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wheresmynaya · 4 years ago

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Lost in the Lights Ch.3 | Brittana

Aaand we’re back to the usual weekly routine! Thank you for all the luv, I appreciate it so much you have no idea.

Available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x)

By early October, Brittany has finally adapted to her busy schedule. With Autumn settling in, the mornings are a lot cooler but Brittany finds the crisp air refreshing when she’s out on her daily runs before class. Winters in Florida weren’t really all that cold, so this is all new to her.

Brittany takes it in stride though; in fact, she’s interested to see how the colder weather will impact her playing when it comes to Game Days. So far, the team is 5-0 now with just five more games left of the regular season. Everyone on the team is feeling good about their current standings, but Brittany knows it’s wise not to let it get to their heads.

Cockiness doesn’t mesh well with an undefeated record. She knows that one from experience.

Brittany’s in the locker room just after practice one Wednesday and she’s a hot, sweaty mess. Her hair is sure to be all over the place, but she’s too tired to care about appearances after such a grueling session. All she wants is a shower and to be able to scrub the dirt and dust caked on her arms and shins. Maybe a nice face mask too? She’ll wait until she’s home for that one though.

“Woah,” Santana gasps when she rounds the wall of lockers designated for the Cheerios and nearly runs into Brittany. She eyes her up and down and smirks, “You look like you’ve been rolling around in mud.”

Brittany chuckles at her comment. Since Santana’s surprise visit a couple weeks ago, things between them have been a lot better. They actually talk and sometimes they even walk together to their last class if Brittany gets to her locker in time. It’s a nice change and it makes her school days a whole lot easier.

“Yeah, these new drills Coach Beiste has us doing are intense,” Brittany sighs but a happy smile soon graces her lips, “I didn’t expect to see you here still.”

“Me neither,” Santana groans, “Coach Sylvester wants Quinn and I to hang back and help come up with routines for Homecoming Week.”

“Is it that time already?” Brittany wonders aloud, “That would explain the extra drills.”

“Yeah, it’s next week,” Santana answers, “It’s one of the most busiest times for the squad. Honestly, Spirit Week should be renamed Hell Week because that’s where I’d rather be than to deal with all this extra work.”

“The perks of being Co-Captain,” Brittany teases before she asks, “Is it really that bad?”

“Small town high schools go apeshit over events like this,” Santana explains, “You’ll see. Quinn and I have to start campaigning for Homecoming Court as well, it’s kind of mandatory for us. I’m sure you’ll probably get roped into something too being that you’re the quarterback and all.”

“I hope not,” Brittany scrunches her nose, “I hate the extra attention when I’m not on the field. It’s super weird being treated like some kind of celebrity.”

Santana smiles apologetically and echoes Brittany’s earlier words, “The perks of being QB.”

Brittany grumbles through her pout. It makes Santana’s smile soften.

“Well, I’ll let you get cleaned up,” Santana says and shakes her phone, “Quinn’s finally back from our coffee run so I better go meet her.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow then!” Brittany waves as they go their separate ways.

When Friday comes around, the Titans are more amped up than ever. The guys are dressed in their jeans and jerseys and strut around the school like they own it. Brittany wears her jersey as well seeing that it’s tradition on Game Days, but she starts to notice the annoyed glares they get from some of the other teams.

More importantly, the Hockey team.

There was once instance where Brittany, Mike and Sam were talking by Sam’s locker when a couple guys from the Hockey team walked by. Brittany instantly felt the tension as the two teams exchanged glares.

“The hell you looking at?” Sam growled to Brittany’s surprise. She hadn’t ever heard him take a tone like that when it wasn’t being directed at Dave or Azimio.

Mike stood up a little straighter too and balled his fists.

The tallest one just laughed as he shook his head at them, “Couple of sell-outs.”

Brittany’s brow knitted; what’s that suppose to mean?

“Fuck you, Rick,” Sam scoffed, “At least we know what it’s like to win.”

“Right. You’re winners now that you’ve got a girl on the team,” Rick teased, “Fucking stupid.”

Brittany felt like she should say something, but she just griped the straps of her bookbag tighter until her knuckles whitened.

Rick looked to Brittany, “At least those gay ass tights finally work in someone’s favor.”

“Get out of here, man!” Mike ordered as he took a step forward and shoved at Rick’s shoulder.

Rick stumbled back and held up his hands although the sly smirk was still there. He gave Brittany a wink then motioned for his guys to keep walking.

Suddenly Brittany felt a little gross. She’s no stranger to those kind of comments too, but they’ve never lost their effect on making her feel sexualized. That might be one of the worst drawbacks to having so much emphasis on her being a female on a boys’ team.

“Don’t worry about them,” Mike said with a nudge to Brittany’s arm, “They’ve always been jealous of us even when we weren’t winning.”

“Hockey sucks,” Sam added, “That’s why. No one ever goes to their games.”

Brittany just nodded and pasted on a smile. She saw Santana down the other end of the hall walking towards her with Quinn and soon her smile turned genuine. Santana hadn’t looked her way yet, so Brittany just watched as those around her just stared like she was the hottest girl in school.

Brittany kind of agreed with that sentiment.

Sam and Mike noticed her leering and began to smirk when they realized who Brittany was looking at. When Santana and Quinn got closer, Sam and Mike glanced over at Brittany again to see if she was still staring.

They chuckled when they found that she was.

“Hey Pierce,” Santana smirked as she admired Brittany in her jersey and tight blue jeans. Maybe she kind of had a thing for a girl in uniform, but who didn’t?

“Hi Santana,” Brittany grinned.

Sam and Mike looked between themselves to see if they were invisible. That could be the only reason why Santana skipped greeting them.

Quinn chuckled and acknowledged the guys, “Hey boys.” Her eyes lingered longer on Mike than Sam before she averted her gaze to Brittany, “Hey Brittany.”

Upon hearing her name, Brittany blinked out of her staring contest with Santana and smiled in response. They haven’t actually met officially yet, but Santana talked about her enough for Brittany feel like she knew her.

“Hi,” Brittany greeted.

They five of them plummeted into an semi-awkward silence that was only broken up by Sam saying, “Well…this is awkward.”

Fortunately though, that was enough to have everyone laughing and the awkwardness wore away just as the bell rang out. Brittany’s next class was with Mike so she turned him and nodded.

“We should get going,” She said as she gave a last fleeting glance to Santana and smiled, “I’ll see you later.”

“Later,” Santana smiled back before turning to Quinn. The smile fell as she hardened, “Let’s go.”

Quinn nodded and together they continued their walk down the hall with their heads held high, their expressions only a couple of top bitches could wear.

Sam just looked between the duos and frowned, “Guess I’ll just walk by myself to class.”

By Lunch, Brittany’s sitting with Kurt, Tina and Mercedes at their usual table but today Brittany feels like she’s being stared at. Actually, she always gets stared at for her table choice but she doesn’t get what the big deal is.

Kurt, Tina and Mercedes are going on about an upcoming performance they’re planning with some of the other members of their club. Brittany can tell they’re excited about it as they reel off potential song choices.

“It’s going to have to get the approval from Rachel,” Kurt complains, “With her being the self-proclaimed Team Leader and all. I have no idea how Mr. Schue let her get away with that one.”

“Rachel can kiss my ass,” Mercedes waves off, “If she has us singing Barbra again, I’m going to riot.”

“I agree,” Kurt nods, “There’s just a time and a place for showtunes and I don’t think a school dance is one of them.”

“Definitely not,” Tina says, “Artie said he wants to do Miguel.”

“He would,” Mercedes laughs, “I can see it though; white boy could probably pull it off.”

Everyone at the table laughs, even Brittany although she’s barely following along. She hasn’t met a Rachel or Artie, but she knows who Mr. Schue is so she’s not super lost.

“Sorry Britt,” Kurt smiles apologetically, “We shouldn’t make you feel left out by talking about all of this Glee Club stuff around you.”

Brittany just shrugs, “I don’t mind it. It’s kind of nice hearing about something other than football and schoolwork so don’t mind me.”

“Would you…ever consider joining?” Tina wonders.

Mercedes and Kurt are surprised by the question but await Brittany’s answer anxiously.

“It sounds fun, but I just don’t have the time for it,” Brittany answers easily, “Plus I can’t really sing so I’m probably doing you a favor.”

Everyone can understand Brittany’s reasoning, so they don’t press any further. Instead, they go back to tossing out different ideas for a set list. It’s kind of cool listening along, but then Puck and Finn approach her and the mood changes. Brittany only know they’ve walked up because everyone at the table instantly silences.

“We’ve saved you a seat at our table,” Puck says.

Mercedes, Kurt and Tina glance between him and Brittany like they’ve just settled in for a show.

“Thanks but I like sitting here,” Brittany answers politely then turns back to her friends. She feels them still lingering behind her though.

Puck scowls and looks to Finn who’s staring at her like she just spoke in another language.

“Look, you don’t have to perform this kind of community service by sitting with these losers,” Puck tries again, “You’ve already proved that you’re cool.”

That comment has Brittany feeling hot.

The worst thing anyone can do is make fun of her friends and even if she doesn’t hang around them as much as Sam and Mike, Kurt and Mercedes were some of the firsts to treat her with kindness when she arrived to McKinley. That doesn’t get forgotten just because she’s higher up than them on this imaginary McKinley food chain.

“Don’t call my friends losers,” Brittany warns. The politeness is still there but it’s wearing down.

Puck just shakes his head and looks to Finn, “You tell her, man.”

“Britt, you can’t sit with them,” Finn says sternly. There’s an edge to his voice, like he’s trying to simplify it for her, “Titans sit with Titans.”

“I don’t see you saving a seat for Kurt too,” Brittany challenges. She can see they’re starting to gain an audience – even Santana and Quinn watch from their assigned table – but she doesn’t waver on her stance.

“It’s different for him. You’re the quarterback. There are certain things you just can’t do. One of them being this,” Finn explains with the wave of his hand at the table, “Quit making things difficult.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Brittany snaps as she goes to stand this time and all heads turn to watch. She keeps her chin raised though Finn towers over her. She’s not going to get pushed around over something so ridiculous, “If Kurt can’t sit with the rest of the team then neither will I.”

Finn just presses his lips tightly together in a grimace while Puck stares at her in disbelief.

“You’re not Team Captain anymore, Finn, and one of these days you’re going to finally understand that the way things are done here aren’t right,” Brittany explains, “And if I have to be the one to teach you that, then so be it. I’m already schooling you on the field. I don’t mind the extra work.”

Finn scoffs at that but Puck looks a little impressed.

“Damn,” Puck smirks and glances to his side at Finn, “She might have bigger balls than you.”

Finn ignores him though.

“Whatever then,” Finn huffs, “Don’t come running to us when this backfires on you.”

“Don’t worry,” Brittany smiles sweetly, “I won’t.”

When she sits back down, Kurt’s jaw is dropped.

“That was amazing,” He applauds.

Brittany just shrugs, “I hate the double-standards at this school, almost as much as I hate bullies.”

“Well there’s a ton of them here,” Mercedes jokes before giving Brittany an approving nod, “That was pretty cool though. Don’t think I’ve ever seen Finn so tripped up.”

Brittany smiles at the compliments but she hates confrontation so the conversation doesn’t sit well with her. She knows it’s impossible to breeze through high school without a ruffling some feathers, doesn’t mean she likes to do it on purpose. She’s just not one to sit idly by either.

Brittany goes back to her lunch and tries to push away how Finn’s warning lingers in the back of her mind.

By Game Time, the Titans take the field with the most energy that Brittany’s seen yet. They’ve gained quite a crowd despite it being an Away game for the them. Now that they’re on this historical winning streak, it that adds to the team’s eagerness to play and the spectators eagerness to watch.

Not to mention that this game happens to be against their biggest rivals: the Carmel High Camels.

The school has dominated across the board in all aspects, so – before Brittany’s arrival – the Titans never stood a chance. That doesn’t stop the rivalry from being any less intense. The teams’ hatred for each other runs deep, but the Titans feel revived this season because now they’ve got Brittany and Brittany’s a gun in the pocket.

Or so that’s what all the guys have been saying. Brittany tries to keep a level-head though.

She has watched the tapes of their past games against Carmel, she can see why they’re the top team to beat. The Camels are a well-oiled machine with a current standing of 5-0 as well. Their defense has been known to get aggressive when it comes to applying pressure on the QB, so Brittany’s going to have to rely heavily on her O-Line for protection.

They’ve done pretty well thus far in doing that, but Brittany knows anything can happen. The other team can just as easily find a weak point and there goes their winning streak.

Brittany shakes out her arms to loosen up and wonders if she’s being realistic here or if she’s still letting Finn and the Hockey guys get in her head. She can’t decide, so she glances up at the stands for a distraction and finds her mom and brother waving at her.

Pete’s holding up a sign he made and it has Brittany smiling at all the colors he decided to use. She gives them a wave too before she’s putting on her helmet and jogging out to join the ref and the other team’s nominated player to perform the coin toss.

When the other team wins and decides to be on the receiving end, Brittany gets a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The Titans are dealt their first serious blow of the season.

It’s the worse game Brittany’s played yet. Not that her performance was specifically bad, she just wasn’t prepared for the Camel’s intense man-to-man coverage which made it extremely difficult for her receivers to get open.

She also can’t believe they lost to a school that has a camel as their mascot, so weird.

The Titans had to rely on their still-developing run game which – to be put simply – sucked majorly. Puckerman was wrapped up every single time and Brittany could see that he was starting to let his emotions get to him. She tried to remind him to use that for the next play, but by then she had lost a lot of the guys’ to their rivalry.

At one point in the third quarter, the teams were a taunt away from an all-out brawl.

The Titans were just a couple yards away from the end zone – the closest they’ve been able to get all game – but Carmel High’s defense was nearly impenetrable. Even Brittany was beginning to get frustrated, but she couldn’t succumb to her emotions too.

At least one person on the team still had to keep a level head.

It was fourth down and her head was telling her to bring out Special Teams and go for a field goal. It would at least get 3 points on the board where they currently had none, but Brittany didn’t want to give up all their hard work that drive just to get a field goal.

It was a tough decision, but she decided they should go for it. Half the team looked at her like she was crazy, the other half just wanted to rip the Camels apart. Even Coach Beiste was in her ear asking if Brittany was sure that’s the route she wanted to take.

Brittany was certain she could get in there. All she needed was for her O-Line to make a small break so that she could dive in. It was a risky call, but she hoped that Carmel High was too focused on her passing game to think she’d ever go for a sneak.

And they were; Brittany was able to push in over the top for the touchdown. Unfortunately though, that would be the only one the Titans would get all game.

The Camels end the Titans winning streak: 23-7.

\\\\\

When the final whistle was blown, Santana watched Brittany pull off her helmet to reveal a disappointed frown. It had been a rough game by the looks of it, but she was no stranger to how intense games against Carmel High could be. Puck’s been ejected from at least two games for swinging on one of the other guys so that should tell you that it’s never pretty.

Brittany must’ve not known that though and Santana hates how the blonde sulks to the sidelines in defeat. She doesn’t get why she’s beating herself up, Brittany was the only one that scored!

“They look so crushed,” Quinn mumbled as they watched the rest of the team walk off the field battered and bruised.

“Yeah,” Santana breathed out.

She kept her eyes on Brittany while Coach Beiste pulled her aside to talk. Slowly, the anguish on Brittany’s face started to morph. It wasn’t so much the disappointment and defeat anymore, but instead determination.

Santana wondered what the coach was saying to her that could bring on such change.

“Hope the guys don’t give her a hard time,” Quinn says when she notices Santana watching Brittany.

Santana crinkles her nose at the thought and scoffs, “They should be used to losing to Carmel by now. It’s not her fault they couldn’t get their shit together. She’s the only one that freaking scored anyway!”

Quinn just smirks at how riled up Santana gets and replies, “I guess we’ll just have to see what it’s like on Monday.”

“Yeah. I guess so,” Santana nods and tears her gaze away from Brittany to glance at Quinn, “You still coming over tomorrow? These posters aren’t going to make themselves.”

“I’ll bring my hot glue gun,” Quinn teases before they join the rest of the squad in packing up.

When it comes to Homecoming Court campaigns, Santana and Quinn are veterans. Quinn’s been doing competitions and pageants like this a lot longer – probably since Quinn was born if she’s being honest – so Santana’s pretty grateful to have learned so much from her over the years. Although they’re best friends, when it comes to Homecoming there’s nothing like a little friendly competition to keep things interesting.

They’re two of the most popular girls in school so the race tends to be pretty close, but Santana wonders if that’ll be the same this time considering how things went down last year. Santana’s reputation and status as one of the HBICs of the school really took a hit and she has had a difficult time moving forward like nothing happened.

It’s hard to forget and she wonders if it’s the same for everyone else too. She’s heard the whispers about her, but Brittany’s arrival has drowned them out. For now. Who knows when they’ll turn a critical eye back on her?

It’s not a concern Santana voices to her best friend though, so it eats away at her and whispers words of doubt while they begin campaign planning.

Santana and Quinn are in the living room at the Lopez residence with all of their poster-making supplies spread out between them. They’re working away busily with some music in the background when Hector makes his way downstairs.

“Hi girls,” He greets as he slips into his jacket. Santana looks up and notices he’s dressed for work.

“Hi Mr. Lopez,” Quinn greets with a polite smile.

“You’re going to work?” Santana asks looking somewhat dejected. She thought he was off.

“I got called in. Nightshift today,” Hector confirms, “Your mom should be getting home soon though and I think she picked up something for dinner. What are you girls up to?”

Hector comes around the couch to put his shoes on, carefully moving so he doesn’t step on anything important.

“Just Homecoming stuff,” Santana answers with a shrug, trying to mask her disappointment. It’s not like they were meant to hang out or anything, but she has been noticing that he keeps his distance when it’s just them. Maybe she’s looking too far into it, but it seems like he can’t be bothered to be around her while Maribel’s away.

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to and that’s what makes Santana feel even worse. She used to be such a daddy’s girl before last year. She hastes how much everything’s changed.

“Santana and I are campaigning for Homecoming Queen,” Quinn adds when she sees Santana getting wrapped up in her thoughts.

“Ah yes, that’s right! You two always compete against each other,” Hector chuckles, “It’s good that you’re still so involved in extracurriculars, Santana.”

At the sound of her name, Santana looks up and for the first time in awhile she sees a proud smile on her dad’s face. It instantly makes her feel lighter.

“It’ll look good on your college applications,” He adds.

“I know,” Santana answers. It’s hard for her not to feel a little relieved by his encouraging words. She craves his approval, why? She has no idea.

Hector gives her a resolute nod and looks to Quinn, “My girl is going to make a great doctor one day.”

Santana’s once again pleasantly surprised by her dad’s words even if she doesn’t agree with them. My girl; she can’t remember the last time he said that. Maybe he really is starting to see that nothing’s changed, that she’s still the same person she was before it all went to shit?

“Of course,” Quinn smiles back. Santana can tell she’s faking it and she’s grateful for that.

“Well, keep up the good work!” He applauds and pushes to stand, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Santana. Good day, Quinn.”

When Hector leaves for work, Quinn throws a wad of construction paper at Santana. The brunette scoffs and looks up.

“I can’t believe you still haven’t told him you’re undecided,” Quinn says.

Santana looks to her in disbelief, “Are you kidding? That was the longest he’s ever spoken to me without my mom being there. It wasn’t until just recently that he could look me in the eye again. No way I’m going to tell the truth now.”

Quinn purses her lips. She knows very little of Santana’s dynamic with her parents, but like her own she knows most of it is all for show. Families like theirs are usually only concerned with one thing and one thing only: their reputation.

“I’m going to drag this out for as long as I can,” Santana tells Quinn before she’s going back to her arts and crafts.

Quinn just sighs, “That can’t possibly end well.”

Santana doesn’t even look up, “I’ll take my chances.”

Awhile later, Santana and Quinn are nearly finished with their posters. They’ve gone with three variations of posters that they can hang around school on Monday and they’re pretty pleased with their work.

Like Hector said, Maribel comes home a short while later with take out and there’s enough for Quinn too so the three of them have dinner together on the couch while watching tv – something they wouldn’t dare do if her dad was around.

They’re talking about their Homecoming campaigns with Maribel when Santana accidentally brings up Brittany.

“You’ve never mentioned a Brittany before,” Maribel states as she turns away from the tv to Santana, looking as interested as ever.

Santana wants to kick herself for the slip up, but she does her best to deflect with a shrug, “She’s new to McKinley.”

She doesn’t know why she makes a point to leave out that Brittany’s also the Titans’ new QB and she feels a little disappointed in herself that she does.

“I’ve heard she might run,” Quinn adds with her eyes on the tv screen still.

Santana had a feeling Brittany might get talked into it, but she didn’t think she’d actually do it. She surprisingly has mixed feelings about it. She needs the win to solidify her reputation, but she doubts she’ll stand a chance against Brittany.

There’s also the small chance that Brittany’s only being nominated as a joke. Santana knows how the people of McKinley act and it’s not usually out of kindness.

Santana shakes her head, “No way. She hates the limelight.”

Quinn quirks a brow as she turns to Santana, “What would you know?”

“We talk sometimes,” Santana shrugs again casually. Quinn and Maribel eye her for more information, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Quinn begins to smirk, “You talk, huh?”

Santana flinches and glances to her mom out of reflex but Maribel’s too swept up in watching tv again to notice.

“We have class together,” Santana explains, “She sits right next to me. We’re bound to talk at some point. Don’t make it weird.”

“I wouldn’t if you didn’t bring her up so often,” Quinn replies. She laughs when Santana rolls her eyes at her, “What? I think it would be nice for you to have another friend besides me.”

“I have other friends,” Santana argues but even she knows that’s a lie.

“You have many acquaintances,” Quinn corrects, “You don’t consider any of them friends.”

Maribel chimes in next now that the show’s on commercial, “I wouldn’t mind you making another friend, mija. You can never have too many.”

Santana fights another eye roll because of course her mom would say that. Santana doesn’t say anything in response – she doesn’t know how to tell her that being friends with another girl isn’t as easy as it use to be, not to mention that girl being Brittany.

She doubts Maribel would understand, so Santana just goes back to watching tv until her mom excuses herself for the night.

It’s not until Quinn’s sure that they’re alone that she brings up the topic again.

“I just think you two would really hit it off,” Quinn reasons.

“So we’re not talking about friendship anymore?” Santana asks sarcastically.

“I mean, it could start off that way?” Quinn shrugs, “Like you said, you already share a class together. Plus I’ve seen you two talk by your lockers. Not to mention the way I witnessed you check her out the other day in the hall.”

Santana whirls on Quinn with wide eyes, “You didn’t witness shit.”

“I disagree.”

“I don’t know how when you were too busy checking out Boy Chang.”

Quinn’s jaw drops, “I-I wasn’t.”

Santana smirks upon seeing the blonde’s cheeks flush, “Sure Q. How is Mike anyway? You two done side-stepping around the obvious yet?”

“Don’t try to deflect,” Quinn says pointedly, “This isn’t about me. We’re talking about you.”

Santana just grumbles at her best friend’s persistence. She’s starting to feel like the walls are closing in on her or something, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Uh yeah there is. Brittany’s perf – “

“Can you stop?” Santana finally insists.

Quinn looks taken aback but she doesn’t say anything. Santana just feels like she’s about to crumble apart. She hates that feeling, it seemed like she was stuck in it for all of last year. So when she feels it creeping in again, it puts her on edge.

“I’m not ready for that,” Santana admits softly. Her gaze averts to her hands wringing themselves out in her lap, “She’s too…I don’t know. I just can’t. I can’t do it yet, okay?”

Quinn softens as she watches Santana shrink in on herself. She scoots closer to her, “Baby steps at least? All joking aside, I really do think she’d be good for you. I mean, how many other people at this school can you relate to? There’s Kurt, but he doesn’t really count. Does he?”

Santana knows she means because he’s a guy and agrees, “No, I guess he doesn’t.”

“And then there’s Berry…” Quinn jokes, “But I doubt you’re going to want to make nice with her after all of these years.”

Santana cringes, “Definitely not. She’d probably make me sing a homoerotic song with her or some bullshit that would have me running back in the closet.”

“Exactly. So I think you should try it with Brittany,” Quinn suggests lightly, “She seems sweet, relatively normal. I can see the appeal, you know? There’s something about her, it’s refreshing. She isn’t like everyone else in this town.”

Santana can’t help but smile.

“You’re right,” Santana says, “She’s better.”

“So you’re gonna try?” Quinn questions.

Santana fakes an eye-roll, “Maybe but don’t meddle, alright? I know how you thrive off of other people’s drama.”

Quinn doesn’t even mind the jab and goes to pull Santana in for a tight hug. Santana pretends she hates it, but after so many years of friendship they both know she doesn’t.

\\\\\

By Monday, Brittany has somewhat prepared herself for the criticism she’s bound to hear about Friday night’s game. Coach Beiste’s encouraging words after the game really helped break up the haze of disappointment, but there was something that stood out to her during their short talk.

“They’re going to give you a lot of grief after this. A loss to Carmel is always a hard pill to swallow, but stand tall. Don’t let these guys walk all over you,” Coach Beiste said, “You’re a great Team Captain, Pierce. You’ve helped improve the team so much already, keep that up. Set the example for these guys, it’s a good one to follow.”

She spent the entire weekend trying to get right with the loss and focus on how she was personally going to improve moving forward. She wanted to set the right kind of example for the guys, she wanted to leave McKinley better than she found it.

Still, no matter what kind of preparations she did, that nervous feeling still lingered.

There was tension everywhere: between the Titans and Carmel High, the Titans and the Hockey guys, the Titans and Brittany. Then she has Coach Beiste in her ear basically saying she needs to girl up if she wants to continue gaining the team’s respect.

It was a lot for Brittany to deal with.

She knew that being Team Captain meant that she had additional responsibilities, but she had very little experience when it came to all of this casual hatred. Sure, at her old school there were other teams that they wanted to beat but it wasn’t ever this intense.

But, Brittany loves a challenge so she’s determined to keep at this until she gets it. Moving forward, she was more determined than ever to win the next time the Titans and the Camels crossed paths.

So when Brittany arrives at school, she holds her head high and braces herself for whatever may come.

Surprisingly, no one approaches Brittany about the loss. In fact, everyone’s mostly swept up in the excitement of the first day of Spirit Week – which Brittany totally forgot about. Dressed in her jeans and blouse, Brittany sticks out like a sore thumb in a sea of students still in their pajamas.

But at least the weird looks are because of her attire and not about the game. She thinks she can handle that and heads over to her locker. There, she finds Santana applying lip gloss in the tiny mirror she has stuck to the inside of her locker door.

“Hey,” Brittany greets as she starts to put in her combo.

Santana glances at her through the corner of her mirror and spins. Her greeting dies when she sees what the blonde is wearing, “Didn’t know you were the type that slept in jeans, Pierce.”

Brittany smirks at the teasing tone, “Didn’t know you kept that uniform on all hours of the day either.”

“I don’t,” Santana answers in a tone Brittany isn’t familiar with. It has her peeking around her locker door to see if she can read what it might mean instead, but Santana’s expression changes to one of annoyance, “Coach doesn’t let the Cheerios participate in Pajama Day.”

Brittany frowns, “Why not? Aren’t you guys meant to be the most enthusiastic about it all?”

“I’m sure there’s some batshit crazy reason that makes zero sense,” Santana shrugs as she closes her locker, “Anyway, I can’t be late today so I’ll see you later.”

“Sure,” Brittany smiles, “I’ll see you later.”

When Santana sends a glance over her shoulder, Brittany thinks that maybe today will be a good one after all.

Brittany makes it to the end of the school day without a single incident.

No random interviews from JBI, the Hockey guys don’t show their faces, and the guys on the football team leave her alone at lunch. It’s oddly normal for a Monday after a loss, but Brittany doesn’t complain.

It’s not until after football practice that things start to change.

“I’ve noticed you don’t have any posters up,” Kurt says. Coach Beiste has just dismissed the team after a post-practice huddle.

“Posters for what?” Brittany wonders as she watches Coach Beiste and her assistant head for their office. She has a feeling that she knows what Kurt’s hinting at, but she plays coy.

“For Homecoming, obviously,” Kurt chuckles, “You’re a shoe in.”

Brittany shakes her head, “Yeah. I don’t really care about that stuff.”

Kurt looks shocked as he trails after Brittany towards the water station, “Well you should, it’s like on of the two biggest events at McKinley. The other being Prom, of course, but that’s months away.”

Brittany sips her water slowly before shaking her head again, “I just don’t have the time.”

“What if I made up something for you?”

Brittany’s surprised by his persistence, “Oh no, you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Kurt offered. He glanced around at the guys grabbing water too and pulled Brittany to move further away from them, “I really admire you.”

Brittany’s flattered, but she stays silent as she crumples the paper cup and tosses in the trash before moving to get her duffle bag from the sideline.

“It’s usually a popularity contests between the Cheerios and jocks, but I think it would be a nice change to have someone like you win,” Kurt continues, “You’re the kind of representation people like us need.”

Brittany glances up, “People like us?”

“You know…” Kurt nods to her keychain.

Suddenly the dots are connecting for Brittany and she lets out a long sigh, “You know Kurt, I’m a lot more than my sexuality.”

“I know that,” Kurt replies and he looks genuine about it, “I know, but there are people in this school that are still afraid to be themselves and you’re obviously not like that. You just live in your truth and it’s truly inspiring. I didn’t think Lima would see the day to be honest, but you came in like a breath of fresh air.”

Again, Brittany feels her cheeks heating up at the compliment. She doesn’t see herself in the same light at all. She’s just Brittany. She goes through day treating people with kindness and tries to do what she thinks is right just like anyone else. She really isn’t that much different.

“I don’t know what it was like at your old school, but we’re just not there yet. People are as ignorant as ever here,” Kurt tells her and Brittany can immediately sense the frustration and hurt. He tries to mask it though, “Just the other day, Karofsky slushied me for wearing an ascot.”

Brittany stiffened, “He did what?”

Kurt eyed Brittany’s confusion and matched it, “Slushied me? It was actually pretty upsetting, that ascot was designer and the red dye completely ruined it.”

Brittany was still hung up on the fact that Kurt had a slushie thrown at him. She stood, her brows furrowing. She started to feel hot all over as Kurt continued to talk.

“Is that not something that happens where you came from?” He asks. Brittany shakes her head, “It happens all the time here. Most of the guys on the team have done it aside from like Sam, Mike and Matt.”

“Are you serious?” Brittany realizes the feeling is anger and it starts to consume her.

Kurt looks uncertain, “Yeah? They usually go after people they consider beneath them but I think it really just depends on their mood that day. If you even look at someone on the team wrong, you’re probably getting slushied. It’s happened to me so many times. Karofsky’s probably the worst one.”

“Fuck that,” Brittany snaps and storms straight over to Dave. He’s mingling with Azimio and some of the other guys on her O-Line when Brittany gives him a shove without thinking, “Hey!”

He barely moves but she’s gained everyone’s attention now and they all rush over.

“Woah!” The guys around him holler. Brittany doesn’t pay them any attention, she just keeps her eyes narrowed.

Karofsky looks her up and down, “What’s got your panties in a knot?”

“Must be a mood swing,” Azimio laughs.

Brittany ignores him, “Actually it’s the fact that my Right Guard thinks it okay to bully people.”

Dave’s brows shoot up, “What now?”

“Britt,” Kurt pleads from behind her, “Don’t. It’s fine.”

“No Kurt, it isn’t fine,” Brittany says firmly before she’s glaring at Dave, “It’s fucking ridiculous.” She looks around at the guys that have gathered around and targets each of them, “What’s wrong with you people? Kurt is your teammate!”

She sees Mike and Sam exchange a confused glance along with Finn. Puck’s smirking and Matt just stares blankly at the others around him. Everyone’s trying to fill in the blanks here.

“I’ve never met so many who are just blatantly ignorant,” Brittany snaps. She’s so fired up now, “It shouldn’t matter what anyone’s labels are, if they’re on this team you’re meant to have their back. That’s just common sense, human decency!”

Azimio scoffs, “Listen, he’s – “

“No, you listen,” Brittany growls as she steps up to him and pokes at his chest. She turns her glare onto everyone else, “You all listen. Kurt made it on this team – same as everyone else here – and you’ll treat him with some respect!”

“Is this about the slushies?” Finn mumbles through his dopey confusion.

Brittany looks at him in disbelief before turning to Mike, “How long has this been a thing?”

Mike goes to answer but Finn cuts him off, “Forever.”

“Slushie facials are like tradition,” Puck adds. He still has on that cocky smirk, “It’s how we uphold our badass reps.” He goes to high five the guy next to him while others on the team nod in agreement.

Brittany frowns at him – at them all, “Well not anymore. There’s nothing badass about being an asshole.”

Puck’s smirk drops; the rest of the team looks surprised by Brittany words too.

“It’s mean, it’s bullying and I’m not going to stand for it as long as I’m QB,” She says firmly.

“But that’s how it has always been,” Finn challenges, “You can’t just go changing tradition just because you don’t like it.”

Brittany wants to laugh. She wants to smack him upside the head and shake some sense into him but she’s not the violent type – not usually. If anything, she’s disappointed that someone so deluded has been in charge of leading a team for so long.

“Watch me,” Brittany threatens. She stands tall and keeps her eyes narrowed on him, “Just because something’s always been done one way doesn’t make it right. I’m not going to lead a team full of close-minded Neanderthals to a Championship victory.”

Puck scoffs, “You really want to talk about victories after the last game?”

Brittany quirks a brow, “Tell me, Puckerman, who was it again that put a touchdown on the board? The only one of the entire game?”

She can hear Sam snickering from beside her at the sight of Puck looking dumbfounded.

“That’s what I thought,” Brittany smirks before she’s eyeing everyone else again, “I’m glad we lost, maybe it’ll knock you all off your high horses.” She can see the eye rolls she gets for that comment but she stands her ground, “There’s nothing worse than an overly-confident team and that’s exactly what was happening here. You all let it get to your heads and it cost us the game.”

“That’s bullshit,” Karofsky waves off, “What would she know?”

“A lot, apparently,” Brittany argues, “I’ve won a Championship title already. Hell, I’ve won two!”

“Shit, really?” Matt’s impressed, but Azimio shoves at him to shut up.

“Yeah, so this is nothing new to me,” Brittany adds, “But for all of you – seniors without a single playoff appearance let alone a victory – you’re going to want to straighten up if you want me to stay.”

“I can’t believe we’re letting a girl lead us,” Azimio complains, “What is the world coming to?”

Sam looks puzzled, “Dude. Coach Beiste is a girl.”

“Shut up, Evans,” Karofsky orders, “You know what he meant.”

“This girl doesn’t have to lead you,” Brittany replies as she steps up to Azimio, “I’m more than happy to hand all of this over to Finn, you can let him be in charge again. I guarantee you that he’s not taking this team to the top, but if you’re fine being losers then that’s cool.”

Half of the team glance to Finn and it looks like they can’t help but to agree with Brittany. He’s had three years to prove himself and he’s gotten nowhere. Brittany broke the losing streak in her very first appearance as a Titan and it wasn’t even a regular season game yet, so what does that say?

“No more slushie facials or whatever you call it. Like I said, I’m not going to lead a team of close-minded bullies to the Championship game. You’re free to go if you don’t like that decision,” Brittany tells them without any room for argument then looks directly at Karofsky and Azimio, “I’m sure Coach wouldn’t mind losing the dead weight. So, who wants to go?”

Azimio rolls his eyes but relents, “Nah. I’m staying, I want to win.”

Karofsky looks furious still, but he relents as well with just a single nod to show Brittany he agrees with Azimio. The rest of the team nod too.

“Great,” Brittany gives the team a proud smile, “Glad we’re all on the same page now. See you tomorrow for practice.”

She walks off the field without another word while the team is still reeling behind her.

Tuesday morning starts off just the same as the morning before except this time she sees that the hallways have been covered in Homecoming Court campaign posters. Or maybe she was too lost in her thoughts yesterday to notice. The only people Brittany recognizes though are: Santana, Quinn and that guy Rick.

Brittany rolls her eyes at the last one; who would ever vote for that dickhead?

When Brittany gets to her locker, she finds that she has beaten Santana this time around. She’s busy trying to organize her books in her bag when she sees crisp white tennis shoes appear next to her.

“Nice shirt,” Santana compliments, “See you finally decided to participate and show some school spirit.”

Brittany blushes but tries to recover by giving back a little sarcasm, “Tie Dye Tuesday? How could I resist? It’s so original.”

Santana rolls her eyes though she smiles brightly. Brittany grins too and takes in the tie dye shirt Santana has on made up of red and black. Her eyes dip lower to find that Santana’s still wearing her Cheerios skirt underneath and it has her shaking her head.

“You really wear that uniform 24/7,” Brittany notes with a chuckle, “Do you ever take it off?”

“Nope,” Santana jokes, “It’s like a second skin to me now.”

“Gross,” Brittany scrunches her nose at the image before changing the subject, “I like your Homecoming Court posters by the way.”

“Thanks,” Santana smiles, “Nominations aren’t officially out yet, but Quinn and I are always on the ballot. Might as well get a head start.”

Brittany nods, “Well you’ve got my vote.”

“So I heard you threatened the entire football team yesterday,” Santana says instead of thanking her again.

Brittany bites her lip but she’s glad the locker door hides her from Santana for the moment, “News really does travel fast around here.”

“Not much usually happens,” Santana replies, “You’re really shaking things up.”

“Yeah, well…” Brittany sighs as she closes her locker, “It wasn’t really a threat. I just don’t like bullies.”

“I should watch out then,” Santana says as she closes her locker too. The way she’s smirking at Brittany has the blonde feeling drawn in.

“Why?” Brittany finds herself asking, “Are you a bully?”

“That’s what they say,” Santana lifts her shoulder casually before she’s batting her long lashes up at Brittany, “You gonna threaten me too?”

Brittany finds herself laughing; she can’t imagine threatening Santana.

“I don’t think I need to,” Brittany tells her behind a small smile, “You’re smart; you know what’s right and what isn’t.”

Santana just tilts her head to the side and stares. Her expression is hard to read, but there’s a hint of a smile there so Brittany knows she hasn’t crossed a line or said something wrong.

“I’ll see you later, Pierce,” Santana says just as the bell rings.

And just like always, Brittany nods and watches Santana disappear down the hall – a sea of students parting just for her.

By the end of the day, Brittany sits next to Santana in their final class listening to the afternoon announcements. It’s almost time for them to announce the nominations for Homecoming Court and Brittany can just feel the anticipation radiating off of Santana.

She looks a little nervous too which confuses Brittany. Earlier Santana said that she and Quinn always get nominated; why would she be worried now?

Still, Brittany doodles away in her notebook while Coach Sylvester starts to read off the names.

“Votes will be counted on the night of the Homecoming Dance by a team of respected officials so don’t even think about trying to vote twice. All illegal ballots will be tossed,” Coach Sylvester explains stiffly, “Here are the nominations for Homecoming Queen: Missy Gunderson, Quinn Fabray and Santana Lopez.”

Brittany glances to her side to see the proud smile Santana tries to keep hidden.

“Congrats,” Brittany whispers to her.

“Thanks,” Santana whispers back before turning to face the board again, “Hopefully guys from the Titans get nominated too. No way I’m going with a Puck Head.”

Brittany nods; if anyone on the team is worthy enough to be nominated she’d pick Mike or Sam or Kurt but that might be a little bias since they’re her friends.

“No surprises there,” Coach Sylvester grumbles, “And finally the nominations for Homecoming King are as follows: Rick Nelson, Scott Cooper and Brittany S. Pierce…wait, how does that work?”

Brittany’s eyes go wide upon hearing her name – after the loss the Titans sustained on Friday, after her hard stance on slushie facials, after her lack of self-promotion…she still gets nominated? It doesn’t make any sense.

She doesn’t even hear the rest of the announcements – she’s that surprised.

“This has got to be a mistake,” Brittany murmurs out of disbelief.

“Perks of being the quarterback,” Santana says, “You were bound to get roped into something.”

#Lost in the Lights #Brittana #Brittana fanfiction #QB!Britt #LITL

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hargrove-mayfields · 4 years ago

Text

You’ve Set my Soul to Dreaming Pt. 2

Billy can’t believe he’s doing this.

Can’t believe that he’s pulled up outside of 8253 Loch Nora, a gift box in his passenger seat, unwrapped because that would look like he cared too much, a lit cigarette fogging up his windows, and a sense of dread settled heavy in his heart.

Just because Harrington bought him the fanciest thing he’d ever had the pleasure to own didn’t mean he had to return the favor, right?

Wrong. Because it wasn’t just your typical, ‘I’m loaded, and you’re dirt poor, so let me get you this novelty that costs more than you have in the bank because I'm better than you’ from Steve, but something more like a peace offering.

A peace offering from the loser of the fight, which made Billy look like even bigger an asshole than he already was.

Like, it was bad enough that he’d even beat Steve up in the first place, but then to just ignore his attempt at reconciliation and keep up the machismo shtick? Even he was better than that.

So he’d fretted for a week about what a rich boy would want, and shoveled sidewalks for old people and flirtatious mothers to be able to afford it. Not that the Hargroves didn’t have enough money for a dinky little gift, Billy just wasn’t allowed to spend his father’s wages on anything less than necessity.

Christmas presents for some boy definitely didn’t fall under that category.

In the end he decides on giving him a flask, decorated with similar filigree to that on the zippo, only it’s much more cheaply made. He hopes the sentiment is still there, because he knows Steve can put alcohol away faster than you can say chemically dependent teenaged washup. After all, just a few nights ago at Jenny’s Christmas Party, he saw him drink a whole bottle of vodka in under a minute.

Besides, regardless of whether or not it’s something he needs or cares about or is just going to throw away, it’s just to get even, this isn’t some life changing gift exchange. No sweat.

Maybe Billy has that all worked out in his head, but then he’s got another problem. He can’t decide on how the present is going to get to Steve.

If he should just leave it on the porch and bolt, if he was going to ring the doorbell and hand it right to him, or if he would just drive right on down back to Cherry Lane and keep the stupid hip flask for himself, and pretend the whole thing never happened so he could move on with his life.

He loses the chance to choose when the double doors to the house are pulled open, and the silhouette of the one and only Steve Harrington appears.

It would be more than weird to drive away now when he was obviously already parked outside, and even weirder to just sit in his car until Steve goes back inside, so he sucks it up, grabs the box off his passenger seat, and steps out of the Camaro.

Rounding the front of his car and taking a few steps toward the porch, Billy decides to toss Steve the box without so much as a muttered ‘heads up.’ They’ve been playing basketball together for two months now, and he knows from experience that Steve’s surprisingly good at dodging fists, so he’s pretty sure he’ll catch it.

And he does, if not a little clumsily, with a stupid, shocked look on his face. Billy might even say he almost looks as dumb as the sweater he was wearing, which had a Christmas tree crocheted into the center and was at least fifty percent tinsel.

If his head was screwed on straight, maybe Billy would’ve even said ‘Merry Christmas Steve, thanks for the beautiful fucking zippo I use it every day, sorry ‘bout the face’ but it wasn’t, so instead, what he said was actually more along the lines of,

“Save your donations for the red kettle Harrington.”

And then he thinks he’s out of the woods, thinks the lack of an answer is the symbol he needs to put this drama behind him and pick a new pretty boy to pick on, but just as he pops the Camaro’s door, Steve finally lets his response tumble out of his mouth.

“Why don’t you come in, Hargrove?” Steve turns the box over and over in his hands, nervous as he tries to get out what he’s going to say. “Nobody’s home, and I made a bunch of cookies. Got some spiked eggnog too.”

And, it wasn’t like Billy’d rather be back at his own house right now, that was actually the last place on earth he wanted to be, so he wasn’t beyond entertaining the notion.

He isn’t easy though, he’s not the type to just, waltz on in to some McMansion looming over him just because he’d been asked so politely. Especially not when the circumstances of this specific circumstance were the way they were.

“Whatd’ya put in it, the eggnog?” It’s a stupid question, just a way to stall until he can come up with an excuse to go in the mansion by his accord, but the answer, well, it’s not much better.

“Chicken Cock.” Steve says it with such an air of nonchalance that Billy isn’t sure he’s heard that right, but then again, the people down in the Midwest referred everything with weird nicknames that he’d never even heard of. What was puppy chow anyways?

He can tell there’s a bewildered look on his face, though it gets overtaken by a slightly humored smile as he asks. “‘Scuse me?”

Blame it on the bitter cold if you please, but a flush appears on Steve’s cheeks at the realization of what his words might sound like to somebody who had no idea what he’s talking about. “I-It’s a spirit, it’s really strong and- why don’t you just come try it, yeah?”

Its cute, but Billy needs one last attempt at casting out the line before he gives in and accepts Steve’s offer. “Real smooth, Harrington, but I gotta get back to the festivities at home.”

“Sure, ‘cause you're totally the type for that.” Steve rolls his eyes in a sort of false annoyance before he starts on his mockery. “Bet you sing carols, and bake cookies with your little sister and tell stories of your favorite Christmas memories around the Yule log and-“

“Alright, Harrington. Since you asked so nicely.” He couldn’t keep saying no with Steve practically begging him to come inside, so, stepping up onto the stoop, Billy scrapes his boots against the porch rug to knock off the snow so he can go inside. “But I’m outta here by midnight, alright?”

With a smile, Steve steps aside to let Billy through the door. “Deal.”

Ornate woodworking and fancy wallpaper goes unnoticed, because the first thing Billy notices about the Harrington mansion is that it is an absolute disaster. although he would expect a cleaning lady to have come through and kept the place all nice and pristine like you see in the magazines, there was shit everywhere.

Piles of bubble wrap and newspaper stuffed into plastic containers, wires and strings and tape all over, a power strips and thumbtacks, and suddenly Billy realizes something.

“This your attempt at Yuletide cheer, Harrington?”

For a moment he looks at Billy confused, but follows his line of sight to the heaping boxes of decorations scattered throughout his living space. “Oh, no, I just didn’t finish yet.”

Billy can’t help it when he blurts out, “It’s Christmas Eve.”

Steve nods dumbly, something that should at this point be his registered trademark. “Uh-huh.”

“And all your decorations are in a pile in your living room?” Even Billy knew better than to wait until the last minute to get things done, and Harrington always seemed so on top of everything, regardless of if he was doing it right, so it was kind of jarring to see him in such a disheveled mess the night of Christmas Eve.

Steve says, in a tone so casually condescending, “Seems that way, yeah.”

“Didn’t leave enough time between your panty raids to get it done?” Snark is met with snark, but, because of the circumstances, there’s not the typical edge to it that would be expected from the two of them.

“I manage my escapades perfectly fine, thank you.” Steve toes at a box heaping with ornaments and labeled with the words ‘to throw out’ written in cursive on the side. “My parents just think decorating is too undistinguished, so I’m only allowed to have them up for a few days.”

“Right.” Billy agrees like he understands, but he really doesn’t. How can sprucing up your house with a bunch of fancy and expensive trinkets and decorations be any worse than leaving it empty and barren? Rich people. “And how, exactly, would they know if you put them up early?”

Tossing a strand of garland that had previously been draped over the back of the chaise, because of course they have a chaise in their first living room, Steve says, “Shut up and help me put them up then.”

So he does. He untangles giant knots of tinsel, of lights and of icicles, and unwraps all of the Harringtons’ precious glass ornaments for Steve to put on the artificial trees (he’s allergic to pine) in the entrance hall and the dining room.

He puts up the glass stocking holder and hangs the silky, designer stockings, which, judging from the faded fabric and the peeling letters written in red glitter glue to spell out STEVEn, are from a time when Ruthie and Stephen Sr. still darkened these doors. Alongside them on the mantelpiece, he hangs a handful of Christmas cards from Steve’s random relatives up on a thin piece of ribbon.

The banister of the grand staircase is wrapped in miles of scratchy garland, enough that they can hardly see the wooden finish underneath, and matching wreaths are hung in the windows and on the doors.

Just to prove how rich they were, the Harringtons also have a rather extensive collection of those ceramic trees, not the type you make yourself, but the expensive ones you can order from Avon and other designers Billy can’t even pronounce the name of, and they’ve put one on just about every surface that is close enough to an outlet for a plug to reach.

There are so many extension cords run through every room, Billy’s worried that Steve might end up burning up in a house fire, but it’s worth it to see the twinkling lights reflecting on blank white walls, the soothing colors brightening up a space he could imagine was typically devoid of life.

And in the end, having wrestled with dusty old decorations to transform Steve’s house into something so, so pleasant? spirited? entirely unfamiliar to someone like him? he thinks he’s earned the hard whiskey he was promised at the door.

Hours go by, and the two of them are sitting in the center of the giant French Country rug, a cotton and silk substitute for the Persian Steve turned out to be allergic to, backs against the coffee table and more than a little tipsy.

Leaning back on his elbows, Billy lets his head fall back, his sprayed curls fanning out over the mahogany surface, where they have a bayberry candle burning out of the top of an empty bottle of Stephen Sr's liquor of choice.

Blinking slowly up at the ceiling, the blur of the colorful lights making him dizzy, he asks, “So, how does this work, without your parents here, d’ya just, buy your own presents and put ‘em under the tree yourself?”

“Nah. They mail them to Miss Hetty the help, and she brings ‘em to me in the mornin’. 7 a.m. sharp.” He pops the p on the “sharp” like he’s proud to admit he has a nanny at almost 19 years old.

“The help. Think that’s somehow more depressing.” Billy ignores the way Steve’s eyebrows furrow together and his quiet, mumbled out, “Rude.”

“Don’t think I have much room to talk though.” He sits up again so he can look at Steve. “Your zippo’s the only thing I’m gettin’ this year, ‘cept for maybe a-a good backhand or two after Susan gets her family photos.”

A smile cracks across the other boy's face as he lowers his voice, sounding all too excited to say, “Guess that makes us a couple-a misfits then, huh?”

And Billy can’t help the laugh he lets out at that god awful reference, true as it may be, and it's with a smile on his face that he says, “God, you are such a cheeseball, man.”

“Hey! I saw an opportunity, and I had to take it.” There’s a smile equal to his own on Steve’s face, as he laughs at what he said with Billy, and the moment passes.

In the silence that follows, they sit just like that, appreciating their moment of camaraderie that they know is going to come to an end soon, as the grandfather clock chimes for another hour gone by, the bayberry burns down another few centimeters, and the headachy feeling of too much alcohol starts to set in.

It was nice to not be surrounded by faux affection and suffocated by the fear of stepping out of line, but like all good things, Christmas Eve must come to an end at some point, and so it was that, around quarter to twelve, Billy makes his first attempt to stand on drunken feet.

Based on the fact that he doesn’t immediately fall on his ass, he’ll probably be alright to drive, not that he really has much of a choice, so he grabs his keys off the coffee table and announces his departure.

“It’s been real Harrington, but duty calls.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks man.” Steve waves Billy off and leans forward, letting his forehead come to rest against the surface of the laminated hardwood, obviously more affected by the whiskey than the other boy.

But Billy finds himself cemented to the spot, fingers fiddling with the buttons on his denim jacket as he tries to get together what he wants to say, because he still hasn’t properly apologized.

Not that it’s something he’d normally do, but some things can’t be fixed with Christmas Decorations and cinnamon spirits. “Look, I’m sorry, about the, the fight and everything Harrington, I just-“

“S’okay.” Steve tries to look at him, but he's barely able to sit up anymore. He’s got an arm slung over the top of the coffee table to keep himself upright, and his words slur to be almost unintelligible as he tells Billy, “Already forgave ya.”

“But, I don’t- you shouldn’t-“ Taking a deep breath through his nose to collect himself, Billy continues, “How did you know I deserved that?”

“Chalk it up to the Christmas spirit.” Accenting his words with the slightest shrug of his shoulders, Steve smiles a knowing little grin and says, “Go on home, Billy.”

“Right, I’ll, see ya round then.” He starts to walk away, taking steps made shaky from the alcohol in his system, but from behind him he hears Steve say softly, “Wait.”

Turning around, he raises his eyebrows to show Steve he’s at his attention, and Steve, eyes glossy and cheeks as red as the big man’s suit, looks him right in the eye (and the heart) to tell him. “Merry Christmas, Billy.”

“Yeah, you too, Harrington.” The softness in his tone feels like a betrayal to himself, and he thanks the lord above that Steve is too drunk to hold it against him.

One last look over his shoulder, and he sees Steve face down on the coffee table again. Chuckling to nobody but himself, he thinks that maybe the flask wasn’t such a bright idea after all.

Shutting those heavy double doors behind himself and getting back in the Camaro, while his hands shake and his heart races, is a strange feeling to say the least.

Just up and walking away from the most genuine expression of compassion he’d ever experienced, knowing that, with what’s waiting for him back at home, he’s not going to ever let something like this happen again, makes him feel like he should just go running back in there, forget about curfews and abusive fathers so he can pursue this, this whatever with Harrington, but he knows that isn’t really an option.

Knows he’ll get too attached if he doesn't leave now, that nipping that growing feeling of acceptance, of forgiveness, of warmth in his heart three sizes too small, right in the bud before it turns into something more wicked and ruins a perfectly good Christmas Eve, is the best possible thing for the both of them.

This was just an apology, righting the obvious wrongs that had taken place in November, and nothing more.

Because having Steve Harrington three sheets to the wind and showing him the slightest bit of compassion wouldn’t be enough to break him down, no sir. This was Billy Hargrove after all, he didn’t let trivial things like throwing away potential friendships bring tears to his eyes, not in a million years.

Or that’s at least what he’d like to think, but in all reality he does, shows up back at his own, completely average house back on Cherry with red rimmed eyes and it doesn’t go unnoticed when he walks through the front door.

So Billy spends the night just as he expected he would; a bruise forming on his cheek, wide awake in his bed, while visions of Steve Harrington danced in his head.

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#haringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #story by EJ!#ej writer #this one is a lot longer than part one #in case y'all didn't notice I refuse to post things unless they are complete #and sorry if my midwesterness is extremely prevalent in my writing #i feel like this reads like a hick wrote it for sure #oh well I guess #hope y'all like it anyways!#totally posted these out of order but im too lazy to fix it and i know nobodys probably gonna see these anyhow so im leaving it

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zertzertzhang · 4 years ago

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Stand and Deliver: My Life Turned Upside Down CH.3

A/N: This is my first time writing on Tumblr, so please bear with me! I am usually active on FFNet and AO3, but since this fandom is basically nonexistent except for here, I thought maybe I could post my works for this movie here. The story is a fanfic based on the 1988 movie ‘Stand and Deliver’ starring Edward James Olmos, taking a deeper look into the lives of the impoverished students in East LA.

Eventual Angel/OC, and warnings of racial slurs with some physical violence.

Chapter Three: Living Skills

By the time she rolled into the second week of Garfield High, Vianne was sure she saw the school at its worst. Had she been honest with herself, she would’ve thought she was beginning to get used to the rioting students. It was a surprise that she became somewhat good at blocking the excess noise from them.

Hateful stares and whispered insults about her ethnicity waned as the week dragged on. The initial weariness she felt from the people around her dropped as she kept to herself. Call it paranoia or what, she could sense the heavy atmosphere boring onto her back as she passed the lockers. It was hard imagining a whole year of silence.

Vianne never saw herself as a quiet wallflower, but the situation at hand forced her mouth shut for far too long. The need to talk to someone had been building up since the day she arrived. If this was going to stretch out any longer, she could see herself talking to random objects within her peripheral vision. As if the students needed another excuse to deepen the ostracization. In her own way, Vianne was in solitary confinement.

Wait why do I need them?!

She shook her head, angry at her own slip up. There was no need for her to make any contact with people like that. Loneliness must've been a powerful force for her, for she now wanted communication from the very people set out to destroy her life. And it tore her dignity to shreds.

Biting the fleshy pulp of her lips, Vianne exhaled. There were still two more periods before she could jump into her car and drive home. Living Skills was next on her schedule, so she had to trudge across campus to her destination. The signs pointing to her class became clear as she neared the hallway.

With five minutes before the second bell, Vianne discovered the almost empty room. It was custom for things like that to happen. Usually, people were either late or scrambling in at the last second. To her, that was a blessing. Any area could be taken for her choosing.

She spotted Ana by the side near the windows. The bespectacled young woman turned her head to look at her when she arrived at the scene. A shy smile crossed Ana’s face, and she waved. Vianne quirked her lips in an awkward attempt to smile back.

Ana was friendly, not just to her. A pang of guilt vibrated along Vianne’s chest. She felt a bit extreme in condemning everyone in the school; at least Ana made an effort to make her feel welcomed. It was because of that Vianne didn’t pull out her hair during Math 1A, so she owed it to her.

“Hey.” A soft greeting slipped from Vianne as she approached the desk.

Ana shuffled some books to the side, creating space for her. “Hi! How was your lunch?”

Vianne sighed. “I’ve had better. The heat melted my sandwich.” She left out the part where she sat by herself for two whole weeks, not wanting to sound like some loser.

Her metaphor made Ana giggle lightly. It reminded her of the bells twinkling on the front door back in Napa; Vianne thought it to be rather calming. A breath of fresh air away from the screaming students was a surprising luxury around here.

“I know a place where there's an air conditioner,” Ana said. “You can come eat with me if you’d like.”

The invitation caught Vianne off guard, prompting her to nearly drop her pencil. Ana still held her hopeful smile, like a lost puppy. That and the desperation to find cold air sold the deal.

Vianne grinned. “That'd be great. I’ll catch you after math tomorrow.” A satisfied hum left her as she leaned against the chair. It was nice to have a lunch buddy.

It didn’t take long for the starting bell to ring. Mrs. Flores entered the class with a large trunk, followed by a hoard of people behind her. Everyone fought for a seat, breaking the calm atmosphere in seconds. Both Vianne and Ana resisted the urge to roll their eyes.

Mrs. Flores was a cheery plump woman in her sixties. Her floral dress was matched with a mint green camisole, making Vianne think of daisies and dandelions in a summer field. A pair of reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, giving her a jolly appearance of a librarian. Viane would reckon she’d keep a hidden stash of toffee under a desk somewhere for the children.

“Settle down, settle down!” The teacher’s chirpy voice broke through the crowd. “I have an announcement to make!”

An exasperated glance was thrown at them as Mrs. Flores shuffled to the front podium. Her arms came up, hands clasping together in enthusiastic excitement.

“I’m happy to introduce you all to our project of the semester,” she began. “There will be two parts, with each section worth fifty points. This will be a partnered assignment, so I expect you all to be friendly with one another.”

Mrs. Flores gave them another knowing look, as if to warn them against their funny business. A few students avoided her gaze, fidgeting sheepishly on the chairs. To the side, Vianne looked at Ana, motioning back and forth between them. Ana caught the drift and nodded; it would be best if they could choose who they wanted to work with.

It was still too early into the school year for Vianne to be comfortable with anyone on the premises, but Ana had been the only one to show acceptance. She’d take that over anything.

“Each pair will receive a doll.”

The next instruction baffled the class. Vianne stared on with wide eyes as Mrs. Flores took out a raggedy dummy from the trunk. It was a dress-up doll, with the color of its skin ashened by years of dust coupled with torn bits of its dress.

Mrs. Flores sighed with strange contentment as she continued. “This year, the health department wants us to learn how to be responsible adults. As we are nearing senior year, the closer you are all to adulthood. And one of the graduation requirements is to pass Living Skills.”

Vianne didn’t need to hear the rest of it. Playing make-believe house was one of the projects required in Sex Ed class back in Napa, only it was to be taken during senior year. It would appear that it was happening sooner for her. Praying to whatever deity that came to mind, she hoped that she was allowed to choose partners. There was no way she was going to be stuck with a haughty, nose-picking man-child.

“The fuck ma’am?!” Another shout rang from behind. “Who needs this?!”

A wave of murmurs agreed to his outcry, with some joining in. Mrs. Flores huffed, using her index finger to push up her glasses before glaring at the mass.

“If you want me to teach sex, then the right thing for me to do is to teach you the aftermath of it, too.” A light smile danced around her lips, a brow raised along with it. The boys’ cheeks flushed bright red at the comment, while the girls took a sudden interest in their books.

Vianne felt the same sentiment, her ears tingling with warm embarrassment. Mrs. Flores was a lot of things, and bluntness was one of them.

“Can we pick partners?” one of the girls asked.

Mrs. Flores shook her head. “I’ve already made my decision last night about the pairs.”

Vianne’s stomach twisted at the revelation; she was already having a shitty time adjusting to the new school, and now she had to deal with a hotheaded student who probably hated her guts. Dred pooled down her back, soaking her in fearful anticipation.

Before them, Mrs. Flores took out a sheet of paper. Her mouth moved to speak, but was interrupted when an ear-splitting crash came from the door. It sounded like a dense mass falling onto the lockers. All eyes turned to the source of the sound, Vianne included. Another bang followed the crash, before all was silent. She sucked in a breath.

With a crack, the door flew open, revealing none other than the very boy who made fun of her days before in Math 1A. It would appear that barging into class midway was his style of rolling.His eyes drooped in lazy discontent, and there was dust all over his bomber jacket. Upon closer inspection, Vianne could make out the beginnings of a bruise forming on the corners of his left eye.

Great. She shared another class with him, too. Oh goodie. Vianne was starting to believe that she was cursed before she stepped foot in LA. Or maybe she fucked up really bad in her past life. Because no one could have this much bad luck in one month. Mrs. Flores, on the other hand, seemed way too surprised at his grandiose entrance.

“Well, well, Mr. Angel Guzman,” she tutted. “It’s a pleasure to finally see you grace my class with your presence.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice as she stared him down, not bothering with formalities.

Angel rolled his eyes with a click of his tongue. Sauntering to the nearest desk, he slumped into the seat, angling his legs wide open. Without context, one might believe him to be a gangster boss overlooking his new crew. The relaxed stance in his posture gave away nothing about his mood, but the dark look in his eyes spoke for him.

If Mrs. Flores was miffed by his disposition, she didn’t show it. “Since you’ve expressed so much excitement for this assignment, I’ll give you the honor of knowing your partner first.”

Scanning the paper, her eyes landed on the very bottom of the list, and she spoke again. “You’ll be with Miss Yang over here for the project. Now, Adeline, you’re with Thomas. Ana, you’re with Daniel, Clarise-”

Vianne didn’t take in anything else other than the first sentence. Her ears rang, and she could see her soul departing her body for the heavens. This was the final nail on the coffin, pushing her over the edge of sanity. Her worst prediction had come true; she had the most deadbeat partner she could ever find in this school.

Her instincts had her look over in his direction. Angel’s gaze caught hers as she did so, however his face still held their impassive stare. Breaking contact, he moved to pull down his beanie again, shielding his eyes; he was preparing for a nap. Vianne groaned into her hands, earning a pity glance from Ana. It was the I’m-sorry-but-you’re-kinda-screwed look.

Mrs. Flores was still speaking, thus rattling Vianne back to reality. “-come up and grab your supplies! Please make a line and wait your turn.”

Half of the class rose and made a beeline for the trunk. Ana had already gathered hers and was now sitting by Daniel, leaving her alone. Angel was leaning against the chair like he was by the beach with his hands behind his head, and that told her more than she needed to hear. Vianne pursed her lips, hoisting her body from the desk.

The teacher smiled too brightly when she came up to collect her doll. “Congratulations! It’s a girl for you!”

Handing Vianne a bottle of cleaning solution and a hair brush, Mrs. Flores patted her with a good-natured smile. It made Vianne’s soul twist in its grave. She turned around with robotic stiffness, and headed back to Angel’s seat. The young man took no notice of her arrival, continuing to stew in his state of trance. A toothpick hung out from his mouth, giving more into the lazy fashion.

Shit. I’m going to carry us both. The grim thought crossed her mind, and she winced.

“Uh, we need to fill out the form.” Vianne pointed to the paper left by the teacher, snapping her fingers to get his attention. It was a fake birth certificate for the doll; Mrs. Flores was going above and beyond for the final project. Had it been under pleasant circumstances, Vianne would’ve given her kudos for her creativity.

Angel canted his view upwards, staring at her with mild curiosity. It was only then she noticed the deep set of eyes, with equally thick brows to match. His hands refused to leave his head, but his lips parted ever so slightly. Nothing came out of them.

Right. The guy never brings pencils. Realization hit her and she slumped onto the chair next to his. This is gonna be so fun.

As she tapped her pencil onto the paper, Vianne ignored the bouncing of his legs to the side. It was taking her attention away from thinking of a name for the doll. After another few minutes of awkward silence passed, she noticed they were the only pair that had almost zero progress on the first section.

Open your mouth and get him to talk, damn it!

Scowling, Vianne turned to the young delinquent, who was actually on the urge of falling asleep this time. Vexation burned her mind, and she shoved the paper to his side.

“Come up with a name,” she said. The sudden movement jerked him from his slumber, causing him to blink several times before his eyes settled back to hers with a glare. Vianne was not about to back down from a glance alone, so she crossed her arms, huffing at the dramatic display of resistance.

“I know you understand me.” The memory from last week was still fresh in her brain cache. “So come up with a name.”

At that, Angel smirked. “You’re the smart one. What ya need me for?”

Oh the little shithead.

Vianne returned the remark with a scowl of her own. “Believe me, I’d love to work by myself given the situation. But I’m not gonna carry you across the semester.” If the brat thought he was going to get an easy A because of her, then he had another thing coming.

Her hissy fit seemed to have gotten to him; his eyes narrowed while he bit down on the toothpick. “Puta, you’re so fucking annoying.”

“What did you just call me?!”

“Figure it out, smart one.” A lopsided grin appeared on his face, though it was miles away from friendly. His eyes flashed, almost like a warning. But like that would deter her.

She was about ready to slap the paper into his face when she remembered the way Escalante would handle him when he got up all over his ass. A slight smirk painted her lips as she thought of an idea; if he was going to be an ass, then she was going to be an ass back.

“Are you simply trying to hide your illiteracy?” Vianne asked, her voice filled with over-saturated innocence.

Angel nearly swallowed his toothpick. “What?” The stare he sent her screamed a thousand red flags, but she held a hand against her legs to keep them from shivering.

“Oh, y’know…” she began. “I thought coming up with names wouldn’t be too difficult. Seems like it is for you, though.”

The muscles of his jaws clenched, darkening his guise. Angel’s nostrils flared as he looked at the piece of paper before him. Vianne could practically see the gears turn in his head. They were in a classroom, so there was nothing extreme he could do even if he was pissed. The thought of trapping him between a rock and a hard place made her feel a little better after the previous taunts.

Just when she moved to retrieve the materials back, his hands slammed on the paper. She flinched at the action, but kept her eyes glued to the desk, not raising to meet his.

“Camilla.” His raspy hum sounded quietly in the background. Had Vianne been further away, she wouldn’t have caught it.

“What?” She peered up at him, opening her mouth to ask more, but he was already looking away.

“The name,” Angel said. “It’s Camilla.” He made it sound like he was talking to a five-year-old.

Vianne breathed a sigh of relief and took the pencil. She began to fill in the required information about their ‘daughter’. He still refused to write out his part, so she relented for now.

“Camilla Guzman it is then,” she spoke to herself.

Now it was Angel’s turn to be perplexed. “Camilla Guzman?” He stopped chewing the wooden stick in his mouth for a moment.

His partner scoffed from her seat. “Well, you’re the dad, Angel. Unless you want me to have full custody.” Vianne rolled her eyes at the thought of having a daughter at her age. Ms. Lin would have a heart attack and be driven to an early grave.

When she didn’t hear anything else from him, she feared her jokes flew over his head. Vianne raised her head just in time to catch a light smirk tugging at his face. Sensing no real threat, she went back to writing.

A clap from Mrs. Flores turned both their attentions to the front podium. The teacher had gathered everyone’s eyeballs towards herself, and she cleared her throat.

“Since class is coming to an end, I’d like to make sure everyone understands their part of the assignment.” She paused for a second, before taking out another batch of files. “One ‘parent’ takes care of the doll for a week, alternating with their partners over the course of the semester. By the end of each month, I’d like a report summarizing the difficulties of parenthood. The rubric is simple; if the doll ends up in tatters, or if it becomes lost, then you will be automatically given an ‘F��. Keeping your ‘children’ in pristine condition and well-clothed is the primary goal. That’s all for today. Now figure out who’s taking custody first.”

Vianne looked to Angel, and then back to their ‘daughter’. This was a tough cookie, and she wasn’t sure she trusted him with not losing the doll within the first few days.

“Rock papers,” Angel offered.

She wanted to guffaw at the suggestion, but logic told her it was a fair method. “Sure. Loser takes the kid.”

It turned out to be a horrible move on her part. No matter what kind of tricks she threw at him during the sparring, he either met her with the same level, or defeated her. If she used rock, he met her with paper. When she went for paper, he countered with scissors. At last, on the third try, she pulled a rock again, only to be faced with another rock from him.

Two loses and a tie; it was a no brainer who the kid went with for the first week. Angel sizzled with smug pride as he counted the points against her, his wicked grin broadening.

“Guess you’re not so smart after all.”

Oh fuck you. Vianne knew nothing good ever came out of that smirk. There was no guarantee he was going to show up after her week was up. For all she knew, Angel could easily ditch her for the rest of the year with the doll on her own. It wasn’t like he cared about his perfect track record. Her heart sank at the thought.

“You are coming back next week, right?” Skepticism laced her words as she eyed him.

Angel clicked his tongue, raising a brow. “Who knows?” It was the closest to an answer she would get from him. And it was not reassuring at all.

Vianne glared, hoping that by her looks alone, he would get the message. But her efforts were in vain. Angel soon reverted back to napping for the rest of the class, not wasting a second longer on her.

A/N: As per usual, shoutout to @classic80sand90smovieloves2 for encouraging and helping me get over writers block and whatnot ;)

And thank you to all my followers who happened upon this piece in the sea of posts here on tumblr :p I love y’all and hope I didn’t disappoint!

#stand and deliver #angel guzman #angel guzman imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #lou diamond phillips #edward james olmos #jaime escalante #stand and deliver headcanon #80s movie imagines #80s movies

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corpse--diem · 4 years ago

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All Caught Up | Alain & Erin

TIMING: A week or two after the fire at the funeral home. PARTIES: @carbrakes-and-stakes & @corpse–diem SUMMARY: Erin and Alain catch up over dinner and have a questionably successful chat about break-ups and bad guys. CONTENT WARNINGS: n/a

It had been a while since Alain had seen Erin. The blame was shared as life could get busy whether you buried the dead, or whether you took care of those who did not want to remain dead. Still, they had decided to take some time to catch up, and the man was delighted when Erin required that he make steak for the occasion. Rib steak was ordered from the butcher, and quite some time spent peeling potatoes and cutting them into fries. He had set the table in the garden, figuring that they might as well enjoy the outdoors while the weather still allowed it. If he had not bothered with proper wine glasses, or making something fancier to go with the steak, it was because he knew that she would probably mock his fancy ass for it. The thought brought a smile to his face, and heading back inside, he finished tidying up the living room as he waited for her to arrive. He did not have to wait too long. When someone knocked at the door, he headed there to open it.

There was something so odd about having a casual visit with a friend right about now. Even just a few months ago, this was normal behavior. Just another relaxing night. Then why did Erin feel anything but relaxed? No--she knew why. That was a stupid question. With the self-inflicted chaos she’d invited into her life, fitting back into normal pockets of life would take some readjustments. But she pulled on the best smile, and a genuine one, when the door opened. “Hey stranger,” she greeted, feeling some of the edge in her bones smoothing out at the familiar, comforting face. Alain was far from “normal” but it hit her how much of a warming presence he always was. Like family. She didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around him tightly, somehow balancing the covered dish in her hand. “Oh, I missed you.” She laughed, realizing she was being uncharacteristically sentimental and yanked herself out of that mindset quickly. “I didn’t have time to bake, but I bought the best Lemon Tart White Crest has to offer. If you judge me or my dessert, you’re not getting any.”

Stranger? “Well fuck you too,” he scoffed, wrapping his arms around her to hug her back. He had noticed that she was holding something in her hand, and was careful not to bump into that. Alain then looked at her and shook his head. “So sentimental,” still it was nice. With the things that had been going on lately, he could use meeting up with someone he knew would and could be supportive and cheerful too, no matter what. “I missed you too, it’s been like… months?” Even though they often texted each other else to get news, share pictures of their pets, and unflattering selfies, it was never quite as great as meeting in person. “You can go put that tart in the fridge,” he told her, moving aside to let her in. “I hope they didn’t put a mountain of meringue on top,” he said with a smile before he paused, motioning toward the backyard with his fingers. “I have to check on the grill, make sure your food doesn’t end up as dry as a shoe sole,” he cleared his throat. They had some catching up to do, for certain, and he wondered who would be the first to spill the bag of thoughts.

Months? Erin blinked at the surprise of that revelation. He was right though, and they both knew it involved the same old song and dance about being adults with responsibilities. Still didn’t make her feel less guilty. “God, we suck,” she laughed softly, following him in and putting the dessert away. There was, in fact, a palpable amount of meringue, but she didn’t see the problem. “Don’t worry. I’ll just eat your share,” she smirked, then followed him out to the backyard. Maybe a home cooked meal fresh off the grill was the slice of life she needed more than she realized. “So what have you been up to?” She asked, crossing her arms, watching him work his magic. Alain was, if anything, an excellent cook, and she had no qualms complimenting him about that either. Her mouth was already watering. “And Evelyn?” She glanced up at him, raising a playful eyebrow. “She’s doing good too, I hope?”

“That’s fine, at least we both suck. I’m glad that we’re still huge losers like that,” Alain commented, kicking his flip-flops off on the patio to walk barefoot in the grass. His dogs were staying at a safe distance from the grill, but close enough to attempt to get a bite whenever they could get a chance. He gave them a glance as he picked up the fork to flip around the piece of meat. There was an air of melancholia on his face as she joked about eating his share. Evelyn never could finish her desserts, mainly because she didn’t really need human food to survive. And so, he always was the one who finished her plate. “Mmmh?” He looked over his shoulder as she asked what he had been doing lately. “Well, I fell off a cliff and ended up covered in that ink,” he gave her a glance, clearly waiting for her to get mad at him, “had nightmares for weeks because of a mara, and well, you know, the usual,” however, he couldn’t bring himself to smile when she asked about Evelyn. “We… She broke up,” he shrugged, giving Erin a sheepish smile.

Erin kneeled to pet the dogs, who’s rambunctious excitement wasn’t well contained with a visitor in their backyard. She’d never been much of a dog person but she’d grown soft when it came to Alain’s little guys. “Once a loser, always a loser,” she teased, but her smile didn’t last long. Watched with increasing concern as Alain started listing off his troubles. She remembered the cliff instance, and that had still terrified her. A mara? Her mind immediately jumped to Marley. No--no. She’d never. Right? Marley had never been a fan of hunters, for good reason, but it wasn’t as if she knew Alain was a friend of her’s. What got her to stand, finally ignoring the playful nips the dogs kept using to grab her attention. “You broke up?” She asked, her heart genuinely breaking for her friend. As much as she had teased him, there was no question she wanted nothing but happiness for him. And he’d seemed so happy. “What--what happened? Are you okay?” She frowned, reaching across to gently grab his forearm.

“I guess it’s for the best,” Alain breathed in and out through his mouth, his shoulders falling lower than usual. He had not planned to talk about this, but it would have been hard to avoid the subject the whole evening. As he realized that he was scanning the garden to find something to drink, he frowned. No, this was not really an answer, however tempting it was. He knew that. And so he looked back at his friend and shook his head as he said, “yeah, I’ll be fine.” Scratching at the side of his neck, he looked away and put his hand over hers. “Thanks Erin. I just… well, she is not fond of hunters, you know,” frowning, he glanced back at the grill and then at his watch. Almost done. “Anyway, how are things? Have you found Betty yet?” He had many other questions regarding what had happened the day her house burned down, and changing the topic to this was the first step to getting to his interrogations. “Nic isn’t tired of you yet?”

Erin was quiet, her eyes sad and curious as she watched Alain muster up an explanation. She hadn’t meant to prod but the news had surprised her more than she realized. He’d seemed so… happy? What had happened? Oh. Oh. Narrowed her eyes at the mention of hunters. “You only just told her about that?” she asked, absently petting one of his dogs when they rubbed against her leg. She instantly got that he was trying to move on quickly from this, and she understood a move like that came from a place of pain, but it hadn’t clarified much for her. “What do you mean she wasn’t fond of hunters? She knows what they are?” she asked, putting a hand gently on his arm. “Sorry, I don’t mean to prod, I just--don’t understand. You seemed so--” Happy. She bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Alain.”

“I know, I fucked up,” he pinched at his nose, covering his mouth. He probably would have told Evelyn sooner, had it not been with those sleepless nights he had because of that other mara. Adding more stress to his life, while he was already getting no sleep, feeling like shit for not doing his job properly and getting anxious for failing his hunter duties due to being too tired to function, was not something he needed then. And so he had waited, and then, he found out that Evelyn was also a mara. A series of events had postponed the moment he was supposed to tell her by many, many weeks. “What I mean by that is that she’s not human, and that she lost someone close to her to a hunter,” he would have told Erin that Evelyn was a mara, but Alain didn’t feel like explaining what those were. Little did he know that he wouldn’t have had to. “I know. I thought we were too,” he agreed with a sad shrug. Well this was turning into a pity party, he thought to himself. “Can we just change the subject. I don’t…” his lip curled up in annoyance. He was not annoyed at Erin, but rather at the topic of the conversation. “I’ll be okay. What about you? How are you holding up?”

Erin shook her head, noting the way he instantly seized up at the mention of it. This whole discussion must have gone worse than she realized. “That’s not what I meant. I’m just… surprised? Being a hunter is a pretty huge part of your life.” She wasn’t human? And had lost someone to a hunter? Oh, wow. “Shit.” Yeah. That definitely didn’t go well then, huh? Erin grimaced at the thought, unable to stop herself from slipping an arm behind his back, giving him a comforting squeeze. He might not have wanted to talk about it, and she understood that, but this shit was hard. Even harder with the implications that came from what he was. And if this was all she could do, and all he wanted to do, any subtle reminder that she was there for him would do. “Well if you want to talk about it, we can. That’s why I’m here. Well--I’m here for the food,” she smirked playfully. “But you know what I mean,” she added with a softer tone. Her eyebrows shot up at the question. How are you holding up? A loaded question, one she wasn’t sure how to answer honestly. She withdrew her arms, shoving them back into her front pockets with a shrug. “Oh, you know. I’m holding,” she smiled meekly, watching the food cooking on the grill and quickly hopped onto the next subject. “Is that done yet? I’m starving.”

“If you didn’t see me get you rid of a clam monster, I probably would have never told you that I’m a hunter,” Alain replied to her remark. Obviously, hunting was probably what defined him the most as a human being, and hiding a big part of his life was never easy for the mind, but it was easier than revealing it, as he was so sourly reminded by Evelyn. Timing would not have made this better, would it? His mind wandered away from his garden, from the sizzling sound of the grill, and for a moment, he was standing again in Evelyn’s living room, watching the color leave her face, the anger, the hatred, the viciousness taking the place of softness. Erin’s arm around him knocked him out of his stream of thoughts, and the blankness of his face made room for endearment. “I’ll be fine, I… yeah,” her attempt at a joke drew a side eye from him, although the stiff upper lip that came with it did not last long. “You’re the worst,” he commented, picking up a plate to put the food on. Setting it down on the table, he left the garden to come back with a plate of fries and a bowl of lettuce. “You did say you were going to tell me what actually happened,” and he did not mean it with Betty. If he was worried for Erin’s cat, the fact that she lost her house and could have died surpassed that. “Sounds like you had quite an eventful month too,” he observed, sitting down on a chair and reaching over for the Dijon mustard.

He wasn’t fine, that much was obvious, but prodding the wound and hoping he’d talk didn’t seem to be the right avenue here. Not that Alain had ever been a very emotional man. Not from what Erin could gather as long as she’d known him anyway. He cracked jokes to cope, put on a brave smile and kept going. The week he was supposed to “die” he’d been doing the same thing. It was admirable in a way, she supposed, but infuriating to someone who wanted to help. Especially when she could practically see him disappear behind his own eyes, lingering on something he wasn’t ready to vocalize. If dinner and conversation was how he wanted to handle this, all she could do was respect that. “That offer still stands. Anytime. Okay?” She gave him another smile, her tone as insistent and sincere as before.

Fuck. She had said that, hadn’t she? If she had known he was coming off of a breakup, she would have probably reserved her honesty for another time. Suddenly she wasn’t so hungry. Picking at the food, she eyed her plate, trying to find the words to put this delicately. “Yeah, that’s putting it mildly.” She reached for a glass of water, taking a healthy sip. Her mouth still felt dry but she kept trucking. Had to rip the bandaid off sometime, right? “It’s… a long story. And it’s not one I’m proud of, if that helps,” she said, raising her eyes to his, only briefly. “To explain the fire, first I guess--I used to work for this guy on the side. My dad worked with him before me. It was shitty and shady. I didn’t want to do it anymore. I never wanted any part of it to begin with. So I pushed back. Made it loud and clear that I was done. He wasn’t happy so--” she gestured towards her arm, the patch of skin where the fire had singed the skin still raw and pink as it healed. “He made sure I knew it.” It was far more complicated than that but it was a start, she supposed. A toe dip into the fucked up pool she was about to throw him in.

Politely, but firmly, Alain spoke : “I do not want to talk about it,” he could tell that she was worried, and part of Alain wanted to slap him for being so stubborn, but when did people ever ask him if he was okay? He would be fine, this much he knew. He always ended up in the same spot, it seemed. There was, at least, something comforting, and comfortable about that, and really, there were worse spots to be stuck in. Once again, he had gotten lost in his thoughts. He just had to do the usual thing : pretend that everything was normal, everything was okay. This, he could do. He did it all the time. Hiding was a second nature, and there were not a lot of people who knew his true nature, and there was no one who knew the whole extent of the things he had done or would do.

Her voice helped him snap out of this, and he replied quietly, nodding his agreement. Smiling, he glanced over as she helped herself with food. His brows furrowed at her next words, and he contemplated saying something, asking her what she meant by that, but it was probably best to let her talk. He figured that if he had something heavy to say, he would want people to give him as much time as possible to speak coherently, at his own rhythm. She went on, and he put down his cutlery to focus on what she had to say. This really did not sound any good. His arms now crossed across his chest, he tried silently to figure what kind of business Erin’s father could have been conducting with such a person. And so Alain remained silent for a while, unsure of what to say. He wondered for a moment whether she was going to add anything else. He glanced at her. She remained silent. “Is he going to leave you alone now?” One could hope.

Erin hated the way her skin seemed to itch as she watched Alain’s react to her words. It was more muted than she expected, more calm, but Alain was also a man to keep tight-lipped about his actual feelings. Still, not knowing if he was silently judging her or not was going to drive her through the roof. “Probably not. It’s not really that simple,” she started, pulling her arms in against her lap. It was simple in the fact that she was either going to kill him or be killed, but that wasn’t something you lightly sprung on a friend during dinner. She bit her top lip, struggling to figure out a better way to explain this. “I’m going after him. Not alone--I have people helping me who want him as dead as I do.” She paused again, feeling like she was dancing over the line of what was too much information and what was too cryptic. “If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I know this is… a lot.” A lot in general and a lot that she’d been keeping from him.

Alain was starting to feel like his friend had ended up in a swamp that she couldn’t get out of, but he had still to find out how large this swamp was. “I’m really sorry,” he rubbed at his cheek with his fingertips, and reaching for the wine bottle, filled her glass then his. She would probably need this to get through this conversion. The next thing she said brought a concerned frown to his face. He did not expect for her to deal with this the legal way, but this sounded a awful lot like murdering someone he believed to be a human being. For a second, it looked as if he was going to say something, but the next moment, he was covering his mouth, thoughtful. “Errh, yeah. Who is this guy ? What has he done so far ? Do you need extra help?” There were so many other questions he wanted to ask her, but those three seemed the most important right now.

“No, please, don’t be,” Erin shook her head. No use being sorry. It was too late for that. Her eyes narrowed at the wine-filled cups, casting a skeptic gaze Alain’s way. “Are you... sure you want to do that?” She asked pointedly, but with as little judgment as she could muster. Concern more than anything filled her. Slippery slopes. Still, the wine looked too tempting for herself, and she pushed away thoughts of being a bad influence for the moment as she took a sip as his questions stacked on to one another. “His name’s Roy Chambers. I guess he’s been around for a while, I don’t know his full deal, but he has a pretty strong influence over parts of town.” Did she need extra help? Her jaw set tightly, eyes flitting briefly to the burn on her arm. Thought of Roland. Thought of Jane. Marley, even. All casualties in some way or another. Alain was capable of course, and wanted to help--and she wasn’t in a position to refuse him--but the hesitation was still there. “Is this really something you want part of? He’s not a good guy, Alain.” That was putting it lightly. “He’s killed a lot of people. Hurt even more of them. Capable, strong, smart people. I’m not even sure I’m going to--” she bit her lip, sat up straighter and tried to ebb the tension out of her chest with more wine. “It’s dangerous. Even for a tough guy like you,” she teased with a thin, tired smile.

“What are you talking about?” His brows furrowed, and Alain couldn’t help the offended look on his face. This was not really a question anyway. He was asking her if he could help, because he would help either way. “You’d want to help if I was in trouble, and you don’t even have well,” he flexed his arm just for the sake of being obnoxious, “well you know, you’re kind of weak,” his nose wrinkled up. It was probably not the time for jokes, but he could not help it. Sitting up on his chair, he crossed his legs and leaned back again. He took a sip of wine, and waited for Erin to be done before he spoke : “The fact that I never heard that name despite having worked in possibly the shadiest place in town, says a lot about him.” This person sounded dangerous, and it looked like they were pretty good at covering their own back too. Hunting a shadow down was certainly not easy, he thought to himself. He did not say it out loud, although he could guess that she already knew that. “If he was a good guy, would we be having this conversation at all?” Good people didn’t end up in conversations of murders. Not just like that. “Wow, wait,” she didn’t finish her sentence, but that sufficed to make him feel like his heart had been unbridledly pinched. “We’re not going to let that happen,” he didn’t make this a promise, because he couldn’t. Still, he reached out and put a hand again her arm, mirroring her earlier actions, as if to say everything will be ok.

#wickedswriting #chatzy #chatzy: alain #all caught up

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billhaderlovebot · 5 years ago

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beep beep (5) - richie tozier.

@ceruleanrainblues @the-star-above-you @a-second-hand-sorrow @shockwavee @socially-unaccepptable-dameron

the usual sexy stuff and swearing and weed. y'all know the drill.

"i've never been... uh... good at the whole, um, serious thing. but, this is us. this is... our wedding. and i put real effort into this shit. so, get ready, fuckers, because this is a real tearjerker. um, yeah. okay..."

you honestly hadn't trusted richie to write his own vows, but neither of you had wanted them to feel... artificial. you wanted them to be your own. and now he was standing before you, holding your hands in his and tearing up already. big softie.

he had also teared up as you walked down the aisle on wobbly legs, mike on your arm.

"we were... we were owed more time, i think." richie lamented. "we should have done this years ago. i should have married you years ago."

---

richie had known, for a long time, that you were the one he would marry.

it was 1993, and the sun was setting over sleepy little derry, giving the quarry an orange-pink glow and bathing you all in its warmth.

you were all pruning up a little, and it wasn't as warm as it was when you'd come down a few hours previously, but summer was coming to an end, and you wanted to make the most of your last couple weeks of freedom with your favourite people in the world.

richie watched as you sat in the shallows, taking a hit of the sizeable joint between your fingers. you exhaled loudly, leaning your head back toward the watercolour sky.

shades of blush pink and peach and apricot illuminated your skin, the low sun setting a warm glow across the water, and oh, god, he was in love.

you laughed, loud and beautifully obnoxious, at something stan had said, passing him the joint and wiggling your legs in the water. your laugh just so happened to be the losers' favourite sound in the whole world, as it was one of those wonderfully infectious laughs you can't help but laugh along with.

richie had always tried to make you laugh in the hopes that you'd like him, but when you did laugh, he found himself falling in love.

eddie watched on in disapproval, sitting cross legged on the bank behind you.

"when you get lung cancer i will laugh and i will spit on your grave." he grumbled, but took the joint anyway when it was passed back around to him, just as enthusiastically as the rest of you. perhaps he was trying to protest in hopes that it would lessen the guilt he would feel later as he frantically sprayed himself with deodorant to get the smell out, and applied the emergency eyedrops he had bought.

ben, bev, bill and mike were in the middle of a very intense game of chicken. beverly had toppled off of mike's shoulders at least twice, but she had pushed bill back into the water more than four times, shrieking with laughter as, arms flailing, he disappeared under the surface of the lake.

"rich! c'mere." you had caught sight of him and held out your arms in his direction, making cute little grabby hand motions toward him. the look of utter joy on your face warmed him from head to toe, and he smiled as he swam over, dodging bill, who had once again been knocked into the lake by bev. ("stop being such a little bitch, billy.")

you came to meet richie halfway, leaving stan and eds to finish the joint and sinking into the water up to your neck. you immediately attached your lips to his, running both of your hands through his hair because you were stoned and everything felt better under your fingertips.

kissing him was like... a whole other plane of existence. you were joined at the lips, joined at the heart. the sun was going down and it was getting cold, and you were both shaking, and he noted the way you tasted of smoke as he kissed the life from you, the water rippling against his chin. you groaned quietly, and richie smiled into the kiss, ignoring everyone else's exasperated groans because ugh they're making out again ew look at them they're so disgustingly in love.

"you're both whores!" stan all but screamed, and you flipped him off, kissing richie all the more enthusiastically.

and richie broke away just to look at you.

the sun, now casting a deep orange-red light behind you, was almost set, and you were beautiful.

the quiet "hi, babe." that tumbled from your lips made him feel as if everything was right with the world, and, then, staring at you, drinking you in, in all your red-eyed, swollen-lipped, soft-grinning glory, like he was seeing colour for the first time, he knew that if he didn't marry you he would probably die.

---

"but now we're here."

richie cleared his throat, his eyes darting around because if he looked directly you he had no chance of keeping it together. "and i have you for the rest of my life. it took a lot for us to get here, too. god knows how we managed to plan all this. thanks, bevvy."

---

eddie was your best man.

obviously.

eddie was your best everything, to be honest, so it was an easy choice while wedding planning. eddie had been the essential third to your group of three ever since you were kids, and he meant so much to richie, and so much to you that you hadn't even had to think about it.

eddie was going to be the best man. that choice was a no-brainer.

all of the other choices, however, were not.

richie and yourself, apparently, were completely incompetent at any sort of planning whatsoever.

you tried, though, you really did.

you got out the big notebook and a pen and richie pulled up pinterest and you had some serious talks about colour schemes and flower arrangements and the like.

well, sort of.

("can we have, like, yknow, like, those worms..."

"worms?"

"like those worms on strings... yeah, those."

"the googly eyes?"

"the eyes.... yeah, and just..."

"hang them?"

"from the ceiling... yeah. "

"richie?"

"yes?"

"i think that's the best idea you've had since i met you.")

but after consuming copious amounts of alcohol, and only having made one useful decision, the two of you decided that you were not in any state to plan your fucking wedding.

("so... s-so if we get- richard, stop trying to take my clothes off- if we get the worms, do you want the pink- rich, i swear- do you want the pink ones or the blue ones...?")

turning off whatever true crime show was playing in the background, you stumbled, leaning against one another, to the bedroom.

"sex?"

"that's the plan."

but any attempt to undress each other only got half way before you were both asleep atop the bedsheets, snoring lightly, an intoxicated tangle of limbs.

the planner notebook you had been using to write down the essentials lay open and abandoned on the coffee table, the only thing in it being one line of richie's chickenscratch handwriting.

it read: set a place for stanley.

---

richie was really, properly crying now, and the only think keeping him from losing his shit was eddie's hand on his shoulder, and your thumb running across his knuckles.

everyone else was crying, too. not a dry eye in the room.

"almost losing you again... so soon after we had found each other... really put shit into perspective for me, yknow? hospitals, um, suck. and i was so pissed... because... fuck, sorry, fuck... i was, uh, pissed, because all i could think was that we were losing time again."

---

(before the sewer fight)

"kiss me." richie's quiet, shaky voice came from behind you, and you whirled around from the suitcase from which you were trying to put together an outfit more suitable for clown killing.

he took you in his arms almost immediately, bending down to kiss you, but the kiss almost scared you.

it was too tense.

there was too strong an edge to the way he held you close, kissing you as if it were the last time.

"what's wrong?" you murmured, centimetres from his lips, your breath ghosting across them.

"i... i don't know if we'll both come out of this." he admitted in hushed agony, kissing you again, slower. "i won't be able to live with myself if something happens to you." richie kissed you again and again, such raw emotion behind each soft crush of lips that he had to swallow the quiet, broken gasps that spilled from you.

"whatever happens," you breathed, running your thumbs along his cheekbones. "i love you."

"show me." he pleaded, red rimmed eyes locking onto yours with such intent that you almost fell over. "please, just-"

"we have to be quick." you said, and he nodded, pulling you into another long, searing kiss. there was a sort of burning desperation to the way his lips moved, now.

richie shifted your shorts down and slid his hands under your thighs, whispering a low "jump" in your ear. your legs wrapped around his waist, and you gasped as your back hit the wall.

"fuck, rich, hurry the fuck up." you mumbled, tilting your head so as to give him better access to the skin of your neck, to which he was already leaving marks.

"okay, baby." and then he was all but tearing off your shirt, immediately exploring the newly exposed skin with his mouth, teeth included. fuck.

"you're such a prick." you hissed.

"and you might just be the most beautiful thing ever to have existed, sweets." said richie, pushing his glasses up his nose and looking at you with dark, dilated, sex-me-up eyes.

"do something about it then." you challenged.

"anything for you, doll."

richie was pushing you so hard against the wall, that you were surprised you didn't go right through the drywall and topple into eddie's room.

you ran your tongue along his bottom lip and he groaned so fucking loud.

"i love you." you whispered the sentiment against his lips, fumbling at his belt buckle.

"i love you more."

---

richie took a moment to compose himself, allowing you to do the same. your eyes drifted about the room. the absence of both yours and richie's families bothered neither of you.

at the front row, the losers and stanley's empty chair, reminded you that they were the only family you'd ever need.

---

"you fucking what?"

"it was an accident!" richie held his hands up in defense, slumping down next to you on the couch.

"richie, do you ever imagine what it would be like if you'd have gotten enough fucking oxygen at birth?" you snapped, raking your hands across your scalp.

"watch it, or no sex." he said.

"i will never have sex with you ever as long as i live unless you uninvite my mother right the fuck now."

"i couldn't say no!" richie was now flapping his hands about in frustration, looking a little like a cartoon character. "she called me up yelling about the divorce and then i told her about the wedding--"

"my life would be so much easier if your dad had just pulled out." you deadpanned.

"--and i didn't know how to tell her she couldn't come--

"we have to change the venue. she's not coming."

"but that's the beach grease was filmed on, babe, there's no way i--"

"richie, if you don't change the venue, i will fucking castrate you in your fucking sleep."

---

it was raining that day, anyway, so a beach wedding wouldn't have been possible. it was okay, though. richie quite liked the little chapel you had picked out, and the coloured light that filtered through the stained glass windows danced across your skin in a way that reminded him so much of quarry sunsets. it was perfect, really.

"we could have had... so much more, yknow? a normal life. but, instead, we grew up in fucking derry... like idiots from some dumb horror book." you laughed at that. so did the losers. you were the only ones who knew what it really meant. "i promise... i'm going to, um, spend every moment of the rest of my life, the rest of however long we have, showing you how much i love you. and i do... love you, that is. every moment of the rest of fucking time, baby, because god knows we've lost enough."

and you kissed him before the priest even said the words, knocking him backwards into eddie.

your first dance was unconventional.

of course.

richie was nervous. he had practiced this dance so many times, with beverly, with eddie, with fucking bill. (that particular endeavour had been a tough nut to crack.) and you pretended you didn't know, for his sake, because he had tried so hard.

his hands shook as he positioned them on your waist where beverly had taught him.

"i can't dance, babe." he snorted.

"i know you can't." you giggled, kissing his cheek.

you held him close to you, blinking back tears as the first chords of billy joel's vienna drifted quietly from the speakers in the corner.

richie lay his head on your shoulder, murmuring the words softly in your ear and pressing light kisses to the soft skin under it.

about halfway through the song, you realised you didn't actually know how to dance either, which was a relief to him. whatever you ended up doing had to have been acceptable, because, once again, everyone was sobbing.

bev cried, mike cried, ben cried, bill cried. eddie shoved almost his entire hand into his mouth to stifle his tears, because there was no way in fuck richie was seeing him cry.

richie would sooner find himself down in the sewers again than admit it, but he could carry a damn tune.

when the song faded to its soft end, the two of you didn't move for several more seconds, eyes gently closed, foreheads together. (admittedly, richie was quite a bit taller than you, and to lean down a fraction.) it seemed almost wrong to open your eyes and join the rest of the world, but the losers' over-enthusistic applause and cheering pulled you both from the trance as they drowned out everyone else.

"you're beautiful." richie whispered, and your eyes snapped open. you had a feeling he wasn't just talking about your dress. eddie, of all people, had helped you pick it out, following you around the wedding dress outlet centres, hissing profanity at the disheveled women who got in his way and muttering furiously about how he'd sterilise the fuck out of whatever you chose to buy.

"you're beautiful." you sniffed, wiping your watery eyes and pulling him down to kiss you softly.

"why are you two like that?" eddie whined when you sat down at the table you'd put them all on. he was only half joking.

"it is their wedding day, eds." bev shrugged, remembering how gross her and ben had been at their own wedding a few months previously.

"what can i say?" you arranged the skirt of your dress comfortably around you before slinging your legs over richie's. "richie's a whore."

the rest of the party was... eventful.

most notably, the losers club's exclusive, very enthusiastic (and frankly quite dangerous) group dance to uptown girl in which your shoe ended up across the room in the wine cooler on the table you dubbed "friends from work" and bill and mike accidentally threw eddie half way across the room at the final chorus.

there was also the matter of richie and yourself insisting on recreating the "come on eileen" dance from the perks of being a wallflower, but then not remembering any of the moves. losers club exclusive group dance part 2 ensued.

eddie's best man speech was a wreck, mainly because he was absolutely bladdered.

("trash-mouth... trash-mouth fuckin tozier got the girl. nobody thought it would ever happen, i mean ever-")

---

(6 months after the wedding.)

"are we gonna pretend we have kids?" you pondered, crumpling the empty juice pouch in your hands and tossing it onto the steady-growing pile in the corner of the living room. "or are we just going to have to own up to the fact we drank twelve boxes of capri suns between us this week?"

a quiet slurping noise came from beside you as richie drained his own capri-sun, throwing it onto the pile with a flourish of his arms.

"i think that they've come to expect this of us." he said, shifting your legs out of his lap and standing up to answer the door.

"alright!" you heard him call down the hallway, as who you assumed was bev began pounding the doorbell aggressively.

and then the door swung open, and you heard a chorus of cheerful greetings and borderline yelling. ah, your best friends.

the losers came over to the tozier residence almost weekly for drunken antics and the spilling of long overdue tea.

"MRS TOZIER!" mike hollered jovially, bill in tow. they'd been seeing more of each other recently. none of you were able to miss how mike looked at bill when bill wasn't looking. it was how beverly and ben looked at one another, and how you looked at richie every morning you woke up to his face, and all throughout the day when he wasn't looking, and even when he was looking.

"MIKEY!" you yelled back with equally as much gusto, stretching your arms out for a hug, which he gladly returned.

"novelty not wore off, yet?" mike asked, gratefully taking the capri sun you offered to him as he settled next to you on the couch. "you've been married long enough, realised you don't love him yet?"

"oh yeah, no, this is purely a marriage of convenience. he's not that ugly, and i get laid like every day, and all i have to do is pick up his socks and share a bed with him."

richie wasn't impressed, storming back into the room in front of bev, ben and eddie.

"hey, um, ok, well, i actually am having a passionate affair with ben, and, ben's fucking hung. so, there."

richie slumped on the other side of you, grabbing you and blowing a raspberry on the side of your neck.

"seriously, bitch?" you whined, but you wrapped your arms around him all the same.

eddie bustled over to the towering pile of capri-sun packets, a plastic refuse bag in hand that you assumed he'd just pulled from his fanny pack.

"you guys are disgusting." he shoved the packets into the bag with unnecessary force. "you fucking deserve each other."

"tell them why we got kicked out of the drive-in theatre last week, rich." you smirked, leaning into your husband's side. he cleared his throat.

"i, uh..."

"tell them." you pressed.

"we saw titanic-" richie started, quietly, keeping his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him.

"oh, god." eddie groaned, storming out of the room in search of a recycling bin.

"-and i, uh... was yelling diving scores as they, uh, jumped off the boat."

"for fucks sake, richie." ben sighed. beverly was borderline cackling. mike and bill just looked disappointed.

"it's not my fault!" richie whined. "my beautiful wife was the one who insisted we recreate the sex scenes as they happened. hand on the window and everything."

"the toziers, everyone." eddie came back into the room, sitting on the ground on a beanbag near the coffee table. "you two should never have been allowed near each other."

"ah, but we were." you chimed in. grabbing richie's face and kissing him obnoxiously. "what say we get piss-drunk and, like, play dumb drinking games. for old times sake?" you suggested when you tore yourself from him, your lips separating with a wet pop. "it's been a while."

---

1993

"what's up, fuckers." you threw up a casual peace sign as you descended into bill's smoke-shrouded basement, stumbling slightly down the stairs and sitting between richie and stanley in the circle that the losers had formed.

richie immediately attached his lips to your neck, pulling you into his side.

"hello to you too, trash-mouth." you grinned. richie looked fucking good.

he'd only gone and got his septum pierced the day before, and you were wary at first, but the little silver horseshoe ring that hung between his nostrils now looked amazing, glinting in the low basement lights. richie wore a deep red, oversized, cable-knit sweater that you could have sworn was yours but you'd smoked a huge joint on the way here and weren't too sure. a black beanie sat on his head, a few errant curls poking out by his forehead and around his ears.

"you're hot." you mumbled.

"you're hot." he grinned against your neck, and lifted his head to kiss your lips, his glasses bumping against your nose.

"yo, whores, truth or dare." beverly said, throwing back about half of the bottle in her hand, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"i fucking hate this game." richie hissed, leaning against your shoulder, sulking.

"truth." you said.

"what's richie's biggest kink?" she leaned forward in the circle, her tongue poking out from between her teeth.

"beverly!" richie was not amused.

"he's really into hair pulling." you sniffed, taking a blunt from between stan's fingers.

"babe!" richie exclaimed. you exhaled in his face.

"is he loud?" bev asked, leaning to take the joint from you.

"BEVERLY!" richie was shouting, now, throwing his hands up in frustration.

"oh, yes. he is." you nodded, grinning from ear to ear.

"FUCK!"

"a bit like that, actually."

"this is actual abuse." richie put his head in his hands, edging away from you.

"i love you." you tried, tugging on his sweater and leaning against him.

he had crawled into stanley's lap at this point, curling up like a baby.

"i fucking hate truth or dare." richie sat up and reached for another bottle, allowing you to wrap your arms around him.

---

most of the losers were asleep, curled up in various, not so comfortable looking positions on your couch and beanbags and weird hanging egg chair thingy that you'd insisted on buying.

"where did you come from, babe?" richie sighed, snaking his arms around your waist from behind as you brushed your teeth. "you're fuckin'... perfect."

one thing richie had always remembered, if a little vaguely, was your smell. the smell of sleep and fabric softener and your shampoo. his memory hadn't done it justice, he decided. when he took you in his arms in the chinese restaurant and inhaled deeply as if it were his last breath, filling his lungs with the smell of you and trying to sear into his brain the memory of how you felt inside his arms. because he would forget again, surely.

he hated himself for forgetting you.

"we're married, rich." you pointed out, rinsing your toothbrush and dropping it into the holder. "you're not too bad, yourself."

"i mean it, though." he muttered, pressing the softest of kisses to your jaw. "you're so fuckin'... doll, i, fuck-"

"don't go all shy on me, babe." you teased. "come to bed, yeah? im cold."

he watched as you shuffled off to your shared bedroom, doing that thing you always did when you stretched, making an unnecessary amount of noise. he smiled. that's my baby.

"hey, rich." another voice came from behind him. at the door of the bathroom, small and tentative.

"oh, hey, eds." richie smiled, taking his own toothbrush from the one next to yours, continuing the conversation through the mirror. but there was a somewhat uncomfortable silence in the small room, made worse by the hollow rattling of the toothbrushes.

"i, uh..." eddie shifted his weight, leaning against the doorframe. "i, uh... gotta tell you something, rich."

"knock yourself out, eddie spaghetti."

"im getting a divorce."

"oh, yeah? good, she was a fucking-"

"im with someone. a guy."

"a guy?"

"yeah. his name is, uh, richie, as it happens. well, richard, but, yknow."

"eds-"

"i loved you." eddie blurted. quiet. barely there. "for, uh... so long."

"you-"

"when we were kids. and, and i... you were never out of my head. not for one fucking second. and my mom... god, my fucking mom, she knew. i think she knew. every time you came round she made sure to scrub me a little harder. the soap burned. fuckin, i don't even know, some carbolic shit, or something. but... it was always her, wasn't it? you and her, um, you loved her and you continued to love her for... for fucking ever. and i wanted it to be me, rich."

richie was almost choking on his heart.

"eds, you know i-"

"no, actually, i don't."

"well i-"

"im not... bitter. if that's what you think. because i think the world of her. she's... my best friend, i would do anything for her, rich. and it wouldn't have made sense for you to end up with anyone else.

and im not... pining anymore? this was uh, what i needed. and im with someone, and he loves me, and i love him. so much, i do. and i love... you... and her... "

"eddie, i loved you too, yknow." richie muttered. the words hung in the air between them like the sword of fuckin' damocles.

"you did?"

"yeah. course i did."

"well, fuck."

"yeah. fuck."

"can i-" eddie held out his arms.

"yeah.",

richie was so used to hugging smaller people that it was natural to rest his chin on eddie's head, enveloping him almost completely. he noted how eddie gripped his shirt a little tighter than was probably necessary.

"you gotta let me meet this guy, yeah?" said richie, muffled against eddie's hair. "you're, like, small and shit. so i gotta make sure he won't break you or something."

"okay, rich." eddie laughed quietly.

when they broke apart, something had changed. there was closure. eddie could go back to his loving boyfriend and richie could go back to his wonderful wife and it was okay. all of it was okay.

it was okay.

---

"g'morning, doll." you had woken up to richie going to town between your legs. which was, um, always a good time.

after he had finished, wiping his lips, wiping you from his lips, he mumbled the term of endearment lowly into your ear, kissing the spot just underneath it, and you almost grabbed his head and pushed him back down there. however, it was cold, and he was warm, so you melted against him, pulling his arm over you.

"hey, baby." you weren't sure if the words had come from you, because you were floating. and half asleep. but they must have done, because richie kissed the back of your neck and pulled you closer to him, if that was possible. "what time is it." you continued, yawning.

"uhh, like, nine." he yawned back.

"ew."

"i know."

"why did you- and not that i'm complaining, because that was great- why did you wake me up, you fucking insane person."

"because they all left, and woke me to tell me they were leaving, and then i was awake, and you weren't, and i was bored, and i wanted to wake you nicely."

"mission fucking accomplished." you sighed, a sleepy grin spreading across your face. "but can we go back to sleep, now?"

"yeah."

"love you, stinky." you mumbled.

"love you more."

#beep beep #richie tozier #it richie #richie tozier x reader #adult richie #bill hader #losers club x reader #losers club

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stellar-alley · 4 years ago

Text

Moonstone

•Chapter 7•

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

(Summary: The Losers have one Last Splash)

Shout out to my amazing writing partner @ _hannahisodd on Instagram for allowing me to bring her amazing artwork to life!

Also, don’t forget to check out my Instagram Stellar.Cosplays if you want to see more of me and what goes on in my life!

Shout out to my beta psychcticminds on Ao3 and psychtic.minds on Instagram!

The talk with his parents had been… hard. But in the end, they understood Richie’s craving to learn more about himself and his family. Andrea mentioned how dear of a friend Maggie was and how she’ll be over the moon to see her son again. That’s when it hit Richie that he would be meeting his biological parents… At that moment he looked at Andrea and Donald. They were his real parents, and nothing would change that.

Telling his parents, and Stan, that was one thing. Stan didn’t seem too surprised since he’s known Richie all his life. He’s grown used to Richie’s constant state of curiosity and demanding nature when it came to answers. So when Stan found Richie awkwardly loitering in the hallway, filled with anxiety about telling Stan the news, Stan simply wrapped Richie up in a hug and told him how he supported him no matter what he chose.

Yeah, telling the Losers was a different story.

Eddie’s mind was still trying to wrap around the information that Richie had just told them. I’m going to find my parents in The Dragon Lands. Everyone, except Eddie, gave different responses from “Wait really?!” to, “That’s so cool but I’m gonna miss you”. Eddie couldn’t get a single word out of his mouth.

They were all at the diner when Richie told them the news. Bill had just won yet another milkshake contest and Richie had ordered a second milkshake as he claimed “Cause I don’t know when Imma be getting myself another one of these!” he chimed in as he held up his cup.

The rest of The Losers followed suit, lifting up their cups towards the center of their semi-circle table. “To The Losers,” he proclaimed. “To the Losers,” they all cheered, but Eddie’s voice was just a little bit quieter than the rest of theirs…

Bill and Stan went off to the bathroom while Bev and Richie left to go smoke. Leaving Ben, Mike, and Eddie alone at the table while they finished their meals. Eddie kept his eyes on the half-eaten burger that laid before him, releasing yet another sigh. It caused Mike to pipe up, “Eddie you’ve sighed about 45- It was 45 right?” he nodded at Ben.

Ben pondered about it for a second then responded, “No… I counted 53.”

“Yeah, 53 times you’ve sighed and that’s only since we entered the diner,” Mike stated, but then his lips curled into a smirk, “I don’t even wanna think about how many times you’ve sighed today-”

“What’s your fucking point?” Eddie snapped.

Mike immediately shot back, not in an aggressive way but in his ‘This is important and I’m concerned’ friend way. “Eddie we’re worried!”

“Yeah you’ve been really distant today,” Ben pointed out, sympathy laced his voice.

“Oh… Sorry if my sighing ruined your day” Eddie rolled his eyes, put his elbow on the table, leaned on his hand, and looked away from them. “Mine has been pretty shitty,” He almost whispered.

That was all Mike needed to prove his point, “It’s Richie isn’t it? Cause he’s-”

“Don’t, okay? Fuck that’s all we’ve talked about since we heard the news. My boyfriend is leaving, fucking great alright, fan-fricken-tastic,” Eddie groaned, his heart twisting within his chest at the thought of Richie leaving.

Ben and Mike exchanged a glance. Without saying a word they both could tell they had to try to help Eddie. They both shuffled a little closer to Eddie, one on either side.

Ben spoke first, “I don’t even wanna begin to imagine what you’re going through-”

“Then don’t fucking try ‘cause it sucks,” Eddie fumed, his fingers curling into fists with all of his pent up anger.

“Let me finish,” Ben’s tone stayed the same, calm, supportive. “Just try and see it through Richie’s eyes. His entire life he’s been kept in the dark, he had to figure out all of his dragon side on his own. Do you know how hard that must’ve been for him? Being the only dragon born in the entire city probably. What if you were the only elf? Hmm?” He hummed in questioning. “Eddie, Richie doesn’t know how to fly, and he’s a dragon. He doesn’t even know how to control these new powers or whatever they are,” Ben pointed out.

Eddie’s heart twisted at that, his expression turning from anger to sadness.

“And now he finds out he’s a prince, of a whole kingdom. Of course he’s gonna wanna go back. How do we expect him to keep living his life in the dark when he has the chance to be in the light?” Ben paused when Eddie looked turned to look at him.

Mike continued, “He’s not leaving forever either, it’s Richie! He’ll be back, you of all should know how much of a pain in the ass he is to get rid of.”

That made Eddie chuckle, “Yeah, he is a pain in my ass,” he agreed.

“Did someone say my name?” Richie had a shit-eating grin plastered over his face as he approached the table with Bev in tow.

“Ah speak of the devil,” Eddie’s gut untwisted when he smiled up at Richie. Ben had slid out of the booth to talk to Beverly so Eddie sat on the edge and looked up at Richie.

Richie leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Eddie’s shoulders. He bent down and pressed his forehead on top of Eddie’s soft hair. After a moment passed he lifted his head up to look at Eddie, “Let’s do something tonight. I want one last night with my Eds.”

“Yeah of course- where?” Eddie asked.

Richie smirked, “I know a place.”

“Your roof? This is the place you want to take me on our last night together?!” Eddie whisper shouted at Richie who was standing outside his bedroom window, on the roof.

“Oh come on Eds! It’s sentimental,” Richie insisted.

“How the fuck is it-“

“What was it, 9, 10 years ago we came to this very spot when you guys came over for a sleepover! It was the first time I ever opened up to someone about constellations, and Lyra,” Richie’s voice grew serious as he recalled the memory.

Eddie stopped in his tracks, a wave of memories came back to him. “Oh…” his voice trailed off, “You’re right,” he realized.

Richie hummed, “yeah I know,” he flashed Eddie a half-smile. Richie reached his hands out, through the window and towards Eddie.

The elf glanced away but soon held his hands up to meet Richie’s. He allowed the dragon to lead him out of the room and onto the roof.

The lovers got comfortable on the roof. They cuddled up against each other, knowing that they won’t have that many chances to do this again before Richie left. The dragon had curled himself up into a ball, both of his arms were wrapped around Eddie’s torso with his head buried inside his chest.

Eddie had his cheek resting on top of Richie’s head, his legs all tangled up with the others with his arms wrapped around his chest.

Richie slowly lifted his head from Eddie's chest so he was able to look up at his boyfriend, “This isn't the end… You know that, right?” he asked quietly.

Eddie's eyes hardened as he remembered the hard truth of their reality, “Then why does it feel like it,” he said in a grim ton.

“Eds… You know I'd never abandon you, right?” Richie gasped when Eddie hesitated, “come on! We're Richie and Eddie, best pals, partners in crime, Losers and Lovers,” Richie tilted his head up and softly kissed Eddie's lips, “You know you mean the world to me, right? I'd go to the moon and still always come back to you,” he cooed.

Eddie chuckled, “You do like the moon,” he pointed out with a smirk as he kissed Richie back. “Write every day,” he softly demanded.

“My thoughts exactly. This won't be forever, I just need answers,” Richie whispered and kissed his boyfriend again.

He said he would only be gone a week or so, but for some reason, it felt different. They felt as if by Richie discovering his other side, he'd forget the side he always had. In the end, they wanted the best for him, and if that meant leaving them, then so be it. But he was still leaving nonetheless, and the Losers couldn't let him leave without a party.

“SURPRISE!” The 6 Losers exclaimed the moment Richie got down the ladder to the clubhouse.

Richie nearly leaped out of his own skin. “AH!” He screeched. “Jesus you scared the fucking scales off of me,” he sighed, catching his breath.

“What did you think we’d let you leave without a celebration?�� Mike asked as he clapped a hand on Richie’s back.

“Yeah, we had to have one last splash with all seven of us,” Ben chimed in with a smile.

Richie’s heart warmed at the gesture, “Aw guys…” Richie sighed with love, “but you know I won’t be gone forever right?” Richie arched an eyebrow. His heart almost ached and how easily his friends thought he’d abandon them.

“But s-st-still! We wanted to wi-wish you good luck,” Bill chimed in.

“Yeah plus- when was the last time we threw a good party-?” Beverly asked. She was met by cricket sounds in the silence of the clubhouse, “Exactly!” She exclaimed, “So let’s just have a good fucking time,” she nodded.

And a good time they had.

Ben played one of his classic well picked playlists on the speakers of his boombox while the Losers ate their feelings away with the large assortment of food they all brought. They played cards and board games, traded stories and gossiped.

Richie and Beverly had stepped out for a smoke break when Bill called Beverly back inside. “Be right back,” She informed Richie before she climbed back down into the clubhouse.

“I’ll be here” Richie waved his half done cigarette as her red head disappeared. When he was finally left alone with his own thoughts, everything finally set in.

I’m leaving tomorrow, leaving The Losers, to go to the Dragon Lands, to find my birth parents…

He was snapped out of his thoughts when- “Hey Rich, come back down for a sec!” Ben called, his eyes poking out from the entrance to the clubhouse.

“Coming,” Richie called out. He dropped his cigarette butt onto the ground and smooshed it with the toe of his shoe, in hopes of not starting a forest fire. Then he made his way over to the open trap door of the Clubhouse and began his descent.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I’d like to present to you Richard Toizer-” Mike announced the moment Richie stepped onto the floor. “- The Prince of the Losers,” he declared.

Richie’s eyes went wide, he realized that the Losers were lining the entrance with big smiles as they all bowed down to him. He was momentarily shocked before he realized what was happening and of course he had to play along. “Oh yes! Thank you my loyal subjects for this kind greeting,” Richie waved in his best (worst) British accent.

When they all stood up again, Stanley stepped out of line to go retrieve something from his bag in the corner. When he returned he held one of those classic gold crowns you can buy from your local dollar store. The fake blue and red gems shined as Stanley straightened up.

“And he wouldn’t be a prince without his crown,” when he finally lifted his eyes, they were glossy as he held back tears. “Your Highness,” He said. The thought of Richie leaving caused his voice to become quieter than it had been.

Richie’s heart clenched at the sight of his brother, on the verge of tears, something that was very unlike Stan. Richie slowly approached Stan, tilting his head down once he stood in front of his brother.

Stan inhaled sharply, his hands shook lightly as they raised the crown up and carefully placed it upon Richie’s mess of dark curls.

When the crown was in place, Richie raised his head to meet Stan’s gaze, “How do I look?” He flashed his (slightly crooked) pearly whites.

“You look great, Rich,” Stan gave him a small, warm smile before he announced, “Your Prince, Richie, The Prince of The Losers.”

Word Count: 2053

Wow this is a lot shorter than I thought it'd be. But it is what it is, and I'm tired so it's gonna be a shorter chapter. Next chapter is gonna be an emotional one though so get ready!

Even this authors note is gonna be short cause that's all from me,

Until next time, as always

So Long and Goodnight

[Taglist]

@richietoaster @s-onora @that-weird-girl-blog @beproudtozier @ghostnebula @gen-s-stuff @bellarosewrites @s-s-georgie @lermanslogan @iamcupcakefrosting @madidraw @gazebobullshit @thoughtfullyyoungduck @aangzukos @ambitiousskychild @reddieonwheels @breadheadscorpius @derpyanimatesstuff

Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list!

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tinylilemrys · 5 years ago

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Rating: T

Word count: 3,407

Summary: Richie Tozier was an open book – some would call it the best thing about him, others would argue that it was the most annoying thing about him.

There were only two secrets that Richie fiercely guarded. One: he had been desperately and completely inconveniently in love with his best friend, Eddie Kaspbrak, for years now, and two: Richie liked – no, loved – playing Dungeons and Dragons.

Richie Tozier was an open book – some would call it the best thing about him, others would argue that it was the most annoying thing about him. While it was true that you were never unsure of where you stood with Richie, there was also almost nothing others would classify as too much information that Richie wouldn’t feel comfortable sharing. They knew when he was angry, they knew when he was scared shitless about his Calc test, they knew when he’d eaten food that was more than a bit past its sell-by date as a dare and all about the day of spectacular gastrotechnics that followed, they knew (in great detail) when he’d found a new supermodel that he considered attractive, they knew when he had fought with his parents, and they knew when he was feeling particularly sentimental about his group of friends.

He hadn’t meant to enjoy it as much as he did. He’d only agreed to sit on a few sessions because one of the girls from his Drama class told him it was really good way to improve his storytelling and improv skills, but after one session of being sucked up into the world that Will Jones, the Dungeon Master, had spun and being frustrated at not being able to influence the decisions the party made, Richie was hooked. He had spent all of that night creating his character and eagerly (though stealthily) handed his character’s backstory to Will at school the next day.

And that had been that. His little Gnome Cleric had been a vital part of the party for the past six months and Richie couldn’t remember what life was before he started playing.

Of course, finding excuses to duck out of plans with six other friends had proven more difficult than he initially thought it would. Though the party only met to play every second Friday, it was often when the rest of the group had made plans for a movie night or a night swim at the quarry and finding excuses to not be there was tricky. Though the excuse he’d finally settled on was guitar lessons, he could almost feel how annoyed the rest of them were each time he flaked out and though he felt bad about it, D&D had become too important to give up.

The only one who seemed to understand was Eddie, who had started tutoring to make a bit of extra cash on the same Fridays that Richie had D&D and as such was also subject to the ire of the group.

Eddie, however, had a far shorter fuse for these things than Richie did.

“Could you all just give Richie a fucking break?” he snapped one Thursday when Bill had complained about them never hanging out together anymore. “We’re in our junior year. Shit’s getting busy. You can’t accuse us of being shitty friends just because we’ve got other things going on. He’s trying his best and so am I, so back the fuck off.”

Richie had wanted to kiss him – even more so when he’d given him a shy glance afterwards to make sure he hadn’t overstepped.

Though honestly, there weren’t many times when Richie didn’t want to kiss him.

The Loser’s Club had backed off a bit after that, and it had become a routine for them to schedule their movie nights on the weeks where Richie and Eddie could make it. It had also become a routine for Eddie to come over to Richie’s place the day after the Fridays where they couldn’t hang out.

This Saturday was no different, apart from the fact that Eddie wasn’t quite himself. He’d sensed that something was wrong as soon as he opened the door, but when Eddie didn’t even fight him over which movie to watch, Richie knew for sure there was something up.

“Hey, are you okay, Eds?” asked Richie, setting down the VHS tape he was about to put on. “You seem a little down.”

“I’m fine,” said Eddie, but he chewed his bottom lip the way he always did when he was lying.

“No you’re not,” Richie replied, crossing the living room to sit next to him on the sofa. “It’s not your mom again is it?”

“No, not this time,” he replied, his face screwing up when he realised that he’d just admitted he wasn’t fine. “It’s really stupid.”

“If it’s making you this upset, it’s not stupid to me.”

Eddie looked up at him then and Richie’s heart jumped to his throat. He knew he was being reckless, that being this soft with Eddie would lead to him working it out, but he couldn’t imagine being snarky when Eddie looked so sad.

Eddie heaved a deep sigh.

“Okay, well, it’s my, uh, my babysitting.”

“You mean your tutoring?”

“Yeah, what did I say?” asked Eddie, eyes wide and cheeks flooding with colour.

“You said ‘babysitting’.”

“Fuck. Well, I meant tutoring.” He was looking down at his hands now, red-faced. “It, uh, it didn’t work out. I got let go.”

“Ah man, I’m sorry to hear that,” said Richie, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Do you maybe want to ditch the movie and go for ice-cream instead? You seem like you need sugar. My treat, since you’re broke now that you’ve lost your job.”

“Ha fucking ha,” Eddie replies, and though he rolls his eyes, he’s grinning. “You know me, I’d never say no to ice-cream.”

“Thought so,” laughed Richie.

Half an hour later, they were sitting on a patch of grass near the river, quietly eating their desserts. What he appreciated about hanging out with Eddie was that the silences between them were never awkward. He didn’t feel the need to fill the air with the sound of his voice, because it was always so comfortable between them. When Richie was with Eddie, he could just be.

“Thanks for this, Rich,” said Eddie, finishing up the last of his cone. “I needed it.”

“Anytime,” said Richie, lying back in the grass to look up at the sky now that he had finished his own. “Don’t stress about it though, alright? We can find you another kid to tutor.”

Eddie sighed and lay down next to Richie, propping himself up on his elbow to look at him.

“To tell you the truth, I wasn’t… I wasn’t actually tutoring anyone.”

Richie frowned and propped himself up on his elbows too.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I lied about the tutoring because I didn’t want you or the rest of the Losers to know what I was really doing.”

“Okay, so what were you doing?” asked Richie. “Since you telling me the truth now obviously means that you want to let me in on the big secret.”

“You swear you won’t laugh?”

“Oh, my dear Spaghetti, I can promise you a great many things, but that is not one of them.” The crease in Eddie’s brow deepened. “But I can promise you that, depending on how serious this is, I will at least try not to laugh.”

Eddie rolled his eyes.

“I suppose that’s as good as I’m going to get from you. Fine. The truth is that instead of tutoring every second Friday like I told you, ivebeeninadungeonsanddragonsgroupwithsomeoftheavguysforthepastfewmonths.”

“Jesus Christ, Kaspbrak, slow your roll,” said Richie, turning to his side to face Eddie better. “Tell me again, but slowly.”

“I’ve been in a Dungeons and Dragons group with some of the AV guys for the past few months,” Eddie repeated, his face the reddest Richie had ever seen it. Richie had been fully prepared to laugh or at least suppress a laugh, but none came. He was too astounded to hear that Eddie played D&D to do anything except stare at him. “At least I was until Steve, you know the president of the AV club? He said that because Grant and Matt can’t sort out their shit, he’s dissolving our party. That’s why I was upset earlier. And, yeah, I get that probably makes me more of a fucking loser than the rest of the other Losers, but I was really enjoying it. I wasn’t expecting to like it as much as I do, but it’s been really fun. See I play this Bard who’s less of a musician and more of a stand-up comedian and I’m starting to get really good at getting into character. He’s so different to me and it was just nice to be able to stop being Eddie Kaspbrak for a few hours to be someone else, you know. And I just –“

Richie places a hand on Eddie’s arm and his words, which had been flying at a mile a minute a moment ago, suddenly falter.

“You don’t have to justify it to me,” he said, knowing he should probably take his hand back now that Eddie had calmed, but somehow not being able to work up the will to. “If you enjoy it, fuck the rest of them, right?”

And it was at that point that he totally meant to tell Eddie that he was doing the same thing with his Fridays – that the two of them had been keeping the same damn secret for half a year – but it was also at that point that he felt Eddie’s lips crash into his.

Richie’s brain shut down. Eddie, Eddie who he’d been in love with for years, was kissing him. Eddie was kissing him. But no sooner had his brain began whirring back to life than Eddie was pulling back with a look of horror.

“Oh my god, Richie, I don’t know what I was thinking, I’m so fucking sorry I–“

“Hey, Eddie,” said Richie, smiling as he slid his hand from Eddie’s shoulder to his burning cheek. “Don’t be.”

And all thoughts of dungeons or dragons or the president of the AV club left his mind as he kissed Eddie, enjoying the taste of vanilla ice-cream on the lips he’d been dreaming about for so long, enjoying the way that Eddie’s fingers began tangling through his hair, enjoying his soft laugh as they pulled apart again, and especially enjoying the euphoria rising in him at the realisation that this meant that Eddie felt the same way. He was looking at Richie shyly through his long lashes the way he often did, but now he finally knew what that look meant.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, brushing back a tendril of soft dark hair that had flopped across Eddie’s forehead, “though I totally get the appeal of wanting to be someone else for a few hours, I happen to like Eddie Kaspbrak. Like, a lot.”

“He likes you too,” Eddie replied. “Like, a lot.”

There was no way he was changing trajectory now to tell Eddie his other secret. Not when Eddie was scooting closer to wrap his arms around him, not when the two of them were lying together watching the blue sky turn from orange to pink and eventually deep blue, both the happiest they had been in years.

He later realised of course – long after Eddie finally announced that he should head home, long after the hour it had taken them to finally move after this announcement, long after trying to bring it up during the car ride home, though being unable to find the moment to – that there was no longer a good time to tell Eddie that he also played D&D, not without an unnecessarily awkward conversation.

He had missed his window and now he hoped and prayed that another would miraculously show up.

–

The next two weeks were the best of Richie’s life so far. Though he and Eddie had both agreed to keep it quiet for the time being, there were so many stolen glances, and brushes of skin and kisses that the secret felt less like a burden and more like a covert and daring mission. So far it seemed that the Losers suspected nothing, to the point that they had even gotten away with holding hands the whole way through that week’s movie night without anyone noticing.

As the two of them lived the closest to each other, they spent every moment they could at each other’s houses (though mostly at Richie’s – his parents were far more prone to knocking than Mrs Kaspbrak was). Despite all the time that they spent together, however, Richie still hadn’t found a good way of telling Eddie that he was in a D&D party. He fully acknowledged how ridiculous his situation was – he couldn’t bring himself to say it, though he also couldn’t imagine that Eddie would be too upset if he just told him and it would mean that he could potentially invite him to join their party. Their party could do with a Bard. The rest of the drama kids were too focused on exploring the tragedy of their backstories and the idea of having Eddie’s quick wit and banter at the table was a glorious one.

There was just no good fucking way to bring it up.

It was getting to the point by Thursday evening where he found himself, for the first time ever, dreading the next session. He knew he had to tell him – he wasn’t going to give Eddie a sloppy excuse – but he was already curling into a ball at the embarrassing idea of not only having to admit to Eddie that he also played D&D, but also that, for whatever reason, he had felt too awkward to talk about it until then.

Thankfully, he was saved from having to do anything when a beaming Eddie stopped by Richie’s place on his way home.

“I can’t stay – my mom’s inviting people over tonight so I have to help her set up. I just wanted to let you know that I found another group that plays D&D and I’m starting with them tomorrow. I don’t even have to change my time slot.”

“That’s great,” Richie said, pulling Eddie into a hug just as the pager in his pocket started beeping.

“Shit, that’s my mom. We’re still on for Saturday, right?”

“Always.” Richie kissed Eddie on the cheek and when it looked like he was lingering at the hope of more, Richie laughed and nudged him out the door. “Go, you dork. The last thing we need is your mom not letting you come over anymore because she thinks I’m trying to kidnap you or some bullshit.”

“Miss you already,” said Eddie and though Richie vowed he would never, ever, be one of those couples, the sentiment made his stomach somersault.

“Miss you too,” said Richie, closing the door before he said anything more cliché and sappy than that.

Richie got to Will’s house early the next night to help set up the game table and set out chairs.

“Are you alright there?” his friend asked, giving him a curious look. “You’re kinda bouncy today.”

“I have ADHD – I’m always bouncy.”

“You know what I mean,” scoffed Will. “It’s like you have an extra spring in your step or something.”

For a brief moment, Eddie’s face popped into his head and Richie couldn’t keep himself from grinning.

“I guess I’m just really looking forward to tonight’s session,” he replied and though Will still looked curious, he didn’t press the matter further.

“Oh shit, before I forget,” Will said, taking a tray of pizza rolls out the oven, “we have a new guy joining us tonight.”

It took every one of Richie’s spider-man reflexes not to drop the bowl of chips he was setting out.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, hoping his voice sounded casual and not like his blood was suddenly pounding in his ears.

“Yeah. Steve Himble from the AV club says that two of his players were giving him shit so he decided to just stop the game, but he’d invited this guy from his Biology class to join them and he feels shitty that he dissolved the party just as he was starting to really get into it. Apparently, he’s really good. He’s playing a Bard, so that should be fun.”

“Yeah,” Richie replied, not sure what else to say. Was it too late to fake being sick to avoid the situation that was rapidly hurtling towards him?

The crunch of tyres in the driveway answered that question for him.

When the rest of the party had arrived and there was no sign of Eddie, Richie began to hope against all hope that Eddie had chickened out or that he wasn’t going to show, but there was a damning knock at the door five minutes later. Eddie strolled into the room a moment later, as adorable as he always was, cheeks flushed because he was no doubt embarrassed to be the last to arrive.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” he said as he strode towards the table. “I took a wrong turn and I got…”

His voice trailed off as his eyes locked with Richie’s and Richie, unsure of what else he could do to make the situation less awkward, waved at him.

“No worries, Eddie,” said Will. “We usually just talk bullshit for the first half an hour anyway. I take it you know Richie?”

“Yeah, we’re friends,” Eddie replied, pulling his eyes away from Richie to introduce himself to the rest of the party. When he took the seat next to Richie, Richie was certain that his heart was visibly thudding like in a Tex Avery cartoon.

“Sorry, Eds, I meant to tell you, but the moment passed on the first day and I wasn’t sure how to bring it up again without looking like a dumbass,” Richie whispered.

“The good news is that you don’t need to worry about looking like a dumbass,” Eddie replied under his breath as he set out his character sheet, notebook, and dice, “because you are one. And I’d be a lot madder at you if it wasn’t just such a fucking relief to see you here.”

He threaded his fingers through Richie’s under the table, and Richie beamed at him. The crisis had been averted.

Eddie was as good as Will said he was. It became instantly clear from the moment he opened his mouth that he was just what the party needed. His Bard was snarky, impulsive and had a witty comeback for almost everything. Richie had been right in his guess that they would role-play well together – their characters bantered back and forth seamlessly and it filled Richie with pride to see the rest of the party laughing at Eddie’s clever one-liners. It was also the best feeling in the world to glance over at the person he loved more than anyone else in the world and know that he was enjoying all of this as much as he was.

While in combat with several wyverns that had suddenly snuck up on the party, Eddie nudged Richie, pushing his notebook closer so that he could read what he had scribbled there.

Salvan is kinda based on you, just so you know.

Richie couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face, despite the twenty points of damage Lucy’s character took just then. He scrawled his reply beneath Eddie’s message, the words curving up because of the angle he was writing at.

Pips is kinda based on you too.

Eddie gave him a confused look and began writing again.

An angry little gnome cleric? I don’t get it.

Richie raised an eyebrow at him.

Think about it, babe. You’re obsessed with making the people around you better – healing – and you hold a disproportionate amount of rage for someone so small.

Eddie narrowed his eyes at Richie after reading the note, but the corners of his mouth betrayed his amusement.

Fuck you so much, Tozier. ♡

Richie’s stomach flipped at the little heart next to his name, and he smiled softly to himself as he penned his reply.

Fuck you too, Kaspbrak. ♡♡

Eddie blushed, and Richie wondered how he had gotten so lucky. For the first time in years, he officially had no secrets.

Well, he mused as he took Eddie’s hand again under the table, at least not from him.

–

@faequill

#reddie #richie x eddie #eddie x richie #reddie fanfic #reddie fic #it movie #i finally wrote the thing #whoop whoop #long post

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ancient-artificer · 5 years ago

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Bounties, Booze, Etc.

A Cowboy Bebop AU. Found on FF.net and Ao3

NEW* Fic

After a devastating break-up, Spike turns to old medicines to remedy the hurt. Concerned for her good friend's overall health, Faye strikes up a deal: if she can set Spike up with a good woman within a month's time, he must give up drinking and live a healthier life, for all their sakes. Leave it to a woman to beat around the bush...

Eventual Spike x Faye. Plot-driven.

ONE - Hangovers, Milkshakes, etc.

The majority of the household wasn't too thrilled with his decision-making skills of late.

Spike's wobbly hiccuping, coming in too late and hastily leaving too early was all beginning to cause for concern; the hole-in-the-wall pub inhabitants were ready to create for him a permanent place barside, a stock brand with his name on it if they didn't soon do something about his drinking.

Jet claimed that was just how he functioned and to let him be, the old "he'll fix himself, he always does" routine. Faye had always blatantly called him emotionally constipated, for lack of better terms, but even from her opinionated viewpoint, it wasn't that simple this time around.

It wasn't that Spike couldn't let himself feel emotions.

He felt them too much, too strongly.

It had been two weeks since Julia left. No heads up and no word since. No one understood what she had been thinking or why in the least she had not decided to tell anyone her plans. The blond bombshell just up and disappeared.

And left Spike a goddamned messed, barely able to pick up the pieces in her wake.

"What a bitch," Faye spat. She stared at the lifeless form lying on the couch and crossed her arms over her voluptuous breasts.

In front of their computer searching for the next easy, potential payload, Jet hummed, his fingers stroking his beard in thought. One of his eyebrows rose as he glanced up to her. "Way to kick a man while he's down," he monotoned.

Faye turned towards him. "No, not Spike, that damn bimbo he was head over heels for."

"Yea, well, it happens."

She snorted. "Which one, falling in love with a trash can or having it dump you?"

Jet acted as if he wasn't paying attention, but his mouth twitched up in a small smirk. "Like I said."

"I guess…" Her voice trailed off.

Her gaze returned to the dingy couch with the broken man sprawled across it. It softened as she took in his expressionless, slumbering face. "It must really suck."

"Mhm." His eyes darted back and forth on the screen as he read a profile from the bounty office site.

Faye sympathized with the man. Seeing him asleep, finally buried under consciousness after hours of fighting with himself made her glad she had never fallen in love. Of course, there was the like button, the pesky infatuation that came and went as quickly as the vast amounts of alcohol Spike had no doubt thrown back, and that was only a surface level sentiment.

What Spike tried to let go of was deeper. Scarring.

His sleeping form seemed peaceful, though she supposed it would turn one-eighty once he awoke. He had stumbled in around four-thirty that morning, sloshed beyond all hope, incoherently blabbering on. It was a wonder he had made it back to the house in one piece. Spike had easily passed out with his boots still on his feet.

She stepped to the couch and pulled the folded blanket from the recliner to spread over him. He reeked of hard booze.

"What are we gonna do with you?" She murmured to herself, giving her head a shake.

"Mm… er, do what now?"

Spike's eyes were still closed as he stirred and tried to lift his head and speak. The low, cigarette and whiskey-burned groan that escaped between his dehydrated lips sounded painful.

"You look like you were hit by a train." She was ever so blunt.

What resembled a short-lived laugh tumbled out from him, ending in a cough. He winced. "You should feel it," he mumbled.

Faye rolled her eyes and left to fetch him a bottle of water.

His liver and kidneys would be working overtime for a while until his situation leveled out, those brave, little soldiers. These days she felt more like the caretaker of a twenty-seven-year-old baby than a hard-earning, semi-successful bounty hunter.

"I think I'd rather feel the emotional ass-whooping than your kind of hangovers. It'd pass faster," she replied loudly, handing him the bottle with an added sarcastic, "Your drink, sir."

Spike winced hard as he sat up. "Not so loud, fuck…" he croaked. "Trying to kill me."

One hand took the water, the heel of the other rubbed into his forehead, seeking relief from the growing ache. The pounding behind his eyes rocked his balance and sensitivity. A queasiness hit his stomach before he brought the drink to his mouth.

He heaved into the previously placed bucket below him.

"Serves you right," Faye muttered. She walked away before she heard anything else that would haunt her later.

She had never been fond of Julia. From the moment that woman stepped foot inside their abode she could tell they were in for some bad news. Spike was only now unwinding himself from around her slender fingers.

However, Faye was fond of Spike and hoped he would learn from this rather unfortunate event and the things that spurred it. She just didn't approve of his methods. It wasn't fun to tease him when he was hurting himself. If he would let her help.

"Just give it a few more hours. His wallowing's almost over," Jet announced. He stood up from the desk and stretched, his thick arms reached above his head.

Reaching into his pocket, he tossed Faye a pack of smokes as she strolled by. "Give one to pathetic over there and then suit up. We've got a job."

"Uhh, okay, but isn't he a little useless right now?"

From the couch beside her, Spike gave a rough groan and then snarled, "Cowboy up or sit in the fuckin' truck."

Jet only smiled.

"You can't possibly know how this feels," Spike monotoned, briefly closing his eyes. He plodded after the others down the sidewalk towards the pub, which happened to be the location of their next hit.

It was a first. Strolling that day into the same bar he'd gotten plastered in the night before, still hungover as hell. The dark circles under his eyes had deepened in their shade of bluish-purple on the way over.

"Psht, yea, you're right, I can't. 'Cause I'm not a drunk loser," Faye replied in kind. She threw a glance his way.

"You're both getting on my nerves. Focus," Jet grumbled under his breath. "Faye, you walk in first. Spike and I will be in after you've had a look around."

They gave it a good thirty seconds.

Nausea hit Spike as soon as he smelled the alcohol.

The drink hall harbored few patrons in the early evening. It would later fill up to near capacity as the hours wore on. Smoke and other various and unique scents floated through the stale air. The place could have used a strong breeze.

As if not affiliated with the other two, Spike beelined it for the bartop and sank onto one of the many stools. His head hit the cool, shellacked wooden surface and he went limp. All but useless.

Mentally patting herself and feeling the weight of gunmetal beneath the ridiculous outfit, Faye easily slipped into a facade. The perfect trap laid before a hungry smuggler.

Remember he'll be armed, Jet's voice said to her through the earpiece connecting the three bounty hunters. Name's Merle. His crew smuggles drugs and other goods into the country through the underground. Not unlike them to enjoy the spoils.

He adjusted his sunglasses to sit further up on his nose and peered at their target as he sat down two stools from Spike's seemingly knocked out form. He raised his hand at the only bartender, who stood directly in front of him, looking oddly at him as he wiped down the bartop.

"Uh, what can I do for ya, sir?"

Jet nodded. "Iced tea, please."

"Is that all?"

Spike let loose a series of quiet snores. A drop of drool slid from the corner of his mouth.

"And a protein shake. If you've got them," Jet said.

The bartender shook his head. He dropped the wet rag into a sani-bucket. "Don't got those. But there's ingredients for a milkshake?"

Jet glanced at Spike, then nodded to the employee.

Faye said nothing as she roamed about the great hall, her gaze hitting everything that could be used as a weapon if the need arose, all of the exits should they have underestimated their target.

If Merle was easy to catch, he would already be in police custody. The profile stated he'd been on the run for four years, successfully evading cuffs and a comfy cell. Within that time, due to the extremely toxic purity of the illegal synthetic drugs he often smuggled and sold, many innocent lives were needlessly lost. The bounty on his head paid a hefty price, dead or alive.

But preferably alive to watch his freedom turn to cash.

Large, green eyes gave a sultry flash at the giant of a man sitting in the corner intent on the brown bottle in between his fingers.

His expression never faltered. His grip on the bottle loosened a bit when Faye swayed near and laid a hand on the only other chair present at his table. She made a point to throw her shoulders back and jut out her ample breasts barely covered in the low cut of her dress.

"May I join you?" She purred.

He stared at her. First at the twin fun sacks staring back at eye level, then up at her expectant, smiling expression. "I'm meeting someone," he simply stated, his voice gruff.

She gently pressed. "I could be that someone… if you have time," she said, the words rolling off her tongue like a satin sheet.

"Time for you to fuck off," he said, shifting in the chair.

Faye grinned.

He played hard.

She opened her mouth to respond in the same smartass, sarcastic tone when the establishment's glass door swung open once again. Her eyes darted to it.

In strode three buff, ruffian-looking men, one right after the other. The didn't try to hide their full sidearm holsters conspicuously hanging from their clothing or the fact they all knew the dark man in the back. They sneered when they saw Faye.

"Looks like Boss has a customer, heheh," one of them chuckled. With one arm in a fluid motion, he snagged a chair from another nearby table and unceremoniously sank onto it.

The second did the same, but with the chair Faye had her hand on. "A lady friend," he commented.

The remaining man still standing peered closely at her, leaning down so he could breathe on her cheek as he inspected her.

Straightening her back, Faye loosened the hold she subconsciously had on her features. She tried not to tense. She had to act like a whore, not be one. All she had to focus on was getting them happy and cooperative, Jet -and hopefully Spike- would do the rest, with her lending a helping hand should the need arise. The moment they caught wind of her unwillingness to indulge in their scumbag needs and desires, she would be outed as a cop or worse -what she really was- and the bounty-op would be eighty-sixed.

Jet's voice was low and steady in the earpiece. "Hm. This might've turned into a four man warrant..."

The man with his face next to hers smelled like tobacco and grease. A throaty hum of approval thrummed in his chest. He turned to the man who had first occupied the table. "This yours?"

Merle took a swig of his drink. He said nothing, only his dark eyes moved to inspect Faye once again, sizing her up, himself unsure of the answer.

She shifted her weight, making sure her breasts jiggled a bit to keep their attention. Her fingers pushed some of her violet hair behind her ears, her gaze quickly shifting from all four with a mysterious grin sliding up on her red lips. "Well. How about I buy rounds for you. And you can buy for me… and then we see where we stand?"

The three disgusting bastards were instantly hooked, line and all, at her innuendo. They automatically turned to each other and then to Merle, who had yet to give the okay for the extra person to accompany them for the evening.

Jet kept his head down, seemingly staring at the bartop under the dark of his glasses and intently listened in on her conversation. He breathed from his seat in surprise at Faye's words. "Geezus, you don't have to go all out," he said quietly.

At the same moment, the bartender gave him a quizzical gaze, one eyebrow raised as he set the glass full of iced tea down in front of him. "Um. Uh, w-would you also like ah, a lemon wedge? Or two?" He stuttered in his confusion.

A choked sound akin to holding back a burst of laughter came from Spike. He wheezed, his lips turning up at the corners before going back to his expressionless, slumber-like state.

The bartender reappeared with a handful of lemon slices and a milkshake in the tallest glass he could find. He set the tiny fruit bowl and the shake next to Jet.

Jet slid the drink to Spike.

"Finally…" Spike uttered. He unfurled his limbs from his lap and inched the straw to his mouth and sucked down a large mouthful. He frowned. "Hmm, it's missing something… what's it missing?"

"Sour wedge?" Jet sarcastically offered. He dropped a small piece of lemon into his tea without looking at him.

Merle straightened his back at Faye's suggestion.

"You're pretty. Too pretty for a dump like this shithole," the bossman grunted. His eyes bore a hole through her dark red dress. He spat, "How do I know you're not a cop?"

Faye blinked. "I'm not," she replied as a confused question.

She didn't look like one, that was for sure. But they couldn't be too careful these days. Highly sought after criminals could not let their guards down, especially around a woman, no matter how pretty. They were sly. They were just as capable of manipulation as men.

Merle snapped his fingers and pointed. "Vic. Search her."

"Heh. With pleasure."

Faye swallowed.

Through the earpiece, Jet heard the demand. She had a Glock and a pair of cuffs strapped to the inside of her leg. If they found those, she was as good as dead where she stood.

"Ahh. I see." Spike hailed the bartender. With a raspy voice and a fake smile, he asked, "Do you have any eggs?"

"Eggs?"

"Yea. Eggs. You know. Chickens shit them out. Can I have one?"

The perpetually perplexed employee headed for the back with his strange request, oblivious to the growing tension in the place.

"What are you doing, Faye needs us. Now," Jet said. He was already turning in the stool to free the handgun at his side.

"Relax. Everything's fine." The hungover bounty hunter lazily sipped at the whipped cream on top of the milkshake, seemingly uninterested in the fate of his female friend. Or any of their fates, for that matter.

The employee came back and handed him a white egg.

Jet slid from his stool and took a long step in the smugglers' direction, in his hand a grey and silver Walther P99.

Faye backed away from the table as two of them approached her. A quick glance to the bar area at Jet and she reached down under the hem of the dress. One hand made a fist, the other gripped the black, fully loaded Glock.

She landed a swift uppercut into the soft underside of the ruffian's jaw and pistol-whipped the back of his head with the butt of her gun. He landed on the ground a shove. She shook her hand in the air and cringed.

Jet fired the Walther at the other man standing between Faye and the table, the explosion of contained gunpowder slicing through the previous quiet. As soon as the man fell to the floor with a shout, he shifted his aim toward the two still seated.

Distance offense strategy was now useless; Merle and his thug friend were already up and closing the space that separated them.

Merle rushed Jet. He knocked into him before he could bring his pistol around to aim. The Walther flew from his hand and a fist connected into the side of his face.

Throwing a glance towards Jet, Faye knew she wasn't equipped to fight like him or Spike. She wasn't trained in hand to hand, but in the close quarters of the small pub, the Glock was still her only defense. She didn't want to flat out kill them, they wouldn't get their money if the smugglers were dead.

"Spike! You idiot!" She called in frustration.

Hunched over his drink, Spike concentrated on cracking the missing ingredient into his shake. He was terrible at cooking anything, having relied heavily on Jet for sustenance for most of his adult life. He winced from the gunshot, which only added to the ache behind his tired eyes. Behind him, all hell broke loose, the sounds of struggles and gunfire ringing in the stale air.

Jet blocked another fist aimed for his gut and connected his own to Merle's temple in return. The smuggler stumbled backward. Jet shoved him hard in the chest and the muscled man toppled over the table and his unfinished beer.

"Faye!" Jet shouted in warning.

The woman turned at his voice, seeing one of the thugs ball his fist and advance to pummel her. She ducked and threw her shoulder into his gut, using the Glock's barrel to assist her in tagging him in the process.

He was out of the fight, down for the count, dry heaving with his hands on his junk.

The man she had earlier pistol-whipped rose and ran at her, the bloodlust apparent in his angry eyes. She promptly ducked again and stuck out her leg, which he ran right into. He was sent stumbling into the bar and smacked right into Spike.

The still unbroken egg slipped out of his hand to bust on the floor.

"The fuck," Spike barked. Anger boiled inside his chest.

The pub's door flung open and four more similarly dressed men ran in, all familiar with Merle and the two men sprawled on the floor. They looked around at the fray, briefly orienting themselves with the situation. It took only seconds, but Jet and Faye knew they couldn't hold off the newcomers.

"My egg! I needed that," Spike seethed. "Everything's so not fine!"

He jumped and shoved the stool away from the counter, standing up and tugging out his Jericho 941 from its holster. He snarled, racking the pistol and without aiming, started firing off round after round directly at the smugglers who had just entered the building.

They scattered to hide behind anything they could find, knocking tables on their sides to use as makeshift shields as he channeled his frustrations into the gunmetal.

Spike turned to the downed man who had run into him. He smashed the man's bloody face into the egg mess with his boot. "That's for ruining my milkshake," he hissed.

Behind him, Jet's left fist smacked into Merle's jaw, his torso bending in half at the waist with the momentous effort. He breathed out, struggling to catch his breath with the strain.

The drug smuggler bounded into the back wall. His head shot side to side, looking for a way out while Jet was preoccupied with the small group of his followers that had come in to join them.

When his attention returned to their main target, Merle was nowhere to be seen. Their intended target escaped.

Faye dove for Jet's discarded pistol as the newcomers began to retaliate. She threw herself back on the floor. With her own gun, she covered them with gunfire until she could return Jet's firearm to him. Her dress hitched up her legs, the thigh holsters now in full view. Vibrant green panties peeked out from the inside at the apex of her legs.

Spike barreled out of the way of blazing bullets zooming past. "Shit!"

Lying on the ground next to Faye, he ejected the empty magazine and inserted a fresh one into his black pistol. From his position, he spied the material. "Really. Lime green, huh," he stated casually. A smirk showed up on his mouth.

Faye pursed her lips and cow kicked him in the chest. "Stop looking, pervert."

"We gotta get, fast," Jet grunted. He caught the pistol Faye tossed up to him.

"What about the bounty-" Faye started, the surprise coating her voice.

The big man shook his head. "It's no good. Let's go before we're shot all to hell!"

With Jet laying down cover fire, Spike hauled Faye to her feet, then angled his body to pop off a few rounds at their opposition. He snatched up the milkshake on his way and followed the other two out the back exit and into the alley.

Outside next to the dumpsters, Faye watched for any signs of their fleeing quarry while Jet fetched the car parked on the other side of the alley. She turned at the door opening, relaxing when she saw Spike. He made a face as he sucked up the shake.

"You went back for that?"

He swallowed. "It's not as good without some egg in it. No tip for him."

Faye tried to hide the smile he unknowingly put on her face. Though the man liked to mess around, making light of certain situations, never mind how dire they may be, he made her heart a little lighter. Every day. His presence settled her. His lack of emotional awareness, however, would get him into serious trouble someday.

Jet drove the car up to them, skidding to a halt.

Pulling at Spike's shirt, Faye dragged him to the car, pushing him through the now open door. She shoved him further to climb in herself.

The junk car didn't look like much, though it got them from point A to B with no hesitation. The engine's rumble turned into a roar as Jet sped away. "Watch for that slimebag," Jet said.

They entered the main, busy streets, blending in with the locals. People walked along from one area to another. Other vehicles on the streets passed by in a rush. There were so many, Faye couldn't distinguish after a certain distance. "I don't know, Jet. I don't see him. Sorry."

"Hmm. Well. This blows. Not what I expected." Jet made a sound with his mouth and flicked the air freshener hanging under the rectangle mirror.

Faye nodded. "We'll try again. Another day, sometime."

"Sometime," Jet repeated. He looked at her in the mirror. "You mean another year. That guy's evaded the cops and bounty hunters alike for half a decade. He's not stupid."

There was an empty, sipping sound.

They both turned to Spike, who had finished his mediocre milkshake. He seemed to be doing a little better than earlier in the day. His eyes were a little brighter, almost back to normal.

From the other side of the backseat, Spike peered at Faye from his position, his head resting on the armrest. He took in her ragged appearance after their small bar fight.

Bounty work did a number on her.

He licked the whipped cream off the straw and said, "Yea. Next time it'll be a thousand times harder 'cause he knows who we are."

#cowboy bebop #cowboy bebop fic #spike spiegel #spike x faye #AU #bounty hunters #ff.net #ao3 #CapAleran2 #andyswrite #im terrible at tagging things

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tellywoodtrash · 5 years ago

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Sanjivani - Weeks 2 + 3

This is now my lunchtime show (replacing random topical news comedy like Late Night with Seth Meyers, Last Week Tonight, Patriot Act, etc.) It’s a nice show to consume that way; I’m not super-involved in it, but it decently holds my interest for a solid 20 minutes as I shove something in my gaping maw.

Overall Plot

Marginal improvement in plot as the show and characters settle in. We learn more about the backgrounds of Ishani and Sid, and their relationship becomes much better. The Shashank/Anjali/Juhi/Vardhan dynamics are also nicely built up, and frankly the more interesting overarching plotline of the show.

The Medical Stuff

They seem to be going for a Grey’s Anatomy type of vibe, I think, focusing on one or two cases over the week. Nothing as interesting as in Grey’s, here it’s more routine kinda cases, but there does seem to be more focus on medicine than there ever was in DMG, which I’m kinda thankful for. While yes, I’m interested in the interpersonal dynamics, I also wanna see these people do their jobs (rather than just canoodling/having angsty fights in stairways and on-call rooms.) With other shows, I really really hate when a day goes on and on for weeks, but in this show, it’s realistic. Residents do often have to do 24 - 36 hour shifts, and each week being about one shift, it’s well-encapsulated; I like how the show flows from one day/shift/case to another.

The Acting

The seniors (Mohnish, Gurdeep, Sayantani) remain the best part, as expected, turning in consistent performances. Surbhi’s performance has toned down considerably, and that’s a big relief. The show would have been unwatchable if she hadn’t. Namit is still weak in some regards (like crying; god that one scene in Week 2 was really bad) but is getting better. He’s best in scenes where he has to be soft and considerate (comforting Anjali/Ishani/Sanya/Neeti etc.) or taking charge of things, coz he plays both these aspects confidently. I also like the chemistry when paired with Surbhi, because he plays off her really well. Only upwards from here, I should hope. The others are.... eh. They’re background characters, so they do what is expected of them.

The Characters

Sid: Sid’s the character that’s grown on me the most compared to the first week. They’ve thankfully toned down his fuckboy-ness waaaaaay down (not sure why they decided to introduce him that way, when it doesn’t even seem to be true of his character aside from in the pilot.) We find out a little more about his social background/family, and it explains why/how he is the way he is. I appreciate his camaraderie with Ishani; he’s obviously fond of her, and attracted to her as well (but in a casual way), but knows she has a lot to learn about how this place works and tries to be a good supporting team member to her, but not to the point where he lets her run amok. He tries to justify his ways to her, but is also willing to let her try her own things in the off case it does pay off; but always has a Plan B in his back pocket, because he knows things don’t work out as expected around here. I like his quiet confidence and integrity, but that he’s also willing to not mince words and/or throw hands if and when absolutely required. Not very realistic of a doctor, but eh, this is Tellywood. Chalta hai.

Ishani: Thankfully, Ishani has mellowed down quite a bit and isn’t as intolerable as she was in the first week. She’s quickly learning that things at Sanjivani are not as they appear and that her initial judgement of Sid was way too hasty/harsh, and has formed a delicate alliance with him. Not to say that she isn’t a stickler for rules anymore, or approves of his on-the-fly, jugaadu/sometimes outright wily ways to skirt around the rules, but she’s trying her best to maintain a balance; in how she tries to help the people who need it, in the most forthright manner. But she’s definitely more comfortable being flexible with “the rules” than she realizes. Her germophobia prevents her from getting comfortable with Sid’s physical proximity whenever he tries to comfort her/express thanks, but I think she appreciates the sentiment.

Shashank: God, I’m so grateful he’s still here. He’s kind of out of sorts due to the surgery, but he’s still very aware and involved in what’s going on in Sanjivani. His gentle battle with Anjali persists, with the latest episode making him give some leeway to her, quite unwillingly though.

Juhi: Beyond Shashank’s surgery, she didn’t really make much of an impression on me in these 2 weeks. She takes the COS job in a spur-of-the-moment decision, purely in an emergency situation, than really actually wanting it. She does a good enough job, stern and smart with the rioting mob/Vardhan, and compassionate and understanding with Ishani, but I do anticipate lots of trouble coming her way in the position. Especially with Rahul lurking mysteriously in the shadows, in cahoots with Vardhan.

Anjali: NOT ENOUGH ANJALI AS I WANT!!!!!! All we do see Anjali doing is either be hysterical during surgery, or sulking over not getting the COS post. For godssake, she’s an HOD, a competent doctor in her own right, can we see her at work too? I want to see her be the kickass boss bitch I know she is; maybe taking a few of these many million juniors under her wing and mentoring them? (She seems to have a good relationship with Sid, it would be nice to see that extend to some others too?) There was one good scene between Shashank and her where they peacefully discuss their issues at the end of this week, but I really need Anjali to DO more than just be standing around feeling bad for herself/manipulated by Vardhan/sniping at Juhi/being passive-aggressive at Shashank. I like that she was upfront enough with Juhi about not liking her, but I don’t like how they’re centering her whole character around just that. You’ve already done this character dirty in one iteration (DMG), please do not waste this chance to showcase the complex personality she is!

Vardhan: A kinda compelling asshole. He has a son that he keeps talking to on the phone, whom seems to dote on and wants to make the best impression on. But harkatein kaafi kameeni. But I also feel marginally sympathetic to him, because he’s trying his best to keep Sanjivani afloat financially. Drs. Shashank and Juhi’s bleeding-heart ways are admirable and all, but the ground realities of running an organization are quite different; and Vardhan is answerable to multiple people above him about it. So yeah I do hate him when he’s doing pettyass evil shit like booting a poor person off a donor list, but in some cases - esp. PR/admin/financial issues, I can see where he’s coming from. I just wish they’d stop making him so caricatureish in his villainy at times and kept him a slick evil, like most corporate types are.

Rishabh: Asshole Jr., but not at all compelling or complex like Vardhan. Just an outright classist asshole, looking to suck up to Vardhan and other richie-rich fuckers and get Sid in trouble. He’s the most annoying part of the show, honestly, constantly lurking around with his phone and filming Sid. Jeez, get a damn life, loser.

Rahil: So sweet and unproblematic, why don’t we see him more (instead of the irritating Rishabh)????? GIVE US MORE RAHIL!!!!!!!

Asha & Aman: They might as well have made them twins, coz they’re so alike (even have matchy-matchy names!) I despise when they unthinkingly run their mouths and blurt out whatever the hell they’re thinking, even to waaaay senior doctors like Juhi and Shashank. Their no-filter admonishments are quite welcome in the case of Ishani though, where they drill some sense into her head. Ultimately, they do have their hearts in the right place and are sincere doctors (if not the most knowledgeable), and I enjoy them in limited amounts; like in the scene where they’re watching Sid and Ishani brawling over the liver.

Asha: Tu idhar mitti ka dher bana khada hai, inki fight rok na??? Aman [watching Sid and Ishani literally bucking at each other while holding an icebox with a liver inside it]: Abbe pagal ho gayi hai ke, baukhlaaye hue saand se ho rakhe hain. Dulatti nahi khaani maine inki!

Neil: Like Rahil, he seems to be sweet and unproblematic, but I get the feeling that he suffers from some kinda health issue? He fainted at the first case out in the field (the bomb blast), Aman mentions he fainted again seeing a corpse that could donate a liver, and he seemed very out of breath when he came to inform Sid/Ishani about another liver donor. I find it hard to believe that a first year resident could be this squeamish about things you get used to by the end of med school, so I really think there’s something else going on here. Is he going to be the Dr. Omi equivalent (the tragically ill character) of this season? I would like to see more of him (than the other jr. residents), because the actor is very measured and likable.

Rahul: We haven’t SEEN him yet, but we have heard him and what we’ve heard......... Does not bode well. I haven’t seen Sanjivani 1, so I don’t know the character as such, but wasn’t he the lead? They’re bringing him back but as an antagonist? Seems quite out-of-character, but I am veryyyyyyyy intrigued about this development, and especially how Juhi fits into all of this.

Overall Rating: 3.5/5

#sanjivani #sanjivani (new)#tt reviews

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raijinhasverybigpecs · 5 years ago

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tu’er headcanons that i probably should’ve done and posted along with the main oc post but it’s too late now

can i just say that he’s short lol. taller than awilix by a few cm

sentimental as hell, his temple is cluttered with lots of offerings. he’s kind of a hoarder but shhh

big tea lover, adores holding tea parties and little get togethers in his temple. naturally loves bubble tea as well 😌

natural recluse, aphrodite keeps trying to drag him out of his shell but he’s just a loser like that. also hates drawing attention to himself

yes he listens to pop music. do you really think a gay rabbit twink wouldn’t stan loona?

very private about his past. he won’t tell anyone.

good memory! you’ve got to have one when you’re matching people around the world anyways

cordial but distant relationships with most of the gods. hates violence so he won’t talk with the more chaotic gods at all. he’ll work with them in battle but not anymore than he has to

a cardio bunny, does a lot of running in some terribly short shorts. does a lot of gymnastics as well, it’s partly an excuse to wear bright lycra but being real flexible comes in handy in many different situations

sensitive hearing. you guess why :P

eyes change colour from red to light pink according to what mood he’s in. red is happy, negative emotions are very pale reds and positive & romantic emotions equal bright pinks

can change his appearance to some extent - can remove the bunny ears and tail (as he’s not actually a rabbit god, just somewhat associated with them)

romantic/god relationship/nsfw stuff below the cut!

romantic headcanons

naturally he’s very romantic. loves a big gesture but definitely not anything too gaudy or attention grabbing, something like chocolates and a teddy bear is very up his alley

subtle flirt, says little comments and compliments here and there to test the water then he pounces (or bunny hops?). he’ll keep up with whatever you’ve got if he’s looking for something carnal and isn’t afraid to talk dirty to get what he wants out of you

but if he’s romantically interested then’s he’s very easily flustered and embarrassed. he’ll only do that if he’s really into you though~

moves very slowly in a relationship but he falls in love quickly. it’s always been an issue for him but he’s learnt a lot of self-control so you’ll have to really show your dedication to him to gain his trust

god relationship stuff - kinda nsfw lol

also if someone isn’t included that doesn’t mean i hate them (hi cu chu...) i just got tired and these are the more obvious relationships i thought about lol. maybe send in an ask about other gods ;^)

achilles - gay alliance 🙏 they have that gay relationship where there’s a lot of flirting but they’re just having fun. tu’er shen recommends romantic things for achilles to do so he can get those brownie points (and he’s totally on the threesome list for achilles and patroclus lol)

amaterasu - friends! they like to geek over cute things while they go shopping with each other and tu’er shen helps pick out outfits for her dates. they often have tea together as well :)

aphrodite - they’re very close friends, they also have a mentor relationship. they’re very emotionally open with each other and it’s very common to find them talking to each other over tea. both will hunt you to the ends of the earth if you talk shit about the other

apollo - another gay alliance 🙏 apollo brings out the fun in tu’er shen and they do a lot of dumb stuff together. tu’er shen still dunks on apollo tho as he can never get a partner cuz he’s a clown. and they’ve messed around before, usually it’s for some god who wants to see two twinks making out (or doing something worse!) ;^)

bacchus - the top to tu’er shen’s bottom. yet another gay alliance 😳🙏 essentially just apollo but more intense. tu’er shen has done a lot of kinky stuff at bacchus’ parties that he says he regrets but they both know he likes being a thot lmao

bastet - like aphrodite but more playful and fun. tu’er shen basically knows that if he goes to visit bastet and they go out that he’ll end up having a one night stand somewhere and he’s not mad about it. tu’er shen gets teased a lot by bastet as well :^)

chang'e - a very quiet and peaceful relationship. sometimes chang’e will drop in for tea and they’ll spend some time enjoying each others company, otherwise they’re not super close. they’ll acknowledge each other with a nice smile and wave :) also tu’er shen really adores her relationship with hou yi as well (duh!) but less likes talking to hou yi cuz he’s a bit cocky

cupid - i refuse to write anything about this bobblehead lmao. cupid’s probs jealous about all that extra time tu’er shen is spending with aphro but he pros doesn’t care that much otherwise cuz he’s more popular lol

freya - just like aphrodite and bastet but tu’er shen sees her less. tu’er shen is a bit intimidated by her but whenever they get to talk they get on very very well. lots of romantic fluff between them

essentially aphro, bastet and freya are trying to get tu’er shen a boyfriend but he won’t let down his walls so getting laid is a decent alternative lmao. also aphro/bastet/freya and tu’er shen spend a day every few weeks watching romance films and naturally they’re common guests for tea :)

mercury - not a very close relationship (like chang’e!) but tu’er shen sometimes has him over for tea when he gets time between serving as a delivery boy as merc makes tu’er shen laugh. they might’ve messed aroudn a few times but it’s very casual :^)

mulan - one again they’re not super close but tu’er shen likes to help mulan take a break every now and then and she updates him on what’s happening. tu’er shen basically idolises mulan as well, he’s a bit starstuck by her whenever they talk lol

neith - they’re pretty close actually! they have a lot of things in common and they often hang around mortals any play matchmaker or just pretend to be human. it’s all very fluffy lol

nu wa - same as mulan, tu’er shen is very in awe of how regal and powerful she is. rarely do they meet up together but nu wa is a very smart and witty guest who sometimes knows tu’er shen better than himself

raijin - i mean... naturally i ship them but outside of that i will say that tu’er shen disliked him at first because he’s so loud and rowdy but seeing how friendly and loyal raijin is + them mascles + the fact that he’s just fighting for fun unlike many other gods makes him develop a lil ~crush~ on raijin. if i’m not shipping them together then they’d have tea together that would lead to casual sex lol

but yes, i’m shipping them together so suck it lmao. essentially they’re the bara jock and twink prep pairing which is how god intended it to be :^)

ravana - same thing as raijin inviting people in for ‘tea’. tu’er shen knows that if he really wants to get dominated he’s gotta see ravana in private and ravana is always ready... it’s rare when bunny boy has that urge but when he does they do stuff that’s intense enough for apollo to blush :^)

serqet - fashion. style. runway. nouns! they’re style buds and they help pick out outfits for each other and she comes around often for tea to gossip together~ he’s also a bit imtimdated by her but she’s very nice to him lol

tu’er shen likes to help neith and serqet make and try on outfits. that’s also how he’s got all those sexy bedroom outfits...

nsfw stuff :^) i mean who else is gonna write it lol

i like saying he’s a bottom but he’s vers and bottom leaning. adjusts accordingly for his partner as he’s happy to do whatever

flexible, no gag reflex, etc etc. he’s a pro and he knows it.

he doesn't actually have that much sex though as he’s (mostly) reserved. he is basically horny at all times but extremely good at controlling himself

prefers long sessions where he can release all that pent up energy and really get his partner to enjoy themselves and get into the lovin’ mindset. is ready to go again and again and again otherwise...

big collection of sex toys. it’s how he spends all that time alone...

loves roleplaying and wearing femme outfits. stockings are hot :^)

and with that eye colour thing, hot pink is when he’s really turned on <3

semen kink, actually likes swallowing. he likes a big finish, what can i say

#gay rabbit stuff #this took at while but at least i'm writing about him again hehe...#didn't want him to become contentless so i figured this would be apt lol #i had this planned for months but didn't do anything about it until today/yesterday #it's now 12:26am and i have to get up at like 7am lmao #oops!#it was worth it #probably lol #anyways pwease support him bc i love him 🥺

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theempressar · 5 years ago

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Drabble Prompt Challenge Part 3 for @curiousdamage

Part 1 found here: https://theempressar.tumblr.com/post/185962276349/pick-one-for-johnnyshannon-tinder-date-41446

Part 2 found here: https://theempressar.tumblr.com/post/186105956039/drabble-prompt-challenge-part-2-for-curiousdamage

Stumbling out of the bar...hands everywhere. Lips on tongues...sucking slow...sliding down jawlines and desperately trying to rid clothes from the other's body. Shannon had his shirt untucked from his jeans and was clawing at his back. He hissed. She smiled around his lips. "Sorry, Tiger."

"Don't worry I'm gonna get my payback..." He hoisted her up so that her legs were straddled around his hips. He couldn't formulate too many thoughts or words as he was drunk on alcohol and her intoxicating smell. He breathed her deep.

"Babe...it's been too long since last time..."

"When was that actually?" She laughed and threw her head back giving him a good look at her cleavage which he immediately delved into. She gasped.

Earlier...

They were back in their seats after the dance. Holding hands and looking into each other's eyes.

"So...that was interesting..."

"Yeah...go figure."

"Didn't think you could still move like that."

"I'm not that old."

She didn't respond.

"Really! I'm not that old!"

"Ok..Ok Johnny! You don't have to convince me."

Johnny was already staring morosely at his refreshed drink. Shannon sighed.

"It's always about that isn't it?"

“It's why you left me..."

"Uh...I left you because you were a deadbeat loser...but that's beside the point."

"Keep insulting me, Shannon...it really brings out the 'bitch' in your eyes."

"Here we go..." Her face took on it's usual spoiling for a fight and Johnny could swear he saw her claws extend.

"Look...I'm not gonna start this up tonight...but it's clear that we can't even get through an evening without rehashing the past. "

"You started it!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!!"

"It doesn't matter...I can see where this is going...It's been real." Johnny got up and tossed some bills on the table.

Shannon sat there...staring at the bills. This was not how she intended this evening to go at all. It was the first time she'd been out in weeks. She had promised Robby that she would start staying home more...but it wasn't working...Robby was seeing how miserable she was every day..and he knew that she needed to get out and be free for a while. It was just who she was. He wanted to see his mom happy more than trapped and depressed. He told her that she could go out that night and have a good time. She was visibly ecstatic. 'OH THANKS BABY!! Are you sure you're going to be ok with this?! ' 'Sure...mom. I'm needing a break from you anyway.' He said giving his little dimpled smirk. She kissed him repeatedly with her red lipstick covering him in kiss marks.

She was intrigued by the mystery man on the dating app and thought...why not...a night of 'getting wild' was just what the doctor ordered.

It turned out to be...Johnny Lawrence and she could have sworn that Robby did this to her on purpose some way. He seemed way to eager to get her to go on this one. Even still she thought she could make the best out of the situation.

She had decided to forget who he was and just enjoy herself. But the past had a real way of rearing its ugliness and making her remember just how much they should never mix the fire and gasoline...which was their relationship.

"FINE! Just GO! You fucked up my night like you FUCKED up everything else...Johnny!" She couldn't keep the sob from tinging the end of her words.

She hadn't intended to show weakness or start crying...but she was frustrated...didn't have a ride home and didn't have any chance of getting her boots knocked.

Johnny turned around at the sound of the wounded edge to her voice. He hated seeing her vulnerable. She was always supposed to be the tough bad bitch that gave as good as she got. When she cried or even remotely had an emotion leaning that way it broke him. It always did...she had that power over him.

"Shan..."

"Don't Johnny...just go."

"No...I'm not gonna do that..." He said coming closer to her. She looked up at him with tears swimming. He already felt like an ass for being a dick for leaving her sitting there. That wasn't very gentleman like. He looked down at her and his breath caught. It could have been the alcohol...but he saw her just as she was the day he met her. In a similar place...and how they couldn't keep their hands off of each other. He brushed a tear away and let his thumb linger on her cheek. She instinctively leaned into it.

“Do you have a ride home?”

"Don't tell me you STILL have this old thing" Shannon said between kisses as Johnny shuffled with her to the door. He set her down and began fumbling with the belt on her jeans. She put her leg around him pushing herself closer to the stiffness growing in his own jeans.

"You better not be talking about what you got your hand on now, Babe..."

Johnny growled at her as she boldly put her hand down his pants right on his hardness, through his boxers and stroked it a few times. "Shit..."

They each vied for position, fumbling with their clothes and the door handle. Shannon clawed Johnny's back with her long lacquered nails and he winced at the sensation, not feeling a woman's nails digging in, in quite a while. He bit the pulse in her neck until she gasped and buried her hands back deep in his hair.

"We're not going to fuck in the parking lot." Johnny panted kissing a trail to the valley of her breasts.

"I've done worse." She moaned as his mouth found her nipple in her bra-less blouse. He tugged and hummed around it.

"I don't wanna know what dumpster fire you recently crawled out of."

"You're a riot...keep that up and I won't give you a chance to figure it out for yourself." She purred and brought both hands down to squeeze his ass in his tight jeans.

Johnny finally wrenched the door of his Firebird open and after a few more moments of trying to maneuver Shannon into the seat, blindly and then almost gave up altogether as she hopped around his waist, her legs wrapped securely around his middle.

"Shan...we're not going to make it back to your place...We are going to your place right?"

"Yeah...*breathes* I think Robby's out with friends tonight." She said not really caring where he was at the moment. Johnny was doing that 'thing' he always did. She missed his tried and true moves on her. They still had an affect after all of these years.

"Johnnnnny...don't stop!" She moaned as his hand moved up her thigh getting closer to his intended prize.

Johnny's head was spinning. Alcohol and her body. He had no idea how they were going to get there...but he was gonna get there...and to do that he had to detach and drive.

"Get in, Princess and sit still...it won't do us any good getting wrapped around a telephone pole." ----- Later

Robby came home late...very late...way past the early hours of the morning late. He didn't think he had much to worry about. He knew his mother probably wasn't home and he probably wouldn't see her until she wobbled her way in sometime later in the afternoon. He sighed and shook his head. He just wanted to throw himself on the couch and come down off of his own self-medicated high. He didn't take so much that he'd be unconscious soon...but it was just a nice way to end the night staring into the nothingness of the ceiling tiles and thinking about random things and finding everything funny. Heck he even thought he heard voices coming from the other room if he thought about it long enough he could even begin to make out what the were saying.

“You’re the only one I wanna wake up next to.”

"God...you're such a sentimental asshole!"

"Shut up and get on your knees...I'm ready to do this...again. *growls*"

"Oh...hell yeah...where have you been hiding all this energy, Tiger?"

"You're gonna find out...Shit...you are so hot ohhh yeah.....Fuck....right there...."

Robby tried not to zone in on the words...but caught a few and more the sound of the voices....and his eyes went from glassy to focused.

His mother's he recognized...and he tried to shake the sounds of her moans and sighs out of his brain...if he wasn't high he'd realized he'd be scarred for life. He did NOT want to know what his mom did in the bedroom...but the other voice. Robby cocked his head to the side. Familiar tones and patterns. Words and grunts.

"Call me Daddy!!"

"Yes...YES...Daddy!!"

Robby went shock white as a sheet. No...NO....it couldn't be. It wasn't!! He put his headphones on. He turned the music up as loud as it would go. He drowned out the noise but he could still hear it...faint...was it inside or outside of his head?

Johnny came out of the bedroom and nearly crashed into the dining table in the dark. "Fuck..." He swore softly. He didn't know his way around the small apartment well. He had one of Shannon's bed sheets wrapped and tied around him like a toga. His hair was a mess. Sticking up at all angles and matted to his face in some places.

His lopsided grin as he thought back to how he'd left her...sprawled and snoring in the middle of the mattress. He needed water. He needed something to drink.

It had a been a very long time since he'd been this muscle-relaxingly worn out. His tension was gone and he just felt good for the moment. He actually hummed a few bars of "Keep On Loving You." As he made his way to the kitchen.

A disheveled head of hair popped up over the side of the couch. Johnny had just grabbed some orange juice out of the mostly empty fridge and was making his way back to the bedroom when he stopped dead in his tracks. A pair of green eyes leveled a piercing frown at him and Johnny swallowed hard.

He nodded at Johnny.

Johnny nodded at him.

Robby slowly lowered his head back down to the couch without taking his eyes off of Johnny.

Johnny quietly went back to the bedroom and shut the door.

"So...did you find what you were looking for, Loverboy?"

"Uh...not exactly. Houston...we have a problem."

#drabble challenge #johnny #shannon #robby #well that was awkward

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jack-kellys · 6 years ago

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thank u, next

HEY it’s me with another installment of the “wait... ??!! !?” AU!

previous chapters: 1 (x) 2 (x) and 3 (x)

LAST time on TU,N, race revealed what little he could of his past, and al was sucked more extremely if you will into race’s...plan. scheme. something. who knows. it’s me I know heheh

————

words: 2500

warnings: cursing, NSFW jokes, mush (YEAH HE’S HERE) is a med student if that helps

————

Four

“How do you know he ain’t just a hookup?”

Al rolled his eyes at Mush’s question. They’d just finished their last class of the day, Albert having told him all about Race. Or, well, all that he could without mentioning the tiny part where he was born in 1880 and yet still here.

“It’s more than a feeling this time, okay?” Albert sighed, giving Mush a nudge. “I’m serious.”

“Yeah, but guess what you said last time? The same thing. And the time before that? Also the same thing,” Mush said, his knowing look causing Al to deflate slightly. “Look, I just want you to be careful this time, okay? I know you.”

“Fuck off, Meyers,” Albert said, no real heat behind it. “You knew with Blink, right?”

“And you know that Blink is god-tier to any loser you could pick up, Red,” Mush smirked, letting out a pained laugh when Al necked him at the nickname.

“Just watch, okay? Look. I have a date with him tonight, like a real one—a dinner thing. That confirms that he ain’t just a hookup, right? I made it clear what I wanted, he made it clear what he wanted,” Al shrugged, then scoffed at himself. “That’s already one step ahead of past me.”

Mush shook his head with a sad smile. “You are just so, so lovesick, about everyone, all the time. It’s really...sad,” he said, smile still present.

“I’m also so, so angry with you, all the time,” Al growled, “because you suck.”

“Ah, but you love me.” Mush pat Albert’s shoulder lightly, raising his eyebrows.

“....Yeah, asshole,” Al muttered. Mush laughed, hugging his arm around Albert until they had to part ways.

“In all seriousness, dude,” Mush said, stopping them at the corner. He placed both hands on Al’s shoulders, looking him in the eyes. “No more bruises, literal or metaphorical. Okay?”

“Okay, sheesh,” Al chuckled, then cleared his throat as Mush’s rather dark expression remained. “Seriously. No more, I swear.”

Mush’s face brightened instantly. “Great! Have fun tonight, man!” He waved as he started walking up the street.

“You’re really not gonna graduate with that fucked up bedside manner, doc,” Al called up to him. When Mush turned back around to flip him off, he took that as his cue to leave. He had to pick up Race in an hour anyway.

•••

“It’s good to know you own more than sweatshirts and flannels, DaSilva. I’m proud, really,” Race teased, leaning on his door frame after he’d opened the door for Al.

Albert gaped at him a second, then scoffed with a slight smile. “I clean up nice for ya, and I get a damn joke. Okay, date cancelled, flannel will be reinstated shortly.”

“No!” Race whined, latching himself to Al’s arm. “No, you look really cute, I promise. Let’s go eat, c’mon.”

“Thank you,” Al said pointedly, glancing over Race and managing to keep his heart from skipping a beat at the mere sight of him. “You look good too, by the way, in case you weren’t sure.”

Race whapped his arm as they walked out of the complex. “Oh thanks,” he snorted, grinning. “Now, this is my favorite italian restaurant in the city, and I’m big-time italian. So get your mouth ready for some good food.”

“You have no idea how many jokes just went through my head, oh my god, it’s blinding,” Albert cringed.

“Oh come on, I gave you ‘italian’ and ‘mouth’ in the same sentence for a reason. Shoot,” Race encouraged, a mischievous look gracing his face.

“Don’t kill me,” Al prefaced.

“You of all people should know I love dirty talk,” Race said, bouncing his eyebrows as Albert rolled his eyes, blushing.

“Okay, okay, here’s the first one I thought of: my mouth has already had my favorite italian.”

Race smiled sarcastically. “Aww, I’m your favorite.”

“Then there’s also: my mouth is always ready for my favorite Italian.”

“Yeah, it really is,” Race smirked, pecking Albert on the lips.

Albert smiled gently, lacing his hand with Race’s the rest of the way to the restaurant, not missing the sentimental glance Race sent towards their hands.

Race’s excitement only seemed to grow as they finally stepped inside the place. Chatter was heard from every table, a low buzz of enjoyment coming from every inch of the room. It was smaller in size than Albert expected, finding himself smiling at how homey it was.

“This is...really nice,” Albert hummed as a waiter led them to a two-person table.

“Well, sure,” Race shrugged, sitting himself opposite Al with a lopsided smile on his face. “It’s nothin’ fancy, but I really like it.”

“It’s nice for that exact reason, Racer. It’s very you, like, you would like this place.” Albert rolled his eyes fondly, glancing around the atmosphere. A hole in the wall italian place that seemed hipster but was definitely old as hell. Definitely Race.

The night wore on slowly, Albert thankful for every minute. Race seemed to be having a great time—at least, he was smiling a lot at dumb shit Al or himself said. His blue eyes would crinkle up when he laughed, a grin splitting his lips every time, no matter how big or small the smile was. He’d shake his head slightly, too, and lean back in his chair with the most perfectly carefree expression Albert had ever seen. He could watch Race laugh for a lifetime, he decided against his better judgement.

“So, Albie,” Race said, leaning forward again and placing his chin on his hand, “lemme know more about you besides the fact that you’re funny as fuck, oh my god.”

“I’m moderately amusing, yeah,” Al shrugged, half-smiling when Race gave him a scoff, then gesturing for Al to continue.

“Well you already know I’m a design major, and I like building stuff—oh, I build sets for shows my school does. That’s kinda cool.”

“That’s super cool, correction,” Race gasped, eyes bugging slightly. “Build or design, too?”

“I help design sometimes, yeah. Guy named Jack Kelly usually is the main designer. He’s really got an eye for connecting design to whatever the show’s content is. I jus’ like building the shit mostly.” Al smiled at the thought of how late Jack was probably keeping himself up that night—they were just starting on a straight play and Albert’s phone had already buzzed with more than a few texts from him, probably all with vague ideas in caps lock.

“Jeez, that must be so amazing. I love shows, holy shit, like I’m such a bootleg bitch,” Race giggled, Albert laughing at the term Race had used for himself.

“‘Bootleg bitch’,” Al sighed. “You would be. Thing is, I’m not super into shows themselves..? Haven’t found one that I really felt yet.”

“What?” Race leaned back again, face screwed up in a baffled expression. “God, every show I watch hits me in the like, first ten minutes.”

“I only know the ones I’ve done, so maybe that’s why. But I have done them since high school, so,” Al shrugged, apologetic. “Dunno, hun.”

“Then I’ll get you into one!” Race’s expression seemed to brighten at the thought, Albert blushing at how adorable he looked. “I mean. Well, I’ll just have to find one for you.”

“Guess you will, bootleg bitch,” Al snorted as Race tried to hit him from across their small table.

“Oh, shut up! I’ve lived in New York longer than literally anyone on the planet, I can’t not be into shows,” Race huffed.

“You should see mine when it’s up, then,” Albert said.

Race seemed to stiffen, and Al mentally slapped himself. That was so forward, at least two months into the future. He didn’t even know if this relationship would last more than a week, let alone two entire months. It didn’t seem like a long time, but it was for Al.

Albert tore his gaze away from the table to meet Race’s eyes again. A sad, but knowing smile was on his face.

“I would really love to, Albie,” he said softly.

“Really?” Albert asked, not truly believing Race. He probably just felt bad for him.

“Really. I would really, really like to,” Race nodded, reaching his hand over the table to hold Al’s.

Albert smiled at their hands together, tan and pale intermingling into one mixed shape. Maybe there was hope for him yet in the relationship department.

•••

Going back to Race’s was an entire other reward, consisting of more talking with bits of making out swirled in between, Race’s lips still able to make his brain short-circuit every time they kissed.

Race had just pushed Albert down onto the couch, Al’s hands gripping at Race’s hips as the blond’s hand travelled up under Al’s shirt. Race slowed himself a bit, moving his lips to lazily kiss at Albert’s neck and lowering himself on top of him.

“That date was really nice, Tony,” Albert murmured, arching himself slightly up towards Race’s mouth. “Real cute, real...real.”

“What’s that mean?” Race popped his head, Al having to raise his eyes to meet his gaze. He didn’t really want to though, biting his lip slightly in hesitation as he realized what he had said.

“I...um,” Al huffed out a slight laugh, attempting to lighten the air that suddenly felt dense. “It’s not like I haven’t been out to dinner with a partner before or anything. ‘Cause I have. Just...not like that.”

“Al, like what?” Race pressed, tired smile slipping off his face.

Albert shrugged, pushing himself up straighter. “I dunno. Been a while since I left a date like that feeling good, y’know? I don’t normally get lucky in this department—the, uh, relationship kind.” Heart beating faster, he averted his gaze further as Race’s eyes only saddened.

Relationships had always been a taboo topic for Albert, family ties included. His mother had died in his youth, a hit and run, and Al’s dad had lost himself in the grief too far, eventually turning to taking it out in his children. All three got out of the house eventually, the youngest living with the oldest when Al went to college.

And even during his wreckage of his family, romantic relations weren’t much better. Girlfriends would call him too guarded, not emotionally present and yell at him; boyfriends would call him weak, say he needed to be stronger, push him around and mock him. He couldn’t win. He had never won.

“And then...shit, this is gonna sound cheesy, but then I met you,” Albert laughed quietly after recounting a few choice pieces of his history. “You actually respect me for..me.”

Race’s hands ghosted over his mouth to mask his shock. “Albert,” he breathed with watery voice and eyes, “I had no idea. I’m so sorry, you don’t know the half of it, oh my god…”

“Race, it’s okay, really,” Al smiled, reaching out to brush his thumb over his cheek. “It ain’t your fault.”

Race seemed to come back to himself. “Yeah. Yeah, you just really don’t deserve this—that. I’m sorry you had to go through that, love,” he said, folding Albert into a hug. “I...I’m here now. Catch your break, hun.”

“Thanks,” Albert sighed, pushing his head into the crook of Race’s neck. He chuckled lightly. “You’re doing real wonders for me, y’know.”

Albert felt Race’s grip tighten around him before one of his hands started rubbing methodically up and down his back, up and down, up and down, up and down…

“I think I’m slippin’ into a food coma from all that Italian and feelings,” Albert yawned, snuggling further into Race and hearing him laugh softly.

“Okay baby, let’s go sleep. It’s late anyway, and that was a lotta pasta,” Race admitted, yawning as well. His hand kept rhythmically moving up and down Albert’s back, making his eyelids even harder to keep open, dimly feeling his grip on Race losen.

“What’re y’doin’ to me?” Al murmured as Race stood them up, hand not leaving the redhead’s back. “Y’got...magic hands.”

Race laughed again, this time with a slight nervous lilt that Albert would have caught if his head wasn’t suddenly so bleary.

“Yeah, that ain’t the first time you’ve said that to me, sweetie,” Race whispered in Al’s ear with a giggle, Albert blushing. He leaned up to kiss Race, wobbly knees be damned. Warmth like hot tea spreading through his body as Race reciprocated his affections, lips moving against lips.

After a few hazy moments, Albert pulled away. “Think I’m in love w’ you, Racey,” he mumbled, eyes still closed. “You’re absolutely perfect.”

“You’re tired,” Race said like he was deciding the fact, although Albert could picture his small smile anyway. A new layer of exhaustion laid itself over him like a heavy blanket, making him yawn again.

“Yeahhh,” Albert sighed, leaning heavier into Race’s arms as they fell onto his bed. “ I am.”

Albert felt Race curl around him after the covers were pulled up, arms wrapping around his stomach, continuing to rub. Al hummed his approval, cuddling sleepily into the embrace more than he’d admit.

“Goodnight, love,” Race whispered, almost hesitant, but Al could hear the truth behind it. He felt Race kiss the back of his neck gently.

“G’nigh’, Race,” Al sighed lightly, eyes closing again as his brain quickly drifted off. In his dreams, he relived the only perfect date he’d ever had. Wait till he told Mush—no bruises.

•••

Race felt a little bad for sending Albert into sleep like that. Technically against his will, too, although it was late and pretty appropriate.

But he needed to think.

He had never wanted to stall before Al happened. It was strange, wanting to stay with someone, and not just out of fear of hurting them later. He was pretty sure he loved Albert, too, and it was terrifying after decades of not feeling that way about anyone.

It wasn’t only terrifying, he supposed. It was definitely freeing, which was new, and he couldn’t help but absolutely love it. After believing to love was to be trapped (which he technically was), for what felt like forever, it was exciting and invigorating to spring out of the box he felt he’d been kept in for so long. It was wonderful, it was fun, Albert was wonderful, Albert was fun, and...Race didn’t want it to end.

And that was not allowed.

Race pressed himself closer to Albert, as if that could protect him from the chain of events that had started the moment they had made eye contact. Maybe Race could stall, at least a few more weeks. Albert deserved the love Race was more than willing to give him, especially after the kinds of relationships Al had said he’d been in before this one. He wanted to be more than that for him, rather than become another piece of Albert’s broken past. He wanted Albert more than anyone who had come before him, and Al seemed to want him back. Even if Race knew much of Albert’s feelings were orchestrated, there were lots of parts that were real: his humor, his thoughtfulness, his protectiveness were all there. And at least part of his love just had to be real. Race was powerful in that area, sure, that was his whole thing, but there were some things he couldn’t fake.

And, he decided, those things were worth stalling for.

Albert did probably love him. And he loved Albert, whether he could or not. He’d stall until Hell bit at his heels.

—————

this was kind of a filler chapter, but I hope it made it a little more clear with how things stand ;)

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