#and my insurance isn’t gonna help with anything and i’m just so fucking tired

[intraosseous]

no lie i kind of just want to give up on everything rn

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

If I Fell For You (Part 1) - The Nanny

Summary: The reader interviews for a new live-in nanny position with Jensen and quickly gets the job but she starts to slowly see that her new employer is going to be different than any other she’s had before...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x nanny!reader

Square: Slow Burn

Word Count: 4,800ish

Warnings: language, mention of death of a spouse/death of a parent

A/N: Please enjoy the first part of this series! This was also written for @supernatural-jackles​ Tell Me A Story Bingo!

________

If someone had said you’d be celebrating your 30th birthday by accepting an interview to be a live in nanny when you were a kid, you would have told them they were nuts. Beyond nuts. Beyond help for that matter.

But there you were. Thirty. Single. Childless. Taking care of other people’s families and not doing much else with your life. You weren’t sure if your mom would have been on you about the no kids thing or the no boyfriend thing more to be honest.

But the pay was normally good and sometimes great and it gave you a taste of family, even if you were just the help to the adults most of the time.

You buzzed the button by the gate at the end of the driveway, a brief moment passing before it opened. It was probably on a timer like most of the people you’d worked for before, an alarm system kicking on at some point in the evening that required a buzz in, the code or a car sensor. You drove down the driveway and parked a little behind a black SUV. The house was a little modern, a little grand, a little overwhelming. A fence and lots of trees surrounded the property. The yard appeared large but you could see houses on either side. Private but suburban. 

The cadillac wasn’t a shocker. Most everyone in these neighborhoods had Escalades. You walked past an open garage on the way up, a muscle car and a more modest smaller SUV parked inside. You went up the very short path and stepped up, ringing the doorbell and fixing your shirt. You were in jeans and a plain gray shirt. It was your normal wear for chasing small children around all day and you weren’t a fan of uniforms.

“Hi,” said a very tired, very handsome man as he opened the door. “You must be from Nanny Core.”

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N from Home Pair,” you said with a smile. He shut his eyes and leaned his head against the door. 

“The last girl was from Nanny Core,” he said. He blinked them open and shook his head. “I’m so sorry. Yes, Y/N. You’re the one that’s a consultant, not firmly associated with Home Pair, right?”

“Correct,” you said as he opened the door more and you stepped inside.

“Can I ask what the distinction is?”

“Mostly it has to do with benefits,” you said. “Consultants pay out of pocket for their own or negotiate with their client for those to be covered.”

“Gotcha,” he yawned. You looked ahead and he wiped his hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I must seem like an ass.”

“You seem tired is all Mr. Ackles. Not a crime,” you said with a smile. He nodded and he returned it, no fake cheesiness to it. 

“Mind if we do the interview in the kitchen over a cup of coffee?” he asked.

“Wherever you like, sir,” you said. You took off your shoes when you noticed he didn’t wear any inside and he chuckled as you walked back farther into the house.

“Uh, for the record, call me Jensen. None of that sir stuff. They must teach that at nanny school or something huh?” he said, motioning to a table. “I noticed all of you do it.”

“Something like that,” you said. You took a seat and watched him go to a coffee machine, fumbling with it before he spilled some ground coffee on the counter. He shut his eyes and gripped the counter’s edge, taking a deep breath to himself. “How about I make the coffee and you take a seat, hm?”

“I’m okay,” he said as he opened his eyes. 

“Well making you coffee is probably going to come up in my job quite a bit so consider this part of the interview. It’s alright, really,” you said. He glanced over to you and you smiled. 

“Thank you,” he said. You swapped places with him and got him a cup going, taking a mug off the counter and waiting a beat before liquid started pouring out. “I’m gonna ask you the same question I’ve asked all seven other women I’ve talked to today.”

“Yes?”

“Why should I trust you to watch my children?”

“Honestly?” you asked as he nodded. You smiled and carried the cup over to him, Jensen taking a long sip. “You shouldn’t.”

“I shouldn’t. That seems counterproductive.”

“I wouldn’t trust any stranger with my child. Trust is earned, not given. I think the real question is do you believe I’m capable of earning that trust with you and that’s something intrinsically only you know.”

“How so?”

“You meet a lot of different kinds of people with this job. My gut reaction to you is stressed, overwhelmed, sleep-deprived father who doesn’t really want any nanny at all but is forced into this situation. It’s going to be impossible for you to trust any of the seven woman from earlier or me off the bat, Jensen. You should be thinking of who will you come to trust. Who can you count on.”

“This is why my wife should have been the one doing this,” he said, smiling to himself as he drunk down most of the hot liquid.

“We could always re-schedule for when she’s available.”

“Oh, we’d have to wait a very long time for that,” he chuckled. He sat the mug down and glanced down briefly, smiling as he looked up. “She passed away unexpectedly six months ago. Car accident.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you said. He nodded and made a face like he wanted to make a comment. “My mom died kinda unexpectedly. I know it’s...harder.”

“You’re young. How old?”

“Turned thirty today,” you said. He laughed and you heard the life behind it, Jensen shaking his head.

“Well Happy Birthday. I meant with your mother though. If that’s okay with you I mean.”

“It’s fine. I was sixteen,” you said. 

“That...fucking sucks doesn’t it?”

“So does losing your wife,” you said. 

“Yes it does. I’ve grieved. We all have. The kids are small. They’ll be okay.”

“Is dad okay?” you asked.

“Yes. Ready to start moving on with life again,” he said with a soft smile. “You’re kind. Not in a I’m trying to get this job kind of way. Just kind.”

“Well being cruel doesn’t sound like very much fun,” you said.

“You’re not trying to impress me.”

“The first rule of nannying, Jensen. You think you’re interviewing us when in reality we’re interviewing you too.”

“How am I doing so far?”

“Nice coffee choice,” you said with a smile that he nodded at. “You respect people. You’ll employ me but won’t treat me like I’m second class. You’re checking the boxes so far.”

“What if I don’t check all the boxes?”

“You don’t get to know the luxury of knowing the answer yet, Mr. Ackles,” you said. “Interview isn’t over.”

“You got fucked over by somebody, didn’t you.”

“Also perceptive,” you said. “Like I said, I don’t tolerate being treated unkindly anymore. It’s why I left my last position.”

“I have one more question,” he said. “Would you treat my children like they’re your own?”

“Again, asking the wrong question,” you said. He sat back and crossed his arms, smirking at you.

“What exactly should I be asking?”

“Will you treat my children kindly and with respect but take charge when required?”

“What’s the difference?”

“One is me doing my job and the other is me doing yours.”

“How old did you say you were again?”

“Thirty today.”

“Right. Well I think I know where I stand. Do you have anything for me?”

“Can you show me a picture of your kids?” you asked. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “You answered my question.”

“I didn’t show you anything yet.”

“You’d be surprised how many fathers I’ve met don’t carry pictures of their children in their wallets. That one is just a me thing.”

“Your dad do that?” he asked as he tucked it away.

“Maybe,” you said with a shrug. He was polite enough to not go down that route though and this was already getting more personal than you anticipated. “I think I know where I stand as well.”

“I’d like to hire you,” he said.

“Assuming our negotiations go well, I accept,” you said. He held out his hand over the table and you shook it.

“I did come up with what I thought was fair for salary and benefits. Let me go grab the paperwork and hopefully settle on something,” he said. He excused himself and you looked around the house, already trying to familiarize yourself with things. He was more relaxed when he returned with some papers and a notebook, handing you a few sheets. “If I’m missing anything let me know. I-”

“This is my weekly rate?” you asked when you saw the number at the top of the page.

“Oh no. That’s your daily,” he said as he took a seat. “So I think that’s-”

“Jensen,” you said, pushing the paper back. “I have to ask, things like insurance, are those coming out of your pocket or mine?”

“I’ll cover the expenses of your health, dental, all of that. You just choose and I’ll subsize it as part of your paycheck,” he said. 

“This is for a live in position. Um...can you just...explain what makes up that daily rate number?” you asked.

“It’s simply your base pay. Obviously I pay for housing, utilities, gas obviously. I will get you a credit card to make purchases with for the kids and all of that so it’s simple to keep track of. You’re free to any of the food in the kitchen. I’m guessing the salary is the sticking point here.”

“Jensen,” you said as you scratched your head. 

“I can go up fifty more dollars a day.”

“Jensen. This is way, way too much money. Way too much,” you said. “The average rate around here is about twenty five an hour or two hundred a day. Jensen this is double that. Are you factoring in like time and a half for additional nights and weekends?”

“No. That’d be on top of that. I thought that was a fair value based on the fact you are going to be taking care of the most valuable things in my life. It’s gonna get taxed too so it’s not like you see all of it.”

“You’re sweet, Jensen,” you said, writing down a number at the top of the page. “The average in Austin is twenty five an hour. I would be very happy with that.”

“You have to literally be the first person in existence to negotiate their salary down from the offer,” he said.

“Are you rejecting my offer?” you asked. He took the paper and crossed your number out, jotting down his own and spinning it back. “Jensen.”

“Y/N,” he said, crossing his arms. “I came down. Now it’s your turn. Do you accept?”

You knew thirty five was still way overpriced for the job, especially considering everything else he was paying for.

“I will accept on the condition that you get four hours of what we’d call evening or weekend at the normal rate ever week.”

“I can agree to that,” he said with a smile, writing that down. “So medical plan. Single, plus one, family?”

“Single for all that,” you said. 

“I should mention that there is an in-law suite off to the other side of the garage where you’ll be staying. It’s just down the hall but it has its own small living area and kitchenette. There is a separate entrance to it. If you have guests over I just ask you keep them to your area of the house,” he said.

“Absolutely. I don’t tend to bring people over much anyways while I’m on the job,” you said. He let you read over the rest of the benefits, a good amount of sick and vacation time too. Technically you were free evenings and weekends but he could ask you to work longer if he needed you and you were available. Overall everything seemed in order. “Alright. Everything looks good to me.”

“Awesome. Are you available to start Monday?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said. “It gives me plenty of time to move in things tomorrow so I can jump into the kids routine first thing Monday.”

“Perfect,” he said. “I’ll show you around. We can start with your side of the house.” You got up and followed him over to near the front door and down a long hallway, past a set of doors. There was a frosted glass one to your left just before he pushed open a wide white one.

Behind it was a living area and kitchen. Not huge, about the size of a small apartment. There was a TV and sectional, a table tucked against the wall and a kitchenette like he’d mentioned with full size appliances. 

“Like I said, I know it’s small. Please like, seriously watch TV out in the family room at night if you want or hang out wherever or the yard or pool. This is just your own space when you want to be away from us.” You hummed and he showed you a closet and then a bedroom and bathroom. It was simple but decorated nicely and looked relaxing. “If there’s something obvious I’m missing please let me know. A cleaning service does come by every two weeks on Tuesdays at around ten in the morning. They’ll do in here too. Otherwise you can keep after yourself. Cleaning stuff is in the laundry room. Oh yeah. Um, this is probably the last time I’ll like, ever come in here unless you need help moving things in since this will be your space.”

“Thanks. I don’t have too much. I do have one request before we sign all the paperwork.”

“What’s that?”

“I’d like to meet the kids if that’s alright. There’s not much point in hiring me if they hate me.”

“Fair point. We’ll get ‘em over here and then get you all squared away.”

Monday Morning

“Good morning,” you said, a cup of coffee in your hand already as Jensen yawned. 

“Morning,” he mumbled. His hair was a mess and he was in only a pair of boxer briefs before he paused and looked down. “I should probably put on some clothes.”

“This is your house. Wear whatever you normally would. Pretend I’m invisible,” you said as you poured a cup of coffee into a mug for him.

“Sounds like you worked for some real assholes,” he said, graciously taking the cup. “As long as it doesn’t bother you, me walking around in my undies.”

“No, not at all,” you said with a smile. “Would you like me to drop the kids off at school and daycare this morning?”

“Sure,” he said. “Car keys are on the table by the garage.”

“Okay great. I’m used to driving that kind of SUV,” you said. You snuck a look at your schedule you’d printed out again, knowing the twins would get need to get picked up around noon. You started to work on their lunches and snacks for the day while he took out the carton of eggs from the fridge. He cracked one into a pan and turned the heat on, yawning again as he got out some bread and threw it on a plate. “Would you like me to make lunch for you as well?”

“No thank you. I’m getting lunch with my manager today. You don’t have to make me coffee in the morning either, Y/N. Your job is to take care of the kids, not me,” he said.

“A cup of coffee is not difficult, Jensen. My job is to help you so if I can make dad’s life a smidge easier it’ll make theirs better too,” you said with a smile.

“You’re not like, a morning person are you,” he chuckled. “I don’t do peppy in the morning.”

“Oh no. I’m always a little nervous when I start a new job. I’ll get a rhythm down soon,” you said.

“So what do you normally do once the kids are dropped off?” he asked as he got out a spatula.

“On a weekday I’ll review their schedule, see if anything different is going on. An average day like today I will clean their rooms, their bathroom, do some laundry while they’re at school, maybe some shopping. I’ll pick up the twins, bring them home for lunch, a little playtime, a nap. We’ll have some quiet time and maybe a craft or coloring before we get JJ from school. Then I’ll give them all a snack, we can get outside and play to get some energy out. I’ll help JJ with any schoolwork she has while the twins play and then I will start on dinner about the time you’ll be getting home. Since you have no plans currently tonight I’ll leave you guys be at that point until tomorrow unless you ask me for help.”

“So when do you take a break?” he asked.

“Naptime. I’ll have lunch with the twins. Don’t worry about me Jensen. That’s my normal plan but if you would like me to run some errands in the morning I can,” you said.

“No, no. Just…” he trailed off. “I still want to make them breakfast and dinner and play with them too is all.”

“We’ll figure out the right mix of things,” you said. “You just gotta tell me is all, okay? It can vary day to day too,”

“Yeah,” he said, taking his fried egg out of the pan and placing it on one piece of bread. He made a sandwich and took a big bite, looking out the back window. “I never asked. How was your birthday?”

“Hm?” you hummed, dropping some carrots into a reusable bag.

“On Saturday you said it was your 30th. You do anything fun that night?” he asked with a soft smile.

“I got a new job. That was the highlight of my day,” you said, Jensen cocking his head. “I ordered pizza, binged netflix. My normal Saturday routine.”

“I know everybody jokes about 30 but it’s really just jokes. Wait until you’re 42,” he chuckled. “Then you really feel old.”

“Most 42 year olds would kill to look like you,” you said. You shut your eyes and shook your head. “I’m so sorry. That was so inappropriate.”

“It’s alright. I took it as a compliment,” he said, smiling again. “So you did nothing for your birthday, huh?”

“Uh, no,” you said, mixing in some grapes into each of the snack bags.

“I’m gonna get you a birthday cake,” he said.

“Mr. Ackles-”

“I thought I said it’s Jensen. I’m the boss so what I say goes. We’re gonna have a birthday cake for you tonight. So. What’s your favorite flavor?”

“Whatever you want is perfectly fine.”

“Y/N.”

“...I like red velvet,” you said. He smiled and chuckled. 

“That was my wife’s favorite,” he said. “Haven’t had that since her birthday. She would have liked you.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. You’re quite kind to me. She was always protective of me, even if she was the scaredy cat most of the time.”

“Can I ask how…” you said as he took another bite.

“Accident. Tractor trailer versus her car. He tried to miss her but it was too late. I wanted to hate the guy too but it was an accident and I couldn’t blame him for that.”

“My father died in a car crash when I was six. It does get better with time,” you said.

“That’s why you didn’t know if he had a picture of you in his wallet or not,” he said as you nodded. “You’re too young to have that much tragedy in life.”

“So are you.”

“I’m not young anymore.”

“You’re young and overly generous,” you said with a smile. 

“Misery loves company,” he said as you both heard a few feet above you running around. “Munchkins are up.”

“You want to make breakfast or should I?” you asked.

“Give me five minutes to get them in some clean clothes. Then I can show you how they like their eggs.”

“Sounds like a plan, Jensen.”

Later That Evening

“Y/N?” said Jensen, knocking on the door to your room. You got up from the couch and answered it, Jensen standing there with a smile. “The kids and I were wondering if you’d like your birthday cake for dessert.”

“You actually got me a cake?”

“I did indeed,” he said. You followed him down the hall and back into the living space, Arrow running up to you.

“Y/N! Are you sleeping over?” she asked as she gave you a hug.

“I live just down the hall now, cutie,” you said.

“Daddy, can we have ice cream too?” asked Zeppelin as he climbed up into his chair at the table.

“Sure thing bud. Girls, would you like some too?” he asked. Both the little ones said yes as he looked back at you.

“I really shouldn’t,” you said.

“We eat ice cream in this house,” he said.

“You don’t have to twist my arm over it,” you said. He got out the container and set it down on the table by the cake, lighting the match on the candle on top. “Oh please don’t-”

He started to sing though and the kids joined in, Jensen having a really good voice actually. You blew out the candle when they were through and he dished up some dessert for everyone.

“Y/N, can you read me a bedtime story later?” asked Zeppelin and you glanced at his father, Jensen making a face.

“Well Y/N’s not at work right now so she doesn’t have to unless she wants to,” said Jensen. “We’re already cutting into her-”

“I would love to, Zepp,” you said, his little face lighting up. “Maybe you guys want to join us?”

“JJ’s a little big to get read to at night I’ve been told,” said Jensen.

“Am not,” she said. “I can get a story too, right?”

“Of course,” you said. You took a bite of the cake and hummed. “This is really good.”

“I bought it myself,” said Jensen. 

“Well you have good taste,” you said. “In fact, I’m gonna have another slice.”

“Good,” he said as Zeppelin grabbed the ice cream container. “Alright, alright. You can have a bit more, bud.”

“Night, JJ,” you said, getting a hug from her as you put her back to bed an hour later. JJ smiled from her bed and you flicked off the light, pulling the door shut after you turned on her night light.

“Thanks for giving up your night with them. I didn’t mean to have that happen,” said Jensen as you headed downstairs with him.

“It’s no problem. It’s good bonding for us,” you said. You helped him pick up the plates at the table and wash them off, Jensen grabbing a bottle of whiskey from a tall cabinet as you covered up what was left of the cake. 

“Drink?” he asked.

“A small one,” you said. He poured a single into a whiskey glass and slid it over to you, smirking when you took a sip. “Oh that’s smooth.”

“Very,” he said, drinking from his own glass. “Thank you for tonight. JJ’s been…”

“She’s the oldest. She’s gonna have a harder time with it.”

“You were about her age when your dad died you said?”

“She’ll be okay. She’ll miss her but it won’t be a deep pain. She’ll have nice memories of her mom. She’s doing pretty good, trust me.”

“Can I ask another personal question?”

“I’m off the clock. Shoot,” you said.

“Your mom ever...try again with someone else?”

“Yes. Years later she found a good guy. He actually is who I stayed with after she passed. He’s married now, has some kids of his own but I know if I call him up he’d drop everything for me.”

“Good. I was getting afraid you were a complete Shakespeare tragedy,” he chuckled.

“Nah. I’m not at that level of crazy in my life,” you said. “As long as we’re off the clock, can I ask if you’re asking because you’re thinking of getting back out there?”

“I am. My wife kind of insisted on it. When we first got serious we had this deal that we’d go try again if something happened. I mean, I don’t cry everytime I think about her now. I can smile and be happy and that ache doesn’t try to swallow me up everyday anymore. I think it’s time I could get back out there.”

“I’d say it is. The kids are ready. They’ll understand.”

“You think your mom loved the second guy as much as your dad?”

“For sure. She was a bit of a free spirit but she didn’t think you had to have just one soulmate. She told me that after she’d met Ray. She said she got two so maybe I had two out there. I haven’t found either one of them yet so I’ll take increasing my odds as best I can.”

“Well you’re not gonna meet your soulmate sitting at home on Saturday nights, Y/N.”

“Just a lot of douchey guys,” you said.

“Ah. You need to meet a better kind of guy is all,” he said.

“Yeah see I’m thirty. All the good guys are married by now.”

“Oh all of them are taken. I didn’t realize that,” he said with a chuckle. “What am I then? Another douchebag?”

“You don’t count. You’re…”

“Too old for you?” he chuckled.

“My boss. Plus you’re like famous. You can go get like a victoria secret model or something.”

“Looks ain’t everything.”

“Maybe I ought to try older guys now that you say that,” you said.

“Y/N, you gotta be careful with that. I don’t want to see you get taken advantage of.”

“And this is why I watch netflix on Saturday nights,” you said.

“You serious about the older guy crack?” he asked. 

“I do find them more...attractive sometimes. I guess it depends on how old. Why?”

“I got a friend my age, might be interested?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you said. “No offense to your friend but...I mean if he’s 42...I want kids and stuff you know? Although a dude it doesn’t really matter how old...I don’t know.”

“It was just a thought,” he said with a smile.

“I’ll think about it,” you said. “He’s not a weirdo, right.”

“No. He’s an actor. Something to think about,” he said.

“I will,” you said. “Thank you for the birthday cake, Jensen. You’re a good person.”

“I bought a cake.”

“Yeah but I haven’t really had one of those in years. You’re a good person.”

“You’re very welcome,” he said as you slid off your seat. “You’re free to hang out if you like.”

“I’m kinda tired. I won’t be getting up that early from now on I don’t think.”

“I completely understand,” he said. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight Jensen.”

________

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

[elftwink]

no thoughts only taakitz superhero/villain coffeeshop au. taako’s power is shapeshifting but he has a cool gun from lup. kravitz’s power is Big Fuckin Scythe With Unspecified Abilities. also there was no time to get into it but fantasy starbucks isn’t a real starbucks it’s a borderline illegal unaffiliated bootleg starbucks that taako and lup own. like dumb starbucks was.

By all rights, it should have been a fairly routine night for the Reaper. Go out, stop some crimes, arrive just in time to prevent whatever scheme the Mongoose had cooked up this week, exchange some one liners, make some threats that essentially amounted to ‘same time next week?’, the works. A regular Tuesday as a superhero in Neverwinter.

But Kravitz is tired, and more than a little distracted, so he’s not doing so hot on the one liners, and the Mongoose’s attacks are a little closer than they would normally be. He doesn’t even have a good excuse, it’s not like he’s injured, or that he has anything pressing to think of.

It was just— this morning his barista (who he may or may not have been harbouring a small crush on) had mentioned offhand that he thought the Reaper was ‘probably hot under the stupid all-black getup’, and Kravitz didn’t really know what the protocol was for someone complimenting your alter-ego was.

“I think if you were gonna go for the strong silent type, you had to start doing it months ago. Now it’s just acting like an asshole. Are you mad at me?” the Mongoose cuts into his thoughts, firing off another few missiles from his stupid umbrella gun (Umbrastaff, he called it, although it was a gun and not a staff so Kravitz had no idea why he insisted on calling it that).

“We are literally fighting as we speak,” says Kravitz, playing up the cockney accent, spinning his scythe to deflect the missiles off the blade, sending them ricocheting around the room. He’d said something like ‘how can you tell’ to Taako— the barista (well, they’d been on a first name basis for a few weeks, so, Taako), and he’d said ‘I can just tell’ which was not at all helpful in getting Kravitz through the conversation without saying or doing something to give himself away.

He’d almost given Taako his number, but how was he going to justify that? Hey, it’s me under the all black getup. Do you want to go out sometime? As if.

“You can have fights without being fuckin’ rude,” says the Mongoose, firing off another few rounds, which Kravitz deflects again, advancing on him.

“You’re right, sorry. I’m a bit scattered. Not exactly my A game.” As if to prove his point, the Mongoose easily dodges his next couple swings with the scythe, not even bothering to leave his range.

“Clearly. I mean, normally you’re at least close enough that I can feel the breeze from your sword.”

“It’s not a sword, and you know that.” Kravitz brings down the scythe in the space where the Mongoose was only seconds before, having already backflipped out of the way and landed a few metres back. Show off. Not that Kravitz had room to complain about that. The Mongoose spins to face him again, at least this time seemingly aware of what a close call that was. He’s tense, and his hair, which Kravitz supposes has thus far been hidden underneath his costume, has come somewhat unravelled, black braid falling to the middle of his back.

It seems... familiar?

He doesn’t have time for that right now. Kravitz draws back the scythe, feeling the hum of energy under his fingers, swinging again, and—

“Wait! Time out!” the Mongoose puts up a hand and Kravitz, for who knows what reason, stops his scythe mid-swing. The familiarity sticks, so it’s not just a trick of the light. It takes him a second to place, but the hairstyle... it looks a lot like a certain barista he’d been spending all night thinking about.

He shakes his head, trying to clear it. It’s because he has Taako on the brain, is all. Besides, he has other things to worry about besides seeing his crush in his enemy. Namely the fight currently happening with said enemy. “What? You can’t call a time out.”

“I just did,” says the Mongoose, fishing through his pockets and pulling out several bobby pins, sticking them in his mouth so he can use both hands to fix his hair. Kravitz blinks, still trying to shake off the sense of deja vu, but it won’t quit nagging him. “It’s a whole safety issue to leave long hair down.”

“It’s still in a braid,” retorts Kravitz.

“Somebody never took Foodsafe.” the Mongoose gives him a lopsided grin that Kravitz fucking knows he’s seen before, and suddenly it’s more than just passing familiarity, and how could he possibly have not noticed before, and— the Mongoose finishes putting up his hair, raising an eyebrow at Kravitz and his private crisis. “Alright. Ready—”

“You work at Fantasy Starbucks,” blurts Kravitz, without even thinking about it. The Mongoose stops dead in his tracks, and Kravitz can see his eyes widen even behind the mask. He splutters for a moment, and then seems to find his footing, already ready with a snarky remark.

“Yeah, well— your accent is fake.”

Shit. He’d forgotten. At the only time so far that having it would have been useful too. Still, he pushes it out of his mind; the Mongoose hadn’t denied it. And, well, he’s already solidly derailed this fight, so he might as well get some real confirmation out of it.

“...Taako? It is you, isn’t it?”

“Just who the fuck are y—” The Mongoose— Taako— levels the Umbrastaff at him, and then stops again. “...Kravitz?”

Well. Shit. Again. Kravitz doesn’t bother to affirm that; his silence is more than enough confirmation. One of them has to say or do something, but the seconds stretch on.

“You’re telling me I said all that shit to your face this morning?” says Taako.

“That’s what you’re worried about right now?”

“Uh, yeah—” Taako is backing up now, and they’ve fought enough times that Kravitz knows when the Mongoose is looking for an escape route; Kravitz’s feet still feel glued to the floor, even when Taako reaches the window, fingers already turning to talons around the Umbrastaff. Taako breaks the glass (because of course he does, even though the windows aren’t even fucking locked), breaking eye contact with Kravitz in order to swing his legs through the window before his form changes too much. “Look, this is like, a lot right now, and I— I’m getting the fuck out of here,” he says, and then drops. Whatever had been keeping Kravitz in place, slack jawed, ends as soon as Taako leaves his sight, and he’s moving before he has time to think about it.

“Wait—!” Kravitz runs for the window, but by the time he gets there, the bird clutching the Umbrastaff is nearly out of sight.

Well. That could have gone better.

***

Kravitz doesn’t go for his coffee the next day. Or the next day, either, although the day after that he’s sick of making his own coffee. And frankly, he misses chatting with Taako. Even if the guy was trying to kill him like once a week. He couldn’t just avoid this forever.

Still, the fact that Taako is working cash when he comes in makes him want to turn tail and run back home. He conjures up the memory of yesterday’s shitty coffee and pushes onward. The shop is mostly empty still, so there’s no line.

“The usual?” says Taako, like nothing abnormal has happened.

“Please,” says Kravitz, and then, before he can chicken out entirely, adds, “Uhm, do you have a few minutes?”

“My shift isn’t over until—”

“I’ll cover you,” comes Lup’s voice from the back room; she pokes her head out and gives Taako a look that is clearly significant, but that Kravitz can’t quite puzzle out. “Take five minutes after you’re done making his coffee.”

Taako scowls at her, and she smiles brightly before heading to the back again.

“Okay. I guess I have five minutes. Talk to you after I make your coffee.”

Kravitz nods, and goes to hover around the pickup counter, pretending to be interested in things on his phone. Taako makes his coffee in a ceramic mug, which at least means he doesn’t want Kravitz to get the fuck out as soon as possible, so that’s... something.

Taako slides the finished coffee across the counter, circling around to join Kravitz on the customer side as Kravitz grabs the mug.

“Lup!” he hollers, and then starts walking towards one of the corner booths without checking to see if his sister is headed to cash or if Kravitz is following. Kravitz does, though, sliding himself into the seat opposite Taako, hands wrapped tightly around the mug.

Taako speaks first. “To be honest, I kinda thought you would rat me out.”

“That would be shitty of me, to just sic authorities on your place of work without so much as a warning.”

“So is this the warning?”

“No,” says Kravitz, taking a sip of his coffee, “I... can’t really make coffee without burning it. And this is the only place for miles with tolerable muffins.”

Taako cracks a grin, like Kravitz knew he would. “Flattery will get you nowhere.” His smile falls, and he crosses his arms and leans back. “So. Reaper. Why didn’t you rat me out?”

Why indeed. Kravitz takes another sip of his coffee and thinks for a second, not even sure himself what his explanation will be once he starts talking.

“It didn’t seem... fair. You’re less of a villain and more of a pain in my ass—” Kravitz ignores Taako’s indignant noise and keeps talking, “—and while we always have cause to fight when on the clock, you’re not doing anything that I feel needs to leave the bounds of those... work hours, I guess.”

Taako is trying to pick him apart with his gaze; it’s something he’s been subjected to several times, although normally in costume, and in retrospect it’s difficult to imagine how he spent so long not noticing the Mongoose in Taako.

Whatever Taako is looking for, he must find it, because he relaxes a bit, and shoots him a lazy grin. “Plus, Mongoose related insurance just got rolling and it would be fuckin’ rude to take me out of commission before anyone got to use theirs.”

Kravitz laughs. “Sure.” He’s silent for a second, before adding, “You aren’t planning on revealing my secret identity, are you? Awfully rude of you to double cross me like that.”

“Wha— You didn’t even give me a chance to respond! Maybe I wasn’t!”

“Were you?”

“I was,” admits Taako, not even pretending to look sheepish. Kravitz raises his eyebrows, and Taako shrugs. “Oh, like you didn’t think about revealing my secret identity? And could you imagine the hype if I unmasked the Reaper? I was tempted.” He sighs. “But I figured then you’d have no reason to keep my identity a secret. No way am I risking a backfire like that.”

It sounds callous, but Kravitz has been talking to Taako almost daily for months; at this point, he can pretty reliably pick up on when Taako isn’t being entirely truthful about something.

“Hmm. Then I suppose it’d be in my best interest not to tell you that I wouldn’t reveal your identity even if you revealed mine?”

Taako narrows his eyes. “Why not?”

Kravitz makes a face. “It’s just in poor taste. I just think we all go through all the trouble to hide who we are and use these powers for good— or whatever it is you do— that it’s always going to be such a low blow to reveal who we are. There might be times where it’s necessary, but petty revenge is not one of them.”

Taako’s expression hasn’t changed; if anything, he’s narrowed his eyes more. “God, you are like— fuckin’ irritatingly nice. Fine. I wasn’t going to reveal your identity. That would be fuckin’ annoying to deal with. Plus I’m having fun.”

“Fun?”

“Oh don’t— don’t fucking lie to me. I know you’re having fun out there too. With your stupid accent and one liners and shit.”

“Alright, alright,” says Kravitz, rolling his eyes. “But I’m not supposed to be having fun, so keep it quiet.”

“See, that’s why I market myself as a villain. No dumb rules.” He puts an elbow on the table and leans on his hand. “Why do you have a fake accent anyway?”

Heat rises to Kravitz’s face, and he’s hoping he looks less embarrassed than he feels. “It’s my— I do it so people don’t recognize my voice.”

Taako laughs. “Well, it doesn’t really do that if you immediately stop using it when you realize you might know someone.”

“I was caught off guard!” defends Kravitz. “It’s not every day you find out your nemesis is your barista.”

“Nemesis, huh?” Taako grins. “Didn’t realize it was that serious to you. You know I have other heroes to fight.”

Kravitz rolls his eyes again. “I don’t see how you have the time, considering how often you’re causing trouble for me.”

Taako laughs, and it’s so contagious and the whole conversation is so surreal Kravitz can’t help but laugh too, before they both lapse into a comfortable, if drawn out, silence.

“So, uh,” says Taako eventually, “what now?”

“Well,” says Kravitz, “I want to keep coming in for coffee in the mornings. And I assume the Mongoose will continue with... whatever chaos it is you currently have planned.”

“It’s not chaos,” insists Taako, “I have plans. But yeah. And I assume the Reaper is gonna show up and throw a wrench in those plans?”

“Yes, probably. So we’ll just be enemies by night...” Kravitz trails off, not entirely sure how to refer to their by day relationship. Friends? Potential love interests? Acquaintances? There’s a few seconds of awkward silence before Kravitz gives up entirely.

Taako pulls and pen and a napkin out of his pocket, jotting something down and pushing it towards Kravitz.

“Here’s, uh, here’s my number. If you give me a heads up five minutes before you get here, we can have your coffee ready by the time you walk in. If you’re nice to me out there.”

“I don’t take bribes,” says Kravitz, grabbing the napkin and pulling out his phone to type in the number.

“That wasn’t a bribe, it was a threat. You don’t even wanna know what I’ll do to your coffee if you fuck me up.”

Kravitz doesn’t bother to point out that neither of them have ever caused any extreme bodily harm to one another and instead says, “So you’re asking me to go easy on you? I thought you were having fun.” He sends Taako a ‘hey it’s kravitz’ text before he has time to second guess himself.

“Could you stop poking holes in my threats? You’re harshing my fuckin’ vibe, Krav.” He sounds irritated, but Kravitz can see the smile tugging at his lips as he texts Kravitz a couple of skull emojis. “I should get back to work before my sister kicks my ass,” he says, standing back up. “I’ll see you tonight, nemesis.” Then he turns on his heels and heads back to the counter, saying something to Lup as he walks by. Kravitz watches him disappear into the back room.

Tonight.

Kravitz had better make sure he had hung his cloak up to dry.

[mrs-march-ahs]

Kai Helps You Find a Purpose

Summary- A blue-haired stranger helps you overcome the feeling of being lost after you quit your job. He seems fascinated by the rage in your body and shows you how to use it in an unconventional way.

Warnings- Murder, rape, knifes, blood, Kai Anderson. Words- 1.8k shorty:)

I’ve had this idea in my head for the longest time, so I really appreciate any feedback! I love doing my own ideas but if you prefer when I write requests then I wanna know! Enjoy! :)

---

You slam the glass door behind you as you exit your job. Well, old job. No matter how hard you work, your boss refused to see your potential and when you asked him for a raise for the final time and he said no, you gave him an ultimatum. And now you are left to walk out of your old job to the carpark with a backpack full of your belongings. To be honest, you hated that job anyway, and despised the sexist boss. He crossed a line by underappreciating your hard work, even after hours and constantly giving praise to the other fuckers who could barely make a cup of coffee. You walk over straight to his white Mercedes and pull out your pocketknife, hoping that in the dark of the evening nobody will witness your crime. As you squat down to the level of the front right tire and stab it powerfully with your knife, you can feel the feminist rage in your body deflate. After you do the front left and go towards the back one, you see a figure of a broad man standing at the front of the car, watching you. Although you saw him, his voice catches you off guard. And frankly, pisses you off too.

“If you slash all four tires then insurance will pay for it”, he states, assuming that you didn’t know that already. “Slash three”. The mansplaining makes you groan.

“Do I look like I need advice, asshole?”, you reply, rolling your eyes. Contrary to what you expected, the man stays stood watching you and laughs at your remark. When you push the blade from your knife particularly deep, you sigh in satisfaction, but fail to pull it out. You wriggle it around a little before looking up at the man.

“Are you gonna just watch me or at least are you gonna help?”, you ask, tugging at the knife.

“You don’t need my help”, he says quietly and ominously. “Use your strength, work smarter not harder”. The useless advice made you sigh in anger and push the knife in deeper, before practically ripping it out of the tire. He stands leaned over the hood of the car to watch you slash the tire, and smiles widely when you manage to do it by yourself. You stand up and look at him, and he stays smiling, and compliments you on your work.

“See? You don’t need help, you’re strong”, he whispers at you. You can’t help but smile back at the support and at the relief that he won’t snitch on your vandalism. When you take a step towards the curb to walk home, he puts his arm out to stop you and unexpectedly offers to buy you a coffee. You timidly say yes, but when he walks towards his car and opens the door for you, a red blinking alarm goes off in your mind and you kindly refuse to get in a stranger’s car. Although he laughs, he understands, and the two of you walk a mere 2 streets to a restaurant that he claims is owned by his friends. When the two of you walk through the front door of the packed restaurant and he asks for a table and instantly gets it, you have no reason to not believe his connections. You sit awkwardly across from the stranger who introduces himself to you, before praising you on your inexcusable actions.

“It takes a lot of strength to notice when you’re not being appreciated, it takes even more strength to just slash his tires instead of slashing his fucking throat”. His words are so serious that you don’t question how he knows what happened. “What do you want to achieve?”

“I want to make the world a better place in any way I can… I volunteer at soup kitchens all the time… dog shelters… I know it sounds horrible but no matter what I do, it doesn’t feel satisfying or like I’m achieving anything”. He exhales in amusement and you defensively expand.

“It’s like I’m waiting for some good karma to come to me, but all I feel is guilt because I’m doing good things for the wrong reasons”. You look down and swirl around your coffee with a spoon as you wait for him to judge you. All you felt was guilt, you wanted to be a good person and you knew you shouldn’t wait for good things to happen to you just because you’re volunteering. He puts a finger under your chin and makes you look at him. His big black eyes hypnotize you and you wait anxiously for him to speak.

“You need to put your rage towards something good. Anger doesn’t help anybody, but I saw today that you are capable of rage”, he coaxes you quietly. “A strong rage can be used as unlimited energy and shouldn’t be wasted, but put towards something useful… what fills you with rage?”

“The sexism at my work”, you immediately respond. “None of my male co-workers get harassed on the job. They don’t get told to smile or unbutton their shirts for tips. They get raises that they don’t deserve. As long as that keeps happening, I will always be filled with rage”.

The blue haired man hums in agreement and smiles at you. “That’s a solid source”. He drinks the end of his coffee and offers to drive you home.

When the two of you sit in his car, he proposes that instead of going back to the motel you lived at, you come over to his and the two of you could share a drink.

“No, I’m sorry. I need to go home and scream into my pillow”. Although you laugh after saying that, Kai doesn’t.

“What are you achieving with that? That’s like working hard to get money for gas, just to pour it down the drain”, he scolds you and raises his voice with every word. “You have this rage; we’re going to use it for something good!”, he shouts.

“Yes, but how!”, you reply, and watch Kai take a few turns before driving around the same couple of blocks a few times. You sit silently and hope he’ll explain the plan, but he doesn’t, instead he slowly drives down the streets, carefully inspecting the alleyways. Finally, when a short hum escapes his lips, he pulls his car over and points towards an alleyway on the other side of the street.

“Look what’s happening”.

You narrow your eyes trying to see down the dark alleyway and unbuckle your seatbelt to lean over closer to Kai. A man down the side of a building is stumbling slightly with a gun in his hand, pinning a woman against the wall and forcibly pulling her clothes off, only for her to try to push him away.

“Wait… is he uh-”

“What is your feminism fuelled rage telling you to do?”

You look Kai dead in the eye and his black eyes and clenched jaw silently ask you whether you’re willing to do what it takes. Saying that you want the world to be a better place means jack shit if you’re not ready to singlehandedly protect your sisters and put your rage towards making the world cleaner and safer. Not tomorrow, not in years to come, but now.

Without another second of thought, you jump out of the car and run to the alley, Kai following closely behind. Kai grabs the drunk man by the shoulders and rips him off the wall, allowing you access to push the woman out of the alleyway and onto the street, letting her immediately start running. The drunk attempts to fight Kai, throwing hard punches that all miss. Not wanting to steal your spotlight, Kai throws the man into the wall, letting you take out your feminist rage on his face. You put your hands in his hair and grip tightly, repeatedly smashing his face into the brick wall, leaving instant blood stains and scratches. Hopefully, a lifetime reminder of the scum he is. In order to save him the disgust of having to look at himself in the mirror, you drag his face along the wall, hoping that the cracks in the wall will be enough to leave his face bleeding.

“Work smarter; not harder”, Kai reminds you.

You release the man from your grip and watch him stumble and lean against the wall for support, giving you enough time to take your pocketknife back out and plunge in straight into the mans crotch. As he sloppily yells in pain, Kai grabs the gun out of his hand and throws it over a fence, just in case he gets any ideas. The intoxicating high of seeing this rapist bleed and cry in pain gives you one last kick of confidence, which you use to twist the knife in his ball sack before ripping it out. Kai stands watching you, smirking and almost hard, listening to the beaten-up motherfucker pant and sob. Kai pushes you out of the way and shoves him to the ground one last time, before grabbing your hand and legging it to the car.

When you sink to the car seat, trying to catch your breath, not a single thought coming to your mind for the first few seconds. The adrenaline of assault makes your heart want to jump out of your chest. But when you look over at Kai, expecting him to mirror you, he sits calmly, waiting for you to calm down. Your head is blurred with disbelief at what you just did, but despite knowing in your mind that violence isn’t the answer, you sit there as Kai starts driving and wait for the guilt to overpower your body. But it just…doesn’t.

“I’m so proud of you”, Kai says and puts his hand on your thigh giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m waiting for the guilt to kick in”

“It won’t”, Kai informs you. “You don’t care about the homeless or animals”

“What?! Of course, I do-”

“No, you don’t. You care about sexism. That’s what powers you. How many statistics do you know about rape? How much do you know about rape prevention? Feminism? Malala and Michelle fucking Obama?!”, he yells.

“That’s what fills you with rage, and that’s what begins the unlimited cycle”. Although his words sounded so sure and factual, you just couldn’t accept it.

“I don’t want to do it with violence”. Your voice weakens which makes Kai huff in amusement. He parks his car outside your motel and turns to you.

“You just made the world a better place. You saved that woman. That scum will never be able to reproduce. If you weren’t doing the right thing, you’d feel guilty”. You look up at him with worried eyebrows and he gives you a warm reassuring smile. You can’t deny his words, and the adrenaline and sense of accomplishment overshadow any speck of guilt you’re meant to feel. Just as you’re about to open the car door to get out, he puts his hand on your shoulder and looks at you once more.

“I’ll come by and get you tomorrow, I want you to meet my friends”

[adhd-disaster-willie]

you're the one that brings the sun; chapter 1/6

Summary: Alex is prepared for every single variable except, apparently, the one in which his roommate is drop dead gorgeous and Alex is an absolute clusterfuck of a human being who falls for the first pretty boy on he sees on campus.

Willex roommate au! 

Warnings: Swearing

Notes: The title is from the song “I Dare You” by the Regrettes. I’ve actually planned this fic out so here’s to hoping I don’t get burned out halfway through. It might end up having 6 or 7 chapters, 5 is kind of just an estimate.

---

When Alex was 11, his mother proudly plastered his report card to the fridge and exclaimed that one day, her little boy would go to Harvard. His father gripped his shoulder with pride and Alex beamed up at his parents like they’d just told him he had superpowers. 3 years later, he was 14 and teetering on the edge of failure in the majority of his classes. He wasn’t stupid by any means, just preoccupied. He’d started a band with his best friends and that felt like the most important thing in the whole world, and high school was new and scary, so it was easier to not pour all his focus into school. His parents’ smiles faltered but they kept up hope, Alex could tell. 2 years later, he stood shaking and crying outside of the Molina’s garage and suddenly, the concept of going to college begun to feel distant and fake. But he’s 18 now, and somehow, miraculously, gazing at the piles of boxes in the back of Ray’s car and swallowing down a lump in his throat.

It sure isn’t Harvard, but a part of Alex feels giddy at the fact that he’s attending a public college that was relatively easy to get into; oh his parents would be rolling in their proverbial graves. What didn’t make him quite so happy though, was the looming fact that he’d be living with some random person, because for some godforsaken reason, the college wouldn’t allow freshmen to choose their roomates. Some bullshit about meeting new people and socializing.

“Hey, ‘Lex. Dude, you’ll be fine.” Luke shakes his shoulders, before swinging one arm around him and the other around Reggie.

“Says the one who isn’t even going to college,” Alex grumbles, slipping from Luke’s grip and into the front seat of the car.

“Yea cause I don’t need it. Not my fault you’re both nerds,” Luke retorts.

“I’m not a nerd, I just like to have insurance-”

“Yea, back-up plan, safety net, heard it a million times. Reggie’s a nerd though.”

“Old news, dude,” Alex says.

“I am not a nerd!” Reggie protests indignantly.

“Tell that to your 2 years of college credit in math.”

Luke nods in agreement. “Nerd.”

“Math is fun!”

“You’re horrible.” Alex makes a mock gagging noise.

Julie comes bounding out of the house, her arms decked with various baked goods. She tosses herself in the backseat beside Reggie and Luke, looking quite pleased with herself at being able to force Luke to sit in the middle. “Tía was apparently up all night baking,” she explains, passing the sweets up to Alex. “Don’t be surprised if she shows up at your dorm with food every day.”

Alex snorts. “I would not object to that.”

Julie sighs, leaning back in her seat. “You guys are so lucky, I’m tired of high school. Damn September birthday,” Julie grumbles. Her birthday is just after the cut off date, so she would be 18 for the majority of senior year, but is just barely too young to be in the same grade as the boys.

Reggie leans over and pats her arm sympathetically, earning an offended squeak from Luke, who’s only pushed further into the back of the seat.

“Don’t worry!” Alex chirps sarcastically. “You get to spend more time with Luke, since he’ll be squatting in your garage!”

“Oh, joy,” Julie deadpans.

“I am not a squatter!” Luke protests, kicking the back of Alex’s seat.

“No kicking! I’m holding food!”

“Y’know Alex, you’ve been staying in the studio for 2 years, you’re not one to talk!” Luke argues.

“I have a job.”

“A stupid job.”

“A stupid job that gets you free coffee.”

Reggie nodds to that, chewing on a cookie. “Can’t risk losing your coffee privileges.”

Julie groans loudly and stuck her head out the window. “DAAAAD! Let’s goooo!” She cries.

“Wow, I didn’t know you wanted to get rid of me so badly,” Alex says, clutching his chest dramatically.

“Oh shut up Lexi, I just wanna meet your’s and Reggie’s new best friends!” Julie says, laughing.

“I’m not gonna be best friends with my roommate.”

“Yea, Alex forgot how to do that!”

“Luke I will smother you in your sleep!”

At this, Ray approaches the car with a raised eyebrow. “No one’s planning a murder, I hope?” He asks, chuckling as he slides into the drivers seat.

“No sir!” Reggie replies, grinning.

“Not yet,” Alex mumbles under his breath.

“Alright boys, who’s ready for college!” Ray says, starting the car.

“I’m gonna be sick.”

---

“And that’s the last of it!” Ray claps a hand over Alex’s shoulder and smiles encouragingly.

Alex nods tensely, gripping the strap of his fannypack tighter.

The dorm’s probably as good as he’s gonna get. One reasonably sized bedroom complete with two horribly uncomfortable beds, a kitchen with a fridge that was in no way large enough to fit even a weeks worth of meals, a tiny living room that would probably fit a couch and a TV at the most, and a bathroom that smelled suspiciously of mustard. Really it isn’t terrible, but Alex has a habit of noticing every little detail, especially the ones that could be a problem at some point. His roommate hasn’t arrived yet, so he’s standing amongst his various boxes, anxiety pulsing in his chest.

Julie grips his hand tightly and smiles, tears pricking the edges of her eyes. “Hey, Alex, you’re gonna be okay.” She squeezes his hand briefly.

Alex nods, exhaling shakily. “Yea, yea I know. It’s just…”

“A change, I know. But this is a good change. And-” she hauls Reggie and Luke over to them. “-we’re all here if you need to call someone and talk. And dad, and Tía, and I bet your roommate will be super cool.”

“Or a serial killer.”

“Just pray he’s not a football player,” Reggie stage-whispers, shuddering.

“God, don’t even suggest that!” Alex whines.

Encouragements and teary hugs are passed along, as well as a promise to meet at the Olive Garden nearby for dinner in a few hours, and then Alex’s posse is off to get Reggie settled, and Alex is left alone in the dorm. Alright.

Alex takes a deep breath, steeling himself, before beginning to wander the dorm. He’s anxious to start unpacking without his roommate and risk doing something that they wouldn’t like. Even choosing a bed feels wrong, he really doesn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with this person. But leaving the dorm meant people everywhere so that was a definite no. He sighs, lowering himself to the wooden floor and pulling out his phone.

“Yea… uh huh. Yes Caleb, I got here fine. No the Uber driver did not try and kidnap me. The boxes- the boxes are not too heavy. Okay. Okay. Yea, bye. Mhm.”

Alex looks up hesitantly upon hearing the voice nearing his dorm. The person standing in the doorway is well… less of a person and more of a large stack of boxes threatening to fall over any second. “Hello?” Alex stands up and makes his way to the boy stood in the entrance.

Said boy pokes his head out from behind his boxes and grins crookedly. “Hi, uh, I’m Willie!” And well, Alex is a goner. He swallows thickly, breath catching in the back of his throat. Willie attempts to adjust the boxes but ultimately fails, sending them tumbling to the ground amongst several muttered curses. “Well… nothing fragile in there,” he falters slightly. “I think.”

“Um…”

“Right! Sorry, uh.” Willie holds his hand out and Alex shakes it tentatively.

“Alex.”

“Alex, cool.” Willie smiles again, his dark eyes twinkling as he does so, smile lines popping out. He brushes his hair -which looks so soft and pretty- behind his ear to reveal a small golden hoop on his right lobe. Alex is dead, actually 100% dead. Because he’d been prepared for every single variable except, apparently, the one in which his roommate is drop dead gorgeous and Alex is an absolute clusterfuck of a human being who falls for the first pretty boy on he sees on campus.

Alex forces out a smile, all too aware that he’s still standing stiff and awkward in front of Willie, his grip on his fannypack tight enough to make his knuckles glow white. Then Willie coughs as some sort of attempt to fill the silence. “Sorry!” Alex squeaks. “Do you need help with the… the uh, boxes?”

“Oh yea, that’d be great!” Willie replies, beaming. “I don’t think there’s anything fragile in there, but y’know, my memory is absolute shit so if I broke some fancy china dishes I didn’t even know I owned, don’t be too shocked.”

Alex laughs anxiously. “Yea uh… I didn’t start unpacking cause I um… I didn’t want to claim a bed and stuff with-without your input?” His voice cracks at the end and he winces because Jesus fucking christ Alex.

Willie chuckles and Alex notes that he has the kind of laugh that echoes through your whole body and settles right in your heart. “ ‘S cool, man, I don’t mind.”

“Right, cool. Do you uh… are you okay if I take the bed farthest from the window? I’m not- not much of a morning person, and the window is… it’s east facing” Alex mutters, his gaze focused on his feet which are rocking back and forth at a rapid pace.

“Yea, of course,” Willie replies. “I don’t think I’ve woken up later than 8 in 5 years.”

“That’s horrific!” Alex cries, momentarily forgetting his anxiety. He steps back and blushes an even deeper red upon realizing how stupid he’s being. “I mean- I just… sorry, I just meant that-”

“You’re good, dude. I don’t bite.”

Alex cracks a tentative smile. “So uh… I’ll just start unpacking then.”

Willie shoots him a thumbs up and smiles once again, which is a thing he apparently does a lot.

An hour later, Alex’s belongings are unpacked and organized and the room feels a bit more his. He feels slightly lighter, exhaling and closing his eyes briefly. This isn’t so bad. Fiddling with the hem of his hoodie, he shuffles out into the living room where Willie is presumably unpacking. Except that he’s not.

Willie is laying upside down on a couch that somehow appeared while Alex was gone and he’s flipping through a tattered magazine while his belongings remain mostly unpacked.

“This quiz says that I should try roller skating,” Willie sniffs. “Some personality test this is- oh hey Alex!” He scrambles up so that he can look Alex in the eyes properly, and points to the magazine in his hand. “Found this in a box, not sure how it got there since I’ve never even subscribed to one of these, but there’s a chocolate chip cookie recipe in here.” He stops for a moment, pondering. “Personally I prefer peanut butter cookies, ooh especially fresh out of the oven. There’s this bakery near my house that-”

“Did you get… any unpacking done?” Alex asks, raising an eyebrow.

Willie looks around at his boxes and laughs sheepishly. “Well I unpacked one and opened 3 so… some, yes.”

“Where’d the couch come from?” Alex pokes the cushion warily, as if afraid that it’s full of bugs.

“Room across the hall,” Willie says, pointing. “They both brought couches and didn’t have room for two we got the one with more stains.”

“Right.” Alex’s reply is forced and tense, and he winces upon realizing. Truthfully, he hadn’t expected his roommate to become so comfortable so fast and he felt like he was several steps behind. Damn extroverts. Drumming his hands against his thighs, Alex slowly sits down on the other side of the couch, pointedly looking ahead instead of at Willie.

“So.” Willie scoots closer, sitting cross legged with his elbows on his thighs and chin resting in his palms. “What’s your major?”

Small talk, god Alex hates small talk. “Um, music,” he answers.

“Ah, that’s cool dude.” Willie nods.

“Uh, what about you?” Alex asks.

“Art,” Willie replies, grinning. “Be prepared for paint stains, like, everywhere.” He chuckles and nudges Alex’s shoulder playfully. Alex is going to implode, he’s sure of it.

Alex laughs awkwardly. “So uh… what’s wrong with rollerskating?”

Willie shoves his shoulder again. “Everything, dude! Well-” he cuts himself off, thinking. “-I just kinda suck at it, definitely better at my skateboard.” He jerks his head in the direction of a skateboard leaned against the wall and Alex wonders how he didn’t notice that.

“Oh, that’s- that’s cool. I rollerblade but I uh, I can’t skateboard to save my life.”

Somehow, they slip into a comfortable rhythm, and Alex notes that his anxiety no longer has him in a chokehold. Willie seems to have that affect; he’s just so… open. Alex doesn’t realize it yet, but he’s subconsciously created a folder in the back of his mind labelled “Willie,” and he doesn’t think he’s capable of forgetting anything Willie will ever say to him.

“- that’s why airplane food is just, horrible. Cause you basically lose like 30% of your tastebuds because of the elevation.” Willie smiles at Alex, gaging his response.

Alex would rather die than admit that he’s still trying to figure out how the topic of airplane food came up, so he just nods enthusiastically, actively stopping his eyes from dancing across Willie’s face, which is practically glowing in the evening sun. Evening. Shit. Alex pulls out his phone frantically. “Shit.” He says it out loud this time.

Willie’s brow furrows in confusion. “You good, dude?”

“Uh yea I’m just, I’m supposed to be meeting my fam- uh my friends for dinner and I have to be there in like 5 minutes.” He ignores the way Willie’s expression falls, convinced he’s just seeing things.

“Yea um, of course. I won’t keep you.” Willie stands up, his posture the stiffest that Alex has seen it in the whole 3 hours they’ve been acquainted for. “I’ll just… order a pizza.”

Alex hesitates in the doorway, weighing his options, which has never been his strong suit. “Do you want to join me?” He blurts impulsively. Willie looks at him in surprise. “I mean only- only if you want of course, we’ve only really uh, known each other for a few hours and you- you probably don’t want to, it was stupid. I’ll just- I’ll just go-”

“No! I’d… I’d like to, eating pizza alone in the dark sounds a little pathetic,” Willie responds.

Alex smiles genuinely. “Ok, ok that’s uh. Cool. That’s cool.”

---

Alex is already regretting this. The restaurant isn’t too crowded, he notices with a relieved breath. But it’s loud. It’s loud and yet only one group of people is talking. Alex doesn’t even need to guess who.

“Ok but- no- no- the whole song would be better!”

“Say banjo one more time, I dare you!”

“Banjo.”

“Julie, what the hell?! This is betrayal!”

“You stole my breadstick, it’s only fair.”

Alex coughs, quieting the table to a dull roar.

“Alex!” Julie pulls him down to sit next to her. “Oh? Who’s this?” Reggie is grinning wickedly and Luke waggles his eyebrows in a way that makes Alex want to shave them off.

“This is uh, my roommate Willie,” Alex responds, his voice raising an octave. “He didn’t have plans so I uh… I invited him, I hope that’s ok.”

“Of course it’s ok!” Julie pats the space on the other side of Alex and Willie sits down, appearing… oddly nervous.

“Congrats! Your Alex’s first new friend since,” Luke taps his chin, pretending to think. “7th grade.”

Alex’s face promptly falls into his hands. He’s seriously considering the whole, shaving Luke’s eyebrows in his sleep thing.

Reggie leans forward conspiratorially. “What’s your opinion on banjos?” He asks, making a point to ignore Luke’s dramatic complaining.

Willie raises his eyebrows, clearly confused. “Um. No comment?”

“I’m… sorry about them,” Alex says apolegetically. “Uh, this is Luke, Reggie, and Julie-” he gestures to each of them; Reggie waves, beaming happily. “-and Julie’s dad should be…” He trails off, looking around.

“He had to take a phone call, something about Carlos refusing to eat dinner until he proves the house is haunted,” Julie explains, clearly biting back a laugh.

“I… okay.” Alex shakes his head. “Are we waiting for more food or did Reggie eat it all?”

“Ha ha,” Reggie punctuates his statement by sticking out his tongue. “We’re waiting for the actual meals-”

“Yea Luke already ate the entire bread basket.” Julie shoots a glare in Luke’s direction.

“Well… you suggested we get hotdogs,” Luke grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Payback.”

“Okay,” Julie laughs.

Willie leans over to whisper loudly to Alex, “What’s the story with the hotdogs?”

“Don’t tell him!” Luke cries, leaning across the table and slamming his palms down.

“We don’t talk of the hot-dogs,” Reggie mutters miserably.

“Food poisoning.” Alex shudders slightly. “Very bad food poisoning.”

“We almost died,” Reggie says, eyes widening. “Like, for real death. I’m pretty sure I was a ghost for a few seconds.”

“Reg, you were not a ghost,” Alex says, speaking like Reggie’s a 10 year old talking about monsters under his bed.

“I was!”

“You were not!”

“So,” Luke smiles mischievously, taking Reggie and Alex’s bickering as an opportunity to apparently torture the latter. Despite Alex’s warning glares, he turns to Willie with an innocent expression. “What kind of music do you like?”

“Luke,” Alex hisses, all too familiar with Luke’s antics.

“Hmmm.” Willie is painfully oblivious to Alex’s panicked expression as he mulls over his answer. “A lot of stuff really.” He shrugs. “Rock, pop, I like those lo-fi playlists when I’m trying to study.”

Luke nods, clearly pleased with the answer, but he isn’t done and Alex wants to hide under the table. He knows what’s coming next. “Thoughts on… drummers?”

“Luke.” Alex is seconds from lunging across the table.

“Drummers?” Willie asks, tilting his head confusedly.

“Yup,” Luke says, popping the p and still smiling like he’s some sort of innocent puppy-dog and not an absolute bastard.

“Hot,” Willie jokes. Alex can’t even hide the way he manages to choke on his own spit, and Luke and Reggie have never been great at subtlety, turning to Alex with matching shit-eating grins. Willie either doesn’t notice or is kind enough not to comment on it. “Yea, pretty sure young Roger Taylor was my gay awakening.”

Reggie is full on giggling now, and Alex’s entire face is gleaming a bright red. Willie glances around the table, puzzled.

“Mhm.” Luke nods before swiftly turning to Alex. “Hey Alex, by the way, you left your drumsticks in the car, do you need them back?” His voice is sickeningly sweet, coated in some sort of poisoned honey. It’s Willie’s turn to choke on nothing, failing to disguise it as a spontaneous coughing fit.

“Fine,” Alex squeaks as he sinks further down in his seat. If he pulls out his phone and messages Luke a flurry of threats, that’s no one’s business. He dares a glance at Willie, who has become quite fascinated with his hands, which are tapping out a mindless rhythm on the table, his cheeks and the tips of his ears dusted red.

Needless to say, Alex makes sure Luke doesn’t even get to look at the next bread basket.

---

I hope you liked it! Tell me if you want to be added to the taglist :)

I’m hoping to update at least once a week, but who knows. Ok thats all.

chapter 2

Chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

[laurenwritesfics]

Apologies for the month-long wait! It's finally time for the next chapter!

Read the previous chapter HERE. Read the full series on AO3.

CHAPTER FOUR: FOUND

Frank’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. He let out a long huff before slapping the dashboard, his eyes coming back into focus, the sight of the car hood crumpled against a guard rail jolting him into sobriety. Turning his head, he followed the tire marks to the center of the road, where the other car had swerved. He had just enough room to squeeze himself out the door, after which he attempted to get the other driver’s attention with a concerned wave. No response.

Walking forward, squinting in the glare of the headlights, the tightness in his chest subsided when he saw the woman behind the wheel, unhurt and breathing heavily. She was clearly just as shaken up as he was. With a light tap of a knuckle against the glass, he encouraged her to open the window. Their eyes met. There was no anger in them, only the softness that comes before an apology. Frank beat her to the punch.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” He scratched the back of his neck nervously.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry too, I should’ve noticed you sooner.”

“You had your lights on. I didn’t. It’s my fault. Do you want me to call an ambulance? I wanna do something.” There was a hint of panic in his tone.

“It’s fine, really. I appreciate it, though.” She gave him a small smile and Frank stepped back as she got out the car.

“At the very least I should give you my details, y’know, for insurance purposes.” He fumbled in his pockets for a non-existent pen. Then he pulled out his phone.

“No problem.” The woman unlocked her phone, pulling up her contacts. “My house isn’t too far from here so I guess it could have been worse, right? We’re not stranded out in the middle of nowhere.”

“I guess you’re right,” Frank shook his head lightly in agreement “so what name am I putting in here?”

“Lucy Montgomery.”

Frank tapped out her name and then shook her hand. “Frank Adler. If you need someone to look at the car, I’m actually a mechanic – I could save you a couple hundred bucks.”

Lucy tilted her head skeptically. “If I had a couple hundred bucks for every time a guy said something like that…”

“It’s true, I swear. Look,” Frank scrolled through pictures of his workshop until he reached a picture of the Celestia “this is what I’m currently working on.”

Lucy crossed her arms and scrunched her lips. “Okay, I’ll admit that’s kinda impressive. Do you do this all by yourself?”

“Yeah. This one’s for a dentist in Coral Gables, so if you don’t want me to fix up your car I’ll happily pay for everything.” He was half-joking.

“Nice to see chivalry isn’t dead.” Lucy quipped. “So how come you were out here in the dark anyway?”

Frank was leaning against the roof of Lucy’s car, one hand on his hip. “My niece’s cat went missing. Then she did too. I’ve been out looking for both of them all day.”

“Oh shit, I’m sorry. Kids are impulsive like that aren’t they?”

“You got that right. Mary’s obsessed with Fred. He’s the only friend she’s got.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t wanna put this on you-“ he started, but Lucy cut in.

“No, you offered to help me, so I’m doing the same. Do you have a picture of her?”

Frank nodded, tilting the phone towards Lucy. “She’s a real smart kid. I don’t think she’s lost, just angry.”

“I get that. I’ll keep a lookout and let you know if I see anything.”

“Thanks.” Frank pushed off the side of the car and moved around to the hood. “Y’know I could look at this right now. Probably get you back on the road before FDOT. And I’m offering friends discount…” he wiggled his eyebrows playfully.

“What is that exactly?”

“Usually half off. But for you, no charge. This time anyway.”

“This time? Are you planning on crashing into me again?”

“Not at all. I just mean I can do a better job for less, if you want me to.”

“Huh,” Lucy clicked her tongue “well if you say we’re friends, then I can’t pass it up.”

“For insurance purposes, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

They grinned at each other, then Frank popped the hood and began his inspection.

“You got somebody you can call at home? Just in case I’ve gotta take this into the shop.”

“I’ll figure it out. It looks like you know what you’re doing, so I’m not worried about that right now.”

“So you trust a stranger?” Frank feigned shock.

“I thought we were friends? Friends trust each other.”

“Good to hear.” He paced along the side and crouched to inspect a dent near one of the tail lights. “Looks like we caught each other at the back here. I can bang that right out. No problem. What d’ya say? It’s the least I can do.”

Lucy’s eyes darted from the road to Frank. “The Road Ranger’s here. I think he’s gonna want to take care of it.”

Unbeknownst to Frank, Lucy had called roadside assistance the moment the accident had happened. They rolled up alongside a police cruiser, and both the Road Ranger and an officer walked over. They stopped at Frank’s car first. Frank got up and headed over, ready to negotiate. But there are only so many times the line ‘it’s okay, I’m a mechanic’ can get you out of trouble. Of the two of them, Frank’s car was the only one that wasn’t fit for the road. He was the one who had to find another way home.

As his car was getting inspected, he dialed, first tapping out a text to a friend who took no time at all to offer to take care of Frank’s car. For now, there was no more he could do.

“Hey Roberta, got into a bit of trouble. Can you come pick me up?”

Roberta didn’t ask what kind of trouble he meant. She agreed right away.

Perched on the guard rail, Frank tossed his phone back and forth in his hands as he waited. He cast a glance over at Lucy, who was giving a statement about the accident. It surprised Frank how quickly she walked away. He hoped she hadn’t decided to take the blame.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna ride with us?”

“Us?” Lucy’s eyes narrowed curiously.

“My neighbor Roberta. She looks after Mary a lot. She’s great. I don’t know what I’d do without her sometimes.”

“That’s so nice, I’m glad there’s someone you can call on for support. It must be tough being just the two of you.”

Frank sighed. “It can be. But Mary’s like a little old woman in a kid’s body. She’s so wise, resilient, Diane did a great job bringing her up.” There was a tinge of melancholy in his voice.

Lucy sat beside him. “Diane?” She attempted to meet his gaze. “Oh, God, I shouldn’t-” she stuttered “if I’ve overstepped….you don’t have to talk about it.”

Frank shook his head. “No, it’s okay. Diane was my sister. She died.” This was all he could bring himself to say. Lucy wasn’t prying, but the wound left by Frank’s grief was still too fresh, and a sharp pang of sadness shot through him at the thought of exposing it. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and wrung his hands together, head bowed a little.

“I’m so sorry. Mary sounds like a wonderful little girl, so I imagine Diane was just as wonderful.” Lucy laid a hand on Frank’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“She was.”

Their eyes finally met. They sat in comfortable silence for a few long minutes before the glare of headlights grew brighter. Roberta pulled up and Frank stood, eyes flitting over to the Road Ranger.

“I guess this is you?” Lucy gestured to the car and then shoved her hands in her pockets as the evening breeze tickled her exposed skin.

“Last chance if you want a ride.”

She hesitated for a moment and then turned on her heels. “Let me go talk to the Road Ranger. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Roberta’s window slid down. “I went out for a drive to the beach and found a pearl…” Roberta pointed to the back seat.

Frank leaned in and saw Mary, slumped and frowning. He pushed back, laid his head on the cool window frame and muttered “Thank fuck.”

For once, Mary didn’t chastise Frank and demand a dollar. She sat up straight, gripping the top of Roberta’s seat as Lucy approached the car.

Frank opened the passenger door, stretching across to open the other for Lucy.

“This had better be a real good story, kiddo.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.” Mary stared absently through the window at the trees that billowed softly in the wind. “Can we just go home?”

“We sure can. We just have to drop this lady home first.” Frank adjusted the overhead mirror to give Lucy a reassuring smile. She smiled back and adjusted her seat belt.

Mary scanned her face. “Did you hit Uncle Frank’s car or did he hit you?”

Roberta stifled a laugh.

“Neither. We both swerved. Unfortunately Frank was the one who took a hit, but we’re fine.”

Roberta pressed her lips into a concerned line. “I think you should both get checked out at the hospital. Don’t wanna take any chances.”

“If anything changes, I’ll go there tomorrow.” Frank patted Roberta’s hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not hurt, just a little shaken up. I’ll be fine after I’ve rested.” Lucy reassured her.

“If you’re sure…” Roberta gave them both a stern look. She was acting like a mother again. “Where am I taking you?”

“I live over on Jackson. It’s not too far, just past the library.”

“Uh-oh, she said library.” Roberta quipped, noticing the way Mary perked up a little. “This one loves books.”

“Y’know,” Lucy looked across at Mary “I work at the library, so if you wanna stop by sometime I can recommend some really cool books.” She caught Frank’s eye in the mirror. “We have a kids group every Saturday.”

Mary winced at the word. “I’m not a kid. I’m just me.”

“Hey, watch your tone,” Roberta admonished “this lady’s being nice.”

“Sorry.” Mary mumbled.

“It’s okay.” Lucy twisted slightly to face her. “I get it, I’m a stranger, it’s weird. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“It’s a nice thought, so thank you.” Frank reached over to tap Mary’s leg. “Mary, what do you say?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. And it’s nice to meet the girl I’ve heard so much about.”

Mary cocked her head. “Really?”

“Yeah, Frank told me all about how awesome you are – and brave – you must really love your cat to go out looking for him for days on end like that.”

“Uncle Frank told you about Fred?”

“He did. Wanna tell me a little more about him?”

“He only has one eye and he’s my best friend.” Mary said matter-of-factly. Frank coughed loudly. “Okay, Roberta and Uncle Frank are pretty cool too I guess.”

“Seems like it.” Lucy chuckled. The library passed them by and Lucy directed Roberta down Jackson Road. “Alrighty, this is me. Thank you so much for doing this.”

“No problem.” Frank and Roberta said in unison.

“It was nice meeting you, Mary. And you too, Roberta.” She got out and proffered a hand. “If I need any help with the car I’ll be sure to give you a call.”

With a brief handshake and a bright wave, the hectic night was finally over.

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[sigmadecay]

You said you can info dump about Jonestown massacre? I'm here to learn about Jonestown massacre.

OHOHOHO YES

okay so if I start from Jim Jones’ early life this is literally gonna take me hours to write and probably take you forever to read so I will try to cliffnote the context of....y’know, his life

He didn’t have super present or even very parental parents, his mother worked a lot & his father was a disabled WWI vet. A neighbor took him to church w her family on Sundays and that began his interest in religion. He went to different churches all the time to see what they were about but had a particular interest in the Pentecostal church, it was loud & interactive & joyful but they did get a bad rep for “speaking in tongues”

Jim married his wife Marceline when he was 17 or 18 and she was like 20-21. She was working as a nurse in a hospital that Jim did custodial work in while he was trying to get himself through school. I have a lot of thoughts about Marceline Jones and most of them are “she deserved better” but we will come back to Marceline later.

Fast forward fast forward and Jim & Marcy have a number of kids, their “rainbow family” which consists of one bio child and a number of adopted children I think?? Listen in my defense he ended up with nine (!!! NINE) kids and they’re hard to keep track of but I know Stephan was their biological son and they adopted Jim Jr. who was black and Lew & Suzanne who were Korean which was a bigass deal at the time. More kids cropped up over the course of things but y’know. When Jim founded the Peoples Temple he got the MLK Jr award for racial equality because his church was the first fully integrated church at least in Indiana which was fucking nuts at the time??? Lots of people liked him. It appeared that he was doing good things.

And then shit like faith healings started where he would stage religious healings from cancer and shit and his congregation began regarding him as a deity. Someone would be blessed and would spit out a “tumor” (a piece of chicken liver) or the woman in the wheelchair who got up and walked turned out to be Jim’s secretary. Completely bogus nonsense, but it was a good, integrated church and they all thought he was a good person.

So, (and I’m leaving out details here sorry) Jim starts teasing like an escape to a “promised land” type deal. And he goes to a bunch of places looking for one—he spends time in Brazil especially—until finally settling on Guyana. The Guyanese govt was excited to have Americans coming bc they were at war with Venezuela and it was...sort of like insurance, but yeah. They gave the Peoples Temple a couple hundred acres in the middle of basically the fucking rainforest. And it was touted as like this socialist utopia and shit. It’s work but there’s housing and you grow your own food, and it seemed nice! Especially for people who were so disillusioned with the government and racial inequality. So they move out to Guyana and start to build houses, and shit is pretty alright at first, but...The soil isn’t fertile and almost no food actually grows. The hours are long and the work is backbreaking, not to mention the HEAT, but it’s like, deal-with-able until Jim Jones gets there. At this point Jones is like completely totally paranoid and he’s losing his grip on reality. He’s been doing drugs for years and his sermons have gone from “the US government is bad because it’s capitalist and racist” to “the US government is literally plotting to kill us.”

Some people managed to get out, and formed a group called the “concerned relatives.” They were, you guessed it, concerned relatives of the members who’d been whisked off to the Guyanese wilderness. Lots of people wrote off their concerns because of how many people, namely politicians, liked Jim Jones for his work in racial equality, but the one guy who listened to them was Congressman Leo Ryan, who was by all accounts a Pretty Solid Dude. He didn’t think anything fishy was happening, necessarily, but his whole stance was “I hear you & your concerns, and we should check it out to put your mind at ease! :)”

By this point, life in the Temple is falling! the fuck! apart! Jim Jones has a PA system set to run 24/7 that either play a) recordings of past sermons or b) his announcements happening Right This Second. People work for like 16 hours a day, there are armed guards at the entrance and around the fields to keep people in, the housing is cramped and overcrowded and they do Not have enough food for the almost 1000 people there. They are also getting record low amounts of sleep because Jim Jones, Nutjob Extraordinaire, has gotten into the habit of blaring the air raid siren at god knows what our and calling all his followers into the pavilion for a White Night. Which is, if you can even fucking believe it, a PRACTICE MASS SUICIDE BY KOOL AID.

Talk about foreshadowing.

So anyway, Leo Ryan rolls up to the compound, relatives and an NBC camera crew in tow, and is like “hey what’s up! :)” Jim Jones has been COACHING PEOPLE to tell him how much they love it. It’s fucked up. But okay

So they put on this dinner and a show type deal for the congressman and all the visitors, and Marceline (remember Marceline?) gives them a whole tour and shows them her pride and joy, the school she’d built and helps teaches at, and the medical center, and the daycare, like Marceline ADORES children this cannot be overstated. There are about 300 children in Jonestown and she loves them with her whole heart. ANYWAY

And everyone is having a funky good time, except Jim Jones, whose sanity is coming unraveled like an old sweater and his 950-ish overworked undercompensated cult members

But as Leo Ryan is leaving, someone slips a note to one of the reporters, BEGGING him to get them out of there. And then someone else comes forward. And then another. There are like....maybe 10 people total that come forward? Jim Jones loses his mind, naturally, but Leo Ryan is still like “hey, 10 out of 950 isn’t bad at all! They just miss their families :)” and they get going.

Unfortunately, because the number of people traveling back to the US from Guyana is greater than before, and they came on a small plane, they’re all posted up at the Port Kaituma airstrip waiting for a second aircraft. And this is when shit gets fucking real.

Jim Jones secretly sends his Red Men (read: “guards” with shotguns) to the airstrip to kill everyone because they’re going to give their secrets to the CIA or whatever. So they fucking roll up in this trailer and...open fire. Leo Ryan is killed, an NBC cameraman is killed, some of the defectors and concerned relatives are killed, many of them are wounded.

The Red Men return to the compound and report back to Jones. And then he gets on the PA and tells everyone that the USA’s destruction of them is imminent. He lies and tells them that the pilot will be shot and the plane will go down, and the US government will come into the compound for retribution and kill their seniors and kidnap the children and rape the women. You can hear a recording of this on YouTube! It’s called the Jonestown death tape and it will absolutely ruin your day if you listen to it. Anyway.

People are panicking. It’s time for the real White Night. Jones gets a vat of Flavor-Aid (off brand Kool-Aid) filled with cyanide and narcotics and says “drink :)” and...everyone is...understandably afraid. They’re tired and exhausted and terrified and have no idea what’s true or not. One woman, Christine, argues and pleads for another solution, like running off to the Soviet Union. The entire rest of the compound shouts her down.

So, finally, people drink. Those who won’t, and young children, are injected with it. The death is not painless. People suffer for a long time, and move to the back of the line, lie down, and die. At a reception house in Georgetown, one of Jones’ aides kills her three children and then herself with a steak knife.

A handful of people get out. Maybe five are able to hide, and three of Jones’ sons are away at a basketball game in Georgetown while this is all going down, so they live.

Jim Jones does not drink the poison. Jim Jones shoots himself in the head, and his private nurse does the same.

Marceline Jones screamed, sobbed and struggled until every single child had died, hoping at least one of them would be spared. And when none were, she dried her eyes, resigned herself to her fate, and drank the Kool-Aid.

The 900-something bodies, about a third of which were children, began rotting in the tropical sun almost immediately. Many of them were decomposed beyond recognition by the time the US troops got there. Those unidentified are buried in a mass gravesite in...California, I think? It was the largest loss of American life not due to a natural disaster up until 9/11. The place is still there, though now it’s overgrown, and it’s just...haunting. There’s a number of documentaries on it (recommend) and if you have a really masochistic streak, the Port Kaituma airstrip shooting and the Jonestown death tape audio are both on YouTube the last I checked.

Thank you for indulging me my special interest, and I’m happy to expand on anything here or give more details :3

[imagining-supernatural]

The Thanksgiving Party

Part 22 of Seventy Percent

Series Summary: When you left on your trip to Vegas, you’d planned on letting loose for one last weekend before heading back to reality and getting your affairs in order so your best friend wouldn’t be left cleaning up your mess when your cancer finally ended your life. What you hadn’t counted on was waking up married to a celebrity who has a knight-in-shining-armor complex, connections with an oncologist, and amazing insurance…

Chapter Summary:  It’s Thanksgiving day and you spend it with Sebastian and his friends

Word Count: 1,927

The door closed with a soft click and you made your way through the unfamiliar room to ungracefully collapse on the bed. Three hours into the Thanksgiving celebration and you were ready for a nap.

Surprisingly enough, you hadn’t wanted to leave the group. If it hadn’t been for your body warning you to take a break, you would have still been socializing with Seb and all of his friends. Large groups were never your thing. The nine other people in the apartment would normally be enough to spin your mental wheel of excuses to leave early.

I’m sorry. I have to go. My (spin wheel) chipmunk just (spin another wheel) gave birth and I obviously have to go help.

But your mental wheel was becoming dusty with disuse.

It was strange.

You settled on the bed with some pillows to prop you up into a lounging position and pulled out your phone to call Jasmin. She picked up on the fourth ring.

“Hey Y/N! Great timing. You just saved me from having to change Zander’s diaper.”

The cry of her nephew came through her phone and you smiled. “You’re welcome. How’s he doing? And the rest of your family?”

“They’re great. Well, not my dad. I think he’s finally going to have to change a diaper. First diaper he’s changed since… well probably since I was out of diapers.”

“It’s his grandson. He should change a diaper.”

Jasmin laughed and the sound was immediately followed by the slam of a door. “Sheesh, that was a doozy. I don’t think I’ve seen that much poop since… I don’t think I’ve seen that much poop ever.”

“That’s what he gets for bragging that he’s never changed his grandchildren’s diapers.”

“Yeah. Anyway, enough about my family’s shit. How’s your day going?”

While you spoke, you pulled a blanket over yourself and burrowed further into the pillows. “Not too bad. Seb’s friends are great and I’ve actually been having fun.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

“Yeah. Brittney and Josselin actually set up a lunch date with me next week. So I might have some friends here besides Seb, Sean, and the nurses.”

“Not that Sebastian’s just your friend.”

Jasmin just couldn’t stop fishing. She kept wanting you to admit that you were in love with him or something. Which, honestly, might not be too far off base. You doubted you’d ever meet anyone more amazing than Sebastian. But with the intense situation you were in, how could you believe the feelings that came out of it?

Sebastian was, quite literally, your knight in shining armor. Or knight with a shining arm for most of the week.

So, no. You weren’t going to admit anything to Jasmin. You didn’t want the weight of that on your shoulders. You were simply enjoying whatever the hell you had going on with him at the moment.

“Mmm, no, he isn’t,” you mused, hoping she would get her hopes up. “He’s also my husband for insurance purposes.”

“And tax purposes,” she pointed out.

Holy shit. “I’m going to have to file my taxes as married, aren’t I? Fuck. That’s… fuckin’ weird.” There was a moment longer where you pondered on that before shaking your head. “Anyway. I just figured I’d give you a call while I had a moment alone. I should probably take a nap for an hour or so.”

“New treatment that bad?”

“Let’s just say I have a feeling that I won’t have the energy to even be bitchy for the next few weeks. But mid-January I’ll have the surgery and it’ll have been worth it.”

The two of you shot the shit for a while longer before hanging up. Within five minutes of closing your eyes, you were asleep.

“Hey, Y/N. Time to wake up.”

You shifted away from the hand on your shoulder with a groan. “No.”

The bed shifted and you felt someone lay down on top of the blanket behind you. Sebastian’s familiar arm curled around you as he fitted his body against yours. His lips were at your ear when he whispered, “Josselin and Mike are pulling out the pies.”

“I think I’d rather stay right here with you,” you murmured as you freed your arm from the confines of the blanket to grab his hand. Cuddling up with you was really the worst possible way he could have chosen to try and get you out of bed.

“But… pie. And ice cream.”

“I’m comfy.”

Despite your stubborn words, you forced yourself to start waking up more. Sebastian trailed his finger up and down your arm before heading toward your face, making you scrunch up your face and pull away from his finger. You felt his laughter at your back and couldn’t help your own smile.

By that time, you were awake enough to pull away and lay on your back, looking up at him.

“Hi,” he grinned down at you.

“Hi yourself.”

“How you feeling, sweetheart?”

“’m good. Still tired, but that’s not new.”

“Good. You really wanna stay in here?”

“Nah. Ice cream sounds good. And I like your friends, so…”

God, you could just stare into his blue eyes for ages. You never understood the phrase drowning in their eyes until Sebastian. And his soft, pink lips pulling up into a smile? That rough stubble on his cheeks… How in the world was he so fucking perfect?

His smile grew for a fraction of a second before he leaned down and kissed you. It lasted just a second before he pulled back and sat up. “They like you too. C’mon, let’s go.”

This time, you let him pull you up and guide you back to the kitchen. Several people had bowls with ice cream and pie already, so Sebastian headed right over to the counter to start filling his own. When he offered you a bowl, you held your hand out to refuse.

“I’m still full. I’ll probably just steal a few bites of whatever you’re having and call it good.”

“Why do you think I’ll share?”

“Why do you think I said steal?” You shot right back, tilting your head. “I’m not asking for your permission; I’m just giving you fair warning.”

Mike came up and threw his arm over your shoulder, motioning to you with his other hand. “C’mon, Sebastian. How can you say no to that face?”

Playing along, you gave Seb your best puppy dog eyes and pouty lip.

“Ganging up on me, I see how it is,” he muttered, unable to curb his own smile.

“Hey, you and Jaz gang up on me all the time. Turnabout’s fair play, babe.”

Once everyone had their desserts in hand, you all moved to the living room. You tried to claim a corner of the couch to hopefully fade away and just enjoy observing the witty banter and friendly insults that were being flung around the room, but Sebastian sat right next to you and pulled your legs over his lap. With one of his arms curled around you and the other balancing the bowl of ice cream and pie in your lap, you were right in the middle of every conversation Sebastian got pulled into.

After an hour or so, you felt yourself drifting off. A few people had left and the energy in the apartment simmered down to a more intimate setting. That, combined with Seb’s warm body against yours, lulled you into that space between consciousness and unconsciousness. You were floating just outside of dreamland.

“I like her,” you heard someone say quietly.

Sebastian shifted enough to get your head more comfortably on his shoulder and he hummed in agreement.

“She seems good for you,” the other person said again. Josselin, maybe?

“I like to think so,” Seb murmured.

“She gonna come to Thanksgiving next year, too?”

“You’re nosey, you know that Joss?”

“And you’re avoiding answering the question.” There was silence, then a heavy sigh from Josselin. “I’ve known you a long time, Sebastian. And I’ve never seen you with anyone that you literally cannot keep your hands off of. And not even in the I can’t wait to get you in bed kind of way.”

His hand absently rubbed up and down your thigh. “Yeah, well…”

“Well…? Well what?”

He took a deep breath. “The original plan was to get a divorce once she’s recovered.”

“Plans change. Your plan was to have a fun time in Vegas and get back to your life like normal. Now look at you. This isn’t what your life was like before. At all.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. He pressed his lips to your brow and murmured, too quiet for Josselin to hear, “It’s better.”

“Hey, Y/N, look at this.” Sebastian plopped down on the armrest of your chair, careful of the wires and tubes attached to you. “So, you know how Joss was taking pictures like crazy yesterday?”

You nodded. The only time Josselin didn’t have her camera aimed at one of her guests was when she was eating, or when Mike stole the camera to take pictures of her. Never in your life had you met anyone who took so many pictures.

“She sent me some. Look at this one.” He handed his phone to you, keeping his eyes on your face for a reaction. No pressure for you, or anything, right?

A snort of laughter escaped you and you grinned. The screen was lit with a picture of a laughing Sebastian trying to feed you ice cream, while you leaned back as far as you could without falling off his lap. Ice cream was smudged on your cheek and your own lips were caught in laughter. You hadn’t known she’d gotten that moment on camera.

“That’s a good picture,” you said softly, zooming in on your faces. Both of you looked so carefree and happy… you doubted you’d see that side of yourself until well after the surgery.

Assuming you made it to surgery.

“I was wondering…” Sebastian said hesitantly. Immediately, you looked up at him, waiting for his question. Rarely was he unsure of anything. “How would you feel about me making an Instagram post with that picture?”

What could it hurt, right? The hype around you and Seb had died down since neither of you commented on the hype. So his post would bring you back to the spotlight for a day or two… you weren’t going to look online anyway.

“That’s fine. It might be nice to have a non-paparazzi photo of me online,” you joked.

“You sure?” he asked, but he was already half-smiling, ready to start making his post.

“Yeah. If there’s one thing I remember from Jasmin’s, uh, fanatical Supernatural phase, it’s that fans like to know that their favorite celebrities are doing well when something big happens. You’ve been quiet about… us. Being married. The cancer. I think a post showing you laughing would go a long way with your fans.”

He dropped a kiss on your brow before moving back to his chair across from you. He was tapping away on his phone for quite a while before he finally sat back. Your phone vibrated, alerting you that he’d tagged your neglected Instagram account.

Pulling out your phone, you saw the picture and immediately saved it to your phone. Beneath the picture was the caption:

According to Charles Dickens, “There is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humor” and I’m so thankful to have Y/N in my life to infect me with her laughter and humor. #Thanksgiving2019

Four fluffy parts in a row?? What has come over me?? But doesn’t that picture just seem so adorable??

CHAPTER 23: THE FIFTH CHECK-IN

[leverage-ot3]

notable moments from The 12 Step Job

leverage 1.10

Hardison (brings up map on monitors): That look like a pattern to you?

Parker: It's like Billy from "The Family Circus," If Billy was a drunken sex fiend.

eliot straight up looked at her like ?????

- - - - -

Nate: Actually, it does. He's an addict, under stress. So he's not gonna be doing a lot of exploring. He's gonna stay well within his comfort zone. He's still in LA. Oh, yeah. All right, we're gonna do this old-school. Ah, Parker, you break into his condo, see what you can find. Sophie and I will hit the retail spots. You guys go to his favorite haunts. But don't spook him, just follow him. Let him lead us to the money.

Hardison: All right?

Eliot (to Hardison): Strip Joint.

Hardison: Mmm. (to Nate) You know, I'm - I'm gonna need change for $100... in singles.

Nate: I'm sorry. What? Y-you think I have 100 singles on me?

(Eliot and Hardison walk out)

they looked at each other giddily that the con was going to take them to a strip joint and immediately asked their dad nate for money

they’re children, your honor

- - - - -

Hardison: This dude, you see him trying to force his keys onto that girl?

Eliot: Yeah. It should be the other way around, huh?

(Hurley gets into the car and starts it)

Eliot: Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot. You don't know nothing about that.

Hardison: Really? I almost had it in me to wash this car. Almost.

Eliot: Ten bucks says you're washing the car.

Hardison: I know it ain’t

Eliot: I guaran- (he is cut off when a car pulls up behind Hurley as he’s backing up, and he hits it. Men get out of the car and run around to where Hurley is getting out of his car)

CHILDREN

also as soon as hardison spilled that slushie he was Dead™

(also when did they stop to get slushies ??? like did hardison beg eliot to stop at some place to get one ??? did eliot begrudgingly to it, complaining all the way but secretly not actually minding it that much ???)

- - - - -

eliot and hardison fighting goons in the parking lot ? two words: 🥰 crime boyfriends 🥰

- - - - -

Hardison: I got a gun. I got a gun.

Man: All right, man, hey, hey.

(the men back away. Hardison points the gun and shoots. The bullet goes into the engine of the men’s car, disabling it. Eliot pulls Hardison toward their car)

Eliot: Nice job blowing out the engine block.

Hardison: I was aiming for his leg.

(Eliot grabs the gun)

Eliot: Yeah give me the gun, Hardison

hardison can’t shoot for shit and it’s hilarious

- - - - -

Parker: Hi. My name is Rose. I'm a kleptomaniac. My parents are rich, but I shoplift anyway... (looks at notes on her wrist) because I hate myself.

HER NOTES ON HER WRIST LMFAO

- - - - -

making parker take the drugs without explaining the process or making her sign anything etc is unethical

- - - - -

Hardison: It-It's, uh, a computer bomb. I-I-I know computers. Computer bomb, um. We-we-we got to reboot the system. Yeah.

Eliot (stands up): You want me to kick it?

Hardison: God, I’m gonna die. No, just, look. (reaches under dash)

Eliot: Wh-wh-wh-whoa.

Hardison: J-just, no. Duck up under the hood and just tell me how it's attached to the electrical system. (pops hood)

I’ve seen meta for this scene where eliot actually obviously knows not to kick it, he’s just saying that to jumpstart hardison’s brain since he’s freaking the fuck out. and I believe that wholeheartedly.

- - - - -

Eliot: What's our margin for error here?

Hardison: About half a second.

Eliot: Run the bag of bricks by me again.

Hardison: You ready?

Eliot: No.

Hardison: Are you ready?

(Eliot reaches under the hood with a shaking hand and grabs the wires)

Eliot: Yeah

ELIOT! COULD! HAVE! JUST! LEFT!

they were a newly formed team and if worst came to worst, he could have just gotten himself to safety and have that be it. except he would NEVER do that. he’d never leave any of his team behind (especially hardison). in this scene and the one before it his hands were SHAKING because he was so scared for hardison and that hardison wouldn’t make it. eliot is the retrieval specialist and he’s the one that is supposed to get everyone home safe. he needed hardison to be safe.

- - - - -

Receptionists: Can I help you?

Eliot: You sure can. Here to see a patient of yours, Mr. Tom Baker.

Receptionists: What's your relationship?

Eliot: Why?

Receptionists: Second Act has a strict policy. Only family members can see patients. We want to make sure outside influences don't hamper our clients' recoveries.

Eliot: I think that's an excellent policy. I'm Tom's brother. Hi. Mark.

(Eliot kisses the receptionists hand. She looks at Hardison)

Hardison: I'm-I'm with him.

Receptionists: So, you're a friend of…

Hardison: No, no, I am—

(Hardison puts his arm through Eliot’s. Eliot stiffens)

Hardison: I am with him. See, he thinks the flirting makes me jealous, but it doesn't. You know, but if you was, like, Brad Pitt or Denzel or somebody, oh, girl, it would be on, seriously. (rings the bell) Bring your ass. Bring your ass. (pulls Eliot away from the desk)

ot3 foreshadowing in season one- we love to see it

(also what a fucking nerd, hardison, tom baker? you live to base aliases off of doctor who)

- - - - -

Parker: I thought my foster parents just wanted me so they could get money from the state, but now I realize they didn't love each other. They just wanted someone to love them.

Hurley: Like they need you to fill in the gaps for their relationship.

Parker: Exactly. But when that didn't happen, they just withdrew

Hurley: Yeah.

Parker: Which led me to steal.

Hurley: Yeah.

Parker: It's all so clear to me now

I’m not sure how much of this was true from her origin story but I’m keeping it as meta just in case

- - - - -

Hardison: He's not all bad. He did give some of the money to people in need.

Eliot: You ever notice how all bad guys know at least one stripper?

Sophie (answering phone): Hello?

Hardison: And you know at least a hundred, so what does that say about you?

Eliot: Hey, I’m a bad guy

stfu eliot you know you’re not a bad guy anymore

- - - - -

parker walking around all happy

- - - - -

Parker: Okay, Parker, get into the air vent, out to the front gate.

Parker: No.

Nate: No?

Parker: No, I feel like I’m making real progress here.

Nate (puts his hands on her shoulders): Listen, I need you to focus, okay?

(Parker smiles and looks down at Nate’s arms)

Nate: What?

Parker: You don't usually touch me, or any of us, really. It's the hole in your heart, Tom. It doesn't allow you to get close to people.

Hurley: She's right

parker got so insightful in this episode. like it was because of the drugs but it gave an interesting look into her mind and into her past

- - - - -

Hurley: Dr. Tanner?

Sophie: Hurley, jump on. Let's go. Now!

(Sophie is pulled away, but another creeper comes out from beneath the car. Hurley gets out of the car. Eliot is pulling on the rope from behind another car. Hurley is pulled away to safety. Eliot covers Sophie)

Eliot: Keep your head down. Keep your head down.

eliot covered sophie with his body and we love to see eliot protecting his family with whatever he’s got

- - - - -

Eliot: Ooh.

Hurley: Steel-Belted radials.

(Eliot pulls a knife and cuts open the tire, revealing the inside full of money)

Eliot: Ohhh.

Hurley: What do you think?

(Eliot hands Hardison a handful of money)

Sophie: I think you might have a knack for this.

that was actually really smart ??? tagging this as something useful for a fic maybe ???

- - - - -

Nate: Just-just take the win. Take the win. (grabs an envelope from Hardison and hands it to Hurley) Here you go.

Hurley: What's this?

Nate: That's your new identity. It's a driver's license, a passport, birth certificate.

Hardison: Your library card, Netflix membership, Sam’s club. Oh, I got you three months free at 24-Hour fitness. Maybe work off some of those tacos.

Hurley: You guys didn't have to do all this.

Nate: Yeah, well, actually, uh, we did. Uh, Jack Hurley is dead. We killed him. So this is your chance to kind of start over.

Hurley: Wow. Hey, d-do you think Michelle will forgive me when she gets the payout from my life-insurance policy?

Nate: Yeah, why don't we just, uh, go with the win? (escorts him toward the door) We're giving you a second chance, so don't screw it up. If you do, I promise we'll know. (hands Hurley tickets) Train ticket.

Hurley: Don't worry about me.

Nate: Yeah.

Hurley: I'm playing it straight from now on. In fact, as soon as I get to, uh... (looks at ticket) Rosarito, I’m gonna find the nearest support group. I promise. Thanks for everything, Tom. (shakes hand)

when the team has someone “die”, they take CARE of them

- - - - -

Dr. Frank: You're sure this is for the best?

Sophie: Absolutely. Second Act isn't the right place for her.

(Parker smells marker. Sam comes and takes it away from her)

Sophie: No, she needs to be around people who better understand the issues she's struggling with. People more like her.

parker sniffing a marker and smiling snjdnssjsj

also SHE NEEDS HER FAMILY. HER FAMILY UNDERSTANDS HER.

- - - - -

(Parker walks out of the building, laughing)

Parker: Hi. (runs up to the group, who are waiting for her) Hey! I missed you guys!

(Parker throws her bag at Nate and jumps into Eliot’s arms)

Eliot: Oh! (to Sophie) When do the happy pills wear off?

Nate: Usually about 24 hours.

Parker (hugging Hardison): I missed you.

Hardison: That's too bad. I kind of like this Parker.

(Parker puts an arm around both Eliot and Hardison and they start walking away)

Nate: Uh, Eliot?

(Nate throws Parker’s bag, Eliot catches it)

OT3 OT3 OT3

also PLEASE give me a fic of them watching over her while she comes down from the meds just in case she needs anything. fuck, I might have to write this if no one else does.

- - - - -

eliot and hardison having a mini argument in the background getting parker in the car

[pikaflute]

i’m writing magcharles and i guess you can preview the beginning of this because I think it is actually quite good

Out of all the bands Charles has had the pleasure of working for: Dethklok is the most unique. That is probably the nicest way Charles can put it without giving himself a migraine. Dethklok has their quirks, and it seems like each quirk is just so they can drive their manager up a fucking wall. Thankfully, Charles has kept his composure so far, opting to scream into his pillow every night, but the boys do not make it easy for him. Between Pickles’ excessive drug and alcohol use, Nathan’s tendency to fall asleep during very important meetings, Skwisgaar’s incessant nagging, and Murderface’s insistence to put a hole in every surface in his office, Charles has kept it together. Barely, but he’s kept it together.

Then there’s Magnus Hammersmith. Charles reaches for the acetaminophen just thinking about him. It’s like whatever God is up there decided to punish him (Charles bets it on him being gay) for some reason with the most annoying man ever created. Magnus is the paragon of annoyance (and if Charles ever told him that his already massive ego would inflate) and it’s no wonder, Charles thinks, that his bandmates are constantly complaining about him. From Magnus’ tendency to lie about anything and everything, his aforementioned ego, his perfectionist attitude that halts music process, to that whiny tenor that shoots up an octave or three when he doesn’t get his way and may be giving Charles early tinnitus. Everything about Magnus is specifically made to make everyone suffer, and that curly haired asshole knows it. He revels in it, and that makes Charles’ migraine worse.

Someone needs to take him down a peg. And quickly.

Speaking of, said asshole is coming today. The calendar on Charles’ desk has a circle around today’s date, the 18th, with the words ‘Magnus’ in red pen. Next to the word Magnus is a sad face. That sums up how today’s meeting will go pretty nicely. As Charles reaches for the pills (extra strength this time, he’s going to need it), he hears the voice of his assistant Grace, coming from the speaker on his phone.

“Sir. Mr. Hammersmith is here.”

Charles will give Magnus one thing. At least he’s always on time. Charles’ presses the button to reply.

“Send him in please.”

A few moments pass by and he hears boots stamp towards his office. Then, the door swings open and in comes the source of Charles’ flaring tension headache. Magnus smiles at Charles, grin curling up mischievously. It reminds Charles of a cat.

“Chuck! How’s my favorite manager doing?”

“Don’t call me that. Sit down please. And I am quite alright, thank you.”

Magnus slumps down in the seat in front of Charles. He looks bored.

“So why did you call me from my very busy schedule. You know we have practice today.”

Lying already. Great. It was going to be one of those days. Charles taps his desk to stop himself from rubbing at his temples.

“Insurance forms and waivers. You were sick when I filled them out with the rest of the boys. So, you get a special meeting with me.”

“Ooh fun.”

“Quite.”

Charles pulls out a big stack of papers from his desk. Magnus’ eyes widen.

“Jesus Chu-“

“I am filling out most of these. I need you to fill out personal info. Please wait and we will be done with this soon.”

Magnus huffs but doesn’t do anything else. Very well. At least there was no witty remark this time. He begins filling out some basic preliminary information and reads through the heavy worded jargon. No matter what, Charles will never get tired of reading documents with loopholes and  hidden agreements interwoven into wall of texts that would make people’s head spin. Call him a nerd, but legal jargon gets him excited. Charles works up a good pace filling pages out (doing it four times before probably helped), however he stops when he hears an incessant tapping. He has a pretty good idea on where that’s coming from. He looks up at Magnus, sure enough tapping away some beat on the arm rest.

“Magnus.”

“Huh?”

“Tapping. Please stop that.”

“Figuring out a new beat.”

“Last time I checked you are not a man named Pickles,” Magnus goes to say something (probably about Pickles’ drum patterns being off) but Charles cuts him off, “If you are so desperate to keep to your busy schedule, I insist you keep quiet.”

“Whatever.”

The tapping stops after a scoff and an eyeroll from Magnus. Charles looks back down and gets back to work. Well that settles that for now. Except when a few minutes roll by and he hears a cup rattle on his desk, and then a shuffle of clothes and squeaky leather as if someone is readjusting themselves after pulling off the shittiest heist imaginable. Charles sighs. Magnus must think he’s stupid because this is the third time the man has tried stealing pens from his office. Charles let it slide the first two times, but if Magnus keeps this charade up, he’s gonna run out of pens. And to be quite honest, Charles likes his pens more than he likes the guitarist. Charles turns the page of the waiver and taps the desk to get Magnus’ attention.

“Put the pen you stole back.”

“What? Fuck you I didn’t steal shit.”

Charles looks up from the insurance waiver he’s writing and sighs. Fine. He’ll play this game. Charles gets up from his desk and moves to the front, standing in front of Magnus. Even when seated (and slouched in his seat) the guitarist is still pretty tall, so Charles doesn’t have to cast his glare too far down to ask for his pen back.

“Pen.”

Charles puts out his hand. Magnus gives a smirk.

“Yeah I got your pen right here.”

Magnus goes to pull something out of his jacket. Instead of Charles’ pen, it’s a middle finger. Very classy. And apparently according to Magnus, absolutely hilarious. But Charles isn’t laughing.

“Oh man! I got you Offdensen! You should see the look on your face!”

Between Magnus’ jeering, Charles grabs the offending hand. Two can play at this game. He squeezes.

“Haha-ow! That fucking hurts. Let go.”

Magnus pulls but Charles doesn’t let go. In fact, he squeezes even harder. Charles gives a faint smile when Magnus winces.

“Hey! That’s my fretting hand!”

Ah there’s that whiny tenor. Charles can hear his ears beginning to ring already. Charles eases up his grip a bit and puts his hand out again.

“Relax. You have insurance. My pen please.”

“Fine. Fine. Here.”

[infinite-rabbits]

Emergency: Please help

So this happened yesterday. I made a few posts of it here and was messing around on tumblr to distract myself from all of the stress, but now the seriousness of the situation is really hitting us.

My roommate and I are both out of work due to Corvid-19. We’re not sure if we’re getting paid for our time away and there isn’t much communication from our jobs. Yesterday we got hit hard enough from someone who was gunning it out of a parking lot that they totaled the car. I know this doesn’t look like a lot of damage, but apparently the frame is completely messed up and the insurance company is going to take the car and possibly give us enough to replace it??

The worst part about this is that we had barely enough money to last over the next two months being out of work. We had rent covered, food, and bills once we pooled our money together.

But now we have to loose a huge chunk of that money because he has to pay the deductible on the insurance.

So I’m going to do what I really wished I would never have to do. I have to ask for your help. Please, if you can donate anything at all, doesn’t matter how big or little it is, you can send it to me through my Ko-Fi: HERE Or you can IM me and I can give you the address my paypal is linked to. If you can’t donate, please please please just reblog this. The more people see it, the better.

Thank you for any help you can give, little or small, it means the world to us.

Full Story of what happened under the cut:

So uh... we ran out of bread last night and we're close to being out of PB&J. This morning we decided to go out and get some more because, well, it's hard to get ahold of because everyone's panicking and it's one of the main things in our diet right now. The roomie and I headed for Walmart, and while we were on a 2-lane road in the left lane, some douchenozzle shoves his way through the heavy traffic out of a parking-lot and rams us on my side. We weren't even going that fast. We were actually coming up to a stop-light, so my roomie was slowing down. He hit us hard enough to make us spin-out and do a full 180degree turn. The back passenger door was absolutely wrecked and I was lucky he didn't hit MY door, but because he hit my side, I'm really starting to hurt now. The back driver wheel hit the median while we spun and it actually hit so hard that it knocked the wheel itself off of the rim and scraped the metal. Somehow we didn't hit another car and we wound up in the right-hand lane completely turned around and facing the wrong direction. I was SO pissed that I got out of the car and screamed at the guy. Both of us were shaking and I was choking because when he hit us, some white stuff flew  into the car and I breathed it in. Still kinda choking on it. (Found out later it was probably the stirofoam that was under his bumper.) I manage to kinda stop traffic enough for us to get the car out of the lane and into the parking lot beside us, after which we realized that we couldn't drive any further because of the wheel being messed up. He stayed in the median and called for someone while we called the cops and the insurance company. Then I noticed there was a damn kid in his car. She was like, 2-3 years old and didn't look like she'd been strapped in because she was just climbing from the back to the front seat to see what was going on. He sped through fucking traffic and t-boned us with a kid in the back seat. This whole time, he's over there refusing to come and talk to us until someone else shows up. Turns out, he needs a translator. That's fine. In our area we get a lot of tourists so I just assumed he wasn't from around here. I would have assumed his car was a rental if it hadn't been for the brand new paper license plate. They get their car into the parking lot too and his bumper is all but falling off. A lady shows up to take care of the kid, which seems fine. But then another guy shows up. Then another guy. And Grandma shows up too. For some reason the whole family shows up and are hanging around while we wait for the cop. Normally I wouldn't care, but being surrounded by this many people while I'm already anxious was a bit much for me and made me uncomfortable. I'd already called a friend and cried over the phone with her and being surrounded made me feel stressed. Finally the cop shows up, gets our stories and our information, then goes into his car for basically an hour to have to fill everything out and get it all in order. Luckily we just get given a sheet of paper with all of the information we need on it. Then he glances at them and says to us, "They're gonna be pissed." He wound up getting a ticket among who knows what else because of his reckless driving. The cop leaves and they're visibly angry. Then one of the guys who showed up approaches us. Something about him immediately rubbed me the wrong way, like I got a bad vibe from him. He asks us if we're alright, and I tell him no because our car's wrecked and I'm starting to hurt. Then he tries to get us to lie. Like the dude straight up look sat my roommate and says, "If they ask what happened, tell them--" I have NEVER cut someone off so fast before. I told him: " NO. If they ask, we are going to tell them EXACTLY what happened." And this douche has the NERVE to say: "Well next time you really shouldn't be going so fast. Then you can stop when something like this happens." Like, he's legit trying to turn this around to be my roomie's fault. Keep in mind: we were coming up to a stop light. We were actively slowing down. The speed limit in there is 45. My roomie couldn't have possibly been going more than 35 at the absolute most, and even that's pushing it. I just GLARE at this guy and say: "NO. Even the COP said WE HAVE THE RIGHT OF WAY. HE hit US. You need to walk away." I'm... I'm tiny. I'm not even fully 5'6" and I'm sitting here in my stupid Jurassic Park tank top and hole-filled shorts just glaring daggers at this guy. Don't you dare come at me with your stupid scorpion gold chain necklace thinking you're all big and bad and thinking you're going to intimidate me when you're outright coming after my roommate. I'm a wuss when someone comes after ME and I'm by myself, but you put me in a room with people I care about and have someone go after them? All bets are off. Thankfully he just got pissed off and turned away. The whole family climbed into the back of their other van except for like two who went into the translator's car, and they all drove off. For like an hour. We were left sitting there trying to contact the insurance company again, making sure they got all of the files they needed, making sure they got their statements, and figuring out if it was getting towed tonight or not. Then the translator and one of the other guys show up and start messing with their van. First they back it up...and the bumper nearly completely falls off. Then they sit there for a few minutes and try to get it on. The guy driving it goes very slowly out of the parking lot, leaving his entire front in the right-hand lane for some reason while he's waiting to go and then finally does. The other guy on the other hand almost causes another accident. So he's behind a truck that's also waiting to turn out. When the truck goes to pull out, this dumbass SLAMS down on his gas, nearly rear-ends the truck, slams on his breaks, and then once the truck is out of the way, he zooms out of the parking lot without properly looking to make sure no one else is coming. I really don't understand it. But from the looks of things, they probably aren't going to be calling their own insurance company. The car wasn't even registered under the guy that rammed us. It was someone else's name of the same address. So he just wrecked someone else's newly bought car. All of it sucks, my roommate's car is totaled and we are gonna see if we're getting any money for it tomorrow, and I'm in pain so the insurance company is gonna have to send me a doctor over all of this. We're out $500 for the deductible and I'm.... honestly really frustrated. All of this because of Bread, Peanutbutter, and Jelly. Thankfully a friend of ours came to pick us up and also brought us those three things, but now the adrenaline is starting to wear off and I'm getting *really* tired. I'm going to get myself some coffee and try my best to focus on the one-shot I started before the crash just to keep myself awake for now. For the most part I was typing all of this here because it's a safe place to store the information in case I forget anything. But also I kinda wanted to let you guys know why I hadn't posted anything yet. I was saying I wanted to do one short-story a day and I fell behind yesterday because I was doing character-designs for one of the other stories. So I feel guilty falling behind today too. Even if I do have a good reason for it. Stay safe out there, everyone. It's getting really crazy.

[izzy-b-hands]

You Send Me: Chapter Two

A bad night that gets better, and a sign that maybe this tour will be special for more than just being Y/N’s first with Queen. 

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

The next day was a whirlwind. In part because you were fighting to be not behind on time anymore, and in part because...well. It was a tour with Queen. For it to not be a whirlwind would perhaps have been more unusual, as far as you knew. 

And this show was a rough one. Issues with the power, issues with instruments, and a crowd that, just as Freddie would get them hyped and standing, was immediately shouted at by security to simmer down. 

“Fuck!” 

The mic stand half flew in your direction, and you just managed to catch it as Freddie stomped backstage.

He stopped when he saw you, and for a moment his anger over the night seemed to pause. “Christ, did I nearly spear you with that?” 

“Good hand-eye coordination practice,” you replied, holding the mic stand half as if it were gold (and as far as you were concerned, it was.) “No harm, no foul.” 

“Sorry,” Freddie muttered, before dropping into the first chair he saw. “That would be a fitting end to the night. Running you off to hospital, because I accidentally stabbed you.” 

You hesitated. There wasn’t really anything good to say; the night was what it was, and there was no way to magically make it better. 

“Well, it was good dodging practice, in case I ever do anything to get myself fired.” 

Freddie had been glaring up at the ceiling tiles, but tilted his head back down to smirk at you as the rest of the band trickled into the room. “I like this one. He’s funny, the rest of you never are on nights like this.” 

“And why the fuck should we be?” Roger spat.

“Don’t,” Brian said sharply, and you winced as Roger whirled around.

Instead of shouting, he pouted, and sighed. “The rest of the shows will be better. They have to be.” 

“Who says that?” John asked and smiled, but the smile dropped along with the temperature in the room as the rest of the band glared in his direction. “Fuck’s sake. I was just joking.” 

“We’re all just tired,” Freddie sighed. “And frustrated. We should go before we tear this room to shreds.” 

“You were thinking of that?” Roger asked. “I thought I was the only one.” 

“No,” Brian responded as Freddie nodded. “Me as well. Would be satisfying to just...” 

“Lose it?” John finished the sentence with a raise of his brow. 

“That,” you said with a slight tremor in your voice. “Could be fun. But, and stay with me-” 

“What if we didn’t?” Freddie chuckled. “So you all don’t have to clean up after us? That’s a fair point. We’ll have to shake this off some other way.” 

“How?” Roger muttered as he changed, tossing his used clothes back into the suitcase they’d come from. 

“Let’s ask the American,” Freddie mused. “You know the place best. Where can we go to let off some steam?” 

“Uh,” you mumbled. “This is a big city, I’m sure I can find something. For now, maybe drinks and venting round the table together, I mean that’s what I do usually, well, I’m usually alone but I vent to myself and that’s helpful at times so maybe-” 

You stopped as you felt all of their eyes on you. 

“You willing to play Agony Aunt?” John asked.

“Me? I’d come with?” 

“Why ever not?” Freddie asked. “Your suggestion, you should come with. And you know just how bad the night was, seeing it from your side of things, so you can vent with us.” 

You hesitated. “The rest of the crew...” 

“Crystal!” Roger shouted into the hall.

“What?!” 

“Are you busy?” 

Crystal’s head popped around the doorway, and he gestured for you to bring him Freddie’s mic stand half. “No, just shutting down and cleaning up an entire fucking stage set, not busy at all. Do you need something, or is this one here incapable of helping you all?” 

“That’s what I mean,” Roger replied. “He’s gonna come listen to us bitch at the bar. Said it’ll be better anger management than tearing this room to bits and pieces. Think you can spare him?” 

Crystal looked at Roger, then at you, then back to Roger, his face a mix of confusion and frustration. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what you do with him, so long as you consider it him working and helping out.” 

“There,” Roger said with a grin. “They’ll be fine without you, you even have permission from one of the boss men. Come on, let’s go!” 

“I’m still changing!” John protested. 

Freddie hadn’t even started to change, still slumped in the chair, an arm tossed over his eyes. “John is still changing, and I will be. Eventually. Just relax, Rog.” 

Roger shook his head at you. “Musicians. Honestly.” 

Brian scoffed. “And what are you then?” 

“The man who didn’t take an hour to change out of his trousers,” Roger replied with a clap of his hands. “Come on, get moving! I need a drink.” 

It took another fifteen minutes and a lifetime worth of frustrated grumbling, but finally you all were out the door and on the way to the nearest bar. 

“God, fucking finally,” Roger muttered as the first round was brought to the table. “So, are you ready?” 

You nodded, though you weren’t really. You were used to friends venting to you, but this was essentially as if your bosses were using you as a temporary counselor. What should you say to certain complaints? What shouldn’t you say? Should you say anything at all, or just listen? 

“The fucking power,” John groaned. “How do you have a building that isn’t even that old, and you can’t keep the damn power on in it? I swear, the next venue that can’t keep the lights and electric on-” 

“You’ll promptly rewire their entire place?” Freddie interrupted with a smile. 

“I just might,” John sniffed. “I could.” 

“I don’t doubt that,” Freddie said. “And the security! What was their problem? I mean it, does America have something against people enjoying music?” 

It took you a moment to realize the question was directed at you. “Ah. No. I mean, not exactly. But I think they worry about the crowd getting out of hand more than anything else. That’s what security at my old venue always told me, at least. Said it could be dangerous to the band.” 

“They’re mostly kids though,” Brian said. “And even the older ones I mean...so what? A bunch of people our age, how much damage are they going to do?” 

“Crowds can, when they want to,” you admitted. “There was the night a chandelier fell, one of the last nights I worked the old venue...” 

In an instant, all eyes were on you. 

“Did it fall on anyone?” Roger asked. 

“No,” you replied, sipping politely at the beer you weren’t exactly thrilled with the taste of, but were grateful for nonetheless. “They just kept climbing up to it and yanking on it, any way they could, in their excitement and want to get ‘wild’ I guess, and not five minutes after the last patron was out of the auditorium area, down it went!” 

“What a shame,” Freddie murmured. “Was it insured? I’m sure it must have been, if the venue was an older one.” 

You winced. “It was. But that policy lapsed in 1946, and our boss never re-upped it.” 

They shared your wince at that. 

“I bet I can guess who got to clean it,” Brian smiled. 

“I bet you can,” you replied. “I still have a scar to show for it, actually.” 

They leaned in as you showed off a white and not yet fading scar on your wrist. “I slipped, on my knees picking up some of the glass that had been on it. Didn’t even feel it though until I my boss came in and gave me hell about the blood on the floor.” 

“Christ,” John murmured. “He helped you clean then?” 

You chuckled. “No. He told me to finish up, and then he brought me a first aid kit, a mop, some water, and a brush for the floor so I could clean the blood!” 

“Better that you’re with us now,” Freddie said. “We won’t put you on lone chandelier clean up, or let you bleed out on a floor.” 

“Among other benefits, like this round that is on me,” Roger said as a new round was brought to the table. 

“Oh no, I can-” 

But your protests were quashed each time, with varying defenses from ‘But it’s my turn to pay anyway, Y/N,’ to ‘We pay you so it would be like you paying us to drink if you pay for these. We’ve got it.’

You didn’t mean to drink so much, and you didn’t think the band meant to either, but it was a good thing you were all able to prop each other up as you made it to the hotel. 

“Careful!” Freddie cried as you stopped first at John’s room, helping Freddie to drop him on the bed. “He’s fragile.” 

“How so?” 

“He’s the youngest,” Freddie explained. “His mum worries about him, on tour, you know. It’s all very sweet.” 

“I’m sure your mum worries about you being on tour as well,” you replied, struggling not to slur your way through the sentence. 

He waved away your words as he led you back into the hall, to retrieve Roger and Brian from where you’d leaned them against the hall wall. 

Roger managed to get into his room on his own, giving you a monster of a hug before he did. “You’re a smart man, d’you know that? That was much better than breaking shit backstage.” 

Freddie helped free you from Roger’s grasp with a giggle, before waving him off to bed. “It was a good suggestion. Only thing we had to pay for was drinks, not damages!” 

“Not sure it was any cheaper,” Brian frowned.

“That’s John’s worry, and he’s sleeping,” Freddie protested. “We’ll worry about it later.” 

“I did try to pay for some,” you noted. 

They both shushed you as you all made it to Brian’s room, helping him slouch inside and find a glass of water before wishing him a good night. 

“Where is your room again?” Freddie muttered, looking down the hall as if it might magically appear. 

“I think it’s my turn to sleep in the van tonight,” you replied. To save on costs, each crew member took a turn either sharing a hotel room with other crew members, or would sleep in the van to make it one less room to have to rent. 

“No!” Freddie scoffed. “Absolutely not, it is freezing out!” 

“It’s August,” you giggled. “It can’t be freezing in August.” 

Freddie half led, half dragged you down the hall, then up the staircase to his room. “Well, it is freezing in here, I know that much. So you can’t sleep in the van, you’ll be too cold.” 

“That doesn’t track though,” you protested weakly with a laugh. 

“Would you really rather be in the van?” Freddie asked, and there were the deep brown eyes again, locked on yours. Not as intense this time, a bit tired, probably in part from the alcohol and from the overall exhaustion of the night, but just as captivating nonetheless. 

You shook your head, and let Freddie lead you into the room. 

“Take the other bed, if you want,” Freddie said before flopping face down on the other. “No idea why they got me a room with two. Maybe it was the only one left. Worked out though, I suppose.” 

You sat on the other bed, and giggled as you watched him roll back over. 

“What? Do I look that daft right now?” 

“You look cute,” you said, before you could halt your tongue. 

Before Freddie could reply, you continued. “That was out of line, I’m sorry, maybe it’s because I’m drunk, I haven’t gotten drunk in ages, but that’s no excuse, but you are really cute, and pretty? Your eyes are gorgeous, has anyone ever said? Well, surely they have, and that’s even more out of line, and-” 

Freddie struggled to his feet, only to stumble over and sit heavily beside you on the other bed. 

“Can I ask you something? And you have to answer me honestly, and I think you will, because I think you’d tell me anything honestly right now,” Freddie said. “Are you saying all that just because...” 

His gaze dropped to the floor, and you knew what he had been going to say. Because he was famous. Because he was who he was, the Freddie Mercury. A voice gifted from the gods, and performances that electrified anyone who saw them. 

“No,” you replied. “I’d say that no matter what. Because you aren’t...” 

It was hard to put into words, especially in your current state, but you tried. “I mean. You’re you, you know?” 

Freddie nodded, and you were so glad he was just as drunk so your drunken rambling made some sense.

“But...there’s a difference. Between Freddie Mercury on stage, and Freddie greeting fans, and then Freddie here, who drinks with me and keeps me company when Crystal tricks me into stupid shit,” you continued. “And I like them all. I’ve always liked the Freddie on stage of course, who wouldn’t? And you’re incredibly kind to every fan I’ve ever seen you meet.” 

You took a deep breath as one of his hands moved to yours, his long fingers moving yours to intertwine with his. “But I like this Freddie the best, I’m finding. You’re funny, and kind, and sweet to me. And I like talking to you, a lot.” 

Freddie’s eyes met yours again, much more focused than they had been in the hall. 

The kiss was soft as his lips, and his other hand moved to gently hold your face, the thumb brushing over your cheek. 

“Does that mean we get to talk more after this?” you asked after he had moved back away, your eyes still closed as they had been for the kiss. 

They burst open as he broke into laughter, his other hand still in yours. “Is that what you’d like it to mean?” 

You nodded. “Maybe more?” 

He nodded, but hesitantly. “This isn’t like-” 

“I know,” you said, and his brow raised. 

“Not because I’ve dated a rock star before,” you clarified. “But where I’m from...boys don’t...you don’t do this, what we just did, in public much. Not every one accepts, not many at all, so to be safe, you keep it quiet. Just for you and him and anyone who you feel safe to tell.” 

He smiled. “You have no idea how nice it is not to have to worry about that. Or then again, maybe you do.” 

You let your head slump against his shoulder, and nodded. “This isn’t going to end tomorrow, will it? It isn’t just because we’re drunk? Because I mean it, every word.” 

He pulled you close and sighed happily. “No. Not ending tomorrow. It isn’t happening just because we’re drunk. I promise.” 

You hoped desperately that it was really true. It wasn’t that you wanted to doubt him, it was just that in your experience, the doubt was often necessary and correct, and in the morning there was no boy to speak of or to, already gone with the sunrise. 

“We need to sleep this off,” Freddie mumbled. “What time is it?” 

“Early,” you said, looking at the clock on the wall that read 4 A.M. “Or late, depending on how you look at it.” 

Freddie snickered as he pushed you gently back onto the bed and flopped down beside you. “Maybe both.” 

“Both,” you agreed, and wrapped an arm around him, to match the arm he had already wrapped around you, pulling you close. 

“Morning is going to hurt,” Freddie muttered before his eyes fluttered shut. 

[lovelyirony]

Made up fic title: i keep praying all day (all day long)// I'm Alive, Ain't That Enough?//you complete me// (I'll send more when i think of em)

Bruce Banner doesn’t really pray, hasn’t since he was around eleven and prayed to whoever would listen to take him away from his family. Then the police came and there was a funeral for his mother and he had to lie on the stand and say that his father was a very nice man, yes he was! 

Prayer doesn’t solve anything. He supposes he knows that that is not the purpose, it’s supposed to help, but he just...doesn’t. It’s not the kind of help that he needs. Professional help is what he needs, but his insurance won’t cover it. 

For a while, life was actually...okay. He was a grad student all alone at Culver, working on science projects. Working on that high of a level means you meet other people like you. You bond over having train-tracks for braces when you were in high school and relentless bullying by kids who thought they were better than you. 

It’s kind of uncomfortable, how friendly people are when they know your circumstances. It’s weird that Bruce can ask someone if they just want to get lunch and there’s no double-edged sword hidden. 

This is how he meets Betty, who smiles and laughs like she’s enjoying every minute of life. She is. He asks her about that, how she’s so kind and nice. 

“If you can’t maintain kindness, how do you maintain anything else?” Betty asks. “I know what it’s like to have people make fun of me, and I don’t want that for anyone else.” 

Bruce loves her for that. He loves her anyway, like the way her eyes light up when their team plays Trivial Pursuit on Sunday nights and she knows the answer to the obscure pop culture trivia from the seventies. He loves her when she asks for an obscene amount of sugar in her coffee and makes little snacks for the middle of the day. 

He loves her when they’re lying in bed together and he can feel like his life is working out. 

There’s a ring planned. He hasn’t told anyone about that. Ever. 

Not since he got too confident and tried to harness a little power of God. Then he turned green, and that was enough. 

He couldn’t love Betty. He wouldn’t let her try to be nice and sacrifice what her life should be for what it would be. 

She wouldn’t like that he’s making that decision for her, but she would also probably say he was right. 

So he’s alone in the world. The government keeps trying to find him, but so far they’ve had no luck. They’re starting to get frustrated, and Ross can’t keep his task force on for very much longer. 

It’s sometimes fun, Bruce thinks. Sight-seeing with all this adrenaline and fear in his system. He finally makes it to Rome. He told Betty he always wanted to see the artwork. 

She told him about the chemical analysis work she did, and the little coffee shop underneath a tiled building that served the best espresso she’s ever had. 

He doesn’t find it. He’s not sure if that means anything. But he sits on a balcony and watches the sun rise and watches a guy give him a look that’s a bit too odd for Italy, and he knows he has to leave. 

Not a lot happens, until he makes it back to New York. Or rather, a redhead spy convinces him to help find a magic cube and promises that the Hulk isn’t the primary reason for having him on-board. 

On a gigantic, air-borne ship with pressurized air pressing in all around. Fucking great. 

He meets new people. Natasha Romanoff, known as Black Widow. She looks at him like he’s a brand new species, nearly. He’s seen that look before. But he also thinks that it’s different, because she can’t kill him and it’s known that Black Widow can kill just damn near about everyone. 

Captain America, a man so out of his depth that he can’t help but be the odd one out. He looks at everything and he’s confused, maybe by all the buildings and people and the fact that nothing is the same and it won’t be. Ever. 

Not gonna lie, Bruce is kind of glad that for once it’s not him that’s the Very Odd One Out. 

Tony Stark is a headache and a half, but Bruce finds himself not minding that so much. Tony doesn’t give a fuck about Hulk. 

Bruce knows why. 

It’s not because he’s a billionaire who thinks he’s immortal. No, Tony Stark knows that his mortality is unbearable. 

But he’s also of the type that would give his life if you casually asked him to. He smiles the way Bruce does when he needs to just get through something. It’s painfully familiar. 

Bruce thinks that maybe Tony Stark, if he had been at Culver, would’ve been invited to Trivial Pursuit Sundays. 

And then Thor. A giant man--a god, some say, but Bruce isn’t really keen on actually saying that--who is...different. 

He handles Hulk like a damned pro. He’s not easy to take down. And Bruce is a bit interested in his perspective of things, if they all survive the imminent alien invasion that’s set to take place. 

He really wishes he could get drunk. Or maybe just slightly buzzed. It would make this transformation shtick so much easier. 

But after everything, turns out they’ve won. Hulk is even tired. This has been the first challenge for him since...ever. 

They eat food together at a restaurant that really should be closed, but he’s too tired to care about it and sits next to  Tony, who’s still contemplating his own “small death” and a guy named Clint, who is apparently very good at shooting things with a bow and arrow. 

He catches Thor’s eyes, and he smiles. 

“You did well, Banner.” 

“Uh, thanks.” 

Because, you know. Eloquence. That’s exactly what Bruce has when faced with the king of Asgard and supposed god of thunder. 

But he doesn’t have to worry too much about that when he hops into Tony’s ridiculous-and-loud-sporty-vehicle and heads to a lab. 

“It’s gonna be Candy Land, trust me,” Tony says. 

“I don’t trust you, but I do trust that,” Bruce says with a laugh. Tony grins. 

“I think I’m gonna like you hanging around.” 

Bruce then figures out that Tony’s heart is about the size of the gigantic tower he’s built, because Bruce doesn’t have to go apartment-hunting. Or pay rent. 

“I can handle it,” Tony says. “Just try not to hulk out in the living room, there’s a custom art piece that was gifted to Pepper. She’s fond of it, but I hate it. So I guess in a roundabout way, as long as Pepper thinks that it’s an accident, feel free to destroy it.” 

“Noted,” Bruce says, bewildered. Tony talks extremely fast, hands making gestures to emphasize certain points. If he wasn’t so dedicated to inventing and building the future as the present, Bruce is almost certain that he would be quite a celebrated actor. 

After some time, it seems the Avengers drift together again. Natasha shows up for breakfast one morning, as if she’d been there the whole time. 

“Pass the preserves, Bruce,” she says. He does and goes to find Tony to ask when she got here. 

Tony yelps, rushes up, and scolds Natasha for not telling him. 

“I’m not done painting your room!” 

“What color?” 

“Olive green.” 

“Oh my god, no.” 

“It suits you! Pepper approved it and everything! So did Bruce!” 

“I did?” 

“Well, not really. I think you were in a science-induced haze and said yes to everything I asked. You said your favorite era was ‘yes’ so I thought that meant you liked all of them.” 

“Oh. It’s the seventies.” 

“Figures,” Natasha says. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bruce questions. 

“I guarantee all you have in your wardrobe is maybe four casual t-shirts and maybe one pair of jeans.” 

“I have two pairs of jeans, thank you very much.” 

“A man full of surprises,” she remarks, smiling coyly. “Tony, Clint’s coming at the end of the week. He’s finishing up a mission in Iran. Something about tracking down a woman for a gift.” 

“Well, best of luck to him and all that,” Tony says. “Do you think he’d liked striped pillows?” 

“Vertical or horizontal?” Bruce asks. 

“Horizontal. I’m not a heathen.” 

“Tread carefully,” Natasha says. “More than two is a no-go.” 

“Got it. Jarvis, be an absolute dear and put that in my notes?” 

“It should be common sense, Sir,” the AI responds, a bite of sass. Bruce smiles. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that. 

Clint trips out of the elevator, says he’s finding a bed, and Bruce doesn’t see him again until he goes to his room to change into one of the four casual t-shirts that Natasha says he has and finds the archer on his bed. 

“Well okay,” Bruce says. “Might as well.” 

Clint comes down for dinner and announces that Bruce has a very comfy bed, but should invest in more pillows. 

“You have, like, two.” 

“I don’t really sleep with pillows.” 

“You don’t?” Natasha asks, surprised. “That’s...bad.” 

“Why? Can’t handle that I don’t require pillows?” he teases. 

Steve comes next. He brings a nice old-fashioned suitcase, the kind that begs for stickers to be plastered all over it. He doesn’t have any, not yet. He tells Bruce that New York has changed, although the only real thing that he truly hates about it so far is the subway system. 

“Used to just get on,” Steve grumbles. “And security wasn’t as tight.” 

“You still manage to get around it?” Bruce asks, amused. 

Steve’s cheeks turn red and they find out that “America’s Darling” hasn’t gotten a MetroCard, doesn’t like paying for it. He’s been finding different areas under construction or charmed certain officers into letting him pass. 

“Please tell me you used your lack of technological information,” Tony begs. Steve blinks. 

“No, I haven’t. But I’ll use that for next time! That’s a good idea!” 

They fool Steve into trying wasabi that night. It’s the hardest Bruce has heard Natasha laugh. 

-

A couple of months go by. They get comfortable with each other, close in a way that Bruce has never been. Clint gets him snacks without even asking. Just comes up to his room, sets the hummus and pita chips on the bed and asks if they can watch the cool documentaries. 

Then Thor comes back. He’s been dealing with a lot of ruling technicalities, although his father has regained strength. 

“He seems more active,” Thor says, grinning. “I think he’s going to try and interact with the community more.” 

“That’s nice,” Bruce says. 

Thor is...different. Not just because he pretends he doesn’t know what a microwave is because he wants to hear Steve’s rantings all about how “the microwave is the absolute best thing the twenty-first century has done, are you kidding me?! Who cares about anything else?” 

Not just because he speaks with a lilted accent and sees with eyes that are older than they actually know. He talks about meeting humans thousands of years ago, talks about how no one could have imagined what would come for the future. 

It’s because Bruce pays more attention to him. To his arms, the way he says things, and everything else. 

But it’s fine. Things are fine. He’s focusing on doing some of his lab work and trying to make Tony see that a Rocky Horror Picture Show movie night would be beneficial to the team. 

(And not just because he bet Natasha forty bucks that he could get Steve to dress up as Dr. Frank-N-Furter for Halloween, but mostly because of that.) 

The days get shorter, the nights get longer, and the weather is colder. Bruce can’t say he really likes it. He’s been living in the cold a long time. Tony, arguably, handles it the worst. 

“I have decided I think we should all move to the west coast,” Tony announces, shedding four of the six layers he’s put on himself. 

“And what, become the West Coast Avengers? Sounds lame as fuck,” Clint says with a snort. “Who would want to make that?” 

Bruce nods. 

“You’ll be fine, Tony. Get some blankets and some hot cocoa.” 

Thor is the Avenger who loves the season the most, arguably. Steve’s more a Christmas fanatic, and has been blasting Bing Crosby ever since the end of Thanksgiving. 

(Natasha has been a Christmas Music Purist, and this was getting on her nerves until December first, when she rolled into the kitchen blasting “All I Want for Christmas is You.”) 

But Thor loves seeing snow, loves walking out to get a hot chocolate and seeing the city during the cold. He thinks the jackets are intriguing. 

He also doesn’t really need one. He just wears a long-sleeve sweater and calls it good. 

Bruce thinks he looks great. 

“You want to get some hot chocolate with me?” he asks Bruce one afternoon. It’s been slow today, and Bruce hasn’t been able to focus on anything. 

“Why not?” Bruce says with a shrug. “Let me get my stuff on.” 

Bruce prepares well for the trip. He gets his boots on, a heavy jacket, and a hat and gloves. Thor smiles. 

“I like the hat, Bruce.” 

“Thank you,” Bruce says. “Present from a cousin.” 

They walk out into the freezing cold, and Bruce can feel his nose immediately turn red from the air blowing wildly. It’s the kind of cold that cuts right to your bones. 

“I wish I was like you,” Bruce says, sighing. “It’s too cold.” 

“I like it,” Thor says. “Reminds me of how much my brother and I loved the cold. We had a holiday during this time as well. The cold.” Bruce nods. 

They get to the shop, frequented by over-stressed college students and a pair of old men playing checkers in the corner, books tossed aside. 

Bruce orders cocoa with Thor, and they sit down. 

Thor is a surprisingly good conversationalist. Well, not really surprising. Bruce has seen him mingle at parties, able to talk to anyone with no sense of nerves. But what he is surprised about is that Thor can follow along with the work he’s doing, even going to suggest his own theories or knowledge from Asgard. 

“When did you get an interest in all this?” Bruce asks. Thor smiles. 

“I have to be well-rounded to assume the throne. To not be knowledgeable is to be a foolish king. But I like knowing about life and it’s creation. Our scientists are also very...interesting. They make the best drinks.” 

“Chemists here,” Bruce responds, laughing. “I had a couple of friends like that.” 

Bruce learns about Asgardian drinking games, the kinds of food they have for their holidays, and what Thor misses most. 

“I do like earth, however,” Thor says. “Your people are less--oh damn, I can’t think of the word.” 

“That’s okay,” Bruce says. “I get it.” 

And he does, to a certain extent. Thor grew up as a member of the royal family, his father a legend even to other people. 

Hot cocoa trips become a regular occurrence, until it starts to get a bit repetitive and Bruce offers to show Thor some breakfast meals that are good, like peanut butter and banana-cinnamon toast. 

They cook for each other. Bruce shows him some meals. 

The thing that makes Bruce realize Everything is when Thor brings some kind of fruit from Asgard. 

“You have to try this,” Thor says excitedly. “It’s the best fruit ever.” 

And Bruce realizes that he loves Thor. That he wants to take him to dinner, to kiss him breathless, and to go on romantic dates that involve candlelight and soft laughter and and and--

Oh shit. 

It feels complete, somehow. 

Bruce smiles at Thor, and thanks him. 

“This is special,” Bruce murmurs. “I appreciate that you went all the way there.” 

“No big deal,” Thor says, smiling. “Not when I care about you so much.” 

There’s something else there, but Bruce thinks his bias might be showing. He brings Thor into a hug. 

“Well unfortunately for you, I have no magic ability to summon myself to any other part of the country to get you a specialty, so making black bean soup tonight will have to do.” 

“My favorite!” Thor cheers. 

“Exactly why I’m making it, a favorite for a favorite,” Bruce teases. 

Thor smiles at him, and Bruce knows that there’s no going back. 

He helps chop the celery and strain everything for the soup. Bruce hums to an old song that Thor sometimes sings on rainy days, when everything is gloomy and comforting. 

“You hum beautifully,” Thor says, sweeping the vegetables into the pot. “I enjoy hearing it each time you cook.” 

“Then I’ll cook more often,” Bruce says, smiling. “I think Pepper requested a chicken dish from us tomorrow.” 

“Who knew we’d be such a great cooking team?” he teases. 

Bruce turns on music, and Thor sways to the beat. He likes the older music more, including the old-school love ballads. 

It’s Nat King Cole, one of Bruce’s favorites. 

He sings “L-O-V-E” in the most ridiculous voice and prances about the kitchen, and this is what this song is for. 

They dance together, soup be damned. Bruce laughs as his socked-feet slide on the floor, pushing his body more towards Thor’s. 

The song ends with Thor dipping Bruce low, breathing only a bit faster. He looks up, and decides to go for it. 

“You gonna kiss me?” 

Thor is an excellent kisser, Bruce decides. 

“Been wanting to do that for ages,” Thor says. “I was actually going to ask if you wanted to go on a date Friday.” 

“I would love that,” Bruce says. “What time? I have a meeting at lunch.” 

“Dinner then,” Thor decides. “The burger place we went to a couple weeks ago? You liked their sauces.” 

“Ooh, good choice,” Bruce says, smiling. “I would love that.” 

They smile at each other as they dish out the soup. It’s nice, honestly. Thor lingers a little bit closer, and Bruce holds on for a bit longer. 

He may not believe in prayer. But he doesn’t need to, not when he has this family that’s come together and a love that’s unmatched. 

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

Alright y’all, I’m gonna post the prologue to this N. Hischier thing I’ve been working on. Please please please tell me if you like it so I know whether to invest the time and energy! Also, all the German is mine, so if it’s bad, it’s because I haven’t practiced German in six years, sorry.

Rating: T

Pairing: Nico Hischier/Reader

Words: 1414

Warnings: alcohol, blood, vague abuse reference

Requested: yes/no

Summary: This isn’t how you expected the wrap party to go, but here you are.

The pain is immediate and knocks the wind out of you; or more into you, with the way it makes you gasp. You feel more than hear the crunch, and that would make you worry if you could think anything other than “ouch”. Except the dude who hit you is talking, so you should say something back, and it’s pretty lucky you speak German cause this guy either doesn’t know English or is too panicked to remember it.

“Mir geht’s gut!” you reassure him, making a placating gesture with the hand not holding the blood in your nose, “Schmerz wie eine Miststück, aber es wird mir gut gehen.” It hurts like a bitch, but I’ll be okay. Speaking German comes naturally after the first sentence or so, once your brain gets with the program. It helps that German makes a whole lot more sense than English, in pretty much every way.

“You should let me take you to the hospital,” he continues in what’s clearly Swiss German, making abortive movements like he wants to reach out and help but isn’t sure his touch would be welcome. Someone at the table he seems to be with hands him some napkins, which he passes to you. Your shirt is already ruined, but the napkins help control the flow of blood so it doesn’t ruin anything around you.

“No, it’s fine,” you insist, surprised at how well you’re speaking, “The hospital is literally down the street, I can walk.” You leave out the part where your nose is definitely broken, because the guy already looks like he’s on the verge of a panic attack.

“Hey, Switzerland v. Germany,” another guy from the table calls, standing and looking at the guy who’d elbowed you in the face like a little brother he’s responsible for, “Pretty sure someone should be taking this chick to the ER.” Usually being called a “chick” would annoy you, but he says it so neutrally it’s somehow not at all irritating.

“I’m trying to take her,” Elbow-guy responds, almost defensive. If they looked at all alike, you really would think they were siblings.

“There’s a 24-hour Urgent Care down the street,” you say, adjusting the napkins as the blood refuses to stop, “I can walk myself.” You’re not exactly a wilting flower. They probably can’t see that, though, because of the leather jacket you’re wearing-- which is totally ruined now too, fuck. They’re probably misunderstanding the thickness of your thighs and bagginess of your shirt as hiding extra softness, rather than meaning you could bench press or squat any one of them. Not that that says anything about your pain tolerance, ‘cause often the big strong guys are the ones who cry at any pain. The number of tattoos littering your body however, that does say a little something.

“I’ll let all of you walk with me if y’all just let me go,” you huff, because the point of the matter is that you need to go get your nose set and this is getting kind of ridiculous.

“Good, I’m coming then,” Elbow-guy says immediately, taking a resolute step forward. You shrug and shoot a text to your friends at the bar as you head toward the door. Elbow-guy rushes ahead to open and hold the door for you. You look to the side and make momentary eye contact with Big-brother-guy before you both roll your eyes.

You really have no idea why you’re calling them Elbow-guy and Big-brother- guy when you know exactly who they are. Calling them by their names just seems… weird? Like “Nico” and “Taylor” seems too familiar, but “Mr. Hischier” and “Mr. Hall” seems oddly formal, y’know? Probably best to stick with Elbow-guy and Big-brother-guy.

“I’m really sorry,” Elbow-guy says, and he seems sincere, except now all you can think about is how weird it feels to call him Elbow-guy.

“It’s fine, dude,” you reassure him again, “It’s not like you did it on purpose. You’re not like some serial face-elbower.” You mean it as a joke, but his face seems conflicted. Big-brother-guy laughs, though, so that’s good.

“Yeah, you caught us,” he jokes back, “We’re out prowling the bars, looking for just the right face to elbow.” You smile and, not one to be outdone, continue the ribbing.

“I mean, there are a lot of factors,” you say, faux-serious, “The nose itself, the person it’s attached to, the way they sound when they have to breathe out of their mouth…”

“Oh yeah,” Big-brother-guy grins in that big-brother way, “How fun they’ll be to walk to Urgent Care-- how close you are to an Urgent Care-- it’s a whole thing.” The two of you laugh, yours infinitely worse than his with the whole ‘breathing through your mouth’ thing. Elbow-guy looks annoyed but also like he’s trying not to laugh when he mutters “I hate you” under his breath. You and Big-brother laugh again.

“Man, first you break my nose, now you say you hate me?” you try to act offended, but you can’t quite stop smiling, “I’ve been taken to dinner for less.” You weren’t kidding when you said the place was right up the street, the sign already burning bright a scant few yards away.

“Well,” you stop in front of the door, “This is my stop. Thanks for the company.” You give a little mock-salute and turn to open the door. You hear the two of them talking in hushed tones behind you, but you let the door shut them out and head toward the check-in.

The secretary is kind enough, definitely tired but not outright nasty. She takes your ID and insurance card and scans them, going about the usual song and dance of figuring out coverage and co-pays and all that bullshit. You hand over your card for the co-pay, idly weighing the pros and cons of carrying more cash on you, like you have a thousand times before. She instructs you to take a seat “with your boyfriend”, which is super weird, until you turn around and see Big-brother is still there. You don’t bother correcting her before you go plop down in the chair to his left.

“You like sports?” he asks, just too intentionally casual. You laugh, even though the situation isn’t particularly funny.

“I’m not gonna, like, sue him,” you assure him, kind of loving just how much he fits the Big Brother role.

“Yeah, everyone always thinks that,” he says, trying for smarmy, probably, but ending up bitter. You would wonder how often people try to bring up litigation against players, but it’s really none of your business, and you have enough to worry about already, so you push it out of your mind.

“Dude,” you sigh, “I have insurance, so I don’t need help with bills. I’m kind of trying to make my own name for my own work, so a scandal is pretty much the opposite of what I want. Also, I’m not an asshole. Your boy is safe.” A tech opens a door from the opposite side and calls your name, so you stand and walk backward toward the door.

“Go back to the bar,” you say, “Have a drink for me.” You turn as soon as you’re finished talking, not keen on also running into something tonight.

The exam goes about as well as it can. Your nose is broken, but nothing too severe. They bandage it and a kindly-looking woman comes in and asks you all sorts of questions about who you live with and how they treat you and all about your “boyfriend”. You just grin and bear it, reminding yourself to be glad this process exists for those who need it, and to be grateful that you don’t need it.

Once you’re all wrapped up and ready to go, you stop by the check-out counter, which is just the back side of the check-in counter. At this time of night on a weekday, it’s the same secretary, and she talks excitedly about “those sweet boys” who have apparently left you flowers, which, where the hell did they get a bouquet of carnations at midnight on a Tuesday? The more important part seems to be the slip of paper tucked among the petals, with nothing but a phone number and the message “call me any time :) -Nico”. You roll your eyes and shove the paper in your jeans pocket with no intention of ever using it, but can’t bring yourself to toss the flowers.

[doinurmommy]

Not to be like oh I’m gonna kms but... and not to assume anybody cares enough to read this lmao tw for suicide talk

Im really honestly straight up on the verge of it. I have lupus, I have severe nerve damage in one of my feet after surgery earlier this year, I’m autistic with severe sensory issues and I’m pretty much constantly in pain. I struggle to make it through shifts at work and according to the government I’m not disabled. I can’t pay off my medical bills at all and I have bad credit bc my medical bills have been piling up since I turned 18 and a lot have been sent to collections. I’ve been taking more shifts on at work but I constantly feel like shit. I went to my neurologist appointment today and my doctor decided to take two weeks off without rescheduling any of his appointments. So my medical issues themselves are piling up bc I can’t get in to doctors to have them taken care of.

On top of that I just have really horrible luck all the time. I cannot stress that enough. I had to replace one of my car lightbulbs 4 times in a month and got a fix it ticket for it on my way to work. I had to buy new tires because I got a flat and my tires were old and one of my tires popped not even a week later and I had to isolate bc I got exposed to covid so I couldn’t take my car back to the shop in time to get a refund for that tire. This car is mew to me, I got in a serious car accident back in March that totaled my car bc some guy decided not to pay attention and run a red light. Due to the shut down in March I went without a car until June, and the hospital won’t bill my insurance right for my hospital visit so that bill got sent to collections when it shouldn’t have. And then I’m June I stepped on a sewing needle and had to have it surgically removed from my foot. I had to wait two weeks with the needle inbetween my bones to get it removed due to covid backing up “unnecessary” surgeries. Then when I got surgery to have it out they couldn’t find the needle even with the portable X-ray machine and dug around in my foot for two hours when the surgery was supposed to take 45 minutes. I went back to work and my manager made me take the people I take care of for walks around the neighborhood bc she was too lazy to take them. This caused my foot to reopen and get infected. All of this caused serve permanent nerve damage in my foot my foot is numb and extremely painful still. I have a 4 inch long extremely hard scar on my foot now. I haven’t been able to get it taken care of at the neurologist. My old manager wrote me up so many times I was on the verge of being fired and I have worked here for two years and never been written up before. That’s despite me having doctors notes. Then I got whooping cough and had to be out of work again.

A lot of other bad stuff has happened besides these things I just have horrible luck in general and today I accidentally cut off half of my fingernail while shaving. Which is just one of a lot of bad things to happen this week and every week. My hair is falling out and I have extreme joint paint due to my lupus and have been having serve memory loss and confusion and very serve sensory problems due to me being autistic. I’ve been through a really rough break up this year. I didn’t get a stimulus check from even though I was supposed to or get paid any extra. I don’t qualify for disability temporary or otherwise.

I also had to quit my apprenticeship and I’m looking for a new one. My old mentor showed myself and a minor pornography and it was a really bad situation.

I just don’t know how much more I can take. That’s not even including everything that happened leading up to this year. Every time I think maybe something good will happen it gets worse. Everyone either says that it hHAS to get better at some point which just isn’t true and not helpful. Or they say shit like “wow you must have been a really bad person in a past life to deserve all of this” which is just so fucked up bc I didn’t do anything to anyone. I’m not a saint I’m not the best person but I try my best and I try my best to stay positive I just can’t take it anymore. I can’t even stand the thought of literally anything else happening to me it’s ridiculous. It’s just getting to the point where I just don’t think I can take it anymore and would rather be dead than have to get up another day ://

[monochromemedic]

This isn’t finished and probably wont be but i wrote alot so

Benny Benny Benny Benny BENNY I shifted the revolver in my hands, moving it from hand to hand as I moved with Arcade and Boone, trying to track down Benny after I tried to let him go.   Forgive and forget.  Be the bigger man. Turns out Benny was a lying asshole and sent in his cronies as he left for god knows where. And when raided the Legion I saw him tied up with the asshole in charge himself but when I went to get him after it all he disappeared.   It was becoming a trend.  I see him, Benny fucks me over and runs away. When I saw him in the Tops I noticed how he talked, how he walked, how hot he thought his shit was when actually he seemed like a dork. I joked about it with my friends, trying to cover the anger and frustration I felt but we all knew how upsetting it was.  But we always seemed to find his trail.  Then again it wasn’t that hard since he constantly kept his checkered suit on. And now we were following the trail again. After everything in Vegas... after Hoover dam, we still hadn’t found him. And so I took my two best friends, and traveled with the Followers of the Apocalypse, abandoning them for a moment at the sound of a smooth talker in a checkered suit.  Usually Arcade would stay with the Followers, trying to guide the group or halt them until I came back. Or guiding them to where I heard Benny had went. After all, America was fucked and they could use help everywhere, so it didn’t take much persuasion. Meanwhile Boone and I ran ahead, the urge of vengeance driving us both. Why Boone was so pissed off as well was weird, since it was my problem, but it seemed like he was just as eager to put a bullet in his head as I was. But this time... the trail was strong. Arcade was getting sick of us chasing ghosts and wanted to end it as much as I did and followed us. Benny was hold up at some... pleasure house. One for real fancy rich folks and had been there for a while under some alias but slipped up one too many times with saying his real name.  It was enough for me but when we learned that he kept favoring one girl in the club and took up a more permanent room we knew it was our chance. He’d be there for a while or at least planned to. We needed to move when he was settling down The three of us stood in the lobby of the hotel, women and men walking by in seductive get ups, some lounging on couches and beds beckoning a few of us to join in for the right amount of caps. I walked to one of the men who, rolled his hips seductively to the low music playing from a jukebox not too far away, a smile on his lips. “Hey baby, you looking to relieve some tension? Those boys of yours not fufilling you’re needs? I got you... Name’s Johnny Flood. You wanna know how I got that last name?” I cleared my throat and stared at Johnny, concealing the small revolver in a pocket. “Not today, but I do need you for some information.” “Hmm and what would man like me know?” I looked over Arcade who stepped up beside me. “Do you happen to know a man of Danny that’s been staying here recently? Black hair, strange way of talking like he’s trying too hard to be cool. Owns a black and white checkered suit?” “I’m sorry but that’s the Temptation Palace’s secret, we can’t give out that kinda information to just anyone.” Johnny teased “What if we paid you?” “Well... maybe i’d be willing to let my lips squeak out a bit of info...”  I pushed my hands in my pocket and held out a bag of caps to Johnny, shaking it slightly so he knew that it was legit. “200 caps. Just for anything you know about the guy.” Johnny’s eyes widened as he took the bag and opened it, smiling at the sight of the shiny caps within before pocketing it and begging us with a finger to follow him. He lead us to a spare bedroom, closing the door behind us as he sighed and sat on the bed, his flirtatious facade fading a bit. “I do know a bit about him. Not alot but, i’ll be an open book about what i know baby. What’s he to you? He’s your husband?” I shook my head and eyed the room, checking to see if it was really secure. Boone was already doing the same, so I knew that he’d keep a look out while me and Arcade chatted him up. “No... he might as well be with the amount of times he’s fucked me.” “Can we not say that joke in front of strangers?” Arcade interjected before I continued. “He did some bad things to some people, and I just wanna talk and settle the score. I don’t want him hurting anyone else.” Johnny face fell a little, rubbing his face nervously. “Damn... well... alright. What I know about Danny is that he’s been hanging around Peaches way too much.  I mean I was happy for her that she was getting a steady job but now that your saying that I guess I have noticed he’s a bit weird. I wear i’ve seen a gun on him but I always thought it was just for a little protection but It’s kinda big.” “Is it engraved?” “I couldn’t tell you, I never got that close. Just sort of seen the handle peaking out of the hem of his pants at times so I just assumed it was a gun in his pants and not his dick.” I looked at Arcade who, gave a tired sigh before continuing “Is he still here?” “Danny? I think so. Then again it’s hard to tell who comes and goes when you’re in and out of bedrooms. But he does seem to have a little room to himself that he rented. Only hardcore costumers do that so, I’d assume he planned on staying for a while longer. If you wanna talk to him he’s on the 3rd floor, I think it’s room 307. You might need a key to get in if you wanna... do anything.” I gave a slight nod and headed for the door, giving Johnny thanks for his information. Boone already had the door open. He got the information he needed. “W-wait.” I turned to Johnny, who became a bit nervous. “Listen I don’t know what you’re gonna do to him, probably nothing good but... this place is good and Peaches is a good girl. Make sure she’s safe and... if your gonna ... kill him then try not to be so loud. The Temptation Palace is suppose to be a place for people to relax and murder is one thing that turns alot of people off.” Boone only gave a quick, “No promises” as he left as I gave a more helpful answer. “I’ll keep her safe. And believe me, i’ll be as quiet as a mouse.” I stood outside with Arcade and Boone at my side as we kept silent, walking up the stairs to the third floor with one mission in mind. Even though we didn’t speak, we know we didn’t have to. There wasn’t anything to talk about that wasn’t what we already from talking about the situation night after night. I felt the goosebumps begin to form on my skin, and a shutter of adrenaline fall over me.  I wonder if he could feel it too. The dread... the anticipation. When we got to the door it was locked but a few tries with a bobby pin caused it to open, a small creak from the hinges as we entered the dimly lit room, seeing Benny in his underwear, drinking at a small bar full of liquor. I could feel the scar begin to ache at the irony of it all, how similar this all was seeming. Just like the first time. “You’re like a damn cockroach you know that babes? I keep on stomping you out but you just keep on coming back no matter where I head.” Benny’s voice seemed to echo in the darkness. I raised my pistol at him, anger filling my mind and my body. All I wanted was to pull the trigger and end it, but I forced myself to stop. I still had questions. I always did. “Hard to hide when you never change your look from that dumb suit you wear. You really gotta try harder, it’s like you wanna be found.” “Maybe I do... maybe I do.” He took a swig of what was left in his glass and began to poor a half empty bottle of whiskey to refill it, before turning to me. As soon as he turned Boone and Arcade raised their concealed guns as well, causing Benny to chuckle. “Damn baby, you  got that whole gang back together. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t flattered about the reunion but you caught me in my birthday suit.  I wouldn’t go and try to chum me up or else I might just start turning red.” “Jesus can you shut up already. Jenna take the shot and just end this.” Arcade barked out “We have him, we can’t let him get away again, just end it.” “Arcade stay out of this.” Boone growled back, “You don’t know what it’s like?” “What wanting to shoot an idiot? Because if that’s the case then you’re mistaken because I want to do that every day.” Benny sipped his whiskey and laughed, placing the glass on the counter with a smarmy grin on his face “I always love to see two broads going at each others throats... all just for me, i’m flattered.” “Shut up Benny” They both barked back, turns fixating back at the man I walked forward, inching closer and closer to Benny’s body until I was just a foot away. He looked a little weathered but otherwise the same.  It seemed that running away from the constant mob of people chasing him was taking it’s toll. Good. “Why? I gave you a chance back at the Tops and you threw me under the bus. You think I wouldn’t be good for it? You never thought that sometimes people can be the bigger man and forgive? Now look at you. Alone, no casino, no chip, in a random sleezy hotel miles from home because you couldn’t accept the fact that I wanted to give you a second chance. Now i’m all out of chances Benny and i’m pretty fucking pissed.” “No one gets out scott free, not you, not me, not no body. I couldn’t take the chance of a backstab when I had the cards in play. It was just precaution, nothing more. You think too hard, i’m surprised that you haven’t broken that head of yours with all that thinking you must be doing, thinking there’s some bigger meaning. It’s a dog eat dog world, and sometimes killing friends is the best way to insure the dog’s don’t bite the hand that feeds, you dig? You’d probably do the same if you were where I was sittin.” “‘Maybe Khan’s kill people, but I ain’t a fink, you dig’“ “Dirty. Using my own words against me like that.” Benny said, a bit of venom in his tone. “So now what. You gotta pull the trigger and put me in a shallow grave? Cause you better do it quick or i’ll finish this entire bottle of whiskey while you’re mulling it over again.” My finger that hovered over the trigger began to quiver as I pushed it down against the smooth metal of the gun. Just a simple reaction, a little push and it’d be over. Benny would be dead in front of me. So why the fuck couldn’t I do it? I tried to force my finger down but the more I tried the more my hand tensed up, the harder I felt it getting to swallow. He ruined my life, my memory, everything who I was before the bullet.  He deserved it right?  “Come on doll face, just do it.” He urged, making me try again only to no avail. I took a step back, my head aching and my eyes beginning to tear up. I couldn’t speak, it all felt so wrong, so... bad. I was so tired of chasing but so tired of the blood constantly on my hands.  “Jenna...” I turned to Boone, a look of concern on his face. “C...craig.” I whimpered back, shame overcoming me as Benny gave a somber exhale. “Can’t even do it. That’s sad pussycat, real sad.” Benny muttered, starting to get up only for Arcade to jump forward and hit him with handle of the gun, causing him to yelp and fall against the ground, a stream of blood coming from his temple. “Stay down or I will put a bullet right between your eyes.” Arcade growled, keys focused on Benny. He gave a cautionary glance at me before speaking. “We can’t play this game forever Jenna. You either have to be the one to do it, or we will. I don’t know how it’s difficult for you since this guy is a major pain but... it needs to be done. It’ll be better for everyone if we just bookend this.” “You can’t just take that away from her. You either let her do it, or let her decide who gets to.” Boone told Arcade