#he’s so FUCKING CUTE i’m gonna run into oncoming TRAFFIC

[devilst0at]

Do you think Dale likes ‘basic’ looking people or more alt/goth people? Is Dale a sociable person like would he walk up and be like “when’s your birthday?” Or is he shy? :) I need ur opinions on this

I think he would like people with a sense of fashion, whether or not that would be more mainstream fashion (but he definitely appreciates 60s-80s fashion more if that’s the case) or alternative fashion! Glam-rock was definitely somewhat of an alternative subculture especially in the fashion sense, it defied social norms by rejecting traditional gender presentation, which is also part of the reason I think Dale is so androgynous. Like have you seen those guys, they had long puffy hair and crazy in your face makeup and high heels and shit, so Dale would definitely appreciate someone with a weirder/more unusual sense of style! As someone who’s alternative myself (i sort of belong to multiple different subcultures but mostly identify as goth-adjacent when i actually have the energy to dress the part lol, besides that i’d say i align most with romantic goth and listen to goth music) I would really like to imagine he’d appreciate alternative subculture/style. I definitely do think if he saw someone who was alternative outside he would be impressed and oggling at them and think they’re so cool. If it came to having a partner I think he’d just want them to love him regardless of their personal style, but being stylish would def be a plus for him!

As for whether he’s more sociable or shy, I think he’s more sociable/extroverted but maybe that’s been kinda dampened because everyone else sees him as a freak so he kinda keeps to himself a little more if he can help it 😔 Especially in his younger days, I think he’d be quite friendly! Like especially if he wasn’t hunting you down to give you a Satan doll to make you kill your family (lol) I think he’d be quite sweet! Maybe it’s cause he’s talking to Lee in the opening/flashback scene, idk, but he seems so cute and cheery like he’d be fun to talk to [“downstairs… from where?” “everywheres! :)”] [“cheese and crackers!!”] I really do think he’d be a sweetheart if you were involved with him outside of his Satanic duties. He seems sociable in the sort of less socially aware way which I think is why a lot of people think he’s weird and creepy (aside from the fact that he looks odd). He means well and is friendly but he just often goes about it in the wrong way, is too forward, is too weird, etc and gets negative reactions. The only time I think he’d he shy is when he’s receiving romantic attention/affection from someone for the first time, in that case he’d lose his confidence and just become a shaky shivery dazed-out mess. Which I love. I can never understand the people who genuinely think he’s horrific because personally I’d be jumping into his arms and asking him to take me home but 🤷

[mosinterlude]

━━ DON'T DATE MY BROTHER! ✦ starry-eyed y/n

suggested tracks: francis forever - mitski. lights are on - tom rosenthal. watching him fade away - mac demarco. crack baby - mitski.

Nervously was how Y/N entered the HYBE building. After thinking long and hard(no pun intended) about what Taehyung had suggested, she decided that the first thing to do was speak to Riki. After showing the man at the desk her ID card Jimin had made for her(The thought of him leaves a pit in her stomach.) She heads for the stairs, despite the man’s suggestion that she take the elevators. She wasn’t exactly sure where to find him or that he was even there, but she knew Jungkook was there; If anything, she would tell him about her situation and ask him to relay a message to Riki. She finds Jungkook’s studio room, and knocks swiftly on the door. She was not expecting Riki Nishimura to open the door, peering down at her.

Y/N crumbles immediately. Seeing him upfront and close to her throws her into a frenzy. He looks perfectly fine, wearing that loose black and white striped shirt with black pants, his black hair curly and cute on him. His lips catch her eye, because he had a thin white scar on his bottom lip now. No fucking way, abort abort abort-

But something is weird. He doesn’t look mad. He looks glad, almost happy to see her. He grins, leaning half his body out the room.

“Y/N! I’m so glad to see you! What brings you here?” But Y/N’s mind is blank because she didn’t expect to actually see him. She was unprepared, and probably looked frazzled and underdressed(How can you underdress a casual style though.) 'He’s so beautiful. Konon is gonna kill me' is the only thought that runs through her mind as she stands there.

“Y/N? Y/NNNNN. Earth to N/N!” The use of her nickname brings her back, and her hands are burning hot as she tries to hide them sheepishly.

“Uh, i was here to drop something off to Jungkook, but i just realized i left it sitting on my kitchen table.” Y/N stammers, and immediately starts planning out her death as the words leave her mouth. She would walk into oncoming traffic, a clean and emotionally painless death for her would be fit. Riki, however, seemed none the wiser, and shook his head, laughing at her. He stepped back into Jungkook’s studio, opening the door as an invitation. She shook her head quickly, hands gripping the strap to her shoulder bag.

“Thank you, but I'm not staying for long. But since you’re here, I wanna talk to you.” He tilts his head, like a deer almost, and nods, signaling that he’s listening. “I’m sorry forlike blowing you off the other night. This is gonna sound super stupid but-” Before Y/N finish speaking he shakes his head, interrupting her.

“Because Konon doesn’t want you to. Yeah I already know.” He says it almost apologetically, but Y/N tilts her head, pursing her lips.

“Huh? What are you talking about? I mean, I couldn't go because of Konon, but it’s for a totally different reason.” She frowns at him.

“What? No, Konon texted me that she didn’t want me to hang around you and to stay away, something about her not wanting us alone together. Here, look.” He pulls his phone out of his phone, tapping it to unlock it. His lockscreen was a photo of him and his younger sister Sola. She was so sweet, like a little doll, always wanting to play when Y/N visited Japan.

Riki unlocks it, opening up his messages and handing the phone to Y/N. The more she reads, the deeper the frown lines around her lips get. There’s a full conversation of Konon arguing with Riki to stay away from her, and to pretend like she doesn’t exist unless Konon is there.

“B-but this doesn’t make sense.” Just the other night Konon was clinging to her, not wanting to let her go even so Y/N could refill her drink. She would pull her away from Olivia when she would lean into her, not wanting her to feel left out. “I have to go.” Suddenly, she was feeling overwhelmed. Lately, whether it was the best new ever or a stupid prank, she would burst into tears. It was fucking annoying, but ever since she blew up on Jimin, the floodgates opened every five minutes.

“Wait, hold on.” Riki does something on his phone, then hands it to her. “Put your number in my phone so I can reach you.” She nods, and she's too focused on quickly putting her number in and getting out of there that she doesn’t notice that he already typed in a contact name for her. ‘starry-eyed y/n’ She plasters on a fake smile and heads him back his phone, then turns on her heel. She leaves so quickly that she doesn’t even think to ask why he was at Jungkook’s studio to begin with.

She cries in her car in the parking lot for forty minutes, for reasons so couldn’t begin to explain.

✿ * 𓈀 synopsis :: Being Park Jimin's younger sister comes with pros and cons. Cons, Park Y/N will never experience a true day of peace in her life. Pros, they were able to became friend's with other idol's sisters, and even though they became friends because of their brothers, they stayed friends because they all fit together, like pieces of a puzzle. Only thing? Don't fall for anyone's brother. Easy enough, until Y/N exposes her two year crush on Nishimura Konon's brother, Nishimura Riki. Not just to Konon though, half the world.

prev. masterlist. next.

ꗃ : ˖ ۫ ◖ 𓂃 mo's interlude :: SURPRISE SHAWTY😍😍 im back and its with a banger lets go

ꗃ : ˖ ۫ ◖ 𓂃 taglists :: ddmb taglist. @a-era @ijustmetyouandthisiscrazy @oddeonu @bigtoewinwin @szniki @meiiiwa @artstaeh @nomniki @tzyuki @lcv3lies @nikilvr @wonieleles @seosracha @ivyxily @zeesondiary @lunaflvms @alderiasamantha @ethereallov3 @afiaaaa19 @lil-iva perm taglist. @jangwonie @strwberrydinosaur @luv4vernon

[greenninjagal-blog]

Even If it Kills Us (but it wont hopefully) pt8

hey, Hey, HEy, HEY! Sanders Sides mafia au! That erased itself four times and made me cry twice. :) Sorry for the long wait, I rage quit for a few weeks.

Part Seven is here for those who need a refresher (aka me) and Part One is here for anyone new around! Summary: Virgil is a normal college student, who is also the heir to a mafia he didn’t know existed, and he’s currently being arrested for it. At least he knows to wear a seat belt.

TW: knives, tasers, poisons, 

Quick Taglist: @a-she-monster @average--human @calvindientesblancos @crysthefangirl4ever @deathshadowrules @dierotenixe @drmephistofaust  @emo-nithtmare @enderperson43 @fandomobsessed-nerd @fireflysinmystomach @ilovemygaydad @iolanomsgranola @itsrandompostime @jadeace115  @just-another-rainbowblog  @kindly-falling  @laragazzadellluna @lefaystrent @levy-the-b00kw0rm @logicality-vs-prinxiety @meep-by-boredom @mirror2thespirit @my-analogical-romance @ninja-wizard101 @oodlemydoodle @pattons-cookies @punsterterry  @reeama-the-slytherin @sanders-sides-rebloger @seaspider10 @skittlesun  @skullfire2004 @spookilyfingergunsoutofexistence @superwholocked-for-life @sylveon-lover-crazyfangirl1415 @that-ghost-in-the-corner @the-anti-virgil @the-parentheticals  @theradicalrainbow @chelsvans @felicianoromano @jemthebookworm @holliberries @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @treasureofpriam

(lmk if you want to be added!)

“I am Logan Ackroyd, Undercover FBI,” Logan says, one hand-- his non shot hand-- casually fixing his tie, “And I’ll be taking these two into custody.”

Virgil thinks of all the times he’s previously been arrested.

There are none.

Instead he’s stuck with all his limbs unresponsive like a computer that’s been disconnected, his head worrying with a faint buzzing from where he’d head hit the ground after Logan shoved him away (hand on Virgil’s bare collarbone, cold and heavy slipped past his shirt collar and his jacket), and his mouth overwhelmingly tasting like burnt popcorn.

Virgil’s knowledge of police procedures come completely from the stolen few minutes of Criminal Minds he caught on TV occasionally as a child 

(before his mother caught him, before she yelled and tore at his hair and told him never to let the police get near him)

And really, what more had he needed to know? 

Don’t do illegal things! That was easy enough!

Virgil thinks, as his rights are read to him, and his hands are cuffed behind his back, and he’s loaded into the back of a police car in front of a crowd of bypassers coming to the diner for a midday brunch, he failed, majorly.

He doesn’t even know what crime he was being arrested for.

Was it the suspicious activity of people shooting at him in the movie theater? Was it the reckless speeding through town that he had been a passenger in? Was it the murder of two assumed police officers in the diner five minutes ago?

All three?

None?

“Wow, the real deal!” A local police officer says from somewhere Virgil can’t see

(which is pretty much everywhere, considering the only thing he can see is a black ant scuttling through the grass inches from his nose and getting closer)

“Hey, Wally, check these guys out! They’re real FBI!” The officer says again.

“Wouldja look at that! A real FBI badge!”

Virgil wonders if they knew the difference between a real one and a fake one. He has his doubts concerning the two officers who tried to apprehend them inside the dinner.

“Yes,” Logan’s voice says coolly, coldly, icily, “I am a real FBI agent with real paperwork to complete and this mess to take care of.” 

Virgil is really not a fan of how he says “mess”. 

Like Virgil is month old take out that started to reproduce, like the sticky mess of spilled energy drinks that Virgil carelessly left across his desk which ended up gluing the entire back cover of his Western Civ textbook to the wooden surface, like the aftermath of an execution and the blood had spilled into the grout.

“Remus,” Logan’s voice calls out, “Time to go.”

Then someone picks up Virgil by his shoulder and another by his feet and all Virgil can think is people touching him, hands on his body, and he cant move. 

He wants to scream, but the effects of the taser are long lasting (apparently) and he can’t even get his tongue to unstick from the top of his mouth, much less open his jaw at all. 

The idea of forcing air out of his already uncomfortably compressed lungs?

forget it.

He’s vaguely aware that on other side of him, Dee was carefully loaded in, completely useless, completely unconscious.

Virgil gets the feeling he’s just a passenger in his own body. Part of him wants to feel humiliated by the way the he’d been manhandled into a police car in front of a dozen families and two news crews.

Part of him wants to revoke Dee’s kneecap privileges for being so fucking dense that he hadn’t even noticed anything was weird about the dinning experience.

Part of him wants to lunge forward and wrap his arms around Logan’s throat, and strangle him between the links of his handcuffs and the headrest. (not that Virgil would act on that one; there’s clearly a metal mesh between the backseat and where Logan has slipped into the driver’s seat to prevent that exact scenario from occurring)

Because really, he was FBI?! He was undercover?! He had been playing each of them in oh so many ways-- How long had he been fooling Roman? What had he done to Roman and Patton when Virgil had left? What was his actual goal here?

And did it involve Virgil being alive at the end of it?

(Virgil wants to think so. Logan wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble to keep him alive just to kill him--)

Logan’s partner slaps a hand on the window, inches from where Virgil’s head had fallen, and grins at him as he opens his own door and slips into the seat in front of Virgil.

The look Virgil gets is brief.

And also terrifying.

Virgil knows that face.

Knows that face as well as he can, the partial of it seared into his brain as the moment Virgil’s life ended and this twisted nightmare began.

Its the face of the gunman that had tried to shoot him in the face at the movies, the gunman who Logan had tackled to first save his life, the gunman who Virgil hadn’t spared a second thought about because since his appearance, it had been run and duck and please don’t let me die. 

“Oh! He’s pretty cute back there!” The partner says, “I love when they’re all tied up like cute little piggies!”

Logan’s head shakes in a way that suggests he’s rolling his eyes.

The car hums to life, and Logan breezes by the crowd the second the police line widens enough for them to escape. Once they leave the public eye, Logan’s partner’s seatbelt comes off and his feet go up on the dashboard with something dancing between his fingers causally.

“FBI!” The partner laughs, “I can’t believe they really bought those fake badges of yours!”

“Remus, seatbelt.” Logan says without looking away from the road. “And they are real.”

Remus laughs. He makes no move to reattach the belt.

Virgil’s eyes flick to the side mirror in front of them, just in time to catch sight of the butterfly knife the man is expertly twisting around his index and middle finger. Remus catches his gaze in the mirror and blows him a kiss with a wink.

Virgil wishes he was in control of his body, enough to shudder, enough to snarl, enough to throw himself from the car and the oncoming traffic hits him just right--

“What a kid,” Remus sighs, perhaps dreamily, “Do you think I can keep his head for my mantle?”

“You don’t have a mantle.” Logan says, “You don’t have a house.”

“Yeah,” Remus agrees. “But also he’s a kid.”

Logan uses turn signals, Virgil notices, faintly. He feels very faint.

Like a balloon that’s floating away.  And one day he’ll reach the upper atmospheres where the decreasing air pressure will cause his insides to expand until he explodes into a 

“mess” 

that Logan will have to clean up.

The air in the car is tense. Virgil can’t breathe

It might also have to do with the fact he can’t move and there’s a murderer in front of him talking about killing him and-- and--

“Interesting,” Logan says, using one of his turn signals to switch lanes, “I wasn’t aware you got metaphoric cold feet over assassinations.”

The knife flips in the air. Virgil squeezes his eyes closed, forcing his chest to move. 

“You’re telling me you don’t have any qualms about killing a college brat? Any at all, Mr. Undercover FBI?”

“I’m not paid to have morals, Remus.”

Logan sounds cold, colder than ice. The vibrations of his tone wash over Virgil like a ocean, and suddenly he’s drowning.

He’s drowning on dry land and Remus is laughing.

“Surely if you want to-- how they say, “flake out”, you’re welcome to open your door and take a walk.” 

Virgil’s pretty sure Logan speeds up as he talks; the white line on the edge of the road blurs, Virgil’s head’s rumbles against the window until he’s sure he’ll never be able to see straight again.

“Aw Specs!” Remus laughs. Logan’s head twitches at the nickname, the same nickname that Roman had called him oh-so-long ago. “No way I’m gonna let you handle all the juicy stuff yourself! You already got all the credit for Roman Prince’s!”

All the energy in the car turns to white noise.

Virgil’s chest,

halts,

in the middle of a breath.

and he can’t think

because that’s not right

can’t be right.

Roman-- Roman trusted Logan.

Logan had taken a bullet for him.

why did--

how did--

Logan fixes his rear view mirror with his non shot hand. Perfectly fluid.

Virgil can see it in his mind’s eye suddenly: the memory of Logan throwing himself into Roman and taking that bullet and bleeding and getting close to Roman, being right next to Roman, demanding that Roman equip him with another gun despite his dominant hand being out of commission. 

He can see it suddenly: the second that Virgil had stormed out, Logan had put two in Roman’s distracted gut. While Virgil had been racing the in the purple car, Roman had been bleeding out on his own kitchen floor, and Patton must have joined him. While Virgil was arguing with Dee, Logan was getting paid for the murder of two people who trusted him.

Logan was ambidextrous.

Virgil doesn’t know where the strength comes from.

All he knows is he threw himself forward battering against the metal mesh with an angry ferocity that made Logan’s injured hand lose hold of the steering wheel. The whole car shakes as Logan swaps hands and curses.

“Why?”

It’s barely a breathe between his tense jaw and his thick tongue and numb lips. The word itself feels like a dagger in his own chest just to say.

“Interesting,” Logan says again, this time with his eyes in the rear view, and they stare directly at Virgil. A scientist’s gaze. “The box jellyfish poison should have shut down most bodily functions but it appears that it is wearing off faster than I anticipated.”

(Hand on Virgil’s bare collarbone, cold and heavy, slipped past his shirt collar, and leaving the skin numbed. The poison sinking into Virgil’s skin while the taser had him immobile)

“It’s a good question!” Remus!! Says!! excitedly!! He turns in his seat, flipping the knife close with one hand and wiggling his fingers through the mesh with the other, like a taunt. 

“Pardon?”

“Why did the straight and narrow, hard working FBI agent Logan Ackroyd, decided to throw it all away so suddenly?” Remus sings. Virgil can see something left in his mustache, a something red like jam.

Logan switches lanes again.

“If you must know,” He says his fingers curling on the top of the steering wheel. “The pay is more suitable to my tastes.” 

Which is a fancy way of saying Logan had managed to put a price tag on people.

That Logan looked at Roman and actively thought, “I could kill this annoying man for X amount of dollars in cash”

That Logan looked at Virgil and saw dollar signs rather than the terrified kid he was.

“Oh, you nerdy little dork!” Remus hums, “You’re speaking my language now!”

“Of course I am. English is both our first--”

“Dork means whale penis. Basically, I called you a whale penis!”

Virgil wonders if Logan was being paid enough for this; by the way the car speeds up, he doubts it.

Virgil clings to the anger in his chest. He squeezes his eyes closed, thinking of the past twenty four hours, of Roman in his house, of Roman talking about his cars, of Roman speeding down the street and laughing, with those stupid sunglasses in his glossy mused hair. He thinks of the feel the gravel under his knees, of the sound of his best friends voice, of Patton’s elbow on his hooked and swinging and even if it was all a lie and Virgil was just an assignment Patton had completed--

Virgil thinks of the boy he was closest too, and thinks of how the feel of his broken glasses under Virgil’s knuckles and the look of shock on his freckled face. 

And of the hollowed hours since where Virgil swore to himself he didn’t want Patton by his side.

Where Virgil lied because he wants Patton here very badly even if hes mad even if they’re fighting even if he can’t ever forgive Patton.

Where Virgil was busy being angry and upset and his best friend was being killed by the cold hearted, side switching, asshole in the seat in front of him without a seconds hesitation.

 Virgil clings to that, clings to the anger that explodes in his chest, and the thudding of his heart that breaks his own ear drums. He reaches out of his limbs--

Because he was not going to just sit here and let that bastard take kill him for money, kill his friends for paper and coins and get away with it.

For once, Virgil breathes a thanks to his mother for telling him all the ways to kill a person, a bedtime story that Virgil felt for the first time he was willing to actually implement. 

And if he can get angry enough, his limbs will move, because that’s what always happens in those movies.

He thinks his heavy numb fingers manage to twitch when Remus speaks again.

“I don’t know if I’m alright with the split we agreed on.”

Logan’s head tilts ever-so-much. The car pulls on to a single lane road. The trees come next, covering them in the flickers of shadow and sun.

“Elaborate.”

“I want seventy percent.”

Logan scoffs.

“It just seems that I deserve more than you!” Remus says, “In fact, I think I’ll take it all.”

Virgil blinks and the butterfly knife is at Logan’s throat.

“Let’s talk math, kid genius.”

the car swerves as Logan’s eyes leave the road for a second to look at the death at his throat. Virgil feels as his foot comes off the pedal, slowing down in the middle of a forest that looks like private property.

“Keep driving.” Remus hisses delightedly.

Logan presses down the gas pedal and the trees begin to blur by. Virgil has a hard time watching.

It has nothing to do with the stirring that suddenly comes to his attention next to him.

“Isn’t this fun?” Remus asks, “You’re going to drive to the clearing and park the car. I’m going to kill you, and the little emo in the backseat--”

“You said we were going to talk.” Logan says indifferently, “I’m afraid I have some bad news in regards to that course of action.” 

“Remus?” A voice speaks up groggily. 

“Oh hey, Dee!” 

“Wha--” Virgil thinks its a weird to see the other heir so disorientated, and he’s only known the other heir for a maximum of three hours.”What are you doing--?”

“Me and Logan were having a chat about how we’re going to divide the reward for the death of Virgil Sanders!”

“Yes, and unfortunately, Roman Prince informs me I’m a terrible conversationalist.” Logan says, and then slams on the breaks of the car and sends seat-beltless Remus straight through the front windshield.

Part Nine

[just-another-voltron-account]

Keith sighed, looking drearily at the cash register below him. A bird squawked in a room nearby, and the poor worker ran his half-gloved hand through his bed-headed mullet. He would never admit to it being a mullet, but he had his reasons.

The bell sounded at the front of the store, calling Keith's attention to it. A boy with soft, chestnut hair walked in, winking an ocean eye at the worker.

Lance, a regular visitor to this shop.

"Hey~, Mullet", he called out walking up to the counter and leaning half his weight on it, leaving his arm out in front of him. His smirk blinded Keith momentarily before he took in another heavy sigh.

"Hello, Lance", he said, with disinterest dripping in every part of it.

He clicked a few buttons on the register to just look busy, and then moved over to the clipboard at the side of the counter Lance wasn't leaning on to check the inventory for the third time in the last half hour.

"What do you want this time?" He asked, trying his best to look as invested in the papers in front of him.

"Hm", Lance started, and Keith already knew he was in trouble. Lance leaned back and put his hands in his jean pockets.

"Ah, right, I remember now!" Keith sighed. Again. Shiro was never going to hear the end of this from him, if he had any say in it. Why did Lance have to be the cutest and most annoying person he's ever met?

Wait-cutest? Never crossed his mind, didn't think it, nope.

..fine. He was cute. But a super annoying asshole that just won't. shut. up.

"I wanted to ask you out!"

Keith dropped his clipboard and stood staring at the mess of papers on the floor.

He cleared his throat and spoke.

"Yeah... I'm sorry but what?"

Keith looked him dead in the eyes.

Big.

Mistake.

Lance looked so hopeful, and had this soft smile on his face that once it reached his eyes, Keith felt like he was in an hour glass that changes with emotions.

Keith is doomed.

"Well, there's this new coffee shop down the street, which you might've already known about, but I haven't tried anything there yet and it would be awesome if I could grab a coffee with you?"

Lance rubbed the back of his neck, then looked up to Keith again, praying for an answer.

Keith just stood there, looking at him with wide eyes.

Lance slouched in disappointment.

"I'm sorry, I knew it was a bad idea. I just came in here to annoy you and see if you could handle how annoying I can be, and boy, you have godly patience. That's... Everything I really need in somebody, to be honest. Just for them to be patient with me, and you've done that every tiring day since I first walked in. But... again, I'm sorry. I'll get out if your hair, now. Bye, Keith."

With that, Lance turned around, and walked out of the store with his head held high but a depressing aura.

"Fuck. Holy shit. What the fuck. What the actual, fucking fuck, was that? He??? Asked me out??? What the fuck???"

Keith looked back outside and saw Lance slumping at the bus stop across the street, waiting for the next one to come in. That was in 2 minutes.

Keith thought aloud.

"Wait, do I want to go on that date? Oh shit, he's probably not gonna come back here after that bus leaves oh God oh NO IT CAME EARLY."

Keith shot through the glass door, nearly breaking the bell with it, and darted across the street, just barely missing oncoming traffic. Quite a few horns honked after him. Once Keith reached the other side of the street, Lance already had one foot on the bus.

"Lance!"

Keith leaned down and panted a bit, catching his breath.

When he looked up, Lance was looking at him with glassy, curious eyes.

"C'mon kid, I don't got all day here."

The bus driver snapped Lance back to reality, and with that he stepped on the bus and the doors slammed behind him.

Keith could only watch with heavy disappointment as the blue vehicle sped away and blended into traffic. But not before Keith saw it's next stop.

It was a mall nearby, maybe about 5 miles, and Keith could easily get there quickly on his motorcycle if he tried. Of course, there was no guarantee Lance would get off there, but it was worth a shot.

∆

"Jeez, buddy, you look like death."

A kind, comforting voice said.

"I feel like death. You know that cute boy? The one who runs the cash register there from 9-12 then from 1-5?"

"How could I not? You never shut up about him."

A nerdy asshole kid said.

"Shut up, Pidge, at least Hunk cares about me."

He turned back to the latter person me mentioned.

"As I was saying, I finally got the guts to ask him out and he BRUTALLY rejected me. Like, didn't say a single word afterward, just stared at me like I was some insane asylum escapee."

"I'm sorry, man. There's always next time?"

"Next time? With who? Nobody has the patience to talk to me, let alone be with me. I mean, of course, except for you guys, but we're like family and neither of you are my type."

"And emo boy is?"

"...yes."

Lance looked over to Pidge to see them looking over his shoulder, studying something really hard.

When Lance followed their gaze, the first thing he noticed was pale skin. Then long, raven hair, and finally amethyst eyes.

"Shit that's him!"

Lance moved and hid behind Pidge.

"Shut up, you wimp, just go talk to him."

"Hell no! He probably came here to make fun of me."

"Nope, that's it, I'm figuring out why he's here."

"Pidge! No!"

"Hey, Hot Topic, what'cha need?"

Keith turned around and gave them a specific 'really?' look.

"Are you talking to me?"

"No, there's some other emo dude in a leather jacket here. Yes, you! You look like you're looking for something, can we help?"

Keith walked closer to them so they didn't have to yell across the store, but not close enough that he could see Lance.

"Actually... Um, have you seen a guy with tan skin, ocean blue eyes and chestnut hair?"

"That's hella specific, you in love with the dude or someth'n?"

"Um, well, no, but he's cute and you can't blame me for that. He asked me out about 15 minutes ago but my fucking social skills are absolute shit and I just stared at him instead of answering."

"Jesus, dude, your social skills are shit."

"I'm an orphan for a reason."

"Woah, dude, didn't mean to offend you or anything."

"Oh... Stupid social skills, that was supposed to be a joke."

"Yeah, whatever. Anyways, your Cuban dude, Lance, right? We're pretty good friends with him and he came in a few minutes ago."

Pidge looked around themselves to not see any sign of Lance.

"He hasn't left the store, but I don't know where he is."

"Alright, thank you."

And with that, Keith dashed off.

"Hunk, did you see Lance leave?"

"Nope."

"Fucking ninja."

∆

Keith kept is steps as quiet as he could (with boots, it wasn't very effective), looking around corners and traveling through aisles one by one. Why'd he have to pick Wal-Mart? Why not, I don't know, a telephone booth? Yeah, wishful thinking since they don't really exist around here, but anything small would do the trick.

He came across a mini-hallway for the employees and froze. If Lance's friends work here, he probably has access to employee-locked things. There were public bathrooms, and of course checked them first, (Two were locked, but he could see the shoes underneath the stalls and they were definitely too ugly for Lance's taste. Yes, he knew Lance's taste, shut up.) then he was down to only two doors: One was a grey door with a keyhole, which Keith figured was a storage closet, and another one was a normal door with a 'employees only' plaque on it. Keith automatically assumed Lance didn't have a key, but he didn't exactly have access to employees privileges. He'd have to ask the weird person at the front who couldn't be older than 16.

He dashed towards where they were when he came to be heavily relieved they were still there.

"Hey, found him yet?"

They asked as soon as Keith walked up next to them. They didn't look up, and Keith is terrified.

"Um, no, but considering he's friends with you I'm assuming he has permission to go into the break room, or whatever that door near the bathrooms is?"

Pidge looked up, quite impressed by coming to such a conclusion.

"You assumed right. Manager doesn't even bat an eye at this point, but you have freedom to check. Just say Pidge let ya try to find Lance, he'll understand. But you might have to say you work at a pet shop."

"What? Um... Why?"

"Lance, as you've seen, isn't very quiet. And he talks about you. A. Lot."

"Oh... Well, I'm gonna go check there, cya."

And he was off.

∆

"Hello there, boy! What'cha doing back here? There is an employee's only sign on the door you're about to open."

Keith turned around, seeing the nametag 'Coran'. Just under that was the word 'Manager'.

"Oh, I'm looking for Lance. Pidge sent me."

"Hmmm... I don't know why they didn't search themselves or have Hunk do it. Anything specific going on?"

"Oh, Pidge said saying that I work at a Pet Shop might help?"

"Oh, that helps plenty! Go ahead in, pal! Good luck."

"Thanks..."

Coran walked off, and as soon as he turned the corner he turned the knob and opened the door.

Sitting right there, in a chair at the middle table, was Lance.

Keith quietly closed the door behind him, but when he looked back at Lance, he had terror in his eyes and looked ready to bolt at a moments notice.

"Um... Hey..."

"Look, I know that I'm stupid and talkative and far too annoying and I shouldn't have asked you out in the first place, but please don't make fun of me. I feel guilty already."

"Lance..."

Keith sat down, pity and guilt dripping in his voice. Lance looked the other way, the floor suddenly being very interesting.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, but you don't want to go on a date, I get it-"

"Lance."

Lance stopped talking and looked at him.

"Let me finish."

Lance softly nodded.

"I'm sorry I gave you that impression. That's not what I had meant at all, just... I've never been asked out before, nonetheless by somebody cute, and my lack of social skills was no help. I know what I'm saying can't justify my actions, but I hope you can forgive me."

Keith looked up from the table, where his vision had fell while ranting, to seeing an unreadable Lance looking at him.

"You think I'm cute?"

"THAT'S WHAT YOU GOT OUT OF THAT?!"

"uM"

"Alright, this was stupid, if my brother wasn't my manager then I would be fired, I'm going to call him but I'm sorry I bothered you."

"Wait!"

Keith stopped midway from standing up and cautiously sat down, very confused.

"I...um... You weren't... I forgive you. There. That's a great place to start, right?"

"You know far more than me when it comes to that, but I appreciate it."

"Alright, sweet, so, do you not want to talk to me again, or...?"

"What? Why would I want that?"

"Well, I was a complete ass to you then sprung a date request out of nowhere. I'd be pissed, man."

"Well, I'm not."

Keith smiled, while Lance visibly relaxed, however slightly.

"Um.... Then what did you want to say to me, Keith?"

"Yes."

Lance was startled into confusion.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, we can meet up for coffee."

A wide grin fell across their faces, knowing that something big was starting.

[mini-eggs]

Road Trip Part 2 | Steve Harrington

“Do you even have your license?”

Rolling your eyes, you put the car in reverse and backed out of the tiny convenience store parking lot and onto the main road. “Of course I do. Would I be driving if I didn’t?” you replied snarkily and he scoffed.

“Only until the next exit.”

“Don’t want me to crash your precious baby?”

“Something like that.”

Nearly twenty minutes, and a few old rock songs later, you pulled into a rest area and put the car in park. Proudly, you turned toward him with a grin on your face. “Now how was that?” He shrugged. “Amazing. I know.”

“You forgot to signal when you passed.”

You shushed him, opening the car door. “Whatever. It’s nothing.” You leaned over the roof of the car onto your arms and Steve mirrored your actions.

“It’s not nothing. It’s the law.”

“Exactly. It’s nothing,” you joked and Steve rolled his eyes. “Jeez, Harrington. Why you gotta be so uptight?”

“I am not uptight!”

“But you really are.”

“Shut up,” he groaned, walking around to your side. You fell into the passenger seat and did up the buckle as Steve pulled out of the empty lot. Immediately, a Toto song came on you and you clapped your hands excitedly. “Toto fan or what, Y/L/N?”

“Just a little,” you answered.

Steve sang along to Africa, knowing every single lyric. A giggle escaped your lips as he belted out the words, drumming against the steering wheel. “It’s gonna take a lot to take me away from you! There’s nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do!”

“I bless the rains down in Africa! Gonna take some time to do the things we never had ...” you sang along, laughing with Steve. The two of you screamed out the lyrics until the song was over, and once that time reached, you fell back into your seat laughing.

“You’ve got an amazing voice,” he teased and you snorted. “Didn’t know somebody could sound that pretty screeching their lungs out, you know.”

“Right back at you,” you grinned and he laughed, as Beat It by Michael Jackson came to the radio. The rest of the drive, a whole five or so hours, was spent listening to music blared up all the way and screaming your lungs out. You beat Steve by knowing every single lyric to nearly all of the songs; he only knew a couple. But you gave him points for effort.

As you passed the sign entering the city, you pulled the map out of the glovebox and gave him directions to the closest motel.

“Take a left up here. Now, a right. Left.”

“Steve, I said left.”

“That is left!”

“Shit, I meant right.”

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N.”

“Language,” you scolded and he scoffed, rolling his eyes and taking a right. “Now here! Up one!”

“Oh my—“ he stopped himself, groaning and pulling a U-turn nearly into oncoming traffic. Swatting his arm, you jumped in your seat. “Do you want to get to this goddamn motel or not, Y/N?”

“I would much rather get there alive!”

“Then how about you give me some legitimate directions, yeah?”

“I can’t wait for this weekend to be over,” you held the bridge of your nose.

“Me too,” he scoffed.

Finally, you reached the run-down motel and checked into the fifth room. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as bad as you had suspected, but nonetheless was still old. The wallpaper was nearly peeling off and all moldy, and sure, the beds looked stained and yellow, but overall it looked better than you’d ever imagined. At least cockroaches weren’t crawling around. Or visibly, at least.

“Better than I’d thought,” Steve voiced what you were thinking as you closed the door behind you both. He plopped himself down on the double bed in the middle of the room. “And one bed. Sorry, toots, hope you like the left side.”

You didn’t.

Steve slept horribly. He snored like crazy and moved around so much that you felt as if one of you would be ending up on the floor. And not by choice, either.

“Jesus, Steve!” you whisper-yelled, sitting up. With a loud groan, Steve woke up and rolled onto his front, his face buried deep into the pillow. Scooting your butt back, you rested your head against the headboard and sighed. Why you agreed to go on this trip? No idea.

“Did I wake you?” he asked, his voice low and raspy. You denied that his voice was decently attractive at three am.

“No, but your rolling around and loud ass snoring did.”

“So I did? Sorry,” he mumbled into the pillow and you rolled your eyes, fully aware that he couldn’t see them in the dark. “Don’t roll your eyes at my apology,” maybe he could. “I know you better than you’d think, Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Seriously, I do,” he said and somehow you found that easy to believe. Steve did seem to be paying a lot of attention to you since your parents have became closer.

Steve flipped over onto his side, leaning on his elbow. He stared at you with intense eyes as you switched on the lamp. “What?” you noticed him watching you. Nervously, you pulled down the hoodie that you had on. You were sweating bullets, but had also forgotten to pack a pair of pajamas so Hell would freeze over before you asked Steve for a change of clothes. Thankfully, he asked first.

“Do you want a shirt?”

“What?” you looked down at the grey hoodie you wore.

“I have an extra shirt if you’d like.”

“No, no. It’s fine.”

“Are you sure? It’s hot as shit, you’re probably roasting in that,” Steve sat up, swinging his legs over the bed and kneeling down. Out of his bag, Steve pulled out a large shirt of his, the Hawkins High phys. ed department one and tossed it to you. Thanking him, you made your way to the bathroom. “Just change here. I can barely see you anyway, the lighting sucks.”

“Steve—“

“I’ll turn around. Don’t change in the ducking bathroom.”

Chuckling, you nodded as Steve turned his body towards the wall. Slowly, you peeled your hoodie off of you and slipped the shirt over your head. Coughing, you signalled Steve to turn back around as you awkwardly stood there, tying your hair into a bun.

“Cute.”

“What?”

“You, uh, look cute in my shirt.”

“It’s the school’s shirt.”

“I bought it,” he shrugged and a smile crept across your lips as you crawled back into the bed.

“Is it okay if I, um ...” you trailed off and Steve got the hint.

“That shirt is like, twelve sizes too big. Go for it,” Steve nodded and you shimmied out of your leggings beneath the covers. Sighing, your head fell against the pillow and you reached over to turn off the light. Staring above you at the dark ceiling, you bit your cheek. Something about this weekend was off, but in a good way. You cursed yourself for thinking like this as Steve continued to watch you, resting on his elbow. Awkwardly, you positioned yourself in the same way, resting your palm against the side of your head and leaning back on your elbow.

“Stop looking at me, Harrington.”

“Sorry.”

We laid there in silence, both of you looking at each other. Neither of you could see each other, even if your eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room. You could just make out his silhouette.

“You’re beautiful.”

“Excuse me?” you choked.

“I can barely make out your face, but you’re beautiful.” You paused. Steve laughed at your silence. “Did I make Y/N Y/L/N speechless? I’m pretty sure that’s a first, ever.”

“Shut up, Harrington.”

“There’s the Y/N I know and love.”

You reached a hand out, shoving his arm, which was holding him up. Immediately, he collapsed onto the bed causing you to giggle. His lips formed into a grin as he watched you. The moonlight from behind him lit up your face just enough for him to be able to make out some features on your face. He could see your cheeks flush with a light shade of red. You didn’t think that he could see the crimson colour on your cheeks, so you didn’t bother to hide it, though he could see it nearly crystal clearly. Your eyes were wide and bright. Steve loved how big your eyes are and could look at them for days.

“So we’re just going to brush off the fact of how you just called me beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, “unless you wanna talk about it?”

“No, no.”

A snort escaped his lips, causing you to laugh loudly. “Shush. You’re going to wake the neighbours.”

“You make me laugh.”

“Is that an insult?”

“Is it a compliment?” you fired back and Steve nodded, taking the hint.

“Y/N?” Steve said after a moment of silence. He didn’t wait for a response. “May I kiss you?”

“I—“

Once again, he didn’t wait for a response. You felt warmth against your lips as Steve kissed you. At first it was softly, surprising you, considering it was Steve Harrington. After you kissed back, he deepened it, running his tongue over your bottom lip.

“Steve,“ this came out as more of a moan as you pulled away. Immediately, you missed his lips on yours and tried to fight the urge of kissing him again.

“Y/N,” he placed a hand on your hip, underneath the shirt placed on your body. His fingers came in contact with your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He tugged the collar of the shirt down and pressed a kiss on your bare shoulder.

“Good night, Y/N.”

“You’re a fucking tease, Harrington.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

[agoodflyting]

Ouat Star wars crossover

This maaay not be what you wanted but hopefully it’s okay. Have 2100 words of Techie/Matt in Storybrooke.

~~

His alarm goes off at 7am every morning.

If he waits long enough, trying to ignore the blaring with his head under a pile of blankets and cheap dime-store throw pillows, it will eventually stop on its own. He will let his gummy eyes slip shut again, scratching himself idly under the covers, and try to adjust his cramping body so that a different part of him is hanging off of the too-small foldout bed.

Every morning he says he’s going to get up with the first alarm. Actually make himself some breakfast, do the dishes before they grew legs and crawled away, maybe even shave and wash his hair and try to look fucking presentable before work. He never does.

The alarm will go off again eventually, and he will root around below with one arm, blindly, until he finds the button to turn it off before it wakes up his roommate. His feet rustle in the discarded papers and other detritus on the floor around the bed as he trudges out, yawning and clumsy, for coffee. LED lights blink sleepily at him from around the room. Servers that he’s working on in his spare time, dismantled motherboards, old electronics. One of his four or five old laptops is in sleep mode, colors dancing across the screen, and he’s briefly jealous.

Every morning he starts the coffee and realizes that somehow it’s later than he thought. Then it’s scrambling, pounding on Matt’s door to wake him up, scrubbing his face and anything else that shows with a damp cloth in their dingy shared bath, doing the sniff test on the pile of laundry on his bedroom floor- the one he keeps meaning to fold and put away properly one day. His hair’s a lost cause, tangled and oily, betraying the fact that he just rolled out of bed, but it usually is and nobody ever comments on it. They would probably be more surprised if he came in looking neat and polished.

“Matt, we’re- we’re going to be late!” he stammers when he’s nervous, always has. It doesn’t help that he’s always nervous.  Matt doesn’t worry about being late and losing his job and not being able to pay the rent and getting kicked out of his crappy messy apartment, because his mother is their boss and even if he did something bad enough that she fired him, Matt’s got money somewhere and he’ll be okay.

Matt doesn’t worry about anything, so Techie worries about everything. It’s not a system that works well, but it’s the only system he has.

Matt emerges from the bathroom showered and smiling, with his glasses fogged and his curly hair still damp. He’d bleached it over the summer on impulse, but then he’d decided it made him look like a ‘giant cabbage patch doll’. He wasn’t mad, exactly. Matt was never mad about anything, which was probably a useful trait to have when you did as much stupid stuff on impulse as Matt did. But now he was waiting for it to grow back out to black and it was taking forever. Stuck in an awful in-between stage, not quite black, not quite blonde.

Matt stuffs a muffin in his overlarge mouth as Techie practically drags him out the door, and if they hurry and there isn’t much traffic, then maybe just this once they might make it to work by 9:04- late, but not too late that Techie can’t slip in the door and avoid Leia’s gaze until after lunch.

He’s lucky in the fact that there’s never much traffic. They get through the town square without much trouble, passing the boarded up library and the broken clocktower that never seemed to get fixed, like everything else in Storybrooke. They pass Mr. Gold’s shop and Techie tells Matt to remind him to pay the rent when they get off work, even though he knows that Matt will forget, and then Techie will forget, and the rent will be due before he remembers, so that he would have to be the one to scramble for the cash before their terrifying landlord arrived to collect it.

“He’s not that bad,” Matt would say. “I’m sure he’s a reasonable guy if you got to know him.” Of course he would say that. Matt liked everyone. If you wanted a list of Matt’s friends you just grabbed a phone book.

“Right. I’m reasonably sure he’d only- only break one of my legs.”

They are about to pull into the parking lot at New Republic whatever it is only slightly late for once, and that is when Matt sees the cat.

The skinny orange tabby is picking through the garbage can next to the building and Techie knows before he even sees the look in Matt’s eyes.

“No- no, come on. We’re already late and your mother’s going to yell at me, and-.”

“But look, she’s so skinny.”

“No, what are you even going to do?”

“Maybe we can catch her and take her to the shelter.”

“But we don’t have time,” Techie whines.

“It’ll take two seconds, the shelter is just back there on Main street. I’m just gonna grab her in your jacket and we’ll take her right over. Please, Techie? “ And he’s never been good at standing up for himself, but he especially cannot resist when Matt looks at him with those big, soft eyes.

Techie gives up his windbreaker, leaving just the threadbare yellow t-shit that he kept meaning to throw out, but somehow never managed. He needed new clothes, he always forgot.

In the end ‘two seconds’ spins out into half an hour of Matt chasing the skinny but surprisingly agile stray cat around the alley, occasionally calling for Techie to, ‘just chase her over this way- no, left!’, but he is beaming, all gap-toothed happiness when he finally manages to throw the windbreaker over her and wrap her up in it.

“What if I get rabies?” Techie frets, as they walk to the pet shelter, gingerly pressing at the shallow claw marks on his arm.

“You’re not going to get rabies. She’s such a sweet girl, she would never give you rabies,” he says in the baby voice people use for talking to cute animals, “Listen, she’s purring!”

It was true. Wrapped up in Techie’s now filthy jacket, the cat was happily purring in Matt’s arms as they walk.

They hand the cat over to the lady at the shelter and make it to work at 9:47.

As usual.

~

Life goes on. Nobody claims the cat, and Techie is helpless to stop Matt from bringing it home to their apartment, despite his best arguments that they don’t have room and he thinks he might be allergic to cats and anyway it tried to give him rabies. Matt names her Millicent.

~

“Yes, mommy,” Techie can just make out the rumble of Matt’s voice from the other side of their office wall. “Okay, mommy…. yes…. okay… yes, mommy.”

Matt will be thirty years old in August and he still calls his mother ‘mommy’, in the small, childish tone of a little boy. Techie is the first roommate he’s ever had. He’d never lived on his own before they moved in together two years ago.

Techie pays the rent and the electricity and does the grocery shopping, not because he wants to but because if he doesn’t then Matt just won’t  and then where would they be?

In return, Matt does the dishes (sometimes) and reminds Techie to go to bed at a decent hour and is also probably the only reason Techie hasn’t been fired from his job as IT support at New Republic Industries.

Not that he likes his job- he hates his job. He spends eight hours a day being ordered around and dismissed and insulted. When things work right, people ask, “Why do we even need you?” and when they don’t work, its, “What do they even pay you for?”

He hates New Republic. He’s… he isn’t even really sure what they do, to be honest, which some disused little part of his mind knows is odd, though he can never quite put his finger on why. Whatever they do, it’s something he vaguely disapproves of- he knows that much.

But what can he do? It pays the bills. If he didn’t work here he’d have to go back to working for his father’s day care, and he’s never been good with children. Between his IT job and Matt’s work as an office boy-slash-general lackey for his mother, they just about make due.

So he gets up in the morning, and he goes to work at nine, or as close to nine as he can manage with Matt in tow. They go home at 5:30, the same route every time, and eat cheap takeout and pet the cat, and sometimes he remembers to do the dishes before they grow legs and crawl away. Then they go to bed and do the whole thing again the next day.

~

“Do you ever have weird dreams?” Matt asks one morning on their daily carpool as they pass through the town square and Techie is thinking that that he needs to tell Matt to remind him to pay Mr. Gold when they get out of work.

“Dreams? Like what?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Maybe ones that feel like…. like remembering something you forgot.”

“I had a dream I forgot to feed Millie and she started eating my toes once.”

“Not like that,” Matt says. There’s something somber and pensive in his tone that isn’t usually there. “Like there’s some important, something really important you’re supposed to be doing, and you only remember it in your dreams.”

Techie always feels like there’s something important he’s supposed to be doing. That was how anxiety worked. “Maybe you slept wrong?” he offers.

“Yeah, maybe,” Matt says, running a hand through his messy curls. He had dyed them last summer and was waiting for the color to grow out. It was taking forever.

~~

They on their way home from work. It’s been a few days, or maybe a few weeks since the dream conversation.

Maybe it had happened more than once.

Matt is driving and Techie is making a grocery list in his head for later when he sees the blonde woman in the red jacket storm across the road right ahead, completely ignoring their oncoming car.

“Stop! Stop!” Techie yelps suddenly, and Matt wrenches the wheel and slams on the breaks, sending them both jerking against their seatbelts. The breaks squeal. There’s little bump and a crash.

“Status report!”

“Huh?” Matt asks, dazed, adjusting his glasses.

“What?” Techie echoes. What did- why did he say that? He shakes his head. “We didn’t hit her, did we?”

As soon as he says it, he catches a flash of red and blonde across the street as the woman throws open the door to Mr. Gold’s shop. A wave of relief washes through him.

“Just the curb, I think,” Matt says. He has his head stuck out the window. There’s an awful grinding sound as he throws the car into reverse and they pull carefully back onto the road. Techie grits his teeth. Once they’re back on asphalt the grinding stops. “It sounds okay, don’t you think?”  

“Like either of us know,” Techie says, nerves making him waspish, although if they had messed up the suspension they might not be able to tell right away, not unless the car started to pull on the turn. Or there could be a puncture in the brake lines, or a damaged-

How did he know that? He must have read it somewhere.

Techie rubs a hand over his eyes, “Lets- lets just go home.”

~~

Matt is in the kitchen washing the dishes, humming to himself, and Techie is on the couch with Millie warm and sleepy on his lap when awareness hits him like a wave.

The humming stops.

His hands tremble, as if from exhaustion, but he isn’t tired- not tired, he is more awake than he has been in years. He stands, dumping the cat onto the floor, brushing a hand through his own long, lank hair as if aware of it for the first time.

How- Where?

A shadow appears in the kitchen doorway, big enough to blot out the light.

“General,” Matt- Kylo says.

Hux’s shoulders creak a little with disuse as he holds himself straight-backed for the first time in twenty-eight years. He tilts his head from side to side, loosening the muscles in his neck. The cat has abandoned him to twine around Kylo’s legs, needy, in the way she does to Matt when she wants to be fed. Kylo nudges the animal away with his foot, less than gently.

“Were you responsible for this?” Kylo asks, low and threatening, indicating with his chin the messy domestic scene around them.

Hux remembers weak little Matt, with his easy smile and soft heart, and how he- how Techie had felt about him. “I had assumed it was your doing,” he swallows. “Things like this are more your domain than mine.”

“It wasn’t me,” he answers.“Who, then? If not the Force, then what had the power to do this?”Kylo’s jaw works. “Let’s go find out.”

[gregwhite]

YOUR DAILY ROBOT

Robbie arrives at the party. Mission accomplished.

***

EXT. PARTY HOUSE - LATER A GIANT MCMANSION. TEENS descend onto the place like horny ants. Robbie approaches and takes it all in. Wow: the promised land. She smiles and walks up the lawn. INT. PARTY - MOMENTS LATER Robbie enters the house and looks around this teen wonderland with awe: keg stands, beer pong, dancing, boys. The Tiffanys come running up. TIFFANY 3 Hey, Robert or whatever! You made it! ROBBIE Yes! I am here! TIFFANY 1 By the way? A little bird told me that Vincent Lanzano has a crush on you. Tiffany 3 motions over to the Cute Boy from earlier. TIFFANY 2 You should go talk to him! The Tiffanys push her over to the Cute Boy. CUTE BOY Sup? Wanna go to Pound Town? From inside her POV we see her scanning a database for POUND TOWN, USA: ZERO RESULTS. ROBBIE I don’t know where that is, but okay! He grabs her boob and she reflexively cold cocks him. He crumples to the ground, probably paralyzed for life. ROBBIE (CONT’D) Oh! Um. Sorry! She shoves him inside a closet and hurries off. INT. BRIAN’S CAMARO - NIGHT Brian swerves his car through the streets while his football bros try not to show their nerves. BRIAN This party is gonna be tight! Brian floors it. BRIAN (CONT’D) Woo! That’s a sick engine! WOO! FOOTBALL PLAYER 1 Hey, Bri, should you even be driving? You know, since the accident? BRIAN DON’T YOU TALK ABOUT THE ACCIDENT! I’LL KILL US ALL! I’M SO DEPRESSED! Brian SCREECHES the car into oncoming traffic. His bros SCREAM FOR THEIR LIVES but Brian swerves back into his lane, and the bros exhale: holy shit. Brian laughs, crazy. BRIAN (CONT’D) Ha! You shoulda seen your faces! EXT. PARTY HOUSE - MOMENTS LATER SCREECH! Brian pulls onto the lawn of the party house and his bros wheel him up the walkway and into the house. A moment later Dale emerges, followed by a HOBO. DALE Alright, that’s his car. I hope you’re topped off. The hobo climbs onto the hood of Brian’s car, pulls down his pants and pops a squat. HOBO I gotta say, this whole fecal obsession of yours is pretty fucked up, even for a rail yard hobo. (noticing house) Hey, I used to be in a fight club here! Aww. INT. PARTY HOUSE - CONCURRENTLY Brian and his crew roll into the party. BRIAN MC BK in the house! Let’s flip cup this bitch! Robbie reacts, nervously, and turns to a DRUNK GIRL. ROBBIE Brian’s here! Do I look alright? Oh my gosh, what if he proposes to me? The Drunk Girl vomits in response. Brian rolls over to a GIANT TABLE where an epic game of flip cup is underway. Robbie cocks her head and watches this strange tribal ritual. Robbie approaches. ROBBIE (CONT’D) Oh, hi, Brian, I didn’t see you come in! This social alcohol game looks amusing. Can I be on your squad? BRIAN Whatever. ROBBIE You can count on me, Brian. Brian belches. BRIAN Let’s do this! And with that, the game begins! Robbie stands back for a beat, watching the other kids, learning and then: ROBBIE So you do it like this? She begins drinking beers and flipping cups with precision. A small crowd gathers to behold this wonder of wonders. BRIAN Hellz yeah! Faster and faster she goes, chugging beer after beer and flipping cup after cup as the crowd eats it up. Inside Robbie’s POV we see a MOISTURE ALERT warning her not to drink any more as Brian videos it on his iPhone. BRIAN (CONT’D) Aw, snap! This is awesome! Ignoring her alert, she does an unassisted keg stand and drains it before kicking the keg over! The crowd rushes her and raises her arms like a boxer! BRIAN (CONT’D) That was sick! Robbie and Brian lock eyes. Is this love? ROBBIE Brian, there’s something I need to tell you. I love-- Robbie twitches. Something is definitely wrong. ROBBIE (CONT’D) Excuse me. I have to go now. Robbie stumbles through the crowd blindly. From her POV we see her blurred Terminator vision, badly damaged.   BRIAN Chick is wasted! INT. PARTY HOUSE - BATHROOM - CONCURRENTLY Robbie stumbles into the bathroom and slams the door behind her. An ear-piercing electronic noise begins to rise and she covers her ears! Her ALARMS are going nuts: SYSTEM OVERLOAD! Her head is POUNDING! SOMETHING IS COMING! Suddenly BOOM! Her whole body goes stiff as a board! EXT. PARTY HOUSE - CONTINUOUS From high above we see an ELECTROMAGNETIC PULSE ripple out from the house! Entire sections of the power grid fail! INT. HOMELAND SECURITY OFFICE - CONCURRENTLY A HOMELAND SECURITY AGENT sits near a monitor and sits up suddenly as he notices something: HOMELAND SECURITY AGENT Dear sweet Jesus! His HARDASS BOSS rushes in and reacts. HARDASS BOSS Christ on shit! Lookit the size of the pulse! Launch the choppers! Call the local PD! EXT. AIRFORCE BASE - CONCURRENTLY APACHE CHOPPERS fire up and fly off into the night sky! EXT. LOCAL POLICE STATION - CONCURRENTLY SEVERAL SQUAD CARS screech out of the parking lot, sirens wailing!