.4k words]

As the hours tick by and the sun dips below the horizon, you find yourself still nestled on the worn couch in the cramped living room, poring over your textbooks. It's hardly an ideal study environment — the constant bickering between the seven-year-old you're babysitting and the sibling she likes to annoy hardly contributes to your concentration. Yet you stay anyway, driven by an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. You crave answers like a desert craves rain, and you won't rest until you've found them.

After all, it would be nice to see Rhinedottir again after all these years, wouldn’t it?

More time passes; the night sky unfurls. The clock marks the time 5:58 p.m., and a comfortable silence settles between the three of you. You and Albedo finally complete your lab report while Klee hunches over her worksheets, studying for an upcoming quiz.

“It’s getting pretty late, Cupcake,” Albedo starts. “Do you want to go ahead and head back to campus?”

You wave off his concern. “Curfew isn’t until a couple of hours from now. I can wait.”

The room falls silent again as you all return to your tasks. The only sounds are the scratch of Klee's pencil on paper and the faint hum of the AC. The stillness of the moment is interrupted only by the occasional rustle of pages or the tapping of keys on a keyboard. You feel a sense of calm wash over you, grateful for the respite from the chaos of the day.

You wish you could stay wrapped in this tranquility, even for just a moment longer.

But at last, the sound of the door unlocking rewards your hours of patience. Now that the moment is actually here, though, you find yourself frozen in place, all the words you’ve prepared escaping you.

Rhinedottir has always been strict with Albedo. She had never truly approved of your friendship with him, claiming that associating themselves with a competitor would only serve as a source of distraction.

That’s definitely one thing she has in common with your mother.

“Mom!” Klee gasps and runs to the door, laughing as she’s snatched into an embrace.

Their mother laughs in turn, “Klee, Albedo. How have you two been? Not too bored without me I hope.”

You recognize that voice. And it’s not the voice you expected to hear.

“Mhm! Albedo brought someone here and they’re super nice.” Klee rambles on about everything you did as she and her mother make their way into the living room.

You finally get a look at her.

"[Name]?" Alice greets, her look of surprise turning into one of joy, "It's been so long since I've last seen you! How have you been?"

— previous || masterlist || next

summary: you and albedo have finally reached a mutual understanding as your first year of college comes to a close. with a new school year comes a new beginning, and you start off strong with albedo asking you the oddest of arrangements: "would you like to be lab partners?"

author's notes:

idk how the college campus curfew works so shush suspend your disbelief. you’re sleeping in the same room as albedo ok

he also just bought you a shirt, undergarments, and some sweatpants. gotta make sure you’re comfy

featured song: Coming Back to Me by Leith Ross

taglist (i):

@fvkkyu @mintreen @edreee @khyllynnn @xxmirrorballxx @aiikalvr @yaefics @unsterblich-prinz @aequha @alch3myy @lovely-althxa @nei-rinn @cridtiins @zestrya @skylions-den @moriiartt @theother-victoria @sunsethw4 @dazaisfavgf @serossidechick @koiir @lazy-sanns @sweetbunnybunbun @dee-zbignuts @redactedhimbo @yurstepm0m @fanfictwarrior @fuyaa @saoiirsee @ireallylikehamsters @kissingkzuha @whosxangel @kitsuvil @orionicchaos @blurr3db3rry @semi-orangeapple @kunikuzushiit @atlatcaheart @wrrapedroundmyfingerlikearing @scarafrisbee @lost-wicked-artist @kairxse @elysiasbae @eurekatanya @empathum @tatiratty @zannivrs @mikismusings @sunoo-bby @astolary

— the taglist is currently CLOSED! shoot me an ask or a reply if you've changed your url or you'd like to be removed.

[softspeirs]

hi! :) could i please request “lots of innocent and not so innocent touches” for mota - for rosie because i’ve been obsessed with him after ep 6. you write beautifully 🫶🏻

A/N: Thanks for the request! I hope this fills what you were looking for - this has no smut, I took a different approach to "not so innocent touches". This features Grace, who you can meet in this fic. These Heartbeats Clear Masterlist

two - the infirmary.

It's absolute chaos in the infirmary when Rosie comes in, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of people inside the relatively small building.

His hands are balled into fists. He knows if he lets go, they'd shake uncontrollably, and he can't do that now. He shoves his hands into his pockets instead, and scans the room, feeling horribly like he's frozen while the world moves on around him.

He sees Grace across the room at the same time she sees him, and his feet start moving towards her without his permission.

They meet in the middle, and he steadies her with a hand on her shoulder, just a quick, light touch. "Grace."

"Rosie--" She says at the same time, and he's a little floored by the sound of his nickname coming out of her mouth.

"Is he okay?"

"Come on," she says, and then she's striding across the room to where Pappy is trying to get off a bed. "Lieutenant!" She says at the same time Rosie rushes forward, hand on his friend's shoulder to push him down.

"I'm all right, goddammit." He pauses, flushes a little. "Sorry, ma'am--"

"Pappy, will you sit down and let her look at you?"

"I'm not hit--"

"You were bleeding from somewhere--"

"Enough, both of you." Grace says, voice firm. "Rosie, get out of my way." She says, hands on his arm to push him to the side. She pauses only briefly to glance back at him, eyes apologetic. "You can stay if you can get him to sit down, and give me a hand."

"Christ," Pappy mutters, but does as he's told. "I'm fine."

"If you say that one more time," Rosie says, eyes closing in frustration. He can feel his hand start to shake again.

It happened so fast - they thought they were in the clear, and then a fighter out of nowhere. Glass shattering, the controls vibrating in his hands before he looked over at Pappy, who was looking in dismay down at his chest.

Blood. Too much blood.

They've been through too much to lose someone from his crew now, and certainly not his copilot. He just won't have it.

"Here." Grace is in front of him now, her hand covering his just for a moment. She's pushing a bandage between his fingers, but she's squeezing him too, and god if he doesn't want to grab her right back and hang on for dear life.

She lets go after giving him a look, and turns back to Pappy. "Shirt off."

"Aren't you supposed to have bedside manner, Lieutenant?"

"Seeing as how you've been trying to vacate your bedside ever since we pulled you from that plane, Pappy, I don't think you qualify for my oh so nice bedside manner."

Rosie snorts, and presses the bandage against the wound on Pappy's chest when he can see it. Grace leans in next to him, morphine in between her teeth for a second as she assesses the situation. Her hand finds purchase on Rosie's shoulder, and he shifts his weight, helping her balance without a second thought.

"It just grazed you. Shrapnel."

"I told you." Rosie says, eyes sharp on his friend.

"Boys." Grace says, before the argument can start, and then she gets to work, leaving them both sitting there quietly.

.

Rosie is perched on a bench outside when Grace finally comes out. She looks exhausted.

"He's asleep." She says softly, almost collapsing next to him, their shoulders brushing.

"Thank you." He says, ducking his head so he can meet her eyes. "I know fliers are the worst patients in the world--"

She waves him off. "It was nothing."

"It's not nothing." He surprises himself with his vehemence. "He's my best friend."

His hand has found hers almost without his knowledge. Earlier, in the chaos of the infirmary, there was a camaraderie to their touches. Colleague to colleague, a steadying hand, a reassuring pat.

This isn't that.

She doesn't let go. If anything, she squeezes him right back. "I'm not supposed to let it get to me, but it scared the hell out of me when you landed. You were so frantic, I thought--"

"We're all fine, thanks to you."

She half-turns on the bench so she can face him, their intertwined hands in her lap. "Don't do that to me again." She says, voice and eyes fierce, hair escaping her pins.

He doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything. He just enjoys the warm comfort of her touch, and the way her thumb strokes the top of his hand -- gentle, alive.

[moonstruck-poet]

Unexpected Surprise

Pairing - Tom Hiddleston x reader!

Summary -

Warnings -

Tysm for the lovely request anon and sorry it took so long<33 I really hope it was as per your wishes

"Tom? Can you come in here for a minute please?" Your voice called out through the apartment and footsteps followed.

"Yeah?" He popped his head in the bedroom and laughed at the scene before him. His son and daughter sitting on the bed, their hair covered in what look like white snow.

While you stood in front of them, trying to be stern but he saw you biting your lip to prevent laughter. Your one year old boy nestled in your arms, somehow sleeping peacefully amidst all the chaos.

"Now what happened here hmm?" He sauntered inside with a curious expression and looked at the twins, crossing his arms.

"Pillow fight!" They chorused and raised their little arms above their heads and your heart melted.

"Okay," he walked closer to the children, taking baby steps and you understood his next intentions immediately and you stepped back, wrapping both of your arms around your baby.

"Then let's go for a round two!" They barely had time to process his statement before he grabbed a small pillow and threw it softly at the two.

They retorted quickly, standing up and squealing as they joined forces to attack their father making you laugh at the unity.

James stirred and your palm went to cover his ears as you exited the room and went into his nursery, sitting on the small bed.

A smile made its way on your lips as you admired your little creation. The soft curls atop his head similar to yours while his baby blue irises a carbon copy of your husband's. This had been the case with the twins too. They both had inherited your hair and his eyes.

His little fist was holding tightly onto your finger as you slowly rocked him, luring him into a deep sleep though you didn't worry too much. He was quite a heavy sleeper, much like yourself.

You caressed his head, your heart squeezing when he leaned right into your hand. He clearly was a mama's boy.

All of your children were actually. They of course loved Daddy, but could only ever stop crying in your presence.

The door opened softly and in entered your husband. You heard the silence that followed his entrance and knew that Jeremiah and Isabella were sound asleep.

"Hey," you murmured once he sat close next to you, his head resting on your shoulder and his finger touching his little one's cheek.

"Hi," he whispered back and raised his head to look you right in the eye making your breath hitch. Even after all these years, his charm was still the same.

But then you noticed his face falling as he scanned your face making your smile drop slightly in self consciousness as you desperately looked at him for an answer.

"What- What's wrong?"

He shook his head and took James, holding him carefully and placing him in his crib before facing your questioning expression. Then sitting down in front on you, he took your hands in his.

"How are you feeling?" He asked and you frowned the question.

"I'm fine, I feel okay..." You answered back, not sure where he was getting at.

"You look exhausted, my love," he cupped your cheeks, his thumb caressing them as he delivered the statement as gently as possible.

You got up from the bed in urgency, wanting to take a look at yourself. And what Tom said what indeed true. You looked like you've been through a hurricane.

"Christ," you said under your breath, taking note of every tiny change that had occured since the past months. "I look terrible".

"No don't say that," he reprimanded and snaked his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss to your jaw. "What you need, is a nice holiday all for yourself. I want to hit myself for not bringing this up sooner, but you need time for yourself, love".

You agreed with every word of his, but how could it be possible now? With your children still bring too young.

"We don't have time now," you turned around, bringing him closer by the neck.

"Yes we do," he said firmly. "Jere and Isa are almost three and James is young but he's a calm one you know that. And you also know just how much they love their grandparents".

"That's true," you sighed and buried your face in the crook of his neck, not realising just how much you had missed this.

"You need to take some time out for yourself, and I think a nice little vacation is the perfect solution. You're out here taking care of all os us, so it's only fair even that I take care of my beautiful wife".

You laughed softly, your lips brushing against his ear, "Okay".

"Leave the planning to me and go and get some sleep," he kissed your forehead and your heart squeezed at the thought of having such a loving and caring husband.

===============================

The vacation that you had taken nearly three months ago was a well deserved and needed holiday. The coasts had helped your mental state immensely.

And you were currently glowing.

You had also started to slowly go back to your earlier routines. Going for a walk in the morning with Bobby, trying to hit the gym atleast thrice a week, and just doing all the things that you were doing previously.

"Jere!" You called your three-year-old, "Will you get the spoons from Daddy please?"

"Yes!" He answered enthusiastically and ran up to his father, handling the cutlery with care and taking tiny footsteps towards you.

"Thank you sweetheart," you smiled at his adorable expression.

"What's for dinner?" Isabella ran from the living room towards the dining table and sat herself down her designated seat.

"It's my speciality if you please," Tom said in a posh accent, bringing plates exactly how a waiter would making the kids giggle.

Isa gently tickled James who was sitting on the high chair and he squirmed away from her hand, laughing happily.

"Hey stop tickling Jamie!" Jeremiah said playfully, ready to defend his brother but his twin merely poked out her tongue.

You smiled at one half your universe seated right in front of you and the other half soon joined in the picture making tears well up in your eyes.

God your hormones were a real mess today. You felt like crying since the morning.

The dinner was indeed a wonderful affair and currently it was only you and your husband, sitting on the couch and watching Iron Man together.

"No look at him," you frowned upon seeing your favorite character's face fall as he looked at his dead friend.

"You know I think you might love him more than me".

"I do".

He raised an eyebrow and you prevented a laugh, about to retort when your eyes widened amd you slapped a hand on your mouth to rush towards the bathroom.

The sudden wave of nausea had taken you aback and threw up all the things you had ate just a few hours ago.

"Love?" Tom was immediately behind you with a frown on his face. "Oh you okay?" He asked, heavily concerned upon seeing your extremely pale face.

"I- I don't know," you took a deep breath, feeling a lack of oxygen in your lungs. "I feel lightheaded," your hand went to grip the side of your head as you swayed and he steadied you.

"Should we go to the clinic? You need to see a doctor," he murmured, watching as you rinsed your mouth and brushed your teeth.

"No I- I'm fine," you sighed and leaned against the wall, eyes closing in fatigue. "We'll go tomorrow if I'm still unwell".

He nodded, though his forehead was creased with worry as he guided you towards you room. Not even thinking of sleeping until he had made sure you were alright.

The next morning your condition was stable, but it soon fell quickly when you had smelt something that was overly sweet and nauseating making you vomit. Again.

"We should go," Tom whispered as he rubbed your back and you nodded, unable to form a coherent sentence.

"Mumma? Daddy what's wrong with Mumma?" Isa asked with wide eyes and Jere was right behind her.

"She's not feeling well, love," he answered and leaned down before them, noticing the way their eyes glistened.

"Mumma," Jere's shaky whisper caught your attention amd you looked at your twins who were on the verge of crying.

"Oh hey no," you said and despite the throbbing pain in your temple, crouched down and they ran into your outstretched arms. "I'm okay, my tummy's just a little upset, yeah?"

"We're gonna go visit the doctor now," Tom added and wiped their tears. "Till then Grandma and Grandpa will be here, okay?"

They nodded and the parents bid them goodbye, once Tom's parents had arrived. James was luckily asleep, otherwise he would certainly have thrown a fit.

The doctor, who was your family physician did some tests, asking about your symptom. All during the process she appeared quite calm while you were unsettled.

"There's nothing to worry about, Mr and Mrs Hiddleston," she addressed the couple with a small smile. "It appears that you are pregnant," she said to you, her face beaming.

"P- Pregnant?" You stammered and her smile fell at your reaction and she excused herself as your turned your head to look at your husband who was equally shocked.

This was really unexpected and not planned at all. You had completed your family with three beautiful children and neither of you wanted another.

"We- We discussed. We didn't-" He couldn't find the words to explain, probably because his mind itself was muddled.

The new wave of emotions hit you hard and tears had slipped down your defenses. You dug your palms into your eyes, not bring able to grasp this entire situation.

It was a huge thing. Maybe would brush it off and say, what's the big deal? But no, of course it was a big deal. A child was going to be entering this world.

"Say something!" Your fingers wrapped around his bicep and you shook him. "I'm pregnant with our child, Hiddleston and you're there just sitting silently!"

"What am I supposed to do?" He didn't raise his voice at all, addressing you calmly but there was an edge to it.

"What are we gonna do, Tom?" You said rather fiercely and looked at him who was staring at you. "What's going to happen now? What the hell are we going to do? We didn't plan this, and had no ideas that this could happen and now I'm pregnant and there's a child inside me and-"

"Hey hey hey," he shook himself out of his trance and grabbed you by the shoulders, trying to bring your mind back from an oncoming panic attack.

"We didn't plan this," he nodded. "But now it has happened, love and I don't think we can do anything now".

"I know!" You said helplessly, "But Tom just think. We already have three toddlers at home and now there's gonna be another in under a year".

He simply paid rapt attention, gesturing for you to continue which made you even more upset for some reason.

"Please say something," you whispered, tears clouding your vision.

He didn't, but instead took you gently into his arms and the emotions flooded out in an instant. His eyes too were glistening but he disregarded that. His sole focus being you. "Calm down, love. I think I know what's troubling you, hmm?"

"I know too," you answered after taking a deep breath and inhaling his comforting scent that was anchoring you.

"Bu we're gonna do everything properly okay? We're gonna be the best parents to our children and this little one that's in there," he said and laid his palm across your lower abdomen.

"Yeah," you nodded, breaths uneven as you tried to steady yourself. "I'm just worried that maybe, just maybe we won't be able to give time to them all, we won't be able to love all of them equally".

"I understand, darling. But that won't happen, ever. We'll make sure of it, together. You are gonna be such a great mum, yeah?"

You smiled, looking up at and seeing the love in his baby blue irises was enough to melt you on the spot.

"I love you, Tom," you said softly, a single tear sliding down your cheek.

"I love you too, so so much," he replied, a smile stretching across his lips as he wiped your tears away, thumb caressing your cheek. "You're my entire world, sweetheart. Don't you ever forget that".

"And you're mine".

===============================

[krikeymate]

I'm really curious about the 6 month period before they left for New York (and also the months after they moved but that's for another ask). Scream 5 follow up comic tie in when.

In all the chaos it's possible (and probably even likely) that nobody hired crime scene cleaners for the Carpenter house, so Sam and Tara might've gone home to blood everywhere.

There's also the fact that Christina had to have come home eventually (or at least I sincerely hope she did), and I can't imagine she was too thrilled about Sam staying there.

So Sam n Tara either

1. Just cleaned the Carpenter house and stayed there

2. Got a hotel

Or

3. Went back to wherever Sam lived in Modesto

Do you have any thoughts about what the events immediately after 5 were like?

Sorry this took 3 days, it's a very interesting thing to think about!!

In my head they've always gone back to the Carpenter house. It's big and full of comforts (and free), and Sam probably thinks Tara needs familiarity and home to heal.

Sam's not even thinking about their mother who isn't even here. She'll deal with her when she shows up, she thinks.

Sam's discharged from the hospital before Tara, but she stays in Tara's room most of the time, with the occasional trip back to the motel to wash and get changed. The day before Tara's due to be discharged, Sam packs up her things from the motel and dumps them in her car, and checks out.

She takes Tara home, and they are immediately greeted by a crime scene.

There's blood everywhere and Tara is frozen looking at the trail across the floor to the door where she had dragged herself.

Sam feels so stupid, how could she have forgotten?!

She steps around in front of her to block Tara's view, and cups her cheeks to get her attention and tells her to close her eyes. She picks Tara up and takes her upstairs. She takes her to her room and gets her comfortable and tells her she's going to fix this, she's going to clean downstairs. It'll be like nothing even happened, she tells her. (Tara takes those words to heart. They can make it like nothing ever happened.)

Tara's nervous, she doesn't want to be alone, but Sam reminds her she'll be just downstairs. She'll leave the doors open, if she needs her all she needs to do is yell, and Sam will respond.

Sam goes downstairs and gets on her hands and knees and scrubs. She cleans and cleans and fumes. This is her sister's blood, soaked into the foundations of this house. Occasionally Tara will yell out Marco, and Sam replies Polo.

Sam doesn't take Tara downstairs for days, not until she's bleached away the stains of what happened.

Sidenote, Tara's definitely in a wheelchair right? Like, her leg is busted, but because of her hand she can't use crutches, right? Like, single crutch walking involves placing it under the arm opposite to the damaged leg, and her damaged hand is her left but her damaged leg is her right.

I think they have a good few weeks until their mother shows herself. She didn't come back sooner because everything was fine, she saw it on the news herself. She stops by long enough to look Tara over and say "well you seem fine enough to me, I see your sister was exaggerating as usual." Sam screams at her mother and it feels just like old times, Tara feels 10 again. She closes her eyes. It's a little overwhelming, but it also feels nice. Like the last few years never existed at all. This was their normal.

When she opens her eyes again, her mother is gone, and Sam is sitting at the end of her bed blowing her hair out of her eyes and looking frustrated.

"Tell me a story?" Tara blurts out. Sam's surprised, and a little confused. "A story?"

"Yeah," Tara confirms. "A story. Anything. Tell me about where you've been, what you've been doing." She wiggles over to make room and Sam lies down beside her, and tells her a story.

[babyjakes]

angel's aid. [blurb.]

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

event | feb '23 blurb night

summary | when the tail-end's chaos gets to you, curtis knows just what you need.

pairing | friend!curtis everett x reader

warnings | me not (ever) really knowing how to write snowpiercer, curtis and reader don't have any established relationship (i imagine they're just friends in this), mentions/depictions of sensory overload and being overstimulated, soft sweet comforting understanding curtis, this seems to be some sort of routine for the two of them- curtis helps whenever she needs it

word count | 474

requested by @brandycranby | for the hc blurb night, maybe curtis + reader being sensory overloaded? 🥺

an | ooooh yes yes yes yes yes thankyou for this request friend!! i was hoping to write soft!curtis for this event and i love this idea so much, i imagine being on that god-awful train would just feel like a literal prison at times so i love the concept of curtis trying to help you through that- i hope you enjoy!! (also thanks so much to my bestie @starksbabie for helping me focus on writing this lol you are such an angel and a blessing i could not do this life without you)

"Come on, y/n- I got you. Almost there."

All you can do is keep putting one foot in front of the other as you trail along behind Curtis, your hand wrapped firmly in his as he guides you through the mayhem of the train car. It's nice to have his hand; it always is- it's something to focus in on, a singular sensation to hold your attention amidst the whirlwind of chaos surrounding you. Warm and steady, his support is tangible.

When the two of you reach your destination: the tiny closet tucked away at the back of the cabin, Curtis ushers you in gently before securing the door behind you. "Alright petal, we made it. You're okay, you're safe."

Your body knows where to go- over to the small makeshift bench in the corner where you can finally collapse into a mess of shaky, uneven breaths. Curtis is down beside you before you can even blink. Not too close, careful not to crowd you in, "Easy, angel," he soothes, "let's get that coat off of you." It's amazing how he knows, he just knows. This is certainly not the first time he's been through this with you. "Can I help?" he asks, not wanting to bring his hands near you without your permission. Trembling, you nod.

His movements are heedful as he eases off your outer layer. Noticing just the slightest improvement in your state after the simple modification, Curtis smiles mildly at you. "There you go, sweet girl. You countin' your breaths for me?" You offer him another nod. It had been surprising the first time he guided you through the breathing techniques; you never would have guessed the cold, rough man would be so adept at aiding in a situation like yours. But if there's one thing you've learned about Curtis over the course of your friendship, it's that he's so much deeper than he might seem. Beneath his grumpy, distant, quiet-and-damaged front, so much empathy and care exist within him.

"You wanna talk, honey? Or not yet? It's okay, there's no rush, y/n." You raise your hand slightly, signaling the need for more time. The man nods understandingly.

"Curtis?" As he glances up at you, a hint of warmth shines in his eyes, his brow softening at the sound of your voice. Swallowing down your hesitation, you ask, "h-hand?"

There isn't a word that could describe the tenderness that graces his face as he stares back at you, there in that dark, lonely closet. "Of course, angel," he coos, taking both of your smaller hands in his. "Just focus on me, sweetheart. Hands and breaths, that's all you gotta think about."

"Hands, breaths," you repeat.

Curtis smiles kindly at you, giving one of your hands a gentle squeeze. "That's right, petal. Doing so good, you're sounding better already."

[outcast-thingz]

Chapter 1:

War and... forehead kisses?

"This is the last batch" "We have a foolproof plan" "We've got him this time" it wasn't the first time you've heard these lies. You watched as wave after wave of soldiers are sent out like lambs to slaughter; all to fight one man. To be honest you weren't surprised given how long this mysterious mam has been wreacking havoc on your world. Each nation has some sort of story on him and his rampage to find.. something they never god agree on what he was looking for. What glimpses could be caught of the man.. at least we were fairly sure he's human...the man was tall. To what height? You weren't sure, some sources put him at 6ft some at 9 or 10ft. His hair was said to be made of fire or blood that drapes past his shoulders. Give that he was only seen at sunset or night you figured it's just an exaggeration. The blood red description would always pull a small laugh from you given that, despite all the chaos, he never seemed to have a drop on him. As far as spotters could tell, the mysterious man never seemd to move much on the battle field. No matter how hard they looked not one of them could see how he was moving the disastrous weapon he wielded; or what weapon he was even using.

As a medic you were set far from the front-lines but that didn't seem to matter. The only thing you could write was DOA and hope that whatever came back to you was in one piece. Unfortunately most don't. You thought yourself lucky for where you were positioned but as it seems, you can run out of luck. What a convenient time for that to happen, said no one ever. Regardless of how you felt about the situation it seemed everyone was getting pulled up as a last hoorah.

The rumors seemed to be spot on when you could get glimpses of the man from where you were on the field. His arms definitely weren't moving and yet people all around you were dropping. If soldiers weren't getting decapitated or halved by whatever dastardly weapon flew through the ranks, they were being throwned into one another by the air force. In all the panic and chaos you're shoved to the ground. You do your best to shield yourself from the boots stomping everywhere but still manage to get the wind knocked out of you. You can't gain the muscle to get back on your feet.

Just as the sunset lit, and blood soaked scenery seemed to be fading into black the screams come to a stop. Surely it was the lack of air finally getting to you, or the blasts of air rupturing your ears, either way it was a nice welcome among the misfortune. After the light and air returns to your body you manage to sit up. For a fleeting moment you thought you were going to die... again. A flash of silver in your peripheral vision made you believe that weapon was coming for you. To your surprise it never touched you. Instead a loud clang came from it hitting the ground.

You open your eyes just in time to see something skipping up to you. And what a sight it was. Her eyes see glow with the help of the sun; eerily staring into yours with icy blue scrutiny. You were sure she was staring straight into your soul; could feel it. The longer the short woman soaked in your every detail the brighter she seemed. Although unnerving, a toothy grin stretches across her face and a giggle falls out. Certainly wouldn't be a smile you'll be forgetting anytime soon. Each tooth looks liked it'd easily shred you to pieces.

"Well hi there sweetheart~" the voice came out calm, a little smug, and you could almost hear a buzzing energy being held back. Was she... worried about scarimg you? No way, not after all the carnage she just caused. I mean look at her, most of her body was soaked in the blood of your comrades. "It is them right? I'm not finally going like.. crazy crazy? Right?" The short woman.. right? Human? No, that didn't feel right but you didn't want to ponder what the right answer ways. She looked to the tall man behind her. Holy shit, it was him. All this time and not even a nick on him. The man nods agreeingly but keeps his distance from you. "I'm so happy we finally found you. We've been looking for you for a long, LonG, LONG-" each 'long' would get more agressive than the last making you scooch back. The creature takes a breath to calm herself. "Look you have time to contemplate your answer but we would love it if you'd come with us. We have so much to show you." She spoke as if she already knew what your end answer would be and it irked you a little.

"And if-" you clear your wavering voice, "if I decide to tell the truth about everything. And um.." you're fucking serious.. is she... is she smiling again? And the man is smirking? "tell them to come here with more men and weapons?"

"OhKhAy~ you can certainly try. We won't stop you." She shakes her head and giggles. Shivers run up and down your spine as you get the feeling she's almost daring you to follow through with it. "But then who will believe you? After all they only know about him right? And there's no way all those years and yeeears of spotting one man could be wrong" the creature tilts her head and puffs her bottom lip out like little kids do when they're giving puppy dog eyes trying to get something.

The reasonable thought would be red flags, red blaring flags everywhere. But something felt so, so familiar about them. Somehow you knew that you weren't in any danger with them.

"In any case we'll see you again around midnight. Think it over mkay?" The creature bends down and gives a quick kiss to your forehead, "byyyye~". Then she returns to the man's side, holding his hand and swinging it back and forth.

'What. . . the fuck just happened?'

Tagging: @yeet-man @bisexual-confusion (if you want to be added to the tag list send me message or an ask 🥰)

[fanaticalfemalefan]

You were on shift when it all started. Buildings began to tremble and turn to rubble. Fires erupted. Screams happened outside as the void began to swallow everything and everyone.

You stayed inside the diner because honestly this was probably just as good as any place to watch the world die. And hey at least the TV was still playing old reruns of shows so it was still ten times better than whatever was happening outside.

As your watching the intro to M*A*S*H, the bell to the front door chimes. Your surpised. Since the chaos started no one has even bothered to come in. Briefly you wonder if its your manager who ran out at the start, but you remember seeing him dissolve into nothingness. You peal your eyes away from the screen to see who managed to make it.

A hunched over robbed figure takes a step in. The landing of his foot sounds like time and memories. The clink of his dark clay staff rings of knowledge long forgotten.

The hood turned one direction then the other stopping in line of you.

You can see now the face of your last customer. He's a man like any other and yet not. He has a snow white beard that drags along the floor. Wrinkles line his whithered face, so deep rivers could run through them.

"Good. You are still here." An ancient voice calmly remarks. You know you should be afraid but it sounds as reassuring as it does old that the fear never comes. "I feared I was too late." A smile weary but truly glad reaches his thin lips.

Late for what, he doesn't say.

He just shuffles slowly with out a care in the world as if he hadn't just stated time was an issue.

You clear your throat and find your voice. "Waffle house only does coffee in times like these. Is that okay?" You hope it is because your cook ran out a few hours ago once he couldn't get his wife on the line.

"Yes, I think that is all we about have time for anyhow." The old man remarks with a certain sad cheer about him.

"Coming right up." You turn to grab the pot and a white clean mug.

You snatch a second cup for yourself too.

"I was hoping this would be the last place. It was always my favorite when it popped up." The old wise man says before thanking you when you hand him creamer.

"Mine too." You remark back. "Not that I was born when it was built. Just, that I know others get a lot of problems but this one has always been nice almost relaxing even during the rush. "

"I am surprised you are so calm." The old wise man states after he takes a sip. He seems pleased by it.

You pause at that. You've spent your entire life wreacked with worry and anxiety over the future and all the horrible things that could go wrong. Honstly you've been waiting this whole time for the panic to hit you. At the very least you should have so many questions: The why, the how, even the what. It all just seems so insignificant to the finality of it all.

With a shrug you stir sugar in as the parking lot gets gobbled away into dust. The black void even closer than before. "Nothing I can do about any of it."

"Yes, I suppose that is true." The old man remarks happy to enjoy his last moments here with you in this waffle house.

You both take a drink. The coffee is warm and just sweet enough. On the TV,Hawkeye makes a sarcastic comment to Radar about the war. Ypur final customer chuckles, so do you. He takes another sip and thanks you in true earnest.

"Now, If only there was pie left, I would call this a perfect ending."

"One second." You say and rest your cup on the counter, catching the old man off guard as you leave to the kitchen.

A moment later, Just before the kitchen door dissolves you step through it again. The wise man lets out a gleeful laugh full of more youth than you imagined was left in the world when you place the last slice of apple pie from the morning rush on the counter in front him.

Handing him one of fhe two forks in your hand you tell him to dig in. He insists you take the first bite. You do. Its sweet and wonderful.

"Delicious!" Your companion praises after washing down his first bite with another swig of coffee.

The front door begins to dissolve. The booths along the east wall do too.

"I always imagined it much worse." The wise man says wistfully while biting into his second bite.

You aren't entirely sure what he talking about, but you reply. "Me too. " you at least think you get it in the the general sense. Because this is clearly the end.

"Just Perfect." The wise man says after another bite. On the TV Klinger walks into the medical tent in a dress. You both laugh. Its nice.

And While you chew on pie and sip coffee with this wise old man you can't help but agree it is just a perfect way to end.

The world has ended. The Waffle House still stands. Describe a customer, wandering in from the wastelands, and I’ll tell you their story.

[safetycar-restart]

Hiiiii lemon here, gonna drop a somnophilia ask in beforehand (and hope it doesnt get lost in the fanmail lmao) if thats alright bc im gonna be travelling around that time and will likely be in no shape to send it in then (its v exciting but its so stressful i swear im going crazy i wont be surprised if i turn into a motherfucking banana before this is over. A banana anon. Abanananan. If this doesnt characterise the chaos my life is rn i dont even know) (oh crap the banana is taken already. Am i a hybrid? Lemonana? Balemon? Banamon? It looks like a banana and then you take a bite and surprise surprise its evil?? I dont know i should get to the ask prbly)

So idk if this is weird actually but i was thinking seb getting to play with you while youre asleep instead of the other way around? 

I mean, he is an early riser and sometimes he would wake up unbearably horny. It starts out as him cuddling up to you, kissing your neck maybe, nuzzling into your shoulder insistently, and he always shakes you awake when he cant wait any longer because he would never do anything without your explicit permission. 

And some morning he shakes you awake, and you swing an arm lazily around his neck and tell him he can go on, so now he is grinding against your hip, and it’s so nice—it’s a steady pace that’s almost lulling, and you’re warm and happy and have your favourite boy here with you who is so cute when he is needy, and it’s not like you were fully alert in the first place, so you start to drift back to sleep. 

He stops and shakes you awake again.

The problem is, you really don’t want to wake up yet.

“What’s the matter, love, do you need something?” you mumble, and he hides his face into your shoulder guiltily, realising he isn’t letting you sleep when you probably want to. But what if you want him to stop or something and you can’t because you’re asleep? You hum and settle more comfortably against the pillows. “Wake me up if you want to come, but not earlier than in half an hour.”

It turns out to be pretty fun—most of the fun being how into it he unexpectedly is. Because you trust him with this? You trust him to be a good boy and do everything right while you’re not watching him, but also trust him with your body so completely? 

He is not allowed to come until you wake up and give him explicit permission, but other things may vary: sometimes you will tell him beforehand that everything is fair game but he cant wake you up before your alarm goes off (otherwise he doesnt get to come for the rest of the day), or that he isn’t allowed to touch you, only help himself. 

Initially the main rule sounds something like “no orgasms while i’m asleep” and he is puzzled by it. Turns out, the question is, should he wake you up if you’re about to come? You don’t think there is much use in this rule, surely you’d wake up if you were that close, but you keep it anyway—and turns out the little shit can be extremely sneaky when he wants to, and not a little bit smug about it, too. So sometimes you wave the rule on yourself. As a treat.

With love, 

Lemon 💜🍋

p s hope everyone is having a fun kinktober the 15th, will look at what yall were up to as soon as i can! 💕✨🥰

Okay so lemon sent this ask a while ago and I have been counting down the days until somno day because this ask is fucking AMAZING. Lemon you are an absolute genius this is incredible.

Also lemon, we need a travel update. I assume you've gone insane, but we need to know the level of insanity. Update us!! We require a debrief.

Okay anyway, back to seb somno!

Before you came along, seb never really woke up horny after he was like 15. But then he gets into a relationship with you and suddenly he's waking up horny all the time? Like his body is aware that he's next to you and knows you'll make him feel good.

And of course, you love waking up to a horny seb, and love being woken up by a horny seb even more. Because the times when Seb wakes you up himself are just the best. He's so painfully hard, whining into your ear and finally shaking you awake because he cant take it anymore.

Being able to grind against you feels so nice. Not just because it's getting some much-needed friction, but also because he feels so warm and safe? He can can cuddle into your side, head resting against your shoulder as he grinds against you.

But then you fall back asleep and seb panics?

I also think it would take seb a minute or two to realise that you've fallen asleep? Because he's just so wrapped up in how good it feels to drag his hips against you in the warmth and comfort of the bed.

And then he looks up at you to get a kiss and realises that you've fallen asleep? Seb panics so much.

Because he doesnt know when you fell asleep. What if he's been grinding against you and you fell asleep basically the moment you said he could?

He feels so bad. He has no idea what to do, but he's also still so hard and not moving his hips against you feels like absolute torture because now he knows how good it feels.

So he shakes you awake, because he figures if he's going to get in trouble, then he should own up to it. That's one of his rules: he must always tell you if he's been bad and if he's honest with you, he'll get a lighter punishment (you have never needed to punish him, but he insists that you have rules for that).

So he shakes you awake, and you're very confused.

"Close to cumming?" you ask him, still half asleep. You assume he's woken you because he needs permission to cum.

"No..." he mumbles, "you fell asleep, and I.. I didn't know so I kept on going."

Now you're even more confused.

"Yes?" you say, "I told you that you could? Seb, why would you think you'd get in trouble for doing something I gave you permission for?"

"Cause you were sleeping," he explains, "you weren't... you didn't know?"

You roll over to face him, cupping his jaw, "You're my good boy. I know that you'll always follow my rules, even when I'm asleep, and I know that you'd never hurt me. So you can grind against me when you wake all hard and achy, yeah? You're a good boy, and good boys get to do that."

Seb cries at your words, shuffling closer and hugging you tight because he cant he gets to have this, cant believe you trust him with something as precious as your body.

From there, he gets more used to it. He understands he's always allowed to grind against you, that he can get pleasure like that for as long as he wants until your alarm goes off. And he knows that when you wake up, you'll always let him cum.

It's actually him that asks about him touching you while you're still sleeping. Cause he wants to make you feel good?

You're open to the idea, and you know he'd never hurt you.

Seb loves it so much! Even more than grinding against you, just settling between your legs and licking you for a little while is the perfect way to start the morning.

[railroad-migraine]

Can I please request a Molly x reader where the reader is part of the mighty Nein and dated molly and after molly dies molly becomes sort of reader’s guardian angel and watches the reader go through the grief of losing molly. Bonus points if after the M9 fight Lucien Molly and the reader get to reunite. thank you!

"It's Time You Come Home"

-> Mollymauk x gn!reader Thank you for this wonderful idea, Anon. Thought I'd make this extra special and do a fic instead of headcanons. Took a while for me to finish but I hope you enjoy~

Notes: Canon character death. Light angst with happy ending. Canon divergence. I love circus man.

Words: 1459

~ Poet

~~~

While brief, your romance with a certain lavender tiefling had been fueled with laughter, chaos, drink, and unconditional love. You'll always fondly remember meeting at that tavern in Rexxentrum, which quickly spiraled into newfound friendships and adventures in such a short space of time. The Nein became your found family, and you theirs. It was good.

Molly had spent very little time quietly pining for you - he never hid his intentions or feelings, and only rarely played coy. Subtle flirtations of his soon enough turned into blunt admiration - he was to the point and honest about how felt, what he felt, for you. After some time travelling together, and a particularly close brush with death, he held you in his arms and noted that you'd make a great couple.

And you were.

The bond that had formed between you felt like nothing you had ever experienced before. It was fresh, clumsy at times, but so beautiful. Nights in camp were spent in darkness with only the campfire for light and his arm draped over your torso. Days on the road meant roaming through cities you've never heard of and people you'd never dreamt of meeting, all the while holding his hand.

And whenever you glanced at him, those crimson eyes held a look specifically reserved for you. It held all of the cheesiness, the fondness, the love. Mollymauk had promised you that he wasn't a poet, but you swore his lingering gaze and thoughtful expression told a different story. He thought the world of you, no matter how much he teased and jabbed at you - you were his home.

And you were a great couple. 'Were' being the key word.

Your time together didn't last as long as you'd hoped for. Within a blink of an eye and a twist of a glaive, your darling lover was stolen from you. A part of you felt missing the moment he sighed his last breath at the mercy of the Iron Shepherds. Blinded by emotion, you made sure to make them pay for your heartache and loss. In the end, Beau had to wrangle you away from the scene once enough blood - both yours and your enemies' - had been spilt.

But no amount of blood could bring back your Mollymauk.

The following months were hard, but you soon surprised yourself, and the rest of the Nein, with how thorough you were with your mourning and eventual healing. Caduceus became a guide of sorts once you got to know him, helping ease you into bittersweet acceptance. Death is part of life and inevitable for the average mortal - Molly was not average, you had argued. The cleric simply nodded, took your word for it, and decided a cup of tea would nicely end this session.

But you did continue to find mischief and joy in the world, leaving mayhem and laughter in your stead. You moved on, but kept your memories of Molly close to you. That way, he was never truly gone.

You had no idea how close to the truth you were. In an in-between space, not life nor death, some sort of purgatory with a lock and key separated Mollymauk from his physical body - and therefore you. In the beginning, he tried to gain your attention, calling out your name in this pale void; sometimes you thought you heard a whisper, but brushed it off as heartache or fatigue. Molly thought himself helpless, watching your journeys unfurl right before his eyes, as if looking over your shoulder. It was like acting as an invisible shadow, always there but never acknowledged. Frustrating.

But over time he came to accept the limbo state he was in. It was no fiery hell or luxurious heaven he'd been promised, but he was with you. In a way. Sometimes he managed to reach out in this form, adjusting your sword arm in a way to parry away a strike, or fueling your magic to double its effect. He liked those moments best. He could see you smile, a thing he missed dearly.

And then you and the Nein went to the grave. His grave.

And his body was gone. Inhabited by him. A fragment of a time before Mollymauk.

Molly had sensed your initial confusion, distrust and conflicted attraction towards Lucien - here stood a soul with the body that once held you close, the face you once held in your hands. The flurry of emotions was too much, and Molly shouted and pushed against the barrier between him and you, crying out not to trust him, do not follow him. Leave him be. "That isn't me!"

Time went on without him. Molly admired Lucien's charisma, yes, perhaps. But he had no good intentions for you or this world. Molly hoped he wouldn't harm you, or get you tangled up in his web.

However, in the end it was Lucien that suffered by your hand and not the other way round. The monster was slain. Once the dust settled, all was quiet and still. Molly stood at your side as you fell to your knees at the sight of Lucien's body before you, unshed tears glazing over your eyes. You knew that this was not your lover, but now you had seen his body fall not once, but twice. The ache within you translated into Molly's chest, and he attempted to embrace you, only for him to phrase through you as if he was nothing but air.

Once again, you were together, but so very alone. So close. So very far away. He was back where he started.

"Whoever it was, just put it back. I think they've earned it. Put it back."

And then Molly felt sunlight on his skin, and smelt cut grass, and heard running water, and could taste the sea. He blinked, and it was like a cotton blanket was being drawn away from his eyes, his vision adjusting to... life. Living. His chest rose and fell, just like how he remembered it did, and he found himself laid on his back with nine pairs of eyes staring at him. Some expectantly. Some in awe. Some in complete and utter disbelief.

He bolted. Instincts told him to run; he was outnumbered, and in his haze he could not make out anyone's face. It was frightening.

A voice asked him to stop. And so he halted, and turned to the person closest to him. The space around them sharpened, shaping the body and face in a way that was familiar. They were different from when he last saw them. Different clothing. Tired. Bruised. Roughed up around the edges, but it was them nonetheless. It was you.

"Molly?"

His mouth parted, and he tentatively stepped forward, nearly collapsing in your arms as his legs gave out. He gripped your shoulders while his own shook as he gasped, choking back tears.

"Angel," he whispered, over and over and over again. "Angel. Angel. Angel."

At this time you didn’t understand the deeper meaning behind the name he called you, but it didn’t matter. You held him tighter and wrapped your cloak around his fragile form, pressing kisses to his head and the matted, curly hair you loved so much.

The Nein, now appropriately a party of nine (not including the newly resurrected soul), stood to the side for a time - there would be plenty of time for reunions and introductions later.

~~~

“I called out to you,” Molly would tell you some weeks after the eventful day his soul reclaimed his body. You gave him a curious look, so he leaned forward, perching his elbows on the dinner table, food completely forgotten. “I didn’t care if it was impossible or pure nonsense. I just… hoped you’d hear me.”

“I heard you,” you replied, setting your glass of wine down. You held out your palm to him, which he responded by giving you his right hand. You held it to your lips, wrinkles forming at the corners of your eyes as you smiled - the lacking eye tattoo on his skin was still something to get used to. “At times. Sometimes in the dead of night. Maybe on a warm breeze.” You squeezed his hand. “Once or twice when I was in peril. I didn’t know where you were exactly, but I always hoped you’d come home to me.”

He tilted his head, the corners of his crimson eyes stinging, and he pushed himself up to stand and move to where you sat. Molly craned his body down to press a shaky kiss to your cheek. Resting his forehead against your temple as you looped your arms around his hips, he murmured the single word: “Angel.”

Gods knew he was home now.

And he never wanted to leave.

~ The End ~

~~~

I hope you enjoyed my first published fanfic (that wasn’t a headcanon or Halloween ficlet). I poured a lot of love and time into this piece, and had such fun writing it. Molly will be one of my favourite characters for years to come, and while I loved the final arc of Campaign 2, I still miss him dearly. Took a while, anon, but your idea was never forgotten! <3

[inhcritance]

Harry remembered quite well the day Peter had stuck them both to the ceiling, after a reaction that had been quite more explosive than Harry had been able to predict. He'd figured the flaw later, and the runes had been there, but once the moment of chaos and sudden confusion had passed, as he'd managed not to turn into his original form on surprise alone, he'd found Peter's reaction far more touching than annoying.

And then he'd mentally kicked himself for working on anything so experimental where, if the runes had failed, Peter could have been hurt.

The runes had worked, however, and so had Peter's reflexes, and Harry had learned quite a bit from that day. He still hoped it wouldn't be a repeated event, for all it was better than the alternative.

It was far too nice a day to be worrying about lab accidents, however.

"I'm getting low on some ingredients, but it's not too pressing." He admitted. "Mostly I wanted to browse, unless you've already been there today?" He considered. "But, wherever we go, we can decide on our way. And you're my friend and my guest." He added, opening the door of the lab for them both and going through into the covered area of the garden connecting it with the main building. "So of course we're taking the front door."

The staff were used enough to Peter's sudden presence, but he wouldn't have them sneaking out unless they had a reason to. Even if some times the reason had just been sneaking out for the sake of sneaking out.

Harry didn't really expect them to run into many people, as the household wasn't as staffed as most would expect. They didn't have many guests, after all, and it helped keep their secret. The less people who knew, the less danger everyone was in, and Peter was one of the very few exceptions.

@localwebslingers

As soon as Peter heard the laugh he grinned even more. That was good, it meant Harry was in a good mood. Not that it wouldn’t have been obvious, at least to Peter after knowing him for so long, if that wasn’t the case. The assurance was good to have though, it meant that ideally the experiments he’d been working on at least weren’t too frustrating. Which was taken to be a good sign given the amount of work and focus Harry put into his studies and work alike.

Peter patiently watched as Harry went through the by then familiar motions of cleaning the work area, glancing at some of the gestured to runes set around the lab. There had been a handful of times that he’d been in or near the lab when he’d seen them flare to life to keep things from getting out of hand. At least once when his own sense of danger tagged a reaction as dangerous and even with the runes, he’d grabbed Harry and suddenly threw them both back on instinct alone. Stuck to the ceiling what was deemed a safe distance away.

After which he apologized about seven times for startling his friend with the sudden reflex. But at least they both knew after that the runes worked as intended.

At the announcement that he was done, Peter smiled and shifted to easily drop back out of the web, it would dissolve naturally just like any other with time, and landed next to Harry, “Yeah it should be, still plenty early enough for the stands to be open. Do you have a shopping list or just want to check around?” He rocked back on his heels slightly and nodded towards the door back out of the lab, “And, are we taking the front door out or…?” the one that Peter used to get in to visit was usually just for him, which was fine. Honestly he was touched that Harry even let him use a door that came directly into the lab at all. Even if they had to put a warning system on it so he didn’t keep startling his friend by showing up unannounced.

But it wasn’t as if the staff by now, or most of them, wasn’t used to Peter suddenly being in the manor without anyone having let him in. He was pretty sure even Norman was used to him suddenly appearing, though he didn’t really interact with Harry’s father much himself to really know. 

\\ @inhcritance \\

[lale-txt]

Hey there ! Can I request fem reader trying to cook a surprise dinner for thatch with ace and failing miserable and cries and thatch cheers them up

Please and thank you 🙏

hi sweet summer child! in this house we simp for all dead men so YES OF COURSE i loved your request! hope you like it!

word count: 767 warnings: none, no one is allowed to harm Thatchヾ(`ヘ´)ﾉﾞ

"ACE."

The shrill sound of pots clattering, plates breaking and a quiet "oops". Was this your life or a new survival show with cooking elements you didn't know about? Either way, it was an absolute mess.

Fire fist's head was poking around the corner, acting all sweet and innocent as if he hadn't just gave in to utter chaos and destruction of the kitchen interior.

"Ace. I asked you nicely to gently flambé the crème brulée, not burn it down to ashes.", you stutter somewhere between blind rage and sheer panic. This was supposed to be the cherry on top for your surprise dinner for Thatch, the dessert that would make his heart sing and tickle out that very cute smile of his. All was lost now.

"Sorry, I don't speak Spanish." Ace shrugged and poked out his tongue; then ducked because you threw a whole pumpkin after him.

Looking around the battlefield (aka the Moby Dick's kitchen), you lost all hope. The pasta was far beyond al dente and more a mushy mess, the food processor gave up somewhere in the middle of making pesto (maybe you shouldn't have shoved the whole block of Parmigiano Reggiano in it? Nah.) and sparks were flying off it. What once was a salad is now more of a sad green smoothie, drowned in an oversalted vinaigrette, a sad little cherry tomato on top. The minestrone - or what was left of it - was spilled all over the kitchen counter after Ace insisted he could cook it faster than the industrial oven (he couldn't). And what should have been homemade bread was now less a ciabatta but more a weapon they probably write poneglyphs about.

This was shit.

All your anger poofed away and turned into deep disappointment, a heavy sadness and heartbreak. All you wanted was a nice surprise dinner for Thatch, a little Thank You for everything he did for you and the whole crew; to give him a rest from his job and just have a good time because that's what he deserved. Tears were burning in your eyes.

Ace had crawled out of his hideout behind the potato bags and gently patted your head. He must be as miserable as you are. Behind the sassy attitude of his was still a sad child that didn't want to disappoint his parental figures. You wrapped your arms around his waist, sobbing into his shirt (was it really his though or did he steal it from Marco?) and feeling a little relieved when he also leaned into the hug, his face buried in your hair.

"Everything okay in here? I just heard a loud bang and got worried..."

Oh no.

Thatch was leaning in the doorframe, eyes wide open in... horror? You wanted to shove him out of here before he could take a good look at his wrecked kitchen, but your body did not obey. Ace was also frozen, only his nose and tears still running. Obviously not only the kitchen was a complete mess.

You had to turn your head away, looking into Thatch's eyes and seeing disappointment would kill you on the spot. You wished he would turn around and forget everything he saw. Ace probably felt the same and covered his eyes with one hand, the other still resting on top of your head. If you're not looking it's not really happening, right?

Then, an unexpected warmth embraced you, a smell so familiar it made you cry even more, hit with an sudden wave of love and forgiveness. Thatch's strong arms were wrapped around both of you, holding you so tight as if he was never planning to let you go again. A true mama bear hug.

"Please stop crying or else I'm gonna cry with you.", Thatch sighed softly, rubbing your backs in small circles for the two of you to calm down again. "Why don't you two go take a bath and I'll cook you something in the meantime? You've been in here for five hours, you must be starving by now."

Ace and you wanted to protest; after all the least you could do was clean up behind yourselves, but your growling stomaches said otherwise. You really were hungry for one of Thatch's home-cooked meals and the love and joy that came with it.

In the end both of you received a gentle head pat and a forehead kiss from Thatch before he sent you off to the bathrooms, rolling up his sleeves and facing the mess the two of you left him with.

Still, he was smiling oh so sweetly.

[lazarettta]

The Babysitter

Characters ( Ally Mayfair-Richards x Reader )

Rating (T) Word Count ( 2.9k) Warnings ( None, bad flirting, writing while intoxicated)

“For dinner! I'd love to come home with you for dinner.”

“Well what else would you be coming for?”

“Dessert.”

It was another late night studying on the living room floor of the Mayfair-Richards household. It wasn't uncommon for you to spend a majority of your nights here during the week and sometimes the weekend if you were needed and you usually weren't. Not that you would've minded anyway, your weekends weren't busy—mostly spent either dead asleep or trying to get out of plans you didn't want to be a part of anyway to get more sleep.

But it wasn't everyday that you were able to work for a Senator either, so even if you were busy, you weren't going to tell Ally Mayfair-Richards that. Not that she was a mean boss or anything, she was the Senator for crying out loud. And...okay yes, maybe you idolized the woman a little though it may be because you're studying law but honestly who wouldn't idolize this woman? She went through so much shit getting to this point in her life and career.

And she was hot. She was really hot but you kept it in your pants, but your eyeballs? Different story. You were just grateful that she chose you to watch her son when she was away, especially after you knocked over your entire cup of tea in her living room on the very carpet you were sitting on, and you were just a hot mess.

You thought you blew the whole thing, but the moment she produced the NDA to you a few days later when she called you back for a 'second interview' which included Ozzy this time, you'd been ecstatic and nearly knocked over another fucking cup but Ally was faster than you that time.

The giant TV was playing in front of you across the room but it was just the news channel but the volume was pretty low because Oz was asleep upstairs and you weren't really watching it anyway, you had your airpods in listening to Beyoncé and trying to create a decent scenario for one of the ten theories your professor assigned. It was due the next day so you thought picking the easiest one would work in your favor but it was turning out to be your worst nightmare—and you'd regretted choosing sleep over this, kind of.

You'd been so engrossed in your work, and music, you didn't hear the front door open and shut somewhere behind you or hear Ally quietly talking on the phone, her high heels click clacking on her polished wood floors as she came into the living room. Ally paused slightly at the sight of you and her coffee table, your books and yellow pads scattered everywhere, your head bopping slightly to whatever you were listening to as you scribbled away.

Ally smiled softly, and continued on her way upstairs to check on Ozzy knowing that she was going to find him safe, clean and fast asleep with a full belly. You'd been his nanny for four months now and you were such a blessing for Ally, she'd been reluctant to hire and trust another person with her baby boy but her career was too demanding and Ozzy was only ten. He could stay home alone for a few hours maybe, but not days or even a week or two.

After everything, Ally did have cameras around her home on the outside and she had one directly over the stairs because it overlooked the foyer and parts of the living room from an angle. She didn't want too many camera's inside of her home in case they were hacked but she wanted something at least.

Ozzy's room was dark except for his nightlight by the door and Ally quietly made her way inside, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed and pushing his curls from his face. She was ever thankful that he finally stopped having those horrible nightmares, it meant that she wasn't wasting her money on therapy sessions.

When Ally came back downstairs, you were predictably in the exact same spot you were in and Ally finally did away with her coat, placing it over the spine of the sofa and she stepped out of her heels before coming around and plopping herself down, careful not to knock over your stack of books.

The sudden movement startled you out of your skin and you quickly pulled out your airpods and looked at your boss, “Hey! Sorry, how long have you been home?”

Ally smiled down at you tiredly, practically sinking into the sofa and you could feel her exhaustion rolling off of her in waves, and you couldn't help but sympathize because damn, and you thought you were tired.

“I just got in, I'm sorry I didn't call earlier, things got busier than I expected and then everything went into chaos.”

You smirked when she threw her hands up half heartedly with a roll of her eyes, “Would a glass of wine help?”

“No, but it would definitely be a start if you join me for a glass?” she raised an eyebrow, and as much as you wanted to say yes you've already procrastinated enough and you really didn't need alcohol in your system around her lest you say something you absolutely shouldn't.

“I would but I have to finish this and it's getting late. Do you mind waiting up until my Uber gets here?”

“It's really late, you should just stay the night, (Y/n).” Ally sat up then, waving away your comment, though now she was closer and hovering over you a bit, “I'll take you home tomorrow after breakfast, that sound fair?”

It wouldn't be the first overnight stay but it would definitely be the first time that she'd be home too and you just couldn't say no to that even though you probably should have insisted more that you go home, but you accepted her offer without further debate. You'd gone back to your assignment, minus the airpods this time, and Ally got up to go to the kitchen and you could hear her fixing herself a glass of wine.

Ally set a bottle of water next to you on a coaster before settling back in her spot and finding something to watch on TV, and of course you noticed that she was a hell of a lot closer than she was before.

Your pen had paused on the yellow paper and your eyes glanced over the same sentence three times before your mind processed that you could practically feel the heat from her legs next to your arm through her slacks, and if you leaned just an inch you'd be touching her. You fought the urge to look back over your shoulder, but instead you looked up from beneath your lashes and saw that she was browsing the movie channels at a snail's pace.

Behind you, Ally was sipping her wine in one hand and flipping channels with the remote in the other but her eyes were nowhere on the TV screen. But she noticed the moment your pen stopped moving and your shoulders tensed more than usual, she'd been watching you closely and curiously.

“You okay, honey?”

You turned around to answer her with what you hoped was a calm smile and wished that you hadn't, really. Ally was going to kill you sitting the way she was sitting, her energy screaming big dick and the top three buttons of her shirt were undone and her hair was a little messy. Either she was going to give you a heart attack or your libido would.

“Sweetheart?”

You blinked, coming back to reality so fast you would’ve gotten whiplash, “Uh, yeah...maybe I guess I’m just tired too.” Yeah right.

You chuckled nervously, embarrassed really, and licked your lips again and Ally tracked the movement with rapt attention not that you would've caught it because you were busy being mortified being caught staring like a creep.

“Are you sure? You look flushed, drink some water,” you smiled at Ally, ever the mom.

“I’m not—” not what? Thirsty? Yeah you were but not for some water.

“You’re not what?” Ally pressed, still holding you hostage with her eyes alone.

“Not thirsty for water.”

Ally raised an eyebrow, the corner of her lips twitching and you hate that you noticed, “Oh? Then what would you like to drink if it’s not wine or water?”

Good question. One you didn’t have a good answer to. Not trusting yourself to formulate words into an appropriate sentence, you just nodded and turned back around and grabbed the water she brought you. You were determined to ignore until you were finished with your work—for the sake of your sanity and dignity.

Fuck.

Still watching you, Ally laughed quietly into her wine glass and finally settled on a movie, keeping the volume low as she got comfortable. Deciding to let you off the hook for not answering her question. (This time.)

~~

A few days later...

It was another late night for you but you weren't working for Ally tonight, so you went to the gym instead after studying. You were still wearing your tights and sports bra when you left, only throwing on a jacket because the night air and sweat weren't a great mix.

You didn't have anything at home to eat that wasn't expired or so frozen it came from the ice age...it all went in the trash so all you had left in your fridge was a case of water and cheese sticks. It wasn't surprising though, you spent a majority of your free time at Ally's home and you just ate lunch and dinner there usually. So you went straight to the grocery store after your workout with your trainer.

“Hey (Y/n)!” you looked up and internally groaned, rolled your eyes and threw a whole bitch fit.

You offered Sean a tight near sarcastic smile, “Sean. What is up.”

“Nothin',” he said, leaning against the counter he was standing behind with a cheesy smile, his eyes leering—and it made your skin crawl, “Just working...you?”

“Uh,” you were already over this conversation, “Same, anyway—”

“You still work for that crazy killer lesbian?”

You stopped, pivoting back around slowly to see if he was joking or not, of course it was hard to tell because he was looking at your ass, but the minute he turned around his eyes laser beamed to your chest. Specifically your pebbled nipples and the bars pierced in them. You moved the labels of your jacket to cover them fucking pig.

“Uh, my eyes are up here and two, that 'crazy killer lesbian' is your Senator.”

He shrugged, “I didn't vote for her.”

“I'm...okay, it was nice talking to you but I have things to do.”

“Well, wait,” he moved in front of you, stopping your escape, “That's not what I wanted to talk to you about actually, uh, but listen...do you maybe wanna go to dinner with me this weekend? My treat?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, completely unimpressed with his audacity, “You literally just called my boss a crazy killer lesbian and now you're expecting me to go to dinner with you?” as if, you wanted to add but held yourself in check—barely.

“I'm sorry about that,” Sean only shrugged but he was bashful about it but it only served to irritate you further because it was obvious that he didn't quite mean it and you were mentally slapping yourself for just not ordering that damn pizza.

“Whatever, goodnight Sean.”

you tried to move around him but he shifted, keeping you in place and you knew you could've just turned around, you should've but he would've just followed you, “Well wait, you never answered my question. About dinner?”

“No.”

“Well, wait a minute...why not? The lesbian thing? It was just a joke. You can take one, can’t you?”

“And I'm not laughing, get the fuck outta my way Sean—”

“You—”

“I believe she told you to fuck off.”

Sean's eyes snapped up over your head slightly, and you would've laughed at his stupid face had you not been pivoting around yourself, your eyes meeting a very familiar chin and you looked up, but Ally's eyes weren't on you but instead glaring daggers into Sean. He'd be ten feet under if she got her way with that look. You wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of it. (Maybe another version of it...)

“S-senator?”

“Oh, I'm not the crazy killer lesbian anymore? How disappointing.” when Sean could only stare at her like a fish out of the water, Ally stepped forward—a lot closer to you and you didn't have the strength to move or even look away, “I believe you were told to leave. Oh and if I even hear that you looked at or said anything to (Y/n) incorrectly, you're going to have a lot worse than a harassment complaint from a Senator to deal with.”

You didn't see him leave but you heard the squeaks of his sneaker and in seconds flat you and Ally were alone in the cereal aisle and you had absolutely no idea how to even breathe at the moment, much less process that she just saved you from...whatever that even was.

When Ally was satisfied that Sean was gone, she finally looked down at you—there was still a fire in them that you couldn't place but her brown eyes were softer than they were a few seconds ago, and you felt your shoulders relaxing slightly.

“Are you alright, (Y/n)?”

You cleared your throat, taking a small step back—but you still felt exposed under her unblinking stare though not in the same way you felt with Sean, it was the complete opposite, “Yeah thanks to you, so um thanks...a lot. Your timing is impeccable, but what are you doing here so late? Where's Oz? Is he okay?”

Ally smiled at you, shaking her head disturbing her always perfect hairstyle, “Oz is fine, or at least he will be, he must've ate something today at school and it's not sitting well with his stomach,” Ally rolled her eyes but not at the fact that her son had food poisoning but that he had food poisoning from the school lunch. She could only imagine that other children—reforming school lunches was already on her agenda but now she was seriously considering moving ahead of schedule.

“Oh no, how bad?”

“Not too bad...he'll be okay, I'm just here for medicine to stock up on,” Ally reassured you, her eyes flickering over your shoulder for a second, “What are you doing out so late?” and wearing that? She mentally added, but held her tongue because she knew that it wasn't her place to comment on your attire—not that she was complaining about it, but Ally just didn't like the way Sean was leering at you either. She was a hair away from showing him how she earned her title.

Suddenly aware of how much skin you were showing, and that your jacket fell open again but unlike with Sean you didn't feel the need to really cover yourself (even though you knew that you should've). You appreciated her eyes more than his...and probably anyone else's.

“Oh, I went to the gym and since I don't have any food at home...”

Ally chuckled, “Is this your way of asking for a raise?”

“No! No, no you pay me plenty...I'm just too busy to cook is all and then I'm just too tired to eat sometimes. College life.”

“I was teasing, welcome to adulthood. It doesn't stop,” you laughed along with her but you both knew there was truth behind those words.

“I shouldn't keep you, I know you have things to do.”

“You know, I doubt you're going to get a decent nutrient meal here tonight, especially shopping while you’re hungry...” Ally hummed, seemingly thinking hard about something before opening her mouth to carefully speak those words, “You're more than welcome to come home with me for a late dinner if you have nowhere else to be. I'd be more than happy to feed you.”

Heh. Feed me what? You blinked, mildly surprised with how fast your mind went straight to the gutter and you felt your face heating up faster than a house fire, and you had no doubt in your mind that your boss knew exactly what she was doing to you.

But she didn't, Ally didn't have one clue to what was happening in your mind because her own mind was a pile of scrambled eggs while forcing her eyes to stay above your neck. You were both very much still in public.

And the last thing Ally wanted to do was make either you a cliché, especially with her being a public figure in a male dominant career field, both in politics and her restaurant.

“Unless you had your sights set on cereal?” Ally coughed lightly, suddenly nervous and you realized that you'd been standing there staring at her like a moron this whole time.

“No, I'd love to come home with you,” you said cheerfully, meaning every damn word for different reasons, and you smiled at her, before your eyes widened when realizing how forward you sounded, and suggestive as hell, “For dinner! I'd love to come home with you for dinner.”

“Well what else would you be coming for?”

“Dessert.”

Direct result after two blunts...sorry if it's kinda lame tho lmao I went in thinking I was writing smut and gave up somewhere