#edge of the sidewalk and kept on matching my pace even when i was nearly running

[unholyhelbig]

Crescent 2/? | Natasha Romanoff x MoonKnight!Reader

Summary: When Natasha Romanoff takes a job as head of security for Dina Jackson she has an ulterior motive- to find the tomb of Egyptian artifacts that the art world is racing for. Dina’s disgraced niece is charming, awkward, and under the influence of Khonsu, the God of the Moon.

Warnings: Not so subtle violence, cat-calling, Shitty dudes, and horrible grammar.

Read Part one Here | Read on Ao3

[A/N: ugh, this is so fun for me. Hope you guys are enjoying it so far! Let me know what you think]

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The blood against your tongue was tart, coppery, and all too familiar in taste. The hand on your collar pulled harder as a stiff kick pressed into your abdomen. You coughed up another mix of spit and bile. Your ribs ached and a wet warmth dripped from your nose onto a dry sidewalk. Your fingers trembled, pressing hard into your stomach to quell the pain.

“No, please I don’t have anything.” You managed through stifled breaths and broken teeth.

The man pulled a small handgun from the space between his skin and his belt, using its tip to lilt your head up. You squinted against the golden flickering streetlamp. Your right eye was starting to swell shut, a blackness playing at the edge of your vision. You wanted nothing more than to call out.

“You work for that old bitch Dina.” His breath was sour, mixing evilly with the scent of your own blood and sweat, and tears. “I don’t believe that. The mask- where is the mask?”

There was a crackling laugh that escaped you. I turned into a fit of coughs. He pulled the tip of the weapon up, tilting your head towards his gaze. His eyes were a ghostly type of blue that looked right through you.

“The mask, kid. Where the fuck is the mask”

“I don’t know! I don’t know. It’s an artifact.”

“Useless.” He hissed, pulling the handgun away and pressing the heels of his palms against both of his temples. He mumbled out a string of profanities pacing as you allowed your head to drop, gulping hungrily at the stale air. He pointed the gun back at you, yellow teeth gritted. “Useless!”

You woke up in a cold sweat before the bullet pierced your skin. The electronic billboard across the street switched from the warm white light of a perfume ad to that of a thriller film set to hit screens two weeks from now. The red tones flushed through your apartment, stretching odd shadows against the floor and the books stacked against your walls.

Subconsciously, you moved the pads of your fingers over the ribbed scar on your abdomen, then back up to your shoulder. A phantom ache that often woke you more than the bad dreams. When you finally stopped trembling, you padded your way to the kitchen, not bothering to turn on a light as the yellow glow from ‘Rodgers the Musical’ clouded your gaze.

You flicked on the sink and filled the nearest glass before gulping down two full helpings of water. Your stomach hurt now, and your mouth was still dry like cotton, but your skin had stopped aching something fierce, and that was a good development.

Khonsu could cure a lot. A gunshot wound to the abdomen, broken ribs, even a slashed throat. His ancient magic, however, was no match for the mental torture you had been put through. After putting the glass cup in the sink, there was no sleep to be had. Instead, you picked up the shirt closest to you, sliding it on and pushing your shoes on without unlacing them.

Most of the time, when you went on these middle-of-the night strolls, you were asking for trouble. You kept the darker parts of the city, the backroads, and the alleyways that smelled so thickly of rotten garbage your eyes would water. If you stuck to the shadows, those who lived in them would take notice.

There was a 24-hour diner that you told yourself you would make it to nearly every night. Sometimes, it worked, sometimes, it didn’t’. But it made you feel better about your actions. There was some type of rhyme or reason to them.

“Hey hot stuff!” Your heart pounded in your throat. The man was drunk, you told yourself. You could hear it in his slurred words and elated speech. Still, it took everything not to slow down at first. “Late night study session? Maybe I could help you learn a few things!”

This time, you did stop, just short of the full moon shaped light in the center of the sidewalk. It was buzzing like a trapped gnat. He stood in his own circle of yellow, a few paces behind you. He wore an oversized hoodie, one that could hide a handgun, a knife, or simply his own brute strength.

You took a deep breath, trying to still the excitement that you knew would make you a bad person. A small thrill moved up your spine and to your fingertips. Why not use the power Khonsu gave you? Better for the woman walking at night.

He laughed with excitement of his own “Seriously sweetheart, where you heading so fast? You should stick around for a while.”

“I’d rather do literally anything else,”

You said the words bluntly, with enough echo for him to hear. His eyes flashed dangerously in the light before he closed the space between the two of you. There was a distinct, putrid smell of alcohol to the air. He reached forward and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear- oddly gentle for his cursed actions.

Your fingers wrapped around his wrist with a crushing grip. “Seriously, dude. You shouldn’t touch someone without consent.”

“Please,” his lip curled sloppily “You know you want it.”

The first time you had summoned the suit, a great fear had moved through you, akin to the reason you were given the power in the first place. It felt warm, and constricting, and not at all like yourself. It was fast, though, and when your breath slowed and you looked into the bathroom mirror sprinkled with toothpaste- you couldn’t help but smile.

White gauze was complimented by a silver crest in the center of your chest. Each side could be removed in pointed halfmoons that were sharp enough to draw blood. They came when you called- that was something you learned later. There was a hood, and a cape, and everything that you had read about in comic books when you were young and impressionable.

Now, it was like a second skin. The man in front of you let out a yelp of shock when your eyes began to glow a shuttered white. You pushed his arm further to the right than intended, folding at just the right spot. He dropped to his knees and let out a strangled cry of pain.

“That’s the shittiest line in the book, pal.” You brought your knee up into his abdomen, knocking the air from his lungs. “Sober up and think about your actions.”

“What are you?” He asked.

You lowered your voice, furrowing your brow in the suit “Your worst nightmare.”

With that, you turned and started walking towards the café, letting the Moon Knight suit retract from your body. Unnecessary? Yes. With the amount of training, you had had since meeting the ancient God, you could have done that without the fancy costume. But part of you folded to the idea of it being fun, and a lesson learned.

That was a terrible one-liner.

“Yeah, it was. Dude pissed his pants, though.”

That’s not what I gave you this power for.

“I know,” You groaned, watching as the large Deity stalked behind you in the reflection of the storefronts that were not set to open for hours. “I have to blow off some steam, though. Like you said, as long as it doesn’t effect the great plan-“

Don’t throw my godlike wisdom back at me. I’m aware of what I said. I remember everything.

You shrugged your shoulders and pushed your way into the diner at the corner, blinking at the harsh overhead lights. Khonsu didn’t enjoy this spot either. Something about the fly paper hanging from the ceiling and the same stale pieces of pie rotating within the glass cases threw him off. Part of you didn’t blame him for that.

Usually, it was empty save for the night cook and the lone waitress scrolling through her phone as she kicked her feet mindlessly behind the counter- rolled silverware set aside in a soggy box. But tonight, there was another face. A familiar one at that.

Natalie Rushman.

She was using the side of her fork to cut into a syrup saturated waffle topped with butter. You didn’t’ figure her for a sweet tooth. The remainder of dinner had gone off without a hitch. You kept quiet and she listened politely to the same stories you had heard a million times before. Aunt Dina kept flashing her diamond necklace and matching earrings, pushing it as a nervous habit each time her fingers clutched them.

The woman glanced up at the sound of the bell and you felt an even sweat against your palms, caught like a deer in headlights. The waitress nodded in acknowledgement of your presence and moved to pour the usual cup of caffeinated black coffee that you would down.

Her eyes, if possible, looked even greener in this setting. It was clear that you had caught her in a moment of disarm. She shot you a nervous smile, lifting her chin. You hadn’t ever seen this woman before the last 24 hours and here she was again, this time in a place that you felt comfortable in.

There was something curious in her stare as she waved you over, stabbing another bite she had cut with the sharp end of her fork. Your stomach clenched at the thought of something that sweet in the middle of the night. Hesitantly, you lowered yourself into the booth across from her.

“Aren’t heads of security supposed to be very vigilant?” You raised an eyebrow, the adrenaline coursing through your veins from the encounter making you bold.

She shrugged “I couldn’t’ sleep. I suppose you’re in the same boat as I am.”

You nodded and thanked the waitress when she supplied you with the fracture hair mug of steaming, stale coffee. It was a form of comfort; how bad it was. There was no hope of sleep for the rest of the evening.

“Nightmares,” You confirmed, cheeks heating up in a brilliant pink. “I mean, not you, me. Classic case of bad dreams. How’d you find this place?”

“I live around here. It’s the only spot that’s open. Usually, I bide my time in my apartment but… I don’t know. It didn’t’ feel like enough tonight.” She frowned at her plate, swimming in syrup “Don’t know if this is really enough either but it’s something.”

“They’re not known for their good food,” you leaned back into the plush of the booth, stretching your arm out, flexing your fingers as if to test them. The thrumming scar on your shoulder reached its phantom pain all the way down to your elbow.

“Can I ask you a question, off the record?” Natalie said, and you nodded, not aware that you had ever been on a record in the first place. “I don’t like to speak ill of new employers but your aunt, she didn’t’ seem too fond of you. What’s with that?”

You sized Natalie up over the rim of your glass. God, even with dark circles under her eyes and her red hair tied up in a messy bun, she was stunning. You would answer any question she posed. The answer buzzed at the edge of your brain. How not to sound condescending, and bitter.

“You don’t have to answer, family is complicated, I get it. I just like to know who I work for.”

Lowering your cup, “I’m the least interesting person in the Y/L/N dynasty, I’m afraid. A spoiled brat, really.”

She laughed at that. God, that laugh, you ached for it in the short two times that you’d heard it. And then shook your head to clear the thought. This was a woman you had just met, and yet- you felt like you cold hang the moon for her, if you persisted with your ancient God master enough.

“Two years ago, I fucked up.” You stared, tracing the sticky rim of your cup with your forefinger. “I was put into a compromising situation, and my aunt thinks I could have fought harder. I could have fought harder. I lost something very important to her.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s fair.” Natalia frowned and finally took another bite of her waffle, chewing thoughtfully. “It doesn’t matter how much you prepare for a situation, until you’re fully in it, dodging the punches, there’s no way to know how your mind and body will respond.”

You swallowed back the bitter taste of black coffee that lingered on your tongue. Forest green eyes flicked down to your lips and then back up to your gaze. You were imagining things, must have been. It was a symptom of insomnia induced headaches.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What’s a woman like you doing working as head of security for a fancy museum curator. I’m sure there are more exciting jobs opportunities out there.”

She waved her hand dismissively “I’ve had enough excitement for seven lifetimes. I’m tired of excitement, perfectly content guarding a bunch of dusty artifacts.”

This made you smile again, pushing away what was left of your coffee. There was a warmth that radiated around Natalie Rushman, one that thrummed deep in your stomach and radiated. It was enough to calm the pain in your shoulder, and the thoughts in your tired mind.

When you did finally part ways with her, deep into the early morning after sharing conversation about the waitress behind the counter that smelled like clove cigarettes, and the man who flipped hashbrowns into a greasy pile of oil until it popped. She had scribbled her number down on a napkin and shoved it your way.

You shoved it into your front pocket on the way home to protect the sacred message from a misting rain that had begun to fall, making the scent of a sour city turn even riper. But still, you had a dumb smile on your face all the way to your apartment.

You look smitten.

“Do you ever like… sleep?”

Do you?

“touché bird. She is pretty, though. And charming. Suave I wish I could entertain.” You huffed out the words. When the ancient God first appeared in your life he promised you protection, and strength that you had never known. Life from the death that you bled to pushed against a brick wall. Nothing- however, could fix the awkward stumbling mess of a love life you’d cultivated.

I can’t fix everything, you know. I don’t trust her.

You stopped under the half-finished scaffolding of a nearby building. Plastic caught the wind and Khonsu towered to nearly the second platform. His bony grip tightened around his staff, decaying head cocking to the side.

Instead of pushing back sarcastically, you asked “No?”

Your Aunt continues to search for the tomb. He hissed out, kneeling to your level. Rain dripped from his crumbling jaw, the scent of sand filling your lungs. A head of security with a mysterious past would do her well, but not us.

You lifted an eyebrow at Khonsu, a cold feeling working through your clothes, getting drenched by the most subtle of storms. First and foremost, you served him, the partially annoying deity that had enveloped you into a search for a tomb that might not even exist. Studying the same markings on the same exhibit at the same museum.

“I’ll look into her,” You softened.

As if you had the luxury of choice.

Taglist! [If I forgot to tag you, let me know]: @ohmy-godyes @littlebluestone @kacka84 @143bc @lenam07 @tforjatp @iwishforausername @strangegardentaco @pianogirl2121 @i-need-somebody-else @fayhar @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

[sarahwroteathing]

English 284 (4)

Word Count: 3612

Summary: You and Steve break off from the group to get to know each other better and clear the air.

Warnings: Language and innuendo (romance novels)

A/N: Woo! I did it! I’m going to do my best to post something at least every 2 weeks. I miss writing, and I miss you guys! I’ve got new daily hobby goals for myself, so hopefully that’ll help me get back into the swing of things. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Steve’s Perspective

Catch up here!

In the end, extricating yourself from the group was relatively painless. Steve waited by the door while you returned to the table, passing the glass of water to a grateful Sam and retrieving your coat and bag. 

“Bailing on your own party?” Tony questioned as you shrugged into your coat.

“While I’m sure you’ll all miss my dazzling personality, I’m starting to get a headache, and it’s a bit too loud in here. Steve offered to walk me home.”

Sam choked on his water, but you kept your eyes on Tony as he studied you with a small frown.

“Alright, kiddo. Feel better. Text me when you’re home safe?”

“Kiddo,” you repeated with a snort, ruffling his hair as you turned to leave.

Steve was tapping idly at his phone when you joined him at the exit. He flashed you a hesitant smile, shoving his phone back into his pocket as he pushed the door open and followed you outside. 

The temperature had definitely dropped since you arrived earlier that evening, and you snuggled deeper into your jacket before turning expectant eyes on Steve. 

“So, where are we headed?”

“Not a fan of surprises?”

The words were playful, but the tone was unmistakably nervous. Your stomach flipped, an unfortunate decision made for you by the tension lingering in broad shoulders and the hesitancy in a smile that should have glowed. 

“I’ll allow it,” you said carefully. “On one condition. Can we get an uncomfortable conversation out of the way while we walk? So we can enjoy the rest of our night?” 

“Rip it off like a bandaid, huh?” he asked, and though his face was slightly scrunched, he didn’t seem inclined to fight you on it. 

“Pretty soon we’ll be expected to maintain good professional and personal standing with each other for a full five months,” you reminded him. “Honest and direct seems like the necessary way to go here.” 

“You’re right,” Steve said quietly, clearing his throat and scuffing his shoe against the sidewalk. “Walking and talking it is. You want to start?” 

He gestured to the right, and you fell into step beside him, taking a moment to organize your thoughts and hoping you’d have enough time to get past the cringiest bits before reaching your mystery destination. 

“Okay, well,” you pulled in a deep breath. “I’ll start by saying that even with my limited exposure, you seem like a really amazing - Are you cringing already?” you broke off with a laugh. 

Steve’s features were in fact twisted into a definitive wince, but he had the decency to look apologetic about it.

“Sorry! It just sounds like a polite rejection, and I’m not even sure what you’re rejecting.” 

“Yeah, alright, I hear it. Let me try again,” you said with a self-deprecating smile. 

You took a moment to reorganize your thoughts.

“We haven’t spent much time together so far, but what time we’ve had has been split between a… A sweet and fun Steve and someone more... tensed up. And after seeing you in there when Bucky was talking about the contract, I just feel like it might be something we need to talk about.” 

You peeked over at him, butterflies beginning to flutter to life in your stomach as you watched him bite nervously at his lip.

“I mean, I know that story sucked, but it seems like there’s maybe more going on with you,” you ventured hesitantly. 

“Okay, let me...” Steve rubbed at the back of his neck, releasing a sigh and looking for all the world like he was considering throwing himself through a storefront window to avoid this conversation. 

“I- I don’t really do… romance. And relationships,” Steve forced out, immediately looking thoroughly disgusted with himself in a way that made you want to laugh.

You locked it down, fighting to keep a neutral expression. Laughing now could easily be misconstrued as mocking and make him less inclined to open up to you. That wasn’t something you wanted to risk. 

“That’s not - I don’t do the casual thing either. I don’t do anything in that… arena,” he corrected. 

His exasperation was unspeakably cute. Punk.

He glanced uncertainly in your direction, and you gave a nod of encouragement. 

“Right… Um. Well, I’ve always had my reasons I guess, but by this point it’s just not really something I think about. Not in a way that applies to me, anyway. But then Bruce was texting me about helping out his friend in the English Department, and Bucky was instantly convinced that we’d… Well, you know. And he and Sam have just been… sprinting with it ever since.” Steve heaved a sigh, reaching up to fidget with his hair. “It’s kind of got me mixed up, I guess. I know it’s stupid, but -”

“It’s not stupid,” you interrupted.

Steve’s lips curled into an unconvinced frown, and you reached for his sleeve, guiding him to a stop.

“It’s not stupid,” you repeated. “You trust them, and you know they care about you. If they talk something up enough, of course you’re going to consider it. It would be weird if you didn’t.” 

“Well, I’m not exactly known for being easy to convince. So if it’s not stupid, it’s definitely troubling.”

My god, was that the beginnings of a pout you were seeing?

You giggled, reaching for his arm again to set you both back on course. He fell into step beside you again, leveling a thoroughly unimpressed look at his shoes. 

“Maybe you wanted to be convinced this time,” you tried. 

“Oh, yeah. Developing a crush on someone you’re not allowed to date and constantly being reminded of the horrifying precedent does sound like a good time,” Steve mumbled.

This time your stop was involuntary, a function of stumbling over your own feet in embarrassing surprise. Steve caught your hand, his other resting momentarily at your waist to stabilize you before falling away just as quickly. 

“Sorry,” he said, but you were still clutching his hand, heart racing from your near fall, face growing warm under his gaze.

“You don’t have to apologize, “ you said breathlessly. “I just - So, they did convince you then?” 

He cleared his throat, and you let each other go, shuffling to the side for a moment to make room for a tipsy group passing in the opposite direction. You reclaimed the sidewalk once they were behind you, taking a breath and already deeply regretting your question as you traveled several steps in silence. Who just asked people if they had a crush on them. Tony, probably, but certainly not you. 

“They introduced the idea,” Steve corrected quietly, still looking straight ahead of him when you chanced a peek in his direction. “But you’re the one who convinced me.” 

Your heart gave a hop, skip, and a jump in your chest, and it was your turn to bite your lip anxiously. Nobody this cute was allowed to have a crush on you. Illegal, dammit. 

And once you got around to signing that contract, it almost would be. 

“Well, my condolences,” you struggled out. “But you started it.” 

You forced yourself to meet Steve’s eyes when he glanced over at you in surprise.

“Did I?”

“Shut up,” you laughed, knocking your shoulder into him. “You know you’re cute.” 

“I… Well, maybe a little.” 

You shook your head, smiling at the tiny, pleased grin on his face and walking another few paces in silence.

“Right. So air cleared, yeah?” you asked. “We’ve established your feelings aren’t stupid. They’re… y’know.  Matched. But romance is off the table, so you don’t have to worry about that. Can we be friends now? No more cold, tense Steve?”

You reached your hand into the space between you, reveling in the gentle smile the gesture earned you as Steve gave it a definitive shake.

“We can be friends.” 

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

Several minutes later, Steve reached across you, pulling open a shop door and gesturing inside with a gallant sweep of his arm. The sign read Insomniac Booksellers, punctuated with a charming owl logo.

You hurried in with a delighted smile.

“Oh, you are so going to regret this decision. Did you really just bring an English professor to a bookstore?”

“You said Alex ruined your favorite one, so I thought I’d offer a replacement. This place is open 5 pm to 7 am. It’s usually pretty quiet. And the little cafe in the back is almost suspiciously good,” he said, lowering his voice to avoid disrupting the peaceful atmosphere. 

The wood floors creaked quietly beneath your feet as you stepped further into the store. Dark wood shelves dominated the space, lining the walls and nearly reaching the ceiling, a scant two feet of the deep green painted walls exposed above them. To your left, a large desk took the place of a checkout counter, an employee reclining in a puffy leather chair behind it, her feet propped on the edge as she read a battered sci-fi novel. She looked up long enough to offer a welcoming smile and wave before returning to her book. 

More shelves stood in sets of three in the center of the store, narrow aisles between each affording you glimpses of small sitting areas tucked among the stacks, clusters of plush mismatched chairs positioned around coffee tables and charging stations. The wider center aisle led straight back to a small coffee counter, where another employee spun absently on a stool while writing in a notebook. 

“Steve,” you said with a smile. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” 

“Up to your standards, then?” he asked, holding his hands up in surrender when you shot him an incredulous look. “Just checking.” 

He trailed after you as you did a quick circuit, familiarizing yourself with the way the shelves were organized before heading with purposeful strides to the shelves that housed plays. You ran your finger across the spines until you found what you needed and plucked it off the shelf to offer to Steve.

No Fear Shakespeare: Hamlet. 

“Wow, no faith in me, huh?” he asked with a grin. 

“I know you’re capable of picking up the language, but until then, it’s important you can check what’s going on when you get confused. Or encounter a page-long sentence,” you explained, fighting back the urge to roll your eyes at his knowing smile. “Obviously try the original language side first, but I’ve got no problem with you checking the modern translation when you need to. I’m not an asshole.” 

“Alright,” Steve agreed, tucking the book under his arm and reaching for his phone. “I actually need to get the rest of the books on the list too if you want to point out your favorite editions. I know that matters to people like you.”

“People like me?” you repeated, pressing your hand to your chest as if deeply offended. 

Steve rolled his eyes and handed you his phone, the screen displaying a note page listing the books from your syllabus. 

“You’re not the only English professor I’ve met, you know.” 

“Would my predecessor happen to be Sue of the infamous lemon bars?” You moved efficiently through the store, snagging the books from the list and adding them to a growing stack in Steve’s arms. 

“Maybe.”

“Her shortbread is divine too. If she ever offers you any, take it and treasure it,” you advised. 

As you placed the last book on the stack, you gave it a final little pat. 

“Right. These are on me.” 

“Uh, no. I was going to buy them anyway. You just saved me a trip,” Steve protested. 

“Well, I’m at least paying for this one,” you said, wiggling the No Fear Shakespeare out from under his arm. He huffed in annoyance but couldn’t stop you without dropping the rest of his books. 

“And something fun!” you added. “Do you read for fun?”

“I - yes, but I didn’t bring you here to buy me presents.”

“Bringing me here was a gift. I’m trying to reciprocate. What kind of books do you like?”

Steve blinked at you, pressing his lips into a firm line, a childish gesture of refusal that made you laugh.

“The silent treatment? That’s how you’re gonna play it? Alright, then I’ll have to guess.” You eyed him carefully, trying to keep the grin off your face. “I’m feeling old lady romance. Watercolor abs and billowy shirts,” you said decisively. 

“Damn. How did you know?”

Not willing to be the victim of a called bluff, you raised your eyebrows in challenge, making a beeline towards the romance shelves. 

“Oh, God. No! Wait!” 

You bit hard on your bottom lip, trying to contain a laugh as you heard Steve fumbling to follow after you, no hands free to halt your progress. 

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Steven. My friend Wanda and I bought each other some last Valentine’s Day and read them together. Of course she chose hers on the internet, not realizing that she was handing me a 900 page soap operas straight from the 80’s. But we meet every Saturday to talk about them, and let me tell you, that is some outstanding entertainment.” 

“You’re really gonna do this to me?” he sighed.

You pulled a book from the shelf, holding it up with a cheshire grin. 

“Look at that. Equal opportunity eye candy. We love to see it.” 

“St- ” He swallowed his protest in favor of dropping his books into a nearby chair and snatching the book from your hand, hiding the cover against his chest. 

“Really enthusiastic about it, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll buy it for you,” you giggled. 

“I’ll buy you a worse one,” he threatened. 

“Are you sure you’re prepared to undergo the research that threat would require?” you asked, and despite the glare he was leveling at you, there was amusement sparkling in those eyes. 

“Try me.” 

“Well then, Steve Rogers, it is my honor to introduce you to the time-honored game of Find the Phallus. Choose your book.”

The muscle in his jaw twitched, but his eyes betrayed nothing, staying fixed on yours as he reached blindly toward the shelf and pulled a book free. He set the other down on the chair beside him.

“Going with blind luck, huh? Bold choice. Works okay for Wanda, though.” You turned toward the shelves, eyes flicking over the titles before choosing one that sounded promising. 

“Rules?” Steve asked, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for a fight.

“On the count of three, we both open our books. First to find a sex scene wins.” 

“Call it.” 

You initiated the count through a smile, shifting into your game face as you rifled quickly through your book, skimming a few sentences from each page before moving on. Enemies to lovers, pirates vs navy. Classic. Your eyes caught on a particularly colorful euphemism, but as you opened your mouth to claim victory, Steve’s voice rang out.

“Got it! Page 15. They’re really not much for conversation apparently.”

“I literally just found one. This is a conspiracy,” You groaned, moving to peek at the page he was displaying for you. “Damn. ‘Pulsing manhood’ definitely earns you some bonus points.” 

Steve snorted, snapping the book closed and returning it to its space on the shelf with an overplayed grimace. 

“You’re not allowed to hate a game you just won,” you laughed. 

“Beginner's luck I didn’t particularly want. I think I’m scarred for life. This game was Tony’s idea, wasn’t it?”

“Yep. Although Bruce is actually the current champion. He’s very proud.”

“I’m sure he is,” Steve laughed sarcastically, taking the book from your hands and skimming the back of it. “This sounds terrible. I’m buying it for you.”

You smiled, taking an identical copy for Wanda as well as the romance novel Steve had placed with the reading list books. 

“Deal. If you put it in the middle of the stack, the cashier will already be halfway through small talk by the time she gets to it and therefore unable to comment.”

Steve smiled back, rearranging the order of his books accordingly as he gathered them back up into his arms. 

“Thanks for the advice. Are you ready to go, then? If we leave now, we should have time for stop number two.”

You nodded eagerly, following him to the front and keeping up a cheerful conversation with the cashier through both transactions. 

Once outside, Steve guided you one street over and several blocks back the way you had come, stopping before a tiny shop with a vibrant awning displaying a shop name in a language and alphabet you could not decipher. You looked to Steve in silent question, but he only smiled, pulling the door open for you and letting the flood of warm cookie-scented air answer for him. 

The inside was stark white - walls, floors, lights, everything but the tiny chairs and the shelves behind the counter, which were a vibrant lime green. The girl behind the counter seemed to recognize Steve, smiling widely before turning to prepare something. 

“Come here often, do you?” you asked jokingly.

“Once you taste their culinary masterpiece, you will understand.”

By the time you reached the counter, there was a paper bowl waiting, half full with a broken up chocolate chip cookies, melted chocolate running freely as steam rose from the container. A small glass bottle of milk went down next to it with a soft clink, and two spoons were stabbed into the cookie pieces. 

“You’re new! I’m Cory,” the girl introduced herself to you with a friendly smile. “Sorry for assuming, but trust me, this is the best thing on the menu, and you’ll want to share. Everyone shares. Except Bucky, but he always regrets it.”

“Oh, he doesn’t regret it,” Steve laughed, handing over the proper payment. 

“Well, he should,” Cory replied, handing back the change she already had waiting in her hand. She reached out and poured the milk over the cookies, placing the bottle on a tray of empties beside her. 

“What if I wanted to stay here and eat it this time?” Steve argued, lifting a disposable spoon with mock disappointment.

“We close in thirty minutes, and it would take you at least an hour to get out of those tiny chairs. Now, scoot.” 

“Rude!” he protested when you laughed, snatching up the cup and turning toward the exit. “Goodnight to you too, Cory.” 

Cory winked as you followed Steve out the door. 

“Excuse me, I thought we were sharing!” you said when you caught up, snatching the extra spoon from him.

“Maybe both spoons were for me,” Steve teased, but he shifted to hold the bowl between you, smiling as you tried to assemble the perfect bite. “Careful. Everything in there is an extreme temperature.”

You took your first bites at the same time, and Steve hummed in amusement when your eyes widened. 

What the hell was happening in your mouth? The cookie was virtually molten, almost burning your tongue before clashing with the near-frozen milk. Chocolate, brown sugar, and the perfect amount of salt lit up your taste buds, and Steve was fully laughing at you now as you smacked his shoulder excitedly. 

“Oh my God!”

“I know!”

“I wasted so much time not being your friend! How do you know the most magical hidden places in the city?”

Steve smiled smugly, taking another bite of cookie and milk as he shrugged. 

“I’m gonna die here on this sad, damp sidewalk, and I won’t even be mad about it,” you insisted, taking another bite yourself.

“Or I could walk you home so you can die somewhere more comfortable. If you want,” he offered. 

“Probably a good idea,” you said, checking your watch. “Wanda is only supposed to watch Faucet for another hour. Oh! That’s my dog - ”

“I know,” Steve laughed. “Bucky has told me a lot about her. I honestly think he might love her more than he loves me.” 

“Well, she is extremely lovable. I’d appreciate the company, but I don’t want you going too far out of your way. I live back towards the college,” you said, pointing with your spoon.

“Me too! Won’t be a problem.”

You shared contented smiles as you turned back towards home, walking closer than before to share the dessert. You weren’t sure which made you feel warmer. 

The sidewalk, previously uncontested, became more populated the closer you got to campus, groups of students filtering out of bars and returning home from parties. You weaved between them, keeping your head down to avoid traumatizing anyone with the experience of running into their professor while drunk. Beside you, Steve did the same. 

These groups thinned out again before disappearing entirely as you headed off the main streets towards the residential areas, and you carried on a quiet conversation until you came to a stop in front of your building. 

You hesitated a moment, studying Steve’s face before speaking. 

“Earlier tonight, I said that we needed honest and direct communication, and I want to keep that up. Do you believe me?”

“Yes,” Steve answered, a touch of concern entering his eyes. 

“So, believe that I mean exactly what I say when I ask if you want to come upstairs for a little while. To talk, rest a little, and meet my dog before you head back home. Those are my honest intentions,” you said carefully.

“I get to meet Faucet, huh?” The smile he gave you was tinged with shyness, and his eyes flicked up towards the windows.

“If you want to. No pressure, though.”

He thought for a moment, shifting slightly on his feet before looking back down at you.

“I’d love to.”

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

Ah!! How do we feel about the crush being out in the open now? Who would you want to challenge to the romance novel game? MOST importantly, do you think Faucet will like Steve? Thoughts, opinions, speculation, I want to hear them all!

As always, replies, reblogs, and asks make the world go round! Your reactions brighten my day!

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[phantomrose96]

Backfire

tw: description of injuries

...

Sometimes, crime happened quietly.

Sometimes it was a man in business attire entering a sleepy, small-town bank with a gun holstered at his hip.

Sometimes it was a few calm words requesting the cash from the vault with a cold barrel of steel tickling the teller’s neck.

Sometimes danger manifested only in bloodlust, and a sense of dread could take a room hostage with no fanfare at all.

This was the case as an ashen-faced citizen toed her way quietly out of the bank, heart in her throat, vision creeping gray at the edges, processing what she’d seen. The gun. The man. The hostages beneath the table. So quiet, so unremarkable, so lacking in the cacophony most villains brought with them that she almost hadn’t believed what she’d seen.

She thought to scream for help, but the image in her mind dazed her, subdued her. How had she walked out unscathed? How had he not pursued her? He’d seen her, those cold gray eyes flitting to hers for a single second when the bell chimed overhead. She’d seen him, his sweep of peppered hair catching the sunlight, his burgundy suit perfectly fitting on a tall frame. He should have killed her. She should be dead. How had she just walked back out?

The same tinkle of bells pelted out behind her. So gentle, and so non-threatening on a warm day of late May. But the sound dizzied her. She flinched, spun, a full-body shiver racking down her spine. The man in the burgundy suit stepped out. Unassuming, with just a simple briefcase in hand, he could pass for any other normal citizen were it not for the bevel at the hip of his suit where the gun was holstered. He looked at her briefly. His eyes locked hers, and she did not dare to breathe.

The man in the burgundy suit walked on.

“Ma’am… Ma’am?”

A hand touched her shoulder. She jumped.

“O-oh, sorry about that Ma’am! But are you okay? You look pale.”

It was a boy. A boy was speaking to her. She saw him now – half a head shorter than her, staring up at her from beneath a mop of curly plain hair that was tinted a deep forest green in the sunlight. His face was round and boyish, freckled, and he was dressed head-to-toe in a jumpsuit fortified with gauntlets, and leg braces, and a utility belt.

“…Hero?” she asked.

“Oh! Well uh, provisional hero, actually, um, I’m still in training! I’m a student. Deku. Is my name. You can call me Deku. My classmates and I are on patrol right now for training but. Um. You. Are you alright?”

She processed little of what he said. Her mouth moved slowly, numb.

“The bank,” she said.

“I’m sorry?”

“…was robbed. The bank.”

She raised a trembling hand, index finger outstretched, targeted to the building behind her. It basked, seemingly untouched, in the warm sunlight. No destruction, no panic, just a bright white façade with the vault emptied out from the inside. “The man in the business suit. Him. He robbed it” And steadily her arm swung, until the line from her finger pinned the back of the burgundy man shrinking to a nondescript figure on the horizon. “Had a gun. He had a gun.”

And the alarm bells sounded behind her.

Wailing sirens. Strobing lights. Like the brief pause in the world had ended. Reality resumed at full speed, full volume, smashing through her chest. Erupting a gasp from her lungs. Snapping her to her senses.

That’s when her knees gave out. The green-suited boy caught her. From the corner of her eye, she saw two more costumed children race after the man with the briefcase.

“It’s okay, Ma’am. It’s alright! We’ll handle this. Did he use his quirk? What power did he have? What did you see?” The boy – Deku - asked her.

She shook her head. “No quirk. No power. Just a gun. All I saw. Just a gun.”

“Did you see anything else?”

“No.”

“Okay. Okay, thank you. That’s very helpful! We’ll handle this.” He steadied her, and pulled his arms away. Thin glowing veins of light like spiderwebs spread across his body. “Get somewhere safe, Ma’am. The pros will be here soon.”

In a flash, he was gone.

…

“What’d you find out?” Todoroki asked, sidelong, as Deku raced in to match his stride. Bakugou flanked him on the other side, all three of them maintaining a safe 50 feet of distance behind the briefcase man, who’d broken into a run from the moment the alarm sounded.

“He didn’t use a quirk to rob the teller. Just a gun. So I’ve got no intel on his quirk. We should be cautious. His quirk could be anything.”

The man took a sharp right, off the main road. The towncenter street ebbed away behind them, trees and greenery punctuating the sides of the roadway as the residential area bloomed ahead.

“Or his quirk could be nothing,” Todoroki offered. “It’s unusual for a villain to rob a bank without using one. If we’re lucky, he might be quirkless.”

“Or it could not matter,” Bakugou interjected. He upped his pace, arms spread behind him with a few sparks flash-igniting along his palms. “Street’s empty here, and I’m not giving him the chance to attack first. Stay back while I blast this fucker!”

“We should wait for the pros!” Deku yelled. “If we just tail him—”

“If we just tail him. WEAK! I’m taking him down first. You two try to keep up!” Bakugou announced, voice cracking as he shouted over the flash-ignition of his gloves. A blast of heat washed over Deku, and Deku shielded his own eyes as Bakugou rocketed off ahead of him, instantly closing the gap to the fleeing suspect. 30 feet, 20, 10.

The suspect spun, meeting Bakugou’s eyes for a single second.

Several things happened in the next moment. The lock in Bakugou’s elbows, which kept his arms pointed straight behind him as propulsion, faltered. And he faltered like a helicopter faulters when one of its blades is taken out. His body gave a spasmodic jolt, teetering, veering. This came with a strangled eruption of noise from Bakugou’s throat, wet and choking. His arms curled. His gauntlets extinguished. And Bakugou crashed. Gracelessly, violently smashing to the asphalt below, his momentum still carried him forward, so that Bakugou’s body tumbled and skidded until slamming to a halt against the curb.

“Kacchan!” Deku felt his heart jump to his throat. He jerked forward. Todoroki swung one stiff arm out to stop him. “What was that? What did he do??”

“No idea,” Todoroki answered. And he swept his right arm out wider now, a cascade of blooming ice wrapping down the sidewalk and heading off the villain ahead, who’d tried just briefly to take off running once more. The villain halted, nearly tripping on his own feet, a split-second shy of colliding with Todoroki’s wall of ice.

Todoroki stopped, as did Deku, whose focus was divided between Bakugou’s crumpled form and the enemy ahead. Spasms still racked Bakugou’s body – alive, conscious – but he was not getting up. The lack of information terrified Deku the most, because he hadn’t even seen how the villain had struck Bakugou, let alone what it had done to him.

“Don’t get too close until we know what he can do,” Todoroki said.

“I know. I know, but,” Deku muttered in response, eyes still flitting to Bakugou. “Kacchan’s in danger. We can’t leave him there. If you distract the villain, just for a moment, I’ll grab Kacchan. I’m fast. I can do it in an instant. If you just cover me.”

Todoroki said nothing. He only nodded, and took one step forward, and ignited a pyre of flame crawling down his left arm. “Be fast. Before he blinks.”

Deku bounced from his spot. He covered that distance between him and Bakugou in a single bound. He wasted no time hoisting Bakugou around the middle, and spinning on heel, and bounding back to Todoroki’s side. Over in a moment, done in an instant, too fast for even the flit of the villain’s eyes, who’d been well distracted by the swell of fire along Todoroki’s left side.

Deku set Bakugou down gently, but he did not dare remove his hand from him.

“Are you hurt?” Todoroki asked.

“No. Nothing. He didn’t touch me.”

“How’s Bakugou?”

“I can’t tell. I don’t want to drop my guard.”

“Then take him and run. I’ll cover you.”

“No. I won’t abandon you here.”

“It’s fine.” With his words, Todoroki curled his right wrist up. Ice braided up and out, a single rail that slammed the villain’s arm and pinned it, solidified, against the wall of ice Todoroki had already erected. “I can keep my distance. Send the pros this way. I can hold him.”

Deku’s instincts screamed against him, swamped him with the guilt at the idea of leaving Todoroki to fight this battle alone. But Bakugou’s silent crumpled figure worried him more. The fact that Bakugou hadn’t so much as protested once – either against Deku saving him or Todoroki suggesting they escape – worried Deku more than he could properly explain.

“Alright. …Alright. I’ll be back. And with pros. This won’t be like Stain. I promise,” Deku said. For the first time, he let his sight fully stray from the villain. His eyes dropped to Bakugou instead, who was too curled in on himself to properly assess with a single glance. Beyond the tears and scrapes in his costume from slamming into the asphalt, Deku couldn’t see anything visibly wrong.

Deku bent down, and he wrapped one arm around Bakugou once more, and he cranked the power of One For All running through his bones just a bit higher. From 8% up to 10%. Because this was real. Because he needed to be fast, for Todoroki’s sake.

Deku’s feet never made it off the ground. He felt it like a crack in the pressure of the air, a sudden, distinct, discrete switch in the atmosphere that bled hot into his bones. He heard the choking wet inhale from Todoroki, and did not even need to look to confirm the horror in his gut.

Deku looked anyway. Eyes flitting in an instant to his right, he watched Todoroki jolt as though someone had taken a bat to the back of his knees. The wet keening inhale from Todoroki turned to a rasp, a burst of raw noise from his throat, and the wrapping flames along his left arm went out. In an instant, the smell on the wind turned terrible, and Todoroki buckled into the gravel.

“Todoroki?”

Deku crouched, his power ebbing down away from the 10% he couldn’t sustain. He did not dare release Bakugou, though now he tugged rightward in an attempt to hover over Todoroki too. Deku’s free hand hung suspended in the air. He did not set it down on Todoroki. It was perhaps his only weapon right now. Deku could not spare even the instant it would take to assess what had happened to Todoroki. He kept his eyes now on the villain, too heated and terrified to risk diverting his attention for even a microsecond.

Panic leaked through Deku’s very bones. He couldn’t carry both Bakugou and Todoroki and expect to escape. Stain. Iida. Todoroki. All too familiar.

“Get up,” Deku whispered. “Get up, please.” He wasn’t speaking to Bakugou or Todoroki in particular. It was to either of them. Both of them.

Neither responded in words. Not so much as a note of rage from Bakugou. That alone was bad, enough to heighten the fear already thrumming through his chest.

What could he do? Could he risk turning his back on the villain? Could he even spare a moment to figure out how wounded the other two were? Presently, Deku did not feel like he could look away. Because If the villain dropped him too, they stood no chance.

How long until the pros would get here?

“What happened? What happened??” Deku asked, short of breath. “What did he use?? What did he do?? Please. Todoroki. Kacchan. What did he do?”

Some noise came from Todoroki, but nothing that formed coherent words. A whistling from his throat too pained to wrap into words. Quick glances told Deku nothing. Todoroki had curled in on himself, too hidden to evaluate for damage.  

“Yoo-hoo! Young man!” The villain. Deku bolted upright, vision latched firmly to the man up against the ice wall. His gray eyes met Deku’s, and peppery hair slicked with sweat clung in curls to his forehead. “You seem strong and strapping, and it appears my route home has been blocked by this ice, as has my wrist. Think you could knock it down for me? I’d very much like to be on my way.”

“And why would I help you?!” Deku shouted. “Look what you—"

“If you help me out, I promise to let your friends live.”

“…What did you do? What happened to them? What’s your quirk?!” Deku continued. He rose now, tall on legs he did not fully trust to support him, and he took a single uncertain step forward. His body blocked Bakugou and Todoroki behind him. Deku held himself up as a human shield between them and the villain whose quirk could incapacitate without so much as a single touch.

“Oh my quirk is really quite useless in today’s society, I don’t think you should fret! I do reiterate that I would love to have this ice wall removed though. I hear sirens in the distance.”

“T…Tell me… Tell me your quirk.”

“Certainly, if you break this ice wall.”

Deku stood, frozen, indecision rooting him to the spot, heart pounding in his throat. The villain had the advantage. The villain had information he didn’t. The villain had knowledge of how to drop Todoroki and Bakugou in a single moment, and that – the fact that it was those two specifically – cowed Deku more than he wanted to admit.

Something knocked his left ankle.

Deku broke eye contact with the villain, eyes shooting to his side. He blinked, and looked truly at what had tapped his ankle, pulling his thoughts back together.

Bakugou’s gauntlet.

Bakugou, face down in the gravel still, had craned his neck far enough for his eyes to lock with Deku. Pitifully, he knocked his gauntlet against Deku’s ankle once more.

“…Off,” Bakugou wheezed out between labored breaths.

“Off?” Deku asked.

“Get it off,” Bakugou keened, and the traces of bravado did nothing to hide the agony of his words.

“Oh. O-okay.” With one more glance thrown to the villain to ensure he hadn’t moved, Deku crouched fully to Bakugou’s side. When he grabbed the gauntlet, Bakugou hissed. When he pulled, Bakugou yowled.

“It’s stuck,” Deku said. “Why is it stuck?”

He traced his hands down the length of the gauntlet, to where the edges of the gloves met skin. Deku turned Bakugou’s arm over, eyes trained to the inner forearm, and felt his stomach twist into knots.

“It’s melted,” Deku mouthed. But those words weren’t quite right, and Deku understood that the longer he looked. The gauntlet and the gloves hadn’t melted – it was Bakugou’s own skin that had melted to them. Deku looked more closely to where glove met flesh. The exposed skin beneath the glove was welted red and bubbled, peeled raw with flays of dead white skin curling back and away toward his elbow. Tissue, down nearly to tendon, was exposed beneath and it leaked beads of fluid that gave Bakugou’s whole wound a thick greasy shine.

Deku had never seen a burn victim in real life, but he understood well enough what he was looking at. It was the wounding pattern of someone who’d been gripping a live grenade, burned so deep and so thoroughly that Bakugou could scarcely form words.

“Kacchan.” Deku had nothing else to say.

“He seems pretty badly burned,” the villain tossed out. His voice was sing-song, nonchalant. “At least, that’s my assessment from the smell wafting over here.”

“Fire… is it a fire quirk? Did you burn him?” Deku asked, but something didn’t sit right in his chest. This wasn’t like Todoroki’s fire quirk. Deku had seen no flames from the villain. He’d seen nothing.

“…Run.”

Deku’s head snapped down to his right, tilting back, following the noise. It was Todoroki who had spoken. Still on the ground, with his right hand clawing into the gravel, Todoroki stared up at Deku with desperate eyes. “Run. Get the pros. Just run.”

“No.”

“Run!”

“No!”

“Before he gets you too!”

“N—” Deku stopped short, his whole body spinning toward Todoroki. He had a chance finally to see the damage, to look Todoroki over properly, now that Todoroki had unfurled himself. The whole length of Todoroki’s left arm – no, his whole left side – had been seared down to a greasy red. In his panic earlier, Deku hadn’t registered the smell of singed fabric, of burnt flesh. The burn pattern was hauntingly uniform up and down the whole length of Todoroki’s left arm, along shoulder and neck and cheek and creeping up to the corner of his eye. Strands from the fabric of his uniform were woven into the burns, like tree roots through mucky soil, finding purchase in the subcutaneous tissue.

Burned as well. Burned as well... The villain had gotten him just as he’d gotten Bakugou. Deku wondered if he had only seconds left. Or if perhaps the villain had abstained from attacking him since Deku seemed to be his last hope at breaking through the ice wall.

“I’m losing patience with you, boy. I’ll do the same to you as I did to your friends if you don’t help me.”

Ice wall…. Made of ice.

“Do… what? Are you going to burn me too?”

“Oh, perhaps.”

“I think that would be hard… since you don’t have a fire quirk.” Deku steadied his breath. He found his voice. He pinned his eyes on the villain. “If you did, you could have melted yourself free.”

The villain said nothing. Deku swallowed dryly. A thought stung in the back of his mind, a seed of ice that spread cool and tingling through his body. A hope. A hunch. A prayer, maybe.

“I think, actually, you have no idea if you can attack me,” Deku continued. The wailing sirens bled louder behind him. “The threats you’re making right now. You’re bluffing.”

“Oh, you sound so confident, young man. Are you so confident that you’re willing to end up like those two on the ground?”

“…Yes, actually,” Deku answered. And he pulled a smile to his face, a small and wavering on, still shaken by his bout of panic, but it was one he held. “Because I’ve already ended up like them.”

“I don’t think you understand what you’re up against.”

“They’re burned. They’re really badly burned. But.. they burned themselves, didn’t they? Kacchan’s palms. Todoroki’s left side. You didn’t attack them. You made them attack themselves. Your quirk cancels out a person’s bodily immunity to their own quirk, doesn’t it?”

A silence. An emptiness filled the space between them. Only the sound of the swelling sirens from far behind filled the gap. The villain offered only a simple smile, which curled wider and brighter than Deku’s. He barked a laugh, delighted.

“Oh, you’re a smart boy,” the villain answered. “It’s a useless quirk in day to day life. But it’s brilliant against heroes. I really love seeing how they crumble when they get a taste of their own medicine.” The man cocked his head. “And I’ll bet you’re thinking how smart you are right now – you’ll just not use your quirk against me, right? I’m already pinned. You’ve practically won.” His unrestrained hand snaked to his belt in an instant, and with a flash of sun glinting along steel, he unholstered the gun from his side. “Which is why I carry this. So choose. Use your quirk and incapacitate yourself. Choose not to use it, and die by my gun. Or free me. It’s your choice. But I’m only giving you five seconds to make it.”

Five

“I’m choosing D – none of the above,” Deku answered.

Four

“Final answer?”

Three

Sirens keened closer. The slam and tumble of footsteps approaching. Deku breathed deep, and let the power thrumming through his bones dial up.

Two

“Yeah, final answer.”

One.

“Well then, sorry about this.” The villain cocked his gun, and set his pointer finger to the trigger.

Zero.

Deku kicked off from his spot in the road, light erupting in spider veins through his body. He pulled one arm back and cocked it. When he released it, it with power fine-tuned to 20% of his limit. Knuckle connected with jaw, and cracked the villain’s head sideways, and tumbled the gun from his grasp, and snuffed his consciousness with the ugly, calculated pop of his neck.

…

The pros hit the scene hardly 30 seconds later – two local heroes flanked with four sidekicks bursting through the bushes and trampling a few unfortunate flower beds as they slammed into a fight that had already ended.

They halted. A murmur rumbled through the pros, with one mouthing just audibly “Is that Backfire?” The words set the whole group of heroes on instant high alert, shooting like an electric current through each of them. One hero stepped forward, swinging a heavy hand out.

“Get back from him, kid! If that’s Backfire you don’t want to—” the hero, a burly man with cannons in his palms who Deku recognized as the Pro Hero Fodder, trailed off as he looked closely, drinking in the scene. The villain, Backfire, was slumped unconscious against the ice wall, pinned by his wrist. Deku breathed heavily, still sparking off a few vestigial traces of energy from the fight.

“I think… he got him.” The next pro, a woman with an acid-like sheen along her skin, stepped cautiously forward. Deku recognized her as well – Pro Hero Medusa. “A kid took down Backfire?”

“Oh… oh shit, look, Medusa. Over there. On the ground.”

“Oh sh—Quaker, call an ambulance!”

Deku’s ears were ringing. His senses had not caught up with him, not since connecting the final punch, not since the adrenaline spike ebbed to a near-sedative afterglow. He blinked, trying to come back to himself.

Fodder’s hands came down on Deku’s shoulders, snapping him back to reality.

“Kid, you okay?”

“Huh?” Deku blinked. “Yeah. But they’re—Kacchan and Todoroki! They’re both—”

“My sidekick’s calling an ambulance. We’re on it already. Don’t worry. He’s also got a first aid kit on him too. It’s okay now. You’re okay.”

Deku nodded. “Are they going to be okay?”

“They’re going to be okay.”

“The villain’s quirk. It canceled out their quirk immunity—”

“—We know. Trust us, we know.” Fodder looked up, giving Backfire’s slumped body a once-over glance, a grimace crossing his face. “This guy has hospitalized more heroes in this area than we—no, forget it, how did you do it? How’d you take him down?”

Deku looked at his own hand. He saw the image of it broken and busted a dozen times over. And yet here it was, completely intact, utterly uninjured. He flexed it, to be sure.

“It was simple. Really simple actually.”

Deku pulled his glove off. The skin beneath was completely undamaged, the last traces of Full Cowling fading away in the aftermath.

“It’s like… Kacchan’s palms don’t burn. And neither does Todoroki’s left side… Because they’re compatible with their quirks. Without that, neither of them would ever be able to use their quirks… But I’m incompatible to start.”

Fodder looked Deku over properly for the first time since arriving on scene, eyes squinting just a fraction. “Incompatible? Are you… I recognize you from the U.A. Sports Festival, that was you, wasn’t it? The kid who broke all his bones?” Fodder looked over his shoulder. “Shit… and those two are the First and Second Place winners, aren’t they? My office tried to scout Todorok—never mind. Never mind. What do you mean, kid? What were you saying.”

Deku pulled himself out of Fodder’s grip. He felt his own senses returning. He pulled in a few deep breaths to ground himself, and offered a simple, cordial smile.

“I mean, I was just lucky, I suppose. Backfire’s quirk didn’t work on me. Because I have no immunity to my quirk to start. I’ve injured myself plenty of times with it. So many times that I was risking permanent injury if I didn’t stop. So I learned to stop. All the training I’ve done has been to restrain my quirk enough to keep its power within my body’s limits. Backfire couldn’t have hurt me if he tried. I was… really just lucky.”

Deku stepped around Fodder. “I’m going… I want to wait with Kacchan and Todoroki. For the ambulance. Please. If I can.”

Fodder nodded, and he watched the boy go, sinking into his own thoughts. The fact that Backfire had been captured still had not caught up to him. Disbelief. And relief. After so many incidents of pro heroes near-fatally damaged by their own quirk, after so many gruesome scenes he’d arrived at. It was nigh unconscionable to accept that a single kid had taken him down.

Images of the U.A. Sports Festival flashed in his mind, the manic bloody broken desperation of that boy. And Fodder’s initial disbelief started to wane. Maybe this boy – this Izuku Midoriya of Class 1-A – couldn’t be classified as just some kid.

He’d seen heroes contemplate retirement after a brush with Backfire. The post traumatic fear of using their own quirk overwhelmed some of them, from just a single instance of damaging themselves beyond their control with it. Whatever this boy’s training had looked like, it had meant throwing himself headlong into his own destruction as many times as necessary to teach himself restraint.

He was fighting with exactly the handicap that Backfire inflicted on others, and still functioned at the level of someone who was nearly pro.

The boy had claimed he was “lucky”. Fodder watched him crouch down beside his friends, nudged back by the paramedics who’d just arrived on scene, watched him offer a smile and words that Fodder could not hear while the blond boy yelled back something unintelligible, which for unclear reasons brought a relieved smile to Midoriya’s face. 

Fodder understand only a fraction of the whole picture, but from what he’d witnessed, he knew it was something well beyond luck that burned in that boy.

[starrswife]

What Goes On - Ringo x Reader

Friends from childhood, an unlikely pair of Liverpudlians face the challenges of growing up.

-

Thank you @moodysunflowergirl for beta-reading this chapter and being so kind to me.  

I hope you all enjoy this series!     

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Word Count - 2.1k

Warnings - none

Chapter Summary - November, 1957, Y/n decides to concentrate on schoolwork, but a bored and restless Richard has other plans. 

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“Doncha half to get back to work soon?” Y/n attempted to ask, mouth full.

Everyday since Richard had dropped out of school, he bought her a pastry from the local bakery and walked her home during his lunch break. At first, the baked good had served as reparations for what Y/n said was, quote, “Abandoning me all alone in hell,” but the tradition continued to stick.

“Nah, my boss let me off early,” he walked backwards to face her, “What do ya’ wanna do? My whole day’s cleared.”

Chewing her last bite, she brushed off her hands of any crumbs. Rich gestured for her to take back the schoolbag she forced him to carry, despite knowing she would just shake her head and make him hold it for the entire walk.

“I’ve got to study, I’m sorry.”

“Again? But you’ve been at it the entire week,” he complained.

“College is a lot more difficult than our old school, Rich. But I’ll go over to yours, if you’d like. Maybe… say, tutor you a bit?”

He rolled his eyes and turned back to face the right way.

“Don’t waste your energy trying.”

She huffed, “Fine, be illiterate your entire life.”

“I’m not illiterate.”

“You can hardly spell.”

“Well, I can read.”

“Oh, lovely, at seventeen years old, you’ve got at least half of it down.”

“Lay off you prick.”

Richard made a move to shove Y/n, but she dodged it, taking off down the sidewalk.

Accepting the stupidly immature challenge, he wasted no time chasing after her.

They maneuvered through pram-pushers who gave them a friendly nod, and business men who scowled at the very sight of their smiling faces.

The icy air felt like blades against her skin as she ran, but with Richie gaining on her, she only sped up the pace. Like usual Liverpool weather, the sky kept at a gloomy grey, and the cobble walkways were darker in color, dampened by the previous night’s rain.

Y/n hopped over the puddles, not wanting to get her oxfords dirty, but Richie couldn’t bring himself to care, charging straight through them.

Reaching their turn and not wanting to give up, Y/n sprinted across the road, Rich following close behind. They screamed out of both fear and amusement when cars honked at them, or shouted, expressing their vexation.

“No!” Y/n yelled, glancing backwards. She tried to speed up, but it was too late. Richard grabbed her arm and pulled her back, wrapping his arms around her shoulders to keep her from escaping. They struggled to catch their breath, each puff coming out as white clouds, that faded into the air. It proved difficult to do so, while simultaneously in a fit of laughter.

“Let me go!”

“Surrender!”

“Never!” Y/n wriggled around in his grip, but to no avail.

“I won’t until you admit what a loser you are.”

Rich laughed, a high pitched and boyish sound that always evoked a smile from Y/n, even while she was mumbling about how much of an arse he was.

Eventually tiring out, she went limp, fully defeated.

“You give up? Say it.”

“I give up.”

“And what?”

“You win, and I’m a loser! Now get off of me.”

He obliged with a grin of triumph then stepped away, and immediately, the winter air chilled her spine as if a blanket had been ripped off of her.

Was it odd to want the warmth back? To want him to pull her closer?

She walked a bit farther away from him, deciding it was odd.

They fell into comfortable silence, enjoying their peaceful stroll as they usually did when not bantering. As the town led further into Richie’s neighborhood, the houses became more and more decrepit, tiny lots with peeling paint and splintered door frames. Abundant rubble, sad reminders of the war, had become playgrounds for imaginative schoolboys. They had grown used to these surroundings, and now, reaching 10 Admiral Grove, the dirt coated bricks and rusty letterbox had become a warm, familiar welcome.

They hung up their coats and headed up the creaky, narrow stairs to his room.

Rich slung her bag onto the bed and sighed in relief. The amount of textbooks she had to haul around made him glad he’d dropped out.

Y/n sat at the foot of the bed, grabbing her bag and pulling out a few of them.

“Mind if I practice a bit?” Richie asked, already walking towards his drums. His stepdad, Harry, had recently bought him his very own set, and he had become a menace, constantly playing, even into late hours of the night.

She groaned. She loved his drumming, really, but it wasn’t the best background noise for calculus homework. Still, she nodded for him to go ahead.

An hour passed, and Richie was now lying on the floor, twirling his drumsticks. One slipped and smacked him on the face, and he glanced up at Y/n to make sure she didn’t see that. Luckily, she was laying on his bed, fully absorbed in her history notes.

Another hour gone. Richie put on a record and cranked up the volume. Y/n made him turn it down. He resorted to making tea.

Sixty minutes later. His half-drunk tea had gotten cold and now sat solitary on his table. He was laying beside Y/n, flipping through her books and giggling about the human anatomy photos.

By six in the evening, Richard had grown fidgety and impatient.

“Y/n.”

No reply.

“Y/n.”

Nothing.

“Fine. I’ll just take a nap.”

He laid back and sprawled his limbs about the bed, making a point to bother her. With his leg over her back and an arm balanced on her head, she finally snapped at him in irritation.

“What do you want?”

He stared directly at her for a moment, then shut his eyes and pretended to snore.

Y/n pushed him off of her and grabbed a pillow to try to suffocate him.

“Someone help!”

He dramatically writhed around before going limp like a corpse.

Slowly, she lifted the pillow up, peering behind it to see his face, eyes shut with his tongue hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

He snatched the pillow from her and pushed her over with it.

She screamed, stifling her laughs and curling into a ball as Rich whacked her with it, her schoolwork spilling off the bed.

“I hate you,” she stated as he flopped backwards, both out of breath.

“Aww,” he cooed mockingly. She threw the pillow at him and got up to retrieve the things from the floor. “Seriously?”

“Seriously, what?”

“It’s been hours, Y/n. It’s Friday night. Let’s go do something.”

“I look horrible, I don’t want to go out.”

“No you don’t, you always look nice. Can we go, please, please, please, plea-“

“Ok, fine! Let me get ready, will you?”

Like a puppy, Richie sat on the edge of the bed, watching Y/n intently as she stood in front of the mirror, trying her best to brush her wind-tousled hair with his comb. She readjusted her black headband, making sure her bangs were out to frame her face. Once finished, she grabbed a tube of rosy lipstick from her bag, and dotted just a bit on before rubbing her lips together to blend it.

It had to look natural.

Her mother had once told her she looked like a hooker for wearing full coverage makeup, and for some strange reason, she felt uncomfortable doing anything remotely feminine around her father. Even when they weren’t near, the need to appease them stuck.

She turned around, “How do I look?”

“Like a square,” he teased.

Y/n glared, and he was quick to reword his statement.

“A pretty square!”

/

The gusty, evening air was as cold as ever, and the two of them stuffed their hands in their pockets, trying to somehow shrink themselves into the warmth of their coats.

“What did you do at work today?” Y/n asked, shivering.

“Uhm, we really just fooled around. Roy, Eddie, and me.”

“Ah, I gotta see the Eddie Miles band in action one day.” “Actually, we renamed ourselves Eddie Clayton and the Clayton Squares. We might pick up some gigs soon, I don’t know, hopefully.”

“Oh, that’d be fab. I’ll be there for every one of your shows,” she looked up to meet his eye, “I promise.”

Richie smiled. It was small, but sincere and warm. He held her gaze just a bit longer, admiring how she looked under the yellow glow of the lampposts. The tip of her nose was pink from the cold, and the way she looked all bundled up was so... so... adorable.

He cleared his throat and turned away from her. “Thanks.”

They got on the bus to Garston, and as it was Y/n’s turn to pay the driver, she caught up to Rich when she was finished.

Even if the bus was completely vacant, the two ran up to sit on the second floor, racing to get there before it started driving again. It was just another one of their antics.

Finally arriving at Wilson Hall, the two took off their coats and followed the crowd to the dance floor. On stage was a group of rough-looking boys, playing as loud as they could with their makeshift instruments. The audience nearly matched the volume, laughing and hollering as they spun about.

“Well, c’mon then,” Richie grinned, reaching out to grab her hands.

She giggled bashfully as he twirled her, and after a bit, loosened up until the both of them were twisting wildly as if their life depended on it. Richard’s slicked back curls bobbed as he stepped, and Y/n’s circle skirt swayed proudly with her hips.

It was crowded, hot, and stuffy, but while dancing, no one seemed to care. It was electrifying, freeing, and for once they were able to forget about their hardships and stresses.

The song came to an end and the crowd gave an applause, eagerly awaiting for the next band to come on.

“I’m going for a coke, d’you want anything?”

Y/n shook her head, “I’m okay, I’ll wait here.”

Rich nodded and squeezed his way through to the bar.

She stood alone, fiddling with her fingers as the next band started and the couples began to dance.

The music now was more jazz than rock or skiffle, and everyone was paired up, swinging each other around and leaving Y/n to stick out like a sore thumb.

Looking over the room, she thought about how much better the other girls looked than her. Their dresses were sleeveless, their faces glowing with expertly done makeup, and their hair somehow curled perfectly at the ends.

She tugged off her cardigan. Would that help? It didn’t show any skin -her button down blouse preventing it- but at least it took a layer off. She glanced down at herself. Were her boobs not big enough? Nah, they were an all-right size for her age, but maybe just a little bigger would be-

“You alright, miss?”

She gasped, snapping her eyes up from her chest.

There, towering over her, was a man with Elvis-esque hair, a fitted leather jacket, and a smirk tugging at his lips. He looked older, perhaps in his early twenties, and he… just wow.

Y/n was taken aback.

“I-I’m alright.”

“How come a pretty girl like you doesn’t have a partner?”

“Oh, uh, thank you. I’m actually waiting for someone to get back, he just,” Y/n awkwardly gestured behind her, lost for words.

“Mind if I keep you company until then?”

He offered his hand to dance, and with a hesitant nod, she accepted.

/

The trip home was almost silent.

Y/n vaguely addressed why she was gone the whole night, and Richard said it was okay.

After a bit of a search, he’d realized she was with another guy and went off to dance with the other birds too. However, he didn’t know how things had… escalated with her and the man.

He asked if she would step out with him. He was mysterious and suave, and it was exhilarating. How could she say no? But when the nameless man pressed her against the brick alley, hands caressing her hips and waist, a sudden tsunami of uncertainty and panic crashed against her. He was nearing her lips, but the once sensual closeness had become suffocating- she couldn’t do this!

“Y/n, love?”

She blinked out of it.

“What’s wrong? You’ve been staring at the wall.”

Spewing the words before she could think them through, Y/n deadpanned, “Teach me how to kiss.”

[slasherholic]

synopsis: Michael’s stalking is interrupted when someone tries to hit on him. You have to break the news to him: it’s because he’s stupid sexy.

Oblivious | Michael Myers x Reader

He stands on the curb at the edge of the park and watches her like a hawk from the shade of a gnarled oak. The girl sits on a swing and her pen moves back and forth across her page and the breeze tousles her hair into loose strands and he can see her shivering.

His breaths come slowly. He barely moves. The urge to pounce seethes in every fiber of his muscles and his body is wound with all the tension of a loaded pistol. 

Soon. Her back is turned towards him; she wouldn’t see him coming. Soon. 

But not yet.

A man with a dog walks past on the sidewalk. A woman in tight clothing runs down the street. Two boys throw a ball on the grass. The others do not see him. Some glance in his direction—and they notice him, but they do not see him. They cannot see him. Because he does not wear the mask. 

If he strikes, they will see. They will see on his bare face the mask and in his empty fists the knife and they will know him as he truly is. 

He will wait.

He had followed her from the house on foot. He had lurked just out of view as she stood in her room and gathered up her books and her bag and all the while her head was like a swivel. She was looking for him. Expecting him. An eagerness swelled in his chest and his fingers twitched and sought the familiar weight of deadly steel. She had been well-within striking distance. One lunge and he could have had her by the throat. His body pulsed with excitement. But his mind was clear. Focused. 

It was not time yet. The girl had not seen him then—but she felt him. 

He had filled his lungs with strong breaths and resigned himself to patience. He would watch her. Follow. Wait. And when she no longer saw him lurking in every shadow, when she no longer steeled for his approach at every creak of the house around her, when she no longer felt his hands on her body in every gust of wind, when she thought he could not reach her, when he was the furthest thing from her mind, when she was safe—

Then. Then he would strike.

He watched the girl as she zipped up her bag and flew down the stairs and turned the doorknob and slipped out the door. He followed her down the street. He kept his distance and matched her pace. The girl walked for a block and then thought herself safe from him. She stared down at the sidewalk beneath her feet as she went and did not look around. 

She turned off into a park. He watched her sit down and take out her books and begin to write.

She has not moved since. And neither has he.

The park is empty when the girl stands up from the swing. She gathers her books into her arms. She cuts back across the grass. He watches. The running woman in tight clothes passes him on the street again. Closer this time. But he does not turn his head to study her; his focus on his prey is steadfast.

The prey starts down the sidewalk again and now she is coming closer to him. Closer to the shade of the oak. Closer. She is looking at the ground. Closer. He will strike fast. He will clamp his hand down over her mouth. And trap her against the tree. And watch her eyes grow wide. And let her squirm. And let her struggle. And let her—

“Hey.”

...An Interruption. 

His head turns slowly. 

It is the woman in tight clothes. She leans against a park bench. He stares at her. She looks at him. She smiles. 

“I know it’s super out of the blue, but do you live around here?”

He breathes. She is not talking to him. He waits for her to look away. 

...But she does not look away. She smiles more. Laughs.

“Sorry if I’m being too forward.”

She steps away from the bench. He feels her eyes sweeping his body. She watches him. She watches him like he watches the girl.

“I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

...She is not talking to another. Her words are meant for him. 

She sees the Shape. She knows.

~

“...On the cover of a magazine, maybe?”

Comes the flirtatious voice from off to your left, followed by some nervous giggling. It pulls you from your thoughts and you glance up from the sidewalk. A jogger in spandex tights stands in the shade and coils the end of her ponytail around her finger.

Your mouth falls agape and you nearly drop your bag. Because then, you notice who she’s talking to.

A tall figure lurks in the shade of a thick tree trunk. It’s Michael. He stands perfectly still and melds with the shadows like a panther. The winding sidewalk would have taken you right past him; an ambush. 

Your heart races. Twenty more seconds and he’d have had you.

But now, his cover is blown—and if you’re overhearing this tragically one-sided conversation correctly he’s about to be asked out.

Although his hands are not around the woman’s throat just yet you can see the quiet bloodlust brewing in Michael’s eyes. The woman is offering herself up to him on a silver platter.

Please don’t do something stupid. You beg him, as if he can read your thoughts. Please don’t do something stupid.

You gather the pieces of your shattered composure and abandon the sidewalk, beelining across the grass. Michael’s eyes flit to you as you approach. He studies you callously. Then turns his head and stares again at the woman in front of him. You are no longer his priority.

“Anyway, I just thought I’d try my luck. Would you wanna grab a coffee with me some—?”

“Excuse me,” You interrupt. The jogger’s voice trails off. She glances over her shoulder at you. Her lips press finely together and she glares like you just called her some foul name.

Without thought, you do something that you know could very well get you into deep shit later. You do it anyway, because you need to get Michael away from here. Away from these witnesses. Out of this public place.

You brush intimately up against Michael’s side and intertwine your fingers through his. You grip his calloused hand with the eagerness of a star-crossed lover. And you try your damndest to look normal for the both of you, because you know that Michael won’t.

“He’s taken.”

Michael doesn’t even look at you as you touch him. His fingers twitch impatiently. He starts to squeeze your hand. He squeezes until his knuckles turn white. It takes all your willpower to keep the grimace off your face—Michael is telling you where he’d rather be putting his fingers right now. 

The woman pouts at you.

“Alright. Have a good one, then.” She says, in a too-sweet tone, before turning on her heel and jogging away down the sidewalk. Michael’s stare lingers after her.

“Please,” You whisper up at him. “Let’s just go.”

You take a step back and try to pull him away from the tree. Michael doesn’t budge. He anchors the two of you firmly in place and studies the retreating jogger, and just like that you know the woman’s fate is sealed. You try not to think about it. You just need to get him home.

“Michael.”

He ignores you. Doesn’t move a muscle. Hardly even breathes.

“She doesn’t know. I promise.”

You hear him exhale, long and steady. Still he ignores you. You doubt he’s even listening. You abandon tact and jump straight to the point.

“Look. Listen. She wasn’t threatening you. She was just flirting. Do you even know what that means?”

A beat passes. Michael looks down at you and his stare is cold. It always is. But it is not totally impassive; a glimmer of inquisitiveness flashes in his eyes. Something you said has caught his attention.

“It...well, it means you’re hot.”

Now, Michael’s stare is blank. No hint of understanding flickers on his face. A poor choice of words on your part—he’s not following. 

You force out an exhale and try to reiterate. This is going to be hard. 

“I mean, you’re attractive. Like, your face. And your body. Really attractive. In a way that makes people want to have sex with you. And… ask you out for coffee.”

Michael blinks. You can almost see the gears turning in his head. You aren’t sure if you’ve gotten through to him; either way, you’re grateful that his curiosity has kept him from committing a murder in broad daylight.

You shoulder your bag and unzip it with the hand that isn’t currently being crushed in Michael’s grip. He watches you closely as you take out your hand mirror and hold it up for him to see.

“Just... look. I know you don’t care. But please. Look at yourself and try to understand what I’m telling you.”

Michael’s harsh gaze lingers on your face as you speak. Then, his eyes flitting down to the mirror, he turns his scrutinizing glare on his own reflection. 

He doesn’t blink as he studies himself. You wonder what he sees. 

You wonder if he notices the way his unbrushed hair falls in gentle waves around his face. You wonder if he notices the symmetry in his features, in the graceful curve of his jaw, in the slight pout of his rosy lips. Most of all, you wonder what Michael sees in his own eyes. You wonder if he recognizes his piercing gaze for what it is—the leer of a ruthless predator. Captivating. Mesmerizing. Hard to look at; harder still to look away from.

Or if he just sees eyes. Just a face. As unremarkable to him as all the rest.

~

He looks at the mirror. The smudge on the glass is more interesting to him than the reflection. But still he looks. The face in the mirror is his own. It is different now than it had been; the hair is dark. The eye that no longer sees is scarred and white. 

His curiosity in these things is momentary. His interest fades as abruptly as it was sparked. He does not understand the girl’s meaning. And he no longer cares.

~

Michael studies himself for hardly five seconds. When he looks away from the mirror his grip eases off your hand. The jogger is now a blurry figure in the distance, and as Michael starts down the winding sidewalk after her you know that there is nothing on heaven or earth you can do to make him see the meaning behind your words.

Just as a tiger could never comprehend that is renowned for its beauty,

Michael will never understand that he is, in fact, stupidly gorgeous.

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Welcome to Oblivion--Ch. 15

Chapter 15

           Drew looked up from the notebook on his lap and grunted. “Addy? You okay?”

           The sound of his voice startled me awake. It was the week before Thanksgiving and the majority of the professors had decided it was time they torture us with exams and papers and projects. I’d been up late the night before working on a paper for my world history class and then had to get up early for a Poms workout. I shouldn’t have been surprised that I’d practically fallen asleep on my textbooks.

           “Huh?” I asked, wiping drool off the corner of my mouth.

           The big Scotsman laughed and leaned back in his chair. “You’re useless right now,” he said with a grin. “Go take a walk or something. Otherwise, we’re both going to fail psychology.”

           I nodded, not quite hearing what he was saying. Standing up, I threw on my jacket and tugged gloves over my hands. A walk around the quad would do me good. That, and maybe a stop at the coffee shop. Yeah, I thought, that’ll do the trick.

           The sky was gunmetal grey as I stepped out into the quad. Leftover frost tinted the grass silver. Freshly spread salt crunched under my feet on the sidewalk. The weather was calling for snow overnight. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a good, heavy snow. Living down South made that a rare occurrence. I nearly jogged to close the distance to the student center. The cold bit at my face and slid down into my lungs.

           I let out a sigh when I stepped into the warm, coffee scented air of the shop. Just the smell perked me up more than I would have thought. People were milling around, some at tables with laptops and stacks of textbooks, others curled up on mismatched furniture with containers of steaming muffins. I dropped into the line and tugged off my gloves so I could dig out my card.

           “Shit,” I said under my breath, realizing too late that I’d left everything in the dorm. I didn’t even have my key to get back into the building. Or my phone to text Drew to let me in. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

           More than a little frustrated—and slightly embarrassed—I turned on my heel and made to jump out of the line. No coffee for me. Only a cold walk back to the dorm and an even colder wait for someone to walk by and let me in. I was paying so much attention to wallowing in pity and tugging on my gloves that I shouldered into someone waiting in the line behind me.

           “God, I’m sorry! I didn’t—” Looking up, I caught sight of Roman’s dark-haired, dark-eyed roommate. The one I’d literally slammed into a few weeks ago in the hallway.

           “It’s cool. Hey, I know you.” His voice was deep but with a hint of something gruff just beneath. My first thought was that it didn’t match with the way he looked.

           Heat burned my cheeks. “Yeah… you’re Roman’s roommate.”

           “Seth Rollins,” he said, sticking out his hand. I took it, trying not to think about how we’d first met. “Addy, right?”

           I nodded. “Yeah.”

           He looked from me to the coffee counter. “Change your mind?”

           “Left my card in my dorm.” I rolled my eyes and tucked my fists back into my pockets. “Along with my phone and my keys.”

           “Coffee’s on me then.” He smiled and pulled me back into the line in front of him. “Roman would kill me otherwise.”

***

           I grinned when I saw Drew pacing in front of the door. He pushed it open the second he saw me crossing the quad with a coffee cup in my hands. “Didn’t even check before you left, did ya?” he asked, dangling my keys and phone from his hands.

           “I’m sorry,” I replied slipping into the building past his bulk. “But I ran into Roman’s roommate at the coffee shop and he hooked me up.”

           Drew lifted a brow as he followed me back toward the lounge where our books were still spread out on one of the tables. “I’m sure the Big Dog will be happy about that.”

           “Shut up, Drew. Now where’s my astronomy lab book? We’ve got an exam tonight.”

***

           Roman pulled into the parking lot outside his apartment. It was almost three in the morning, and I was exhausted. While I was glad that we’d gotten our astronomy midterm over with, I needed sleep more than anything else. And I didn’t feel like driving the rest of the way back to the dorm.

           He came around the truck and gathered me up in his arms, carrying me princess style inside. The television was on, and I caught sight of Dean sitting on the sofa in sweatpants and a t-shirt, his feet propped up on the coffee table. He looked up as we came inside.

           “Hey, Ro,” Dean said faintly. His voice seemed to fade in and out as I fell further toward sleep. “She’s a princess now, huh?”

           “Shut up,” Roman hissed back. “She’s asleep. Or close to. Any food in the fridge?”

           “Yeah, there’s some pizza from last night.” For a moment, there was quiet. Then… “Dude, just put her down here and get something to eat.”

           For a moment, Roman was still. Then he turned toward the sound of Dean’s voice and carried me over to the sofa. There was a heavy rustling noise just before I was settled down on cushions that were surprisingly plush and comfortable. My feet bumped into Dean’s legs, and I tucked them back close to me.

           “Jesus Christ stretch out,” Dean said, a frustrated edge in his voice. He reached for my feet and, though his voice sounded upset, his fingers were gentle as he pulled my feet into his lap. His hands were warm on my toes. “Ro, get the princess here a blanket. She’s freezing.”

           Dean kept his hands on my feet, rubbing my toes between his palms to work some warmth into them. Half-awake, I wriggled my toes, snuggling into the cushions. I really wanted to go crawl into Roman’s bed—I knew it was comfortable, plush, and warm. And it smelled wonderfully like Roman which made it easier to sleep.

           “Here,” I heard Roman’s voice nearby. Dean’s body shifted beneath my feet and, an instant later, he was spreading a blanket over me, taking the time to tuck it around my legs. “And turn that down so she can rest.”

           The sound that Dean made was halfway frustrated and halfway something like indulgence. But he moved around, the noise of the television dipped, and a peaceful calm settled over the room. I could sense Roman somewhere near my head… a sensation confirmed when his fingers slid into my hair. A faint sigh of happiness slipped past my lips as I finally drifted straight off to sleep.

***

           I woke up what was probably hours later, but might have been only a few minutes. Everything was pitch black. I was disoriented for a moment, unsure of where I was. The faint ache in my hip was enough to remind me. I was curled on my side on the sofa in Roman’s apartment. I shifted, trying to take some of the pressure off. My feet bumped into something warm and solid.

           “Stop wigglin’, princess,” came Dean’s sleepy voice. “Go back to sleep.”

           For a moment, I stayed still. But the ache in my hips and my joints made it impossible to rest anywhere close to comfortably. Every move made me bump Dean.

           “Goddamn it,” Dean said after I wiggled another two or three times. He pulled himself from beneath my feet and stood up.

           The next thing I knew, I was being lifted up. It wasn’t the gentle carry of Roman. Dean had leaned over and picked me up around the waist, practically putting me over his shoulder like I was a sack of potatoes. I had a clear view of Dean’s broad back as he carried me down the hall to Roman’s room. While I expected a hard drop onto the mattress, he squatted down and sat me on the edge before easing me sideways.

           “Go to sleep,” he said gruffly.

***

           I woke up alone, clearly in Roman’s bed, still in my clothes from the night before. My head swam, desperate for something to drink. Grunting, running my hands through my hair to take care of the knots, I padded down the hallway. The door that I figured belonged to Seth was closed tight. The next was wide open. But I could see into the living room, and both Dean and Roman were still there. The former was stretched out on the sofa where I had started out the night. The latter was sprawled in the chair, arms and legs hanging off the edges. His head was dropped back in a ridiculously uncomfortable position.

           Grinning, I made my way to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. Then I went to dig around in the fridge to find something to eat. I grabbed a carton of eggs, and found everything I needed to make scrambled eggs. Some of the weariness of the night before began to fade away at the scent of fresh coffee.

           Moment by moment, the apartment filled with the sounds of people waking. There was a groan and a loud thump. When I turned around, Dean was getting to his feet after having fallen into the floor. He was bleary eyed, his auburn hair sticking up at odd angles. There was a red mark on his cheek from how he slept.

           “Morning, Dean,” I said just loud enough to get his attention. He stumbled into the kitchen, making a bee line for the coffee maker. “Do you like scrambled eggs?”

           A grunt was his only response. At least until he was halfway through a cup of black coffee. “Princess can cook, huh?”

           “When she has enough to work with, yes. But right now, she’s only got eggs.”

           Dean slipped around behind me to get to the fridge. He dug around for a minute and pulled out an almost empty bag of shredded cheddar cheese, microwavable bacon, and a slightly questionable Tupperware container of chopped vegetables. “Enough to work with?”

           “Those,” I said, pointing at the container, “look like they’d kill us. But the rest… I can manage.”

           He grunted again, snatching up his coffee cup and the Tupperware. As he walked back toward the living room, he tossed the container into the garbage. “Call me when breakfast’s ready, princess,” Dean said over his shoulder.

Tag List

@mox-made-me-do-it​ @vebner37​

[scarofthewind]

PLEASE, Billy whose SO gained quite a bit of weight from school stress + a few nasty people bullying her. She loves Billy but thinks that he finds her repulsive so she wears baggy clothes and stops being as affectionate with him. Then one night he climbs into her room and she flinches when he puts his hands on her waist. He asks what's going on and she cries telling him everything. By the end, he goes: "You think I don't find you hot? Let me prove you wrong." Smuttiness and fluff ensue

A/N: There is nothing wrong with the way anyone looks. They are their own person and are beautiful in every way, shape and form. Hope you guys enjoy this! This is B in my masterlist under GhostfaceWarnings: Sexual Content (NSFW), Bondage. Female Pronouns

“Would you stop?” Billy’s hands left your sides as you scooted farther away from him on the couch. The movie on the TV being long forgotten about and a heavy emotion hanging in the air. 

“What’s your deal, Y/N? First you won’t look at me, then you won’t let me touch you in any way.” Billy frowned, his eyes watching you closely.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just don’t feel good.” You lied, eyes glued straight ahead. There was a moment of silence before he spoke up again.

“You know I trust you. I fucking admitted to you who I was and what kind of person I was. I haven’t hurt you and I sure as hell haven’t let anyone else.” He moved to stand up and you looked at him then, pulling at the long sleeves of your baggy sweater. “But what’s the point if you keep shutting me out?” 

His eyes held something dark and for a moment you thought he might actually harm you. “Don’t talk to me until you’re ready too. If you don’t reach out to me in a week then I’ll come for you.” Suddenly, he moved closer and you flinched. “Don’t think that just because I care about you, means that I won’t rough you up a little.” 

Your eyes peered into his for a moment before he turned and walked out the front door. You cried yourself to sleep that night. Not out of fear, but out of shame that you couldn’t tell him. 

You couldn’t tell anyone. 

_

Once again, your locker was filled with trash, ruining everything inside. 

Once again, the group of assholes beat you up in the back parking lot.

Once again, you cried in the school bathroom and tried to hide the bruises and cuts with makeup. 

Once again, you didn’t go to classes for the rest of the day and walked home in the rain. 

However, as soon as you walked through the front door, you realized Billy wasn’t lying. He was always there at your house, but he wasn’t now. You didn’t see him at school either. A horrific scene ran through your mind and you cursed before dropping your bag and running out the door. 

He wouldn’t be that stupid would he? Billy wasn’t a dumb man, he knew. You knew he knew. You just didn’t know if he knew what they were bullying you about. That’s what you didn’t want him to know. 

Your feet ran across the sidewalk, leading you to the woods that surrounded a lake. That’s where the popular kids would go to skip class and do adult things. Your lungs burned and so did your eyes as you let a few branches scratch you as you ran. You didn’t stop until you saw the dock. 

Your legs shook and you let your tears fall. Standing a few feet away, Billy faced out towards the lake, cigarette between his fingers and a head in his other hand. You watched as he tossed the man’s head into the lake, and you realized just how much he had done. The police would have to play a matching game to figure out which body part went to what person. Blood covered the dock and you watched as Billy turned his head a bit to look back at you. 

Almost as if he commanded your legs to give out, they did. You fell on your hands and knees, heart beating so fast you thought you were going to faint. It had been only a few days since your last talk with him, but you felt that he was ready to rip you in half. 

You cried then. Billy watched with interest as he finished his cigarette and walked over towards you, hands stuffed in his pockets. He squatted in front of you and reached out to grip your chin, forcing you to look at him. “I don’t like being lied to, Y/N.” 

“It took me having to watch them hurt you and tease you for four days straight before I snapped. Look at what you made me do.” He looked back at the lake and the water that was tinted red. His eyes met yours again and he wiped a few tears away with his thumb. “Don’t you have anything to say to me?” 

“I’m sorry.” You sniffled, watching as he nodded, pulling you into a hug and rubbing your back. 

“I know you are. You know I’m not an idiot, Y/N. I was going to find out, no matter what it took.” Billy could feel you shaking and he hoped that it was for both being cold and fear. 

He loved fear on you, it turned him on. 

“I couldn’t tell you. I was too embarrassed.” You sobbed as Billy rubbed your back. 

“Gaining weight only makes you look better and feel better. I’ve got more to touch now. Plus, I think you look healthier. If I cut you deeply, it wont kill you like how it killed the skinnier bitches. You barely touch them with a knife and you’ve stabbed right through them.” Billy heard you laugh a bit and he pulled back from the hug, resting his forehead against yours. 

“Does this mean we’re okay?” Your eyes stared into his. “Come home Billy.” The man nearly came in his pants at the whine of your voice when you spoke. He needed you and you needed him. 

Who was he to hold back from showing you how much he cared about you?

“You have three minutes to get to the house and lay on the bed. Naked or you’ll learn just how deep my love for you goes.” His voice changed in that second and you’ve never run so fast in your life. Busting through the front door, you ran to your room and faltered. The mirror across your room showed how much of a mess you looked. How ugly you looked. Fat.

Your fingers gripped at the bottom of the hoodie you wore and you couldn’t take it off. You didn’t even realize Billy was behind you until he roughly pushed you to the bed. 

“Stop.” He growled, staring down at you angrily. “You’re not fat, and you sure as fuck aren’t ugly.” 

You looked away from him and didn’t say anything, which only made him blow a fuse. Why were you acting like this? It was annoying him greatly and he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“You remember the safe word?” He asked, taking off his belt and tying your wrists to the  headboard of the bed. You nodded and he smirked. “It doesn’t apply to what I am about to do to you.” Billy said, siting on your hips and flicking out his pocket knife, cutting the hoodie off your body. 

Goosebumps rose all over your skin and your mind raced a mile a minute. What did he mean? The last time he said that, he nearly killed you with how much he kept going. “Billy.” You said, watching as he tossed the shredded clothing aside, not paying attention to you. “Billy!” You shouted and he looked up from cutting at the waistband of your sweatpants. 

“You don’t get to speak.” He sighed, rummaging through your bedside table and finding tape, cutting a piece off his this teeth and slapping it over your mouth. 

Your breathing quickened and he noticed. Your bra clad chest moved faster the more he got close to finishing. As soon as he took the sweats off and threw them to the floor, he stopped and looked you dead in the eye. You stopped breathing. 

“You’ve made me very angry, Y/N. It’s time to take responsibility.” He tossed the knife off the bed and kissed up your stomach, reaching behind you and unclasping your bra. “Look at that.” He groaned, cupping your bare breasts in his hands and running his thumbs over your nipples. “You went up a size here. Gaining weight has its perks.” 

You barely had time to register what he had said before you felt his mouth attach itself to one of your nipples, sucking and biting at it hungrily. His hands kneaded them gently and he switched between them, kissing up the middle and reaching your neck. You could feel his breath on your neck, hovering over your jugular vein. “You know you’re mine, right?” His eyes glared at you and you nodded slowly. 

“Do you trust me?” His question caught you off guard, causing you to move your head and look him directly in the eyes. “I think you’re the most beautiful and sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. You’re not fat. You’re perfect and believe me when I say that.” 

You could only stare at him. Never had you heard him say these things to you in the time you’ve been together. You tried to open your mouth to speak but remembered that he’d taped your mouth shut. “I’m not taking it off.” He smiled bitterly at you. His hand moved down to your hips and then your underwear, slowly tugging them down. “I am taking these off though.” He laughed, sliding them down your legs and tossing them behind himself. 

“Spread them.” You let out a small laugh and refused, turning your head to the side. A rough hand gripped your chin, squeezing harshly and making you look at him. “What part of this makes you think you have a choice? Spread them or I will break them.” You blinked a few times before slowly opening your legs, watching him sit back and let your chin go. 

“Good girl.” His voice dropped as well as his eyes as his hands traced your legs, moving towards your soaking core. You ached for the touch he was going to give, your heart was on edge as you awaited his fingers. Billy smirked, removing himself from you and unzipping his pants. You watched him unclothe himself and cursed mentally, knowing where this was going. 

“Sorry babe but I can’t wait to be inside you.” He moaned, rubbing his tip against your opening, watching your juices mix together. He gently pushed himself inside you, his lips parting when he bottomed out. “Fuck you’re tight.” 

With a whimper from you, he started to move rocking his hips against you and setting a pace that would have you moaning louder with each thrust. His hands held your hips tightly as he thrusted into you roughly. Your eyes never left his body, watching his muscles flex under the skin as he pounded into you from above. He moved one hand from your hip to push some hair from his face and you felt yourself clench around his cock. Immediately he locked eyes with you and smirked.

Reaching down, he pressed his fingers to your clit, rubbing in tight, harsh circles. Billy watched your face and groaned, feeling you tighten around his shaft. He didn’t have to ask, he knew you were close. His eyes met yours and he grit his teeth, holding himself back from coming undone. “Come for me.” He hissed, watching as your back arched off the bed and your legs clenched around his waist. 

“Fuck.” Billy growled, coming with a few more thrusts, pumping his seed into you and gripping your hips, bruising them. 

You panted, your eyes seeing stars as he continued his powerful thrusts. Your arms hurt from hanging above your head for so long and you were sure that you were going to die if he kept going. Soft whimpers left your throat and you looked at Billy with pleading eyes. 

“I’m not even close to being done with you, Y/N. I’m going to fuck the negative thoughts about yourself right out of you.” Billy stared down at you and slowly removed the tape from your mouth. 

You couldn’t say anything, your thighs trembled against his skin and you felt your face heat up under his gaze. “I love you.” You mumbled, your breathing calming down. Billy came to a full stop and bent over to kiss you. 

“I know.” He hummed against your lips, reaching up and untying your wrists, pulling you to sit in his lap. No matter how long he wanted to keep going for, you were okay with it in the end as long as it meant he could hold you like this forever. 

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Nineteen

Table of Contents or Part Eighteen

Pairing: Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx x OC

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning(s): Language, mentions of drugs abuse, mentions of domestic violence

A/N: Tried to update last night but it kept telling me there was a problem uploading it and to try again later so now is later

Tag List: @cierrasixx19 @oskea93 @mgkobsessed @vamprlestat @sharon6713 @itsametaphorbriansblog @miriampraez @allie-mcginn @rebeccaphillips14 @nicholeh7 @fandomshit6000 @lilmou5ie @tamedhearts @divaanya @kingbouji3 @evrsncnewyork @6ixx6ixx @ratedrkohardychick91 @floregrohlssard @oldschoolimagineblog @thanks2pete @abaldboi @swoopygorl @justjodeye @liith-ium @caos18blog @ytwahsog @shamlessobsessions @scarecrowmax @toadspleen @random-internet-user-4471 @solohqrry @loveofmyloif

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED

———————————————————————

"Shit." My hand shakes, holding the positive pregnancy test.

My mind races a mile a minute as I hear the bathroom door open and someone walks in with their feet dragging against the floor.

"Babe, c'mon!" Nikki slurs and I let out a breath and shove the test in to my jacket pocket as I pace the tiny stall.

"You're not supposed to be in here." I tell him as I step out to wash my hands at the sink.

"I missed you." He sounds like a child, his tone reaching a high pitch and I giggle as he comes up behind me and presses a sloppy line of kisses from my cheek to my neck.

"How much did you have to drink while I was gone?" I ask, and he chuckles drunkenly, grabbing my jaw to angle my lips to his before kissing me. When he pulls away he gives one more peck to my lips and tugs at my arm.

"C'mon, I've got something for you." He pulls me away from the sink.

"Yeah, I've heard that one before." I smartly reply as I turn off the water, shaking my hands dry due to the lack of paper towels as he pulls me from the ladies room.

"C'mon, c'mon," He rushes me.

"I'm coming, Nikki." I laugh and he throws his arm around me, making sure I help keep him from falling as he stumbles slightly in the direction he's leading me as my ears are nearly buzzing from the loud music in the strip joint.

When I look at where the guys are seated, I stop in my tracks, my mouth nearly falling to the floor.

Nikki starts chuckling, looking at me with raised brows.

"That's..." I trail off, completely out of words.

"Ratt." He finishes what I was going to say. "C'mon." He nudges me and I don't move at all, baffled and sickeningly nervous.

"I can't, I look disgusting!" I whisper yell, glancing around as a waiter passes us.

"You look hot." He argues, looking me up and down. "I'd fuck You."

"You'd have sex with a couch if you could angle your dick between the cushions." I rudely shoot back and he rolls his eyes.

"It's not like you're impressing them or anything. You're married to me anyway." He fluffs his hair carelessly, smiling at me.

"Can I just meet them later? I really just want to go to the hotel." I plead, my nerves getting the best of me for being put on the spot.

"Viv, I—"

"Please, baby?" I grab his hand with both of mine, holding it to my chest as if it's a dear possession of mine and he sighs and digs in his pocket with his free hand for the car keys.

"You're driving. Lemme go tell these fuckers bye'."

"You guys are like the seven deadly sins come to life and throwing anything they can get their fuckin' hands on at each other."  Is how Fred Saunders, the band's head of security for their tours, described Nikki and I.

His job consisted of keeping us protected, even if it meant from each other.

He said that after he had separated us before we could start fist fighting, the both of us bleeding and bruised in multiple places due to having a "who can hit who with what the hardest" contest which resulted in liquor bottles, needle loaded syringes, shoes, hotel room dishes, and lamps, being hurled through the air at each other.

I didn't know what the hell else I was suppose to do after I turned on The Arsenio Hall Show just to see Vanity showing off my wedding ring—that I had presumed was just lost—claiming that she and Nikki were engaged.

I figured the freebase had officially fried the both of their brain's, and since she wasn't there in Texas where we were staying so I could include her in my outburst, Nikki just got enough of my wrath for the both of them when I found him in the neighboring room with Tommy, and attacked him like a rabid bitch.

I wasn't ever violent growing up, and although I had an outburst every now and then with Vince (because he is someone who knows exactly how to keep pushing at me until I snap) it wasn't ever my first response to just be on edge all the time and hit, cut, scratch, and punch people who got on my nerves; however, I got sick and tired of nobody listening to me.

I'd tell the dealers to "fuck off and stay fucked off"...they'd be back as soon as Nikki called. I'd tell the record company that the guys did not need to go back on the road because they were nearly spun out...they'd look me in the eye while printing out the schedule for the next leg of tour dates. I decided if I stopped being so patient and nice, and just started beating the ever loving fuck out of the people I considered partly to blame, shit would actually get done instead of just putting me on the back burner.

That was a toxic way of thinking, and I know it was, but you slap junkies when they won't wake up.

I suppose I was trying to slap everyone out of their own customized vice-induced comas.

The truth is Nikki's love for drugs, that grew more than his love for me or even himself, was the root of my resentment.

Every screaming match, every conniving thing done out of spite to one another, every affair, every bit of turmoil, all came back to his heroin addiction...which really kickstarted in 1984, when Robbin Crosby of the band Ratt—who did a handful of openings for Mötley Crüe during their last leg of the Shout At The Devil tour—taught him how to use needles.

I angrily stomp my heels down the pavement of the sidewalk as we step to our hotel entrance through the crowd of fans and photographers.

I'm completely out of it, having lost my patience a couple minutes ago when we were bombarded by reporters while leaving the club the guys practically drug me to after the show.

"Viv, I don't see the big fuckin' deal. We're married. We fuck. That's what we do. People know that's what we do." Nikki defends himself as the elevator dings, opening it's doors for all of us to go up to our room.

I don't say a word, rolling my jaw, not wanting to get into an argument with him and the guys wasted.

"It was a joke, Viv." Tommy adds innocently.

"It's not that fucking serious." Vince says next and I step out of the elevator once it stops at our floor. "Are you fucking kidding me? You're not talking to me now?" The blonde asks and I contain the urge to slap him sober.

I pluck the key from Nikki's hand and unlock the door, stepping inside to set my bag on the floor next to the bed closest to the window, hearing him shut the door behind him, roughly, while saying, “it’s not that serious, Viv.” I brush him off.

"Vivian!" Nikki raises his voice a little, catching my attention. "I’m talking to you, don’t fucking ignore me!”

"My sex life isn't the headline of a fucking run-down sleazy gossip magazine." I state pointedly, completely ignoring his comment about me ignoring him.

"It's called sex, drugs and rock n' roll for a reason, Viv, which means my sex life—a.k.a you—is and always will be the headline of a fucking run-down sleazy gossip magazine. The more attention I get, the more attention the band gets and that's how we reach the fans."

"'I treat her like a lady, so she'll stay on her knees like a groupie'?" I quote what he told a bunch of slimy reporters when we left the club, and he blinks at me.

"Do you want me to go back out there and lie and tell them the wildest that we get is fucking in missionary at the foot of the bed instead of at the top?"

"That's not even the point."

"Well then what is the fucking point, Viv?!"

"I'm not a groupie, Nikki, I'm your wife!"

"Oh my God, you're really pussying out over a fucking joke?!"

"That was a shit thing to say, and you know it was, Nikki, although I can't say I'm surprised ever since you've started that shit you've been a bigger jackass than before!" I accuse him.

"What the fuck are you talking about?!" He yells, his pupils seemingly worse than they were before.

"Smoking your fucking heroin and snorting your coke, that's what the fuck I'm talking about!" I fly off the handle, standing on the tips of my toes to get in his face and he pushes me away from him roughly, causing me to stumble back and fall on to the floor with a loud thump.

He's about to walk away and leave, but I don't know when to leave a dead horse after I've beaten it enough.

The heel of my stiletto collides with the side of his leg roughly, opting him to groan out in pain from where I kicked him.

His hand is tightly around my ankle in two seconds, yanking me up like a cat by its scruff, all while I'm clawing at him.

I'm tossed on to the bed, his hands pinning my arms down as he gets between my legs, stopping my chance of kicking him off of me.

I don't fight back, the look in his eye actually scaring me, and I realize I took it way too far.

I don't know what the hell he's taken, but it's a lot different than how he usually is when he's fucked up.

"I'm not gonna repeat myself, Vivian. What the fuck I do, who the fuck I do it with, and when the fuck I do it, is none of your fucking business. I don't control you. You don't fucking control me. You're just embarrassing yourself, and me, when you try to." He warns me darkly, doing a complete 180 from how chipper and happy he was earlier tonight. "Got it?"

My eyes water, my lip shaking a little but I stop myself from crying to save myself the broken pride.

"Okay, Nikki." I agree, feeling guilty for hounding him about it.

He gets off of me and doesn't even give me a second glance before he leaves, slamming the door behind him.

I was pregnant, terrified, off my Nardil, and projecting all of that onto him, while he was secretly mixing heroin with coke and shooting it to balance each other out.

He'd spend however long trying to correct and tweak his method of adding more coke to correct his drowsiness and adding more heroin to calm him down...but he would usually manage to over correct each time and he wigged out or nodded off...then he would get irritable and have shitty ups and downs with his mood in a matter of minutes.

I don't know where he went when he left that night, but me and Mick were the only two that fell asleep in the room. I never bothered asking Nikki where he stayed.

I probably don't want to know.

"Viv, c'mon, we gotta get up." Mick tells me, pulling me from my shitty sleep.

I'm exhausted from not being able to sleep barely at all until I saw the faint light of the sun starting to rise through the curtains of the hotel.

I groan, yawn and stretch, sitting up.

"What time is it?" I ask him, rubbing my eyes.

"Six o'clock. We gotta be on the bus by six-thirty." He informs me, getting out of his bed, putting his stuff back in his suitcase.

I wait for the sickness to kick in, it usually does a couple minutes after I've been awake, but it hasn't yet.

I go ahead and get up, throwing on a T-shirt and shorts, packing my suitcase quickly Incase I get distracted from puking my brains out.

Reaching down to pick up my purse, I notice the bruising around my ankle where Nikki grabbed me. I’m positive he has a bruise from where my heel nearly punctured him on his leg.

"You cry like a hit dog in your sleep." Mick tells me, interrupting my thoughts, as he zips his bag and I exhale and do the same, not answering right away.

"I cry like a hit dog when I'm awake. What's new?" I mumble, stepping to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

Nikki's stuff is still all in here, so when I'm done brushing my teeth I gather his things and put them in his suitcase.

The sound of the key unlocking the door sounds, and I dart my eyes to the door, hoping to see Nikki so I can apologize for last night.

I'm sorely disappointed.

"We're ready in the lobby." Doc tells me and Mick, grabbing Nikki's suitcase from where I put it beside the door.

I nod a little and grab my stuff and Mick and I follow him out of the room to the elevator to get to the lobby.

"Is he still mad at me?" I ask Doc and he sighs.

"He doesn't like handling you like that." He tells me, disappointment in his voice as he refers to Nikki putting his hands on me last night.

"I don't like doing it to him, either." I reply and he looks at me.

"Well, then you two just need to stop while you're ahead before it gets worse." He suggests and I don't say anything else, waiting for the doors to open once we get to the first floor.

I see Nikki, Vince, and Tommy, all wearing sunglasses to avoid making their hangovers worse, and no one says anything to me, and I don't say anything to them.

"Alright, come on." Doc ushers us to the door to get to the bus.

Our bags get packed in as we file in a line to get on, and just as I'm about to step up, I'm held back by someone holding at my wrist.

I think it's Tommy or Vince, stopping me to tell me something smart-assy or funny, but it's Nikki grabbing at me to keep his balance so he doesn't fall due to his delayed reaction time.

I look down at him, and he moves his hand from my wrist to completely engulf my hand with it, and relief is a dear friend to me.

I'm forgiven.

Once we sit down, he's positioning himself to lay his head on my lap and I put my hands in his fluffy hair, taking his glasses off of him when I know he's asleep so he doesn't mess the frame up, as we head to Memphis, Tennessee for the last show of the tour.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

All Eyes on You

Maybe it could have been a regular weekend for me, but there’s no way for me to tell if I was the one who screwed everything up. I was a bit hungover from the night before, so my head weighed a ton and every source of bright light made me cringe in pain—whether it was the fluorescent neon tubes overhead or the daylight streaming in through the store’s front windows.

Every single beep of the cashier running items over the scanner at checkout was like a tiny knife being stuck into my skull, over and over and over again, even though I was fairly far away from it, browsing the unnecessary amount of different brands of laundry detergent.

I grabbed some random one that had nice soft colors and chucked it into my shopping cart. It caused the whole thing to shake and rattle and a person pushing past me gave me a dirty look.

Under any other circumstances, I wouldn’t have wasted any thought on this, but today was different. Now, everything was different. Now, as I looked up, and past that guy shooting me the disparaging glance, I realized that everybody in the store was looking at me.

“Feeling watched” would have been the understatement of the century.

It was so weird and jarring that I forgot about the effects of my hangover for the next few minutes. In part because my heart was racing, in part because my mind was going wild with conspiracy theories and rampant paranoia.

Although I pretended to not care or not notice, I could tell that everybody in the store was looking at me at one point or the other. Normally, I would have chalked this up to something silly, like one of my friends having written something on my forehead with a magic marker while I was passed out.

But with what had happened the night before, I knew better. I knew something was wrong. Horribly wrong.

It didn’t help that some of these people would pretend to not be looking at me, either—furtive glances, eyes quickly darting down to study a shopping list on their phone, or to act like they were looking over grocery items on the shelves. Anything to avoid eye contact with me.

I know what you’re thinking. Just allow me to dial back and explain before you make up your mind.

The night before, I was feeling pretty depressed. I was still pretty new in this town and knew nobody around there. Just some backwater town in the middle of nowhere. The rent on the apartment I had found there was cheap, and the commute to my workplace only an hour which was a vast improvement over my last home.

So I grabbed some beers, drove up to a lonesome little picnic area on the forest’s edge that I had seen on the first day I had visited town when I went to go scout out the apartment a few months ago, and decided to chill out there and watch the sunset after a tedious Friday at work.

The whole day had dragged on at a snail’s pace and I just wanted to unwind and not stare at any screens for a few hours.

I sat there, nursing my first beer, sitting on top of the backrest of the bench like a rebel, when I spotted a mansion near the forest’s edge. I mean, I had seen it before when I first took a drive through this town, but it was only now that I noticed a few funny details about it. And when I say “funny,” I don’t mean the amusing sort.

It had a large red brick wall encircling the entire yard—and that place was as big as a football field. The large mansion matched that appearance, also featuring red bricks and sandstone and wood in its construction, and a lot of unusual details like a tower built into the corner of it. Everything was overgrown with lush green ivy, and there were some nice-looking trees on the property.

So far, so idyllic.

The weird part were the men in green camo clothing, carrying what I think were assault rifles. They patrolled around the inside of the walls, so it was no wonder I hadn’t seen them when I drove through town earlier that year, but being up on the hill at the forest’s edge gave me some elevation and allowed me to see over the walls somewhat.

They were all pretty big-looking dudes. I pegged them for soldiers or something like that—though my imagination wandered to this being a mafioso’s estate and these guys being some well-armed thugs.

It would make sense for some gangster boss to be living well out on the countryside where everything’s nice and quiet, right?

I downed two whole beers and while I had been trying to distract myself with unpacking everything that had happened over the course of the week—both at work and in my personal life—my curiosity got the best of me.

I had to know what the hell this mansion was.

With a simple plan in mind, I packed up everything, and drove back down from the picnic site, now taking a detour so I could casually roll past the mansion. A large steel gate obscured any way of seeing into the mansion’s premises, which was frustrating. In my mind’s eye, I had expected one of those metal fence gates that you can see through, but this one was just a solid surface instead.

Tossing out my original plan, I parked my car across the road by the grass, got out, and walked over. You may be thinking that I was crazy, and I can assure you I am. I was always a bit of a tomboy growing up, and I possessed a fearlessness that got me into trouble every now and then—and because I always got away with playing dumb or innocent, I always got away with my shenanigans and I never learned. Not until this day.

I pressed a button by the gate that I figured to be a buzzer and waited.

Within seconds, a small metal slot opened on the gate, from which a man wearing sunglasses peered through, and it was so sudden and swift in response to my pressing that button that I nearly choked in surprise.

“Yes?” asked the man behind the gate.

“Uh, I was, uh, I was,” I started stammering until my wit finally kicked in. “I was up at the picnic site up here to relax and I had no reception on my phone whatsoever, but I need to make an important call. I figured I could ask here if I could use your land line, or something?”

I slung out my phone and waved it around like a magic wand while flashing this man a dumb smile and shrugging. He looked over his shoulder as if he was responding to someone behind him, but he didn’t say a word. I think he looked up at the picnic site and I could feel the blood draining from my face. Because he turned, though, I saw a weird tattoo on his neck: just a single eye.

Not like I know anything about ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, but if I had to describe it, that’s what it reminded me of. No fancy elaborate details, just a simple eye. Wide open.

His head turned back with a painful slowness. I could sense the gears churning behind his forehead.

“My phone’s got reception just fine,” said the man. “Here, you can borrow mine.”

I guessed my charm had worked its magic. He held out his phone through the small slot, offering it to me.

Realizing way too late that all of this was a terrible idea, I glanced at my phone and flicked its display on, then chuckled—way too nervously, I presume, “Hey, look at that! I got a bar back. Maybe it was just up at the woods that was not working out for me. Thanks, though.”

The guard slowly withdrew his phone and even though I couldn’t see his eyes, I could have sworn he was glaring at me. I smiled back at him, hoping to disarm any ill will, and started getting really scared about this being some sort of gangster hideout.

“Have a nice day,” he said. But it sounded more like a threat.

He shut the slot with lightning speed and I turned to leave, holding up my phone and pretending to make a call. I yapped away into the void of the non-existent phone call, cringing at my pathetic attempt at emulating a one-sided conversation and the resulting blandness, until I had gotten into my car and slammed the door shut behind me.

My palms were sweaty and cold when they clasped the steering wheel and stick, and I drove away. I was pretty rattled for the rest of the evening although I got back home without any further incident. On the whole ride home, I kept looking into my rear-view mirror to see if I was being followed. And in my paranoia, I thought that some people on sidewalks were shooting me looks, but I dismissed it at the time.

Back at home, I drank the rest of my beers and distracted myself with lousy TV shows until fell asleep.

Then I woke up the next morning, sporting the splitting headache, and decided that things couldn’t be so bad. Because, hey, when it feels like gremlins are pounding the inside of your skull with a jackhammer and your brain’s a funny soup, a lot of worries stop existing. With that state of mind, I went to do my grocery shopping for the week.

And now—this. Everybody watching me. In the confines of my own head, I was calling myself names and cursing myself out for being such a paranoid idiot. There was no reason to be afraid.

But my heart wouldn’t stop racing. Even outside, as I put my groceries in the trunk, I knew that even the people driving in and out of the small parking lot were looking at me.

Watching me.

Worse: I saw that tattoo again. On someone’s forearm. Some lady returning an empty shopping cart to the storefront. She never looked at me directly, but with my back turned to her, I had felt a burning gaze transfixed upon me.

What the hell was this? As an avid reader of strange fiction and horror movie enthusiast, I immediately thought they had to be some sort of cult. What if this entire town was run by a cult? Stranger things have happened.

This was all so surreal. I felt very small and like I was just a passenger in my own body. Everything tingled. My fingers felt numb.

I drove home and shut myself in for the rest of the weekend. I tried to distract myself with TV and video games and even talking to a friend who lived halfway across the country, but nothing helped. I couldn’t help it. I kept thinking that this entire town was crazy and that I was being watched now. I even started getting paranoid if they could tap into my phone or hack my computer, so I avoided telling my friend about anything I had witnessed here.

Just shot the breeze about how life had been for her lately, and put up a good show in pretending that everything was normal on my end.

Come Monday morning, I snuck out of my home and got into my car. Paranoia got the better of me again, so I started checking my ride quite thoroughly, not caring if I would be late for work that day. I had watched too many stupid shows to not think that someone might have tampered with my car. I checked to see if the brakes were working, if there were any bugs, pawing underneath my seats for foreign objects, you name it.

I’m not any sort of professional and if anything was there, I probably missed it. But hey—I tried. Still, I found nothing.

After wasting half an hour on this exercise in futility, I drove off. I never felt so exhilarated to go to work as that day. Because work, for the first time, felt like an escape from something worse. It also felt like an escape from my own head, because I was questioning my own sanity. Surely, the whole town couldn’t be in a cult, right?

I cranked up the music on my radio and sang along to a song I normally hated. And I felt good. For a short while, at least.

It stopped when I drove down the road I usually take to leave town to go to work. A nice narrow road meandering through the wooded area, just like the ones you see in horror flicks.

There was a roadblock in the way once I rounded a curve, with a small jam of cars lined up in front of it. Two police cars obstructed the path and there were some officers standing beside them, one of them talking to the driver in the car at the front of the line. My heart sank, plummeting right into my gut region. I could feel my belly pulsing with my accelerated, anxious heartbeat.

I wonder—does everybody get as nervous as I do whenever I see cops nearby? It’s not like I’d ever done anything wrong, but it had always made me nervous. Even under normal circumstances. Even before this weekend.

But today was different. The events of this weekend had multiplied my paranoia—they had mutated it. If this whole town was run by some weird cult, what if the cops were in on it? What if they were looking for me?

Right when one of the cars was let past the roadblock and drove off, I panicked. I steered out of line and made a U-turn, swerving back onto the road with screeching tires and driving off. It took me a few moments to realize in retrospect that this made me grind my teeth and may have been a stupid move, but I started speeding up and driving away.

The trembling started when I saw a cop car show up behind me, half a minute later. They let the siren wail at me for a split second to grab my attention, and used their blinker to signal me to pull over.

With growing dread, I planned to play along, but step on the gas if things went south.

Even with all the adrenaline rushing through my body, and my attempts to stop my trembling by gripping the steering wheel way harder than natural, I gently steered the car as best I could, driving it onto the roadside and letting it roll to a stop. But I kept the engine running.

A police officer emerged from the car behind me and approached. His hand was resting on the gun at his hip and I wondered if my running motor had anything to do with that.

Or because of this damned cult. Or whatever the hell was going on here.

I rolled down my window once he had arrived there and he looked me up and down. My resolve crumpled and I cut the engine as a token of good will.

“License and registration, please?” asked the police officer in a gravelly voice.

His whole posture was rigid, like a statue—his body language tense. So was I.

Remembering what can go wrong in such an encounter, I carefully leaned over to retrieve the documents from my purse and hand them over. I could feel him watching me all the while, and for the first time in days, I felt like someone watching me was the appropriate action, given the circumstances.

I handed the cop my license and papers and he looked them over, his hand now finally away from the gun, and taking off some of the edge. He studied my face after inspecting my ID.

Then he handed back everything.

“Pardon the interruption, ma'am. Have a nice day,” he told me, and swiveled.

Right when he was walking away was when I saw the tattoo on his neck. The eye—staring at me. Almost as if the damned tattoo itself was watching me.

I never believed in the supernatural or UFOs or any such bunk. But my paranoia was really taking me for a ride now, and I questioned everything I believed in.

When I revved up my engine again and drove off, I still felt the officer’s eyes on me.

Anyway, now you know. That’s how—and why—one day, I bounced from that awful little town, leaving all my belongings behind. How I drove halfway across the states, and started a new life after changing my name.

I’d tell you the town’s name so you can avoid it, but I keep seeing that tattoo in my nightmares. In some of them, it’s like people have an extra eye on their body where there shouldn’t be one, in place of that tattoo. Like the skin breaks open and some bloodshot, weird eye stares at me. Always the same eye.

I still feel watched out in public sometimes. Hell, sometimes I even feel like someone’s watching me at home. I know I should talk to a therapist about this, but I’m afraid they won’t believe me. Or worse.

I got an anonymous call from someone telling me not to talk about what I had seen, but I had to get this off my chest, and maybe nothing bad will happen if I don’t tell you where this was.

—Submitted by Wratts

[cakesunflower]

Not Immune [Greaser!Calum AU] Part 2

Disclaimer: I’m well aware my dumbass said that there would only be two parts to this imagine/one shot/whatever you wanna call it, but this is already nearly 6k words and I kept going until I realized how long it was getting so I decided to cut it up. So now it’s gonna be THREE parts instead of two. Hope y’all enjoy!

All Parts:  Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 [Finale]

The lazy whir of the fan’s blades were calming to Y/N, her eyes following the movements while her fingers lightly played with the curls on the head of the boy currently sound asleep next to her. Or, more accurately, almost on top of her as Calum’s cheek rested Y/N’s chest, the stubble of his chin tickling her as the softest snores escaped him. She had on one of Calum’s V-necks, the size of the shirt making for a big neckline for Y/N, the area under her collarbones completely exposed, which is where Calum’s cheek was currently resting.

These moments were one of her favorites. She loved waking up before Calum if they spent the night together, because almost always they would end up tangled in one way or another, and more often than not Calum rendered blankets useless for Y/N because he was just so warm and comforting. In the months they’ve been together—nearly six, to be exact—Calum’s embrace had easily become Y/N’s favorite place to be. The Greaser who intimidated both who lived on the north or south side had become her favorite person in just a few months, and Y/N had become the only person who got to see a side of Calum that was just hers to enjoy.

The side of Calum that had the most handsome smile ever, one that brought crinkles to his eyes as he grinned widely. She saw the side of Calum that had saved money from his job at the auto shop to buy himself a guitar, who played for her on the back porch of his house and even sang a little sometimes, never failing to steal her breath for the duration of the songs he played. The side of Calum that had taken off one of his rings, the one he knew was her favorite, and put it in a chain to give to Y/N as a gift on Christmas (a gift she wore every day under the collars of her blouses). The side of Calum that she gifted a brand new leather jacket to on his birthday when his old one had gotten ripped and destroyed beyond repair during a brawl with some Preps. The side of Calum that, despite being known only for an intimidating Greaser always ready for a fight, turned soft and gentle and utterly loving in front of her.

Y/N’s gotten to know more of him—his mind, his heart, his body—in the months they’ve been together and they have easily become the best months of her life.

She smiled in sleepy contentment, having just woken up, as she let her eyes flutter shut, hoping sleep would come once again. But then something crashed on the other side of Calum’s closed bedroom door, followed by glass shattering and Luke’s unmistakable voice yelling, “Those are my fucking pancakes, asswipe!”  

Her eyes shot open as his yells were responded with even more shouting, the sleep shocked out of her as she took a deep breath to calm the quickened pace of her heart brought on by the unexpectant yelling. This wasn’t the first time she was scared awake by Calum’s friends’ shouting, but Y/N doubted she’d ever get used to it.

“Gonna kill ‘em,” Calum tiredly, raspily mumbled, lips brushing against Y/N’s skin as he spoke.

Y/N chuckled softly, the racket outside not dying down, so she decided to get up for the day because God knows she’ll be able to fall back asleep now. “Come on, sun’s up.”

Calum groaned, burying his face in her chest as his arms slid around her waist, making Y/N laugh lightly as he turned so they were both laying on their sides, with Calum’s head tucked under chin, curls tickling Y/N’s skin. “Doesn’t mean we have to get up,” he grumbled, left leg pushing in between hers and pinning down her right one to keep her in place.

As much as Y/N would love to stay in bed with Calum, she knew she couldn’t. She had told her parents she was sleeping over at Diana’s house and that’d be back by one this afternoon, and the small analog clock on Calum’s bedside said it was 11:47. “Yes, it does, Cal,” she hummed, hand sliding from his hair down his smooth back. “Let’s have breakfast.”

It took another few minutes of encouraging, but soon Calum and Y/N were getting up. While he remained in just a pair of pajama pants despite the cold weather, Y/N changed into her clothes from the day before of pants and a sweater, picking up Calum’s brush to tame her hair before putting on her headband to push it back from her face. The commotion outside had died down by the time they stepped out, and Calum made his way towards the kitchen while Y/N stopped to use the bathroom which, Y/N seemed to notice around the second month of her coming around, always seemed to be a bit cleaner than usual when she came by. It made her smile.

As she washed her hands and face, Y/N pressed her smiling lips together at the sight of her neck, seeing a few purple marks scattered here and there, knowing that Calum’s golden skin looked similar to hers. At least she had a scarf to cover it up when she left.

When she walked into the kitchen that also served as a makeshift dining room that opened into the living room, Y/N was unsurprised at the ruckus going on. Four boys who lived together were bound to cause as much noise as they could, and if she wasn’t being frightened out of her sleep, Y/N kind of enjoyed it. Her house was never this lively, full of so much chatter and laughter and the occasional boisterous yelling, and she quickly found familiarity here.

“Mornin’, Preppie,” Ashton, the oldest high school graduate of the bunch, greeted Y/N as she walked in and he leaned against the entryway between the kitchen and living room, sipping tea from a mug. Preppie was the nickname he coined for Y/N just a short while after Calum started bringing her around, ultimately shocking his buddies that his new girl was a north side Prep. At first Y/N didn’t care for the nickname, but six months later and it was a call to the friendship they established. “Want breakfast?”

Not too hungry, Y/N helped herself to a cup of tea as well as Calum hopped up on the counter next to the stove, where Luke was begrudgingly making more pancakes since Michael was wolfing down the ones already made. Calum slouched where he sat, feet only an inch or so from the floor, rubbing the top of his head and messing up his sleep induced curls even more as his tired eyes remained on his girlfriend.

He watched her, saw how comfortable she was sitting on the lone, random chair Michael had brought in a year ago because someone had put it on the sidewalk to throw it out so he took it and fixed it and now it was one of the random chairs in their house. Every time he saw Y/N lounge around his house, Calum always felt a bit shocked that she was so comfortable here, that she felt and looked so at home.

He remembered the first time he brought her over, about a month and a half in since when they had started sneaking around and he had told the boys he started seeing someone. Safe to say they were in for a dizzying shock when they found out it was some Prep girl. And when Calum brought her over, he hadn’t realized how nervous he had suddenly become when she stepped through the front door. Calum could give a fuck about what people thought of him; no one on the south side had an issue with his house. It was one story, though big enough for the four boys which gave them their own rooms. But it was nowhere near as nice as even the shabbiest house from the north side, and he’d been to Y/N’s house a couple of times already when her parents weren’t around. He knew what kind of background she came from, knew she had money, and suddenly, for the first time, Calum had become insecure of his own pad.

Seems like he had been freaking himself out over nothing, because Y/N didn’t at all seemed perturbed. The hard edged, Greaser side of him had been ready to kick her out if she had so much as made a face at the sight of his place, but Y/N did no such thing. She smiled when she took in the mismatched furniture, one piece rarely matching another, and teased that she didn’t know four boys living together could keep a place so clean. And Calum saw no hidden disdain in her eyes and decided that this chick was definitely more than just a Prep.

As if feeling his gaze on her, Y/N glanced over at him from where she sat on the other side of the small kitchen, quirking a curious eyebrow when she saw him looking at her. Calum merely smirked lazily over the chatter of his buddies, and Y/N smiled, shooting him a quick wink before returning to her conversation with Ashton. Calum felt his throat dry; yeah. . . Definitely more than just a Prep.

Too bad it was bullshit that even though neither of them saw the barrier of Greaser and Prep between the two of them, the rest of the town still did. Which meant for the past six months Calum had been reduced to only being able to touch and be with her in the privacy of their homes or late night escapades at Venture Creek. Not for the first time in the past few months, tough guy, punch-loving Calum wished the rivalry between Greasers and Preps was non-existent.

                                                            *****

Something was wrong.

Y/N didn’t know what, but she could feel it inside, feel the sensation of her heart sinking in her chest and chills running down her back and her worry increased with every minute that went by. She found herself glancing around the theater, nothing seeming out of the ordinary, but she just couldn’t shake the feeling. Glancing at Diana, Y/N saw that her friend was completely engrossed in the film, which was coming to an end soon, so Y/N’s knee began bouncing out of nerves, wanting to bail from the cinema. She didn’t even pay attention to the end, too bent trying to figure out what the hell was wrong.

She was probably freaked out over nothing and needed to get a grip, but the tightness in her chest was silently telling Y/N that something bad was happening. So when the movie ended, she was out of her seat and was practically bugging out of there as quickly as she could, Diana stumbling behind her to keep up with her.

“Why’re you bailin’ so quick, Y/N?” Diana asked as they got to the lobby of the cinema. “Everything okay?”

Y/N frowned, chewing her lower lip as she paused for a moment and mumbled, “I don’t know.” But then she heard it. The noise; the yelling that attracted the attention of almost everyone in the cinema, and it wasn’t hard to tell that it was coming from outside. Her frown deepened and Y/N began making her way towards the doors like some other few were doing, Diana right behind her as they stepped outside in the cool March air.

Everything was louder now as they kept walking towards the parking lot where a group was gathered; sweater vests and leather jackets alike and realization dawned on Y/N that of course there was a fight going on. She felt her previously tense shoulders relax a bit, figuring that this is what had gotten her so uptight before, and she was about to turn to Diana to tell her to let’s go, uninterested in some fight, when she heard a familiar voice within the crowd yell.

That familiar voice, happening to belong to her ex-boyfriend Joey, which happened to be yelling, “That’s the best you got, Hood?”

Y/N’s heart fell.

Before the thought even fully processed in her mind, her feet were moving her towards the boisterous crowd which was throwing shouts every which way towards the two boys in the middle. Y/N could feel Diana behind her, the two young women sticking close amongst the group that was mostly made up of boys, yet they managed to shove their way towards the front.

When they did, Y/N didn’t think her heart could sink any lower than it had, and her right hand instinctively grasped Diana’s left, eyes unable to look at anything other than the scene unfolding in front of her. The scene that consisted of her ex and current—albeit secret—boyfriend exchanging blows, with Joey receiving more than he was throwing.

He was already sporting a bloody nose and an eye that was swelling up after a hit, but Y/N’s own eyes went directly towards Calum. She inhaled an unsteady breath at the sight of him, taking notice of his messed up hair and lack of leather jacket and the red drops and streaks on the front of his white shirt, which also had spots of dirt coloring it. He wasn’t too far from her, allowing Y/N to see the split lip he was sporting and his own bloody—although not as much as Joey’s—nose, along with a yellowing, purplish bruise forming on his cheek.

But what really had her grip on Diana’s hand tightening was the sneer on his lips, an expression of aggravated distaste with his eyes set in the fiercest scowl she’s ever seen him wear. Diana shot her best friend a worried look, but Y/N paid her no mind, too frozen at the fight going on in front of them. Other than Calum’s three friends, Diana was the only person who knew about Y/N and Calum’s relationship. The girl had been downright astounded and in disbelief when Y/N told her she had been seeing Calum for nearly three months, and it wasn’t until Diana actually hung out at Y/N’s house with her and the Greaser that she realized her best friend was truly smitten with the south sider.

It was lucky that while Diana had grown up with north sider beliefs, she wasn’t one to judge people harshly, which is why she and Y/N were best friends in the first place. Sure, it had taken her a while to accept and warm up to the Greaser, especially because of the harsh reputation that followed him, but when she saw him with her best friend, Diana knew that there was more to Calum than she thought. So she kept the relationship a secret, even helped Y/N out when she wanted to spend the night with Calum and covered for her when it came to her parents. Who was she to stand in the way of her best friend’s happiness?

And in this moment, all Diana wanted to do was pull Y/N out of here so she didn’t have to witness the ugly sight in front of them.

“I’m not the one with the broken nose, Ken Doll,” Calum countered, a taunting edge in his voice as he wiped under his own nose with the back of his hand, indifferent to the blood that was smeared on his skin. But Y/N cringed at it; it hurt to see him bleed. Then there was a smirk—not the kind that flipped Y/N’s heart, but the kind that sent a chilling shiver down her spine as he sneered, “Let’s see ya crawl out of here when I’m done with you.”

When he lunged, the shouts from the crowd gathered intensified, and Y/N felt her stomach twist and heart hammer at the sight of Calum landing a ring clad punch to Joey’s jaw. A gasp choked in her throat, watching stunned on the spot, as Joey slammed back into a parked car. And suddenly it was like Joey didn’t have a chance because Calum was on him, left hand fisting the front of Joey’s bloody button down and right fist repeatedly slamming down on his face, the sound of skin harshly colliding with skin making Y/N watch along in horror, frozen in utter shock.

Across the crowd, Luke’s eyes somehow landed on Y/N when he happened to look away from his best friend teaching that Prep fucker a lesson, and Luke felt his heart stop. He saw the look on her face—saw the fright and surprise and numbness—and he cursed, “Oh, fuck.”

He grabbed Ashton’s arm, the older guy looking at his taller buddy before the blue eyed blonde nodded towards where Y/N stood. And when Ashton saw what Luke did, he too was cursing under his breath before the two broke out into a run towards the fight.

Y/N watched two figures break out of the crowd on the other side, instantly recognizing Luke and Ashton, watching in silent apprehension as the two of them reached Calum and Joey, effectively pulling his friend off of the beaten Prep. The raucatious crowd died down as Ashton pulled Calum off of Joey and Luke came to stand between them, and through her anxiety over everything Y/N wondered why the boys came to put a stop to everything.

And then, so subtly, she saw Ashton nod in her direction after animatedly talking to Calum, and to her—what? Apprehension? Anxiousness? Relief?—Calum looked over his shoulder, dark eyes searching everyone’s faces until they landed on her.

She saw the instant change of his expression; saw the dangerous, downright furious glare transform into one of surprise before changing into one of what seemed like regret. Y/N was no longer paying attention to the other people around her, her eyes focused on Calum, her eyebrows drawn together in distress and unease, deaf to everything except her heart pounding in her ears.

Breaking her gaze from Calum, she glanced at Joey who was now being helped up by some of his friends, unable to get up on his own feet, face bloodied. Y/N flinched at the sight of him, a grimace flashing across her face and lips pressing together in mild concern over her ex. Then her eyes landed on Calum’s hands, no longer curled in fists but knuckles and rings tainted with blood that wasn’t his own.

Y/N’s heart was in her throat, along with a tense feeling she couldn’t determine was fear or trepidation, as her gaze lifted to meet Calum. The crowd had began dispersing as her eyes met Calum’s and she recognizing the pleading look he wore, her own gaze softening at the sight of his cut lip and bruised cheek and slightly bloodied nose. But one image of Joey’s bloodied face flashing through her mind had her cringing once more.

She saw Calum take a step towards her, and Y/N took a breath as she subtly shook her head because there were too many Greasers and Preps around, and the two of them hadn’t told anyone. She saw the frown twitch on Calum’s face, and Y/N wanted to talk to him, to run up to him, but there were too many people around. They hadn’t talked about going public, figured that it wasn’t a good idea, and it was that very exhausting ideology that had Y/N preventing herself from hugging Calum. God knows if a Prep girl was gonna run up to hug a Greaser, all the other north side boys would wreak havoc, and that’s the last thing they needed right now. As much as it pained her, Y/N would have to talk to Calum some other time.

She broke her gaze from Calum’s worried, anxious ones, knowing painfully there wasn’t much she could do in this moment. Her eyes met Diana’s, who was also still reeling from what they had just witnessed. “Let’s go,” Y/N muttered, inhaling deeply once she uttered those words. Diana didn’t need to be told twice.

Y/N could feel Calum’s gaze burning a hole in her back as she walked away.

                                                         *****

I fucked up. I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up. Those three words were repeating in Calum’s head like a mantra, a chant to remind him of his mistake tonight. As if he could forget. As if he could ever erase the rattled look of astonishment, disbelief, and devastated unease on the face of the one girl he’s ever really cared about. And the way she looked at him after she truly witnessed what he was capable of—that hurt more than any injury he could get in a brawl.

Y/N wasn’t oblivious to Calum’s actions; she knew he fought—hell, she knew that about him long before she even met him. But once the two of them started hanging out, Calum made sure she was nowhere around if he ever got into it with some Preps. Not that she would be there in the first place, since the two of them never saw each other in public, but the last thing Calum wanted was for her to witness the scene that unfolds when it’s him and his buddies against a bunch of Preps.

But tonight she saw and bailed before Calum could even say anything. He couldn’t explain to her that he didn’t fight Joey for no reason—he lost his temper because he had heard Joey talking smack about Y/N and Calum couldn’t just sit idly by and let that dick talk about his girl like that, even though no one knew of their relationship. The first crude comment about her that escaped Joey’s lips had Calum launching at the fucker. He used his rivalry with Joey to his advantage, so no one thought anything of it when the fight ensued.

Still—Calum wanted to explain his side to Y/N, but she hadn’t wanted to listen. Whether it was because they were around people and couldn’t be seen together or because she couldn’t be around him in that moment, Calum didn’t know. But he couldn’t crash for the night until he talked to her.

The cold wind whipping  against his face was almost a relief as he rode his motorcycle down the emptying streets, everyone already home from their day at work or school, hair slicked back save for a single strand, nearly curled, fluttering against his forehead. The dull roar of his motorcycle was all he could hear as he pulled into Y/N’s neighborhood, dark save for one or two lights in a couple of houses flickered on along with the street lamps dropping pools of light every few feet.

Calum parked his bike in the usual spot under a tree around a few shrubs around the corner, before shoving his hands in the pocket of his jacket, not even flinching at the clench of his raw knuckles, and quickly making his way to Y/N’s house. Her parents were home, but probably asleep, so Calum made his way around to the back, eyes on the sturdy draining pipe that ran up the house right near Y/N’s window on the second floor. He let out a breath. He fucking hoped she left her window unlocked.

Inside the house, Y/N was downstairs in the kitchen, getting herself some water before going to bed. Her parents had long since gone to bed, always turning in early, so she silently made her way back up to her room, bare feet on the wood paneled floors sending shivers up her spine as she approached her bedroom door, on the other end of the hallway from her parents’ room.

She entered the room, shutting the door behind her and when she turned around to walk further in, Y/N froze at the sight of the figure sitting on her bed directly opposite of it her. Only her bedside lamp was on, practically glowing around Calum’s seated figure as she looked at him, the shadows by the lack of light hiding the injuries she knew to be on his face.

Seeing Calum in her room wasn’t a surprise; he often snuck in through her unlocked window, using the draining pipe to climb up. Honestly, Y/N had expected him to show up after what happened tonight, and she was glad he was here, especially with how she had just left after everything went down. She hoped Calum get the wrong message, though she wouldn’t be surprised if he had.

“How’re you feeling?” she asked, hoping to keep her tone neutral although the concern slipping in couldn’t be helped.

Calum watched her as she took a few steps further into the room, though small and almost hesitant. Was she afraid of him? The harsh twisting in his chest was unexpected yet robbed him of his breath; Calum didn’t want Y/N to be afraid of him. Not ever. The mere idea of her fearing him had bile burning the back of his throat. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he rasped, sitting up and squaring his shoulders. “What about you?”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, walking over to her vanity to set down her glass before facing Calum. He had an unreadable expression on his face, eyes blank and lips pursed, making Y/N wonder what he could possibly be thinking. “Me?” she frowned with a light shake of her head. “I’m alright?” It came out as a question, only because she wasn’t sure why Calum was asking her. It’s not like she’s the one that had blood on her face earlier.

“You looked pretty tee’d off. Rattled,” Calum supplied, lifting his chin slightly, almost in defiance. As if he was trying to appear indifferent to her reaction of seeing Calum like that, when in reality he was anything but. When Y/N parted her lips but didn’t say anything, Calum stood up, easily towering over her, though she didn’t shrink back. That was a good sign, maybe. “You know what I get into, Y/N. You know I don’t care about wailing on some asswipe—especially when it comes to my girl.”

Y/N blinked at his words, giving a startled shake of her head as she asked, “I’m sorry, what? What do I have to do with this?”

Calum scoffed, a dry smile on his face as her rubbing his hand down his face, not even flinching as he rubbed against his bruised cheek and cut lip. Y/N stared at him expectantly, wondering what the hell Calum was talking about as he walked towards the window he had climbed in from, now shut as he stared out into the dark of the night.

“Your ex-Ken Doll was talking about you,” Calum finally spoke up, his back to Y/N, but she heard the edge in his voice, which was wavering as he tried to keep it steady through the anger that was creeping in. Y/N’s frown deepened, lips tugging downwards as she noticed the tension in his shoulders. “’M not even gonna repeat what he said but it didn’t sit well with me. Had to teach him some manners, even if he didn’t know what lesson he was learnin’.” His jaw ached from how hard he was clenching it, thinking of that damned Prep’s derogatory words about his girl being the easiest bitch he’s ever laid. Just thinking about it got Calum’s blood boiling.

Y/N stared at Calum’s back, eyes wide and jaw slightly hung as his words sank in. She knew getting into brawls was in Calum’s nature, knew that the animosity between Greasers and Preps hadn’t eased up just because she was secretly friendly with them. She also was aware of how things weren’t good between her and Joey since they had broken up, her ex always sneering at her in the hallway at school and making comments left and right—though, she never told Calum because she didn’t care. Joey could say whatever he wanted, it was only fueling her dislike for him. And why should she care, anyways? She had Calum, and he’s all she needed.

She may have flinched at the sight of Joey’s beat up face, but she could give a damn about him anymore.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” Y/N spoke up, a gentleness in her voice that matched the soft smile on her face. The thought of Calum defending her like that, although violent, had her heart racing. They’ve been together for six months, yet he still managed to keep her on her toes.

Calum turned to look at her, a disbelieving frown on his face. “I wasn’t gonna let some piece of shit Prep get away with talking about you like that,” he said, nothing but solid determination in his slightly accented voice. Y/N didn’t say anything, feeling a rush of warmth at his words at the knowledge of Calum being so fiercely protective of her even if she wasn’t there to hear Joey’s unkind words. Calum scoffed with a shake of his head, looking back out the window as he continued with a mutter, “Even if it means havin’ you bein’ afraid of me.”

That had Y/N blinking in disbelief, staring at his broad shoulders since Calum was still showing his back, not looking back at her, as if he was expecting a look on her face that would just prove his point. But all Y/N could do was look incredulous, taken aback at his words. Afraid of him?

“Cal. . .” she began, her hand reaching out to grab his arm, the leather jacket cool under her touch as she tugged him. “Look at me.” When Calum reluctantly turned, expression steeled as if he was bracing himself for Y/N’s confirmation, she felt her heart sink. His jaw was clenched, muscle jumping that gave away the tension he felt that was hidden in his blank expression. “Calum, I’m not—I’m not afraid of you.”

He let out a disbelieving huff with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t bullshit me, Y/N. Saw the look on your face—you couldn’t’ve booked out of there faster if you tried.”

Through the hard mask he wore, Y/N saw the hurt crack through it and she swallowed inaudibly, her shoulders sinking at the thought of being the reason for it. Calum had the reputation for being the toughest, baddest Greaser out there—it was the side of him that he made sure everyone saw. It was the only side of him everyone else saw.

But Y/N was lucky. She got to see past the tough exterior; she saw how big his heart was, how caring and loving and gentle he was. The side of him that was reserved just for her, and while that side of him was one she adored, Y/N’s feelings for Calum wouldn’t be as strong as they were if she didn’t accept him for who he was all over. He was a Greaser—he was her Greaser.

“I was surprised, Calum, not afraid,” she told him, her other hand coming to grab his, her touch gentle as she glanced down at his hand, her fingers ghosting over his bruised knuckles. Calum turned his hand then, carefully grabbing hers and Y/N smiled smally, looking up at him. He had been looking at their joined hands before his gaze met hers, the tension leaving his features somewhat yet still cautioned. She should’ve known her fleeing actions could’ve been misconstrued, could’ve caused Calum to think that she was running away from him when in reality she wanted whatever conversation they needed to have to be done in private. They couldn’t do that in front of everyone.

“I saw you,” Calum argued, eyebrows drawing together slightly. “You were scared, Y/N. I know fear when I see it.”

“Maybe so, but I wasn’t scared of you,” Y/N easily countered, watching as Calum pressed his lips together, his lower one a bit red due to the diagonal cut in the middle. “I just—I was scared of the whole thing. No girl wants to see her boyfriend in a fight, no matter how well he can hold his own. It was. . . A lot, and I was also worried about you, but I wasn’t afraid of you, Calum. I could never be scared of you. Scared for you, yeah, but never of you. I need you to believe that.”

She kept her gaze on him, watched as he dropped his own down to their joined hands, a furrow in his brows as he considered her words, unable to stop herself from holding her breath as she waited. After their first night together at the creek, when they decided that they wanted to see more of each other, be together, it had surprised Y/N how easily Calum opened up to her. There had definitely been times when his tough, not-to-be-messed with exterior shined through when they were together, but more often than not, when he was with Y/N, Calum melted. She had an effect on him he hadn’t seen coming.

“I do.” Calum’s voice was gruff as he let go of Y/N’s hand before his finger looped into the ring that she wore around her neck, dangling from the chain. No one ever really questioned Y/N on it, assuming it was a new piece of jewelry, and every time Calum saw it around her neck he felt a swell of pride in his chest, adoration for the girl in front of him. He kept his finger looped in, bent at the middle joint, as he met her eyes. Then, hesitantly, looking afraid for the first time Y/N’s met him, Calum asked quietly, “You know I’d never hurt you, right, sweetheart?”

Y/N’s eyebrows smoothed out from their frown, staring at him almost incredulously, taking in the expression he wore. Genuine worry was swimming in brown eyes she adored, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat nervously as Y/N’s lips parted, letting out a breath. The fact that he felt the need to ask her that broke Y/N’s heart, making her want to do nothing more than erase any and every doubt that may be clouding Calum’s mind.

“Of course I do,” she answered with every bit of conviction she had, her hand that had been resting on his arm sliding up to cup his jaw, brushing her thumb along his unbruised cheek as she added with a reassuring smile, “You don’t ever have to worry about me thinking otherwise.”

One look at her—at the breathtaking smile and glimmering eyes and unadulterated acceptance—and Calum didn’t need to press on the matter anymore. He felt the weight of the night lifting off his shoulders, easing his chest, and finally being able to breathe. He used his finger in the ring to pull Y/N closer, slanting his lips over hers in a kiss that he hoped translated his gratitude, his feelings.  

How lucky was he to be in love with the most beautiful person, inside and out?

Now it was only a matter of telling her.

tags: @gotta-try-something-new @crownedbyluke @lipstickstainfading @angelbbycal @cals-babylons @irwinkitten @spookyashton @luke-0-lantern @vaporlewk @perfectlycake @tothemoonmikey @kaloncal @calumh-excess @bitchinbabylon @calistajs @grreatgooglymoogly @calumthoodsyonce @biggestslutforcalum @cosmixcalum @babygirlcashton @thebodaciouscth @irrevocablylukes @calistheloml @ghostofhood @gigglyirwin @checkeredcalum @wrappedaroundcal @complete-trash-101 @thesamebutwonderfullydifferent @booklove-2 @calumfornicationx @sensationalmikey

[veridium]

the good, the bad, and the dirty

GET ON YOUR SUIT & TIES YA’LL BECAUSE WE’RE HEADING TO BEST-DRESSED HELL! IT’S GOING DOWN!

the start of this all // the previous episode  

Special thanks to Panic! At The Disco for this segment song title reference. Oof. 

--

The weekend is as it’s always been whenever she goes home: a brain-washing initiative for a Neo-Stepford Wives way of life. While she hides in her childhood bedroom playing “Beverly Hills” on blast to drown out the noise on the other side of the door, the night of the gala rolls around whether she likes it or not. If it wasn’t for Ellinor’s text updates about her weekend with Rutherford tol and Rutherford smol, she probably would have swan dove into her family pool from her second floor mini-balcony just to scare the shit out of her parents. Again.

She gets ready on her own, much to her Mother’s taste for opulence. A red, strapless velvet gown is her piece meal: not nearly her style, but not completely out of left field. When you can’t go black, you go red. Its ruching onto one side gives her a good illusion of a hourglass figure...or so Josephine recommended. She curls her hair and pins it to fall on one shoulder. Red lips and eyeliner sharper than her stiletto heels, and she’s done for caring. Traffic will be hell anyway, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t have her own way of escaping the evening. When she arrives and hangs up on her bluetooth call with Ellinor, the first presence she encounters is her Mom’s of course, because they had spent so much time apart. A whole hour. 

Her Mother spends the brief time they have convened on the sidewalk in front of the doors to do the following: side-comment about her dress, wonder why she did not ride with them, and tell her not to do ‘unideal’ things since she is running for Mayor in the Spring so the family has to look presentable. Her step-father, Fred, comments that she cleans up nice, but it too scared of her wrath to do more. She will enter in after they do, to not risk an over-attached link; her preference, not theirs. While she stands off to the side of the main entrance and security detail, she can hear the music: smooth jazz, live, by the echo of it. Which means people will pretending they like jazz, know jazz, go see jazz. Fantastic; as if she wasn’t striving to puke into a ficus during the event anyway.

Then, as if her Champion on a shining Honda bike, Theia pulls up to the valet. She’s wearing a perfectly fitting pair of black straight pants and a matching blazer with a white pressed button-down shirt on the inside. A deep purple pocket square and black matte dress shoes cap off the outfit.

“Josephine work her magic on you, too?” She says with a laugh on her lips when she jogs up.

“Pff, yes, thankfully. You look...like you’re about to buy the entire gallery and tip the man...shit.”

“Yeah well, I gotta polish up once in a blue moon, right?”

“Ugh, a Blue Moon. That sounds so good right now.” Olivia slouches and leans against the cement block planter behind her, full of tropical plants that were undoubtedly planted mature rather than grown. Everything pretty and worth time was purchasable like that.

Theia smiles, and leans next to her. “Hey, come on you fembot. It’ll be over before you know it. Let’s go before we’re not fashionably late anymore. I have a beautiful woman in a pretty dress to see and feel undeserving of.”

--

The place is a madhouse. Whoever said “little Board gala” was lying out their ass. Oh, wait, it was her Mom. They enter on the first floor, but the locus it down a central, rather wide staircase made of glass and metal. People walk down is as if they’re floating down from on high -- and they probably believe it. At the base is a couple of photographers for local press, and a red carpet. A corny, overdone red carpet.

“God,” Olivia mumbles as they come down the walkway towards the stairs. “I match the carpet.”

Theia chuckles. “No, you out-do it. Come on, keep up the pace.”

“Theia, I’m in heels, and I’m tiny. Your step is four of mine, okay?”

“Then chop chop, miss!”

She elbows her in the side a bit, before rounding the open corner. The lights shining down from the tall ceiling up three floors are yellow and warm, but it doesn’t smooth over the icey, artificial feel of it all.

Elbowing through a few groups of people they stand at the top of the stairwell.

“Ready?” Theia sighs under her breath.

“No,” she responds. Then, with futility, they both start descending. Slow, not for the sake of her enjoyment, but for her shoes and gown skirt. Everything is bad as it is, until out the corner of her eye, a certain head and face flag her vision down like nothing else. Black hair. Pointed, strong nose. Oh God. Oh no.

“Shit,” Olivia curses low, veering in close to Theia. “Theia, I have to get out of here.” They’re still walking to save face, but she wants to run in the opposite direction and never return.

Theia looks out, searching. “What, what’s going on?”

“She’s here.”

“She?”

“She...she who--”

“Oh, shit. That’s her, isn’t it. Here, take hold of my arm.” She doesn’t wait for Olivia to do it, and takes her hand and hooks it under her arm, now looking like she’s escorting her. Olivia pulls back but then, as if on tragic cue, the woman she believes to be the one woman she never wants to see again looks up.

And then their eyes lock. Her heart stops, and her weight falls heavier onto Theia as she gets them down the stairs. It’s like she’s out in the open for a sniper to take her out, elevated above it all on her way down from the bullshit, wealthy heavens. It is a horrible, agonizing few seconds, before she breaks her stare and gazes down at the remaining steps. She’s too far away to see details, but her pristine, but slightly sullen complexion is enough.

People stop and stare up at them, and photographers pine mindlessly. They’re beautiful, well-dressed, and daughters of prominent families. Both rejects of the silver-spooners club, though, for different reasons. They stand together respectfully and wait for the fanfare to pass as it always does after a half minute; afterward, it’s a swift pull to the underside of the stairs and out of sight.

“Fuck! She wasn’t supposed to be here!”

“How did you know? Did she say as much?” Theia follows and stands tall while Olivia paces. Steady for her, as a friend would want to be. But in the moment she wishes Ellinor was there to match her pitch of over-worrying.

“I did--well, like, okay,” she pivots around, “the game was this weekend. The jocks party like heathens. She should be there. Ellinor said--” she stops herself. Ellinor did not say, either way, for sure. She just took the conversation for granted. She pulls out her phone and starts texting like a mad-woman:

--SOS. Cassandra is here!!!! I am losing my mind!!

Theia takes her phone just as the message sends, intervening. “Olivia, get yourself together.”

“No! No no, this is not ‘get together’ time. This is panic ti--”

“It is not! You are going to walk out there and mingle, and be hot, and not back down! Come on, you look dressed to kill. Now is the time, if there ever was one.”

A half-second of deliberation, then… “Nope! Running! Gonna--gonna r-r--”

“Liv!” her hands go to her shoulders. “You have been given a golden opportunity. The queers above have granted you this one fleeting moment of brilliant karma. You, alone, have the power to slay your demons once and for all. Are you going to cower and hide, or are you going to own it?”

Shit, that was a good speech. Olivia holds her breath and bites her lip, trying to man-up. Woman-up. Person-up. Literally anything at this point would help.

“Ugh, fuck,” she continues breaking her promise not to cuss excessively. “Okay.”

“Good. Now, take my arm again, and let’s go.”

As they re-emerge, Olivia can’t help but scoff. “You’ve been watching too much Downton Abbey with Josephine, haven’t you?”

“Agh, no! Just work with me. I have to find a way to challenge her to a duel, anyhow.”

“Jesus. You have been watching it.”

--

They disburse into the crowd, and Olivia does her best to mingle with meaningless manners to everyone she rubs shoulders and elbows with. Some County Commissioners, a few old people, and some young. It was exhausting, but by the end of the first hour, she had hope. Only one more, and she could free herself. Eventually they did run into good company: Josephine, in a dress just as, if not more beautiful than expected. Purple, matching Theia’s pocket square, and sequined mermaid style.

“My dear,” Josephine said coyly, as Theia left Olivia’s arm for hers. “Traffic wasn’t too much, I hope?”

“Not at all,” Theia kissed her politely against her cheek, hand gentle on her bent elbow, “I just had to persuade Olivia not to run away before she could leave her glass slipper.”

Josie giggles, and turns her attention to their third-wheel. “So, has it been bearable?”

“Not really,” Olivia says as she snags a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and his tray. It’s her third serving in the last hour or so. Theia turns to Josie and whispers something in her ear, all discrete and sexy. Fuck it all, they look so good together. When Josie’s happy face adjusts, she can only hope for the weak alcohol to start kicking in.

“I see,” Josie muses, “I should have known something was afoot when Lelian--”

“Who, now?” Olivia looks and interrupts, more on edge.

Josie raises a brow. “I...uh, nothing. Nope. Nothing.”

“Josie…” Olivia dreads, “what haven’t you told me?”

“I have not kept anything from you! But I am not responsible fo--”

“Josie!!”

The voice that could summon Olivia’s wrath comparable to a thousand suns comes from behind her. In an instant, she evaluates the surroundings for potential sharp objects to use. But it’s not fast enough for darling Leliana, as she appears. They grow their mingling circle to accommodate her.

“Leliana,” Theia nods tenuously, “so good to see you.”

“Theia!” Leliana smiles, before bending forward and kissing her on either cheek. Theia looks nervous, but humors her Parisian attitude. “You look stunning. I am so glad you could make it here.”

“Yes, well, I don’t miss an opportunity to support Josie, or her sister. By the way, Josie, where even is Yvette? She owes me my CDs, still.”

Josie folds her arms and snorts. “I’m afraid she is somewhere flirting with a classmate. Something Lucian, Lucas, I have no idea. It is her night to peacock.”

“So it is,” Leliana adds, before she looks at Olivia, blinking and shaking her head as if she had just appeared out of thin air. Maybe it was her quiet brooding. “Olivia, my goodness! I didn’t even notice you, you are stealthy in a crowd.” She’s wearing a knee-length, black dress. Chanel, maybe.

“Yes, I am, Leliana. Thank you for noticing.” Not stealthy enough, evidently. She isn’t safe from the same double-cheek-kissing, and she survives it with less grace than Theia mustered. But, when it’s over, it’s nothing but glee for everyone else.

“How wonderful. These events can be so boring.”

“They can, indeed,” Theia takes Olivia’s glass before she can knock it back like the inner bar blonde she is. “You are flying solo tonight, Leliana?”

Theia I am going to murder you in your sle--

“Hah! Oh, no, not this time, actually. She’s...hm, let me see!” she looks back over the crowd behind them. At this point, Olivia is praying for the rapture. Something, anything apocalyptic. Or a guy. A guy Leliana has brought as arm candy, named Cliff, who studies kinesiology and loves snickers. “Oh, yes! Hey, over here!” she waves.

Olivia, who has had her shoulders and chin tucked for self-preservation, locks eyes with Theia. She has that same look on her face as she did when she was giving her the pep talk: carpe diem, bitch, it’s time to handle it. Josie also looks at her, more sympathetic than motivational, but they both look away as the person Leliana’s flagging down like a plane draws closer. And so, with a deep breath and raised head, Olivia peeks back over her shoulder to behold her undoing.

A black, long-sleeve jumpsuit, with a plunging neckline that goes to the top of her ribs. Simple, fitted well, and so flattering on her figure. Black oxford-style shoes with a slight heel. Her hair is shiny and soft-looking, so much so she wants to run her fingers through it the second she sees it. For the second time, they lock eyes, and it’s in passing again. But when Cassandra looks at her the whole room becomes abysmal.

“Ah, there you are,” Leliana’s voice echoes from miles away, as if Olivia is underwater. It’s too much. It’s too good. She looks away fast, back to her friends, while Cassandra arrives between where she stands and the redhead ruining her life.

“Theia, I’m unsure if you’ve met Cass--”

“Cassandra Pentaghast,” Theia says, vaguely threatening as she holds Olivia’s champagne to her own lips, “no need to say.”

Leliana doesn’t miss a beat, glossing over the interruption. She places a hand on Cassandra’s shoulder and it inspires Kill Bill sirens in Olivia’s mind that are near-deafening. “Remember I mentioned her? Josephine’s girlfriend,” she adds.

Cassandra’s chin lifts, her tone changing, becoming more interested. “Oh. Yeah?”

Josephine bunches her shoulders all cute and clever, “the one and only, finally in the same place at the same time.” At that, Theia grins and nudges her with affection. Easy, and complete. They fit together.

“Nice to meet you, Theia,” Cassandra finally says, calmer in tone. “I have heard good things about you.”

Theia gives a pointed look back. “Wish I could say th--”

“Yes, I’m afraid I’m too much of a bragger,” Josie, again, softens the blow. “Uh, Theia, why don’t you and I go see about the chocolate fountain I hear is in the east lobby? I’m starting to get hungry, anyways.”

Olivia feels herself go pale, and she looks up, like a light bulb goes off. Her way out is granted, or so she thinks. “Good idea--”

“Oh, I can bring you back something!” Josie smiles, taking Theia in her arm and turning away, “you do not worry about exerting yourself in those stilettos!”

Olivia gives a pained exhale, thinking she’ll just follow anyway. Fuck manners. But then, she’s called by her temper.

“So, Olivia!” Leliana catches her mid step. She turns back to see them both standing to themselves like tall beams of rich snobbery, Cassandra looking reticent while Leliana’s enthusiastic as all hell. “I hear your Mother is running for Mayor in the Spring?”

She swallows hard, and straightens up. Think tall, be tall, take the chance. Make Theia proud before you kill her for all this. “Yes, she is. She’s very excited about it.”

“That is impressive. Running against an incumbent in her own party, no less.”

“Well, Republicans do love plurality of choice, do they not?” she clutches her bag with both hands.

“That’s  true. Interesting times. Did you know Cassandra’s cousin will be running for the Democratic seat?”

Cassandra speaks, but is interrupted. “Leliana, that is--”

“It’s all rather hush. Your family is so reserved with their plans. It’s a wonder how they have so much going on.” An awkward half-pause, before Olivia turns more to Cassandra. Their eyes lock, and she softens.

“That is exciting, I’m sure. Congratulations and good luck to your cousin, Cassandra.”

“It..it’s no big deal. Political offices are common trappings in my family.”

Olivia fakes a grin, but her sheepish response is usurped.  “Modesty,” Leliana remarks, hands going behind her. “Even with such a recent victory under your belt, no less.”

“Leliana…”

“No,” Olivia interrupts, trying harder, “I heard from Ellinor. You won the game! That is good.”

Cassandra looks back at her, somewhat surprised looking. “It was...it was--”

“It was harrowing, to say the least. A nail-biter. But Cassandra’s been practicing so intensely, and she was a master on the field. Carried the team, if you ask me. It was so special to watch. tout à fait le spectacle!” quite the show. Lord, this woman was working the Francophile angle. It was so painful. So, so painful. Olivia’s eyes glazed a bit, and she let a breath out her parted lips.

“Leliana, really, that is quite--”

“Agh, If you’ll excuse me, both of you. I...I have to make sure my eye makeup hasn’t sweat all over my face.” She looks to both of them, slanting her chin fast before seeing herself away. Behind her, she swears a faint “Olivia” is spoken, but she doesn’t heed it. Ejecting herself into the crowd. Cutting through the legion of people in black blazers and multi-colored gowns she finds a corridor, where a less-dramatic staircase is found behind an exit door. She climbs up one, two flights, heels clicking furiously until she enters the floor. It’s part of the gallery, more desolate with every turn she makes into it. She comes across an offshoot room, wide but not long, where an artist’s works line the walls with a bench in the middle of the floor. It’s white walls, industrial lights above her head, and impressionist-inspired portraits. She’s panting, out of air beneath her tight dress and the spanx. Fuck spanx.

She walks to the far corner of the room and stands in front of a painting, a woman in a black dress with a low back, sitting at a round table. There’s fruit in a bowl, of course. Always fruit in a fucking bowl. A game plan has to be made while she catches her breath. Just as she’s about to get her phone out to call Ellinor and signal her retreat, the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Shoes hitting the concrete floor back in the main walkway. Closer, and closer.

“Olivia?” Her voice. It carries well, in the gallery’s cavernous architecture.

She looks to her shoulder, but keeps her back to her. “Oh, hey,” she then turns. Her hand rubs her arm. God, she looks so beautiful. Tall, statuesque, with muscled curves she wants to get lost in. It’s been a week and she’s starved like a year without crumbs.

“Hey,” Cassandra looks anxious, like she hadn’t planned this all through. “I...I’m sorry for Leliana being all...”

“What? No, don’t be. I’m not...that’s not at all why I’m up here. I just needed air. I get flustered in crowds.”

She nods abruptly. “I-I do, too.” Her hand hooks onto her elbow. “You...I almost didn’t recognize you. You look…”

“Yeah, I know.” Fuck. She shakes her head and corrects herself. “I mean, I...thank you. And don’t worry, I don’t hate your date, if that’s what you’re worried about. She’s swe--”

“Date?”

She flinches. “I...I just figured...”

Cassandra’s awkwardness melts, and she rolls her eyes and looks away, shaking her head. Everything about her says ‘unbelievable’ with frustration. “Leliana and I are not dating.”

“You...you aren’t? B-but,” she turns to face her head on, hands falling to her sides. “I thought when I saw you both at the coffee shop that morning, I…”

Cassandra steps forward. “She and I, we…” she chuckles drily, “we go to--”

“The same church. Got it.” It always...goes back...to church. She sucks her teeth for a moment, regaining her composure. Everything in her heart says leap forward, make right what was wronged. But her mind says spare more heartache. More awkward silence passes between them, before Cassandra takes another step closer.

“Is that why you’re acting like this?”

“Me? Cassandra, you have been just as aloof as I have.”

“I was trying to respect your space. You were the one who called for it.”

“Yeah, well, you said you agreed and you wouldn’t have time.” Her shoulders go back as argumentative confidence settles in. She’s good at picking fights. Not so much at...well, most other things. But if there was ever a good hail mary for her in a tough situation, it was a sparking conflict. “Um...you know, like I said, no harm done. I was going to get back to the party anyways, find my Mom, she’s--”

“You’re going to leave again.”

She blinks and looks up from her attempt to walk away, and Cassandra is staring at her. Decisive, and impatient. One might even suggest fed up.

“I…”

“You are doing exactly what you did the first time.”

Her cheeks heated. “I beg your pardon?”

A humorless smile. “You think you have it all answered again, and you’re running. You won’t let me explain, because you don’t care. You just want what you want when you want it, and when you don’t, it’s nothing.”

“Ohoho, oh no, you don’t,” the earrings come off...metaphorically.

“Then what’s the truth? Because from where I stand, you’re booking it fast for a woman in heels and a gown.”

“I’m a dancer, I’m used to being on my toes.”

Cassandra folds her arms. “Olivia.”

“Cassandra.” She matches her tone, but staring at her is breaking her apart. “You...you think what happened could just happen and I would not want space?”

“And what exactly happened, in your opinion?”

“You wouldn’t...you just…” she struggled, waving her hand at her side. “You have been making me do all these things, and chase, and I don’t know what I’m chasing! That’s what happened!”

Cassandra stares, a brow raising, but otherwise dead-pan. She then comes even closer. They are now only a couple yards apart when she stops, looking clever again. Clever and infuriating.

“Let me ask this, then: which one of us has initiated all our plans thus far?”

Olivia pouts and stomps her heel, arms crossing. She does mental math: the concert, the coffee date, the Church...thing. The pho outing. The work night in her office. Shit.

“I, uh...y-you.” Dammit. She can’t look her in the eye.

“And who has taken the other to various places that are important to her, so that the other can really get to know her, and perhaps even trust her?”

“...You.”

“And who has--”

“You, okay. You. Fine. Whatever it is, it’s you. I got it.”

Cassandra’s gaze lowers to the floor, and her hands go into her pockets. Shit, the jumpsuit has pockets.

“I think you have miscalculated just who has been doing the chasing.”

“Really?” Olivia rebuffs, “and what exactly are you chasing for, then? You...”

“I what?”

“...Make no sense, Cassandra! You’re all intentional, and you have your rules, but you don’t say anything about what they’re supposed to be accomplishing? I have no fucking idea what you want from me. You think I’m the demanding one, but you’re the one who has all the hoops to jump through with nothing promised on the other side. So what’s up?.” Her voice echoes a little too well, and she hopes they are alone wherever they are in the ridiculous building.

In the wake of her temper, though, Cassandra only frowns and looks to the floor. Pensive, as her eyebrows twitch up. Her lip rolls inward.

“You know, Liv, I don’t think the problem is my ambiguity. You’re too smart for that. I think you knew what I wanted; I think you’ve always known. You’re just upset that you can’t call the shots, even if it means the chance at being treated how you should be treated without having to spell it out or dictate it.”

Ouch. 

“...And how should I be treated, then? Like a virginal Princess? To be brought back to the good side from her tawdry exp--”

“Like a person who deserves respect and genuine care as to what her ideas, concerns, and interests are!” her voice lifts, but not in volume. More...in depth. “Do you really think you objectifying me like that is going to resolve the issues you have with objectifying yourself? That every time something goes astray, you can just blame it on my background, when you know so little about it other than what I have so cautiously shown you?”

Her vocabulary, her passion, has and always will get the best of her. Olivia deflates underneath her puffed up chest, now hollowed out and losing the hunger to fight. Cassandra is right, she is not always the most articulate. However, when she is it cuts to the bone. Clean, and merciless.

“I’m not trying to do any of that,” she says, stoic but losing grip, “I’m just trying to do what’s best for me. And from the sounds of it, you have been very mistaken in your understanding of who I am.”

“Oh, have I?”

She swallows. “Yes.”

“Don’t be ridi--”

“Bullshit! You don’t get to call me ridiculous. You don’t get to show up here out of the blue, have your friend torment me on your behalf, and call me ridiculous!”

“I did not come here to torment you, I had no idea you would even be here! You said you hated these kinds of things.”

“I do! I hate them, but my family has me on a leash called ‘tuition.’ What’s your excuse, huh? Needing to show off on the town after your big soccer...thing?!” she bitterly remembers she’s inept at sports. Inept at women, too. It’s a match made in hell.

Cassandra stiffens, and takes a beat. “If it’s anyone doing the tormenting, Olivia, it’s not Leliana. I would look in the mirror for that answer.”

Olivia’s eyes narrow into a hostile, acidic glare even she can feel burn. “How dare y--”

“No, you know what,” Cassandra sets a foot back, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I did think I had found someone who turned out to be anything but who I thought they were. I’ll save you the trouble and see myself out. I know how it tortures you to be the first, anyways.” Unadulterated sarcasm. It cuts even deeper than her words.

“How can you--”

“No! Enough is enough. Now maybe, just maybe, you’ll get a taste of what it’s like when the person you can’t get out of your head for some God forsaken reason...ugh, forget it. Have a good night.” She continues back-stepping, hands with palms flat in Olivia’s direction. Olivia’s heart goes quiet again with the hope that maybe it’s all a dream, or Cassandra will come back around the corner and take it all back. But she doesn’t wake up, and Cassandra doesn’t come back. From the distant end of the floor, the fire escape door opens and shuts.

She wants to say goodbye, or mingle to keep up the charade, but coming down the stairs she can’t bring herself to rejoin. She can’t show her face, smiling and graceful, when she feels this way. So, she gets off on the first floor, and heads for the exit. There, she waits like a scorned Greek statue in her pretty gown for her car to be brought around. There’s no messages on her phone, not even from Theia or Josie. They must be having a wonderful night. Good, they should.

She drives off with all her masterful disregard for speed limits. When she brakes at the first stoplight she plugs in her phone to the AUX cord and puts it on one of her weird Spotify Daily Shuffle playlists. The first up is The 1975, “Somebody Else.” She leans forward onto her steering wheel and bursts into tears. Luckily, her last-minute stop before she drives home is nearby. She stops at the Trader Joe’s, strutting with wrath inside in her gown. 

All the late night vegan Moms and 20-somethings turn to look at her, and watch her as she marches her way to the alcohol section. Her face was carefully wiped using the visor mirror before she entered, thank God, but she’s still choking back sniffles. While she stands in front of the menagerie of bottles she calls Ellinor, but nothing. Voicemail.

“H-hey, Ellinor. I’m on my way h-home. Things h-happened, and...look, I’m gonna pick up stuff and be back tonight. Maybe y-you’ll be a-awake. I...I love you…” she wants to say more, because the message thus far sounds pitiful, but she hangs up there. She grabs two bottles of mid-priced whiskey and marches, growling at the rum on her way out.

Whiskey and chocolate bars. Elitist, ‘ethically-made,’ over-priced chocolate bars, and she’s out onto the road. Her bags never left her trunk. They rarely ever do when she goes home.

--

She drives like a Bond stunt woman, but it gets her back faster. By the time she sets foot on the campus parking lot she’s listened to an entire 1975 discography.. The last 20 minutes were no music at all, which, arguably, is the most miserable. But she can’t keep crying while driving.

‘I think you knew what I wanted.’ Past-tense. It’s digging under her skin and driving her wild. 

It’s past midnight when she walks into the dorm, barefoot and with her brown paper grocery bag, and everything is as safe as it’s gonna get. Going to her door, a faint sound echoes into the hallway and makes her stop.

Crying...that’s gotta be crying. Olivia turns and jogs down the hall as her stomach sinks with an intuitive feeling that shit has hit the fan. Pressing her ear to the door, her worst fear is realized. Nothing can stop her from shoving a bobby pin from her over-sprayed hair and unlocking her way in.

When she does, it’s bedlam: Sheets tossed, pillows thrown around the room, her string lights on draped on the walls but nothing else. And Ellinor, on the floor, curled up and sobbing.

“Ellinor, oh my God!” she drops everything and falls to her knees, crawling over to her. “Ellinor, hey, hey it’s me…!”

Ellinor flinches, but keeps crying. “L-Liv,” she quivers, “I...I…”

“Shh, sh,” Olivia sits back and pulls her into her lap, wiping her hair out of her face. She’s choking back tears both of self-pity and sympathy, now. In no shape to be a friendly savior, but she’ll try. Ellinor gains enough coherency to roll over into her, shoving her face in Olivia’s stomach. More crying, for what feels like ages, as they hold onto each other.

Then, after some time, Ellinors inhales sharp and congested. “Y-you f-feel like a Build-a-B-Bear…”

Olivia lays her head back against the lower twin bunk wood. Her chin curdles, and she wipes her face. “Y-yeah, I do. It’s a whole t-thing.”

“Liv, I f-fucked everything o-over...and he...h-he…”

“He did what?” she looks down, her attentions all the sudden lethal. “What did that bastard do?”

Ellinor trembles in her shoulders and lays on her back, face up at the ceiling as she rubs her soaking eyes. Still in Olivia’s lap, where it’s safe. “He-he went to the p-party, a-and...wait, did you…” she peers over at the bags. “Did you bring something?”

“Y-yeah,” she rubs her nose, “I went and got our favorite thing.”

“Whiskey?” her nose and lip quiver.

“Yeah. And chocolate, to go...to go in between. Maybe we should just w-wait, wait just a little while to dive in, okay? Maybe...maybe drink water, or some...something like that.”

“Ugh, angel face,” she closes her eyes and takes hold of Olivia’s hand. “You don’t look too hot, either. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

“Shh, babe,” she sighs, before yanking her necklace off. “Don’t be sorry. It’s...it’s not your fault. We’re gonna be okay, okay?” she takes a breath, and looks at the clock on the dresser. The second catastrophic Saturday night in less than a month. They must be going for a new record. 

[rogue-c]

House Sitting, Pt. I

“So I gave you the spare keys already?”

“Yes…”

“And what about money for uhhh… ummm…-“

“The lawn care guys honey.”

“Yeah! Do you have the envelope with the money for them in it? I gave that to you earlier right?”

I let out an exasperated sigh.

“Yes. I have the money,” I responded dryly. “And the spare keys to the house, and the emergency numbers, and the numbers to all the resorts you’re staying in AND your flight information, and even the alarm codes for the house. I am fine. Go catch your flight… please…”

I loved her dearly, but I was more than a bit frustrated with my best friend Vanessa at the moment. Thankfully her husband was here to stem the tide of her tidal wave of worried questioning. It was understood to some degree though. She and her husband, Andre, were headed on a whirlwind tour of various European countries for the next month or so. Naturally, Vanessa asked her best friend to house sit for the 6 weeks that they’d be gone.

But Jesus! Did she trust me or not? This obnoxious questioning routine was getting way out of hand. I’ve known her since college – maybe 12 years or so – and she’d always been a bit neurotic, but this is overkill even for her. As she continued nervously muttering to herself, I took the opportunity to help her husband take the bags out to the car. Of course, they had packed everything they needed and then some – resulting in a host of extra suitcases and bags to lug around. We had been talking in the kitchen and no sooner had I made up my mind to help Andre did Vanessa disappear into a nearby door and down into the basement, perhaps to look for something she may have forgotten. Curiously, I had never been down there in all the times I’d come over. I peered into the nearby opening, hoping to glean what might be below, only to realize I couldn’t see anything.

The lighting was too dim to see around the corner at the bottom of the staircase, and I turned my attention to Andre, who was already robotically moving the suitcases to the car outside. I grabbed as many bags I could and followed the man’s tall, lanky frame out of the kitchen and through the living room, out of the front door and down the narrow walkway towards the mini-van that was waiting. The van was all black, with tinted windows. The midday sun glinted off of the windshield to the point that it was nearly blinding as I approached. Squinting to ignore it, I pulled the luggage up to the trunk of the van and began tossing it into the back of the vehicle.

“Hey…” Andre began speaking to me. “I know ‘Nessa is being a little much today-“

“It’s fine.” I interrupted. “She was like this when we graduated and when you two got married, so this isn’t really a surprise. She’s always uptight when she’s nervous.”

“Yeah, but we owe you. You’ve been a big help over and over and we probably couldn’t live a lot of our dreams without you, ya know?”

I lowered my head to hide the blushing from that comment. As I felt my cheeks redden, I thought back to how Andre used to be when he and Vanessa first met. He was far bulkier and much harsher – a bit of a stereotypical jock. But over the years his attitude mellowed and he physically changed to match – becoming the physical embodiment of his caring, gentle demeanor. It was odd at first, but I could tell Vanessa enjoyed this version far more than its predecessor.

“Umm, yeah. It’s no big deal. Thanks” I responded, flustered from the unexpected compliment.

Andre started to smile, but before he could verbally respond, the driver honked – rather frantic in his insistence on leaving on time as he emphatically tapped on his wrist. Instinctively, I moved towards the house again to go get Vanessa. Before I could even get halfway back, she was rushing out of the house, tripping down the porch stairs as she pulled her last two suitcases behind her. She stopped for a brief second to give me one final hug – and a rundown of everything I may need – before the driver honked again, indicating his anxious desire to leave.

Vanessa took the signal as an opportunity to brush past me as she hurriedly threw her suitcases into the trunk with the others and step into the van. As she did, she motioned her husband to do the same – a direction that resulted in the harshest of eye rolls from Andre as he waved goodbye. I began to head back inside when a call startled me.

“HEY… LESLIE!” I turned around to see what another annoying tidbit of information my friend had for me.

“I know I said to clean the entire house each week, but don’t worry about tackling the basement. There’s some stuff down there that I need to move first, so just let it go.”

Perplexed, I gave a thumbs-up as I watched the van speed away from the curb and down the street, only to disappear around a nearby corner in route to the airport. I continued my lonely trek back into the massive house I was to watch for the next six weeks. It was an enormous white house, with brown and grey stone facing. The cement walkway bridged the porch to the sidewalk, crossing through neatly trimmed and manicured grass. The porch itself wrapped around one side of the house, barricaded by a white railing on its edge. As I walked up to the stairs back to the large reddish-brown wooden door, a tinge of jealousy swept over me. I’d been in apartments all my life – this kind of luxury was still hard to fathom even though I’d been here dozens of times.

The living room was immediately beyond the door, and once inside the climate-controlled lush confines of the house, I casually flopped down onto the nearby sofa to relax. The white furniture sat atop black marble flooring and was situated in a square, with an ornate glass coffee table at its center. The walls were maroon colored, giving off a bit of a sensual vibe, to be honest. Despite its size, the room felt cozy, especially with the fireplace on the far right wall. On the left were the stairs to the bedrooms. In front of me, there was a hallway they led back to the kitchen. It was a surprisingly simple layout for such a grandiose house. As I lounged on the sofa though, a thought kept crossing my mind: Why hadn’t I seen the basement? I mean, I’ve known Vanessa for at least 12 or 13 years. We’re best friends. Did she not trust me? Was I not close enough with her to go down there? And why tell me not to worry about cleaning it all of a sudden? Was there something down there I wasn’t supposed to see?

The thought of it frustrated me to no end and as I stomped into the kitchen to grab something stiff to dull the frustration, I felt something was off. The room was square shaped, with the refrigerator on the far right side of the room. Earlier Vanessa went down into the basement by opening a door that was next to it in the corner, but now, the refrigerator was curiously blocking the door, squarely in front of it. As odd as it was, I didn’t think much of it as I reached into the refrigerator to pull some strawberry jam out. But as I reached above the appliance to grab some bread and peanut butter, I began hearing what sounded like moaning coming from just behind the refrigerator itself. I couldn’t quite make out the words, but they sounded strained and guttural. As I leaned further into the fridge to try and understand what was going on, I heard something different. A loud thumping on the door it seemed. It was slow and loud, and it scared me half to death as I tumbled backward, staggering away to get back to my feet. The thumping continued as I sprinted out of the room and up the nearby stairs to the bedroom.

I sprinted into the master bedroom and shut the doors behind me, unsure of what was going on, and much less what I should even do. I reached for my pocket to try and call Vanessa, but there was nothing there – my phone was still downstairs in the kitchen. Angry at myself, I began pacing the room, thinking of what exactly could’ve made that sound. It couldn’t have been a pet, Vanessa hated cats, and Andre was allergic to most dogs and their fur. Maybe it was a stray animal that got down there? But then how’d anyone have time to push the refrigerator in front of the door before it got out? And wouldn’t someone have called animal control for that? What was down there?

I had to get my phone first. Anxiously, I tiptoed back down the stairs, through the living room and back into the kitchen. Sure enough, my phone was resting on the black granite countertop, right next to the jam I had pulled out. I crouched down and moved as silently as I could, hoping whatever was behind the blocked off basement door wouldn’t notice me. As I got close I reached up for my phone and grabbed it, sliding it off the counter and over the edge. As soon as I had it, I bolted for the stairs again. No sooner, did I stand to run did the banging start again, this time louder and more frantic. I ignored it and ran back up the stairs.

I was safe and back into the master bedroom. Immediately, I dialed Vanessa. The phone rang and rang, rang for what felt like an eternity until finally, it picked up. It was Vanessa’s voice.

“Hey, thanks for calling. If you’re getting this message then I’m probably busy – most likely with a client. If this call is for professional or medical advice, then please call the corresponding number listed for ____ hospital. If it’s an emergency, hang up and dial 911. If you needed to reach me for a personal matter, a text would be more effective. Thanks.”

Of course, it was her damn voicemail. She was probably on the plane and halfway to London by now. I might as well try texting though. Maybe she’ll get that sooner than the missed call. As I sent it, I knew, deep in my heart, that I’d have to figure it out on my own. The sun was sinking outside and there’s no way I’d be able to sleep without finding out what was down there. I sat up from my seat on the bed and hopped onto my feet. If I was going to be comfortable, I had to go check it out.

As I marched back down the stairs, I tried to mentally prepare myself for whatever weird little animal could be down there. I could take it. Once I got to the kitchen, I looked around for a bit, searching for a makeshift weapon. In the corner near a table, I saw a broom. I grabbed hold of it and stepped towards the refrigerator. In order to get to the basement, I’d have to move it first. I stood on the side of it and began pushing. Slowly it began to budge, inching away from its post in front of the door. I couldn’t push it all the way off the spot, but I managed to move it just enough that I could squeeze into the basement entrance. I turned my phone’s flashlight on and peered into the stairwell before me. It was dark and dim. The stairs looked decrepit – like they would break if you jumped on them. But I had to go down there and check….

[kenzieam]

Druid - Chapter Ten

Rating: M (smut, language, violence, mature themes, potential major character death)

Genre: Drama/Angst

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JAMES

I can’t wait to get the fuck out of here.

It’s been a shit show around here this last week, and all I fuckin’ want is to take my girl on a long ride on my bike and then a longer ride on my cock.  

Levi’s been working hard, cleaning up and organizing her new shop. Tully was a hell of an artist, and kept his immediate work area clean, but the rest of the shop was seriously doubtful and my girl’s had her hands full. She’s near militant with her cleanliness, and the place reeks of bleach and disinfectant.  

I roll to a stop in front of the corner store, my bike idling smoothly beneath me.  

One minute rolls into two, and I start to get antsy.

I turn off my bike and lean it on its stand, then walk slowly inside. I’m in full leathers and colors, and even though I’ve lived in this town my whole goddamn life, the sight of me still makes some people cross the street (or aisle) to avoid me. I hardly notice anymore, and definitely not when my only thought is to find the one person who means everything to me.  

A quick scan tells me Levi’s not in here and I step back outside, frowning. This is the closest corner store to her shop, the most logical place to go.  

Something’s not right. The same instinct that’s saved my life more than once is starting to hum again.    

I climb back on my bike and start it, begin idling slowly along the street, scanning faces for Levi’s, but nothing, she’s not out here. My chest is beginning to tighten as I reach her shop. It’s closed tight, the lights off.  

To be sure, I dismount and stalk to the door, but it’s locked; no shadows move within.  

I turn, and my eyes happen to drop to the ground. My heart goes with them.

Three drops on the sidewalk, nothing more.  

I crouch, touch one with a shaking finger. The blood is tacky, a deep red.  

I know deep in my heart that this is Levi’s blood, that something fucking terrible has just gone down.

Levi’s gone.

For a half-second, I let myself panic, for a heartbeat I let my mind run wild with the possibilities of what happened; for the space of one breath I let the darkness in.

And I never ever want to feel this depth of anguish again, I would die to keep from experiencing this raw terror a second time.

I force it all away, force myself to focus; to draw on that part of me that takes over when I’m Cannon, the part of me that leads with confidence, able to make snap decisions, that knows what to do.  

My phone is in my hand, the number dialed before I even realize I’ve done it.

“Hammer.” I bark, not letting him even answer. “Someone’s got Levi.”

“Explain.” He’s instantly alert, instantly serious, instantly Hammer, and that’s my he’s my Sergeant-At-Arms; no one can throw down faster when it really matters.

I outline what’s happened, realizing as I do that it’s fairly weak evidence... but I just know, and Hammer doesn’t argue.  

“I’m on my way, give me fifteen.” He hangs up. I dial Steve, leave the terse details when he answers. He too senses the utter seriousness immediately and all trace of levity are gone from his normally friendly voice.  

A thought occurs to me, like a goddamn lightning bolt and I scramble at my phone, clawing at the screen. A while ago I asked Levi to install a tracker app on her phone; she’d eyed me for a bit but complied and I am so fucking grateful she did. I swipe the app and tap the LOCATE icon. I’m fucking sweating bullets as the screen blurs, three blinking dots waiting to deliver my fate.  

Finally, fucking finally, the screen clears, a red dot blinking steadily in the center of the screen. My heart hammers in my chest, a breath-stealing mix of relief and fresh anxiety. What will I find? I activate the app’s direction option and a path forms on the screen for me to follow. The dot shows Levi’s just a mile or so outside of town, and the dot isn’t moving.

Or her phone isn’t, and Levi’s long gone.

I force that shit down because I cannot allow my mind to consider that, not right now... not ever. I cannot lose Levi; not after everything, not after all the years and shit we’ve gone through to be with each other.  

It’s not a fucking option.  

My bike roars as I fly away, hardly even cognizant of my surroundings, all I see is the dot on the screen, all I can think of is Levi; the way she looked this morning as I watched her sleep, the fluttering of her delicate eyelashes, the faint smiles; her pleasured moans as I pushed slowly inside her, buried my face in the crook of her neck, basking in her warmth and love, felt her arms wrap around my neck and hold me close as we whispered eternal love to each other-

I’m close and screech to a stop, panting for breath as I rip my helmet off and scan the area. The app shows I’m within ten yards of Levi, of her phone, but all I see is the blacktop, the grassy shoulders, empty fields. I scramble off my bike, barely remembering to lean it on its stand and start frantically casting about, eyes darting between the screen and indifferent surroundings. My eyes drop to the ground, nearly on top of the dot and I beg, scream inside to anything or anybody willing to listen to not let this be it, because she’s not here, there’s nothing-

A glint catches my eye and I dive at it, ignoring the gravel that bites my palms.  

Her phone, shattered and dying; now that I can see it, I notice more chunks of it, slivers of glass, plastic bits. It doesn’t take much imagination. It was thrown from a moving vehicle, bouncing and splintering into garbage, into a mocking sign that my girl is gone.

The scream that tears from my throat is more beast than man, more tortured and anguished than fury and for the space of a few seconds, I can’t breathe, I can’t focus, black dots swim in my vision. I’m either about to pass out or transform into the Hulk.  

The remnant of her phone crushes in my fist.

A strange numbness takes over my limbs. I will hold it together as long as I need to, to find Levi; and then my monster will be set free.

I don’t look back as I mount my bike and race back into town to meet Hammer.

It seems like eternity, but within a half hour the bulk of my club’s muscle is here. The darkness, the what-ifs are threatening to consume me again when a hand slams on my shoulder. I whirl, ready to smash in someone’s face, or maybe collapse into hysterics when I see Hammer staring at me, eyes blazing.  

“We need to get back to the clubhouse.”

“But we have to look-”

“Trust me.”  

And I do, despite, or maybe because of, everything that’s happened between us, I do.

“You okay to ride?”

I nod sharply, not looking back to see if anyone follows me as I roar away.  

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

“Thor, fuckin’ spill, man.” I growl, pacing the war room. It’s been less than an hour since Levi disappeared, and it’s been too fucking long already. My nerves are razor edged and raw.  

Steve has coordinated the entire club and their families traveling here for a lock-down, and he walks into the room just as I snarl this at Thor.  

“Lock-down initiated.” He reports and I nod at him, thanking him silently. I ordered the lock-down but am way too wound up to have followed through with anything.

Thor shifts his weight, scrubbing roughly at his crew cut before smacking his fist on the table. “I think I know who’s got Levi.”

I glare at him, my lip curling, a microsecond away from snarling at him to spit it the fuck out.

He opens him mouth to answer, then grabs his chirping phone, swiping it and glowering at the screen. Whatever it says confirms his suspicions and he drops it again with a rough nod, looking more confident but also a million times angrier.

“Fuckin’ Lurch.”

I consider slapping the stupid out of him, but hold back. “The fucker’s dead... you helped bury him!”

“No... Shit, Cannon. His brother. His fuckin’ twin brother.”

“What?!” I hiss, shock threatening to overtake my rage. “A fucking twin? Jesus Fucking Christ!”

That’s all I get out, then I’m literally apoplectic with rage, I can feel the veins pulsing in my neck, feel my face go purple but I can’t draw a breath, can’t-

Steve slaps my back hard enough to make me stagger, but it forces me to breathe again and I wheeze, bent double.

“Explain.” Steve demands, his voice clipped. He’s almost as affected as me, but he hides it way better; I’ve always been the emotional one of our brotherhood.  

Thor growls, rubbing a hand roughly over his face, his stubble rasping. “I got Bane and Tucker to ask some questions, check out any security footage along the path Levi would have taken. Didn’t get much but that florist across the street said she saw a big guy in a grey van parked in front of Levi’s shop. Guy inside looked shifty, her description matched Lurch, big and ugly. She didn’t see him take her but it’s too fucking convenient. I called Tracer and asked what the fuck? did that asshole have a twin or something? and yeah, he fuckin’ does, but Trace never mentioned it because they ain’t close. That last text was Bane, the florist didn’t remember much about the van except it had out of state plates, and Trace confirmed the rest.”

Rage and fury like I’ve never felt rip through me. That fucker sold us out, ran off and told Lurch’s brother! My fists clench tight enough I feel warmth drip between my fingers.  

Thor reads my expression, tensed to stop me if I take off running. “Trace says he didn’t tell him. Lurch hadn’t talked to the guy in years, so he just told the mother. She musta’ called him.”

“Who is this guy? Tell me everything.” I ground out. Dimly, I feel an ache in my palms and hold them up, staring semidetached as I uncurl my fists and see bloody crescents in my skin.  

“He runs with the White Knights out in Idaho. Trace says they’re half MC, half white supremist militants; you know, those crazy bastards that think the government’s trying to take their guns and there’s going to be a civil war. Tracer didn’t know the whole story, but it sounds like their dad was killed in a drug deal gone south when they were just kids and their ma married the VP of the Knights. Lurch never really agreed with the militia shit and got out, but the brother stayed. Name’s Joseph Henday, road name Deimos. Lurch was his twin.”

“Deimos?” I snarl, because what the fuck?

“You know, Greek god of dread and terror.”

“So, what? He’s a fuckin’ scholar?!”  I rage. Fuckin’ Henday’s got some god complex, thinking he’s-

“Cannon.” Steve barks and it’s enough to snap me out of my spiral.  

Shit, I cannot let the darkness take me, I need to stay sharp; I need to find Levi, then I can let the beast free, and plant this fuck Deimos right next to his fucking brother.

“Where is he?”

“Working on it.” Thor replies. “His most likely travel back to Idaho takes him through Hedge’s turf, so I got them keeping eyes out for grey vans and ugly motherfuckers. Nothing yet.”

“And Tracer? What’s he doing to make this right?” I’m so fucking outraged at my charter brother I can taste blood.

Thor and Steve trade a glance. “He’s sending up some brothers, checking out all Henday’s old haunts, but it’s a long shot, they never ran together down state.”

A bitter retort stings my tongue but I bite it back. Tracer’s day of judgement will come, but not now.

My brothers are eyeing me like a rabid animal, but they don’t need to worry; I’m in control. I will keep it together, until this is over and Levi is back safe with me, then all Hell will be unleashed and I will bathe in the blood of everyone who was part of hurting my woman.

LEVI

Where the fuck am I? Christ, my head hurts.

Flashes of what happened hit me. Lurch, fucking Lurch! standing in front of me, back from the fucking dead; and then the fucker hits me again, again!  

What is it with this man and backhanding me?

My cheek throbs, and I’d bet my best tattoo gun that my eye socket is cracked again, if not outright broken. My pulse pounds through my cheek, which feels hot and tight, and my bottom lips throbs. I test it tentatively and taste blood, feel a rough wound. I must have put my teeth through it, or maybe broke my fall with my face.  

I lay quiet for a moment, gathering my bearings. I’m in a vehicle, I can hear the road noise. A radio plays quietly, but I can’t hear it over the rush of blood in my ears.  

“I know you’re awake.” I hear a rough voice growl nearby. “Stop playing the fool.”

Fuck you coils on my tongue, itching to escape but I hold it back. Instead, I open my eyes and lift my head. I try to sit up but am hampered both by stiff soreness and resistance at my limbs. I manage a clumsy shuffling and squirming into a seated position, glancing down. Plastic zip-ties secure my wrists and ankles, cutting deeply, threatening to break the skin and bleed.  

I focus on the speaker, the man back from the grave currently driving the van I’m being held prisoner in.  

“You’re supposed to be dead.” I don’t think this guy responds to small talk, so I cut right to the chase.

He sneers, flashing me a glare in the rearview mirror before turning his entire head. “You stupid bitch. You killed my twin brother, not me. But I’m the one calling due.” He turns back forward, shaking his head like I’m too stupid to live.  

“Brother?” I choke.  

“Yeah, split-tail. We didn’t talk much, but that don’t mean I ain’t gonna make the fuckers who killed him pay.”

Well... shit.

I’m dizzy, and disoriented; and I don’t usually get car-sick but I’m definitely nauseous right now too. The road is bumpy, or maybe the shocks in this van are shot, and I’m getting jostled quite a bit, the zip-ties digging painfully into my skin. I look around when I can, and am not encouraged by what I see.  

The van is dented and dirty, obviously only a means of transportation. A military rucksack lays nearby, and a sweatshirt sleeve pokes out, and two duffels lie closer to the back doors. They’re all hard angles and clink with each bump and I realize they’re full of weapons. A large crate holds camping supplies and a rolled up sleeping bag sprawls beside it.  

Where the fuck is he taking me?

There’s a definite dangerous vibe to this guy, and I mean beyond the fact that he’s hit me and abducted me to god knows where. Something about him is high-strung, edgy; the permanent kind, like he was born with a faster metronome than the average person and it makes him instinctively more reactive.  

I have no idea how long I’ve been out, and honestly no idea of what direction this bastard is taking us and I can’t see much from my perch on the floor either.  

I try to sit up slightly, just enough to catch a hint of where we’re going, but I’m not a ninja at the best of times, and this guy seems to have the senses of a hawk.  

His fist appears from nowhere, pain exploding in my cheek and I fly backwards, hitting the floor painfully. It takes me long moments to get my bearings again and I glare up at him through bleary, pain-hazed eyes. I’m going for pissed-off, but I don’t think I’m quite there, I’m too disoriented.

His cold eyes mock me, his thin lips twist in a sneer. He’d be handsome if he wasn’t so goddamn flat and hard.  

“You’ll see where we’re going soon enough, then we’re going to have fun.” The way he says ‘fun’ sends instant shivers of fear through me and he smiles knowingly, tipping me a wink before turning back to the road.  

JAMES

I am losing my fucking mind.

It has been over a day since Levi was taken. Thirty-one hours, sixteen minutes and forty-nine seconds to be exact; and each fucking tick of the clock is a fresh stab in my heart.

I’m going crazy, legitimately losing my mind as I can’t stop obsessing over what that bastard might be doing to her right now, to my girl, my woman, my fucking life.

My guys have been machines, tirelessly working, calling up favors and trying everything in their power and beyond to find them. Trace has been fucking useless, and that fucker’s days are numbered. I will bring down his entire chapter if anything’s happened to Levi.  

Fuck.

FUCK.

I haven’t slept a wink, I’m running on nothing but desperate adrenaline and burning rage right now. The families are all sleeping, it’s near midnight, but the majority of my brothers are still awake, still working, still looking.  

I can’t take this, the unknowns, the what-ifs, the maybes and possibilities. I’m going to break soon, I won’t survive this if Levi’s been taken from me forever. I’ll shatter and disappear, my soul leaving to try and find hers, to be with her forever.  

My cell starts ringing and I scramble to answer it. The brothers fall silent, raising their heads to listen. I don’t recognize the number, but I’m so desperate for news I hardly even pause to consider this.

“Barnes.” I bark.

“Cannon.” A low growl.

“Yeah? Who’s this?” A hard knot starts to form in my belly. I have a damn good idea who it is.

“I’m sure you’ve figured out by now who took your bitch.”

“Deimos.” The knot twists. “Give her back, you fuck.”

He only laughs.  

“What do you want?” There is precious little I wouldn’t give up right now.

“Like money?” There’s a new edge to his voice. “We’re loooong past monetary compensation, my friend.”

Cold dread threatens to close off my throat. Dimly, I note Thor and Steve moving closer to stand on either side of me, listening intently. “Then what do you want?”

A low chuckle. “My brother back. But since that ain’t gonna happen; I’ll settle for your woman.”

“What do you want?!” I roar, my tenuous hold on my temper fraying and snapping.

“I want you to know that you can’t do a fucking thing to save her. I want you to know I’m going to take everything she has to give. I WANT you to know I’m going to strangle her while I split her in half. AND I WANT YOU TO KNOW I’m going to keep fucking her corpse ‘till it’s cold. AND I WANT YOU TO KNOW I’M GOING TO SEND HER BACK TO YOU A LITTLE PIECE AT A TIME!!” He roars back, voice rising with each word until his voice can be heard throughout the room.

I scream wordless rage, terror and helplessness giving my voice a broken edge. Steve snatches the phone from my hand.

“Deimos!” He barks, then shakes his head, pulling the phone away.  

Deimos hung up, I heard the click even as Steve took the phone.  

A sharp pain in my throat breaks off my scream, but my panic and fury are still crushing me, and mangled animal whines spill from my lips. Finally, my rage surges anew, giving me something to focus on and I clench my fists, my broken noises morphing into a low snarl.  

I am going to tear this fucker apart with my bare hands.

LEVI

I'm tired, hungry and cold. It’s pitch black out, must be near midnight. The campfire nearby does little to dispel my chill. My wrists and ankles throb, the zip-ties biting tightly into my swollen flesh. I’ve been working on sawing through my wrist-tie for hours now, using only the edge of a pebble I managed to hide in my fist. The brother’s sharp, and he watches me often, so I can’t work at the tie as much as I need to in order to break it.  

He's been drinking, not a lot, but enough to loosen his limbs and lower his restraint. The hatred in his eyes is eclipsed only by growing lust and stark fear coils in my belly.  

The surest way to punish me, to break me and James, the two people responsible for killing his brother, is to take my body before my life and his next actions confirm this. Dread prickles my skin as I watch him dial a number, growing stronger each second as I listen to him toy with James.

Then I hear James yell ‘what do you want?!’ and my blood runs cold as I watch this dangerous man seemingly morph right before my eyes, maniacal rage growing in his eyes as he answers, as his voice rising to an unholy scream as he describes just what he has planned for me, or rather, for my cooling corpse. With the firelight glinting in his eyes he looks like some sort of mad creature, an insane beast.

I shake with terror, unable to hide my fear as he violently ends the connection, stabbing the phone screen almost hard enough to break it. He’s breathing hard, growling on each exhale and my heart literally stops when he turns his glowing eyes to me.

Instead of attacking me however, he smiles and I’ve never seen something so demonic and soul-chilling.  

“Sweet dreams.” He rasps before standing and stalking away, leaving me to stew and speculate, wait in terror for his return.

JAMES

Thor and Steve have been checking up on me periodically, making sure I’m not doing something retarded like slitting my wrists, or swallowing a bullet. I hear one of them now, judging by the tread, it’s Thor.

“James.” He says, voice low. In the shadow of Levi’s abduction, we’ve moved beyond road names.  

I sigh, dropping my head. I can’t speak right now or I’ll fall apart.  

His hand rests on my shoulder and it’s all I can do to keep from collapsing. It’s been forty-six hours since Levi was taken, fifteen hours since Henday’s phone call and my soul is raw, shredded and bleeding; I’m weak from the loss and blackness threatens at the corners of my vision. Standing here helpless while my mind runs wild imagining Henday carrying out his threats, laying hands on my woman, making her suffer, torturing her as he violates her, then taking her life is doing a serious number on my sanity and I’ve chewed my lip bloody, pounded at the walls until my knuckles tore and bled.  

I feel so helpless, I’ve never felt so fucking helpless, so goddamn weak. I will raze the earth, burn the world to the ground in retaliation, then I’m going to curl up and die so Levi and I can be together again.  

Thor seems reluctant but then Steve rushes into the room, looking around quickly before spotting us and reaching us in two powerful strides. He nods to Thor who relaxes only slightly.

“We might have a lead,” Thor begins and I whirl to him, aware the gleam in my eye isn’t entirely sane.

He glances again at Steve before continuing. “They grew up outside some shit town on the Nevada border. One of Tracer’s guys that was tight with Lurch says the two of them used to talk about taking their childhood home back from the bank, fixing it up again.”

I stare at him, not understanding. Precious little is able to break through my haze of devastation right now. If I wasn’t so shit scared about what could be happening to Levi at this moment, I’d be shocked at my extreme reaction; but at the same time, I can’t find a fuck to give. This is Levi, this is my goddamn life; I’ve waited for her for too fucking long to lose her now, she’s too bright a star to be taken from this world. It doesn’t matter that we’ve been together for short weeks, she’s my heart and soul, she always has been.

“It’s got meaning to him, it’s a potential hideout-” Steve begins.

That’s all I need to hear. It cuts through my haze. “Move!!”

LEVI

He’s back, but he still hasn’t made a move towards me. In a way, this is worse; psychological torture, leaving me on pins and needles to wait.  

I’m not sure if the blood trickling from my abused wrists is helping lubricate my attempts to saw through my ties, or hindering it, but I can’t stop. It been hours since he phoned James, its midday based on the sun and I’m getting seriously weak from dehydration.  

I’m also fucking starving, but the prick hasn’t offered me anything to eat or drink. He’s brought plenty, and never fails to slake his own thirst and stuff his own fucking face right in front of me, but he’s trying to wear me down; either wait until I’m desperate and will agree to anything or am just too damn weak physically to resist him anymore.  

I spent hours last night awake, eyes peering at the darkness, tracking shadows and jumping at every little sound, waiting for him to come back. I don’t know where he went for most of the night, and for all I know he could have been mere feet away, watching me in the blackness, but he returned to the camp this morning and has hardly looked my way since.  

I have no illusions that he was lying to James; he fully intends to carry out what he threatened, he will take my mind and my body as payment for his brother, and send bloody reminders to James periodically for fun.

Therefore, I keep working at the tie, long past when I could’ve given up. I know James won’t give up looking for me, I won’t give up trying to escape.  

And then, just as the cramps in my fingers threaten to completely immobilize them, threaten to numb them so I can’t saw at the tie anymore, the tie breaks, weakened enough to snap. For a second, I freeze in shock, not moving and glance desperately at my captor. Did he see me jolt? My arms move suddenly as the restraints gave? The abject astonishment on my face?  

I exhale slowly, muscles trembling. He didn’t notice, at least not yet and now I have to figure out what to do.  

Do I attack? Try to kill him? For someone who’s never contemplated personally murdering anyone before, I’ve become quite enamored of the idea.        

Do I try to sneak away? Even as that thought flits through my exhausted mind, I know it’s beyond foolish. I have no idea where we are, but its desolate. All I can see is empty land and scrub-brush. Some semi-arid hell-hole. I’m weak and hungry and he’d be on me in seconds if I tried to run.  

“Dad used to take us out here to camp.” He speaks suddenly, breaking the silence and I turn to peer at him in confusion. He’s hardly been loquacious during our time together, so his sudden volunteering of information is startling.  

I have no idea if he’s even looking for a response, so I wait silently. “There’s nothing around for miles.,” he continues, reaching down and blatantly adjusting himself and I suddenly and with a sinking feeling realize exactly what’s on his mind. “There’s no one to hear your screams.” He stands then and begins to stalk slowly towards me, slowly he pulls a large knife from the small of his back. The lust that’s been lingering in his eyes for hours has completely taken over his expression. “You’re going to be a sweet piece, split-tail,” he growls and I can’t stop a tremor of fear. “I’m gonna like fucking you ‘till you break.”

Shit, I don’t have a plan yet.  

I sag slightly, trying to convey both exhaustion and resignation, maybe trick him into lowering his guard. Through lowered lashes I search desperately for a weapon. Shit, there’s nothing nearby.  

He's almost on me and I do the only thing I can think of. Throwing myself backwards I kick violently upwards with my bound legs, moving them as one large limb. His eyes widen is shock when he sees my hands are free and it gives me the extra half-second I need.  

My feet connect solidly with the bulge in his jeans and the sound he makes both satisfies and chills my blood. At the last moment, instinctively and without aim, his hand slashes at my feet to stop them, but it’s not enough. The blade slices a gash along my shin before continuing between my feet and we’re both stunned when the knife cuts through the zip-tie.  

Thank the fucking fates for small favors.  

My feet ache, both from renewed blood-flow and connecting solidly with his groin but I scramble desperately upright, casting around for anything to use.

“Bitch.” He snarls, stumbling backwards; I must have kicked him real hard and it does my heart good.  

I launch towards the nearest item and snag it with claw like fingers. I swing back around and, acting on adrenaline alone; for if I had a second to slow down and consider what I was about to do, I’d chicken out; I launch myself back at him. In my hand is a propane tank and it’s either almost empty or my adrenaline has given me extra strength.  

His eyes widen and a mix of fresh rage and shock color his features. He wasn’t expecting his prey to have teeth.  

Foolish, arrogant bastard.  

I swing the tank in a wild arc towards his head, fully intending on splattering his brains across the sand. As my arm gets closer, he abandons his knife and instead pulls a pistol from his belt. I’m committed though, the momentum of the tank too much for me to stop, but I couldn’t stop anyway, this is my only chance.  

I let go of the tank, praying my aim is correct and dive to the side; I hear a sharp bang just as white-hot pain explodes in my shoulder and I hit the ground hard. Dimly, as my shoulder ignited, I heard a loud hollow thump and grunt and I roll quickly, struggling to me feet, gritting my teeth against the pain.  

I managed to connect with the fucker’s head, but he’s not dead, just stunned, scalp split and one side of his head reddening with blood. My options are few as I leap frantically for his gun, only to scramble desperately away when he tries to grab at me. Instead, I start running, snagging the knife he dropped as I pass and duck behind the van as another shot goes off. I crawl beneath the van, heart hammering. My legs are on fire, pins and needles like crazy and my body shakes like jelly.  

He’s been knocked stupid, and staggers as he nears the van. His mind is telling him to find me and finish me, but his balls and head hurt too much too make it a smooth operation and I need to use this to my advantage. The van jolts, metal screeching when he falls against it and blood patters to the sand at his feet. I slash at him with everything I have, hitting just above both heels. The dual pops of his severed Achilles’ tendons are drowned out by his pained howl, and I’m already scooting backwards under the van as he falls to his knees. I scramble through the passenger door of the van and fall into the driver’s seat, clawing at the ignition.  

The driver’s door rips open and he roars as he reaches for me. I react without thinking, slamming the heel of my hand into his nose and hear a satisfying crack. His eyes roll back in his head as he collapses forward. His head lulls in the van’s doorway and I see one more opportunity, then I’m getting the fuck outta here.

I slam the door on his head once, twice, and he falls limp to the sand. My eyes land on his back pocket and I fall out on top of him, fumbling for his phone then I’m screeching in fear and panic, clamoring back inside and grabbing at the ignition, twisting the key. The van roars to life and I throw it into gear, fishtailing away. Tears pour down my cheeks as I start bawling hysterically but through them, in the rear view, I see my attacker’s body slumped in the sand where I left him.  

I hope he’s dead, but I’m not staying to find out.

The adrenaline rush that no doubt saved my life is rapidly dissipating and I start trembling uncontrollably, fucking vibrating, my teeth chattering. There’s a rough road ahead of me, little more than a trail and I push the accelerator to the floor, trying to get as far away from him as I can before I pass out.  

My heart is hammering painfully in my chest and my shoulder is on fire, my arm leaden. Jesus, I’ve been shot. If I had anything in my stomach, I’d throw up; I’ve never been shot and it fucking hurts!

The van jolts and the engine falters. Smoke starts pouring out from under the hood.  

“Shit! Not now, not now please!”

But my luck runs out and the van dies. After it coasts to a stop I climb painfully out. I missed noticing it in the rush, but that second gunshot I heard was closer than I thought. It hit the van, blowing through the front fender and did something bad to the engine inside, I’m lucky I got as far away as I did. I’d estimate I made it a few miles at least.

Let’s see that fucker drag his crippled ass that far.

I remember the phone and pull it out, swearing sharply when I see that I have no service. There’s service back there where I was held, but I’m not going to risk it. My legs ache as I start walking forwards.  

Shit, that sun is hot and my throat is fucking dry. As I cross over a small rise I see a crumbling house a few hundred feet away and I almost start crying again in relief.  

The house is abandoned, the few buildings around it falling apart. A robin’s-egg blue ford pickup is the only spot of color, it’s hood up, tires flat, paint baked by the sun. I stagger closer to the house, if nothing else, it will provide some shade. The small yard is overgrown, the rickety barb-wire fence that delineated it from the scrub brush, marking the property, is barely visible anymore.  

The door creaks open on rusty hinges and I shuffle inside.  

No one’s been here for years.  

I take out the phone again, biting back a whimper when I see the screen. It’s not strong, but I have service down here. With shaking fingers, I dial James’ number.

His voice is hard, murderous. “Deimos.”

“James-” I manage before I break down completely, sobs tearing through my body.

“LEVI?! Jesus baby! Levi, talk to me!” James screeches, his voice breaking with emotion.

“James,” warmth fills me, pushing away the physical pain at the sound of his voice. “I got away.”

“Where are you?” I hear tears in his deep voice, he’s crying with me.

“I don’t know.” I whimper.

[therealsymmetra]

//Pack

Why do they hunt in packs? Because one alone becomes the prey. 

Jack and King are @jorgancrath‘s

Modern Fantasy AU

This is a different train today. Yes. Five blocks too far then double back. Nobody kept their eyes on their phone screen even though they weren’t actually reading the text that they scrolled through. News. Humans killing each other. Nothing new. Their senses instead were overwhelmed by the scents and sounds of the subway, a million different subtle layers of human life that seemed to clog their head. But nothing stood out, nothing was repeated and that was a good sign. The sunlight that had poked itself out from behind the clouds after a week of incessant rain was also a positive, there were ways to shield a vampire from the sun; amulets, magic, a coat and an umbrella, but at the very least they were noticeable or a lot of work Nobody hoped that the clan wasn’t willing to go through. You killed the master, they’ll do anything. They swallowed back their fear as their stomach growled. Being in a crowded city and too paranoid to leave their motel room to find food was also a danger in more ways than one. They couldn’t afford to lose it in such a place, a forest, away from civilization, maybe. But not here. They were trapped really. If they left the city it was nearly guaranteed that they would be hunted down by the clan, if they stayed and didn’t keep a tight check on their hunger and the moon, then worse things would happen. Much worse. The train swayed as it stopped, a gush of people stepping out onto the platform swept them along and soon they emerged above ground, safer in the sunlight.

They had walking to do, and while their stomach was empty they still had their stamina. Once again they refocused their senses, scanned the myriad of people. Humans, creatures, monsters, they all meshed together here in the streets, but there was something different. An alpha. They could smell them not far away, and Nobody hoped they would stay there; they weren’t looking to be absorbed into a pack, they knew what happened to stray dogs like them. They picked up their pace but the scent never diminished, even as they wove their way through alleys and finally into the grocery store; however it didn’t seemed to grow stronger, not until of course they were well into their shopping trip. They were in close quarters now, a store might be big but compared to the streets it was much harder to follow someone by scent alone if you didn’t follow. Follow. They were being followed. They had to be, this wasn’t a coincidence. They deliberately took their time, trying desperately to spot their stalker to no avail. Their heart pounded and they tried to calm it, tried to slow it and no doubt the smell of fear radiating from them. They pursued the meat section, frozen, vegetables, bakery. Finally though they spotted him in the reflection of a glass case, he was an older man, but certainly not elderly, firmly placed somewhere between 40 and 50; short hair, neat five-o'clock shadow, well dressed. He was good at his job, he didn’t look at Nobody even with their back turned, but they knew he didn’t need too. He had their scent, and that was more terrifying than if they had locked eyes with him. Had the clan hired another werewolf for this? After weeks of evasion they had finally been beat at their own game. They shakily put the loaf of bread down, their basket was filled with raw meat, it was all they needed and putting on a show at this point was futile.

They took a few  deep breaths and made their way to the check out stand, opting for the quick line of self service. Once finished they reigned in their want to sprint out, to rush into the streets and hope their scent was lost among the millions of souls that traversed the street. But like wild animals running meant a chase, and somehow they knew they’d lose. Once outside they tried to look as if they knew where they were going. They could hail a cab, but that meant standing still for a period until one pulled up, and if the alpha wanted to move for them he could. Outside of that there was also the fact that they were extremely low on money. About a week more and they’d be on the streets, not a place a wayward werewolf would want to be. They shook off the anxiety, they’d figure it out later, now they had bigger issues to deal with. They held their groceries with an iron fist trying to look as natural in their gate and direction as possible, but they could nearly feel the alpha closing in, narrowing the gap between them. The fact that he was so cavalier about their proximity was alarming to say the least, he would know that Nobody could smell him, could hear his steady heartbeat; and he didn’t care. They found their mouth was dry, heart pounding much too loud behind their ribs as they started to evaluate their options. They could run, but they knew they’d lose, they could try and shake him amongst the civilians but their fear was nearly a beacon.

As they contemplated their escape however they nearly ran face first into a man’s chest. They stumbled, mumbling an apology as they met his eye. It barely took a second to realize this was another lycan, and another second to realize not just any; one that belonged to the pack of the alpha following them. Packs smelt similar, not the same, but there were nuances that differentiated them. The two men had a strange undertone, like a freshly extinguished match, that set them apart.

“Hey kid, can we talk to you?” This one was younger than the alpha, but not as young as Nobody, longer hair and slight beard, darker skin.

They froze, eyes wide, and they saw him reach for their shoulder. He knew what they were about to do. They tossed the bag of food forward, taking a millisecond to mourn their dinner as they took off into traffic. Car horns blared and they braced for impact, surprised when they emerged on the other side of the street unscathed. They sprinted into an alleyway, twisting through the maze of brick and cement as they tried to navigate among the haze of panic that filled their head. They could still smell the second lycan on their tail but the alpha had disappeared, they weren’t sure if they were supposed to be relieved or even more on edge. They dashed out and onto a sidewalk cluttered with people making their commute home from work, weaving through them with little grace, receiving insults and curses as they collided with shoulders and bags.

Nobody careened around a corner, checking their shoulder for their pursuer, easily picking him out as he race towards them. They pushed themselves, body aching, lack of food and the surplus of terror making it hard to concentrate on running. They entered another alleyway, this time hoping to cut through only to be hit with the overwhelming scent of the alpha again, this time in front of them. They were cornered, head whipping around as they tried to find an exit, they spotted him, locking eyes for a moment as the alpha opened his mouth to say something. Nobody spotted their possible escape however, leaping up to grab a dangling fire escape ladder, the two pursuers making a run for their legs as they scrambled upwards, taking each rung faster than the last. They heard the overwhelming clang of the two following, pushing them up and to the roof. By the time they reached it their lungs were on fire, legs like jelly and they limped across the rooftop towards the edge, stopping as they reached the waist high barrier. They huffed, struggling to get a lung full of air as they heard the now slow footsteps behind them.

Nobody considered their options, either be taken back to the clan or the long plummet below, if they survived then their stalkers probably wouldn’t follow by jumping, if they died then that was the end of it. No more running. No more pain. Their heart clenched in their chest as they shoved themselves up, shoes scraping on concrete as they teetered on the edge.

“Woah woah! Wait, kid, wait!” This time is was the alpha talking.

Nobody could hear him tell the other to back off as he approached, their jaw clenched, mind telling them to just do it, just let go, let gravity take them, but their legs locked and their muscles seized.

“We want to help you,” he said, and Nobody had to resist the urge to laugh.

“We aren’t going to hurt you.”

“I’ve heard that before,” they replied, voice ragged from their climb.

“It’s true, you know it is, you could tell if I was lying, right?”

It gave Nobody pause. It was true that they could hear his heartbeat, could hear the way it was evenly paced, could hear the calm in his voice.

“You could just be a really good liar,” they hissed, a deep sting beneath the words that weren’t necessarily directed at the alpha.

“I know you’re scared, you’re running from someone, someone that’ll hurt you I assume.”

“You don’t know me,” Nobody said, the words although carrying so much weight spat with little care.

“No, not you specifically. But I know people like you, people who are scared, who feel like they don’t have anywhere else to go. We want to help you, we can protect you.”

Nobody watched the streets below, people moving about like a swarm of ants.

“If I say no?”

“Then we leave, we go home. But we don’t want to do that, we want to help.”

The alpha had gotten closer now, standing a foot behind them and to their left.

“Let us help,” he said, voice softer, a kindness to it they had never heard before. They looked down, meeting his eye, evaluating his everything, breathing, heart rate, scent. He outstretched a hand and waited and for a moment. Nobody contemplated the drop before slipping their hand into his and stepping down.

“My name’s Jack, and you are?” He asked.

“I’m just Nobody.”

[purkinje-effect]

The Purkinje Effect, 20

Minor tw’s for broken bones (again) and “off-screen” medical gore.

Table of Contents

Geek's tibia and fibula had buckled in half just from bearing body weight alone. Deacon handed over a Stimpack in an instant, Hancock offering a shoulder to lean on. The words that came from the pink dreg next felt more like a demand than advice.

"D-- don't try to catch me. I think-- I think I'd hurt you more than falling d'hurt me."

"You really think you weigh enough to hurt me?" Hancock objected, feeling his pride in question with his assistance shrugged off, as far as his strength and constitution. Deacon glared at him over the top of his sunglasses.

"You just saw the kid's leg bones snap like twigs just by trying to stand up, and you're playing the tough guy." Deacon took the Stimpack from Geek when Geek couldn't balance well enough to inject the syringe into his own leg, and knelt near him. "Geek, I'm not a professional medic, but I'm at least gonna try to right the bones before applying the Stimpack. Can you take the weight off the bad leg without hurting the other?"

Geek shook his pounding head, but tried to lean harder into the wall. He took a fold of the shoulder fabric of his faded green jumpsuit in his teeth. When Deacon was sure Geek was ready for it, he firmly gripped the upper and lower parts of Geek's calf and felt out an approximate alignment. Then the pneumatic implement plunged deep in the side of his calf, the needle nestling between the two bones before administering cold regenerative serum with a hiss. Hancock disregarded the caveat and helped steady Geek against the wall to keep the weight off the healing leg while the medication took hold, but did at least keep salient footing in the event Geek needed to fall.

"...We've got plenty more, right," Geek joked, slowly testing the leg once the numbness of the chems wore off. His face had run terribly. "I feel like I'm gonna need about two hundred before we get back."

"Oh come on, now," Hancock smiled sadly, planting a fresh cigarette between Geek's lips. "You're not gonna break every bone in your body. We're gonna get you somewhere safe, and we're gonna get you better." He flicked up a match for Geek, who shakily accepted it. Anything to mask the scent of his own lapse into indiscretion.

"We'll keep you supplied with whatever aid we can provide," Deacon seconded, standing. "Just pace yourself, and we'll spot you. It's only a day's walk back from here. We can manage that."

"I'm ready whenever y'all are," Geek insisted, starting off again. Every step he took had to be small, deliberate, and prepared.

"Woah, woah there, Boss." Deacon took him gingerly by the shoulder and guided him about face. "Elevator's that way."

Arriving back at ground level was a simple matter of a short hallway, an elevator ride, and a utility stairwell. Deacon and Hancock did most of the work, dispatching the Synths and various turrets stationed within the ruins of the Slocum's Joe coffee shop as they exited the base's front face. Geek equipped himself with the bull barrel pistol for fire support, though it was mostly for emotional confidence. His eyesight wouldn't draw into focus, his smell the strongest to rely upon. He didn't use the gun for the fear of friendly fire. But he distrusted his balance, and his bodily integrity, too much to fight physically. Simply scaling the stairs had been enough exertion to ruin him.

The scent of stale coolants indicated for Geek there was a Red Rocket station to his right. A fog of distortion enervated him further. More gunfire? Ferals. His footing wasn't steady, but at any given point he never went longer than a few minutes without at least one hand guiding his shoulder. He wheezed raggedly, needing to stop regularly to recollect his breath. The rot of petrichor stuffed his nostrils, and he could feel the rain soak into his clothing.

He didn't really mind the chill. Everything was on fire, and his body felt like it was hardening all over. Leaden. Saturnine. Overencumbered by himself.

Like hearing everything from inside a glass jar, Geek could tell Deacon and Hancock quipped unintelligibly back and forth as they traveled. His ears rang numbly. The ground became uneven, and he nearly slipped from the mud as they took the river bank. His boots sank sharply in the silty mess of patchy grass as he slid, leaving deep skids in the terrain.

"I am not about to take an unscheduled bath today." Hancock grunted, narrowly letting Geek right himself rather than instinctively catching him.

The rainfall bloomed up the familiar, complex chemical smell of Mass. Gravel & Sand, and for a brief moment Geek thought he halfway had his bearings. They kept to the broken thoroughfare, passing through a prewar military checkpoint littered with overturned vehicles and guard posts.

More gunfire, though it didn't last long. Geek assumed his companions had sniped out whatever had been the threat.

"I wanna sit down." Detached but beseeching, he addressed no one in particular.

Met with muffled responses, he let them both guide him by the shoulders. But, they didn't stop him someplace where he could sit. Pushing onward, he figured they'd told him he'd only have difficulty standing again.

Night fell before he could make out a tall fortification to his left. They rounded down past an overturned eighteen-wheeler and cut across the river on a bridge beneath the overpass. The shadowed stink of this patch of the Charles, Geek had been here before. The night was unforgiving there, unable to go by much more than his companions' road familiarity in the pitch dark.

They crossed over a white-edged red line in the sidewalk. That line felt important, but Geek couldn't sufficiently verbalize it as he watched his own footsteps. The river was to their left. A dumpster to the right. He wanted to say that he should stop and eat something, that he didn't know how long it had been since he ate. Something trapped the words within him.

Concrete stairs, leading into the ruins of a building. More dull bickering. They briefly stood in place before entering a utility tunnel. Soured pipes running everywhere. Brick stairs descending, winding. A bright light pained him and he snarled to himself. They waded through water knee-deep. More stairs, and a strong red light illuminating the way. Mattresses lined one side of the tunnel, metal supply shelving the other.

A third voice joined the usual banter with a door slammed behind it. Desdemona, urgent and incredulous. Geek struggled to focus on the dialogue.

"You what!"

"We need him, Dez. But what he needs right now is for you to let us in the crypt, so Carrington can treat him. We'll tend to formalities when he's not probably rotting on the inside."

The four of them moved into the heart of the crypt then. The dull must of ancient mildew clinged to every surface. To his left, a huge, bright round source of light. To his right, a salty smell affronted him. Increasingly, the dozen or so agents in the headquarters began to mill about in a fashion as to rubberneck.

"Carrington, this guy just saved your prototype from the Switchboard," Deacon introduced. Hancock handed it over readily. "Could you maybe show him a little gratitude by assessing the toll it took on him to do it?"

Geek looked up to the figure receiving the treasure. Tall, West Asian, a white medical coat. The pink mess wheezed, and decided it was finally acceptable to simply lie down directly on the cobbled ground.

"My God. Recap everything. Don't leave out a thing."

"Don't look at me," Hancock blurted out. "All I know is what I've seen him eating. He don't really talk much."

"Don't. Don't tell me he ate things up there," another male voice interjected.

"Not now, Tom." The doctor seemed genuinely pained by the intrusion.

"I ate all kinds of things," Geek retorted pathetically at the air. "What shouldn't I have ate? The telephone? The petrol? The damn Synth parts?"

The black man in overalls was crouched near him, his soft features and strange goggles traced with light from behind. Geek's features went slack, feeling comforted by this bizarre agent moreso than the doctor somehow, despite how haunted this Tom was by his response.

"That's it. No question about it. The Institute has got in his blood. Nanites. Tiny little computerized cells. They report back to the Institute, and probably worse."

"That's... terrifying, if true." Geek shivered. The prospect this Institute was responsible for everything that had happened to him and his people chewed him to the core.

"No! There's battery acid in that serum of yours." The doctor tried to pull Tom back, but he knelt down fully to get nearer.

"Aaand some algae, and a delightful little bacterial culture. Among other things." He looked Geek firmly in the eye. "Can't nuke an omelette without irradiating some eggs. It'll fix you up. Clear it all out. ...You. You don't gotta do it. Dez says it has to stay voluntary. But I'm positive it's all those lil' nanites buzzin' around in your guts that's all the trouble. We got to burn those babies out of you. One... not so small injection, and a good nap. You won't regret it. A hard reboot to your system."

"Are you certain you don't want any legitimate medical care before you... encourage this?" Carrington could tell Geek was likeminded to Tom. "Tom is our quartermaster, not a medic."

"Ye of little faith," Tom puffed.

"...I've tried every remotely normal medical thing tryin' t'fix this," Geek muttered, letting his head fall to one side, and welcoming the cold of the stone against his cheek. "This... whatever it is. It's hell, an' I'll try anything at this point. Let's... let's give it a shot."

"Even this messed up, you're cracking puns." Hancock snorted.

Carrington could only look on in deep concern as Tom snapped up out of the floor to retrieve the serum. Brief instructions back and forth across the crypt left Hancock helping Geek out of his jumpsuit and armor, down to his underwear, then into a pair of ratty pants produced in donation by an agent. Tom drew a syringe from an old oil can, the fluid semi opaque and of uncertain coloration. Like an inoculation, it was injected into Geek's upper arm.

In an instant, Geek felt his blood curdle. As his pulse matched his panic, the spoiling raced through his veins. When it hit the chambers of his heart, everything went black with a hard jolt.

He was running again. His siblings, Vana, Orpi, and Torber sprinted alongside him. Orpi carried their youngest sibling Ruti piggyback. Their parents were far ahead of them, trying to spur their haste. The Reds were finally bombing America, with confirmed reports of mushroom clouds in Pennsylvania and New York. Radioactive dust rolled in from all around the family as they hurried down the shore of the Blackstone Gorge from the junkyard they owned, racing to Vault 82. The Miner family made decent time avoiding the detonation which Galen had always believed was a near-direct hit on Providence. This liminal assertion never changed, anytime this dream transpired.

The gear-shaped door in the rock face rolled back in place with mere minutes to spare. The tectonic activity caused by the nuclear detonation knocked out power in the shelter. It was rapidly understood by the families that had sought refuge there that the amenities of the vault had been a projection, and that the electrical failure had disrupted the illusion. There was nothing. Overseer Bensington tried the vault door, but she found it immovable and decreed it such. Trapped in a wet, lightless cave while the world above was wrought asunder by a nuclear apocalypse, they had no food or safe water. They only had each other.

Galen lay on the cold stone floor of the cave, limp and ineffectual. The moisture from the cave clung to him, puddled beneath him. Yet, he didn't move from where he lay, didn't bother seeking a dry place or dry clothes. He simply stared off into the darkness and let the muck pool around him. He could hear in some far part of the cave, several other 82ers having a heated argument. The forming mire cradled him.

Hot foam frothed from his mouth, and he sat up rasping.

"This is proof you can't just go around giving people sulfuric acid injections!" Carrington was in a near-roar. "How many times have I told you to stop pitching your serum to the new agents!"

"He was that bad off!" Tom objected. "You! You SAW that mess of sludge that started pouring out of him! I don't have to run tests on that stuff to know whatever poisoned him was bad news! The Institute HAD him!"

Sludge. Every inch of Geek felt clammy. He looked down to find himself heavily layered in sinewy scars, the floor pooled up with a dark sulfurous substance he was positive had been sweated out of him or worse.

"Tom didn't do anything wrong," Hancock defended, sardonically. "You... you didn't see everything I've-- we've seen him eat. It wasn't his serum that did him in. He was already dying before he even stepped foot in the a Commonwealth. We just quickened the process. Least he ain't suffering now."

"I mean, you pretty much handed him the trigger," Deacon muttered pointedly.

"Deacon! Out of line," Desdemona growled.

"And you were the gun itself," Hancock snapped. "You were planning on keeping the prototype for yourself when Geek flipped out, even though you promised him that the recon would win him favor with the Railroad. What, ripping Synths apart with his teeth was too uncouth for your little club? You're all goddamn ingrates, just letting him die like that."

"He... ate them?" Geek could tell that was Glory's voice. "I'm sorry if it sounds like I'm speaking ill of the dead, but that sounds like a sick load of karma. I... I've got a dead drop to catch."

"Can I at least take his body somewhere to give him a proper burial? He deserves better than what he's been handed him here."

By the time Geek had stood, Glory had left. The group encircled a large round drafting table in the center of the space. He approached barefoot, feeling lighter, more steady, sharper, and noted this.

"I, for one, don't think I deserved a miracle."

They looked up to find a mangled but cognizant Geek. Relief washed over Desdemona, Deacon and Hancock, while Carrington and Tom seemed nearly revolted.

"There, there wasn't much left of you the nanites didn't chew up, was there?" Tom uttered, backing up a step, uncertain whether Geek would be furious.

"I've never in my life--" Carrington cut off abruptly, attempting to regain medical tact. "How do you feel?"

Geek looked to his bare hands, then to Hancock, whom he could tell was hiding his alarm well, and shot him a smile.

"I... I actually think for the first time in years... that I'm gonna be ok."

"I suppose if you can call becoming a candy pink zombie a happy ending," Deacon snarked deadpan.

The description left Geek feeling his face in the absence of a nearby mirror of any kind. Jutting textures, and it finally sank in that his right eye was now missing.

"I guess the past 228 years finally caught up with me," he laughed. "Maybe Daisy was right after all."

"She's... often right about things," Hancock affirmed, unsure what he could be on about.

"I told her I was prewar. She pretty much told me I was either full of shit, or I was the most well-preserved ghoul she'd ever met. I knew she got the preservative part right, but." Another laugh, more genuine this time. He could hear how his trachea had warped like a straw in a too-hot beverage. "I feel fantastic. Tom, I rightly think y'saved my life. An' if it wasn't for the lot of ya, I wouldn't have even ended up here."

"The Railroad's lifesaver," Tom remarked, admiring getting respected for his innovation for once, albeit from an unexpected source. "Anytime, pink ghoul guy."

"Don't speak so soon," Carrington began, tugging at his collar like his necktie was on too tight. "You should take it easy until any side effects can be accounted for."

"The only taking it easy I wanna be doing is gettin' a bath in the river and slippin' back in my clothes, so I can get right back to work."

"We simply can't do that," Desdemona insisted. "You're a potential liability until we can determine you're of sound constitution. And the way you handled the Switchboard. Deacon tells me that was an isolated incident--I pray that's true. I respect your willingness to aid our cause, but you need to untether. You've clearly been through at least one near-death experience. You need to take care of yourself before we can safely rely on you."

Geek stiffened.

"You can rely on me to follow orders. It's the least I can do for what your people have done for me." Hancock had come over to stand on his side of the round table. "How long before you'll evaluate my entry?"

"Give it a week," Carrington weighed in, seeming most exhausted of any of them by the course of events. "I'll give you a full physical now, and again after a week, to compare your recovery. Think of it as a fitness evaluation. It was my prototype you retrieved, so your fate as an agent is in my hands. In the mean time, I demanded the full story before all of this, and I refuse to see to Tom and Deacon's mess without even knowing what is going on."