#but yeah. give me a time machine and a baseball bat to beat the shit out of christopher columbus or some other fucking guy

[crunchycrystals]

everyday i mourn the world i could've grown up in without capitalism and colonization

[lunearobservatory]

YOU 🤝 ME in sports hell

sometimes i get so caught up in hockey i forget baseball is another super huge sport in america and the rivalries that come w it… when baseball szn started (i think? idk but like a month ago or so) i was thinking abt how their schedule would just be full of sports. baseball game in the day hockey game in the night no meetings just sports 🦅🇺🇸🇺🇸 basketball somehwere inbetween!!! i love thinking abt how much they care abt their teams and how they act about it its so fun fuck yeah SPORTS 🦅🦅🦅🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

if u hav any specific thoughts about baseball n wttt… i would love to hear ,. ,,..

YEEEEEESSS!!!! YESSS!!!! SPORTS!!! 🦅🦅🦅🇺🇲🇺🇲🇺🇲🇺🇲‼️‼️‼️‼️

Im gonna SPORTS POST omfg. Baseball and baseball thoughts yes ok.

Warning for surprisingly violent baseball content under cut!!

Bro baseball rivalries are INSANE. like SCARY AND INSANE me when. And now i have posted abt it Twice now. The ACTUAL MURDERS that have been linked with team rivalries in california!!!!

And on that note FUCK the dodgers bro. LA can suck my huge redwood sized norcal COCK. fuck OFF. 🖕🖕🖕ong if you want a wild trip, read the giants v. dodgers wiki page. Insane shit!!!!

Like. Players hitting each other with bats.

Which leads me into STATE TALK 🦅🦅🦅🇺🇲🇺🇲🇺🇲‼️‼️‼️

NY keeps a bat on him at all times we know this. Baseball freak. I did MAKE A DUMB POST ACTUALLY WHEN THE YANKEES GOT THEY ASS BEAT LMAO. Also included in that post California losing to himself (padres v. giants)

ANYWAY that's all just stuff I've talked abt before tho!

Yk who else is a baseball freak? Mass. The Yankees-Red Sox rivalry... it made SPORTS NEWS HEADLINES recently that they traded players. It is NEWS that they even THOUGHT to do this. These two are about to give each other several near death experiences!!!

I like to think. They all have. Cute little occasional. Regional baseball games. Heehoo i like statesmen playing Sport i Enjoy. (Canada can come sometimes (the jays r cute i love them))

Ofc the northeast are all bitchy with each other but they're a scary machine. Illinois also EESHH. Washington gets a little scary into it! Mariners fans <3

[arrowflier]

Breaking Shit (before it breaks you)

Here’s scene 2 for yesterday’s comfort!anon:

"I know it doesn't make fucking sense!" Mickey shouts brokenly, voice garbled by the tears he’s frantically trying to wipe away.  "You think I'm doing this shit on purpose, asshole?"

Ian sighs.  "Course not, Mick.  It's just--," he breaks off, biting his lip and considering.

No one would ever argue that Terry Milkovich had been a good man, and it killed Ian to see his husband waste tears on a father that hated him, beat him, and would happily have seen him dead.  A father that had been the driving force behind the vast majority of the obstacles Mickey had faced alone, and the ones they had faced together.  One of the reasons they had fallen apart so many times, back in the beginning.

But clearly, that isn't what Mickey needs to hear now.

So, pushing his own feelings back, Ian switches tactics.

"Come on," he says, turning around to scrounge through their dresser for one of Mickey's signature vests and an old shirt.

"What are you--" Mickey starts, and is interrupted by Ian tossing the clothes at him.  The shirt lands half on his head, covering the streaks of tears on his face, and he claws it off with a scowl, balling it up in his lap.

"Put it on," Ian urges, "and get your ass out of bed.  “You don't stop wailing soon, everyone's gonna think you're going soft."

"You're soft," Mickey grumbles under his breath.  "And I told you, I can't fuckin' help it."

He does as he was bid, though, tugging off his stained sleep shirt and pulling on the new one after a quick sniff check.  He holds out a hand and Ian throws him the deodorant, and a pair of not-quite-dirty jeans off the floor.

"So what'm I gettin' dressed for?" Mickey asks.

"We're going out," Ian answers.  "Find a distraction."

"Yeah?"  Mickey stands up from the bed, using his discarded clothes to wipe his face clean.  The tears had at least stopped for now.

"How're you plannin' to distract me from my dead fuckin dad?"  Mickey attempts to give suggestive eyebrow wriggle, but with his red eyes, it looks more like he’s going to start crying again.

"You'll see," Ian replies vaguely.  "You'll just have to trust me."

---

“Where the fuck are we?” Mickey asks about thirty minutes later.  They’re standing outside a nondescript, warehouse-like building off a run-down side street, and Ian seemed way too happy about it.

“Just come on,” he commands, shoving Mickey toward the door with a hand low on his back.  “Let’s go inside.  You’re gonna love this, Mick.”  He’s practically vibrating with excitement.

Mickey shakes his head at Ian’s enthusiasm, but goes in.

They’re greeted just inside the door by a large man holding a clipboard.  “Gallagher, party of two,” Ian tells him, and the man nods, checking something off.

“Alright, looks like you’ve got our rage room package,” he says cheerily, setting his papers on a counter to the side and grabbing up a mess of protective gear that he thrust into their arms.  Mickey holds up a plastic face shield and stared at it, then stared at Ian.

The sneaky bastard just grins.

They’re led to a cage-like room in the back of the building, filled with vases, fine china, and old electronics set up on pedestals.  Bats and hammers are lined up against the wall, each one scarred from extensive use.

“Alright,” the man says, “you signed the waiver online, so you’re ready to go.  Gear up, you’ve got thirty minutes before we reset for the next group.”

Mickey raises his eyebrows behind the man’s back as he walks away from them.  “I definitely didn’t sign a fuckin’ waiver,” he points out to Ian, who shrugs innocently.

“Might have involved some mild identity theft,” he offers casually, and Mickey snorts.

“Identity theft?” he questions.  “Thought we were goin’ straight, Gallagher.”

Ian smirks.  “Well, it is Mr. Milkovich, now, isn’t it?  Besides,” he adds with a nod to the room, “this is our version of going straight.  No guns, no stolen goods, just us and a bunch of shit we get to break.”

Mickey’s smile is slow, but wide.  “Yeah?” he says lowly.  “Then lets go break some shit.”

Ian gives an awkward whoop that sends Mickey into a fit of giggles--”You’re such a fuckin’ dork, man”--and beelines for the tools.  He picks up a hammer for himself, then pauses to consider the choices before picking out a solid black baseball bat for Mickey and passing it over.

“Suits you,” he offers by way of an explanation.  “Been wanting to see you swing one since you got kicked out of little league.”

“Sure that’s what you wanna see me swingin’?” Mickey teases, tongue between his teeth as he takes it.  He gives it a few experimental swings, feeling it out.  “Could break a leg real good with this,” he muses, and Ian reaches up to catch his next swing in one large palm.

“Why don’t you go break that TV, instead,” he says dryly, nodding at the big-ticket item in the center of the room.

Mickey shrugs, and goes for it.

He takes a good, solid swing, sending the matte-black bat into the side of the TV with a bang.  The plastic side, dark grey and scratched from years of careless use, cracks and pops off, falling to the floor and exposing the guts of the machine.

Mickey breathes.  In.  Out.  

He stares at the broken television, so similar to the one that had been in his own house growing up.  Not his home, he hadn’t had one of those, but the living room of his father’s house where he had tried so hard to live by another man’s rules.

The TV he had been watching the first time Terry hit him for leaving a girly show on too long.  The TV that he had seen Mandy’s reflection in the first time Terry grabbed her a little too hard in the kitchen, stayed a little too close while he drank his fifth beer,  The TV that had been on in the background while he and Ian made out on the sofa for the first time, the one that was too quiet the next morning to hide the sounds his father made when he found them there, together.

He takes another breath.  In.  Out.

Then he releases an embarrassingly loud war cry and swings again, and again, and again, pummeling the thing until it’s all in pieces on the floor. He thinks he might be screaming--”Fuck you Terry, fuck you, you fuckin’ useless piece of shit, see how you like it you goddamn fuckin’ bastard”--but he isn’t sure.  He hits the largest piece one more time, then kicks at the rest, sending plastic fragments scattering over the concrete floor.

When he looks up, Ian is watching him, and for a moment Mickey is worried.  But he doesn’t look scared, or horrified, or even concerned.  He looks almost...proud.

Mickey is panting.  He waits for Ian to say something, but he never does.  He just smiles, picks up his hammer, and smashes a plate.

“That one looked expensive,” he finally says.  “Like something Frank would try to sell.”  He spits on it.  “Fuck you, Frank,” he says to the shattered ceramic pieces, and Mickey starts smiling too.

They have a go at everything in the room, shouting out insults against their fathers, authority figures, and that one punk at the grocery store last week.  They even take their tools to the pedestals themselves, managing to dent the heavy-duty supports, laughing as they almost fall over when their weapons ricochet.

Mickey knows his face is stained with tears, again, but Ian’s is the same.  He feels a weight lift from him that he hadn’t known was there, and as he braces himself for another crack at the pedestal in the center of the room, he smiles.

---

When the man from earlier comes back, it’s to find them holding each other up in the middle of the room, laughing through tears as they look at the sheer destruction surrounding them.

He wisely doesn’t comment on the state of their faces, or the state of the room.  Instead, he just checks that little clipboard, and asks, “Are we ready to move on to the axe throwing?”

Mickey straightens, though he doesn’t pull out of Ian’s hold.  His eyes are wide, and his teeth flash as he grins.  He glances at Ian, who nods with a smile, and then looks back to their host.  

“Fuck yeah, we are,” he confirms.  “Let’s go throw some shit.”

[mother-snake]

grim tales of shadows- pt 1

tags: @idkanameatall @imma-potatoo @girl-with-many-fandoms (ask to join the list!!) words: 4545 warnings: mentions of death, abuseive, sad snek times.

part 2: n/a

-im gonna make it through this year if it kills me-

I broke free on a Saturday morning I put the pedal to the floor Headed north on Mills Avenue And listened to the engine roar

the sky was dark by now. Yellow glowing eyes looked around the city, watching and waiting for anything to appear. “sup dee!” a voice called out from behind.

He rolled his eyes, a smirk from underneath his face scarf. The winter air meant he wanted more warmth. He had always had that issue. “hello to you too Remus,” he chuckled, “I take it you’ve finished your list for the night?” he asked, voice muffled behind the fabric. “of course double dee. You need a hand?” he was asked. “can’t find it... that or its not created yet…” he grumbled.

That was true. He had been out here for several hours looking for the level five monster that was meant to be here. the baseball bat in his hands was held with a vice like grip.

His eyes looked over the blackened small city. Their home. Well… for Remus maybe. As soon as he was able to leave school, he was leaving this place asap. That was for certain. he felt himself focus hard on something fluttering in the distance, “bingo,” he cheered before taking a running start and jumping over to the next building as if it were second nature.

In a way, doing this since you were nine would have that effect. He had indeed died at the age of nine. But fate was… well. It wasn’t cruel. But it wasn’t nice either. he had died too early that day apparently. But his brother died on time.

A house fire was all it had taken. A simple spark from the stove whilst his father slept on the couch. and here he was, fighting monsters that if you told to any sane person would make you seem insane.

The loud roar of something screamed from down below. Inhumane and deafening.

His grin couldn’t get any wider as he saw the beat flap its wings and soar in the sky. it looked like a mantuary. Just with more eyes and sharp sockets filled with teeth. He would need to be careful if he wated to go to school tomorrow. “ready?” he said over to Remus. “you know it double dick!” his friend cheered as he picked up a piece of loose pipping.

My broken house behind me and good things ahead A girl named Cathy wants a little of my time Six cylinders underneath the hood crashing and kicking Ahh, listen to the engine whine

He woke up with a groan. Splayed out on his bed in the same things he had worn the night before. His window was wide open and his baseball bat sat neatly to the side. his wrist screamed in protest as he clenched his hands. he winced at the sudden pain. Just because he couldn’t die didn’t mean he couldn’t injure himself.

Apparently, he was one of the worst out there for getting hurt. he sighed and closed his eyes. Fuck school today, yeah. Nope it wasn’t happening.

He reached down to grab his phone with his good hand and looked at the time. Looks like he missed breakfast. Knowing his dad there wouldn’t be anything to eat until dinner. a thought crossed his mind and he quickly entered an old group chat. Quickly placing a message before flinging himself of the bed.

He was quick to remove his ‘costume’ as they called it. it acted more as protective gear than anything else.

Soon he was in a yellow button up and ripped jeans. His hair covering the left side of his face. he found it strange that despite how long ago he died, he was still the youngest of the group. Just by two years.

The others were either in the near by collage or in part time jobs. But today was a Friday thankfully. No one seemed to have any classes or shifts on that day. So, he was going to skip and meet them where they normally met. The park. but, he did have some spare time and change, so he was also going to get a drink. Most likely a hot chocolate of some form.

He opened his door as quietly as possible and slunk from his room. He took a deep breath as he walked past the living room to see his father passed out, head on the table. he grabbed his set of keys and jacket and left as quick as his feet could carry him. he was going to feel this more than his wrist tonight, but seeing them always made it worth every second.

The apartment building smelled horrid. That’s why he mainly took the window route. But since it was the middle of the day, well… that made things harder without being caught and having neighbour tell his dad. That was the last thing he needed.

He plucked a couple coins from his pocket and smiled. Remus had always been there for him even when his father wasn’t. he wondered what would happen if he told him exactly just when he died. If he would be sympathetic or just ditch him.

He looked up in the air to see a form of someone walking his direction. And he instantly groaned inwards. Roman. That son of a bitch who was somehow related to his best friend. “what the fuck happened last night?” roman growled as he blocked him in the street. “look, things got out of hand alright. We barely got out of there unscathed. Let alone alive,” he growled back. “what level was it?” roman asked his glowing red eyes hidden by a pair of sunglasses. “five. The son of a bitch gave me a level five to deal with alone,” he growled, “now if you don’t mind-“

He stopped as he felt something buzz in his pocket. he felt his face go ghostly pale as he picked it out. “shit…” he muttered.

He glanced up to see roman looking at him confused. “don’t worry. And tell Remus that if I don’t arrive at the park that the old geezer finally left the house,” he stepped past the brunette and continued his way forwards.

A hand grasped his wrist, causing him to let out a yelp of pain. He looked at roman with a scowl and a hiss.

I am going to make it through this year If it kills me I am going to make it through this year If it kills me

He arrived at the café later than he would have liked. But it was alright. He was still on track of time. That was good. His wrist still hurt from romans grasp but he was used to that sort of pain.

He felt himself sigh in relief as the smirk of the barista who knew him all too well came into view, “sup babes, mint or orange today?” Remy asked, lowering his sunglasses revealing normal eyes. “I think orange today,” he said as he brought out the money he needed.

The wait wasn’t too long, the barista being very well known to his order, he had been coming to the ‘beanie place’ for a few years now. it seemed always busy, or at least several tables were filled with people.

He looked up from his phone with a smile as he heard his name being called out. his hot chocolate sat by a cookie. his smile grew ever so slightly more as he picked both of them up and waved goodbye to Remy. He would be back in a few days once he had been able to scrounge around the house.

The cool winter air nipped his fingers as he took a bite out of the cookie. oh, this was just what he needed today.

He stopped in track as he looked down the street to see someone slip into an ally. That was new. and who was that? he had seen many faces around this place. Whoever ‘glasses’ was… well. He was going to find out.

He looked down the one-way street and walked out. slightly immortal, still sustainable to injury, he sighed. That sucked. he snapped his eyes to the ally as he heard trashcans being moved around.

It was at that moment he realised he left his baseball bat at home. Ah well… that was going to be fun.

He took a few steps down the hall before pausing. He knew exactly who it was… “Logan?” he asked. the boy turned around with glowing blue eyes, panicked and fearful. “Janus?” he asked, “yeah its me. I need you to calm down okay? I can explain what’s happening if it helps,” he said kneeling down near the panic-stricken friend.

“explain? How!” “last week, you were in the hospital right? Why?” “i- we went on a fishing trip at the weekend. I almost drowned- “Logan began. “was anyone there?” he asked. “yeah. It was night- we were on the boat and I slipped backwards,” he said, “what’s happening to me?” he cried.

Janus felt his heart break. This was the part he hated the most,” well… to put it simply, you are both dead and alive,” Janus said chuckling. “this isn’t funny!” Logan yelled.

Janus felt himself scowl, “I know. Ie been doing this for years. wait until you have to tell someone they are technically not alive asshole. So, I'm going to say this once and once only,” he growled. “find a weapon. A list will eventually pop up filled with locations. You go there and you kill the things. Got it?” Janus said.

“but I don’t want to- “ “too bad. I didn’t want to either, but you get used to it after a while.” He muttered.

“how did you die?” Logan whispered. “house fire. Simple. My brother didn’t get the chance I did that day, so be thankful you didn’t loose someone,” he stood up, “the others will find you soon. Call roman and explain the situation. He will be able to give you help,” he turned around.

“your hurt- “Logan said as he caught sight of the purple mass on Janus’s arm, “do you normally get hurt?” “its impossible to go a week without a new scar,” he smirked.

I played video games in a drunken haze I was 17 years young Hurt my knuckles punching the machines The taste of scotch rich on my tongue

The park was quiet save for the sound of laughter and squeaking swings swaying in the cool breeze that picked up. he felt his eyes light up as he caught sight of the three grim’s. Orpheus and Virgil swinging as high as possible and Remus on top of the swing set.

“Janus!” Remus cheered as he saw his friend walk towards them with a little haste. “sup Jannie!” Ophie called out, he let go of the swing and fell backwards. Everyone burst out laughing. “good to see your blondie,” Virgil said quieter as he arrived at the side of the swing set. “any reason we are gathered here today?” Remus said.

“there wasn’t before. But there is now…” Janus said. The others knew that tone. “a new grim?” “shadow,” Janus corrected.

“we know them, don’t we?” Ophie muttered rubbing his temples “Logan berry, on the baseball team with me,” Janus confirmed. “aw the guy you have a crush- “Janus slapped a hand over Remus mouth before taking it away after being licked.

“fuck you Remus,” “do it coward,” Remus said before getting a kick in the knee.

“Janus dee ceit!” an angry voice Hollard out, the words ever so slightly slurred together. Shit… he lowered his head slightly before turning to face the others with a smile, “see you guys next week then.” “stay safe- no more getting hurt you hear?” Virgil said sternly.

He rolled his eyes and nodded his head. They knew he wouldn’t be able to keep that promise. It was nice to think though.

He walked away with a silent sigh. His breath appearing like dragon’s breath. He wondered if would be able to make it to his hunt tonight or if he would need to rest. bruises made it hard to fight with.

And then Cathy showed up and we hung out Trading swigs from a bottle, all bitter and clean Locking eyes, holding hands Twin high maintenance machines

He wasn’t happy to be back at school in that god-awful uniform. The tie felt as if it were strangling him. the blazer didn’t keep out the cold and the shoes around his feet were far too small to be comfortable. the only good thing was the fact he could carry around his baseball bat everywhere without too may consequences.

He had been able to hide his bruise on his chin using some makeup that he had bought ages ago. But it could only do so much. good news was that he had an excuse.

He watched every one of the fields as he sat down on one of the bleachers. Lunch was one of the few times he could ever get a break.

And as he looked over to the door, he caught Patton, one of the seniors that would be leaving this year. He didn’t know how he died. But it was definitely during the sophomore year. there next to him were a couple more people and… he locked eyes with Logan who seemed to look at him with excitement before leaving the group.

He watched as Patton looked over to where he was sitting. The not so clear scowl could be felt from afar. Not that he actually cared all that much. his eyes went back to Logan. or well… sort of. The new sunglasses on his face hid the fact that his eyes were glowing or frantically looking around for the creatures.

It was a good thing that the living couldn’t see what they could. It was for the best. Still didn’t mean it scared them any less though.

“greetings Janus,” Logan said as he sat down next to the ‘snake’ as people liked to call him. “good evening to you too Logan. I take it they told you everything forgot to?” he smirked. “indeed. I didn’t think that there would be two groups of death people but here we are,” Logan said, “and in my opinion, grim sound much more- “he looked down at… were those vocab cards? “lit? is that the right word?” he muttered as he flickered through. “it works,” Janus laughed. “well, its better than shadows is for certain,” he said.

They sat like that for a while more. Eating their lunch and trading conversation. Logan apparently liked the colour dark blue, crofters and well… much to his own surprise, rap music.

Janus loved the peacefulness that Logan seemed to bring. Whatever it was. even in classes when he would lag behind, Logan seemed to slow down to keep him company. No wonder why he loved the pretty face of Logan.

Janus glanced over to Logan. he wondered if his parents knew about his eyes yet… did they hurt him for it? or did they just accept that it would always be that way. “I’ve been thinking about this, Janus” he said, gesturing to his eyes, “maybe I don’t need to fight… I’ve always wanted to get a doctor’s licence, and my father is a doctor himself. So, I know some basic medical knowledge that could help,” Logan began to speak, Janus was able to follow on but only for so long. But he waited for his… co-worker? To finish. “ah… I was rambling again wasn’t I,” Logan said. “it’s alright, but I understand what you’re getting at. Like backup support? Right?” Janus said tilting his head slightly. He itched his nose as his hair tickled the corner. “precisely… and I would like to join you on one of your… hunts, I think that’s what Patton said,” Logan stated. “ill think about it. but understand that if you come, you will need a weapon still. Since there is no sunlight at night you will be screwed over if something attacks you,” Janus explained.

“ill stay safe as I can,” Logan said. the bell chose this moment to ring, “ill talk to the others about it and try and set up a date,” Janus said, “see you eventually Logan berry.” “and you too Janus dee ceit.”

I am going to make it through this year If it kills me I am going to make it through this year If it kills me

The cool air was nice this time of night. but today he was alone. After explaining that Logan wished to join them one night… they hadn’t taken it all too well. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the fact that he could be easily hurt by nightmares or the fact he was a shadow.

That was a month ago… and he had no contact with them since. Deleted from the group chat and no response from his letters.

Either way, he really wished he had some backup.

The tar like thing towered twice as tall as he was… maybe even three times. And it was getting to the point he was tiering and very much so beaten.

He could feel his ribs burning in his chest. one was most certainly broken. And the bruises on his back and scrapes on his body from being thrown into the tarmac of the road stung by the fresh air.

He wheezed and almost doubled over as he ducked another ball of solid ground.

There it was! a small glowing crack in the side of the abomination came to view for the first time. The only weak point these things had. And he was so close to passing out.

This… this is why people warned him to never take on anything over a six alone. Too bad this was an eight.

He surged forwards swinging his bat and thwacking the glowing spot with as much energy as possible. the second the back hit the side he was sent flying backwards into the side of a building by a beam of light. But the thing was gone. That was good.

He sat there leaning against the wall, his bat sat not too far from his side. He dragged himself towards his weapon. He had a list he needed to complete.

He grabbed his bat and pushed himself up, grimacing as the new pain in his leg began to scream for him to stop. he held back tears as he limped against the wall. Smearing some blood as he walked onwards. Since when did he start bleeding?

He turned the corner and into an ally and felt himself crumple to a pile with a whimper. He didn’t want this to end his job… no. he needed this so badly… he couldn’t stop… he…

Why was everything so dark?

I drove home in the California dusk I could feel the alcohol inside of me hum Pictured the look on my stepfather's face Ready for the bad things to come

The room wasn’t dark. nor was it bright. It was like a waiting office so to speak. One or two people sat there wating. So was I. A name was spoken over the speakers.

He stood up unwillingly but in the same way he was safe. He knew where he was. the door opened to see a lady. White curly hair and dark skin. She looked as beautiful as before. Radiating moonlight from her eyes. she wasn’t as fancy as most people would think. Simply in grey shirt and trousers. “hello Janus, its been a while. Take a seat,” she said calmly. “why am I here?” he asked. “you are in a state of life and death once again. But this is different than before. You will live, but there will be consequences I can’t say… and I'm sorry. Fate…. She herself is cruel and sun and I are not happy about what she will do to you,” she sighed.

She pulled a pin from her hair and held it over to him, “this should keep you safe for the time being… and that boy Logan? keep him close to you. his help is needed,” she smiled, “and I have a feeling he won’t leave you alone any time soon.”

He felt his consciousness come back ever so slowly, “goodbye moon,” he said. “oh this isn’t goodbye my dear prophet. This is merely the beginning of our story,” she grinned.

His eyes shot open. His breath was quick as he looked around the room, he was in. his room… his? Why? He was passed out in the street last time?

He glanced over to his phone to see that it was a Sunday morning. Normally he would be going out for a coffee with the other grim of the area. Seeing no messages. He knew it was another day alone. he hated that… they had once promised they wouldn’t leave… this? This had gone on too far for him to think about forgiving them for.

He felt a growl rise in his throat but it stopped when it landed on a small hair pin sitting neatly next to his phone. so, not much of a dream at all… was it?

He ran a hand over his face and sighed. But- he looked in his reflection of the phone… his eyes glowed brightly. He snapped his eyes to the window- sunlight.

But he was a grim. Not a shadow… right? This. He didn’t like this. he flipped his covers off to find himself in his pyjamas. His shorts revealed his burned legs wrapped in bandages. His arms that had been grated not as badly had been covered in dinosaur pattern stickers. what the hell?

He shakily stood up to find no pain in his legs. That was nice he guessed.

 He got changed as quickly as he could. Putting on a pair of knee length black shorts and white shirt. A yellow zip up hoodie covered his arms. A pair of sunglasses covered his eyes. the silver band with the pearl on top, the small pin was placed in his messy bun. The left side was still covered.

He needed to find Logan. maybe he had more answers than he realised. And what the hell did moon mean by calling him a prophet for her?

He walked out of his room slipping on some old beaten trainers. The sound of snoring filled the air. he glanced over to see his father sleeping in the same position as always, only this time. A box of something and a roll of something else sat on the floor. Bottles were gone and the place seemed cleaner than normal.

Had he crossed into an alternative universe or something? I down-shifted as I pulled into the driveway The motor screaming out, stuck in second gear The scene ends badly, as you might imagine In a cavalcade of anger and fear

He looked around the café. He had sent Logan a text to meet up with him. A cup of hot chocolate was half empty as he scrolled mindlessly on his phone.

The sound of shuffling caught him out of his trance. “sorry I'm late, I left a little late- are you okay?” Logan seemed to say all at once at an almost inhuman pace. “i… I don’t know… but that offer? I'm willing to hold it up. on one condition,” he said, “tell Roman that if I see Remus, I'm going to kick his nuts,” he smiled. “that’s- that’s all?” he asked, eyes lighting up brightly. “trust me. things are going to happen. And I don’t know what. But we apparently need to stick together,” Janus explained. “why?” “the moon told me. and that isn’t a lie. I assure you,” Janus said excitedly. Logan seemed to be in awe as he heard Janus ramble on about his meeting. Maybe if Janus stopped looking at the floor, he would see the almost lovingly curious expression of Logan who soaked in every word that was being said by the taller boy.

“well. I suppose I should say that sun came to me a few days ago as well,” Logan chuckled, “you weren’t at school for an entire week and I got concerned. I don’t understand why they called me a prophet- “ “moon said it to me to!” Janus said exasperated. “what do they have planned for us?” Logan muttered. “I don’t know- but we stick together” Janus said holding out a hand. “together,” Logan took his hand with a shake.

There will be feasting and dancing in Jerusalem next year

The next day was hard for Janus to even wake up. maybe that was because he had spent so much energy yesterday talking with Logan before apparently coming home to take a ten-minuet nap which turned out to be an entire night of sleep.

The sound of yesterday rang in his ears. Laughter and shouts of joy as he taught Logan how to jump over rooftops. Janus would admit that Logan seemed to pick it up quicker than he could. Definitely a good thing. Quicker to get to the areas.

He was I his uniform despite the fact Logan had insisted he have another day of before going to school and that he could always glove Janus the work he missed out on. but it was Monday, he wasn’t missing baseball practice.

He picked his bag up before he heard a knock at his bedroom door. It was soft… this… slightly scared him. “Janus?” oh god, what had he done wrong, “can I come in?” wait- what the hell? He was asking? “and if I say no?” he spat back. “I wouldn’t blame you if you snuck out your window little grim,” what the fuck. “since when did I get that name?” Janus asked. “since I figured out what you are. That’s how you survived the fire. Isn’t it?”

Janus found himself opening the door. His father stood there, looking semi presentable. Bags under his eyes and looking like he hadn’t slept in ages.

“I'm going to be late for school,” Janus groaned as he shoved past. “that’s why I'm driving you today,” his father spoke. “haha good one. The man who puts bruises on my body wants to drive me to school. How. Great.” “its about your mother,” he froze. This… he was willing to listen to.

I am going to make it through this year If it kills me I am going to make it through this year If it kills me

He found Logan standing by the entrance of the school. Both wore their sunglasses to hide their eyes. But they smiled as they looked at one another.

The feeling of happiness was something he found himself craving whenever Logan was around. The one person he could even let touch him for longer than a couple seconds. the small pin in his hair sent a wave of reassurance his way as he took a deep breath and entered the gate.

With new knowledge and a friend, he could trust… he was ready for whatever was to come his way.

[softbiker]

A Familiar Place - Part 1

A recovery story - this series follows some events in the first year of Bucky’s life back stateside, and his small adventures while learning to come home to himself. This is not an “x Reader” or romance story.

Warnings: some language, probably sloppy editing

A/N: I’m posting the first part of this story to celebrate hitting 100 followers this weekend! Thank you so much everyone! I’m having a blast with this writing blog. This story probably won’t be updated as fast as Born to Run since I don’t have it all written out yet, but I still wanted to post it. Tagging @bitsandbobsandstuff since she answered my question about Steve’s coffee order :) As always, let me know what you think and if you like it!

There’s a stack of books next to his bed that need to go back to the library. Probably overdue, he thinks, and he hasn’t read a single page. He feels a little guilty for it as he stares at their spines, blinking slow and sleepy.

A knock at the door.

“Hey man, you ready?” Sam pokes his head in, eyebrows up and expectant.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky nods. Finishes lacing his sneakers. Grabs a baseball cap from the doorknob on his way.

Steve is waiting by the front door, rolling his shoulders underneath a (frankly ridiculous) tight blue shirt. The corner of his mouth quirks up when he turns.

“Mornin’, Buck.”

“Morning.”

“He’s so damn chipper in the mornings,” Sam grins, slapping Bucky’s shoulder. “I feel perky just standing next to you, Tin Man.”

Bucky narrows his eyes but says nothing, just watches Steve shake his head like a fond mother. He knew by now that their animosity was mostly a pretense.

“Ready to go?” the Captain asks, rubbing his hands together, eager and alert despite the bags under his own eyes. Bucky suspects that Steve stays up to see if he needs him, listening for the sounds of his nightmares. He feels a little guilty for that, too.

They do a quick warm up outside, some leg swings and lunges and jumping jacks to get the blood flowing. It’s mostly for Sam - Bucky doesn’t know if it’s possible for him or Steve to pull a muscle, but it definitely won’t be on their morning runs. But they do the routine together anyways, the three of them, their breaths puffing in the spring morning air.

It’s only a couple of miles from their place to Prospect Park, and Bucky and Steve jog at a reasonable pace for Sam’s sake. The conversation is easy between them now - Sam’s date last week with the nurse from the medical wing, Steve’s painting class, Bucky’s therapy sessions. He’s noncommittal on any specifics, but he admits that he thinks they help. And that’s enough - Sam and Steve don’t press him, happy to have him out and moving and living under a sunrise. They take a few laps through the curving paths of the park, nodding to other early morning runners.

About 6 miles in, Bucky yawns.

“Are we gonna actually run today, Rogers, or are we letting the flightless bird set the pace?”

Steve cocks an eyebrow and glances to his left at Sam, the only member of their trio with a collection of sweat on his chest and under his arms and little beads of it running down his face.

“If you think you can keep up, jerk.”

Sam is left behind somewhere around the lake, yelling something about not being afraid to “beat senior citizen ass.”

Here’s the thing about being a super soldier: it doesn’t feel that crazy most of the time. Bucky knows he’s not straining when he moves an entire rack of weights in the gym, or lifts the back end of a car to help put a jack under it. Tony rented out batting cages for the team one time, and he broke the bat on the first swing, simultaneously popping the stitches on the ball. He plays this little game sometimes where he tries to balance as much weight as he can on his index finger - he’s managed 40 pounds so far on his human hand.

But none of that feels special when he does it. Being strong is just a fact about him. It doesn’t make him feel superhuman. “Enhanced”.

Running, though.

When he and Steve go for runs, legs stretching forward and pavement barely felt as it flows beneath their feet, the world feels different. Slower. They dart around the joggers and strollers in their path, and Bucky watches them slip behind him in slow motion. They propel their bodies like bullets, their cadence the rapidfire staccato of a machine gun. The trees ebb and grow in cresting waves of green as the soldiers fly past.

Flying, Bucky thinks. That’s how he feels now.

Steve is a half beat ahead of him, and his head turns in profile, eyes cutting to find Bucky’s. The corner of his lip twitches.

“Tired yet?”

“Not on your life, punk.”

Steve laughs as he nearly doubles their pace, legs a blur to the eyes of everyone they pass. Bucky follows, gripping the bill of his cap as it threatens to fly up at their speed. He shifts it around backwards, the way he sees Sam wear his sometimes. They turn up the periphery of the park to the northeast, chasing the half-risen sun, now above the buildings and trees around them. Bucky can see the shape of the public library as they pass by, the bronze gate gleaming in the morning light. Some of his old gear, Army stuff and boxing gloves and pictures of him and Steve sitting on the hood of a jeep in France, had been on display with their historical collection when he got here - got home - a few months ago. Sam showed him when they went there; Bucky had leaned close, tried to recognize that kid under the glass.

The supersoldiers put in about 20 miles before they decide to find Sam, now that they’ve finally broken a sweat. Cutting across the grass, they slow their pace to human level and look for their friend. Sam is still by the lake, stretching in the grass while laughing with a girl with a long braided ponytail and crazy tight workout clothes. Bucky and Steve share a look as they jog across the lawn, but act polite when the starstruck girl realizes who Sam’s running buddies are.

After taking a couple selfies with them, the girl jogs off to get ready for work, ponytail swinging behind her. Steve raises an eyebrow in Sam’s direction.

“So, what about that nurse?”

Sam gives him the finger.

***************************************************************************************

“Look man, all I’m saying is, you could give it a shot,” Sam shrugs, sipping from his to-go cappuccino. “I mean, who knows, there’s probably plenty of ladies out there who are into this whole thing.” He waves the coffee cup to gesture to Bucky’s entire body.

Bucky frowns. “I have a thing?”

“Sure, you know the brooding, emotionally tortured, dark past kinda thing.” Sam slaps his shoulder. “Lean into it, chicks dig that.”

Bucky nearly chokes on his own drink as he glares at Sam. Steve hides his smile behind his complete monstrosity of a drink. A limited edition something, the clear cup holds 20 ounces of frozen tie-dye, swirling in red, blue, and yellow, and topped with a mountain of whipped cream. Steve Rogers, ever the little shit, had ordered this drink with a straight face, and now slurps loudly on his straw, while taking breaks to run his finger through the whipped cream. Bucky can see the name “Cap” scrawled in neat sharpie on the side of the cup, with a star drawn next to it.

“I’m not interested, okay,” Bucky shrugs, dodging a piece of gum on the sidewalk. They had gotten coffee on their walk back to the brownstone, and were discussing a topic that now made Bucky’s skin crawl with discomfort - women.

“Hey, you don’t have to be looking for a wife,” Sam goes on. “But it wouldn’t hurt you to download an app or two. Tinder. Bumble. Something.”

“Aw, lay off him, Sam,” Steve finally speaks up, shaking his head. “Bucky’s not ready. Maybe he’ll feel like it when he’s back to his old lady killer self.”

Bucky cringes at the phrase, at the half-formed memories it conjures. A swaggering Brooklyn kid who spent far too much time combing his hair and winking at pretty girls. He remembers tucking flowers into the lapel of his suit jacket, spending hours shining his shoes, just to spend a night dancing with some pretty girl he’d never see again. He could barely bring himself to talk to strangers anymore, let alone ask one on a date.

“Shut up, Rogers,” he mumbles into his coffee. “That Bucky is dead and buried.”

He doesn’t have to look to know that Steve’s face has that stricken grimace he pulls whenever Bucky says something dark and self-deprecating. He wishes he could say those things without making Steve feel guilty, cause now he feels guilty…

“I didn’t mean anything by it, Buck…”

“I know, I know,” Bucky waves him off. “Just quit tryin’ to set me up, both of you. Let an old man rest, will you? Jeez…”

His little joke is enough to put Steve and Sam at ease again, and the conversation turns to Steve’s equally lackluster love life until they reach their place and shuffle up the front steps. Ivy creeps and climbs up the walls for this entire block of buildings, and Bucky wonders if someone planted it there. He likes the lush green of it, especially in the morning.

The 3 of them part ways to hit the showers. In his room again, Bucky’s eye is drawn back to his sad little pile of books.

Sam is smart. An asshole, yes, but smart. Which is why his book choices tend to include biographies, history, political topics - the stack on the nightstand includes only one novel, a recent bestseller about a retired veteran adopting a dog. Bucky remembers reading, being a reader - he remembers bringing home books from school or trading them at the bookstore or receiving them as gifts from Steve. But not those kinds of books. Nothing boring. Nothing to remind him of the uncertain, hard world he lived in.

He stares at the spines of Sam’s books for a few more moments, then hurries through the shower, his mind made up.

***************************************************************************************

“Um, excuse me,” he clears his throat at the front desk. “I need to return these, but, uh. I think - well, they’re overdue.”

Bucky tries a smile at the clerk, a middle-aged woman with a short-cropped haircut, but he can feel how unnatural it looks on his face. The clerk raises an eyebrow at him - he realizes he should have waited a bit before coming here; the tips of his hair are still wet, tiny wet spots coloring the shoulders on his hoodie.

“Well, let’s scan them and see,” she sighs, pulling his books across the desk. Bucky shifts, his hands curling and uncurling in his front pockets. The old Bucky could probably charm his way out of the fine, but this one? Not a chance in hell, Barnes. The librarian grabs the first book and scans the barcode taped to the plastic jacket.

His books are 13 days overdue - costing him a grand total of $5.20. He thinks of Steve’s now expensive coffee habit as he hands over the bill and change. There goes one of his frozen sugar nightmares.

With his fine taken care of, Bucky wanders his way through the fiction section, his eyes passing over names and titles without catching on anything. Sam’s books weren’t his taste. But he doesn’t even remember his own taste. Gloved fingers drift over the shelves, tapping on the wood.

“Can I help you find something?”

Bucky is embarrassed to be so startled - his head jerks around to see the old man standing there, a warm smile on his face. His shoulders are stooped a little, hands clasped behind his back as he tilts his head up to meet Bucky’s eyes.

“No...well, I don’t know,” Bucky huffs. “I don’t really know what I’m looking for.”

“Oh, I see,” the man nods. The crooked name tag on his striped shirt reads ‘Marvin’. “Would you like some recommendations, then?”

Bucky hesitates, quirking the corner of his mouth down.

“I guess so,” he nods. “I like...fiction. But I haven’t really read anything in a long time.”

Marvin nods quietly, pursing his lips. His eyes pass over the shelves behind his coke bottle glasses, tapping a finger to his chin.

“Follow me,” he shuffles down the aisle, waving a hand behind him. Bucky obeys, turning the corner onto the next set of author’s names. Marvin’s mouth moves silently as he walks along, searching and searching.

“Aha! Here we go.” He reaches up to a shelf at eye level, taking a book and showing Bucky the front cover. “This has been a classic since it was published, really. And the author wrote a trilogy that followed. It’s fantasy, maybe that’s your thing?”

“I...I’m trying new things,” Bucky decides, clearing his throat as he takes the book, admiring the pastoral scene on the cover. “Um, you said he wrote other books?”

Marvin smiles and turns back to the shelf, reaching for the adjacent books.

******************************************************************************************

Bucky’s backpack makes a ‘thunk’ sound as he drops it next to his bed, closing the door with his foot. He had loaned all four books that Marvin suggested, eager as he read their inside covers. Maybe he and Steve and Sam could watch the movie adaptations sometime, on one of their pizza nights. He had always opted out of choosing a movie, so overwhelmed by the options and apathetic to Sam’s DVD library. But maybe he would suggest it to Steve next time. Steve would like that.

He toes off his sneakers, shuffling back and messing up the comforter on his perfectly made bed. When he first moved in, he thought the room was furnished with way too many pillows - who needs more than one pillow? Now he fluffs the three behind his back and props himself up against the headboard, leaning over to slip the first book out of his backpack. He settles back on his bed, folds back the cover to the first chapter.

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.”

Tags

@vacant-writings

[sweeetie-demon-blog]

Batting Practice // Clouis Oneshot

Description: Clementine meets a cute baseball player while out with her step-dad Javi.

Just a little something I came up with while waiting at a restaurant. It’s not very good but I wanted to post it. 🌸

———-

The batting cages were almost empty that day. The curly haired girl hadn’t practiced in a long time, but today she decided it would be a good idea to get back into it. Ever since she had been adopted by Javi, she saw how in love with baseball he was and soon found out that he used to be a baseball player.

Clementine was wearing clothes that she didn’t mind getting dirty, one of Javi’s metal bats resting on her shoulder. Aj had tagged along too. He’d never played baseball before, or even seen someone play. He was excited.

Aj was standing behind one of the metal fences, his tiny hands grabbing onto the rusted metal.

“Alright Clem, let’s see whatcha got.” Javi called from the cage next to her. Clementine was very competitive when it came to sports. Her eyes fixated on the ball that the machine lauched, her hands tightening around the bat. It got closer, closer.

She swung, and missed.

An angry expression formed. She mentally cursed herself out, she had to do better. Another ball was launched, and this time she actually hit it. It went flying across the little field.

“Woo! Go Clem!” Aj cheered from behind the fence. He jumped in his spot with his hands in the air.

Clementine hit the next few baseballs without any problems. Javier had taken Aj to the bathroom, he was probably going to take a short break after that. The curly haired teen felt her confidence build as she was swinging. She only missed a few balls, but that didn’t stop her from feeling like she was doing perfect. For not playing in years she was doing pretty well. A few minutes passed by. Javier and Aj were not back yet. She didn’t worry. Aj must have wanted something to drink or eat while they watched Clem bat.

From the corner of her eye she noticed someone walking into the cage beside her. The figure was too short to be Javier’s, so she didn’t bother to look. A ball was coming her way again, her hands tightening once more and swung. That would have been a home run if she was actually on a baseball field.

“Nice hit. You’re pretty good.”

Clementine gased. She wasn’t expecting someone to comment on her batting skills. Her head wipped around seeing a guy, about her age.

“Uh, thanks.” Her golden eyes traveled all over his face. A blush started to form all the way down to her neck. Damn. He was cute.

The stranger chuckled as he faced back to the ball that was coming for him. He swung and hit it. So hard it looked like it could rip the webbing protecting the field. Her eyes widened. He’s cute and he can hit a ball that hard? Wow. Clem was too distracted with the teen that wasn’t missing any hits, to see a baseball aiming right for her face. She turned, but it was too late, and the ball hit her straight on the jaw.

“Fuck, damnit!” The anger replaced the shock, and she threw the metal bat she had onto the ground. Tears filled her eyes. It hurt like a bitch. She had a high pain tolerance, but this was something else. Clementine stormed out of the cage, forgetting about her step-dad’s bat. She plopped down onto one of the bleachers. She made a hissing sound when a hand came to touch the already forming bruise on her cheek and jawbone.

“Hey, are you alright?” It was a familiar voice, but it didn’t belong to Javi or Aj. She lifted her tear stained face to look at the person. It was that guy, and he was holding out a cold water bottle. The girl took the bottle and pressed it to her face, instantly feeling the coolness on the hot bruise.

“Thanks.” Clementine was now able to see what this stranger looked like. She didn’t realize that he was in a full baseball uniform and his helmet wasn’t shielding the dreadlocks that fell over his face. His cheeks sprinkled with freakles, she could see more on the little bit of chest that showed where he forgot to fasten a button. This guy was even cuter up close.

“That looked like it hurt. A lot. Are you sure you’re alright? I’ve had my share of baseball injuries and well, we’ll just say one in particular left me with an ice pack somewhere you do not want to know.” His hand and face movements seemed theatrical, which made Clementine giggle.

“Ouch.” She couldn’t imagine being hit there. Especially with a bat or baseball. She clutched her stomach subconsciously. “Now that must have really hurt.” The girl wasn’t shedding tears anymore, instead a small smile formed.

“I’m Louis by the way.” A hand stook out waiting for it to be shaked. Clem reached out and shook it.

“Clementine, but call me Clem.” Her cheeks got rounder as she smiled up at him.

“Well Clem, I could give you some pointers on how to bat you know.” Louis sat down next to the girl. “Oh yeah, I believe this is yours.” The dreaded haired teen handed Clementine a bat.

“Oh shit, I guess I forgot about this.” It was Javier’s precious bat. “It’s my step-dad’s.” She chuckled.

“Clem!” A voice called. Both teens turned in the direction of her name. A small boy, running at her with a big foam cup in his hands.

“Be careful Aj, you’re going to spill that!” A deep voice called. Javi.

Aj stopped abruptly when he spotted someone else sitting with his sister.

“Hey kiddo, whatcha got there?” Clementine’s voice was happy, which made Aj happy.

“It’s a slushie. We got it for you, sorry it took so long.” He handed his sister the large foam cup, his small hands nervously rubbing together. She knew what was happening. Aj didn’t like strangers.

“Aj, this is Louis. He’s my friend.” The little boy looked at her friend. Louis smiled at Aj, revealing a missing tooth which made him laugh.

“You don’t have a tooth.” He pointed. Clem glared at her brother.

“Aj that’s rude. We don’t point.”

No one had noticed when Javier came up to the three. His stare was pointed at Louis.

“No it’s alright. I do look kinda funny.” Louis laughed at himself as he remembered how the incident happened. His missing tooth may be a joke, but Clementine thought it was pretty cute. “I actually lost it the same way you got that bruise just now. Difference is the ball went straight for my face and not just the side.”

The little boy hadn’t noticed the bruise on his sister’s left cheek, and gasped.

“You’re hurt!” He clutched Clem in his small arms, earning an eye roll from the older one.

“I’m okay kiddo, just the perks of playing a sport where you hit something so close to your face.” They all laughed.

“Hey Clem. Who’s this?” Javi squinted his eyes in confusion.

“This is Louis. He helped me with this.” She revealed the large ugly bruise on her left side. “Ball hit me on the face.”

“How did that happen?” The man crossed his arms. Clementine’s eyes widened. She couldn’t tell him it was because she was swooning over the boy currently sitting next to her. Not even Louis knew exactly what happened.

“I, uh, dropped the bat on accident, and when I came up to position it hit me.” Clementine had always been a pretty good liar. She sounded believable most of the time, but sadly not this time. Javier was suspicious it had to do with this Louis kid.

“Uh-huh. Well I’m Javier.” He didn’t break eye contact with this teenage boy, not for a second. Louis, however, widened his eyes.

“Javier? You mean like, Javier Garcia? Woah! No way!” The dreadhead stood from his seat. “You were a legend! Holy shit I can’t believe you know the Javier Garcia.” Louis felt like he was a little kid again. Watching baseball games on the television with his best friend, going wild at every hit he took. Javi used to play professional baseball before he got injured and couldn’t play anymore.

“I’m surprised people still remember who I am.” The man was skeptical of Louis at first, but his ego got boosted. Maybe this kid isn’t that bad, he thought. “Hey Clem, we have to head out. It’s getting a little late.”

“I want to stay!” Aj pulled on Javi’s shirt sleeve, a pout on his lips and big puppy eyes.

“Can’t buddy, maybe some other time yeah?” He offered. Aj sighed, but agreed.

“Bye Louis.”

“See ya later little man.” Louis pulled the finger gun move on him, causing the little boy the giggle slightly. Clementine had a frown on her face too. This guy she met was really sweet, and cute. She hated that today could be the last time they see eachother. Javier mentioned that he was going to get a head start to the car, Aj clinging onto his hand as they went off.

“Well, guess this is goodbye. It was nice meeting you.” The girl sighed.

“Shame, I was hoping to see you miss more hits again.” Louis gave a smirk. He too was a little sad he most likely would never see this girl again. But, he could do something about that. He had an idea, one of the brightest ideas he may have ever came up with. “Wait, do you have a pen a paper?”

Clementine patted the pockets on her jeans, before moving to the backpack that she had brought with her. She found a pen and a piece of some old homework sheet she never turned in. She tore a piece of the paper before handing it over to Louis.

“Here, tell Javi to sign that for me.” She was confused when he gave it back to her folded. She turned to start to walk away, but the curiosity was too much and she opened it up.

Her heart stopped mid-beat, a blush dusting her cheeks.

It’s was a phone number, his phone number.

She turned around quickly, but Louis was gone. Clementine heard the sound of a baseball colliding with a metal bat and she looked over. Louis was already back in the batting cage. He knew that she would be confused, he looked over his shoulder to find that the girl was still there. He thought she looked pretty cute all flustered.

They locked eyes.

He gave her a wink, hitting the ball with as much force as the other times.

Clementine blushed harder.

[reesewestonarchive]

road to nowhere - 3 (mature content)

rem belongs to @forlornraven​

(I forgot anyone who was interested in this... oops)

“This country,” Nakoa says, as they drive down 70 towards Denver, “is a fucking wasteland.”

Nebraska was all corn. Iowa wasn’t much better.

They’d tired of the same half-dozen albums, and the deck ate one of Rem’s mixes, scrambling it into something beyond repair. They’ve yet to find a pawn shop, though, and Nakoa’s been good enough, driving Rem crazy with his renditions of Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” and Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”. Nakoa’s voice breaks on the high notes, but when he vocalizes the drumming in “In the Air Tonight”, Rem finally cracks a smile.

They get off the highway, and Nakoa pays for a shitty room at a pay-by-the-hour motel across from a bar. The clerk glances between Rem and Nakoa with a bored, suspicious look… then takes the cash. “Cool. Out by ten in the morning. Dump the key in the box.”

The room smells like smoke, like vomit, but the sheets are clean and it’s a bed, a real fucking bed. Nakoa face plants into it, and an obscene moan escapes his throat. “Maybe we should just live here.”

“Hell fucking no.”

He feels the bed bend as Rem sits on the end. As he crawls up, rocks his hips against Nakoa’s ass. “Not tonight, honey, I’m not in the mood.”

The bed vibrates, too. Nakoa digs into his pockets for two quarters, and slots them into the machine. Underneath him, the bed begins moving; Rem loses his balance, collapses on top of Nakoa, an arm to either side of him, face pressed between Nakoa’s shoulder blades.

“Driving is fucking exhausting,” Rem mumbles into his shoulders. Nakoa’s content to stay there, on sheets of questionable cleanliness, in a strange town, in a shitty motel room. Rem’s warm against his back, and…

It’s good. In a very fucked up way, but he’s pretty sure that he and Rem have never fit into normal and never will. What’s the point of life if you’re not having a little fucking fun?

They nap like that for an hour, maybe two, before Rem jerks awake on top of him, rolls off, and says, “Pizza.”

Nakoa agrees, eyes still heavy with sleep. “And whiskey.”

Rem shoots him a disgusted look. “Heathen. Beer and pizza.”

“Hmm.” Nakoa closes his eyes again. Somewhere in the room, he hears Rem gather his things, hears the locks on Nakoa’s suitcase click, and the door to the room shut.

He falls back asleep, and for the first time, Michael’s not behind his eyelids waiting for him.

Staying behind means Nakoa can rest, still, means that when Rem comes in carrying a pizza and a six-pack, Nakoa thinks he looks like a dream.

He sits up, scoots up, presses the palms of his hands into his eyes and thinks that he could get used to this. Rem coming home with dinner—living with him.

The pizza’s warm, fresh, covered in cheese and pepperoni, and the beer’s cool and cold, and Nakoa downs half a slice, half a bottle, and when he looks at Rem, he has this look on his face. Reverent, pleased.

Happy.

“Thanks,” Nakoa says, but Rem shrugs.

“You paid for it.”

Still, though. Nakoa nudges him with his shoulder, flips on the television and settles in.

They watch bad movies, reruns of classics, until the schedule ends with static, and Nakoa stretches his hands over his head and squirms down the bed. “Mm. Time to sleep.”

But, like always, Rem’s got other plans. His eyes flick to Nakoa’s stomach, and he reaches across Nakoa’s body to place his beer on the desk, his breath ghosting over Nakoa’s face.

It’s pathetic, maybe, how quickly Nakoa goes hard with the proximity, with Rem’s heat. Rem laughs at him, but Nakoa still savors the sound, even if it’s at his own expense. “You’re so fucking eager.”

“Like you’re not,” Nakoa says, and tugs him down by the collar, traces the seam of his lips with his tongue. Rem tastes like Nakoa’d expected, like meat and cheese and beer, and maybe it’s not exactly pleasant, but Rem could taste a lot worse and Nakoa would still jump at the chance. He draws his hand down Nakoa’s side, the one that’s not holding him up, and cups him in hand, over his jeans. Against his best attempts to hold it, he keens with the pressure, a soft noise escaping his mouth. Rem’s smile is wide against his lips. “Fucker,” Nakoa says, but he’s already working at Rem’s belt, fingers shaking.

To think that he almost gave this up, that he almost didn’t take Rem up on the offer. That he almost wrote this off as a pipe dream.

“Rem—” he says, skirting his hands around to either of Rem’s hips, tugging at his jeans. “I want—”

“Yeah, I know what you want,” he says, his mouth on Nakoa’s neck. He pulls a bottle from one of his pockets, sits back and holds it up like it’s a prize, a pleased rise to his eyebrows.

Nakoa can’t get his pants off fast enough.

Rem makes quick work of them, even as he reattaches his mouth to the pulse point in Nakoa’s neck, but between the friction and the wet heat of his mouth, Nakoa thinks he could come just like this. At Rem’s mercy.

“I could—blow you?”

“You keep suggesting that.”

“Never heard you complain before.” Nakoa’s voice is ruined, shot with arousal and distraction, and Rem laughs at him, again, not unkindly. Fondly, maybe, if Nakoa had to put a name to it.

“I wanna fuck you,” Rem says, against his ear, as he pulls up and away, rolls over to shimmy his own jeans off. He kicks his shoes off, too, a loud thunk as they hit the floor. “You wanna be fucked. Works out, right?”

Heat pools in Nakoa’s stomach as he pulls Rem back to him with a hand on the back of his neck. “Yeah, just…” He hesitates, wonders if he should ask, but then rolls, pushes Rem underneath him, grins down at his surprised look. He grins his hips against Rem’s, says, “In the spirit of trying new things.”

“I—“ Rem starts, but his cheeks color, and he leans up to kiss him again, desperate, pulling Nakoa against him by his hair. Whatever he’d meant to say gets lost in Nakoa’s mouth, but Nakoa’s got more pressing concerns.

The first stretch is—fuck. Nakoa leans into it, likes the burn, likes the way Rem’s pupils dilate and he licks his lips. It’s good—fuck, incredible, like everything Rem is and does, and Nakoa licks his lips, takes himself in hand and whines when Rem slaps his hand away.

“Jackass.”

But Rem resumes where he forced Nakoa to leave off, and—all right, yeah. That’s good, too.

—

“This music all sucks,” Rem says, a lollipop tucked between his lips as he flips through rows of tapes. “We’d have better chances with the fucking radio.”

The radio, though, is a bunch of repeats and oldies. Nakoa nudges Rem in the ribs, points out a Bowie album and says, “Don’t be like this. Bowie’s right there.”

Grumbling, Rem rolls his eyes and plucks the album from its spot in the bin, and continues searching. Nakoa’s already got Queen and Iggy Pop tucked away where Rem can’t see them, though, intent on surprising him later.

Rem’s missing Clash album, though. Nakoa’s read all the cassettes twice, and no sign of it.

If he can ever hit up a store without Rem noticing, he’ll pick it up, money be damned.

Rem pulls the lollipop from his mouth, hands it over. When he speaks, his tongue is a bright red from the candy. “Come on. Still got a drive ahead of us.” He hands over the Bowie tape, shoves his hands in his pocket, and walks out of the pawn shop, out onto the street.

The clerk behind the desk watches him with a blank expression, but Nakoa drops three of the tapes onto the counter and starts pulling dollar bills out of his wallet, and the clerk sighs a heavy sigh, starts ringing him up. Nakoa taps his foot against the floor—Rem’s already out of sight, bastard—and dumps a five on the counter before the guy can give him his total.

For a Tuesday afternoon, the street’s surprisingly empty. Rem should be easy to spot—he’s not.

So Nakoa stays. Picks at his nails, waits for Rem to come back and entertains himself making anagrams out of song titles.

It grows dark, and Rem still doesn’t come, so Nakoa, cold without his jacket, makes his way back towards the motel. Tries not to worry about him; expects that he got caught up in a bar, or… something equally as stupid. Uses the key to shove his way in, and—

Rem’s already there, shoving their things into his suitcase. When he looks up, eyebrows raised, he says, “Oh, good. You’re here.”

“No thanks to you.” He tries not to let his irritation cloud his voice. “Were you going to take off without me or something?”

As he passes, Rem grabs both of Nakoa’s shoulders. “Don’t be stupid. Of course not.”

“What’s the rush?”

Rem flinches. Hesitates, just a second, before he says, “Might’ve pissed somebody off.”

“So? You do that all the time.”

“He may have had a gun.”

Oh, well. That changes everything. “You tell him where you were headed?” Silence. “Rem—”

“I fucked up, okay? Is that what you want to hear?” He keeps shoving into his bag. “Can you save the gloating for the car?”

They leave, Nakoa leaves the key on the table next to the TV, but by the time they get out of the motel room, onto the street, whoever Rem’s running from has already beat them to the car. With a baseball bat to the windshield.

It spiderwebs across the entire window, and Rem drops his bag to his feet, defeated. “Fucker—”

Nakoa takes a quick glance around, makes sure they’re in the parking lot alone, then says, “Go. Get in the car.”

“I can’t drive it like—”

“You wanna wait around and find out what he’ll do to you?”

Rem hesitates for just a second before he takes off, keys already in hand, Nakoa hot on his heels. What kind of bullshit did he get into now—a bet he couldn’t keep his money for? He flirt with someone he shouldn’t have? Nakoa’s seen him do a lot of stupid shit, but Rem’s never had to worry about a death threat before.

There’s no other way to take this.

When they’re inside, the doors safely locked behind them, Nakoa asks, “How the fuck did he know what you drove?”

“I—told him. I might’ve bet the car—”

“Rem!”

“—in a card game, chill!”

Nakoa presses his palms to his eyes and wonders just how the fuck he’s this stupid. “So you leave me—”

“You’re not really upset about that, are you?”

“—on the side of the road in the middle of fucking nowhere—”

Rem makes a noise, starts the car, and the car groans in turn. “I didn’t leave you in the middle of nowhere, you’re so fucking dramatic—”

“—and now you have some dude on your tail for telling him you’d pay him… what?” Nakoa turns to glare at him, intent on ripping him a new one, because Nakoa’s not doing this because he wants a thrill ride, when he sees some big guy, bald with a spiked jacket, stalking towards the car. “Rem.”

“I said I’m sorry!”

“Can you speed it up a little?” He turns his hand in the air, points to the guy stalking forward towards them. Rem follows his finger, makes a noise that sounds a little like a stifled yelp, and floors the gas.

The car roars to life under his hands, and a grin climbs across his face. “That’s my girl,” he says, proud, cranks the car into reverse. It speeds across the parking lot, until Rem slams on the brake and Nakoa nearly slams his face into the dashboard.

Baldie’s still stalking towards them. Just… now he’s holding a baseball bat. Rem puts the car into drive, but Nakoa’s seeing everything in slow motion, how many paces Baldie still is from the car, how easy it’d be for him to break out Rem’s window and haul him through it, and then—

“Go,” he says, or thinks he says, and Rem peels out of the parking lot, the car fishtailing as they go.

Nakoa feels his heartbeat in his shoes for fifteen minutes before he starts to settle down, rests his head against the headrest and says, “What the fuck, Rem.” It’s not a question. Just… resignation. Anything different, and he wouldn’t be Rem.

Anything different, and Nakoa wouldn’t have wanted to come.

Rem angles his body so he can see around the worst part of the crack, but it looks… uncomfortable. They’ll need to replace it if they have any hope of getting anywhere.

As they drive, new cracks form. Nakoa sighs.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Rem says. “You’re no fucking saint.”

“When was the last time a bald guy with a bat chased after me?” Rem sends him a glance, out of the corner of his eye, and Nakoa’s mood sours further. “My father doesn’t count.”

“If you say so.”

“You’re such a jackass,” Nakoa mutters, and turns away from him. Away from the break in the windshield, from Rem’s stone exterior and inability to talk about anything of consequence. He thinks about asking what the fuck happened, what really happened, what made some guy Rem barely knows piss him off this bad, but, instead, he digs around in the glovebox for the tapes, pulls one out and shoves it in the tape deck.

The first few notes start to play,  and Madonna starts crooning about making it through the wilderness, and Rem says, “No. Are you fucking kidding me? No.”

But Nakoa slaps his wrist when he reaches for the eject button. “Hey, you could’ve gotten me killed. The least you can fucking do is let me have this.”

It’s not even that Nakoa likes Madonna all that much—he’d pick Cyndi any day—but Rem sits, quietly, in the driver’s seat through the first side of the tape and, when Nakoa ejects it to turn it over, Rem says, “Okay, okay. I’m sorry.”

“Wanna tell me what for?”

“For thinking I could one up a skinhead?” When Nakoa says nothing, Rem sighs. “For betting the car.”

“And why the fuck did you bet the car?”

Rem doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, stays quiet. The thought passes Nakoa’s mind to put the other side of the tape in, play Madonna until Rem wants to tell him something, anything, an inkling of what he did, but he doesn’t. He’s torturing himself enough, by the looks of it. “I figured I could—I dunno. Hustle, a little, but the guy figured it out, and—” He sighs. “This cars not worth six grand, you know that?”

Six—What the fuck. “You told him—” Nakoa squints his eyes together. “And he believed you?”

“No! He figured he’d get some loser on the hook for six grand!” Rem groans, frustration seeping through his tone. “I’m sorry, okay? But we got out of there. It’s fine.”

Fine. Fine, he says, but what if he wasn’t. If the car didn’t start when it did, if Nakoa didn’t make his way back to the motel when he did. Not chastising, just concerned, Nakoa says his name, and Rem curses, under his breath.

Taking pity on him, Nakoa pulls Queen out of his suitcase, rewinds it, and waits. When Freddie Mercury’s voice comes over the speakers, Nakoa can just make out the way Rem’s lips part, the way his expression softens, and Nakoa thinks about how good it’d be to touch him, right now. Not even sexual or anything, just… being close.

Rem would call him an idiot, something to the effect, wouldn’t let him live it down. Maybe whatever Nakoa feels isn’t reciprocated, if he even knew what it was, but Nakoa doesn’t need to be, if he knows Rem’s happy. Content.

Between the drinking, the recklessness—and Nakoa’s not judging, he’s right there with him—Nakoa doesn’t just suspect, he knows Rem’s not happy.

Still, Nakoa turns his head away, starts singing, loud and as out of key as he can manage, until something like laughter bubbles from Rem’s throat. “You are a terrible fucking singer,” he says.

Nakoa doesn’t correct him.

[zoadgo]

Kinktober Day Seven | Praise Kink | first things first imma say all the words inside my head | Floyd Lawton [Deadshot] x Harley Quinn | Suicide Squad

Words: 3458

Tags: Praise kink, Mentions of past abuse, Fluffy smut, Technically semi-public sex, Fingering, Clothed sex, Light dirty talk

Note that this is a kinktober prompt fill. It will be explicit smut, and quite likely, kinky. Mind the tags.

ao3

It’s funny how quickly they get used to their routines, how bitterly they’d fought at first, but now run smooth as anyone could hope under the banner of ‘Suicide Squad’. Maybe it could be chalked up to bonding, or resignation, or being given a chance to do what they’re all oh so very good at. But if you ask Floyd, it’s the treats that did it. Little rewards, gifted down by the hand of their very own God, that stack up to make them feel almost human.

Rewards such as common rooms, attached to the Squad’s cells so that they can socialize. Floyd swung that one, said it would be good for morale and let them work on training as a unit. He can’t say they’ve done much in the way of training, but honestly, when you’re as good as they all are at being bad, training doesn’t matter. As for the morale aspect, well… He does get a kick out of watching Killer Croc throw Captain Boomerang into the wall when the aussie is being even more of a prick than normal.

And, of course, there’s his real reason for pushing to get somewhere all the inmates could hang out. She shoots him a smile as Floyd walks into the room in the early morning, already sprawled out on the couch that’s not nearly as nice as what he knows Waller could have got. Harley’s grin is a little disconnected, as always, but her eyes are bright today, no ghosts hiding in them. It seems like her mind strays less and less these days, and Floyd feels all warm and fuzzy inside because of it, like a damn schoolboy with a crush.

Well, he could do worse for himself than the girl who took out half an army with a baseball bat and her own stilettos. A hell of a lot worse.

Floyd detours by the couch on his way to the coffee machine, gently cupping her cheek for a second as a way of saying hi. She closes her eyes and nuzzles into his touch, sweet as can be, and not for the first time he wants to kill the Joker. Anyone who could see a precious thing like this and want to hurt it has got to die. In most cases Harley would be doing the killing all on her own, he knows damn well she can handle herself, but the things she’d let the Joker do to her turn Floyd’s stomach, and he’s sure he doesn’t even know the half of it.

Floyd goes and claims a chipped mug and some surprisingly good coffee, letting go of the fleeting urge. The past is past, and he’s actually got some kind of a future. Sure, he’s behind bars, but they’ve got a lot of nice shit behind these bars, and he gets to see his daughter, and he even gets to kill people on good days. So, not so bad to forget how they all got there.

“Say, I've been wonderin’” Harley quirks as Floyd turns back to face her, leaning on the counter of their little kitchenette. She rolls over and props her chin up on the side of the couch, looking at Floyd with mild curiosity.

“Yeah? What’ve you been wondering this time, sweetheart?” It could be anything. Sometimes she asks him about his past, or his daughter, and other times it’s questions like ‘is water wet’ and ‘do fish fall in love’. He can’t ever be quite sure what he’s going to get with her, but in these quiet moments, it’s more endearing than anything. On the battlefield is a different story, but hey, can’t win them all.

“How come you never call me stupid?” Harely’s question throws Floyd for a loop.

“What?” Floyd asks, brow creasing as he attempts to figure out even the most basic concept of where that question came from. It’s hard with her, to follow a line of thought, but he still tries sometimes.

“How come it is you never call me stupid, or hit me, or nothin’? I know I aggravate ya sometimes, but you ain’t never done nothin’ to me.” Harley explains, innocently, and Floyd’s blood runs cold the same way it does when he’s staring down a scope. He takes a large swig of coffee before carefully setting the mug aside, mind full of thoughts of beating a certain green haired shitbag until the only colour left of him is red.

Floyd takes a deep breath and walks back over to Harley, crouching in front of the couch and simply holding her gaze. She’s good at reading people, if he lets her she’ll be able to see that he’s telling the truth. He wants to tell her how the Joker is an asshole, and anything he said should probably be ignored, but Floyd knows better by now. Things might have changed and she might not like the Joker anymore, but a part of her will always love him, and attacking that monster is a sure way to get her to shut down.

“I don’t call you stupid ‘cause you’re not stupid,” Floyd says, instead of all the threats he wants to make against the Joker. He sets that aside, because he refuses to let that prick take up more of his attention than Harley. “You’re sort of scary smart, actually.”

Harley looks into his eyes for a moment, genuine and grounded, searching for the truth in what he’s saying. And then, as she always does, she smiles and defuses the situation with overblown charm. She even goes so far as to roll over on her back, still keeping Floyd’s gaze, simply looking at him upside down now.

“Aw, aren’t you just the sweetest?” She croons, and Floyd shakes his head with a small smile.

“Nah, see, you do that and that means you don’t believe me,” He points out. Floyd stands, putting a hand on the armrest of the couch on either side of Harley’s head. She pouts, looking up at him, and Floyd repeats himself, “You’re smart, Harley. And gorgeous, and badass, and weirdly strong with that bat of yours. And I’ve never hit you ‘cause you never done anything to deserve being hit.”

Harley thinks on his words for a second, dramatic pout turning into a genuine frown of concentration. “What about New Mexico?”

Floyd distinctly remembers the mission she references, and the ensuing headache because of her actions, but he doesn’t even hesitate before shaking his head. “Nah, that’s no reason to hit you. In my opinion, if you don’t swing at me first, I don’t see any reason to do so. No matter what you do.”

“You really don’t think I’m annoying?” She persists, voice almost frighteningly grounded and genuine, and Floyd knows this is his chance to get through to her.

“Well, sometimes. But more than that, I think you’re incredible. Annoying goes away, but you… You’re something else.” He speaks with the utmost honesty, and this time he gets the feeling Harley is actually listening. It’s in the little incline of her head, the way she looks just past him.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” Harley’s question is soft, not her standard demand for attention, and Floyd doesn’t hesitate for a second before nodding.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course you’re pretty, Harley. You’re so damn pretty I can’t believe I get to do this.” Floyd proves how pretty he finds her by leaning down and capturing her lips with his own.

Okay, so upside down is an awkward angle, but he makes the best of it, and Harley kisses him back, her hand reaching up to cling to the back of his neck. Floyd smiles against her lips and trails his kisses down, gentle brushes of his lips over her chin, her jawline, onto the delicate skin on the side of her neck. She giggles as he touches on a ticklish spot, so he blows on the skin to tease her more until she gently smacks the back of his head with another laugh.

Floyd relents with a chuckle of his own, breaking away from her only in order to come sit on the couch, picking her legs up and tucking himself underneath them. She crawls halfway onto his lap, and Floyd pulls her to him, back pressed tight against his chest. So strong, yet also so delicate when she’s around him; he’d do awful things to keep her safe. Floyd sighs and drops his mouth to rest on the back her shoulder with another soft kiss.

“You’re perfect, Harley. I’ll tell you that every day, hell, every minute if you need me to. Absolutely perfect.” His lips brush against her skin as he speaks, and Harley wriggles slightly on his lap. If she keeps that up, Waller’s going to tell them off again. Some nonsense about scarring her security techs for life, but hey, it's not his fault she refuses to give them anywhere without cameras.

“You’re silly.” Harley waves off his praise, but Floyd isn’t one to be deterred. He kisses her spine, shaking his head.

“Nah, I’m dead serious, girl. You’re so good.” Harley snorts at that, and Floyd revises his phrasing, “Okay, you’re not like good good, but you’re good to me. Yeah?”

Harley hums, thinking on that, and Floyd lets her. He’s more than happy to simply hold her, feel the heat of her on him. It never fails to amaze him that he gets to be like this with anyone, let alone her. Even his daughter’s mom, it had never been like this. So damn happy, and gentle. Not that Harley’s always gentle with him, but well, there’s a time and a place for everything.

“I guess I am,” Harley admits, after much deliberation, and Floyd smiles again.

He relaxes his hug on her, letting his hands wander to smooth over her abdomen. There’s no shirt to bar his exploration; as always, she’s torn the prison garb off just below her breasts. He’d asked her about it once, why she likes putting so much skin on display, and she’d simply shrugged with a too-bright smile, asking him if he had a problem with it, which he definitely does not. If Floyd had to guess, he’d say it’s her form of kevlar; it’s not exactly as if she’s going to run around in full battle armour, and this might give her an edge in the department of distraction.

Or maybe she just likes how she looks, which Floyd would have to agree with. She’s one of the most beautiful women he’s had the pleasure to look at.

“Damn, you’re so gorgeous, Harley,” Floyd mutters against her skin, dragging his thumbs over her ribs, and she shivers in his grasp, her hands going to his forearms. “Do you want me to stop?”

Floyd is always sure to ask, because he’s never certain if she’ll speak up if he doesn’t give her the space to. Better safe than sorry, anyway. Floyd Lawton may be a murderer, but he’s a damn gentleman.

Harley shakes her head emphatically, her hair brushing over Floyd’s face, “Nope, you don’t hafta stop.”

“You sure?” Floyd asks, his hands traveling further up her ribs as Harley nods just as vigorously. “You want me to keep telling you how pretty, and perfect you are? And what about how your skin feels so damn good under my hands?”

Harley actually whimpers at that, and while Floyd’s never exactly been quiet in his praise of her, he’s never been quite this vocal. At her shaky nod, he mentally kicks himself for it, because she’s already so much more undone simply by his words and gentle touch than she usually is by the very best of his dirty talk. Floyd resolves to tell her how good she is a whole hell of a lot more.

“‘Cause you feel incredible, dollface,” Floyd speaks the praise into her skin, running his hands up and under her cutoff shirt.

He’s delighted to find she’s not wearing a bra; out in the field, she always does, but here in the compound it’s fifty fifty. Most of the time that he realizes she’s not wearing one, it ends in them having sex. He’s wondered a time or two if she does it as some invitation to him, which is an incredibly enticing thought. That she should be displaying her desire for him to the world in some small way, it’s intoxicating.

Floyd caresses her breasts, catching her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. He pinches at them lightly, rolling them and drawing all manner of breathy little noises from Harley. She digs her fingers into the muscles of his forearms; not pushing him away, simply holding onto him.

“You even sound good, Harley. Listen,” Floyd flicks a thumb across a hardened nipple, and Harley gasps lightly. He smiles against her shoulder, “Sweetest sound in the damn world, right there.”

“Deadshot,” Harley whimpers his call name, which is the only name she uses for him except on very, very rare occasion. Floyd doesn’t mind; it’s not how he thinks of himself unless he’s wearing his mask and blowing brains out, but he knows to Harley there’s not always such a distinction between their actions and who they are. It’s not like he’s ashamed of the name or anything, so he hums in response.

“Yeah, girl?” He prompts her, never stopping in his gentle torment of her breasts. She shudders against him, so unlike the hellcat she normally is in bed. Don’t get him wrong, Floyd loves that side of her, but this side definitely holds a special appeal as well.

“I want-” Harley starts, her words dying as Floyd kisses the hollow behind her ear.

“You got it, baby, whatever you want, just say the word,” Floyd promises. He trails one of his hands down from her chest, toying with the elastic waistband of her prison issue pants. He wonders if she’s wearing panties beneath them, and sincerely doubts that she is.

“T-tell me I’m good again?” Harley asks, breathless. Floyd kisses her neck once more, dropping his other hand to join the finger, touch skirting just below the thin fabric.

“You’re so good, Harley. You’re perfect.” The words are no lie; Floyd could die in this moment and be perfectly at peace in his end. Harley's skin is so soft under his calloused hands, and she’s so delightfully receptive. She arches into his touch, urging his hands lower with insistent pressing on his wrists.

“Gonna give you what you want, gorgeous.”

Floyd makes good on his vow in a heartbeat, sliding one of his hands into her pants and finding his suspicions confirmed. No panties, just intense heat and a wetness that makes him salivate and his cock harden. He ignores his own response, however. This is all about her, he decides, all he wants to do is show her in every way possible how perfect she is.

“Damn, you feel incredible,” Floyd mutters as he drags a finger through her folds, passage slick. Harley mewls at the action, so he repeats it. “So good for me like this, yeah? Letting me touch you, so perfect for me.”

“Dead- I-” Harley stammers the start to a few words as Floyd continues to leisurely explore the hot slickness of her. A second finger joins the first, and he ghosts the pair of them past her clit, just enough of a touch to tease her. It’s amazing actually, that he’s robbed her of the ability to form whole sentences. She never seems this shaken during sex, so Floyd kisses her shoulder blade, his free arm wrapping around her midriff to hold her securely. He hopes she feels safe, that she can feel that way with him.

“God, you’re so wet for me,” Floyd mutters, dipping his middle finger into her. Her inner muscles clench around him at the intrusion, hot and tight. Harley rocks into his hand, urging his digit deeper, and he slips his other finger in beside the first. “That feel good, dollface?”

Harley nods, whimpering, apparently still unable to properly articulate words. It’s unbelievably sexy, the way she presses her back against his in order to grind into his hand more. Floyd thrusts his fingers in and out slowly, curling them inside her to draw out those sugar sweet noises of hers.

“So perfect.” Floyd didn’t even intend to say it that time, the words falling from his lips like a divine intonation. It’s the truth, his most sincere truth in this moment, so he repeats it again as Harley shivers, her fingers bruising his wrist. He’d happily take a million bruises for her, and as tight as her grip is, it doesn’t even necessarily feel bad. It belies her desperate need, which only serves to make Floyd feel a glowing accomplishment.

He moves his hand with more definite purpose, curling the heel of his hand down that it might provide some stimulation to Harley’s clit. She releases the arm around her middle, hand flying to her mouth to smother a cry. Much as Floyd would love to hear her, he appreciates the thought; they don’t need to be making more noise than they already are, Captain Boomerang promised to kick their asses into next week if they woke him up with sex noises one more time.

Harley drives her hips into his hand, rolling them in counterpoint to his movements. Floyd’s wrist begins to cramp lightly, but not even Amanda Waller herself strolling through the doors would stop him at this point, Harley’s most intimate muscles clenching around him, a definite indicator of her oncoming climax. No, if anyone wanted to stop him right now, they’d have to tase him.

“You gonna be good for me, huh?” Floyd asks, and Harley nods, breathing shallow and frantic as she chases her end. “Come on, come for me, that’s a good girl.”

Floyd murmurs more such words into her feverish skin as Harley makes a strangled noise, bucking against his hand. He thrusts as fast as he can, driving pleasure into her, telling her the whole time just how amazing and beautiful she is. She seems to preen under the praise, and then she comes undone in a heartbeat, clenching hard around his fingers, trembling with a moan she doesn’t manage to smother at all.

Well, let Boomerang come after him, Floyd would take a million beatings just to see the perfect arch on Harley’s back as she climaxes, to know the feeling of her muscles fluttering around his fingers as he coaxes her through it. He has no regrets whatsoever, lavishing her shoulder and neck with light kisses as Harley slumps, breathing hard. He pulls his fingers out of her, and Harley whines indignantly at their loss.

Floyd adjusts her clothing back into place and contents himself with holding her to his chest, basking in the afterglow of her orgasm. He resolute ignores the aching in his own pants; he’ll survive one case of blue balls, and if the others weren’t awake before, they definitely are now.

Harley pulls the hand that had just been buried inside of her to her mouth and sets to licking the digits clean. That draws a heavy groan from Floyd, and weakens his resolve to not scar the others too much. As she sucks the fingers into her mouth, Floyd decides that for his next reward, he’s going to ask for a night alone with Harley. Somewhere with a lock on the door. Harley hums happily around his fingers, cleansing him of her own taste.

A big, heavy lock. Maybe multiple locks.

“You’re incredible,” Floyd whispers once more, emotion swelling in his chest. Harley releases his fingers with a lewd pop and cranes her neck to look at him.

“You’re pretty great yourself,” she chirps, dropping a kiss that tastes like an echo of her arousal to his lips.

It’s then, just as Floyd is about to say ‘fuck it’ and give into his urges, he hears Killer Croc’s characteristic growl from the corridor. He knows Croc has better hearing than any of them, so chances are he makes the noise to warn them he’s coming, knowing exactly what they were up to moments ago. And what they would be getting up to, without an interruption such as himself.

A room with locks, Floyd reminds himself, sighing and shifting Harley into a position more suitable for snuggling and less boner-inducing. Locks and no cameras, he holds the idea in his mind as Harley snuggles into his embrace and Croc strolls into the room with his usual swagger, headed straight for the coffee.

Not a bad start to the day, Floyd chuckles to himself.

[scottfuckingreed]

Mesmerised - Scott Reed (Part Two)

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NOT REQUESTED

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Summary: Scott and his friends start to grow on you, and you find yourself melting for Scott

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Make sure you read part one before this one!

Warnings!: swearing, and that’s pretty much it

“Honestly you’re, like, obsessed with him,” we walk over with our lunches to their table; Bryce, Montgomery, Zach and Scott. “Shut up Y/N. I swear to god if you say anything embarrassing I will...” I wait in anticipation for what she’ll do to me, but nothing comes as we finally reach the table. “Ladies, we were just talking about you,” Bryce announces.

The only spaces available on the table after Y/BF/N sat down was either between Zach and Bryce, or between Bryce and Montgomery. I chose between Bryce and Montgomery as it was directly across from Scott, but it’s not like he’s even called me. “And what were you saying?” Y/BF/N bites her lip before kissing Monty on the lips passionately for about 3 seconds. “Just, like, dating lives I guess,” Zach shrugs. “And why am I brought into this?” I sip my orange juice as I make eye contact with Scott. He can throw me under a bus if he wants, or hit me around the head with his baseball bat. I don’t know. Whatever he wants to do to me, he can. “Well I guess not dating because you’re the most single person I know,” Bryce adds. “Fuck you Bryce, I don’t see any girls hovering around you,” for the first time I’d felt like these guys weren’t that bad, especially Bryce. I mean, he seems like a total douche but, hey, I guess I was wrong. “She has a point Walker,” Scott backs me up, killing my insides. Bryce proceeds to shake his head. “Don’t like it when your best friend takes my side huh?” I tease him. “I’m surprised he isn’t-“ Bryce gets hit on the shoulder, hard, by Scotty to shut him up.

I press the buttons I need to to get my food from the vending machine. I mean, it’s not really food - it’s just calories - but it tastes good so. My heart skips a beat as I hear a low voice come from behind me. “So,” is all he says, but it makes me jump like a mother fucker. “Jesus Christ Scott, are you trying to kill me?” I ask whilst laughing with a hand on my racing heart. “Not yet,” he pauses. Grabbing my food from the bottom, I stand in front of him waiting for him to speak. I’m guess he’s got something to say. “Is there something you wanted?” I finally ask as we slowly walk back to the table together. “Oh shit yeah. I was wondering if you wanted to come to a party at my house tomorrow night,” the cuteness in his smile is heart warming, but I don’t think it’s the look he’s trying to give off. “We met the other day and I’m already invited over your house? I’m flattered,” I try and flirt. “So I’ll take that as a yes?” “You can take that as a maybe.” I watch as he begins to walk away, and something - like a sudden urge - comes over me. Like a wave of confidence or something. “Scott,” I call to him and watch his cute, hot face look my way. “Call me.”

[slothrusts]

Hey @taylorswift ! Since you made a playlist for us, I thought I’d make one for you. Music is my life, I even study it at school, and my favorite thing about music is songwriting (which is probably why I love you so much). Lyrics are the most important part of a song to me, but soundscapes are also really rad. So here’s 19 songs that I adore, both lyrically and sonically, and hope that you will also like! @taylornation and fellow swifties feel free to listen in as well :)

Also, Taylor, look beneath the Read More for the track listing and me talking about each song like I know what I’m talking about lol

1.) Lit Me Up- Brand New 

     This is the best opening song of all opening songs. Brand New has created such an interesting soundscape and feel with the whole Science Fiction Album. It’s creepy, but great. Taylor I feel like you’d really enjoy some of the binaural action going on.

2.) Turn Out the Lights- Julien Baker @julienbaker

     Julien Baker is one of THE BEST lyricists I have ever found (besides you of course Tay). Everything she writes is heart-wrenching  and beautiful and I love it. I mean, come on “When I turn out the lights/there’s no one left/between myself and me” (lyk if u cri evrytim). This is a single from her forthcoming album by the same name and I highly recommend you listen to her debut Sprained Ankle cause damn is it good. 

3.) Horseshoe Crab- Slothrust 

     This song is a trip man. Slothrust (its Sloth-rust not Slo-thrust fyi) is this cool little rock/jazz/blues band from Brooklyn that I ADORE. Leah writes some outlandish but still poignant af lyrics. Notably: “Sometimes I feel like I’m a sea horse/Sometimes I think that I’m a horseshoe crab/I don’t have anything in common with myself/Except that I came from the sea just like everyone else did”

4.) Ready to Go- Hurts @adam-hurts

     Suggested activity while listening to this song is dancing because damn it’s a certifiable BOP. 

5.) Queen- Flint Eastwood @flinteastwooddetroit

     You’ve probably never seen these guys play live but Jax Anderson is a hype beast like no other and can get a crowd full of people who have never heard her music to sing and jump along like they’re the headliners. The chorus gets u going and I think that reputation era Taylor would appreciate “I’m a queen not a soldier”

6.) I Forgive No One- Citizen 

     While I’m not sure if this genre/sound is your thing Taylor, it does remind me a lot of the whole reputation era mindset. “I forgive no one for anything/I forgive no one for what can change”

7.) Moonshine- Lights @lightsalot

     Another great bop about staying up late and partying. Also Lights wrote and drew an entire comic book series to go along with this concept album?? How fucking cool is that?? It reminds a bit of New Romantics in the attitude of “who gives a shit lets go party anyway!!” 

8.) Sunshine Type- Turnover @turnoverva

     Turnover is my go-to feel good band. This song actually sounds like the way sunshine feels. “I was thinking that you could love a song that I hate/I’d still play it for you”. 

9.) Separate- Pvris @thisispvris

     I’d imagine that swimming underneath an iceberg sounds like this song. Pvris (pronounced like Paris not p-virus or puh-vris) makes some super spooky but beautiful things. And can we talk about “There’s always been a disconnect/Running from my heart to my head/And no it’s never made much sense” as well as “Pull away the world from me I don’t mind/As long as they don’t separate you from me I’ll be fine”. It’s almost the opposite of Clean, but in a good way. This entire album has got some killer outros btw.

10.) Burn it Down- Daughter 

      Elena Tonra from Daughter is SUCH a GREAT lyricist. You, her, and Julien are probably the best lyricists that I know of honestly. Plus, her, Remi, and Igor as a band make some DOPE soundscapes that you can get actually physically lost in. “Always said I was a good kid/Always said I had a way with words/Never knew I could be speechless/Don’t know how I’ll ever break this curse”. They wrote this album for a video game soundtrack, but the one before this one Not to Disappear is lyrically so powerful I cry every time I see them live lol.

11.) Trainwreck- Banks

     Banks is a bad ass bitch and I think you and her would get along swimmingly. Also perhaps invite her to sing this with you on the rep tour?? (hint hint wink wink) “Born to take care of you, or I thought so/Maybe it was just a phase” It’s like an updated more sonically banging Dear John imo

12.) Helicopter- Deerhunter

     Back on the soundscape train Deerhunter just sounds cool as shit. The lyrics to this one are story-based and talk about some guy who was a victim of human trafficking. BUT Bradford Cox makes it sound cerebral and plucky.

13.) Deadcrush- alt-J

     I love this song cause it has the coolest premise. It’s about the Dead Crushes of the band members. So like, dead people that the band members admire. The crushes are Anne Boleyn and Lee Miller. I particularly enjoy the music video for this song which is weird as all hell. The pulsing beat that drives this song is something that I think you would appreciate, Taylor. This is one of the songs where it feels more like the words are meant to be a part of a music rather than their own separate piece if that makes sense.

14.) SGL- Now, Now @nownowband

     SGL stands for “Shot Gun Lover” and holy heck does this lyrically resemble some of your stuff! Sign me the fuck up for “Starry-eyed/I was young and undone/But I could’ve died/With you there in the sun”. I’ve been listening to this band for almost as long as I’ve listened to you but they recently got a more pop sound and I am LIVING for it

15.) Lose Myself- From Indian Lakes @fromindianlakes

     I saw on your playlist that you like Cigarettes After Sex and so I thought you might also enjoy the recent stuff by From Indian Lakes. This is the kind of song you listen to when driving home from a date. Ponder closely, “Am I the worm on a lover’s hook/And now I’m right where I’m supposed to be/But something still feels wrong with me”

16.) You and I (stripped version)- Pvris

     Pvris gets to be on here twice cause they are that good sorry but I don’t make the rules (wait yes I do). The lyrics here also remind me of you and how we all just have way too many feelings and our best shot at figuring things out is through writing about them. You and I is about a love that’s not working but that is still desperately wanted, “I know it’s cold when we’re apart/And I hate to feel this die/But  you can’t give me what I want/Just give it time”. Listen to this stripped version to hear how beautiful and lilting Lynn’s voice is and listen to the full band version to hear how much of a powerhouse her voice can be.

17.) Jesus Christ- Brand New

     Yes another Brand New song. You know why? Cause they are also fucking amazing. Taylor, I recommend you listen to this song while lying in your bed staring up at the ceiling and thinking “How the hell did I get here, and how the hell am I gonna leave?” (here can be anywhere, your hotel room, you home, this universe). The next time you read a shitty headline about you in a tabloid think about the lyrics, “We all got wood and nails/And we turn out hate in factories/We all got wood and nails/And we sleep inside of this machine”

18.) Townie- Mitski @whoismitski

     “I want a love that falls as fast as a body from the balcony/And I want a kiss like my heart is hitting the ground/I’m holding my breath with a baseball bat though I don’t know what I’m waiting for/I’m not gonna be who my daddy wants me to be”…… do I need to say anything else? Hopefully you’ve already heard some of Mitski’s stuff cause she’s gonna be on tour with your homegirl @lordemusic this next spring!

19.) Pigpen- Slothrust

     Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with the post-chorus riff from this song in my head. Taylor, the lyrics I’d want you to hear the most from this one are; “I would spread my wings/If they weren’t so god damn heavy/Yeah I would spread my wings/If they weren’t coated in honey” 

And that’s everyone!! I hope you liked at least one of these songs @taylorswift . Love you eternally and catch you on the flipside!!!

[missingverse]

Missing  Chapter Twelve

A week until:

She'd been up at the cave for three days and whatever mystery illness she had was clearly getting killed off by the fresh air and clear springwater up there (she figured, anyway) but she had to go home eventually.

After school, she tossed her clothes and sleeping bag in the washing machine, made a mental note to pick up some paraffin for the camping stove and batteries for her flashlight and showered. Just as she was getting out of the bathroom she caught the scent of cooking wafting from the kitchen. It didn't smell all that appetizing (way too much garlic and five-spice) but after three days of char-grilling over a campfire something cooked on an actual hob would be nice.

“Hi honey, how was your day,” Miriam drawled, already halfway into a Long Island iced tea.

“Pretty good,” Helga drawled back, sitting across from her. “Got an A on my History report.”

“That's nice,” Miriam sniffed, and swigged from her glass.

“Hit three home runs in practice yesterday.”

“That's super,” Miriam slurred, stirring her ice cubes with a straw.

“Then I beat a homeless man to death with my baseball bat. He had it coming.”

“That's nice,” she said again.

“Went to the park to celebrate and ended up doing a whole bunch of meth with some crackheads.”

“Well, the important thing is that you tried, dear,” Miriam slurred, blinking heavily.

Helga rolled her eyes; the 'say outrageous shit and see how long it takes Miriam to notice' game used to be fun when she was younger, but it was getting dull. Miriam just didn't react to anything anymore.

Bob blustered in just then with a pot full of some mysterious bubbling 'stuff.' Probably chili again. He looked surprised to see Helga there.

“Where the hell have you been?” he growled.

“Overnight field trip,” Helga shrugged. “I gave you the permission slip, remember?”

She gave him nothing of the sort but Bob nodded anyway.

“Uh, yeah,” he muttered. “Hang on, I'll get you a plate.”

He took the pot back with him for whatever reason, and there was a big production of opening and slamming cupboard doors. When he came back, he dumped two plates of 'stuff' in front of Helga and Miriam. Helga poked at what might have been a pinto bean with her fork gingerly.

“What's in this?” she asked as Bob sat down with his own plate.

“Little bit of everything,” he said, but he wouldn't look at her; he just shoveled the stuff into his own mouth. “Eat it and stop whining. I didn't spend all day in that kitchen to have you turn up your nose at it.”

She rolled her eyes again, but took a dainty bite of the mystery stuff. It was gritty, and oddly chalky and the aftertaste reminded her of accidentally inhaling aerosol spray.

…..

Phoebe caught up with Arnold at lunch, just as he was telling Thom from Social Studies about some cliff notes he had found.

“You were going to tell me something this morning,” she said instead of hello.

Arnold was acutely aware that people were looking at them and whispering. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Gerald frowning. He gathered up his lunch tray, excused himself to Thom and brought Phoebe over to one of the empty tables at the back of the cafeteria.

“Yes, I was,” he said. “Something I came across this morning, it triggered a memory for Helga.”

“What was it?”

Arnold glanced around him; if Phoebe got upset, the rumours would be pretty wild....

“Arnold, stop it.”

“Hm? Stop what?”

She threw down her sandwich and fixed him with a hard glare.

“Stop keeping things from me because you think I'll be upset,” she said. “I've been upset for five years. I know it's going to be bad but I can deal with it. I want to help Helga just as much as you do.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “What do you know about Pocaselas?”

“Not much,” she said, brows furrowed in concentration. “I got a bus from there once when my Dad's car broke down.”

“Helga sees the name of the place in her dreams,” he told her. “I think it's like a residual memory. She also said she feels like there's something around her neck when she's asleep.”

Phoebe paled, but braced herself.

“Pocaselas is known for being a place that runaways go to a lot,” Arnold continued. “Do you think she might have gone there?”

“No,” Phoebe answered abruptly. “She always said she was determined to wait it out. She would have qualified for boarding school scholarships in another year, she was talking to Mr Simmons about it.”

Arnold hadn't thought about Mr Simmons for a long time. In the aftermath of Helga's disappearance he'd taken early retirement and left Hillwood. A paper reporting on the case quoted him as 'heartbroken.'

“She wouldn't have gone voluntarily,” Phoebe said, shaking her head with certainty.

Arnold swallowed. “Then that leaves us with the other solution. Have you heard of the Black Gulch Ripper?”

Phoebe paled even more, which should have been impossible.

“Yes,” she murmured. “Bits and pieces.”

“Most theories say he's an experienced woodsman,” Arnold said, bringing up the slew of articles he had looked up on his phone between classes. “Pocaselas is bordered by a stretch of woodland and marsh that meets Hillwood's forests on the other side. There's no roads connecting them and it's about two days walk if you don't mind wading through sinkholes in bear-infested wildland.”

“All the Rippers' victims were adults,” Phoebe countered.

“They were young women, or at least looked it,” Arnold said. “The youngest was nineteen, and all of them were taken from Pocaselas. Then he went quiet about three years before Helga went missing. It's not unknown for murderers to keep picking younger and younger victims.”

“So you think he caught her in the forest when she was out there? He walked for two days through bear-infested wildland, as you put it, and just happened to come across her? That's kind of far-fetched...”

“Is it really? Because none of the buses leaving Hillwood, none of the cars going through the speed cameras picked up anyone fitting Helga's description. As far as we can see, she never left the forest.”

“All his victims were dumped in the Gulch,” Phoebe said. “They never found Helga's body.”

“All of his known victims,” Arnold countered. “People disappear from Pocaselas at four times the national average. An experienced woodsman would be better suited to dragging someone through the marshes.”

Mute and unhappy, Phoebe stared down at her nibbled-on sandwich and Arnold did the same to his own mostly untouched lunch. They were almost relieved when the bell rang and they went back to class.

And then, something very unexpected happened.

Just as Arnold was pulling out his Algebra homework, Rhonda Lloyd Wellington stopped in front of his desk. Tapping her foot irritably and frowning down at him, she was oddly twitchy.

“I need to talk to you about something,” she said, glancing around the room at anyone who was looking in their direction.

“Uh, sure?” he said, surprised. She hadn't spoken a word to him in over a year.

“Not here,” she said furtively. “Meet me in the coffee house after school. If you're even a minute past four, I'm leaving.”

And then she was gone.

…..

The girls were furious, because Helga Pataki was flaunting her older boyfriend in front of the school with absolutely no shame.

Well, flaunting wasn't the word Arnold would have used. Helga was talking quietly to the boy at the wall that separated the school grounds from the street, and he was gently teasing her about something because she laughed and jokingly punched his arm. He flashed his teen-idol-worthy smile at her, the kind that seemed designed to make preteen girls swoon, and she rolled her eyes because she was all too used to it.

To the other girls, they might as well have been making out in full view of the entire school.

“He treats her like one of the boys,” Angela Harper sniffed with an injured air. “If that's the kind of thing he goes for, good luck to them.”

“Wasn't there another boy walking her home yesterday?” Nadine piped up.

“That's Martin,” Phoebe said over the spine of her book. “Patrick was away yesterday and they don't like letting Helga walk home in the dark. She's not dating either of them.”

“Whatever,” Angela said, tossing her hair back. “Personally I don't think a boy should walk you home unless you're dating but that's just...”

“Could you all just shut the fuck up?” Rhonda growled suddenly, looking up from her phone for the first time.

A touchy silence fell on the girls, they exchanged nervous glances. Rhonda smoothed down her hair, and over her shoulder Arnold could see she wasn't looking at her phone but rather at her own reflection in the blackened shine of the screen.

…..

Rhonda glared when she saw Arnold had brought Phoebe with him.

“You could have warned me you were bringing her.”

“Sorry,” Arnold shrugged. “I get the feeling this is about Helga. You were behind us in the cafeteria.”

“Bingo, Sherlock,” Rhonda laughed scornfully, and then she looked nervous again. “Hey, you mind getting me a latte or something? They don't let me vape in here, can you believe that?”

“Okay,” Arnold nodded, and went to the counter to order. Phoebe followed him.

“Can you believe her?” Phoebe hissed into his ear. “As if she's doing you a favour being here...!”

“She might be, we don't know yet,” Arnold hissed back. “If she gives us something new, it's worth the price of a latte, right?”

Phoebe grudgingly agreed.

Even when she had her coffee in front of her, Rhonda fidgeted, took out her vape and put it away again, touched up her mascara and fiddled with her phone before she even tried to speak to them. Her hands were trembling, Arnold noted with surprise.

“Did you want to tell us anything or are we just here to watch you be Rhonda?” Phoebe bit out at last.

“Ooh, that's told me,” Rhonda laughed mockingly. “Fine, let's get this over with.”

But as she took a sip of her latte, her demeanor changed once again, her eyes dropped to the table in front of her.

“Look, you have to understand something first, okay?” she began. “I was a stupid kid. A really fucking stupid kid. I did stupid shit and nobody ever stopped me so I just kept on doing it. Get that?”

Arnold nodded, Phoebe folded her arms and stared. Rhonda sipped her latte again.

“Back then, I was really pissed off at Helga,” she continued. “I didn't even think she liked boys... and she didn't give a shit about looking nice or anything so it was kind of annoying when suddenly all these older boys are fawning all over her like she's some fucking supermodel....

“She wasn't dating them,” Phoebe cut in. “You know she wasn't!”

“Whatever,” Rhonda quipped. “Anyway, it made me mad, okay? And I thought fine, if she can do it so can I. How hard would it really be to get myself an older boyfriend? Turns out it's not that hard at all. Especially if you do it online.”

Arnold's heart sank; he had a feeling he knew where this was going.

“You'd better believe I got lots of attention. As many older boys as I could ever want. Way older. And then there's this one guy who pops up, and he's really nice to me. Listens to all my complaints about school and home and whatever, and then he sends me a picture.”

“What kind of picture?” Arnold asked, his mouth gone dry with the horror of it.

“A picture of Helga. Not a creepy picture or anything, except she's asleep in it. And he tells me she's his cousin and asks if I know her. I didn't even know she had a cousin.”

“She doesn't,” Phoebe said quietly, as if from very far away.

“I didn't know that. So I said yeah, she's in my class. He tells me he wants to meet up with his family because they got separated or some shit, and I figure if he meets up with them he would be in Hillwood and I could date him properly. Like I said, I was a stupid fucking kid.”

“what did you do, Rhonda?” Arnold gulped.

“I told him where we lived.”

Phoebe reacted before Arnold could stop her. There was a loud crack as her palm met Rhonda's cheek. Rhonda's head snapped to the side and she stayed there, stunned, as her face reddened.

“You bitch,” Phoebe growled. “You sold her out because you wanted a boyfriend? You fucking bitch!”

She went to slap her again, but Arnold stood up and grabbed her arms, pulling her back, as Rhonda shakily sat up again cradling her cheek in her hand.

“Phoebe, no,” he hissed, trying to drag her back down to her seat. “Come on, what's done is done.”

Phoebe swung back and pushed him away, and then she grabbed her bag and stormed out. As the door of the coffee shop slammed shut, he could see she was in tears. He could go after her, but....

“Rhonda, are you okay?” he asked quietly.

Tears were glittering in her eyes, but she blinked them away and tried to act casual, sipping her latte like nothing had happened.

“You're a nice guy, you know that?” she laughed bitterly. “It's no less than I deserved, right? As if I haven't been thinking about it ever since...”

“Did you tell the police when they questioned you?” he asked, already guessing she hadn't.

“No,” she said, and Arnold's heart sank. “Arnold, I sent pictures to some of those guys! Pictures I didn't want my folks seeing....and you know how that kind of thing gets around....I'd have been finished at school.”

“Helga's probably dead, Rhonda,” Arnold reminded her. “And whoever got her is still out there. I think it's a bit more important than your reputation.”

“Yeah, well,” she laughed again, so bitter it stung. “Like I said, I was a stupid fucking kid.”

…..

Helga was asleep in his bed when he got back, and Arnold's heart thumped hard because she had been sleeping more and more lately. Did it mean something? Were they running out of time to find her closure?

The PC was on, and a folder of his finished homework was open on the screen. It was only 8pm, but he dressed for bed and slid in beside her anyway, to watch her breathe. His eyes traced the long line of her throat, looking for the mark of whatever she felt was around her neck. Sure enough, there was a faint red line circling her neck, near the juncture of her chest. He reached out and stroked it gently with his finger.

Suddenly, Helga mumbled something frenzied-sounding in her sleep, turned over and ended up just an inch or two from Arnold's face. He saw something he hadn't noticed before.

On her bottom jaw, on the right side, two teeth were missing.

[lawful-evil-novelist]

Maxwell

So I’m trying my hand at @the-mighty-sorceress‘s ocs Glimmer and Teddy, not sure how well I did but goddammit Glimmer and Max are going to have some talk time because I said so.

When Todd had suggested they talk to Teddy, Max seriously considered strangling the kid, Todd, not Teddy. Max already wanted to strangle Teddy and the thought of talking to him kind of made him consider shrieking at the top of his lungs, but then again that probably wasn’t considered socially appropriate.

He was a little more annoyed that Dorothy accepted the suggestion.

“He’s late,” Dorothy glanced at her phone, “was ‘meet us in front of the comic store’ too vague or something?”

“It’s Teddy Krank I think you need to be as detailed as possible,” Max muttered.

“Can you bear to be even slightly nice?” Dorothy asked.

“You decided to agree without giving me a say.”

“You would’ve said no.”

“Because Teddy is annoying.”

Dorothy didn’t say anything else, but turned to look into the comic store, her eyes scanning the rows of shelves.  She wasn’t mad, it took a lot to get a Crane or a Prince mad, but he’d said something wrong.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, before Max saw Todd rounding the corner with Teddy in tow. Max elbowed Dorothy and nodded to Todd as he approached.

“Sorry,” Todd gave a grin as if it would solve every problem with this situation, “Teddy got distracted.”

“By what?  His shadow?” Max snapped, earning a punch in the arm from Dorothy.

“Hi Teddy,” she forced a smile.  She wasn’t too keen on Teddy either, but she always tried to make the best of a garbage situation.

“Wonder Kid!” Teddy nearly shouted, and Dorothy stood rigid, trying to determine if the nickname was meant as an insult or not.  She was used to it being used as an insult.

“Don’t call her that,” Max said quickly before Dorothy could come to a conclusion, “please, don’t.”

“And...Maxwell, right?” Teddy guessed, “You’re a lot angrier than I pictured.”

Max flinched, but straightened up and did his best not to look insulted, “Max.  Not Maxwell, Max.”

“Right, right,” Teddy nodded, “So...Todd didn’t tell me much about you guys.  I know all about your parents though!”

“Save it,” Max said quickly, “save anything you have to say about Anarky right now.  I don’t want to hear it.”

Teddy looked a bit taken aback, which didn’t surprise Max much.  Knowing Max and his siblings lived with a GCPD officer was one thing. Knowing why Max and his siblings lived there was another entirely. Max had gotten into fights over people lauding Lonnie Machin and his hypocritical preaching, he had the scars to prove the man was full of shit.

“I mean, I don’t like him,” Teddy shrugged, “I mean come on, a terrorist who fights violence and scare tactics WITH violence and scare tactics?  Yeah that’s...great work.”

Max took a deep breath but before he could say anything Dorothy cut in.

“So,” she forced another smile and elbowed Max sharply in the ribs, “do you like ice cream Teddy? My treat.”

“Yep!” Teddy perked up, “Wait, you have money?”

“I have a job, so of course I do.”

Max didn’t reply and started walking faster.  He didn’t really want to be near Teddy and was more content to pretend he wasn’t associated with them.  But of course, Teddy seemed to think Max walking faster meant he needed to walk faster and came jogging up beside Max.

“So, whose cruel prank gave you that haircut?” he asked, referring to Max’s half shaved hair.

“No one’s,” Max growled, “I wanted long hair, but not on that side.”

“That sounds like it’s missing the point,” Teddy grinned.  Max let out a loud groan and stepped around in front of Teddy.

“I don’t want it long on that side because that’s the side my dad grabbed when he beat me.  Shut up.”

“Max!” Todd raised his voice.  Teddy looked a little shocked by what had been said.

“You two brought me into this I told you both I didn’t want to spend one second with this walking hair dye ad.  If he really wants to be one of us he better damn well learn fast that not all of us grew up with sunshine and rainbows.”

Max turned and stormed off, still red in the face and furious, he didn’t notice when he ran headlong into someone walking in the opposite direction.

“Hey watch where you’re-” Max began, then noticed the standing girl in front of him, “Glimmer,” he started to his feet, “I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Glimmer replied curtly, “It’s my fault, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“No I wasn’t either,” Max insisted, then noticed Glimmer was looking around, slightly confused, “are you lost?”

“I was going to meet Ellie at a coffee shop,” she furrowed her brow, “but I’ve never been in this part of town.”

“I might be able to help,” Max shrugged, “is it Javawocky?”

Glimmer looked surprised, then nodded, “How’d you know?”

“I work there,” Max shrugged, “Me n’ Todd do.  Ellie loves the place.  Come on, this way.  So, Liz introduced you to Ellie?”

“Yes,” Glimmer nodded, “she’s nice.”

“I don’t know many people who don’t like Ellie,” Max shrugged, “though you seem to not like me.”

“You’re rude,” Glimmer said curtly.

“And my dad is terrifying,” Max added, “look, I get it, I don’t like my dad much either.”

Glimmer didn’t respond to that and instead, changed the subject, “Who was that kid in pink from the other day?”

“Todd?  You don’t know who Todd is?”

“I know who Todd is.  I just didn’t know what he looked like.”

“He looks like that.”

“I gathered.”

Max stopped at a crosswalk and froze.  Coming across the street towards them was a very familiar sight.

When Lonnie lost custody of his kids, he didn’t stop assaulting Max, he sought him out, and right now, walking towards Max and Glimmer, wielding a baseball bat, was Lonnie Machin.

“Run,” Max said quickly. Glimmer looked at him, confused.

“What?”

“Don’t ask,” Max turned Glimmer around and shoved her down the street, “run!”

Glimmer began to turn around, a possible angry remark forming on her lips when Lonnie’s bat swung into Max’s head, knocking him to the ground.  Max barely stopped himself from hitting the concrete head on and curled up into a ball as Lonnie raised the bat to strike again.  Max screwed his eyes shut as the bat impacted his side, then his forearms, raised to protect his face.

Then, as suddenly as the two strikes had hit, they stopped.  Max lowered his arms and sat up in confusion.  Glimmer had stepped between Max and Lonnie, and was holding Lonnie’s hands as best she could.  She shoved him away and Lonnie, apparently not keen on starting a fight with Glimmer, ran off.  Glimmer turned towards Max and quickly knelt down to look at the bruise forming on the side of his head.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Nothing I haven’t dealt with before,” Max smirked, “thank you though.”

“Was that who I think it was?” Glimmer asked, helping Max to his feet.

“My dad?  Yeah,” Max nodded, “he does that.”

“I can relate,” Glimmer sighed, her hand rising to a necklace around her neck.

“Right, Magpie,” Max glanced from the necklace to Glimmer’s face, “come on, might as well get you to that coffee shop.”

“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?” Glimmer asked.  Max paused, checked his side, then his arms, then felt the bruise on his head.

“I might have a mild concussion,” Max affirmed, “not hospital worthy though.  My dad wasn’t trying to kill me.”

“Why did he attack you in broad daylight?”

Max glanced up at Glimmer, a dead serious look on his face.

“Because he hates me. Always has.”

Glimmer looked a little uncomfortable, so Max took a deep breath and took her hand.

“Ellie’s probably missing you,” he said carefully, “come on, we’re not far.”

Glimmer nodded and Max led her down the street to the coffee shop.  When they got there, he saw Ellie out front, looking worried and checking her watch.

“Thank you,” Glimmer said softly, then headed off to Ellie’s table.  Max turned around and checked his phone, on it was a short text from Todd.

[We’re waiting for you at the ice cream place, once you’ve cooled off.  Teddy didn’t want to get any without you.]

Max smirked and started towards the ice cream shop they frequented.  He had a purple-haired nuisance to apologize to.

[asher-o-conner-blog]

Possession || self-para

Machine. That is the first sound he heard. 

Beep-- beep-- the artificial noise of clinging life. 

He used to hate that noise, spending nights in the hospital room. He used to wake up in the dead of night, flinching in terror. He used to tiptoe up to the bed, to check if she is still breathing. He used to think about her often when he was exhausted, when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore. He used to think about how ironic it was that he returned to one place he hated the most in the world. He used to have a trouble talking to the family of patients, seeing all too familiar looks on their faces. He used to go home, beaten and spent, falling onto the bed, wishing he could sleep for years. 

He used to.

He finds himself in a room, an empty bed and a vital sign monitor sitting side by side. The window is curtained thick. He inhales faintly. He tastes bitterness he can’t put a finger on. Maybe it’s a hospital. There is a specific kind of silence indigenous to hospitals, damp and sticky like the air after rain. In the night, it fills the bleak corridors and suffocates the hopeless, and that is how you die. Maybe it is death. Death, he is sick and tired of. Death, he is used to. And he can almost taste it here. 

Whose room is this anyway?

A sudden need to escape surge over him. He pulls the curtains open. Bleached sunshine blinds him. Frowning, he turns his head away. The scene spins, and the room disappears. He now finds himself on a corridor, running without realizing. He must have been running for a while. He is out of goddamn breath, and by goddamn breath, it means his head spins and his vision is blurred. He stops, leans on the wall. Trying to catch breath might be simple in theory but in practice, it is a fucking rollercoaster. There is not much of trying, but just waiting for it to pass until you reach the sweet release.

Why was I running?

“They taunted him, calling him names. The teacher broke them off, but they decided to meet up at that lot... wait, where are you going?!” 

He now remembers. He ran home to look for his bat... He quit the baseball team, but he kept the bat in the closet. He pulls open the nearest door as everything unfolds-- of course he remembers his room. The bed with that boring blue cover, mess on the floor, tiny desk and huge stacks of homework, everything is there. His closet inside the door is a whole new level of chaos. The unwashed clothes he just doesn’t wear anymore, bottles he hid away from Dad, forgotten toys... 

Where the fuck did it go? 

He turns, shutting the door with considerable force. He looks beneath his bed. Since he graduated the-monster-under-the-bed period, he reaches in unhesitating. There it is, his old bat. It was way too big for him to swing when Dad got it for his birthday. It didn’t matter, though, because he was going to play in the Major League. So much for a baseball player now, he grew out of it, and grew up. It still is heavy, nonetheless. That puberty needs to hurry its lazy ass...

“Hey, what are you... wow, that’s a sick bat, man.” 

I know right?

“What... are you gonna do with it?”

He holds straight and gives it a full swing. He can handle it. He smirks.

Beat up some idiots. Then get my idiot brother.

“Are you crazy? Are you a crazy person? Are you out of your freaking mind? Just-- stop! Dude, let’s just go talk to adults! Call your Dad!” 

Nah.

He puts the bat on his shoulder, walking toward the exit. He shoves the other out of his way.

I’m all he’s got. And he’s all I’ve got.

He mutters, glancing over his shoulder.

We’ve only got each other.

With that words, everything shatters. The room, the bat, the story of his youth. 

And there he was, a boy who had to grow up too fast. 

No, actually, he didn’t grow. He still is that boy, don’t know how to ask for a help, don’t know how to reach out, just holding onto what he has because he can’t lose anymore. 

He watches as the pieces fall away until nothing is left but darkness. Is he sinking in? Maybe. But who cares? Maybe, hopefully, he will get some rest in peace. Finally.

But then he remembers, there was someone. Someone following him around, pestering him. Someone reaching out and reaching out and reaching out to him when he needed a helping hand the most.

“There you were.”

The hand on his shoulder is all too familiar. The voice is unforgettable. 

Asher turns around and there he is. 

“Noah.” He says softly. The bat falls with clinks. He realizes that he has been crying. Tear is a peculiar thing. The water oozes out of your eyes. How weird is that? And for whatever reason the brain decides to cry over. Sometimes it just hits you in the chest and the water breaks. When was the last time he cried? He can’t even remember. He can’t even remember the last time he had to wipe the tears off of his face.

“Got me worried, asshole.” Noah brings him into a tight hug. Then follows a grip on the shoulders. There is a fake smile on Noah’s face which is not a good sign. “Dragging me around, causing me troubles... You’ve got a lot of nerve, Ash. A lot of nerve.” Even the tone is sweet and everything, but that is a warning sign with Noah.

“Ow, ow, Noah, c’mon, man. I’m sorry.” Asher squirms like a kid, like he used to.

Noah releases the shoulders, sighing dramatically, “what am I going to do with you? I mean, seriously. I’ve been gone for a minute and you idiots fuck shit up.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You kids are just incorrigible and I can only blame myself for caring.”

“Yeah. We’re the worst.”

“Damn right you are! At least you are aware of it. Hey, there might even be a hope for you.”

“...thanks?”

They stand there cackling. It feels like forever since they talked like this. Why?

The ground... or whatever they are footing on, rumbles. Asher looks up, feeling a chill running down his spine.

“Seems like our time is up.” Noah grumbles.

“What’s going on?” 

“You’ll find out soon.” Noah flicks him on the forehead. “Just... don’t overthink it. Whatever happened is happened. You can’t... just, ugh. You’re a fucking idiot, O’Conner.” 

“Noah.” Asher calls again. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Can’t. You’ll do something stupid again.”

“What stupid thing? I do lots of stupid shits.” 

“...trying to save me.”

“From what?”

Noah doesn’t answer. Instead he turns away, pushes Asher. A simple shove, and Asher stumbles backward.

“What the--” he can’t even curse as he starts falling.

He thought he heard Noah saying, “just promise me this--” 

Then he crashes.

He remembers. Lucas was in trouble, some older kids not taking kindly of the twins and their attitude. Asher knew he had to go for Lucas. Calling Dad was out of question. Teachers, he couldn’t trust them. They were already suspecting that his Dad was not around much, and ready to call the social workers. He couldn’t risk that. Obviously, he had to take care of it himself. 

He went to the lot they lured Lucas out. It went nothing like a movie. There were seven of them. Lucas and him were only two. They got their asses handed to them-- not as bad as Asher thought, however. There was the third. Noah came through, with his own baseball bat. The three manages to fight off the bullies.

“Don’t say that.” Noah said afterward.

What?

“That you’ve only got each other.”  He flicked Asher in the forehead.

“You’ve got me too.” 

The crash is violent, and Asher coughs up the air. His lungs feel like they are on fire. His body shakes, every bone creaking in pain. His eyes hurt from fluorescent lights. He can barely move. This is what you get for falling.

“What the fuck--” He curses. He groans as he tries to sit up-- he fails miserably. His body doesn’t work as he wants it to. Follows the unpleasant sensation underneath his skin. It’s not a pain, not an itch but an acute dysphoria. His mind screams that he shouldn’t be here. He wants to throw up, wants to run. From where? To where? 

His skin feels wrong. His bones feel wrong. He feels wrong.

He hears someone, calling his name, and then Noah’s.

“Noah?” he calls out. “Where’s Noah?”

 And then he remembers, he went to Noah’s funeral.