#and no parking away from trees isn’t an option.

[vampiremourning]

My car is parked in the street & covered in sap, meaning it needs a wash. Unfortunately this sap has also attracted a legion of Wasps to just hang out on it so. That’s what’s stressing me out today.

[stervrucht]

[AO3]

David Bowie plays on the radio and Steve drums his fingers along the steering wheel of his car as he contemplates. He is truly too good for this world. Now he is running errands for Dustin like some common soccer mom. The kid only had to give him one pout – one! – and Steve felt all his resistance crumbling. So, there he is on a Friday evening, seated in his still-running car in a Hawkin’s trailer park.

He stops his car in front of Eddie’s trailer and listens to the music as he gathers the willpower to leave the car.

Laughed at his long black hair, his animal grace, Bowie sings on the radio. 

How fitting

Outside, dusk is setting in and the world colors purple. Closing up Family Video had taken longer than he anticipated due to a difficult customer who couldn’t decide between The Thing and The Nightmare on Elm Street and had asked Steve extensive questions to make up his mind. 

Steve used to be fine with horror movies, but given recent developments (give or take his life the past few years), he isn’t into horror anymore. Out of the two, The Thing is probably the worst offender. Those crazy fleshy monsters hit a bit too close to home. Although, Freddie Krueger does have some vague Vecna vibes to him.

Steve is so lost in thought he doesn't notice the door of the trailer open until Eddie knocks on his window with his knuckle. With a jolt, Steve turns to roll his car window down. Once it is fully open, Eddie leans forward, his arms resting on the car.

“Sup Harrington.” Eddie’s hair falls forward and the low-cut tank top reveals his chest, framed by the silver chain of a guitar-pick necklace. 

Shaved, Steve notes.  Then, realizing he is staring, he tears his eyes away, coming face to face with Eddie Munson who gives him an amused look.

“Oh uh, right” – Steve coughs nervously – “Dustin asked me to give you this…” he unbuckles his seatbelt and leans over to the passenger seat where he grabs the cardboard box of some nerdy game.

“Here–” He hands the box to Eddie’s outstretched hands.

“Hell yeah, Talisman. Took Henderson long enough.” Eddie pushes himself away from the car and inspects the box for a moment. When he turns back to Steve, his eyes move towards the car radio.

“I didn’t take you for a Bowie fan.”

“Oh, I’m not really … Robin must have left it in. It’s … alright, I suppose.” 

“And what type of music does Steve find more than alright?” 

Eddie flashes him a cheeky smile and Steve finds himself somewhat intimidated. Whatever his answer, someone like Eddie will probably find it lame. Steve isn’t all that passionate about music anyway and mostly listens to whatever is on the radio.

“Maybe Queen, The Bee Gees…” he lists in no particular order.

Eddie tuts. “Such a proper boy.”

Although he expects it, Steve still winces.

“I should introduce you to some real music,” Eddie says thoughtfully, then – “Wanna come in?”

Steve takes a moment to think. His parents are out, so it isn’t like he’s expected at home. He has nothing to do tonight except watch some movies (perks of the job). Although the prospect of hanging out with Eddie doesn’t thrill him, it might be the more interesting option.

“Sure,” Steve turns his car off, rolls the window back up and opens the car door. Eddie takes a step back, giving Steve some room to get out. 

Eddie’s eyes move to his chest and Steve realizes he is still wearing the stupid Family Video vest. He quickly takes it off, crumples it and unceremoniously throws it in his car before shutting the door again. With a quick turn of his key, the car is locked.

Steve follows Eddie towards the trailer. It is a warm summer’s night and the shadows of the trees grow long under the purple sky. The trailer park is surrounded by ample woods and fields from which the sound of crickets flares up.

“You coming?” Eddie waits for him at the door. Steve doesn’t realize he stopped moving and quickly makes his way to where Eddie is standing.

“After you, King Steve,” Eddie says, holding open the door with a dramatic bow.

Damn, Eddie is kind of annoying, isn’t he? No wonder Dustin gets on so well with him. Two peas in a pod. Steve lets out an unamused scoff.

Once inside, Steve stands in the middle of the…living room? Kitchen? He isn’t sure what to call such multifunctional rooms. He crosses his arms and shifts his weight from one leg to the other as he waits for Eddie to put the game away.

The main room is crowded and messy. It is the complete opposite of his parents’ living room, which is kept meticulously clean and organized – with the help of their cleaning lady of course. The coffee table is stained with water circles from mugs and the like. Something unthinkable to Steve. If he ever puts a glass down without a coaster, he will face his mother’s wrath.

“Beer?” Eddie calls from the kitchen. He already turned his back to him to make his way to the under-table fridge.

“Sure.” 

Steve is getting sick of standing around and decides to move to the small beige sofa. It is littered with clothes and after a moment of hesitation, he shoves them aside and sits down.

“You’re fucking tense,” Eddie says as he hands Steve a can of beer. He looks down at the pile of clothes and without hesitation grabs them and throws them in a different corner of the room. Then he lets himself fall onto the sofa next to Steve, which objects with a loud creak.

The sofa really is quite small and granted, a bigger one probably wouldn’t fit. The middle of it sagged considerably too, dragging its occupants to the center.

Steve feels the warmth of Eddie’s jeans-clad legs against his own. They are probably sitting a bit too close and Steve shifts uncomfortably in his seat. 

The can lets out an audible hiss as Eddie opens it and takes a quick sip from his beer. Then, he puts it down on the table and jumps up again.

“Fuck, I was gonna play you some music.” He hurries past the kitchen into a separate room. 

Steve opens his own can – cheap store-brand beer – and takes a nervous gulp as he waits for Eddie to return.

He is starting to reconsider his choices this evening. Perhaps he should just have watched Back to the Future again. Instead, he is in the trailer of some guy he kinda-sorta knows because they have shared custody of some annoying kid (one of Steve’s best friends).

“Oh yes, this will be good.” Eddie re-emerges cradling a few cassettes in his arms like he is holding a baby. He squats in front of the coffee table and releases the collection of plastic cases on top of it. Steve eyes the contents, but he recognises none of it. Then he looks over at Eddie – the flesh of his knee peeks through the hole of his jeans and Steve wonders if Eddie made it himself or if it had naturally torn by use. 

Eddie shifts through the cassettes with ring-clad fingers, picking a few up and turning them around to look at the back of the plastic cases.

“Let’s start with Rainbow,” he mumbles to himself, grabbing the cassette (a hand holding a rainbow over mountains on its front). He walks over to a small side table next to the front door where an old-school cassette player stands.

With a loud click, the front of the cassette player opens and Eddie puts the cassette in and closes it again. Immediately, music starts playing.

“Fuck, hold on.”

Eddie rushes over to the kitchen, rummaging through some drawers until he finds what he is looking for.

Victoriously, he holds up a pencil to Steve and clicks his tongue. Steve takes another gulp of his beer as he watches Eddie move through the trailer with a skip in his step. He is actually excited to let Steve hear his music. Steve feels strangely flattered and he lets himself fall back on the sofa. 

The music stops and Eddie takes the cassette out. Using the back of the pencil, he rewinds the tape. Steve looks at Eddie’s hands as he works. The rings are kinda cool. Maybe he should let Robin pick out a ring for him too. Although perhaps not with skulls and crosses like Eddie wears. Maybe something more simple, like a signet ring or something.

Steve is pulled from his thoughts when he hears the cassette player click shut again. 

“Your player doesn’t rewind?” Steve asks.

“Steve” – Eddie puts the pencil behind his ear and turns to look at him – “I live in a trailer…”

Steve feels heat rise to his cheeks. 

Shit, sometimes he forgets his parents are very well off and some things are considered luxuries instead of the default. He made the same mistake with Robin too – multiple times – but it was hard to prevent. He thinks back on his car – not particularly expensive, but also not as beat-up as Jonathan’s. Does Eddie think he is some spoiled rich boy?

“Right, sorry.” Steve takes another mouthful of beer. Eddie turns around again to put the cassette in the cassette player. 

A song begins to play, the sound reminds Steve of something alien – not really like music at all. Once the drums kicks in Eddie begins to bob his head on the beat, his hands hitting an invisible drum. He dances across the room, drumming his invisible drumsticks along the wall before falling back onto the sofa, stringing his fingers as if playing a guitar.

“Shit, I should really learn this on the guitar.” He leans forward to grab his can of beer. Condensation forms on the outside and when he picks it up, a wet circle is left on the table.

Eddie kicks his feet up, white sneakers hitting the wood of the coffee table and the cassettes rattle. He takes a deep swig of his beer and audibly sighs. 

Steve leans forward, arms resting on his thighs and can between his knees. Once the music actually began, it wasn’t too bad. He didn’t understand the long intros though, and preferred it if music would just start.

“So, what do you think?” Eddie asks.

“Not bad.”

“Not bad” – Eddie scoffs – “You, my friend, have not been exposed to nearly enough good music.”

Steve chuckles. “I thought Bowie was pretty acceptable by –” he looks Eddie up and down demonstratively, “ – your kind.”

“My kind, huh?” a smile plays at the corners of Eddie’s lips. “And what would that be, exactly?” 

Well, shit. Steve drove himself straight into possible-insult town. Eddie eyes him curiously, one elbow resting on the sofa’s backrest and his hands holding his can in a way Steve could only describe as cool. 

“Well, you know…” he trails off.

“I know…?”

“Eh, metalheads, I guess?”

“Ziggy Stardust isn’t metal, you know that right?”

Steve sighs exasperatedly. “I know, ugh. I mean he’s–”

“Weird?” Eddie finishes.

Steve takes another gulp of beer, desperate to compose himself. “Yeah,” he answers lamely.

“I suppose he’s pretty weird, huh?” Eddie eyes the ceiling of the trailer while taking a lazy sip from his beer. “Did you know he used to be gay?”

Steve looks to Eddie, who is still eying the ceiling, head lying back against the sofa’s backrest. 

“Used to be?” If Steve is to believe Robin, there is no ‘used to be ’ when it comes to being gay. You either are or you aren’t. Now he thinks about it, Bowie seems somewhat queer with his tight suits and styled hair, but that is what girls dig, isn't it? He has heard countless girls swoon over men just like that.

“You never had a gay phase, Harrington?” 

Steve nearly drops his can.

“Gay….phase?”

“You know, live a little, try some shit, see what sticks –”

“I can’t say I have,” Steve mumbles, his eyes now firmly fixed on the can in his hands. He plays nervously with the lip, pulling it in tandem with the music before taking another sip.

“With a pretty face like yours, you might actually get some good ones.”

Steve chokes on his beer. Actually chokes, and he hits his chest with a fist to get himself to breathe again.

“W-what?”

“How can you know what you like when you never tried it?” Eddie sits up straight, pulling one leg to his chest as he turns to Steve. His dark eyes seem like a bottomless lake and Steve feels small under his gaze.

“H-have you?” Steve stutters and it is utterly embarrassing. Why is he so rattled by some stupid revelation? 

Wait, did Eddie just call him pretty?

Eddie smirks at him like they are sharing in a secret, and perhaps they are.

“Fuck yes, if someone tells me not to do something you can bet your ass I will do it. Besides, humans are humans, big fucking deal.” 

“So – was it a phase? In your case?” Steve asks carefully. He isn’t really sure why he asks. Maybe it is part curiosity. He never seriously considered relationships with men. Some are nice enough to look at, sure, but marriage, a house, children – that is only meant for a man and a woman right? A world in which someone just casually tries homosexuality seems���foreign. 

“Hm, I guess so … Wow, don’t look at me like that Harrington. Are you disappointed?”

“W-what, no!” Steve really doesn’t know why he is getting so flustered. He suddenly feels self-conscious under Eddie’s piercing eyes and runs a hand through his hair – a nervous habit.

“Fuck, you are – well, alright, maybe for you I can arrange an encore.”

Before Steve has time to respond, Eddie pushes himself upright and leans one knee on the sofa between Steve’s legs. He feels the cold metal of Eddie’s rings under his chin as he lays a sprawled hand on his throat and tilts his head. 

Steve freezes, air caught in his chest as Eddie leans over his face, his breath hot on his lips. Steve’s right hand uselessly holds on to the near-empty can – afraid to spill it – while his left hand digs into the sofa next to his thighs. Then, Eddie leans down, capturing his lips with practiced ease. Steve feels his long hair tickle his cheeks and the scruff of a five-o-clock shadow grace his chin. 

Eddie’s lips move over his, slightly chapped and rough in a way that couldn’t possibly be a girl. Without meaning to, Steve feels his own lips move against Eddie’s. 

Well, now he couldn't pretend it was just something happening to him. He had graduated to an active participant. 

Kissing Eddie Munson. Eddie freaking Munson.  

Robin was going to have a field day.

Perhaps the most surprising part is how he doesn’t hate it. He likes the feeling of stubble on his chin, the hard corners of Eddie’s jaw, the way Eddie pushes him back onto the sofa and he wills Steve’s mouth open with a sweep of a thumb and the cold metal of rings on his face. A hot tongue explores his mouth, stroking it against Steve’s in a way that makes him gasp.

Steve has never experienced anything like it. Usually with the girls he dated, he took the lead. Kisses were usually shy and timid. Eddie is completely different. He knows what he wants and he isn’t afraid to get it. Steve feels something stir in him as he presses back.

Eddie bites his bottom lip, taking it between his lips, and breaks away from him. Steve feels breathless and blinks up at Eddie. His hand reaches over to Steve’s right side, gently taking the can from his hand and setting it away on the coffee table. He turns back, eyes dark and Steve wills his mouth close as he regards him. 

Was he gay? Shit, he doesn’t really want to think about it now. Humans are humans was what Eddie had said right?

Steve reaches out, sliding his hands behind Eddie’s neck, and pulls him back. Eddie moves himself into a more comfortable position, placing a knee on either side of Steve’s thighs and straddling him. Eddie’s hands reach for Steve’s temples, threading themselves through Steve’s hair – rings catch on the strands but Steve doesn’t mind the painful sting as it pulls. He just wants to get Eddie’s lips back on his – and so he does.

Their lips meet, fiery and hot. Open-mouthed Steve explores every corner of Eddie. He lowers his hands to Eddie’s back, playing on the edge of his tanktop and the hot skin underneath. If it works for girls, surely it works for guys too right?

He runs his hands up the side of Eddie’s chest, a thumb over a nipple, and Eddie gasps into his mouth. Steve feels heat settle in his crotch and he is glad he chose to wear jeans made of thick fabric rather than thin trousers. Steve’s hands move over Eddie’s chest, feeling the smooth muscle of it and the roughness of regrowing chest hair.

Eddie’s fingers reach the hair on the back of Steve’s head and yank it back, exposing Steve’s throat. He lets out a surprised yelp when he feels Eddie’s mouth latch to the delicate bow of his neck and suck. 

Steve is learning a lot about himself in the span of less than an hour. The way Eddie tugs his hair, and has his way with him is sending a pleasant jolt straight to his cock.  And Steve can’t help but moan under the ministrations of Eddie’s mouth as he sucks and bites. 

“Y-you’re gonna leave a mark,” Steve breathes.

“That’s the plan,” Eddie mouths against his neck. Then, he licks his way up into Steve’s mouth again.

Shit, he is kinda into this. Steve isn’t sure how he could ever go back to girls now he knows what it feels like to be touched by calloused fingers and kissed with such force. 

Eddie’s hand leaves his hair and travels down to the rim of his jeans, pulling out his shirt in the process. Steve feels the ghost of fingers running along its edge and the muscles in his stomach tense pleasantly in response.

Eddie breaks away from him, his breath ghosting over his lips as he searches Steve’s eyes. 

“You wanna take this further?” Eddie asks, his eyes flitting over Steve’s face.

Steve feels drunk, even though half a can of beer isn’t nearly enough to even get him close to being buzzed. He is also turned on. Ridiculously so. But fuck, what does taking it further even mean in this context. Steve feels like a virgin all over again and shifts uncomfortably in his seat, trying to hide his arousal from Eddie.

Not that they are not actively engaged anymore, anxiety hits Steve like a bag of bricks.

“Uhh…” is all Steve manages to utter.

Eddie throws himself off Steve’s lap onto the empty spot next to him on the sofa. He puts his feet on the table again, hands behind his head.

“You’re right, maybe that’s enough for tonight.” 

It doesn’t escape Steve that Eddie’s jeans look a little tighter than usual.

They sit in silence for a moment, only the voice of Rainbow’s singer cutting through the tension. 

“I thought you said it was a phase,” Steve asks after he finally gets his breathing under control.

“Oh right, I should have clarified” – Eddie grins up at the ceiling – “The gay thing was a phase. I figured I was into both.”

Both? Wasn’t that something only hippies preached with their free love? Somewhere, Steve feels a wave of relief washes over him. He never seriously considered someone could like both. He has some serious soul-searching to do once he gets home.

��Huh,” is all Steve replies. Eddie’s eyebrow quirks in interest as he side-eyes Steve.

“I, uh…probably should get going.” Steve puts his hands on his thighs and pushes himself up. Eddie doesn’t move from his position, but his eyes follow him with interest.

“If you’re ever in the mood for a sequel, you know where to find me.” 

Steve nods, because what else can you do in reply to such a comment? He is baffled at the ease with which the words escape Eddie. There is no shame or self-doubt.

As he lays his hand on the door handle, Steve looks back one final time. Eddie’s feet are bouncing in tandem with the beat of the drums and his eyes are closed. He looks so absolutely unshaken by their encounter that Steve feels almost jealous.

Steve is anything but unshaken.

“See you around,” he offers.

“See you, Harrington,” Eddie’s voice is playful, even though he doesn’t move.

When Steve is safe and sound in the driver’s seat of his car, he leans his head against the steering wheel and stays there for a moment. 

What the hell just happened?

He turns his mirror to his neck and traces the hickey that Eddie left on his throat with a finger. He would have to ask Robin for some make-up to cover that up. 

She is going to love this story.

Steve sighs and pushes the mirror back into its original position. When he starts the car, Bowie continues to sing like nothing happened.

Yes, he was alright, his song went on forever, Bowie sings and Steve groans as he hits the gas.

***

It is Saturday morning when Steve walks up to the Buckley residence. He passes the garden fence and walks around the house to the backdoor.

Hawkins was struck by the beginning of a heatwave and at this point, the temperature was bearable as long as one didn't move too much. The perfect day for a visit to the pool, but too hot for videos. 

Which is why Steve is sure today won’t be too busy at Family Video. Fine by him. 

The quiet days he works with Robin are always his favorite. Sometimes Henderson comes over – either with his friends or alone – and they mess around with the cardboard cut-outs or watch a movie on the little TV screen hanging from the ceiling. Steve has zero regrets about missing out on college. Everything he loves is right here in Hawkins.

He pulls at the red handkerchief around his neck. It is against company policy to wear scarves (and probably too hot too) but Steve needs something to cover up the damage of his little adventure with Eddie. At least, until he gets his hands on some skin paint stuff – or whatever girls call that type of make-up.

He enters through the backdoor straight into the kitchen, where he finds Robin’s mother clearing the table of breakfast plates. The room smells faintly like toast.

“Morning, Ms. Buckley!” he calls, already moving towards the hallway. Steve hears her respond, but he's halfway up the stairs by then.

“Rob!”

“Just a second!” Her voice is muffled. She opens her door, fixing an earring. Her eyes flick to his scarf before meeting his gaze.

“Geez, you’re early.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve walks straight past her and throws himself on her unmade bed.  Robin pays him no mind and she walks over to her dresser again. From his spot on the bed, Steve can see Robin's face reflected in the mirror as she fusses with her hair. When she reaches for a pouch, Steve is suddenly reminded of why he is early to begin with. 

“Do you have that face-stuff?” he asks as he sees Robin pull a pencil from the pouch.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific than ‘face stuff’.”

“You know, the skin-colored goo.” Steve makes motions over his face as if he’s painting.

“Concealer?” Robin’s mouth is open in concentration as she lines her waterline with black.

“That’s it!” Steve throws himself off the bed and walks over to Robin.

“Sure, I’ve got some,” Robin puts down her pencil and rummages through the pouch again. She pulls out a small beige bottle and holds it up for Steve. He reaches for it, but Robin pulls away.

“Does this have anything to do with your avant-garde fashion statement today?” She looks at his scarf again.

Steve laughs sheepishly and pulls his scarf aside. Robin’s eyes widen at the dark hickey on his neck.

“Jesus, Steve! It’s massive” – she leans in closer – “Was it Rebecca? Never thought she’d be the type...” Robin reaches for his neck but Steve pulls away.

“What? No!” – Steve lets go of the scarf – “I stopped seeing her like five weeks ago. Get with the times, Rob.”

“Well, sorry I can’t keep up with your busy love life.” Robin turns back to the mirror. She definitely isn’t sorry and Steve wouldn’t exactly call the origin of the hickey ‘love’. A lapse of judgment, maybe, or something uniquely in the corner of Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson. 

“Can I get the stuff now?”

“Fine,” she says and she pushes the bottle in his hands.

***

Outside the car, the world passes in a flash of yellow fields. The windows are down and the scent of drying grass fills the air. Steve turns the music up to drown out the thundering sound of the wind as it enters the car and drums his fingers on the steering wheel while he uselessly mouths along with the music. He doesn’t know the lyrics, but that can’t stop him. The fact it annoys Robin when he does so makes it even more fun in his opinion.

“You’re in a good mood,” Robin remarks while she digs through her bag.

“It’s a beautiful day and I’m working with my best friend,” Steve chirps.

“Uhuh, right,” she replies skeptically. She puts her bag back between her legs on the car floor and fiddles with something in her hands.

Steve’s eyes are focused on the road before him when the music suddenly stops.

“Hey! I was listening to that!”

“I thought you said Bowie was ‘overrated trash’” Robin says while opening the case to another cassette. 

“I didn’t,”

“You so did, and you called his pants too tight,”

“Whatever, driver decides,” 

Robin sighs and pushes the cassette back in. “When I get my license, it will be Blondie all day every day. You better prepare yourself, dingus!”

Steve hums in satisfaction as the music comes back on. Maybe he found it somewhat grating in the beginning, but it was growing on him now. That, of course, had nothing to do with Eddie Munson.

“Did you know he used to be gay?” Steve suddenly says.

“Bisexual, Steve, and of course I know that. The question is, why do you?” From his periphery, he can see Robin staring at him.

“I just heard it somewhere,”

“Somewhere…” Robin repeated. She leans over to put the other cassette back in her bag. 

Steve is relieved when he sees Family Video come into view. It’s not like Robin will forget their conversation, she is far too smart for that. And he really does plan on telling her about what happened yesterday, he just has to find the right moment. Hell, maybe it wouldn’t even be today. 

Steve pulls into the parking space and hops out of the car. He locks his door and throws the keys over the car to Robin. She fumbles in her attempt to catch it and Steve is once again reminded that Robin is a band dweeb and not an athlete.

“Let’s open this baby up,” he says as he tosses the store keys into the air and catches them overhand.

“You’re such a show-off” – she walks past Steve into the store and continues without looking back – “For your information, there are no girls around…”

“Yet,” Steve finishes and Robin groans in response.

There wouldn’t be any girls around for most of the day as it turned out. 

As Steve expected, it was a slow day. The only people who visited were those who probably wouldn’t be found dead sunbathing, nerds who never stepped outside (except to rent a video, apparently), and old people looking for something nice to watch with their grandkids. 

Somewhere between the shelves, Robin is putting returned VHS tapes into their rightful place. Meanwhile, Steve sorts through new arrivals and adds them to the computer system. In the back of the shop,  a guy has been staring at some science fiction movies for probably half an hour by now. Category basement nerd, Steve decides.

They had been working in relative solitude. Steve looks up as he hears the bell signal someone’s entrance. He is greeted with a curly head of hair.

“Henderson!” Steve stands up and throws himself over the counter. The secret handshake is a must and cannot be skipped. 

Shake, box, Star Wars sword thing, guts.

Dustin smiles wildly at him. 

Just as Steve is spilling his guts, the bell chimes again. He looks up, readying himself to apologize to the poor customer he has no doubt scared off with his wild gestures when he comes face to face with dark bottomless eyes.

“Munson,” Steve is probably gawking, at least a little and Eddie looks amused at the scene in front of him.

Dustin, oblivious to it all, immediately starts talking. 

“I was just about to grab my bike when I ran into Eddie. He offered me a ride in his van. Mom’s at the pool today, says it’s too hot to stay indoors; she practically kicked me out of the house,”

“Right,” Steve wasn’t even looking at Dustin as he yapped on. He somehow couldn’t tear his eyes away from Eddie’s. It was strange seeing him in daylight now. The darkness of dusk had made their whole interaction the night prior seem like a dream. Now, face to face with Eddie, Steve was hit by the reality of what had transpired. He felt profoundly awkward.

“ – You should totally get a van, Steve!” Dustin’s voice pulls Steve from his thoughts and he tears his eyes away.

“Y-yeah, probably not. I like my car,” he composed himself, deciding to focus his attention on Dustin rather than Eddie.

“Hey Dustin”  – Robin walks from behind the shelves, carrying a now-empty crate. Her eyes land on Eddie with a hint of surprise – “Hey Eddie,”

“Got anything good yet?” Dustin asks Robin eagerly.

“You’re in luck–” Robin says as she puts the crate away, “We just added The Dark Crystal to our collection,”

“Sweet!” He hears Dustin call when Robin leads him away to one of the shelves in the back.

Steve is left alone with Eddie and doesn’t know how to compose himself. A part of him feels nervous under Eddie’s dark gaze. 

Eddie walks over to the counter and leans against it.

“Cool gig,” Eddie says as he looks around the store. “Do you ever get to keep the cardboard cut-outs?” Eddie points his finger at a life-size cut-out of Indiana Jones that stands proudly at the front of the store. Steve’s eyes involuntary drift back to his fingers again and he really ought to stop that. Sooner or later, Eddie will catch him staring.

“I don’t, but Keith does sometimes,” 

“Sweet,”

A silence falls between them and Eddie kicks his feet. The guy in the back still hasn’t made up his mind and a little distance away Dustin is eagerly explaining something about the ‘Gelflings’ to Robin.

“Hey, uh, are you doing anything next Friday?” Eddie asks suddenly. 

“Nothing yet,” Steve is desperately trying to stop his heart from beating at such an insistent pace and he hopes his voice comes out as nonchalant as he intends it to.

“You wanna…I don’t know…hang out or something?”

‘ Or something’. What does ‘or something’ mean ?

“Yeah, I– …yeah, sure” Steve fumbles a bit, but Eddie doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he doesn’t care. A smile grows on his face.

“Cool,” Eddie says.

He pushes himself away from the counter and walks up to a shelf to inspect some of the movies. He leans forward, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, and hums a song that sounds vaguely familiar. Steve stares at the interlaced fingers behind his back – adorned with silver rings – and shivers at the memory of their coolness against his neck.

“Cool,” Steve echoes.

***

The whole week, Steve had thought of countless excuses to cancel hanging out with Eddie on Friday, but in the end, none of them carried any weight. He couldn’t get Eddie of his freaking mind and the sappy romance movies that played on the television screen at work didn’t help either.

Eddie had visited Family Video again – once – with Dustin to return a movie. Apparently, they regularly hung out when Steve was busy at work and he felt something akin to jealousy. He had always been Dustin’s role model. Heck, the kid even started wearing his hair like him (thank you, Farrah Fawcett). That was until Eddie somehow inserted himself into the equation. Now, Dustin had grown out his hair and was wearing that ridiculous Hellfire shirt religiously; so often, Steve sometimes wondered if it was ever washed at all. 

Eddie had corrupted him, and maybe he had corrupted Steve a little bit as well.

“You seem nervous,” Robin remarks as she flips through a folder, biting in the back of a ballpen. 

“Well, I’m no–” Before Steve can finish his sentence, Robin continues.

“I haven’t heard you talk about your dates the whole week. Whoever gave you that ridiculous hickey has some serious hold over you –”

Steve feels his shoulders tense. The idea of Eddie having any kind of hold over him was crazy. Steve is cool, Steve is casual. Steve is definitely not nervous about his casual hangout with Eddie tonight.

“ –It’s Friday, aren’t you supposed to be on like three different dates tonight?” she continues.

“Uhm, well–”

“And you’ve been acting weird all week. Things are adding up to a very weird sum. The ‘buying thirty watermelons’ kind of weird sum.”

“You have such a way with words,” Steve rolls his eyes as he finally regains his composure.

“Steve!” Robin throws her pen at his head. He ducks, but the pen hits him anyway.

“Robin!” he mimics her tone.

“It’s someone’s mom, isn’t it? God, Steve–” Robin pulls a face in disgust.

“It’s not someone’s mom! Geez, Rob, what kind of person do you take me for?”

“The kind that acts all mysterious and weird, and suddenly listens to music he hates!”

Maybe going out of his way to buy a Rainbow cassette had been somewhat uncharacteristic. Of course, Robin would pick up on that.

“A guy can expand his tastes…” he trails, hit by the ambiguity of his statement.

Robin sighs, picks up her pen from the floor and gives him an irritated glance. 

Steve hears the bell chime just as he closes the door to the vault in which they store cash overnight. It is only a couple of minutes before closing time and Steve grunts audibly as he raises himself into a standing position. Entering a shop this close to closing time is a certified dick move and Steve is not above sending whoever entered away, customer service be damned. 

“We’re closed!” he yells as he walks back into the shop from the backroom. 

“Eddie’s here for you,” Robin calls without looking back at Steve. 

Sure enough, Eddie is standing at the counter. He is wearing a tank top and his hair is pulled up into a messy bun; his skin gleams with sweat from the heat outside and around his neck hangs a wiry set of headphones. Wind from the air conditioner pulls at his hair. When their eyes meet, a smile creeps on his face.

“Sup, Harrington…I’ve brought the van.” He holds the keys up demonstratively, dangling them from his index finger.

"He brought the van!" Robin exclaims looking back at Steve, her eyebrows raised and a sly smile playing on her lips. Steve can almost see the moment of realization dawn upon her as if a lightbulb had been switched on in her mind.

Steve scratches the back of his head. “I promised Robin a ride back–” 

“No problem, We’ll drop her off. I’ll bring you back to pick up your car later.” 

Steve casts Robin a quick glance and she shrugs in response.

“If Robin’s fine with it…” he trails.

“A van,” Robin whispers as Steve joins her at the counter and elbows him in his arm.

Steve rolls his eyes at her, but still can’t fight the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth.

***

Twigs crack under Steve’s shoes as he follows Eddie through the forest. The canopy of the trees offers ample shadow and Steve finds the heat more bearable here than when they had been walking alongside the road. Still, his shirt clings to his back and sweat is slicking his hair as Steve runs a hand through it. 

When Eddie asked him to hang out, he didn’t expect they would be hiking through the forest behind the trailer park during a freaking heatwave. 

He looks over to Eddie. His bangs cling to his forehead and the veins on his arms are thick as his body fights to keep cool. Despite the oppressive heat, there's a glint of excitement in Eddie's eyes.

“There it is.” Eddie stops and looks somewhere in the distance. Steve squints and follows Eddie’s gaze. Between the trees, he can see the shimmer of water, and he realizes Eddie has taken them to Lover’s lake. 

When they near the water, Eddie ups his pace, stepping around some of the bigger rocks and boulders near the lake’s edge like he has done it a thousand times before. Steve tries to keep up, but his unfamiliarity with the landscape slows him down.

At last, he is standing on the pebbled lakeside. The sun is already lowering itself into the embrace of dusk and Steve thinks they have maybe two hours of light left before sundown. He looks to his right where he sees Eddie standing above a pile of wood. When he gets closer, Steve realizes it is actually an old stranded fisher’s boat.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Eddie remarks.

Steve looks the boat over. It’s medium sized and some of its wood has rotted away. A good portion of it is covered in graffiti, and half of it sits in the water. It has probably been there for years.

“You bring all your conquests here?” Steve asks as he watches Eddie climb onto the boat. The question is mostly meant to be lighthearted, yet he feels a sense of anticipation as he waits for Eddie to reach the deck. 

Eddie squats and looks down on him. “Nah, just you.” 

Somehow, those words make Steve’s heart flutter and his cheeks heat up. He quickly looks away, pretending to search for footing to scale the boat.

When Steve reaches the deck, Eddie is sitting cross-legged facing the lake. 

“This is a nice place,” Steve says, sitting next to Eddie. He lets his feet dangle from the side and follows Eddie’s gaze. Across the lake, some people linger, cooling down before heading back to their hot homes. Some children are playing in the shallows and their joyful screams carry over the water.

“Your work?” Steve asks as he gestures to some of the writing on the boat. The wood is covered in crude phrases, names, and dates – some of them are carved, but most look to be written with a sharpie.

“Some of it is.” Eddie pulls out a pocket knife from his jeans and hands it to Steve. “You can add to it if you want.”

Steve turns the knife in his hand. It is a classic red Swiss knife and it lays heavy in his hand. 

“Here–” Eddie twists around and Steve follows suit. Eddie’s fingers are tracing the wood behind them, running them over the carvings in the wood. “– I think I did this about a year ago.”

Eddie removes his hands and Steve can finally get a good look. It’s nothing crazy, just a simple ‘Eddie was here’ carved in crude scratches – eternalised in some rotting wood in a town no one cares about.

Eddie holds up his hand to Steve and he realizes he is asking for his knife back. Steve hands it over.

Eddie flips out the knife and bends himself over the carving. Steve turns back around, looking over the lake again as the sound of scratching fills his ears.

“All done!” Eddie says after a while.

When Steve turns back, he sees his name freshly carved into the wood, right above Eddie’s original carving.

Steve + Eddie was here

“You wanted to immortalize this?” Steve asks amused.

Eddie flips the knife closed again and shoves it into his pocket. “A year ago, I’d never thought I’d be sitting here with Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington. Guess that’s pretty fucking special.” Eddie casts him a toothy grin. 

Steve had to agree though. If someone had told him a year ago he would be hanging out with Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson on a Friday evening – rather than spend his night on a date or at a party – he would have declared them crazy.

“I suppose so,” Steve replies.

All is quiet for a moment, save the sound of leaves rustling by a welcome breeze. Steve closes his eyes as the wind kisses his sweaty skin.

“I got you something,” Eddie says, breaking the silence and he stands up. Steve’s gaze follows him and his eyes widen when he sees Eddie move his hands over his head to pull his tank top off. 

“But let's take a dip first…it’s hot as balls.” He throws the sweaty tank top at Steve, who slaps it out of the air before it can hit him. The fabric lands heavily on the wooden deck.

“I didn’t bring my trunks,” 

“You don’t need those here.” Eddie gives him a knowing smile as he kicks on his shoes.

Eddie is lean and he has a nice back, Steve thinks. Not particularly broad like some of his former teammates on the swimming team, but not bad for a guy who spends his time playing board games. His torso is littered with fading scars from the Upside Down and Steve has a fair amount of those himself.

“Get on with it, Harrington!” Eddie is already stripped to his underwear when Steve tears his eyes away and finally tugs his own shirt over his head.

A dip in the lake was a fantastic idea and Steve felt himself relax now that he was slowly but surely cooling down to more humane temperatures.

Steve tries to keep his eyes away from Eddie as they make their way back to the boat. The fabric of his boxers is clinging to his skin.

Eddie lays himself down on the deck, using his jeans as a pillow while he fiddles with his headphones. 

“C’mere Steve.” Eddie pats the space next to him and Steve reluctantly seats himself. Eddie is working the buttons of a walkman.

“Remember when I said I got you something?”

“That was like twenty minutes ago,” Steve feels borderline offended at the implication.

Eddie gestures for Steve to lay down as well and Steve complies begrudgingly, resting his head next to Eddie’s on his crumpled jeans while he stares up at the blue sky. He feels exposed in just his boxers and now Eddie wants them to lay side by side.

“Here.” Eddie hands him one half of the headphones while holding the other side to his own ears. Suddenly it dawns on Steve why they’re lying as they are. Eddie wants to let him listen to music. Steve moves half of the headphones to his ear and sure enough music starts playing.

“I put some things together I thought you might like.” Steve can see Eddie turn his head towards him from his periphery and study his face.

“You made me a mixtape?” Steve asks. The idea of Eddie putting together a mixtape for him was…well, really thoughtful.

“Now you say it out loud it sounds kinda lame,” Eddie laughs.

“No, it– it’s really nice.” Steve offers. 

He closes his eyes and listens to the unfamiliar tunes. Eddie did quite a good job at picking music that he might like. It is definitely less intense than Rainbow – the voices are less shrill, the guitar less cutting, and the drums beat at a lower frequency. It’s nice, ridiculously nice, and Steve can’t think of an instance when someone has ever taken the time to put something together for him like this – not even his ex-girlfriends.

They lay there for a while, each holding one end of the headphone. The people on the other side of the lake must have left by now because the only things Steve can hear are birdsong, the sound of rustling leaves, and the music that comes from the walkman. The breeze feels cool against his damp body, and he wonders why he had never done this before – stay at the lake until the sun went down.

Steve can almost feel himself drift asleep when Eddie nudges him.

“Steve.” Eddie shakes him gently by his shoulder.

“Hm, lemme be…” he whines without opening his eyes.

“You’re gonna be mosquito food.” Beside him, he hears Eddie getting up and when Steve finally opens his eyes, Eddie is already wearing his tank top. 

Steve hadn’t realized how long they had laid there. Only a small line of sun was visible in the distance and Eddie’s figure was dark against the pastel sky.

“I’m afraid I’m gonna need my pants,” Eddie says as he points at Steve’s head.

“Oh right.” Steve finally sits up, handing Eddie the makeshift pillow of his jeans.

Once they’re both dressed, Eddie leads them back through the forest. The sky is pink and the trees form black outlines against it. Steve walks after Eddie, who points out when to be mindful of a hidden boulder or a sudden dip in the forest floor. 

They take Eddie’s van back to Family Video so Steve can get his car. The whole car ride, Steve can’t help the feeling of nervousness that sits in his stomach. 

Today kinda felt like a date. 

Normally he would be on the other end of it – driving a girl home after a movie or something. And then, once he stops the car in front of her house, the girl would fidget and Steve would place his arm on the back of her car seat, confident and reassuring. He would tell her he had a good time and if she did as well, he would seal the deal with a kiss.

But this was Eddie, and they had been just two guys hanging out. 

Two guys that had made out a week ago. 

But that didn’t mean anything. It had just been Steve’s one-day gay phase and he got it out of his system now, hadn’t he? Eddie had only offered out of a misunderstanding, or maybe some weird kindness.

Shit, this train of thought was not helping Steve whatsoever. If anything, it had just made the nervous flutter in his stomach worse.

Eddie stops the van and the red neon light of Family Video plays with the curves of his face.

“There we are.” Eddie pushes himself back into his seat with his arms stretched on the steering wheel. Steve makes no movement to get out. They sit in silence for a while.

“About last week–” Steve starts. If he doesn’t acknowledge it now, he feels like he might go crazy. Besides, he doesn’t know when or if they’ll have another moment alone.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone. We can forget about it if you want…” Eddie says without looking at him. His shoulders are tense and his grip on the steering wheels seems to harden.

“No…it’s not–” Steve tries, but Eddie cuts him off.

“Don’t worry Steve, I get it. I know what people say about me –”

“But–”

“ –and it doesn’t have to mean anything. People make out all the time–”

Steve unbuckles his seatbelt. He’s kind of sick of Eddie not letting him finish his sentences and is ready to return the favor.

He leans over, turning Eddie’s head towards him and kisses him. Hard.

Eddie’s mouth is parted, mid-sentence, and Steve feels teeth beneath his lips. By all accounts, it’s a shoddy kiss – not his best work – but it seems to do the trick.

Eddie loses his grip on the steering wheel, hands moving to Steve’s shoulders instead as he eagerly returns the sentiment.

“Fuck, Harrington, aren’t you full of surprises,” Eddie breaths against his lips.

Steve leans back into his chair and runs a hand through his hair.

“You talk too much,” he says as he opens the door of the van.

By the time he hears Eddie get out of his van, Steve is already opening the door to his  BMW.

“Wait, Steve,” Eddie calls as he jogs over. When he’s standing in front of Steve, he pulls at Steve’s arm, running his hand down and urging Steve’s palm up. He shoves something square in his hand and closes Steve’s fingers around it.

“Next Friday, same time?” Eddie asks him, searching his eyes.

Steve nods silently. He stares after Eddie as he walks back to his van. He opens the door and turns one last time, giving Steve a two-fingered salute before getting in. 

Steve hears the sound of the motor swinging on and looks at his hand. In the dim neon light, he stares down at a small cassette. Steve can hardly read the black letters in the red light, but he realizes Eddie has written something on its white label.

From Freak, to Hair. 

[AO3]

[emsgwenstan]

Why not me?

Larissa Weems x fem reader {angst}

words: idk 2.5k?

warnings: language.

note: ok idek what this is, i haven't written anything in months because of burnout, so really just something i pulled from drafts.

“Don’t.” It was to the point; it was sharp and clear. I picked up my handbag, coat and gloves and evacuated the room as swiftly as possible.

Slamming the door behind me, I could feel its vibration, the loud noise echoing through the halls and corridors, just like every one of my steps down the marble stairs. Frustratedly, I rummage through my bag to find my car keys, desperately needing something to just go my way, I plucked them out and balled the abundance of jagged metal in my fist while storming across the cobblestone to reach my car.

The second I sat in the driver's seat, tears started to roll down my cheeks and my nose started tingling, I shove the keys into the ignition and reverse out of the staff lot before practically doing a burnout when setting off. Where to go now is the question. Where to go indeed. The only home I’ve ever known is nevermore, the safe place I retreat to when the outside world is far too cruel, when normies are unkind and when life gets too much.

Every possible place I think to go isn’t an option, they are all riddled with memories of her, there’s nowhere in the whole of Jericho that I haven’t been with her, the park benches and weathervane after getting hot chocolates on a sunny winters day, the local bookstore on a windy spring morning, the clearing just off the road in the woods on a gloomy autumn afternoon, or the empty fair ground on a cool summers night.

“Oh, you would love her y/n, she very pretty and quite the catch, she flatters me all the time and is very sweet-.” “Don’t.” The conversation plays on a loop, God why? Why wasn’t I enough? The trees reflections whipping across the windscreen seemed to become faster. “Goodness, can you believe she asked me? I haven’t been on a date in years.” She had said. “Help me find something to wear dear?” She asked, and, without question I did.

My grip on the wheel becomes tighter until my knuckles turn white and crescent shapes are imbedded into my palms. Did she not know? Didn’t she realize? Has she not seen the way I look at her? Before I drive myself out of the town ship I stop on the side of the road. I just sit there, I sit and cry for a long time, even as dusk falls and night comes, I sit and cry.

Many cars have passed my own, however none caught my attention until I heard one ripping down the road sounding like it’s going a million miles an hour, when it passed the brake lights almost immediately illuminated my skin and the tires screeched as it stopped, my brows crease in confusion until it reversed back alongside me. Quickly I came to realize who it was. Larissa.

Without second thought I tried turning my car on though it wouldn’t turn over, how bloody convenient. I looked to my side to see her get out and run to my door. “Shit.” I breathed. She reached for the handle and was stunned when she couldn’t open it a dumbfounded expression overtook her pale features. “Open the door.” She pleaded I didn’t look at her, I kept my eyes in front of me still trying to start the engine. “Darling open the door.” She begged, her voice cracking and muffled by the glass.

“Y/n so help me god I will smash this window if you don’t open the damn door.” Her accent became thicker as she yelled. I just wanted her to go away, I rest my temple on the headrest in defeat. For a moment it was quiet- too quiet, that was until I heard her door slam close. I peeled my eyes open and saw her wrapping a cashmere scarf around her wrist, immediately in rage I unlocked my door and stepped out. “What the hell are you doing!?” I seethed. “What am I doing!?” She asked incredulously unwinding the material. “What the hell are you doing!? Where have you been? I called you close to forty times with no answer, I thought you were hurt! I thought something bad happened!”

“Why do you care?” I spat, the bitterness rearing its ugly head. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re my friend, of course I’d care!” There it was friend. Somehow that made it worse- another kick to the guts. “Yeah, ok.” I murmured, twisting around and pulling out my bag, closing the door and storming down the tar road. “Where are you going!?” She shouted. “Away, far away from you!” I bit back.

“Stop!” She growled frustrated and confused. I ignored her request and continued walking. “Y/n!… oh, for fuck's sake.” Her voice died in her throat as she came to the conclusion that I in fact didn’t care for what she had to say. Larissa threw down the scarf and started power walking towards me, her heals clacking hard against the ground, her stride quick and harsh. “Hey-… hey! Christ just stop.” She said exasperatedly reaching my shoulder.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” I shrugged her off ripping out of her grasp. “Take the hint! Larissa, I’ve made it clear enough that I don’t want to be near you!” I yelled whipping around to face her. “What have I done? What is going on? You don’t do this- you don’t pull this kind of childish behavior; I expect this from a student not you of all people.” She reacted. “Thanks, truly.” I sarcastically remarked and resumed walking.

“Fine I’ll just follow you then.” She said as if she was one upping me. “Piss off.” I said starting to walk faster. “Tell me what is going on! Please.” She asked her voice a little calmer and more desperate. I once again ignored her. “Y/n. I’m not going to stop until you tell me what has gotten into you.” She said starting to slightly limp from the ache in her feet. “What has gotten into me?… what has gotten into me?” I stopped abruptly.

I spin on the spot facing her again throwing down my bag in the middle of the road. “You.” I said creeping towards her with my finger pointed towards her chest. “You have gotten into me!” I yelled. “Me?” She asked, her brows furrowing and voice shaking. “Yes you! Day in day out, I’m sick of it!” Larissa’s posture straitened and head slightly dropped to the side in question. “Can you elaborate?” She said her eyes flicking about showing her confusion.

“It would be my pleasure. Let’s start shall we. “I’m not sure where I’m going wrong, I just wish someone would want me.” Or “I’m not good enough.” Or “y/n, why doesn’t anyone fancy me? Is it because of this or that'…or some bullshit reason.” I started, quoting just a few things from her. “What? Are you annoyed now that I actually have someone who could potentially be interested In me?” She asked furiously.

“No, I’m annoyed because of how ridiculous it is.” I retorted. “Ridiculous?” She growled through clenched teeth. “Yes. Ridiculous. How many times was I there to say those things aren’t true? How many times have I reassured and helped you? How many nights did I spend being by your side trying to make you happy!?” I asked. “What are you getting at!?” She asked, her eyes wide and lips twisted. “Months… years actually! Listening to you talk absolute garbage about yourself and continuing to do so after me telling you I’m here! - and, and now… you’re settling? for some waitress who thinks you’re pretty?” I explained looking directly in her eyes.

Larissa recoiled and looked as if she had been slapped. “Tell me how you really feel.” She murmured crossing her arms over her chest. “Jesus Christ, get a grip! Are you that thick!? I’ve been tryi-” I began. “Don’t even start, what about you! As far as I’m concerned you don’t have a great track record in relationships!” She yelled, her anger taking over once again. “Just fucking listen!” I screamed, rendering her completely silent.

When I realized she had bit her tongue and no longer wanted to argue, I started to speak again in a more relaxed tone. “I haven’t spoken, been with or even looked at anyone else. I’ve said nothing, but I’ve tried in many ways to show you, to tell you… every single time you have had a problem, a bad day, needed help, needed comfort, who’s been there? Me. I have. I know you better than anyone and I’m telling you that, that woman isn’t for you.” I stated.

“Right. So, your jealous that you're not the one who’s getting the chance with her, is that what you're saying? Because I thought you would be happy for me, out of all people y/n.” She said quickly and bitterly. “No that’s not-” I try. “I’ve heard enough, you want to be left alone fine, go ahead.” She said rolling her eyes and turning around to walk back to her car. “Larissa.” It’s her turn to ignore me. Before she got too far, I reached for her wrist without thinking and stopped her.

“I am.” I said quietly, pulling her to turn back toward me. “Your what?” She asked back. “Jealous.” I express timidly, looking away from her but keeping the firm grip. “But not of you… of her… I’m jealous of her.” I said just above a whisper. I look back up, my gaze trailing from her shins to the hem of her dress, to the waist belt of her grey coat, to her neck, lips and face, her very confused face.

“I’ve tried to tell you… I’ve tried everything apart from actually saying it.” I said loosening the grip on her wrist. “Do you have any idea how hard it was? How hard it is to listen to you talk about someone else making you happy? Someone else who can see the side of you I’ve only ever wished to be privileged to see?” Larissa’s face dropped; her angered expression melted away as I continued.

“What?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.” I said in the same level of tone, goosebumps forming over my body as a shiver made its way down my spine, right there I knew I ruined everything. I close my eyes and let go of her wrist, I could hear her take a step, but it wasn’t back towards her car, it was to me, my eyes snap open as I feel her entire body engulf mine, in all the years of our friendship we’ve never hugged like that. Not once.

Together we stood planted in the middle of the road not daring to move an inch, it felt like it lasted a lifetime but in reality, it was only a few moments. My head and my heart were reeling, so many emotions, so many feelings, so many memories, so many 'what ifs'. “Larissa.” I said into her chest. “I know.” Was the reply. “Let me say it.” I murmured, Larissa’s chest heaved and contracted deeply, she guided one of her hands to rest on my temple and forehead moving the fallen hair in front of my eyes. “Look at me… please.” She asked pulling back just a little.

I lifted my gaze to her eyes and held the lapels of her coat, smoothing them and giving myself time to breathe. “I…” I swallowed. “I, love you.” I said quietly, tears threatening to spill from my eyes. “I have for so long.” I breathed, finally after God knows how long I finally said it, although my relief was short lived when I saw Larissa face slowly revert back to one of distain.

“This isn’t fair.” She said pulling away and taking a step back her brows furrowing and unable to look me in the eye. “What?” I asked in disbelief. “I-… I liked you for a long while y/n, but now you choose to tell me?” It took every inch of me to not cry immediately. "What are you saying?" I asked dumbfounded, feeling bile build up in my throat. Completely taken aback, I recoiled and was in such a state of disbelief that I turned around in utter shock, plucked my bag from the ground and resumed trekking down the road.

The whole world felt like water filled the atmosphere and I was drowning, my limbs felt heavy and the cold seeped into my bones, I heard her muffled voice call out to me, but it was far too late, the second I looked up a pair of headlights were set right towards me...

[mandukkul]

TEENAGE ANGST — n. rk

synopsis: you’re suppose to spend yet another birthday alone wallowing in teenage angst, but someone steps in and breaks the cycle

tags: non!idol!riki x f!reader, comfort, angst (not too much i think), a bit of fluff, maybe coming of age

warnings: riki doesn’t appear until like 1/3 into the oneshot, NOT PROOFREAD!!! cursing, angst (i think), spelling and grammatical errors (i wrote tbis at 2am and finshed it at 3 leave me alone), lots and lots of mis-capitalisations, tense errors probably, teenage angst 😰 , let me know if there are any more

word count: 4.7k

published: 13 July

authors note: first writing piece on here, my birthday is on september 8th but i wrote this maybe back in may

You think as a teenager, the worst thing that could affect you was teenage angst. but for you, it would probably be the least of your problems. Instead wallowing like every other teenager before you, locked deep into their rooms never to see the sun until they were 20, you decide it’s better to fix your problem with a day out. 

you’re going to be better than what the stereotype says. I mean who’s better at swimming in your own self pity than yourself of course. Even if your parents had decided that travelling abroad for months on end as a job was better than staying at home in the giant house they bought to live as a family, or leave a teenager alone instead of bringing her along, you won’t let it bother you like it did the previous years. 

Although you couldn’t feel bad, your parents were dreaming big, even if you became merely a side thought in that dream. Any teenager would live blissfully with all the materials you had. It was truly a dream, but a dream can only become reality if you make it. 

You’re not going to think so negatively and say that people around you would rather see you burn than to see you happy, even though that’s exactly what you’re saying. 

You’re a kid with everything you want, but surrounded by other kids who are and have basically the same as you, only with parents in the picture, you’re at bare minimum on the grand scale of things. 

To live your life with no one by your side, unless you count the people who dislike you at school, is harder than you think. 

But you’ve lived your life like this far too long to complain, it’s been routine to be left alone. only now, the difference is that your birthday was today. 

spending what most would say a precious day, in a house so hollow you’d think it was abandoned isn’t exactly ideal.  Being alone could only add to your ever growing list of reasons to angst over. not even you, who seemed accustomed to this trend, would want to be reminded of how alone— lonely— you are. 

so to attempt to turn a new leaf, you urge yourself to spend it differently, you told yourself. straying from your normally secretive emo self, you decide that traveling to the next suburb ,since you heard about a new promotion of the manga you liked being released in a cafe in said suburb, was a good way to ignore your ever piling problems of self-destructive tendencies. 

but oh how the world is against you, even if it is your birthday. 

The bus suddenly needs to take a detour to a different area you’re not too familiar with, then declares that the route must be canceled due to complications leaving you stranded in the middle of butt fuck nowhere. When checking your phone to find where you are, you see that you are not only an hour walk away from your house, but your phone is standing on its last legs with a messily 20%. 

To test your limits further, the sky starts to cry the moment you’re just far enough from your house that running back would do more harm than good. 

you quickly scope your area, finding that there are no parks in the vicinity to offer mercy from the rain, and the closest shelter is either 20 minutes forward to the bus stop or the array of trees planted along the side wall as decorations. 

you way your options, and take the tree closest to you as refuge. you’re glad the area you’ve wandered to is littered with them, even better that they're thick enough to offer some kind of protection. 

minutes passed and the rain hasn’t let up, going at the same harsh rate it has been going at for the past 10 minutes. your clothes, so obviously drenched, weighs you down causing your minimal moves to become sluggish (or maybe it’s the premonition of sickness approaching). 

the trees hang low with despair, mimicking your very attitude. rain licks your face, and you can’t tell whether your tears finally made its greeting or it’s rain getting into your eyes.  

you start to ponder whether running to the back home would be a better idea than your lovely tree, the idea of escaping your rain soaked clothes seeming like a dream as of right now, a dream escaping you the longer you wait. 

you test your already bad luck, because god so obviously has a vendetta against you, deciding your next best option was to end your little escapade and head back home in the rain. 

Barely ten minutes in, with wet sneakers splashing into deep puddles and your clothes glued to you like second skin, the rain starts to roar, angered by your decision apparently. 

your vision can’t help but blur due to the heavy rain clouding your sight, and the hair that stubbornly sticks itself into your forehead and subsequently, your eyes. it’s hazy and you can barely make out the road in front of you, you’re glad the path ahead of you is empty and that you’ve arrived in a more familiar area. 

I guess not even you can escape the clutches of teenage angst, slowing your strides and accepting your fate. 

you think how stupid and cliche you look walking in the rain with a frown. Your feet dragging, now feeling the effects of almost an hour in the rain, and on your birthday of all days. The only thing to complete your look was loud sad emo music. 

stopping in your tracks, letting the rain do what it wants, you begin to think back to what you must’ve done to anger god so much. 

you shut your eyes for just a moment, to shield yourself from rain trying to attack your eyes, but the rain suddenly stops, or more accurately, something is blocking the rain from you. you begin to hear the pitter patter of rain against an umbrella and just for a moment, you think god has found pity in your wallow and granted you mercy. When opening your eyes, low and behold, a black umbrella meets your face. 

oh and there’s Riki, or what he likes to be called, Niki, standing in front of you, holding the umbrella over your head acting as your current saviour. 

so much for God's mercy. 

If your day wasn’t already so bad, you’d say that seeing niki would be the worst part of your day. Unfortunately for you though, it was the best. 

you and niki have never been on the same page, ever since he ‘accidentally’ bumped into you while you were in an empty hall. you had given him many chances to be nice to you, or atleast apologise, but as days passed from the first meeting, all you’ve received was strange stares you know all too well. When confronting him, all he could do is ignore you and or play dumb.  This interaction had left a massive rift between the two of you, and being a not so popular kid  in highschool compared to the ‘king of dance’ was not a good look. 

“why are you trying to be a main character” is the last voice you want to hear from, especially on this joke of a birthday. you crane your neck slightly, meeting face to face with the face you hate (and hate to say is extremely easy on the eyes). “why are you trying to stop my main character moment” you shoot back with equally as much snark, but it comes off weak as you underestimated the sound of rain. 

Niki looks down at you with the same glint in his eye you dislike, not because it was a judgmental one, but one of mystery because you can never guess what he’s thinking. “sorry sorry, should i let you get back to that” he removes the umbrella from above you but you make no attempt to stop him. 

the rain embraces you once again, as harsh it was moments ago. you state a niki again, his dry figure under the comfort of his darken umbrella, staring at you who seemed to be physically separated from him. 

talk about rift. 

you’ve never noticed how far you were from niki, in a metaphorical sense. Niki had everything you had, and more. He had people to talk to, hang out with, care about and care for. He too, probably went through his fair share of teenage angst, but you think to yourself that this is the first (and only) win.  

he sees this and halts his movement, examining your figure deeply. you seem tired. along with the wet suit you’re wearing, and unruly hair dripping at its tips, you look far different to how you present yourself at school. nonchalant and cool, an enigmatic girl who seems to always be out of everyone’s business but as of now, you look (in the nicest way possible) like a train wreck. 

“Are you taking joy out of watching me wallow?” you scoff, staring at him with a distasteful eye, “i’m not a sadist” he jokes but he’s the only one who’s smiling. 

he coughs to clear his throat, or maybe the awkward atmosphere, you’re too tired to care. you watch as he moves the umbrella back under you, “why are you standing in the rain anyways?” he questions. 

“m trying to get home” you whisper loud enough to beat the rain, looking at Niki who’s features seem to fuzz up the more you blink. 

“don’t you live 3 streets away?” he adds, you only nodding in response.

your movements are suddenly too sluggish to call lazy, the effects of an hour in the rain finally hitting you. 

“aren’t your parents worried?” 

probably

“my parents are overseas,” you mumble as he nods knowingly, having his fair shares of travelling parents, although he has his sisters to accompany him, “and i don’t feel like spending my day alone”

birthday 

you think how this is the first real conversation you’ve had with niki, ever since your first encounter. Normally you’d stray away from him, so much as  look in your direction, you’re off to avoid further conflict and instead plan a faux argument comeback for if the day ever arrives. 

you rub your eye to rid the haze that had gotten worse, along with the bodily ache and pounding head. 

niki notices, he always notices you. seeing you off in your own world from a distance. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, his tone laced with concern, or at least that's what you think. He moves his hand to wipe some hair out of your face, attempting to help with your irritable eyes. 

Despite the cold weather, you’re hot to the touch. 

“oh shit, you’re burning up” he goes into mother mode as he touches your forehead, seeing as that’s what his sister and mother do when he has his own fever. you mumble an incoherent response, you’re not sure what you said either. 

“I should get home then” you mumble, stepping away from safety and into the rain. He goes to stop you, but the moment you move you’re in shambles, collapsing into his arms like some damsel in distress. 

oh fuck

…

sometimes you think to yourself, what did you do to end up here? and when i mean here, i don’t mean the literal sense, i mean the place you are in life, because for you, all you seem to do is piss of whoever’s writing your story, because why else would you be living such a shitty (but not enough to outwardly complain) life. 

The second you wake up in bed was your first red flag. the sheets a bluish grey, far different from your own floral white ones. The bed is softer, and the quilt more warm, but that might just be from the sheer exhaustion you exhibited some time ago. 

The next flag was the scary tall silhouette you see entering the room, holding what looks like a black plastic bag filled with various things. 

riki looks much more intimidating when all you can make out is his outline. 

the moment he turns around from shutting the door, he sees your eyes staring at him and the previous blank expression he wore changes into a face of concern. 

“oh you’re awake” he scrambles words together as he stalks up to for bedside, placing the plastic bag beside him as he examines your condition like some kind of doctor. 

“clearly” you croak, and you find out that your voice is extremely hoarse (and sore). 

“try not to speak, i think you have a fever from standing under the rain” he deduces but you can’t help but scoff, “gee, who would’ve guessed”. 

the sick you are even snarky than normal you. 

Niki chuckles at your comment as he shuffles around the plastic bag for a bottle of water and what looks like painkillers. 

you shift your head to watch him as he assorts the medicine and water onto the bedside table, pulling out a small mandarin to complete the collection. 

“What's with the orange?” you whisper, trying to not use your voice too much, “vitamin c” he answers simply and you can’t help but laugh at him. 

you manoeuvre into a sitting position to take what he’s giving you, ignoring the pain striking your head as you do so. 

as you pop pills and chug water, you continue to scan the room. It's pretty boring, with a table with a few pieces of stationary, and a shelf with some personal touches. 

Niki sees you’re so obviously inspecting the room, and coughs up an answer. 

“oh umm- sorry. i didn’t know where you lived and you had passed out and i panicked and brought you to my house” he explains. that explains the strange surroundings. you’re in his room. 

you think about how different his room is to what you originally assumed. no trophies, or obnoxious posters. a very standard and boring room for someone so rich. 

his voice snaps you out of your thoughts, “i’ll leave you to rest” he starts to get up and you don’t know what has gotten over you, but the moment you see him shift away, you grasp his wrist urging his attention back on you. 

he stares at you intently, as if he’d listen to the hours of silence you’d make if you chose to. 

under his scrutinising gaze, you can’t help but avert your gaze. “I don't want to spend my birthday alone” you unconsciously mumble and you feel pathetic as you hear the words leave your mouth. 

a raging silence fills the room, and your own anxiety gets the best of you as you loosen your grip around his wrist. 

the moment he longer feels your fingers against him, he reaches for you back which surely catches your attention. 

you never had a real interaction with the boy, especially due to the circumstances you (or him) were put through but your distaste for him wasn't baseless, even if your heart felt different. 

Speaking about heart, it was pounding so loudly against your chest, you could’ve sworn Niki would dance to it. 

“It's your birthday?” he’s grip on your hand is gentle, almost delicate as if you’d crack under the pressure of his touch. you nod softly, not facing him but you can tell what he’s thinking. 

you probably seem more like a loser than you already are, you feel like that at least. 

Riki nods his head, gently as to let your eyes follow enough not to be bothered by such movements. He repositions himself beside his own bed, hand still attached to yours. 

you try everything in your power to ignore his riveting gaze, but the awkwardness is much louder than the silence itself. 

you ponder to yourself, if this birthday was one of your best ones or the worse. you silently compare back to when you were six, and everyone and their friends were there. your parents seemed less concerned with otherworldly matters and you focused on nothing but the people around you. 

That was the last time you felt noticed. 

teenage angst must’ve hit you really early, huh? 

then, back to just 14, where it was yet another year alone, with no one at school knowing who you are (yet because the moment you meet riki everything had a turn for the one worse), your parents at god knows where, living their best business lives, and this is your first time spending your birthday alone (first of a few). 

you think how empty your house was, how dark and voided it felt, feeding into your ever growing reasons to angst. 

and now you think of now, despite being ill with a rising fever, you don’t feel as bad as you did back then. you can’t tell if it’s just your delirious mind putting it’s fair share of delusional thoughts into you, or it’s just because you haven’t had company in so long. but the hand wrapped around yours, and the feeling of someone (even if it’s the ever so terrible niki) next you that made you smile. 

“What are you smiling about? Are you going through shock?” niki’s voice is a mixture of playfulness and concern, because even if the chances of you suddenly falling into a seizure is low, it isn’t zero. 

your eyes trail to him, but not to his eyes, you wouldn’t dare look straight at him. 

“I thought it was going to be another bad birthday” you shrug, and you can’t for the life of you, wipe off your smile, not now because Riki finds it in himself to squeeze your hand. 

you expect another remark, because that’s all your conversations seem to be (from the single one you’ve just had earlier) but nothing of the sort came, instead, from the corner of your eyes, you see him smile. 

the nicest type of smile, with his boxy edges, and eyes squeezing softly. 

if you weren’t looking at him before, you are now. 

“I'm glad” that’s all he says, and your heart clenches at something that isn’t depression and anxiety. 

The overwhelming feeling of awkwardness has long dissipated and has been replaced with something else. 

something new. 

you stare intently into his eyes, moreso, he does and you are compelled to look back. He's searching for something, in the darkness of the room it seems like. 

you can barely make out his features, soft eyes, and sharp jaw. his hair perfectly framing his face, to much of your distaste, and is slightly damp probably from just getting back from wherever he went. 

you wonder what’s going inside that head of his, while staring so intently at you, dissecting every little part of you. does he notice the droop of your eyes, how tired you look, how pale your skin has gotten from days locked in your room, how your cheeks never flushed with life yet was always plush to the touch (probably from all the instant food you’ve consumed)

does he notice the teenage angst you wallow in, him probably going through the same trivial problems as you. 

“Sorry you have to spend your weekend with me” you whisper, thinking about all the other things the “king of dance” could be doing instead of nurturing you back to health. 

He’d probably be out with heeseung or jake at the local gaming cafe, laughing and playing. He was probably on his way there if not for running into you. 

you don’t break eye contact so you see how his eyes double in size, quick to shake his head, your own aching from following his movements. “hey don’t say that” he scolds you, taking his other hand to caress yours. 

How intimate does he get?

your skin burns from his touch, and not because your fever is bordering on 39° C. Your eyes tear away, too much of your brains disliking because, even if you dislike him, he’s very nice to look at. 

“no one deserves to spend their birthday alone” and he may be right, but your own angsty self could beg to differ. 

because with the cards dealt to you, and the way you’ve treated the world (because how it treated you) there’s no doubt there’s a love hate (mostly hate) relationship going on between you and life. 

“Even more, now that you’re sick” he adds on, rubbing circles to the back of your hand and you feel comfort for the first time in a while. 

“i guess even someone who hates me can be nice, huh?” you didn't mean to say that out loud, but your quiet voice is too intertwined with your head voice, mixed with the fact that you’re terribly sick, couldn’t tell the difference. 

he stares at you quizzingly, as if you’ve said something so utterly absurd it’s left him speechless. 

“i don’t hate you” 

those words catch you off guard. because the words “don't” and “hate” have never been uttered on the same line with “you” following after it. 

you stay silent. it’s your birthday so of course he wouldn’t uprightly say it to your face. 

“Do you hate me?”

he asks and you take a moment to ponder, about the strange stairs he’s given you, and the amount of times he’s ignored you piled with how everyone at school seems to stray away from you. 

you only hate him because he hates you 

“i only hated you because you hate me”

niki is left truly speechless (in a metaphorical sense), and his jaw is literally cracked wide. 

“what?!? I don't hate you! god! i could never hate you”

like a cringey teenage cliche, you bite your lip holding back an unwanted grin. 

“don’t say the lord's name in vain” you mutter to make light of the situation. 

not having friends didn't mean you weren’t socially inept. 

Your dry chuckle is the only sound left in the room, other than the pattering of rain. riki can’t help but frown at the news he just heard. 

“i’ve never hated you, not for a second”  he looks at you as if he’s trying to convince you, telling you that all your internalised monologues were for nothing, “i just thought… since you were so stand-off-ish, that you just didn't like me” you shrug, averting from his gaze. 

words pour out of you like vomit and you can no longer keep up your enigmatic cool girl facade, not now that you’re sick. 

“not many people like me, so i assume you hate me jusy as much, and well, if you hated me, i figured i should hate you back” 

and you did, well you tried to at least. but in moments like these; where niki holds your hand as if you’re the only thing keeping him alive, where his eyes never leave your lips because he’s so set on remembering every little detail you say, afraid your words will be lost to tone. you can’t help but not hate him at all, noy one bit. 

“how could i hate you when you’re just so perfect” he whispers, almost like a confession. 

actually he did confess. to you. right now. 

you owlishly blink, and suddenly think that your beating heart is more serious than your fever. 

you try to snatch your hand away from him, in embarrassment of him feeling how hot you feel, with the tips of your ears flaming red. 

with your averted gaze, it’s not like you can see that his neck has a creeping speck of hot red as well as his cheeks, ears, and everything on him. 

He's so glad it’s dark right now. 

“you can’t just say that, riki” it’s the first time you’ve said his name. 

his name out of your mouth, your tongue, your lips. 

He wants to hear it again. 

“Why not?” he eggs, leaning closer despite the strange territory they’ve suddenly entered. 

“Some people might get the wrong idea” and by some, you mean yourself because even with the minimal things you know about the boy next to you, your heart is fluttering like crazy it makes you want to vomit.

“But I'm not lying, you’re so perfect” Riki reiterates, “you’re so perfect, i’m afraid to even talk to you, or look at you, even be around you” he rambled at the amount of failed attempts to talk to you, caused by his shyness. 

so… everytime you tried to talk to him, walked near him, caught him staring, it was all because of some silly crush?

and now you feel stupid, ontop of your crippling angst, you’ve failed at teenage romance. 

letting out a frustrating sigh, so heavy you might even blow the poor boy away, you drop down ontop your back and whine. 

he’s shocked for a moment, watching you wail with your hands covering your face. 

he finds you so cute, his stomach might because an olympic gymnast at this point. 

riki crawls closer to you, kneeling onto his knees as he gently pries your hand away from your face. “I feel so stupid” you can’t help but utter, eyes shut to avoid his eyes. 

riki grins, leaning closer (not that you could see), “the smartest girl at school? Feeling stupid? That's a first” he jokes and you unintentionally snort out a laugh, “i’m not the smartest” you instantly shoot back, slowly opening your eyes. 

“oh but you are, you’re smart, and beautiful, and mysterious and witty and-“  you rip your hand from his grip to cover his mouth, any more and your ego will start to inflate and be as big as Sunghoon’s. “aish, stop that 

'' You laugh, and you can hear him giggling along. 

“But why? can’t i tell the girl i like how amazingly perfect she is?”

the girl he likes…

the. 

girl

he

likes

IS YOU?

“you like me…” you gape, maybe you are socially inept, or at least, romantically. 

riki laughs, and a hearty one at that. the type of laugh that comes straight from the stomach. “how could anyone not?” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

like the teenage girl you are, you can’t help but feel bubbly and giddy, like the princess in some lame disney movie being swept off her feet by a guy who’s probably way too old for her (funny seeing that riki’s younger than you). 

Then guilt hits you. as much as you want to revel in this blissful joy, you know nothing about riki, and you spent so long hating on him in your head to suddenly switch up. 

“I know nothing about you though…” you break the news to him, “i mean, we technically just had our first real conversation”. 

riki can’t help but smile, even if he’s just been indirectly rejected, your gentleness in letting him down makes him swoon even more. 

“we can get to know each other then” he declares, smiling down at you. 

“But are you willing to wait?” your eyes fill with anticipation, hoping for the best (it is your birthday after all), and wonder for the first time in forever, smiling from ear to ear.

“for you, i’d wait a thousand years” 

if what he said before wasn't swoon worthy, this definitely was. 

you feel like one of his silly fangirls that wait outside of class, giggling at his stupid smile but this time, you know you’re the cause of it. 

“Are you going to start singing Christina Aguilera now?” you joke, giggling quietly to yourself. “I mean you should, since it’s my birthday after all” oh what a good birthday it was. 

“anything for my birthday girl” Seeing your smile stretch for the first time, he hopes he’d be seeing that everyday in the near future.

Riki looks at you, for what feels like the millionth time. He really looks at you, like he did at school, like he did on the street in the rain, and like he does now. 

and he thinks to himself:

yeah, I can definitely wait.

authors note pt.2: as you can see i write a lot for riki (my bias) mostly because i have so many wips that i s decided to release 🤭 might accept request who knows. also if you have any tips on how to write or do a layout please pm!!!!

[knivestothroats]

Last minute Christmas special for The Professionals

I originally wrote an excuse for why this is going out at like 9pm on christmas but we dont have to explain ourselves. Enjoy. cowritten with @victimeyez as always

Tommy woke up late.

The pale light of day was already filtering through the gray winter sky. 

Tommy leapt up and threw some clothes on quickly, hopping as his feet touched the cold wood floor. He dashed to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, running his fingers through his hair the best he could.

Two of the trainees were already up and about, engaged in a heated game of slap jack.

“Hey, uh, sorry, have you guys seen Fletcher?” Tommy asked, flinching as Caldera’s hand hit the table.

“I saw them dragging a carcass out of the forest earlier,” Barlowe said as they flipped a card. “So they’re probably out there on all fours eating it like a wild animal.”

“They’re processing a deer in the shed,” Caldera clarified.

“Okay, thank you.”

Tommy slipped on boots and a coat and ventured outside, the cold air scraping at his face. He pulled open the door to the shed, and was immediately hit with the metallic tang of blood and raw meat.

Fletcher was standing beside the body of a stag that was hanging from its hind legs, stomach torn open, blood dripping onto a tarp beneath. Their coat was smeared red, and there was a knife in their hand. A small speaker was playing music for them to work to, and they had to raise their voice over it. 

“What’s up?”

“I just wanted to check in, um…” Tommy pulled his eyes away from the animal. “...About what you wanted me to do today?”

“Isn’t it your day off?”

“Oh, uh…” Tommy had a hard time keeping track of the days here sometimes, but if Fletcher said it was his day off, he wasn’t about to argue. “I suppose it is.”

“Unless you want to help me skin a deer.”

“Um,” Tommy swallowed. “Is it optional?”

“This time, yes,” Fletcher said. “I like to have my alone time with the blood and guts. It’s like meditation.”

The next day, everyone loaded up into the truck.

“You’re riding shotgun, Thunderbird,” Fletcher informed Tommy, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Aw, come on,” Williams complained. “So the three of us have to squeeze into the back together?”

“Three people have to squeeze in the back either way,” Fletcher said. “So suck it up.”

Tommy shrank into his designated spot as the trainees piled into the bench seat, their bags stashed in the bed of the truck.

The trees had blocked much of the snow accumulation, and the roads were plowed, so they had no problem getting to the airport. All the trainees were going home for the holidays, meaning Fletcher and Tommy would have the lodge to themselves.

“Alright, I’m not getting out of the car because I don’t want to be on camera,” Fletcher said as they pulled up to the drop off zone. “Have a nice holiday, tell your families and bosses I said hi, don’t get nabbed by airport security.”

Tommy watched through the window as they disappeared inside the building. It was somewhat daunting to be alone with Fletcher while the rest were gone, but it wasn’t like the trainees provided any sort of comfort or safety for him. If anything, it was less people to worry about. 

“We’re going out to the rez before we go home,” Fletcher said as they drove away. “I have to offload this deer hide. Maybe one day I’ll teach myself to tan but… ehh. It’s enough effort as is.”

It was a while before Fletcher pulled up outside of a house and put the truck in park. They got out without a word and went around to the back. Tommy fiddled with his seatbelt, but since Fletcher hadn’t told him to come along, he opted to remain. 

He watched Fletcher heft a duffle bag over their shoulder and knock on the door. A man with greying braids answered, and Fletcher handed off the bag. He waved Fletcher inside, but Fletcher said something and jutted their chin in the direction of the truck. The man looked at Tommy, gave a wave, and disappeared into his house. He returned a moment later and handed Fletcher a much smaller bag. Fletcher dug around the contents. They pulled out a pair of yellow gloves and felt the material between their fingers.

They said their goodbyes and Fletcher returned to the truck, tossing the bag in the backseat.

It began to snow as they drove home, small flakes dancing down from the sky.

Fletcher opened the door to the lodge and let Tommy inside. They stood outside the threshold and fiddled with their keys for a moment.

“I’m gonna be doing some stuff outside for a bit. So. Behave.”

Before Tommy could ask if they needed help, Fletcher shut the door.

Two days off in a row seemed odd, so Tommy tried to find something to do. There were a few dishes in the sink from breakfast that he washed and put away, before starting to wipe down the counter and clean the stove.

The back door opened and Fletcher walked in, carrying a sapling fir tree in a large pot. They locked eyes with Tommy, paused a moment, and set the pot down before and walking back outside, closing the door behind them.

Fletcher reappeared a couple minutes later through the front door. They kicked off their boots and walked back to retrieve the tree.

“Follow me,” they ordered.

Tommy put down the sponge and quickly wiped off his hands before following Fletcher into the living room. They placed the tree a comfortable distance from the fireplace, then picked up the bag they had gotten earlier. After pulling out the gloves and a spool of sinew, they placed the bag under the tree.

Fletcher gestured to the little setup they had created and said, “Merry Christmas.”

Tommy just stared at them.

“That’s yours,” they nodded to the bag.

“I… I didn’t-”

“Yeah, obviously you didn’t get me anything,” Fletcher cut him off. “I don’t usually do anything for Christmas. I don’t want to make a big deal out of this. It’s just like a nice little thing to do, since it’s just us here together. So open your gift.”

Tommy picked up the bag. Inside was another pair of gloves, made of soft deerskin leather. Beneath that…

Tommy pulled it up slowly. A hoop wrapped in suede with a web of cord stretched across the middle, feathers hanging down from the bottom.

“Don’t worry, you can still sleep in my room sometimes,” Fletcher assured him. “I just thought it’d be nice if you had your own dreamcatcher.”

Tommy held it up to look at it in full. It was beautiful, woven with care. He touched the webbing, feeling the very slight tackiness of real sinew, no cheap plastic or dyed feathers. He stroked them gently, smoothing them into sharp points.

“Fletcher…it’s really beautiful. This is…this is very thoughtful of you.”

“Well, you know,” Fletcher shrugged. “I have a trade worked out where I give him my skins and he gives me some of the stuff he makes and I usually don’t need much, so I just asked for a couple extra things this time. No big deal. Let’s watch a movie or something. I can make hot chocolate.”

Fletcher walked off to busy themself in the kitchen.

Tommy dashed off to his room, his hands a little sweaty. He dug through his sketchbook, flipping through the poorly bound pages until he found what he was looking for. 

When he got back, he found them finishing off the hot chocolates. 

“I, um - I actually do have a little something for you. I might clean it up a little bit more, but…here.” He held out the page of his sketchbook.

Fletcher wiped a hand on their pants and took it, tilting it to the light. The page was filled with a pencil drawing of the lodge, a slightly stiff Fletcher standing in front.

A genuine smile grew on Fletcher’s face.

“Huh.” 

Fletcher plucked a magnet off the fridge and hung up the drawing. They picked the mugs and handed one to Tommy. 

“You can pick a movie off the shelf,” they said, giving his hair a ruffle as they walked back into the living room.

Tommy figured that was about the best it was going to get. He looked at his drawing on the fridge, and felt a sense of pride he hadn’t felt in a long time. It wasn’t just cleaning, it wasn’t just being used, it wasn’t pretending to be anything he wasn’t. It was a drawing he did because he wanted to, a drawing no one else would have done quite the same way. Maybe not the greatest, but…it was his. Totally his. And that felt really good. 

He offered a few choices he liked to Fletcher, and they settled on a fun action one. The hot chocolate was rich and warm. Tommy held his new dreamcatcher in his lap while they watched, fiddling and petting it. He was excited to have something that was his, as “his” as something could be, here in the lodge. Fletcher gave him a look for it, but didn’t say anything. 

When the movie was over, Tommy was still awake, and a little restless. It was getting late, but… maybe it was the holiday, but he felt like there was something he was supposed to do. Some kind of ceremony that would make it all real. 

Tommy slowly made some tea, being methodical and slow as if the meditative practice would bring him a sense of closure to the day. As he was pulling out his tea bag, Fletcher found him. 

“Wanna see something?”

Tommy did. Probably. He followed Fletcher out the front door and onto the porch, looking out on the grounds. Snow was falling softly, dampening sound for an almost eerily quiet night. It was peaceful, the low light cast from the lodge illuminating enough that they could see out almost to the forest edge.

They watched in companionable silence, and Fletcher even accepted a sip of his tea. Tommy wasn’t sure what he had been hoping for, but this did it. This would do. 

“Merry Christmas, Fletcher. Or…you know. Atleast, a nice night.”

“Merry Christmas or at least a nice night to you too, buddy.”

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday

@defire @jumpywhumpywriter @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @paperprinxe @desert-dyke

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @cursedandtired

@whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump

@thatsthewhump @utopian819 @pretty-face-breaker @thesuffererrrr

[eluvisen]

6,7,9,21 :D

This got long. I’m sorry? Enjoy?

6. How would the player go about meeting them in Act 1? What is their introduction?

In the woodlands approaching the goblin camp, the party stops. If they pass a perception check, they realise a raven in a nearby tree is watching them. Rhodeia will shift back into her humanoid form to greet the party. If they fail the check, Rhodeia will follow the party for a while. The party gets a second perception check to realise it’s the same bird, but whether they pass or fail, she’ll reveal herself (with differing dialogue on the party’s observational skills).

Rhodeia has been searching for a way to eliminate the goblin camp, and will join the party if they likewise plan to take out the goblins. If questioned, she will reveal she isn’t a member of the Emerald Grove and is frustrated with how they’re handling the situation. The tieflings need help and the goblins are actively hurting the local environment, so it’s a no-brainer to stop the horde. If the player asks why she doesn’t seem to be actively searching for a cure, she states she’d rather use her last days to make a difference, and is surprised (and secretly sceptical) to learn of a potential cure.

Rhodeia can lead the party to the log crossing to sneak into the goblin camp from the south and talk to rats inside the temple to get more information on layout and defences.

7. Describe their arc. How would a player help resolve it? What choices can be made? Can your Tav be turned down a dark path, or pulled to a lighter one?

Rhodeia’s deepest fear is losing herself. Which is ironic because she wild shapes as a coping mechanism when she’s deeply stressed to get out of her own head (and obvs the tadpole situation is very frightening for her). So her arc would revolve around coping mechanisms and the inevitability of change. Once the party reaches Act 3, the player would observe a pretty sudden change in her demeanour from “mild-mannered and compassionate” to “brusque and focused only on the party’s to-kill to-do list”.

Inside the city, a series of smaller scenes trigger where the player can encourage her in one direction or another, or suggest some method of coping with the present situation: On the Elfsong rooftop Rhodeia is pacing, desperately trying to pray to Mielikki (who she hasn’t heard since she was infected). She’s never been in a city before and is in sensory overload from how overwhelming it is. She’ll talk to the player about how she’s far away from her goddess and her entire frame of reference, and ponder whether to use a sending spell to carry a message to her mentor Elenweyre or wait until after the brain is defeated.

If Shadowheart’s parents die, Rhodeia has a scene where she feels guilty for not intervening. She will also talk about the deaths of her own parents and how she returned to her family home only to find it beyond recognition. The player can try to reassure her Shadowheart made the right choice or perhaps the least bad choice out of all available options (but in the case of Shads murderknifing her parents for Shar, Rhodeia simply will not accept that was an appropriate outcome and is hostile to Shadowheart for the rest of the game).

During Astarion’s quest, Rhodeia will advocate for freeing the spawn. But if the player does free them, she’s later troubled by the decision—past the horror and adrenaline of the moment, she now views it as the wrong choice because they’ll devastate the Underdark. As a druid, she cannot accept that level of damage to life. At this point, she is deeply conflicted over the decisions the party has been making and feels she can’t think clearly in the moment when these choices arise.

In Bloomridge Park, she’ll talk about how there’s more green in the city than she expected and the life she’s seen, like the pigeons and peacocks (but is clearly giving herself a pep talk). She’ll also discuss Mielikkan doctrine that nature and civilisation can coexist, but admits this is overwhelming for her and she isn’t handling this particularly well, but it’s getting harder to imagine going back to her circle because she’s afraid she’s too different now.

Rhodeia can’t be pulled down a good/evil path because the player doesn’t have that much influence on her core values, but there would be several outcomes for her quest, mostly revolving around whether she finds a way to cope with the current situation. She can:

Accept that change is inevitable in the sense of “What if you return home and you’re different, but you’re still just you?”

Accept that she’s changed and embrace who she is now

Resist the notion of change and instead focus on the core elements of her identity

Focus on resolving the disaster at hand and leave the soul-searching for later

Ideally I’d use a points system with a funky name like Shadowheart’s Nightsong/WolfDream Points so it isn’t a 1:1 “player tells her how to think” scenario. Low approval? She’ll do the opposite of what you tell her because she doesn’t trust or like you.

9. What’s the significance behind your Tav’s name?

Rhodeia means rose (at least if you trust the baby name website I found it on lol) and I had it picked out long before I got my mitts on BG3. The nature theme is obvious, but it also influenced her colour palette (pinks and purples). Her surname, Whitebloom, is a reference to the pale vines tattooed on her face and body.

21. Describe a defining moment from their past, which makes them who they are today!

Answered here!

(30 Questions for Your Tav)

[hernakedmuse]

Wolf Moon

Word Count: 4,775

Warnings: It's very Rated M people, no minors no babies, this is going to be gory and sexual, this chapter only talk about sexual situations are mentioned.

Synopsis: I'm starting a couple series, one of them is a Twilight series, this one is Jasper x OC, my own OC named Kira Varady who is part witch and part Child of the Moon. I mix my own myths in here and in my Twilight they have fangs, sorry and they cry blood like True Blood.

Jasper feels constantly feeling lonely, he loves his family but he can't completely be himself with them they don't understand, and while Alice is a warm body (figure of speech), she doesn't have his heart, something that he thinks he lost long ago, until a pretty redhead sits down next to him in English.

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

Kira

I would hate to live here.

I mean, I know Port Angeles is not Seattle but it at least has restaurants…I see not one restaurant here unless you count that little diner. I can understand why I smell some supernatural sort of thing here, something saccharine like diabetic. It’s the perfect sort of seclusion for a non-human to hide out, but so is Port Angeles, only Port Angeles has bars, restaurants, bookstores, movie theaters, stores beside ones that focus on camping.

But starting senior year thereafter what happened…that isn’t an option for me. The thought of walking those halls again makes me so sick to my stomach that I get a dizzy spell, and not a lot of things take me down. That day in May, it’ll be one I’ll never forget.

Will I miss seeing my friends? Of course, especially my very best one, Zach. How could I not miss someone who is uninhibitedly your best friend, someone who knows everything about you, including the bad…especially the bad. And Zachary Allison wholeheartedly accepts it, even embraces it a little. I love him for it, I’ll miss him for it. Sure I’ll see him outside of school, but when you’re a teenager most of your days are consumed by those walls, and I’ll be seeing those diamond blue eyes everyday.

I rolled down the window of my 1989 black Jeep Cherokee. The Cranberries poured out of my car, Empty wasn’t blasting like some obnoxious kid who thinks they’re in a movie, just loud enough for me to enjoy. It’s a clean car, and has a cherry tree hanging from the mirror along with pink fuzzy dice. My aunt got it for me for my 16th birthday, she’s too busy with her bookstore to take me to a lot of places. I parked in the absolute back of the parking lot of Forks High School, speed wasn’t a problem for me, and I needed time to sulk away from a crowd before dragging my feet in. New jail ,same sentence. 

I’m not much of a school girl, grades aren’t important to me, and college is the farthest thing from my mind. I know plenty of people like me, well not people…plenty of them are well respected scholars, but I really don’t know what I’m doing or going to do. People think once you’re 17 you’ll just have it, I don’t, maybe next year I’ll live in Budapest to stay close to my dad, I need to practice my astral projection anyway and my Hungarian is tökéletes.

I nursed my cold to-go cup of coffee, it’s French Vanilla and rose from my Aunt’s bookstore. Topped with whipped cream and a soft dusting of cinnamon, but I can’t drink it now. I did eat my croissant breakfast sandwich though, sausage, a folded egg, white american cheese, and rose raspberry jam. 

I promised my Aunt Liz I wouldn’t be late, I promised I’d try though, make her feel like she didn’t screw me up. I checked my makeup in the mirror and looked down at my outfit of choice, a sheer lime green button down blouse, only two buttons in the middle done, the rest undone revealing a good portion of my stomach and cleavage, the sleeves are a little long and bell like, and underneath the sheer gossamer material was a cropped black camisole, it matches the black mini skirt that hugged my big hips and backside, I hate how big my ass is but it didn’t stop me from wearing pretty clothes, I guess I’m a masochist. A chain belt with a crescent moon charm dangled from the belt down to my thigh, and black knee high boots supported my feet. I kept the hot rollers in my hair for two hours this morning. My intense copper red hair is heavy and mostly straight, and its length down to my waist makes it easy to keep the body. My lips are too big and my face too round, maybe Heartthrob by Revlon will make it look more subtle. My eyes are bold like everything else on my face, hooded and liquid gold, my eyelashes accentuated by mascara and that’s all.

I sprayed on my Victoria’s Secret body mist and pulled on my leather bomber jacket that was a little too big for my frame and popped in a piece of spearmint Extra gum. I grabbed my pastel lilac Jansport that was bedazzled with a million band pins, and keychains of fuzzy creatures. I got out of the Jeep and made sure it was locked before walking to my doom, and Zach wasn’t there to keep me sane. I put my headphones on and put on my Candlebox CD. I need to block out the sound so I turn it up loud. 

I should turn it on, hear the voices, let them in. To get a feel of my surroundings, but it failed me before, it failed me with him. Haven’t turned it back on sense, but even when I turn it off I still hear some, and with very loud music I can tune it out. 

I couldn’t turn off my nose though, above the usual human flesh which only entices me around a certain time of the month there was that sickly, treacly, syrupy, cloying, sugary smell again. My stom ach turned and I added another piece of gum to suppress the nausea, I really couldn’t smell it, sometimes I’ll smell it when I go to the city, like Seattle, like San Francisco, like Paris, like Budapest. But never in Port Angeles, and in Forks I’m surprised that I smell it so strongly, especially now.

I don’t know what it is, but I know it’s someone, someone not human. But then…then, another scent hit me as I passed through the parking lot, something softly sweet, not fully sweet, but like sweet oranges, aquatic musk, there’s a warm hint of cozy fresh linens being singed by burning embers. It was the most incredible scent in the world! Her mouth water but not in hunger, but in a want, a need for comfort or to be wrapped in like a blanket.

I closed my eyes and inhaled, I didn’t realize I stopped until someone collided into me. Someone who smells like strawberries and freesia but cut nicely with earthy lavender. But she wasn’t on the menu this morning. “I’m so sorry!”

I opened my eyes to see a nervous girl, an apologetic brunette with silky chocolate hair and espresso brown eyes with remorseful, peach lips. “Well it’s awfully nice to meet you sorry, I’m Kira, do you know where the office is in a place like this?” I gave her a teasing smile.

The girl awkwardly laughed, the apology disappearing from her expression and her shoulders began to relax a little. We were both getting looks, probably because she was talking to the new girl, I pushed my headphones down from my copper head. “I’m actually Bella, and I don’t- I-I just moved here.”

I was surprised, she fit in here nicely. “So am I, are you from Portland or Seattle?”

She wore a look of amusement on her face, she has a nice simple face and pretty eyes, like something you’d see in Dutch art, that kind of beauty. “Actually I’m from Phoenix, Arizona.”

My eyes widened comically in shock, making the girl full on laugh now. She looked like what you imagine a Pacific Northwesterner to look like.

“I know, I swear I’m probably part albino.”

“But it’s pretty, like Snow White.” I winced. “Was that rude? Sometimes I talk like an idiot, I swear I can be pretty smart sometimes.”

My voice didn’t help, with its squeakish yet raspy quality, I sounded like a total airhead, or a sick baby.

“I’m sure you can be, but really it’s okay. Where are you from, California?”

“Um” I giggled. “Actually, I live an hour away, Port Angeles most of my life. Before that though, I was from San Francisco for a day.” I’m naturally olive and tan, people assume I’m a native of California a lot because of it, but it’s just my Romani heritage on my dad’s side.

“We should swap stories, tell everyone I’m from Port Angeles and you’re from Phoenix.” She smiled.

I grinned. “That is tempting, but I’ve never been to Phoenix. I wonder why they call it that, I never heard of firebirds there.” I joked, but Bella looked at me like she thought I was serious.

“Let's find the office, I bet he knows.” I walked over to a tall and cute Asian guy who looked like he was right out of Weezer. When he looked at me his eyes widened and I could smell his blood heat up and hear his heart speed up, I could smell his arousal and saw his eyes fall to my ample cleavage, my double D’s always are a bit of a problem I swear. “Hi, I’m Kira, and this is Bella-”

“Varady and Swan, yeah I’m Eric Yorkie, a junior.” He looked at Bella with interest before returning his gaze to me. I sort of swayed in my stance as I waited for him to continue. “I can tell you guys everything you need to know about Forks High School.” He’s very enthusiastic, so far people here are friendlier than at my old high school. 

“I’d love to know where the office is, you’re perfect for the job Eric.” His pupils dilated when I said his name and I couldn't help but laugh. “Hey, are you in a band? You look like an Indie rocker, like Weezer or Smashing Pumpkins or Panic!At the Disco.”

Eric Yorkie looked far too excited at that, I hope he wouldn’t take what I said too seriously. He’s nice and he doesn’t seem to be the most confident, I like people to feel good about themselves. “I-I am, I am totally the right guy for that job- for any job!”

I giggled. “Great, come on Bella!”

Eric showed us the shortcut to the front office, taking us to Mrs. Cope, a sweet little curvy redhead lady who’s about middle aged and smells like Chantilly. “You must be Kira Varady and Isabella Swan!  Welcome to Forks High School!”

From all the voices in the hall, I know everyone expected us. It’s a little place, Forks, Washington. Where everyone knows everyone, and they’ve been here since forever. Bella and I are the most exciting thing that’s happening, and that’s odd being entertained so easily. 

“Here are your schedules and a map of the school, although I see Mr. Yorkie wouldn’t mind helping you with that.” She laughed goodnaturedly as she handed us all that we needed for this year. “And Kira don’t you worry, nothing ever happens here at Forks High School,” I felt my blood run cold as the woman mentioned the event, suddenly I could hardly breathe, of course she’d  know. “I heard about that awful tragedy at your last high school, and my niece Taylor goes to Port Angeles High School. You knew Travis Jones pretty well didn’t you? I’m really so sorry-”

“Yes well thank you Mrs. Cope, for all of this, we really have to find our classes!” I interrupted abruptly and walked right out of the office, I felt so overheated like my brain was going to fry.

I took a deep breath and turned around to face Bella with a false smile plastered onto my face. She looked like she wanted to ask what that was about, but she didn’t. Thank the stars for that. I couldn’t handle that sort of question right now. “I think this is where we go our separate ways, what class do you have?”

“English with Mr. Birdie, you?”

“Um, Literature as well, then Film Studies, Humanities, then lunch, P.E., Anatomy, Photography, Study Hall, and Economics. I’m so glad I’m a senior.” I looked around. “I’ll go and find it, it was really nice meeting you Bella.”

“You too, Kira!”

I made my way down the hall, my hearing was enhanced and I could hear people talk about me, admire me, judge me, some desiring with all their heart to hate me and want me.

“She’s so hot, that’s Kira Varady or however you pronounce it, after that kid got killed at Port Angeles High School she transferred here.”

“Man I don’t know if I could drive an hour out the way to school five days out of seven just because some kid got eaten.”

“Well I don’t mean to be a jerk but I don’t care what got her here, I’m just glad she is, look at that ass it’s like out of a rap video and those tits!”

“She’s kinda ridiculous looking, who dresses up THAT much you know?”

“Her ass looks a little fat in that skirt don’t you think?”

“Lauren, I think you’re jealous because you don’t have one!”

I may be able to turn the mind reading off, but my enhanced senses never go away. Sometimes I wish I was just normal.

I took a deep breath before I entered my classroom. Standing in front of the class was a tall woman with a brown bob and wearing a heavy cardigan and long dress, the classroom was covered in poetic and literary posters. I’m guessing this is Ms. Allen. Her face lit up, warm brown eyes with gentle aging around them just illuminated like a Christmas tree at the sight of me. “Class, our new student has arrived, this is Kira Varady!”

Jasper

I don’t know how many more times I can take this.

How many times am I supposed to be a senior in fucking high school?

Why can’t it ever be college, I think we do the college bit once every couple decades, I think bell bottoms were in fashion last time I got my PhD. At least there I’m surrounded by adults. It’s always high school, nothing is even a little bit interesting in high school, I know those shows like to make it something grand and life changing, they also like to make them more mature thinking, than they actually are. But that’s good television. I’m 158 years old, physically 19, but fuck I’m literally too old for this.

Carlisle said it’s good for me to get used to being around humans, try and adapt myself, try to not kill them when they’re around. You see, I’ve only been an animal drinker for 55 years, that’s not a long time in vampire years. I wasn’t a good man- or vampire, I didn’t feed off just the guilty, sometimes the innocent too and meeting Alice was the best thing that happened to me. She loves me, I think I love her, or I’m not sure I do, but she makes me feel less lonely, and that’s nice especially when adjusting. It’s like I said, 55 years isn’t an awfully long time in our world.

I feel like I’m being stabbed in the throat, and my gums ache something awful, I’m so hungry, and to make matters worse, the boys and some girls have been so fucking horny over the new girls, and as an empath…well that combined with my blood lust hasn’t been making this the easiest day.

I sit in this waste of a classroom, Ms. Allen telling us of our curriculum for this semester, we begin with The Scarlet Letter. I've read that damn book more times than I could remember. I envy all those who could be put down by a bullet, what I wouldn’t give for a .45 to the temple now. When I start spiraling like this, I usually grab Alice, sex sometimes is my only release, it certainly isn’t hunting Bambi.

When that door opened in Ms. Allen’s English class, it hit me. It violently slammed me in the face, the most intoxicating scent, a fragrance that makes my mouth water in a way of uncontrollable biological urge, it came to me in the smells of a botanical aroma, the harsh but beautiful thorns of a rose, a woodslike perfume a musk that ended in the sweet floral  essence of apple blossoms. And in walked the most, gorgeous…girl, creature, nymphlike female. A wild and unhinged beauty, light olive skin that looked impossibly soft to touch, with a doll-like face, round and heart-shaped all at once, the most perfectly round, china doll cheeks and an elegant pointed chin that hinted at Eastern European heritage. Lips, a mouth so full and plush, pillowy and painted a seductive, dusky nude a naked and suggestive color. Her nose is perfect and button-like, doll-like just like the rest of her face, hooded eyes like they crafted from glass and porcelain, marionette-like, with lashes of a figurine, dark and long and sweeping, that flutter to reveal liquid gold. A color I only see on those like us, hers are a butterscotch heaven, the richest shade of topaz. Her marionette face was framed by very long, waist-length thick hair, the color of the most intense copper, with auburn blended in giving it an unreal color inhuman, but despite her thin, perfectly round arch dark colored eyebrows, it is her natural color. It fell and rippled like heavy, expensive satin, I could faintly smell the heat from a styling tool off of them. It did make her bangs frame her forehead prettily. 

I’m not even a little bit ashamed to say that is a body I’ll never forget, that will haunt my waking dreams, none I’ve seen in my 158 years walking this Earth, naturally at least. She’s soft, her curves soft, a waist tiny enough to separate top to bottom, a perky overflowing cleavage straining against a tiny camisole beneath a flowing, sheer top with a color that goes too well with her hair and her eyes and brings out the exotic olive of her skin, and a skirt that didn’t try to hide an ass I’d love to see bouncing on my cock. I’m allowed to have these lewd thoughts, they’re my lewd thoughts after all, although my surrogate brother would disagree, it’s a good thing he’s playing junior.

Kira Varady.

Kira Varady.

Kira, keer-rah

Verra-dee

A name almost as pretty as her, Kira is a Greek name more common in Russia if I can remember, meaning mistress, and Varady is Hungarian. Probably a location name, like most over there. 

I crave to know all about her just as much as I crave her body, I crave those porn star lips wrapped around my cock, I crave to fill her up to my balls in all her holes and to feel her soft curves in my harsh hands, and yet…I didn’t crave her blood, not even a little bit, not at all.

She’s talking, oh and her voice does nothing but encourage my passionate lust, I swallowed in a hunger that doesn’t concern bodily fluids..well…

“Hi, I’m Kira. I’m from like an hour away, and my nose ring is real, I’ve been asked so…well anyway, I’m going to sit.” She laughed breathily in a way that would have put Marilyn to shame, and I would know…I’d definitely know about good ol’ Norma Jean.

When she spoke it was like a raspy, gooey goodness. Light and squeaky with a smokiness. Perfect phone voice. 

I haven’t been feeling so uncontrollably lustful in so long, she’s so tantalizing, and yet her blood doesn't do it for me. What is she? She isn’t very sweet smelling, she’s not one of us but she isn’t human either.

“Uh, well thank you Kira, for that interesting…introduction, you’ll sit beside Jasper.” Ms. Allen instructed.

“That would be me, Jasper Hale.” I said to her once the maenad sat beside me. It’s the only thing I could describe her as, if I ever met one, maybe they don’t exist, but if they did, I think they’d be intoxicating and wild like her.

My voice was more grizzly than I intended, but it was already hoarse from the constant blood hunger in teenage hell, and now with lust I sound like a chainsmoker from Atlantic City.

The amount of jealousy from all around the room was so strong, I wish I could tell them to just stop feeling, but we all know how that would end. She sat down and her eyes met mine, gold on gold, butterscotch meets harvest-dipped dandelion. It was an intense ritual, ritual is how I would describe it because it felt religious, and it felt like we were definitely performing something. It was like mating through eye contact, it was heated, it was humid, it was hot and sticky and if I could remember what it was like to breathe, I’d have a hard time doing it right now. Her smell, her aroma, my eyes almost rolled back, I wanted to feed on her without bleeding her dry. But I wanted to bleed her dry until there’s nothing but me left in her veins. I don’t want to exist without her anymore. When I leave this classroom I need it to be with her, when she inhales and exhales her next breath it better be of me, I want to occupy her oxygen. I want her to choke if I’m not there, I could feel her. I can really feel her right now, I can feel her unbridled passion and her wild lust. I can feel her life-threatening need for me. I could cry from relief, but blood pouring from my eyes would certainly cause an uproar. 

My eyes dared to drop, down to her pouty lips that parted attractively, down to her pulsing throat, down to her smooth, silken, and plump cleavage that was like Italian art.  I made a point. I made it obvious to her where I was looking before raising my eyes back to hers, and I watched her watch me lick my lips and spread my legs in my seat. I was so tempted to ask if she’d like a seat. 

I now want more than anything to spill the blood of any person who allowed themselves to desire her. She’s mine. The major and I made a unanimous vote on account of her definitely being the one, I feel it. He feels it. She was born for me, made for me, her destiny leads down one road and it leads to me. And I am the same, all I went through all of the right the wrong, and all in between was so I could be guided to her. My purpose.

“I think…wait, what were we talking about?” She asked in a breathless laugh, and I wanted to consume her so badly. I wanted to sink my teeth anywhere I can reach so all will know she is mine.

I laughed a little myself,and her heart raced. “You’re Kira Varady, I’m Jasper Hale, and that is what we were talking about, then I was going to ask to see your schedule.”

She smiled, it was innocent and candied. “You are the only person outside of Hungary who pronounced my last name correctly.”

“I’ve cheated, I’ve visited Budapest once.” In the 1910s briefly.

Her eyes widened and it made me ache. “Wow, I go there once a year…” She trailed off, most people would assume she isn’t a smart girl, with her coquettish voice and featherbrain fox appearance, but she hides so much of herself I can tell. She does it for survival, I’d know.  She looked at me again and giggled. “You have an accent, are you from the south?”

“Texas, Galveston specifically.” I smirked. We spoke in hushed tones, like we were sharing secrets…maybe we are. “And-” I slipped her schedule from her desk into my hand as I mentally memorized it. “We have the same schedule.” Or we will after this class, I need to do a little compelling. 

I felt emotions of relief and joy ooze from her, like she felt it too like I knew I was her life line. “Thank Goddess, I literally have lost like two tour guides already and it’s not even the second period!” 

I watched her in awe like she was living art, and you know what? She sort of was, she really was. John William Waterhouse’s medieval maidens couldn’t compare. “Well you won’t lose me Kira.” I purred her name and felt her shiver. “Where are you from, Budapest?” I teased.

“No, just an hour away in Port Angeles. But I was conceived in Budapest in a commune.”

I rose my brows. My wild beauty was created in wild passion, how fitting, and Eastern European woods are known for supernatural happenings, perhaps the answers lie there.

“Somehow I know the story doesn’t end there.” I was encouraged.

She got that faraway look again. “It doesn’t, I was born in a house on Haight-Ashbury, and ended up back in Transdanubia, but then I somehow found Port Angeles with my Aunt Liz.” She giggled but it didn’t reach her eyes and she shook her head. “I’m really not that interesting.”

“I seriously doubt that.” I didn’t let her look away this time.

She didn’t smile or giggle, she just stared, letting her walls drop just a little bit, I could feel her feel comfort in me, nothing tastes sweeter. “Do you still live in Port Angeles?” I won’t allow her to confess in a room full of strangers.

A warm smile was born on her sultry lips as she looked down. “Yes, in an old Victorian on the edge of town…but,” Her smile ran away again. “I don’t go there anymore.” She said slowly and looked away. “The school there…I don’t.” I felt disgust and horror from her and wanted to burn the entire world to take those feelings away. She laughed and shook her head. “Um wow, I’m sorry I just totally zoned out again didn’t I? I know that’s really annoying.”

“Don’t be silly, you could never annoy me.”

“You sound so sure for someone who just met me.”

“Lets just say, I’m good at reading people.”

We were talking for so long, I didn’t realize for how long until the bell rang. I wasn’t lying about us having the same class next, but I’ll have to do some seriously glamoring to get away with the rest.

We both stood up and I took her books and backpack so she wouldn't carry anything. She smiled so radiantly. “You don’t have to carry my things.”

“Please, I can’t feel a thing, these weigh nothing.”

She giggled. “You do look like you work out.”

I smirked at her, noticing my physique. “Yeah but I’m not a meathead, probably the only Texas boy who didn’t grow up with football. I like to hike.”

Her eyes lit up. “I too, like to delve into…nature…the woods are so…calming.”

Call me crazy, but when she spoke spaced out like that, it was kind of really hot. “We should go together sometime, where’s your locker?”

She shrugged with a careless smile. “I dunno, but I have the number.”

“Well lets find it together.”

We quickly did, and I helped her pack her things in. When she closed her door I leaned against it looking down into her toffee-colored heavenly eyes. “Kira…”

She exhaled breathily, her breasts rose and fell beautifully as she looked up into my eyes. “Jasper…”

“Kira, give me your hand.”

She rose a soft palm, nails painted iridescent dark green and fingers adorn with celestial symbols. Between that and the mention of woods, I’d bet my Kira is a little pagan, or wants to be one. I took a sharpie and wrote my name and cell phone number in her palm. 

“That tickles.” She giggled.

She’s so fucking cute. “Do you have a cell?”

She shook her head adorably, I’ll definitely have to get her one. “I read palms you know.” 

Oh she’s definitely an interesting little beauty. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, maybe I can read yours sometime?”

I smiled, she flirted very interestingly, made me want more, like giving me little bites. I leaned in, but Alice came over and interrupted. I was torn between guilt and anger.

I growled and then looked apologetic. 

“Hey Jazz, can we talk?”

My wild beauty looked very jealous and I was glad she felt claim over me, but I also don't want her to feel like she had to fight for me, she doesn’t. I looked at her tenderly. “I’ll be right back okay? Promise.”

And with that sad look and lying smile from her, I disappeared from her with Alice.

[baddreamsandoldbones]

Hellcheer Week Day 10: Cannibals

The woods weren’t as empty as they would have liked. 

“People everywhere,” Nancy mutters with disgust. She looks great in her plaid coat, striding ahead of them. “Vultures.”

“They’re here to look at a crime scene,” Eddie points out. Fitting for the weather, he’s wearing his Uncle Wayne’s old coat, something huge and dark that smells of cloves. He’s got Chrissy’s hand in his and swings it jauntily as they stroll along, as though they’re on a date in the park. “Aren’t we also here to look at a crime scene?”

“We’re not here to gawp,” Nancy says fiercely, as yet another group of people can be spotted wandering through the trees. Chrissy grips Eddie’s hand and feels briefly guilty. This really isn’t their place. 

“Maybe we should have gone with the others to the library,” Chrissy murmurs quietly to Eddie. She hadn’t been expecting the phone call so early this morning, her brother shouting for her at the bottom of the stairs. But there was weirdness afoot in Hawkins again and the party had been hurriedly assembled. “I don’t know what use we are out here.”

“Steve might have been better,” Eddie agrees. “In case this is magic…do we think that it’s magic?”

“I don’t know,” Nancy says tersely. “He didn’t seem to think so.”

“He thinks beastie,” Argyle chimes in, trailing behind. He’d been reluctant to even come, which Chrissy can understand. This is not how she’d expected to be spending her weekend. “Which is why I’m here.” 

“Chrissy and Eddie are cover,” Nancy says, sounding thoroughly tired of them all. Chrissy occasionally feels sorry for her - at the end of the day, they’re still Robin’s Slayerettes, and that means they’re not exactly the crack team that Nancy would have liked. “Argyle is here to use his super senses and I’m here to make sure none of you get eaten in case.”

“At least there’s plenty of other options,” Eddie says, watching the curious party ahead of them. “Buffet style. Hey, do we know exactly where this campsite is?”

Because they’ve been walking through the woods for fifteen minutes now, the gray October sky pushed out by the thick canopy of trees. The woods in Hawkins cover a vast expanse, bordering the town on all sides. It brushes against the high school, it wraps around the trailer park, it’s visible from Chrissy’s bedroom in Loch Nora.

“I don’t know how we’re cover,” Chrissy says and Eddie squeezes her hand. 

“Innocent young couple on a walk,” he says and then makes a face. “Into a wood where four people recently went missing. Not great. But I think they were hoping to use your…you know, thing?”

“Ah,” Chrissy says heavily. “My thing.” 

No wonder they’re the team that’s been sent out into the woods. Because when a party of six go into the woods on Thursday night and two of them emerge, blood-stained and hysterical, on Saturday morning, it’s a clear sign that something needs investigating. 

“We just have to find the damn campsite first!” Nancy hollers over her shoulder. 

“The police actually doing their jobs,” Eddie muses, as they follow in Nancy’s quick footsteps. “Who knew?”

“Be nice,” Chrissy chides. Unfortunately, on a few occasions, the Hawkins Police have made their jobs a little harder by interfering, trampling evidence or arresting the wrong suspect. Hopper is in their corner, the only one privy to the truth about their town, but he can only do so much. There’s too much for one man to cover up without people noticing. 

But in this particular case, the officer in charge has locked it down pretty well. The location of the campsite has been kept a well-guarded secret, and so far the two survivors have been hidden away at the local hospital, with police watching their doors. Chrissy wishes she could tell them that they don’t need to fear this - whatever killed their friends can’t walk through the front doors. It probably has no need to leave the woods. 

Especially with all of these willing, interested parties…which is why Nancy is here. 

Argyle stops abruptly behind them and when Chrissy turns back, she can see he’s got his nose raised to the air. 

“Got something?” she asks, as Eddie calls for Nancy to stop. Argyle inhales deeply - his senses aren’t as strong as when he’s in wolf form but he can still hear, see and smell things that the rest of them couldn’t even dream of. 

“I think so,” Argyle says and then wrinkles up his nose. “Definitely blood.”

“Yay,” Eddie says, so completely deadpan that Chrissy isn’t quite sure if he’s joking or not. But Nancy is stomping back this way, so they follow Argyle as he takes them through a clump of bushes. 

It’s out of the way - no wonder no one else has found it. They have to push through thick greenery to find the clearing and the first sign that they’re not about to head off a cliff is the flash of neon yellow. 

The campsite has been cordoned off by police tape…or what’s left of it. Eddie nudges at a scrap of tent fabric with his toe, looking disappointed. Aside from the flattened grass and the odd stray bit of debris, the site is empty. The bright police tape is the only sign that anything happened here at all. 

“I suppose the police took most of it away,” he says despondently. Argyle paces around the clearing, still focused. 

“This does not smell good,” he says finally. Nancy pushes herself up from where she’s been investigating some of the items scattered around the camp. Some of it is ordinary - a chocolate wrapper, a tent peg - but some of it shouldn’t be here. 

“There’s too many pieces of the tent,” Nancy says worriedly, rubbing her fingers against the scrap in her hand. “Far too many…”

“Yeah,” Eddie says in a strange voice. He’s staring down at his hand, all jokes faded away. “Generally what happens when something shreds the tent to get at what’s inside.”

Unlike some of the others, the piece that Eddie is holding is stained with blood, rust red against the thick material. Argyle just looks repulsed - he clearly tracked the strong smell of blood here. 

“So they are dead,” Chrissy says, heart sinking. This is what she hates about this job. Somehow they’re always just a little too late to save someone. Even with her visions she doesn’t always know when something is coming. 

“Shit,” Nancy curses and digs a plastic bag out of her pocket. “Okay, all evidence gets bagged up. We need to find something that can lead us to whatever this thing is.”

They poke around in the undergrowth until Chrissy’s fingers start to grow cold. Who goes camping in September anyway? 

But then she finds something trapped under the wet mass of leaves, black and shiny against the slick ground. 

They’re running. She can see it, how they race through these woods - the exact same ones that they’re standing in now. Eddie has her by the hand, fingers clenched tightly around her own, while Nancy easily keeps pace. She could effortlessly overtake them both, disappearing through the dark woods before either of them could protest about it. But it’s Nancy and she wouldn’t leave them.

“Where are the others?” Eddie shouts. 

“I didn’t see them!” Nancy says to Chrissy’s horror. “Don’t stop. We can’t help them if we’re dead.”

“Do we get out of the woods?” Eddie asks, almost stumbling over a vine. Chrissy just manages to veer around it at the last second. “What the fuck do we do?”

“Get out first!” Nancy shouts but Chrissy can hear the strain in her voice. Their first plan failed. They’re running for their lives. Whatever they’ve been hunting in these woods has found them first. 

“Shit!” Eddie says furiously before an unholy screech behind them cuts him off cold.

“Move faster,” Nancy says urgently. She’s twisted her head back to look as she runs, her Slayer reflexes and grace allowing her to do so. “Don’t look back!”

“It’s behind us, isn’t it?” Chrissy asks, her voice coming out in a pant. She hasn’t run quite like this since their coach last year made them run laps. “We can’t outrun it!”

Nancy skids to a halt, pulling a knife out of her jacket. Chrissy tries to stop and finds that Eddie won’t let her. 

“Get out!” Nancy shouts and Chrissy tugs against Eddie’s grip. She’s made the mistake of looking back at their friend and there’s something dark, with leathery skin and glinting eyes up in the trees. 

“We can’t leave her!” she shrieks and Eddie merely stops and lifts her up instead. He’s done it before, pulling her into his arms, sweeping her legs up to cradle her but that’s always been to take her to bed. Now he does it with a frightening look on his face, that he won’t be stopped or reasoned with. 

“She’s our friend!” Chrissy argues but Eddie just shakes his head. 

“She can fight and we can’t,” he says. His arms are like a vice grip around her waist, keeping her in place. “I’m not leaving you to be eaten by that…that thing.”

The monster behind them is little more than a shadow as it tracks Nancy from the trees, nothing more than the glow of its eyes as it circles her. Chrissy tries to crane her neck to get a better look, anything that might help identify it. But all she sees are tattered wings, long, twisted hands digging into the bark of the tree. 

“Chrissy!” 

This voice is too close and Chrissy slams back into her own body to find herself cradled in Eddie’s arms. His look of relief almost makes her want to cry and she wonders how long she’s been gone in the vision. 

“What was it?” Nancy asks urgently, crouching by Chrissy’s side but Eddie just pushes her back. He can’t bear anyone being close to Chrissy when she’s had a vision. Nancy means well but she only wants what Chrissy has learned. 

“Give her some space!” he snaps and cradles Chrissy’s head with his palm. “Chris, baby, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Chrissy says. She’s really fucking not. She keeps hoping that maybe one day this will all get easier but judging by her friends’ concern, it’s only getting worse. She remembers being bent down, plucking something out of the grass. She must have fallen when the vision hit her. 

She raises her hand because whatever she grabbed is still tucked tightly in her palm. Her friends all stare as she opens her hand, and she takes in their faces as they try to work out what it is. She suspects that Argyle must already know - or think he knows - as he breathes in. 

“Is it another piece of fabric?” Nancy asks finally, with a frown. “It’s not green, like the others…”

“Someone’s bag?” Eddie asks and prods at it with the one hand that isn’t still supporting Chrissy. Chrissy knows what he feels: the smoothness of it, how supple and strangely familiar it is. It’s not fabric. It’s the only piece of the monster that they have and who knows how it came to be here. Who knows what it cost one of the campers to cut it off. 

“It’s skin,” Chrissy says. 

@hellcheerweek

[five-rivers]

Cult Division 3

Part of the Exhumed series

.

“What do you mean, you can’t change back?” asked Daily. 

“What do you think I mean?” asked Danny, stepping off the cloth, then stooping to ball it up into something he could easily carry.  “I can’t go back to being Phantom.”

“Then they really revived you?”

“No,” said Danny, “I don’t think so.”  He could still feel his ghost half, he just couldn’t grab it.  It had been like this for less than a minute and he already hated it. 

Daily shifted, looking around the park.  “Okay, um.  Can you do any of your… stuff?  The ghost stuff?”

Danny bit his lip and cycled through his basic powers.  Nothing.  He shook his head. 

“Oh, that’s bad.  You’re just like a normal kid now.”

He wasn’t wrong, exactly, but Danny wished he’d phrased it at least slightly differently. 

“A normal kid… In the park in the middle of the night…”  Daily shook his head.  “We shouldn’t be here when McGee comes back.  He still hasn’t chilled out.”

Meaning, he was still looking for things to report back to the agency that sent him in the first place.  Danny groaned.  “Don’t worry, I’m going home.”  Maybe his parents would have some insight into what had happened.  Or, at least, who they had sold Ghost Catcher thread to.

“Hey, no, wait, you can’t walk home from here like that.  You’re not even wearing a coat.”

“I don’t really have another option—”

“I’ll drive you.”

“Isn’t that Collin’s car?”

“He won’t miss it.  And he left the keys.”

Danny stared for a moment at the blatant lies, then shrugged.  He could still hear distant sounds of people running through trees and bushes.  It would take a while for Collins, Paterson, and McGee to catch everyone, assuming they caught anyone at all, and Fentonworks wasn’t that far away. 

He walked back to the car and opened the door, the front one, this time, and slid in.  Daily got in the other side, then stared blankly at the steering wheel. 

“You do know how to drive, right?”  It was a valid question.  Danny had never seen Daily drive. 

“Of course I do!  I just haven’t driven this car before.”  He started the car up, and very slowly pulled out onto the road. 

The slowness of the drive gave Danny time to further assess himself.  His ghost half was definitely, absolutely, still there (thank goodness).  It just felt… weighed down.  Pinned.  Tied up. 

He started picking at the glowing thread.  The patterns were repeated on his skin, but maybe it was just a matter of taking off his clothes…

The car slowed to a halt.  “Do you need me to walk you in?” asked Daily, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel.  “I can…  Explain to your parents?  Or maybe your sister?”  Jazz was mentioned in a significantly more helpful tone than his parents.

“No, I’ve got it,” said Danny, opening the door.  “Thanks for the ride.  You’ll let me know what you find out about that cult and…”  He gestured at himself.  “Whatever they did.”

“Okay,” said Daily.  “Yeah.  Of course!  That’s my job, right?”

Keeping an eye on and researching cults was part of Daily’s job, but telling Danny wasn’t.  Still.  “Yeah,” said Danny, smiling weakly. 

.

Collins frowned at the empty parking lot.  “Paterson!” he called. 

“Yeah?” came Paterson’s voice, echoing across the park. 

“Did I, or did I not park here?”

“What?”

Collins groaned.  “Give it up, they got away!”  He sighed.  “Possibly with my car.”

.

Danny did not have the best track record when it came to telling his parents about things, but he was trying to get better.  Still, he felt like the present subject had to broached delicately.  That was why he was sitting on the floor outside their bedroom, listening to his dad snore.

He wanted to tell them.  He wanted to fix this.  But he didn’t want to admit how much trouble he’d gotten into and how a bunch of cultists had gotten the better of him. 

But he was trying, and his new, ugh, magic glowing tattoos weren’t something he could hide.  He picked up the broom he had brought with him and opened the door.  No point in knocking, they both wore earplugs to bed.  He picked up the broom and poked his dad with the end of it. 

“WHAT!  GHOST!”

“Hmhph?” said Maddie.  “Ghost?”  She had a small ectoblaster in her hand already. 

“No, just me.”  Danny put down the broom and raised his hands. 

“Oh, Danno,” said Jack, rubbing at one eye as Maddie pried the earplugs from his ears. “What are you doing here?” 

Danny bit his lower lip.  “I… might have screwed up.”

.

“Danny, sweetheart, that doesn’t sound like it was your fault.  It would have happened even if you stayed home.  You were kidnapped.”

“I guess.”  It still felt like he could have done something.  Maybe if he’d paid a little more attention to the cults, kept a closer eye on what they were doing.

“But we do need to see what we can do with all this.”  She picked up his hand and rubbed her thumb over one of the green marks on its back.  “…and about that summoning thing.  I don’t like that these people can just snatch you away whenever they like.”

“And we’ll never let them do anything like that again!  Or else!” said Jack, brandishing the spatula he was using to flip the pancakes.

“It sounded like it was related to the date somehow.”

“That doesn’t comfort us much, sweetie.  Especially considering what they did to you.  Do you think they really involved your, ah…”

“I mean…”  Danny trailed off and took his hand back.  He rubbed his arms against the sudden chill.  “I don’t know.  It’s not like I’ve never gotten my powers knocked out of whack.  It could be like that.  Might even have a time limit.”

“But?” prompted Maddie. 

“But… it feels different,” admitted Danny.  “It’s weight, not static.”

“Do you think we’ll need to, uh, what’s the word again, for digging up a, um…”

“Exhumation,” said Maddie, before Jack could come up with a proper euphemism for corpse. 

Danny wasn’t really comfortable about his… mortal remains.  But the pauses and too-obvious references were, in many ways, worse. 

Literally everything else about his life was better than when he’d still been keeping things a secret, though!  He did not want to go back!

Except maybe to earlier tonight, when getting the dead half of his body shoved back into him wasn’t something he had to worry about happening.

“We’ll have to ask the police about that,” said Maddie.  “Maybe we can start with a few simple tests after breakfast, though.  See if how much your readings changed from your baseline.”

“Hey!  Could be that all you need is a trip through the old Ghost Catcher!”

“Ghost Catcher string partially caused this,” said Danny.  “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to, uh, cross wires.”

“There shouldn’t be any problem with that,” said Jack.  “The strings aren’t reactive with each other, they wouldn’t work if they were.  Speaking of which, how did they even get it into this cloth?”  Jack used the spatula to point at the cloth, which was spread out over Jazz’s chair.  “Usually, you have to have special tools to work with any of it, or else it just falls through.”

“I don’t know, they didn’t really say anything beyond path of enlightenment nonsense.  You know, the whole ‘we worship you but won’t listen to a thing you say’ thing.”

Maddie sighed.  “We’ll just hope they get caught so they can tell us what they were actually trying to do.  In the meantime, we’ll do our own research…  And maybe you can use this as a break.  A little vacation.”

“In the same way sick days are a vacation, I guess.”

“Do you feel sick?”

“No,” said Danny.  “Not yet, anyway.”

“Maybe you should stay home from school until we can find a way to undo this.”

“Aw, no, Mom.  I don’t want to miss any school.  I’ve been actually doing okay this year.”

“But we don’t know how any of this is going to affect you.  What if it is temporary, and your… body is involved.  What happens if it times out in class?”

Danny swallowed, suddenly nauseous.  “I hadn’t thought about that.”

.

The chief of police sat in his office, blinds drawn, two thirds of the trouble trio and Cameron Daily. 

“You’re telling me that the person who is primarily responsible for protecting our city from hostile ghosts has been nerfed by cultists.  Cultists that you let get away.”

“Hey!” said Daily.  “I didn’t know you knew what nerfed meant, chief!”

The chief groaned.  “Find these cultists.  Figure out what they did.  Get the Fentons whatever they need to undo this.  Fast.”

.

“Alright,” said Maddie, as if she hadn’t been having a whispered argument with Jack only minutes before, “I’m going to city hall to file the exhumation paperwork.  You two stay here unless something happens to Danny.  No leaving for ghost attacks.”

“Aw,” said both Jack and Danny. 

“But, Mom—”  

“No buts.  This is a sick day for Danny, and someone needs to look after him the whole time.”  She pointed sharply at Jack.  “Don’t run off.”

Danny hunched his shoulder.  He wasn’t that bad to look after, was he?  Not that he wanted to be looked after.

“But if I’m the one to talk to Vladdie, it’ll be faster!”

“It’ll be hours, sweetie, if you two get started.  If he doesn’t leave you in the waiting room,” she added under her breath.  “You know how you two get.”

“Not when Danny’s at stake!”

Maddie gave him a look. 

“Fine,” said Jack. 

“Maybe you two can do something together while I’m gone.  Fudge, maybe?  Or cookies?”

“Oooooh!” said Jack.  “Yeah!  Cookies!  How does that sound, Danno?”

“I have homework,” groused Danny. 

“I can help with that, too!”

“Goodbye, guys.  Oh!  Remember, if I’m not back by lunch, run the tests again, okay?”

“Will do, Maddie!”

“Okay, Mom,” said Danny, giving a little wave. 

“Good, good.  So, keys, cell phone, wallet, boo-staff—” The door clicked closed, cutting off the rest of her list. 

“Okay,” said Jack, thumping Danny’s back and giving him a little shove at the stairs.  “I’ll get the kitchen set up!  You get your homework!”

“Yeah,” said Danny.  “Okay.” 

“Fundge here we come!” said Jack, pumping his fist.  “Get it?  Fundge?”

“Yeah,” said Danny, giving him a weak smile.  “I get it.”  He started for the stairs, irrationally annoyed he couldn’t fly up them.  He wouldn’t have flown up them anyway.  He hardly ever did that. 

He walked into his room and stopped.  Actually, where was his homework?  Where was his backpack? 

Ugh.  Typical. 

He started looking behind and underneath things, the process all the more tedious because he couldn’t just reach through them.  Hopefully he hadn’t done something stupid like phase it into the wall last night.  ‘Oops, I made my homework inaccessible to the living’ was not going to fly in any of his classes…  Unless he blamed it on his parents…  Food for thought.  He paused to email a request for class notes to Sam and Tucker.  Halfway through writing the message, he heard the screaming doorbell go off.

“I’ve got it!” called Jack. 

“Okay!”  Danny hit send on the email and kept looking for his backpack.  He dropped to the floor to look under his bed, scowled as it wasn’t there, either, then got up and tripped over his sheets, pulling them off his bed. 

Why had he put his backpack in his bed?  So stupid. 

He shouldered it and prepared to go downstairs, but… 

Something was wrong.  He thought back, trying to decide what it was.  Living… or unliving?  Half-living the way he did, he was pretty good at pinpointing the sources of vague senses of wrongness.

It was quiet. 

The front door hadn’t shut. 

Holy crap, had someone just kidnapped his dad?

Emergency blaster, emergency blaster…  He held his backpack by one strap to use as a bludgeon – the books in it were certainly heavy enough – and held the blaster steady in his other hand.  He would activate the Defense System, but his parents had ripped a lot of it out after the reveal and were still in the process of reinstallation. 

He tapped his door open with his foot and ventured out into the house.  It really was too quiet.  Almost suffocatingly so.  He held his breath.  Probably not the best choice, strategically, but something about everything…

He hit the bottom step of the stairs, turned into the kitchen, and ran into two people wearing oxygen masks. 

His reflexes were better, so he started firing immediately.  Ectoblasters weren’t meant to hurt humans, not really, but the impact to the chest was enough to knock both of the men back.  The recoil was equally sufficient to knock the air out of Danny’s lungs.  He wasn’t really trying to hold his breath, after all. 

He ran past them, inhaling, and… stumbled, suddenly dizzy. 

Oxygen masks. 

Stupid mistake!  Sometimes his instincts were good!

Something touched his upper arm, and he lashed out, swinging his backpack backwards.  There was an oof sort of sound, and one of the men toppled over.  The other one pulled the backpack out of Danny’s hand, which was a mistake, because he was still holding the gun.  Ectogun.  Whatever.  He shot him. 

Then…  Outside.  Whatever was in here, they couldn’t have enough to get the whole neighborhood, and if they could get away with just oxygen masks, it probably wasn’t super toxic.  Also, if it had spread very far, someone in the neighborhood would have noticed.  Probably.  Maybe. 

They’d notice enough to complain, at least. 

Halfway through the living room, he had to breathe again.  Human physical limits sucked. 

Black spots danced over his vision and left him on his knees.  He got back up and went for the door, stumbling drunkenly.  He hit it with his face.  Why were doors so hard to operate?

The black spots slowly grew until they consumed his vision. 

“Did… did he just run into a wall?”

“Just because he’s perfect doesn’t mean he smart.  And get rid of… we… need… backpack…”

.

Collins and Paterson stared at the most significant piece of physical evidence regarding Daniel Fenton’s kidnapping. 

“If you’re not going to say it, I am,” said Paterson. 

“Don’t say it,” said Collins. 

“I really want to, though.”

“Don’t.”

“I think ‘my homework ate a kidnapper’ is a great excuse for not doing it.  That kid is brutal.  How much blood do you think is on that thing?”

“Paterson, he got kidnapped.”

“Yeah,” said Paterson, a grin plastered on her face, “and that’s terrifying, thanks.  Let me have this.”

McGee escorted Daily through the front door of Fentonworks, his hand firmly on the man’s shoulder.  “Got him,” he said. 

“Oh, man,” said Daily.  “So, this is what a real crime scene looks like.”  He saw the backpack and squeaked.  “Is that blood?”

“Yeah.  Now do your thing and find out why these two think what happened last night in the park is connected to this.  Fenton wasn’t actually involved in that, was he?”

“His family takes care of the gravesite,” said Collins.  “And this is the biggest crime in Amity Park for years.  We have to look at everything.”

“Uh huh,” said McGee.  “Well, I’m going to go back out and question the father.”

Collins groaned internally.  Dealing with McGee was usually… if not exactly fun, then at least amusing, but dealing with his everything on a case like this…  With Danny’s… possibly with Danny’s life on the line, who knew how that worked with the whole cult thing…

“Do you think we can offload McGee on someone else?” he asked Paterson. 

“And give him something to actually report to his bosses?  Not a chance.”

[cricketnationrise]

Ficlet Fest 👏🏻 Ficlet Fest 👏🏻 Ficlet Fest

5:17pm, Sheep’s Meadow (Central Park), Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor

FICLET FEST (my favorite time of year) enjoy!

read the rest of the ficlet fest 3 fills here

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

central park, 5:17pm

With Alex down in DC for the weekend, Henry takes himself on a date around the city to distract himself. Yesterday had been filled with meandering his way through the MOMA and soliciting hole-in-the-wall falafel places from locals. (They’d actually answered him, too – sometimes being a prince has its perks.) 

Today he’d gotten lost in an indie bookstore for a few hours, trailing his fingers along spines of old favorites and plucking out new titles based solely upon, as Alex would say, the vibes. He thinks about going home and reading in the bay window of their bedroom, but the beautiful weather draws him toward Central Park instead. For once, David isn’t with him, so Henry has more options for where to fall into a new book. He’s been itching for a chance to visit in the Sheep Meadow or eat at the Tavern on the Green, so Henry lets his feet carry him to an unoccupied tree at the edge of the meadow, and settles in for a long reading bout.

He comes back to himself in stages. The delighted shriek of a nearby child pierces through the book fog. Then his arse starts to protest sitting on the ground for so long, not letting him dive back into the story. And then his stomach’s empty rumblings make themselves known, and Henry surrenders to his body’s needs. 

Regretfully, he picks up his things, says a silent, thankful goodbye to the tree and strolls away, taking the longest route possible to the restaurant. He’s hungry, yes, but he’s not in a rush to leave this section of the park. He can feel a small smile on his face when he remembers that the first anniversary of Stonewall was celebrated here.

The restaurant has just come into view when his phone buzzes in his pocket and Henry laughs when he sees the name on the screen; apparently Alex updated his own contact card (again) before he left for the White House.

Buttercup’s Strumpet I would never go against Zahra in any way shape or form but AT LEAST three of these meetings could have been an email Miss you

Miss you too Are you free enough for me to call you while I eat dinner? I’m getting a table outside.

Buttercup’s Strumpet Yes! Wait You’re outside??? I figured you were just going to drape yourself over the chaise like the world’s sluttiest blanket waiting for your man to return

Your mind is a wonder that should be studied.

Buttercup’s Strumpet :p Call whenever you’re ready sweetheart I wanna hear all about your day

❤️ Will do.

[falling-angelss]

Trip up

E1 ,, Chapter 1

  Summary: Wesley tries to go about his new day to day life, getting interrupted by who, in his eyes, is a rather strange individual.

    "The mass has concluded. You may go in peace."

  Once the final hymn comes to a close, I find myself in a rush to make it out of the cathedral before the crowd does. It's a nightmare trying to make it out of here in one piece, everyone always seems to gather directly in front of the exits at the end of the mass. As much as I love to see the friendly atmosphere, it isn’t as enjoyable when you seem to be the only one without an acquaintance in sight.

  It’s alright of course. I don’t have much time to chat with anyone today anyway. I have job training in almost an hour. I was lucky enough to get a job as a librarian's assistant at the library a few blocks from my apartment.

  They didn’t seem to have too many hire options… not a lot of people are too interested in library work nowadays. Besides me, it seems.

  Secondary school was a nightmare for me. I was… well, rather rebellious for a good few of my years, mostly as a desperate attempt to actually fit in for once. But once I finally straightened up, I was left with just about no clear path to take career wise. When I was a kid, I hoped I could one day be a priest. I was an alter boy for a few years, but that’s about as far as I got. Priesthood just didn’t feel right for me.

I suppose God has had other plans for me.

  Now that I’m settled in America, I’m taking virtual classes to finally get my degree in Library Science to eventually become a full time librarian. I’ve always loved reading in my free time, plus, I feel as though the serene atmosphere of a library could be just what I need. I'm honestly quite excited!

    As I finally make my way out of the church, I decide to walk through the towns park to get to the library. It’s a lovely spot for walks, and today is too nice of a day to not enjoy with a nice stroll.

  I look around the park, taking a deep breath every few moments, observing every little detail in the atmosphere. The well kept scenery, kids chasing each other around in a game of tag, people walking their dogs, the sound of robins and chickadees loudly singing from the trees, the cool breeze just lightly grazing me… everything about the atmosphere here is quite enjoyable. Usually I would be quite nervous to be heading to a new job, but it’s hard to be in a foul mood when you’re in such a peaceful little place.

  Or at least, that’s what I had thought up until now. Ahead of me I see what can only be described as a group of punks causing a ruckus. About 20 or more people all skating and playing basketball, shouting and listening to… well, not the most tasteful music, if you ask me.

  I feel a pit in my stomach as I hastily trot closer and closer to the group. In the past, being anywhere near groups like this usually ends with me getting shouted at or hit by something.

  Which, to nobody's surprise, I'm almost instantly proven correct.

  Of course, in the blink of an eye I find myself tripped over on the ground, hit by a speeding skateboard that bolted right under me.

  Some of my things have spilled from my bag, my papers trying to escape with the wind.

I groan, sit up and attempt to regain some composure, along with what little dignity I once had, and i begin gathering my things back up in a rush.

  I look around to make sure nobody else is coming to harass me, but I see one of the men quickly running over to me.

  Great. This is going to end well, I’m sure.

  I can feel the blood rushing to my face. Of course, I've made a fool of myself once again, and, oh, Of course, some vandal is coming over to make this even better.

  “Shit, are you alright dude?”

He rushes and grabs the papers that were starting to fly away from me.

  He’s, oddly enough, trying to help me I think? Hm.

  “I’m quite alright.” I say, just trying to get out of this mess as quickly as I can.

Though hard to see due to the sun shining right in my eyes, the man puts his hand out for me to help me stand up. trying to be polite, I awkwardly put my hand atop his and stand up, stumbling a little, as im still quite disoriented.

  “Sorry dude, dumbass over here isn’t very good on his board yet. You sure you’re alright?”

  He hands me my papers back and I look down at him, my brain finally starting to catch up with me.

  “Yes, I’m alright. Just tripped.”

  Glancing at this individuals features. He looks familiar. His bright blonde hair and… interesting fashion choices make him quite easy to identify. Have I perhaps seen him in church before?

  I suppose you really can't judge a book by it's cover, huh?

Lord... I, of all people, should know that by now.

  “I’m in quite a rush. My apologies… I have to get going.” I say, awkward and uncomfortable to no extent.

  The man nods his head. He picks up the skateboard that I had tripped on and walks past me once again. He pats me on the back before walking away for some reason. Friendly gesture, I guess.

  I realize im studying his movements. I guess my guard is still a bit high.

  “Alright, sorry about that, dude. Be careful!”

  “Things happen. Don’t worry about it.” I respond, now just trying to make it to my training on time. He waves, and I continue on my way.

  That interaction could've gone... a lot worse, actually. The Lord must be watching over me today.

  I continue to make my way to the library. The whole way there, I think back on what just happened. I’m sure I’ve seen that man at mass before. It seems a little that someone like him would be a church goer, but it almost gives me a little hope.

  After that, I don’t really think too much of it. I have to stay focused today, I don't have room to worry about desultory events like this.

      This week has already gone by terribly fast. I suppose that tends happens when your day-to-day consists of the same “wake up, work, head home, study, sleep” routine. Not that I mind of course, I find comfort in a predictable schedule. I always have.

    It’s Sunday once again, and I sit in my usual spot in the large cathedral, a bit towards the back so I can easily leave once mass is over.

  I fidget with my rosary as I listen to the priests homily, trying my best to focus.

  My mind is beginning to drift, listening to the priests words. I find myself in an almost meditative state…

  My eyes begin to close, focusing solely on the sermon.

  I hear a quiet shuffling next to me, snapping me out of my daze, and then I feel something poke me.

  I flinch from the hard jab into my arm. I can already feel my heart practically beating out of my chest. Way to give a man a heart attack, yeah?

  “Hey man, I thought I had seen you before!”

  Oh.

  It’s that bright blonde, oddly dressed man I had seen in the park last week, now quite loudly whispering a greeting to me in the middle of mass. He’s dressed a bit… cleaner. That's nice to see.

  I realize I’ve been staring at him for a few moments, confused and quite honestly flustered from being spoken to right now. I must look like an absolute fool.

  “You can call me Ari.” He reaches a hand out for me to shake.

  I hesitate, but I awkwardly accept his handshake. His hands are quite rough and calloused, They're almost painful to hold.

  “Uhm-“

  “Shhh,” we get hushed by the person in front of us before I can even get a word out.

  I whisper a faint apology, but I don’t think they heard me.

  Ari, as he introduced himself, leans in closer to me. I can smell the faint scent of cigarettes on his breath.

  Ugh. I hate that smell.

  “I’ll talk to you after mass. Sorry,” he speaks in an almost bashful voice. He scoots a few feet away from me, waiting for a good moment to make his way back to his pew.

    I don’t realize until the interaction has long passed, but there’s an uncomfortable pit in my stomach once again, and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. I’ve never been good at talking to people, let alone after being startled like that.

  Why would this guy be trying to talk to me? Especially now, of all possible moments. In the middle of mass? And I thought maybe he had manners.

  Maybe he’s trying to formally apologize for what happened last week? Though, that wasn’t exactly the biggest deal in the world, I don’t see why he would feel the need to apologize again.

    I guess I'll just have to talk to him and see.

Extra notes :)

sorry im writing this in like fanfiction format idk how else to write this stuff . Also sorry this is like kinda short and like really boring idk how to start this off in a like normal way LMAO… further chapters will be a lot better prolly okay…

[rhaenella]

You & Me - Rhys Montrose x Reader - Part 3

Part 2 | Part 4

Summary: What happens when reader assassin is tasked with killing the possible future mayor of London; Rhys Montrose. Politician by day, Eat the Rich Killer by night. But he isn’t the only person wearing different masks. 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Violence, murder, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse and neglect, (eventual) smut

Word count: 3.5k

A/N (spoilers!) at the end.

Song: (I Just) Died in Your Arms – Hidden Citizens 

You kept on walking with your head hung low even as Montrose’s security shouted after you. Quickly, you disappeared into the nearest tube station entrance, slipping out your Oyster card to swipe past the gates. You hurried down the steps and were just in time to catch the next train. 

Now sat on the tube, you took off the headphones blasting punk rock which you'd found on Spotify that were causing your ears to nearly start bleeding. You shrugged off the black hoodie, sighing in relief. The adrenaline and relatively warm day causing you to sweat a little. You took the hair tie from holding your hair up in a messy bun and placed it back on your right wrist. Finally, you lifted your sunglasses up on your head as you took one deep breath, glancing around the tube, instinctively analysing possible threats. Not many passengers at this hour, you noticed. Just a mother with a stroller and a student busily scrolling through his phone. All good. 

You allowed a small triumphant smile as you took out your phone, pressing on a new app you had just installed. A map of London appeared on your screen as well as a moving green dot, indicating exactly where your target was heading. 

The first part of your plan had gone as smoothly as you would have hoped. You had worked through some finalising details on how you were going to complete the task of killing Montrose before leaving for Regent’s Park. You had arrived there 3 PM sharp, just as the press started to roll their cameras and ask Montrose their questions. He stood in front of them, completely at ease, answering all of their questions patiently. He was good, you’d give him that, smirking slightly as you caught him cleverly deflecting certain questions. 

When an anxiety filled young reporter had asked Montrose to confirm whether or not he would be leaving for Hampsbridge House with the other one-percenters, your ears perked up. This information would be crucial for your plan. You had planned for both scenarios, either with him staying behind in London or him leaving to the countryside. 

Earlier this morning you found out how Lady Phoebe and her entourage planned on getting away. And seeing as Montrose was part of their inner circle, you allowed for the possibility that he would also be leaving the city soon. 

He quickly confirmed it would be option number two, implying he would depart soon after the press interview. Which meant you had to leave town before nightfall. How lovely, you thought. It would give you enough time to check in on your sisters before leaving for the countryside yourself. 

The location of Hampsbridge House was public knowledge, but the estate was — well, extensive. Simply having an address wasn’t going to cut it for such a delicate job. Especially keeping in mind that the place would most likely be swarming with security, determined to keep any threat outside. 

Fortunately, you were in possession of a little device that was going to make it a lot easier for you to locate Montrose once he was inside the presumably safe walls of the estate. But before you could reap those benefits, you still had to find an opportunity to plant the tracking device on him. So, you stayed in the shadows, patiently waiting for the right moment to strike. 

When they wrapped up and Montrose started for the exit with his security detail following close behind, you knew this was it. You paralleled his movements, staying hidden behind the tree line, quickly making your way to the fence surrounding the park. You grabbed the fence and hoisted yourself up, carefully balancing on the top in between the spikes. You hopped off on the other side, dusting of your black jeans from the bushes. 

Pulling down your hoodie’s sleeves and putting on the headphones with the blasting music, you started making your way towards the entrance. You knew that with the hoodie, distracting music and sunglasses you wouldn’t be easily recognised later if someone would get a clear view of your face. Just in case you had also tied back your hair so as to not make the length and exact colour stand out. 

As you neared the entrance gates you kept your head low, spotting Montrose and his detail emerging out of the corner of your eye. You kept on walking straight at him, trying to keep somewhat of a brisk pace, but not too fast that would alarm any of his security.

Your right shoulder forcefully made contact with his. And as he stumbled slightly, distracted by the impact, you used that momentum to slip the small device into his inner coat pocket undetected.

It had all gone exactly as you intended. And now you were on your way home to pick up the bag you had already packed in case Montrose would leave the city. 

––

You knocked on the door of your childhood home. Packed duffle bag slung over your shoulder and a rental car paid for with cash parked at the curb down the street, ready to take you to your destination. But first, you wanted to hug your little sisters whom you hadn’t seen in over a week. 

The door opened and you were immediately engulfed in a crushing hug. You smiled into her shoulder as you hugged your sister back with the same fervour. 

“Why, sis, it feels like too bloody long since we last saw you.”

“It really only has been one week, Zo,” you chuckled as you let each other go.

Your sister stepped back to grant you access to the house that was really in need of a good paint job. Soon you would get them out of this hellhole, you vowed.  

One quick look around told you your mother wasn’t home. It didn’t surprise you. Sometimes she wouldn’t come home for days. You and your sisters always hoped that by some miracle she would one day never return, but unfortunately she came back every single time. Usually drunk and high off her ass. Somehow she appeared to still be able to find her way back in her inebriated state. 

You walked over to the couch and let your bag fall to the floor. Your sister raised a single eyebrow inquisitively — evidently a genetic trait you all shared. 

“Where are you going? You only got back last night.”

“I know,” you shot her a sympathetic look. “But I won’t be going abroad this trip. It’s just a couple hours outside of London. It came up unexpectedly after we spoke on the phone this morning. It can’t wait,” you explained. 

“Fuck, I really thought we would have a sisters night tonight.”

“Me too, sweetie.”

“Alas, it is what it is,” your sister concluded. She was well aware your job — which you hadn’t particularly disclosed what it actually entailed — kept food on their table, a roof over their heads and provided them with the chance of graduating from the finest schools in the country. She never complained, aloud that is. You were aware she despised how little you got to see each other. You felt the exact same way. 

“You’re not the only person I know who has to leave unexpectedly,” your sister said cryptically. 

“Really? Who else?” You inquired, curious. 

“The professor I was telling you about this morning? Professor Moore?”

“The one that’s helping you with your short story,” you remembered. 

“Yes, him. He’s going to Lady Phoebe’s country house. Can you believe it?” 

Well, well. That was quite the coincidence. 

“How could your literature professor possibly know any member of the British social elite?” 

“He met them through professor Harding, I believe.” 

At the mention of Malcolm Harding your sister’s body language changed radically. She looked sad, offering you a small smile that clearly didn’t reach her eyes.

Your sisterly instinct made you want to reach out and hold her. You wanted to convey that she’d always be safe and needn’t worry about a single thing as long as you were here to protect her and your other sister, Sadie. 

What she needed was some good news. 

“I might be able to get you both your own place soon,” you abruptly changed the subject, hoping it would cheer her up a little. 

You had been saving up as much of your well-earned money as you could these past few years. Extracting only that which you needed to pay the bills and the essentials for your job, barely using it to buy yourself some more comfort in terms of a larger apartment for starters. The need to help your sisters weighing on your shoulders. 

“What?” You could almost literally see the dark cloud that had appeared above her start to evaporate. “You’re kidding,” she was beaming now.

“Of course not,” you smiled, genuine happiness filling you at your sister’s response. 

“Oh my god,” she laughed, throwing her arms around you. 

You laughed with her, spinning her around in a tiny circle. She leaned back a little, disbelief clearly written all over her face. 

“I can’t believe it. What did we do to deserve you?” 

She started tearing up and you moved your right hand to cup her cheek, brushing away a stray tear. 

“You’re my sisters,” you whispered. “I would do anything for you. I’m only sorry it took me so long to get you both out of here.” 

Your sister scoffed, wiping away her tears. “Please, we would be nowhere without you.”

At that you hugged her once more.

“We must tell little kitty kat as soon as possible.” 

She was talking about Sadie, the one who had been in and out of hospitals the past two years. You gifted her the nickname when she was still a child. Always obsessed with cats, wanting to pet any she encountered – it wasn’t a big leap. 

Once she almost got hit by a car because she spotted one in the neighbour’s garden across the street, childish instinct carrying her short legs towards the fluffy, grey creature. Of course, she was unaware of the fast approaching car and you’d been able to grab her just in time before the car raced past, mere inches from where you protectively held your little sister close to your body. First you had shouted some colourful profanities at the car that was already disappearing around the corner. Then you proceeded to set your sister down and softly but clearly explain to her to always be aware of her surroundings and to never run away from you. Even if it was for a pretty cat. She promised she would never do it again, the incident scaring her off the idea permanently. After, you took her tiny hand in your own and you went to pet the cat together. 

“Definitely,” you nodded as you both let go and sat down on the dingy run-down couch. There were at least four throws strategically placed on the thing to try and imitate some sense of comfort. 

“When will she be back?” 

Your sister made a negative noise, taking out her phone to check the time. 

“Another hour maybe? She said she would stay at her friend’s for dinner.”

You glanced down at your sister’s phone, noting the time. It was already a little past seven o’clock. You groaned internally. 

“I have to leave in about 15 minutes, sweetie. I’m sorry,” you uttered, shooting her another sympathetic look. 

Your sister looked a little down by your statement, but she quickly recovered. 

“It’s okay,” she smiled, now it was her time to reassure you. “We’ll tell her together as soon as you get back.”

“But before you go,” your sister looked at you sheepishly. “I believe you got me a gift?”

You laughed, already leaning forward to retrieve the maple syrup you had brought back from Canada for her from your bag. 

When you were well on your way to Hampsbridge House two hours later, the promise you made to your sister kept you awake and focused on the task in front of you. Determined to deal with Montrose swiftly and effectively so you could go back to your sisters. Finally freeing them from your pathetic excuse of a mother. 

––

01.13 AM. 

You yawned soundlessly as you laid stretched out on your belly, moving your stiff gloved fingers every now and then from gripping your night vision binoculars so tightly. The temperature had dropped significantly, but you fought the cold from permanently entering your body, willing the shivers down with sheer force of will. At least the cold kept you awake. 

You’d now officially been awake for a solid 27 hours. The last sleep you had was on your plane ride over from Toronto. Luckily for you, you flew business class and had been able to comfortably sleep the entire flight, silently thanking your prescribed sleeping pills. Yes, you counted flying business class as an essential to your job, because how were you supposed to properly do your job after spending eight hours getting kicked from behind by some annoying kid in economics. Besides, the solution of simply murdering all the annoying people on a plane wasn’t very practical. 

As you were thanking the existence of sleeping aids, you were cursing your employer AKA the reason why you were lying in the cold dew grass, very much sleep deprived, awaiting an opportunity to sneak into Hampsbridge House unnoticed. 

Your first obstacle – Montrose’s security – turned out not to be much of an obstacle after all as they stood conspicuously stationed at the outside perimeter. He should really invest in better security. Although that advice wouldn’t be of much use to him in the morning, you supposed. 

After you’d cleared a path to move beyond the security’s set up, you checked the app on your phone to locate the target. He was in the main house, and as you circled the house a couple of times, trying to get your bearings of the place, you concluded he was in the living room with the rest of them. The waiting game had officially begun. 

You’d been watching the house for a solid two hours now. After a mere 30 or so minutes you spied him bidding his fellow rich kids goodnight. You moved toward the other side of the house, careful to remain in the shadows of the tree line and out of sight. You followed his movement through the many windows and when he disappeared beyond what you could see with the naked eye, your phone helped you accurately pinpoint his location. 

Soon you noticed a light turning on in the northeast bedroom on the second floor. Montrose’s figure appeared in front of the window. He seemed to keenly look around. And for a moment you swore he could see you there, lurking behind a bush. But that was impossible. You shook your head at that intense feeling of being seen when Montrose closed the curtain, obstructing your view once more. 

You had laid down as soon as you realised he was truly retiring for the night. You pulled out the folded blue prints of the manor you had stuffed in your front pocket and compared it to the app you used to track Montrose. The green dot moved and you cross referenced it with the blue prints. He had gone into the adjoining bathroom. 

After another 20 minutes had passed, the lights went out and the green dot stopped moving. It was now stationary in the middle of the room. You assumed that was where the bed would be. 

Now an hour later, at 01.13 AM, there had not been a single movement. You dropped the binoculars and rubbed at your eyes. Surely he would be asleep by now. 

In the past hour you had seen lights turn on and off in other rooms as well, indicating that most of the manor’s inhabitants had gone off to sleep. 

You propped yourself up and stretched out your back and neck. Five times your regular fee, you calmly reminded yourself as every joint in your body seemed to pop with relief at some movement. 

You moved to your duffle bag, stuffing the binoculars back into the compact thing before readjusting your leather black gloves. You reached below a set of spare clothes and took out your gun, the serial number filed off. There was no way it could be traced back to you if for some reason you had to leave it behind. 

You put the gun in the holster you’d strapped to your right thigh after you attached a silencer to the gun’s muzzle. Checking the knives you had also concealed on your body, you felt you were as ready as ever. You opened up the app once more, the green dot still remained in the same spot. 

It’s a go.

You hid your duffle underneath the same bush that you had used as cover and zipped up your fitting black jacket. 

Silently running towards the back door of the manor, you took out two lock-picks. You kept checking your surroundings as you blindly unpicked the lock within an impressive 15 seconds. You slipped through the door and closed it behind you as quietly as humanly possible. 

Reaching for your gun, you clicked off the safety. Your shoes were soundproof as you made your way through the familiar layout of the house. The entire afternoon up until picking up your rental car was spent memorising every corner of the country house. 

You arrived at a set of stairs and climbed them towards the second floor. You kept to the walls as much as you could, listening for any sound or movement in the dark corridor, the moon the only source of light available to you. 

Counting the doors and keeping track of the distance you had crossed, you determined that the next door would lead to Montrose’s bedroom. 

Holding the gun momentarily in just your right hand, careful to keep your trigger finger straight, you checked your app one more time. Montrose was dead to the world – figuratively, for now – probably cosily bundled up in blankets. Warm, you bristled. You were still trying to shake the cold that had inevitably nestled into your bones even though the temperature inside the house was much more hospitable. 

As you inched closer to Montrose’s bedroom, you realised how well your plan had played out. In the end, it would have taken you only 25 out of the 48 hours your employer had given you. Sure, you still had to get rid of his body, but the area was secluded and the manor edged on the woods. You felt pretty confident that part of the job wouldn’t pose much of an issue. 

A seed of pride swelled inside of you. Granted, you had been lucky with the opportunity of a secluded, off the radar location. But sometimes all that was needed was for the stars to align just right. Nevertheless, this would be cause for a celebratory drink later. After you caught up on some well-deserved sleep. 

Your left hand clasped the door handle and you slowly pushed it down, opening the door inch by inch, praying to whatever god willing to listen that the wood would shut the fuck up and not creak. Miraculously, you managed to slip inside the room without making a sound. Now gripping your gun with both hands, you tiptoed towards the large bed in the centre of the room. 

You snorted inwardly. You’d been correct earlier in your imagining of Montrose being bundled up in warm blankets. The blankets had been drawn up high, covering even his head. As you neared the bed and your eyes adjusted to the even darker room compared to the corridor you had been in moments prior, you stilled. The lump of blankets was completely motionless. You couldn’t discern any up and down movement of a person breathing. You heard immediate warning bells go off in your head and felt your adrenaline spike, making your finger instinctively curl towards the trigger. 

“I’ve been expecting you.” 

You heard the voice behind you at an exceptionally close range. Before you had any chance to react, your body froze. You weren’t able to move a single muscle as you felt a cold liquid enter your nervous system through the syringe Rhys had expertly placed in your neck. 

In an instant you felt the grip on your gun loosen, a loud thud indicating you had involuntarily dropped it. Next thing you knew your body slumped back against his broad chest and his arms wound tight around you, keeping you from falling to the floor. How someone had been able to sneak up on you, you didn’t know. There was no way you would figure it out now anyway as you already felt your consciousness slipping. 

“At last, we finally meet,” he whispered, hazily feeling his warm breath tickle your ear. 

Your head lulled backwards onto his shoulder and the last thing you could make out before your vision slowly faded to black was the gentle smile that played on his lips.

–––– 

A/N: Well, fuck. He knew all along??!

Honestly, I’ve been having so much fun writing this fic, I hope you’re just as curious and excited as I am to see where the story between these two is gonna go. Next part will finally be their first actual conversation… oh boy

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter Two: The Hostage

Just Like Me

Masterlist | Previous Chapter

Five Hargreeves x Sparrow!Samantha

Summary: Going after the Umbrellas, you're more than surprised at the situation you've gotten yourself into. Everything is apparently not as it seems. The only question is... what do they want with you?

Warnings: Cursing, Injuries, Violence, Fighting, Name-Calling, Insults, Kidnapping, Manhandling, Threats, Degradation

Words: 8.3k

A/N: As much as I wanted to finish the first episode in this chapter, I think it'd be way too long, so I wound up ending somewhere I thought would be a good place to do so. The next chapter will definitely finish the first episode, at least, and explain a lot more of the OC (reader).

Having fled from the house after the Umbrella Academy, you manage to see where they’re going, but wind up slowing your pace as you find yourself more winded than usual. Probably from getting kicked in the ribs by that kid. Though there’s also a possibility it’s from the slow recovery you’ve been making since… the Incident. The past few months have been nothing but trying to grapple at any sort of semblance you could retain after having your whole life flipped upside down and inside out. Walking, you rub at your ribs through the white button-up underneath your blazer. 

While you’d seen them going toward the park, finding them now that you’ve fallen behind is another challenge. Even if they’ll stand out, dressed like weirdos and all, you don’t spot them instantly. You find yourself strolling through the park, glad that at the least it’s a nice day. The sun is out and shining, there’s a slight breeze, and it isn’t too cool.

“You okay?” A familiar voice speaks. It’s him! The big one… Luther, right? Hazel eyes darting across the pond to where a group of oddly clothed individuals sit, one approaches holding their ribs. It’s them, alright. Ducking behind the lined patch of bushes before you, being stealthy is the only option. Listening to their conversation, it’s clear as day considering this part of the park is fairly empty. After all, it’s only early afternoon on a Friday–most people are either working or at school. While you’re across the water from them and a good handful of yards away, you manage to crawl behind the bushes and squirm behind the trees as you attempt to get closer to them.

“Apparently, so is Ben,” it’s the Cowboy Dude who speaks, sounding somewhat relieved.

“Yeah, and he’s a complete dickhead,” now that’s Cape-Girl. The casual tone in her voice almost elicits a chuckle, but your hand quickly covers your mouth in fear of any noise escaping. Nevertheless, an amused smile sits on your lips. She couldn’t be more right.

“They’re all dickheads-” it’s the Shaggy-Man. The accusation causes your expression to shift into one of surprise and offense, your movement momentarily stopping as you try not to get angry at the insult. With a deep breath, you continue to slowly round the pond and remain undetected behind the greenery.

“Yeah, dickheads who can fight!” Luther combats his words. This elicits a feeling of pride in your chest, as at least that much is true. Though you’re not as skilled considering you’ve had a lack of training due to the Incident, it doesn’t take away from the fact that you can still manage your way through hand-to-hand combat, albeit not your specialty. He’s certainly right about the rest of your family, however.

“Okay, next person to say ‘dickhead’ is getting a punch to the throat.” It’s the kid, which ultimately takes you by surprise considering most teenage boys you know are all idiots who love nothing more than to curse, talk crudely, and cause chaos wherever they go.

“Dickhead-” one person rings off, “-Dickhead-” another, “-Dickhead,” they all utter from what you’re able to tell. Lips forming another amused smile, your brows furrow a bit. Is this what they’re really like? It’s relieving, to say the least. Maybe they aren’t so bad, then? Just in the wrong place at the wrong time, perhaps.

Finally approaching a huge patch of bamboo and greenery, you’re able to stand and eavesdrop from behind the biggest and thickest greenery near the pond. Front as close to the plants as can be without stepping over the rocks lining the garden bed, you pretend to inspect and read the little silver plaque detailing the plants before you to seem inconspicuous. With a displeased look upon your face, you dust off the dirt and mulch chips still sticking to your outfit.

“Hey, did Dad tell you why he was calling them his kids?” Shaggy-Man again, finally asking something useful. This might lead to more answers surrounding your untiring list of questions.

“He sure did! You ready? Dad was so repulsed by us back in Texas, that he adopted an entirely different group of children just so he didn’t have to raise us.” Cowboy Dude this time. Though he seemed aloof from the short encounter you’d had, he seems to have more information than he lets on… a front, perhaps?

“That’s just peak Dad, huh?” the Shaggy Man responds.

“Isn’t it?” Luther responds, a hint of incredulity in his voice.

“So he just didn’t want us anymore?” This voice you don’t recognize, so you lean to your left a little in order to peek just slightly from the greenery. It’s the thin woman who’d been holding her ribs that’d made Luther call out. Returning to your previous position in order not to get caught, you resume relying on your ears.

“Did he ever?” Cape-Woman asks.

“See? I told you we shouldn’t have asked him for help in sixty-three,” Luther argues. This bit of information causes your eyebrows to furrow for a moment before raising at the implications of this. Leaning back out from behind the greenery a bit, you watch as they start to lean into the conversation, everyone seeming to get serious now. Perfect, they’ll spill something here, you can tell.

“I think you’re all missing the big picture here…” as he looks around at his accomplices, you eagerly wait for the kid to drop whatever bomb he’s about to unload. “Hold that thought,” he states before disappearing in a small flash of blue light. All of them look around, calling out the number ‘five’ which seems utterly random if not weird, and conspiratory in some disturbing way. Is it a code? A signal of some sort?

“Did you really think you’d be able to sneak up on us?” With a gasp and quick spin, you find yourself face to face with that same boy. “What? Almost killing my brother and sister wasn’t good enough for you,” he accuses. 

“No- no, I just, I came to help!” You admit, hands raising into one of surrender. As he steps closer, slowly closing the few feet that separate you, you can see the anger in his irises. “I didn’t- I don’t want-” In a sudden move he kicks you in the chest again, hands nonchalantly in his pockets as if it were effortless. 

Everyone’s attention draws over to the sound of Five’s voice. It isn’t far, and they only have a second to react before they spot the upper half of a young girl lying on the cement. Red jacket, brown hair, isn’t that…

“They followed us here?!” Diego cries out incredulously, retrieving a knife from his vest. Klaus watches intensely along with the rest of his siblings, unsure of where this is going. Diego makes as if to get up and head over there. 

With a swift step, kid’s got a dress shoe crushing your ribs and pinning you down. Though it isn’t enough weight to keep you from getting out of this position, you let him think he’s got the upper hand. You’re not looking for a fight, you’re looking for answers. Unfortunately, under pressure, while you might be able to act, you find your words escaping you. “I don’t want to fight,” you argue, voice coming out louder and more panicked than you’d meant for it.

“Should’ve thought about that before you punched me and let that spit-freak kick me down the stairs! What’s your plan, huh? Tell them where we are, send in the calvary?” As he eyes you up and down, you don’t fail to notice the shadow of someone approaching from where they’d all been sat.

“I had to! You don’t-” you debate the personal level of it, yet it comes blurting out anyway, “-understand! I didn’t have a choice. I just want the truth!” Your breathing starts to become more uneasy now with the weight of his foot getting heavier and heavier as he towers over you, leaning his weight further into his foot with each passing second and your weak excuses. “Father-” you pant, “I don’t trust him, he’s-” you try to catch your breath. Hands coming up to wrap around his ankle for some semblance of control, and a weak attempt to push it off you, “-there’s something not right.”

“Move,” you hear the Shaggy-Man tell the teenage boy. Head turning to look at him you watch him wave his knife dismissively.

“You don’t tell me what to do, imbecile,” the teenager spits, unmoving. “You’re not killing her,” he demands.

“She’s the enemy, Five! She tried to kill me, and now she’s spying on us like some real-life Spy Kid? She’ll tell them where we are and have them come after us!” With a shove at the teenager, the Shaggy-Man grabs your blazer and ungracefully pulls you to your feet. Before you can slip out of your jacket and backpack, he wraps an arm around your waist like a vice and places the knife to your throat. Eyes going wide, you can’t see the man, but you can hear the venom in his voice. “What’s to say they aren’t already here? Waiting for the signal? At least we can get one out of the picture, send a message.”

“She’s leverage, idiot,” the teenage boy retorts with a holier-than-thou attitude that scarily reminds you of Father. “Plus she clearly can’t fight,” he points out with a huff of laughter, hands returning to his pockets as he strolls back to the picnic tables.

“Please, I-” you beg, the knife’s sharp blade pricking at your throat. Tempted to use your abilities, you also don’t want to risk hurting them if it’s not necessary. While the man who’s got you in a hold seems aggressive, you’ve seen the way he’s capitulated to the others.

“Shut it. You don’t get an opinion in this,” he warns. Removing the knife, he instead places it at the small of your back beneath the backpack. “Why do you even have this? Little girl goes to school somewhere other than the Academy?” A wry chuckle escapes him and it’s the only opportunity you need to slip from the jacket and backpack, donkey kick him in the groin, and dart. Running straight into their little circle, you’re not afraid to retaliate if need be. At this point, it’s getting dicey and you won’t let yourself be caught again. “Bitch!”

The groan of pain catches everyone’s attention where they’d previously come back to the boy. On the opposite side of the picnic area, you put your hands up, readying yourself to fight if they try anything. Shaggy-Hair throws his knife at you, only for you to evade it with a displeased look on your features.

“Woah, woah! Okay. Everyone needs to stop!” The thin woman shouts as she stands on wobbly feet and puts her hands out. “Are they here? Did you come for us?” She sends her questions toward you with a threat unhidden in her tone.

“No! I came alone. I’m not-”

“-with them, I knew it!” The Cape-Woman cuts you off before you can finish. “She’s just a kid dressing up like them. Remember when kids would do that on Halloween?” All of them look at her with recognition and a sense of belief. Eyebrows furrowed in anger and exasperation, you let go of your defensive stance and lean into one hip. “I didn’t see her do anything back at the house, so…”

“Do you actually want to know, or are you just gonna guess and leave it at that?” You retort.

“I bet she doesn’t even have any powers!” Shaggy-Hair accuses with a wry laugh. 

“Dad said they’re his children,” Cowboy Dude argues with a shrug.

“She’s just another Vanya,” Shaggy-Hair adds, a saddened tone to his words for some reason. Eliciting a profound ‘ah’ from some, you’re unamused and don’t address what he’d said, instead responding to the Cowboy Dude.

“Adopted, technically, but yes, we are. My family is-”

“-But you’re… a teenage girl,” Luther cuts you off, hands holding his head as he looks at you with a perplexed look on his face.

“-yes! God! Look, just because I look like a teenager doesn’t mean I am, okay?! Besides, if you’re arguing you all are really in your sixties then that’s a bunch of baloney, too! Anyway,” you hastily tug at the button of your cuffs on your button-up, undoing them and pushing your sleeves up as you’re now sweaty and hot. “It’s A, none of your business, and B, I only came to get answers! Okay? My family might have a tendency to overreact and always go to fighting as their first strategy but I’m not like them, alright?!” With your argument out of the way and your reasoning out in the open, you cross your arms and wait for some sort of response.

“So you’re like Five, then?” The thin woman asks, turning to face you a little more as she sits on the long bench connected to the cement wall.

Eyes searching all of theirs you’re confused. However, you clench your jaw momentarily before answering. “Um… obviously not? I’m at least, like… sixteen, seventeen body-wise, mentally and emotionally, I’m, well… thirty-one. Or I will be, in October,” you mutter the last part to yourself, feeling more than a little scrutinized and offended with everyone’s eyes on you.

“Our brother! Five,” Cowboy Dude announces, eyes and head tilting toward his right where the teenager sits propped up on the picnic table. “Ooh, time-traveling incident, too?” He adds on, intrigued as he sets his elbows on his knees and leans in.

“Uh- no. We don’t talk about it,” you respond after a moment of silence, finally looking from his intrigued eyes up toward the ones staring intensely from up on the table. “Five? That’s a name?”

“Oh, and you have one so much better, I suppose,” he retorts with a roll of his eyes. “Look, I don’t care why you’re here or what you think you need to know. The big picture is,” he turns to his family, purposefully excluding you as his voice takes on a quieter tone. “If Dad didn’t adopt us as kids, he changed the timeline. So who knows what else is different now.” 

“Shouldn’t you know?” Cape-Woman asks with a quirked brow.

“Sorry, Allison-” okay, Allison is her name, “-but it might take me more than twenty minutes and a traumatic brain injury to figure this all out. Is that okay with you?”

“No, actually, it’s not,” she comments, clearly upset, “we just got here when all we wanted was to go home to our families, and now someone’s out there trying to kill us. Again.” The last part you know was pointed at you and your family. Which is fair, in all points, except you know your siblings don’t really consider you a part of the team in any way, and they’re most likely plotting some sort of revenge as of this moment in time.

“Guys, look, it’s fine. We still have the Commission’s briefcase, so worst case, we can just go back in time and fix it,” the thin woman explains. She sits back into the bench looking relaxed, despite Allison, as you now know, and the Shaggy-Man still staring daggers at you from across their little circle.

“Great,” Cowboy Dude comments, clapping his hands together.

“Okay. There are two problems with that statement. First off-” the teenage boy stands from his seat at the picnic table.

“Here we go,” Cowboy Dude announces with a displeased tone.

“-time travel is complicated, people,” the boy continues despite the comments.

“Yeah, we get it. Your job is SO hard. Just… what?” Shaggy-Man adds in, clearly fed up with the situation. Silently listening, you try to process and piece together the puzzle with all the new information. So… time travel is his ability? This… ‘Five’ character?

“-And secondly… I no longer have the briefcase.” With a small shrug of his shoulders and the looks on the other people’s faces, you can tell that whatever is in this briefcase is a big deal.

“Five, where the hell is the briefcase?” Allison asks obviously concerned.

After a few minutes of arguing, you slip past them and grab your blazer off the ground, dusting it off before putting it back on, along with your backpack. Standing at the edge of the circle, you cross your arms over your chest. They time-traveled here. But that’s supposed to be impossible. But… Dad must’ve known. Did he? He wasn’t fazed by them, or their appearances. He had to have known. There’s no way he didn’t. Five definitely can time travel. Luther is super strong, it looks like. Don’t know about the others. What does changing the timeline look like? Are they gonna cause a catastrophe by messing with time? What is this ‘Commission’ they mentioned? This is some Back to the Future type shit. Ughhh..h…. 

“It’s the obvious choice! They realize she’s gone, they bring the briefcase in exchange for her… alive,” Shaggy-Man argues. At the mention of you, and your life, your attention comes back to reality.

“Except they won’t realize I’m missing?” You butt in. Shifting your backpack on your shoulders uncomfortably.

“What do you mean, you’re the baby of the family, right? Won’t they notice you’re gone right away?” Allison questions, obliviously baffled by the statement.

“It’s… complicated. They don’t really include me considering-” looking up at their faces from where you’d been staring down at your shoes, you remember who you’re speaking with. “-well, events… they don’t really bother. I haven’t been a part of the team for quite some time, so most likely they’ll only notice, well… Marcus might notice I’m gone if I don’t come home tonight. I don’t know, we’ll see, I guess, if that’s your plan.”

“What, you have a better one, Princess?” Again, the Shaggy-Haired man provokes, eyeing you with distaste. 

That’s how you’d wound up here. Walking with the Umbrella Academy through the park, you’re forced to stand between Allison and that Five kid, all of the other people you’ve learned are their other siblings trailing behind. With no way to slip out from behind them, and of course the teleporting teenager able to stop you if you run ahead, you’re… essentially stuck. For now.

“What are we doing?” Allison asks frustratedly, looking across you over at Five.

“Ruminating,” he replies nonchalantly, hands still in his pockets and a non-blaise look upon his face as he strolls along beside you. Hands wrapped around your backpack’s straps, you let out a quiet tired sigh. Unsure what to say, you remain quiet, gears continually turning as you try to think of some way to either get your answers and go, or escape. Though having had some time, and thought, you also aren’t opposed to sticking around for a little now that no one’s threatened you with violence in the past fifteen minutes.

“So you’re trying to go back in time?” You finally ask, posing a question that isn’t too prodding, you hope. 

“Yes.”

“No.”

It would seem the answers are divided among the group. Yet, Five looks behind him at his siblings with incredulity before shaking his head slightly. “No, we’re not. Though this is the correct timeline and date, it seems that there have been a few changes to the timeline. Going back would only cause further damage and change more things in the present.”

“Yeah,” you respond quietly. “I’ve seen Back to the Future enough times,” you comment. There's a hint of joking, considering you’re sure the actual thing is far more complicated than simply setting a machine’s date into place and driving at a certain speed to provoke such a grandiose event. 

“It’s much more complicated than a science-fiction movie made for simpletons,” Five curses, eyes shifting over to yours with a domineering look in them.

“Why is everyone staring at us?” Cowboy Dude, who you’ve learned is named Klaus, asks.

“Because we look like the damn village people just lost a fight,” Shaggy-Hair, aka, Diego, announces. This elicits a small chuckle from you as you flip your hair over your shoulders, embracing the warm sunlight the world offers today.

Though your ribs still have a dull ache to them, overall, there’s nothing inherently wrong with the way today has gone. It’s been far more exciting than what a normal day at the Sparrow Academy would entail for you. Routine simply: getting up, joining your family for breakfast, going to school, coming home, doing homework, working out, dinner, sleep, and then repeat.

Even if you’re technically playing hostage at the moment, you know that if worse comes to worst, you can whip out your power and eliminate the threat. Not that you really want to, considering you’re done being a killer. While you’d once been a prized member of the team and maybe even considered Dad’s Number One, you certainly are done with that regiment.

“Gimme that! Hey!” Klaus yells, the sound of smacking and some sort of kerfuffle going on behind you would be worrisome if it wasn’t for learning that they’re all siblings. Like Jayme and Alphonso or Ben and Fei, it seems that family skirmishes aren’t a sole quality of the Sparrows.

“Ow!” 

A quick glance over your shoulder leaves your hazel eyes met with a playful look in Klaus’ green orbs. With a wink in your direction, he snatches back his cowboy hat from Diego, straightening himself and dusting off.

“Okay, you know what? I need to go find Claire,” Allison announces with an annoyed tone and dismissive wave of her hand. Watching her walk off you find yourself suddenly bumped into by someone, hands landing on Five’s jacket as you steady yourself. Five glares at you, which makes you glare at the responsible party: Klaus. 

“You guys, cut it out,” Five instructs. Brushing his jacket off where you’d touched him. Rude, you think to yourself. 

“Really?” You question the only member of this Umbrella Academy that you’d thought was actually decent up until now.

“What? He pushed me!” Klaus defends, looking over his shoulder at Diego.

“I will catch up with you guys later,” Allison adds over her shoulder.

“Hey, Allison, no,” Vanya–you finally learned her name–calls after her as she side-steps you, “-First, let’s just get somewhere safe, clean up those cuts, and then we’ll go find her.”

“Who’s Claire? Another sister?” You whisper, wondering if they’re hiding more family members up their sleeves. Maybe someone to help come back and attack the Academy, take it over? You still have no idea where their plan lies.

"Wouldn't you like to know-?" Diego taunts.

“Her daughter,” Klaus whispers back, hand flopping onto your shoulder as if it were a reassuring gesture.

"Hey, don’t tell her that! She’s a hostage,” Diego scolds as he slaps the back of Klaus’ head. Group coming to a halt a few feet from the fountain in front of you, everyone watches the sisters talk.

“Man, I hate those guys,” Luther grumbles. Attention drawn back to him, you follow his gaze up to the posters of your siblings and the almost threatening words that go across their portraits: ‘Crime is the problem. We are the solution.’ Of course, all of them adorned with your name: Sparrow Academy. Some, even with your insignia embellished on them. 

“Look at ‘em with their stupid… smug…”

“You can do it,” Klaus encourages, leaning in to whisper to his taller brother, “You can do it!”

“-s…s…smugness.” Luther cringes, Klaus sighs, you exchange a surprised look with Five, his expression unreadable as you look back at the two.

“Keep working on it, big guy. You’ll land one… eventually,” Klaus reassures.

“N-no offense,” Luther says upon meeting your gaze.

“None taken. Honestly, they’re… a bunch of assholes. For the most part,” you respond with a chuckle. Allison’s voice draws your attention again.

“But honestly, what are we doing? Because we can’t keep standing here bleeding out in this park.” You wonder the exact same thing.

“I don’t know, but we better gear up fast before they come for round two, alright?” Diego thinks aloud, eyes still glued to your sibling’s posters.

“What makes you think they’ll come after us?” Vanya questions, somewhat stupidly, though considering it seems they don’t know your family, it’s still a valid question. For any sane person, you suppose.

“Because I would,” Diego responds thoughtfully. While Allison looks concerned and some eyes fall to you, you simply shrug and give a look of agreement.

“Yeah, I mean we did break into their house…” Klaus agrees, a forlorn tone in his voice

“-our house,” Allison corrects.

An ambivalent sound leaves your throat as you stand there with hands clasped in front of you.

“Bust up all their nice antiques and shit,” Klaus expands with a gesticulative wave of his hand.

“Yeah. I don’t think the crime-fighting super nerds are gonna let that go,” Luther mutters.

“Better,” you comment with a chuckle and shrug. At least you know you’re not alone in the inability to be quick with your comebacks. “They’re probably plotting some sort of revenge as we speak. I wouldn’t stay out in the open much longer if I were you.” With Fei’s crows and Father’s surveillance, there’s no telling how easy it’ll be for your family to find this literal band of brothers. But it won’t be too hard considering they all seem to stand out in their very own, unique ways. 

“Let’s just…” Five gives you a distasteful look before clamping his hands over your ears. While you could listen to them talk muffledly or simply try to break free of his attempt at excluding information from you, there’s a more silent option. Unbeknownst to him, you use your powers, concentrating on the big hands that cover your ears, you try and redirect the water molecules away from his hands and back down his forearm. While it takes more concentration and leaves their conversation fading in and out, you’re able to make out the most of it, you think. “-Off the radar where we can lie low and not draw attention.”

“What kind of a weird ass place are we not gonna draw attention?” Diego comments. As all their eyes shift over to someone out of your view, you only get confirmation upon their words. 

“I know a place! It’s this old hotel that I used to go to whenever I’d need a place to lay low and you know,” Klaus jokes. “Pull one over on the old-geester-” While Five had been eyeing you with a set of stone-cold eyes and an unwavering air of distrust, he sends a glare at Klaus. “-Hotel Obsidian! It’s just a few blocks away,” he reveals. “Follow me!”

“Was that really necessary?” You ask Five as he removes his hands from your ears and stuffs them in his pockets, walking away from you after Klaus. Upon your question, he turns on the heels of his dress shoes and quirks a brow.

“Did you hear where we’re going?” 

“No,” you lie, putting on a brave face. You won’t let him give you any sort of reason to kill you, let alone throw you off the wagon of the bunch that’s heading to the hotel.

“Then yes, clearly necessary since, may I remind you, you’re still a hostage, and we wouldn’t want to have to bring you to them as a cold body, would we?” He asks, a testing air about his words, eyes keenly observing your expression as he waits for an answer.

Though amusement swirls in your chest at his unknowing double-entendre, you simply swallow your biting comments and walk toward him, then right past without looking back. While they’re still six on one, you aren’t too worried about having to defend yourself. Sure, if need be you can use your abilities, but you’d rather not have to kill if it’s not needed.

They all seem out of it, and admittedly, as finals approach with the end of the school year, so are you. School is hard enough to deal with, without fighting a group of scheming powered-up misfits on the run. Following Klaus, you walk behind Diego and beside Vanya. The itching, annoying, and gnawing feeling of Five’s eyes–you’re sure of it–glued to the back of your head throughout the short walk to the hotel is constant. And it’s definitely not Luther, that’s for sure. It partly drives you insane, continuously making you want to throw him back a glare or ask him what his problem is. Nevertheless, you won’t give him the benefit of any reaction; despite having known the boy for only a matter of perhaps a little over an hour, you know his type. Asshole of men always want some sort of reaction, a signal, a sign that they’re winning, that they’re getting to you and managing to get under your skin. That, at the be-all and end of all things… they’re right. Maybe he’s simply trying to figure you out, get a hint about your motives, or perhaps, deduce your next move. Unfortunately for him, where there’s a will, there’s a way… and you won’t let him succeed.

You’re surprised upon revelation with Klaus’ words, that, “We’re here!” The building looks plain in any sense, fitting-in, and resembling just another city building throughout the, well, city. It isn’t inconspicuous, yet isn’t as ostentatious or pretentious of a hideout as you’d been expecting for the lesser of normal ragtag group.

Surrounded by siblings, you’re kept ‘in line’ by the bigger of the group, of course, Five seemingly being the ringleader of this circus while Luther and Diego provide muscle. As you approach the revolving doors it takes you by surprise that you’re pushed into the small space. Diego and Klaus–having stepped back to make sure everyone files in–attempt to clamber into the tiny cubicle of doorway space instead of waiting for the next one. 

“Oh. Okay, honestly?” Allison comments, noises of dissatisfaction, annoyance, surprise, and frustration simultaneously emitting from everyone upon the brief confinement. “We don’t all need to be squeezed.”

“There were two entrances, by the way,” Five points out. With a sigh and inhalation of fresh air instead of the musty sweat-and-grime odor leftover from your fight this afternoon, you’re surprised when you look up to find the brutalist–art deco-styled interior. 

“Oh, Hotel Obsidian,” Klaus murmurs fondly, “I missed you, you slutty old dame.” 

Glad to no longer be within arm’s reach and under Five’s scrutinous eye, you bounce on the balls of your feet to readjust your backpack again. With a tug of your lapels and your uniform neat, your fingers aimlessly play with the hem of your blazer, unsure where things will go now.

“Absorb her. Absorb her into your bosom,” Klaus advises with a wave of his hands, “You know, cause back in her heyday, she played host to world leaders. Roosevelt-”

“Roosevelt?” You whisper the correct pronunciation under your breath as you quirk an eyebrow in his direction, unsure whether Klaus is secretly a genius, or a madman… or maybe both.

“-Gandhi, Stalin, Gorbachev, Castro, King Olaf of Norway, one of the Kim Jongs, Tito, Dalai Lama, Elvis, and not one, but two Kardashians, allegedly,” He recites as if giving a tour, the last tidbit a secret.

“Ooh! Which ones?” You ask curiously, eyes drawn back to him as they’d trailed off to take in all the sights during his list. 

“Supposedly Kylie and Kendell,” he whispers back, hand shielding this information as he leans in. With a tug of your lips downward and a raise of your brow, you process this. If any one of them were into the shadiest things it’d probably be them… or the oldest, or Khloe. Eyes traveling back up to the grandiose chandelier above your heads, you have hardly any time to admire the firefly-like bulbs placed randomly along each rung that spirals down with cascading drops of diamonds.

“That’s a lot of Communists for one hotel though,” you point out with a chuckle, eyes drawn back down at the movement from your peripheral vision. Allison walks past Klaus further into the hotel.

“Wouldn’t that- where are you going?” He asks.

“I gotta make a call,” she announces with haste as she urgently walks away. So much for information, you think. If you’d been her sister you would’ve made a bigger scene, yet no one makes any such move.

“Nowadays she’s just a flophouse, a party house for those of us not looking to be judged by society’s rules and norms,” Klaus finishes explaining. Though you wouldn’t question him, it’s a little quiet, in your mind, to be a drug den.

“You mean a place to hide?” Luther asks. Eyebrows furrowing in a manner that could only read as: ‘What else would it be, Captain Obvious?’ you don’t dare look at him with that expression. Instead, opting to wait with your hands clasped in front of yourself seems like the best next move. Observing the clientele, this establishment doesn’t exactly provide any more information considering everyone is either hushedly whispering to their partner and or looking away when you make eye contact, outright staring, or eyeing you with suspicion.

“Exactly! It’s perfect!” He points at Luther. “And the best part of it is, she’s gonna look after us, no questions asked. Never ever… right?” His voice draws down to a whisper as he looks around, almost as if he’s only now registering how out-of-place you all look. “Come on,” he beckons.

“I may have questions,” you hear Diego utter.

“Yeah, me too,” Luther agrees.

Following after Klaus, you wonder what their plan is, and what they aim for as their end goal. They were obviously divided on the time-travel subject. Whether they plan on taking back the Academy, you know that letting your sibling’s in on whatever lame attempt is up their pockets is… well, might be crucial… depending on circumstances.

“Isn’t it so cool? You know, I spent a night or two here, myself, quite a time back in my day,” Klaus mentions down to you before waving to someone sitting in the lounge.

“Yeah,” you comment half-heartedly, unsure why he’d need to stay here if the Academy was his home, “Do you know him?” This elicits a quiet laugh.

“No, but it never hurts to be friendly, right?” Klaus retorts, a goofy smile on his face. 

“True.”

“So what’s with the backpack? You never leave home without your get-out-of-town gear or something?” Klaus’ guess as to what’s in the bag this time elicits a genuine laugh from you. Though he’s way off basis, there are questions you don’t mind answering. While it’d be good to be cautious around these people, you’ve never been one for secrets. In fact, you’ve always been quite the open book.

“No! No,” you assure him, a chuckle still evident in your voice. “I just came back from school when I uh… walked in on you guys..." Though you aren’t sure how to explain what’d happened and aren’t keen on announcing you thought they were robbers at first, Klaus doesn’t make you struggle.

“Thinking we were home. Yeah… shit always goes haywire, doesn’t it? It’s time for a change of pace, anyway! Let’s get us some rooms, yeah? How many do we need?” With a swivel of his feet and a spin, Klaus sinks into one hip and starts silently mouthing as he counts how many people there are. 

“Don’t count her, she’s not staying,” Five asserts. With a curious look in his direction, you find your eyebrows and forehead creasing with tension. This time, to your surprise, a passive look sits upon his features before he cocks a brow as if to say: ‘What’s the problem? You thought otherwise?’ You’d imagine that’s what the smug little grunt would say anyway.

“Oh! Well, let me count again then,” he responds.

“This place is weird,” Vanya murmurs, still taking in everything in a way that you know too well. Maybe she’s hyperaware, you think to yourself, finally taking your eyes off of Five’s figure. Even with his back turned, he still held a sense of confidence that does anything to distill the brewing dread within you. They’re not going to kill me, he… just wants me to go home, that’s it, you try to reassure yourself mentally. Hazel eyes drifting back up at Klaus, you try to justify things. He wouldn’t let them kill me… right?

Rounding Diego you pass Luther to stand on Klaus’ right as he rings the little bell sat atop the sleek black counter. At the movement, you step closer to the counter, eyebrows furrowed for only a moment before they spring up in surprise. “A puppy!” You shout, voice coming out a bit too chipper and loud for your taste, though the last thing you’d been expecting was a pug sat in his fluffy little bed to be behind the counter. “He’s so calm,” you comment, “are you going to take our order?” Joking, you don’t miss how both Luther and Klaus chuckle at this.

“Imagine he takes the money,” Luther jokes, reaching out a bit as if he were going to give the dog cash.

“Chet! Mon frère,” Klaus greets with a smile, “It’s so great to see you. I’d like my usual suite, por favor.” 

You can’t stop a small smile from tugging at your lips upon the amusing mix of French, English, and Spanish in one sentence. The older man places his finger on the bell to stop its ringing. “I’ve never seen you before,” he comments. Rounding Klaus you place yourself between him and Luther as the ladder holds his hand out for the older pug to sniff, while Diego and you peer at him trying to get a better look.

“See? I told you. Discreet,” Klaus brags. Holding your hands out to let the pug sniff, it whimpers. You retreat, though Diego doesn’t. It must not be used to many people, you guess, considering the hotel isn’t buzzing like many of the other establishments along Central Park. The pug recoils a bit from Diego’s hand, and the older man side-steps in front of you three.

“Please stop scaring my dog,” he demands. Even if it was a request, his tone said otherwise as his piercing eyes meet each of yours for a second, sending a chill down your spine.

“Sorry,” you respond quietly, crossing your arms in front of your chest as you take a step back. Diego and Luther stand up straight, an air of attitude within them both.

“We need some rooms, please,” Vanya speaks up.

“Super,” the older man responds, stepping back in front of Klaus to resume his business. The pug starts to pant, his little tongue sticking out. Smiling down at the small creature, you can’t help but find him cute. While it was obviously forbidden when you were younger and Father was fully in charge, you wonder if you’d be able to get a dog of your own someday soon.

With a sign now placed on the counter that reads ‘Cash Up Front’ printed across yellowing paper. You can only assume it's from the smoke over the years, having witnessed multiple patrons smoking upon entrance. While you know they’ve only just supposedly got here from nineteen sixty-three, you’re sure that the group doesn’t appear homeless by any means. Especially you, and, begrudgingly you have to admit Five, as well.

“Oh…” It leaves Klaus’ lips.

“Ah,” Luther responds. As the brother in the cowboy hat on your right looks over in his direction, you can’t help but look either. Hey, you’re not staying… right? Not your problem. After all, even if you have means of payment with you… it’s not your responsibility. You don’t know these people, really. “Fine. Empty your pockets,” he commands his family. With a step back, you watch as they all rummage through their pockets. Once they all put their hands out, you can’t help but sneak a peek. “Come on. Something,” he grumbles.

Klaus holds at least five packets in both hands labeled ‘Valhalla Condoms’, which makes you squirm uncomfortably. Next is Diego who simply holds out a dagger faced toward himself, as if that’ll do anything. Not that condoms would either, though. Vanya holds out peppermints, and Five holds out… are those teeth? Your breath stops flowing, body tensing as you fumble to process that piece of information. 

“Condom? Can’t exchange that for cash,” Luther grumbles under his breath. “Put that knife away!” He groans as if that’s somehow worse than condoms. I mean, at least Klaus is getting some, you suppose. “Wait, why do I have a hairnet?” The giant speaks to himself as he pulls the said item out of his pocket. Everyone stares at Luther anticipatingly while Chet looks at each of the siblings, and then you, as well. The pug pants happily, observing something you’d personally find amusing if it weren’t also somewhat traumatizing as the objects probably speak to a deeper level upon each of the crazy people you’re currently playing the part of ‘hostage’ to.

“Oh!” Luther exclaims, a hopeful noise finally, “Alright.” You hear him fudging with some type of material, though you can’t see around Klaus or through Luther’s huge back.

“Ooh!” Klaus utters.

“What does this get us?” Luther hands something over to the manager. After a moment the old man walks toward the keys and you spot what it is: a watch. Really? You mentally laugh at the scenario. And the guy is willing to take this as payment in this day and age? Ridiculous. Klaus did mention this place was special, right? Well, he certainly didn’t seem to lie there. The man returns with two keys in his hands and places them on the counter. 

“Two rooms,” he announces. All for a watch? Must’ve been some fancy shit, then. Though you’re sure your money would’ve gone a much longer way. “Mazel tov.” 

“Alright,” Allison comments as you spot her pushing her way past Diego and Five to grab a key. Klaus takes the other. “Let’s Brady Bunch this bitch.”

The ladder gestures for you to walk ahead, so you politely nod and follow after the, well, bunch, as amusingly as she’d meant it. “Uh, meet back in the bar in two hours so we can make a plan,” Five announces.

Diego runs past everyone. “I have a plan!” He hops up the steps two at a time till he hits the landing and quickly turns. “We attack the Sparrows, and we take back our house,” Five and Allison continue up the steps despite Diego’s words, “and then we punch Dad a bit until he admits we’re better and he loves us more. Boom! Done! We’re wasting time,” he imparts, passion clearly there along with a penchant for violence.

Though you aren’t sure where you’re supposed to stand within that plan or Five’s considering it seems he intends to split up the group, you follow them into the elevator hesitantly. Something occurs to you that hadn’t before and all you can do is chuckle to yourself. What was it that Dad always said about ‘never going to a secondary location’? This is now going to be the third. Either you're being stupid, or reckless. Let's hope for the last.

“Relax. Don’t sweat it man,” Klaus places a hand on Diego’s shoulder as he passes, “Those shit birds are staying put for a while. I bet they’re as wiped as we are.” 

“Really?” Though Diego stares at Klaus, clearly baffled at the thought, his eyes flit to you for a moment, narrowing in suspicion before shifting back to his brother.

“Yeah. I mean, kicking our asses looked exhausting,” Klaus comments with a calm tone that you start to question. What if this is all some sick scheme to get you somewhere quiet and torture you? What if they’re trying to establish a Good Cop, Bad Cop scheme? A quiet sigh leaves your lips as your cheeks blow out, jaw tensing with the thought. Eyes shifting solely in your peripheral vision, you remember: six of them. Six on one. You don’t like the odds, but the powers are in your favor. 

You momentarily think he’ll capitulate, that he believes Klaus’ words. The look in his eyes says the contrary. Just as the elevator doors start to close, Diego sticks out his hand and makes it open again, eliciting a groan from somewhere in the back of the elevator. Back to Luther and two men on either of your other sides, you don’t like this. Diego steps closer, closing the space between you as he gets in, filling up the last spot in the elevator. “Yeah, well clearly not. Look at her,” his voice is quieter this time, no argument held in them. He’s simply stating facts.

This inevitably elicits a nervous chuckle from you, hand brushing Five’s jacket as you attempt to bring it up to rest on the back of your neck. “I… don’t really fight? I’m not much of a fighter,” you respond. “I tried to stay out of it,” you defend.

“Yeah, well maybe we’ll have to make up for that,” Diego whispers. It’s a threat. Hopefully not a promise, you think, heart beating a little more rapidly in your chest as you try to evade his angry stare.

“Come on, Diego,” Klaus groans.

“Well you can do that if you want, I’m gonna have to sit down for at least a few minutes,” Luther comments. The ding of the elevator causes you to internally jump. Is this when you should cry for help? Is there anyone even out there? Would anyone even help? No. You know this, too. It’s been tested many a time that civilians will almost always more often than not choose to surrender than fight any sort of power if it comes down to it. Especially now, with the Sparrows not being new anymore, you’re sure that the civilians have gotten used to letting someone else do all the work. Same concept as Uber and Doordash and all those other companies you’ve been getting up to speed on with the help of your siblings since returning from the Incident.

“This is our floor,” Klaus announces before slipping out the doors.

“Get out,” Allison encourages.

Luther pushes you accidentally a little as he attempts to maneuver around you, but a hand on your wrist stops that. Five grabs your wrist and drags you out with him. “She’s coming with us,” he announces coldly. 

“Um, alright?” Luther responds.

“Fine by me, you all have fun,” Allison retorts with a nonchalant sort of ambivalence.

“You’re… not gonna hurt her, right?” Vanya asks, sticking her head out of the elevator door. Allison attempts to pull her back as you whip your head around to look, an appreciation filing your chest as you hadn’t expected any of them to actually care, let alone vouch for you or your safety.

“Sister of mine, what sort of plan would that be?” Five chuckles. His breath close enough, you feel another chill go down your spine, eliciting goosebumps across your skin. The eerie tone of his voice which drips with sarcasm is… unappreciated, to say the least. Staring back at Vanya with a pleading look in your eyes, you watch as her vision shifts from you, to Five, to Luther, and back between you and the boy currently manhandling you. After a moment she pops her head back into the elevator and you finally lose the rest of whatever breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Never mind her, you can manage yourself.

It all happened so fast that you suppose it’d been longer than anticipated when Five pulls your wrist again, almost knocking your feet out from underneath you. Stumbling backward, you feel his other hand sit on your back in an attempt to stabilize you. While some part of you might have thanked him in any other circumstance, you only whip your head back around to meet his eyes again. 

A spitting noise escapes the kid and you realize you must’ve unintentionally whipped him with your hair. “Sorry,” you mutter without thinking. Once you realize it, you mentally cringe at yourself. Why on Earth should you apologize to him?! He’s planning on hurting you for all you know. Without another word, he searches your eyes for a split second before tugging you along down the hall after Klaus.

~~~~~~

forever taglist: @moonlightsolo ,@safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @ohdamnadam

jlm taglist: @your-shifting-gurl

[fanlitfairy]

Could You Walk Away?: A Review of Ursula K. Le Guin's "The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas"

Art Credit: Katie Huff on ArtStation

Ursula K. Le Guin’s short story “The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas” is one that is sure to make you close your book slowly, stare at a wall, and wonder if you would be the kind of person to walk away from Omelas. (Spoiler: it is more complex of a situation than you might imagine.)

Le Guin’s story opens with the Festival of Summer in the city of Omelas, a town by the sea with “red roofs and painted walls,” “moss-grown gardens,” “avenues of trees,” and “great parks and public buildings.” The city is alive with the diverse crowd of Omelas citizens and they are all remarkably joyous, even the horses who were excitedly flaring their nostrils. 

Le Guin continues past the Festival and begins to explain the people of Omelas. According to Le Guin, they live without a government, police, slavery, stock exchanges, things that have a heavy presence in our own society. Some may think that this town is full of simple folk but they are “not less complex than us.” The descriptions of the town continue, exposing more and more information about their lifestyles and it seems on the surface that this town is just a truly happy town with a lack of judgment, crime, and better than our own. 

Gradually, Le Guin reveals the key part of Omelas, the thing which their entire joy rests upon: a small child, in a basement of a private mansion or a public building. It is malnourished, neglected, and frightened. It begs for help and it never comes, only people who offer cornmeal and grease as a meal, kick it, or stare through a window. Every townsperson in Omelas knows of the child’s existence and they all feel some kind of anger or guilt but they say there is nothing they can do. The child must suffer so that their joy may live on. 

However, as the title of the piece suggests, some feel so negatively about the child that they walk away from Omelas. They do not have an idea of where they are going but they know that they will not stay in the town, profiting off of a dying child, hidden somewhere in a basement.

This short story, sometimes labeled as a “philosophical” short story, places the reader in an uncomfortable situation. Like I mentioned before, sometimes, after reading this story, you have to sit with yourself and wonder if you would be the kind of person who would walk away from Omelas. Or, perhaps you are the other option that isn’t as explored in this piece. What would happen if you stood up to the town of Omelas and freed the child from the basement? 

One of the reasons I enjoy this story so much is because of the relevancy in our century, despite this piece being written in 1973. Our world relies on convenience and commodities which places a significant amount of stress on producers, service workers, and the lower-class who frequently end up in jobs where they have to bend over backwards in order to please consumers. The most obvious connection I can make is to fast fashion, where companies like Shein, Forever 21, Fashion Nova, and even the less obvious ones like Nike, rely on the difficult labor of child workers who are working in poor conditions to produce clothing for people to conveniently buy fast and cheap. 

Consumers ignore the horrors happening behind the construction of their thin, mesh tops that will eventually end in landfills or thrift stores. Some even twist these horrors, making it seem as though the working conditions are fine and attempt to convince others, as well as themselves, that this lifestyle is okay. Is this not painfully similar to the town of Omelas? 

Another reason I have a particular affinity for this piece is Le Guin’s masterful writing. I will admit that when I first saw this piece in text, I felt daunted by the large paragraphs with no separation, no dialogue, and what seemed to be heavy description. I have never been a fan of stories that pack a lot of information into one long paragraph. However, with some bravery, I jumped into this piece and found rhythmic writing that flowed so well from the paper and into my mind. 

Le Guin’s words flow so effortlessly into one another that you can’t help but finish the piece in a short amount of time. The first paragraph where she describes the Festival of Summer is a key example of this. In one sentence, Le Guin offers some description on such a simple topic as horses: “Their manes were braided with streamers of silver, gold, and green. They flared their nostrils and pranced and boasted to one another….” The repetition of verbs ending in -ed gives the text a sort of bum-bum bum-bum reading that I really appreciate in texts. 

Le Guin’s frequent repetition of phrases like “How describe the citizens of Omelas?” and “Do you believe?” connects the entire piece as a whole. I, for one, feel more drawn into a text when I can point out familiar themes and word choice throughout it all. It also places emphasis on some key points that Le Guin is trying to get. To the reader, it may feel physically impossible to have a world devoid of all the negative things we are so used to. Before the reveal, she asks if we believe and directly after, now that we know the whole reason why, she asks again because we are more likely to believe in a world that relies on a suffering child to keep their happiness. 

This work must be classified as one of the greatest short stories. Its themes are constantly relevant, the writing is great, and it is an entirely thought-provoking piece that takes risks in its content which work effortlessly. “The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas” is undoubtedly a must-read for everyone, now more than ever. 5 stars out of 5. 

Works Cited

Le Guin, Ursula. “The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas.” The Big Book of Modern Fantasy, edited by Ann VanderMeer and Jeff VanderMeer, Vintage Books, 2020, pp. 228-232.

[deus-ex-mona]

~two princes in a park~ part 1:

Everyone assumed that they knew all there was to know about Aizo, Second Prince of the Kingdom of the East.

Between his bright and cheerful public appearances, his generally amiable attitude towards his subjects and fellow nobles alike, as well as his keen interest in the inner workings of the governance of his kingdom, the simple, yet reasonable conclusion that could be drawn about Aizo was that he was pretty much a model future king-in-training, with eyes absolutely brimming with eagerness to lead the kingdom down the challenging path to excellence.

However, they could not have been more wrong about his true desires.

Contrary to their expectations, Aizo had his heart set on becoming a musician, of all things, a fact that he had only disclosed to the closest of his confidants. He yearned to be able to stand beneath the spotlight onstage. He longed for the day when he would finally be able to share his singing with the masses.

Despite squashing his desires beneath the responsibilities he knew he had to bear for the sake of his nation, that day he dreamed of would arrive sooner than he had expected, it would seem.

And, it would appear that he would not be walking down the path to stardom on his own…

~~~~~~~~~

“You’re late,” Aizo called out flatly to an unseen individual from his spot right up against the fence of a relatively quiet observation deck. “You’ve kept me waiting for hours.”

Uh, no, Your Highness, Arisa, Aizo’s loyal retainer and potential sister-in-law, suppressed a sigh as she watched him bicker away with the person he had apparently been waiting for from behind a tree. You just got here yourself. I can’t believe you spent three whole hours deciding on what to wear, of all things…

“It’s your fault, isn’t it?” Aizo’s companion shot back. “You’re the one who insisted on meeting in this town on the outskirts of the Kingdom of the East. You do know that I have to travel for at least an entire day to get here, right?”

Eh? That voice…

Arisa’s eyes widened as she craned her neck out a little more to rest her gaze upon the yet-unseen individual.

Prince Yujiro…?! But he’s from the Kingdom of the West! What’s he doing here and… why…?

[threadatl]

Atlanta’s big urbanism stories of 2022

DARIN GIVENS | JANUARY 22, 2023

Thanks to everyone who answered our call for the biggest stories in Atlanta urbanism from the last year, both good and bad! Below are some of the responses:

The growth of opposition to transit on the Atlanta Beltline

If you’ve lived in Atlanta for the last 20 years and attended some of the many public meetings about the plans for rail on the Beltline, the vocal opposition that’s emerged over the past year likely seems to come out of nowhere. Is it just some loud noise made by a small faction? Possibly. It’ll be interesting to see if it dies away or gains steam in 2023.

For now, take a look at Ryan Gravel’s good writeup on the reasons why transit is essential for the Beltline.

Westside Beltline: progress and delay

The Urbanize Atlanta site says it well: the construction of the Westside trail is very exciting (will it end up being a development magnet like the Eastside trail has been?), but the timeline for the full build-out has been frustrating for people in those neighborhoods who are looking forward to a fully connected path: “First, the good news for Atlanta BeltLine patrons and proponents: Another section of the 22-mile loop is making concrete strides toward becoming a reality. Less encouraging news: The Westside Trail’s Segment 4, spanning a crucial 1.3 miles, isn’t expected to open for public use until deep into 2025.”

The ongoing fallout from Cop City / South River Forest

There was a controversial land swap that resulted in loss of trees, a fight for the forest that garnered national attention from activists, and generally a lot of ill feelings on the local stage about this public safety facility that’s poised to be built in a forest that was previously slated as public green space.

ThreadATL wrote about it a couple of years ago. The fallout from the city’s awful decision to ignore the Atlanta City Design concept for the park has been terrible to watch.

Above: lake at the Prison Farm in the forest now slated to become a training facility; source: Atlanta City Design

Atlanta Medical Center closing

AMC in Old Fourth Ward became the latest in a string of hospital closures in Georgia, most of them (like AMC) are expected to have an outsized negative effect on lower-income patients in Black communities. As the AJC article about it notes: “Patients and doctors interviewed over the past two months repeated the expectation that the lower-income and Black communities would be the most harmed by the closures. They worry many will drop regular visits or never find a new doctor.”

Another major concern is access: AMC was served by three different MARTA bus routes, which made it accessible to staff and patients who need that transit option. Will the new offices they have to go to be as accessible?

The failure of the Edgewood neighborhood to support gentle density

The proposed rezoning of 90 and 98 Whitefoord Avenue in the Edgewood neighborhood would have produced 48 new housing units, including 25% of them priced for lower-income households at 60% of Area Median Income (AMI). The property is 4 blocks from a MARTA station and 3 blocks from Edgewood Retail (a regional jobs center) — great for walkable access. Sadly, it got shut down down before it ever left the zoning committee of the neighborhood. The proposal is still up at edgewoodforeveryone.com

Progress with parking reform

Planning pros tell us that several low-parking housing developments have been announced for the first time in ages for Atlanta. This is a huge change from a few years ago, when anything less than a ratio of one parking space per bedroom was unheard of.

Also, thanks to the leadership of Councilmember Jason Dozier, Atlanta is putting a lower cap on the number of parking spaces that can be built for new real estate projects. At the end of 2022, City Council made an amendment to the zoning ordinance that lowers the maximums parking spaces allowed to be built for new developments in Midtown and Downtown, the most walkable and transit-accessible parts of the city.

Two Peachtree tower in Downtown set to become affordable homes

Invest Atlanta approved $39 million to purchase the massive Two Peachtree office tower in Downtown with the intention of converting it into affordable housing! This 44-story building dates to 1968. Invest Atlanta will hold onto the building until a redevelopment partner is selected. Funding for the purchase is coming from the Eastside Tax Allocation District.

Converting office buildings to housing seems to be a trend in Downtown. Another 1960s tower at 100 Edgewood Avenue (across from Hurt Park) is being converted to 268 new housing units, likely for students. And not far away, work has begun on the conversion of another office building to residential at 41 Marietta Street, where it intersects with Forsyth.

Trolley line Trail finally happening

Eastside Trolley Trail between Kirkwood and the BeltLine is happening. The PATH Foundation has started work to link existing stretches of trail. Urbanize Atlanta reports that the trail will “start on-street in Reynoldstown near the Eastside Trail, run eastward through Edgewood, and connect with existing PATH sections that were installed prior to the 1996 Olympics as the project’s first phase. The finished project will provide a nearly two-mile route for non-drivers from the doorstep of Kirkwood’s downtown back to the BeltLine.”

Krog Street Market district

The construction of new office space next to Krog Street Market — one from Asana and one from Portman — is helping to fulfill the promise of the Beltline as not just a nice place to live, but a nice place to work. The variety of destinations on the Beltline help to emphasize that Atlantans are ready to live and work in places that aren’t served by highways for driving, but that are served by routes for alternative transportation.

The sudden removal of Peachtree Shared Space

This one really hurt. The Peachtree Shared Space, one of the most exciting projects from the Tim Keane era of Atlanta’s planning department, was dismantled at the order of Mayor Dickens. The roadway was returned to its sad former status as, essentially, a four lane car sewer.

According to the website for the project, it was supposed to shift directly into a Phase Two at the end of this Phase One, and add more features such as seating.

https://www.sharepeachtree.com/demo

It’s a safe assumption that the pushback on the shared street from powerful voices in Downtown — ones who didn’t like the idea of car lanes being turned into shared spaces with slower traffic — has succeeded. On Twitter, Councilmember Amir Farokhi wrote that he tried to change this decision about dismantling the shared space, but hasn’t been able to. Which is particularly disappointing since he’s the Council’s Transportation Committee Chair.

A developer was found for the Civic Center site

After a couple of disappointing false starts with other developers, Atlanta Housing has selected the team of Tishman Speyer and H.J. Russell & Co. as master developers for the 14-acre site, which has sat vacant for eight years. Atlanta Civic Circle has the story. Fingers crossed: so far, the developers haven’t pulled out. Though there’s some major concern over the amount of affordable housing that might be provided here (it should be a high amount, including deep affordability for lower-income households).

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This was reposted from ThreadATL.org