#but i gotta remember that its some kind of miracle that i am just grumbly and vaguely apprehensive about it right now

[donttouchtheneednoggle]

ik Doing It Scared is a massive part of helping anxiety and just life in general but I'm still mad about it

[phantom-curve]

find the strength, find the melody pt. 7

lmfao I love how I posted an update 2 days ago like “this fic will have sporadic posts! idk when they’re coming!” and then I spent the last two days writing this. when that insomnia inspiration hits ya gotta just go with it!

this chapter went in a completely different direction than I had planned on soooo yeah...honestly not sure where this is gonna end up! the characters from my OC novel that I’m loosely basing this story around didn’t have a connection before they ran into each other so when Julie gave me this I almost cut it because I genuinely wasn’t sure where it was going. I think I’ve almost figured it out and I’m pretty sure I know how this will end. and now we all get to laugh at me together because it’s definitely gonna be more than 3-4 chapters. it might even be more than 6. Luke’s POV will have roughly the same amount of chapters I think, possibly longer because boy oh boy does he have A LOT to say (most of it about Julie). fair warning: this one has an awkward cut off because of the way I need to set up the next chapter. sorry about that.

and now something I probably should be embarrassed to admit: I don’t remember writing the part where I managed to sneak an “I’ve Got The Music” reference in so now we know for sure this show has infiltrated my brain. it’s fine, I’m fine, at least I WILL BE WHEN WE GET A S2!!!! KENNY!!!! SAVE ME HERE!!! MAKE MY UNHINGED OBSESSIONS WORTH IT!!!!!

taglist: @blue-hat-girl, @lwhoscribbles, @bluefyoto94, @5sosmukefan, @moonlightxnder, @leahthewonder​, @kat-maybe-not​, @lukewearingbeanies, @imastrugglingartist​​

It was no small miracle that Julie made it through the afternoon without Ray asking for details about her supposed ‘plan’ to play with the Sunset Curve boys. She didn’t think she would have been able to pull off spinning a story quite as well as Luke had earlier. She had expected at least a small amount of interrogating about when she had started playing again, but apparently the news that she was playing at all, let alone with other people in front of an audience, was enough for Ray to ignore all of the other plot holes involved in this scheme. He seemed to have almost forgotten the meeting with Principal Lessa entirely, humming on the drive home, kissing her forehead and turning her loose to freak out alone in her room while he sat down to work on his computer in the dining room. Julie took full advantage of the time alone to restlessly pace her room and send Flynn a 911 text. Her bestie’s contact photo lit up the phone screen 30 seconds later.

“Okay, I’m hiding in the basement girl’s bathroom, so you’ve got exactly 5 minutes before I get too grossed out to stay here.”

Julie’s chest loosened at the sound of Flynn’s comforting voice. There wasn’t anyone else in the world that loved her the way Flynn did. It was reassuring and made it easy for Julie to let loose.

“Lessa told Dad about the music program and then You-Know-Who ambushed us outside of her office and basically forced me to agree to perform with them.”

“Voldemort was at Los Feliz?!”

Flynn’s gasp was overflowing with sarcasm.

“Flynn!” Julie whined. “Be serious! Luke showed up out of nowhere again! And he did the thing again! The charming his way into getting what he wants thing! And now I have to play with his freaking band! What the hell am I supposed to do?”

There was silence for a moment. When Flynn spoke again her voice was softer, more serious.

“You don’t have to play with them, Jules. You can tell them no, and they’ll have no choice but to respect that. The only person who can make you do anything is you. But...I kinda think you might want to play with them.”

“What?! No!”

Julie’s exclamation was a second late. Flynn didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Julie sighed.

“Okay fine. There’s something about Luke that makes me want to play again. Are you happy? He gave mom’s song back to me when I thought it was lost forever. He’s the only person who’s heard me perform it, and he...no one else has ever made me feel that good about my music before.”

Julie thanked her lucky stars Flynn wasn’t in the room to see her blush. There was a long moment of contemplative silence on the other end of the line. When she spoke again, there was that extra note of take-no-shit in Flynn’s voice that made Julie sit up and really listen.

“I think you should give it a chance. Who knows, maybe this is some sort of sign from your mom. You said it was a miracle he would have even found that song in the first place. You said it felt like she was there with you when you were playing. Maybe she made sure it would find its way back to you when you were ready for it.”

Julie didn’t say anything, just worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Her heart beat a little faster in her chest. It had felt a little too perfect to be just a coincidence. The way Luke kept appearing in her life at the exact moments she needed him someone or something to help her keep moving forward. Flynn sighed.

“Look, I’m not saying it is your mom. But I’m not saying there’s not some kind of greater power out there that keeps pushing the two of you together. I think you should give it a chance. If nothing else, you can get back in the music program and we can bring Double Trouble to life in time for our Junior Showcase!”

Julie couldn’t help laughing. Her eyes felt misty, love for her best friend welling up in her heart.

“I never agreed to that name you know. But thanks, Flynn. I’ll think about it.”

“Good. Now. I gotta get the fuck out of this grimy ass bathroom. Love you, bye!”

Flynn waited for her to return the sentiment before hanging up.  Julie flopped back on her bed, letting her breath out in a loud whoosh as she hit the comforter. A glance at her phone told her she only had a couple hours until Luke and the other boys would be out of school and on their way to her house. She tried her best to ignore the way that thought made her stomach roll with a type of nervousness she would rather not name. It was easier to blame it on nerves over playing with new people rather than nerves over playing with Luke. Except...now that she actually thought about it, she had played with Luke before. Her head spun, eyes fluttering shut as she remembered the one music class she had shared with Luke last year.

She had only been a freshman, stuck in a lowly Introduction to Composition class. It was supposed to be for new songwriters. Julie had a little more experience than the rest of the class, after all she’d been kind of composing with her mom for a few years now, so when it had been time to write a duet for their final big project she had gotten paired up with the classmate whose skill level most matched hers. It was supposed to be a way for them to challenge each other and grow as writers instead of one person doing most of the work. Julie had been paired with Luke.

He’d been a grumbly sophomore, held back for failing his last semester of Intro to Comp the year before. He had been stuck there only for the second semester, forced to double up between their class and his second year Composition class. Julie hadn’t been all that excited about partnering with him. He hadn’t really seemed to care about the class at all, and even though Julie also sometimes felt like it was holding her back a little bit, she never once voiced that thought. It was a privileged mindset, and Julie was well aware that she had an advantage over her classmates since her mother was a professional songwriter. Luke, on the other hand, had made it well known that he felt like he was wasting his time just waiting to get through the semester so he could move up to the Advanced Composition class that he felt he truly belonged in. Julie could usually do no more than roll her eyes in those moments.

It was true that Luke was talented. His guitar playing was impressive, his lyrics were heartfelt and sometimes even downright poetic. Julie just didn’t think anyone deserved specific things in life because they happened to be naturally talented at something. Their songwriting experience had been...interesting to say the least. And short. It had ended abruptly when Julie’s mother had died 5 days later. In the end, they’d only worked together for two 40-minute class periods before she had been lost in the fog of grief that consumed her in the weeks following the loss of her mom.

Julie shot up in bed, eyes wide. She didn’t even fully remember what had happened with the half-finished song they had been working on. Errant notes echoed in her head, like a song that had only existed in dreams until now. She absently wondered if Luke had held onto that as well. It was no wonder she had kept that particular memory suppressed all this time. That time in her life had been particularly painful. Luke had been gentle with her though. Almost all traces of his typical arrogance gone in the two short class periods they’d had to work together. He had kept things light, steering their songwriting in the direction of a rock ballad more than a true duet. Julie hadn’t minded. She had been floating through classes by then anyway, on edge every second she was away from her mom’s bedside. It had been easier to work on something that didn’t have as many sappy emotions attached to it.

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. No wonder Luke had been so sweet with her. He must have had a front row seat to her breakdown throughout the last year. She hadn’t even realized it. Had never before seen the way he watched her from a distance, checked in on her during class. She should have. Now that she was thinking about it, trying to identify every instance, she could name a million. How had she missed it for so long? How had he gone so long without saying anything? The Luke she remembered was terrible at keeping his mouth shut. He had always been ready to speak his mind, never afraid to start a discourse. It didn’t track that he had been holding himself back. Unless...it was more about her musical ability than anything else. She remembered now; Luke had been thrilled to partner with her for the duet. He had made some remark about how her sound was the perfect complement to his. Maybe he only cared about the ways they would mesh as songwriters. She could only hope that’s what his words had meant.

She felt more secure in her footing as a musician when it came to dealing with Luke than she ever had as a simple teenaged girl. If it was just about the music she could compartmentalize better, keep herself from getting too emotionally invested. Music had always been a safe zone, neutral. She breathed in and out deeply, remembering the technique Dr. Turner had taught her to slow her breathing and recenter her mind. She could do this. It was just about the music. They would play a song together, Julie would get back into the music program, and life would move forward much in the way it had before. Except Julie would actually participate in class this time. She had the music back in her soul, she wasn’t ever going to let it go again. On her next exhale, she heard the doorbell ring. Showtime. Julie zipped down the stairs, ripping open the door before her dad had a chance to get more than three feet away from his computer. Luke, Alex and Reggie all stumbled back a step as she tumbled outside, pulling the front door shut behind her. The three teenaged boys shared a look.

“Studio. Now.”

Julie raced down the path to her mom’s studio before they could react, not even waiting to see if they followed her. If they were smart, if they truly wanted to do this, they would. She hauled the garage doors open, only turning around when she had the piano at her back. The wood felt warm and solid, almost like she had her mom as a support behind her instead of an instrument. The boys appeared seconds later, Luke leading the way. He stopped a couple feet inside of the studio, studying her with wide open earnest eyes. She let out a deep breath. Reggie spoke up before she could get a word out.

“Woah, Julie, this studio is so cool! It’s like a tiny home! A musical tiny home in a botanical garden!!”

His green eyes were wide, expression awed as he spun to take in the space that Julie and her mom had spent countless hours turning into theirs.

“How did you get chairs on the ceiling?! Are you, like, a witch and a siren?!! Man, you and your mom must have made some serious magic in here.”

Luke’s arm shot out faster than lightening to backhand Reggie’s bicep. Reggie cringed away, a soft owww! just barely audible over the loud sigh Alex let out as he buried his face in his hands. Reggie shrugged, looking back and forth between his bandmates before giving Julie a confused yet apologetic glance. What had he said wrong this time? The giggle that bubbled out of her was as unexpected as it was welcomed. Warmth blazed in her heart, memories of the time she had spent in here with her mom washing over her with a kind of hazy bliss she hadn’t ever experienced before. She gazed at Reggie, letting that same feeling of motherly love from the night before fill her up. It was all she could do not to react to Luke’s jaw dropping when she gave Reggie a soft smile.

“We did. We made so much magic in here.”

The words were gentle and filled with a kind of genuine love that overshadowed all other feelings of awkward nervousness. Alex and Luke relaxed instantly, Reggie’s face losing all traces of uncertainty as he beamed at her with a smile so large it almost looked painful. Julie couldn’t help but let herself return it, just a little bit. The silence that settled between them was more comfortable, the tense moment from earlier broken. Julie studied the boys in front of her. She hadn’t ever thought of them as friends per se. They knew each other, would say hi if they encountered one another outside the walls of the high school, but at the same time, they didn’t actually know each other. Julie’s little run in with Luke the night before had made that painfully obvious. She wasn’t really sure what to make of them.

“Are you guys actually serious about this whole Showcase scheme? Did Luke even tell you about his dumb plan?”

“Hey! That plan is genius. Even your dad agreed. He seems pretty cool.”

Julie couldn’t help the fond way she rolled her eyes. Alex was quick to reassure her that they did, in fact, know about the plan.

“Not that I actually think it’s a particularly well thought out plan.” He stated with a lingering glare at Luke’s back.

The planner in question did his best to ignore the skeptical look on Julie’s face.

“Julie, you really don’t deserve to be out of the music program.” Reggie’s voice was soft and sincere. “You have the voice of an angel. If we can help convinced Ms. Harrison and Principal Lessa to give you your spot back it will be so worth it. And even if we don’t, it’ll be worth the looks on their faces when we rock the pants off that crowd!”

Julie laughed in spite of herself, slightly reassured even as she chewed nervously on her lip. Luke took a few bouncy steps forward, pulling her attention to him completely. His eyes locked on hers and she was sure she was drowning, throat tightening at the look he was giving her.

“You got this. I wouldn’t have come up with this idea if I didn’t believe it 100%.”

Honestly, that was what scared her the most about it.

“We don’t even have anything prepared.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, unsteady and wavering. Luke took a few more steps towards her, Reggie and Alex ghosting along silently a few feet behind him. Julie didn’t even notice, so laser focused on the brunette boy in the cut-up tank top in front of her. She watched his muscles flex as he reached into his back pocket, flicking out a piece of folded up paper in a move scarily reminiscent of when he had given her mom’s song back to her. He bit his lip, head ducking a little to be closer to hers as he unfolded the worn sheets of scrappy notebook paper. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, focusing on the messy handwriting in front of her.

“I thought you would say that.”

The smile on his face was so soft and sweet it should have been illegal.

“It’s called ‘Bright’. It’s a Sunset Curve song that we never performed because it’s missing something. Look,” his bare shoulder brushed hers as he shifted to point at the notes, warmth seeping through the thin material of her t-shirt, “it’s perfect for your range. I was thinking, if we add a little bit of piano here and here,” fire blazed a path up her arm as his fingers traced along the opening notes and chorus, forearm flexing against her own, bare skin brushing in teasing licks, “it’ll be perfect.”

Julie forced herself to focus on what he was saying, eyes roving across the paper. She hummed a little under her breath, hearing what he described in her head. His eyes lit up when he saw her get it, feet springing up and down as he dipped even closer towards her and started to sing.

We will rise, through the night

You and I

We will fight to shine together

Bright forever

His voice vibrated in her chest, the sound filling her with an emotion she couldn’t fully identify. Alex and Reggie bobbed along behind him, Reggie’s fingers plucking out the baseline on an invisible guitar while Alex nodded along to an unseen beat. Julie could envision the way the song would sound with a complete band, could practically see herself fitting seamlessly into the mix with her piano and vocals. She couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips as she joined in, reading the lyrics off of the page.

And rise through the night,

You and I

We will fight to shine together

“Go up high.”

Luke cut in, fingers twirling towards the ceiling. Julie automatically made the adjustment in notes to harmonize her voice with his for the last line, holding the final syllable for a beat longer than him.

Bright forever

“Yes!”

Luke’s arm pumped up and down, bicep flexing and distracting Julie momentarily. She dropped her head shyly, trying to hide her blush. When her cheeks cooled a moment later she looked back up at the boy in front of her. His eyes were glowing, smile stretched a mile wide as he stared at her. Unconditional belief in her was practically oozing from his pores. She felt her face soften as their eyes locked, giving him her own sweet smile that was meant just for the two of them. She thanked him with a gentle murmur, heart melting as he simply bit his lower lip and nodded.

A throat cleared in the background, and Julie was snapped out of their private bubble by the sound. Her entire face felt engulfed in flames as she looked over Luke’s shoulder to see Alex and Reggie still standing a few paces behind him. Reggie’s face was bright, his sunshine temperament back in full force. Alex was a little more guarded, but he was giving her an encouraging smile and there was cautious optimism swimming in his sage green eyes as he fiddled with one of his drumsticks. She inhaled deeply and let her breath out in one smooth exhale. The same sort of peacefulness from the night before settled over her.

“Okay. Okay, so we’re doing this.”

Luke’s whoop was so loud both her and Alex jumped. Reggie raced forward with a cheer to sling one arm around Luke’s shoulders and the other around Julie’s, pulling them so close to his chest that their noses nearly touched. Julie saw the blush staining Luke’s cheeks and felt her own warm to match. Alex coughed again.

“Reg, c’mon. Let it settle for just a sec before you go all human octopus on the poor girl.”

“Oh, right! Sorry, Jules!!”

Reggie released both of them quickly. Julie flicked her gaze between the three boys, enjoying the glimpses at their band dynamic. Alex’s words had sounded a bit exasperated, but there was a fondness running through them as well. He gave a half-hearted roll of his eyes at Reggie’s abrupt movements and reached his own long arm out to pull the dark-haired boy close.

“Help me unload the van? I still don’t trust our little Lukey boy with my kit.”

“Hey! That was one time!”

Luke sounded downright offended. The dark look Alex leveled at him in response had Julie choking back a laugh with a badly disguised cough. Clearly once of whatever he did was enough. Luke pouted, arms flexing as they crossed over his chest.

“You put your foot through my bass drum, and you think that isn’t reason enough not to trust you with it ever again?”

Luke sputtered, eyes flicking to Julie and back to Alex as his ears reddened.

“I told you I didn’t see it!”

“It’s the biggest part of the kit, dumbass. Literally the hardest thing to miss.”

Alex’s voice was as unimpressed as it was dismissive. Luke threw his hands in the air as the other boys headed out of the studio, laughing amongst themselves. It was clear this was a regular argument between the two, no heat or anger left in it, only a loving sort of tease. Like the way Carlos still brought up that time she accidentally gave him a concussion double-bouncing him off of their neighbor’s trampoline when he wanted something from her. Or the way her Tía would still laugh as she remembered the time her mom had almost gotten them both arrested for a bar fight on her 21st birthday, Ray affectionately filling in the parts that she tried to leave out. Warmth bloomed in her chest. This wasn’t just a band, wasn’t just a ragtag trio of friends. These guys were brothers. This was a family. And they were letting her into that intimate circle.

The thought was both humbling and nerve-wracking. This Showcase was a big deal. It wasn’t just some school assignment. This could impact their future as a band career-wise. They were all trusting her with this, fully believing in her, or at least, fully believing in Luke’s faith in her abilities. She wasn’t sure anyone had ever believed in her like that. Not anyone that hadn’t known her since she was in diapers. Her head swam, knees feeling a bit weak. She stumbled her way over to the couch, collapsing onto it with a barely audible huff. Luke was in front of her instantly, crouched down so they were face to face. His hands twitched in his lap, but he didn’t reach for her.

“Hey. Julie. Breathe.”

She sucked in a breath, zeroing in on nothing more than his face. After a few seconds she realized he was breathing in and out slowly, just loud enough for her to hear over the jumble of thoughts running amok in her brain. She matched her own inhales and exhales to his, the room slowly coming back into focus as her head cleared. He gave her one of those soft smiles she was starting to think of as hers.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. But I wouldn’t have stopped you in school if I didn’t think you were gonna rock it. I heard you last night. I listened to you for years before last night.”

His chin dropped in embarrassment for just a second before he pulled his gaze back up to hers. Julie felt like she was on the edge of a cliff. Not for the first time she wished she knew how long this version of Luke had been lurking under the surface. It took everything in her not to let herself step off that ledge and fall.

“Music is in your soul. It’s a part of you. Not everyone is like that, but you are. Your life without music...”

He tapered off like the thought was physically painful to him, eyebrows furrowing in a slight wince.

“Living without music would be like living in a world without stars: dark and empty and uninspired. You deserve galaxies, Julie. You deserve the chance to shine exactly like the star you are, and the world deserves the chance to hear you. Please, just...have a little faith?”

She saw it then. As he gazed at her with those bottomless ocean eyes, with that special smile on his lips and sincerity bleeding through every word, she knew. Luke was like her. Luke got it. In a way that no one else except her mom ever had. That’s what this was. They were kindred spirits, two sides of the same coin. And that feeling? The wind rushing through her hair and stealing her breath away while her limbs all turned to jelly feeling? That was definitely her falling head over heels off of the cliff and into Luke Patterson completely.

“Okay.”

She breathed out, and his answering smile set off the butterflies she thought had finally left her stomach. He stood up and held a hand out to her, easily pulling her to her feet in one smooth movement.

“You know,” his smile turned rueful, “eventually you’re gonna have to answer one of my questions with something other than ‘okay’. That’s a pretty passive word, and I’m not really a passive type of person. I wanna start hearing some ‘hell yeah’s and ‘awesome’s pretty soon.”

Julie rolled her eyes, moving away from Luke to set up her keyboard. He gave her a bouncy little shrug of his shoulders, and she let the levity of his joke wash over her, releasing the last bit of nerves. She could do this. Luke believed in her. Her mom believed in her. Hell, Alex and Reggie believed in her and she barely even knew them. She could do this, just like her mom had said.

Noise from the other boys making their way up the driveway had her rushing to pull both doors to the studio open so they could haul in Alex’s drum kit. The three of them left together to grab amps and guitars, Julie finishing the rest of the set up in the garage. Before she had time to overthink things or freak out again, they were all settled into their spots and Alex was counting down for their first run through. Fingers against the keys, Julie breathed out, opened her mouth, and began to play.

[jackambrosemodeling]

Boy Talk || Jack & Brandon

When: May 2, 2021

Where: Jack’s apartment, Santa Monica, California

Featuring: Brandon Kelly (dialogue provided by Katie @itsbrandonkelly)

Triggers: Allusion to alcoholism

After firing off a You’d better be home. text to Jack, he realised that he really should have checked first to save him from waiting outside their apartment but that’s why there were so many saying about hindsight. Still, he knocked to let his presence be known instead of texting again, hoping he’d timed his visit well.

Jack was coincidentally home when they received Brandon's text. They got out of the shower when they saw the message. After texting him back with a 'bitch I might be', Jack unlocked their door as well as the entrance door to the apartment building. They followed up with a 'door's open' text and went to go find clothes to put on before Brandon came inside.

He huffed out in amusement at the first response he got and then knocked again at the second before letting himself in. “Who leaves their door open? This is the start to every horror film ever, then again just letting yourself into someone’s home is also how they start.” He called out, heading to the kitchen instead of looking for Jack. He figured they would have answered the door if they weren’t occupied with something else and so they’d join him when they were done. When he found glasses, he settled himself on the couch and shrugged off his jacket.

"I do when I know someone's coming over!" they yelled from behind their closed bedroom door. If someone had actually broken into their apartment for nefarious purposes, Jack was more than prepared to deal with the situation. Once they were presentable, they looked around until they found Brandon in the living room. "Comfy there?" they teased. "You know I love seeing you, but a little more of a heads up would've been nice. I could've still been in the shower. I could've been actively having sex!"

“Who’s supposed to be coming over? I can’t believe you were inviting people to chill and I wasn’t one of them?” Brandon had taken out his phone to sit on the couch with him and had even gotten as far as pouring them both a drink before Jack had come to meet him. “Yep. I made myself at home.” He gave Jack his best smile, even fluttering his eyelashes for good measure. “If you loved seeing me that much you would invite me over to do those things with you. Besides, it’s not much of a surprise visit if I tell you about it, is it?”

“You! I opened the door for you, silly!” Jack looked at the two glasses, then back to Brandon. “Oh shit, the wine that Nyle sent as a moving present! I forgot I had that.” They didn’t want to be rude and throw it out, and figured it would be good to have in case of guests, so they hid it. The fact that they managed to not drink any of it themself was a miracle. “Yeah, I’m not sure how Viv would feel about that... speaking of which. Fun update in my life. I’m kind of seeing someone? Still figuring out labels and whatnot.” Though there were rumors floating around the gossip sphere, Brandon was the first person they confirmed the rumor to.

“Then the door wouldn’t be open so it wouldn’t matter if you were showering or fucking, would it?” Jack’s comment had Brandon looking at the bottle again and picking up the glass closest to it. “Mine is alcoholic. I brought you some appley juice recommended by the best palate I know.” He patted the space beside him before his eyebrows raised in surprise. “You settled before you boned me? Disgusting. Unacceptable.” Despite his words, he started grinning. “I’m so happy for you, babe. That’s cute.”

“Brandon, stop making good points,” they huffed, sitting down on the couch next to Brandon. “Oh, thanks.” While Jack had never explicitly told Brandon why they quit drinking, it appeared that he had gotten the hint. “I’m sorry. It turns out I have a SIMP gene that was activated by me moving to Santa Monica. Who would’ve thunk it?” they joked, knowing damn well that they’ve simped over every person they’ve ever dated.

“I can’t help that I’m brilliant. Sorry buddy; you just gotta live with that I’m afraid.” He hummed quietly in amusement. Brandon simply offered them a smile at their thanks. They never joined in whenever B was drinking and he was nothing if not attentive. Sometimes, at least. “Literally no one because the simp gene has always been in you and always been active but I’ll keep that to myself if it really makes you feel better.”

"All my friends are hot and smart, but I'm just hot. Story of my life." Jack sighed, taking a sip of the juice that was so graciously provided to them. "Excuse me?!" Jack exclaimed overdramatically. "Are you calling me a simp? In the comfort of my own apartment?! I don't know what I did to deserve this treatment. I don't know how I'll go on!" They busted into  laughter, unable to keep the act up.

“You’re hot and smart. What the fuck are you talking about? Be nice to my friend or I’ll kick your ass.” He reached his foot out to nudge Jack with, an amused smile on his face. “Plus, you’re also super hot, own it. And yes. I’m calling you a simp. You’re the themperor of simpington. Population... Uh, I don’t know how many people are in Santa Monica but that’s the population.”

“Brandon, I was a straight-C student in high school and have the common sense of a bag of potato chips. I know my strengths and weaknesses.” Jack knew they weren’t book smart and it didn’t bother them. “Excuse me, I am not Themperor Simpington. That title belongs to Sunwoo Seong. Have you met them? But they did skip town a while back... shit. I didn’t ask for this title. I need to find a new non-binary friend to bestow this title on. I just need more enby friends in general.”

“You don’t have the common sense of a bag of potato chips, Jesus Christ Jack.” Brandon laughed as he slapped Jack’s arm. “You’ve survived this long in this industry, babe. That’s not down to potato chip brain, even I nearly crashed out a couple of years in.” He raised an eyebrow, head tilted as he fixed them a look of disapproval. “You are Themperor Simpington. The queen has spoken. I met Sunwoo once and obviously offered to climb that tree but they left and Joonie was sad so I’m no longer a fan of tall, hot and dimpled. If it makes you feel any better, I’m a huge simp for my sweet boy.”

“Hey, I’m funny. Fuck you,” they retorted, chuckling. “I’ve been told that I’m charismatic, and that’s helped me out in the industry. I’m still not that famous though.” While Jack was relatively well-known in queer circles, heterosexual circles were a whole other ballpark. Being friends with Brandon and recently befriending Vanessa did help their social standing though. “Themperor Simpington my butt,” they grumbled. “Wait, when you say ‘my sweet boy,’ do you mean Minjoon or do you have another boo I should know about?”

“Bitch, I been trying to get you to for so long now. I was starting to think you needed glasses.” Bee broke into a laugh before he even finished his sentence, nudging Jack’s arm in his giggling. “Yeah, you have to have a look and you have to be charming to start work in this industry but to survive in it? You have to be smart. About that though, I know I keep promising you a space on my next project and it’s had a few.. speed bumps I guess? Not really speed bumps but personal delays? Either way, I know enough now to be able to tell you that Queen B’s.. that I’m releasing a trial perfume.. fragrance line. Five scents to start, each will have its own colour have theme shots with, each will have its own model to associate with and I want you, if you’re interested?” Their mumbling made Brandon grin, coughing as a terrible fake attempt at covering up the ‘Simp.’ he titled them with again. “Minjoon is my sweet boy. I don’t have another boo, not even a little bit but if you hear simp alarms going off whenever I like the instas of a very beautiful friend of mine then mind ya business.”

"Oh my god. Brandooooon!" Though Jack had quite a few friends with benefits in their days, whenever the thought of doing anything with Brandon crossed their mind, they thought about the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed seventeen-year-old they met all those years ago. Jack's eyes lit up when he started talking about his fragrance line project. "Oh hell yeah I'm interested. Just remember, my favorite colors are purple and pink." They winked at Brandon. Aside from one photoshoot in L.A. that they did after fashion weeks, their work schedule was dryer than a desert. Of course they wouldn't tell him that though. They didn't want to sound desperate. Jack would've taken this job even if they weren't in need of work. "B, you're gonna have to be a little more specific than that. I know you. You don't befriend ugly people."

The laugh that left him this time was more of a giggle and he scrunched his nose up, shaking his head. “I tease but honestly, you’re practically family. Did you know that my parents ask after you? They know as much about you as I do but.. Well, they’re embarrassing. Eh, mom’s okay. Dad’s embarrassing so you’ll probably never meet them but yeah.. They get told about the important people in my life and you’ve been in it longer than Joonie.” Brandon groaned, setting his glass down. “Can’t believe I’m being gross and emotional already. Moving on..” He said, a little louder. “Purple would be fantastic for you. It’s a very royal colour and I’m going to do the obvious and lean into that a little but silk, not velvet. Pink was going to have a sweet-candy-lace vibe to it but if you want pink I can give you pink.” Brandon rolled his eyes, despite the heat he could feel spreading up his neck. “I have a... friend called Kian and he’s... There hasn’t been a word invented yet for how beautiful he is and it’s ridiculous and gross because I don’t lose my mind over pretty boys but he’s.. He makes me blush, Jack. I don’t blush.”

"Brandooooooooon! Stop, you're gonna make me blush. I'd love to meet your parents. Parents love me. Well, actually, I just love milfs and dilfs," Jack cackled at their own dumb joke. "But in all seriousness, let me know when they come to town!" As much as they wanted to meet Mr. and Mrs. Kelly, they didn't want to go to the Kelly home to do so. Jack knew that they shared a home state with Brandon, and didn't want to reenter North Carolina at the risk of running into their family. "Ooh, purple and silk? Now you're speaking my language!" Jack wiggled their eyebrows when Brandon mentioned Kian by name. "A yes, the cute delivery boy. You've mentioned him before. We're Instagram mutuals!"

“Do it! Blush, you coward!” Brandon laughed, leaning against Jack’s arm to nudge them. “Oh my god. I can’t believe I have to say this but if you’re gonna fuck my parents, please don’t date them and wait until I’m out of the room if you’re going to flirt, I don’t need to see that. They really would love to meet you though, they’ve been waiting for permission to come to town.” Brandon grinned at Jack at their approval, giving a small nod. “I’ll get some things drawn up for you. I do have a few already as rough drafts but now I know you’re taking it, I can design something a little more tailored to you.” The warmth spreading across his cheeks and colouring his face a darker shade of pink only grew worse as Jack wiggled their brows at him. “Yeah.. Well.. He’s almost perfect. The only thing I’d change about him is his last name.” His reaction to himself was instant, throwing himself against the cushions to yell out a laugh. “And I keep saying dumb cheesy shit like that! I’m a bumbling mess around him. Like.. Like I start off all smooth and collected and then he smiles and I’m just.. fucking applying to be hired by hallmark. It’s.. It’s so cringe and gross and... I’m happy.”

"Brandon, I'll become your new step-parent and ground you, don't tempt me," Jack joked, cackling. "Well give it to them! Don't deprive me of your loving parents!" Jack didn't have loving parents of their own, so if Brandon's parents were anything like Brandon, Jack was going to latch to them like nobody's business. "Oh my goooooooooooood, that was so coooooorrrrnnnnnyyyyy! Damn, and you call me a simp! I'm not out here reciting poetry on main about my crush. And if you bring up the fact that we have keys to each others' apartments, mind your business." Jack knew they were simping hard over Vivian, but now it was Brandon's turn to be in the hot seat. "So have you considered, you know, talking to him?"

“Their ex girlfriend actually tried that once. Oh my god, it was kind of funny though. You’ll have to treat me better when our guests arrive and do as you’re told or I’ll have you cut off until you learn some damn respect.” He mimicked in a too high voice, rolling his eyes afterwards. “Like.. Honey, I’ve only just noticed you’re not the last guy they were dating and that’s only because you started pterodactyl screeching.” Despite his playful tone, Brandon could feel warmth spreading across his face. “Yeah, okay. I’ll.. I’ll invite them up to meet you.” Having made peace with the fact that he‘d made himself into a product, his parents were off limits when it came to the people in his life, knowing how fickle and superficial a lot of his relationships with people were. It was different with Jack though, Jack really was his friend. “Honestly, I’ve been an absolute mess. I pulled the whole ‘My friends call me B, you can call me any time.’ Thing on him when we met and now I just blush all the time and feel nauseous over butterflies.” He waved his hand quickly at Jack’s news, shaking his head. “NUH uh.. We are not going to just gloss over that? Oh my god? Keys? You’re entering domesticity. Like.. Me and Joonie levels of domesticity and my parents are the founders of the BranJoon wedding fan club. Like.. You’re getting into that territory..” There was a small pause before a smile spread across his face. “I’m happy for you, babe. Honestly. You deserve this.” He couldn’t help but sigh at the question, sinking into his seat a little with a pout on his features and a small shrug. “I’ve been so obvious about it. Short of getting a neon sign to carry around, I don’t know how much more obvious I could be and sometimes it feels like he’s being obvious back? Like.. It feels like it’s not just one sided? And then I start having a gay panic and do something dumb because he’s way out of my league which is a new thing for me. I do want to though. Should I?”

"Hold up, hold up. I said that as a joke. You're telling me that your parents are actually non-monogamous?! And you didn't tell me until now?! I came out as polyam like, 2-3 years ago! And now I'm in a monogamous set-up again. I missed my shot. I'm hurt." Jack put their hands over their chest and sniffled, but almost immediately returned to their usual cheerful demeanor. "I'm kidding, I'm not gonna become your step-daddy, or... I don't know what a gender-neutral equivalent would be besides 'parent,' and that doesn't roll of the tongue as well." This wasn't something they had to think about right away. It wasn't like they were going to wake up tomorrow with a child. "Ah yes, your infamous pick-up line." Jack's face turned pink when Brandon acknowledged the keys. "Okay, I actually do have an explanation! I initially gave her my spare key because I asked her to water my plants when I was away for Fashion Week. Granted, she didn't do a good job and managed to kill both plants, but that's an aside. But yeah, I just never asked for the spare key back." Jack gave Brandon a shoulder pat. They really didn't know Kian, so couldn't tell what the full situation was. "What I've learned from my many years of dating men is that men are dumb and sometimes you literally need to spell things out for them."

“As momma dearest says, monogamy is for the weak. Anyway, they were already in a relationship when you came out. Also? I don’t want to be hooking my parents up with my hotties?” Brandon pulled a face at Jack, nose scrunched up in disapproval. “To be fair though, you and Viv wouldn’t even be the first couple they’ve dated. You’d be the first I’d... somewhat approve of but..” He shrugged before laughing. “Oh my god. There are a couple.. Zaza or zeze instead of dada and mama but given the chance I’d mash up dad and mom and just refer to you as my dom to make everyone in the room uncomfortable.” He shook his head, laughing quietly. “I hate this so much, Jack please.” “I think it’s funny, definitely in my top 3 introductions.” He found himself sitting up straighter when he noticed the blush on Jack’s cheeks, a grin forming on his own features. “Oh my god. She killed your plants and you let her keep your key? Say it with me, babe. Simp. You’re cute though. I’m totally 100% on board with the two of you. She was one of my heroes.” When the conversation turned back to him, Brandon tilted his head as he weighed his options. “Not Kiki but... You’re right, I guess. He’s probably so used to everyone being in love with him that my flirting is just baseline niceties. Okay, yeah. I’ll.. I’ll tell him that I’m crazy about him. Or I’ll just text him that aggressive meme about wanting to hold hands.”

"Aaaaah, your parents are so cool! I wish my parents were cool like that. Mine are just homophobic." There was a lot more to Sofia and Tony Corleone than just that, but very few people knew about them. This was very much intentional. They made a face at 'zaza' and 'zeze.' "Yeah, not really digging those ones... Wait. Dom?!" Jack paused to laugh. "Fucking hell. Yes. That's definitely what my future kids are gonna call me." Jack never brought up the topic of kids to Vivian. They were still very early in their relationship and Jack was afraid they were too old to be a parent. It was still a nice thought though. "Yeah. I got back from Paris and she was having a bad day, so I ordered a pizza and we just... talked. Had a real heart-to-heart. I ended up staying the night, and we've basically had an open-door policy with each other ever since. And then the next day I went back into my apartment and found out about the plants."  Jack grabbed a pillow from the couch and lightly smacked Brandon's arm with it. "I know, I know! I'm a big sappy simpy mush. I'm a Cancer, I don't know what you expect from me." It took Jack a long time to accept their emotional side, but now they openly embraced it. "Or he might not know how to recognize flirting. I've met many people like that. Like the cute DJ at that bar where Minjoon used to work. Or Minjoon himself!”

“My parents have a big bank balance and even bigger hearts. That’s why I don’t approve of a lot of their partners but yeah.. As much as I give them shit for being lame, they’re the coolest. I mean, they’re the only reason I’m even.. y’know... Around.” Brandon let out an unattractive snort and sat forward to retrieve his glass, pouting when he realised it was empty but simply sat back instead of refilling it. “Please, I am begging you, think carefully as to why I’d find calling you my dom funny before you commit to that decision.” He pressed his lips together to fight his laugh before he let out a soft hum. “Do you think that’s where you’re headed with her? Is she someone you can see yourself having kids with?” He asked softly, his whole demeanour changing from playful now that they had ventured into serious topics. “You don’t have to say yes and you don’t have to have an answer right now. Things are still new with you both and y’know... Take it from the adopted, some people don’t want kids and some do.” He shrugged a little.

“Ew. You talked to each other over pizza because one of you had a bad day? That’s disgusting.” When hit with the pillow, Brandon grabbed it to tug it away from Jack so they couldn’t attack him again and he hugged it to his chest, propping his chin on it. “I live for that kind of domesticity.” He sighed wistfully. “You are a big simpy mush and I love that about you. It’s gross and honest and just very sweet. I’m really glad you have someone who makes you feel that way, babe.” Brandon  rolled his eyes and gave the pillow a small squeeze. “Vito really doesn’t recognise flirting? The dude wants to be an actor! With a face like that a lot of his roles are probably going to have it. I wanted to ask if he wanted any help getting into it because he was good to Joonie when they worked together and I always appreciate people taking care of the babie but I also feel like I don’t know him well enough to just give him a shout about a job. Eh. Maybe I’ll get Joonie to text him about this perfume thing and actually see what skills he has. Joonbug doesn’t count for the whole flirting thing though, attraction isn’t really his thing.”

"I gotcha," Jack stated, nodding. They had a similar problem when they first started modeling. They loved to spoil their loved ones-- and still do-- and people often took advantage of their generosity. As Jack grew older, they learned how to weed out the moochers. Of course Brandon was never a moocher; he wasn't the type to take without giving, plus he had plenty of his own money. Jack watched for Brandon's reaction, then chuckled in response to his face. "Babe, I know. I was joking. Could you imagine?!" They shrugged at Brandon's question. "Honestly, I have no idea. I think it's too soon to talk about that kinda stuff. I thought I was never gonna become a parent because Sage didn't want kids, but, you know, they're not my fiancé anymore." Sage not wanting kids wasn't the main reason the engagement was broken off, but it was a bone of contention in the relationship.

"Oh hush. One day you'll have a heart-to-heart over pizza too. Well, maybe not because of the whole gluten thing, but some food that you enjoy." They stuck their tongue out at Brandon. "Ohh, that's his name! At least he didn't recognize me flirting with him. Could just be that he wasn't into me because he's straight, but I'm hot so that's dumb." Jack didn't want to have sex with straight dudes anyways, so they didn't consider it a major loss. "Attraction isn't his thing? Is he asexual or something?" they asked curiously. "Wait a minute, you're deflecting!"

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

My Little Secret (Part 2)

Summary: When a tragic accident happens, Dean takes a drastic measure in order to save the person he cares about most...

Pairing: Mechanic!Dean x reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 1,500ish

Warnings: language, injury, death

______

Reader’s POV

“She was legally dead,” said the several doctors arguing in your hospital room, Dean smiling happily at you from his bed beside yours. “And now she’s perfectly fine?”

“She doesn’t even have a bruise on her,” said another one, Dean still staring over at you.

“Um, can you guys argue about this somewhere else? I’m kind of tired and from the sounds of it, not dead so until you figure something out, can you go?” you asked. “If I die again, this guy will let you know, okay?”

The doctors shared a look and grumbled, leaving you alone with Dean. You waited until the door was closed before you got out of bed and walked over to him.

And promptly slapped him in the face.

“What the fuck did you do?” you asked, Dean putting a hand to his cheek. “Answer me.”

“What?” he asked.

“I was dead. Dying hurt. I remember and suddenly I’m healthy as ever? I wake up in a morgue drawer next to you cause you had a feeling? What did you do, Dean?” you asked again.

“Nothing! It’s a miracle,” he said. You sat down on the edge of his bed, taking his cut up hand in yours. “It’s a miracle is all, alright?”

“Did you make a deal?” you asked. 

“How on earth could I have possibly...sweetheart, I begged for you to come back and you did and…” he trailed off as you closed your eyes.

“You idiot. You made a demon deal,” you said.

“How do you know what that is?” he asked quietly.

“How long did he give you?”

“A year,” he said.

“Didn’t even get the full ten, did you,” you said, taking a deep breath.

“I don’t care. You’re safe and that’s all that-“

“I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I never told you about that part of my life,” you said.

“What part of your life?” he asked.

“I am...I’m a hunter, Dean. My family, they hunt,” you said. “I didn’t want that anymore so I quit and...this demon. What was its name?”

“It said Dr. Hunter?” said Dean quietly. 

“Alistar,” you said to yourself, Dean tilting his head. “Why did you say yes?”

“Who’s Alistair?”

“Why did you do it?” 

“You were dead, that’s why,” he said. “I had a chance to get you back and I took it.”

“Do you have any idea what you just did to yourself? What you did to us?”

“What do you mean us? He said you were okay,” said Dean, sitting up in bed worriedly.

“It means you go to hell when you die. We don’t get to be together. For the rest of eternity,” you said. “You picked a year over forever and it’s my fault.”

“I picked you over me. I don’t care about the deal or whatever, I always pick you,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze.

“We’ll find a way to get it stopped,” you said. “We’ll talk to my parents and figure it out.”

“I thought your parents were dead,” he said.

“No. I wanted you safe and out of that life and I put you in it by lying,” you said. 

“It was my choice,” he said.

“You were grieving. You were manipulated,” you said. 

“Well we have a year to figure it out, right?” he said. You gave him a smile and a nod, Dean staring at you. “We won’t be able to break it, will we.”

“You could,” said a doctor that walked in, Dean immediately throwing back his covers and standing up.

“That’s the-“ said Dean before his words were muffled, the doctor looking to you.

“Your boyfriend is annoyingly useful,” said Alistair, giving you a dark smile.

“End his deal. I’m the one you want,” you said.

“True,” he said, your eyes flickering over to Dean. You watched him suck in a lungful of air, glaring at Alistair. “But I think I need some convincing to do that.”

“Y/N. Don’t,” said Dean.

“He’s a civilian,” you said.

“I’m not hearing a strong argument, kiddo,” said Alistair.

“I take his place,” you said, Dean shaking his head.

“Make it better,” said Alistair.

“Six months.”

“A day,” he smiled. “Or Dean goes to hell and it’s all your fault.”

“Hey,” barked Dean. “It was my deal. Y/N, don’t take it. We got time.”

“She’s got all the time in the world,” he said, Dean’s face scrunching up as he grabbed at his throat. “You however have about a minute until you pass out and suffocate.”

“Let him go. You can’t kill him and you know it,” you said.

“Also very true. Nothing says I can’t have fun with him though,” he said. “I could keep this up for say...a year?”

Dean shook his head at you when he could, eyes wide as he looked at you.

“Two days,” you said.

“Twelve hours and he’s free,” said Alistair.

“Deal,” you said. Dean shook his head at you as you stepped over to Alistair, letting him kiss you briefly.

“I’ll see you at midnight,” he said, disappearing in front of you.

“Why did you do that!” said Dean, righting himself as he took a few big heaving breaths.

“I was always his plan. You were a way to get to me and it worked. We got twelve hours and I don’t want to spend them arguing,” you said, ripping off your wristband. “We need to head to my parents' place. Now.”

“You dumbass,” said your dad as you watched the clock move to eleven fifty.

“Would you just look Bobby! Get your head in a book,” said your mom, tossing one at him. 

“I’m sorry, Ellen, did you not hear the part where our daughter sold her soul to Alistair? We’re not gonna find a cure in ten minutes,” he said.

“He’s right, mom,” you said, getting up from your seat. “I don’t have long left. I’m going to spend it with Dean. Bury whatever’s left of me and make sure Dean doesn’t make any deals.”

You went outside and wandered out to the garage on the far lot, finding Dean tinkering with a part on the workbench.

“Hey,” you said.

“Why’s this demon want you?” he asked quietly.

“If I break down there, it will start the apocalypse,” you said. “It’s gotta be me.”

“No pressure or anything,” he said.

“What are you working on?” you asked.

“Carburetor,” he said.

“I want you to forget about me,” you said.

“I’m willing to sell my soul for you. That ain’t happening,” he said.

“Go back to Lawrence and the garage. Be normal. Think of this as a bad dream.”

“Will you marry me?” he asked. You smiled and nodded.

“Yes. I don’t think we’ll make it to the wedding but yeah,” you said.

“I’ll get you out. You don’t break though. It might take me some time but I’ll figure it out, I promise,” he said. “Okay?”

“I promise,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder. “If you promise not to make a deal for me.”

“I promise,” he said.

“I’m scared.”

“I’ll stay right with you,” he said.

“I don’t want you to see it,” you said. 

“I know. I don’t want to see it either but I saw it once before. I’m not letting you do this alone,” he said.

“You’re scared too,” you said.

“Still not letting you do it alone,” he said.

“Don’t become a hunter. Please,” you said. 

“I’ll get you out,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours. You heard a howl in the distance, Dean not seeming to notice it. “What?”

“I gotta say later for right now,” you said, giving him a big kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he said, grabbing your hand before you could take off. “I’m staying.”

“You back away when I tell you?” you asked, Dean nodding. You stood there for about thirty seconds before you heard their feet and a few dogs appeared in front of you. “Let go, Dean.”

“Remember your promise,” he said as he dropped your hand and took a few steps back.

“You too,” you said, watching the three dogs surround you. “Okay fellas. Let’s do this.”

_____

A/N: Read the final part here!

[hereyougo-flamingsword]

Let Aziraphale Say Fuck, a ficlet

It was one of their post-Apocalyptic trips to Tadfield that started it.

Well, it was their EXIT from Tadfield that really started it, with the boy formerly known as the Antichrist tripping on a rock and falling on his face while waving them off.

"FUCK!" He cried out.

The angel and the demon turned as one to look at the boy, but he was already getting up and running away, presumably to avoid the wrath of that shitty old neighbor watch man.

Crowley thought, well, he must be fine, if he's running like that, no need for any discreet little miracles, time to go home.

Aziraphale, however, looked positively astonished.

“Did…Did Adam just say-?”

“-Fuck, yes, yes he did,” observed Crowley.

Aziraphale pursed his lips and did one of his…indignant wiggles.

“Did you teach him that?” he accused Crowley. "It positively smacks of your...demonic interference."

Crowley gaped back with a little indignation of his own. "What? He's the ANTICHRIST! In terms of demonics, he outRANKS me."

Crowley was taller than Aziraphale, in this corporeal body anyway, but Aziraphale still found a way to look down on him, a disapproving pout on his lips.

“Oh, come on, Aziraphale," Crowley protested, "He’s twelve! Swear words were practically invented for preteens to use. And I should know!”

Aziraphale sighed. “You didn’t invent swear words, Crowley,” he said, his mouth twitching in amusement despite it all.

Crowley deflated. “Fine, you got me there. I do like encouraging folks to use them, though, even if it’s not technically a sin.”

He sighed, and looked over at Aziraphale. “The day I get YOU to drop the f-bomb, now...THAT’LL be the day,” drawled Crowley, lightly punching him in the arm.

Aziraphale stiffened up.

“Ivealreadysaidit,” he mumbled.

Crowley blinked, not daring to believe his ears. “What?”

“I’ve already said it!” Aziraphale burst out, his tone of voice reminding Crowley of a certain missing-sword incident from six millennia ago, “Once.”

Crowley straightened up, mouth agape.

“Are you kidding me, angel?” Crowley said incredulously, “You said FUCK?!”

Aziraphale nodded miserably.

“Ah-bu-wha-I-“ Crowley sputtered, “When?”

“I was-I was being discorporated! And sent back up to Heaven, where I thought I had lost my one chance to avert the apocalypse! It’s HARDLY an inappropriate thing when it’s said in THAT context,” Aziraphale explained, automatically on the defensive.

“I don’t give a FUCK-" Crowley dragged out the CK sound irreverently, "-about ‘proper context’, angel,” Crowley said, complete with air quotes, “I’m just so MAD that I wasn’t around to HEAR it!!”

“Well, sorry to disappoint,” muttered Aziraphale, stiffly walking on.

“Awwwwhhh,” Crowley groaned, long and drawn out, and put a skip in his step to catch up with him.

“Six thousand years," he lamented, "I have been waiting, no, IMAGINING, that I would get to hear you say my FAAAVORITE naughty word, and what do you do? You just go and say it without me there!”

Aziraphale ignored him and continued to speed-walk to the Bentley.

“You’ve GOTTA do it again," pleaded Crowley, "PLEASE."

Aziraphale stopped. “Out of the question,” he said icily, and then continued to walk again, even quicker if that were possible, forcing Crowley to actually put effort into catching up.

“Oh, come on, it’s not like Heaven is watching you right now, it’s the perfect time!” argued Crowley.

"Crowley I can’t just SAY it, even if Heaven isn’t watching! Unlike some present company, I have to have the proper...FEELING behind it, or it holds no weight and I simply can’t do it!”

"Proper feeling, my arse, I’ve just said it four times! Gets more fun every time you do, let me tell you."

"Maybe so, but you're a DEMON, Crowley. You're...accustomed to such things.”

"Aw, angel, please? For me?" whined Crowley.

"No, I won't do it," said Aziraphale with a note of finality.

Crowley deflated, and opened the drivers side door. "Fine. But if the ‘propah feeling’ comes over you again, make sure to call me! I dont want to miss the second coming of Aziraphale saying the dreaded fuck word."

"IF I ever say it again," Aziraphale mumbled, as he, too, opened the door to the old Bentley and got inside.

-

“Oh, Crowley, I have wanted to take you here for years!" Aziraphale said as they hurried along the sidewalk, "It's a LOVELY little place, handed down through the generations in a family ive known since the eighteenth century! Surely you've heard me talk about the Baldacci's?"

"I hear a lot of things from you,” Crowley complained, “You can’t expect me to remember them ALL.”

Aziraphale bristled a little. “Well, you will remember them after THIS,” he said smugly, as he pushed open the door.

-

Twenty four minutes and three seconds later, Aziraphale came bursting back out of the door, simmering with anger, Crowley trailing behind.

"The nerve! The audacity! The unmitigated GALL!" Aziraphale said, as he stomped down the small side street.

"First they serve us awful, absolutely DREADFUL food, and then they kick us out for daring to send it back??” he complained, hands flying everywhere.

Crowley seemed to remember that it was some choice non-compliments to the chef that Aziraphale gave that got them kicked out, but he didn't bring it up.

"Honestly, uh, angel, w-we could just go to the place next door," Crowley said instead, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder, "S' not a big deal, really-"

"Oh, its not about LUNCH, Crowley, I am just so-so betrayed! I taught that-that ruffian's great-great-grandparents how to MAKE spaghetti when they were just children in Italy! I’ve known their family for generations! And they have the NERVE to tell me that the garbage they just served me was the ‘old family recipe��??”

He suddenly stopped, and turned around to face at Crowley, arms splayed out toward him as if he simply must MAKE him understand the gravity of the situation.

"Their sauce was made of ketchup, Crowley! KETCHUP! Don’t they have any FUCKING respect?!” Aziraphale’s voice cracked on the pivotal word, and he clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes going wide.

Crowley’s jaw dropped.

"Ohhh," Aziraphale groaned, closing his eyes and fists in self-exasperation which quickly turned into self-annoyance with gritted teeth. "Oh!! Why did I do that, it wasn’t even WORTH it!"

He looked up at Crowley in guilty silence. Crowley was still very aware that his mouth was still hanging open, and was working on turning it into a goofy grin. Hearing Aziraphale swear, properly SWEAR, was so much better than he had ever imagined.

If Crowley had ever celebrated Christmas, he would think that this was Christmas come early.

"Ohhh, it was worth it to ME," he drawled, unable to get rid of the wide smile on his face. "I'm so, so happy I got to witness that."

Aziraphale frowned. “Oh, STOP it, please.”

"I’m serious, angel! That just made my whole fucking day," he said, his grin turning to a contented one, "I dont even care what happens next."

"Oh, that’s easy for YOU to say," Aziraphale grumbled, sitting down hard on a bus station bench, “It just RUINED mine.”

Crowley sat down beside him, his euphoria simmering down a little as he finally got a good look at Aziraphale’s face.

The angel’s face was creased with shame and self-hatred, his hands folded in his lap just as rigidly as his whole body was sat on the bench. Crowley hadn’t seen him this uptight since before the Apocalypse--he was actually, unironically, extremely upset about this.

But, after about two seconds of thinking about it--Crowley realized that it made perfect sense.  It had taken six thousand years and an averted apocalypse to get Aziraphale to admit that there mayyybe was a problem with how Heaven handled things. The conditioning of Heaven’s fucked up moral values was still buried deep inside Aziraphale’s immortal soul, and that was the kind of thing that couldn’t be undone in a matter of a few months. Crowley could say fuck however much he wanted(in solidarity of course), but there was still that voice of Heaven inside of Aziraphale that told him that if he deviated in any way from what they thought an angel should be, he was worthless as a being--even if that deviation was simple as saying a swear word.

Probably sounds like Gabriel in there, thought Crowley, The wanker.

Suddenly, Crowley had an idea.

“You know, angel,” Crowley said, throwing an arm around Aziraphale’s mortified shoulders, “In Heaven, on my most recent visit...i heard Gabriel say fuck.”

Aziraphale gasped. “He did WHAT?!” he said, begging Crowley with his eyes to tell him more.

“Oh, yeah,” said Crowley, sadistic glee growing on his face as he delivered this piece of schadenfreude to Aziraphale’s eager ears, “Called himself the ‘Archangel Fuck-ing Gabriel’, right to my face. Well, right to YOUR face, I should say.”

As he spoke, the corners of Aziraphale’s mouth turned up. “I suppose...that does make me feel a bit better about it.”

Aziraphale turned and rested his head on Crowleys outstretched arm, giving him a smile.

A real, wide, grateful smile, that shone with heavenly love that the real heaven could never measure up to.

“Thank you," said Aziraphale warmly.

Crowley seized up. Six thousand years of demonic conditioning could make a person react strangely to certain things as well.

"R-right, now come on," said Crowley, standing up and holding out his hand, "I'm sure there is SOMEWHERE in this city where you can get Italian food that isn't made of ketchup."

"Oh ho ho,” said Aziraphale, grabbing Crowley’s hand and allowing himself to be pulled up, “My dear boy, there is! And, as it happens, it's just up the street from here!”

With a renewed spring in his step, Aziraphale strolled down the street, pulling Crowley by the hand.

[ifridiot]

Honey, Don’t Feed It

Sometimes you can’t help people, even when they’re the ones you most want to.

Naia meets a young Stryfe. 

Naia is not a babysitter.

Fact of the matter is, Naia doesn’t like kids that much. Didn’t like kids when they were a kid, and now that that tenuous connection to that subset of humanity is gone, they would rather avoid them as much as possible, thank you so much for asking.

Okay, maybe that’s not fair. Naia might suck with babies (they’re too loud and the fact that they cry but can’t explain why they’re crying gives them anxiety) but once kids are old enough to communicate they can handle them pretty well for small doses. Little kids could even be endearing, once they got over their fear of Naia’s extra limbs and intimidating size. Kids usually did better than adults when it came to Spider-man rescuing them; they held on and stared in awe and then they ran back to their parents or to their siblings or to whoever came to collect them.

“I’m not a child.”

It’s teenagers Naia really can’t stand.

“Kid, you’re like twelve, hush.”

Standing between the kid and the cops, Naia has their arms spread in the traditional peacekeeping posture, one set of palms spread toward the boys in blue, one toward the telepathic kid on the edge of murdering a pair of bigots. Honestly, even if the kid wasn’t a kid, Naia knows who’s side they’d be on.

Cops are always wrong, and bigots belonged in the ground, but the issue here was more that it was seven in the morning and the kid is obviously strong enough to kill the assholes he’s got caught in some kind of telekinetic death grip but isn’t. Which means he’s not the bad guy.

Now to get the cops to put their guns down.

The crowd that has gathered around the scene is doing that collective silence thing that always makes Naia a little nervous. There are a lot of witnesses -- and potential victims, if the kid decides to go off. Judging by the fierceness on his face and the creep laying on the cement with blood trickling from his mouth, eyes, ears, and nose, the kid has a lot of power. Thus far he’s managed to reel it in -- the pavement-creep is breathing like it hurts, and from what Naia has gathered, he deserves it -- but if people start shooting, Naia doesn’t think self-control is going to be the first thing on the kid’s mind.

Ugh, telepaths. Kids and telepaths. This is gonna be the death of them, this exact bullshit. Kids and telepaths, they both want to get inside your head and then get mad when your thoughts aren’t the ones they wanted to hear.

Kid, they project, trying to remember how Mom taught them to do this. Shielding and trying to hold a private conversation is difficult and weirdly exhausting. You promise not to kill anybody and I’ll get you out of here. Take you somewhere safe, help you out as best I can. But you gotta put those guys down and come with me.

They wince, almost lose their shields, at the force of emotion -- rage and contempt and a sort of pain threaded through it that Naia is pretty sure they’re not supposed to pick up on -- that is slammed back at them. They insulted me! They deserve to die!

Someone makes a helpless noise of agony, and blood starts gushing from one of the asshole’s nose. The kid has them suspended in air and, as far as Naia can tell, the two humans can’t move at all. Now one of them has a broken nose. That’s pretty fantastic control for a kid.

Dangerous, too.

Kill ‘em and the cops start shooting. You’re gonna have the whole damn city after your ass, even if you can wipe all of us out. Public enemy number one.

Why shouldn’t I? The kid’s telepathic voice is cold, dripping with condescension, but the emotions that twist through the telepathy are laced with uncertainty. The kid is lost, obviously. Naia doesn’t know the whole story, is pretty sure they don’t want to know, but they do feel a sort of vague sympathy for the kid.

Whatever pain he’s working through, being insulted by a group of anti-mutant bigots was probably the least of it. He’s a very powerful kid, but he’s just a kid, one who’s been hurt bad by someone he probably trusted.

Naia sighs.

C’mon, kid. Don’t make me side with cops.

There’s a startled sense of amusement, which is a hopeful sign. A question curls around their brain, wordless, just the impression of consideration and hesitation. It wouldn’t be bad, except Naia can feel the kid peeling at their telepathic shields. He’s damn powerful, but no one’s evidently taught him subtlety.

I am so subtle! The kid snarls, and Naia smiles under their mask. The anger fades a little, replaced by curiosity. You can get me away from here?

“The kid is gonna come with me,” Naia says out loud, keeping a steady gaze on the cops. Unsurprisingly, none of them lower their weapons, but everyone’s hesitant to shoot Spider-man after he’d saved so many people. He was a symbol, and most of the cops knew you couldn’t publicly execute a symbol without good cause. “He’s gonna drop the assholes and we’re gonna go. No shooting necessary. No one dies, you can take the creep on the ground to the hospital, it all works out.”

Put the idiots down, kid. Show of faith, c’mon.

And wonder upon wonders, the kid does. He doesn’t do it gently; he drops them like the sacks of shit they are -- it doesn’t take a telepath to find a Neo-Nazi when the jackasses love to advertise their nationalist bullshit on their clothes -- and in another miracle, the assholes stay down.

Glancing at each other, the cops finally lower their weapons, and Naia nods. “We’re gonna go. Make sure the guy bleeding all over public property gets to the hospital. Or better yet, give him a ticket for littering. Public indecency. Whatever.”

That said, Naia moves quickly to the kid’s side. One of the assholes cranes his head up to glare at them, and he growls, “Fuckin’ muties.” Naia wants to put a boot through his teeth, but before they can move, the asshole screams, blood pouring from his eyes and his nose, altogether too similar to the one unconscious over by the cops. He collapses face first back against the pavement, hopefully just passed out, and Naia feels the prickly tingle of the danger-sense just before the sound of a gun being cocked reaches them.

“Goddamnit, kid,” Naia snarls, and before he can protest, they’ve got their right two arms around him, holding him against their body as they leap up onto the roof of the nearest building. He shouts, and shoves away as soon as they’re both on their feet.

“You can’t do that,” he says sharply, hands balled into fists, glaring.

“What, prevent your dumb ass from getting shot?” Naia snaps back, and it’s gratifying to see his mouth fall open, shocked. “Kid, I had you out of there scot free, and now your fuckin’ face is gonna be up all over the city as a dangerous mutant wanted, consider him armed and dangerous. Half those people down there were filming that. Gonna be all fuckin’ over YouTube now.”

The danger sense prickles again, and they half expect the kid to lash out, but his head twists toward the roof access door, eyes still wide. Naia sighs.

“They’re coming after us. So let’s get the fuck outta here. I can stash you somewhere for a while. Couple hours, ‘til the heat dies down some and you can get out of town tonight.”

“I have business here, I can’t leave!”

Kids. Fuckin’ kids and telepaths, Naia could just about scream. “Rain check your business, dipshit! Now can you use the TK to float or do I need to carry you?”

They’d seen Cable do that a couple times, but he was supposed to be super powerful or something. And he was old, had a lot longer to practice.

Looking back at them, the kid scowls. “I do not need to be carried.”

“Then float. Let’s go.”

Really, with the kind of attitude this kid’s got, Naia half expects him to obstinately stay put, or maybe run off on his own. He seems the sort of kid to refuse help on principle, but he also has that wide-eyed touristy look, and his clipped, formal way of speaking reinforces the idea that he’s not from around here.

As if the metal chest plate and cape thing wasn’t communicating that clearly enough.

He at least stops trying to pry into Naia’s head as they lead him into Brooklyn, leaping from building to building until they get to a quiet, rundown neighborhood. Most of the windows on the building they lead the kid do have been boarded over, and the place sucks to be stuck in during winter, but on a nice September day it shouldn’t be too bad.

“This building is abandoned,” he says, sounding disdainful. “You expect me to stay here?”

They sigh, prying open the plywood-covered maintenance door and holding it for him to go in first. “I know it’s not the Ritz, kid, but I’ve got food and a place to relax instead of being hunted all over the fucking city and getting your ass handed to you by one of the masked guys who don’t have a soft spot for idiot tourist kids.”

He stares again, but only for a second, before glaring and scowling, stalking into the building with a swish of his cape. “I’m not a kid,” he grumbles, and Naia finds it really funny that he thinks that’s the part of their assessment that needs correcting. They drag the door shut and hurry to get in front of him, leading him through the abandoned building to the ground-floor apartment they’d appropriated as a safe house. It was one of the only ones that had a door in the front room that hadn’t been kicked down or taken off its hinges.

“I can’t believe you’re happy your room still has a door,” he says, still scathing in that snotty way kids who grew up with nice things had.

“You should be glad too,” Naia says cheerfully, closing the door carefully behind them. “Means no homeless people have broken in and pissed on the couch again.”

It’s not the nicest safe house they’ve had, but it’s not bad. No electricity, but the broken down couch was comfy and there had been a number of cats locked in the apartment when they’d found it. Most of them and left and never come back when they’d left the windows open for them to roam, but one big tom, old and possessed of a rusty, broken meow, had stayed.

Presently he was curled on the center seat of the couch, sleeping. The kid stood looking at the cat like he wasn’t certain if he should chase it away or leave it alone.

“Cat’s not gonna bite, just take a seat,” Naia says, amused. “Luce is nice, but he doesn’t usually like strangers much.”

This was a lie, but Naia told it to everyone they brought here because it made them happy when Luce wanted to get in their lap or purred for them. And it’s really not a surprise that he perks up when the kid sits next to him, shoved up into the corner of the couch closest to the door. He stares at the cat for a moment longer and then looks away, folding his arms across his chest.

“You said there was food.”

Naia snorts softly, moving into the kitchenette. There was a useless (and ancient) fridge, but since there was no electricity it was more a pantry than anything. Somewhere to store stuff they didn’t want Luce (or any other animal who slipped in through the cracked window) to chew into. They pry it open and take stock of what’s available. “Yeah kid, just gimme a sec. You a picky eater?”

“No,” he says, and somehow makes it sound like he’s being gracious by telling them. “And my name is Stryfe.”

“Strife?” Their eyebrows rise under the mask, leaning back from the fridge to look at him. He is staring down at the cat, who is now sniffing carefully at the edge of his cape. “Is that, like, a code name, or…?”

“It’s my name,” he says primly, head held up and jaw set. “It’s spelled with a ‘y’.”

“Ah, okay,” they say, sticking their head back in the fridge. “So your parents just hated you.”

It’s meant playfully, but they can feel the sharp way he stares at them, and it’s like all the breath in the room went out. A raw nerve, and one they just kicked hard. Fuck.

“Uh, sorry, kid, that wasn’t… That was a bad joke, I didn’t mean anything by it.” The kid starts breathing again, and Naia thinks that’s okay then. They grab a couple ramen packets and a can of chicken and step over the the counter. “So, what’re you in town for?”

His silence is telling, and they can feel him in their head again, pushing at the shields they have up, prying into them, looking for some ulterior motive, some hidden threat. They wish they were better at this telepathic shielding shit, because as it stands, they’re out of practice and it’s exhausting.

“Kid, I want to help. I’m not cooking for you so I can stab you in the back later. You think I’m gonna call the cops on you? I’m Spider-man, me and cops don’t exactly go hand-in-hand.”

The mental pressure eases somewhat, but doesn’t entirely disappear. For a long moment, he’s quiet, and they think he’s not going to answer. That’s fine, it’s not really their business, and they’ve already had a long night. Then, he says, “I’m from the future.”

Naia tries not to feel exasperation. Time-travel shit is always exhausting. They rarely have to deal with it, but they’ve been dropped into enough parallel universes to know that they’re lucky in that regards. They get pan-dimensional bullshit, let the X-Men and the Avengers deal with the time-travel shit.

“Oh,” they say as tactfully as possible, pouring a couple bottles of water into a pot and setting it on the camp-stove. “So what’s brought you, uh, to the past?”

“I’m cleaning up other people’s mistakes,” he says archly. “That’s as much as you need to know.”

Silence swallows them for a while, Naia focusing on cooking the ramen and draining the chicken and making the meal as palatable as possible. They’re running out of supplies in this place, so they’ll have to stock up soon, but they figure, what the hell, and dump a can of mixed vegetables into the ramen as well. Kid looks like he could use the fuel.

The kid eats with Luce curled up in his lap, eating with that careful sort of control that says he wants to wolf it but feels that sort of display would make him look bad. Measured and obviously relishing every bite. It would be flattering if Naia wasn’t busy trying to think about how much the future must suck if instant ramen with some canned goods tossed in is that good to the kid.

When they do start talking, they don’t talk about much. He seems pleased when they tell him the cape is a nice touch, almost smiling as he sits up a little straighter.

“I find it important to make a visual statement,” he says. Naia raises their water bottle to that, and tactfully doesn’t make any comments about drapery. The kid looks at them where they’re leaning against the wall and frowns to himself, dragging his fork through the broth that remains in his bowl. “Why do you keep the cat here if this is not your home?”

Naia shrugs, pushing away from the wall and coming to take his bowl. “He was here first. I figure if he wanted to go to a different home he would. He didn’t like it when I tried taking him out of here, so I brought him back. I make sure he gets fed and he has his couch. Also possibly he likes to hang out with the ghost of whatever cat-hoarder used to live here. There were a lot of cats when I took this place over.”

“That sounds stupid. Ghosts don’t hang around to watch cats.” They laugh, and he goes on a very serious diatribe about superstition being the crutch of a weak mind. Naia wonders if 4Chan is still big in the future. Kid sounds like he’d fit in real well with those sort of pretentious ‘intellectuals’.

While they wash up the dishes and put everything away, making note that they’re going to need more water here next time they stock up, too, they pull up music on their phone and play it to fill the silence. The kid makes faces, but doesn’t complain.

It’s a little past noon when they try to get the kid to open up again about what he’s trying to do, and he very clearly doesn’t want any part of it.  

“I have the matter in hand,” he says heatedly, arms crossing again, until Luce makes a plaintive sound at the sudden loss of being pet. He scratches at the cat’s neck, glaring daggers at Naia. “I don’t need help.”

“Well, you sure weren’t doing super hot on your own when I found you.”

He scowls and they soften a little.

“C’mon. You’re new in town, and this is a big place. I’ve been in the city all my life, I know where everything is. I can at least point you in the right direction.”

They have a little staring contest for a moment, and it surprises Naia that he’s the one to look away first. “I have to do this on my own.”

“Fuck, gimme a break. You were talkin’ so smart a minute ago, don’t shove your head back up your ass, c’mon. More hands makes less work.”

He huffs, glaring at them again, mouth pressed in a tight line. “I am on my own to prove a point, I do not need help.”

“Everybody needs help, kid.”

“I’ve told you, my name is Stryfe! I demand you stop calling me kid!”

The mask does little to hide Naia’s grin at that. If the kid weren’t sitting down with a lap full of contented cat, they think he’d have actually stamped his little foot. “How old are you, kid? Thirteen going on three?”

“I am sixteen, I’m not some child.”

Naia gentles again at that, at least a little. It’s all right to tease, but he’s so vehement, it’s clear enough that this is somehow important. Probably something someone’s pushed the kid into thinking. “The future must really suck if sixteen is when you have to start being an adult.”

“The future makes sense.” He proclaims, and Naia doesn’t know whether to laugh or just shake their head. “Once I finish what I came here to do, the future will be perfect.”

Setting their head to one side, they watch him for a minute. He’s focused on Luce, stroking over the soft fur of the cat’s head.

“If you’d tell me what you’re trying to to do,” they offer, tone as gentle as the voice modulator will allow, “I would help you.”

He looks back at them, suspicious but almost hopeful too. “You wouldn’t. And I must do it myself. That’s the whole point.”

“I’ve already been helping you. Why would I stop now?”

“You’re not unknown in the future. You wouldn’t help me.”

It’s hard to argue with an evasive time-traveler, but that doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. As much as they want to help the kid, he sounds a little like a baby villain. All brooding secrets and deep hurts, ugly intentions. “You gonna kill someone?”

“I have to.” He says it flat, like it’s the obvious recourse any sixteen-year-old would come to. “He… they ruined everything. I’m going to take care of it.”

“You can’t just kill everyone who wrongs you, kid.”

His face screws up, angry, furious even. “Can’t I? That’s what you do, isn’t it? What makes Spider-man’s judgement better than mine?”

He says it like it’s a gotcha, and it’s a little surprising, how hard the words hit. Naia wants to say something about how they’re at least an adult, old enough to throw their life away crusading against actual murderous assholes. Not everyone who upset them, not even everyone who injured them. They’d had experience. This kid was just angry -- justifiably, maybe, but… he needed help. He needed patience, someone to help him unlearn this arrogant shit he used to wrap himself up and shield him from the ways he’d been hurt.

But then he smiles, sharp and cutting, and says, “Or should I just call you Naia?”

The way he pronounces their name, it sounds like a taunt, like the sound of it is something to mock. His expression does nothing to disguise the threat implied in his words.

Really, Naia’s a little sick of it. They’ve been playing nice all day despite the kid’s shitty attitude, and Naia was never a patient, kindly person. They’re not a parent, they’re not a big sibling, they’re not required to put up with this shit.

"Kid,” they say, looking down at him, scowling under the mask as they square their shoulders, “your name is Strife-with-a-Y and you ‘ported back from the oh-so-enlightened future with the manners of a four-year-old and the fashion sense to match, so just because you picked my name out of my brain, don't act like you're superior. You’re angry, and I can respect that, but you’ve done nothing to give me any reason to respect you. Bullies ain’t worth shit."

They expect anger. Yelling, maybe a punch thrown. The kid’s obviously practiced in hurting people with his TK, so maybe something like that.

Instead, the kid looks like Naia punched him. His eyes, normally narrowed and angry, are suddenly wide and open. He looks startled, like he’s grasping for his anger but so completely unused to being spoken to like that that he doesn’t know how to handle it. Naia tries to imagine that, imagine going sixteen years without anyone snapping you back in place when you were out of line, about being that secure in your right to treat anyone and everyone like shit, and finds they can’t quite do it.

“Less than a decade from now, you die a failure,” he hisses after a moment of that stunned shock. The viciousness of his tone is especially taut, the sort of tone used to mask pain with anger. He wants to lash back and hurt them. “You die ugly. Slow. And it doesn’t even matter.”

“Yeah?” Naia snaps back, nowhere near as mild as they’d like to be. “That supposed to make me, what? Stop? I might die as a loser, but I sure as shit don’t live like one.”

In a second, the kid is on his feet, Luce hitting the floor with a noise of feline offense and rushing off to the other end of the safe house. “I should kill you myself,” He says, hands balled into angry fists Naia knows he wouldn’t bother to use. He’d do for them with the TK to keep his hands clean.

“It make you feel better, threatening the only person you had on your side in this era?”

Their head bounces loudly off the wall. They hear something crack and hope to any god listening that it’s the drywall and not their skull. Collapsed on the floor, they have a hard time getting their eyes to focus through the mask, blackness lancing through their vision. They feel more than see Stryfe looming over them, and grin crookedly at him from where they sprawl.

“You’re not worth killing.” He says, savage. “Me killing you would honor you.”

They want to say something. They’re not even sure what; a dozen tones dance through their head, ways to play what just happened out to distinct, impactful ends. There’s a part of them that wants to push the kid to doing it, but they don’t know if he’s really still moral enough to get the satisfaction of his feeling bad about doing it. And thinking that makes them feel weirdly guilty. Guilty for doubting that a kid could be so devoid of humanity, for thinking he might be so far beyond help.

He makes a sharp noise at that, and they can feel it, when he finally withdraws from prying at their mind. His cape snaps at the air when he turns sharply away.

Really, a good hero would shake off the likely-concussion, get up, say something clever and thoughtful that would get him to stick around. They would try to stop him, try to save him.

Naia stays on the floor, eyes closed, and carefully shore up their telepathic shields. It’s easier to make them strong when you’re not focused on other things, like standing.

The kid’s boots click importantly against the tile, and when he shuts the front door behind him, it’s slammed sharply in place.

[thiamfresh]

Heey, could you maybe write something about Theo being Liam's anchor?

Hey! Sorry this took so long, i started writing it like, the second you sent it to me and then got stuck so it’s like totally off canon for the rest of the season after the zoo ep which is where it starts)

“You’re joking. Right?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Theo said with a hearty sigh. Liam blinked at him, wondering what strange alternate dimension he’d wandered into.

“You..you want to be my anchor?”

“Yes. Nothing would please me more.” Theo said dryly. “Of course I don’t want to be your anchor but until this is over you need to figure out how to control your anger properly. An anchor will help with that-”

“And you’re going to be my-”

“Yes, Liam. For the millionth time. I’ve had easier conversations with brick walls.”

“That’s probably because brick walls can’t call you out on being an ass.” Liam grumbled.

“Well, this ass is now your anchor.” Theo snapped. Liam hoped Theo’s plan wasn’t just for Liam to picture his ass whenever he got angry. “We make a decent team. You wanted my help today and I’m betting you’ll want it again before this is over. If we’re going to be working together it makes sense that you use me.”

“I can’t just turn on you being my anchor.” Liam said. He didn’t want to admit that it made sense, that it seemed…easy. That Theo, despite his many annoying habits, like talking, had already somehow managed to worm his way in enough for Liam to feel calmer with him around.

He didn’t want to admit that he was worried that Theo was already tilting too close to being his anchor for his liking. He’d realised today when they’d been trying to draw the reinforcements to the zoo. Theo’s heartbeat calming him down even as his fist clapped hard against his face. He knew, were it anyone else, he would have turned properly. The fact Theo got off with little more than a few bruises and nose thrice broken was a miracle in itself.

“No but you can train yourself.” Theo said. Unaware of Liam’s mental crisis. He could admit it, that Theo already had a way of making him calmer, then he wouldn’t have to ‘train’ at least, not as much. Liam thought of how smug Theo would probably be knowing he had even the little bit of power of Liam that he currently had and quickly dismissed the idea of telling him. “Look, once this is over we can find you a proper anchor, a permanent one-” Liam tried to pretend he didn’t feel a glimmer of hope at the word 'we’. “-but until then we have to survive. To do that you need to be in control.”

“Things worked out fine today.” Liam said.

“They almost didn’t. You almost got us caught. You almost killed someone.”

“You think focusing on you will make me any less likely to kill someone? If anything it’ll drive me into more of a murderous rage.”

“What, like it did today?” Theo said slowly, lips lifting in the smug smirk Liam had been dreading. His heart plummeted. Of course Theo would notice. “Because I seem to remember you not killing me and being able to convince you to leave and then almost getting you to leave Nolan again. Seems to me like you’re already feeling pretty-”

“How do we do it?” Liam growled. Theo’s smirk somehow grew even smugger.

“We get you angry and then you focus on me to calm down.”

“That’s it? That’s your big plan. To piss me off?”

“Well, I am good at it.” Theo hummed. Liam sighed, shifting from foot to foot as he looked to the door of the warehouse. Why wouldn’t the others come back and stop this conversation?

“Can’t I just use your anchor? I mean, you never lose control.” Liam suggested.

“I don’t have an anchor. I just use the tried and tested British method of repressing emotions.”

“You’re not British.” Liam said.

“I am where it counts.”

“At least you admit you’re emotionally stunted.” Liam mumbled.

“Great…Should we start?” Liam didn’t get anymore warning before Theo was slamming a fist into his face.

It was going to be a long night.

*

“Liam! Liam stop.” Theo growled. His voice muffled to Liam’s ears. Liam went to swing his arm forwards only for it to be caught before it could hit its target. “Liam listen to my voice. We practiced this remember. You gotta calm down.” A rumble reverberated from Liam’s chest as looked down at Gabe. Theo’s heartbeat thundered in his ears, his voice a soothing wave that left Liam’s own heart slowing. “We need him to tell us what they’re planning next.”

“Melissa-”

“I know.” Theo said, voice painfully soft. “But if you want them to pay we need to know where they are, what they’re planning next and he knows.” Liam’s lip curled in a snarl but he gave a short nod, letting Theo pull him away properly. His fingers hot against Liam’s arm.

“What do we do?”

“You. Nothing.” Theo said. “Just stand there and stay calm.”

“And what will you do?”

“Getting information out of people is a skill of mine.” Theo said with a small grin. “I got this.” Liam could still feel his claws itching at his fingertips. He closed his eyes, looking away from Gabe and focusing on the thump of Theo’s heart. He tilted his head in a small nod, letting Theo pull him another step back, fingers squeezing tight around Liam’s biceps for a moment before he was dropping it. Theo’s footsteps clattered across the locker room as he took his position in front of Gabe.

“I’m not telling you anything.” Gabe growled.

“You know you’re right.. To be afraid of the monsters in beacon hills, it’s a good idea, there’s some real bad seeds in this town. But you also have to understand not every monster is really a 'monster’ monster. And the ones you’re hurting, They’re the good guys. Every time something goes wrong in this town they’re the ones fixing it. You don’t have to be scared of them.” Liam’s eyes snapped open as Gabe let out a strangled yelp. Theo had a hand around his throat, he yanked him off the floor until Gabe’s feet were singing, his toes barely touching the floor as the scrambled for purchase, dark claws prickling the skin at his throat. “But me.” Liam watched as Theo grinned, wide and manic before launching Gabe back. Liam flinched as glass shattered, Gabes head connecting hard with the closest mirror. Theo pinned his head against the fractured glass, the copper scent of blood hitting the room. “I’m one of those bad seeds. So maybe you don’t want to tell us. That’s fine because I’m in no way above torture. To be honest, I quite like it.”

“Theo.” Liam warned.

“Go to hell.” Gabe hissed. Theo span him, slamming him back into the glass so this time he was facing them. Theo leant in close, letting out a slow laugh as his fangs elongated and his eyes flashed yellow.

“I’ve already been.” Theo cooed. “You know I learnt a few things.” The hand not locked around Gabe’s throat came up, claws pressing against his chest, over his heart. “Like how to rip out a heart slow enough for you to really feel it.” His claws dug in leaving Gabe whimpering in pain as blood begun to pool around Theo’s fingers. “Or.” Theo pulled his claws back. “You could just tell us what we want to know.”

*

It worked. Theo being his anchor and Liam wasn’t even surprised, terrified yes, but not surprised.

He tried to bury his head in the sand, throwing twisted logic at it. He’d tell himself that it made sense that Theo was his anchor, because Theo knew anger, he knew hate and rage and that was why he could help control Liam in a way no one else could. because he understood in a way no one else did.

But he knew it wasn’t true because Scott had felt the urge to kill too, he’d almost done it before but he’d pulled himself back. No, it wasn’t because other people didn’t understand his rage because they did, in a way, maybe not the true extent of it, the sudden explosions he could feel but they got hatred, they got the petty need for revenge that wasn’t something special about Theo.

He told himself it was just because Theo suggested it but that was so easily thrown out that it was laughable, he remembered the triskelion Derek had tried to get him to use as an anchor. How it hadn’t worked for even a second. Being told something would be your anchor doesn’t work, for it to really keep you in control it needed to be something that truly affected you, something that resonated.

And that was more terrifying, he’d prefer to think that he could be influenced by Theo’s suggestion, that he had some similarities in the 'wanting to murder people’ department as Theo because it was less scary than the truth.

The truth was that he’d seen Theo change, he’d been stuck with him watching as Theo moved along picking up the shreds of his humanity, watching as Theo slowly but surely edged towards redemption. He’d watched Theo learning to care and found himself tripping head first into caring about Theo in turn.

Because Theo was Liam’s anchor in the same way Hayden had been. It wasn’t something forced, or something he chose, it was a natural pull that drew them closer together, that left Liam’s head spinning even as he realised he could control himself better than ever.

He didn’t need a touch, or reassuring words. He just needed Theo standing near him, needed the low tenor of his voice as he called him an idiot and basically egged him on and somehow, somehow it still made him step back, made his claws recede and his heartbeat slow.

Theo had changed and Liam hated that each time he witnessed it, it would make his heart leap.

*

It all ended in the school, Liam thought he should at least pretend to be surprised about it but he wasn’t. Everything bad seemed to happen in the school. It was fast and bloody, the kind of fight that left Liam wondering if they really were the good guys when he looked at the mess of bodies around. At least none of them had been because of him. Peter and Argent had been the ones doing the killing.

And Theo hadn’t. Theo hadn’t even tried and that left Liam feeling sick because no one would have blamed him at this point for killing a human or two. Not when there was wolfs bane itching in the air and their friends were being shot at. They would have accepted it. Maybe not really liked it but they wouldn’t say anything. They’d come too far, in a war there were going to be casualties.

The fighting was over.

Theo turned and walked out of the library as the silent buzz of adrenaline begun to wear off, as the McCall pack begun to celebrate, it was morose and quiet, with tight hugs and relieved sighs but a celebration none the less. One that Theo apparently knew full well no one would really want him around for.

Theo was the tide and Liam was a wave helpless but to follow. Theo stopped once they were out of earshot. There was a time when Liam would have hated it, to be out of hearing range in the dark school with Theo. He’d have been terrified, or worried he’d snap and kill him, worried he’d enjoy doing it, but now, now he felt the tension of weeks of fighting draining from his shoulders as Theo turned to look at him, brow draw as he opened his mouth, no doubt to ask why Liam was him rather than with his pack.

“You’re my anchor.” Liam blurted. Theo’s eyebrow climbed up his forehead, a smirk twisting at his lips.

“I know. I suggested it.” Theo said slowly. Liam glowered as Theo looked at him like he was a moron. “Don’t worry. I told you I’d help you figure out something else once the fight was over and I still will but-

“No. I mean. You’re my anchor.” Liam said softly, imploring Theo to understand feet drawing him in slow steps closer.

“Again, I suggested it.” Theo said. Liam let out a groan. Why? why did this have to be who he liked?

“I don’t mean that.” Liam said hotly.

“Then what do you mean?”

“Look I get you’re into British repression but could you at least attempt to understand how emotions work.” Liam snapped. Theo flinched back and Liam winced, perhaps insulting him wasn’t the best way to go about this. “I..I like being near you, it calms me down. You keep me human.”

“Right. Like an anchor is supposed to.” Theo said.

“I LIKE YOU! YOU DUMBASS!” Liam roared. So much for not insulting him. Theo blinked at him, eyes wide. “You’re my anchor, not just my, I need someone to keep me in control, anchor but my anchor anchor, like Stiles was to Malia. The kind that if anything happened to you I’d lose my freaking mind.” Liam’s heart was racing in his chest.

“You..like me? As in-” Theo started.

“Yes as in that.” Liam said, crossing his arms trying to ignore the embarrassment flooding through him.

“Why?” Theo said defensively.

“What? What do you mean why?”

“I mean why the hell would you do that? Are you an idiot?” Theo snapped, stalking forwards and shoving Liam hard.

“Do you not like me back?” Liam asked. Heat flooding his cheeks the moment the words left his mouth. Theo rolled his eyes dramatically.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t!” Theo huffed. “But you’re not meant to like me back. I’ve been trying to help you not make dumbass decisions and then you pull this?”

“Are..Are you annoyed that I like you..because you like me?” Liam said, stunned.

“Yes! Dammit, Liam, I’ve manipulated you and tried to get you to kill your alpha and when that failed I did kill him! You sent me to hell because of everything I did to you and your friends and you have a crush on me? What kind of idiot does that?”

“You’ve changed!” Liam snapped. “I wouldn’t like you if I still thought you were the same person you were back then, give me a little bit of credit. And you’re calling me an idiot? You’re the idiot you should be happy that it’s mutual not scolding me!”

“It shouldn’t be mutual! You should make better choices.” Theo said, a disappointed scowl on his face. Liam

“Are you..is this you rejecting me?” Liam asked.

“No.” Theo snorted.

“You just said I should make better choices.” Liam parroted. Mind reeling, how was Theo his anchor, the person who kept him grounded and thinking straight when he was the most confusing and infuriating person he’d ever met.

“You should! because I’m not the kind of guy who’s actually going to put himself out so you can make them.” Theo hissed.

“Wha-” Liam flailed as Theo shoved him up against the lockers making them ring out through the hall. Theo’s lips pressed on his, fast and hungry leaving Liam’s heart stuttering in his chest, his hands clawing out for something to hold onto. Theo pulled back as Liam tried to return the kiss, a hand pressed against his chest to stop him from chasing it like he wanted to.

“You’re such an idiot.” Theo growled. Anger seeping off of him.

“I’m so confused.” Liam said honestly. Theo rolled his eyes before he was yanking Liam back in for another kiss, this time he let Liam return it.

[kimnamjelly-blog]

Thicker Than the Water of the Womb

Write a self para about your character of at least 1800 {total is 2684} words about their love life and/or their wished for love life.  {a day late but i’m not trying to qualify so eh}

Peaches irreparably reminded him of Ares—from that first day he spoke to him, the first time he dipped down to touch lips and tasted traces of homemade peach ice cream left from it, falling asleep during his lessons under the peach trees... There was a tendency for the three of them to compare Ares to an angel. In some ways it was a joke, because no people knew better than them what Ares could be like, but it was also hopelessly genuine. Peaches and angelic smiles. That full-body laughter that made Namjoon’s heart ache like it’s too small to hold so much warmth. Those looks Ares gave him sometimes, like he was the whole world in some ways, and Namjoon was sure, absolutely sure, that he would die for him. Maybe die because of him.

Jazz was a king, the gentlest man, the youngest, silently still, soft stars. He was more than skin and scars and tattoos could contain. Meeting him was a fluke, and inarguably a brilliant blip in time. Those deviations persisted until he could feel harmonies singing under his blood. Jazz was his strength in ways he could never imagine, given that he saw him a few days a week past midnight like the universe’s most beautiful, captured dream. He imagined his fingers interlocked with his when he hadn’t quite learned for himself what steady hands were, and Jazz’s were the steadiest. There were fences he didn’t realize he could climb until Jazz was on the other side, asking him whether he had the strength to come along. He did, he found out, and wanted that love that didn’t leave him gripping the edge of the sink and sobbing. That love that was tucked into the soft smile Jazz got, that forgave him for things Namjoon hadn’t even gotten to yet, that asked him questions and sought answers he hadn’t realized were worth giving. Where Ares was still yet an unreachable seraphim, Jazz was tangible and more than enough. More than enough to realize his perspective on support and smiles was completely wrong. Love wasn’t a fluke like first meetings could be, it wasn’t an act of providence, it wasn’t just in passerby or just the local angel. It was close by and steady as a rock, even when its cracks showed.

There were laws in order that suggested when paths intertwined too many times without meaning, the world would conspire to make them meet. Burned cheeks under layers and layers of sunscreen, hands awash in painted rainbows like a gay pride parade, and the distinct memory of laughter caught under his tongue and an earnestness to know. There was a humor to Hazel that was aglow in the boniness of his arms, defiance and strength met head-on that had seen things Namjoon simply hadn’t yet. In so many ways, Namjoon yearned to be loved. He asked it of Hazel, and somewhere, somehow, he’d given it over because he was gentler than Jazz and sweeter than Ares under his bruised, grumbling eyes. He could have met him amongst honey bees, or under Jongup’s steady hands and ink, but he met him alone, surrounded by sunlight and brick and an almost-toppled glass of water. For a time, he was most afraid of failing him, of being less than Hazel had imagined him to be—especially when he had a moat, a cave, a whole decrepit childhood castle of worthlessness and injury—but somewhere, somehow, he realized he’d failed to see Hazel as so, so, so human. And that’s when he fell in love, sitting at the apartment table across the room and doing nothing. Nothing of import.

They’d snuck into his heart like he’d never had walls there in the first place, and he was pretty sure he’d let them. If there had been a fight, they bore no bruises. No stretch marks (no, he’d been to slow for that). Just him trying to remember when, exactly, he’d given them the key to the front gate one by one, and how they managed to see him broken and bleeding and bruised and sobbing and still wanted him.

Calling it a miracle wouldn’t do them justice.

Eventually, they’d find and ask about the journal he’d forgotten about, with entries so old his handwriting was not only chicken scratch but almost completely illegible. But they wouldn’t know about its companion for some time, and Namjoon kind of preferred it that way. It wasn’t that it was filled with horrors and nightmares. It was, in fact, the first’s exact opposite. Writing out all the bad things to make sense of them was nice in theory, but once the pages started being filled deep into the latter half of a hundred, the negativity was overwhelming. So he’d been given a second journal where the first twenty-three pages were in smudged lilac pen and the rest would make do in varying shades of purple. Most of the lilac pages were crowded with Kijung, sometimes Kitae or Jiha, and he’d memorized the pages where his parents had made it in so he never had to read them until he was ready.

But around when the magenta fountain pen had started being used, and what was Korean turned into shaky English, there were mentions of Ares. Right when the violet pen started running out came Jazz, and with the pinky-lavender was Hazel. He had a vague idea of what he was doing when he wrote about them, harboring a suspicion that if he looked back on these things he’d want to hide this journal both from himself and somewhere deep where no else one could find it either.

So he usually wrote with as much maturity as he could muster for the sake of whatever future self decided to self-inflict embarrassment, but still things like, “He’s so cute I’m going to vomit” made it in there. Luckily, given most contexts, he couldn’t really blame himself. It was still relatable and applicable and probably always would be.

2011/8/8

Didn’t mean to not write for so long. Hyunja locked me out of our room. The roof is better than sleeping next to him, anyway. There are some really bright stars even with all the street lamps on. Maybe I can sneak out to visit the library? To look up constellation names or something. Kinda need sleep, though, and the shingles aren’t exactly God’s best mattress. Work was gross today (temperature was in the high thirties and I wanted to peel my skin off), but the peaches are really pretty. They get this kinda reddish color. I expected them to be lighter for some reason. More pinkish. I met Park Jimin yesterday. He’s younger than me, I think? I was really embarrassing, but he made me smile. Some guy was being dumb and Jimin-ah punched him. I’d let him punch me, too. If he wanted. Forcing me to take credit for the peaches he picked was as close as I’ll get, though, probably. Equally as humbling. I was kind of thinking of his ears the whole time because I said some stupid things (I didn’t really expect him to speak Korean, actually, which I guess was pretty stupid of me) but he also has nice ears. If he blushes they go more pink than the peaches. The whole of him is really nice though. And I mean whole. He punched someone but I would have, too, if I were him, and he’s really nice. About as nice as his parents, so I guess it runs in families, huh? Gotta wonder about me, then. But if Jimin-ah liked me okay, I must be nice enough, too. (Consensus: “nice” is the word of the day) Remember when I said I thought maybe I could be gay? He was really cute. I wonder if he’s okay being called that? It’s probably not better to call him pretty, but. Yeah. It’ll be nice to have someone to talk to if I see him again.

2011/8/9

On a scale of petty, where would I lie for locking Hyunja out of our room? Just hypothetically, really. I don’t feel like getting scalped today. Or ever. Update: Jimin-ah’s laugh just about killed me today. He still hasn’t punched me, but I’m waiting. It’s an open (unspoken) invitation. For the record, he did laugh that first day but I was kinda distracted by how embarrassed I was to be me. Existence is a real struggle. I’m fully prepared for this crush. But he’s not too distracting, which is nice. I mean, he’s distracting if he can be distracting, but I’m still getting plenty of work done. Accidentally broke some shit today and was ignored, which is better than literally any realistic alternative.

[...]

2011/9/3

Hey, America? English sucks. Kim Namjoon Kim Namjoon Kim Namjoon Kim Namjoon Park Jimin Park Jimin Park Jimin. He has good p a handriting. That looks wrong. I didn’t He’s really, really nice. I think noona would have liked him? I miss It was cooler out today because it rained last night. Grass grows really fast. There’s already some green everywhere, so I hope it rains again (even if I can’t go out at night). I miss the flowers.

[...]

2011/12/20

Somehow no one has noticed I d have my ears pierced. It has been more than two weeks. Eiht Eighteen days. They said six to eight weeks, so I will listen to them. My ears feel okay, though. It will be worth the money to buy earrings. Small circles? Hoops. If Hyunja sees them, I think he will rip them out, but I have been sleeping out on the roof again. I forgot the word, sorry. I was right. Jimin looks nice. I do not know how to describe him. Not in English, but I promised I would practice. Verb tenses are worst. Writing this has taken a long time. He looks at me sometimes and I do not think it. I freeze up and want to cry kind of. I have to leave this job soon, though, and I do not want to. I will miss the peaches. Jimin goes to the same high school as me. I will not miss him as much. Because of him I am far in my English classes even though it is not my language, but it still takes time to read assignments. I do not have a lot of time. The CHSPE does not need good grades before though. I will do my best.

[...]

10/21/2012

I still think America writes their dates... stupidly. I just took the CHSPE and I’m sending Jimin kisses for all he’s done for me (like I’ll ever kiss him aha). And my English teachers, of course. The test didn’t go so bad, but it’s hard to tell until we get the results back. I have to wait for those and pretend like someone’s not going to have my hide if I end up failing. The math was easiest, but I feel an okay sort of confident. It still sucks not having any classes with Jimin, but I never have. Also, Halloween still makes me laugh. If Hyunja goes to answer the door this year I’ll hit him with a frying pan. He can keep his gross hands off of the children dressed like Darth Vader and stuff. They’re so little every year oh my god. I mean I have my nieces and nephews but it’s different. Plus mine don’t dress up like Snow White, you know?

[...]

2/28/2013

okay okay okay okay I’m so gay it hurts. I’m okay.

So I met someone on one of my midnight things. It was the frozens section and I was embarrassing as usual but oh my god he had the cutest smile and I’m still hurting. His name is Moon Jongup, which I’m writing down so I don’t make a fool of myself when I see him again. I had to show him something so I asked him to find me on the street off of where I went when I was avoiding the dead body in our room. Which is morbid I guess but the place is really pretty, and it’s not like I’m going to tell him why I went there? I hope he likes it. It’s far enough from home that we should be okay. I wasn’t really thinking when I asked and now I’m really nervous. But what’s done is done and I’ll meet him. Bring a book, maybe, just in case he doesn’t show up. Which would make sense. I’m reading a really good book right now. I’ve been reading it for ages, though, so it’ll be nice to have an excuse to maybe get past chapter seven. I haven’t seen Jimin a lot lately, but sometimes he’ll drag me to sit with him at lunch if he finds me cleaning. Someone should tell him he’s beautiful since I’m in too deep to properly do it. He might hear it all the time, actually, but telling someone their appearance is beautiful is different than telling someone their personality is beautiful, you know? I’m usually really tired by lunchtime because I don’t know what sleep means, but he brightens my day if he’s there.

3/3/2013

So I had another gay awakening with Jongup, right? But that’s kind of whatever, because he’s just really easy to talk to. And that’s better than any gay awakening. We have to keep agreeing to meet each other because he doesn’t have a phone (he’s younger than me, which like wow. Where does he get off looking like that at 15? That feels really young, by the way, but only when I realize I’m 16, which still doesn’t feel real). He told me about constellations. We didn’t end up waiting for sunrise because the sky was cloudless and those sunrises are kind of boring, but it was a really nice night to look at the stars, and he seems really passionate about those. It suits his family name really well. Also, he has a few tattoos already and I know not to ask about them, but he’s kind of amazing. For making decisions like that already, and they’re really good looking. They’re just these small details, and I obviously can’t know if the ones I’ve seen are all he has visible because it’s cold as balls at night still and long sleeves are a survival measure, but yeah. They look good on him.

[...]

8/19/2014

I told Jongup about the artist who’s painting the side of the restaurant, and even if I didn’t make the artist laugh, I made Jongup laugh. So I’ll settle. Which yeah by the way, there’s an artist painting the side of the restaurant. Because I think there was some miscommunication about lunch, I ended up giving him some of mine. I don’t know the details, but it was super gross outside, so I figured he’d want something. Water and stuff. His art is really beautiful. He was painting this lily when I went out to talk to him first and... I guess I wouldn’t peg him as someone who paints flowers, but it’s really beautiful so far. I can’t wait to see it finished. Also, I hope he doesn’t get heatstroke. If I had a standup umbrella or something I’d bring it for him. Think I can make him smile? It’s gonna be a feat when it looks like he’s been running on two hours of sleep and has been sitting out in the sun for hours on end, but I kind of want to see it.

[...]

13/19/2014

GUESS WHO MADE HIM SMILE. It took fucking forever and he’s just about done with his mural but hey guess what. It’s really cute. Turns out grumpy artists paint the best flowers and have the best smiles. I gotta go but I had to make that announcement at least. Bye!

[dragonbagel]

everything is not what it seems

part one: it’s gonna take some time to realize

new rhack fic woo! angsty af. inspired by @bird--butt ‘s ideas.

summary: rhys and jack are kidnapped while doing work on pandora by some weird aliens. real x-files type of shit. but at least they're together, right?

Rhys groaned as the room around him slowly came into view, pale blues and oranges still harsh to his bleary eyes. "Where am I?" he asked groggily, rubbing at his sore jaw. "I think you mean 'where are we’, right pumpkin?" "Jack?" Rhys asked, his relieved jerk of the head sending a jolt of pain down his spine. He tried to massage his neck with his left arm, but his movements felt sloppy and uncoordinated. "Take it easy, kiddo," Jack said, giving Rhys a sympathetic smile. He was laying awkwardly on the floor, his limbs randomly splayed out. Rhys was too, he now realized, the soft feeling of carpet slowly registered against his numb skin. "They knocked us out real good."

"Who?" Rhys squinted, trying to make sense of the strange patterns he could now see swirling across the ceiling. "You don't remember?" Jack chuckled, and Rhys shot him a look. "We were on Pandora looking for Eridian tech, and this giant ship came out of nowhere. Shit was straight out of Star Wars! They tried to capture us, I protected you like a hero, then they brought out a big-ass gun, blah blah blah, and here we are." "Oh." That didn't sound quite right to Rhys, but what did he know? He could barely remember what he'd eaten for breakfast, much less what had happened before being drugged and kidnapped. Besides, an alien abduction (which, now that he thought about it, sounded way too lame for the gravity of the situation) wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to have happened to him. "So what do we do now?" Jack stared at Rhys like he'd just asked what number came after two. "We wait." "We wait?" Rhys repeated, dumbfounded. Jack had been kidnapped a horrifically anxiety-inducing amount of times, so surely he had some sort of tried-and-true escape plan that would get them out of there. "That's-- that's it?" Jack nodded. "Gotta figure out what they want. Plus," he said, grunting as he slowly pushed himself to stand. "They've got this whole sweet-ass setup going on here." Rhys to clumsily stumbled to his feet to his feet after him, finding that Jack was not wrong in any capacity. The room was fairly large, complete with a miniature kitchen, television, and small bathroom. It also had two beds, which made Rhys roll his eyes; were gay aliens not a thing? "I guess it is sort of like a free vacation," Rhys said, offering Jack a smile and a shrug. He wasn't about to go freak out and look like a wimp in front of his boyfriend (and hero). "Hope they've got the Spanish channel," Jack said, already moving to grab the remote. "I don't have time to catch up on my telenovelas again." Rhys laughed, reassuring himself yet again that things were going to be okay. Jack was here. Jack knew what to do. He might as well go along and enjoy himself. His legs still felt jelly-like, so he sank onto the bed closest to him (he didn't flop like a fish, nobody had proof he flopped like a fish). The blankets felt strange yet soft, and he let his eyes slide closed. He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until Jack called his name, gesturing excitedly to the television he’d managed to turn on.

“Look! They have ‘Tres Veces Ana’!”

“That’s nice, Jack,” Rhys grumbled, rolling over onto his side. Rhys’ only Spanish knowledge was the colorful vocab he’d picked up from Jack’s dirty talk, and he had no shortage of requests to “please watch a normal English show on Netflix for once instead of Univision I’m begging you.”

“It is,” Jack agreed, plopping down onto the other tiny bed. His eyes were trained on the TV in front of him, but they’d flick over to Rhys every so often.

Rhys didn’t know what to make of it. How the hell was Jack so calm about all this? He’d been nabbed a few times himself, but never kept in anywhere other than a rusty cage or disgusting bandit stronghold. This place was like a goddamn hotel suite, the kind with fancy room service and everything. The whole situation was putting him on edge, and he desperately wanted Jack to do something, anything , to get them out of this mess.

But Rhys was afraid to interrupt the cries of “¡mi hermana!” and “¡traidora!”, afraid to admit to Jack that he was scared and weak and all the other insecurities he kept bottled up and buried deep, deep within himself.

Instead, he opted for a distraction he knew Jack couldn’t refuse. “Is there any food in this place or what?”

Predictable as ever, Jack bounced off the bed and into the kitchen, opening and closing various cupboards in search of sustenance. “Holy shit, pumpkin! You’re never gonna believe this!”

Rhys sat up in excitement, limbs now more under his control as he looked happily at what was probably either ice cream or pizza or maybe even both.

It was ramen.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Rhys groaned, recognizing the bright red packaging that had haunted his nightmares since college.

“Isn’t it great?” Jack laughed, tossing the package to Rhys and hitting him in the chest.

Rhys glowered. The stupid noodles even had the audacity to be shrimp-flavored, which was a whole new level of disgusting. “No, it most definitely is not great.”

That only made Jack laugh harder, since watching Rhys suffer was one of his favorite pastimes. Seriously, that stupid look he got on his face when he tried to look intimidating was comedy gold.

Rhys really was hungry, however, so he finally relented and made the ramen (or, more specifically, made Jack make the ramen). As he slurped down the cringe-worthy meal, he noticed Jack wasn’t eating anything. Which was weird, because Jack was always eating something, even when he was in the middle of killing someone for spilling their coffee on him.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Rhys asked around a mouthful of noodles.

Jack shook his head. “Nah, I ate before these assholes pulled an X-Files move on us.”

Rhys shrugged, although he didn’t really buy the excuse. Maybe Jack was more shaken up than he was letting on.

“Alright, well, you can go back to watching your stupid Spanish shows now. I’m going to sleep.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself, old man.”

Rhys fell back into unconsciousness with the sound of a car crash echoing in his ears.

Stupid fucking telenovelas.

Rhys awoke an indeterminate amount of time later in hopes that the whole ordeal with the ramen and the Spanish channel and, oh yeah, the fucking aliens had been nothing more than a freaky alcohol-induced nightmare. But when he saw the weird pastel color scheme and smooth, doorless walls, he knew this wasn’t over just yet.

He forced himself to sit up, finding Jack dozing in the other bed. He rolled his eyes, then started to boot up his ECHOeye; just because Jack didn’t want to be proactive didn’t mean Rhys couldn’t be. Of course, it was just his luck that the damn thing wasn’t working. He could turn it on, but a scrambled signal burst through his brain like the physical embodiment of loud static and he had to quickly shut it down. His cybernetic arm was just as useless. It still functioned as a regular arm, but none of its capabilities seemed to work beyond that. Which meant no hacking, no calling for help, and no new information. He was back to square one again.

Investigating the room seemed like the next best idea, especially now that the drugs he’d been doped with had mostly worn off. He liked to watch old prison escape movies, okay? It wasn’t the worst hobby one could have (Exhibit A being either Jack’s Univision addiction or Vaughn’s illogical love of going to the gym).

The kitchen was stocked with nothing but ramen and some cans of Diet Pepsi, yet another abomination spitting in the face of god. Couldn’t they at least get some actual food? He’d even settle for a simple cup of coffee, as he could feel a caffeine headache settling in. Rummaging through the few drawers didn’t yield any nail files, scissors, or even spoons that could be used to orchestrate some sort of grand escape.

Sighing and rubbing his temples, he moved on to check out the bathroom. It was literally just that: A toilet and matching sink that looked like they came out of a mid-20th century public school. There wasn’t even a shower; Rhys shuddered at what his hair was going to look like by just the second day. Was it already the second day? The overhead lights hadn’t dimmed since he’d first woken up, and without his ECHOeye or a wall clock to reference, any concept of time was thrown out the window alongside his regimented beauty routine.

He couldn’t find anything else in the room aside from the beds (which were bolted to the floor) and the TV. He supposed the TV would at least keep him from dying from boredom, but he’d lose his mind if he had to watch trashy soap operas in a language he didn’t understand all day. He also didn’t know where the remote was, and he doubted Jack would actually tell him. That would definitely be an argument for later.

Restless, he took to pacing around the small room, counting how many steps it took to go from one end to the other (25) and if he could touch the ceiling if he stood on the bed (the answer was yes). He watched Jack sleep for awhile, a behavior that he didn’t know whether to categorize as creepy or endearing. His mask was on, the synthetic skin slightly lighter than his naturally bronze body; it made him look peaceful, a look which rarely graced his features in consciousness.

It was calming, really, listening to Jack sleep. He was laying on his back, arms at his sides like a corpse, chest slowly rising as he breathed.

Rhys blinked, suddenly snapped out of his pleasant daze. There was a reason he didn’t watch Jack sleep: He snored like a freaking chainsaw, which was the very opposite of calming.

Had the aliens put some sort of miracle in the drugs they’d used to snatch them? If that was the case, Rhys desperately wanted to get his hands on it, willing to pay virtually anything for a bottle so that he didn’t have to sleep with heavy duty earplugs every night. More desperately, however, Rhys wanted to know what the hell was going on. This wasn’t normal. None of it was normal. He needed to talk to Jack, to come up with a plan together.

He gently shook Jack’s shoulder in an attempt to rouse him, the gray jacket the captors had forced both of them to wear feeling strange under his touch. Jack nudged his hand away as he opened his eyes with a groan, fixing Rhys with a tired look.

“I was sleeping,” he said flatly.

“Yeah, uh, I know,” Rhys said, his tone nervous. “It was just, y’know, too quiet, and I, well, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Quiet?” Jack repeated, pointing towards the still-running TV.

Rhys shook his head. “You weren’t snoring, and it was weird, and this whole thing is freaking me out and--”

“Alright, alright,” Jack said, holding up his hands in defeat. “Let’s talk, cupcake.”

Rhys sighed in relief, sinking down to sit next to Jack on the bed. “What are we supposed to do?”

“We’re waiting,” Jack said. “I told you that before.”

“But why?” Rhys said with a frown. “Don’t you want to get out of here?”

“I told you, we’re waiting!” Jack hissed, glaring as Rhys flinched. “Can’t you just listen to me for once?”

Rhys bit his lip, not wanting to dig his own grave after pissing off a clearly tired Jack.

“Come on, kitten. Let’s get some rest.”

Rhys sighed and obliged, crawling back over to the other bed as his mind reeled. He was confused, and angry, and hungry, and yeah, he was also feeling pretty hurt. But he couldn’t vocalize any of it, not now. And he definitely couldn’t “get some rest” after what had just happened. So he simply watched Jack lay on his back, not really having moved from before, as he the other man slipped back to sleep.

This time, Jack began to snore.

[munchkinxcop-blog]

Lacey

It was the second birthday that she was spending without her ex-wife. The last two years had been hell for the mother of the three young children. She was frustrated with the feeling of loneliness. The constant empty feeling was something that relentlessly ate her soul. Lacey understood that she was loved by her family; her children, Taylor but she missed the comfort of a lover. She was empty without the unity, without the partnership, without the mutual love. Romance was something she craved and she hated that it defined so much of her life. The blonde had much success but felt like it wasn't worth a thing without having someone to share it with. She hated the vulnerable feeling so she decided she was going to remedy it by taking a trip to see her friend Erin in Chicago for her birthday. It was going to be a few days but it was something she felt she needed. Erin was her sense of logical thinking, and someone she trusted with her whole heart. The detective was full of solid advice and one of the best sounding boards she knew. Lacey was eager to catch up with her and get to know the latest on her life as well as tell her about her own. This was the productive solution to remedy the endless loneliness she was facing.

After careful planning, Lacey was all set and ready to go. She was spending the Sunday before her birthday with Taylor and the kids and football and leaving that night. She knew that her family wasn't thrilled with her decision but she needed the break. Football and family time came to an end and Lacey began her temporary goodbyes. Both of her girls got upset. It broke the blonde's heart to see and tell them that she wouldn't be able to spend her birthday with him but as much as she was a mother she was a woman that needed to heal her own heart. After apologizing to Taylor for leaving him with such a mess, she got into her truck that was already complete with her bags and headed to Los Angeles International Airport. Next stop, Chicago O'Haire Airport. This was needed is what she kept telling herself. It was the only way she was getting through the guilty feeling of leaving her children behind on such a notable day.

“Ladies and Gentleman, thank you for flying with Jet Blue, we'd like to welcome you to Chicago. The time now is 9:00pm. Please remember all of your belongings and exit in a safe and timely manner.”

Four hours and one minute later, Lacey had arrived in Chicago. The hour was already late so she didn't want to chance bothering Erin. Pulling out her iPhone, she found a hotel on her travel app and took a cab to get settled. Once she was checked in and settled, she decided to at least text the Detective. “Hi girl! I just got to Chicago, I found a hotel close by in case you were working and busy. I'll see you tomorrow! Xo,” she wrote before hitting send and laying comfortably in the king sized. The alone time felt shockingly peaceful.

Erin

When Erin and Lacey made plans for Lacey to come for her birthday, Erin was ecstatic.  Their friendship had surprised Erin in a world where very little seemed to.  Erin wasn’t very good at the female friend thing, finding females to be more catty than anything.  She’d always done better with the boys instead, even when it came to friendship.  There was just something that normally happened when women got together and it just wasn’t something of interest to Erin.  She didn’t have time for the jealousy or the antics of pitting women against other women.  So she simply always steered the other way.  But there was something about Lacey that wouldn’t allow it.  Lacey never came off to Erin like the others.  Lacey was different.  Supportive, kind, and a voice of reason, which more times than not Erin needed from her as much as it seemed Lacey needed it from her.

The day Lacey was to arrive, Erin was all set to be off, ready and waiting for her friend’s arrival.  But when there are plans, there are things that will change plans.  It was midnight before Erin saw the text message.  An eighteen hour day working a case that would shatter the hearts of everyone on the team.  Once she and C.J. headed out of the district, Erin drew her phone from her chest, finding Lacey’s text on it.  She grumbled a complaint, having gotten so wrapped in work that she completely forgot that today was the day of Lacey’s arrival.  <i>Hey, babe.  Just got off work.  I’m going to try to sleep a few hours and I’ll see you first thing in the morning.  Coffee around 9?</i>  Erin sent the text, instantly switching to her alarm app to set alarms for 7:30, allowing her enough time to get from the home she shared with C.J. to the hotel to meet Lacey.

The next morning, the detective woke early, minutes before the alarm sounded.  She reached over, turning off the alarm before it rang, then turned back into C.J.  “I gotta get up.  Lacey’s in town.”  She explained, to which she was met with a kiss and a swat to her ass, something mused her direction on how she better get a move on.  The relationship between them had taken Erin by surprise, perhaps more than her friendship with Lacey had.  She couldn’t have asked for a better man to share her life with.  This was what she wanted for Lacey too.  If anyone deserved it, it was Lacey.

A half hour later, Erin was slipping out the front door of the house as quietly as possible.  It was rare for J.J. and Bash to sleep in, yet this morning, she was the only sound moving through the house.  Successfully getting out of the door, she headed out towards downtown Chicago, imagining Lacey had probably booked where she normally did, a few minutes from the district.  It was a twenty minute drive from the area of Chicago where the Luciano home was.  When she breeched those lines into downtown, she withdrew her phone, calling Lacey as she headed to the standard hotel, though not positive where Lacey had booked yet.  When the phone connected, Erin couldn’t help but smile through the phone.

“Laceyyyy.”  She laughed, shaking her head, clearly excited for a girl’s day for her friend’s birthday.  “Happy Birthday, hun!  I’m heading your way!  Where are you staying this time?”  She asked, making the turn into the hotel parking where Lacey ordinarily seemed to book, waiting to find out if her gut was right.

Lacey

Due to the late hour Lacey didn’t expect miracles when it came to her arrival. In the business in which Erin was in, Lacey knew that work would have to come first even if they made their plans already. Being a detective was a 24/7/365 endeavor and it was something Lacey understood completely. Luckily, Chicago wasn’t a foreign city to the blonde. The Tiny Dancer had made many a trips to the Windy City in her time. First, it was to see her best friend Jagger Matthews and now more recently to spend time with Erin. It wasn’t a likely occurrence to meet people let alone someone to consider a good friend in a cemetery but somehow they managed it. Ever since that day, the pair of ladies found themselves in each other’s highest of graces. Texts, calls, e-mails and now the occasional visits were all the foundation of their rock solid friendship they carried on with today. Lacey was relieved to have such a source of sanity away from Los Angeles. She loved her hometown but the kind of people within its lines weren’t always the most logical or selfless for that matter. It was hard to make friends in a town full of people out for themselves and a town that was swarmed by the entertainment industry.

Eventually once Lacey got settled in with her things, she made herself a cup of tea and drifted off to sleep not even hearing Erin’s text when she got off of work. The late Chicago evening brightened into the early crisp Chicago morning. The blonde awoke feeling rested for the first time in a few weeks. She was excited to greet the day and spend time with her dearest friend. Pouring herself some coffee, she turned on the news for the weather and local area happenings and relaxed for a few minutes before getting herself ready for the day. Like clock work, her phone went off and she spotted the texts from Erin signaling she was on her way.

“Coffee sounds awesome!” she replied, laughing at her caffeine indulgences. She was on vacation, it was totally allowed. That’s what she was telling herself, at least. Hopping in a fast shower, she got cleaned up and dressed and waited to hear from Erin. Her final ensemble was a simple one; a long sleeved purple t-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans. It was nice to be out of work clothes for a change and a more casual attire for the day. The phone began to a few minutes before 9 AM. Answering her iPhone, she smiled bright. “Thaaaaank you!!” she replied with a laugh. Erin’s high energy was contagious this morning and something she appreciated very much so. “Same hotel as usual,” she confirmed. “Are you close by?” she wondered. These next few days were so needed for the dancer. The lonely months had taken their toll so she needed the recharge with her very own voice of logic.

Erin

Erin had been in work and family mode for so long now, adjusting to life living with two boys, C.J., and C.J.’s mother.  This meant very little time when she was completely alone, which is what her life looked like before the tailspin of events that landed her in the Luciano home permanently.  She wouldn’t trade it for the world, but some time alone with Lacey sounded like perfection.  As Lacey asked if she was close, she was already pulling up into the guest parking area.  “You could say that.”  She teased as she shut her car door and started that walk towards the lobby entrance of the hotel.  She was greeted with a good morning from the concierge at the door, to which she returned with a brilliant smile that was only ever present anymore when she was off duty.

“I’m in the lobby, so when you are ready, I’ll meet you down here and then we need coffee, like pronto.”  A laugh was there to follow, as normally by this time she was already on her third cup, but this being a day off, the bed was her friend for longer than usual, then she was out the door to meet Lacey, so there had been no time to grab her first cup, let alone her third.   “I’ll see you in a few.  Take your time!”  Erin concluded as she hung up the phone, tucking it away into her pocket as she awaited Lacey’s arrival off the elevator.

In the meantime, Erin found a seat in one of the overstuffed chairs, taking a seat and crossing her legs across one another.  She didn’t blame Lacey for always choosing to stay in this location.  It was convenient to the city, yet held a charm within its walls.  It was this very hotel that she and C.J. had found to be their staycation location, finding an oasis of peace and quiet for the two of them in this very location on two different occasions throughout the long summer.  The first, after the Annual Gala held for the Officers and Detectives.  The second, the weekend about a month before.  She glanced down at the piece of jewelry sitting upon her left hand that had been given to her that night, before they went to this hotel to spend a weekend together, celebrating their engagement.  Each time the elevator doors opened, Erin’s eyes shot in that direction, her anticipation only growing as the two had been apart for quite some time at this point.

When the doors finally opened to reveal Lacey stepping off the elevator, Erin’s smile was the first reaction.  It was an honest and true expression, one that held a light behind her eyes that would tell her friend that she was genuinely happy in all ways at this point in time.  Lacey had seen the downsides to Erin, but this would be an entirely different woman who wasn’t afraid of the future, or settling down, or failing.  This was a genuinely happy and confident woman before her, rising from her seat, crossing the vast space from the seating to the elevator to wrap her arms around her dear friend.  “Happy Birthday!!” She exclaimed, though she had already offered such a sentiment over the phone, it just wasn’t enough.

-September 18, 2015