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artificialqueens · 3 years ago

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Gimme Love, 2/9 (Miz Cracker/Blair St Clair) - Grinder

AN: Heyo, yall! Just hope yall are enjoying this fic so far. I worked really hard on it, but so proud. So many times I just wanted to quit it. But I stuck it out!

Major TW for this chapter: Child abuse mentions // mental breakdown // Anxiety // Dementia mentions

2020

I flinched, feeling a hand lightly slap my foot twice. "Wake up, Princess."

I rolled over slightly, blinking as if to clear my vision. Jujubee looked as if she had been awake for hours, looking fresh as fuck in her dressing gown. She must have had a shower hours before because, despite the dry hair, I could smell the mango and papaya soap. Fuck, it smelt so good.

Then there was me; hair wrecked, makeup long expired, body smelling of that typical hangover smell. Like a hospital, except unclean.

I whined like a child, rolled back over on my stomach and buried my face hoping it would stop my head from pounding.

"Nope. Not happened." Jujubee sat down on the bed and shook me.

"What time is it?" I asked with my face still smushed into the pillow.

"It's 2PM." She answered.

That's what got me up. I threw the covers back and went to stand. "Fuck!"

Jujubee grabbed my hand and pulled me back down. "Relax. It's our day off, remember?"

I whined even more, curling up with my head in her lap.

"Not that it makes a difference considering you're always late anyway," Jujubee added as she stroked my unbrushed hair.

"Shut up. I'm the boss. I can do what I want." I mumbled.

"Ah, Brianna Caldwell, you never change." Jujubee quipped. "Only follows the rules whenever it suits her, bosses everyone around - -"

"I do not, you whore. And can you please not speak to me so loud right now?" I pulled myself up and tousled my hair. "I need some shades or something."

I always needed shades when I was hungover, so Jujubee was already prepared. She pulled them from her pocket and handed them over. "Shade up, baby girl."

Life was already so much better with them on.

"But back to the topic at hand, though. Don't you remember the chess boys from high school?" Jujubee spoke a bit quieter now. "You literally bossed them around."

"They let me boss them around 'cause they wanted to sleep with me, Jujubee," I replied, reaching for my phone.

"And, you bossed me around too." Jujubee raised her brows.

"Mmmm, I don't remember that." I hummed, feeling pretty much over the conversation.

It took Jujubee an hour to convince me to get out of bed and clean myself up. After finally getting showered and dressed, we were out of the apartment and already heading to Starbucks.

I could have made my own coffee, but that required effort. And that I wasn't willing to give that day.

We were sitting at a booth in the back, with minimal effort in trying to go incognito. But this was a regular hang out for us. There was no need to worry about our names being shouted out. The baristas eventually learned to just bring our orders to us. It made Jujubee feel bad, but I didn't mind.

The barista, Kyle, came over and put our drinks down on the table.

"I deserve this. I really, really deserve this." I said, already taking a sip of my coffee.

"Congrats on last night. The boss said if you both need a refill, just let me know." Kyle winked. God bless Kyle. "So, When's the launch day?"

"Kyle, as charming as you are, you'll just have to wait like everybody else." I tried my best to beam a smile.

"Alright. Enjoy, ladies." And Kyle walked away.

Jujubee let her eyes follow for a moment longer. I know she was literally staring at nothing in particular, but I decided to have a bit of fun. "Go ask him out, Juju."

"Girl, you ask him out," Jujubee smirked. "I'm happy enough being a crazy cat lady. I don't need no man."

I knew it was a joke. Jujubee wasn't the type to encourage me to find someone. It was like she knew how it could bother me.

Despite liking the single life, I kind of did like the sound of being with someone. Maybe it was the fear of the past that stopped me from pursuing a relationship. I had a few girlfriends in the past. But they hadn't lasted long. I was afraid they would have somehow found out about my past self. Because, once upon a time, nobody would've even dared think of me as an attractive, promiscuous, alluring, single female.

But now that I had the glow-up of the century, dyed my hair blonde, I had quite a lot of admirers. It only really started to occur when NASA began sponsoring the project, bringing more traction.

My phone started ringing, but I paid no heed.

Jujubee, however, almost dropped her drink.

"Girl, why is Ed Sheeran calling you?" Jujubee raised a brow.

And as soon as the name met my ears, I was reminded of the night before. "Oh, God." I held my head in my hands.

"What did you do?" Jujubee was already groaning.

"I fucked up," I answered.

"You didn't have a quicky with him or something, right?" Jujubee questioned further.

I lifted my head, looking at her with squinted eyes. "What? No. Ew. Juju." I sipped my coffee before bearing the news. "OK, so...I don't know why I did it, maybe 'cause I'm a mess when I'm drunk, but I…" I lowered my tone, "kinda offered him the chance to be the first person to go into the other world."

"What?? I thought we were gonna do that!" Jujubee was freaking out.

"I know. I fucked up."

"Well, call him back."

"And, tell him what? 'Sorry, Ed. Jk'?"

Jujubee's forehead was in her hands, "I was really excited." She whined.

As I said before, this meant a lot to us. We hadn't discussed it with the team yet, but Jujubee and I had privately planned that we'd be first to enter the other world. So you could understand this was incredibly disappointing for her.

"OK. How about this? Ed will go in for 5 minutes. After that, we bring him back to Earth. And then we fly off by ourselves?" I suggested.

"I was looking forward to the pink sky. And the flying horses. And the…"

Jujubee went on a ramble as my phone began to ring again. I picked it up, letting it ring for a few seconds before declining Ed Sheeran's call.

I checked if there were any texts from him. Nada. But there was one message that caught my attention. The memory of reading it the previous night came flooding back.

Jujubee was still rambling, but I put my phone down and leaned across the table slightly. "Juju, do you remember Blair St Clair?"

Jujubee's expression changed instantaneously. "Girl, of course, I do. You were in love with her for years."

"Oh my God, can you whisper, please?" I questioned, the desperation in my voice very much apparent.

"Brianna, she's back in Ohio. We're in New York. I don't think anyone's gonna go and tell."

"You never know," I briefly looked behind me for fear that somehow the world decided to shit on my luck and make her appear in the booth behind me.

"Girl, chill out. And yes, I do remember her." Jujubee replied, "you know something that always stuck with me? Please don't ask why, but I'll never forget the day you told me you were in love with her. You came out to me that day too."

-_-_-_-

1995

"Juju, I gotta tell you something," I said, throwing my doll to the side of the fort. If I didn't tell her the truth now, I never would.

"What is it?" Jujubee sounded scared.

I crossed my legs in a pretzel shape, straightened my back and declared, "Juju, I like girls. And Blair St Clair is the girl I'm in love with."

I was expecting amazement, awe, shock. But Jujubee just seemed confused.

"What? How is that possible?" She asked.

"You promise you can keep a secret?" I offered my pinky.

Jujubee joined hers with mine. "Of course I can."

"OK." Our fingers remained twisted around each other. "Well, I saw two ladies in the mall kissing. And my Mommy told me girls can like girls. And I had an a-piffa-tree. The reason I like Blair so much is because I'm in love with her!"

"Brie-Brie, you need to slow down." Jujubee put her hand up. "If girls can like girls, then how come we never see girls kissing girls? It's always boys and girls."

"I don't know."

"Have you ever kissed a girl?"

"Nope."

"Then, how are you sure?"

"I don't know. You ever get that weird feeling inside that tells you that you're right? I can feel it. I know I'm not lying."

"Wooow." Jujubee looked away briefly. "Does that mean you like me?"

"I don't know. You're my friend, Juju." I shrugged. "I mean, maybe we should kiss just to figure it out."

Juju looked like she was contemplating this for a moment before nodding her head and sitting up. "OK!"

I didn't even hesitate. Instead, I moved closer and gave her a quick kiss on the lips.

"Ew!" We both pulled away.

We both agreed to never do that again, nor ever speak of it.

As if nothing had happened, we continued on playing with our dolls for another hour before the rain came out.

I walked Jujubee home, feeling very much like 'the big girl' being all responsible.

And in walking back to my own place, wrapping my arms around myself, I saw Blair - walking alone, drenched from head to toe.

"Blair!" I ran towards her.

She turned to look at me, her face scrunched up, trying to see through the downpour.

Call it instinct, but I knew something was up, just from how she was looking at me. I put my hands on her shoulders. "What's wrong?? Are you OK?"

"I'm lost. I-I'm trying to find my way home." She said quietly.

"What. How did you - -" I stopped myself from talking any further. Instead, I took Blair by the hand and pulled her towards the bus shelter off to the side of the road.

We both sat down when we got inside. She was shaking, close to catching a cold in the awful weather. Not to mention she had no jacket on. So I pulled my arm out of its sleeve and draped half of the coat over her.

"What happened to your coat?" I asked

"I didn't bring it." She replied.

"Why not? It's cold. You're going to get sick."

"I'm sorry. I just...ran."

I was silent for a moment. Then, "What do you mean?"

She was also silent for a moment, her blue eyes drifting to the ground. "Brianna...is it normal for Daddies to shout real loud all the time? Do they smash things a lot?"

No. It was not expected. I may not have had a Father figure in my life, but I knew well enough. "Blair, what happened?"

Blair clenched her fist around the jacket. "My Daddy...he…"

Despite her timid voice trailing off, I understood. She didn't even need to say it. "Do you have somewhere to go?"

She lifted her eyes to me, "I need to get home. I just ran as fast as I could. And somehow ended up here. I don't know my way back."

"I don't think you should go back," I admitted.

"I have to. Or he'll be even more mad."

I was wracking my brain. There was no way I could let her go back. "OK. Is there somewhere you can stay for a while? Somewhere close?"

"No." Blair shook her head. "Wait. Yeah. My Granny lives somewhere around here." She looked at me with optimism in her eyes.

"That's great! I know this place like the back of my hand. I bet I can find it in a few seconds."

After sitting for 10 more minutes, the rain was starting to settle, so Blair gave me the address, and off we went. I carried her bag for her. She was probably exhausted from all the walking.

All the while, I just listened as she talked about many things - Madonna, her Princess Belle doll, how Jade from school actually picked her nose when no one was looking. So many different topics. And I didn't speak a word. I guess I was just so...astonished. Here I was, walking along in a light rainstorm, hanging out with the prettiest girl in my class. How was this possible? Was this real life?

"You've been really quiet." Blair pointed out.

"Yeah, I just can't believe you're talking to me. What the fuck?" Yes, I said that.

Blair laughed at my potty mouth. "Yeah, why wouldn't I?"

I shrugged. "Well, I don't know. Maybe 'cause no one likes me."

Blair stopped in her tracks for a moment. "I like you."

I stopped, spun around, and looked at her with wide eyes. There was no way I heard her say those words. No fucking way.

"Come on. I know where we are now. Granny's house is around the corner." Blair began to move again.

But the butterflies in my stomach were going wild. I felt warm and wanted to just hug her. But I also didn't want to alarm her. Baby steps, Brianna.

I walked Blair to the house. Her Granny came to the door and was obviously quite confused. And Blair began to cry again.

I wanted to turn and run, feeling very out of place. But Blair grabbed me before I could leave and pulled me into a hug. She pressed her tear-stained face against my shoulder and whispered, "Thank you, Brie."

"I gotta go."

I pulled out of the hug and ran as fast I could. I don't know if I left her standing there confused or if she just knew by then it was just a me thing to be awkward.

But my mind was racing; Blair liked me. I knew not in the same way as I liked her. But, surely, that meant we could be friends.

Oh, how naive I was.

A few weeks later, it was the beginning of Summer. Mom took me to the park, and there was Blair with her friends.

I ran across the grass to the picnic blanket they were all sitting at.

"Blair!" I called excitedly. I practically threw myself down next to her, giving her a tight hug.

"Ew." Jade laughed.

"Shut up, Jade." Blair snapped.

"Are you friends with the freak now or something?" Carmen questioned, inching away from me.

"I'm not a freak!" I shouted.

"Uh, yeah, you are," Serena added. "We don't want freaks in our friend group. Go on. Get lost."

"Girls - -" Blair tried.

"You wanna join her?" Jade pointed her gaze at Blair, her face scrunched up in disgust.

I was waiting for it; The big 'fuck you' as Blair stood up, took my hand and walked away.

But she remained seated. Her eyes trailed down to the ground. I tried shaking her shoulder.

"Blair?" I spoke quietly.

She didn't say a word. It was as if she had turned to stone.

My body felt cold.

"See? She doesn't like ugly people like you. No one does." Jade smirked.

I remember the moment being more intense than it actually was. Because in a matter of seconds, the girls were screaming as I began to punch Jade in her bitchy face. I couldn't punch for shit. But if it left a bruise, I was happy.

"Brianna!" I heard my Mom's voice. Her dark arms wrapped around me, pulling me away from the now crying Jade. "We are going home right now." Mom threatened. But I didn't care.

From being dragged away from the fight scene all the way until we got home, I screamed.

Mom screamed back for a while when we were in the car. But you can't fight fire with fire. So she stopped when we pulled up.

I got in, I beat the fuck out of every object that came into my line of vision. And my shouting never stopped.

"No one wants you, ugly freak!" I smashed a vase. "Worthless piece of trash!"

Mom had been chasing me all over the house, trying to calm me down. But this wasn't like any tantrum I had ever had, and as Mom had no idea what was actually going on, she had no idea what to do.

She eventually scooped me up in her arms and held me tight as she sat on the ground. I screamed as I tried to fight off her grasp, downing out all her hushed whispers. "I got you, Baby. I got you. Mommy's here."

My screams did go on for another while, but as soon as they ended, all I could say to Mom was, "I should give up. Blair will never be my friend. I'm too ugly."

Mom stood me up, so she knew I was looking directly into her eyes. She pointed a finger in my face and spoke with a cracked but stern tone. "Don't say that. Never ever say that. You are so beautiful, and no one has the right to tell you that you're not. I want you to go look in the mirror, really, really look at yourself, Brianna. And I want you to see how pretty you are. Look at your hair, your brown eyes, your freckles. You are just as pretty as everyone else, girl. You are not ugly."

I squeezed my fists, feeling the hard lump in my throat. "Then why did my Mommy and Daddy give me away?"

Mom was stunned for a moment. She took my hand. "Baby, that had nothing to do with how you look. They…" she paused, trying to find the right words to use, "they just…" another pause, "look, I'll tell you when you're older. But I promise you are not ugly."

I couldn't hold on anymore. I let out a pained cry and immediately threw myself into her arms and buried my face in her shoulder.

-_-_-_-

2020

That was my first major emotional breakdown, marking the beginning of many more to come. But, unfortunately, Mom didn't want to immediately get me help. She had a feeling it would upset me further. And she was right.

Just as I had begun middle school, I had another huge episode. That was it. There had been too many episodes throughout those years.

You can try covering a crack in the wall with a pretty picture, but the problem would never go away, would it?

I couldn't stand therapy. Why was I the one to work on my emotions when I only felt the way I did because kids were assholes? Where were all the breathing exercises and meditation sessions to make them not be dicks?

But as much as I hated it, the older I got, I opened my eyes. What I hated the most was seeing the pain I was putting Mom through. So I really tried hard not to freak out.

I didn't want to upset Mom anymore. She really did her best. And to this day, I wouldn't change her for the world.

"We're here."

I was brought out of my thoughts as the cab pulled over. I had been so gone, just sitting in the backseat, staring at the magenta glass vase in my hands.

"Keep the change," I replied, handing the driver the money and thanking him as I got out.

He took my suitcase from the trunk and left it by my side. And with a goodbye, he drove off.

Standing at the bottom of the lawn, I looked at the house. Fuck, once upon a time, I wouldn't have been so in love with its appearance. I had no idea what my Mom was going for with the multiple colours. The outside was painted pastel yellow with a sky blue door and pink frame. Then there were the various flowerpots stuck onto the wall next to the door. All different colours; pink, green, orange or blue.

OK, I lied; as a kid, I fucking loved our house. Everyone else's was boring. But when high school rolled around, people would whisper how I was "the weird hippie chick from the rainbow crack house". So, you can understand why it quickly became an eyesore for me.

I knocked on the front door, feeling the excitement bubble within me. I had been so busy with the project, it was a few months since I last saw her in person. I glanced at the vase in my hand, the perfect Birthday gift. It was perfect because I got her a new one every year. Because I never got over the guilt from smashing her favourite vase as a child. This act was to make a point - to show that no matter how much I apologised, I was always sorry, and would always be.

I knocked again. There was only a barking behind the door. Good to know someone was in.

I still had my own key. No point in standing outside all day. I made my own way in, knowing I could just surprise her later.

"Hi, baby!" I spoke in a hushed tone as Piggie started to jump around excitedly. Fuck, I missed him so much.

I closed the door and knelt down next to the pug, bringing him into a hug and kissing him on the head. "You good boy," I said in between kisses, "Let's get you some food."

Standing back up, I made my way to the kitchen, and Piggie was only happy to follow. I still remembered where his food was kept, so I poured him a bowl. Then, while he was distracted, I took my suitcase up the stairs and into my old bedroom.

Fuck, there was always something so surreal about walking into it. I hadn't lived at home since before I went to college. From that moment on, Jujubee and I always had our own places. And now, I had my apartment in New York.

Meaning, the last time I had redecorated was years before my glow up (in personality and looks). The walls were pink, I remember them being a pretty pastel tone, but they looked duller now. Above my bed, the wall was littered with posters, writing and photos. I made eye contact with Reese Witherspoon on the Legally Blonde poster, remembering how I always wanted to be like her. Funny how I kind of did achieve that.

I realised I was just standing in the doorway, just staring. So, I sat the suitcase against my desk and went to lie down. I smirked as I found all 5'5" of my whole being still fit into it.

I took out my phone and snapped a picture of myself to Jujubee, the caption reading 'Hey, babe, my parents are out?￰ 😉😉 come over?'.

While waiting for her reply, I changed my pencil skirt and blouse, choosing to wear leggings and a tank instead. Suddenly, I felt 10 years younger.

An hour passed, and Mom was still nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe she's at work. Does she have a job?" Jujubee asked me through the phone.

"I... don't know, Juju," I murmured, my attention not really on the question but on the contents of the fridge.

There was a punnet of strawberries. I helped myself to a few.

"When was the last time you spoke to her? Seriously, Brie, I'm getting so nervous." Jujubee sounded concerned. I knew her mind was thinking of the worst. And oddly enough, I found it to be entertaining.

"A few months back, actually," I smirked. "She's been real quiet, to be honest." Piggie was at my feet, looking for one of the juicy strawberries. I shook my head at him.

"Oh God, no. Did you check every room? Talk to the neighbours?"

"Oh, fuck! Juju. My God, there's a head in the fridge!" I feigned terror.

"Brianna!"

"Relax. I'm fucking with you. I spoke to her last night." I took one more strawberry. Biting into it, the juice dripped down my fingers and onto the ground. Piggie was beyond happy now, licking it up. I let him be and made my way out of the kitchen.

"That's not funny, Brianna. Don't joke about that. I thought she was missing or...worse."

"Fair enough. Sorry, girl. Anyway, how's work today?" I walked into the living room and sat on the couch.

"Good, good. Ed Sheeran's team finally got in touch," Jujubee said with a hint of disdain.

I held my forehead in one hand, wanting to punch myself for even speaking to him the week before.

I groaned, "See, this is why I should stop drinking."

"Well, to be fair, you don't drink as much as you did back in college. But when you do, you go hard."

Jujubee continued talking, lecturing me about my life choices when I moved my foot and felt it touch something under the couch. It startled me at first, but I pulled out the item.

A slipper. Grandpa's slipper. Sitting back on the couch again, letting my eyes just stare at it. "Hey, Juju. I'm gonna go."

There was a sigh on the other end. "Fine. Not like I was talking about anything important or whatever."

"Sorry," I said quietly.

"Don't worry. I still love you, whore." She said.

"Of course you do."

I made a nasty kissing sound through the phone. She was grossed out, of course, and hung up. I chuckled for a moment and put my phone away.

Piggie came into the room and jumped up on the sofa next to me. I began to pet him, my eyes now back on the shoe.

Grandpa wore his slippers more than he wore regular shoes. Every time he found out Mom had put them in the wash, he would be furious. I would always listen to him ranting and wonder why men were gross. But I'd also laugh at how he threw his hands up in the air in frustration.

There was one time, in particular. He had gotten mad for the same reason. He huffed and came into the living room, sitting down on the couch, in the very seat I currently was sitting. He was shaking his head, just looking at the TV.

I shuffled closer to him and offered a few potato chips. His frown was immediately reversed. His smile had never seemed brighter. He took a few chips and asked with a full mouth, "Hey, kiddo. Aren't you late for school?"

It was 2PM. On a Saturday.

My smile was beginning to fade, my eyes still focused on the slipper. I could feel it - a familiar twisting feeling from somewhere within my stomach, the oxygen in my lungs seeming to fail me, a tremble taking my hands over.

And then, Piggie licking my arm.

I flinched slightly as I was brought back to the present. I smiled, petting Piggie. "Where would I be without you, baby?"

Piggie didn't answer, of course. Instead, he just licked my hand, which was enough for me to chill out.

I put Grandpa's shoe back under the couch, now inspired to search more of the house. But before I got off the couch, I checked my phone. Jujubee had Snapchatted me.

Clicking into it, I froze for a moment. She was in her bathroom, the shower running behind her. I wanted to say she was the main element to the picture, cocking her head to the side, pouting her lips and raising a brow. Despite the fact Jujubee never sent me pictures like this, it wasn't the first time I had seen her in her lingerie, though. But, I couldn't help but glance at her black lacey bra. The breath was caught in my throat for a moment.

The text read, 'You OK, babe?'

Around middle school, Jujubee developed this 6th sense, knowing when something was up with me. It was impressive.

I lifted my phone up high, took a picture and made sure to get Piggie in the frame. He wasn't looking, however.

"Piggie." He was looking now. I smiled and took the picture. I captioned it, 'Just hanging out with this one'.

I hit send. And now filled with inspiration to go on a nostalgia trip, I got up from the sofa and went off to explore. I called Piggie to follow.

I found myself upstairs, standing in the doorway of Mom's room. It felt rude to intrude. After all, a bedroom wasn't just a bedroom. It was a sanctuary, a place to be yourself, to carry out your own private rituals free from judgement, a happy place. So it felt like an intrusion to invade her space.

But I spotted the perfume bottles on her dresser. There was one bottle, in particular, a fragrance she always bought. It was her favourite - a musky scent with a hint of amber vanilla.

I couldn't resist. I made my way to the dresser, lifted the bottle and smelt the underside of the lid. Immediately, I felt my body relax. It smelled just like her. And there was no smell sweeter than the smell of your own Mother. It felt safe, loving, warm. Now, I was even more excited to see her again.

That was as far as I'd go into her room. So I put the perfume back, ushered Piggie to get down from her bed and left.

I was back in my old bedroom. I wanted this nostalgia trip to be unlike any other. So I knew exactly where I'd find it. I looked in the drawers of my desk. And in the very bottom drawer, I found it; my old diary.

"This is going to be wild, Piggie. I just know it." I smirked, sitting down on my bed, my back against the headboard. Piggie curled up beside me. We were both sitting comfortably. So I began.

'Dear Dairy'

Already, I had to pause and laugh. 7 year old me would have been a legend in a spelling bee.

'Today, I had a fight with Jujubee. She really upset me, but I upset her too. I should say sorry. That's all. Bye.'

Short and sweet, child me didn't beat around the bush. She just gave you the information you needed. That was it.

I flicked a few pages forward.

'Dear Diary,

I had another fight with Jujubee. I really don't want to upset her. But sometimes I get so angry, I don't know what to do. I lost a tooth today too. So I am going to leave a note to the tooth fairy. I want her to take all my anger from me instead of my tooth. I hope it works.'

I remembered that. I had gotten mad because we were playing house. I wanted Jujubee to be both the parents, and I'd be the two kids. She didn't want to. She wanted to play the part of a child too. I freaked out, of course. I specifically remembered telling her she'd do it if she cared about me. She said she did care. But in the heat of the moment, I didn't believe her.

"God, I was such a brat," I spoke quietly.

I skipped some pages, unsure of what I was to find. And seeing one specific name, I stopped flicking through.

'Dear Blair,

You are like the sunshine. You are…'

I stopped reading, cringing at my child self. Was this before I realised it was a crush or not? What was hilarious about this entry was how damn long it was. All other accounts were short and straight to the point. But this? It went on for 3 pages. I bet my younger self felt mega proud about writing so much. But now, I felt the need to build a fucking time machine, go back to that moment and tell little Brianna, "Guess what? Nothing happens. Blair never becomes your friend. She never feels the same way about you the way you feel about her, so stop before you make it worse for yourself!"

I decided I was taking this diary back to New York. I needed to investigate it more. And there were probably some accounts that Jujubee would cackle laughing at.

My nostalgia trip wasn't at its peak just yet. I needed something that would just send me over the edge of happiness. And I knew I'd probably find that in my memory box. But there was a problem. I had given it to my Mom, asking her to hide it away somewhere. And whenever I wanted to put something into it, I'd give it to her, and she'd hide it for me.

And I made her promise to only give it back to me when I turned 50. No matter how much I cried and begged, she could not break that promise. Young me knew one day I'd be on a one way trip down memory lane.

I was so tempted to find the box. Surely, it couldn't have been too hard to find. But Piggie growled for a moment, his ears perking up. He looked at the window and started barking. I was now aware of the sound of a car's engine. A familiar one at that.

Finally, Mom was home.

I peaked out the window to see she was grabbing her bag from the car.

Piggie and I raced down the stairs, taking the vase from the living room and waiting excitedly at the door.

Funny how with excitement there came a level of anxiety, the tiniest hint of fear bubbling in your stomach. And I felt it all as soon as I heard the jiggling of the key.

The door opened slowly as if she already knew something was unusual about the place like she was bracing herself for whatever she was going to find.

She peeked around the door. My smile was beaming.

"Happy Birthday!" I shouted.

"Jesus Christ!" Mom flinched, almost falling back and stamping on the ground. Piggie was going wild now, barking from all the excitement. "Brianna, you could have given me a heart attack!" She shut the door and clasped a hand to her chest.

I laughed at her over-the-top reaction and held out the vase. "I got you another one."

Mom looked at me, still panting from her shock. She was silent for a moment, and in that silence, I realised how much I had missed her.

Mom stepped forward, took the vase and put it to the side. As she pulled me into a tight hug, I could see her face scrunching up.

There are two people of people; those who can't stand seeing their Moms cry. And fucking liars.

Of course, I belonged to the first group. As you know, I…

Well, you already know. Here, let me put in a fun diagram of things I didn't want to deal with at that moment.

"Don't ever scare me like that again, you bitch." Mom spoke softly in my ear as she cried.

"I couldn't help myself." I forced a smile.

As much as I hated seeing her cry, I knew she needed it. Me being the only child she ever had, it broke her heart when I moved out in the first place. I'd imagine it was tough now that she was alone.

Yeah, she had Piggie. But it obviously wasn't enough. So I let her cry it out as she hugged me. I could smell the perfume, and again, I felt that safety, the security a Mother's love brings.

When she pulled away, she immediately moved to the kitchen, already brewing some tea. I let her know that I didn't mind if she had to go upstairs and change or anything. But she insisted we get into the catch-up.

"I invited some people from work to come over later. You remember the flower shop beside the old church?" Mom rambled, her shaking hands pouring the tea into two mugs.

"Of course I do," I answered, sitting at the table, with Piggie in my lap.

"Yeah, I work there now." Mom replied.

I felt bad. This shouldn't have been news. It was my part to already know that.

Mom sat at the table, placing the mugs down too. Piggie's attention was drawn to them, licking his lips with thirst.

"So I hope you're not jet-lagged, girl." The excitement was practically radiating from her face.

I was a bit exhausted, but she deserved to have a great night. "I'm good. Don't worry."

"Oh, and your aunt is coming." She added, sipping her tea.

"Aunt Monét! Yes, bitch."

It had been a very, very long time since I last saw Monét. She knew how to turn a party. And she was always so glamorous. I remember numerous times as a child asking her to teach me her ways, be my mentor, so I could grow up to look as good as she did.

"So, it's gonna be a long night. Be prepared." Mom said.

"So, it's a party?"

"Not my plan, but knowing Monét, that's how it will turn out. Anyway, I saw pictures from the event last week. You looked great up on that stage, baby. Keep doing me proud."

I gave her a gracious smile as I sipped my tea. A small drop fell onto my lap. Piggie was searching for it, but it had already soaked in. Sorry, Piggie.

"Yeah, I kinda fucked up, though," I said, playing with one of the dog's ears.

"'Fuck’ always has been your favourite word," Mom shook her head, "Go ahead. Tell me, what did you do?"

"So at the after-party, I kinda offered Ed Sheeran to be the first person to go through. Please don't ask me why. The answer is; I was drunk. I don't have a more logical explanation for you right now."

Mom was silent for a moment, her eyes narrowing. "Ed Sheeran? Why him?"

"I told you, I have no idea." I sipped my tea. "I'm just a fucking idiot when I'm drunk."

"So, what now? Is he actually going to do it?"

"Yep. His team got in contact. Everything is set in stone." I was ashamed of the whole Ed Sheeran thing, but now telling this to my Mother, it felt all the more embarrassing.

"Oh, God. This is going in history books, girl." Mom held her forehead in her hand.

"I know," I reciprocated. "Even worse, now they're asking the big questions like 'is the atmosphere safe on the other side?' We're still in the middle of working all that out."

"OK, asides from the Ed Sheeran fuck up," Mom put her hand on mine, "I am extremely proud of how far you've come since you were just a kid."

Uh oh. This wasn't what I wanted.

"And I know you're so busy with this whole thing, but sometimes, I just wish you'd call."

Fuck. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, no. I don't wanna make you feel bad, girl. Like I said, you're a busy lady." She held a hand up.

But still, I felt bad.

"Shit. I was supposed to pick up some lemonade on the way home." Mom stood up, taking her tea with her. She had barely touched it.

"I could go to the store if you want," I suggested, taking a big gulp of tea.

"I mean, if you wanna, go for it. Tina still works there. It would be nice to see her again." Mom continued. She reached in her pocket.

I kissed Piggie on the head before putting him on the ground. "It's OK. I got it." I stood up from the table.

We had a bit of back and forth about who paid. I left before she could even give me her spare change.

Before I walked out the door, Piggie looked sad to see me go. Of course, I was coming back, but he didn't know that. Therefore I felt guilty.

I put my sunglasses on as I walked out the door. It wasn't even sunny out, but I knew I'd probably get stopped by people I used to know to dive deep into conversations about how far I had come. I had things on my mind, so many thoughts circling in my head.

I knew I should have put more effort into staying in contact with Mom. But after years of putting her through hell, I felt a sense of guilt. There were a few times I'd message, and somehow the conversation would take a turn, and she'd bring up a childhood memory.

I was done with my past. I was once a troubled child who eventually grew up to have a better mindset. I didn't want to relay the breakdowns, all of the vases I had smashed.

Then I realised how much of a contradiction that all was as I realised it was all that was on my mind as I walked down the street. So I plugged in my earbuds and drowned out the thoughts with whatever Spotify had to offer.

#rpdr fanfiction #s10 #as5 #miz cracker #jujubee #blair st clair #bob the drag queen #blair x cracker #fluff #coming of age #hurt/comfort #lesbian au #grinder #concrit welcome #tw breakdown #tw child abuse mentions #tw dementia mentions

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rainy-tree-bird · 4 years ago

Text

Cruel Fate// Villain Midoriya x Reader

A/N: I’ve never written any fanfics with Midoriya in them(as the main focus), especially a villain Midoriya, so I hope this will do!

Warnings: Angst, slight Bakugou x Reader (Platonic), Swearing, Knives are present, breakup, villain Midoriya

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You were in a seemingly perfect relationship and in your eyes it was, you loved Izuku! He was everything you could ask for, but then one day he just disappeared. As if he just disappeared into thin air, his phone, clothes even shoes were still there in your shared apartment. The both of you were successful pro heroes, especially Izuku, he was quickly rising in the hero ranks and then one day, gone.

This broke you, the love of your life nowhere to be seen. You stopped working, just staying at home, not talking to anyone, barely eating and just drowning in your sorrows especially when the pro heroes and police stopped searching for him.

He had now been missing for two years and you had just gotten worse and worse. Your family and friends had now a full schedule to check on you and make sure that you actually ate and took care of the necessities you needed to survive. No matter who it was or what they did, they couldn't get you to stop the never-ending cycle of depression and need for your sweetheart.

You missed him badly. From the way, he held you in his strong arms every night as if he was protecting you from the dangers of the world to the way he would give you morning kisses on your forehead. You had practically used every piece of clothing that was his to just be able to smell him but now it all had disappeared since you had been slowly but surely worn each clothing item so it now smelled like you instead.

On the day that marked the third year since his disappearance, you were lying on the bed in your apartment, you just laid there not wanting to do anything. Hiding under the covers, clutching your pillow tightly. As you were doing this you heard your front door slam open and loud incoherent shouting. You ignored it just assuming it was Bakugou's turn to make sure you had eaten and that he was just in a pissy mood. Well, you had assumed wrong. (Partially at least)

Suddenly the covers on your bed disappeared exposing yourself to the cold apartment and at the foot of the bed was Bakugou. He looked pissed, to a point that you felt that he could kill you just by staring at you with those angry eyes.

-That's fucking enough you sad ass. You gotta get over him! Its been THREE FUCKING YEARS!

Bakugou screamed at you, his face red.

-I fucking understand that you miss him, hell even I miss Deku. But what the fuck are YOU ACCOMPLISHING hollowing up in your apartment!?

He continued screaming, tears now rolling down your face. Not because of the fact that he was screaming at you but because you knew that you were not accomplishing anything by just sitting around being sad and missing him, but you refused to listen to him. He walked up closer to you now standing beside you.

-Y/n you look like shit, what the fuck would Deku think if he saw you like this? Your not fucking alone, he was my-

Bakugou choked on his words, no longer screaming but speaking very sternly. You looked up at his face, tears were streaming down his face too.

-Even if I wouldn't admit it in front of that idiot... but he was one of my close friends, and I sure as hell know that he wouldn't want to see you like this. So quit your moping and come back, hell maybe if you came back and started working as a pro hero again you might even find that damn idiot...

This shocked you, how come you never thought of this? Bakugou had a point, you had to get your shit together...

-Fine, I'll get my shit together... I'll- ... I'll find him.

You mumbled. Bakugou fell silent, he wiped his tears.

-Damn fucking time and... thanks I guess.

He gave you a small smiled. He really has changed since high school and you appreciated the fact that he knocked some sense into you. Giving you that final push to stop moping.

And that's exactly what happened, after a year and a half you were back to working as a pro hero, going outside, being with friends and family. Sure you would never heal from the pain of Izuku disappearing but you were refuelled with new energy and you were going to find out what happened to the love of your life.

One day you were out on patrol, a normal day or it was until you heard multiple explosions. You headed to see what happened and where you could help. The explosion and smoke lead you to a mall, the mall had exploded. You instantly ran inside the mall to find any survivors. You run around looking for people, debris everywhere, pieces of the building was falling onto the ground. Everything was destroyed.

As you turned a corner you fell backwards. Weight on your stomach, almost as if someone was sitting on you. And you were correct, on you was a female with blond hair put up in two messy buns, yellow eyes almost piercing your soul, a cruel, sadistic smile on her lips. You identified the female sitting on you as Toga from the League of Villians. One of her arms lifted holding a knife above your chest.

-Ooooh, won't you look here! You are so cute! But you would look SOOO much better with blood on you!

She exclaimed with a cheery voice. You looked around, you couldn't get her off you. Your quirk was not going to help you in this situation, she was also sitting on you in a position that you couldn't get out of. As you look at her with shock, without hesitation she moves her arm indicating that she's about to plunge the knife in her hand right into your chest. You close your eyes awaiting the pain of a stab.

Yet the pain never arrives, as you open your eyes you see Toga's knife only a few centimetres from your chest. A hand wrapped around her wrist, stopping her from plunging the knife into your chest. You look towards the direction of the arm stopping her. You didn't believe your eyes, it couldn't be possible. Right beside you, the person stopping you from being killed by this villain is none other than Izuku Midoriya, the love of your life, who had suddenly disappeared four and a half years ago.

-Leave Toga. I'll take care of them.

He says monotonously. Said female whines but gets off of you and runs off into another direction, probably to find a different victim. Izuku reaches a hand in front of you to try and help you up. Though you don't take his hand and stand up yourself. You are still in shock not believing that it's him but he looks like your Izuku and sounds like your Izuku. You observe how he looks like, whilst tears start to stream down your face.

He is wearing a white dress up shirt paired with a black vest and a black tie. Black trousers and shoes, plus a pair of black gloves. You blink multiple times, it looks like your Izuku but at the same time he doesn't, he seems more... Sinister.

-Y/n...

He eventually says with a soft smile. Multiple thoughts and feelings run through your brain and heart. You feel happy and relieved to know that he's alive and seemingly healthy and he's there, your Izuku. But at the same time, you feel angry and sad. If he's ok then where has he been this whole time and was he with Toga? It seemed like it...

-Where the fuck have you been this whole time?

You manage to choke out. You don't wait for an answer and continue to speak.

-Like you just disappeared one day. Without anything, no message... And now you're here, what the fuck Izuku?

All your feelings that you've had during the past five(ish) years now all came and turned into pent up anger, pent up rage. Izuku's silent but he eventually starts to speak.

-I left to become a villain, love. I realized that the hero society was awful. The heroes are a bunch of scumbags only there for the money and fame... It was better to become a villain. You understand right? Why don't you join me and we will be villains together? Come on, baby.

He states, his hand stretched out to take yours so you can join him. You look at him with shock and sadness, but it soon turns into disgust, fully visible on your face.

-Izu, what are you're talking about? I would never become a villain! What happened to you? Wheres MY Izuku!? The Izuku who wanted to become the number one HERO and bring peace to the world?! Not DESTRUCTION!

You pretty much scream. Izuku is silent for a second but then replies.

-This is just how it turned out after I found out the truth about the heroes. Come on, baby, please!

He says as he tries to get closer to you, you back away.

-You are not my Izuku...

You say quietly but loud enough so that he can hear what you said. He looks at you with slight shock. You try to walk away, just get away from here before you fully breakdown. You know that there are probably people out there that need saving, you can't just stand here talking to Izuku. But Izuku manages to grab your wrist and get you to stay. You recoil your arm not wanting to touch him due to the things he just told you.

-Come on Y/n. I'm sorry for disappearing like that, I really am. But we can start over, we can become a happy couple again! I never stopped loving you!

He says desperately as he tries to stop you from leaving. Your cheeks are now very wet and your eyes are starting to get puffy. You suddenly get a memory from when Izuku and you were in high school. You start to laugh through your tears. Izuku notices this and his facial expression is visible that he is wondering why you are laughing.

-Remember in UA when we first started our relationship and you said that you'd always be by my side?

Your facial expression showing clear pain as you ask Izuku this question. Your legs slowly getting weak. He looks first at you shocked, but he then smiles at the memory.

-Of course, I do and I will continue doing that, we'll always be with each other. Especially if you come with me, love!

He states, desperately wanting you to be with him.

-Yeah? Well, you disappeared for almost five YEARS Izuku! YEARS! You could've called, texted, hell even sent a letter but no! NOTHING!

You were now screaming at the top of your lungs, you couldn't contain the anger and sadness anymore. Izuku was silent.

-I've missed you so damn much and just wanted to be in your arms...

You said and it was true, that was something you had been wanting to do for the past few years. Your heart could barely take anymore. You were clenching your hero costume around the place where your heart was. Tears flowing down your face like rivers. Your whole body was shaking. Izuku was looking down at the ground in shame, his fists clenched in how disappointed he was in himself for leaving you for this long...

-And we c- ... we can do that again, I've missed you so much too! I'm ashamed of the fact that I left you and I realise now that I should've contacted you.

He said. He was extremely mad with himself. How could he be so blind and hurt you like this? Tears had started to form around his eyes.

-But- but now... I'm not so sure if I want to be in your arms anymore... Now that I know that you had all the possibilities in the world for you to contact me yet you didn't...

You were violently shaking from being this distraught and angry. You really weren't sure if you loved this man anymore. Izuku was once again looking at the ground in shame. You took a deep breath.

-I really didn't think that I'd say this after getting to see you for the first time in years but... due to the circumstances and the outcome that's happened... and I honestly thought that I would get to love you again. But I don't want to ever see you again.

You said in the coldest voice you could muster, tears now halting the flow. That was the breaking point for Izuku. He fell down to his knees, tears streaming down his face instead. His facial expression showing a mixture of shock, heartbreak and disappointment.

You took another deep breath and took the chance of leaving now that Izuku was in his own thoughts. You never thought this is what was going to happen but fate has cruel ways to mess with you...

#midoriya #midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #izuku midoria x reader #izuku #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #x reader #angst #villian deku #villiandekuxreader

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2018shawn · 5 years ago

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1+1 | descent | part 3

warnings: ok so, there is smut but I have begun and ended it with a ***** so you can skip if u want bc they be loving each other during this pregnancy liFE. there is mentions of blood (towards the end), drinking, swearing etc

a/n: omg I love you all so much sorry for taking so long here are some of the requests I used to keep me going with a lil breakdown:

maybe for 1+1 there r complications with the pregnancy (nothing life threatening just a little harder or something) and shawn is super cute and protective - a little teaser, more in next chap x

Shawn would be a worrying mess throughout your pregnancy for sure🥺😂 - again, will be more in next chapter

Y/n being horny whilst being pregnant - big mood

Could you write something about Shawn and y/n going to her parent's for dinner and her mum picks on her the entire time, maybe Shawn comforts her or confronts her? - so i kinda adjusted it a bit bc I just couldn't imagine it like full on if that makes any sense but anyways ye

Shawn making sure she takes her prenatal pills and is on time for all appointments. - he would 10/10 do this I bet ur ass

Just all the fluff about pregnancy that you possible can write. I LOVE YOUR WORK💗🥰 - you are the cutest lil ANGEL I love YOU ��

word count: 6.5k

previous parts: here

You never thought you’d be one of those pregnant women who obsessed over their weight and constantly observed for signs of a growing bump; but you never thought you’d get pregnant and here you are, stood in front of your mirror, almost 1/3 of the way into your pregnancy already - 10 weeks, to be exact. You were only 5 weeks pregnant when you’d visited your doctor that one day, adamant that you were going to receive bad news, only to receive the complete opposite.

As your mind wandered back to that day, 5 weeks ago, the palm of your hand caressed the bare skin of your stomach, admiring how much your body was already changing. You’d left the doctors office in a complete state of shock, insisting Dr. Blake check the test results at least 5 times before you finally nodded and accepted that you were pregnant. Shawn hadn’t stopped talking the whole day after that and found concern in you being just as quiet as what you would been if the worst had come out of that meeting. Of course it was just the shock, that your body, despite everything you’d been told, had been able to pull through and create a miracle. The fuzzy feeling of 2 day old stubble resting on your shoulder and curls tickling the side of your neck brought you back to current day, eyes wandering up from your stomach to meet the eyes of Shawn’s. His arms wrapped around your hips, covering your own as he allowed his fingers to entwine with yours. “Whatcha’ thinking ‘bout?” He asked before turning his head to place a delicate kiss in the crook of your neck.

You shivered and smiled at the ticklish sensation, a small giggle leaving your lips. “That you really need to shave your poor excuse of a beard.” His mouth opened wide, offended of the insult towards his manliness as you continued to declare your real thoughts. “Just... this. Us. I guess.” Your head fell and rested against his as he nodded, moving both of your hands to your lower stomach, where baby would soon be continuously blooming.

“You know, baby M sure has put a little glow on your skin and a wider smile on your face.” His chin was heavy on your shoulder as he spoke, but you didn’t mind, considering in a few months you’d have a baby gnawing away at your shoulder. And being sick down it. And dribbling down it. And... why do you have babies, again?

“Baby M?” You asked, eyebrows raised in admiration of the sudden new nickname who was previously known as bub.

Shawn shrugged, finally giving you some room and detaching from your frame so you could continue to go about your normal morning routine. You did so by picking up your hairbrush from the cabinet next to you, dragging in through your untamed bed head. “Yeah, i mean, bub was cute and all... but... you’re my original bub, really. And I guess the M can stand for Mendes. Or miracle. Or both?” He questioned, more than confirmed, leaving you smiling at his pointless babbles and theories. Shawn swiftly moved on to tell you he’d checked the parenting app this morning, and Baby M is now the size of a lime. He also told you that he read an article that told you eating peanuts and dairy could make the baby allergic to them in the future, but with further research he soon developed it was nothing but a mere myth. Most of all, whilst you were getting ready, Shawn told you how lucky he feels to have you and how much he loves you.

You turned to the side one final time before you left the mirror, hands coming back to the small bump across your stomach. Shawn walked back into the room, toothbrush hanging from his mouth and towel hung from his hips, rolling his eyes as you studied yourself yet again. “Bub, stop it.” He somewhat spoke, through minty bubbles and white paste.

“Am I...” You started, alternating between pinching the skin and caressing it with the palm of your hand. “Am I getting fat?”

Shawn almost spat his mouth care out, the brushing of his teeth coming to a stop as he stared at you, astonished by your brief question. “You’re not fat...” He held his finger up as he darted back into the en suite where you heard the running of water and him finishing his process. The water shut off and you could hear him grab the towel from the rail, presumably to wipe his face, considering he had white suds dripping down his chin. “...You’re pregnant”

He reappeared in the room, walking over and snaking his arms round your waist. “So i’m fat then?” You laughed, giving up your touch on your stomach to reach up and rest your arms atop his shoulders.

All he could do was chuckle, never having heard anything so absurd. You’d never be fat, but you’d always be beautiful. “You’re a baby maker, he gotta grow somewhere.”

You rolled your eyes, tip toeing upwards and pressing your lips to his to be greeted with the fresh mint taste you anticipated. “She.”

Humming into your touch in return, his fingers danced through your freshly brushed hair as he was pulled into your body, “your mom...” you started, giggling as he pulled away and shot you a confused glance.

“Why are you thinking of my mom while i’m tryna make out with you?”

“I’m thinking of your dad too.” You smirked, only trying to wind him up further.

“Ok, weird, stop...” He shuddered, screwing his face up in further confusion and disapproval. He searched your face for an answer, but you merely shrugged and walked away, pulling out your favourite shirt from the wardrobe and bringing it over your arms, you let it fall over your body.

Two overnight bags lay on the bed, only a few items thrown into them so far for your weekend trip to Shawn’s family home. “Do you wanna tell them tonight?” You asked, picking a couple more shirts from the wardrobes and finally some pants that would match.

He watched as you folded them delicately into your bag, “do you? I mean, it’s your body, it’s your choice.” It was killing Shawn alive to keep this from his parents, and more so Aaliyah, but with all the bad luck you’d had, you were sceptical of jinxing the situation. You thought it was most probably a myth, that telling people you were pregnant before the end of a certain trimester could cause bad luck, but it was a risk you wasn’t willing to take.

“It’s our choice,” you confirmed, walking back over to the wardrobe and pulling out a couple of t-shirts for Shawn and holding them up for his approval. With a nod, you threw them in his direction, and he attempted to fold them into his bag, not half as neatly as you had done. “I just know it’s killing you. And besides it’s nearly the end of my first trimester and it is your mom’s birthday...”

You held up a shirt, one you absolutely loved seeing Shawn in, but he screwed up his face and shook his head, so you put it back on the rail. “No pressure, we tell them when you’re ready.” You walked over with another shirt you’d picked for him, shaking your head at Shawn’s third attempt of folding his clothing. You remembered how after your third date, he brought you to his place for a drink and you saw how chaotically organised his suitcase was packed for going on tour. With a bottle of wine and some packing tips later, you both ended up falling asleep in his spare bedroom, organised piles of clothes all around you.

The more the hours in the day went by, the more you chewed your inner cheek in anxiousness. Driving to Shawns parent’s house felt like a lifetime but he silently tried to comfort you by holding your thigh as he drove. You didn’t know if you were going to tell them, you didn’t even know if you wanted to and you sighed at yourself again for letting it play over and over in your mind. “Bub?” Shawn squeezed your thigh and pulled you from your daydream, looking over at you as you came up to a red light.

“Mmhmm?” You didn’t know if Shawn could read your mind, as you thought about all the nice ways you’d seen over the internet of how people tell their parents they’re going to be nana and grandads. Here you were, thinking of ways to not tell them.

“Stop worrying about it, if we tell them, we tell them. If we don’t, we don’t.” You nodded, although you both knew it wouldn’t be the end of your concerns.

A few red lights later and a slow drive down the quiet lane, you’d reached the Mendes family house, heart warming as Aaliyah flung the door open and immediately ran to the car. Shawn had the best relationship with his sister and it gave you no doubt in your mind that he was going to be the best dad in the world. It was getting late, the traffic taking a toll on your arrival time and the party was already in full swing. Karen appeared in the door, two glasses of wine in hand and a beaming smile on her features. “Hello, my beautiful family,” she theatrically exclaimed, pulling you in for a huge hug as you both reached the doorway with Shawn holding both of your overnight bags and almost knocking the wine from her hands.

“Mom are you drunk already?” Shawn laughed, eyeing the 2 glasses of wine tight in her grip and watching how she stumbled down one of the steps and pushed her cheek outwards, inviting a kiss from Shawn.

“What? No! I’ve only had 1 glass..” She nodded, handing you one of the glasses and you politely smiled, thanking her. She whispered to you as Shawn walked into the house and he disappeared out of view, instantly getting lost in the music and big crowd of people. “I’ve had 3...” she giggled, pulling you inside as the two of you began to engage in conversation.

The party in full swing, Shawn had drunk your - 2 glasses of - wine when no one was looking with Karen handing you another glass which you’d had in your hand for at least 45 minutes when she walked over to bring you another. “Oh?” She questioned, looking at your still full glass as you stood with Shawn and his old family friends. “You love wine, why aren’t you drinking!”

You smiled and eyed Shawn, who instantly shot to your defence. “Mom, she’s not an alcoholic,” he said, and you all laughed it off, but as Karen stood with you and insisted you drank some of it with her, your heart beat out your chest and feet shuffled uncomfortably beneath you. “Mom... she doesn’t want to drink the wine.” Shawn said, pulling it out of your hand and putting it onto the side.

“Don’t speak for her, we’ve seen a fair few wine-drunk y/n’s in her time!” If that’s how she saw you, she most definitely wouldn’t think you’re fit to be a parent. She knew you and Shawn were trying, sure, but the more you thought about it, the more you’d actually never heard her say anything positive about it. Maybe catching Shawn arguing with her on the phone six or so months ago was about this. About you. About your inability to succeed in adult life.

Before anyone could blink, tense atmosphere filling the air between the small crowd as the rest of the unaware house guests continued to party, you darted up the stairs, rushing to the bathroom. Curled over the toilet and stomach tensing tightly, you were yet again reminded that morning sickness was not just for the mornings. Shawn was quick behind you, stroking your back like he always did and offering you a bottle of water he’d managed to grab en route to your side.

Once you felt it was out of your system, you leaned back, your bum sitting against the backs of your ankles as you shakily took the water from Shawn. “I’m sorry about my mom.”

“It’s okay,” you stopped to take another sip, the cold water relieving your dry mouth and the horrible taste that covered it, “I just don’t want her to see me as that person. It makes me feel like she thinks i’m going to be a bad mom...”

“You’re going to be a mom?!” A voice much higher than Shawn’s interrupted, both yours and Shawn’s head flying round to the door where Aaliyah could be seen in the crack.

“‘Liyah, what the fuck!” Shawn screamed, his younger sister repeatedly apologising, only insisting she came to see if you were okay.

Karen appeared in the doorway and once pushed further open, so did Manny, which only made you feel like a pathetic fool as the Mendes clan bickered around you. Shawn was shouting at Aaliyah for having no personal boundaries, whilst Aaliyah screamed back at him for leaving the door open in the first place, whilst Manny shouted at them both for shouting at each other, all whilst Karen ignored the trio and came down to your level, wiping the run mascara that surrounded your eyes. It was a scene from a comedy movie, two young adults fighting ridiculously, the father rolling his eyes at them both and unable to control their anger, and the mother identifying the source of the problem, which just so happened to be you. “Honey, i’m sorry if i upset you, so so sorry.”

“Karen, it’s okay, it’s not you.” You smiled, somewhat meaning it. It was you, really, your hormones were wild and emotions all over the place and boy, didn’t you know about it recently.

“It is, Manny always jokes i’m a cow when i’ve had some wine.”

Shawn stretched his hand out, offering it for you to take so he could help you up from the floor. Once you were straightened up, he repeated the offering to his mother, laughing at her as she stumbled due to the wine still flowing through her body. “Can we just all go back to normal?” Manny suggested, and Karen nodded having no idea what the meeting was about in the first place.

“Normal?! I can’t go back to normal when I just heard that y/n and Shawn are gonna be...” Shawn shot her a look, threatening his younger sibling without words but for once, you didn’t care that she was rambling, that she was going to spill, because that would take the weight off you.

Bickering yet again, the parents tried to speak over their supposedly grown up and adult children, “can someone please just tell us what is going on?!”

You sighed, knowing there was only one way out of this bathroom that would involve everyone making friends and getting along as normal. So when Aaliyah and Shawn simply returned to debating who was the right and wrong sibling, you cleared your throat and exclaimed with laughter, “oh my god!”

“I know! I don’t know how you live with this dumbass, and put with him and-”

Shaking you head and interrupting Aaliyah, who continued to torture her brother, you exclaimed to everyone in the room, all of them turning to face you at the most wonderful confession, “i’m pregnant!”

Another two weeks had flown by, the news of your pregnancy spreading far and wide and unintentionally - you broke instagram. Well, not specifically you, nor Shawn, but all the fans that were greeted with the news on the Saturday evening. The same saturday evening you were sat in Connor’s dining room, enjoying your elderflower presse whilst everyone else devoured the beer and wine. Shawn sipped his like he was 15 and was about to get busted by his mom and dad, despite you telling him to enjoy and drink enough for the both of you.

Mila had decided, that now she was turning 25 she should ditch the clubbing scene and opt for a sophisticated dinner party with her closest and dearest. Sophisticated it was not, jokes and tales getting spilt around the table like a bunch of teenagers playing never have I ever. “Man, that holiday, I swear Shawn and y/n did it, like, six times in one day!” Brain laughed, washing his claim down with another gulp of beer. You laughed and Shawn shouted, defending the two of you with everything he had left in him.

“Making a baby is harder than it seems in the movies!” He confessed, pushing his own beer away from him, not really interested in any form of alcoholic beverage, but more so in staying sensible for you.

Your hand fell under the table, reaching across just slightly to rest on his thigh. His body instantly stilled, bottom lip taken captive in between his teeth at your simple touch. Shawn was a sucker for secret public displays of affection, and of course, you knew that. More than ever, 12 weeks into your pregnancy and coming up the end of your first trimester, all you wanted to do was... well... Shawn.

The theory of your sex drive either noticeably increasing or decreasing during pregnancy was one of the many things you’d read in books and articles but was yet to experience it yourself. Up until this past week, where it severely peaked. Shawn had woken up twice with your body straddling his and lips peppering kisses down his body, until they reached a certain morning perkiness. He had payed you back just once, making himself late for a meeting to which of course he had absolutely no regrets.

The two of you were already significantly late to tonight’s party, hair slightly dishevelled and Shawn’s shirt more creased than first intended. You’d practically pinned him down with no other option than to satisfy your needs. He played on the fact you both shouldn’t have been late, but he was more than happy to skip the starter and have you instead.

He cleared his throat awkwardly as your hand cupped him through the material of his pants and you smirked as you felt it harden immediately. Leaning over and brushing against your ear as everyone else carried on their conversations, he whispered. “We’ll get going soon.” His arm fell to rest on the back of your chair, wrapping around your body as you moved into him, both of your chairs unable to be any closer. Brian commented on how sick it made him feel that two people could be so in love, but Mila shouted in your defence, telling him it was sweet.

Whilst continuous stories jumped from person to person, your hand remained in Shawn’s lap, brushing over her sensitive and needy covered cock every so often which only made him shift in his seat. “Meet me upstairs.” You whispered, standing up from your chair and placing your napkin on the table. Putting on your best queezy smile and letting your hand fall to your stomach, you spoke to the group. “Excuse me, guys, I’m just gonna have minute.”

No further questions were asked as you headed out of the room, making sure to smirk at Shawn one final time before you left completely. He gave it a couple of minutes, and he was about to excuse himself, when Mila asked if him if she should go check on you. “No, sit down birthday girl, I’ve got this. I’ve seen enough pregnancy sickness to last me a lifetime.” He joked as he scrapped his chair from under the table, hoping the hardness in his pants had died down in fear of giving away their secret bathroom date.

At the top of the stairs, in the room to the right, you touched up your lipstick and pushed your make up brush into your skin with a dabbing motion to blot away any oils. The door creaked open and you smiled as your curly haired boy appeared, grinning back as he shut the door behind him, of course making sure to switch the lock. “What’s gotten into you?” He raised his eyebrows as he walked over to you, hands finding your waist as you stared at you both in the mirror. Even when you’re in heels, he was notably taller than you, but he appreciated how he didn’t have to bend down as far to leave soft kisses on your skin. Your slinky dress was a thin material, spaghetti straps only just covering a tiny fraction of your shoulders and ending just above your knees further down your body.

There was nothing bad that Shawn thought about the sudden spike in your sex drive, he was still the 20 something year old guy who fancied the fuck out of his wife and he’d be crazy to turn her away and deny her of her pregnancy needs, right?

“Hopefully you.” You purred, trying to sound seductive but following it up with a laugh that most definitely made it more comical. Shawn never laughed though, as he dotted his lips across your shoulder and into the crook of your neck, grabbing a fistful of your hair in his hand and moving it out his loving path. *****A groan left your mouth and said hand came up to cover it, making you bite your lip to muffle your approving sounds. His ivory shirt was tight against his arms as he reached up and covered your lips with his large fingers and you adored how he flexed underneath it with each movement. You wriggled your ass playfully, nudging it backwards pushing your palms against the counter surface to steady yourself. His lips never left your skin as his hips pushed into you, covered areas causing a sexual friction that filled the room. If he wasn’t hard before, he most definitely was now.

One hand loosened on your mouth, allowing you to breathe heavily as you tried your best to stifle your moans. The other worked down your body, smoothing down the soft material of your dress until he reached the bottom hem. He made sure to connect his hands with your skin, pulling the dress up with his movement as he palmed back up your leg, stopping when he reached the curve of your ass that was barely covered by the most pathetic set of underwear he’d ever laid eyes on.

You let a moan slip as he grabbed a handful of you firmly, making you smirk beneath your bitten bottom lip. “Shh.” he hummed into your neck, eyes coming up only slightly to watch you in the mirror, admiring how your head was thrown back against him and neck begging to be taken by his hand.

Nodding clumsily, he continued to hike up your dress, letting it gather at your hips and he finally detached from your skin. He leant back, making sure he was still pushed against you and trapping your body in between his and the counter. You were bent slightly forward, back softly arched and hips writhing in an attempt to feel something against your aching core. He didn’t bother to stop you, only quickly reaching down to fiddle with the buckle of his belt and buttons, allowing his pants to fall down his legs. He left his boxers, for now, and returned to palming the skin of your derrière with eagerness. Squatting down, he came face to face with the asset he’d been focusing his hands on, slapping the inside of your thighs as instruction to widen them. Happily obliging, your heels clicked against the floor as you did so, hands no longer resting on the countertop but more so gripping it as you felt his breathe edge closer to your centre.

Your underwear, or lack of, was tugged down your legs and he helped you to lift each ankle as he pulled it over your heels, supporting your body and holding your weight. He scrunched them up and found the pocket of his pants, shoving them in as a personal souvenir. Just as you were about to moan at him for taking his time, his two middle fingers traced down your folds, a squeal echoing through your closed mouth as you tried to contain yourself. He stroked delicately, nudging your clit every other time until he was happy he’d spread your pre juices enough. And when he was happy, his fingers slid into you effortlessly, grabbing himself as they disappeared into you. He couldn’t bare the ache in his fully hardened length, wanting so desperately to skip the pleasantries and slip straight into taking you from behind. Sitting down, instead of awkwardly squatting beneath you, he also switched direction, so he snaked beneath your legs and his back rested against the counter you was facing. His hands reached around the back of your thighs, pulling you closer to his face without warning. Your desperate core brushed against his lips, hands tightening around the sink with white knuckles at the intimate contact.

It took everything in your to not scream out in pleasure. No amount of intimacy in your own home compared to sneaking away from a party and doing the dirty, much like you used to do in the past and you were forever grateful the spark had never died. You were thankful for his strong grip on the back of your thighs, legs shaking as his tongue caressed your folds from underneath you. He wanted to be beneath you forever, to have you squirming and panting just as you were in this moment. He’d never intended for it to be this... full on, when he came to find you in the bathroom. He thought it would maybe a quickie, a little tease, but something innocent and playful had turned into a lustful dream.

You braved your sudden move, removing one hand from the support of the sink and moved it down, grabbing a fistful of brown curls. The action was warmly welcomed, his tongue slipping deep into you almost causing your legs to buckle completely. The way Shawn made you feel, this far into your relationship was a feeling that could never be taken away; the way he loved you like it was the first and last time all rolled into one.

“God, I, I need you to...” you breathed, pausing and inhaling sharply when he tongue flicked over your nub, circling before he moved back to your swollen folds and your entrance “...get back up here.”

Before you could open your eyes well enough to stop seeing stars, he was back behind you, eyes full of lust and need. Your dress was still hunched around your hips, bottom half of your body bare to the air, although, not for long as shawn stepped forward and muffled his hardened area into the curve of your ass, the more prominent hardness pushing inbetween you. You moaned as the feeling of his briefs confirmed he was stilling donning his boxer shorts, desperate for the feel of skin on skin. He smirked as he pulled away, his boxers decorated with wetness that had gathered in between your legs. He also smirked when freed himself; boxers dropping to his ankles and throbbing cock bouncing free and nestling in between your legs, more specifically, between your needy centre.

Hips thrashing backwards, your peachy asset slapped against his rock-hard hips and you were taken by surprise when he grabbed tightly at your hips, stopping you from moving away. The feel of his cock rubbing through your folds caused a whimper as your eyes travelled up to look into the mirror in front of you both. His tall frame, compared to yours, which was half bent over the counter, looked heavenly as he toyed with you, rocking his hips so he rubbed against your throbbing area a few more times. When he decided he’d had enough of watching you quiver with pleasure beneath him, he reached his arm between you, wrapping fingers around his length and guiding it to your entrance.

With one swift motion, his hips fully pushed against your rear, cock sliding into you as you finally felt him fill you. Your head fell down, trying to control your rapid breathing and screams you so desperately wanted to spill, only just remembering a house full of guests were just a floor beneath you both. Shawn reached over to your neck, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head upwards, eyes burning into you through the mirror. You bit your bottom lip, smiling underneath, as he faintly smiled back, knocking down the barrier of his serious demeanour. Suddenly you felt more than thankful for the increased sex drive, thrilled by the pleasure and view all of which started and ended with Shawn.

Loud cries were threatening to leave your lips, Shawn’s hand having to take rightful place over your mouth every so often when he heard the sweet sound of your whimpers start to fall. Although, he was not one to talk, very much lost in the moment and the fact he was fucking you in his best friends bathroom, even though it would not be the first time. His grunts grew closer together with every thrust he made, his hips slapping against you with an echo to the room. You came to your high with a fistful of your hair in his hand and teeth sunk into your bottom lip, severely struggling to keep hush. He came to his high when he moved his hand to your mouth, his fingers dancing over your lips until you wrapped your plump and - ruined - lipsticked features around them. *****

And just like that, 30 minutes after entering the bathroom, you and Shawn laughed and joked in front of the mirror you’d literally just performed sexual acts in front of. “Is baby M okay?”

“Shawn, having your penis inside me does not affect the baby.” You laughed, yet again fixing your make up having felt like you’d only just done the same task. “And anyway, apparently closer to when you’re due, having sex is actually good for the whole process.”

“Good job we’ve started early then, isn’t it?”

“We never stopped.”

A small tap on the door put a stop to your giggles, and your hand covered your mouth like a naughty school girl. “Are you two okay? I’m concerned about you and i’m worried i’ve poisoned your baby with aubergine bake.” Mila’s muffled voice spoke through the door and you felt bad for making her feel so concerned. Shawn opened the door and you sat yourself down on the closed toilet seat, quickly ripping off some toilet roll and dabbing under your eyes. You felt evil, for going along with it really, but a pregnant lady gotta do what a pregnant lady gotta do.

Mila rushed over, her palm soothing over your back in order to try and be comforting. You had to stifle a laugh as Shawn reached into his pocket and eyebrows furrowed when his fingers grabbed a delicate material that he usually wouldn’t carry around in his pocket. Pulling out just a fraction of what you believed was your underwear, your lips pulled together in a thin line as Mila babbled on about getting you home and to bed. Shawn’s right eye dropped into a wink as he walked out of the room, tucking your lacey garment back into his pocket where no one could see it. You were already thinking about getting home, and how having no underwear on would be of great, great service. Damn hormones.

It was hard to concentrate on anything other than the flowers as you opened your eyes this morning, the bright yellow petals almost blinding you as the sun crept through the blinds and reflected off them. Beneath the vase was a small cup of pills, including your folic acid that you were instructed to take during pregnancy, and a note in which you immediately recognised the hand writing. You were slightly disappointed he had to leave early this morning, the sexual drive in you still being... higher than normal, but the flowers and note made up for his lack of presence, nonetheless.

happy 19 weeks, baby m is a mango this week!

take ur meds

appointment at 1.30, will pick you up for 1

love you :)

Whenever Shawn left before you, he made sure to leave your meds out, usually on your dressing table but today he’d opted for the bedroom side table with his thoughtful gift. Even if he hadn’t left the house before you, he would be constantly reminding you over breakfast, bringing you a glass of water so you had something to swallow them with. The birds were chirping as you pushed your feet into your cloudy slippers, arms stretching out as you braced yourself to stand up from the bed. It was more refreshing to get out of bed when came naturally as opposed to the past few weeks, where your morning sickness had you literally creeping up to usain bolt’s world record as you ran to the toilet. The sickness had almost vanished and you read that it was normal, that it usually did disappear by the 17 week mark. In place of the morning sickness, there was pains. And aches. And twinges. And niggles. And... more pain.

Your lower stomach gurgled as a stabbing sensation shot through and you tried to stroke it in comfort, although you were nowhere close to soothing the pain. Attempting to power through the inconvenience, you decided you must just be hungry, and proceeded to walk through to the bathroom to get a shower.

Craving of ice cream for breakfast and passion fruit martini’s we’re not that uncommon to you at this stage. Of course you couldn’t act upon the martini, but ice cream aplenty, you were trying your hardest to stay away from the freezer and head to the fruit bowl in the mornings. Despite the old saying, ‘you’re eating for two’ - which, in all honesty, was one of the things you was looking forward to - your doctor informed you that no extra calories were needed for intake until possibly around 6 months in.

You’d managed to lay in until 11am this morning, a very rare occasion for you as a general early bird, leaving you a couple of hours to play with until Shawn would be back to pick you up. Those two hours flew by, almost half of it being spent by procrastinating getting ready and watching modern family instead.

When you looked out the front window, only just having put your shoes on, the time was 12.58 exactly and Shawn’s range rover began to pull down the gravelled driveway. His eyes were covered by his ray bans, curls slightly ruffled as if he’d spent his morning running his hands through them, t shirt stopping just above his biceps to reveal a handful of tattoos. The sun glistened against his skin as he stepped out the vehicle, pulling the sunglasses from his face and looking up to see you swooning down on him, sending a blush to your cheeks.

“I’d shout honey I’m home, but you already know.” He laughed as he walked through the door, throwing his sunglasses and car keys onto the side table, walking over to where you stood on the bottom step.

The bottom step gave you extra height, almost enough to be eye level with him as your arms hooked over his shoulders. “As much as i’d love to stand here and listen to your smugness, we got a baby to go see.” He pressed his lips to yours before letting you snake from underneath him, feeling cold with your lack of presence already. The pain and uncomfort in your stomach had continued all morning, but maybe it was the nerves of going to the hospital or the fact you’d rejected your body of ice cream. Shawn was immediately concerned when your let out a small whimper and squinted your eyes shut, caressing your stomach.

“Hey, what’s up?” He met back up with you, hands coming to your hips as support for your aching figure.

“I think we’re just having a bit of an off day,” you forced a smile, although you knew Shawn wouldn’t buy it.

“Well good job we have an appointment then isn’t it.” He moved forward and let his lips push against your forehead, hands never leaving your lips as he left a tender kiss. “Let’s get going.”

You nodded in agreement, stomach twisting with a mixture of nerves and pain. “I’ll just pee first,” you told before walking to the downstairs bathroom, not far from the front door where Shawn stood, twirling his keys in his hands, clearly eager to get you to the hospital.

As soon as the bathroom door shut behind you, another whimper of pain left your lips and you was glad you managed to keep it in until you were out of Shawn’s watch. He worried, a lot, but only because he cared. “Come on baby, just behave for momma,” you whispered, speaking quietly to your stomach as you shuffled over to the toilet. Hooking your fingers through the belt loops of your jeans, you tugged them down, followed by your underwear. It was a process you’d become all too familiar with, baby using your bladder as a trampoline throughout most days. This time was different; your heart dropped and eyes pricked with tears as you looked down, seeing the sight of what you hadn’t seen in quite some time. “Shawn...” you managed, only half sure he’d actually heard you.

“Babe, we’re pushing it for time, can you hurry?” You could tell he was just the other side of the wooden door, voice loud and assertive. Your hand dipped to between your legs and you winced when you were met with more of what you didn’t want.

“Can... can you come in.” you whimpered, and from the tone of your voice he knew something wasn’t right and pulled the door open without hesitation. He saw you sat on the toilet, which was nothing new, but when his eyes wandered down and he saw the blood covering your underwear and hand pulling away from in between your thighs being covered with the same dark red fluid, his heart dropped like yours had one minute prior. Although he could see what was going on, unable to move and body frozen to the floor, you confirmed the situation with two simple words, “i’m bleeding.”

shawn tag-list; @imaginashawnns @fallinallincurls @mendesficsxbombay

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes smut #dad!shawn #dad!shawnmendes

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lambcaey · 5 years ago

Text

Cuphead: A Transgressin’ Question

Despite having just defeated the Devil, the guilt from his sin is still plaguing Cuphead's mind. There's one more question over the matter that he's dying to have answered, but can he break his feelings to Mugman before the feelings break him?

How'd you like to blow your top Dig yourself some fine ree-bop Hi-de-hi, he-de-he Oh, the hi-de-ho man, that's me! Yes sir, there was nothing quite like a little "Hi De Ho Man" to bring life to any party in Inkwell Isle. This was especially true of this particular party, and its particular guests of honor: Cuphead and Mugman. It was the highlight of the brothers' victory party over the Devil. The two were enjoying every second they spent cutting a rug with their friends at Elder Kettle's house. There was so much music and merriment in the atmosphere that you'd swear the little cottage was itself was swaying its hips to the beat. Even the guests that were too big to fit inside found a way to enjoy the party from outdoors. The brothers had taken center-stage of the living room, swinging to the big band jazz to their young hearts' content. Their friends had formed a crowd around them, cheering and clapping to the beat of the music. After a minute or so, Cuphead decided to finish the dance by twirling his brother a few times, and then, with a mischievous smile, release him across the room. This sent Mugman spinning like a top until he bumped into the snack table, causing the entire punch bowl to pour on his head. Everyone, including Cuphead, gasped in alarm,as though they worried the little mug was hurt. Fortunately, Mugman's goofy grin returned, and he licked off his entire face with one slurp. "Mmm! Strawberry!" Everyone burst out laughing, with Cuphead giving a sigh of relief. It was nice to see that, despite having just gone to literal Hell and back, that Mugman was still the lovable goofball he always had been. At that moment, as he watched Mugman giggling and dripping with punch, a new set of gears started turning in Cuphead's mind. His expression slowly changed from a relaxed smile to a gape of terror. In the place of a fun party with their friends were a towering wall of flames, and imps dancing around Mugman's shattered skull. The punch was also starting to turn a much brighter shade of red... Mugman dried his face off with a white towel, then turned to face his brother. "Oh Cuphead, that was swell....Cuphead?" The others had noticed Cuphead's sudden change of demeanor as well. Cup quickly noticed everyone staring at him with concern, and he promptly rubbed his eyes, grinning sheepishly. "Shucks, Mug, I'm fine. Nice to see you're still bein' a good sport." Cuphead playfully nudged Mugman's arm. Mugman smirked. "Hey, somebody's gotta be one b'tween the two of us." He then nudged back before walking off to the kitchen. "I'll go get us some more punch." Cuphead gave another nervous smile as his brother left. Normally, Cup was the most optimistic person he knew, finding the bright side of things even when there wasn't one. He was now realizing that even a happy-go-lucky fellow like himself was capable of having chills sent down his spine. Whatever he just envisioned was enough to do just that, and then some... The troubled cup made his way to the washroom, hoping a splash of cold water would wake him up a little. As he dried himself off, glancing at his reflection, he couldn't help noticing that, if one didn't know any better, it looked like his face was covered in tears, similar to when... MUGMAN, PLEASE, GET UP!!! I'M SO SORRY! PLEASE DON'T DIE!!! GET AWAY FROM MY BROTHER!!!! No matter how many times it happened, Cuphead never truly got used to seeing Mugman getting killed. It felt especially terrifying in the beginning, when the boys were still getting the hang of their powers, including how to resurrect each other. As if it wasn't sickening enough seeing his little brother shatter to pieces, what made it feel worse was the fact that this was practically Cuphead's own doing. He brought Mugman to the casino; he made the deal; he rolled the dice. He sold both himself and his little brother to the Devil, and it repeatedly cost the life of the person who least deserved it. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK! Cuphead snapped out of his trance, rubbing his eyes to prevent a single tear from falling. "J-Just a minute!" For the rest of the party, Cuphead made sure that everyone around him saw nothing but a cheerful, smiling little boy everywhere they went. His troubles certainly hadn't ended, but the last thing any fellow wanted at a swinging party was a Grade-A Debbie Downer. He especially didn't want to ruin the fun for his genuinely-happy little brother. He'd suffered enough at the hands of the Devil and his debtors; the very least the kid deserved was a fun night with no worries. Now, for better or worse, Cuphead had a tendency to underestimate Mugman's sense of insight. Something Mugman had noticed (that Cuphead hoped he hadn't) was how full his brother's head was getting throughout the night. At first, he dismissed it as just a quick drink of water, but it progressed by a few gallons as the party waned on. Unlike himself, Cuphead wasn't fond of drinking from his head, so it seemed unusual that he'd carry around this much liquid without taking a single sip. It was also becoming more obvious how forced Cuphead's smile really was, especially as he declined any more offers for a snack, drink, or even another dance as the party went on. There were even moments where it looked like the poor cup was feeling sick to his stomach, ocassionally seeming him trying to stifle a whimper or lump in his throat. Mugman had his suspicions, but it was also likely he was just tired from such a harrowing day. It seemed best not to bother his big brother about it. The rest of the party ended on a positive note, and Elder Kettle sent the boys off to bed while he stayed up to clean. With the Devil now gone, this was surely the happiest day in the history of Inkwell Isle. To its saviors, however, it seemed their troubles still weren't finished yet. ------- "Ngh...n-no, no..." Mugman's face grimaced on reflex. He had been lying peacefully in his wooden bed until the slurred speech had broken the silence. "No, no please..." Mug's face winced again as he put his pillow over his head. Who in the world could be talking at this hour? Suddenly, Mugman fully woke up when he realized that that wasn't just someone's slurred speech; it was sobbing. "...N-No no, please don't leave me...." Mugman sat up, ready to tell his brother to keep it down, but what he saw behind him made his entire expression drop. Cuphead was still in his bed across the room, but tossing and turning in it like a sweat-soaked jumping bean. As usual, his head sat rested on his nightstand, but it sat there wincing and sweating bullets in distress. A puffy, white thought bubble sat floating just above, playing as scene as though it were a movie screen. The bubble projected a montage of flashbacks of the boys' first few battles against the debtors. They mostly consisted of all the brutal ways Mugman had been killed. Cagney hitting him with an acorn bullet; Hilda smashing his plane with her laughter; Goopy’s tombstone slamming on top of him. With each brutal death scene, the dream version of Cuphead raced across the screen, trying in vain to race to his brother before he’d get hit. The harder he tried, the worse it got, and the more distraught the poor cup was in both his dream and reality. At one point, the montage cut to Mugman standing under a spotlight in the midst of pure darkness. Dream Cuphead smiled in relief, bounding toward his brother with his arms out wide. Just before the two could share a warm embrace, a giant clawed hand covered Mugman with its grasp. The hand moved up, and the darkness faded, revealing it to be that of a fifty-foot Devil, standing on a craps table the size of a football field. At this image, the real Cuphead started whimpering and shaking violently. Rivers of sweat ran down his body while the liquid in his head overflowed onto the floor. With a malicious smile, the Devil rolled out his hands across the table. Where Mugman should’ve been sat a pair of “snake eyes.” The dream Cuphead dropped to his knees, burying his face in his hands. “OH NO! NO NO NO, WHAT HAVE I DONE?!!” The Devil bellowed a maniacal laugh that roared like thunder. For the real Mugman, enough was enough. He rushed toward his brother’s bed, shaking him gently, but firmly. “Cuphead! Cuphead, wake up! Snap out of it! I-It's just a dream! Wake up!” No reaction; this was a much deeper sleep than he'd thought. Mugman anxiously looked around the room, and then grabbed a stray top that was sitting near the toy box. He stuck it inside his straw with the pointy end facing out, resembling a makeshift spear, and used it to pop the dream bubble as though it were a balloon. ”AHHHH!!!” Cuphead jerked awake, gasping for breath while his body continued dripping with sweat. Mugman carefully placed his brother's head back in its body, and gave him the warm, protectigve embrace he was about to receive in the dream. "It's ok, Cuphead. I'm here. I saw the whole thing. No Devil or nobody's gonna take me anywhere." Cuphead sat there with his eyes wide open, his mind still trying to process what had just happened. "Mug? How did you...? I-I thought you were..." At that second, it dawned on him that he was no longer dreaming, and that his dear brother was very much alive and well. Overwhelmed and shaken, poor Cuphead buried his face in Mugman's shoulder, revealing the contents in his head to be none other than a waterfall of tears. The pain that Cuphead had been repressing all night had manifested physically as well as emotionally. The relief of finally letting them both go was enough to make the poor little cup cry further. Mugman didn't pay any attention to how wet he was getting from his brother's breakdown. He just kept holding Cuphead close, gently rocking him as if he were the younger brother. "Shhhh, there there. It's ok. Just let it all out. I'm here for you." Cuphead nearly choked on his words. "Thank goodness..." A few minutes later, once Cuphead felt he'd gotten everything off his chest, he sat back up, and looked at his brother straight in the eye. "Mugman, I-I gotta ask you something, and I need you to be completely honest with me, ok? D-Don't try to lie to me just to make me feel better." An unusual request, but Mugman obliged. "Of course, Cuphead. What is it?" "W-W-Well," Cuphead swallowed hard, trying not to let voice break again. "Mugman....do...do you hate me for what I did to you?" Mugman's eyes and mouth went wide. "Cuphead, what...what kinda question is that? You're my brother; of course I don't hate you." "Well, even if I weren't your brother...say I was some humdrum son of a gun who went and took your life for granted. Would you still find it in your heart to forgive me?" Mugman paused for a second, making sure he was careful, yet earnest, in how he answered the troubled cup. "...If you still fought alongside me as if you were my brother, then yes. But you are my brother; I know you'd never forgive yourself if anything should happen to me. Is that why you were acting so strange back at the party?" "Mm-hmm. I didn't want ya t'worry." Mugman was a bit put off by this at first. Then he gave him a soft smile. "Actually, I was feelin' the same way about you." For the first time in what felt like ages, a genuine smile returned to Cuphead's face. Mug then gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "From now on, let's not feel like we gottta hide anything from each other, ok? We're brothers; we need each other, no matter what. I don't want you to feel like you can't come to me when you need help." "Same with you, Mug. I'm your big brother; what kind of fella would I be if I didn't protect you?" Mugman smirked again. "The kind of fella who'd get easily hoodwinked by the Devil's cheap tricks?" Cuphead smirked back. "Oh c'mon now, that's below the belt." "You sure could use one with how much you keep pullin' up your britches." The boys laughed, and Cuphead finished drying his eyes. "Thanks, Mugman. I really needed this." "No problem, Cup. It's what I'm here for." "I just hope these visions and night terrors I'm havin' don't become a regular occurrence. They've been scaring me something awful all night." He then fidgeted his hands in nervousness. "I-In fact, Mugs, this might sound strange comin' from me, but d-do you...do you think maybe....a-at least for tonight, y-you could-?" "Move my bed a little closer to yours?" "Y-Yeah. It'll be easier to go back to sleep knowing I've got somebody with me in case the night terrors come back." "No problem. Don't think that just because I'm younger than you I can't help you with things like bad dreams. Big brothers are allowed to be scared too, you know." "I know. I gotta stop being so afraid of looking weak in front of other people. I mean, who can call either of us weak after we just defeated the doggone Devil?" "Well, Devil or no Devil, you’re still strong in my book, Cuphead.” Cuphead and Mugman shared another warm hug. Before long, they were sound asleep in their makeshift queen bed, their heads resting on the adjacent nightstands. There was one large dream bubble floating over their heads, depicting the brothers enjoying another round of swinging to the "Hi De Ho Man" song. The End

#cuphead #cuphead and mugman #mugman #cuphead fanfiction #fanfiction #fan #fic #fanfic #cuphead angst #angst #feels #comfort #brothers #sad

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simpinforyoongi · 5 years ago

Text

Shameless ~

Yoongi x reader

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: Angst, (a lot of it)

Warnings: none

Summary: After coming back from Yoongi's studio heartbroken, you decide to scribble your thoughts down on paper, like you've done so many times. What you didn't know was how that little poem would led to your worst heartbreak yet.

Note: Heyy guys! So i just wanted to say that this one is heavily inspired by @krreader 's fic Jealousy and you can treat it like a sequel to hers (but mine ends in angst too and I've changed a few things up). Like you wouldn't believe how much i cried when i read hers amd i just couldn't not write it!! AnYWaYS, enjoy!!

• • • • • • •

"Can i go? "

"Go wherever you want hyung, why are you asking me??" Namjoon answered as he put on his winter boots to prevent the cold chilly November winds from freezing his feet.

"No i meant...I want to go..to her.." Yoongi's voice was unnaturally small and feeble, contradicting his usual deep tone.

Namjoon jerked up, standing straight suddenly.

"But hyu-"

"Please Namjoon, I know you care deeply for her, and don't want her to get hurt anymore because of me but I just.."

Namjoon instantly started shaking his head no,

"No no hyung, go, all that happened, i know you didn't mean it to." He gave the older man a small smile "I'll let her know."

"NO! No, she, " Yoongi said with wide eyes, "She won't even open the door if she knows it's me."

"Oh right haha lol ok uh.. I won't call her then" Namjoon says fidgeting awkwardly, almost wanting to say something, but when he saw Yoongi looking at the door with a certain amount of longing, mixed with regret, guilt, fear and everything in between, he decided it was worth a shot.

"Hyung, i know you love her," They held eye contact and Namjoon continued, "and if I'm not wrong, she loves you too. And she's been hurting, for long, just like you and even longer, actually. I know I'm younger than you, but i gotta say this. don't fuck it up."

Namjoon looked down for a moment before looking back up with a sincere smile, "Best of luck! Fighting!" and with that, Yoongi left for your apartment without any bodyguards, without anything at all because that was a risk he had to take.

---

You were still in bed, Namjoon had called earlier saying he's coming, and to be honest you actually wanted him to come. You needed someone to talk to, and he was the best person for that. You were completely undercovers, and came out only when it became too difficult to breathe in the carbon dioxide that gathered inside your little blanket-bubble.

It had been two weeks since the breakup, and you had even visited them in the meantime because you were strong, and knew how to keep your emotions in control when in front of others, despite the fact that you were about to breakdown any moment. You had cooped yourself up in your little apartment for way too long and your loving friends, aka members of Bangtan had dragged you back to their apartment, even though they knew it was dangerous considering the fact that the cause of all your pain was right there. But there wasn't much they could do and places they could go because, well, they're like only the biggest boy group on Earth. So you went there, insisting you were fine.

But you weren't.

Realllyy weren't.

But once the question left his lips, you knew it was over for you. This, this facáde was instantly crushed when he asked the question.

You had been playing "Truth and Dare" because no matter how sucky you were feeling, you just couldn't seem to say no to the three pairs of puppy eyes that you received. And that landed you in a somewhat boring, somewhat funny game of Truth and Dare, and even though he was there, you seemed to have fun until he asked you that question.

"Do you love someone else now?" and it was something you never in a million years had expected.

So you sat there, completely dumbfounded, much like the rest of the group, at the question that had left Yoongi's lips. And you just, couldn't do anything.

But shortly, anger bubbled up inside you.

How dare he accuse you of loving someone else when you were literally on the verge of just ripping your heart out? How dare he accuse you like that when he was the one who broke up with you? How dare he ask you that when he hadn't even given you enough time to speak before he started yelling at you that day?? How dare he??

"How dare you?" And that's all that seemed to leave your mouth before you stood up and stumbled out of the dorm with everyone except him calling after you.

Another tear escaped as you remembered the happenings of the day. But before you could wail in your sorrow any more, a bell rung throughout your apartment.

You stood up and walked to the door with tears still decorating your cheeks,

Finally Joon is here.

You felt like you could breath better for a second but all wind was knocked from your lungs when your eyes landed upon the face that stood in front of you.

Yoongi..

With a black mask and cap, and covered completely in winter clothes, there he stood in all his wintery glory, and you still knew it was him despite only his eyes being visible, that too, partly visible.

You felt your heart constrict and your rib cage felt too small now. A brand new bolt of pain jolted up your sides, almost as if physical, and striked your heart with such force you wouldn't be surprised if you had a heart attack then and there. But you didn't, you stood there, watching him, and he stood there ,watching you.

It wasn't until you shivered from the cold winds hitting your body which was bare of any winter clothing, that you jumped back into reality.

"Do you mind if I..." He trailed off, but you moved aside letting him in. He had expected a much harsher reaction, after all, he did throw some extremelt hurtful and lewd accusations at you that day. But he was grateful you didn't close the door in his face, or throw the little dried up potted plant at him. He took that as a good sign, but with you, everything wasn't as simple.

He took off his coat and hung them on the rack beside the shoe cabinet, before pulling off his boots and keeping them aside. Then he followed you into the living room.

"Coffee??" You questioned while preparing some. He wasn't sure if he wanted one, he opened and closed his mouth for a few seconds, and finally settled on a yes.

A few beats passed in complete silence, before you joined him and handed him a simple black coffee and took a seat on the single sofa opposing him.

Another few moments passed

"You still remember," he said motioning to the coffee in his hands

"It's not that hard to remember two ingredients, Suga. Besides, it's been just two weeks."

His heart shattered when you said that, firstly, on hearing 'Suga' instead of the usual 'Yoongs' or 'Yoongles' that you called him, especially because you knew he pretended to hate, but actually loved it. Hell he would've been more happy to be addressed by his full name, Min Yoongi, rather than Suga. And secondly, because of the small and almost inaudible, crack that he heard in your voice towards the end of the sentence.

You still didn't know why exactly you were so calm and not driving him out of your home. It was as if everything stopped mattering for a moment

"Two weeks. Yea," he finally spoke, eyes not quite meeting yours.

A few moments passed in complete and utter silence.

"I didn't know you wrote lyrics too." Ah yes, the song that Namjoon was producing, you had helped him with the lyrics. Not as much as helped actually, you had just randomly written some words and sentences and somehow he noticed it. He said it fit perfectly with the previous verse he had written and asked if he could use the whole poem in his song. You were completely flabbergasted and thought he was kidding, or perhaps pitying you, but after a lot of convincing, he told you he wasn't. And you told him he could, that's why you were in the professional studio in the first place. Another reason why Yoongi misunderstood you, but it was in no way Namjoon's fault. And Yoongi knew that.

"I didn't. It was supposed to be a poem. He saw it by accident." You yourself were pretty surprised at how calm you were.

"But.. I thought i read all your poems..?" his voice had a questioning tone to it.

"You did.. It was recent.." It indeed was recent. Painfully recent. You had written it just the night before, after coming back from Yoongi's studio without even talking to him properly, because he had, and i quote "a shitton of work to do" . Shit ton of work, with her. That completely broke your heart into a million pieces. You thought it couldn't break any further but you were terribly wrong. That was when you wrote it.

The poem was about, well, you guessed it, heartbreak; loneliness. Something about empty bed sides, lost warmth, tear streaked pillows, you couldn't fully remember. Your mind had been hanging like a 2005 Dell Laptop because of all the crying.

"When?"

"That night after i came back from your studio." You smiled a little, even if your insides were aching, "speaking of that, hows the production going?"

"Oh it's.. going well I suppose." He looked immensely intrigued by his cup of coffee,

You again smiled.

"Yea, you looked...quite happy." You took a sip of your own coffee, before looking out the window. Frosty winds were blowing, it was getting darker by the minute. It looked...serene.

But Yoongi was having none of this serenity,

"Happy? What...do you mean?" His voice had a sudden change of colour. But this question had your heart clenching and unclenching at a rapid, unhealthy rate.

"You and Suran." You finally croaked out, "You looked happy..with her. It was.. a sight for sore eyes, really." Earlier, whenever you even remotely thought about this, your eyes turned to waterfalls, but now, they seemed dry of any excessive moisture.

Yoongi was dumbfounded. He and Suran?

"What do you mean me and Suran? I'm just helping her!" He semi-yelled, but you didn't flinch like you did last time.

"I know that."

"But what did you mean by happy... wait...did you think we...oh my god." He slumped down back to his seat, coffee long forgotten on the coffee table.

"Y/n why didn't you tell me that?? Why didn't you tell me what you were feeling?? Why di-"

"I DID!!" You finally broke and yelled out with tears streaming down your eyes for the umpteenth time that day.

"I did tell you!!! I texted you a thousand times!! But you didn't read any of those. I called you a thousand times but i was always directed to voicemail. And the times that you did actually listen to me you had the same excuse every time. 'Im just helping her.' I know that Yoongi, I freaking.know. But what do you expect me to think when you cancelled evey date the past three months?? When the smile that you usually had when you were with me, could only be seen when you were with her?? When the way that you looked at her, the way that you smiled at her, the way that you admired every little thing she did completely resembled the way only a lover would. What did you expect me to do, when i felt like you were her mentor, her idol, her Min yoongi, not my...not my..." You couldn't finish the sentence before you completely bursted out in tears.

And as you sobbed uncontrollably, Yoongi was left to think about what you had said. And as he recalled everything he realized that none of your words were wrong.

The fact that he had ignored you so freaking much despite you being so patient with him hit him like a truck and he started spiralling into a dark deep hole of guilt and regret when you suddenly-

"Leave."

He was shocked back to his senses.

"Y/n wha-"

"I said. Leave. " You said as you stood up on lightly trembling feet and started walking towards the door.

"Y/n just listen to me give me a chance to expl-"

"Did YOU give me a chance to fuckin' explain??!! Did you even let me SPEAK when i was begging in front of you to calm down?! No. So leave."

Your heart was pounding at such an extreme rate that you feared he'd hear it and realize, that he was still your weakness. And you couldn't let that happen.

"Suga. I'm asking you to leave." With a shaking hand you opened the door and stood aside.

"Y/n please jus-"

"Are you that shameless?!"

That effectively shut him up. Just as you expected. As he finally left with a wounded heart, you slammed the door and slid down to the floor, trembling with quiet sobs.

"Are you that shameless?? That you finally resorted to seducing one of my brothers?? What else did you do huh y/n? Did you try your luck with Jungkook too?? Oh and what about Taehyung?!"

"Hyung it isn't what it looks like. Just listen to-" Namjoon spoke, trying to calm him down but to no avail.

"Namjoon just...just stay out of it. I just can't believe she'd do this to me. I can't freaking believe she'd cheat on me with yo-"

"Yoongi stop it!" You yelled while crying as you stood in front of the man you loved and who apparently loved you too.

"Why y/n? Why should i stop?? Just so you can go behind my back again? Just so you can break my heart again? Just so tha-"

"Can you pleeasee just let me speak Yoongi. I was here because -"

"Enough! Enough of your lies! I really can't believe you out of all people would do this to me. We're done y/n. We're freaking done." And with that, he stomped out of the studio, leaving you a crying, heartbroken mess.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪

#yoongifics #bts fanfictions #bts yoongi #bts fics #bts #bts scenarios #bts suga #suga angst #yoongi angst #yoongi texts #yoongi fanfic #army network #armysource #bangtan network

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thecleverdame · 6 years ago

Text

East of Nowhere - Year One

Sam x Reader

Series Masterlist

Summary: You and Sam are strangers trapped in a desolate mountain town where you live alone, isolated from the outside world, for five years.

Warnings: language, violence, smut, talk of past trauma

Words: 10k

Beta: ilikaicalie

This story is complete (44k) and available now on Patreon for a pledge of 2.50. >>CLICK HERE<<

YEAR ONE

Day One

The day is turning to night and the fireplace is your tiny sun for the evening, casting long shadows over the rug. The flames curl and sway, flicking this way and that, crackling as they burn the dry wood.

The sun is setting as you sit across from Sam in the empty lobby of the hotel. His knee keeps bouncing as he runs a hand over his mouth. He’s searching for the next step. You’ve spent the whole afternoon wandering aimlessly around this little town and have yet to find a working phone or another person.

“My brother will have realized something is wrong by now,” Sam offers, turning his hand palm up. “He’ll be looking for a way to find me or at least get in touch. He’s good at it, we’ll be ok.”

You get the distinct sense he’s trying to convince himself as much as you.

“That’s great.” You’re apprehensive. “But, this is some real Twilight Zone level shit. If we can’t even find another human being, what makes you think he’ll even know where to start?”

“This is kinda what we do,” Sam’s eyebrows draw together, “We deal with things that are, ah, supernatural in nature.”

“Oh.” You nod agreeably. He awaits a response but you don’t really have one. You’ve always kind of believed in ghosts and now you’ve been transported to a ghost town in parts unknown; almost anything seems plausible. “So, what do we do?”

“Well, I think we need to hunker down for the night.” As if on cue, his stomach makes a gurgling sound. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m starving.” You’ve been too focused on current events to let your aching tummy control you, but now that he mentions it, you are starving.

“We have to go back the grocery store anyway. We need to get all the salt we can find, we’ll grab something to eat while we’re there.” Sam stands.

“Then what?” You hesitate before rising from your seat.

“We lock ourselves in a room and wait until morning. I don’t know what’s out there in the dark, but we’re not gonna wait around to find out.”

The two of you race across the darkening street just as the sun sets beyond the horizon in a blaze of ominous glory.

“Hurry up.” Sam impatiently ushers you through the unlocked glass doors of Tolliver’s Family Market. You scurry inside, staring at Sam as he pulls the doors shut behind you. “We gotta be quick. I’ll get the salt, you get food.”

“Why do we need salt?” you hiss.

“I’ll explain it to you once we get back to the room.”

“Okay.” You don’t have the energy to be your normal obstinate, inquisitive self.

Every item in the store has been carefully placed on the shelves, each piece of inventory fully stocked and seemly allocated with care. You look around for a basket or bag and end up pulling a small canvas backpack off the wall.

Food first. That’s what Sam told you to do. You’re not normally one to take orders, but these are extenuating circumstances. You dash down the aisles until you find what you’re looking for, stuffing a couple of boxes of granola bars, some jerky and two apples into the pack. You make your way to the cooler and grab two bottles of water. From there, it’s onto toiletries. Spying the travel section, you collect tiny bottles of shampoo, toothpaste, and deodorant. Finally, you come to the last row, finding neatly hung novelty t-shirts, sweatpants, and socks. You grab two of each, guessing Sam’s size, before dropping to your knees to stuff it in the bag.

“You ready?” Sam barrels around the corner, effectively scaring the shit out of you.

“Jesus Christ, give a girl some warning,” you pant, heart galloping in your chest. “I think I got everything.”

“Great.” He offers you a hand but doesn’t let go once you stand, instead he hauls you back to the hotel.

“Slow down a little,” you plead, jogging to keep up with him.

He doesn’t, just grips your hand tighter and as you scurry behind.

You scramble up the stairs and proceed to run smack into his back. He’s completely stopped in the hallway, looking from one room to the other.

“Be careful.” He throws you a critical glare. “In here, this room has two beds.”

You follow Sam inside, breathing a sigh of relief when he closes and bolts the door. Hovering on the edge of a bed you watch as he wedges a chair under the handle. He moves fast like he’s secured a room a million times before. He checks the lock on each window, before pulling the curtain shut.

“Help me with this part,” he beckons to you, after inspecting the bathroom. He takes out a box of table salt and hands it to you. “We’re going to make one long, unbroken line of salt around the perimeter of the room.”

“Why?” To say you're skeptical would be an understatement.

Sam takes a deep breath. “Can we talk and pour at the same time, please? What I’m about to say is going to sound crazy.”

“After today, nothing seems crazy to me.” You take the salt and begin to lay a thick line from the frame of the door, following the line of the wall.

“Okay, well, all this - I mean the town and us ending up here - it might be a demon. They can’t cross salt lines.” Sam glances over his shoulder to gage your reaction.

You stop for a moment, pursing your lips in thought. “You’re right, that is fucking crazy.”

“Look,” Sam scoffs, “you wanted to know and I’m telling you. I don’t have time to ease you into this. Demons are real, so is a lot of other stuff that would give you nightmares. The sooner you accept it, the sooner we can work on getting out of here.”

“Jeez.” You move closer to him, having worked your way around the room. “I’m doing the damn salt thing, aren’t I?”

“Sorry, it’s just, something like this happened to me before. It was a long time ago, but it didn’t end well.”

“When you say didn’t end well you mean…”

“People died.”

“So, you woke up in an abandoned town and demons were trying to kill people?”

“That’s the gist of it, but it was different. It doesn’t feel the same; that was a ghost town, literally. This place is fucking Pleasantville.”

“So...maybe not demons?”

Sam side-eyes you suspiciously, trying to determine if you’re making fun of him, but you’re not. You’re too tired, emotionally and physically, for that.

He makes his way around the room, checking the salt lines and gives a nod of approval. “Looks good.”

You dump the contents of your backpack onto your bed and tear open the box of granola bars, tossing one to Sam. You’re well aware that since you woke up in this place, you’ve been running on pure adrenaline. Once the initial shock wears off, you’re afraid you might have a breakdown.

There’s silence while you both eat, simultaneously lost in your own thoughts. You tell yourself you’re going to find a way out of this, that you have a whole life that doesn’t suddenly just disappear. Jack, your boyfriend, will realize something is really wrong. He’ll call your dad and they’ll have people searching for you by tomorrow.

Yeah, you’re going to be fine.

“Assuming we make it through the night, what’s the plan for tomorrow?” you ask, ripping open another fruit and nut bar.

Sam takes a long gulp of his water and looks from the covered window to you. “We get out of here. We find a car or a bike or we walk, but we get the hell out of dodge.”

“That sounds good to me.” You accept that he knows way more about this than you do. You may not be a hundred percent on board with the whole demon theory, but you’re astute enough to know there’s something otherworldly at play.

“You can try to get some sleep if you want. I’m gonna stay up, keep watch for a while and make sure everything is copacetic.” Sam moves to the other bed, stacking two pillows behind his back.

“You think it’s safe for me to take shower?” you ask. “We’ve been running around all day, I feel disgusting.”

“Sure, you should probably leave the door open.” You raise your eyebrows and Sam rolls his eyes at your reaction. “Not all the way, but just don’t latch it.”

“I won’t lock you out, scouts honor.” You hold up two fingers and a tired smile flashes across his face.

You’re thankful that this mystery town has hot water as you step under the showerhead and pop open a small bottle of shampoo. This has, hands down, been the strangest, scariest day of your life. There’s a part of you that’s thinking you’re going to wake up at any moment. This all seems like the plot of a Lifetime movie; trapped in a ghost town with a long-haired, well-toned, ghostbuster. Your tired feet and creeping headache assure you that this is definitely not a dream. How or why it’s happening you’re unsure, but at least you have Sam.

At least you're not alone.

You towel dry your hair and brush your teeth in the steamy bathroom before slipping on the sweats you took from Tolliver’s. Combing your fingers through your wet hair you pad back into the bedroom. “It’s your turn if you-”

You stopped mid-sentence to find that Sam’s asleep. His mouth is hanging open as his body lists to one side. You toy with the idea of waking him up, but it seems like if something really wants in, it’s gonna happen one way or another. You turn off the overhead light and crawl into the scratchy sheets.

Just as you’re beginning to think that you should stay up and take his watch, your eyelids fall heavy and you follow Sam into a dark, dreamless slumber.

Day Two

“Hey.” You feel a hand on your shoulder, shaking you awake.

This is typical Jack, trying to get you up for a run at some ungodly hour on a Saturday morning. You’re not interested.

“Jack, stop.” You push the heavy arm away, twisting in the sheets.

“Uh, it’s not Jack. Come on, Y/N, we have to get going.” Sam pulls the covers off your body and a rush of cool air forces your eyes to flutter open.

You get one look at Sam sitting the edge of the bed and you rub your hands over your face. “I was hoping yesterday was a dream,” you mutter as he hands you a small cup of stale hotel coffee.

“Sorry, we’re still here in the middle of it. Get dressed and we’ll try to get the hell out of here, huh?” Sam’s ready to go, he must have woken up a while ago. You have a sip of the coffee, it’s no Starbucks but it does the job.

“Yes, please.” You roll out of bed and make quick work of dressing. You pull on yesterday’s jeans and light sweater you arrived in. When you emerge from the bathroom, Sam is ready and waiting with the small backpack slung over his shoulder.

There’s a beat-up old Chevy Caprice back in the garage behind the bakery. Sam hotwires it, clenching his fists in joy when the engine rumbles to life. You’re suddenly nervous and sweaty, fidgeting as Sam pulls onto the main street, heading towards the signs reading: Thanks for visiting Shadow Hill. Come back and see us again soon!

You drive down the road, the car sputtering as you head out of town, venturing down a narrow paved road lined with tall, thick pine trees. Sam glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

“What’s wrong? This is good right?” You shift, looking to him.

“Yeah, it just, it seems too easy.” He comments hesitantly, looking in the rearview.

“We shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” You sit back in your seat, looking up over the trees to the looming mountain face that seems to be on all sides.

As if on cue, the all too familiar main street comes into view in front of you and Sam slows to a crawl. You’re both quiet as you creep past the sign that reads: Welcome to Shadow Hill. We hope you make your home with us!

“Sam.” You breathe, reaching for his arm and scooting closer to him. “We just came from here. I mean, we didn’t even make a loop. We’re coming back in the same way we left.”

“It looks that way,” he confirms looking in every direction as if expecting an answer to drop from the heavens.

“It’s not possible. How is this possible?” For the first time in your life, you don’t have anything else to say. Your heart starts to beat fast in your chest, that sweat you felt earlier now pouring from your forehead.

“It shouldn’t be possible, but it’s happening here, wherever we are.” Sam shifts the car into park and looks to you. “Hey, don’t freak out on me, we’re gonna figure this out. You ready to walk?”

“Yes, let’s go.” You follow him out of the driver’s side door and immediately begin power walking away from the sign, heading back out of town. Sam’s walk turns into a jog. You don’t complain as you trot behind him, happy to put some distance between you and mother fucking Shadow Hill.

It’s not even fifteen minutes later before the welcome sign appears again. The moment you see it you start to panic, truly fearful for the first time.

“Am I dreaming? What the fuck is happening?” Your breath starts to stutter, your whole body turns clammy and you feel the world spin as your legs give out, sinking toward the ground.

“Hey, hey, hey. I got you.” You feel Sam’s hand under your armpits as he catches you, lowering you down, crouching beside you. “There’s a reason this is happening and we just have to find out what it is. We’re going to get out of here, I promise.”

“You can’t promise me that. You don’t know what’s going on. We’re trapped here, I mean really trapped. Oh my God, my parents must be so worried right now.” You lay back on the asphalt, reaching out to either side as if it might ground you. There’s a fizzing in your brain, making you lightheaded. “I’m scared.”

Sam’s scared, too. He is scared out of his mind and starting to worry that this is more than a demonic prank. This place isn’t cursed, warded or guarded, it’s a completely self-contained reality, like a life-sized snow globe.

“No matter what happens, we’re here together. We’re going to take care of each other.” Sam grabs your shoulder, forcing you to pay attention. You let him pull you up into a sitting position. “You and me till the wheels fall off. Got it?”

“Yeah.” You nod, leaning forward, resting your head on his shoulder. You’d put money on the fact that he’s done this whole calm a girl down thing before, because he’s damn good at it.

After you’ve pulled yourself together, you make the short walk back into town. This time you’re in no hurry so you saunter, equally defeated, side by side.

“We should stop into the grocery store again, pick up a few more things,” he suggests as you approach Tolliver’s.

You shrug and meander behind him into the store. “I’m going to get some Power Bars or something. I can’t do any more granola and raisin.”

You grab a bag of chips from the end cap and pop open the bag, crunching as you walk. If you’re the only people here, might as well make your own rules. When you get to the aisle where you shopped yesterday, you freeze, doing a double take. “Sam!”

He’s skidding around the corner in two seconds, chest heaving and ready for a fight. “What’s wrong?”

“Look at this.” You point to the shelf. Sam stands beside you, tilting his head.

“What am I looking at?” He whispers.

“These boxes. Yesterday, I took two of that kind and one of the raspberry. Now, they’re stocked again, like I never removed anything.”

“Huh,” Sam trails off into his own thought, walking away from you. You follow him to the condiment section.

“The same thing with the salt, I must have taken five or six boxes and now it’s fully stocked.”

“This is good, right? Someone must’ve been here.” You’re only hopeful for a moment. The grimace on Sam’s face makes you feel sick. “You think someone’s fucking with us?”

“I don’t know. I think if we do have company, they’re doing more than playing a joke. Let’s check something else.”

Sam runs out of the store and toward the Pines Hotel. You sprint behind him, following blinding at this point.

When Sam pushes open the door to the room you shared the night before, the beds are freshly made, sheets pulled taught over the mattress. Even the trash you threw in the bin has vanished.

“What the hell…” you gawk, leaning on the door jam.

“This isn’t good.” Sam motions for you to come inside, locking the door behind you. “Why would anyone make the beds?”

Shadow Hill resets itself every day, at different times. This is an undeniable fact you come to understand after many sleepless nights of surveillance.

Crouching behind a potted plant, you clamp a hand over your mouth as you watch the magic happen. In the blink of an eye, every trash is empty, dirty plates magically appear clean back in the cupboard, and fresh food restocks in each business, restaurant, and home.

It’s old sorcery, something powerful that even Sam has trouble wrapping his head around.

Day Thirteen

“So, what are you going to make with all this stuff?” You look down at the list he carefully wrote out as you pull four wires out of a plastic tube labeled ‘2N 3904 NPN transistors’.

“We’re gonna make an EMF detector.” Sam’s disembodied voice explains from several aisles over. “They can detect electro-”

You cut him off before he can finish. You’re not a rube. “I know what an EMF detector is. I've watched more episodes of Ghost Adventures than I care to admit to.”

“Good, you get the basic idea. We need to know what we’re dealing with and we don’t have gear, so we’re gonna make our own.”

“And you can just do that? Make one of these things?” You add a coil of magnetic wire to your basket and bring it to Sam where’s he’s sitting at the counter. His tools are neatly laid out, he’s done this before.

“Every hardware store has the stuff to make one, you just have to know some basics. We’ll be out of here in no time.” He plugs in a soldering iron as you pull over a rickety stool from the cash register.

“You always make your own stuff?”

“We used to have to make everything ourselves. Ghost hunting is more fashionable these days, we get a lot of tech from Amazon, believe it or not.” Sam offers you a grin and gets down to work, attaching thin wires to a circuit board.

“And this is what you and your brother do - full time. Hunt ghosts and monsters?”

“Pretty much,” he shrugs.

“I’m going out a limb here, but I’m guessing there’s not big money in ghostbusting. How do you support yourselves?”

“We have a few unconventional methods,” Sam presses his tongue between his lips in concentration as he squints at the circuits and begins soldering. “By unconventional, I mean illegal.”

“I suppose you gotta do what you gotta do.” Chuckling you spin on the stool, legs dangling.

“What do you do?” Sam looks up, realizing for the first time that he really knows very little about you. With everything that’s been happening, small talk hasn’t been high on the list of priorities.

“I’m a high school science teacher, physics or chemistry, depending on the semester. ”

“No shit.” Sam laughs. There’s a look of genuine surprise on his face.

“What? I don’t look sciencey enough?” You gesture to yourself dramatically.

“No, you’re just younger and way more attractive than any teacher I ever had in school,” Sam comments, glancing up to catch your reaction.

You blush and so does he.

“I do have a high attendance rate,” you smirk.

“Did you always wanna be a teacher?”

“Hell no. I don’t even like kids that much,” you laugh. “I’m a botanist at heart. It’s all about the plants for this geek. My dream is to work in a museum. When I was a kid, I wanted to work in the botany department at the Smithsonian. But, life happens and you end up grading papers and handing out hall passes.”

“I was gonna be a lawyer, but that was over a decade ago. Now, I live in an underground bunker with my brother and perpetrate credit card fraud. Life’s funny that way.” Sam tucks his hair behind his ear, gesturing for you to pass him the batteries.

He switches a button and a little red light comes on. You clasp your hands together, genuinely dazzled. “Very impressive work.”

“Thanks.” Sam looks happy with himself. “Let’s see what we can find.”

You spend the better part of two days investigating every inch of each building, house, and shrub.

But there’s nothing.

Either Sam’s EMF skills are a little rusty or there’s nothing in Shadow Hill giving off ghostly vibes. It throws Sam for a loop, there’s a couple days where you can see that this turn has shaken him to the core, but he doesn’t wallow for long. And before you know it, you’re a sidekick in this real life mystery.

Day Twenty-Nine

Sam tries everything from witchcraft to Ouija boards, even a few things that you think he might just be making up.

He’s busy grinding herbs, reading from a ritual he wrote out for himself the night before. It’s taken the better part of four weeks. He’s drawn out, in painstaking detail, a design that you’ve been tasked with copying onto the floor. You drag the chalk slowly, connecting the final symbol and sit back on your heels.

“Tell me again what we’re doing?” You haven’t forgotten, but you need to hear him say it again.

“We’ve been over this a hundred times,” Sam sighs, brushing off his hands. “This is the most powerful summoning spell I know.”

“And we’re summoning...an angel?” You try to hide your disbelief.

“Yes.” Sam watches a skeptical look wash over your face. “Look, I know this sounds insane, but if we can send up a message, maybe Cas will be able to hear us.”

“Cas being an angel, that you’re friends with?” Sam raises his eyebrows in confirmation. You’re making an effort to believe him, you really are, but angels? It sounds too crazy. But then again, being trapped here would have sounded crazy to you a month ago. “Sorry, no more doubt. I’m all in, put me where you need me, Sam.”

“Over here.” He points to the ground. You move to the other side of the circle, watching as Sam lights the herbs on fire in the small, stone bowl. He pulls a knife out of his pocket and to your horror slices up his hand, dripping blood into the bowl.

He recites a series of phrases in Latin and the ground begins to rattle like an earthquake tremor. Sam reaches for you, pulling you beside him in anticipation of unknown events and then, suddenly, everything goes silent.

“Is that it?” You peak out of one eye, tucked under Sam’s arm.

“Yup.” He’s breathing heavy, trying to hold back an all too familiar look of disappointment.

“Did it work?” You question, as he wipes his bloody palm on his jeans.

“We’ll find out.”

Three Months

The Shadow Hill Library and Information Archive is a red brick, Victorian-looking building sitting self-important at the top of a hill. Sam pushes open the heavy swinging door and wanders into a room with a tiled chessboard floor and about fifty shelves fanning out from a central reception area.

You hate the library - the boring, mind numbing, lifeless library. You’ve spent too many hours in this fucking library, you want to pull your hair out every time Sam suggests going back.

There is row after row of neatly lined up books with their spines facing outward, colour coded with dots, the fiction section is arranged in alphabetical order. You meander past the young adult and children's sections with low shelves and floor cushions, to approach the more adult area with towering shelves rising high to the ceiling. The area Sam is looking for is unmarked, but surrounded by comfortable leather arm chairs and tables for quiet study. At first the muffled stillness of the place makes it hard to concentrate but you get used to it.

You’re lying on the long wood table, staring up at the ornate ceiling, sprawled out between musty books and the unorganized sea of Sam’s notes. If you’ve learned one thing over the past three months, it’s that he’s a machine when it comes to research.

Before meeting him, you considered yourself to be fairly intellectual. You wrote a couple of impressive research papers in college and enjoy a good book here and there. But Sam - Sam takes it to a whole new level. He has a laser focus that’s all-consuming.

Sam’s eyes shift to you, he’s been sneaking undetected glances for a while now. Your shirt is riding up and there’s a strip of exposed skin across your lower stomach that’s been distracting him for an hour. He thinks you probably feel as soft as you look; he even has a whole scenario in the back his mind about what it would feel like to touch you there for the first time.

You shimmy, pushing a notebook out of the way and he fakes enthrallment, turning an unread page.

This place is starting to give you cabin fever. It doesn’t help that he won’t let you out of his sight, it’s been close quarters for way too long. Every little thing he does is starting annoy you. You’d give anything to pee with the door shut all the way.

“I can’t do this.” Raising your arms straight over your chest, you clap your hands together.

“You aren’t actually doing anything.” His attention flickers up from his book. “I thought you were taking a nap.”

“Sorry, I can’t sit here all day and stay focused. All the mumbo jumbo in these books is running together. I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

“Well, first off you, you’re not sitting. You're lying down. Second, we’re looking for anything related to this place and how we got here. There’s gotta be something, an old wives tale or a bedtime story. We just haven’t found it yet.”

“I am really trying to pull my weight here, but I’m done for today. If I read another word, my brain is going to melt.”

“You haven’t even picked up a book,” Sam snips.

“And I’m not about to. I want to get out of here as bad you do, but I can’t function all cooped up like this. I’m dying here Sam, I’m withering away.” You dramatically, place the back of your hand to your forehead.

Sam rolls his eyes playfully, giving in. “Yeah okay, I could use a break.” He dog ears the page and closes the book. “Wanna take a walk?”

“Yes, God yes.” You roll up enthusiastically, swinging your legs to the ground. “Bet you can’t catch me.”

And you’re off.

Sam grins as you bounce down the steep stairs of the library, eager to be outside in the sun. His eyes settle on your ass, then up to the curve of your hips. His mind wanders for a moment before he pulls it back out of the gutter.

Shadow Hill may be a prison, but it’s a beautiful one.

He follows you, watching you head toward the small park at the center of town. It’s amazing to him that you manage to stay so upbeat despite everything that’s happened. You just wake up morning after morning with a smile on your face, roll up your sleeves, and dig right in. You told him once, months ago, ‘You can be a victim of the situation or you can get to the bottom of it and figure shit out. I’ve never been a victim.’

Sam’s glad that it’s you who ended up here with him, even if you drive him crazy.

It’s mid October. When you two first arrived here, the trees were clothed in green until just a few days ago, then all of a sudden there was a riot of colour. It was as if the season jumped into the park instead of fading in as it usually would and all was that more magnificent for doing so. Upon the soft mud are the acorns - from green to pale brown. The night air is getting colder every evening and soon the days will follow, winter is on it’s way.

Sam smiles as you turn to him, waving for him to join you at the swing set. “I’m too big for this thing, Y/N,” he laughs, trotting over to you.

“I know, but I need someone to push me.” You tease, kicking off the ground, swinging backward. Sam gives you a mighty push and you swing high, making your stomach flutter. A laugh of genuine amusement escapes your lips and he chuckles with you.

“Hold on, the last thing we need is you falling and breaking an arm.”

“I know what I’m doing! I used to be a playground professional back in elementary school.” You pump your legs, trying to go higher. This is what you needed, just a moment to forget about these fucked up circumstances. You both need a little levity.

“Let’s eat at the pub tonight, they have all the stuff for burgers. I’ll cook.”

“It’s a deal.” Sam smiles wide, going in for another push.

Six Months

“So, you’re telling me that werewolves, freaking real-life-howl-at-the-moon, claw-and-fangs, I’ll-eat-your-heart-out, werewolves really exist?” You raise an eyebrow, gesturing wildly with your beer.

You’re wrapped in a heavy blanket, sitting in a lawn chair on the roof of Anderson’s Toy shop, the tallest building in town.

This has become your new favorite place after Sam pulled you up here one night to see if there was better view of the town’s perimeter. He sure as hell found it. It’s getting colder but the view is worth it. Besides, after a few beers the chill fades away.

“Yup, one hundred percent real.” Sam’s face falls a little as he peels at the label on his bottle. Being alone with one person for this long brings out a brutal honesty in each other. “A long time ago I met girl, a woman, She was a werewolf and didn’t even know it. She was a good person and I-I had to fucking shoot her. It was awful.”

You watch him shift in his chair, readjusting his hips. You’re getting to know Sam’s body language pretty well. “You slept with her, huh?”

“I really liked her.” Sam avoids the question, shooting you a nod of his head. His eyes tick in your direction. “That was hard situation. One the of the worst. I’ve had to do a lot of shit I didn’t want to.”

“What about vampires?” You continue on for his sake, moving away from the murder of former lovers.

“Oh yeah, lots of them.” He muses.

“Thirty Days of Night or Edward Cullen vampires?”

“Definitely not Twilight. There’s nothing romantic about them...but they’re not all bad, like anything else I suppose,” he shrugs, shaking hair out of his face.

“This is unbelievable. Vampires are real and Sam Winchester knows who Edward Cullen is.” He glares at you, raising the bottle to his lips.

“I could tell you stories about some of the things Dean and I hunted that would blow your mind. Djinn, shapeshifters, witches….dragons.” He points at you for added effect, clearly enjoying the look on your face.

“Shut up, dragons?” You shake your head as he affirms his statement. “You’re shitting me.”

“I swear,” he chuckles placing a hand symbolically over his heart.

“So, it’s just you and your brother, hunting dragons and banging bar chicks, huh? Sounds like an 80’s movie.”

“I never said anything about bar chicks,” Sam smiles taking a swig of his beer. “It’s a lot of time on the road, shitty motels, bad pizza, heartburn. It’s isolating. You don’t really get the chance to have relationships or friends. But it’s the family business.”

“If it doesn't make you happy, then why do you do it?”

“Because someone has to.” He shrugs. “I tried to quit, more than once, actually. It took me several tries to realize that people die either way. If someone died because I wasn’t there to help, I couldn’t live with that. I have to try.”

You sigh, looking at him with a gentle affection which makes him rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say anything,” you wave your hands in mock defeat.

“You were about to.” He corrects you, grabbing another beer and twisting the cap off.

“Sam, you’re just...a good guy, a really good guy.” The light is fading now with the sun setting, but you can see the blush flourish in his cheeks.

Sam has the kind of face that stops women in their tracks. You guess he must get used to that, the sudden pause in a person's natural expression when they look his way, followed by overcompensating with a nonchalant gaze and a weak smile. It doesn't help that he’s so modest with it; you imagine it made the girls fall for him all the more. Despite all the opportunities that undoubtedly came his way, you get the distinct impression that he’s a man who prizes the subtle details of a person and thoughtful conversation above lipstick and high-heels.

He’s handsome alright, but inside he’s also beautiful.

“Tell me about Jack,” Sam interjects, with a self-satisfied smirk. He knows it’s a topic that gets a rise out of you. There’s something slowly simmering between you and Sam, something neither of you are ready to acknowledge. “Jack, the high school drama teacher...”

“You just love to say that don’t you?” You swat at his arm while shifting in your chair to face him. “Jack is….up front, what you see is what you get. He’s kind and he thinks about other people. He’s a really handsome guy and a great teacher, he cares about the kids. He’s cheesy, he wrote me a poem for our six month anniversary.”

“A renaissance man,” he wiggles his eyebrows.

“I hate poetry,” you admit, laughing to yourself. “But, he was so damn proud of that God-awful poem that I had it framed.” You pause for a minute, recalling the moment. “Jack is a thoughtful guy, but he never took the time to really know me.” You hesitate, your thoughts morphing. “Sam, if I ask you a question, will you be totally honest with me?”

“Of course.” He sets down his bottle, face falling serious.

“Do you think we’re going to get out of here?”

Sam’s brow furrows as his fidgets. Every other time you’ve brought up the topic, he’s replied with a self-assured answer, but now he’s faltering. He sucks in a breath as if he’s getting ready to pull off the band aid, “I don’t know.”

“Me neither,” you mutter, tipping back your drink. “What do you think your brother’s doing right now?”

“Honestly?” Sam rubs the back of his neck. “Either he’s losing his mind trying to find me or he’s given up.” His voice grows quiet.

“I used to go to my parents’ house every Sunday for dinner. I babysat my niece, took her to soccer practice twice a week. It’s been half a year, by this time, us not being there is their new normal. Someone else does all the shit we used to do. I worry that maybe we’ll end up being just a memory.” You kick at the empty glass bottle near your feet.

Sam reaches over, his hand covering yours. He doesn’t say anything because honestly, there’s nothing to say. So, you sit in silence, hand in hand, as the moon rises over the horizon.

Eight Months

It’s at this moment, after the better of a year, that you go over the deep end. You jumped right into this real life mystery with Sam and held your own emotions at bay for the sake of keeping your own sanity, but now that facade is crumbling. You’ve made no progress and the once bright hope of getting out of this place seems less and less certain everyday.

You wake up early. Sam is still sleeping, belly down and open mouthed on the other bed. He’s snoring gently, somewhere deep and seemingly peaceful. You quietly dress, forgoing pants but finding a thick sweater and pair of his clean socks. Sneaking out of the room, you pad down to the lobby, where the ever-present roaring fire is crackling with life as snow falls outside.

The front bay window looking out onto main street reveals the likeness of an unfinished painting; so much of the canvas still perfectly white, as if waiting for the artists hand to return. The morning light struggles through the murky clouds and is losing the battle. The wind howls, piling snow in drifts, glazing the pane with ice-white dust.

Blustery winter mornings like this remind you of your dad and reading books in front of your grandmother’s fireplace. You wonder if you’ll ever see him again, ever hold his hand or hear him call you babygirl.

You have your full breakdown when you realize that you can’t remember Jack’s face. You have a vague idea of what he looks like, but you just can’t fill in the details anymore. They’ve become a silhouette, almost as if they walked out of a photograph and only left behind a black outline. There is an ache that comes and goes, always returning in quiet moments like this. You settle into the armchair closest to the fire, tucking your feet under you.

Your heart breaks. You grieve.

Eyes dripping with tears, your walls, the walls that hold you up and make you strong, simply collapse. Brick by brick, they fall in salty drops fall from your chin, drenching your shirt. Perhaps these tears will help wash the memories out. You press your head into your hands sobbing, crying out as your chest trembles and heaves with raw, painful emotion.

You cry for your mother and father who you know will have gone out of their minds looking for you. Family has always come first, they know you’d never just pick up and disappear by choice. After this long, they will only assume one thing, you’re dead. There’s no other reason for you to vanish without a trace.

Then there’s Jack. You’d been dating a little less than year, but the relationship progressed fast. You’re thirty and he’s a bit a older, old enough to not want to waste any more time. He was so serious about you, perhaps a little more than you wanted. You’re pretty sure he was going to propose and you’re fairly sure that you would have said yes. That was then, and then seems like a lifetime ago.

Now, all these thoughts rip at your insides as you grieve for a life that’s certainly moving on without you.

You don’t hear Sam come down the stairs until he startles you by placing a hand on your leg while dropping down to his knees in front of you. You blink with heavy tears trapped in your lashes. He’s still half asleep, his eyes heavy, hair wild and mussed. His mouth twists in displeasure at your pain.

He doesn't say anything, he just grabs your elbows, pulls you forward, wrapping two strong arms around you. It’s been so long since someone touched you like this. The feeling of his embrace combined with the comforting smell of a man hits you like a narcotic. You melt into him, pressing your nose into his neck while tears continue to fall. You weep, hands clutching at his shirt.

Sam holds you in silence until your despair recedes and your breathing is even and hot at the skin of his neck. His hand are moving in long, slow trails up and down your spine. You feel his touch moving from your back to your side, stroking as his palms catch at the hem of your sweater. His finger accidentally slips under, a simple mistake, just a quick touch of skin on skin that awakens something deeper.

Your breasts are crushed into his chest where you feel his pounding heartbeat. Taking a deep breath you inhale his scent. Your hand slides up his arm and shoulder, stopping to caress the base of his neck before combing your fingers into his hair, sliding over his scalp.

Sam draws a quick breath, pulling his head back just far enough to look up at you. Your raw eyes don’t leave his. He’s so close, you lean forward, your nose pressing into his, lips just a shy moment from connection.

One of his big hands moves from your side, cupping your face as his thumb trails along your jawline, then up, hooking your bottom lip under his finger. You lean in to kiss him and he moves back in tandem, sitting back on his haunches.

“We can’t,” he mutters, closing his eyes momentarily as if he’s trying to reset himself.

You wipe your hands through your hair then over your face, instantly embarrassed. The silly idea that he might want you the way you want him seems ludicrous.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you quip, scampering out of your chair and up the stairs.

“Y/N…” you hear Sam call after you, but you don’t stop.

You bound into the room, stripping quickly before stepping under the shower, where you sit down in the bottom of the tub under an unrelenting stream of hot water. You think about Sam and the way his hands felt on you. Your stomach twists in guilt as you remember how badly you wanted Sam to kiss you, to hold you and...well let’s just say you’ve thought about Sam doing a wide variety of things to you.

You don’t know it, but you’ll look back on this as the moment you let go of the life that came before and move forward, here with Sam.

Sam has dreams about you. Well, actually they’re nightmares.

He dreams you’re gone.

It’s always the same, he wakes up with his heart pounding in his chest, desperate to make sure you’re still there.

In these dreams Sam blinks awake in the dark of a bedroom, reaching for you out of habit. In his version of events, you should be in the bed next to him, sleeping peacefully with your sleep warm cheek pressed into the edge of his pillow, but you’re not. His hands fall on cold sheets.

This is when the panic starts.

He searches what should be the usual places, the bathroom, the lobby, the cafe across the street, but you’re nowhere to be found. He runs from building to building, calling your name. It’s dark and he doesn’t have a flashlight, so he stumbles and trips through the night as the desperation builds.

He finds himself on Miller’s Path, a bike trail that leads out of town, twisting deep in the thick, pine woods. Following the trail under the moonlight, his eyes adjust so that he can run faster...he knows this is the way you came. He can feel you.

He tumbles into a clearing and there you are. You turn to him, as your thin white nightgown billows in the winds, wrapping tight around your body. There’s a ball of white light growing in the air just above your head.

“What’s happening?” Sam asks, his eyes wide. “You shouldn’t be out here, not without me.”

“I’m sorry Sam,” your face falls, “but I’m leaving. They said I can go home, but I have to do it now.”

“But…” Sam stutters. “But, what about me? Can I come with you?”

You shake your head adamantly as if you’re explaining yourself to a child. “No, you have to stay. Only one of us can go and it’s me.”

A surge of confusion and fear rises in Sam, his chest feels too tight and he can’t breathe. He fights back the tears threatening to spill. This can’t be happening, you wouldn’t leave him. “If you go...I’ll be alone.”

“Yes, for a very long time, maybe forever,” you confirm, matter-of-factly.

“Y/N, please don’t leave me here.” He moves toward you and you step back in tandem, closer to the orb.

“I have to go, people are waiting for me.” You reach out toward the light and look back at him.

“Don’t.” He pleads, his arm outstretched. “Stay with me.”

“Why would I?” You shrug emotionless, turning from him and walking into the light.

There’s a blinding flash and when Sam blinks you’re gone and he’s alone in the clearing, in the town, in this place.

Eleven Months, One Week

You’re lying on your back with Sam beside you, sprawled out in the middle of the main street on a scratchy wool blanket. You squint through a handheld telescope, just two crazy kids in the middle of the road, stargazing and drinking scotch from the bottle.

“I think that’s a planet.” You hand him the lense, pointing to the general area of the sky that’s housing a large, orange light.

“Where?” Sam’s mouth falls open as he searches for your spot.

“To the right,” you reach over and push his wrist in the right direction. You’re careful to only touch his sleeve.

There’s been no skin-on-skin contact for a couple of months now, except for when you nearly fell down the steps at the hotel. Sam caught you by your forearm, nearly hissing. He’d shaken his hand as if you’d burned him - you don’t talk about those things. In fact, Sam goes out of his way to avoid acknowledging any of the feelings between you.

“I see it, I don’t think that’s a planet though. Probably just space junk.” He side eyes you, teasing and waiting to see if you’ll take the bait. He drops his shoulders and gives you an ‘I told you so’ face. “We should get some astronomy books from the library, see if we’re even looking at real stars.”

“You don’t think they’re real?” This kind of thought never occurs to you. You’ve reached a certain level of acceptance for this brave new world.

“I don’t know, it’s possible.” Sam sits up on his elbows, taking a swig from the bottle. His tolerance level puts yours to shame, but tonight he’s drunk. He makes a sour face and swallows. Shaking his head, he turns to look down at you, “I wanna ask you a question.”

“I don’t know if I like the sound of this,” you’re only half teasing. “It’s just you and me Winchester. I’m an open book.”

“This scar…” Sam reaches out and runs his fingers over the light scar just under your collarbone. You flinch from the contact, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Touching, or lack thereof is an unspoken rule ever since the almost kiss that created a steady, constant tension. “You rub it when you’re tired. How’d you get it?”

A line appears between your brows as you grimace. He’s delving into uncomfortable territory. He pulls his hand away and right on cue, your fingers replace his. “I, um…”

“You don’t have to tell me.” Sam drops his head bashfully and starts to stand. “It’s none of my business.”

“Sam, sit the fuck down.” You sigh, grabbing his elbow, pulling him back to the ground. He falls unceremoniously beside you with an oompf. “The short version is I dated a guy a while ago, Alex. I thought he was great but I was painfully wrong. We were together for a couple of years but we just...grew apart. I broke up with him and he didn’t take it very well. Actually, that’s being too generous, he went batshit crazy. After a whole series of crazy stalker shit, he broke into my apartment and tried to kill me. This scar is where he stabbed me.”

“Jesus,” Sam mutters, wiping a hand over his face in distress.

“One of the things you don’t know about me, Sam Winchester, is that you’re sitting next to the Willcome County Take Back The Night women’s self defense instructor. I might not be Chuck Norris, but I still broke his nose and kicked him hard enough in the nuts that he had to have surgery.”

Sam winces, involuntarily scrunching up his nose. “Good. You should’ve done more than that.”

“You might be right.” You agree. “It messed me up for a long time. It took the better part a decade to trust anyone like that again.”

“I woulda killed him.” Sam surprises you with that one, he doesn’t even try to hide the disgust in his voice. “I’ll never let anything like that happen to you.”

You roll onto your side, propping your head on a hand. You’ve known him long enough now to understand that Sam needs to protect people, it’s part of his DNA. “I know you wouldn’t.”

“You better.” When he’s been drinking he’s bossy, he likes to have the last word.

“Your turn. I want to ask you about something.” You scoot back up to get a better view of his face.

Sam gulps and looks down at you. “Okay.”

“Sometimes you talk in your sleep. You call out to people. It’s mostly Dean, but sometimes there are other names.”

“Who?” Sam looks back up at the stars, clenching his jaw.

“Sometimes Jess...and every once in a while Amelia.” His upper lip twitches as those names rattle out of your mouth.

“Oh.” Sam shifts onto his side, mirroring your position. “Really?”

“Yeah. Amelia not as much, but when you do say her name it doesn’t sound like it’s a good dream. I wonder about you, about Sam the guy, instead of Sam the hunter.” When he doesn’t answer, you give him an out, “you don’t have to tell me.”

“Y/N, sit the fuck down.” He repeats your earlier words with a sad smile. Despite the heaviness of the topic, he’s thoroughly enjoying the roll reversal. He never misses a chance to poke fun. “They were two very different people.”

Sam pauses and you think he’s struggling for words. In reality he’s wrestling with the idea that he’s had these feelings for three women in his life and he’s about to tell you about the other two.

“I met Jess in college and she was it for me. The moment I saw her, I knew I wanted to be with her. She was smart and beautiful, she saw so much good in me. She believed I could do or be anything and she taught me how to believe in myself. She called me out on my shit. She was a force of nature. In a different world, we would have gotten married and had a couple of kids.”

“What happened?”

“She died.” Sam purses his lips, studying the palm of his hand. “It was brutal, really violent, something no one should ever have to go through. She died because of me, ‘cause she was with me. It took me a long time to forgive myself for that. If I’m honest I don’t know if I ever really have.”

“God, Sam, I’m sorry.” You want to wrap your arms around him, hold him the way he did for you. But you can’t, not yet.

“And Amelia, she was...Dean was gone when I met her. I just wanted to be with someone, to make a connection. I forced something I should have left alone but in the end I left because it was the right thing to do. She wasn’t mixed up in any of this shit. Once you know about this world, you can’t opt out.”

“Did you love her?” You’re feeling bold tonight, but he’s offering answers to questions that have been burning a hole in your brain for months now.

“Yeah, I did.” Sam responds without hesitation, making eye contact with you and never looking away.

“So, what about now? Is there a woman waiting for you back home?”

“Now-” Sam shakes off the sentimentality as he grins at you, tipping back the bottle. He’s done talking and you’re not about to push further. “Now I have you. It’s safe to say at this point I’ve spent more time with you than any other women in my past, including my mom.”

“You know you’re right. I’m just now fully realizing what a lucky guy you are. I am wonderful company.” You take the bottle from him and take a sip, face souring when the burn hits your throat. “I mean, I smell good, I’m hilarious, I can cook, I can put up with the mess you leave in the bathroom every morning.”

“You’re a real gift.” Sam chides. He pats his thighs and looks around as if there could possibly be some new distraction. Nothing is ever new in Shadow Hill. “I’m done for. I have to go to bed before I end up spending the night out here.”

You follow his lead, standing and collecting the blanket.

As you wander back to the hotel, Sam wraps an arm around your shoulder. There’s been more physical contact tonight than you’ve had in months. There’s such a comfort in this closeness, that you lean into his side, soaking up as much as you can.

“What would I do with you?” He chimes, his arm dropping from your shoulder to your waist. He gives you a squeeze and your heart picks up a few beats.

“Crash and burn.”

His whole body tenses up, his arm going limp as he moves away. “Let’s go to bed. I need to sleep.”

One Year

“What’s going on?” At Sam’s request you’ve covered your eyes as he leads you by the hand across mainstreet. The bells rings as he opens the door of Anthony's Italian Cafe.

“You’ll find out, don’t peek. Be careful here, there’s a step.” He guides you through the maze of chair and tables.

“Don’t let me trip.”

“I won’t. Okay, you can take look now.” Sam taps your wrist and you open your eyes.

There’s a table set up by the kitchen, a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers in the center, flanked by dishes filled with wonderful looking foods. “What’s all this?”

“It’s our anniversary. One year in Shadow Hill.” Sam grins hesitantly, trying to gage your reaction. “I figured it could be a sad, dramatic thing or we could celebrate the fact that we made it this far.”

“Sam.” You drag out his name, digesting his words. A year. It’s been a whole year.

“Too much?” He offers when you don’t say anything else.

“No, not at all. It’s exactly what we need.” You let him pull out your chair for you and take a seat. “This is where you’ve been all day?”

“I have to warn you, I’m not the best cook, but I think we have my version of all your favorites here. Mussels, lasagna, caesar salad and garlic bread.” He proudly shows off his spread as you uncork the wine.

“This is very impressive and incredibly thoughtful.” You raise your glass, clinking it to his before taking the inaugural sip. Before the night is done, the two of you will finish three bottles and half a pan of lasagna, despite the taste.

You eat Sam’s bland Italian cooking and tell him how much you like it. By the time you get to dessert, two pieces of cheesecake he liberated from the Sweet Shop, you’re fairly drunk and thoroughly enjoying yourself. Sam’s telling you a story about Dean trying to do laundry that has you in stitches, laughing with honest amusement as he chuckles right along with you.

“I hope I get to meet Dean someday. I’d like to see the man behind these stories. I feel like you’re exaggerating.”

“Trust me, if anything, I’m downplaying it. If we ever get home, he’s the first person I’ll introduce you to.” Sam’s smile fades as he plays with the stem of his wine glass. “I’ve been thinking. I’m not giving up on finding a way out of here. I never will. But we can’t stop living either. I feel more and more like we’re treading water, in a perpetual state of limbo.”

“I know. Our lives remind me a goldfish I had when I was a kid,” you admit. If you’re honest you gave up on any chance of going home a long time ago. “What does that mean for you, to start living? Please tell me it means we can finally move out of the hotel and into one of the houses?”

“We can definitely do that.” Sam chews at his lip, before shifting his eyes to you. “I don’t know why it was the two of us that ended up here. I don’t know if there’s some grand plan or this is just random chaos. The one thing I do know is us. I have...certain feelings for you...and I think you feel the same way...” He looks to you, hoping for a confirmation.

“I do.” You answer softly, setting your glass down as he continues. There’s a nervous pressure pushing at your chest.

“It scares me. It’s just the two of us here and that makes this a tricky situation. If we fuck up what we have, if we try for something more and it doesn’t work out, we're stuck with each whether we like it or not.” Sam finishes his wine and pours himself another glass, avoiding your stare.

“That’s true.” You sit back in your seat trying to deduce where this is going to end up.

“It’s important that you know tonight, this dinner, wasn’t some grand romantic gesture. Tonight was about us as friends, Y/N. I haven’t...” he pauses as his voices shifts up an octave. “I haven’t ever had the chance to just be, to just talk to someone without hiding part of who I am or what I do. You accept every insane thing I tell you. I don’t know if it’s this place or if we’d have this connection outside of Shadow, but I’m thankful for this time with you.”

His voice trails off and you reach across the table, grabbing his forearm, squeezing. “It’s not just Shadow Hill, Sam. No matter what happens, we’re going to take care of each other.” You speak back to him the words he told you that second day, when you were crumbling and terrified. “Whether we’re here or back in the real world, we don’t change. It’s you and me.”

“‘Till the wheels come off.” He finishes.

This story is complete (44k) and available now on Patreon for a pledge of 2.50. >>CLICK HERE<<

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#East of nowhere #series #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #sam winchester fanfic

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angelkurenai · 6 years ago

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Guardian angel - Alexander Calvert x Reader

Title: Guardian angel

Pairing: Alexander Calvert x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3k+

Prompt: Hello I loved reading your dating your co-star Alexander Calvert one-shot. So maybe you could do another one like maybe the reader gets injured (car accident or on set stunt gone wrong) and your bf (Alex) and the Supernatural cast and crew get the news and rush to be by your hospital bed/side? Just something to think about, I just really liked how in Co-Star you could Really tell they were a family and that was great to read about some more, Thanks!:)♥

A/N: I thought of adding an extra touch of fluff at the end and more romance throughout, so here we go!

“My mom... She-” Alexander paused for a second, adding that much-needed small stutter for his character but in realityhe wasn't doing on purpose for Jack, but because he had forgotten his own lines “She said you'd- you'd-” he frowned in deep thought but in the end sighed heavily, burying his face in his hands.

“Cut!” the director yelled “Alright, uh Alex this is totally not working, I really hope you can see it too. Please just gather your thoughts, go through your lines once more, we'll need to go through the entire scene. Everyone else, take five minutes.”

“I'm... sorry.” he ended up mumbling, sighing heavily when he knew nobody, not to mention the very pissed off director, heard him. Truth was everyone was starting to get a little frustrated over his lack of concentration and struggle to remember any of his lines because it had made filming this scene take longer and every scene they had to film be put off. And that just meant more time on work and less time for sleep or time with family which nobody really liked. As if he didn't have enough things to worry about, being the reason to such a problem made it all worse. Because it meant he had to be kept away from you even longer and gosh was that painful.

It was hard for a close couple such as the two of you to be kept apart, let alone during a time he had no news from you.

“Hey” Misha's sympathetic voice made him look up, his own tired eyes meeting his “Don't stress yourself out for this, yeah? You've been the only one besides (Y/n) doing some actual work behind the cameras too, you just need to relax a little.”

“Yeah, no. No, I mean-” he rubbed his tired eyes “It's nto the only thing troubling me. It's that I- I can't concentrate at all, you know? My mind's always on-” he clenched his jaw, his head hanging low “I think I'm going crazy with worry here or I'm probably too paranoid but I- I can't help it because you know (Y/n), and you know us! We- we are sickly sweet, yes, and terribly clingy but it's all because we love each other a-and we've promised each other than even if there's distance between us we won't let it affect us a-and-”

“Whoa whoa! Alex! Hey! Alex, calm down!” it took a second for the younger actor to realize Misha was standing by his side with wide eyes, his hands on his shoulders shaking him to bring him back to reality “Is something wrong with (Y/n)?”

“Shit, sorry Misha. I just-” he dragged a hand down his face, hastily getting up from his seat “I gotta go check my phone for a second and then I'll- I'll be right back and we can practice the scene.”

“I- sure.” Misha only could mumble as he watched the young man rush towards his belongings with such seriousness it made him actually worry, so he couldn't help but follow but keep his distance.

“Hey, Misha!” Jensen whisper-shouted his friend's name, making him turn to look at him.

“Hey, good we found you!” Jared spoke to him as they both approached him “You have a scene with Alex right? I was thinking about this joke if you-”

“I really don't think now's the right time guys.” the blue-eyed man looked at his friends with a clenched jaw, shaking his head.

And their smiles immediately fell when they followed his line of sight and took notice of Alex look in frustration and, it became soon clear, worry at his phone. They shared a look and without needing to say a word they approached him.

“Hey Alex, is everything ok bud?” Jared's voice was low and gentle, worry on his features when he saw the actualdesperation on his face.

“Still no text or call.” his arms hung by his sides before he rubbed his burning eyes.

“No text from who?” Jared blinked as Misha's eyebrows raised in realization.

“(Y/n)” he breathed out, everything falling into place, but his stomach only tying in knots when he saw how desperate “(Y/n) has sent no texts and that's what's been worrying you.”

And it was true. He had not been able to pull a single scene off because he couldn't stop thinking about you and the fact that you had yet to call him back. He tried his hardest to be reasonable, that you were just too busy, but his mind kept coming up with the worst possible scenarios as to what could have possibly happened to you. And that was driving him crazy.

“I've-” Alex tried to swallow over the lump in his throat “I've been trying to reach her for hours now a-and she hasn't sent a single text back. She had the day off but kept busy by running errands but- We've- we've promised each other that no matter how busy our days are that we'll keep in touch one way or another. You guys know us a- and I've already sent countless messages and voicemails! I've tried calling but she hasn't answered and I just know that's not like (Y/n)! She-she never misses my calls and...” he looked around him only for his glossy eyes to widen “It's nighttime.” he breathed out instead “Sh-she didn't let her bodyguard drive her... she took her car.”

“Son of a bitch.” Jensen breathed out with wide eyes “I'll try her home number.” he hastily pulled out his phone.

“I'll call Gen in case they talked today.” Jared said, doing the same just as fast.

“You try calling her, again.” Misha rushed to get his phone as well “I'm gonna call-” but he paused mid-sentence and all four of them mid-movement when Alex's phone lit up and started buzzing.

He looked down, all-too-eagerly, but even the tiniest hint of smile faded from his lips. He felt his throat tighten when he muttered “I- it's an unknown number.”

~*~

“Alex, hold up. You need to calm down first.” Misha's words seemed to fall on deaf ears as the younger man rushed forward and the rest three trailed behind him, worried too but unable to understand the real fear cursing through his veins.

“They said she's in this floor, we need- we need to ask someone. Someone.” the panic was obvious in his words, expression and his frantic moves as he rushed down the long hospital hallway.

The second they got that phone call it felt like his entire world came crumbling down. Seeing an unkown number was scary enough in such a situation, but hearing a woman on the other end hearing they were calling from a hospital made the weight on his chest crush him like an elephant. The older actors had seen the way Alexander's eyes widened, filling more with tears and a choked gasp leaving his lips. He had whispered something hoarsely and it had taken him a some time to gather his thoughts and choked out the truth. It had made all of their hearts fill with panic as well.

You've been a part of the cast for years, even before Alex joined the show – they had actually gotten to know him trough you before he was casted, that you practically grew up with them. You were a family member and there was no denying it. And knowing how everyone in the cast and crew viewed you as that too, they didn't have to say a single word to the director more than what happened before he was cancelling all filming and kicking them out of the set to go find you as fast as possible.

They needed to make sure you were alright and they too knew they shouldn't leave Alex alone. The man was in a shook but as soon as the hard truth set in he was in utter panic and if he got hold of a car then he'd break every driving rule possible before he got to you, and they couldn't afford another accident either.

He paused, looking around with red-rimmed and frantic eyes in search of either a nurse or a doctor. The moment he spotted a reception desk he didn't hesitate to make a run for it as if his life depended on it, blurting “(Y/n) (Y/l/n). Th-they-I got a- a phone call saying sh-she was brought here after an-” a painful lump in his throat prevented him from saying the word “After an accident. We were told we'd find her here, do you know where they have her?”

“Uh miss (Y/l/n)-” she mumbled, typing your name “Yes, she's in the 221B but-” and no sooner had she said the room than the young actor was dashing away to find you, ignoring her calling after him “Sir, no. Please, you can't see her now, there doctor's in there with her.”

The three older men were more calm and able to hear but the words didn't register for them either because their own hearts were hammering painfully inside their chests, faster and harder with every step they took closer to your room. They did notice the the doctor exiting at that very moment but Alex's eyes were fixated on your room and doing anything to get in that he didn't stop until Misha held him back.

“Are you miss (Y/l/n)'s family?” the man asked with a frown.

“I'm- I'm her boyfriend and these are her- her friends. Are you the doctor?” Alex spoke up, his eyes moving back and forth, wide and desperate “Did you see her? Is she alright? Is she hurt? Is she- is she awake? How is she?”

“Alex, calm down.” it was until Jensen spoke in a calmer voice that the younger man realized his voice had raised and his looks probably gave away a man near the edge of breakdown, his hair a mess and his eyes red and glossy.

“She is awake, you don't need to worry sir.” Alex choked on his sigh at the doctor's words, but he was more than thankful “But-” it didn't last long “I cannot tell you for how long this will last. We barely saved her from falling into a coma, she has multiple injures some of which on integral organs and a few broken bones and ribs. It was a serious accident I'm afraid.”

“A-And what does that mean?... For her life?” Alex barely could barely hold back a sob but his fear was very much obvious.

The doctor sighed, making them all hold their breath “The first 24 hours are crucial and she will be kept under strict supervision but we have every reason to be hopeful. She is young and in good health, there are high chances she will be alright. Especially if she has friends and family by her side at this moment.”

Alex gave him a slow nod but it was mostly mechanical because his mind was only on you and his worry couldn't help fear of the worse “A-And-” he started in a hoarse voice “Can we see her now?”

“I wouldn't really-”

“Please” he spoke up before the doctor could finish his sentence “Please, I- I need to see her. She needs to see me. Believe me, it will help her a lot. It- It will make her feel much better.”

“Well, I do suppose that it will help to know she's not alone.” he nodded his head “Alright, but only one can enter now and only for a small amount of time. No more than ten minutes, alright?” he asked and got nods from all of them “You can decide. Have a nice day gentlemen.”

“You too.” was murmured softly by the three men as the fourth and younger one stared at the door while holding his breath. He placed his hand on the doorhandle but didn't move. It didn't take more than an encouraging pat on the shoulder, nod and reassuring smile from his coworkers and friends for him to just push it open.

The first sight that he took in was you, as it usually happened there was always something that drew him to you. Naturally so he could find you even in a crowd of a thousand people, as funny or impossible as that sounded. But this time he really wished he didn't have to, not with all those machines linked to your body; supporting you and practically keeping you alive.

“'Lex?” a weak, small voice caught his attention.

He blinked, his vision still blury from the unshed tears as he made his way towards your bedside “H-hey pumpkin.” his cursed himself in his mind for how shaky it was. He wanted to be strong for you the way you'd been so many times for him.

“You- you're here.” you choked, tears forming in your own eyes and your heart instantly swelling inside your chest when he gathered your one hand in his and pressed kiss all over your fingers and knuckles.

“Of course I am. Didn't you know it already?” he smiled “I'll always find my way to you, that's what guardian angels do.”

“I know, and you have never left my side once.” you nodded your head, smiling despite the tears forming in your own eyes “I'm sorry I- I didn't get to call you first. It happened out of nowhere and I-”

“Hey, hey it's ok. It's all fine, it's not your fault after all.” he cupped your cheek with his one hand, leaning in to kiss your forehead “I've- I've been having a bad feeling about it as well. We're probably the world's most needy and clingy couple, I don't think there is any other way I can describe it, but when you didn't answer my calls I knew something was wrong. So much so that I was starting to piss of the entire crew when I couldn't focus on the scene, I couldn't stop thinking about you.”

“I- I'm so sorry about this, Alex.” you closed your eyes, letting out a shaky sigh “Gosh you must have gotten so worried. And I- I would never want that for you.”

“You're far too perfect... I don't deserve you, (Y/n).” he whispered, pressing another kiss on your temple “How can you think of me right now? Baby, it's all about and getting back up on your feet I don't care about anything else. So- No, no don't apologize about anything, alright? None of this is on you. None of it.”

“B-but I- you had work and I just-”

“How can you seriously think of work at a time like this? You-” he rested his forehead against yours, looking deeply in your eyes “You nearly lost your...” but he couldn't say it “I nearly lost my world, I ain't gonna think about anything else but you. Because I don't care about anything else, you know you are the most important thing in my entire life. I gave up on everything and everyone as soon as I found out and I'm gonna stay here for as long as it takes.”

“No Alex, you can see I'm fine, you shouldn't give up on your work now. You must-”

“I told you it doesn't matter. Besides, I've got a free pass for as long as it takes. Everyone's worried and on edge for you as well, no work is being done as they all are worried about you. They're only waiting to make sure you're alright, you know how much everyone cares about you. Even the boys are outside waiting. And I'm gonna be alright as long as you are. I need you to promise you'll keep fighting for that.”

“Don't worry, you aren't gonna get rid of me that easily.” you grinned, bringing a hand up to run though his hair “Even guardian angels need someone to watch over them too.”

“Accepted... only once you're fully healed, though. And until then... you won't be getting rid of me all the while you're here or once they let you leave. So that means...” he kissed your cheek “You're moving in with me and I won't take no for an answer.”

“No, Alex I can't be a burd-”

“Nope” he shook his head, shushing you with a quick kiss on the lips “You're not a burden. Just consider this... practice, for when you finally move in with me for good, something that's gonna happen soon anyway.”

“I- alright.”

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paulhudd · 6 years ago

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Spindlefreck Book Two: Pt. Four: Ha! Ha! Said the Clown

Odin’s Inn, Brodir, Co. Wicklow; Sunday, May 2nd 1991

Malky gave the big chauffeur a sideways look, crossed his arms, casually leant on the door post and refused to shake the extended hand.

Gorringe wasn’t offended, just mildly surprised. He looked at his unshaken hand and frowned. He ummed & ahhed, looked left and right and spoke hesitantly, rubbing his neck as if about to ask a contention question, “Erm... see, the boss sent me ‘ere wiv a proposition... ‘E instructed me to... that is...” he paused, stepped up so that they were face-to-face and pleaded for relief with beseeching eyes, “Lissen mate, can I use your lavvy? I’ve been on the road fer ovah-an-hour ‘n that last cuppa I ‘ad before I left the ‘ahse is abaht to bust me bladdah!”

It was an old salesman’s ploy and Malky knew it, and the chauffeur knew he knew it, nevertheless he cringed and gritted his teeth, “No messin’ guv - I’m this close to pissin’ me strides!” He seemed genuinely stricken, so after a second or two’s deliberation, Malky decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and stood aside, issuing a caution as he dashed by, “Straight in-and-out, mind. And don’t use the urinals – they’re not plumbed-in yet – use one of the stalls! OK?”

Gorringe already halfway there, “I don’t care if it’s a bucket -- I gotta go!”

Just as the door to the gents closed, Zindy walked through from the kitchen, “Who is it? Sales rep? Reporter?” she asked, wiping her oil-blackened hands with a rag, her elfin face smeared with black smuts. Malky was still at the door, looking out at the darkened windows of the Rolls, “... no, he’s somebody’s chauffeur. You should see the car he’s driving.”

Zindy lifted the waiter hatch and struggled through, “Ooow, I’ve been bent over too long, I’m all stiffened-up!” she groaned, clutching the small of her back with both hands so that her swollen tummy popped out of her denim shirt revealing an oily palm-print on the ivory-white skin of her bump. Malky closed the door, “There’s quite a draught – you can look out through the window.”

“For God’s sake a bit of sea air will do me good!”

Malky tapped her butt, “Aye, because you’re doin’ bloody auto-repairs on the kitchen table and the place stinks to high-heaven of gloss, varnish, engine oil and Swarfega! That child o’ mine must be gettin’ high on the fumes!”

Zindy made yakety-yak signs with her hand and said “I’m trying to save us some money, it’d cost us a bomb to take that van to a mechanic.”

“... because you’ve fallen out with all the local mechanics, haven’t you?” he chided ironically, “There isn’t a garage within a 30-mile-radius who’ll touch it, is there? Anyway, it’s a false economy. It’ll breakdown in the middle of nowhere and you’ll have to ring one of the garages for a tow-truck and the whole shebang will cost us three times as much as it would if we’d gone to a garage in the first place -– that’s not factoring-in the chance of an accident - or you gettin’ stranded high and dry – then whoosh – your waters break!”

“Jeezus Christ! You’re startin’ to scare me!” she cried.

“It’s a possibility -- like what if you breakdown and you fall getting out of the van -- or somebody comes round the corner too fast and hits you or something leaks in the engine and it goes up in a ball of flames...?”

“Why dontcha just swaddle me in bubble-wrap, pack me in polystyrene, stick me in an air-conditioned coffin and feed me through a tube til September! Oh I say, tally-ho, chaps,” she’d seen the stranger’s car, “a Rolls Royce Silver Shadow, no less,” she said, appreciatively, looking out of the window, “who comes to a place like this in a car like that?”

Meanwhile, Brooster was listening at the parlour door, “What’s goin’ on?” a voice whispered behind him, making him jump and almost fall over. It was Sammy, the silver-bearded, blood-spattered ghost of the inn’s elderly barman, crouching behind him with his hands on his knees. Brooster looked him in the eye and asked him with a thought: Why are you creeping about and whispering when only I can see and hear you?

Sammy stood up, stroked his beard and mused aloud, “Aye, I s’pose that’s true... Well then – I’ll just do this!” He walked through the wall, into the occupied cubicle, looked the urinator up-and-down and shouted to the old dog, “It’s a chauffeur. Big bloke. Ex-army – British army – he has a regimental pin. Big dick, if you’re interested in that sort of thing.”

Broo wasn't at all impressed by the resident phantom’s crude behaviour – one of these days the stupid old fool will walk in on a Sensitive and scare the life out of them (actually, that eventuality would be fortuitous – because escape from This Life and Ascent into The Next requires a death within the parameters of the haunting and in the three years since Sammy had been shot and killed by Barry McKee, the only candidate so far had been an elderly deep-sea fisherman suffering with angina and a bad case of hay-fever who died two days later after a particularly violent sneeze –- at home in his own bed. Sammy whined as he opined: “Why couldn't the auld eejit have snuffed-it here?! Some people have no manners at all! At this rate, I’ll have to wait for Malky to croak - and he’s got another ten years in him at least!”).

The chauffeur exited the gents and convened with Zindy and Malky. Zindy was friendly and bright and offered him a cup of tea; Malky was cagey and glum. But that’s Malky. Sammy, reclining on the couch to watch the movie, actually made an insightful comment, “He’s an Englishman and Zindy misses the company of Englishmen. She’ll bend his ear for an hour and then he’ll be off back to whoever he drives for: probably some auld oul’ banker or one of those rich pop stars who've been buying houses over here lately.” He pointed at the remote, “C’mon, turn the sound on. I love the old black and white fillums!”

The old dog was paying him no heed. He was enjoying familiar feelings of excitement and trepidation, that tingle in his pelt that told him the visitor was significant and he should prepare himself for important news. And sure enough, the chauffeur didn’t thank his hosts for the use of the amenities and return to his vehicle, he was taken to the kitchen for a cup of tea and a chat!

Sammy was still harping on, “Dog?! D’ya hear me? Hit the button that turns the sound back on!”

Oblivious, Brooster snuck down the hall, took-up position at the kitchen door and listened.

Sammy shouted from the parlour, “Ach, c’mon, you know I can’t press the buttons...?” Broo ignored him and harkened to the conversation around the kitchen table.

Once Gorringe had completed his ablutions and emerged from the gents refreshed, Zindy introduced herself and took him into the kitchen for a cuppa. They hadn't had much company lately and this was the first Englishman she’d met in ages so she was chatty and vivacious. Malky was characteristically sniffy and suspicious. He wouldn't sit down and slowly paced the floor by the backdoor and let Zindy do all the talking. She began by apologising for the engine parts on the kitchen table, told him to park his arse and have a Mikado. He took a biscuit, but kept well back from the table lest oil, paint or any other petroleum-based-product come into contact with his immaculate whistle, “Is that a Lancashire accent I ‘ear?” he asked, with a wry smile.

Zindy grinned, “Aye - Salford! ‘Ow can you tell?” she said, ironically.

“Heh-heh, two of me best mates is from Salford! Salts of the erf, they is, diamonds to a man. We ‘ad a couple of tours in Cyprus in the late fifties and then they was sent to... umm,” he suddenly stopped talking. He realised he was in the Republic of Ireland talking to a pair of total strangers about old friends serving in an occupying force and quickly changed the subject. He beheld her swollen belly and asked, sheepishly, “Ahem, ‘ow many mumphs ‘ave you got before the big day then, sweet’eart?”

“I’m due in late July or early August,” she replied, she replied, “Just wait til I’m at full-term, I’ll look like a two-legged Space Hopper in a pink-wig!”

Malky lost patience, coughed theatrically, walked forward and put an end to the sparkling repartee, “So, Mr Gorringe, what can we do for you?”

The chauffeur put up a hand and waived the formalities, “Oh, call me ‘Erbie, please, Mr Calvert. Nobody calls me Gorringe ‘cept the boss when ‘e’s in a bad mood. Everybody else calls me ‘Erbie.”

Malky sighed, “Then, what can we do for your boss, H-erbie?”

“Malky! - don’t be so rude!” Zindy snapped.

Herbie shook his head, “Nah, ‘e’s got every right to be wary, sweet’eart. I’m beatin’ arahnd the bush, as it were, I really should explain meself,” his face took on a pained expression of someone who knew that what he was going to say next would either elicit gales of laughter or get him forcibly ejected from the premises forthwith; he carefully set down his teacup, laced his fingers on his lap and spoke without looking at his hosts, “Well, y’see, my boss, see... ‘e’s not a superstitious man by nay-cha but, ‘e’s got it into ‘is ‘ead...” he sighed heavily, looked up at Malky and bit the bullet, “Look – ‘e thinks the ahse ‘as been invaded by ‘a poltergeist’ and ‘e wants a consultation. Y’know, whether you can confirm or deny, that sort of thing.”

Malky’s heart sank. He threw up his hands and whined, “Fer cryin’ out loud! Another crank! A rich crank, but a crank nonetheless!”

[In the aftermath of the Barry McKee case, there had been numerous requests for newspaper interviews, TV documentaries and even a book deal with movie-options that would have set them up for the rest of their lives, but Malky had rejected them all out-of-hand. Zindy was slightly exasperated but mostly impressed by his innate integrity and refusal to exploit his adventures - then sometimes she wished he had his price, just enough to afford a decent refit. But he doggedly kept to his Code and slowly-but-surely, the phone stopped ringing, people stopped arriving at the door and they settled into what was, in Malky’s case, blissful isolation in a place he loved as a child; for Zindy, it represented normality and domesticity, something she needed after years of living in the fast lane.]

She was too taken with their visitor to dismiss the offer out of hand, “Wait til you ‘ear what Herbie ‘as to say before you go on a rant, Mr Sour-Balls!”

Malky leaned against the fridge and crossed his arms, “He can say what he likes but it won’t make a ha’penny’s worth o’ difference. We live by a Code remember?”

“’Code?’” Herbie looked from one to the other.

Zindy harrumphed and rhymed-off Malky’s charter to their bemused visitor, “Malky’s Code: he won’t have anything to do with the supernatural stuff... he won’t have anything to do with the media... he won’t write a book even though he’s been offered a lotta money...”

Malky: “-- and with good reason! Once you make contact -– you let them in! They’ll be writing begging letters, making pilgrimages to our door!”

Herbie, slightly embarrassed that he’d caused trouble in paradise, assured them, “You come very ‘ighly recommended, y’know – by the Gardai commissioner ‘isself, no less...”

Malky’s jaw dropped, “What?!” he gasped.

“Oh gawd, I knew this would be a nightmare...” Herbie muttered under his breath, grimacing like a man tiptoeing through a minefield wearing a blindfold; he elaborated in an apologetic tone, “... a couple o’ weeks ago, the boss was at one of them grand-banquet dos they ‘ave in Dublin City where the top-nobs can ‘obnob -- y’know the sort o’ fing, VIPs, the politicians an’-all-that-lot. Well, the commissioner was seated next to the boss and they got talkin’ about strange cases and your name came up, an’ when ‘e mentioned that Barry McKee business a few years ago, the boss wuz all ears 'n ‘e got the commissioner to get your address...?”

Malky was furious, “The Barry McKee case was as weird as they come, but it wasn't anythin’ to do with the supernatural -- it was to do with the fact that he’s a schizo who liked to kill little girls.”

Herbie raised his eyebrows, “So all that tawk abaht ‘im bein’ possessed is just bollocks?”

“Well, he thought he was possessed, he heard voices...” Zindy was about to elaborate when Malky shot her a what-the-hell-look. She took umbrage, “So what did happen, Malcolm? Why don’t you explain it?”

“You should know -- you were there -– we nearly died!” Malky snapped back.

“Yeah -- but who ‘elped us?! ‘Ow did the dog find them bodies in the woods? Who told 'im where to go?!”

Sensing trouble in paradise, Herbie reached into his inside-pocket and took out a large brown leather wallet, “Look, I tell you wot, if it makes it any easier,” he pulled out a folded slip of paper and set it on the table so that it stood like a little greetings-card, “the boss gimme this blank cheque ‘n awforised me to offer ya 7 grand to come up to the ‘ahse and ‘ave-a-butcher’s. If you can get rid of the spook, he’ll give you anovver free grand. That’s 10 grand! More, if ‘e’s really pleased! ‘Is pockets are deep, believe me.”

“Something strange in your neighbourhood? Who you gonna call...?” Malky sang.

“I don’t think even the Ghostbusters would get 10 grand for one night’s work?!” gasped Zindy, £-signs in her eyes.

Heartened that the hostess seemed keen, Herbie went for the hard-sell, “7 grand just to ‘ave a shufti, 10 grand if you get rid of it. What would money like that mean to you two?” he said, looking at Zindy’s bump.

Malky saw his better-half look around the kitchen, read her mind and reminded her with a wagging finger, “Don’t start...!”

Zindy wagged straight back, “The Code of Silence made sense in the beginnin’ when we wuz inundated with whackos, weirdoes ‘n’ wankers of every stripe – before we ‘ad money trouble and baby on t’way!”

Malky pointed and laughed sardonically, “Did you just say that? Who the hell are you?!”

The chauffeur turned to Malky and spoke softly, “Lissen Mr C -- I fink the old man’s barkin’ up the wrong tree too, but ‘e’s at his wit’s end – ‘e finks there’s an ‘evil spirit’ out to get ‘im! Now, I ain't seen anythin’ myself, just the aftermaff - but ‘e says fings fly across the room, y’know, ornaments ‘itting the wall, books falling from shelves, that sort of fing. E’s afraid to go rahnd the ‘ouse on ‘is own. If it goes on for much longer, ‘e’s likely to ‘ave a stroke or ‘eart attack, the poor old git.”

“Who is 'e?” Zindy and Malky asked, in perfect harmony.

Herbie paused for a second then said: “Oliver Laphen.”

“Ollie Laphen?! ‘The Quare Geg’?!” cried Malky; amazed and delighted, he duly eschewed his standoffishness, pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

“The old movie star? The hellraiser?” asked Zindy, only slightly impressed.

“Yip, that Ollie Laphen,” said Herbie, sheepishly, as if confessing a cardinal sin.

“My God. Ollie Laphen! That takes me back a-ways...” Malky enthused, whimsically, looking up, as if viewing the memory in a thought balloon hovering just above his head, “...in Belfast in the late 50s when me ‘n me younger brother Dessie were kids, we used to see his films at the Roy Rogers’ Movie Club at the Curzon on Saturday mornings and we loved the ‘Laffin Boy’ shorts he made in the early 30s when he was still called ‘Ollie Laffin’. Jeez, we must’ve seen them all at least 10 times each...!”

Zindy left Malky to wander down Memory Lane and got down to business, “And ‘’e’s willing to pay Malky 7 grand just to look round ‘is ‘aunted ‘ouse?!”

Herbie smiled and nodded.

Although mightily tempted, Malky still wasn't moved, “Nah – it smacks of exploitation. I’m not goin’ to take advantage of an old man who’s probably in the primary stages of senility... Oh, sorry, Herbie...”

The chauffeur shrugged and nodded, “You’re singin’ to the choir guv. That’s what us lot reckoned, too - but in every ovver respect he’s fine. ‘E’s cantankerous and narky like ‘e always is, but ‘is memory’s fine - e’s workin’ on a one-man-show and ‘e don’t even ‘ave to look at the book. ‘E reads all ‘is contracts – even the small print - ‘e writes ‘is memoirs... If it is senility, then this poltergeist fing is the only symptom.” He winked, “Tell-you-wot -- why dontcha meet ‘im ‘n’ see for y’self.”

Malky had to smile. It was like being coerced by an aging Artful Dodger. He now knew how the big chauffeur had kept a job for so many years: Herbert Gorringe has made a career out of getting the boss exactly what he wants, by hook or by crook.

“Lissen, if you fink it’s all a loada ol’ cobblahs, you can tell ‘im so - take the money - and I’ll drive you ‘ome. No ‘assle. No one will ever know. Mr Laphen certainly won’t be tellin’. You know ‘ow much ‘e ‘ates the press.”

Zindy looked at Malky and batted her eyelids, “No one will ever know and you’ll have a great story to tell our kids.”

“Oh – you’re not coming?” said Malky, with a raised eyebrow.

Zindy indicated the engine parts on the table, “No time, lover –- we need the van back on the road by mornin’ cos I ‘ave to go to Arklow and pick-up the grocery order and fetch more paint from the DIY store. Incidentally, I’ll be ‘using’ t’credit card - you know the one I mean -– the one we owe £3,400 on?”

“My God woman, have you no shame?!” said Malky, semi-seriously, shaking his head with exasperation.

Herbie held up the cheque and flicked it with a finger, “A lotta lolly for a few hours’ work, my friends.”

“C’mon, Malk. Like ‘Erbie says, the ol' boy’s loaded and it’s only one night...?”

Malky stared at his paint-spattered hands and had a rethink: you’ll to get away from the smell of varnish and gloss, meet the great Ollie Laphen and have a look round his house... “Well... I suppose one night wouldn't be so bad... ?”

Deal sealed, Herbie sighed with relief, got to his feet and shook Malky’s hand. Malky looked at Zindy and shook his head, “You know you’ll never hear the end of this, dontcha?”

Zindy grinned, “Careful Ollie Laphen’s poltergeist don’t drop summat ‘eavy on yer ‘ead, chook!”

Malky held his sides and pretended to cry tears of laughter.

“Oh yeah - one other fing,” said Herbie, looking around, “The commissioner-bloke told us that you usually work wiv a free-legged German shepherd...?”

Right on cue, the beast in question nosed the door open and sauntered into the room, someone call?

[Broo and Malky had a semi-telepathic link; they couldn't communicate directly, but over the years following the Barry McKee saga, they’d developed an intuitive sense of what the other was thinking.]

Malky glared, you heard all that didn’t you?

The old dog grunted, I can hear the rats building a nest three-doors-down, you twit - of course I heard. And I must say, it’s about time we had a case...

“It’ll be a bit of a lark, won’t it?” chirped Zindy, putting Malky’s toothbrush and shaving kit into his overnight bag. She gave the once over and shook her head, “you’re a walkin’ disaster. Things wrinkled as soon as you put them on.” She lifted the comb and tried to do something with his hair.

Her other-half still hadn't warmed to the idea, “Lark? It’ll be no laughing matter for me, wandering around some creaky, chilly stately-home all night with that grumpy hound at me heel.”

Broo growled back.

She stooped slightly and pointed the comb at the old dog, “Now listen – Broo – you be patient w’ ‘im and remember that ‘e ‘ates all this kinda spooky stuff,” she turned back to her man, “and Mal, you remember that Broo is old and crotchety and prone to snarkiness.”

How dare you madam! I’ll have you know my intellectual capacity is at its peak! The father of your child is the one with questionable mental faculties, not me!

Standing on tiptoe, Zindy cupped Malky’s cheeks and gave him one of her pep-talks, “Listen, chook... take a look round, if you don’t find anythin’ or it looks like a set up, or it don’t feel right -- whatever -- I’ll understand if you don’t take the money, OK?”

Malky was confused, “Then why....?”

She put a finger on his lips, “I’d appreciate a little time on me own, OK? Nothing sinister, just some time to meself. We've been in each other’s pockets day-and-night for 2 year now, so tonight -- for one night only -- I’m gonna finish workin’ on the soddin’ van, ‘ave a bath, write a coupla letters and get an early night. Meanwhile, you get to spend the night in a luxurious mansion in the company of yer boyhood hero.”

She wants a break from you, and who can blame her.

Malky shot the dog a reproachful glance, then smiled when he turned back to his better-half, “You don’t need to explain, Zin. You've got what’s commonly known as Calvert Fatigue.”

She pushed him out onto the landing, “Now fook off. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Broo surveyed the stray cats lined long the parapet of the old burned-out cinema. They had gathered to watch the Rolls roll by, just like they had at the time of the McKee affair: further confirmation, to him at least, that this journey was significant. He resolved to pay attention to every detail and use all his powers... to get to the bottom... of (yawn)... whatever....zzzzzzz He was asleep within 10 minutes. Malky looked over his shoulder and scowled. Lazy sod.

Herbie took the scenic route and drove slowly. The hedgerows bustled-by lackadaisically, the dry-stone-walls refused to become a grey-white blur as £400,000 worth of Rolls Royce shook ‘n’ shimmied along bumpy country lanes and pot-holey side-roads at a leisurely 32mph. He was enjoying the view of the misty Wicklow mountains, and despite the nip in the breeze and the baleful skies, he wound down his window and leaned out to take the air -- which reeked of compost and slurry, but which was entirely to his taste -- “Aaaaah! Smell that?! Laaave this cahntryside, I do! Y’know, at least once a day, I stop what I’m doin’ ‘n give fanks that we landed back ‘ere and not blahdy Swizzer-land. Swizzer-land,” he sneered. “I ‘ate blahdy Swizzer-land. The boss wuz a tax-exile for a while y’see...” He went on to list the many shortcomings of the Swiss in his bouncy cockney twang. Malky repressed the overwhelming urge to shout for Christ’s sake shut-up and step on it! and tuned him out. There he was, on his way to do something he didn’t want to do for people he didn’t want to know in a place he didn’t want to be, and the longer it took to get there the more the prospect bothered him. Bloody cheek, that Gardai Commissioner handing my name & number out to all-and-sundry – I should sue! ... Bloody hocus-pocus and hoodoo-voodoo... but as usual, money talks and principles go out the window... money, money, money... she’ll be setting up a Supernatural Detective Agency next... She’ll be advertising it in the paper...

Seemingly oblivious to the ennui emanating from the fidgety heap of grumpiness beside him, Herbie continued to natter away about getting acclimatised to the snail’s-pace of pastoral Irish life after so many years spent in the fraught, hustle-&-bustle of Hollywood: “They’re as nice-as-ninepence to ya just so long as yer putting bums on seats and bags of lolly in the bank – if not - they’ll drop ya like ‘ot potatah! Fankfully, the boss is always bankable – you put ‘is name on a marquee and you’s guaranteed a profit! ‘E still ‘as a core fanbase of millions who’ll come to everyfink ‘e’s in!”

Malky grunted a hollow, listless “Oh really?”

Unfazed, Herbie whispered in Malky’s ear: “Lissen, mate, if you wanna take the edge-off - ‘ave a drop of Irish. The boss keeps a flask in the glove-compartment for emergencies.”

Malky was caught off-guard and answered in an embarrassed stutter, “Er, no thanks, I don’t drink...”

“‘Recovering alcoholic’, are ya?” Herbie asked.

Although wholly nonplussed by the man’s audacity, Malky replied without raising his voice, “Let’s just say I had a problem at one time and leave it at that, shall we?”

But Herbie continued to pry, “Don’t take this the wrong way, pal, but you have the look of a man who’s no stranger to --”

“Oi! Enough!” Malky barked (Brooster woke up with a start), “Keep yer eyes on the road, Jeeves! Just cuz yer boss is willin’ to pay 7 grand for my services doesn’t give ye the right to dig into me personal life!”

Herbie was visibly taken aback by this unexpected tirade; he pulled down the peak of his cap so that it covered his eyes, straightened up in his seat, took the car up to a steady 40, and after a brief pause, spoke in a more professional tone, “I wuz only makin’ conversation, sir. If I’ve offended you in any way, I ‘umbly apologise and beg yer pardon, sir.”

“Forget it.” Malky turned away and looked out of the window.

A minute or two passed, and as the little surge of adrenalin dissipated, so the embarrassment sank in and he decided to restart the conversation, “Did I hear you tell Zindy you were in the army?”

Still somewhat narked, the chauffeur kept his eyes on the road and gave his name rank and number with the clipped diction of a well-drilled soldier, “Queen’s Royal Irish Fusiliers, 17 years: Corporal Herbert Valentino Gorringe 2063 reporting for duty, sah.”

Malky smiled, “Valentino?”

Herbie made a face, “It was that or Rudolph. My ol’ mum was a big fan. She was in-con-sole-able when ‘e died, grieved fer days, apparently.”

Where was another protracted pause, until Malky said, “I used to meet a lot of Tommies in Belfast in the early days of the Troubles. Seen a good few murdered, too. Bad times.”

The chauffeur turned slightly so that he could look Malky in the eye, “You wasn't chucking the ol’ Molotovs, was ya? You ain’t an ex-IRA man or anyfink like that, ‘is ya?!” Au contraire. Malky told him he was an ex-RUC policeman. Herbie was very interested, visibly relieved and wholly amazed, “Really? If you don’t mind me saying so - you don’t strike me as the type...?”

“My ambition was to be a detective, but I never made it out of uniform. I quit after my partner was gunned down right beside me and I went off the rails a bit and... Well, y’know...” Malky’s voice trailed off.

Herbie shook his head, “Gunned down right beside you? That’s rough that is.”

“But surely you’ve had near-death experiences yourself, Herbie, especially after 17 years in the army...?”

“Well, I wuz too young to serve in the war. I turned 17 the day after VE day. I didn’t join-up til the September of 46. And I never did no tour of duty in Norvern Ireland neevah, I was mostly overseas in Cyprus and the Middle East. We was part of a UN peace-keeping force tryin’ to keep the tribes apart: Jews, Muslims, Christians – not to mention the Greeks and the Turks! Bit like Belfast, but wiv loadsa sun, sand and bearded blokes in pyjamas wiv machine guns. Mind you, I saw the aftermaff of a lotta bombs, I saw fousands killed in genocides... terrible, ‘orrible it was... But I never really saw battle, just ‘minor skirmishes’. Luck, I suppose. It was during a tour of Norf Africa in 64 when I first met the boss!”

“Really,” asked Malky, suddenly interested, “you met oul’ Ollie while you were still in the army? You've been with him that long?”

Herbie was back on his favourite subject and relishing the opportunity to impart his favourite anecdote to a captive audience: “Oh yeah, it was me firtiefth birthday and I was on a day’s leave, so me and a couple of the lads went to Casablanca to paint the tahn several shades of crimson... and after a bit of a pub crawl rahnd the Kasbahs, I got separated from me mates, and while I was lookin’ fer ‘em, I strolls into this dark little tavern and sittin’ there in a corner was Oliver Laphen! Would you Adam ‘n’ Eve it?! ‘E was supposed to shootin’ an adventure movie wiv David Niven about archaeologists in World War Two called Diamonds in the Dust –- but he was skivin’-off cuz he’d ‘ad a row with the director and ‘e was layin’-low -- he didn’t wanna ‘ang round the ‘otel, so ‘e’s ‘iding-out in this dark little Kasbah, trying to be inconspicuous – wearin’ a black wig, big black shades, a kaftan and a fez - but I knew ‘im the minute I set eyes on ‘im! See, our CO was a big fan. He ‘ad all the reels of the comic shawts from the late 30s and some of the feature films the boss made for Paramahnt in the 40s – he used to get ‘em sent ovah and screen ‘em for the lads on a Satur’ay night! Anyway - there ‘e is, in the flesh, so-to-speak! Oliver Laphen! Jolly Ollie! So I go over an’ I say, ‘Can I ‘ave your autograwph Mr Laphen, sah?’ and at first ‘e‘s fumin’ – ‘e goes-off-on-one! Then ‘e calms dahn and says to me – ‘’ow the eff did you know it was me?!’ and I say ‘It’s the way you’re ‘olding your drink!’ Cuz ‘e’s always had this way of curling back ‘is little finger as if ‘e’s drinkin’ from the finest choy-nah. E ‘as these delicate li’l ‘ands, see...”

As he watched the chauffeur get more-and-more animated, Malky came to understand how a sensible, seemingly-well-balanced ex-squaddie like Herbert Valentino Gorringe could forsake marriage, family and blissful conformity just to spend his life at the beck-and-call of -- if popular opinion had it right -- a detestable, despotic, volatile, cranky little egomaniac like Oliver Laphen. Well, now he knew. Herbie wasn't just a fan – he was in love with the man. The pair’s long-term relationship had outlasted all of ‘The Quare Geg’s’ marriages put together. No wonder the story was related with such gusto and attention to detail, it was, after all, an epic romance.

“.... any’ow, at 400 hours, I ‘ad to get back to base, but before I go ‘e takes me to one side an’ ‘e says – ‘’Erbie, if you quit the army ‘n become my chauffeur and personal bodyguard, I’ll guarantee you a 50 knicker a week for starters, bed-‘n’-board - all the skirt you can ‘andle – plus -- you’ll get to see the world without ‘avin’ to worry abaht gettin’ yer ‘ead blown orf!’ So I laugh ‘n’ say I’ll fink about it. I fanked him for the best night of my life and we say ta-ra. I go back to camp finking it wuz all the blustah and idle boasts of a booze-‘ahnd and forgot abaht it. But it didn’t stop ‘im. When ‘e asked for the fird and final time, I quit and I’ve been at ‘is beck-‘n’-call ever since.”

“Was it worth it, Herbie?” Malky asked.

The chauffeur thought long and hard about the question before answering. When he did, his voice was more mature and thoughtful, “E can be an ‘andful sometimes, but artistic people is prone to temperament, it’s ‘ow they’s able to do the fings they do. But I’ve learned ‘ow to balance it aht. I’ve been all over the world, visited all the major cities ‘n’ ‘istorical places... I’ve met a lotta Very Important People – besides movie stars an’ showbiz folk, there’s been world leaders, presidents, kings and queens, writers, top sportsmen – so whenever people awsk ‘’ow do you put up wiv ‘im?’ I say ‘take a look at me passport, me photos and me bank accahnt, moosh - there’s ‘ow!’” He turned to Malky and told him earnestly, “See, I’ve gotta lotta great memories. I’ve seen ‘istory bein’ made. I’ve supped Earl Grey wiv Picasso and knocked back bourbon wiv Dean ‘n’ Frank. I’ve made an omelette fer Einstein an’ cocktails for Noel Coward. I’ve played cards wiv Kate Hepburn for two straight days - and lost. No matter what the ol’ boy gets up to, I wouldn't trade those memories for the world.... Umm...” Something crossed his mind. When he spoke again, it was in a more tentative tone, “Look, before we get to the ‘ahse, I’d better mention the incident on Friday night wot started ‘im off.”

“Why? What happened on Friday night?” asked Malky, a little disconcerted.

“I was away visitin’ a lady-friend in Dublin, an’ apparently all the lights went aht and the ‘uge grandfavver clock in the lobby fell over and smashed on the floor -– the boss was frightened outta his wits -- fought it was burglars – so ‘e pressed one of the panic buttons and Charlie, our ‘ead of security, drove up to the ’ahse right away. But the power-cut musta shorted-aht the alarm system cuz ‘is swipe-card wouldn't work and the master key wouldn't turn in the lock! So, finkin’ ‘e’s under siege, the ol’ man pressed the button that calls the Old Bill, but by the time they got there, Charlie ‘ad managed to get in ‘n’ calm the old man down. Then the lights come on again – not just the lights that wuz on when the power went aht – but every single light in the ‘ole ahse including the bedrooms, bathrooms, the ballroom -- everywhere. By this stage, the boss is goin’ mental. Really, really scared.

“When I got back I got a right bollockin’ as if it was all my fault – like I ‘ad the temerity to ‘ave a night off! Any'ow, me ‘n’ Charlie searched that ahse from top to bottom; the cops ‘n’ the security lads looked round the grounds, but we come up empty... there wuz nothin’ up iv the fuse-box, no sign of tamperin’ or anyfink dodgy.”

“Would the grandfather clock be easy to topple?” said Malky.

“Well, it’s set into the wall ‘n’ it’s solid, antique Bavarian pine, 9 foot tall wiv a ruddy great bell in it; it’s got a solid gold pendulum and it weighs around a two-and-an-‘alf ton, I couldn’t pull it dahn on me own.” Gorringe coughed then said, “And that’s the ovver fing... the boss’ been back on the bottle ever since, and if you know anyfink about the boss, you’ll know that ‘e’s a bit... volatile when ‘e’s on the sawse. So, ignore any strange behaviour, if y’know what I mean.”

Malky was a trifle miffed at being apprised of these tidings so late in the day; he was about to ask if there was anything else he should know when Herbie suddenly brightened and declared, “And ‘ere we are, my beauties! My little ‘ome-from-‘ome!”

Herbie slowed the limo to a funereal crawl as they entered a particularly picturesque little village, “Ahhh, ‘ave you ever been a little place like this before?” he asked, with a little smirk that hinted at a rhetorical question.

Malky honestly confessed, “No. I’m sure I’d remember if I had.”

“You wouldn’t ‘ave. This ‘ere is a protected community, see. Only a few people know about it.”

It was beautiful, rows of whitewashed thatched cottages with black gloss doors, all flowers beds and hanging baskets with a little square with a little roundabout in the centre, bedecked with a floral clock depicting the flag of St George (?); aside from the copious vegetation, there was very little sign of life and almost no sign of the 20th century. “What’s it called?”

“Bogmire. Pretty lousy name for such a laavly little ‘amlet, innit?”

If it wasn't for the faded & peeling Coca Cola sign stuck to the inside of the window of the post office-cum-newsagent and an old bicycle leaning against the bench outside a ramshackle little country pub (the Black Water Rat), they could be back in Tudor England. Malky made appreciative noises.

“It’s like a little oasis from bygone days, innit? You feel as if you’ve slipped frew a time-warp – eh?! But the funny thing is – it ain't Irish! See, most of the people ‘oo live ‘ere are descended from English peasant stock! Most of ‘em is originally from the wilds o’ Cornwall! The Duke of Roxborough brought ‘em ovah to build Pagham ‘Ahse ‘n ‘e built these ‘ere cottages for ‘em – and believe it or not, they lasted through the rebellion cos of a pact between the Irish rebels and the Roxborough family ‘n they’ve been ‘ere ever since. When ‘e bought the ahse the only proviso wuz that we keep the staff and let the Supplicants – that’s their religion, that is – live ‘n’ work on the estate.” Herbie went on to tell of the locals’ strange customs and bizarre lifestyle in a disbelieving tone, “... and they've been doin’ it fer 200 years straight!”

Malky looked around, “And this is all part of the estate?”

“Yep, it came with the ahse!”

This didn’t surprise Malky one bit. For an Irish ex-pat, the old man wasn't renowned for his patriotism; in fact, he was a close friend of Princess Margaret and during the height of the Troubles in the 70s he was renowned for making disparaging noises about the Republican movement in Ireland from the safety of his Bel Air mansion (when Lord Mountbatten was murdered by the IRA he told a NBC TV news reporter that the terrorists in question were ‘like a bunch of weasels attacking a lion’ and that Britain should ‘string ‘em up’), he was frequent visitor to the Whitehouse when the Republicans were in office, and was often mooted to be an anonymous sponsor of various right-of-centre US politicos -- he backed Nixon over Kennedy, was close to Ronnie Reagan since his days as chairman of Screen Actors Guild, and was a frequent house guest of George Bush senior -- all of which made him a potential target for disgruntled boyos on both sides of the pond. It made sense that he’d want to live out his twilight years in a little slice of England transplanted into the heart of the Irish countryside, it suited his style: contrary to the end.

Herbie pulled-up outside a dainty little general store called The Peppermint Poke. The window was full of candy jars and pastries neatly arranged on little lacy paper doilies, “Dora oo runs the Poke is an Outsider, meanin’ she’s married to one of the Supplicants so she’s allowed to run a shop. None of ‘em is allowed to ‘ave a shop or make profit from their work, so the outsiders tend to do them fings, like business transactions and that. The local garda sergeant is an outsider, too -- he lives in that li’l cottage ovah there.” he pointed to one of the gleaming residences across the square...” Herbie opened the door, “I’m just gonna go in and get the Sunday papers ‘n’ a tube of Polos... I’ll only be a sec.”

Malky wound down his window to inhale the compliment of delicious odours to accompany the view: flowers, mown lawns and more flowers, “very restful. Then he heard a rumble outside the car -- a motorcycle had pulled up alongside and its rider, wearing a helmet with a dark visor, was looking through the driver’s-side-window. What’s this? Malky shrank back in his seat....The rider casually unzipped his black leather jacket and reached inside – for a second Malky flinched -- but instead of a weapon, he produced a video camera. Malky knew a maverick paparazzo when he saw one and immediately flew into a rage – he lunged out of the open widow, shook his fist and yelled, “Piss-off ya bastard! Get that f**kin’ thing outta my face or I’ll put my foot in yer arse!”

The shouting roused Broo from his slumbers. He saw the motorcyclist, heard Malky screaming and instinctively barked loudly and forcefully -- until he sensed that the stranger posed no threat and Malky appeared to be overreacting. He stopped barking, gave himself a shake and tried to get his bearings. The cameraman was quite small, dressed in biker’s leathers like Zindy’s biker chums, but these were more expensive and unsullied by general wear-&-tear. Then, as the bleariness subsided and his eyes refocused, Broo saw something that both startled and alarmed him. At first he thought it was the motorcycle’s exhaust fumes, then he realised the figure was shrouded in what he could only describe as a purplish-halo -- whatever it was, it was unlike any aura he’d ever seen before.

Malky was fit to be tied, “I’m not gonna tell you again, friend! If you don’t fuck aff immediately I’m gonna come out there and stick that camera where the sun don’t shine!!”

“That’s a take!” The biker cried, packing away his camera, “Thank you sir! Have a nice day!” he said and roared off, leaving a cloud of blue smoke in his wake. “Bloody paps – see – this is what happens when you do somebody a favour,” grumbled Malky.

Broo was still drinking in the atmosphere and looking for anomalies. Having been in places like this all over Ireland, the old dog had noted that each dainty village and township they visited had its own peculiar little ripples of the past shining through the present. On his travels he’d heard the echoes of ancient battles in the silence of the first light of dawn; he’d seen the children of ancient tribes playing on a busy motorway at noon; he’d seen 16th century Spanish galleons off the coast at Cork -– but Bogmire was a spiritual desert: there was absolutely nothing to sense or feel beyond the here and now. It was clearly old, spotless and brightly painted, but utterly devoid of soul. And that smell... beneath the floral scents and peat smoke, lay an ever-present stench that marred the otherwise wholesomeness of the place. Even for a dog that usually salivated at the stink of putrid flesh, it was hard to stomach. Most unusual...

Just then they heard the little tinkle of a bell and Herbie emerged from the shop with a bundle of newspapers under his arm and a Polo mint in his cheek; he got back in and offered one to Malky, “Did I ‘ear a mo’orbike?” he asked, “I was chattin' to Dora and I could've swawn I ‘eard a rumblin’ sahnd...?”

“Just a guy askin’ for directions,” said Malky, “so I told him where to go...”

At that very moment, 3000 miles away, in the kitchen of a townhouse in North York, Toronto, Canada, the man of the house appeared in the kitchen doorway, barefoot in his pyjama bottoms, unshaven, hands deep in the pockets of his bedraggled dressing gown.

“Emil! What the f**k?! Go get dressed – we’re late as it is!” shouted Fran, ever the fiery redhead, dressed to the nines in her Sunday-best, rifling through her purse in search of her car keys, “I told you to get ready an hour ago!” They were supposed to be going to her niece’s christening and they were running 10 minutes late. She looked under the cushions in the lounge; she looked in and under the couch; she checked every pocket in the coat rack. “Where the f**k are they?!!”

Emil watched her, his arms hanging by his sides, and said, “I’m not going. I have the shits.”

Did I just say that? What the f**k?!

Fran, currently poking through the trash in the pedal-bin with the salad-tongs, threw her head back and mocked him in an ironic voice, “Hah! I knew it! Mom warned me – ‘he won’t go – he doesn’t even own a suit’! Well, it suits me – I don’t have to watch you get drunk and throw up in the swimming pool or make a pass at a waitress... Owww-ouch!” she’d cut her knuckle on the edge of a jagged tuna can, “F**k this!” she kicked the bin and ran to the sink to rinse it, screaming, “F**K! F**K! WHERE THE F**K ARE MY F**KING KEYS!!”

He knew exactly where they were. They were in his pocket. He was holding them in the palm of his hand; but for some strange reason he didn’t hand them over. It wasn't that he didn’t want to, it was because he couldn't. And no matter how hard he tried to communicate, his body wouldn't respond; he let her go on searching and said nothing.

She went to the knick-knack drawer in the welsh-dresser, rummaged around in the back and eventually emerged triumphant, “Ah - hah! The spare! I knew I’d put it somewhere!!” She had one last look in the mirror to check her mascara and top-up her lip gloss, “... If you go out make sure you turn on the alarm.... and if you go back to bed - don’t f**king smoke! That’s a new quilt and I don’t want it looking like somebody’s used it for target practice!” She strode down the hall to the front door; a few seconds later she came stomping back, madder than ever “You f**king asshole! You've done it again!! You've boxed me in! I can’t get my car out!”

Emil remained silent.

“Emil!” She approached him and looked up into his dull, blue eyes, “EMIL! You have to move your car! Are you listening to me?!

He stood and stared.

“Emil!”

“See you later, legislator,” he said, without smiling. It was a catchphrase he used when they said goodbye on the doorstep in those early days when they first moved in together; but here & now it just sounded weird. She gave him a sideways look, “Are you stoned?”

“Take my car.” He dangled his keys on his pinkie.

She grimaced at the smell of his breath, glowered and said, “Listen... I don’t know what the hell you’re on or what you are trying to pull, but my mother will be frothing at the mouth -– I was supposed to pick her 15 minutes ago -– this is a crisis!”

He dangled his keys.

She drew herself up and bawled in his face, “GET OUT THERE AND MOVE YOUR F**KING CAR!”

He jangled his keys.

She slammed her key down on the table and snatched his in one frighteningly limber move, “RIGHT! – I’m calling your bluff, asshole – I’m taking your beloved Porsche! You can take my Volvo -- I wonder what all those cutesy little students of yours will think when they see the delectable Dr Labatt driving through campus in a busted-up soccer-mom-mobile?!”

Emil stared back, unblinking and blank, and said, “I’ll miss you, Fran. You’re alright.”

“F**k you, asshole!” She thrust the finger in his face and stormed out.

The slamming door was the last thing Emil heard before the darkness descended...

A few miles from Bogmire, along a road that was little more than a narrow lane, they arrived at a long, narrow lane lined on one side by yew trees concealing a tall, ivy-covered, red-brick wall that contained the entrance to Pagham House (or Paggum Ahse, as Herbie called it, making it sound like a particularly nasty proctological affliction), the stately-home of Oliver Laphen. Herbie reached into the inside pocket of his tunic and produced a small remote-control which he used to open a pair of inconspicuous but heavily fortified, solid iron gates, “As you can imagine, the boss is fanatical about security,” he pointed to the CCTV cameras perched atop the pillars either side of the gate, “this place ‘as got more cameras than Fort Knox.”

Inside of course, it was different story entirely: acres of well-tended lawns as smooth as billiard-table-baizes; vast flower beds moistened by a huge sprinkler system; topiary styled to resemble the figures in the Ascent of Man leading to the entrance of an extensive privet-maze; an enormous, ornate white-marble fountain with alabaster cherubs pissing into the air. It was all very tastefully ostentatious.

Like most of the world, his knowledge of Oliver Laphen was based on sensational gossip-columns he’d read in tatty magazines in various waiting-rooms over the years and the odd interview on Parkinson. Because Laphen was such an intensely private man, there were no official biographies and he used the services of an extremely litigious LA law firm to stymie any scandalous tomes that might shed light on the mystery he’d carefully nurtured over the years – a tantalising question: where did this fiery, working class, comic genius come from? The more reclusive he became, the more public interest increased, the more speculative the press became about his private life, the more outrageous the rumours -– the more tickets he sold. His career was indestructible. Not that everything was rosy on the home front. Enigmas, especially rich, volatile enigmas, are pap magnets; a good picture will fetch upwards of $10,000 so he was tabloid fodder from the day he stepped into the limelight. Editors from LA to Tokyo dispatched an army of dedicated investigative journalists to Dublin where they pored over thousands of files in public records offices in an attempt to trace the Laphen family line, but they always drew a blank: Jolly Ollie’s pedigree remained a tantalising mystery. He was certainly an Irishman by birth but refused to say anything about his childhood other than he was ‘educated by sadistic nuns’; he never talked about any parents or siblings and nobody knew where in Ireland he was from -- his accent was hard to pinpoint and changed as often as his anecdotes, the most famous of which was the story of his emigration to America when he allegedly stowed-away on a liner bound for New York at the age of 13 in 1929. After evading processing at Ellis Island he hitched his way across the States east to west and landed in Hollywood, where, according to (his) legend, he slept on the beach and did whatever work he could find during the day. At night he’d ‘hone his art’ performing slapstick in vaudeville, readying himself for stardom; two years later, at the age of 16, he was discovered by the celebrated ‘King Of Comedy’ Max Sennett. The talkies were the new big thing, and at a time when most silent stars were finding it impossible to ‘sound funny’, Ollie’s cartoonish Irish accent was a godsend and Sennett gave him his own series of 15 minute shorts. As Laphen retold this story over the subsequent decades, the narrative was wont to evolve until the embellishments rendered it wholly unreliable.

In the mid-30s when he traded under the moniker Ollie Laffin, he was happy to mug and gurn for the downmarket rags and Pathé News presentations; then, when he got ‘serious’ in the late-40s/early-50s, he stopped playing the fool and became a semi-reclusive thesp. The post-war world was a different place: screwball comedy and slapstick was old hat and Ollie was too canny to go down with the ship. When he returned to movies in ‘46 he went under the name of Oliver Laphen, stopped doing interviews and avoided all ‘that red carpet bollox’, preferring to leave the PR to his co-stars and directors who’d either guardedly sing his praises or proffer equivocal comments that were actually thinly-veiled digs, such as: ‘[working with] Mr Laphen was an experience I’ll never forget... but I’m trying.’ (Lauren Bacall) ‘He brings a piece of himself to every role and playing the villain comes so naturally [to him]...’ (David Niven), but one vox-pop in particular had stuck in in Malky’s mind: "He kept us mere mortals waiting for 4 hours before gracing us with His Presence, we went $4 million over-budget, 4 producers suffered a collective nervous breakdown and 2 of the crew died from heatstroke, but when you hire [Oliver Laphen], you get the best and some studios are prepared to set aside a few million to ‘feed the beast’.” Regardless of what his fellow-travellers thought of him, and how big a pain in the arse he was, Ollie Laphen = Box Office Gold.

“There she is!” cried Herbie, like an enthusiastic tour guide. The Rolls had rounded a bend in the driveway and Malky got his first glimpse of Pagham House.

“Jeez –- house is too small a word, Herbie! This makes Windsor Castle look like a B&B!” said Malky, when confronted by the huge, sandstone edifice of palatial proportions, with rows of latticed gothic windows, draped with thick beards of ivy.

The chauffeur chuckled, “Impressive, eh? It used to belong to the 10th Duke of Roxborough til ‘e fell on ‘ard-times ‘n the boss made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. We rent it aht when we’re ahtta town. It’s very popular wiv the Arabs ‘n the Chinese. It’s got 30 rooms, swimming pool, gym, ballroom, sauna -- it even has its own church -- the works!” They pulled into a gravel forecourt and parked at the foot of a huge white marble staircase leading up to a tastefully-weathered, balustrade-lined terrace. But Malky’s attention was drawn to another vehicle parked to the right of the steps: namely, the same Harley-Davison touring bike he’d seen in the village, and sitting on the steps was the mysterious rider/cameraman filming them as they drew up!

Malky was furious all over again, “What’s he doing here?”

“More to the point, ‘ow the ‘ell did ‘e get in?!” said Herbie, slowly unclipping his seat belt and opening his door, “I’ll ‘andle this...” Herbie got out, straightened his cap and walked toward the diminutive figure, “Can I ‘elp you, mate...?” Malky heard him ask, and then he and Broo watched as the biker promptly stopped filming, jumped down and met the burly chauffeur head-on -- he took off his helmet, grinned, opened his arms and the two embraced like they were very pleased to see each other.

“Uncle Herb – you look great!” trilled a cherub-cheeked, heavily-freckled, copper-headed American kid in his mid-20s, brimming with childlike-enthusiasm, speaking quickly and excitedly, “Listen - we’re gonna be shooting in July! I’m here to scout for locations and do the final negotiations...!” The lad stopped short when he noticed Malky trudging across the gravel.

“Sorry, Mr Calvert sir, I got a bit distracted then,” said Herbie, putting a hand on the young man’s shoulder, “This ‘ere’s Kristof Katz, Mr Laphen’s grandson. Kris – this-‘ere is Mr Malcolm Calvert ‘oo’s come to... erm... sort out a little... plumbing problem...”

The young Master Katz took off a leather gauntlet, shook Malky’s hand, chattering incessantly, “Very pleased to meet you sir, I’m very sorry for the candid camera incident, but when I saw the car I thought my grandfather was inside and I wanted to catch him unawares but I caught you unawares and once you started to rant I couldn’t resist capturing that intense anger! I guess it’s the habit of lifetime -- Herb here will tell ya -- I’ve hadda movie-camera in my mitt since I was old enough to lift one – isn’t that right Uncle Herb? I’m a total geek!”

Malky gaped at him as if he’d arrived from another planet.

“Yer caffeinated up-to the-eyeballs again!” said Herbie, playfully clipping him round the ear and scolding him like a naughty schoolboy, “jet-lagged, ridin’ rahnd windin’ cahntry roads on a bleedin’ two-wheeled deff-trap?! Are y’ off your trolley, boy?! You coulda been killed -- there’s farm vehicles on these-‘ere roads, you coulda turned an ‘airpin bend an’ wahnd-up in the blades of a combine ‘arvester or summink!!”

Kris apologised for his over-enthusiasm and slowed down, “... anyhow, pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Calvert,” he turned and pointed behind him, “welcome to Ollie Towers, The Laphen House -- Xanadu -- whatever you wanna call it.”

Now that he was up close, Malky saw the family resemblance; the lad was short, around 5’ 5”, the same steely-blue peepers and winsome dimples that had graced millions-upon-millions of magazine covers since 1930. Malky felt compelled to comment, “I must say, you are the spitting image of your granddad.”

Herbie was gushing again, “Not only that -- but he’s in’erited his talent too! Kris is a movie director!” he tweaked the lad’s cheek and pretended to punch his jaw.

Kris went all aw-shucks and kicked at the gravel with the toe of a leather boot, “Well, I’m about to direct my first full-length feature. I’m very excited. It’s been in development hell for 3 or 4 years and now it’s finally in pre-production.”

“’E’s like a son to me!” Herbie put an arm around Kris’ shoulders, tweaked his cheek again and beamed, “when he was a nipper ‘is mum used to leave ‘im wif me on those days when she was... erm... uvverwise occupied...”

Kris, utterly unfazed, merrily took up the slack and filled in the blanks, “What Herb won’t tell you is my mom – Annelise Katz, née Laphen - had a lotta ‘substance abuse issues’ at the time, Mr Calvert. She used to unload me onto Herbie for weeks on end when she went on a jag [Now that the lad had mentioned it, Malky recalled reading something about one of Laphen’s daughters getting arrested for possession in the late 60s. In fact, from what he could remember, all 8 of the Quare Geg’s children had ‘issues’ of one kind or another]. Thankfully she’s been clean and sober for the past 6 years and now she’s counselling other women with similar issues...” he squeezed the hand dangling on his shoulder, “So I have this man to thank for givin’ me a relatively normal childhood! We used to play on the film sets in the studios when gramps was making a movie - that’s where I got my training!”

Herbie blushed, “Ach, it wasn't ideal, but where else was I gonna take ya? You know your granddad always ‘as to ‘ave me arahnd to fetch and carry for ‘im. And watchin’ a film get made is like watchin’ paint dry, if you awsk me - it’s a wonder it didn’t put you off movies for life!”

They were distracted by the sound of paws hitting gravel. The old dog had finally exited the Rolls but didn’t join them; he kept close to the car and watched from a distance. “Whassup wiv the pooch, ‘e’s gawn a bit shy, ‘in ‘e?” asked Herbie.

Malky called out to him: “What’s the matter with you, Hopalong? What has you all cagey, huh? Come over here and say hello!”

“Aww, look, he’s only got three legs,” crooned Kris, in a childishly sympathetic voice. Broo whimpered as he watched the glowing boy walk toward him, stooped and spoke softly as if addressing a bashful toddler, “You don’t have to be afraid of me, boy, I wouldn't hurt a fly! No I wouldn't...” he reached out

Broo recoiled and whimpered: Get off me, you idiot... you’re killing me!

But Kris carried on, unaware of the old dog’s distress, “Easy, boy, I won’t hurt you...”

AARGH!!

Kris cuddled him, stroked his back and made silly noises, “Eh? Who’s a handsome fella, then? You must quite the VIP, huh? A German Shepherd who’s so important he gets to ride around in the back of a limousine...?”

Mercifully, he was rudely interrupted by a loud voice from above, “Where the f**k have you been, Gorringe?!”

The boy stopped petting and turned away – Broo (unseen) wobbled for a second then keeled over.

There was an elderly man in a gaping, black silk kimono, electric-blue satin boxer-shorts, and bright green unlaced baseball boots standing at the top of steps; he pointed at Kris with an accusing finger, “and what-the-f**k’s that wee ginger gobshite doing on my property?!”

Malky looked up and regarded their prospective client. His collar length grey hair was thinning and unruly as if he’d just got out of bed, his heavily lined face clenched in distaste; but underneath the grizzled exterior and the bizarre attire, was none other the Quare Geg Himself: the fun-loving Ollie Laphen, former Crown Prince of Comedy! Looking at him now, though, it seemed there was little to laugh about, but you wouldn't know it to hear his grandson.

“Gramps! How-the-hell are you?! It’s me, Kris!” The boy put the helmet on the seat of the Harley and joyfully bounded-up the steps two-at-a-time, “so goo-ood to see you, dude...” he embraced the frail, bristly figure - who immediately pushed him away. “Gitcher filthy hands affa me, ye wee shite!! I’m not senile yet -- I know damn-well who you are!” Laphen put his fists on his hips and sneered in a high-pitched whine, “Whaddya want from me this time? Money, is it? Well, you can feck-off back to La-La Land - this bank is closed! Go and ask that crooked auld kike of a father o’ yours – oh yeah, I forgot – he’s back in the bankruptcy courts -- yet-again -- after yet-another one of his half-assed business-deals went tits-up in the water – still - why break the habit of a lifetime, huh? Once a loser, always a loser!” he stuck his little pug nose in the air, stuck out his chin and tied the belt of his silk kimono, like a superannuated prize-fighter squaring-up at a weigh-in.

Doing his best to suppress a fit of giggles, Kris reassured him in a sober tone, “S’OK gramps, don’t have a cow, man. I don’t need any of your filthy lucre, after all -- we've got a backer! And for the record –- I’ve never asked you for anything in my life, you old goat -- and you know it!”

Laphen stepped closer, “Why are you here then?”

“To see you you...” said Kris, smirking.

Laphen went nose-to-nose with his grandson and growled, “So, you don’t need me?! Well! You've seen me! Now piss off!”

Kris put a hand on the old man’s shoulder and smiled, warmly, “C'mon, we’d better get you inside, it’s quite chilly out here and we wouldn't want you catching cold, now, would we?”

The old man swatted the hand away like a particularly stubborn piece of lint, “Stop treatin’ me like a feckin’ invalid! I’m perfectly capable of walkin’ unaided – I’m not in a feckin’ wheelchair yet!” in the same breath, he broke away, looked down at Herbie, pointed at Malky and barked, “Is this the guy?”

“Yessah!” Herbie replied, standing to attention, as if addressed by a superior officer, “this is Mr Malcolm Calvert, the, erm... consultant from Brodir.”

“Well – don’t just stand there like a spare cock at a hen-night! Bring him in!”

With that, Laphen stomped back to the house with Kris walking alongside him, chatting incessantly despite the cold shoulder.

As Herbie fetched his overnight bag from the trunk of the Rolls, Malky watched them walk off and commented, “Chirpy little git, isn't he?”

Herbie slammed the lid shut and explained in a low voice, “Don’t let the ol’ Scrooge act give ya the wrong impression, Mr C. Kris is the apple of the old man’s eye - ‘e dotes on that boy. This is the way they speak to each uvvah. There’s no real malice intended so it’s best if you just let ‘em get on wiv it. Neevah wants to admit that it’s all a big contest to see who’ll crack first –- it usually ends in ‘uge laughs all-round. Only fing is the old man’s been ‘ittin’ the bottle again. I’m afraid ‘e’ll end-up sayin’ somefink really ‘urtful to the boy and ‘e might never come back. Kris is the only grandchild ‘oo ever comes to visit, see -- so for all of our sakes -- I ‘ope they chill-aht 'n have a civilised conversation.”

“Uh-huh,” Malky grunted, distractedly. The more he heard, the stronger the temptation to hand back the cheque and book a taxi back to Brodir, but he was so hungry now he had no choice but to reserve judgement until after dinner.

As they climbed the steps he suddenly realised they’d forgotten someone; he looked back and saw that his trusty companion was finding it hard to drag himself up, “Och, c’mon Broo, they’re not as steep as the stairs at the inn -- and you manage to climb those when you fancy a drink from the bog!” said Malky, turning away.

Broo could barely stand, let alone climb a flight of steps. When the young leatherman approached to indulge in a spot of light-petting and the strange, purplish halo enveloped him, Broo was instantly numbed -- he felt a sensation akin to sinking into a vat of virulent, viscous quicksand; a toxic vapour overwhelmed his senses -– and when the boy eventually let go, the dread feeling went with him. Alas, the men were too busy to notice him collapse in a heap, having been distracted by the sudden appearance of an angry old man who smelled of cigarettes, alcohol and bathsalts. Then something strange happened: when the younger man climbed the steps -- the aura around him grew more transparent –- by the time he embraced the old man - it had evaporated completely! One second it was there, the next – nothing. This was most perplexing. And if his senses were to be believed, aside from a few passing crows, there were none of the usual creatures one would find on an estate as big as this. Just like the village, there was no livestock or wildlife in the vicinity at all. Not only that, but as his head cleared, he realised that something else was missing: there’s no sign of anything Other in the ether either, and that bothered him most of all. The sky was darkening for dusk, the shadows were lengthening and the sun was low, so why are there no apparitions in the Golden Hour? Where was the shimmering residual energy of past events that can only be glimpsed through the rays of twilight? In a land such as this, historically ravaged by epidemics, tribal violence, famine and murderous invaders, there should be at least a few ghostly children playing in the fields... And yet, there’s nothing. If the Barry McKee case had taught him anything at all, it was to Beware Spiritual Vacuums. Bad things happen in Spiritual Vacuums.

... at that very moment (12:56 US Eastern Time), approximately 3600 miles away, at a checkpoint at the Canadian/United States’ border, on the Peace Bridge at Fort Erie, between Ontario and Buffalo, New York State...

“Sir? Sir... hello...

“Sir?!

“Wind down the window, sir!”

Somewhere... off in the distance Emil heard a man’s voice and a clicking sound. Metal on glass...

It wasn't like waking up, more like someone switching on a light. He was sitting in Fran’s Volvo, at what appeared to be the US/Canadian border!

“Sir, would you please wind down your window?” the muffled voice barked “SIR?!”

In his peripheral vision, Emil discerned a uniformed figure peering through the window. A US border patrol guard?! Holy shit?! What the f**k is going on?!

But the inner-turmoil, dislocation and downright terror didn’t register on his face: on the outside, he was deadpan, ice-cool and composed. The inner-Emil watched his own hand reach out and push the button that wound down the window; he felt the crisp breeze buffet his face and arms as the glass descended. If this is a dream, it’s very vivid. The guard stooped, leaned-in and sniffed the inside of the car. The outer-Emil remained unfazed, but when he caught a glimpse of himself in the wing-mirror, he soon realised why the guard was so suspicious.

He appeared to be wearing an unbelted towelling bathrobe, pyjama pants and his XXL Jimi Hendrix tee-shirt -- the ensemble he wore when he was slouching around the apartment... Shit -- you gotta be kidding me -- no briefs?! He desperately wanted to grab the hem of the gown and tuck the tails between his legs, but his arms refused to budge!

The certainties: it was daylight; he was at the border. I’m driving my wife’s 1979 Volvo estate dressed like an extra from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest! This has to be a dream! I’m gonna wake up at any minute...

Meanwhile, somewhat surprised that he couldn't smell any liquor, the guard returned to the business in hand, “May I see your passport, sir?!” he asked, acidly, in a thick New England accent. He was leaning on the roof now, the midday-sun gleaming off the chrome-plated badge on his cap; despite the dazzling flashes, Emil’s eyes refused to blink. The Inner-Emil wanted to grab his tie and shout: Stop me! I’m out of my mind! but his lips remained firmly zipped; his body remained still. For all-intents-and-purposes, he was a puppet with no mind of his own.

So who’s pulling the strings?

The guard was getting impatient; he pointed at the passenger seat, and snapped, “Your passport, sir!!

Emil’s outer voice said “Passport?”

The guard pointed, “It’s there. Right beside you, sir.”

His head turned to the right and he found himself looking down at the passenger seat; sure-enough, sitting atop an array of various official papers, was his passport. He saw his hand reach out, pick it up and hand it over. Maintaining eye-contact, the guard took the little booklet, ceremoniously shook it open and read it with a disdainful look. Emil had taken many acid trips and tried every psychedelic he could get his mitts on, but this was unlike anything he’d ever experienced in his voyages through the Doors of Perception. So what does that leave? Sleepwalking? He tried to make the fingers of his left hand pinch his thigh... but nothing.

“What brings you to the US, Mr Labatt?”

Emil heard himself say, “Doctor Labatt. I’m on my way to visit an elderly relative, if you must know. She’s very ill. Dying. It’s an emergency.”

What?!

“... Are you planning to drive all the way, Dr Labatt?” the guard asked, doubtfully.

The inner-Emil wanted to cry out: I don’t wanna drive anywhere! I don’t know why I’m here or what I’m doing! Please call my wife, Frances – she’ll come and get me!! In fact – arrest me! Take me into custody right now!!

Instead he heard his outer voice reply, dryly, “Yes, officer. Driving all the way.”

The guard handed back the passport, sighed heavily and asked pointedly, “Dr Labatt, have you been imbibing today? Narcotics, alcohol, have you taken any prescription drugs that might affect your ability to drive?”

This could work to his advantage: if I’m cheeky enough they might arrest me on suspicion of DUI! Alas, the invisible ventriloquist kept the voice calm and answered succinctly, “I most certainly have not been imbibing, officer. I’m a well-respected forensic scientist and a senior lecturer at the University of Toronto. I’m on my way to Baltimore to see an elderly relative with a terminal illness. It’s matter of some urgency. I need to get on.”

Baltimore?!

The guard handed back the passport and enquired, brusquely, “Carrying any foodstuffs, livestock including pets, liquor or sundries that may be considered contraband by the United States of America?”

“No, sir.”

“Then, would you mind popping the trunk, sir?”

Emil didn’t stir.

“Sir... pop the trunk?”

“This is my wife’s car and I don’t know where the trunk popper is.”

‘Trunk popper’?! Listen to me! Arrest me, you fool! I’m frickin’ nuts!!

Shaking his head, the guard reached in and groped under the wheel; “There she is,” and tugged the lever.

While the guard searched the trunk, the Inner-Emil tried to think logically: Could I have been inadvertently poisoned at the lab? Unlikely, he was very careful about sterilisation and wore a mask at all times... Have I ingested something in the course of my work... a fungus...? A spoor that causes one to act out in some way...? But he was ignoring the obvious: there was a taste in his mouth -- a taste that was as familiar as it was bitter and earthy that usually preceded the bouts of sickness. In fact, it had been happening ever since he’d got back from the dig in Kildare 2 years ago when they discovered the bog mummies (he’d abandoned the annual expeditions after his little fling with Niamh). Lately, he’d been prone to intermittent lapses in consciousness and bouts of short-term memory-loss. He’d find himself staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror for hours on end. Fran thought he was smoking too much weed, but not even strongest strain of mary jane could induce blackouts like this, and nothing would leave a taste in his mouth this bad.

The trunk slammed shut. The guard returned, “Everything seems to be in order, Dr Labatt...” he leaned on the roof and spoke close, “Listen doc, if I was you I’d stop at the first motel I came to and I’d get myself a couple of hours sleep. Then I’d have a shower and a change of clothes and I’d drive the rest of the way feeling wide awake ‘n refreshed. I wouldn't want to fall asleep at the wheel and maybe kill myself or some innocent folk who were unlucky enough to be travellin’ the same road. Whaddya say to that, doc?”

An uneasy silence followed. The inner-Emil waited for his body to respond but nothing came: his eyes remained unblinking, his mouth stayed shut. He prayed that this was a turning point -- that he’d do something so outrageous they’d have to take him in -- but it never came. Finally, the guard sighed and patted the roof with the flat of his hand, “Welcome to the United States, doctor.”

Before the lights went out, Emil heard his voice reply with a curt, “Thank you. Have a nice day.” He felt his right hand release the handbrake; he felt his foot gently depress the accelerator. He watched as the Volvo taxied through the checkpoint; he paid the toll and ventured onto the open road... that was the last thing he remembered before the darkness descended again...

Malahide, Dublin: The Somerville family were going to Mass.

“Put on yer seat-belt, Cate, luv. You don’t have to sit in the baby-seat but you still have to strap yerself in,” said Somerville, getting into the driver’s seat.

In the back, Cate turned to her younger sister, “See, Cathy – he called it a ‘baby’ seat!’”

“Mommeeeeeeee!” Cathy wailed.

Pat got into the passenger seat and took control: “Ssshhhh, Cathy.... Cate don’t tease Cathy! You’ll start her off -- then baby Clare will start!” She playfully slapped her husband’s shoulder, “That’s your fault, daddy! It’s a CAR seat not a BABY seat, silly -– it even says so on the little label ‘Car Seat’ –- so-there, Miss smarty-pants-Caitlin -- you were wrong!”

“Daddy said it not me.”

“It was a slip of the tongue, Pat.”

“He didn’t mean to say it, Cathy. I’ll never hear the feckin end of this... will you be more careful what you say!”

“I’m not a baby I’m 4 and 4 months! I have to sit in it cuz I’m too wee for the seat belt!”

“That’s right! You tell ‘em Cathy! It’s a seat for small people, not babies! Cathy’s very sensitive and unassertive and I’m trying to build her confidence!”

“Daddy, what’s ‘police brutality’?” asked Cate, apropos of nothing.

“Where did you hear about ‘police brutality’?” said Somerville, looking at her in the rear-view mirror.

“One of the older girls shouted it when Sister Marie dragged her into the bogs to wash her face.”

“Toilets, Ladies, loo or lavatory, please, Cate, dear. What are bogs?” said Pat, sternly.

“Sorry mommy: ‘Bogs are Irish swamps...’” Cate sang, rolling her eyes.

Herbie led the way through the huge front door into a huge, cavernous sandstone vestibule lit by a quartet of gothic, arched windows, not unlike the narthex of a Christian church, but cluttered with precisely the sort of tone-lowering kitschy bric-a-brac that one would expect a working-class-boy-made-good to put on display -- as much a screw you to visiting nobs & snobs as it was a totem to his wealth and wilful nature, to wit: a suit of armour wearing an American Indian headdress, a deep-sea diving-suit with a stuffed monkey’s head in the helmet; a pair of large Persian vases filled with strange umbrellas. One item in particular gave Malky cause for pause: standing to the left of the adjoining Gothic archway, stood a life-sized waxwork of the Master of Mirth himself, fashioned and dressed to represent his ‘hey-day’ in the 30s; this waxen Laphen was the youthful, joyful Jolly Ollie Laffin, grinning that trademark squidgy-grin, complete with pinchable dimples, the rash of freckles across the bridge of his little pug-nose, the glassy sky-blue eyes gleaming like sapphires – you couldn't help but smile. Malky couldn't help but remark, “Whatever happened to that sweet li’l guy, eh?”

The burly chauffeur didn’t take the bait and doggedly maintained his chummy, sunny disposition, providing information with the patter of a well-informed tour-guide, “That used to reside in the foy-yer at Madame Toussauds in Lahndahn! They replaced it wiv a more recent model in the 70s an’ the boss brought the originals back ‘ere when he bought the ahse. This one was done in ’38, just after his first full-length feature: Ollie and Molly Strike Oil!” Herbie moved to the right of the connecting archway and unconsciously adopted an almost identical pose to the grinning effigy on the left, “This way, Mr Calvert. I’ll take you to yer room and you can freshen up ‘n that ‘n we can tawk about the ‘situation’ over dinnah.”

As they walked through a slate-floored lobby lit by muted spotlights, it was more of the same: a veritable Ollie Laphen museum exhibit; an autobiography laid out chronologically -- from glass-cases containing newspaper columns, magazine covers and PR stills from the slapstick days of the 1930s -- to the chin-stroking thesp (a framed headline in The Irish News: ‘Laphen’s Lear is a masterclass!’). The dark, wood-panelled walls were lined with framed photographs of Ollie pressing flesh and embracing some of the greatest movie-makers, movers-and-shakers of the past 60 years: FDR, Bogart, Monroe, Gable, Jackie O, Bing, Hope, Groucho, Einstein, Fidel, Vidal, Hitchcock, Wayne, JFK, Johnson, Nixon, Kissinger, Elvis, the Dalai Lama, the Beatles, the Queen of England and various royals – as far as the 20th century is concerned, Ollie is the OED definition of ubiquitous. As they passed through the connecting archway, Malky got quite a jolt - enough to stop him dead in his tracks. Dead being the appropriate word, for in the shadows of the dimly lit reception hall stood a menagerie of dead things ready to attack -- lions, bears, tigers, panthers -- feral, snarling, glassy-eyed, posed in a stance of attack; ugly birds-of-prey hung on wires from the rafters, talons bared, poised to swoop; and to be certain that arachnophobes didn’t feel excluded, there were a few tarantulas strategically attached to various pillars and posts.

Malky gaped and gasped, “Wow! Did Ollie kill all these himself?!”

This time Herbie did seem a wee bit uncomfortable, “Nah, ‘e commissioned ‘em from a taxi-dermist’s in Sarf Africa where they can get you anything...” He sniffed and shook his head, “I ‘ate it too, to tell the troof – I never come frew ‘ere if I can avoid it. It’s the old man’s sense off ooma, see – he likes to lull visi’ors into a false sense of security then - aargh! They get the shock of their lives,” he reached behind a curtain and threw a switch -- the animals’ eyes shone bright red and and roared in their respective voices. “The boss ‘ates animals, see –- he got rid of all the livestock ‘cept for stables when ‘e bought the ahse. ‘E ‘ates ‘orses most of all. ‘E got thrown by a donkey when ‘e was doin’ a cameo in Around the World in Eighty Days in ’55 or ’56 –- ‘e walked orf the set and refused to ‘ave anyfink to do with animals evah again! Animals and kids. If he could get ridda the crows he’d be ‘appy.”

Broo found the menagerie obscene and growled accordingly.

Their attention was briefly diverted by shouting in a room somewhere further in: “... Will you quit naggin’ me – ye’re worse than a feckin wife!”

“NO! I won’t stop til you see sense! If I don’t say it – who will!?! You’re cracking up!! You’re a delusional... egomaniacal narcissist! You’re like Stalin without the people-skills...!”

Herbie quickly ushered his guests into the lobby and closed a connecting door turning the voices into incoherent murmurs, but Malky had heard enough. Herbie’s stoic exterior slipped, he got jittery and muttered something about an ‘Inquisition’ under his breath. Malky was about to ask what he meant when he quickened his step and led the way through another archway that led to a lobby at the foot of a huge white marble staircase cleft with a dark scarlet runner. On the bottom step stood the other waxwork of Ollie dressed as a tramp holding the Oscar statuette for his role as a shady boxing promoter in the movie Knuckledusters. In an alcove in the rear wall to the left of the staircase stood an imposing, but badly-damaged grandfather clock; the glass insets covering the face and pendulum case were smashed, the hour-hand hung limp on the wheel and part of the ornate, intricately hand-carved casing was cracked down one side.

Herbie stood next to his guest, looked up at it and said, “Big f**ker, innit?”

Malky was inclined to agree that it was highly unlikely that such a huge piece of solid timber could be toppled so easily by a man as old and small as Ollie.

The bickering voices were making Herbie very uncomfortable, there was a pained expression on his big, weather-beaten face. As they climbed the staircase, he said, “Look, Mr Calvert... I don’t know ’ow to say this... what I mean to say is.... you might ‘ear certain fings whilst you is ‘ere... and I don’t like ‘avin’ to ask... but we’d be grateful if you would sign, for the want of a better phrase, a gag order.”

Malky shook his head, “Like I said, Herbie, I hate the press as much as ‘oul Ollie, but I don’t feel comfortable signing that sort of thing. Cuz if there is anythin’ iffy goin’ on – I’m not sayin’ there is – but should we detect signs of chicanery or skulduggery in the course of our ‘investigation’ -- like, say, we uncover a plot to get the ol’ bugger certified and bleed him dry or rewrite his will -- a gagging order could severely hinder an official investigation, and, when all’s said and done, I’m on the side of law and order.” He held up his right hand, “But if it makes you feel any better – as far as petty gossip and scandal-mongering is concerned -- my lips are sealed,” he turned, looked down at Broo and added, glumly, “... can’t speak for the dog, though...”

Broo grunted, still too stupefied to take anything in.

In light of such an earnest assurance, Herbie relaxed a little and explained, “Um well, the ‘Inquisition’ I mentioned refers to some recent sackin’s in the last week or two. ‘E’s fired a coupla security guards, the assistant gardener and the young gal who ‘elps out wiv the ‘ahsework on Tuesdays ‘n Fursdays!”

“Why did he sack them?”

“Cos somebody leaked some gossip to an American tabloid ‘n it could only ‘ave come from the staff, so ‘e hadda clear-aht.” Herbie took a deep breath and spoke in a half-whisper, “So you can see how bad it is ‘ere. It’s got to the point where the only people ‘e trusts is me and the ‘ahsekeeper, Mrs Sparkes - and ‘e only trusts ‘er cuz she’s from the village and they believes all this ’aunted ‘ouse bollox.”

Again they were distracted; this time it was the jingle of unbuckled buckles and the stomp of motorcycle-boot-heels on the chequered tiles below, “Uncle Herb! Is it true? He’s sacked Scanlon?!” Kris shouted from the hall, clearly incensed. The three turned and looked down; Herbie maintained eye contact but didn’t answer; his uneasy silence said it all. “He has?! Shit! Where did he go?”

Herbie lowered his head, looked at his shoes and said, “Nobody knows. He packed up ‘n walked aht wivvaht a word ‘n we’ve ‘eard nuffink since.”

The lad stamped his foot and punched his thighs with his fists in a sudden fit of anger and disbelief, pacing back and forth at the bottom of the stairs, as the implications hit him one by one, “This is such bullshit, Uncle Herb -- I was working with Scanlon -- he was helping me with the movie -- what did he do?!”

Herbie’s head dropped, “Look Kris, yer grandpaw’s been ‘avin’ a bit of bovver lately and...”

“And where’s the cat? Don’t tell me he’s fired him too?!”

“He ran away.”

“Huh?! Fey Ray ran away? I not friggin’ surprised! The entire estate is a no go area for anything with more than two legs!” yelled Kris, without realising how odd it sounded, and stomped off in a huff; a few seconds later they heard him shouting at the old man in another room.

“Do ever stop and think: ‘hey, maybe I’m the problem?’ – cuz unless you straighten-out you’re gonna die a very lonely old man...” “Ach, blow it out yer arse, ye ginger shite-hawk...!”

A door slammed and the squabbling voices became muffled and unintelligible again. Herbie put a hand to his brow and groaned to himself, “Kris, son, you couldn't-a picked a worse time to pay us a surprise visit...”

“Who was Scanlon? The butler?” asked Malky.

“No, groundskeeper, but he might as well’ve been,” Herbie replied, unhappily, “’E did all the odd-jobs arahnd the ahse. Lifetime’s service – gone - jus-like-that - phfft! Kris an’ ‘im wuz thick as thieves too. ‘E knew all the stories about this place. Kris used to sit up for hours on end listenin’ to ‘im but Scanlon and the boss never really got along – Scanlon came wiv the ahse, see, just like all the servants – but ‘e wuz a bit of a law onto ‘isself. When we checked, we found ‘irregularities’ in our finances. The boss confronted him, he couldn’t answer, ‘n that was that.”

They reached the second landing and the old retainer ushered them along a long corridor with row-upon-row of sky-blue doors with ornate brass name plates, the panelling in-between bedecked with gold and silver discs, “Were all these recorded by Ollie?” asked Malky, genuinely impressed.

Herbie, pleased to have a diversion, nodded and cheerfully slipped back into tour-guide mode, “Oh, people forget ‘e was a great crooner. In the 50s he recorded loadsa LPs and they wuz big ‘its all ovah the world - not-so-much in the US or Britain - but ‘ere in Ireland ‘n France ‘n’ Germany. Can’t walk dahn the street in Japan. We go over to Tokyo every now-‘n’-then and ‘e records all these TV commercials for ‘em. Liquor, potato chips, candy bars, mostly. ‘Big bucks for a load of ol’ bollox!’ ‘e says.”

“I know how that feels,” muttered Malky, thumbing the cheque in his pocket.

Herbie opened a door with an engraved plate bearing the legend The Wonderland Suite and put the case on an ottoman by the door. The room was weirdly magnificent, in an oversized, child’s playbox type-way. The floor was a chessboard, there were huge cushions in the shape of chess pieces scattered around the floor; the walls were decorated with blow ups of Tenniel’s drawings of Alice in Wonderland characters; an emperor-sized four-poster swathed in white satin sheets patterned with black diamonds; and a large, white tallboy with outsized, bright red knobs and drawers that were shaped to look warped and uneven, like a prop from a kids’ cartoon. “’Ere’s the TV,” he said, opening the doors of a huge white sideboard to reveal a 38” screen, “If you wanna take a walk round before dinnah -– go ‘ead, nowhere’s off limits -– oh, part of the east-wing’s locked-up, but I can get the keys from the safe and take you down later. There’s some PJs ‘n wot-not in the dresser drawer and fresh towels in the en suite. There’s the phone,” he pointed at an ornate, art deco phone, “just dial 9 for an outside line.”

Astonished by his surroundings, Malky could only gaze and nod his head.

Herbie clicked his heels and stood to attention, “There’s plenty of ‘ot-wa’ah if you wanna ‘ave a showah and a shave or wot-evah. Dinnah will be served at 8pm sharp (it was presently 5:50pm), I’ll bang the gong. In the meantime, make yerself at ‘ome 'n I’ll see you at 8,” said Herbie, brightly, closing the door behind him.

Malky sat down on the edge of the bed and examined a brass plated console next to the headboard; he pressed the first button: the curtains closed; he pressed the second: the curtains opened; he pressed a third and the lights either side of the bed came on; he pressed the fourth and the drape across the canopy over the bed rolled back to reveal a full-size, horizontal mirror. “Bit sordid for a room that looks like a nursery,” Malky opined, flopping down and looking up at his reflection, “God, I’m getting old. Remind me to close that curtain before I go to bed – if I wake up and see meself in the morning I’m likely to scare meself to death.” He kicked off his shoes and writhed in the welcoming sea of satiny-softness, like a Labrador pup in an unfurled toilet roll, “Oh, I just wanna sleeeeep... wake me up in September when the baby’s born...”

Broo growled quietly, that’s right, you have a nice relaxing catnap while your tiny, put-upon wife labours over a hot engine just so that she can get that wretched old banger of a van back on the road in order to buy provisions and decorating materials to build a nest for you and your unborn progeny.

Malky sat up, “Hmm. maybe I should ring her. This is our first night apart since we moved in together. I’d better give her a progress report.” He rolled over, picked up the art-deco phone and called the inn.

“Well, what’s Ollie’s house like?! Is it dead grand or what? I wanna know everything!”

He gave her a detailed description of the house so far, right up to and including the mirror in the canopy over the bed, “... the stories are true, though -- Jolly Ollie is one grouchy oul’ shite. I don’t think I’ve ever met such an obnoxious old git in all me life.” he said, shaking his head. “Zindy, what the hell am I doing here? This isn't me.”

Zindy had obviously been thinking about it too, “Listen luvver, this ain’t a justification or an excuse, but both of us know that there’s certain things we can’t explain away with logic. I mean, look what ‘appened with Barry McKee? Just put yer Sherlock hat on and look at it from a detective’s perspective; treat it as a sorta murder-mystery weekend. What about Broo? He should be able to let you know if there’s anything spooky about the place?”

“I dunno, he seems a bit drowsy, like he’s half-asleep,” said Malky, giving the old dog a cursory glance.

Of course I’m sluggish, you oaf -- this place is sucking the life out of me! Can’t you tell?!

But the semi-telepathic link remained infuriatingly out of order, “It was a long drive. He’s probably knackered.” Then, much to Broo’s chagrin, they forgot about him and exchanged love yous, miss yous and take cares before hanging up.

“Have you noticed somethin’?” said Malky, rhetorically, going to the en-suite and turning on the light; he looked around, “Hmmm,” he opened the bathroom cabinet: the mirror was on the inside of the door. “Whilst me ‘n Zindy were talking, it suddenly occurred to me -– there isn't a mirror to be seen around the house -- even the one above this bed is covered by a curtain.” Malky nodded, “It’s ironic, isn't it: the big Alice in Wonderland freak who doesn’t have Looking Glass –- an egotist who treats you to a personalised autobiographical stroll through his glory days but doesn’t like to look at his own reflection? I find that somewhat strange...”

5 minutes ago: Zindy put the receiver back in its cradle, sat back and winced, “Settle down, kiddo,” she said, patting the elongated face of Jimi Hendrix stretched across her bump, “I still have a gearbox to sort out before we ‘ave a nice bath ‘n go to bed.” She sat at the kitchen table, radio tuned to a classic rock station (Malky listened to nothing but BBC Radio 4) and sang along to Deep Purple’s Child in Time, wailing like a banshee as she screwed and unscrewed oily nuts and rusty bolts: très cathartic. She felt a little guilty, but surely she was entitled to a night on her own. She looked down at the bump: I mean the two of us. I’ll never be alone again

Zara ‘Zindy’ Lindsay, you see, was an accident; everybody told her so.

Ever since she could understand rudimentary English, her aunts and her mother would mention it regularly - usually after something burned down or yet another little boy’s mother had arrived at the door complaining that she was demanding dinner-money with menaces. When she was old enough to understand the mechanics of human reproduction (hard not to when you live on a farm), they’d tell her she was the result of a drunken one-night-stand with a Spanish scout master (visiting Burnley on an exchange-visit) that no one had seen or heard from since. Fortunately for Dory, the Lindsays were/are a well-to-do family with links to the cotton trade that go as far back as the 17th century, so they had the wealth and power to cover it up. After a secret birth, mother Dory and baby Zara were spirited away to a remote farmhouse in the heart of the Lancashire countryside under the care of a pair of huge, lumbering maiden-aunts. Unlike the petite and genteel Dory, Maggie and Lottie were tall, mannish land-girls with no time for molly-coddles and sentimentality -- what’s more they didn’t care what their niece got up to so long as she didn’t burn the place down or leave a gate open (she could drive a tractor by the age of 6). When she was 7, Dory married and moved out, but Zindy didn’t like her new stepdad and he didn’t like her (a snooty, middle-aged bank manager who read the FT and went to Mass twice a week). She preferred Dory’s long-term boyfriend Tam Horsham who drove the Mother’s Pride bread van; but he was too common, apparently, “He eats his dinner off a tray and smokes in the bath!” said Dory, tartly, when asked if Zindy should start calling him dad. So, after numerous tantrums, she was allowed to stay at the farm and enjoy the relative freedom of life with the ‘Looney Lindsay Sisters’ (as the locals called them). Then puberty hit, so did a lifelong passion: motorbikes. She found a broken down old ‘39 Triumph Tiger in the barn and with some help from Lottie (“It belonged to an old boyfriend who left it here in ’42 when he went to war... but he never came back for it so I assumed the worst.”) she cleaned it up and replaced the missing parts. It took 8 months of scouring scrapyards and hard labour, but she managed to restore it to its former glory. She was in the Gazette! ‘Tearaway Tomboy Triumphs!!’ Consequently, she met dozens of motorcycle enthusiasts and a lot of them just happened to be Hell’s Angels. That’s when she first got that weakness in her knees. Big, fat, hairy men. Her pals were aghast. It could've been a father-daddy complex or just a weird perversion, but she could get enough of grizzled, over-weight geezers most girls would cross the road to avoid.

In spite of her aggressive side, she was quite the artist and spent hours quietly painting and sketching the scenery behind her great-aunts’ farm. According to her second year teacher in her annual report (Zindy refused to go to boarding school and went to the local comprehensive): ‘She has shown a flair for art and is very intelligent – when she wants to work, which isn't often ... for the most part she is headstrong, opinionated, brusque and quick to temper; a girl who sees life as a big adventure ... it may be a symptom of her diminutive stature that she feels she has to be brash and contrary, but if she continues in this fashion she may face expulsion....’

Zindy just couldn't be tamed. She was up before the magistrate on a regular basis, mostly for driving without a licence or brawling with boys twice her size. On her 18th she stood on a table in the Flat Iron pub in front of her closest friends and allies and vowed never to settle down to a life of domesticity, to forsake motherhood and be a free spirit for the rest of her life. Three weeks later, she moved in with a recently divorced woodwork teacher 17 years her senior. He proposed (‘wanna shack-up?’) and she couldn't say no. So began her lifelong ‘thing’ for older men – the daddy syndrome, probably.

The cohabitation with the woodwork teacher was as passionate as it was incendiary – he turned out to be a secret drinker – there were vodka bottles hidden all over the flat; she tried to keep up for a while, but all they did was fight. Things came to a head with the couple spending a night in the cells of Bottle Street nick. The desk sergeant told her he was a lost cause – “He’s dried-out 3 times -– and he’s still the same mess he was when I first started in here 15 years ago! My advice lady – run as fast as them wee legs can take ya – find a fit young man with a good job!” She took this advice to heart, and a in a few months she met a recently widowed sculptor at a Henry Moore exhibition –- this time 40 years her senior; tall, with long grey hair who dressed like Tom Wolfe -– and got swept up in a whirlwind romance. ‘Whirlwind’ in the sense that the trail of destruction they left behind: various foodstuffs were hurled, crockery was smashed, household utensils took flight and embedded themselves in walls. Zindy loved it. She loved him. Alas, his kids, two of which were older than her, did not approve and weren’t shy about letting her know. It was grist for Zindy’s mill; it only strengthened her resolve. She thrived in adversity; she lived to Fight the Good Fight and persevered with the relationship without a thought for the toll it was taking on the poor man’s heart. Of course, like most Spring/Winter love affairs it ended with a lonely vigil in a draughty hospital corridor listening to the impassive beep of medical machinery whilst his own flesh & blood hold his hand as he drifts over. Previously estranged siblings now united in their grief against a common enemy: “The stupid bitch is still sitting out in t’corridor.” “She’s only after ‘is money.” “She looks about 9, makes you wonder...?” She heard every word, approached and told them in no uncertain terms she didn’t want or need his money – all she wanted was to organise the funeral in accordance with his last wishes. They told her his last wishes were enshrined in his last will & testament, not word of mouth, and while they were on the subject, he hadn't left her anything. They told her he was never done talking trash about her behind her back, telling them how he didn’t trust her; that she was a little gold-digger. Meanwhile he was telling Zindy how ungrateful and spiteful his children were and how they’d never done a day’s work in their lives! She had to stand there and listen as they sneered and talked about the stranger with whom she’d spent the last 2 years. It turned out he was a compulsive liar. His wives were all basket-cases by the time he’d finished messing with their minds. All told, the heart condition came as a result of the stress of numerous love affairs and having to remember what lie he told to whom.

Zindy swore to herself that she’d never have anything to do with men ever again! She cut her hair short, dyed it blue and foreswore make-up, skirts and blouses, bought a motorbike and toured Europe with a chapter of Hell’s Angels who treated her like one of the boys. The vow was broken 5 years later when she accompanied her new pals to the Isle of Man for the TT and met a biker from Wicklow. Robert ‘Raspo’ Canning was a built like a brick-shithouse with a long plaited (usually purple, sometimes blue) beard and intense stare (hence the moniker; Raspo: short for Rasputin). He was a nightmare in a studded leather jacket but Zindy was besotted with him. Despite his hulking size, expanding waistline and intimidating manner, he was smarter than the average bear. He read science fiction and knew a lot about astronomy. They used to ride up to Donegal, sit on the cliffs and he would teach her the consolations. She was hooked.

While she was there, one of her great-aunts died and Raspo took her back to Salford for the funeral. She inherited £30,000. Then Barry McKee, one of the gang of bikers from Brodir, happened to mention that his father was selling a seaside pub and she was very interested. She could run a business - she used to do the sculptor’s book-keeping and worked behind a bar in Germany for a few weeks; plus, Brodir might’ve been a rundown town, but it was a Mecca for bikers from all over Europe -- trade would be brisk –- she couldn't see what could possibly go wrong!

But you don’t know anybody until you live with them for a while.

At first, Raspo enjoyed playing host and worked behind the bar, but he had other business interests and that was OK – she preferred running things on her own – it was her name on the licence, her responsibility. She never asked about his business, she didn’t want to know, but she assumed he was a small time dealer: grass and tabs. Then one day he said, “Oh Zin, I’m off to Dublin to do bouncer for a boxin’ match at the National Stadium!” he kissed her goodbye, got on his trusty Triumph and off he went to bounce in Dublin. She found out later that he was off to collect a sizeable debt owed to him for a delivery of coke. When the debtor wasn't forthcoming, Raspo lost his temper and took it out of his hide with a crowbar. This information came courtesy of DS Phil Somerville, who also informed her that her beloved Raspo wasn't just peddling grass, he was dealing in all the a-listed narcotics, not to mention a little sideline in video piracy. She had to sit and listen while Somerville listed her lover’s shady dealings with various Dublin-based organised crime syndicates and proscribed terrorist militias when he tried to coerce her into turning tout and aid in the apprehension Raspo’s subordinates/associates/friends etc. She flatly refused. Raspo was sent down for 7 years, but 8 months later, to shave a few years off his sentence, he did what she refused to do: he shopped most of his former associates including some regulars, and - boom – the bulk of her clientele has declared her persona non grata and boycotted the inn. Somerville told her it was her own fault; she knew what Raspo was and chose to ignore it. He was right. A psychologist would say that it was indicative of a subconscious desire not to commit to a long-term relationship... Whatever, she was alone again, naturally.

Then along came Malky and his spooky three-legged German shepherd and their notorious pursuit of the evil Barry McKee. It was a thrill-a-minute-life-or-death roller coaster ride but it nearly killed them. She took a bullet to the shoulder; Malky had a heart attack and almost bled to death (the irony: Somerville saved Malky’s life after destroying hers). And here she was, back in another hospital corridor listening to bleeping machines. Just when she thought history was repeating itself, his old broken heart kept beating, “and it’s been beating for you ever since,” he said, in an uncharacteristic show of mawkish affection.

Good ol’ Malky. He made her laugh. He was a good man and he made her feel good. They had conversations that lasted all night. OK, so he has a psychic three-legged dog who complains about the noise when I play me records, but that only makes it more fun. To put it simply, life was good. She was painting again; he’d made her a studio in the attic. (He never told what he was doing up there and she didn’t ask; he just hammered and sawed and cursed whilst she went about her business. In the end he’d put a ribbon across the door for the grand unveiling. He’d widened the skylight to let in more light and built a little podium for her still-life subjects. She accepted the keys like a gushing thesp before bursting into real tears. And although , he was hard work at times - he was sometimes taciturn and prone to moodiness – he was a good, kind man.

Then, wonder-of-wonders, she gets pregnant and her instinct, much to her surprise, is to keep it. Malky acted as if he wasn't overly keen, but she knew that deep-down he was delighted; he just felt unworthy and old.

And here we are. 2 years later and things couldn't be better. We’re broke but we ain't bust. We’re just about keepin’ our heads above water...

She went to the bar and looked out of the big window at the dirty, litter laden, windswept promenade. The council were meeting on Thursday; word on the wind had it that property developers were looking at the town with a view to redevelopment, so things were looking up. That’s good, ain't it? Lots of meetings with property developers and councilmen: all very ‘establishment’.

So 22 years later, what would she say to the silly girl standing on the table telling the world she’ll be a wild-child forever? Is she where she wants to be, where she has to be, or where she needs to be...?

Sammy couldn't read her mind but felt her doubts as if they were his own. It must be something to do with Malky. He hoped that it wasn't anything serious. Malky had grown on him. The old dog was a godsend, somebody to talk to who can see you, hear you... not that he ever feckin’ listens! But what if the auld dog died? Sammy shuddered at the thought: There would be no watching TV until 4 in the morning for a start. It was tough being a ghost. And although he knew Zindy couldn't see him, he still felt a little self-conscious about his appearance; as the old dog says: “the bloody-bullet-hole-ridden-apron makes you look like a psychopath (ghosts are stuck with what they wore when they died -- the last image The Light captures before their Soul passes), so he was discreet. He sat on the bin in the dark corner by the stove and watched from what he considered to be a reasonable distance. He’d been a bachelor all his life, he’d never met a woman he could live with, but Zindy was closest thing he’d ever had to a daughter – this, despite the fact that she was a headstrong, blue-haired English girl who dressed like a boy and swore like a docker. When she bought the inn, he thought she’d only last a few weeks, and yet, thank God, here we are.

There were very few advantages in existing between Worlds, besides the walking through walls and not having to eat or sleep or all that malarkey, his senses were heightened and attuned to the Oneness of All Living Things (well, that’s how the dog put it) –- which meant he was able to see the little glow in Zindy’s belly. It was nothing more than an amber glimmer throbbing with the minute pulsebeat of a budding Soul, but it radiated an energy that brought a ripple of warmth to his Essence. Sometimes, when she was sleeping he’d stand close – not too close – and look into her womb. Oh, but it was a joyous sight to behold, “Look at the miracle begin again,” he whispered, to no one in particular.

Zindy climbed up onto the draining board to close the window above the sink -– Sammy was jumping up and down, pulling at his silver beard, “Are ye mad woman?! Get down o’ that w’ ye!” Thankfully she performed the exercise without incident, but he still hadn't settled; as she went about preparing her evening meal, he paced the floor behind her, fussing, wagging his finger, “Look at that floor! There’s engine oil down there! Ye’ll slip ‘n’ go on yer hoop! You’d better buck-up yer ideas, lady – that’s a chile in there – not a bag o’ chips!”

“Oh, I’d love a bag o’ chips,” she said, apropos of nothing.

Sammy stood by the cooker as she toiled over the sizzling pan and talked to her unborn baby, “Your silly daddy doesn’t know what to do with himself. He hates all this spooky stuff... He hates anything that brings the world to his door -- God knows what he’ll be like when the inn’s open for business...” Whether she was consoling a restless foetus or trying to convince herself, she didn’t know. She stopped stirring and stared as she contemplated her certain future.

The old ghost saw the doubt in her eyes and fought Malky’s case from his corner, “He’s a decent sort who won’t let you down –- you have to grow up sometime, missy! Stop moonin’ about and think like a mammy!”

No, let’s make no bones about, she was getting bored. It isn't good when life gets too predictable, when routine becomes rut. She needn't worry; things were about to get very strange indeed...

St Cedric’s Institution for the Criminally Insane (SCICI): Rossington watched the sundown from his office window, a very large brandy in one hand, a cigarette in the other. It had been a bad day. The news from the board had been direct with no room for interpretation. His time had run out. The victims’ families’ petitions and writing campaigns had fulfilled their purpose, the pressure to do something had forced their hand. He had to give up Barry McKee to the authorities so an independent assessment of his condition could be made. He’d explored every legal avenue to keep him at SCICI, but there was nothing more he could do. The mob has spoken.

He was angry and frustrated, but mostly angry. He finished his brandy, carelessly stubbed out the cigarette, left his office and made for the sick bay in the high security wing. He walked quickly and purposely, collected the swipe cards from the nurses’ station and marched on, swiping through the sophisticated system of doors, along the corridors and across the walkway that led to the security ward and the room of SCICI’s most infamous inmate. Then, just as he swiped the lock, he had a moment of inspiration. He turned and walked to the staff toilet at the end of the corridor, to the mirror above the wash-hand basin; using his penknife to unscrew the frame, he carefully prised the hexagonal glass from the wall, put it under his arm and took it to McKee’s room.

“Hello, Barry,” he said, quietly closing the door behind him and turning on the lights. The sudden blaze of brightness didn’t faze McKee. Hooked up to the machines that kept him alive, long haired and bearded, he continued to stare unblinkingly at the ceiling, like a stricken biblical prophet transfixed by a vision of hell.

“I must apologise, it’s been quite a while since I visited. I’ve been busy with other patients and projects, not to mention running this establishment, you know how it is. I’ve kept abreast of your progress, though... what there is of it.” Rossington slowly crossed the floor, talking in a casual manner as he approached the bed, “Anyway, I’ll get straight to the point: I’ve received some bad news regarding your case and I thought you should to be the first to hear it.” He sat in the chair by the bed and put the mirror on his lap, “They've decided to take you off my hands, Barry. They say I’ve had enough time to prove you’re worth keeping alive. They say it would be mercy: ‘it’s cruelty not to let nature take its course’. No doubt they’re under pressure from the families of the victims, not to mention that bastard Somerville. Whatever, you’re doomed, and there’s nothing I can do to save you.”

As always, McKee remained silent and seemingly insensible.

“You've shown no significant progress since that business with Niamh and Oona 2 years ago.” He tore off the latest print-out from the EEG and indicated the flat lines across the graph, “See, nothing like the flurry of activity we recorded during those instances in 1989. Why’s that, eh?” He scrunched the page into a ball and threw it into the corner. “It all stopped when I took away the mirrors and had you moved you to this room, didn’t it? Niamh and Oona lost their connection and have exhibited no psychic abilities since. It’s no coincidence, is it, Barry?”

He stood up and held the mirror over McKee’s face, “I know you use mirrors to reach out other telepaths and psychics,” he said, looking deep into McKee’s unseeing eyes, “so I’m having them re-installed, and you can do whatever is you do. Good or evil, I don’t care anymore. I just need results, Barry. I need something to show for my work. If not, I’ll hand you over to the authorities and they’ll perform what will be, for all intents and purposes, a public execution...”

To Be Continued Next Month...

#Spindlefreck #fantasy #witchcraft #witches #psychics #irish fiction #demon #ghosts #mysticism #mystics #fantasy fiction

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blastthechaos · 6 years ago

Text

Nonexistent - Prologue

>Start Game

New Game >Load Game

>Lincoln Loud

Play Time: 11 years

Last Saved: 5/11/2016

Game Progress: 1%

Life Progress: 5%

Level: 0

Loading...ERROR

Data corrupted

>Lincoln

PLay Time:

Last Saved:

Game Progress:

LIfe Progress:

Level:

Still wanna load?

>Yes No

Game loaded...

In a forest close to royal woods, animals were running around going on with their normal life.

a small white rabbit was going around his business before going back to his home with his family, but then he spotted something, a glowing light.

The rabbit got curious and decided to get close to it.

Lincoln woke up in a hospital bed.

He didn’t remember why exactly he was there, he had vague memories of what happened before, but he still retained his memories, so he guessed it was the event that brough him here that are absent.

The young albino looked around confused by his surroundings, mainly because...everything seemed negative now.

Literally, everything was like it was put through a negative filter.

Everything looked still, as if time itself stopped, no sound or anything, even the rain from outside looked completely still.

Then everything flickered for a bit before returning to normal.

Then he felt a sudden tiredness go through his whole body and a sharp pain through his head, he clutched it with his hand...and was shocked when it was photo negative for a bit before returning to normal.

“Wha?” Was the only response he could muster.

Nothing happened again for a bit, so he decided to ignore it, maybe he was hallucinating...he hoped, though maybe that’s worse...who knows really?

He continued to lay in the bed, he was recovering a bit for headache he received, plus he waited for someone to arrive and explain to him what happened.

He wondered if his family was here, worried about him.

Suddenly a doctor came to the room.

He looked surprised.

“You’re awake” Said the doctor eyeing him.

Lincoln was a bit uncomfortable by this, but shrugged it off.

“Yeah, how long was i out?”

“Well, for some hours”

“That’s good, at least i wasn’t knocked out for a very long time”

“Hn, so it’s everything ok?”

“Besides some headaches, yeah i’m fine”

“Well, we are gonna do you some check ups and then we allow you to go”

“Kay thanks”

“Just one question”

“Yah”

“Who are you?”

Lincoln was weirded out by that, he guessed it could be understandable the doctor may not know who he was, but he guessed his family...or whoever may sended him there, filled the people on who he was.

“Lincoln Loud, why?”

The doctor raised an eyebrow

“Loud eh? That's weird”

“Weird why?”

“Because the people who sended you here were also loud, yet they told me they don't know who you are or where are you from”

…

Lincoln ran a million of ways to make sense out of the situation.

Was he talking of different people? Did there was another family with the loud last name? Was this a prank?

If this was his family, why would they play a prank like this? Did everyone suddenly gained Luan's sense of humor in her worst days?

He kinda felt it was his family, since the latest memories before waking him in the hospital was with them.

Maybe the doctor was wrong and playing a prank?

He just didn't get it

“Excuse me? Where those people a family of mostly girls with blondes and brunettes with a black haired one”

“Yeah, that was them”

…

Maybe what happened earlier wasn't an hallucination, maybe it had something to do with what was going on right now.

“emmm...ok, I think there might be a misunderstanding or i'm worse than I thought, but I’m part of that family, like, the only son”

“They didn’t mention anything about a son”

“Ok ok” Lincoln was smiling, but it was clear that he looked like he was about to go into a mental breakdown.

“Maybe whatever happened to me affected me more than i thought, i guess, yeah that be it, haha” He was nervous at this point.

He should probably go see his family to make things clear, but he didn’t want to arise suspictions to the doctor.

“So how long will those checks up take?”

“Perhaps a few hours, maybe more, do you have an adult that takes care of you?”

Lincoln had to lie, since whatever it’s going on with his family means there’s a chance they deny being related to him.

“Eh, no”

The doctor gave him a look.

“So you been alone? You don’t look like it”

“Appearances can be deceiving”

The doctor thought about it for a second before seemingly accepting it.

The check ups took some while, since for some reason everything turned photo negative a few times and time slowed down or flat out stopped, then Lincoln would feel tired afterwards, he also had to lie a few times during it to avoid making people in the hospital think he’s crazy.

After leaving, Lincoln gave a good look at himself, the clothes (which are is usual outfit) are a little charred and thorn in places, he should probably find something new to wear soon, he suddenly got the urge of making a change of outfit, for some reason.

He tried wracking his brain to try and remember more about the incident that led him into the hospital.

The last thing he remembered was Lisa and...something.

“Figures she had something to do with this”

He looked at his surroundings and did a few stretchs.

“Well, time to find out what’s going on”

Select a difficulty

-Wanna go for a walk in the park? (Easy)

>-Lincoln's usual life (Normal)

-Strode through hell (Hard) may change stuff in the story and game

HUB:Royal Woods

Now were at the first hub world and what you could call the tutorial level.

Lincoln can move left and right, crouch and look up with the analog stick/D pad depending on your preference, can jump although not very far with the jump button (A/X), throw a two hit combo with the physical attack (spoiler) button (X/SQUARE), block with the block button (R2/RT), accelerate with the dash/boost button (L1/LB), taunt by pressing the analog stick and use items/weapons with the object button (Y/TRIANGLE).

This isn’t all he can do but were getting ahead of ourselves.

At the start you go around exploring Royal Woods, talking to the people who always give you responses in the likes of:

“Who are you? I never see you around here and i’m sure I remember seeing some of your hair color”

“Leave kiddo, i don’t know your game but I can assure you I never saw you in your entire life”

“Never heard of you”

“Nope, haven’t seen you around until now, then again you’re probably such a loser from just looking at you i’ll probably don’t even bother to remember you”

And so and so forth.

This causes Lincoln to panic a bit, as his sprite changes to a more distressed one, though not full out there.

As you check around Royal Woods, you’ll notice some particular structures that can while you can’t do anything with it, they look and feel like they could be interacted with it, if you do Lincoln will react like this.

“...I check this later after i sort this out”

Afterwards you continue to wander around Royal Woods, eventually you’re gonna come to another section of this hub:Franklin Avenue.

Once there you’ll eventually arrive at the loud house.

Lincoln walked into the loud house visibly shaken, at the start he had a hard time believing it but now after having talked to people it just furthered his fears that everyone had forgotten him, still, he needed to see if his family remembered him.

He knocked on the door, he did it a bit hard since the ruckus from inside make it hard to listen to.

He patiently waited until someone opened the door.

It was his sister Lori.

“Hi” He said.

The way she looked him all but confirmed his fears, it wasn’t the look you give to family, even the ones you’re annoyed with.

It was the look you give some stranger you don’t want to deal with.

“Hi...eh, who are you? Never see you around here” She said while eyeing him.

...You could listen to Lincoln’s heart rate going at 700 MPH

“I am...Lincoln, just Lincoln, I was wondering if you had a brother?”

“...No, i don’t have a brother and never had, this family doesn’t have a boy”

...And now you can listen to Lincoln’s heart shattering in a billion pieces.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah I am, why do you care anyways? You weirdo”

“No, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, i kinda made a mistake, I’m sorry, I’ll take my leave”

“Yeah, whatever, bye” She closed the door.

…

With no idea of what to do now, Lincoln wanders off.

Meanwhile at the loud house.

“Hey Lori, who was that?” Asked Luna.

“Just some nobody,it’s not big deal”

Level:Royal Woods Forest

At this point it’s dark and still a little rainy, Lincoln is there wandering around with a...defeated look on his face.

“What I’m gonna do now?...Thanks a lot Lisa” He mutters.

“Then again, i’m the idiot who said yes to her...what did she do anyways? I think it had something to do with a machine”

Then he spotted a glowing light on the forest.

“What’s that?”

Then you gotta go check it out.

This is a small stroll, nothing important but just walk forward.

When you arrive you notice that what looks like a energy ball is causing this light.

Lincoln stared at it.

“Should i touch it? What if something bad happens...then again, it’s not like I have stuff to lose anyways”

Once you get close to it you’re given the option to interact with it, once yo do, this happens.

The glowing ball of light rises up and immediately goes inside of Lincoln, making him scream in agony as he becomes a glowing yellow light that soon turns orange.

Then the shining stops and that leaves Lincoln who falls unconscious to the ground, though his white hair now has orange stripes on it.

Now my friend, is when the game starts.

Game Saved...

Lincoln taunts as normal:

"Moron"

"Come and get me"

"What? Scared?"

"Want a piece of me?"

Lincoln idle animations as normal:

Crosses his arms and taps his foot annoyed.

Points to his wrist as if there was a watch there condescendingly.

Starts dancing a little.

Falls asleep while standing up.

Lays on the ground while trying not to fall asleep.

Looks around and up outta boredom.

Stretches a little.

Yawns.

#The Loud House #TLH #Loud House #Lincoln Loud #Superhero AU #Nonexistent #Fanfic #Fanfiction #TLH Fanfiction #AU

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rickstexaschick · 6 years ago

Text

Rick’s Texas Chick: Chapter 22

This was originally posted on AO3 at:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15183545/chapters/35775684#workskin‘

Rick woke up late in the morning with a huge hangover. And a warm body pressed against his back and legs. It felt good. Had she returned, come back to him in the middle of the night? Reaching behind, his hand encountered a soft, furry body curled against the small of his back. Another, larger one was stretched out and lay heavily along the backs of his legs. He shifted away from them and rolled onto his back, disturbing two more bodies. The black one was curled up above his head on the pillow, and the fourth had been lying on his feet, resting it’s head on his toes.

Christ. Fucking cats. They’d never slept with him in her bed before, except for the black one. Well, Rick had never slept alone in her bed before, so maybe this is how they slept with her when he wasn’t around...And lately he’d been sleeping over a lot. Almost every night. Those fucking nightmares were happening more and more frequently.

He sighed and stretched. The cats were in various stages of getting up, stretching deeply with great silent yawns then snapping their jaws shut with clicks of their teeth and jumping off the bed. As if they had all been on guard duty and were now dismissed. Only the black one stayed curled up on the pillow, refusing to budge. Rick reached up behind his head and gave it a rough rub with his hand.

”Hi, cat.” His voice was gruff. Too much whiskey. He sighed and got up, went to take a leak. He needed coffee. And something for this hangover. And food. Maybe Beth had some breakfast leftover. Or he’d just fix himself a sandwich. He got dressed and portalled across the street.

****

He was sitting at his work table in the garage, fiddling at the back of his portal gun with a screwdriver, adjusting the timing. Sometimes she was still a little slow walking through with him — still hesitant, perhaps? He needed to talk to her about that, remind her that she, or parts of her, could get left behind. Maybe putting it that way would make her more afraid. He’d have to think that through...

A sizzling pop and the slight tang of ozone caused him to look up in time to see Harley stepping through a portal over in the corner of the garage. His eyes narrowed and he picked up his flask for a huge drink.

”Welllll, i-i-if it isn’t ‘Easy Rider.’ Coming to gloat, are we? Tell me all about the great ‘ride’ you took last night?” He sat back on his stool, scowling.

”No, dickwad. She’s been fucking crying for the last hour.”

Rick stood up, making the stool topple behind him with a clatter. He was across the garage in a flash, grabbing Harley by his throat and squeezing.

”Asshole! Wh-wh-what did you fucking do to her? Did you hurt her?! D-d-did you fucking make her take it up the ass? Did you?! I told you she wasn’t ready for that yet!!” The two men grappled with each other and slammed against some metal shelving, making a box of parts fall to the floor with a crash.

Harley took hold of Rick’s wrists and twisted, wrenching Rick’s hands off of his neck and shoved him away.

”Christ, no, fuckwad! I-I-I would never hurt her!! S-s-settle -- calm the fuck down, man.”

They stood facing each other, breathing heavily. Rick shook out his wrists, glaring at Harley. Harley coughed and rubbed his neck, he’d probably have bruises. Asshole.

”You didn’t tell her shit about us, did you? J-j-just got her drunk and dumped her in my lap, right? And-and-and left me to deal with the explanations and the fucking fallout. Sh-she damn nearly had a nervous breakdown! You never even told her about her ex. She still thinks he’s gonna show up at her — on her goddamn doorstep someday!”

Rick blinked, absorbing this. He walked back to his work table and picked up his flask and took a huge slug, still deep in thought. He had to admit, that’s pretty much how this had played out. Got her a little tipsy to help her relax, because he knew from experience that otherwise her inhibitions would work against her...But he hadn’t realized she was still afraid of her ex coming around. She never talked about him.

“L-L-Look, man,” Harley continued, his voice lowering, “y-y-you gotta come back with me, help me fix — straighten this out. Carry this thing through. And she doesn’t have any clothes — y-y-you didn’t tell her to bring any, dumbshit.”

Rick sighed. Well, he didn’t have anything else going on. And if he played his cards right, he could work this to their advantage.

Right then Beth came into the garage from the kitchen to investigate the angry voices and noises. It had sounded like her father was arguing with...himself. She stopped, looking at the two nearly identical men. She’d never seen multiple versions of her father before. She knew they existed, Morty had told her about them.

Rick turned to look at Beth, “Hey, sweetie, I n-n-need you to go across the street and pack some clothes and things. She’ll be out of town for the rest of the week. And-and-and Morty and Summer need to take care of those cats of hers while she’s gone.”

Rick and Beth talked about the details of packing clothes for her, arguing, with their quick tempers flaring. (What kind of clothes does she need? How the fuck should I know? Just pack her some shit...)

Harley watched silently, suddenly lost in thought. So, this is the daughter he would have had, if his Diane had lived... He wish he hadn’t seen her. It made his heart hurt to think about it... Rick started speaking to him and it brought him out of his sad reverie.

”Ok, I guess it’ll take a few minutes for Beth to get some shit together for her. You wanna...have a beer or something?” Rick rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn’t used to having other Ricks around. Or anyone else, for that matter.

”Nah, man. I gotta get back, buy some food. That’s where I told her I was goin’.” He aimed his portal at the wall and stepped through.

Rick sat back down at his work bench and took a thoughtful swig from his flask. He believed Harley when he’d said he hadn’t tried to force her to do anal sex.

Rick had tried to “knock on her back door” a number of times. In the beginning she’d burst into hysterical tears the moment he’d touched her, and cowered away from him in the bed as if she expected him to start beating her next. She sobbed and begged him repeatedly, “Please stop, it hurts, please stop...” Like a recorded chant that was stuck on a loop in her mind from some past event. And he hadn’t even done anything beyond stroking her once or twice. It fucking freaked him out. He’d had to calm her down, holding her in his arms, kissing her, speaking softly to her, waiting for her to stop shaking and crying. It was a boner killer, if ever there was one.

Only the last one or two times it was she who’d suggested trying it again. He knew she was only doing it to please him. She didn’t cry or cringe away from him like a beaten animal, but the moment he touched her she still asked him to stop, saying she wasn’t ready. Then she started crying anyway, ashamed and apologizing. Total boner killer.

He wondered if it was too soon to try again.

He sure would like to know what that bastard had done to her...

tbc

#Rick and Morty #Rick Sanchez #Rick/Reader #Rickdicted #Harley Rick #Rick's Texas Chick

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hannahberrie · 7 years ago

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Everybody Talks | Chapter 8: Study Buddies

Fandom: Stranger Things Pairings: Mileven, Lumax Rating: K WC: 8557 Summary: Mike enlists El’s help to try and figure out what happened at Jennifer Hayes’ party.

[AO3] Chapter Selection: [1][2][3][4][5][6][7]-8-[9][10][11][12][13][14][15][Epilogue]

Monday morning at Hawkins High, Jennifer Hayes’ party is still the only thing that everyone’s talking about. Everyone’s whispering about how crazy the whole thing was. How you just had to be there. How, after the fight died down, the cops were called and all hell had broken loose again.

The cops hadn’t been able to tell what caused the power outage, but they were able to arrest the underaged drunk kids that were stupid enough to stick around.

Evidently, they were also able to contact Mr. and Mrs. Hayes.

According to the rumors, Jennifer Hayes is now officially grounded until, like, college (news to which Will replies, voice completely flat, “Oh, no — no more parties”).

Despite all that, the drama doesn’t stop there.

Monday afternoon, word gets around that Greg McCorkle basically had a mental breakdown in the school parking lot. Apparently, someone, at some point during the day, spray-painted some pretty colorful language onto the side of his car — no pun intended.

During lunch, most students rush outside to see it for themselves. The chaos of the all the clamor makes it nearly impossible for Mr. Coleman, the principal, to even tell what’s going on, let alone to start apprehending suspects — though, according to what he shouts as he tries to break up the crowded parking lot, he has ‘a pretty good idea’ who did it, he just has ‘to prove it.’

“Do you think he really knows?” Will asks as the guys shuffle back inside. “Who did it, I mean.”

“Nah, he’s full of shit,” Lucas scoffs.

“Almost as much shit as the ones written all over Greg McCorkle’s car,” Dustin quips, earning a gleeful round of snickers from his friends.

Later Monday afternoon, when school lets out, Mike still doesn’t know who painted Greg’s car.

At least, he doesn’t until he starts to bike home.

Mike takes a shortcut around the back of the school, as it avoids the chaos of trying to bike through a crowded parking lot filled with asshole seniors and their dangerously fast cars.

As Mike comes around the back, he hears a noise: the sound of small objects knocking into metal, their rattle echoing.

He looks over and spots someone in a gray hoodie tossing a couple cans of spray paint into the giant dumpster behind the school. They’re a little shorter than the dumpster, so they have to hop in place a little in order to successfully chuck the empty cans inside.

Mike frowns, bringing his bike to a skidding halt. He’s seen that hoodie before.

The figure turns around at the screech of his bike tires, and even though she’s standing several feet away, Mike recognizes Max at once.

Their eyes meet.

Mike’s jaw drops.

Max freezes, one last empty spray-paint can still in hand.

Mike glances at her, the dumpster, the can of spray paint, and back at her again.

Well...it’s not like it doesn’t make perfect sense.

He keeps staring, unsure of what to do.

Max looks startled, scared even, and she throws him a pleading look.

Please don’t tell.

Mike’s mouth snaps shut and he quickly gives her a reassuring smile.

Never.

Max softens, smirks, and turns to toss the last can into the dumpster.

She turns back to look at him, they exchange a single, mutual nod, Mike bikes off, and neither speaks of the incident from that day forward.

Monday night at the Wheeler’s, Mike still can’t fall asleep. Then again, he hasn’t really been able to since Saturday. Every time he closes his eyes, he’s right back in Jennifer’s suffocating, stiflingly hot living room. The fight breaks out, the lamp is thrown, and then it all comes to a screeching halt.

Over and over and over again.

Mike’s eyes open. It’s pitch black in his room, and, according to his digital alarm clock, well after midnight.

He tosses onto his side, trying to force himself to fall asleep, but it doesn’t work. His mind just keeps going back to that lamp. He can’t get the image of it — floating, defying everything that he knew about physics — out of his head.

The whole thing is just so weird and doesn’t make any sense.

Mike tosses and turns for a few more moments before giving up. He crawls down from the top of his bunk bed and starts pacing around his room, trying to get his mind working.

There had to be some kind of explanation, right? Some rational, scientific reasoning?

But—

Why did it just HOVER before falling? Why were all the lights flashing? And what was that sound?

Mike drags a hand through his hair, frowning in frustration. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense.

His gaze darts about his bedroom as he paces, as if he’ll find the answers to his questions hidden somewhere amongst old comic books and science fair trophies.

In a way, he does.

His eyes land on one of his most prized possessions, a framed commemorative poster for The Empire Strikes Back. His dad gave it to him for his 10th birthday, and even though Mike is sure that his mother played a big role in choosing the gift, it’s reassuring to know that there was at least one point in time in which his father acknowledged his interests.

But when Mike looks at the poster now, he’s not thinking about his dad.

The Force.

Okay, so, of course, Mike knows that the Force technically isn’t real. But what if what had happened at the party was supernatural in some other way? What if it was beyond scientific understanding?

Mike’s eyes widen as he considers this further. His pacing stops as he freezes in place, mind officially blown.

Holy shit.

He has to investigate this. He has to. But how? He needs help.

His gaze moves to his nightstand. The completed Rubik’s cube is still resting there, just as he’d left it weeks ago.

He knows exactly who’ll understand.

“Sorry guys, but I’m going to have to call off A.V. for today,” Mike tells the guys over lunch.

“But we always have A.V. Club on Tuesdays,” Will frowns, looking concerned, “Is everything ok?”

“Yeah, everything’s ok!” Mike insists, “I just…uh…”

“You just what?” Lucas asks.

“Uh…”

“Give him a minute,” Dustin smirks, “He’s gotta think of an excuse first.”

“I’m not making excuses!” Mike insists. He hesitates as he contemplates what to say, but then, remembering his cardinal rule, decides that he shouldn’t lie to his friends. “I have to go to the library after school.”

“Why?!” Lucas exclaims, brow furrowed in confusion.

Mike shrugs. “To study.”

“Study what?”

As much as Mike values honesty, he’s not opposed to sometimes, when necessary, leaving out small details. Details that, if shared, would make his friends tease him for the rest of the day. Rest of the year, actually.

Said details included that he was going to the library to study supernatural activity with El Hopper (who he may or may not have a crush on).

“Stuff for science,” Mike explains, which isn’t a lie, not really.

“Like what?” Dustin asks.

“Physics.”

“You’re in Biology,” Will points out.

“Well, I want to study physics!”

“Why?” Dustin counters.

“For fun!”

“Whatever, man,” Lucas says, shaking his head. “But we need to stop slacking off. We still have to finish our Homecoming project, remember?”

At the beginning of the year, before Mr. Coleman busted them for selling test answers, he approached the A.V. Club with a request. He wanted them to make a promotional video for the homecoming football game that featured highlights from past seasons.

“If it’s good enough, we might even submit it to the local news!” He gushed excitedly.

The boys eagerly accepted the project. Considering that they had to fight to be featured in the yearbook last year, they were desperate for recognition. Plus, as Lucas had eagerly pointed out, Troy would totally lose his shit if something they made was featured on the news.

Now, it’s over a month later and, after long hours of sorting through endless film reels of nothing but football, the boys’ passion for the project is pretty much shot. The homecoming football game is only two weeks away, and yet they still haven’t even come close to finishing.

“I know,” Mike frowns, “We’ll finish it, I promise!”

“The news, Mike,” Dustin says, slapping a hand down on the lunch table for emphasis, “The. News. We’re going to be famous!”

“We’re not even going to be in it,” Will reminds him.

“Still! Everyone will see it, and then we can tell them that we made it, and then we’ll be famous.”

“Not if we don’t finish it,” Lucas reiterates.

“We will!” Mike repeats, “How about we meet tomorrow instead? Does that work?”

The other three all glance at each other before nodding approvingly.

“As long as we get it done,” Will shrugs.

“Alright, tomorrow then,” Mike says definitively. In retrospect, he could have easily kept the A.V. Club meeting and gone to the library tomorrow…

…but that would just mean another sleepless night spent tossing and turning over answers he didn’t quite have. He needs to figure things out now, before he completely loses his mind.

The conversation concludes with the ring of the school bell. As lunch ends, the cafeteria becomes a flurry of activity. The guys pack up their lunches and go their separate ways, each headed off to their 6th-period classes.

Even though Mike knows that he’s going to see El in Biology, he wants to ask her before class starts — mainly because he’s scared he’ll lose his nerve otherwise.

Even though the school hallways are as crowded as usual, Mike is still able to spot El. He recognizes her hair, slicked back as always, curling at the ends. She’s wearing the same flannel shirt that she wore when they first met in detention, though she has a different band tee paired with it.

He hasn’t talked to her since their phone conversation on Sunday, a conversation that he’s admittedly played back in his head several times. It hadn’t lasted long — after El promised him that everything was okay, the conversation ended with a few offhand questions about their upcoming Biology assignments.

But still. They’d had time to talk, just the two of them, without his friends attempting to embarrass him in the background. And now, hopefully, they’ll get a second chance.

He sees her walk to her locker and start turning the padlock.

He takes a deep breath, readying himself.

Paladin, he reminds himself, trying to bolster his own confidence. He’s a leader. El believes in him.

With that in mind, Mike walks over to her, trying to look as casually suave as he can. El doesn’t see him approaching and even when he comes to a stop beside her locker, she’s still distracted with getting out her books.

Mike clears his throat. “Uh, hey!”

El glances up before jumping back slightly, looking startled. “Mike!”

“I’m sorry!” Mike apologizes hastily, taking a step back. “I didn’t mean to scare you!”

“You didn’t scare me,” El blushes, not looking directly at him.

“Well, that’s good!” Mike replies, his own cheeks starting to turn pink. “I just…uh…”

“What?” El asks, gaze meeting his. Her eyes look so much larger when they’re surrounded by the black eyeshadow she always wears. It makes her stare a little intimidating.

“I wanted to ask you something?” Mike asks, hating how pitchy his voice gets towards the end of the sentence. He can’t help it. He’s nervous. It doesn’t help that he can’t quite read her facial expression, either. He can’t tell if she’s nervous, suspicious, angry, or curious.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Mike echoes, taking another steadying breath.

He hesitantly steps closer to her. El’s eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t step back. Instead, she follows his lead and leans in, cheeks bright pink.

“So, do you remember how we were talking about what happened at Jennifer’s house?” Mike asks, voice low, “With the lamp?”

“Yes?” El whispers back.

“Well, I was thinking about it over the past couple days, and the whole thing just doesn’t add up, right?”

“Right,” El echoes nervously.

“Well, I was thinking that maybe, it was like, something...something...”

El eyes him. “Something...?”

“Supernatural,” Mike finishes hastily.

“Supernatural?”

“Yeah, you know, like paranormal,” Mike explains. “It means that it goes against the laws of nature, or normality.”

“I know what it means,” El defends, “I just...why are you telling me?”

“Because you’re the only one that believes me!” Mike reminds her, “All my other friends think that I was just seeing things.”

“But you...weren’t,” El says carefully.

“Exactly! But I need to prove it! I wanna do some research and see if I can dig up any more information about stuff like this. You know, like weird stuff.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah! So, I was hoping, that maybe, if you’re free, we could go to the library after school today?” Mike asks, voice getting a little pitchy again. It’s starting to get embarrassing how nervous he sounds. “I mean, only if you want to, that is. I just thought it’d be nice to have someone else there to help and talk things through with.”

El hesitates. “I’m not sure,” she says, looking away.

“Please?” Mike pouts, giving her what was hopefully his best puppy-dog eyes.

El blushes. “I guess so,” she relents shyly.

“Awesome!” Mike grins. “Why don’t you meet me at the bike rack after school gets out?”

“Okay,” El nods, cheeks still pink.

The warning bell rings and Mike realizes he doesn’t have any supplies for Biology yet.

“Aw, shit,” he groans, “I gotta run to my locker, but I’ll see you in class, okay?”

“Okay!” El repeats, and once again, he can’t quite read whether or not she’s excited or anxious. Maybe it’s a combination of both.

Either way, she agreed to spend time with him, and that alone has Mike beaming with excitement.

She said yes. She said yes and she believed him and she’s like, the coolest girl ever. He can barely believe it.

The last two classes of the day pass by in a blur. Mike spends most of them watching the clock, counting down the seconds until school lets out. When it finally does, he hurriedly packs up his things and races outside to the bike rack, not wanting to accidentally miss El.

His friends stop by to pick up their own bikes, Will to recommend some good physics books he’s heard of, and Dustin and Lucas to warn him to not get too invested in any “weird shit.”

A few minutes after they leave, El exits the school and approaches Mike.

At this point, it’s not surprising in the slightest that Mike’s heart starts doing cartwheels. He realizes that it’s a feeling he’s just going to have to get used to.

“Hey, El!” Mike says excitedly as she approaches him.

“Hi, Mike,” El murmurs, giving him a small smile.

“So, are you ready to go?”

“Go?”

“To the library?”

“Isn’t that right here? At school?”

“I was thinking,” Mike replies, flustered, “That we could go to the public library. I don’t think our school has enough books on supernatural stuff.”

“How are we going to get there?” El asks, confused.

Mike starts to blush. “I was...uh...thinking that I could bike us there?”

El blinks at him.

Oh, god. She probably thinks he’s a total wasteoid. What kind of dweeb still rode a bike around, anyway? He can’t even drive and now El probably thinks he’s completely lame for it. Why was this a good idea again?

“Or not,” Mike mutters, looking down at his feet, “I dunno, I’m sorry. I was just being weird.”

“No!” El pipes up quickly.

Mike looks back up in surprise. “No?”

“You’re not weird,” El explains, “I just didn’t know.” She moves closer to him, stopping only when she’s standing right before him.

If Mike had thought that Jennifer Hayes had this otherworldly aura, it’s nothing compared to how El makes him feel. It’s ridiculous, really, considering that she was hanging onto him for most of Saturday night, but nevertheless, when she comes to stand in front of him and cocks her head up to meet his eye, he’s completely awestruck.

“Let’s go,” El says.

“Um,” Mike replies stupidly.

El gives him a confused look, which is enough to make Mike snap out of it.

“Yes!” He bursts, blushing bright pink. “I mean, yeah, let’s get going.”

He turns and mounts his bike, then pats the back of the seat, inviting El to get behind him.

She does. It’s a tight fit, especially since they’re both wearing backpacks and Mike’s bike is already on the smaller side, but they manage to make it work. As she situates herself on the seat behind him, her torso presses into him, her arms wrap around his sides, and her fingers curl into the sleeves of his navy windbreaker. Being that he’s a few inches taller than her, their size difference is noticeable even when sitting. Her head comes to a stop around his neck area, so when she speaks, her voice sounds slightly muffled.

“Ready!” She announces.

Mike nods, pretty much unable to speak at the moment. He takes off biking, making sure to keep a good balance.

The bike ride is mostly quiet, but it’s not an uncomfortable silence. Quite the opposite, actually. Having El snuggled up beside him is definitely the most comfortable feeling in the world. Did thinking that make him a weirdo? Probably.

The ride doesn’t take long, and within 15 minutes they come to a stop in front of the Hawkins public library.

“Sorry we had to bike,” Mike apologizes as he dismounts the bike, “Next summer, I’m gonna get my license and save up for a car.”

El gets off the bike too, tucking a strand of wind-swept hair behind her ear. “I liked the bike,” she mumbles shyly.

“Really?” Mike gapes.

El shrugs.

“Oh,” Mike blushes, “Well, that’s good, I guess.”

El smiles at him, which only causes him to blush even more. When he manages to speak again, his voice sounds embarrassingly hoarse.

“Well, let’s go inside,” He instructs.

“Right,” El replies, face falling slightly.

Mike leaves his bike tucked between some bushes before leading the way up the front steps of the library. He makes sure to dash ahead and grab the door first, holding it open for El.

“Thank you,” El replies, though she only seems partly aware of what’s going on. She’s completely captivated by the impressive architecture of the library. Her gaze keeps darting about sporadically, taking it all in.

“You’re welcome,” Mike modestly replies anyway.

When they enter the library, they’re met with the distinguished smell of old wood and books that’s somehow both comforting and unpleasantly musty at the same time. Their sneakers squeak against the checkered tiled floor. This causes the librarian, seated front and center at the main desk, to look up at them, perturbed. When she recognizes Mike, however, she softens.

“Michael!” She smiles, voice hushed. “How good to see you!”

“Hey, Marissa,” Mike smiles back.

“I see you brought a friend with you,” Marissa remarks, looking over to El.

“Oh, yeah,” Mike replies, turning to El, “This is El Hopper, she’s my...uh...my—“

Somehow, ‘crush’ doesn’t seem to be the appropriate response here. Thankfully, El steps in for him.

“Friend,” She finishes, and Mike nearly dies of happiness right then and there.

Friend. They’re friends. She said it and they’re friends.

“Yeah!” Mike replies eagerly, “We’re friends!”

“Aren’t you the Chief’s daughter?” Marissa asks, looking El over.

“Yes,” El nods.

“Huh,” Marissa replies simply. She keeps giving El the look-over, and Mike can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing. Either way, he and El have business to attend to.

“Do you guys have any historical texts on any paranormal or supernaturally significant phenomena?” Mike says, trying to sound as professional as possible. In reality, he’s just throwing in as many buzzwords from Ghostbusters as possible.

Marissa eyes him. “Check the records,” she offers, motioning to the long row of filing cabinets to her left. “Maybe we’ll have something.”

“Thanks!” Mike grins.

Marissa nods and brings a finger to her lips, reminding him to stay quiet.

Mike and El walk over to the filing cabinet. It’s quite massive in scale — at least 9 compartments tall by 12 wide. Each drawer is filled with filing notes on old newspapers articles, sorted by topic and publication.

As Mike begins to scan the label of each compartment, El leans in close to him.

“How do you know her?” She whispers, glancing back at the librarian.

“Marissa?” Mike asks, to which El nods. “I’ve known her forever. I’ve been coming here since I was a kid. The guys and I like to do research for our Dungeons and Dragons campaigns here. We like to make sure they’re like, super historically accurate.”

“What’s Dungeons and Dragons?”

“It’s a tabletop RPG,” Mike explains.

El’s brow furrows in confusion.

“Like, a board game,” Mike explains patiently, “Where you play as a character and get to make your own stories and stuff.”

“Oh,” El smiles understandingly, “That sounds fun.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” Mike brags, “I’m the Dungeon Master, so I plan a lot of campaigns. My best one took over 10 hours to finish, it was so sweet! It took forever to plan though. I had to spend a lot of time here, to make sure all my historical weaponry was accurate and everything. Sometimes the guys come here with me and we just spend the whole day reading about random stuff.”

“I’ve never been here before,” El admits, glancing around.

“You’ve never been to the library before!?” Mike exclaims in astonishment.

El shrugs.

“How is that even possible!?”

Marissa looks up from her desk to give Mike a warning shush.

Mike and El give her apologetic smiles before turning back to each other.

“Seriously, how have you never been here?” Mike whispers.

“My Dad gets me all my books,” El whispers back, “And I don’t read a lot.”

“What do you do for fun, then?” Mike asks curiously.

El thinks for a moment. “Max and I listen to music. We go to the records store a lot. Sometimes we watch movies and TV.”

“What kinds of movies?”

El hesitates. “Halloween.”

“Isn’t that movie really scary?”

El nods. She glances around the library nervously before leaning in closer to Mike. “I hate it,” she whispers, “But don’t tell Max.”

The whole thing reminds Mike of El’s previous Star Wars confession, and he can’t help but smile.

“Okay, so, what kinds of movies do you like, then?” He asks teasingly, raising an eyebrow.

El bites down her on lower lip and glances up at him shyly. “Don’t laugh,” she warns him.

“I won’t!” Mike assures her.

“I like….” El replies, voice mumbled, “Sixteen Candles.”

“Sixteen Candles?!”

“…And the Breakfast Club.”

“The Breakfast Club!?”

Marissa shushes them again, so Mike and El lower their voices.

“What?” El asks, looking worriedly at him.

“It’s nothing!” Mike insists, “I just…I didn’t know you liked that kind of stuff. Like, romance stuff.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” El inquires curiously.

“Because,” Mike hesitates, “I mean, like, just based on what most people think of you.”

“What they think of me?”

“Like, how you fit into the high school hierarchy,” Mike explains, though as soon as Dustin’s coined phrase leaves his mouth, Mike realizes how stupid he’s starting to sound.

“The hierarchy?” El echoes, brow furrowed.

Yeah, this was turning into a disaster. Mike decides to salvage the situation as best as he can by changing the subject.

“You know what, never mind, actually,” Mike quickly amends, “I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

El gives him a small, albeit slightly confused, smile. “Okay.”

“Let’s just start looking for information,” Mike instructs, turning his attention back to the filing cabinet. “Why don’t you start looking through the Chicago Tribune, and I’ll take the New York Times?”

“Okay,” El mumbles, looking a little uncomfortable.

They sort through the files together. Mike pulls out anything that could even be loosely related to paranormal activity, no matter how insignificant or mundane it seems. El pulls out a few things here and there, but not many.

“Did you find anything good, yet?” Mike whispers to her as he moves onto the New York Post.

“No,” El replies quickly, shutting the compartment for the Tribune. “Just boring stuff.”

Mike eyes her. He can’t help but feel like she’s acting a little weird. Jumpy, even. But a moment later, she’s giving him a reassuring smile, coming over to help him sort through the Post, and any uneasy feeling of his is forgotten.

They pull as many files as they can. Because Marissa knows Mike so well, she knows that he’s a ‘responsible young man with a good head on his shoulders.’ Consequently, she allows the two to use the microfilm readers to examine the articles.

The readers are located in a quiet corner in the back of the library, secluded from the other patrons. Mike and El push two chairs together and get situated in front of one reader. One by one, they start going over all of the newspaper articles they picked out, eyes straining to read the inverted text.

Mike is desperate for answers, but the newspaper articles come up blank every time. It’s mostly a lot of tall tales and exaggerated ‘eye-witness’ accounts that add up to nothing more than flashy headlines.

El stays silent for most of the time, slumped back in her seat. She’s wearing her blue braided bracelet again, and as Mike quietly reads off articles to her, she absentmindedly turns it in circles around her wrist.

“I can’t find anything,” Mike scoffs after a long period of time. “It’s all nonsense.”

“Maybe we should stop,” El offers.

“No! We can’t stop!” Mike insists, turning to look at her.

“Why not?”

“Because! I need answers. We need answers. There was something strange that happened at that party, I just know it. The cops couldn’t figure out what caused the power outage — don’t you think that’s weird?”

“I don’t know,” El mumbles.

“It is!” Mike continues, “People blow fuses all the time, that shouldn’t be hard to figure out, and yet they couldn’t! They don’t know! They don’t know because it’s something they’ve never seen before, something that no one has!”

“Like what?” El asks, starting to sound agitated. Her brow is furrowed as she gives him a serious glare. “What, Mike?”

“I don’t know!” Mike exclaims, “Something beyond scientific explanation! Something paranormal, or supernatural, or telekinetic, or—“

“Stop.”

Mike looks at her indignantly. “Stop? Why?”

“Just stop!” El repeats. She takes a hesitant breath, suddenly sounding more frightened than angry.

Mike pauses, giving her a worried look. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” El insists.

“Then why do you look upset?”

El shakes her head. “I’m not.”

“Okay, well, you obviously are.”

“I just—“ El stops herself and pauses for a moment, “I don’t think it’s worth it.”

“What isn’t worth it?”

El motions to the microfilm reader. “All this research for something you might not have really seen.”

“Might not have really seen?” Mike repeats, heart sinking. “I thought you said that you believed me!”

“I do!” El insists.

“It doesn’t sound like it!”

“I’m sorry!”

“So, which is it then? Do you believe me or not?”

El takes a sharp breath. Her eyes close, and for a moment Mike wonders if something is seriously wrong, but then she releases her breath and turns to look at him.

“I...I believe you, Mike,” she says slowly.

“Really?” Mike asks suspiciously.

El nods. She carefully reaches out to place her hand over his, and he’s pretty sure that his brain short circuits for a moment. With a gentle push, she moves his hand away from the microfilm reader. “It’s just...the party was bad, Mike. Really bad. I...I don’t want to remember it. Do we have to talk about it all the time?”

Mike instantly feels like an idiot.

El had just lived through what was probably the worst night of her life, and all that Mike had done for the past three days is constantly remind her of it. No wonder that she’s looked so uncomfortable this whole time!

“Oh my god,” Mike groans, moving away from her touch. He slumps back in his chair, desperately wishing he could just disappear. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” El replies quietly.

“No, it isn’t!” Mike laments, “It isn’t! That party must have been terrible for you, and I just keep talking about it, and making you think about it, and just being a total moron about it!”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Still!”

Before El can respond, she’s cut off by the sound of clinking heels against the tiled floor. The two glance up to see Marissa storming over to them, looking absolutely livid.

“You two!” She snaps, hissing furiously, “What is it with all the noise?!”

Mike shrinks back in his seat. “I’m sorry!” He apologizes earnestly. “We got carried away!”

“I’m very disappointed in you, Michael,” Marissa scolds, “You know better than to make a commotion in here, and yet, I could hear you two going back and forth all the way from the front desk!”

“I’m sorry!” Mike says again. He’s not sure what else he can say.

Marissa lets out an angry huff of air before taking a deep breath. She straightens up, composes herself, and gives them both warning glares. “Keep it down,” she says gravely.

“We will!” Mike nods, “We promise!”

Marissa only gives him another serious look before turning on her heel and marching back to the front desk.

Mike waits for her to leave before turning back to El.

“That was terrifying,” he jokes, keeping his voice low.

“I should go,” El murmurs in response, not looking at him, “It’s getting late.”

Oh.

Mike’s shoulders slump as he feels an overwhelming sense of defeat. He glances out the window and is surprised to see that it is pretty late — the blue sky is fading into a deep purple hue as the streetlights flicker on. They’ve been here longer than he thought.

“Okay,” Mike mumbles. He turns to glances over at El anxiously. “Do you want me to bike you home?”

“It’s okay,” El deflects. She stands up from their table and slips her backpack over her shoulder. “My house isn’t far.”

“Are you sure? It’s kinda dark.”

She nods. “I’m fine.”

Mike frowns worriedly. “Alright, then.”

El gives him a somber, half-hearted smile. “Bye, Mike.”

Mike just nods.

She leaves then, sneakers still squeaking against the floor until she exits the building.

He’s left alone, surrounded by microfilm files, face illuminated by the glow of the reader’s screen.

Though he’s not sure what, he knows that he’s definitely screwed something up.

On Wednesday, the guys host a make-up A.V. Club meeting. As always, they meet in what has to be the smallest room at Hawkins High. The space just barely fits their film equipment, repair tools, projectors, TV, landline phone, and four desks that they’d “borrowed” from other classrooms. It’s so cramped that the room often feels like a glorified closet than anything else, but regardless, it’s theirs.

Today, the desks are situated around the TV. A recording of the Hawkins High homecoming game of ’81 is playing on the screen. It has to be the millionth VHS tape of football footage that the guys have watched — consequently, they’re all slumped back in their seats disinterestedly.

Mike is trying to remain focused, but it’s all so boring. It also doesn’t help that he can’t stop worrying about El. She hadn’t looked his way once during Biology today, and after class had ended, she’d taken off in a hurry.

Mike had considered asking Max if everything was okay, but that seemed a little too forward. Plus, despite the moment they’d shared Monday, he was 99% certain that if he whined to Max about whether or not El was mad at him, Max would laugh right in his face.

The whole thing is so complicated and confusing. Mike’s not sure what he should do about the whole situation, so he instead focuses his attention on something he does understand — A.V.

“Maybe we can use this clip,” Mike says tiredly. He leans forward, reaches out across his desk, and presses pause on the TV. “I think that might have been a good play.”

“Everyone started cheering,” Will remarks, idly drawing in his sketchbook. “So, that means it has to be good, right?”

“Who cares?” Lucas sighs, “Let’s just use it! I just want this project to be over already.”

“Why do we have to put in so many highlights?” Dustin gripes. He removes his hat with one hand and uses the other to drag his fingers through his hair. “It’s all the same. One guy passes the ball to the other, the other guy runs with it, they score a point. It’s all the same and it just doesn’t make any goddamn sense.”

“Well, we’re almost done,” Will reminds them, “We only need three more minutes of footage.”

“Did you guys know that with all the time we’ve spent watching these football tapes over the past month, we could have watched the entire Star Wars trilogy over three times?” Dustin points out, “Three times.”

“That can’t be right,” Lucas frowns, shaking his head.

“7 homecoming games, all over 3 hours each, versus 3 movies, all around 2 hours each. Do the math, I’m right.”

“You do the math!” Lucas grumbles crossly.

“I just did!”

“We should take a break,” Will suggests, turning to Mike hopefully.

“Agreed,” Mike nods, rubbing his forehead, “I think we’re all pretty tired.”

“And hungry,” Dustin adds, “I’m super hungry.”

“Then go home and eat!” Lucas mutters bitterly.

“No!” Dustin frowns, scrunching up his nose, “Do you wanna know what my mom’s making for dinner tonight? Tuna casserole. Tuna casserole, Lucas. No one likes that, it’s disgusting.”

“Some people do.”

“Who?! Name one person.”

Lucas opens his mouth to reply, only to close it a second later.

“Exactly,” Dustin says triumphantly.

“Then why don’t you go out and eat,” Lucas retorts.

“Because! No one goes out to eat alone, that’s weird.”

“It really isn’t!”

“It really is!”

“Then we’ll just go with you!” Will cuts in, “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Really?” Dustin asks, looking excited.

“Really?” Lucas echoes, looking tired.

“It could be fun,” Will nods, “Right, Mike?”

Mike glances between the guys. Even though he’s still feeling a little down, a night out with his friends does seem like the perfect way to get his mind off of El.

“Why not?” He shrugs, turning off the TV. “We still have two weeks to finish this video, and it’s getting pretty late. We can go to Benny’s.”

“Mike, Will — you’re amazing, incredible,” Dustin beams, already rising out of his seat. “I owe you guys! You’ve saved me, like, seriously!”

“That’s what friends do!” Will replies before turning to give Lucas a pointed look.

Lucas eyes Will and Dustin before allowing his shoulders to slump and his demeanor to soften. “Yeah,” he relents, offering Dustin an apologetic smile.

Mike smiles at his friends, already feeling happier. “Alright, guys, let’s get going before it gets dark out,” he instructs, getting out of his desk.

The guys nod and follow his lead. After they hastily pack up their equipment and phone their parents, they race each other outside to the bike rack. It’s around 6:00 when they finally head out. Dusk is upon them — the blue sky is slowly ebbing away into a faint orange, their breath appears as faint clouds in front of their faces.

Benny’s Burgers, located near the outskirts of town, is small and a little drab, but the boys wouldn’t trade it for the world. They’ve been coming to the diner ever since they were young. The food is not only cheap, but amazing, and the owner, Benny, is always really nice to them. It’s also nice that it’s not too far away. Tonight, the boys manage to bike there in under 25 minutes.

25 more minutes later, they’re seated inside their favorite booth, happily enjoying their bounty of burgers, curly fries, and milkshakes. They sit in their usual positions — Dustin and Lucas on one side, Mike and Will on the other. Dustin and Will are seated closest to the windows; Dustin because he enjoys people-watching, and Will because he enjoys sketching the scenery when he gets bored.

There are only a few other patrons in the restaurant, but they’re more preoccupied with chatting up the owner, Benny, as he works behind the grill. The diner is filled with the sounds of frying food, soft chatter, clattering dishes, and whatever song is playing on the radio (currently: a single from the new A-ha album).

Just like the A.V. Club room, Benny’s is a place that means something to Mike and his friends. It’s safe, it’s comfortable, it’s filled with memories, and it’s always the same.

It’s the perfect way for Mike to get his mind off of El.

At least, it is until she shows up.

“Holy shit!” Dustin suddenly cries out, peering out the window, “Is that El and Max?”

Mike nearly chokes on his curly fries. “W-what?!”

“I’m serious! I’m like, a hundred percent sure that that’s them,” Dustin continues, squinting.

“I wanna see!” Lucas says eagerly, pushing past Dustin.

The boys all cram together to look out the window, faces pressed up against the glass.

Sure enough, Mike spots El and Max in the parking lot. They’re approaching the diner at an easy pace, skateboards tucked under their arms.

“They skateboard?” Dustin exclaims, shocked.

“They’re so cool!” Lucas gushes, before quickly adding, “I mean, sort of.”

Had it been any other day, Mike probably would have been absurdly excited to see that they were here. But today, still unsure of how El feels towards him, all he feels is anxiety. For all he knows, El is never going to speak to him again, all because he wouldn’t shut up about a stupid lamp. It sucks.

“I can’t believe your girlfriend is here, Mike,” Dustin snickers giddily, “Try not to cream your pants.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Mike mutters, pouting slightly. The A-ha song that’s playing on the radio is a somber love ballad, which really isn’t helping Mike’s mood.

El is chatting with Max when she suddenly stops. Max looks back at her with confusion, but then El says something and points to a spot in the front of the diner.

The exact same spot where the boy’s bikes are parked.

Max frowns and glances around the parking lot. Then her eyes flit towards the window, she nudges El, and the next thing Mike knows, both girls are staring directly at them.

Shit, shit, shit.

“Oh my god, get down!” Dustin exclaims, eyes wide.

The boys jump back from the window and duck their heads down, each a little breathless and flustered.

“Shit, do you think they saw us!?” Lucas hisses, not daring to look back out the window.

“They looked right at us!” Dustin hisses back, “I’m pretty sure they did!”

“So? Aren’t we friends with them?” Will asks, glancing at everyone. “We all hung out at the party!”

“That was only because everyone else was drunk!” Lucas reminds him, “And Max specifically said that we weren’t friends!”

“I don’t think she really meant that.”

“It doesn’t matter, we can’t get caught looking like creeps!” Mike insists, quickly straightening up, “Just act normal! Maybe they didn’t recognize us!”

The boys nod and follow his lead, resuming their normal seating positions.

As they all return to eating, Mike can feel his heart pounding in his chest. The drumming of his heartbeat is so loud, he’s surprised that all his friends can’t hear it. Wait. Maybe they can. Maybe they’re just not mentioning it. Oh god, what if it’s like, really loud, and then El walks in and she totally hears it and she knows how much he’s freaking out and—

His thoughts are abruptly cut off by the soft chime of the bell that hangs above the entryway door. He can hear two sets of footsteps enter, and then come closer, and then he can see Lucas’ eyes widening, and Mike’s palms are starting to sweat, and shit, this is really happening.

He glances up nervously to see Max and El walking up to the table. Max’s head is held high with confidence, while El’s is ducked down shyly.

“‘Sup, nerds,” Max says casually, coming to a stop in front of the table. Without hesitation, she slides right into Lucas and Dustin’s side of the booth and gives Lucas a punch to the arm. “Hope you don’t mind that we left our boards by your bikes.”

Lucas tries to laugh, but it comes out as nothing more than a nervous voice-crack.

Mike and El’s gazes meet.

She looks nervous, but then again, Mike knows that he does too. He’s more than nervous, actually, he’s terrified.

But then El gives him a small, soft smile, and Mike feels his heart melt because she’s so pretty and she’s smiling at him, which means that she probably doesn’t hate him for acting like a total wasteoid, right? Se forgives him.

Mike doesn’t realize that he’s been stupidly, wordlessly gazing at her this entire time until Will intervenes.

“Let her sit down,” he whispers, giving Mike a small nudge.

Oh. Right.

“D-Do you want to?” Mike hesitantly asks El.

El blushes. “I-“

“She does,” Max answers, “Believe me.”

El throws Max a dirty look before turning back to Mike and nodding appreciatively. “Yes.”

Will and Mike slide over in the booth, allowing El to squeeze in next to Mike. It’s a close fit and Mike can’t help but blush when her leg presses up against his.

“Thanks,” El murmurs to Mike.

“You’re welcome!” Mike mumbles back.

“So, um,” Dustin says, slightly squished up against the window, “Like, no offense, but why are you guys here?”

“Like, no offense,” Max replies, mimicking him, “But why were you stalking us?”

“We weren’t stalking you!” Lucas insists.

“Then why were you all looking out the window at us?”

The guys glance at each other anxiously.

“There was…” Will begins slowly.

“A…” Lucas adds.

“A really big…” Mike continues.

“Lizard,” Dustin finishes.

“A lizard?!” Everyone else echoes.

“Yeah!” Dustin continues quickly, throwing the guys a scowl. “A really big, killer lizard. Like, bigger than my head! It was running through the grass, and I spotted it, and I just thought I that I should point it out to the guys, because it looked really cool. We totally didn’t know that you girls were even there.”

It takes everything within Mike to not slap himself on the forehead.

Shockingly, the girls don’t buy it.

“Remind me to never commit a crime with you guys,” Max remarks. She reaches a hand across the table, steals a curly fry from Lucas’ basket, and starts munching away happily. “You guys are the worst liars ever.”

“Whatever,” Lucas blushes, sliding the basket of fries closer to her.

“So, uh, you guys never said why you were here?” Mike says conversationally.

“Max is teaching me to skateboard,” El explains. She tilts her neck back and points to a small, but rough-looking scrape along the underside of her chin.

“Sweet!” Dustin says, impressed.

“Are you ok?” Mike asks worriedly.

El nods modestly. “It didn’t hurt.”

“Anyway,” Max chimes in, still working on Lucas’ fries, “We got hungry, so we skated here.”

“You guys like it here too?” Will asks.

“It’s alright,” Max shrugs. She reaches into Lucas’ basket for another curly fry, only to discover that she’s eaten them all. “Shit,” she mutters, frowning at the empty basket.

“Maybe,” Dustin says, “You should order your own food.”

Max flips him off. Dustin returns the motion. At first, Mike worries that an argument is going to break out between them, but to his surprise, their angered looks break into mutual snickering, and both look away with a smirk.

Alright, then.

“I’m hungry,” El admits. Her leg is still pressed against Mike’s, and as she talks, he can feel that she’s drumming her foot on the floor.

“You should order some food,” Mike insists to both girls, though his gaze remains mostly fixated on El.

“Fine,” Max sighs. She reaches across the table and grabs the menu that’s tucked behind a bottle of ketchup and the salt and pepper shakers. “What should I get?” She asks, giving Lucas a pointed look.

“What do you like?” Lucas asks, still blushing furiously.

“You,” El mumbles, so low that only Mike is able to hear it.

Mike lets out a bark of laughter, earning himself a series of questioning looks from everyone but El, who meets his gaze and gives him a knowing smirk.

“I think I’m just going to get a burger,” Max shrugs, passing the menu to El. “And more fries. What’d about you, El?”

“Waffles,” El says simply, not bothering to look at the menu.

“Waffles?! For dinner?” Dustin exclaims.

El gives him a stern look. “Yes.”

“Waffles sound great!” Mike pipes up eagerly. “I think I’ll get some too.”

“You already ordered a burger, though,” Will reminds him, pointing to Mike’s half-finished food.

“I’m not really in the mood for that, anymore,” Mike hastily explains.

“So, you’re just going to throw away a perfectly good burger?!” Dustin exclaims, horrified.

“That’s kind of a waste of money,” Lucas nods.

“Plus, you’re gonna get fat,” Max adds.

Mike scowls at all of them. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting waffles, I have money, and I’m not fat!”

“Mike,” El says, locking eyes with him, “It’s ok. You can have some of my waffles.”

Mike instantly feels his cheeks flush red. “Okay,” he mumbles, simmering down.

“Wow. You guys are adorable,” Max says dryly, “You know, Wheeler, El like, never shares her waffles with anyone, so this is a pretty big deal.”

“That’s not true!” El gasps, cheeks now as red as Mike’s.

Max only shrugs and smiles mischievously. “If you say so,” she says in a sing-songy voice that only makes El blush harder.

Benny approaches their table to take the girls’ orders and 15 minutes later, Max is giving some of her fries to Lucas, and El is carefully cutting her waffles into halves.

“Can I have a fry?” Dustin asks hopefully.

“Maybe you should order your own food,” Max mimics, but nevertheless, she tosses a couple fries to both him and Will.

“Here,” El says shyly, placing her waffle halves onto Mike’s plate.

“I don’t need all of this,” Mike says reluctantly.

El shrugs and gets to work on the waffles she has left, seemingly indifferent to his protests.

As they both start to eat their waffles, their elbows brush, their legs are still close together, he can smell her lavender shampoo, and it finally feels like things are okay between them again. More than okay, actually.

“So, uh, Max,” Lucas says, taking a deep breath, “Guess what?”

“What?” Max asks, eyeing him.

Lucas smiles shyly, “I beat your high score in Dig-Dug. I got 752,001.”

“Are you shitting me?” Max exclaims, jaw dropping.

“It’s true!” Mike adds, “I was there.”

“When!?”

“The same day we saw you playing at the arcade,” Mike explains, “After you left.”

“You play at the arcade?” El asks, eyes wide.

“She plays at the arcade?!” Dustin and Will echo together.

Max freezes, face growing pale. Mike can tell she’s trying to think of an excuse, and for a moment he feels bad for outing her, but at the same time, it was technically Lucas’ fault, and it was probably going to come out eventually.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” El asks concernedly.

Max hesitates. “Because…,” she finally mutters, “It’s lame.”

“It’s not lame!” El insists.

“Video games are awesome,” Dustin gushes.

“And you shouldn’t be ashamed of liking different things,” Will adds.

Max slumps back in her seat, cheeks crimson. “Whatever,” she mutters, looking slightly shy. She gives Lucas a nudge to his arm before adding, “You know this means that we’ll have to go back to the arcade so I can kick your ass, right?”

“I know,” Lucas smiles, absolutely thrilled.

“We should all go together,” Will smiles, “It’d be fun.”

“Yeah, I gotta see this for myself,” Dustin nods.

Mike glances at El just as she’s glancing back at him. “Yeah,” he says casually, “That could be fun.”

“Really fun,” El nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Tomorrow, then,” Max says definitively. “You’re going down, Sinclair.”

To quote Max, it’s not like this means they’re like, friends or anything. The rest of the night is spent placing bets on whether or not Max or Lucas will win the Dig-Dug tournament, breaking up arguments between Dustin and Max, and making jokes about how totally screwed over Jennifer Hayes is.

They’re definitely not friends, but —

They’re getting there.

#mileven #mileven fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #berrie fics #everybodytalks #lovecolesprouse #miss-sad-marshmallow #wrongirish #lonewolfhard #bbc-radio-phan #ontariokid #strangerstxrdust #catalystofhighhopes

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moonprincess92 · 7 years ago

Text

Fic: I don’t know what this is

Jyn accidentally slept with Cassian last night.

This is fine. It’s totally fine.

(Read on AO3)

“Shitballs.”

Jyn winced as the door creaked open, the goddamn bloody thing. The landlord had said he would oil it at some point, along with replacing the faulty fire alarms and the dodgy kitchen wiring, all of which was yet to happen, so she’d at least figured not to hold her breath on it. Shoes held tight in her hands, she deliberated the merits of trying to ease the door shut quietly, or just doing it all in one go in hopes that the noise wouldn’t be so bad. Hand gripping the latch, she ended up going with the latter, cursing once more at the horrific screeching.

“Fuck,” she hissed, hastily tiptoeing through the lounge, around the sofa and coffee table. “Fuuuuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK–”

“Well, well, well.”

She froze.

Wondering where the hell she had miscalculated, Jyn turned. Sure enough, in her morning stupor she must have forgotten to account for the Sunday Morning Jog since Leia Organa stood in the kitchen doorway in her pristine Nike gear and iPod already strapped her to her arm ready to go. However, her roommate was giving her The Look and Jyn was absolutely not in the fucking mood for The Look.

“Please, spare me,” she held up a hand, eyes closed. “I am hungover as all hell, if you say more than two sentences I may cry.”

“I think you’ll survive this time,” Leia mentioned dryly. Leaning against the doorframe, she crossed her arms over her sports bra and said, “So! Someone didn’t come home last night.”

Thankfully prepared for this particular question, Jyn gave what she hoped was a nonchalant shrug (or at least that’s what she was going for when she had managed to rehearse it a couple of times in the bathroom this morning). “It was getting late and I was tired, so Cassian just let me crash at his,” she said.

“Oh,” Leia smirked. “so kind of him.”

“I said don’t–! Just…” Jyn rubbed her eyes, inwardly groaning.

If she had her way, the conversation would just end there. Jyn would inhale several glasses of water and some painkillers before proceeding to crawl back into bed so she could die in peace. However, she knew her roommate, and Leia Organa was a lawyer for a reason. She had an ass that didn’t quit, and it was the look on her face that finally made her crack.

“FINE, I fucking slept with him, ok?” Jyn burst out.

Leia laughed. “HOLY SHIT.”

“Holy shit sounds about right.”

“Ok – fuck the run,” Leia ripped the iPod off her arm, instead dashing into the kitchen. Jyn approached warily to see her hastily gathering up a supply of what seemed to be strong coffee and a varying array of snacks, only for Leia to then turn Jyn around and practically frog-march her back down the hall. “We’re getting this coffee in you,” Leia shoved the mug into her hands, making her drop her shoes. “and then you are telling me everything!”

“We’re gonna have to go back a bit.”

“Babe, we got nothing but time,” Leia insisted.

“I can't believe I'm doing this,” Jyn muttered. "Fine, I guess it started last night when we all went out for drinks…"

7 hours earlier

“To getting fucked over!” Cassian cried over the pounding bass of the club. He rubbed his eyes, glancing at the now empty shot in his hands. “Jesus, how many of these have I had?”

“Probably too many and also not enough at the same time,” Jyn couldn’t help but grin.

“Yeah, mate,” Bodhi clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re trying to keep up, but…”

“Speak for yourself,” Kay grumbled, rounding off the table ensemble. “at least one of us has to keep us all from killing ourselves.”

“To Kay!” Cassian almost fell off his stool as he toasted his best friend with the empty shot glass. “May we all appreciate the fuck out of him when he’s taking us to the hospital to get our stomachs pumped!”

“To Kay,” Jyn shrugged.

“To Kay!” Bodhi agreed happily.

Kay just huffed.

Quite honestly, Jyn thought Cassian was doing remarkably well for a man whose life was essentially (and almost literally) going up in flames. His latest novel had been rejected a total of 46 times so far (and oh boy, did they know the exact number) and apparently the latest blow had come through right at the exact same time that he’d found out that his sister was having yet another baby. Kay had apparently come home to a mini-bonfire out on the balcony, his novel now burning under Manhattan’s skyline and Cassian in the middle of what appeared to be a minor breakdown.

(“You DO realise that you have a copy on your computer still, right?” Kay had reportedly told him as he hastily put the fire out.

“It’s a metaphorical burning, Kay!” Cassian had thrown back at him).

Either way, it had called for drinks, so the entire group had been called in. Han and Leia were apparently busy, so it was just Jyn and Bodhi who were the only ones who had been free last minute on a Saturday night. “Where did my life go wrong, Jyn?” Cassian had said to her in greeting earlier that evening, throwing his arms around her waist.

“Blimey,” Jyn had muttered. “can we get him drunk now? Please?”

But finally her friend appeared to have entered the depressed stage of drunkenness, rather than the far-too-enthusiastic stage. Cassian slumped down over the table and Bodhi laughed, rubbing a hand soothingly across his back. “Mate, it’s really not so bad,” he said. “so you got rejected, you always get rejected!”

“That’ll help, cheers, Bodhi,” Jyn mentioned.

Bodhi kicked her lightly under the table, but Cassian ran his fingers through his hair with an only slightly dramatic whine. “It’s not the rejection,” he said. “well, maybe partly… but my little sister is having kid number three. Three! You want to know how many kids I had by the time I was her age? ZERO, and it’s still zero, because I have no life outside work! I have a shitty day job, in a thoroughly shitty neighbourhood, living in a shittyapartment–”

“HEY,” Kay admonished.

“Sorry, you know it’s true,” Cassian just shrugged.

“All right, that’s it,” Jyn rolled her eyes. “No, I’m serious – get the hell up–” She reached across the table and shoved hard on Cassian’s shoulder, making him sit up warily. “Yeah, ok. Maybe things are shitty at the moment, but you are Cassian Fucking Andor, ok? However bad you might think it is, I can assure you it really isn't. You got things going for you.”

“Like what?” he said.

“Oh, I dunno,” Jyn rolled her eyes. “your mates are pretty goddamn decent.”

Thank the lord, he cracked a grin.

“True. I’ll forever appreciate the day you came crashing into my life.”

“That better not be sarcastic.”

“Noooo, no, I love you,” Cassian reassured, reaching out and squeezing her hand. Jyn scoffed, but let him curl around her fingers from across the table anyway. “All of you, seriously. Thank you for sorting me out while I’m going through what seems to be a quarter-life crisis.”

“Eh, haven’t we all had one of these at some point?” Bodhi shrugged.

“My life is fine, thank you,” Kay rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, and you totally didn’t freak out when you didn’t get accepted to NYU two years ago,” Jyn ribbed.

“That wasn’t – they accepted me the next year!” Kay burst out.

“Sure, sure.”

“I am literally in the engineering programme now, I don’t know why you–”

“So all our lives are shit,” Cassian just shrugged. “Let’s just get mind-numbly drunk on this Saturday night together, yes? I’ll get us another round–”

“I’ll come with,” Jyn hastily jumped up as Cassian practically staggered from his stool at their table. She caught him before he could hit the ground, winding his arm around her shoulders. “I’m fairly certain you can’t walk by yourself at this point.”

“Thank you,” Cassian said as they made their way through the crowded club. It was dark, the music seeping into her bones. The shots from earlier were definitely starting to hit her head a little and Cassian’s waist was hot underneath her arm as he told her,

“Really, Jyn, I meant what I said. I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she snorted.

“Is my life really as bad as I’m thinking it is?”

“I told you, no, it’s not,” she said. “but you gotta drink your own weight in alcohol before you believe that, so.”

“I had a plan, you know,” Cassian’s head practically leaned against hers, yelling in her ear being the only way that they could really hear each other. “Get a good job, get married and have some kids – I wanted a life – but I’m 28 and I’m still trying to sell this goddamn book four years later–”

“It’s going to get picked up!” Jyn yelled back at him. “Jesus, Cassian, it’s not like you’re pushing retirement – you think I know what I’m doing with my life?”

“Ugh – I’m sorry,” Cassian squeezed her shoulders, kissing her head lightly. “let’s just get those shots.”

“Yes, please.”

“So basically,” Leia cut in, the two of them now tucked up in Jyn’s bed, an open bag of potato chips between them and coffee in hand. “His life started falling apart and you fucked him better?”

“NO, blimey,” Jyn hoped to god that her face wasn’t as red as it felt. “Just let me tell the fucking story, ok?”

Several more shots and another crisis or two later, Cassian had thankfully entered the blissfully unaware of any/all worries stage of drunkenness and honestly, Jyn wasn’t far behind him. They had thrown back tequila together, Bodhi cheering loudly at the sting, before Cassian had grabbed her hands and said, “We need to fuckin’ dance, come dance with me!”

Usually, Jyn did not dance unless you paid her an extraordinary amount of money, but she was drunk-Jyn at the moment, and the amount that drunk-Jyn required got less and less the more and more alcohol you got in her. “Ok, but you owe me five bucks!” she yelled, allowing herself to get dragged onto the crowded dance floor. Cassian quite famously didn’t know how to dance at all, but he didn’t let it stop him as pop songs blasted out of the club mix. He slung Jyns’ arms around his neck, hauling her in at the waist. He moved, hips rolling into hers and Jyn matched his uncoordinated sways as best she could. She didn’t care that they probably looked ridiculous. The heat of the dance floor made her skin burn, although maybe that was his hand on her lower back, tracing the skin exposed from the cut-out of her dress.

Ok. Ok. Maybe she should have stopped and thought for a moment before she got to this point, but it was fine. It was fiiiiiiine! This was who they were. Cassian was her best friend, had been ever since they’d met at Leia’s birthday party four years ago, back when he’d first moved to the city with nothing but a suitcase and bright ideas. They hugged, he kissed her head goodnight, she let him share her bed whenever it got late and he was too exhausted to take the train back home, it was honestly just who they were. Bodhi called bullshit on the closeness sometimes but he was wrong, all of them were wrong, because this was normal, this felt right –

It always felt right. Shit.

She glanced up at him under the lights. His eyes were closed, but they must have felt her watching because he looked down and grinned. God. It had to be the alcohol talking. It had to, because she didn’t feel like this around Cassian, or at least she certainly wasn't supposed to. No, not at all!

She rocked up onto her toes and with their faces so close together, her lips slanted against his. For a second, they didn’t move. It wasn’t so much a kiss as it was just a brief touch, but he lingered under the lights and she felt him take a shuddering breath. Something passed between them and she wasn’t sure if it was a question or a reassurance, though considering how drunk they were it was probably both.

Fuck it, Jyn figured.

She kissed him again, harder and longer and like he was her air to breathe or some other bullshit like that. GOD, why hadn’t they been doing this as long as they had known each other? She clung to his collar, his hands roaming her hips, her back, her shoulders and she really had no idea what was happening, OH BOY WAS SHE PANICKING A LITTLE?! Her head was swimming. She had definitely drunk too much.

“Fucking hell–” Jyn gasped as he bit her lip a little.

“Jyn – Jyn – we don’t do this–” Cassian breathed into her mouth, hand inside her dress now thanks to the cut-out at the back. “What am I doing – oh god–”

“Don’t put your hand there unless you plan on taking the entire thing off,” Jyn murmured against his lips.

“Fuck.”

“Fuck sounds about right, I don’t know why I said that.”

“This is a bad idea.”

“Super bad.”

“Our friendship is gonna be fucking ruined–”

“Exactly, so we shouldn’t–”

Their faces, however, weren’t listening and instead were gravitating towards each other without thought. Heat fuelled their kisses, both gasping, and hands snaking down their bodies. Jyn felt his every dip and curve under her fingers and eventually she threw all caution to the wind and said,

“Get outta here?’

“Oh, thank god.”

“So we went home and we fucked, the end,” Jyn finished the story without preamble.

Leia, apparently, wasn’t satisfied.

“We went home and fucked, the end?” she said in outrage. “Nope, I’m sorry, I need more! What actually HAPPENED?”

“What, do you want to know the position or something?”

“I need DETAILS, Jyn!” Leia demanded. “I mean shit, you slept with Cassian. CASSIAN. He’s not like Han, he doesn’t proudly and obnoxiously talk about his sex life in casual conversation–”

“I mean, that’s probably a good thing,” Jyn snorted.

“Yeah, well,” Leia rolled her eyes. “My point is, holy shit. What was it like? Was it good?”

“Of course not,” Jyn scoffed. “We were drunk. It was awkward and he came in like three seconds.”

Leia looked mightily disappointed.

But honestly, Jyn certainly hadn’t expected much else from Cassian considering he’d been so drunk at that point that he couldn’t even remember how to take his own shoes off. He’d tried, he really had, but she had kissed him hard enough to bruise and he was gone completely, and she wasn't going to fault him for it. Her head throbbed trying to think back, but she remembered the two of them giggling, staggering around in the dark and eventually falling into his bed. They’d been half dressed, she’d sworn spectacularly when his hips had ground against hers only to break off into a laugh as he pressed small kisses down the side of her face. There’d been too much fumbling, too much teeth and an awkwardly placed knee here and there, but Jyn felt the blinding smile spreading across her face despite it all.

“Jesus,” Leia mentioned. “must’ve been a fucking good three seconds. I’ve never seen you smile like that before.”

“Just because it was bad doesn’t mean I didn’t like it,” Jyn pointed out.

“OH MY GOD.”

But Jyn just drained her coffee before leaning her head back warily against her pillows.

“Leiaaaaaa, tell me honestly,” she moaned. “How badly did I fuck this up?”

“Depends how much you value your friendship, quite honestly.”

“You know us,” Jyn looked up desperately. “Leia, you know what we’re like, is this doomed? Is this something, are we something?”

“I don’t know!” Leia pointed out. “Hell, I can barely tell if you like ME most days, how am I supposed to tell how you feel about someone else?”

“I like you,” Jyn said.

“Reassuring, but still doesn’t help,” Leia said with a snort of laughter. “What did you say after?”

“Nothing, really,” Jyn admitted. It was a kind of haze. She remembered thinking that she was still breathing hard, still thrumming with heat and feeling like her head was on the verge of exploding, only there was so much alcohol in her system that all she'd felt like doing was sinking into his mattress. Cassian’s hand had reached out blindly, hitting her in the face, and she had snickered into his sheets. She remembered catching it, pulling it close to her chest and him pressing his nose to her hair.

“I think I fell asleep,” Jyn admitted.

“Clearly, seeing as you were trying to sneak in back home at,” Leia checked her phone. “6:15am.”

“I woke up and panicked, ok!” she cried. “What would you have done?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have slept with my best friend, for starters.”

“No, you only sleep with either arseholes or Han.”

“I’d argue, but honestly touché,” Leia said regretfully.

Jyn rubbed her eyes. “Leia, seriously, what the hell do I do?”

“Well, do you have feelings for him?”

“WHAT IS A FEELING?”

“JYN.”

“Look, I don’t know!” she cried, trying not to splash Leia's cooling coffee everywhere. “Sure, I’ve always liked him, like you said he’s one of my best mates and we’ve always been close, but – we’ve never gone there until now and I don’t know why.”

“Have you ever considered it?”

“Maybe?”

“This isn’t a time for guessing, Jyn.”

“OK, ok! Yes, I’ve considered it a couple times,” she burst out. “but it was never seriously, it was always joking with Shara at work or something, a ‘your friend’s hot’ ‘oh fuck yeah’ something like that. But something just happened last night and it was like…”

“A switch got flicked.”

“Something like that.”

What was she even supposed to do from here? She didn’t know what she wanted and she was fairly certain she shouldn’t face him again until she did, but there was a reason they were all friends! They saw each other on a fairly regular basis, it would be blindly obvious if she started avoiding him and quite frankly, she really didn’t want to. She enjoyed his company, his usually quiet charismatic vibe naturally meshing with her. They didn’t have to say a lot when they were together, but it was like a thousand conversations passed between them anyway. They could spend an entire evening just spread out on the couch, legs tangled and on their individual phones the entire time and call it a great night. They’d both had shit happen to them in the past, they both had shit to deal with now, but there was always something just inherent that made them understand each other.

Was this really worth potentially ruining all that?

Before she could even try and explain all of this to Leia, someone knocked at the door.

“I swear to god, if that’s Han forgetting his keys again I’m gonna–” Leia began, but Jyn grabbed at her arm frantically.

“What if it’s him?” she hissed.

“How could it be, you literally left him out cold after fucking his brains out, right?”

“Wait, wait – LEIA,” Jyn stage cried as she attempted to drag her roommate back to bed with her. However, Leia just kept on ploughing for the door, letting Jyn hang onto her arm with no problems. Jyn’s socked feet slid uselessly down the hallway as she attempted to keep Leia back all the way to the door and she had to practically hide herself in the kitchen when she answered it.

“ANDOR. Jesus, you must've run fast. Do you realise what time it is?”

“I know, I know it’s early, I’m sorry – but um, is Jyn –?”

“Oh, she’s here,” Leia smirked. She turned, grabbing Jyn and having no problems being the one to pull her out into the open.

Goddamn it, Leia.

Jyn found herself facing Cassian once more, less than an hour after dragging herself more or less naked from his bed. He wore old jeans and a large stained sweatshirt and considering she was still in her clothes from the night before, he was probably doing a little better than her at any rate. Leia managed to slink back out of the line of fire as the two of them continued to just stand there in the doorway and eventually, Jyn had to at least try and push through this because clearly he wasn’t going to any time soon.

“Hey,” she said, brightly. “So that tequila, huh? Tell me, does your head hurt as much as–”

He reached out and held her face, kissing her hard in one smooth movement.

“–god,” she gasped once he broke away from her.

“Shit, I’m sorry – to be fair, I think I’m still a little drunk,” Cassian’s hands wavered a little as they pulled away. “but you left before I had a chance to say – um – I don’t regret it, ok? Shit, shit, shit, I don’t know what I’m saying – actually forget all of this, we’ll pretend it never happened – have a good day!”

“Hold on–”

Jyn had to grab his wrist to stop him from panicking and slamming the door behind him. She pulled him inside before shutting the door, only once she had him standing there in front of her clearly in some stage of inward meltdown once again, she suddenly found that she didn’t know what it was she wanted to say. Damn it, this is why she shouldn’t be trusted with emotions! She probably needed to start somewhere though, and an apology seemed fitting considering that she’d basically jumped him at what had appeared to be the most vulnerable he’d been in his life since she’d known him.

“Cassian, I’m so sorry for last night,” she insisted. “you were emotional, I took advantage of it.”

“No, no, you could never take advantage–”

“But you wouldn’t have slept with me if you weren’t–”

“Trust me, Jyn, I would have.”

“Damn,” she let out a breath, trying not to smile as he let out a similar laugh. “Ok. Shit, Cassian…”

“Look,” He shuffled his feet a little. “again, I don’t regret last night. I regret how drunk I was, because I don’t actually remember a lot and I fear I was mostly off my game, but we fit together well and I–”

“Wanna try again?”

She was almost certain that he was having a heart attack.

Yes, maybe this fucked up their friendship, but it was the least of her concerns. This man was standing in front of her at six in the morning because he cared and damn it, she could only imagine how great it could get if they had sex a second, third or even a fourth time. His life was a mess but hell, maybe this would make it slightly better and she pulled him down to her, his lips hot against hers as he responded in earnest.

“I hope your head doesn’t hurt too much,” she grinned.

“Oh, I’ll survive.”

Jyn pulled away to yell back into the apartment. “LEIA,” she hollered, Cassian attaching himself to her neck. “I’d go for that run now if I were you!”

“Thank the lord,” She heard, rather than felt Leia stomp past as Jyn went back to making out in the middle of the hallway. “I’ll be back much, much later. You kids have fun!”

“Oh, we will,” Cassian whispered into her ear before picking her up under her thighs and carrying her down to her bedroom.

Oh, we will.

#rebelcaptain #rebelcaptain fanfic #rogue one #ro fanfic #dailyrebelcaptain #ro #my fanfiction #i finally had time to post this on tumblr lol #thank u so much for the comments on ao3!!!#i mean look im writing again!! pls reblog my fic!!#i love yall xoxo

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