#i swear no one with more than three weeks of experience would ever speak english like that

[duodipersponsh]

broke: chekov's accent in star trek: tos is so horribly exaggerated it's not even funny, besides, it doesn't make sense that he would keep such a strong and unchanging accent after months spent on enterprise

woke: chekov is absolutely capable of speaking perfect english. however, he only does that when somebody manages to pronounce his name correctly

[jonnnysuh]

How To Write Good // Vernon

A/N: It all started with watching Vernon’s English tutor series and now we’re here omg. This is my first series so please give it some love <3 kind of unedited so lmk if there’s any mistakes! PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

PAIRING: Vernon x You

GENRE: enemies to ???, fluff, student!vernon, tutor!vernon

WARNINGS: swearing

WORD COUNT: 2.7K

SUMMARY: There’s the crisp air of campus, the rush of something new, and a four year degree ahead of you. Your college experience doesn’t go off as smoothly as you’d hoped when you fall asleep on course selection day and are stuck with left over electives. Struggling to get through your creative writing class, you have no idea how you’re going to get through this semester. Fate steps in when the stranger you fought in the library might just be your only chance at passing. This is all just part of the college experience… right?

Orange leaves began surrounding the burnt red brick pathway, and the small green hills of the campus quad.  Fall was fast approaching, without much warning.  The bright summer sky, now often clouds of gray. The wind brushed past you, causing your hair to fly up. Your legs brushed together quickly as you tried to make your way through campus to get to your Writing in the Arts class. You swore to yourself that you wouldn't sleep through course selection but sometimes sleep was an actual priority to you...and it so happened to be on that day.  Not your first choice, but definitely miles ahead of  Economic History on the list of leftover electives.

You flipped over your wrist to take a look at the time on your brown pleather watch. 8:12.

Professor Hampton was an older woman, who always kept her sandy brown hair in a slick tight low bun. She had enforced a rule that the doors to the lecture hall would shut 15 minutes past the hour. If you didn’t make it then you’d have to get notes from a classmate. Maybe it’d be fine if you had a friend in the class that was actually punctual, but you had often sat alone in the same spot in the far left corner of the class room.  Time was definitely never on your side as you reckoned you only had 3 minutes left until your trip downtown was rendered useless. 

You swung the thick metal door open, and began pumping your legs forward, not stopping until you reached the top of the stairs. To your luck, the lecture hall was on the exact end of the hallway. As you took longer strides, your gray backpack bounced behind you. Finally arriving at the end of the long hallway, you came face to face with Professor Hampton, who had a scowl so thick you’d think it was drawn on with a felt tip permanent marker. Without an ounce of forgiveness, that old lady secured the door shut, eyes keen on your betrayed face just a few centimetres from hers.

With the little pride you still had, you contained the urge  to bang on the door repeatedly and say "OPEN UP."

If you hadn't had time to get ready that day, or missed your bus, dammit this would've been the boiling point that would've driven you to  kick the wall. Your saving grace was that there was a cute guy typing away on his laptop in this hallway and you'd be damned if you were about to look a fool.

It was that moment, you knew that if you were going to pass this class without sacrificing a wink of sleep, you were going to have to make a friend that was good at writing notes. And quick.

—

The next day, you navigated your way through the twists and turns of the library, never having had been there a day in your life. You swear you’d gone in a circle at this point. You promised your best friend, Taylor that you’d secure a spot for your impromptu study date. Although you both had good intentions, you knew it was more than likely going to become a gossip session that involved sometimes looking at class material.

Among the rows and rows of occupied tables, you finally found an empty table, situated next to the window that overlooked the architecture and art buildings. You settled in the chair, slipping your laptop out of your tote bag , and typing mindlessly to look busy while you waited for your friend. With a look around the room, you wondered if people actually studied at the library or if they were just faking it like you.

You were so immersed in your game of Tetris you almost didn’t hear the voice that said , “Hey, I think you’re at the wrong table.”

You paused your game and surveyed the empty wooden table you were sitting at.  You blinked slowly at the brown haired man.  “I was here first.”

“That might be true but I booked it out for the hour.” The stranger stood with a slight slouch, sporting a backwards snapback and a deep green hoodie. He didn't look like the type to hang out around the library- but then again, neither did you. You swear you had seen him before, but you couldn't place where.

Did I go to high school with him?  you thought.

What if he was ugly and had a glow up and that’s why I don’t recognize him?

You took a closer look at him.

Nah. I don’t think he’s ever been ugly in his life.

“Look. My name's right here." He leaned forward, showing you his screen.

[TABLE 9] 3:00pm - Vernon C.

You pushed the phone away, unimpressed. "But you showed up late."

"It was only 6 minutes." Vernon scoffed, as if his tardiness would automatically forfeit him from his table.

"Well, have you ever heard of finder's keepers?"

Vernon nodded, his voice pointed. "But have you ever heard of fair and square?"

You tried your best to conceal the fact that you were somewhat amused by his elementary-level comeback.

"Could you look into your great, big heart to share?” You pouted tauntingly.

"Oh, yeah, because you need a table to play Tetris." He responded sarcastically but it was as if he had crept into your mind. You dreaded the idea of being on your feet trying to find another place for your game.

Your best friend rolled in between you two innocently, confused at the interaction at hand. It was like a kid walking in on their mom and dad fighting for the first time… except dad is a Tetris-hating stranger you just met 3 minutes ago.

“Sorry I’m late, Y/N.”  Taylor interjected, trying her best to mend the atmosphere with a grin.  Vernon's posture went notably straight as he exhaled, returning a sweet close-lipped smile. You couldn't help but notice the way he looked at your friend- you squinted at the shadow of the difference between this Vernon and the one that basically told you to fuck off only moments prior.

Without a doubt, you knew he was suffering from the "Taylor Effect".

Taylor was your textbook girl next door; equipped with a warm demeanour, and a confidence that was endearing rather than cocky.  You could tell that Vernon was trying his best not to stare so obviously, but he was failing miserably.

Because everyone gravitated towards her, many found it odd that she chose to keep you as company. Sometimes you thought she stuck around only because your personalities were so starkly different and would emphasize how great she was, but time and time again she proved she was notable on her own accord.

"Did I interrupt something?"

You and the man shared a look.

Vernon had a feeling that if he let you speak first, that you might ruin his chances with Taylor, and there was absolutely NO shot that he was going to tell her what had just happened. You were quick to take advantage of the situation.

“Vernon just wanted to take the tab-“

He shook his head, "No, no, no I was just leaving."

You raised your eyebrow, smugly.

“I'll see you later,” He bid.  Your eyes widened as he went closer to you, clasping his hand around yours and pulling you forwards into an almost embrace. He dapped you up. Vernon dapped you up. What? Did he think you were bros now?

Ya, right. You thought. This is my first and last time in this library. You will never see me or my Tetris again.

And with that, he swung his backpack over his shoulder  coolly and headed down the long carpeted aisle in the other direction.

Only a few moments later did he return to go through the north exit. “Wrong way.” He mumbled, charting past both of you.

—

“So you don’t know anyone in that class?” Taylor said in disbelief as you two sat at the table you had only marginally won.

“No, I missed the first two weeks so by the time I actually went to class  they already had their groups.”  you responded, blowing air out of your mouth in frustration.

School had only just begun and Taylor had swept up a bunch of friends, including you, in just this one semester.

You, on the other hand, were awkward, but not in the forgivable way. You never knew the right thing to say, and your sarcasm drew a fine line between a joke and the truth. You felt like you always had to bite your tongue to hold a decent conversation with someone. In turn, this scared a lot of people away, and resulted in a small but good group of friends that understood you.

For some reason though, you did well with confrontation. That was the only time you could force yourself to not care about what someone else thought about you. Other than that, your communication skills were almost useless.

“So go up to those kids and say hi.” Taylor responded.

You knew your best friend was being well meaning, but sometimes she felt like she oversimplified your problems because she saw it through her own lens. Of course it would be easy for Taylor to do so, but for you it would be a different story. Your stomach turned at even the mere thought of introducing yourself to the group of strangers that always sat all the way in the front of the lecture hall.

“I’ll just figure it out. I don't know how to just talk to people."

“What about that guy that I just saw you with? What was that about?”

You cleared your throat, fixing your attention to your laptop screen. Getting work done suddenly seemed more interesting.

“No, no, no look at me.” Taylor dragged your laptop away.

You begrudgingly looked at your friend. “What about him?”

“Who was that? He was kind of cute.” She cupped her cheek with her hand and sat closer, clearly interested. It was rare to see you with anyone other than your usual friend group so Taylor was invested in your endeavours outside of it.

You knew that if you told Taylor about your weird argument with a stranger, that she’d explain that you were unfriendly, that you needed to be nicer, etc. etc. You didn’t need a lecture today.

“Just some dude who finished using the table.”

Taylor chuckled, “What kind of guy says bye like that to a person he just met?”

Her guess was as good as yours.

—

ONE WEEK LATER

Determination is setting 25 morning alarms, pre-picking your clothes and opting for an on-the-go breakfast in order to just make it on time for class. You took your final strides towards the class slowly, knowing you finally had time on your side. Would it be crazy to call waking up at 6am a victory? Doesn’t matter, you were just so happy, you could answer Professor Hampton’s questions… that is, if you listened.

At the bottom of the lecture hall, sat the aforementioned groups, while the top were lonesome stragglers looking at their phones in an effort to look less lonely. You knew they were probably just reviewing their settings; turning their wifi on and off.

Professor Hampton cleared her throat into the microphone at the front of the class, prompting you to pick up the pace to your regular spot at the far left corner.

No way.

Your speed slowed down again, as you craned your head to get a better look at a brown-haired boy sitting by himself.

Despite the numerous empty seats to choose from, your caffeine rush assisted you in making the possibly dumb decision of sitting exactly right next to him. He seemed unbothered, though as he didn’t look up to question it.

Professor Hampton played her slides, while you pulled out your laptop out of your tote bag.

“Hey.” You whispered.

The man’s light brown eyes flickered towards you.

“You’re in this class?” Vernon whisper-exclaimed.

It registered in your brain that this might’ve been a mistake.

You nodded.

Vernon kept his focus on the front of the class, his pencil swivelled  away on his lined paper. You had never seen anyone actually take real-life notes before. You scanned his paper, pleasantly surprised at the organization.

“Why did you dap me up last week?”

“I honestly don’t know what I was doing.” He admitted.

Boys do dumb things around pretty girls. You'd seen it happen so many times with Taylor.

“She’s cute isn’t she?”

“Who?” Vernon was quick to play dumb, but he clearly knew. 

You were fascinated by how he was writing and listening to you at the same time.

“Taylor—my friend.”

Vernon squinted his eyes, either to think or because he couldn’t see the projection clearly. It made you wonder why he sat in the back of the class if that was the case.

“Yeah, she is.”

Bingo.

You silently relished in your impromptu decision to sit next to a stranger.

“What would you say if I got you a date with her?”

Vernon put his pencil down. “You strike me as the kind of person who wouldn’t do that out of the kindness of your heart.”

You snorted. “You’re right.”

Vernon let out a deep sigh, pushing his hoodie sleeve up his arms. He relaxed back in his seat and stared at you as he waited for your proposal.

“What is it?” His deep voice was littered with impatience but it was clear he was at least curious.

You weren’t  prepared to gain his full attention. Your mind went several ways as you collected your thoughts to be as concise as possible.

“I’m struggling in this class, okay? I can’t always make it on time, and creative writing? Not really something I’m interested in.”

“Then why’d you take the class?”

“Why does anyone do anything here? For the credit.” You responded as if the answer was obvious.

Vernon’s raised eyebrows was enough to tell you that he was actually passionate about this subject— which was perfect for you if you wanted to pass the class.

“How do I come into this, though?” His patience running thin from your incredibly interesting backstory.

“If you tutor me up until midterms and I pass, I’ll get you a date with Taylor.”

He shook his head “What if you fail?”

“Then you can take that as a reflection of your teaching skills,” Vernon rolled his eyes. Okay maybe that was a bad joke. “but on the plus side you’ve gained a new friendddddd.”

Professor Hampton gave you two a dirty look on her way back from shutting the lecture hall’s door. Vernon picked up his pencil to look busy and you tapped on your trackpad to turn the screen on.

“And what if I say no?” Vernon said between his teeth, catching the professor glare right at him with her scowl turned up to one hundred.

“Then I’ll shit talk about you to Taylor so you never have a chance.” You threatened. Your mom always urged you to use your brain, and boy, were you using it.

“You want me to teach you how to be creative?”

You shrugged. “I mean, how hard can it be?”

Vernon looked down at his notes contemplating his choices. He was silent for so long that you actually started typing notes.

“Y/N” Vernon whispered. You seemed to be fully immersed in the lesson now. Your eyes absorbing the information... Maybe writing was kind of fascinating.

“Y/N” He tried again, snapping you out of a trance.

“My bad.” you apologized. “I didn’t know the interesting part of the story was called the climax like ew—”

“I can only tutor you on Thursdays between 6 and 8 in the library. Bring your laptop and be prepared to learn.”

You knew you didn’t have class at those hours, so it should’ve been fine, but you also dreaded staying after school longer than you had to.

“What about 4-6?” You pleaded.

Vernon looked offended at your counter offer. “No. 6-8”

“4:30…?” You tried once again.

Vernon snorted at your no-quit attitude. “You wanna pass or not?”

You stuck out your hand defeatedly and Vernon shook on it before either of you could change your mind. Vernon was your new tutor.

Maybe Taylor was right. All you had to do was go up to someone and say “hi.”

And blackmail them. And use your friend as bait.

Making friends was easy.

[wiypt-writes]

Barking Up The Wrong Tree

 Ransom Drysdale One Shot

Summary: It’s the Annual Pre-Easter meal at the Thrombey’s and Ransom and you are in attendance. As usual, there’s fireworks, a lot of swearing and there’s only one way you know he can get rid of his frustrations…

 Warnings: Bad Language words. SMUT (NSFW) NO UNDER 18s!

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So this was originally written last year for @jennmurawski13​ who requested a smutty one shot with an Evans character of my choice for her birthday. It was coined from a Brainstorming sesh me and @icanfeelastormbrewing​ had for our intended Ransom x OFC series (we might get round to it in 2022…so by then you’ll have forgotten if we use it again.) FYI Eighteen year old Ransom is totally Bryce from Fierce People, you can’t convince me otherwise… I also very much now see this being the same Reader as in mine, @ohthankevans13​ and @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​’s  Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale series.

Your brown leather, knee high Saint Laurent boots (a gift from the man whose lap you were curled up on) were on the floor by your feet leaving you in your grey, woollen over-knee socks. One of your boyfriend’s large hands was resting on your left shin, the other just at the top of your right thigh, almost on your ass cheek. You were well aware your black sweater dress was riding up so went to shift and shimmy it down a little, conscious that you were, after all, sat in the large drawing room at his grandfather’s house whilst the rest of his family milled around as the pre-Easter dinner, which always took place the weekend before the actual holiday, was being prepared.

“You okay?” Ransom looked up at you, noticing you shift on his lap and you smiled.

“Yeah, just don’t want to flash everyone too much if you get my drift.”

Ransom cocked an eyebrow at you, then peeked around the room, before he gave a snort as his eyes fell on his cousin Jacob who was watching the pair of you.

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want Adolf junior getting a boner now would we?”

You gave a chuckle as you re-arranged your dress, making yourself more comfortable.

“He’s just a kid, Ran.” You soothed.

“He’s a deviant, Princess.” He replied, his voice quiet.

“So were you when I first met you.” You grinned, looking at him as you bent closer to whisper into his ear “Still are when the mood takes you.”

Ransom pulled back to look at you, his face inches from yours, his eyebrow raising slightly as that dirty smirk spread across his handsome face. “Stop it.” He warned, and you shrugged innocently, as he placed a soft kiss on your mouth.

“Come on son, put her down.” Richard’s voice rang across the room and instantly you felt Ransom’s entire demeanour change. Gone was the relaxed, jokey, happy Ran you knew and loved and in his place was Hugh Ransom Drysdale, asshole extraordinaire.

“Piss off, Father.” He shot back, his head moving back from yours, fixing his dad with a steely glare.

“Hey.” Richard glowered “Don’t speak to me like that…” he turned to Linda. “Did you hear that Linda?”

“Ransom…” Linda said lazily, not looking up from her phone. “Don’t speak to your father like that.”

Ransom rolled his eyes and you gently looked at him, shaking your head, silently telling him to stay calm. It was always the same with the Thrombey family gatherings. Ransom despised them for the simple fact that Harlan was the only one he had any time for, bar his mother on a good day, and you were inclined to feel the same way. It always ended in chaos, each individual nuclear sects within the extended family trying to get one up on the other, prove they were the best players in the game.

Frankly, they made the fucking Lannisters look normal.  

All your friends were constantly asking you how you managed to stay tangled in this web of dysfunction, but the answer was right in front of you, his crystal blue eyes now narrowed as he shot a sarcastic reply back to his mother.

The simple truth was, you loved him and couldn’t walk away if you tried.

It hadn’t always been that way, mind. When your High School had been asked to submit nominations for the coveted position of Harlan Thrombey’s Summer research assistant, you’d been short listed along with 15 other candidates from the New England area. Each of you were asked to produce a five-thousand word thesis on a literary subject of your choice to be submitted for reading by Harlan. You’d been ecstatic when you received the call from his Publishing Company to say you’d made the final three and were requested to attend an interview.

You’d been and bought a new suit. Nothing fancy but decent enough quality. You made sure your hair was tamed, your make up was as on point as you could get it, and had driven the thirty minutes or so out to his mansion from the home you shared with your Nanna in Brookline, following the directions on your GPS to the area near Pierce Park where the Thrombey Mansion was located. You were greeted by his housekeeper and shown into the large office where the man himself was waiting. Harlan was nothing like you had expected him to be. He was eccentric, sure, but also dmaned good fun. He’d asked you a few questions about why you wanted the position “I’m going to major in English at college and I hope to work in publishing when I graduate, this would be an invaluable experience.” He had then discussed your paper with you and after a few more general questions he had reduced you almost to tears of laughter by telling you a about an incident when he had been at college and was almost caught climbing down the trellis of his girlfriend’s parent’s house following a late night rendezvous of the very naughty kind “Don’t think too badly of me, we ended up married for forty-seven years…”

Then, just as he was showing you out of his study a tall, well-built young man, your age you had correctly guessed, with a strong jaw, dark hair flicked to the left side of his forehead, and a pair of the bluest eyes you had ever seen, waltzed down the hallway. He was dressed in a pair of riding breeches, a polo shirt and wore a long pair of tan leather riding boots.

"Ransom?” Harlan looked at the young man “I wasn’t expecting you till this afternoon.”

“Yeah well, the fucking horse I should have been riding is lame.” Ransom shrugged “Which means I can’t ride, and I probably can’t compete this weekend.”

“Dressage?” you had asked, your mouth speaking well before your brain had engaged, for some reason thinking it was a good idea to comment. Ransom had looked at you with disdain, scanned you up and down and cocked his head to one side, his eyes cold as they locked onto yours.

“Polo.” He had answered, a sneer on his face “Do I look like a dressage rider to you? Mind you, from the state of your cheap high-street dress the nearest you’ve probably ever been to a horse is those shitty little trail rides they run at kids parties.”

“Ransom!” Harlan had snapped sternly “Enough!”

You felt the heat rise in your neck and cheeks, and you drew yourself up to your full height, folding your arms as you looked at the ass hole stood in front of you. One thing your Nanna had told you was that, despite your humble origins, you were as worthy as the next person, no matter how much money, status or self-importance they may have.

“My apologies. I always thought polo was played by arrogant, snobby, stuck up pricks.” You retorted as you made a show of looking him up and down in the same way he had done to you. “Actually, on second thoughts, I should have guessed.”

As soon as the words were out of your mind you let out an internal groan. Way to go, flush your chance of landing this summer internship down the fucking toilet by insulting Harlan’s grandson. Nevertheless, you held the gaze of the man in front of you who stared back, his expression and face utterly stoic bar the blink of surprise his eyes made.

You heard Harlan chuckle behind you and the old man dropped a hand to your shoulder. “Fran, could you see Miss Y/L/N to the door.”

Two days later Harlan had personally called you to offer you the position, and it had turned out to be everything you ever wanted, and more. Three weeks into your internship, to your utter surprise, Harlan confessed that he had been looking to fund a worthy, local candidate through college and as the successful applicant it was yours for the taking. Some strings had been pulled, and in the last week of September thanks to his generosity you started your English Major at Harvard.

And so did Ransom.

He pursued you with a dogged determination, seemingly viewing your indifference towards him and his advances as some kind of challenge. You weren’t fooling yourself, however. He was devastatingly handsome and your traitorous vagina and that part of your brain that controlled your libido harboured a deep desire to fuck his brains out, a desire you finally gave into at the end of your first year when, following your final exam, you got drunk and woke up the morning after in his bed.

It wasn’t all puppies and roses though. You were on and off more than his boxer shorts, as simply put, Ransom was a player. And it didn’t bother you to start with. He was a hook up, a way to relieve tension when you needed to, and he was a very handy person to know with his seemingly endless network of connections. But by the time you graduated you knew you were head over heels for him, and needed to break this seeming cycle of being in and out of his bed.  So you turned down Harlan’s offer of a job at Blood Like Wine and were ready to move away from Boston after landing a job at a publishers in Manhattan…but then your nanna had been taken seriously ill and suffered a stroke meaning you had to stay.

As a result of her illness, your nanna was unable to live in your house in Brookline alone and so you were forced to sell it so she could afford to move into a supervised Retirement Village a five minute or so drive away. You were now jobless, drowning with the house-sale which would leave you homeless, and your emotions and been all over the place. You had no other family since your Grandfather had died at the start of your senior year so had no one to turn to.

Enter Hugh Ransom Drysdale.

You’d called him one evening, drunk and emotional and needing a release and he came over alright, but instead of fucking you into the mattress he made sure you drank water, ate something, and then got you into bed. The next morning, Harlan had shown up, telling you the job offer at his company was still open, and then to your utter surprise and initial horror he had offered to buy your nanna’s house, meaning you could remain there as a tenant. At first you had refused, insisting you weren’t a charity case but Harlan had simply waved your concerns away by insisting it was an investment. After a little discussion he agreed to allow you to pay rent which, all things considered, was a pittance in comparison to what other properties the same size in that area commanded but it was a rent nonetheless and made you feel better.

And you knew all of it had ben Ransom’s idea.

This was the side to Ransom he very rarely displayed to anyone. A softer side, a caring side, a gentle side. A side that held you as you cried at the thought that your nanna was growing old and may soon leave you behind, a side that made you a sandwich when you hadn’t eaten in days, a side that helped you pack up and move your Nana’s stuff to her new home, a side that turned up at 9pm with several tubs of ice cream and a bottle of wine after you’d messaged him earlier that afternoon to tell him what a shit day you were having when his Uncle Walt was being a dick at work.

The rest, they say is history. History which meant you were now curled up in his lap some eight or so years post that initial meeting in the hallway of this very house, listening to him bicker with his family, feeling his leg beginning to shake in that way it always did when he was agitated.

“Ran…” you said gently, squeezing his arm and you felt him take a deep breath and he looked at you, his mouth closing as you shook your head “Don’t.”

He turned away, looking to the other side of the room and his face glowered as he spotted Jacob once more had his eyes trained on your bare thigh. God the pubescent creep did his fucking head in, and if he stayed here he was going to end up putting the lanky streak of shit through the wall.

“Can we go?” Ransom looked at you, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“We’ve not even had dinner yet.”

“Please.”

That single word was enough to make you understand. It was a word he hadn’t learned until he’d met you, when he realised that his demands and arrogance got him nowhere with you. He still rarely used it mind, but when he did, you knew he was in desperate need of what he’d asked for.

“How about we take a walk?” You suggested “If you still wanna go after then we will”

He took a deep breath as he considered what you had said. Compromise was another word that hadn’t been in his vocabulary until you. His eyes locked onto yours and you looked at him, encouragingly and he took a deep breath, nodding.

“Okay.”

You uncurled yourself from his lap and stood up, him following so you could sit down and place you boots on.

“Are you leaving?” Linda asked, looking up for the first time.

“For a walk.” Ransom said simply, grabbing your hand and pretty much dragging you from the room. He didn’t say a word as he reached the coat stand and retrieved your lightweight Ted Baker belted mac, holding it out for you to slip your arms into, in a display of chivalry he reserved only for you. Once you’d done it up, he took your hand in his and you headed through the kitchen and outside into the reasonably mild April afternoon.

“Don’t let them get to you.” You said softly, leaning into him a little and he sighed, untangling his fingers from yours so he could drop his arm round your shoulders. He hated the fact his family could make him feel like this, like he wasn’t in control, like he was insignificant in the grand scheme of things. He could quite happily go without seeing any of them, well, bar maybe his grandfather, but you had told him he would regret it if he pushed them away completely because you had always wished you’d had a large family unit like that. So, despite the fact he knew deep down that was a load of bullshit, he played the game. He attended the damned gatherings more for your benefit than any as you adored Harlan and seemed to get on fairly well with Joni, Meg and his mother. He hung onto a glimmer of hope that maybe one day it would all change and he’d feel part of it.

But it never did. And he never did.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence across the Mansion grounds, round the lake where Ransom stopped by the small pier, looking out over the water.

“You know my most vivid childhood memories are of this spot.” He mused, his gaze focussed over the lake “Grammy used to bring me down here to feed the ducks.”

“It’s beautiful down here.” You agreed, snuggling further under his arm. “Peaceful.”

“Yeah unlike that fucking house.”

You gave a chuckle, as his hand curled over your shoulder, absentmindedly rubbing over the smooth material of your coat. He was agitated, you could tell, and there were very few ways in which he could calm down when he was like this. One was riding his beloved BB- a polo horse Harlan had bought him for his 21st, one was the pair of you curling up on the sofa with snacks and a good scotch or bourbon, getting drunk and watching Trashy Films, in particular horrors-you both loved to pick plot holes and insult the main characters, declaring the victim a dumb bitch for running up the stairs and not out of the door and the other, well…

You glanced around, checking you were alone before you pulled away from him, taking his hand and tugging on it slightly.

“What?” he asked looking down.

“Come on.” You gave his hand another pull.

“Y/N?” he questioned again, but followed nonetheless despite you not answering. You tugged him away from the lake, into the thin thicket of trees a little further round. You could still see the house here but you knew there was no way anyone from up there could see you.

“Seriously, Y/N what the fuck?” he groaned, as he stepped in the slightly squelchy mud “You’re gonna ruin my Gucci’s…” “Should have worn something a little more substantial then shouldn’t you?”

“I didn’t know you were planning on going fucking hiking in the fucking woods.”

“That’s not what we’re doing.” You said, stopping in front of a large oak tree, looking up at him.

“Then what are we doing? Reconnecting with Mother Nature? Or are we on the hunt for Oberon, Titania and Puck?”

“Ooh, good Shakespeare reference.” You grinned at him and he rolled his eyes as you slid your hand up over his navy blue lightweight Barbour jacket which was done up to his sternum, leaving his plain white, Armani t-shirt slightly visible at the neckline. “Does that make us Lysander and Hermia?”

“You got a hidden suitor called Demetrius I don’t know about?” he arched an eyebrow, his hands falling to your hips.

“Nope, I’m all yours Tiger.”

The sound of your ridiculous nickname for him drew a large smile across his face and he shook his head, giving a genuine chuckle. Here, with you there were no annoying voices to listen to, no family politics, nothing to care about but the gentle brush of the wind as it blew through the canopy of trees above your heads and the faint sounds of birds as they went about their business and Ransom felt a sense of comfort. Because you were his rock. The one person that saw through his bull shit, the woman in his life that knew all his horrible personality traits as well as his slightly less horrible ones and loved him all the same. The girl that had rounded off his harsher edges no matter how much he protested to the contrary.

You were his better half for sure.

“Well that’s good, because I don’t like sharing.” Ransom smirked, dipping his head to capture your lips in a soft kiss.

“Don’t I know it.” You mused against his mouth. His fingers flexed on your sides, pulling you closer to him as he slid his tongue across your bottom lip. You opened your mouth slightly, allowing him control over the kiss, knowing that’s what he craved when he was like this. His lips were soft on yours, tongue domineering as he kissed you deeply, slowly. Eventually he pulled back, his nose bumping yours slightly as he gave a little chuckle.

“I know you’re trying to distract me from those shit heads in the house.” He said, his tone playful and you loved playful Ransom. Another side to him only you really got to see.

“Is it working?” You played along.

“Yeah.” He nodded, his lips pressing to yours again.

“Good. Now why don’t you let your inner deviant come out to play?”

“You don’t need to ask me twice, Princess.” The words were barely out of his mouth before he had pressed you into the harsh, earthy bark of the tree behind you, kissing you hard again, groaning as you palmed his crotch through his designer denims. He grabbed your wrist, pinning it above your head before he did the same with the other one, easily holding both in place above you with one large hand, his other softly tracing up the outside of your thigh, fingers skating under your skirt.

“Is this why you wore this?” he smirked, toying with the material slightly. “So you could tempt me away for a fuck in the woods?”

It wasn’t, it was because it looked and felt good, but you decided to play along “Maybe. Was it a good choice?”

“Damned right it was…” he growled against your mouth, his long, soft fingers sliding your lace panties to the side. His index finger traced a path up your slit and you gasped at the feeling as he gently began to toy with you. Soft, teasing touches, his eyes never once leaving yours. That was one of his things, he liked to see your face, watch as your expressions changed as he undid you, fuelling his ego. Your hips gently started to move in time to his strokes as he played you, like an instrument from which he could always draw a tune. And in no time at all, he was listening to the music as you let out a soft keen, a purr almost as your head fell back against the tree, your mouth parting slightly.

“Like that?” he asked, and it was all you could do to nod, panting brokenly as the familiar feeing began to rise in the pit of your stomach, the fire growing hotter and hotter. “God you’re a fucking minx. Come on, cum on my fingers, you know you want to.” And you did, hard, your knees trembling, as you let out a loud cry of his name as the lights exploded in front of your eyes. Ransom pressed into you, his erection evident as it dug into your stomach, keeping you pinned between him and the tree as he coaxed you through your orgasm, before he moved his hands, allowing yours to drop to his shoulders as you held onto him tightly.

The clanging of a belt buckle, then the zipping of trousers and the rustling of fabric broke through the post-orgasm haze as Ransom undid his flies, reaching into pull out his painfully hard cock. He gently pushed forward, sliding the tip against your folds, gathering your slick as you gave a moan, the feeling of him sliding against your clit sent lances of red, hot desire through your veins.

His hands gripped the back of your thighs as he pulled you off the ground and you hooked them round his slim waist, ankles locking at the base of his spine. In a swift, fluid moment, no teasing, no gentle ease, he buried himself inside you with a deep thrust making you cry out as he filled you. His lips crashed onto yours as he drew back, then thrust back in hard, his cock dragging against your walls inside, hitting that spot that he knew would leave you seeing stars.

Yes, if there was one thing on this Earth Ransom knew he was good at, it was fucking you.

His lips traced a path from your mouth to your jawline, then to your neck, biting and sucking at any bit he could get to, his hips moving back and forth in a slow but deep pace which was torture, and you needed more.

“Ran, harder…” You groaned, digging your heels into his ass and he gave a dirty moan of his own as his hands held your hips.

“You’re such a needy little slut.” He smirked against your lips, not waiting for your reply as he picked up the pace, his hips snapping back and forth with a vigour that was merciless as he pistoned in and out of you again and again. Your hands gripped his shoulders tightly as you kissed him, teeth clashing together as your back repeatedly brushed against the harsh, rough surface behind you as you clawed desperately at the material of his jacket.

It wasn’t long before you felt another orgasm brewing and your head fell forward, teeth nipping at his ear drawing a growl from his throat. Your hands moved into his hair and you pulled sharply back causing him to hiss and look up you.

“Fuck, Y/N….” he groaned, the pupils of his eyes blown wide with a desire you would never tire of seeing. You pushed your hips down against him causing him to drive deeper and you let out an almost primal cry, the noise you made simply revving him up even more, his rapid movements growing even more urgent.

“Fuck Ran…” you moaned as your head rolled back against the tree, hands back on his shoulders, as once more that snake in your belly moved. Ransom felt the tell-tale flutter of your heat tightening round him and he continued his voracious pace, his eyes locked onto yours.

“You feel so fucking good…” he panted “So fuckin’ good Princess...”

His words made you moan again, and he pushed up once more, stilling slightly, grinding up against you as opposed to thrusting and a few rolls of his hips later you were done. The world faded around you as you came hard, with a loud scream before your head dropped to his shoulder, as you moaned his name, again and again whilst he pounded through your orgasm chasing his own.

“Shit, Y/N…I’m…fuck…” his words tumbled into your hair as his movements became desperate and he came a short while later with a loud yell. You felt him fill you up, as his hips stilled and he groaned, face buried into your neck, his chest heaving, sweat beaded both his brow and yours as he simply pressed into you, panting and shaking.

Neither of you had any idea how long you stayed like that, but eventually Ransom managed to gain enough control to pull his softening cock out of you and set you gently on your feet as he brushed the tendrils of your hair that had fallen over your face back with a tenderness he reserved only for you. He said nothing, simply looked at you, his lips gently greeting yours in a soft, loving kiss, a stark contrast to the violent ones you had shared moments before. You smiled at him, unadulterated love in your eyes as you moved your hands to brush his hair back before you leaned up and kissed him again, your nose sliding against his.

“I adore you Hugh Ransom Drysdale. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Don’t fucking call me Hugh.” He grumbled and you chuckled as he pulled you to him, nuzzling into your hair as he sighed. “But for the record, the feeling is mutual Y/F/N, Y/M/N, Y/L/N.”

You gave a laugh and were about to reply when you felt his head snap up, and his entire body tense and he let out an angry cry causing you to jump.

“Jesus Fucking Christ! The perverted little shit!”

“Ran?” You saw his face contorted in anger as he pushed back from you, striding away from the tree, rearranging his jeans as he went before he broke into a sprint. You watched him go and then, to your horror, saw the retreating back of a smaller male running away from the thicket of trees on the curve of the bank to your left and you felt yourself grow cold.

Jacob.

How long he had been there Ransom had no idea but he chased the little fucker all the way to the house, yelling insults and threats as he burst into the kitchen. Ransom finally caught up with him just as he ran into the hall and grabbed the kid by the collar, spinning him round and pinning him to the wall, arm crossed over his windpipe. “Enjoy the show did we?!” He yelled, the noise drawing the rest of the family out from the sitting room into the tiled hallway. Walt started to shout angry threats about what he was going to do to Ransom if he didn’t take his hands off his son, which then sparked Richard to bite back at Walt saying if he touched Ransom he’d give him a damned good hiding. If Ransom hadn’t been so focussed on the dirt little bastard he had pinned to the wall he would have laughed because the idea of his dad fighting anyone was hilarious, he couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag.

“Give me your phone.” Ransom demanded.

“I didn’t…” “GIVE ME YOUR PHONE NOW YOU PERVERTED PRICK!” Ransom yelled, and reached into Jacob’s pocket, grabbing his hand where it was curled around the offending item, bending the boy’s fingers back. Jacob gave a yell, pulled his hand out of his trouser pocket and Ransom seized the phone, yanking it out, just as you walked into the hallway.

He looked at you, then to Jacob and saw you pale as the realisation washed over you that you’d not only been seen but recorded or snapped, by a twelve year old boy nonetheless.

“Unlock it.” Ransom demanded, thrusting it back at him.

“Now listen here…” Walt started until Harlan turned to him.

“Walt, shut up.” He barked, turning to Jacob “Unlock the phone, now Jake.”

Jacob sullenly took the phone from Ransom and did has he was told, Ransom snatching it back. He glanced down at the screen, flicking to the Gallery and let out an angry noise as he saw not only footage of you both in the woods but ten or so photos of your bare thigh and close ups where he had attempted to see up your skirt when you had been on his knee before. Thankfully from the snaps there wasn’t really anything visible, but still the fact he had even taken them in the first place made Ransom apoplectic with rage.

“You dirty little prick.” he mumbled, looking back up at him. Jacob visibly recoiled under Ransom’s glare.

“Ran?” You questioned as you gently touched his arm and he tilted the phone so you could see the screen and your eyes widened, your entire body growing warm as you saw the close up of your thigh on the screen.

“How the fuck dare you?” You exploded, glaring at Jacob.

“Can you explain what he has supposedly done?” Donna, Jacob’s mother spoke for the first time and you turned to face her, your pretty features contorted in rage.

“He’s…” You shook your head “Taken photos of me, before up my skirt.”

Noise erupted in the hallway, Joni and Meg screaming about you being violated, Richard and Linda yelling at Walt and Donna whilst Harlan shook his head, making a noise of disgust. Ransom ignored them all as he selected the photos and images, deleting them, and showing it to you.

“Gone, Princess.” He turned the screen off before he leaned over and kissed your temple.

“Look, he’s a teenage boy…” Donna was protesting “He’s a bit curious…”

“He’s a dirty bastard.” Richard snorted and the irony wasn’t lost on Ransom as he’d seen his father eyeing you up on more than one occasion. He looked at his dad, eyebrow raised as Jacob bit back at the dig.

“I’m a dirty bastard?” The pre-teen snapped, his eyes flicking from Richard to Ransom “I’m not the one that was having sex against a tree!”

Everyone paused and their heads turned to you and Ransom. You gave a groan, your hands sliding up to your face to hide your utter embarrassment, but besides you Ransom’s expression never changed because, well frankly, he couldn’t give two shits about everyone knowing what you had been up to.

“I’m a grown ass man.” He snarled “If I wanna fuck my girl outside on private property I will”

He held Jacob’s phone out to him, but as Jacob went to take it Ransom opened his hand, dropped it to the floor with a loud “oops” and stomped on it, the metal and glass crunching under the heel of his expensive, leather boots.

There was more yelling, and Ransom simply turned, taking your hand in his. “We’re leaving.”

This time you didn’t argue. The pair of you walked away, ignoring the screaming which grew fainter as you headed down towards the large front doors, only to hear Harlan calling after you. Ransom stopped, took a deep breath and tuned to face his grandfather.

“Y/N are you ok?”

“Of course she’s not.” Ransom snapped but you gently squeezed his hand, shaking his head.

“I’m okay Harlan, thank you. But I think its best we go before Ransom commits murder.”

“Well, I can assure you I’m not far off killing the little turd myself.” Harlan shook his head, sighing. He then took a deep breath, looked at Ransom, and there was a flash of something which you knew only too well to be amusement in his eyes. “Which tree?”

Ransom frowned “What?”

“I asked which tree you two were doing the naughty against.”

You groaned as Ransom blinked and then shrugged “Just in the thicket to the south side of the lake, near the little jetty. Why?”

“Well, instead of barking up the wrong tree so to speak, next time stick to the North side.” Harlan grinned cheekily “It’s in the dip and no chance you can be spotted by anyone unless they’re a foot or so away.”

Ransom’s mouth curled up into a smirk as he looked at his grandfather then to you.

Meanwhile you simply wanted the ground to open up and swallow you.

Harlan bid the two of you goodbye as you headed out to Ransom’s Beemer. He stopped just besides it, turning to you, his hands falling to your hips again. “Well, I don’t know about you, Sweetheart, but all that excitement has made me a bit hungry. Seeing as we’re not getting dinner here, how about I take you to Asta?”

Your face lit up at the mention of your favourite restaurant and you gave an eager nod before you frowned “Aren’t we a little underdressed? And it’s Saturday evening, we’ll never get in.”

“Baby girl, enough money can get us in anywhere, and you look fine.” He said, dropping a kiss to your lips before he grinned “You might wanna brush the twigs outta your hair though.”

[quokkacore]

with great power I [lee jeno]

summary: there are two things jeno loves most about his life. one being spiderman, the other being you, his best friend. there’s just one issue: after your father’s death, you decide you hate both spiderman and yourself.

pairing: lee jeno x reader

genre: superhero au, high school au, coming of age, best friends to strangers(ish) to lovers, fluff, ANGST, minor crack

warnings (for this chapter): language, violence, gun violence, the mafia, parental death, police presence, sexual references, bullying (ily san im sorry), the dreamies being dicks to each other, police corruption, towards the end jeno experiences something similar to sensory overload, americanized names, pop culture references, VERY jeno centric

song rec: we go up - nct dream // any song - zico // 21 questions - waterparks // talk (remix feat. megan thee stallion & yo gotti) - khalid // sunrise - ateez // i really like you - carly rae jepsen // dare - gorillaz // stray kids - the tortoise and the hare

word count: 10.5k

a/n: this is so late...... i blame attack on titan. but hey!! better late than never :] a huge thanks to @doderyscoffee​ for beta reading <3

main masterlist // story masterlist

chapter one: jeno and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week

Jeno despised Tuesdays. He was pretty sure that Tuesdays despised Jeno as well because all of his worst days just so happen to be Tuesdays. He was 96% sure that, if there was a god, his day off was on Tuesdays, or that the planets aligned in such a manner on Tuesdays that it caused universal despair and misery. If he was to take Donghyuck's word for it, his chakra attracted negative energy the most on Tuesdays.

When Jeno was 5, his goldfish Pippin had died on a Tuesday. When he had his ass handed to him on the playground by San Choi in the third grade, it was a Tuesday. And in the seventh grade, he'd failed his Spanish test, missed his bus and walked home in the rain only to find out that his Aunt Sunny was at work, he'd left his keys in his locker and that had to wait an hour before she got home to unlock it for him, all on a Tuesday. 

And wouldn't you know it, here he was, late for the first day of senior year, which was, of all days, a godforsaken Tuesday.

In his eternal wisdom, he'd stayed up gaming with Renjun until two in the morning, and because of it, slept through his three alarms, one set at six-thirty, the other at 6:45, the last one at 7:00. 

He'd woken up at 7:17, to the sound of his elderly neighbor's pet chihuahua barking at a pigeon, checked the time, immediately panicked, sped into the shower, gotten dressed in a haste, grabbed a few granola bars from the pantry, and ran out the door while trying to jam his backpack closed, and managed to catch the train at 7:40, which took about twenty minutes to get to his stop, plus a ten-minute walk to school, and class started at 8:10. Not to mention he’d have to stop by the office and pick up his schedule. At best, he’d be five minutes late to his first class. But tardies were tardies, regardless, and the last thing he needed was to lose his perfect attendance streak. 

He fished out his phone while standing on the train, waiting for his stop, scrolling through Instagram, and liking random pictures. A ping! from his phone caught his attention, then two, then a third. He smiled softly when your name popped up on his screen.

[7:48 AM]

y/n: pssst

y/n: shithead

y/n: where r u ????

[7:49 AM] 

y/n: i can sEE u online on ig u know

jeno: …… i'm on the train

jeno: woke up late

y/n: YOURE GONNA BE LATR

y/n: LATE*

y/n: ON THE FIRST DAY OF SENIOR YEAR

[7:50]

jeno: probably, yeah

jeno: it's the school district's fault, why would they make the first day of school on a fkn TUESDAY 

y/n: ohhh yeahh its terrible tuesday

y/n: [sent an attachment!]

[7:51 AM]

jeno: SHUT UP

jeno: you're not funny >:(

jeno: how dare you laugh at my misfortune

y/n: au contraire im hilarious

jeno: meanie :(

jeno: im gonna be late i hate it here

jeno: it'll end up on my permanent record and i'm not gonna get into college and then i'm gonna die,,,

[7:52 AM] 

y/n: sometimes ur worse than hyuck i swear 

y/n: FIRST OF ALL permanent records dont even exist !!!!!! its propaganda duh

y/n: also ur literally never late 

y/n: im sure o n e tardy wont do anything chill

y/n: dont be stupid youll be fine

Don’t be stupid. Too little, too late, he thought, already having got off the train at a previous stop. Now, he was looking for an unoccupied street or alleyway, which, for once, was easy, taking a deep breath before he did the exact opposite of what you’d told him not to do. Don’t be stupid. 

The buildings are low, he thought to himself, it’ll be easier to see me. 

Don’t be stupid.

Too late!

Thwip!

Jeno didn’t hesitate to use the web fluid to pull himself up onto the wall, climbing in a haste, before running and jumping onto the next building. He quickly built up a quick pace, using the web fluid occasionally to swing onto a building slightly out of jumping range. 

Signs in English, Chinese, Korean, and Spanish flew past him as he seemingly flew over the Queens traffic, leaving Flushing behind and crossing quickly into College Point quicker than he would if he took the train. He glanced to his left and caught a view of the bay, and far across it, the LaGuardia airport watchtower.

Jeno had lived in New York City his entire life. He knew Queens like the back of his hand, knew every dingy alleyway, every sketchy street, which restaurants to avoid if you didn’t want to get food poisoning, which convenience store aunties were the nicest and didn’t pinch his cheeks too hard. It was his home, and most likely would be for the rest of his life. 

But seeing it like this, flying past him below as he glided with ease from building to building would never cease to be a sight to him. It was like watching from the perspective of an outsider, seeing people in their cars, walking along the street gave him a brand new perspective. A Jeno’s eye view, he called it, since he was pretty sure he was the only one in New York City.

Another noise from his phone brought him back to reality. He shook his head, stopping briefly to catch his breath and fish out his phone briefly. 

[7:57 AM] 

y/n: let me know when u get here !!!

No time to respond, he put away the phone and continued his trek to school. He had less than ten minutes to get there. But he knew he was already at least five minutes away, much quicker than he would be if he had decided to stick to the train. He smiled a bit to himself, feeling ever so slightly smug.

The hustle and bustle of the city definitely proved challenging to find a place to land without many eyes, but he figured it out eventually, landing behind a dumpster in an alleyway behind a restaurant that he knew was about three or four blocks from the school. He figured it would be a lot better to take it on foot from here. The notebooks he was carrying in his backpack bounced up and down with every step he took. 

After what seemed like forever, the gates to the school appeared in his view, and Jeno felt a joy in his heaving chest, something he would have never thought would happen upon seeing the absolute hellhole that was Samuel Morse High School. 

[8:06 AM]

jeno: just did >:D

Picking up his schedule was both quick and insanely long. He couldn’t stop himself from tapping his left foot while the secretary found his schedule and handed it to him. “Kibum, please hurry,” He muttered, and Kibum raised an eyebrow at him, but his gaze was teasing. “That’s Mr. Kim to you, in school at least.” 

He handed Jeno his schedule a few seconds later. “Tell your Aunt to come pick up her casserole dish, by the way. She left it at my house after my last viewing party.”

“The Bachelor?”

“Please. We’re too classy for that. Drag Race.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Jeno,” Kibum said, staring up at him from his desk, his gaze now much more serious, “Get to class. Happy first day of senior year.”

“Thanks, Mr. Kim.”

He managed to make it to chemistry class at 8:09 with seconds to spare. His eyes quickly scanned the room upon entering, hoping his friends were in the class with him. He caught a few familiar faces, most of which, like San Choi's, he wished to avoid. No one paid him any mind. Everyone was still speaking to the people next to them, no doubt exchanging stories of summer vacation. 

  A hand shot up towards the back, waving at him. A smile stretched across his face as he registered your face, feet not hesitating to carry him towards the empty seat next to you. His heart skipped a beat at seeing your smile, and he tried his best to ignore it.

“Hey,” You greeted, “That was fast. I thought you said you were gonna be late.”

Jeno shrugged, eyes landing on the dark shade of the lab table. “The train was a lot faster than I expected, apparently.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Why do you smell so bad?”

“I, uh… ran a little.” 

You grimaced, and Jeno tried to casually sniff at his slightly sweaty clothes. It’s not that bad. “I still don’t understand why you won’t let me drive you to school. You’re literally next door.”

“I don’t know,” He answered, rolling his eyes, “Maybe it’s because when it comes to that truck, you are absolutely insane. You won’t even let me drink water in that thing.”

The truck in question, a faded red 1998 Chevrolet S-10, had been your gift to yourself for your 17th birthday. You’d spent two summers saving up to buy yourself a truck, and that was what you were able to get for what you had. To say it was a huge piece of junk on wheels was an understatement. 

The thing smelled like mothballs no matter how many air fresheners you bought it, the engine sounded like an old man having a coughing fit, and there was a very suspicious stain in the backseat that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times you scrubbed it. But for some reason, you treated it like it was your own baby. The amount of times you’d yelled at Jaemin for trying to put his feet on the dashboard was too high to count.

You mirrored his movement, eyes rolling as you sighed. “At least let me drive you home after school today. Maybe you can stay and we can finally watch Blade Runner.”

You’d been trying to get him to watch the film for almost a month now, begging and pleading because you insisted that he’d love it. He offered an awkward stare, before opening his backpack and pulling out a notebook. “Can’t,” He mumbled, “I’m headed into Manhattan. I have my internship afterwards.”

“Oh, yeah,” You said nonchalantly, eyebrows shooting up as you remembered, “Park Industries.” 

He was about to reply when Mrs. Baker, the chemistry teacher, finally entered. She’d been working at SMHS for 30 years and had never, apparently, been nice, if his Aunt Sunny’s stories were anything to go by. However, she had apparently always spoken as if she smoked two packs a day. She was rambling about the importance of making the most of senior year academically, adult responsibilities, college, and whatnot. You and Jeno exchanged glances often throughout the monologue, hoping it would end soon. 

“Enough of that,” She said after what seemed like an eternity, “Everyone quiet down, I’m going to call roll.”

Names were quickly called, and Jeno was ready to pull out a pencil and start working with you until Mrs Baker demanded a switch in seats, beginning to call on random names in an effort to deter everyone from speaking. 

"Please not with Choi, please not with Choi," Jeno muttered under his breath, glancing warily at San, who was staring ahead, looking bored. 

San had had it out for Jeno ever since day one, in first grade. For some reason, everything Jeno did seemed to annoy the other boy. He wasn't funny enough, or too nerdy, or too quiet. Jeno was always too much or too little for him. 

You touched his forearm, and he looked towards you. 

“You’ll be fine,” You said softly, trying not to alert the teacher, “You’re not gonna get paired up with him, and you can take it to the office if you need to.” “Yeah, because I’m sure Coach Peralta would be thrilled if someone tried to get his precious midfielder in trouble.”

“Choi, San,” Mrs Baker’s voice rang throughout the room, and Jeno braced himself for the worst, eyebrows furrowing with worry. 

“You’ll be sitting with… L/N, Y/N.” 

Jeno’s shoulders slumped, but your face remained impassive. You picked up your stuff, and pouted silently at Jeno in apology, before making your way to the front. 

“Lee, Jeno,” Mrs Baker called a few minutes later, “You’ll be sitting with Jang, Yeeun.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief. Yeeun is nice, Jeno thought to himself, I could sit with Yeeun. She wasn’t part of his main friend group, but he had tutored her in math during sophomore year in exchange for her helping him with Spanish, and they’d been pretty friendly ever since. 

“Hey,” Yeeun greeted as Jeno sat down, and Jeno smiled at her. 

“Remember, these will be your assigned lab partners for the rest of the semester. No changes, no exceptions.” Mrs. Baker sat down at her desk, before beginning to talk about something Jeno didn’t really pay attention to.

You exchanged glances with Jeno, and he gave you a look of sympathy as you gestured at San with your eyes. San was talking to you about something—probably bragging about some soccer achievement—but you weren’t paying him much attention. Jeno swallowed something growing in his throat as he looked at how your hair looked today. 

It was nothing relatively new, the same hairstyle you used on most days. But still, there was a bit of a shine to it. He wondered vaguely if you had changed your shampoo, the other day you’d been complaining about how itchy your normal shampoo made your scalp—

“You still haven’t told her about how you feel?” Yeeun asked quietly, and Jeno’s head snapped back to look at her, eyes wide.

“W-what? Me. Like Y/N…” He laughed nervously, trying to keep his voice down. He scratched the back of his head, avoiding Yeeun’s accusatory stare. “You’re hilarious, Yeeun. Tell another one.”

Yeeun shook her head. “You’d better hurry before someone else snatches her up, Jen. She’s not gonna wait around for you forever.”

 “I don’t like her, Yeeun.” 

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Hey! Jeno Lee!”

“Hey! Jaemin Na! What do you want!” Jeno answered as he sat down, mimicking Jaemin’s tone next to him.

“Well, for starters, a million dollars, and second, a date with Yiren Wang, but I doubt you can help me with either of those, so...”

Jeno glanced at the rest of the table. Along with Jaemin, Mark,  Renjun, Donghyuck, and you were watching the interaction between the pair. “Where are the munchkins?” Jeno asked, noticing Chenle and Jisung’s absence. No one could really call them munchkins anymore. That nickname dated back to middle school, before the two underclassmen had gone through growth spurts.

“Eh, they should be here soon,” Renjun said, chewing on a french fry, “How’s your day been?”

“Pretty good so far, I guess. I got AP Calc with Mr. Washington later, though. That man wants me dead.”

You rolled your eyes. “He doesn’t want you dead. I’m telling you, you and Hyuck have been spending way too much time together. You’re being more dramatic than usual and Hyuck’s being more… weird than usual.”

“And just what is so weird about being enthusiastic about senior year, Y/N?” Donghyuck asked, shaking his head, “It’s our last year in this hellhole, I’m excited that we’re finally getting out of here. And besides—”

“Please don’t bring up the fact that you’re abandoning us next year.” Chenle seemingly appeared out of nowhere, sitting next to Renjun, Jisung following quickly behind him.

“Hi, Sungie,” You said with a smile, and Jisung smiled back. “Hi, Y/N.”

“What were you saying, Hyuck?” Jaemin looked at Donghyuck, who had taken the quick interaction as an opportunity to take a bite of his sandwich. His wide eyes darted to the slim boy, cheeks stuffed with chicken. 

“Oh,” He replied after swallowing, “This is gonna be my year. I’m getting male lead for the winter musical and no one is gonna stop me.”

“Do you even know what musical you guys are doing yet?” Mark asked, “What if it’s like… Shrek?”

Jisung made a face. “There’s a Shrek musical?”

Mark nodded, and Renjun laughed.

“I don’t know about male lead, if it’s Shrek. You should try out for Donkey,” The Chinese boy joked, “With those front teeth, you’re a shoo-in.”

The entire table was silent for a moment, before snorts and chortles started pouring out from everyone except Donghyuck.

“Fuck you, Huang.” 

Renjun flashed the friendliest smile he could muster. “Not if you paid me a million dollars.”

The subject remained on extracurriculars, everyone in your group except for Chenle and Jisung now wary of college applications. Donghyuck had been in theater ever since middle school, Renjun was in the robotics club and the debate team with Jaemin, who was also in the student council. Mark was on the math team with Jeno, and you had founded the film club. 

"You're not gonna believe who asked to sign up for film," You huffed, looking kind of confused. The rest of the table looked at you expectantly, and you pursed your lips, almost as if you were trying not to laugh.

"San Choi."

Renjun scoffed. Jaemin raised his eyebrows before letting out a single, humorless laugh. Jeno made a face, poking his plastic fork at you. 

"What is San Choi doing asking to sign up for film?"

"Fuck if I know. He said he needed one more extracurricular if he wanted to get into some college in Florida and he liked going to the movies, so he wanted to try out film."

Mark rolled his eyes. "I swear there's nothing in that guy's head but hot gas. It blows my mind."

"He's a dick," Chenle grumbled, "I'm still not over how he and Wooyoung taped Jisung to the flagpole last year."

Jisung scowled. "I thought we agreed to never bring that up again."

“Do you think they’ll finally calm the fuck down this year?” Jaemin wondered, looking wistful.

You took a sip of your coke and shook your head. “Doubt it. They’re not the hateful eight for a reason.”

The mood at the table turned tense, until Jaemin frowned at his french fries, before sighing and clapping his hands together dramatically. “I would like to hear,” He mused, “About the nuance that theatre gives the cinematic masterpiece that is Shrek when converted into musical form.”

Donghyuck beamed. “Oh, it’s amazing. You see…”

If it was difficult to get Donghyuck to stop talking in general, it was impossible when it was about theater.

The conversation continued on until the bell rang, and the eight of you had to go your separate ways. Jaemin and Jeno had the same class, so they both walked together down a relatively calm hallway. Jaemin looked both ways, before finally lowering his voice. 

“So, you’re going to see Mr. Park today?”

Jeno nodded, looking down at his shoes. “He said he wanted to give me an assignment. Says there’s something big going on.”

Jaemin’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “Did he say what kind of something?” 

Jeno shook his head, pouting slightly. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.” 

Once school was out, Jeno was getting ready to get onto the subway once again, this time heading towards Midtown. It was only day one and, as Jeno had predicted, Mr. Washington probably was out to get him, because he’d swamped the class with homework.

As he left the school, he spotted you in the parking lot, leaning against your car door, texting someone. He glanced at his phone. He still had plenty of time, he figured. He walked over to you, and when you looked up, you smiled. 

“Hey!” Your voice had that signature tone of enthusiasm to it, and Jeno smiled back immediately. 

“Hello,” He sing-songed. “So, I was thinking… are you free on Friday night?”

You looked somewhere above his head, furrowing your eyebrows before you perked up again and nodded. “Yep! Why?”

“I’m free after nine. Maybe then I could come over to your house? So I can finally get you to stop harassing me about Blade Runner.”

You grinned, pumping your fists enthusiastically. “Hell yes,” You answered, “Do you want me to get like, some frozen pizzas or something?” 

“Pizza sounds good,” He said. “Who are you even waiting for?” 

You made a face that made it seem as if you’d just gotten a whiff of rotten milk. “Well—”

Your response was interrupted when the school doors slammed open, and eight figures poured out, carrying themselves with confidence Jeno both envied and despised. He frowned, trying not to react at their loud whooping and laughing. The Hateful Eight.

“Oh.” Jeno averted his gaze, meeting your eyes again.

“Yeah. If you don’t hear from me later it’s because I jumped out of my truck because I don’t wanna work with—”

“Well, hello, gorgeous!” San’s voice filled the parking lot, and Jeno took a deep breath. Your mouth stretched into a tight-lipped smile at the unwanted ‘compliment’. 

“Hey, San.” Your friendly passive aggressive tone almost made Jeno smile. “I’ve been waiting here for like, fifteen minutes. You could have just given me your number and asked me to send you pictures of my notes, you know.”

He shrugged, turning his body so that his back was turned to Jeno. “Sorry, babe. Coach wanted to talk to us about the upcoming season. When he gets going, it’s hard to get him to stop. And besides, where’s the fun in just asking for pictures when I could come here, talk to you, and take the pictures myself?”

You didn’t respond, but rather pulled out your backpack and began digging through it. When you pulled out your notebook, you handed it to San, who flashed a wink at you. You barely held back a gag. 

“Thanks, Y/N. I’ll just be a minute.” 

He walked over to the hood of your truck, and just as you were about to continue your conversation, two figures slung their arms around both of Jeno’s shoulders, causing him to flinch. 

Out of the fifteen soccer players on the team, San and his best friends—seven of them, to be precise—were the worst. The others were pretty nice. But right now, seeing two of those seven surround your best friend made you uneasy. 

Wooyoung was loud. He was also a temperamental brat. His dad owned three used car dealerships over in Brooklyn, so naturally, he thought he owned the entire world. He wasn’t someone who would get too physical in fights, like San, or Jongho, or Yeosang. But when he was angry, he could easily get you to jump into the stratosphere by yelling at you once. Over the years, he’d made several teaching assistants and substitute teachers cry, only getting let off with a slap on the wrist every time. 

 Yunho was terrifying for completely different reasons. He was friendly, but a little too friendly to the people he wanted to control. He could read people like books and could easily manipulate whoever he wanted. But he wasn’t afraid of getting physical either, especially not when he was built like a goddamn Power Rangers Megazord. 

All in all, they definitely weren't anyone you wanted near you, near your friends. Especially considering how much they had it out for your friends. 

"Hey, buddy," Yunho said, looking down at Jeno with a wide smile. "How was summer vacation?"

Jeno gnawed on the side of his cheek as he considered his answer. "Um, it was okay." He looked at you to catch your eyes darting between San, Yunho and Wooyoung, like you were analyzing the situation. "I kinda stayed in and played video games most of the t—"

"Cool, cool," Yunho answered, carding his free hand through his bleach blond hair. "What about you, Woo?"

"Oh, dude, it was so cool," He bragged, "I went to Brazil for like, a month. I went clubbing with Instagram models and shit, it was wild."

You stared at him as he patted Jeno on the back rather aggressively. "Where did you go? Have you ever even left New York?" 

You knew the answer. Only a few times when the debate team went to compete in different states. Jeno spoke up again. "Well, yeah a few t—"

"Doubt it," Yunho scoffed. He craned his head back. "San, you done yet?"

"Almost!" San answered. Yunho turned to face you, and for some reason his smile seemed genuinely kind. “What about you, Y/N?”

You never understood why it was that the soccer team hated your entire friend group, but seemed to tolerate you. It made no sense.

So you shrugged. “Not a lot, I guess. Did my summer reading. Hung out with my friends.” You flashed a reassuring smile at Jeno. “Right, Jen?”

Immediately, he relaxed a little bit. “Yeah.”

San appeared from behind Yunho, Jeno and Wooyoung. “Thanks, Y/N. I owe you one.”

You waved your hand, wanting them to get rid of them quickly. “Don’t mention it. But next time, just text me for my notes. I have to get to work, so…”

“Oh! My bad,” He answered with fake remorse, before unlocking his phone and handing it over to you. “Here. For next time.”

You stifled a deep sigh, punching in the numbers hesitantly. “Just for homework, got it?”

San took his phone back, holding a hand over his heart and raised his head. “On a gentleman's honor,” He declared, and you bit back a laugh. Jeno looked like he was going to hurl.

“San!” The team captain—Hongjoong—called from a few feet away, “Are you guys done yet or what?”

“Coming!” San yelled back.

“Alright, we’ll let you go,” Wooyoung said, patting Jeno on the back again, a bit too harsh for comfort. “Bye, Y/N! See you around.”

 The three of them stalked off, leaving you and a very frazzled Jeno. “Dicks,” You muttered once they were out of earshot. “You good?”

Jeno shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine.”

You tilted your head, frowning. “Jeno—”

“I gotta go,” He said quickly. “I’ll see you later?”

You nodded, offering a lopsided smile. “Yeah. Be careful!” 

Jeno offered a deep bow, fluttering his eyelashes. “On a gentleman’s honor,” He sighed, adding a very bad British accent to it. You burst out laughing, eyes squeezing shut.

You didn’t catch the way Jeno’s shoulders relaxed at the sound.

I want you to know now

Baby, it could go down

I don’t wanna talk about it

Baby, let’s just go now

The train ride into Midtown didn’t take too long. He spent it digging through his backpack for his Park Industries lanyard, listening to music and thinking about you.

When you talk right to me 

You gon’ have to do me

Every time you think you’re leaving 

You running back to me

You’d met Jeno when you were six. Truth be told, he didn’t really remember. For him it was like you weren’t there at one point and by the time you were, you were thicker than thieves. It was a difficult time for him. He had just lost both of his parents, and was moving in with his Aunt Sunny and his Uncle Jinki, who were barely out of college at the time. He’d had to move to a new school and basically restart his entire life. You were the first sense of stability in his life for months. 

Your mom lived next to his aunt and uncle. So naturally, you went to the same school and went on the same bus. And somewhere along the way, you two clicked. You’d introduced him to Renjun, Jaemin and Donghyuck. You were there to comfort him whenever he got pushed off the slide by San or Wooyoung. 

He was there for you when your stepdad and stepbrother moved in when you were nine and you weren’t sure how to deal with it. He was there when your mom died when you were thirteen. He’d introduced you and your friends to Mark, Chenle and Jisung. 

And you were there when his Uncle Jinki got killed when he was fifteen. And because fate had an especially cruel sense of irony, it had happened on a Tuesday. You didn’t know, but at the time, he had just gotten his powers. Your comfort and words unknowingly had a secondary effect: he made the decision to use them for good, and… well. The rest was history. 

Can we just talk? Can we just talk?

Talk about where we're goin'

Before we get lost, lend me your thoughts

Can't get what we want without knowin'

Just like when he met you, he didn’t recall an exact moment where he realized he’d fallen in love with you. He knew there was a world where he loved you, but wasn’t in love with you. And he knew that there was a world here he’d fallen in love with you—he was living in that world now. He realized he was living in that world maybe when he was sixteen, and had been stuck in it ever since. 

You were it for him. He’d had crushes before. But never something like this, where he was so aware of your presence around him. It wasn’t the way he was hyper aware of someone like San, or like Yunho or Jongho. It wasn’t out of anxiety or fear, where a shift in mood activated his fight or flight. He was aware of you in a way that only people who truly know each other do, where he could pick up on subtle changes in your behavior, but not out of fear. Rather, out of a desire to take care of you and to not have you worry about anything. 

I've never felt like this before

I apologize if I'm movin' too far

Can we just talk? Can we just talk?

Figure out where we're goin'...

As the train rolled into the station that was a fifteen minute walk from Park Tower, Jeno put away his headphones and took a deep breath.

The “Jeno Tingle” as his Aunt Sunny called it—Jeno hated the term—had taken him a few years to gain control of. And while he could never truly turn it off, he could at least tune it out enough to be more at ease. The only time he did so was at school or when he was studying, just because he wanted to feel normal, and because being aware of everything going on around him really messed with his concentration. 

Jaemin didn’t understand. “If I was able to tell whenever Seonghwa was behind me because he wanted to scare me into doing his chemistry homework, I’d never turn that shit off,” He’d said once. But truthfully, Jeno didn’t really care. Because while yes, he was still slightly scared of the “hateful eight”, he knew damn well that if things got to be too much, he could kick their asses if he wanted to. 

It was his friends he worried about. He couldn’t be around them 24/7. You, not so much. He knew you knew how to fight. Even worse, he knew that San had the hots for you so you were off limits to the rest of them, be it bullying or flirting. But for everyone else… Well. He couldn’t hover over them like some guardian angel. 

Now that the “Jeno Tingle” was on, it allowed him to sense everyone within a certain range around him. He could zero in on certain sounds with ease, and his reflexes became heightened. Halfway on his walk up Park Avenue, he jumped away from a chihuahua on its leash a second before it started barking at him.

When he entered the first floor lobby of the Park Building, he scoured the crowd of employees and visitors until he landed on one familiar face. 

He'd met Doyoung about a year after his dad started dating your mom. Things between your parents were starting to get serious, and Doyoung was four years older than you were. When they moved into your house, Doyoung as your new stepbrother became the de facto chaperone and babysitter. If you wanted to go to the mall with Jeno, he had to take you. Every time you dragged Jeno to the movies, Doyoung had to go also. 

To an extent, it wasn't that bad. Doyoung was cool, and he was smart—he was the one who got Jeno interested in computers and chemistry. He graduated high school at 16, and finished his bachelor's degree at 19. He'd also interned at Park Industries, and secured a job there almost immediately after college. 

To an extent, he was the whole reason Mr. Park knew who he was, because of one incident. It was relatively soon after he started the whole vigilante thing. Jeno, still figuring out how to maneuver on the webs that shot out of his wrists, had accidentally crashed into your backyard late at night, when only Doyoung was awake. He was standing in the back door while he was waiting for his dog to finish peeing. 

Initially, the older boy had freaked out, thinking that it was a burglar or something. When he yelled out that his dad was a cop and was asleep in the house, Jeno panicked, and pulled off his mask, holding up his hands.

“Woah, woahwoahwoah! Doyoung! It’s me, it’s me!” 

Doyoung’s eyes had widened to the size of saucers, paying no mind to the dog as it sauntered up to Jeno, before turning onto its back in a request for belly rubs.

"You're the spider guy everyone's been talking about!?"

"Spider man," Jeno had answered, voice cracking as he dusted himself off. He cringed at the sound of his voice. "...and yes."

Of course, his cover was blown, and he'd begged Doyoung not to tell anyone, especially not you. And while Doyoung had promised not to tell you, it didn't stop him from telling his boss. 

That had been almost three years ago now. The rest was history, and after that Jeno didn’t have to run around in bright red sweatpants and dollar store swimming goggles. Now, he had a nanotech suit that allowed him to activate protocols of the suit through voice commands using something top-secret Mr. Park called D.R.E.A.M technology. Direct Response Engaged As Machine—yeah, Jeno didn’t get it either. 

Doyoung offered Jeno a smile as he escorted Jeno past security, showing them his employee clearance pass. "Hey. How have you been?"

Jeno shrugged, recounting his day in minor detail as he was led into an elevator labeled authorized personnel only. 

This elevator only went up to the 35th floor, seeing as everything past that was only cleared for a certain list of people approved by Mr. Park and his security team, and everything past the 90th floor were Mr. Park's private living quarters. 

Now, as Doyoung led him to another elevator to head up to the 85th floor, which was always where Jeno got to meet with Mr. Park—which wasn't often, maybe once or twice a year—he wondered where he would be if he hadn’t surprised Doyoung that night. He would probably still be using those ugly red sweatpants as part of his disguise.

"How's Y/N?" Doyoung asked. 

"Oh, she seems okay. That guy who hates me keeps coming onto her though. He's a huge douchebag."

Doyoung frowned. "He's not harassing her, is he? Because if he is—"

"He just won't stop flirting, even though she clearly isn't interested," Jeno said bitterly, "He isn't physical or anything. Trust me, it wouldn't end well for him if he was."

Doyoung wasn't quite sure how to respond to the younger boy's dark tone. He looked down, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“So… how’s the apartment?” Jeno asked. Doyoung perked up instantly.

“Oh, now that Taeyong’s moved in and did his interior design thing, it looks great. He’s really done a great job at it.”

“When am I gonna meet this guy? He sounds cool.”

“He’s really cool,” Doyoung hummed, cheeks heating up. “Things are getting really serious.”

Jeno smiled at how flustered Doyoung, who was normally so level headed and calm, became at the mention of his boyfriend.

“You guys sound like a really good couple,” He said. Doyoung chuckled, waving his hand. “Oh, well—” 

 The elevator dinged, and Doyoung sighed. “I’ll tell you later. C’mon.”

The hallway it opened up to was lined with pictures of the company's history, starting from pictures of black and white of people in vintage clothing, to pictures in sepia tones to finally pictures of the current CEO at locations around the world: Chanyeol Park.

Jeno walked behind Doyoung as he led him down the hallway, before stopping in front of a door, and a friendly looking man in a suit. 

Junmyeon was a part of Chanyeol’s Security and Intelligence team, and often sat in on these meetings with Jeno. The chain of contact also included him. If Jeno couldn’t contact Doyoung (which rarely happened), he’d contact Junmyeon. And if he couldn’t contact either of them, or it was an emergency, only then could he contact Chanyeol. So far, that had only happened once.

"Hey, Junmyeon," Doyoung said, "Mr. Park's 4:30 is here." 

Junmyeon nodded, before smiling at Jeno and giving him a wave. "Hey, kid."

Jeno offered an awkward grin. "Hi, Mr. Kim."

Junmyeon rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Kid, you're making me feel ancient. I've told you a million times, just call me Junmyeon."

Jeno shuffled awkwardly, before nodding at the older man, watching as he pressed a button on his earpiece. "Hey, Yeol. Jeno's here."

The muffled response was barely heard, but Jeno automatically understood what Mr. Park said. Junmyeon turned to open the door, and let the pair inside. The “office”—if it could even be called that—opened up to more of a lounge, than anything. A wall of glass overlooked the Manhattan skyline, but Jeno knew that from the outside it looked only like a wall, due to camouflage technology developed by Mr. Park himself. As Doyoung and Junmyeon stayed back, closer to the door, Jeno took a few steps toward the man in question.

Chanyeol was standing a few feet in front of the glass window, working on a holographic model of a new piece of tech. His face was turned downward in a concentrated frown. He barely spared the teenager a glance as he said fondly, “Hey, kid.”

Jeno was used to this. Chanyeol wasn’t cold per se, but he wasn’t warm at all. He knew that Chanyeol cared about him, even if he didn’t really show it in a conventional way. Chanyeol was a very… eccentric man, so he had his own way of saying and doing things. 

“Hi, Mr. Park. Um… you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yep! Needed some help from the friendly neighborhood Spiderman… A little birdie told me about something going on in Queens.”

“Queens?” Jeno asked, gripping the straps of his backpack. “You mean, other than the usual stuff?”

“Other than the usual stuff,” Chanyeol repeated, nodding. With a wave of his hand, the hologram disappeared, and another one appeared in its place. This time, instead of a 3D model, a few pictures and another, smaller 3D model appeared. Chanyeol turned to face him, frown deepening. He pointed at the model—a long, shiny oval-shaped purple stone. It reminded Jeno of an amethyst, but instead of turning white at the base, it turned to an iridescent jade tone. “You know what this is, right?”

Jeno nodded, remembering seeing the rocks all over the news when he was a kid. “That’s… that’s a Chitauri stone. From the invasion a few years back.”

Chanyeol nodded, standing up straight. “These stones have the potential to power weapons with no need to recharge, or change them out. They’re an infinite, extremely strong power source, Jeno, and in the wrong hands can be very dangerous.”

Jeno took a deep breath, feeling his stomach sink slowly. Chanyeol sighed. “Cleanup of the city after the invasion was long, and difficult, and obviously the government and the company weren’t able to get everything. It caused a black market to pop up. Now, the NYPD has been investigating it for years, but they have their limits… that’s where you come in.”

“M-me, Mr. Park?”

Chanyeol gave him a crooked, reassuring smile. He pointed at one of the pictures, which was of a man who most likely didn’t know he was photographed. He was walking somewhere, face looking angry and stern.

“You don’t know who this is, right?”

Jeno shook his head, and Chanyeol turned his head to nod at Junmyeon. “You’re up, tough guy.”

Junmyeon huffed, before walking up to Jeno. He put his hand on Jeno’s shoulder as if he could tell that he was growing anxious. 

“Jeno, that’s Henry Duke. From what we understand on the intel team, he’s one of the cornerstones of the alien tech black market. He’s one of the top dogs. From what we understand, he likes to be present for all major negotiations that his group makes. A source of ours told us that there���s going to be a negotiation on Friday night not too far away from LaGuardia. We want you to go out there and just get a feel of what’s going on.”

“Just watch them, right?” Jeno looked at Junmyeon, who patted his back reassuringly. “Just watch. Don’t engage unless you absolutely have to.”

“You can do that, right?” Chanyeol said quietly, crossing his arms. “Because if not, then it’s totally—”

“Yeah, of course I can! Friday—shit, Friday. At what time are they supposed to be meeting up?”

Junmyeon furrowed his eyebrows, before answering, “Around eight or nine.”

Jeno bit his lip, thinking about the promise he’d made to you. It would just have to wait, he supposed. Chanyeol rarely asked anything this big of him.

“Alright,” Jeno agreed, “I’ll do it.”

Chanyeol grinned, clapping his hands together. 

“Perfect.” 

They discussed logistics briefly after. Doyoung would be on call with Jeno, his custom made suit allowing them to communicate, letting Doyoung see everything Jeno was seeing via a video feed coming from the ultra thin lenses placed in the white eye sockets of the mask. Doyoung would then report to Junmyeon, who would report to Chanyeol, who would probably report to the FBI. Jeno was only to engage if absolutely necessary.

After that, he set out on patrol. He usually found some discreet place to hide his backpack, and then went all over Queens looking for trouble, quite literally. Around five thirty, he stopped a robbery in Murray Hill. Then, around seven, he stopped a man from stealing a woman’s purse in Elmhurst. Nothing too much.

Around eight, he finally headed home, this time dressed normally, using the train and not web fluid. He walked home, tired, knowing that he’d immediately have to do that cursed AP calc homework. When he got home, he opened his backpack pocket to look for his keys, rummaging between his notebooks and other things. 

Shuffling through his stuff, he furrowed his eyebrows as he couldn’t find them. Thinking back, he remembered this morning, when he’d left in a rush… and had very obviously left his keys on his desk.

“Shit,” He muttered to himself. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, remembering that Aunt Sunny had said she’d be working overtime tonight. He could very easily sneak in through his window, but he was pretty sure he’d locked it the night before, and it was too early. People’s lights were still on—anyone could see him if they just looked up, and then he would be screwed. 

Huffing and zipping his backpack up, he marched up to your house, before ringing the doorbell. He shifted his weight back and forth, from his heels to the balls of his feet, until the door opened up. A familiar man with a face just like Doyoung's, but older, with graying hair and arms scarred and muscled from years of working on the police force stood in the doorway.

“Jeno?” Your dad offered him a warm smile. “Hey, kiddo, what’s up?”

“Hi, Mr. Kim,” Jeno said, smiling back. He shifted nervously. “I, um… I left my keys in my room this morning, and my aunt’s working late, so… could I… maybe wait here? Y/N’s home, right?” 

The man nodded. “Of course, of course. Come in!” 

Your dad had always been super friendly, even from the day Jeno had first met him. You'd told Jeno once that he was the only real father figure you'd ever had. Once everything settled after him and your mom got married, you started calling him dad altogether. And since you and Jeno were practically glued at the hip, he got along with your dad almost as well as you did.

“Okay.” Jeno stepped in and set down his backpack at the base of the coat rack next to the door, as he’d done a million times before. Jeno stepped into the living room, and sat down on the couch. He folded his hands in his lap and looked up at your dad.

"I think Y/N's in the shower, but she should be done soon. You can just wait here if you want… have you eaten anything yet?”

“Uh, I had a granola bar on the train, but that’s it.”

“We have some leftover pasta here, if you want—”

“Thanks, Mr. Kim, really! I’m fine.”

Your dad nodded, sitting down on his recliner. “So, have you started your college list, yet? Y/N said you wanted to stay here in New York.”

Jeno nodded, pushing some hair out of his face. “Well, yeah. It would make things a lot easier, I think. I might want to apply to NYU, but I think I’ll just go to community college, or something.”

Your dad shook his head. “You’re a pretty smart kid, Jeno. I think you could get into Columbia if you set out to. Plus, Chanyeol Park doesn’t give out internships to anybody. That’s your secret weapon.”

Jeno smiled. “Well, you’ve got a point.” 

Your dad gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Come on, trying won’t hurt!” Your dad made a face, and then rubbed his knuckles. “Have you been working out? Those muscles weren’t there the last time I did that.”

Jeno laughed, trying to think of an excuse. “Oh, a little bit? The house needed some fixing up over the summer, and I wanted to help Aunt Sunny, so…”

“Jeno?” 

He turned immediately, eyes landing on you at the base of the staircase. You’d changed into an old t-shirt and pajama pants. Your hair was slightly damp. “What are you doing here?” You asked, with a curious smile.

His shoulders slumped, and he grinned sheepishly. “Terrible Tuesday strikes again. I forgot my keys.”

You grimaced. “Brutal, dude. You wanna come up?” Your eyes moved to your dad. “Or am I interrupting guy time?”

“Oh, definitely,” Jeno answered, playing along. He took a cocky tone as he rested his hands on the back of his neck. “Your dad was just telling me about how much the NYPD needs me.” 

You stifled a laugh. You dad seemed to be holding back a laugh too. "Hey, you're joking, but if you keep working out like that, and if by some impossible chance, the college thing doesn't work out… We might just be able to catch Spiderman if we finally got some brain cells on the force."

"Ugh, dad," You groaned, unaware of Jeno's gut twisting, "Not again."

"Yeah, Mr. Kim," Jeno said, scratching the back of his head, "He's not that bad."

Your dad shook his head. "Look, I don't hate the guy. In all honesty, crime rates have dropped since he started doing his thing. But he thinks he's above the law, and his methods can be a bit… unorthodox sometimes. He’s been undermining us for years and his tech is state of the art. Makes me wonder about what we should do to modernize the force."

Jeno looked downward, wondering what would happen if your dad knew the truth.

"Well, I guess we may just never find out. Jeno'd make a horrible cop. He couldn't hurt a fly if you paid him a million dollars."

But you came to the rescue as you grabbed his backpack, and soon enough he was up the stairs with you, heading into your bedroom, laughing to yourselves when you heard your dad jokingly call out, "Fifteen inch distance, you two! Door stays open!"

He sat on your desk chair while you lay on your bed, limbs splaying out. 

"So you left your keys."

Jeno groaned. "Don't remind me. I was in such a rush to leave, that I… I forgot. I'm so stupid."

You rolled your eyes, rolling over onto your stomach to look at him. "You're not stupid, Jen. You made an honest mistake because you were in a hurry." 

Standing up, you walked over to him and leaned against the desk. "Seriously, Jeno. What's gotten into you, lately? You freak out about every little thing. It's starting to worry me." 

Jeno shook his head. "I don't know," He admitted. "I think I'm just scared about how after this year, everything changes. Renjun’s headed upstate. Jaemin’s going to Boston. You want to go to LA. I think Hyuck and I are the only ones who want to stay here. I just… I don't want things to change." 

Your expression turned sad as he continued. "Everyone is expecting great things from me. You're smart, Jeno. You can get into an Ivy. Or, you have a Park internship, you'll be fine. What if I don't want things to be fine? What if I want them to just stay the same?"

You stayed silent for a few moments, trying to think of what to say. Jeno was relatively level headed for someone your age, but even he had moments of doubt and panic. It made moments like these difficult.  You sighed before grabbing him by the hand. Wordlessly, you tugged him over to the bed, sitting him down and leaning your head on his shoulder. He could feel the dampness in your hair seeping slowly into his shirt.

"I guess I understand what you mean," You mumbled, trying to reason with him, "But come on. You wouldn't really want everything to stay the same. You can't tell me you want to keep getting AP calc homework. And I definitely doubt that you'd want to have your ass kicked by San for the rest of your life."

Jeno looked at the floor. "You're right. But you know that's not what I mean—"

"I know," You huffed, "I'm just saying. Change… it's inevitable. The longer you fight it, the harder it is."

Jeno nodded. "This sucks."

"It does," You agreed, taking his hand in yours. "But at least we have each other's backs, y'know?"

Something of a smile appeared on his face. You were so close to him, leaning on him, stroking his knuckles with your thumb. He hoped you couldn't hear his heart pounding in his chest. 

"We really do, huh?" His voice turned quiet, with a bit of a sleepy lull to it. He allowed his head to rest on yours. "You're so comfortable. Can I like, use you as a pillow for the rest of my life?"

You giggled. "I'll consider it on two conditions."

"Oh, you'll consider. How generous of you."

"Yes, I'll consider. Now, do you wanna hear my terms or not?" 

Jeno raised an eyebrow. "Go ahead," He said, before putting on his best Marlon Brando voice, "Make me an offer I can't refuse."

Snorting, you lifted your head off of his. "Okay. One, you finish your calculus homework here before Sunny gets home."

He pursed his lips. "Okay, I could probably do that. What's the other one?"

"Let me drive you to school for the rest of the year." 

Jeno stared at you, and you nodded, eyes wide. "Trust me, Jen. You wouldn't need to wake up so early! And plus, you can't text the guy manning the subway asking him to give you five minutes because you need to find your keys."

Jeno gnawed on the inside of his cheek. You did have a point, and to be honest, he could probably refrain from putting his feet up on your dashboard.

"Deal." 

You grinned. "Awesome," You answered, before nodding towards his backpack. "Now get to work, Einstein."

The rest of the week wasn't that bad. Yes, you were absolutely batshit insane about your truck in the morning, but he soon realized he didn't really mind. Not when it allowed you both to spend some twenty extra minutes together in the mornings, and they were spent joking around and listening to your extremely varied playlist. 

On the other hand, he was saddled with more and more homework, greater and greater expectations. The looming threat of Friday's mission rolled around, and it made Jeno feel like time was passing much too slowly but also way too quickly. There was so much on his mind. He had chemistry with you on Thursdays in the afternoon, which also meant that San was there. Which also meant that sometimes, his heightened senses would pick up on San dropping a tacky pick up line which made Jeno want to punch him in the jaw.

Finally, finally, Friday afternoon rolled around. As he bid you goodbye and promised to see you later, he tried to ignore the feeling in his stomach. The feeling that something was about to go very, very wrong. He went out on patrol, ready for Doyoung to set up the call and tell him where he needed to go. It didn’t help that there wasn’t a lot for him to do that day. Crime had seemed to slow down altogether. 

When the time finally came, and the sun was beginning to set, Doyoung rang in at about 7, telling him the location. An old warehouse near LaGuardia airport, hidden from prying eyes. Jeno made his way to the place, avoiding security cameras Doyoung warned him about, and found a place to hide. There was a hole in the warehouse roof, which allowed him to peer right into the building without being seen. It was about thirty feet from the ground.

“Why is it always old, abandoned warehouses?” Jeno grumbled. He heard Doyoung laugh quietly. 

“Beats me,” Doyoung sighed. 

And so they waited. Jeno wondered vaguely if you were still working. He wasn’t sure. They made time talking quietly, until a black SUV rolled into the warehouse. “Woah, Doyoung,” He murmured, “Hold up.”

Jeno leaned forward, but quickly realized he probably wouldn’t be able to hear what was being said. “D.R.E.A.M, activate Heightened Intelligence Protocol.”

Activating Heightened Intelligence Protocol.

The protocol allowed Jeno to use the lenses over his eyes to zoom in on specific targets, as well as use a microphone embedded in the suit to pick up audio from far away and feed it directly into his ears.

He watched as three figures got out of the car, a fourth remaining in the driver’s seat. The trio stood in front of the car, and Jeno recognized the man in the middle as the man Junmyeon had been talking about.

“Alright, there’s Henry Duke,” He said, “The one in the middle.”

 “Got it,” Doyoung replied, sounding satisfied. “Now all we have to do is wait for the other party.”

“Did Junmyeon’s sources say anything about who it would be?”

“No. They weren’t able to find that out. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Jeno’s eyes never left the man. “Do you think it’s something international?”

Doyoung sighed. “I’m not sure. If it is international, then you need to be even more careful.”

“Got it. I think—Wait, here they come.” 

A second vehicle, this one another black SUV, rolled up not too far away from the first car. The lights turned off and the engine sputtered to a stop, and four men stepped out of the vehicle.

Jeno’s stomach dropped, and of its own accord, his mouth let loose a quiet, “What the fuck,” as he registered the person leading them. 

“What?” Doyoung asked, before realizing what—who—he was looking at. “...Is that my dad?”

“I think it is,” Jeno whispered, fingertips suddenly numb. Who was he kidding? They both knew who it was. 

“So,” One of the men next to your dad said, “You show us yours, we’ll show you ours?”

Henry Duke clapped his hands together with an impish grin. “I suppose. Reagan, get the case.”

One of the two men standing beside him started off toward the trunk of the car. “It caught me off guard when I heard that the force wanted to purchase these. Almost made me wonder if this was your attempt at a sting operation.”

“What made you change your mind?” Your dad asked. Jeno swallowed at how cold he sounded. This wasn’t your dad, and it didn’t seem like Officer Kim either. This was someone Jeno had never met before. 

“Honestly, Kim?” Duke raised an eyebrow, shrugging. “It was you. Your cooperativeness and willing to feed us information, as well as your… insurance agreement. And besides, you made a very interesting point when you said that the Avengers Initiative and Park’s alum Spiderman is ruining the way the law operates around here. That type of bitterness… hard to fake.”

Your dad huffed. “We’re fucking tired of it.”

The man leaning against the car your dad had stepped out of scoffed. “If this helps us catch the little asshole, then so be it.”

Jeno frowned. “I’m not little—”

“Jeno, shut up!” Doyoung snapped. 

“—Alright, then.” The man holding the briefcase—Reagan—clicked it open, as if it were a prize reveal on The Price is Right. Five guns, all modified to hold glowing Chitauri stones were placed carefully together side by side.

“You know the basics. No radiation. Keep it away from security scanners and x-rays. They will blow up. And second of all, these are at half the price, along with the promise from the chief of police that my business won’t be touched, and will only be distributed to officers in on the operation and have agreed to turn off their body cameras when they decide to use these weapons. Should this not be a sting operation, we’ll be back here to negotiate.”

Jeno leaned forward, watching anxiously.

“Yes, sir,” Your dad answered, nodding. “We have the money here.”

“Hand it over, then.”

That was when Jeno made his mistake. He leaned forward too much, and proceeded to fall right through the hole, bringing down some scraps of the roof with him. As he tumbled through the air, the zoom on his lenses caused him to grow dizzy as he had no idea what he was looking at. He caught himself before he could fall, clumsily commanding D.R.E.A.M to go back to turn off the current protocol. His vision returned to normal, and he swung up onto a rafter holding the warehouse up.

“So, we have company.” Duke didn’t sound as amused as he had before. His face turned into a sneer. “Get him.”

In less than a second, before Jeno could say anything, five guns were pointed directly at him. He managed to swing away before any bullets could hit him. 

“Jeno, get out of there now,” Doyoung ordered. 

“What about the guns?” Jeno asked, swinging to another rafter. “They know I’m here, I might as well get them before I go—”

“No! Jeno, listen to what I’m telling you. You’ve done more than enough, and you need to let it g—”

Your dad aimed, and a bullet fired right at Jeno’s chest. For a second, he forgot that the chest area of the suit was lined with bulletproof material. While it didn’t shoot into his chest, it ricocheted right off him, and since he was in motion, it somehow caused the bullet to bounce back in the direction in which it came. 

The wind was knocked out of Jeno, but it was nothing compared to watching the bullet land in the middle of your father’s chest. On the other line, he heard Doyoung yell, followed by the sound of something falling. And then, as he made his way back towards the hole he’d fallen out of, he couldn’t rip his eyes away from the body as it crumpled to the ground. 

The others around him scrambled to get back into their respective cars. Jeno was back on the roof now, trying not to hyperventilate. “I’m sorry,” He gasped, “Do—Doyoung, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t want to—”

“Jeno, you need to get out of there, now,” Doyoung said, voice raspy. “GO!” 

So he did, and Doyoung cut off the call once he was out of the vicinity. Jeno didn’t blame him. He swung across buildings, feeling numb as he looked for the apartment complex roof where he’d decided to hide his backpack.

When he finally did, he changed in a hurry, before slumping against the wall and forcing himself to take deep breaths. 

Doyoung’s dad—your dad—was dead. And it was all his fault. 

He cried on the way down the staircase. He cried on his way to the subway. The entire time, he ignored people’s stares. Suddenly everything was too loud, and if he met someone in the eyes he’d just about break down in the middle of the station. 

As he got onto the train, Jeno thought about all of the things your dad had done for you, and for Jeno. All the times he'd taken you both to Coney Island in the summer when you were younger. The year Pokemon Go came out he took the both of you driving around in his car so you and Jeno could catch as many Pokemon as you could. 

He’d formally adopted you when you were thirteen. You were his daughter in nearly every sense of the word, regardless of blood. And now he was dead, because of a stupid mistake that Jeno had made.

What would you say if you knew? He didn’t want to know. Checking the time on his phone, he saw he’d gotten a message from you just three minutes ago.

[8:36 PM]

y/n: lemme know when ur outside!! :)

“Fuck,” He murmured, wiping his eyes. He knew he needed to stop crying before he got to your house, and he had about ten minutes before he got to his stop, and then another five minute walk to the neighborhood. He focused on taking deep breaths and taking long swigs from his water bottle in the meantime, trying to tune out the sound of other people talking and the sound of the train on the rails.

The walk was the longest five minute walk he’d ever taken. The flashing lights of convenience stores did nothing to calm him down. As the stores in his peripheral vision began transitioning into suburban homes, he felt his heart speed up again. The constant movement as he walked meant he missed his phone vibrating in his backpack as you rang his number.

After what seemed like an eternity, two familiar houses came into his line of vision, and his shoulders slumped as he spotted you on your porch, looking small and teary, curled up into a little ball. In one hand, you were clutching your phone.

His stomach twisted as he put on a confused tone, even though he knew damn well that you knew. “...Y/N?”

You stood up, running to him and burying yourself into his chest, crumpling into his arms. You would have fell over if Jeno hadn’t held both of you up. 

“Jeno,” You sobbed, “You’re n-not go-onna believe it.”

He brought a hand up to caress your hair, holding back tears of his own as he asked a question he already knew the answer to.

“Y/N, what happened?”

taglist: @decembermoonskz @itsapapisongo @lenaluvs​ @crescentjen​

[squidproquoclarice]

Yeehawgust Day 26: Vultures Circling

August 1870

Gerhardt’s Pass, Oregon

Beatrice wasn’t sure whether it had been one day or two since the doctor had come.  She’d seen the look in his eyes, heard the hushed tones with which he murmured to Lyle over in the corner, and with Lyle cursing as he left the wagon and the pallet where she lay, she’d known what she already felt deep in her bones.  

The fever and the pain that had once consumed her had faded, felt now at some peculiar remove like hearing music from another room.  It would all be over soon, and that was a relief.  The vultures might be circling, so to speak, and she’d seen so many of them in the five years since they’d arrived in America.  She felt them watching her now just at the edge of her vision, not certain whether they were real or phantoms, and not certain whether it mattered.  Exhausted as she was, she could only accept it.  This was her end.

A part of her wondered whether she had caused this by her thoughts.  The nervousness and sometimes despair over being pregnant again, worrying what she would do.  David and Arthur both had readily crossed Lyle’s temper, for all David had been just a baby yet when he died.  Having lost two already, she knew the signs.  But this time, the bleeding hadn’t stopped.  Maybe it was being four months along this time that had done it.

We go together then, you and me, she thought towards that child that would never be, now finally able to offer them nothing but love and tenderness rather than having it mingled so heavily with trepidation and fear.  Perhaps we shall see David, and your other brothers or sisters.

But peaceful as that notion was, that still left Arthur.  He’d be alone with Lyle after this.  Lyle had gone to town hours ago, awkwardly grunting something about getting supplies.  She suspected it was only that he couldn’t sit here and watch her die, and that he’d be at the saloon nursing his sorrow.  Hard-handed and angry as he sometimes was, there was a peculiar vulnerable and tender streak in him all the same.  She was only thankful Lyle had taken Arthur with him.  He’d chased Arthur off most of the time since Beatrice took to bed, growling for him to go find something useful to do.  Sparing him the experience of it, she supposed.  She thanked him for that.  

She’d managed to talk to Arthur last night, though, when he’d crept in after Lyle went to sleep.  Given him the portrait of her taken earlier that year in Wyoming, and showed him the papers she’d hidden behind it.  Papers neither of them could read, but papers that would hopefully be the key to a better future all the same.  The ones that officially made him an American boy, not just another immigrant child.  He would belong here.  He already sounded far more American than Welsh, and she was grateful for that.  She could only hope he’d have the chances she’d wanted for him, even if she wouldn’t be here to see it.      

In the end, that was all she could do for him.  It seemed so little, and she was afraid for him all the same.

Hearing the creak of someone climbing in the wagon, she couldn’t help her surprise.  Lyle had come back so soon?  No, that couldn’t be.  But she heard footsteps approaching, and she heard the scrape of glass and the hiss of a match, saw the brightening behind her closed eyes as someone lit the lantern that had gone out awhile ago.  It hadn’t mattered to her, but now that there was light again, she opened her eyes to look at who had come to call.

She didn’t know either of them by sight, fair-haired and well past her own twenty-eight years. Neighbors?  No, they were far from anyone.  Lyle had made certain of it.  Who else would simply climb up into the wagon like this?  KInd strangers, perhaps.  “Are you looking for Lyle?”  It always seemed to come down to that.  She closed her eyes again.  “He isn’t here just now, and I’m sorry for whatever he’s done, but I’m afraid we don’t have much for the taking.”  Money ran through her man’s fingers like water, fast as his quicksilver dreams of riches.

“Should we...”  The woman spoke, her voice soft. 

She was too tired for this.  “Are you missionaries, then?  I suppose the saving of a soul becomes even more important at the very end.  There’s no need of that.  I’ve made what peace I might with my God, I assure you.”  Even if she’d come so far from the girl who’d attended chapel so faithfully back in Aberdare.

The man finally spoke up, his deep voice low and gentle.  “No.  You don’t need to worry about missionaries.”  The words in Welsh, no less, and the familiar lilt of it lifted her spirits in spite of herself.  “Mam, it’s me.  It’s Arthur.”

Now that snapped her to attention, and she opened her eyes, finding she had some fury to spare yet for someone who’d tease her like this as she lay there dying.  But she saw those eyes looking at her with a sad, knowing tenderness--that familiar blue-tinted green, the eyes she saw whenever she chanced to have a mirror.  The ones she saw too every day in her boy, her Arthur.  His hair--it was dusted with grey, yes, but the same dark blond as hers.  Lyle’s brows for certain, and something of the cast of his cheekbones.

Her boy had just turned seven last month, and yet she’d swear he also sat here beside her now, a man of at least forty, perhaps fifty.  She looked at him, and something in her knew him, something deeper than blood and bone, an echo within the soul.  “So you are.”  She didn’t know how it could be so, only that it was.  She drank in the sight of him.  Such a large man, tall and broad.  He hadn’t gotten that from Lyle, perhaps instead from her own father Dylan, such a large man he’d been permanently stooped long before he died from working in the cramped mine tunnels.  Seeing the marks of age on him, the lines etched into his face, and the scars--the small nick on the bridge of his nose, another on his right cheek, and a large one on his chin only somewhat hidden by a short-cropped beard.  Child-Arthur was healing a similar cut on his nose even now, earned by tumbling off the wagon while playing out a week ago, and by the look of it she’d known it would scar, just as it had on this man.  She glanced past him to the woman.  Tawny hair, a riot of freckles, amber eyes, a large scar on her right brow.  Watching Beatrice just as carefully as she was watched.  She asked, speaking in Welsh and managing some good humor, “Well, my boy, who is this you’ve brought with you?”  But she already suspected.

If she hadn’t already believed, that shy smile, that half-lowering of his gaze, would have told her.  “This is my wife.  Sadie.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”  Her Welsh was less polished, her accent more obvious to Beatrice’s ear, but it surprised her all the same to hear it.  Had Arthur taught her?  There were a thousand other questions.

But she licked her lips, needing now to ask the important question: “Why have you come?  And...how?”  She switched back to English for it.  He was an American, her boy, and she would have him be so to her at the end.  She’d fought hard for that.  It was good he hadn’t forgotten his Welshness entirely, but some things needed to be kept close and secret.  She knew that full well. 

“How?  I don’t know for sure.  There’s some red-headed fella named Sinclair who’s gonna have some explanations for this.”  He leaned in, and reached out to take his hand in hers.  A large hand, work-roughened, so unlike the small hand she still took sometimes to hold onto him in crowds and the like.  “Why?  That’s a question that’s got more answers than I know what to do with, really.  Cause I...”  He sighed, shook his head, and the aching look in his eyes told her too much.

“I know there’s no return from this, <i>fy ngwash i</i>.  It’ll be soon enough.  I knew it last night when I gave you those papers.  Did you have the use of them?”

“Sort of.  We ended up in Canada, so uh, proving I was born in Wales actually helped us there.”

“Not America, then?”

“There was better land in Canada.”

“So you’re a farmer?”  She couldn’t help but brighten at that.  She’d wanted something like that for him.  Something peaceful, gentle, nothing like Lyle’s life.

“Horses, mostly.  Some sheep, cattle, and the like.  It’s a good place.  A pretty good life.  And the rest, well…”

“You’d best tell her, Arthur,” Sadie said, her voice full of the twanging accent she’d heard in New Austin and some parts of Texas.  “She’ll see it eventually anyhow.”

He sighed, shoulders sagging.  “I reckon you will at that.  It weren’t...all what you hoped for me, Momma.  Daddy ain’t gonna live but another four years past this.  Gets hanged for horse theft in San Francisco just after Christmas.  After that, a lot happened.  And it took me a long time to get things right.”

“Then tell me how it was, son.”  She heard the tone of both inflexible command and gentle invitation in her words, and knew it for the way she spoke to him sometimes as a mother, asking to know the truth of something.  Usually when he’d done some petty mischief or theft that she knew was Lyle’s influence on him.  You must tell me, and perhaps I’ll tell you that it was wrong and why, but I won’t hate you for it.  Because I love you enough to want you to know what’s right.  She saw that conflict in him already, a boy who could steal candy from the store and shrug about it, but who’d come home the next day taking a beating to save a stray cat from being kicked to death by some older boys.

So he told her.  And perhaps it wasn’t the worst she could imagine after hearing Lyle was dead when Arthur was eleven.  But it made for no pretty picture.  Hearing he’d been taken in by criminals, and ones far better and more sophisticated than Lyle could ever be, something broke within her heart.  She’d wanted so much better for him.  But even as he didn’t quite look at her, he kept talking.

He told her of the gang he’d been in, of seeing no other life or future for himself.  Told her of a little boy named Isaac, her first grandchild.  You’ll meet him someday, long before you should.  He’s such a good kid.  I know you’ll love him, and he’ll love you.  Told her of nearly three decades of mistakes and failures after this.  She might have thought it was a life of only regrets, but then he told her of a new life he’d made, of Sadie, of Canada and the children who had lived, grandchildren she would never see: Beatrice, named for her.  Matthew.  Susanna.  Andrew.  

She felt that pull, as if being summoned.  Light fading, like a fire dimmed now beyond embers.  Arthur must have seen it as well, because he stopped telling her about little things, and reached out to take her hand.  Beatrice felt someone else take her other hand--Sadie, then.  “I don’t exactly know how we got here,” he said quietly.  “But I know how it was that day.  I came back with Daddy and you was gone already.  And...that always stayed with me.  That I wasn’t there.  And I know how it is.  Nobody ought to die alone like that.”  There was some kind of knowing weariness to his voice at that, a question she would never be able to ask and he would never be able to answer for her.  “So here we are.”    So much that would be left unsaid, but no matter.  She would see in time.  She would see all of it, and there was comfort to it, because now she knew her boy would be all right in the end.  That he would remember her too, that he loved her.  That put her fear to rest, and so now she could rest.  There were no vultures now, only the final words of love and farewell spoken, and the reassurance of the hands holding hers as everything faded into peace. 

[montrealmadison]

drink deeply

or, as they say at samwell, “penitus potes.” shitty gives the toast at jack and bitty’s wedding. for @zimbitsweddingofficial and day two of zimbits wedding week: the wedding itself!

just for fun, a draft version of the beginning of this fic with lardo, ransom, and holster’s “helpful” edits can be found via google doc here. hope y’all enjoy! <3

Good evening, everyone! On behalf of Jack and Eric, thank you all so much for being here tonight, and welcome to what could very well be the most highly anticipated wedding reception of 2019. I mean, this party was planned by the likes of Suzanne Bittle and Alicia Zimmermann. We are in for a treat, folks.

Before we get to all that, I’d also like to extend a particular welcome to those in attendance who are part of the playing, coaching, and/or office staff of the Providence Falconers. Glad you could all make it this evening; I know this past week was a little bit busy for you guys.

[Insert appropriate pause and gesture to the punch bowl, which on closer inspection is actually—oh yeah—the Stanley Cup the Falcs won three days ago. Hold for inevitable applause, general hysteria, and/or hooting/hollering from Tater.]

For those of you who don’t know me, I’ve been trying to decide whether I should introduce myself by my first name, which will inevitably get me mocked by my friends until the end of time, or by my nickname, which will definitely scandalize anyone who has not spent a significant amount of time around twenty-year-old guys who play hockey. However, as I look around the room, I’m realizing that most of you probably either raised, spent significant time around, or were once a twenty-year-old guy who played hockey. To the rest of you, I am profoundly sorry.

So, hi! I’m Shitty, and I’m Jack’s best man.

read more below or on ao3

Being someone’s best man, as I’ve realized over the last few months, should really come with a playbook or an instruction manual or something, because it’s a task unlike any other you’ll ever take on. In addition to being a friend, you have to be a confidant, an expert at bachelor-party debauchery (I think my college resume definitely prepared me for this part) and someone who’s not afraid to step in to make last-minute decisions so the grooms don’t have to. You also have to do all of these things without getting fired from your job or stepping on anyone’s toes, up to and including: the couple getting married, the other people in the wedding party, the grooms’ parents, the wedding planner, and most importantly, Moomaw, whose word is law around here. 

(Seriously. She made the pie tonight, people. Bow down to her.)

But as much as the role can feel a little bit like you’re being thrown in at the deep end, it also definitely comes with its perks. Tonight, I have both the honor and the challenge of somehow summarizing how much I love Jack and Eric in a speech that is heartfelt and witty yet also brief so that we can get to the aforementioned pie as quickly as possible. If you’re still following me here, that is a tall order—but here goes nothing!

I met Jack Zimmermann on our first day of freshman year at Samwell, during the bright, hot summer of 2011. I was participating in the time-honored tradition of moving into a dorm on the third floor of a building with no elevator and no air conditioning in the middle of August. It builds character, or so the good folks in Samwell administration probably tell themselves. Anyway, athletes got to move in early for preseason, so I was expecting to be one of the only guys on the floor for at least a couple days. I was just carrying the last box into my room when the door next to mine opened and—well, you can probably guess who walked out.

Now, I grew up in Boston, which means I also grew up around hockey culture. I’d heard the news that Jack was coming to Samwell, so I knew who he was when he stepped into the hall in that same vague way that you kind of-sort of recognize celebrities hustling down the street or through the airport with their sunglasses on. And he gave me that same vibe—“I know you know who I am, and I’d very much like not to be bothered about it.”

Here is something that will not shock you if you know us: Jack was the first friend I made in college. Here is something that might shock you if you know us: That definitely doesn’t mean we were friends at first. By his own admission, Jack wasn’t at Samwell to make friends at all. He told me, much later, that he was only planning to go to play hockey, get his life back on track, and keep his head down as much as possible.

So in retrospect, maybe it was an unlucky thing for Jack that he ran into the one person who wasn’t going to let him do that.

Because no matter who you are or where you’re from, freshman year of college breeds a unique kind of terror I’ve never felt anywhere else. There’s a lot of pressure to completely remake yourself, to become the person you maybe never could have been in your hometown. By coming to Samwell, I wanted to be a different kind of kid than the one that Andover had raised. Jack wanted to be a different kind of kid than the one he’d spent twenty years telling himself he had to be. As much as neither of us wanted to admit it, we both wanted similar things out of our college experience, and we needed a support system to do that. And so, however begrudging the two of us were about it at first, we started to bond more and more.

It wasn’t always easy. For one thing, my idea of a good time was a lot louder than Jack’s—who enjoyed such scintillating pursuits as “watching golf” and “going to bed at a reasonable hour”, neither of which were quite in my vocabulary at the ripe old age of eighteen. Also, if it’s before six in the morning, he has a hard time remembering to speak English, which used to make for a lot of stilted conversations between the two of us as we walked to early morning practice. (On a completely unrelated note, the first and probably only thing I ever learned in Québécois is how to swear.)

I don’t remember the exact tipping point at which Jack and I really became friends; I think it was more of a quiet acknowledgment that we liked having each other around, that we balanced each other out in ways that neither of us initially knew we needed. What I do know is that, slowly but surely, I started to get glimpses of the Jack that exists off the ice. And so began one of the most extraordinary journeys of my life, because the only thing crazier than knowing Jack Zimmermann is actually knowing Jack.

Here are some things that I’ve learned in the process: He’s on his third pair of neon yellow running shoes, which he buys specifically because the color makes him happy. Before either of us tried Eric’s pies, the only thing that could make him cheat on a meal plan was a sleeve of Double Stuf Oreos. (Don’t ask him how to eat them correctly unless you’re interested in a twenty-minute speech on exactly how they have to be pulled apart.) And he loves Captain America, although it is the opinion of this best man that America’s ass has nothing on his hockey butt. Have you seen that thing? It has Internet fans in at least two different countries. 

But I digress.

In our sophomore year we lived next to each other again, by choice instead of by chance, in what I can only describe as the pinnacle of American college living: the Samwell Men’s Hockey Haus. We used to pull the comforter off of one of our beds and climb out onto the roof and clear off the snow so we could share the blanket, look up at the stars, and listen to the bass thumping through the wall of the house next door. On nights when other things felt confusing, this one part of my life was clear. There’s something about sitting out under the open sky that just makes it easier to talk to a guy, you know? 

Some nights the conversations we had were funny. Some nights they were serious. Some nights we said nothing at all, just sat secure in the knowledge that someone cared enough to exist alongside us for a little while. There was always an unspoken agreement between us on nights like these: I got your back. For me, Jack’s friendship became a rock, a refuge. It’s something that I came to depend on that year and still do to this day.

As for the content of those late-night conversations—well, some things do have to stay between friends. I’m sure Jack will agree, especially because he has so graciously allowed me to get up here and lovingly roast him just a little bit.

So let’s skip ahead again, to yet another August, the start of our junior year, and the arrival on the scene of one Eric Bittle. This kid burst into our ranks like a ray of Southern sunshine and turned pretty much everything upside down in the process. In the first five minutes of being in the Haus, he somehow made us a pie? Folks, I'm not kidding, it was the best thing I’ve ever eaten. We were a bunch of guys who didn’t know what we were missing until we had it, and let me tell you, it was one hell of a semester after that. In pretty short order we had curtains on the windows and baked goods on the counters, and Samwell Men’s Hockey started to become not only a team but a family.

That was off the ice, at least. On it, things were a little more complicated. As our dear friend and former goalie John Johnson said to me, Jack and Eric hadn’t gone through their character development yet—whatever that means. 

Take our third or fourth practice with the full team that year, for example. It had gone… uh. Poorly, would be a word. Later that night I heard some rustling on the roof outside, and God knows I was willing to do just about anything but my homework—so I stuck my head out the window and there was Jack, watching the stars. I asked him if he wanted a buddy, and he said alright, so I slid out and sat down next to him.

That was pretty usual for us at this point. What wasn’t usual was the topic of conversation. The first thing Jack said to me was, “Bittle’s gonna get eaten alive when our schedule starts.” (Remember, people, they’re married now!) The second was, “I want to help.”

Here’s another thing about Jack: Underneath the veneer is a guy who just cares so intensely it’d shock you if you knew nothing else about him. It shocked me a little that day. I think it even shocked him to admit it, to the point where I had to say, “Jack, it’s not a criminal offense to care about other people. Even if it feels like you’re doing it for yourself.”

So he helped. He offered an olive branch, and Bits took him up on it. I’d hear the two of them get up in the morning, hours before the rest of us had to be at Faber, for checking practice. None of the rest of us ever knew exactly what went down, but one thing was for sure—Eric put in a ton of work to overcome some of the fears that had followed him to college. He got better, and Jack relaxed. The two of them really started working as a team, and things started looking up from there.

The day that they told us they were dating was pretty amazing. Eric is so full of light no matter how bleak a situation may look, but that day he was literally almost glowing. And I’ve seen Jack in moments after victory and loss, at his best and at his worst. But I’ve never seen a Jack who was so happy, possessed of such confidence in a decision he’d made, as I saw him that day at brunch. And that’s when I knew this relationship was really special. 

From there, many of you know the story. You watched it play out on ESPN and social media and the front pages of every single gossip magazine on the supermarket shelves. But if you’re sitting here with us tonight, you also watched it play out between Jack and Eric themselves. You’ve watched them handle expectations as a united front. You’ve watched their unfailing dedication to each other while they navigate the pressure of being some pretty big firsts. You know that, behind the scenes, these are two incredibly genuine people who  bring out the best in each other and are dedicated to doing that every single day.

In the last four years, I’ve watched Eric become self-possessed and confident because he was given the space to do so. In the last six years, I’ve watched Jack grow from a kid with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove to a guy who finally believes that he deserves all the good things the world has given him and then some. If you take nothing else away from this speech, I want you to know this: I’m incredibly proud to call myself a friend to both of them.

Jack, Bits, you’re always gonna be my brothers, my best friends, and two of the finest damn men I’ve ever had the pleasure to know. I wish you both a long and happy marriage. Take care of each other, be good to each other, and never forget where you started—as a team.

So please join me in raising your glasses, everyone, and as they say at Samwell—penitus potes to Jack and Eric!

[karmelek-writes]

comfort zone I part 3

Harrison Osterfield x fem!reader, Tom Holland x fem!reader

Synopsis: What do you do when you love them but want someone else?

Word count: 4,5k

Warnings: angst, swearing, suggestive comments, mentions of sex, smut, adult themes

A/N: Hey guys! This is part three of the "comfort zone". I wanted to thank you all again for supporting me and commenting, reblogging, and liking the series! Also, sorry for the delay. The next part will come out on Friday, as usual. Let me know what you think of this part! (sorry for any mistakes, English is not my native language plus this part wasn't proofreaded)

Love, W 🖤

When you entered Tom's bedroom you immediately felt your tensed body softening as the smell of Tom intoxicated your senses. There wasn't another place on this earth you felt more comfortable in than his room. It wasn't big but the cream-painted walls and huge mirror in the middle made it seem vaster. There wasn't much furniture, just all the necessities, but you had to admit that Tom had been keeping his room clean and fresh. It was typical, yet lego Death Star set and spiderman figures arranged neatly on a bedside table screamed Tom. You kept teasing him about this but in reality, you found it endearing. The souvenirs he brought home from the places he had visited were dusting on the shelf, reminding him of good old days having fun on set and hanging out with the cast after work. What always got your attention was his cartoon figure leaning on the wall next to his bed. He got it for his birthday after landing the role of spiderman as a joke from Harrison, his brothers, and you. Even when Tom was younger everyone knew he was born to act. His family and friends would tease him about it calling him a movie star which always made him fuss around. When he finally made it to Hollywood, you all knew what you had to do. You told him that you all had a surprise purposely hyping it up. Judging by his reaction you expected him to throw it out but he kept it. At times Tom was a nerd but it made you like him even more because despite becoming a literal movie star, he never stopped being this little cute boy who still slept in spiderman pj's he was gifted on his 19th birthday.

The cartoon figure was what you were looking at when Tom cleared his throat and locked the door. The action made you turn around to glance at him with confusion written all over your face. His focused gaze and sudden shift of behaviour confirmed your suspicion that it was going to be a serious conversation.

"So… Are we going to talk about what happened?" Tom's nervous voice rang in your ears making your heart rate speed up. You knew that was the moment you had to confront him about your feelings. “Because for the last couple of days I’ve been thinking about everything. I would hate to leave like that.”

“I know,” you sighed mentally preparing yourself to recite the speech you’ve created in your mind in advance. “Look, ever since I met you I feel like my life has gotten better. I never thought I would have such an amazing person in my life,” in the corner of your eye you saw Tom smiling excitedly at your compliment. His honey-brown eyes were sparkling and you had to stop yourself from hugging him and running your hand through his messy curls. “What happened between us was sudden and I’ve said it already, I don’t regret it. Actually, I’m quite happy with how things turned out,” you chucked at the end hoping it would relieve the stress and hesitation in your voice. Your words were all that brunette needed to confirm that you wanted him as much as he wanted you. In the room illuminated by the moonlight, Tom’s silhouette moved closer to you. Having approached you, he touched your exposed arm and traced his fingers up so gently as if he was scared he would break you if he pushed harder. His hand on your body caused shivers to appear and a slight flush crept into your cheeks. You hated and loved the contact silently hoping he would give you more. It seemed like your thoughts were heard as Tom slowly but confidently started to walk you backwards until you fell on his unmade bed. He leaned as close as he could, placing both arms on the sides of your head making it impossible for you to escape.

"I don't want to leave you here," he fussed, highly aware that the next few weeks were going to be hell without you lulling him to sleep, inquisitively going on and on about your day. Resisting the urge to pout you tried to overcome the feeling of sadness slowly accumulating in your chest.

"And I don't want you to leave," a deep sigh escaped your lips, pushing back the thought of him flying away the following day. "But we are here now, so what are you going to do about it?" you extended your arm to grasp Tom's messy curls, daring him to cross the boundary unconsciously set up the moment you've become friends to dive in the pleasure. Tom didn't give you a verbal answer, but knowing that actions speak louder than words, he lowered himself to place a soft kiss on the crook of your neck. The cracked lips caused a wave of shivers to run down your spine, your stomach dropping as you felt sudden wetness between your legs. Mixed with the wet marks left by Tom's tongue, the sensation made your eyes shut, spots emerging in front of them. All your senses were keen, escalating the intensity of the experience.

Tom was determined to work you up as he unhurriedly worshiped your body. A deep moan followed by a throaty “fuck” were the sounds at which you opened your eyes. Your longing stare met Tom’s one and you could swear right then, right there you had never seen a more mesmerising sight. Brunette’s once soft strands now had stuck to his forehead glistening from the sweat. His usually pale cheeks were now painted deep pink - a result of his unholy thoughts combined with the sight of your perfectly shaped body. Eyes dark with desire, hungry to capture every inch of your figure. You noticed beads of sweat dripping on your already wet chest, your shirt clinging to your torso enhancing curves you’d work so hard on at the gym. Lifting yourself on your elbows you signed to Tom to help you strip. You weren’t a self-conscious person, nor were you hesitant to show your figure, but you didn’t like to preen yourself on it. However, you felt the rush of confidence wash over as you caught Tom lustful ogling and wanted to take control of the situation. Shifting from underneath you poked Tom’s chest and pushed him to lay down. Foggy mind and the burn you’d felt on the skin still were dislimning your senses causing you to clumsily collapse at the top of Tom in your attempt to straddle him. Silent ouchs followed by a breathy laugh falling from the boy’s lips made your heart clunch in embarrassment. Much to your surprise, he kissed you as if he wanted to assure you that he didn’t find your awkwardness unnerving. In the few seconds of your make-out session, you recomposed yourself and broke the kiss wanting more as the throbbing between your legs became unbearable.

In the heat of a moment, you took off your bra leaving your breasts exposed for Tom to admire. You didn’t miss how his pupils dilated and his mouth went dry just by gaping at you. This fueled up your nerve leaving no place for doubt and hesitation in your mind. Shamelessly, you rocked your hips against his own at a slow pace. Grunts and scratchy moans could be heard, falling from Tom’s lips like prayers begging for your pleasure. With his eyes shut and fists clenched, he couldn’t look more beautiful, more vulnerable, falling into pieces for you. Finding pleasure in the position and the power you hold over him, you let yourself get lost in the bliss of his hard cock sliding through your folds, the tip teasing your sensitive clit in a steady motion. Wrapping his arm around your waist, Tom lifted himself until he was on an eye level with your chest, his mouth immediately clinging to your breasts, tongue swirling around your hardened nipple. Slowing down your pace, you cupped Tom's face and connected your lips in an aggressive kiss, teeth brushing and tongues intertwined. Fighting for dominance, Tom flipped you so that he was on top. Groaning, you brought him impossibly close leaving no space between your sweaty and hot bodies. Tom's little whimpers were more often now that he was thrusting into your hips, trying to bring himself closer to the limit. Knowing you couldn't last much longer you moved your hand to slip it into your undergarment only for Tom to stop you to do it himself. He licked his fingertips and shoved it into your panties, rubbing your clit in circles.

“That’s okay, cum for me baby,” Tom muttered, trying hard to catch his breath. Completely lost in the moment, you obeyed his command and let go of the tight knot that formed in your stomach. The sensation of Tom’s body pressing against you and his fingers playing with the heart of your femininity caused you to almost black out, starts appearing in front of your eyes. Letting out a pornographic moan, you tried to arch your back gripping the sheets so hard your skin turned white. You couldn’t tell for how long you were wiggling under your best friend’s body but it felt like hours until you were able to get back to reality.

Coming down from your high you took notice of a wet stain on Tom’s trousers. You opened your mouth to say something but he cut you off offering you some fresh clothes and a glass of water. Not thinking much, you accepted his little acts of care and walked past him to change in the bathroom.

Having closed the door, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and tried to calm your racing heart. While you were getting dressed Tom was silently freaking out. He could’t believe that you went this far. It still felt like a dream to him. At that moment he hated his lifestyle, he hated his profession that required him to fly away the following morning, splitting you up in the worst time. Maybe he could convince you to go with him? No, it was crazy. You had your life here, it wouldn’t be fair to take it away.

Tom’s running thoughts were cut off by the click of the door followed by your silhouette emerging from the room with a small smile. Tom returned the gesture and nodded at the bed, silently asking if you wanted to lay down with him. Getting back on the soft mattres, you let out a sigh contemplating if you should bring up your feelings. Truthfully speaking, you didn’t know how to act and it seemed like so did Tom. He sat down at the foot of the bed, facing away from you. He was scratching the nape of his neck - a habit that always betrayed his nervosity. He then suddenly stopped and it seemed like he came to terms with himself as he turned around to look at you with tears threatening to fall from his eyes and imperceptibly bleeding lip. He had to bite it to prevent it from trembling but the pressure was hard enough to rip the fragile skin of an organ. You couldn’t read anything from the look on his face and it scared you. Not thinking much you embraced him from behind placing your forehead against the side of his face. You wanted him to feel you, to detect that you were there for him.

“I-I don’t want to l-leave,” a broken stutter left his lips, repeating the words he had used before.

“I know, but people expect you to go,” you whispered to him, slowly rocking you two from side to side to the sound of the clock tickling and driving cars coming from outside the window.

“Tell me something that will make me stay,” his words echoed in the quiet room, so desperate and calling for help. Not thinking much you blurred out the first thing that came to your mind.

“I think I’m falling in love with you and that scares me but I don’t want you to go either,” before you got a chance to register your confession, Tom wrenched himself away from you to see if you were serious. He definitely wasn’t in the mood for jokes so when he identified your stoned expression he knew you meant every single word. Suddenly, a way of regret and pity washed over him, not being sure how to tell you the truth without breaking your heart.

“I… That’s… Um…” he tried to initiate the conversation but his mind was so fogged from regret and miscomprehension.

“You don’t feel the same?” you more of stated with so much heartbreak in your voice it took everything in Tom not to lie and tell you he’s always loved you to fix his mistakes. He stopped himself from it because you deserved something better than that. On the spur of the moment, he cupped your face hoping it would help him get to you easier.

“I love you, I really do but…” he couldn’t finish the sentence. It would kill him to watch your face fall with disappointment and sorrow, let down by the only guy who promised to cherish you forever.

“You don’t have to say anything more. I understand,” pushing Tom away from you, you got up making your way to the door wishing to get away from him as soon as possible. You were hurt beyond your expectations. All of the little moments you shared, the kiss, tonight, it meant nothing. You were livid at yourself, you didn’t know for what more - being so stupid to believe that he could ever love you or that he would ever want you for something more than just an easy fuck. Fueled by the sudden anger you turned to Tom with disgust painted all over your face. “Was I just a girl you wanted to try for a day and dump? Was I just good fun for you? Did you have fun playing with me?”

“God, no! I didn’t mean it to happen! I just did and I’m sorry, okay? Just please sit down and let me explain,” you were extremely angry but you needed answers so you stayed in your place, waiting for Tom to continue. “I tried so hard to love you. It just never felt right like there was something missing and I-I don’t k-know what it is but that doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you. I do love you, can’t you see that?” you didn’t reply for a few seconds and Tom started to get nervous. “Please, say something.”

“Can you try again?” you asked in a small voice. You kept your arms around yourself feeling uncomfortable out of the blue, your black socks suddenly becoming amusing sight to look at.

“Can I try what again?” confusion was evident in Tom’s tone. He knew he was losing you and he needed to do everything to keep you by his side.

“Try to love me.” silence filled the room as you asked the unfortunate question hoping for the answer you already knew you couldn’t get. But it was worth trying, wasn’t it?

“I’m sorry but I don’t think I can,” the words were hard for Tom to get out, a lump forming in his throat.

“Okay,” was all you muttered and at that moment Tom realised he fucked up. “I should go already, it’s late and you have to catch an early plane so…” you trailed hoping that he will get a hint.

“Please, wait!” he ran up to you as you were to exit his bedroom to wrap his arms around you in one last hug before he would leave. “I will keep calling every day, I don’t care if you don’t pick up or block my number. I will always try to get to you. You’re my oxygen, I need you,” if you were in a different situation Tom’s deep sobs would make your heart ache and feel sorry for him, rushing to lighten up his mood but now you didn’t have any of those thoughts. You just felt numb at his praying, a strange feeling settling in your stomach feeling his touch.

“Please, don’t become a stranger,” Was Tom selfish? Yes, but desperate situations require desperate attempts.

Freeing yourself from the brunette's tight embrace, you looked him in the eye for the last time and left the room wishing him good luck at his new job. He didn’t try and call for you, nor did he run after you. He stared at you silently tiptoeing downstairs avoiding contact with other people. You needed to talk about everything like adults but he knew you needed time and he was willing to give you that. He just wished he wasn’t leaving.

================================================

“Okay so… do you think we have all the stuff we need?” Harrison looked at you, having put your bag in the backseat.

“Yeah, granted that you didn’t forget to bring your big ego” you tried to joke and lift the mood but you knew it didn’t work when Harrison made a face at you. Since your not-so-nice exchange with Tom, you haven’t been in a pleasant mood. You knew that what he did wasn’t cool, but that didn’t stop you from missing him. You took off your phone, glancing at it for the twentieth time in the past thirty minutes only to see that you haven’t gotten any notifications. He said he would call. You felt stupid waiting for the guy who clearly didn’t want you and didn’t even bother to talk things out with you. You must have stared at your phone for a little too long because you heard Harrison clear his throat and saw him giving you a knowing look. You only rolled your eyes and put your phone back in your pocket.

“You can’t keep doing this, you know?” the blonde tried to take up a conversation with you. He knew something was up between you and Tom. He knew when you would stop smiling at him when he cracked jokes or when you stopped mentioning Tom in your conversations, or when he noticed Tom tensing at every mention of your name. He tried to get any pieces of information from his best friend but the brunette would always say that you were busy and that it wasn’t his business. Maybe it wasn’t Harrison’s place to be noisy but he had to admit that your careless aura was making him worry. Even when you were upset you acted more lively than now. He was aware that the matter was serious, he just didn’t know how to make it better… and he wanted to make it better for you.

During the last few weeks, your relationship progressed. Since Tom was constantly working, he didn’t have much time to call or text. And even if he did it seemed as if he wanted to spend it with other people. You couldn’t make out what went wrong in your relationship but you knew it was serious when Tom stopped making any effort. You’ve never seen him acting so indifferent towards you and it scared you. However, the lack of interaction between you two brought you closer to Harrison. You almost forgot how significant part of your life he was. Despite your sour mood, you enjoyed the time spent with him. He always made you laugh and feel needed. Your banter didn’t stop but it has changed into something softer and domestic. You found out that you didn’t mind it at all. Harrison still would do little things to drive you insane like casually tracing his fingers along your neck while putting a loose strain of your hair behind your ear or lowering his hand a bit too much than necessary while hugging you but it didn’t seem so unfamiliar and strange anymore. Talking to him almost daily, you learned to be more comfortable around him. To the point where you would hold his hand sometimes and stay over at his apartment after a long session of studying. That, however, didn’t mean that you couldn’t be playful. You knew that Harrison was as invested in your little game as you were. The rules may have changed a bit but it was still on. You had no idea what it meant for your friendship but it was too intoxicating to stop. Now that Tom was not there you could let yourself fully focus on it. You loved the feeling of uncertainty and on the other hand, you wanted to see how far you could push Harrison’s buttons. You were curious how much of it he could handle and if he would snap at some point. You couldn’t help yourself but subtly torture him with your slight touches during movie nights or walking around without a bra. You liked how worked up he always got. He would try to keep it together and act classy in front of you but eventually, you would catch him checking you out. In a way, it all felt wrong but all his attention was on you and you couldn’t help but feel good having this power over him.

When you got in the car you put on some music and looked outside the window. You didn’t want to talk to Harrison about your issues, especially not your issues with Tom so you tried to ignore his questions. Harrison, on the other hand, couldn’t find a way to make you open up to him. You two talked but he also wanted to support you when you weren’t feeling like you could handle things yourself. He remembered how Tom would complain about you being too secretive, even though you’ve known each other for years. That’s how he knew he would have to work hard for you to warm up to him. But that was the effort he wanted to put in. In the blonde’s eyes, you were the most intriguing person he has ever met. You two first came across in the cafe he worked at. You used to go there for some tea every day after classes during your first year. He’s been watching you for some time before trying to talk to you. One day his colleague dared him to get your number after he caught Harrison drooling over you during his break. So he gathered the courage and shot his shot. You two talked until the end of his break. He tried to get your number but you gave him your Instagram account instead. Soon you started to text each other and became really good friends. He would ask for your number a few more times but you always rejected him telling him to work for it. Harrison laughed to himself and shook his head. Even at the beginning of your friendship, you bossed him around.

“What’s so funny?” you asked, a bit confused by his sudden outburst.

“I just remembered how you used to reject me when we first met.” he turned to give you a small smile and started the engine.

“Oh yeah… You were desperate,” you smirked at him, knowing it would cause a good reaction and you weren’t wrong. Harrison gasped, abruptly turning to face you with fake hurt painted on his face.

“I wasn’t desperate! I just saw a pretty girl and wanted to take her out on a date but you were playing hard to get so you lost your chance,” he said it so casually you thought you didn’t hear him right.

“You evidently hadn’t worked hard enough,” you shrugged as if you didn’t care but in reality, your heart rate has sped up. You hoped that Harrison couldn’t hear your shallow breath. You never knew he wanted to take you out on a date and you didn’t know how you felt about it. The thought of him liking you more than just a friend brought butterflies in your stomach to life, making your whole body shiver. Maybe he wanted to take you on a date before. That doesn’t mean he’s still into you.

“So what should I do to get you to agree to go on a date with me?” the knot in your stomach tightened as his voice dropped down an octave. Was it possible he was still interested after all this time?

“I thought I lost my chance,” trying to keep it cool you exhaled softly hoping that the blonde didn’t notice how you squirmed lightly in your seat.

“Well… It depends,” he moved a little bit closer to you catching eye contact.

“On what?” you whispered gently trying not to raise your voice in fear that you would interrupt the moment.

Harrison’s voice matched yours as he whispered “How hard you can work after,” Noticing your disgusted look, he started to laugh deeply.

“Oh God, your jokes are so poor,” you shook your head at him, not finding his joke amusing.

“Oh come on, I know you’ve been dreaming about it,” he wiggled his eyebrows at you. Maybe, just maybe you have thought of it once or twice but you’d rather die than admit it to him. "Besides my jokes aren't half as bad as yours"

“Whatever, Osterfield,” you tried to turn around and fasten your seat belt not in the mood to argue but he stopped your actions again.

“Hey look... I want you to have fun today, okay?” his voice softened as he took your hand in his and started to caress your palm. “I know we joke a lot and stuff.. But I really want to give you something to remember, a memory you would always smile at when thinking of it… or when thinking of me,” he chuckled as if he thought he was never on your mind. Oh, how wrong was he. “Just forget about everything and enjoy the moment. Can you do that for me?” you thought you would melt under his gaze. He was looking at you so lovingly with a dazzling smile that couldn’t make you disagree with him. You felt like his ocean blue eyes were piercing your soul, taking your breath away. After a moment you realised that you could look into them for hours memorising the way his pupils dilated when he was looking at you.

“A-alright, I will.” you stuttered but still smiled at him and held eye contact. You didn’t know it was possible but his grin got even bigger causing you to do the same.

“Pinky promise?”

“Pinky promise,” he smiled at you for the last time and turned around to start driving. Harrison said he planned something special for you. You didn’t know what the evening was about to bring but you knew you were screwed.

Taglist: @osterfieldshollandgirl, @tom-holland-is-spiderman-archive, @harryhollandsgirlfriend, @peachyafshawn

[yvaineseleneposts]

The Troubadour

Requested: no

A/N: This has to be my longest piece ever! I hope it was worth the wait and that you enjoyed it. There could be a few mistakes in there both in English and Italian, sorry in advance. I loved writing this, it wasn’t exactly what I wanted but I am a perfectionist and I have rewritten this about 5 times. I just needed to post it now!

Pairing: OC!Diana Bianchi & Damiano David

Words: 3k

Warning(s): swearing, drinking, smoking (I mean it’s the 70s…), smoking weed, my Italian (I have been studying this beautiful language for three years now but people make mistakes)

West Hollywood, California // Mid-January 1972

Red eyes.

Sweaty foreheads.

That is all Diana would see when they screamed at her. “CAN I GET TWO BEERS AND A COKE PLEASE?!”

Working behind the bar was not her dream job. Diana remembered it like it was yesterday, she and her friend Tami had gone to The Troubadour to celebrate the weekend when she saw a “help wanted” poster. It was a godsend. Diana applied there and then and not long after she found herself behind the bar, handing out drinks to people who looked like they were having the best time of their lives. Another plus side was the fact that she could attend the concerts of all the artists and bands for free.

Obviously, there were also downsides to this job. For example, Diana couldn’t go out and live her teenage years. She isn’t allowed to drink (too much) on the job and the hours aren’t exactly great. The pay is okay though and the tips are even better. Half of the people don’t even know how much they are giving and walk off like they didn’t just hand you 20 for an eight dollar drink. She doesn’t complain much about her job but she does feel left behind sometimes. Like when Tami or her other friend chat about some weird adventure they had the night before and who they met or kissed. Diana felt like she missed out on a lot of things but she had no other choice.

Her parents had kicked her out when she was 15. Diana moved in with her grandmother and lived with her for a while until she passed away. She has been living alone in her grandmother’s old apartment ever since. A few friends had moved in with her but then moved out again when they had found a better place to live. So it was just Diana paying the rent for the place.

 “CAN I GET A RUM AND COKE?!” Diana gets snapped out of her thoughts. Shit, what did he want?! She thinks to herself as she stares at the intoxicated man.  “SORRY?!” She shouts back over the loud music. At least she had another reason for not hearing the man.  “RUM AND COKE!” That is all the man yells before turning his band to her so he could face the stage. Some weird indie band is playing tonight. Diana wasn’t really into it and honestly couldn’t wait until her boss would send her home for the night. She puts in a little less rum, the man will probably not even taste the difference.

The band had stopped playing somewhere around two a.m. However not all the guests had left around 2.30 which is something Diana hated the most. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy her job but after so many hours standing on her feet, she wanted nothing more than to clean up, go home and get into her warm bed.

 “Diana, can you come here for a minute?” her boss asked. What was that tone, was he going to fire her?! “It’s nothing bad, don’t worry.” Pfew. Diana walked behind him into his office.

 “What can I help you with, Doug?” She asked as she sat down in the very comfortable chair across from him. Doug Weston had somewhat become her parent over the last few years that she had worked here. He was always so kind to her and could always ask him for help if she needed him.

 “I want to get more bands from across the sea. I want interesting people and not just the same bands playing over and over again. New talent that no one has heard of before but will become known because of this place. Inspire new talent, you know?” He was rambling on with his sales pitch as if you had any input, it was his place after all. “And seeing that you can speak more languages than I have ever could, I was wondering if you could write small pieces for newspapers in Europe that will inspire these artists to come here and get all the fame and fortune they want.”

 “Sure, Doug. You know I would do anything to help this place… and you of course”, Diana said while a wide grin spread on her face. She felt like she was moving up when in reality it wasn’t a new job position. She would do anything to not have the same indie bands playing almost every night. Diana would never have imagined that she would change the lives of four individuals barely six months later, and change her own life along with it.

Rome, Italy // Mid-March 1972

 “The Troubadour. The place where artists and bands from all over the world can make it or break it in the United States. It all depends on the crowd. If they love you, you can come back for an entire week! If not you will receive the money for that evening but sadly you won’t be allowed back. It’s always packed with record executives so you could get a sweet record deal out of this experience. Do you have what it takes? Sign up and good luck to everyone competing in the battle of the bands! – D. B.” Damiano finishes reading. “Ragazzi, I honestly cannot wait till we get to play there! It’s going to be veramente stupendo!”

 “Bene Damiano, calm yourself. It’s less than five months away. We still have to play in this dump to even afford to go. We barely have enough money for a motel, we don’t even have the plane tickets yet!” Classic Victoria, always worrying as if she is the mother of the group.  “Calmati Victoria, noi staremo bene”, Ethan jumps in. “Let’s get back to practising before we start another fight, sì?” The rest nods their head and pick up their instruments.  “I was thinking, should we start with I wanna be your slave oppuro no? Is it too much?” Damiano suggest.  “Oh, and for outfits, I have a few ideas?!” Thomas adds like a little kid who is excited for Christmas day.  “Positivo, let’s look at those after practice”, Damiano says. Not even ten minutes later they had many up a little setlist. It was a battle of the bands so they had to at least practice 4-5 songs to play against other bands. Then if they were allowed to come back they had to prepare yet another 6 songs on top of those 5 they had already played. They could do it, they had enough songs in their database but were they going to sing their Italian songs or did they have to translate them? The members of Måneskin weren’t sure yet. Luckily for them, they had four months to think about it.

West Hollywood, California // Mid-July 1972

Diana hadn’t even woken up yet, but on the other side of the city, Måneskin had arrived at the airport.  “Finalmente ci siamo. Ce l’abbiamo fatta!” Thomas exclaims. Damiano chuckles and throws an arm around Thomas’s shoulders.  “Slow down, loverboy. We have not made it yet. We landed yes, but we have a long way to go from here to that stage tonight.”  “How every grown-up of you, Damiano”, Victoria teases. “I bet with Ethan that you would follow the first American girl that you saw in this airport and that we wouldn’t see you until much later.”  “Ha ha, molto divertente, Victoria. Sei una persona così divertente.” They continue their bickering whilst Ethan collects all of their suitcases.   “Addiamo?” He finally asks the group, they all agree and make their way through the busy airport to the designated taxi area. During this, they complain about how crowded it is and how much the air smells. It is nothing like their own country but you have to take chances if you want to become famous like their dream.

Later that day

Doug had told Diana to come into work later than she usually would. It was going to be a busy night and he’d rather have her work during the performances than during the day and wear her out. So here she was around six-thirty instead of two o’clock. It felt so weird because usually when she arrives there is no line out front and now there was one to the end of the block. She passed all the people waiting in line, hearing them complain and moan as she walks up to Mario, the bouncer. He doesn’t even need to see her worker-id, as she walks in he wishes her good luck with tonight. She liked Mario, he was working here before she came and even then he had told her if she ever needed anything him and his wife had an extra bed for her. Honestly, the sweetest guy… also the toughest guy you will ever meet.

As Diana walked to the changing area to hang her coat and bag, she ran into a few participants of tonight’s show. She greeted most of them but they were too busy with themselves, the fame they hadn’t even earned yet was already rising to their heads. Before she could make her way to the bar, Doug called her over.

 “Diana, come here for a second. I want to introduce you to a few people.” Classic Doug, always introducing everybody to everybody. If he believed you could make it, he would introduce you to all his workers. However, the bands did not know this, the workers would treat them a little extra. “They are from Italy as well!” As if Diana herself had moved for their, it was actually her grandparents. She could speak a little Italian but other than her last name, there was nothing Italian about her. Doug briefly introduced the members of Måneskin to Diana, who couldn’t keep her eyes off a certain member. To be quite honest she had not remembered everyone’s names and she stumbled to get her name out of her mouth. All because she was already head over heels with this handsome, tall, young Italian man.

After a couple of introduction, Diana was finally behind her bar, her safe space. Meeting Damiano had made her weak in her knees, she had never had a reaction like this before. She didn’t really pay attention to the competitors and focused on serving the people but when it was Måneskin’s turn, she started to lose focus on her work.

During most of their setlist, Damiano kept glancing over to Diana and winking at her. Or at least that’s what it felt like for Diana. However, after a rather sexy song (let’s be real most of them are) he kissed one of his male bandmates on the mouth. Now Diana is not one to judge people on who they love. She reasons that everyone should love who they want to love and receive love because of it. It wasn’t that she hated it, it kind of turned her on, but she was very confused. Had she read the signs wrong? Were there even any signs to begin with? At times like these she wanted to ask Tami for help yet she was afraid that if Tami came and tried to help her that somehow Tami’s charm would work on Damiano and Diana would still end up with nothing. No, she had to do this on her own, she decided.

After the battle of the bands was over, a few stayed behind to talk with record labels about future arrangements. Diana started cleaning up, and washing and drying a few glasses, secretly listening in on a few conversations.

 “I liked what I saw out there. Let your agent call me and we will discuss your expansion in the United States.” Well, that sounded very good. Diana turned around to see who the band was that this man was talking to, but when she turned around she looked right into Damiano’s eyes.

 “I have been trying to get your attention all night”, he says shyly.  “Really? I thought so but I wasn’t sure”, Diana responds. Damiano raises his hand and scratches behind his head.  “I was wondering, you know. If maybe- ugh. Perchè è cosi difficile?” He mutters, not looking Diana in the eyes.  “Provalo in Italiano?” she suggests and Damiano’s eyes shoot up to meet hers.  “Cazzo. Parli Italiano?” He looks even more nervous now.  “Si, parlo Italiano.” He laughs at her answer.  “Vuoi uscire domani sera?” Diana nods her head, she honestly cannot stop smiling.  “I’d love to go out with you. Do you want me to pick you up at the hotel? That would be easier than you trying to find my house.”  “Yeah, sure. We’re staying at the Millwood Motel, it’s not too far from the airport.”  “Ah yes, I know that place. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” He leans over and kisses her cheek before leaving her to finish her work.

That night Diana barely slept. Did Damiano know any places here to take her to? Did she have to come up with a place? What if he was some weird guy? What if he was a murderer?! She sure was happy now that she didn’t give him her address. The following day she woke up around noon. She went to the kitchen and grabbed her Cona coffee maker, if she was to get through the day, she was going to need a big cup of coffee. She put water and coffee ground on the lower half of the pot and put it on the stove. She hated having to watch the coffee boil and couldn’t wait for better times when you would just have to push a button to get your coffee.

Seeing that she woke up around noon, it didn’t take long before Diana met up with Damiano. She asked him if he had anything specific in mind. Surprisingly, he did. He explained that he and his bandmates did a little sightseeing and they walked past a roller skating rink. Damiano always wanted to try that and he thought this would be perfect for their little date. Diana absolutely loved the idea and couldn’t wait till they got there.

Both of them were sad that the night had ended so quickly or so they thought. It was in fact 1 a.m. and they had already spend ten hours together. Diana brought Damiano back to the motel with her car and of course he couldn’t leave without planting a kiss on her lips. They kissed for a while before finally letting each other go.  “We’ll be leaving soon”, Damiano said and looked at their intertwined hands in his lap.  “Already? You just got here two days ago”, Diana complained. She just met him and now he is leaving already? She wasn’t prepared for that. She knew he was leaving at some point, he had to he didn’t live in the US, but still she had hoped for a little more time together.  “Maybe we’ll come back soon. We have a meeting with our agent and that record label guy tomorrow.”  “Could we meet up after? We should catch dinner together, I have another day off”, she suggested. Damiano agreed, kissed her one more time before leaving her car and making his way to his motel room.

The next day

Diana waited for Damiano in front of a large building. She was enjoying the sun on her face when she felt two arms coming from behind and hugging her on her stomach.  “Ciao, amore mio. Sei adorabile oggi”, Damiano said into her ear before kissing the side of her face.  “Ciao, you don’t look to bad yourself”, she said as she turned around. She grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him on his lips, his mates cheering them on in the background. “How did it go in there?” With that question Damiano’s face broke out in a wide grin. “What?”  “Amore, we’re staying here in the US. We got a record deal, we will be here for the entire year!” he shouts and all five of them jump in celebration. “I was going to tell you at dinner, but I just couldn’t wait anymore. We can be together, amore.” Diana broke out in tears, nodding her head, for she had never met a man who she loved more than Damiano. Her Italian lover boy.

[exyrpf]

best stucky fic recs pwease

Okay, disclaimer, these are all like five+ years old (which is the best Stucky era, imo) and definitely not the only ones I enjoy; these are just a few in my bookmarks on ao3.

In no particular order besides the order I bookmarked them and under a read more because there's a shit ton of them (really, it's a lot):

- hold me until we crumble; Not Rated, 23k

“Sam told me you were watching Antiques Roadshow,” Natasha says, shaking out her hair. “I assumed it was a national emergency.”

- despite the threatening sky and shuddering earth (they remained); Explicit, 72k

“They really didn’t want the mask to come off.” Hill thumbed through the scans, and pulled out a film that she then handed over to Sam, face mostly expressionless but for the flat line of her pursed lips.

Sam accepted the film and held it up to the light, angling so both he and Steve could see it, squinting at the outline of the Winter Soldier’s skull, and the blips of unnatural white that showed up, God, in his brain, not to mention about half his teeth, plus the mask, with its thin protrusions—

“Those are pins,” Steve realized. He looked over at Hill. “The mask—it’s nailed to his face.”

Hill’s face was as unmoved as ever. “Like I said. They really didn’t want it coming off.”

- family means no one gets left behind or forgotten; Teen, 11k

“Why did you think I wouldn’t like you for being gay?” Steve asks gently.

“You’re Captain America.” Eli’s got his teeth clenched and is resolutely looking ahead. “You stand for truth and justice and the American way. You stand for American morals. You stand for…” he shrugs awkwardly. “Not people like me.”

Steve blows the air out of his cheeks slowly, trying to figure out how to keep the anger out of his voice so Eli doesn’t think it’s at him.

Or, Steve comes to terms with his new world, and gains some children in the process.

- Mistake on the Part of Nature; Teen, 1.3k

Steve takes in Bucky's betrayed look and Sam's confusion, follows Sam's gaze to the pile of mangled fruit in the trash can. Sudden comprehension fills his face.

"Oh," he says. "Bucky found out about bananas."

In which an American icon is mourned. But probably not the one you're thinking of.

- Swear Jar; Teen, 1.5k

Bucky isn't the only troll in the future.

OR

Steve has a Swear Jar and he makes the Avengers pay up every time they cuss.

- Barnes & Rogers and the Goddamn Truth; Not Rated, 19k

There are three well-known facts at Shield High:

1. The history teacher Mr. Barnes is a stone-cold terror, and it’s not even because he only has one arm. 2. The other history teacher, Mr. Rogers, is a mysterious enigma, and it’s something to do with the body of a Greek God and contradicting stories of his past. (They’re all rumours, anyway.) 3. Mr Barnes and Mr Rogers hate each other.

Bucky wouldn’t have it any other way.

- perfectly right wrong number; Teen, 32k

It all starts because Steve is too dumb to handle his smartphone.

A wrong number AU in which Bucky Barnes doesn't enter Steve's life (meaning: Bucky wasn't born until the eighties, but Steve is still Captain America) until Steve accidentally dials the wrong number. Wherein there is a lot of texting, some advice via Natasha and Darcy, a bit of pining, and a first date in an amusement park. Oh, and on top of being a disabled veteran, Bucky is a professional catwalker. Literally.

- The power of the right shirt (a.k.a. God bless America); Teen, 1.2k

"He just…" Phil trails off, mouth gaping. He is staring at the field outside the house, eyes glazed.

Clint sighs. "Yeah, he just ripped a log in two with his bare hands."

- To fill it up with something; Teen, 21k

A fateful encounter with Dr. Strange leaves the Winter Soldier transformed, and Bucky Barnes reunites with Steve Rogers in a most unexpected way.

“Steve brings the puppy inside, into the apartment that doesn't quite feel like home no matter how much he's been trying. He isn't used to being alone. Before the war, he always had Bucky, and his mother until her death. During the war, Bucky was there, too—and the rest of the Howlers, of course—but Bucky always meant home. (And well, maybe Steve's already got a name for the puppy in mind)."

- build it bigger than the sun; Teen, 10k

“Yeah, because nothing says heteronormative like living in Dupont Circle for two years and wearing skin-tight shirts to hit on hot airmen when you go running in the morning.”

“Look, I know you’re being sarcastic but I really don’t get how no one picked up on that.”

Steve and Bucky try to work out their relationship. The Avengers keep getting in the way.

- Memories Circle (Like Birds of Prey), Teen, 32k

Everything seems to be going right, Steve's fighting with his Commandos, they've saving lives-- until Steve falls from a train, is taken prisoner, and turned into the Winter Soldier. Meanwhile, Bucky takes up Steve's mantle as Captain America, and thanks to Zola's experiments, he gets dropped into a whole new time, only to cross paths with a Steve who doesn't know who he is anymore.

Essentially, the events of CA:TFA, mild mentioning of Avengers, and CA:TWS but with Steve as the Winter Soldier and Bucky as Captain America

- The Gentleness That Comes; Mature, 9k

Steve Rogers never really views the things he had to do to get by before the War with any sort of shame or embarrassment. People ask him for his opinions on modern issues in interviews, but Steve has gotten good at talking around those types of questions. Fury insists that there's no way to answer them without casting a shadow of controversy across the reputation of the Avengers, and that's the last thing Steve wants.

But then a sex tape is released featuring Tony Stark in bed with another man, and Steve can't stay quiet any longer.

- salt for the sea; Mature, 7.5k

Natasha comes home with intel regarding the fate of the Winter Soldier; Steve leaves to go and avenge Bucky Barnes.

“It's a list of everyone who was involved in his death, and a rough timeline of everything that happened beforehand,” she tells him.

“And the notebook?”

“I explained what they did,” Natasha says, “The blank pages are for you to explain what you do to them.”

- Lone Cat and Samurai; Teen, 8.4k

"We lost Kitten America sir!" Junior Agent blurted out. Then turned an unlovely shade of purple. "I mean, Captain America. Who’s a kitten. Because magic. Sir."

- Waiting To Prove You're Not Alone; Explicit, 41k

Months after he woke up on the banks of the Potomac, when a reporter mistakenly assumes Steve would disapprove of homosexuality being as accepted as it is in the modern day, Steve accidentally snaps and unleashes his real opinion on the matter... and with that, a secret he's hidden for over eighty years.

When that secret comes looking for him in New York, Steve can only hope that he can get a second chance at saving his best friend, even if it means keeping his heart in check.

“Yeah, back in my day it wasn't tolerated, and because of that I knew from the minute I figured it out, that I’d never get to tell my best friend that I loved him, and sure enough, he died without knowing that I’d been in love with him for a decade."

- I'm Not Sick (But I'm Not Well); Mature, 30k

Steve Rogers doesn’t meet Bucky Barnes in the 1930’s. Instead, Steve meets him April 17th, 2012.

Well…sort of meets him.

In actuality, Bucky had almost hit him with his truck.

Or: The fic where millennial Bucky Barnes nearly runs over a freshly thawed national treasure, and what Steve Rogers did to adjust to modern NYC during those two weeks before the events of The Avengers.

- pure as the driven slush; Explicit, 11k

He should have worked it out sooner. But then, Steve always was a sneaky little bastard—had to have been, just to survive this long.

For the SteveBucky Fest prompt, "Steve is quite experienced while Bucky's never gone beyond second base with anyone".

- Let's Be Exposed and Unprotected, Explicit, 5k

Bucky’s pretty sure he should be into getting fucked through the floor while walls explode around him like in that Mr and Mrs Smith movie that Clint loves. But he likes it like this. He likes being on his back with Steve looming above him, big and naked, blocking out the rest of the world.

- Man of Steel; Explicit, 6.7k

It’s like Steve looked at his metal arm and thought ‘Challenge Accepted.’

- 5 Times Steve Got Arrested and 1 Time They All Did; Teen, 4.9k

What it says, 5 times Steve Rogers ended up in jail (with and without Bucky) + 1 time all of the Avengers got arrested with him.

- the best of you; Teen, 16k

Bucky is on a mission when he gets the call.

They tell him that Steve has been compromised.

[The story wherein Hydra captures Steve to create a new weapon. Bucky, alongside the rest of the Avengers, come together and work through the fallout.]

- pull apart the dark; Teen, 79k

Steve's unending faith in his best friend was beginning to look less like hope and more like fantasy. When they'd caught the Soldier – in a fire fight that still gave Sam nightmares – the only thing the man seemed to recall was how to hit exactly where it hurt.

Four months later, Barnes still refused to speak English. Refused to heed anything but Steve's voice.

So, all in all, it was not a great time for Hydra to attack New York. All in all, Sam really wished they'd just killed him, instead of turning Captain America into a baby.

- Not Another Supersoldier Fantasy; Explicit, 8.9k

Bucky finds a popular sex toy modeled on Captain America's own anatomy. Well, isn't this just perfect? Because even after all this time, he still hasn’t seen Steve’s supersoldier cock. But apparently in this day and age anyone with $29.95 can get a decent replica. The unfairness of this is of galactic proportions.

- the blood of the covenant; Teen, 7.5k

Steve has a "thing" for hot water.

Or, Sam Wilson adopts Steve Rogers.

- Mighty like Love, Mighty like Sorrow; Teen, 19k

After freeing himself from the Russians' mind control, Bucky is left at loose ends, drifting through the decades. Still, he's in no hurry to take up Nick Fury's offer to once again fight the good fight -- especially not when Fury has the nerve to put some imposter in his best friend's old suit and send him out to fight against Chitauri.

- Read Me Like a Book; Gen, 1.5k

In which Bucky accidentally becomes a book collector, because when the universe gives you a million biographies about your boyfriend, you go bookcase shopping. And then he finds out about The Grenade Incident, and the boys actually talk about it like actual adults. (Somewhere, Sam sheds a proud tear.)

- the broadest stroke of color; Gen, 16k

Sarah Rogers always loved Steve's hands.

"Your hands will do a lifetime's work," she'd say. "Remember to do the work you can for those you love."

Almost a century later, Steve does just that.

[The story wherein Steve draws comics for Bucky to help him recover his memory. Through a series of events, the issues are leaked, and Steve finds himself reviving the Captain America comics. He still isn't sure how that happened.]

- If You're Loved By Someone (You're Never Rejected); Teen, 9.4k

You’re fifteen when you realize why you stare at Bucky’s lips more than normal when he laughs and when he says your name. You lean into his shoulder when you walk next to him and when you’re sick you don’t fight off his soft hands. You tease him, he teases back and being around him is so easy you forget what it was like to live without him. You can’t remember life pre-Bucky and it scares you.

- Unusual Weather; Explicit, 8.7k

Bucky’s been at the Avengers Tower for three weeks before he finally gives in to Steve’s gentle coaxing and Stark’s cheerful waving of fistfuls of circuits, and lets them scan the arm.

It doesn’t go well.

- this city bleeds its aching heart; Explicit, 35k

The one where Steve and Bucky pose as a happily married couple while on a mission for SHIELD, to catch an international arms dealer hiding in a suburban neighbourhood.

- Good Boy; Explicit, 13k

Bucky is still adjusting to life with the Avengers, and Steve is willing to do whatever it takes to make him feel comfortable. Increasingly, though, what seems to make him comfortable is strangely intimate.

Surprise, Steve! You're a gentle dom and Bucky wants to be your pretty pet!

- Brooklyn; Teen, 8.8k

"Captain America, what's your stance on gay marriage?"

Everyone knows that, by now. Everyone but Bucky.

[aelaer]

How about Stephen being infected with a symbiote, but to prevent it from destroying humanity, he merges its existence with the cloak's essence (read: badass venom!stephen)!

This is my oldest prompt - I think over a year now - largely because I knew nothing about Venom or symbiotes; that's one part of the Marvel universe I haven't explored. Some time on Wiki later, I guess this is one of the "corrupted" symbiotes, though I honestly can't figure out how one of them is supposed to destroy a whole planet if it doesn't like, create duplicates of itself to infect millions of beings at once. I guess there's something I missed that I can't find on wiki, but I'll assume it's very dangerous haha. But I threw something together, or tried to, on the off-chance this anon is still around. I don't know if symbiotes all talk disjointed like Venom, but this one really doesn't - sorry if that's not fully accurate. Maybe this one has a better command at English.

Defying the curse that has taken hold

The moment he understood what was happening to him and knew what being had attached itself to him, Stephen threw himself into the Mirror Dimension to isolate himself from all others.

What is this place? said the foreign voice in his head. It is different and yet the same.

"Mirror Dimension," he answered, forcing his voice to a calmness he didn't feel.

The alien parasite—this symbiote—could feel everything, though. Of course. You understand me now, it answered. You know what I am. And you are afraid. 

There was little point in trying to deny the accusation with the creature in his body. It could probably sense the subconscious changes that caused shifts in the chemical balances within him, that charged his emotions. "I know that your species has destroyed entire planets with but one host to start." And despite rumors of more benevolent symbiotes, this one certainly was not. He had felt the strange, sudden urges of blood lust several times throughout the week. It was that symptom in particular that had eventually led him to the awful discovery.

It laughed. It is my nature. And yet you still try to fight. That is pointless. I am amongst the eldest. I have eaten many worlds. You will be mine and this world will be like the others.

Like hell he would. "You underestimate me. If I cannot find a solution to neutralize you, I am fully prepared to die."

Again it was amused. And I move to another host.

"You won't be able to from the Mirror Dimension," said Stephen. "This place is inaccessible to most of humanity. If I die, you are forever stuck here."

It scoffed in disbelief. Your pontificating is quaint. I will enjoy consuming you.

Oh, this thing had no idea what it was getting into.

—— —— ——

This is tedious, said the symbiote five weeks later. It had been quiet for a couple days until that point, as if finally realizing that Stephen was more than willing to make good on his threat. The lofty gestures of destruction and grandeur had also fallen away to something a bit more casual.

Stephen couldn't help but smirk. "I've been through worse tedium." Dormammu came to mind. Hell, even parts of med school were worse than this. This alien parasite really had no idea what war it had started with him.

In the beginning, it wasn't at all difficult to create a portal far from his body, then cross the astral plane to visit Wong with his impromptu plan for the foreseeable future. Wong, in turn, left food and books in a designated drop spot twice a day at designated times. It was easy to avoid it during those times, and Stephen effectively kept himself quarantined within the Mirror Dimension as he researched and experimented on getting rid of the symbiote.

The bad news was that nothing was removing it from his person; the symbiote was too strong for what tricks his research had unearthed this far. The good news was that the symbiote was a good deal less patient than Stephen.

There was silence again for a little while, and Stephen thought it would be quiet again for some time. So when it spoke again about an hour later, he was surprised.

I'm not leaving, the symbiote said. Stephen raised his brow; the tone was interesting. It was less haughty. You know I feed off what you call hormones. You normally make much more in one of your days than I see in other mortals. It's very satiating.

"And yet you still wanted more. I felt your attempted encroachment upon my mind and your desire for blood, and I will not allow it."

There was silence for a moment. I… might be convinced to live with your hormones. There was a lot in the beginning. It was delicious. I especially liked what you call adrenaline.

Stephen pressed his lips together. "That might suit, but from all I've read, your species absorb key nutrients that my vital organs need at an unsustainable rate. I'm afraid the human body simply isn't enough to provide for you long-term." He looked back at his book. "Now that you're more agreeable, perhaps I could place you in a dimension with no organic lifeforms for you to kill."

But that's boring! it whined. It actually whined. I want more adrenaline. You've given me so little.

"You're ignoring the fact that I just told you my body physically cannot handle you." He grimaced. "Even if I could make you swear not to harm Earth or its residents, this isn't sustainable."

Stephen felt a grudging admiration that wasn't from himself. I can't do anything you don't want. I've tried. No one's ever stopped me before. You're strong. There was a pause. I like your strength. I want to stay here—even if you'll only give me hormones.

"Did you not listen to a thing I said about my body's ability—"

You're a sorcerer! the parasite argued. You don't have normal mortal inhibitions. I can feed off many things. I can feed off your magic and you can keep your body's nutrients, as you say.

Stephen felt a spike of alarm. "I need my magic. You cannot have it."

I'm not leaving, it said again, stubbornly.

"I'll find a way to remove you," Stephen promised.

—— —— ——

Another two weeks passed. It was nearing the end of their second month quarantined in the Mirror Dimension and they were still at an impasse. The symbiote was in no way going to break through Stephen's mental defenses, and Stephen was having a hell of a time getting the creature either out of him or dead.

And the news that came with Wong's morning drop that day made Stephen realize just how permanent his situation might be.

The Cloak could immediately feel his resignation as he read the letter and tapped at his arm to ask why his mood changed. "Wong says that the Masters need to look into a new Master for the New York Sanctum if this is not resolved soon." Stephen clenched his teeth; he gave an oath to protect the world, and if this was the only way to do it…

Cloak has an idea, said the symbiote unexpectedly, breaking a three day silence.

That caught him off guard. "Beg your pardon?"

Cloak's volunteering to contribute part of its own magic. It has a significant amount.

Stephen blinked as a number of questions were raised by that statement. The first that was vocalized was, "The Cloak talks to you?"

Not exactly, the symbiote said. It is what you call inorganic. I am of the same kind. But what you call free will is powered by other forces that you have no word for, and in that way I can understand its intentions and it, mine. It was very annoying at the beginning, it ended with a light grumble.

Stephen lifted a hand to one of the gold clasps of the Cloak to indicate it to detach itself. While communication was limited, the cloak could do quite a bit with gestures and touches. "Is what it says true? That you can communicate with it?" he asked as the Cloak came to face him.

The Cloak bowed its collar in confirmation and Stephen pursed his lips. "And you are offering to give part of your magic in order for me to survive and leave here?" Another nod in confirmation. Stephen hesitated. "I don't want to see you harmed."

It won't hurt it, the symbiote said as the Cloak shook its collar and reached out for Stephen's hand in reassurance. Its magic is much older than yours. It is better than yours to sustain me.

Stephen frowned. "I cannot let myself out of here if this symbiote's words do not match his intentions. Can you see its intentions, and does it speak the truth?"

The Cloak nodded twice as the symbiote said, Magic tastes interesting. It is an acceptable substitute for blood, and tastes well with your adrenaline.

He thought about it for a moment. This may be an acceptable solution, as he trusted the Cloak with his life and knew it would not lie. "I do not know what magic would accomplish this."

You don't need to do anything, said the symbiote. It's between Cloak and me. So we'll do it, then we can get out of here.

"Wait," he said before they could start anything. "I will need approval from my peers. If they think it too dangerous, I am obligated to stay here."

He felt annoyance from the symbiote. Fine, it grumbled. It at least knew how futile arguing about this would be.

Stephen wrote a note in response and set it back at the drop point, then waited until the evening to leave his body and travel across the astral plane to meet Wong there. He got there just as Wong stepped through, and as he began to read the note, Stephen broke through the barriers of reality to speak with him.

Wong gave him a look. "You think it's safe?"

"I trust the Cloak."

Wong nodded towards the portal as he went towards it. "Still, you'll need to convince the others."

—— —— ——

Let no one say that Stephen Strange was anything but a very, very good debater. The meeting took two hours as they went through everything that could go wrong and Stephen's answers to why that wouldn't happen, or what they could easily do to prevent catastrophe. Part of him was partially convinced that he won them over through sheer stubbornness.

(It probably helped that they really didn't have any great candidates to take over the New York Sanctum, too. They were still spread too thin and no one really wanted to lose him to a threat that he seemed to have now under control.)

When Wong let him back into the Mirror Dimension, he floated his way back to his body and settled within it.

Well? the symbiote asked.

Stephen frowned as he noticed something off. "... did you try to move me while I was gone?"

... possibly. It must have felt Stephen's irritation and continued, I couldn't really do anything. You've blocked your mind even when outside your body. And Cloak got in the way.

He huffed his annoyance. "Well, if we're going to live with each other, that can't happen anymore."

So they agreed?

"They did," Stephen said. "Now promise me you won't try moving my body while I'm elsewhere."

He felt the pang of disappointment. Fine.

He pressed his lips together. "Right. Well, if the Cloak is still in agreement, you two do what you need to do."

The Cloak shifted. It reached forward on the left side so that it was fully covering his heart, and the right side lifted to cover his head, wrapping his face within the folds of the fabric. He blinked in surprise, but otherwise didn't move.

A short moment later, Stephen could feel the threads of magic about him and entering his skin. This magic was an old magic, a very ancient magic that weaved the very fabric of reality, the inherent magic of Earth that helped create a universe that could support the other magics borrowed from other dimensions that they used in various spellwork. He understood that the Cloak was ancient, but he truly did not realize until that moment the sort of power that was interwoven within each of its threads.

The power was breathtaking and exhilarating.

When the process stopped, Stephen had to remind himself to breathe. Slowly he exhaled, and the Cloak lifted itself off him completely to face him.

It had changed in physical appearance. Its checkered interior lining, formerly a faded red and grey, was now streaked with jagged black lines that spilled like ink from the collar downward. On the exterior, the darker solid red checkers were now pitch black, and the embroidered details upon the lining, the collar, and down part of the back were now made of black thread rather than the lighter red.

"How do you feel?" Stephen asked the Cloak. It spun around once in able movement, then settled down upon his shoulders as if to comfort him.

Cloak's fine, said the symbiote. This feels quite interesting. Tastes good with your adrenaline. Give me more.

"Say please," he muttered, even as his heart, already beating fast from the transformation process, kept its steady, fast beat as he created a portal back into the world. "We'll have some more ground rules to establish if you'll be staying for an extended period within my watch."

I look forward to it, the symbiote purred as Stephen stepped through the gateway and to his new chapter in life.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Searching for Answers: Alex and Jake the Shelter Guy

CW: Pet whump as a setting (Box Boy universe). References to dehumanization, brief vague reference to torture and noncon. If you’ve ever read @deluxewhump‘s excellent work (if you haven’t, you should be), you’ll see a very familiar face.

Jake takes naps between classes.

He spends three days a week at school taking 18 credit hours, in class from 8 in the morning until 10:30 at night. Then he heads to Nat’s place and does the overnight-house-worker thing, giving the rescues a sense of security knowing somebody familiar and safe is there if they have bad dreams or need help. The other four days a week he works with Natalie Yoder and Dr. Masood, learning about the rescues and how to help them.

It sounds exciting, being a college student secretly part of an underground liberation movement, but mostly it’s just exhausting.

He’s going to graduate with a degree in public health and a double-minor in communications and philosophy. It looks stupid, on the surface, he guesses, but he’s got a plan. Advocacy for runaways and human pets, working towards getting this country to a place to consider a full legal liberation and adjustment period for every person trapped in the system. 

Public health, so he can stand as an advocate with the degree to back up his hands-on experience and knowledge. Communications, to make him a better advocate by giving him the tools to understand how to utilize the media to change the way human pets are seen. Philosophy, to give him the skills to dig deeply into the thought processes around human pet ownership. 

The movement’s got more than 75 years of entrenched prejudice to undo. One day, he’s one hundred percent certain, pet ownership is going to be abolished as the fucking crime against humanity it really is. 

Jake wants to be a part of the group that finally makes it happen. 

The only problem is that he’s set himself an impossible schedule, and he’s so tired some days it’s all he can do to stay awake through his classes. He sleeps like four hours a night, and one day that’s going to catch up to him in a big way, but for now… he naps on benches and in courtyards, naps in the teacher’s lounge in the English department and behind a bunch of bookshelves in the philosophy hallway. 

It’s nice, except for when some asshole decides not to let him.

“Hey, uh, you’re… Jake Stanton, right?”

Jake groans, rubbing at his temple as he sits back and rests his back against the crumbling old brick wall of the oldest building on campus. He squints up at the fucking frat boy looking down at him. Not that Jake’s ever seen him before, but it’s easy to tell one of the fratbrats when you see them. 

He’s got the look - super clean-cut, blond hair and blue eyes, he’s even got a square jaw. Maybe not as musclebound as some of the other ones, but he’s still unmistakable. He looks kind of familiar, too, but that’s kind of the problem with frat guys. They mostly dress enough alike that it’s kind of hard to tell if he’s had a class with them or just had a class with one of their brothers. 

The guy looks nervous as hell. 

“Yeah, I’m Jake. Do I know you?”

“Uh, probably… prob’ly you do.” The frat guy shifts uneasily, one hand gripped tightly onto the backpack slung over one shoulder, a couple of textbooks under the other arm. “I’m Alex. We’re both minoring in, uh, philosophy, I think?”

“Oh, yeah.” Jake pushes back a yawn, just barely covering it with one hand. “Yeah, okay. I thought you looked familiar. What can I do for you? I’m sorry in advance if you wanted help with the essay thing, I haven’t even started on it, I’ve been busy with work.”

Nat’s newest charge had nonstop fucking nightmares from training, night after night. Jake had barely gotten a wink of sleep. 

“No, that’s okay, I, uh-... actually I’d be good to help you, if you need it. I finished mine, ran it by our-... my buddy last night.” Jake blinks, squinting again. He could swear Alex the Frat Guy is blushing. “Um. I just. I heard from, from some people that you’re… that you… know stuff.” Alex’s voice drops, into something just above a whisper. “About, uh, you know. Pets. Box Boys.”

 Jake stiffens, as his chest goes a little cold. “Who told you that?” He doesn’t talk about it much - being openly part of the pet lib movement isn’t exactly dangerous, but nobody talks pet liberation in polite company. 

 “Um. This girl I know. Meghan Jensen-” Alex pronounces the h, just a little, Meg-hen, and Jake can’t quite keep himself from smiling. “-she’s in a sorority… we kind of partner with sometimes… she said she heard from her twin sister Hannah who’s into some, like, punk underground lib shit… that you were, um. Someone I could talk to. For advice.”

Jake nods, slowly, giving himself time to process the words. He knows who Hannah Jensen is, he’s seen her at some of the group meetings and protests. He knows she has a twin who’s in a sorority, too. If this Alex guy is fucking with him, he did way too much research first. “Yeah, okay. Not out here, though, all right?”

Alex nods, expression going solemn and uncertain. “We can’t, like… get arrested just for talking about it, can we? I definitely can’t have that on my, like, record.”

Jake wants to laugh, but then he sees that the guy’s serious. Probably all he’s seen is the company propaganda shit about theft of property and consent and everything. It’s fake enough that no millenial or Gen Z person’s going to fall for it, but it’s still basically everywhere you look. Hard to make too many inroads against everyone’s assumptions about the system without someone who knows how to work it.

Hence - public health, communications, and philosophy.

“No, we won’t get arrested for talking. But someone might follow me home.” Jake makes his voice light and joking, even though it’s a genuine concern, and pushes himself to his feet. He’s actually a little taller than Alex, and more muscled-up, too.

“I just… need help. With, um. Someone I know.”

Jake blinks, thrown off-guard. “Someone specific?” Then it clicks, and he groans. “Shit. You’re with the frat, aren’t you? I’ve heard of you guys, you’ve got the guy going into the NFL. You’re one of those assholes that bought one-”

“Look, it seemed like… I didn’t really think about it, okay?” Alex’s face is even redder now, but he looks half-miserable with it, embarrassed and ashamed. Like Jake had caught him dealing drugs at an elementary school playground. “He’s… I just wanted to ask you some stuff about things I’ve noticed about him… and about Box Boys, and…”

“Why don’t you call the fucking company, Alex? They come with a number on their fucking brochure.” Jake’s voice goes dark, and he sees Alex bristle defensively. “Right there on the back, when you buy a human being. Customer service for your personal slave.”

“Hey, back the fuck off.” Alex’s eyes narrow, and he moves closer into Jake’s space, glaring at him. “Look, we went in on the whole thing together, and now I’ve gotten to know him, and I just-... I’m, um. I’m worried, and… I needed someone to talk to.”

Jake wants to push back again, to push harder. To ask Alex what the fuck he was thinking, being part of a group buying a human being. If he thought it’d be funny, or if he just cracked under peer pressure. But it won’t help, and instead he takes a deep breath, remembering Nat’s words. One step, one conversation, one person at a time. We can change the story, but you have to change minds and hearts, first. “... yeah, okay. Okay, I get it. Yeah. I can talk to you. I’m sorry, I just-”

“No, I get it,” Alex says, quickly, backing up again. “I get it. I probably look like a total rat-bastard to you.”

“No… not really. But if you’re, uh. Look, there’s a place I meet people sometimes to talk about this. I’ll buy you a drink and we’ll talk there.”

“Yeah, okay. That sounds cool.”

“What’s your major, anyway?” Jake asks, sliding his own backpack on, eyes scanning over the campus. He’s met so many rescues who should be walking around college like this, safe and easy and free. He’s met a few that he’s pretty sure were walking around places like this, before WRU picked them up. “I feel like you were really good at arguing in Intro to Philosophy. So… something public-speaking-focused, right?”

“Uh, Poli Sci,” Alex says, falling into step beside him as Jake makes his way down the dirt path made by tens of thousands of students over the course of decades simply choosing to ignore the paved sidewalks and make their own way.

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

“What? Why do you say that?”

“You look like a baby politician, and you’re good at arguing. What else would you be here for?” Alex snorts, hunching his shoulders a little defensively as his sneaker scrapes along the ground, and Jake sighs. “Sorry, man. I didn’t really mean that as an insult. I’m just tired as shit and everything’s been coming out the wrong way today. It really has not been my day.”

There’s a headache pounding behind his eyes, the fuzzy-headed exhaustion that could easily take him over. But he tells himself the rescues - and the Box Boys and Box Babes still in captivity - have it so much worse than he does.

That gives him a little more energy to keep walking.

“No, it’s okay. If I want to go into politics I should probably look like a politician, right?” Alex flashes him a hint of a smile, sidelong, and Jake relaxes. Okay, Alex the Frat Guy’s not as bad as he thought he’d be.

They end up chatting pretty amicably about professors and TAs they liked and hated in their shared philosophy courses, homework, and Alex laughs at Jake’s surprise, finding out that only a few of his frat brothers are even in sports as part of their long-term goal. Alex mentions a ‘Zee’ a few times, and eventually Jake realizes he’s talking about the Box Boy his frat bought, not just another frat brother or friend. 

He doesn’t talk about the Box Boy like he’s just an object to be owned. Jake wonders why he went in on the purchase at all. Probably, he decides, peer pressure. Everyone does stupid shit because of peer pressure. Jake smoked for a while in high school. His friend Krista got the worst haircut Jake had ever seen. Maybe Alex’s stupid peer pressure thing was buying a fucking person. 

Nope. He has to stop being so bitter about it. It’s just part of being in a subculture - and like it or not, being against pet ownership is way more of a minority, right now, than being either neutral or in favor of it.

If he carries all this anger back to the shelter tonight, the rescues will pick up on the tension, on his unhappiness. They’re all experts at reading the slightest negative change in mood, and while not all of them panic, they will all start trying to fix it in whatever way they understand. Jake definitely doesn’t have the energy to deal with a handful of recovering pets trying to clean or cook or screw their way out of danger. 

He walks Alex to the Student Center while the conversation is still safely focused on surface level stuff, grabbing himself and and Alex both iced coffees before he heads downstairs. Alex seems like he knows every third person they see. Jake can’t decide if that’s some weird politician-to-be gladhanding, or if he genuinely just has a really good memory for faces and names. 

He has to stop being so bitter about politics, too - not everyone’s going to be Senator Carlotta Grant, after all. Maybe Alex will be one of the good guys, for real. 

Maybe Jake can help nudge him that direction, if he wasn’t already headed that way.

The basement has a bunch of space for students, too, but Jake can count on his hands the amount of people he’s ever seen here over the course of his entire collegiate career. There’s a small booth where a bored girl with long black hair is ostensibly selling jewelry and pottery, a small open area with a piano that has a thin film of dust, and Jake leads an increasingly nervous Alex all the way to the back, where a series of hard wooden booths are built into the walls around an open hardwood floor. It’s dim down here, and dark as hell. Jake likes to call it the Speakeasy - to himself, at least. That’s what it reminds him of, speakeasies in Hollywood movies.

“I’ve never been down here,” Alex says, slightly hushed. “I didn’t even know this existed.”

“Yeah, it’s like… everyone just collectively decides to ignore this part of the Student Center. Works for me. We have meetings down here sometimes. Plus, the fact that nobody knows about it means nobody is gonna give us a hard time about whatever you’re going to tell me.” 

Jake slides into a booth and Alex sits across from him, the both of them slipping their backpacks off. It feels sort of hilariously surreal, like they’re in a movie about spies or the only two people who know the truth at the beginning of a zombie movie. 

Alex pulls out his cell phone, nervously fiddling with it and staring down. The silence draws slowly out until Jake finally leans over. Alex’s blue eyes jump up to his. “Look. The answer is yes, I, uh. I do some stuff with pet lib groups now and then. If you’re looking for info on, like, how to donate and shit, I’ve got some papers in my backpack with stuff you can do to help the movement… we could really use some clothing donations and, like, canned food and stuff right now-”

“No, um. I mean, yeah, I’ll… I’ll ask around and see if any of the guys have clothes they don’t need, but… that’s not… what I want to ask about.”

Jake frowns, then asks, softly, “Are you looking to help him get out of the system? Your Box Boy, at your frat house?”

There’s a pause. Alex goes wide-eyed, like he hadn’t even thought of it. “No! I mean. Not, um. I don’t think he’d want to… I just wanted to… to ask. Some stuff. About, um. How to help him act more like, uh, like a person. Like, if I take him out or whatever.”

Jake’s headache is getting worse.

“You want me to give you advice on how to train him?” He can’t stop the jagged edge that creeps into his voice. “So that you can, what-... hide what he is and take your pet around without having to answer any questions about it and face up to what you did-”

“Holy shit, dude,” Alex says, sitting back and setting his phone slowly down. “You don’t need to get so mad about it. I didn’t mean-”

“Well, what did you mean? Look, I do a lot of work with the kinds of people who get bought. I’m sorry if that freaks you out or something, but… you should see the damage this whole system does, you know?”

Alex is quiet, for a long time, just staring at him. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking - he’s already got that way of looking serious and thoughtful without actually giving anything away. Then, quietly, he says, “Zee has nightmares.”

“You call him Zee?”

“Yeah, uh. I mean, technically Z2, it’s part of his, um, official-”

“Yeah, I get it.” Jake sips his iced coffee and watches Alex hurriedly pick his up and sip, too, like he’d forgotten it was there. To Jake at least it seemed like a lifeline, a way to hold back the urge he has to grab this guy by the shoulders and shake him. “They make them answer to numbers. Dehumanization is, like, the first step of what they do.”

Alex’s face twists, like he’s tasted something awful, and he looks away. “Right. So, anyway, we all kind of decided on Z2. But… I like Zee better. It seems like it’s short for, for a real name, maybe. Like I could call him that in public and nobody, nobody would know-”

“That you own him?”

“No.” Alex sits up straighter. “No, not exactly. I figure it’d make it easier for him. I don’t-... I don’t really care what people think about me-”

“If you’re going into politics, you’re definitely going to care what people think of you.”

“Look, man, let me finish a sentence, okay? Just, like,  single sentence?” Alex pauses, and waits, and Jake finally sits back and sips his drink again and nods, silently. Alex sighs. “Thanks. I just meant that if I call him Zee, people will talk to him like he’s a regular guy. And I think he deserves it, to be able to go out and just, like, talk to people and be normal. That’s all I meant. But, this is… you, um. You just said you work with them, right? With, um. The… ones who get away? Get freed, or whatever?”

“They don’t get freed,” Jake says flatly. “That’s a myth. They run away or they stay kept.”

“... right.” Alex frowns, looking down at his coffee again, rubbing his fingers over the condensation building up along the clear plastic. “You said you work with them? So, um. I just. I want to know how to make things better for Zee, while he lives with us.”

“Belongs to you.”

Alex groans, throwing his hands up in the air. “Fine! What is it with you, dude? I’m trying to make Zee’s life better. I can’t just, like, make him not a Box Boy. One of my brothers technically has all his paperwork, we all went in on him together, he belongs to the whole fucking frat. If it was up to me and Dom, we’d free him in a heartbeat, okay? But it’s not up to us. And I can’t figure out how to make things better for him unless I know where to even start.” 

There’s real anguish in his voice, now. Actual, genuine guilt and remorse. Jake closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, calms the anger that he feels buzzing along all his nerves. It’s not Alex’s fault. He’s part of a system just like everybody else. Born into it, raised in it, no need to question or even think it through, until something hits him where he lives. 

Literally, in this case.

A lot of people are paid a lot of money to make sure people like Alex don’t ask questions, don’t try to make anything different or better. A lot of people work very hard to put out marketing materials and buy TV ads and write speeches for the President all about how great and above-board and one hundred percent normal it all is. 

And people like Jake are the nutjobs standing on a streetcorner wearing a sandwich board.

“Yeah,” Jake says. Just something to fill the silence, while he keeps his breathing slow and even, takes another drink. “Look, can I… can I say something?”

“Sure. I haven’t been insulted enough today, have at it.” Alex slumps back, looking almost morose, like a kid tired of being yelled at for listening to his music too loud. 

“I”m not going to insult you. Uh, anymore. I just wanted to say… I’m sorry. It’s… I live it, every single day, so it’s kind of hard to remember not everybody does. I’ll help you out with some advice, but… but I’m really going to want you to set him free for us to help him, you know? Or people like us, anyway. Just… know that any advice I give you’s going to come from that direction, okay?”

Alex swallows, drawing little nonsense symbols on the tabletop with one finger, as he thinks. “... okay. Yeah.”

“Good. So you said he has nightmares?” He pauses long enough for Alex to nod. “Okay. That’s a good starting place. They all have nightmares. Fucking all of them. Got it? And I bet if you wake him up, he doesn’t even know what he was dreaming about, right?”

“Uh, yeah. Or he won’t tell me, anyway. He tried once, but he got a really bad headache and had to take some, like, Advil…”

“Which, I’m going to guess, didn’t do shit to help. It’s not a headache from actual, like, nerves… it’s a conditioning thing.”

“... the fuck is conditioning?”

Jake opens his mouth, closes it again. Then he turns and digs into his backpack, pulling out a worn, wrinkled old bit of printer paper carefully folded into a three-sided brochure. WRU and the companies have the good stuff. Nat just prints this stuff out on her home computer, and Jake and the rescues sit up folding them until they look - mostly - presentable for the public. He slides it across the table, and Alex picks it up, looking it over. There’s an old photo on the front of a woman who died back in the 90’s with two rescues standing in front of her, her hands on their shoulders, everyone smiling. It’s the best picture they have. 

Nobody wants to have their photo printed, not anymore. Not since people started disappearing, sometimes. 

“Read this. It’s got a little bit in it about navigating that stuff. Conditioning is like brainwashing, a little bit. It’s how they teach them to act the way they do. Like… you’ve probably noticed he can’t really say no to any chore you tell him to do, right?”

Alex swallows, hard enough for Jake to notice, and nods. He’s still got the brochure unfolded in his hands, but he looks up slowly, meeting Jake’s eyes. “Yeah. And he never gets mad, either. He just… does whatever we tell him. Even if they, uh, sometimes the others… aren’t super nice to him. And he just… takes it.”

“Right. His nightmares are probably about the reason he just sits there and takes it, Alex. If you push him - if you give him orders he can’t handle, or you tell him to do something that hurts him or he’s terrified of it or, like…” A thought flashes through Jake’s mind, one that’s so dark even he doesn’t think the frat boys would be that kind of evil, and he dismisses it. “... even if you tell him to go jump out a window, or something… he might protest or cry, but if you keep going… he’ll do it. Because, deep down, that’s all he can do anymore. Got that?”

Some of the blood has drained from Alex’s face. “And he has nightmares about, about being… taught? To do whatever we say?”

“Yeah. Look, I’m going to sound fucking crazy, I get it. But… please just trust me. I see rescues - that’s what we call the ones we take care of - every day. They all have nightmares. They all do whatever you tell them to. Some of them do worse than that. I can help you with some exercises, some therapy stuff, that we do to help calm their nightmares down. But I can’t do anything that’ll really, really help, unless you let me talk to him. Or if you get him out of that frat house.”

“I can’t do that. He doesn’t even belong to me, he belongs to all of us.” Alex’s face twists again, but Jake is more focused on the fact that Alex didn’t protest the idea of freeing the boy at all. Only argued that it would be difficult. That Jake could work with. “Technically he belongs to my frat brother, and Cam’s… um.” Alex is silent for a second, and then asks, “What do I do if someone else, like… pushes him in ways he’s not supposed to be? Like… that don’t go along with what he’s, um, what his… category or whatever is?”

“What?” At first, Jake’s confused.

Then he realizes what Alex is actually asking, and feels the anger under his skin all over again. 

Closing his eyes isn’t enough this time. He thinks about the rescues he’s seen come through, all of them used in different, equally horrible ways. All of them absolutely, completely, utterly unable to even begin to refuse it. “Is it just one guy, or are there more?”

He’s surprised to hear his own voice come out soft, and even. He doesn’t even sound angry. Just mildly annoyed.

Underneath that, he’s ready to start throwing punches. This is why he doesn’t talk about this stuff at school - he’s going to miss his classes today, unable to handle it being here, too, when normally he keeps the two halves of his life separate so he can keep himself from burning out too soon. No, he’ll skip class and go straight to the shelter tonight. Get to bed earlier than usual, if the rescues are feeling good. 

“Just one… I think. I mean, I hope just the one. We, uh, we talked about it with him, and I’m sure… I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

“Yeah, it will. Give someone total power over another human life and they’ll go fucknuts destroying it.”

“We’re trying to keep them apart, but… we can’t always be there. Which is why I thought, um, if I could get him to pass for, like, just another person he could maybe just go around with us more and not be in the house when we’re not…” 

“Good start. I’ve got… hold on.” He digs another piece of paper out and lays it out on the table. “This one’s about ways to talk to your rescue about consent. It’s… kind of an awkward conversation and he won’t understand it. But… if you just keep talking, it’ll help him feel better standing up for himself.”

“Why doesn’t he understand cuh-... uh… consent?” Alex’s face was red again. “I mean. He wants… so much attention, and he seems like he’s used to being, like, hugged or kept around people, like he wants it. From Dom and me, at least.”

Jake swallows, trying to decide how much to tell him. How far to take this conversation. He pulls another paper, this one four sheets stapled together front and back, and lays it down on the table, too. “Have you ever been locked in a room without human contact for months on end, except to be hurt? The only good thing they get is dehumanizing shit like that - being petted, or touched against their will. It’s normalized. He doesn’t know he shouldn’t want it, anymore. And he’ll be terrified and upset if you stop.”

Alex looks down at the paper, shaking his head “Do you… do you have a paper for everything?”

“Bet your ass I do. That one’s on training methods. Turn to page two. It’ll answer your question. I have stuff in here to answer all your questions, and I have-... there’s a, uh. A friend of mine… I could bring to talk to you, if you’re interested. A rescue who’s… mostly… better now. He’s our IT guy. He’s been through all the counseling, and he remembers training and all of it. He can tell you what your, uh. What Zee has gone through. Ways to help him break it. But… that’s only if you want. I get that I’m throwing a lot at you. And I get that it probably seems crazy-”

“No, it doesn’t. Really.” Alex leans over, looking at him earnestly, one hand over the papers Jake has set down on the table between them. “Look, before I met Zee, I would maybe have thought… it was all exaggerated, but… but I’ve listened to him when he sleeps. He sounds so… terrified. And he’s so grateful for… everything. Anything nice, literally the smallest nice things… I don’t think you’re crazy, I think… think like, maybe… maybe I need to try and help him get out of our house before I graduate, I just have no idea where to start.”

“I can give you an address,” Jake says, softly.

“Uh… no. I don’t think he’d… want to do that.”

“Not yet. But it’s what a lot of them do, when they’re ready.”

“No, I get that, but I just. Um. I don’t think I’d… want him to be, like, homeless? Just without anybody? That seems really… awful, actually.”

“Does it?” Jake raises an eyebrow. “Does it seem worse than, I don’t know, cleaning frat guy toilets? Or whatever awful shit you’re almost telling me about your frat brother? Does he even have a bed?”

Alex looks back out into the dim basement corner, tapping his fingers on the table. His discomfort is basically a physical weight around him in the air. “No. He, uh. There’s this… closet, or he stays with Dom or me…”

“Yeah. So. Does that seem better than an address where I can guarantee a bed?”

“No… it doesn’t… I guess.” Alex glances down at his coffee, apparently surprised to discover he’s been drinking it the whole time and it’s all gone. He takes the lid off and picks out a piece of ice, crunching it between his teeth. The sound is enormously loud in the quiet, empty space. “I just feel like… we care about Zee. I think I can do better than, um, whatever you’re suggesting. I just… need your help, to do better. He… deserves better.”

“Yeah. He does. They all do.”

Alex takes a deep breath and turns back to him, folding his hands together on the table, looking for all the world like the senator or congressman or whatever he’s planning to maybe one day be. He leans slowly over and looks Jake right in the eyes “I want all your papers from your bag. Just… the whole library. I don’t want to, to send him away. I think he’d… it’d hurt him, so badly. He really likes us, and we… we’re trying. But I want to know how to do better.”

Jake stares right back. He can’t tell if Alex really means it, or not, but he sounds like he means it. Finally, he turns and digs another stack of papers out, maybe a hundred different pages all total. He always keeps some on him, just in case, but nobody ever really asks. He lets the stack fall a couple of inches in front of Alex, watching his eyes widen as he stares.

“There it is,” Jake says. “The whole damn library. All the reading you could ever want on why the pet system is bullshit, what they’re doing to make you think it’s okay, and how to help someone who’s been trapped in it. If you and, uh, your frat brother, or-... or Zee wants to meet with my friend Nine, I can introduce you. Only when you’re ready. I’m on campus Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday basically all day. I can talk to you whenever. My number’s… hold on.” He grabs another piece of paper out and scribbles his number down, hands that over, too. “Call me if you want to talk more, on those three days. The rest of the time I work with the rescues, and I’m not gonna answer my phone unless someone died or you’re my dad.”

Alex nods, and shoves the whole pile of papers into his own backpack, zipping it carefully up. “Thanks. Hey, can I ask you something?”

Jake lets out a sigh. He knows what the question is going to be, too. It’s the same question, every time, and they always save it for the end of the conversation. “Yeah, go for it.”

Alex pauses, then asks, “Is it true you know Vincent Shield?”

Jake huffs a little bitter laughter. They always ask, every single time. 

“Yeah, I do. And he’s a dick.”

[auroras-blend]

Playdate Bonus Chapter

*Small excerpt of Leo's POV from the Playdate chapter. All of Mazzeo's dialogue is spoken in Italian but given the amount and length (cause he talks a lot), I translated it into English.

Leonardo was a picture-perfect host with a genuine-looking smile on his face. Anyone who saw him would immediately feel welcomed with open arms into his home, ready and delighted to receive his hospitality. If only he felt as generous on the inside. Vittoria was bouncing beside him, a true happy grin brightening her face. It was the happiest he had ever seen her. Unfortunately for him, it came at his expense.

He had put off arranging a playdate with Signore Mazzeo’s granddaughter for as long as he could, but eventually, he had to give in and concede to a date and time. That morning, he had just stared at the top of the fridge at the little note that said: “Playdate with the Mazzeo's” that taunted him with the knowledge that while his daughter got to entertain herself with her new friend, whom he still had reservations about, he had to endure Franco’s long-winded conversations. "Conversation" was a polite word given that Franco did all of the talking, never taking a moment to breathe. Currently, he was giving his unsolicited parenting advice as if he were the finest father in the entire world. One of the things he hated about parenthood was the unsolicited advice people felt entitled to give to him.

“Of course, my parenting experience began before I was ever even a father. I always knew what type of father I wanted to be. Perfect in every sense of the word. There for my kids, never letting our work distract me. My own father…”

Was absent...unaffectionate...yes, yes. You’ve told me already. Leonardo subtly looked over at the grandfather clock, watching the minute hand move so slowly that he could swear it was doing it on purpose. Forty-five more minutes until I have three hours left…

“Then I became a father. Giulia, my firstborn, was an absolute angel. I didn’t want to mess her up so I made time for her, more than I could afford in our line of work. The baby years were such a wonderful time. A true shame you missed out on them, but that’s life. Anyways, I wanted to be a perfect father but that idea faded away. Everything you’ll think you’ll be as a parent fades away when you face the reality and I’ve learned that that’s okay. For instance…”

All I asked was “Would you like something to drink?”...that’s it. What have I done to deserve this? His eyes averted for a moment to see Vittoria and Nicolletta crank the music box again...Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name...He was incredibly resentful that Signora Bianchi bought his daughter that godforsaken music box. She played it nonstop and all he wanted to do was throw it away, but of course, Vittoria always put it back where it was supposed to go. The first and only time she put her toys away, it had to be that damn music box.

“Then Sofia was born and regretfully I wasn’t home as much. I wonder now if I had been home more if they would have turned out differently. Sofia was always the wild one. It’s a night and day difference between her sister and daughter. Giulia was always so even-tempered and Nicolletta causes no trouble. Anyways, I think Sofia was resentful. So I indulged her and that was my big mistake. Indulging your child is one of the worst things you can do. I warn you now…”

Do I indulge Vittoria too much? He knew the answer was yes, but she was always grateful. Vittoria understood and respected the word no, so he figured if he said no then she’d listen. Overall, his daughter was a good girl with a kind demeanor. I can hardly believe that bitch raised her.

“Giulia was the biggest disappointment. I haven’t heard from her in twelve years, not since she left Emilio with me. That blasted girl had the nerve to get herself knocked up with a Mick and then leave him with me. I don’t know if she’s dead or not, but I consider her so. I have to move on for the sake of my grandson…”

Leonardo had known Giulia and from day one knew she was nothing more than a whore. He had seen her twice and was merciful enough to spare Franco the knowledge of what had happened to his eldest daughter. Her body was disgusting. The smell was awful and oh...I need to have the upstairs sink unclogged. I’ll have to add that to the reminders list on the fridge. His fridge had gone from spotless stainless steel to an honorary bulletin board covered with tiny handprints, a hand-drawn picture of Vittoria and him, Principessa Snowbell, several notes, and Vittoria’s school agenda. It looked so drastically different, though he supposed that was how his life had turned out recently.

A loud thud against the seat of a chair startled him out of his thoughts and back to the conversation with Sig. Mazzeo. “Of all people, a MICK! Then there was that good-for-nothing girl. Sofia, I bailed her out too much, and look what happened. She married that good-for-nothing Cardarelli scum. I should’ve had him eliminated when I had the goddamn chance,” he said quickly, his volume rising.

Don’t you need to breathe? For Christ’s sake… “Do not let Vittoria marry whoever she wants. You’re her father, you know who’s best for her…”

Leo opened his mouth but Franco cut him off before a sound could even be formed, “Arrange something. It’s what I should’ve done. Sofia that dumb girl! If her husband had stuck to our traditions, then she wouldn’t be where she is now. I wouldn’t bail her out this time. I draw the line with what she did! Vinnie has respiratory problems now from inhaling that devil’s substance,” Franco continued, taking a moment to cross himself.

Vittoria would never do such a thing. “Which brings me to my next point…”

Murder in front of the girls’ would be unadvisable but he’s making it seem like a more appealing idea. Leonardo’s eyes drifted to the clock again. It’s only been six minutes? Cazzate! The clock must be broken. “I’ve learned from my mistakes and I’m making a better effort to raise my grandchildren. The loves of my life. I miss our work but retiring is the best option. I won’t let my wife do it on her own, no sir. Four children at our age are enough. Our job, our families...it ages you,” the man laughed, “I can see now that fatherhood has graced you with a few extra pounds.”

Excuse me? Leonardo opened his mouth but before he could say anything, that damn man spoke over him, “Nothing to be ashamed of, of course. It was after Sofia when I got my belly. Sig. Donisi lost his hair…”

It was only a couple of pounds. Leonardo had hardly seen a difference in his appearance with the exception of needing to move over a notch in his belt, but that was it! And something had to give in his routine because there were only so many hours in a day. He at least tried to exercise three times a week instead of every day like he used to.

People are over-dramatic. Inside he was seething. The meat cleaver is right next to the stove. “Which reminds me of this one time…”

Jesus Christ! The things I do for Vittoria. I can handle her crying, tantrums, the need for piggyback rides, and almost anything and everything but this? He remembered feeling semi-fortunate that her playdate with Emilio hadn’t worked out, because that meant he didn’t have to invite and entertain Sig. Mazzeo over again. Of course, she just had to make friends with Nicolletta.

“I think you are doing an exceptional job with Vittoria. That poor child, seeing the things she’s seen. You keep her sane when most would go mad,” Mazzeo said, his eyes softening sympathetically.

Before Leonardo could even say thank you, the man continued. He’d do anything to protect Vittoria from madness and madhouses. And anyone who thinks she should be there. Alessia wore scarves quite frequently for the past few weeks as her bruises around her neck faded from blue to yellow. It was her own fault. Suggesting I place Vittoria in a madhouse. Technically she suggested Vittoria see a psychiatrist but that was the same thing in his mind, knowing that they’d try and have her committed. Hell will freeze over before I let that happen. His mother had perished, he’d be damned before that happened to his daughter.

It wasn’t her, nor anyone’s place, to tell me what I should do for my daughter. I know what’s best for her. “Of course when I was a boy things were different…” Sig. Mazzeo began, his voice having a trace of nostalgia.

“Papa!” Vittoria cried, coming running in with Nicolletta hot on her heels, “Can we go outside and play jump rope now?”

Oh thank God, I can speak. Praise Jesus. “Of course, principessa,” he smiled, happy to use his voice for the first time in a while.

And for the last time in the next hour.

[alpaca-writes]

Mystics, Chapter 5

When Arch becomes hired on at Mystics, by Lyrem, everything seems to be going well- their life nearly becomes perfection. Soon enough, however, Arch realizes that perhaps not everything is as good as it seems…. Directory: [chapter one] [chapter two] [chapter three] [chapter four] Tag list: (Oh wow I have a taglist!?)@myst-in-the-mirror CW: kidnapping, threatening, knife, car crash.

CHAPTER FIVE: A BLUE TRUCK AND A BIG KNIFE There was a calmness to the halls of Strathford High School that hadn’t been felt by Arch in their entire time the had been attending it. English and Math passed them by in the morning without hardly any difficulty; they were even able to concentrate on The Tempest by William Shakespeare without zoning out every two minutes. Their heart was calm. Arch ate their lunch with their friends, talked about the newest episodes of Stranger Things, shared stupid memes, and complained about their homework. It wasn’t until their third period in chemistry that Arch began to sense a familiar dread. They took a deep breath before entering the room, seeing the divided rows of shining white tables, Arch took their usual spot near the back. They avoided allowing others to sit behind them as much as they could. It prevented hair pulling and stray gum, spitballs, and that lingering sense that they were being watched. As well, looking forward, it was easier to catch others staring; if that was what they wanted to do instead of concentrate on formulas. The classroom filled up steadily, and it looked a little bit sparse. It was then that Arch realized exactly what was different- exactly who was missing. Off to the side and ahead of them, Arch heard a conversation between two students as they set down their book bags. A few words in and Arch was already experiencing a shameless elation- one might even say it was hope. “- called my mom last night crying because she didn’t know where Jess was.” “Really? Crying?” “Apparently, Jess told her mom she’d be over at my place for a sleepover”- “Pfft, no way,” the one friend sputtered. “She was totally banging Kyle.” “Right?! Like I wanted to say something to my mom, but like, how would that even sound? Oh, sorry Miranda, Jess wasn’t here at all, she was just fucking some kid you barely know. I can’t say that. It would be cruel.” “Well, Kyle isn’t around today again either. Neither’s Marc”-

The classroom filled with more chatter. Some talking about anime, and others continuing the gossip of what could have happened to Jess, Marcus, and Kyle. None of the students could say they were able to reach them. One mentioned knowing that Marcus was downtown a couple nights ago which prompted a response from another friend-

“I know he has hockey practice tonight. He’ll be there even if he’s really sick.” Jordan spouted. “He’d never leave the Strathford Flyers hanging.”

Finally, Ms. Peters shut the conversations down. Arch was getting tired of hearing the chatter anyway. They may have been a tad curious of the three’s sudden disappearance, but ultimately, they didn’t want to become too hopeful. Their disappearance was a blessing. Arch would take it as one for as long as it would last.

Days turned to weeks, and still, no one had seen or heard a single thing from any of the three missing students. Police officers came into the school, probably too late to really score any reliable interviews from other students. They spoke to friends, to teachers, but not to Arch.

No one really cared what Arch had to say- and for that, they were quite thankful. They wouldn’t need to justify why they seemed happier, why they seemed more relaxed, why they were suddenly free more-so than they ever had been before. If given the opportunity, Arch probably would have told them every horrible thing Marcus, Kyle, and Jess had ever done to them, and every horrible thing they said to them until the constable would also agree: this world was a much better place without them here to spoil it for everyone else.

With less than a month left in their grade twelve experience, Arch boosted their marks in every subject. It was as though, since the disappearance, even the act of thinking became easier. Everything became easier. Arch was finally succeeding, just as they had always deserved to.

Lyrem was paying them well, as he had promised; not once, had a check bounced. Soon, Arch would have enough saved to rent a place of their own anywhere in the city, from there they would get their own car and finally be free. Out of school and out of the house of horrors, as they would jokingly call it.

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

“What about a dress? Have you thought about a colour?” Their mother’s black hair fell in front of her face as she loaded the dishwasher.

Arch stared at her from the table in the kitchen. They remained calm. It wasn’t an unexpected question, and they had been preparing their answer for some time.

“Rompers are more comfortable,” they said casually. It was as far as they were willing to go to appease the masses for prom night.

Their mother laughed with a strangled amusement.

“A romper? Where on earth will you find a bedazzled romper!?”

Maleficent cried out a whine for more food, distracting the conversation, and muted Arch’s response. Their mother continued.

“We’ll head out tomorrow morning then, find you something just right.”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday, I work tomorrow.”

“Sunday then. End of story. Pass me your plate, girl.”

Seething, Arch handed over their dishes and left the kitchen in a huffed silence. It was a warm night. The front door shut behind them with a screech, and Arch breathed in the cool night air that left them feeling purified.

Their small, well-worn, house was between several sets of condominiums, shaded by maples that glowed in the twilight hues. Arch walked on until they saw the glimpse of downtown buildings and neon lights of convenience stores that would stay open as long as people were out drinking late and needing a pick-me-up.

Lost in thought, and in some rage, Arch turned down twenty-third avenue. Another several blocks and they would reach the outside of Mystics- not that they particularly wanted to be reminded of work. The shop would have been closed over an hour ago anyway. Lyrem would have been long gone by now. There wouldn’t be any harm peering in as they passed on by.

The streets slowly emptied. Soon, Arch was walking alone. Even the cars that passed became sparse in number. The sun dipped further down, and streetlights clicked on overhead as a roaring thunder carried on from an indiscernible distance to the east.

Narrow alleys passed them by without care. If Arch weren’t so high strung, they’d likely have avoided the area at this time of night. Unfortunately, though, their mother always had this lingering effect on them. An effect that would push them to do great things out of spite. In a way, Arch had to thank her. If it wasn’t for her constant callous preaching, Arch wouldn’t have looked for work so desperately. Perhaps they’d never have met Lyrem.

Speaking of the weird old man, his shops’ lights were still glowing on, glinting against a black street-side car parked near the door. The lights flickered, and shut off.

Arch felt something move behind them. Two steps, then a hand covering their mouth, and a strong arm wrapped itself around one of their arms and their waist. In a panic, Arch threw out one of their elbows, jabbing into the side of the assailant, just under their ribs. Keeping their grunts to a minimum, the assailant lifted Arch off of the ground and pulled them into an alley a couple stores back from the spiritual accessory shop. Knowing they had little weight, Arch continued to use their elbow, as well as their legs, and when they had a split-second chance, Arch bit down painfully hard on the gloved hand that put itself around their mouth.

The assailant couldn’t help but cry out, and he curled his fingers in. Keeping a grip tight around their waist, pulled his hand away and shook it off as it throbbed beneath the gloves.

“You idiot!” The voice hissed. “I’m trying to help you!”

“Get off of me!” Arch commanded them. “I swear to God, man I will rip your throat out next! Let me go- HELP! FI”-

The assailant panicked by throwing Arch against the side of the brick wall and they fell quiet after the sudden smacking sound that their body made. They couldn’t be sure that Arch hit their head, but at least they were stunned enough to stop shouting.

“Are you still awake?”

Arch was piled up in a heap beside the brick wall. Whoever put them there clearly didn’t think they’d do much damage, but they felt a popping sensation in their shoulder, and now a searing pain when they tried to lift it. A bruise was currently forming on their brow bone over their right eye, and a warm sensation was travelling from there and dripping down to the side of their cheek. The assailant tried lifting them to their feet but was met with a strained, tearful cry as they did so.

“I’m sorry. I know I hurt you, but if you want to stay safe, I need you to come with me.” They almost said it like they meant it, Arch thought.

Trying to keep the worst thoughts from their mind, Arch began to bargain with what small amount of coherence they currently had as they were being pulled further into the alleyway to who-knows-where.

“I- I don’t have anything on me, okay? No money- Look, you- you can have my phone, my sneakers whatever, okay, dude? Just leave me alone- don’t hurt me”-

“I need you to be quiet,” he said. “If you’re too loud you’ll attract his attention.”

He led them to a small blue truck, pushing them to the passenger’s side and opened the door.

“Get in.”

Arch’s eyes darted from the seat, to the man and back and forth until the man furtively glanced down the alley.

“I said get in, Arch. Now.”

He drew a knife from his belt. A hunter’s knife. A well-used Bowie; long and wide, and now receiving small raindrops as he stilled it in his hands threateningly. Arch blinked through the onslaught of tears covering their face as they stood there, cornered between the knife and the truck.

The man wasn’t looking at Arch at all. They were looking down the alley, searching for any possible sign of movement. With a push from his forearm, Arch was against the side of the cloth seat. The inside smelled like old leather and rotted wood, and despite everything in their mind telling them to keep fighting, Arch hoisted themselves into the passenger’s side, and winced as the man slammed the truck door beside them.

“Finally,” the man exclaimed as he climbed into the other side. He started the truck.

The darkness was too great still to make out many discernible features of their captor- but even in good lighting, Arch wasn’t brave enough to look at them for too long. The knife was still out, gripped tightly by the driver in his right hand. For some reason, Arch’s mind drifted as the truck began to turn from the alley and onto the main road- they put on their seatbelt.

The man stared at them oddly. He sped up to the speed limit, just slightly going over. The truck fell into a deeply threatening silence as it drove on leaving many questions unasked.

“Where…” Arch started bravely, “are you taking me?”

The man checked his rear-view mirror, and it seemed like he was ignoring the question until he let out a short, relieved breath.

“Somewhere safe.”

It was a silly question, Arch realized this just as they were finished asking it. Any serial killer worth their salt wouldn’t reveal such a thing. Arch sniffed, and used their good arm to test the wound formed over their eye. They pulled away fingers now coated in fresh blood.

The rain was falling harder now. The wipers turned on, rhythmically groaning, keeping time for the two silent guests. The man was taking a turn out of the city, exiting off of one highway and onto another. Lighting struck in the distance.

“Did… Did you take a girl named Jess too?”

Arch was finding their bravery again. The man shook his head.

“No. It was too late for her. Lyrem is usually more meticulous about who he takes and when. Her, and her friends were… unexpected prey.”

Arch’s brows knit together in deep thought, and turned to confusion.

“I- I don’t understand,” they said. “Lyrem from Mystics?”

“It’s not exactly a popular name, kiddo.”

“What are you saying? You think Lyrem took Jess and Kyle and Marcus? Him?” It was almost funny to think about Lyrem trying to lure kids away to some undisclosed location. Hilarious even, if Arch wasn’t just threatened and lured away by knifepoint and being driven to some undisclosed location at that very moment.

“No, I am saying that I know that Lyrem took Jess and Kyle and Marcus. He’s probably killed one of them already. Maybe two after tonight. And you know this too…” the man glanced over to Arch. A look of sympathy stretched across his tired face. “You just don’t remember.”

“I would have remembered that.” Arch determined quietly. The knife rested lightly in the man’s hand now. He was relaxing… slowly. He continued talking to Arch like they were familiar with each other.

“You don’t believe me, and that is perfectly understandable. But haven’t you noticed? Missing time? Confusion? His magic depends on you being compliant. I just don’t know how far he’s gone with you yet. Until I know that, we won’t be able to retrieve the memories you need.” He sighed. “I know it doesn’t make sense to you now, but I promise it will. Have you noticed any injuries on yourself? Any you don’t recall getting from some place else?”

Arch met their gaze and shook their head. They hadn’t really been listening, just eyeing the blade beside them.

“Damn.”

Any further turns and Arch would find it difficult to find their way home. If they were going to make a move on this insane son of a bitch, then they would have to do it now.

Their right arm was useless the way it was sitting, half out and half in the pocket of the joint. Their left hand might be unreliable with aim, but Arch was certain that it would get the job done. Straightening in their seat, they winced. Another bolt shot down from the sky blindingly and shook the vehicle with its power.

In the distraction, Arch pulled the knife up an out from the man’s hand- and with one quick motion, forced themselves over the middle seat. Arch brought the knife down into the top of the man’s right thigh.

He shouted angrily, cursing at them wildly and lost control of the truck. As the blade sank in with a rude amount of force, all care for the current business was abandoned. His leg pressed on the gas as it stretched out for relief of the searing wound, and swerved along the rain-slicked road with frightening speed. Arch released the knife, and braced themselves as the truck spun around, and then launched itself straight into the dark and muddy ditch.

[abraxos-is-toothless]

Surprises (4)

Next chapter is finally here!! God this took a lot of work to actually finish🤫

Previous Chapters are here: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3. I’ll do a masterlist soon.

My wonderful beta @bryaxisthefaceofnightmares said that it made her cry so I’m sorry in advance:))

Warnings: There will be swearing, mature themes, mentions of alcohol at times, and mentions of sex. I will update warnings as I go if needed. If I miss something then let me know!

Chapter 4

—————

It had been over a month since the party and Azriel was slowly losing his mind. He had only see Elain a few times after and whenever he tried to say hello, or speak to her when she sat with them at lunch, she’d make an excuse about needing to be somewhere or do something, and disappear before he could get a single word out. These reactions made him assume that she remembered what had happened between them and clearly did not like what had been done. He just wanted her to know that he was sorry and that it was just a onetime thing, and he wasn’t even sure he wanted it to be more than that. For starters he didn’t really know her, not really, and if Nesta ever found out he’d be dead. In her eyes, nobody was good enough for Elain, she was too sweet, too caring and honestly, he agreed. He should never have even looked at her.

As he approached the table that they usually sat at during lunch, Azriel saw no signs of Elain yet. Good, that at least gave him a chance to think about what he’d try to say to her this time. When he finally got to the table, Cassian was eating his ungodly amount of food, Nesta was trying to get him to slow down like she always did, but never made any progress, and Rhys and Feyre had their tongues down each other’s throats. Typical. Slamming his tray down on the table as he sat, making them jump apart, he said casually “Can the pair of you not go five minutes without being attached at the mouths? I’d really like to eat today.”

Rhys the fucking little shit that he was just smirked and replied “Come now Azzie, just because I get more action than you doesn’t mean you need to be so grumpy all of the time.”

At that comment Feyre smacked him over the back of the head with a muttered Prick. Cassian looked as if he was going to join in on the conversation, however, Elain and Lucien finally showed up. Oh, for fucks sake. He hadn’t even thought of what to say yet. Lucien took up the seat next to him while Cass moved around to his side as well so that Elain could sit between Nesta and Feyre.

Azriel tried his damn hardest to zone out, to not focus on her voice as she talked to her sisters about her new English project. But for the life of him he couldn’t do it, because every time he heard her voice, all he could hear in his head was the breathy version of it as she had asked him to just go slow. Gods, that’s all he could ever hear lately. He played that memory on repeat in his mind, kept trying to figure out how they had ended up like that but, he always came up blank. Or he got lost in the vivid sensations of actually being able to feel her and had to go take an extremely cold shower. What in hell’s name was he meant to do? He looked at her then, to say something; anything but when her eyes met his she was standing saying that she had to go get books from the library and that she’d see them at the game later. The game! He was playing but maybe he could catch her afterwards and they could finally talk. Azriel knew from her sisters that she always waited until after everyone else had left before she tried because there was less hustle and bustle for her to get caught up in. Yes, after the game. He’d talk to her then while there was no one around.

It was going to be a long day, wasn’t it?

oOoOo

By the time the day was over, all Elain wanted to do was go home and curl up in a ball but she’d promised her sisters that she’d go watch a game because she hadn’t been to one in ages. Usually, she didn’t mind going to watch one because she liked to stay for a while after they’d finished as it was the peace after such chaos that she enjoyed. However, now she would have all her focus on him and the very scary and new predicament she had found herself in just a few days before. Remembering that day in her bedroom made tears prick at her eyes but she forced them back, willing herself not to cry while she was sat in the stands amongst all of her classmates.

She was late. She was a week late. Fuck. Her movements felt slow and mechanical as he moved around the room to find her phone to send off a text to ask Lucien if he could do something for her. What the fuck had she done?

Breathe. Just breathe. Elain found herself reorganizing her shelves while she waited, not knowing what to do with her body, afraid that if she stopped moving, she’d breakdown and there was no way she was going to do that. By the time the books had been rearranged three times from alphabetical A-Z and then Z-A and then put in order of the colours of the rainbow, a text from Lucien finally came through saying he was outside so she simply said to let himself in and come to her room. Once he was inside her room, he had a look of pity on his face and placed the plastic drug store bag in her hands but spoke gently as he did so. “Are you sure these are needed? Maybe if you waited a few more days...” Wordlessly she just nodded and retreated into the bathroom.

Elain pulled the small boxes from the bag and found that her best friend had bought the most expensive pregnancy tests out there. Well, at least she knew the results would be accurate and not some cheap useless thing that would trick her into a false sense of security. Three tests were enough right? Steadying herself, she peed on the stupid sticks and spared a minute to compose herself before going back into the bedroom and placing them on the table. She told Lucien you had to wait for five minutes after and watched him set a timer on his phone before they lapsed into silence; which meant she finally had room to think. She was seventeen years old and she had just peed on three gods damned pregnancy tests and the most annoying things was, she didn’t even have the privilege of remembering the experience that got her to this point in the first place.

It felt like hours had passed when her best friend’s phone started chiming. Here goes nothing. Elain made herself stand and walk back over to the bedside table; she hadn’t realised her hands were shaking until she reached for the tests. With her eyes shut tight she closed her hand around the small sticks and brought them closer so she could see. Opening her eyes to look, her heart plummeted and she released a small sob into the air, feeling arms close around her waist right before her knees gave out...

She came back to the present when Lucien sat next to her and handed her a pack of jellybeans and a bottle of water. She had told him who she realised the boy was a few hours after the day she’d made them go somewhere else, after spotting him at the diner. Lucien had tried to go ‘deal with the turd’ when she did, but they agreed that he couldn’t because she didn’t want her sisters to find out. He still wasn’t too happy about the idea, but he’d said nothing more on the matter. “Thank you,” she said quietly, still reeling from her thoughts and feelings, yet he just smiled softly at her and turned to watch the game. Doing the same, she caught sight of him huddled with the rest of his team, building up the excitement of what was to come, but he didn’t know.

He didn’t know she was eventually going to have to bring all that happiness crashing down. No. No. Elain wouldn’t tell him. There was no need for the both of them to suffer, right? She could bare it all and save him from having his life ruined and dreams destroyed.

She would not break him like that.

oOoOo

It took Azriel longer than he had anticipated getting back out onto the field, in between their coach congratulating them on an excellent game and Rhys and Cass trying to cajole him into celebrating with them, he was scared that when he got out there, she’d be gone. Luckily for him, she hadn’t, because when he finally found her, she was standing in the middle of the open field with her head tipped back to look at the sky. Seeing her like that, serene and at peace, made his breath catch in his throat. It truly was a beautiful sight to behold, even if he shouldn’t be thinking of her like that.

Taking in a deep breath he forced his feet to push himself towards her and, when he was finally close enough for her to hear but not too close to make her uncomfortable, he gently cleared his throat. “Elain?”

She turned to him then with a slight jolt and breathed, “Oh, Azriel, you scared me. What are you still doing here?” He didn’t fail to notice that she wouldn’t make eye contact and kept darting her eyes between him, the floor and somewhere behind him. He shifted on his feet a little then, his nerves starting to pick up.

“Well, I know from your sisters that after games you like to stay out here on your own for a little while, but I really needed to talk to you so I decided that talking out here like this was probably best.”

This seemed to set her on edge even more, her face started to go a bit red and now she wasn’t even looking at him and was just staring at the floor. Fuck, this wasn’t going well and he’d only just started.

Wringing her hands in front of her she asked in the quietest voice he thought possible “Uh well, what is it?”

Right, straight to the point then. Very well. “It’s about the party. I just wanted you to know that it’s easily forgettable and we can just act like it never happened. I mean, we barely know each other so it’s not like it meant anything and Nesta would kill me if she knew.” Elain looked directly at him then, and for a second he could see hurt and confusion flash across her face, but before he could question it, she started speaking.

“Easily forgettable,” she seethed. “Easily fucking forgettable! Well that’s just fantastic, isn’t it; just what every girl wants to hear. But, fine, if forgetting is what you want then that’s what we’ll do.” Okay he realised he shouldn’t have said it like that but he meant that no one could know about what they’d done.

Before he could even open his mouth to explain himself, she turned as if she was going to leave. Oh no, absolutely not. Azriel didn’t even think about what he was doing and reached out to grab her wrist before she could move too far. “Shit look, I’m sorry I didn’t mean for it to come out like that, I swear. I just really needed you to know that no one can find out.” She let out a humourless laugh at that and he knew he’d said something wrong again. Gods he was making the situation worse than it needed to be. All she had to do was say that it would be their secret.

“It’s way too fucking late for that now, jackass. Now, let me go.” He released her wrist as if it had burned him, not realising he was still holding her. But what she’d said irked at something inside of him.

“What the hell does that mean? All you have to is agree to not make this anymore worse than it is.” Why didn’t she understand that?

“I’m pregnant, you ass! That’s why it’s too late!” He felt like his whole body went cold all at once then. Elain clamped her hand over her mouth within seconds after she spoke, like she could bring them back in. She couldn’t have said that. This was not happening. This could not be happening.

“No. You’re lying. You can’t be.” There were tears in her eyes then, but she hadn’t let them fall yet. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you.” The first tears dropped then as she spoke.

“Then why the fuck did you tell me, Elain? This is a joke, right? This has to be a joke.” Her face went from upset to outraged in an instant, and Azriel decided he didn’t like the murderous look in her eyes.

“You said that what we’d done was easily forgettable. That I was easily forgettable, Azriel. I was angry and I just reacted. But now I feel like you deserved to be told like that. Why the hell would I be joking?” There was too much for him to think about just then, too many feelings for him to deal with. They both needed to calm down to talk about anything further, both needed to steady themselves. So as much as he wanted answers, needed answers to the bomb she’d just dropped on him, he did the only thing he could for himself. He turned and walked away.

With his back to her and the further he walked away, he didn’t get to watch as she dropped to her knees in that field alone, and sobbed until there was nothing left for her to let out.

—————

*Runs and Hides* heh like it? You finally got their interaction although I don’t think you wanted it like that😬 let me know your thought on the chapter! If you’d like to be added/removed from the tags I’ll be happy to do so!

A/N: I’m hoping from now on that a new chapter will be out every Monday, but please don’t hold me to it just in case (:

Tags: @starlitfangirl @starsauroras @drunken-starz @myfriendscallmeraba @thesirenwashere @empress-sei @elrielllll @stars-falling @cirieael @verifiefangirl @verifiefangirl-mainblog @theshadowsinger-and-thefawn @mirainthedark05 @fancyclodpaintercookie @acourtofterrasenandvelaris @azriel-archeronn @queen-of-glass @bamchickawowow @slightly-sane-fangirl @empress-ofbloodshed @sleeping-and-books @b00kworm @kvi-arts @rhysandhlcor @tswaney17 @awkward-avocado-s

[fandomrewrites]

Season 2; Episode 5: Venomous

Hello all! Get ready for a very protective reader in this chapter. This chapter really shows why I absolutely adore (Y/N) McCall. She will do anything for her friends, even if that means turning into a complete bitch. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and as always constructive criticism is appreciated!

Season 2; Episode 5: Venomous

Pairings: Scott McCall x Twin Sister, Lydia Martin x Best Friend

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,930

Season 2 Masterlist

I sat in Coach’s class beside Lydia in the back of the room. In front of us Jackson, Scott, and Stiles seem to be having a heated discussion. “Listen up,” Coach says as he walks in, “Quick warning before we begin our review. Some of you - like McCall - might want to form study groups since tomorrow’s midterm is so profoundly difficult I’m not even sure I could pass it. All right, I need a volunteer at the board to answer the first question.”

I pay little attention to the midterm review but rather squint my eyes trying to read the boys lips. The only thing I can make out is Stiles saying Lydia’s name. Damn I really I hate not being able to read lips.

“Jackson, you have something you want to share with the class?” Coach asks seeing the boy’s conversation.

“Just an undying admiration for my Coach.” I roll my eyes at Jackson’s statement.

“That’s very kind of you. Now shut the hell up.”

Lydia is now at the front of the room, writing the answer to the question. Or at least, that’s what she should be doing. Instead of writing an answer she has unknowingly written ‘EMPLEHENOEMOS’ over and over again.

Coach starts calling her name, “Lydia?” He pauses when he finally gets her attention, “Okay then. Anyone else want to try answering? In English?”

The class starts laughing at Coach’s comment. All Lydia can do is stare wide eyed at the class with tears in her eyes. I quickly stand up grabbing both of our bags and gently pull her out of the room.

I lead her into the closest bathroom and place our bags on the sink. I then check under the stalls looking for feet. I notice someone is in the last stall and quickly knock on the door. “Someone’s in here.”

“I know. Hurry the hell up and get out.”

Not even a minute later the girl steps out of the stall and glares at me. “Who do you think you are? I’ll take however long that I want.” She slowly walks to the sink to wash her hands.

Lydia is biting her lip, refusing to cry until it’s just us two. “You’re going to wash your hands and leave quickly before I throw you out myself.” I snap.

The girl scoffs, “You wouldn’t dare.”

I take a step closer, my eyes narrowing into a cold glare, “Do you really want to take that chance?” The girl looks at me then turns on her heel and moves out the door.

I lock the door behind her then turn towards Lydia, “Okay, it’s just us. You can cr or talk to me freely now.”

On cue Lydia starts sobbing. She falls into me, wrapping her arms tightly around my waist. I quickly return the embrace and gently run my fingers through her hair, knowing it calms her down.

“Everything is going to be alright Lyds. I got you. I won’t let you go. I promise.” I whisper to her, placing a kiss on her head.

Once she starts to quiet down I whisper to her once more, “You know you can tell me if something is wrong? Even if it sound crazy, I’ll never judge you.”

She finally backs away from me slightly to look me in the eye, “I know. I just - I don’t know what’s going on.”

I nod in understanding and gently run my thumbs under her eyes to wipe away any remaining tears. She bites her lip then pulls me into another hug, “I love you so much (Y/N/N).”

“I love you too Lyds.”

*_*_*_*_*_*

I calmly sat down near Lydia in chemistry, not fully paying any mind to those around me. As more students pile into the class, Scott and Stiles grab chairs to sit on either side of us. We both throw them curious glances wondering why they rushed over to us and sat down despite the desk being for two people.

I lean over to whisper to Scott, who was sitting closer to me, “What’s going on?”

“Isaac and Erica are going to try and test the Kanima venom on Lydia.”

My eyes immediately harden into a glare as I subtly look over my shoulder eyeing the two werewolves. Erica was too focused on watching Lydia, but Isaac caught my eye and winked at me like he wasn’t planning on harming my best friend.

I scrunch my face up looking at Isaac slightly shocked by his new found confidence. I never really noticed him much before since he was always quiet, but I guess turning into a werewolf has a weird way of changing you.

I finally turn back to the front of the room as Harris starts speaking, “Einstein once said ‘Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; And I’m not sure about the universe.’ I myself have encountered infinite stupidity.”

Harris pauses as he looks right at Stiles. “So to combat the plague of ignorance in my class, you’re going to combine efforts through a round of group experiments. Let’s see if two heads are better than one. Or in Mr. Stilinski’s case, less than one. Erica, take the first station. You’ll start with - “

Before he can finish his sentence ever male hand minus Isaac, Scott, and Stiles, shoots up. “I didn’t ask for volunteers. Put your hormonal little hands down.” The hands all reluctantly drift down, “Start with Mr. McCall.”

“All right. Next two, (Y/N) you take the second table-”

“With Lydia?” I ask hopefully, an innocent smile on my face.

“No. You two will do well away from each other for once.”

“I beg to differ, we work exceptionally well together.” Lydia turns to me, an amused smile on her lips.

“Miss McCall take the second station and Isaac you can join her.” Harris replies, leaving no room for argument.

I grumble under my breath but move my things to the second table, Isaac joining me not even a minute later. Finally, all the pairs are together and the sound of glass vials clinking can be heard throughout the room.

“Scott caught me up with what you’re planning. Derek’s wrong. It’s not Lydia.”

“Yeah? How would you know that?” Isaac smirks.

“She’s my best friend. I know.” I pause, reading over the directions for the experiment. I can feel Isaac’s eyes on me, “If you do anything to her, I swear to God you’ll be sorry.”

I finally look back up to meet Isaac’s eye, “You know I’m a werewolf. You’re not very intimidating to me.”

I lean closer to him, “I don’t need to be supernatural to be persuasive or intimidating. It will do you well to remember that.”

The stupid smirk doesn’t leave his face, “You’re really hot when you’re angry.”

I scoff and open my mouth to reply but before I get the chance Harris announces that it’s time to rotate partners. Isaac stands, almost lazily, and winks one more time at me before making his way to Stiles.

This time I was partnered with Allison, “How’s Lydia?”

“Clueless about what’s going on.”

I nod my head, “Isaac didn’t tell me anything. But if it is Lydia, though I highly doubt it, they plan on killing her.”

“We won’t let the happen.” Allison reassures.

“I know.”

“Switch,” Harris calls from the front of the room.

Allison stand up, making her way towards Erica, I bite my lip watching Isaac sit beside Lydia. “What’s wrong?” I quickly look to my right, forgetting that I still needed to complete the experiment.

I instinctively roll my eyes at the sound of his, “Nothing's wrong Nate.”

“Please, we may not have talked in weeks but I know you. And I know that look. You’re worried about something.”

“Yeah well it’s none of your business. You lost your privilege to be concerned about me when you decided to cheat.”

“(Y/N/N)-”

I cut him off, turning to look him right in the eye, “(Y/N). Only my friends can call me (Y/N/N).”

Before he has the chance to reply Harris addresses the class, “Time. If you catalyzed the reaction correctly you should now be looking at a crystal.”

I gently pull out the crystal from the vial and slowly turn it. “Now, the part of this last experiment I’m sure you’ll all enjoy. You can eat it.”

“You can have it,” I mumble as I hand Nate the crystal. I turn my attention instead to Isaac and Lydia just a few seats away.

Lydia holds the crystal between her fingers. Just as she’s bringing it to her mouth Scott stands up, knocking his chair to the floor, “Lydia...”

He was too late though, Lydia turns to Scott, “What?”

“Nothing.”

I gulp, the venom didn’t affect her. But there has to be another reason. I know for a fact Lydia is not the Kanima. She can’t be.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Stiles, Allison, Scott, and I quietly slip into Coach’s dimly lit office. Scott locks the door then turns to the three of us. “Derek’s outside. Waiting for her.”

“You mean waiting to kill her?” Allison questions, glancing at me.

“If he thinks she’s the Kanima? Then yeah. Especially after what happened in the pool.”

“It’s not her.” Stiles and I say at the same time.

“She didn’t pass the test. Nothing happened.” Scott replies.

“It can’t be her.” Stiles says.

“It’s not. She’s my best friend, there is no way it’s her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s something because of the bite, but she’s not the Kanima. She’s probably just immune to the venom.”

“It doesn’t matter. Derek thinks it’s her. So either we convince him he’s wrong or we figure out how to protect her.” Allison says, stopping any arguing.

“I don’t think he’d do anything here. Not during school.” Scott says.

“What about after school?” Scott just nods so Allison continues, “What if we can prove Derek’s wrong?”

“By three o’clock?” Stiles asks.

“There could be something in the Bestiary.”

“You mean the nine hundred page book written in Archaic Latin that none of us can read? Good luck with that.”

“Lydia can read it.” All three heads turn to look at me in shock. “That’s how I recognized that it was Archaic Latin. We just have to tell her that it’s some weird new hobby. I just hate lying to her.”

“I think I know someone else who might be able to read it, so we don’t have to bring Lydia into it unless absolutely necessary.” Allison states.

Scott nods then speaks once more, “I could talk to Derek. Maybe convince him to give us a chance to prove it’s not her.” The three of us share a look but reluctantly nod, “All right. But if anything happens you guys let me handle it.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you can’t heal like I do. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Allison puts her bag on Coach’s desk and pulls out a crossbow, “I can protect myself.” She puts it down but Scott still doesn’t look convinced, “What? DId something else happen?”

“I just don’t want anyone getting hurt. If something goes wrong, you call me, okay? I don’t care if your dad finds out. Call, text, yell, scream, whatever. I’ll hear you and I’ll find you. As fast as I can.”

Allison nods. Scott continues, “We’ve got until three.”

He turns for the door, but pauses when he hears a snapping sound. He spins back, hand whipping in the air just in time to catch the crossbow dart from landing right in the middle of his face.

Stiles lowers the crossbow with a guilty smile, “Sensitive trigger on this thing-”

*_*_*_*_*_*

As school ends Stiles, Allison, Jackson, and I rush Lydia down the nearly empty corridors. “If we’re doing a study group, why didn’t we just stay in the library?” Lydia asks.

“Because we’re meeting up with someone else.” Stiles says, constantly looking over his shoulder, clearly worried about any of the newly formed werewolves following us.

“Why didn’t they just meet us in the library?”

“That would’ve been a great idea. Too late.”

“Okay, hold on-” Lydia tries to stop but Jackson grabs her arm.

“Lydia, shut up and walk.” I glare at the back of his head, hating how he treats her.

About a minute later we were finally in Stiles’ jeep. I was sitting shotgun while Jackson, Allison, and a confused Lydia were in the backseat.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Finally pulling up to my house, I rush out to open the door and usher everyone inside as quickly as possible.

Once everyone is inside Stiles slams the door shut and locks it. He then proceeds to flip the dead bolt.

I go to the back door to make sure that’s locked, missing the conversation between the four still by the front entrance.

I make it back just in time to see Jackson and Lydia walking up the stairs.

A minute passes before we see Derek and his pack standing in the street, watching the house.

I now have a metal baseball bat gripped tightly in my right hand as I peer out the window, keeping an eye on the Alpha and his Beta’s. Allison calls Scott to update him an get him here as soon as possible.

As the sun almost sets, Allison starts pulling out her phone. “What are you doing?” Stiles questions her.

“I think.. I think I have to call my dad.”

“They’ll probably kill her too.” I snap.

Allison looks at me wide eyed but before she can reply I continue, “Whoever the Kanima is, has killed people. You’re dad - Gerard - will not allow them to live.” I explain more gently, “You can’t call them. Scott will be here.”

Stiles looks down at the crossbow in Allison’s hand. “I got an idea. Just shoot one of them.”

“Are you serious?” Allison looks shocked.

“We told Scott we could protect ourselves. So let’s do it. Or at least give it a shot, right?”

Allison nods, a bit hesitant. “They don’t think we’re going to fight. If one of them gets hit, I guarantee they’ll back off. So shoot one of them.” Stiles finishes.

“Which one?”

“Derek. Shoot him. Preferably in the head.”

I turn to look at Stiles with my best are you dumb look. “If Scott was able to catch an arrow, Derek definitely can. And I seriously don’t understand why you want him dead do bad.”

Stiles sighs, “FIne. Shoot one of the other three.”

Allison looks out of the window, “You mean two.”

My eyebrows shoot up as Stiles says, “I mean three.”

Stiles and I turn to look out the window again, “Where the hell is Isaac?” I ask.

Just as the words leave my mouth Isaac grabs Stiles, lifting him off his feet and tossing him across the room.

I instinctively raise the bat up getting ready to swing, but Allison beats me to it raising the crossbow. Isaac is too fast though, he knocks the weapon to the side, making the arrow hit the ceiling.

He then throws Allison across the room. Before he gets the chance to turn back around fully, I use all my strength to hit him hard with the metal bat. Unfortunately it has little effect on him.

I raise the bat once more but begin to speak, “If you leave Lydia alone I’ll make out with you,”

He tilts his head and allows a sly grin to appear on his face, “That’s tempting, but Derek gave me orders.”

“What are you his lap dog?” I scoff.

Before he can reply Stiles and Allison are back up and attacking. I hear Lydia call from upstairs, “(Y/N/N)? Allison? Stiles? What’s happening?”

Allison ran to the base of the stairs to answer, “Get back! Someone’s trying to break in. Go!”

Not even a minute later, Allison runs upstairs to try and protect Lydia. I can just make out her voice yelling, “It’s here... Stiles, (Y/N/N), it’s here!”

That’s the last thing I hear before I catch a glimpse of Erica heading up the stairs and shortly after Scott entering the house.

There is a powerful roar, then we open the front door. Scott tosse Erica and Isaac out towards Derek and Boyd. Scott steps out onto the porch, closely followed by Stiles, Allison, and I.

“I think I’m finally getting why you keep refusing me, Scott. You’re not an Omega. You’re already an Alpha. Of your own pack.” Allison, Stiles, and I share a look. “But you know you can’t beat me.”

“I can hold you off until the police get here.” Derek cocks his head, listening to the distant sirens. He must hear something else, something that Scott picks up too. They’re eyes move up, the rest of us following their lead.

On top of the roof, the Kanima looks down at us, it’s lips peeling back to reveal rows of sharp teeth. It opens its jaw and unleashes an inhuman shriek, my hands flying to block my ears.

Derek turns to Boyd, “Get them out of here.”

Lydia then steps out of the front door, “Would someone please tell me... What the hell, is going on?”

Everyone around me looks surprised that Lyda is till, well Lydia. Me though, my lips tug into a smug smile, I knew she wasn’t the Kanima.

After this thought passes through my head I can hear Scott whisper under his breath, “Jackson.”

[obsidianfr3sk]

The Origins (Chapter 2)

Summary:  Before the Renegades put an end to the Age of Anarchy, they were six kids trying to survive day by day in a city ruled by chaos and desolation. Is there a space for hope and kindness somewhere in Gatlon City? Maybe.

AO3link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25123756/chapters/61113496#workskin

Today’s protagonist is... GEORGIA RAWLES, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. I think you can alredy tell that I am kind of pairing the OG team with each other (not in a romantic way, I swear) so those two member’s stories will be totally realted, but all of them are interconnected in one way or another. Next chapter will be from Kasumi’s perspective, then Evander’s, Tamaya’s, and last, but not least, Hugh’s.

Also, Grammarly is a bitch, so if anyone can recommend me a good english grammar checker, I will be forever greatfull.

And, guys, thank you so much for the support! Every reblog and every like means the world to me <3 

The world that we design

Age of Anarchy

Year 3

Her mother had been very clear to her. Georgia couldn't tell anyone what they were going to do Saturday morning at the Rae house. She couldn't tell her classmates, her teachers, or the gardener with whom she got along so well. If she told anyone, her mother promised that she would burn each of her mystery books and all of her dolls in the fireplace. Georgia knew that her mother was not one to make promises that they would not keep. It was not worth the risk.

After making her swear that she would keep the secret, she told her to choose a toy or a book that she wanted to show Tamaya Rae. Georgia let out a startled cry and started asking hundreds of questions: What was Tamaya Rae like? Had she seen her? How old was she? Was she as pretty as Mrs. Rae, or did she have Mr. Rae's hideous nose? Why did she never leave her home? Was it because of her allergy to the sun? How can you be allergic to the sun?

Her mother lost her patience and sent her to her room.

"Young girls should not bother their mothers with so many questions," she exclaimed.

Georgia tightened her jaw. If her father had been there, he would have defended her. He always let her ask all the questions she wanted.

On Saturday, before leaving, she looked in the huge mirror they had in the living room. With her pink dress and pearl hair clips, it was almost as if Ace Anarchy had not taken over the city three years ago.

Were they poor? No. Georgia went to a private school, her house was in a decent area, and they could even afford to have a maid and a gardener. She knew they were rich. But they used to be even richer.

As soon as they arrived, an employee opened the door to the garden of the Rae house. It used to be prettier, but they still had those roses that she liked so much. That, and the small tower that protruded from the ceiling, gave it an enchanted castle look, perfect setting for the scandalous murder of the king's lover.

"You're right," her mom laughed. “Just don’t tell Tamaya you said that.” And she rang.

Georgia looked out into the garden once more. There was a space where a car would fit perfectly, but there was no car. She didn't think it was because they didn't have one. She had seen the Rae arrive at the church in a dented (but elegant) black car.

Before she can ask her mother, Mrs. Rae opened the door.

"Hello Tara," she greeted with a smile on her red lips. "Good morning Georgia. Come in, come in."

The Rae family had managed to keep their most beautiful things. The ones that caught her attention the most were the chandelier, an old piano, green velvet armchairs, and an antique porcelain vase. Mrs. Rae was talking to her mother when Georgia asked:

"Where's Tamaya?"

Her mother seemed shocked at the interruption, but Mrs. Rae was very light about it.

"Oh sure," she whispered. "Come, follow me. Tara, my dear, why don't you go ahead in the kitchen? Tea should be ready by now."

Tara gave one last look at her daughter before leaving.

Mrs. Rae guided her to the second floor. There was a hallway full of doors, but one stood out from all of them. It was silver with carved emerald details. Behind it, there was a large circular room, with five-meter bookcases covering her even higher walls and a larger bed than Georgia's, covered in cushions with too much lace.

She was watching how the tower was on the inside.

It would be a much prettier room if it wasn't dark.

"Tamaya, your friend has arrived."

Mrs. Rae turned on the light. As soon as her eyes managed to experience the new lighting, Georgia understood why Tamaya did not go to school with her.

Sitting around a crowd of dolls, sipping tea among them, Tamaya Rae looked at her with those amber eyes, identical to her mother's. She wore a green floral dress and her dark hair fell gently over her shoulders. She would have looked angelic, if not for the satiety in her gaze and the huge black wings that came out of her back.

"Tamaya, this is Georgia," said Mrs. Rae with a light push, "Tara Rawle's daughter."

"Hello…”

Tamaya did not change her expression.

"Well, have fun," exclaimed Mrs. Rae after ten seconds of awkward silence. There was too much joy in her words to be true. "Tamaya, behave yourself."

Georgia believed that when Mrs. Rae left, Tamaya was going to pounce on her and rip the skin off her face. Fortunately, that was not the case.

She did nothing.

Literally nothing. She just kept watching her in complete silence.

“Hi Tamaya," Georgia said a little more confidently than before." I'm Georgia. "

"I know."

"Um…"

Tamaya lost interest in her and returned her attention to her dolls. They were drinking real tea.

"Can I join your tea party?" Georgia asked.

"It is not a tea party," Tamaya snapped annoyed, "it is a gathering of the Gatlon City Detective Department."

"Can I join the Gatlon City Detective Department meeting?"

"I'm afraid only those who are part of the department can participate. It is a very important case. I'm sorry."

From her tone of voice, Georgia doubted she was sorry. But she liked that game.

"What do I have to do to join the department, then?"

"We have no openings at this time."

Georgia took a doll with golden curls and said in an extremely shrill voice:

"I quit, Detective Rae, I can't take it anymore."

She dropped the doll onto the bed. To her surprise, Tamaya was unimpressed by a magnificent imitation of a doll's voice. What's more, she looked more fed up than ever.

"You can't join the department. It's my last word."

For some reason, those words hurt Georgia more than she expected. But, as her mother said, it was not worth staying in a place where they did not want her.

"Well, I didn't even want to join anyway," she spat, clutching at her purse.

"Perfect. It looks like we're both on the same page."

"That's right! And playing with dolls is for little girls. I'm already a woman. I had my first period two weeks ago."

"I had mine three weeks ago," said Tamaya. "And frankly, you're not behaving like a woman right now."

Georgia knew she couldn't go out and tell her mother that she already wanted to leave. But she would no longer stand to be with a girl as rude and cruel as Tamaya Rae. Therefore, she decided to fly off and sit on one of the wooden beams that supported the roof of the tower. She took her book out of the purse and began to read it, willing to stay there the rest of the two hours they were going be in that house, without speaking to Tamaya again.

However, she immediately noticed Tamaya was looking at her, with her jaw dropped to the floor.

"What?" Georgia asked from the wooden beam.

"You can fly," Tamaya stammered.

Georgia shrugged like it wasn't a big deal.

"You are a prodigy."

She didn’t answer.

"But then why do you look so...?"

Suspense.

"So what?" she asked. Curiosity was going to kill her if she didn't ask.

"So normal?"

Georgia frowned.

"What do you mean normal?"

"My mom says prodigies always have something that gives them away," she replied. "An unusual eye color, hands too big or ... well, you know."

"Wings."

Tamaya nodded. Georgia had never heard anything so stupid. (Or maybe she had, but she was too upset with Tamaya to remember.)

"Well, your mom is a liar."

Tamaya threw a marble at her with such force that it hit her knee.

"My mom is not a liar!"

"Sorry, but prodigies are not too different from other people," Georgia replied. "What she told you is untrue. How do you call that? I will tell you: it is called a lie. Therefore, your mom is a liar. I rest my case.”

For a second, Tamaya's expression seemed sad.

"But I am too different."

That was when Georgia understood it. It was not just any lie; it was a white lie. Of those that she constantly said. "That dress fits her very well, ma'am." "Oh, but of course I like the bean stew, sir." "Yes, I have studied for the exam, teacher."

"A lie is still a lie, Georgia," she imagined her father reminding her, "no matter what the intention."

"You're not that different," said Georgia.

"Now you are the liar."

"I am not a liar," she defended herself.

"Tell me then. What makes me not that different?”

Georgia thought she would have to use all the skills she had in telling white lies. She stared at the girl below her for a good ten seconds, before realizing there would probably be no need to lie.

"You have pretty hair," said Georgia. "And your dress is beautiful. It shows you have an excellent sense of fashion."

Tamaya smiled.

"You also have a good sense of fashion. I can tell because of your underpants."

Georgia flushed and crossed her legs.

"Tamaya, you creep!”

Tamaya laughed out loud, and Georgia soon joined her. She had to admit it was funny.

"I hardly like wearing dresses," she explained. "They are very uncomfortable to use when I fly."

"I don't like dresses at all," Tamaya replied, "but my mom says I look prettier with them."

“Well, mine says true beauty is within. Wear whatever you want.

"Do you wear whatever you want?"

Georgia nodded.

"What do you use for flying?"

"When I fly, it is at home, when my mother is not around," he explained. "Pants are the most appropriate clothes for flying. What do you use to fly?"

"I do not know how to do it."

Georgia pretended to pass out from the shock.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. My dad won't let me," Tamaya explained sadly. "He thinks I should keep my feet on the ground.”

"Literally."

"Literally, yes."

"That’s unfair.”

"He doesn't know you're here either."

Georgia almost passed out, but this time, for real.

"How so?"

"Yes. My mom invited you because she thought it was a good idea that I talk with someone who doesn't have a head made of plastic," Tamaya explained. "But my dad didn't want to."

"Your dad sounds like a bad guy," she snapped.

For a second, she believed Tamaya would throw her another marble. Instead, she shrugged and muttered:

"He probably is."

"And what did you want?"

"About what?"

"Did you want me to come to play?"

"I didn't care," Tamaya replied. "My dolls have been my only friends in these twelve years of my life, and they have never disappointed me. They could have remained my friends for much longer."

She did not believe it. If she had to be locked in a room, with the dolls as her only company, she would probably go crazy. Of course, she loved her dolls, but not that much. Also, she did not want Tamaya to go crazy. Although her teachers told her that she had a strange ability to drive crazy everyone who ran into her. However, she was sure they used "drive crazy" in the good sense of the word.

She got off the beam and took the doll she had left on the bed.

"What did you say?" she asked the doll. She brought her face close to her ear like the doll was telling her a secret. "Are you sure that's what you want? Okay, I'll let her know." Tamaya looked puzzled. "Detective Egerton says she is very sorry that things ended like this between her and the Detective Department. She knows she cannot fix her mistakes, but she has chosen me as her replacement." She looked at the doll once more, wiping the fake tears from her cheeks. "Oh, you don't know how honored I am, Stella. I promise I'll make you proud."

"Molly," Tamaya corrected.

"Oh, you don't know how honored I am, Molly," Georgia repeated. "I promise I’ll make you proud."

"Okay, Georgia, you can join the team," Tamaya agreed. "But with one condition."

"What is that condition?"

Tamaya slightly flapped her wings. She had a spark in her eyes.

A spark of madness.

"That you teach me how to fly."

Georgia did not stop to think about the problem she would have with the Rae if they discovered she was teaching her daughter to fly. She also didn't remember she had no idea how to explain Tamaya the rules behind the flight. She didn’t even know the rules behind flying. The only thing on her mind at the time was how cool it would be to have a prodigy friend with a power similar to hers and was as much out of her mind as she was.

"I agree. Now, what case are we working on?"

Tamaya poured her a cup of tea.

"Do you remember Mayor Everhart's first wife?" Georgia remembered and nodded. Her mom had mentioned her, yes. "She went to the hospital when she was about to have her baby, nine years ago, right? She came back, but the baby didn't. Supposedly, he was born dead. Two days later, Mrs. Everhart appears dead in her own home. The cause? Suicide… But, was it really suicide? "

Again, that suspense... And now, mystery. Georgia's two favorite things in one person.