#hayes off to an impressively fucked up start

[fiddleabout]

@ emma hayes do u think people will be happy enough to see dunn on the front line that they won't notice the glaring absence of lynn williams or the fucked up inclusion of Out And Proud Homophobe And Transphobe korbin albert

[demonicnarwhale]

So for my first project in my Proprint class, we had to make 5 separate prints (draw or photograph something then print it on a 17x22 paper, same thing as last semester) so here's my stuff!!! Oh! And the prompt was basically anything but monochromatic or black and white, but we can either use one or two colors

They're all based on my Small Town AU because I thought it'd help get my ideas for this AU thingy situated a bit, and cuz it's fun

The first one to start us all off is Doc Scratch! The one and only, the catalyst (if you will) of this small town turning to shit. It's basically him bringing a sort of day of reckoning thing going on. But not like reckoning in the idea that they're getting judged by god or whatever. In this case, Scratch himself just plays around in this universe (this is the "bad" ending). Basically, the townsfolk begin to turn and hurt each other (reasoning will be explained in the 2nd project tehee and the wording here is like this just so I don't spoil too much) (also the top is just the different edits I came across and thought looked pretty)

Motifs / Symbolisms:

- The time on the clock reads 3:19. So specifically Genesis 3:19 is pretty much just when Adam and Eve are cast out of the Garden of Eden. The idea here is that Scratch will turn this thriving and self sufficient, almost found-family-like town into a big ol' graveyard. That paradise they all have come to enjoy and build a community together? Buh-bye!!! Cast out! Into the miseries!!!

- The picture of the oil painting is of The Agnew Clinic 1889 painted by Thomas Eakins. The painting was commissioned in honor of David Hayes Agnew, a pretty well known and respected surgeon of his time, a leader in a way. And I just felt like Scratch would have some of these "lesser" known art pieces of important figures of the past around his house. (Die would approve of this painting I believe)

- The apples are purposefully way too round, almost Christmas tree ornament looking. It's to allude to this feeling or idea of something being too perfect, but very off putting. Basically Doc Scratch himself. He's a man that's a part of the town but also not there. He's a total enigma for everyone and most people will chose to just accept that and just be cordial with him, that placid and simple smile just has something deeper going on teehee

- The card he holds is a nod to tarot ones (obvious I know but I ain't no tarot or star signs believer so I had to search up which card would make sense here). So seven of swords just means betrayal so haha on the nose

- There was gonna be a violin added but I just wanted to get this drawing done so I said "screw that". The reason why I was gonna go with the violin is cuz that idea of "haha Scratch is another name for the devil" and I remembered a song The Devil Went Down to Georgia which I fuckin dig. Also the idea of the devil having a violin playing contest with a kid is so fucking funny cuz he got his ass kicked. (oh yeah and just the idea of the devil being associated with the violin)

So yeah! I just had a lot of fun just coming up with this drawing and doing a little breaking the frame/boarder with the small apple branches reaching into the top box.

What can I say? I love marine associated themes so of course I gotta draw Trace and Fin. Oh and the sketches (or draft) I did just made me feel so proud and happy. Cuz even though it's a bunch of mumbo jumbo, it all just managed to flow out really well with this one. It's a shame that the digitalized final piece isn't as impressive to me as my sketches. The two compasses are also pointed at 3:00 and 5:00 cuz, ya know. That's their numbers. The fish from bottom to top are sockeye salmon, moray eel, tunas, and I didn't look at one fish for the ref with the top one but let's go with red snapper.

i sadly had to rush this one as it was getting close to critique day (aka the 26th) and some of my other classmates needed to print too so I didn't want to get in their way and such later on. (originally we had to make 5 prints but he saw not a lot of people would be able to so he cut it down to just 3. And so I already had 3 prints done so why not just let everyone else who really needed to print, print)

So this print was going to have PM, AR, and WV doing their own things (as seen in the first draft) but I changed things up so it'd be simpler and allow me to work on the last 2 prints. But hey! At least WV's there!! And then I was messing with shadows and the last one just looked really funny. OH! Oh and the 2422 was when PM made her appearance in the webcomics (at least, that's what I think or recall) and since that's her plane, it was a little nod. And this is her logo thing (still being worked on but you get the gist of it)

I do however feel hella bummed that I wasn't able to keep the mechanic tidbits (for AR) in this drawing since I hate drawing cars, the tools I tried drawing didn't fit the look of the finalized drawing. I'm sorry AR </3. Oh and I completely forgot about WV's lil torn up red flag, but it wouldn't really match i feel anyways in the end results. WV being a farmer, PM a mail woman hence the stamps, and AR being a (car) mechanic!!!

Ok so that's all for now, I'll upload the 4th and 5th print and photos of them all printed in another post since this is fuckin lengthy

PT2 HERE

[detective-and-dreamer]

Dealer's choice for Ockham, if you'd like? <3

[I've put some notes on this one! The tags would've been a mile long otherwise.]

23. a kiss influenced by alcohol/other substances (the substance in question being neathbow fuckery)

It wasn't the worst party Emory had ever been dragged to; they didn't even mind that Lenora had wandered off partway through the evening. Nocturnal artists often wanted to hear hunting stories, though he was sure they wished he'd speak of it a bit more poetically. When they tired of it, they were happy to leave him to stand near the wall with a glass of wine. The decor, however, was a bit of an issue - not something they would normally care much about, but the skeleton someone had set up as a centerpiece made no fucking sense. It was made up of three, no, four different zee-beasts cobbled together into a completely implausible monstrosity. He glared at the place where a fin didn't even attempt to connect properly to the frame. Artistic liberty was one thing, but they thought it should at least look like the creator had given a damn.

...If this was what they were focused on, they needed to make this their last drink. Gods forbid he start trying to fix the thing. Before they could give it any further consideration, though, they were interrupted by Lenora's sudden return. She was accompanied by a redhead in a deep green dress and...a wave of flirtatious joy?

"Je vais vous présenter - " whatever that meant, it was directed solely to the person beside her - "Emory, dear, this is Ockham; I fear I've essentially been holding her captive for language practise instead of making introductions to anyone else." She gestured to them, and they noted her gaze was far less sharp than usual. "This is my friend, Captain Emory Hayes."

"Nice to meet you." Ockham held out her (Emory would have guessed something neutral, but who were they to argue?) hand. He felt a hint of curiosity and wondered what Lenora had been saying about him.

This wasn't a state of mind that should have been possible without physical contact or conscious will. The only exception they had ever encountered was Parabolan influence of some kind. Yet Ockham's own eyes seemed normal, and she bore no other obvious signs of possession; just the opposite, in fact. There were flickers of reptilian instinct, now that he could pick up on such things, but they felt buried in the way a person's thoughts normally would when they weren't in full control of themselves.

Was there a polite way to ask are you from a different realm, and if so, how the fuck did you get here? Probably not. Between the nearly palpable emotional aura and the apocyanic haze encroaching on his vision, Emory could barely even think of a normal introduction.

And so, before his mind could catch up with his actions, he brought Ockham's hand up for a kiss rather than the handshake he had planned. They felt the shallow, fleeting memories skin held; the touches of others, the brush of fabric. Lenora raised an eyebrow, and he knew he was never going to hear the end of her teasing once they were alone. Somehow they doubted an explanation would help. Teratomancy made me do it? Technically, this is your fault? No, it would only encourage her.

"...It's nice to meet you, too." he said, resigning himself to his fate.

- I wanted to explore what viric would do to Emory. What I decided is that it brings on a version of the "half-dreaming" mental state he enters for teratomancy, thus making him more emotionally perceptive/receptive. They were able to catch themselves before slipping into an actual trance, though, especially since there wasn't a completely overwhelming amount of input.

- They can, in fact, tell what Ockham should look like! Sort of, anyway. It's not the same as what you'd see through cosmogone lenses. Rather than a vivid, current appearance, they're getting an impression from hishertheir own memories. Since Ockham's been in stasis for so long, though, there's probably not a lot of discernible difference. Maybe some of the details are hazy or slightly off, since you can't really conjure up a perfect image of yourself without looking? If someone else who knew was nearby, it would probably help. I'm also not sure exactly what he would remember once he'd left hishertheir presence and the effect was no longer there.

- I don't see any reason why he shouldn't be able to pick up some memories from skin - it is an organ, after all. I think it probably doesn't hold information for quite as long, though. Also, most of it is just things like "this area was touched by someone recently and this is how they felt about it" or "the pain of getting a scrape that has since healed."

- Nora knows multiple languages. I don't, unfortunately, otherwise I would have given them more dialogue together instead of having her switch back halfway through a sentence so she could include Emory. She was thrilled to have an excuse to practice, though. Also, Ockham could probably get a two for one deal here if heshethey tried; she's pretty easy to get kisses from.

[knownangels]

making out in the rain (october prompt)

Maran laughs.

Beside him on the couch, Benny’s chin tilts in curiosity. His fist is still tucked underneath, a leg drawn up to balance himself; the movie has engrossed him. Rare. Maran has noticed he’s picky about movies. Their story, sure, and how immersed he feels about it. But Maran’s also never heard a guy rant the way he does about shoddy acting.

He hasn’t ranted for the last fifteen minutes, at least. Ben’s a quiet movie watched, to Maran’s complete opposite preferred viewing experience. Still, he lets Maran add commentary here and there. Crack jokes. Doesn’t get mad, doesn’t sigh all passive-aggressive, tell him he’s ruining it.

Benny talks now, though. He leans over, tilted a bit to catch Maran’s eye.

“This is very serious, Maran.” He wiggles a tattooed knuckles at the television. “Why are y-you laughin’? Something funny about a good climax?”

On screen, the protagonist-slash-final girl (boy, really) is locked in a rainy embrace with a side character. The two clutch each other, kissing and crying in what is likely the adrenaline-comedown of relief. Rain washing off the blood they’ve accumulated throughout the, frankly, gorefest of a film.

Now, Maran knows it’s all fake. Rubber prosthetics and clay modeled faces, buckets of dyed corn syrup with styrofoam chunks. But he’s still glad to watch it all away. It’s just…it’s just the other part of the scene that’s making his stomach do weird things. The nausea of a horror watch lingering, he supposes.

“I mean, no.” Maran laughs again, awkward now. He gestures at the scene, cheeks hot for some reason. “Just…feels a bit much?”

Benny quirks an eyebrow. He’s got that nasty, mean sneer on his face. Which usually means Maran is about to get roasted over the fire and have to scramble to keep up with the witty teasing.

“You a homophobe, Maran? Is that your issue? The gay agenda in your g-good Christian horror?”

Maran’s he nearly unhinges.

“That’s not—“ He starts.

Benny’s grin widens.

“I’m not even—“ He tries again, desperate. He goes to his knees on the couch. “You’re not serious.”

Benny only stares at him. Challenging.

“You’re being— that wasn’t what I—!”

He trails off because Benny hoots, slaps his knee. The sting sticks even through his jeans, and Maran rubs the spot. His stomach hurts.

“Jesus. Your f-face.” Benny pulls an impression of him then, and Maran has to admit it’s pretty spot-on. His cheeks feel so bloody hot.

“I. Am. Not.” Maran asserts. He drops back to his spot, arms crossed petulantly. “I was gonna say it felt rushed. And that kiss scenes are always - y’know. Weird.”

Benny scoots closer, arm flung around the back of the couch.

“Ooh. Unpack that.”

He suddenly doesn’t want to. He suddenly would rather be at the edge of a cliff. “No.”

“Come on. Can’t drop media critique circa Hayes Code and then not back it up?”

Maran frowns, brows furrowing. He’s got no idea what computer science or coding has to do with horror cinema, but he makes note of that to ask Nomi about it later. She’ll know.

“I mean. I dunno. It’s always a bit uncomfortable, yeah?” His hands twist awkwardly in his hoodie pocket. The credits on screen begin to roll, punctuated with a bass-heavy rock anthem from the opening scene. Benji would like it, probably. He’d be an arse about the drumming, but he’d like it.

“What is?” Benny leers, leaning into his space more. “Watching, or—?”

Watching, or?

Maran feels the heat in his face with a palm, laughing once more. “Sure. But, like, you know it’s actors, yeah? That’s like…you’re suckin’ face with a coworker, practically? How d’you reckon you water cooler that convo later?”

“With fat pockets. They get paid fuckin’ bank to pretend.” Benny sits back. “I’m sure they’re very professional.”

“Or nude scenes.”

His attention is back on Maran, and so is that nasty grin. “I’m sorry? Nude scenes?”

“Fuck off.” Maran pouts. He shoves Benny’s poking finger away from his arm.

“Nude scenes! You can say sex, Maran. It’s not a dirty word.”

But it is, isn’t it? That’s why it makes Maran feel warm to say, to think, no less watch on screen. Especially with friends around? In a theater, in public? It’s just too intimate to playact. He sort of wishes everything just faded to black, and the characters got their privacy.

“I know.” He huffs. He squirms down into the mass of blankets they’ve accumulated, hiding his burning cheeks in the top of his hoodie. “Put the next one on, already.”

“You didn’t rate that one.”

He considers it for a moment. “Seven.”

Benny hums thoughtfully. “Hm. Would have given it an eight if y-you weren’t a homophobe.”

Maran lurches across the couch and grabs at his shirt, shaking him and growling playfully until they fall to the ground with a bang! that draws the downstairs neighbor’s typical pounding. They watch two more movies, but by the middle of the second, Benny’s heavy body is slumped into him. His arm still wraps behind the couch, and because there’s no threat of someone walking in, Maran wiggles closer.

Even though the last film wasn’t too bad on the gore, his stomach still feels strange. Tight, nearly sore like after a workout. Warm like his face.

“Must have been the nachoes.” He says under his breath, trying to lean for the remote without waking Benny.

[b3ast0fburd3n]

28. How they feel about [Hoyt & Vaas] any/all muses

CW for violence in paragraph 3

We'll start with Eden, since she seems to be the star of the show here. First off, Volker. He only calls her Eddie, which is points off because she views the nickname as a casual thing and she only speaks to him in professional settings. While she has her own internalized misogyny, she doesn't see herself as a woman when she's working, so when Hoyt treats her as such she gets annoyed and frustrated. Other than that, she respects him well enough, but her attention is mostly focused on the person/people directly above her. He's almost too far away for her to really have any opinions on him, though their few interactions brought her to the conclusion that she feels neutrally about him. The things she doesn't like are lessened by her respect for his title.

And Vaas! oh god her feelings about Vaas. (I should clarify that it's fully one sided at this point.) He reminds her a lot of her family in his erratic actions and drug use, also the fact that he could be serious when he needed to be. The familiarity instantly attracted her to him, but she had absolutely no idea what to do with those feelings. She admires his strength, resilience, charisma and leadership abilities. She tried to boil it all down to wanting to impress him, which fueled her need to impress the authority above her. She ends up obsessed with him for a few months, though she manages to fully get over the crush after the whole Jason Brody thing drove her best friend to the opposite side. They end up friends after she figures out how to stop putting people either above or below her.

Hayes fucking hates both of them. Like neither of them could be redeemed in his eyes. Volker is a selfish, condescending asshole and Vaas is a psychotic, deranged piece of shit that he would shoot if he got the opportunity. Being the only person Eden confided in about her feelings towards Vaas, Hayes constantly talks shit about him around her. Somehow he thinks that will convince her to think the same way about him. Even though he hates them both, he's afraid of them. He knows that even being so much taller than Vaas, he wouldn't win that fight, and Volker is always surrounded by his privateers, so even if Hayes could get to him, he'd die soon after.

[that-house]

The Thief and the Gun: Prologue part 1

The Thief and the Gun is going to be a pretty lengthy work if it’s ever finished. This is the first quarter or so of the prologue. Enjoy!

The front gate was too heavily guarded, so they’d elected to blast through the wall instead. In hindsight, it wasn’t the greatest plan, and would have doomed the mission if it weren’t for Virgil. Of course, Virgil doomed the mission himself shortly afterwards, but, to be fair, the gun had been quite persuasive.

A few weeks before the now-infamous Redwater Job, Virgil Hayes had just ducked into a saloon to avoid the gaze of a lawman across the road when a man at the bar caught his eye and beckoned him over. The man was wearing a fine suit which did very little to conceal the gun under his coat. Virgil pointed at himself and gave the man his best “you’ve got the wrong guy” face (a raised eyebrow, a friendly-but-awkward half-smile, and a head shake). The man patted the stool next to him. If it weren’t for the warrant on his head and the lawman in the street, Virgil would have made a run for it, but at least he could get a drink while this stranger said whatever horseshit he was about to spew.

Virgil took a seat. “Look, I don’t know who you’re looking for, but I ain’t him.” Hopefully.

The man pulled out a wanted poster. “This you?” Virgil gave it a quick once-over. It was unmistakably him. A very good likeness. He leaned forward to examine it better. By all the demons in the West, it was like looking in the mirror.

“Nope. Never seen him in my life. Good luck on your search!” Virgil turned away from the man to face the barkeeper with a grin. “I’ll have a whiskey.” From the look of the saloon, it wouldn’t be any good. The floorboards were rough, the paint on the walls was peeling, and the room couldn’t be any darker if the lone gas lamp were to stop guttering and finally go out. It looked like a place that had never seen money or happiness, let alone a good drink.

The air in the saloon was stagnant and reeked of cheap alcohol and sweat. A little evening sunlight found its way in through the door but only served to illuminate the dust gently drifting through the air in the wake of drunk patrons stumbling back to their homes or inns. Like everything in Dry Creek, the saloon felt ancient but impermanent. It may have stood here for decades, but if the mines ran out it would be gone and forgotten in a matter of days. Virgil suspected no one would miss it.

The man cleared his throat. “I’m not here to arrest you, Mr. Hayes. I have a proposition for you.”

“I have a whiskey to drink. I never feel like I can get my money’s worth out of a drink with some asshole talking my ear off. Maybe if you paid for it I’d be inclined to listen to you.” This was, of course, a lie. Virgil would enjoy the whiskey, shitty as it was, regardless of the man next to him. He just wanted a free drink.

“My employer can make you a rich man, Mr. Hayes. Rich enough that you’d be able to afford to pay for your own drinks and finally finish drinking yourself to death.” The man brushed some nonexistent dust off of his jacket in an attempt to demonstrate the benefits of working for whoever paid his salary. All of his clothes were obnoxiously fine, perfectly tailored and spotlessly clean. His perfectly polished boots reflected the dim glow of the lamp like a fine mirror. He looked like the sort of man who woke up with perfect hair, or, failing that, spent three hours marshalling every strand into place. The man’s gun was mostly hidden by his coat, but Virgil thought he saw flashes of gold inlaid into the grip. The overall impression was that of a fairly wealthy man doing his best to look even richer.

“I’m listening.” Remarkably, he actually was. As the West grew more and more established, Virgil’s lifestyle of good, honest banditry was looking less and less profitable.

“I’m going to assume you’ve heard the name Sylas Clayton?” 

Like everyone else, Virgil knew the name, but he wasn’t going to make this easy for the man. “Can’t say I have.”

“Clayton Transportation? The richest man in the West?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell, no.”

“There’s a statue of him in the center of town!”

“Thought that was an outhouse.”

“The trains, the towns, the lighthouses, they all exist through the benevolence of Mr. Clayton! Show some fucking respect.” He was angry, defensive of Clayton. Virgil had met people like him before, defining themselves by their proximity to a powerful individual. Anything to distract themselves from the fact that they didn’t matter.

“Why should I care about some rich bastard?”

“The question you should be asking is why Mr. Clayton cares about some broke outlaw like you.”

“Well, mister, why does Mr. Clayton care about some broke outlaw like me?”

“You’re a morally bankrupt rat who’s never made an honest dollar in his life. Your only skills are murder and robbery. You’ve made a name for yourself by being a slippery good-for-nothing thief.”

“Aw, thanks. That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“While I’d sooner shoot my fingers off than work with you, Mr. Clayton has a job that needs doing, and you’re one of his prime candidates.”

“I have to work with you? I’ll pass.”

“Ten thousand dollars upon completion of the job. You’ll be set for life.”

“Ten thousand?”

“Ten thousand, and I’ll pay for your drink.”

With a sigh, Virgil stuck out his hand. The man looked at it with some distaste, eyeing the grime under Virgil’s nails and the pistol grip calluses as if they might be infectious. Finally, letting out a similarly dissatisfied sigh, he took Virgil’s hand and shook it as quickly as he could. Virgil did his best to draw the handshake out, relishing the man’s discomfort. “Never caught your name.”

The man’s reply was curt. “Vernon. Vernon Poole.” Now that he’d gotten Virgil’s cooperation, Vernon seemed to have lost any desire to continue pretending to enjoy Virgil’s company.

“Well, Vernon Poole, I think this is the start of a truly wonderful friendship.” It wasn’t, and they both knew it. Virgil had had his hand near his gun from the moment the man beckoned him over, and, while Vernon wasn’t quite so obvious, his hand had been floating by his side ever since Virgil had compared the Clayton statue to an outhouse. To be honest, Virgil didn’t see the both of them walking away from this job alive. He’d pushed his luck a little too far irritating the man. “So, when do I meet this Mr. Clayton fellow?”

“We’re taking the morning train to Coalstead.”

“I don’t know if you remember that poster you’ve got, but I’m a wanted man. The wrong eyes fall on me and I go right to the pyre.”

“Mr. Clayton owns that train and everyone on it. You won’t be facing justice just yet.”

“If you get me killed I have every intention of haunting you.”

“I could say the same to you, Mr. Hayes.”

“Fair ‘nough. Any chance I could convince you to buy me another drink?”

“I’d reckon the odds are about the same as you taking up farming.”

“Ah well, figured I’d try.”

[crazyk-imagine]

Chapter III: Locked and Loaded

Characters:  William “Will” “Ironhead” Miller, Santiago “Tago” “Pope” Garcia, Tom “Redfly” Davis, Seraphina “Ser” “One Shot” Hayes (OC), Francisco “Frankie” “Catfish” Morales, Ben “Benny” Miller, Yovanna

Warnings: Cursing (as usual), violence, death, slight ptsd, trauma

Word Count: 6,364

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

Santiago leans against the crate only turning when he hears the car.

The others finally arrive at Santiago's crate, or if you want to call it "Tago's creepy crate" like Seraphina, go right ahead.

The blonde sits between the Miller brothers, Benny's head on her shoulder causing Frankie to glance in the rear-view mirror to find her staring at the younger Miller before catching her best buddy's eye.

She looks away from both men. One corner of her lips tugs upward but she fights it and forces the brief moment of happiness away.

Frankie decides to not say anything and parks the car.

Benny is the first one to get out, holding the door for his stunner friend.

She thanks him while rubbing her eye. He gives her a small smile and continues to watch her.

"Hey, fellas and lady. Take a look at this." Santiago opens the crate.

The younger Miller turns away, seeing the "guns blazing" filled crate. "Jesus, Pope! What the hell were you planning here?" Benny asks.

"Exactly this. Every single gun, bullet, and fucking toothpick here's been sourced in-country. The idea is to pin this on a local rival gang. Now, who was it that didn't trust this lady? 'Cause not only is she going to get us that extra van, but she got us this. There's our man, Lorea. And, oh!" Santiago pulls out his phone for the others to see.

Will and Benny lean forward to get a better look.

Frankie rests his arm on Tom.

Seraphina's leaning against a table with her arms crossed, not in the mood to see the man they're going to rob and, most likely kill later. She knows enough to do her job and that's all that matters.

"Look at what's there behind him," Santiago adds.

"Looks like money to me. There's gotta be about 35 million there," Benny chuckles.

"We don't know that," Frankie adds.

"Whatever it is, it's a lot," Will comments, slightly impressed with what he saw.

"What are you gonna do with your share, huh?" Benny walks further into the crate, making his way towards the back where all the weapons are located.

"Never spend your money until it's in your pocket, Benjamin," Frankie recites, waving a finger up and down. He gets off of Tom and walks in front of Seraphina, heading for the same place Benny wandered to.

She stands up, moving her feet out of Frankie's way, giving him more room to walk by. "You're welcome... Kitty Cat.'"

He turns his head, glaring at her. "I liked it better when you were quiet."

She tilts her head and gives him a closed eye smile.

"Well, I'm just sayin', I'm gonna get that Ferrari, man," Benny interrupts the two.

"How original," Frankie comments while observing the weapons on the table in front of him.

"Classy," Seraphina adds, walking towards the two.

"You know it, stunner but don't worry, I'll let you be the first passenger." Benny winks at her, completely ignoring Frankie's comment.

She rolls her eyes, "shut up." She turns away to check out the numerous weapons on the table, wanting to figure out what she'll use when the time comes.

Benny chuckles, remembering when they went out for drinks a few years back and they'd just started to get to know one another.

-

“I want a Ferrari," A slightly intoxicated Benny says.

Seraphina raises a brow, "seriously?"

"Why not?"

"Nothing, nothing. I just- I didn't think you were into those types of cars."

"Really? So, you've thought about me in a car?" He asks with raised brows and a suggestive smirk.

"Oh, fuck off. That's not what I meant, and you know it." She throws her head back, gulping down the last little bit of her drink.

"You hear guys hear that?" He asks Frankie and Santiago.

"I think the couple in the restroom fucking heard you man," Frankie grimaces before taking a sip of his drink.

"There's a couple fucking in the restroom?" Santiago asks with a surprised expression.

Frankie's head snaps in his direction. "How could you not hear it?"

"He's too busy processing the fact that this little lady here," Benny points at Seraphina. "Has thought about me in a car."

"She what?" Will rejoins the group with more drinks. "Tell me I didn't hear that," the older Miller pleads.

"I'm about ready to leave," she mumbles to herself.

"No!" Santiago whines, reaching for her hand.

"The fun's only beginning." The Miller brothers say at the same time, Benny says it in a mischievous way and Will says it with a "I'm too tired for this shit" attitude.

-

Benny shakes his head, choosing to focus on the weapons in front of him instead. He's got to distract himself from staring at Seraphina or she'll be giving him a "Why the hell are you looking at me?" look or a "do I have something on my face?" look. No matter what look he'd be getting, he prefers to not get caught staring, period.

Now that he's working on not looking at her, all he can do is think about her which wouldn't normally be seen as a bad thing, but it's kind of a constant reminder of the next morning after when he was still the hospital. He shakes his head, it's still hard for him to remember what happened before the hospital. None of the others would talk about it and Will would shut him down right away.

When Benny was released from the hospital a couple of days after Seraphina left, he'd start asking Will about what happened. Benny still tries to get some information from his big brother but it's like Will had grown a sixth sense and immediately says, "no."

Funny thing is, Benny actually has a tell that only Will and Seraphina have taken note of; it's nothing crazy but it's something he's done since he was a kid, he fiddles his with hands whether he has a cup or nothing, his hands are always moving.

He does this so often that the other assume it's because he's antsy and can't sit still.

'She's really here,' he keeps repeating in his head like he did after his fight, when they went to get drinks, on the ride over, and even now. He finds it a little hard to believe that she's actually here, with them... with him.

The excitement he feels is taking a physical effect because he can't keep a straight face as he examines the few weapons that caught his eye the moment he saw them, much like a certain short, hot tempered, blonde. He feels his heart beating faster than it should, but he doesn't care and if he died now, he'd die a happy man because he got his wish.

Frankie can tell Benny's happy with Seraphina being here, all of them are. He shakes his head not at all surprised by the younger Miller's behavior. Benny's always been this way, but his excitement becomes more visible (a lot more) whenever she's around.

To Frankie, Benny looks exactly the same way he did when he met her.

-

"Hey, you see the blonde over there," Benny points to the door of the diner, where Santiago, Seraphina, and Tom are.

"Seraphina?" Frankie asks, raising a brow at the younger Miller's smile.

"Yeah. I'm gonna marry her someday."

Frankie and Will scoff, glancing at one another with amused expressions on their faces.

"Yeah, right," Will adds.

Tom stands near the door, searching for Will, Frankie, and Benny while the remaining two are talking about sharing food.

Santiago's basically begging Seraphina to order the other plate he wants so they can split both meals.

He gets shoved into the nearest wall, almost knocking over one of the employees.

The employee gives him a "mad dog" look before scoffing as they walk away, rolling their eyes.

Santiago turns around to "tell her off" but finds no one there.

He turns to find Tom, he's not there, it takes him a second to realize they're sitting with the others in a booth next to a window.

-

Frankie shakes his head, not at all surprised with Benny's behavior. 'How could she be so oblivious? They both like each other, fucking get together already,' Frankie thinks, tired of the two-tip toeing around each other and their feelings for one another.

When it comes to people he cares about, Frankie typically takes note about how they are and how they act so he can do whatever he can to help them. He notices Seraphina glancing over at Benny while the two occupy the quiet with various clinks and clanks coming from the items they pick up and test out.

Frankie sighs, already knowing what's running through Seraphina's head. He shakes his head knowing he can't ask her if he can help, he can't offer her advice, he can't do anything.

The three continue doing their own thing while the others discuss about the plan one more time.

-

"What about the bird?" Tom asks Will.

"Well, he said if we're there with three million bucks, he'll be there," Will replies.

"So, we got a bird, we got a van, we got Lorea confirmed in the house with the money," Santiago shrugs.

"All right, give me... give me a minute," Tom says to no one in particular before walking out of the crate.

Santiago follows after him, wanting to talk to him before they do this. -

Seraphina stands beside Benny, reaching for one of the smaller guns, she finds is easier to hide. Benny notices and hands it her.

She says her thanks after their hands touch, leaving both of their hearts to beat a little faster.

Will inwardly rolls his eyes. 'Could he be any more obvious?' He places a hand on Seraphina's back as he walks behind her.

After the older Miller makes his way into the somewhat cramped area, she gets into position. Adjusting her position every now and then, getting a feel on if she'll use it or not. She pulls the gun closer to herself, inspecting it.

Benny keeps an eye on her, checking her every so often, you know, to make sure she's okay.

That's not exactly how Will and Frankie see it, all they can see are the heart eyes he's giving her.

And no matter how much he denies it, it's true; whenever he's looks at her, all anyone can see is love.

-

Will elbows his brother in the ribs (which are still tender from his most recent fight).

Benny winces, hissing in pain as he reaches for his ribs. "Stop staring."

"I'm not staring." Will scoffs.

"If I was some girl and you stared at me like that. I'd be getting a restraining order right about now." Benny squints at his brother, glaring at him while rubbing his side.

Frankie wraps his arms around their shoulders. "I don't think that'd be necessary. She can kick his ass."

Benny groans, "oh, come. Not you too."

The two smirked at each other.

Seraphina sets the gun down. "What are you boys talking about?" She asks, not looking up, too entranced with the weapons.

Frankie walks away, returning to where he was before.

"Nothing important," Benny replies.

Will chuckles, raising one brow.

Benny purses his lips, grumbling to himself.

The blonde raises a brow at their behavior, pretending not to put to notice how they're acting weird.

It's quiet between the four, not one of those long weird, "I don't know what to talk about and it's uncomfortable" silence. Not even close. It's a comforting silence. It's something they needed whether they know it or not.

"Uh, you know, if you had pulled this shit when we were active duty, I would have court-martialed your ass." Tom says.

-

"Look, why don't we all just have dinner tonight, get drunk, on me, and you all can go home in the morning?" Santiago suggests.

"Nah, fuck that. I can't. Somehow, I just...ended up against it here. You know? I'm burning through my pension. Molly's job doesn't cut it. I can't sell condos to save my fucking life. The only thing I have is taking care of these girls."

"Yeah. Yeah, I understand that."

"Fuck, I missed this. It's like they take your best 20 years, and then spit you out."

"Yeah."

"I just can't stop thinking about the mistakes."

"What mistakes?"

"Fuck, man. All of 'em."

"Didn't get better when you got out?"

"No. Only thing that made it feel better is when you put a gun in my hand. So, I guess that's what we'll do." Tom takes a deep sigh and walks away from Santiago, heading back inside the crate.

Santiago's a few seconds behind him.

-

"All right, first things first: safety. There is no medevac. There is no ground support. Any injuries we sustain, we're walking out with. Be mindful, each of you has a medical kit in your bag. Number two: you cannot go back to your normal life after tonight. Make no mistake about it. What we are about to do is criminal. We do not have the flag on our shoulders, and no amount of bullshit that we tell ourselves is gonna change that. If we do our job right, we will be committing one murder and one-armed robbery. You guys need to own the fact that you are desecrating most of the oaths you ever took."

Benny turns to look at his brother and... Seraphina.

Everyone glances at one another.

Seraphina's sitting between the Miller brothers again, she gets a slight deja vu feeling from it. She leans forward, her elbows on her knees, hands resting on her nose and cheeks. When Tom mentions the part about breaking of oaths, she anxiously rubs her face. She sits up, still listening to Tom even though her mind is a little elsewhere.

"Third: family. If they don't go to church, or if they come home early, it's an abort. Full stop. They are not who we came for. And lastly, it's not too late to go home. We had an agreement with Pope, and we fulfilled that. Any man here who wants to walk away now can do so knowing they're the best of us. But it's gotta be now."

Everyone's been respectful and allow Tom the time to talk but now the quiet is... something else.

Seraphina stands up, surprising everyone.

Benny and Frankie eyes widen, and their eyebrows are high up on their foreheads.

Benny's heart is racing at a mile a minute, he feels nauseous. He won't admit it out loud, but he was scared. No, that's not the right word... he's downright terrified.

She looks around, reading the room. She rolls her eyes, "calm down. I'm not leaving." She sighs. 'Idiots.' She walks towards the back where she was before, not too long ago, strapping herself with weapons and other protective gear. "I might be getting a little bit ahead of myself but I wanna be ready to take down this son of a bitch."

Benny chuckles, shaking his head, smiling because his girl hasn't changed.

Santiago nods at her. "I wanna make sure we're not leaving that house without taking care of Lorea," he says.

"If he's there like he's supposed to be, we'll get him." Tom assures him. "We leave at 0300." Tom informs the others.

"Hooah." Benny happily mutters to himself.

-

'I'm kicking his ass. I'm definitely kicking Tago's ass.'

"It's a good thing these guys are so devout. Our dad used to say, "When it's raining, it means God didn't need us in church today."" Benny says through the comm.

"He also said you go to heaven for the climate and hell for the company." Ironhead adds.

"Actually, I think Mark Twain said that." Benny "corrects" his brother, none of them know if he's right.

One Shot chuckles at the brother's conversation, finding herself forget more and more about her personal promise she's made (multiple times) to Pope.

"All right, keep the radio clear, let's stay awake here. How many is that getting in? Count it," Redfly orders.

"Seven getting in the van." "I see seven," Catfish and One Shot report.

"Anybody see Lorea?" Pope asks.

"Negative. We never saw him come out. The wife and two kids are in with a single driver. The family's left the building. Repeat, family are all clear," Ironhead informs him.

"All right, let's get ready here," Redfly says. Yovanna pulls up to the gate.

"Damn, Pope, this lady is a keeper. Punctual, smart, and brave as shit," Benny comments.

"You sure know how to pick em, Pope," One Shot adds.

"What's supposed to mean?" Pope asks.

"Nothing. I swear, you know me, I have that sarcasm switch that just doesn't turn off and makes everything I say come off as sarcastic."

Pope nods, shrugging, "oh, yeah."

"Keep. The. Radio. Clear," Redfly orders.

"Aye, aye, captain jackass," One Shot mutters.

-

"Good day," Yovanna greets the man standing guard at the gate.

"What's this?" The man asks, not recalling anyone informing him about a van.

"I'm here to drop off this van, and then my brother is taking me home."

"That idiot didn't tell me." The man shakes his head as he lets her through.

-

"She's in. She's in," Benny repeats to make sure everyone can hear him.

"Here we go. Ben, One Shot, you're first hit. Call when it's secure. With this rain, the guards are gonna be inside," Redfly says.

"Roger." Both reply at the same time.

Everyone else (minus One Shot) slowly makes their way towards the house.

-

Benny cuts the wire fence.

One Shot watching his back from the tree branch she's on.

-

Yovanna exits the van.

-

"All clear," Benny says.

One Shot moves her gun along the same path Yovanna walks, looking out for her best bud/ brother's girl.

-

"She's gone. Move in."

"Copy," Redfly replies.

"All right, we're going in," Ironhead says.

-

Catfish and Ironhead enter the house together.

-

Pope enters from another side of the house by himself.

-

Benny grabs one of the guards outside, choking him till he falls.

-

Once the coast is clear, One Shot climbs down from the tree, zooming for the house. She comes up behind another (weak) guard.

He hardly does anything, barely puts up a fight while she does the same thing Benny did.

-

Catfish and Ironhead find a guard in the kitchen.

Pope finds a guy sitting in a recliner, watching a soccer (fùtbol) game, minding his own business hardly noticing the damage being done to his "fellow coworkers."

Ironhead chokes the guy from the kitchen, the guard is down on the ground, unconscious in less than a minute.

Pope walks away from the guy watching the game.

Catfish and Ironhead tie the guy up.

"Front gate secure," Benny reports.

"One guard secured in the kitchen," Ironhead says.

"Ben, One Shot, come to the house," Redfly tells the two.

"Roger," they reply.

Pope, Catfish, and Ironhead stand across from the other. Pope signals at the two but stops.

-

One Shot comes up behind Benny, grabbing his shoulder, letting him know it's her.

He flinches, ready to attack whoever it is but stops once he notices who it is beside him.

"We're at the front door," Benny says.

"Hold, you two. Hold. Threat in the TV room. We're gonna go around the side," Pope says.

Catfish shoots a guy in the leg. Catfish and Ironhead tie up another guard.

"What's going on in there?" Benny asks.

"All clear, Benny, One Shot. Eyes out for Lorea. He sure as fuck heard us now," Pope says.

"We're coming in," Benny replies.

"Setting charges to the security room," Pope announces.

Catfish and Ironhead drag the guard's body elsewhere.

"What was that?" Redfly asks.

"We had to shoot the second guard in the leg," Benny replies.

"They're taking him to the kitchen," One Shot adds.

"Coming down," Redfly says.

"Come on," Benny tells One Shot.

-

Redfly comes down to see Benny standing guard at the door while One Shot walks by, doing one more sweep around the room.

Ironhead and Catfish make their way over to where the three are.

One Shot returns to the area few seconds after.

Ironhead pats Benny's bag, the two walk upstairs.

Catfish, Pope, and Seraphina stay downstairs.

"Fuse is burning," Pope says.

Ironhead and Benny are now in one of the many rooms inside the house.

Redfly's in another.

"Any trace of him? She said he never leaves," Pope says.

"We got nothing. This guy's a ghost," Ironhead reports.

Catfish turns the TV off.

"Everyone to the office, right now," Redfly orders.

Everyone exits whatever room they were in, heading for the office.

-

Pope walks up the stairs, One Shot's behind him. The two walk to find that everyone else but those two were in the room.

"What the fuck?" Benny shouts at Pope.

"And Lorea?" Redfly asks.

-

"Nothing. A couple of bags." Benny tosses a couple of money bags off to the side.

"He's gone. With the money," Ironhead tells him.

"Your girl gave us up, Pope. We gotta get the fuck outta here," Catfish says.

One Shot's shoulders are tense. She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath, and exhales through her nose. She opens her eyes, ignoring everyone, not wanting to look them in the eye. She looks around the room, furrowing her brows. 'Something's off.' Her eyes wonder around the room once more before landing on a previously opened paint can.

"No, no, no, no, no, no," Pope repeats.

Ironhead sits in a chair.

One Shot furrows her brows, looking back and forth between the paint and the wall.

Pope throws his bag on the ground, sniffing the air. "What's that smell like to you?"

One Shot sets her gun down on whatever was nearby, stretching her arm out in front of her to touch the wall.

"Like a serious fuck-up," Catfish comments.

Ironhead chuckles bitterly.

One Shot pushes her fingers on the wall, wiping down, retracting her hand away from the wall a second after. She sees the paint left behind on her fingers. "No fucking way."

Catfish turns to look at her. "What is it?"

-

"The paint. It's the fucking paint," she holds her hand up for the others to see.

They see the paint on her hand and the paint can underneath the table Catfish is leaning on.

"The house is the safe," Redfly realizes.

Everyone glances at one another.

One Shot scoffs, turning so she can thrust her arm backwards, elbowing the wall. It breaks and she starts pulling parts of the wall off. "The house is the fucking safe."

Pope walks closer to her, pulling out a stack of money, showing it to the others.

"Benny, help me move this. Come on," Ironhead says.

Benny rushes to help him. "I'll take the edge."

"Over there. Go, come on. Come on, man. Come on!" Redfly exclaims.

"Holy shit!" Benny comments.

"Come on," Catfish says.

One Shot and Redfly remove the painting from the wall.

"Go. Move, move," Ironhead orders.

"C'mon," Benny says.

"Oh, my God!" Redfly comments.

"Fish, I'm up," Pope tells him.

"Come on, guys!" One Shot grabs a couple of empty bags.

"Holy shit!" Pope and One Shot exclaim with huge smiles on their faces.

She turns and finds Benny looking at her with the same look on his face.

"What'd I tell you, boys?" Pope tells them.

"Jesus Christ!" Redfly shouts.

Benny laughs his ass off.

"Fucking God! Look at it! It goes all the way up!" Pope says.

"Let's go!" Ironhead shouts. "We're gonna need some bags." Ironhead and One Shot start packing the bags.

"I'll get another bag!" Benny yells.

"Keep it coming," Ironhead orders.

Benny moves down, working on another part of the wall. He breaks it, finding even more money.

"The fuck are you doing?" One Shot shouts at him, picking up a couple more bags.

"I'm seeing if there's more."

"The house is the fucking safe! Every part of this goddamn house has money in it! Go find some bags!" He ignores her and continues with his journey to find more money.

"What's wrong?" Catfish asks Pope.

"If the money's still here, it means he's still here," Pope responds.

"He's gone, man," Catfish snaps at him.

"We got more!" Benny announces from the corner.

"Back wall, too," Ironhead adds.

"There's so much here. Fuck," One Shot mutters to herself.

"Just concentrate," Redfly tells everyone.

"Oh, we're just gettin' rich!" Benny shouts, excited thinking about his Ferrari.

"How much time we got?" Pope asks.

The Miller siblings look at their watches, "Eight minutes."

"Millers, enough of that over there. We gotta start getting this shit to the van," Redfly orders.

"Yeah, we got this," They reply.

"Come on, bro." Ironhead pats Benny's shoulder.

"Keep your eyes open," Redfly reminds them.

-

One Shot picks up a couple of bags, complaining, "hey. Hey. Slow down, these bags are fucking heavy. How the hell do you carry them?"

"Yeah, bitches!" Benny shouts.

"That doesn't answer my question?"

"Shut up and keep moving. We don't have time for chit chat," Catfish tells her.

"Here, take these. I'm gonna go get the van. Meet me there," Benny gives his bags to his brother.

"Yes, sir." Will says.

"Careful." "Be careful." Catfish and One Shot tell him.

-

Benny gets in the van, searching for the keys, he doesn't find them in his line of vision. He pulls down the sun visor and the keys fall. "Classic." Benny starts the van and backs up closer to their "unloading spot."

-

Catfish pats the back of the van.

One Shot stands beside him, taking the bags out of Ironhead's hands, passing them to her best bud.

Benny slides out from the front to help the pilot load up the van with the first round of bags.

-

Once Ironhead sees that they've got this handled, he walks back upstairs to see Pope and Redfly breaking open another wall. "Jesus Christ."

"Help us, man!" "Come on! Come on!" The two exclaim.

"Come on. Over there," Pope tells Ironhead.

Said man rushes over to help the two.

"Holy shit!" Benny laughs.

-

"You got this?" Catfish asks One Shot.

She nods, "yeah. You go get more bags with the boys."

He nods and jogs away, going into the house to help the others.

-

The boys load up the van while laughing.

Benny heads back inside getting more bags.

-

One Shot steps inside the van, waiting for Catfish to hand her bags so they can load it up and get the hell out of there.

"We're gonna need more bags. See if you can find something," Ironhead says to his brother.

"On it." Benny replies.

"I tell you one thing, man, you can tell your girls they can stop studying 'cause Daddy's just gonna buy their way into Harvard!" Pope comments.

Benny walks in with a couple of suitcases. "Holy shit, this is a fuckload of money!" Benny laughs yet again.

-

"I'm going up," Catfish pats One Shot's shoulder.

"Alright, watch how many bags you and the others take down?"

"How are we looking?"

"Pretty fucking full. We're pushing it right now."

"Alright, I'll see what we can do."

"Alright, keep bringing home the bacon, bitch," she smirks at him, repeatedly raising her brows.

"I'm starting to like my short walks back inside more and more, asshole."

-

"Grab some of those and go," Redfly orders him.

"How are we on time?"

"We got time for a couple more loads."

"You sure?" Pope interrupts the two, "grab those and bring 'em down."

Benny walks out with a few more bags.

"Guys! I got another wall over here!" Catfish shouts, alerting the others.

"Holy shit!" "Shit!" Pope and Redfly exclaim.

"It's everywhere." Catfish says.

"That's what I've been fucking saying. None of you ever listen to me," One Shot says while grabbing a couple more bags.

"Well, fuck me!" Ironhead adds.

"It's the whole fucking house. She was right," Catfish mutters still not believing they've gotten the number of bags they did.

"Of course, I was. I'll be back. I gotta add these to the stash," she shakes the two bags in her hands.

He nods, keeping an eye on her as she exits the room.

-

"What's up?" Ironhead asks.

"The van's full, man!" Benny says, packing in the last bag.

"It's all good. We gotta go," Ironhead looks down at his wrist, checking the time on his watch.

One Shot smacks his bicep, getting his and Will's attention, "C'mon, let's go."

-

The two "lovers" walk upstairs, entering the room to find Redfly's still ripping and tearing at the walls.

"What the hell are you doing? Stop digging more out. We got all this to deal with," Benny informs him.

"A couple more loads," Redfly mumbles, pulling out more stacks of cash. Ironhead walks in.

"You know, in the ten years I've been working with you, Tom, you have never missed a hard out!" Benny yells at the older man.

"I gave us a 15-minute cushion. It's 12 minutes to the church, a 40-minute service, 12 minutes back. Add 5 minutes to load in and out of the van, and we can subtract 7 to beat them to the exit route. We will be fine!" Redfly argues.

Catfish and Pope walk in.

"All right? God damn it, look at all this money! Just a couple more loads!"

Redfly's desperate to get more, for his family or possibly his own greed is unclear.

"Stop it, Redfly! We have enough. We have more than enough. Now is the time to fucking go!" One Shot tugs on his arm.

He pulls his arm close and thrust his arm out, forcing her off him.

She trips over her foot, almost falling on the floor if it hadn't been for Benny standing there.

"Fuck this! Time's up. We gotta go," Ironhead adds, agreeing with the two.

"I want one more sweep for Lorea. All right? And then we burn it all down," Pope says, desperate to get this guy who always managed to escape his grasp at the last second.

"Okay, I'll get these last one loaded down there, and you call out when you're ready to light it up," Catfish holds the bottle of gasoline for Pope to take.

"Move. Move!" Catfish shouts.

-

Pope and Redfly go to one of the bedrooms. The later spraying gasoline along the way.

Pope checks the wardrobe and finds nothing.

"Come on, we gotta go!" Redfly's ready to light the room and get the hell out of dodge. "Lighting it up."

One Shot walks into the room, closest to the wardrobe.

The only sound they can actually hear is the gasoline splashing all over the floor, furniture, anywhere else Redfly pours.

She hears a creak coming from the wardrobe which was now opening.

A gun goes off, shooting in all directions.

No one can see who it is, but they shoot back.

One Shot managed to shoot the mysterious person in the leg before ducking around, heading for the hallway, taking cover there.

-

Pope walks into the safe, shooting the man he's been looking for, in the head and killing him.

Catfish walks upstairs, holding his weapon in front of him, preparing himself for whatever may happen. He lowers his weapon, crouching down in front of a panting One Shot. "You good?"

She nods, "yeah, sure. All good here. Not so sure about them."

-

"What are we shooting at in here?" Catfish asks, standing near Pope.

"Is that Lorea?"

"He's dead," Pope confirms.

"Good."

"I'm hit," Ironhead announces, holding his side.

"Shit!" Redfly mutters.

-

One Shot's blood all of a sudden goes cold. It feels like everything around her has stopped. She can't move as she thinks about the night her and Benny ended up in the hospital, leading to her departure.

"Take it easy," Redfly tells him.

"Where?" Pope asks.

"Left side," Ironhead answers. "Did it go through?"

"Yeah, it went through," Redfly answers him.

"I'll be fine," Ironhead mutters to himself. "It'll be okay," Redfly assures him.

"Get the clot kit," Ironhead orders them.

-

One Shot sits outside the room with her eyes closed. Her hands are shaking. She can't do anything. 'He's okay. Will and Santi got him.' 'I have to get you to a hospital.'

'Breathe.'

In. Out. In. Out.

'Breathe.'

-

"Straight through. You'll be okay. You'll be all right. Just breathe," Redfly says.

"I'm okay," Ironhead mutters to himself, reassure himself and the others.

"All right. Let go," Pope finishes fixing him up.

"Told you this was a stupid idea," Ironhead tells him.

"Yeah, you sure did." Once he knows his buddy's okay, he looks around to find the blonde isn't here. He turns and finds her leaning against the wall, losing her composure. He exits the room, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She pushes it off.

"Right. Sorry," he raises his hands up, squatting beside her, allowing her to take all the time she needs to catch her breath and regain any sense of calm she had before.

-

Benny comes up, walking past the two. "Sunday school's over, boys. They're back. Oh, shit!" Benny sees his brother on the ground with blood on him.

"The family?" Catfish asks, bringing One Shot back to reality.

"No, the first shift of guards. You, okay?" Benny asks.

"I'm all right," Ironhead answers him.

"You gonna be able to move? We don't got a stretcher."

"Yeah. Just help me get my kit back on."

"All right, we can each take a backpack of cash, we go out through the back into the jungle, and we're gone. I'll cover the cost of the operation," Pope tells them.

-

Catfish stands up, holding his hand out for her.

One Shot opens her eyes, glancing up at him. She takes his hand, and he pulls her up.

-

"Fuck that," Ironhead hisses in pain.

"No. We are bringing Ironhead home safe. Not dragging him through the jungle. And we're not leaving them any of this fucking money," Redfly tells him.

"Right, so we burn it all down and go," Pope says.

"There's about $100 million for them waiting in the van out there. We need to hunt and shoot quickly. Call out your kills. I don't want any fuckin' surprises. Got it?" Redfly asks.

"All right." "Let's do this." The brothers reply.

-

One Shot heads for the stairs.

Catfish watches her leave. 'Fuck,' he thinks, already knowing this is not how he wanted any of this to go for her and Ironhead.

-

"You two go that way, we'll come down the front," Redfly commands.

"I'm all right. Let's just do it. All right," Ironhead says.

"All right. Let's go," Pope tells Catfish.

The two go down one hallway.

"Here we go, fellas," Redfly voice can be heard through the comms.

-

Ironhead and Benny go down the stairs.

"That's two down in the front hall," Ironhead says.

"That's three," Catfish's voice comes through.

"That's four," Pope adds.

"Seven," One Shot's, now, monotone voice comes through, alerting Benny and Catfish's senses.

She stands guard outside the house, waiting for the others.

-

"Get back to the gate. I'm sure they dropped a few guys out there," Redfly says.

"Already on it," One Shot replies.

"On the way," Benny adds.

Catfish finishes off the guard's downstairs. Redfly continues to use the gasoline, pouring it wherever he goes. He shoots a guy trying to sneak in.

Pope's outside checking on the other parts of the house.

"Anybody got eyes on that SUV the guards came in? Because we're gonna need it," Catfish asks.

"I'm already loading it up," Ironhead says.

"Is everybody out of there?" Redfly asks.

"Coast's clear," Pope answers him.

"All clear," Catfish adds.

"We're done. Light it up and get out," One Shot snaps, to no one in particular, just going through a lot at the moment.

-

"Another van of guys just passed me in the driveway," Benny reports.

-

One Shot meets Pope, both shooting the van in front of the house making sure to leave nothing behind.

"Catfish is coming around with the van," Pope tells the injured Miller. He's walking fast, changing his mag.

"What are you doing? Come on! Let's go!" Pope shouts at Redfly.

-

Benny shakes his head, walking towards the car. Something explodes behind him; he doesn't turn around to see what it could have been.

"Benny! Hey!" Catfish yells at him from the van.

"Let's go, man! Hustle!" Pope shouts.

Benny gets in, sitting beside his girl. "Fuck! Fuck!" He slams his hands down on the back of the driver's seat.

They start driving off of the property.

"Fuck!" Benny hits the seat a couple more times.

"What?" Redfly asks him.

"What do you mean, what? That was a shit job back there, man. We don't leave messes like that!" Benny shouts back at him.

"What do we do up here? I've got the family waiting to go in," Catfish asks.

"Take it slow," Redfly answers him.

They drive past the family.

The son in the backseat rolls his window down, looking at the vehicles passing by him.

Pope has his window down but after they pass the family, he rolls the window up.

-

One Shot looks out the window, one hand in her lap, the other on the middle seat. She stretches her arm out towards Benny but doesn't fully reach for him. Her hands face down on the seat.

Benny takes a deep breath before glancing at her from the corner of his eye. He sees her hand on the seat. He sees how close it is. How close she is to reaching out for him but doesn't.

He reaches for her, grabbing her hand, squeezing it.

She squeezes his hand back.

No one else says anything.

The two "lovers" sit in the back, enjoying the small amount of comfort they're providing.

Both stare out the window, their minds are elsewhere but holding the others hand is what's keep them grounded. Keeping them from lashing out or doing something much worse.

No words are needed in this moment, only simple, heart racing hand squeezes.

Chapter II // Chapter IV

[raleighcarrera]

outpoint

foreign affairs | m!blaine hayes x mc (kennedy monroe)

a cut scene from chapter 4; after dionne’s party, blaine and kennedy work on their project a little bit and then not at all.

catch up: knockout (E) / on the ropes (T)

tagging: @pixeljazzy ; @zigtheeortega ; @pixelsandkink ; @writinghereandthere ; @choicesarehard ; @natesewell ; @flyawayboo ; @withbeautyandrage ; @blainehellyes

~3.3k words | T

it would be easier not to be seen together if not for the fact that they’re no where near done with their project. in fact, they’ve barely even started.

there’s also the added complication of their less-than-platonic relationship; they’re far from just classmates, or even friends. 

everything feels like it’s gotten out of control so quickly.

but he hadn’t planned for this. he’d agreed to go to vancross because it was that or the campaign trail; when he’d first arrived on campus, blaine had expected to coast through his classes, party until he forgot how pissed off at his parents he was and wait out the boring political drama unfolding back home with a few more years of school.

he hadn’t expected her. 

to their credit, his father’s advisors had done their best to warn him. still, he’d slept through so many briefings before packing up and heading out that he lost count -- going to vancross was supposed to be a reprieve from being blaine hayes, a chance to get out from under his parents’ noses. the first daughter of rutherland was a nonissue, hardly part of the equation at all.

...then he’d met her, and she’d called him a jackass with that cute little challenging sparkle in her eyes, and a part of him that had long since been quiet slowly stirred awake again.

and now he’s here: playing it so cool that kennedy is clearly starting to doubt whether he even likes her at all, fidgety and tense where she’s doing her very best to pretend to be engrossed in her textbook, sitting right beside him on the couch in her suite. 

her bodyguard is definitely glaring at him, too. 

blaine looks away, clearing his throat and nudging kennedy with his shoulder. “hey,” he murmurs, voice purposefully low, “i think i found something.”

it’s only when she blinks at him curiously that he realizes he has absolutely nothing at all to offer her and only wanted an excuse to break the silence between them. he points to a random passage in the book in his lap. “we can use this for our argument.”

kennedy looks down at the section he’s indicated and then stares back at him as though he’s one of the dumbest people she’s ever had the displeasure of talking to. rather than wilt under the disappointment in her eyes, he only smiles charmingly back at her, until she heaves a sigh and says, “maybe you should just work on our citations.” 

god, no. anything but that. panicked, he grabs for the book she’s holding before she can retreat silently into its pages, burying her nose in the spine and refusing to look at him like she has been for the last hour. “look,” he starts, tongue darting out to wet his lips. the sudden spike of nervousness that flares up within him is... new, to say the least. he needs a plan. “can we talk privately for a minute?”

she looks past him, quirking an eyebrow at her bodyguard. there’s a beat or two of silent communication between them that makes him feel uneasy and a sharp twist of her mouth before he hears the front door open and shut, and then they’re alone.

blaine exhales, jumping to his feet. “okay -- come on.” 

he crosses the room without waiting for a response from her, prying open one of the windows in her kitchen. his head leans out to judge the distance to the cobblestones beneath them; it’ll be a bit of a jump, but he’s had worse. when he looks back at kennedy, she’s still blinking at him owlishly. “uh, what are you doing?”

“we’re ditching your bodyguard,” he grins, more confidently than he feels. it is kind of funny how she’s looking at him, like he just suggested a bank heist. “come on. he’ll be back any second.”

kennedy glances at the front door, then rushes over to meet him at the window. “but -- why -- we’re supposed to be working on our project.”

he arches his eyebrows at her, unimpressed. “and we’re obviously not making any headway. plus, i can tell you’re distracted, and since i’m pretty sure that’s my fault... i want to fix it.” well, those are words he’s almost definitely never said to anyone before. to cover up his own surprise at himself, and how uncomfortably true they ring, he widens his grin and asks, “don’t you trust me?”

as soon as she leans around him to peer down at the length of the drop, he knows he’s won. “not enough to go first.”

blaine winks at her before deciding to hell with it, leaning out the window and jumping down to the ground, wincing when his shoes slam against the pavement. fuck. that probably wasn’t worth a shot at impressing her.

though it is worth being in the perfect position to catch her, when she slips from the windowsill and straight into his arms, windswept and adorable. her trip down had been clumsy and imprecise, with all the grace of someone who had probably never snuck out of anywhere before. 

before he can stop himself, he lifts a hand to her face to brush her hair back behind her ear. she smiles at him, as his fingertips graze her temple, and for a moment it’s like they both forget who and where they are.

it’s terrifying. 

he sets kennedy down on her feet as quickly as he can, reaching for her wrist to tug her through the courtyard. “come on.”

“where are we going?” she asks, stumbling to catch up with him, “and -- slow down, jesus. i can’t run in these shoes. no one’s chasing us, anyway.”

right. he knows that. he’s done this plenty of times -- evaded his own security detail so frequently he could probably do it in his sleep. he’s snuck plenty of pretty girls around behind guards, including this pretty girl just a few days ago. there’s no reason he should be off his game now.

blaine shakes his head at himself and then slows to a stop, finally dropping kennedy’s wrist back to her side. “well, you can’t ever be too sure,” he muses, pleased to find that they’re definitively alone, no other students or faculty or wayward paparazzi following behind them. “but you’re off the grid, now. how’s it feel?”

kennedy pauses, then unleashes a blinding grin that’s a little bit dazzling. “i see why you do this all the time.”

he hums his agreement, trying not to stare at her smile. “we’re not even at our final destination yet.”

she makes an interested noise that he tries not to find sexy and fails. no one ever said he didn’t have a one-track mind. “where are we going?”

“you’ll see,” blaine promises, his own smirk sharpening as soon as they reach the gate and his hands find it unlocked. some state-of-the-art security.

kennedy falters beside him as he holds the wrought-iron out wide for her. “we didn’t fill out any paperwork.”

that’s true. but it would’ve been impossible to ask for permission when the plan was still only half-baked in his mind, sprung into being just twenty minutes ago. “we’ll be back before anyone notices,” he assures her, “except maybe your shadow.”

kennedy rolls her eyes, but his teasing does the trick. she saunters out of the gate with him without a glance back. “tatum’s just doing his job.”

“right,” blaine scoffs, “that’s all he’s doing.” 

there’s a pause that feels just a touch too long before kennedy carefully asks, “what do you mean?” 

“i mean --” he adopts the most casual tone of voice he can muster. it still feels like not enough, making him instantly regret dancing around this topic of conversation. “it just seems like there’s something else going on between you two.”

yep. kennedy smirks wide, as obviously delighted as any one person can look. he should’ve seen that coming. “is that so?”

“don’t be smug,” he mutters, hunching his shoulders in when a group of random strangers walk past them on the sidewalk. 

“no, i’m going to,” kennedy argues, looking unfairly cute as she does the same, mimicking his movements. god, he hates her. “tell me, what do you think is going on between us?”

“only if you tell me why you’ve been so quiet,” he fires back, leading them off down a side street. “you’ve been weird ever since we got back from pavadena.”

“i have not,” kennedy insists immediately, though when he looks her way again while they wait for the light to change so they can cross the street he sees she’s biting down anxiously on her bottom lip. “i’m not even supposed to be seen with you.”

“i know.” he’s not, either. yet here they both are, in broad daylight together, in the middle of town. “so?”

“so, i’m risking a lot, and it’s like, for what? you didn’t even -- you’ve barely spoken to me, too.” she looks embarrassed by the admission, avoiding his gaze while she stares at the sidewalk instead. “when other people are around, you act like... it’s nothing. me and you.”

blaine frowns. it’s unexpected, how hurtful it is to hear her say that in the soft tone of voice she’s using, uncertain and uncomfortable. she shouldn’t sound like that. “isn’t that what you want?”

she sighs, hesitating for a moment before opening her mouth again. “i --” kennedy cuts off abruptly, leaning to the side to peer around his shoulder. with a sheepish shrug, he realizes they’ve reached their destination, and that kennedy’s stopped talking because of the music playing, trying its best to lure them across the street and into the carnival. “oh my god,” she laughs, her whole face transforming from shy to excited so quickly it makes his head spin, “how did you know this was here?”

her reaction is worth any potential disaster waiting for them back on campus. it might even be worth the ass kicking that’s definitely heading his way from that surly bodyguard of hers, too. “doesn’t matter. come on.”

they jog across the street with their heads down, though as soon as they’re actually on the fairgrounds he realizes there’s no need to look over their shoulders; it’s the middle of the day and the carnival is pretty much empty, a wayward toddler being chased by an au pair the only other sign of life on the premises besides a few bored looking workers hanging out of their booths. 

“god, i haven’t been to something like this in ages,” kennedy gushes, already dragging him over to a big table marked tickets. “this is amazing.”

the thing is -- he knows exactly what she means. growing up like they did, being who they are, it’s impossible to do anything normal. he can’t remember the last time he had an afternoon out that was as mundane as this one, either. even date night with his last girlfriend had become a production; nothing was ever just dinner and a movie.

instead of acknowledging her gratitude, he shoves her out of the way with his shoulder and opens his wallet for the most tickets the teenager behind the counter will give him. kennedy completely ignores him while he pays, twisted around to look out over the fairgrounds, cataloging every offering with wide, overeager eyes. somehow she makes this traveling carnival that’s absolutely seen better days feel like a luxury destination, and as he passes the tickets over to her blaine finds that his smile is tough to dampen, despite his best efforts to keep his expression contained.

they burn through a good chunk of the tickets throwing baseballs at milk bottles -- mostly because kennedy insists she can knock down more than he can, and that simply won’t do. he refuses to stop until he’s won her the biggest prize they have available, an obnoxiously pink stuffed elephant with giant, floppy ears. 

fortunately, there’s still enough tickets left for the fun house and the photo booth and every other stupid thing she wants to do that he pretends to hate but doesn’t, until eventually the sun’s starting to set and he knows their afternoon out is coming to an end. 

“we should head back,” blaine suggests regretfully, watching her pick her way through the giant cotton candy he probably shouldn’t have bought for her with a mix of disgust and pride. “we’ve been gone awhile.”

“have we?” kennedy blinks, as though she’s only now noticing how late it’s gotten. “ugh. one more ride -- i have to finish this.”

“you don’t,” he remarks with amusement, noting the tips of her dyed-blue fingers even as they walk off indulgently towards the only ride they’ve yet to approach. “you can just throw it out.”

“that’s quitter’s talk,” she says through a mouthful of melting sugar, chewing with her cheeks bulged out while blaine uses the last of their tickets to get them onto the ferris wheel, which is completely abandoned except for the two of them, as far as he can tell. 

once the door is shut and they take off it’s the most alone they’ve been in awhile. the last time they were this secluded was in the kitchen in pavadena, when he’d licked frosting off her fingers and she’d looked at him like maybe she wanted him to kiss her, too -- like maybe she wanted even more than that.

sort of like how she’s looking at him now, doe eyes wide and nervous, the cogs of her mind very clearly turning into overdrive behind them.

it seems so obvious, now, staring at her in the cart. of course she’d wanted him to kiss her on dionne’s birthday. she’d dressed up, searching for a sincere compliment that she hadn’t gotten and invited him to dance in the hopes that if she made the first move he’d make the finishing one, like they’d done before. and he hadn’t even realized it.

so -- he probably is as stupid as everyone thinks he is. 

the ferris wheel creaks around them as they slowly ascend to the top, old machinery groaning while they climb higher and higher. it feels like it takes forever for him to sort his thoughts into a sentence that’s actually passable, but for once, he wants to be careful about what he says. “i didn’t mean to make you think i don’t care.”

he hears her inhale. kennedy flicks her gaze out at the view behind him, then bravely looks back at his face. “no?”

“no,” he confirms, shrugging helplessly again. “this is new to me.” even this conversation is beyond him.

but judging by the look on her face, he’s yet to colossally fuck up. that’s good. “me, too,” she admits, leaning in a little closer across the metal bench they’re both sitting on. “it’d be weird even if we weren’t... us.”

except that who they are has nothing to do with why this is so strange for him. kennedy could be from antartica, and he’d still be the unlucky bastard who finally met someone he thinks understands him and has botched talking to her about it at every opportunity. 

well, there’s one thing he knows he can still execute perfectly. as the ferris wheel glides to a stop for them to take in the view, the setting sun streaming in picturesquely through the little window in the cart, he leans in and kisses her, hands fanning out low over the small of her back.

kennedy tastes like cotton candy and her hands are sticky when they cup his face -- sticky like they would have been if he’d seen the signs for what they were and kissed her in pavadena like he’d wanted to, if he’d taken advantage of the rare moment alone in the way he was now, crowding her back into the corner of the cart with a grip that he knows is probably too tight.

but she kisses him back just as urgently as he’s kissing her, dragging him in closer and biting at his mouth. she’s kissing him like she’s been thinking about this, too -- like she’s found it even a fraction as all-consuming as he has, late at night when he can’t get to sleep and he’s staring at his ceiling cursing the absurdity of it all.

the moment is gone in the blink of an eye. the ferris wheel lurches back into motion with a sound that would be alarming if he wasn’t so distracted, the cart swaying in the wind as they slowly come down the other side of the circle.

she pulls away despite blaine’s best efforts to keep her in his personal space, his hands still firm on her hips. “blaine,” she murmurs, so prettily he actually has to shut his eyes -- just for a second -- just to catch his breath -- 

light spills into the cart as the door is wrenched open. they’re on the ground again, and there’s a line of kids waiting for their turn on the ride. going up had felt like forever, but the descent was done before he could even figure out what he wanted to say. 

they make their way back to the street silently. blaine is so lost in thought it takes him a minute to realize kennedy is on the phone, wincing and rushing to promise the world to whoever she’s talking to -- that they’d only run out for a little, that she was perfectly safe, that she’d be back soon. tatum, she mouths at him as soon as he catches her eye, though as she talks he finds it hard to do anything but stare at the blue corners of her mouth, where she probably still tastes like cloyingly sweet artificial sugar.

he half expects an ambush to be waiting for them at the vancross gates, but it’s quiet when they head back across the quad. after a few steps in the direction of kennedy’s dorm, blaine’s horrified to find that he’s dragging his feet, reluctant to let what was probably one of the better days of his adult life come to an end.

this is going to be a problem.

they stop on the side of her building, out of sight from any students who may be using the main entrance. kennedy clears her throat, then announces, “well... this was fun. consider me -- fixed. i think i’ll be able to get my head in the game, now.”

he should make a joke. she’s lobbed up the spike perfectly, all he has to do is hit it. he’s done it a thousand times before -- it should be as easy as breathing.

instead, he finds himself staring at her. blaine ignores what she’s said. “it’s not nothing.”

kennedy blinks. “huh?”

well -- saying it once was one thing. repeating it is something else entirely. he shoves his hands deep into his pockets, shuffling his feet uncomfortably. “you. this. it’s not nothing... to me.”

she’s smiled at him a lot since they’ve met, in pretty much every way imaginable: exasperated, fond, excited, alluring. none of them compare to the way she’s looking at him now, her whole face lit up with joy.

the kiss she presses to his cheek is soft, yet still so heavy. there’s a promise of something that makes him feel off-kilter weighted beneath it, and his stomach unknots as he realizes he’s said the right thing. “me either. goodnight, blaine.”

she disappears around the corner, pink elephant tucked up under her arm, half-finished bag of cotton candy dangling from her free hand. he watches her go, shaking his head at himself again and running his fingers through his hair once she’s out of sight.

ideally she’d be out of his mind, now, too, but he’s starting to realize there’s just about nothing that can make that happen and, if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t really want it, anyway.

you just went on a date, chirps an annoying little voice in the back of his mind. 

huh.

so he did.

for the first time since he came to this stupid school, blaine whistles on the way back to his room.

[thiswasinevitableid]

A New Era of Gods and Monsters (Indruck)

Prompt for the 21st was: Monster Movie. Behold my old hollywood AU, featuring a title from the Bride of Frankenstein and a universe in which Transphobia doesn’t exist by the Hayes Code does. It is NSFW

February 20th, 1935.

Tinsel Town is abuzz with news that promising young director Joseph Stern is starting work on a new horror picture. The latest announcements from Kepler Studios state that it will rival the director's previous smash monster chiller “Nightmare Woods.” No news as of yet as to who will star, and who may be donning greasepaint and false fangs to play the creature. Only time will tell, but we look forward to whatever terrifying delights he has in store. Assuming, of course, that he does not run afoul of the censors. 

“Homoeroticism!” Stern tosses the warning from the Hayes office onto his desk, “that's what they sent me a warning about Ned! There wasn't even any in the picture.” 

“You know how these modesty police are, dear boy; they see depravity where there is none yet are so out of touch they do not recognize the very things they're afraid of when they are present. Now that you’ve been scolded, how do you wish to proceed?”

“In whatever way won’t get me fired. There's a fine line between the kind of censor uproar that drives publicity and the kind that the studio heads think is too risky.”

“As your producer, I support you entirely in whatever you choose. And I'm happy to apply my considerable eloquence to soothing the concerns of those who sign our paychecks.”

Stern flops down in his desk chair, staring at the almost complete script in a tidy stack. 

“If we’re going to gamble, the more big names I can get the better. I think it’s time to call in my favor from Amnesty Pictures. After that, well; if they’re going to complain about homoeroticism, we may as well give them something to really complain about.” 

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

A month later, Stern sits at a large table in the studio meeting room, the bulk of his cast already thumbing through their scripts and chatting quietly to one another. Some of them, such as Aubrey Little and Moira Redfeld, are contract players to Kepler, ones he snatched up for this picture before anyone could interfere. There are also two on loan from Amnesty,  a trade off for the time he and Ned worked their Hollywood contacts to help Mama, the studio head, raise money to fund the film that put the studio on the map. 

His own relationship with Mama’s right hand man, Barclay, who acted as their go-between in those early days, may have helped his case. 

The first player on loan is Dani Coulice, who’ll play Aubrey's dear friend and confidant who accompanies her to the house of her mysterious uncle. Dani has an understated charm on screen and, judging by the eyes she’s making at Aubrey, the two women will be able to pull off the romantic subtext he needs them to with ease.

And then there’s Indrid Cold. His first appearance in The Smiling Man drew quick comparisons to Claude Raines, Bella Lugosi and, more importantly, to the great Lon Chaney. Not only does the actor design and apply his own character make-up, he embodies his monsters and murderers in a way that leaves the audience hiding beneath their covers for days.

Stern knew the moment he and Kirby began working on the script that no one but Indrid Cold could play the titular Dr. Nacht. Now all that's missing from the table is…

“Sorry I’m late Joe. We ran long shootin the sword fight.” A southern drawl and apologetic smile announce the entrance of his other leading man. A man who's trained for years under two mentors to follow in their footsteps as swashbucklers, knights, soldiers. The man who is often described as destined to save the day, regardless of the picture. 

When you wanted a monster, you got Indrid Cold. When you wanted a hero, you hired Duck Newton. 

Which is why Stern remains surprised that Duck took this role so readily. He wants him for it, thinks he’s just the man to balance Indrid's aloof, otherworldly demeanor. But this time, his character won’t emerge triumphant. 

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

Duck cannot fuck this up. It’s a goddamn miracle Joe offered it to him at all, given that he’s never done horror before, the studio not wanting to waste him on something so strange. There was a time when Duck would have steered clear of it too, but he trusts Joe, and the rest of the cast is strong. And the leading men in these pictures are never the heroes Duck is used to; they’re scientists, good men in over their heads, soldiers carrying the mental wounds of the war. They’re something new. 

The only thing that worries him is Indrid Cold. Amnesty Pictures is known for darker, more daring fare than most studios, and Indrid always seems to be in the mix. His reputation is one of eccentric artistry, something Duck has little patience for. 

It’s been alright so far, the first weeks mainly getting costume tests and memorizing lines, and Indrid is polite but aloof. When Duck mentions this to Dani, she takes her eyes of Aubrey long enough to shrug, “He’s up in his own head a lot, he doesn’t mean anything by it.”

Today they’re shooting the arrival of his character, Henry Harper, at the lonely country estate of Dr. Edward Nacht. The doctor is Eliza’s (played by Aubrey) uncle, and she’s traveling to stay with him along with her dearest friend, Lucy (played by Dani). Henry and Eliza are ostensibly betrothed, but the script makes only the barest mention of it, putting Duck opposite Indrid and Aubrey opposite Dani in most scenes. 

Joe’s instructions are to play Harper as a classic, bland, heroic lead for the first third of the film, and he gets himself into that headspace as they take their positions.

“Now remember, Aubrey, you’re the only one who’s even little used to your uncle's mannerisms, so you should be genuinely happy to see him. Right, here we go, action!”

The trio pretends to startle at the massive mansion door shutting on its own, turning in sync to look behind themselves. 

“That’s the trouble with these old houses; they have a mind of their own.”

Indrid stands at the top of the staircase, eyes uncovered for the first time since they met. Head held high, dark suit contrasting with his pale hair and sharp features, he grins at them as he descends the steps. It’s commanding and unnerving, the actor managing to convey something odd lurking beneath his veneer of gentility.

Aubrey runs to greet him, saying her lines as Dani and Duck trail behind her. He only ends up at the right mark thanks to watching Dani  from the corner of his eye; the rest of his attention is locked on Indrid. 

“This is my dear friend, Lucy Price.”

“Wonderful to meet you, any friend of my niece is welcome in these halls.” Indrid takes Dani’s and, kissing it with a friendly smile. 

“And this is Mr. Harper, my finance.” 

The smile widens as Indrid offers his hand, Duck taking it as the blocking dictates. There’s a beat where Indrid guides it upwards, as if intending to kiss it. Then he stops, shaking it instead. 

“A pleasure to have you here, Mr. Harper. It seems my niece shares her mother's fine taste in men.”

It takes him a moment to remember he’s not supposed to stand transfixed.

“I look forward to gettin to know you, doctor.”

Indrid steps back, still grinning, “if you three will follow me, I will show you to your rooms.”

“Cut!”

Christ, that was awful, he should have played that more confident, more in control-

“That was perfect Duck, just the right approach.”

“Oh, uh, thanks Joe.”

“I must admit I am pleasantly surprised.” Indrid adds. 

“How so?” Duck looks up at him.

“Simply that quipping whilst swinging a sword about does not always result in someone who can convey complex emotions on screen.”

“Now wait just a fuckin second-”

“I, ah, I was trying to be complimentary.” Indrid almost sounds like he means it. 

Duck crosses his arms, “Oh yeah? Then I guess I oughta say I’m impressed a fella who runs around covered in monster make-up most of the time can actually emote.”

“That was uncalled for.”

“You started it.”

“I did not mean to start anything!”

“Gentlemen, if we could continue with our shooting” Ned’s voice cuts in and Duck turns to see half the soundstage string to them. 

“Uh, right, sorry. Always get  little, uh, tense on the first day. Right, Indrid?”

Indrid rises n unimpressed eyebrow, “Where shall we take it from?”

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

It doesn't get better after that first day. 

Duck tries, he really does, and he can tell Indrid is doing the same. But the longer they work together, the more often they snap at one another in between scenes. 

“What were you two arguing bout now?” Aubrey says as they walk to the parking lot one evening. 

“We, uh, well he, uh, huh. I can't remember.”

She shakes her head, “Yep, that's what I thought.”

They’re  third of the way through the shoot, and it's going on ten at night, Joe trying to get as much done as he can before another picture borrows the set for two days.

Duck and Indrid are the only actors remaining, working on the scene where Henry, having agreed to help the doctor in his work, confronts him over the nature of the experiments. Once they finish this scene, they’re done, but Indrid keeps tripping over the word “indomitable.”  

When he fucks it up for the fourth time, Duck drops his head into his hands, “fuck’s sake, it ain’t that hard.”

“That’s rather rich coming from someone whose accent ought to have rendered him obsolete at the advent of talking pictures.” Indrid replies dryly. 

“Fuck you.” 

Indrid straightens up, ready with a retort, when Joe shouts for them to retake their places and try again. 

“You are meddlin with forces you don’t understand, doctor. Forces that are a mystery for a reason.”

“Do not underestimate me, Mr. Harper. Man is far more powerful, far more capable than scholars or priests would have you believe.” Indrid steps towards him, voice cool and smile detached, “we are no better than beasts if we cower in the shadows of ignorance, never daring to dream of what may be within our reach. Man was meant to question, Mr. Harper, meant to search and create. Man is indomitable.” His grin brightens not only from correctly pronouncing the word, but as part of the scene; because Duck is hesitating, won over for an instant by his speech. 

Duck shakes his head, “Dreams and questions are all well and good, but they all come to nothin if you barrel forward without a thought for the harm you might do. No, doctor, while we're here, I forbid you from such experiments. I won’t have Eliza in such danger, nor will I risk her losing her remaining family.”

Indrid cocks his head, amused, “You forbid it?” 

Duck tilts his head up to meet his eyes, “I do.”

His back slams into the laboratory counter, Indrids hands gripping it on either side of him.

“Perhaps I have been unclear, Henry. I am the master here, not you.” Slender fingers grip Duck’s lapels, tugging him nose to nose with Indrid, “you would do well to remember that.”

“Cut! Perfect, thank the lord, so we can finally get out of here.” Joe’s voice snaps Duck back into the soundstage, but Indrid hasn’t let go, is instead eyeing Duck’s face, tongue coming out to wet his lips. 

How long has Duck been breathing this hard? 

Indrid release his hold, smoothing down the front of Ducks jacket. He frowns, “You’re shaking. Are you ill?”

“N-nope.”

Unconvinced, Indrid touches his forehead, “You feel rather warm. Please tell me you are going home rather than out to paint the town?”

Duck wants to tell him to mind his own damn business. All that comes out is, “Yeah, might just straight sleep through til Sunday. You rest up too, y’hear?”

Indrid smiles, “I will do my best.”

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

“Catching up on some correspondence?”

Duck sets down his pen as Indrid sits at the lunch table across from him, “My sister moved back out to West Virginia not that long ago, and I promised I’d keep her up to date on everythin goin on out here.”

“Is she younger or older than you?”

“Younger by four years. You, uh, you got any siblin’s?”

“No. I was raised by my aunt and uncle, so I have a cousin instead. Here, I think I might have a picture.” The taller man pulls out a notebook, flipping through it, “ah, there he is.”

“Christ, if I couldn’t see the smudge up there, I’d think that was a fuckin photo.”

“Thank you.” Indrid dips his head, tucking the notebook back into his jacket pocket, “I mostly keep that on me in case I am struck by a new creature design, but it has other uses.”

“Where’s your family from?”

“Germany, originally, then the Salinas valley.”

“Told it’s real beautiful up there.”

“It has its moments, fewer now that they’ve found oil.”

“What’s your favorite?”

Indrid tells him, talks about the nearby mountains and traveling down to the coast, about hitchhiking his way to Los Angeles because he felt foolish asking for the money for a bus ticket when most of the family thought his journey was pointless.

“Sure proved them wrong.” Duck nudges his ankle playfully under the table. 

“I suppose.”

After that conversation, Duck likes his days on set even better. The chair reading “Indrid Cold'' is now next to his more often than not, the two of them running lines or talking about gardens and art between takes. They bring in a black cat--meant to be the doctor’s pet-- for several days of shooting, and Indrid laughs whenever Duck picks it up and coos over it, smile fading to a gentle, shy expression when he catches Duck looking. 

And when Joe instructs them to brush hands, or let their gaze linger too long on each other during scenes, Duck hopes they’ll have to do take after take. 

Today the set is full of excitement, as it’s the first time Indrid will appear in his full monster make-up; he’s shot two scenes in shadows, hinting at the horror of it as he takes innocent life on the moors. Now, Duck will enter the laboratory and see first hand the results of the doctor’s experiments. 

“Action!”

Duck steps into the darkened room, equipment flashing and test-tubes billowing smoke. 

“Doctor, there’s been another death in the village, and you’re the police are asking for your help. They say it’s like nothin they ever seen before.”

Heavy footfalls and the scrape of nails on metal signal Indrid’s approach, but he’s not to turn until the actor speaks. 

“Doctor, can you hear me?” He looks around, worried, then calls hesitantly, “Edward?”

“Hello, Henry.”

He turns and yells in fright, hand flying to cover his mouth. Where there once was an elegant, odd figure, now a massive nightmare looms out of the darkness. Indrid’s mouth stretches wide, curve fangs protruding from either corner, face coated in bloodied, feathered scales, and claws reaching for Duck. 

“Edward what” he staggers backward,s “what in god's name have you done?”

“What I set out to do, my dear Henry. Can you not see that?” Indrid giggles with the hysteria of a man consumed by bitter disappointment, “perhaps you should come closer.”

“Stay back, I’m warnin you-”

Indrid lunges, snarling, and Duck throws himself out of the way, hitting first the edge of something sharp and then the ground

“Fuck!” 

“Cut!”

“Oh dear, are you hurt? Here, let me help-”

Duck holds up a hand, gritting his teeth, “You stay right where you are. Fuck, christ,” the hand gripping his leg comes away spotted with blood, “what the fuck, that wasn’t in the blockin!”

“Joseph said he trusted me to improvise my movements, to maximize the tension.”

“You gotta fuckin warn me about shit like that, all my movement is backwards, meanin I can’t see where I’m goin.”

“I assumed a man who made his living fighting knew how to use his peripheral vision.”

“How bad is it?” Dewey, one of the camera men, helps Duck up as Stern approaches them. 

“Give there’s  a bloodstain on our set, enough to send him over to the medical office. I'm calling it for the night . I’ll see you both tomorrow.” Joe runs a hand through his hair, levels them both with a warning look before turning back to dismiss the crew. 

It’s not all that bad once he’s out of the torn pants and gets it cleaned off. When he gets back to the dressing room to retrieve his coat and hat, there’s a large black case, like  fisherman's tackle box. It’s what Indrid calls his toolkit, full of the tools and tricks he uses to turn himself into a monster. He once called it his most prized possession. 

Duck switches off the light, has the door halfway shut before he stops. Groaning in frustration at his own decency, he turns and grabs the box from the floor. 

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

“This had better be important” Indrid calls through the apartment door, “I must go back out for something and do not have time to waste.”

“Wouldn’t happen to be goin out for your toolkit?” Duck says dryly. 

The door flies open, revealing Indrid in a black dressing gown, face a bit pink, no doubt from scrubbing off all his monster make-up. 

“Yes.” He snatches the box away by it’s handle, hurrying over to the table and leaving Duck in the doorway, “you didn’t touch anything did you? Or show it to anyone else?” His head whips over his shoulder, red glasses slipping down his nose to reveal a hard, suspicious glare. 

“No, I didn’t touch a damn thing.” Duck steps over the threshold, shutting the door and tossing his hat onto the couch, “and you're welcome.”

Indrid inhales deeply, “I, I apologize. The tricks I developed, my techniques, my materials, practically all of it is in this box. If someone else were to get  hold of it, replicate my effects, my career would be over.”

“What are you talkin about?”

The taller man sighs, turning his back and heading into his bedroom, “I do not expect you to understand.”

Duck is ready to tear his hair out, stalks into the bedroom after him, “Fuck’s sake Indrid, do you think you’re the only fella here with the brains to understand shit?”

“That is not what I meant and you know it.”

“No, I really don’t. What do you want from me, Indrid? Most days you’re palin’ round with me, then you act like you think I’m some sheltered idiot who’s had everything handed to him.”

“Because you have” Indrids hands could be conducting  symphony for how much they move s he continues, “you had mentors, people who told you from a young age that you had a place in this business, who carved out roles for you and handed down their skills, their legacies. I had nothing, I had to make my way based on skill and luck alone.”

“Were the fuck do you get off assumin that sort thing bout me? At lest you got some fuckin say in the way your career went. Minerva had it all planned out for me, hell, at the start I fought hard to do somethin other than those hero parts.”

The anger on Indrid’s face flickers, “Why did you stop?”

 “Because I didn’t wanna end up with nothin! As you keep pointin out” he steps towards Indrid, jabbing a finger into his chest, “my kind are a dime a dozen in this town.”

“Which means you can get any part you choose! You are the kind of man everyone loves. God help me if horror ever falls from favor, I will be back in dust of the farmland in an instant.” 

Duck growls at the sorry ploy for sympathy, “Bullshit, you’re better on camera than anyone in this town.”

“That doesn’t matter! For goodness sake, Duck look at me!” He gestures wildly at his face, “without my monsters, without horror, I'm nothing. Amnesty might try to help me, but they’d soon find that unless they can be terrified of me, audiences have no use for Indrid Cold.” Resignation tinges his voice, and it kicks Duck’s anger out from under him. 

“Indrid, that ain’t true-”

“-No, it is very true”

“-will you let me fuckin finish?” Duck reaches for him, not certain what he means to do.

“I have no desire to-” Indrid moves his arm to push Duck’s away, and puts too much force behind it, losing his footing on the hardwood floor and falling backwards onto the bed. In attempting to recover his balance, one leg kicks out, knocking Duck forward. He catches himself with one knee on the mattress and his hands on either side of Indrid, pulling abruptly down on the dressing gown. When it opens, they both go still. 

“You, uh, why ain't you wearin anythin under this?”

“I was not aware I need to follow a dress code in my own blasted house.” Indrid manages through grit teeth, face turned resolutely away from Duck. He follows the angle of his jaw down the line of his neck, the noticeable points of collarbone, ribs, and hips beneath tan, sun-hungry skin making him think of fine china or rare plants, the kind you cultivate for years in hopes of seeing something no one else could ever dream of. 

“Would you kindly stop staring?” Indrid murmurs.

“Why?” Duck drags his gaze away from his body just as Indrid levels him with an exhausted frown.

“Fine, go ahead and get your fill so you can--in excruciating detail--tell anyone who is interested that I look just as strange without clothes as I do in them.”

“Is that really what you think I’m doin?”

“I have a hard time believing there could be...another..” He trails off s Duck leans down, cupping his cheek and bringing his other leg up to straddle him. 

“You sure about that belief?” He bumps their noses together. 

“I'm starting to have my doubts.” 

Duck snickers, carefully bringing their lips together. Indrid hums, wrapping his arms round Duck and running his hands along his back up into his hair. He’s kissed plenty of times, on and off screen, but Indrid is earnest and hesitant all at once, as if Duck is giving him a gift he’s not sure he deserves. He’s also wonderfully responsive, twitching and arching whenever Duck touches him, licking and nipping at his lips, begging to be let inside. Duck opens them, sighs when Indrid teases their tongues together. 

When he sits up, Indrids hands draw across his bare chest, concerned. 

“Don’t worry, darlin , I ain’t goin far.” He slides off the bed, sinking to his knees between Indrid’s legs s he pulls off his jacket, “Just seems to me you need someone to show just how fuckin handsome you are.”

“Are you oh-so-graciously volunteering?” Indrid’s smile is plain in his voice. 

He pushes up his sleeves, “Yep.”

Indrid’s cock is soft when he wraps his fingers around it, stroking up gradually to rub the head with his thumb. Licking along the underside turns Indrid’s so “ohs” into a full-throated moan. 

“That’s more like it, darlin.” Duck kisses up and down the shaft , slipping a hand lower to gently toy with his balls, “get hard for me.”

“Wh-what” Indrid gulps down a breath, “what makes you think you are in charge here?”

In lieu of an answer, he takes the head of is cock into his mouth, sucking hard, not letting up until pre-cum seeps along his tongue. Indrid’s hands cling to the edge of the bed, the room filling with high gasps and the odd squeak when Duck zig-zags his nails along his inner thigh. 

He pulls off, wiping away the string of spit trailing from his lips. Laps intermittently at his slit as he speaks, hoping his voice is coming across husky rather than desperate, “Well, sugar, what do you say? Gonna let me call the shots?”

“I s-say” One hand wavers in the air, about to stroke his hair, and Duck dips to the side, bumping his head into his palm in tacit permission. 

“I say a man on his, his knees giving orders is presumptuous.”

“Ah!Fuck” Duck groans as Indrid tugs his hair, forcing him to sit up straight.

“And I’d say his mouth could be put to an even better use.”

Duck scrambles onto the bed, kissing Indrid furiously as soon as he reaches him, the pale-haired man rolling them over and tangling them both in the top blanket with their feet still hanging off the bed. 

“Did I say you could stop paying attention to my cock? OOhhnnnn, yes, yes” he hooks a leg over Ducks thigh, pumping into the shorter man’s fist, “perfect, god, everything about you is, is just right.”

“I ain’t the only one.” Duck aims for his lips, ends up kissing his cheek, when he buries his face into his neck with a whine.

“It’s true. You think I go to my knees for any old fella?”

“Mphhm” Indrid’s glasses dig into his shoulder.

“You think I’d be doin this” he speeds up his hand, “if that face of yours didn’t make me wanna do things in front of those cameras that’d make the devil blush.”

“Mmhpmm”  Indrid clings to him like lichen yet refuses to look up. 

Duck stills his hand, “I ain’t startin up again unless you answer me, sugar.”

Indrid raises his head halfway, five o’clock shadow pricking Duck’s cheek.

“Duck Newton, I do believe you are telling the truth. You think I am handsome.” Shyness lurks just beneath the teasing, so Duck tenderly brushes his fingers along Indrid’s face.

“That I do.”

He raises up enough to bring them nose to nose, “And I think you put all other matinee idols to shame with only your smile.”

“Indrid.” It’s his turn to blush, and he only grows redder when Indrid guides his hand off his cock and to his lips to kiss it. 

“I have an idea. As much as these” he releases his hand to snap his suspenders, “flatter that broad chest of yours, they and your pants need to come off.”

As Duck exiles his clothes and shoes to the floor, Indrid lays with his head on a pillow, steadily stroking his cock. Staring at that sight adds a good minute to his undressing, but Duck doesn’t give a damn. 

When he goes to straddle Indrid’s hips, the other man shakes his head, “Nono, up here.” He pats the pillow on either side of his head. 

“Shit yeah, been wanting to fuck that stunnin face for weeks.”

Indrid’s face is beet-colored by the time Duck brackets it with his knees. 

“S-so have eye”

“Aw, sugar, you gettin tongue tiIIIIedfuck.” His palms thwack into the wall as Indrid circles it along his folds. 

“What was that about tongues?” His smirk is just visible between Duck’s thighs. 

“That if you don’t keep usin yours like that, you’re gonna see a grown man cry with need.”

“We cannot have that.’

“FUuuuuck, fuck.” He wiggles his hips to help Indrid get the right angle, unsure if he can ask for more pressure.

“You, you can put more weight down if you need.” 

He grinds down, moaning when Indrid’s lips part further to give his tongue more room to work. The moan is echoed below him, muffled though it may be, as one of Indrid’s hands disappears from view. A moment later, he bucks, gasping and laving his tongue along Duck’s dick. 

“Shit, right there, keep goin right there.”

Indrid curves and flicks his tongue along the sensitive skin, hums of pleasure mingling with the messy sound of his hand flying up and down his cock. When he closes his lips around his dick Duck yelps, hunches forward to rest his head on the wall as he sucks him off, pressure spiking deliciously whenever he moans or strokes himself harder. Indrid cums with a whimper, sticky hands landing on Duck’s ass to urge him on as he ruts into his mouth.

“That’s it sugar, fuck, you’re amazin, feels so fuckin good oh fuck, fuck, Indrid, fuckin christ.” He rolls his hips harder and faster until the friction makes the orgasm burst through him. He just manages to lift himself off and collapse on the bed rather than Indrid's neck. 

“Did, do you hear a, uh, a crack?”

Red glasses, a split across the right lens, appear in front of him. 

“Aw fuck” he giggles, “didn’t know I was goin that hard. Lemme buy you a new pair?”

“I have several spares, on account of my own occasionally absent mindedness” Indrid is up on his side, grinning down at him, face still shiny with slick, “and I am taking that as a testament to my skill. Perhaps I should wear them with pride to the set tomorrow.”

“Please don’t” Duck laughs harder, “fuck, can you imagine the look on Joe’s face”

Indrid is laughing too now, “They are not part of my costume, it would not affect the shoot. Save the part where the reminder of how you looked just now, flushed and ecstatic above me, would make it rather hard to focus.”

Duck shifts onto his side, nestling up against him, “you’re a real sweet talker, you know that?”

“You have that effect on me.” He feels him inhale more deeply, fingers toying with Duck’s hair, “would, ah, would you like to spend the night? I believe you are not needed tomorrow, and I am only needed in the evening.”

“I’d love to” Duck nudges him onto his back to better cuddle across his chest, “got no interest in sleepin alone any time soon.”

“Do, ah, do you mean you wish to, ah, to-”

“Yeah, I do. I wanna see what it’s like to have the finest man in the city on my arm. Assumin he wants the same thing.”

“You do not think I am snobbish and strange?”

“Not anymore than you think I’m spoiled and had it easy.”

Indrid kisses the top of his head, “Then I think this could be the start of something wonderful.”

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

Stern looks up from the script as his two leading men walk onto the set, arms linked and whispering to one another, each smiling wider than Laurel Canyon. He turns back to his notes. 

“About fucking time.”

[hockey-fics]

Crossing Paths ~ Kevin Hayes (Part One)

2013- First Meeting

“Stop,” you whine, giggling as your friend Kelsy tosses a crumpled up sticky note at you from across the table in the library. Reaching over you pick it up, tossing it into the garbage can a few feet from you. 

“Hey, that should have gone in the recycling,” she jokingly scolds, on a mission to cheer you up from the midterm stress you were feeling. 

Picking up a pen you attempt to fling it at her, the pen missing her by a wide margin and instead ricocheting off the table behind her. Your eyes widen when you notice the person occupying the table, immediately looking down at the open textbook in front of you. “Oh god,” you whisper. 

“What?” Kelsy asks, about to turn around to look at the cause of your reaction, but you manage to stop her in time by smacking her hand. 

“Don’t you dare,” you state harshly, glaring at her. “I’ll kill you if you turn around right now.”

“Tell me who it is or I’ll look,” she threatens, leaning forward across the table to get closer. 

Mirroring her movement you get as close as possible, whispering your answer so there was no chance he could hear you saying his name. “Kevin.”

“Hayes? Hockey boy?” she asks, louder than your own whisper, making you wince in embarrassment as you notice him glancing up from his notebook. 

“Kelsy,” you hiss, flopping back into your chair, cheeks bright red as they burn with embarrassment. 

Kevin was a couple years older than you, in his senior year and a star on the hockey team. You, on the other hand, were a sophomore and on the volleyball team, though you would never consider yourself much of a star. You had first met Kevin in your freshman year, when you were both at an athletics banquet for the college. Technically you met him that night, but there wasn’t a sliver of hope within you that he remembered who you were. But you remembered him, because he was tall and attractive and every time you glanced over at his table during the dinner he seemed to be laughing with his teammates, seeming carefree and so unbelievably cool. And when you went to hockey games to support the school team you were so focused on him you could have easily forgotten there were 22 other people wearing Boston College uniforms that you were there to watch. 

A figure approaches the table and when you look up Kevin is standing over you, a pen in his hand as he extends it towards you. “Think you dropped this,” he chuckles. 

Dropped. His word choice makes you laugh softly as you take it back from him, fumbling slightly with it as your nerves take over. “Thank you,” you say quietly, setting it down on the table. 

“Yeah...for sure,” he replies, stepping back and hesitating for a moment before turning around and returning to the table he was at before.  

Almost as soon as he’s gone Kelsy begins giggling, shaking her head. “You’re such an idiot,” she mutters to you. “Thank you. That’s all you could say?” she whispers. 

Rolling your eyes you gesture to her textbook and stack of blank index cards. “Mind your own buisness and finish your stupid flash cards,” you tell her, resting your elbow on the table and your head in your hand as you look down at your own textbook. 

A couple hours pass and Kelsy begins packing up her stuff. “Alright, I’m out. It’s already nine and I want to do something other than study before I go to bed tonight.”

“Alright,” you mumble, finishing off the paragraph you were reading before looking up at her. “See you in stats tomorrow morning?”

“Unfortunately. Fucking-”

“-hate stats,” you chime in, both of you saying it in unison. She said it so frequently that you had started joining in her sentiment, simply to make fun of her for being so predictable. 

When Kelsy leaves you notice the table behind her was still occupied, making eye contact with Kevin who was looking in the direction of your table. “Sorry,” you say to him, knowing you were in the library and probably shouldn’t have been talking so loudly with Kelsy. 

Kevin shakes his head, a slight smile on his face. “Don’t be,” he tells you before looking back down at what he had been working on. 

Awhile later you feel yourself beginning to fade, closing your textbook and picking up your bag to pack all the things you had spread across the table. 

“Are you leaving?” Kevin asks and you glance up, looking at him curiously. 

“Yeah,” you say slowly, eyebrows furrowed.

“Do you want me to walk you to your car?” 

“I live on campus,” you tell him with a shrug, continuing to put your things away. 

“To your dorm then?” he suggests, hand wrapped around a couple pens and highlighters he had on the table, ready to immediately shove them into his backpack. 

Pausing you look over at him, trying to contain the smile on your face. “Sure,” you nod, finishing putting your stuff into your bag while Kevin hurriedly shoves all his belongings into his backpack haphazardly. 

Walking through the dark, quiet campus beside Kevin you’re unable to shake the slight nerves. What do you do with your arms? Were you walking too slow? Too fast? Suddenly it seemed like it was taking copious amounts of effort just to act normal. “Team’s doing well,” Kevin comments. 

Glancing up at him you nod, even though he was looking forward and wouldn’t be able to tell. “Yeah, you guys are doing pretty well,” you concur, hearing him chuckle in response. 

“Your team,” he corrects and when you look up at him he’s looking back at you. “The volleyball team, you guys are doing well.”

“You, uh, you know I’m on the volleyball team?” 

Kevin tilts his head, eyes narrowed. “We...you know that we’ve met before... right?”

Your cheeks get warm again and you’re glad now that you’re out in the darkness of the evening and not under the bright fluorescent lights of the library. “I didn’t think you would have remembered that,” you admit. 

“How could I forget the girl who kept checking me out all night at the athletics banquet?” 

Whipping your head to the side you look up at him with wide eyes, coming to a complete stop. “I was not,” you deny, though it was hopeless. You hadn’t been as discreet as you had thought you were, and it didn’t help that Kevin had spent much of that evening trying to subtly catch any glimpse possible of you as well. 

Kevin chuckles, slowing to a stop and turning to face you. “You were,” he chuckles, a mischievous grin on his face. 

“No, I wasn’t...you’re just too full of yourself,” you giggle, reaching over and playfully shoving his arm. 

Kevin shakes his head, reaching over and grasping the hand you had pushed him with. “Oh, are you getting physical with me now?” he asks jokingly. 

Somehow your heart begins to beat even harder and faster with his hand wrapped around yours, with his eyes fixed on you. You want to say something, something clever, something funny. Something that would make you seem impressive, that would make you seem cool. But you’re speechless, so caught up in trying not to completely fall apart under his attention, at his touch that you can’t think of a single response. 

Kevin quickly lets your hand go, stepping back as if you had slapped him. “Sorry, I shouldn’t’ve…” he starts, trailing off uneasily, looking down at the ground. 

“What?” you whisper, trying to figure out why he was suddenly apologizing. 

“Uh, your hand, I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.”

“No, Kevin, it’s fine,” you assure him, reaching over and tentatively taking his hand. Both your arms were stretched out in front of you as you remain at a distance. That was until you feel a gentle pull on your arm, stumbling forward, closer to him. “It, it’s fine,” you whisper, now to yourself as you look up at him, eyes fixed on his. 

“Is it?” he asks, leaning down, his face getting closer and closer to yours. 

Nodding you push yourself up onto your tip-toes, lifting the hand that wasn’t holding onto his up to his shoulder, fingers brushing against the fabric on the collar of his jacket as he wraps his arm around your waist, hand resting on your back. It feels so surreal, to be in this moment. To be wrapped up in Kevin’s grasp. After having feelings for him from such a distance, thinking never for a moment would he even have noticed you. “More than fine,” you whisper. 

Kevin pulls you closer, leaning down, grip tight and lips gentle on yours. There’s a sensation deep within you, an electricity, a tingly feeling that draws you closer, pressing your body into his. His lips move faster, with more force as you feel his hand grasp onto the fabric of your jacket and you let out a quiet, involuntary whimper into his mouth. 

Kevin pulls back quickly, putting a distance between your bodies. “I should get you home,” he mutters, clearing his throat nervously. 

Nodding slowly you step back, letting your arm drop from his shoulder and pulling your hand free of his. You couldn’t help but feel that you had done something wrong. “Yeah, it’s getting late,” you reply, arms folded over your chest. Following Kevin’s lead as he turns on the path you walk in silence with him towards the dorms you lived in. 

It doesn’t take long to get to the main entrance of the old dorm building and you stop outside of it, turning to look up at Kevin. “Thanks for walking me home,” you tell him, hands clasped in front of you. 

“No worries,” he tells you with a shrug, his own hands shoved into his jeans pockets as he gazes down at you. 

Glancing around you take a deep breath, mustering up every ounce of courage you had. “Did I do something wrong back there?”

“No,” Kevin says quickly, shaking his head. “No, of course not. You’re just, you’re-,” he trails off, shaking his head and chuckling quietly. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Okay,” you whisper, knowing there was something he wasn’t telling you, but not wanting to push too much, not wanting to seem annoying. 

“Hey, uh, when’s your next game here?” Kevin asks. 

“Tomorrow, 7 pm.”

“I’ll be there,” Kevin says with a smile before faltering. “Unless that’s weird.”

Giggling you shake your head. “Not weird, I’ve been to your games before.”

“Have you?” Kevin asks, a cheeky grin on his face. 

Rolling your eyes you lean up, briefly pressing your lips to his cheek. “Goodnight, Kevin,” you say, stepping back from him and turning towards the door, glancing back at him as you unlock the door. 

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Kevin calls to you, a smile on his face, waiting till you’re inside before leaving. 

[puckmeupfam]

Consigliere | Kevin Hayes

Word Count: 3175 Note: The Mafia!Kevin Hayes AU that no one asked for. I’ve never seen the Godfather or any mob movies. It’s more lighthearted than it sounds, I swear. Brief mentions of past violence and mafia stuff so please don’t read if that will affect you.

Okay, so Kevin Hayes is kind of a screw-up. His father, Frank, had been mob boss ever since his father before him had died. And he was good at it. He knew when deals were being done. He knew when someone was thinking about snitching. He knew how to handle his allies. He knew how much money it took to get in the police chief’s blind spot. The Hayes family had been leading the mob before Prohibition even began which meant that Kevin had a heavy-weight on his shoulders ever since he could remember. Kevin was just four years old when his father started bringing him along to inner circle meetings. It was in the basement of a restaurant that seemed to always be closed at random times yet somehow still in business. The lights were low and cast large, ghostly shadows on the wall. The point was to get him to start seeing the guys as family. To see how his father commanded the room with his booming voice and wide shoulders. His father would speak confidently with a cigar placed casually in his mouth while the guys studiously listened. They knew to obey him because he had a habit of being… harsh. Kevin’s father wouldn’t take anyone’s shit. Kevin was in the fourth grade when he went along on his first “check-in” to one of the mobsters who wanted out. The guy was pretty high up in the hierarchy which made Kevin’s dad want to make the trip himself. There was nothing he hated more than a buddy who cried about wanting to stop for his “wife and newborn daughter,” to Kevin’s dad you were either in or six feet under.

Which is why it was always a bit of a sore spot that his heir was Kevin. Kevin whose voice was loud in an obnoxious way rather than a threatening way. Kevin who would much rather play street hockey than take a guy out in the street. Kevin who asked if he could “just have one of your fries” while his father was presenting his game plan. Kevin who tried to sneak his Nintendo on a stakeout. 

Kevin’s mother, Jeannie, and his father had a significant age difference. When he was born his mom was twenty-six while his father was forty-one. Most women involved within the mob didn’t even have a high school diploma, but his mom was just three semesters short of a bachelor’s degree. Her father, Al Rogers, was a made man and an advisor to the boss. Frank had too much power to have friends, but he protected his mafia as if they were his own brothers. Which is why when a lower gang showed up at the Rogers home one fateful night as a very aggressive hint to Frank, he brought Jeannie back from college and hid her in his house until he could make the other gang scarce. Call it love or call it Stockholm Syndrome, but Frank and Jeannie got married just two years later. Kevin was born first and was followed by three younger sisters. Leaving Frank with no other choices but Kevin.

But it was when Frank Hayes died suddenly of a heart attack that Kevin’s life was officially fucked. He was now the leader, the boss, the king and that meant something to these people. It meant that he had to step his shit up which was a lot harder said than done. At his first meeting since his father’s death, he sat with his eyes glazed over for about forty-five minutes before someone jolted him out of his thoughts. “Sir, are you going to give your speech now,” a man he only knew as Buddy asked him in hushed tones. Kevin stood, drawing everyone’s attention. When the boss speaks you listen.

“Uh, yeah,” Kevin began, “um, go kill those guys I guess.”

This was… not the right thing to say. He was met with wide, dumbfounded eyes. Kevin honestly couldn’t tell you who he just told everyone to kill and he definitely wasn’t using the imposing form or gruff vocabulary that his father had. 

Kevin honestly felt hopeless about his life and his new position. Until he met you. He was sitting in a bar that he knew no mafia members would go to. He ordered a piña colada, he had one once at a luau-themed high school party. His father was away on a mission leaving him with just his mother and the two mob members guarding his house to sneak past. In all likelihood, the security knew he was going probably even followed him to the party. But the point was that he got to enjoy himself. Got to wear a trashy Hawaiian shirt. Got to do a keg stand. Got to be a trashy kid instead of a mafia prince. And that’s where you came in. 

You had gone with your friends for a night out, you were wearing shorts and a sparkly sequined shirt with black boots. It was entirely inappropriate for the Boston weather, but that didn’t stop you from drinking tequila shots and dancing in the middle of what seemed to be one of the quietest bars in the city. Your friends had left already, but you weren’t ready to go home. You always claimed that you weren’t a fan of going out and would much rather stay home, but once you got out of the house you couldn’t turn yourself off as easily as they could. Which left you alone sipping a vodka tonic at the bar while lip-synching to the song playing overhead. 

The floor was sticky with spilled beer and the vinyl of the booths were tearing, leaving the foam and stuffing inside exposed. There happened to be a female bartender there tonight which allowed you to chat and laugh openly without worrying about giving the wrong signals. Kevin quickly spotted you across the room. With the bar being sparsely filled with drunks it wasn’t hard to miss you. But for Kevin is felt like a bit more than that. Like there was a ring of light surrounding you. Like a magnet pulling his gaze. Your mouth was wide in an uninhibited laugh, your sparkly pink lipgloss was smeared a bit, and you had a twinkle in your eyes. A sign of joy and happiness that Kevin envied. 

There were some calls from a corner booth of inebriated men which lead the bartender to give you a reluctant smile before going to bring them more pitchers. Now, bored without stimuli, you spun your barstool around. That was when you spotted him staring at you. He looked sad and oafish and non-threatening with his head in his hand and his fruity drink at his side, twirling the little umbrella between his fingers. You felt pity and curiosity when you saw him and walked to his table as if a magnet were pulling your belly. 

You sat on the other chair at his table without waiting for an acknowledgment or invitation. His back straightened as he gawked at you. 

“I’m (Y/N),” you said reaching your hand out. He absently noted that you had a strong handshake as his hand flopped in yours. “Kevin,” he hollowly responded. “Kevin,” you repeated back to him with a smile, “what’s got you so down in the dumps?” It took him a second to realize two things 1.) he was just kind of staring at you without actually speaking like a normal human person and 2.) his hand was still robotically shaking yours even though you had stopped squeezing. “Oh, just troubles with…” he hesitated, he knew all the codewords that everyone else used, but for some reason none of them really made sense. “Work,” Kevin finally said. You hummed in response. 

“What do you do,” you asked.

“What?”

“What do you do?” you repeated.

“I- I work in, like, the family business, I guess… taking over from my dad,” that made as much sense as anything else to him and it wasn’t technically a lie. But it made you smirk and lean back a little. 

“That’s very one percent of you,” was your response. Kevin barked out a laugh. “I mean, it’s more shitty than fancy but I get what you mean,” he told you with a chuckle and shake of his head. Kevin wasn’t entirely sure how much money the mafia brought in for profit. They had to live under the radar to avoid suspicious so his house was never very grande. A lot of the money went as bribes, but there was surely some kind of underground stash. 

“What do you do,” Kevin asked you once he snapped himself out of his thoughts. He came here to wallow, but focusing on his fucking mob when there was a gorgeous girl sitting right in front of him was a different level of buffoonery. His question elicited a very tired sigh from you that Kevin felt in his bones. “I’m in fucking law school,” you said as if it was stricken upon you rather than something that you chose for yourself. It was Kevin’s turn to lean back from the table and he observed you with wide eyes, impressed. He knew that even if he weren’t an actual mob boss, he wasn’t the type of person to have a big fancy office with framed degrees on the wall. 

“Yeah…” you trailed off in response to his shocked face. Kevin didn’t respond and you had a habit of uncontrollably filling the silence. “I interned on a political campaign as an underclassman and I just realized that I wanted to, like, make the world a better place which is so cheesy, I know. And to do stuff like that… you know, stuff that actually matters and changes peoples and even attempt to make everything less terrible you have to-” he cut you off by lunging across the table and slamming your lips together. 

You made a surprised sound but quickly leaned into the kiss. He was warm and his lips were surprisingly soft and he tasted like fruity cocktails. It felt like warming your body by the fireplace on a snowy night.  While it wasn’t a habit of yours to make out with strangers, there was just something about this guy that made you an absolute fool. After what could have been ten seconds or ten minutes he pulled away. You were left hazy and stunned while he looked at you apologetically. 

“I’m sorry about that,” he said quietly, avoiding your eyes.

“I’m not,” you replied without hesitation. Kevin’s eyes flickered back to yours. To show him that you were serious you reached across the table and grabbed his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers with his larger ones. Your mischievous grin grows once his bright smile begins.

The two of you talk until the bar shuts down. Not about anything in particular. Just movies he likes and the asshole in your Philosophy of Law class who always tries to correct you. When the two of you stumble out, not drunk just dizzy on the night. He reluctantly starts to say goodbye to you when you stop him.

“Not so fast,” you start with a toothy smile. Kevin’s eyebrow quirks in a silent question. “I have coffee at my apartment,” you tell him. This brings the grin back to his face so you tangle your fingers together over the gloves you haphazardly shoved onto your hands. Kevin came with a coat, a wallet, and nothing else while you brought gloves, a hat, a scarf, and your heavy winter coat to cover your outfit that had zero protection against the chill. 

The two of you are mostly silent as you trek to your building. It was about a ten-minute walk and it hadn’t occurred to either of you that there were options other than walking. Kevin held the door open for you and you felt warmer as soon as you stepped into the lobby. You pushed the buttons on the elevator to bring you both to your apartment. This was another thing that you didn’t do often. Even though you didn’t plan to have sex tonight, it was almost dawn. Inviting some guy you just met into your apartment in the middle of the night went against everything Law & Order SVU had taught you.

You told Kevin to make himself at home while you got the mugs of steaming coffee ready. He noticed that your apartment, while small, was homey with framed pictures of your friends and your graduation. There were scented candles on the shelf and flowers on the table. You came back to sit next to him on the couch, handing him his drink. Your boots were unzipped but you were too lazy to take them all the way off. 

“I can’t do this,” he announced suddenly standing up with a panicked expression. Your eyes bugged and your coffee splashed a bit with his sudden movement. “What,” you asked, confused. “I’m not fucking like you, (Y/N),” he said with a dramatic wave of his arms. “You’re actually a good fucking person and you have your shit together and you’ve accomplished things,” when he said this you stood and moved to hold him in place. “No, no, no, Kev, you’re amazing and I don’t have it all together. I mean, I have like tons of student loans and the other day all I had to eat were Doritos,” you were trying to calm him down, taking deep breaths hoping that he would follow your lead.

This only seemed to agitate him more. “Shit, (Y/N), I’m in the mob,” he finally said. This made you still. “Exactly,” he said and moved to grab his coat from the back of a chair. “No, don’t go,” you whimpered, suddenly jumping to follow him. “I just told you that I’m in the mob! Kick me out of your house, call the cops, don’t be an idiot,” he snapped. He knew he was being self-destructive, but he also knew that doing anything else was stupid. And the prospect of being killed or captured by the police didn’t scare him at this point. He was living through hell every day. Okay, he was a little bit scared of what kind of weird mob torture might come over him, but he couldn’t live like this anymore. Kevin knew he would be unhappy until he died so why not speed up the process. Maybe he would even turn himself in and just get it over with.

“Just sit for a sec, hold on,” you told him. While he didn’t sit as you asked, he did stop moving. “What do you mean,” you asked stupidly. Kevin groaned in response. “What it means is that my dad died and now I am the boss of a mafia. A mafia! And I’m shit at it and I hate it and my dad knew that I hated it, but this is just how it works because it’s the mob,” he said gesticulating wildly. 

“But why did you tell me? I’m not a real lawyer yet or anything,” you responded calmly, but with a questioning tone. “I’m telling you because I fooled myself into thinking I was a nobody for the evening and I can’t do that to you,” Kevin responded. Your mind was going a mile a minute trying to understand everything he was telling you. “Wait… you hate it,” you asked, picking that statement over everything else.

“Of course I hate it, do I look like someone who would want to be a mob boss? I’m not even a little bit hardcore,” he said, “I can’t even get my blood drawn at the doctor’s office.” This made you giggle which lightened the mood a bit. 

“So this is like a High School Musical situation,” you guessed. He looked back at you dumbly, obviously the connection between the mafia and a children’s movie didn’t make much sense to him. “Yeah, like, your dad pushed you to take on this whole operation,” you explain, “and then you’re like “no dad that’s your dream, not mine.”” You used an overly exaggerated voice to be Kevin and you weren’t sure if it was that or the analogy, but both of you erupted into laughter. This went on for a minute before you sobered and brought yourself back to reality. You had to figure this out, you had to decide what the two of you were doing.

“Are you asking me to get you out,” you asked in a whisper. He sighed and looked at his feet. “There is no way out for me, (Y/N), I either end up dead or in prison,” he confessed. You moved your hand to bring his chin up to make eye contact. “And I know it will be one of those two because I’m not good enough to keep everything afloat,” he finished. 

“Well you should have said something, this could actually be a fun project for me,” you said with a tiny grin.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he started. You abruptly slapped him. “What the fuck was that for,” he shouted, clutching his cheek. You hadn’t hit him that hard, but it came as a major surprise for him.

“First of all, don’t call me an idiot,” you commanded, “and second, I’m studying to work in politics so don’t act like it’s not something I could help with.” He looked at you dumbly as you grinned. What kind of future-lawyer-slash-political-mastermind would you be if you couldn’t hold your own? From the beginning, you were aware that you had the ability to command a room. You had always demanded everyone’s focus and attention. It was easy for you to act naive and charming and then make a complete one-eighty and start telling people exactly what you wanted them to do. You were always branded as “manipulative” or “domineering,” and you were well aware that your personality in someone like Kevin would be unstoppable. 

“Not to mention, I want to be a campaign manager so it might be good practice to puppeteer an idiot into an icon,” you looked devilish. It was an inescapable fact that this experience could allow you to be the most you that you’d ever been. Calculating and alluring and full of moxie. Kevin knew he should be offended by your honesty and crassness. But there was something about you, something about this night, that made everything coming out of your mouth sound completely rational.

“You know, in the mafia we would call that a consigliere,” he told you, reaching to extend his hand. His voice was raspy and his chin scruffy, though you were aware that you very likely had eyeliner and mascara under your eyes and a rats nest on your head. But you shook his hand. You shook his hand because you felt sympathy for his. You shook because there was just something about Kevin Hayes that intoxicated you. You shook it knowing that this whirlwind night was just the beginning.

[idumpyourgrass]

Always Waiting- Chapter Three

Always Waiting- Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Always Waiting Masterlist

Summary: Y/n, Nancy and Jonathan decide to go looking for the monster. They all find out about “Nancy’s new movie” and Steve gets one hard beating from Jonathan.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

A/N: I am so so glad so many of you are enjoying this series! I have one more final tomorrow and then I will be home for winter break and I am planning on throwing these chapters out like no body’s business. I can’t wait till I can get into some more Steve action and some Dustin moments!! As always lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!

Warnings: Language, fighting, more asshole Steve, guns?

Word Count: 1.5k

~November 10th, 1983~

At the funeral, you were surprised to see Lonnie Byers there. You stand next to Nancy and Jonathan. Lucas, Mike, and Dustin stand in front of you.

“Just wait till we tell Will that Jennifer Hayes was crying at his funeral,” you hear Dustin whisper to the other boys.

“Hey, shut up!” You whisper yell to him, smacking him lightly on the head.

When the funeral is over, you, Nancy and Jonathan get together to make a plan. Jonathan pulls out a map marking where the three attacks were. The marks are by the woods, Steve’s house, and the Byers’ house. All the attacks were within a mile of each other.

“So what do you guys want to do? We aren’t planning on going looking for this monster are we?” You ask. You’re not one to wimp out but you weren’t going to lie, that monster looked horrifying from the picture, you did not need to see it in person.

“We have to kill it.” Nancy responds.

Jonathan runs to the car, searching through the glovebox, and retrieving a gun.

“Jonathan are you crazy?!” Nancy asks.

“I mean, how else would we kill it? Punch it to death?” You respond. You couldn’t believe you were actually going to go through with this plan. It sounded crazy.

 *              *             *

Later that night, you, Nancy and Jonathan make your way into the woods.

“Jonathan you never told me what I was saying, when you took my picture the other night.” Nancy says, ending the silence.

“Hm? Oh, I don’t know…” He trails off.

“Oh come on, tell me!” Nancy presses

 “I guess I just saw a girl who wasn’t pretending to be someone else for some guy.” Jonathan says. You are a bit taken aback by his response.

Nancy scoffs.

“You know, Steve is actually a good guy.” Nancy says

It was your turn to scoff. “Oh please, he’s a total asshole.”

“You know what Y/N just because I’m dating him and your jealous for whatever reason-“

“Woaaaah there, I am not jealous of you and Steve.”

“C’mon Y/N, you can try to bury your feelings all you want but I know you like him and that’s why you don’t like me and that’s why you are so angry I’m dating Steve.” You aren’t sure how to respond to that so you just keep your mouth shut. 

The rest of the night was spent in silence. What did Nancy mean knows you like Steve? Sure, maybe you had a crush on him when you were kids, but definitely not now. Ok yeah, whenever you would see him in the halls and he didn’t even look up at you your heart sank a little, and yeah, whenever his name was mentioned you couldn’t help but get a little sad, and yeah, whenever you saw Nancy and Steve together you would get a little jealous. Now that you started thinking about it, maybe those feelings never did go away.

It starts to get dark out and you guys are still looking for the monster.

“Well, no monster sighting yet…” You say, trying to lighten the mood a little bit. You only receive a glare from Nancy.  Just then she stops walking.

“What? Are you tired?” You ask..

“No, shhh I heard something.” You and Jonathan glance at each other not hearing a single thing.

You guys walk a little further ahead and stumble upon a suffering deer. It looks like it had been hit by a car. Nancy says something about how we can’t let it suffer and takes out her gun. She points the gun at the deer but before she can shoot, it gets pulled by something and disappears.

All three of you jump back in fear.

“What the hell?” Jonathan asks. All three of you start looking around, trying to figure out where it went. After a couple minutes of searching, you notice that Nancy is gone.

“Hey, where’d Nancy go?” You look at Jonathan. You both start looking around for her. “Nancy?” You call out. “Nancy!”

“Nancy?!” Jonathan repeats.

“Where the fuck is she?” You ask, with concern in your voice.

“Jonathan! Y/N!” You can Nancy faintly yell.

“Nancy! Follow my voice Nancy!” Jonathan shouts back.

You start searching around for Nancy, shining your flashlight in every direction. You notice something slimy on one of the trees. You walk over to it and bend down to get a closer look. There was a hole covered in icky gooey stuff and it looks like it was breathing.

“Hey Jonathan, you’re gonna want to come take a look at this.” You call out to Jonathan.

As soon as he gets to the tree trunk, a hand reached through the goo.

“Help!” Nancy cries.

You and Jonathan pull Nancy out. She collapses on top of Jonathan, sobbing. Her and Jonathan hold each other in a tight embrace. You don’t know what the hell just happened, but you decide that everyone has had a rough night and that you should call off the rest of the “monster hunting.”

“I think we should call it a night, yeah?” The other two just nod as you say your goodbyes and make your way to your own car.

What kind of dungeons and dragons shit was this?

~November 11th, 1983~

The next day you wake up to the doorbell ringing and hear your mom answer the door. You could hear whoever it asking for you.

“Y/N! Are you awake?” Your mom calls out to you.

You groan and sluggishly get out of bed. You make your way to the front door only to find Nancy and Jonathan standing there. You ask them to give you 10 minutes as you run to get dressed and ready for the day.

You all decide that if you actually want to kill this thing, you need to be more prepared. You buy everything you need ranging from bear traps, to gasoline, to bullets. The cashier looks at you guys like you are all crazy.

“What are you kids doing with all this?” The cashier asks

You glance at both Jonathan and Nancy who are struggling to come up with something.

“You know, monster hunting.” You give him a smile.

You haul the boxes out to Jonathan’s car. A car races around the corner and slows down, right next to Jonathan’s car. “Hey Nance, can’t wait to see your movie.” Some guy says out the window.

“What the hell was that about?” Jonathan asks.

Nancy murmurs she didn’t know, then takes off down the street towards the movie theatre. You and Jonathan run after her, halting when you read the sign: All the right moves starring Nancy the slut Wheeler.

You gasp as you read it. You could hear the sound of spray cans and laughter coming from the alley way. Nancy notices it too and makes her way down there. Jonathan tries to stop her, but you are right by her side. You were just as angry as she was. Turning the corner you see Steve Harrington, of course he was behind this. Nancy walks up to him and slaps him across the face, earning “ooos” from Carol and Tommy.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Nancy shouts.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you, I was worried about you.” Steve replies

“What? What are you talking about? Nancy asks.

“I wouldn’t lie if I were you, you don’t want to be known as the lying slut now, do you? “ Carol says.

“Carol why don’t you shut your mouth before I shove my fist down your throat.” You get defensive.

Carol scoffs and rolls her eyes. Just then Jonathan comes up and tries to get Nancy to leave it alone.

“You know what Byers, I’m actually impressed, I always took you for a queer, but I guess you’re just a little screw up like your father.” Steve says. You can’t believe what you are hearing. You start to clench your fists.

“Steve!” You hiss.

“Oh yeah yeah yeah…” Steve keeps going, “that whole house is full of screw ups. I’m not even surprised what happened to your brother.”

You can’t take it anymore, you run up and punch Steve in the jaw, hard. Before you can do anymore damage, Tommy comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulls you away.

Jonathan quickly takes your place, tackling Steve to the ground and repeatedly punching him all over, not giving it up. You quickly realize the damage Jonathan was doing to Steve and join Nancy in trying to get him to stop. Although Steve was an asshole, you still wanted him alive.

At this point, everyone is trying to get Jonathan off of Steve, seeing how much damage he has actually done. You didn’t even hear the sound of the police car pulling up.

“Shit! The cops, Steve we gotta go!” Tommy shouts at Steve.

A police officer comes up and starts cuffing Jonathan while another one runs after Tommy, Carol, and Steve.

You rub your hands down your face and groan.

“Shit.”

Taglist:

@loulouloueh​ @nighttwingg​ @hauntedduckdefendor​ @l0ve-0f-my-life​ @labrujaprincess​ @metuel18​

[hattywatch]

J. Vesey - Love Songs

Author’s Note: THIS TOOK FOREVER! Honestly who is even surprised at this point. Sorry to the anon who requested this a million years ago; I hope you get to see it?! Message me and let me know if you liked it!! Based on “I Hate Love Songs” by Kelsea Ballerini 

Request:  Oh my god, maybe a friends to lovers with jimmy? you've told him in the past that you were interested, and he turned you down because he was nervous, so now you're really good friends and have gotten more comfortable being touchy and whatever, and then he realizes that he needs to marry you!!

Looking up would surely help the tears not spill, you think you read that somewhere. You blink rapidly; it does clear most of the water from your eyes. But not before your cousin notices.

"You're so fucking soft, (Y/N)."

You give an unladylike snort through your nose and pat your under eye gently with a tissue.

Slapping your hand across his chest, all you can respond with is a quick, "Shut up, Kev," before the bride and groom begin the recessional back down the aisle as man and wife.

Jimmy starts in on you from the other side of Kevin, "What are you even crying for? Shouldn't you be happy?"

Far be it from you to explain actual human emotion to Jimmy, so you settle for rolling your eyes.

By the time you make it through cocktail hour, Kevin, your actual date, is off making eyes at the pretty bridesmaid with the colorful sleeve of tattoos and you're left at the bar alone, emptying your purse of singles in an attempt to sway the handsome bartender in your favor for the rest of the evening.

When a hand grazes the small of your back, touching bare skin in your backless dress, you peek over your shoulder expecting to see Kevin, but it's Jimmy who's leaning into your ear.

"Hey, use your powers for good and get me a beer. I don't want to wait in line." The bartender sees your new companion as he places your champagne in front of you. He raises his eyebrows, a silent ask if he can get you anything else, and you give in and order Jimmy's beer, shoving it at him while throwing a smile over your shoulder back towards the bartender.

He keeps his hand where it is and steers you back to a table, you plop down, happy to be off of your feet since your heels are way more beautiful than they are practical. But before Jimmy sits he reaches into his pocket and pulls out your escort card.

"I grabbed yours too," he hands it over to you and you lean down to start unstrapping your heels, mumbling a thank you, mostly towards the floor. "Why do you wear those things if you can't even handle them for an hour?"

You've succeeded in kicking off your shoes and you wiggle your toes, now free from their confines and clink glasses with Jimmy as he brings his beer up to his lips. "Because they make my ass look fantastic," you bring your champagne to your mouth and sip, always thoroughly enjoying catching Jimmy off guard. He wasn't ready to laugh and is sputtering and choking on his beer for a second before he catches his breath and looks away.

He's focused on Kevin making a fool of himself on the dance floor, always the life of the party, so you take a moment to watch Jimmy, undisturbed.

He's been around as long as Kevin has. The two of them somehow related in the same way every kid from Boston who plays hockey is somehow a distant cousin.

You're related to Kevin too, on the other side of the family, obviously.

You remember the first time you saw Jimmy, young and skinny. Quick on his skates, but always ready to unleash his smart mouth and drop gloves no matter how big the other guy was. You admired that about him. He was probably your first crush. Well, your first real crush who wasn't like, Zack Morris.

He was different then, more red faced and shy. He'd really grown into himself. You check to make sure his gaze is still on Kevin, and when you notice it is, you give Jimmy a good once over.

Objectively, he's average looking, you know this; your friends didn't really understand the appeal when you've shown them photos. His lips are thin, but you know first hand that his smirk is devastating and on the rare occasion that he smiles, your heart nearly stops. He's still looks slim- almost gangly, or so you had believed until you caught him on the beach with Kevin earlier in the summer, all lean muscle, freckled from the sun.

It's not like you have a crush on him anymore. But you know that you'll always have a soft spot for your first love, even if it wasn't reciprocated- which he made really clear the summer before your senior year of high school. The memory still makes you shudder with embarrassment.

Jimmy finally looks away from Kevin and speaks up pulling you from your daydreams, "I don't get this whole thing," he waves his hand around, at the room in general. You're not sure what he means, so you just tip your head sideways and motion for him to continue. "Seems like a lot of pomp and circumstance to prove you love someone." You get it, you really do, but he's so cynical that you have to laugh.

"Jimmy, sometimes when two people really like each other," he hits you with an eye roll, "they just wanna shout it from the rooftops."

It's at this point that Kevin decides to take a break from dancing and sink down into the chair beside you.

"I think I'm in love," his eyes are still focused on the bridesmaid, leading the group of flower girls and the ring bearer through the cha cha slide.

You look at lovelorn Kev and turn your hand upwards while eyeing Jimmy, "Case and point, my friend."

Jimmy drinks deeply from his beer and drains it. "Had about enough of you softies," he gets up and heads over to the bar. You know he's kidding, but you feel deeply bad that Jimmy hasn't experienced this type of love yet.

Another champagne will probably help.

Kevin gets up with you to head back over to the cute bartender, but Jimmy intercepts you on your way, pushing a new, full glass at you. You raise your eyebrows, impressed, but accept it with a thank you.  

Kevin balks, "Dude, hello?" He holds up his empty hands and Jimmy tips his glass towards Kevin and shrugs a shoulder, "Bar's that way. Cheers, bro."

Once the DJ succeeds in filling up the dance floor after dinner, you join in, too buzzed and high on ~~love~~ to care about your goofy dancing.

When the DJ calls up the bride and groom for their first dance as husband and wife you're back to tears streaming freely down your face, standing barefoot on the side of the dance floor next to Jimmy. Kev having walked off with the bridesmaid to do shots at the bar.

"Would you stop crying? You're a mess, kid." Jimmy drops his arm over your shoulder and pulls you into his side.

"I'm fine! I'm fine, totally okay, don't worry about me!" You manage to wipe away your tears and smile up at him, but then the DJ announces a good luck dance, and invites all the couples to the dance floor, "each couple on the dance floor is an extra year of good luck for our bride and groom, folks. Grab a partner and join us here to celebrate the new Mr and Mrs!"

You give a cursory glance for Kevin, but the flat leaver had already pulled Jo onto the floor and she has her tattooed arms wrapped up and around his neck, her head drooped forward on his shoulder, laughing at something he's whispering into her ear, trying to be heard over Unchained Melody.

Jimmy must feel you sigh, "C'mon," he nudges you forward with the arm that's wrapped around your shoulders.

Shocked wouldn't begin to cover the emotion that bubbles out of your chest. "Jimmy stop, you hate dancing, you don't have to," you protest pretty weakly, but still follow him onto the floor though.

"It's fine (y/n). Three minutes won't kill me. Just turn off the water works, yeah?" You tell him you'll try your best and place your hands delicately onto his shoulders, pushing yourself up, up, up onto your tiptoes to sway side to side with him.

"God, I hate this fucking song," you can't help but laugh because he's such a grump and it's really a nice song.

"You're a spoil sport, Jim." The eyeroll he gives you is real and you're sure he's about to launch into a tirade about the bridal industry, so you change the subject.

"Kev's gonna kick me out of our room tonight isn't he?" Both you and Jimmy have a close eye on Kevin and his new lady love.

That does it, you get a rare Jimmy smile- he actually laughs-, and you feel warm down to your toes with it.

"Yeah, yeah definitely. That's a good assessment."

_________

The next morning you wake up to the snoring coming from the other side of the room and you groan, rolling over. Bless Jimmy's heart for giving you the bed. He looks uncomfortable and smushed on the pull out couch clearly not designed for someone of his height.

Grabbing a change of clothes, Jimmy’s- since your bag is still firmly locked in your room with Kevin and Jo- you escape into the bathroom to wash your face and change. Your hair looks like a rat's nest, so you grab Jimmy's hat on your way out as well as the key card he gave you last night, and head down to the lobby; you're sure you saw a Starbucks down there.

Of course you see Kevin in line, somehow looking more rumpled than you are. You sidle up next to him and bump him with your hip. "Good night there, Hayes?"

"You have no idea," Kev still sounds sleepy and you're so happy he had a good night, because you know he's been feeling a little down since his brother got married, wondering when he'd have something like that of his own.

It seems to hit him that he sexiled you last night as he slinked off the dance floor wrapped up in Jo.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry," he looks chagrined, so you let it go.

"No sweat. Jimmy let me stay with him." You turn back to the board over your head, trying to figure out what you want to order, but Kevin rounds on you.

"Sooooo… did you have a good night?" He's wagging his eyebrows at you as he nods towards your outfit and your ears feel hot.

"Shut up. You know it wasn't like that." He places his order and slides down so you can place yours.

"Yeah, I know, but it could be worse. You guys would be good together. A guy can't wish happiness for two of his oldest friends?" You decide to not even dignify him with a response and take your drinks before heading back to your room after throwing a chilly sniff over your shoulder. You do give him a little elbow on the way past, though.

Kevin was there that summer, so many years ago. You had thought you and Jimmy were getting closer, bonding while sitting in the stands cheering Kevin on at his games, group trips to the cape on the weekends when he wasn’t at hockey camp. You’d venture to call the two of you friends; friends share beers on the beach and help sunscreen each other's backs.

Finally, towards the end of the summer, right before Kevin was leaving for college, you gathered up some courage. Sat around the bonfire with the last days of freedom closing in, you spot Jimmy. He's finally, blessedly alone and you take a deep breath to steel your nerves.

“Hey Vese…” you cringe because- weird- you never call him that, but you shake it off and sit down next to him. “What up,” he spins his marshmallow around and glances over at you. It’s now or never, “I was just thinking, I know it’s kinda far away, but I’m sure a lot of girls will ask you, so… did you want to maybe… go to prom with me?”

He takes a deep breath and pulls his marshmallow out of the flame and you’re already deflating before he can open his mouth, “I’m not really a prom kind of guy, (y/n)... Sorry.” For what it’s worth, he does look apologetic about it, but you can’t even consider how he’s feeling when you can actively feel your heart drop down to your stomach; now you know why it’s called a crush.

Kevin found you crying back by the bathrooms an hour later and faked a headache so he could drive you home.

By the time you get back up to the room Jimmy's awake, sitting up on the couch, scrolling through his phone, shirtless. You walk over and hand him one of the coffees you picked up before dropping back onto the bed with your own cup.

He takes a sip and finds it to his liking, "Best. Wedding date. Ever." He leans in to fist bump you, and you smile at him and reach out your own hand, yeah he's right, you're pretty awesome.

_________

It takes you by surprise when you receive a text from Jimmy a few months later at the beginning of the summer. It shouldn't, you're both friendly. You’ve seen him over at Kevin’s on Sundays for football and go out to the bar with them every once in a while. You hang out at his family’s pool when everyone is back in Boston and it feels like old times. It’s never weird or awkward, but when his name pops up unannounced on a Wednesday afternoon on your cell, it feels different. Usually you see each other around, but never one on one, it's fine, Totally Fine. But his text still takes you by surprise.

Jimmy: Brady gave me a plus one to the blessed affair… wedding date part 2?

You can’t say no, because you’re long-time buds and Kevin is going to bring Jo and you don't want Jimmy to have to go stag. Plus, you know this wedding is going to be incredible, so it’s really a no brainer when you send back:

Obviously. When?

You could literally smack him when he says that it's a week away. You have nothing to wear and he doesn’t know what color the bridesmaids’ dresses are. That's a mistake you don’t want to make- showing up in the same color, it’s so tacky. When you bring this all up to him his response is the little shrug emoji and you drop your face into your hands and sigh.

Deciding to call Kevin had been a better idea in theory that it was in actual practice.

“Soooo, Jimmy asked you on a date?”

You huff and explain for the third time since he picked up the phone, “No. Kevin. Please try to be helpful."

"I'm helpfully pointing out that you and Jimmy are-"

"I'm going to kill you, Kev. Please just text them and ask so I know what's okay to wear and let me end this fucking nightmare of a conversation." You rub your temples with your thumb and middle finger, feeling a headache coming on.

He laughs and you're glad that someone is finding humor in this situation. It's certainly not you.

When he finally gets back to you it turns out the bridesmaids are in "a soft champagne blush color? I'm reading this verbatim, but fuck if I know what that means," Kevin tells you.

Luckily, you do know what it means. And spend the weekend poring through every store in the mall to find something sleek enough for a wedding where you'll be rubbing elbows with young, eligible men. If it also succeeds I'm making Jimmy regret not taking you to prom… well, that's a bonus. Not that you're still mad or anything.

When you finally find a contender that you like, you decide to use Kevin as your sound board and send him a picture of the dress for approval. He immediately calls you when he receives the photo.

"What's up?" You answer on pins and needles, afraid he's going to tell you it's too over the top for the small, rooftop wedding that Brady is having.

He doesn't even say hello, "Did you show Vese your dress yet?"

"Uh, no. Just you. Why? Is it awful?" You start gnawing on your nail before you remember your manicure and pull your finger from your mouth.

"Nah, you're beautiful, cuz. But send it to him… to uh, make sure it goes with his suit."

Makes sense, "Yeah that's a good idea. Thanks Kev.”

There’s about 4 pictures of you in the dress sitting in your camera roll, but now that you’re supposed to be sending one to Jimmy and not your cousin, none of them really look good enough. It’s stupid and childish, but you sit down at your vanity and fix your hair and make-up before slinking back into the dress and finding a pair of heels.

That’s more like it.

You turn in the mirror and honestly, it’s gorgeous. The blue looks fantastic against your skin. It hugs all the right places, even the cut-outs on the side hit perfectly against your rib-cage and none of your usual bra-fat is an issue; it must have been tailored by witches.

You snap 3 photos, one of the front, one of the side, and one of the back over your shoulder before swallowing and hyping yourself up to text them to Jimmy.

Can I show you the dress I picked and you tell me if it's okay? Kevin said I should show you so you can make sure it matches your suit?

Jimmy: I mean, I’m not really good at that sort of thing, but yeah.

You send them in order- front, side, back and get so inexplicably nervous you have to put your phone down and walk away.

Taking the time to peel the dress off and to gently hang it back up, you end up on your bed in a pair of old shorts and a BC hockey t-shirt, ready to check your texts.

Jimmy: Looks great.

It's an underwhelming answer. But, at least all of your shopping wasn't in vain. You're staring at your phone, scrolling back over your conversation with Jimmy when you see him start typing. You wait for his message to come through, but it doesn't.

He starts typing two more times and stops before you finally get a message.

It's not even a text. In front of you is a photo of him in his suit. It's light grey, and underneath is a crisp white button up with the top 3 buttons undone.

It's certainly a look. And you're not proud to say you saved it to your gallery and zoomed into every pixel. You totally did… but you're not proud to say it.

Jimmy: Do you think this will work with a blue tie

You think it would work with anything and everything, including your bedroom floor, but like, you're not about to say that. So you wuss out and just send a few thumbs up emojis.

It's annoying how you feel like you have to be so careful around Jimmy. If he were any other friend you'd have told him he looks handsome and never thought twice about it, but you just don't want to come off like you're hitting on him. Certainly not ready to have him reject you again.

Jimmy: Awesome. See you Saturday?

Can't wait.

_________

By the time Saturday comes you're all nerves- waking up before your alarm and promptly deciding to put on a face mask so at least you can stay horizontal and relaxed.

It lasts for a while. 20 minutes to be exact, before you peel it off and immediately start stressing before just deciding to get ready so you stop chewing on your manicured fingers.

It's a late afternoon wedding in a chic little church with a reception to follow at an intimate rooftop restaurant. The weather seems to be cooperating, checking your phone the forecast calls for sunny skies, not a cloud in sight.

By the time you're doing your make-up and trying to YouTube-tutorial your hair  into a style that looks elegant enough to go with your dress, there's a knock at your door. You jump and accidentally scrape a bobby pin along your scalp while trying to secure a roller in your hair.

"Son of a bitch."

Hustling over to the door, you assume it's your neighbor. Sometimes her cat goes missing and you're pretty much the feline pied-piper.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Dennehy. I can't look for Bootsie right n-"

Swinging the door open mid-sentence in your ripped Cinderella tank top, ratty old shorts, and curlers in your hair, you immediately regret not looking through the peephole. "You are not Mrs. Dennehy."

"Nah. Definitely not." Jimmy steps past you into your place, looking lethal in his suit and tie.

You can't get over it because he's in your space and the room is filled with him, not to mention the fact that you feel like a schlub; hair still in rollers, but at least you finished your make-up.

"That's a good look, (y/n). I mean… I liked the blue dress better, but I don't know much about fashion." Squinting your eyes at him you poke him in the sternum with a pointed finger.

"How the fuck do you even know my address. I thought I was meeting you at Kevin's?" You decide to ignore his jab at your present state.

"I asked Kev. I figured we could go over there together. Him and Jo are still in the mushy honeymoon stage and I love him, but I really want to throat-punch him when I have to witness it firsthand." You nod, because it's a valid point.

You unroll your curlers in the bathroom and are pleased to see that your hair looks decent, successfully mirroring the YouTube video. After hair spraying and sliding your heels on, you pull your dress up over your hips and zip it, leaving the hook and eye at the top undone, since you can never hook it on your own.

"Vese?" Jimmy appears at your bedroom door a moment later, one eyebrow raised.

"I hate when you call me that." You know this.

"Yeah, but it always gets a reaction," you smile and spin around so your back is facing him. "Can you clasp the top of this please and then I'm ready to go, I swear!"

It seems like an okay idea until you feel the whisper of his fingertips over the nape of your neck and you feel your flesh turn to goosebumps, and you realize you're about to have a very long evening.

________

The wedding is beautiful. They wrote their own vows and it has you fanning your eyes trying to keep the tears at bay before they've even kissed as man and wife. Jimmy laughs when he looks over and sees you blinking rapidly, trying to save your mascara.

"You cry at everything, huh?" He deserves the elbow you throw into his ribs.

When the ceremony is over and the bubbles have been blown, a limo whisks away the bridal party for photos, while Kevin and Jimmy lead the way to the reception venue. Kevin has his arm wrapped firmly around Jo's waist and you catch the sidelong glance Jimmy gives as if to say see what I mean?

It's only a few blocks away, but in heels you're wobbly at best. So when you stumble over a dip in the sidewalk, he takes your hand and tucks it into the crook of his elbow.

"You're a fuckin' hazard in those shoes. Look at you." He shakes his head, but you start in, smiling cheekily up at him, "Yeah but they make-"

"-they make your ass look fantastic. I know."

Kevin must hear Jimmy talking, because he looks over and furrows his eyebrows.

"Keep your eyes off my cousin's ass, Vesey." Jimmy responds with a delicate fuck you, Kev that has all of you laughing.

___________

All four of you are tipsy before the cocktail hour ends and the bride and groom make their appearance- all effervescently in love and wind-blown from taking photos on the beach.

You blubber through their first dance, you and Jo holding each other through it- and laughing at how silly you both are- before tapping your champagne flutes and getting Brady to lay a big smooch on his bride.

It's a few more champages that has you kicking your shoes off and dragging Jimmy onto the dance floor to stumble through the electric slide and (a thankfully abridged version of) the cotton eyed Joe. He shucked his jacket hours ago when you found your table and the tie followed soon after, shoved into your purse so he doesn't lose it. He looks loose and happy, surrounded by friends and glowing with summer.

When you hear the familiar snaps of Single Ladies, it seems like a great idea to stay on the dance floor with the other women to try to catch the stupid bouquet Gracia is chucking over her head. It stops seeming like a great idea the second your hands close around the bouquet and you feel the lace between your fingers.

Jo jumps up and down next to you, screeching and laughing in your ear with a gentle refrain of ooooh and you're next! sprinkled in from the other girls, congratulating you on the way back to their seats.

The DJ brings a chair over next to his booth and you plop down, happy to be off of your feet, but increasingly antsy when you see the swell of bachelors on the dance floor. Brady apparently only has very handsome friends- birds of a feather, obviously. There's a handful you're sure are NHL players and you are slightly worried about the cellulite they'd feel high up on your thighs.

When the garter is inevitably flung, it's Kevin's height that gives him the advantage. It doesn't occur to you that he has absolutely no business being on the dance floor at all, since he's surely not trying to feel up his own cousin. Not to mention Jo- she's standing about 4 feet to your left, her camera trained on Kevin.

They're no good terrible people. You're certain of this when you watch in slow motion as Kevin reaches up and stops the garter's trajectory and as falls directly down onto Jimmy. Jo has caught the whole charade on video it seems, since she's cackling in delight, the traitor.

Jimmy accepts a handful of pats on the back, and walks over towards you looking downright twitchy. You know somewhere in the background there's plenty of hooting and hollering, but someone's wolf whistle finally pulls you from your internal panic and you can hear the slinky intro to “Dress” start up.

The DJ is talking into the microphone and Jimmy seems to be paying attention to what his job is, namely- sliding the garter in his hand as far up your leg as you'll allow. You'd take the red flush on his face as a compliment at literally any other time, but your hands are clammy and you're sure your face is giving off more heat than the sun. It isn't until Jimmy kneels down in front of you that you realize the DJ has stopped talking and this is about to happen.

All of this silence and patience, pining in anticipation / My hands are shaking from holding back from you

You quickly decide that this may be the one and only time you'll get to feel him all over your bare skin, so after a deep breath, you meet his eyes, give an encouraging smile, uncross your legs and drop your foot into his waiting hands.

He huffs out a breath, which sounds suspiciously akin to "Fuckin' Kevin," but knocks a smile sideways at you and peers at you with his half glassy eyes.

Say my name and everything just stops / I don’t want you like a best friend / Only bought this dress so you could take it off

Jimmy slides the lace garter over your ankle and up your calf, his hands barely brushing to your knee before he pulls them out from under your dress, but the crowd won't let him off so easily. You're sure it's Jo who leads a "high-er, high-er" chant and you laugh, because if you don't laugh, you might cry.

"Our friends are idiots," he sighs out. You smile and shake your head yes.

"They really are, but they're not going to let you out of this, Vese," you lift your foot off the ground and shake it at him until he takes it back in his hand and lifts your dress up with the other before wrapping both around your knee and gently pushing the garter up higher; hands slowly dragging the scratchy lace up your thigh. The slit on the dress is pretty high, so everyone can see the moment his hands slide underneath, finally hidden from their view.

His fingers are scarcely touching your skin, but you know you're covered in goosebumps. When you make eye contact this time, it has you feeling more exposed than the fact that his hands are inches from your panties.

Just when you're surely about to explode, he lets go of the garter and slides his hands back down your thigh, teasing over your calf and down to your ankle before placing your foot on the floor and standing, offering you his hand to help you up.

Deep down you know everyone is clapping, but you desperately want to crawl under a table, sure that you've just spilled the beans about your residual feelings for one of your oldest friends.

________

Jimmy walks you back to your table but you don't wait around, downing your remaining champagne and scampering off in search of the bar. That's where Jo finds you, sidles up next to you, and drops a five in the tip jar before handing her flute over to the bartender.

"Honestly, you know I love the shit out of you, right?" You already don't like where this is going, but you nod anyway.

"If you two don't fuck tonight I'm going to die from the tension." This is why you love the shit out of her right back.

"Let's go dance?" She downs her drink and leaves the glass on the bar, following you back to the dance floor until dinner is called. The DJ transitions into smooth jazz and some old standards, quieting the party down to eat.

You have no choice, and during dinner you sit down primly next to Jimmy, antsy and nervous to sit too close, your elbow knocking against his and making you jump each time. Both of you knowing the feel of each other's skin.

Brady's grandparents get up and start dancing together, finished with their dinner. It's beautiful how they hold each other close after being together for so long and it has you feeling misty all over again, turned sideways in your chair eyes trained on the dance floor.

When Unchained Melody starts up the metallic clank of a fork on a plate next to you has your eyes jerking over and away from the dance floor.

"C'mon hotshot," Jimmy stands, so tall and lean, looking down at you with his hands in his pockets, head tipped towards the dance floor, and who are you to say no.

You can hear Jo's 'Get it girl!' And you wish you could kill her here, maybe suffocate her with a damned dinner roll.

"What gives? Sick of seeing me cry?" You place your hands on Jimmy's shoulders but it feels too stilted, his hands have already raked up your thighs, so fuck it, you wind them around his neck, pulling him a little closer than you should.

"Nah. It's our song," his grip at your waist tightens and you can barely breathe, but he clears his throat and adds, "Tradition."

You know the grin you lay on him is glowing, your cheeks ache with it, but it's Jimmy and you'd suffer through a lot more for him. When he twirls you under his arm, you know you're fucked and the feelings that you've been doing your best to shake off are going nowhere fast.

Jimmy doesn't leave your side the rest of the night. Dancing with you and smiling,  singing along under his breath.

When he drops you at your apartment later, he kisses you on the cheek after helping you fumble with your key, but he doesn't turn around on his way to the elevator, so you sleep alone that evening. If you keep the garter on, no one is any wiser for it.

_________

It's a beautiful day and you're dining al fresco, happy to have the sun on your skin, but happier with the food in front of you. The company, well…  it leaves something to be desired.

"You guys are hot for each other and just need to bang already. Please. Even Kevin agrees and he's your cousin. Gross." You don't want to hash out your history again, living it out once was enough.

"Jo, no. Stop, it isn't like that!" It's girls' day. A week or so after Brady's wedding Jo had texted to see what you were doing and invited you out for lunch. So here you are, having to revisit the traumas of your youth with your cousin's girl.

"Can you just? Not? Like he texts you every day, and has been to two weddings with you-"

"Technically I was Kevin's date to the first one," you interject and pop a piece of pineapple into your mouth.

She carries on without even acknowledging you, "What is your hang up? Just tell him you're interested. You're cute and fun and you have all the same friends. It's a match made in heaven."

You don't want to get into the prom story, but you think it will get her to take a little pity on you and make her to stop, so you decide to clue her in.

"We've been down that road before." She looks intrigued and waves her hand for you to continue, so you do, regaling her with the whole embarrassing story.

".... and then I finally built up the courage, after all of that, to ask him to go with me to prom and all he can respond is that he's 'not really a prom kind of guy' seriously?" You let out a sigh, all keyed up and anxious again, on the brink of tears as if it all happened 5 minutes prior and not over 5 years ago.

Jo puts her glass down on the table with a clank, "Um. So?" You literally can't believe what you're hearing and stare at her blankly, blinking and waiting for her to understand.

"What do you mean 'so?' Why would I put myself out there, AGAIN- to have it not be reciprocated? Are you crazy?” Surely Jo doesn't get it.

"Babe, that was a LONG time ago. Let it go. Not everyone dreams of a romantic evening at prom. You know how Jimmy is. He's not about that kind of thing." You scoff loudly, and before you can even open your mouth to combat her she continues, "BUT, he danced with you at both weddings. Got you drinks from the bar, and he participated in the STEAMIEST garter toss I have ever, in my life, witnessed. He likes you. What more do you need to see it?"

You mull her words around in your head for a while as she looks on, rather content with herself, it appears.

"I just don't know if I can put myself through that again. Admitting to you that I like him is hard enough. Imagine if I had to say something to his face?!"

All Jo does is nod, "I get where you're coming from. I think you're stupid, but I get it." She pats you on the hand probably more out of pity than comfort, but you'll take what you can get.

______

Kevin asks you to meet him at the bar a few days later. "Watch a Sox game and have a few drinks with me," it sounds great and low-key, so you say yes.

You come straight from work,  emotionally disheveled from a long day, but dressed nice enough for it not to matter too much.

When you walk through the door and peer around you feel like you've been shanghaied.

Kev is there all right. Sat snugly next to Jo on one side of the booth. You don't have to walk over to know who's facing Kevin and Jo, the hat on his head giving it away.

You slide into the only available seat in the booth, right next to Jimmy. If you kick Kevin on your way in, well, these things happen sometimes.

When Jimmy looks over at you and smiles confusedly, you're sure it's a set up.

"Didn't know you were coming, (y/n)!" He seems genuinely happy to see you, which makes your heart trip in your chest, before beating double.

Kevin has this shit eating grin on his face and you know your evening is about to go to hell in a handbasket. "We were just talking about the old days. Feelin' a little nostalgic."

If you could, you'd leave as quickly as you came, but it doesn't seem like an option you have at the moment.

"I was just telling the boys how I lost my v-card at prom to my first boyfriend. He  just had a baby! How far we've come," Jo looks at you with a playful smile on her lips and if you didn't think you'd end up kicking Jimmy in the process, she could catch a foot to the shin as well.

"I wouldn't know about that Jo, where's the waiter?" You didn't really want to drink on a Thursday, but if this was how the night was about to go, who could really blame you?

He pops up and you all place your orders, but it doesn't give you the break in the conversation you were hoping for.

Jo sips her drink and plows on, "You didn't lose it at prom?" she asks, like it's the most normal question in the world. Jimmy's sipping his Guinness and you want to cover your face and slide down under the table, but all you can do is shrug.

"I didn't go to prom, actually," deciding to avoid the question completely. That has Jimmy looking over at you.

"Yes you did," he says it so surely. "You went with Brian."

Well, that's interesting.

"I think I'd know if I went to prom or not. My memory isn't that bad, Vese." He wrinkles his nose at the nickname.

"I hate that and you know it." You smile snidely back at him, still hoping the waiter will get you out of this conversation.

"No, you did. I heard him at hockey practice. He said he was asking you." Jimmy's sat sideways in the booth, all his attention on you and it's overwhelming.

"I mean, he did ask. But I said no." That's when the waiter finally drops your food off.

It's really smooth how Kevin gets up to use the bathroom and Jo gets up a moment later to 'fix her lipstick.'

It's quiet when they leave, you're doing your damnedest to sip your water and focus on the game, but Jimmy clears his throat and nudges you with his knee.

"I, uh, really thought you went with Brian." He is just barely glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

"I didn't want to go with him. He was kind of a douche." Jimmy turns to you, his thigh pressed all the way against yours.

"All the girls liked him, though," he's aiming for detached nonchalance, but he's rolling his beer between his palms and that gives him away.

Maybe it's starting to make sense now.

"Yeah, the dumb ones," you smile and decide maybe Jo is right, and it has been years and your day can't really get worse and you've already made it this far.

You take the chance to steal a french fry off of his plate and idly wonder how long it takes Kevin to pee or Jo to fix her lipstick. "I wanted to go with someone else. I asked, but you know…"

It's Jimmy who sighs this time. "I guess I was pretty dumb back then too."

"I mean, you went to Harvard, so how dumb can you really be, James." You set your sights on Kevin's fries, because fuck him, it's really the least he could do right now.

"So," Jimmy stops and exhales loudly, "this is embarrassing, but," he pauses and looks at you.

You place your hand on his knee and tap it patronizingly, "You weren't shot down  asking someone to prom, so how embarrassing could it really be?"

"Touche, but for the record- I only said no because I figured you'd rather go with him." Your jaw drops in its best impression of a trout. "I just didn't want to get my hopes up only for you to change your mind when he asked you."

"You're right, Vesey. You are dumb," he gives you that little half smirk of his, and you quickly realize your hand is still on his knee.

The look on his face is definitely what people envision when they use the phrase "making eyes at," but of course this is when Kevin and Jo make their grand return, and you pull your hand back into your own lap as quickly as possible.

The rest of the dinner is quiet. Casual small talk over the din of the game. When Kevin and Jo decide they want to head home, you stand too, ready to take your leave.

Jimmy gently grabs at your wrist. "I'm going to have another beer, wanna stay with me?" You hug Kevin and Jo goodbye and blatantly ignore the wink she gives you. Jimmy waves at them but walks off towards the men's room and you take the chance to flip Jo and Kevin off while he's not looking. They laugh and give you a thumbs up while heading to the door.

Deciding to relocate to the bar, you climb up onto a stool at the end of the counter and wait for Jimmy to return.

He does, wiping his damp hands on his pants; he stands next to you. "I didn't know what you were drinking or I would have ordered it for you," you tell him, peering up as he towers over you.

"Oh, no. I'm good to go. I just wanted  them to leave so we could talk alone. Is it okay if we go to my place?"

Sneaky little shit.

______

When you said yes, you didn't think about the five floor walk up Jimmy lives in. "Don't the Rangers pay you enough to live in a building with an elevator?" He laughs, not at all out of breath like you are, the bastard.

You've been here of course, but never alone. Never just you and Jimmy.

Everything seems very real, very quickly. You wish you had opted for a little liquor at the bar, you could use any courage you could get, Dutch or otherwise.

Kicking your shoes off, you sit down on Jimmy's couch. He plops down next to you, more comfortable since he has the home team advantage.

"I really wanted to go with you." You're surprised he just blurted it out like that. He doesn't follow it up with a 'but' or any excuses at all, and it sends your heart soaring in your chest.

"If I had known you didn't want to go with Brian, I would have said yes when you asked." He's looking down at his hands, but speaking slow and steady. "I know it was so long ago, but I just feel like I want you to know that."

Jimmy's confession is making your skin tingle with heat, but he's still sitting there, looking so hesitant. It bolsters you. He chooses that moment to look up at you and you can't help but grin- a wide, cheesy thing.

"You like me," his face instantly flames. He attempts to stutter out a response which really cements it in your head.

Without letting him respond, you continue, "No. It wasn't a question. It was a statement. You like me." He bites his lip and nods.

"Yeah. I just… you know how I am. With feelings and stuff." And you do know.

He's like Ron Weasley, emotional range of a teaspoon. But you, you make him stutter and blush and that's not something you think you'll ever get over.

You're sort of torn between smacking him for putting you through all this and tearing off all of his clothes, so you settle somewhere in the middle and turn to kiss him straight on the mouth.

He was about to say something so when you catch him mid-word your teeth clash and you back off apologizing profusely.

"So aggressive," he laughs and wipes at his lip. "Slow down, we have lots of time now." And he's right, but every second that passes without his lips on yours feels wasted and empty.

"We really don't though," he looks upset and confused, pulling back into himself before you clarify, "I have to be up in the morning so I don't have all night, Vese. Some of us have been patiently waiting for years."

That has him blooming a smile again and you shake with the knowledge that you caused it, but he agrees "Yeah, some of us have been."

_____

It's not the first time Jimmy has stared at you like this, and it probably won't be the last, but right now it's making your eyes water with the sincerity of it.

His hands are on your hips, warm and familiar and your skin tingles under the weight of his palms and your dress.

"Vese," it's the first time the name elicits a smile from him. It may have something to do with the fact that it's his turn to whisper the nickname.

You can't help the smile snaking its way across your face. "It's Mrs.Vese, actually, James." A flash goes off somewhere to your right but you can't be bothered to take your eyes off of your husband.

"I can't believe you chose this song for our first dance," you pull him close so his forehead rests on yours, "you hate this song."

He presses a kiss to your lips, gentle but still eliciting cheers from your audience. "I really do. But you like it, and I love you."

[stargate365]

[SG-1] 7.22: Lost City (2/2)

Previously on SG1... Kinsey once again demonstrates how he has the moral compass of a Snake; Jack sticks his head in a Facehugger; Anubis is coming.

Boy, Daniel is making some huge leaps today...

Jackk... what doing?

...okay, I’m lost. Oh... wait... the gate symbols have phoenetics?? that’s clever... and sneaky.

“Where’s Colonel O’Neill?” “Packing.”

This Jaffa dude reminds me of Tanith... let’s not trust him, okay?

“you got everything you need? I think there’s still a sink in the kitchen.”

Kinsey is starting to look rabbit-y

“gimme your zat” I love how Sam trusts him implicitly.

star wars referencing much? “what I was gonna say was--” “I know”

that is a very fire-y looking planet. o-o . lost in fire, very certainly.

“so we’re a million years late?” “probably more.” “that’s very late”

oohhh... a fancy looking chair. oooh. it lights up. very, very fancy chair.

okay, now I am impressed.

under the ice?? like... where we found the ancient chick? that makes sense. well now, that is very shiny. I like the look of that.

dammit!! I knew we couldn’t trust that prick!! kill him bra’tac, rip his snake out!! yas queen!

okay, jack can heal people now. whoohoo.

Hayes is badass. Telling Anubis how shit is gonna go. 

it’s cool teal’c, jack knows. you guys are the bestest bros.

“so much for my speech”

lawl. sorry Kinsey, you cowardly brat, but you ain’t going anywhere.

oh fuck off Kinsey. YAS YAS YAS! THANKYOU HAYES!!

“I’ve got enough on you to have you shot.”

GEORGE!!! This is gonna be even better than his Threading the Needle scene. And he’s got Walter with him. Awww. :D

Eeep. Pull up!! PULL UP!!! Jfc Teal’c, you are a terrifying pilot.

Are... are we drilling???

backup?? Yas!! Prometheus!! Bra’tac smiling at the sound of Hammond’s voice. :D

what’s jack found? dormata? a good place to napp??

ugh, fuck off anubis. nobody wants you here. nobody even likes you.

oh, we putting a new battery in?? 

yaya!! shiny chair!! shiny chair with glowy squid things?? yay for glowy squids! 

suck it anubis! the squids are coming for you!

jack... JACK!

Did... did we just deep-freeze jack like Han Solo??

“this isn’t atlantis?” “I don’t think so.” “If this is not the lost city... then where is it?”

[el-dritchknight]

Mistlefoe (Avery/Reese Hustle Cat Christmas Fic)

Title: Mistlefoe

Fandom: Hustle Cat

Ship: Avery/Reese (Avereese)

Summary:  "Fun Christmas idea: Hang mistletoe but instead of kissing, you have to fight whoever else is under it."

Reese and Avery get a little creative when it comes to their courtship.

Notes: Dedicated to my friend, Piyo, who gave me this idea last year HAHA Please feel free to leave comments, especially constructive criticism! It's my first time writing for these characters, so I hope I did them justice :DHappy Holigays to my fellow Hustle Cat fans :3c

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…

Probably because Reese and his friends are at A Cat’s Paw, which was, you know, a renown cat cafe and probably the exact opposite of a mouse-friendly house.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all employees are called to decorate the cafe because, contrary to Avery’s expectations, some witches celebrate Christmas. Others celebrate Hanukkah while others have Kwanza—and well, you get the picture. Graves is assigned to cat-watching duty while everyone else decorates because they refuse to have yet another year of festive goth decorations.

Reese and Avery are in charge of the interior design. More accurately, Reese is putting up some candles while Avery is looking up memes on their phone in a self-proclaimed break.

“Hey, Reese, check this out.”

Avery’s phone is unceremoniously shoved in his face. Used to his datemate’s compulsive sharing of memes, Reese takes a moment to read what’s on the screen.

He snorts. “What, so are you saying you want me to deck your halls?”

Dude, what the fuck, Reese’s internal narration chides him. What the fuck does that even mean.

Thankfully, Avery is just as, if not more so, a disaster as Reese is. “Well, maybe I’m going to deck your halls! Ever think about that?”

Dear god, they are such gay disasters. The rational side of Reese’s brain bids him adieu as he decides to indulge in Avery’s shenanigans.

“You wanna fight?” Reese asks, unable to keep the grin off his face.

“Why not? You know I can kick your butt any day.” Avery’s answering smile turns lopsided as unmistakable challenge slips into their tone.

Ever since their respective magical duels with Asmodeus and Nacht, Reese and Avery had taken to training and sparring together, just in case they would be challenged again. Also, it’s pretty fun to test out their abilities this way.

As to who keeps winning… it’s always a fair fight. Truth be told, the pair of them are neck-and-neck when it comes to sparring. Reese may have extensive knowledge of magic, but Avery’s resourcefulness and quick-thinking keeps him on his feet.

“As much as I’d love to prove you wrong as always, Grey, there’s no mistlet—” Avery’s wagging eyebrows make him stop. Stare. Look up at the ceiling where they’re pointing and, oh god, there it is: a cheekily gleaming mistletoe made entirely of aluminum. Reese is willing to bet that this creation is from the soda cans he saw Avery drinking earlier.

This means that they’ve probably been planning this the whole day.

The thought sends a rush of embarrassed heat—as well as intense fondness—through Reese. “Really, Avery? Really?”

Avery smirks at them, despite the red dusting their own cheeks. “Well, I wasn’t going to let my cute boyfriend go unkissed on Christmas Eve now, could I?”

Reese is pretty sure his face is doing a great impression of Rudolph the Reindeer’s infamous red nose. “I uh. Thought you wanted to fight?”

“That too!” Avery’s enthusiasm is adorable—and contagious.

Reese laughs and shakes his head as he prepares to use his magic. “Alright, you asked for it, Grey!”

Before Avery can respond, Reese slips through a portal—and emerges right behind Avery. He reaches towards them, but something catches his foot. Reese quickly glances down to see crumpled wads of newspaper wrapped around his ankle. He swears, preparing his body to hit the ground—

A pair of arms wrap around his waist, halting his fall. Reese opens his eyes to stare into Avery’s eyes, glittering with mischief.

“Take that!” With a cheeky grin, Avery kisses him. The contact is quick, but the feel of Avery’s soft lips never fails to send him reeling.

“Um.” Reese’s comeback is the epitome of eloquence.

Avery, the asshole they are, has more plans for him, however. Without warning, they release their hold on Reese and let him face-plant gracelessly into the soft cat toys below.

Reese lifts his head to glare up at Avery, who is clutching their stomach in laughter. “You should’ve seen your face, dude!”

He huffs but sees a silver lining in the form of a string of fairy lights near Avery’s foot. Smirking, Reese creates a small portal near Avery’s foot and ties the lights around their shoe. He tugs on the string—and rolls over to his side when Avery comes crashing down next to him.

Avery’s pout is adorable. “Hey, that wasn’t fair.”

“All’s fair in love and war, dude,” Reese manages after snickering. “Besides, you started it. I was just returning the favor.”

“Returning the favor, huh?” Avery suddenly has a devilish glint in their pretty, pink eyes. “I’ll show you returning the favor!”

“Grey, what are y—ahAHAHA AVERY NO—” Reese’s words are lost in the flurry of Avery’s tickling. Reese starts fighting back. He finds his power very useful in reaching parts of Avery he usually couldn’t. Avery’s giggles are adorably distracting, however, and it doesn’t help that they’re getting tangled up in the fairy lights in all their toustling around. Still, Reese never backs down from a challenge.

“Ahem.”

Graves stands, looking at the pair of them on the floor: awkwardly wrapped up in a string of fairy lights, limbs all akimbo, surrounded by scattered cat toys—the very picture of hard-working employees. Not.

“Hi, Graves.” Avery has the decency to sound bashful.

Reese’s face burns hotter than the fairy lights. “Graves, wait, I can explain—”

“No need, dear Reese. I know a witch’s duel when I see one.” The smirk on Graves’ face says otherwise, but Reese is too embarrassed to care at this point.

“Right, um. So can you help us out of here?” Avery gives their boss their best puppy dog (kitty cat?) eyes.

“Oh, no, It would be sacrilegious to interfere, my dear! Have a Merry Christmas, you two!” With an airy wave, Graves saunters out of the cafe, leaving two dumbstruck teenagers in his wake.

“...Well, now what?”

“I guess we could wait for Landry or Hayes to get us out of here—”

“OH MY GOD, YOU GUYS LOOK SO CUTE! THIS IS SO GOING ON THE BLOG!”

“—Or we could just die of pure, unadulterated embarrassment.”

“That works for me.” Reese sighs at the telltale flashes of Finley’s camera, which signal the end of his reputation as the world knew it. “Merry Christmas, Avery.”

“Merry Christmas, Reese. Sorry I got us into this.” They should genuinely sheepish this time.

Reese shrugs as much as he can, anyway. “Eh, you wouldn't be you if you didn't get into trouble at least once a day… B-but you better make it up to me when we get out of this!”

“I’m going to kiss you lots of times, if that’s what you’re asking.” Reese can practically hear Avery’s cute little v-shaped smile.

“Th-that would suffice.”

Although this isn’t how he had pictured celebrating Christmas Eve, Reese has a very merry Christmas, indeed.

[redwineconversation]

OL - Chelsea Postgame Thoughts

I maintain that preseason doesn't tell you a whole lot about a team, except how good they are at problem solving. We saw that in the OL-Chelsea ICC game.

So what did we learn last night?

Carpenter's absence is going to hurt. Cayman (1) isn't a natural RB, and (2) lacks Carpenter's pace and power. OL's staff said this morning that not having Carpenter is a handicap, and we saw as much. That being said, though, Chelsea was basically playing with their full starting 11, and I think Cayman will be able to handle lesser teams as a RB without a problem.

It was so hot and humid the entire game that I am actually giving a pass for Lyon looking like they were auditioning for The Walking Dead the first 45 minutes. I was dying in that heat and humidity and I was just watching the game. It doesn't excuse them playing arguably the worse 45 minutes I've seen since probably the draw against ASSE last season, but it is what it is.

Players who impressed: Bruun (man does it feel good to be vindicated about this kid), van de Donk, Marques, Cascarino. I'm going to talk about each one separately.

Bruun: I'm going to do a victory lap and say I was right about this kid, that she is bright and she just needed a little bit of time. Prior to the goal I was saying how she was putting in a considerable defense shift - she was one of the last defenders whenever Lyon was defending a corner, and the head clearances were pretty good. She also showed a bit more bite / killer instinct, which I always knew she had in her but needed it to come out. Poacher approach to the goal. Nice penalty.

Van de Donk: one of the difference makers for Lyon, if not the main difference maker. In her OLPlay interview last year she said that Lyon needs to get pissed off, needs a bit of passion to play well, and I think that showed a deeper understanding of how Lyon clicks that people will necessarily give credit to a player in their first year at Lyon. Fun anecdote: when she was warming up for the second half, I said "fucking win!" to her and she responded "I've got you."

Marques: that kid is good. The possibility of having a Carpenter - Sombath - Marques - Bacha back line in a few years is something I am positively salivating over. Lyon desperately needs to sign her to a pro contract and then quietly develop her the way they are doing with Sombath. She is a really, really good player in the making and it would be criminal for Lyon to let another team poach her from under them.

Cascarino: she put in the most work in the first half. Definitely was missing the linkup with Carpenter - Cayman doesn’t have the same pace so the one-two exchange didn’t have the same pace to it. Final pass was, shall we say, not good, but on the whole pretty decent.

If Harder had scored on that open goal opportunity Lyon would have been dead and buried. How she missed that is beyond me. Speaking of Harder: (1) the matchup between Harder and Cayman was, as a Lyon fan, not the best thing I've ever had to experience; (2) I remain perplexed as to how Emma Hayes manages to mismanage a player of that calibre. It's honestly bewildering to me.

It took 80 minutes for Lyon to click into God Mode, but as I've said before, once they do, it's a real pleasure to watch. And I'm going to have to give credit to van de Donk and Bruun because they were basically the ones who dragged Lyon into God Mode. Damaris was starting to show some fight as well, and that was a really nasty foul she suffered. She was walking around fine after the game so fingers crossed it wasn't as bad as it looked. Otherwise Lyon's Midfield Curse continues into its second straight season.

Perisset remains The One That Got Away.

Other stuff: as I said, those first 45 minutes were ugly in every sense of the term, but Lyon also was basically playing with their B team against a full strength Chelsea. Lyon was without: Carpenter, Renard, Macario, Henry, Hegerberg. Those are considerable players to be missing, so to come back from two goals down in that heat and humidity is something you do have to give them credit for.

Lyon plays Monterrey in the final, to everyone's surprise. Even Lyon's coaching staff expressed surprise this morning at having to play Monterrey. The fun side, though, is we will get to see Lyon problem solve in real time, which is pretty neat to watch. So what do we need to look for in that problem solving? Basically, a lot of kicking the ball around while they see what the opposing team does. Monterrey was pretty fast but not as physical as Portland, so we'll see if Lyon flexes or not on them. Monterrey will be full of confidence though after their win against Portland.

Special shoutout to the Chelsea fan who mouthed off before the Lyon game about how she wanted Chelsea to win so they would play against Portland. She got her wish, her fault for not specifying she wanted to play Portland in the final.