#ms underestimated

[mspaint-flower]

she loooooong

flower is always long

[gromky]

Mary Magdalene would never let her loved ones down

insp @normalbrothers absolutely brilliant Pietà set

[laserbread]

I un-catboyified Drift

[polar-equinoxx]

Ice is oblivious…

Or is he?

[tododeku-or-bust]

Every day I been reminding myself who the FUCK I am via Affirmations with Miss Gloria Hallelujah.

[destinationtoast]

aka "women I want to step on me, even if it might be a bad idea" edition (aka Beard's gf, Keeley's ex, and Rupert's assistant) 😈🥵

I once again think there's a best answer here, but I did not predict the winner in the last poll, so we'll see. ;D

[the-silliest-idiot]

Grrrr bark bark

Back on my MS Paint bullshit again again

[galwednesday]

BOOGER

Alicia leaned on the counter at the only dry cleaner's in town that still accepted her work clothes and smiled winningly. "So about the bill."

Ms. Livvy pointed to the relevant line item. "Ectoplasm removal costs extra. You want your ghost busting suit cleaned, you pay the charge."

"But holy water is free to take from the church." 

"I charge emotional hazard pay for having to look the priest dead in the eye while I fill up a bucket." 

"I hear salt works," Alicia tried. 

"That's red wine," Ms. Livvy said mercilessly, and added another three dollar surcharge for arguing. (100 word inktober drabbles; BAD DOG, HEIST, FAIRY, and TEMPTING below the cut)

BAD DOG

They looked like normal crows. They cawed and flapped and pecked like normal crows, and were spooked by loud noises like normal crows, and after he'd borrowed his sister's hyperactive black lab puppy Rosie, they'd scattered when she barked. At first.

And sure, crows brought people gifts sometimes. But he didn't think normal crows would know to bribe the guard dog with squeaky toys, ham bones, and Rosie's favorite brand of treats. 

"Bad dog," he said halfheartedly. Rosie's tail thumped as she rolled around in the brand new dog bed sitting in the middle of his picked-clean pumpkin patch.

HEIST

She had gone to a museum in the estate sale. Being on display wasn't so bad; the docent's patter about her artistic significance as a living portrait was flattering, if repetitive, and it was fun to wink at school groups to make the kids giggle. But after six months of constant visitation, she was ready to take a break.

Still, when intruders sidled into her gallery after closing, she almost called for the guards before one whispered, "Gerald sent us."

He'd always been her favorite great-grandson. "The code is 784551," she said, and they dealarmed her frame in record time.

FAIRY

Fairy rings looked eerie, but they were usually harmless, just the mark of a decomposed animal whose bones had been scattered by scavengers, leaving only a halo of verdant growth behind. When the fairy ring threw sparks or sang lullabies, that's when the forestry service got a call-out.

Sumac fumbled for his radio with numb fingers, looking at the line of iridescent ferns and honeycombed fungi extending in a long, barely-curving line through dense pines, one edge of a circle big enough to swallow half the forest. "Ranger Sumac to base. We're, uh. We're going to need a bigger perimeter."

TEMPTING

The human crew member inspected the sign, which read "DO NOT TOUCH" in their local dialect, as well as in simplified galactic standard. The safety panel watched the surveillance feed in tense silence.

The button reflected light in a specific segment of the human visual spectrum that signified dangerous heat or leaking internal fluids; confusingly, it could also signify energy-dense nutrient parcels. The human circled the button, then left it alone.

For a while.

"Attempt failure," one panelist flashed glumly, as the human poked the button. "Signage revision: in progress."

"Signage revision: infinite," another flashed, to exasperated sparkles of agreement.

[sigtv]

the way we all thought she was gonna announce rep tv before ts11…

we had no idea how close it actually was. and now it’s almost here. excuse me while i go feral

[lodium]

Devour

It's funny how I'm drawing more Destiny stuff while mostly grinding in Warframe recently. I'm still not used to draw Warframe designs with a lot of details (tho I wouldn't say that I don't have the same problem with Destiny)

Most of the time doing things feels like some kind of heavy chains pulling in different directions and a brain refusing to concentrate, wanting to run, jump or whatever makes me to get distracted from the goal, unless a miracle happens and for some time I gain a less weight of this state. Not removing the feeling of making everything perfect. And this time it was one of the hardest, so I tried to do at least this ragged style. It's still messy One of the reasons that I'm more worried of taking c0*ms bc of this state. Others include a pressure of still disliking oneself and what I make, whatever happens and is heard. It still worries to make something not good enough and especially if the money are paid for it. I heard that I can underestimate myself, but it’s hard and awkward for me to do the opposite and confidently understand it

[sporesgalaxy]

LET ME TELL YOU THE SETUP FOR MY BEAUTIFUL COOKIE CLICKER LOVE STORY

it's not everything but it's a decent introduction to the characters. I've been writing this summary for weeks. I'm hoping that feeling like I can reference parts in the middle will give me more ideas......

why does it hate my images...ok fine no images. god

•••

0 Ascensions:

Cookie is always on the lookout for new ways to bake ungodly amounts of cookies, so she approaches Kirschtorte after reading about the doctor's experimental portal research having once resulted in the retreival of a small amount of alien matter.

The first time Michelle Kirschtorte meets Cookie Cliquer, she does not touch a single morsel of the extravagant cookie spread that Ms. Cliquer made to butter her up. The same thing happens the second, fourth, fifth time they meet and discuss business, no matter what variety of cookies Cookie makes. At last Cookie subjects herself to the mortifying ordeal of directly asking Dr. Kirschtorte what kind of cookies she likes-- only to be shocked and horrified when the doctor says that she does not eat any cookies whatsoever.

Despite her inexplicable distaste for cookies, Michelle Kirschtorte is receptive to Cookie's business offer, but she remains unmoved by Cookie's sickly-sweet commercial persona. Secretly at first, Kirschtorte is deeply cynical about the whole arrangement; she was screwed over by her previous colleagues, and progress on her portal research has been stagnating for some time now because of it. Although she doesn't admit it to Cookie at first, the doctor feels humiliated by the prospect of turning to a baked goods corporation for funding. Michelle ends up accepting the deal under the impression that she is taking advantage of Cookie's deep pockets and naive enthusiasm for unorthodox theoretical baking techniques.

When the cookie-focused research initiatives start yeilding mind-bogglingly impressive results, Kirschtorte reassesses her portal research priorities and her impressions of her oddball benefactor. Cookies are, for some reason, the key to understanding and exploiting the greatest secrets of the universe. Even more impressively, Ms. Cliquer seems intuitively in touch with the logic behind these shocking cookie truths. What other great scientific discoveries could cookie research yeild? How does Cliquer think of this stuff? Why DOES everyone like cookies so damn much? Kirschtorte finds herself irresistably drawn in by these exciting scientific possibilities, as well as the much less sweet and more insatiably driven person she starts getting to know behind Cookie's crowd-pleasing public persona.

Despite a stilted start to their relationship, Cookie and Michelle get along very well once they find even footing. Both are driven to prove themselves through their work, both have been underestimated and cast aside by peers and superiors in the past. Cookie's obsessive drive to make and market infinite perfect cookies matches Michelle's obsessive drive to understand everything there is to know about the nature of the universe; both are deeply passionate about their work and typically striving tirelessly towards the same goal. Both believe that their ends justify their means, and that ethical concerns are a waste of time and a thorn in the side of progress.

Cookie has a knack for PR that Michelle has always lacked the patience for; Michelle understands and appreciates the true, transcendent importance of cookies nearly as much as Cookie does-- Cookie's business partners usually don't care about that part.

Cookie eventually achieves enlightenment and realizes the Secret of the Heavenly Chips, granting her the ability to Ascend. Cookie should be overjoyed at the cosmic knowledge within her grasp; great new possibilities in cookie production await her!

Yet Cookie drags her feet. She keeps finding excuses to stay where she is, keeps setting goals even as her progress slows to a crawl, and reaching those goals in this lifetime seems less and less feasible...

Still, the stress of failure and stagnation chips away at Cookie's resolve to keep dragging out her first iteration. The knowledge of how much she could be doing with the power Ascension would grant her makes Cookie increasingly irritable and bitter about the work which she's made her entire life revolve around.

Kirschtorte is stressed and angry about the slowed progress, too. She is increasingly afraid that age and death will catch up with herself and Cookie before they can discover everything there is to know about reality (and cookies). Michelle is vexed by Cookie's comparative lack of urgency-- or is it a lack of hope for any solution? Cookie has always been the most driven person Michelle's known, yet now Cookie's detatchedness toes the line of seeming resigned to failure. Michelle feels like everything she thought she understood about Cookie is slipping through her fingers, and she feels powerless against the onward march of time (DESPITE having access to time machines!), and she doesn't know how to cope.

The temptation of exponentially greater cookie production and the crushing agony of stagnation eventually outweigh Cookie's sentimental attachment to this particular iteration of her life. Cookie Ascends.

(Michelle lives the rest of her life feeling emptier in Cookie's absence, and never knowing why Cookie vanished.)

1st iteration to reach the Grandmapocalypse:

The first time Michelle Kirschtorte meets Cookie Cliquer, she is offered a slice of Black Forest Cake, her favorite. Somewhat suspicious of the COOKIE Magnate offering her cake, Michelle still can't bring herself to resist. Cookie is clearly delighted.

Kirschtorte doesn't take Cookie seriously at first and Cookie knows it, and finds it funny. Kirschtorte has to be convinced of the omnipresence and significance of cookies thru material evidence. Cookie is more hands-on helping speed along her research, but only ever reveals information in bite-sized pieces on a need-to-know basis. It becomes increasingly clear to Kirschtorte that Cookie somehow knows a lot about the most far-fetched characteristics of cookies before they're scientifically proven...and that Cookie has a suspiciously good intuition for knowing things about Kirschtorte herself.

Cookie is delighted by her extra power and knowledge at first. She's entertained by using her extra experience to tease Kirschtorte. Cookie enjoys getting to spend more time with Michelle, despite how one-sided the relationship is early on. Michelle is drawn to Cookie even more from the get-go, because of her strange intuitive understanding of Michelle herself, as well as Cookie Theory.

During the first Grandmapocalypse, Cookie is overwhelmed and focuses on trying to feel in control rather than seeking help from Kirschtorte. When Dr. Kirschtorte approaches Cookie about it, Michelle is surprised by how stubbornly Cookie refuses to bend even slightly to the wishes of the Grandmatriarchs, no matter how logical and cost-effective that would be. Not fully understood by to Kirschtorte, this is motivated mostly by Cookie's resentment for her own grandmother (who is now a parf of the Grandma collective, of course). Cookie insists that any compliance or appeasement would only lead to Cookie and her company being trapped under the Grandmatriarchs' elderly thumb forever.

Instead, Cookie is dead set on overcoming the Grandmatriarchs' sabotage by outpacing them through brute force. Michelle sees this as a fight she is doomed to lose, but Cookie refuses to consider any alternatives.

Cookie's seemingly pointless uphill battle convinces Michelle that cooperating with the Grandmatriarchs is the only way to keep cookie production and research moving forward at a viable pace (she is objectively correct about this). Michelle wants to trust Cookie's leadership, but the two of them are getting older (this is especially visible on Michelle, who is effected by constant proximity to Cookieverse Portals), and Michelle is beginning to fear they might die before they uncover and exploit all the cookie-based secrets of the universe. After all the work they've done, the thought of not being able to see it through upsets Kirschtorte terribly. The Grandmatriarchs subconsciously whisper things to Michelle which exacerbate these fears-- something Michelle is susceptible to due to her proximity to the Cookieverse Portals.

Eventually, Kirschtorte caves. Against Cookie's wishes-- but in Kirschtorte's mind, for Cookie's sake as well as her own-- Kirschtorte convenes with the Grandmatriarchs anyways by using the Cookieverse Portals. She asks them for knowledge of how to lessen the Grandmatriarchs' wrath, and she asks for them to help her understand the true nature of the universe. In exchange, the Grandmatriarchs' ask Michelle to bond her mind with them just a little (still retaining most of her individuality), and vow that she will continue to proliferate portals to the cookieverse as long as she lives. That seems like an easy promise to Michelle, and it makes sense that they would want this. She already makes portals to the cookieverse all the time, so no big deal. Cookie was probably being stubborn and mistrusting for nothing!

Michelle performs the Elder Pledge ("a simple ritual involving anti-aging cream, cookie batter mixed in the moonlight, and a live chicken"), and the Grandmapocalypse is halted. The Wrinklers and Flesh Highways withdraw and cookie production returns to normal, with the Research Facility's grandma augmentation benefits still at work.

Cookie isn't sure what to make of the sudden withdraw of the Grandmatriarchs, but she has a bad feeling.

The way Michelle's deal works is that Kirschtorte will die normally someday, but then the Grandmatriarchs will carry her consciousness and memories to another iteration of Kirschtorte who asks for the same deal, and their knowledge will be combined into 1 continuous consciousness. This will repeat over and over, with more knowledge added to the collective each time, and each new Kirschtorte never knowing about her past selves or the secrets they've uncovered before she complies with the Grandmatriarchs.

Kirschtorte asks the Grandmatriarchs if they can do the same for Cookie, and is shocked to learn that Cookie was never going to run out of time, and never told her. Was Cookie willing to waste the rest of Kirschtorte's limited lifetime arguing with a grandma hivemind?! Did the work they do together matter so little to her?!!

When Michelle confronts her about it, Cookie learns in turn that Michelle is permanently cosmically bound to the Grandmatriarchs. Cookie feels betrayed, but she mostly blames Grandma-- ignoring Michelle's agency in the situation, thoughtlessly belittling her to keep her on a pedestal.

They continue to have problems in this and future iterations, with Kirschtorte always spending a large portion of their time together unaware of all their past lives until suddenly becoming aware when she inevitably goes against Cookie's wishes and speaks to the Grandmatriarchs. And yet, as much as they both claim to be ruthless utilitarians who put their work above all else, it is always quite obvious how much they admire each other and how badly they always want to be together, even at their worst. With all the time they spend building and destroying and rebuilding a cookie empire over and over again, they come to know and understand each other very intimately. They're both insufferably weird about each other when they both have all their memories.

[wardenparker]

Congrats on your milestone! Can you do a Marcus Moreno w/ “I’ll protect you”?

Marcus Moreno. 4,451 words. "I'll protect you." Co-written with @absurdthirst

Mentions of a stalker/reader in danger. A sprinkling of yearning. Some referenced nudity. Co-workers to lovers.

We loved this one so much we're planning a follow up!

Getting called into Ms. Granada's office was never a very comforting thing. Most of the time, missions would be announced in the Heroic conference room. Open to all, but this is a meeting that the leader of the Heroics program had taken special pains to keep quiet. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, Marcus Moreno taps on the heavy steel door and waits for permission to enter, feeling the draw of the metal to his palms and licking his lips as he concentrates on not moving it by mistake.

"Come in." The call comes from the speaker above the door of the soundproof office, crackling slightly from the effect of Marcus's powers on the machinery.

Inside the office is the standard furniture -- the large desk and supportive chair for Ms. Granada faced by two armchairs for visitors. Or for those she has summoned. In this case the summoning is more accurate, and the figure that had been nervously perched in one of the two chairs shoots up at attention when the door opens.

You've only worked at Heroics HQ for just over two months. Your position as communications officer for the team of beloved superheroes isn't without its challenges, but the one you're facing now has set in quickly and -- to you -- was rather unexpected.

Marcus frowns slightly at the presence of someone else, unsure of your name, but he knows how you are. "You wanted to see me?" He asks, directing the question to the always elegantly poised Ms. Granada who is standing behind her desk in a vivid fuchsia suit.

He glances back at you again, noticing that you are nervous. Unable to be still as you stand facing him. What is your name? He knows it but he can't quite recall it right now. Even if he's seen you on tv for the press briefings more than a few times. Always impressed by how poised you are.

"Please sit." Granada motions to the empty chair when Marcus Moreno shuts the door and resumes her seat at her desk. "We have something of an issue on our hands, Marcus. And as the leader of the Heroics I would like your input."

"Okay...." it's rare that someone asks his input for press releases, so it can't be that. He sits down and looks between the two women, your name instantly coming to mind, and he relaxes slightly, not feeling foolish anymore. "What's going on?"

"Our new communications officer is receiving some very overt and unwanted attention." Ms. Granada shuffles a stack of suspicious letters in evidence sleeves on her desk before sliding them closer to Marcus. "And not the sort that we can easily brush off. Or identify."

You're shuffling anxiously in your seat, folding and unfolding your legs, picking at your cuticles and fingernails compulsively. "I--" You open your mouth to speak and your voice breaks. The first time you've ever betrayed any nerves in front of any of the Heroics team and you hate it. "I knew there were dangers when I took this job," you say, after clearing your throat. "I suppose I underestimated how quickly it could happen or exactly how I would feel about it."

Taking the pages, Marcus scans them. At first they seem to be filled with admiration and star-struck wonder. Frowning when he sees the shift to obsession and he lifts a brow when he reads about following you home. "A stalker?" He is slightly confused about why this would be something to bring to the Heroics attention rather than the police. Until the next sentence talks about powers. "A....villain stalker?" He huffs, looking back up at Ms. Granada. "Do we know who it could be?"

"We have a few ideas." She nods gravely, not willing to admit in front of your face that they don't really have any good ideas. "But they're escalating. And very quickly."

"I went home on my lunch hour today," you explain, fingers twisting around each other in your lap. "And my apartment had been broken into."

"Shit." Marcus's frown deepens and he looks back down at the pages again. "You obviously can't go back there." He knows that it had to be scary for you and even though he has nothing to do with any of this, he feels guilty. He feels responsible for everyone in this building in some capacity. He rocks his jaw for a moment and shakes his head. "She needs to go to the safe house." He tells Granada, not liking how quickly the messages devolve into the manic ramblings of a mad man. "She's obviously targeted."

"I completely agree." Granada nods, turning her head slightly to type something into her computer. "What I wanted your input with is who her protection should be."

"Tech-No would probably not be the best option." Marcus flips through the potential list of candidates in his mind. "He's working on some new gadget and would get distracted." He shrugs and looks over at you. "Would you be bored to tears to have Miracle Guy talk about himself for hours on end and probably have you take photos for his social media?"

"I can't imagine posting social media photos from inside a safe house is a good idea," you point out gently. Although Miracle Guy is nice enough, being in that close of quarters with him does sound...tedious at best.

From the small smirk at seems to tug at the other woman's lips, Ms. Granada wasn't asking Marcus for his assessment of the team, she was asking him to volunteer. "Missy is at her grandmother's." He volunteers. "Since school is out."

"Oh, I--I couldn't possibly--" It's not that you couldn't. It's that you have a massive crush on Marcus Moreno and you're going to be so fucking distracted being in close quarters with him. Not that you would ever think anything could happen. But you'll be thinking about it.

“Perfect.” Ms. Granada smiles, deciding the matter is settled. “I will have some clothing sent over to the safe house. And groceries.” She nods. “Use the underground tunnels to leave today.”

"Yes, ma'am." That's it. That's your dismissal. And you'll swallow your stupidity and just try your best not to think about being closed up in an intentionally private space with the handsomest man you've ever seen in real life.

Marcus stands and puts the letters back on the desk and turns to you with a reassuring smile. “Come on, we will need to get settled.”

"I'm sorry to pull you away," you murmur as the two of you exit Ms. Granada's office together. He has a family and responsibilities, and he is having to step away from those in order to look after you. It's...well, it's more than mildly embarrassing. If you weren't actually afraid you would feel positively humiliated.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” Marcus promises. “You’ve done nothing wrong. You don’t deserve to be afraid.” He guides you towards the hallway where his office is located. “Let me get my stuff and we can go.”

"I have a go bag in my office, too." Situations like this were not unheard of, after all, and you had been told by your predecessor to be prepared for anything. That included a go bag and having coffee and snacks in your office.

“Good girl.” Marcus opens the door and moves over to the locker where his Heroics tac vest and his bag are located.

That should not be sexy. That should absolutely not be so damn sexy. Studiously ignoring any sort of natural reaction to those words coming out of his mouth, you wait in his office for him to gather his things and shift awkwardly in place while his words play over and over in your head in spite of yourself.

Marcus zips up his back and turns back to you. “Let’s go your office.” He tells you.

"It's upstairs from you." He has never had to go to your office for anything before, being typically the best behaved of the Heroics, and you doubt he ever had to visit any of your predecessors either. "This way."

Marcus dutifully follows you, feeling more secure in the Heroics headquarters than he would on the street, but he still glances around. Making sure that nothing is out of place. The security has been breached before. His eyes dip down to your ass on the stairs and he feels guilty, remembering that you’re scared and vulnerable as he pulls his eyes back up to your back.

"This way." You murmur, turning down the second-floor east hallway to your office which glows cheerily in the morning sun. All those windows have been unnerving these last few weeks. You can't help wondering if you're being watched at work as well as at home. "I'll grab my things quickly." Your go bag is a carryon bag to make it look less conspicuous, because you often travel for work, and you grab your purse along with it but stop to tuck some snacks from your bottom desk drawer into your purse. Anxiety makes you snackish. "Okay. That's everything."

Marcus can see that you are scared and he reaches out to take your bag off your shoulder. “Don’t worry.” He flashes you a small grin. “You’ll be safe. I’ll protect you.”

As scared as you are, as shaky as your hands are when he comes close enough for the two of you to brush against each other, you can't help but believe him. "Thank you." Soft. Relieved. And entirely honest. The words are too little, but they're all you have right now.

“Come on.” He opens the door for you. “We will get to the safe house and you can tell me what snacks you shoved in your purse so we can make sure we’ve got more ordered.” He chuckles. “I’m more of a Shark Fin cookies man, myself. What about you?”

Biting your lip sheepishly, you reach into your purse and pull out a little blue pack of the frosted shortbread cookies that your niece and nephew got you hooked on. "My sister's kids went through a phase of eating only these and nothing else. And then of course they got sick of them and haven't touched them since. So the Costco crate of cookie packs that she had left went to me. I love these things."

.”Missy likes those.” He chuckles. “And I have to admit they are good dunked in a cup of coffee.” Getting you to open up and relax slightly is a good thing as he guides you towards the elevators that lead to the sub levels.

"Frosted cookies shaped like sharks," you laugh at the simplicity of it. Laughing is good. It's...better than a panic attack, anyway. "What's not to like?"

“Exactly.” The elevator is quick to arrive and completely enclosed. “We won’t be coming into the office until they track this guy down, but they will. Don’t worry.”

"I just..." The elevator door closes swiftly and Marcus pushes the button for one of the subterranean levels, which makes your stomach flip all over again and you tuck away the cookie packet. "I don't know what I did to make this person think the advances are welcome..."

“A lot of times….no one does anything.” Marcus admits. “It’s- whoever it is, they are ill. You are just the unfortunate person they fixated on.”

"Thank you." Two words and yet they're all you can really think to say in the moment of quiet the falls between you. "I know that this...this is your job. But I appreciate it. Really."

He hums as the door open to the parking garage and he pulls his keys out of the jacket he is wearing. “It might be my job, but it’s more than that. You are a part of our team. Our family.”

"Ya know." He opens the car door for you and you're momentarily flabbergasted, but this is Marcus Moreno. He's the closest thing to an actual Superman that the world has. "Most of the time when a workplace says that, it's a corporate bullshit way of saying that people bicker and talk behind each other's backs but smile to each other's faces. This is the first place I've ever worked where it means that people take care of each other."

“We have to.” He flashes you a grin. “The work can be soul crushing, the hours suck, there’s no personal life and the coffee in the breakroom is terrible. We have to take care of each other.”

He rounds the car and gets behind the wheel, and you find yourself actually laughing again. For the first time since all of this got serious you don't feel alone or isolated, and it's bolstering your mood. "We could just get better coffee, you know. It's not hard."

“Every time we do, Tech-No adds his “special ingredient”.” Marcus rolls his eyes. “Shit tastes like motor oil.”

"Don't let Tech-No near the coffee pot. And don't drink coffee if he has been." You nod sagely at the inherent advice. "Got it."

The tunnel for the secret Heroics exit is only used for emergencies and special circumstances, needing an access card to open the gate to its entrance. Everyone had that access who works in the building, but the record will be logged and kept tract of. The window slides down and he presses his badge against the pad to allow the steel door to swing open. The tunnel will let you out five miles from the gates surrounding the headquarters.

"Is it a long drive?" It doesn't make any sense to ask him where you're going. It doesn't matter where the destination is, you're going somewhere safe. But if you need to pick out some driving music it's best to know if this is a pop album kind of drive or more of an occasion for lengthy rock anthems.

“Only about twenty-five minutes away.” Marcus tells you, the florescent lights of the tunnel bouncing off the narrow road.

“So not long enough for an entire rock opera, got it.” When he sort of half raises an eyebrow at you plugging in your phone, you shrug. “I never drive anywhere without music. Do you have a favorite? Or something you hate?”

Marcus chuckles and shakes his head. “I haven’t gotten to pick the music since Missy was about four years old.” He admits. “It’s on whatever she left it on.”

"Well..." You're fiddling with your phone, making sure anything that could broadcast your location is shut off, and look over at him. "I don't have a ton of music on my phone without an internet connection, but I have enough. Should I just put it on shuffle?"

“Nothing wrong with being surprised by the next song.” He reaches down and hands you the cord to plug into the car. “Here you go.”

The effort to distract yourself seems so small and insignificant but the irony of "Oh mama, I'm in fear for my life from the long arm of the law..." coming out over the car speakers makes you visibly fluster. "I...really like Styx," you laugh, shrugging sheepishly.

He nods. “Although the lyrics are a little ill timed.” He admits with a snort. “Hopefully this guy isn’t law enforcement.”

"I feel like it could be anyone." And that fact alone makes you feel a little helpless.

“We won’t let him get close to you.” Marcus promises, aware that you have to be feeling nervous about everyone right now. “Granada will have him figured out soon and we’ll make sure that he’s taken care of.”

He's probably right. That is her reputation anyway, and you're just going to have to put aside whatever stupid adolescent crush you have bubbling under the surface to survive a safe house with him. "The only thing for us to do now is wait, I guess."

“Waiting is probably the toughest thing out of all of this.” Marcus admits, glancing over at you. “We’ll have to keep you distracted.”

"I hope you have some ideas." A sort of half-disbelieving laugh huffs from your lips. "Because I don't suppose the safe house is going to have a closet full of board games or a spacious home library for us to pick through."

“It’s a regular house.” Marcus explains. “With upgraded, state of the art security.” He shrugs slightly. “I know that there’s tv and a large kitchen?”

"Well, that's something." After all, you'll have to eat. So at least you'll have time to cook, which you never have time for in your daily life anymore.

“I can have some books sent.” He offers. “When they deliver fresh groceries.”

"Is reading enough to keep you distracted, too?" It occurs to you, that despite finding him handsome and having noticed a few little quirks about Marcus Moreno around the office, that you don't really know that much about him.

“The last time I read a book?” Marcus chuckles. “I swear it was ‘Goodnight Moon’.” He admits. “It might be a refreshing change from the reports that make my eyes cross in boredom.”

“We could be an odd little two-person book club.” It’s a sweet, harmless thing to say but it makes you laugh with nervous embarrassment nonetheless. “If we like the same sorts of books, I mean.”

“You’ll have to give me tips on what’s good.” He hums, slowing down as he reaches the exit of the tunnel and prepares to scan his badge again for the exit to open. “Really? The last book I read was probably one of my late wife’s romance novels. She was a sucker for them.”

“You read her romances?” That surprises you, mostly because you don’t really think of men as being big consumers of the romance genre. Sure your best friend does, but you’ve always considered him to be the except that proves the rule.

“Yeah.” He might be a little embarrassed to admit that, but it seems like the kind of information that you might like. Or at least make you feel a little easier about being cooped up with him in a strange place for some undetermined time. “She had a lot of them. Always said that while it was female porn, if you wanted to know what women really wanted, read their romance novels.”

“She’s completely right.” You agree immediately. “Although, some of my favorites are both.” Why are you telling him this? You really don’t have any idea yet you can’t seem to stop yourself. “Romance and porn in one.”

He scans his badge and rolls the window up. “Those are my favorites too.” He huffs shamelessly. “For obviously single reasons.”

When he lost his wife it was front page news all over the country. The world even. Not even superpowers could stop cancer. But something in you tells you to stay positive for him, and not let him descend into grief when it isn’t necessary. “Do you like fantasy settings? Otherworldly creatures, faeries, magic, that sort of thing? Or maybe historical fiction?”

“Pirates.” He tosses you a grin. “Arrrrrgh. Always wanted to be one when I was younger.”

Pirates. It could be such a sweet, unassuming answer. Or it could mean he likes spicy romances with reverse harems. Both are equal plausible. “Then we’ll have to find you some pirate romances to read.”

He smirks slightly and wonders if you are just being nice to him in a difficult situation or if you have some idea of how that could be taken. “We will have to exchange notes as we read.”

“The world’s smallest book club.” It sounds charming when you say it this time, instead of slightly damning, and you manage a smile. “We can make it fun.”

Merging onto the roads is smooth and Marcus makes sure no one is following. “Just think of it as a book retreat.” He jokes.

******

It’s well past sunrise when his phone rings, but with the curtains drawn it’s hard to tell. Sleep has been deeper for the last several weeks, and days more relaxed despite the obviously very tense reason for being in a safe house.

Almost six weeks, but this morning it’s the sound of a phone call that wakes him, from a private number on a secure line.

Marcus gropes blindly for the phone, groaning as he shuffles and nearly drops it before he squints and taps the button to answer. “Moreno.” He rasps out, voice thick with sleep.

“Good morning.” Ms. Granada’s voice chirps down the line. “Sorry to have woken you, but I think you’ll be pleased to hear that you are safe to return to civilization as of this morning. The stalker has been apprehended and is being held without bail.”

“That’s good.” His eyes focus and he shifts slightly, sitting halfway up and talking quietly. “I- I’ll let her know.”

“I’m requiring you both to take a week to reacclimate yourselves.” Granada adds, almost as if she is tacking it on at the end of a thought. “You’ve been in isolation for six weeks. You need some time with your families and to breathe.”

“I’m sure that will be appreciated.” He clears his throat gently. “Thank you.” He ends the call and sets the phone back on the nightstand, deciding that he will talk to you about it later. He turns back and curls around you, thankful you had turned over when the phone rang.

“What was that?” You half mumbled, curling backward into his arms the moment you feel him turn over to wrap around you. Air conditioning keeps the house cool and you feel asleep naked and sweaty again last night so his warmth is the perfect defense against the chilly air of the safe house. “Delivery day early this week?”

“No.” Kissing the expanse of bare shoulder available to him, he hums softly. “We are free to leave the safe house.” He tells you quietly. “He’s been caught.”

Such a small, simple announcement makes you pause for a moment before rolling over in his arms, searching Marcus’s face for any trace of hesitation or concern. A trace that might telling you he isn’t telling you the whole truth. But there is no such trace — only his soft and loving eyes taking in your features with as much concern as you feel. “They…really?”

“Really.” He leans in and presses his lips softly to yours. “We are to take a week to get used to being around other people, see our families.”

“You must be thrilled to see Missy again.” It’s been far too long, and you feel guilty admitting that you would be just fine staying cooped up in this little house with him. It took only a week of being each other’s constant companions for you to fall into bed together, and since then a part of you has feared what will happen to this bond when your time together was arguably over.

“It’s been a long time.” He admits, although he’s talked to her on the comms like and video chatted with his teenage daughter. “Anything special you want to do?”

“I should check in with my sister, probably.” It was imperative to keep your whereabouts unknown, so while Granada had contacted your sister on your behalf, you haven’t seen or spoken to her in weeks. “She’s probably out of her mind by now. She was worried about me taking this job.”

“Yeah.” He bites his lip, hating how his first reaction to this is disappointment. He hates that he’s disappointed that the stalker has been arrested, that you won’t be sequestered here with him. “Do you-“ he stops himself, knowing that it’s selfish to ask.

“Do I…?” You prompt, nervous from the look on his face that he might prefer to end things here. As much as you might have dreamed during these last few weeks, the reality may be that he doesn’t want to change his daughter’s life in that way.

“Do you want to maybe….” He gives a one shoulder shrug and smiles self consciously. “Go out on a date? Let me take you to a restaurant?”

The concerned pinch of your eyebrows smooths instantly and you nearly laugh, but he looks so worried. Like he actually thinks you might say no. “A little old fashioned isn’t it?” You tease, wrapping one arm around his waist. “To ask a girl out more than a month after you start sleeping together.”

“Haven’t exactly had an opportunity to be a gentleman.” He snorts. “Missy knows.” He admits softly. “She told me that I would be a ‘bone head’ if I didn’t take you out.”

“Missy knows?” That’s news to you, and your eyebrows shoot up in response. You really hadn’t thought that he would have told her yet. If at all.

“Are you okay with that?” His brow furrows in concern, worried that he had overstepped.

“Of course I am.” You surge up to kiss him, soothing away any concern he might have. “I just…I know I told my sister about you but I guess I never really expected that you would have told Missy already.”

“I figured it would important to let her get used to the idea.” Marcus admits, but he chuckles. “She told me it was about time.”

“That practically sounds like a ringing endorsement.” In a way that makes your stomach flip and flutter downright girlishly.

“It is.” He chuckles in relief and his fingers start to stroke your stomach from where he is curled around you. “And I’m not exactly happy about the idea of not sleeping next to you.”

“We’ve gotten used to it, haven’t we?” It’s been constant. Practically every second — sleeping or waking — has been spent together like a honeymooning couple instead of people hiding out for safety. “I don’t like the idea of it either, if I’m honest.”

“We will have to figure out a way to make sure everyone is happy.” Marcus muses.

“Everyone?” When you raise an eyebrow at him this time it’s playful, although there is an admitted note of worry underneath. “Even your formidable mother?”

“Are you scared?” He teases, knowing that despite her age, Anita Moreno was well respected and slightly feared at Heroics Headquarters.

“Honestly?” You’d be insane not to be, and you pride yourself on doing your best to make sense of most things. “I’d have to be out of my mind not to be at least a little scared.”

“Don’t worry sweetheart.” Marcus smiles as he leans in and kisses you again, struck by how he had said these words six weeks ago, and now they have a far more intimate meaning. “I’ll protect you.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

My Masterlist!

[laserbread]

It's been a week since I last did something awful to Drift.

Luckily I have something prepared for this very situation

Behold:

The Drunicorn

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Alt Assistant AU #3

The moment an aggressive investor gets into Lena's face, Kara immediately squares up. One moment she's discreetly taking notes for the meeting, and the next she's staring down a pompous middle aged man in an overpriced suit. Her rage simmers, and though he sees it and momentarily quails, he stubbornly keeps up the front.

"Sit down, Mr. Ferber," Lena says smoothly.

Despite the even cadence of her boss's voice, Kara can hear the displeasure behind the words. Not for the man who moved to intimidate her, but for Kara, who had unwittingly undermined Lena's ability to handle herself under fire.

Kara almost feels bad about it.

Sure enough, after the meeting concludes, Lena leads the way back to her office with a low "my office, now" as she passes.

Following obediently, Kara braces herself as the door swings shut behind her. But instead of the rage she expects, Lena's temper is ice cold.

"Do that again," she says, her words shapr and precise, "and you will no longer have a position at LuthorCorp. Do you understand me?"

Kara, for the first time in ages, fiddles with her glasses. "Understood."

"Get out."

She immediately slips out of the room, feeling the sting of the reprimand for the rest of the afternoon.

It turns to anger as the sun dips below the horizon, and after Lena's final meeting heads towards the elevator, Kara barely waits for the doors to slide shut before she slips into Lena's office to brief her on the next day's meetings.

"I'm not going to stand by and watch some asshole lay his hands on you," she says with an edge in her voice. "Fire me all you want."

"You overestimate Ferber's mettle, Ms. Danvers."

"And you underestimate the lengths they'll go to remind you that you're lesser than them."

"Nor do I need to list off my qualifications to defend myself--"

"Lena--"

"Additionally, I would have thought you'd be pleased to see someone knock me down a peg."

The accusation nearly knocks Kara off her feet. It hits her in the chest, making her stomach drop out from under her.

"Whatever I've said to you in the past," Kara clips out before the lump in her throat strangles her, "I would never wish harm on anyone. Let alone you."

"Could've fooled me."

In an instant, Kara has crossed the invisible boundary of the Lena's desk between them, taking Lena's wrist in a firm, assured grip.

"Then I was wrong," she delivers, her voice a thrum in her chest. "And an idiot."

Lena shoots a shocked glance down at Kara's hand, then flashes her gaze up to meet Kara's. The air suddenly thickens, charged with something unspoken at their sudden proximity.

Instead of pulling away, Kara leans in.

"There are some things I am willing to risk in this universe," she says. "You are not one of them."

She remains there, holding Lena's gaze for a long moment before finally letting her hand slip away.

"Have a good night, Miss Luthor."

[hellfirecvnt]

Teacher Work Day

Lee Russell x Fem!Reader pt. 3

Summary: "Is that bitch pissing on that cop car?"

Notes: Whoops. This one's long. Idk why I keep doing that lmao.

Part one here. // Part two here. // Part four here. // Part five here.

The next day, the aforementioned Teacher Work Day, you show up hungover as all hell. You groan out a pained sound as you step inside the school underneath the bright, fluorescent lights. They claw and beat on your skull with every pulse of your heart. Your sunglasses do little to stifle the ache.

"Hey!" A voice that's far too excited for your liking. Whereas you're usually a tame person, this hellacious hangover has you out of character. "I just wanted to introduce myself to the new secretary. I'm Bill Hayden."

"My God, you are awake, aren't you?" You do your best to smile, peeling the useless sunglasses from your face. Across the foyer, watching from the large glass wall of his office, Gamby holds a phone to his ear. Lee's voice chimes a greeting from the other end.

"You're gonna be pissed if you get here too late and Bill fucking Hayden's made his move on Ms. Y/L/N." He taunts.

"Yeah, maybe I can show you around town sometime. Show you all the cool spots," he says with a smooth laugh. The young teacher's try-hard flirting is enough to make you gag, hangover or not.

"I just heard him offer to show her around town." Neal shakes his head.

"What are you talking about?" Lee ponders, sounding obviously stressed.

"Bill Hayden is making a pass at Y/L/N. Where are you?" Gamby's voice becomes urgent.

"I fuckin' told your stupid ass I had to meet with the lawyers today."

"I thought you said your divorce was finalized," he says, still watching as you wait for Bill to stop talking.

"Yeah, they usually like to get paid after they do that for you, dumbass. I'll be there in 20 minutes." He's about to hang up until Neal starts talking again.

"She's probably only talking to him because I told her you were into her, but when she asked you out, you said no."

"What?"

"It's okay, I told her that you are probably not into her anymore." Neal nods, pleased with his own actions for some reason.

"Gamby, what the hell? Why?"

"What do you mean 'why?' She asked you out and you said no. Did you want me to lie?"

"I want you to stop fucking talking!" Lee hangs up and tosses his cell phone into the back seat of his car as he drives down the highway. "Bill Hayden, you shifty little bitch."

He whips through a local coffee shop, because fuck Starbucks, and grabs some coffees for whoever. He just doesn't want to show up empty handed after Neal has taken to intruding on his dynamic with you. He quickly throws the car in park and speed walks inside with a peculiar amount of energy in his hips.

When Lee walks through the door, your face lights up. It doesn't go unnoticed. For just a second, Lee's eyebrows threaten to knit as he watches your expression change. He wonders if he underestimated his chances with you.

"Good morning, Ms. Y/L/N," he chimes, leaving one of the hot drinks on your desk.

"Thank you, Mr. Russell." You grin, genuinely thankful for the caffeine that you're praying will set you right for the rest of the day.

"Why don't you come with me, darlin'? If I don't claim you now, you'll be stuck running bullshit errands for Gamby." A wave of relief washes over you as he says this. You whisper a quick thank you and slip out from behind your desk. After grabbing your coffee, the two of you head down the hall.

You reach a set of double doors and as he holds it open for you, a student walks in. You're still learning names, but you recognize him as Todd. A freshman that loses his phone and has to come to the office to pick it up relatively often.

"Todd, honey, you can't be here," you say in your soft, teacher voice.

"Todd Frechett, what are you doing here?" Lee interrupts.

"I'm going to school." The short, blond kid looks around, confused.

"It's teacher work day, we did announcements about it every day this week. Go home." Lee shifts his weight onto his hip, waiting for the student to exit.

"But my mom's not home and the door's locked."

"Okay, well, then go bowling or play stupid video games, or go masturbate in your car- whatever it is that teenage boys do." He explains. "You can't be here."

"Uhh, uh-" he seems genuinely at a loss for what to do.

"No, no, no. Not 'Uh, uh, uh.' Go home." He finishes, shoving Todd out the doors he came through. "Open this door, open the next door. Open the door after that."

Lee and the student go back and forth for a while as the kid walks away, exiting the school.

"We need a day without children please!"

"Alright!" He shouts back, the door closing behind him, ending the interaction.

"Um, Lee. I don't think you're allowed to say half the shit you just said to that kid." You look at him with concern, sipping your caffeinated drink as the two of you continue walking.

"He won't remember it tomorrow. Kid's got ADHD and two Christian hippies for parents." Lee's words confuse you and you nearly get a headache trying to decipher what he means.

"So, you were a little late today." You change the subject. "Everything okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. It was nothing." He shrugs. Nothing, you repeat inside your head. Nothing kept him from having a drink with you last night, he just didn't want to and that's fine. You try to bury your embarrassment under a smile, knowing it'll pass in a short while. Rejection is part of the human experience.

"So, uh, listen. About those drinks," Lee starts. He's got a stupid smile on his face as if he's almost in disbelief that he's already finding himself speaking so boldly to you. The divorce had been drawn out for a while, his feelings for his ex-wife have long since fizzled. But it just seems so fast. Too good to be true.

"Oh, please. No worries. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I'm still not allowed to talk to teachers, I think. I just didn't want to drink alone," you say, hoping to ignore the situation and allow your humiliation to fade out with dignity. You let out a fake laugh.

"No, I mean, this weekend. Maybe you and I could get those drinks." Strangely enough, his palms sweat with nerves.

"Drinks this weekend? I'm in. This week has already been a shit show," Gamby appears from seemingly nowhere. "Y/L/N, grab a clipboard-"

"Not today, Gamby. She's the secretary, not your personal assistant. Get an ISS kid to do it." Lee waves him off.

"Fine. Payday drinks this Friday. I'm in." Neal snatches one of the coffees from Lee and takes off down the hall. There is no way out of it, as arguing with him is like negotiating with a brick, you might as well accept that Gamby will be crashing your date.

You and Lee share a knowing look and he rolls his eyes. You can't help but laugh.

"At least we know it'll be a fun evening," you chuckle.

"I'm certain he will turn the night into a shit show the minute we get there, but sure. It'll be interesting."

The rest of the week is filled with nonsense and plotting from your two higher ups. They can barely seem to agree on anything until Neal learns that Dr. Brown has a history of alcoholism. The three of you gather in Lee's office.

"That's perfect, Gamby. Invite her out to payday drinks, we'll knock that bitch right off the fucking wagon." Lee looks elated.

"I hate to rain on your parade, Lee. But if she's been sober for this long, there's a high chance she'll say 'no' to going out and drinking," you chime in.

"Listen. That bitch is going down one way or another. Let's just invite her to dinner and see where it goes," Lee stares deeply into your eyes and you almost forget to respond.

"Y/N's gonna have to show up separate from us. Brown doesn't fraternize with staff under her VPs," Neal injects.

"Okay, well. Don't call yourself a VP. That sounds too important," you sneer.

"Too impor-? I am important."

"Yeah, but it sounds like you see yourself as like a Vice President or something." You can't help but tease.

"I'm close enough. I'm fuckin'... Vice President of this school." Neal fumes.

"Whatever, whatever. I'll be there before you guys get there. I can't let my bosses know how high my tolerance is anyways." You shrug and the two men look at each other for a moment and then back to you.

"Go see what she says, Gamby, and report back," Lee instructs and Neal just about listens to him, but then he stops in his tracks and turns back around.

"You've been sending me off a lot. Bossin' me around. Makes me think you might think you're in charge or something." He squints his eyes. "Or are you just trying to get some alone time with Y/N even though you rejected her and she drank alone about it last night?"

"Je-sus Christ, Gamby." You stare down at the floor in front of you with wide eyes and a flushed face.

"Will you please get the fuck out of here?" Lee pinches the bridge of his nose. "Go, go!" He ushers Neal out the door, closing it behind him. Lee returns to his seat behind his desk and glances up at you where you stand, smiling from the embarrassment and humor of the entire situation.

"He's the fuckin' worst, right?" You chuckle, only half joking with that statement. You take a seat across from his desk. "I was going to drink anyways, by the way. It wasn't because you weren't there." Lee laughs at your clarification.

"A fucking idiot, just an absolutely stupid motherfucker. I'm bewildered," he huffs, leaning back in his chair.

"I guess I'll get back to the desk. Mrs. Frechett will probably be calling us after a while." You straighten the stapler on Lee's desk and he watches your delicate hand as you do it. Just as you're taking a step toward the door, he speaks.

"What if I did just like being around you? Alone? Would that make you uncomfortable?" His words cause heat to rise in your face, you feel it all the way to your ears. He's posed his question like a hypothetical, but you're no fool.

"Gross," you say in jest with little thought at all. Lee's face immediately drops to one of confusion. "Oh, my God. I'm kidding. I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that." You shake your head, clearly taken aback by your own actions. "It doesn't make me uncomfortable at all, Lee. You're the best part of my day, usually."

"Usually?" He questions as an uncontrollable smile creeps onto his face.

"Yeah, sometimes Neal just sweeps me off my feet. All that shit about leadership definitely does it for me." You fan yourself, playfully. Lee can't help but laugh, utterly charmed. Time slows down, it seems, as the two of you laugh together. In the same moment he allows himself to feel comfortable with you, his mind is flooded with doubts and anxieties.

He and his ex-wife, Christine, haven't been divorced for long, but the marriage itself was over long ago. His feelings for her are all but a memory. What troubles him now is the fear of being left again. No, not in an overdramatic, help him feel whole again type of way. It's just a lingering fear. When Christine left, it was hard on him. With the divorce freshly finalized, he wonders if he can handle the stress of doing it all again should something go wrong.

The next day, after the school day concludes, you leave work and head home to get ready to meet the guys and Dr. Brown for drinks, staging it as an accidental run-in. After changing into some comfortable, casual clothes, you make your way to the bar.

To your satisfaction, none of the cars in the lot are recognizable. You park on the far side in the darker corner, hoping your car doesn't stand out too much. Inside the bar you order two drinks, slamming them down as quickly as possible before your coworkers arrive.

"Ms. Y/L/N? Is that you?" Principal Brown's smooth voice rings behind you. You turn around, flashing a face of convincing shock.

"Dr. Brown! Oh my goodness!" You chime, reaching to bring her in for a friendly hug. "Let me buy you a drink!"

"No thank you, Y/N. Now, you all know I don't drink," she laughs warmly. A sense of pride in her words. You begin to wonder if opening your mouth is the right thing to do, but after one glance at Lee, you do it anyway.

"I hear you, ma'am. I have a terrible history with drinking as well," you admit, only half lying. Is it really history if you're still drinking? Oh well. Brown's eyes go wide as she takes in your words. "I was clean as a whistle and straight edge as they come for years after initially getting sober." You finish your third drink. "But then I realized that if I have to force myself to not even look at the bottle, then alcohol still controls my life. Moderation is what I strive for."

You set the glass down on the bar and shrug with a smile, insinuating that it's your first drink of the night.

"Moderation, B. It's a beautiful thing," Lee announces, having just ordered a round of shots. "I know that whole book fiasco got you down. Leblanc fuckin' humiliated you at that tribunal."

Belinda seems to weigh her options before snatching the last remaining shot, and joining the group as you all toss it back. She releases a hyper sound, whooping like a sports fan as the clear, burning liquid enters her system for the first time in years.

"Yeah, Dr. Brown!" You cheer, signaling for another round. Round after round, with fruity cocktails in between, even Lee and Neal find themselves more buzzed than planned, but you're still stone-faced. Dr. Brown wavers on the cusp of belligerent and blackout.

You and Lee step outside to have a cigarette, mostly to escape the overwhelming nature of a drunk Dr. Brown.

"Did you really have a drinking problem?" Lee asks, wanting to dissect how much of your monologue was just a performance.

"Shit, I think I have a drinking problem right now," you joke. "Nah, that was all bullshit." He bursts into laughter, impressed by your quick-witted nature.

"Sure wasn't hard to convince her, huh?" Lee gestures to the door where a drunken Principal Brown terrorizes the locals.

"Not at all. She was basically grabbing the glass while I was still talking."

"I really appreciate your help, Y/N," he speaks softly. "Gamby's a fucking idiot, there's no way we'd make it this far if it weren't for you."

"Thanks, Lee," you smile with pride. You look down at your hands as a thick silence grows between you. "The other day, when you were late to work, did you really have something to do, or was it an elaborate rejection? I've learned you're pretty elaborate."

Lee sighs.

"Y/N, I'm newly divorced. My wife left me one day... Unexpectedly." He knows that's a lie and he's pretty sure you know that too. "I was paying my lawyers, filling out paperwork." He shrugs, waving his hand around as if to dismiss the matter.

"Okay, yeah, sure. Except you can do all of that over your phone nowadays." You lean against the railing outside the bar.

"I know, I just-" he searches for anything to say besides admitting it scared him to pursue you so quickly.

"So you could've had a drink with me after all," you smirk, reading his hesitation. Understanding his explanation, even if you've never been in that situation.

"Guess so," he mirrors your smile, slowly drawing closer and closer to you. Before either of you are aware, you're nearly pressed against each other. Lee's chest rises and falls at a rapid rate and you watch his eyes dance back and forth from your eyes to your lips. Your face feels hot and the heat only grows more intense until you finally close the gap, pressing your lips to his.

His well-tended hands wrap around your body, pulling you closer to him, and deepening your kiss. You reach your arms around the back of his neck, resting them there comfortably as your heads move in sync, albeit sloppily. Lee's grasping at any part of you he can, pulling you as close to him as possible. Your breathing quickens and a small moan escapes your mouth until you hear something strange and pull away.

"Lee."

"What?" He sounds annoyed to have lost contact with your mouth.

"Did you just hear Belinda say a slur?" You squint as if it'll help you hear better. At that moment, the door flies open and Brown is quite literally thrown out the door, Gamby close behind.

"Jesus Fucking Christ, Gamby!" Lee exclaims, laughing maniacally at Brown's physical state.

"Oh, fuck. My purse is inside!" You run to the door and beg for them to let you inside just to grab your belongings. They're hesitant, but after seeing you so coherent, they let you in to recover your things, demanding that you leave right after. You show no protest and quickly make your getaway as promised.

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, you scan your surroundings for your group, more importantly, Lee. They're a few blocks down the sidewalk doing something you're not close enough to decipher. As you speed walk up to them, you realize Dr. Brown is standing on top of a cop car and...

"Is that bitch pissing on that cop car?" Your jaw drops.

"Fucking pig!" Belinda chants as she urinates down the windshield of the police cruiser. Lee makes sure to gather every bit of evidence he can, while Gamby stands off to the side, looking a little guilty. You understand his empathy, but you crave Lee's approval over social acceptance and that's just something you've come to terms with. Maybe you're not so far off from him on the crazy scale.

Right after her golden shower, Principal Brown passes out, tumbling down the front of the cruiser.

"Oh, shit!" Gamby runs to help her up.

"Cut me out of that shit, I want no part in it," you point to Lee with a serious expression.

"I need to get her home, ASAP." Gamby says, helping her to her feet.

"I'll drive Lee home. You get her to a bed." You shake your head, leaving the men to help Dr. Brown to Gamby's car. You jog over to your own vehicle in the dark corner you parked in and fumble with your keys, finally feeling your buzz. Worst timing ever.

"Let's see that purse," an unfamiliar voice speaks from behind you. You turn around with a raised brow and see a tall, skinny man in a hoodie, hiding his facial features. In the shadows, you can still see his pale hands as he lunges toward you.

"What the fuck?!" You attempt to fight the man off as he tugs on the strap of your purse. He wrestles it off your shoulder and the two of you play a sort of tug of war. "Fuck off!" You scream, echoing through the parking lot.

"Was that Y/N?" Lee's head pops up from the car he's helping Belinda into.

"I heard it too," Neal scans the parking lot.

"Let go!" You wail, out of sight. Neal rummages through his center console and then takes off toward the sound of your voice. Lee's not far behind, squinting his eyes to attempt to see further into the darkness. "I swear to fucking God when I get my concealed carry license switched over-"

"Hey!" Lee's voice booms across the lot as they close in on you. The man quickly releases your back, causing you to jerk and stumble backward, falling to the ground with a hard thud. Lee runs to your aid while Neal, broken out in a full drunken sprint, hunts down the assailant and bashes him once in the back of the head with his brass knuckles.

"Hey, you okay?" Lee kneels beside you, placing a soft hand on either side of your face, searching you for wounds. "Did he hurt you?" He asks with an eccentric amount of worry.

"No, dude. He couldn't even get the bag out of my hands," you break into a laugh and he joins you, just from the relief of seeing you okay. Eventually, Neal returns with his brass knuckles ever so slightly bloody. It was less about defending you and more about getting to use his new brass knuckles.

"The thief has been taken care of," Gamby says with his eyes narrowed.

"Mr. Gamby, did you just kill that man?" You ask, shocked.

"No, but I could've." He walks away without another word, heading out to drive Dr. Brown home. You climb into your driver's seat and Lee slips into the passenger side. It's quiet for just a moment before you speak up.

Maybe it's the alcohol and adrenaline talking, but you do very little to stop it. You bite your lip before finally speaking up.

"Lee?" He looks at you, buzzed and smiling. "Do you want to come back to my place?"

(Part 4 coming soon!)

•••

Taglist: @its-in-the-woods // @justme12200 // @sixx-writes // @littlenosoul // @itsyellow // @blackwoodtree

[pricelessemotion]

love is kinda crazy (with a spooky little boy like you) | E.M.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: [2.4k] eddie takes you on that halloween date. it doesn’t go quite like you expected.

warnings: pure fluff, a little awkward date shenanigans, r is described as having frizzy hair and wearing prescription glasses, r also has an (unnamed) sister

a/n: ah! i’ve been dying to write and post a part two for this fic since halloween and i thought there was no better time to post it than now! happy valentine’s day 🖤

masterlist | part one

“There, perfect!” Your sister punctuates the end of her makeover with the snap of her powder compact and the flourish of a makeup brush. 

You turn slowly, the pink cushioned stool a little wobbly under your unsteady frame. Your reflection looks comical, all blurred edges and wavy lines. Without your glasses, the bedroom vanity has turned into a funhouse mirror. 

“What does it matter if I’m going on a date with him if I can barely see him?”

You don’t need glasses to know that she’s rolling her eyes. Even though you can’t quite see her, you can hear her exasperation in the way she’s loudly chewing her gum. “You’re going to the movies, you’re barely gonna be able to see him anyway. Besides, you’ll be able to see him when he’s close enough to kiss and that’s the whole point.”

You blink each eye one at a time, trying to gauge which one is better. Your left eye is slightly clearer, though the difference is negligible. “I think you’re severely overestimating my eyesight.” 

“I think you’re severely underestimating my dating advice.” She blows a bubble, the view of her face becoming a bright pink smudge before it pops and she continues smacking. “Just trust me, it’ll all be fine.”

You do trust her. Even though she has spent the last two hours plucking and primping and preening, you want to take her advice. She’s not doing this to be condescending or controlling. She’s genuinely excited that you have a date, even more so that it’s with a living breathing human boy and not another library book. 

You don’t have much experience. With dating, with seeing someone, with kissing someone. What it means to be dating someone versus what it means to be seeing someone. What you’re supposed to do when you kiss someone. I mean, are your lips supposed to be on top of each other or are they supposed to interlock like the teeth of a zipper? Yeesh, you didn’t even wanna think about how teeth and tongues factor into the equation. 

These types of questions would usually be the kind that you would ask an older sister. You’ve just never had the bravery to say them out loud. Sure, you’ve watched romance movies and rewound and observed so much that you were afraid the tape in the VHS was going to break. And you’ve read enough romance that Ms. Marissa gives you side-eye when you pass the library’s reception desk. But there’s a difference between fiction and real life. A bridge you’ve yet to cross. You’re sure that you’re going to need all the help you can get.  

So, you heed her advice. You let her spray you with enough Aquanet to try to keep the flyaways at bay. You let her paint your lips with a shimmery pink lip gloss that isn’t too sticky and tastes like vanilla. You don’t, however, let her see you sneak the thick frames into your bag for emergencies. If it were up to her, the frames would be set out with Thursday’s garbage and you’d be wearing contacts like everyone else in your age group. 

She drops you off at The Hawk with another smack of her bubblegum and a reassuring pat on the shoulder. She barely waits for you to close the door of the station wagon before she’s speeding away, her Halloween plans including a keg, a pushup bra, and a slightly inebriated Steve Harrington. 

Eddie’s easy to spot. His silhouette sticks out against the brick building, white shirt, black leather, and blue denim against a red background. He lights up when he sees you and it’s the first time you’ve understood the meaning of the phrase. Since you can’t quite see his face clearly, you’re paying extra attention to his body. The way he pushes off the wall to stand tall. The way his shoulders visibly relax. You bet that they could see his smile all way in Indianapolis. 

“I know you’re usually supposed to give flowers on dates, but this is the best I could do.” 

He presents an origami paper flower in the shape of a rose. It’s made from binder paper, evident by the familiar feel of it in your hands. The folds are a bit unsure. There’s evidence of it being undone and folded again with a cleaner precision, you can feel the wear and tear on the paper with your fingertips. You’re dumbfounded. 

“Thank you,” You whisper, twirling the stem between your thumb and forefinger, watching the rosebud spin. “No one’s ever gotten me flowers before.” 

“Never?” He gapes at you in apparent disbelief before he schools his expression. “Well then, I’m glad to be the first.” He offers his arm to you like a real gentleman and you take it. 

The leather in the crook of his elbow is cold to the touch, but being in such close proximity you can feel the body heat radiating off of him. 

“It’s a continuous marathon, so they’re showing movies all night. We can start with any one that you want.” He gestures up to the marquee above the concession stand. When you look up to the sign, the words might as well be written in Cyrillic the way the letters all blur together. 

After a trip to the concessions stand, the two of you eventually settle on The Exorcist, which you had decided to cling to after Eddie’s nervous yet adorable rambling about which movie would be better to start with. 

Horror movies are even scarier when you can’t tell what’s going on. It didn’t occur to you how much you relied on sight to be able to mentally prepare for jump scares. Eddie must think you’re a total wimp the way you practically leap out of your seat at every flash on the silver screen that accompanies a discordant string of violins. 

You jump when you feel a hand brush your bicep, your arms flinging out. It’s much too late when you realize that intimate touch was Eddie trying to figure out if you were alright. The large Coke that Eddie had gotten–two straws because he said he didn’t wanna be presumptuous–the casualty of your fright. The flimsy lid pops off like it has nothing better to do and the dark brown liquid splashes over the arm of the seat right into Eddie’s lap. 

Eddie recoils, half-jumping and half-hovering in his seat because he just got a handful of ice-cold soda in his crotch. The people behind you are jeering, grumbling about the disturbance and Eddie half-whispers fucking shit under his breath, in what you’re sure must be a mixture of disdain and disgust.  

You pull napkins out of your purse and thrust them in Eddie’s direction before rushing out of the theater, chest heaving and eyes stinging. 

It’s a wonder you don’t trip and fall on your way out. You’ve walked these dimly lit halls hundreds of times, so luckily instinct and muscle memory win out and you make it out of the theater mostly unscathed, just with a few bruises on each shoulder. Nothing compared to the mortification of what had happened inside. 

Because it’s October in Indiana and you can’t seem to catch a break, it’s raining. Only every so slightly, but enough that you’d be soaked to the bone if you walked home thanks to your sister’s insistence that you dress for fashion and not function. You huddle close to the payphone, pondering if you have enough change to call around and get your sister to pick you back up because no way are you waking up your parents for this. 

The doors to the theater creak open behind you and suddenly you’re not alone anymore. The biting cold chills you to the bone but it’s Eddie’s presence behind you that sets you on fire. 

“Hey, are you okay?” 

Maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last hour and a half in the dark with your nerves on edge, but the tenderness in Eddie’s voice makes your throat constrict. 

“I’m sorry,” You blubber. “I’m so embarrassed. I just wanted everything to be perfect and I ruined it.” 

“Hey. Hey.” Eddie repeats himself more forcefully when you don’t meet his gaze the first time, “You didn’t ruin anything. It’s just a little soda. I’ll live.” 

His fingers rub the back of your hands in a soothing motion. Back and forth, thumbs caressing the valleys between your knuckles. He’s close enough that his features are almost in focus. You still have to squint. 

“You keep doing that.” He points his fingers toward your furrowed brow before mimicking the action on his own face. The finger is not accusatory, it just seems like Eddie likes to talk with his hands. 

You sigh, a resigned and weary sound. “My sister convinced me that I shouldn’t wear my glasses.” 

Eddie makes a face that you can’t quite discern in the dark before letting out a soft hmph! “Your sister kinda sounds a little mean.” 

“She means well.” You defend, weakly. You love your sister to death but there are times that your differences become much too apparent and that leaves you with nothing to do but suffer the consequences. This is one of those times. 

“Did you bring them with you?” 

“Yeah,” You reach into your bag, finding the frames folded into one of the inner pockets. 

Eddie takes them and puts them on you. “You keep doing that.” You murmur, a repeat of his earlier accusation. Now, though, you both know it’s in reference to him adjusting your glasses not just once but twice. 

“It gives me an excuse to be close to you.” 

You can see him with unrelenting clarity now. The little crinkles next to his eyes as he smiles warmly down at you. The way the slight breeze has carried the miserable drizzle under the theater awning. The way that drizzle clings to his curly hair like dewdrops on morning grass. You almost robbed yourself of all of this, and for what? Eddie knows what you look like. 

“Y’know what I thought when I saw you yesterday?” Yesterday, when you had been wearing a witch hat on top of your frizzy hair and the same Coke bottle glasses that sit on the slope of your nose now. “I thought that you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. I thought I made a fool outta myself and that you wouldn’t give me the time of day, not in a million years.” 

“The whole scaredy cat schtick was quite endearing I must say.” 

He nods seriously, just a slight hint of a smirk on his face. “I try my best.” 

You look down at the seat of his pants. Sure enough, there’s a dark stain splashed right across his crotch.“Oh god. I'm so sorry. Again” 

“What did I tell you about apologizing?”

“You didn’t say anything about apologizing.” 

“Well then, this is me saying something. Stop apologizing. You have nothing to apologize for.” 

“It looks like you pissed yourself,” You wail mournfully. 

“Well, that definitely makes me feel better.” Eddie jests before he tugs you into his chest and plants his chin on top of your head. 

You nuzzle your face into his sternum, appreciating the soft hiss he lets out when your cold nose touches his warm skin. You inwardly groan because, quite frankly, there’s nothing more embarrassing than running out of a nearly full movie theater the way that you did. The only thing more embarrassing than that, you think, is going back inside after having embarrassed yourself. You tell Eddie as much, with the reassurance that you don’t want the date to end and if he really wants to, you can go back inside and finish the movie. He’s already tugging you toward his van that’s parked on the other side of the street, saying the six words that make your night:

“I own The Exorcist on VHS.”

You spend the entire time back in the trailer park cuddled up having quiet conversation about gory practical effects over a bowl of microwaved popcorn. The closest he gets to kissing you is when you duck into his chest to hide and his lips brush your temple. He could’ve lived off of that single brush for the rest of his life if he had to. 

When Eddie pulls up to your house later that night, he really does mean to give you an innocent kiss goodnight. The neighborhood is quiet, seeing as it’s probably been an hour since the children of Hawkins had fallen into their sugar-induced comas. He turns the engine off and shifts towards you, his smile both giddy and shy while he tells you that he had a really good time tonight. You mirror his expression and tell him the same. You both lean forward, chests rising and falling in tandem, noses brushing. 

When you finally make it past the front door, your lips are swollen and your glasses are fogged up. You kick off your shoes and pad up the carpeted steps two at a time, racing to your bedroom window. When you turn on your lamp and look out to the tree-lined street, Eddie waves at you, his rings glinting in the streetlight. You wave back, watching the van disappear into the distance. 

“Hey,” Your sister is leaning against the doorframe, smiling like the cat who got the cream.

“How’d it go?” You’re already slightly aware of the answer since she’s standing in front of you with a freshly washed face and hand-me-down pajamas instead of in an empty house in Loch Nora. 

She shrugs noncommittally, “It was a bust.” 

You hum in solemn solidarity, trying to tug the grin on your face into a much more situationally appropriate neutral expression. You feel for her and you don’t want to rub it in her face that you had such a good time, despite her advice. Unfortunately, you do not seem to have as much control over your facial muscles as you think you do. Your sister sees right through you, grabbing the purple throw pillow at the foot of the bed and launching it at your face telling you to shut up. You catch it before it has the chance to hit you, huffing with righteous indignation at her before the two of you collapse onto the bed in muffled laughter. 

“So, how’d it go?” She whispers in your direction, mindful of your sleeping parents down the hall. 

You trace your cupid’s bow, feeling the chapped and swollen skin for the hundredth time that night. You turn your head toward hers, readjusting your glasses when they slide down your nose. 

“It was perfect.” 

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