#did stop for chips waiting for the bus. to clear out the smoke in my lungs lol

[mycological-mariner]

“Nobody told me I’d be seeing UV breasts when I signed up for this shift” — sentences I didn’t think I’d be saying yet here we are

[ill-skillsgard]

is faith dealing w being away from fausty? I miss them so :(,, I hope you’re well love xoxo

Warning: 18+ Mentions of sex/phone sex, mentions of alcohol and drug use, violent threats, non-consensual touching, brief mentions of rape.

Note: I missed writing Faust stuff so much over the holidays. He’s definitely one of my favourite secretly soft boys. I can’t wait to get back into the swing of writing. Thank you to the lovely anons who haven’t given up on this pairing yet! I will try not to go 2 months between posts for these guys.

Summary: Faith starts to miss Faust so much while he’s away on tour that she goes to his apartment to spend the night in his bedroom. However, her plans are interrupted by the people Faust warned her not to hang around.

Faust x Faith Masterpost [x]

Faith awoke in a sweat, chest pumping hot torrents of blood to her head as the ceiling came into view, the walls containing her after a flight through a nightmare faded into obscurity. She rolled onto her back, her flimsy cotton nightgown sticking to her dewy skin, and tossed the comforter from her top half. Streetlamps and passing cars cast geometric blocks of light on the ceiling, illuminating the dust motes floating by her face. Faith breathed in and out, shaking her head free from the gripping terror of unconsciousness.

She had dreamed of receiving a phone call from Faust in the middle of the night, and when she answered, he explained to her in a laconic, matter-of-fact voice why they shouldn't continue seeing each other. He was too busy to maintain a relationship with a girl who's path would never intersect with his goals. She was too young, too naive, too proper. Too this and too that and in no way matched him. The terrible sinking in her chest returned as it had in the dream, but she dismissed the sensation. It was all a silly dream, a manifestation of her worst fear. Faust loved her and would never break up with her—least of all over a phone call.

The cellphone next to her pillow came to life, vibrating a couple of times before she found it and squinted at the bright screen. Faust. She sat up, and her lungs froze, the cavernous hole opening up under her skin. When she answered, voices and loud music came through like warring radio waves.

"Hello?" She whispered, not wanting to wake her dorm mate.

"Faith? You there?"

"Yes," her voice crawled from her throat, no louder than a rasp. She cleared her airway and said again, "Yes."

"Aw, are you sleeping, babe?"

"No," she whispered.

"Hm? I can't hear you. Hang on, let me find a quieter place."

Faith swung out of bed and left the dorm to go to the shared washrooms where she could speak. She entered a stall, put down the toilet seat and sat atop the cold plastic, waiting for Faust's deep voice to tickle her ear again.

"You there?" He asked.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"That's better, yeah. I can hear you now."

Faith squeezed her knees together, his voice like warm liquid flowing into her stomach. She sighed, relieved.

"Sorry, I know it's late for you. We had a really late soundcheck, then I was in the green room until we went on. I didn't forget to call."

Faith nodded, smiling, though Faust couldn't see the respite his words gave her after the unpleasant dream that had jarred her awake.

"It's okay. Where are you again?"

"Utah, probably a couple hours behind you. We're out of the venue now."

"How was the show?" Faith asked.

"It was good—big stage. Couple hundred people, but maybe a quarter of them were there for us. We sold a lot of merch, though."

"That's great, babe. I'm glad you're having fun."

"Yeah," Faust sighed. "I miss you, though. Can't believe there's still another three weeks of this."

Faith leaned her head against the stall's metal barrier, reading the scandalous notes engraved in the chipped paint. "I know. Seems like forever."

"You're still good to come to our last show?"

"Yes. I told my parents I'm going to a friend's cottage for the weekend."

"But really, you're getting on a Greyhound and coming to see me."

She closed her eyes and giggled. "That's right."

Faith wondered if she should tell Faust about her bad dream. She knew what he'd say to her: it was just a dumb dream, and he would never break up with her, so she shouldn't let it bother her so much. She accepted this assurance without bringing it up.

"I'm in my bunk now," Faust told her.

"I'm in the bathroom," said Faith.

"Wish you were here, though. It gets so boring sometimes, driving from place to place, listening to these dumbasses argue over the shower."

"It's the same here. I've started taking showers at midnight just to avoid the headache and bargaining. These girls all have the same night routine. There's always a line-up to use the shower."

"Mm," Faust grunted. "Yeah. Stupid."

A moment of silence passed between them. Faith savoured his soft breaths coming over the line, wishing she could feel the warmth behind them. She craved his scent, the smell of his shampoo, the distinct mentholated freshness of his deodorant. She wanted to stroke his face, and touch his biceps, inspect the hair underneath his arms until he told her she was weird for finding such things fascinating. She wanted to feel the twin ruts coming to a peak below his navel, leading down to his groin where he'd snatch her hand and berate her, ultimately relenting and letting her stroke the soft skin underneath the band of his plaid boxers.

"I wanna touch you," she whispered.

"Fuck," he drawled. "Me too, babe."

"I had a bad dream you called me in the middle of the night to break up with me... then you actually called. Do you think that's weird?"

Faust scoffed in that indignant way he always did. She pictured the corner of his mouth snagging, his brows descending at such a silly thing.

"That's kind of weird."

"I hate not being able to sleep next to you."

"Don't worry, babe. I'll be home soon. You can get through the next few weeks."

"Yeah, but... Do you miss sleeping next to me?"

"Oh, definitely. I really miss you hogging the blankets, pushing me to the edge of the bed, punching me in your sleep."

"I don't do that!"

Faust snickered. "Yeah, you do. But it's okay. I'm like way stronger than you. I can move you like nothing."

"Don't remind me," Faith groaned.

"Don't remind you of what? How strong I am?"

Faith made her voice small. "Yes. I can't think of that kind of stuff right now."

"You can't think about me overpowering you?"

"Sh. Quiet."

"What? Don't want to think about me pinning your arms above your head with one hand while I finger you? S'that what you don't want to think about?"

"I hate you," she said.

"Hate it when I pick you up and fuck you against the wall?"

"Yes."

"So...You're definitely not thinking about my cock, then? You haven't been playing with my pussy while I've been away? Pretending your fingers are mine? Or using that toy you bought to fuck yourself in your dorm when your roommate isn't there?"

"Oh my gosh, Faust. Please."

"You don't make yourself cum to the thought of me eating out that pussy? You don't miss my fat cock stretching out that poor little slit? Making you bounce on it? Sucking it until I cum buckets down your throat?"

"Faust," she whispered. "You're bad."

"Answer me. Do you think about riding my cock every night before bed? Rub yourself against a pillow between your legs?"

"Yes, I think about it all the time."

"Can you do me a favour?" Faust asked. Faith agreed before hearing the terms of said agreement. "Tomorrow, I want you to go to all your classes without wearing any panties under your skirt."

Faith's cheeks burned from his request. "What if it's windy and it blows up my skirt?"

"I don't really care," he said. "Know what? Never mind. Scratch that. This isn't a request; it's a command. I want you to take pictures while you're in class to prove you listened."

"I can't! Someone will see."

"Think I give a fuck? Sit in the back if you have to."

"I'll try," said Faith, toying with the sleeves of her nightgown.

"That's my girl."

They spoke for a few more minutes until Faust's bandmates flooded onto the bus, yelling and searching for the drummer who'd stowed away in the bunks. Faust said his goodbyes, made sure Faith understood her instructions for tomorrow, then said goodnight. She heard his friends mocking him in the backroom, calling him pussy-whipped, listened to him threaten their lives and giggled.

"I love you," Faust said, loud enough that anyone around him might hear. His unabashed affection filled her to the brim with warm fuzz.

"I love you, too," Faith replied, then looked at the phone screen until he hung up.

Later in the week, Faith started having trouble sleeping. Even if she filled her days with activities, studied into the night, ate properly and read before bed, her mind swam with anxiety. She told Faust about it, but he had no solution other than to stop by his place to grab one of his hoodies to sleep in, maybe one of his blankets if she missed him so much. Delighted, Faith accepted the suggestion, and Faust texted his roommate to leave the apartment door unlocked for her. She made her way over after dinner one night and walked in on Faust's roommate hosting a party.

The apartment was in disarray—worse than she'd ever seen. Beer bottles and cigarettes overflowing the ashtray was commonplace, but now there were grease-stained pizza boxes open on the floor, salt stains on the rug from people coming in and out from the balcony. The sofa pocked with several more burn marks, the dishes hadn't been washed since Faust left, and the entire living room reeked of stale food and smoke. Not only that, but she'd come in at the precise moment the music transitioned, and every eye in the place went to her.

She recognized half the people in Faust's apartment from other parties—Anika, the most familiar face that turned in her direction. The tall, blond girl smiled and pushed a guy's hand off her shoulder before approaching her. The metal music picked up, drowned out the silence, and Faith relaxed when Anika hugged her.

"Hey! I didn't know you were coming!" Anika exclaimed.

"I wasn't... Well, I didn't know anyone was here. I just came to get some stuff from Faust's room."

"Oh, cool. How is Frosty? I haven't seen you guys since Halloween!"

"He's good," Faith said, voice tapering off when she saw a pair of malicious eyes grilling her from across the room. "You know... Just touring."

"Yeah, I heard. That's awesome. Hey, you want anything to drink? We have beer in the fridge," Anika said.

Faith felt awkward standing in the middle of the front hall, while groups of people occupied her boyfriend's apartment. She realized she had very little dominion and shrank into herself until Anika pulled her into the kitchen. The blond pulled out two cans of domestic beer and handed her one, noticing Faith's unease.

"What's the matter?" Asked Anika.

Faith wondered if Faust knew about all the people in his apartment, if his roommate had asked him if he could have a party and invite all the people Faust talked shit about—the people he warned her not to hang out with.

"Uh, nothing. Just feels weird being here without Faust," said Faith.

"Aw, it's okay, girl. We party here all the time."

Faith questioned the verity of Anika's claim. She couldn't recall them having any big parties there since she started dating Faust eight months ago. Faust didn't like too many people in his space. Whenever they partied, it was always at someone else's house or out in the bush around a fire.

The same pair of blue eyes had Faith in a stranglehold. She cocked her head, and Anika noticed her attention locked on a man with fine blond hair touching his collarbone.

"Is that—?"

"Sven? Yeah. You probably remember him from that time we went camping."

Faith wished to turn in on herself, abandon the can of beer Anika had given her, grab what she needed from Faust's room, and leave. Anika sensed her discomfort and placed her thin hand on Faith's shoulder.

"Don't worry, he won't bother you. He has a girlfriend now."

"He's a creep," Faith muttered.

Anika shot Sven a look over her shoulder, and he turned away, pulling on a beer and wiping his mouth. Faith remembered the stench of his burnt hair in the fire, how Faust had punched him and dragged him through the dirt toward the pit where he held his face in the flames. Sven complained about the scratches and scrapes on his arms and legs from Faust dragging him the entire way home after they cut the trip short. The same tension that pierced the atmosphere in the van while Sven took the front seat and Faust held her hand in the back seat was the same strain she felt now as he stole glances at her. His wispy mustache had grown back along with his eyebrows and pale lashes.

Faith felt a pang of guilt in her stomach but dismissed the feeling with a swig of beer and Anika's encouragement. Faust would get angry with her if he knew she felt even an inch of remorse over what happened. Sven deserved what he got, and that's what she kept telling herself throughout the night as she drank a couple more beers with Anika and took a hit off a joint someone offered her out on the balcony.

A few of Faust's friends asked her about him, and it filled her with pride knowing everyone there knew who she was, who Faust was. She told them where the band was that night, where they were slated to go next, that they had sold out of merchandise and had to place an emergency order and have it shipped to the next venue. After a few hours, Faith felt the tug of exhaustion creeping over her shoulders and told Anika she had to head out, though she'd already missed the last bus and had little money in her bank account for a cab. Faith considered asking someone for a ride back to campus, but nobody seemed sober enough to trust behind the wheel.

Instead, she went to Faust's bedroom and shut the door and all the noises behind her. In his room, she took in a deep breath, and then another, filling her senses with the comforting scent of pine, stale air and the boyish aroma Faust carried with him. She went to his closet and brushed a hand over the black t-shirts and one of his leather coats. Next, Faith opened the third drawer in the lowboy and pulled out a hoodie that had shrunk in the wash and didn't fit Faust anymore. She often wore it when she came over, but he refused to let her take it home until now. She slipped it on over her blouse, smoothed it over her skirt and wrapped her arms around her ribs. The hood still smelled of Faust's hair.

Without thinking much, she arranged the objects on his dresser into an organized system rather than a mess of pens, splintered drumsticks, guitar picks and snack wrappers. She shovelled the waste into the garbage can under his desk, made his bed, fluffed the pillows, cleared the dirty clothes off the floor and kicked it all into the closet. If there wasn't a party going on right outside the door, she'd have done his laundry and took the dirty plates and forks to the kitchen sink. She did what she could without having to set foot outside the bedroom, and by the time she finished folding the clothes in his dresser into neat stacks, it was far too late for her to go anywhere.

Faith took off her panties and skirt, changed into a pair of his pyjama pants and sat on his bed with her hands folded, wondering if Faust would care if she spent the night in his bed. The fluffy pillows called out for her head. His comforter promised visions of them together again. She considered texting him to say she was staying over, but there was a knock on the door as she went for her phone.

She lifted her feet off the carpet and tucked them under her thighs, balled herself as small as she could until whoever knocked got the hint and walked away. The knock came again, and Faith's throat tightened.

"Yes?" She called.

The door opened, and she expected to see Anika's blond head poking in, but it wasn't her. The person was blond, but the face was not smeared with white foundation, nor were the blue eyes overlined with charcoal black. Sven stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

"What are you doing in here?" He asked.

"What are you doing in here? This is my boyfriend's room. Why wouldn't I be here?"

"Sorry," said Sven, opening his palms to show he meant no harm. "I wanted to talk to you for a second. Is that okay?"

"I don't see why that's necessary."

"Mmkay, well, you don't have to be a bitch about it. Your boyfriend is the one who almost burnt my face off."

"Well, you were being weird. You're being weird now by coming in here. You should probably go."

"Sucks when he's not around to intimidate everyone that ever wants to start a conversation with you, huh?"

Faith pressed her lips together. Was he threatening her? She wasn't sure. He kept his distance, though his eyes ricocheted off the valuable objects in the room. The Gibson guitar hanging on the wall, the vintage RD bass in its stand just below, the electric drumset next to the desk, Faust's five-thousand-dollar computer, and finally, her. Faust's prized possessions all in one room.

"What do you want to talk about?" Faith broke the silence, sweating.

"I wanted to apologize for acting like an idiot back in the Summer. I was really drunk. I shouldn't have said that shit."

"Okay, well, thanks for the apology."

Sven gestured at her, pale eyebrows high on his freckled forehead. "And?"

"And what?" Faith asked.

"Aren't you going to apologize to me?"

"I have nothing to apologize for."

"You can apologize on behalf of your psycho boyfriend. That’d be a start."

Faith scoffed, heated by the insult. When it came to Faust, she never wanted to hear the negatives. It reminded her of her father's disapproval, filled her with useful venom. "Sorry, if you want an apology from Faust, he’d have to give it to you, and I don’t think that’s happening any time soon."

"Wow," Sven said with a click of his tongue. "And I thought you were a nice girl."

"I am nice, but right now, you're in my personal space, and it's making me uncomfortable."

As she spoke, she noticed Sven's knees wobbling. He was drunk. His beer breath filled the room. Faith shifted closer to the wall, clutching her crossed legs, silently begging for him to leave. He took a step closer, and she gasped.

"Relax, I'm not gonna do anything. Jesus, you chicks watch too much TV, thinkin' every dude is a rapist or something."

"Whatever you say, man. Look, if you're done, I think it's time you leave."

"Why? You going to sleep?"

"You just shouldn't be in here. If Faust were home, you wouldn't set foot in this room or even think about talking to me."

Sven threw his head back and laughed. "Just because he caught me off guard once doesn't mean I'm afraid of him. He can suck my dick, and so can you."

"Get out," Faith said.

"Hey now, hey... It's all good. Christ, I'm just trying to mend bridges, but you're being a total bitch when I'm here apologizing."

"You just told me I could suck your dick. You're literally insulting me to my face. I've asked you to leave, and you're not!"

Sven pushed air through his teeth, teetered closer to her and sat down on the foot of the bed. Faith's body froze, her limbs stiff as boards as the man laid on his back. His face was a foot from her.

"If it weren't for your boyfriend, I'd be on tour right now. I'd be the one selling out venues and merch, signing shit and having people ask me to take pictures."

"It was your fault."

When the words floated from Faith's mouth, his forehead crinkled, and he shot up. She gasped, scrambling against the wall like a cornered rodent.

"Fuck you! Stupid fucking slut! Faust is a way bigger piece of shit than I am. Ask anybody! Everyone knows how much of an asshole he is. Nobody actually likes him. They're just afraid of him because he threatens to kill anyone whoever disagrees with what he says."

The venom roiled in Faith's stomach, blistering up her neck and filling her mind with violent static. Her hands shook as adrenaline pumped into her veins. One more minute alone with Sven and she thought she might lose control of herself.

Sven got off the bed and went for the bass. Faith hissed at him not to touch it, so he leaned over and spat on the finish.

"Get out!" Faith cried. "Get the fuck out right now!"

The music outside the door must have drowned out her yells, for nobody came looking for her. She stood up on the bed, back pressed against a poster. Sven grabbed at her ankle, but she kicked and slapped the top of her foot against his forearm. He laughed and swiped again as she danced away.

"LEAVE!"

"Make me!"

"I'll fucking call the cops on you!"

"Do it, bitch. I'll knock you out and do what I want before anyone even realizes I'm in here."

"Help!" Faith hollered. "Rape! Rape! He's trying to rape me!"

"Woah, woah, calm down. I didn't say that—"

The venom boiled over, shot up through her esophagus and escaped her mouth in panicked screams. Stunned by the banshee shrieks ripping through the air, Sven backed toward the door, feeling around for the doorknob while Faith screamed her face red, blood vessels popping in her eyes, throwing explosions of stars across her vision until he left the room and she dropped onto the bed, crying. Faith felt around the bed for her phone and called Faust.

He answered on the first ring.

"Faust," she blubbered.

"Don't worry, baby. I'm coming home right now."

"W-what?"

"Look over at the computer."

Faith wiped the snot from her nose onto the hoodie's sleeve and glanced at the desk where the computer monitor stood. "Huh? I don't understand."

"See that light right beside the monitor? Wave at it."

Faith lifted her hand. She squinted at the blue dot belonging to a small camera set up between a speaker and the monitor.

"I installed a Bluetooth camera before leaving for tour. Don't trust people to not go into my room and touch my stuff."

"You mean—?"

"I saw everything. Heard everything, too. It's motion-activated."

Faith paled at the thought of Faust watching her cleaning his room, the way she'd caressed his clothes on her face and huffed his scent before Sven came in.

"What should I do, Faust? He's still out there."

"Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

"Should I call the cops?"

"No, don't call anyone. Don't say anything. I said I'll take care of it."

"Okay," she whispered.

"Faith, I'm serious. Let me handle this," his voice was stern.

"What're you gonna do?"

Faust went quiet for a moment until she motioned at the camera. He sighed. "I can't tell you right now."

The adrenaline depleted, and Faith let out a sob. "I need you, Faust. I'm scared."

"Don't be scared, babe. I got you. I'll be home as soon as I can, but I need you to be strong. Don't talk to anyone about what happened until I get there, understand? Nobody. Not your friends, not your parents, don't write it in your journal or breath a word. I promise I'll make it better."

[anauthore]

A Cigarette for Your Thoughts? (Kenny McCormick x Reader) {SERIES | One}

Summary: You run away from home. You hide from rumours. And most importantly, you give second chances.

Pairing: Kenny McCormick x Reader - South Park

NOTE: Every part of this series can be read as stand-alone, or as part of the series itself! If you don’t want to read each part on Tumblr, feel free to check out links to the work on the below websites:

Wattpad | Quotev | AO3

Fic Below the Cut | Next Part

The night was dark, not even the reflection of the thousands of stars making the slightest bit of difference. You sat on the cold ground with your back against a tree, your face tilted toward the blackened sky as you breathed out, calming yourself and trying your hardest not to make much noise while the hot tears rolled down your cheek.

You squeezed your arms, digging what was left of your nails into your windbreaker that did nothing to shield you from the cold. It happened again, as it always does, but even expecting it didn't help you really cope with it; your mom was arguing with whoever she was dating this month, their drunken stupor unfortunately interrupted by your presence as you walked through the front door.

That was all it took- one slap across the face later and you were gone, cold and alone at a train crossing on the far side of town. You'd been there through sunset, and you were sure you would fall asleep under the canopy to the sound of crickets.

You stretched your legs out in front of you and sighed, eyes closed, before the sound of approaching footsteps put you on alert. You quickly formed an excuse in your head- 'sorry officer, I'm just waiting for my mom to pick me up'- but once the figure got closer you recognized him.

Kenneth McCormick. Kenny, the school's plug for nearly any drug you wanted. Kenny, the kid so poor that South Park had canned food drives for his family. Kenny, the most perverted playboy troublemaker in grade 11.

Had you really ended up that far away from your side of town? You began to scramble to your feet, but the startled gasp emanating from next to you stopped you in your tracks.

"Jesus fuck- Sorry, I didn't see you there."

You apologized quickly, albeit quietly, and mumbled something before starting to stand again.

"No, it's alright," Kenny shook his head, an unlit cigarette appearing in between his right index and middle fingers seemingly out of nowhere. He paused for an uncomfortable amount of time, tilting his head before he speaks once more. "Hey, aren't you- don't you live on the other side of town?"

You nod, confused. "Uh, yeah, how'd you know?" 

He shrugs. "I see you get on the bus from Mr. Mackey's window."

You stare blankly at him. Although it was somewhat creepy... you couldn't help but feel a little flattered. You were average at best; you hung out with a few other people, each equally as unnoticed by everyone else as you. You weren't in any notable clubs, sports, or teams  and you got decent enough grades: nothing to warrant being noticed by anyone, let alone someone that was easily recognizable by the entirety of the school.

He ignores your expression and rummages through his hoodie pocket for something. "So, why did you end up at this end of town?" He pulled out a lighter that looked to be on it's last ends, the paint chipped so much that you couldn't tell what colour it had been.

"What makes you think I 'ended up' here?"

"Sweetheart," the hints of a smile wiggled their way onto his expression before he placed the cigarette between his lips, lighting it and taking a puff in one go; "no one decides they want to come here unless they're looking for drugs, and you don't strike me as the type to throw your life away like that."

He plopped next to you, smoke calmly floating upward as you mulled over his words. What if you did want to throw your life away? It wasn't as if you really had anything left here: South Park was where you had lived your whole life, and although everyone else had mountains of stories to tell, you had nothing but the tales of your mom's iron fist and her many, many boyfriends.

After a moment, you spoke again, softer now that he was right next to you. "What if I wanted to? Buy something, I mean."

He laughed softly, shaking his head. "Then I doubt I would've found you just sitting here."

You looked away, a little embarrassed at your retort. He was right: if you were here to buy, you wouldn't be curled up against a tree, shivering in the cold of the night.

He puffed again on his cigarette, glancing at you only when he was sure you had been eyeing him for a little bit. He flicked ash off onto the ground and offered the smoke your way.

"Do you smoke?"

You hesitated, but decided that you really had nothing else to lose. 

"Now I do."

Kenny puffed air through his nose in a quiet laugh, watching you with a smug smile as you took it and breathed in- and then immediately had a coughing fit.

He chuckled, scooting closer and patting your back to help you catch your breath. You grimaced, repressing a shudder.

"I take it that this isn't your thing."

You shook your head, breathing again to clear the smoke from your lungs while you watched the lit end of the cigarette glow dimly. Once you were satisfied with the air to smoke ratio, you raised the stick up to your mouth again.

"Pull it into your mouth this time, then inhale. You won't cough as much."

You took a mental note and followed what he said, and he was right; you held it in and exhaled when you thought it had been in your system long enough, the back of your skull beginning to tingle as the nicotine worked it's magic.

He must've noticed you relax, because he gave you a thumbs up and fished another Pall Mall from his hood.

It was silent again, neither of you speaking and instead getting lost in the world of tar and probable lung cancer.

When one of you did speak, it was again on the topic you thought you'd managed to avoid, but you guess not. 

"Why all of a sudden?"

"Why what all of a sudden?" You puffed on your cigarette some more, getting a hang of not choking every time you did so.

"Did you choose to," he gestured to your smoke clouds, "start that." 

You shrugged. "Why did you?"

    “One word: Stress. Lots and lots of it.”

You nodded in agreement. “Me too, then.”

He nodded back, and again you both were left to each other’s company and the patterned inhaling and exhaling. Once your cigarette had turned into a nub, you threw the butt under your foot and rubbed it into the asphalt with the toe of your shoe. Kenny hadn’t finished his, yet, you’d noticed, so all you had left to do was to make small talk or lean against the tree again.

The quiet was too much for you, you quickly realized, and so, even though you weren’t much of a talker, you started to talk.

“So, what’s it like? Being popular, I mean.”

He laughed, flicking ash away again. “You think I’m popular?”

“Everyone does.”

He shook his head again, denying it. “Nah, that’s just ‘cause I’ve been lifelong friends with Cartman and his little posse. I’m nothing special- just another McCormick working his ass off to get the bare minimum only to end up addicted to something or other.”

You gave him a look, somewhat concerned. Sure, you knew he wasn’t the best apple in the bunch, but to hear him talk about himself so self-deprecatingly surprised you. He was always somewhat douchey around everyone else, constantly flirting with girls and making fun of anyone else around him- including teachers and parents. He must’ve noticed your sympathy, because he quickly apologized.

“Sorry. That got a little deep.” He stomped on the butt of his cigarette just as you had before. “Nah, it’s okay. Everyone knows my name, everyone knows my game. Nothing else to say about that, really.”

You accepted that he wasn’t going to elaborate any more than that.

“What about you, huh? What’s it like, being invisible? No offense.”

You cracked a smile for a split second. “None taken.” You pulled your legs in to sit indian-style. “It’s alright. No one notices when I slip away- not even my parents. My friends are good, but like- I dunno. They’re like anyone else. More like ‘acquaintances’, I guess.” You shivered, what little heat you’d been keeping trapped under your legs dissipating since you’d changed your sitting position. Kenny noticed, raising an eyebrow.

“So, you came all the way here without a decent coat?” You could sense judgement in his tone.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t have time to grab one between my mom’s boyfriend and my mom ganging up on me.”

His eyes widened a little bit and he glanced to the side. “O-kay. Noted.” Then, he began to shed his jacket, offering it to you by the hood. “Here. I’m plenty warm, plus I have a house over there I could go to if I got too cold. You need it more than I do.”

You didn’t accept it at first; you tried to say no, but he insisted, and you weren’t going to refuse twice. You were freezing, and the night was only going to get colder.

You pulled it on, and you could tell he’d worn it constantly- and not just because it was the only thing you’d ever seen him in. The fur it was lined with was short and stiff, and the pockets were ripped on the inside, not to mention the stains that spotted it. It smelled like cigarette smoke and alcohol, and of course, like a high school boy. You zipped it up and pulled on the hood, not as cold as you’d just been.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

And it was left like that for a long time. At least, long enough for you to doze off and get woken by Kenny standing over you, gently shaking your shoulder.

“Hey, you shouldn’t sleep out here.” 

You rubbed your eyes, looking up at his silhouette. “I can’t exactly go home, Kenny.” Your voice was groggy and you sounded annoyed. Still, he didn’t seem to be disturbed by your sudden change of face. Instead, he almost seemed to have empathy towards you. You weren’t sure if you liked that or not.

“I know.” He repeated himself again, trying to word his question so it didn’t seem so out of place on the dark street you sat on. “I know. Do you want to come over? It- I can find a place for you tonight.” He stared at your unwavering expression for a moment before he spoke again. “You really shouldn’t sleep out here.”

And he was right. You shouldn’t- 

So, you stood and followed him back to his house. The one that was falling apart- that smelled like cigarettes and other pungent drugs that made you wrinkle your nose in disgust- that put up a decent fight against the cold beginnings of Winter in South Park.

[jjba-hell]

Fate and Fortune

A Lesson in Probability

Part 11.5

Here’s Part 11 but you can read all the previous parts in the fate and fortune tag

So this is not plot relevant at all but this is a pretty explanatory way of understanding Vera’s stand as well as Vera and Polnareff getting to know one another a bit better.

Moots: @fyre23 and @risottoneroo

Basically gambling and rambling, enjoy. (Also no proofreading- today I die like a dumbass)

Vera tapped on Polnareff’s shoulder, slipping on her earrings as she waited for him to wake up. He blinked up sleepily at her in disbelief. His gaze shot over to the alarm clock on the bedside table.

“Come on, we’re going gambling.” Was all she said before she moved to the door where a suit for a particularly large gentlemen was ‘accidentally’ delivered to his door.

“Midnight? Vera, what are you-“

She laid the suit down on the foot of the bed- switching on the bedside table light. “Polnareff, we’re in Dubai- the casinos here are immaculate. Please? I promise I can make you win some SERIOUS cash.”

He looked at her, slack jaw in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“We’re leaving tomorrow and it’s still a conservative country so I couldn’t go on my own even if my age allowed it- I’m begging you.” She folded her hands in front of her in feigned pleading.

And after he shook himself awake from what she actually guessed was disbelief, he got up. “Alright, alright.”

“Thanks, the taxi will be here in half an hour.” Was all she announced before disappearing into the bathroom where she was putting on make up. The last swipe of red lipsticks on her lips had just been applied when Polnareff’s gentle knock came from the other side of the door.

Her hand wrapped around the door knob and opened to the fully dressed Polnareff. “Oh I do have to applaud myself, I guessed your size pretty well, didn’t I?”

Polnareff fiddled angrily with his loose bow tie, “Why didn’t you take any of the others?”

She moved in, taking over tying his bow tie. “Because the others- as much as Jotaro’s poker face would have been useful- would have snitched on me to Mr Joestar. And Mr Joestar wouldn’t approve of this because well-“ she shrugged. “I’m not done with school yet and already raising hell.”

“Ah I see- you think I’ll keep quiet.”

She only shot him a glance as she was finishing swiping off any lint from his shoulders. “Not necessarily- you’re kind of impulsive and this is impulsive so I figured you’d simply understand.”

With an encouraging pat on the arm she moved past him. “I’m going down for the taxi and a smoke break while you finish freshening up. She was on her way to the door when her feet stopped and she turned back. “Speaking of cigarettes...?”

“Top drawer on the left.”

“Thank you.”

Vera admitted that more than anything, she wished she had a better grip on this guy. Sure, his misadventures gave her a chuckle occasionally but the way he bounced back from grave situations made her ponder if he ever felt anything. If he didn’t- it was somewhat a cause of concern.

She took her ID out about halfway to the casino and used Fortune to change her birthdate.

Polnareff leaned in closer to watch the number blur and reamaterialize like a vision clearing itself. “Now how does luck have the ability to do that?”

“Printing mistake.”

He blinked at her. “You’re going to have to elaborate.”

“Simply put, Polnareff- there’s a small chance that my ID got misprinted, past the quality check and then got sent to me in the mail. The probability was highly unlikely but so is most of the stuff Fortune can make happen.”

The wheels in Polnareff’s head seemed to click and place and he let out a long ohhh.

“So- I’m guessing your stand has always been able to make such specific probabilities come true?”

“Oh not at all-“ she handed the security her clutch purse and her ID, standing to let them pat her down before ‘eagerly’ returning to Polnareff’s side. “There was once a time when I just hoped for the first card from a deck to be a chosen suit. Now, however,” she started leading him towards the chip exchange. “Now I can have Fortune predict and adjust the entire deck.”

She had Polnareff slide in a clip of money- her entire savings- as a total of £3000.

“Starting small, tonight?” The man behind the counter asked as he brought out the chips.

Polnareff seemed appalled at the idea that 3K was a small start but Vera jumped in instead. “It’s just a casual evening for us- we’re traveling in the morning.”

“Are you sure about this?” Polnareff asked, the worry evident on his face. “This is a lot of money you might lose completely.”

“Unlikely- you’ll just have to trust me.” Was all she said as she moved towards the blackjack tables first.

They were offered Champaign by a passing waiter, and just in time for their first deal. “You know how to play, right?” She whispered into his ear.

“Of course I do.”

She smiled down at him, trying to convince the dealer that were at the very least interested in each other’s company. “So you won’t need me, I’ll just be your lucky charm.”

The Roulette wheel was where she knew they’d start making big winnings, it was also where Polnareff started to understand the entertainment aspect of the evening. Gambling was a peculiar art of gathering enough competitors to make your play worthwhile. And Vera using herself as eye candy was exactly what they needed.

“What do you think, my dear? Am I an utter fool for betting that high?” He spoke perhaps a bit too loudly.

“I don’t know- is Lady Luck on your side?” She retorted.

“I can never tell- she looks an awful lot like you sometimes.”

She laughed it off, seeing a crowd gather in their peripherals.

“So- that what it feels likes to have your Fortune changed. Not quite as natural as I thought.” Polnareff had told her as they left the Black Jack table.

She laughed, counting the chips into the little velvet bag. “I suppose it would feel strange to you. I don’t know I’ve always seen it as a bit boring.”

“Boring? Boring how?”

They watched as the little white ball shot of the table master’s hand, running around the edge of the Roulette wheel. Vera couldn’t be bothered, she was focused on the black seventeen on the wheel. Focusing Fortune’s attention on that.

“As strange as it seems- probability and human choice kind of go hand in hand. One can sometimes influence the other...”

The speed of the ball slowed down, everyone around them held their breath as they waited.

“Sometimes it’s some ingrained instinct for us to go for even numbers- other times it’s a rigged game.”

The ball slipped into the black seventeen.

“But it’s not knowing the outcome that makes Fortune an invisible god.”

She and Polnareff leapt up and hugged each other as the crowd around them either cheered with them or sighed in defeat.

“50K for the duo in black.” The table master slid the chips across the board towards them.

Polnareff’s eyes widened as he pulled the chips closer. “Another game?”

Vera drummed her fingers on his shoulder, making him look up at her. “What do you think, Jean? Another game?”

She squeezed his shoulder just to make sure he understood they won’t be leaving the table. He gazed at her a moment and then turned to the table. “Well I suppose another game couldn’t hurt.”

“Why did you let us lose?” Jean groaned as she split the money into 15K each. Their winnings had decreased after the fifth game of Roulette and then got back to 30K at the slots. “I thought you had full control.”

“I do, and I didn’t let us lose, I made us lose.”

They had just left the casino and was walking back to the hotel- which wasn’t that far.

Polnareff spluttered. “Bu- But why? We could have walked out with millions!”

“From just 3K starting point, wouldn’t they find it awfully suspicious?”

She groaned as she bent down and climbed out of the heals she’d been walking around in all night.

“There have been worse cases, haven’t there? What about people winning the lottery and such.”

Vera looked back at him, his wide blue eyes begging for answers. It made he laugh for a moment. “Jean, you don’t actually think casinos are made for you to win in right? They’ll only let you succeed that much, anything more and we’d be in the interrogation rooms right now. Also-“ she started removing her earrings and slipping them into his suit pocket. “Isn’t 15K enough?”

“Don’t I owe you 3K?”

“No? Where’d you get that?”

“Well you gave the starting bet didn’t you.”

She scoffed, walking away from him. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Jean. You do possess that real entertainer’s talk so... thanks for that.”

“Come on- we need to get back to the hoTEL!”

Polnareff sprinted past her, grabbing her clutch in his hand and stuffing his money into her purse.

“I don’t want to hear another word about this- the money is yours!”

It took a moment for her brain to catch up and when it did she was after him. “Jean! Jean, it was a team effort! The guilt is gonna eat me alive!”

He ran ahead of her- getting much faster simply due to his height. “No no no no no! I won’t hear it!”

“Jean! I’m wearing stockings and a dress! This is not fair!”

“Promise you’ll keep the money!”

“Never!”

She phased him back with Fortune just close enough to hop onto his back- clinging on for dear life. “I told you, I don’t want it.”

“So why make me go in the first place?” He panted, resting his hands on his knees, Vera just hanging onto his back for the ride.

Vera’s breath returned to her, but the answer didn’t. Polnareff waited it out, the silence suddenly becoming oppressive.

“Truth is Vera, I don’t know you very well. And from what I can tell is that you’re not a particularly emotional person.” He put a hand over hers on his shoulder. “But Mr Joestar has told me why Avdol’s death hit you harder than me. I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through. Especially in Pakistan.”

The mere thought of it made her nauseous, her grip on his shoulders loosening. She slid off his back and stood staring at the pavement- hoping she could stop the tears from coming. “I just wanted to take my mind off things. I didn’t care if I was going to pay for it later.”

The admittance felt like it broke a dam behind her eyes. The tears flowing freely. “I’m just so tired.”

Polnareff let her have a moment, her shoulders quietly jerking as she cried. “Do you want to talk about it? I’d love to get to know you a bit better, and not from what other people tell me about you.”

She sniffed, lifting her head to meet his gaze. “Look what you’ve done to me, Jean! My make up is a mess!”

He only laughed, offering her a handkerchief. “Come on, I’ll abba* you home.”

She accepted after wiping away some snot and black stained tears under her eyes.

“So- where should I start?”

Jean only nodded or hummed in understanding as they walked back, not saying much. Vera speaking freely about her life for the first time in a long time.

“Alright, so to summarize- you’ve discovered Fortune can make any probability of their choice come true, you can heal because you can make some time move forward or back, that same time skip thing is also where your phasing ability comes from, and you’re incapable of effecting anything about Dio specifically. Any idea why?”

“I have a suspicion it’s because he changed his own fate with becoming a vampire. Some curses are too ancient for even me to interfere with.”

“Okay so, you’ll have to explain to me again- how does phasing work exactly?”

“Think of it this way- right now, I hold my shoe in my hand.” She lifted up the black stiletto in her hand over his chest. “Now what I do with this shoe depends on what I decide to do with it. I can decide to drop it, toss it up in the air, put it on, give it to someone jogging by- whatever. Once I decide that is the path I want it to experience, all it needs is time to do so. So I decide I’m going to toss it a few feet ahead of us. It’s going to take a few seconds to get there, yes?”

“Yes.”

“So all Fortune does is skip that time and move it straight to the time it will be laying on the floor ahead of us.”

She proved the point by demonstrating. “Got it?”

“Ahhh so THAT’S also how you heal people.”

“Now you get it.” He picked up the shoe and handed it back to her.

“So uhhh... why is it giving you grey hairs?”

Her head turned to press her ear against his back. “Time, it seems, acts a bit like money. To skip the time I have to pay the time. My body basically makes me pay for the months of healing I spare other people.”

“Are you sure? Why is it only showing now?”

“Because of the shock I suppose. I kind of wonder how many years I’ve shaved off my own life at this point. Besides- I think it’s more for moving time forward. Moving time back just gives me bad luck, I think.”

He hummed in understanding. “I see, by the way, how’s your nose?”

“Getting less blue thanks for asking.” She laughed.

The sight of the hotel lobby was her que to hop off and get back into her heels. They walked along the hallways in the hotel once more- exchanging stories of their childhoods before they were back at their doors. She gave a tired goodnight and a thank you but Polnareff called back from his room door. “Vera, I know what the corpses told you must haunt you but- I think your parents would have been proud to see where you are now.”

“Stop making me cry!”

She gave him the most authentic smile she could manage and said. “I think your family would be proud of you too.”

*abba- I might expose myself here but where I’m from, this is what we say when we piggyback someone. It’s the one local slang I think sounds cuter than piggyback lol.

[cluttermind]

Without A Parachute (4/?) - Smoke and Ashes

Summary:  Emma worked tremendously hard to give herself a better chance. From group homes, to living in her car, to ivy league student, this English Major’s only solace was escaping her reality through books. One night, Emma comes home to find a small package with only her name on it written in beautiful calligraphy. The package contains a thick, brown leather journal. Emma soon learns that the fiction she writes in the journal eventually becomes reality. Will Emma learn to control this gift, or will she fall too fast into the temptation to change too much? With the help of her good friends August, Robin, and Elsa, and the mysterious, intriguing bartender of The Jolly Roger, Emma discovers just how easy it is to lose control, and how difficult it is to pick up the pieces.

Rating: M

Words: 14,041 total / 3,559 Ch 4

Read on ao3: Beginning | Current

Note: I thought this would take a lot longer to write than it did. This one kind of wrote itself.

I'm adding a trigger warning as the end of this one is a little dark. I hope you enjoy it either way! Things are really starting to move forward plot wise :)

TW: implied attempted sexual assault and under-aged drinking.

//

Chapter 4

“Smoke and Ashes”

I heard the church bells from afar

But we found each other in the dark

And when the smoke does finally pass

We will rise above all the ash

- City and Colour, We Found Each Other In The Dark

“It’s open!” August shouted from the kitchen of his large studio apartment. Emma opened the door and stepped in. “Emma! You’re late!” Ela and Robin called out hellos from their spots around the coffee table.

“Yeah I didn’t sleep much last night. What’s for brunch?” She asked, walking to take her seat next to Elsa on the floor in front of the couch.

“Chocolate chip pancakes” Elsa said, licking her lips. “Hurry up, August! I’m starving!” She whined dramatically, nudging Emma.

“Yeah August. Hurry before we perish.” Emma played along with Elsa, attempting to rile August. Robin chuckled, rolling his eyes at their antics. He was sitting across from Elsa, his laptop already open on the coffee table, typing away at a paper due in a few days.

“Nope. You were late. You can perish.” August retorted, flipping pancakes to be added to the growing pile next to him.

Emma gasped playfully. “Rude.” She pulled out her macroeconomics textbook just as her phone buzzed.

Killian Jones: Leaving before I wake up? Classy, Swan ;)

Emma Swan: I left a note!

Killian Jones: But without a kiss goodbye

Emma grinned at her phone like a schoolgirl with a crush.

Emma Swan: Then I guess it wasn’t goodbye ;)

“Well, well, well.” Elsa toyed, “Who are you texting Emma Swan?” August finally finished making an enormous pile of pancakes and brought the tray over to the table. Robin helped by running to grab some plates and silverware.

“Oh uhm Ruby.” Emma lied. “We’re joking about how awful our econ professor is.”

“Well I’m more interested in what the hell happened on Thursday,” Robin chimed in, handing Emma a plate. So much for being in a bubble.

Emma took a deep breath, hugged her knees to her chest and gave them the CliffNotes version of the story. Elsa rubbed her back the entire time. Saying it out loud somehow didn’t crush her they way it had before, as if the words no longer carried the weight they once did.

“Emma that’s awful!” Elsa nearly yelled when she finished speaking. “Don’t listen to a word he says. What kind of professor does that?!”

“What did he say to you after class?” August asked between taking bites of his pancakes.

“That I don’t have what it takes to be a writer.” Emma said, pausing, Killian’s words from last night echoing in her head. You get to make your own choices. Make them based on what makes you happy. “But he’s wrong.”

Her friends, being the wonderful, supportive people they are, stood strongly by her side. Yelling to each other how ridiculous this professor is, how he shouldn’t be a professor, and how brilliant their friend is. In that moment, Emma felt the least alone she had ever felt - surrounded by intelligent, kind, and loving friends who taught her what it means to be a part of a family. Because that’s what they were to her. They were her family. Her beautiful, ridiculous family.

After the yelling had died down and the excessively large pile of pancakes had been eaten, they spent all day studying, taking only a few short snack breaks. Before they knew it, it was dark outside. It was usually around now that they’d quit for the night, having finished enough to go the rest of the weekend relaxing. August nearly slammed his book shut, making the rest of them flinch.

“Geez, August. What’d the book ever do to you?” Robin asked.

“It existed.” August quipped, dramatically. “Can we be done? I need to be done.”

“I think I’ve done all I can for this weekend too.” Elsa said, closing her laptop. “What’re we doing tonight? Movies? Pizza?”

“I could go for a drink, honesty.” Robin responded, mirroring Elsa as he closed his own laptop.

“Drinks anywhere that also has food is usually expensive.” Emma stated.

“Yeah I guess.” August paused. “Oh! What about The Jolly Roger? It’s not that expensive right? Plus if I remember correctly, their onion rings are insane.” August was nearly salivating remembering the onion rings. The last time they had gone together was sometime last semester to celebrate the end of midterms.

“Right! I forgot how good those were.” Elsa responded. “Okay if we’re actually going out I need to change.”

“I’m so hungry. You look fine. Let’s just go.” August responded. Emma giggled about how the tables have turned since this morning when they were the ones complaining about being hungry.

“I’m not going to a bar in leggings and a sweatshirt.” Elsa threw her things in her bag. “Emma and I will meet you guys there in an hour. I have this beautiful dress that you just have to wear tonight.”

“Oh this isn’t an outing outing! We’re going for food!” Robin groaned.

“If we’re going to a bar, we’re going to a bar . It’s been way too long since we actually went out.” Elsa claimed. There was no arguing with her. She was pretty determined to make this happen. Plus, she wasn’t wrong. It had been a while since they went out together. She considered texting Killian to make sure he was working, but she knew he would be since he took yesterday off and thought she’d surprise him.

Emma shrugged and grabbed her things while August grumbled, grabbing the remote to turn the TV on for a bit.  She followed Elsa out the door. At Elsa’s dorm, she handed Emma a simple, low cut, black dress. It was tight, ruched, and hugged her in all the right places. And the glitter got everywhere. Despite Emma’s protests about the glitter, Elsa insisted she wear it. She also insisted that Emma let her do her makeup and that she wear the black heals that ‘go so perfectly with it it’d be a cardinal sin not to wear them.’ Eventually Emma got to look at herself in the mirror, her dainty gold chain with a small gold book charm falling against her bare chest above the deep neckline of the black dress. Elsa was right, the shoes did go perfectly. And her red leather jacket actually pulled the look together.

Except it was freezing outside. Like actually freezing. All she wanted was her sweatshirt that was in her backpack that was now sitting in Elsa’s room.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.” Emma said, shivering as they waited for the bus.

“Oh come on! It’s not that cold. Plus you look great.”

“August might kill us. We’re so late.”

“We’re 20 minutes late.”

“We’re 30 minutes late Elsa.” Emma laughed as Elsa shugged, clearly not caring about August’s desire for food as they finally stepped onto the slightly crowded bus.

“August will live.”

“I’m more concerned about Robin having to deal with him.” Really what Emma was nervous about was seeing Killian. Butterflies filled her stomach when she thought about seeing him in something other than jeans and a sweater.

15 minutes later, they walked through the doors of The Jolly Roger 45 minutes late. Emma was grateful for the warmth of the pub. She instantly spotted August waving them over. He and Robin had already ordered and had food in front of them.

“Look who finally decided to show up.” Robin joked, drinking the last of his beer.

“Blame Elsa.” Emma playfully nudged her friend next to her.

“Fine fine. This round’s on me. Emma help me with the drinks?”  Elsa said, leading them to the bar.

That’s when Emma saw him, handing a customer a drink at the bar. Part of her wanted to run and hir, the other part of her wanted to run to him. He looked up from his customer and looked in her direction. She swore her heart nearly stopped when he smiled at her, eyes drinking her in.

“Swan.” Killian said, grinning at her as they approached. “Isn’t this a surprise. I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

I did say it wasn’t goodbye earlier, didn’t I? Emma thought.

“You two know each other?” Elsa asked.

“Aye. We do.” Killian said.

“Killian owns the pub. I come here to study during the week when it’s quiet. Sometimes he feeds me.” Emma said. Killian raised an eyebrow at her.  “Okay fine. He feeds me a lot. Killian this is my friend Elsa. Elsa, this is Killian.” Elsa was staring wide-eyed at Emma, mouth open, silently screaming how did you not tell me about him?!  

“Nice to meet you lass.” Killian said politely. His eyes, however, never left Emma’s and Elsa turned her attention back to him. “What can I get you?”

“4 beers and 4 shots of tequila.” Elsa chimed.

“Grilled cheese?” Killian asked Emma.

“With onion rings apparently. The thought of Smee’s onion rings were making August drool earlier. And make it two.” She responded as Killian poured their shots and set them in front of them. Elsa carefully grabbed three of them, letting Emma know she’ll meet her back at the table. Emma downed her shot quickly, wincing as the clear liquid burned her throat. Killian’s gaze sent a warmth up her neck and to her cheeks.

“You look nice, Swan.” He said eventually, pouring them each a shot. Killian held his glass to gently tap it against hers. They both downed the shot.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Aye, I know that, love. But I wear this every day.” Killian leaned forward on the bar in front of her. “So what’s the fun fact of the day?”

Emma looked confused. “The what?”

“You usually greet me with a weird fact whenever you come in here.” He paid attention. He listened to me , Emma thought. Part of her thought he never paid attention to the random things that came out of her mouth. She smiled. He was listening.

So she took a risk. “The whole button down, vest, fitted jeans thing really works for you.” Emma flirted.

Killian took the bait, smirking and raising an eyebrow at her, his voice dropping to a place she hadn’t heard before. “That black dress is really working for me. And I happen to quite like the red leather, love” Emma blushed bright red, her face matching the color of her jacket, and Killian pushed back against the bar, standing straight again. “Your friends are waiting for you. I’ll have Ruby bring your drinks in a second.”

“Tell Smee to rush that grilled cheese. I’m starving.” Emma said as she walked away, returning to the table her friends were at.

“Excuse me but who was that? What was that?” Elsa asked immediately.

“He’s the owner. I told you.” Emma stated, trying to avoid that conversation. “We’re friends.”

“Yeah, okay.” Elsa scoffed. Ruby brought over their drinks and another round of shots, and Elsa’s attention was suddenly elsewhere.

“Hey Emma! The shots are on the Captain.” Ruby said as she set everything down. “Anything else I can get you?”

Emma looked over at the bar to see Killian wink at her. She smiled and rolled her eyes at him. “I think we’re good."

For over an hour, they ate a little too much, drank a bit, and gossiped a little too much about the rumor going around the English Department that a student was sleeping with a professor. After a while Elsa went to get another drink and Robin went to talk to some friends in one of his classes, leaving August and Emma alone at the table.

“Elsa’s flirting with the bartender.” August commented.

Emma's eyes went wide with . . . jealousy? Not that Emma had any reason to be jealous. Killian could flirt with whomever he chose to. They spent one night together, literally sleeping. It didn’t mean anything. Did it?  

August noted her confusion and nodded his head in Elsa’s direction. Emma turned to look where he was motioning to. Elsa was leaning forward on the bar talking to Ruby. They were giggling and Elsa was blushing, sipping on her drink.

“She looks happy” Emma smiled. “And they’re definitely flirting.”

“Oh yeah they’re not subtle at all.”

A song came over the speakers that Elsa and Emma both love. Emma watched as Ruby bothered Killian into turning the volume up and Elsa looked back at Emma, grinning from ear to ear. They had danced to this song hundreds of times in Elsa’s dorm and August’s apartment. Elsa nearly ran over to her, pulling her to her feet. They were nearly screaming the lyrics at each other, their hips swaying with the music. It wasn’t long before most of the pub was dancing with them.

Killian laughed as he watched Emma. He had never seen her this carefree, this full of life. The sight of her with her friends having fun sent a shiver of warmth through his body. As unsettling as that was, he couldn’t take his eyes off her, wanting to save this image of her forever.

“Dance with her.” Ruby said to him, pulling Killian out of the trance Emma had put him in.

“What?”

“Go dance with her. I’ll manage the bar for a bit.” Ruby held her hand out for his phone so she could keep the music going. He rolled his eyes, handing it over. As the song ended Ruby kept the energy going by putting on one of her carefully curated dance party playlists.

Killian snuck up behind Emma, hands grabbing her waist from behind. “Hi, love,” he said into her ear, laughing as she squealed from the unexpected touch

Emma turned her head back to smile at him, recognizing his thick accent. “Killian!” She laughed, clearly a little tipsy by now. Emma leaned back against him, her body still swaying with the beat of the music that somehow keeps getting louder, her ass moving fluidly against his hips. Elsa bounced away, making her way over to Ruby at the bar, leaving Emma and Killian as alone as two people could be in a crowded pub.

Killian ran his hands up her sides, entirely lost in Emma and the music. She turned around, laughing in his arms. Her hands rested on his shoulders and his found their place on her hips, pulling her close to him.

She was singing along to the music entirely off key on purpose And he laughed at her, his body moving easily with and against hers. Killing kept her tight against him. If he wasn’t working, if they weren’t in a crowded room, Emma might find her hands wandering places other than where they were playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

Killian’s blue eyes locked on hers and she struggled to catch her breath. Emma’s entire body was humming in reaction to the way he looked at her and the way his hands rested possessively on her hips. Suddenly Emma crashed her lips against his, pulling him closer to her. Shocked for a brief second, Killian’s eyes shut as he kissed her back, his passion, his eagerness matching Emma’s. His arms wrapped tightly around her and the world fell away around them. Emma’s entire body was on fire as she kissed him. She kissed him like she had been waiting to kiss him her whole life. He kissed her like she could heal every broken piece of him.

Then the song changed and Killian pulled back.

“Wow” Emma breathed, finally releasing the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding for so long.

“Aye." He grinned. "I have to get back to work, love,” Killian said, a tinge of disappointment noticeable in his voice as he stepped back, putting distance between them. “To be continued.”

Emma smirked at him as she made her way back to her table. August was lost in the crowd, as was Robin. She finished off the rest of her drink before joining Elsa, who was clearly oblivious to everything other than the cute bartender in front of her. Emma bumped her with her hip playfully.

“So he’s hot .” Elsa whispered, barely loud enough for Emma to hear over the music.

“He’s not bad.” Emma smirked before confiding in her friend. “I kissed him.”

“Stop.” Elsa gasped. “Tell me everything.”

“Oi, love. I didn’t take you to be the type to kiss and tell.” She heard Killian tease. Her face went bright red. She hadn’t realized he was standing so close or that she was talking as loud as she was.

“Eh it was average.” Emma teased back, pretending to ignore him while she continued her conversation with Elsa. “He could use some practice.”

Killian raised his eyebrows at her, and leaned in towards her across the bar. “Is that a proposition, Swan?”

“Potentially.” Emma’s head was starting to spin. “I think I’m going to head home though. I have a bit of a headache.”

“Do you want me to walk with you?” Elsa asked.

“Nah it’s just a few blocks. I’ll be fine. You have fun.” Emma said. “Do you know where August and Robin went?”

“Robin left a few minutes ago with that girl from his philosophy class. I think her name was Regina?”

“Hm go Robin.”

“August’s at the other end of the bar with some guys I don’t know.”

“Ah well, I’ll let him be. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?” Emma asked, pulling Elsa into a hug.

“Definitely.”

Emma grabbed her jacket, bracing herself against the cold as much as possible. Everything was spinning around her. She didn’t remember having that much to drink. Her head was killing her. She stumbled a bit. These damn shoes . She felt sick, and dizzy, and weak. She heard footsteps behind her. Her legs gave out beneath her. Someone grabbed her upper arm tightly - too tightly - to keep her upright. Emma flinched at the pain in her arm. Suddenly her body was flush against another's, someone who she didn’t recognize.

“Let go.” Emma protested as much as she could but her body was betraying her.

“Shut up,” the man snarled at her. His voice was dark and rough.

It hit Emma like an earthquake, slow and confusing at first before the earth split beneath her. It hit her that this wouldn’t end well. There were few versions of stories like this that did. As a writer, as a woman, she knew. Emma didn’t know when she started crying. The cold wind felt colder against her wet cheeks and the dread of what would come next filled every fiber of her being.

And while she wasn’t religious, a familiar prayer popped into her head, a shadow of a memory from some of the religious-based group homes she had found herself in.

Hail Mary, full of Grace

She wanted to jerk her arm out of his grip, hit him wherever she was able too. She couldn’t tell if it was the fear or something else that was paralyzing her.

The Lord is with Thee

He walked her a few steps forward, her feet dragging against the sidewalk. No. No. No. Please. Even her voice was betraying her. His grip on her arm tightened when she tried everything she could to pull away.

Blessed art thou among women

Her body was trembling yet her mind was blank. Thoughts beyond the plea to a God she didn’t believe in were unable, unwilling to form. Emma refused to think about anything beyond the time it took for one foot to be dragged in front of the other. She couldn’t remember the next line of the prayer. She skipped it. Everything was simultaneously happening too fast and too slow.

Hail Mary, Mother of God

She could barely keep her eyes open or her body standing. She had to lean against him for support. This made Emma sick to her stomach. Tears fell faster as she begged to see tomorrow.

Pray for us sinners, now, and at the hour of our death --

“Swan! You forgot your phone!” Killian called as he ran out to catch Emma. His voice cut through the night, interrupting the final word of her petition.

“LET HER GO!” She heard Killian run towards her.

The man in the hoodie cursed when he heard Killian’s voice and ripped Emma’s necklace from her neck. “I’ll get you one day, pretty. One day you’ll really fall and I’ll be waiting,” he whispered harshly. The man tossed Emma to the ground, discarding her from his grip, before sprinting away. Her head hit the concrete sidewalk. Pain and relief and fear and disgust and guilt washed over her.

Killian was kneeling at her side in an instant. “Emma, are you okay?” His accent was thick with concern as he lifted her head off the sidewalk. Everything was still spinning. Everything was still slipping away.

She opened her wet eyes to see Killian close to her. Everything was going dark. Everything was spinning. The only thing in focus was Killian’s blue eyes. Emma felt like she was drowning and the world around her was going dark.

Even though she felt herself sinking deeper, Killian’s touch, his presence, his voice gave her the strength to allow the word she’d been wanting to scream for the past minute and a half finally escape her lips.

“Help.”

[timelordthirteen]

Killing Time 18/?

Detective Weaver/Belle French, Explicit

Summary: A Woven Beauty Law & Order-ish AU. Written for Writer’s Month 2019.

Chapter Summary: A little time apart, brings clarity.

Notes: Warning in this chapter for more talk of the miscarriage. I'm surprised at the low levels of hate I got on that last chapter. I thought there might be a bit more venom, but I had also hoped it was obvious that Weaver wouldn't be leaving for long. I hope this soothes all the wounds as we set up our pair for the homestretch and some surprising revelations.

Warnings: Miscarriage reference and discussion. Please see AO3 for complete warnings and tags.

[AO3]  Previous: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17]

By the time the elevator reached the ground floor, Weaver knew he had fucked up.

By the time he stepped out into the cool fall air and lightly falling rain, he also knew he deserved every one of Belle’s cutting remarks. In the moment it had been hard to stop the same old things from happening, to keep from pushing and pushing until they both said things they’d regret. Of course he’d stormed out of his own apartment like a jackass, and even though he wanted to go back up immediately, he needed to clear his head and figure out what to say before he did.

He flipped up the collar of his jacket and shoved his hands in the pockets, heading north towards the convenience store that was two blocks away. It was a walk he made often. When his mind couldn’t let go of a case, he would make his way down to the store, a short list of grocery items in his hand; milk, bread, or the chocolate chip cookies he’d become a little too partial to. The distance there and back was long enough to unwind his brain and either let him see the connections he was missing, or helped him to relax and let it go until tomorrow.

Sighing, he waited at the corner, watching the traffic pass, the tires squelching against the wet asphalt. He hoped Belle was all right. That was truly his greatest worry, that his leaving wouldn’t just upset her, but that it might send her into some kind of fit, like what she’d had when they returned to her apartment. He didn’t know what went on in her nightmares or in the moments where she would stare off into space, only to startled herself back to reality.

She didn’t think he noticed as much as he did, so he chose not to interrogate her, the same as he’d done after the miscarriage. He realized now, entirely too late, that method had probably made things worse. What had happened recently wasn’t healthy for either of them and was likely making it all worse. She didn’t love him. He’d resigned himself to that fact, in spite of the attraction that still simmered between them.

A sign glowed up ahead, MINI MART in large red letters cutting into the darkness, and the rain started falling faster. Weaver pushed inside the store, and headed for the counter.

“Evening, Detective.”

The man behind the counter smiled at him, and Weaver gave him a short nod. “Pack of Parliaments, please, Sam.”

Sam’s eyebrows lifted as he reached up to retrieve a pack from the slots above him. He set it down and then slid it forward across the counter before stepping to the side to ring up the purchase.

Weaver tossed a cheap Bic lighter on the counter as well, and then pulled out his wallet. The math had been familiar once upon a time, the cost of a pack of cigarettes and a lighter at your average convenience store or gas station.

“8.50,” Sam said, waiting as a ten dollar bill was laid down. He dropped the change in Weaver’s hand, and frowned as he walked out the door.

Outside, the rain was more insistent. Weaver peeled the plastic off the outside of the pack and dropped it in the trash can on the corner. He stared at the rows of cigarettes in the slim, white box, and exhaled. It had been over ten years since he’d quit smoking, replacing the periodic smoke break with scotch at the end of the day, but old habits were too easy to fall back into lately.

He pulled one out, stuffing the rest of the pack deep in his pocket, and set it between his lips. The lighters were even cheaper and more finicky than he remembered, and that combined with the fat, steady drops hitting him, made it take several flicks before the flame sprang up. He could feel the heat of it on his thumb, almost searing with how close it was. The wind made it wobble, and then abruptly snuffed it out, and he sighed. Perhaps it was a sign.

“Hey, buddy, you got one of those for a man who served his country and then got the shaft?”

Weaver turned, frowning, and saw a man in a long green coat, military style, sitting on a bench. The jacket was not unlike the one he’d picked up at the surplus store ages ago. The man looked mildly disheveled and dirty, like he’d slept in his clothes one too many nights, and Weaver assumed he probably had, likely on that very bench or in one of the many alleyways. His face was thin, and his beard and hair ragged. The city had done a lot recently to try to help the homeless population, but it was clearly not enough.

“Sure,” Weaver said, giving the man a crooked smile. “Take the whole fucking pack, mate.”

He tossed the cigarettes at the man, who caught it one handed, followed swiftly by the lighter.

“You for real?” The man looked at his hands and then up at Weaver.

Weaver shrugged. “Yeah. I quit too long ago to start up again.”

The man nodded and lit up, sending a curling stream of smoke into the wet air. “I hear ya, but a man’s gotta have something to get him through his troubles, right? Good brew, good smoke, or a good woman.”

Weaver looked away, and then reach inside his coat to pull out one of his contact cards. “Hey, you know the diner over on 15th? Granny’s?”

The man eyed the card as he held it out. “Yeah?”

“Take this and give it to the waitress with the red streak in her hair. She’ll make sure you get a good meal.”

The man took his card carefully, holding it up as he took another puff of the cigarette. “Detective Weaver.” He looked up and shoved the card in his breast pocket. “I appreciate that, but as you can see I am a bit down on my luck at the moment. Left my wallet on the bus.”

Weaver let out a short laugh. “I know that feeling.” He pulled out his wallet again and took out his last bill, handing it to the man. “The meal’s on the house with my card, but there’s a place just down from the diner, across Lake Street. It’s not great, but this’ll get you a room for a few hours, get you out of the rain. Take care of yourself.”

He turned to leave as the man blinked at him, calling out, “Thanks, Detective.”

Weaver raise his hand, waving the man off as he stalked back down the street. He was starting to feel damp, and there was a tightness in his chest again. Fucking good deeds. He’d never done much of that before Belle. He wouldn’t have chased the man off, but he wouldn’t have given him the time of day either.

The walk back to his building was faster than the walk to the mini mart, but not just because of the increasing rain. He hadn’t really decided anything except that he wanted to be home, with Belle, whatever that was for now. He’d have to apologize, but she wasn’t wrong. His father’s influence plagued him even now, decades after leaving Glasgow and a grave behind. He wiped a rough hand over his face, and shook his head. She was right. As soon as things had become difficult, he looked for the corner to cut. It was how he’d come close to nearly drowning a man in a warehouse, and how he’d walked away from the best thing in his life.

The miscarriage hadn’t been the start of anything, only the culmination of the pile of fuck ups that his life had always been. The worst was that Belle was still carrying it with her, even almost three years later. The circumstances of it hadn’t helped, and overall it had clearly been more traumatic that he’d ever understood. It triggered the end of their marriage, and he was sure that had only contributed to her dwelling on the event.

All because they’d both been too afraid to talk about what they were thinking and feeling.

Shaking his head again, he punched in the code for the outside door and yanked it open as it buzzed.

Bell’s tears dried on her cheeks as she lay curled up on the sofa.

Eventually, she made herself get up and go to the bathroom where she stripped off her clothes and stood in the hot spray of the shower. The steam curled up around her as she drew her finger down the glass, clearing it momentarily and watching as it fogged over again. She could still see the line, the smudge of her skin left behind on the glass, just as she could still see Jack’s blood in her kitchen when she closed her eyes.

Turning, she tipped her face up into the water, letting it run over her head and soothe the steady ache in her temples. Surprisingly, she wasn’t worried about where Ian had gone. He often went for walks when a case was bothering him. Sometimes she’d go along, the two of them strolling quietly arm in arm for a few blocks, listening to the city around them, before turning and heading back home.

This was still his apartment, and it was unlikely that he’d stay away all night. After he returned, she needed to apologize, and it didn’t matter how late that was. She doubted she’d sleep much without him around anyway. Bringing up his father had been a low blow, something she’d never ever done before, not even during their worst fights. Everything she’d heard of the man was despicable, and to throw that in Weaver’s face, especially when she suspected he was just as vulnerable as she, was unfair.

She scrubbed her face and washed her hair before turning around to let the water beat on her neck and back. Her head was still pounding, but that always happened after she was upset, and it was nothing that a little aspirin wouldn’t cure.

Her mind drifted back to the moment in the kitchen a couple of weeks ago. Ian had said he loved her, and she’d been so ready to say it back, as soon as she caught her breath, when Rogers called. Since then she’d been holding it in, thinking that somehow it would be better if he went on thinking she didn’t feel the same, that it would make it easier to go back to their separate lives when all this was over.

She wasn’t sure if it was a good idea for them to be together again. Despite their best intentions, things between them only ever seemed to get worse. If they tried again only to fall apart once more, she wasn’t sure she could come back from that, not after - everything.

More and more she had been thinking it might be a good idea to talk to someone about what had happened to her, both the attack and the miscarriage. She didn’t have perspective on any of it, and how could she when they were things that happened to her? The logical part of her brain said to stop dwelling on it, to let it go, but that was obviously easier said than done. She’d tried, so many times, and at one point she was convinced she’d finally moved beyond it, only to have the stupidest thing bring it back.

Maybe it was the fact that she blamed the miscarriage for ruining her marriage, and as a by product, herself. Again, logic insisted that was silly. Yet here she was, standing in the water as it slowly turned cold.

She shivered and reached for the faucet.

Belle was back on the sofa, a movie she’d seen at least ten times playing on the TV, in her soft flannel pajama pants and a tank top, when Weaver came home. She heard the click of the lock before the door slid open, and twisted in her seat.

Weaver seemed almost surprised to see her, but he gave her a flat smile and a shrug.

She pushed herself up, goosebumps rising up on her bare arms. “I'm sorry.” She waited until he turned back to her, having draped his leather jacket over one of the bar stools. “I - I didn't mean it,” she continued. “I swear, Ian, I - I didn’t.”

He shook his head and took a step forward. “No, you did. And you were right.”

“No,” she insisted. “I'm not.” He frowned slightly, and she noticed his hair looked slightly damp from the rain. “Where did you go?”

“Down the block to the corner store,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I bought a pack of Parliaments, stepped outside, realized I hadn't smoked in a fucking decade, and I really didn't want to start up again.” She seemed startled by that, and he sighed. “So I gave the pack, one of my cards, and my last twenty to a homeless Vet, and sent him to Granny’s.”

Belle’s head tilted. “Ruby still work there?”

“Yeah,” he said, taking another cautious step forward. She hadn’t moved from her spot by the sofa, though she had obviously showered and changed. Perhaps she hadn’t felt as bad about his leaving as he’d feared, which only solidified her lack of feeling for him in his mind.

“I told him to give my card to the woman with a red streak in her hair and she'd make sure he ate well.” He gave her a half smile and shrugged.

“See?” She smiled back at him even as tears sprang to her eyes. “You are better than your father. You're a good man, Ian.”

He looked down at his boots. “Sometimes.”

“No.” Her strong voice, made him look up. “All the time. You're not - “

He shook his head again. “No, I am. A lot more than I ever wanted to admit. Shit gets hard and I...”

He sighed and swallowed.

“Ian...”

“You pushed me away,” he managed, somehow finding his voice even though his throat felt dry and tight. “After...”

She nodded, her lips pressed tight as her arms folded around her torso. “I know.”

“I didn't know what to do.” He let his right arm rise and fall, palm slapping against his thigh. “Or what you wanted me to do.”

“Why?” Belle sniffed loudly and wiped at her eyes. Her lip wobbled and she touched her fingertips to it, fighting to hold back the anguished noise on the back of her tongue. “Why did you let me? Why didn't you fight for us?”

He exhaled heavily, his eyes closing for a moment. “I know how to fight for what I want when it's work,” he admitted, the realization like a lead weight in his gut. “When it's a case, or a warrant, or a theory. But not - not when what I want is you.”

She came closer, drawn in by the raw emotion in his voice, until only the width of the sofa separated them. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I didn't know what to do either. I knew something was wrong. I knew and I should have...”

Her body swayed, and Weaver moved quickly, catching her by her arms so she wouldn’t fall to the floor. Her hands came up, but she didn’t fight him, just pressed her hands to his chest, her eyes fixed on the sliver of exposed skin where his shirt opened at the neck.

“I should have...” She cut off her own words with a ragged sob and curled her hands into fists.

“Belle, no,” he said, trying to pull her to him. “No, please, sweetheart. Come on, let's sit. Let's just calm down.”

She reeled and pushed hard against him, trying to shove him away, but there wasn't enough strength left in her arms.

“I don't want to calm down!” One hand pulled back and came down on his chest in a feeble thump. “I want to be angry! I want to scream!”

Her body shook again and her eyes squeezed shut as she let out the most tortured noise he’d ever heard. His heart nearly broke at the sound of it, and he let her fall against him, his arms coming up around her to hold her tight as she buried her face and yelled into his shirt.

“You be angry then,” he said, squeezing her gently. Her breath was hot through the fabric, and he could feel the faint wetness of her tears, almost the same as the rain outside. “Be whatever you need to be.”

Belle’s face turned to the side and one hand opened against him, her palm pressed over his heart where it was pounding in his chest. “You weren't there...”

“I know.” He took a shaky breath and closed his eyes, resting his cheek on top of her head. He wasn't there when she needed him, and it would be his greatest regret. “I'm so sorry, Belle. You're right, I should have been there.”

After a minute, he guided her towards the sofa, and they sat down, side by side. His arm stayed around her shoulders, and she twisted sideways to curl against him. She seemed so small and fragile to him, so diminished from her usual fiery self.

"We were so happy," she said. "And then - then everything fell apart, and I couldn't stop it. It was like you put a wall up between us. I thought maybe you hated me."

Weaver pulled back as she sniffled into his shirt. "What? No. Why?"

She glanced up briefly. "Because of the miscarriage?"

His eyes went wide. "No! No, never, Belle, never. I could never ever be mad at you for that, okay?"

She breathed out and in, relief flooding her as she let his words sink in. "I didn't know that then. I didn't know what else had changed other than that."

He sighed and pulled her close, rubbing his hand up and down her back in what he hoped was a soothing motion. It felt good to be letting out the insecurities and uncertainties he'd been mulling over in his head for years.

"I thought you wanted space. I thought you'd tell me what you needed, what you wanted me to do. I didn't know how to handle any of it. It was like - like I'd lost some part of you too."

Her head moved, shaking no against him. "I didn't want space. But I didn't understand how it might feel for you."

She closed her eyes and relaxed into the steady stroke of his palm. It had never dawned on her that he felt the loss of their baby as keenly as she did. It wasn't fair to assume he could have just moved on as well.

"I felt like it just happened to me. I didn't think..."

"We both didn't." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and breathed in the light scent of her shampoo. "It was easier to focus on work, on things I could control. I thought it would all pass and then we'd be fine."

"Like it never happened?"

"No, not like that." His hand moved around to her side and hitched her closer, until she was practically sitting across his lap. She came willingly, her face pushing into the warm crease of his neck.

"I didn't want to forget that it happened. I just...I didn't want to see you hurting anymore," he said. "I thought maybe me being around was making it worse. We kept fighting over stupid shit."

She looked up at him with puffy, red rimmed eyes. "That was mostly my fault."

"Stop. Okay?" His gaze and voice were soft. "Just...nothing is anyone's fault anymore."

"It was," she insisted. "And I didn't realize that it would make you think I didn't want you around. I needed you and I pushed you away..."

"I should have asked why you left, but I just..." He exhaled and tried not to think of his father. "I gave up. I don't believe you can make anyone stay in a relationship, I learned that the hard way with Milah."

"Yeah."

The mention of his ex-wife stung. His shit of a father and his awful ex; how many more terrible memories could she dredge up and throw in his face?

"I wanted you to be happy. I thought if being rid of me did that, then okay, I would give you that, and I wouldn't fight it."

She shifted, freeing her arms enough to wrap one around him and lay the other over his shoulder. She needed to hold him as much as she needed to be held. She needed him to know that it was okay, that she didn't blame him either.

"God, I fucked everything up."

His lips twitched. "I think I contributed a solid sixty percent."

She pulled back just enough to give him a look. "So this is a group project now?"

"Explains why everyone is miserable."

Unable to help herself, she let out a snort into his chest, and bit her lip as she smiled up at him. "It's not all bad."

"No?" His look was almost incredulous. "We have six dead bodies, two serial murderers, and zero actionable leads."

"I meant with us," she clarified. Her lips quirked slightly at him. "But thanks for the depressing recap, Detective Maudlin."

He rolled his eyes and muttered a sorry, grateful for the break in the tension. “Do you feel any better?"

"Yeah," she admitted, sliding off of his lap and pushing to her feet. "Sorry, I guess I had kinda saved all that up."

Both of his eyebrows lifted as he stood. "Apparently..."

She gave him a look and shook her head, more at herself than anything. "I'm sorry I hit you. Before."

"Don't worry about it." He smiled crookedly and rubbed at the middle of his chest. "I'm tougher than I look." Belle smiled and looked away, and he reached for her, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Do you...want to talk about anything else?”

Belle sighed and raised her hand, pulling his hand off her shoulder as she turned. “No. I just - really want to go to bed.”

Her hand slipped into his, and he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles as he exhaled. Another night sharing a bed with Belle probably wouldn’t kill him. “Okay.”

“And, um...” She took a breath and squeezed his hand. “I love you.” Weaver blinked at her, and she shrugged, giving him a soft, half smile. “I never stopped, Ian. I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”

He felt the air rush out of him as her hand moved up his chest. She looked tired and worn out, but her red tinged eyes were still the most beautiful he’d ever seen. He felt all the tension draining out of him, all the shit from the last two years and the last few months fading to the back of his mind.

“I love you too,” he managed as she pushed up on her toes to kiss him.

It was soft, almost startlingly so given how rough and passionate their most recent encounters had been. She caught his bottom lip, briefly, and when she made to pull away his hand came up to cradle the back of her head and draw her back to him. Her mouth opened, her tongue brushing lightly over his. It was teasing or wanton, but more familiar and quiet, like the kisses they'd often shared in the late hours before they both fell asleep.

She swayed a bit as she broke the kiss, but he held her firmly, the corner of his mouth curved.

“I don't...I don't know where we go from here,” she said, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. Her mind felt dizzy and sleepy, her body almost languid now that she'd let out so much of what she'd been holding inside.

He sighed and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. “Me either, to be honest.” She yawned against him, and he dropped a kiss to the top of her head. “How about we start with sleep, breakfast at Granny's, and take it from there?”

Belle tilted her head up and smiled. "That sounds like the best idea you've ever had."

It was a matter of minutes for Weaver to strip off his clothes, leaving himself in just his boxers. The rain had tapered off, but the lingering chill sneaking in through the drafty corners made Belle shiver. She drew back the covers and climbed into bed, settling herself on her usual side, waiting. A moment later, he slipped in next to her, sighing as she turned over and pressed against his side.

There was something achingly familiar about what they were doing, but instead of a sinking feeling of dread and a slight pain in his chest, there was a calming peace and a pair of cold feet on his leg. Her hair tickled his chin, and he smiled, closing his eyes.

[cupped-socks]

Day 1: Shaky hands

I’ve never participated in Whumptober, but there’s a first for everything! I’ve made a thing, short little original thing based off of one of my roleplays. It’s light and has very little content, but... I had time and it felt good xD

Summary: After returning from the park, Morgan notices a change in Nessie’s behaviour. She’s moody. After investigating a little, he finds that his daughter was spanked earlier and that’s something no omega parent is ever keen to hear.

[Read on AO3]

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

It was so incredibly unnerving.

There was no need for Morgan to announce himself as he entered the kitchen where Zachary was washing dishes in the sink. The scent that wafted in burned the alpha's nostrils, a scent akin to that of pine smoke that Zachary had rarely been able to pick up on his mate. Morgan was angry, really angry.

"So..." The omega leered at him from the archway, leaning, arms crossed over his chest. "You don't have anything to say?"

"What would you have me say, Morgan?" Zachary bit back.

"You could start with why, in your right mind, would you think that striking our daughter would be a good idea!" Morgan spat at him, the usual honey in his voice gone and replaced with a venom. There wasn't much that Zachary could say now that would earn him any sort of favour out of the omega. They both knew that, whatever Zach would have to say, wouldn't be good enough as a defence.

The alpha had to weigh every single word. Zachary pivoted his torso, turning to look at his mate from the corner of his eye, and kept his voice low, "Listen, Morgan..."

Mistake.

Before Zachary could finish, Morgan launched for him, grabbing as much of the alpha's collar as he could. "Don't!" Zachary's breath was stolen straight out of his lungs. Morgan kept berating him, "You raised your hand on your daughter! Do you realize that? Have you lost your mind!?"

"I have my reasons, Morgan." Zachary tried to level his scent.

Zachary's wet hands came up to grasp at the fists that formed at his neck. Zachary didn't try to break the omega's grip over his collar, but he wouldn't stand to let his mate shake him much longer.

"Reasons!?" Morgan parroted, but with a growl. "How about I beat your face into the counter?"

"Morgan..."

Zachary tightened his grip around the omega's wrist until the other released his collar with a huff and a push. "No! Why would you hit her!?" Morgan closed his mouth, his jaw tightening painfully, and he waited for a reply. Zachary didn't answer. The omega scoffed, pacing angrily between the table and the chair. Morgan sat down, only to stand right back up. "God, you piss me off... You're sleeping on the couch." Morgan turned from the alpha, an eerie calmness in his voice.

"No! No, Morgan, wait!" But the Omega wouldn't have him. Morgan carried on his way, stomping from the kitchen and towards the staircase. Desperate, Zachary used a tactic that he knew would come back to bite him in the ass, " Morgan, stop! " And Morgan stopped, freezing halfway up the stairs. He was silent and hurt, Zachary could tell. The burn in the omega's scent had completely subsided, in the blink of an eye, his scent was submissive. Zachary's heart pinched and his throat became dry.

"What?" the omega asked, a tremble in his voice.

Morgan refused to look at Zach, but the alpha could see it clearly, even despite the low light. Tears had trickled down the omega's cheeks and, while he made sure to breathe as quietly as he would had he been calm, his chest moved as though he was heaving. And his hand, the one on the railing, shook despite how hard Morgan must have been gripping at the railing.

Zachary's next words had little meaning to them, "I'm sorry, Morgan... Please, just come down."

The omega did as he was told. No longer compelled by Zachary's voice, however, he did so more out of spite than anything else. He wanted the alpha to feel that burning in his heart, that sting, as he was responsible for all of this. His eyes were dark, completely lacking the healthy lustre the omega usually had to his look. His nose was scrunched and his brows furrowed as he slowly came down the steps, each a little bit more agonizing than the last. This was all deliberately done to guilt the alpha and it worked.

Morgan walked past the alpha, with nothing to break the silence save for the soft shuffling of the omega's socks across the wooden steps.

When he reached that last step, Morgan looked up. The darkness and the shadows danced across the omega's face and cast upon his calm features a wicked scowl that froze Zachary's blood. The omega kept his voice low, tempered, "How dare you." Zachary's jaw hung at a loss of words. Suddenly his throat wasn't only parched, but his entire mouth and lips had gone absolutely dry.

Zach gulped a lump, and then another. His eyes drew to the floor as the omega dropped the last step, his foot landing so silently against the tile, despite how heavily it seemed to weigh on the alpha. "Morgan..."

"Will you stop saying my name like it's gonna change anything?" The question was rhetorical. Zach caught the omega's eyes again. While Zach's stare had diverted from his mate, Morgan never looked away. It was a daunting experience to feel so torn between standing his ground and the possible tornado he would unleash. All the alpha had to do was say the wrong thing. "Today, you hit Nesri-"

"I know! But I-" Zachary interrupted Morgan, only to have his mate raise a finger in his face with a stern look.

"You hit..." Morgan repeated, his voice low, but calm, "You hit Nesrine, today. And you try to command me ." Zachary couldn't meet Morgan's stare, even when the other took a hold of the alpha's chin between his index and pointer finger, and forced Zach to look down on him. Morgan's hand shook, trembling like a leaf despite the calmness in his voice, in his scent. Zachary could feel it.

Even as Morgan stood before him, straight, unyielding, he was still frightened. His shaky hands were a clear sign. Zachary could only chock pathetically under his breath, "I'm sorry..."

"Sorry for what? For hitting my daughter, your baby ?" Morgan poked at the alpha's chest. "Or are you sorry for using your voice on me?" Zachary obviously had no answer that would suit the omega; he didn't feel guilty for spanking his daughter, but he did for trying to force Morgan into submission. If the alpha was to say that, though, Morgan would surely lose his mind. His lack of reply was answer enough to Morgan. "Yeah... That's what I thought. Lay your hand on one of my kids again, Zach. It'll be the last thing you ever do."

The night ended there, with those last words.

Morgan had turned on his heels and had gone to their bedroom, whereas Zachary had remained downstairs. The alpha had considered climbing the stairs and sneaking into their bed once Morgan had gone to sleep. He decided against it and stayed downstairs, on the couch, until Wesley woke up the next morning.

As he usually would, Zachary woke up alongside the pups. Each would wake up and come down on their own, at their own pace. Elijah and Flynn were usually the last to come down, but today, Nessie and Morgan were the last ones to join them at the breakfast table.

Morgan acted as though nothing had changed, sitting with Nesrine in his lap, scolding the kids when they wouldn't eat their breakfast properly, watching the news and weather channel. He was happy to have this morning to enjoy the company of their five kids -Milo had stayed the night at Aiden's house. He hadn't addressed the alpha, though, let alone look at him. But Zachary didn't mention any of it. Morgan was probably still angry and, he figured, anything he would say at this point wouldn't help in the slightest. Eventually, the kids would finish their breakfast and don their coats before the bus came to pick them up for school. And so Zach would be alone with Morgan and Nesrine.

He bit down on his lip and on his pride. "You're going into work late, today?" The omega nodded, his focus unwavering from the television. Zachary came up behind him, leaning his palms on the side of the chair's back, and chipped, "It's nice that we could have you for breakfast, today. I know the kids really appreciate it." Again, Morgan didn't bother answering. Zach clicked his tongue, nodding defeatedly. "Okay..." He let his fingers brush the omega's shoulder as he moved away from the breakfast table.

If Morgan didn't want to talk, then they didn't have to talk.

Zachary listened to the television as he sorted through the fridge. He was picky about how the items within were placed and every day, after every meal, he would make sure that everything was in place, in order where it should be, where he wanted it to be. He would tuck away the leftovers neatly and prepare easy meals for the kids, for school and for when they came home or simply wanted something quick and easy, something they could just stick in the microwave. Zachary commented on the news, about the traffic report, as he carefully labelled each tupperware. At best, Morgan would hum. Eventually, Zachary fell quiet as he turned his attention to the dinner her would prepare his family that night.

Morgan would react to Nesrine when she came to him. Zachary would react to Nesrine when she came to him. Morgan wouldn't react to Zachary, however.

"What happened?" Zachary didn't react to the question, convinced Morgan addressed it to their daughter. It wasn't until Morgan whistled and snapped his fingers that Zach looked at him. The omega was placid in his body posture, comfortably leaned over the back of his chair with his feet up onto the seat of another chair underneath the table. His voice was also soft, almost as melodious as it usually was, "Hey, I'm talking to you."

"What?" Zach blinked. "Sorry, what?"

"What happened?" Morgan repeated the question, but Zachary's confused frown made it obvious the alpha had no idea how to answer. "Yesterday... What happened with Nesrine? Why did you spank her?"

"Oh," Zach averted his eyes. He kept himself busy as he spoke, as though doing so would cover up the crack in his voice. "A lady came to us, at the park, and she asked us to move so she could swing her kid..."

"She asked you to move?" Morgan sounded aggravated.

"Yeah... all the swings were taken."

"So, this random lady asked you to stop swinging with Nesrine so that she could swing with her kid?"

Zachary stopped, placing both of his hands on the counter's surface. He hesitated to explain, "She was... An omega, you know? All the other swings were taken by omegas with their kids. I was the only alpha there. It kind of just... happens." Zachary shrugged his shoulders. "It's not the first time this kind of thing happens, but it was the first time Nesrine threw a fit..."

Morgan scoffed, "So you spanked her because this random lady couldn't wait for a fucking swing to free itself?"

"No, I spanked her because she grabbed a handful of sand and shoved it in my face because that random lady couldn't wait for a swing to free itself," Zachary corrected. There was a pause between the two of them where their eyes met. Hoping to alleviate some of the awkwardness that tickled him, the alpha concluded with, "And it hurt." His jaw clenched, though, when the omega burst into a laughing fit. He let a low, barely audible growl escape him.

"I'm sorry, Zach!" the omega cried after covering his mouth with his hand in an attempt to cover his amusement. "I-I really didn't mean to laugh! No, you're right, this is serious."

"I know!" the alpha exclaimed.

"I'll talk to her..." Morgan nodded exaggeratedly. "Until then... You let a four-year-old smash you in the face with sand... You're such a defenceless alpha, Zachary."

[quantumchickpea]

Short Fic prompts #50 asked by disneyjackie

Number 50: Going Through a Divorce au

(Spin it to where they start over and work it out after some craziness.)

Marinette stormed up to Adrien, who was busy talking to a model at the biggest fashion show in Milan for Fashion Week. She had just got done helping another model get into an extravagant gown when she had saw him.

It had been months since they had gotten divorced. Her brand was taking off and she had been invited to go to the biggest fashion event of the year. She had been ecstatic, but scared that she would run into him. It made her angry, upset, and happy all at the same time. She had spent the last few months angry at him for what he had done. Angry at what she had done. Angry at everything that had happened between them. But she still cried every night that her bed felt empty, lonely. How her heart was broken. How her apartment was three sizes too big without him. How cold the nights were without his warm body beside her. Loving her. Whispering about how pretty she was.

“Excuse me…” She gave the pretty model, who was busy flirting with her ex-husband, a fake smile and pushed an irritated Adrien by his woven button down shirt to an area that was mostly empty of people. Adrien sighed as he let her push him off to the side. He glared down at her with his arms crossed over his chest. He had had enough of this. It had been months, what more could she say than what she had. She had already made it clear about how much she didn’t want him anymore. How she didn’t love him anymore. Not that he had helped in that situation at all either, but he was still mad at her. He had only done what he had to get back at her in spite. It was always like that between them.

“What do you want, Marinette? How much more can I take?” Adrien flung his hands down to his sides and clenched them into fists. “You said how you felt months ago. You told me how you truly felt about me. So, WHAT MORE CAN YOU SAY?” His voice echoed off the vacant walls and a few people looked over at them.

Marinette looked around them and grabbed his shirt, pulling him into the bathroom that was nearby. She locked the door and glared up at him. “I may have said how I felt months ago, but at least I didn’t just scream our business for the whole damn fashion show to hear, you big idiot!”  Her voice was low and in an angry whisper as she spit the words out of her mouth. She poked him in the chest with each of her next words. “May I remind you that you were the one that cheated on me!”

Adrien growled and got into her face, backing her into the long dark sink. “And may I remind you that I only did that because some woman had a fling with a certain musician named Luka! I loved you Marinette. LOVED you!” He slammed his palms down on either side of her on the sink. “You don’t think I regretted sleeping with Kagami every single damn DAY! You don’t think I regret it now?” He leaned closer to her and her cheeks flushed as his lips got mere inches from hers. “YOU DON’T THINK THAT I DON’T MISS YOU! THAT MY BED ISN’T EMPTY. THAT MY BED ISN’T COLD without the one woman that matters.” His voice broke and he bowed his head, licking his lips. He slowly peered up at Marinette and watched her eyes shake. “You were- you were the one girl that mattered, Marinette. But then you found someone you liked better. That’s all. Someone you found to be dangerous and interesting and- and better than me. Better than-” Adrien transformed and became Chat Noir, causing Marinette to tremble. “Better than this bad boy cat, that you used to trust and let follow you around, Paris. I’m done, Marinette. Enjoy your moment of fame. I’m glad your brand is working out now. I’ll see you around.” He dropped his transformation and unlocked the bathroom door to leave. He hoped she would stop him. Tell him that he was wrong, anything, but she didn’t move or speak. Adrien sighed and dropped the door behind him, leaving her alone. “That’s what I thought.” He spoke under his breath and left to go walk down the runway in his father’s brand.

______________________________________________________________

Ladybug lit the black candle and situated the plates of croissants and chocolate chip cookies on the small round bistro table. She had spent all day making the stuff in her hotel room kitchen. She sat down on the table and waited for Adrien to come out to his balcony. She didn’t know how long it would take for him to, but she knew that he did every night for his new habit. She hated it, but she understood why he would turn to it.

Adrien knocked the pack of cigarette against his palm and one slid out of place enough for him to grab it. He put it between his lips and flicked a lighter to set the end on fire. Adrien grabbed it with his thumb and forefinger, blowing out smoke as he jumped back at seeing Ladybug on his terrace. “What are you doing here?” He settled down and ignored everything on the table that she had laid out. “I thought I told you goodbye.”

“You did. Um- Bu- but I didn’t get to talk. Um…” She tapped her bottom lip with her finger. Adrien groaned and leaned on the banister with his forearms. He took another long drag from his cigarette, before blowing it out. He tried to ignore that she was there, but it was hard for him to.

“I- Luka has nothing on you. He meant nothing. I- well when it happened he did. But it was only because you were so busy and I thought you didn’t love me anymore. I thought that you didn’t care about me anymore. You stopped telling me I’m pretty. You stopped surprising me. You stopped sending me flowers when you were on trips. You stopped complimenting me, hugging me, telling me a simple I love you.” Ladybug clutched at her sides and didn’t look up at him. “You stopped telling me how beautiful I was without makeup. You stopped telling me how special I was to you. Started pointing out my flaws. Luka- he- he complimented me. Told me how amazing I was. How pretty I was. How he appreciated how my body isn’t as perfect as it was when we were teens. I- I became obsessed with his compliments and you faded into the background. I’m- I’m sorry. But I know my sorrys don’t mean anything to you because I say them so much. Um-”

Adrien sighed and sniffed as he watched the end of his cigarette crumble and fall into ashes along the sleek banister. He didn’t have much more he could give. His left finger felt empty without the black band on it that had ‘kitty’ engraved inside the band. Just like her platinum engagement ring had had ‘bugaboo’ engraved inside the band. He rubbed his finger with his thumb on the same hand and took another drag from his new coping mechanism. His new one aside from drinking Vodka; which he would pour himself a shot later after this was over.

“Look. Um- I understand why you would go after Kagami and I know it’s my fault. I- I just-” Ladybug grabbed his bicep and made him turn around to face her. She took in his puffy eyes and how red they were. How his bottom lip quivered and his muscles were tensed up. How his eyes waverd and the cigarette shook in his unsteady hand. How his body seemed to radiate energy. She watched his adam’s apple move as he swallowed hard. “My bed is also cold and lonely. My ring finger is heavy like my heart. And when I think about us and how long… it took for us to even admit that we loved one another… it’s just. I- I wasted it. I hurt you because I was self-conscious and lonely. Why couldn’t you have taken me with you on your long trips? Why couldn’t I go?” She burst into tears and Adrien looked away, smoking more.

He blew out smoke as he stubbed out his cigarette. He dropped it onto the concrete and twisted his foot on it. “You were busy with your brand. I wasn’t going to jeopardize that and ask you to travel with me, while I modeled, Marinette. It was your dream. IS your dream. I’m not gonna stand in your way. You got your dream job. I never did. I’d rather you be free to do what you want to do and not what I have to do.” He walked back towards the doors to his hotel room to grab a drink. He needed one after hearing her talk.

Ladybug followed him into his apartment and watched him pull out a bottle of Grey Goose. He took out a crystal shot glass and poured a shot for himself. “You know, if you really wanted to talk to me and be honest?” He gestured to her with the glass. “You’d come here as Marinette, not Ladybug.” He knocked the shot back and cringed, before he started to pour another one.

Ladybug dropped her transformation and a red light enveloped Adrien as he knocked the second shot back. Marinette ran up and hugged him from behind, circling his waist with her arms. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I miss you. Please. Please can we fix this? Please?” She cried into the back of his shirt, clenching the soft material in her fists. He looked over his drink with unamused dull green eyes. “I know I fucked up, but you did too.”

Adrien sighed and set his glass down on the bar. He turned around in her arms and leaned back against the bar with his elbows. “Marinette… I-” He rubbed his eyes with his finger and thumb. “I don’t know if we can be fixed.”

“We just have to try. Do counseling. Something. I- I want to fix us. I miss you. I miss you eating my baking and cooking. I miss your kisses and hugs. I miss you in my bed. I miss your arms around me. I miss running through Paris along the rooftops, watching the sunset together. Watching meteor showers with you from the top of the Eiffel Tower. I miss everything. I’m sorry. So sorry. I promise to never let my eyes wander to another man. I promise to listen to you. If you say jump… I’ll jump.” She grabbed his shirt and looked up at him with tears falling down her pink cheeks. “I pro- PROMISE.” She burst out into tears again and he gave in and touched her cheek with his palm. He ran his thumb beneath her eye to catch her tears.

“You know what Nino told me?” He watched her eyes grow wide as a smile appeared on his lips. “He told me I was crazy to divorce you. Told me that if I truly loved you? We’d work it out. That we’d make it work. That we should have tried to instead of rushing into signing those papers. I was so mad. So angry at you that I didn’t even stop to consider it. But then again… if you truly loved me… you wouldn’t have gone after Luka.” Adrien sighed and watched her close her eyes and cry harder.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered through tears and bile rose in her throat at the thought of Luka touching her and Kagami touching her ex-husband. “Was- was she better than me?”

“How about you tell me. Was Luka better than me?” Adrien smirked down at her and watched her shake her head with her lips pressed in a straight line. “Well, then what do you think?”

“I’m so SORRY!” Marinette burst out and clutched her body against him to sob into his shirt. Adrien held her and brushed the back of her soft dark hair with his fingertips. He felt whole again, like he had found what he was missing. “Can we just forget about it and try again? Start over?”

“I’d love that, Marinette.” Adrien sighed and held her against him, stroking her back with his hand. She focused on his breathing and how his voice vibrated in his chest. “I’d also love to eat some of that delicious stuff you baked. I haven’t had your baked goods in so long.”

Marinette leapt away from him and ran out to grab the trays of cookies and croissants. “Have some.” She smiled with her eyes closed as happiness filled her heart. “Tell me what you think.”

Adrien grabbed a croissant and took a bite of it. His eyes went wide as the flaky pastry crumbled into his mouth and warm chocolate coated his tongue. “You rolled dark chocolate into these?”

“I did. Just for you.” Marinette smiled up at him and watched him finish it, before he grabbed a cookie. “I thought you’d like it.”

“They’re perfect as always, Marinette.” Adrien touched her chin and bent down to capture her lips with his. She parted her lips in a gasp and he slipped his tongue past her lips. She slowly closed her eyes and kissed him back, clutching his shirt in her hands. She kissed him like she couldn’t get enough. He broke the kiss and sighed, looking into her shimmering blue bell eyes as she caught her breath. “Just like you.”

Marinette searched his emerald eyes and watched them shine in the moonlight, before she tangled her fingers into his soft blonde hair and yanked him down for another heated kiss.

Songs I wrote this to are below. :)

[finity-andbeyond]

kissimmee | 2002

If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance.

                                                                               -george bernard shaw

Daytona Beach, Florida

Summer 2002.

It had been a long damn day. And it was only ten.

It had been a day longer than Fin had even realised in his seven year old mind days could be. A day that started off in their motel room (room 115b - a family room with a double and two singles), just like the rest of them. He’d been brushing his teeth when the fighting started. Brushing his teeth and shaking his butt to the music that was playing through the beat up Sony radio that his mother played on every Saturday morning, and that was just to wake them up so they knew it was time for chores.

It had all been going so well, until their dad had told Indie that he couldn’t go and see his friend Carmen. Fin was by no means a genius, but he liked to think he could understand easy things. The wheels on the bus went round and round, sometimes mommies and dads didn’t have the same last name, and sometimes people (like them) were poor. He understood the harder stuff too, like why his dad’s parents didn’t want to meet him and his brother. He understood why sometimes he and Indie had to be happy with a pack of chips for their meal—a packet of chips and perhaps an orange picked from one of the trees that seemed to pop up in abundance in the glaring Florida sun. Fat, rolling juicy oranges that Indie would have to try and either cut with a butter knife or smash open on a rock. It was hardly an exact science, but it got the job done, and it meant that Fin ended up with orange juice dripping down his chin, but he’d always have a grin on his face.

He understood that sometimes (as his big brother put it) “You do what you have to do.” And sometimes that meant you had to take things without paying for them. Like bread or milk or cereal or peanut butter. He had been taught by Mami that stealing was wrong, and that he should never do it, but Indie had told him he could either take it or go hungry. It was hardly a choice.

Some things though, Fin just did not understand. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t go to Disneyworld but his friends could. He didn’t understand why people in school made fun of his name. He didn’t understand why his dad never seemed to want to be around his children, and if he was honest, he didn’t really understand why once a month Indiana had to go round to Carmen’s house.

Fighting between Jaxon and Indie was hardly news. The two could barely be in the same room without something going awfully wrong. Sometimes it was something as little as the way Indie looked at their dad that would start it off. Fin didn’t understand why.. but sometimes it almost seemed like Indie wanted to have a fight. Sometimes it was like he was picking away at a scab until it made Jaxon bleed out all these horrible words. Words that again, Fin wasn’t sure about. “Deadbeat”, “drug addict” and “visitation” were words that were thrown around a lot, but no matter how hard he asked after a fight had happened, his brother would never explain what they meant. The fights hadn’t ever really scared him. He’d grown up hearing them after all..but what was hard was when they happened during the rainy seasons. After a fight and when the smoke had cleared, Indie and their dad were forced to stay stuck in their tiny home and cool down on opposite sides of the room.

That was another thing. Fin didn’t understand why Taylor Russell had stairs inside his house. The stairs at the motel were metal and his mom had taught him to always go down them slowly, but never touch the railing because there were dirty germs on them. Fin didn’t understand why Indie didn’t call their mom “mom”. Fin called her “mami” or “mommy” but that was because he was little. That he got. Indie called her Bonita and not even their dad called her that. He’d asked her one day why their brother called her Bonita, and she’d just smiled and said “that’s my name, querido. You’re Infinity. I’m Bonita. But you call me Mami.” It was simple. Mommies had their own names, but dad’s and other people called them by their other fake name. Everyone followed that rule but Indie.

Usually the fights didn’t last too long—a crash of thunder in the dead of night that was followed by cooling rain..but today was different. Indiana had his fists clenched at his sides as he yelled back at their dad, saying words Fin didn’t want to hear, and so he didn’t. He covered his ears with his hands and closed his eyes, trying to detach himself. His mother had gotten up early to collect her food stamps and was headed down to the bodega so she could buy things to make a decent dinner after work. He focused. Hungry. Mami. Quiet. Repeat. He was getting good at this game.

As quickly as the fight erupted after Bonita had left, the time between it being over and Fin being yanked to his feet was pretty instantaneous. He opened his eyes to see his brother tugging him outside into the sun, and he scrunched his eyes indignantly, and he protested out loud as the door closed behind them and he was tugged along toward the stairs “Indie, the sun’s hurting my eyes-” Indie was still in fight mode. He snapped back “Tough fucking shit, Infinity.” Fin didn’t even have enough time to be upset that he’d been snapped at, as his brother sighed and at the bottom of the stairs, stepped in front of him “Get on my back. You can hide your eyes on my shoulder.” A piggy back? Those were always fun. Fin grinned and jumped on, not worried for a moment as Indie wobbled as he tried to regain his balance, because he always got it back and this was no exception.

They’d wandered a couple hundred feet out of the Broken Hill motel when they came to the main road. Cars zoomed past, and without warning, Indie stopped (but of course kept Fin safe and sound on his back). Fin frowned momentarily. Had his brother realised he hadn’t showered yet? That he had toothpaste and half a spoonful of milk from yesterday down his shirt? Did he smell? But as usual, Fin’s big brother was just doing a think. Thoughtfully, he asked his ward “Where do you wanna go today?” He was over the moon! They’d played this game before, and Fin knew the right answer. He chirped “Disneyworld, Indie!” Normally that was the cue for them both to laugh or start playing something else, but today his big brother seemed to consider it. He slid Fin down off his back and dug in the pocket of his jeans, pulled out some crumpled ones and some coins. He lifted his eyes to look at his brother “you got any money?” Fin ummed and dug in his own pockets, handing over without question the few coins he had, watching as his brother counted under his breath “Eight dollars and sixty three cents.”

Wow. We’re rich!

Okay. Maybe they weren’t rich...but it seemed that Indie was still deep in thought. He looked around them thoughtfully before he nudged his brother “C’mon.” he led Fin across the street and over a few blocks, by the end of which the seven year olds feet ached. It was only once they reached the Jamba Juice near the bus station. What on earth were they doing there? Indiana had explained to his brother more than once that they couldn’t afford the things that were made in this chain stores. The line for juice was coming out the door, and without a moment’s hesitation, Indie approached it, slipping his hand into Fin’s and standing beside a woman with a stroller and five other kids of her own. It didn’t take more than a millisecond for his hand to slip into the purse of this mother as she attended to two of her children who were fighting over a toy. It didn’t take more than a millisecond for Fin to be pulled away, but it did take a beat for him to realise what had just happened, and react with natural incredulity.

“Indie, you stole.”  His brother didn’t answer.

“....Indiana.” Fin persisted. Now that they were far away from the juice bar and closer to the ticket office, the elder boy hissed “Yeah, I stole it. But remember what I said? What have I always told you?” That stumped his brother a moment. Indie taught him a lot of cool stuff. He was his best friend, his hero and his teacher. Swallowing to try and dislodge the lump in his throat, Fin chorused the mantra he had been taught so early on in his life “You do what you have to do.” His brother nodded as he counted through the notes; notes crisper and newer than Fin had ever seen. He’d never seen a fifty dollar note before, and it was almost like seeing a unicorn. Indie looked around him, and having taken out all the notes, change and credit cards, he went over to a storm drain and dropped the wallet into it, stepping back over to his brother a moment later after he had pocketed the cards “Let’s get you to Disneyland, kid.” Wait, what?

If Fin could’ve flown, he would’ve been soaring above the treetops. He wanted to dance around the bus they were on. Indie had told him not to though, so he settled for relaxing against his brothers side and moving his feet to an imaginary beat. Indie hadn’t said anything since they’d gotten on. He’d asked the bus driver how close to Disneyworld he could get. The driver, a stout, aging black man shook his head “Y’all missed the bus for Disney already. Sorry. The closest I can get you is Kissimmee.” Fin mouthed the name while his brother handed over the fare. Kissimmee. Ki-ssi-mee. It sounded like a made up word, like despicable or ajax. Nudging Indie, who turned an eye to him, Fin tilted his head “Is Disneyworld in Kissimmee?” Indie cast a sympathetic look to his brother “Fin, there’s nothing in Kissimmee. We’re gonna have to walk a long time. I used most of the money on bus fare, and we’ve still gotta get back to ‘Tona. And eat something.” It was as though he’d only just considered that, as he bit his lip and looked away. His younger brother sighed “I wish Mami was here.” he mused, feeling his brother stiffen at his side. Maybe he missed her too.

It took almost three and a half hours to get to Kissimmee. Indie had said they were lucky-that if they’d been from Miami, or Tampa or the Keys that it would’ve taken a plane to get there. The brothers didn’t have passports, and Fin had never so much as been to an airport. It made his mother sad that he didn’t though. He knew that she wished she could go on the plane and fly to the place she came from to see her mami and papi. Fin had never even met them. He’d spoken to them on the phone when he’d been given it, but they never seemed to want to say very much to him. By the time they got there it was the middle of the afternoon, and Indie had insisted they finally have some breakfast. It took a while but they finally tracked down a Burger King, Fin having a happy meal with nuggets and Indie devouring a burger.

Then they started walking.

It was about thirty-five minutes before Fin started getting really tired. He started to slow down, footsteps becoming heavier and his body lolling after his brother. Indie noticed after a few minutes. He stopped and kept his back to his brother, but he didn’t have to say anything--Fin got it. He hopped back up onto his back and wrapped his arms around his neck. They walked for what must’ve been forever. Indie had figured if they followed the main road that they’d eventually come across a sign for Disneyworld, and his logic was right. Fin wasn’t the best at reading. He’d been set it as homework every day by his teacher, but his parents rarely had the time to check he was doing it or helping him. His dad worked weird hours and his mom had taken two jobs just to make sure they had a safety net.

He saw the turrets of a purple castle in the distance, and he pointed it out, shrieking louder than he should’ve so that his brother could hear him over the roar of traffic beside them on the road “Look Indie! Disneyworld!” he felt so excited he thought he might explode. Indiana had started to get tired somewhere into the first hour. He’d soldiered on though, not stopping once, and fiercely cursing at the people who had pulled over and offered them a ride. He had however stopped a few times to ask a bus driver or a cashier in a gas station for directions. Infinity could almost feel his relief that he would soon get to rest. To Fin’s dismay however, when they turned the corner...it was just another motel. A motel just like the one they’d come from, except it was bright purple. Outside the black sign read ‘Magic Castle Inn and Suites’. The turret he’d seen was decorated like a castle, but judging by the smell radiating from the place and the people who hung off it’s balconies, it didn’t seem like the Magic Kingdom he’d been expecting. Indie let him slide to the floor, and he stared at the motel in disbelief. Fin watched him with a worried frown. It was as though he could hear the cogs in his big brother’s brain turning. The thoughts of the almost six hours it had taken them to get this far. And it was all because of that fight in a motel.

A motel just like this one.

Indie clenched his fists. He grabbed his brother and dragged him to reception. Fin started to protest. The grown ups who worked there would be mad...but Indie was madder. The door opened and a bell chimed, and while Fin craned his neck to try and see where the bell was, his brother released him and charged to the desk. Indiana was still not tall enough to see over the top of the desk, and had to stand on his tiptoes, but while his baby brother sat in a chair and picked at a loose thread from his Crash shirt, Indie once again fought their battle. He spoke in a low voice to the bemused man behind the desk, a skinny man with ice cold blue eyes.

His brother returned to him, Fin finally looking up, blinking at him slowly. In his hand Indie held a piece of paper with some lines on it, and he jerked his head toward the door “Let’s go, Fin. Say thank you to the man.” If there was one thing that Bonita has made sure the boys never left the house without, it was their manners. Fin hopped up and waved to the skinny ice man, chirping “thank you, mister.” To which he received a nod..and a weird look. It almost seemed like the Ice Man felt sorry for them. Maybe he did. Maybe he knew how long they’d been on the bus. It didn’t occur to him that it could’ve been their dirty, a few sizes too small clothes.

Indie was pulling him down the street—in the direction opposite to the one they’d come. Then he made a sharp turn, and all of a sudden, the grey pavement below them turned to grass. Confused, the younger Waters piped up “Where we goin’ Indie?” His brother didn’t answer at first, but Fin could see another motel in the future. No.. this wasn’t a motel, it was a.. he frowned, trying to remember the word. It was the word they used when they talked about the people with lots of money. It was a.. it was a resort! A large, sprawling resort with carefully curated flower beds and a fountain outside its entrance. Were they rich now? Was this where the Ice Man lived? Was he coming to Disneyworld too?

To his surprise, Indie looped them round to the back. The sun was beginning to set now and the sound of crickets and the smell of lake water was starting to becoming more unavoidable. At the back of the resort was a lake, surrounded by water reeds, cattails and signs that had pictures of fish on them. When his brother stopped suddenly by the lake and released Fin, the younger boy blinked in confusion. Were they going swimming? Indiana was peering around now, brow furrowed and frowning as he seemed to search the sky for something. When he finally saw it he grabbed Fin and lifted him as high as he could, which couldn’t have been more than a couple of feet, but it made him laugh nonetheless.

“Look. D’you see it? Cinderella’s castle.” Fin felt his heart start to thump. Were they in.. he caught sight of the familiar turrets from the commercials and gasped, pointing at it with an excited cry “Indie! Indie look! We’re in Disneyworld! We did it, we did it!” He jumped down and threw his arms around his brother, overcome with emotion—especially excitement. He giggled softly and closed his eyes as he felt Indiana’s hand finally touch his back, whispering “Thank you, Indie. This is the best day ever.” He didn’t look up, but he didn’t have to. Nothing could’ve topped this moment.

“Wait here.” His big brother murmured, gently nudging him off “If anybody comes out, you hide and wait for me to come back, okay? Just like we practised at Dollartree.” Fin nodded his understanding, complete and utter faith in his brother, his hero overcoming any natural fear he might’ve had. Indie disappeared and for a moment, all Fin could do was sit on the mildewy grass and stare up at the stars as one by one they appeared. He stared as lights flashed from around the castle, as thought something was about to begin.

Indie came back after around fifteen minutes, his arms laden with snacks. Fin thought it best not to ask where he’d gotten them. After today and this trip? He was sure he’d never ask again. It was funny, he could never ever imagine being mad at his big brother again. With a tired groan Indiana collapsed down beside him, shoving the pack Doritos and four pack of sodas between them, ripping the Doritos open and shoving one into his mouth. Fin was confused “Why’re we just sitting here? Can’t we go on the rides?” Indie swallowed slowly as though in thought “...Nah. We’ve gotta stay here. We’ve got the best seats in the house though, trust me.” And Fin did. Completely.

It took about a half hour before he started to shift, beginning to get bored with just sitting. Indie was content or so it seemed, happy to eat his junk food and take a break from all the walking he’d done. Fin however was only seven and wanted constant entertainment. He hopped up “I wanna do something.” He stated purposefully. Indie lifted his head lazily, and replied curtly “Hop on one leg.” He did. “Okay, now..run over and touch that light pole.” He gestured to a light close to the hotel, which was now shrouded in darkness apart from that one source of light. Fin raced over as fast as his legs would carry him and ran back, out of breath “I..” he puffed “did..it..Indie.” His brother nodded, reaching out to hold him by the wrist and pulling him back to sit down, murmuring reassuringly “Won’t be long now. I promise. Do you want a gummy bear?” Well, since they were on offer.

Fin was about thirteen gummy bears in when he lifted his head at the same time as his brother, both of them having heard the faint music starting to play. A search light illuminated the turret of Cinderella’s castle, and Fin could faintly see something fluttering around it, and he grasped Indie’s arm, clinging to it “Look Indie! It’s Tinkerbelle!” His brother chuckled “Yeah, yeah I see her. You ready?” Out of his pocket he pulled a black, sleek packet. The tubes he pulled out were dulled colours, yellow, pink, green. Indie read the back with a frown before snapping one. Immediately color, bright and beautiful like the ones illuminated in the pixies that were being projected onto the castle lit the air. Indie did the same for each of them before holding them out “Which one d’you want?” Fin picked the green and yellow one, and Indie held onto the orange and pink ones. He was busy trying to loop them around his wrists when he felt a tap on his shoulder and looked to his left, to his hero beside him. Indie grinned and pointed to the castle, and as Fin looked up, the sky exploded in color.

Staring in awe, he was mesmerised as firework after firework exploded in front of him, seeming to fold and turn into the next one. His head snapped round to his big brother, who was watching him with a strange smile “Indie, is it magic?” He seemed to hesitate, before his smile grew and he nodded “Yeah, Fin. Yeah, it is.” Gasping with amazement and wonder, Fin rose to his feet and stepped toward the fireworks, or rather the trees and thick brush that separated him from stepping forward..from going inside the castle. He felt a hand on his shoulder and before he could turn, Indie stopped him from going any further by wrapping his arm around his brother’s shoulders, holding him in place “We’ve got our own colors. Hey, maybe if you wave your yellow one a yellow firework’ll go off.” Curious, he tried it. His eyes scanned the sky and as if by magic, a yellow firework exploded, and he gasped in amazement. Magic, he thought.

Indie really was magic.

[realsantana-blog]

Confessional #1(3/16/2019): A Complete and Total Lack of Substance

Word Count: 1665(You been warned)

Also Starring: Paul, the poor crew member who drew the short straw of babysitting Santana

Notes: This shit 100% got away from me, guys. I’m sorry.

Short Description: Santana acts stupid in front of a camera for far too long and for very little reason.

Long Description: It was after 5 in the morning and Santana had spent the majority of the night drinking and entertaining the cameras that followed her as she roamed aimlessly around the hotel in San Francisco. Suddenly, she complained loudly that the cameramen were “bugging the sh-t out of her to do a confessional.”

They were not.

Nevertheless, the crew followed her to the vacant tour bus #2 and allowed her entry into the confessional room so she could get mic’d up. One hour and forty-eight minutes later, she passes out on the bus’s floor. The following series of clips showcase some of the things that were said during her first confessional of the tour.

A door is heard opening, followed quickly by a thunk of something falling on the floor. Santana’s voice, possessing a much stronger slur than normal, is the next recognizable sound, “Aw, f-ck. Hey Paul, I mighta broke something. You’re taking the fall for this one, right?”

A few moments later, Santana flops unceremoniously in the seat in front of the camera, cradling a bottle of clear liquid, the label having been blurred out. Almost immediately, she holds up a finger in a “wait” gesture, as if the camera was fixing to up and walk away at any moment. A second later, she belches and drops her hand down to her lap, wearing a look of simultaneous relief and annoyance, “That was sexy.”

The scene cuts to Santana pouring her “nondescript,” clear liquid out into a metal, isolated water bottle. Subtitles at the bottom of the screen as someone off-screen mumbles quietly, “What are you doing?”

“I’m making you’re jobs easier. If I drink outta this thing, ya don’t gotta blur the bottle out, in post,” Santana snarks, as if it was the most obvious thing. Her arms keep increasing the distance the bottles were from another, until she’s pouring the alcohol from a foot and a half above it’s destination.

“Okay,” the subtitles quip back, “But what if they use this clip for the episode?”

Santana pauses for several seconds, staring at the source of the voice, as if she had yet to consider this as a possibility, before settling herself with an irritated look, “Why would they use this? I’m not doing anything.” She follows this by going right back to pouring, then tossing the original bottle her over her shoulder as soon as she’s finished.

Another cut, and Santana, looking like she is finally “ready,” begins speaking to the camera, “I’d say the tour so far is going just f-cking swimmingly.” It’s not incredibly clear whether she says this with sarcasm. “Our new single Stay is rocketing up the charts, I gave birth to a cheesy boy band who’s lead singer appears to have been sneaking the other two members’ supply of hair gel, and I have at least a basic tolerance for pretty much everyone I was put on a bus with.”

She seems satisfied with this answer, until she scrunches her eyebrows, as if trying to remember something, before a sudden clarity washes over her, “Oh yeah, and I reunited with my sister. That’s fun!”

This time, her sarcasm is very apparent.

After a cut, Santana appears slightly more disheveled and finishes taking a drink from her “canteen.” She’s mumbling to herself, “work work work work work, yuh see me do me dur dur dur,” when she aggressively turns her attention to the camera. “That song has lyrics, by the way, IN-TER-NET,” she blurts in an offended tone, sounding out each syllable for emphasis. “I know that may be surprising to you well-cultured wastes of space, out there, that I am NOT just speaking gibberish in that song, but in fact am speaking in a Caribbean dialect. Ya know like Bob Marley do an’ sh-t.”

Having said her piece, she sits back in her seat with an eye-roll, looking casual once more.

“Whoever did the interior design for this room screwed your asses, by the way.”

“I feel like me and Emelia just have a very unique dynamic, as far as sisters go. It’s like... We’re two very different people, but like... Deep down. Like, very, very, deep down, we love each other.” Santana looks confident in her words, but has her business face on, as opposed to her standard states of amusement and/or annoyance.

“Very deep down,” she reiterates, with an assured nod.

About to take another drink, Santana grimaces and turns her opened bottle upside down, obviously expecting it to be empty, and lets a shot of clear liquid spill out to the floor. She stares blankly at the disposed contents for several moments, blinking as if in disbelief, “...Whoops.”

The Latina wears a bored expression, looking for something to say, when she once more pipes up, “Hey, you guys want the real scoop, though?” Her usual cat-like grin is in place as she speaks, “Max and Alex are totally f-ckin. Mhm. Watch ‘em closely. I assume Lia’s cool with it because if he hurts her I will ends him.” The last part is stilted, as if she realized what she was saying as she spoke.

“Paul, can you get me a drink? I’m dry as f-ck over here.” Santana is looking off-screen, wearing too sweet a smile for her face, until she snickers and aims a proud look at the camera, “Ha! In more ways than one, amirite?”

Her laughter dies down quickly, with her casting her gaze at the ground and sighing, “Ahh... That’s really depressing.”

“Really don’t get what’s going on with my sister. Like... I try getting her to have fun and I’m a bully. I leave her alone and I don’t care. I’m starting to think that it’s not anything I can do. It’s just me.” Since last bringing up her sister, her demeanor has changed. She’s swinging her arms around, as if trying to make sense of it all. As she continues venting, her voice steadily raises in volume. “Yeah... That’s it. Like, my very existence offends her! Like, the f-ck is up with dat sh-t?” She stops, as if she thinks she’s gonna get an answer of from the camera.

“Paul, go get me a drink!” Divine Destiny’s lead is now far more demanding as she makes her “request” to the man off to the side, out of range of the camera. “Paul! Paul, I know you hear me, you’re headphone lights are off. Get off your damn phone. Losing my buzz over here.” When she still gets no response, she leans back and crosses her arms, “You can’t have that many bitches texting you. You look like your forehead ate most of your hair. Do you WANT me to have to smoke weed on camera in order to continue this damn confessional you’re making me do.”

The subtitles make a triumphant return when Paul breaks his silence(again, off-screen), “I’m not getting you a drink.”

Santana slumps and groans.

“I mean, if either of us is being a bitch here, it’s CLEARLY Emelia, right? Like, I don’t wanna date her boyfriend. He’s too tall. Like, 6′8″ when you factor in the hair.” The air in the room now has a distinct thickness surrounding Santana, and her voice is the slightest bit huskier. “And I wasn’t ‘tainting’ her precious song. The song is about sex, so I was being sexy. I really don’t see how keeping in the spirit of the song’s theme is at all tainting it. It’s totally fine for her and Max to sing ‘Work’ without even having the foggiest idea what the words are, because I understand how to have fun and I had assumed that they meant it to be funny. But nope. If you ask my sister, they were ‘challenging’ me and by answering back, I was ‘challenging’ them harder.” Becoming increasingly incoherent and resorting to air quotes more and more as she speaks, Santana suddenly stops when she appears to lose her train of thought. “Whatever.”

Cutting to another clip, the seat that was once occupied is no longer, but it’s quickly filled again when Santana flings herself into it, carrying another glass bottle of some kind, raising it in victory, “Aha! You proud of me, Paul?” She cuts herself off to take a drink, her metal container apparently forgotten, “I got it myself because you’re too lazy to be useful.”

Her attention is diverted quickly, and she leans over in Paul’s direction, “Are those your chips, Paul? Paul, are those your chips? Paul. Paul. Paul. PAUL! I know you hear me, Fivehead! Paul! Feed me!” She slumps over the arm of the chair, groaning loudly, as if in physical pain, “PAUUULLLLL! I’m DYING!”

Clutching her now empty second bottle, Santana sobs violently, her make-up utterly ruined, “I just don’t understand why she hates me so much! I get that used to be a real bitch and I get that I made her feel like I didn’t care about her, but she just doesn’t get it! I know I made her think that she wasn’t good enough or that she was in my shadow, but when I normally do that with people, it’s because they really suck, and when I did that with Emmy, it was because I wanted her to be better! I just wanted her to grow a backbone and not let people like me walk all over her, anymore. Why can’t she see that I was a bitch to her because I love her! I made her feel horrible so that she would never wanna feel that way again!” With her rant over, she drops the offending bottle and covers her face, her voice softer but still muffled by tears, “And I really regret it. I’m so sorry, Emmy...”

Santana stands abruptly and storms toward the door as the camera fades out.

When the camera fades back in, Santana, once again in the hot seat, chewing loudly on something crunchy and staring intently at the camera. She lifts the yellow plastic bag in her hand and turns her head to peer inside. Even though the label has been blurred out, when she takes a potato chip from it and eats it, it becomes fairly easy to discern their brand, even with the packaging obscured.

Going back to glaring at the camera with an incredibly intense look, and a touch of dried mascara staining her cheeks, Santana swallows and asks very seriously, “You enjoying this, ‘Merica? Dis what you want?” She punctuates her interrogation with another bite of her snack.

“Y’all some sick f-ckers, ya know that,” she snarls. And with that, she leans back until the chair she’s sitting in tips over completely.

[your-highnessmarvel]

Lemonade ~ Chapter One

SUMMARY: Hailee, Boston born and raised, leaves in the dead of the night on a state train. Tears in her eyes, hurt in her heart, she ends up in a small town off the coast of Southern California that she knows only through her recently deceased father. She only finds shelter with a woman she barely knows; her grandmother. Hailee tries to rebuild herself despite the ruins she left behind in her other life. And then she meets Chris and finds herself, for the first time in her life, afraid.

RATING: MATURE (FOR FUTURE CHAPTERS)

WARNINGS: None for now. Maybe just language

Pairing: Chris Evans x OFC

WORD COUNT: 4199

TAG LIST IS OPEN (tags are at the end of the cut)

Banner made by me. Pictures are not mine.

A/N: I know this took forever to post. I know I haven’t finished my other things, but this needed to be brought to life. My first multi part Chris Evans fic and I am soooooooo excited! As always, feedback is appreciated. OBVIOUSLY, this is AU. I KNOW Chris is from Boston and such, but for the sake of the story, he’s Californian. Also, yes, the OFC is way younger than him. But she is legal and in all cases, mature enough. I still haven’t decided if Chris is his current age or not. Will figure it out later. 

Chapter One: There’s Lemonade on the Floor like there’s Blood in our Veins

              The sun pierced through the windows of the bus, brining me back to sunny California. I tried to focus my eyes on the outside world, but the burning glare of the sun made me squint, even through my sunglasses.

              I had a terrible headache. My stomach was roaring with hunger. My mouth was dryer than the Sahara, and the lady next to me kept snoring and drooling on my shoulder.

              I held the letter in my hand, clutching it between sweaty fingers. Scrabbled across the back of the crusty white envelop was the address I was going for; a small, crap town by the name of Heaven’s Cove right off the Southern coast of California. Population around six hundred. Founded in the beginning of the twentieth century.

              I had traveled across the country to get to where I needed to be. I spent the night huddled up against the window with my overnight bag as a pillow to finally pull up at the terminal; an abandoned Deli with a sign that read Everything You Need! hanging off its hinges on the roof.

              “This is the end folks!” the driver yelled as he got out of his seat. “There’s a community bus in a half hour that goes to Heaven’s Cove, and another one in ten minutes that leaves for Hentington.”

              I grabbed onto my bag with one hand and the old letter with the other. The entirety of the bus got on its feet, shuffling out as if we were inmates arriving at our prison. My head was still stuffy from lack of sleep and proper nutrition, but I kept telling myself I would arrive at my destination in less than an hour.

              Stepping off the bus and into the Californian heat made me realize maybe my leather jacket was a bit too much. It had served its purpose in the AC of the bus, but now, barely a few seconds outside, and I was sweating.

              The rest of the passengers of the bus wandered off to the benches, waiting for their buses. I was not in the mood to sit around again. My butt was numb from the bus and my legs needed to be stretched. Besides, all I had to carry around was my backpack.

              I wandered off onto the road. The yellow sign indicated that I was walking in the right direction anyway, but I would probably walk the same amount of time it would take if I waited for the bus. So I hitched my bag tighter onto my shoulders, adjusted my sunglasses, and began walking on the dirt path beside the road.

              At one point, the bus that I should have waited for drove right passed me and that is when I realized I should have taken the bus and not walked.

              “Fuck.” I mumbled. I was beyond thirsty, more like parched, and my stomach was rumbling so loud, I’m sure my folks back at home could hear it.

              And just as I cleared the bushes and trees, a small and not abandoned deli appeared. It was more of an auto-repair, general store, gas station kind of place, but I could see snacks through the window. The building had a huge, rusty sign over the door which read Evans Everything Store. I shrugged, thinking maybe they had everything I needed, like a hot shower, Netflix, and five days of nap time.

              The interior was AC cooled, which made my burning skin feel like literal paradise, and there was a cashier at the front desk. She looked in her mid to late thirties with a head of curly blonde locks and bright blue eyes. When she smiled at me, her face lit up like a Christmas tree and she showed me a rack of shining pearly whites.

              “I’ve never seen you ‘round here,” she piped. I smiled awkwardly, looking around for an excuse to not have small talk.

              “I’m just passing through,” I mumbled. She made a sound between a grunt and a sigh.

              “You’re on foot,” she blurted out, readjusting her array of shiny necklaces around her neck. When I frowned at her and still didn’t take off my sunglasses, she giggled. “Saw you standing around out there like you’re lost. You look like the kind of girl who hasn’t seen the west coast.”

              I didn’t answer. All I wanted was a Gatorade and some chips. But that woman was too quick for her own good. “What you holding there?” she asked, gesturing to the envelop I was still carefully carrying.

              “It’s an address.” I don’t even know why I answered her. It was such a bad idea. She hopped off the stool she was sitting on, revealing she was much smaller than I expected her to be, and walked right up to me. She snatched the letter from my fingers, making me almost growl. Ignoring my obvious discomfort at her easy-going behavior, she read the address out loud.

              “That’s like a twenty-minute drive, but on foot?” she squealed. “You’re in for at least a couple hours.”

              “Thanks for the info,” I grumbled, snatching the envelop back, walking right passed her.

              “Hold on,” she grunted, rolling her eyes. She took a good look at me; unruly curls that obviously needed a wash, sunglasses to cover a massive hangover, ripped black jeans, holed chucks. “East coast,” she announced, crossing her arms over her chest.

              “Bingo,” I mumbled back, reaching into the refrigerators to fetch a blue Gatorade. “Got any chips?”

              “I’ll drive you to Nana Smitty’s,” she grumbled, but I could hear a tint of joy in her voice. I frowned, feeling the upcoming discomfort in my stomach.

              “No,” I answered sourly.

              “Uh, yes,” she said, running back behind the counter to fetch her keys. “Your shoes have holes and I have no clients.”

              “What about your boss?” I asked, but who would say no to a ride? “And what about my Gatorade?”

              She shrugged, walking behind the counter to fetch her keys. She came back grinning, her sunny blonde hair catching the light from outside. She was truly a gorgeous woman, and if I wasn’t a total bitch, maybe I would have told her. “My boss is my father, so I can deal with him later,” she grumbled, opened the front door, “and the Gatorade is on the house.” She held the door opened for me and when she saw my hesitation, she sighed, “we don’t get many visitors.”

              I decided to follow her. Not the best of ideas considering I was raised to believe strangers were psychopaths, but she looked way too nice to be hiding a knife in her car. And yet, that’s what all murder victims think.

              Her car was a beat-up Volvo that sprung to life with a metallic sound. The inside smelled like cigars and car oil but was otherwise clean and clear of any murder weapons.

              “I’m Carly, by the way,” she said, flashing me a wayward smile before slamming onto the gas. I smiled shyly, adjusting my sunglasses.

              Friends. Those were the things I shouldn’t be making.

              “Hailee,” I answered, sipping on my drink, watching the world outside pass from forest green to suburban beige.

              We drove in silence for a while. I could feel Carly wanted to know things; she kept giving me side looks and fidgeting with the wheel. What pissed me off even more was the fact that the radio stayed closed.

              “So Nana Smith, huh?” she mumbled, smirk playing on her lips. I nodded. “Related?”

              “Yes.”

              “Grand mother?”

              “Bingo.”

              Before she could ask any more, I pressed harshly on the power button of the radio and put it loud enough to assert the fact that I was not in the mood to share secrets. Carly resolved to driving in silence again.

              We passed through what seemed to be the town square. Stores lined the main lane, pubs and restaurants spewing soft music as we rolled by. It was Friday, and the weekend vibe could be felt with all the townspeople crowding the sidewalks, and the lights sprung about. The air smiled like the ocean and faintly of cigarette smoke. It was strangely comforting.

              Carly drove us off the main lane into a part of Heaven’s Cove that seemed to be the older side of town. Houses were farther apart until an entire football field could be placed between them. They were more classic versions; front porch, gated lawn, oak tree in the back.

              The Volvo came to a stop at the address indicated on the envelop I was still clutching. For a reason I still ignore, my heart burst to flames within my chest. My mouth felt crusty, even after downing an entire Gatorade. I stepped out, frowning when Carly stepped out as well.

              The house was slanted on one side, which led me to believe it had been here for at least half a century. The porch went all around the house, the gate crusty with the white paint falling to pieces. There were chairs sprawled here and there on the porch. The front door was a screen that had a hole on the bottom half, and all the windows were more milky-white than see-through.

              “Are you sure this is the right place?” I asked Carly.

              She turned to me with a smile and nodded almost frantically. “Yeah,” she chirped, “this is Liza’s place.” How many names did my grandmother have?

              The porch steps creaked under our feet as we made our way up. “Liza!” Carly hollered, the sound of her voice echoing within the house. “You’ve got a visitor!”

              “Coming!”

              I went from one foot to the other, holding my bag, feeling the nervousness seep deep inside my tummy. My bottom lip was trapped between my teeth, my fingers curled in tightly against my palms. When I saw a shadow emerge from the hallway and into the light of day, my heart lurched forward.

              “Carly, baby, what you doing out here?” Liza asked. She was a woman who should have looked way older than she did, yet her hair was still the fiery red as I last remember, and her green eyes were still alight and vigilant. Her mouth was pulled into a sincere smile. The only evidence of her age was the wrinkled webbing in the corners of her eyes and the brown splotches on her skin. Yet she didn’t look a day over fifty. “And who might this be?” she asked, turning to me while wedging the door opened enough to see me better.

              Carly gave me a sideways glance.

              “Hailee,” I mumbled, awkwardly smirking at my grandmother.

              Liza’s eyes grew big and her brows climbed onto her forehead. “As I live and breathe,” she grumbled under her breath. Her hand came to her chest were a pendant hung from her neck. She twirled the necklace between her fingers, her mouth opened, eyes drinking me in. “Last time I saw you,” she said with a trembling voice, “you could barely walk.”

              “I know.” What a dumb response. “I’m sorry.” Even worse.

              Liza looked between me and Carly, giving the blonde a quick smile before sighing and holding the door wide opened. “Carly, have a nice drive back,” she said sternly, “and tell your brother he needs to bring himself over here tomorrow. The pool’s been acting up again.”

              “Sure will, ma’am,” Carly chirped, jiggling her keys as she waved and stepped down the porch. I watched her spring back to her Volvo, nervousness and fear in my heart.

              “Come in,” Liza ordered, her voice strained yet hard. “And take those sunglasses off!”

              I walked in after her, taking the glasses off as asked, and drinking in the house. I barely had time to register the pictures framed on the walls and the yellow wallpaper that Liza was bombarding me. “What brings you all the way down here?” Her eyes were hard, not the calm and easy-going glance she had given me when she didn’t know who I was.

              “I need…” I trailed off, glancing up the stairs where I could see and opened door. This was where my father grew up. “I need help.” I looked away shyly, feeling the blush creep onto my cheeks.

              “Just like your mother,” Liza grumbled, throwing her hands in the air and brushing passed me and into the hallway, headed for what seemed to be the kitchen. “That woman had an ego bigger than the ocean, and she took your father away. Made sure I never saw him or you ever again.”

              I frowned. “I was born here?” I asked, timidly following her. That woman was more intimidating than any boy I had a crush on.

              “Bet she told you that you were Boston born and raised,” she grumbled back, rummaging on the counter, her back to me. The kitchen was small and, yes you guessed it, yellow. The refrigerator made a weird sound and the tap kept running, but everything else seemed cozy; round kitchen table, cushioned seats, windows that let in an impossible amount of light. To my right, an arch way led to a small living room, from which I could see more pictures on the walls.

              “I didn’t know I was born here,” I said, feeling like my head was going to implode. “My mother-“

              “-Was a bitch,” Liza interrupted. She turned back to me with a plate full of cookies and motioned for me to sit down. I did, leaving my bag on the floor, awkwardly staring up at my grandmother. “Now tell me what you need. Money? A car?”

              I sighed, scratching my head. “I needed to leave Boston,” I mumbled, staring at the rusty edge of the table. “I did…something and my mother won’t speak to me again. I needed to leave, and I found this in dad’s drawer.” I slid the envelop across the table to her, watching her eyes turn from angry to nostalgic. She swallowed hard, taking the envelop gently between her fingers.

              “He never read it,” she whispered, sliding her index along the intact edges.

              “I needed to leave,” I started, my breath coming out in puffs, eyes watering. “I didn’t know where to go. I was looking for money, anywhere I could, and then I came across it. I looked at the return address and…”

              Liza nodded, putting the envelop face down onto the table. “I sent this to him when he left,” she said quietly. The room got suddenly heavy and I wished in that moment that I could have found the words to comfort her. “You know, she didn’t even invite me to his funeral.”

              “I left everything behind in Boston,” I said slowly. “I just need a place to stay.”

              She nodded, still staring at the envelop. “Alright,” she agreed, “you can stay here as long as you need to get back on your feet.”

              “Thank you,” I sighed. She got to her feet and walked right out, leaving me awkwardly sitting there with a plate of cookies.

              “The room on top of the stairs is yours!” she hollered. “Don’t mess it up!”

                                                           ***

              After a good night’s sleep in what must have been my dad’s old room but was now converted into the guest room, I was fully recovered. I had place the few clothing items I had brought into the drawer, along with the letter. The bed was a double, sheets yellow and thin to survive the raging heat. After I spent a few minutes staring at the ceiling, I decided I needed to come down for breakfast.

              The heat was scorching and heavy. Even within the house. The AC must have been broken.

              I managed to take a shower without breaking anything and changed into a red tank top and black shorts. I left my dark hair wet and untamed, pushing it behind my ears. The heat would surely dry it off in minutes.

              I came downstairs to a quiet house. The screen door let in a pool of light, the windows all opened to the sound of birds chirping. “Liza?”

              The house echoed with the sound of my voice, yet no one answered. The back door was opened, and weird sounds were coming from the yard.

              As I walked into the living room to stare out the door, I spotted a jug of lemonade on the nightstand beside the television. It was freshly made, ice still floating despite the horrible heat. My hair was already curling!

              The sound of hammering brought me back to the world outside the back screen door. Beside the glistening inground pool was a man, hunched over the mechanisms, hammering like his life depended on it.

              Was he trying to steal Liza’s pool mechanism?

              “Hey!” It was stronger than me; the need to tell someone off. With a bang, I had slid the screen door wide open and I was marching bare foot on the back porch. The metal slants were hot under my feet, the air heavy over my shoulders.

              The man jumped slightly before turning with a smile on his face. He was gently and strangely good looking. I was startled by how beautiful he was that I stopped mid-way from asking him what the fuck he thought he was doing.

              Standing on all his six-foot glory, he smiled again, flashing me his pearly whites. His light brown hair was messily pushed over his head, exposing those blue blue eyes and that little button nose that would make any woman swoon. The beard that shadowed his cheeks and chin made him look tougher than the soft expression in his gentle eyes.

              I was still shocked by how good looking this man was that I hadn’t noticed the way his shoulders strained against his black t-shirt nor the way his legs went on for ages under those light jeans he was adorning. He was truly a work of art.

              “Hailee, right?” he said, and my brows furrowed, feeling the familiar pinch of anger and suspicion in my tummy.

              “You must be the pool mechanism stealer, right?” I returned with sarcasm. He chuckled, the smile on his lips starting to feel more and more permanent.

              “You met my sister yesterday,” he stated, fanning his tee because of how hot he probably was under that. “Carly?”

              I nodded, still frowning harder than I ever did before. Then I remembered what Liza had asked Carly before the latter had left in her rundown Volvo.

              Tell your brother he needs to bring himself over here tomorrow. The pool’s been acting up again.

              “You’re Carly’s brother?” I asked, my voice sounding way too harsh for the entire ordeal.

              His smile got even bigger, if that was even possible. “Yes,” he said. “I’m Chris.” He stuck his hand out, but he was still slightly too far away for me to shake it, so I stood there and nodded again.

              “Nice to meet you,” I answered. I swirled on my heels and headed for inside.

              “I’ll be inside in a minute!” he called after me, and when I turned to him with yet another frown, he added, “I’ve got to fix the AC, and Liza’s probably got lemonade out for me.”

              I didn’t answer. This town was getting more and more weird by the minute, and I didn’t want to have to deal with any more of it. I had to find a place of my own, a job, and a car. I didn’t have time to dwell here, especially with Liza, who seemed to hate me and my mother.

              I went into the kitchen to prepare my breakfast. I had eggs in a plate and coffee in my mug by the time Chris waltzed in, forehead sweaty, biceps glistening. I could see him through the arch way between the kitchen and the living room, where he stood with his back to me and sipped on a cup of cold lemonade.

              “If you’re gonna stare,” he said after a sip, “might as well come in here and talk with me.”

              I rolled my eyes, yet nonetheless waddled my way back into the living room. I held my plate of eggs in one hand and my coffee in the other, settling it all on the table in the room and sitting comfortably on the couch.

              “Breakfast at this time?” he asked sarcastically before he knelt in front of the AC machine.

              “It was a long night,” I answered between bites. He smirked, unscrewing the machine, revealing the network of wires and cables underneath.

              “Heard you’re from the east coast,” he blurted absentmindedly.

              “Boston.”

              “And Liza’s your grandmother?” he asked, inspecting the wire, pulling some and unplugging more. I made a sound that agreed with him. “Carly told me your dad was Harold Smith. Apparently he owned a pawn shop here and when he met-“

              “-my mother, he ran off with her to Boston,” I interrupted. “I’ve heard the story from Liza.”

              Chris paused to analyze some wires that he held along the length of his palm. “Liza’s son has been dead for years,” he announced. “I’m sorry.”

              “Whatever,” I grumbled, sipping harshly on my coffee, trying to ignore the familiar wave of anger that always surged whenever someone mentioned the death of my father.

              “If you don’t mind me asking,” Chris said in a gentle tone, “how did he pass?”

              I rolled my eyes. Why did everyone want to know that? Why couldn’t people just be content with the fact that he’s six feet under? They always had to know why and how. “It was a disease,” I growled, “called none of your business.”

              The sigh that left his lips was heavier than the heat outside.

              My forehead had beaded with sweat and my hair was now a mess of dark curls. Chris needed to fix that AC fast.

              “And why’d you come all the way down here?” he asked.

              “You ask a lot of questions,” I grumbled, grating my fork on my plate loud enough to send the message.

              “Just making sure you’re not taking advantage of Liza,” he grumbled back, plugging in the wires he had been holding.

              The tips of my fingers twitched over the warm mug I was holding. “Excuse me?”

              He sighed again, hitching his elbow on his knee, turning a soft yet stern look towards me. Even like that, stern and sullen, he still looked good. “Look,” he said, “I’ve known Elizabeth for my entire life. She’s a good woman, but her heart is too big. And you, I’ve never even heard of you. And then you just waltz in and settle in under her roof, eating her food, living in a house she’s worked blood and sweat for. I’m just looking out for her.”

              I stood abruptly, almost knocking over my empty plate. “If you think I’m just a smoocher,” I grunted, “you can leave.”

              He stood as well, brows turned upwards, a look of remorse on his features. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he tried to apologize.

              “Yes you did,” I growled back. “Now you can leave.”

              He gestured to the AC. “I haven’t finished with it yet,” he protested.

              “Well I’m finished with you.”

              He went from foot to foot, twirling the screwdriver between his fingers. A look of guilt crossed his eyes and he opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

              I was fuming. Already I felt so bad for coming here unannounced and demanding help from a woman I didn’t know, and now this guy was rubbing it in my face. I didn’t need that. I didn’t need a total stranger telling me I was taking my big-hearted grandma for granted.

              “What about the lemonade?” he mumbled. I scoffed, walking roughly to where the jug was and snatching it against my chest. Droplets of the juice splashed on my bare feet as I turned and stomped back into the kitchen.

              “You don’t deserve lemonade!” I growled, feeling childish and stupid, but I was too angry to contemplate my behavior. I wondered, after, what it must have looked like for him; a twenty-two-year-old grown woman throwing a tantrum and splashing lemonade everywhere.

              “Hailee,” he started.

              “Leave!”

              I threw the lemonade into the sink, slamming the empty jug on the counter. I stared out the window, eyes strained on the now functioning pool, while I heard Chris shuffle quietly behind me. I stayed there, stupidly standing in front of the sink, clutching the edge of the counter, until I heard the sound of an engine in the front yard. I turned to face the sound. From the edge of the hall, I could see through the front door as a black pick up truck rolled out onto the street.

              A few hours later, when I had locked myself in my new and temporary room, I heard Liza come in. The front door clanged on its hinges and I listened to her waddle in, whistling and mumbling to herself. A few silent moments passed until I heard her calling my name.

              Popping my head out of my door, I hollered back, “yeah?”

              A beat passed. “Why is there lemonade all over the living room floor?”

tags: @iamthemaskhewears @void-imaginations @poerebel @ironmanlover24 @fluasch @thatcrazybookwormgeek @papi-chulo-bucky 

[creativitytoexplore]

Elevated by Bruce Costello https://ift.tt/3jRSfJH A retired doctor confesses a long-held guilty secret to an old vicar; by Bruce Costello.

"It started as a joke," I say, feeling my heart rate quicken. "Just can't stop wondering how it ended, though I'll never know now, after thirty years." The woman nods, one eyebrow raised. She doesn't look like a vicar except for the clerical collar. Probably near retirement age herself, but healthy-looking, blond, and clear-eyed. "Maybe it's something important you need to work through?" "My life's like a jigsaw I can't finish. There's a bit missing in the middle and nothing makes sense without it." I lean back and fold my arms. "I saw your sign, Spiritual Guidance and Counselling. I was hoping you'd give me some answers." "You've known yourself all your life, but I've only just met you." She leans forward, hands outstretched, palms upwards. "The answer is in you, not in me." She settles back, hands in her lap. "Talking often helps." The room is sparsely furnished. Our two chairs, close together, facing each other. And a desk with an incense holder from which blue smoke curls, filling the room with fragrance. I take a deep breath. "I was a doctor for twenty-five years, recently retired." "Uh-huh." "Before that I was a police officer. Facing up to criminals. Pulling people from crashes. And once having to shoot a female, who subsequently died. I was exonerated from any blame but consumed nevertheless by guilt. People didn't know what I was going through, and I couldn't talk about it. I felt like a soldier fighting a war nobody else knew was happening. I'd go to social gatherings and they'd be showing off about their Jaguars and Rovers and discussing whether sweet and sour chicken should be served with Chardonnay or Sauvignon Blanc. I started saying stupid things, like 'Oh, I drive a lovely Morris Oxford. It's got bench seats, a column change and drives like a septic tank.' Or I'd ask what type of champagne goes best with fish and chips - brut or sec? I got lots of laughs, as well as some strange looks, and people stopped inviting me to their dinner parties. Can't think why." The vicar laughs. "Anyway, when I was thirty-two, I accepted early retirement from the force on psychological grounds. A friend suggested I take a road trip to get my mind off things, so I did. Well, one evening I was in a hotel elevator with two men and a woman I'd never met before. The lights went out. The lift stopped. We pressed the emergency button and waited. "'Such fun!' I said. 'Stuck in a lift with three strangers. Let's tell jokes to pass the time.' The others didn't like the idea. They didn't feel like laughing - but I wasn't going to let that stop me. I was in the mood for some madcap humor. Back then, it's what I did when I got stressed, as you've probably figured. "'Tell you what,' said one of the guys. 'Let's take turns to talk about ourselves, our jobs, families and so on.' He was an office worker and the other fellow was a shoe salesman. They were the sort who start work at nine, knock off at five, catch a bus home to the wife, the kids and the mortgage - and know nothing at all about life. "Then it was my turn. "'Oh, I'm a Benedictine monk,' I said. 'I work as a faith healer.' I remember grinning to myself in the dark, waiting for someone to react, trying to imagine the looks on their faces. "The woman spoke up. I'd noticed her when she got into the lift. It was hard not to. She had a skirt that came too far up at the back, a blouse that came too far down in the front, and a musky scent like sandalwood. I guessed what she did for a living. "'You're a faith healer?' she said. 'I've got a lump on my finger, where my wedding ring used to be.' Her voice trembled. "'Wouldn't heal up, got bigger and nastier. The doctor sent me for tests. It turned out to be...' She broke off and began to cry. 'I'm having it cut out the day after tomorrow.' "There was a little light seeping through a vent in the roof and I could just see her outline, but, boy, did I feel her presence! Distress exuded from her, like the strong perfume. I leaned towards the woman. She held out her hand. I took it, and rubbed the lump. 'The power of God,' I said. 'Same power Jesus used to forgive prostitutes and heal the sick. Divine, unconditional love.' I knew the words. My ex father-in-law was a minister. "Something stirred inside me, and I've never known why, but with the middle finger of my right hand I traced a cross on her forehead. Then I felt weak all over, as if some power had gone out of me. "'In the morning, the lump will be gone,' I heard myself saying, and felt like crying. "The light came on. The lift moved and stopped at the next floor. We all scurried off to our rooms. And that was that. Except it wasn't. Not for me, anyway." "Did you run into the woman again?" the vicar asks, after a long pause, in a low whisper. "No. She didn't come down to the hotel dining room for breakfast and I left shortly afterwards." The vicar nods. "I can't stop wondering," I say, my voice starting to quiver. "What happened? Did she wake up next morning, still with her malignant lump, and think nothing more about me, except maybe to tell her friends about the weirdo in the lift?" I pause. "Or if the lump did vanish overnight, as I'd predicted, how might she have felt?" We gaze at each other. Silence fills the room. "It would've been a truly life changing experience, I should think," the vicar replies, her voice barely audible.

[glowstickia]

Ryan & the First Mission

[AO3] [Previous Arc: Here]

Summary:  Day three. Has it really been three days? Either way, its Monday and Ryan is still getting used to the colorful creatures her eyes were once blind to. As a newbie to the world of ghosts, spirits, and spectral business, Ryan has a lot of catching up to do with her new after school class: Ghostbusting.

Much thanks to @apollosprophet for allowing joint custody of her ocs <3

Ch 1: READY PLAYER ONE

Words and voices echoed off the walls. No teachers to stop talking during class. Lunch, was its own category entirely. A time for students to unhinge and take a break from their full-time job of being a high schooler. The scent of pizza and garlic wafted through the cafeteria. Ryan plopped down at her usual round table in the corner near the back. Setting down her purple and silver striped lunch box, Ryan stared at the line of students waiting to snag their meal. It wrapped around some tables and out into the hall. Pizza day and chicken day were only the few times she'd see her classmates bolt out of the room so quickly for food.

Ryan started unpacking her lunch. A pudding cup. Baggie of oatmeal cookies. A creamer packet. Grilled cheese that was now kinda soggy. And chips. She frowned. Where the heck did the creamer come from??? She examined it and munched on a couple of chips before the CLUNK next to her startled her.

"So this is where you sit." Jess said, dropping into her seat. She grinned. "Hi-ya Ryan."

Ryan slowly pulled out another chip and ate it. "Sometimes," she grabbed another, "So, what's with the whole....sitting here deal."

Jess lightly punched Ryan's shoulder. "Because why not. Us specs gotta stick together."

"You don't wear glasses."

Jess leaned on her arm, unamused. "That was almost funny enough to make me laugh. Except not really. That was a terrible joke."

“Maybe you need glasses after all, if you can't see how funny that joke was.” Ryan took a swig of water.

“Part of me regrets sitting here now.”

Ryan shrugged and took a bite of her grilled cheese. “You chose to sit here,” she raised an eyebrow, “Why did you sit here?”

Jess tugged at the cheese bridge slowly drooping between her mouth and pizza slice. “Mmm, Lucinda,” she took another bite, “wants us at the shop after school.”

Ryan pulled her soggy grilled cheese free from its plastic prison. “The antique place?” She bit into her sandwich, mentally noting to wake up earlier and allow the sandwich to cool next time before shoving its steamy cheese gooness into a baggie.

“Mhm,” Jess took another gulp of her milk, “probably to give you a better rundown of spec business.” She shrugged. “May involve a mission, who knows.”

Ryan slowly took another bite of her sandwich. She chewed, staring at Jess before swallowing. “Missions? Like the religious kind? Are you guys secretly part of a cult?”

Jess snorted. “None of the above.” She stabbed her spoon in the watery veggie grave. Her eyes wandered over to the cookies hanging out by Ryan’s lunchbox. “Are those homemade?”

Ryan nodded as she took a swig of tea. “Made ‘em the other day.” She broke open the baggie and shook it at Jess. “Want one?”

In seconds Jess was already munching away, a chunk of cookie missing in her hand. “Mmm,” she nodded in approval, “you,” she took another bite, “I like you.”

Ms. P tapped the board with her chalk. “There were a lot of revolutions, we had one, the French had two. Lots of conflict.” She quickly scribbled a guillotine on the board. “After the French helped us with our revolution, they were broke. Now, bread was a food staple and their government just kept taxing their country. People were starving. Who can tell me what their queen, Marie Antoinette said in response?”

A couple of hands shot up.

Ms. P pointed to a kid near the back. “Ms. Jones.”

“Let them eat cake.”

Ms. P grinned. “Did you know she never actually said that? The phrase was based off of a rumor to rile up the citizens.” She continued to rattle on about how guillotine happy the French became. So much so that their person who even started it all was beheaded himself.

Ryan rubbed her eye with her knuckle. Her eyes shifted to Tristan, his head was already dropping. Figures.

Ms. P clapped her hands. “All righty! It’s time to pair up for worksheets!” Chairs squeaked and voices started overtaking the room.

Ryan watched as Tristan’s head dropped further. She rolled her eyes and gathered her things. She dragged her chair over to him and sat down. “Dude,” she lightly tapped his leg with her foot. He immediately straightened.

“I’m awake.” He blinked and stared at Ryan sitting across from him. “Oh, it's just you.”

“Hi to you too.”

Ms. P cleared her throat and placed their worksheet packets on the desk. She nodded to them and continued passing out packets. Ryan swore she saw a twinkle in their teacher’s eye. Her eyes narrowed. She reaaaaaaally didn’t like that.

Tristan’s tapping pencil brought her back to the packet. She stared at him. “You didn’t take notes did you.”

His pencil stopped tapping as his lips thinned. “Could I borrow-”

Ryan flipped through her notebook and dropped it on the desk. “We’ll use them, but no copying right now.”

They quietly zipped through the first couple pages until Tristan spoke again. “Don’t go straight home after school.”

Ryan stopped. “Is it ‘cause of the whole...Antique thing?”

His pencil paused on the page. He stared at her, eyes narrowed. “How did you-”

“Jess and I have lunch together.”

“Oh,” jealousy clearly coated his tone, “lucky.”

Ryan shrugged her shoulders and answered two more questions. “Not my fault you’re taking French during 3rd period.”

He stopped writing mid-sentence and stared at her, his face in full-mock offense. “ Excuse you, I have it 2nd period.”

She grinned. “Oh my god, I didn’t think-” she covered her mouth to suppress a giggle.

Tristan refocused on the worksheet and mumbled under his breath. Before Ryan could clarify his grumbles, the bell rang.

BRING

Ms. P stood as students quickly stuffed their belongings into their bags. “If you’re finished, leave your worksheets on my desk. This assignment is due tomorrow so make sure to not forget it!”

Ryan pulled her backpack straps over her shoulders as Tristan scrambled to finish one more question. “I thought we were meeting after school.”

He stared at his paper, then at Ryan, before he began cleaning off his desk. “Right.”

“Do you guys take the bus or walk or-”

He stood, flinging his backpack over one shoulder. He grunted as it smacked his back. “Walk, usually.” He shrugged. “Sometimes Jess will bring her bike.” They followed the stream of students speed walking through the halls.

Ryan followed him through the hallway, weaving through upperclassmen, until she noticed her locker. “I’ll meet you outside!” She didn’t wait for a response as she quickly spun the combination and opened her locker. She pulled out the unessentials, finished assignments and books she wouldn’t need until tomorrow on the shelves, swapping them for her lunchbox and due homework. She looked up and jumped back. A bright red frog croaked at her. Its tongue flew out, missing her face by an inch, and retracted. Pale blue smoke was soon swallowed by the amphibian.

Ryan blinked. “Uh, hi?” It croaked in response. Red smoke curled off its body. Her gut twisted in knots as someone stomped loudly down the hallway.

Jess jumped beside her. “Did ya forget something?” She asked beaming at her. Ryan pointed at the frog inside her locker. Jess’ lips curled down. “Oh, yeah.” Her voice was abnormally quiet. “Dissections were today.” She clicked her tongue and shrugged. “Can’t do anything about it unfortunately.” She held her hand out, palm up to the frog. “C’mon lil guy, let’s take you somewhere with a better view.”

It hopped onto Jess’ palm and it was then Ryan noticed the frog’s missing hind legs. “Did it have its legs torn off?” She whispered in horror.

Jess shook her head. “Nah, it’s a ghost is all.” She held the frog close to her chest. “You got everything?”

Ryan cleared her throat and kicked the locker door shut behind her. She swung her bag onto her back. “I think so.”

Jess gripped Ryan’s shoulder and squeezed. “Tristan and I got you, alright? We’re a team now. He and I have been doing this for years. It’s a little overwhelming so if you need to hang back or anything we got you. Deal?”

“I-” Ryan took a deep breath to clear her head. “Yeah, thank you.”

Jess winked in response and pulled Ryan into a side hug. “Well, c’mon then newbie, let’s go see Lucinda!” The ghost frog croaked in agreement.

[rawkingbunny]

Bitter and Sick - Chapter Three

After tons of editing and rewrites, it’s finally done! I really hope you like this as much as i did writing it! There are tons of journal 3 references in here, so keep your eyes peeled! I always keep a copy next to me for fun. Also, I’m considering writing a Stan Spin-off, during his time in the 70s and 80s as a struggling businessman. 

–Rating: M

–Gravity Falls/Rick and Morty

~Diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, Stanford Pines is forced to reflect on past regrets and experiences that bring him back to one person. A narcissistic sociopath who saved his life~

~Chapter Three~

…

One Week Earlier

…

“Mr. Mystery, you’re full of surprises…”

Stan parted lips with his score, a devilish grin spread across his bold face. It was moments like these that the title had its perks, it wasn’t everyday a beautiful woman entered the gift shop with a purpose.

“Baby…the tour doesn’t end here…”

Coarse hands gripped her hips as his tongue explored her mouth, strong arms wrestling her to the desk. Neglected stacks of cash scattered across its surface, and a change counter that was a little too out of date fell carelessly to the floor. Neither seemed to mind, Stan already sliding his large hand beneath her silk blouse.

Quiet moans elicited from both parties, her hands making quick work of removing his jacket and tie. She began to struggle with the buttons on his shirt, leaving heated kisses across his chin.

Stan chuckled, loosening his belt with his free hand. “You’re about to be one lucky lady…”

His belt cracked like a whip as he dropped it to the floor, a low growl forming In his throat as her frail hands reached to unzip his pants.

Without warning, the door to the office swung open, both defensively attempting to cover themselves at the intrusion.

Stanford Pines took a step back in embarrassment, heat crossing his already pink nose. It’s not like it was the first time he’d caught his brother in such a compromising position, they did unfortunately share a bedroom in their youth.

“Pardon my intrusion…”, Ford choked, the sound almost close to the squeak of a small door mouse. He gripped the side of the door, averting his gaze as he started to shut it.

Stan adjusted his glasses in irritation, re-zipping his pants. “Wait…”.

The slight creak of the door stopped, Ford turning bloodshot eyes back to his brother. He avoided looking directly at the visitor, but noticed she’d started to gather her purse and coat in frustration. He was pretty sure he heard her mutter something about “Wasted time” and “Bus fare”, which made him feel a lot more confident in his choice to stay.

Stan reached for his jacket, sliding a few bills beneath the lining of her jeans. A loud smack echoed through the shop as he slapped her rear in amusement, a wide grin plastered on his face. She was in no way enjoying this, a look of pure hatred focused in Ford’s direction.

Ford stepped aside for her like a proper gentleman, a smirk gracing his exhausted features. “Don’t forget to come back now, “ he managed to say, receiving the middle finger in direct response.

The gift shop door slammed behind her as she made her way to the exit, leaving the two face to face in the office door away.

Stan was close enough to finally get a cold hard look at his brothers disheveled features, the heavy bags under Ford’s eyes brought him back to that December chill almost forty years ago.

“You’re not sleeping again…”

Ford bit his lip, he knew he was a mess. He’d just spent over an hour staring back at his own horrid reflection in the mirror. It had been weeks since he’d shaved, the thick stubble irritating his cheeks.

The stench of cold sweat was caught in Stan’s nose, and he guessed it had been days since Ford had even had a decent shower. He chose to ignore it, buttoning up the top few buttons of his shirt.

Ford was thankful, the blinding reflection of Stan’s medallion disappearing behind his collar. He opened his mouth to reply, raising a six fingered hand to push his glasses back into place.

“You’d be making friends with the coffee maker too, if you had my dreams…”

Stan closed the office door behind them as they reentered the gift shop, a normal quiet Monday leaving them both alone amongst the various trinkets and poorly handmade merchandise.

Ford followed him to the registers, picking up one of the ‘Mr Mystery’ bobble heads in mild curiosity. He grazed his thumb over the plastic, the cheap paint already seemed to be fading with age. There was time when he resented his brother for this ridiculous attraction he created, but he’d come to admire the intricate thought and detail that came with every new ridiculous oddity he invented.

Stan stopped at the register behind the narrow counter, and popped open the drawer with a quick turn of the brass key hung amongst the countless others that all seemed so familiar to the author.

Ford placed the bobble head back down on the shelf, turning back to his brother with a heavy mind. “Stanley?”

The larger man paused, a large finger slipping underneath a stack of twenty dollar bills. “Hmm?”

Ford tensed and rubbed the back of his head, “I need you to know…that I’m thankful”.

Stan released a rasped chuckle, “For what? Me stealing your fucking house…”

Ford’s mouth gaped open to speak, but he was cut off by his brother’s irritated expression as he shoved the cash back into the drawer.

“Stanley…I…”

“You what? Want me to pack my bags? Wanna kick the kids out to?”

“They’re happening again, Stanley…”

The room was silent, the two old men sharing puzzled expressions. Neither having the words to say to break the tension in the air.

Stan was the first to speak, memories flooding back from that terrifying night. The vulnerability of leaving his mind so open. A foggy remnant of a moment where his priorities were clear, and he was willing to sacrifice his own sanity for the children he’d come to care so much for.

“He can’t be alive…”

“I know, Stanley…”

“You don’t understand. I killed that fucker myself”.

…

Present Day

…

Smoke clouded the gentle breeze that filled the late summer air, dancing it’s way from the roof of the hospital. The quiet melody of seagulls loomed overhead, a sound he’d become accustomed to after spending the last year on open waters.

Stan Pines let out a haggard breath, a lit cigarette held between gritted teeth. An old habit, one that he always seemed to return to in times of stress. Sixer had his ways of dealing with his anxiety, and Stan had his own secrets. There was a reason why he kept a few bags of marijuana stashed in the safe, and may have taken a couple vicodin to numb more than just his body.

His hands shook violently as he grasped the butt of his cigarette, dropping his arm lazily to his side. He exhaled, pulling the corners of his beanie over his ears to protest the breeze.

It had been almost 48 hours since Ford has lost consciousness, and the wait was murder. Stan hadn’t left his side for the first 24, and Wendy had to persuade him to at least head back to the shack and get a shower and new clothes. And now here he was, having a mental breakdown on the roof of the hospital.

Aside from a bag of chips Wendy had snagged him from the vending machine, he hadn’t had a decent meal in almost 2 days. His stomach groaned at the thought, and he gripped it in irritation. It was flatter than he remembered, the time oversea with Ford had been healthy for not only his mind but his body as well.

Stan took another drag of his cigarette, his nerves steadying to a point of content, honey eyes surveying the horizon.

“Grunkle Stan!”

He turned abruptly, flicking his current emotional support to the ground in favor of a healthier one.

Mabel was staring back at him from the roof exit, her eyes swelled with tears, faced flushed and exhausted from crying. Her soft brown eyes quivered, making a mad dash to his broad open arms.

He knelt down to received her hug, running a large hand through her hair to ease the tension. She continued to cry salty tears into his chest. The strong smell of salt water was soothing and she inhaled it from his jacket, ignoring the also obvious smell of nicotine smoke.

“Hey, Sweetie…” he released a slight cough, hugging her tighter in response. He couldn’t find anything else to say to calm her tears, his own mind racing due to lack of sleep.

And it was at that moment that every little tightly boarded corner of his tough emotional exterior cracked, and the tears came. They started slow, and turned into gross sobs of distress. The stubble of his chin running past her forehead as he hugged her closer, nearly crushing her in the moment.

In shock, Mabel hugged his neck, his significantly longer silver hair passing through her tiny fingers.

“It’s ok…” she choked, fighting to reassure them both between her own sobs.

Stan’s body trembled, knowing he shouldn’t be here. He should be at Ford’s side, praying to a God he didn’t believe in that those six fingers would twitch back to life and laugh it off like it was some kind of sick joke.

They were both broken from their bond, the sound of the exit door sliding open raked through their ears. A panting Wendy stood there, face paler than usual.

“He’s awake!”

…

Darkness.

He recognized the void of his own mind, the calm and orderly emptiness. But the darkness was new.

Lifting himself from a seated position, Ford reached to ease another migraine, only to find that there was no pain. He breathed a sigh of relief, narrowing his eyes to attempt to see through the endless black.

Am I dead…

This was no surprise to him if it were true, he honestly deserved so much worse.

So this is how it all ends…

A light fog began to lift around him, brightening the darkness but limiting his peripheral vision. His body buckled in confusion, searching for anything he could hold on to, something corporeal other than his own body.

The darkness faded into a starry night sky, familiar constellations overcrowded by the infinite possibilities beyond. He reveled in that feeling, and felt at home.

He looked down at his hands, puzzled as he was once again dressed in his black coat and sweater, the cold heavy metal of his quantum destabilizer strapped to his back.

Was this all a dream? Did I never make it home?

The fog slowly lifted, the faint smell of gunfire and alienistic screams clouded his senses. He lifted a knife from his belt, a deep familiar laughter echoing through the air. He could hear and smell war, but what he saw was only space;cold, wide, and beautiful.

“You came back…”

Ford panicked as a cold hand touched his shoulder, turning to come face to face with a worn and beaten Rick. His eyes sunken with exhaustion, drained from alcohol withdrawal.

“Rick…I didn't…”, he shook violently, looking for any kind of excuse to save himself. “I didn’t mean to leave you, but the portal-”

“FUCK THE PORTAL!”

Rick’s voice deepened, echoing throughout the vast emptiness. His eyes sagged, dried blood and various scars covering his face and arms. He was beaten and broken, a large gash sealed with a tourniquet over his shoulder.

Ford parted his lips to speak, but nothing came out. A painful reminder of his biggest mistake stood before him, and he was paralyzed.

“You left me here. Not a goodbye, not a fucking word. You left me to die…”

Ford backed away, ready for the blow. He welcomed it, he deserved more. All that wasted time spent traveling the multiverse, gaining his trust, he’d never meant for it to end this way.

“I’m sorry…”

Rick pulled his fist, no remorse or the slightest sign of retraction.

“YOU RUINED MY LIFE!”

You ruined my life…

He’d heard that before. The words digging like knives in his already fragile heart. But this time he didn’t argue, eyes rolling back into his skull as Rick’s punch landed across his heavy jaw. He stumbled to the ground, a sharp pain accompanying the oncoming migraine that he was so used to.

Ford seethed, adjusting his jaw as he struggled to look back up at his friend. His face paled at the view before him. Eyes a yellow field, slits like knives.

No. Not him…

A shrill laugh pierced Ford’s ears, horrified as Rick emitted that monstrous voice that was obviously not his own.

He attempted to crawl away, the world around him spinning and hazed. He slowly lost consciousness, the color yellow the last thing burned into his eidetic memory as the world went black.

Fear the beast with just one eye…

…

The sound of hushed voices reached his ears, his eyes still adjusting to the sunlight that filled the room.

“Ford you idiot!”

Ford assumed the voice was Stanley’s, and his theory was correct as he felt his brothers large arms pull him into a tight embrace. He could smell the faint stench of nicotine on his breath, and realized he must have been unconscious way too long for comfort.

Stan pulled away, reaching in his pocket for a pair of glasses, frames slightly cracked on the corner. Ford happily accepted them, grunting as vision returned.

Mabel and Dipper smiled back at him from the edge of the bed, Wendy eying him but chatting quietly on her phone.

“You scared us half to death!” Mabel squeaked, bright eyes locked on his. Her braces shined in the sun, the glare itching his tired eyes.

Ford leaned back, becoming self aware of the various drugs running through his system. His sweater was gone, his various scars and tattoos visible from the fabric of the fitted hospital gown. He wanted to run, feeling vulnerable and wide open to criticism, but he settled on the fact that he was surrounded by family and friends. The paranoia faded, and he gave in to the medication.

“Hey, you hungry…” Stan questioned, his body shifting on the edge of the bed.

As if on queue, Ford’s stomach groaned in reply. He was reminded that even before he’d lost consciousness that it had been almost 2 days since he’d had a decent meal. He nodded, the mattress lifting as Stan lead the kids to the exit.

“I’ll stay with him, “ Wendy assured to Stan, finishing her phone call and pocketing the device.

The door closed behind them, Ford a little more at ease now that he wasn’t the focus of numerous stares. The migraine was gone, replaced by the cold hard pinch of the metal plate at the base of his skull.

“Thank you…”

Wendy was surprised by his gratitude, shrugging it off. “I just got off the phone with Soos. I didn’t want to bother them on their honeymoon, but he’s glad you’re ok…”

Ford agreed, Soos and Melody deserved the time together. They’d been saving enough for the trip, and it would be a tragedy to have them head home from Hawaii so soon.

“You can thank me by answering a simple question…”

Ford tensed, adjusting himself so he could see her better. The throbbing pain may be gone, but the horror of his dreams still lingered.

Wendy crossed her legs, folding her arms over her chest. Her green eyes shined with curiosity.p “Who is Rick?”

“Pardon me?”

The room grew silent, both of them exchanging puzzled stares, neither willing to let this go. Wendy was the first to crack a response, brushing a strand of red behind her hair.

“Before you passed out…you called me, Rick? Does that name mean anything to you?”

Ford had no recollection of speaking his name, only the oncoming darkness. It was likely the lack of sleep was affecting his mental state, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d hallucinated.

“A friend. He was a friend…”

Wendy was intrigued, making her way to the edge of the bed. She took her time, carefully not to irritate his weak body by shaking the mattress.

“What was he like?”

Ford chuckled at the question, lifting a hand to run a finger over her cheek. He’d become quite fond of her over the two years since he’d been back, she was almost like a daughter to him. Although he’d never admit it, not willing to start a feud with her actual father.

“You would have hit it off…”

She leaned in, teasingly. “Spit it out old man…I want all the details…”

Ford blushed, some of those details he wasn’t entirely sure were appropriate. Some, he wasn’t even sure he even believed.

Wendy’s eyes widened in sudden realization, eyes traveling to his neck. He noticed her gaze shift, the blush on his cheeks reddening. She’d discovered his biggest regret, his neck tattoo.

She grazed her fingers over it, laughing at the adorable cartoon star that was still fresh on his skin. The lyrics ‘Hey now, I’m an All Star’ surrounding the smiling animated character.

“Was Rick responsible for this?”

Ford choked, pulling the covers close in embarrassment. He would kill for a comfort bag of jelly beans, not too keen on remembering the 30 years prior.

“Unfortunately…”

…

Ford downed another shot of whiskey, hand grazing over the rim of the glass. The crowds and over cranked pop music ringing in his ears.

This wasn’t his type of crowd, but the urge for a mind numbing scotch or whiskey was too good too pass up.

He was positive that the woman across the room was watching him with interest, but he avoided eye contact, much more interested in getting wasted than social interaction.

His thumb graced the creases of the old photograph, the tattered image of a young Stan and himself staring back at him.

Fifteen years…it had been fifteen years since he’d been running. Fifteen years of scrounging and fighting for food and shelter, of stealing and lying. The days just dragged on, and he would get just a little bit older.

“Pines!”

Ford flinched, the seat to his left quickly being taken. Silver hair with chestnut streaks came in to view, and he rolled his eyes as he realized who he was addressing.

“Rick..”

The name fell flat on his mouth, in a tone that sounded almost irritated. Ford was not ready for this interaction, and was definitely not in the mood for games.

“Two more for my partner here, and a couple for myself…” Rick shouted to the bartender, winking suggestively. She rolled her eyes in response, sending Ford a concerned look.

Ford nodded in approval, giving her a slight bit of comfort for his safety.

Rick turned in his chair to get a good look at him, eyes raking over his disheveled form.

“Damn. Even, when you’ve been through shit you still look fine…”

Ford downed the next shot as soon it was placed in reaching distance, wanting to just take the whole damn bottle and down it all at once. Rick was already intoxicated, his lack of proper judgement even more impaired than usual.

Rick grinned and leaned a little closer, his voice suggestive and near to a whisper.

“How drunk would you need to be to let me bend you over this counter right now?”

A heated blush crossed Ford’s cheeks and he choked, making his best attempt to retain a calm exterior. He formulated a blatant lie, downing the second shot whole.

“I prefer to have someone of the female persuasion in my bed…”

“Bullshit…”

It’s true, it was Bullshit, but he wasn’t about to admit it, especially to Rick. He’d have a field day with the news and never let it go.

Ford tucked the old photograph in his jacket, reaching for a shot only to realize he’d finished them. The bartendender was busy filling other drinks, leaving him without a security blanket.

Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll me..

He untensed, the familiar tune passing through his throat in a gentle hum. It was a common practice to deal with his social anxiety, one he utilized more often than not. He may even have a walkman stashed in his bag, but he’d never tell a soul that one.

Rick’s unibrow rose, roaring with laughter. “Fuck me. You like this song?”

Ford rolled his eyes, raising an arm to the free bartender. He needed some stimulation, and he needed it now.

She was looking kind of dumb with her finger and her thumb…

“Sorry, sixer. You just don’t struuuuuurp–ike me as someone who would appreciate modern music…”

“Don’t pretend to know me…”

The empty glasses were replaced with two more, and he groaned in relief, downing both in seconds. The buzz was starting to take effect, and his body loosened, fingers tapped against the empty glass along with the song.

Didn’t make sense not to live for fun. Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb…

“How about a challenge?”, Rick grinned as he downed his last shot, arm leaning suggestively against the counter. The leather of his jacket creaked, his undershirt dipping and giving off a full view of his chest hair.

Ford swallowed, adams apple uncomfortably shifting in response. “Enlighten me…”

“30 shots…”, Rick burped, lifting his empty glass as a token. “Loser gets a tattoo, and the winner gets to design it…”

Fords ego increased, his already questionable judgement impaired by the alcohol. “I’ll take that bet…”

You’ll never know if you don’t go. You’ll never shine if you don’t glow…

He was positive he was the less intoxicated of the two, and his confidence grew as the bartender poured them their shots. Her expression still concerned for his health, the attention causing him to anxiously run a polydactyl hand through his chestnut hair.

Rick noticed the tension, mild jealousy forming. He made a note to get her fired later, slamming his first shot on the counter in excitement. “One…two…”

He cheated, downing the first glass before getting to ‘three’. He received a scowl from Ford in response, who was doing surprisingly well at catching up.

Hey now, you’re an all-star, get your game on, go play…

The tenth shot stung as it went down, Ford clenching his teeth at the burn. He hadn’t entirely taken into account how many shots he’d had prior, and this was starting to look foolish on his part. Rick on the other hand was on his fifteenth shot, not a shudder or sign of surrender.

“Give up yet, Fordsie?”

The older man seethed, downing his thirteenth shot in desperation, taking any chance he could to catch up. He could tell Rick was starting to take it easy on him, and the knife to his ego hurt more than the actual loss.

Even taking his time, Rick was already at his twenty-fifth, already scheming the results of his victory. He watched in amusement at Ford began to falter at twenty, nearly tossing it up as it went down his throat.

“Alright…Alright…Fuuuuuuuuuuck. Just call it already”, the younger man groaned, downing his twenty-eighth.  

Rick downed his last two, unable to watch the agony his friend was going through. Shaking a head at the sick and defeated drunk Ford, lifting him to his feet.

Ford didn’t complain when he noticed Rick paid for their drinks. He didn’t complain as he watched him pull out the portal device from his jacket. He was too drunk to complain as he pulled him through the emerald light. And you’d think he was high as a kite at how amused he was at the change of scenery.

“Welcome to Earth Dimension 62-48 Ceeeeeee…” Rick burped, spreading his arms as if it was a world of his own creation. Which wouldn’t be too far from the truth.

His introduction was cut short by the sound of Ford chucking onto the cold hard ground, no longer able to hold back. He’d taken it too far this time, his pride getting the best of him.

Rick waited for him to finish, offering an arm to lead him to a nearby tent. He muttered along the way about the science of holding your alcohol, and how he recognized that Ford was drinking on an empty stomach; which obviously dwindled his chances.

Ford sobered enough to walk for himself as they reached the tent, a market area coming into view before him. He shared a brief glance at Rick, attempting to avoid the street salesman and traders calling them their way. A Garblovian started shouting obscenities as they passed, and Ford was tempted to fish out his translator. Rick’s flip of the middle finger was more than enough of a retaliation to quiet him, both men diving under a tattered curtain in nearby tattoo parlor.

Ford’s lip curled in uncertainty, Rick dragging him to the front desk. The shop owner at the desk was nothing like he’d seen before, an average pig  with octopus tentacles for arms. Despite the sunglasses and tough exterior, it seemed elated to see Rick. It’s cheeks curving into a fat smile that could weaken even the strongest of men.

“‘Sup, Tony! How you doin’ you son of biiiitch…”, Rick readied his fist, winking in invitation.

Tony received the fist bump with a tentacled one of his own, beady eyes darting between the two under the frames of his sunglasses.

“Who’s your friend?”

“This is Ford. Lost a bet, the fuckin’ lightwieght. Can you fit him in?”

Tony chuckled as if it wasn’t the first time this had happened, hopping off his stool to lead them to the backroom.

Ford lifted the curtain. The parlor was rather large, countless sketches littering the walls. The faded wooden countertops were covered in supplies and chemicals, several ink pens with different sizes and tips caught his attention.

Rick motioned to Ford to remove his shirt, to which he protested at first. After a few moments of grumbling, he discarded his jacket and sweater, feeling exposed. He caught a thirsty stare from Rick, his numerous scars and rugged chest hair attracting his attention.

Tony led Ford to the large reclining chair in the center, wiping his tentacles on a nearby rag before reclining him back in the chair to get a better look at his flesh. He glanced at a small sketch that Rick has somehow managed to finish, keeping it out of range of Ford in amusement.

“I’m going to regret this…” The older man uttered out loud, the needle pinching his neck without warning. For his first tattoo it wasn’t as painful as he expected, to be honest it was almost therapeutic.

The next hour was a culmination of Rick running his mouth about his portal gun, how it functioned and the science behind it. Every intricate detail was music to Ford’s ears. Rick’s passion for his work was inspiring, and for a moment…he admitted to himself that there was more to this man than he was lead to believe.

The minutes passed by, reaching over an hour with Rick leaning against the wall impatiently. Tony lifted the pen, passing a mirror to Ford so he could admire the work.

Ford braced himself, turning his large chin to have a better view.

A small yellow star grinned back at him, the cartoonish features amusing him in his drunken state. The lyrics ‘Hey Now, I’m an All Star’ cradled around the character.

“So, scale of 1 to 10. Is it my best work?” Rick burped.

“I love it…”

And all that glitters is gold. Only shooting stars break the mold…

Previous Chapter

[lids-flutter-open]

mediocre character development stuff under cut sorry if ur on mobile its long text

its abt my character elaine first person pov cuz im trying to write some extra-textual sketches to figure out some scenes

Dawn came up over the hill as the bus was edging closer to the Oregon border. Chad was sitting next to me slumped into his seat with his head to one side. His hair was longer than mine had been a year ago and it was oily from days camping. He hadn’t shaved and his skin looked like a mess. He smelled like cigarettes and campfire smoke. I looked at my reflection in the bus window in the blue light of the early January morning and winced my skin clean with the spell I’d learned from Irma back in Kansas. I wished I could scrape the outer layer of my skin off with a rock or a very wide razor file. I looked over at a woman who was reading a book with a  little lamp she clipped onto the cover. She was clean and wore jeans with rhinestones and had gotten on the bus in some tiny town late the night before. I had noticed she was giving me sidelong glances. I thought about how I would like to be her if the opportunity presented itself. I bet she was the child of an auto mechanic or a copy shop clerk and took classes at her local community college. Her hands were all manicured and clean on the pages of her novel. She looked like she was in the middle of a good part now and didn’t care about us any more.      

We went over the border and I sort of half expected them to stop us and search for fruits or werewolves on board, even though I knew that since we were on a bus we were pretty much cleared to go. I took my wallet out again and looked at the fake ID I’d gotten back in L.A again just to make sure it didn’t look too fake. It had my mom’s first name on it and then a made up last name. Next to it were three cards from Rodney that I usually kept hidden in my socks. I kept expecting Rodney to cancel them but whenever I used them they went through. The bus rocketed through these forests of green icy tall trees and into Oregon and I fell asleep for a minute and missed the second the sun came over the edge of the horizon.

Salem was a small town in the middle of a lot of highway. It’s the capital, but you wouldn’t know it. You can see Mount Hood on a clear day. The first time I visited I was deeply underwhelmed. There was a diner or four and a small downtown that you felt was gonna get filled up in the next ten years with antique shops. People here were mostly white and mostly drove cars everywhere. The land was flat and it was on a river. It was the third biggest town in Oregon, which goes to show that not many people really live in Oregon. Chad told me that the main thing here was the state and then a potato chip factory and then berry farms outside town. And timber. I hadn’t been to Salem in a couple years and it hadn’t changed much. This time of year the roads were covered in ice and when we went over bumps there was this kind of terrible sense you could slip. I watched the sunrise through the window. It looked like cat vomit. I checked through my bag for everything I needed to set up camp and then everything else I had on me that hadn’t gotten too heavy. I had a swimsuit from the three months Chad and I had lived in a house on a beach with this dude who turned out to be hooked on Oxy. I had four diaries. I still had a mix tape from Felix, who was dead and buried somewhere in Missouri. I wanted a cigarette but Chad and I had had a fight about how it was bad for him so now I was trying not to smoke and anyway I only had three Camels left.

“You want me to read your Tarot cards?” I turned to Chad. “I still have the set you gave me.”

He mumbled in his sleep. I looked over at the woman reading the book and thought about what she would do if I asked to read her cards. She was the only other person that was sitting towards the back of the bus. Up near the front there were three heavyset short men who looked related, all zoning out or sleeping under their knit hats and heavy coats. The bus was overheated and I felt sweat dripping down my stomach under my sweatshirt.

Chad woke up as we got into the Greyhound station across from the hospital. He sat down on the curb at the edge of the street and smoked the last of his weed. We waited for Josh, his friend, to show up.

“How’s being sober?” Chad asked me.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I don’t feel like there’s something dead in my mouth and it’s morning at the same time.”

“We can fix that,” Chad said. “You want breakfast somewhere? We still have a little cash, right? We can eat some dead stuff.”

“I’m saving that cash to buy a Jeep.”

“You got your cards too,” Chad said.

“My Tarot deck?”

“Whatever, I know Rodney isn’t gonna cancel those. He doesn’t even pick up his mail, he probably has no idea what you’re spending.”

I watched the rhinestone jean girl get into a van with a man that had a giant piercing through his nose and wondered what I didn’t know about her. I wanted to ask Chad if he’d seen her but he was standing up and walking around and stretching and the moment was gone. I looked around and wondered where there was some place to get breakfast. There was a hospital across the street and next to it was the university.

  ***

The cops came up the steps and everyone was going in a million different directions and I felt like this ripple down my spine of sweat and fear. I looked at Aysel. She was standing in the middle of everything looking stupid and lost as people ran all over like shrimp on a beach. I couldn’t see her friend. Chad pushed past me back into the living room and Carmen bolted out the back door. I saw a lot of the people from downtown who weren’t wolves give panicked glances to one another. I knew they were thinking, fuck, what the hell did we get ourselves into? I wondered if one of them was a plant, or one of our crew, but at this particular moment it didn’t matter a lot. I saw everyone running into the basement and wanted to scream that that was the most idiotic fucking thing you could possibly do unless you planned to like hide under a pile of coal like it was the Soviets coming to collectivize us in 1918 or something, and as far as I knew there wasn’t any coal down there. I ran over and grabbed Aysel’s hand and said something mean under my breath to Chad. Aysel’s hand felt all sweaty. We weren’t going to make it out before the cops came in but we could get out of sight so I hung onto her and tore around the corner and flattened myself toward the floor. We were near an exit and there was nothing blocking it. If there was some kind of distraction I thought we could make it. The cops might surround the place but I had bets that the back garden wasn’t covered yet. I thought about the time in Philly when someone had beat apart the fuse box with a hammer when the cops got called because they had a hiding place right near it and all the lights went out and nearly everyone got away. If I turned out the lights the cops might just start shooting and plant guns on our dead bodies later. I couldn’t hear any helicopters but I thought there might be some I couldn’t hear, because everyone was being so fucking loud.

I told Aysel to be ready to run and meanwhile I was thinking about how she probably could not run fast enough.

Chad was standing there like a stupid idiot and shouted some bullshit and tried to be all heroic. His body was all tense and upright. He said something loud I don’t remember and then the cops opened fire and I yanked Aysel’s arm out of her tiny arm socket and we fucking bolted. I hated running from shit then and I hate it now and I will hate it forever. I stopped smoking but my lungs still hurt all the time and I can still barely breathe. The safe house in Salem was ok at least because it’s up against all these private yards that you know the cops won’t clamber into so you can throw yourself through them and lose people pretty fast. I got leaves and wet mud up the sides of my jeans but I barely registered it.

“Did you see who they shot?”

Aysel panted something and I couldn’t hear her.

We stopped and I was seeing sparks in front of my eyes and my heart was pounding like a fucked clock or whatever and it hit me in an instant that Chad was like, probably really dead, and the way my life was together wasn’t a thing that was actually together, it was just stuck haphazardly into a shape and the shape had just broken. I looked at Aysel and she looked like this fucking kid, suddenly, like she always looked young but suddenly she was looking at me like I was her mom and I wasn’t her fucking mom and her real mom was looking for her and I wasn’t anyone, I was this nobody loser asshole who had taken her to the movies like I was some kind of predatory lesbian from a pulp novel and then taken her to a weird political meeting that had gotten busted by cops and she was just in it all and knee deep in her own excitement and I’d fucked her over and now we were covered in mud in some parking lot. Her hair was matted and I thought about how she wasn’t even fucking out probably, she hadn’t even had her first lesbian haircut. I knew she wanted one, I knew from just like seeing her that she wanted short hair.

I hugged her thinking about how I was a fucked up person and she needed someone better and I needed someone grown up. I felt tears streaming down my face and I felt Aysel crying against me all burning and little. I felt her hands against my back and suddenly realized she was holding me tightly, like I was something stable. I ripped myself away from her and tore over to the chain link fence separating the parking lot from the road. I wanted to hurl myself onto the asphalt so the passing cars could crush my skull. If Dad had shown up with his rifle I would have taken it from his hands and hyperextended my arms backwards and shot myself in the throat with it. I felt more scared than I ever had in my whole life and I felt my body like electricity in a bathtub. I punched the fence over and over with my hands barely in fists, just tearing the skin on my knuckles open against the rusted metal. I have never had a tetanus shot and I thought about the diamonds in my mother’s drawer when I was a kid and how if I died nobody was going to put diamond earrings on me when they buried me. I wasn’t going to even die in a ditch in Kansas or on the railroad tracks or in a hospital, I was going to die in a gutter or on the street like roadkill. My hands were bloody and the blood was on the fence. I screamed at the cars and grabbed the fence with two hands and shook and kicked the fence with my boots until I slipped against the gravel at the edge of the pavement and stumbled and almost fell over.

“Do you want a donut?” she asked me.

There was this donut shop she was pointing to in the strip mall parking lot. I didn’t want to be seen but it was worse just sitting there and so we went in and I let her buy me a donut, feeling like pond scum. I felt the holes in my mouth with my tongue and bit down against my own teeth, grinding until I could feel the cavity that was slowly burrowing down towards my jaw.

I told Aysel that her friend was probably okay. I had no fucking idea where her friend was.

[kkmcdmdm-blog]

A long ride for a moment

I waved a goodbye to my mother as she went with us to the bus terminal. I saw her smiled weakly while I wore a big smile on my face. My father and I would be heading to Bicol which is his province. Mom invited me to go with her to her province but I refused and told her I would go with dad. I was very excited because it was my first trip to Bicol together with him. I sat near the window to avoid myself from vomiting. It was an ordinary bus. I looked at the casement and saw a lot of vehicles moving which means we were still in Manila. I shook my head as I saw a lot of dark smoke means were releasing that causes pollution and makes our ozone layer thinner. I inhaled some of it so I covered my nose with the handkerchief I was handling and just took a chips we have brought and shared it with Dad. I closed my eyes and leaned to my father to get a comfortable position as I was trying to get some sleep. I really hate Manila. I hate the sounds of vehicle roaring along the road. I hate the polluted air I was inhaling. I couldn’t see the real beauty of the sky together with the stars because of pollution. I love stars, really. It was indeed a part of me. Without it, I couldn’t shine. There were really a lot of things to hate Manila, I thought of. I sighed and looked at my Dad. “Where are we now?” I asked. “Pasay.” He said. “But why are we here?” my brows furrowed as I asked it to him. I don’t know where exactly the exit was but I was sure this wasn’t it. “Because this is the way.” He uttered. “Oh. Really? I brought a map just in case. And oh, you are right, dad.” I said and laughed. I looked at the watch in my wrist. We were travelling for almost 2 hours. 2 more hours to go to be in Laguna and I could inhale a fresh air. I spent my 2 hours eating and sleeping, eating and sleeping and eating and sleeping. When all I could see was a vast farm land, I came closer to the window and inhaled deeply. “Hmm fresh hair.” I told to myself. I enjoyed myself by just looking at the cows at the green farm land. While feeling the moment, I fell to sleep and got waken up by the strange sun rays hitting my face. I opened my eyes immediately but closed it again as it got hurt by the rays. I glanced at my watch and found out that it was already four-thirty in the afternoon. I looked outside the window to find some houses and trees but there was nothing but just a rock formations and signs telling that there would be a sharp curves. I faced to the left and saw my father sleeping. The sharp curves made me nervous. What if this bus fell? What if we die? I stopped myself from thinking those things instead I just closed my eyes and hoped that we could survive this.

It was seven-thirty in the evening and stars were already visible outside. I opened my eyes widely trying to get a clear sight. As much as possible, I want to see everything outside hoping that my sight would catch some unfamiliar things. The driver parked the bus in front of a ‘kainan’. Dad signalled me to go outside of the bus. We found a vacant seat and sit there to eat. After that, Dad lighted a cigarette and told me to go inside the bus. I followed him and waited until the bus get full. I heard the bus roared to life and moved a little. I got up from my seat, cried and shout because Dad was still outside. A woman told me to relax and that my father would not be left. She told me that the bus just got stucked so dad, along with the other men, helped to push the bus to get out from it. I didn’t listen to her and walked to the entrance and there, I saw my father together with the others pushing the bus. When the bus was finally free, Dad get inside so I ran to our seat and sat there. He laughed at me because of what I did. The bus continued its way to Bicol.

It was three o’clock in the morning. We were waiting for a jeep to arrive. Dad said that by six in the morning, we could be already there. I sat down on the box and waited until the jeep finally arrived. Because I was still feeling sleepy, I  slept leaning over to my father. I woke up with a saliva all over my cheek. That was gross, really. “We’re already here.” I opened my sleepy eyes and held my father’s arm to be my guide while we were still walking. When I got really awake, I saw a bridge-like before the house. We walked straight to it and an old woman welcomed us. “Nay.” My father said and that was when I realized that she was my grandma.

PS. This is just a brief flashback of one of my favorite moment with my father. today, March 31, 2017, marks his 7th year death anniversary. I miss him so much. I wish I could go back to time when he was still alive. I miss everything about him. I miss his laugh. I miss his big tummy. I miss his short mustache. I miss his fats. I miss having a father. Hey dad, I know you’re looking at me while I’m writing this down. I miss you so much. Don’t visit me in my dreams  for I would be scared haha. I know you’re doing good and so am I. I love you so much.