#only to eat up the paper wad and swallow it down

[ambiguouspuzuma]

The Colour of Fire

"This must be tough on your lot, huh?"

"What do you mean," Palira asked, already knowing where this conversation was headed. Her tail coiled instinctively beneath the desk.

"Oh, come on, you know what I mean." The customer was human, as they so often were. He counted out his coins on the counter, as if she wouldn't have to tally them herself. "I don't know what the right word is nowadays. Is dragon still allowed? We're not supposed to say wyrms, right? Or is that wyverns?"

"Dragon is fine." She didn't bother outlining the difference. If he cared, he wouldn't already know. "But I understood the your lot, as you so diplomatically put it. I meant the other part. What must be tough?"

"Look, you know, getting rid of coins and that. The paper money. You people like piling it up, right? Hoarding? What are you going to do - make a stack? Build a mattress out of wads of notes?"

"That's a stereotype." Palira let the you people slide. Some days she was just grateful for people. "The idea that we sleep atop of a mound of gold. It really doesn't work that way."

Her ancestors would have swallowed him whole, but evolution had seen them go the way of the giants, adapted for life in the crowded cities. She'd kept her tail, her wings, her penchant for pyrotechnics, but wore clothes and worked behind a counter; the same number of scales, just scaled down. No less a dragon, but more of what his sort would recognise as a person.

She began the process of counting his coins away, keeping a tally as she went. This change to paper money was welcome, but it involved an awful lot of hassle: all of the old coins would need to be taken out of circulation, with notes issued in exchange. Vast exchanges had been set up to manage the transition, with dozens of trusted workers like Palira having to manually convert between the two. It wasn't too bad, when they let her concentrate.

"Right, that's what I'm asking." The human really wasn't getting the hint. "How does it work, then? You just pile it up to look at it? You don't eat it, do you?"

Palira sighed, a wisp of frustrated smoke escaping from her nose. "Traditionally - and I don't speak for all dragons here, because we're all individuals - we've just been drawn to gold for the way that it gleams. In our culture, it's the colour of fire, which is obviously also sacred to us. It's that lustre we revere above all else. Not how much is can be traded for at the greengrocers."

They'd always loved gold for its appearance - just as his ancestors had, before they'd gone and made it weird. Humanity had declared this simple metal to be the unit of all worth, the symbol of trade, and then also used it as the marker of their greed. A love for gold was seen as toxic, the root of all their sins, whilst loving other things was still allowed. Dragons were painted as the embodiment of miserly evil, when they were aesthetes: they'd only ever cared about the beauty of the gold itself.

Of course, the human translation of gold-as-money had also made it incredibly hard to get hold of the stuff. Even those who didn't care for the colour needed it to eat every day, to invest in new clothes, to save to put a roof over their heads. They started hoarding it, hiding it, packing it away in bank vaults where nobody could admire it at all. For Palira and her lot, the transition to paper money couldn't have come sooner.

No wonder so many had applied to work at exchanges like this: handing out the new notes, and taking the redundant old coins in exchange. Finally, they could show the world how little they cared for money: they would make an arrangement of that gold, yes, now that it was no longer legal tender. They would remove it from circulation all right. It had been freed up to be worshipped, just like in the olden days. Legally worthless, but still worth everything to them.

"Fire's red," the man told her. "Everyone knows that."

"You have a good day," Palira said, handing over his wads for safekeeping. She could easily find out where he lived, if she thought he needed more of a lesson, channelling the fury of her ancestors for the modern age. That was the other good thing about paper money, she thought: it was much more flammable.

[sterek8nights]

The Sufganiyot Thief

Well, I made the prompt list/bingo card, and then was immediately struck with an idea. It changed a little in writing it, but it's cute and fluffy anyway. (Might write the other version anyway? Idk.)

Anyway, here's Sterek family Hanukkah fluff. For the squares/prompts: sufganiyot and with kids

On ao3 here

***

The sound of a tiny giggle alerted Derek to the possibility of shenanigans afoot, so he followed the sound through the house and to the source, only to find that Some

Stiles had beat him to the scene.

He stood hovering in the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen, watching as Stiles sat on the kitchen floor holding a wad of paper towels in one hand, and a half eaten sufganiyot that was absolutely dripping with too much jelly in the other.

Sat across from Stiles was Lilah, Erica and Boyd’s four year old daughter, who was also covered in jelly and sugar crystals, a fistful of what was once an overfilled donut, and was now mostly mush and a blindingly bright, jelly-painted grin on her face.

Stiles is clearly trying to suppress a laugh, and Derek can't help but smile.

“Uncle ‘Tiles, the suf– the sugan– the donuts are really yum! Sorry I eat one without askin’ first. Please don't tell mama, she'll be upset I forgot my manners again,” Lilah said, grinning. Her puppy eyes were legendary, and there was no way Stiles was going to be able to say no.

“It's okay, peanut, as long as you let me clean you up, and promise to ask next time, we're all good,” Stiles replied, eyes darting to Derek and then to the counter before adding “And after we clean up, you can keep me make a new batch of sufganiyot,” Stiles said, over-enunciating the last word, smiling when Lilah mouthed the word along with him.

Derek's eyes went to the counter, and he noticed the donut massacre that had apparently resulted in the current sticky state of the entire kitchen, and its occupants. A dozen of the donuts they'd made that morning were in various states of smushed and covered in jelly, the jar open and half empty, with what appeared to be handfuls of preserves plopped on the plates of sufganiyot and the countertop. He felt his eyebrows climb, and Stiles snorted and looked up at him.

“Hey, Der, can you take the Lilah monster up to the bath and get her changed? I need to uh, hose down the kitchen. And also myself,” he said around a laugh.

Lilah looked up at Derek then, her smile growing somehow brighter, and stuck her sticky arms out, wiggling her fingers at Derek. “Uncle Derek! We're gonna make more sufganiyot, hurry let's go!”

With a mild wince, Derek reached out to his jelly covered niece and scooped her up, making sure to be silly about it just to hear her laugh. “Here, I saved this for you!” she said happily, and before Derek could ask what she meant, she shoved the mangled donut she was still holding into his mouth. Derek could only chew it while Stiles cackled.

“Than’ kew,” Derek mumbled through the half chewed mess, swallowing with a brief frown that he quickly forced into a smile so Lilah wouldn't get upset. It wasn't hard with her jelly smeared grin beaming at him.

“‘Welcome. Now hurry, the Honka party is only soon!”

Later, when he and Stiles are very carefully showing Lilah how to properly fill the sufganiyot, he meets Stiles’ gaze over Lilah’s head, and they share a smile before going back to supervising a very serious four year old pastry chef.

“So, Der, I know what I want for next Hanukkah,” Stiles says nonchalantly while handing Lilah a filled syringe of jelly.

Derek is intrigued, because after almost a decade together, it is paradoxically harder to find gifts for each other. “Already?” 

“Yep! How do you feel about a sufganiyot thief of our own?” 

Derek looks up, startled, and finds Stiles’ eyes again. He's smiling softly, not a trace of a joke in his expression, and Derek feels a smile paint itself across his face.

“Yeah, I think that sounds like a perfect gift,” he replies honestly, already picturing next Hanukkah, with an extra member of the pack.

They stare at each other for a long moment, until Lilah breaks it with a serious sounding “As long as they don't steal my sufganiyot! Hey, I said it right, didn't I?” 

They both laugh then, quick to praise her determination to get the word right, and full of joy for the present and the future.

And also, donuts.

[themetaphorgirl]

So Maeve prompted this one, but also I knew Brenna would love it and I couldn’t resist.

(trigger warnings for blood and barf. you can probably guess which boys are responsible.)

(Also yes, Haley is directing scenes from the Deaf West production of Spring Awakening.)

—————

Spencer rubbed his nose. He hated it when he was thrown off his schedule- everyone else was in the library and that’s where they were supposed to be- but Alex and Aaron were helping Haley with a project for her directing project, and he would rather be with them in the Roosevelt common room than in the library with the other kids. And besides, Emily needed help with her math homework.

“Okay, so…yeah, I think the blocking will be best if you angle like this,” Haley was saying. “Cheating out. Do you remember what cheating out means?”

Alex huffed, blowing her hair off her forehead. “Not really,” she said. “I’m not very good at being a theatre kid.”

“Me neither,” Aaron said.

“No, no, you’re both great,” Haley said. “So what’s the sign for-“ She paused. “Are you sure Spencer can be in the room for this?”

Alex leaned back. “Bug, cover your ears,” she said. He obeyed, so he couldn’t hear what Haley said, but he understood the sign language.

“Totally fucked?” he said.

“Spencer,” the twins scolded in unison.

“You should have told me to close my eyes!” he protested.

Emily put down her pen. “Suddenly I’m interested in being in a musical,” she said.

“Hush and let the baby help you with your pre-cal,” Aaron said. She offered a one handed gesture and he rolled his eyes.

Haley fiddled around with her laptop. “See, I kind of want the blocking to look like this,” she said. “Oh, hold on. My laptop is about to die and I left my charger in my room.” She got up, smoothing down her uniform skirt. “I’ll be right back, I’ll run upstairs and grab it. Do you guys want anything? I have drinks in my mini fridge.”

Aaron tilted his head back. “Do you still have those strawberry Dr. Peppers?” he asked.

“Yes, I do, I’ll bring you one,” she said. She patted his cheek absently and Aaron smiled at her, sweet and a little dopey. “Anyone else want anything?”

“We’re good, thanks,” Emily said, and as soon as Haley left she wadded up a piece of paper and chucked it at Aaron, bouncing it off his head. “Jesus Christ, Hotchner, you have it down bad.”

Aaron turned red. “I do not,” he said.

“No, you do,” Alex said. She got up off the floor and pushed her long hair back from her face. “Here, let’s try that blocking again.”

Spencer rubbed his nose again. “How much longer?” he asked plaintively.

“Not too much longer, kiddo, we’ll go get dinner in like forty-five minutes,” Aaron said.

“I’ve got some snacks in my room, I’ll grab you something,” Emily promised.

“You’re just trying to get out of your math homework,” Spencer called after her as she hurried down the hall.

He sighed heavily. His nose was starting to run and he rubbed at it again in irritation. He was ready to eat dinner and starting to feel cranky, and he was tired of helping Emily with her math while the twins practiced with Haley. If only there was a good excuse to leave.

Something dripped onto the white pages of his notebook, and it took a second to register that his nose was bleeding. He stared at it in horror.

Without thinking he slid down from his seat and wandered over to the twins, still talking through the blocking Haley had just taught them and working on the ASL they were incorporating. He tugged on Aaron’s shirt, too dazed to think things through.

“What’s wrong, Bug?” Aaron asked.

He swallowed hard and tasted pennies. “My nose is bleeding,” he said in a tiny voice.

Aaron stared down at him. “Nope,” he said, all the color draining from his face. “Sorry, I…nope…”

“What? What’s wrong?” Alex said, but Aaron’s eyes rolled back and he started to crumple. “Oh god! Aaron!”

She managed to catch him before his head hit the floor, letting out a soft oof at the impact and lowering him down carefully. Spencer’s lower lip wobbled as he felt more blood drip down his chin. “What’s wrong with Aaron?” he asked.

“He’s- oh my god!” Alex explained. She looked wildly from Aaron’s limp form, his head resting on her knee, to Spencer with blood running down his face. “Jesus Christ. Emily! Emily!”

To her credit, Emily came running. “What the fuck, Alex? Somebody better be bleeding or dead,” she said. She froze. “Oh god. I was only joking.”

“He’s not dead, he’s got a weird thing about blood and he passed out,” Alex said, smoothing Aaron’s hair back from his forehead. “Can you go get Haley? I can’t take care of both of them at the same time.”

“I can help,” Emily offered.

“Em, I love you, but Aaron is going to throw up when he comes to, and Spencer is gushing blood.”

“Got it, got it, on my way to get Brooks.”

Spencer shifted his weight and made a distressed little whine. “I want it to stop,” he said.

“I know, I know, baby, I’ll hold you in just a second,” Alex said. “Can you get a tissue and put it over your nose?”

“No, I can’t, I don’t want to move,” he whimpered, cupping his hands over his nose. Blood was pouring between his fingers and running down the front of his shirt. “I w-would like be h-held please.”

“I promise, I’ll get you the second Haley comes back,” Alex said.

Luckily Haley ran into the room in record time. “I couldn’t understand what Emily was saying but it sounded like something was wrong with Aaron,” she said. “Oh god!”

“Please take him, they both need me and I don’t have enough arms,” Alex said. The girls traded places, carefully transferring Aaron’s weight from Alex’s lap to Haley’s, and as soon as he was safe Alex swept Spencer up into a hug.

He gripped her shoulders, smearing blood on her uniform shirt, and burst into tears. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” Alex soothed, sitting down on the couch and snuggling him on her lap. “I’ve got you, you’re okay.”

He didn’t feel okay, but he pressed his cheek against her collarbone. Emily walked into the room and set a small trashcan next to Aaron and Haley. “For the big disaster,” she said. She handed a box of tissues to Alex. “For the little disaster.”

Alex took several tissues and pressed them over Spencer’s nose, pinching the bridge lightly. “Just breathe, honey, I’ve got you,” she said.

Haley brushed Aaron’s hair back from his forehead. “If he doesn’t wake up in thirty seconds I’m going to- oh thank god, he’s opening his eyes,” she said. “Hey, baby, it’s okay.” She looked up at Alex. “Is he really going to-“

Aaron groaned, lurched up faster than should be physically possible, and grabbed the trashcan in just enough time to throw up. “Haley, I hate to break it to you, but if you’re going to date Hotchner then you need to be ready for the kid to puke at the drop of a hat,” Emily said dryly.

“And he’s got a weird thing about blood,” Alex said, almost apologetic. “He took one look at Spencer and…that’s all it took.”

“Wow, he goes down fast,” Haley commented, rubbing Aaron’s back as he threw up.

Spencer pressed his cheek against Alex’s collarbone, hiding behind her long hair like a curtain as she rocked him gently. It felt like the pressure of her hand on his nose was helping but he was too scared to check.

Emily crouched down in front of them. “Hold out your hands, squirt,” she said. He obeyed reluctantly; she poured blueberry-scented hand sanitizer into his bloody palms and wiped him down gently with more tissues. “Oh, Jesus, this is disgusting. You’re like the human version of the elevator from The Shining.”

“You want to take Barf Boy?” Haley asked.

“You know what? I think I’ll stick with Carrie White over here.”

“You’re mixing up your horror movies,” Aaron mumbled, his head still deep in the trash can.

“Ari, let’s just focus on getting you to stop vomiting, okay?” Haley said.

Emily tossed the bloody tissues, then dug around in Alex’s bag for Spencer’s blanket. “Here, baby, hold your blankie,” she said. He was too tired and too upset to argue that it wasn’t a security blanket.

“I think I’m okay,” Aaron rasped.

“Yes, well, we’ll take it slow,” Haley said as she ran her fingers through his hair. “No sudden movements.”

“Is Spencer okay?” Aaron asked.

“He’s fine, I’m guessing it’s just allergies,” Alex said. She kissed the top of Spencer’s head. “If I carry him out, will you close your eyes? I have some of his clothes in my room and he needs to change, he’s covered in blood.”

“You’re also covered in blood,” Emily said. “Is there anything left in his little body?”

Aaron instantly turned green again, leaning back heavily between Haley’s legs with his head on her shoulder as she kept petting his hair. “I could not open my eyes if you paid me,” he promised, covering his eyes with his hands.

[imdoingwhateverisnext]

There's Nothing Better Than Reverse Peristalsis in the Morning (Gross Story)

She divided up the 3 sausage biscuits between her two large dogs. They both devoured them, one a bit faster than the other. He then went on to lap up water intently for about 15 seconds. Within 5 minutes, a feeling of dread came over her when Bree said, "Uh oh, I think Winston's about to throw up."

"NO!" She screamed as she ran toward the couch where he was sitting. A loud horrible choking sound was quickly followed by the noise a dog makes when it regurgitates a large amount of stomach contents. Dog emesis and the sounds produced by it in particular, she was not a fan of. But she hadn't made it there in time. He had vomited on the arm of the couch, all over the floor, and all over the top of her yoga ball. "Great! Ew...my yoga ball!" She exclaimed in a whiny voice.

She took her yoga ball outside and poured warm water over it. She repeated a few more times until is was vomit-free. She returned to the crime scene in which there was a small spot of mostly liquid near a large spot that still had entire biscuit halves in it. He obviously was not overly concerned with chewing his food prior to swallowing it. This is probably why he emitted that horrible sound just prior to expelling it all. Bree said, "hey mom, I think Sadie is helping you clean up." and she laughed.

Janie knew exactly what that meant. Sadie was eating some of it. She knew she would have to clean the first spot. She bent down with a wad of paper towels to try to get the bulk of it before spraying. She noticed the stringy texture of the liquid as she wiped it. She gagged violently. She stood up and gagged again only more forcefully with a cough added to it. She could not control it. Another two violent gags surged through her entire body as she ran the wad of paper towels to the trash can. By this time, her stomach was cramping. 'Oh shit' she thought. Her mouth was watering. She burst through the closest door in the kitchen and leans over the porch rail. She gags again then vomits. Her stomach cramps up. She waits for the wave to pass as she deep breathes through her nose. She returns to the scene of the incident. Her 17 year old Jack is standing there looking disappointed. "It doesn't even smell! How were you ever a healthcare professional?"

"I don't know at this point. I never used to have a weak stomach! I used to be able to stand almost anything. I don't know who I am anymore! My tolerance for gross things that used to not bother me is just not the same as it used to be."

She paused then made a proclamation, "I am going to look the other way now. Sadie, you feel free to do whatever it is that dogs do where vomit is concerned. I would consider it a favor. You would really be helping me out. Winston, I know sometimes dogs return to their own, well...you know work, to clean up after themselves. So feel free to do that if you would like. I am not looking." She left the room and returned a few minutes later to find both dogs lying on the couch. The vomit was still in the floor. "Dammit you guys are not team players!" She huffed as she gathered her cleaning supplies.

Janie did eventually get it all cleaned up. Afterward, she could not help but become introspective in regard to Jacks comment, as well as the sudden and serious changes in her constitution over the past 6 years or so. She was much more sensitive now, in so many ways, not just gross-outs or gag reflexes. She noticed her feelings were louder. She got her feelings hurt more easily, even though she tried not to show it outwardly. Whoever (or whatever) she had been for the last 20 years, was no longer the person she currently was. Who is currently inhabiting my body/psyche?' She thought. 'Am I still me? What does me even mean?' These were deep thoughts to be having at 8:00 in the morning.

"Is this what a mid life crisis is?" She thought out loud. "Wow, how did I get from cleaning up dog puke to personal existential angst? Oh, yeah, my brain is not normal. I remember now." She said aloud in her now empty house, not counting the dogs and fish. Whoever she had become also talked out loud to herself a lot. A lot of the inner dialogue was the same, but 6 years ago, it inner dialogue. Not much these days, not if she was alone.

[pine-abble]

FUCK art, ALL my homies HATE art!!! fucka youuuu *redoes my entire artstyle*

[undercityviktor]

Hey I'm not sure if you're taking writing requests or not but after reading your one about the lab confessions and seeing that post you made about Jayce bringing Viktor food I would like to request something based off of that prompt for sure!

Hello Anon! You’re my first Anon on this sideblog, so congratulations! Have a glass of sweetmilk on me. Thanks for reaching out!

I’m not specifically taking requests for fics, but I’m always up for inspiration if the mood strikes, and I’m really glad to hear you enjoyed the Late Night Lab Confessions story. I hope to put it on AO3 if I ever get the set-up email back from them (I have an account already, but I wanted one specifically for Arcane shenanigans). So far all I seem to have written is super fluffy jayvik stuff...

I did actually start a fic based on my earlier idea, but it ended up getting all in-depth and angsty first before I even got to the foody bit, so I’ll see what happens with it. Here’s the unedited first 1000 words or so though?

Rating: General, sfw Wordcount: 1180 Content: Viktor’s unhealthy work habits means he has a tendency to neglect his other needs. Jayce sees this, and starts to make an effort.

___

It had only taken two weeks of sharing the lab with Viktor for Jayce to come to loathe the smell of instant noodles.

“You know those aren’t supposed to be eaten as, like… regular meals, Vik?” he said as Viktor coiled a wad of bland noodles around his fork and levered it into his mouth without taking his eyes off the notebook in front of him.

Viktor didn’t respond immediately, swallowing down the lump of rehydrated carbohydrates and sodium with obvious distaste.

Jayce chuckled. “Why do you eat them if you don’t like them?”

“They’re convenient,” Viktor mumbled around a final mouthful. That done, he scooted the abandoned, half-empty pot away from him over the desk with the back of his fingers and scratched something onto the page, adding to his calculations. His thick eyebrows were knotted in concentration and his shoulders had a particular hunch to them that spoke of a forthcoming all-nighter. Jayce tried not to sigh as he stumped over and picked up the remnants of Viktor’s ‘meal’ and went to drop it down the chute that led to the incinerators. Viktor didn’t even notice him remove it.

Five hours slid by after that without a word exchanged between them.

Jayce focused all his mental energy on the wiring up the prototype gauntlet, while Viktor remained bent over his calculations until Jayce stood, blinked prickling eyes, and cracked out his back and stretched his muscles with a grunt that turned into a muted roar of satisfaction at the tug and give of the stretch. When he looked back at Viktor, he found his lab partner looking at him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Viktor said with a private little smile. “You distracted me, that’s all.”

“Sorry?” Jayce said as he crossed the room to peer over Viktor’s shoulder. “Holy shit, Vik,” he added in a reverent exhale when he saw the notebook. Almost every millimetre of the white paper bore some kind of scribble or notation, and as Jayce loomed behind him, he caught a slight but distinctive tremor in Viktor’s body. “You’re exhausted, Vik,” he said in gently. “We should call it for today. Come back fresh tomorrow.”

“Mmm,” Viktor hummed.

He tipped back just a fraction on the stool and his back came to rest against Jayce’s front. Jayce’s whole body lit up and he had to grind his jaw to stop the gasp of pleasure leaving his lips. Tentatively, he brought his big hands up to his friend and lab-partner’s shoulders and rested them there for a moment.

“You’re cold,” he said, scowling.

“Not particularly,” Viktor sighed without moving.

Beneath Jayce’s palm, he could feel the lump of the leather strap that held up Viktor’s system of relatively-new braces, but beneath that, he was sure Viktor was cold and trembling. The urge to run his fingers through Viktor’s thick, dark hair in a futile attempt at easing some of the tension in his body was almost overwhelming, but instead he let out a long, heavy sigh. “Come on. Let’s lock up.”

To his surprise, Viktor didn’t protest this time.

He simply nodded, and then began to shuffle forwards in preparation for standing. Beside him, the crutch that he had designed, and which Jayce had then made himself in the forge, leaned innocently against the desk, waiting.

Jayce stepped back to allow Viktor room to rise, but when Viktor got halfway up and let out a muffled yelp, Jayce darted back. “Vik?”

“Cramp,” Viktor grunted, clutching the desk with bird-like hands, shaking all over.

He cursed something in his mother tongue and pushed his reluctant body the last few degrees to upright, fumbling for the crutch that rested a few inches beyond his reach. Silently, Jayce slid it into his waiting fingers, and tried not to hover. Viktor never asked for help, but that didn’t mean Jayce wasn’t ready to give it in a heartbeat if Viktor needed him.

Except, Viktor didn’t seem to need him.

He didn’t seem to need anybody.

Jayce’s heart beat wildly in his throat as they walked to the doors and Viktor locked up behind them with trembling hands.

“You got plans for dinner?” Jayce asked with an affected casualness he hoped Viktor didn’t sense.

Viktor shook his head. “Not particularly. I’ll see what’s in the cupboards,” he smiled.

“Why don’t you come back to mine?” Jayce suggested, trying to rein in his desperately rearing hope. “I’ve got a huge bucket of my mum’s curry to finish — she packed me off with it yesterday after I went to see her, and there’s way more than I can manage.” After a heartbeat he added, “It won’t keep.”

Viktor paused noticeably, and the only sounds that filled the silence that stretched between them were the click-shuffle of Viktor’s cane and foot on the smooth floor of the corridor. “Alright,” he said with a little shy smile. “If you’re sure you’ve got enough.”

“Trust me, when my mum cooks, she cooks enough to feed a small army. I think you’ll love it.”

And to his surprise, Viktor did.

He even wiped his plate with the remnants of the soft flatbread Jayce had dug out from a cupboard and flung onto the table at the last minute, and when he sat back, there was colour in his cheeks again and a light in his eyes that had definitely not been there when he’d sat down at Jayce’s small garret kitchen table.

“Thank you, Jayce,” Viktor said, consonants soft and voice low. “It has been a long time since I made the time to enjoy a meal like that.”

Brilliant, effervescent joy filled Jayce’s chest and he beamed openly at Viktor. “We should do it more often,” he said, standing. If he sat still any longer, he thought he might burst. Viktor made to start clearing his plate too, but Jayce scowled. “No, you sit. I’ll get the plates.”

“But you cooked,” Viktor protested.

“I reheated it on the stove, Vik. It’s fine. You’re my guest tonight.”

The familiar yet incomprehensible mutterings of Viktor’s mother tongue followed Jayce as he set the plates in the sink and returned immediately. He could wash up after Viktor had gone.

“You want to sit somewhere more comfortable?” he asked, eyeing the sofa across the open plan room, but he could see Viktor’s response forming even as he asked it.

His friend shook his head, his lovely thick hair flopping across his forehead for a moment, and he smiled again. “No. I should get back. Thank you though. I… I enjoyed this.”

Jayce plastered a smile onto his face and nodded, though he couldn’t help the disappointment that lapped around the edges of his satisfaction.

It was a start, he mused as he watched Viktor’s departure down the corridor from his apartment in the eaves of a university hall.

At the end of the corridor, Viktor halted and looked back over his shoulder. A shy, bashful smile adorned his tired face, and Jayce grinned, waving.

It was a start.

___

Hope you enjoyed it! Please consider reblogging it if you did, because I’m a new sideblog and any shares I get is helpful.

Check out my Tumblr writing masterlist here. I’ll add an AO3 link when I get one too, for those who prefer reading on there instead.

Take care, and Happy New Year (almost!)

[cuddlepilefics]

Ginger Ale and Crackers

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Felix

Caregiver: Chan & Changbin

Prompt; @sicktember

No one's POV.:

About halfway through their afternoon dance practice, Felix' stomach had started to give him hard time. All the jumps they had been practicing had left his stomach unsettled. He had felt hesitant to drink anything during their breaks, afraid the next jump or turn would send it right back up his throat. That hadn't happened but Felix had admittedly barely had any water during the afternoon, so it wasn't much of a surprise that by the end of their practice, his head felt swimmy while also pounding painfully. With how much he had been sweating, he clearly had to be dehydrated, yet he was still unsure whether he should have a drink. They were done with practice, so there wouldn't be any more jumps but the thought of swallowing alone almost made him gag. Felix himself had no idea why he was suddenly feeling so bad. He had been fine this morning and hadn't eaten anything weird since then. Maybe he had just overdone it with his dancing, going all out, but that was what he usually did, yet he never felt like this after dancing. Looking at his water bottle with an almost disgusted expression, the Aussie shoved it into his bag and waited for his members to pack up, so that they could head home. He was exhausted, almost too exhausted to take a shower but he knew he'd be uncomfortable all night if he didn't.

Not daring to eat dinner for the fear of upsetting his stomach more, Felix crawled into bed right after taking a shower. He had been plagued with cramps the entire time he was in the shower and had barely managed to stand up straight, wanting to curl up into a tiny ball right there. When Chan came into their shared room to get the younger for dinner, he found the boy deeply asleep, hugging his pillow to his middle. Not having the heart to wake his dongsaeng, the leader left and quietly closed the door behind him. He made sure to save Felix some food in case he woke up hungry before telling the rest of the members to keep it down a bit. The next one to check on Felix was his other roommate Changbin. After dinner he went to their shared room to collect his headphones, finding the Aussie tangled in his sheets, groaning quietly. It worried him a bit, knowing how hard the younger had been working lately. Seeing him this exhausted was just heartbreaking for the rapper. He too decided not to disturb his dongsaeng, hoping he would get as much rest as somehow possible. It felt wrong to see their energetic sunshine like this.

Felix had stayed asleep the entire time, no matter how loud the rest of the members in the living room were. He didn't even hear his roommates come and get ready for bed. All he knew was that by the time he woke up again, both of them were sleeping peacefully in their beds. Unlike Felix, who had woken up in cold sweat. His breath got caught in his throat when he was hit with another cramp, the pain unexpectedly intense. Whimpering quietly, he felt his stomach turn, now more than certain that he was going to be sick. Felix heart sped up, knowing he had to get to the bathroom fast but afraid he'd be sick immediately if he as much as moved a single muscle. With adrenaline rushing through his veins, he rolled out of bed, hand clamped tightly over his mouth as he stumbled to the door. Throwing it open, he staggered down the hallway, dizzily crashing into the wall next to him. As he fought to get his footing, his stomach cramped, sending a gush of his lunch up. Feeling the warm mush spill through his fingers, the Aussie's eyes stung with tears. He tried to avoid the puddle as he dragged himself to the bathroom, collapsing to his knees in front of the toilet, instantly throwing up more.

Chan awoke with a start to their door slamming against the wall. Shooting up in his bed, he found Changbin awake as well, looking at the older with a horrified expression. Only a few seconds later, they heard a muffled cough followed by a splattering noise. Cursing, Chan got out of bed and hurried down the hallway, only barely avoiding the puddle of sick. The bathroom door was slightly ajar, light streaming through the crack. Hearing faint cries behind the door, the leader rushed to find Felix draped over the toilet, head buried in the toilet bowl. The dancer startled when he felt his hyung's hand on his back. "Ssh, you're okay", Chan promised, rubbing his back. Felix wanted to laugh at him, telling him that he was very much not okay, but before he was able to get a single word out, his stomach lurched again, a large wave of his lunch splashing into the bowl. Changbin had followed them not long after, frowning when he saw the position his friends were in. Felix' chest was hitching with quiet sobs, which certainly didn't help his stomach settle. Retching again, the dancer reached behind him and took a hold of Chan's had. He clutched onto it tightly as he kept throwing up. When he finally got a chance to breathe, he rasped: "Can you turn off the light? It's too bright." Changbin was quick to comply while Chan continued to rub his dongsaeng's back. "Do you have a migraine?", he asked carefully, afraid his voice would hurt the other more. Felix shook his head, gagging weakly before he was able to reply: "My stomach's been bothering me since dance practice."

Sighing, Chan brushed his hand against Felix' neck. "You're running a fever too. Is that new or did it start along with your stomach", he hummed worriedly. Giving a strained cough, the dancer groaned: "I don't know? I just knew that my stomach felt bad, so I wanted to sleep it off. Oh god, please make it stop." Before Chan could say anything, Felix had ducked his head into the bowl again, retching painfully. While the leader tried his best to comfort the younger, Changbin went over to the sink and ran a washcloth under cool water before draping it across the dancer's neck. They could barely see anything as the only light source was the hallway light streaming through the cracked door but they didn't have to see much, the short glance they had gotten earlier had been enough to see how ghostly pale their dongsaeng was. Felix seemed to be done for now and tiredly rested his head on his arms. He just wanted to go back to sleep. That was when he remembered the mess he had made on his way. "Ugh, I -I got sick in the hallway too", he whimpered, raising his head to look at his hand. Looking at the bits of his lunch still stuck to his hand only triggered another gag. When Felix was done, the tears wouldn't stop falling, his fever messing with his emotions. Handing him a wad of toilet paper to clean his hand with, Changbin whispered: "I'll clean that up... don't move."

While the rapper fetched the cleaning supplies and took care of the mess in the hallway, Chan stayed with Felix, helping him up from the floor, so he could wash his hands properly and handing him some mouthwash to get rid of the vile taste. As they made their way back to their room, Felix shakily clung to the leader's arm, his head spinning. "You're okay, almost there", the older promised, when Felix' legs suddenly gave out. Catching him around the waist, Chan picked him up bridal style and carried him the last few meters to his bed. The sheets were a mess and it took the oldest a while to detangle them, so he could tuck his dongsaeng in. Placing a bottle of water on the nightstand and pulling the trashcan out from under the desk, Changbin hummed: "Here's the trashcan if you need it. Try having some water when you feel ready, we don't want you to get dehydrated." – "Thanks", the younger rasped quietly, eyes already fluttering shut. Falling asleep however wasn't as easy. His stomach was still in knots, rumbling loudly. "Was your stomach making all that noise?", Changbin frowned, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, sliding his hand under Felix' shirt. The dancer hummed in confirmation, relaxing as the older stroked his stomach in soothing circles.

By the time Chan had to get up for a meeting with their managers, Felix had been up retching over the trashcan twice. Neither times was he able to bring anything up though, which wasn't surprising, considering he had skipped dinner and had barely had anything to drink. Although he hated to wake his members when they were sleeping, Chan carefully woke Changbin up by shaking his arm. "Hey, could you stay back from the studio today?", he asked quietly, afraid to leave Felix at the dorm by himself, "I'll tell the others to just go to their schedules as usual and come check on you two as soon as the meeting's over." – "No problem, I couldn't focus anyway, knowing he'd be sick and alone. I got him, hyung, don't stress too much", Changbin whispered, waving the older goodbye before going back to sleep.

The rapper woke up again hours later to a weight on his chest. Yawning, he tried to sit up, only to find himself pinned down. "Sorry, I was cold", Felix mumbled lowly. He had woken up not too long ago, his stomach still hurting but not as nauseous as he had been before. Instead, he was shaking with chills. Bringing his hand up to the Aussie's forehead, Changbin hummed: "Your fever's up. Did you try to drink anything yet?" The dancer shook his head not even opening his eyes. He really didn't want to be sick again, so he wasn't willing to risk it. "You're getting dehydrated, Lixxie. Isn't your head hurting?", he frowned, running his hand through his dongsaeng's hair. "It is", Felix admitted quietly, "But so are my stomach and throat. I'm fine as long as we just stay like this." Sighing, Changbin decided that they could stay like that for a little while longer before he'd try to get the younger to drink something again.

It was already close to lunchtime when Changbin decided he wouldn't let Felix go without having at least some water. Luckily, the Aussie was awake, merely resting with his eyes closed, because the rapper didn't think he could wake the boy. "Come on, Lix", he whispered, "At least have a few sips and if you let me get up, I can go and see if we have any medicine. Just not consuming anything isn't going to help. It'll only make you worse." – "Hyung", the dancer whined, holding onto Changbin's shirt, "Please, no." Though Felix had his hyung wrapped around his little finger, the older knew better than to give in. He wouldn't let his dongsaeng get worse. If Felix wasn't getting up, he would have to get the Aussie off of himself. Carefully shifting to the side, Changbin managed to slip out underneath the younger and gently removed his hands from his shirt. "Sorry", the older cooed, pulling the blanket up to Felix' shoulders and leaving the room.

Rummaging through the bathroom cabinet, Changbin found some anti-emetics and made his way to the kitchen. He knew Felix didn't want anything but after skipping dinner and throwing up, the dancer needed something in his system. Guessing that plain rice would be the safest option, Changbin grabbed a small bowl and took it back to their room. Felix' water bottle was still untouched on the nightstand. Sitting down on the edge of his bed, he ran his hand up and down his dongsaeng's back. "Can you sit up for me, Lix?", he hummed, peeling the blanket back. The Aussie let out a discontent whine but propped himself up on one arm. "Can you try and have a few bites of rice and some water for me? I also found you medicine", the rapper tried. Shaking his head, Felix insisted: "No, medicine yes but the rest no." – "How are you going to get the medicine down without water?", Changbin quizzed, "Come on, sunshine, for me?" The dancer huffed but shuffled around till he sat up against the headboard. Accepting the bowl of rice from his hyung, Felix eyed the food with disgust before forcing himself to take a small bite into his mouth. Slowly chewing, he pulled a face and handed the bowl back. Changbin didn't take it back though, instead giving the younger a stern look. Pouting, Felix forced down two more bites before handing the bowl back to his hyung, who traded it for the water. He also handed the dancer a pill, which he swallowed dry before taking one tiny sip of water. "Lix, I'm pretty sure you're already dehydrated. You did so well, I'm sure you can take another sip", Changbin hummed, earning a glare from the younger. Though he didn't want to, Felix had some more water before handing the bottle back.

His food wasn't settling at all and mere minutes later, Felix sat hugging his churning tummy as his mouth watered. "H-Hyung?!", he choked out, hand clamped over his mouth as his stomach gurgled. Noticing the boy's slightly greenish complexion, Changbin rushed to place the trashcan into his lap. He knew he had been pushing it but he had hoped the medicine would keep him from throwing up again. Sitting down next to the dancer, Changbin gently massaged his shoulders as they waited. With his breathing coming in nauseous little huffs, Felix felt the room spin around him, desperately holding onto the trashcan to steady himself. He could feel his food right at the back of his throat but it wasn't coming. Hesitantly, he gave a little cough, which was all it took for his stomach to send everything up. Though he was pretty sure, everything he had just consumed had come up in one rush, Felix couldn't stop his throat from contracting with unproductive gags. Coughing, he choked out: "I hate you." – "I know you do", Changbin sighed, comfortingly rubbing the younger's back and brushing his sweaty bangs from his forehead. He felt sorry for making the Aussie sick again but if he kept going without keeping down any water, they'd have to take him to hospital.

When Felix finally deemed it safe to remove his head from the trashcan and lean back against the headboard, his forehead was glistening with sweat. His shirt clung to him making him feel even more disgusting than before. Changbin grabbed the trashcan and placed it down on the floor. "Let's take that off, hm?", he asked, gently pulling the dancer's shirt over his head, "Are you still cold? Do you want one of my hoodies as compensation?" Felix nodded tiredly, barely finding the energy to lift his arms, so the older could put it on him. "How about a change of scenery? The others are gone, so you could nap on the couch. We could put on some boring drama in the background", the rapper offered. Nodding, Felix rasped: "Sounds like fun but... Can you carry me? I don't think I can make it there." – "Sure thing", Changbin chuckled, picking the younger up. Placing him down on the couch, he told the dancer to wait there, so he could get a bucket and his water in case the Aussie would let himself be talked into drinking something. After getting everything settled, he lifted Felix' head and placed it on his lap, so he could play with the younger's hair. Exhausted from the whole ordeal, it didn't take long for Felix to drift off again.

While Felix was asleep, Changbin texted Chan about the dancer's condition, emphasizing that he really couldn't keep anything down at all. Now becoming more worried too, the leader stopped by a store to pick up some ginger ale and crackers for his dongsaeng. He hoped those things would settle better, at least he knew that that was what their families had always used in such situations. If it didn't help settle his stomach, it might at least give the younger a sense of home. While walking, Chan already started to shake the bottle of ginger ale, opening it repeatedly to get rid of the fizz. He quietly entered their dorm, not wanting to wake Felix up if he was resting. The sight looked truly pitiful. The dancer laying on the couch with his head in Changbin's lap, face white as a ghost except for a faint feverish blush on his cheekbones. He was wearing one of Changbin's sweaters, arms hugging his middle in his sleep. Chan wordlessly waved at Changbin, not wanting to disturb as he went to the kitchen to pour a glass of ginger ale. He also grabbed a small plate and put a few crackers on it. They looked really lonely but he'd already be happy if he could convince Felix of having a few of them.

Hearing a hushed conversation in the living room, the leader figured Felix had woken up and made his way over to them. "Hey, Binnie told me you're still not doing so well", he whispered with a sympathetic smile. The dancer shook his head and glanced at the things Chan was carrying. Realizing he was most likely supposed to eat that, he couldn't help but grimace already. Crouching next to the couch, Chan rubbed his arm through the hoodie and hushed: "I know you don't feel like eating that but we need to get you back on your feet somehow. You always used to eat those, right? Don't even have to be many crackers." Groaning, Felix sat up and rubbed his face. He knew Chan was only trying to help, Changbin too had meant well but his stomach was till so upset. He didn't think he could stomach anything. "I got all the fizz out of the ginger ale, so hopefully it will settle a better", the oldest mused, glancing at the box of medicine Changbin had left on the table, "Have a cracker and then just try having this medicine again, please?" Scrunching up his nose, Felix nodded and accepted one of the crackers. He took his time, nibbling on it. It didn't feel that bad on his stomach, so he nibbled down another one. The ginger ale really reminded him of home and he gladly took the medicine again. Sitting on the couch, he rested his head on Changbin's shoulder. Every once in a while, he took a small sip until the glass was empty and he laid back down to let the older lure him back to sleep.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Notting Hill AU Snippet #5

Lena's waiting for her by the time Kara comes down to the lobby. Her vest has been traded for a velour coat in maroon, nearly matching the color of her lips. Her hair, last seen flattened by the horror of facing an impromptu press junket, is revitalized and styled into 1940s waves. Kara smiles at the sight of her, and the way Lena's entire countenance seems to warm at the sight of her.

Unsure of the dresscode for the night, Kara had settled for a satin paisley button down, made more casual by braiding her hair across her head in a crown. She'd debated taking it down as soon as she'd finished, but when Lena doesn't make a crack about her looking like a swiss miss, Kara's glad she left it.

They take a cab from the hotel, and though the conversation is stilted, Kara can tell that Lena's nervous. When they finally arrive, Lena pauses them at the doorway, and levels a solemn look at Kara.

"There's just one thing you need to know before we go in," she says.

Kara stares at her. "Which is?"

"I am so, so sorry."

With that, the door bursts open and a large form comes barreling out to swallow Lena in a giant bear hug.

"There you are!" the figure growls playfully, resolving into a bald, broad-shouldered man in a button down with the sleeves rolled up and a frilly pink apron.

"Can't... breathe..."

"Yeah, yeah, likely story." Kara presumes the man is Lena's brother, confirmed when he releases Lena only to trap her in a headlock and give her a knuckle rub. "And who's the poor hapless prey you're impressing this time, huh?"

The man stops short at the sight of Kara.

"Holy shitting fuck."

Kara braces, but then the man blinks and the moment passes, his attention returning to his prisoner, who extricates herself with a sigh and a shove against his shoulder, smoothing her ruffled hair.

"Kara, this is my prat of an older brother, Lex. Lex, this Kara. My date."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Date. Come in, come in, you're letting all the wonderful smells out!"

He ushers them all inside, and while he's right the house is filled with smells, not all of them are wonderful. There's mish mash of aromatic spices that Kara detects, but there's an undercurrent of something just slightly burnt wafting beneath it all that makes Kara concerned for the unattended stove.

Before she can worry further, a woman comes bustling in, tall and gorgeous. "Lena, darling, it's so lovely to see you."

Kara watches Lena melt into a smile that makes Kara's heart skip a beat. "Hello, Drea. Glad to see my brother hasn't poisoned you yet."

"Oh, hush," the woman, Drea, responds giving Lena a kiss on both cheeks. "Of all the vices he could have, his passion for bad cooking is one I can live with."

Drea's gaze then turns to Kara, and while Kara can see the moment recognition hits, the woman covers it graciously with a smile and an outstretched hand. "Hi, I'm Andrea. Andrea Rojas."

"Kara," she responds, well noting the way the woman rolls her Rs and speaks like words are honey. No wonder Lena melted. "Thank you so much for having me. Your home is lovely."

And it is. Where Lena's flat is cluttered and marked with signs of both age and use, Lex's rowhouse is clean and modern, full of smooth lines and cool colors. She suspects Andrea Rojas had something to do with that, judging from her silk blouse and pencil skirt, accented with classy jewelry.

"Thank you so much," Andrea returns, "you're too kind. Here, can I get you something to drink before my husband's cooking ruins your sense of taste completely?"

"I'm telling you," Lex cuts in, offended, "this one is the winner winner chicken dinner!"

Kara laughs, and just like that, the ice is broken. She relaxes, but sticks close to Lena, reveling in the easy comfort that fills the home. It feels... nice. Real. Unlike anything she's had in the past ten years.

She has a sister. But her sister is also her manager, and Kara can't remember the last time she and Alex just sat and talked like this, trading jokes and playful barbs around the dinner table. Even when Lena's roommate Querl and his girlfriend Nia arrive, the atmosphere remains easy and warm.

Kara's defenses relax, until it comes time to fight over the last brownie for dessert.

"And the last one goes as a prize to the poorest sod here."

"Ooh!" Nia chirps. "Hand it over!"

"Oh please!" the table choruses. Someone throws a wadded up paper napkin at Nia, who bats it away.

"Come on!" she exclaims. "Just look at me! I'm fresh out of art school with zero prospects, zero job, and I'm dating this guy." She jabs a thumb at Querl, prompting a round of laughter even as Querl doesn't seem to register the playful insult.

"Well," he says, "I've been making a fool of myself asking for grants from an institution with no imagination and no desire to seek the answers of the universe!"

"Weak!" Lena boasts. "I've got a shop so deep in the red I'm practically swimming in it, and my last girlfriend of five years left me for her male yoga instructor saying her experimentation phase was done."

That shocks Kara. Her gaze flickers to Lena, and despite the veneer of good humor, she can see the hurt underneath. Five years isn't an experimentation by any stretch of the mind. To be told that's all it was... Lena's entire world must have been turned upside down.

Still, Andrea Rojas isn't a woman to be beat.

"Well, how about being told in no unequivocable terms by your boss that there's no way to make partner unless you fuck him?" There's a bitterness in her voice that makes the table go quiet. "And on top of wondering what you've been doing with the last ten years of your life, you find out you've given those assholes your best egg laying years because now, suddenly, your doctor says you're too old to have children?"

Kara shoots a look around the table, as does Lena. Their eyes meet in the middle, before Lex wordlessly hands over the plate.

"Hey!" Kara blurts. "What about me?"

"What about you?" Nia retorts irreverently. "You think YOU deserve the brownie to saddest sod?"

"Well, I'd at least like a shot at it."

"Okay," Lena returns blithely. "But you're going to have to work for it. It's a very good brownie."

Kara nods. "Sure. My earliest memory is being spanked by my mother for ruining a take by crying. I've slept with a director for a role I didn't get anyway, and I've been on a diet for my entire acting career, meaning that this is my first time eating a brownie. Ever."

A beat of silence follows.

"Well, shit," Nia quips. "Give the woman all the brownies, then."

Just like that, the suddenly somber atmosphere lifts back to its previous humor, as Querl adds his own two cents. "I life without brownies is a life not worth living."

"Cheers to that, bro," Lex concurs, lifting his glass before chugging it.

Kara savors her brownie in small bites, trying not to blush under Lena's gentle gaze.

previous / next

[imagineredwood]

Request:  Reader hides her feelings for Angel but EZ knows, something happens where Angel finds someone else and introduces them to the club. Reader is heartbroken and distant to the point EZ has to explain why she is when Angel is upset at her for blowing him off

Pairing: Angel x reader, EZ x reader (platonic)

Warnings: Heartbreak, angst, emotional hurt, crying 

Word count: 2.6K

**What do we want to see happen here? 👀***

“You should just tell him.”

You looked up from your lunch to look at EZ instead, the prospect still eating his food.

“Tell who what?”

“Tell Angel that you love him.”

EZ looked at you then, seeing as you opened and closed your mouth, trying to come up with an excuse or defense. EZ cut you off before you could though.

“Don’t even try to lie. I know you. I can look at you and tell what you’re thinking. You’re in love with Angel, and you should tell him.”

Shaking your head, you looked back down at your plate, messing around with your food.

“It’s not that simple, EZ. Angel is so…he’s got such a different life than me. I can’t see him ever loving me. Not in the same way that I love him at least.”

EZ wanted to keep encouraging you, but he could see that your love for his brother was complicated. You did not get giddy and doe eyed like most people did when they spoke of the one they loved. Instead, you seemed down. Unsure and frustrated. No doubt yearning for someone that was not yours could do that to a person. With a sigh, EZ reached across the table, stroking the back of your hand in comfort.

“Just…talk to him. Hint around, see where he’s at. I know it can be scary when there isn’t much being reciprocated. You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

You nodded quietly, taking his words to heart.

“I’ll try.”

At that, EZ smiled.

“Good. We’re having a big party this Friday. Come by. You can spend some time with him and see where things go.”

With a smile of your own, you nodded. You still had time to plan a nice outfit that would draw his attention.

“I’ll be there.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Friday rolled around before you knew it and you had gotten yourself dolled up. Nothing crazy or extravagant, but you had been more particular. Put it more effort, and it shows. You had even managed to find a dress in the deep, gorgeous green that Angel liked. The dress was as close of a match to his bike as you were going to get, and you hoped that he would notice the effort.

Shoes on and keys in hand, you left your house and got into your car, making thee drive out to the clubhouse. Your hands were shaking the entire time, tense on the steering wheel as you drove. You felt confident and beautiful, but that did not do too much to soothe the anxiety you felt in the pit of your tummy. What if he said no? What if he decided that you were better as friends? Or that you just weren’t what he wanted? The thoughts were almost enough to have you make a U-turn and head back home, but you were already so close, the lights from the clubhouse illuminating the yard. Swallowing, you pushed through and pulled into the yard, parking by the other cars.

You stayed seated in your seat for a few moments, taking deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth. You were nervous yet excited. Sure, it could end with you getting shot down, but the idea that there was a possibility of Angel caring about you the same way that you cared about him was enough to tip the scale. You had been friends with him for a while now. You trusted each other, looked after each other. Checked each other when needed. Angel was absolutely your best friend. But you wanted more.

You imagined Angel loving you more. Loving you romantically. Loving you in the way that elderly coupled loved. The way that he coupled loved in your favorite books. You would always take whatever love Angel would give you, but it would be a lie to say that you did not want more. You wanted more of Angel. You wanted him to spend more time with you one on one, going on dates with you. Kissing you, being there with you when you really needed someone. To share a home with you. To think of those things made your heart skip a beat. You loved Angel more than anything, and all you wanted was for him to love you back.

Taking one last deep breath, you steadied yourself and hopped out of your car, smoothing down the front of your dress. Looking around you saw that EZ had been right. It was a bigger party than usual, more Mayans from other charters present and even more women. You felt better as you saw many of them in dresses as well, thankful you hadn’t gone too over the top. Locking your car, you started walking through the lot and going up to the clubhouse entrance. You looked over at the bikes and noticed that Angel’s was not there, but you didn’t think much of it. He had probably gone with someone else to pick some stuff up for the party.

You entered the clubhouse, the music much louder now that it was not muffled by the walls. Stepping in, you looked around, eyes scanning. You saw Coco off to the corner and he raised his arm, waving to you before motioning for you to come over. Just seeing the people that had become your family was enough to soothe your tummy a little bit more and you walked over to them, Taza wrapping his arm around your shoulders before kissing the side of your head.  

“Glad you could make it, kiddo.”

You made your way around the table, greeting the members of this charter and some from others. You stopped to stand by Coco, the one you were closest to, after the Reyes brothers. He stood from his seat and gave it to you, waving his hand when you tried to argue.

“Sit, mama. I’m good.”

You fell into conversation with the men, some of the club girls coming up to say hi and hug you. EZ could barely get time away from grabbing new beers to sit with you but that was alright. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, genuinely enjoying the company. It was not until the door opened and you saw Angel enter that you remembered why you had been so nervous in the first place. You all looked as Angel started making his way over, shaking hands with members as he walked up. By the time he got to the table, your heart was already thudding in your chest. Of course, you weren’t going to tell him as soon as he got in. You would wait until much later. Once he was finally at the table though, he turned behind him and let a girl that was standing there come to now stand in front of him. They both smiled as they looked at the group, Angel’s voice excited and proud.

“Sup, guys. This is my date.”

The girl smiled somewhat shyly having all the eyes on her, but she waved nonetheless, everyone wearing wide grins as they greeted and welcomed her.

You on the other hand felt like you had been shot.

The blow to the chest practically knocked the wind out of you and your stomach felt like you were on a roller coaster. You tried to keep your face neutral but as you looked on, Angel standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders watching happily as the Mayans complimented his new girl, you felt like the world was crashing down around you. You could hear your blood pumping in your ears, and you stood from your seat, no one noticing as the attention was on the new addition. You slipped away quickly, heading to the bathroom praying it was empty.

It seemed that the universe had taken pity on you and thankfully the bathroom was empty. You had barely gotten the door closed and locked before the heavy tears started to stream down your cheeks. The music was loud, and you knew no one could hear you anyway, but that didn’t stop you from covering your mouth to muffle the sobs.

Never in your entire life had you felt both so broken and stupid at the same time. You did not expect Angel to be single forever. You knew at some point he was going to want to get a girl that he could settle down with. You just didn’t think it was going to be so soon, and you sure as hell didn’t expect him to bring her on the night were you had finally gathered the courage to tell him how you felt. It was as if the world was playing a sick joke on you.

With your back against the bathroom door, you tried to steady your breathing, bulky tears still rolling down your cheeks. Reaching for the toilet paper, you grabbed a wad and turned to the mirror, trying to wipe the tears before they made any bigger of a mess. Just then, a knock came from the other side of the door and you cleared your throat, trying to make it sound as if you weren’t in there having the breakdown of your life.

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

You expected it to be one of the girls or maybe another member. You were surprised to hear EZ’s voice on the other side.

“Open up, querida. Come one, let me in.”

You hesitated, not wanting him to see you like this, but opened the door against your better judgement anyway. As soon as his eyes landed on you, he tilted his head with a pout and came into the bathroom, closing the bathroom behind him and locking it again.

“I’m sorry, y/n. I…I didn’t know he was bringing someone. I never would’ve asked you to come if I knew he was doing that. I wouldn’t have done that to you.”

You shook your head and tried to force a smile, still dabbing at your eyes and cheeks.

“I know, EZ. I know. It’s not your fault. It’s not his either. I’m happy that he found someone, it’s just,”

You couldn’t complete the sentence before a fresh wave of tears was brought on, EZ snatching you into his arms. He held you tightly, one hand stroking your hair as he cooed at you.

“It’s ok, mama. It’ll be ok. You’ll find someone. You’ll get over him in time and find someone for you and then this will all just be a memory.”

You knew that he was trying to comfort you but hearing him say out loud that having Angel just wasn’t a possibility anymore only deepened the crack in your heart.

You cried on his for a few minutes more before pulling away, your hiccupping sobs gone. Turning to the mirror though, it was still painfully obvious that you had been crying. Eyes puffy and your top lip a little swollen from all the rubbing your nose. You turned toward EZ and the pain on your face and in your voice made his heart clench.

“I just wanna go home.”

EZ nodded and started to open the door for you.

“Head out through the back, I’ll go and grab your purse for you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

It had been nearly two weeks since that night and you had yet to see Angel. He had texted you the morning after the party to see how you were doing. EZ had told everyone that you had gotten sick and had to leave early. They had bought it but now Angel was wanting to hang out like you both usually did. You were normally inseparable and now you had barely spoken. You would answer his texts, but they were short. He had tried to make plans and you had come up with excuses why you could not make it. You had just been spending your time at home trying to heal from the heartbreak.

It was your first one, and while you knew that the pain would not last forever, that did not make it any easier to deal with. Your tears still snuck up on you out of nowhere sometimes whenever he popped into your mind. It was like a grieving process, and as much as you wanted to try and get back to normal, you just could not face him. You figured Angel wouldn’t even really notice your absence, too caught up in the honeymoon phase with his new girl. The truth was the exact opposite was happening.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

“What the fuck is her problem? Every time I hit her up, she’s got an excuse.”

Angel angrily tossed his phone onto the table, both Felipe and EZ looking at him. The father and youngest son shared a look before Felipe went back to slicing up the pork. EZ looked at Angel who now sat back in his chair with an angry expression, arms crossed over his chest. EZ sighed and shook his head, looking out the window.

“Don’t be mad at her.”

Angel’s head snapped to him, an incredulous look on his face.

“What do you mean, don’t be mad at her? She’s been blowing me off for two fuckin’ weeks! No matter what I say we do, she can’t make it. I ask if I can go over to her place, she says she’s not in the mood for company. She barely comes by the clubhouse and when she does, she makes sure I’m not there. What the fuck is that about? I haven’t done shit to her and now she’s avoiding me like the plague. Some fuckin’ friend.”

Angel huffed as his finished ranting, EZ looking directly at him now.

“You broke her heart, Angel.”

The older brother stared blankly before shaking his head as he blinked repeatedly.

“What are you talking about?”

EZ sighed, turning his body to his older brother.

“She’s in love with you, Angel. She has been for months. It’s not a crush or wanting to sleep with you, she fucking loves you. She thinks the sun shines out of your ass like you’re the most perfect thing in the world. That night? When you brought your new girl? I had convinced her to come by and tell you. She went out and bought a dress to grab your attention and everything because I convinced her to just see how you felt. She showed up thinking that she might finally get a chance to be with you, and you came with another woman. You have the right to be with whoever you want, I’m not saying you don’t, but don’t be mad at her. She had her heart broken and was humiliated all within 5 seconds. That’s why she’s ‘blowing you off’. She just can’t…she can’t look at you. It hurts her too much.”

All the anger in Angel’s face and slowly melted as EZ was speaking, but by the time he finished, Angel looked like a kicked puppy. Brows knitted, mouth open slightly in a frown. He had no idea. He never once thought that you held anything more for him than the love of a friend. He had been with plenty of Vicki’s girls and you had never really batted an eyelash. That was much different than having a girlfriend though. He shook his head in disbelief.

“Obviously I never meant for her to get hurt. I wouldn’t have shoved another girl in her face if I knew.”

EZ shrugged, nodding.

“But you did, and she is.”

Angel cursed, slamming his fist on the table, the saltshaker toppling over from the force before standing.

“I gotta go see her.”

General taglist @piccasoe​ @ateliefloresdaprimavera​ @gemini0410​ @woahitslucyylu​ @my-rosegold-soul​ @that-chick212​ @everyhowlmarksthedead​ @glimmerglittergirl​​ @elcococruz​ @fanaticfangurl21​ @ifoundmyhappythought​ @encounterthepast​

Mayans taglist @dazzledamazon​  @abunnykisses @briana-mishell24​

Angel taglist @cardenasarmy @ezekielreyes

[thewidowsghost]

The Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 8

(Y/n)'s POV

I know someone at camp resents Percy and me because one night, I come into the cabin alone and find a mortal newspaper dropped inside the doorway, a copy of the New York Daily News, opened to the Metro page. The article takes me almost an hour to read, because the angrier I get, the more the words float around on the page.

GIRL, BOY, AND MOTHER STILL MISSING AFTER FREAK CAR ACCIDENT

By Eileen Smythe

Sally Jackson, son Percy, and daughter (Y/n) are still missing one week after their mysterious disappearance. The family's badly burned '78 Camaro was discovered last Saturday on a north Long Island road with the roof ripped off and the front axle broken. The car had flipped and skidded for several hundred feet before exploding.

Mother, daughter, and son had gone for a weekend vacation to Montauk, but left hastily, under mysterious circumstances. Small traces of blood were found in the car and near the scene of the wreck, but there were no other signs of the missing Jacksons. Residents in the rural area reported seeing nothing unusual around the time of the accident.

Ms. Jackson's husband, Gabe Ugliano, claims that his stepson, Percy Jackson, is a troubled child who has been kicked out of numerous boarding schools and has expressed violent tendencies in the past.

Police would not say whether son Percy is a suspect in his sister's and his mother's disappearance, but they have not ruled out foul play. Below are recent pictures of Sally Jackson, (Y/n), Percy. Police urge anyone with information to call the following toll-free Crimestoppers hotline.

The phone number is circled in black marker.

I wad up the paper and throw it away, flopping down on my bunk on the far edge of the cabin under the window facing the sea.

I remain silent as Percy walks into the cabin, flopping down onto his bunk as well.

That night, I have the worst dream yet.

I was running along the beach in a storm. This time, there was a city behind me. Not New York. The sprawl was different: buildings spread farther apart, palm trees and low hills in the distance.

About a hundred yards down the surf, two men were fighting. They looked like TV wrestlers, muscular, with beards and long hair. Both wore flowing Greek tunics, one trimmed in blue, the other in green. They grappled with each other, wrestled, kicked, and head-butted, and every time they connected, lightning flashed, the sky grew darker, and the wind rose.

I had to stop them. I didn't know why. But the harder I ran, the more the wind blew me back until I was running in place, my heels digging uselessly in the sand.

Over the roar of the storm, I could hear the blue-robed one yelling at the green-robed one, Give it back! Give it back! Like a kindergartner fighting over a toy.

The waves got bigger, crashing into the beach, spraying me with salt.

I yelled, Stop it! Stop fighting!

The ground shook. Laughter came from somewhere under the earth, and a voice so deep and evil it turned my blood to ice.

Come down, little hero, the voice crooned. Come down!

The sand split beneath me, opening up a crevice straight down to the center of the earth. My feet slipped, and darkness swallowed me.

I wake up, sure I'm falling.

I am still in bed in Cabin Three. My body tells me it's morning, but it's dark outside, and thunder rolls over the hills.

A storm is brewing.

I hadn't dreamed that . . .

I hear a clopping sound at the door, a hoof knocking on the threshold.

"Come in?" Percy asks, sounding uncertain.

Grover trots inside, looking worried. "Mr. D wants to see the two of you."

"Why?" I ask, peeking through the curtain separating mine and Percy's side of the cabin.

'He wants to kill . . . I mean, I'd better let him tell you."

Nervously, Percy and I get dressed and follow, sure we were in huge trouble.

For days, Percy and I'd been half expecting a summons to the Big House. Now that we were declared children of Poseidon, one of the Big Three gods who weren't supposed to have kids, I figure it's just a crime for us to be alive. The other gods had probably been debating on the best way to punish us for existing, and now Mr. D is ready to deliver their verdict.

Over Long Island Sound, the sky looks like ink soup coming to a boil. A hazy curtain of rain is coming in our direction. I ask Grover if we'd need an umbrella.

"No," Grover says. "It never rains here unless we want it to."

Percy points at the storm, 'What the heck is that, then?"

Grover glances uneasily at the sky. "It'll pass around us. Bad weather always does."

I realize that he's right. In the week I'd been here, it had never even been overcast. The few rain clouds I'd seen had skirted right around the edges of the valley.

But this storm . . .

This one's huge.

At the volleyball pit, the kids from Apollo's cabin are playing a morning game against the satyrs. Dionysius's twins - Castor and Pollux - are walking around in the strawberry fields, making the plants grow. Everyone is going about their normal business, but they look tense; they keep their eyes on the storm.

Grover, Percy, and I walk up the front porch of the Big House. Dionysus sits at the pinochle table in his tiger-striped Hawaiian shirt with his Diet Coke, just as he had on my first day. Chiron sits across the table in his fake wheelchair. They are playing against invisible opponents - two sets of cards hovering in the air.

"Well, well," Mr. D says without looking up. "Our little celebrities."

I wait.

"Come closer," Mr. D says. "And don't expect me to kowtow to you, mortals, just because old Barnacle-Beard is your father."

A net of lightning flashes across the clouds; thunder shakes the windows of the house.

"Blah, blah, blah," Dionysus grumbles.

Chiron faints interest in his pinochle cards and Grover cowers by the railing, his hooves clopping back and forth.

"If I had my way," Dionysus says, "I would cause your molecules to erupt in flames. We'd sweep up the ashes and be done with a lot of trouble. But Chiron seems to feel this would be against my mission at this cursed camp: to keep you little brats safe from harm."

"Spontaneous combustion is a form of harm, Mr. D," Chiron puts in.

"Nonsense," Dionysus says. "Boy wouldn't feel a thing. Nevertheless, I've agreed to restrain myself. I'm thinking of turning you into a dolphin instead, sending you back to your father."

"Mr. D - " Chiron warns.

"Oh, all right," Dionysus relents. "There's one more option. But it's deadly foolishness." Dionysus rises, and the invisible players' cards drop onto the table. "I'm off to Olympus for the emergency meeting. If the boy is still here when I get back, I'll turn him into an Atlantic bottlenose. Do you understand? And Perseus Jackson, if you're at all smart, you'll see that's a much more sensible choice than what Chiron feels you two must do."

Dionysus picks up a playing card, twists it, and it becomes a plastic rectangle. A security pass. He snaps his fingers. The air seems to fold and bend around him. He becomes a hologram, a wind, then he is gone, leaving only the smell of fresh-pressed grapes lingering behind.

Chiron smiles at me and Percy, but he looks tired and strained. "Sit, Percy,(Y/n), please. And Grover."

We do.

Chiron lays his cards on the table, a winning hand he hadn't gotten to use.

"Tell me, (Y/n)," he says. "What did you make of the hellhound?"

Just hearing the name makes me shudder.

Chiron probably wants me to say, Heck, it was nothing. I eat hellhounds for breakfast. But I don't feel like lying.

"It scared me," I admit. "If you hadn't shot it, I'd be dead."

"You two will meet worse. Far worse, before you're done."

"Done?" Percy asks. "With what?"

"You're quest, of course," Chiron says. "Will you accept it?"

I glance at Grover, who is crossing his fingers.

"Sir," I say, "you haven't told us what it is yet."

Chiron grimaces. "Well, that's the hard part, the details."

Thunder rumbles across the valley. The storm clouds had now reached the edge of the beach. As far as I can see, the sky and the sea were boiling together.

"Poseidon and Zeus," I guess. "They're fighting over something valuable . . . something that was stolen, aren't they?"

Chiron and Grover exchange looks.

Chiron shoots forward in his wheelchair. "How did you know that?"

"The weather since Christmas has been weird, like the sea and the sky are fighting. Then I talked to Annabeth, and she'd overheard something about a theft. And...I've also been having these dreams."

"I knew it," Grover says, his eyes bright.

"Hush, satyr," Chiron orders.

"But it is his quest!" Grover's eyes sparkle with excitement. "It must be!"

"Only the Oracle can determine," Chiron strokes his bristly beard. "Nevertheless, (Y/n), you are correct. Your father and Zeus are having their worst quarrel in centuries. They are fighting over something valuable that was stolen. To be precise: a lightning bolt."

Percy laughs, looking nervous, "A what?"

"Do not take this lightly," Chiron warns. "I'm not talking about some tinfoil-covered zigzag you'd see in a second-grade play. I'm talking about a two-foot-long cylinder of high-grade celestial bronze, capped on both ends with god-level explosives."

"Oh."

"Zeus's master bolt," Chiron says, getting worked up now. "The symbol of his power, from which all other lightning bolts are patterned. The first weapon made by the Cyclopes for the war against the Titans, the bolt that sheered the top off Mount Etna and hurled Kronos from his throne; the master bolt, which packs enough power to make mortal hydrogen bombs look like firecrackers."

"And it's missing?" I guess.

"Stolen," Chiron corrects.

"By whom?" I ask though I guessed what he was going to say.

"By you two," Chiron says and Percy's jaw drops.

"At least"—Chiron holds up a hand—"that's what Zeus thinks. During the winter solstice, at the last council of the gods, Zeus and Poseidon argued. The usual nonsense: 'Mother Rhea always liked you best,' 'Air disasters are more spectacular than sea disasters,' et cetera. Afterward, Zeus realized his master bolt was missing, taken from the throne room under his very nose. He immediately blamed Poseidon. Now, a god cannot usurp another god's symbol of power directly—that is forbidden by the most ancient of divine laws. But Zeus believes your father convinced a human hero to take it."

"But I didn't - We didn't -" Percy goes to say.

"Patience and listen, child," Chiron says. "Zeus has good reason to be suspicious. The forges of the Cyclopes are under the ocean, which gives Poseidon some influence over the makers of his brother's lightning. Zeus believes Poseidon has taken the master bolt and is now secretly having the Cyclopes build an arsenal of illegal copies, which might be used to topple Zeus from his throne. The only thing Zeus wasn't sure about was which hero Poseidon used to steal the bolt. Now Poseidon has openly claimed you two as his children. You were in New York over the winter holidays. You could easily have snuck into Olympus. Zeus believes he has found his thief.

"But we've never even been to Olympus! Zeus is crazy!"

Chiron and Grover glance nervously at the sky. The clouds don't seem to be parting around us, as Grover had promised. They are rolling straight over the valley, sealing us in like a coffin lid.

"Er, Percy . . . ?" Grover says. "We don't use the c-word to describe the Lord of the Sky."

"Perhaps paranoid," Chiron suggests. "Then again, Poseidon has tried to unseat Zeus before. I believe that was question thirty-eight on your final exam...." He looked at Percy.

"The Golden Net?" I guess again. "Poseidon and Hera and a few other gods trapped Zeus in it and wouldn't let him out until he promised to be a better ruler?"

"Correct," Chiron says. "And Zeus has never trusted Poseidon since. Of course, Poseidon denies stealing the master bolt. He took great offense at the accusation. The two have been arguing back and forth for months, threatening war. And now, you two have come along—the proverbial last straw."

"But we're just kids!" Percy protests.

"Percy," Grover cuts in, "if you were Zeus, and you already thought your brother was plotting to overthrow you, then your brother suddenly admitted he had broken the sacred oath he took after World War II, and that he's father, not one, but two mortal heroes who might be used as a weapon against you . . . Wouldn't that put a twist in your toga?"

"But I - we didn't do anything, Poseidon - our dad - he didn't really have this master bolt stolen, did he?" Percy asks, and I remain silent in thought.

Chiron sighs. "Most thinking observers would agree that thievery is not Poseidon's style. But the Sea God is too proud to try convincing Zeus of that. Zeus has demanded that Poseidon return the bolt by the summer solstice. That's June twenty-first, ten days from now. Poseidon wants an apology for being called a thief by the same date. I hoped that diplomacy might prevail, that Hera or Demeter or Hestia would make the two brothers see sense. But your arrival has inflamed Zeus's temper. Now neither god will back down. Unless someone intervenes, unless the master bolt is found and returned to Zeus before the solstice, there will be war. And do you know what a fullfledged war would look like, Percy? (Y/n)?"

"Bad?" Percy guesses.

"I'd guess that it would be like nature at war with itself," I say and Chiron nods.

"Olympians forced to choose sides between Zeus and Poseidon. Destruction. Carnage. Millions dead. Western civilization turned into a battleground so big it will make the Trojan War look like a water-balloon fight," Chiron adds to (Y/n)'s statement.

"Bad," Percy repeats.

"And you, Percy and (Y/n) Jackson, would be the first to feel Zeus's wrath."

And then, it starts to rain. Volleyball players stop their game and start in stunned silence at the sky.

We had brought this storm to Half-Blood Hill. Zeus was punishing the whole camp because of us.

"So we have to find that bolt," I say. "And return it to Zeus."

"What better peace offering," Chiron says, "than to have the son and daughter of Poseidon return Zeus's property.

"If Poseidon doesn't have it, where is the thing?" Percy asks.

"I believe I know." Chiron's expression is grim. "Part of a prophecy I had years ago...well, some of the lines make sense to me, now. But before I can say more, you must officially take up the quest. You must seek the counsel of the Oracle."

"Why can't you tell us where the bolt is beforehand?" Percy asks.

"Because if I did, you would be too afraid to accept the challenge."

I swallow thickly. "Good reason."

"You agree then?" Chiron asks.

I exchange a glance with Percy, then Grover, who nods encouragingly.

Easy for him, I think. We're the ones Zeus wants to kill.

"All right," Percy says. "It's better than being turned into a dolphin."

"Then it's time you consulted the Oracle," Chiron says. "Go upstairs, Percy and (Y/n) Jackson, to the attic. When you come back down, assuming you're still sane, we will talk more."

. . .

"Well?" Chiron asks us.

We slump into our chairs at the pinochle table. "She said we would retrieve what was stolen.

Grover sits forward, chewing excitedly on the remains of a Diet Coke can. "That's great!

"What did the Oracle say exactly?" Chiron presses. "This is important."

My ears are still tingling from the reptilian voice. "She said we would go west and face a god who had turned. We would retrieve what was stolen and see it safely returned."

"I knew it," Grover says.

Chiron doesn't look satisfied. "Anything else?"

"No," Percy says. "That's about it."

He studies Percy's face, then meets my green gaze. "Very well. But know this: the Oracle's words often have double meanings. Don't dwell on them too much. The truth is not always clear until events come to pass."

I get the feeling he knows we're holding something back, and he's trying to make us feel better.

"Okay," Percy says, looking anxious to change topics. "So where do we go? Who's this god in the west?"

"Ah, think, Percy," Chiron says."if Zeus and Poseidon weaken each other in a war, who stands to gain."

"Someone else who wants to take over?" I guess.

"Yes, quite. Someone who harbors a grudge, who has been unhappy with his lot since the world was divided eons ago, whose kingdom would grow powerful with the deaths of millions. Someone who hates his brothers for forcing him into an oath to have no more children, an oath that both of them have now broken."

"Hades," I say, raising an eyebrow.

Chiron nods. "The Lord of the Dead is the only possibility."

A scrap of aluminum dribbles out of Grover's mouth. "Whoa, wait. Wh - what?"

"A Fury came after Percy," Chiron reminds him. "She watched the young man until she was sure of his identity, then tried to kill him. Furies obey only one lord: Hades."

"Yes, but - but Hades hates all heroes," Grover protests. "Especially if he has found out Percy and (Y/n) are children of Poseidon . . ."

"A hellhound got into the forest," Chiron continues. "Those can only be summoned from the Fields of Punishment, and it had to be summoned by someone within the camp. Hades must have a spy here. He must suspect Poseidon will try to use Percy and (Y/n) to clear his name. Hades would very much like to kill these young half-bloods before he can take on the quest."

"Great," I mutter. "That's two major gods who want to kill us."

"But a quest to . . ." Grover swallows. "I mean, couldn't the master bolt be in someplace like Maine? Maine's very nice this time of year."

"Hades sent a minion to steal the master bolt," Chiron insisted. "He hid it in the Underworld, knowing full well that Zeus would blame Poseidon. I don't pretend to understand the Lord of the Dead's motives perfectly, or why he chose this time to start a war, but one thing is certain. Percy and (Y/n) must go to the Underworld, find the master bolt, and reveal the truth."

A strange fire burns in my stomach. The weirdest thing is, it isn't fear. It's anticipation. The desire for revenger. Hades had tried to kill me two times so far with the Minotaur, and the hellhound. It is his fault my mother had disappeared in a flash of light. Now he is trying to frame me, my dad, and my brother for a theft we hadn't committed.

Grover is trembling now; he'd started eating pinochle cards like potato chips.

The poor guy had to complete a quest with me and Percy so he could get his searcher's license, whatever that is, but how can I ask him to do this quest, especially when the Oracle said we were destined to fail?" This is a suicide mission.

"Look, if we know it's Hades," Percy tells Chiron, "why can't we just tell the other gods? Zeus and Poseidon could go down to the Underworld and bust some heads."

"Suspecting and knowing are not the same," Chiron says. "Besides, even if the other gods suspect Hades—and I imagine Poseidon does—they couldn't retrieve the bolt themselves. Gods cannot cross each other's territories except by invitation. That is another ancient rule. Heroes, on the other hand, have certain privileges. They can go anywhere, challenge anyone, as long as they're bold enough and strong enough to do it. No god can be held responsible for a hero's actions. Why do you think the gods always operate through humans?"

"You're saying I'm being used," Percy says.

"I'm saying it's no accident Poseidon had claimed you and (Y/n) now. It's a very risky gamble, but he's in a desperate situation. He needs the two of you."

My dad needs us.

Emotions roll around inside me like bits of glass in a kaleidoscope. I don't know whether to feel resentful or grateful or happy or angry. Poseidon had ignored me for twelve years. Now suddenly he needed me.

3rd Person POV

Percy looks at Chiron. "You've known I was Poseidon's son all along, haven't you?"

"I had my suspicions. As I said . . . I've spoken to the Oracle, too."

(Y/n) gets the feeling that there is a lot he wasn't telling them about the prophecy, but she decides that she couldn't worry about that at the moment. After all, she and Percy were hiding back information too."

"So let me get this straight," Percy says. "We're supposed to go to the Underworld and confront the Lord of the Dead."

"Check," Chiron says.

"Find the most powerful weapon in the universe."

"Check."

"And get it back to Olympus before the summer solstice, in ten days."

"That's about right."

(Y/n) looks over at Grover, who gulps down the ace of hearts.

"But I mention that Maine is very nice this time of year?" he asks weakly.

"You don't have to go," Percy tells him. "I can't ask that of you."

"Oh . . ." He shifts his hooves. "No . . . it's just that satyrs and underground places . . . well . . ." He takes a deep breath, then stands, brushing the shredded cards and aluminum bits off his t-shirts. "You saved my life, (Y/n), Percy. If . . . if you're serious about wanting me along, I won't let the two of you down."

Percy feels so relieved that he wanted to cry, though he didn't think that would be very heroic. Grover is the only friend she'd ever had for longer than a few months. Percy isn't sure what a satyr can do against the forces of the dead but he feels better knowing he'd be with them.

"All the way, G-man," Percy turns to Chiron. "The Oracle just said to go west."

"The entrance to the Underworld is always in the west. It moves from age to age, just like Olympus. Right now, of course, it's in America."

"Where?"

Chiron looks surprised. "I thought that would be obvious enough. The entrance to the Underworld is in Los Angeles."

Percy's POV

"Oh," I said. "Naturally. So we just get on a plane -"

"No!" Grover shrieks. "Percy, what are you thinking? Have you ever been on a plane in your life?"

I shake my head, feeling embarrassed. My mom had never taken me and (Y/n) anywhere by plane. She'd always said we didn't have the money. Besides, her parents had died in a plane crash.

"Percy, think," Chiron says. "You are the son of the Sea God. Your father's bitterest rival is Zeus, Lord of the Sky. Your mother knew better than to trust you in an airplane. You would be in Zeus's domain. You would never come down again alive."

Overhead, lightning crackles and thunder booms.

"Okay," (Y/n) says, not looking up at the storm. "So, we'll travel overland."

"That's right," Chiron says. "Two companions may accompany you. Grover is one. The other has already volunteered if you will accept her help."

(Y/n)'s POV

"Gee," I say, feigning surprise. "Who else would be stupid enough to volunteer for a suicide quest like this?"

The air shimmers behind Chiron.

Annabeth Chase becomes visible, stuffing her Yankees cap into her back pocket.

"I've been waiting a long time for a quest, Seaweed Brain," she says. "Athena is no fan of Poseidon, but if you're going to save the world, I'm the best person to keep you from messing up."

"If you do say so yourself," I say. "I suppose you have a plan, wise girl?"

Her cheeks flush. "Do you want my help or not?"

The truth is, I do. I need all the help I can get.

"A quartet," I say. "That'll work."

"Excellent," Chiron says. "This afternoon, we can take you as far as the bus terminal in Manhattan. After that, you are on your own."

Lightning flashes. Rain pours down on the meadows that were never supposed to have violent weather.

"No time to waste," Chiron says. "I think you should all get packing."

Word Count: 4018 words

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

I’m back on my bullshit and we have GOT TO TALK about 13x08 The Scorpion and the Frog; which serves as a good example of why you should not ONLY watch spn episodes with Cas (partially because of that scene I shamefully blogged about earlier - no I will not link that cursed post here).  The episode title comes from a fable in which the villain is the scorpion.  Interpretations of this fable note its uniqueness lies in the concept that “the scorpion is irrationally self destructive and fully aware of it.”

To quote the scorpion, buddies -  “it’s in my nature.”

Anyway, this episode is subtextually predicated on exploring Dean Winchester’s nature and specifically - his bisexuality, and I’m not only saying that because it opens with Dean in his Bi Colors Plaid (that also he wore on his burger date with Cas).

Let’s get started, after the cut!

Season 13 on its face gives me absolute whiplash because it starts widow arc-reunion-TOMBSTONE and then Jack yeets himself off to Chuck knows where so Cas can go out Looking For Him Because Otherwise He Will Definitely Kiss Dean there is no other option for the writers at this point.  Sigh.  Here, have another shot of Dean anxiously cleaning his gun as he always does when Cas has Gone Off For Reasons -

Anyway, this feels like a filler episode at first, but as always they bury the ENTIRE damn world in it and I am here with my dossier to Unearth It.

Lets start with Bart (demon of terrible nicknames and microagressions) meeting the brothers at Smile Diner to talk about some spell or whatever. 

(I am not thinking about the Cherry Pie meta I AM NOT)

THEY HAVE THE AUDACITY to start with these lines immediately introducing the theme of duality, a thread throughout this episode.

BARTHAMUS

Everything. I've been following your careers a long time. You're a real pain in the pitchfork. And the halo. Natural disrupters. We have that in common, you and I. DEAN

Mm. Yeah, we're twinsies.

***MORE DUALITY!  But as we know, Dean does not like Bart because He Is A Freakin’ Demon

DEAN

Well, see, here's the thing. When a demon tells us to jump, we don't ask how high. We just ice their ass.

UMMM excuse me Barting Bacting Boices?  What is that sexual gaze?  

Then we find out that Bart has 1/2 of the spell.  They need the other 1/2.  Oh, a spell with two parts, you say? [ I am going to scream :) ]

***Also, Dean eats the pie Bart ordered.  I cannot begin to explain to you the state of unwellness that I am in regarding how important this is. DEAN NEVER GETS TO EAT THE PIE, remember?  But in This Filler Episode, Dean eats the pie. While Sam looks at him with a very quizzical expression.  Pie -> what Dean wants but never actually gets -> Dean actively eating this pie.  Dean is coming to terms that maybe he can have what he wants.

***I am reminding you again that this is post widower-arc, post-reunion, and especially post-Tombstone.  Anyway-

Now we get to Smash and Grab.  Not literally even though I want to Commit Such Conduct at this point.  We are introduced to two one off characters named 

Smash (human/female presenting) -  can crack any safe built by man 

and Grab (demon/male presenting)-  expert in bypassing supernatural security.

Reaching or no, you can’t disagree that when spn introduces one off characters - it is almost always a Narrative Parallel or Mirror.

So we have a human and a demon (and Dean Winchester, a human who has been a demon)

who are experts in cracking open/bypassing something that has been secured and guarded (breaking down walls, if you will).  

They also use fake names identifying them as Tools to be Used ( Dean Winchester, the Michael Sword/daddys blunt little instrument)

BONUS:

Dean himself is literally used as a tool in this episode.

So yeah.  Smash and Grab are physical representations of Dean’s duality.  Human/Demon.  Femininity/Masculinity.  Dare we say something else, too?

Anyway, Dean is paired with Smash and Grab; Sam is off to idk negotiate weird artifact purchases lawboy style with Luther Shrike, a man who cannot die so long as he never leaves his house (I cannot even begin to unpack this shit; please just sit there and think about it.  I’m not even going there here.  I CANNOT DISCUSS Luther Shrike RN).

Speaking of things I cannot discuss without halgdhsag;lsa - Smash has very Specific boots (a look overall, really).

DEAN

Hey, Winona. The '90s called. They'd like their shoes back. SMASH

Shh.

***That’s right girl - do not take his shit; he actually LOVES them and is therefore Overcompensating for it with this little jab.

***Dean’s pop culture references and particular attention to the details here Should Not Be Overlooked.  90s! Winona! Ryder!

ANYWAY, then Dean and Smash bond over a caffeinated beverage -

[While Dean is doing a spell, Smash opens a can of drink, takes a mouthful and burps loudly. ] SMASH

Ahh. DEAN

You're weird.

***This scene makes me literally insane. (even aside from Dean living on something named NERVE DAMAGE as a KID.  They could have called it anything. You’re saying this wasn’t a Choice)  

She chugs a swallow of the drink and burps.  Something stereotypically associated with masculinity.  Not feminine.  Dean’s reaction is that she is “weird” - because she is not acting in a way stereotypically, J*hn Winchester brain-rot patriarchy bullshit-tily associated with Being Female.  But also, says the stupid show, they like the same soda.  They are The Same.  She shares the soda with Dean.  HIS FACE WHEN SHE DOES -

Other similarities are addressed throughout the episode (they are working for demons because they have no choice; they don’t discuss feelings/emotions, they both sold their soul, they both This Thing - 

DEAN

You know, we could help you. SMASH

No, you can't. I gotta take care of me.

etc. etc.) Smash is absolutely dean-coded.

****Also it’s textually established that Smash thinks Dean is attractive -

GRAB

[looking at Smash] Oh. You said he was just a pretty face. SMASH 

Shh.

***But Grab flirts with him too.

DEAN

I will kill you. GRAB

I bet you say that to all the girls.

***sorry, Grab - you won’t get far with Dean, but only because as he mentioned in the beginning of this episode - 

Drowley rights.

Now Dean has to put his hand in the mouth of this stone lion thing and all of a sudden he is acting....very-not-like-Dean.

[Dean looks again and takes a deep breath.] DEAN

I… how about this? What if I cut myself, put it on, like, a little piece of paper? We'll just wad it up and throw it in the mouth, okay? Okay. 

***Dean Winchester, who has been to Literal HELL, who has been torn apart by hellhounds, who has battled the devil and angels and God’s sister - all at the expense of his own life is now - afraid of spiders.  Well, technically he has always been afraid of spiders, but why isn’t ‘he being performative about it At This Time??

***Come to think of it, this sends me right back to how Jackles was playing Dean in 12x11 Regarding Dean THE episode dissecting Dean’s performative masculinity [one day I will clean up and post that analysis sitting in my drafts like a sad hamster]. That makes sense actually, because -> -> ->

that episode and this one are both written by Meredith Glynn.  Girl get in I want to torture you affectionately with a barrage of questions.

So here we have Dean and he’s not performing for Reasons, and he’s scared he’s genuinely scared of putting his hand in this stone lion-gargoyle-pig-creature’s mouth and then -

Smash gives him a push.

She gives him a push.  I cannot stop thinking about how she gives him a push.  A push to go do this thing that he is scared of; his fear being something he was hiding under his performative masculinity. Smash - dean coded dean mirror who does not perform femininity and is ‘weird’ -  she   gives   him   a     p u s h.

***linking here for the jackting joices that follow.

Now, let’s circle back to Smash’s story; why she is working for Bart in the first place -

SMASH

You think I wanna be here? Like I have a choice? SAM

You made a deal. SMASH

Wow! You think? SAM

You sold your soul. SMASH

And if I could take it back, I would. 

there is no reason for this picture here other than I needed you to see the jackting again

***How does the story end for Smash?

DEAN

Take care of you. [Dean glances down at the box, and then at Smash. She sees that Dean has put a lighter on top of the bones.]  BARTHAMUS

Alice, chop chop! 

[Bart indicates she should get his bones]. SMASH

Yeah. [She grabs the lighter and sets Bart's bones alight. Bart screams as he bursts into flames. ] 

***She accepts help and breaks free from the narrative, literally burning it down. The female presenting but not female-performing “weird” ooc representing a side of Dean breaks FREE because she makes a choice.  The lighter Dean drops? It’s a push.  And she goes with it.

Alice reclaims her story.

(Also, Grab gets ganked.  The male presenting ooc; the performative masculinity side; the demon; the darkness; the not-humanity - gets ganked).

Guess what Dean says to Alice when they say goodbye?

DEAN

Hey, Alice. Stay weird.

[I know the peace sign is probably just a Charlie throwback but I’d still like to say duality.  Two. ]

Dean’s not just talking to Alice.  He’s talking to himself; because the walls have been breached and for once Dean isn’t as scared of being different.  Maybe, just maybe, he’s going along with the push.  That’s exactly how the episode ends - with Dean feeling a little more hopeful, a little more at peace; a little more Considering he is capable of not only loving Cas but also not hating himself for it. 

[until the knowledge that Mary is still alive and the guilt of allowing himself ANY happy thoughts instead of looking for her miserably rears its ugly head in 13x09 and round and round we go but for NOW at least -> ]

DEAN

I'll drink to that.

(oh look Dean is just wearing his henley.  It’s almost as if a layer has been peeled back).

tagging @im-shaking-like-milk​ and @deanwasalwaysbi​ for letting me ramble on to them while writing this; and @lilac-void​ because you are always so kind about my stuff :)

[polaroid15]

With Great Power...

Chapter 4: With great power comes a great need to stand up to bullies

Summary: Peter stands between Flash and a bully. Turns out, they can be friends after all.

Read on Ao3 HERE

------

“Yo Penis Parker!”

Peter groans.

“Where’d you get that sweater? The trash, probably. Seems like your thing.”

From beside him, MJ stiffens. Then without missing a beat, flips up her middle finger. Peter would give anything to tell Flash that the sweater used to belong to Tony Stark, that he gave it to Peter personally after a rough night on patrol because he was Spider-Man.

Yeah, that would shut him up.

Instead he shrugs. “The trash, Timbuktu- whatever floats your boat man.”

Unpleased by his response, Flash crosses his arms in a show of dramatic flair. They’re standing at their lockers, the lunch bell having just rung, and it’s more than obvious that the results from their calc test last period has put him in a bad mood. Well, worse than normal anyways.

And when Flash is in a bad mood, Peter ends up paying for it.

“MIT?” he scoffs, narrowing his eyes at Peter’s chest. “As if you’d ever have a chance at being accepted there.”

“Unlike you?” MJ digs. “I sat behind you in Calc, dumbass. Looks like you could spend less of your time being an annoying idiot and more time hiding your face behind a book.”

Flash falters. MJ had hit him where it hurts and it shows. He opens his mouth to retaliate but before he can he’s being lifted up by the collar of his shirt and slammed into his locker. Students gasp and back away from the altercation, though lots pull out their phones. After the initial shock Peter recognizes Flash’s attacker as Jake Miller. He’s twice as big as Flash and three times as mean.

“What the hell Flash!” Jake yells. “You said those answers were legit! My dad is going to murder me!”

“They were! I don’t- I don’t know what happened!”

“I was supposed to ace that stupid test. This is your fault!” With another low noise of anger Jake pulls Flash away from the locker only to throw him back into it. This time, harder. Flash’s soft gasp of fear passes through Peter’s chest like cold water.

Damn it. Of all people, why did it have to be Flash?

“Hey!” Peter yells, stepping closer. He feels MJ’s hand close around his wrist. “Come on. Leave him alone man.”

Jake’s shoulders tense. He throws Flash on the ground where he lays and covers his heads with his hands. But Jake’s attention is turned on Peter. He smiles wickedly. “And what are you going to do about it? Flash is gonna get what’s coming to him.”

Slipping from MJ’s strong grip, Peter advances further. Where the hell are all the teachers? “It’s not his fault you’re too stupid to take a calc test.”

“What the hell did you just say?”

Curling his hands into fists instinctively, Peter raises his chin. The whispers around them are growing louder. From behind Jake, he sees Flash staring at him with awe and holding his shoulder like it hurts.

“I said you’re an idiot Jake. An idiot, a cheat, and a bully-”

His spider sense warns him of the incoming punch and it takes every particle of his self control to not move. Jake’s knuckles hit him square in the nose and he can’t help but gasp at the sharp pain. He’s been hit in the face before, sure, but never without his mask.

A bone snaps. Stars blossom up behind his eyes and he stumbles back, feeling warm blood leak down over his lips. MJ tries to catch him and they both end up on the floor with Jake above them, staring at his fist in shock.

“Not cool man,” Peter groans.

Mr. Harrington appears then, finally, and pales significantly at the scene. It doesn’t take long for him to click the pieces into place. “Jake, with me. MJ, help Peter to the nurse’s office.”

Some students cheer as Jake is marched away. Others send Peter unsympathetic looks. He feels MJ’s hands tighten around his biceps. “You okay?” she whispers.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Believe me, I’ve been through much worse-”

But when he stands a sudden rush of vertigo washes over him. He tips and almost falls, choking on his words, and two sets of hands reach to steady him. He expects the second to belong to Ned, but when he opens his eyes, it’s Flash.

“Parker!” he yelps, his cheeks flushed. “What the hell were you thinking?”

He’s too shocked and dizzy to push him away. “He was being a jerk.”

“So was I!”

“He was going to pulverize you.”

“I could’ve taken it.”

At this, MJ snorts loudly. “No you couldn’t.”

Ned skids to a stop beside them, his eyes wide. “Peter! Are you okay man? What do you need?”

Feeling some relief at having Ned by his side, Peter nods towards the end of the hall. “Bathroom.”

“What?” Flash stutters. “He needs to go to the nurse-”

But Ned and MJ are already helping him down the hall, parting swarms of their gossiping classmates like the Red Sea. Reluctantly Flash follows them, and Peter can’t help but notice how fast his heart is beating.

He tries to catch the falling blood in his hands but there’s too much of it to really spare the mess. He’ll feel bad for it later, but right now all he can think of is getting it to stop.

When they reach the bathroom Peter eases himself down on the toilet seat as MJ starts unrolling wads of paper towel. He presses it to his face and whines at the pressure. “This sucks,” he decides.

Ned shoots Flash a dark glare, to which Flash swallows heavily.

“Lean forward,” MJ instructs. “And pinch your nose here. It should help stop the bleeding.”

Peter obeys, a pulsing headache starting up behind his eyes. There’s blood in his mouth and on Tony’s MIT sweater, which really is more disappointing than the injury itself. Because bones heal, but man is it hard to get blood out of fabric.

“It’s not slowing down,” Flash says, shifting from foot to foot. From worry or awkwardness, Peter isn’t sure.

“Why are you here?” Peter asks.

To this, Flash deflects, a usual defiance crossing over his face. “Why didn’t you go to the nurse?”

Peter, Ned, and MJ share a significant look. Peter sighs. “It’s not that bad.”

“That’s absolute crap! There’s a literal puddle of blood underneath you right now! You’re acting like this is normal or something. As if you weren’t weird enough already-”

Ha, Peter thinks, if only you knew.

He would reply, expect he’s feeling increasing light headed. More blood falls against his tongue. Resisting the urge to spit it out, Peter lets it sit. He closes his eyes and feels Ned’s warm hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Mm? Yeah. Just give me a minute.”

They don’t just give him one. They give him ten. But even then the blood doesn’t slow. He urges his healing factor to kick in as he begins to seriously consider if Jake is human.

The blood at his feet grows. MJ and Flash start to argue. It makes his head spin. He almost misses the buzz of his phone in his pocket but manages to pull it out all the same, a smear of red appearing on his screen as he accepts the call.

“‘Lo?”

“Jesus, kid. What the hell is happening? I just got an alert from your watch that your blood pressure is dropping like crazy. Aren’t you supposed to be at school?”

Eyes closing, he finds the energy to push out a humourless laugh. “Yep. At school. Don’ worry ‘bout me. Everything’s fine.”

“Then how do you explain your vitals?”

“Is that Mr. Stark?” Ned asks sharply, reaching for the device. Peter swats him away and nearly faints when it upsets his balance. Has his heart been beating this fast the whole time?

“Kid?”

In his weakness, Ned snatches the phone away and holds it up to his ear with determination. “Mr. Stark?”

Peter can still hear Tony’s responses, the worry in his voice increasing at Ned’s own apparent distress. “What’s going on Ned?”

“Peter got punched in the face. He broke his nose and is losing a lot of blood. I mean, a lot. Remember the Rhino? It’s like that. Way more than he should be.”

“Damn it. His healing isn’t doing anything about it?”

“Ned-” Peter moans.

“No. It just keeps getting worse-”

“Ned.”

“Christ. Okay, hang tight. I’ll be right there. Can you give the phone back to Peter?”

Peter grabs his phone back from Ned, narrowing his eyes as MJ switches out his paper towel. “Mr. Stark you don’t have to come-”

Flash stumbles where he stands. “What?”

“Of course I’m coming,” Tony snaps. He sounds angry, Peter thinks. “Look Pete. By what Ned says you’re losing a lot of blood. Try to stay awake until I get there okay?”

“It’s jus’ a nosebleed. I’m fine.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. And remember- no passing out!”

Peter is halfway through objecting before he realizes Tony has hung up the call. Exhausted and hurting and embarrassed, Peter throws his phone at the sinks. Flash edges towards it and picks it up, wiping off the blood with his sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Already Peter feels his anger ebbing. He sighs, leaning his aching head against the cool metal of the stall. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“Of course he does,” MJ says while Ned nods in solemn agreement.

Flash looks nervous, a characteristic that is decidedly very un-Flashlike. “They’re right. I’ve been a dick. And you still saved me from getting flattened by Jake.”

“He had it coming.”

“Maybe. But I’m still sorry.”

A thick silence floods the bathroom, interrupted only by the sound of Peter’s steadily dripping nose. Looking more earnest, Flash wrings his hands together. “I’m sorry Peter. And not just for this. For- for everything.”

Peter.

He smiles even though it makes his head spin. White spots are gradually eating away at his vision but he elects to ignore them. “It’s cool, Flash. I promise.”

“How touching,” MJ says.

Another wave of dizziness passes over Peter so strongly that he can’t see straight. He feels three sets of hands hold him up as he struggles to breathe in air through his mouth, the blood he had been keeping in dribbling out onto the floor.

“Oh my God!”

Tony.

His mentor’s swimming image suddenly appears as Peter dares to crack open an eye. He looks disheveled but alert with worry, his hands replacing Peter’s own at the bottom of his nose. “I said no passing out, remember? I really can’t leave you alone for three seconds-”

For some reason, Tony’s presence has Peter feeling weak. Because it’s safe. It’s over. “I got blood on the sweater you gave me,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What? Kid, shut up.”

“I really liked it. I’ll still wear it. Promise.”

Over Tony’s shoulder Peter sees Flash with his hands in his hair, chest heaving with unbelief. Despite everything, the look of shock on his face makes Peter smile.

“How’d this happen?”

MJ and Ned both look at Flash. Peter tries to open his mouth before Tony can notice but it’s too late. He stares at Flash with suspicion. “Well?”

“Um. Uh-”

MJ sighs in annoyance, crossing her arms. “Peter took a punch for Flash.”

Tony doesn’t look surprised by this. If anything, his expression softens. “Of course he did.”

“Was nothin’,” Peter insists. He’s not sure if he feels like throwing up or fainting. Maybe both. “That guy had it comin’. Jus’ like that mugger las’ Friday-”

“Okay!” Tony interjects loudly, patting him on the shoulder. “I think it’s time for us to head out. Feel up to a trip upstate?”

Peter can’t nod. He uses his free hand to give Tony a bloody thumbs up.

“God, kid. You’re a disaster.” Tony helps him stand and grunts when Peter falls heavily against his side. “A bloody disaster. Literally.”

“He’s a hero.”

Everyone looks at Flash in surprise, another wave of awkward silence following his words. Flash blushes fiercely but looks straight at Peter regardless. It feels like an apology, like understanding. Something warm in Peter’s chest distracts him from the throbbing pain in his face.

“Thanks Flash,” he says, surprised that he means it.

Because maybe, just maybe, they could be friends after all.

[missroserose]

if you want it, got to bleed for it, baby

part 1 | part 2 |  part 3

or read on AO3

groove to the playlist

ngl, tax season is eating my face.  but I couldn't go much longer without writing a little more smutty angst for these two.  hope y'all enjoy.

Have I mentioned how amazing @anarchist-billy is? Thanks for betaing, love. <3

*

“Stay with me.”  Billy’s voice is low, urgent, a lifeline.  “Keep the pressure on.”

Steve is there, in the passenger seat of the car, holding a wad of paper towels to the gash in his belly—and Steve is the car, too—he feels the warm gold-red glow of the bonfire, demodog corpses and dead vines disappearing into invisible smoke, fading all too quickly from the rear view mirror.  The bass note of the BMW’s V8 thrums deep in his chest, hurtling towards Hawkins at near-lethal speed.  The cool night air roars in his ears as Billy redlines it—he can feel Billy, too, the atavistic satisfaction of driving this amazing machine, of pressing it to its limits—

The fire disappears, and the outside world is nothing but a dark blur.  No streetlights, no trees, nothing to indicate it even exists. Even their movement fades into a queer sense of unmotion, a bubble of existence floating in the endless void.  The glow of the dashboard lights on Billy’s expression, drawn and set.  The rumble of the car, rearing to meet the challenge.  The just-warm air blasting from the heater.  Van Halen on the radio, staticky signal fading in and out over the road and wind noise.  I been to the edge, and there I stood and looked down—

“We’re nearly there.  Harrington.  Hold on a little longer.”

Billy’s lying through his teeth.  Steve knows he’s lying; he’s driven this road any number of times since he got his license.  Floored the gas, the same way Billy’s doing now, felt his car eat up the thirty-eight miles of two-lane blacktop, straightaway snaking between forest and farmland.  Rolled down the windows and whooped, Tommy in the passenger seat, Carol and whatever girl Steve was seeing that week in the back, all of them chasing the horizon at breakneck speeds.  Not for jubilation, or anger, or any reason in particular; just...because they were bored.  Because they could—because they were young and free and would live forever, would be friends forever—

“What’s the rush?”  Steve has to almost issue a conscious order to make himself smile, like he’s giving his face instructions over a long-distance phone call.  “I’m the King.  They’ll wait for me.”

Billy doesn’t look at him—can’t, at the speeds he’s driving—but his shoulders seem to loosen a fraction.  “Guess that depends,” he says, threadbare bravado thin at the edges.  “You don’t make it, there’s only one king left.  Makes my life awful easy.”

Beer spilled down a bare chest.  Red punch on a white blouse.  Bullshit.  Tea roses and spunk and sweat and blue eyes on his in the bathroom mirror.  “Maybe it does,” Steve says, trying not to let his words run together the way his thoughts are doing.  “But that’s not what you want.”

There’s a gap opening up, a space between the two of them; it takes Steve a moment to notice the knuckles, tense on the steering wheel.  Billy opens his mouth, says something; a moment later, the words unfurl in Steve’s consciousness, time-delayed.  “Like anyone gives a shit about what I want.”

Steve laughs a little, at that.  “That’s the first lesson of being king, Hargrove.”  He swallows, with some difficulty; his throat feels thick.  “You’re not there for you.  Every fool who wants a favor, every damsel in distress, every asshole determined to get a piece of King Billy…” He trails off, seeing a crown amidst those golden curls in a bathroom mirror, set over heated blue eyes, lips parting in a look of mingled awe and desire—

“Hey.  Hey!  Harrington!”  Billy’s slapping at his face, one hand flapping ineffectually against his skin, just hard enough to force his consciousness to surface.  Steve doesn’t particularly want to surface; there’s something looming there, not terror, but a shadow of it, a formless dread.  Like the first time his parents had gone out of town, and he hadn’t been smart enough to put the breakables away before he threw the obligatory kegger.  He’d spent three days waiting for his mother to return and discover one of her Hummel figurines missing, only to have her so preoccupied with his father’s latest fling that she’d left before noticing—

“Don’t you dare.”  Billy’s voice is a growl, but there’s something beneath it that catches Steve’s unmoored attention.  “Steve.  Don’t you fucking dare die on me now.  You ruined my night, you pulled me out here to chase down God knows what those rabid alien dog-things were, you’re going to pull through this and you’re going to give me a fucking explanation—”

Steve gives a small laugh, even though it hurts like a bitch.  “I’m really fucked, aren’t I?”

Billy bites off his rant like a piece of taffy.  “What?”

Steve issues the order to smile again, feels his face sort-of obey.  “You called me Steve.  It must be bad.”

“Not that bad,” Billy says, almost believable, as if he can change the state of the world through sheer stubborn insistence.  “You’re gonna pull through this.  You’ve got to.  When the school hears about how I saved your ass?  It’s gonna be a riot, Harrington.”

Steve could almost laugh again, but it hurts too much.  With an effort, he diverts his reaction, reaches for bitterness instead, bile like he’s swallowing down in the back of his throat.  The school.  Graduation.  The future.  A dark unknown, filled with people whose eyes slide away from his, in respect or in contempt—“You’ve already had my ass.  What do you care about the rest?”  The gap between them is opening up again.  Steve has a mental image for a moment of trying to leap that gap, of hanging in the air over it for a beautiful moment—wonders if people would see him then, shining golden before the inevitable plummet to the nothingness below—

But Billy’s voice is stubborn, penetrating.  “Did you hit your head when that alien tackled you?  Of course I want the rest.  The way you swung that bat? Waded into that fight without a damn hitch?”  Billy’s voice cracks a little, in disbelief, or in awe.  “That’s King Steve.  Not that namby-pamby asshole who haunts the hallways at school.”

And something in that voice pulls Steve towards the looming terror, away from the peaceful dark.  He presses the paper towels harder to his gut, ignores the sharp pain this elicits.  “Didn’t think you were looking for a king, Hargrove.”

A pause, brief and endless.  Steve slips a little, tossed about in stormy waves, uncertain which way to the shore, uncertain which way is up—

Then Billy’s voice comes in, low and smoky, a beam from a lighthouse parting the dark.  “I jerk off at night thinking about your lips on me.”  Steve’s suddenly aware of his lips as they part slightly, but Billy’s continuing, words gushing from him like water from a burst pipe.  “I haven’t bent you over your kitchen counter yet.  Haven’t felt your cock twitch between my lips as you come down my throat—”

The words are gathering somewhere deep in Steve’s hips, insistent warmth, flickering but stubborn in the face of the terror.  The words fall into his mind, and he drops them without thought, uncaring, because who even cares at this point?  “I want to fuck you in my bed.”

A breath sucked between teeth.  A glance, briefly risked, at Steve’s face, as if gauging his seriousness.  “You want it in a bed, pretty boy?”

“I want you.  In my bed.”  The paper towels are growing wet between his fingers.  “Empty house.  Nobody to hear us slam the headboard against the wall.”  He presses a little harder; the lance of pain stabs through him, but the image in his mind is bright as he gives a half-wrecked gasp.

Billy seems to shudder at that gasp.  “Hell yes,” he says, seeming to almost relax for a moment.  “Gonna hear you good and proper as you come—”

“Gonna feel you under me when I do,” Steve says, words tumbling forward heedless, headlong.  “Billy.  You’re gonna feel me inside you as you shake apart.  Gonna walk around the next day still feeling it, and I’m gonna watch you—”

“Fuck—” Billy’s grip is white against the steering wheel now, fingers torqued tight.  “Steve,” he says, his voice rough.  “Promise me something.”

“Sure.”  The words are fading, growing further away, but Steve struggles, holds his head up.  Tries to read Billy’s expression, the hesitation in his voice.  “If I can.”

“Next time we see each other, it’s just you.”  Billy licks his lips.  “Just you and me.  No kids, no party, no—nothing.  We’ll tear the phone out of the wall if we have to.  Just...just us.”

Steve reaches for a careless smile.  Ignores the sudden empty fluttering in his chest.  Isn’t certain if he manages either.  “Gotta settle up who’s king for good and all, huh?”

“Yeah.”  Billy settles back into the seat, though tension still thrums through his body with the engine.  Overhead, the first of the streetlights flashes by, briefly illuminating his face, determined, desperate.  “Yeah, something like that.”

[youtuberswithalex]

Period

Summary: Swallowing his panic, he tried his hardest to take a deep breath. He grabbed a wad of toilet paper and wiped, hoping to scurry to his room and get rid of the evidence of any injury before anyone could find out, but it came back soaked in just as much deep, dark blood as before. Tears sprung to his eyes as he let his hyperventilating take over. 

“Daaaaaad!”

(Trans!Virgil; Adoption AU; Romantic Logicality, Paternal Moxiety, Brotherly Prinxiety, Creativitwins)

Warnings: Blood, periods, crying, explanation of the menstrual cycle, brief mention of sex, implied/referenced past child abuse, brief mention of past character death, Remus Antics (brief, non-graphic mention of a gory scene in an old movie)

Word Count: 2316

A/N: So, this has been a fic I’ve wanted to write for 12+ years, a fic that’s transpired fandom after fandom after fandom: an explanation of what a period is, to help others who won’t get/understand an explanation from other sources. I know this gets a little info-dump-y, but I tried to make it understandable. This fic is for you kids who are nervous about getting yours for the first time, like I was, and I hope seeing characters you love going through it, too, can help!

This is also the first fic I’m posting, I guess, of this Adoption AU I’ve had in my head for a while! I’ve got a couple other ideas in mind, including a part 2 to this focusing more on Roman and Virgil, sooo hit me up for some AU questions, if you have any!

-----

It was true that Virgil hadn’t really been feeling well in the past week.

He didn’t know what it was, but everything just felt… off. He didn’t want to socialize with anyone; being around people had been making a fire of rage burn in his chest, and the fact that he didn’t know why just made it ten times worse. He was exhausted to the point of nearly falling asleep in class, and would have slept through his alarms twice and been late if it hadn’t have been for Roman waking him up when he didn’t come for breakfast.

Speaking of, he hadn’t had much of an appetite, and he’d hardly been eating because of it. Even the idea of eating anything had made him feel a little gross. And his stomach had been cramping a lot.

Realistically, Virgil knew this was something he should tell Patton or Logan, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. It didn’t matter how many times Roman reassured him that their dads wouldn’t be angry at him for getting sick; until he saw it for himself, he wasn’t going to be able to believe him. So what if Patton was a nurse? So what if Roman and Logan had butted heads dozens of times since Virgil had moved in, and it had never dissolved into a screaming match? That didn’t mean they wouldn’t turn on him, or that he was a good enough kid to avoid getting on their bad side!

Besides, he wasn’t throwing up or running a fever! He was just going to waste their time if he said anything. They had more important things to worry about than him. It’s not like he was dying or anything.

…Or, so he’d thought, until Thursday afternoon when he went to the bathroom and found his underwear covered in blood.

Virgil almost screamed at the sight. As soon as he recovered, he frantically searched his body for any sign of a scrape or scratch that could have left such a mess. There was nothing. Maybe… Maybe it had already healed?

Swallowing his panic, he tried his hardest to take a deep breath. He grabbed a wad of toilet paper and wiped, hoping to scurry to his room and get rid of the evidence of any injury before anyone could find out, but it came back soaked in just as much deep, dark blood as before. Tears sprung to his eyes as he let his hyperventilating take over.

“Daaaaaad!”

Footsteps came rushing to the door faster than he’d ever heard in this household. “Virgil, are you okay?”

He choked back a sob. “I-I’m bleeding…!”

“Okay, it’s going to be okay, kiddo,” Patton soothed. “Can I come in?”

Virgil looked at himself, still on the toilet, and set the wad of toilet paper on the tank. He scrambled to stand and pull his pants up before whimpering out an “Uh-huh”.

Patton calmly came in and shut the door behind him. “Alright, where are you bleeding?”

“I-I don’t know!”

“You don’t know?” he asked with a frown.

“I…” Virgil picked up the toilet paper and showed it to him, lowering his voice to a whisper despite no one else being in there with them. “It was all over my underwear,” he explained. “And when I wiped, I…”

He trailed off as Patton tilted his head to inspect the blood, and then understanding faded onto his face as he looked away in thought. While it was only a few seconds, it felt like an eternity; his stomach started to cramp again, and Virgil found himself trembling.

“I-I haven’t been feeling good this week,” he admitted. “My stomach’s been hurting, and—and all I want to do is sleep, and I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to bother you guys, and I’m sorry, I should’ve said something, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to be sick, I don’t want to have to go to the hospital, please—!”

Patton shushed him and ran his fingers through Virgil’s hair. “Hey, hey, relax, it’s alright! You’re okay, Virgil. You’re not going to die, trust me. Especially not on my watch.”

He leaned over, put the toilet lid down, and gently pushed Virgil to sit on it before kneeling in front of him. He took a few seconds to chew on his lip in thought.

“Virgil,” he started, “At your old school, did your teachers ever take an afternoon to talk to you guys about puberty?”

Virgil shook his head.

Patton let out a breath and nodded. “I guess they probably think it’s a little too early to talk about it, huh?” he muttered. “Am I allowed to touch your stomach, honey?”

Virgil hesitated, but he nodded after a moment. Patton reached up and placed his hands on Virgil’s lower belly. When he flinched, he used his thumb to rub gentle circles into it.

“Okay, so, in your body, right down here, you have this thing called a uterus,” he softly explained. “When people are pregnant, that’s where the babies grow before—”

“Am I PREGNANT?!”

“No, no, no—!” Patton had to hold back a laugh, taking his hands away to cover his face for just a second before returning them to their original position. “You’re not pregnant, Virgil, don’t—don’t worry about that!”

Virgil snapped his mouth shut, lower lip still trembling. Patton offered him a reassuring smile as he continued.

“Your uterus has these two things connected to it called ovaries.” He used his two index fingers to draw out where they would be. “They hold a bunch of tiny little eggs inside of them that eventually would turn into people—but only under certain circumstances, at certain times, usually involving another person. If you were to get pregnant, you’d know, understand? It’s not going to happen randomly.”

Patton didn’t move on until Virgil nodded.

“Okay. Now, about once a month, one of these two little guys is going to let one of their eggs go,” he said, “and it sticks to the wall of your uterus. And your body goes…”

Patton threw his hands into the air and waved them around. “’Yay! We’re gonna have a baby!’” he cheered in a cartoony voice. Virgil let out a weak snicker. Patton counted it as a win.

“It starts to get ready for this potential baby by building up this lining around the walls, so that it’ll be extra protected from harm. And for a little while, if you… Ah…” Patton’s face turned red. “Do… certain things, with certain people, that egg might get fertilized, and that’s how pregnancy starts.”

“Like… kissing?”

Patton hummed. “No, you’d have to do a little more than that. More, uh… adult stuff.”

Virgil nodded, looking at the floor very seriously. “Taxes.”

It was a fight to keep his laugh in. “R-Right. Taxes.” He cleared his throat and continued. “Um, anyway, if that egg doesn’t get fertilized, your body says, ‘Oh, darn! Well, maybe next time!’, and it gets rid of the egg, and then it gets rid of that lining so it can make a fresh one for the next egg.” He pointed to the bloody toilet paper still gripped tightly in Virgil’s hands. “That’s what that blood is. It’s not a cut, and it’s certainly not an omen of death. It’s just a sign that you’re growing up.”

Virgil stared at the toilet paper for a long moment. “…Am I going to have to do this every month?”

“Well, not at first,” Patton replied, putting his hands on his knees. “This is a brand new feature in your body right now, so it’ll take a bit for it to fall into a real cycle. For a little bit, you might have a couple within a month, or you might not have it for another three after this. But, eventually, yeah, the body will balance itself out.”

“How long is that gonna take?”

“It depends on your body. If it takes a while, or it doesn’t seem like it’s going to balance at all, we can look into some options to help, like birth control or hormone therapy. Modern medicine is a great thing,” he said with a wink. “How about we save that conversation for a little later, though? See how this pans out for now?”

There was a beat, and then Virgil slowly nodded. He shifted and tipped his head away. “What do I do about my underwear?” he whispered.

Patton hummed and sat back, looking up at the ceiling. “Well… I’ll be honest, kiddo, I can talk your ear off about anatomy and the medical side of things, but I don’t have a clue about the products and stuff. How would you feel if I called Remus’s mom and asked her to come explain that stuff to us?”

Virgil wiped at his eyes. “Okay.”

Offering a gentle smile, Patton held his arms open; there was a moment of hesitation, and then Virgil leaned forward and wrapped his smaller arms around him. Patton held him tight and rubbed his back.

“Thank you,” he whimpered.

“Of course, sweetie. That’s what your Pop and I are here for,” he reassured. “And don’t you ever worry about bothering us if you’re not feeling well, okay? We care about you more than whatever silly things we might be working on. We want to take care of you, okay?”

Virgil shuddered in a manner that was suspiciously similar to that of a repressed sob; when he spoke next, his voice was tight and high-pitched. “Okay.”

They sat like this for a moment, with Patton holding his son close, rubbing a hand over his lower back, until he pressed a kiss into his hair and pulled back.

“Alright, Virge, I need to go call Mrs. Drake,” he said. “Is your stomach still hurting? Or anything else, for that matter? I can get you some medicine to help, if you want.”

Virgil nodded, scrubbing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

Patton nodded and climbed to his feet. “Okay. I’ll be back as soon as I can, promise.”

He stepped out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and leaving Virgil alone with his thoughts again. He was still shaking, yes, but the terror of thinking he was going to die was settling into the more manageable fear of learning a new routine…

And maybe, a little, the risk of starting to put his trust into someone.

But maybe there wasn’t so much to fear in that one.

Virgil leaned forward and finally dropped the bloody toilet paper into the trash.

----------

The front door slammed open; Logan and Roman both nearly jumped out of their skin from where they sat at the dining room table.

“Virgil, we got your little butt-diapers!”

There was the sound of a light swat, and then the snatching of a plastic bag.

“Stahp, Remus, he’s already having a hard time with it!”

Snickering echoed through the entryway as the two climbed the half-flight of stairs leading to the main floor. As Remus made a beeline to tackle Roman out of his chair, Logan adjusted his posture to be more formal and nodded at Mrs. Drake.

“Good afternoon, Alya,” he called.

“Hi, boys,” she quickly responded. “Are they still in the bathroom?”

“I believe so, yes.”

Mrs. Drake nodded and hurried off just as Roman wrestled Remus off of him. He glanced at the hallway, and then between his twin and his father.

“Wait, what’s going on?”

“Your baby bro’s anus is bleeding for the first time!”

“No, Remus,” Logan scolded. He turned to Roman. “He’s experiencing his first menstrual period. Your father called Mrs. Drake to help teach him the technical aspects of how to best handle it.”

Roman blinked and sat up straight. “Oh! Is he going to be alright?”

“Yeah, Mom brought a bunch of stuff to help,” Remus replied, waving his hand as he plopped into the open seat next to Roman. “Pads, painkillers, heating rice bag sock things, the whole shebang. And a bunch of chocolate and candy and stuff!”

“Ah, good. I’ve seen studies that dark chocolate helps with cramps,” Logan stated.

Remus sighed. “A shame. I was hoping we’d get to see Virgie’s tiny baby rip out of his stomach. Like that scene in Aliens!”

Roman let out a whine and swatted him. “Dude, that’s my little brother!”

“Oh, come on! Your other dad’s a nurse! He could stitch him back up in no time!”

“That is not how nurses work!”

Logan hummed and adjusted his glasses, turning back to the papers he was grading. “Astounding. In less than two minutes, you’ve expressed your ignorance in both anatomy and the careers of the medical field. I suggest you brush up on them both if you truly wish to study in the field of dentistry.”

“Haa, brush up,” Roman laughed.

Logan shot him a glare over the rim of his glasses; Roman and Remus high-fived.

“Do your homework, Roman.”

Roman grinned and turned back to face his homework, but his mind instead floated back to Virgil’s condition. He bit down on his lip and shifted before looking up and tapping his pencil end against the table.

“Seriously… Virgil is going to be okay, right?” he asked.

Logan let out a soft breath. “Your brother is going to be just fine,” he gently reassured. “This is a natural thing for many people who possess uteri. He might be in pain for a little while, but ultimately, he will be alright.”

“My mom deals with it every month, and she’s not dead yet,” Remus pointed out. Then, with his grin fading a bit, he added, “Our mom probably had them, too. She must’ve, if she had us.”

Roman watched him for a long moment, and then he nodded, swallowing the lump that had snuck into his throat.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.”

---------

Second A/N:

Hey, folks-- So, as it turned out, I made a bit of a mistake in explaining this. So sorry about this! Thank you so much to @romanslunchbox​ for pointing this out and correcting me:

“ It isn’t a huge mistake. However, in your fic you stated that the egg gets stuck in the lining of the uterus. But that is only possible with a fertilized egg. An non-fertilized egg dies in the oviducts before it can even reach the uterus. After the egg dies certain hormones are released to start the menstruation about 2 weeks later (how that works is an entire shit show of hormones and stuff). It takes a while for these hormones to be released, so the uterus keeps producing more lining for the egg to get stuck in. When the uterus finally gets the signale that there is no pregnancy, that is when the menstruation starts. “

[toruhalo]

Psychotic (3/?)

Pairings: Ledger!Joker x Female OC

Wordcount: 1622

Warnings: blood and injury, self-destructive thoughts, threats, manipulation?

previous chapter: 2

A/N: I hope people still read this lol and idk if it’s even good but writing Joker makes me happy

Tranquility. The dense humid air sweeps through the forest floor, leaving behind droplets of water in its wake. She can feel the nearby leaves brushing her calves and fingertips as Violet observes her surroundings. She feels comforted, as if she was surrounded by people who cherished her. In the distance rests a foggy view of a waterfall, glowing green from underneath. Vines begin to entangle and caress her as she walks towards the source of the light.      

"Violet?" the voice whispers.       

"... You okay?"       

She elevates her head from her hands to see Sharpener looking at her with furrowed brows. She blinks to regain her eyesight and leans back in her chair.      

"I-I didn't realize I fell asleep. Sorry..."      

Sharpener chuckled, "It's okay, if my story was so boring you could've told me."      

Violet smiles and begins to daintily pick at her food in her tray. Her thoughts begin turning to the dream she just had. The environment she recalled made her ache to witness it once again, as it conveyed a feeling of belonging. A feeling Violet isn't familiar with.      

"Blonde Barbie, two o'clock," Sharpener snickers.      

Violet looks up at the cafeteria counter to instantly see the one and only Doctor Harleen Quinzel. She quickly grabs two trays of decent looking food from one of the workers and makes her way out of the room. Violet huffs and takes a bite out of her bland, discolored lasagna. She knew that Joker was currently having a session with Harleen, so was she getting lunch for the two of them? A date?     

"Woah there, what'd that spork do to you?" Sharpener slides the plastic utensil from her deathly grip. Flecks of blood followed the movement and pooled in her palm. Sharpener grimaced and handed her his leftover napkin.     

"T-thank you. I wasn't thinking," she mumbles.     

"Clearly..."     

The two fell into mutual silence while the rest of the cafeteria continuously grew louder. Violet's thoughts instantly began to swarm her mind while mindlessly finishing her lunch. She recalls the time Joker reassured her that he was only using Harleen for his own gain, but as days passed she began to consider, what if he was lying to gain her trust? She didn't know him very well, but she suspects no one does. Why would J like her out of all people, if he could even like anyone that way.     

“You gonna tell me why you got so angry when you saw that doctor?" Sharpener inquires.     

"I-I don't l-like her very much."     

Sharpener laughs, "I can tell that much. Is she your psychiatrist?"    

"No... She's my fr-" Violet stopped herself. Was J even her friend? What was he to her? A silly crush at the most, she thought. "Someone I-I talk to is her p-patient."     

"Hmm. And here I thought I was the only one you talked to..." Sharpener jokes. "Who is it? You don't have to tell me, I wouldn't care much."     

"The J-Joker," Violet mumbles. She figured it might help to talk about him to someone else, other than Doctor LeLand who clearly doesn't perceive him in a good light.     

Sharpener furrows his brow, "Are you sure it's him?" Violet nods. "Huh. You're the last person I would think who would have enough balls to even look at him, let alone hold conversations with him."     

 Violet freezes and slowly picks up her tray. "And y-you're the last person I would think to say t-that to me." She stands up and makes her way to the trash cans, leaving a stunned Sharpener behind.

    The bed frame squeals loudly as Violet harshly sits down on top of it, not even bothering watching the guard lock her cell door, as she routinely does. She could feel her eyes start to burn with fresh tears as she tried calming herself down. Yet to no avail, one leaks as she's overwhelmed from her deteriorating self-worth. The more she thought, the more she agreed with what Sharpener said. Joker was the one who started talking to her, Joker was the one who prompted the conversations. She had nothing to give to J. She was worthless, and she can't even talk without stuttering. Her parents were right about everything; she realized. J had to be manipulating her, she couldn't think of another reason why he would talk to her so much.     

The sound of a door creaking open swayed her out of her manic state. She shifts to unfortunately see Joker standing in her cell, same as the day he lied to her about Harleen. He smiles slyly and holds up an ID card of an Arkham employee in his stained hand.     

"Here's the secret to the magic trick. Figured I might as well, uh, show ya."     

Violet quickly wipes away her tears and turns her head opposite of him. She could already feel his attentive gaze burning a hole in her head, which made her heart rate increase from merely thinking about it. As she didn't respond, Joker took a seat next to her, tapping the card against his palm in frustration. She could still feel his eyes roaming her and even heard his breaths coming out of his nose. He suddenly huffs and stands up, walking to the toilet sink combo in the corner of the cell. He promptly tears off toilet paper, wets it in the sink and walks back to the low bed. J stops in front of Violet and crouches on one knee, causing them roughly to be the same height. Violet's heart is now pumping furiously in her chest now, and she's sure Joker can overhear it from how close he is.     

Still refusing to look at him, she jumps when he grasps her injured hand and turns her palm upwards. Joker glides the water soaked toilet paper onto her hand, gently cleaning up the dried smeared blood.     

"You don't, uh, belong here, doll. You and me both. We belong out in the city of darkness. Causing chaos. We can't be restrained. We're like, uh, wild animals. If we're kept inside a... cage, we'll itch to get out, so we can live." He threw the bloody wad of toilet paper over his shoulder and grabbed Violet's other hand in his own.     

"That's why I'm getting us out of here. I can see it's, uh, eating you up inside."     

 "Why me?" Violet whispers.     

 Joker laughs through his nose, "Because, my porcelain doll. You have yet to live up to your full potential." He slowly retracts his hands from hers and stands back up. Violet already feels cold without his rare touch. "We'll, uh, talk more tomorrow."

    Weeks pass until the two decide to put their escape plan into action. Violet had forgiven Sharpener the day after he insulted her, as he sincerely apologized. Now, she was trying to convince Joker to bring him with them during their escape.     

"He can't come," Joker almost growls.     

"W-why not? He's nice to me and he's been in here a w-while."     

  "I don't care if he's the nicest guy in the world. He's not coming."    

"What if he a-agrees to work for you?"     

J sighs and cracks his neck. Violet continues to look at him with her puppy dog eyes, never looking away. Joker chuckles and leans towards her, entangling his hand in her long hair.     

"How about... I, uh, come meet him...and decide for myself. Would you be happy then and, uh, stop nagging me?"

Having J with Violet during lunchtime is a strange sensation. Him being next to her, causes all eyes to be on them at all times. He's a notorious criminal, who has never stepped foot in the cafeteria. That would make anyone stare at him. However, Violet seems to be the only one affected by it. J is humming to himself while eating her pudding, not bothered by the dozens of gazes on himself and his companion.     

"Aren't ya... gonna eat that?" He points at her breadstick.     

"I-I don't like to eat when p-people are staring."     

 Joker hums and sets his pudding cup down.

"They're harmless. Just a bit... looney," he chuckles. That doesn't seem to ease her worries, so he stands up at the table. "If you, uh, keep staring at us like the creeps you are, I'll, uh, cut your tongues out of your mouths in your sleep," he exclaims with malice.     

 Instantly, everyone looks away, no set of eyes are locked on the pair anymore. Violet smiles and picks up her breadstick she was craving.     

"T-thank you," Violet says before taking a bite.     

"...It was becoming, uh, irritating."     

Sharpener finally shows up at the table, setting his tray down next to Violet's. His brows are furrowed in confusion at the intruder, nudging Violet to get an answer.    

 "O-oh, hi Sharpie."     

 "Sharpie?" Joker questions.     

Sharpener coughs and sits down, "I guess that's a nickname of my nickname."     

J turns back to his pudding and eats a spoonful. Violet can tell Joker doesn't like Sharpener already, but it won't hurt to try harder.     

"S-sharpener has e-experience of working for someone. I-I think he could be h-helpful to you, J," Violet takes a deep breath after finishing her sentence.     

Joker eats another bite and talks with his mouth full, "For who?"     

"Sal Maroni. He died in a car crash, so I lost my job and eventually ended up here."     

J laughs and swallows the last of the pudding, "How, uh, unfortunate... But, I work very differently from Mister Maroni."     

"I've noticed... But I don't care who or what my boss does, I just do what they ask of me."    

Joker looks at Violet between the two men who's staring at her food, "If he screws me over, I'll screw you over, dollface."

[slashscowboyboots]

Happy Taco Truck: Ice Cream Dreamboat (Part 1)

(all photo credit goes to owners)

I know it’s only been months, but it feels like years since I’ve shared a fic!  This is a continuation of @no-stone-no-bone​‘s awesome fic Duff’s Doughnuts (link here).  I agree with Skyler, I’d love to see other writers write about the different food trucks and make this a series.  This was supposed to be a one-shot, but as I am physically incapable of writing short fics, this is a two-parter.  Buckle in!

Tag list: @izzysdenimjacket​ @no-stone-no-bone​ @sexcoffeeandrockandroll​ @awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands​ @smokeandmirrorz​ @sodalitefully​​ @roger-taylors-car​​  @harley-m-rose​ if you’d like to be tagged let me know, we all know how wonderful the tags work though

Warnings: language, sibling promiscuity, lonely cooking, terminal embarrassment, Axl and Tracii are Axl and Tracii

Thunk thunk thunk.

It was another scorcher inside your food truck, the vicious heat wafting off the griddle pummeling your face as you deftly raked your spatula through a pile of crisping beef tips, then piled them into a fluffy shell, handing it off for your sister Skyler to kiss with your award-winning cilantro lime crema and hand out to the customer.

You couldn’t resist moving up to the open side to watch the patron, a long-haired man wearing a nose chain with “Endless Burgers” stitched on his shirt, take a bite of your creation, then bend at the knees from ecstasy and dig a ten dollar bill from his pocket, stuffing it in your tip jar.

It has been gangbusters during the lunch rush in The Circle, the informal name given to the parking lot of ornery hooligans who fed the masses during the day and lingered behind late in the evening for a bit of recreational hell-raising. 

There was a plethora of culinary delights scattered around you, including Duff’s Doughnuts, Tracii and Phil’s Sno-Cones, Stoney & Cready’s Homewrecker Corndogs, and Jon and Richie’s Jersey Essentials (you never really knew what they were selling, apart from Aqua Net and the occasional cheesesteak, but after they began offering rippers-deep fried hot dogs-Skyler made frequent trips over to ask Richie if she could eat his weenie).  And from what you heard, they all knew how to throw down at night.

You never stayed to find out, though.  Your shyness forced you to fire up Helen the Happy Taco truck and drive home, leaving Skyler behind to do God-knows-what to who-knows-what, and you arrived in the mornings to find her either helping Kelly from Nickels’ BBQ feed his pink-painted porcine smoker, both of them covered in hickeys, or nearly trading blows with the loudmouth redhead who ran the ice cream truck.

Today, however, you’d found her with someone new.  When you pulled into the lot, you saw her with her arms wrapped around a guy with long hair wearing a flannel shirt and shorts, gazing raptly into his piercing blue eyes.  “Bye, Ed,” she murmured, pecking a kiss on his mouth.

“Who was that?” you asked, your eyebrows shooting skywards.

“Produce man,” she answered quickly.

“Were you getting us a good deal?’

“You know it.”

You peeled your gloves off and wiped your sweating face with a paper towel, trying to blot off as much grease as possible.  “I’m taking a break.  I need some ice cream.”

“I got you a frozen lemonade on my break.  It’s gonna taste like shit when you drink it with that ice cream.”

“I don’t care.”

“Punch that dick Axl in the face while you’re over there.  He’s on my last fucking nerve.”

You trudged down to “Axl and Izzy’s Frozen Delights,” eager to leave the brutal swelter inside your truck.  Standing in front of their window, you bent backwards and cracked your aching back, then a raspy voice asked, “Can I help you?”

You looked up into the most beautiful doe eyes you’d ever seen, hazel verging on gold in the afternoon sunlight, belonging to a guy with messy brown hair tied back with a bandanna, and suddenly your feet didn’t hurt anymore.  “Hi,” you said faintly.

“Hey,” he replied, smiling at you, and you felt your breath leave you.  “I’m Izzy, who might you be?”

“Y/N.”

“What can I get for you?”

Your brain instantly forgot how to make words.  “Cone,” you muttered.

His smile grew even bigger.  “What do you want in your cone?”

“Ice cream.”

He chuckled softly.  “What kind?”

“I don’t know.”

Those gorgeous eyes were full of merriment, crinkling at the corners.  “You don’t know?”

“No.”  Get ahold of yourself, you’re sounding like a moron.  “Uh, chocolate?”

“Sure.  I mean, as long as you’re sure about that.”  He winked at you, then turned to the freezer case behind him, and you got an exquisite view of his perfect ass, your mouth open and your breath coming in gasps, then he turned around and grinned, catching you mid-gawk, and you immediately wanted the earth to swallow you up.

“Thank you,” you blurted when he handed you your cone, then you turned to leave.  

“Uh, Y/N?”

“Uh huh?”  You couldn’t believe he was going to prolong putting up with your awkward ass.  

“Aren’t you going to pay me?”

“Oh,” you said, humiliation bringing a knot to your throat, and you handed him a crumpled pile of bills and scuttled away before you could cry.

“Sis, you mind if I head out a little early?” you asked.  “I’ve got a headache and I want to go home.”

“Sure.  I think we’re done for today.  You sure you’re okay?”

You hadn’t said a word all afternoon, just cooked and sweated and tried not to think about what a failure you were.  This was why you didn’t stick around at night, even though you longed to, to laugh and have fun with all the crazy characters around you.  Because you’d fuck it up if you did.

Why wasn’t I born normal? you thought bitterly.  Why am I the disaster in the family?

“Yeah,” you said quietly.  “I’m fine.”

That’s why your tacos were so delicious.  Because you were such a loser, you stayed home and perfected them instead of going out and having a life.  With no demands on your personal time, you discovered that lime made your chicken taco sing, while a little tomato sauce was the secret to juicier ground beef.

Your loneliness was the key to Happy Taco’s success.  

And you’d give everything you knew away just to be cool for five minutes.

“OPEN UP!!” a male voice hollered.  Bam!  Bam!  Bam!  “Little pig, little pig, let me in!”

Skyler dropped the hatch.  “Tracii!  Ferfucksakes!  We just got here!”

Tracii grinned under his bandanna.  “I wanna eat your taco.”

“It is an honor and a privilege to serve you a Happy Taco,” she answered, leaning on the counter and linking her fingers.  “However, we haven’t got anything set up and the only kind we can get you is our el pastor.”

“Okay,” he said, “gimme two,” and Skyler nodded to you.

You sliced the meat off the trompo, carefully evening out the sides, all the while reliving the embarrassment of the previous afternoon in your head.  Maybe you could drive Helen down to Baja California and start life anew, under a different name.

“Hey!” Tracii yelped, his eyes on you.  “I know you!  You’re the one Izzy was talking about last night,” and your knife nearly stabbed the metal pole holding up the pork and pineapple mass.

“Yeah,” he smiled lazily, “you are a looker, aren’t you?  How come you don’t party with us?  Izz said you seemed kinda shy.”

With your eyes wide and heart hammering, you handed the tacos to Skyler, whose mouth was hanging open in shock.

Before she could say anything, Tracii handed her his money and sauntered off, orgasmically moaning as he chewed, and Axl stepped up to the window.

“The fuck you want?” Skyler snapped.  “”It’s too early in the day for you to pick a fight, asshole.”

“I’m not here to fight,” he growled, slamming down a wad of dollars.  “This is from Izzy.  For her ice cream,” and he jutted his chin towards you.  “He says you eat for free at our truck.  The bo-both of you,”  he gritted, the agony of that idea etching deeply on his face.

“Thank you,” you smiled in surprise.

His eyes met yours, waving off your delight.  “Yeah, he’ll be down later.”

“Yes, thank you, Axl,” Skyler said.  “May we offer you an el pastor taco?”

“No,” he said, already retreating.  “Pork gives me the shits.”

Izzy did come by later, just in time for your sister to run off on her break.  

“Hi, Izzy,” you said, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Hey,” he smiled, looking delicious in his sunglasses.  “So what kind of tacos do you have?”

You recited the list.  “El pastor, carnitas, beef tips, seasoned ground beef, chicken, shrimp, and uh, lengua.”

“What’s that?”

“Uh, tongue.”

He pulled a face and stuck out his tongue, and you giggled, your shyness melting away at his goofiness.  “No, no, it’s really good.  Imagine the most tender, flavorful pot roast.  Everyone always orders seconds.”

“I think I’ll pass on the tongue, that one anyways, and have one shrimp and one chicken.  How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing.  Uh, you and Axl, you eat for free here too.  Thank you, by the way, that’s very generous.”

He grinned wider, and you noticed he’d hadn’t stopped smiling at you since he showed up.  “Don’t mention it.”

You opened the shrimp and chicken containers, then threw the meat down on the griddle and moved it around, forcing yourself to focus on sauteing and not burning down the fucking truck because Izzy was outside.

He peeked in the window, looking around the interior of the truck.  “So how long have you been cooking?”

“Oh, since I was small.  I was at a stove before I could see over it.  These are all my grandmother's recipes.”  You scooped the fillings into their shells, then grabbed the crema.  

“Hey, I only ordered two,” Izzy protested when you handed him his tacos in a cardboard to-go basket.

“One of the chicken ones is Axl’s.  Consider it a peace offering.”

“Thank you.  Hey, Y/N, I was wondering if-”

“Hey, Y/N, I was wondering if I could get some fucking service around here,” a mullet-sporting, Confederate flag t-shirt wearing asshole growled, and Izzy waved, then walked away.

He returned the next day, and the next day, and the next day, and the next day, working his way through your menu and bringing you a different-flavored milkshake each time.  He loved all of the tacos he tried, even daring to sample the beef tongue, then immediately ordered another one.

“Told you,” you grinned.

He always made conversation with you while you cooked, his eyes locked on yours as he ate, but every time he finished, there was always a line to tend to, and Skyler made herself scarce as soon as she spotted him.  You never returned to his truck for ice cream, and spent your downtime cleaning the flattop, lighting out as soon as you turned over the CLOSED sign.

“You know,” your sister said to you as you turned the key in the ignition, “if you stayed, you’d probably hook up with Izzy.”

“No,” you said sadly, “I’m a hot mess.  I’d say something stupid and he’d run away.”

“Can’t talk with his tongue in your mouth,” she teased, “or some other part.”

“SKYLER!” you shrieked as she cackled, then you sighed and leaned your head against the steering wheel.  “I’m not like you.”

“You don’t have to be,” she said, leaning over and stroking your hair.  “Just give him a chance.”

“I can’t stay here and have Helen be a-a sin wagon.”

“It’s not like we have orgies!” Skyler laughed.  “At least your man doesn't.  He plays guitar and Axl sings, when he’s not being a dumbass.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  And then Izzy sings, and Kelly gives me The Look and……”

“Or the produce man shows up.”

“Or Eddie the produce man shows up.”  She gave you a slight smile.  “C’mon, Sis, stay.  He likes you.”

“He doesn’t know me.”

“Then get to know him.  Axl says he’s pining.”

You looked at her in surprise.  “When did you talk to Axl?”

“When he told me that chicken taco you gave him was the best thing he’s ever had.”

You smiled at his praise, drumming your fingertips on the steering wheel.  “Maybe I’ll stay sometime.”

“Pining,” Skyler said, then hopped off the truck.