#let it be known the hoodie in the first one is black and neon green

[once-vel]

[ID: OP's OC, Zakri, wearing assorted outfits. The first is a hoodie with a large zipper and striped sleeves, the second is a T-shirt over a button up and shorts over leggings with beaded accessories, and the third is a cable knit sweater and long pants. /End ID]

could not be bothered to color them but zakri in clothing i wear frequently

i should doodle zakri in outfits i own in real life sometime. it would feel so incredibly wrong and i think itd be funny

[anxiouslyfred]

Unofficial Bar Security

Summary: Remus likes fighting and has gotten known at his local bar as someone who will fight anyone with bigoted views. He just hopes that his marks don’t mean he’ll meet his soulmate by fighting them

warnings: sexism mentions, homophobia and racism mentions, bar fight

/\/\

Remus enjoyed fighting. He always had and it had only gotten worse when he realised how many bigoted self-absorbed bastards there were around, all to ready to lecture, insult or attack him because of the pride badges he wore, or just because he didn't care about wearing popular fashions.

When the bar he liked going to most often started doing specials and hosting events for Pride month or to support the Black Lives Matter movement, Remus was already on watch for anybody causing trouble. In fact he basically became a voluntary security guard given the owners and staff had assured him that any fights started because someone had been racist or queerphobic towards any labels wouldn't get him thrown out. That was basically permission given to Remus to insert himself into any situation he liked and get into additional fights.

The main reason he even thought curiously about getting into fights was that he was fairly sure however he met his soulmate was going to include him grabbing them. He could only hope that was a grab to get them out of a fight rather than starting one with them. It seemed likely given the lighter skin covered his hands and a line down his chest which no matter how many play fights Remus had instigated with his brother couldn't easily be used to attack, only capture and possibly defend as a body shield.

He had visions of meeting them in the bar, possibly someone getting harassed by the one racist group that refused to get the point that their views weren't welcome, and just grabbing them out of the way. There could even still be a fight once he got them out of the way, to show how skilled he is at them.

Remus dismissed the daydreams from his mind, taking another sip of his beer and glancing around the bar. The group of pests was back again, but they seemed to be being quiet for the time being. There were a few groups of teenagers from out of town, probably on a road trip together or something for the summer.

There was a fabulous fellow just waiting at the bar, and looking more than a little uncomfortable. They seemed a bit out of place, hunching into their hoodie and glancing around at the various groups cheering and laughing together. Remus  had to watch for a while, just taking in the lithe form and wary posture. Either this was someone who had been forced to come with their friends or had come out for some space from a bad situation.

Still Remus wouldn't mind on getting his hands on that bum, or offering to keep their company for a while. There was only so much control one could have while waiting for their soulmate and Remus would happily let it go for an adorable... fighter? While he'd been watching the person they must have heard something from the abuse gang and was already glaring and stepping over to them.

Just was the frantic gestures Remus had to move closer, ready to act whether to help or just get the person out of there was yet to be determined. The group had been in the bar longer than normal without causing trouble and tended to react worse the more alcohol they'd had, which could be very bad for the person Remus had been watching.

Whatever was being said was getting hissed too quietly for him to make out the words, but the reaction was obvious. The men that had been laughing together and judging everyone else had started off falling silent but now were all standing, scowling and trying to get out from the table in order to surround the person. Remus barely thought the instant one raised an empty bottle as though about to break it.

The noise of yelling and glass breaking broke out just as he grabbed the person, one hand aiming for their shoulder but hooking around the neck, the other for their bum as Remus pushed into them, the momentum taking them into a booth next to where the guys were getting out from.

“Security! These guys are attempting to attack us with a broken glass! They've been making racist and homophobic comments all evening too!” He turned to yell after checking the person hadn't hit anything in the action. There were battles Remus would love to fight, but the chances of someone completely uninvolved getting hurt with broken glass being used as a weapon was far too high. Plus hopefully if security got involved then the group would be banned forever this time.

From the faces now directed towards him it was obvious they all realised it too. He might be the volunteer unofficial security against bigoted people but as soon as he was calling for the people paid for the role, they weren't likely to be coming back again. Still Remus paid attention to what was happening, using his body to block the fascinating person behind him in case any of them tried anything now. The cameras in the place would show what had happened and his own reports that had been recorded after the previous few fights they'd had should be more than enough to identify them if they tried coming back.

Eventually though he turned back to face the person, hoodie now discarded to the side of them as they were trying to look at the side he'd tackled them from. “Are you okay? Sorry for tacking you, but those guys are some nasty work I've been trying to teach to be better with my fists for weeks. Didn't know what else to do when one raised the bottle.”

They startled, turning to him with a stunned expression, before raising their hand up to their neck. “Yeah, yeah, I'm good, I guess. Um, are your hands...?” They broke off, looking at Remus as though they were torn between finishing the question and ignoring it. Their actions had already made Remus realise that their neck now had a neon green hand print on it though.

Raising his hands up for them both to look he burst out laughing to see they'd turned violet, but just to be sure he was dragging his top and jacket off to look at the pale line on his chest, now a matching purple to his hands. “Oh my god! I actually did that trying to protect you! I mean I hoped, I hoped so much, cause body connections like that are kinda weird to get but with all the fights I've been in I was still worried.”

“I mean that's a better worry than I had. Everyone said one of these marks had to be a birthmark and if they could only see the neck that my soulmate is going to try to suffocate me the first time we touch.” Their voice was shaky, and they were watching Remus as though expecting some kind of bad reaction to his soulmate being them.

“Never. Besides that's like the least interesting way for someone to die. I've got books and books about how different deaths are interesting and suffocation just isn't that good.” he had calmed a little at the mention, reaching out to stroke over their neck for a moment before realising he still knew nothing about this person, and they knew nothing about him in return. “I'm Remus, by the way, and you are fascinatingly dark. He/him pronouns if you will. Can I know my soulmates name and pronouns, or even just whatever battle led you to telling those jerks off?”

“Virgil and  he/him too, currently. I'll let you know when they change. And those guys were making the girls close to where I was stood with the catcalling and jeers they made. I might not know them but nobody should have to hear the vile things they were talking about when they just wanted to have a night out.” Virgil nodded, tugging a pronoun wristband out from the sleeve of his top so it could be seen.

Remus snickered a little. “I have done the same before. Got standing permission to get into fights if people say hate filled things or encourage discrimination while I'm here.”

“What – what do you want to do now? About the soulmates thing, I mean?” Virgil asked, gaze following Remus's hands as he bounced them a bit.

That felt like a loaded question, and just from the way Virgil was shifting in his seat Remus could see he was anxious about the answer. There was a lot of pressure from society over how soulmates should act together, but it all felt pretty meaningless to him. “Get to know you preferably. I'm not jumping into settling down with a complete stranger no matter how cute your butt is, but we could practise fighting together? Message online or something?”

“Thank god. I did not want to jump into soulmates means we have to be joint at the hip thing either. It sounds socially exhausting just thinking about it.” Virgil sighed, giving the distinct impression that if Remus had wanted it he would have gone along with it all for his sake. “It does sound like fun to practise wrestling with you. Where do you train?”

Remus had always enjoyed fighting. He was just ecstatic to know that he didn't meet his soulmate by fighting them.

[sonderthroughthestreets]

Moon Jellies

For anon, a sobbe aquarium first date fic (I’m so sorry this is late!)

Also I’ve never been to an aquarium, much less on a date in one, so sorry if this sucks. Also sorry for any mistakes. 

Any more prompts are welcome!

Robbe was a nervous wreck. His palms were sweaty, his head was racing, and his heart was beating a million miles per minute as he stared at himself in the mirror. He smelled his wrists to check the cologne and then shook them out to relieve a bit of the nerves. He blew out a breath as he ran his fingers through his hair one last time, trying to get all the curls and spikes just right. This is ridiculous, he thought. It’s just a date. No. It was actually more than that. It was his first date with Sander. Something he couldn’t have ever dreamed of actually happening a week ago.

Just last week, they had been laying on Robbe’s bed, ankles and heads at opposite ends of each other, talking about school, assignments, friends, places and somehow they’d ended up on the topic of sea creatures and aquariums.

“Do you know that jellyfish don’t have a brain?” Sander asked. There was a twinkle in his eye and a mischievous smile forming across his mouth. Robbe looked at him.

“You don’t have a brain,” he playfully and lightly kicked his shoulder, a smile playing on his lips too.

“Ok, but seriously, they don’t have a nervous system, like people don’t even know how they move!” he continued.

Robbe shrugged. “They are beautiful though,” he said, looking up at the ceiling.

Sander sat up, now fully engaged in the conversation, his thoughts running.

“They have four feeding tentacles, they can sting you so bad, they have five stomachs and they’re 97% water. Is that not impressive?” he asked.

“I guess,” Robbe smiled at his enthusiasm.

“You guess?” Sander scoffed, tilting his head. “So what impresses you, Ijzermans?”

Robbe tried to ignore how his tone made his heart flip in dizzying cartwheels. Tried to not let the sound of his last name coming from him drown him. Tried not to say, you.

“Not much. Right now they sound like the kind of thing I’d be reading about in my biology textbook,” he shifted his legs and slumped further into the bed.

“But you like reading your biology textbook,” Sander smirked.

“I don’t know, they sound kind of scary. Whimsical little things at the bottom of the ocean that we don’t know much about. Like you said, we don’t even know how they move.”

He could feel Sander’s eyes on him, wholly green, sparkling with intent. Robbe couldn’t take it anymore and finally looked at him questioningly as if to say, what?

“They drift through the current” he finally said. “That doesn’t mean they know where they’re going but...” he kept his eyes on him. “Do you wanna go see them?”

“What?”

“There’s an exhibit at the aquarium that I really wanted to see and they’ve got- well you- I mean - we don’t have to-“

“We?”

Robbe couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Yes we. If you want to that is” Sander smiled. He was suddenly kind of sheepish, but his eyes never left Robbe’s. And Robbe in his abrupt state of confusion could never have imagined Sander like this, all nervous and anxious. He and Sander had been spending a lot of time together over the past few months and he could never tell when his energy changed if it was because he was Sander or if it was because of an effect Robbe had on him. He couldn’t even imagine that he could ever have any sort of effect on him at all. He realized it had been a while and he needed to respond.

“Yeah,” he grinned, nodding his head. “Yeah, I want to.”

“It’s a date, then,” he reached over for his phone, scrolling through his calendar. “We could go Wednesday after school. Half day, right?”

As Sander tapped to go to the aquarium’s website to buy tickets, Robbe stared at him. His eyes shifted over his bleached hair, his endearing eyes, his black Bowie shirt, and the way he looked so nonchalant now, seconds after being anything but calm. And Robbe didn’t know where his courage came from but he wanted to take advantage of his last sentence to say,

“When you say date, do you mean like a date date?” he asked.

Sander froze. He slowly looked up from his phone, licked his lips and asked, “Do you want it to be a date date?”

Robbe breathed in. There was no turning back now.

“Yeah. Do you?”

“Yeah,” Sander’s lips curved upwards.

And now Robbe was standing in front of the mirror feeling very self-conscious and not at all like the Robbe that asked him out. Or was it Sander that asked him? He couldn’t tell but he’d be here very soon and all he could think about was what do you even wear to an aquarium? He opted to wear his dark green hoodie and jeans. This was casual anyways and he didn’t really feel like a dress shirt would be appropriate for the occasion and just when he felt like maybe he could change, he heard the doorbell ring. Shaking his hair one last time and grabbing his phone off the counter he went to greet Sander.

“Hey,” said a smiling Sander.

“Hi,” said a smiling Robbe.

“You look good,” Sander’s eyes drifted down. It vanished Robbe’s doubts and he looked at Sander too, in his white shirt and black leather jacket.

“So do you.”

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

They started with the sea turtles and then would make their way to the stingrays. Sander had said they’d go through the whole aquarium and he was saving the best one, the jellyfish of course, for last.

He was so excited, he was practically vibrating at the front doors. There weren’t as many people inside since it was a weekday and Robbe figured that probably made Sander beam even more whenever he looked at him.

As they walked around each exhibit, Robbe felt like he’d never seen such beauty and iridescence. Seeing how the lights made all the creatures glimmer in the water and how the curves of the glass above them engulfed them into the sea made Robbe feel the strangest sense of calm. He watched in their respective exhibits as stingrays and sea turtles and beluga whales swam by, their slow movements synchronizing with his heartbeat. It felt as if time stopped and when Sander grabbed his hand, he looked to see him staring at him with such sincerity, the crinkles in his eyes prominent from his smile. Robbe sighed.

“I can see you like it,” he felt Sander’s breath on his cheek.

“Yeah, it’s really great.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet.”

“The jellyfish?”

“Mmmmhh,” Sander hummed in agreement. “But first, lets check out that one,” he nodded to another area in the corner, a more hands-on and interactive exhibit.

Robbe and Sander stood near the tank in front of them inspecting the oddly shaped starfish. Sander nudged Robbe.

“Touch it.”

“No.”

“Touch it.”

“No.”

“Touch it.”

“No! You touch it!” Robbe giggled and shoved him lightly. Sander reached out and ran his fingers over one of its arms.

“It’s soft,” he said. Then suddenly, “Ahh!” as he pulled his hand out of the water. His finger had bumped a sharp rock and he shook the water off his hand as he inspected it. “Can you kiss it better?” he asked Robbe.

Robbe shook his head, chuckling as he lifted his hand to his lips and kissed it lightly.

“Actually my lips hurt, can you kiss them better too?” Sander smirked.

“I don’t kiss on the first date,” Robbe wrapped his arms around him.

“Mmmmh, maybe on the next one then.”

And then finally, finally, they made it to the jellyfish exhibit. Sander’s pace picked up faster than Robbe’s as he let go of his fingers to run up to the glass. Robbe followed, watching. He looked up to the bioluminescent creatures, neon colours of pinks, purples, blues and yellows, and stared in awe. Seeing them in his textbook was one thing, but seeing them in person, right in front of you, floating around like some strange, other-worldly thing? It wasn’t scary, it was...breathtaking.

“Aurelia aurita,” Sander broke his trance. “Or more commonly known as moon jellyfish or the common jellyfish, moon jellies if you will,” he made a face, laughing. “They’re found in most oceans but mostly the Atlantic. No nervous system, no muscles, they feed on plankton. They live a simple life” he finished. It sounded exactly like what Robbe had read in his textbook. He thought he was the science nerd here and he wasn’t expecting Sander to be so knowledgeable in all this.

“So,” his lips etched up. “Why jellyfish?” Robbe asked. Sander took a moment to watch the creatures slowly float by.

“My mom said I used to draw them all the time when I was a kid. Then I got obsessed with them and as I learned more about them, I think I got really interested in the fact that they don’t have brains. At least not in a complicated way like some animals and humans do.”

He looked lost in the water, eyes in a daze and Robbe almost regretted asking the question. Sander took a seat on the empty bench placed for viewing the fish. Robbe followed.

“Do you remember how I told you about my thoughts? And how they don’t stop sometimes?”

Robbe nodded. They’d gotten quite close the last few months.

“Well, I think I like jellyfish bc they don’t have brains to have any thoughts. They can just drift wherever the current takes them,” he said. “But sometimes they can sting you and I- I don’t want to do that.”

Robbe thought back to their conversation a week ago and how he had called jellyfish scary. He had no idea Sander felt like that. He didn’t know if Sander even meant it like this when they were talking then. He thought it was just about the sea creatures. And maybe it had been in the beginning.

“Sander,” Robbe immediately took his hands in his, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. “You’re not a jellyfish. You’re you.” He shifted closer, touching his knees to his. “And I really like you.”

“I really like you, too,” Sander touched his forehead to Robbe’s. After a long moment of just sitting still like that, Robbe whispered,

“Can I kiss you?”

“I thought you didn’t kiss on first dates,” Sander chuckled softly. “Yes.”

Robbe softly pressed his lips to his. Though the exhibit was practically empty, he was thankful to keep it short and sweet, still basking in the taste, lightheaded from the fact that he was here with Sander. And as their date came to an end, Robbe left feeling content and grateful that he agreed to come to the aquarium with him. And the best part was Sander holding his hand throughout it all, excited and giddy to look at all the sea animals. Once they walked back to Robbe’s door, Sander felt reluctant to let go of his hand.

“I had a great time today,” Robbe said.

“Me too.”

And before Sander knew it, Robbe was pulling him in for another longer kiss, kissing him in ways he couldn’t at the aquarium.

“See you tomorrow.”

“See you,” Sander lingered a bit longer until he let go and headed out.

“Remember!” Robbe shouted as Sander turned back. “You’re not a jellyfish!”

“I could be! Am I not pretty enough?”

“Beautiful!”

Sander gave him one last smile before he disappeared around the corner. Robbe finally closed the door and his cheeks hurt from grinning so widely. Today didn’t feel real but he was so glad Sander let him into his world. One thing that he knew for sure was that this was the best first date ever and that he couldn’t wait until the next one.

[sonicgetsrawed]

Warm Feelings, Cool Weather

The first of the varigo week prompts!! Not gonna lie I misinterpreted the prompt as warmth so oopsies but I hope it still counts!!! Enjoy!! @alistairwrites

Varian pulled the blankets tighter around himself, Ruddiger underneath them laying across his feet. He was so warm and comfortable, and he had every intention of staying in bed all day, especially when he knew there was a chilly autumn breeze outside. It was the perfect way to spend the day. The only thing that was missing was Hugo.

Varian groaned as the blankets were pulled away and thrown to the floor. Never mind, Hugo could stay missing. Ruddiger wasted no time in joining them, burrowing into the pile. The fucking traitor.

“Are you ready to go?” Hugo asked, kneeling at the side of their bed, a smug smile on his lips, his face far too bright for someone who was awake before the sun was even up.

“No.” Varian responded with a glare, shoving his pillow into Hugo’s face and promptly turning around. He brought his knees to his chest as best he could, trying to fight off the chill that was already sinking in.

“Aw, babe, don’t be like that.” Varian didn’t bother turning around, the bed shifting as Hugo climbed in, pulling Varian to his chest. Varian nuzzled into the warmth, Hugo’s body heat a welcome presence, unlike the blonde himself. “It was your idea to go to the pumpkin patch today.”

“Great, and now it’s my idea to stay home.” Varian said, his eyes already starting to slip closed as he held onto Hugo’s arms.

“Sorry, Sweet Cheeks, no can do.” Hugo said, kissing Varian’s temple before lifting the smaller male and moving out of bed. Varian whimpered in protest, pouting as Hugo set him down, his feet even colder now that they were on the floor.

“Please.” Varian pouted, wrapping his arms around Hugo’s middle and jutting out his bottom lip.

“Well aren’t you fucking adorable. But the answer is still no.” Hugo said, freeing himself from Varian’s hold and tapping his nose. “Be ready in ten minutes! That pumpkin patch won’t be there all day!”

“Yes it will.” Varian replied, glaring at Hugo’s retreating form. He hated how the other was practically immune to his puppy dog eyes at this point. It was unfair really.

“Fuck you!~” Hugo called with a smile and a wave, shutting their bedroom door so Varian could change. Varian flopped back down on the bed, debating if it was worth it to risk actually pissing Hugo off by staying in bed, or if he should just relent and get ready. He sighed quickly choosing the latter. As much as he’d rather be in bed Hugo did seem excited about their planned day, and he did usually do whatever Varian wanted, so he could sacrifice a nice day in bed for Hugo’s happiness.

“Looks like we’re not getting out of this one, huh, Ruddy?” Varian said, sitting up so he could scratch the raccoon underneath his chin. Ruddiger’s only response was a soft purr. Of course the raccoon didn’t care, he got to stay in bed all day regardless. Varian reluctantly pushed himself to his feet, rummaging through the closet and heading into the bathroom to get ready for the day. He slipped on a pair of black jeans and Hugo’s favorite green hoodie, not bothering to tie his shoelaces as he threw on his sneakers. It always drove Hugo insane, but he didn’t see the point of tying them. He grabbed another heavier jacket from the closet knowing he’d need it for the morning chill, but would likely shed it later in the day. He gave Ruddiger one last pet and headed out of their bedroom.

“Ready when you are.” Varian said, barely suppressing a yawn. He smiled gratefully as Hugo handed him a cup of coffee, the mug still warm. He placed a soft kiss to Hugo’s cheek, the warmth of it tingling against Varian’s cold lips. “Thanks, babe.”

“Anytime.” Hugo said, taking Varian’s hand in his and grabbing the keys off the kitchen counter. Varian smiled as they headed out the door, smiling wider as he took in Hugo’s outfit. It was nothing special persay, just a pair of ripped grey skinny jeans tucked into his regular pair of boots, and the black hoodie he’d gotten Hugo for his birthday last month with a slit in the sleeves for his thumbs and ‘kiss my ass’ written in neon green on the back just above the hem. He’d spent months scouring the stores for the perfect hoodie and when he saw that one he’d known it was perfect. And Hugo seemed to agree, wearing it any chance he got. Varian was just glad to get him something that actually kept him warm instead of that cropped hoodie that left him shivering for the sake of ‘style.’ And they definitely needed the warmth today.

Varian moved closer to Hugo as they headed out into the cold morning, the sun barely starting to peek above the horizon. “Why is it so fucking cold today?”

“It’s not that bad.” Hugo said, slipping into the driver's seat and blasting the heat in the car. Varian hummed contently, sinking into the seat and putting his feet on the dashboard as the warm air hit his face. “Hey! Feet down!” Hugo ordered, swatting at Varian’s feet before using his sleeve to clean the dashboard. “Aw, Livy, baby, he didn’t hurt you did he?”

Varian rolled his eyes as Hugo cooed at the car. “I swear you love this car more than you love me.”

“Now you know how I feel about the trash panda.” Hugo shot back, Varian sticking out his tongue as Hugo adjusted the mirrors.

Varian turned to glance out the window as they pulled away from their building, taking small sips from the cup in his hands, the warmth of it chasing the chill away. It definitely wasn’t the same as being wrapped up under piles of blankets, but he was just as comfortable here with Hugo, his heart warm with nothing but love.

Varian placed a quick peck to Hugo’s cheek, Hugo’s hand flying to his cheek. “Wha-“

“I love you.” Varian said, letting out a laugh at Hugo’s bewildered expression.

“What was that for?” Hugo asked, taking one of Varian’s hands in his, Hugo’s hand much colder than Varian’s.

“Nothing. I just think you’re amazing.” Varian answered, smiling softly as Hugo’s cheeks heated up.

“Well I think you’re amazing too.” Hugo said, placing a kiss to Varian’s knuckles. “And I love you, more than anything.”

“Even more than the car?” Varian teased, wiggling his eyebrows as they pulled up to a stop sign.

“Yes, even more than the car.” Hugo responded with a laugh of his own, pulling Varian in for a quick kiss on the lips. “Now let’s go carve the shit out of pumpkins.”

Varian just threw his head back in a laugh as Hugo stepped on the gas. Of course that’s why he was so excited about going to the pumpkin patch. He should’ve guessed. But there in the comfort of the car, alone with just his boyfriend, Varian had never felt warmer.

[eeriefeelingsat3amuwu]

What were the octopus and the spider doing?

Characters: Remus, Virgil (Sanders Sides), Janus mention, Roman mention- minor spoilers for SvS Redux

Tw: cursing, blood, slight gore (it’s Remus, what do you expect)

Relationships: platonic Dukexiety because it’s my JAM bro

Genre: Idk man, fluff? Something like that but not quite as fluffy? Just...my boys doing shit together

Like, dudes, I love these two idiots, they’re my boiis and I would kill for them. Enjoy...this and I apologize for any mistake that was made by me being a clueless Europian Who’s shit with English spelling. Especially double letters. Ugh.

Virgil was laying on his bed listening to one of his playlists and being really bored. He didn’t wanna show face up there because everything hurt (physicaly, for once) and he just wasn’t in the mood to deal with the others’ shit right now. He fucking hated everything. The wedding was a total disaster and he had to keep Thomas’ head down during it, so he was tired. He very well knew that the callback would’ve been a better choice, but that would be siding with Janus and he kinda hated him. A...lot of stuff happened between the two of them and they had a falling out a few months back, so they acted like bitches around each other now. So, thanks to that, he was exhausted, everything hurt and he was done™️, all because he held a grudge. He sometimes really hated himself. So he just started singing along to the songs and pulled out his sewing kit and a dress he was working on right now and just got himself into work. He was so lost in the music and work that he hadn’t heard another side pop up in his room. And so he was notified of Remus’ presence only when he threw a hand on him. Just. A hand. He screamed and fell off the bed. “Jesus fuck!”| “Remus would be just enough Virgey.” answered Remus with a smug smirk. “Oh fuck off bitch! And why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be, like, driving Deceit crazy or laying in a ditch full of mud and blood by now?” Remus snorted as he leaned down, grabbed the hand of off the bed and placed it back on his wrist, moving it around until the bone clicked back. “Well, I don’t know what you’ve been doing down here, but Double D went up there,” he said pointing towards the ceiling, “and laying in a ditch seems boring, so I came to either A: annoy the shit out of you; or B: beat your Just Dance high score. It’s up to you emo.” Virgil rolled his eyes snapping his fingers (placing his dress safely in the closet) and stood up, dusting his hoodie. “That ain’t fair Dukey, you’re gonna annoy me whatever I choose. So, I present this: we beat Janice’s high score in Just Dance, since he’s still better then the both of us, and if they ain’t done by then I’ll show you a few pieces of clothing I’ve been working on recently and we’ll have a show. How ‘bout that?”| “Great ideas Virge. I approve! And...I’ll be there first!” he screamed and took a running start towards the door. Virgil yelped and ran out behind him. They raced down the hallway towards the Dark Side commons and it looked like Remus was winning, but there was one place where they needed to turn left and since Remus was running really quickly, he rammed right into the wall whilst Virgil summoned his spider arms and swung like Spider-man around the corner, landing in front of the sofa. Remus groaned and got up from the floor stumbling over to Virgil and patting him on the back before colapsing on the floor again, face down this time.

“Yo Re, you alive?” asked Virgil poking him with his foot. “Ughhhhhh, fckng waaall, tht wsn’t fairrr.” could be heard from Remus. Virgil turned him around and helped him get up, laughing out loud when he noticed that he broke his nose. He grabbed it and with the words “Dude, don’t cum please.” snapped it back into position. Remus groaned, but thankfuly obliged Virgil’s request. The two of them were playing Just Dance for the next half an hour or so until they FINALY defeated Janus’ high score by switching when one of them got tired in the middle of the song. They cheered and then a loud bang could be heard from upstairs. They screeched like the demons that they were and jumped onto each other. “What the fuck was that?!” Virgil screamed as soon as the sound stopped, his voice warped. “I don’t have a fucking clue, but I sincerly hope that Jany deals with it before it comes down here and eats us alive like fucking oysters leaving only our skin!”| “That isn’t helping you cunt!”| “I know! Sorry, defense mechanism.”| “I know, sorry, I’m KiNdA stressed right now!”| “Please stop screaming.”| “Sorry...”| “Yea...could we maybeee go to your room? It’s a bit more soundproof then the commons.”| “Oh sure! Let’s go.” Virge said and teleported them.

He exhaled with relief when they landed in his room and went to the closet. “Let’s just do this shit. Still better then going up there.”| “Agreed. And you are actually really good at making clothes. What am I gonna wear? Skin? Uncleaned fur? Dead bees?”| “No. You’re gonna be wearing a dress Rere. I’m not making them out of dead bees. If you’re a good bitch and don’t rip them/ cover them in blood or any other substances, I’ll let you do my nails after. Deal?”| “Deal! Oh! Are they long? Maybe I could use them to scare the shit out of Roman in his beaaauuutiful castle...I should write that down!” Remus said and snapped a torn up notebook into his hand along with a pen. He poked himself in the thumb with said pen and used his blood as a filling, writing down three or four lines. Virgil could see only a few words (Remus wasn’t known for his amazing handwriting), but even with the words he did see, he knew that maybe he should stop by Roman’s room afterwards and tell him that he probably shouldn’t stay in the imagination during the next full moon. He pulled the dress out of the closet and checked them. Everything seemed to be fine, but one can never be too careful, so he checked the inside as well and grabbed a tape measure, measuring Remus’ chest, hips and waist. After he was sure everything was fine, he gave him the dress. Remus looked at them and actually stayed silent for a while, so Virgil counted it as a win on his part. Remus then jumped into the dress and got tangled up in the cloth, falling to the ground. Virgil snickered, helped him up and untangled him, moving the dress so that they would fit better. After he was done he turned around and gave Remus a pair of shoes to go along with the dress and when he put them on, turned to look at him. He nodded to himself. Re looked good. The dress was made from a lot of different layers of green cloth, each of them in their own shade of the colour. They were short, only going down towards the knees, but one part of the dress were black leggins, which went all the way down. The skirt was layered and looked like a flower, with multiple layeres of green in the bottom and a black overcoat on the top; the top of the dress was made from black leather with neon green laces tightening it. The sleeves were puffed and made from two types of cloth - a silky dark green that made up the sleeve and a seethrough lime green on top, slightly scrunched up. Neither the sleeves nor the skirt would be restraining any movement, so they were both pretty and practical. The boots that went with them were tall and black going almost all the way up to the knees and they had neon green laces - they looked the same as the top of the dress. They had platforms, but no heels, again, made to slay with style (and slay dragon witches without tripping over something, it is Remus we are talking about). Remus’ eyes actually sparkled when he saw how he looked in said dress and he twirled around, laughing when the skirt spinned. Yes, he was obnoxious, loud, had a very specific style and most of his thoughts and ideas were gross, but that didn’t mean that he hated looking cute. He was actually very soft, but he rarely let anyone see that. Virgil been knew tho. Like, what would you expect? He grew up with him and even though they were supposed to hate each other now, they were still best friends. And that won’t change. There was this one night, a pretty long time ago, Virgil still lived with the ‘Dark Sides’ and he and Remus were sitting in a tree, laughing about some new prank they pulled on Janus (hence why they were in a tree and not inside), when Remus looked at Virgil and told him: “You’re my brother, right? You might not be Roman, we might not be related, but you’re my brother!” And Virgil, even though he was a bit surprised by this, responded with a “Yep!” And that hasn’t changed.

Tags: @nyamafriend @exhaustedauthor @definietlynotsatan

[lumiolivier]

The Good Old Days Chapter 29: A Walk of Shame Looks Good on You

A/N: Hi, friends! Look, I'm sitting here waiting for bleach to process, so I got a little time to kill. But before we get into anything fun, we need to take care of some business first. Nothing bad. It's just a little housekeeping before I leave for Michigan.

I know I said you'd be taken care of while I'm gone. Well, I lied. I thought you'd be taken care of, but I'm going to be away from my computer and away from my desk and you're going to have to wait a couple weeks until the next update, ok? I hope that's alright with you. I really did try, guys. I tried my damnedest. So, we'll be back in August. I promise. And I love you x

I’m pretty sure I left Veronica in capable hands. At least I sure as hell hope so. Once my shift came to an end, I wanted nothing more than to go home and crash. Granted, I knew I’d be up half the night, worrying about Veronica and hoping she made it home ok, but I’m sure she’ll be alright. If all else fails, she can kick ass with the best of them. And Tessa didn’t seem like the type to steal one of Veronica’s kidneys. I hope things work out with those two.

All I wanted now was to go home and crash, though. It’s been a long ass day. And a long ass night. And all I wanted was my bed. That sounded downright heavenly. And maybe a drink or two. Just a little something, something to cap off the night. It’s not like I got to have one with the Old Man. I was busy working the bar. Even though I wasn’t technically supposed to. But I digress. Still, a drink sounded nice. Both my brothers had their vices. César smoked like a chimney and I’m not sure how legal Tony’s vices were. I knew he kept them in the house, but I wasn’t going to tell anyone. I don’t think he even knew I knew.

Once I got home, I went straight into the bedroom and fell into my bed without a sound. Good. I could use about twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep. But I knew better than that. I took a quick hit from the tequila bottle and shut my eyes. In a perfect world, I wouldn’t just get that twelve hours of sleep, but I’d have something better in place of my body pillow. But I knew that wasn’t happening. Unless one of my brothers were stupid enough to try and be my little spoon. We were close, but we weren’t that close.

The next morning, I woke up to an empty house. Tony and César weren’t in their beds. Mama had already left for work. I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. The world was my oyster. At least this time, I didn’t wake up wanting to walk into oncoming traffic, so I got that going for me. And even with this new lease on life (despite me still wishing like hell that Vanessa as on the next flight home), I needed a way to kill the day before I had to go play in the Narrows.

Breakfast? Maybe I start with breakfast. And it happens to be eleven o’clock. I knew where I could get the best breakfast in the city. Just down the block. I threw my shoes on and headed toward that beautiful, bright green oasis in the middle of this concrete jungle. Dios los bendiga…I’m home. Well, I’d always feel at home in the city I loved, but this? This seemed a little more like home than I could’ve ever anticipated in my life.

“Buenos dias, niño!” Abuela greeted me. And right there. Right there was the cure for what ailed me. If only I had the energy to come here yesterday morning. Maybe I wouldn’t have been in the funk I’ve been in since a flight left JFK for Rome yesterday morning. But I digress. I still had Abuela.

“Morning,” I melted inside.

“Regular order then?” she assumed.

“Si, por favor,” I nodded, “And uh…You know how you’ve been making my horchata with…”

“Espresso in your horchata,” Abuela knew me all too well, “Of course, Frankie. I can tell when you had a rough night. I’m not going to ever say no to you and you should know better than to even think I would.”

“Sorry, Abuela,” I giggled a bit. Yep. This woman would always be the cure for whatever ailed me. In this case, it’s depression and a certain kind of homesickness I’ve never had before.

“It’s alright, mijo,” she let it go, “You seem off. And not like you went out with Tony and César last night and came home an hour after closing time. Is everything alright?”

“It’s been better,” I brushed her off, “But nothing you need to worry about.”

Because that was for me to worry about. I didn’t need to put that burden on Abuela’s shoulders. As good as a vent would probably do me, she didn’t need that. And I didn’t really feel like getting into it. Abuela had enough to take care of. And I needed a distraction more than anything. That’s half the reason why I liked coming here. I watch Abuela carefully craft my newborn baby burrito with love while I get to throw down horchata. Occasionally, I get some words of wisdom from her. It’s a good time. Besides, this food truck had more than just Abuela memories attached to it. It had…

BAM!

I felt a tiny pair of arms wrap around my waist and a face in the middle of my back, “We really need to stop running into each other like this, Frankie.”

Gracias a dios, she made it home ok. And I’m assuming with both kidneys. There’s the other memories Abuela’s food truck has…It’s where it all began again. If I never would’ve met the little spazz at my hip, who knows if I would’ve gotten my second shot with her sister? But I don’t know…I think I like her sister. Just a little bit. And…Well…She’s not too bad either. I spun Veronica around and got a decent look at her. And she looked like hell, but in the best way.

“Let’s see,” I teased her a bit, “Last night’s clothes, hair a mess, a hoody that does not belong to you, smudged mascara under your eyes…What? No broken heel, Veronica?”

“No,” Veronica rolled her eyes, “You’re mixing me up with my sister again, Frankie. That’s a Vanessa thing. I don’t wear heels. More of a platform leather boots type myself, but that’s just me.”

“Still,” I threw an arm around her, “Walks of shame look cute on you, Veronica.”

“Last night was fun,” Veronica leaned on me, stilling a drink from my horchata, “I fucking owe you.”

“For what?” I giggled, “I didn’t do anything.”

“My ass, you didn’t!” she squealed, “Dude, it’s not every day someone like Tessa walks into a bar that I just happen to be at for the night. That kind of serendipity doesn’t happen for someone like me.”

“I’d be careful about whose love story you’re poking at there, Veronica,” I argued, “Because…Uh…Didn’t we meet because of a relationship that started that very same way?”

“We met right here,” Veronica reminded me, “Because someone was too chicken shit to call Vanessa on his own and needed a wingman.”

“Call last night me paying you back,” I threw a ten on the window, “Abuela?”

“Si, Frankie?” she popped out, “Necesitas algo?”

“She does,” I ordered for her, “Before she slurps down all of my horchata.”

“I’m a thirsty bitch,” Veronica shrugged, “Sue me.”

“Gladly.”

“I got dibs on Vanessa.”

“Dammit…” I grumbled to myself, “Alright. I respectfully withdraw and I’ll just be over here doing other things. Don’t worry about me.”

“You’re just mad she’d represent me first,” Veronica laughed.

“And Abuela,” I added, “If you wanted to add extra spit to her taquitos, I wouldn’t say no.”

“Francisco!” Abuela snapped, “No! Sabes que nunca lo haría!”

“It’s a joke,” I backed off, “Just a little joke. A little ha, ha. Sorry…I know you wouldn’t.”

“Es verdad…” Abuela wrapped my burrito up and got started on Veronica’s taquitos, “Honestly, Frankie…I’m disappointed.”

“It’s alright, Abuela,” Veronica let it go, “I knew he meant it with love.”

“So,” I wondered, “What happened after you and Tessa left the Narrows?”

“We went out,” Veronica’s face lit up, “There’s a club about five blocks down from her apartment building. Her band played!”

“I didn’t know she was in a band.” But I could tell she at least played by the state of her fingers.

“I didn’t either until last night,” she swooned, “And she’s damn good at it! I’ve never seen someone jam like that. She’s much better than any of the local bands around here. Hell, at one point, I didn’t think she even needed the rest of the band. She was amazing on her own. But it’s more than just that. You should’ve seen it, Frankie. She’s…She’s too cool for me. I know I’m a pretty cool bitch, but she’s even cooler than I am.”

“Shut up,” I settled her, “There’s no way.”

“It’s true!” Veronica went on, “When we went back to her apartment, she showed me this big, beautiful bong that she blew herself! And it was so fucking pretty. It was probably a couple feet long, but it was black and hot pink and a neon green and this really pretty smoky electric blue and I have never wanted something more in my life. Dear god, it’s gorgeous. We burned one and went to sleep. No sex, no nothing. Just…Neither one of us wanted to sleep alone and Tessa wasn’t going to make me go back home. So, we didn’t. So, I laid there with her and…Frankie, I almost cried. It felt so fucking nice for a change.”

“Well, I’m happy for you, kiddo,” I kissed the top of her head, “And I’m glad I could help. But like I said. You helped me get Vanessa. Why shouldn’t you get Tessa, too?”

“I appreciate it,” Veronica threw her arms around me, “Seriously, Frankie…I’ve never had a serious girlfriend before. I’ve had casuals, but never anything serious.”

“Are you already thinking serious?” I gasped.

“Kind of…” a quick flash of red brushed across her cheeks, “But I don’t need your judgment, Mr. I’ve known Vanessa for six months and I damn near proposed to her the other night.”

“I never said there was any sort of judgment,” I assured her, grabbing her order from the window, “Gracias, Abuela.”

“De nada, cariño,” Abuela smiled, “Please. Go on. This is the most excitement I’ve gotten all morning. I’m invested.”

“I need to be getting home,” Veronica winced, “Before I end up playing into Victoria’s kidnapping fantasies, too.”

“Alright,” I hugged her tight, “And again, my offer still stands.”

“I know,” she nuzzled into me, “If Victoria becomes too much for me to handle and I can’t suppress the urge to choke her anymore, I know where you live. I know where you sleep. I know where you work when you’re working legit. And I’m more than welcome any time I want.”

“That’s my girl,” I kissed her forehead, “I love you, Veronica.”

“I love you, too, Frankie.” Don’t get me wrong. I love Vanessa dearly. But damn, having Veronica here is going to be a major help to my psyche while she’s gone. Mostly because I don’t think Veronica’s going to let me be depressed and beat myself up for letting Vanessa go to Italy. That wasn’t my decision to make. Hell, it was barely hers. Because there’s no way this doesn’t reek of Victoria’s meddling.

Instead of getting pissed like I probably should, I reveled in the fact that she was getting a whole different life experience. And if anyone could relate to what that experience was, it’d be me. My first time in Spain in my cognitive memory was the weirdest culture shock. I had grown up in New York. I knew nothing about life there except from what Mama and my brothers told me. But I had nothing firsthand. Until I was processing everything at four years old. Getting on the plane, making a layover in London, wondering why the hell everyone talked so weird. It’s not that I didn’t know the language. Mama made damn sure of that. To the point where I remember her bitching at Tony or César for speaking to me in English.

But Vanessa wasn’t dealing with Spain. Vanessa was in Italy. I didn’t even know if she was there yet. She had to be. Unless she had that same layover last a little longer than what she’d like. Than what I’d like. But they happen. It’s not like we had control over that. Still, I went home to an empty apartment and thumbed through the TV, hoping there’d be something on. Something to hold my attention long enough while I ate. I mean, Willow was on, but I’d rather not watch Willow for the millionth time just because it was on.

Ring, ring.

Huh…It’s not often the phone rings. I got up from the couch and grabbed it, just to shut it up, “Bueno…”

“Buona sera, amore mio…” a soft, husky voice greeted me on the other end. And I’m not too proud to admit I damn near broke down, “Quanto mi manchi così…”

“Vanessa…?” I could hardly get her name out of my mouth.

“Hi, baby…” her voice broke a bit. It’s good to know I’m not alone here, but that was one of the worst sounds in the world. I couldn’t tell if those were tears of joy or tears of pain. I’m going to go out on a limb, cross my fingers, and say it’s joy.

“Fuck, it does my heart good to hear your voice again,” I gushed, “Are you alright? You doing ok?”

“Ok as I can be, I suppose,” Vanessa reported, “I mean…It’d be nice if I was there with you, but…”

“I know, I know,” I settled her, “Can’t get what we want. But look on the bright side. We got this.”

“Yeah, we do…” I swear to God, I heard a smile in that girl’s voice. And in that moment, I knew everything was going to be ok.

[prose-for-hire]

Roses are overrated anyway

Pairing: Gunn x fem!reader

Request: not requested. This is a sort of second part/after the end of ‘a rose between two thorns’ because I feel like Gunn was too secondary. Gunn and reader go on a date and end up stepping into an alternate dimension (because my brain wouldn’t let me just write a date without getting carried away with a backstory) 💖

Warning: Mention of falling from a great height. Reader feels nauseous (not sure if that needs a warning but better to be safe). One swear. Fighting. 

You were still seething from the day you had, the only saving grace being you knew someone would be walking in that door in about 30 seconds time that would improve your mood. Your date.

He walked in, the same swagger he’s had since you met - the only difference now was that he dressed smarter now. You used to visit Angel investigations during your summer breaks from college - calling it work experience. You kinda missed how he used to dress - his hoodies had been very comfy. He used to let you borrow them when you had accidentally on purpose left your jacket in the office and you needed to go out and find a demon in the middle of the night. He gave you that smile that he used his entire face to convey. His eyes filled with you, someone he truly loved. So how could he not smile so deeply even if he was just saying hello?

“Hey, how’s my favourite girl?” Gunn asked with a smile that told you he really cared.

“Don’t tell me that, what if I fall in love?” You asked fake-swooning so that he slid a hand to rest on the small of your back as he chuckled. You giggled and pushed him slightly as a lighthearted warning. You tried to avoid the eyes that were boring into the pair of you from behind the glass of Angel’s office. Gunn’s eyes looked over at them momentarily and he gave them a why are you staring look but his attention was quickly on you again. He had always been heavy on the flirting, you were both used to speaking like that but now was the first time you had actually both been in the place to try dating. You were both attracted to each other and you basically told him everything - which is why you had both probably been so reluctant. You didn’t want to lose him, he meant a lot to you. “That would be a bad thing?” He asked before gesturing with his head that you should probably get going. He was already in a suit and you decided your work clothes would have to do. Nothing says first date like an outfit described as being meringue-like you decided. You had gone to vent to Fred about the constant and somewhat unwanted attention from Angel and Spike. Not that you weren’t fond of the pair, but their competitive streak was wearing a little thin. You could sense the sexual tension the way they could sense the blood beating around your body.  Your talking eventually turned to Gunn. You and Fred were close and she has given you her blessing that it wouldn’t be weird for her if you and Gunn started dating (although she was a little disappointed thinking she had built Angel up for rejection with you as she had been so encouraging of him asking you out).

As if the Powers themselves had blessed your relationship, Gunn had run into you in the elevator and had taken his chance to ask you out. You almost fainted in excitement but chose instead to agree and plan something for tonight seeing as both of you were free and you really needed a distraction from your day.

He told you he’d come and pick you up from your desk and wished you luck for dealing with the vampires once you finally returned from the longest paid lunch hour in history.

“Where should we go?” You asked, smiling as he ushered you out of the building.

“I know a place” he winked, tugging you to follow him down the road. You had been walking for about ten minutes, Gunn had been filling you in on his day as you walked. Conversation always flowed so easily between you. There was a brief flash of light. Blink and you would have missed it. But both shrugged it off and carried on walking, you were so engrossed in the conversation.

He pulled you down a darkened alleyway that you thought nothing of, Sunnydale was a good 90% alleyways with little to no lighting. He stopped and turned, smiling. His face on one side and his nose scrunching that way that you loved. He turned and looped his arms around your waist, not able to stop grinning at you. That he finally had you to himself. You could just make it out in the dark. It made your heart quicken and butterflies erupt, making a home in your stomach. You had never felt so cared for before. He had no ulterior motives, he just wanted you for you. His smile making the corners of your lips quirk upwards too. 

You both just stood there, your faces so close he could feel your breath on his face. He looked at your lips and then back up to meet your eyes. Your grin widened when his did. You started to lean in, hands sliding up his chest. Lips almost brushing his. This was already the best date and you hasn’t even arrived and sat down yet. You could stand there in his arms forever, savouring this moment for the rest of time.

Just as your lips were about to meet, a bright green light flooded the area. Much like the flash of lightning you had ignored moments earlier.

“Aliens? Do we have aliens now?” You asked, moving closer against his side.

“Nah, if aliens were real we’d be all over it. My implant and your crazy receptionist brain would know for sure” he said quickly. His implication that your receptionist brain basically knew everything there was to know about the supernatural and wolfram and hart. More than half of the lawyers, you might add. He has told you how good you were at your job multiple times (he found it especially cool as you just managed to adapt to anything). He would always compliment you that way and it never failed to make you smile. You always felt so appreciated by him. He always valued you, he never belittled you or saw you as “just Angel’s PA that everyone seemed to have a crush on”. He genuinely cared, no matter what the situation. You looked around, waiting for something to happen. And just as you started to give up, the ground shifted beneath your feet and you both started to fall.

You were both falling forwards, the surroundings a glowing neon light that you could see whether you closed your eyes or not. You reached for him, but he was too far away. You tried to shout for him, but no sound would come out. You couldn’t see, but he was doing the same for you. Trying to make sure you were safe. There were silver ripples of light, as if tearing the fabric of green light apart as you tumbled further down. The silver became more vibrant until it was the only colour you could see. The air whipped around you with such force you started to become dizzy. You were afraid you would throw up everywhere. the sickness took over your entire body until you were contorting in pain.

Then it all went black. 

You were no longer in pain. There was fresh air. It smelt of salt and overturned soil. You realised you were looking down from above. You were falling towards a flat surface. Concrete. You panicked, trying to slow your descent. You had fallen into an alternate universe. You landed hard on your hands and knees, as did Gunn who had been right beside you the entire time. You both looked at each other, hissing in collective pain. You moved towards him and clasped a hand to his. He squeezed your hand, a comforting gesture. One you needed, as a figure made his presence known from the shadows. 

He looked human. Except his skin was a deep purple, his eyes the shame luminous green as had surrounded you only moments before. He had visible veins popping out of his skin and he was wearing an old baseball cap and what appeared to be several items of smart-casual clothing from different human decades of fashion. As if he had raided the lost-and-found.

”Who are you?”

”Your worst nightmare” he smirked. You rolled your eyes, you had heard that one before. And thus far, it hadn’t been true.

”Kronak demon. Dimension shifting demon. On retainer for Wolfram and Hart since the early 1900s but lost their contract when- well, when we took over” he shrugged. Gunn had been the one to finalise the paperwork.

“Yes, you found the loophole to terminate our little agreement. If we don’t have the support of your firm, things tend to become a little... messy. Unfortunately, your mate shall be the first to pay”

“Hey! I’m not just his mate! I work too! I probably notarised the fucking document!” You insisted, although you realised halfway through your outburst that keeping silent probably would have been the better option. You looked back at Gunn sheepishly, who just smirked. You hadn’t denied being his mate.

“Your mate looks like a meringue and she... smells like one too” he stated, not addressing you directly. Apparently he meant this as an insult on both counts. You scowled, looking down at your work outfit and deciding if you ever got out of here, the first thing you would do when you got back to your apartment was burn it. You both just stared at the eccentric looking demon, so he spoke again, “Consider this your date with destiny” he sneered and both you and Gunn exchanged a look that read ‘can you believe this guy’. It felt as if you were in a fever dream. It felt like he was manufactured straight from the build-your-own-villain workshop.

“I’m from Sunnydale, my date with destiny has been permanently postponed” you stated as Gunn snickered at your phrasing. He liked how tough you could be married with the sweet-natured woman he has met those years ago. He had expected to have to protect you when he first met you but soon found out you had some moves of your own (you lived in Sunnydale it was that or just lay down in the street after dark and let the demons take you).

The Kronak demon started to back you both against a wall. The wall now grey fencing with barbed wire wrapped around it, rather than the usual brick that had been there before the dimension shift.

“What’re we gonna do?” you hissed, your hand still desperately grasping to his. You swore it must have been breaking his bones but he didn’t complain once. he just wanted you to know he was right by your side.

“It’s cool. I gotta plan”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah - Run!” 

He pulled your hand with him and you did. You ran through the cobbled streets and narrow pathways. You jumped over turnstiles and ducked under hedges to try and find a way to well, anywhere. The most unusual thing you noted is that there were no buildings. No concrete structures. You could see land for miles. there were massive holes in the ground, as if gigantic moles had taken over. It was unnerving. The only thing in the entire area that was built up, was the cemetery.

You both turned into the gates, ducking behind a large mausoleum. You huddled together, whispering. You hated cemeteries. Sunnydale had been full of them and you had to excuse yourself if patrolling had brought you there for too long than necessary. They gave you the creeps and reminded you of not only any losses you had experienced, but of the loss that others felt whenever they had to visit. You told Gunn about this, so softly he might have missed it if he hadn’t been paying attention. But he was, even through his panting from running, he was focused on you. Only you. 

He understood and so he opened up to you. he hated cemeteries too. Because of his sister. She didn’t get a proper burial. He had to stake her. You almost choked up, you had never heard this story before. He told you about it all. You wrapped your arms around him as he spoke, willing him to feel the comfort. He spoke of how it made him feel while you hid together. Only the light of the moon guiding your path to this place of death. You started shivering and he took his suit jacket off, draping it around your shoulders. You shrugged it around you as best you could and moved to rest your head against his shoulder. This could be a long night. 

You had both fallen asleep, leaning against each other. You had both agreed to take it in turns to keep watch but one of you must have dozed off during your hour. You were woken by a horrific shriek, one that almost burst one of your eardrums it was so piercing. You both jumped awake, getting up to find three purple mole-men squaring up.

You both stood, back-to-back, your fists raised ready for a fight. If you were going down, you were both going down fighting. With any luck, the demons would be distracted by your horrible outfit and allow you to get some offensive attacks in.

Gunn started to attack any that he could reach, his well-practiced punches landing almost every time. You traded blows too, even took off your shoes and threw them at the demons that had been lunging at you.

You slowly walked a circle, still with your backs facing the other so that you could defend each other the best you could. One ran to tackle you but you grabbed him by the t-shirt and tugged. This left you with a handful of soil-stained material and the demon slightly colder than he was before. There had been at least six joining the fight, but you had thinned the original three.

”That thing - in there. We need it” Gunn dropped his voice for you, before going back in with a punch at one that had run at him. You looked and he had gestured to the bare chest of the demon you had just ripped the t-shirt off of. His chest had an opaque circular compartment, as if you should be able to see his organs. It looked like one of those glass cases that you were supposed to break in case of an emergency. Inside this compartment, was a golden sceptre. The kind royalty would hold whilst sitting atop a throne. That was the key to leaving here.

Of course, the one thing you needed would have to be some impossible to access object that you would have realistically not chance in reaching now that it was a six-on-two fight. 

You manged to duck at the right moment and send one of the demons flying into the other, knocking them both to the ground. One popped up straight away but the other was leaking a bright liquid, like a faulty glow-stick. Must be blood, you figured.

Gunn had taken a shovel from one of the grave sides and used it as a weapon as you carried on using your fists. You had managed to kill the rest through working together. The final mole-man, the one that held the dimension key (the sceptre inside his chest), was now on the floor. Decapitated by Gunn’s shovel. He pulled a face, but still reached inside the demon, his arm now dripping with glow-stick coloured goo. He pulled the golden sceptre out and handed it to you, to your dismay.

“Should get us back” he gestured with his head to the sceptre you were holding that was now glowing an unnatural neon green.

“Roses are overrated anyway” you started to smile, inspecting the object.

“You know it” he said, but he was frowning slightly. He had wanted things to go well, or at least better than tonight had. He knew he had feelings for you for a while, finally able to ask once he found out from Wesley that you weren’t trying to pick between Angel and Spike but instead hoping for the affection of someone else. But the fight never seemed to stop, and he couldn’t even have one night off to explore your feelings together. Although, tonight had showed him that you trusted him implicitly. That you had at least wanted to kiss him. And that he could trust you beyond anything he had ever let himself before. You were the one, he was sure of it. Nevertheless, he was still frowning slightly.

“Hey, I mean it. This, just being here with you - I wouldn’t want to spend my time almost-dying with anyone else” you insist - smiling that smile he had always loved.

“Yeah?”

“Definitely”

“We could stick around check out the bars?” You both looked around at the now desolate land that surrounded you with no buildings in sight - let alone bars.

“I think it’s time to go...” you smile softly, his eyebrows raised at your words. He leaned in, his lips catching yours. The adrenaline still pumping through you now slowly becoming replaced by something new. A light, airy feeling as if you had both discovered something new, that in reality had always existed between you. A sweet, all-encompassing love. You gripped the sceptre in one hand - you had to, but the other hand slowly slid round his side and up his back. He moved in further, cupping your cheek with one hand and holding the sceptre with the other. You were both now subconsciously gripping each other tighter than the glowing object. The most important thing in any dimension being this kiss. This heavenly revelation. An enlightenment only the two of you would ever share. You knew instantly that you loved this man, you couldn’t even attempt to hide it.

By the time you broke apart from your kiss, you were back in the alleyway you had been when you had almost-kissed earlier. You both pulled apart, somewhat reluctantly and slightly breathless. You had felt butterflies whenever he looked at you anyway, but now there was an entire colony inhabiting your stomach. it was fate, you had never been more sure of it.

Something about the way he looked at you after that kiss would remain ingrained in your mind forever, as if you were his entire world. Perhaps this really had been your date with destiny.

[thenovelartist]

Falling for the Dork, set 1

My Adrienette April story that I’m doing all at the end of the month as one continuous story. ;) Here’s the first set of prompts

Next set>>

1.      Just Friends

“It’s not like anyone is going to know who I am.”

That was the argument that finally allowed him to go to public school for his last three years. Adrien didn’t press for the year and a half after mother had passed on, but now, there was no reason for him to put off asking. Sure, his father may be Gabriel Agreste, but as far as anyone knew, Gabriel didn’t have a son, so that wouldn’t cause an uproar or anything.

Or, maybe people knew—it was probably on Wikipedia—but it wasn’t well-known.

Either way, Adrien as determined to draw as little attention to himself as he could. To further his disguise, he put on his favorite punny cat shirt.

“I can’t believe you collect those abominations,” his father grumbled.

“They’re hilarious!” Adrien argued with a grin, looking down at it. “What’s so wrong with it?”

Gabriel sighed. “And couldn’t you comb your hair?”

Adrien ran his hands through it the thick, blond strands. “Why? Is it bad? I thought it looked fine.”

Again, Gabriel sighed, this time rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “Well, no one is going to mistake you for a son of mine.”

“That’s kinda the point, dad,” Adrien said with a smirk.

The very corner of Gabriel’s mouth twitched up. “Also, don’t forget you have fencing tonight.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t miss it. It’s right after school.”

Gabriel gave a nod. “Have a good day.”

“Thanks, father. See you tonight.”

…

“I’m so late!” Marinette screeched as she bolted out of her house, nearly getting hit by a car and running over a couple other people on her way to school.

Thankfully, she wasn’t late. However, it wasn’t all sunshine and roses. Because before she could take a seat in her normal seat that has been her seat for the past several school years, she had to get past the guy putting gum on her seat.

“Hey!”

The boy whipped around, his eyes wide behind his thick, black lenses.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Marinette challenged.

“I… uh…”

She scoffed. “Whatever. Just leave.”

He gaped like a fish the next few seconds, Chloe and Sabrina’s laughter ringing in the back ground. “Looks like someone’s caught, Adrikins.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. Of course, this boy was friends with Chloe. Shocking, considering that he clearly had zero style with that stupid, baggy cat pun t-shirt.  “Just leave,” she snipped, taking a tissue from her bag and putting it over the gum.

“You heard the fashion disaster, Adrien. Move it.”

The boy was stunned for a moment, but did as asked, all while Chloe laughed and mocked “Adrikins” and Marinette.

Great. New year and nothing had changed.

…

Adrien felt horrible. Just how was he supposed to fix this mess when the girl he’d royally screwed up with wouldn’t let him get anywhere near her. He supposed that was partly his fault for not explaining anything, but she had a fierce look in her eye that kinda scared him a little. She may be small, but he honestly believed she could hand him his rear on a silver platter.

He was about to head out when he noticed that the rain had trapped said fierce girl he was intimidated by under the overhanging in front of the school.

“Hey.”

Marinette immediately turned away.

He cringed. “Um… I really just want to say that I’m sorry. I really was trying to get the gum off your seat. I swear.”

It was barely noticeable, but Marinette turned her head toward him.

“I haven’t been to school before, and I’ve never seen Chloe that mean. I’m really sorry.”

This time, Marinette turned all the way back toward him. “You’re apologizing for her?” she asked, brow knit together in confusion and anger.

“No, uh… I mean I’m just sorry she’s that mean. Particularly to you, it seems.” With that, he opened his umbrella and held it out to her. “Here. A peace offering. My car is here to pick me up, and I can get another.”

The anger on her face gradually faded, leaving a much softer expression. Hesitantly, she reached for the offered umbrella. “Are you sure?”

He flashed her a smile. “Yeah. You were grumbling about having to walk home in the rain in class.”

She took the umbrella. “Thanks. I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She gave him a smile. It was small, but he felt like he’d been graced with a gift. “Marinette,” she said, sticking one hand out, clearly inviting him to shake it.

He grinned, taking her hand to shake. “Adrien.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Adrien. Thank you again for the umbrella. I really appreciate it.”

And just like that, she was gone.

Adrien’s smile was wide as he ran off into the rain and slid into the back seat of the car. It was too early to tell, and maybe it was too early to call it anything more than acquaintances, but he hoped that one day, maybe, they could be friends.

 2.      Seat Buddies

It was the second day of school, and the rain hadn’t let up. It was both a blessing and a curse because that meant she remembered to pack the umbrella Adrien had loaned her as well as one of her own.

However, that didn’t help her get to school on time. In any sort of dry condition.  

Still, she arrived right before the bell rang and took a seat in the only empty spot. Conveniently, right next to Adrien.

When the teacher wasn’t looking, Marinette pulled the umbrella out of her bag and passed it under the desk to Adrien. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He stared at it a moment, stunned, before taking the umbrella and slipping it in his bag. “You’re welcome.”

Marinette frowned. “Were you not expecting it back?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know what to expect. And Chloe doesn’t give anything back.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why do you always talk about Chloe? Don’t you have any other friends.”

“No.”

The answer itself was surprising, but the bluntness made her jump.

“I was homeschooled until I came here,” he continued. “I know Chloe because of a family friend, but I don’t really have anyone else.”

Marinette glanced toward the front, uncertain of what to say as well as checking to make sure the teacher hadn’t caught onto their conversation. “Well,” she whispered back. “That’s just ridiculous. You have me. We’re seat buddies now.”

His expression was one of surprise, but he quickly schooled it and glanced back at the front. “Really?”

“Totally.”

His smile was worth its weight in gold. “I’d like that, Seat Buddy.”

 3.      Embarrassing

They became fast friends. By the end of the month, Marinette could say that he could see Adrien becoming her best friend, second to Alya, of course. Despite only knowing each other a short time, the duo started hanging out at Marinette’s house after school once they learned they loved the same video games.

When Adrien was free, that is. Between fencing and mandarin lessons and piano, he was seemingly swamped all the time.

“Who are your parents that they make you do all these lessons?”

Adrien pouted as Marinette won the first round of UMS III. “How do you always beat me!”

“I’m magic,” she commented. “Now, answer the question.”

Adrien just shrugged. “What does it matter?”

“I just want to know what kind of parents, who are clearly wealthy considering your car and the fact you take a ton of lessons, let you walk out of the house dressed like that.”

“Like what?” Adrien asked, clearly confused.

Marinette motioned to his baggy, neon green hoodie and his messy hair. “You know.”

“No, I don’t.”

“In stupid cat pun t-shirts—"

He gasped, slapping a hand over his chest in mock offence. “Cat puns are the best.”

She leveled him a look all while trying not to laugh. “You’re a loon. How are we friends.”

“We’re seat buddies.” Adrien always said that with pride, like some giddy child showing off his prized possession.

“You’re such a dork.”

“You’re stuck with me; get over it. Now let me beat you.”

“Not a chance.”

After two more rounds, Marinette offered to grab some snacks for the two of them. Adrien willingly followed her down into the bakery where they snagged some cupcakes that didn’t make the cut.

“Yum!” Adrien said, plenty happy as he carried a couple cupcakes up the stairs back to the apartment.

“You haven’t even eaten them yet,” Marinette giggled.

“I don’t have to to know they’re amazing.”

She rolled her eyes, then grabbed two plates from the cupboard to catch the crumbs before the duo sat down at the kitchen table.

After a single bite, Adrien moaned his appreciation. “See. They’re perfect.”

She shook her head. “Please. Even if they weren’t, you’d make a show just to prove a point.”

They may have only known each other a month, but Marinette knew that when Adrien got that kind of smug look, it only meant trouble. Instead of saying a word, he bit into the cupcake again, moaning loudly and doing some sort of stupid happy dance.

As he went in for the second bite, though, Marinette had had enough and flicked the cupcake upwards, smashing it into his nose and getting frosting all over his glasses.

“Hey!” he cried indignantly.

“It’s your fault.”

“My fault?”

Marinette giggled. “You’re such a dork.”

He pouted, and she smugly took a bite of her cupcake.

Her mistake.

Adrien was quick to return the favor. Now, he was the one laughing while she had chocolate frosting clinging to her nose.

“Okay,” Marinette said, grabbing her other cupcake, a wicked grin bubbling up. “If that’s how you want to play, it’s on.”

In a second, the two teens smashed the cupcakes into each other’s faces.

Too bad the frosting on Marinette’s cupcake fell off onto Adrien’s shirt before the cupcake hit his face.

After a moment of laughter and comments of them being way too juvenile, they grabbed paper towels to start cleaning up.

“We should wash that frosting off before it stains,” Marinette commented, pointing at the large chocolate smear down the front of his hoodie. “I can see if I have anything that fits so that I could throw it in the wash for you.”

“That’s fine,” Adrien said, taking off his glasses. “I have a shirt on underneath.”

Before Marinette could say a word, Adrien had pulled his hoodie up over his head, revealing a tight, black tee he had on underneath. He bundled up the hoodie so as not to get chocolate everywhere, then turned to her, running a hand through his hair absently.

And that was the moment Marinette knew she was in serious trouble.

“Marinette?”

She shook herself from her trance at the mention of her name. “Yeah? What?”

“What should I do with this?” He motioned to the hoodie in his hands.

“I’ll take it,” she said quickly. “I’ll throw it in the wash and get the chocolate right out. Yup. I’ll be back in a moment.”

She could feel the pink on her cheeks as she took the jacket and ran. She hoped beyond hoped she wasn’t staring too long; she’d be beyond embarrassed if that was the case.

After all, what’s a girl supposed to do when she realizes that underneath the cat puns, baggy hoodies, nerdy glasses, and messy hair that her total dork of a friend is actually a surprisingly toned perfect 10?

[daebakinc]

Warmth in the Storm

Pairing: Hyunwoo x Reader Genre: Fluff Word Count: 1.K Summary: In the middle of a blizzard, you stumble into Hyunwoo’s bar and wind up with more than the snow on your boots melted. A/N: Inspired by @monstaxnight ‘s imagine here. 

           Winter is not known for its gentleness. It has its moments of soft, white, silent beauty of diamonds and velvet, made all the more so by knowledge it will melt away beneath the sun’s prolonged gaze. But tonight, is not one of those nights.

           Tonight, Winter rages and curses, throwing snowflakes so thick and fast at your face that you have to squint to see anything at all. Its winds buffet your body side to side even as Jack Frost paves the road beneath your feet with ice. With childlike shuffles, you fight through the blizzard towards the neon sign that shouts ‘Bar’, its holiday red letters blanched pink by the snow.

           The parking lot is empty except for a solitary truck already asleep under a deep blanket of snow when you at last reach the building. But the windows are all still merrily lit so you clutch onto the hope someone is there as desperately as you do the handrail leading to the porch. Your stiff fingers slip on the doorknob. A whimper squeaks through your teeth as they sink deeper into your split lip. You try again and nearly fall when the door swings inward.

           It swings shut behind you as you stumble forward. The excited chatter of a sportscaster is brash in your ears after the howl of the storm.

           “Oh, my god. Are you alright?” a man’s voice asks.

           Ice and snow coat your eyelashes, so you can only make out a large white and blue blur coming towards you. A hand presses against your back to guide you further inside. You try following, but your knees crumple with the relief of even a hint of warmth.

           “Easy there.” Your savior pries your arm from your chest to wrap it around solid shoulders.

With his support, you hobble forward. He stops and lowers you onto something soft. A couch. The faint smell of spilled beer and popcorn sneaks through your frost-bitten nose.

“I’m going to move the couch, so don’t freak out, okay?”

You’re not sure he can see you nod through your triple wrapped scarf, but you do. The floor glides beneath your feet and heat engulfs you like a mother’s hug. Your insides melt alongside the ice on your eyelashes in the presence of that comforting smell of woodsmoke only a fire brings.

The man squeezes between the wall and the arm of the couch. He crouches by the fire to throw a few more logs in the wide fireplace and stoke the fire. It gives you time to blearily admire just how broad his shoulders are, stretching the fabric of his cream-colored cable knit sweater. And a cute butt in snug jeans to boot.

“Alright, let’s get out of those wet things.” He pivots on the balls of his feet and reaches for your boots. His fingers brush melting snow away from your boots’ shoelaces, but he pauses. Looking up with uncertainty in his eyes, he asks, “May I?”

He waits for your starstruck mind to remember to nod, then starts stripping you with careful efficiency. First your boots, then your socks, vest, sweatshirt, and scarf are lined up on the bricks in front of the fire to dry. Even as you defrost, you still find your breath coming in uneven puffs as the man gets closer and closer to your face.

You may still be delirious from freezing, but right now, he is unquestionably the most handsome man you’ve ever seen with artful bedhead, bronzed skin, pillow lips, and a jawline to kill for. But what has you truly staring are his eyes. They’re the shade of brown dreamers possess, dark and deep with their passions, but they now carry only gentle concern. The care with which he handles you, only making contact with your body when necessary, baffles you. You’ve never met before, yet he’s treating you with the tenderness you would reserve for a dear friend.

After plucking your hat from your head and dropping it beside your other clothing, he reaches over your shoulder, his chest coming a whisper away from your face. Zesty cologne and the unmistakable scent of a man fill your nose. When he pulls away, you stifle a sigh.

He tucks the blanket now in his hand around you, entrapping your entire body in warmth. Rubbing the bottom of your blanket over your feet to finish drying them off, he says, “There we are. Hang on one more second. I’ve got some spare clothes in the back that you can borrow ‘til yours dry.”

You take the opportunity to look around when he disappears down a hallway. Rustic stacked logs make up the walls of the spacious room, decked here and there with pine branch draped frames that enclose various band posters. In the opposite corner from the couch sits a long hardwood bar, lined with the usual variety of green and brown glass bottles. A big screen TV sits above the bar, playing the end of the soccer match you’d heard earlier. Echoing the game on the screen, a large foosball table takes up the corner behind you.

“Here we go.” The man returns with a folded stack of clothes, thick black socks sitting on top of the pile. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder towards the way he’d come. “There’s a bathroom back there if you want to change there or you can change right here. I’m going back to the bar for a minute, so it’s up to you.”

You glance to the dark hall, then back to the fire. There’s no way you’re leaving its warmth, not when you’re just beginning to defrost.

As he hands you the clothes, you finally find your voice. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiles, blinding you like the sun shining on fresh snow after the breaking of the storm. Leaving your line of vision, he says, “It’s pretty late to be out on the roads.”

Keeping your head above the blanket as you slide off your jeans to exchange them for the sweatpants, you reply, “Schools got out early, so I switched shifts at work with a coworker, so he could be home for his kids. I didn’t think the storm would be this bad.”

“Your car slide off the road?”

“Yeah, right into a snowbank. Luckily, I could see your sign from where it did, or I might’ve frozen to death.”

“You’re legal, right?”

The question jolts you upright. “Excuse me?” You turn your head to look at him.

He holds up a bottle of something, the label too small to read at the distance. His gaze is guileless as he clarifies, “You can drink?”

“Oh, yeah.”  You duck your head under the blanket to discard your shirt for his hoodie, glad for the excuse to hide your embarrassment at your own assumption. Your cheeks getting hotter when you realize it smells like him.

For a few moments, neither of you speak, the only sounds being the crackling of wood, the television, and the clinking of glasses. The thick walls completely mute the wailing of the storm outside.

“Everything good?” he calls from the bar when you stop wriggling.

“Yes,” you answer.

He walks over, two surprisingly elegant glasses in hand full of luxurious cocoa-colored liquid topped with a mountain of frothy whipped cream. “Spiced Irish coffee for you,” he says, handing you one of the glasses.

Gripping it with both hands, you take a sip and shudder as the burn slides down your throat to settle in your stomach like a glowing coal. “Thanks. Is that what you’re drinking too?”

“Nah. Just Mexican hot chocolate here. Don’t drink on the job.” He laughs and takes a drink of his own, sitting on the floor by your feet. Your eyes can’t help going to his lips when his tongue darts out to wipe away cream that clings there. “Getting warmer?”

“Yes, thanks. So, you own this place, Mr. …?”

“Yeah. And it’s just Hyunwoo. Son Hyunwoo.”

You shake his offered hand, that warm feeling in your chest spreading at the way his envelops yours, and offer your name in return.

“Nice to meet you. I don’t mean to pushy, but can I suggest something?”

“Sure,” you answer, curious as to what he could be about to say.

“I really don’t feel comfortable with you going back to your car tonight. We won’t be able to get a tow truck out here until the morning, if even then, so you should probably stay here for the night. The couch pulls out and everything.”

Your eyes drop to the coffee in your hand, considering. Hyunwoo’s right and despite knowing him less than an hour, with the kindness he’s treated you with, you can’t help trusting him. “What about you?”

“I live in one of the backrooms, so I’m all set. So you’ll stay?”

“Yes. Thank you, really. You’re being incredibly generous,” you say, glancing at him with a shy smile.

Hyunwoo smiles back, his eyes crinkling in a way that spreads a fuzziness through your veins entirely different from the alcohol-inspired kind. “It’s the holiday season, isn’t it? Are you hungry? I can’t do much, but I can make us some mean tomato soup and grilled cheese?”

“That sounds great, thanks.”

“Cool.” He points to your glass as he gets to his feet. “Just give me a yell if you need a refill.”

You watch Hyunwoo’s back as he heads to his rooms again, the smile he conjured on your lips feeling like it may be tattooed there. Maybe this storm wasn’t the worst thing that’s happened to you after all.

[keenerparkerstark]

All I see is green (5/?)

All I see is green (4/?)

Ship: Harley Keener/Peter Parker

Summary: Peter Parker feels on top of the world! Getting good grades in high school, spending time with Tony Stark (!!!) on his weekends, and at night, he roams the city as the hero known as Spider-Man! Everything changes when a new student shows up at Midtown who seems determined to take it all away from him.

AO3 | FF.net

“Slow your roll, asshole, unless you want some extra holes in that body of yours.”

Harley put up his hands, immediately without turning around, and stopped walking, remembering what Tony had told him about the dangers of walking around on your own in New York. He couldn’t help but glance down at the, most likely, ridiculously expensive jacket he was wearing, which Tony had insisted on buying him. Combine this with his lithe, youthful appearance, and you basically had a bright neon sign over his head that says: ‘Rob me, please!’

“I don’t want any trouble,” he states for good measure, and turns his head slightly to try and catch a glimpse of what his attacker is doing. He barely caught sight of a figure with a hoodie drawn over his cap, casting an impenetrable shadow over his face, with a black-clad arm reaching out to the back of Harley’s head, when he felt a harsh cold pressure to the back of his head, and flinched away when he realised that it was the barrel of a handgun.

“No funny games,” the figure behind him grunted. “Just slowly reach down, take out your wallet and phone and hand them to me. Don’t even think about turning around, screaming, fighting or running away, because I will put a bullet in your brain before you can finish the thought.” Harley shivered, a lump in his throat making it difficult to breath. His hand trembled as it reached into his jacket pocket, and took out his phone, reaching back to hold it out for the figure to take. It was yanked out of his hands without warning.

“Your wallet,” the voice pressed urgently behind him, “and hand over your watch too.” His watch… Harley’s heart skipped a beat as he was reminded of the elaborate smart watch that sat on his wrist, equipped with all kinds of applications and gadgets, and a panic button that sends a distress signal straight to Tony. Of course!

“M-my wallet is in my backpack,” Harley stuttered out, raising his hands up again. “Let me take off my watch.” Keeping his hands in the air to show that he wasn’t taking out anything else, Harley started fidgeting with the claps of his watch. With as much subtlety as he could muster, he pressed the tiny red knob on his watch, which vibrated gently in acknowledgement. Just as he finished unclasping the watch, another voice echoed through the alley, this time from up high.

“You know, most people don’t really appreciate being held at gun point. You might want to stop that.” Harley let out a sigh as relief washed over him, making his knees buckle under him. He knew that voice… He had heard it hundreds of times before in YouTube videos and the like. Immediately, an arm wrapped around his neck in a choke hold, his own hands involuntarily flying up to desperately grasp at the grip, and he was drawn backwards until his back met the figure’s chest. The cold pressure of the gun has shifted to his temple, and he squeezed his eyes closed in fear as he gasped for breath.

“Get the fuck out of here, Spider-Man, or I’ll put a bullet in this fucking kid!” Harley heard a thud as Spider-Man landed in front of them, but didn’t dare open his eyes, his world narrowed down to the metal against his temple and the arm around his throat. He felt the chest behind him rapidly moving up and down as his attacker takes in one panic breath after another.

“Okay, hey, slow down, there’s no need for that.” Spider-Man’s voice had lost its earlier lightness, and sounded almost stern. “I ain’t looking for trouble if you’re not making it. You got what you wanted. Just let the kid go, and walk away.” Suddenly, Harley felt the gun being taken away from his temple as the figure behind him shoved him aggressively, and he stumbled forward, eyes snapping open and only seeing red and blue as a pair of spandex clad arms caught him gracefully. He looked up at Spider-Man’s mask, but it was facing forward determinedly, as he helped Harley stay upright.

“Stay here, Harley,” he spoke firmly, and he was off, a web slinging him to the furthest end of the alley, where, as Harley now noticed, the perpetrator was making a quick escape. He did not get far, however, as Spider-Man made quick work of webbing up his feet, and dragging him by his lower body towards the wall, continuously shooting webs at him to make the robber stick to it.

Harley let out a shaky breath as all adrenaline seemed to rush out of him simultaneously, and he could barely make it to the wall before his knees gave out entirely, dropping down on the concrete below, which emitted a strong stank of urine. He felt tired beyond belief, and wanted nothing more in that moment than to close his eyes, and fall asleep, be unconscious for a while and wake up in his bed in Tennessee by his sister jumping on his bed, and the smell of freshly fried eggs. He didn’t notice when the tears started falling, but soon enough there were wet patches on his jeans where his face was pressed against his knees, which he had drawn to his chest in an attempt to make himself as small as humanly possible.

A sudden presence beside him startled him, but he calmed down when he realised it was none other than New York’s wallcrawler, sitting on a urine-flooded alley next to a crying teenager who felt home sick. He didn’t even say thank you… Harley started furiously wiping at his eyes, and sniffed a few times before he managed to find some form of composure. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but was cut off by Spider-Man, who spoke first.

“I got your phone back.” It was then that Harley noticed the hand that was holding out the phone to him. He took it with a grateful smile, and an unreadable mask with white lenses glared back at him. Say thank you, say thank you, say thank you…

“I’m sorry.” Wait, what? Spider-Man’s head cocked in confusion.

“What are you sorry for, Harley? None of this was your fault.”

“I know, I know, but I should have known better than to- Wait a minute… How do you know my name?” Harley suddenly remembered Spider-Man calling him ‘Harley’ earlier as well, although he had been too out-of-it to notice at the time. Suddenly, the mask was not as unreadable as it had seemed earlier when the white lenses gave away the widening of the eyes underneath. “Uh, I mean, I know all the names of the citizens of New York!”

“What, like Santa Claus, or something,” Harley laughed incredulously, both curious, worried and amused about the situation.

“I mean, would you believe me if I said yes?” Harley just raised an eyebrow in return, slowly feeling the weight on his shoulders lift some more. “Yeah, I figured as much. Okay, so, here’s the truth. Mr. Stark told me about you.” Of course!

“That makes sense. Tony mentioned you to me before too! But don’t worry, nothing about your identity, or anything. Just that you had needed his help.” Spider-Man let out an awkward laugh at that.

“Yeah, Mr. Iron Man and I are what I like to call co-dependant. He needs me as much as I need him.”

“I really don’t, Underoos,” a voice from beside them spoke, uncharacteristically quiet. Both Harley’s and Spider-Man’s heads snapped up at the sound of Tony Stark’s voice, and stared at him as he stood before them, the Iron Man armour only a couple steps behind him, opened up. “I think of it more as a mentor-mentee relationship, where you screw up sometimes, and I try to help you not screw up.”

“Mr. Stark,” Spider-Man laughed, but he was cut off by Harley getting up and launching himself at Tony, trembling from head to toe, the impact of the evening hitting him again at full force at the sight of his pseudo-dad.

“Shh, it’s okay, kiddo,” the older man whispered in his ear, as he pressed him close to his chest. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.” As Harley stood there, tightly wrapped up in Tony’s embrace, a soft thwip was the only thing indicating Spider-Man’s quiet departure from the scene. Distant police sirens could be heard approaching.

“You, my friend, have had the craziest week ever, and that including the one where you were bitten by a radioactive spider and gained superpowers.” Peter groaned pathetically from his position on Ned’s lap, the latter of whom simply ignored him for the sake of stealthing his way across whatever video game he was playing, his hands holding the controller resting on Peter’s chest.

“Tell me about it,” Peter whined. “At least getting bitten by that spider and everything that followed was just facts, you know? This all involves feelings and social behaviour and puberty-”

“As much as you’re my best friend, and I truly sympathise with you,” Ned interjected, as he casually took out at least four other players as he was talking. “I think you’re overthinking this. Be honest with yourself! The answer to all your current problems is right there: just talk to Harley! God knows he could use some friendship after what he went through, and by the way he was hunting you down in school today, it seems he’s really eager to talk to you too.” Peter groaned again, opening his eyes and absentmindedly glancing up at his best friend, who’s full focus seemed to be on the TV screen in front of him. “Something’s holding you back from talking to him though, am I right? What is it?”

What was it? Honestly, Peter wished he could answer that question. Harley genuinely seemed to want to talk things out with him, and after his conversation with Mr. Stark, there was no real grudge that Peter found himself holding against the other teenager. It sounded like the boy was going through a lot, and in his own way, he was standing up for somebody he loved, or, at least, he thought he was. What had happened that evening was intense, much more than anybody should ever have to go through. Peter had been held at gun point more times that he could count, a job hazard, you could call it, but he never got used to the feeling that the person holding the gun could end everything in a split second, no questions asked, no going back. All they had to do was pull the trigger, and it would all be over. Peter squeezed his eyes closed again as his mind flashed with memories of his uncle, lying there surrounded by a puddle of his own blood…

“I don’t know, Ned,” he responded, a slight tremor in his voice giving away his current emotional state. Ned, ever the graceful friend, did not look away from the screen, but dropped one hand away from his controller, and onto Peter’s chest as a sign of comfort. “I want to talk to him, especially after what happened tonight… Mr. Stark will be there for him, but I just want to know if he’s okay, you know? But then again, I wasn’t there. Spider-Man was. And Spider-Man didn’t get into a fight with him about Tony Stark.”

“Having a secret identity is not easy, Peter.”

“I never thought it would be,” Peter sighed in response. “I just want to know what’s holding me back from talking to Mr. Stark and Harley. I want to, I really do, but every single time I think about it, I feel like some freaky disembodied hand is trying to choke the life out of me.”

“Of course, you’re going to feel anxious about it, Pete,” Ned responded, his hand pressing down slightly. “You feel hurt by both of them. But the only way to get rid of that anxiety is to communicate. Hell, even telling them that the idea of talking to them makes you anxious is already better than the radio silence you’re giving now. Harley’s not stupid: he knows you were avoiding him yesterday.” Peter nodded in understanding, letting his friend’s words sink in.

Honestly, knowing that Harley probably wanted to talk to him about something was both dauntingly terrifying and infinitely comforting. The situation was a chip on both of their shoulders, and they seemed equally eager to move past it, but Peter had no way of knowing how. After all, Harley still seemed awfully friendly with Flash, who hadn’t let up on bullying Peter constantly since their last year of Middle School. He doubted Harley could change his mind about that. But not giving him a chance to redeem himself seemed wrong too, and he could almost hear his aunt in his head, telling him to ‘never write of strangers at first sight, because strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet’. Naïve, but not necessarily wrong.

Tomorrow, Peter promised himself. Tomorrow, he would set aside whatever was holding him back, and talk to Harley.

[boogiewrites]

A Girl Walks Into A Bar

Chapter 1

Characters: Declan Harp x Bella (OFC)

Word Count: 6400+

Summary: Frontier Modern AU. Declan is a bar owner and local urban legend with a reputation he’d like to leave in the past. Bella is a rough around the edges, low key sweetheart that isn’t from his part of town. After meeting with the help of some bad luck and perhaps a touch of fate, how far will their undeniable chemistry take them until their histories catch up with them?

Warnings/Tags: Language

A/N: Currently watching Frontier, love it, felt a burst of creative ideas and I just went with it. First time writing for this character. As always, shout out to @jaegeeeeer who told me to watch the show and enables my bad behavior. <3 

Positive feedback is MUCH appreciated! Reblogs, likes, asks and comments feed me to write more! Let me know if you’d like tagged in my work.

My Masterlist. 

You'd had a bad day. Murphy's Law was created for the sole purpose of explaining the day you'd had. Your car is fucked, sitting in a shop currently as you just have to wait for a phone call about the state it's in and what limb you'll have to sell to afford the work. The bus was late, the coffee machine at work wasn't working and you'd dealt with assholes pretty much everywhere you'd went.

The bratty 16-year-old and her father that were in the studio that day had certainly earned the not affectionate in the least title. The Rolex wearing father, not attentive, blue tooth headset and nose stuck to a phone screen for the entirety of any communication you had with. He'd first insulted you, telling you to go fetch them coffee, tossing you a twenty while his clearly in need a smack and a therapist daughter barked a nonsensical order to you. You didn't go to Starbucks, you didn't know what the fuck any of this meant. You eat it anyway, as your boss is sighing and trying to keep the situation under control, seeing your known temper rising to the surface. You turn with an annoyed nod to leave, the father then smacking you on the ass on the way out. If your boss hadn't grabbed your arm, he would've been dealing with a broken pair of glasses and hopefully a cracked eye socket to accompany it.

You return from your errand, where of course, the barista was a dick. Still feeling insulted, seething as you see every switch and knob has been messed with in your absence. You hear the pterodactyl screech of this spoiled child from the booth, ignoring her while you fix what she's fucked up. Her father rushing you and claiming he was paying for this time and you were milking it.

After fixing others mistakes, you have to deal with the voice of the girl. You play it back over and over for her, she screams it sounds wrong, that you've fucked it up and it's your fault and you don't expect anything less from her at this point.

"Well it sounds wrong because you can't sing." you finally state matter of factly. You see your bosses hand go to her forehead, mouthing the word fuck.

The pterodactyl screeching does not falter, you are unphased despite the father now being tugged by his sleeve to you in the booth by his tantrum-throwing daughter, your boss walking in behind them.

"This is fucking insulting and I'm not doing it. This is a fucking studio for artists, not the next god damned Rebecca Black and her absentee fucking father! This is a place where we make MUSIC, we make ART here! Don't fucking insult my work here with this bullshit! I'm not here to cater to this fuckin' blue tool wearin' mother fucker and his piss baby of a kid!" you shout and you do not care. You started as an intern here, you worked your way up and you knew your value. No one else knew the technical side of things AND knew how to play instruments. Your boss knows this and knows she needs you as you both ignore the shouting from the two fuck heads who are still crying about things being unfair and unprofessional.

"I know. We need the money, I'm sorry. Why don't yo-"

"NEED THE MONEY?! BULLSHIT!" you shout, "If you needed the money so bad maybe don't go indulge your post-divorce crisis with plastic surgery and a new car CeeCee!" you grab your coat and angrily put it on.

"Just take the rest of the day off, Bella. This is clearly out of hand and no one can work like this." she says, not even mad at your words, you were never known to hold back your thoughts and knowing each other for years now your comments didn't phase her. You were a very passionate woman and it was all part of your process she'd quickly learned. Can't be as knowledgeable about music and art as you are without having a burning passion inside you for it. Unfortunately for you, this fire extended outside of your work and hobbies sometimes and made you a bit of a hot head. But at this point in your fuming, you were growing tired, so you cut it short.

"You're fucking right!" you shout as you slam the door behind you. "Take the rest of the day off," you mumble and mock her in an immature way but man, you were pissed. It was already after 5pm what rest of the fucking day was left! You're reminded of your car being gone as you stand in your reserved spot, staring at the freshly fallen snow that lay where it should. "Fuck." you groan, pulling on your gloves and tugging your hat over your wavy dark auburn hair. You had to walk to the bus stop and all you wanted was to go home and get drunk, so you in your winter wear, jeans and big black boots over them, a fleece lined leather jacket over your hoodie, all tied up cozy with a bow and a beanie. At least you'd checked the weather before you left the house so you were prepared for the walk.

You hear the sound of music as you walk down a street you'd driven past mindlessly, countless times. You're on the outskirts of the small community, outlying the city where you lived in a duplex, and much to your delight, you had no upstairs neighbors currently. No one to bitch about your music being played too loud or your guitar playing well into the night. As you round the corner, just a few blocks away from the, you're assuming, still shouting assholes, you let out a sigh as you recognize a guitar riff. It immediately sends the impulses you need to your muscles, your shoulders lowering finally from their tension. You've reached the source of the sound, you look up to the sign above the dark stone and wood front of the...bar...it would seem. You'd been past this place so many times and never stopped to look.  "The Trading Post." you say to yourself, biting your blushed from the cold lips. You see the welcome neon advertising beer and you sigh. You stand there for a few moments, considering just stopping in here, they were playing Zeppelin after all...how bad could it be?

You must've been wearing your foul mood all over your face because one of the men standing in a circle of other men, all wearing biker vests turns to watch you go in.

"You ain't lookin' for trouble are ya?" he asks, eyebrow raised.

You show no sign of intimidation. "I'm going in to drink to make myself forget about the fuckin' trouble." you say, moving your gloved hand to the door.

"I ain't never seen you here before."

"That'd be because I've never been here before."

"Yeah..." he looks you up and down in judgment and not in a sexual way, which you're relieved by. "But I've been told to keep out the riff-raff."

"Well no offense but one might think you guys are that riff-raff." you say with a stare and an attitude. One of the other men laughs.

"What's your name?" his eyes narrow.

"What's yours?" you ask with the same swing of your chin.

"They call me Southie." he answers.

"They call me Bella." you nod back, extending your hand and he looks at it in a surprised way but takes it, a gentle shake.

"Well don't go in there to fuck with no one, especially not Declan now, you hear? He doesn't take too kindly to folks running their mouths much."

"Who the fuck is Declan?" you ask. All the men laugh.

"You must not be from around here." he grins.

"I work a few blocks back, but I don't live in this neighborhood, no." you explain.

"Ah. Well..." he huffs out a laugh. "If you've not heard of him, you'll still recognize him when you see him." he nods and the other guys chuckle again.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" you ask with a shake of your head.

"Just let the girl go get a fuckin' drink, man, she's clearly in a bad mood, just let the little firecracker go." he laughs. You narrow your eyes at him, not sure if that was a compliment or not.

"Alright." he shrugs. "Go on, get in there baditude." he says with a nod of his head towards the door.

You pull it open, your eyes don't have to adjust much because the lighting is dim, just as a bar should be in your opinion. There are multi-colored lights in strings across the corners of the ceiling, neon signs placed with no rhyme or reason on wood paneled and brick walls. You look down the line of booths along the wall, all an old green color that only existed in the 70's you're pretty sure, worn and patched up with duct tape below the table tops with carved words of love and hate on top. To your right, there is a long wooden bar, a beautiful old monster of a thing. Looked like it'd been there longer than the building and the building looked very old itself. There's a faint smell of mildew, smoke and cheap cologne in the air. Had you just by chance walked into the dive bar you'd always wanted to call your local? When you catch sight of the man behind the counter, you know you have.

His back is turned to you, even from the doorway you can tell he's tall. As you walk forward, pulling your gloves off and stuffing them into your pockets he just gets bigger and broader the closer you get. A clearly well loved, thin t-shirt is all he's wearing in the dead of winter. You suppose maybe the past the shoulders mess of waves and curls that fade from almost black to a lighter brown towards the ends is keeping him warm. Or perhaps the lights that dotted the line of the bar were, some covered with colored gels, some broken, but you found it very charming nonetheless.

You're reaching for your zipper as he turns, guessing he's heard the door shut behind you. He turns as if he's expecting someone else, his head tilting just slightly as you continue walking. An intimidating face to match his stature greets you. His thick beard, just left of unkempt sits course, a full lip buried in the midst of it peaks out at you. His complimentary to his olive skin and dark coloration of the brown with yellow coloring eyes look over you under a heavy brow and hooded lids.  His almost Disney villain like naturally arched brows raise at your appearance in the bar. The act of unzipping your jacket while his eyes are on you makes your face flush. Or perhaps it was the heat in here. Hell, it could be both.

"What can I get ya?" he says in a deep but friendly voice.

"Uhhh..." you mumble for a moment, eyes looking over the bar back full of a plethora of bottles, some you've never heard of and for your Irish half, this was surprising as you'd known your fair share of alcohol in your life. "You have any real ale?" you ask with a wrinkle of your nose as he's looking to throw a towel somewhere out of sight to you.

His handsome face looks back up at you, this time a big grin appears, which you respond to with a few slow blinks. "We certainly do, babe." he says with a nod of his head, clearly supportive of your choice. Your eyes narrow as he turns at the use of the pet name. But you weren't getting a creepy vibe off this guy, but you were still withholding judgment. And as if your questions were meant to be answered, a man and woman walk into the bar, you feel the cold air move down and brush past your face.

"Oh hey, babydoll! Wasn't sure you'd show." he says, grabbing a box and walking it around the bar towards the man with the small woman.

"Hey Declan." he greets him, he picks her feet up off the floor with the entrapping hug he gives her. It makes the corner of your mouth want to pull back at the kindness behind the gesture. Looks like baby was just a word to him and part of you is grateful. "I'm running late sorry. I can't stay but I know I needed to get this before the morning."

"Otherwise you'd have me up at dawn waiting for you tomorrow to come to pick these up." he grins.

"It's like you know me sweetie." she grins up at him. He gives a hearty slap to shoulder of the man with her in greeting.

"You kids have fun then. That spots great for camping out up there. Just keep a lookout for bears." he says with a point of his finger at them both.

"Yes I know." she nods. "I googled everything, we'll be fine. Food up off the ground and everything, Got it."

"Good girl." he says patting her head, something she frowns insincerely at.

He returns to behind the bar, reaching back into a standing fridge and popping the top off a bottle before he slides it to you. "This one's my favorite." he says with a nod and a smile, your fingertips examine the green glass in your hands. He moves to shut the door to the room he'd retrieved the box from for the now gone, girl. You settle in on the stool, taking your jacket and hat off, fluffing your hair with one hand as he comes back. Your lips to the mouth of the bottle as his eyebrows raise at you in question.

"Shit man, that's good." your eyebrows raise as you look at the bottle. You hear a small grunt of laugh from him. "This looks like what those people just walked out with."

"Nah. Same people brew it, same label, different brew."

"Tastes like...fuckin' cherries or something." you say smacking your lips. "They must ferment it differently." you say, basically to yourself but it catches his attention. You knew your ale.

"Yeah they ferment it at a higher temperature, makes it have that fruity taste to it." he educates you further.

"This local?" your voice inflects with curiosity, meeting his eyes with yours.

"Yeah. But you aren't are you?" he says with that same warm expression.

You shake your head. "No." you take another drink. "I live closer to the city but I work just a few blocks over at the little studio on the corner." you explain.

"That sounds cool. I didn't think I'd seen you around before." his eyes narrow in thought.

"It can be but not today." you shake your head. "I've driven by this place every day on my way to work and never stopped before. With my car in the shop and after the shit day I've had the appeal of alcohol and Zeppelin I heard from outside earlier I just couldn't resist." you shrug and take another bigger drink.

"Well, I'm glad you did. I'm Declan." he extends his hand, you're struck with the size of his arms as one swings closer to you.

"Thanks. Bella." you say with a more friendly tone. Now you weren't strangers. "This your bar?" you ask.

"She's mine alright." he nods proudly. Your eyes wander down the long thin space of the booths and bar, as he walks to the end, and to your surprise he walks over to you, pulling a stool from between his legs and sitting next to you, elbow propped up on the bar. You see a larger room lies past, it remains dark and you can't tell much. But the warmth you feel coming off of his large body, now daunting next to yours pulls your attention from your curiosity of it. He scratches his head, scrunching his face, you look up at him from under your brow as his biceps appearance throws you more off than you'd like to admit. You see he's in light washed, slightly baggy jeans, holes, and scuffs galore, just as you'd expect from what you'd seen of his upper half. His boots have much the same appearance as him, sturdy and worn. "What's brought you to me and my humble second home tonight, Bell?" he asks, head tilted, eyes matched to yours, the laid-back vibe he had put you at ease and you welcomed it as it and the ale warmed you up from the inside out.

"Oh I've had myself a fucking DAY, Declan." you say with a roll of your eyes. He seems to like the use of his name. He likes the way it sounds, seeming to come from you so easily and without any loaded backstory attached.

"Sounds like it." he says with a lazy smile.

"I don't want to just sit here and bitch at you while you're working." you say shaking your head, not wanting to take the entirety of the man's attention.

"It's a weeknight sweetheart, do I look busy?" he asks with a smirk. Your big green eyes move around the bar.

"You've got a point," you say with a nod, taking another drink. "If you want to hear me bitch I mean...I'll sure as hell oblige." you say with a shrug, and he smiles, chin raised to show he's listening.

"Well, it all started..." you begin.  You're about to get into the girl touching the recording equipment when a seemingly harmless middle-aged balding man bops around the corner of the back room you can't see.

"Gimmie a loooooong neck!" he shouts, drunk but not angry.

He turns with a frown of apology to you, which was needless but you appreciated it. "Get it yourself Gary, you've been drinking the same thing for 20 years." he shouts back, looking back at you will an animated roll of his eyes. When his eyes fall back on you, you're smiling. The first smile he'd seen since you came in. He knew he wanted to see more of them from you. "Don't mind him. You were saying something about a rejected sweet sixteen applicant?" he grins.

He listens, and intently, eyes always on you every time you look up from the bartop or from your bottle. He raises and slaps the bar top. "That's it girly." he says, moving back behind the bar again, "On the house." he states, putting another bottle in front of you.

"Wha-?" you ask with a wrinkled nose he finds charming.

"Your drinks tonight. On the house." he says as if it's obvious.

"Uh..." you stutter and show your surprise. "That's very kind of you but-"

"Nope. I see a dollar of your money and I'm not giving you any more of that." he grins, pointing to the bottle.

Damn, he was nice, you thought, a subtle frown on your face as he turns to reach for a bottle with a stopper in the top, sitting two shot glasses in front of you. Damn, he was really fucking nice.

"Christ, dude you giving me Jameson too?" your eyes are wide and you take a deep breath as he takes the glass in his hand, you mirror the action. "My ancestors applaud the choice." you say with a chuckle that he returns.

"Oh you're Irish?" his chin lowers and one eyebrow raises.

"Half yeah." you give a quick nod.

"Oh well then get the fuck outta here." he manages to get out without sputtering with laughter.

Your face scrunches up and you let out a louder laugh, your shoulders moving with it. "To..." you pause to think for a moment. "To this hangover not killing me tomorrow." you say with a wide smile he's thankful to see as proof that your mood is improving.

He nods, you tap your glasses on the bar top and shoot them back. "Won't think less of me for drinking on the job will ya?" he says with a smack of his lips.

"It's your fucking bar, man do whatever you want, who am I gonna tell?" you smirk.

So time passes and the drinks pass with it. People come in and out of the bar, you switch from stool to booth to pool table and back. You playfully argue about White vs Rob Zombie, as per the shirt you're wearing.

"At least I'm not Mr. Dad Rock over here, I bet you put on the B side of IV and give a girl a six pack and the panties just go FLYING don't they?" you say with a loud laugh he matches, both smacking at each other.

"You sound like you're speaking from experience," he says with a sigh, wiping his face as his eyes started watering from the goofiness of your banter through the night. "Sound a bit salty about it, to be honest." he teases.

You snort and smack his knee, "I might be speaking from both." you admit, a laugh that grows and you shut your eyes with it. "Who says you can't learn from your mistakes?" you say with a goofy shrug.”Even if it takes it a few times to stick.”

At this point in the night there are only two other people, as you're wiping the laughing tears from your eyes you notice this, then your phone lights up and you see the time. How the fuck was it past 10 already. You pick it up and look at it. "Fuck it's later than I thought." you say, pushing your hands on the countertop. You stand and feel his arm around you before you even realize your knees are knocking.

"Woah there, hun." he says, hands on your sides, eyes clearer than yours and concerned.

"Oh you went and got me fuckin' druuuunnnnnnnnk." you say in a deep scolding voice.

"In my defense, you did the drinkin' yourself there babe." he chuckles, still holding you steady as he stands.

"Never rode the bus wasted before. This'll be a fuckin' story to tell you next time I come in here for sure." Although he didn't think you wouldn't come back, he's glad to hear you were already thinking about it.

"You are not riding the bus like this, sweetheart. Not at this time of night." he says, shaking his head. "Not anytime actually. You baby foal. I thought you could handle your liquor."

"I can I've just been sitting for 12 hours straight haven't I? Makes the legs no worky." you explain with a frown and he laughs at you again.

"Whatever you gotta tell yourself." he pats your head, as you steady yourself with one hand.

"If I were shorter I'd be mad about that." you say. You hear him huff out a laugh as he moves behind the bar and retrieves a huge fur and leather coat. Guess he was human after all, he could be part sun god for all you knew. Maybe that's why those dudes warned you, a mere weak mortal walking into the den of god. Oh wow, you were drunk.

"You want a ride home hun?" he asks very politely with a hand on your shoulder. He was going to beg if he had to, he wasn't letting a nice girl like you alone whether you were drunk or not.

"Ugh," you say, putting your arms in your jacket in a fussy way. "It's like 20 minutes away Declan, I can't put you out like that I'll call an uber or somethin'."

"I close soon anyway, you aren't putting me out. Mike's here to lock up anyway." He didn't trust anyone else to make sure you got where you needed to go, feeling protective over you. Not many nice women came into his bar, he didn’t want you running away so soon. And of course he felt partially responsible for the amount of alcohol you'd consumed. He'd given you some shit over being drunk but damn did you hold it well. You weren't wobbly as you step away from the bar, bending at the knees and stretching your sides.

"Seeing as I've been seen here I don't think you'll murder me...Would you? Promise me you won't murder me and I'll let you take me home." you say with a nod, a smirk on your face as you shove one of your gloves into your mouth and pull the other on.

"I solemnly swear I will not murder you, Bell." he nods in a charming serious way.

You playfully narrow your eyes at him. "Cross your heart?" you say before a silly smile spreads across your face.

"And hope to die." he chuckles, moving his finger over his chest.

"Only a real fucking asshole would break one of those promises." you narrow your eyes again, tugging your hat on and moving towards the door. "And don't tell anyone but I don't think you're an asshole."

"Oh she's got compliments." he says with a fan of his face in jest at your words.

"Nah she's just drunk on Jameson." you laugh as he stands right behind you, reaching down to open the door. "Oh fuck." you whisper as the ice hits you immediately. It was snowing. And hard.

"Looks like you wouldn't be getting that bus tonight anyway." he says, pursing his lips, hand on your back as you make your way out the warm, sepia-toned confines of his bar and out into the crisp, cold biting air of the cool-toned night.

You make it a few steps before you slip, which for the state of the sidewalk, was not something that was to blame on your sobriety.

"Ya gotta be careful there babe." he says, catching you for the second time that night in his over sized hands, feeling their grip past the layers you wore.

"That isn't from being drunk, I promise. There's ice." you whine with wide, honest eyes looking up into his.

"I'm inclined to believe you." he says with another warm, whiskey toned softly spoken words.

"Wait. Can you drive? Are you drunk?" you suddenly recall. He laughs and puts a hand around your elbow, the other around your waist as you head down the sidewalk slowly.

"I am not." he says with a reassuring smile. "Takes a bit more to get me drunk than it does a little thing like you." he explains, no teasing in his voice. You suppose to him, everyone was little in comparison so you take no offense. ----- The weather's worse by the time he pulls into the small driveway you're extremely lucky to have in this part of town. The usual 20ish minute drive you'd promised had turned into almost an hour. You felt bad about him doing this. But then again you weren't used to the level of attention and thoughtfulness he seemed to naturally exude. He did drive slow but an untreated road no matter the speed was an obstacle in an of itself, even in a four-wheel drive.

"You...uhhh..." you start, your hand on the handle of the door of the truck. You purse your lips, brow furrowed as you force your eyes to meet him. "It's really shitty outside, do you want to come in for some coffee or tea or something before you try to get out in this?" your tone isn't suggestive, and he never took it that way.

"I-uh..." he begins the same as you. He didn't want you to think that him going inside had been part of this plan originally. Didn't want you to think he was that kind of guy. But you weren't being seductive, your face reading as more concerned than anything.  "Yeah." he nods. "At least wait to see if the salt trucks start running through anytime soon." he says, corner of his mouth pulled back.

"Alright. Good." you say, a half smile at him before you move to hop out of the truck. You're taking your time making your way up the walk as he comes up behind you, hand hovering behind you just in case. You dig into your pockets inside your jacket.

You switch a lamp on in a narrow hallway, he takes in the hardwood floors, a colorful long rug lays down the hallway that leads to a darkened archway.  You throw your keys on a hook, taking off your layers. "Lock the door behind you please," you say, toeing off your boots. "Hang that cool ass coat up before I try to steal it." you say with a pleasant smile.

"Oh thanks." he says with a proud little grin, following instructions. 

You lean across a doorway, slapping a wall and hitting a switch, multiple lamps come on in the living room. "Go ahead and make yourself comfy." you say, moving your face back to him before turning to walk down the hall. "And don't mind Robert, he won't bother you."

"Robert?" he asks, eyes looking over the aesthetically pleasing room, walls decorated in paintings, framed records, and hanging guitars.  You were getting more and more appealing the longer he stayed around which enticed him to see where the night would go. He opens his phone to the weather, to see just how bad it's supposed to get.

"Yeah my cat." you call from the kitchen. A light switches on, another doorway illuminated to him as he looks up to see you moving around an exposed brick and steel filled kitchen.

"You named your cat Robert?" he laughs, looking up, his eyes landing on a small bookcase, filled with vinyl. His lips form an excited O as he moves and kneels in front of the records.

"Yeah, he's a little weird. He likes to sit in the flower pot in the window all and do nothing like a plant." you explain, he hears a tap turn on, a fridge open and close.

"So you named him Robert?" he asks with a questioning laugh.

Your head appears are the corner. "Yeah. Robert Plant." you say with a straight face as his head tilts with an exasperated expression of 'really?' at you. A huge smart assed grin appears on your face.

"Clever girl." he says, looking back to the shelves.

"I'm starving Declan, you want something?" your hand rests on your rounded out hip.

"What ya got?" he asks, raising and moving to lean in the doorway as you stand before an open fridge.

"Well. I was thinking some grilled cheese and bacon or something."

"Fuck yes." he says in a drawn-out deep way that makes you immediately turn and laugh at him.

"My sentiments exactly." you say, moving to retrieve the ingredients and plant yourself in front of the stove. He's planted himself in front of the records, you hear noises of approval so you think his review of your taste will be good.

"Oh hey little man!" you hear him exclaim. Robert must've decided to appear. You hear the familiar meow. "Oh you're a cute, big-eyed thing aren't you?" you hear him coo, the sweet tone making you smile. Robert did have a bit of a mushed face, bless him, with big orange eyes that were a touch too googly for his fluffy calico body, but you loved him just the same. "What a funky little dude." you hear him praise the meowing ball of fluff. You laugh out loud at the comment.

"No one wanted to adopt him because he is a little disproportioned, the poor baby." you explain. "But I saw him and his scruffy little face and I just fell in love with him."

He smiles contently at the cat, your words just giving him more reason to like you, you were a low key sweetheart, he could tell that much in all the...six or so hours he'd known you. How was it only that much time? You felt like old friends already. The cat quickly loses interest and goes towards the delicious smell coming from the kitchen. He moves back to inspecting your musical compatibility, you were doing very well so far. Rock and Roll in general, a touch of harder, a touch of softer. Good bit of Motown and disco, some newer looking records that he didn't know of and this intrigued him.

You walk into the room, a plate in each hand, each holding two grilled cheese sandwiches, multicolored cheese and bacon chunks oozing out the side. "C'mon." you motion your head towards the couch.

"I knew that smell was making my mouth water but they look even better than they smell somehow." he says, licking his lips at the sight. So he was motivated by food it seemed, and who could blame him. It wasn't like you learned how to cook because you hated food.

You set yours down on the coffee table before retreating into the kitchen and returning with bottled water, two cups, and a small teapot. You pour him a cup, your hands steady as the liquid steamed.

"They could taste like shit." you say with a straight face and he laughs, taking the plate from you as you sit cross-legged on the sofa next to him.

"There's no way in hell." he says, both hands on the sandwich already. You place the plate in your lap and move to take a bite. You both moan on contact.

"Fuck." you groan.

"Shit." he exclaims. "Bell, these are amazing." he says, another bite taken before the first is even swallowed. You can't help but feel proud. When the only other person you cook for, your friend Charlotte, is super picky it's harder to enjoy cooking because you so rarely got an enthusiastic reaction like his was without any coaxing.

"Thanks." you say after swallowing, not inhaling yours in the same manner, you sip your tea and watch him happily devour the plate of food quickly. You aren't even finished with your first sandwich and you give him a closed mouth, happy smile.

"These representative of your taste in music?" he asks, cutting the silence, hand motioning towards the bookcase.

"Oh yeah. I mean, I usually just listen to one of the music apps but I'm still a sucker for vinyl for things I really like." you nod in explanation. "Also just stuff I find at flea markets that strikes me as interesting, so it's a mixed bag. I just like some of the old album art."

"Oh yeah I get that." he says with a nod, eyes moving to the walls. "Like these?" he asks, the framed series of records on the wall to your right.

"Yeah, except that one." you point to one in the corner. "That's the first one I ever played on that we did at the studio."

"Guitar I'm assuming?" he nods to the two hanging on the wall, one a worn acoustic and one a matte black axe. What an interesting combination, he thought.

"Assuming right." you say after chewing another bite. "I went through a real big 80's metal phase and bought the axe on a whim." you chuckle while you chew.

"Looks cool as hell." he says with an impressed pursing of his lips.

"Agreed." you grin smugly before sipping your tea.

"You get to play a lot on the stuff you record down there?" he's leaned back on the couch now, phone left on the coffee table by yours, eyes intently watching you.

"Sometimes. I do rhythm and the technical aspects the most. But on that one I had to stand in for their guitarist after he got in a fight and broke some fingers...so I stepped in." you elaborate, finishing off your sandwiches.

"That sounds really cool. Seriously." he gives an enthusiastic series of nods.

"Well I think being a bar owner sounds cool." you say with a shrug.

"Sometimes." he says with a nod, withholding his usual enthusiasm so you change the subject.

"What's the verdict on the weather?" you ask, taking the plates to the kitchen.

"Mmmm..." he hums, looking it up on his phone, you walk from the kitchen, switching off the light and moving to the big window in the living room.

By the noise you make he knows the verdict of your judgment on the aggression of the storm to not be favorable. "I'm afraid it's not good, dude." you say, still looking out the window and shaking your head.

"This says much the same." he grumbles, raising to stand behind you and get a look himself. The roads still untouched, his truck already covered in a layer of snow.

"Uhhh...Declan?" you say hesitantly.

"Yeah Bells?" he asks, you both look to each other.

"You're gonna have to stay. You realize that right?" the corner of mouth draws up in thought.

"Is that..." he starts, pausing to shift his eyes for a moment. "Is that okay?" he hesitantly asks. "I don't want you to think that's what this was about."

"Don’t worry,  we're on the same page. I didn't want you to think I was getting fresh with you. You're just...you're nice and I don't want you putting yourself in danger in this." you admit.

"Well aren't you sweet." he smiles down at you.

"Eh. Wait till you deal with me in the morning and then see if you want to say that." you laugh, shutting the curtains. "I'm gonna grab some blankets." you say, moving into the closed door off a small hallway near the corner of the living room.

You appear again, a stack of comforters and pillows that tower over your head. As soon as he see's you with them he moves to take them from you.

"Couch is a pull-out, by the way. No way your tall ass is gonna be comfy otherwise." you laugh as you move pillows.

"You don't have to move stuff on my account." he hurriedly says, setting down the pillows into an empty chair.

"Hush, you brought me home and didn't have to, I can move some metal a few feet for you," you say with the shake of your head. "You can pull the coffee table over there though." you point to the far side of the room. 

So you've got it all out, blankets, pillows, space heater, all boxes checked.

"Alright. Remotes are there if you can't sleep, phone chargers on the side table, get whatever you want out of the kitchen. I'm the door on the left if you need me." you motion to the dark wooden door in the small hallway he'd seen you retreat to earlier. "You good?" you inquire, eyebrows high at him.

"More than, sweetheart, you talk about me being nice." he says with a smirk.

"Like I said. Just wait." you nod and chuckle. You move to switch off the lights, the glow of the space heater now the main source of illumination. "Night Declan." you lilt as you round the corner.

"Night Bella." he says in a soft, sweet tone that you let make your face form into a girlish smile since he can no longer see it.

CHAPTER 2

[punkdaddylouis]

// two prudes: code red //

chapter two of my punk louis au. behold, some zouis brotp moments - thanks in advance if u would proceed to read on ! x

//a one night stand; don't belong to no city, don't belong to no man//

at around 9:30 in the morning of a monday, louis pushes at the entrance door of code red and strolls inside with delilah nestled to his side, making the bell hooked atop the door ring soundly throughout the area.

he meets with the relaxing atmosphere of the air conditioned and truly spacious shop, some metal music playing to a minimum level in the background.

he sees the same multi-purpose cool shop with its skateboards all hanging on one slanted corner, boxes filled of stuff louis yet doesn't know - perhaps some wheels and other tools.

on one corner there are shelves specially for comic books of any kinds, even k-zones and mangas. on the center are aisles with neat alignments of vinyls and stacks of cds with headphones hooked to some, the certain lists one is allowed to listen to for free. and then there's a door on the other end, just right below the shelf of skateboards, with the neon sign that says guns & roses tattoo parlor.

a head from behind the counter snaps up as he nears, and louis is right away met by a pair of dashing hazel brown eyes framed by dark eyelashes, the owner of them being his ex-boyfriend slash best mate for three years now, zayn javaad malik. the brooding guy with the jet black hair and arms littered with tattoos just like louis himself.

"morning, lou," he greets eerily, voice thin as per usual, flashing those white pearls, lower lip decorated by a round piercing on the right corner.

snickering mentally to himself, louis deems out of nowhere not remembering a single time zayn's voice was ever that thin when he was fucking him into oblivion and he was groaning like a rabid animal.

but of course, that was in the past. louis and zayn are now just best friends, or more like, brothers from another mothers, something like that. zayn ended them, and louis was chill enough to just shrug and agree to his decision. i think i'm just gonna go find my true penguin.

penguin? what the fuck are you talking about, zaynie boy? louis had laughed so hard, sex hazy and high with consumed marijuana.

penguin, lou. zayn shook louis' arms, as if wanting him to wake the fuck up. it's like, your soulmate, yeh? because when penguins mate, they never leave their other halves anymore. it's like, their forever, ye know?

louis had blinked at him, sobering up by the absurdity of it all. and then he pushed at zayn and straddled his hips. will you shut the fuck up? you're beautiful, baby, it's true, but fuck, you're also the fucking lamest, most cliché person ever. and then he surged down, kissed zayn and shut him up for the last 5 hours as they fucked once again.

like, zayn is just...the weirdest weirdo louis has ever known in his life. and he's seen worse.

truth be told, he didn't love him like that - the whole sweetness and romance shit, because fuck no, louis doesn't do that. louis loves zayn, of course he does, but only like he's his cousin or step brother or perhaps little sister. they were boyfriends before, but that only served as a label, since they fucked like rabbits at every chance they got back then, sex driven and young. but that was that.

zayn is the gentle type, the sentimentalist, the tiptoeing kind of person, so louis figured they needed something to somewhat seal the deal - for the two of them to have the authority and right to fuck. and it was for them to become "official". thus they became boyfriends.

they only lasted four months, however, before zayn had eventually realized that louis never loved him in a romantic way. he never took offence to that, thankfully, knew to himself that he was a good fuck, a warm hole to sedate, so he didn't blame louis for using him to release steam anytime he so pleased.

they don't fuck nowadays anymore though. it's been years.

"hey, babes," louis greets back, leaning against the platform and pecking zayn's forehead sloppily with a loud smack, rounding the counter and then dropping delilah at the corner. zayn smiles hazily, nodding his head.

they work together at code red, about a year ago now since they applied. they alternate being in charge on the till and serving walk-in customers, and then their boss, ed, is the one in charge for callers of deliveries. those calls don't come as often.

moments to his clock-in, louis finds himself later playing with his lip ring, as he chews at his bottom lip. he rummages through a couple of vinyls at one aisle and looks for the one their first costumer for the day is asking for. they said they wanted am by the arctic monkeys, so.

when louis finally sees it, a black vinyl with white obscure linings that briefly show a drawing of a ribbon, he fishes it out and inspects it before anything else.

he's got one vans clad foot perched on the three-step ladder left by the aisle they're in, and he's wearing his beanie today and then a loose gray tank top that he now regrets for wearing, since the ac is probably by 17 degrees and it's killing him, fuck.

anyway, he hands the album over to the guy who has their white tee and blue jeans on, curtly reminding louis of a lana del rey song, and then he watches them retreat back to the counter where zayn is now conversing to a few new kids that probably stepped in while he was busy back there.

by the looks of it, the kids are purchasing comics from zayn. he has a keen for nerdy stuff, this dude, and since ed is kind enough to let his shop be used for other business agendas, he lets zayn sell his own comics here, no problem.

"batman, spider-man, green lantern, you name it!" zayn chirps dazedly, voice languid as if he's high, which. probably. he's always high.

"i want superman."

"hey, i want superman too!"

"me, me! i want x-men!"

"yeah! professor x is the best!"

louis watches in peace as zayn lights up at the persistence of the kids crowding him by the counter - asking for the things he also like - can't help biting at his cheek at the happy look his half-pakistani friend is sporting. they both know it's not everyday that they wear genuine smiles and share hysterical laughter to others, considering they're a bunch of college drop-outs that are the outcasts of the town, and that now people see them as this - rebels.

which they're not, mind, seeing as louis still visits his mom and sisters and that he doesn't cause (much) trouble around the city.

they just like having lots of tattoos, smoke chain until four, get pierced every now and then, dye their hair different colors, get high whenever they could score (and that means every day), and live independently on their own, what's so wrong about that?

people can just go fuck themselves, to be honest. louis is fine being this way, thank you very much.

his life, his shit, don't like it? go suck a dick.

simple.

just as zayn's about done with serving the rest of the customers by the counter, it's only a matter of time then for louis to be greeting another batch that spills right at the door of code red, being a pretty much in-demand multipurpose shop and all. he mentally rolls his eyes.

as he looks up, louis sees students, giggling girls, an adolescent, and - a person. one who's wearing a green beanie atop their mop of curls, a hoodie above that, and is plausibly standing a solid five-foot-eleven given that he isn't wearing one of his silly boots today.

harry styles.

because of course, he goes here. of course. louis takes a deep breath, shuffles towards the new customers.

"heya, welcome to code red. anything i can help you with?"

once again, blue meets green. louis isn't really affected by it.

[lakesandquarries]

Brimstone In My Garden (Chapter 3)

Chapter Three: our hometown’s in the dark

Summary: When he was five years old, Midoriya Izuku went missing. Now, ten years later, he’s one of the top villains, whether he likes it or not. When an attack on UA leads to him encountering his childhood best friend, new possibilities open up for him.

Pairings: todobakudekukiri

Notes: Villain Deku au, will have quite a bit of violence and gore later on, along with implied/referenced child abuse. None of this is appearing just yet, but I’ll warn when it does happen.

I’m sorry this chapter is so late!! Work has been kicking my ass. However this chapter is twice as long to make up for it!

< Chapter One < Chapter Two Chapter Four >

Read it on AO3, or under the cut!

Planning a rescue mission is so much harder than Bakugo thought it would be.

Rushing in is not an option, as much as he'd like it to be. Bakugo has never been one for strategy and planning ahead. He meets his problems head on, with force. His quirk allows him to act like that - he's never faced a problem he couldn't punch his way out of.

Until now, at least.

Despite what many people may think, Bakugo isn’t stupid. Reckless, yes, destructive, sure, impulsive, absolutely, but even he knows his limits.

His former best friend’s life hangs in the balance, here. If Bakugo fucks this up -

He won’t. He's going to rescue Deku, and nothing is going to stop him. Not some weird bird beaked monster, not some teleporting bartender, not some asshole with too many hands. And he's going to do it all on his own. The teachers wouldn't understand, they'd treat Deku like he's just another villain, and his classmates are too likely to let something slip.

So, for the first time in his life - he takes notes. He writes down what he remembers, though it’s not much. Deku was only five when he vanished. His only memories of Deku are fuzzy childhood memories, insubstantial and blurry, flashes of playgrounds and sleepovers, and that one last day. When he’s out of memories, he scours the internet for more information, about Deku, about Regrowth, about the villains that had been with him.

Regrowth has quite the body count. At least nine deaths can be attributed to him, according to the articles Bakugo finds. His victims vary, from criminals to heroes to civilians, but they all have a few things in common. Most are found with flowers growing from their mouths, the roots stretching into the throat, into the lungs in some cases. The cause of death is fairly consistent, as well - infections, for almost every single one. Something in the blood. Severe infections, that should have been the result of some kind of injury or illness, that lead to even worse sepsis, followed by organ failure, and finally, death.

It's theorized he has a growth quirk, which would make sense, based on his name. Very little is known about him, beyond that. He's only been seen briefly, in glimpses, but it's said he wears hoodies and a white mask that covers his face. Bakugo has seen pictures of him, grainy photos from security footage, plastered on TV, warning people. Even in the worst photos, his eyes are clear. They’re a bright, piercing green.

Bakugo has to take a break from reading. When he closes his eyes, he sees the faces of those killed by Regrowth, the glazed looks, the flowers splitting them open, the rotting limbs.

Is there enough of Deku left to even be rescued?

---

Deku gets by.

It's hard, pretending to be fine when he feels like he's being ripped apart, but he's had practice. He's been pretending for two years, after all. What's one more lie?

He digs out the old magazine article, again. Loses himself in daydreams. Maybe he could have gone to UA and been a hero. Maybe he and Kacchan could have become friends there, along with that other boy, Kirishima. His quirk has a lot possibilities, used properly. He's healed himself with it enough - maybe, if he'd been given proper training, he could have learned to heal other people.

He can almost picture it - instead of cutting people open, putting them back together. Repairing broken bones and skinned knees and then giving patients a flower, just for the fun of it.

Eventually, though, reality reasserts itself. Deku's as likely to heal a wound as he is to create a horrible infection that kills whoever he's healing - in fact, the second option is more likely. That's what he's been trained for.

He's never going to be a hero. At this point, he doesn't even deserve to be. He's not the carefree, cheerful child he once was.

Villains don't become heroes, especially villains like him.

He wonders what his next mission might be. Another murder, or maybe for once something that doesn't make him hate himself as much. Then again, the League is lying a bit low for once, letting the press run wild with theories about the USJ attack. They'll strike again soon enough, but Shigaraki is enjoying the chaos.

For now, he’ll enjoy the break, such as it is. He’ll lay low, and hope he doesn’t get dragged into something else.

Mostly, he’ll hope Kacchan stays safe.

----

Breaking into the League Of Villains headquarters is unsettling easy.

Bakugo’s spent about a month doing research, at this point, digging through crack theories and troll rants, trying to find any nuggets of truth buried deep in.

A lot of theories mention an abandoned bar, where a variety of different villains have been spotted, including a bunch that appeared during the USJ attack. Most notably, Regrowth has been seen there often. Bakugo finds a series of pictures taken by the security camera nearby. There's massive gaps between photos, months between them at times, but still. Regrowth is a consistent presence here. It's the closest thing Bakugo has to a lead.

He waits for a holiday weekend, a rare opportunity where students are encouraged to go visit their parents. Bakugo's never bothered before, but this weekend he tells his teachers he's going home.

He doesn't.

The bar isn't too far, but it's not close enough to walk, so Bakugo takes the train. His suitcase is only for show, completing his disguise of student visiting his parents. All his supplies are in his backpack, and even then, there's not much. Some rope, first aid supplies…..Bakugo couldn't think of anything that would actually help, with this. His whole plan really hinges on Deku being willing.

Well, there is one person he did ask for help, despite his better judgement - Hatsume Mei. He’d offered to test out some of her weird inventions in exchange for her helping him sneak back into the dorms that night. She’d agreed easily, and he’d left out the part about bringing a second person into the dorms.

The bar is exactly where his notes said it would be, tucked away behind other buildings, the neon sign having gone out a long time ago. The front is crumbling, the windows cracked and dirty. It's not an inviting structure.

Bakugo goes in anyway. The door is locked, but when has a lock ever stopped him? One small explosion and he's in.

It's suspicious, but not enough to make Bakugo go back. Inside is surprisingly nice, plush seats and recently swept floors and clean counters. Sure, everything’s kinda worn out, but it’s obviously been used as an actual bar pretty recently.

The door to the kitchen is locked like the door outside, and Bakugo disposes of it in the same way.

The kitchen is not a kitchen. Bakugo grins upon seeing the hallway ahead of him. Now he's getting somewhere. There's windows in each door, revealing a variety of things - closets, mostly, little storage areas, with some blank bedrooms spread out.

The halls are long and twisting. Bakugo starts getting discouraged when he turns down a hall and, for the fourth time, is greeted by the exact same view he was greeted with the last three turns.

He turns a fifth time and sees a shadow at the end of the hall.

Picking up speed, still aiming for silence, he darts down the hall. This one goes in two directions, and he thinks he sees a flash of black hair turning towards the right. He practically sprints after it, following it down a few halls, until it suddenly vanishes.

It's then that he realizes he has no idea where he is. There’s two ways for him to go forward, one way to go back, and he has no idea how to backtrack.

One direction is a dead end, with just a door at the end, so he decides to check that first. The door is locked - of course - so he gives a quick knock, to see if anyone’s inside.

No response. That’s fine by him. The door breaks easily, crumbling under the explosions.

---

When Deku hears the doorknob rattle, he hides.

It’s not a conscious plan, really, more something he does on instinct. The door is locked, but that rarely stops people from bursting in. Within seconds he’s hidden under the bed, watching the legs of whoever’s decided to come in. He can tell every league member apart by their shoes alone.

….Except he doesn’t recognize the pair he’s currently looking at. They’re a pair of plain black sneakers, well worn but still in good shape. The only person who ever wears sneakers is Dabi and his have some distinct burn marks on them.

“Fuck,” the person says.

Deku pokes his head out from under the bed, just far enough to look, not enough to be seen, only to be greeted with -

“Kacchan?”

Kacchan whirls around, looking for the source of the voice. Sheepishly, Deku crawls out from under the bed.

“What are you doing down th-”

“You can't be here!” Deku nearly shouts, interrupting him, before realizing how loud he's being. “What am I doing? No, what are you doing?”

Kacchan glares at him.

“You can't be here,” Deku repeats, standing up.

“And why not?”

“Because - why are you even here in the first place?”

“I’m here to rescue you, you idiot!”

Deku stares at him, unsure of how to even react. “You - I - You can’t. I’m a villain, Kacchan.”

Kacchan’s determined glare starts to slide off. “What, do you like being here?” he scoffs, gesturing at the room around him, the gray walls and lack of any personal touches.

“I’m -”

“You always said you wanted to be a hero,” Kacchan continues, balling his hands into fists. “So what, you changed your mind? You wanna hurt people now or something?”

Deku flinches. He wants nothing more than to sink into the floor, but Kacchan keeps going. “If you do, then fine, I’ll leave. But if you don’t - why the hell are you arguing with me? I’m trying to help you!”

“You could die trying to help me!” Deku says, digging his hands into his hair. “Did you even think this through? What if I did wanna hurt people?”

“So you admit -”

“Listen to me! If I was a proper villain - you’d be dead!”

“But I’m not, and you’re not,” Kacchan says, like that solves anything. “You’re not, and now you can leave.”

“I can’t,” Deku says, some of the tension leaving him, replaced with exhaustion. “It’s not that simple.”

“It could be,” Kacchan says. “What’s stopping you?”

“I don’t deserve it! I’ve done some awful stuff -” and here he can see Kacchan looking away awkwardly, like he knows what Deku’s done and is rethinking things a little, good - “I’ve killed people and hurt people and ruined lives and - I’m not the Deku you remember.” He grabs onto his arm, a half hearted hug. “I’m not Deku at all. I’m Regrowth.”

Kacchan is silent. Deku doesn’t dare look at him. He can’t pretend he’s not tempted by Kacchan’s offer, but he knows he can’t accept it.

“If you’re really such a horrible person, then why’d you let me and Kirishima live?”

“I -” he doesn’t have a reply to that. Kacchan, for once, does have a point there.

But that doesn’t erase everything else. It doesn’t erase the dead bodies Deku sees when he closes his eyes. “I’m still a villain. Villains don’t get happy endings.”

“You’re being a dumbass,” Kacchan says, interrupting the uncomfortable silence. “You know what I think? I think you’re scared. Which I should’ve expected, but also, stop being a self sacrificing little shit and let me fucking help you.”

“I’m being a dumbass? You’re the one -”

“Shh!” Kacchan says suddenly, moving to put a hand over Deku’s mouth, though Deku quickly knocks it away. “I think I hear something.” He moves away from Deku and pokes his head out the door.

“But -”

“Do you wanna leave or not?” he asks, turning suddenly. “Yes or no.”

“I -”

“Yes or no.”

“Yes,” Deku admits.

“Good,” Kacchan says.

Something hits Deku in the head, something heavy, and before he has the chance to try and figure out what it is, the world goes black.

[sarahbethimagines]

Chapter 10: Head on Collision 

Chapter Log!

Driving down the road it was hard to tell if the vibrations in my hands were coming from the memory I’d had earlier, or from the steering wheel. the moment kept replaying over and over in my head from the second it ended. And still as I drove through the center of my small dead-end town. It’d left me shaking, startled, and even more confused than I’d been before. Not once did any of the other memories, or even Alex in present time as much as hint that we’d ever been something more than friends. Once I’d cleaned up the mess and discarded the totally unsalvageable mug in the garbage, I’d somehow managed to pour a cup of coffee into a fresh mug and retreat back to my father. I asked him almost instantly upon entering his office if I’d been involved with anyone before - being careful to leave any and all names from my question. But he wasn’t much help. He just looked at me with this sort of pointed glaze to his stare. Like he had something to say but was still debating on whether on not to say it.

So of course, I prodded, wanting any possible information to help try and explain whatever the Hell it was I’d just envisioned. “What is it?” A hefty sigh fell from his mustache, “I’m not totally certain if it’s my place, seeing as you were never really one to want to sit down with me and talk about your feelings.” he chuckled softly and rubbed at his sparse grey brow. “But I always had a feeling you and Alex would end up together at some point or another.” All I could do was nod, the heat in my stomach from before swirled up to my cheeks and I'd hung my head in hopes to hide it from my father. Scratching my arm, “But we never did, right?” “No,” He laughed shaking his head and leaning back in his black office chair. “You were always too consumed in living life to bother with boys, at least that's what you’d always said to me.” “Yeah, that, that sounds about right.” I uttered to myself. Not even trying to conceal the sigh of relief that had escaped me, running a hand through my short hair. He'd asked me after if that was all I wanted to know, explaining he'd love to chat more once he'd gotten his last bit of work done. And I took that as cue to lift myself up from the couch, saying that was all. "Alright, well, let me know if you need anything." Was the last thing he said, before swiveling back around. I patted my way towards the door, feet sinking into the plush carpet as I walked. Unsatisfied with the answers I'd gotten from the whole ordeal. All I really needed and wanted to know was what that last memory actually meant. Both to me those years ago, and to me now in my memoryless state. Sometime later I couldn't take it anymore, the sitting around and contemplating a kiss I hardly remembered and had no context to understanding. It drove me insane. Before I knew it, I was back in my car, driving aimlessly around town in search for something, but with no real set destination. It didn't really make sense if I'd thought about it. Thinking in my car was no different than staring blankly at my hands on the couch. But I'd been actively choosing to ignore that and just kept on driving. Just praying I'd find somewhere to go before my gas tank ran low. A strangled sigh ripped through me as I pulled past an intersection. I felt my hands start to turn the wheel with no warning, my mind having a plan of its own. I pulled into a small four building plaza and parked my car. For it being the middle of the day, I saw very few vehicles aside from my own in the lot as I clambered out and looked around. I spotted a small convince store off in the far corner, a local bank, a pizza shop and right in front of where I'd parked my car was an old run-down record store. Trax on Wax it was labeled, on a faded back lit sign. And as I drew closer to it I could see a very small handful of people inside through the large glass windows. The sound of Duran Duran's, Girls on Film softly spilled from the propped open doorway that was guarded by nothing more than a string, beaded curtain. The neon open sign flashed by me in the window at the entry as I made my way into the dimly lit store. A small ding rang through the room from the sensor drilled into the floor. The soft music flowing through the speakers, the stale dusty scent in the air and rough wire carpet under my sneakers almost instantly took me back to the very first time I'd found myself in that music shop. It was October 5th, 2002. And I'd set out on foot bright and early that morning, the first day I didn't have school and was able to finally execute my long-anticipated plan. I was one of very few people inside Trax on Wax that morning, and I made bisque movements through the aisles, searching for the small section that would hold exactly what I'd come in looking for. 'Punk/Pop Rock' was scrawled in sharpie on a flimsy piece of paper peeking out between CD cases. But when my eyes fell on those few words, it could have been written upside down, backwards and six ways from Sunday for all I cared. Lively blue eyes quickly began running over the casings of every CD my sight could reach. Widening slightly every time I spotted one I'd silently been pining for. Only to shrink again once I'd remember the point of my mission. The rather redundant cycle repeated over and over again. My fourteen-year-old self slowly growing more and more irritated with every second that passed when I didn't find what I'd been searching for. Until I did. With precise caution, I pulled the slick case from its secure spot in the row, staring down in complete and utter amazement. It's beautifully pristine shell was still wrapped in crinkly plastic which gave it an even shinier appeal. Anyone watching on probably would have thought that at any second my eyes would pop out of my head and my tongue would unravel like some slobbery dog's. Just staring at it in awe, taking in its sharp black edges, and the vibrant shades of yellow, red and green in the album art. It was Good Charlotte's new album, The Young and the Hopeless. And it was perfect. I'd saved up for weeks to get this once it released, waiting in anticipation, mowing neighbor's lawns, walking their dogs, even scrounging through the couch cushions for change. Just to make sure I'd be able to buy it when that day came. I'd bounced my leg through every class that entire week just waiting for Saturday to roll around and I'd finally be able to walk there in day light to get it. And now I was finally holding it in all its glory. You would have thought I was seeing Disney World for the very first time as I didn’t skip a beat to shove my hand in my pocket and fetch the crinkled cash I'd collected. Only when I did, all that brushed the tips of my fingers were loose coins and a few gum wrappers. My stomach all but sank to the soles of my shoes, face growing red and breath growing shallow. "No, no, no, this is not happening." I muttered only to myself as I put the CD down and frantically shoved my hands in every pocket and crevice in my outfit. Front pockets, back pockets, hoodie pocket, even that small useless one on the front of jeans. But nothing came up. Bankrupt. I looked back at the CD again, slowly picking it up as panic filled my eyes. I needed that CD. There was not a chance in Hell I was leaving there without it. So, I thought quick on my feet, regardless of how morally wrong it would be. Or how long I knew my conscious would be tainted with guilt. My palms were sweating and my knees were shaking and I couldn’t stop my eyes from bouncing around the shop. But I slowly started to snake through the aisles, clutching the disk close to me. I rounded a corner, and when no one could see me I slid the CD into the pocket of my hoodie, sighing loudly and making a casual break for the door. I was a few feet from it, a guilty victory in sight. I was so close to being home free with my dream CD when something stopped me. Someone stopped me. And oh, how badly did I wish in that moment the angel on my shoulder suddenly sounded like a teenage boy. "You're not actually planning on stealing that, are you?" It called, and I quite literally looked to my shoulder. Cringing to my core when I didn’t see a small version of me dressed in white with wings staring back at me. Slowly, I turned around, knowing instantly my cover would be blown once the accuser saw my bright red cheeks and sweat dropped forehead. Never before in my entire life had I stolen anything, and I hadn't been planning too! I'd saved up enough money, I'd just forgotten it and made a stupid, stupid mistake. But it was too late for excuses like that. Down at the end of the aisle a tall boy with a scruffy face and broad shoulders stood with arms crossed. A thick black brow raised at me all too knowingly. And instantly my mouth fell open, indescribable and incoherent mumbles and stutters falling out of it as I tried to think of anything to say to get out of this. I was not good under pressure, and certainly not with angered eyes boring down on me. I started to round up words that might begin to form an apology, my hand reaching for the pouch of my hoodie when something else grabbed it. Well, someone else that is. "Of course, she's not!" A much different voice jumped in, a younger, lighter one. "I told her to pick out anything she wants, on me!" Now even I thought my eyes were going to burst from my skull as I snapped my head over to see a small girl about my age grinning widely back at the individual who'd just caught me. I stared at her for a moment, both shocked and confused trying to pull anything from her appearance to figure who she was or why she was saving my ass right then. She looked strikingly familiar for a reason I couldn't quite pin down. Her long brown hair that resembled mine in color cascaded down her shoulders to the crooks of her elbows in soft, slept in waves. Her tanned boney hand clutching my wrist showed off her chipped pink nail polish, I'd known I'd seen before. But still my mind was coming up blank. "You know her?" The boy asked, breaking me from my scattered thoughts with the very question I'd been asking myself. And I watched with blown eyes as she nodded ferociously. "I have friends you don't know about, Micah." She said, almost picking fun at the boy as I looked back over at him. His arms still crossed and a doubtful expression adorning his rough face. "How do you know her?" He groveled, shifting on his feet. "We have English together!" She said, and things slowly started to piece together how I shockingly really did know this girl. Even though I wouldn’t say being assigned to sit next to one another qualified us as friends. I certainly wasn't about to argue with the girl. "She's friends with Gaskarth's crew!" At this my eyebrows perked up, as did the boy who I assumed to go by Micah's when I turned my head back around to see him staring at me now. Slightly softer look in his charcoal eyes. "You know Alex?" I nodded at the sound of the familiar name. Because on the same standards as saying this girl is my friend because we had just one class together; Alex and I were suddenly elevated from acquaintances to the best of friends anyone has ever seen. And that seemed to be enough for the boy to drop his arms with a sigh of defeat, turning to the other girl once again. "Michelle, are you really paying for her?" He asked, scratching the side of his head. The girl nodded. Quickly she dropped my arm to fish a balled-up wad of ones and fives from her pocket, holding it up to the boy. Something that only made him sigh yet again. "Mom gave you that to last the rest of the week!" She smiled widely again, throwing her arm causally around my shoulders and tugging me into some form of a side hug. "Well, I want to spend it on my friend here!" She argued, "Her birthday is coming up!" Micah huffed a breath and shook his head, but still advanced towards us to snatch the money from the girl's hand. "Don’t tell mom I let you do this." He warned, letting his eyes linger across her face for a moment before they traveled to mine. "It was nice to meet you." He breathed before turning his back and walking towards the back of the shop. "Oh, dear God." I sighed loudly as I weaved my way out from under the girl's arm and turned to her with a gracious smile. "Thank you so much, you really saved my ass right there, I've never tried to do anything like that before, I swear it's so unlike-" "Oh, don’t sweat it!" She instantly cut me off, waving a hand as she smiled and bounced on her toes. "People try and swipe shit from here all the time, but it's not every day I make a friend out of it! I'm Michelle by the way, Michelle Juubie. I don’t know if I've ever actually introduced myself to you in class." "You hadn't," I smiled at her, shaking the hand she put out to me. "Murphy, Kennedy Murphy." "Very James Bond of you!" She smirked, grabbing my elbow and dragging me off into an aisle before she pulled me close. "Also, just for reference if you're going to steal anything again you'll have to do a much better job at it!" She whispered, and I was about to attempt to explain again how I'd never intended to steal it in the first place, but she never gave me the chance. "It's all about the eyes." She told me, "The key is to scan the merchandise with one hand, and without looking over, pocket something with the other." "Uh, thanks?" I chuckled. Watching as she pulled a small tape deck from her own hoodie pocket that I genuinely didn't see her swipe and slide it back into its spot. "Wow, that's impressive? Concerning? I don't really know how to take that!" She giggled, "I think I like you already, we're going to be great best friends!" I laughed at the petite brunette who'd gone back to aimlessly scanning the tape decks and smiled. "Then you should probably know now my birthday is in April." "Well good thing I already know what not to get you!" Blinking away the tears that had slowly begun to form in my eyes, I looked down and noticed the display of tape decks I'd somehow wandered my way over to. Smiling, almost laughing really at the thought of the girl I'd just remembered. I didn’t quite know her yet in this new state of mind, but I knew I would like her as greatly as I had back then. I just had a feeling. "Not trying to steal from us, again are we?" A voice suddenly called me from my thoughts, pulling my attention over my shoulder where I saw her. Sat up on the counter top just beyond a display rack. I watched her flop down from it onto the floor and make her way towards me. "You still owe me that fifteen dollars from the first time you tried." It was like a vision from a dream almost as she sauntered down the aisle with a smile. Dressed now in denim shorts and a faded tee. But to me it hardly looked like she'd aged even a day. Her dark eyes were still as large as they'd always been, smile just as big, and hair just as long and wavy as I'd pictured moments before. And just like that, it hit me. Like a car crash, a head on collision. It hit me that I knew the girl stepping up beside me, looking into my eyes with a knowing, pressing gaze behind them. I knew her, but not like I knew Jack, or Zack, or even Alex really. I didn't just know that I knew her in some stage of my life. I remembered her. I remembered everything about her, about us, about our friendship that had blossomed like flowers in the spring that first day I walked into this store. I remembered every English class after that, sitting with her, passing notes and making jokes which had us laughing so loud more often than not we'd be scolded. I remembered sitting up in this store for hours on end harassing her brother Micah as he tried to work. I remembered Micah, I remembered him constantly teasing me for the poor excuse for a thief I'd been. I remembered having to fake my birthday to him every October just to keep our little act up. I remembered long school lunches, and winter breaks making dirty versions of snowmen with her and the guys. I remembered road trips in the fall, and beach days in the summer. I remembered all the times we'd laughed so hard to mindless television we'd be crying clutching our sides. I even remembered breaking into the principal's office and changing the diploma order just so we could sit beside one another on graduation day. I remembered everything. Like a storm in the summer, the flood of events vanished almost as quickly as it'd came and I was left standing there, heavy in the head from everything I now had crammed inside it. Just stuck, staring back at this girl watching me intently as tears began to brim in my eyes. "JuJuBee?" I practically whispered, a single tear escaping me and sliding down my cheek. And I couldn't even begin to tell you how big her smile got in the split second between her going from standing there worried, to throwing her arms around me. Sobbing now herself, she clung to my frail frame so tight I really did believe she thought if she let go I'd slip away. "Oh, Tweedle Dee!" She sobbed, her pet name for me ringing true, just as ridiculous as it'd always been. "I missed you!" "I missed you too..." I murmured, crying happy tears now at the fact that I could finally say that to someone, and know exactly what it was I'd been missing.

[queen-of-the-merry-men]

SOUL SEARCHING

A short OQ prompt based on spoilers and my own desires. Photo by Irina @angry_fish on twitter.

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

He knows things aren’t right. He just feels it deep in his gut.

His therapist says that’s perfectly normal considering the circumstances. After all, who wouldn’t feel out of sorts after waking up from a six-month coma with no memories whatsoever.

Some days he still can’t believe it. An entire lifetime gone. He can’t remember anything no matter how hard he tries. All he knows is what they’ve told him.

His name is Jason Clark. He’s 40 years old. His birthday is June 7th. He used to be a web designer. He lives in Spokane, Washington. In a nice apartment with an English bulldog named Charlie. He lives alone. Doesn’t have much of a family from what he can tell. Not a lot of pictures on the walls. Not a single friend that he’s met, just acquaintances here and there.

A look in the mirror tells him that he has dark brown hair, nearly black, and green eyes. His closet tells him that he favors expensive suits over jeans and hoodies. And judging by his kitchen cabinets he’s apparently a big fan of pasta but none of it sparks a fraction of a memory or emotion. Just more mystery.

His therapist says things will get better. That as time goes by he’ll start to settle and possibly remember more.

But he knows that’s not true.

He’s lived this life for three months and it still doesn’t feel like his.

His apartment doesn’t feel like his home. His face doesn’t feel familiar. Hell, even the dog is acting like it barely knows him.

Things don’t feel right. And he can’t shake the feeling that the life he’s living isn’t his own.

Still, he tries. He takes Charlie on walks, he explores his neighborhood, he tries to find something that will spark his memory all to no avail… until that fateful Friday afternoon.

He’d taken Charlie out to the park, for a stroll near his favorite pond. He can’t remember going there often but Charlie always seems happy there. It’s on their second lap that they run into her.

It’s a complete accident. Charlie had tugged on his leash a bit to harshly and she clearly hadn’t been watching where she was going, so they bumped into each other. He apologizes, only wanting to make sure that she’s okay, when her hand latches onto to his elbow and she stares up at him with wide blue eyes.

“It’s you!” she breathlessly whispers. She says it with so much conviction, her grip on his arm growing tighter as she takes him in. “I’ve been looking for so long…”

He stares down at her, heart pounding in his chest as he searches her face for a sliver of recognition. He’s walked through this park, this neighborhood, at least a dozen times and not once has someone recognized him. She’s the first and he wants to remember her desperately… but he doesn’t.

He takes in her curly blonde hair and innocent blue eyes, searching his brain but coming up empty. He doesn’t know who she is.

“Do you know who I am?” he tentatively asks.

Her smile falters as she scrunches her eyebrows at him. “Do you?”

Her gaze grows harsher as she lets her hand fall from his arm and he shifts uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

“Of course,” he lies. “I’m Jason Clarke.”

A soft, disbelieving breath comes from her as she shakes her head. “No… you’re not.”

Confusion bubbles up inside of him. He doesn’t like it.

“Look,” he says, “I’ve had a bit of an accident recently. And it might’ve messed with my head a bit but I do still know my own name. Now tell me… do I know you?”

She shakes her head, sadly. “No… but I know you. The real you.”

All he can do is stare at her. She’s not making sense.

“Who are you?”

A small smile tugs on her lips. “Your fairy godmother,” she sarcastically answers, with a small shrug of her shoulders.

Jason rolls his eyes. This woman is clearly insane. He doesn’t know why he even bothered to get his hopes up. She’s clearly a dead end.

Charlie tugs on his leash and barks, clearly ready to move on. And frankly, Jason is right behind him.

He turns away from her. “Look I don’t know if you’re messing with me or just annoyingly cryptic but either way I get the feeling that this talk is a waste of my time so…”

He starts to walk away, even manages to make a few strides before he hears her call out to him.

“You’re lost aren’t you… Jason?” She practically sneers his name and it stops him in his track.

“You wake up and you don’t feel right? You look around and know that you’re out of place?”  She pauses. “It’s eating you alive, isn’t it?”

He grits his teeth before turning around to look at her. She’s still staring at him a knowing, concerned look in her eyes as she continues to speak.

“You think it’s just your home, or your clothes, maybe even that dog that’s making you not feel right but it isn’t,” she said, stepping closer. “It’s you. Deep down inside… you’re not where you’re meant to be… and you know it.”

He takes a deep breath, clenches his jaw and growls at her, “Who… are… you?”

She nods at him. “I’m the woman who’s gonna show you the way home.”

She reaches inside her jean jacket, pulls out a small business card and hands it over to him. “Tomorrow night at seven. You need to be at this place. Trust me.”

It’s all she says before rushing away from him, disappearing as mysteriously as she’d appeared. He watches her go before turning over the card in his hand.

RONI’S BAR 815 N. Mifflin Ave, Seattle, Washington. -------------------------------

It’s fucking ridiculous. There’s no way he’s doing it.

There’s no way he’s taking a four hour drive all the way to fucking Seattle just because a crazy woman told him to. There’s just no way.

Sitting on his couch in his apartment he tries to convince himself of this. He tries to convince himself that he’s too smart to believe anything that she said. He looks around his home and tries to convince himself that it’s where he belongs.

Charlie wanders over with his leash in his mouth. He paws at his leg and tilts his head, judgmentally.

Jason sighs. “Goddamn it.”

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

It’s a nice enough place. At least from the outside.

It’s seven-ten Saturday night and he’s standing across from the bar with Charlie at his side, watching as people come in and out. There’s a bright neon sign above the door with green lit letters spelling out “RONI’S” along with two red arrows above the name. Classy, he thinks to himself.

He can’t see inside. It’s a brick building with the only windows situated well above eye level but he can hear the music coming from behind the door. A steady stream of classic rock and guitar ballads. Not his personal favorite. At least not according to his CD collection.

This is insane. He had no reason at all to go inside that place. Just the word of some madwoman he’d ran into at the park. What are the chances that anything in there was gonna give him answers? He was better off going home.

He’d barely spun on his heel before he heard her voice.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

He turned back with a grimace and saw her, the woman from the park. She was dressed in a flirty green romper and glaring at him crossed arms. Teddy barked, recognizing her and she smiled at him.

“You know they don’t allow dogs inside,” she quipped.

“Doesn’t matter because I’m not going in,” he shot back.

“You have to!” she insisted, raising her voice.

“No I don’t!” he snapped at her. “I don’t get it. Who are you?! What do you think is gonna happen? What in there is so important that you just can’t let me leave?!”

She hesitated, shifting from foot to foot before softly answering, “A woman.”

Jason rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Wow.”

He turned to walk away from her but she ran to block his path. “Look I know how it sounds… but you have to trust me. Once you meet her… things will start feeling right again.”

Jason clenched his jaw as he stared her down. “And what makes you think I need your help with that?”

She stared up at him, silent and searching before answering, “Because I’m just a crazy woman from a park who told you to be some place… and you still showed up.”

Goddamn it.

He reluctantly hands her the leash. “If my dog isn’t here when I get back I swear I will hunt you down.”

She smiles at him. “Noted.”

He goes to walk toward the bar before looking back at her. “What is your name anyway?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “My friends call me Tink.”

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

It’s more crowded than he expected but then again it was Saturday night. A small band was up on stage playing 80’s rock and every table in the place was filled. In fact, the only seat left was on a stool right next to the bar. Looking around the bar he suddenly realizes that Tink has given no clue as to who this woman is or what she even looks like.

30 minutes, he told himself. I’ll stay for 30 minutes and then I’ll leave.

He sits at the bar, feeling more anxious by the minute. One quick pan of the room and he realized he was clearly overdressed. His black suit certainly stood out in the sea of jeans and leather. It makes him feel uncomfortable but not half as much as the stares he’s gotten. This place must be a locals hangout because people have stared at him from the moment he’d walked through that door, as if they’d known it was his first time there.

This was a bad idea. Screw thirty minutes, he should just leave now.

“Well hello there handsome.”

He turns to the bar and finds himself looking into the most beautiful pair of chocolate eyes he’s seen in this life or any other. It’s the bartender. A woman with dark eyes and wild brown hair. She smiles and he’s dumbfounded. He doesn’t know what it is but he feels… something. Which is more than he can say for the past three months.

She raises her eyebrows at him. “Pick your poison?”

“Why don’t you pick it for me?”

The words slip out of him as if on instinct, smoother than he expected and certainly more relaxed than he feels.

She tilts her head at him, surprised. “Feeling a little adventurous?”

“Just having some trouble remembering what I like,” he replies.

It’s not as if he’s lying. Drinking wasn’t something he’d had the chance to do yet. So if he has a favorite drink it’s a mystery to him.

She nods her head. “Alright then. A shot of whiskey coming up.”

She knocks on the counter before turning back to the shelf and pulling down a bottle. He watches her from his seat, taking her in. He can’t help but let his eyes wander over her body, examining every curve of her. She’s dressed as casually as anyone else in the place, wearing nothing but a plain black tank and jeans. It suits her.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” she asks, her back still turned.

“How could you tell?”

Her hoop earrings dangle as she spins back and sets a glass in front of him. “No one around here dresses as nice as you.”

She winks at him, or at least tries to, and he smiles, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m just passing through for the night.”

“And what brings you to the lovely Hyperion Heights?”

He stares into her brown eyes and shakes his head. “I have no idea.”

“Really?” she drawls, leaning against the counter, clearly interested. “You lost?”

“So I’ve been told,” he replies.

She hums to herself as she stares into his eyes. “You know… I like you.”

He snorts, amused. “Do you?”

“I do.” She grins, nodding her head. “And you should know that’s a very big deal. I don’t like very many people.”

“I bet,” he chuckles.

She tilts her head at him, curious. “What is your name?”

“Jason,” he answers. “Jason Clarke.”

“Jason Clarke?” She wrinkles her nose, straightening up. “Not really a name that fits you.”

“Thanks for letting me know, I’ll be sure to return it,” he shoots back with a grin.

“Sorry,” she giggles. “I’ve been told I’m a little blunt.”

“It’s fine,” he says, shaking his head. “You have no idea how refreshing it is.”

After weeks of gentle-toned doctors and psychiatrists her honesty is like a breath of fresh air. Maybe that’s why it feels like his soul is reaching out to her like a moth to a flame.

“What is your name?”

“Veronica,” she answers, flashing him another bright smile. “But everyone just calls me Roni. Owner and proprietor of the very bar you stand in.” 

She holds out her hand and he reaches to shake it. A jolt goes through him. Like the spark that ignites a forest fire, he feels something shift inside of him. Something light and familiar. Something… right.

“Pleasure to meet you Roni.”

“Likewise… Jason.”

[thenovelartist]

Falling for the Dork, set 6

<<Previous set  Next set>>

18.      In the Rain

The rainy season had begun once again, meaning that Marinette was unprepared for the first big downpour of the season. And this time, so was Adrien.

“Okay,” he said, looking at the downpour. “I have an extra hoodie in my locker. I’ll grab that for you, and then we make a mad dash to your house.”

“There’s no better option, is there?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

Together, they walked to Adrien’s locker, where he pulled out a black hoodie with a bright, neon green paw on it. He scrunched the fabric up in his hands so he could easily pull it over her head. She slid her arms in the overlong sleeves, and Adrien flipped the hood up over her head before giving the pigtails that stuck out of it an affectionate tug.

She blushed bright red.

They then made their way to the front of the school again, only to pause as they stared out at the rain.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“One, two, three!”

They took off like a shot, running as fast as they could and, blessedly, not getting stopped at the crosswalk.

By the time they made to the safety of Marinette’s house, the hoodies were drenched and their pants were soaked as well. But they were laughing as they stepped into the entryway of Marinette’s house.

They took off their soggy sneakers, then got out of the hoodies that were almost wet enough to be wrung out. Their shirts were mostly fine, but their pants were another story.

“I think I still have those pants I designed for you,” Marinette said. “I’ll grab those for you, and we can toss our clothes in the dryer.”

“Sounds good to me.”

They trekked up the stairs to Marinette’s room, where she did find the pants from a previous design competition that would fit Adrien. She sent him into the bathroom to change while she quickly changed in her room, putting on a pair of fuzzy pajama bottoms and a fully dry shirt.

Adrien knocked on the door. “You changed?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said, opening the door

To reveal a shirtless Adrien.

“Seems like my shirt got wet, too,” he said with a shy grin. “Could you throw it in the dryer, too?”

Marinette was trying not to stare at his bare chest. “Um, yeah, totally.”

She quickly took his clothes, then made her escape from the stupidly handsome shirtless boy she had a crush on.

Though she wasn’t a fan of drying everything together, the clothes could stand it this once. After taking a breath to steady herself, she marched back up the stairs. It’s okay. There’s nothing special about seeing Adrien shirtless. It’s all fine.

Except it wasn’t because all the lies she told herself went straight out the window at the sight of shirtless Adrien in her room.

She dug through her clothes, tossing an oversized shirt at him. “Put this on, dork,” she said.

“What? You don’t like all this?” he teased, shooting her an exaggerated flirty smile while he flexed his arms.

Marinette had to swallow as she watched the muscles in his back and arms tighten.

Slowly, Adrien’s expression faded as he turned towards her, his brows knit together in confusion.

“You look good.” The words came tumbling out of Marinette’s mouth before she could even think to stop them.

Outside, lightning flashed, and thunder rolled shortly after. Marinette felt herself blush bright red as Adrien looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’m gonna go get snacks,” she said. “And then some Ultimate Mecha Strike three?”

He nodded, but still didn’t look at her. “That sounds good.”

“Okay.” It took everything Marinette had to not run from the room. And then once she was out of the room, not to scream.

 19.      Akumatized

They were in their last year of schooling, meaning that it was time to start applying to universities. Adrien had a handful he applied to and would be happy with any of them. But for Marinette, with her love of fashion, wanted a spot in the top fashion school of Paris. And considering she wanted to go to the best fashion school in Paris, there would be a lot of competition.

“And what if I don’t make the cut and then I’ll never be able to live out my dreams as a fashion designer.”

Which meant Marinette was beside herself with nerves and making up ridiculously dismal conclusions.

“You won’t have to worry about that,” Adrien said, a plan hatching in his mind, “because you see, I’ll be your secret weapon.”

Marinette took that the complete wrong way and looked horrified. “No! I do not want to use your connections—”

“No no no,” he dismissed. “Not in that way. You see, I myself have a foolproof plan for getting you in.”

She paused, looking a little lost. “And just what would that be?”

“You see, Marinette. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m actually have secret superpowers.”

The very corner of Marinette’s mouth twitched upwards. “Superpowers?”

He nodded, trying and failing to keep the smile off his face. “I have an army of butterflies that I can use to transform people into my personal minons.”

Her smile was growing. “Oh really?”

“Yes,” he said. “I send them out into the world and when they land on people’s shoulders, they become my minions. If you don’t get in, I’ll be angry for you, meaning all the minions I create will be evil minions.”

Marinette was biting her lip at this point, desperately trying not to laugh.

“With my army of minions, I will march down to the admissions office and tell them they better accept you or I will use my evil army to destroy the entire school meaning that—guess what?—it won’t be the most prestigious fashion university in Paris anymore.”

Now, her face was in her hands, her shoulders shaking. He could hear her quiet giggles, and he felt like a winner.

“Then, I will go to the new most prestigious fashion university in Paris and I will march my army to their admission office and say they better accept you and by that point, they will, because my evil powers will have been exposed for the world to see and no one will turn me down. That will be my evil plan to get you into that university.”

Gradually, Marinette’s laughter subsided to the point she dropped her hands from her face and looked at him with a beaming smile and cheeks pink from laughter. “You. Are such a dork.”

He grinned. “Feel better?”

“Much,” she said, stepping close to wrap his arms around his torso in a hug. “Thank you, Adrien.”

He couldn’t resist cocooning her in his arms. “You’re welcome.”

 20.      Hamster

There was a carnival in town, meaning rides and games and such. Marinette and Adrien couldn’t help but want to check it out. Originally, they were a group of four, but Nino and Alya split soon after their arrival, leaving Marinette and Adrien to their own devices.

Which they really didn’t mind.

After going on a few rides and getting some snacks, they found themselves wandering around the games. Adrien couldn’t help but notice how her eye caught on a jumbo plush hamster. He knew she wanted a live one. Frankly, he did, too. Preferably with her.

“Come on,” he said, leading her over to the game. “Let’s try for it.”

It was a game of “knockout.” They each got 5 balls and had to knockout as many clowns as they could. Marinette managed three. Adrien got all five.

“See? You’re my lucky charm,” Adrien said with a grin.

She giggled. “You’re such a dork.”

They each got to pick out a prize. Marinette pointed to the black cat while Adrien grabbed the jumbo stuffed hamster. “For you, my lady,” he said, presenting it to her with a smile.

She beamed, her cheeks coloring red. “And for you,” she said, handing over the cat.

“You should keep it,” he said, “and think of this kitty cat every time you see it.”

“That’s what the hamster is for,” she said, squeezing it tight. “Take this one, because I want you to remember me every time you see it.”

How could he resist that?

He named it Plagg, and it took up a permanent residence on his bed because, true to her intentions, it did remind him of her every time he saw it.

 21.      Nightmare

School was over. They had graduated, and university was right around the corner. Meaning that they were all going off to different universities and starting the beginning of their adult lives.

Even though he’d known it for months, the realization slammed full force into Adrien right after graduation as he was saying good-bye to all his school friends. But it wasn’t until midnight that night that he realized that ‘friends’ meant Marinette, too.

And in his panic in the night, his heart racing and mind whirring, he thought that it was nothing short of a living nightmare.

First thing in the morning, Adrien headed over to Marinette’s house. It was early, and he knew Marinette wasn’t exactly a morning person, bus to his surprised, she answered, immediately turning excited at the sight of him. “Adrien! What are you doing here? I thought you were busy today.”

“I was,” he said. “But I’m kinda ditching my fencing class today because I really want to talk to you.”

Her expression fell, turning serious. She let him inside, and they quickly headed up the stairs to her room.

“Yeah, what’s going on?” she asked, sitting down on her chair.

Adrien collapsed on her chaise. “Remember how… yesterday, we were saying good-bye to everyone? Realizing we were all going our own ways?”

She nodded.

“I just…” He sighed, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Out of all our classmates, I’m most terrified saying good-bye to you.”

She frowned, her brow knitting together in confusion. “Adrien, you don’t have to say good-bye to me. We’re staying close, remember? I’ll always be around.”

“But what if you aren’t?” he challenged. “What if we drift apart? What if you’re busy with your school and I’m busy with mine and we don’t stay in contact and—”

“Hey, hey.” Marinette had stood from his seat to grab hold of his cheeks. She gave him a soft smile that calmed his racing heart. “That’s not gonna happen. Even if we have to put each other specifically into our schedules, we’ll find time to stay together.”

He sighed. “I don’t think… you fully understand, Marinette.” He reached up to grab her wrists. “That… That I’m worried I’ll lose you.”

“You won’t lose me,” she quietly replied, her head slowly getting closer to his.

“No,” he said. “Not that kind of lose.”

“Then what kind of lose are you talking about.”

“The kind where you live your life and I’m not there every step of the way.”

A long silence slipped between them.

“Marinette,” he said, moving his hands from her wrists to cradle her cheeks. “I’m sorry I never told you this sooner, but… it took me a while to realize that losing you in that way really isn’t okay with me. I really, really like you. And… I want nothing more than for you to be mine.”

Her breathing was coming in short, shallow bursts, and her cheeks were bright pink. Just as Adrien grew worried he’d overstepped his bounds, her eyes grew glassy and a smile stretched across her cheeks. “You have feelings for me?” she whispered as if not believing it.

He nodded. “For a while now,” he admitted.

If it was possible, her smile grew larger. “You have feelings for me.”

“Yeah,” he said, his own smile growing. “I do. And… And I can only hope that you have feelings for me.”

She sniffed. “You’re such an idiot.”

The words caught him off guard.

“Yeah,” she said. “Because… I’ve been in love with you for years.”

Those words hit him like a bat to the chest, knocking the air out of him and leaving him stunned. “Wh… really?”

Her smile widened, and with it came a tear.

He was quick to wipe it away with his thumb. “Really?” he asked, not sure he believed it. “You like me?”

Marinette nodded.

And that was all the confirmation he needed to yank her down against him, cocooning her up into his arms and pressing his face into her hair. “You like me.”

“I do,” she said shifting in his lap. “Since when did you like me?”

“I’d say it probably started when Juleka’s older brother came to town.”

“Luka?”

“And I hated how you were spending time with him.”

Slowly, Marinette pushed away from him so she could look him in the eyes. “Kitty?” she said, smile on her face. “Were you jealous?”

He growled, glancing away from her.

She giggled, her hands finding his cheeks again to pull his attention back to her. “You liked me since then?”

“That was the beginning of it, yeah,” he confessed. “Ever since then, seeing you with other guys… I just… and the thought of losing you…”

She settled back against his chest, her arms looping around his torso and holding him tight. “I don’t want to lose you, either.”

He clung to her like a lifeline. “Marinette,” he began. “I really… I love you, and I don’t want to let you go. I don’t want to lose you. I want to pursue more with you. Will… will you be my girlfriend?”

Her arms tightened. “Adrien,” she said. “Nothing in the world would make me happier.”

“And we can’t let college pull us apart,” he insisted, heart fluttering nervously at the thought.

She hummed. “The love of my life just confessed his love for me. If you think I’m not going to fight tooth-and-nail for you, then you don’t know me very well.”