#mr double a battery

[finn95o]

I really want some AA23 merch

Lil Liam under the cut…

He’s supposed to be there we know this

[gilbertscurls]

hopeless — chris sturniolo

While you were busy fighting with your unruly eyeliner pencil in the poorly lit girls’ bathroom, Chris Sturniolo was wrestling with the snooze button on his alarm clock.

He finally managed to drag himself out of bed, bleary-eyed and muttering curses at the cruel world of 7 AM wake-up calls. His morning routine wasn’t exactly polished, and that became painfully evident when he spilled his coffee—hot coffee—on his favorite lacrosse jersey.

“Are you kidding me?” he groaned, holding the stained fabric away from his chest like it had personally offended him.

With no time for a wardrobe change, he shoved his feet into mismatched socks, grabbed his gym bag, and dashed out the door with his hair still doing its best impression of a hedgehog who had been struck by lightning.

It was third period, and the universe seemed determined to keep your life firmly categorized under “mildly catastrophic.” You sat in the library, surrounded by an intimidating pile of textbooks, your laptop blinking a low-battery warning at you.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath, shoving your glasses up your nose and squinting at your notes.

The universe, however, wasn’t done with its morning antics. Because at that exact moment, Chris Sturniolo barreled through the double doors of the library like a golden retriever that had just been let off its leash.

He was wearing his stained jersey, his hair still a mess, and he looked utterly confused as he squinted at the rows of tables.

“Chris?” Mrs. Jenkins, the librarian, hissed from her desk. “This is a library. Lower your voice, please.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Chris whispered, though it wasn’t much quieter than his regular speaking voice. He scanned the room, spotted you hunched over your pile of work, and beelined toward your table with an exaggerated sigh of relief.

You glanced up, your pencil hovering mid-air. “Uh… can I help you?”

Chris dropped into the chair across from you, dropping his gym bag onto the floor with a loud thud. “Please tell me you’re in AP Chemistry.”

You blinked at him. “Yeah… why?”

“Because I am so lost, and I think I’m about to fail this entire unit. Coach said if I bomb another quiz, I’m benched for Saturday’s game.”

“Okay… and you came to me because?”

Chris grinned, and for a moment, you could see why half the school practically melted every time he flashed that signature smirk. “Because you’re, like, the smartest person in this school. And also because I think everyone else is scared of me.”

You fought back a smile, biting your lower lip. “You? Scary? You literally tripped over a basketball in the hallway last week.”

“That was one time!” Chris exclaimed, a little too loudly, earning a sharp glare from Mrs. Jenkins. He winced and lowered his voice. “Listen, Y/N. Please. I’ll do… whatever. Carry your books, buy you coffee, sing your praises in the hallway—just please help me not fail.”

You stared at him for a moment, watching his puppy-dog eyes practically bore into your soul. You sighed, finally closing your textbook.

“Fine. Meet me here after school. Bring your notes—if you have any.”

Chris grinned wide, his dimples on full display. “You’re the best, seriously. Like, the best.”

Before you could respond, he was up and out of his chair, gym bag swinging wildly over his shoulder as he dashed out of the library.

You shook your head with a laugh.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, and true to his word, Chris was already waiting at your usual library table. His jersey still had a faint coffee stain on it, but he’d at least attempted to fix his hair—it was still a little chaotic, but charmingly so.

“Okay, show me what you’ve got,” you said, setting down your backpack.

Chris unzipped his gym bag and pulled out… nothing.

“Chris.”

“No, wait, wait!” He started digging through the pockets, pulling out crumpled papers, a broken pencil, and—somehow—a granola bar wrapper.

“Chris!”

“Okay, okay!” He held up a single sheet of paper. “This is all I have.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying not to laugh. “You are hopeless.”

Chris shrugged sheepishly. “But I’m charmingly hopeless?”

You rolled your eyes and motioned for him to sit down. “Alright, let’s start from scratch. And if you mess up one more formula, I’m writing it on your forehead with permanent marker.”

Chris grinned as he grabbed a pencil. “Deal.”

Two hours later, the library was nearly empty. Chris had his head resting on the table, groaning softly as you pointed at yet another chemical equation.

“Chris, focus.”

“I can’t. My brain is full.”

“It’s been full since the second grade, hasn’t it?”

Chris lifted his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Wow, Y/N. Who knew you were so sassy?”

You shrugged. “It’s easy when the person across from me still doesn’t know the difference between a mole and molarity.”

Chris groaned again, dropping his forehead onto the open textbook.

“Okay, fine. We’ll stop here for today,” you said, unable to keep from laughing.

Chris lifted his head slowly, a tired but genuine smile on his face. “Thanks, Y/N. Seriously. I would’ve been toast without you.”

You hesitated before responding. “You’re welcome, Chris. But you owe me. Big time.”

He stood up, slinging his gym bag over his shoulder. “Oh, don’t worry. I plan on paying you back.”

You raised a brow. “How?”

“With my sparkling personality, of course,” he said with a wink before jogging backward out of the library.

You shook your head, watching him disappear down the hallway.

Chris Sturniolo, the messy-haired, coffee-stained, perpetually-late lacrosse jock, had somehow managed to make chemistry tutoring feel… fun.

And maybe—just maybe—you wouldn’t mind seeing him at the library again tomorrow.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @straw8berry, @shadowthesim, @courta13

[morganbritton132]

David knows who Dustin is as soon as he walks into the gym for Career Day. Mainly because there’s a picture on Steve’s desk of him but also because the two of them are bickering with each other. Real sibling behavior.

When he gets closer, he hears that they’re bickering about batteries. Apparently it’s always the goddamn batteries.

David is noticed almost immediately and gives a little wave before asking if there’s anything he can help with. Steve pulls him in and then snaps his fingers at Dustin specifically because it annoys him, “Dustin, this my friend, David. Be nice to him and he might find a place for your lizard -“

“It’s an iguana.”

“-while I figure out what the hell is going on over there…. Mrs Bennett, can I help you?”

Dustin goes back to untangling a bunch of wires when Steve leaves so David awkwardly throws out, “I could tell you guys were brothers. You look alike.”

“We look alike?” Dustin says slowly, amused. When David just nods, he adds, “Steve’s adopted.”

“I’m not adopted!” Steve calls from three booths down.

“You could’ve been!”

“I still think you look alike,” David says, deciding to double down on that thought even if it’s not true. They look passable related, maybe. “So, uh. Pretty cool that Eddie came to help you set up. I know he’s - Steve’s mentioned that he’s busy with his….”

David hesitates just enough to acknowledge he doesn’t know what Eddie does only that it sometimes involves a red carpet, “….his movies.”

“Movies?” Dustin says in a tone that clearly says David guessed wrong. He turns around in Steve’s direction and asks loudly, “This guy is supposed to be you friend??”

David thinks to himself, Eddie must work in tv then.

[lnfours]

summer love | l.n

summary: part 2 to this request but make it ✨summer break ✨

warnings: fluff, language, all the feels, lando being 100% whipped. fem!driver x lando :,)

masterlist | part 1 | ask box

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

it was officially summer break, a whole month off of racing to recharge the batteries, spend time with family and friends and just do normal people things.

but all you could think about was him. it was sickening. you weren’t sure how or why, but you found yourself thinking about lando a lot more than you should. and you knew you shouldn’t, he was your teammate, but something about that day in the drivers room made your heart rate spike.

you were laying in bed, scrolling through instagram when you had come across his story. you held down the picture, examining it as you looked it over.

it was a picture of the sunset, the location tagged london, england. you furrowed an eyebrow, he spent his summer break at home? before you knew it, you were sliding up, adding a comment underneath the picture.

you’re home for summer break?

you bit down on your lower lip after you had sent it. surely he wouldn’t reply, he was probably off having a good time, enjoying his life and not thinking about you-

yea, feels good to be home. where’d you go to spend holiday?

you clicked at the top of your screen, opening the dms. you had saw the previous dms being memes you had sent one another a while back, the two of you going back and forth about who was funnier.

it was you.

actually, i’m here too 😅

you saw his icon appear at the bottom of your message before it changed to say he was typing. you tried so hard to ignore the way your stomach was doing cartwheels.

out of ALL the places you could’ve chose from, you picked london? stalker much? 🙄

you let out a soft laugh, typing back a whitty response.

you wish i was here to see you, norris 🥱 no, i’ve just never been. always been on my bucket list to come outside of racing

typing…

i do, actually. i miss you

you read it over and over again before another message appeared from him.

also, where are you staying? we can meet up, get coffee or something? i can show you around 😁

okay, now you were internally screaming. you clicked on the photo option, snapping a picture of you in your bed, adding the location of the hotel you were staying in before sending it. he opened it almost immediately, sending another picture back. he was shirtless, sunglasses resting on his nose and you noticed he had grown out his facial hair. the sun was still setting and it looked like he was on a beach.

you’re literally 15 minutes away from me. hang out with me, i’m bored ☹️

you smiled before sending another picture, this time of the tv in the hotel which was currently playing an episode of a show you had seen a million times before.

can’t, busy :/

another picture from him, this time he was in his car. he had a shirt on now, the white fabric making him look tanner, his hair messy. how could someone look so good?

too bad, i know where you are 🥰

you took a picture of yourself giving him the finger, a playful smile on your face.

ok fine, but you’re getting me food

he replied with another picture, this time of his hand on the steering wheel. the mclaren logo on the center was the star of the show, the four little lines on the bottom making an appearance.

deal, see you soon

you double tapped his photo, throwing the covers off of your legs before making your way to your suitcase. you grabbed a pair of shorts and an over size hoodie, tugging it on before fixing your hair. you opted on no makeup, slipping your sunglasses on before grabbing your bag. once you made sure you had everything, you made your way to the lobby.

in the elevator, your phone pinged.

your chariot awaits, m’lady

you rolled your eyes and smiled, typing back a response.

coming to lobby now, mr. uber driver

he double tapped your message and when you walked through the doors of the hotel, you immediately spotted him. he was waiting for you, leaning against the passenger side door. you smiled, approaching him as he smiled back at you.

“hey,” you said, the two of you reaching for a hug. he wrapped his arms around your waist, desperately trying not to hug you too tight as you slung your arms around his neck.

“hey,” he smiled back, “ready for the best tour of london you’ll ever get with your favorite guy?”

you looked around, a playful smile on your lips, “lewis is here?”

he rolled his eyes, shoving your arm softly as he chuckled, “oh, fuck off.”

you laughed back at him, letting him open the door for you. you smiled and thanked him, letting it close as he made his way to the drivers side. you took note of each little personalized detail of the car, smiling softly at how much of his personality was put into it.

“so,” he said, starting the car, “anywhere in particular you wanted to see?”

you shook your head, “no, but if you want, you could show me your favorite places.”

he nodded, pulling out of the parking lot, “i’ve got the perfect place for you.”

you couldn’t help but smile again as you looked over at him. he handed you his phone, spotify open, “play whatever you want.”

you raised an eyebrow, “whatever i want?”

he nodded, “yeah, curious to see what kind of music you listen to.”

you smirked, typing in ‘summer love’ by justin timberlake. the song boomed through the speakers and he laughed, turning it up slightly as he made his way to one of his favorite spots.

after more songs, which may or may not have included some one direction songs (which he surprisingly knew all the words to), and some small talk later, he pulled into a parking spot at the overlook. you both got out, standing in front of the car as you looked out at the view.

“wow,” you breathed, “this is stunning.”

you looked up at the sky as you finally got to see it’s beauty without any light pollution. he smiled, leaning against the car as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“yeah,” he looked over at you, “it is.”

you looked over at him, “you’re looking at me like that again.”

he raised an eyebrow, but the smile still sat on his face as he shook his head, “no idea what you’re talking about, doll.”

your stomach did a flip and you walked in front of him, your legs between his, “how many girls have you brought here?”

he snorted, “none, only you,” he looked up at the stars now, his neck on display for you. his fluffy curls were pushed back with his sunglasses, his nose and cheeks slightly red and covered in sun freckles from being outside all day. he looked so pretty like this to you, who was still standing in front of him and god you wish you didn’t look awkward staring at him like this, “kind of a place where i come if i need to get away, just think for a little bit.”

you finally adverted your eyes back to the sky, “yeah, this would be the place to do it.”

he nodded, “so, to answer your question, none. guess that makes you special.”

you gasped, “i’m special to the lando norris?”

“don’t start,” he rolled his eyes playfully, “you’re like, P3 at best.”

“well you know what they say about being third,” you said, “they have the treasure chest.”

he chuckled again, the soft breeze of the night whisking a hair in your face. he carefully reached out and brushed it back, “actually, you get 15 points. cmon, you’re supposed to know this, y/n,”

you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face even if you tried, “you would know, huh?”

your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling it out and reading the notification.

⚠️ time to bereal ⚠️

you clicked on it, looking up at him but he was already looking at you, “wanna be in my bereal?”

“sure,” he said and you smiled before clicking on the notification.

however when you held your arm up, you started laughing and not being able to take yourself seriously. lando laughed with you.

“hurry! take the picture or it’ll be late!” he laughed and you pulled yourself together before laughing again. you weren’t sure what it was. if it was how close he was to you or how happy you were right now, but he took the phone from you.

“jesus christ,” he laughed as he raised his arm up, pulling you in by your hip. you wrapped both arms around his neck, smiling at the camera. he turned the phone around to get the other picture, this time he turned his head towards you and you faced him with a smile. he smiled back, your hand resting on his cheek. the flash went off and he brought his arm down, but you still kept his face in your hand.

you took the phone from him, “thank you,”

“yeah,” he smiled, “anytime,”

you locked your phone, slipping it back into your pocket before looking at him again. he still had the same look on his face, almost like he was-

“i like you, y/n,” he said, “a lot.”

you smiled, heart jumping up to your throat, stomach doing flips, and you swore you were going to pass out when he placed his hand on your cheek, thumb stroking the skin, his fingers starting to move into the hair behind your ear.

“i like you too,” you said, and that was all he needed to hear before he was pulling your neck towards him, lips connecting with yours. your body felt like it was on fire as his hands moved from your face to your hips, shifting as he leaned back against the hood of the car, taking you with him as you laid on top of him.

the kiss got hot, his tongue poking out to lick at your bottom lip. at first you didn’t let him in, which made you giggle against him. but, the giggling turned into gasping the minute he tugged on your hair gently, allowing him to sneak his tongue in.

he finally broke the kiss, the both of you panting. you hadn’t realized that your hands were in his hair, it now being a mess of frizzy, beachy curls. his lips were red and puffy, pupils blown. you were so in love.

your phone buzzed in your pocket, taking it out and almost laughing at the notification. he smiled at you, but raised an eyebrow in confusion, “what? what’s funny?”

you turned your phone around to show him oscar’s comment on your bereal:

oscarpiastri81: WHAT THE FUCK??!?!

he laughed, pulling you as close as he could while you typed out a response to your teammate, “you hungry?”

you nodded, slipping your phone back into your pocket, “starving, actually.”

he nodded, taking your hand in his as you stood up, “i know a really good spot not far from your hotel, think you’ll like it.”

you smiled as he opened the door for you, you thanked him with a quick kiss on his lips, “sounds perfect.”

[artiststarme]

The Gift of Not Dying Part 14

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

It's been awhile but hopefully this will get me back in the groove of things. I hope you like it and please leave your thoughts in the comments!

~*~*~*~ Steve watched as the dazzling smile on Eddie’s face dropped to reveal absolute, unadulterated horror. He clearly wasn’t expecting his best friend/tomorrow’s date/future boyfriend to show up at fuck past two in the morning with a bruised face and blood covered sailor’s uniform. Steve could only imagine how he would respond if Eddie had shown up to Hopper's cabin looking like death the way Steve must right now.

“Oh my god, Steve?! What the fuck happened? Are you alright?” Eddie ushered him into the trailer and gently pushed him to a seat on the couch. 

Steve didn't know how to respond to him. On the one hand, he didn't want Eddie to worry. On the other hand, nothing would ever be alright again. Hop was dead, his body still stuck in the Russian base under Starcourt where he himself had died multiple times. Steve could feel the throbbing of his broken heart's beats pulsating in his face still. He definitely had a concussion if the double vision and underwater hearing were indicative of anything. Worst of all, it was all Steve's fault. This entire situation never would have happened had he not tempted the universe. He was too happy, he knew everything would fall into catastrophe eventually and he hadn't warned anyone.

So instead of answering his best friend, he pulled at Eddie's shoulders until the man got the message and wrapped him in a warm embrace that smelled of Honeybunches, motor oil, and marijuana. All of Steve's favorite smells that usually calmed him down. But not this time.

He sobbed into Eddie's chest, tears and blood mixing together on his face and soaking into the thin black fabric of Eddie's shirt. Steve just couldn't stop. He cried for the pain he'd gone through in the Russian base and the incessant battery he'd endured at the hands of sadists. He cried for the loss of Robin's normal life and the fact that she would probably hate him now since he'd dragged her into the absolute shit-show that was his life. Most of all though, he cried for Hopper. He cried for his dad that adopted him into his little family and gave him a little sister, the dad that dropped everything to help Steve whenever he needed it.

Poor Eddie just hugged him through it all. He didn't know why Steve had woken him up from a dead sleep at an ungodly hour in the morning only to unveil a face more recognizable as ground beef. He didn't know who had beaten him up or why Hopper wasn't behind him in his truck ready to drag him back to the overprotected cabin in the woods. He didn't need to understand because his best friend was in need of help and a good hug which Eddie could provide.

After what felt like hours of crying, Steve rasped, “Eds, Hop is gone. He died tonight.”

Eddie’s hands stopped their soothing circles on his back and he pulled back to look him in the eyes. There was no joking there, just complete and utter dread and hopelessness in the eye that wasn't swollen shut.

“Chief Hopper died tonight? Are you okay, where are you going to go?” He backtracked for a moment and pulled Steve’s battered body to his gently once more. “I’m sorry for your loss, man. I know the Chief was like a father to you. What’s going to happen now?”

Steve wanted to cry, to scream at the world for being so unfair as to take one of the only people that had ever cared for him. But his eyes were dry and his heart was bone tired after such an arduous night. So instead of sobbing some more or breaking down, Steve shrugged. “I’m going to have to go back to my parent’s house. I can’t stay in Hop’s cabin without him there. And El is going to live with Mrs. Byers. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Eddie shook his head and placed a weary hand on Steve's face. He wanted to give him comfort but with all the blood and bruises on his face, he didn't know where to touch without causing more pain. “You can stay here. Wayne won’t mind as long as we don’t mess with his mug or cap collections. He’s got a habit for taking in strays. Hell, just look at me. You’ll always have a place here.”

Steve couldn’t move in though. Everywhere he went, misfortune followed. He was like a plague, sucking the life out of everything he touched. It started with his parents and he sucked the joy right out of their lives leaving nothing but bitterness and sorrow, certainly not enough love for the disappointment he became. It broke Nancy by killing her best friend and tainting their relationship. Steve should’ve kept his distance from Hop and El but his selfishness won out in the end. And now Hopper was gone. Steve’s plague had struck once again and had stolen his happiness with it. He couldn’t do that to Eddie and Wayne, they’d been through far too much already. They didn’t deserve to deal with him on top of it all. 

“Thanks but I don’t want you guys to get sick of me. I’ll just stay at my parent’s house and crash here when they come home. If that’s okay with you and Wayne.”

Eddie shook his head before entwining his fingers with Steve’s. “Of course it is. We’ll worry about that tomorrow. For now, let’s deal with your face. Did you go to the hospital? I can literally see the bruises swelling in front of my eyes. There’s no way you don’t have a concussion right now, why would they let you drive like this?”

“They didn’t, I walked,” Steve corrected distractedly. His mind was reeling over grief and pain, too distracted to abide by the story he was supposed to use. 

“Walked from where?”

“Starcourt,” his mouth just kept talking despite his eyes seeing the alarm on Eddie’s face. “The Russians stole my car keys so I couldn’t drive. It’s fine though, I have an extra set in the kitchen of my parent’s house. It was only four miles or so, not too bad in the grand scheme of things. I’ve had worse.”

Eddie just looked at him blankly, too indecisive to decide on concern, horror, or anger at whoever had done this to his friend. He was pretty positive he loved this weirdo, who the fuck had the audacity to keep beating him to a pulp? Couldn't these monsters see how lovable he was?!

“Um, I don’t know how to respond to that. I’m getting my keys and we’re going to the hospital. I don’t need to know what happened, especially since I’m pretty positive that you’re concussed and not making sense. I just need to know you’re okay so we’re going to the ER. Let me just call Wayne and we can go.” Eddie motioned with both hands for Steve to stay still and he did. Even when he heard crashing in Eddie’s room while he looked for his keys and panicked whispers when he finally reached Wayne on the phone, Steve remained in his seat on the old couch.  

He knew he didn’t have to go to the hospital, the worst that could happen already had, but he couldn’t reveal that to Eddie. So, he’d bite his tongue and go through the motions. That was his specialty after all. For now, he’d let Eddie take care of him. He would ignore the grief that blackened his soul and the pain that accompanied the thought of his found family breaking apart. He'd deal with the trauma of loss and pain and death sometime later when he could handle a breakdown alone. At this very moment, Steve would hold himself together and lie to his friend and the doctors he was forced to see to keep the Party's secret. He had already dragged Robin into this mess and had probably lost her in the process, he didn't think he could survive losing Eddie too.

Tag list: @doubleb11 @nburkhardt @counting-dollars-counting-stars @newtstabber @estrellami-1 @thegoblinboy @manda-panda-monium @i-less-than-three-you @joruni @swimmingbirdrunningrock @mentalcyborg @vampireinthesun @spectrum-spectre @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @nam-draws @anaibis @zerokrox-blog @renaissan-vvitch @a-huge-nerdy-nerd @labels-are-for-the-weak @amoris-no-smut-allowed @5ammi90 @precursorandthedragon @i-must-potato @valinwonderland @lololol-1234 @wonderland-girl143-blog @tailsfromthecrypt @trippypancakes @ghosttotheparty @thing-a-ling @bleach-the-kitten @pyrohonk @carlyv @gregre369 @lololol-1234

@conversesweetheart @suddenlyinlove @yikes-a-bee @perseus-notjackson @merricatty @maya-custodios-dionach @lumoschild @lawrencebshoggoth @devondespresso @y0urnewstepp4r3nt @nohomoyesbi @theseaofdespair @justdrugsformethanks @space-invading-pigeon @audz-aus @mintmont

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 29)

“Do you live alone Thad?” Was one of the first things out of N's mouth as he took in the worker drones apartment. Finding an abundance of trophies and sports memorabilia but a lack of any pictures of either of his folks, only him and what looked like Uzi's teacher wearing a coach uniform.

“Ah yeah! It's pretty sweet right?” Thad responded, pouring a pack of batteries out into a bowl and offering it to them.

“Yeah! I just… assumed you lived with your parents?” N pointed out nonchalantly, still looking around the room until he landed on Thad again, who looked… not sad, but maybe a little dissapointed.

“Nah, I uh, don't have parents.”

“Uh- what?! Oh Biscuits! I'm so sorry!” N felt guilt slam into him like a truck filled with bricks, oh he and his team killed his parents, how many of Uzi's classmates were orphans because of them? This was terrible, he was-

“Nah, I guess I did have parents, but I've never met them.” Thad then shrugged, cutting of N's internal negative spiral and replacing it with surprise.

“Wait, what?” He voiced his confusion, watching out of the corner of his eye as Uzi took a battery from the bowl and popped it in her mouth, climbing up on one of the barstools while double checking Tera wasn't going to fall out again.

“I was raised by the nursery workers… which would have been your mom and Mrs. Rayn at the time, Zi.” He thought back and laughed a little at himself, looking at Uzi, who only smirked back.

“Aw man, shame you didn't turn out more like me.” She replied, of which Thad only rolled his eyes and smirked back, giving her a glare that didn't have any actual bite behind it.

“Oh! Uh, wow…” N found himself reeling on his own words, so Thad was like Tera, no one had wanted him? But, we was so popular! And laid back.

“Yup. It was kinda fun, there were always different kids to hang out with, it's how I met Uzi.” Thad gestured to her, and she looked back up from where she was brushing off Tera's chassis, the droneling still trying to squirm away.

“Yeah, Mom introduced me to him as… what did she say…?” Uzi thought hard to think back, she hadn't thought about her mother in a long while, it had been painful losing her… thinking about it was sometimes still that way.

“Cousin Thad.” Thad finished for her, a nostalgic smile on his face. Leaning on the counter in front of where Uzi was sitting and putting his hand on his cheek.

She snorted. “Thats it! I was so confused cause I knew mom didn't have a sister.”

“Would you belive how often I called Mrs. Doorman mom? That was so embarrassing…” Thad looked over at N, although he was visibly cringing, a shiver going up his spine.

“Didn't we hide from her together? Underneath some of the cribs because we stole one of the charge cords and started to plug ourselves into the wall?” Uzi seemed to light up a little in remembrance, not having thought about these things in such a long time.

“Haha! Yeah, I kinda just went along with your antics. Your mom was so mad. So was Mrs. Rayn and the other volunteers…” Thad did not seem to like that memory as much, trailing off, likely thinking about the punishment he'd gotten for that.

“I didn't realize you guys had know each other that long.” N butted in again, he had known that Thad and Uzi had been freinds, but they'd given no indication until now that they had this much history.

“Well, I met Thad about a year before Mom passed… so we were… eight? I think.” She looked deliberative, tongue stuck out as she was thinking, none if them noticed, but Tera copied her mother, a digital tongue appearing on her screen.

“Seven, I remember because you'd knocked a tooth out and pronounced it “Sleven” when Mrs. Doorman asked you to introduce yourself.” He chuckled, having much of the same look, and after a moment he laughed again, “You also said your name was “Ushi””

“Nooo… don't expose me like this.” Uzi pouted, blushing as she looked over at N, He didn't need to know how… cringy and uncool she was as a kid.

“What? It was cute! You were a little tomboy in a lavender sundress.” Thad said, causing Uzi to blush harder. She wasn't cute! And even if she was she'd only let N say that without consequences, she gave the other worker a glare.

“Bite me.”

“Sundress!?” N looked intently curious, and also incredibly excited. His tail wagging at the thought of a tiny Uzi wearing a sundress.

“Ugh I hated that dress… Mom said it was cute but I thought it was too girly.” Uzi crossed her arms, well, one of her arms. As the other still had her daughter in it, luckily, she was now occupied in making faces with her screen.

“It… kinda sounds like you guys were close.” N said, a little sadly, he wondered what had happened to make them drift apart as much as they had, of why Uzi hadn't… hung out with him at all. Or even invited him over!

“Ah… yeah. We were.” Thad replied, his tone a little muted, both green and purple locked eyes for a moment, before they both looked away.

Both drones seemed to get a little quieter. Crap, he was really nailing it with the intrusive questions today wasn't he? But now he also felt a little sad, he hadn't realized Thad and Uzi had been childhood besties! He wondered what else he didn't know.

“It is what it is, it helped you out anyway, if you would've stuck with me, you would've been labeled a freak too.” In the way she spoke it was meant as a joke, a poke at herself, but Thad wasn't having it.

“I- Shit I was such a-”

There was a knock on the door, Lizzy and V were here, and his thought was interrupted. Whatever weird mood that had started to fall over the apartment shattered.

“Coming!” Thad shouted, heading to the door, finding his hat and then opening it with a smile, Lizzy leaned up against the doorway, V behind her, looming over her like a big scary dog.

“Hey guys! Uh N and Uzi's here, hope you don't mind.” He rubbed the back of his head as he gestured to them, causing both worker and disassemblers eyelights to flick up towards where the couple was standing.

“Ugh, entrapment Thad, why didn't you tell us?” Lizzy complained, voice already grating Uzi's ears.

“Would you have come if I did? Also, they just showed up. Happy coincidence!” He threw his hands up with a smile, Lizzy looked unconvinced, V however, locked eyes with Uzi.

Her visor displayed a single word, phrased as a question.

[Alright?]

Uzi only replied with a thumbs up.

Then the moment was over, and it was like it never happened, Lizzy walked in and took a seat on the couch, not giving anyone else in the room a second glance.

Screw you too… Uzi found herself thinking, but that was interrupted by Tera giggling mischievously, eyes turned towards the pink worker.

That was… weird and concerning.

“W-was that? Doorman did you bring?” Lizzys eyes finally darted over to where Uzi was sitting, and Uzi couldn't help the urge to show off her kid, lifting her a little higher to that Tera could easily be seen.

“Yup. Not just gonna leave her at home Lizzy.”

“Ugh, like the colony needs more than one of you.”

“Ah! Oookay! Lets not do this, especially not in front of my daughter, okay?” Came N's voice to interject, Lizzy only rolled her eyes, while Uzi got a very very petty idea. It was… a little embarrassing, but she knew it would get on Lizzys nerves.

“Of course. Honey.”

Okay well that sounded like an alien had replaced her with a duplicate that had her voice, but N exploded with blush, he was also confused as hell, giving her a look to match, but he had way to many butterflies in his core to question it.

“Oh ew!” Don't make me listen to that!” But it did have the intended effect of making Lizzy suffer, and that in of itself was totally worth.

Thad snickered, giving Uzi a nudge that asked “what are you doing?” She only gave a noncommittal shrug, despite her blushing face.

V Shared in Thad's snicker but hid it fairly well behind a clawed hand, she liked Lizzy, really liked her, but seeing her grossed out by a term of endearment was way too funny not to laugh at.

“Alright, what are we doing? Honestly the only reason I'm here is because Lizzy begged me.” V spoke up, making the girl next to her on the couch scoff, Thad put on his thinking face, a little loading circle appearing for a moment.

“We could do something classic, Would you rather, two truths and a lie… truth or da-”

“Truth or Dare. Definitely.” Uzi immediately chose. Maybe she could make Lizzy do a handstand. Or compliment her! Ooooh, that would be hilarious watching her squirm.

“Any objections?” Thad looked around the room full of his friends, and no one said anything, so he sat on the couch on the other side of V.

“Doorman Fam takes the loveseat. I can go first.” N and Uzi looked at each other, then down to Tera who was now staring up at the both of them.

“Honey?” He whispers with a half-smile, making her blush again. He didn't look upset, but even he knew she wouldn't have said that without reason. Even if he did really, really love it.

“I-I knew it would gross Lizzy out, wanna team up on her with me?” Uzi had a mischievous smile on her face, something that brought him back to the days where they'd just met, his girlfriend was so cute.

“Isn't that kinda mean?” He replied, lifting an eyebrow but still smiling.

“She's bullied me most of my life, and it's not like I'm gonna pull a Carrie or anything… just help me make her squirm.”

“…Fine, what do you want me to do.”

Uzi smirked, interlocking their hands together, before leaning into him, so close he could feel her core thruming just below his, he flushed, and his own core fluttered.

“How sappy can you be?”

Next ->

[lexosaurus]

stained teeth leave the aftertaste of rot (part 1)

Here is my fic for @ecto-implosion! I was soooo pumped to get an art from @antleredweirdo which you can see [right here] (plz look at it cuz im VERY normal about this art piece)

Thank you so much to @lexiepiper and @ghostlyglimmer for betaing!

Characters: Danny Fenton Tags/warnings: minor character death, gore, ghost hunger Summary: Danny was just sick. It was probably some sort of ghost flu that was making his body heavy, his stomach hollow, and his eyes burn with fatigue. There was no way he was—no, he wasn't going to think about that. He wasn't. In the darkest corner of the room, something shifted.

[read on ao3]

[part 2] [part 3]

****

Danny sat behind his desk, staring listlessly out the window with heavy, half-lidded eyes. Sun beamed down from the cloudless sky, deceptively bright against the fresh spring air. The weather would warm soon, and birds would return from their winter flight to chirp from their tiny branches, but not yet. Not this early into the season.

He tapped his finger against his chin out of time with the droning rhythm of Mr. Lancer’s lecture, the motion about all he could muster to stay awake. His elbow supported his sagging body, nearly numb from the pressure of the desk. But he couldn't find it in him to care.

When he blinked, his eyes burned with sleep. They protested when he opened them, and really, it was so tempting to let his fatigue win. All he wanted was to let his head collapse on his desk, fold his arms into a soft pillow, and rest.

But he'd promised his parents he would try to do better in school this semester. Last fall had been more than a disaster, and if he repeated that again, he would have to do credit recovery over the summer. The last thing Danny wanted—or any teen for that matter—was to do more school over the summer.

So, he forced his head to turn to face the teacher and fought each lagging, burning blink as he pretended to at least appear like he was paying attention.

Even if behind him, his friends knew that he would be copying their notes later.

It wasn't his fault he was so tired. He was probably coming down with something. He didn't think he could get human illnesses, but that must have been what was happening because there was simply no other way to explain this sort of weakness that ached deep in his bones. How despite sleeping well the past week, each day his body felt more drained than the last.

Finally, finally, the bell rang. He stuffed his unopened notebook in his bag, nearly forgetting to zip it up before he tossed it over his shoulder, and dragged his useless body and feet forward, red shoes plodding one step in front of the other as he made his way to the door.

"Man, what a drag," Tucker said, falling in step beside him.

Danny had almost forgotten that Tucker was in that class too.

"I thought Lancer was gonna go on yapping forever." Tucker nudged him with his elbow. "Thought you were gonna nap at least five times, too. Seriously, you good? You look like you’re about to fall over."

"Yeah, fine," Danny said on reflex, then grimaced, amending with, "Kind of tired, actually."

"How many times have I told you to call us if the ghosts won't let up? We're your backup, dude!"

Danny stopped before his locker, phasing his hand through his lock and popping it open. Last fall, this sort of small, public usage of his powers would have been unthinkable. But he'd long since realized that one of the benefits of being invisible in the social hierarchy of school was, well, that he was invisible.

"It wasn't even a ghost this time. I think I'm just getting a cold."

Tucker leaned against a scratched red locker, folding his arms and pulling out his brick-like phone. One of those cases that doubled as an external battery, he'd said. To Danny, it just looked like one of Skulker's projectiles.

"You can get colds?" Tucker scrolled through what Danny could only assume was one of the many encrypted files he'd stolen from Vlad on halfa biology.

"Well, I don't know what else to call this."

"I do." Tucker clicked his phone off. "It's called wearing yourself out! Honestly, Danny, call us every once in a while."

Well, Danny couldn't exactly blame Tucker for not believing him about the ghosts actually letting him sleep for once. He tried rubbing the weariness from his eyes and grumbled, "Fine."

"I mean, seriously. I get that we can't fly or anything, but Sam and I are great with a gun. You know this."

"Yeah, I know."

"What are we mad at Danny about?" A voice piped up behind him.

Danny slammed his locker shut. "Nothing!"

"The usual," Tucker answered.

"Oh." Sam popped out beside him, slugging her ratty purple spider bag over a cropped black band hoodie. She tilted her head, and black hair fell onto her shoulders. "You didn't call us for backup again? Seriously?"

"No!"

Tucker ignored him, pushing himself off the locker to tap Sam's shoulder. "And get this! This idiot tried to tell me he's getting a cold."

"That's a bad lie, even for you."

"I'm not lying! I didn't fight a single ghost last night!" His protest was slightly louder than he'd intended it to be, and he could see the awkward glances from his classmates beside him, their judgment so loud he could almost hear them thinking about what a lame weirdo he was.

Ancients, this was really not a good day.

He lowered his voice. "Seriously, guys, I'm just tired. That's all. I've been feeling this way all week."

Sam and Tucker exchanged an agonizingly long glance.

"Really," he insisted.

Then, surprisingly, Sam was the first to break the silent exchange, rolling her eyes to look over at Danny. "Okay, fine. But seriously, if you have another busy night, then call us, okay? That's what we're here for."

"Sure."

"Now, come on!" Sam spun on her heel and began walking down the hall. "If we don't get to gym on time, Tetslaff is gonna make us run laps again!"

"Right behind you!" Tucker yelled, following after her.

Danny watched them from behind, his feet too heavy to try to play catch-up. There had been a blissful minute at his locker where he'd forgotten he had gym next. But, of course, that fantasy couldn't last forever, and now it was time for Dash and his cronies to pelt dodgeballs at him, or whatever other misery they'd think of.

Great, amazing. Just what the doctor ordered.

Part of him almost wished a ghost would appear out of thin air just so he'd have an excuse to skip. But, of course, the universe loved working against him.

Students passed by him in a blur, their voices twisting and swaying into a kaleidoscope of sound that evolved with each thundering footstep, each turn around the corner of another hall. His stomach panged. Not with hunger, or really with pain, but...something else. Something he couldn't quite place.

Maybe he was getting a ghostly illness? He hadn't ever heard of such a thing before, but it wasn't as though he had a plethora of ghost friends to ask questions to. Vlad certainly would never give him a heads-up about anything that would deter Danny from needing to grovel at his feet about later. 

But he did feel weird. And considering his baseline levels were already what a doctor might call both "weird" and "extremely concerning—Mrs. Fenton, how is your son even alive—" this was very likely to be something ghostly in nature. Maybe an ecto-flu.

Hopefully.

****

"Oh yeah, and why not?" The ghost sneered, his gray skin crinkling around acid-green eyes.

"Because!" Danny threw his hands up. "I've told you! You can't just start terrorizing people every time Kitty gets mad at you!"

Johnny 13 rolled his eyes in a cartoonishly exaggerated manner as if making sure Danny wouldn't miss it.

"I'm being serious. You know this."

"Yeah, yeah." Johnny folded his arms against the handlebars of his bike and leaned forward. "Then what the hell am I supposed to do? She left me, man. And she sounded really serious this time! I can't just let some punk take my girl!"

She wasn't being serious this time, Danny knew. Ghosts were nothing if not creatures of habit. Which meant, unfortunately, they were going to be having this fight and conversation again in another month.

That also meant that Danny had answered this question so many times before, he all but had a scripted response. "Maybe start by apologizing to her?"

"I can't just apologize to her for taking care of my bike! Kitty always wants to go on rides when my bike needs a bit of attention. Don't get me wrong, I love Kitty, but I love my bike too, and I godda make sure that girl is all taken care of so that Kitty and I can go on our rides across the Realms."

"Maybe, then, you can start by not calling your bike a girl."

"No way! I'm not riding a dude."

Danny pinched the bridge of his nose. Ancients, this was why he needed to stick to the script. "Well, I don't know, man. Just apologize to her anyway. You know Kitty! That's really all she wants."

Johnny 13 muttered under his breath, shifting his weight on his bike. Shadow appeared from under him—a little smaller than before, now that Danny had worn him out from the fight—and began curling up his legs and around his waist. He didn't speak, and Danny wasn't really sure if he could, but somehow, Johnny always seemed to know what he was saying anyway.

"Yeah, that really hurt by the way."

It took Danny a second to realize that Johnny was talking to him.

"You nailed my back with your stupid ice spikes."

"Well, you started terrorizing the public!" Danny shot back.

"Yeah, but I didn't try to stab anyone. Unlike you, Mr. Hero Shtick over there."

"Unleashing Shadow on a group of middle schoolers almost counts as the same thing."

Johnny raised a brow at him. "Middle schoolers? They can take it."

"Whatever!" Danny snapped. It was useless to try to argue with Johnny about what constituted a public nuisance anyway. "I didn't even hit you that hard."

"Yeah, you did." Johnny swiped a hand behind his shoulder and hissed. "Ugh—I'm fucking bleeding! You got through the leather and everything, asshole!"

Shadow made a throaty, warbling sound from beside him.

"Yeah, I know!" Johnny nodded furiously, apparently agreeing.

Shadow warbled again, and Johnny laughed sardonically in return.

Danny sighed, not knowing nor caring about whatever insult Shadow had just slung at him. He floated closer to Johnny, his tail lazily flicking under him. "Come on, let me see that."

"No way!" Johnny leaned away from Danny's outstretched arm.

They'd played this song and dance too many times before for Danny to back down now. "If you let me patch you up and go to the portal willingly, I won't suck you into the thermos. Then you'll have all day to find Kitty—who's probably in Ember's lair—and you can apologize to her and she'll instantly forgive you and then you two can go ride on your bikes into the sunset like every cheesy movie from the seventies. Doesn't that sound great?"

Johnny frowned, his blonde brows pinching together, and eyed Danny suspiciously.

But Danny meant it. He truly did. More than anything, he just wanted Johnny 13 and Shadow to go back to the Zone.

It was another win for Danny. He swooped behind Johnny and prepped some ecto-ice under his skin. He’d discovered that not only did the frost act as an adhesive to stop minor bleeding, but that other ghosts could slowly absorb the ecto-energy to speed up their own healing processes.

But then, he caught sight of Johnny's shoulder.

And froze.

It wasn't that it was a horrendous, gruesome mess that had Danny wondering how Johnny was still standing. In fact, there was hardly anything there at all compared to what Danny was used to seeing on himself. The leather had torn where an ice spike had hit him, and a small trickle of ectoplasm was leaking through.

But despite having seen the slow trickle of ectoplasm from scrapes and gashes a hundred times before, Danny still lurched back.

Because something was wrong.

The ectoplasm didn't look like ectoplasm anymore. It sparkled like a jewel and glittered like a mound of sugary syrup. It wasn't just ectoplasm, it looked...

It looked...

"Kid?" Johnny's voice snapped him out of his head.

Danny started, flushing as he realized in embarrassment, he'd begun to flair his aura.

Jesus, what the hell was that about? Maybe he really was under some sort of ghost cold or something.

"Sorry," he managed to say, averting his gaze and reaching out his cringing arm to Johnny's shoulder.

Something dark flickered at the edge of his vision. It must have been his imagination, though, because when his paranoid eyes snapped over to it, nothing was there.

"You don't have to fight the fucking ectoplasm back into my body, you know."

"I know," Danny grumbled. He felt like some toddler ghost who couldn't control its urge to establish dominance. "Sorry, I think I'm getting sick or something."

"Sure you are, kid."

Somehow, he managed to touch the wound—just barely—where he wasted not even a nanosecond before his ecto-ice was on his fingertips, coating Johnny's skin in a frost that would have given frostbite to a normal human, but to a ghost, was little more than putting a cool bandage over the wound.

"Thanks." Johnny 13 leaned away, rolling his neck.

"Don't mess it up."

"Yeah, yeah. I know the drill."

Oh no, did they have a drill?

Danny tried to avoid looking at the lingering ectoplasm on Johnny's back. "Okay, you're all good now so just go to Kitty, please? Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars."

"Sure thing, ghost brat!" Then, Johnny's expression shifted so quickly that Danny almost wondered if they were about to start brawling again. "By the way, you seriously need to recharge."

Now it was Danny's turn to roll his eyes. "Oh, jeez, recharging? I never thought of that!" He directed some ectoplasm into his eyes to make them glow brighter, snapping, "When the hell is a guy supposed to sleep when you all keep coming into Amity?"

"No, not that kind of—ah, forget it." Johnny waved him off. "You'll figure it out soon enough, anyway. Either that, or I won't have to worry about you anymore. Which, not that I'm wishing for your demise, but having you out of my way would be kinda nice."

"Not happening."

They stared at each other. Johnny, with his bemused expression, and Danny, with arms crossed and aura glistening in warning. Around the corner, sounds of children, blissfully unaware of the two ghosts in the alley, laughed as they played in the small park.

Yeah, like hell was Danny ever going to let these morons cause mayhem and disrupt innocent lives like that.

Johnny 13 was the first to break it, shrugging in that lazy way that Danny hated so much. "Well, have fun with your illness then. See ya!"

The motorcycle revving was never not obnoxious. A cloud of green ecto-smoke pillowed around them, following Johnny as he disappeared in the direction of Fentonworks.

Danny didn't follow him. Partly because he knew Johnny wasn't stupid enough to stick around. But also partly because his feet had frozen to the ground. The green motorcycle smoke was surrounding him, and he couldn't move. He didn't want to move.

It was simply too intoxicating.

When the smoke cleared and he couldn't feel any traces of ecto-activity around him, Danny finally let out a long, slow breath, his muscles releasing as he did. At his sides, his hands trembled.

But why?

That interaction was one he'd had a dozen times before. Why was he so rattled now?

What the hell had happened to him?

He must have been missing something, because when he replayed the events in his head, for a moment there, Johnny's ectoplasm...it had looked...he'd wanted to...

No.

No.

That wasn't right. No. He was misremembering it. He was sick. No. Something was off. He wasn't thinking clearly. He was a good person, he wasn't some freak who would—no, that was sick. He was just being paranoid.

He clenched his hands into fists, tucking them under his elbows and hugging his torso because he just needed to calm down. He just wasn't feeling right. He was tired.

His stomach felt empty. He must have been hungry too. Yeah, that must have been it.

But...he didn't feel hungry. Or, did he?

His body was too out of whack right now.

He needed to go home. Sleep. Yeah, that sounded good.

Sleep always had a way of fixing everything.

****

Danny lay in his bed, his stomach hollow despite the fact that he’d just eaten dinner. When he stared at the ceiling, a slight green glow reflected in the air above him.

Odd. His eyes normally never glowed in his human form unless he was upset or angry.

In the corners of the room, the shadows shifted.

He was afraid to look.

The tips of his fingers tingled.

Something was happening to him. Something that every time he tried to think about it, his brain slammed the gates shut.

So he didn't think. He kept clenching his fists. He refused to look at the shadows. He didn't acknowledge the emptiness in his stomach. He stared up, gazing past the green air to the glow-in-the-dark constellations on his ceiling. He breathed.

And breathed.

Up, down. Rest. Up, down. Rest.

For some reason, it was enough to distract him.

Perhaps, that was because breathing was human.

****

part 2 >

[shares-a-vest]

@flufftober Spring Edition Day 3: Spring Cleaning

wc: 518 | Rated: T for Canon-Typical swearing and language | cw: None

Tags: Spring Cleaning, Eddie Munson is a Menace, Steddie Dads, Discarded Toys, Childhood Toys

'Goodbye, Mr. Furby'

Steve opens his daughter’s double-doored closet only to be greeted by her demonic Furby. A formerly beloved and sought-after plushie that also terrorised the family with late-night chirping for far too long until he had worked out how to remove the batteries.

He shudders at the thought of the manual Eddie had managed to track down, filled with faceless Furbys being exorcised and deprogrammed. He reaches forward with giddy glee and plucks the toy from its quiet resting spot.

“We can finally get rid of this thing,” he beams, turning to Eddie who lingers at the door, “Goodbye, Mr. Furby.”

“That’s Abernathy Furby, to you,” Eddie quips, frowning.

He takes a swipe for the toy but misses when Steve swoops his arm out of reach.

Eddie stumbles back in, clutching his proverbial pearls and his eyes glisten with worry. He stands there shellshocked, utterly scandalised by the prospect of cleaning out this mess of an apartment.

Steve knew this wasn’t going to be easy. He had to gently suggest such a task throughout the winter months, exercising pain-staking patience until Eddie and Joanie would at least hear him out.

“Eddie,” Steve begins, pinching his nose with his free hand, “You promised you’d let me do some Spring Cleaning this weekend. Besides, you hate this thing as much as I do.”

He plays keep-away just to be safe, watching his partner intently as he palms around to open the designated donation box he hopes to fill today.

“Adios,” Steve grins, taking one last look into the soulless, mechanical eyes of the plush before he drops it into the dark abyss of the labelled cardboard box.

That cursed thing can be some other parent’s problem...

“What’s happening?” Joanie yells, poking her head in from the hall.

Steve freezes, his arm now midway between reaching back into her closet for another forgotten toy – this time a grey tabby cat that got chewed up by a very real cat mere moments after Nancy had gifted it back when Joanie was two.

He glances at Eddie for backup, only to be met with a raised, judgemental brow. His partner pointedly folds his arms and leans against the doorframe in defiance.

Steve can’t help but roll his eyes at himself because, yeah – of course, his family would put on a united front against him. And he was foolish to think Joanie’s homework obligations would outweigh her infinite curiosity that borders on nosiness.

“Uh…” he hums, floundering immediately as his heart races a mile a minute.

He watches as his daughter walks to the box and peers inside. She gasps and dives in head first, her haste almost tipping her into the box completely.

“Not Abernathy!” she shrieks, holding the demon spawn up as she rocks herself and the box back upright.

The toy chirps and blinks away earning a high-pitched yelp from Eddie.

“St-Steve...” he stutters, whimpering as he points a shaking hand at the sentient being.

Steve grimaces at the toy held firm in his daughter’s grasp, looking like it has risen from a cardboard grave, readying itself for the kill.

[whohasthecards]

Top Gun Coffee Shop plus other stuff AU Idea (Part 1)

Jake moves to California to start a new life and starts working as a barista in a coffee shop.

The shop owners are Iceman and Maverick, who runs it with their son, Rooster, who manages the books and a lot of the behind the scenes stuff. Phoenix is the general manager, and Bob is the other barista/event coordinator.

The coffee shop is a front for the real business of them participating in information brokerage, middle man, forgery, smuggling, and other underworld business.

There are a series of different interesting customers that come in, and the staff are surprised that Jake just rolls with it. They're confused on how stuff doesn't faze him, they think he might already be on to their business, but nope, he's way too focus on making coffee great and learning how to cook pastries.

(A very tall man with a slightly beat down suit and a small scratch on his cheek came in. He was shifting his weight between two feet, making sure that the bag he came in with was hidden behind his back.

"Hello there, welcome to the Top Flight Cafe, where we may not offer flights, but our coffee can send you to the moon, what can I get for ya?" Jake drawled barely giving the man a glance before scowling back at the POS system.

"They don't do flights, anymore? What happen to the shipments?" The man asked confused as he squinted at Jake.

"I dunno, sir, you gotta ask Mr. Bradshaw about that one, but I'm pretty sure we don't do supply shipments ourselves, a truck comes with the flour and all the imported coffee goods," Jake said, shrugging. "All I do is help carry them on my shoulder to the back and count 'em, that's all.

"You guys transport the flour on regular flour bags," the man's voice said incredulously, stressing the word flour too much for Jake's understanding.

"I mean, what else are we gonna use?" Jake asked, raising a brow. "If ya really wanna know, you can call Mr. Bradshaw, but aside from that what can I get for ya?"

"Hey Jake, I'll take this customer back in my office, he's my guy, did you take his order, yet?" Mav said bursting from the back of the bakery as he speed-walked towards the counter flashing an awkward smile between the two of them. "He's new, he didn't know to bring you directly to me," Mav said.

"Not yet, Mav," Jake said.

"Yeah, what do you want, our meeting may take a while," Mav said glancing at the other man.

"Uh huh," the man said, squinting suspiciously, "An espresso would be fine, Mav," the other man, said.

"And I'll have a double shot espresso and an everything bagel with strawberry cream cheese and bacon," Mav said cheerfully rounding the counter and clapping the other man on the shoulder. "Leave the goods on the employee's break room table, me and Sli will catch up, no need to ring him up," Mav said steering the taller man away.

It was comical to see how the much taller man let him.

"I don't want to catch up with you, I wanted Ice," the man name 'Sli' said with a sigh. Almost like he's pouting.

"Tough luck, we're a two in one deal," Mav said as they walked through the back area.

Jake shrugged and made the order. Mav always had chaotic orders.)

---

He's so focused on doing his job, that he manages to miss some telling signs that the coffee shop wasn't just a coffee shop.

("Hey Bradley," Jake says bursting into the managers office, darting forward to the supplies closet without a glance towards his general manager. "Do we have anymore markers? We ran out, and writing with a pen on cups is annoying." Jake said opening the closet widely and rummaging through it.

Bradley immediately muttered something in another language on the phone before hanging up, shutting several folders, and shoving papers down his suitcase and into some of the desk drawers.

"Yeah, buddy, I think they're behind the box of batteries--"

"Found them, thanks, man," Jake said barely even glancing his way as he waved before he went out.

Making Bradley's efforts useless, but better safe than sorry, right?

He really should start putting the supplies closet outside the office.)

---

Javy, Mickey, and Reuben visit Jake and they seem to be wary of the coffee shop. Jake shrugs them off because he's starting to really like the place and the job he's steadily getting good at.

("I don't burn the coffee all the time, anymore, man!" Jake said smiling widely as he handed Javy a cup.

"I'm so proud of you, buddy." Javy said in a deadpan as he sipped his coffee. "Do you know how to froth milk, now?"

"Yeah, Ice taught me during my first day," Jake said smiling brightly.

"Ice, huh?" Payback said muttering to himself.

"Yeah, they apparently have weird nicknames, his is Iceman," Jake said nonchalantly as he wiped down the counter.)

---

Eventually, shit hits the fan. The coffee shop is stormed during regular day hours on a weekday. After the lunch rush where everything has been quiet. Men armed to the teeth burst in, making people drop to the ground as they pointed guns at the few customers that were there.

Jake just continued to wipe down the counter as he calmly walked in front of the register.

"What can I get for you folks today?" Jake said in a bored manner. "If you wanna buy some manners, you gotta get them somewhere else, though, unless you wanna show me ya got some by putting away the guns? These ladies and gentlemen are customers just like ya'll they have the right to be here like you do."

"Jake," Bob hissed tugging the back of the other man's shirt harshly.

"SHUT THE HELL UP, Where the fuck is Iceman, Bobby?" The leader said pointing the gun at him.

"Mr. Kazansky ain't here today, and even if he was, you can't just ask for him easily like you can ask for coffee," Jake drawled.

"Jake, stop." Bob gritted out before facing the antagonists. "He's not going to give in with whatever you guys want, you know. However, if you put the guns down, we can talk about this," Bob said with steel in his voice as he removed his glasses and rested them to the side.

One of the men huffed out a laugh, "You have no leverage against us, Bobby-boy, we have you outnumbered today. All we got to do is to kill you one by one, he's always been fond of his staff. Especially normies like him," the man said nodding in Jake's direction. "He really knows nothing, huh? Unfortunate that his hick brain doesn't have a sense of self-preservation--"

"Rude, I am a delight," Jake drawled, resting his hands on the counter and leading forward. "Buttt that's more of my charmin' personality, you won't find it delightful if I take action. Only I can call Bobert names after all, ya know?"

"Pfft-- what's blondie here gonna do--"

Bob couldn't believe his eyes, he was accustomed to violence. Raised in it by this point, but he never expected it from Jake of all people. And he never expected it to be so smooth, fast, and efficient. By the end of it, all of the armed men were incapacitated on the ground, the leader on his knees as Jake looked down at him and pinched his cheeks together with one hand, staring impassively.

"Considering I'm the one standing here while all your friends are done for," Jake started, voice even and smooth. "It seems like this hick has more self-preservation than you, do," Jake said smiling before delivering a sharp hit to the temple making the man pass out on the ground.

Jake put his hands on his hips and looked upward as if praying to God for strength before pulling out his phone. He looked back at Bob and gestured for him to give him a moment, as he brought the phone to his hear.

"Hey Coyote," Jake said chuckling weakly as he pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a deep sigh. "Seems like I'm back in the game, although, it may have seemed that I never left in the first place," Jake said huffing out a low laugh and shaking his head in disbelief. "I need clean-up crew, now."

---

part 2

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 4/34 - phone battery

[Read on AO3]

After a bit of a drought of decent cases, their latest, honest to goodness X-File was a welcome distraction. It hadn’t taken too long to wrap up either, which was a double win for Scully, who could only handle so many nights in a dilapidated motel room in a row. With the case now solved, more or less, all that remained for the morning was a bit of paperwork and a drive to the nearest airport to get back home.

“Your mom called me last night,” Mulder says, sitting in the driver’s seat of their rental car.

“Last night?” Scully asks, furrowing her brows. “What for?”

“It was when we got back to the motel, after your phone battery went dead. I told her to give it a few minutes and try again, give you a chance to get it charged.”

Scully doesn’t respond immediately, and when Mulder turns to look at her, he sees a puzzled look on her face, a crease forming between her brows.

“She didn’t call you?” he asks, matching her expression and turning his attention back to the road.

“No,” Scully answers, concern marring her features. “What did she say?”

“I think she was going to ask you something about Christmas, figuring out plans or something,” he says. “I did mention we were on a case, maybe she decided she’ll just call when you get back and aren’t busy.”

“Probably,” Scully says, then sits back in the passenger seat and gazes out the window at the passing scenery.

He steals another glance at her, thinking about the heavy weight that hung over his brief conversation with his future mother-in-law on the phone the night before. It really had been a short talk, with her asking if he knew where Scully (rather, Dana) was, and then how he’s been doing since his unwitting brain surgery. 

He made polite conversation, of course, but keeping such a gigantic secret from a woman like Margaret Scully has a way of making one feel guilty for things they aren’t even guilty of. If the call had gone on much longer, he fears he would have started confessing like a Catholic over the phone, and he couldn’t have that.

Clearing his throat, he asks, “You think we should tell her about us?” then quickly corrects, “I mean– the adoption, eloping…”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. Not yet,” she answers.

He shoots her another glance—only for a moment—but to be honest, that wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting. 

“I know you said you don’t want a big wedding or anything, but if you want to tell her, you can. I doubt she’d give you any real trouble for it,” he reasons, having a hard time believing Mrs. Scully would be anything but supportive once everything has been explained to her.

“It’s not that. I just—” she struggles to explain. “With Emily, it was so stressful and confusing for her. I don’t want to put her through more of that unless…”

Ah.

He reaches over and places his hand on top of hers, which rests on her knee.

“Unless you’re absolutely sure this is going to work out,” he finishes, and she nods, grateful she doesn’t have to conjure the words herself.

“There are so many variables at play here, Mulder. Any one of them could go wrong,” she says. He knows she’s mentally making a list, calculating how likely each factor is to throw a wrench in their plans. She’d be here a while if she wanted to plan for every possibility, but that won’t stop her from trying, he knows.

He squeezes her hand once. “I hope you know that whatever happens, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m not going anywhere.”

That earns a small smile, and she looks down at her lap in that way that she thinks hides her blush from him. Thankfully, it does no such thing. 

“No, the Mulder variable is one that I have on good authority is fairly constant,” she says, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Oh? And are those findings available in a peer-reviewed journal article, Dr. Scully?” he teases back. “If you don’t cite your sources, I’m afraid your claims may be dismissed as unsubstantiated by the wider scientific community.”

“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” she says, “I’m still working on gathering all my evidence. Research takes time, you know.”

“Maybe run some more tests,” he suggests.

She reaches out, running a hand through his hair, gently brushing over the place where his head had been drilled into.

“I’ll try to keep it less invasive than your previous experiences,” she teases, a small smile pulling at her lips. 

He breathes out a laugh, forcing his focus back on the road instead of on the feeling of her nimble fingers tousling his hair.

-.-.-

Their discussion picks up again on the plane, perhaps serving as a distraction for his partner who isn’t all that fond of flying.

“You agree with me, don’t you?” she asks.

He gives her a look, his best impression of the Skeptical Scully Brow.

“Is that a blanket statement? Because in general, no, I think that would be factually incorrect, Scully, that’s kind of our whole thing.”

“I mean,” she says, rolling her eyes, “that we should wait to tell people. At least my family.”

He turns toward her. That she’s bringing this up again shows that it’s something she’s really worried about. If it’s reassurance she needs, he’s happy to give it to her.

“Sure, Scully. You know them best.” Really it isn’t his place to decide this, but if she’s asking, maybe she wants it to be. They will, in a way, be his family too if all this works out.

She takes a deep breath, her usual flying anxiety momentarily forgotten in favor of whatever new kind of anxiety this was. “I just mean– If we even get approved, and if we get matched with someone… there’s always a chance the birth mother changes her mind at the last minute,” she says, talking through the scenario aloud. “This will be hard enough with just you and I to worry about. I don’t want to have to think about protecting my mother from heartbreak on top of everything else.”

He has to suppress a sigh on hearing her pessimistic view of what he’s hoping will be a very joyous process. But then again, this is what he loves about her. She’s the yin to his yang. The day to his night. Together, they cover all their bases, leaving no stone unturned in their search for the truth. Why should this be any different? He won’t get very far on nothing but blind hope. She’s here to ensure they are prepared for everything, come what may. Unfortunately, that means her taking on an extra burden of worry, one he hopes he might help alleviate.

“We can wait to tell them,” he vows, hoping that will put a stop to her spiraling. “I’m with you on this, don’t forget. We’re a team.”

She leans back, her head resting against the back of her seat, a sign he knows means she’s relaxing a little.

Success.

Still, the idea of telling no one at all feels dangerous. They need to have someone in their corner besides each other, for a whole slew of reasons. Character witness, taking time off work, filing necessary paperwork so that everything looks totally above board when they make it official… Really, there’s only one person he feels they have to tell, and that’s—

“What about Skinner?”

She turns her head to look at him, confusion playing on her face. “What about him?”

“I think we should tell him. Sooner than later.”

Maybe he should have planned out his pitch a little better. He can tell she’s not immediately drawn to the idea. He should have made up a list of reasons why it is a good plan, not just blurted out his half-formed thought before it was ready.

“But Mulder, what if they split us up?”

He turns in his seat, his attention intensifying. “That’s why we only tell Skinner. Ask him to keep it quiet in case things don’t work out.” She’s gonna need more than that. Think! Tap into those persuasive skills! "But, Scully, there’s going to be times we might have to take an afternoon off for a meeting or something. It will be easier if he knows.”

His focused gaze implores her to consider it. 

“I won’t let him split us up. It won’t happen.”

He can’t promise that, she knows, but they know Skinner well enough by now, don’t they? Sure, there may have been times when their trust in him wasn’t so strong, but it has been years now. Surely he would keep this to himself if they asked, right?

“Okay. You’re right…” she says tentatively, turning over his proposition in her head. “Just Skinner. No one else?”

His pinkie finger finds its way to hers and nudges it playfully. When she looks up at him, he smiles.

“Just you, me, and our big, bald boss makes three.”

~~~

SURPRISE - that was a short chapter, so here's another to make up for it

Chapter 5/34 - rulebook

“Hold on, go back to the IVF,” the follically challenged Assistant Director says, his hands tented in front of him. His brows furrow in concentration, and he breathes deeply through his nose, looking up at the two agents across the desk from him. “In vitro fertilization, right? So you’re saying—”

“Agent Mulder and I attempted to conceive a child through scientific means last year, yes.”

Scully’s answer is straightforward, perhaps hoping it will be like ripping off a band-aid. Judging by his stoic reaction, his pursed lips, the vein popping out of his forehead… her nonchalance does not really soften the blow.

His gruff voice returns after a moment of staring at them, his expression unreadable. “Right. Okay. Just wanted to make sure I was understanding.”

“It was unsuccessful,” Scully offers, continuing. “The ova that were fertilized unfortunately were not viable, probably due to the inconsistent storage conditions in which Mulder found them.”

“Yes, that– that’s where you lost me. The part about your abduction and then the cancer…” He sets a hand on top of one of the files Mulder had brought him, as if any of the words in that folder made a lick of sense to him.

“Believe me, sir, it’s just about as confusing to us as it is to you,” Mulder says.

Skinner clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. 

“Well, I’m very sorry about what happened to you, Agent Scully. I suppose that also explains the existence of… well…”

Emily. A story he never had fully explained.

“Yes, Emily was somehow part of all this. She was an experiment, never meant for me to find.”

Skinner balls his hand into a fist, tamping down the rage he feels bubbling up inside. “These men need to pay. What they’ve done to you– to you both… ”

“With all due respect, sir,” Mulder breaks in, “we’re not here to talk about revenge. We’re just trying to move forward.”

That’s… a surprisingly healthy outlook, coming from Mulder. What had Scully done to him? Whatever it was, the man owed her a heckuva lot more than whatever her last birthday and Christmas gifts had been. 

“Of course, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “So, what is it that you were asking for?”

The two basement-dwelling agents glance at each other, words being passed unspoken between them. It’s unnerving, the way they do that. Downright spooky.

Evidently, they come to the decision that it’s Mulder who should say the next part.

“Well, since we’re looking into adoption, sir, we thought it might be easier if we got married.”

Silence fills the room, an inadvertent staredown commencing between all parties.

“Married.”

Mulder nods. “That’s right.”

Scully is sitting bolt upright in her chair, a picture of professionalism on the surface, but in conjunction with the topic of discussion, it feels distinctly forced. Mulder, on the other hand, is bouncing his knee so severely that it’s a wonder he hasn’t worn a hole in the carpet below him yet.

“We just don’t want there to be any issues here on the bureaucratic side of things, if at all possible,” Mulder adds. “In fact, we’d prefer to keep this quiet, at least until we know if this will work.”

Skinner presses his lips together, shifting his gaze between them once again. 

“Well, your personal relationship will have to be disclosed to HR at some point. I can pull some strings—”

“Sir—”

“Although it would have been good to know a little earlier on. Say, around the time you were making some pretty serious medical decisions that may have affected your ability to do your jobs…”

“Sir, I—”

Mulder’s attempts to interrupt go unnoticed. 

“You know, I have to commend you. You’ve really kept up appearances around here. I had my suspicions, of course, but you continued on like normal, I almost wouldn’t have guessed—”

“Sir, we’re not actually… together.” Finally, Mulder is able to get the words out, leaving an awkward hush in their wake.

Skinner leans forward, turning his ear toward the younger man as if he hadn’t heard him the first time. “What do you mean?”

A pink tinge blooms on Mulder’s cheeks. “We’re not– Sir, this marriage is a formality, to make the application process easier and hopefully give us better chances of getting approved.”

“A formality,” Skinner repeats.

“Yes. We– We’re just trying to do whatever’s best to improve the odds that this works out.”

One of these days he’s just going to disappear to Cancún. Seriously, he’ll do it. This can’t be good for his health. He suppresses a groan, storing up a massive eye roll for whenever these two idiots leave the room. Only they could think up something like getting married and adopting a child platonically . Not to mention everything else they’d evidently been doing when left to their own devices.

“Right. That’s– Okay, sure. So then, the IVF…”

Scully pipes up. “I asked Mulder, and he agreed to help me.”

“As a friend?” He feels like this bears clarification.

“Is there something against that in the rulebook?” Mulder asks challengingly.

The look he gives them in return is withering. “I don’t think there’s a rulebook for all the insane stuff you two get up to, but I might have to make one, after this.” The two of them have the decency to look chastised at this, though he knows from experience it will do no good in the long run. “You know this is not normal, right?”

“Come on, Skinner, when have I ever been referred to as normal?” Mulder laughs.

“ You , I might expect this from,” he says, pointing a finger in his direction. “It’s Agent Scully that surprises me. You’ve really done a number on her, haven’t you?”

He takes a little solace in the fact that all this IVF business happened under Kersh’s watch, not his own. Imagine if it had worked…

“Will you help us or not, sir?” Scully asks, impatience beginning to make her uneasy in her seat.

He waves a hand in the air. “Yeah, yeah. I thought this day might come at some point, but… definitely not like this.” His mind is wandering already, thinking back to any signs he might have missed, things that may have gone wrong in his career to lead him to this exact moment. “You have my blessing, or whatever it is you came to get from me. You need anything, just ask.”

Scully lets out a sigh, and her shoulders visibly relax.

Mulder moves to stand without another moment’s hesitation, bouncing up with far more energy than a man of his age should have. “Thank you, sir. I promise, this is the last time we ask you to cover for us.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Agent Mulder,” Skinner warns, though his words contain no malice. If anything, he’s resigned.

As much as these two make him tear his hair out (what little he has left), he holds a certain fondness for them that is undeniable. 

“And, hey– I’m happy for you. Seriously. The things I’ve seen you go through over the years, everything you’ve lost… You deserve this. Even if I don’t understand it.”

Mulder holds out a hand for him to shake. “Skinner. Thank you. Really.”

He nods. “Good luck with everything. And if you need any advice on adoption, my ex-wife’s sister has gone through it before. I can get you in touch, if you want.”

“We’d really appreciate that.”

They’re gone before he knows it, heads bent toward each other in secretive conversation before they’re even out of sight. 

Skinner lets out the eye roll from earlier, leaning back in his desk chair in exhaustion.

They’d figure it out sooner or later, of that he is certain. It’s just taking a little longer than he expected, that’s all.

-.-.-

"I want to get married Christmas Eve."

The proposition comes out of nowhere on a Thursday afternoon, and Mulder nearly spills his coffee mug all over his desk instead of setting it down gently like he was trying to do.

"Next week?" he sputters, the burning liquid nearly going down the wrong pipe.

She purses her lips. "...That's when Christmas is, yeah Mulder."

"I knew there was a reason that guy on the street corner with the bell was dressed as Santa Claus," he jokes, wiping a few splattered droplets of coffee from his tie.

"Mulder..."

"Okay, okay,” he says, dropping the jokester act. “But don't you want to spend the day with your family?" he asks.

She shrugs. "Maybe.” Her eyes are locked on the desk in front of her, pointedly avoiding his concerned look. “I'll go for a little while, but they don't... understand me like they used to. Maybe it's just me, but when I'm with them for too long, I get this sense that they're... afraid of me. Or somehow uncomfortable around me. Ever since Emily..."

He stops her. "That's their problem, Scully. I'm sure they don't mean it."

"I know, it's just... hard."

He bites down on his bottom lip to hold back the slew of words he'd like to say to Bill Scully, Jr. He knows that's not what Scully needs right now, as much as it would make him feel better to have a go at him.

"Is that why you went ghostbusting with me last Christmas?" he asks, his heart softening at the thought. 

"I don't know, maybe a little,” she shrugs. “It helped get my mind off things." She looks embarrassed to admit such a thing, but it only serves to make his heart twist in his chest. 

"Well, too bad we don't have more time to plan. Could have had a Christmas Eve wedding in a haunted house," he deadpans.

This succeeds in getting her to look at him, and she emits a nervous giggle he doesn't often hear. "Absolutely not.”

He grins, leaning back in his chair and twirling a pencil between his fingers. "Come on, don't you think Maurice and Lyda would like to know we’re getting married? I'm sure they'd have a field day with all our issues from the past year."

"Stop it, that didn't really happen."

"Well even if it didn't, I found it enlightening."

"Good for you. No, the courthouse will be fine."

They fall silent, the jovial atmosphere settling.

"And you don't want to invite your family?” he asks, clarifying. "Since they'll be in town?"

She shakes her head. "No, I think it should be just us."

Just us. He likes the sound of that. But still, one problem remains—

"Alright, so let me get this straight... you want to get married—to me—the one day a year your brother is in town? Are you trying to get me killed?"

Her lips quirk up at the corners. "He won't find out, Mulder."

"You like the danger of it, don't you?” he teases, leaning toward her. “You're a rebel at heart. I knew it. Probably snuck out every night in high school to run around with Johnny from the football team."

She stares at him unwaveringly, not dignifying him with a response. "Is it a yes or a no?" she asks, arms crossed in front of her.

He sobers, meeting her eyes with startling honesty. "I'll marry you any day of the year, Scully,” he says, and it's the truth. It has been the truth for years now. “Just remind me to wear a cup in case he figures it out."

"You're ridiculous."

-.-.-

The next week passes in a blur. Arrangements are made, paperwork acquired, work winds down for the holidays, and for once, Mulder isn't bored out of his mind this time of year.

"I was thinking… for tomorrow..." her voice crackles over the phone.

"Not having second thoughts, are you?" Mulder asks, his tone light and teasing despite the tinge of genuine concern he tamps down.

"No, of course not,” she assures him. “I was thinking, I'll need an excuse to leave Christmas at my mom's."

"No problem,” he says with a shrug. “I'll give you a call and make up some case we have to work."

He hears her sigh and gets the distinct impression that his suggestion was somehow wrong. "I can't ask you to do that,” she says. “They already blame you for last year."

"Gee, that's reassuring,” he chuckles, leaning back on his leather sofa. He adjusts the phone cradle on his chest, stretching the power cord to its limits.

"Not all of them, but, you know—"

"Bill."

"Yeah."

He waits for a second, but when she offers no further thoughts, he asks, "Then what do you suggest?"

She waits a moment more before responding. 

"Before you say anything, just listen to what I have to say…”

Oh boy.

"Why does that not give me a good feeling?" he muses aloud, his fingers twirling and tangling with the cord on the phone.

"The only way for you to be in the clear is if you're... with me, when we get called away."

"Scully—"

"We can just leave straight from her house, it's closer anyway."

"All excellent points, except for one thing..."

"Skinner can call us in."

Silence. He wants to argue but he can't.

"He already knows what's happening, I'm sure he'd be happy to help us," she reasons.

"I'm not gonna be able to talk myself out of this, am I?" he asks, a wry smile on his face. He's all out of excuses. 

"Mulder, if this works out... Well, there's a chance that by this time next year, we'll be a... family... of some sort, anyway. You might have to get used to it."

The word family sends a thrill right through him. He never thought he'd have one of those again. Never in a million years.

"You're right,” he says regretfully, running a hand over his face. “And it's not that I don't like your family, Scully, it's just I'm not sure they like me back."

"My mom loves you,” she says decisively. “And we'll only be there a few hours anyway. The courthouse closes early for the holiday."

He closes his eyes. He can't believe he's about to agree to this.

"Alright, I'll go. Just so you can get your thrill in doing something wildly irresponsible and rebellious right under your mother's nose."

She protests, "That's not why I—"

"I know you, Scully,” he teases. “You're not as strait-laced as you like to pretend."

After they hang up, Mulder stares up at the ceiling, lost in thought. His stomach flutters with nerves, unrelated to his worries about crashing a family gathering in the morning.

‘I am getting married tomorrow,’ he thinks. To Dana Scully.

It's a Christmas miracle.

~~~

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[eddiestightywhities]

BetterSleep™

buddie flavoured buck-centric fic, rated T, sleep/sound apps, pining!buck, 1586k words. (also found on ao3 HERE)

there are a few of my buddie fics i haven't posted here and i wanted to remedy that, so. here's the first of a few xp

.

I will fall asleep quickly, and stay asleep, and will sleep soundly, all night long. 

Buck tells himself this on repeat, hoping his preparations mean the mantra won't be rendered fruitless as all the other nights spent alone in his bed chanting words of self-affirmation in his head.

Unlocking his phone, he squints at the too-bright light that's like a warm breath on a winter's day here in the muted darkness of the loft. He sets an alarm for the morning, then goes to neither Spotify to find a playlist to try relaxing to, nor Pornhub to find something to get off to (he did that already in the shower by feeling bad about picturing golden forearms and a dazzling smile of perfectly pearly whites), and instead heads straight to the download he acquired in a Q-word period at the firehouse earlier in the day. He swipes his thumb over the screen and taps it a few times till he's found the sounds section of his new BetterSleep app. 

Thing is, Buck loves his apartment, okay? He does. It's a totally sick space with cool industrial-style exposed brickwork and a balcony with a killer view of downtown. It has a great kitchen with a gas oven and an island big enough to comfortably entertain guests. The bathroom is a gorgeous fully tiled affair that boasts not only a double power-shower, but both heated towel rails and flooring. He always gets compliments on the tasteful polished wooden floors it has throughout, which he loves, and it's honestly just a great place all-round. Like, seriously great. Really, really great.

It's just that it—it's so deathly quiet. 

The loft is absolutely nothing like Eddie's house, for example, where in stark contrast there are all these quirky little noises you get to listen to at nighttime—the treasured times Buck lays on Eddie's crappy couch with his whole world sleeping in the rooms just off the hallway—which, as a collective, is kind of like some sort of slightly irritating domestic lullaby. 

Buck fucking loves it. 

There is the fridge, with its too-loud low hum that has this pattern of a creeping, stuttering sort of squealing noise which gets gradually more and more high-pitched and increasingly whiny, until it sounds like the whole unit is gonna just break down and give up the ghost entirely—before it stops and goes back to the start and the whole process starts up again, ad infinitum. 

Then there is the soft drip-dripping from the cistern into the toilet bowl that echoes around the bathroom and out of the doorway, which is left with its door swung open to make it easier on Christopher in case he needs to get up during the night, and it's sort of barely there yet constant, and kind of like Buck's very own Zen water feature if he's in a generous mood—which he always, always is.

There's also the water that sits in the old pipework, which sort of glugs every so often and reminds Buck of the tanks at the Long Beach aquarium where he and Eds will take Chris sometimes on weekends, only the glugs are muffled slightly by the gloriously soft-underfoot Zapotec patterned Mexican rugs that Eddie has laid out all around the house. 

Can't forget Mrs Gorski’s beautiful nine-year-old German Shepherd, Elsa, from two doors down to the left, who always yips once at each and every passing car and whines like a pup whenever there's a thunderstorm. Buck thinks she's wonderful (and kinda knows how she feels).

Oh, and there's the ticking hallway clock, of course, that Buck hated the first night he spent on Eddie's couch yet felt nothing but familiarity and affection for by the next. That one quickly became such an integral part of the Buckley-Diaz sleepover experience that the one time it stopped and Eddie didn't have the right size batteries to make it work again, it meant Buck had to pretend he could hear the tick-tocking in his head just so he could settle enough to close his eyes—which didn't work at all, by the way, and he fell asleep that night clicking his tongue inside his mouth as a pitiful and piss-poor substitute. He now makes sure to keep the third drawer down in Eddie's kitchen supplied with enough AA Duracell's that they will never run out ever again. 

Some of the very best sounds, though, are those of Eddie and Christopher moving around in their beds; sheets and comforters rustling as they try to get comfortable enough for a good night's sleep. God, Buck hopes that kid always falls asleep knowing just how much he is loved by everybody who knows him. Especially Buck, who lives to make the little dude happy and loves him like he's his own, loves him so, so much. And he's of course loved more then anything by his dad who is the greatest father in the whole wide world with zero competition, and who Buck loves loves loves just as much, kind of like how the sun loves the moon so much it gets up every morning just so the moon can rest it's beams for a stretch; every morning of every day of forever. 

And the cicadas! Man, Buck loves the cicadas. In the loft, you can't really hear them over the ever-present bustle of the city. Buck's apartment is a little further towards downtown then Eddie's house, plus his building is just too tall for the sound to carry properly. But at 4995 South Bedford Street you can hear the raucous little fuckers perfectly. They're so brilliantly constant in their role as backing singers to the soundtrack that is Eddie and Christopher's House, that Buck can't help but now associate them with feelings comfort and safety, and when he can't hear them, he misses them almost as if they're members of the little family he tells himself he's a part of on the days Buck is being generous with himself. At the loft, it's just too far up to hear the sound of the cicadas’ tymbal organs that contain a series of ribs which buckle one after the other when one of them flexes its muscles; every time a rib buckles, it produces this clicking noise that collectively creates the insane chorus we humans hear, which can be anything up to a 90 dBA, i.e. the decibel reading that the sound resonates at—he learned that watching a documentary on insects with Christopher a while back, as research for a school project.

Whenever Buck gets back to his apartment after a night or two or three at Eddie's, where the little critters and their tymbal organs have been a blissfully annoying and wonderfully integral part of the Casa Diaz Bedtime Orchestra—in that moment he suddenly realises he can't hear them anymore, can't hear any of it—it's just such a devastating blow for the paling replacement to be only the cruel loudness of Pure Silence. 

Buck fucking hates it. 

The hush has always been hard for him to handle, in other times and places, too—his hyperactive tendencies mean he's never been all that good with stillness—it kind of  reminds him a little too much of when Maddie left Hershey; when she left him. 

The crushing quiet of his own apartment when he's home alone, though? That makes it severely and unnervingly feel less like a home than his best friend's house does. In fact, his loft doesn't really feel like a home at all. 

Which sucks majorly depressing ass, actually. 

Buck glances at his phone clock which tells him it's now past bedtime for what is suitable by his standards on a work night.

He lays back fully and turns onto his side, pulling the comforter up to his chin and trying to get comfy, before reaching across for the henley Eddie left here a while ago—that still smells faintly of Eddie's body spray and his musk and something that's so completely Eddie it makes Buck want to cry—shoving it under his nose and inhaling deeply as he pictures himself laying on the shitty awesome Diaz couch he now thinks of as his own…

Legs dangling from one arm, head nestled in the permanent dent that it's made in the other; the ever-present thump-thumping of his own heart in his ear where it's pressed to the soft blue fabric, in tune with the other grumbly sounds his body makes that vie for dominance over all the wonderfully calming sounds of Casa Diaz.  

…and he creates his first sleep soundscape via his new app:

Cicadas

Bed Sheets

Grandfather Clock

Barking Dog 

Water Ripples

Water Dripping 

Refrigerator

Then, making a mental note on his brain's clipboard checklist to buy a nightlight just like the one Eddie has for Christopher in the hallway that will hopefully enhance the whole experience, he names the playlist ‘Home’ and saves it before setting up a shut-off timer of thirty minutes, breathing slowly and deliberately as the sounds wash over him from his phone speaker, like he's a starfish that got stranded on a beach and the tide is finally coming back in.

Buck shuts his eyes with a small smile on his lips that is both inordinately happy and a little sad, and quickly falls into dreams of Jenga towers and blanket forts and beers on the patio with his best friend whom he's madly in love with, and sleeps soundly, the whole night through.

.

also on ao3 HERE

[byenycfm]

Where: Entire Atrium Level When: April 1st, 7pm

Dinner rations having been held early at 5pm-6pm for the entire building, the next hour was spent furiously setting up the tables that had already been previously set out for goodies. Every room off the Atrium and the Atrium itself are all strung with the Christmas lights and battery operated fairy lights, streamers hung from and across everything they could be, and balloons not only covering the floor to just bounce around as they please, but taped to the walls in random scattered patterns to fill the space. In the middle of the Atrium in the place where the Christmas tree had just been taken down stand a chair next to the piano which had been rolled out of the common room. The muffled sounds of music are already filtering out from seemingly every space, and the colour changing lights from The W's dance floor are spilling out from the open double doors. By 7pm, everything is set up and ready for the guests. Activities include:

The W:

@farew3lls Alice - Karaoke DJ

@ashton-ryder - Bartender (shots, simple cockails ie. Rum and coke, beers, coolers, ciders)

Bowls of Chips (Regular, Doritos, and Dill Pickle)

Bowl of Mixed Nuts

Large bowl of popcorn with scoop and paper bags

Dance Floor

Balcony

Atrium:

@sarahshercohen & @rhianwells - Musical Entertainment

Piano

Dance Floor

Photo Station with props and found polaroid camera

Bulletin board with pins for polaroid collage

Table with cake

@hannahxinterrupted's caricature portrait station

Rosie's Diner

@survivalxofxthexfittest Emily - Serving

Champagne and wine

Craft beers (limited one per resident)

Table absolutely covered in macaroons of every imaginable colour

Bowl of Mixed Nuts

Bowls of Chips (Regular, Doritos, and Dill Pickle)

Large bowl of popcorn with scoop and paper bags

Plates of peanut butter and jelly quarter sandwiches.

Cheese and cracker platters

Saltwater taffy plate

Games Room:

Video Game console and four (4) controllers and Rock Band/DDR set ups

Pool Table

Ping Pong Table

Chess/Checkers Tables

Game Tables (1 x Jenga, 1 x Uno)

Twister Mat

Common Room:

Ocean's Marathon on the TV

Calm space

Media Room:

Supervised by @farew3lls Maddie

Disney Movie Marathon

Ember's old Barbie Mansion and TUBS of barbies and accessories

About fifty of Ember's old stuffed animals.

One very large bin of clothes for dress up.

Bowls of M&M's, Jelly Beans, Chips, Popcorn and Macaroons.

Unlimited Soda from room's bar's soda gun.

Back room set up with kid friendly CD's and small dance floor

The Event will run until Friday, December 13th. There is NO thread pause, though we do ask for priority to be on event threads during the duration of the event. Event threads can commence as needed pas the conclusion of the event itself.

Have fun everyone, and don't forever to wish Mr. Wexley a happy birthday!

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Whumptober Day 11 + Day 12 + Day 26

Day 11: SEEING DOUBLE | Convenience Store | Loneliness | “Leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist.”

Day 12: STARVATION | Underground Caverns | Cannibalism | "Just a little more."

Day 26: NIGHTMARES | Breakfast Table | Parting Words of Regret | “I'm haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.”

Whumptober Prompts List | Masterpost

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 1200

Tag List: @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west

CW: missing person, found footage, lost, separated, darkness, parting words regret, mystery, supernatural occurrence, running, screaming, implied death

----------

The detective stared at the phone on his desk. It was unremarkable, with a light blue case, a crack in the lower left-hand corner, fingerprints highlighted by the dust from the cave where it had been found, abandoned, the battery dead. After bringing it back and taking fingerprints and dust samples, all that was left was to charge it.

It finished its start-up sequence, showing the lock screen, a photo of a field of flowers at sundown. The detective hesitantly swiped up on the lock screen, expecting a password or code. Instead, the phone opened, showing a home screen that was a selfie of a woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties, with a couple other people the same age. The phone’s owner, presumably, and some friends.

He tapped on the messaging app. All the recent messages were from three days ago. The phone wouldn’t have had any signal in the caves, it was likely the young woman had been using it for pictures or video. The most recent message was from a contact named “Hannah”.

---

You (1:54): I’m going to the intermediate cave it looks like.

You (1:54): It goes as deep as the hard caves, but it’s not as claustrophobic.

You (1:54): The guide seems to know what he’s doing, which is good at least.

Hannah (1:55): Cool.

Hannah (1:55): Call me when you get out?

You (1:55): Will do.

You (1:56): I’ll send some pics and video and stuff

Hannah (1:58): 👍

Hannah (4:17): Hey, you out yet?

Hannah (4:17): The intermediate cave is only an hour and a half

Hannah (4:18): I’d love to see those pics

Hannah (4:21): Hello?

—Missed call from Hannah at 4:25 p.m.—

Hannah (4:25): Jessi this isn’t funny

Hannah (8:52): I’m calling the police

---

The detective frowned and jotted down Hannah’s phone number. If she’d known this young woman, Jessi, had gone to the caves, perhaps she’d filed a missing person’s report when she didn’t come back? Or perhaps Jessi had simply lost her phone during the spelunking trip. Still best to check the records.

The camera roll yielded more promising results. A few pictures of the cave formations lit by flashlights, some of Jessi and a few other spelunkers, nothing too out of the ordinary. But the most recent item in the camera roll was a fifteen-minute-long video that appeared to have been filmed in complete darkness.

The detective turned the volume up and pressed play.

Silence. No, not quite silence. Ragged breathing, coming from somewhere nearby.

“I… I got separated from the group.” Jessi’s voice shook, as if she was on the verge of tears. “I don’t know how… there was really only one way to go… and we were starting to head back. And then… and then they were all gone….

“It’s so dark. I didn’t have a flashlight. I don’t… I don’t wanna drain my phone battery any further, I’m already sapping it by taking this video.”

She chuckled derisively. “I don’t even know why I’m taking this video. Maybe just to talk, and have something listen, even if it’s just a microphone. Maybe if I… if I don’t make it out of here… this is so my friends and family can have something.

“Hannah… I’m sorry I never got to send those pictures. I’m sorry we had that fight, and I want you to know I don’t hate you for what you said in the heat of the moment.

“Mom, Dad, I love you so very, very, very much. I’m so sorry you had to lose your only daughter this way.

“I’m trying to be optimistic here. If I stay put, eventually the guide or someone else in the group will realize I’m missing and they’ll come back for me. I guess I could just make my way back up the cave… but I honestly don’t know which way is which. I might get farther and farther away.”

Jessi trailed off and stood in the darkness for a few minutes.

“I’m scared,” she said, “I never thought… I never thought this was how I’d die. I just… I feel so alone down here, so deep underground. Just the complete absence of other living things… only rock and water and darkness. And me.”

She blew out a long, slow breath. “Ugh… now that I say that, the hairs on the back of my neck are standing up. You ever get that feeling of being watched? It’s stupid. Maybe it’s just having the phone recording.”

Another few beats of silence.

“I want to get out of here. So badly. I can yell for help, but I don’t know how far my voice’ll carry. I can’t phone or text anyone, I don’t have any service. Maybe Hannah’ll notice? It’s a good thing I told her which cave. I just hope she’ll realize in time. I just need to wait a little bit more.”

More silence.

Then: “Hello? Is anyone there? I can hear your footsteps.”

Footsteps echoed as Jessi moved towards the sound she heard. The phone hadn’t picked up any audible noise, or it was so faint the detective missed it. “Hello?” she repeated. “Please, I got separated from the group. I need help.”

Jessi fumbled with her phone, and the flashlight suddenly turned on, revealing the stone floor. The camera whipped up to point down the corridor, illuminating only a few feet before the cave curved out of sight. She pointed it the other way, revealing an almost endless corridor in the other direction.

She gasped softly and stepped back. “Who are you?”

The detective squinted at the phone screen. No one else was there, but Jessi certainly acted otherwise. She backed up until she made it around the curve and whatever she supposedly saw was out of sight.

Then she turned and ran.

The video became a confusing blur of gleaming stone, darkness, and the occasional flash of blue jeans, the audio coming in and out. “Help!” she screamed, “—lease! Hel—me!”

Crack.

The phone clattered to the floor, the audio becoming pure static for a few precious seconds. It landed face-down, the camera only showing a blurry close-up of the floor. For a moment after, everything was still.

And Jessi screamed. It lasted for two long, agonizing seconds before it was suddenly cut off.

Silence.

The video ended.

The detective stared at the phone for a long time, trying and failing to come up with a logical conclusion. Had she encountered someone in the caves, someone who'd chased after and killed her? That would be the logical explanation. But the complete lack of another person in the camera frame, presumably in the direction she had been looking right before she fled….

It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

The detective’s eyes fell on Hannah’s phone number. Jessi’s friend and parents would want to see the video, even if it was of her last moments, even if it didn’t make sense. The video would need to get copied and downloaded to the database first as evidence, along with any other photos and files that might offer clues. Then check for the missing person report filed by Hannah. Then get in contact.

This was going to be a long afternoon.

[cosplayinamerica]

by Anna-Neko

Before all the endless online, digital everything, before FB and Insta, the “don’t u know how many followers…” & influencers nonsense, there was this man!

Kevin would take your photo, make small-talk & drop encouraging comments and make you feel a star! A former cosplay partner still fondly remembers how he would always know what she was cosplaying as! No matter how obscure! If he didn’t know the cosplay – he would ask about it! The interest always genuine. He seemed to remember everyone from con to con, and in later years when instead of running around he would set up a corner with a backdrop and do photos this way – he would jot down file numbers & email me full-size images after the event if asked.

So just a quick scene setting up. It is very easy to forget, but back then (1999 to maybe 2002~ish) there was waaaaay less conventions. There wasn’t an event happening every weekend, much less multiple events at same time! Digital cameras were not a thing. Well, obviously they existed, but your average otaku heading to an anime con might bring a cheap 35mm disposable camera (or maybe 3, if CVS had a multi-pack sale!).

Kevin’s FansView website was THE cosplay/cons site. He updated multiple times throughout the event, 2 or 3 times each day! There weren’t just photos of “hot people”, he tirelessly took photos of regular attendees, cosplayers of various ages and skill levels, guest & panel highlights…. If you weren’t lucky enough to be at the convention itself, seeing all his photos was the next best thing! In a few years we’d have con report galleries on Cosplay.com, Geocities and LinusLam …. but all these were _after the fact_, not during. Not quite the same, ya know?)

Even my mom knew his website, and during cons I’d call home during the weekend and she would excitedly tell me she was just on Kevin’s site and saw my photo!

Like, seriously…. we’d joke a con wasn’t a con until you either a) saw House of Anime truck in the parking lot, or b) ran into Mr Lillard.

Over the years there’s been all sorts of amazing run-ins with him. He would always make some jokes, and go above and beyond helping a fellow nerd – like the time my brand~new digital camera (in 2000! quite the expense!) suddenly died (6 AA batteries the monster ate) and he kindly tried to help me with both fresh batteries and advice, and when it looked like the camera wasn’t coming back he straight up took out his FILM CAMERA (again, this man was a pro! He always had a backup) and took photos of my cosplay and friends’, and handed me the finished roll

OR that other time my memory card was already full within literally first few hours of the convention (circa 2000, CompactFlash. Gigs? ha! Your PC might have 2 gigs hard drive and be a luxury. Memory cards ran in the Megabites) and this SAINT of a man helped by using HIS LAPTOP to let me clear out the card, email the zip file to myself then and there, and thus have memory space to take another 30~40 photos

or this Other OTHER time we were talking about shitty hotel hallway lights… And asked if he would mind popping with us outside real quick? He took the time to go! Outdoors into the sunshine! On the lawns by the hotel for a good 30 minutes! Thus giving us our first ‘proper’ cosplay photoshoot no less!! (freakin 2001, people!! pro~photoshoots or sheduling time-slots with an online-famous photog was not a thing. Not yet, not for another few years)

He made all us awkward weebs feel welcome from the get~go! Nobody had internet once left the house. No cellphones. Especially not a phone that could double as a hi-res camera. You came to the convention with a cheap disposable film camera, or none at all – hoping your friends brought one. Conventions didn’t have photo suites, no staff photogs… it was not a thing yet.

The other joke used to be “oh you’re at so-and-so con? Did you run into Kevin yet??” or “no no no, don’t change yet! We need to find Kevin!! You must be documented” (and if you had insane luck, you may even see that photo as convention cosplay coverage in an issue of Animerica months later!) For some of us, the only photos of those early costumes only exist because Kevin was there to take it.

#cosplayhistory

[bitterkarmaa]

“They seemed to like me well enough.”

The orange and black tinted daycare attendant ducks under the larger security bot that hovers around him like a fly, doing more listening than talking, as it usually does.

Nimble fingers slide a couple of double A batteries into one of his newer projects, eyes lighting up as the device whirls to life.

“Did you like them?” The sharp-toothed guardian asks curiously, plucking the buzzing object from his son’s hands with a quizzical gleam in it’s brilliant red eyes.

“Yes, I- hey! Give that back! It’s important!” He jumps in an effort to snatch it back, but it proves futile as his father pulls it out of his reach with ease.

“Oh? And what does it do, exactly?” It’s tone is only mildly interested now, staring into Eclipse’s bright eyes as he stands, silently fuming, by it’s side.

“It distracts the kids so that I can get some cleaning in before closing. Now-“ The jester-themed animatronic leaps for the object once again, only for it to be pulled away like before.

“Can you ask nicely?”

Eclipse pauses, hands balled into fists at his sides. He opens his mouth a few times, biting back much more bitter words before he finds his nicer tones.

“May I please have my prototype back?” He barely manages to keep the annoyed drawl from his voice, lighting up once the device is lowered back into his reach. He snatches it before the older animatronic can play more games.

He steps back to begin working once again, but is stopped in his tracks by his father’s abnormally gentle hand laying onto his shoulder. He pauses, glancing over to it.

“Has your new battery come in yet?”

Eclipse’s face falls into a frustrated frown once he processes the question.

“No. It hasn’t. It’s late, as usual.” He replies bitterly, nudging KC’s hand off of his shoulder so that he can continue his tinkering.

“Then you should charge.”

Eclipse stops once again, slowly looking back to KC’s stern expression. They hold one another’s gazes for a moment before, eventually, Eclipse lets out a heavy sigh.

“You won’t let up until I do, will you?”

As KC shakes his head, Eclipse sets the project back onto his workbench with a last longing glance before he turns towards the door.

Almost as soon as he turns, his father has scooped him up into his arms with a contented hum.

“Hey! I can walk myself, you know!” Eclipse shouts, crossing his arms in a pout as KC lets out an amused chuckle.

“Yes, yes, I understand that you’re a big boy now.” He jests, earning an offended scoff from his son.

“I’ve always been a big boy, you just refuse to see it.” He huffs, settling down in KC’s warm hold despite his sharp words.

“Mhm…does Mr. Howls see it, then?”

Eclipse raises a hand, playfully swatting at his father with a sour expression on his face.

“Mr. Howls helps me connect with the children!” Eclipse snaps. KC gives him a dubious look.

“Since when was a stuffed wolf a child? Next you’re going to say it ‘helps you understand the kids perspectives.’”

Eclipse grumbles to himself, but makes no further attempts at justifying his plush companion.

However, he does tell Mr. Howls all about the woes of dealing with a father like KC before he settles down to charge for the next few hours.

[ask-nico-and-the-sides]

C'mon double D battery, you can't just hide in the dark forever. You can make amends and all that.

Nico: What do you think? :)

Thomas: Um…

Nico: (Mr. Sanders, lie to me, you are too sweet to be that blunt, lie to my face rn)

Thomas: It was… good?

Nico: Hi there, snake boy.

Thomas: Huh?